Return to Mycenae - A Clytaimnestra-Saga

By Wolf Kunert

I go through time again. I return to Mycenae. Questions remained unanswered. I want answer for her.

I won't find her here and now. I have to dare to travel again, to where the past is still unchanged, untouched by knowledge and fashion.
There I want to see and hear the people whose fate I can only guess at.

Names come to mind: Clytemnestra – husband murderer, adulteress! Other names follow: Iphigenia, Electra, Oresthes and Agamemnon too.

We heard their stories and fragments are quickly at hand, which is all too easy to dismiss. These stories are old. Told often and over and over again in the same way: the ax murderer, her lover and the irreconcilably grieving daughter.

Why so? Why don't we know them differently? I want to tell it here and now, perhaps more faithfully to reality. I can't know. I have to hope so.

 

Excerpt – Clytemnestra:

I did not act without consideration and not without consideration. What Iphigenia awakened in me and what he threatened me for forced me to make a decision. What I fought for, not without resistance, had to be protected.

I took away the children's father, that's true. But what kind of father was he? What kind of man was Agamemnon and what kind of husband was he to me? Nobody asks about it anymore. Nobody wants to know what and how he really was. They made him my victim and even if it is true, it remains only part of the truth. Nobody, it seems, still wants to know how he ruled us and Mycenae.

I was later accused of blind anger and baseless hatred. Time keeps silent about his part. At best, she allows me to be a grieving mother, avenging her child. Half truths are also half lies.

Nothing bad should be said about dead people. Don't talk after those who can no longer answer. Those who journeyed to the realm of shadows should be safe from evil speech forever. But what about me? When did I lose this right?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wolf Kunert
• Release date: Feb 11, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224453290

Book preview

Wolf Kunert

Return to Mycenae

A Klytaimnestra Saga

Return to Mycenae

A Klytaimnestra Saga

Dedicated, as always,

And always to the same

Copyright © 2024 Wolf Kunert

All rights reserve

Return to Mycenae

Once again, I traverse through time. I return to Mycenae. Questions lingered unanswered. I seek answers for them. Here and now, I will not find them. I must embark on the journey once again, to where the past remains unchanged, untouched by knowledge and fashion.

There, I want to see and hear the people whose fate I can only imagine at best. Names come to mind: Clytemnestra - murderer of her husband, adulteress! Other names follow: Iphigenia, Electra, Orestes, and Agamemnon as well. We have heard their stories, and fragments are readily available, eager to be dismissed. These stories are old. They are often and repeatedly told in the same way: the axe murderer, her lover, and the daughter in inconsolable grief.

Why is it so? Why do we not know them differently? Here and now, I want to tell their stories, perhaps more faithfully to reality. I cannot be certain. I must hope.

Klytaimnestra

He is back, the pain in my body. And there is nothing I can do about it. The Furies do not allow me to defend myself against them. Since Aigisthus rarely visits my bed, they visit me even more frequently. It is always tormentingly the same, and even though I know it's a dream, it is of terrifying reality.

I lie motionless and rigid in my sweaty sheets. I know, from previous times, that I cannot call the servants, but I still try again this time. A reflex I cannot resist. As always, my mouth remains silent this night, and again, I cannot escape what the Furies have made me endure many times before.

He visits me in the nights when I am alone, in my chamber. He cannot rest in his grave. He does not want to leave me in peace, the peace I killed for the sake of my own peace. The Furies awaken him to punish me. Not for his death. Because I cannot feel remorse. Because I feel no guilt towards him. I go through the same dream, the same pain, and the same helplessness over and over again. He still consumes me and refuses to let go. Even now, many years later.

But what remained for me but to act in such a way? What was left for me but to decide for my children, for myself, and for Mycenae? I acted not without contemplation and not without weighing the consequences. What Iphigenia stirred in me and what he threatened me with forced me to make a decision. What I fought for myself, not without resistance, had to be protected. I took away the children's father, that is true. But what kind of father was he? What kind of man was Agamemnon, and what kind of husband was he to me? No one asks anymore. No one wants to know what and how he truly was. They turned him into my sacrifice, and even if it's true, it remains only a part of the truth. It seems that no one wants to know how he ruled over us and Mycenae.

Later, blind rage and groundless hatred were attributed to me. Time conceals his part. At best, they allow me to be a grieving mother who avenged her child. Half-truths are also half-lies. One should not speak ill of the dead. Don't gossip about those who can no longer respond. Those who journeyed to the realm of shadows should be safe from slander forever. But what about me? When did I lose this right?

How would he respond if I asked him questions? Would he still lie now, as he often did in his lifetime? I am sure of it. He had no choice back then in Aulis. No choice? Were it not his decisions that ultimately led us here? That forced us, no, me, to take these steps? Would he rebuke me again, as his obedient wife, as he often did? Even if he knew he was in the wrong, he contradicted me or forbade me to speak. Surely he would do that again. He always did.

He was protected by his older brother Menelaus, but always only second to him. That had undoubtedly corrupted his character over the years. Growing up in the shadow of his brother, he often adorned himself with deeds accomplished by others. Like declaring himself the victor over Troy, as a great military leader, even though everyone knew it was Odysseus's cunning that ultimately brought victory. After all the unsuccessful battles and wars in the years before, he lost esteem among the Greeks. Battles that brought death to countless men. Great heroes were lost on both sides because of him. Led into battle senselessly by the greed for power, gold, and fame. Victory came just in time for him, saving his reputation at the last moment.

He had to content himself with the place his brother assigned him and follow him in everything. In return, his brother protected him against all doubts. Although he could call himself a commander, his brother was also his king even before Troy. This affected the man who would gladly be first at any cost and any lie. It spoiled him over the years, made him forget good manners, and increased his fear that he would not be seen as manly.

Even Helen, my sister, chose his older brother. For her, he would have been at best a second choice, I am sure. He got me only through murder and gold.

His daughter Iphigenia was sacrificed to the gods at Aulis because of his sacrilege. Not Hermione, the daughter of his brother. He would not have lost control in that situation, or he would have timely halted the priestly decree of Calchas, I am sure.

With only one lie, Agamemnon knew how to lure me to Aulis. Never would I have followed his invitation otherwise, and my refusal would have exposed him before the others. He knew that, and he feared it more than the wrath of the gods.

Upon his return from Troy, I only did what was required by him alone. That is how I want to be understood, and I would act in the same way again. Today even more so than back then.

After my return from Aulis, I was not the same as the one who traveled to the island before. I parted with my tolerance, which had determined my life for too long, and took back what Agamemnon had taken from me: courage and freedom.

My actions were not without consequences, and the price in the end was high. Women always pay when they play the game of men. The gods do not like it when we learn their rules. Only men, like Agamemnon, it seems, are allowed power without a price. But I changed those rules and made him pay for his actions.

I appropriated the games of men and redefined them. I seized power, and yes, I had every right to do so. No one stood in my way without consequences. He, Agamemnon, was the cause of all this. He was the real reason for my actions.

In the end, I lost my children because of him. My first son and Iphigenia to death, Electra to hatred, and Chrysothemis to darkness. I even lost my son Orestes twice. First to the unknown and later, like Electra, to anger.

All that was said and written about me later was triggered solely by Agamemnon. My years in Mycenae did not pass without consequences for me, not those when he was present, and not those when he fought before Troy.

Joyless most of the time and devoid of any love was my time beside him. My children later gave me purpose and a mission again, but love above all else. I could love them with all my heart. Each one was close to me. Even Elektra, who was difficult to restrain, received my maternal warmth. It seemed to me that she, especially, needed my attention. I gave it to her without ever asking what affection would come back to me.

Giving up, dying, was not granted to me. This idea was not instilled in me in Sparta, and yet there were moments when I longed for Thanatos, death. As a mother later on, this thought was no longer allowed to me.

My father taught me to endure when the time called for it and to fight when the opportunity presented itself. And he taught me that the hardest battle was the time of enduring. For many years, I fought this battle against myself first. I endured and kept silent about this king and this father.

The pain tears me once again from my thoughts. The movements in my body become more intense. It's as if someone is stirring in my entrails. I can hear the maids outside my door chatting and laughing. They suspect nothing of my dreams. I don't want to become fodder for their gossip. They don't need to know what I endure on such nights. I only hope that my voice could redeem me from the dream. I want to try to wake myself. I want to call out to them again, but it is denied to me, as it has been before. Only my groans are audible, and I don't know whether they belong to the dream or reality. It feels like