Chapter 5

Oh Mother Asherah, I plead for Your mercy. The years have gone by and for me, they seem like an eternity. All I want is to return to Your great clemency and enter the realm of Your glory and love. Oh great Mother, the people may see You as the mistress of deception but I will always know of Your goodness. All praise to You, almighty Mother. I pray for Your greatness to welcome me back to my sacred duties, and allow Inanna to walk the halls of the celestial realm instead of baring this terrible torment. Amen. 1324 P.D.

I remember my own wedding so many centuries ago. The sky had been so clear and blue, with the sun’s heat being tolerable. The green hills made way for the winds and the trees sang their odes of love. The sound of singing could be heard far and wide, and the sound of children ran through the village as they played. Atime so beautiful was now lost; I being the only living creature alive to remember such a time. While I helped Inanna’s father prepare up on that hillside, Inanna’s mother helped her get ready. Her ten year-old sister, Emzara, helped the best she could. Enoch had left the world during

my seven year trial; it was during that time that Enoch’s great-grandson was born. I remember the strange circumstances surrounding his birth. Lamech had left to go on a spiritual journey, leaving his young wife with family. She was secluded to solitude during his time away, but she was found to be three months pregnant when he returned. It was a bizarre incident, but as I told the family, it must have been a sign from Elohim and Asherah. After all, I could see that she hadn’t been touched since her husband’s absence. Though they had an idea as to who I was, they were uncertain. I knew something was coming. As the flutes played at the wedding, I stood at the front of the altar. Rakel’s relatives gathered around as he lead his daughter to the altar. Though their previous patriarch had been taken body and soul to the Heavens, they acted as though Rakel’s father was the clan’s new patriarch. He acted as our cleric for the time being. There she was: glorious Inanna. Flowers decorated her long dark curls and a white robe swept across her shoulders to her feet. Her smile lit up her brown eyes and made her brown freckles even bigger. She was the only human I ever loved. Her father gave me her and we presented ourselves to my parents, knowing my defiance would cost us everything. She didn’t deserve the fate I delivered to her. It was my fault. She will never leave my memories, and I sweat that I will fight for her until the end of time.

... Weddings are glorious times. They are happy and full of energy. At least they should be. It had been more than a thousand years since I had married my precious wife, but her memory never left my mind. She has lingered in the doorways of every home I ever past; her face disrupts the rushing waters; and her voice echoed in the wind. There is nothing on this Adamah that will let me forget her. But I know that isn’t how the king felt for his new queen. The young Helene stepped up to the king’s side, her face filled with confidence and pride. She smiled as he took her hand. The Spartans drank their fill of wine and celebrated into the night. When he had his fill, King Menelaus took his new wife into his bedchamber. The party continued on throughout the night, but one fellow refused to celebrate any longer and only shared his misery with his beer.

A prince of Ilion; he was the youngest son who was cast out of his father’s kingdom as an infant. The idea of it was ridiculous, but what was I to say? After spending most of his childhood as a shepherd, he was rediscovered by his parents and taken back to the royal family. He became the proxenoi to Sparta when he was fifteen and, like most tales of time, fell for Princess Helene of Sparta. After Helene and her sister were abducted, their brothers and the proxenoi of Ilion fought fearlessly to save them; only the proxenoi made it out alive. Five years Helene’s senior, the proxenoi was rewarded greatly by the people of Sparta. Though he had asked for Helene’s hand, he was denied, since they wanted a Greek as the next king of Sparta. So, Menelaus, prince of Mycenae, was chosen instead. Now, after six years, he was the king of Sparta. Who was this proxenoi? He was well known throughout all of Greece as the turning point. As a prince, he was called Prince Alexandros, son of King Priam. But the name he answered to was Paris. About halfway through the festivities, he got up and left. Long after the festivities ended, the young prince of Ilion hid in the shadows, as if waiting for someone. He waited nearly a half hour before a figure came down the stairs. A cloak covered the figure’s head. I knew who it was immediately. Her olive hand handed the prince a parchment, which he gladly took. Then without a thought, they both left. Following behind in curiosity, I watched as she opened the wall to what seemed like a hidden passageway. A corridor that was used mainly by servants and the like. She smiled as she watched his face. “Paris, my dear. We cannot have Ilion blamed for my disappearance. I will meet you at the shore in two weeks. You must still be here when I’m gone. They will never suspect you if they have no reason to blame you. We will be married when we arrive in Ilion, and I will no longer be Helene of Sparta.” They parted ways with a simple kiss and she was off. The prince watched her leave, almost mournfully but never said a word as he walked away. A search party was sent out the next morning, hoping to find signs of the Spartan queen; none were ever found. The king was in mourning for days, believing his queen had given herself to Poseidon. I almost laughed. He thought she had thrown herself into the sea to alleviate her own misery. And to blame a god that did not exist made it even more outrageous. How could a god’s mastery be blamed for a suicide that never even happened?

It wasn’t until the twelfth day of her disappearance that Menelaus’ brother King Agamemnon of Mycenae and his wife, Clytemnestra, were received in Sparta. While the Mycenaen queen questioned different servants, the brothers spoke openly about what to do about how the Spartan queen had vanished. “Brother, something had to have changed. She was esatic. Something must have changed. This just doesn’t seem right. I don’t understand why the sea wanted her this soon. Is this Poseidon’s punishment for some wrong I committed without any knowledge? What am I to do now?” His brother laughed. “I always thought there was something off about her. She just seemed too attached to the proxenoi that helped save her from Theseus. Clytemnestra told me they became close after that.” “What do I do, Agamemnon?” He shrugged in response. “Mycenae, Athens, and Ithaca have already declared war on Ilion. We are sending out ships in the next few weeks. All the greatest warriors of Hellas are going.” At that, he smiled. “Join us, my brother. The fight might take your mind off Helene’s death. We can conquer and plunder the only land to be unbeatable.” “No. I’ve had enough. I want to mourn in peace.” Clytemnestra entered the room midway through their conversation, silently and without a pause. She seated herself beside her husband and waited until there was silence before she spoke up. She told them she had some good and bad news. She couldn’t look at Menelaus and only looked out the window. It was the city she had grown up in. She had run through those halls and watched the sunset a thousand times. Like her sister Helene, Clytemnestra had been taken from that shore many years before. They both were stolen from their homeland. “Helene is alive. Where she is, I don’t know. But the doulos say she had an affair with Prince Alexandros for several years. They say she was pregnant with his child so she made a run for it and will join him in Ilion.” Though it was true, I couldn’t believe Helene’s sister could betray her this easily, after everything. As I backed away from them, Menelaus started to cry while Agamemnon withdrew his sword and started screaming. As I left the room, I saw the young prince sitting outside the door with his hands covering his face.

After he was questioned, they decided to detain him in his room. While the kings debated about what to do with him, the prince escaped. Meeting her at the shore, the pair made a run for it. Upon discovering that he had escaped, Menelaus declared war on Ilion and prepared to leave. Wishing to stop the war in its tracks, I decided to make a quick choice. Entering Mycenae, I entered the temple, where I whispered to the hierei that the voyage to Ilion could not be completed. After all, King Agamemnon has angered the goddess of the hunt by killing her sacred deer. There was only one way to appease her: by sacrificing the person he loved most. So the hierei repeated the message, which only angered Agamemnon. He had to choice between his bloodlust or his loved one. I didn’t believe he would ever have it in him, but as usual, I was wrong. After thousands of years, I believed humanity had grown. I should’ve known better. Tearfully, Agamemnon carried his ten year-old daughter to the temple of Artemis, unbeknownst to his wife. He placed her on the altar, her prettiest tunic wrapped around her and her black hair twisted into the pearls that adorned it. He knelt before the altar and cried a thousand tears. He couldn’t stop crying and his oldest daughter watched him, knowing what was going to happen. She then bravely told him to get it over with. Looking at her, he touched her head. “My brave Iphigenia. I love you, my child. This is not my choice. I’d kill anyone over you any day.” As he spoke, I quickly prayed to Gabriel to allow me to stop this. I thought he wouldn’t go through with it to save her. Why did I have to do this? This child didn’t deserve this fate; no child did. But Gabriel never came. Iphigenia’s blood soaked the altar and she was sent to the gods of Hellas. The Hellas left that afternoon and Clytemnestra didn’t learn of her oldest child’s death until that night. And without a thought, she vowed revenge on her husband if it was the last thing she did. She took a lover the moment he left the shores, and she waited his return. For ten years, the war went on. The heroes of Hellas fell long before the end, including Menelaus during the tenth and final year. Sparta then withdrew and returned home. Yet, Odysseus of Ithaca planned an invasion. Ilion fell, for the third time, but only rise again a century later by the survivors. Helene, then renamed Helen, watched as her second husband was slaughtered, so she took her children and fled with Aeneas and his family. Agamemnon returned home, only to be killed by his wife; his daughter, Electra, led a rebellion along with her brothers and only narrowly survived. King Odysseus was led astray and never made it to Ithaca in time to see his kingdom

divided up. In the end, no one really won the war. It was the end of the age of heroes. It was the end of Hellas to the people who lived it.