Exclusive short story; The final sacrifice

There was speculation that they might become engaged, or even marry, later in the year ...

She is royal. Her father Agamemnon is jealous of whom she marries. He has promised her to Achilles, but his daytime heart and his nighttime thoughts are not the same. He hears voices. His daughter is marked. She has not been birthed for ordinary happiness. He cannot save her; the gods have made her theirs.

Agamemnon has brought Iphigenie to Aulis to marry her to Achilles. She believes that. She trusts her father completely. It is Achilles who makes her wary; Achilles, the ladies' man. Achilles, with a girl in every port, and his best friend Patroclus everywhere else. Iphigenie isn't sure about a friend who takes longer to dress than she does.

She holds her head up as she stands before Achilles. At least she can trust her father.

Down the beach they are preparing the altar.

Iphigenie has escaped her waiting woman to be alone with Achilles. Achilles has slipped loose from the young men who are his playmates and casual army. They are alone on the beach, and although everyone is looking for them, no one knows who they are; they are special, they are celebrities, she is royal, he says he is descended from a god. No one sees past these things, and even the two of them are in love with their reflections. They are constantly reflected in someone else's eyes, and if they complain, well, it will always be easier than seeing themselves or each other, as they are.

Achilles is often naked, but his body is the property of myth. Iphigenie undresses, but her body belongs to the State.

The couple had taken the decision to end their cruise early, because of the intrusions of the press.

Why marry? What is the human need that asks for intimacy to be complete? When I enter your body, what secret palace do I hope to find? What rooms do I long to inhabit, not visible on the surface? Why must I possess you, hold the key to you, when love at its best is free?

I am self-contained. I am proud. I seek neither company nor advice. But you occupy my thoughts. I wonder, then, do I occupy yours? I wonder then, if our individual freedom lost can only be regained by occupying each other? I want you to be mine. What do I mean by that? I want you to be my homeland. I want to be your soil. I want you to jump from your ship and run through the breakers and fall and kiss me, the way you do when you see Greece again. I never want to stop you sailing; but I want to be the land you love.

It is so simple. It is complex. You are not the kind to be held, and nor am I. I do not want to make you obliged to me, nor do I wish that I should become your duty. I want you to find pleasure here - pleasure of scent, and sight and sound. I want you to find the calm of a favourite walk. I want you to be excited when you see my coastline again, and know how to navigate the inlets and natural harbours private to us.

Think of me when you are away - not every day, but with the longing of a dream.