Quoted By:
but first, a brief interlude in the “present day” before Seven Against Thebes resumes properly
<span class="mu-s">In the Palace of Peleus Aeacides, King of Phthia</span>
You are Lady Deianira Hippomedion, and in the months since your dear brother Nikandros departed from Thessaly, you have learned many valuable things about yourself.
You have learned that you are a survivor – having crossed paths with nymphs, centaurs, satyrs and deities, you know better your strengths… and your mortal frailties. Your right forearm, now marked with the blackened, icy fingerprints of an unknown divinity is proof of the former, and your hobbled right ankle, is proof of the latter.
You have learned that you are a conniver, a traitor to your countrymen, and a murderer – and your peaceful sleep is untroubled by these revelations.
You have learned that you are a true witch – your mind and beguiling tongue more dangerous than any spear, your clever fingers able to heal or poison as you see fit.
You have learned that vengeance is your most fervent desire, narrowly eclipsing your love for your brother and the people of your oikos. A red-hot oath of revenge burns unfulfilled in your gut, twisting this way and that… The clammy hands of a nymph reach out of your memory to strangle you at odd moments and without warning, leaving you gasping for breath. You know that only her destruction will free you from these episodes and every day, you ache for that future moment.
<span class="mu-i">Patience, ‘Nira,</span> your brother’s youthful baritone whispers in your mind. <span class="mu-i">You must have patience. You will find her in time.</span>
And finally, you have found yourself to be Thessalian noblewoman, adroitly identifying the needs of your οἶκος and rectifying these in the service of greater wealth, prestige, safety and security. Having previously lost your dearest attendant, Iudas, through the black treachery of the same nymph who had nearly strangled you, and with the expectation that your family’s military lieutenant, gray-maned Argyros, will soon depart to join your brother in Aulis, you have come to Phthia to secure a capable commander for your household. A third steward of yours, the half-civilized Epirot Pantaleon, has either abandoned your service entirely, or instead prowls the Thessalian countryside, daring you to seek him out – you’re not sure which.
You have traveled from your country estate in the rolling foothills of Mount Olympus, into bustling Phthia, the fortress domain of your liege-lord, King Peleus Aeacides. Now, you stand before his chief steward, King Phoinix of the Dolopians, tutor of Achilles, in the austere environs of a small antechamber off Peleus’ main hall – his μέγαρον.
