Two Love Notes from Queen Clytemnestra to Maros, Captain of the Guard

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By: Lormick Posted on: January 29, 2007

In recent months I have returned to my homeland of Erymanthus, reforging old connections, and making new ones. Though my heart draws me to the bountiful woodlands, I have of late begun to frequent the city of Arcadia as well. While there I have tried to offer my services to the good people of that city, and particularly the royal family.

One task which has been set out for me time and time again -- and over which, I must admit, I have felt some slight misgivings -- is acting as the Queen's courier, a servant to the whims of her Royal Majesty Clytemnestra. Her clandestine affair with the Captain of the Royal Guard is the worst-kept secret in all of Arcadia.

For many months I held my curiosity in check, keeping the perfumed notes sealed and delivering them in good faith to the Captain. Recently, however, I let temptation overwhelm me. I present here, then, two of these notes -- a glimpse into the creative mind of the good Queen. It is well known that her son, Prince Dardaenus, is a skilled musician, but until I read these notes I did not realize the Queen herself was an aspiring artist.

This is the first of the notes, given to me by the Queen when she seemed consumed by a passionate spirit.


============ Sonnet XVIII ============

My dear, whose chiseled features make me weak
And o'er-run good judgment I have still--
Whose dimples flash and like an arrow, seek
My heart to pierce with love that knows no fill.

Thy silver wings invade my dreams in sleep,
Their mem'ry drawing me toward new-found bliss:
As tender, strong, you pull me in so deep,
And as we dance on clouds, you take your kiss.

O husband! Fool! Who'd rather books than flesh,
I'll sate my thirst at younger springs than he;
O Maros! Sweet! With tenderness still fresh,
With joy I'll spread my bounty out for thee.

Meet me, my love, at lady moon's first shine,
At primrose dell be thou my joy, I thine.


One month later the Queen's amorous spirit seemed to have cooled somewhat, and the note I was given was in a rather more terse form, almost utilitarian in nature.


your lips like saffron
make the senses come alive
as spring fills the air


a harp sings the wind
my bed sings of loneliness
the tears are for love


i dream of onyx
birds tear at the children's flesh
where is our captain?


twice widowed the queen
once to books, once to battle
a heart left for dead.


What her further missives may have been, I cannot say. I have spent a great deal of time with King Iasius since I delivered my last letter, and I have forged a comfortable sort of friendship with him -- although I fear senility may be at long last taking its hold. I can no more help cuckold my dear friend than I could deliver the dagger that would pierce his breast; and though he feigned disinterest when I told him of the affair, I could see it eating at his heart.

Let the Queen do what she must -- I am in no position to judge her, with the mantle of a ruler thrust upon her at too tender an age, and her bed left to cool by a man who would rather be scholar than husband. Yes, let her do what she must, and I shall do what I must. She shall need a new delivery boy, and they, not I, can share her latest love notes.