I often imagine if people were to ask me what I was feeling the day Zeus came to me, I doubt they would anticipate my reply. I prayed, not to Zeus, not to Hades, not to Apollo, nor Poseidon or any other god. No, I prayed to Hera.

Hera, protector of women, Queen of Olympus. I pleaded for her to let it end, to give me death, a mercy like she had granted so many other women, all victims of Zeus and his never-ending desire. Dear Hera, oh she saw my suffering and offered me something sweeter than the release of death – the gift of vengeance.

They say I laid two eggs, one for my mortal children and one for the godly offspring of Zeus.

Of course, I did no such thing.

Zeus did not seduce me, nor did he come to me as a swan. Those were rumors spread by the god himself, meant to humiliate and degrade me: a mere mortal woman. No, he came to me as himself, his soul bared to me with its intoxicating nature.

–

It was my wedding day.

I was in the gardens of Sparta, barely a girl myself. It was a dreary day, drizzling with sounds of thunder being heard from far off. This garden had been my sanctuary in Sparta, a place where I could peacefully leave the guards and my dear betrothed, if only for a moment so I could regather my thoughts. It was the fresh air that helped, the beautiful scenery which pacified me.

The Spartans were wary of me, of my foreign nature as wild and unkempt as Artemis herself. A threat, if not handled properly.

 But I was just myself. A young girl, setting off into the world.

Spending the last few hours of freedom I knew, I ran in the garden, losing my watchful servants, breathing in the fragrant flowers and feeling the grass upon my bare feet. It was the last time I would be allowed this before my work as wife and queen began. Yet I was excited; how could I not be?

My sweet betrothed, Tyndareus, had been more handsome than any man I had ever seen, and so kind and gentle, especially for a King. He welcomed me graciously into his home and had been an ever-present force in the palace, entertaining me and keeping the thoughts of homesickness at bay. I was ready to marry him, he was only a few years older than I. I felt lucky to start my own life, although I missed my family.

So, I would enjoy my last few hours of girlhood, that teetering moment between being a child and becoming a woman. A wife. It was unlike any feeling I had ever had. I twirled and laughed and fell to my knees, smiling with all my might.

The air smelled of ash and salt, like a near-dead fire. It was cold, much too cold, and it seemed as though the breath had been taken from my lungs.

Fear snaked up my arms as an unknown force stood at my back, too close. The man was tall and large, his unfamiliar body standing over me leaving a massive shadow in his wake. I felt a chill fall over me as my senses heightened, alerting myself of the danger. I quickly stood, foolishly leaving my back to the stranger. He chuckled, a lover’s laugh. I grew small, hoping to divert the man’s attention. His strong hand reached up and grasped one of my curls. Authority laced his movements as he twirled it lightly and leaned his head in. I felt the danger. His voice was low and grating, dragging through my skin like Hephaestus carving his great weapons.

“And pray tell me, what is your name, my little swan?”

I was frozen. His presence was all demanding, pulling me in closer even as my instincts yelled at me to run. He smelled of ash, choking me. I felt I could not move as I felt him pull the roots of my hair back taut, so I was flush against him. His grip tightened like a noose as I felt hair rip from my scalp. His robes were so grand: soft, and firm, in such contrast to the harshness of his sharp, muscled body beneath. All I remember was that he was warm, red hot like a flame, and I was so, so cold, trembling even.

He sighed as he slowly released me and turned me around so that I was facing him completely. Firm, calloused hands wove up me like a snake circling its prey, coldly constricting my movements as he tightly bound my wrists together. He was deathly handsome, and mature with his thick, graying curly beard and sharp, gray eyes. They pierced me like an arrow, sticking me to the spot. He grinned as he dragged his finger down the side of my neck. This was a man used to getting what he wanted.

I thought of Tyndareus and hoped he would notice any moment now I had not yet returned. My love would be looking for me, and he would save me.

“Oh, my little swan, do not fear me. Now, do not make me ask again.”

“Leda” was all I could manage, barely above a whisper. He laughed, cavalier yet carnal.

“Ah, my little Leda. Beautiful, swan-like Leda,” he articulated each vowel, almost lyrically. “You are a lucky one for you have caught my attention all the way from Mount Olympus.”

His eyes flashed as recognition settled over me. I did not want to anger the god, but I knew what lay ahead of me if I stayed, and I would not go willingly.

And so, I ran. I ran as fast as my legs would let me.

It was useless, I realized later. Yet, I flew through the trees, back to the palace, my heart thrashing as I raced toward safety. I landed back at the gates and screamed as I collapsed, willing someone, anyone to come help me. Tyndareus came as soon as he got word from the guards, holding me as I sobbed. He soothed me and whispered soft words as I regained my voice.

“A god,” I gasped through sobs. “A god came to me.”

Tyndareus’ grip hardened, his eyes narrowing. He stayed silent.

“I don’t know who it was, but I swear it was a god. You must believe me.”

He glanced at the guards, who shook their heads at him. But Tyndareus began to soothe me once more, whispering calm sayings into me.

“Darling, it is just nerves,” he said softly, holding me tightly. “It will be alright. I will keep you safe. Do not give in to this hysteria, it is only of your mind.”

I settled into the warmth of his words, yielding to the firmness of his body.

I was married that day. The wedding clothes were intricate and lovely, hand-woven by my mother. My servants surrounded me, and I was made to look beautiful: a dashing bride. A smile was plastered to my face, for Tyndareus’ sake. Yet I was falling apart inside.

He would be back. As sure as Hestia’s hearth ever burning, I knew that god would come for me.

–

All was calm for a long while, domesticity can be an alluring force. I fell into complacency alongside my dear husband, and though the god haunted my dreams at night, he no longer ruled my days. I had taken to staying indoors, avoiding the gardens since the incident. Tyndareus stayed dear to me, his loyalty and devotion outstanding. And I enjoyed my life as queen and as a wife. I wanted for nothing. Eventually, I put the god out of my mind. I must have imagined him. It really must have been the nerves from my wedding. And for a time, we were happy.

But all happiness must reach its end.

It was nighttime, Tyndareus held me in his arms as he slumbered. I could not sleep; every time I tried to close my eyes, I grew more restless. Agitation burned within me; I could not lie still. Thoughts of my wedding day pricked deep within my mind. I brushed them off as I slowly rose, careful not to wake Tyndareus, pacing our bedroom. With the moon reaching through our window, I felt a force pulling me outside, and I followed its tug, reasoning to myself I needed to get some fresh air.

I was being led to the gardens, deeper and deeper within the labyrinth of flowers.

The air smelt of ash and salt. Bitter cold settled over me as I felt him once more, chills raking up my neck. Phantom pain pricked at my scalp from where he had touched me before. Panic seized me as I tried to turn back, to my husband, to my life.

“Hello, my little swan.”

The god’s sensual voice struck me like a blow as he smiled and stalked towards me. I matched his steps, trying to keep him away until I backed into a tree. His pompous laugh bounced off the trees. A predator playing with his prey.

I was not a little girl anymore. I would not be silenced. I kept my voice steady and asked the question that had been beaten into my mind.

“Who are you?”

Lightning struck a nearby tree, cracking it down the center in a blaze of glory.

Zeus, the King of Gods.

All I could do was pray to Hera not to punish me for this as well, but to end me swiftly and mercifully.

–

I was left alone in the gardens that night. Used and left for the wolves.

I lay for hours, unmoving, tears running down my cheeks. I felt the presence of another divine being, and cried harder, wanting it all to stop. The only relief I felt was the knowledge it would not be Zeus. No, this was a different god. Would it be Hermes, guiding me to the Underworld? Maybe I could drink from the River of Styx and forget all of my pain. Perhaps Persephone would show me kindness and allow me passage to Elysium, where I could be free of this world and its suffering.

Instead, I felt a calming presence, a soft, steadying hand gently on my back. She was patient; she helped me sit up, a soothing force at my back. Tear marks still stained my face as she lifted my head, her glowing eyes meeting mine. Her eyes held more sorrow than I believed a goddess to know.

“Sweet Leda, please forgive me. I could not interfere. He forbade it. But I saw, dear child, and I am sorry. I heard your prayers.”

Hera, I realized with a start. Hera was comforting me. She had heard my prayers and felt my pain, and now she was here to get her vengeance.

I thought of Semele, mother of Dionysus, who had faced Hera’s wrath and was tricked into seeing Zeus in his godly form, leaving her a smoldering pile of ash. I thought of Lamia, and her children killed by Hera in cold blood. Lamia went mad with grief, the loss of her children being too much to bear. I shrunk from Hera’s touch.

“I did not mean to–– it was not my intention. Please forgive me, dear goddess.”

Sobs wracked my body once more as I fell to my knees and begged for my life.

The goddess did not falter but simply took me from my knees and kissed me on the forehead. My eyes remained lowered as I shook with fear.

“I do not come for vengeance, Leda. Dry your tears and sit with me now. I bring you no harm. I am sorry for my husband's actions; it is no one’s fault but his own. I am sorry for all the pain you have suffered at his hands. It is over now. He is the god of all gods, but that does not make him just or right.”

Her gaze softened as she continued, “I wish I could say that he once was just, that he had pure intentions when he killed Cronos and took over as King of Gods. But it was merely a lust for power. I was young for a goddess, and naive; he took an interest in me, and I loved him, I really did. He said he would change, and for a while, he did. But he is no longer the man I married. So no, I will not cause you harm, or answer your prayers of death. Instead, I offer you something better. Justice.”

I glanced up toward the goddess. Her face was honest, yet I felt some doubt. How could a mortal, a woman at that, get her justice against an all-powerful god? Hera seemed to sense my question.

“Your children, your daughters,” she said “will bring justice to your household. I swear it, Leda. Now, you must turn your despair into rage, and rage into a weapon. Go back to your husband and bide your time. Raise your children, two will be borne from hate and two borne from love. Harness them into weapons of their own and love them fiercely. I will protect them for as long as I can. Now go back to the palace, Leda; the other goddesses and I will look after you from this day forward.”

Hera vanished, back into the realm of the gods. I let what she said sink deep inside of me. I felt stronger, more powerful. And I vowed that my daughters and their daughters thereafter would also have what I was given, the sweetest gift of them all.

–

A few days later, I told Tyndareus of what happened in the gardens. He had noticed a shift in me, a new shyness and reservedness. He begged me to tell him, but I needed a few days to gather my thoughts. I was worried. Would he blame me? Would he cast me out, make me an exiled and destitute woman?

Still, I could not imagine my husband responding like that. And so, I told him.

He, like all of us, had heard the stories of Zeus and his conquests. I was no longer a child in his eyes, but his wife, and he would not negate what I said now. I told him of Hera’s prophecy, that I would have both his and Zeus’ children and Hera would protect us now. He listened solemnly and took me into his arms. He stayed silent.

Suddenly, he let me go and began to gather his armor and weaponry, calling to his men. His moves were quick with purpose.

“Tyndareus, what are you doing?” I was tired, my voice thin. I felt weak.

“Shh, darling. Go to sleep.”

His gaze was harsh, his eyes glazed over. He seemed to be in a trance.

“Tyndareus?”

“I will fight for your honor.”

I jumped up from the bed.

“What? You will die! He will strike you with lightning as soon as you step into Olympus. You can’t!”

Wrath warped his features. He continued roaming through the halls, with me running to keep up with him. He left a path of destruction in his wake, his sword dragging through centuries-old tapestries. As I chased him to the throne room, he threw a marble statue of Zeus to the ground, tiny, little bits of scattering and sliding across the floor.

“Tyndareus!” I shouted as I jumped up to avoid the sharp, jagged edges of the stone. I had never seen him like this.

“I don't care what the consequences are. I will fight for your honor. He not only harmed you but insulted Sparta. This will not stand.”

I grabbed his hand and forced him to a stop, begging.

“My love, we cannot take on Zeus. He will kill us and make us an example, bringing more pain and destruction to us and our land. Please, let us trust Hera. She promised me. She promised me.”

Tyndareus looked into my eyes and saw the truth. His weapons clattered to the floor. He remained silent as he strode into the kitchen and drank deeply from his wineskin. But he did as I asked.

–

Zeus did not return. Instead, I felt his presence in other ways.

They said I was seduced by Zeus in the form of a swan. That was the rumor at hand, and I would soon lay two large, pretty eggs. The servants ran wild with this, leaving swan feathers in my quarters, and soon even the guests at our palace were taking part in the gossip. I was humiliated as it was another blow to my broken soul. A beast, they whispered. She had betrayed our king with a wild animal. A young woman, so wrought with desire she could not control herself and slept with the first thing she saw.

I could not bring myself to care. Their words were insignificant against the pain I felt, mere raindrops compared to the storm raging within me. Hera’s promise was the raft holding me afloat. Tyndareus, however, was outraged at this talk, readying for battle against our servants and citizens, but I kept him back.

“Let them speak,” I told him one day. “They will grow tired of it soon, and besides, I hold Hera’s promise close to my heart. I do not care what they think. We only need to bide our time.”

Tyndareus drank in response.

 Each of their words honed my blade.

My stomach was growing with each day, and I was fearful. The birth of my daughters would bring me justice, yet I was scared for them.

I thought of Pasiphae and her wretched monster of a son. The minotaur, who brought shame to his mother and suffered a short miserable life. Ridicule and blame shaped Pasiphae’s life in Crete, whispers followed her wherever she went. She was said to be so wild with desire she slept with a bull. The truth? It was merely a god's whim, a joke, that destroyed the woman’s life. Her baby, her own flesh and blood, killed twelve young children each year, and then he himself was killed. Killed by Theseus with the help of the monster's own kin. No, even for my own justice, I could not let my child suffer like that. I would not be like tragic Pasiphae. If I birthed a monster, I would not let them suffer.

I began to braid my hair with swan feathers. Let them stare.

–

I often wonder why Hera would grant me mercy when she had punished so many other women for the same crime as mine: being vulnerable. Still to this day, I do not know. Perhaps she was fed up with Zeus and wanted a way to get back at him. Maybe she had an epiphany, a realization that the women were not to blame. Or maybe it had just been one of a goddess’ whims.

It was a horrifying thought that the outcome of my entire life may have been an afterthought on behalf of a bored goddess who wanted to get back at her husband.

I will never know, and maybe I do not want to.

–

My children, my dear pais, were born in the spring. A sign of rebirth, a new chance at life.

I had a bloody, painful human birth. No egg in sight. My mortal children came first, with Clytemnestra entering the world screaming, her hair a brownish red like Tyndareus. Then, sweet Castor, full of life and vitality. Next was his twin, Pollux. But there was something different about Pollux – there was no doubt he was the product of a god. He was much bigger and stronger, and he almost seemed to shine. Finally, beautiful Helen was born, smiling and brunette like me. Yet, her divinity showed through like a fire, her eyes glowed with power.

I loved all my children, I loved them dearly, more than I thought myself ever capable of loving anything. Those early days of motherhood were difficult, I will admit. At first, Tyndareus did not quite know how to act around them, though I made him swear to me he would treat all of our children equally and raise them as his own. He tried his best, and so did I. Pain laced my days; at first all I could see was a stark reminder of that day in the gardens.

But then I noticed their individuality. Helen would giggle as you lifted her to the sky, her smile the sweetest in the world. Pollux and Castor would play with each other for hours on end, their bond unbreakable. As they got older, Tyndareus taught them to fight as men, with honor and dignity. Clytemnestra never left my side, staring intently at my weaving, observing and learning any way she could. She was beautiful, always deep in thought even when she was playing. She and Helen got along so well, both growing into strong young women.

Years passed and my thoughts of Hera’s promise slowed, no longer a lifeline. I wondered if maybe the goddess had forgotten about me. Zeus most certainly had. It was better to be forgotten by the gods than to be an object of their interest. Only suffering came from their watchful eyes. And I was joyful being left alone.

I was lying with Tyndareus, who was lightly stroking my hair when I spoke, “Darling, I am wary of these men and their intentions. I only want the best for our daughters.”

Word of Helen’s exquisite beauty and questionable parentage had spread across the lands. Heroes and kings from all over requested her hand. Rumors of brothers fighting brothers for the chance to meet Helen and vie for her hand were spreading like wildfire.

It worried me deeply.

“Of course, dearest. I feel the same way.”

“How can we insure the suitor’s goodwill?” I wondered aloud. There were so many stories of awful men, and I thought of the hundreds of women just like me, whom Zeus had taken, used, and abandoned.

“We could have them marry good men from Sparta,” Tyndareus responded, his voice contemplative. “Our daughters do not have to marry princes; I do not wish to send them away either. I wish to keep them near and extend our time of happiness.”

I smiled at my husband. “I think that is a wonderful idea.”

And so, I kissed Tyndareus and nestled back up against him, content.

I believed this was my justice: the love and goodness being brought out of a violation by a god who thought of me merely as an object to use and discard. It was only right that Hera should grant me happiness in motherhood and marriage. I was incredibly thankful.

I was a fool to think the gods had forgotten us. And a bigger fool to think Zeus would let me go so easily.

–

It was a quiet day, and I was at my loom, weaving. Tyndareus was holding court and entertaining some guests from Ithaca. It was too quiet.

I breathed in deeply, the smell of ash and salt settling deep in my lungs.

Zeus stood right behind me, once more his hand grazing my curls in a demented caress. Dread sunk deep into my stomach as I turned to face my monster.

“Hello, little swan,” he spoke, a grin shaping his face. I kept my face blank.

I felt no more fear. I simply stared into his storm-gray eyes, letting the silence drag on.

“It has been a while since I last saw you, my little Leda. You seem to have grown up. Still so delicate and beautiful after all this time. Graceful, even.”

I would not dignify this god with a response.

“Hmm, quiet, are we? Your small, worthless husband finally broke your spirit after all these years? Well, no matter. It is his right. We have other matters to discuss, dear swan. Such as pretty, little Helen.”

I stood up from my loom at the mention of my daughter. Rage filled me, burning so deep I thought I would catch on fire.

“You will not touch her.”

He laughed and walked around my room, inspecting as he paced.

“It seems you have no say in that matter, my swan. But don't worry your pretty head, I do not wish to hurt our daughter. I am merely here to perform my fatherly duties, and then I will be on my way.”

“Stay away from them,” I warned, my voice sharp. I stalked closer to him until we were standing inches apart. “You touch my daughters, and I will destroy you.”

Zeus laughed, his voice burning like fire over my skin.

“Ah, Leda. Finally got some bite after all this time. It seems my little swan has grown bitter.  Listen to me closely, as I hold you and your family's fate in my hands. I will choose who Helen will marry,” he declared as he strode up to me. I refused to back away. “There are already too many conflicts, and it is already giving me a headache. All my best men will kill each other over who gets to marry pretty Helen. So, I have chosen her match. I will make a match for your other daughter as a token of my goodwill.”

I tried to speak, my anger spilling over, but he held my chin in his hands, forcing my mouth shut. Icy wrath danced in his eyes.

“You and your husband will obey this, or else I will end Clytemnestra and Castor. They are only the king’s children, after all. Regardless, Helen will marry who I choose. The rest is up to you.”

He let go of my chin, as if I were no more than a petulant child. My knees were weak, and I stumbled backward.

“I already informed Tyndareus of this, and he has agreed. Be obedient, little swan.”

With that, the king of gods vanished, once again leaving me alone.

I tore apart the room, the palace. I knew nothing but wrath, cold and relentless as I left destruction in my wake. I screamed and raged, fighting with all I had. Years of pent-up rage and grief came bursting out of me.

The anger at what Zeus had done, that when I was vulnerable, he had taken advantage of me. The knowledge that there was nothing I could do, then or now. I could not stop him from harming my daughters, my lifeline. There was absolutely nothing I could do. Even as Queen of Sparta, I held no power. Hera’s promise of justice seemed now like a taunt, a lie to keep me placated while she laughed her way through my lifetime. I screamed until my throat was raw.

 Only Tyndareus’ soft touch brought me back to reality.

 He held me firmly in his arms. His eyes were brimmed with tears, and he spoke the words I told him long ago, “We cannot fight against the gods; they will destroy us.”

I felt myself go limp, the fight burning out of me.

“I hate them,” I said, my voice gravelly and weak.

“I know, I know. I can't make this better, I’m sorry.” We held each other till the sun rose, and

then went to wake our sweet girls.

Helen would be married to Menelaus and Clytemnestra would be married to Agamemnon of Mycenae. They were brothers and heroes in their own right. They were handsome, strong, and powerful, which was what was worthy in the eyes of Zeus.

I knew those men would not be kind. Those men would not be loving. And they would never treat my daughters as partners but as objects. It was our greatest fear. The House of Atreus was not a happy one, and I grieved for what my daughters had lost.

On their wedding days, they were both dressed in the most intricate clothes, their hair skillfully bound, lips painted. They were beautiful, as they had always been. Both seemed so demure, and peaceful. Perfect, pleasant wives.

But they would not be.

I taught them how to be weapons, just as I had become.

On the morning of Helen’s wedding, I sat both sisters down, grasping their young hands in mine.

“Dearest daughters, you will be going into the lion’s den. I did not want this life for you, but by the fates will it has turned out like this. Do not be like me, learn from my mistakes. Do not go sweetly, letting powerful men rule your precious lives. Fight. Fight hard and fight dirty, like the men do. We women may fight differently, but in the end, we will conquer.”

Helen looked frightened but listened to me intently. Clytemnestra seemed as though she had always known this, her eyes full of fire.

“You must go into this wearing a disguise. Use your beauty. Be sweet and amicable, doting on your husbands. You must seem naive, let them underestimate you. It will only work to your own advantage. Learn the ways of the palace and the secrets of the land. Learn your husband’s tempers, their dreams, and most importantly their weaknesses. Strike like a viper when it is time.”

They both nodded, clasping hands with one another. They held onto one another with all their might.

“I am sorry, I cannot offer you happiness, that was my only wish for you two. I love you so deeply and am so sorry I cannot do anything more. Instead, I extend Hera’s promise of justice and a promise that your daughters will find it as well.”

Clytemnestra spoke first, putting her hand on my arm. “Mother, we do not place any blame on you. We thank you for the wonderful life we have had thus far.”

Helen’s voice was quiet and solemn. “Mother, I promise to bring you honor. I love you.”

I held my daughters in a solid embrace and prayed for their safety.

–

I sit now at my loom, an old woman weaving the tale of her life. Tyndareus waits for me in the Underworld, along with Clytemnestra. I will be with them soon. I have lived a good life, filled with joy and contentment. And yet, the question of Hera’s promise festers in the back of my mind.

My daughters followed my instructions to the letter, yet it seemed only to have wrought more pain and suffering.

Helen skillfully caught the attention of Paris of Troy. I believe she truly loved Paris and got at least a sliver of what Tyndareus and I shared. Menelaus was a jealous man, which only fueled Helen’s resolve. She left with Paris, claiming Aphrodite as their savior. My intelligent, beautiful daughter brought men and gods to their knees for her. She started the world’s greatest war, full of pain and destruction.

At first, I was glad, finally, something had gone wrong for Zeus and the men. But then, stories of women began to come forward. Women taken as the spoils of war, forced into slavery. The horror of it all left me empty. No, that was not justice.

With both Menelaus and Agamemnon gone to war, Clytemnestra ruled over Mycenae. Before setting off for Troy, Agamemnon promised her dear daughter, Iphigenia, as the bride of Achilles. Clytemnestra was ecstatic, and prepared dear Iphigenia for travel, packing her own bridal clothes as a token of good luck.

Agamemnon killed my granddaughter for good wind. For the safety of the warships, he slit his own daughter's throat to appease Artemis and begin a war of bloodshed.

Clytemnestra was wracked with grief. Her rage only grew as time passed. She loved Iphigenia as deeply as I loved her. Her grief fueled her resolve; she would get her own justice for her daughter. She took Agamemnon's role as king. She was a strong and just ruler, although the people did not respect her simply for the fact that she was a woman. She took a lover, the cousin of cruel Agamemnon, and they lived in waiting until the end of the ten-year war, all while her rage festered and infected.

Only more destruction came with the end of the war.

Paris was killed, and Helen was devastated, the love of her life gone in an instant. Soon after, the Greeks won, and Helen was brought back, once again the wife of Menelaus. Clever Helen convinced him she was under Aphrodite’s spell, but I knew better. My Helen was a survivor at her core.

Clytemnestra killed Agamemnon upon his return. She got her revenge. Then she and her lover were killed by her own child. It was said the House of Atreus was cursed to this cycle of violence, but I knew the truth. My child’s death was my own doing, the consequence of Hera’s promise to me.

In the end, Hera’s gift was revenge, not justice.

There was no way to gain justice for what had been done to me. The violence I had suffered was not made right with the violence I brought into this world. My deepest regret is the suffering my daughters endured at the hands of men, just as I had. If I could take it back, I would.

And so, I weave.