AGAMEMNON KILLED AREMIS’ STAG; SHE MADE HIM KILL HIS DAUGHTER BEFORE SHE LET HIS ARMADA SAIL FOR TROY.
AGAMEMNON KILLED AREMIS’ STAG; SHE MADE HIM KILL HIS DAUGHTER BEFORE SHE LET HIS ARMADA SAIL FOR TROY.
He rallied Mainland Greeks: Uphold your vows. Restore Helen to her husband, my brother Menelaus. Troy’s Prince Paris took her & Sparta’s gold; get them back.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lPZKe3u66zs
AGAMEMNON RALLIED THE MAINLAND GREEKS, ‘Uphold your vows. Restore Helen to her husband, my brother Menelaus. Troy’s Prince Paris took her and Sparta’s gold; get them back. But he’d killed Aremis’ stag; she made him kill his daughter Iphigenia or else fail to sail his armada sail for Troy in Asia Minor.
By Sasha Alex Lessin, Ph.D. (Anthropology, UCLA)
Backstory: ATREUS and THYESTES were brothers locked in a bitter feud, vying for the throne of Mycenae. THYESTES had an affair with Atreus’s wife, AEROPE. Enraged, Atreus killed, cooked, and served Thyestes’s sons in a stew. He had the stew served to Thyestes, who, unaware that the butchered kids in it were his kids, not sheep’s. Then he had his servants bring in the heads of boys whose flesh he’d eaten in the stew. An oracle told Thyestes, ‘Impregnate your daughter Pelopia.’ Thyestes and Pelopia begat a son, AEGISTHUS.
“Atreus: The Bitter Monarch” Atreus wears the crown of Mycenae, but his eyes betray no triumph. They burn cold with wrath and calculation. His face is worn by betrayal and vengeance, a ruler who believes in justice served cold. The torchlight doesn’t soften him — it casts deeper shadows across the lines of his grim expression.
SPARTA DEFEATED THYESTES & RESTORED & MADE AGAMEMNON MYCENAE’S KING
When Aegisthus had grown, he killed Atrius and, with Thyestes, ruled Mycenae. Atreus’ sons, Agamemnon and Menelaus, escaped Mycenae and fled to Sparta, where King Tyndareus allied with them and helped them overthrow Thyestes. Agamemnon jailed Thyestes and told Aegisthus to kill him.
No way, said Aegisthus. Thyestes is my father. Agamemnon exiled Aegisthus.
MENELAUS MARRIED HELEN; GREECE’S KINGS VOWED TO PROTECT THEIR UNION
“The Oath of the Kings” To the side of the ceremony, the great kings of Greece gather in solemn formation — Odysseus, Ajax, Diomedes, Nestor, and others. With drawn swords, raised hands, or bowed heads, they swear a sacred oath to defend Helen’s marriage. This vow, born of unity and pride, will echo through the coming age as the spark that ignites the Trojan War.
Helen was the daughter of the Anunnaki Lord Marduk (in his Greek avatar, Zeus)** and Zeus’s Earthling wife, Leda. Spartan King TYNDAREUS, Helen’s stepfather, raised Helen.
Helen fell in love with and married Menelaus. At their wedding, the GREEK NOBLES VOWED TO UPHOLD THEIR MARRIAGE, a vow that later compels them to go to war. Menelaus.
AGAMEMNON BOUND SPARTA TO HIM WHEN HE MARRIED SPARTAN KING TYNDAEUS’S DAUGHTER CYLTEMNESTRA
Agamemnon and Clytemnestra had one son, Orestes, and three daughters, Iphigenia, Electra, and Chrysothemis. Agamemnon, now the most powerful King in Greece, enjoyed his kids. “Children of the House of Atreus” In a quiet garden lit by golden light, the children of Agamemnon and Clytemnestra stand together. Orestes holds a wooden sword, his gaze serious beyond his years. Iphigenia wears a crown of flowers, her expression gentle. Electra watches with a fierce intelligence, while Chrysothemis clutches a doll and smiles — a vision of youth and promise. Together they form a fragile constellation, soon to be scattered by destiny.
Agamemnon hunted. He killed a stag in a forest in which the goddess [Anunnaki] ARTEMIS roamed. When she confronted him for killing the stag, saying it was sacred to her, he replied, Get over it; I’m just a better hunter than you.
In the meantime, Menelaus sailed to Troy, where Prince Paris hosted him. Menelaus invited Paris to visit him in Sparta in return. When Paris visited Sparta, Menelaus had to go to Crete for a funeral, leaving Queen Helen to care for Paris. Did she ever! Paris and Helen connected, and he returned to Troy with her & Sparta’s treasures.
“The Departure from Sparta” Menelaus greets Paris of Troy with royal courtesy, standing in a golden-lit hall flanked by guards and statues. In the center, Menelaus departs for Crete, leaving behind Helen, who stands beside Paris beneath a rising moon. On the right, in the shadows of a colonnade, Helen and Paris share a moment of intense connection. Beyond them, a Trojan ship waits in silence — loaded not only with treasure, but with the promise of war.
Enraged, Menelaus and Agamemnon reminded the Mycenaeans of their vow to support Helen’s marriage to Menelaus. Thousands of warriors from Greece gathered at the port of Aulis in Boeotia. They prepared ships, arms, and provisions for the massive army and were ready to sail.
But no wind blew for weeks.
“The Demand of Artemis” On a still and windless shore, the Greek army waits, paralyzed. The seer Calchas lifts his hands to the heavens, proclaiming the will of Artemis, who appears in radiant form above the sea. Agamemnon stands in grief, his soldiers hushed in fear. Beside him, Iphigenia kneels calmly, bathed in sacred light, unaware she is the key to the fleet’s fate.
The Seer Calchas revealed that Artemis was angry and stopped the wind from moving Agamemnon’s fleet because Agamemnon killed her stag and said he was a better hunter than she. The only way she would give the Greeks the wind they needed to sail was if they sacrificed Agamemnon’s daughter, Iphagenia, to her.
“Calchas: Mouth of the Gods” Calchas, the aged seer, commands the scene with eyes lit by divine vision. His staff and laurel crown mark his sacred role, but the burden of truth weighs on his face. “Iphigenia: The Chosen Offering” Soft golden light falls on Iphigenia’s youthful face. Her eyes hold innocence, not fear — the expression of someone raised with honor and trust. Her white robe glows with purity, a painful contrast to the fate awaiting her. In the background, the Greek ships lie silent, still tethered to divine justice.
ODYSSEUS ADVISED AGAMEMNON TO SACRIFICE IPHIGENIA FOR GREECE TO TAKE TROY
Just before dawn, in a tent near the altar where a priest would sacrifice Iphigenia, Agamemnon shared his distress with Odysseus, explaining how he had to deceive Clytemnestra, his wife, and Iphigenia’s mother.
“The Counsel Before Dawn” In the gray stillness before sunrise, Agamemnon and Odysseus confer in secret within a Spartan war tent at Aulis. Agamemnon slumps in sorrow, clutching a scroll — the summons that lured his daughter to the altar. His crimson cloak drapes heavily, a symbol of royal burden and blood yet unspilled. Opposite him, Odysseus listens with firm resolve, offering strategy wrapped in reason. Outside, the Greek fleet remains anchored, unmoved by wind or will. On the horizon, Artemis’s glow lingers like a divine sentence — silent and unwavering. Within this moment, a father is undone, a hero hardened, and the fate of nations quietly sealed.
Odysseus: Did you tell your wife?
Barely audibly, Agamemnon said, Yes.
“The Lie Written in His Hand” Agamemnon stands at the edge of his war tent in the soft hush of dawn, his face marked by quiet grief. He holds a scroll bearing the false promise of marriage — a letter to Clytemnestra, telling her that Achilles awaits their daughter as a bride. Odysseus listens nearby, his gaze fixed on the horizon where Clytemnestra’s chariot approaches, unaware of the truth. On a nearby table, ceremonial garlands and a silver bowl glisten — symbols of a wedding that will never be. The colors of the morning sky belie the weight of the unspoken betrayal.
Odysseus: Did you tell her of the wedding?
A union most false, forged in fear, Agamemnon whispered. I told her Achilles waits with garlands and vows for Iphigenia, his bride. I said that that joy, not death, calls our daughter to Aulis. I wrote the lie with my hand.
“Agamemnon’s Hand, The Letter of Lies” Agamemnon sits in quiet torment, his hand still resting on the scroll that summoned his daughter to a wedding that will never be. The golden dawn filters into the tent, illuminating a garland and silver bowl beside him — innocent symbols of joy twisted by necessity. His face bears the weight of command, deception, and fatherhood, all at once.
And now? Asked Odysseus.
Now, said the King, I wait like a coward behind a king’s title. I have sent for my wife to bring her child to her death.
“Clytemnestra and Iphigenia: The Arrival” A royal chariot arrives bathed in morning light. Clytemnestra smiles, unaware, regal in her golden diadem. At her side, Iphigenia glows with youthful joy, crowned with a floral garland and dressed for what she believes is her wedding day. Their eyes reflect trust, love, and anticipation — a mother and daughter stepping into a carefully staged illusion.
You had no choice, Odysseus said. Without Artemis’s wind, we rot here. The armies grumble—morale frays like a rope in the salt air. You are the fulcrum, Agamemnon. The war tilts on you.
“The Weight of Windless Days” At the edge of the unmoving sea, Agamemnon and Odysseus stand in stark contrast — one torn by grief, the other firm with reason. Agamemnon gestures toward the horizon where silent ships lie idle, his voice cracked with despair. Odysseus, wrapped in shadow and strategy, speaks plainly: without Artemis’s favor, all is lost. Above them, faint and glowing, the goddess and her sacred stag shimmer — not in fury, but in silent, celestial control. Soldiers loiter in the background, the tension among them mirroring the frayed resolve of their king. This is the turning point where prophecy and pride converge.
Agamemnon, his voice shaking, said, Do you think I don’t hear it?The hiss beneath the silence? The gods’ mocking laughter? Artemis manipulated, baited, and provoked me. I boasted of a hunt, and now the price is my bloodline. My daughter’s blood for wind!
Odysseus responded with cold truth: ‘It’s not your bloodline, my friend; it’s your pride.’
Agamemnon fell to his knees. What father offers his child and lives to rule again?
“Agamemnon at the Shore of Aulis” At sunrise, Agamemnon kneels at the edge of the sea, cloaked in crimson and shadow, the weight of his command pressing him to the earth. Behind him, the royal chariot of Clytemnestra approaches the shore, her figure distant but radiant with dignity. “The Smile Before the Silence” At the water’s edge, as the sun rises behind the anchored fleet, Iphigenia greets her father with open-hearted joy. Draped in soft gold, she beams up at Agamemnon, her trust radiant. He stands in full armor, face shadowed, hands clenched in silence. Clytemnestra stands nearby, her smile beginning to fade as the stillness stretches. Around them, soldiers hold still — a moment suspended between illusion and impending revelation.“Iphigenia: The Smile Before Fate” Iphigenia beams with the innocent joy of a daughter summoned to what she believes is a royal wedding. Her floral crown rests gently in her hair, and her wide eyes sparkle with trust and excitement. Bathed in warm morning light, she radiates purity — a figure of tragic beauty, unaware that the road before her leads not to marriage, but to myth.
Odysseus tells Agamemnon, Steel your heart. You’re not only a father today. When we sail, you’ll be the axis of a thousand men’s fate.
“The Shore of Command” As golden morning light glimmers across the Aegean, Odysseus places a steadying hand on Agamemnon’s shoulder. They stand at the water’s edge, facing the anchored fleet — a thousand lives waiting for wind and war. Agamemnon’s gaze is heavy with memory, but his stance begins to stiffen with resolve. This is no longer just a father in mourning — this is the axis of an army.
And who, Odysseus, will carry the weight of her screams? The King choked, Not the winds.Not the goddess. Only me. Forever.
“Only Me. Forever.” Agamemnon stands by the sea, bowed beneath the weight of his choice. His face, caught in the dim glow of a rising sun, is contorted with grief and guilt. Odysseus rests a hand on his arm — not in comfort, but in acknowledgement of a burden that cannot be shared. The ships beyond are ready. The gods are silent. The wind will come. But the sound Agamemnon will carry is not of sails or storms, but of a daughter’s voice that no one else will hear. Forever.
THE SACRIFICE OF IPHIGENIA
“Aulis at Dawn: Stillness Before the Offering” The Greek fleet lies unmoving across the horizon, sails hanging like folded wings, a thousand ships stilled by divine silence. Onshore, warriors gather in anxious clusters, their armor catching the light of the rising sun. At the center, the marble altar stands untouched beneath ancient olive trees — sacred, expectant. The entire encampment breathes not with life, but with hesitation. Dawn bathes it in gold, but the air holds a terrible hush. War waits, and the gods are listening.
At dawn in Aulis, the windless port where the Greek fleet lay trapped, waiting for the skies and sea to grant passage to Troy. The ships, hundreds of them, sat idle like great wooden beasts, their sails slack and useless. Around them, the camp of warriors buzzed with unease—restless men caged by divine silence.
“The Dawn of Stillness” At the silent shore of Aulis, Iphigenia walks slowly toward the altar beneath a cold, orange sky. The sea lies unmoved, the ships watching like giants held in pause. Around her, incense rises and olive trees stand as silent witnesses. Above, Artemis glows faintly — not in fury, but in divine presence, distant and inevitable. No birds call. No wind stirs. Only fate breathes.
At the altar set upon a crude stone platform near the shore, the air hung unnaturally still. The sea barely lapped against the hulls, and birds did not call. The scent of salt mingled with incense and the iron tang of blood from past rites. The sky glowed with the first orange fingers of sunrise—it was day, but the light felt harsh, unsympathetic.
“Artemis Above the Silence” Suspended in the glowing sky of Aulis, Artemis watches in divine stillness.
Iphigenia, perhaps twelve or thirteen years old, stood at the center of it all. She was on the edge of womanhood and wore white ceremonial robes that fluttered faintly in the morning breeze. Her mother, Clytemnestra, thought she was preparing her to marry Achilles. Clytemestra had braided Iphigenia’s hair with ribbons and fitted a crown of flowers on her head—an innocent dressed for a wedding, not a sacrifice.
“Innocence at the Altar’s Edge” In the golden light of dawn, Iphigenia stands in white robes that drift gently in the breeze, her crown of flowers and ribboned braids speaking of celebration, not sorrow. Beside her, Clytemnestra beams with motherly joy, unaware of the looming truth. Around them, the sea is still, and figures in the distance wait in silence. The beauty of the moment deepens its tragedy — a child dressed for a wedding, not a sacrifice.
Her eyes, wide and questioning, searched the faces around her. She had just learned the truth—this was no offering for good fortune in war, no marriage to the great hero Achilles. Her lips parted as if to speak, but no words came. Her breath shook. A child’s heart pounded in her chest.
“The Moment She Knew” Iphigenia’s eyes widen in alarm, no longer filled with innocence but with the first tremors of truth. The garland in her hair and her soft white robe contrast sharply with the fear rising in her expression. Her parted lips hold no words, only questions. The stillness of the sea behind her mirrors the silence in her chest — where a child’s heart begins to break before it can fully understand why.
Clytemnestra, her mother, was held back by two attendants, her hair disheveled, her dress torn from where she had clawed at it in horror. Her screams pierced the sky—raw, maternal, defiant. She cursed the priests, the gods, and above all, Agamemnon, her husband.
“Queen in the Stormlight” Clytemnestra stands alone at the edge of the sea, her profile lit by the harsh glow of a storm-streaked dawn. Her robe, torn at the shoulder, and her wind-tossed hair speak of a woman undone by grief.
Agamemnon, King of men, stood still, his face like carved stone. His mouth trembled, but he spoke no word. The man who had once boasted, “I am the better hunter than Artemis,” now stood broken beneath the weight of that pride. For it was his arrogance that had brought this curse—the goddess, angered by his hubris, had stilled the winds. And only the blood of his daughter would loosen them again.
The High Priest raised the knife. The chanting of the chorus began—low, mournful, like a dirge swelling over the camp. A thousand warriors averted their gaze. Odysseus stood stoic; Menelaus, grim.
The altar stands empty. The sacrifice is done. Soldiers bow in silence. The wind begins to stir. Agamemnon, turned away, bears the cost of command. Far behind him, Clytemnestra collapses in devastation — a mother undone. The gods are quiet now. But the war has its wind. As the blade rose, so did the goddess. Artemis appeared in the heavens, radiant and sovereign, her hand lifted to stop the rite. Beside her stood a glowing stag — her sacred substitute. Iphigenia glowed in the light of divine mercy. Warriors gazed upward. Agamemnon fell to his knees. And at last, the sea began to move.“The Wind Returns” The altar stands empty now, untouched by sorrow. The white stag remains, calm beneath the clearing sky. Artemis fades into light above, her will fulfilled. From the still bay, a breeze stirs. The sails of a thousand ships begin to rise.
*In this post, I illustrate the story of the Trojan War with videos from See U in History.
*I illustrate the story of the Trojan War with videos from See U in History.
**ETHNOLOGY: OLD ANTHROPOLOGISTS’ SPECULATION
Other Ancient Alien theorists and I understand the so-called “myths” to be our ancestors’ reports of their observations. We no longer agree with ethnocentric academics’ relegation of what our ancestors saw and heard from their ancestors to myths or fictional accounts. Revisionist anthropologists like me regard “gods” and their miracles as actual accounts of the Anunnaki. The Anunnaki were people—not gods — with advanced technology and psychic abilities.
“The Arrival” Beneath a vast ancient sky, early humans stand in awe as radiant craft descend — not gods, but visitors: the Anunnaki. Clad in gold and light, they emerge from ships alive with energy and geometry. This is the moment memory becomes myth, and myth begins to harden into belief.
Academics often dismiss miracles, devices, and psychokinetic activities that our ancestors witnessed and heard of as myths. They say “myths” to keep their jobs and get posted on Wikipedia. What they call myths are observational accounts and subsequent generations’ elaborations of these accounts as people pass them down. Consider stories of gods, religious figures, and computational and transportation devices that reference what our ancestors saw, heard, felt, and discussed in concepts available in the languages they spoke and wrote. Our forebearers tell of a whale swallowing Jonah. They designate a vimana, or flying saucer, as a dragon or magic carpet. They describe an Anunnaki sonar attack that crumbles Jericho’s walls as a miracle. They say that an enlightened Jewish rabbi is the God of gods.
“The Miracle Device” In a city of stone and scripture, a tremor begins. A glowing device hums with power — misunderstood, it is worshipped as divine. Walls shudder and fall as ancient witnesses call it a miracle. Above, a flying craft burns in the sky like a dragon of old. In this world, technology is shrouded in myth, and memory is revered.
KEYWORDS/TAGS
Anunnaki, Ancient Aliens, Iphigenia, Agamemnon, Artemis, Clytemnestra, Greek Mythology Reinterpreted, Ancient Technology, Ethnographic Revisionism, Myth as Memory, Ancient Astronaut Theory, Aulis, Sacrifice and Wind, Divine Intervention, Gods as Visitors, Advanced Prehistoric Civilizations, Sacred Technology, Artemis and the Stag, Trojan War Origins, Symbolic Mythology, Historical Contact Narratives, Forgotten Knowledge, Technological Miracles, Mythological Disclosure, Ancient Contact Events, Interstellar Anthropology
For the list of Anunnaki and their various overlapping names and histories, see ANUNNAKI WHO’SWHO at http://wp.me/p1TVCy-1PE
* ANUNNAKI & ANCIENT ANTHROPOLOGY EVIDENCE, REFERENCES, TIMELINE & WHO’S WHO
