by Hannah Lynn
She had already learnt that it was not possible to exhaust herself into restful sleep, but still she tried, sparring daily and not just with the children, but also with one or two of the palace guards. Sometimes Orrin himself would take a short break from his duties to allow her to practise against him, but there was little satisfaction to be gained from this. Even skilled Orrin was fearful of a slip that might cause her pain or injury, and therefore treated her with even more restraint than she did the children. Never did they really test her, truly push her to her limit.
One of her newer nightmares found her racing up the hill to the Temple of Artemis, sick to the stomach, a feeling of helplessness growing as every step weakened her muscles. The sense of desperation, realising her body could not do what she needed it to and was not strong enough to get to her daughter’s side in time, was all consuming. Through the lethargy she had allowed herself as Queen, she had failed Iphigenia. She would not let it happen again. So, in the mornings, she had taken to running. She would head to the veranda to watch the sunrise, and the moment the sky lit up the earth enough she would race out of the Lion Gate, past the grave circle and around the citadel. Sometimes she would go up and down the mountainside, until her muscles burned and her body dripped with sweat, and then she would push herself harder still. Never again would her legs or lungs let her down. Never would she fail to reach a child in need. Each night, her aching body yearned for a rest that her mind could not grant it.
In the children’s chamber, she took a spare pillow and blanket from the pile and lay down in front of the doorway. It was far less comfortable than her bed, yet this stone floor was the one place in the whole palace where she slept easiest. Anyone who wished to reach her children would have to go through her first.
Clytemnestra lurched awake, her pulse immediately racing. As she could have predicted, sleep had been fitful and she had woken at least a dozen times in the night. Dawn had almost broken when she finally fell properly asleep, managing just an hour or two, before another nightmare had forced her out of her slumber yet again.
Across the room, the children were all snoring softly and would be, she suspected, for several hours to come. Folding up the blanket, she returned it and the pillow to the pile. There was no point trying to go back to sleep now. Better that she should go for her morning run, before facing whatever business awaited her in the citadel.
Gradually, yet far slower than she would have liked, she had regained a modicum of her Spartan strength. It had not come easily. The fitness of her youth had dwindled away, thanks to overindulgence at the table and sedentary pursuits. When she had first attempted it, she had not managed one lap around the citadel’s walls before collapsing onto her knees, panting. But those days were behind her now. When she wanted to stop, she would make herself carry on a little further. When she wanted to slow down, she forced herself to run faster. And when she wanted to turn back, she just changed direction.
That morning, she took a trail that weaved slowly down the mountainside. When she reached the bottom of the valley, she switched onto a different path, where the incline back up was steep and unforgiving. It was a favourite route of hers, that caused her thighs to burn and sweat to stream down her back. The lack of trees also meant that the guards, who watched her on Orrin’s orders, could do so discretely from a distance. There was no need for them to chase after her, breaking her concentration and invading what little privacy she had. Sometimes, on longer runs, they would jog beside her, occasionally offering a small amount of conversation. But running alone, was far better.
When her legs were finally shaking with anoxia, an unpleasant sensation yet one that caused her no end of satisfaction, she felt content that she had tested her body enough that morning and should return to tackle the many tasks that awaited her.
Hot springs dotted the surrounding countryside. At the end of the winter, they would overflow, creating gushing rivers that raced through the valleys, creating pools in lower lying areas. In the height of summer, people would gather in droves around these ponds, to relax and gossip, but their distance from the palace made a quick visit impossible. So, instead, she decided to head beneath the citadel, to the large reservoirs, where she could cool off beneath the rock and quench her thirst at the same time. These cisterns were a feat of engineering, fed by water pumped from nearby Lake Kopais and yet another reason Mycenae was such a force to be reckoned with.
When she finally reached the city walls, she bypassed the Lion Gate and took the winding staircase that led down beneath the buildings. Later in the day, this would be busy with men and women coming and going, filling their urns with as much water as they could carry. But, at this hour, she rarely saw a soul. She raised a hand to one of the distant guards and he nodded back in acknowledgement, leaving his post in a leisurely stroll to join her. Gone were the days when they would be glued to her side, especially within the citadel. She would often manage to reach the reservoirs, quench her thirst and be half way back up again, before they had joined her.
Knowing how long it normally took the guards to appear by her side, Clytemnestra was surprised when about a quarter of the way down she heard footsteps echoing behind her. Turning, she saw a man’s silhouette above her. From just his outline, she could tell he was not one of her men.
“I suppose I should not be surprised that a Spartan princess, even as a queen, would rather spend her mornings running up mountains than being served bread and honey in bed. I have to say, I find it most refreshing.”
She squinted in the semi-darkness, angling herself to better see his features. Despite the shadow that fell across his face, a churning rolled through her gut, as she recognised the stranger.
“You have been watching me. Me and my children. Who are you?”
Her hand felt in the belt of her robe. She had brought nothing with her in the way of a weapon. Not even a simple dagger. How often had she told her children that they must always be prepared? Yet here she was, cornered, with nothing more than an exhausted body to defend herself with. She straightened her back, trying to hide her growing fear.
“I asked you a question. Who are you and why have you been watching my family?”
He nodded, a small glimmer in his eyes. “I apologise, Your Highness. Forgive my impertinence. I am merely a little taken aback. I have never seen Helen, but I find it impossible to believe that the gods could let anyone more beautiful than you wander the earth.”
She moved her left leg forward, into a more stable stance from which to strike at him. She would go for the neck, using the side of her hand. And she would do it quickly, if he did not answer to her satisfaction.
“I have asked you a question twice now. I can assure you there will be no third time.”
With a hurried bow, he lowered his head. “Forgive me, please. I have not been following you, Your Highness. I was thirsty, that is all, which is why I am here.”
“And yesterday? You were watching me then.”
“Yes, but not deliberately. The view from that veranda on which you stood was the one I most treasured in all Mycenae.”
“The veranda is in the palace. It is not part of the common area of the citadel.”
“I am fully aware of that.” His eyes locked on hers. There was a familiarity to them, although she would swear on her life that she had not met him before. He tucked a strand of hair behind his ear before he spoke again. “My name is Aegisthus.”
“Aegisthus.” It took less than a heartbeat for the name to register. “Agamemnon’s cousin?”
“Yes.”
A cloud floated in front of the sun, plunging the staircase into even greater shadow.
“Then you are the man who killed my husband’s father.”
Chapter 9
Years earlier, Aegisthus had killed his uncle, King Atreus, the very man who had raised him as a son, and stole his crown for his own father, Thyestes. Agamemnon and his brother, Menelaus, fled to Sparta for refuge. When they eventually returned, fully grown and formid
able warriors, they had taken back the throne from their traitorous uncle and cousin and sent them both fleeing from Mycenae. This had been just a few months before the wedding of Agamemnon and Clytemnestra.
That was where the story had ended. Agamemnon and Menelaus had their respective thrones, Agamemnon in Mycenae and Menelaus in Sparta. Whatever had happened to Thyestes and Aegisthus was rarely discussed. There had been a time when the brothers were hungry for vengeance—one as slow and painful as possible. After all, the law of the gods dictated that a son must always avenge the murder of his father, and they had fully intended doing so, but the business of ruling had gradually dulled the bloodlust, and the desire for revenge had waned. Thyestes had eventually died of old age while exiled in the city of Cytheria and Aegisthus had seemingly disappeared.
As the years passed, people ceased to mention his name anymore. But Clytemnestra knew her husband well. It was possible he was merely biding his time, waiting for a moment when he would have the approval and backing of the greatest number of people, before carrying out the task.
“How do I know you are telling the truth?” she asked, stepping further away from him, back down the staircase.
“I decided that no other name I could give you would enamour Your Highness less to me than my true one. Surely, only a fool would make up something like that?”
“There are many fools in this world.”
“There are and, at times, I have been one myself. But, believe me, this is the truth.”
“Then why are you here? To steal the crown again, while my husband is at war? I assume that is your plan.”
Wordlessly, he cast his gaze beyond her, to the long staircase leading to the reservoirs below. One push was all it would take, she realised. One shove and she would tumble all the way down. It would look like an accident. And then he would be free to ransack the palace with whatever forces he had standing by. Where were the guards? Why were they being so slow today? Perhaps they had thought to wait, to afford her more privacy. What a day to offer such consideration. Or perhaps they were already dead.
“I come seeking nothing but your husband’s forgiveness,” Aegisthus said, bowing again.
“Then you have timed things very badly indeed, for it has obviously escaped your notice that he and the other men are gone, and have been for some time now.”
Colour rose to his cheeks. “I am aware of that, My Queen. I will be honest. I hoped that while he was away I could make myself of use here. Earn your good favour, so that he would see I am no threat to him anymore.”
Anymore. The use of that single word added a new dimension to their conversation. The already claustrophobic stairway seemed to be closing in on her. If she didn’t take her chance to leave now, she might never get another. Steeling herself against the tremor in her legs, she moved towards the king-killer.
“I am done here,” she said.
Her body shook as she pushed past him. He wobbled slightly, not unbalanced, but caught by surprise enough for her to make her escape. Her breathing faltered, as she raced upwards, the freedom of the open air only a short distance away now. She would send Orrin back immediately. She would see him off her land before noon. Sunlight dazzled her as, only one step from the top, he grabbed her wrist. She turned to face her attacker, eyes wide.
“Please, My Queen, I am sorry if I have offended you. I have been lost for a very long time and had hoped that, perhaps, I would manage to find something of myself back here.”
She glared at the hand on her wrist, pinching her skin. With a flick of her arm, she snapped it out of his grip.
“Stay away from me and my family,” she hissed. “Stay away from our palace. This is not your home now. It is mine. And if you do not, I shall not hesitate to finish the task that Agamemnon and Menelaus failed to complete. And, trust me, I would do a much more thorough job than any man.”
A nod of the head turned into a half bow.
“I thank you for your generosity, My Queen.”
“There is no generosity here,” she said. “Now leave!”
With her feet now securely above ground, she waited for him to move but, for the longest while he simply looked at her, his dark eyes pleading. Then, without further apology or farewell, he walked past her and along the walled pathway. Only when he was out of sight, did her knees buckle and she fall to the ground, gasping for breath.
“My Queen!” A guard was at her side, his leisurely stroll down from the lookout point having changed to a sprint when he saw her fall. “What has happened?”
Kneeling, she attempted to slow her ragged breathing. He could have hurt her, killed her even, and yet she’d suffered nothing more than a sore arm. Why?
“I…I must have pushed myself too hard.”
The lie left her mouth before she knew she was going to say it. Why she had chosen to, she didn’t know.
“I am fine now,” she said, standing up and brushing the sand from her robe. “I am fine. Please, let me be.”
When she reached the palace, she headed straight to the south tower. With the citadel perched on a mountain top, the view from the highest point was incomparable, stretching as far as the sea on a clear day. If Aegisthus had any troops hidden in the valleys, she might be able to see them from there. What she would do then, she wasn’t sure.
A flurry of nerves continued to run through her. Aegisthus, a murderer, had roamed the citadel unchallenged and yet had walked away from her when she told him to. Why, when to kill her would have made taking Mycenae that much easier? He’d had the upper hand there on the staircase and, again, when he caught her arm, and yet he had withdrawn and left. Why would any man do that? Could it possibly be true that he had come only to seek forgiveness?
She shook the thought away. The number of guards would need to be increased and she would order foot patrols, too. She would not tell Orrin the name of the intruder, just that she had been approached. That in itself was enough. Whatever Aegisthus was planning, he would not succeed.
From her vantage point, the mountainous lands of Mycenae rolled out in front of her, a bare, arid region. Summer had always been her least-favourite time of the year. The hillsides that, during the rest of the year could be so vibrant and green, seemed brittle and charred, a sea of browns and ochres. The air worsened too as heat ripened the stench of the animals, flies buzzed in droves around them and their food, and the plants that had not been harvested withered away. Spring, autumn and even winter were so much more pleasing to the eye, for all the senses to enjoy. But, for now, she did not care about the peonies or sideritis; there was only one thing she was searching for and there he was, walking away, alone.
“My Queen?”
Startled by another presence in the tower, she turned to find Laodamia in the doorway “I am sorry, My Queen, I have been looking for you.”
Her stomach lurched, her mind leaping immediately to the worst thought imaginable.
“The children? What is wrong? Where are they?”
“The children are fine. I thought you would want to get ready for court.”
“It is court? Today?”
“It is. The Assembly will be gathering for food shortly.”
A heavy sigh drifted from her lips.
“Then yes, please help me prepare.”
“You must pay for the animals that were killed,” Clytemnestra said, having listened to yet another dispute. “Or they can be replaced with beasts of the same value as those lost. Is that understood?”
“Yes, My Queen. Thank you, My Queen.”
“But what of the yarn? All his sheep are already shorn. Mine were not. I have lost that too.”
She sucked in a lungful of air.
“Then they will give you fleeces as well,” she said. “The same number. Now, is there anything more to be discussed?”
Eyes darted around the throne room. It had taken over six hours to deal with the month’s squabbles, though she considered the time quite reasonable, compared to the many days she had lost there, silent
at Agamemnon’s side. At least now her voice was heard and she was making a difference.
“My Queen, there are rumours that the armies have breached the walls of Troy. Is this true? Has the war ended?”
It was a woman who spoke. They were supposed to have no voice in the chamber and several of the old men shuddered, as if disgusted by her audacity. There was no denying it was not the wisest of questions to ask but, without the efforts of the women, the younger men would have nothing to come home to. She looked her in the eyes as she spoke.
“Do not listen to stories,” she replied. “They are quicker to change than the weather and, I can assure you, I have heard of no such thing. Until we see the beacon glowing on Mount Arachneus, we can assume that our roles here in this room and out in the kingdom remain the same, and will continue as such for as long as is needed. Do you understand?”
The woman nodded. “Thank you, My Queen.”
When all was dealt with, the Council retreated to the dining hall to enjoy the buffet which she always provided and continue their conversation, only to fall silent any time she approached. Curse them, she thought. If the war lasted just a few years more, most of them would be dead by the time Agamemnon returned. Maybe she should help this along—get the kitchen to provide only the fattiest and richest foods every time they visited the palace. Still, it was a better situation than some queens faced with their husbands absent.
She was still turning this over in her mind when Electra suddenly appeared and came rushing towards her.
“Mother!” she shouted, pushing past tutting old men to reach her. “Mother! Mother!”
“What is it?” Clytemnestra bent at the knee to hiss at her daughter. “What are you doing in here? You know this is no place for you.”
“It is Orestes. We cannot find him. He is gone!”
Chapter 10