by Hannah Lynn
“And was she terrified of the girl, Cassandra, too?” she finally asked.
A new knot formed in his gut. “What do you mean?”
“What do you think I mean? Do you think she was terrified of a girl barely older than me?”
“What … Why?”
“It was not just Father she killed, Orestes. Not just Father who was found murdered. She killed his whore, too. Tell me, brother, do you really think that our mother, with her Spartan blood, who trained you and me and could hold her own against any guard in Mycenae, was so scared of a young, captive girl, that she felt she had no other choice than to crack her head open?”
“I … I …” The stifling heat had returned and Orestes found himself sitting back on the bed once more, the swaying of the ship increasing the unsteadiness of his mind.
“Mother killed Father for one reason only, Orestes. She wanted him gone, so she could take the crown for her lover. That was their plan all along.”
“No, you do not know him like I do.”
“You mark my words, he will be on that throne by the time we arrive at Mount Parnassus, if he is not there already.”
“He would not do that.”
“No doubt there is a bastard child already swimming in her belly, ready to take your rightful place.”
Her words reverberated around his skull. He was growing more confused by the second.
“No. No, Electra,” he stammered. “We must go back. You need to let me speak with her.”
But she was already at the door. As she stepped outside, she turned for a parting shot.
“The next time you set foot in Mycenae, Orestes, will be when you are ready to kill them both.”
Chapter 28
When Clytemnestra later recalled that first year, with two more of her children gone, she thought it a wonder that she survived it at all. Every waking moment of her life had been filled with a grief so raw, that some days she barely stirred from her bed. Orrin had taken them; she knew that much. A man she had considered loyal to her, had stolen the person she held most precious in the world. Yet she could not blame him entirely. His true loyalty was to Mycenae and, by extension, to the true King, Orestes. In the chaos of Agamemnon’s death, it would not have been hard for Electra to convince him to act as he had.
As her only remaining child, Chrysothemis had tried to comfort her. Battling through her own grief, she had visited her chamber daily, taking her bread or flowers, even the tapestry that she was working on, in the hope that something might bring even the smallest modicum of happiness. But her mother was beyond any such solace and her appearances only served to remind her more of what she had lost.
Two months after Agamemnon’s death, she ordered a ship to take her remaining daughter away, to the Temple of Athena.
“Why would you do this Clytemnestra? She has never craved the life of a priestess,” Aegisthus had asked, when he learned of her plan.
“She should not have to endure the burden of my grief as well as her own.”
“You know this will not make her happy. Think about it, until the next moon at least.”
Any misgivings she felt were far outweighed by her certainty that this would be the best course for Chrysothemis. Better for her to be away from this family and the curse that plagued it.
“I have already made up my mind. A ship sails for Athens tomorrow. Chrysothemis will be on it.”
“Clytemnestra—”
“We are done talking about this. I am Queen here, remember. She leaves tomorrow.”
She heard her daughter’s wails from her chamber and later learned that the guards had needed to drag her out of the palace. She could not see it now, she told herself as the tears pricked her eyes, but it was for her own good. Her own safety. One day, she would understand.
And with Chrysothemis, the last of her children, gone, she no longer had to pretend or try to conceal her pain.
The running of the kingdom, something she had once taken such a pride in, now fell on Aegisthus’ shoulders, a burden she knew he did not wish, but which he carried for her all the same. Days merged into weeks. Women no longer came to the courtyard to gossip and enjoy music. Men scurried past her, averting their eyes, as if she might possess the power of Medusa. Tapestry was her only distraction and she’d pass hours at the loom, slowly—and badly—weaving the threads in and out, missing the way Chrysothemis used to help and guide her. But the mindless repetition numbed the pain a little.
So unlike Agamemnon had ever been, Aegisthus was patient with her in this time of mourning and, as her strength gradually returned, she allowed him back into her life and then, eventually, her bedroom. Even so, what happened next came as a complete surprise.
At first, she thought it was grief causing the waves of nausea to strike her at all hours of the day. And the tenderness of her body, she easily attributed to her advancing age. But then, other tell-tale signs showed themselves. Ones she had not encountered for well over a decade, such as a sudden dislike of meat and a cramping feeling in her pelvis.
With Aegisthus busy on matters of state, Clytemnestra enjoyed all the quiet moments that she could with her unborn child. She gradually loosened her robes, knowing there was only so long she could disguise her condition.
“I will keep you safe,” she said, running her hand over the taut skin of her belly. “I will protect you from everything. There is no-one who can harm you now.”
Some days, she would head out into the citadel at sunrise and not return until the midday sun was burning bright above her. Others times, she would sit in the courtyard, muttering quietly as she picked at olives and spiced nuts. At night, she would feign a headache or complain about the heat, to discourage Aegisthus from coming too close. As such, it was not until after she had felt the first movements that he finally realised the truth.
“You have been avoiding me,” he said, “turning away from me at night.”
“I have had trouble sleeping these past weeks.”
“That is not true, Clytemnestra. Do you think I am blind, or just a fool? We have to talk about this. You cannot hide it any longer.”
“What is there to talk about? Hide what?”
He offered her a withering look. “You are carrying my child, Clytemnestra. Do you not see what this means? If Electra learns that you are pregnant, she will think that this was our plan all along. That this was my plan. She will think that I came to steal the throne and she will want my head for it.”
“This baby is a gift,” she replied, her voice gentle, as she rubbed the growing bump. “He is a gift from the gods, in repayment for all my losses, for all I have been through. Do you not see that? That is why they have given him to me. I will not fail this one. I will not let him down.”
Aegisthus paled. “Why do you say ‘he’? Have you been to the seer?”
She shook her head, the motion of her hand continuing, in circles now.
“It is the way he is positioned. The way he sits outwards, see? The girls were never like this, but both of my boys were. My darling Alesandro. My blessed Orestes and now my beautiful Aletes.”
Aegisthus stepped forwards, lowering himself to the ground and placing his hands on her knees.
“My darling, I hope that you are wrong about this. To have a boy… Electra would show him no mercy.”
“Electra will not get near him.”
“She will think he is going to take the throne from Orestes.”
“So, what if he does? Do you see Orestes here at my side, learning how to run the kingdom? Do you see him thanking me for everything I did to protect him? How many more messengers do I have to send to him? How many more times do I have to ask him to come home and listen to me, to hear my side of what happened? I have offered to travel to meet him, from Olympus to Hades, if need be, but he does not wish to know. He has abandoned his mother, his family. And now… now you wish me to do what? To give our child away? You wish me to toss aside what will probably be the last hope of something good in my life to reco
mpense me for all the bad? This boy is a prince, Aegisthus.”
“Yes, but a bastard one. I am not a king here.”
“No, but I am the Queen and I will have this child and I will keep him and raise him, with or without you by my side.”
There was a fire burning in her, one that had been absent for too long. And now that it had returned, she was even more certain that she would do whatever it took to protect this baby.
Still on his knees, Aegisthus placed his head on her stomach. When he eventually lifted it back up, he looked her straight in the eyes.
“I have told you before and I will tell you again, the only thing that matters to me is keeping you safe. If you cannot live without this child, then I will stay by your side and raise him with all the love in my heart. But I am worried about this, Clytemnestra. I am worried what will come from this.”
“What will come from this, is joy,” she said and, at that moment, she truly believed it.
Just as Electra had predicted, their uncle, King Strophius, had been most welcoming to her and Orestes. Immediately upon their arrival at the palace, they had been taken to their new quarters, which were almost as lavishly furnished as those they had enjoyed in Mycenae. Strophius instructed his son, Prince Pylades, to keep Orestes company, while Electra discussed with him and the royal council the intricacies of the betrayal.
Although the boy was only two years older than Orestes, he was far wiser in matters of the heart, and a far more accomplished swordsman, and yet he took him under his wing, like a brother. He tolerated the young boy’s quirks and foibles far more than Electra ever had, showing interest when he would stop on one of their rides, to point out a colourful bird or to leave his steed altogether, to inspect a lizard he had spotted in the undergrowth. While he preferred to speak of poets and playwrights, he listened to Orestes’ chatter, and he never pried into their arrival in Phocis. Not that Orestes was naïve enough to think he did not know what had happened. Everyone did.
While Pylades put no pressure on Orestes to relive the painful details of his flight from Mycenae, Electra refused to let him be.
“It is the law of the gods,” she would keep repeating, “that fathers must be avenged.”
“Then you avenge him,” he’d snap back, “for I am tired of hearing this.”
“This is not for me to undertake. It has to be done by you. You are the rightful heir.”
When he could stand it no longer, he would move to another part of the palace, hoping she would not follow. Or else he would join Pylades who she dared not upset, for fear of word getting back to his father, which might in turn affect his kindness towards them.
One day, about a year after their arrival, she found him in the palace grounds and started up again. He had been happily sketching a frog that was perching on a lily leaf and had not moved for over an hour, save to flick out its tongue or blink.
“Have you heard?” she demanded, frightening the small creature away.
“Heard what?” he asked, although he knew only too well what was coming. Pylades had spoken to him the night before, after dinner, concerned how his friend might react if the news reached him by way of idle gossip. But he need not have worried. Orestes had no qualms about his new sibling.
“She is with child, Orestes,” she snarled. “She and her murderous lover have spawned a usurper to your throne.”
“Really?” he asked, turning back to the undergrowth, to see if he could spot any sign of the little amphibian.
“Really? Is that all you have to say? Do you not understand what this means? You know she has banished Chrysothemis.”
“Banished her? I heard she was sick and that Mother had her taken to the Temple of Athena, to seek help.”
“Your hearing is very selective,” she mocked.
“And yours is not? You would believe a rumour stating that Mother had turned into a three-headed serpent, if you thought it would make me return to Mycenae and put a dagger through her heart.”
Her face contorted. “How many times do I need to tell you? You cannot escape this. The Kingdom of Mycenae is slipping from your grasp. The child will claim the throne!”
Abandoning all hope of ever finding the animal again, he stood up and faced her.
“The child is not even born yet, Electra. It might never be born. It might be born a girl. It might be born sick. Even with the chance that Mother does have another, healthy son, what would you have me do, kill it? Kill a new-born? I am not the monster that Father was and I never will be.”
“Defending a throne that is rightfully yours does not make you a monster.”
“Five years … ten years. Let us see what the situation is then. At least let me find out if this child is a threat, before you demand I go and cave its skull in.”
A scowl was such a permanent fixture on his sister’s face that he wondered if she could manage any other form of expression now. He certainly couldn’t recall the last time he had seen her smile.
When news reached them that the child had been born, and was a boy, Orestes discovered that she had requested a ship of King Strophius, for their return to Mycenae. But he refused to leave and even Electra knew that she could do nothing without him.
She did threaten to go and do the deed herself. But he knew that it was just hot air. In her eyes, vengeance was for him to take, whether he wanted to or not.
“Electra’s problem is that she refuses to believe that there are any grey areas in life,” he told Pylades. “All sons must avenge their fathers. That is what she is always spouting. Well, what about mothers avenging their children? That is what my mother did, but she refuses to accept that, or that she might possibly be wrong.”
He traced a line in the sand with his sword. The last few years had seen him become unrecognisable from the spindly child who had arrived in Phocis. The combination of puberty and time spent training with his friend, had created muscles that rippled along his arms and across his back. Not that he was comparable in stature to Pylades, or even most of the other young men in the palace for that matter. But he didn’t mind. Everyone knew that what he lacked in physique he made up for in quick wittedness and compassion.
“I just wish she would step back. Relax a little. She is fixated on a day that might never come.”
Realising that the sparring session was over, Pylades also lowered his sword. It was no longer his father’s requirement that he spend his free time with Orestes and yet, after so long together, he couldn’t imagine anyone else he would rather be with. With each moon that passed, the pair became more and more inseparable.
“There is a way,” Pylades said, “for you to know that you are right in your decision not to want vengeance.”
“I am right.”
“We know that, but Electra does not. There is a way you can get her off your back, for good. A way to make her never question you again.”
With the sword now hanging loose in his hand, Orestes studied his friend’s face. He already had, here on Phocis, what he’d always dreamed of: a simple life, one without the constant dread of the future overshadowing him.
“How can I do that?” he asked.
“We go to Delphi. We ask The Pythia.”
“The Oracle?”
“She is more than just an oracle. She is the High Priestess of the God Apollo. Her word is as good as his. If she says that no vengeance is required on behalf of your father, then there is no way Electra could ever disagree. Not without invoking the wrath of Apollo himself, which I take it she would not be keen to do.”
It was such an obvious answer to his problem that he didn’t know how he hadn’t thought of it himself. It almost sounded too good to be true.
“Can I do that? Can I simply ask her for Apollo’s word on the matter?”
“Of course you can. You are the future King of Mycenae. You would be seeking her advice on a matter of life or death. Men have gone to her for far more trivial things than that, I can assure you.”
The idea was becoming more and
more appealing by the second.
“And you are sure that they would show my mother compassion?”
Pylades faltered now. “These are gods, Orestes. No one can be certain of anything. But, if you believe in your heart that she deserves no punishment, then so do I. Besides, what other choice have you? If you do not speak to The Pythia, then Electra will never stop hounding you. There is no way even she could dispute the words of the High Priestess.”
A veritable swarm of butterflies had taken residence in his stomach. He could return home, to Mycenae, meet his brother, see his mother and Aegisthus. The idea did have one major drawback, however. But maybe if he asked him, Pylades would go with him. Shaking his head, he refocused.
“When can we leave?” he asked.
“Is tomorrow too soon?”
Chapter 29
It was the first time Orestes had been on a trip of any length without his sister. Naturally, she had demanded to make the journey with them, but Pylades had been talking to him recently about the need to stand up to Electra and make his wishes heard. And so he had.
“The journey is a day there and a day back,” he told her. “Pylades and I will leave at sunrise and we should return by dusk the following day.”
“What if you are attacked?”
“By whom? I will be travelling with the Prince of Phocis. I could not be safer if the King himself accompanied me.”
“There should be guards with you, though. People to protect you. No, I am coming.” Assuming the conversation over, she turned away, but he caught her arm.
“Pylades first made this journey by himself when he was eleven, Electra. And he has done it again every year since. I am fifteen, and you are the one who has been telling me to grow up, wanting me to ready myself for the throne. Suppose The Pythia does require me to take Mother’s head and reclaim Mycenae, are you going to be by my side every single day I am King? Are you going to go on every trip with me? Because, if that is the case, I might as well give you the crown now.”