A Spartan's Sorrow: The epic tale of ancient Greece's most formidable Queen (The Grecian Women Series)

by Hannah Lynn

  “Fine. We will eat the fish for lunch then, not supper. And then I will remain at the palace until you are through with your duties and have time for me again,” he said, with a deliberately provocative pout.

  “I will always have time for you. But we live under my father’s roof. We must at least pay lip service to his rules.”

  Orestes let out a sigh that was only half in jest.

  “For now though, I am at your disposal.”

  Satisfied that their time together would remain undisturbed for a few hours, Orestes dropped his head back down onto his lover’s chest and closed his eyes. Would it be possible to live as simply as this forever? he wondered. Just fishing and sleeping and making love in the grass. What more could you want from life than this? He was still pondering the possibility of such a future, when a shrill call cut through his reverie.

  “Orestes! There you are! I have been looking all over for you.”

  “Quick,” he hissed at Pylades. “Shuffle over. Hide me. Do not let her see me.”

  “How? We are in an open field. She has already spotted you.”

  “Then send her away. You are the Prince here.”

  Laughing, he slid out from underneath Orestes, causing his lover’s head to bounce off the ground.

  “This is your battle. I will not face her for you.”

  Simultaneously groaning and rubbing the back his head, Orestes pushed himself up to a sitting position and prepared to face his sister.

  From the scowl on her face and the way her arms were swinging as she strode towards them, Electra was in her usual bad mood. King Strophius had been exceptionally accommodating, letting her train with his army. But training only used up so many hours of the day, meaning she had more than enough time left to pester him. And invariably, there was only one topic she wished to talk about.

  “You have been avoiding me.”

  There were no pleasant greetings where she was concerned. No pleasantries, full stop.

  “Sister,” he said. “Why would I do such a thing? You are my favourite sibling in the whole of Phocis.”

  “That is not funny,” she replied, although he could have sworn he heard Pylades snigger at the comment.

  “You promised that we would discuss matters after the Panathenaea. That was a full moon ago.”

  “You are right. Maybe we should wait until the next one. It is every four years, is it not?”

  Her scowl deepened. He realised that any attempt at levity would continue to be met with stony silence, and let out a long sigh. The sooner she’d said her piece, the sooner she would go, and the sooner he could have Pylades to himself again. Sensing the softening of his resolve, Electra continued her rant.

  “It has been eight years, Orestes. Eight years since we left Mycenae. I want to go back home. You have had your time. I did as I promised. I allowed you a childhood. I allowed you time to train, to prepare yourself. How much longer do you mean this to go on for?”

  She hadn’t even attempted to warm him to the subject. Clearly, this was not a day when she would be open to debate.

  “Can we talk about this back at the palace?” he asked, plucking a blade of grass. “I was actually having quite an enjoyable morning, before you showed up.”

  “At the palace you will avoid me as you always do.”

  “No, I will not. Pylades has business with his father this afternoon. Guests he has to meet. I will be free to talk to you then. I swear.”

  “You promise me? You will not avoid this any longer?”

  “I promise,” he said, with all the sincerity he could muster. She didn’t look convinced, which was probably understandable given the number of times he had previously made this pledge, only to find a last-minute excuse to be otherwise engaged.

  “If you do not turn up, then I will hunt you down and drag you onto a ship for Mycenae myself. And, before we leave, I might just happen to mention to King Strophius, why Pylades has shown so little interest in marriage, despite all the attempts to arrange one for him.”

  At this, both young men flushed pink.

  “I have said I will be there and I will,” he snapped back at her. “Now, do you plan on ruining just part of my day or all of it?”

  With a final huff, she spun on her heel, and sprinted back down the hillside.

  “So, about that boat?” Orestes asked, lying back down on the blanket. “How do you feel about swimming to shore when we have finished fishing? I think I might need to stay out a little longer than I originally planned.”

  He had expected a chuckle, or at least a smile at this quip. Instead, the remark was met with silence and when he turned to Pylades, he saw that he was standing with a look of worry etched on his face.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  Slowly, Pylades knelt back down on the blanket.

  “She is right about this,” he said. “About what you have to do.”

  Orestes stiffened. “You cannot be serious? This is Electra. All she wants is vengeance. Vengeance for a man she barely even knew and for whom no-one ever had a kind word to say.”

  “I know that.”

  “And you agreed that to kill my mother would be wrong, that it was right for me to stay here.”

  “I agreed back then, but things have changed this last year.”

  “What things?”

  Pylades ran his tongue across his lips as Orestes’ question hung in the air between them. The two young men shared everything. Or at least Orestes had thought they did. However, the way his lover’s eyes refused to meet his and the way his fingers knotted around his belt told him there was something he was not saying.

  “There has been talk,” he said. “About Mycenae.”

  “What about it?”

  Pylades lifted his eyes up to the sky, as if asking the gods for strength. It was not an action Orestes was used to seeing in his cousin.

  “The news of your meeting with The Pythia has spread. People know what Apollo demanded of you, and they know that you are refusing to do it.”

  “How could anybody know that for certain?”

  “A priestess with a loose tongue, perhaps? A serpent with a keen ear? What does it matter? They know—or at least they believe—that you were told to avenge your father, and they know that it has not been done. You are regarded as a weak prince.”

  Orestes snorted. “And since when have I cared about rumours? You, of all people, should know they do not bother me in the slightest. Let me be a weak prince. I will be the weakest prince, if they like, for I do not care to be one at all.”

  “But this is not just about you, Orestes. It is about the entire kingdom. And about your mother.”

  “Why must she play any part in this? I have told you a thousand times, I will not harm her.”

  Pylades took his hands.

  “You think you are doing her a favour by your refusal; I understand that. But without the true heir on the throne people will see Mycenae as vulnerable, and they will invade. They will attack and they will seek to conquer all. Do you think invaders would be as merciful to her as you would be in ending her life?”

  “We are not talking about this.” He attempted to pull his hands free, but Pylades held them fast.

  “You cannot avoid this any longer, Orestes,” he insisted.

  “Fine. So I will simply return to Mycenae and take the throne with my mother at my side.”

  “And openly defy Apollo? How do you think that will end? Others will still invade, and with the blessing of the gods, they will slay the weak King Orestes and his murderous mother.”

  Orestes looked up at Pylades imploringly. “I cannot do it.”

  “Yes, you can. Think of it as a mercy. You have heard the stories of Troy, the tales of what those men did to the women they captured, be they peasant, priestess or princess. They all suffered the same fate.”

  “Stop this, Pylades. These are low blows.”

  “It is the truth, Orestes, one we have been refusing to face. I am sorry. I am truly distressed
that you have been forced into this. Please, please believe me when I say if there was any other way, I would tell you to take it. I love you. You know that. And I only want what is best for you.”

  “You cannot believe that would be it,” he replied, as a stray tear ran down his cheek. Pylades brushed it away with his thumb.

  “I do. With all my heart.”

  “She does not deserve this. She does not deserve to die.”

  “No, but she deserves the alternative even less. They would make a trophy of her. You know I speak the truth. And that would be even harder for you to live with.”

  An intense pain throbbed in his chest. If this were right, that Mycenae was viewed as weak, then the inevitable would follow.

  “You swear this is a fact?” He looked Pylades in the eyes and did not need to hear the answer. He knew it from the tears now running down his face, the exact mirror of his own.

  “I will be there at your side,” he replied. “But it is time, my darling. It is time you obeyed Apollo’s command. We must sail to Mycenae.”

  Chapter 32

  The sky was grey and the wind swirled about them, as the merchant ship left port. A month had passed since Orestes and Pylades had discussed the trouble facing Mycenae if Orestes did not carry out Apollo’s decree. A month of further arguments and recriminations, of tears and apologies. But, no matter how he fought both his sister and his friend, he knew in his heart of hearts that they were right. He had seen how slaves were treated, how their lives were usually valued less than that of an animal. If he did not act, the same fate could be awaiting his mother.

  Orestes looked out to sea. He had brought Electra’s dagger with him, given to her years ago by their mother. It felt like adding insult to injury, using her gift to do the deed, but Electra had insisted and, given his refusal to let her join them, it seemed only fair. Besides, its small size made it easy to conceal.

  With nothing left to say, he continued to stare silently out at the horizon. He had no further protests to offer. He had given it his all. Now, all he could do was wait. Electra had wanted him to go back to The Pythia, to seek her further guidance, in case his memory of what she had said, all those years ago, had faded. It showed just how little she knew him. The words of the woman remained as freshly seared into his mind, as if he had seen her only the previous day. He knew what he must do.

  He had been told that they were to dress as messengers, in order to infiltrate the palace. They should conceal their weapons beneath their cloaks and when his mother arrived to hear what they had to say, he should kill her. So simple, so straightforward. Kill her, break his own heart, and then continue with his life as though nothing had happened.

  “Have you thought yet about what you will do with Aegisthus?” Pylades asked, as Mount Parnassus faded in the distance.

  It was a question that didn’t need asking. Of course, he had thought about him. He had thought about them all. His only wish was to fulfil his destiny, with as little bloodshed as possible.

  “He can do as he wishes. It is his home. My brother too.”

  Pylades looked disturbed at the response.

  “What? The Pythia did not mention Aegisthus, just my mother. She is the only one who needs to die.”

  “She may not have mentioned him, but that does not mean it would be wise to let him live. He has people in Mycenae who are loyal to him. They are his subjects now. Then there is the army. My father has been told that many of them think he is the greatest king ever to have ruled there.”

  Orestes turned away from the sea to face his lover. “Why do we even need to speak of this?”

  “Because I am afraid that you do not see that it will not be as simple as just killing your mother. If you do not kill Aegisthus too, he could rise up against you.”

  “He would not do that. I know him.”

  “You knew him. A long time has passed and he has become a king. He has had a taste of real power.”

  “He is not interested in that. He has never wanted it.”

  “You do not know this for sure. He is father to a son now. Perhaps he has ambitions for Aletes to be king one day. Perhaps he even thinks he is more deserving of the title, that you have abandoned your claim to the throne for so many years, that you are no longer worthy of it.”

  “No, that is not who he is. He is the best of us. He will understand this burden I have been carrying more than any.”

  “So, you will have him bend the knee and pledge loyalty to you?”

  Orestes opened his mouth before shaking his head and crossing to the other side of the deck. This was too much detail. What he needed was peace and quiet. But Pylades followed him, his tenacity now rivalling that of Electra, it seemed.

  “I do not mean to keep pushing you on this, but think about it. Aegisthus must bend the knee and proclaim you the true King. Or, you must kill him.”

  “That is not an option. That has never been one.”

  “All right then, pledging his loyalty to you it has to be.”

  A moment passed. A small flock of sea birds was circling above the ship, probably hoping it was a fishing vessel and waiting for the crew to haul up the nets, so they could take their fill. He wanted to tell them that they would need to find another ship to follow, either that or be content to starve, waiting for a feast that would never arrive.

  “Come, we should go below deck,” Pylades said, abandoning his argument. “These clouds are growing blacker by the minute.”

  “You go. I will follow shortly.”

  With a single nod, Pylades squeezed his shoulder and disappeared, leaving the Prince alone with the cry of the gulls.

  Orestes stood there at the rail, staring at the almost monochromatic swirl of sea and sky. Rain spattered on his arms and clothes, but he did not notice it. Even when the wind picked up, battering the sails and whipping at the ropes, he remained, his focus on a future he did not wish to face. Only when the captain finally yelled at him to get below deck did he retreat to his cabin, where all he could do was sit and wait for the inevitable.

  The storm was a violent mix of wind and rain, with waves crashing against their ship time and again, sending shudders through the timbers. The bolts of lightning were so bright, they caused the joints in the woodwork to glow a burnt umber. But Orestes knew that he was safe. Zeus was watching over him. The Father of the Gods would ensure he survived to play his part.

  When dawn broke, the rain had stopped and the wind had dropped, but there was now a thick fog concealing the rest of the world from those on deck. As such, it was a surprise when the lookout called that he had spotted land and Orestes realised that Mycenae was close at hand. Something deep and visceral stirred inside him, like a homing pigeon nearing journey's end.

  As the merchants watched their wares being unloaded, he hung back.

  “We need to head straight there,” Pylades said. “The ship is not staying here. We must disembark. Someone might see us dressed as messengers from Phocis, and if news of our appearance reaches the palace before we do, they may grow suspicious and send out guards to investigate.”

  “Phocis has sent plenty of messengers to Mycenae, since I left.”

  “I am aware of that, but we have not been here to see how the palace receives them, what extra precautions they put in place. We need to be smart, Orestes. And smart means fast. I will fetch us horses, then we will ride there immediately. If we hurry, we can be there before dusk.”

  As it was so far north of the citadel, he had never spent much time in this bustling port; it was hardly a fitting place for a prince, particularly one with a mother as anxious as his had been for his safety. Now, he wished he’d had the chance. So much must have changed in his homeland, he thought. Yet, as they began their trek to the citadel, it seemed as if he had never left: the lime trees, full to bursting with fruit, still draped themselves over the roads; the rocky earth, almost red in places, yet as pale as moonlight in others; the olive trees, with their white-painted trunks. It was so different here from
Phocis. The sky seemed a paler blue, the grass a deeper shade of green.

  As the afternoon sun was beginning to wane, the walls of the citadel came into view.

  “Are you ready?” Pylades asked. “Remember, I will do the talking. It is better that you do not speak, in case someone recognises your voice.”

  He nodded, silently dreading what was to come. In a last-ditch attempt to make Pylades reconsider the plan, he burst out: “Maybe I should talk to her first. If I could just explain.”

  “You think it would be easier for her that way? Of course it would not. No discussion. No deliberation. Just as we practised in Phocis.”

  Practised on goats, he thought to himself with a shudder. Was that really all his mother was to him now—another creature to be slaughtered?

  In silence they took the curving path up between the walls, towards the Lion Gate where, upon their arrival, two guards stepped forward.

  “What is your business here?” one demanded.

  Orestes felt the blood rushing from his head.

  “We have news for Queen Clytemnestra.” Pylades spoke without a hint of hesitation. “News about her son, from King Strophius.” He handed over a scroll with his father’s seal, which the guard checked, before handing it back.

  “He will take you to the palace,” he said, indicating the other. “You can wait for the Queen there.”

  “Will she be able to see us soon?” Orestes asked, forgetting his instruction to stay silent.

  “How would I know?” The soldier’s eyes narrowed.

  He dropped his head in response. The guard could not be any older than himself, so the chance of being recognised was slim, yet a knot tightened in his gut as they were led up into the citadel and towards the palace.

  In spite of the dread that filled him, there were so many familiar sights that he found his heart leaping, details he wished he could share with Pylades. The tree from which he had fallen and broken his arm, when he had been trying to inspect a bird’s nest. The stone seat where his mother had read to him in the evenings. But he walked silently, his heart pounding. Was this truly what the gods had destined for him?