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

by Hannah Lynn

  “I think we must go to the gods for the answer,” he said. “The temple sleep did nothing to improve his condition. I think we must take him back to Delphi. Back to see The Pythia.”

  Pylades and Orestes had been to Delphi several times since his first meeting with The Pythia, although never to seek further counsel. They had gone for the music and the dancing, the feasts and the festivals; sometimes for the games in the stadium. But always for the chance to be alone, away from the prying eyes of the palace.

  Their last visit had been so joyful, so full of passion and hope for the future. But they had been ignoring the truth that, one day, Orestes would need to return to Mycenae. They had promised each other not to mention Electra or Clytemnestra or anything unpleasant during their time there together. They had kissed in olive groves, bathed in the sea and watched deer drinking from a lake. They had danced and sung and laughed until their sides had ached.

  For good or bad, Pylades had fallen in love with Orestes the moment he saw Electra present him to his father after their escape from Mycenae. The young boy had worn his heart so openly on his sleeve, tear tracks still staining his cheeks. Pylades’ contemporaries would have considered this a sign of weakness, but he knew differently. What else mattered in life if not those you love? As his father had required him to, Pylades had taken the boy under his wing. A cousin whom he should treat like a brother. But he was not his brother and, every day they had spent together, a more meaningful bond had grown.

  Pylades had mused that perhaps being raised the only son in a family of women had made him so compassionate. But it did not matter. All he knew was that when something so precious comes into your life you do everything you can to hold onto it. Even so, he had tried to suppress his feelings. Both being princes, their marriage partners would be chosen for them after years of strategic negotiations. And, as long as Orestes did not feel the same towards him, he would not risk ruining their friendship, or tarnishing his reputation. But, as it turned out, he had felt exactly the same way.

  Four years had passed, before the day came when they had shared their first kiss. They had been far out at sea, on a fishing boat. Orestes had spent most of the time gazing upwards, watching the sea eagles swoop and dive, while Pylades did most of the work. They had caught their dinner and gone ashore to cook it on a small fire. They had talked about everything: the past, the future, animals—always animals with Orestes. As the stars had come out above them, Orestes had rolled over in the sand and made the comment that he couldn’t imagine a day more perfect than that one.

  “I could,’ Pylades had replied, and leant forward and pressed his lips against his cousin’s. Everything about that kiss had felt so natural. When they had finally broken apart, Pylades had slipped off his robe.

  “What are you doing?” Orestes had asked.

  “Going for a swim. Care to join me?”

  In the water, they had kissed again, their hands exploring one another’s bodies, as moonlight shattered on the crests of the small waves. He had wanted to carry him back to the palace in his arms that night. But he had never dreamed he would need to carry him like this. Never in all his worst nightmares.

  “He needs clean clothes,” he said to Electra, as they swayed back and forth with the rocking of the ship. “He has soiled them again.”

  “Then we will see to it when we reach shore. We have already changed him three times and nearly used up everything we packed. There is almost nothing left that is clean.”

  “Then wash something, or use one of your robes or steal one for all I care, but we will not take him to Delphi like this. He is a king, Electra.”

  Her jaw locked, and he readied himself for more argument, but none came. Instead, she slammed out of the cabin, hopefully to fetch more clothes and some water too. Orestes would disapprove of the way he was speaking to his sister, but Pylades placed as much responsibility for his condition on her, as he did on himself. It had been her desire for him to take the crown and her innate hunger for revenge that had forced this upon them. If Orestes had been just a little older, a little more worldly-wise, perhaps he would have accepted that what he had done was no worse than the deeds of many who had gone before him, and this might never have happened.

  “Do not worry, my love,” he said, using a sleeve to wipe his mouth like a baby. “The Pythia will tell us how to fix this. She will tell us what to do, and you will soon be back with us again. Just stay strong. I am here for you.”

  The door creaked open.

  “One robe,” Electra said, throwing it towards him. “And the colour is terrible. Get him changed quickly. The shore is in sight.”

  Chapter 38

  The ship was worse than he could have possibly dreamed. Worse than when they had chased him through the palace corridors, their teeth dripping with blood, their constant wailing ringing in his ears as he fruitlessly sought somewhere to escape them. He had tried to hide, just as he had as a child, in nooks and crannies that he believed only he knew. But they always found him. And now, on the open sea, there was nowhere to go.

  He could smell their fetid breath, thickening the air of the tiny cabin. In such an enclosed space, there was barely room for the three humans and three monsters to move past one another and certainly nowhere to run. He had stopped thinking of them as women. There was nothing feminine about them. Nothing maternal or warm. Now that they had been his constant companions for so long, he knew each by their tone of voice―the guttural sounds that hitched in their throats before they began their jibes―the pattern of their scales, and the rasping of their torn robes, as they dragged along the floor.

  “Strong, murderous King. Look at you now.”

  “Did you taste her blood? Is the tang still on your tongue?”

  “Why do you not turn the dagger on yourself? That would be the easiest thing to do. Go on, Orestes. Turn the dagger on yourself.”

  Their barbs would start low, like the far-off rumble of horses’ hooves. It never stayed that way, though. With each word, their venom would grow in volume and spite, until they reached a climax so vociferous he would cover his ears and scream in pain.

  “You made your mother so proud.”

  “She was so proud of her special little prince.”

  “Right up until you sliced through her throat.”

  The others knew nothing of this evil presence. They did not realise that demons walked among them. He could tell that much. If they argued, the creatures were forced to shout their abuse to make their insults heard.

  “Your mother wishes you to know that she loves you still. And that she will see you very, very soon.”

  “Your brother wishes to repay all the kindness you showed him.”

  “And Aegisthus. Oh, Aegisthus has such a welcome waiting for you.”

  “Stop it! Stop it now! I am not listening to you!”

  “You do not have a choice.” And, in an instant, she was there, crouching by his side, the putrid stench of her breath filling his nostrils. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing her away from him, but her fingers crawling over his skin caused him to shriek out yet again.

  “Get away from me!”

  When he opened his eyes again, the beast had gone and, in its place, Pylades knelt, his brow knotted and his eyes dark with worry.

  “It is all right, Orestes. We have arrived at Delphi. I just need to lift you up.”

  “No! No!” Orestes shrank back, pulling his knees to his chest, his eyes darting back and forth. “They are here! They are hiding now! They never leave! They will never leave me alone!”

  “It’s just me.”

  Orestes turned rigid, as Pylades moved to take him in his arms. They could change in appearance. Maybe it was one of them, pretending to be him! He lashed out, beating him away with his fists.

  “Please, cousin, stay still.”

  “Why are you doing this to me?”

  “The Pythia will help you. Please, my love, please, hold still.”

  “Get away! Leave me alone!” />
  “I am here to help you.”

  “Go! Why will you not leave me be?”

  “Please, just stay still.”

  “Enough of this!”

  The voice was so sharp and shrill it could well have been one of the creatures, but Orestes knew his sister’s tone, even in the depths of his insanity. He drew his arms back, although he continued to kick out.

  “Get a rope. We will tie him up. It will be safer and quicker.”

  “No! No!” He struggled and fought with all his might, but even in health he had been no match for his sister, let alone with his friend helping her. Within minutes, they had him bound and slung over Pylades’ shoulder. No matter how much he wriggled, there was no escaping, not from the ropes, nor from the monsters that were waiting for him up on deck.

  “How appropriate,” one of them laughed.

  “You look fit for slaughter,” cackled another.

  “Perhaps that is their plan, although it would be too kind. You deserve to suffer. She deserves to see your agony.”

  While Electra went to find transport, Pylades lowered him gently to the ground and held a skin of water to his lips.

  “The Pythia will solve this, my love,” he whispered, brushing the hair from his face. “She will speak to the gods. They will put an end to this.”

  Orestes tucked his chin to his chest and closed his eyes, afraid of what Pylades might turn into, if he looked too closely.

  “Then I will take you home, wherever you wish that to be. We can stay here, or go to Phocis, or return to Mycenae. It will be your decision. Whatever you choose.”

  Whatever I choose? Orestes thought bitterly. When had he ever had a choice in anything?

  Electra soon returned with mules. She and Pylades loosened his restraints, so that he could straddle one of them. They travelled up the winding mountain paths and, somehow, with the rocking motion and Pylades’ arms holding him close, he shut his eyes and faded into sleep.

  Even then he wasn’t free. The memory of the deaths played over and over, with no break, no pause. He forced himself to wake from the nightmare. But when he did so they were there, waiting for him, their grotesque mouths still taunting.

  “Maybe we should push you off, so you break your neck.”

  “I want to hear it snap.”

  “I want him to hear it snap.”

  Squeezing his eyes shut again, he incanted the names of butterflies that Aegisthus had taught him.

  “Lattice brown, scarce swallowtail …”

  “I have you, my darling, not long now.” Pylades held him firmly to stop him from falling.

  He had no idea where they were going. Maybe they had told him, but so often now human words registered as nothing more than a distant hum. Perhaps they intended to dispose of him, miles from civilisation, so no-one would know the truth of his madness.

  When his eyes blinked open momentarily and he saw the great yellow-stone pillars of the tholos of Delphi, he experienced a brief flicker of recognition, only to bury his head against Pylades chest again, as a violent shriek shattered the air. He prepared himself for another onslaught.

  “It is fine, my love. There is nothing to be afraid of. Look. We are here.”

  The noise came again, although he now realised it was not the voice of one of his tormentors, but the cry of a swan. A glimmer of hope sparked in his heart. They were in Delphi. For the first time in so very long, he registered his surroundings. Delphi meant The Pythia and the word of Apollo. Maybe there was the hope of redemption, after all.

  “Pylades,” he said, his voice cracked and hoarse from so little use. He tried to twist his neck around to look up at him, but struggled to keep his balance.

  His friend squeezed him tighter still. “We are nearly there, Orestes. We are nearly there.”

  “I can take him if you wish,” called Electra, from her mule. “You have been managing him this whole way.”

  “It is fine. There is only a short distance to go. We just need to make it up the steps.”

  “I … I can walk.”

  Pylades brought their mule to a stop. “Orestes? Can you hear us? Drink some water.”

  “They will come back,” he replied, his eyes skittering between the birds and the humans. “They are taunting me. The women. They are here for revenge.”

  “Who are they? Have they told you who they are?”

  “Ignore him,” Electra said, dismounting. “His mind is addled. Half the time he has been talking about snakes, not women. We need to get him to the temple, now.”

  “Forked tongues. That was what I was talking about. Not snakes, just forked tongues.”

  “I know. I know.” Pylades continued to speak softly to him. “Just a little while longer. Please, stay with us. The Pythia will put this right. We just have to reach the temple.”

  Even in his current state, he could recall every moment of his first visit to The Pythia, including the fact that he’d had to attend their meeting alone. Today, he struggled to stand on his own, even in the fresh air of the mountainside. Whether she liked it or not, she would have to agree to Pylades accompanying him, simply to keep him upright in the stifling atmosphere of burning incense.

  They lowered him to the ground. Hordes of people danced, swayed and ambled around them. Orestes had previously marvelled at the chaos of it all. Now he feared it. More people meant more places for the fiends to hide. No sooner had he thought this, then their tirade began again.

  “You think you will find sanctuary here? You think a god will save you? No human or god can do that.”

  “We were here before these petty gods set foot on the earth.”

  “We will not even let you in there. You do not deserve peace. Do you think they are at peace? Do you think your mother is?”

  “Orestes?”

  A clawed hand reached out for him, and he leapt backwards. “No!” he shouted, turning, only to find himself face to face with another of the beasts. “No!” He twisted again. This time one of them was waiting to grab him from the side. And then from the front. The three of them surrounded him. Covering his ears, he stumbled back into the crowd, where geese and swans swarmed. “Please, leave me alone! Leave me alone!”

  Half the people edged away, while others approached, wishing to help, unaware of the figures between them, with fangs bared and tongues flicking.

  “Go away! Go away!” Orestes shooed at them.

  “Grab him!” Electra shouted. “Grab him and get him up the steps.”

  Scouring the sea of faces, Orestes searched for Pylades, but there were monsters everywhere he turned. Monsters and strangers were all he could see. The stones slipped from beneath his feet. The world was falling away, and he wanted to go with it, to plummet down into whatever awaited him. Whatever tortures and torments Hades had prepared for him, none could be worse than this.

  “Yes, yes … that is right. Give in. It will be easier that way, far better.”

  “One good crack of the skull.”

  “Come with us. You do not really want this life any longer.”

  His eyes rolled back, as his thoughts turned to water. And then, with a warmth more wonderful than summer sunlight, he was swept upwards and away from it all.

  Chapter 39

  He didn’t need to open his eyes to know where he was. That scent, so strong, so all consuming, weaved its way through his mind, blurring his thoughts as it cast a deep sense of calm. His limbs were heavy, weighted, but not burdened. It was as though he had fallen into the deepest of sleeps, one that he had no intention of waking from. Yet, as soon as the thought struck him, his mind awoke from its hazy state. Breathing in a lungful of incense, he opened his eyes, just a fraction at first. Orange. The colour he had expected to see. It filled him with peace, with thoughts of home, yet he could not figure out why. Still slow to move, he opened his eyes a little further, and the blurred images around him became shapes and then objects.

  A familiar, soft, tangerine light glimmered on the marble floors. Several pr
iestesses in orange robes were gathered around them. Incense burned in hammered-copper holders, tendrils of the fragrant smoke weaving up into the air, only to lose their form in the shadows. The temple was quieter than the last time he had been there. Quieter, in fact, than anywhere he had been of late. He could hear the birds nesting at the top of the pillars and the rustle of fabric, when the priestesses made even the slightest movement. Quiet. His body turned rigid at the realisation. It was another trap; he was sure. Any minute the monsters would leap from the shadows to torment him again. But it was Pylades voice that came from out of the hush.

  “You do not need to worry, cousin. The Erinyes will not pester you here.”

  He shook his head, still trembling, as he awaited their attack. A blanket had been draped over him while he slept. It was another ploy; he was sure. He scrambled upright, his eyes darting around as he pulled his knees up to his chest.

  “You think that. You think that I am safe, but they will find me. They always find me.”

  “Not here, my love. The Erinyes will not get you here.”

  Orestes shook his head and held his breath. A moment passed, and then another. Still, no voices. No hissing or shrieking. Nor was there the cold chill that he had grown so used to in their presence, as if they were sucking every scrap of heat and life from their surroundings. Still not daring to believe he was safe, he cast his eyes slowly around the temple. The cushions on which he had lain had moulded themselves to his body. How long had he been there? He was considering this when Pylades’ words suddenly struck him.

  “The Erinyes? The Furies?” He turned to his lover. “That is what they are? I am not going mad after all? They are the ones who have been torturing me?” Tears filled his eyes.

  “It has been them,” Pylades said, with a sad smile and matching tears. “I am so sorry we did not know. I am so sorry that we—”

  “That you thought I had gone insane.”

  “No. Well, maybe a little.” His voice hitched with the effort of fighting back the tears. “Can you forgive me?”