Helen Had a Sister

by Penelope Haines

  “And how do I find such a friend? I’m the queen. Queens don’t have friends.”

  “Then maybe you need a relation. Queens can be friends with their cousins.”

  He still held my gaze. We had crossed several boundaries, and there would be no going back.

  Eventually I broke eye contact and was able to smile at him. We walked into the palace together. Charis had been right. I did need a nice man in my life.

  We became lovers a few nights later. I was nervous and tried to hide it beneath a sort of brusque efficiency.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  I had moved towards the bed in a no-nonsense fashion and was starting to shed my clothes.

  He didn’t let me. “Come here.” He pulled me to him. There was a glint of amusement in his eyes as if he knew very well what I was feeling. “This is where we take our time. I want to seduce every layer of your garments off you, one at a time. Then I’m going to let your hair down your back.” His hands were gentle as he pulled me into a kiss.

  I let my lips open beneath his and allowed him entry. He kissed me long and leisurely.

  “That’s better,” he said at last, with satisfaction, as I began to relax against him. “You needed a good kiss.” His lips moved down my throat until they reached the sensitive area at my collarbone.

  I moaned as I felt his mouth move on my skin.

  I barely noticed as my tunic fell. I was lost in sensation. His hands moved over me, learning the curve and shape of my breasts, the sensitivity of my nipples. I nearly cried out as he tugged gently on them.

  I thrust my hands to his groin and tried to reach for him, but he stopped me.

  “Later,” he growled. “Have some patience.”

  “I want to touch you,” I begged.

  “You will, but just now, I’m in control. Your turn will come.”

  My breast band had long since disappeared, along with my under-tunic. He stroked my slit with knowledgeable fingers while I writhed against him.

  Suddenly he scooped me up and carried me to the bed. He pulled his own tunic over his head and sat down, with me on his lap.

  I felt his fingers move through my hair, removing the pins. The weight of hair tumbled down onto my shoulders. He pressed his face against it. “You smell beautiful, like flowers.”

  I smiled.

  Then he kissed me and pulled me down beside him.

  He was tall, and the lines of his muscles were long and lean. Now he let me explore the length of his body and stroke his penis as he watched me lazily. I laid my head on his hard chest as I stroked him, finding my way through the responses of his body. He had very little hair on his chest, just a few greying curls.

  I stroked between his legs and trailed my fingers over a white scar high on his thigh. “How did you get this?”

  “Fighting your husband.”

  “Oh. How fortunate it wasn’t higher.”

  He reached out for my hand and shifted it. “This can work a little higher, though,” he said, placing my hand over his groin.

  A few minutes later he groaned softly in pleasure and rolled towards me. “I think this is going to be exceptional,” he said as he moved on top of me.

  I laughed up at him in joy as we moved together in rhythm.

  Our lovemaking was easy. Aegisthus had a light touch of humour that eased any tension between us. As we discovered each other and learned to trust, we became progressively more passionate and intensely carnal. By the end of the night I was wrung out, sated with a surfeit of sexuality.

  I woke to find him leaning on his elbow, looking at me.

  “What are you doing?” I asked drowsily.

  “Watching you sleep. You looked all soft and relaxed in your dreams.”

  “I hate being looked at,” I said, embarrassed. “Anyway, I feel soft and relaxed.”

  He grinned at me. “So do I. I’m relying on you to change that condition.”

  I gave a little laugh. “You mean again? I won’t be able to walk.”

  “That’s fine then; we’ve got a nice bed to lie in so neither of us has to walk.”

  He kissed me, very gently. And we made quiet, morning-time love, as sweet as warm summer honey.

  Afterwards, he kissed my eyelids. “Such beautiful eyes. You shut them when you make love and hide what you are feeling from me.”

  I looked at him in surprise. “I hadn’t realised, but I want to concentrate on the sensations. Vision distracts me from feeling. I’m not trying to hide.”

  “It wasn’t a criticism,” he smiled.

  It was such a warm, loving smile it brought an echoing one to my face and stayed with me for the rest of the day.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY THREE

  WE ENJOYED A HALCYON PERIOD. I was more in love with Aegisthus each day I spent with him. Perhaps it was to be expected. As a middle-aged woman who’d been without a man for many years, Aegisthus’s attentions couldn’t help but flatter me and put new energy into me. I could feel the new spring in my step, and it wasn’t just because of the night-time interludes, although they were wonderful. Aegisthus was proving to be my equal. He didn’t try to usurp my rule in Mycenae as I had half feared. Instead he helped me, much as Myrto had. I felt disloyal to the shade of my old friend, but Aegisthus, younger and infinitely more charismatic than Myrto, was energetic and effective.

  I was pleased to see he took an active role in supervising the training of the boys at school. Orestes, now rising eight, was very proud to be able to spar with his hero, and he wasn’t the only boy to idolise Aegisthus.

  “I can’t move in the training grounds,” he complained. “I don’t know how many young boys there are in Mycenae, but they all seem to be at the gym with me at the same time.”

  “It’s deliberate. They plan to be there when you are. They all think you’re a hero.”

  He looked at me quizzically. “Now that’s a strange thing to think. All the heroes are supposed to be at Troy.”

  “You’re the only one they have here, so I suppose you’ve got to expect their admiration.”

  He came and sat beside me. It was natural for him to reach his arm out and draw me against his shoulder. “I’m no hero,” he said soberly. “That’s a term for a different sort of man. I was bred by my father for one purpose only, and that was to kill Atreus and avenge my dead older brothers. I was trained exclusively for that role, and when we succeeded, and Thyestes and I took the throne of Mycenae, I had achieved the purpose I was born for.”

  “Is that the truth? What a burden to place on a child,” I exclaimed. I thought of Orestes, running around with his friends, fighting play battles and imaginary monsters. What would it be like to grow up knowing your only purpose was to be a tool? I reached out and stroked his thigh. “How old were you when you took the throne?”

  “Twelve. I had to grow up fast.”

  I winced.

  Aegisthus read my face. “It wasn’t that bad. At least I learned a high level of skill at arms.”

  “Was your father proud of you?”

  “No.” His tone was curt. “I was an inadequate replacement for my murdered brothers. I was simply a weapon.”

  I could have wept for him. “What a messy family,” I said. “Every generation carrying on its own blood feud, no one breaking free.” I sighed. “I told you that Agamemnon murdered our daughter?”

  “I know,” he said. “You’ve never spoken of her to me. It must have been terrible for you.” The grave sympathy in his voice gave me the courage to tell him the rest.

  I nodded. “I’ve sworn to kill him.” I raised my eyes to his. “I took an oath at the temple of Hera. If Agamemnon returns I will murder him.”

  He looked at me steadily. I wondered if he would be disgusted by such an unwomanly revenge.

  He put his hand out to cover mine where it rested on his thigh. “Then if I can, I will help you,” he said.

  We moved on to lighter to
pics and less serious banter, but the conversation marked another phase in our relationship. We trusted each other enough now to share our deepest secrets.

  Charis rolled her eyes when she first discovered we were lovers.

  “I told you so,” she murmured as she dressed my hair.

  I smiled happily at her. “You’re a very cheeky girl, you know that?”

  She just grinned and carried on pinning my hair up. “You’ve just won me a coral necklace, wagered in the servants’ quarters.”

  I gaped at her. “The servants were betting on whether I would take Aegisthus as a lover?”

  Charis nodded. “They are all very happy for you,” she said cheerily.

  I felt shocked. I wasn’t ashamed of my actions, but equally I had thought them a private matter. To realise I had been talked about before I had even considered the possibility of having an affair was unnerving.

  “Well, I’m glad they’re happy,” I said. “Let’s hope everyone else is happy for me. I don’t want a scandal.”

  I went to inspect the frescoes on the walls of the south terrace. A blocked gutter had caused rainwater to back up and flood the decorated wall. I ordered the slaves to check other downpipes or gutters then knelt to study the damage. Large flakes of plaster had lifted off the wall, and the delicate painting was ruined.

  Aegisthus came in, followed by his faithful shadow Orestes. He grimaced at the mess. “It doesn’t look pretty,” he commented.

  “I don’t even know where to get the sort of artist who can repair it,” I said. “It’s fine work, and I’m pretty sure we don’t have anyone in the town up to this quality.”

  “I would think it’s Minoan work,” he said. “Probably done by some slave captured when we conquered Crete. I’ll spread the word that we are looking for an artist.”

  I nodded, standing up and stretching my back. “Maybe talk to the traders. They might know of someone.”

  I looked at Orestes standing beside Aegisthus. Now was as good a time as any to tell him about Aegisthus and myself. Charis had made me aware the children should hear the news from me first. What did you explain to an eight-year-old?

  “Thank you, Aegisthus,” I said. “What would we do without him, Orestes?”

  Orestes gave an awkward shrug, embarrassed to be asked an opinion in front of his hero.

  “Aegisthus has become my best friend, and I love him very much,” I said to the boy. “You may hear comments from others about this.”

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw Aegisthus grin.

  “We’re all one family,” I added. Had I said enough? Orestes didn’t seem interested, and I didn’t want to give him inappropriate information.

  I looked at Aegisthus.

  He moved beside me and put his arm round me, giving me a hug. “All one happy family,” he echoed and gave me a quick peck on the forehead.

  “Come on, Orestes, time to get down to the training grounds. See you later, Nestra.” It was man talk, casual and short in front of a woman.

  They left together. I heard Orestes chattering as they walked away.

  It would be far trickier to talk to Electra. We had never had an easy rapport. She was eleven and displaying early symptoms of pubescence, not just the fat pads growing into breasts on her chest, but in mood swings and general contrariness. I decided to stage-manage some quality mother/daughter time in the bathhouse, reasoning that intimate confidences could more easily be shared if we were relaxed in warm water.

  I rehearsed the words I needed to say. Nothing too personal or sexual in nature, just a statement of my love-affirming, life-affirming, relationship with Aegisthus. It was important I present this as a joyous situation. Electra would soon be old enough to be developing her own relationships with men. I wanted her to approach her sexuality with confidence.

  She burst through the doorway, slamming the door behind her. I looked up, startled, from my work, and my heart sank. She had a thunderous scowl on her face, which didn’t bode well. Of all my children, she was the most like her father, given to bad moods and tantrums. If anything, these were getting worse as she approached menarche.

  “Hello, darling,” I said cautiously. “I was just going to send for you to see if you wanted to come to the baths with me for a massage.”

  “You’re having an affair with him, aren’t you? I overheard the maids. They say you’re sleeping with Aegisthus.”

  “Yes,” I said, as calmly as I could. “Aegisthus and I are lovers. I’m sorry you heard it from the maids because I wanted to tell you, which is why I was going to say, come to the baths with me and I could tell you there.”

  “How can you do it?” she exclaimed. “How can you betray my father? He’s your husband. How can you cheat on him like this?”

  I hadn’t expected this approach, that she would try and support the murdering bastard who had sired her.

  “Electra, you do realise that your father organised the murder of your sister, don’t you? I know you were young at the time, so perhaps you didn’t understand.”

  “She was a sacrifice,” said Electra dismissively. “Anyway, everyone knows she was saved at the last minute by the goddess.”

  I stared at her. Surely she didn’t think that was the truth?

  “Iphigenia had her throat cut on an altar at Aulis. Agamemnon deliberately deceived me and lured her to that death. It wasn’t an accident, darling. Your sister was killed because the wind wasn’t blowing from the right direction, and remember, it could just as easily have been you in her place. So don’t talk to me about betrayal. Agamemnon sundered any obligations I had to him when he killed my daughter. He’s a murderer, and I owe him nothing.”

  “My father is not a murderer. He didn’t murder Iphigenia. It’s all a lie that you’ve made up so you can have an affair.”

  Her eyes had gone dark and slitty with anger, her face flushed and ugly. I cautioned myself to hold on to my temper. She was only a child, after all.

  “One thing you should know, Electra, is I don’t lie. I don’t need to. You mustn’t believe the stories that circulate the markets. You know that. If we listened to every fabrication, we’d have to believe that your granny mated with a swan, or that Auntie Helen is a god’s daughter. These are just made-up tales, darling. Iphigenia was murdered. If you don’t believe me, talk to Charis. She was there.”

  “Charis is just a slave. She’d say anything you told her to,” said my daughter.

  I sighed. “Charis hasn’t lied either. You were too young to remember the state she was in when she returned from Aulis. You couldn’t doubt her story. She watched your sister burn on the funeral pyre.”

  “It’s not true!” she shouted. “And you do lie, and you are cheating on your husband. It’s disgusting that a woman as old as you should have a lover. You’re acting like a whore. A nasty, cheap, slutty whore.”

  I pulled my hand back, and, before I could think, struck her hard across the face.

  She pressed a hand to her abused cheek, and we stared at each other, both shocked to the core. I regretted the action immediately; I had never struck my children. But I couldn’t back down now.

  “I am not only your mother, but your queen,” I said coldly. “You will treat me with respect on both counts. I won’t tolerate that attitude from anyone. Least of all from my daughter. You will mind both your manners and your language around me.”

  I watched her face crumple, childish temper tantrum transmuting into impotent rage. “I hate you, I hate you!” she shouted, as she turned and fled the room.

  “So that went well,” I said sourly to Aegisthus some hours later.

  “At least Orestes didn’t seem to care,” he said consolingly.

  “But I’ve lost Electra forever,” I said, feeling sad. We’d never had the warm affection I’d had with Iphigenia, or now with Orestes. I couldn’t claim this as a mother/daughter problem. Iphigenia and I had been close and affectionate. But I had failed with Electra. Was it her,
was it me? She was a child, so the responsibility was obviously mine.

  Orestes was different. I liked to think, after thinking it through, that Orestes might talk to me if he had concerns. He’d always visited me daily to talk about his schooling, or his ambitions as a warrior. I had been able to share so much of his boyhood that the bond between us was close and strong. I believed it unbreakable. I loved his hunger for success, his quick intelligence, and I admired his persistence and diligence when things went wrong. I had tried hard not to burden him with my anger at Agamemnon. Instead, when a bard sang an appropriate poem in the hall, I would try to focus his attention on kings and princes who behaved well. On justice and honour, and the behaviour the gods expected. A boy’s father is important. Orestes would carry Agamemnon’s name for the rest of his life, and I wasn’t going to shame my son with slurs on it. Sufficient if I could provide a moral compass for him based on mythical heroes.

  I turned towards Aegisthus, wretched that I couldn’t spend our lives in that perfect privacy we’d enjoyed for a few short weeks.

  He hugged me close.

  “I’m sorry I’ve caused grief for you,” he whispered.

  I shook my head. “It’s not you. It’s just the reality of being in the world.” But I clung to the warmth his body offered.

  I was cradled in his arms later that night. If he wasn’t asleep, he was very close to it. My thoughts ran free. I felt Aegisthus was my own private miracle. He had opened my shuttered life and poured sunlight into areas I had ignored and abandoned.

  I realised I had been turning away from Agamemnon imperceptibly for years before his murder of Iphigenia. Probably the first blow he laid on me began it, and each subsequent episode of childish intemperance heightened my contempt. I appeared a loyal wife, but I had begun to conceal myself from my husband years ago. I can’t claim it as deliberate deceit. It was a protective shell to shield me from endless childish tantrums, those tedious, meaningless scenes, and of course the occasional violence. I had shuttered myself so well I hadn’t noticed the circumscribed life I had permitted myself.