I knew Cantor. He was one of the older boys, so I understood Orestes pride.
“Well done. I’m not surprised Aegisthus was pleased.”
Orestes and I had always enjoyed a relaxed camaraderie. I found it easy to talk to him, and the same must have been true for him as he shared his stories of school and the gymnasium. He probably took it for granted, but I cherished our conversations.
“Aegisthus says every warrior must think when they fight. Strategy wins battles, not just strength.”
I smiled. Five years on, and he still prefaced half his conversations with Aegisthus says.
“Sounds good to me.” I smiled and let him run off to the other boys. Love works in strange ways. Why had it been so easy to love Iphigenia and now Orestes? Why had I never felt that surge of affection for poor Electra?
Orestes was everything a Spartan mother could want in a son. Bold, brave and turning into a skilled warrior. Fortunately he was also intelligent, affectionate, moral and sweet-natured. I was overwhelmed with the pride and love I felt for him.
“There will be trouble, one way or another,” Aegisthus said as we changed for dinner. “Agamemnon’s death is going to pose a whole heap of problems for us.”
I carried on dressing, letting his words roll over me. I had spent a wonderful afternoon in the bathhouse and felt more relaxed than I had in weeks. There’s nothing like a salt scrub, followed by a really good massage, to get the blood flowing and the skin feeling silky. Chryseis had found a young slave girl and trained her up with the skills of masseuse, beautician and therapist. The girl was now available for casual assignments, and I had used her services that afternoon. I applauded Chryseis on her business acumen.
“I don’t know how I can go wrong,” she had said to me. “The women of this town are prepared to spend a fortune maintaining themselves. The money pours from their husbands’ coffers into mine. Best of all, it doesn’t involve dealing with the dead, dying, plague-ridden, or anything else nasty or brutish. Beauty makes everyone feel better, male or female.”
“Men as well?” I had asked, surprised.
“Oh yes,” Chryseis giggled. “Our tough men love luxury, once they’re introduced to it. The hardest part,” she scowled, “is to get them to understand that Nerissa isn’t part of the deal, that sex is not part of the package.”
“And do they understand that?” I asked, my curiosity raised. I had seen Nerissa, and she was a lovely girl any man would fancy.
“I got her out of a brothel to which she’d been sold when she was eight years old. Do you really imagine she’d tolerate any man trying it on now? If they do attempt anything she’d skewer them herself, but I find it easier to keep a bodyguard to do the job. I don’t want my best girl up on a charge.”
I let her words sink in and opened my eyes wide.
“Best girl?” I grinned at Chryseis. “I’d wondered, of course. Congratulations.”
I was still smiling at the thought several hours later.
“You’re not listening to me,” complained Aegisthus.
“Yes and no,” I replied. Then, as casually as I could, I said, “I’ve worked out how to get Agamemnon naked and defenceless.”
Aegisthus whipped his head round. His eyes narrowed as he looked at me. “How?”
“When he arrives I’ll meet him at the doors of the palace and escort him for a ritual cleansing in the bathhouse. I will let him know that he must be rid of the dust, dirt and death of Troy before he enters the palace proper to retake his place as its monarch. I think, if we make it sufficiently ceremonial, Agamemnon will accept it as part of the formalities he will be expecting. Can you source me long lengths of carpet, preferably purple? He must feel he is being treated like a king.”
Aegisthus gave a grunt of amusement. “Please tell me there’s an actual link between your sudden need for carpet and the death of your husband?”
So I explained. “Where else are we all stark naked without thinking about it but in the bathhouse? We expect to be scraped and oiled and scrubbed, and you don’t have that done fully dressed with your armour on, now do you?”
“True.” Aegisthus was working his way through the plan.
“I can have him escorted to the baths by fifty virgins, all dressed in white, singing his praises and wearing wreaths, if that makes the difference. Anything to make him think it’s a celebration in his honour. The details don’t matter so much at this point; we can work on them. But are you in agreement?”
I watched the smile grow, the laughter lines round his eyes deepening as a rumble of pleasure burst from his lips.
“Inspired,” he said at last. “Completely inspired.” He laughed. “Consider yourself the owner of however many costly lengths of carpet it takes. You’d better get the distance measured. We don’t want to run short at a critical time.”
He kissed me thoroughly, and we ended up entering the hall rather late for our meal.
The basic plan established, everything else was, as I had declared, simply detail. We were like actors setting a scene for an audience. In this case, an audience of one man.
I didn’t share with Aegisthus the nights I lay awake worrying. I was ashamed to discover that though I might hate Agamemnon and be vowed to destroy him, I was afraid I would also destroy that which so recently I had come to value. Orestes, my beautiful son. My lover, who was a partner in every way I could have wished for. I avoided all thought of Electra. I wanted a continuation of the present, not the uncertainty of a future that rested on my ability to carry out a murder successfully. Truly, love makes cowards of us. I was being carried forward on a tidal wave of expectation, which a small, fearful part of me dreaded. In a sense, Aegisthus carried me on. I had said what I wanted, and he would provide the means to achieve it.
And then a craven voice in my head asked, ‘What if you fail?’
I rolled over restlessly.
In the darkness Aegisthus reached out and held my hand. “What is it?” he asked.
“Just night worries,” I answered.
His grip tightened. “Don’t over-think this, Nestra. All you have to do is act when the time comes.”
“But …”
“Shh,” he said. “Don’t you think every warrior feels like that on the eve of battle? You will be fine when the moment arrives.”
I went to sleep comforted by his warmth and confidence.
Aegisthus obtained the carpet, at an exorbitant cost. I shuddered at the drain on the Treasury but decided the investment was worth the outcome.
Mycenae’s virgins were indeed co-opted into the procession. Fifty young maidens needed gowns and wreaths. They had to be rehearsed again and again so no detail was out of place. The girls had been selected by drawing lots. I’d had a terrible fear Electra would manage to end up in the processional, but the gods averted that disaster.
Aegisthus, I knew, was more concerned at the damage the returning army could do to the town and countryside when they realised their commander was dead.
“I’m picking that the townspeople themselves and the local forces I have trained will support you. They know about Iphigenia’s death; they saw your grief. From what you told me, they all attended the service for her, and I think they will understand. It might be different for the returning soldiers. I don’t know whether to put them up close to the town where I can keep an eye on them, or billet them somewhere in the countryside where they can’t do much harm.”
I bowed my head. There would be consequences, I knew. For every action there is a price to be paid. The gods grant I could take my vengeance first.
“How will you kill him?” Aegisthus, ever the pragmatist, asked.
I stared at him blankly.
“Well, you’ve got a killer glare when you’re in a temper, but that’s hardly going to fell a hero of Troy, now is it?”
I snarled back at him. I hated being pinned to the wall like this, but I knew it was part of Aegisthus’s planning, and it was w
hy he was successful. Orestes had expressed it well: it took thought and strategy to overcome an enemy.
“Years ago, before I was a bride, one of my suitors gave me a labrys. I had thought to use that. It’s a dangerous weapon but will give a killing stroke for relatively little effort on my part. I am afraid that with a dagger or sword I might not be strong enough – or fast enough – to kill cleanly.” My unspoken fear was of an unclean stroke that left Agamemnon wounded but still capable of fighting me.
Aegisthus said. “All right, that would do it. When was the last time you practised with the axe?”
I knew perfectly well I hadn’t practised with it at all; not since before my wedding, when I had twirled it around and shocked my mother.
I said nothing, but Aegisthus knew me intimately.
“You haven’t practised with it, have you?”
I had to admit, no, I hadn’t got that far yet.
He gave a sigh. “Nestra …”
From then on I trained with him at some impossible time each morning. We wanted privacy, naturally, and the terraces of the palace are unattended at five in the morning. Even the sun had barely climbed high enough to give us light.
Aegisthus made me train, and train, and then train some more. The muscles in my arms shrieked, my back hurt from the weight of the axe, and I had no technique at all. I had never learned how to use an axe. Spartans use javelins, swords and daggers. The axe is a northern weapon.
Somewhere in his travels Aegisthus had learned the basics, and he imparted these to me, quite brutally, in three weeks of intense activity. If I hadn’t loved him, I would have hated him then. As it was, I made him bear my physical misery and complaints every evening.
He laughed a little at me, but not too much. He was sympathetic to my aches and pains but unyielding as a trainer. “I have never sent a warrior into a fight unprepared,” he said calmly. “Those I train don’t fail, and neither will you. But you will work, my darling, so don’t even bother with that pout.”
I bared my teeth at him. I was in pain and miserable. He laughed, not unsympathetically, rolled me onto my stomach and proceeded to massage my shoulders. I felt the knots ease as he worked on them.
“Did I tell you that your new figure is sexually alluring?” he murmured provocatively.
“What?” I woke from the stupor his hands had induced.
“You’ve lost a lot of weight, your body is firmer, and you look wonderful.”
I glared at him. I wasn’t so far gone that I couldn’t recognise blatant flattery. But the next morning, once he had left, I checked my reflection. He was right. I was looking good and with his appreciation evident, I started to feel good.
Unspoken had been the fear Agamemnon would see me as an aged crone, of no use or consequence, and refuse to have me near him. Aegisthus had restored my confidence in myself. I preened in front of the mirror for a while before remembering I was running late for the latest round of axe training. Aegisthus was not known for leniency towards tardy trainees. I sighed, but ran to the terrace anyway.
CHAPTER
TWENTY SIX
THE SMOKE WAS A FAINT SMUDGE on the horizon, barely visible in the flat, early-morning light.
“Can you see it?” Aegisthus stood beside me.
I nodded.
The guard who had summoned us pointed further to the right. “That’s where the next beacon along is, but it’s not alight yet. They’re set an hour’s travel apart.”
I followed the line of beacons across the plain. “So they’ll be here in about three hours?”
“Yes, lady. About that.”
Aegisthus dismissed the guard.
We looked at each other, and I assayed a small smile.
“Ready?” he asked.
I nodded, then decided the occasion demanded something more assertive.
“I’m ready,” I said firmly.
I dressed in my best new gown. Chryseis sat and watched Charis as she wound my hair up. I hadn’t discussed my plans with them, nor had they asked. It was probable that Chryseis had worked out why the bathhouse and Nerissa featured as the day’s highlight, but she said nothing.
Smells of baking bread wafted in through the open shutters. The kitchens would be busy today. They had been preparing food since the early hours of the morning. Outside, in the square, trestles were being set up ready for the feast that evening, and spit roasts were already turning. The whole town would celebrate the return of their men.
The palace hall, large as it was, couldn’t accommodate the whole army, so we would eat with the townsfolk and their men in the town square tonight.
Aegisthus had left to get his troops ready for the chores of the day. They would start by erecting trestles and end by maintaining the peace. Whatever the outcome, Mycenae would need law and order.
I stood straight and proud to wish him goodbye.
“Two things,” he reminded me. “Don’t over-think, and don’t be tempted to make a speech to Agamemnon telling him why he must die. Just kill him. You can make a speech to his shade once he is dead.”
He saw me start to protest. “You will be tempted, Nestra. Many a man has gone to his death because he forgot to act first, speak afterwards.” He had kissed me hard. “You will be all right,” he said, and gripped my shoulders and left.
When Charis finished she knelt beside me and kissed my hand. “The gods be with you, lady.”
Chryseis nodded. “May fortune favour you,” she said quietly.
I smiled my thanks and they left.
I picked up a pile of linen I had prepared to conceal the labrys in and made my way down to the bathhouse. Nerissa was already there setting up.
She nodded to me as I entered, then ignored me as she carried on preparing for the day. I could smell the spices she was grinding into the salt as a rub.
I hid the axe behind a tapestry and checked, then double-checked, I could remove it from its hiding place both quickly and quietly.
I smiled at Nerissa as I departed.
A runner announced that one chariot had broken away from the army and was racing ahead towards the town. I smiled grimly. Agamemnon had always been impatient.
I positioned myself just inside the palace doors, waiting until his chariot appeared at the foot of the steps below, when I would emerge to welcome Agamemnon home. I had seen the townspeople lining the streets, waiting for their men. There would be many sorts of welcome in the town tonight.
The chariot pulled up at the steps. I had anticipated a wave of cheers following Agamemnon’s progress up from the gate, giving us advance warning. Instead there was an eerie silence.
I ordered the palace doors flung open, and I walked through them to the top of the stairs.
A groom had run up to grab the horses’ heads.
Two people were in the chariot. I walked down the steps, on the carpet we’d laid at such expense, to stand in front of it. I raised my arms and made a silent plea to Hera.
“Hail and welcome, Agamemnon, High King of the Greeks and Hero of Troy,” I said formally. I don’t know where I had summoned it from, but as I welcomed Iphigenia’s murderer, I had a bright smile on my face.
Agamemnon raised his hand in greeting. “Nestra!”
I could barely recognise him. He hadn’t aged well. He’d lost the thick, curly hair that had defined him, and I saw a squat, bald, aging man with a paunch. I hadn’t expected that.
My eyes moved to his companion.
“This is Cassandra,” he announced. “Once, Princess Cassandra of Troy.” He smirked at me. “Now she’s Agamemnon’s slave Cassandra.” He gave an evil grin. “The spoils of war.”
I nodded, afraid to say anything in case the words betrayed me. The girl was very young, younger than Electra. She was thin and pale with dark, bruised circles under her eyes. Her arms were like fragile little sticks. I couldn’t imagine the horrors she would have borne in the last weeks.
I focused on Agamemnon i
nstead. “We have prepared a welcome for you,” I said cheerfully. “If it would please you to walk with me to the bathhouse for a ritual cleansing, then after, we will enter the palace where we can celebrate your safe return.”
I held my hand out to help him from the chariot. He looked at the purple carpet stretching up the steps. “What’s the purpose of this?”
“To honour you and celebrate your success. Only the best and noblest can walk on carpet of this colour.”
Surprisingly he hesitated, staring at the fine carpet in front of him.
“Surely only the gods should step on something so fine. Suppose I anger them by hubris?”
I hadn’t thought of that. Never had it occurred to me that Agamemnon would feel humility.
I smiled reassuringly. “This won’t anger the gods,” I assured him. “They like to honour their favourite mortals. This night is set aside to pay homage you and your deeds in the victorious sack of Troy. There is no hubris in that.”
He glanced briefly at Cassandra before accepting my hand and stepping on to the carpet.
I raised my eyebrows at the girl, indicating she should join us, but she turned away. I saw the little head drooping on her long neck and left her in peace.
I led my husband up the steps. We made some sort of conversation, but I don’t recall the subject.
The bathhouse was full of the warm scent of spices. I introduced Agamemnon to Nerissa and watched him run his eyes over her.
Dirty old man, I thought.
“Let me be your maid, my husband,” I coaxed. Soon my acting would qualify me to join a troupe of players. “I will remove your cloak.”
He consented, and gradually I peeled the layers away. Tunic and sword belt, dagger and greaves. I placed the weapons on a convenient bench some distance from him.
I had been right. He had a paunch, and his flesh had turned flabby. His buttocks hung loose and flat. I wondered how often over the last ten years he’d actually been in combat, and how much time he’d spent ordering others around. Once his muscled, stocky frame had looked strong and powerful. Now it just looked old.
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