Helen Had a Sister

by Penelope Haines

  I hung his clothes up on the pegs.

  “Nerissa will look after you,” I assured him as I went to sit on a stool on the far side of the room.

  She indicated the long bench to him and he lay down on his stomach.

  She rubbed him with oil then scraped the sweat and dirt off. I watched as he grew progressively more relaxed under her hands.

  “Roll over,” she asked.

  He turned on to his back. I looked at the body that had fathered my children and realised I felt nothing. Not even regret.

  My attack was planned for the next phase, the salt rub, when I anticipated any resistance or caution on Agamemnon’s part would have abandoned him completely. I tried to control my breathing. I knew it was too fast. I could feel my heart thumping in my chest. As the moment for action drew near I knew myself to be terrified.

  I waited, counting down the seconds, forcing myself to stay still, when the peace of the bathhouse was broken by appalling screams from outside.

  I leapt to my feet. “What in Hades is that?” I asked, preparing to rush out.

  Agamemnon grunted. “Don’t worry, sit down. It’s just that silly Cassandra. She’s a seer or something; supposed to be able to tell the future. I’ve never yet heard anything sensible from her.”

  The noise stopped and I sat down again. I was seriously rattled, my hands shaking and my breathing ragged. The calm I had imposed on myself was completely gone, but Agamemnon seemed as unconcerned and relaxed as ever.

  “She’s woken me at night screaming like that,” he said sleepily. “I beat her the last time she did it; I thought it would teach her a lesson.”

  I looked at him in amazement then glanced up to see Nerissa’s eyes on me. We shared a look. One other person who wouldn’t grieve for him, I noted.

  Nerissa turned him back on to his stomach and began to apply the rub to his back and arms.

  I stood quietly, retrieved the labrys and stepped beside him. Nerissa, her eyes opening wide, obligingly continued holding his arm as she rubbed and polished his skin.

  “For Iphigenia,” I said loudly in defiance of Aegisthus’s advice, before bringing the axe down hard on his skull.

  He must have heard me and realised my intent in the second before the axe connected because he had started to turn his head. Consequently the axe sliced deeply in a line between brow and temple rather than into the back of his head. I had swung so savagely it was hard to pull the axe back out. I felt like a woodsman struggling with a knotted piece of wood before it came free.

  I stood looking down at him.

  “He’s dead,” said Nerissa calmly.

  I looked at her in amazement.

  “It was a clean blow. You don’t have to do anything more.”

  I looked back at the heap of flesh that had been Agamemnon and agreed. He was definitely dead, I could see through the skull to his brain. There was very little blood, I thought. I only had a small drop on my gown. Hardly visible.

  I was shaking with reaction. Nerissa went and got his clothes from the hook. She handed me his dagger.

  “I’ll roll him over,” she said. Then if you would feel safer, you can stab him as well, just to be certain.”

  I held the dagger, but shook my head. “No,” I said. “You’re right. He’s dead. There’s no need.”

  “I’ll roll him over anyway and cover him with a sheet. That way he’ll look decent when they carry him out.”

  I stood, uselessly watching her. My task accomplished, I had run out of ideas. She was right. Laid on his back and fully covered he did indeed look decently like any other corpse.

  There was another episode of screaming from outside, the bathhouse door burst open and Cassandra came running in. I turned to stop her before she saw the body; I was still holding the forgotten dagger. I will never know whether it was an accident, or whether she impaled herself deliberately, but she ran straight on to the blade.

  For a moment she stood straight in front of me, like a butterfly on a pin.

  I gave a gasp of horror and released my grip on the dagger. Without the support she slowly sagged and fell, crumpling at my feet like a discarded garment.

  “On no!” I moaned. I fell to my knees beside her to give her aid, but from the spread of blood on her gown I could see the wound was fatal. The dagger stuck out from her chest like an obscenity, and I pulled it from her.

  Nerissa ripped the dress from Cassandra’s shoulders, and we stared at the ugly gash beneath her small left breast. This killing had resulted in blood, a lot of blood. It was on my hands and my gown.

  “I didn’t mean to kill her,” I said in grief. “I wouldn’t have hurt her for the world. I felt so sorry for her. And now she’s dead at my hand.”

  “It wasn’t your fault,” said Nerissa quietly. “She either didn’t see the blade, or she ran onto it deliberately.” She reached out and closed Cassandra’s eyes. “I’ve heard of this girl. They say she could see the future but was cursed by Apollo, so no one would believe what she told them.”

  “She was just a child,” I said, mustering all the bitterness I felt. “A poor, abused little girl. She’d lost her family, her home, was probably raped multiple times in the sack of Troy, and was then forced to be a concubine for Agamemnon. Now I’m responsible for her death. It’s horrible.” I felt the full weight and guilt of Iphigenia’s death once again.

  Another beautiful young woman destroyed for no good reason. I felt sick with remorse.

  “It still wasn’t your fault.” Nerissa straightened Cassandra’s limbs and folded her arms across her chest, hiding the wound. There was no hiding the blood.

  I stroked her hair. It was soft and warm beneath my fingers. I bowed my head and tried to find some words that were appropriate. None came.

  All I could do was repeat, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

  Nerissa pulled me to my feet. “Lady, you cannot stay here. You must call for help, or tell the people what has happened. You must not fall to pieces now. There is work for you to do. It is very important that you act now as Queen of Mycenae.”

  I stared at her blankly. Shock had robbed my head of intelligent thought, and it took some minutes for her meaning to penetrate.

  Reaction was setting in. My legs felt wobbly and my hands shook. A fog of disbelief had invaded my head. Cassandra’s death had been no part of the plan.

  She shook me gently. “Lady, you must leave here and be a queen.”

  She reached for a cloth and wiped my hands clean, holding them firmly to steady their shakes. There wasn’t much she could do for the gown. I stood as she cleaned me up, mindless beneath her ministrations. I just wanted the dark to swallow me.

  She clucked at me in frustration. Eventually she pushed a phial of some foul-smelling substance beneath my nostrils. The harsh ammoniac smell woke me. I choked and coughed. It burned in my nostrils and refused to allow me to slip into unconsciousness. For a moment I thought I would vomit, then the urge passed.

  I took a breath and realised I was alive and my vow accomplished. Aegisthus, I thought with some urgency. I must let him know.

  “Thank you, Nerissa,” I said at last. “You are right. I must go.”

  I walked to the door and put my hand on it. I turned back for a look at the carnage I had wrought. Agamemnon’s corpse lay tidily beneath the sheet, and Nerissa was busying herself with the small body of Cassandra. There were bloodstains on the tiles. I froze, sick to my heart. Then Nerissa raised her head, looked at me and waved me impatiently on my way.

  It took more courage than I’d known I’d had, to push through it and emerge on the other side in front of the crowd.

  Aegisthus and I had agreed there should be nothing hidden about Agamemnon’s death, nothing to allow a rumour to grow that his murder was a shameful crime.

  “You’ll have to let everyone know,” he’d said, “that this is execution, not assassination.”

  The quiet muttering ceased w
hen the crowd caught sight of me. I saw their faces lifted towards me. Silently they watched, as I walked down the steps, seeing the blood on my gown and assessing its meaning. Halfway down the flight I stopped. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Aegisthus close by and his troops a short distance away, ready to dispel trouble.

  “People of Mycenae,” I called. I had their attention, even though my voice on its own could not have penetrated far into the crowd.

  “People of Mycenae,” I cried again, as loudly as I could. “Agamemnon is dead. The oath I made before the gods is fulfilled. Iphigenia’s murder has been avenged. Her innocent blood has cried for ten years and at last she can rest in peace. I have executed Agamemnon. The blood debt is paid.”

  I could hear the surge in noise now as word was spread from person to person down the road. I let it run for a few minutes, wondering all the while if someone would challenge me over the killing. None did. I remembered the sinister silence as Agamemnon had entered the town. Others had remembered my daughter’s killing and wondered what I would do. I’d never spoken of my vow, but it was probably common knowledge. The temple priest would have talked.

  At last I continued. “I regret that Cassandra, the princess of Troy whom Agamemnon brought with him, accidentally ran onto his dagger and is also dead. I grieve for her loss.”

  The volume from the crowd rose as this news was passed on.

  I waited a few moments for any response, then turned and began the climb back up the steps.

  There was a shriek and a sudden rush of feet above me as Electra came pounding down towards me. “You murdered him!” she cried. “You murdered my father!” She was crazed with rage and horror and her clawed hands sought to scratch my face. I tried to hold her, but she spun in my grip and sank to the ground, screaming like a mad woman.

  Aegisthus reached me, picked Electra up, slung her over his shoulder and carried her back into the palace. The noise of her screaming cut off as the palace doors closed behind them. I shut my eyes briefly and breathed heavily. My mouth tasted foul, and I ran my tongue over dry lips.

  I turned back to the crowd. “Agamemnon was justly executed for his crimes,” I cried. “He was not fit to return to this city, nor to rule again. A daughter’s grief for her father is understandable but will pass. Justice has been done before the gods. My oath has been discharged.”

  I turned and followed Aegisthus into the palace. Let the crowd do what they would, I was too exhausted to care.

  An hour later the troops from Troy arrived. Aegisthus, tireless in this emergency, had gone back to his men and organised the newcomers into a camp outside the city. I left the management to him. That evening they would parade into the city and be united with their families. I heard later the army’s arrival was peaceful, the troops more concerned with their own personal reunions than worried about Agamemnon’s fate. He hadn’t been popular, particularly since his stupidity with Briseis had nearly cost the Greeks their victory at Troy.

  I let Charis bathe me, change my gown and pour me wine. She bathed my face with cool lavender water, and I felt some of the tension ease. I looked up to see her smiling.

  “You did it, Nestra. You fulfilled your oath.” Her eyes shone with pride and admiration. “Iphigenia is avenged.”

  I nodded – a mistake, as my head ached. “I’ve felt such rage for so long, and now it’s over. I can let it go. I just wish I could feel more excited about it. Instead I feel exhausted.”

  Charis laughed softly. “I’m not surprised. But you can feel very proud of yourself.”

  I clutched at her fingers. “I fulfilled my oath, Charis, but Electra will never forgive me.”

  Charis shrugged. “She’s a difficult girl, and she’s always championed her father, probably because she knew it annoyed you. There’s not much you can do about it. You had no choice, and really, I don’t think anyone else will question what you did. All Mycenae knows Iphigenia died because of Agamemnon, and they loved their princess. I don’t think you have any need to worry. They respect and love their queen. Your people will be loyal to you.”

  Charis was wrong. There was one other person who cared about Agamemnon’s fate.

  I entered the square that evening, with my maids behind me, to sit at the official table and welcome the troops home. There was a spirit of celebration in the air. The men paraded briefly before being engulfed by families welcoming them back. Old folk, relieved their sons had returned, lonely wives and fatherless children all rejoiced. The problems of readjusting to each other would start tomorrow. Tonight the town and its men were happy to celebrate, eat the roasted meats and drink the brew the kitchens had been preparing for weeks. There was music playing, and dancing had started in the square. My maids were in the midst of it, revelling with the rest. I saw Charis laughing up at a young warrior. There were many young women in the town who would be happy to have so many eligible men return.

  Aegisthus had been with me at the start of the ceremony, but left to supervise his men. Night fell and the torches were lit. I was still sitting on the raised dais, a smile of welcome painted on my face, waving at happy couples stepping past and wondering how soon, in all decency, I could leave proceedings and go home to bed. The headache that had been niggling all day had settled in, and my head was throbbing. I was having difficulty concentrating. I needed time and space around me to come to terms with my actions that morning. Instead I was surrounded by people. I had rarely felt so claustrophobic.

  Orestes approached. I smiled at him, then thought I had never seen him look so ill. I stood up in concern and reached for him. “Darling, are you all right? You look terrible.”

  He avoided my arms. “Mother,” he stammered.

  “What’s wrong? Are you ill?”

  “Mother,” he began again, “they say you killed Agamemnon. They say you murdered my father?”

  I felt the colour rise to my cheeks as my heart rate sped up. I hadn’t considered Orestes. I wondered where he’d been standing that morning; well away from the palace I hoped. I took a deep breath. “No,” I said firmly. “I took vengeance on a murderer. Agamemnon killed my daughter, your sister, for no good reason. I was the only one who could make him pay for his blood guilt, so I did.”

  Trying to make him understand, I continued, “He has paid for his crime, and Iphigenia is avenged.”

  “Oh gods!” he cried. “How could you do that? Don’t you see what you’ve done?”

  “I have done what I had to do,” I said. “When Agamemnon killed Iphigenia, I took an oath before the gods to avenge her. I have honoured my oath, before gods and men.”

  “He was my father,” he said.

  I was getting angry. “He was a murderous father. He killed his child. You never knew him.”

  “That’s hardly the point.”

  I felt the cold force of his judgment.

  Orestes and I had never quarrelled. It had never occurred to me that we could. “Orestes …”

  He gave a choking sob and overrode me. He was struggling so hard with emotion he could barely get the words out, but eventually cried, “Don’t you see what you’ve done? You killed my father. Now I, his son, have to avenge his death. It’s my duty. Do you know what that means? It means I am going to have to kill you in retribution. How could you force this bloodguilt on me? How could you do this to us? I loved you, Mother, and you have made me your murderer.”

  I felt I’d been kicked in the stomach and blenched. I sat down in a hurry as my brain absorbed his shocking words. I stared at him in appalled horror.

  Before Agamemnon’s death I’d been worried about Electra, worried about the troops returned from Troy, worried about the reaction from the townspeople. This was a complication I hadn’t considered. Orestes couldn’t possibly remember Agamemnon, nor mourn for him as a man does his father. I hadn’t thought such a theoretical grief would undo him. He had always treated Aegisthus as a father. I was shaken to the core. Too late I remembered his rectitude. Orestes
had always had a firm moral code, young though he was.

  “Orestes,” I pleaded, trying to regain control. “You are twelve years old. Give yourself time. Trust me. Things will look different in a few days and weeks as you have time to think things through. You are not in any way responsible for avenging Agamemnon. I had to take vengeance for Iphigenia. She was defenceless against his ambitions and had no one to speak for her or avenge her murder. That episode is now finished. You must see that. The gods are satisfied with my oath.”

  “That doesn’t change what I will have to do, though, does it?” he said.

  I could see the despair in his face and reached to him. “Darling …” My cry was desperate with pain. “It doesn’t have to be like this. Please don’t forget how much I love you. Don’t forget you love me.”

  He twisted away from me. “That can’t be allowed to matter,” he cried.

  “Orestes!” I was frantic. “Don’t try to make this into some quarrel between us, because it isn’t. The house of Atreus has enough blood on its hands already from your father and his brother. Don’t carry blood feuds on to a new generation, please. Let it go,” I said urgently.

  “You shouldn’t have done it, Mother.” His eyes were as blank and inhuman as a statue of the gods as he wrenched away from my reaching hands.

  He disappeared into the darkness, and I sat there with my heart hammering, wondering whether to go after him. I decided both of us were so distraught I’d only make the situation worse.

  Electra had always positioned herself as loyal to her father, and nothing would change that. But Orestes had been my child. Heart and mind, he had been mine. We had an easy camaraderie, shared jokes, tastes and dreams. Orestes was my pride and joy, and now he hated me. Hated me for a father he couldn’t remember and wouldn’t have liked if he’d known him.

  Agamemnon was still causing grief from beyond the grave.