Elektra(39)

Elektra’s eyes narrowed. Her scowl reminded me of Agamemnon’s face, the first time I’d seen him in the hall of suitors. I swallowed hard.

‘He is your father’s cousin, but your father was cruel to Aegisthus, when he was young – not much older than you are, Chrysothemis,’ I said. ‘He was cruel to Aegisthus like he was cruel to your sister. He would have killed him, too, but I had asked him not to.’

Elektra said something too low for me to hear.

‘What’s that?’ I asked her, but she shook her head, staring at the ground, refusing to say it again. I sighed. ‘Agamemnon is a cruel man,’ I said. ‘Aegisthus is kind.’ How much more to explain than that? I wasn’t sure there was anything else to say, nothing else that they could understand. Besides, wasn’t that enough? ‘Why don’t you play outside?’ I asked, standing up again and smoothing the creases from my dress.

Chrysothemis tutted. ‘The sun is too bright for Elektra; it gives her headaches.’

I caught another sigh before it escaped. They were always indoors, their childhood so different from the one Helen and I had shared in Sparta. I thought of the hours my sister and I had spent together by the river, the freedom of sharing our confidences between us, never afraid of being overheard, never afraid of being stopped. My girls had a different experience here, but what frustrated me the most was that they never seemed to miss the liberty they were denied. They seemed content to stay within the palace walls, to learn to weave and to sing. They didn’t even seem to wonder what was outside.

Chrysothemis would understand, I decided, and Elektra was so young that she would forget what had gone before. They would never see Agamemnon again; I would make sure of it. This was their life, and it would be better than it had been. They would get used to that soon enough.



That night, I slipped from my bed, as I so often did, and went to the dim courtyard where I passed the hours in which everyone else slept. Only once had I been disturbed there, when Aegisthus had first arrived. Now that his presence was known in the palace, he must have felt emboldened to come out there again for, to my shock, I felt his hands close around my shoulders as I stood, looking out into the darkness. I twisted round, startled. ‘What are you doing here?’ I asked.

‘Why do you always come here in the night?’

I stepped away from his touch. ‘I can’t sleep.’

‘Is it that you’re keeping watch?’

I wrapped my arms close around my body. ‘I do keep watch. I need to know when the beacons will light, when the war is over.’

‘Slaves can keep watch for you,’ he said. ‘They can come to wake you when it happens.’

I shook my head. ‘I wouldn’t entrust this task to anyone else.’

He didn’t answer. I wanted him to go. This was my time: I didn’t want to share it with anyone else, not even him.

‘Why don’t you go back to bed?’ I asked him when the silence had stretched on long enough. It was too dark to see his face clearly, but I could feel his hurt.

‘Are you thinking about Iphigenia?’

I breathed sharply. ‘I’m always thinking about her.’

‘I think about my father, too,’ he said, and I was glad he couldn’t see my expression. I was afraid my disdain would be writ too clearly across my face.

What was the loss of a parent compared to that of a daughter? I didn’t want him here, comparing his grief to mine.

‘I see it happen over and over,’ he said.

Her hair whipping to the side as he pulled her against his chest, his arm locked tight around her, and the panic that flared up in her eyes. The knife falling, again and again in my mind, a vision that would never stop.

‘But when I think of it, when I think of Agamemnon killing him, I make myself see something else,’ he went on. ‘I see myself standing up, I see the axe in my hand. Instead of crying on the floor, I lift it up and aim it at his head.’

My irritation with him lessened. ‘Go on.’

‘I see him begging for mercy, on his knees on the ground.’ Aegisthus’ breathing was unsteady, his words coming rapidly. ‘I won’t give him any mercy, though; I laugh at him. I make it last, that moment.’

I squeezed my eyes closed, felt the grip of the wooden handle in my own hands, the weight of the blade, how it would feel to swing it back in the air, the force and the power of it. When Aegisthus came close to me again, I didn’t step away. His hands fastened around my arms.

‘Don’t think about what he did. Think about how we’ll punish him for it.’

I reached up, pulled his face closer to mine. ‘I want to be the one who does it. I swore it at Aulis, after – afterwards. It’s the reason I didn’t throw myself on the pyre with her.’

He didn’t argue. His breath was hot against my face.

I let my hands drop abruptly to my sides. ‘You go back to bed. I’ll watch out here a little longer.’

He wavered for a moment. ‘Don’t be too long.’

‘Of course,’ I answered. ‘You go. I will follow.’

I didn’t. The darkness belonged to me, the most comforting place I could find. The closest I could be to Iphigenia as she drifted through the subterranean night. But I forgave Aegisthus his intrusion. I was grateful for the scene he had drawn for me, the taste of his hatred in my mouth. I wasn’t so alone in my grief any more; not so alone in my rage.