Elektra(41)

‘Thank you,’ I said to Georgios, hoping he would hear the wholehearted sincerity in my voice, that he would know how much it meant to me.

I could understand that my mother had come back from Aulis swamped in grief. She hadn’t been able to see it then the way that I could now: that the gods had a purpose for the House of Atreus. Artemis had made a terrible demand of my father, and of course Clytemnestra had been distraught. I could forgive her that. Looking back, I could see that what had felt like a cold abandonment to me as a child was the pain that shrouded her, a suffering she couldn’t break through. Even the arrival of Aegisthus – maybe, if I forced myself, maybe I could make myself believe that she was maddened by her loss and that she was taken in by him, whilst still in its brutal clutches.

But, as the years continued to pass, why had she not come to her senses? And if she hadn’t done so yet, would she ever? I had prayed for my father to come home, for the war to end and the victors to return, so that he could put things right. The uncertainty gnawed away at me. What would he do when he came back and found out? Her crime became graver with each passing day.

My frustration boiled inside me all the time, relentless and inescapable. There was nothing I could do. I turned away from Aegisthus whenever I saw him; I never addressed a word to him. At first, I was worried that my mother might reprimand me for my rudeness, but when she never did, I found myself longing for it. Why did she just smile so smoothly and carry on? He gave up on pleasantries soon enough; he eyed me with silent suspicion, and I looked away, full of loathing, as she ignored us both.

He became bolder, walking through our palace as though it was his rightful home. My father’s rings glinted golden on his fingers, the luxurious woollen cloaks he draped about his shoulders were paid for with my father’s wealth. Now that Methepon was too tired to snarl and snap at him, he didn’t edge away from us. One afternoon, whilst my dog lay sleeping in a patch of sunlight, I saw Aegisthus dart his foot out and kick him in the greying fur over his ribs.

‘How dare you?’ The words flew from me before I could even think to be circumspect.

In an instant, my mother was there. ‘What’s this, Elektra?’

‘He kicked Methepon!’ My chest was heaving.

‘The dog shouldn’t sleep there, right in everyone’s way,’ she said, her hand on Aegisthus’ elbow, guiding him away.

I bristled with the injustice. My father’s dog, mistreated in my father’s home, another insult on top of so many. I knew that, like me, Methepon was holding on for his master’s return, but he had grown old over the course of this war, and his good, loyal heart couldn’t hold out much longer. When the life slipped away from him, I wept long and painful sobs, soaking his fur until they took his body away from me.

More alone than ever, I tried to avoid them all as much as I could. When I saw my mother and sister talking in the courtyard, just the two of them, I drew to the side, unseen. They looked so alike, the sunlight gleaming from their dark hair, the clean lines of their faces in profile, but whilst Clytemnestra drew herself up tall, Chrysothemis dipped her head in deference. Clytemnestra gestured, her expression full of animation, one hand tucking back a stray strand of hair as the other swept through the air to emphasise whatever it was she was saying. Chrysothemis stood still, thoughtful, never looking up to meet our mother’s eyes.

‘What did she want?’ I demanded afterwards.

‘She wanted to talk to me about – my future.’

‘Your future?’

My sister’s face flushed. ‘Marriage.’

How could we move forward, when our father was still at war, when everything was suspended, waiting for his return? It made me nauseous to think of it.

‘Who?’ I said.

‘I don’t know, not yet. She was just saying – saying that it’s time.’ Chrysothemis shrugged helplessly.

‘How can it be time?’ I couldn’t stand still, pacing across the courtyard, over to the low wall, looking out towards the mountains. My breath surged in my chest, agitation and anger wrestling together, making it hard for me to speak. ‘How can she make plans? How could she choose? It’s our father’s right to do this!’

My sister sighed. ‘I can’t refuse them.’

‘Them?’

‘Mother and Aegisthus.’

‘What does he have to do with it?’

She laughed at this, exasperated. ‘He rules Mycenae along with her. I can’t go against what they say.’

‘So you will marry a man of Aegisthus’ choosing?’ My voice was shrill, and I could see her withdrawing from me, hugging her arms close around her.

‘I don’t see how I can’t.’

My teeth ground together. ‘I would rather die.’

She looked at the ground. ‘I wouldn’t.’

I turned away from her. So that was how I would lose Chrysothemis. She’d marry an ally of Aegisthus, too obedient to make any protest. All I could hope for was what I’d been hoping for since the day he’d left; for Agamemnon to hurry home. But perhaps Chrysothemis didn’t have the faith in him that I did.

Something broke between my sister and me that day. I had no hope any more that the three of us could be allies: Chrysothemis, Orestes and me. Orestes was our father’s son, a young Agamemnon in our home. But he didn’t remember our father; had never even seen him. If Chrysothemis could give up on the man she remembered better than I did, how could I keep Agamemnon alive for Orestes? He was growing up with no father, and our mother had spent less time with him than my sister and I had. It was up to me to make sure that he knew where we came from, what had happened to us, and what we were waiting for. To make sure that when Agamemnon came home, he could be proud of two of his children, at least.