Elektra(48)

I heard the soft swallow in Aegisthus’ throat. I wondered if he imagined it: the father watching his son die, just as Aegisthus had watched his father die. And Priam, this aged king, famed across our lands for his fifty sons – how many of them did he mourn already? For a dizzying second, the bleak truth of it gaped before me: a hideous tangle of children lost and the agony of grief; the violence that reverberated through the legends of Atreus’ forefathers, rising like a tidal wave from our past and catching us all in its irresistible surge.

‘Hector had fought hundreds of our finest men and lived. But Achilles rose up on the plain with all the might and fury of the sun itself, and, as he made his charge, Hector could not stand so bravely any longer. He fled before Achilles like a man caught in a nightmare, desperately hurtling around the walls of the city, seeking a sanctuary he could not find. He flung his spear at Achilles in vain; it glanced off his great shield and fell uselessly to the ground. And when he summoned his strength and his courage to run at Achilles with his sword, which had dispatched so many Greeks before, Achilles drove his own spear right through Hector’s throat.’

I breathed out. ‘I thank you for this news,’ I said. ‘With Hector fallen, it cannot be long before we will be welcoming back our men.’ Not yet, I knew that at least. Between the pillars around the hall, I could see columns of sky, lit only by the stars. No beacons were yet aflame. Troy clung on still. When it fell, I would be the first in Mycenae to know.

‘That is not all,’ the messenger said. His eyes had flickered to Aegisthus again when I made mention of welcoming the men home. But I knew he would not dare speak whatever thought had crossed his mind at that.

‘No? What else?’

‘With Hector’s dying gasp, he begged Achilles to give his body back to his father. But Achilles’ anger was still too great, even with Patroklos’ murderer bleeding into the sand at his feet. He stripped away Hector’s armour. He slit Hector’s feet and forced thongs of ox-hide through the wounds to bind the corpse to the back of his chariot. Then he dragged him through the dust, with his parents watching still from the city walls. They say that the queen’s shrieks could be heard all the way back to the Greek ships. He vowed to feed Hector’s body to the dogs, but I think he would have feasted on it raw himself if he could have done so.’

I kept my face very still. ‘Well, this is excellent news. You must rest here tonight; we have many comforts at your disposal, and we are grateful indeed for everything you have related to us tonight. I ask for only one more piece of information, if you know it.’

He looked at me. I could see the strain carved across his face, that he must address me as queen, that he must do as I asked whilst Aegisthus sat in his king’s seat, whilst all the while he must be frantically wondering how Agamemnon might punish such disloyalty on his return.

‘And tomorrow,’ I hastened to add, ‘you may go forth from here with gold to prove our gratitude. A merchant ship sails to Etruria laden with pottery and fine jewellery to sell; I am sure they will have a place for an enterprising young man like yourself on board.’

I saw him breathe a fractional sigh of relief at the prospect of escape. ‘What else do you wish to know?’ he asked.

I leaned forward. ‘Is there news of Helen? My sister – do you know if she lives, if she has been seen?’

‘The Greeks have had sight of her, sometimes,’ he answered. ‘Atop the city walls, among the Trojans, but unmistakable even from afar. She lives, but that is all we know.’

I hadn’t expected to hear anything else. Later, as the palace slept and I prowled, I could not keep my mind from going back to her. In Sparta, the daughter that Helen had left behind grew into a young woman whilst my daughter roamed the shadowy Underworld. Did my sister think of Hermione, just a child when she and Paris had crept under the cover of night to his waiting ship? Hermione was older than Iphigenia had become; the younger cousin had overtaken my child, who would be frozen forever at fourteen. And still her mother dallied in a foreign court, the years slipping through her fingers, never to be regained. If my daughter dwelt anywhere in this world, no army or ocean could stop me from reaching her. But Helen stayed away.

I sighed impatiently. And then, from somewhere in the void, I heard the urgent press of whispers. I stiffened, held myself still, and strained to hear.

Deep, gruff, male voices. Not quavering with age or high with youth. My breath caught fast in my throat. Alongside the voices, I could hear the muffled thump and drag of an inert object. Some cursing as they shifted it, and then a low snort of suppressed laughter, harsh and mirthless. Somewhere in the darkness, their footsteps faded into nothing. The wind sighed across the sea and silence settled again.

I stayed out there until dawn began to seep into the sky, dull and ghostly on the horizon.



I slept through the early hours of the day. When I rose, the busy hustle of the morning had calmed to a quiet hum as usual. As I made my way down the corridor towards the throne room, I passed Aegisthus’ guards in a huddle. Their eyes flickered over me as I walked. The low growl of their voices, the bristle of their hulking posture, served as a reminder to anyone at Mycenae who might have thought to question the presence of my consort. I had been reassured by the promise of their protection whilst we waited. But we had waited so long. I doubted that it was respect I saw in their ever-lengthening stares, respect for the queen who had made them guards of a king. Was it restlessness I noted?