Elektra(55)

Through the narrow slit of the window, I could see the tops of the leaping flames as they rose higher and higher, gleefully devouring the wooden rooftops and towers. An orange glow infused the sky as the macabre dance of the fire spread, greedy and rampant, and black smoke hung heavy above.

Now, I could hear the sounds of panic seizing the palace. The pounding of footsteps, the slamming back of doors as people ran and shrieked and urged everyone to flee, as fast as they could. As the breeze turned and a torrent of burning air rushed through the window, choking me for a moment with heat and ash, someone twisted the key to my door and shoved against it. Winded and bent double, I only heard them yell to me to get out as they ran past.

The Greeks would storm the palace. In an aching spasm, I thought of my father, my mother, Andromache and little Astyanax. There would be no sanctuary here.

I squeezed my eyes shut. ‘Apollo,’ I muttered fervently. ‘Apollo, I have been your faithful servant; I have endured my punishment without complaint. Please help, please show mercy to us.’

For years, since I had turned from him in his temple and felt his wrath, he had been with me. A taunting, tormenting presence in my head, his brutal attacks coming without warning, his malice permeating every inch of my body, seeping through me like venom whilst I writhed in agony.

But I was alone. No excruciating twist of prophecy skewered me; no sleek shimmer of menace rippled the air; no mocking trail of laughter followed me.

He was gone. He did not even linger to watch me suffer the last. He had deserted me.

The sound of frantic footsteps had died away. The palace felt empty. A desolate and hollow calm descended in place of chaos.

I could not stand helplessly waiting for the Greeks to find me. Without knowing where I was going, I lurched from the room. Through the pillars flanking the courtyard ahead, I could see the city was on fire, the air choked with ash. Gasping, I ripped at my dress and tore a ragged strip from the skirt, which I clutched over my mouth.

Nightmarish confusion reigned. I could make no sense of anything, straining to see through the smothering veil of fog. Fire bellowed through the chaos, interspersed with screams and yells and mighty crashes as beams gave way and great towers toppled from the sky.

I prayed for one to land on me. To crush me in an instant and spare me what would come otherwise. A quick and merciful death: was that all I could hope for? Somewhere, in the panicked vestiges of my brain, I knew it was not so, that the gods had nothing so kind in store for me. I ran, flinging myself into the melee with no idea where I was going or why.

And then I was back, back at the square where the horse still stood, a gaping hole in its side, from which the Greeks had spilled into the silent, sleeping heart of Troy. The rest of the army must have crept back from the hidden bay to which they had sailed and waited under the cover of darkness at the foot of our walls for the gates to swing open.

Flames licked at the timber shell, too late. Through the fear that swamped me, I felt a rising tingle of rage. I had known, I had known it, and I could not stop it. The anguish twisted through me, an excruciating tide of despair and fury that I had not set it alight whilst they cowered inside its belly, that they had not burned alive in the dark, every last one of them. That my father and my brother had stopped me, and what would happen to them now? Were they already dead somewhere in the burning city, or did the Greeks hold them, gloating, making them watch the destruction of all we held dear before dispatching them to the Underworld?

The heat was like a solid wall, pressing in upon me from all sides, and if I stood in futile, frustrated rage any longer, then it would consume me, too. I don’t know why I sought to preserve my life. If Priam and Deiphobus and the men of the city would be slaughtered like sheep led to sacrifice, it was sweet mercy compared to what awaited me, my mother, my sister, and all the women and girls of Troy. The knowledge curdled in my veins, but still I didn’t dare to hurl myself into the fire and make it end, before what was to come.

The temple. The temple of Athena, no less, protector of the Greeks. Of all the immortals, they honoured her the most, their grey-eyed goddess of war who had bestowed her favour upon them so generously in this ten-year battle. If there was anything they might respect, it would be Athena. And it was her temple that stood, untouched by fire, by this very square. It was there that I could find sanctuary; there that I might be spared.

I ran between its columns, turning at the entrance to look back at what lay behind me. Monstrous. Unthinkable. The streets I had walked, the buildings that framed the sky, every familiar sight of my life, melting and collapsing to nothing but rubble and soot. My chest ached, my eyes streamed, and my head reeled from the incomprehensible enormity of it. Despite what I had seen in the bloodless visions Apollo had sent, I had not known the visceral truth of it; I had not felt the heat of it sear my flesh and scorch my hair.

I stumbled through the stone entrance, the cool air of the interior a shock against my raw, burned flesh. The statue of Athena was placed in the centre, her features serene, her painted eyes blank and fixed, staring dead ahead. I threw myself at the altar by her feet, pressed my forehead to it and squeezed my eyes shut. If the temple caves in above my head, make it happen quickly, I begged feverishly. Let me not know about it. This time, please let me not see the disaster before it happens.

There was nothing in the soldier’s eyes when he plunged into the temple and pulled me from the altar. No vestige of humanity to which I could appeal. Beneath the gaze of Athena, I screamed at him to stop, to think where he was, this sacred place in the midst of war, this sanctuary from desecration.