Elektra(70)

If I could descend to the Underworld swiftly and painlessly, then I would. I would gulp at the waters of the Lethe and let their soporific streams wash away every memory I possess. But I cannot.

I am so absorbed in my thoughts that I don’t hear the footsteps until he’s almost upon me: a man looming from the shadows. I think it must be one of Aegisthus’ men come to seize me, but the terror subsides as I see it’s Georgios. And then someone else draws out from the shadows to stand in the light spilling from the tomb. A skinny little figure, hugging his arms tightly about himself.

‘Orestes,’ I whisper.

‘Come out of the light,’ Georgios says, his voice low. A cold fear grips me. Aegisthus’ spies might be lurking nearby, hunting for us. So why has Georgios brought my little brother here, into danger?

‘Orestes,’ Georgios says. There is urgency in his tone, but my brother’s face is turned towards the tomb entrance, and I can see the longing in his gaze. Orestes has never even laid eyes upon our father.

‘Come here, Orestes,’ I say, and he comes towards us, into the protective cover of darkness. I put my arm about his little shoulders. ‘Why are you here?’ I ask Georgios. ‘Why would you risk this?’

‘The palace isn’t safe for your brother,’ Georgios answers. ‘I took him out of there as soon as I could, before . . .’ He does not need to finish the sentence, and I am grateful on Orestes’ behalf that he does not. Shame flashes through me. I gave my brother only a brief thought when I stole away, drawn here by the irresistible force of my grief.

Aegisthus knows full well how dangerous it is to leave a son behind when you murder the father. ‘What will we do?’ Although the air is cool, sweat prickles my forehead.

Georgios takes a long breath. ‘My father has friends not far from here. If I can get him away tonight and take him to them, I can convince them to carry him further from Mycenae. There will be many sympathetic to the son of Agamemnon, many who will recoil from what Clytemnestra has done. We will find him a home, safe from Aegisthus.’

As Georgios speaks, I can feel Orestes’ shoulders hunch under my arm. He presses his face into me. ‘I don’t want to go,’ he says, and I think the plaintive note in his voice might break me.

‘It’s for the best,’ I say. ‘I don’t want you to go either, but Mycenae is a bad place now. When we thought Father was coming home, we could endure it, but . . .’

A sob breaks out from him, and I hold him close. It tears me in two; the desire to keep him in my arms and the urge to push him away as soon as possible, to get him to safety and as far from Aegisthus and his men as he can be. ‘Here,’ I say, and, keeping one hand cradling my brother, I use the other to unfasten my earrings and hand them to Georgios. ‘You may need them as a bribe – if there was time, I could go back to the palace for more.’

He is already shaking his head. The gold circlets that twist into ornate spirals catch the firelight and gleam momentarily before he tucks them into a pouch beneath his cloak. ‘There is no time,’ he says. ‘Come, Orestes.’

Somehow it hurts more when the sniffling child at my side steels himself than it did when he collapsed into tears. Orestes has had no father to guide him. The cowardly Aegisthus slinking behind our mother all his life has been no example. Perhaps I have been too soft; perhaps I have made him girlish and younger than his years, but I could not bear to bring any more suffering upon his head. Now, too late, I wish he could be tougher, more of a warrior like Agamemnon. Now I am sending him into an unknown world, and I can only hope the friends he finds there will do a better job than I did, raising him for his destiny. That he stands as tall as he can, gulping back his grief, gives me some hope. ‘Take this, too,’ I tell him, and I pull out the bronze dagger from my belt. ‘It was our father’s.’ It’s the only thing I have that belonged to Agamemnon. I kiss his forehead, like our father kissed mine. ‘Make sure you bring it back.’

He turns it side to side, captivated by the way the gold embellishments glint in the torchlight. ‘I will.’

The inky darkness where Georgios stands makes it impossible for me to see his face, but there is a moment of stillness and I feel sure his eyes are fixed upon me. For a second, I think he is about to speak, and I have an uncomfortable presentiment about what declaration he could be on the brink of making. I twist away from them both, stepping awkwardly back, closer to where my father lies.

‘You won’t come with us?’ he asks.

I am already shaking my head. ‘Aegisthus won’t harm me,’ I say. ‘He won’t fear me, or what I might become. In the palace, I will be safe. Out there . . . you can’t protect me.’ Georgios is no warrior; he commands no men and he has never gone into battle. It was me who begged him not to. For Orestes, escape with Georgios is his only chance, and if they travel with a girl, they will attract more attention. I won’t risk all of our lives just to avoid living with my mother a while longer. ‘Besides,’ I add, ‘if I go, then I won’t know what she is doing. Here, I can make our plans for when Orestes returns.’ Clytemnestra brooded here for ten years, but Orestes will be a man sooner than that.

‘How will you get back to the palace?’ Georgios is asking, and I shake my head again, cutting him off before he can make any offer.

‘The same way that I came here,’ I answer. ‘No one will be looking for me. It will be Orestes they seek, so take him before they follow us here.’