Elektra(9)

The reunion of Helen and Menelaus was a joyous one and I stood back from their embrace. Our father was close behind us, taking Agamemnon’s hand, a flurry of words and welcome and congratulations abounding.

Agamemnon’s face was transformed. No seriousness, no scowling. It was quite the difference to see him with the weight shrugged from his shoulders. ‘Thyestes is dead,’ he said, a note of quiet exultation running through his words. ‘But his son, Aegisthus, lives.’ He glanced at me as he spoke. ‘The gods can be pleased that no innocent blood was spilled.’

Perhaps that was it. The curse that plagued his family, lifted at last. Perhaps that explained the difference in him.

My imagination had been given free rein whilst he had been away. Now he stood before me in the flesh. Perhaps a trifle shorter than I had remembered, the set of his features a little heavier. Still, the lightening of his spirits had worked wonders. He didn’t have the fine nose and jawline that a sculptor would long to carve in marble, but he put me in mind of a bearskin my brother had brought back once from hunting. He’d borne it home as testament to his prowess with its head intact, its face still frozen in a snarl, before it was cut into furs for Helen and me to nestle in through the chill of winter nights. Something about Agamemnon’s bristled brows reminded me of it. Helen had been afraid of it, but I had been intrigued by the thought that it had so recently been roaming the mountains, wild and savage, and I could reach out a hand and stroke its fur.

Agamemnon’s eyes flickered to mine again before my father moved between us, slinging his arm about Agamemnon’s shoulder, urging him to come inside, promising fine wine and celebrations. Agamemnon’s face stretched into a smile.

The men walked ahead – Menelaus reluctant to drop his wife’s hand, but pulled along by my exuberant father – and Helen and I turned to follow. She pulled me close as we walked together, the perfume of her hair sweet and soft against my face, my uncertainties forgotten for the moment, obliterated by the triumph of their successful homecoming.



I suppose he was emboldened by victory, for he did not hesitate in finding me later that evening as the celebrations roared on. This time, he wasn’t hiding in the shadows, but instead caught my arm with a lightness that felt almost playful as he invited me to walk out into the courtyard, away from the heat of the great hall.

I paused, not sure how best to demur. It was one thing to meet him alone outside by chance as we had before, but quite another to go with him to some secluded place on purpose. He saw my reluctance and leaned close. ‘Your father permits it.’

I accompanied him. I supposed this was the moment, and I still did not know entirely what to say. Outside in the courtyard, the moon shone full and bright against the painted pillars.

‘I will return to Mycenae tomorrow,’ he said.

I waited for him to go on. I had watched him through the evening as he drank and cheered with the rest of them, and I had wondered if there was anything different about him after all. I found that I quite missed his solemnity, the burden he had carried before. Maybe I didn’t want a conquering hero shouting about his victory; I had rather preferred the tormented anguish of the exile.

‘I hope.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I hope that if I send for you, you will come.’

‘To Mycenae?’ I asked. ‘For what reason?’

The tips of his ears reddened beneath his thick, dark curls. ‘I said before I left that I could not look for a wife before I had reclaimed my throne,’ he said. ‘But now that I have – I’ve asked your father, and he is happy for us to marry.’

I felt oddly calm, standing in the cool night air. I looked at this man standing before me, a king of his own city, born of an intriguing family, the brother of my sister’s choice, and the man my father had chosen for me. It could be worse, I thought.



My father was eager to cement his alliances, and I felt all of Sparta hum with a contented buzz as the preparations for my departure to Mycenae got under way. I could see that Aga-memnon and my father were in accord that their influence and power could only be strengthened by the friendship between Mycenae and Sparta; that the rest of Greece would surely bow to their combined might. It felt like the spread of the Peloponnese would belong to us.

‘We will see each other again soon,’ Helen vowed as we held each other tightly on the creaking wooden deck.

Though I knew she sought to soothe herself, I could not help but feel the unlikelihood of her words. The distance was not far, but I knew our visits would be sparse. The great sprawling Arcadian mountains would tower between us. Besides, we had never been separated for as much as a day. Even if it were only months before we saw each other again, it was an unimaginable length of time.

The air was cool against my damp face as the sails flapped and bulged behind me. It would be speedy sailing, Agamemnon had assured me, for the winds were fair and on our side. I twisted my hands together, feeling the absence of Helen’s fingers twined through mine as the cries of the oarsmen went up and the ship slowly set forth upon the white-tipped waves. I could read triumph in my father’s face as he stood, stately and regal at the harbour, watching us go. Helen’s face was hidden in Menelaus’ shoulder, but as the oars sliced cleanly through the foam, she looked up at me and I saw her face shining, radiant and proud. I had grown so used to her beauty that I hardly noticed it any more, until a moment like this when she would sweep away my breath in a heartbeat. Her smile was the last thing I saw as I hung over the wooden rails, waving frantically, undignified, in half-laughter, half-tears.