Beauty's Daughter: The Story of Hermione and Helen of Troy (24 page)

“I don’t doubt you’ve heard about it—everyone has!” she said sarcastically. “We make quite a family story, don’t we?” She scanned me from head to foot. “I’m sure Electra will be happy to see you.”

She hadn’t invited me into the palace. She also hadn’t mentioned Orestes. It would surely have been better to wait, but my desire to know was stronger than my patience. “And your brother, Orestes?” My voice sounded high and tense to my own ears, and I wished I hadn’t asked.

“He’s been exiled,” Chrysothemis said coolly. “Surely you’ve heard that as well, Hermione.”

“I have,” I admitted. “But I hoped his exile had ended and he’d come home.”

“I doubt he’ll ever come home. He’s not welcome here.”

I felt as though the ground had dropped away beneath me. “But—”

Chrysothemis had turned away and was walking back into the palace. “You might as well come in, Hermione. I’ll take you to Electra myself.”

I followed Chrysothemis through a series of mostly empty rooms and past the megaron—the splendid hall where Agamemnon had once sat on his throne inlaid with ivory and gold and received visitors from all over the Greek world. There was no sign that a fire had burned recently on the central hearth. It, too, felt deserted. At the end of a dim corridor Chrysothemis stopped at a thick door guarded by an enormous man with muscles like boulders and legs like tree trunks. He was the largest man I had ever seen. I thought he must be from the ancient race of giants known as Cyclopes, though he didn’t have their characteristic single eye in the middle of his forehead. Nevertheless, he was a terrifying sight.

“Open the door, Asius,” said Chrysothemis, and the giant pushed open the great wooden door with his fingertips as though it were weightless. “A visitor, Electra,” Chrysothemis called, and I stepped inside. The door slammed shut behind me. I felt as though I were being sealed in a tomb.

The room was small and dark and sparsely furnished. Electra, weaving at a loom on the far wall, turned to look at her visitor. She was taller than I remembered, and more beautiful, even in the dim light. She looked so much like Orestes that she might have been his twin—the same thick, dark hair in abundant curls, the same large, expressive eyes, the same sweet mouth. She stared at my hair and broke into a smile. “Hermione, can it be you?”

There were tears in her eyes and in mine, too, when we embraced. We hadn’t been close as children, no doubt because she was a little older at an age when even a year or two seemed like a great deal. Now we were grown, and the petty issues of childhood seemed to vanish like smoke.

“I’ve wanted so badly to see you, Hermione! I hoped you’d find me here.”

When Electra smiled, it was like seeing Orestes’ smile again.

“This is where you live?” I asked, taking in the small, ill-furnished room. “These are hardly the quarters of a princess.”

“They suit me,” she said with a shrug. “I can’t bear to go to those parts of the palace where my mother lived with her lover and where . . . everything happened,” Electra said. “So I’ve moved here. These are the quarters of a scribe who left long ago. Chrysothemis calls herself queen and has taken our mother’s bedroom. She’s made it into a kind of shrine.” She shrugged again. “I choose not to go there.”

I gestured to the giant outside the door, raising my eyebrows. “My guard,” she explained.

“To protect you?”

Her laugh was bitter. “To prevent me from leaving.”

The door creaked open again, and an elderly servant carried in a tray of dried fruit and jars of wine and water. She set down the tray with a thump and went to perch on a low stool near the door, her sharp old eyes fixed on us.

“In the old days a banquet would have been made ready for you,” Electra apologized. “This is the best I can offer you just now.” She poured us each a goblet of watered wine. “There are many things I want to tell you, dear cousin,” she said, and began her story.

27

ELECTRA SPOKE SOFTLY, KEEPING
a watchful eye on the old servant. “During the war with Troy I stayed in Mycenae with my mother and Chrysothemis,” she said. “A fierce hatred for Agamemnon had taken root in my mother’s heart. Then Aegisthus came, and Clytemnestra welcomed him as her lover. I despised Aegisthus and everything about him—how he rode my father’s horses, drove his chariot, wore his gorgeous robes, sat on his golden throne. And slept in the royal bed with my mother.

“When the war ended, we learned that Agamemnon was coming home. I had no idea then that my mother planned to murder him. I even helped her prepare the banquet for him. I wondered how she’d explain the presence of Aegisthus, but it didn’t occur to me to warn my father. I just assumed he’d take care of the intruder in short order.

“When Agamemnon arrived with Cassandra, his beautiful concubine—some said she was second only to Helen in beauty—his bath was ready, his robes laid out, a royal feast spread on the table. When I heard the shouting and the screams, I was terrified. I hid from the tumult. Suddenly it was over, and Agamemnon was dead. Cassandra, too. My mother and Aegisthus buried my father outside the walls of the citadel and resumed their lives, as though nothing had happened. But then they worried that Orestes would come seeking vengeance.

“And he did. He’d consulted the oracle at Delphi. Apollo urged revenge and the pythoness told him what he had to do. His friend Pylades agreed to come with him to Mycenae.

“My mother hired mourners to pour libations on Agamemnon’s tomb to appease his ghost, and I accompanied them, to pour libations in my own name. I didn’t know that Orestes and Pylades had come, but Orestes had left a lock of his hair on the tomb, as he’d been told to do, and he and Pylades hid in a thicket to watch. When I found the lock of hair, I knew it belonged to my brother. Orestes leaped out of the thicket, calling my name. What joy it was to see him again! And what grief we shared at the murder of our father!

“We worked out a plan,” Electra continued. “I went back to the palace and told my mother that I had poured the libations and she had nothing to fear from Agamemnon’s ghost. A little later Orestes and Pylades appeared at the Lion Gate, disguised as strangers. Clytemnestra didn’t recognize him. In a false voice he told her that her son had died in Krisa. Pylades showed her a bronze urn, claiming it held Orestes’ ashes.

“Clytemnestra pretended deep sorrow and invited the two ‘strangers’ into the palace. But she couldn’t hide her delight when she told Aegisthus that Orestes was dead and would not come to seek revenge! Their happiness came to a quick end. I was there when it happened. Orestes drew his sword and slew Aegisthus. When Clytemnestra recognized Orestes, she tried to soften his heart. ‘My son!’ she cried. ‘I nursed you as an infant. Remember your duty to your mother!’ Oh, she sounded so piteous!

“Our mother’s words had no effect on Orestes. I ran forward to stop him—wasn’t it enough to be rid of Aegisthus? But Pylades held me back. ‘Let it happen,’ he said. With one stroke of his sword, Orestes struck off her head.”

Winds began to howl around the palace as Electra spoke. A storm was breaking. Electra listened to it for a moment and then continued her story.

“I was too shocked and horrified to move, but Chrysothemis came upon the bloody scene and ran screaming from the palace. Drenched in blood, Pylades and Orestes carried the bodies outside the walls and buried them. Soon everyone had heard what happened. The citizens of Mycenae swarmed into the streets, shouting insults. Then the Furies swept in, howling and swinging their scourges, their attacks so fierce and relentless that Orestes could not defend himself, even with the bow of ox horn the pythoness had given him. They pursued him night and day. When Orestes lay down to sleep, they lay beside him, hounding him. When he sat down to a meal, they sat with him, screeching their accusations. It drove him mad.

“Chrysothemis was always my mother’s favorite. My sister is most like her—ruthless. She remains fiercely loyal to the memory of our mother and refuses to help our brother, but I stayed with him.” Electra sighed, her eyes closed. “In caring for my brother, I fell deeply in love with his friend, Pylades.”

The old servant’s head drooped toward her chest. “She’s been sampling the wine again,” Electra whispered. “She thinks I don’t know. I know, too, that the woman is a spy. She goes straight to Chrysothemis and reports everything I say or do. Fortunately, she’s also rather deaf.”

We watched her for a while. Her mouth fell open and she snored lightly.

“Do my parents know about the murders?” I asked.

“They heard the news from a fisherman as they were on their way home to Sparta from Egypt, and they came to Mycenae to find out what they could. But Helen was afraid the anger of the people would be turned against her for causing the deaths of so many Greeks, and she kept out of sight. When the case was taken before the court, Menelaus called for Orestes to be punished severely. The court agreed, ruling that he must be stoned to death, and I with him—because I had not tried to stop him and then sheltered him afterward.

“Our sentence was later commuted to death by suicide. By then, Pylades and I had fallen in love, and he swore to die with us. But as we were about to leap together from a cliff into the sea, a plot to murder Helen was uncovered. She had many enemies who blamed her for ten years of war. An angry mob was about to set fire to the palace with her in it when magnificent Apollo appeared, wrenched the torches from their hands, and forbade them to kill Helen. At the same time he made his pronouncement: Orestes would not die for the vengeful murder of his mother. The crowd was stunned and fell back.”

Tears were pouring down my cheeks, but Electra hadn’t yet finished her story.

“Orestes went again to Delphi, a laurel wreath on his brow to show that he was under Apollo’s protection. Still the Furies refused to leave him alone. Apollo angrily threatened to shoot them down, but they scorned his threats. Nothing cows them, not even the great and powerful Apollo! Hermes tried to help him escape, but Clytemnestra’s ghost goaded the Furies to keep up their relentless torment.

“Apollo decided to send Orestes into exile. I went with him. He shaved his head, hoping that Clytemnestra’s ghost wouldn’t recognize him, but it always did. Each day he sacrificed a pig, and while the ghost gorged on the pig’s blood, he washed himself in the running waters of a stream to rid himself of guilt. But a mother’s blood carries such a powerful curse that much more was demanded of him.”

“But what more could he possibly do?”

Electra smoothed the edges of her peplos, avoiding my eyes. “Orestes bit off his own finger.”

Bit off his own finger!
My legs weakened, and I thought I might faint.

“For a third time Orestes went to Delphi. He threw himself on the floor of the temple, raving and threatening to take his own life if he could not be rid of the Furies. Apollo promised the torment would end if Orestes made his way to the land of the Taurians, seized an ancient carved image of Artemis from her temple, and brought it to a shrine near Athens. He and Pylades sailed for Tauris. I wasn’t allowed to go with them. It’s a long journey through dangerous waters, and the Taurians are a cruel and uncivilized people. My sister Iphigenia was taken there many years ago by Artemis to save her from sacrifice.”

“I was there at Aulis,” I reminded Electra. “I saw the antlered doe Artemis left in Iphigenia’s place on the altar.”

“Yes, I remember,” she said. “My sister sometimes speaks to me in dreams. She’s a virtual prisoner, forced to preside over the sacrifice of any strangers who set foot in Tauris, and she’s willing to do almost anything to escape. I worry that Orestes and Pylades will be captured, Iphigenia won’t recognize them, and she’ll unknowingly sacrifice them, too.”

I was sick with despair. “You may think I’m foolish, Electra, but I truly believed my love would save him,” I said. “I still believe it.”

“Oh, my dear friend!” She took my face tenderly in her hands. “My brother is much changed. He may not know you. He may even strike out against you. At first he spoke of you nearly every day, but the Furies have destroyed his mind. Even I have had a difficult time with him, and in the end he sent me away—I, who was with him throughout his ordeal, who never left his side.”

Electra leaned close to the old woman, who groaned and muttered. Satisfied that she slept soundly, Electra continued. “But now you’ve come, and you’ve given me new hope. Seizing the wooden image of Artemis from the shrine is not an easy task, even with Pylades’ help. Getting it to Athens won’t be easy either. But I believe they’ll succeed. I propose that we find a way to go to Athens, make offerings to Apollo every day, and wait for them to come.”

Eager as I was to see Orestes, I had doubts. “But how will we know that they haven’t been captured by the Taurians and even sacrificed by Iphigenia?” I asked. “How will we know they’ve succeeded in taking the image? Or arrived safely in Athens? And that’s only half of it! You’re a prisoner here yourself—a giant at your door and a servant spying on you. How do we go about setting you free, Electra? There are too many things that can go wrong.”

“Hermione, we can’t simply stay here and do nothing! We must try!”

I didn’t remember my cousin being so daring when we were children. I had underestimated the strength of her love for Orestes, and for Pylades.

“All right, then. We’ll ask Ardeste and Zethus for help,” I said. “You and I can sit here and weave fantasies, Electra, but my friends are practical people. They weave real plans. I’ll leave now, but I’ll come back in a few days, and I promise I’ll have a way to get you out of here.”

28

I WAS AWARE OF
the giant’s eyes on me as I left Electra’s quarters and made my way through the dim corridor. The courtyard was still deserted when I left through the Lion Gate. The storm had passed, and before sunset I was down in the city and telling my story to Ardeste and Zethus.

“I’m sure we can arrange this,” Ardeste said confidently, as I had expected she would. “I’ll go with you to the citadel. We’ll see that the old servant gets plenty of wine, and as soon as she’s asleep, Princess Electra and I will exchange clothes. Then, with Electra dressed in my tunic as your servant, you two will leave together. I’ll stay behind, dressed as the princess and pretending to work on her loom.”