Electra (14 page)

I altered my sight, casting about for the gleam of silver in the air which meant that the Gods were interfering in my life again. Not a glimmer.

'The first woman and Chryseis were taken away,' I agreed. 'I lost my city, my family and my lovers. If I let it, my grief could consume my life. I am afraid too, Chryse, but we cannot be afraid, we must not be afraid.
Agape mou
,' I kissed his mouth, soft as silk. 'My love, my heart. If the Gods make us too terrified to trust, too frightened to risk loving something which must die, then they will have destroyed us.'

'That is true,' he said, and tentatively returned the kiss.

Eumides emerged at noon, much recovered and demanding food. Orestes, it appeared, was being kept close to his sister's side, and neither of them came to eat with us. Our host and his wife were busy with negotiations on behalf of Epidavros with several Kriti merchants with thyme to sell, so we dined alone.

'He's a strange child, Orestes,' said the sailor, engulfing large quantities of bread and sheep's milk cheese. 'I found him sitting on the temple wall, looking forlorn and overburdened. I asked him what was troubling him, and he said 'Murder'. Then he wouldn't tell me any more. So I took him with me, as he didn't want to go home. Did we make an exhibition of ourselves?'

'You certainly did. We could have sold tickets. Crowds would have flocked to hear your sparkling rendition of
Aegean Women
,' said Chryse. 'Don't gobble all the cheese, sailor. There are others at the table who like feta as well.'

'Heartfelt, too,' Eumides said complacently. 'I made up new verses on the subject of Trojan women who inspire me.'

'I'm deeply honoured,' I said, removing the cheese and sharing the remains with Chryse.

'But that boy - I've never met a boy like him. So withdrawn and strange. Yet he brightened up and sang along. I didn't give him much wine, only one cup.'

'That's enough for someone a third your weight,' said Chryse. 'Why strange?'

'I really think he was considering murder,' said Eumides slowly. 'He's very truthful. Whether self-murder or other-murder I'm not sure. Anyway, despite what his sister says, I'm glad I found him and I don't think a small carouse will have done him any harm.'

'No, I don't think so. Unless you and your friends found him attractive,' said Chryse, with a cold edge to his voice.

Eumides was as shocked as he could be with the remains of all that wine circulating in his system. 'Don't be disgusting. He's a child. Boys need to be at least fourteen and in bloom, and even then I would never force anyone. You should know that, Asclepius-Priest. Don't you remember the mountain outside Mycenae in the sunlight?'

Chryse's expression softened and he took Eumides' unoccupied hand.

'Yes, I remember,' he said gently.

'Did I hurt you or force you, when you were an apprentice healer who had bought me out of slavery?' Eumides was angry, and Chryse left his seat and knelt at his feet, bowing his head.

'I apologise, Eumides of my heart. Please forgive me. I didn't really think it was you or your friend. However drunk you were, you would never hurt a child. But I washed Orestes last night, and someone has been-'

'Harming him?' I was deeply shocked. 'A child?'

'I would stake my reputation on it.'

'Maybe that's why he was sitting on the temple steps, contemplating murder,' I said. Eumides dragged Chryse into a rough, forgiving embrace and hugged him hard.

'A dreadful thing,' he said solemnly. 'I must be careful of how I touch the child. He will be frightened of men.'

'No. He is frightened of whoever hurt him, but he likes you, Eumides. Treat him exactly as you have been.' I frowned and added, 'Now we have to decide whether to tell his sister.'

'Wouldn't she know? She clings close to the boy. Such a thing cannot be hidden from an anxious sister's eyes,' said Eumides.

'Not if she did not know what to look for. May all Gods look down on us, what was happening in that accursed city? Were all the royal children treated like that?' asked Chryse, taking a goblet and staring into the wine as though he could see visions there and did not like what he saw.

'Mycenae is cursed, the sons of Atreus are doomed. I applied a lot of those curses myself while I was enslaved there, and it looks like they have worked,' said Eumides.

Chryse and I did not laugh.

The Gods looked into the Pool of Mortal Lives, where little ships scurried across the surface.

'It's easy,' urged Apollo. 'My Lord Poseidon. Bring a wave, drown them.'

'Why should I do that, Sun-God?' replied the Earth-Shaker. 'The sailor Eumides is a good sailor, and Laodamos of Corinth is devout in my worship.'

'We must complete the destruction of the House of Atreus, and you can erase the next generation with the flick of a finger, most powerful of Gods.'

'Do not seek to flatter me,' growled Poseidon, shaking his kelp-crowned, shaggy head. 'I have no animus against them, poor little shivering children. If you seek to kill them in my domain, you will have me to deal with, as well as Hecate the Crone.'

'This story must conclude,' insisted Apollo.

I had only realised that I was resolved on going back to kill Queen Clytemnestra and her lover, the revenge-child, when I told Orestes. I should not have told him. Distraught, he had wandered out into the city, where anything could have happened to him; he could have been captured and enslaved. We were fugitives, not citizens. No one would have defended us and I doubt that our associates would even have looked for us. They did not like our company. I would not have liked us, either. The kindness of strangers has its limits and they needed some sleep.

Then Eumides had taken my brother to a succession of taverns in the lowest company and made him drunk. I was revolted and angry. Orestes could have been lost, hurt, taken away. He was instantly sick as soon as Diomenes had delivered him into my arms. I was distracted with worry over him and intended to tell him what a bad boy he had been when he was better.

But the next morning he was listless and his head ached, so I did not scold him much. I gave him the infusion of herbs which the old woman prepared, and he slept for much of the day. I did not move from the women's quarters, but took up some fine wool and spun. The thread made a perfect line down from the mass of white teased fleece to my spinning whorl, good stout thread, with never a knot or a break. I had spent my whole life spinning. I was good at it and it soothed me. I liked watching my fingers moving surely and cleverly, independent of thought. Especially as my thoughts now were of murder, of blood and revenge, for me and for my father.

'Lady, it is getting dark. Shall we bring lamps?' asked a slave. I realised that I had sat there all day and put down the spindle, breaking off my thread and winding it into a skein. I had spun fifteen ells of sound blanket thread.

'Lady, will you join the household at supper?' asked the slave, the old woman who had watched over me the night before.

'No,' I said abruptly. 'I will eat with my brother and then sleep. We are leaving in the morning. Is everything prepared?'

'Yes, Lady, all is prepared. Your sleeping infusion is here.'

'Where are my travelling companions?' I asked. If they were out I might venture down into the courtyard for a sniff of fresh air before it got too dark. There are only three occasions when a decent woman goes out into the night. When she is born and her father takes her outside to declare to the Gods that she is his child, when she is given away and the maidens escort the marriage procession to her new house, and when she is carried to her funeral. I had never pined for the open air before, but travelling was changing me. I was uncomfortable now if I was indoors all day; me, who had spent my whole life behind walls.

'Diomenes Asclepius-Priest is at the temple of Apollo, Lady, and the Priestess of Demeter and the sailor Eumides have gone to the temple of Poseidon. They will be back before long.'

She was looking at me, this old woman. I did not like her close regard and could not imagine what she wanted. She seemed to be waiting for me to speak. I had nothing else to say. I picked up my veil and went down the stairs.

It was pleasantly cool in the courtyard. I could smell roasting fish and someone was singing in the kitchen, a work song such as women sing.

We rise at day and eat our Master's bread,

We grind his flour and sweep his floor,

We pour his wine and spin his thread.

We carry his burdens and mind his door,

We walk to the well with heavy tread.

Weary, weary lives,

Weary, weary lives

Unfree, unfree…

I sat down, wrapped securely in my veil in case any men came in. The life of a slave was simple, I thought. They had merely to do as they were told, bear what had to be borne, and mostly they died blessedly young.

Once I was a princess with a golden wreath,

Once I was a prince with a golden spear,

Once I was a maiden, once I was a youth,

Once I was free, once I was free,

Weary, weary lives,

Weary, weary lives,

Unfree, unfree…

So sang the slave in her kitchen, a lucky wretch who did not know what good fortune was. Rather be a slave than a princess with a golden wreath. Only a princess was truly unfree.

I heard the others coming back and I fled. I did not want to talk to them. From the head of the steps I saw Eumides the sailor, carrying a large bundle, brush past the doorman and turn to speak to his companions, also heavy-laden. The torches had just been lit and I saw him clearly in the pool of golden light.

'I will not insult you by asking if your burden is too heavy, warrior-maiden,' he said, chuckling. 'But I might venture to suggest to the princess that she would like to put it down.'

'You may safely so venture,' she said, laughing, and dropped the parcel at the doorman's feet. He jumped back before his toes were crushed and laid his spear aside.

'Lady,' he said deferentially, 'allow me to carry this for you.'

'There are advantages in Argive manners,' commented Eumides, 'are there not?'

'No. None,' she snapped, lifting the bundle by main force and staggering with it into the room which they openly shared.

I wondered what they were carrying. Then I remembered how Eumides had looked beneath the torches and I sat down on the stairs, forced by that coincidental image to remember the first time I had seen the man who destroyed my life.

He had been standing in the torchlight at the gate of Mycenae, under the stone lions. His breastplate gleamed bronze and his helmet plumes danced in the wind which always blows at Mycenae. I had been standing with my sister Chrysothemis on the balcony of the women's quarters. I recalled her saying, 'What a well-looking man,' as the tree-trunk gates swung open to reveal him. He had taken off the helmet. He had black, curly hair.

I would not name him. I would not soil my tongue with his name. His coming was my death.

The Princess the Lady Laodice, called Electra, daughter of Agamemnon, had been dead for a long time. She had died when she was eleven, when her father had gone in glittering armour to the harrying of the coasts, and finally to the siege of Troy. The creature who sat on the stairs and looked down into the courtyard of Taphis the Corinthian's house was a breathing corpse, who lived only for revenge.

We were farewelled with great ceremony by Taphis, who saw our baggage loaded in Laodamos' ship.

Orestes and I found a place at the front, where we were out of the way. There was only room there for two, right in the eyes of the ship, which was called
Phoebus
. I hoped that Apollo would appreciate this. The others sat on the small deck at the back, close together as they always were. Our horses were tethered in the middle of the ship, seeming resigned to this odd method of travel. I saw Banthos raise his head and sniff, catching my scent, and hoped he would not try and come to me, or he would surely upset the boat. But he appeared pleased that I was there and returned to the trance-like state which horses drop into when they are forced to stand still for some time.

The crew had boarded and were sitting at the oars, grumbling about wine shops they had been dragged out of and girls left weeping for them. I did not believe it. They were coarse, unlovely and unclean. The shipmaster was a short, cross-eyed man with a lot of missing teeth, and I did not like the way he looked at me.

Taphis' wife Gythia, delighted with my spinning, had given me a thick veil and several chitons. I was glad of her gift, for it was a cold morning and I felt visible. I wore two tunics, the veil, and a peplos which covered my head. Not even Laodamos could see through all that. Not even Apollo could manage it.

There were twenty oars and two men to an oar. With Taphis calling to Diomenes, 'Come back soon, Asclepid. I'll send your letter to Master Glaucus. Good fortune, my friends!' the men backed oars at a command and began to row.

The sea was as smooth as a plate. Suddenly we were travelling much faster than walking pace, then faster than a running horse. Something was dragging us along.

'The current,' said Orestes. 'There is a flow of water from the outer sea and it is pulling us. When we reach the beacon at Eleon, we will turn and row until the opposite current carries us into the bay of Kirrha.'

'Who told you that?' I asked sharply, though I knew the answer.

'The Lord Eumides, sister. He knows all about this sea. He says that we will be able to sight the white tower on the cliff at Andromahi. There is a pharos, a lighthouse, there. Then we sail into the bay and land at the port of Delphi, Kirrha, which overlooks the plain of Chrysson. This is easier than riding, isn't it?'

It was pleasant. The sea lay wrinkled like molten metal, and
Phoebus
glided along like a water-spider while the cliffs gave way to green banks, then cliffs, then meadows and little towns; and I fell asleep.

I woke with Cassandra bending over me, and jerked away from her touch.