Electra (36 page)

A moment later she was scolding him for putting his chest in the way of a sword and Orestes was allowing her ministrations, leaning back with a smile on his face. We left them. We needed a bath and some clean clothes.

There was a large feast that night, at which the Epirotes reviled the rule of the Son of Achilles. He had, it appeared, allied himself with the largest clan, of which the now-dead, elderly Molossos was the head. Together they had looted the tribes, caring not one whit about the hunger in the countryside. The soldiers came to each little village demanding taxes, and threatened or even killed whoever protested.

The Epirotes were so split by blood feuds that they could not combine to form an effective resistance to this oppression.

Instead, Eleni, the son of Priam, Priest of Apollo, had been chosen as the next king by secret meetings all over Epirus, as the advocate of a new God. All the old Gods were claimed by one tribe or another.

Eleni was young, intelligent, with golden hair and grey eyes.

He was so like his sister, in fact, that I blinked when I first saw them together, thinking that the strain of the journey had affected my eyesight.

They had aged together. Cassandra watching the fall of Troy, in her dreadful journey into slavery, then the death of Agamemnon. Eleni, Priest of Apollo, had left the city before it fell but had also watched the sack; then Neoptelemus, son of Achilles, had tormented him, and claimed the woman he loved.

As Epirus had no separation of the sexes during festivals, I could see them all as we sat under a tree - not the sacred oak, but an oak, tall and venerable. Pylades was beside me, leaning back, drinking the mead of Epirus, which tastes like the nectar of the Gods.

The speakers around the little fires grew more vocal, and accounts of Neoptelemus' deeds became more frightful. His critics declared they had always known that a stranger would kill him. Apollo and Aphrodite had both confirmed it.

The women from the temple, sacred prostitutes dedicated to the service of the Lady of Cyprus, had joined in the revel. One leant over Orestes and kiss him deeply, while Hermione laughed and stroked his shoulder. They had been married by declaration at the temple of Zeus, as had the pale widow and the son of Priam.

The triad Cassandra, Eumides and Diomenes were scattered, not close as they usually were. Diomenes was not there, Cassandra was with Eleni and his wife, and Eumides was lying on his back while Aphrodite's priestess dropped mead and kisses onto his mouth.

Someone threw a handful of dried fungus on the main fire and it flared brightly.

'
Evoe
!' the voices called. '
Evoe, evoe
! Come, Dione, come, Aphrodite, come ancient Lord, come Niaos!'

I heard brutish accents and the firelight was cut off by dancing figures. I saw the sacred woman pull Eumides' tunic over his head and kiss his belly.

Pylades rose to his feet and took my hand. 'Come, Electra,' he said quietly. 'You will not wish to join the Dionysiac rout.'

He was right. We moved away, into the deep shade, tripping over twined bodies. We got to our room without challenge, but Pylades was excited by the wine and the night, and so was I.

Without a caress, our mouths locked in a kiss. We slid to the floor, tearing at clothes, baring flesh to meet other flesh which hungered for the touch, the voices outside crying to the God, and I was pinned and pierced and screamed aloud in triumph.

Epirus, the next morning, was not happy. Slaves crept heavy-eyed about their tasks. I looked out of a window into the courtyard, where a yawning serf was sweeping up the ruins of the orgy; torn cloth, broken pottery, and the ash from a hundred little fires. The whole court slept late, as did Pylades and I.

I had a headache from too much mead. I walked out into the stoa and sat down in the shade to drink spring water and recover, leaving my husband sleeping.

I saw a rider approaching on a fast horse which looked familiar. It was Cassandra's beast Nefos, the touchy stallion, galloping. The woman was riding astride with exultant grace, her hair streaming behind her. I recognised her. The widow, the pale woman, who had fainted the day before. Andromache was riding like an Amazon.

I overheard a conversation as I sat between the columns, too languid to declare my presence. The speakers were Cassandra and Diomenes.

'Sweet golden one,' she said, very gently. 'What troubles you?'

'One last secret and no home,' he said. 'You can lose yourself in the flesh, Cassandra, but I cannot. I went to the temple of Apollo last night.'

'You went to the temple? Why?' His golden head drooped to her shoulder, and he sighed, so sadly that I was sorry for him.

'Apollo said - you said that Apollo said he would tell us where we could live together,' he said drearily. 'And that he would tell another, not you. I went to the temple to see if he would tell me.'

'What happened?'

'I knelt and made an offering of incense. I could hear the orgy raging outside. I knew that you were there, with the priests, and Eumides with the women of Aphrodite. Have you seen him this morning? He's covered with mud and the marks of their teeth.'

'And he's very happy. The mood even caught the Princess Electra, though I'll wager that she lay with her husband. What about Apollo?'

'Nothing. He said nothing. He knows I don't believe in him.'

'Never mind. Don't sound so desolate, my heart. One more journey, my weary one, and then we shall part if there is no hope. Agape mou,' she said. 'One more journey, from here to Amouda, and thence-'

'Thence?' he asked, sounding unutterably tired.

'To the end of the way, in the end,' she said firmly. 'What is this secret?'

I had to admire the way she never lost the thread of a conversation. He touched her breast under the chiton and asked, 'Do you remember your first lover? The first who gave you joy?'

'My brother Eleni, when we were children.'

'No, the first consummation.'

'I never knew his name, and he hurt me. A tall man with a blue bead in his hair. It was the Trojan custom to leave the Maiden with a stranger and join the Mother.'

'They do that on the island of Staphylos,' he said.

'Island customs are always interesting. Why do you ask about my lovers?'

'You have always wondered about this charm.' He undid a little bag from his amber necklace. He unfolded the contents as he spoke. Two maiden's veils. One a plain one, one the red gauze of a bride. 'The first woman who lay with me, the first time I felt that rush of fire, I have never told you her name.'

'Do you want to tell me?' She sounded puzzled.

'It is the only secret left. Arion knew it and never told, and Aphrodite commended his tact. But it is the last thing I have to give you, my love, my golden Cassandra.'

'Tell me,' she commanded.

'Elene of Sparta,' Diomenes said. 'We were fourteen. I broke my physician's oath to lie in her arms, to comfort her. I saw her again in Mycenae, where I tended a plague. I never touched her again.'

Cassandra said nothing, but folded him close, so that the gold hair lay across his face.

I should have moved, but I was too tired. And this was a secret that I could easily keep. Elene of Sparta had brought ruin on the House of Atreus, she and her mortal sister, Clytemnestra, my mother. They were both beautiful and evil. I could acknowledge their beauty now, and partly understand their evil.

After a week, Cassandra and Eleni parted. The three travellers, two healers and a sailor, loaded with presents, left by the main gate and rode south towards the coast, where they said their ship was waiting.

I kissed Cassandra at our parting, and I wept as I never thought I would for a barbarian and an escaped slave. As she embraced me, she laid a hand on my belly and smiled.

'Good news and a fair child,' she said, mounted her horse, and rode away.

There is nothing to be said for the rule of a hero's son. It's almost worse than that of the hero himself. Achilles might not have shown any talent for politics, but he would not have been so petty and greedy. At least, I assume not.

Chryse still shuddered slightly when we mentioned Achilles. I did not fear him - after all, I had killed him. But from what he said, I gathered that although Achilles, the Swift Runner, might have dropped in occasionally and massacred everyone, he would not have watched them die of famine as his son had done.

The villagers were starving. We followed the River Acheron, the river which runs into Hades, and spectres haunted every step. Dead children were piled at the side of the path, because no one was strong enough to hack graves in the stony soil. We carried stores and rode edible horses, and fought off two famished attacks from the villages, killing men so weak that once the initial fury had worn off they could have been knocked over by a child with a stone.

We could not travel by night because the paths were mere goat tracks, and our only sure guide was the river. In several of the villages we found bones, human femurs which had been cooked and the marrow extracted.

Eleni would have few enough people in his kingdom unless this harvest grew prodigiously.

I had left my twin joyful. Andromache loved him, his oppressor was dead, and his Gods, whom he had served faithfully all his life, had proved true.

Electra was content with her husband and Orestes with Hermione. The last time I had seen them, Hermione had divided her time between agreeing demurely with everything Orestes said, until he pressed her too far, and scolding him so roundly that he had agreed with everything she had said. Presumably this made them happy. The hound-bitch Racer, luckily, had taken to Hermione immediately.

My fate was bitter. I could not stay in Epirus, where the only healers are men. It was too late to turn the Epirotes from their strange worship. There was no place for us and now I felt that there never would be. Apollo had deceived me again.

Leaving Eleni had not been so great a wrench as I had thought. The link was renewed. He was in my mind, and he was the only factor which saved me from despair as the villages passed in the wails of famished, abandoned babies protesting with their dying breath the cruelty of fate.

Even Eumides was subdued as we came at last into sight of the sea. In a small encampment by the salt water, we saw Laodamos' men roasting fish, and at last smelt the clean scent of ocean.

'We've been waiting three days,' complained Laodamos, looking at us with his crossed eyes. 'Where have you been enjoying yourself, you pirate?'

'Bite your tongue, Laodamos, and ship the oars as soon as you've finished whatever meal that is,' said Eumides, angry because he was so relieved that they were there. 'I won't stay a moment longer than I have to in this cursed nation.'

We shared the fish and set the sail. The wind was in the right quarter. I settled down on the stern deck, where I always sat, and let the cold wind blow through me. I saw blue waves, barely rippling, and a strong current carrying us where we wanted to go. The sky was that peculiar Aegean blue, clear as morning and set fair overhead. The horses stood with bowed heads in the centre of the galley, resigned. I was becoming resigned, too. I would leave my beautiful lovers and go to Troas, child of Ilium, and I would take no other mate. I would never find such a pairing as this again, so I would not tire my spirit in trying. I would be useful and busy, healing the hurts of the Trojans, and they would manage without me. Eumides could find lovers anywhere, and they would welcome Chryse back to Epidavros.

My eyes filled with tears. I looked over the side to distract myself, and a dolphin, creature of Dionysos, the only God who had not betrayed me, poked its beak out of the water, grinning. It was joined by three others.

All day, as I mourned my lost and ill-fated loves, the creatures sprang and danced tirelessly beside the galley
Waverider
.

We slept on board, as we knew that by morning we should be off Lefkada, where we would have to row into the lee of Cephallenia. Eumides woke early and hauled on the sail, brailing it. We slowed.

'Eumides, have you gone mad?' demanded Laodamos. 'We can't waste this wind.'

'I'm as sane as I ever was,' said the sailor. 'Wreckage in the water - see.'

We hauled it in, sealed barrels and floating boxes, well-built and corded. Eumides examined one. It was full of golden plates, which looked strangely familiar. Chryse inspected the seal and ordered, 'Look for a man.'

We backed oars to slow
Waverider
further, and I saw drifting red weed, which resolved itself into hair. We came about and hauled him in.

I thought he was dead, but his chest rose and fell. Not a tall man but strong and well-muscled, with bright kelp-strands of hair and the remains of a white linen tunic. Toil and travel had deepened the lines in his face, but he had an attractive countenance, even sodden and bruised.

Chryse bared the body's arm, and found an archer's bracelet of fine water gold, figured with dolphins and set with pearls and aquamarines.

'It's him,' affirmed Eumides.

'Whom?' I asked. 'I think he's tranced or drugged, Chryse, he doesn't respond even to pain.'

'Odysseus. It's Odysseus. What is he doing in this sea? Can anyone sight any other bodies?' Chryse was amazed, smoothing the battered face. 'He came and talked to me in Mycenae the night I met Eumides, and then at the siege of Troy. He was the strategist of that war, Odysseus, Sacker of Cities. It has been a hard road for all of us, Prince of Ithaca, but hardest perhaps for you.'

He moved the streaming hair away from the shipwrecked man's drying skin and covered the body with his warm mantle.

We scanned the sea but found no corpses, only the stern post of a small boat, no longer, Eumides estimated, than a dinghy.

'What was the Prince of Ithaca doing on this sea, adrift in a boat that small? It's suicide,' objected Eumides. 'He must have been blown far from home.'

'If we can get him to swallow,' I said 'we can keep him alive. He's desiccated - he's been sunk deep in salt water.'

'How do you know?' asked the sailor.