Electra (35 page)

He shook his head. I had not expected Apollo to keep his promise.

We had business in the palace. Orestes had come to reclaim or to purchase Hermione, daughter of Menelaus, and we rode into the courtyard of Neoptelemus' palace in a light sleet, cold and uncomfortable. Electra, Pylades and Orestes, attended by Racer, went into the palace. We went to the adjacent temple of Apollo.

I was dismounting, wringing out my hair in the verandah of the temple, when I felt a glowing shock, and my brother Eleni was in my arms.

'Sister, oh, sister,' he held me close, my beloved Eleni, older, of course, tired, worn out by his hopeless love for Andromache, widow of Hector.

'Eleni, my love.' I held him to my breast. I had missed him almost past bearing, though the twin-thread that bound us together meant that he had known where I was for the last few months. He was never entirely gone from my mind and heart. We had once been so close that our thoughts had flowed, mind to mind. Now I could feel what he was feeling, but not what he was thinking.

'You, here! I have felt you, twin, in pain, lost, enslaved - they told me you were dead, but I knew you were alive. I've been calling, calling for you. You must help me, dearest sister, or I will die.

'By all the Gods,' he added, amazed, catching sight of my companions. 'They are still with you! The healer and the sailor.'

'They are still with me and we have journeyed too long.' I said, as my lovers came wearily to greet my brother.

'I feel - I feel that you will stop soon,' he said, a worried line creasing his brow. 'Come in, come inside, it's cold, I'm sorry,' he called to Eumides and Diomenes. 'I should have tended you before, beloved strangers.' He used the term for previously unmet relatives, and they were certainly all the family I had.

Slaves took the horses and Eleni drew us into a huge, warm kitchen, then into a series of guestrooms. They were of unfigured stone, but they had a drain for bathwater and we were miserably chilled. It had rained, I swear, all the way from Olympus, and the only one of us not heartily sick of ourselves, each other and the world was Orestes, who had passed most of the previous journey in a drugged trance.

'You are very elegant, brother,' I said. I did not want to let go of him, even for a moment, now that I had found him again. I scanned his face with greedy eyes. He had faded a little, grown thinner and paler. When the Goddess had seduced him in Andromache's form, she had ensured that he would love her forever.

She was the slave of Neoptelemus, and I could not see that petulant boy selling her to us. I remembered him from the beaches, demanding his father Achilles' armour in a high whine, and stamping his foot when he was told that Odysseus of Ithaca had stolen it, as he stole everything he fancied which was not chained to bedrock. I wondered what had happened to the red-headed Prince of Ithaca, he of the nimble wits.

Eleni clapped his hands, and a train of slaves came in and out, bearing hot water, clean garments, wine and food.

We looked at each other and decided that we really couldn't allow all that delicious smelling provender to grow cold.

Eleni was watching me as I ate bread and stewed meat, trying not to gobble. The combination of herbs and beans in the pot was interesting though strange, and we did not offer many of the usual conversational pleasantries until fully half the feast was consumed and even Eumides was beginning to look replete.

'How did you come here, Sister?' asked Eleni, filling an Argive kylix with golden mead.

'By a long road, Brother, even from Olympus, where we went to take Orestes, son of Agamemnon, for judgement. The Gods found him guiltless, and he has come here to claim his betrothed, Hermione, daughter of Menelaus.'

'Neoptelemus will not release anything that is his. He is fifteen now, a sour little morsel, ruled by his uncle Molossos. He has none of the greatness of his father Achilles, the swift runner.'

'That is a mercy,' I said flatly. I remembered Achilles and was glad that his son was not like him.

Chryse had the same thought, and agreed. 'Achilles was a monster. The Gods made a stone out of his heart. You rule the temple of Apollo, Eleni?'

'A small temple and a small worship. Zeus Earth-Born is their God, and his consort.' He leaned forward and I stroked the once-familiar hair, so like my own.

'Sister, I have treasure enough to buy Andromache, and she wishes it - she loves me. He keeps her close in the Argive fashion, but he has not hurt her, or lain with her, as she will not have him and he is not strong enough to force her.

'Andromache has taken no other lover and she is eating out her heart. Every time I see her, at festivals and sometimes, for a moment, over the wall of the palace, she is thinner, sadder. She frets in confinement, has headaches and fainting spells. I fear that she will break her heart and die.

'Apollo says that I shall be joined with her, he promises that still, but I fear that we will be joined only when she dies, for I will die with her, and before we drink the draught of Lethe and forget the sound of the wind, we will be one. For I will not live without her, Cassandra, I cannot live without her.'

'Then we shall wash, and clothe ourselves, and we shall find a solution,' said Chryse. 'I saved your life, son of Priam, and I will not lose you again.'

We gained audience with the King of the Epirotes without difficulty. A blond young man sat lolling on a throne, an attendant man behind him. The elder was grey-bearded and hawk-nosed, with an acquisitive eye which reminded me of certain peasants in certain villages.

'I am Orestes, son of Agamemnon,' said my son and brother. We had agreed that he would keep his title. 'I am here to seek the return of Hermione, daughter of Menelaus, once betrothed to me.'

'Yes, we have her,' said the boy unpleasantly. 'She pleases me. Why should I give her up?'

'I can offer a bride-price for her,' said Orestes politely. 'Double whatever you paid.'

'I paid nothing. Double nothing is nothing,' he sneered. 'Your mother, Clytemnestra Queen of Mycenae, sent her here, as you fled.'

'That Queen is dead; and her consort. I am King of Mycenae now,' said Orestes evenly. 'Give me Hermione, most noble King.'

'No,' snapped Neoptelemus.

'Lord, must I plead with you?' asked Orestes, becoming desperate.

'Master, they are offering a great price, and the maiden is obdurate,' whispered the old man, loud enough for me to hear. 'Mycenae is rich in gold, they say.'

'No,' said the boy.

He jumped up, drawing a bronze sword. 'Fight for her,' he said, stabbing quickly.

'I will not fight,' said Orestes, leaping back out of the way. The sword point sought his throat, handled with skill. 'I have shed enough blood.'

'So you don't really want her,' the son of Achilles said, making another pass. 'If you defeat me you shall have her. Pretty Hermione of the black hair and quick temper. How she screamed and wept when her maidenhead broke!'

'Challenge.' Orestes did not waste words. Pylades and I backed away to give them space, and the audience chamber was quickly ringed with Epirotes, yelling in barbarous tongues for blood.

Orestes danced and lunged. He thrust once, and the blade shaved the king's cheek. Neoptelemus swore by Zeus to cut out his heart and stabbed, cutting a furrow along Orestes' chest. I could not turn my face away. They were both panting now, and the boy appeared to be tiring. Orestes had walked a good way across the hills, feeling alive again after such a long penance. He was almost as hardy as a mountain goat and this sneering king had obviously spent his time drinking too much and fighting untrained peasants.

'Kill!' howled the Epirotes.

Pylades drew his own sword and bade me be ready to run for the door. I could not move while the bronze swished through the cold air, seeking Orestes' life.

The son of Achilles lunged hard, the blade missing Orestes' heart as he dodged. Then my brother ducked a sweeping blow, came in under the arm, and stabbed.

The blade penetrated almost to the hilt. He drew it out and Neoptelemus, son of Achilles, fell dead.

Pylades had expected a riot. We did not expect it to be a riot of joy.

Someone brought a lamp down on the head of the counsellor Molossos, killing him. Then the room and the courtyard erupted into a joyful babble.

We stood amazed on the killing floor, listening to many voices calling, 'Dead, dead! Dead at last, and by a stranger's hand! Eleni! Eleni! Find Prince Eleni!'

'The tale of the House of Atreus is concluded, as you wished,' said Athene to her brother. 'Orestes has his Hermione. He will rule Mycenae; and, after the death of Menelaus, Sparta too will be his.'

'It is the fate of his son Tisander with which I am now concerned,' said the Sun-God.

'What of your promise, brother? Orestes dared much in asking our father for his favour on Cassandra's behalf.'

'I have told someone, as I promised,' he said evasively.

Athene was not satisfied, but Zeus had words for Poseidon.

'Sea-God, it is a time of ending. A new age begins, Lord and Brother. Release Odysseus. He is penitent. Look.'

In the Pool of Mortal Lives they saw Odysseus building a boat out of fresh planks, hewn by hand, laboriously pegging the timbers together, watched by a beautiful young woman who wept, veiled in her weed-brown hair.

'Don't leave me,' she stretched out her pearly arms. 'Don't you love me?'

'I love you,' he returned sadly. 'But I must go home. I am bound by my word, though all of my kin have mourned me and forgotten me. Calypso, I will always remember you, but I must go home or die on the way.

'I have come so far, suffered so much, and the jealous God sent you to find me and detain me, to lie in your arms and forget my kingdom.

'But no God will deny me my chosen destination,
Odysseus,
greatest of travellers. If Poseidon's wrath is not abated,' he said, kissing her, 'and my body washes up on your island, then bury me here, where I can see the coast of Achaea, and look toward Ithaca forever.'

The Lady of Cyprus was touched by this renunciation.

'Relent,' begged golden Aphrodite, breathing perfumes into the Sea-God's face.

'I will strike him once more, then I will forgive him,' said Poseidon, dazzled.

We were barely clothed when we heard the swell of noise from the interior and hysterical voices crying in what sounded like joy. Eleni went to the door, and was dragged away by many hands, and we ran after, wondering what was happening. I had my dagger and Eumides his sword, and we came into the white stone audience chamber in a riot of noise.

There stood the boy Orestes in a pool of blood, looking bemused. At his feet lay a dead man, struck cleverly under the arm, a recognised Argive killing blow for an armoured opponent. Pylades and Electra, stunned, were standing beside their brother. The bitch Racer was nosing at Orestes, reassuring herself that he was not badly hurt.

The noise was deafening. The Epirotes had crowded into the room, all shouting and attempting to dance, and we could make nothing of it.

Eleni was carried to the dais on which the throne stood. His followers put him down and he held up his hands for silence. I could not hear his thoughts, but I felt him thinking, as one feels a sandglass quiver as the measure sand falls. I was so overwhelmed by his joy that I started to laugh helplessly, and Chryse looked at me as if I had gone mad.

The heat and stench of so many tribes of the sacred unwashed in that space was stifling.

'Orestes, son of Agamemnon,' he announced, and the Epirotes cheered, 'you have slain Neoptelemus, son of Achilles.'

The Epirotes screamed acclaim, and it was some time before Eleni could quiet them.

'Do you wish to claim Epirus as your own?'

'No,' said Orestes simply. 'I am King of Mycenae.'

'What do you require of the new King of Epirus?' asked Eleni, grinning from ear to ear and sitting down on the throne.

'Hermione, my betrothed,' said Orestes. He was clearly shocked, but he clung to the reason he had come to Dodona and somehow ended up in a lake of blood again.

Eleni waved a hand and the women of the royal household were ushered in. There were the three women of Troy, slaves, and Andromache, widow of Hector our brother. Eleni took the hand of a robust young woman who was evidently in a very bad temper and led her to Orestes, who took her hand and stared.

'Hermione, I give you to Orestes of Mycenae as his wife,' announced Eleni.

She was dumbfounded. She squeezed the hand, and then touched Orestes' cheek, as though she did not believe it could really be the royal son of Mycenae.

'I, Eleni, son of Priam, King of Epirus, free the sisters Clotho, Lachesis and Atropos from slave service.' That name was a private joke. They were spinners, and they had called themselves after the Fates.

Andromache looked pale and ill. Grief and lack of freedom had eaten her heart. Slavery would not sit easily on such a one as Andromache, Amazon-trained, a fearless rider and fighter. She had seen Hector die, and this same dead Neoptelemus, Son of Achilles, had slaughtered the baby Astyanax, the only memorial she had of his father.

'By the oracle and the divine word, I am King,' said my twin.

I wondered how that had come about. Was Apollo going to start keeping his promises? 'I claim Andromache as my royal spouse. Now, spread the news, men of Epirus. Take the bodies away and bury them suitably. Tonight we shall feast.'

The hall cleared magically. Eleni leapt down from the dais and embraced Andromache. She stood rigid in his arms until she crumpled at the knees and fell.

'Brother, you have no tact,' I said crossly as Chryse and I tended the recumbent woman. She had fainted, probably from lack of fresh air and shock. Joy is just as overwhelming as horror, though it seldom kills.

We carried her into the king's apartments, over-decorated with loot from the fall of Troy, and gave her a cordial. She opened her eyes, saw Eleni, smiled lovingly at him, and fell asleep.

I had no fears for Orestes once I heard Hermione say to him, 'Of course I didn't lie with him. I refused. He was afraid of me. Orestes, my heart, how has it been with you? You're hurt, let me tend you.'