by Hannah Lynn
The following night, she spoke to him directly.
“Aegisthus, is it not?” she asked. “My husband’s cousin. I am surprised to find you here. I cannot say he would think too kindly of your presence in his palace.”
His cheeks reddened, just the way she had hoped they would.
“I am here wishing to rectify the mistakes of my youth,” he said.
“From what I hear, that will take you some time.”
With that, she turned and struck up another conversation, refusing to pay him any further attention, even when he left. She was playing her part well. She knew he would understand what she was doing and, anyway, she would speak to him again on their own the next morning.
Somehow, meeting in public view made their now rare, private ones even more exquisite, although they served only to compound the feelings that had been growing in her for months. As the days turned into weeks, she found herself focusing more and more on the physical aspects of her confidant―the callouses on his hands, the symmetry of his lips, the way his beard was dappled, the first signs of grey around the temples. She could feel him doing the same with her. Watching her. Studying her. And it seemed the most natural thing in the world. They could not touch, but nothing could stop them looking.
The months passed and he continued to attend the parties, now even better camouflaged as he found more suitable men to join them. This would look quite normal, Clytemnestra told herself. Many queens hosted such events since their husbands had gone away.
With official introductions long over, they would sit together, still in public view, debating methods of farming, fighting or whatever topics took their fancy. In this way, she gradually learned more about him. His travels. His likes and dislikes. Him as a person. With Aegisthus by her side came a feeling of tranquillity that she had struggled to find since arriving in Mycenae. But, unfortunately, even this did not stop the nightmares.
Despite Orestes now being close to seven, Electra recently entering womanhood and Chrysothemis already sixteen, Clytemnestra would still find herself curling up in their chamber at night. She would lie awake for hours until she eventually closed her eyes, only to be greeted by visions that set her heart pumping hard enough to crack a rib.
It was after one such bad dream that she had awoken so slick with sweat that her sheet was clinging to her, almost translucent. She decided to head out early to meet Aegisthus on the mountainside.
“I feel there is still so much about your past that I do not know,” she said, sitting cross-legged on the ground, a blanket around her to ease the morning chill.
“That is the same in every good friendship, is it not?” he replied, somewhat dismissively.
“Why do you say that?”
He shrugged. “No one should know everything about another person, Clytemnestra. You put two people together for long enough that there are no secrets left, they will start to pick at each other’s little foibles until they are all that they can focus on. It is better to be content with what you do know.”
“I do not believe that is true.”
“No? You think you could live with one man forever and only see good in him?”
“I know I could. I nearly had the chance.”
Only when she saw the look of concern flash across his eyes, did she realise what he was thinking. That he was that man. The one she had hoped to live out her mortal life with. Her throat became dry with embarrassment. Maybe he could have been, once, but not after everything she had lost. She had kept the story to herself for so long. It had been easier that way. Easier, but never easy. Maybe this was the chance to share her burden at long last. She turned to face out across the water.
“There is a legend, you know,” she started. “Some believe it to be a prophecy, surrounding my father.”
“I am sure there are many.”
“Yes, but this one is the reason why I know I will never be allowed lasting happiness. My father denies it, of course, but when you look at Helen and me, it is impossible to believe that it could not be true. You see, he is a godly man, but he favoured certain gods, just as some gods favour certain humans. He would make sacrifices and throw feasts in honour of Ares and Apollo, the like of which you would have never seen before. Hecatombs, and even greater offerings still, were not unusual. Anything to garner their approval. But the gods whose patronage he did not require, he ignored.”
“Such as?”
“One in particular.”
He cocked his head.
“Aphrodite,” she answered.
He was still confused, which was completely understandable. She and her sister, Helen, had certainly been blessed with great beauty, but this was not the only gift available to the Goddess, nor even her greatest.
“My father did not care for such trivialities as love or passion, nor even beauty, except in as much as it could help him make powerful alliances through his daughters. He neglected the Goddess, failed to make offerings to her or hold feasts in her name. But it was not him who was to feel her wrath, suffer her curse.”
Aegisthus lifted a hand and cupped her cheeks. The warmth from his fingertips spread outwards from his touch.
“My darling Clytemnestra, you are not cursed.”
“You say that because you do not know.”
“Do not know what?”
Above them the trees billowed, scattering leaves that then danced on the breeze. What good would come from telling him, she wondered? None. But then again, nothing good could ever happen.
“What do you know of Tantalus?” she asked.
“Tantalus, the late King of Pisa? Was there not enmity between him and your father? He died, very young did he not? I do not know all the details.”
“No,” she said. “Few do.”
The story had remained locked in her heart for two decades. To use the key to that lock now, was to open the floodgates to more pain.
“I know that you think I am most like Electra. Everyone comments on it. The fiery temper. The dogmatic opinions. But it was not always so. When I look for myself in my children, I see Chrysothemis.” She paused to see if he would respond. When he did not, she continued. “She wants to be married. I have told you this before. She has an idea in her head, that it will be all about love and passion, and I try my best to bring her down to earth. But the truth is, I actually had that once. I had a marriage of love.”
“I…I did not know.”
She could see from his expression that he was telling the truth.
“My father had a long-standing friendship with Tantalus’ father. The marriage between us was expected, and we both welcomed it even though I was young. Only fourteen. But his father had recently passed and the new King of Pisa needed a queen. A year and a half we lived in wedded bliss, remaining in Sparta because of my youth. The plan was always to return with him to Pisa, but two things happened. Firstly, I fell pregnant. Secondly, you killed Atreus.”
“And Agamemnon and Menelaus fled to Sparta?”
“Yes. Our child was but a few days old when they arrived. Naively, I thought nothing of their presence. It was without doubt that one of them, if not both, would fall in love with Helen, and that suited me. I would be left alone in my little world, just Tantalus, myself and Alesandro.”
“Your son?”
“My first child. My first boy.” Worry suddenly flashed through her. “The children do not know about this. They cannot know. Orestes believes he is my only son.”
“Clytemnestra, you know I will not tell a soul. Please, carry on. Tell me what happened.”
“He happened,” she said.
“Agamemnon?”
She nodded. “I do not know when he first noticed me. I cannot think what diverted his attention away from my sister.”
“Why do you do that? Why do you always belittle yourself? You are the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on.”
She laughed. “That is because you have not met Helen. But I am not seeking compliments and I am not jealous. It is just a
fact of life. I believe I do have something over her though, a greater spark. Maybe that is what Agamemnon saw in me, and made him want me for his wife—a challenge. He spoke to my father who, no doubt, must have seen the advantage to himself in such a union. The years of friendship with Tantalus’ father counted for nothing, now that he was dead. Nor did my happiness, or the fact that I had just borne a child.
“I think my father had wanted it to look like an accident, to save my feelings to that extent, at least. But Agamemnon? Oh no, he wanted me to see. He wanted me to know. I was called for dinner, a private meal, with just him and my father present, to discuss Helen’s wedding, supposedly. But when I arrived, he was standing there, over the bodies of my husband and child. Three days later, I was in Mycenae, brought here, as his wife
“It is not my imagination, Aegisthus. Nor am I mad. Agamemnon will not be satisfied until he has ripped every last ounce of happiness from my heart. First Tantalus and Alesandro, then Iphigenia. And, each night, all I can think about is which child he will take next.”
“I will not let that happen.”
“You promise?”
“I do.”
He wrapped his arms around her. Allowing her head to fall against his shoulder, she felt a warmth she had not experienced for decades.
“I do,” he said again.
They sat in silence then, each needing time to deal with what she had told him. And as uncertainty faded, she experienced a feeling of lightness in place of the heavy weight that had burdened her for so long. Finally, someone else knew the truth, knew the extent of the horror she had suffered at the hands of her husband.
When they returned to the citadel, he left her at the Lion Gate, placing a small kiss on her forehead. She continued on her way to the palace. She would fix the children’s breakfast, she thought, or maybe have a cook pack one up, so that they could head out on horseback together and enjoy an early picnic.
As she mounted the palace steps, her mind was still lost in what to eat and where to go. A short way from the entrance, she started at the figure in front of her. Electra’s cheeks were flushed red. Her clenched fists shook at her side and her body was as tense as she had ever seen it. A low growl rattled from her throat.
“Electra? Is everything all right? Where is your brother?” She placed a hand on her daughter, who flinched as though the touch had scalded her. “Electra, what is wrong?”
The growling sound continued for a moment, before she finally spat out the words.
“I know,” she said. “I know who he is and I know what you are doing. And it will stop now. On Father’s life, I swear you will stop.”
Chapter 17
“Everybody knows, Mother. It is the talk of Mycenae, how you are busy screwing Father’s treacherous cousin behind his back, while he defends the family honour, fighting in Troy. You are nothing but a common whore. That is what they are saying about you.”
“You will watch your mouth, Electra!”
“Why? Is Aegisthus more polite when he fucks you in Father’s bed?”
Clytemnestra could feel the anger rising up within her. “You should choose your next words very carefully.”
“I am sorry the truth upsets you.”
“You do not know the truth. You have no idea what you are speaking about. I have done nothing wrong.”
“Oh, I know plenty. Tell me, did you always wish to become as big a whore as your sister, Helen? Let us be honest, though, Father would never go to war for you, you pathetic old woman.”
Her arm moved before she even realised what she was doing. The flat of her hand struck Electra squarely across the cheek. The sting shot through her palm, as a wash of red bloomed across her daughter’s face.
“Electra…”
A lesser person, man or woman, would have at least flinched at the blow. But Electra held her head high and turned her cheek, so that her mother could see the true extent of her action. A red handprint. She’d had so many of the same marks on her own skin, thanks to Agamemnon, but to realise she had inflicted the same injury on her own child sent a gasp of shock from her lungs.
“Electra,” she said again, reaching out, only to have her hand swiped away.
“Do you even know what he did?” Electra sneered. “He killed my grandfather.”
“Of course I know. Electra I am sorry, I am. But this is not what you think. Many men are responsible for the death of another, for many different reasons.”
“He was a usurper.”
“He was practically a child. He made a mistake. As you are doing now.”
“It is no mistake. I have heard it from the guards. They are saying he has come back for the throne again. Well, he will not succeed this time. I will not let him take Father’s crown away from him.”
Sighing, Clytemnestra shook her head. So much strength and yet so much arrogance, and an inability to even consider the truth that was right in front of her.
“Electra, you are too young to understand the complexities of this family.”
“What complexities? There is nothing complex here. It is your place to serve your husband. To serve my father, the King. But instead, you have betrayed him. You are a traitor to Agamemnon.”
The way she said his name with such pride, caused bile to rise in Clytemnestra’s throat.
“Look me in the eye, Electra, and tell me you honestly believe your father has never killed anybody undeservedly. That he has never killed anyone just to get what he wanted.”
The girl was trembling with resolve. “You are jealous of his power. You and this man would take it from him.”
“Electra, you have no idea of what you speak.”
“I know what you plan. He is here to overthrow Father, just as he did Grandfather, and you are either too blind or too stupid to see it. Five years Father has been gone and you open your legs to the first dog that comes sniffing around.”
The itch returned. The urge to strike her daughter for a second time. Had it been anyone else, it would have been a knife in their guts. Instead, she stepped backwards, putting her daughter out of reach.
The girl smirked. “Do you want to hit me again, or worse? What would you do to keep your little secret? Not that it is even that anymore. But you have shown your true colours here today, Mother. Of that I am certain.”
“My true colours?” The rage transferred from daughter to mother. “This is what you think my true colours are?”
“I have the evidence here on my skin.”
“And I suppose your great Father would never do anything so unjust?”
Electra pouted. “The decisions he makes are for the good of the kingdom.”
“He is a murderer. Time and time again.”
“For the good of the kingdom.”
“He murdered your sister!”
“No!”
“He took a blade to her throat.”
Electra paled. “No, it was one of the priestesses. You said so yourself. They took her as a sacrifice. He did not know what they were going to do.”
“Really? Your rumour mills have turned rather quiet on this, have they not? Or is it your memory that fails you? It was your father who sent the message that she was to be married. It was your father who tricked us into going to Aulis, who did not even want me there, who lied to us again and again. And it was your father who came up behind her, while she was at prayer, slit her throat and stole her life.”
“No, that is not true. You told us that he was tricked.”
“I told you what I had to, to protect you, you fool.”
“No, you are lying to me. You are a liar!”
“So now I am a liar, but then I spoke the truth? The thing is, daughter. I was there. I saw the knife in his grasp, the blood on his hands, and my child, your sister, dead on the altar. There was no one else in that temple, Electra. So do not tell me what I know. Do not tell me about the monster you so admire. And do not tell me what I will and will not do for my children. You stand there and support a father who would slit
your throat for a better wind.”
She could see Electra trembling, her hands quivering at her side. But her eyes remained steady and no tears fell.
“He did what he did for us all,” she said eventually. “It was his duty as King.”
The air rushed from Clytemnestra’s lungs. It could not be possible that, even when faced with the truth, Electra would still side with him.
“You cannot believe that!”
“He did what the Goddess required of him.”
“No, he could have waited. He could have found another way to appease her.”
“He did what the Goddess required of him,” she repeated, the resolve in her voice hardening. “That is what a leader does, Mother. They make tough decisions. Painful ones. And if you cannot see that, it just shows how much of a fool you truly are. I am glad he killed Iphigenia. It shows he really is the man I have thought he was all along. I would have offered myself, had he only asked.”
Tears now streamed down Clytemnestra’s cheeks, weaving pathways to her chin. Could she not remember her sister? Had she forgotten how tender she had been with her when she was young? Most girls would be hard pressed to find a mother as loving as Iphigenia had been to Electra.
“You have no idea …” she said. But this was not the case. Electra knew. She simply did not care.
Chapter 18
She stood tall just long enough for her daughter to turn her back and leave. Only then did she let her shoulders slump in defeat.
“My Queen,” Laodamia appeared at her side.
“Did you hear?” Clytemnestra whispered through her tears. “Did you hear what she said to me?”
“She is a child, My Queen. Just an angry child. She does not mean it.”
“Do not coddle me. She knew exactly what she was saying.”
“You should rest. I will fetch you something to eat.”
She guided her gently to her chamber, where she pulled back the bedclothes, and Clytemnestra lay down and sobbed.
Life had come full circle. So many years had passed since she had been brought to Mycenae, yet here she was again, weeping, alone. Broken. Nothing ever changed.
