by Hannah Lynn
He recalled, with an ache in his chest, his first visit to Delphi, when he had vowed to himself that he would travel the world to see all her treasures. This was the first step towards fulfilling that promise. He just hoped it would not be the last.
“I guess we should go in then,” Pylades said, moving to climb the steps.
Apollo caught him by the shoulder.
“Better you let us deal with this,” he said, nodding toward Electra. “Things tend to end badly when men enter my sister’s temples. Do not worry, though. We will keep him safe.”
Orestes had seen his life unfolding with increasing disbelief. What would have once seemed inconceivable—hiding to avoid terrifying beasts, which were invisible to all but him—now seemed prosaic, compared to his current situation. Even with all he had recently experienced, he was having a hard time comprehending this turn of events.
No longer was he in the presence of a god, but two—two immortals—who were discussing his welfare. Standing there together, their combined luminosity was almost unbearable. An Erinye, the tallest and palest of the Furies, stood in deep conversation with them, while the other two remained with him and continued to hound him, whispering in his ears and causing a cold sweat to break out along his spine. As they ran their fingernails up and down his skin and across his throat, they muttered their promises of vengeance. The familiar chill had returned, causing his breath to fog the air around him. Screwing his eyes closed, he forced down the scream that was building.
It had been like this for hours; the gods lost in conversation, leaving him on his own. Electra had somehow managed to fall asleep and Pylades remained outside, unwelcome in the sanctuary of the Goddess. Occasionally, one of the gods would glance his way and the Erinyes would lessen their torment, by just a fraction. Only when Apollo finally raised his voice to them, loud enough to startle the birds from the roof of the temple, were the monsters distracted long enough for Orestes to catch his breath.
“This has gone on long enough! There was no wrongdoing here, he was obeying the command of a god!”
“Those two things are not mutually exclusive. Do not insult me by implying the gods are just. Do not pretend to stand on the side of the wronged. Surely, some of the acts that have taken place in this very temple are enough of a testament to that.” The tallest Erinye glared at the Goddess Athena, but whatever it was referring to, Orestes remained in the dark and Athena seemed nonplussed.
The grey-eyed goddess sighed, as she stepped away from the pair. Unlike the effigies he had seen of her, she wore no helmet. Nor did she have a spear in her hand. But her long, grey chiton shimmered as she walked, as if her divinity extended to everything she came into contact with.
“We have been over this point before,” she said. “At least a dozen times. And it seems neither of you has anything new to add to the argument. Apollo, we know that Orestes acted on your command and that a father’s vengeance is paramount to our way of thinking. So, you do not believe that he should be punished.”
The Erinye opened her hideous mouth to speak again, but Athena cut her off.
“I am aware of what you are about to say, yet again. It is strange how you both feel that the Goddess of Wisdom requires so much repetition in order to understand something.
“The act of matricide cannot be taken lightly. Orestes killed a mother who had nursed him and raised him and loved him, in a way that far too many mortals fail to do. There is no denying that, in normal circumstances, this should not go unpunished. But these are not normal circumstances.”
She paused, steepling her fingers and pressing them gently against her top lip.
“So where do you stand?” Apollo asked, breaking her moment’s contemplation. “That is what we have come here to establish.”
Silence hung like a shroud over them, as Orestes awaited her response. Content to listen to the other two, she had seldom engaged in their arguments and had answered only a few questions during their time together. All seemed insignificant, compared to what she had now been asked. He could sense her mind whirring behind those grey eyes, as she considered the question. Then, she slowly turned to face him, her head tilting to the side, like the little owl that so frequently accompanied her.
Does a god have the power to hear a man’s thoughts? he wondered, as she regarded him. If she did, then she was welcome to them. She was welcome to share the nightmares he had faced every night since hearing The Pythia’s decree, the guilt that roiled through him like curdled milk. She was welcome to it all.
“This matter perplexes me. And, for one of my abilities, that is not something I admit lightly. What is evident from this, is that we alone cannot come to a decision. With one person on each side, and each of you so sure of your argument that you would never cede to the other, we could go back and forth until Mount Olympus crumbles.”
“So you must decide,” said Apollo. “That is why we came. Give us your ruling. Look at this man, he is as near to death as any mortal I have ever seen. What they have not stripped from him, he had already taken from himself. Surely you can see that?”
“It is no less than he deserves. The lives he has taken are worth more than his,” countered the Erinye.
“As I have said, we are going around in circles,” Athena cut in, before the debate could spiral any further out of control. “I know what you want of me. However, I do not think I am able to judge this fairly. I cannot see this with the same eyes as the mortals who have suffered through it. I have no child of my own. I cannot imagine the feeling of violation, of being so truly betrayed, by one whom you have loved even more than your own life. But, at the same time, I cannot conceive of the agonies that one must suffer, when tasked with a vengeance one does not wish to see through. I feel only a mortal could rule on this. Your lives may be short, but are full of the dramatic experiences it requires to have a definite viewpoint.”
“What are you saying?” Orestes asked, standing up. “Do you mean that they will be with me forever? That I will never be rid of them?”
The Goddess turned to face him and, in that moment, he saw a thousand emotions pass across her face as she paused before answering.
“I am saying that I am not qualified to pass judgment. In fact, this problem is weightier than can be decided by just one opinion. In short, Orestes, we must put you on trial. We shall see what democracy can bring to this.”
Chapter 41
It had never been done before, and took more time to arrange than Orestes would have hoped. For two days, Athena had scoured the city to assemble a jury she considered just and fair.
Apollo told him of the final arrangements, on the eve of the trial. “Six men and six women,” he said. “She has shown us no partiality in whom she has chosen, but she has done us no disfavour, either. That, I suppose, is all we could hope for.”
“So how does it work?” he asked. A trial by jury had never taken place before. As a boy, he had watched in the throne room as his mother had resolved endless minor squabbles in the citadel and several major ones too. He had seen farmers pay fines in sheep and gold, and countless other sentences handed down. There had been no debate, no discussion. His mother’s word was law. But he did not stand to lose livestock or savings here. It was his sanity at stake, his life, in fact. If the jury found against him, as the Erinyes hoped, then that would be the end of him.
“Athena has given every person on the jury equal standing. They will vote as individuals, but their collective decision will be what counts.”
“And I will have the chance to speak? To put my side of things?”
“You will. You will speak for yourself, and the Erinyes will speak on behalf of your mother.”
“And Aegisthus and Aletes? They will talk about them too, will they not?”
Apollo shook his head. “No, I think not. Of course they could, but it is only the matricide for which they wish to punish you.”
Orestes was silent.
“Just a little while longer, my love,” Pylades said, “A
nd you will be rid of them.”
Yes, Orestes thought, one way or another.
In the hours preceding the trial, the Erinyes took their persecution to a whole new level. Not a moment passed when they were not present, hurling insults or clawing at him.
“You could save your family this further humiliation, if you just ended it all now,” they taunted. “Do you not think your sister has already suffered enough because of you?”
“I saw a well back there. Maybe I should just push you down it?”
“No, you do not need to go to the trouble of doing that. He is perfectly capable of doing the job himself, are you not Orestes? Or there is a good thick rope in that cupboard.”
“And a sturdy sycamore tree outside.”
“But that would be too clean. You know how he likes blood.”
“That is true. He should use a blade.”
He pulled the scarf tighter around his head.
“We must speak to Athena,” Pylades said, massaging Orestes’ temples. “You must be allowed to rest and prepare, if you are to represent yourself tomorrow.”
“I think that is their point,” he replied, pressing his fingers to his ears for a moment, before sighing and loosening the knot in the blindfold enough to pull it down.
“What are you doing?” Pylades asked. “You said the blindfold helps.”
“It does, but I need to see you. I need to see your face, to speak to you.”
He turned to focus his whole attention on his lover. One of the Erinyes continued to hiss in his ear, but he pushed the sound to the back of his mind. But it took all his concentration to achieve this feat and he found he was struggling for words.
“It is hopeless.”
“You cannot think negatively. You have Apollo on your side.”
“That is true, but I fear it means less than you imagine. These demons are older than the gods, remember.’
“Still, you must stay positive.”
“Pylades,” he struggled on, “I have something I must say to you.”
Pressing his lips together, he gave a sober nod. “Go on.”
“If they decide that I am guilty, and that the Erinyes are justified in what they are doing, then I cannot continue.”
“Orestes, you do not mean that.”
“I do, Pylades, for so many reasons. I can barely live with my guilt as it is. But with them, with these creatures…”
Their cackle resonated around him, as they sensed him weakening.
“I cannot endure another day in their presence.”
Pylades had paled and tears gleamed in his eyes, although he stayed silent and allowed Orestes to continue.
“When … If …” There was no way of saying it that did not cause tears to stream down his cheeks. “If I am gone, you must marry Electra.”
“What?” Pylades shot up. “You cannot be serious?”
“Of course I am. Mycenae will be weak and will need a king. Some might ask for her hand. Others will just try to claim the throne by any means they can.”
“No! You are delirious!”
“No, I am not, and you know it makes sense.”
“It may have escaped your notice Orestes, but I am not the marrying kind. And your sister would most definitely not be my type, even if I were.”
“And it has obviously escaped yours that a prince has no choice, wherever he is.”
Pylades fell silent.
“You will have to continue your line. You will need to father children,” Orestes continued, his voice growing stronger with the certainty of his words. “And they will be perfect. Because they will be a part of you, and almost a part of me, and there could be nothing more wonderful than that.”
“Orestes—”
“Please, say you will. Your father would be more than happy with the union. You know that. No one would dispute it. Promise me. Promise, if I fail tomorrow, you will do this.”
“You will not fail.”
“Promise me!”
Closing his eyes, Pylades dipped his chin before taking Orestes’ head in his hands and pulling it towards his chest.
“I will,” he said.
And, even with the Erinyes present, Orestes kissed Pylades as if they were alone, for he feared this might be their last night together.
When dawn broke, he awoke in confusion, although it only took a moment for it to clear. They were sleeping on a thin mattress and Pylades’ arm was draped across his chest. He gently lifted it off before getting up. Outside, he could hear the first birds of the dawn chorus, and only when he turned around and saw the golden-haired god hovering by the door, did he realise—the demons had gone.
Apollo smiled.
“Athena required their presence at her temple,” he said, as if reading Orestes' thoughts. “I will be honest, I asked her to keep them there as long as she could, to drag the meeting out as much as possible, to give you the chance to prepare. I wondered if there was anything I could help you with?”
He shook his head. “I will tell the truth and hope that is enough.”
“It will be.”
“I pray you are right.”
“I am. Now, let us eat breakfast. I have the feeling we have a long day ahead of us.”
The hearing took place on the Areopagus, a rocky outcrop a short distance from the temple. The bare, natural marble, was rough and craggy, a far cry from the sleek and polished pillars of the Acropolis, but Orestes was not concerned with aesthetics. Nor was there time to admire the vista that stretched out to an almost infinite skyline of distant jutting mountain peaks.
Stools had been placed on the southwest side, with views overlooking the city of Athens. Twelve of them, placed centrally, were already occupied. Standing in front, dressed in her full regalia was Athena. With helmet and spear, she appeared twice her previous height and every bit the Goddess of War and Wisdom. Orestes felt himself shrink at the sight of her. He could not feel confident that she would remain truly impartial, as she claimed she was.
Despite the crowds that had flocked to the hearing, there was silence when he entered. As he moved to take his seat, there was a sudden gasp of fear from the people.
“Orestes! No!” Electra grabbed his arm, gripping it to the point of pain and causing him to stop in his tracks. “H ... how?”
He turned, seeing at once the reason for her discomfort. What had once been reserved just for him, now stood, fully exposed and corporal on the stones of Athens. The Erinyes were visible to all. Men and women shrieked in fear, although for once he remained calm.
“Those … those things are what you have had to endure?”
“Day and night,” he replied, avoiding their gaze as they leered at him.
“How are you still standing?” she asked.
His sister was not the only one in disbelief at the sight. The crowds edged away from the monsters. People who had clambered up on rocks, to get a better view of the proceedings, now scrambled down again. Others covered their eyes. Surprisingly, he found all this a comfort.
“Come,” he said, removing his sister’s hand from his arm and taking a seat on the stool next to Apollo. “We will see plenty more of them I expect.”
Having regained her composure, Electra took her place beside him. “You must look the jurors in the eye,” she advised, adjusting his robe, unable to control the trembling of her hands. “You are human. They are monsters. There is no way they can side with them. See, they are already repulsed by the creatures.”
“Terrified of them,” Pylades countered.
It certainly seemed that way. Those who were not looking towards Orestes were conversing with each other. All eyes avoided the Erinyes. He was about to comment on the fact when the crowd fell silent again.
“We are to begin.” Pylades whispered. “Look.”
The hairs stood up on Orestes’ skin, as the two gods walked to the centre. Apollo stood momentarily by his sister. His laurel wreath seemed larger than usual and his Presence even more imposing. He nodded to her, bef
ore striding back towards Orestes. If he survived this, he thought, he would build a temple to Apollo.
“It will all be over soon.” Apollo grinned, as he took the seat beside him again. “It will all be over soon.”
Athena stepped forwards. The hem of her robe hovered just a fraction above the ground, her spear and helm glinting in the sunlight. Her gaze went first to the jury, then to the Erinyes and, lastly to Orestes. She then turned to face the crowd.
“We have gathered here today, to decide the fate of Orestes, son of Agamemnon and King of Mycenae. We will listen and learn of his matricide. Orestes, you wish to address us, I believe.”
His throat felt as though he had swallowed a thousand daggers and the air seemed to thicken around him. Was that it? Was that all she had to say. He knew the Goddess to be economical with words, but he had hoped for a little more than that, and a little more time to ready himself.
“Just speak the truth,” Pylades whispered to him.
Not able to reply, or even nod, he stood and stepped forwards, sweating so profusely that his feet slipped in his sandals.
The jury was, as Apollo had already told him it would be, a mix of men and women, adults of every age. Look at them, that was what Electra had told him. Yet it was harder to do than he would have imagined. Hard to look these twelve humans in the eye, hoping they would recognise the truth in his words. Blinking back the tears, he began.
“I did not want to kill her,” he said, his voice catching in his throat. “I truly did not. I knew that a son must avenge his father, but I could not do it. I wanted her to live. I stayed away for eight years, but The Pythia speaks the word of the gods, and she said my mother must die, that my father must be avenged. But I am … I was …”
He was struggling to keep his mind focused. Somehow, even silent, the Erinyes’ accusations were inside his head. Clytemnestra had trusted him and yet he had murdered her. Slit her throat.
“She did not see me coming. I did it as quickly as I could. I did not want her to know, to suffer.” He replayed it in his mind, as he had done so many times. That dreadful gurgling sound, as blood filled her lungs. “I did not want to do it. I loved her, but I was ordered … She should not have died. She should not have had to die at my hands. I am sorry. I am so very, very sorry.”
