Electra

by Henry Treece

  My heart jumped at his words. If he could land us at Aegira, say, then it would only be a short journey to Mycenae, not more than seven days, even on foot.

  I said to him, ‘Shipman, would these bands of iron on my arms and legs buy a place in your boat?’ They were the only gifts Pylades had ever given me.

  He looked at me as I held out my arms, then screwed up his face.’ Woman,’ he said, ‘at any other time, yes; but now, no. The price has gone up and up, you see, with everyone wanting to be away.’

  I could tell that Rarus was angry with the man, but I knew that beggars could not be choosers, so I said, ‘Shipman, take us to

  Aegira with you, and I will see to it that your night-watches are never lonely ones.’

  Rarus hated to hear these words, but by now such a bargain meant nothing to me; I had gone beyond all that.

  The shipman put his twine away and we clapped hands together to seal the bargain. Then he got a smith to knock off the iron bands and we went aboard. He was an old liar about folk rushing to get across the Straits, because we were his only passengers, apart from an elderly woman, with a bundle on her back, who cried continuously about finding her lost husband in Achaea. The shipman winked at Rarus and said, ‘She’s got a hope! The pirates cut his throat, off Ithaca, a year ago. Why, a mate of mine showed me just where it happened. Still, if it keeps her going, then who am I to tell her any different! It is the god’s will.’

  He was not kind to us, but he got us to Aegira at last. In his wine, he often let things drop that he denied when sober. He said, for instance, that Hellas was now an unclean stable, and the sooner the Dorian got there and flushed it out, the better. He banged the cabin table and shouted out that of all privies, Mycenae was the worst; that it had been the downfall of Hellas, with its rottenness and its mad kings and queens.

  I always held my tongue when the shipman was in drink; indeed, I often led him on, as when I asked, ‘What of Atreus, then?’

  He leaned back until he almost fell from his rocking stool, then said, ‘Atreus was sent to Mycenae as leprosy is sent to a man—to finish him by inches. Atreus was the god’s curse on Hellas.’

  I pretended not to understand and asked, ‘But was he not the father of great Agamemnon? And did not Agamemnon make Hellas proud among the earth’s people?’

  The shipman glared at me as though I was an idiot; then he said, ‘You talk like an Outlander who has never seen a town, much less a great city. I will explain to you slowly, so that your dull wits will grasp what I tell you; there are some diseases which make a man feel gay and strong, when they are in their first stages and are getting a grip on him. That is a delusion which the god sends, to make men carry on with their old way of life, so that the disease may get a firm hold like a wrestler. Very well, Atreus and Thyestes, Agamemnon and Aegisthus—they are all the stages of a disease. Yes, on the surface they seem to be great, seem to be doing good things—but you must look at the end of a disease, not its beginning. So look at Mycenae now—it is rotted through, as with leprosy the flesh falls away to reveal the dry bone. Now do you see?’

  I shook my head and said simply, ‘But did not Agamemnon destroy Troy and bring back gold?’

  ‘The sailor drank more wine, swilling it about his mouth until he sickened me, then he answered, ‘He was one pig rooting out another pig, no more. Troy was one sty, and Mycenae is another. And if you doubt me, then where is the gold now? Where is the trade he promised? Where are the great princes who sailed with him? I tell you, Hellas exhausted herself when she sailed for Troy. All that is left now is the dying old woman, Clytemnestra, who calls herself queen and is but a witch; and that old fool of a cripple, Aegisthus, who got a bull’s horn in his backside and has never walked right again. They are all that’s left—apart from the mad young prince and his mad sisters, and no man knows where they are. The wolves have eaten them, like as not.’

  Three mornings later, as we pulled into the roads off Aegira, he drew me towards him as he stood on deck and said, ‘The god forgive me, but I made a mistake when I was in my wine the other night, talking of kings and princes. I said they were all finished—but I made a mistake.’

  I was puzzled and asked him what he meant. In answer, he pointed to where a dozen great ships lay at anchor off-shore. I had never seen such vessels in my life before; they stood up high out of the sea and had at least forty oarsmen, besides great purple sails, with hosts of boys running along the yards to furl them. They had high castles fore and aft, crowded with men, and great curved prows that bent backwards, fan-shaped, as though the ships were fine queens cooling themselves in the heat. Each ship, to my eye, was like a palace, clustered with folk, but graceful and sitting on the water as though they were as light as scallop-shells, as though they ruled the sea.

  The shipman said,’ They are from Egypt, woman. Not even a blind man could mistake those ships. And they’re up to no good, I can tell you.’

  I asked him how he knew, and he answered, ‘Why, any ship that doesn’t mind being seen comes up past Crete and through the Cyclades, to Troezen or Thoricus. That’s the way honest sailors come. But these ships have come round-about, and along the Straits, so that no one should see them arriving.’

  He bent towards me and said with a smile, ‘And who would come from Egypt to within a long stone’s cast of Mycenae, hey, my dear?’

  I said that I didn’t know; but as I spoke, my heart fluttered in me like a frightened bird. I was not surprised when the sailor said, ‘Why, Menelaus, King of Laconica, my love! The brother of Agamemnon, darling! The grimmest wolf of all Atreus’ brood, my sweeting! That is who it is, I tell you. After all those years away in Egypt, he has come to take his pickings before the Dorian get across the Straits. Now we may look to see the wine flow in all the gutters, before Menelaus puts out again for Egypt!’

  That night, after dusk, he set us ashore beyond Aegira, in a little cove a mile from the city, where he would not be seen and pressed into service, unloading the Egyptian vessels. He sailed away again without even wishing us farewell, and I was well rid of him, for he was the worst sort of sea-rogue, the sort who got us Hellenes into bad odour with other sea-folk.

  Rarus wanted to strike away from Aegira in the night, but I was driven by some strange madness and I said, ‘You can go if you will, but as for me, I would like to see what my uncle looks like. I cannot remember him after all these years, only as a dim shadow. In the end, perhaps our fortune lies with him; perhaps the god has brought us to Aegira so that we should meet him.’

  Rarus sighed deeply and gave in to me. Afterwards I wished that he had bound my hands and feet and carried me away from that place, like a trussed lamb. But no, as always, he gave in to me, in his dear way, even when he should have stuck to his own opinion—which was often the right one, for he was always wiser than I was, although he was a slave.

  35

  It all began like a gay dream, but ended a hag-ridden nightmare.

  The square market-place of Aegira was set about with white-columned buildings, and a fountain always spurting in the middle. Trees were planted on all sides, and from them the crickets sang in the spring dusk. Bright torches, supported in holders about the square, cast a yellow-red light across the striped awnings and the hanging banners, as though this was a wine-festival. One might have thought that the place was prepared for Dionysus to come down again and sign for the dancing to begin.

  But it was not Dionysus who reigned in Aegira that night; it was my uncle. On a a high wooden dais, he sat, enthroned in gold, with a woman at his feet.

  I would never have known that this was Agamemnon’s brother, my own flesh and blood. Beneath the tall flaring crown of gold, his head was shaven smooth, as was his face and body. Even from the edge of the crowd, I could see that his eyes had been painted with black and blue, to make them look larger and more staring. A false beard of black hair hung at his chin on two silver straps, and wagged in the warm breeze that swept across the square from the sea. His great chest w
as bare, and stained a deep brown. It gleamed with gold, from necklaces and stomachers studded with coloured stones. He sat with his strong brown legs apart, and his pleated linen kilt falling between them. From his golden sandals, and up his leg to the knee, coiled two snakes of some heavy beaten metal which I did not recognise. In his right hand he held a silver sword, and in his left a silver whip, its four thongs standing out stiffly from the head. They were the symbols of his power.

  The woman who sat below him was as bare and brown as he, but; her long thick hair was jet-black, and her white pleated skirt covered her legs from waist to ankles. Only the colour of her eyes told me that this was my Aunt Helen, transformed as by magic into an Egyptian queen now.

  All about us, as we pushed among the crowd, we heard foreign voices. It seemed that the Greeks stood silent to let these sounds sink into their ears, in wonder. The old men of the Council of Aegira stood, white-robed and heads bowed, before the great dais where Menelaus lorded it.

  Everywhere, men in Egyptian armour stood laughing and jesting, drinking wine and flinging the delicate cups down to be trodden into shards.

  Rarus whispered to me, ‘Many of these are Hellenes, also, but painted like the king. They must be the old veterans who left with him after Troy fell. It seems that some of them have brought then-foreign wives, too. That woman over there—her hair was never anything but black, her eyes never smaller than we see them. And, look, there are three score Egyptians over there, behind the platform, leaning on their spears. They are no Hellenes.’

  A man in a goatskin jacket turned to him and put his finger to his lips. ‘Be quiet,’ he said, ‘or they will have your tongue. That was the order he sent out at midday, and he means it. My brother will speak no more, and only for shouting that Hellas would outlast the world.’

  Then a guard in a great lion’s head helmet began to glower towards them, and Rarus and the man were silent.

  At last, one of the Egyptians stood forward and blew on a silver trumpet, as curled as a ram’s horn. Its note was low and mournful, and it seemed to strike fear into all the men of Aegira, for they clustered together as though for comfort. And before the last note died away, from behind the dais, seven black-haired girls rose in their white skirts and clashed upon golden timbrels. The sudden noise came like a shock of lightning. In it lay all the strange foreign power of Egypt, all the magic of that awful land.

  For the count of ten, there was only the distant lapping of the waters on the stone jetty, and the creaking of ship’s timbers, and the endless shrilling of cicadas in the tamarisk trees.

  Then, hardly moving his lips, and keeping as still as an image, Menelaus said above our heads, ‘You are gathered here to listen to the fate of the world. Know, then, that I have come from my master in Egypt to bind Hellas, and all that lies in Hellas, to him. Know that you are the tools in his hand, no more, no less. We all lie in the great hand of the Pharaoh, men of Hellas. There is no escaping from that hand, I tell you. From this time forward, if Egypt says “live”, then we live; if “die”, then we die. These things we shall do without thought, without fear, without gladness. We shall do only them and, in doing them, be contented that a new god has taken us into his keeping at last.’

  When he had finished, the horn blew again, and the girls clashed their timbrels. Suddenly, as the noise died away, the chief citizen of Aegira, an old man with a crown of oak-leaves on his white head, spoke up in a wavering voice and said, ‘What of the Dorian, King Menelaus? Might they not have a word to say about this?’

  Menelaus suddenly closed his eyes, and the effect was terrible, for we seemed to be looking into pits of darkness. This was all the answer he gave, all the signal. Immediately four of the Egyptians behind the dais cast their javelins, and for an instant we saw the old man standing upright, staring down at the shafts that stood out of his body. Then he gave a sad sigh and sank out of our view. No one went to raise him; no one said a word of admonishment to the soldiers. It was as though all the men and women in that crowd were in. a deep trance and bound by unseen chains.

  Then a dark-haired young herald stood before the dais and called through a trumpet, his lips curled in spite, ‘This night Aegira shall be burned to the ground. No one shall have it but Menelaus. All men below the age of thirty shall assemble at the harbour to be given arms; all women below the same age shall go to the tents for the comfort of their saviours. It is said.’

  Not even at this did anyone call out in rebellion. But Rarus clutched my wrist and whispered,’ If we stay, this is our end.’

  I whispered to him, ‘If I could but speak to my uncle….’

  But he held his hand over my mouth, and drew me back from the crowd very slowly, until we were in a place the light of the torches did not reach. Then he swung me about and began to run, dragging me along. ‘Come,’ he said, ‘we may get out of Aegira before it begins, if the god wills it.’

  We were soon in a narrow lane where the houses leaned towards each other over the stone paving-blocks. All seemed clear, but as we ran on round a bend, Rarus stopped and dragged me close to a plastered wall.

  ‘Do not speak,’ he whispered. ‘There is a guard at the end of the street. I must go to pass the time of night with him.’

  He left then, close as a cat to the wall-side, bunched in the shadow until I could hardly see him. This was a Rarus I had not known before, and I crept after him quietly until I came to the bend in the wall.

  I saw the tall cloaked figure of the Egyptian, his spear pointing to the stars, his body leaning lazily on his huge shield.

  As I watched, a girl passed near him, carrying a wine-jar on her head, and I heard him call out to her, harshly, as though demanding where she might be going. I saw her go to him, saw him put out a hand towards her. Then the distant darkness blurred with an indefinite movement, and I heard the man cry out, the clattering of his shield, the smashing of the wine-jar and the pattering of the girl’s feet. Before I could take it all in, Rarus was beside me again, his eyes wide in the darkness, wiping the short blade of a Mycenaean dirk on the skirt of his tunic.

  ‘Come,’ he said, ‘if it were all as easy as that, then one need not: fear any man.’

  I think he was proud at that moment to have behaved so well against a warrior, and in my watching, too.

  He sang a little song beneath his breath as we hurried to the end of the street, where the landward wall of Aegira started. There we found a group of women clustered about an ox-cart, on which sat an old Phoenician, his clothes torn, his pointed cap on one side. They were dragging at him, trying to get him off the cart so that they could be away; but the old man was a shrewder bargainer than that, and struck about him on all sides, trying to keep the women back. Yet in another moment, they would have had him down on the ground, their attack was so frantic.

  But we ran among them, pushing and striking here and there, and calling out that the Egyptians were on our heels. As they began to run in fear, Rarus jumped on the cart beside the man, hauled me up alongside him, then whipped the dazed oxen forward with the reins.

  The old Phoenician pushed back his cap and mopped his forehead.’ By Damon and all the little fishes,’ he said, ‘but you frightened me, too, with your shouting! Oh, those poor, poor women! It hurts me not to give satisfaction to my customers.’

  Rarus snatched the whip from him and said, ‘It will hurt you far more if we are not outside this town very soon. The soldiers are moving from the square even now, I can hear the clank of their weapons.’

  Then he stood up in the cart and brought the lash down again and again, until we were jolting along out of Aegira as fast as a man can run.

  The Phoenician regarded Rarus with a certain admiration. ‘You seem a brisk young fellow,’ he said. ‘I have never had much respect for Cretan, I must admit, but you are one in a thousand.’

  Rarus did not answer; all his care was needed in avoiding the deep ruts that frost had made earlier in the road, and which might easily have smashed our wheels if we had st
rayed into them.

  The Phoenician turned to me and said, ‘This young husband of yours is too occupied to listen to an old fellow like me, I can see. When you get a moment, see if he would care to go into partnership with me. I deal in amber, horse-hides, bronze, and such iron as I can get hold of. A young fellow such as he is could do a lot worse than come into the trade with me. There’d be a place for you, as well, woman, if you can write, or if not that, then dance to fetch the buyers in.’

  He was babbling on like that until Rarus suddenly swung round on him and said quite fiercely, ‘You will be lucky if you are still alive by morning, old man, so save your breath. Our business lies in Mycenae, where there will be no trade for you, I can tell you.’

  The Phoenician fell on his knees in the cart and clasped his hands round Rarus’ knees. ‘Oh, young prince, for the love of Damon, do not go there, I implore you! I am known in Mycenae and they will slit my throat for a load of salt pork I left there on the way up-country. I was not to know the stuff had gone off in the heat, now, was I?’

  Rarus kicked him over the side of the cart, into the darkness, and drove on. We heard him crying out for a while, then nothing more. Either he had seen sense and had held his tongue, or the Egyptians had overtaken him and stopped his mouth for ever.

  It was ten miles before our nearside ox foundered and died with a burst heart. The wheels of the flimsy cart, passing over the beast, were shattered with the impact. But now we were away from Aegira, and far enough along the road to Mycenae to let us hope that we might at least reach that city alive, if we could only keep going.

  36

  We came up through Low Town at last, among crowds of other folk who sought refuge from Menelaus and his Egyptians. The line of us stretched far back along the dusty hill-roads, like a black and tattered snake. Our approach to the city was announced by the forlorn bleating of sheep and the lowing of cattle, for most of the fearful country-folk had brought all they could with them, even clay pots and pans. The old folk either rode on the top of wagon-loads of bedding, or on the shoulders of a devoted son or daughter. But many of them were left by the roadside as we came up through Cleone, for the eagles to pick at if they chose. When a whole countryside moves, doctor, there is little room for gentle feeling; and the old must die, in any case.