Helen Had a Sister

by Penelope Haines

  Aegisthus stirred beside me. “Are you all right? What troubles you?” he asked, reaching for my hand.

  I struggled to express the way I felt. “I’ve realised you’ve ‘opened’ me up. I was rigid until you refused to see my boundaries, and I’m very grateful you forced your way through them.”

  He was silent for a while. “Do you want to tell me now about life with your husband?” His voice was blessedly anonymous in the darkness, otherwise I doubt I could have replied.

  “It was … he wasn’t …” My voice frayed at the thought of describing our marriage.

  “Take your time,” he said calmly, “but you should tell me.”

  And I did. From my childish memories of two fugitive brothers, through to our wedding and all that came after. I spared neither of us. Two people make a marriage, after all.

  He listened quietly, not saying anything. At the end he just pulled me closer into his arms and held me.

  “What about you?” I asked eventually. “Did you never marry?”

  “No,” he said. “I had nothing to offer a wife. Apart from the few years when Thyestes and I took back Mycenae, I’ve always been a refugee of sorts.”

  “Have you ever been in love?” I asked.

  “Well, I’ve met my share of friendly girls over the years.”

  I saw the flash of white teeth in the dark as he grinned.

  “Is that what you wanted to know?”

  “No.” I shoved him hard. “I meant serious stuff, like a real relationship with a woman.”

  “A couple I suppose you could call serious, but the problem has always been I’ve had to move on. When you earn your keep as a mercenary, there’s not much place for a permanent relationship.”

  I recalled Agamemnon had said something similar years ago.

  I wanted to ask the next obvious question, ‘what about now?’ but stopped myself. It was enough that he was here. The future could look after itself.

  News from Troy was intermittent. It was easy to pretend Agamemnon and the problems he represented were irrelevant.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY FOUR

  FIVE YEARS LATER WE CELEBRATED THE summer solstice with the games. In the early years of the war, we had cancelled this annual event. There simply weren’t enough men of appropriate age and status left to compete. But those troops had been gone ten years, and the young they left behind had now reached their own manhood. Mycenae of course didn’t share the Spartan tradition of allowing their girls to compete.

  “I’ve put extra troops on duty,” remarked Aegisthus. “Some of those temporary wine shops are about as shifty as you can get. I’ve found one is simply a cover for a fencing operation. They make more money dealing in stolen goods than they ever do selling their rotgut brew. And it is rotgut, I tasted it.”

  I nodded, although I was distracted. I’d started that morning with a report detailing the failings of the public latrines dotted throughout the games. They were proving inadequate for the crowds in the temporary games camp, and in the summer heat the stench was overwhelming. I’d organised a detail to deal with it, only to be faced with a string of other problems, from unlicensed brothels to missing children.

  I thought wistfully of my couch on the shaded terrace and a chilled drink, but I wouldn’t be able to relax for hours yet.

  Aegisthus read my frown. “Bear up, lady. Remember, it can only get better.”

  I gave him as toxic a look as I could manage, which caused him to grin and reach for me. We were interrupted by a messenger being announced from Troy. I sighed. There never was any useful news from Troy. It was a massive waste of time, manpower and resources. I wondered how my errant sister – the cause of this debacle – was doing. I hoped one day to be able to wring her neck personally. Then I thought how, indirectly, she had brought me Aegisthus, and wanted to kiss her.

  I gestured to the messenger to speak.

  “The Greek army is in disarray,” he reported. “A quarrel has arisen between Achilles and Agamemnon, and Achilles now refuses to take the field at all. The demoralising effect this is having on the rest of the army is incalculable, and the Trojans are taking full advantage. For the first time the balance between the two armies has shifted entirely towards Troy.”

  I drew a startled breath and sat down on the bench beside the table. We had become so used to the Troy situation being static that any change was dramatic. I pondered the ramifications if Troy won. I wanted my husband dead, but I was quite prepared to do that myself. The more happily wed wives and families of Mycenae would be devastated to hear this news. I wondered if it would wreck our games.

  “What reason is given for the quarrel between Agamemnon and Achilles?” asked Aegisthus.

  The messenger paused, giving me an uneasy look. “It concerns a slave girl, Briseis. Agamemnon forced Achilles to hand her over to him, although she was Achilles’ prize. Agamemnon lost his own woman when he was forced to return her to her priestly father. In retaliation he ordered Achilles to give Briseis to him. The quarrel has split the army, as most agree Agamemnon overreached himself with the demand. Morale has slumped to an all-time low, and Achilles is threatening to sail for home with his men and urges the other forces to sail with him.”

  I gave a vulgar snort. Nothing was more likely than that Agamemnon would behave unreasonably and alienate his officers. It sounded just like him, and I wondered how it had taken ten years for his men to realise the calibre of the man who claimed to be their chief commander.

  The messenger was clearly concerned he’d hurt me by disclosing my husband’s sexual practices and found it hard to meet my eye for the rest of the briefing. We let him go, with instructions to the maids to feed him and give him a bed for the night. He would be working his way east and south. I asked him to pay my respects to my parents when he called at Sparta.

  As I expected, the news from Troy dwarfed all other concerns as the information spread. There wouldn’t be a family at the games who were not affected by the campaign. Many might wish it over, but none wanted us to be on the losing side. I had other concerns. If Troy won, or the war ended, hundreds of men would return to their cities and their farms. The shortage of male labour that had made every task difficult would suddenly be reversed. I tried to imagine a surfeit of unemployed, under-occupied and aggressive men loosed on the city, and grimaced. Why was nothing ever easy?

  * * *

  As the season rolled on, messengers became more frequent. Each time they visited, the news from the battlefield more dramatic. Names we had become familiar with fell in battle. Patroclus, trying to rally the army and stand in for Achilles, was killed. Hector, heir to Troy and with a reputation second to none for honour, courage and fighting skill, had been killed by Achilles, and then his body despoiled by being dragged around the walls of Troy three times. Most shocking of all, the great Achilles himself fallen. His fury at Patroclus’s death caused him to abandon his feud with Agamemnon and go back on the battlefield, only to be slain by an arrow. Finally, Paris himself, the infamous seducer and direct cause of the war, was dead.

  I wondered how Helen was. With Paris dead, she would be in a uniquely difficult situation immured in war-weary Troy.

  The war would end and soon. I could feel it. There was new energy in the citadel. Conversations seemed more urgent, merchants at the markets were inclined to stop and chat with their clients. Everyone wanted to feel part of the coming climax, whether for good or ill.

  I avoided any speculation about Agamemnon’s return. I would do what I had to when that day arrived. I attended the temple more frequently, praying for skill, strength and divine help in fulfilling my vow. In private I began a regime of training. Common sense told me I needed to be physically hard and fit to have any hope of killing a man who’d spent ten years at war. His skills would be honed with hours of battlefield experience.

  I remembered the fierce, fit girl I once was and grimaced. Time had softened me. Living with Aegisthus had soften
ed me in other ways. Happiness had robbed me of my abrasiveness. I wanted, with all my heart, to be able to live with the man I loved, peacefully, for the rest of my life.

  Electra was waiting at the foot of the steps when I came down from my chamber. She was fifteen now. Shorter than Iphigenia at a similar age, she was a diminutive female version of Agamemnon. Her stocky build was starting to lose its puppy fat, and if she could ever bring herself to smile she would be pretty enough, with her dark, curling hair and dark eyes. Unfortunately her default expression was sulky, which gave a heavy cast to her face.

  I smiled at her, receiving her usual scowl in reply. We had never healed the breach between us, and she usually avoided me unless forced into my company. Since the day I hit her, she had remained formally polite with me, never volunteering any intimacy. I told Aegisthus I felt I’d lost a daughter but gained a citizen. Electra never allowed me to forget her anger.

  “Good morning,” I said as I approached. “You’re up early this morning.”

  “Is it true?” she asked. “Are the ships coming back from Troy soon?”

  “I haven’t heard that yet. But we have heard the war has intensified, so hopefully it will end soon, and then, yes, they’ll come back.”

  I saw malice written on her face.

  “Then what will you do, Mother, when they all come home?” she sneered. “My father will hear all about you and Aegisthus. What will you do then?”

  “What your parents do is none of your business, Electra,” I said sharply. “I will continue to do what I have always done. I’m Queen of Mycenae, and nothing’s going to change that.” I tried to keep calm. Let the girl say what she wanted, it would change nothing.

  “My father won’t let you be queen any more. Not once he knows about all the things you’ve been up to. He’ll fix you then,” she taunted.

  I saw the pleasure that causing pain gave her. So like her father, I thought sadly.

  “Well, it’s still none of your business, Electra.” I walked past her. I would not rise to her challenge.

  “I’ll tell him,” she threatened from behind me, still trying to get a reaction.

  “I’ll tell him myself,” I replied.

  I walked away. I could hardly wait to be free of the palace and my sour daughter. She was old enough to be thinking about marriage, love and romance. Instead, here she was, twisted up with malice and resentment.

  How had I gone so wrong with this daughter?

  Aegisthus had been away on a hunting trip for a few days. The palace relied on the game the hunting band brought back as an important part of our food supply. The winter rains would start in a few weeks, prohibiting these excursions, and our diet would necessarily become centred on fish until the following spring. I didn’t dislike fish, but it became monotonous when served every mealtime.

  We lay in bed later.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  I looked at him in surprise. “Was something wrong for you? I enjoyed it.”

  “Not with that,” he smiled into the darkness, “but you’re unusually tense.”

  “Ahh.” I told him about my run-in with Electra.

  He rolled over to face me. “We’ve been avoiding any discussion about what happens when Agamemnon gets home. We’ve got to talk, Nestra. You’ve got to tell me your plans and let me help. We work together, remember?”

  “It’s my fight,” I mumbled. “I don’t want to involve anyone else.”

  He gave a snort of exasperation. “It’s my fight as well. The man killed my father, and his father murdered my older brothers, if you remember. You aren’t the only one with a blood feud, Nestra, however personal you feel this is. I have just as much a desire to kill the bastard as you do. You could make me your champion and let me do the job for you. You would have fulfilled your vow.”

  “I took an oath,” I said stubbornly. “I have to carry it out myself or the gods will destroy me.”

  “All right, I understand that. But you can’t kill Agamemnon without some planning or help. What are you planning to do? Challenge him to a duel? You’d be dead in thirty seconds.”

  “Do you have a better idea?” I resented him making me deal with the awful reality, but I was grateful for his support.

  “Whether you like it or not, you are going to have to be a bit tricky about this. If he thinks he’s in danger from you, he’ll dispose of you before you get a chance to hurt him. You are going to have to convince him you aren’t a danger, so he allows you close enough to kill him. You won’t achieve it any other way. He must be aware you will be angry at Iphigenia’s death, so he may be very wary of you.”

  I thought of the number of times Agamemnon had hurt me then expected to be taken back as if nothing had happened.

  “Knowing my husband, it probably won’t occur to him I’d do anything other than welcome him back with open arms,” I said tartly. “He’s not the most self-aware man. Look at the mess he’s made at Troy.”

  “Hmm.”

  I looked at him suspiciously. “You’ve been thinking about this, haven’t you?”

  “I barely think of anything else these days,” he sighed. “So far my thought is, the only way to get close enough to him is by you taking him to bed and killing him while he sleeps. And I really don’t want you to do that.”

  I shuddered beside him. “I honestly don’t think I could do that convincingly. The thought repels me so. Even thinking about it makes me sick. He’d know, any man would, that I didn’t desire him.” I lay there thinking. “How do whores manage, do you think? They must encounter this all the time.”

  “Don’t get distracted,” Aegisthus said severely. “This is serious. If we both agree you can’t go to bed with him, then how else are you going to be able to get close enough to him at a time when he doesn’t have a weapon handy?”

  “Hide under the bed while he has it off with a slave girl, then jump out when they’ve dropped off to sleep?” I was beginning to feel more cheerful. Any plot I thought of veered rapidly into farce.

  “Grr.” He reached over and swatted my bottom lightly. “I love you to pieces, but you’re the most irritating woman I know. All right, we’ll talk about this again later, but you keep thinking. Time will run out on us soon enough, and we need to have a workable plan.”

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY FIVE

  NEWS CAME SOON ENOUGH THAT TROY had fallen. The messenger who came was white-faced and exhausted. We’d known this messenger for some years. Usually a fresh-faced young man, he had spent the last few years reporting nothing more exciting than an occasional raid on some hapless Trojan fishing village. The real brutality of war had shocked him deeply.

  “The sack of the city was still going on when I left. It was terrible. There was fire everywhere, and troops were running riot in the city.” He gulped in his distress. “The women and children were … ” He stopped abruptly.

  “Sit down,” I said.

  Charis poured him wine, and I watched him slug it down like water.

  “Pour him more,” I said.

  Eventually he calmed down.

  “Have you heard anything about Helen? What has happened to her?” I asked.

  “She was captured, along with the other royal women, although she was kept apart from them. Menelaus killed her husband.”

  “Husband?” This was news, Paris having died some months earlier.

  “After Paris was killed they married her to Deiphobus, Paris’s brother. Priam didn’t want her to be single and unprotected.”

  So, once again she had survived. I wondered what she looked like now. She would be in her mid-forties. Surely even the most beautiful woman in the world would be starting to look her age?

  He filled us in with some of the details. In the end it took deceit to destroy Troy. Odysseus had come up with a plan to make it look as if the Greek army was going home. The troops boarded their ships, ostensibly ready for departure, leaving the plains of Ilium empty for th
e first time in a decade. As an offering for Poseidon, the Greeks left a large, wooden statue of a horse on the beach as an apparent request for fair winds on the journey home. Concealed in the horse were some elite Greek warriors. I suppose they were lucky the Trojans didn’t simply consign the statue to the fire at the first opportunity. Instead, the poor, gullible citizens of Troy hauled the thing into their city in celebration. The Greeks exited the horse that night and opened the city gates to the waiting army. The rest was inevitable.

  Odysseus’s reputation for wily intelligence was reinforced. No one seemed to find such tactics dishonourable, or against the Hero’s Code warriors prided themselves on living by. I thought again of Aegisthus’s instructions to me. It would take deceit to enable me to kill Agamemnon.

  “Have we word on when the army will return?” asked Aegisthus.

  “No. Troy was burning when I left, and the looting could go on for a week or more. After that they’ll sail, I suppose.”

  Aegisthus looked at me.

  We had no more than a couple of months. The time for action was getting close.

  I stood in the stands at the training grounds and watched Orestes march with the rest of the troops. Aegisthus had increased their training. He told them he wanted them to impress their fathers and uncles when they returned from Troy. I knew he was getting them ready, under his command, for any potential trouble that might follow Agamemnon’s death.

  I loved watching my son. He was twelve, still at school, but proud to be part of Aegisthus’s army. The young boys trained as I had as a child. Fighting, dance and music – the three pillars of our culture. They wheeled and turned in hoplite formation, shield to shield as they presented an unbreachable wall to any enemy.

  Afterwards he came and sat beside me.

  “All is well?” I asked.

  He grinned. “Very well. Aegisthus said he’ll take me out on the next action. I bested Cantor in fair fight yesterday. He let me manoeuvre him until the sun was in his eyes. Then he couldn’t see enough to fight effectively, so it was easy.”