Helen Had a Sister

by Penelope Haines

  “Don’t make me do this,” she begged. “I didn’t do anything. It was just a message to my Uncle Menelaus. It wasn’t wrong.”

  “Don’t lie, daughter, I’ve had enough of your nonsense. You marry Eumenides, and you will make him a good, true and loyal wife. Do you understand?” I turned to walk away.

  “Please, no,” she begged. “My brother won’t allow it.”

  That stopped me. I turned back to her. “Your brother isn’t here, and even if he were, he’s not your guardian. Aegisthus is.”

  She swore at me, so I repeated Aegisthus’s words about the need for her to receive punishment.

  “If this stings you, Electra, then you’ve brought it on yourself. Actions have consequences. You choose to condemn me because I executed your father, and yet you try to do the same thing to your mother and betray me for much lesser cause than I had. Believe me, Mycenae won’t be grateful if they hear you invited Sparta in. Make the best of it, Electra. Marry Eumenides and try to be happy for a change. I promise, you wed, or you spend the rest of your life in a cell.”

  “Take her out,” I instructed Io. Electra’s misery tore at me so, I could hardly bear to look at her.

  Io took Electra by the arm and pulled the limp, sobbing girl from the room.

  I collapsed onto the foot of my bed, utterly drained by the exchange.

  Chryseis knelt on the bed behind me and began to work on the tight muscles in my shoulders.

  “We need Nerissa,” I said.

  “She’ll come to you later,” promised Chryseis. “In the meantime, we need you to relax.”

  I gave a half-sob. “That wretched girl. She winds me up tighter than anyone else can. Pity help Eumenides. He’ll have his work cut out.”

  Chryseis gave a sniff I interpreted as agreement but said nothing, her hands working and kneading the tension away.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY NINE

  WE WERE ALONE! WELL, DISCOUNTING SERVANTS, slaves and the other hangers-on that plagued and enhanced our lives.

  Aegisthus swung me into his arms and danced a few steps across the terrace. I gave an embarrassingly girlish squeal as I demanded he put me down. He grinned, dropped his head and kissed me thoroughly. It was a short step from the terrace to the bedroom.

  Was it wrong of me to feel this deep welling of joy? Electra’s wedding had freed us. For the first time in years, Aegisthus and I were able to live the life we wanted, without considering the sensitivities of my children or the problems posed by my erstwhile husband. We were giddy with the simple joy of being lovers – with no tensions, duty or obligations.

  The mornings disappeared as we lay in bed. We could be talking, reading or making love. There was little difference; it all enhanced our intimacy.

  I looked at him one evening, fresh from the bathhouse. His hair, a grey and white patchwork when we met, was now snowy white. My own had long since lost colour. My waist had thickened, although I still prided myself on my figure. Viewed from a distance, through the dimness and smoke of the dining hall, I looked all right. I refused to discuss with anyone the hairs I pulled out on a daily basis from my chin. My menses had ceased some years back, so I was officially a crone, although Aegisthus and I coupled with all the enthusiasm of the young, but in rather less athletic positions.

  “Have I become tame?” I asked Aegisthus one evening.

  “Tame? As in a ‘tamed wolf’?” He laughed. “You won’t ever be tamed, my darling. Gentled, maybe. Wiser, kinder and more tolerant, most certainly. You aren’t the brittle, scratchy creature I met all those years ago.”

  I was hurt and tried to hide it. “If I was that bad, why did you stay?” I asked as casually as I could.

  He rolled over and faced me. His free hand stroked my breast, wandered over my nipple and gave it a light squeeze. “Because you were the most wonderful woman I had ever seen,” he said. “Not the kindest, not the most holy and virtuous, not even the prettiest. You were beyond all those silly adjectives. You were the most completely authentic woman I’d ever known. You were a deep lake a man could bathe in and be refreshed; you were a Sphinx in your wisdom, and yet you had kindness.” He gave an apologetic grin. “You taught me so much. I didn’t know a woman could be strong, and yet so vulnerable. So brave, and have so many fears.” His hand continued roving. “I didn’t mean to love you.”

  I lay still, trying to work out whether this was a good or bad thing.

  He gave a little sigh. “If I die, I will have been the better for the years I spent with you. Without you, I was a lost man. You made me whole.”

  My body stilled. I was a deer confronting a hunter. The extravagance of his words silenced me. I wanted to look at him, to assess his honesty.

  He buried his face in my neck so I couldn’t see it.

  “Do you mean that?” I asked. “I think that’s the nicest thing you, or anyone, has ever said to me.”

  “Of course I mean it,” he said indignantly, raising his head from my neck. He rolled onto his back. “Just think. I was little more than a boy when Agamemnon ousted my father from the throne, then I spent years as an exile from my own country. I did anything I had to, just to get by. I had no family, no home.” He gave a little laugh. “I must be the only warrior of my generation who didn’t go rushing off to Troy to become a hero.”

  I hadn’t thought about that before, but I supposed it was true.

  “Did you really want to go to Troy?” I asked, intrigued. I hadn’t imagined Aegisthus being interested.

  “I wanted to go all right. I wanted to be part of the adventure, part of that masculine world of battle and conquest. It’s a man’s nature. We are reared to be warriors, and without a decent war, what are we? But I couldn’t go. Who would I have served under? What kingdom was I part of? I couldn’t have sailed with Agamemnon’s ships.”

  I lay beside him. “So when you came here …?”

  “I came because Agamemnon wasn’t here. I wanted to see my native land, and it was my opportunity. Then, I met you, and everything changed.”

  “I thought you were such a dashing, romantic figure when you first arrived,” I said. “The mysterious stranger; the homeless wanderer who went from place to place having exotic adventures.”

  Aegisthus chuckled into the dark beside me. “In truth, I was just another vagrant, until I met my queen.” He reached over and pulled me to him.

  “I’m glad you came to Mycenae,” I said drowsily. “It must have been meant.”

  “Let’s agree to live today,” he said. “Not in the past, not in the future, but today when we can choose joy and happiness.”

  I sleepily agreed.

  Neither of us spoke of the future. Electra’s malice may have been contained within Eumenides’ household, but both Aegisthus and I knew that, far off in Phocis, a more potent danger lay. If Orestes meant us well he would have returned home by now. We could only assume him poisoned by Electra’s bitterness. I mourned his loss, mourned the years of his growing I would never see. His absence was a small but persistent pain I kept in my heart.

  I saw Eumenides from time to time, in the market, or at trade delegations to the palace. He was always courteous in his dealings with Aegisthus and myself and made no remarks about anything Electra may have said. Equally, he made no criticism of her. I couldn’t establish whether the marriage was happy or not. I asked, with mindless frequency, about the possibility of her being pregnant but received no satisfactory answer. If she was in the family way, then he wasn’t going to tell me. If not, and they were having problems, it was clear my intervention wasn’t wanted.

  I closed my mind to the worries of parenthood. Electra didn’t need or want me, and Orestes was beyond any help I could give. Aegisthus was right. We had to live in the present, and for each other.

  Times were good. I could feel excitement and optimism when I walked through the markets. Trade had improved. The men returned from the wars were being assimilated, and their labour and
productivity were lifting our trade figures. Mycenae was exporting its grain, horses and natural resources in the form of ores. We were importing luxury goods from Asia. For the first time in many years we were showing a healthy surplus that wasn’t eroded by the needs of the army at Troy.

  Life was good. In the evenings, we toasted each night to ‘the gods and the blessings they bestow’. Each libation we poured carried a prayer for continued safety and prosperity.

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY

  CHRYSEIS, IO, NERISSA AND I SAT under the lime tree. The garden was full of the noise of cicadas, and bees lazily making their way through the flowers. The afternoon heat was heavy, but it was pleasant in the shade. I was idly winding spun wool into a ball from Io’s outstretched hands. The heavy scent of lanolin from the wool clung to my fingers.

  “At least my hands will be well moisturised,” I remarked, looking at the age spot that had appeared on the back of my right hand. I supposed it was to be expected. I was fifty-three years old, a fair age for a woman, and although the thought of the years didn’t trouble me, the changes in my body could catch me unaware. I used to pride myself on the fineness and elegance of my hands, I thought ruefully.

  Charis was lounging on cushions in the sunlight, playing the flute. The fierce light burnished her dark hair with red glints. She broke into a light country dance, the trills and syncopation recalling celebrations from years before. I felt a pleasant nostalgia.

  “What time are you expecting her?” Nerissa’s voice broke into my thoughts.

  “Oh, soon. She said early afternoon.”

  In spite of myself I was nervous. Electra’s visit would be the first contact of a private nature we had shared in many years. I had seen her occasionally with her husband, but she had always chosen to ignore me.

  Yesterday I had received a message requesting I allow her to visit me. She wanted, she said, to present her new baby to its grandmother. I was beside myself with excitement, both because of the child, but also with hope that now, as a mother herself, Electra would be more open to my advances. Age can mellow us, and there is nothing like a child of one’s own to make us reassess our relationship with our mothers.

  It would be so good if we could let the past go and enjoy the present. I prayed the gods would let it be so.

  Charis laid down her flute and stretched forward for the jug of chilled wine. As she started to fill her mug, there was a sudden scream from within the palace. Charis dropped her drink, spilling the wine over the cushions.

  The scream was followed by shouts and voices raised in panic. I could hear the sound of people running.

  Charis jumped to her feet.

  “I’ll go and see what’s happened,” and she was off, running towards the door.

  “It’s probably only the cook burning the dinner,” said Chryseis calmly as she started to mop the wine up from the cushions. I glanced at her, but her eyes were focused on the door where Charis had disappeared.

  “I hope so,” I murmured, putting down the wool and wiping my hands, “but a scream like that seems a bit excessive.”

  Charis came running through the door a few minutes later, saw me and checked her pace. I saw her urgency vanish as she looked at me, and I knew the news was bad. I stood to hear it.

  “My lady,” she gasped. “I don’t know what to say.” She looked at me helplessly, and I could see the tears start in her eyes.

  “Go on,” I said impatiently. “Whatever it is, you can’t break it to me gently. Just tell me.”

  “Aegisthus is dead,” she blurted. “He’s been stabbed. His body lies in the great hall.”

  I started running. It was dark inside the palace after the bright light, and I nearly tripped on the threshhold in my haste. I could hear the rising noise of chatter from the servants as I ran towards the hall. They saw me enter and stood back, leaving a clear space for me to walk forward.

  Aegisthus must have been killed instantly. His body was crumpled on the floor. A tide of blood flowed from the left side of his chest and spread a stain beneath his body. I knelt beside him, pulled back the cloth of his tunic and examined the wound. Whoever killed him had stabbed him with one powerful thrust. There was only one point of entry.

  From memories of my school days, I remembered our drill sergeant telling us how difficult it can be to negotiate the ribs in such a cut, but this had been done neatly and effectively. There was no evidence the killer had met with resistance. Aegisthus must have had no suspicion of the danger.

  I stroked his face. It was still warm. Impossible that his eyes wouldn’t twinkle as he sat up and told me it was a joke. I gave a ragged sob and gently closed his eyes. It felt like turning out a lantern. I took his hand and knelt beside him as the grief hit me with full force.

  I stayed beside him a long time while my heart and mind struggled with a world that had no Aegisthus in it. He had been my lodestone, my north star, my anchor.

  At last I raised my head and looked around me at the frightened faces. “What happened?” I asked. “Who did this thing?”

  There was some mumbling, but no one spoke up. I heard the shuffle of feet and saw eyes slide from my face so nobody had to answer me.

  I turned my head back to look at my dead love. I raised his hand to my lips, straightened my spine and knelt back on my heels looking at the group around me. “Well?” I said. “Someone must be able to tell me.”

  It seemed no one was brave enough to say, and I was becoming impatient with the evasion. Then, like the best theatre troupe in the land, the mass of people parted as she walked through them. I looked up into the animated face of my daughter, read the malice and triumph in her smile and realised there had been no reconciliation, no new baby, no hope for the future. Her visit had been a ruse to ensure easy entry to the palace for the assassin.

  I knew the answer to my question then, before she opened her mouth.

  “Orestes,” she declaimed loudly. “Orestes has come to avenge the murder of our father.”

  Again there was a shuffling and muttering among the onlookers.

  There was nothing for me to say, so I didn’t try. I turned my back on Electra and returned my attention to Aegisthus. I could hear the crowd’s chatter. They would be deciding which side to back.

  Nerissa and Chryseis had come to kneel beside me.

  I drew a shuddering breath and tried to take leave of the man who had given me so much. All older couples carry death’s shadow on them. Neither discussed nor acknowledged, we know it’s there. Our mortality is implicit in our wrinkles and the aches in our joints. We look at our lover and read the same signs. One will die first – the other will have to live on alone. We become tolerant of this foreshadowing as we age, even while we deny we are old.

  I should be able to say goodbye to my love with dignity and acceptance. Instead the pain and pity of his murder was a dagger in my breast. I saw his poor, abused flesh, and grief swept me.

  “Chryseis,” I started, then found my throat was too blocked to speak and I couldn’t get any sound out.

  I tried again. “Chryseis.” At least this time a whisper emerged.

  “Stay with him, please. Make sure he is prepared for his funeral. I don’t want him left alone.”

  Her hand squeezed my shoulder. “Of course not,” she said.

  “Nerissa and I will prepare him with honour.”

  I looked up at the group surrounding us, ignoring Electra. I could see the captain of the guard hovering at the edge of the crowd. He looked distraught, as well he might.

  “Lift Aegisthus up, and take him to where Chryseis directs,” I said. “Let all be done with dignity.”

  He nodded. “Lady, I am so sorry. Electra vouched for them. I am so sorry.” Poor man, he was virtually wringing his hands.

  “The fault is not yours,” I said curtly as I turned away to Aegisthus.

  I kissed his hand once again, before laying it carefully on his chest. I stood up and took my
last look at his flesh.

  “Wait for me,” I whispered to his shade. “It won’t be long and I will join you. Wait so we can make the journey together.”

  I returned to the garden.

  Charis put her arm round my shoulders, lead me to a seat in the sun and thrust a mug of wine into my hands. “Drink,” she urged. “It will help steady you.”

  I slugged back the wine, and she refilled the mug. I had started to shiver in spite of the sun’s heat, and she threw a stole over my shoulders.

  “It’s just shock,” I said.

  She gave a grim chuckle. “I know it’s shock. Even so, the wine and the warmth will help the body’s reaction.”

  I sat quietly, letting my thoughts drift. Implicit in Aegisthus’s death was the certainty of my own, and soon. I tried the thought out and found I didn’t care much. I wondered if it would hurt, whether Aegisthus had suffered when the sword cut him. I couldn’t summon up the urge to be afraid. Fear depends on having something to care about, and I had nothing left. That knowledge framed my grief for my dead love. I wouldn’t be alive to mourn him long; I needed to endure the pain of his passing for only a short period before I joined him. I comforted myself with the thought, although I couldn’t control the surges of grief that possessed me. Aegisthus’s death seemed so wasteful. I moaned at the pity of it all.

  “I wonder where he is,” I said eventually. “Orestes, I mean. He must still be in the palace, but where?”

  “Do you want us to find out?” asked Io. “Should we call out the guard?”

  I shook my head. “No. This is an accounting I hoped would never happen, for his sake more than for mine. But the die is cast, and Orestes is here for revenge. Let it be.”

  They both cried out at that, but I shook my head. I felt so very weary, so tired my head didn’t seem to want to work properly.