The Outcast

by Laura Gill

  I had Pylades engage spies for the purpose, but it was not the season to do much else. Snow crowned the distant mountains of Arcadia, and at night a cold wind blew down from the north. I went out whenever possible, but I spent most of those short, chilly days confined to the citadel and megaron, where I was obliged to receive an endless stream of petitioners. To my great displeasure, Cylarabes returned, this time escorting an older lady whose kinsman and protector had been executed for treason, leaving her destitute.

  Cylarabes wore a proprietary air, as though the Lion Court was somehow his. When he described his errand, I smothered a contemptuous snort. “Does this woman fear us so much that she requires the protection of King Cyanippus’s own deputy?”

  Lady Eurydike most certainly did not, the shrew. She might have been threadbare, but she was as haughty as a queen, and wasted no time stating her case and making her demands. She had committed no treason. She should receive compensation for her kinsman’s death. She should not—gods forbid—have to humble herself and seek refuge at an altar. Her list of grievances turned into a tirade, at which point I refused to endure her further.

  “Enough! Close your mouth while we review your case.” I opened the diptych the attending scribe handed me, and quickly perused the contents. A red-faced Eurydike stood fuming, her mouth opening and closing, working like a fish thrust from the water. I finished reading, and handed the wax tablet back to the scribe to let him add a postscript. “Prince Pylades settled this dispute ten months ago. We see no reason to alter his ruling.”

  A sensible woman would have accepted the initial judgment, and not persisted. Not this one, though. Eurydike must have thought me a pliable boy, to stand there with both arms crossed over her breast, and argue. “As you have taken my kinsman and protector, King Orestes, you are now responsible for me. I am a woman of—”

  “You have been allowed to live!” I thundered. She flinched, her eyes large in her florid face. “Did Prince Pylades somehow make a mistake in granting you that mercy?”

  Cowed, she shook her head. I turned to her advocate. “Lord Cylarabes, take this woman Eurydike from my sight, and enroll her in some quiet sanctuary in Argos. We do not care which goddess she serves, but she is not to forsake her vows, and she is not to leave Argos. Should she attempt to press her case a third time, she will receive the same judgment as her late kinsman.”

  Cylarabes had his retainers lead the speechless woman from the megaron, while he lingered, seeking a word. Just as I suspected. He cared nothing about the lady’s grievance, and was merely using the opportunity to once again engineer a meeting with Cyanippus and the Argive assembly. “Why the delay, King Orestes, when Argos is so close?” he inquired smoothly. “King Cyanippus wishes only to extend his hospitality and lay eyes upon the son of the great Agamemnon. Surely you would not deny him that pleasure.”

  I exhaled a great breath through my nostrils. Patience. “As you can see, we are burdened with pressing matters, not the least of which is dispensing the king’s justice.” I kept my voice neutral, however tempting it was to raise my voice. “As Cyanippus well knows, it would be improper for us to abandon our duties so prematurely. Please tell him that he is always welcome to attend us here, but should he not wish to travel at this time of year, we understand.”

  “We shall tell him to expect you after Plowistos, but before the equinox.” Cylarabes’s mouth broadened into a smug grin. Manipulating me into a firm commitment, the snake.

  No sooner did he withdraw than I signaled for wine to wash the unpleasant aftertaste of his visit from my mouth.

  Throughout the remaining petitions, the cup stayed close to hand, although my attention wandered. Sooner or later, Cyanippus would succumb to his rheumatism, or hemorrhoids, or chilblains, or whatever ailment kept him from leaving Argos, and Cylarabes would ascend the throne. All the more reason to be cautious and ensure success in returning our wayward vassals to the fold; victories in Corinth, Nemea, and Sikyon meant it would be that much simpler to annex Argos and its territories when the time came. If Strophius did not reinstate him as the Phocian heir, Pylades would make a splendid warden of Argos.

  “...keeps shifting the boundary stones, m’lord. He thinks I don’t notice, but I does.”

  What was this? Yet another dispute over fields or grazing lands? At my periphery, I saw the scribe in his striped robe waiting with a diptych. I held out my hand. Sama bobbed his head, handed me the document. Stephanos holds ten rams, twenty-two ewes, and thirteen lambs. He holds a hereditary plot from the damos which yields so much seed—38.4 liters of wheat. Alxiotas his neighbor says this is not so. I read further, skimming the notes which outlined the dispute, before turning to the man kneeling before me. He was hard-bitten, his mouth a thin gash below a bulbous nose. “You are Alxiotas?” I asked.

  He blinked, no doubt wondering whether I had even been listening, but nodded quickly. “Yes, m’lord. Stephanos steals from me. Keeps moving—”

  I silenced him with a gesture. “Your case was heard six months ago. Prince Pylades investigated the matter and found that after the death of Agamemnon the High King, when your neighbor was short laborers and hounded by tax collectors, you encroached on his land.” Alxiotas stared in horror, realizing then that the ruling was not going to go his way. “All holdings and boundaries stand as they were on the eve of High King Agamemnon’s death. You know this, yet you waste our time with this petition. Did you think we would not look over the judgments made in our name? Did you take us for an ignorant youth? If anyone has been shifting boundary stones, it is you.” Raising my voice, I shoved the diptych into Sama’s hand again. “The original ruling stands. Come before us again with this dispute and we will strip your lands and holdings from you, and give them to Stephanos for your presumption. Is that understood?”

  A steward hustled Alxiotas from the megaron; several others slipped out along with him. From the looks of them, they were probably men and women who thought to presume upon my youth and inexperience, and contest my regent’s decisions. Irritated, I watched them leave. Perhaps it was high time to order my chief steward to announce to the crowds in the great court that I would not reconsider judgments made during my absence, and that anyone who tried my patience thus would face dire consequences.

  I pointed my scepter at the floor, signaling an end to the audiences. Stewards hastened to clear the megaron. Sama collected his writing materials and records, and, with an unctuous little bow, shuffled from the chamber. I rose from the throne, stretched, and exited through the aithousa.

  Under a slate gray sky, an earthy odor of dead leaves and baking bread hung in the air. I took my noon meal directly from the kitchen, and out to the court of the laundresses, where I found young Strophius and Medon eating with their pedagogue. Triopas was thin and beaky, and excessively tidy; one would never know to peer into his cubicle that his predecessor had cluttered it so. I still missed Timon, no more so than here, where we had spent so much time together.

  Timon’s nephew had not yet answered my query to claim his uncle’s remains, and it was becoming apparent that he might not respond at all. Puzzling, but so be it. I would give Timon a fitting burial in a nearby chamber tomb.

  I dismissed Triopas in order to spend time alone with my nephews, and sent a servant to bring Hermes downstairs. Strophius and Medon always minded my instructions, treating the dog gently, even feeding him bits of their bread and cheese. A month after coming to live with me, he was filling out again. “Mama doesn’t like us having a dog,” Medon said. “She says he’s dirty.”

  “Your mother knows better.” I scratched Hermes behind the ears. “But my mother didn’t want me to have a dog, either.”

  “It’s good to have a dog.”

  “Uncle, are you crazy?” Strophius suddenly asked.

  I laughed, trying to dismiss the question, and finding it difficult. “Do I seem mad to you?”

  Strophius studied me intently. So serious, those young eyes. “The people who come to see you are alw
ays talking about you while they’re waiting to go into the megaron. They say you’re crazy. They don’t know that we’re listening to them.”

  He need not have told me that. I had noticed the apprehension and fear writ large on the faces of those same petitioners when they came before me. “And what do they say?” I could easily guess, and I would be right, but could see that my nephews were wrestling with those same rumors. They needed me to tell them that it was all lies.

  “They say you murdered our grandmother Clytaemnestra and some children, right here in the palace,” Strophius replied solemnly. Medon said absolutely nothing; he was content to cling to his brother and let him do the talking. “Did you, Uncle?”

  I removed the seal stone from my wrist thong and showed it to them. “This is the symbol of my kingship. The mountain and the lion are sacred to Father Zeus, and the tree is sacred to Mother Dia.” They knew this already, for I had let them hold the ring and study it many times before. “When I swear upon it, I cannot lie. So I swear to you in the name of Zeus Horkios and Mother Dia that I didn’t murder any children, or cause them to be murdered. I killed only those who deserved to die. But yes, I did kill your grandmother. Do you understand why?”

  “Papa said she killed our grandfather,” Strophius answered, and Medon nodded.

  “And what does the law say a son must do when his father is murdered?”

  “He has to avenge him.” Strophius frowned. I could see his mind working, coming up against the dilemma which had been my undoing, and unable to process it. “But, Uncle, the law says a man isn’t allowed to kill his mother. That’s a sin.”

  “Yes,” I admitted, “but not avenging one’s father is also a sin. Had I not sought revenge, your grandfather’s ghost would have hounded me, and I could never have become king.”

  Medon looked flabbergasted; it was a great deal to ask a six-year-old to comprehend. “So, his ghost made you crazy?”

  I shook my head. “I was your grandmother’s ghost who did that.” Their eyes widened. “I had to go away for a while, because I committed a sin. So I went to Delphi, to ask Apollo for his help against the Erinyes.”

  Both boys recoiled in horrified amazement. “Monsters!” Medon gasped. “Did you have to kill them, like Perseus killed Medusa?”

  “No. The Erinyes are immortal goddesses who cannot be killed,” I corrected.

  “Triopas says they punish the wicked,” Strophius said.

  I wondered what else their pedagogue had told them. “They are the goddesses of vengeance and punish the guilty, but when someone commits a crime that doesn’t always mean they’re evil. I’m not a wicked person, but I did a terrible thing. So the Erinyes hounded me with nightmares. I was sick for a very long time. I grieved for your grandmother, and for what I had done, and when I was well enough I stood trial for my crimes. I had to undergo an ordeal, which I can’t tell you about because it’s a sacred mystery. All I can say is that I passed the test and was purified.”

  Medon shyly edged closer. “So you’re all better now?”

  “Yes.” I hugged him to my chest. “And that is why I’ve come home to be king. I’m surprised your father didn’t explain all this to you.”

  Strophius stood outside the hug. “Papa doesn’t like to talk about it, though he and Mama argue about it sometimes.”

  From the very beginning, Pylades and Elektra had had their quarrels. She ran hot, he cold, so it was inevitable that they should clash, but to argue over me? How absurd! I was a grown man and a king, not a child or concubine to pick over. “What do they say, when they argue?” I asked Strophius.

  Realizing my intentions, my nephew hesitated. “I really shouldn’t say, Uncle.”

  “Am I not the lord and master in this house?” Strophius hung his head. I grasped his shoulder, and gave him a little shake to compel him to face me. “I have a right to know what they are saying and doing in my own household. I assure you, you won’t be punished for telling me the truth. I won’t allow that.”

  Strophius divulged everything then, and with an eagerness that told me he was relieved to do so. Once he finished, I reassured both boys. “You don’t have to worry any further about this. I will attend to it.”

  A nervous cough from the edge of the court alerted me that we were not alone; the pedagogue awaited his pupils from the doorway of his cubicle. “Begging forgiveness, my lord,” he demurred, “but it is time for the young princes to resume practicing their signs.”

  Said princes clung to my arms, pleading with me not to have to go back to their lessons. How well I knew their frustration! Triopas seemed strict and humorless. “Go with your tutor,” I said, “and mind what he tells you. Later you can show me what you have learned.”

  Elektra was upstairs in the nursery, supervising the maids bathing her daughters in a terracotta tub. Antiklea and Charis squealed, hating the hot water, and the women’s hands scrubbing and rinsing their hair and combing out the tangles.

  I took my sister aside into the main room where the nurse was watching Anaxo as she slept in her cradle; she withdrew at my preemptory gesture. “Elektra, you’ve been avoiding me ever since—”

  “I’ve been busy.”

  “Ever since I returned.” I bulled right over her excuse. “I also know you and Pylades have been quarreling.”

  Defiance flashed in her eyes. “Who told you such a thing?”

  “That isn’t important.” I grasped her arm as she started to turn away. “Why are you avoiding me? Are you afraid I will hurt you?”

  “Of course not!” Elektra made a last attempt to wrench free, then, drawing her mouth into a grimace, relented. “I have heard stories.”

  “And you believe them all?”

  “They say you howl at the moon, and talk to ghosts, and...” She sounded like an ignorant peasant woman. And acted like one, too, shaking her finger in my face. “I know you see the dead, Orestes. I know you hear them. You always have. You even asked Pylades about the boys seeing the three murdered princes outside their room. No, I know you don’t howl at the moon or crawl around naked like a dog, but I can see the scars where you chewed your fingers.”

  “I was sick in the head,” I said. “I thought the only way to appease the Erinyes was to make a blood offering.”

  “Blood! I hate the sound of that word.” she exclaimed. “I made you bathe in blood. I killed the king bull and made you crouch in that tub when you didn’t want to, and...” She clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a sudden sob.

  I gathered her in my arms, held her head on my shoulder, and stroked her hair in its thick braid. “It’s not your fault.”

  “No, it’s his.” Still sobbing, she wrestled free. “He swore an oath to stay by your side, but when the time came he left you. I never would have done that!”

  “Elektra!” I said sharply, grasping her shoulder. “Listen to me—listen!” I shook her hard once, then twice, to command her attention. “Pylades wasn’t to blame. He didn’t force me to commit matricide. I killed her, no one else. It was an accident, but that’s no excuse. I lost control. I lost my way.”

  But she was not listening. Kohl ran down her cheeks along with her tears. “Orestes!” My name was a piteous groan on her lips. “Orestes! I didn’t want to live when I heard. I was so afraid you were going to die.”

  I held her as long as she let me, and afterward walked her back to her bedchamber so she could wash her face; she refused to appear before the servants or her children in her current state. “You and he must stop quarreling over this,” I said. “The matter is finished. I will speak to him later.”

  “You’re wasting your time.” Elektra closed her fist around the washcloth. “He’s bitter over this business with the succession.”

  “I’ve already spoken to his father,” I told her, “but he’s obstinate. In the meantime, I won’t have strife in my house.”

  Elektra fumbled with a pyxis on her dressing table, trying to retouch her cosmetics, but her hands were shaking. “I’m accustomed t
o his silences, and it doesn’t affect the children. I was you I feared, Orestes. I thought you would blame me.” Her voice broke, and her eyes started to water again; it was no time for her to meddle with her kohl. “I don’t care what Pylades thinks. Let him brood if he likes. I’m used to it.”

  “Sister...” I took the pyxis from her hands, set it down, and led her to the bed, but she would not lie down. She threw back the fleece I draped over her, and shoved at me, to no avail, for I would not have it. “Your nurse can tend the children, and you have stewards who can manage the cooks and maids for a few hours.” I glimpsed my sister’s handmaid, peering anxiously through the curtain. You—whatever your name is—your mistress is to rest the afternoon. She’s not to get up for anything.” Which Elektra was still stubbornly trying to do. I made a warning gesture. “That’s a royal command, my lady, and you will obey.”

  Knowing my sister, she would banish the maid and go about her business the moment my back was turned. I could not blame for her drive. She was no weakling, this daughter and sister of kings.

  That night, I invited Pylades to dine with me in my apartment. Eteokles mixed the wine, a rich Cretan red, and kept the cups filled. “I understand there’s been some discord between you and your wife.”

  “It’s nothing.”

  Had I not known him so well, I would have taken his answer for a bold-faced lie. But Pylades kept his counsel in such a manner that others thought distant and cold; he almost never confided in me about his marital difficulties. “I’m sure you realize I don’t blame anyone but myself for what happened that day. I’ve spoken to her, and there will be no more strife over this matter. I’ve forgiven her, even though there’s nothing to forgive.”