Electra - Kerry Greenwood The Delphic Women

Скачать книгу

that moment Clytemnestra turned her head and saw us. Her black eyes raked us, cataloguing each person: golden man, dark man, Trojan prisoner, her own daughter, with equal calculation. I could almost hear what she was thinking. She had not expected witnesses to her dreadful act. However, if she stepped down to kill us, she would lose her main prey, my father. Like a hawk who lets four mice escape in favour of a hare for which it has whetted its beak, she held us all for a long moment and then released us, turning back to the King.

      Eumides, one arm across his face to fend off those Gorgon's eyes, seized Cassandra by the shoulder and she came to him. She seemed to be tranced, for she said no word as they pulled her through the doorway, pushing me before them.

      'Father!' I screamed, struggling past them and gaining the stair. 'Help! Help!'

      There was a thud and a great cry, and then another thud.

      Diomenes lifted me, flung me through the water-carrier's door, shoved it shut and leaned on it.

      'Let me go!' I struggled frantically, ripping at his face with my fingernails. He trapped my arms by my sides in a wrestler's grip and clapped a hand over my mouth.

      Cassandra the slave came close, so close I could smell perfume and wine on her, and said, 'He is dead, Electra.'

      Her eyes were unfocused, as if she was dreaming, or saw things other than with sight. She stilled me. I was not resigned or calm, I was boiling with fury and loss, but I could think again. All my thoughts were of revenge for blood.

      'We must leave,' said Diomenes shakily. 'Now, before the murder is known and the gates are shut.'

      'Good counsel,' agreed the sailor, one arm around Cassandra and one around his friend. He seemed to be dizzy.

      Cassandra began retracing my journey, which was fortunate for I had lost my way. I did not recognise any landmarks. I groped along in an ocean of darkness. I heard the unsteady steps of Eumides and the steady pace of Diomenes, burdened with his friend. After a while he recovered and walked on his own. I watched the sure feet of the Trojan slave, moving like a dancer.

      We skirted guards, avoided pitfalls, doubled back and went on after the fluttering green chiton and the faultless pace. She did not pause until we were back in the megaron. She stopped suddenly and fell. Diomenes caught her as she crumpled in a jingle of gold.

      'Cassandra,' he said, and shook her almost roughly, so that the jewellery rang like bells. 'This is not time for a prophetic swoon! Wake, Lady, we are in deadly danger.'

      'Princess,' said Eumides gently, 'Wake and smile, Lady, on your suppliants.'

      'Oh, my dears,' she said. She slid an arm around each neck and drew their faces down to hers. 'Oh, my golden ones. My most faithful. I had given up hope. Did you follow the army all the way from Troy?'

      'Every weary step, though we did some trading on the road. Come, can you stand?' Eumides encouraged.

      'I don't know.' They lifted her and she shook her draperies into place with one brisk, cat-like movement.

      'Princess Electra,' she said. 'Come with us.'

      'Why?' I hung back from her warmth, stubborn and shocked.

      'Because your mother may find your presence inconvenient,' said Eumides grimly. 'She kills people who inconvenience her. The boy, too - the son of Agamemnon - what is his name?'

      'Orestes,' I said numbly.

      'Do you think he will survive the death of his father?'

      'The death of his father?' I repeated stupidly.

      'Come or stay, Princess. We are leaving,' said Eumides, unwinding the plaited line from his waist and balancing the grappling hook.

      'Where are you going?' I asked.

      'Delphi. If you are coming, fetch the boy and bring some provisions for a journey; and change your sandals, they aren't fitted for the road. And hurry!' he shouted after me as I ran from the room.

      I found Orestes, gathered his clothes into a bundle and thrust him before me into my room, all without a word. I clawed three chitons from my chest, rolled them in a blanket, and stuffed a handful of gold inside. At the last moment, I took my doll Pallas and laid her in the bundle as well as the sandals my father had given me.

      I left all my remaining possessions on my bed for Neptha. Small things, but precious to me, hard to leave. Neptha would understand. I dressed for a journey and took Orestes' hand.

      We climbed down the wall, unnoticed, and picked our way across the rocky slopes. It was getting dark. A chill wind struck and numbed all exposed skin. With held breath we drifted through the market traders and the ox-carts and continued through the undergrowth.

      I saw that Cassandra was unveiled, wrapped in Eumides' cloak and openly holding his hand like a whore. I heard the noise of running water, the stream beside the road.

      I was leaving Mycenae and my father was dead.

      II

      Odysseus

      The wine from the attack on Ismarus was good, but the Cicones had contested possession of it and their wives and livestock. I would not have attacked them, but my coarse and brutal crew had to be pleased with the spoil. We had buried our dead in the bosom of Poseidon, who hates me.

      I, Odysseus, Sacker of Cities, The Sly One, Odysseus of the Nimble Tongue, Wise and Much-Enduring, Odysseus of Cunning Counsel, I won the battle, broke the siege, and destroyed Troy, his city. A terrible gale struck the Ionian ships, driven along before the wind under the flapping rags of the sails.

      A God's hatred is a heavy burden, but heavier to leave the land of the lotus eaters, who sup on honeyed fruit on those pleasant shores. The men wept as I compelled them back to their ships, calling them weaklings and scoundrels. I chained them to the oars as we rowed out.

      Penelope, my wife, and Telemachus, my baby son, are waiting at home for me now as my ships approach Kriti. And I am Prince of Ithaca. I will return, though Poseidon blows me all over the world.

      Electra

      There is no cover on Spider Mountain. Though the scrub is dense and hardy, it is only half of my height; barely thigh-high to tall Cassandra and Diomenes. I was cold. Orestes had not spoken, not even a question. He dragged at my hand, stones turned under my feet, and even on the path we stumbled and lagged.

      My sandals were made to glide over the marble floor of the Palace of Mycenae, not to walk the road like a common market-trader. I had never been so far from the women's quarters on foot in my life; and of course, as a Princess, I was unused to walking. Only female slaves and whores walk.

      Slaves, whores, escaping prisoners and exiles walk.

      I grasped my chiton and mantle in one hand and pulled Orestes along. It seemed as dark as the inside of a fish and I listened for other feet on the beaten earth.

      As my eyes got used to the night I began to pick out images. Ahead of me was a strange, starfish-shaped monster, and I stopped in horror.

      It halted also, broke up, and pieces of it came back towards me. I caught Orestes close and stifled a scream. Then I realised that the creature had been three people walking with their arms shamelessly around each other. I heard them laughing.

      'Maiden, you are slow,' said Eumides impatiently. 'We must get in out of the night and it is still a way to the hut. Can I carry the child?'

      'No!' I gasped.

      'Come, boy, will you walk or ride?' he asked, smiling, and Orestes let go my hand. 'Ride, please.'

      Eumides hoisted my brother without effort onto his shoulders, creating another weird shape. Hurt that the child had abandoned me so easily, I picked my way behind him trying to find a smooth path among the stones. Thorns caught my garments. At first I stopped to undo them, but I was tired and shocked and miserable and after a while I just let them tear.

      Orestes was almost

Скачать книгу