Electra. Kerry Greenwood

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СКАЧАТЬ said the cold voice, 'Will you not walk on the cloths? My Lord does so. Is it for his slave to disobey?'

      'I will not walk on the sacred tapestries,' said the other voice. I heard in it exhaustion and determination. This was a woman who knew she was going to die, had accepted it, and would not be further compromised. If she said she would not do something, then she would not do it.

      Eumides and Diomenes leaned forward, listening. On both faces was an identical eagerness and joy, so that for the first time they looked alike. They loved her, this Trojan slave who was my Royal Father's concubine. I shivered and tasted metal in my mouth. The corridor was musty and damp and stank of mould.

      'My Lord, will you not order your slave to tread in your footsteps?' insinuated Clytemnestra the Queen, my mother. I could imagine the flush of malice on her cheek, my beautiful mother with the long ringlets of ebony hair, the pale, skilled, pink-tipped fingers. There was a time when I thought her more beautiful than Elene, wife of Menelaus of Sparta.

      I found the catch and allowed the door to open a little way. Eumides and Diomenes pressed against me, and I had no room to recoil from their warmth.

      Three figures were standing on the steps leading up to the great bath. There was my mother and there was my father, armour removed, clad in a stained tunic.

      He was not a giant as I remembered. He was an ordinary man, man-sized, an old man sagging at the belly. His black beard and hair were streaked with grey. I could not see his face.

      'Enough, woman, let the slave do as she likes,' he grunted. Then I knew it was indeed my father. Just so had he grumbled if his wine was too hot, or his favourite horse had been badly groomed. I think I almost smiled at the memory.

      He was standing on the sacred tapestries, brought out only on festivals, which only the priests were allowed to handle. She had tempted him into blasphemy. The Gods would never forgive her. Neither would I.

      If I could have reached her, I would have killed her then.

      The slave stepped back, allowing the King and then the Queen to pass up the stair to the bath. The Queen was a tall woman of no particular beauty. Her hair hung loose like a maiden's and her face was as still and white as a statue before the painter has applied the tincts of nature. She looked like a Kore, Persephone the Maiden, in a green chiton, laden with gold jewellery.

      I heard Eumides and Chryse draw in a breath when they saw her. She raised her head and cried out in an unknown tongue.

      Eumides shoved the door open and plunged onto the stair. I followed and Diomenes came behind.

      The King was plodding up, oblivious.

      At 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 СКАЧАТЬ