Electra. Kerry Greenwood

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 out of sight when someone ran lightly back and took the bundle off my shoulder. It was Diomenes and he offered me his arm.

      Leaning on him, I managed to complete the journey.

      'There's our stopping place just ahead, Princess, we can light a fire and you can sit down. But we must get you some strong sandals. Those will never carry you far.'

      'I am not used to walking,' I gasped. 'I am a Princess of a royal house.'

      'Indeed,' he replied, and did not speak again.

      Around the shoulder of the hill we came upon a small house, built perhaps by goatherds. It was set back into the cliff, under the protection of a huge ledge of rock. A little light glimmered inside it and Diomenes led me to the door. I sank down onto an earth floor, exhausted. The hut stank of goats and smoke.

      Orestes was sitting on the other side of a charcoal brazier, watching the roasting skewers of meat as though he had been a kitchen boy all his life. His pale, delicate face was sharp with attention. Orestes always concentrated completely on whatever he was doing. He was thin, with a ruffle of dark hair and beautiful eyes. I used to think that my golden eyes, which gave me my name - Electra, 'amber' - were unique in the House of Atreus, until I saw Orestes'. He gave me a brief smile and returned to the cooking.

      I took off the ruined sandals and massaged my poor feet, bruised by stones and stuck with thorns, to distract myself from the indecent threefold embrace in the centre of the small room.

      They were sitting in a group, arms around each other, mouths almost touching. Each hand caressed a throat or a back. They were continually in motion, dark hair mingling with golden; kisses laid gently on pale, scented whore's cheek, or rough unshaven fisherman's. Bracelets jingled on narrow wrists as Cassandra cupped both faces, stroking them with aching tenderness, as though she had never expected to touch them again.

      'Netted like a fish,' said Diomenes softly, and kissed her bare shoulder. 'A very valuable fish.'

      'Such a catch I never made in all my life, dark seas and pale, high waves and flat calm,' said Eumides, and kissed her other shoulder.

      'Oh, my golden ones,' she said, kissing each mouth carefully.

      Then they all clasped thigh-to-thigh in so close and convulsive an embrace that I turned away. After a moment, they separated reluctantly.

      'Now, let's dig up the wine,' said Diomenes. 'Take off all that gold, Lady; we shall have enough trouble with bandits on the way.'

      'To Delphi?' she asked, unfastening her earrings.

      'To Delphi. We should be able to manage that journey and there we must take the lady Electra and Orestes, son of Agamemnon. I fear that the Queen of Mycenae may pursue us.'

      'Why?' I asked.

      Diomenes said, 'We must tend you, Lady,' and came to me with the healer's bag. I drew away from his touch, because he had come to attend me straight from the embrace of the slave. He did not appear to notice my reaction, but sat down composedly and began to extract thorns with a pair of golden tweezers.

      'Why? Because we know she murdered her husband,' said Eumides, who was digging for the cellar of the little house. He knelt up, triumphantly producing an amphora of wine, on which he broke the seal.

      'She will not hide it,' I said, flinching as a thorn slid out of my ankle. 'She will proclaim it.'

      'She'll proclaim it?' asked Cassandra.

      'Yes.' I tried not to move under the little stabbing pains, but he was hurting me. I felt my face assume its mask, and the pain ceased to matter. Cassandra was looking at me. Her eyes were brown and very deep.

      'Chryse, you're too rough,' she told him. 'Gently.'

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