‘Yes, sir.’
He paused at the door. ‘That’s three consecutive yes sirs, Dr Maxwell. Your docility is unnerving. Kindly desist.’
‘Yes, sir.’
I brooded for a day or so. As Dr Bairstow had said, once, long ago, I’d come back from the Somme with a head full of images that wouldn’t give me peace. This was very similar. I had to get this down somehow. If I ever wanted peace of mind, I had to get this down. I planned two pictures, the first showing Agamemnon, dead in his bath, and the second, the death of Kassandra.
Once started, as usual, I couldn’t stop. I painted it all.
The hollow, wet slap of water echoing around the bath chamber. The jerking, jumping light from the flickering lamps reflected in the restless water and bouncing back on the walls and the ceiling. Puddles of water everywhere. The sweet smell of oils and perfumes. Agamemnon’s naked body rocking gently in the choppy water. Squat and blocky, criss-crossed with scars, with gaping wounds that trailed separate scarlet ribbons across the turquoise water.
And standing above it all, tall and straight, wet hair hanging, her sodden clothing clinging to her body, heavy but strong, cold-eyed and implacable, another Lady Macbeth, two thousand years ahead of her time. Her blood-red shadow fell across the body of her husband like a curse.
Even while I was getting that scene down, I was thinking of the next. The other half of the story. This murder would be different. The first showed the accomplished deed, the second would show the other murder as it actually happened.
I wanted to show the contrast between the two women. Kassandra the girl, tall willowy, ethereal, other worldly, powerless now, and Klytemnestra the matron, the queen, heavy with childbearing, supplanted, past her best and dangerous because of it.
Kassandra in robes of turquoise, the same colour as the water in Agamemnon’s bath, red hair exploding around her head, Medusa like; and Klytemnestra in royal purple, her fading hair escaping its intricate knot. Both women’s faces are inches apart, eyes locked in hatred, jaws tense, each knowing the other for what she is, and it is only as you look down that you see she has plunged the dagger deep under Kassandra’s breast, up into her heart. Kassandra is already dead but these two will remain locked in hatred until the end of time. Shadows from every corner reach across the room and every single one is pointed at Klytemnestra.
I did paint both pictures – and I finished them. I don’t often paint people but this went like a dream. They were big too. Peterson had to stretch the canvas for me. I left them propped up against the wall and wondered what to do with them, and after a week or so they were just part of the furniture until Dr Dowson approached me one day and asked if I would be prepared to let him have them for the Archive. I watched them go with no emotion as they disappeared with the rest of the Troy material.
And I still couldn’t make a decision.
People think we historians are stuck in the past and have no idea what’s actually going on around us. That’s not true. Sometimes we’re very aware of what’s going on around us. Sometimes we even participate.
We were attending another all-staff briefing from Dr Bairstow and he really wasn’t happy at all.
‘Good morning, everyone.
‘I’ll put all this in simple terms for the hard of understanding. As those of you who take the trouble to keep abreast of current events will be aware, the latest attempt by the government to implement a form of poll tax to pay for their current crop of stupidities has been meeting with the same levels of success as those achieved in 1381 and 1990. There is countrywide unrest and, even in Rushford, I understand a politely worded letter of protest was delivered to the council yesterday. I personally become very depressed by mankind’s inability to learn from its mistakes. However, any of you thinking of venturing out into the world this weekend should be aware of current events.
‘Please also be aware that your contracts specifically require political neutrality, so if any of you were thinking of indulging in matters riotous, you will be in breach of contract and liable to disciplinary proceedings. Since none of you ever have, or ever will, pay one single penny in poll tax or its equivalent, I will be particularly unsympathetic to anyone attempting to emulate the exploits of Messrs Tyler, Ball, and Straw. I trust I have made myself clear on this matter.’
Disappointed, his unit nodded.
‘Dr Maxwell, may I see you in my office at your earliest convenience, please.’