‘Come,’ he said, making to stand, gently pulling me with him. ‘Do not stay here. Come to the palace and be with us tonight.’
No one else would want me there. His pity only hurt me more. I followed him as he asked, for there would be no more requests from my brother. I cast my eyes back to Apollo as we left, the wine that Hector had poured in his honour gleaming red in a bowl by his feet. Tomorrow night, Troy would mourn more desperately than it had in ten years of war. I walked behind my brother, already grieving him with every step I took.
18
Clytemnestra
‘Go on,’ I urged, leaning forward so eagerly that the wine nearly spilled from my goblet.
He eyed me a little apprehensively. He was a wiry youth, tense and uncertain, though he felt that he was bringing me good news. His worried gaze kept flicking to Aegisthus at my side: Aegisthus, whose narrow shoulders did not fill the broad back of his monstrously gilded and towering chair. I surmised it was this which made the messenger so nervous, for he delivered news of Greek triumphs at Troy to a man sitting in Agamemnon’s throne.
‘They say Achilles fought like a man possessed,’ he went on, stumbling a little over his words. I nodded encouragingly. ‘He . . . he tore through the Trojan lines like a fire tearing through a forest in the driest summer.’
‘Tell me of those he killed,’ I said.
‘He was more lion than man—’
‘Yes, yes, he raged like a fire and roared like a lion, but tell me what he did.’
‘Hector wore Achilles’ own armour, which he had stolen from Patroklos’ body, but Achilles strode forth in armour more magnificent than any that had been seen before – a gift, surely, from his immortal mother and worthy of the craftsmanship of Hephaestus himself.’ The young man caught himself as the irritation flashed across my face. ‘The Trojans were terrified, Queen Clytemnestra, and they fled before his fury. But he pursued them relentlessly.’
I savoured a long sip of wine.
‘Over and over, he hurled his spear, skewering men as they ran. He sprang from his own chariot to drag men from theirs, and if they clasped his knees and begged for their lives, he showed no pity. He hacked apart their bodies, plunged his sword into their livers, severed their heads and trampled his horses across their bodies until his chariot was decorated with the gore that sprayed up from under the churning wheels and thundering hooves.’ He was getting into his stride, realising that this description was just what I desired to hear. ‘He chased the Trojans to the very banks of the river Xanthus, and there he turned the water red with their blood. Only twelve men did he spare—’
‘Why any at all?’ Aegisthus asked. I saw that he, too, was gripped by the tale, though I could see him squirming a little on his chair. He did not share my relish.
‘He swore to slit their throats at Patroklos’ funeral pyre. But he would not burn his beloved’s body until he had sated his vengeance and for this, only the death of Hector would suffice.’
‘Where was Hector?’ I asked.
‘Achilles couldn’t find him in the great throng of the battle, but he cut down every man in his path in his search. Other sons of Priam died gasping at his feet and the river choked with corpses. Such was his savagery and his reckless lust for blood that he would have fought Apollo himself. Overcome, the Trojans ran to the city, the army desperately seeking the sanctuary of its walls before Achilles could slaughter them all.’
I sat back against my cushions, sipping my wine. I had never seen Achilles at Aulis; if he was there, I did not know his face. I had never cared to hear of his feats in battle; none of it concerned me until he turned upon my husband in his pique over a stolen slave-girl. I had worried then that his withdrawal from the war would hand victory to Troy, and that someone else, perhaps the famed Hector, would rob me of the privilege of murdering my husband. Now that I heard of his ferocious return to the fray, however, I felt a kind of affinity with Achilles begin to stir in my breast. I could see him, the grief and rage building in his chest, and I felt the cruel pleasure he must have taken in gripping that spear and striding out across the Trojan earth, ready to vent his passions upon a whole army of men. Envy twisted in my breast. If I could have wielded sword and spear and set out among that Achaean host who had stood and watched my daughter die, I would have taken the same satisfaction – and, like Achilles, I would not have stopped until I found the murderer that I sought. I gestured to the messenger to carry on.
‘At first, Hector didn’t run,’ he said. ‘He alone stood before the city gates whilst his father, King Priam, howled from the walls.’
I heard the soft swallow in Aegisthus’ throat. I wondered if he imagined it: the father watching his son die, just as Aegisthus had watched his father die. And Priam, this aged king, famed across our lands for his fifty sons – how many of them did he mourn already? For a dizzying second, the bleak truth of it gaped before me: a hideous tangle of children lost and the agony of grief; the violence that reverberated through the legends of Atreus’ forefathers, rising like a tidal wave from our past and catching us all in its irresistible surge.
‘Hector had fought hundreds of our finest men and lived. But Achilles rose up on the plain with all the might and fury of the sun itself, and, as he made his charge, Hector could not stand so bravely any longer. He fled before Achilles like a man caught in a nightmare, desperately hurtling around the walls of the city, seeking a sanctuary he could not find. He flung his spear at Achilles in vain; it glanced off his great shield and fell uselessly to the ground. And when he summoned his strength and his courage to run at Achilles with his sword, which had dispatched so many Greeks before, Achilles drove his own spear right through Hector’s throat.’
I breathed out. ‘I thank you for this news,’ I said. ‘With Hector fallen, it cannot be long before we will be welcoming back our men.’ Not yet, I knew that at least. Between the pillars around the hall, I could see columns of sky, lit only by the stars. No beacons were yet aflame. Troy clung on still. When it fell, I would be the first in Mycenae to know.
‘That is not all,’ the messenger said. His eyes had flickered to Aegisthus again when I made mention of welcoming the men home. But I knew he would not dare speak whatever thought had crossed his mind at that.
‘No? What else?’
‘With Hector’s dying gasp, he begged Achilles to give his body back to his father. But Achilles’ anger was still too great, even with Patroklos’ murderer bleeding into the sand at his feet. He stripped away Hector’s armour. He slit Hector’s feet and forced thongs of ox-hide through the wounds to bind the corpse to the back of his chariot. Then he dragged him through the dust, with his parents watching still from the city walls. They say that the queen’s shrieks could be heard all the way back to the Greek ships. He vowed to feed Hector’s body to the dogs, but I think he would have feasted on it raw himself if he could have done so.’
I kept my face very still. ‘Well, this is excellent news. You must rest here tonight; we have many comforts at your disposal, and we are grateful indeed for everything you have related to us tonight. I ask for only one more piece of information, if you know it.’
He looked at me. I could see the strain carved across his face, that he must address me as queen, that he must do as I asked whilst Aegisthus sat in his king’s seat, whilst all the while he must be frantically wondering how Agamemnon might punish such disloyalty on his return.
‘And tomorrow,’ I hastened to add, ‘you may go forth from here with gold to prove our gratitude. A merchant ship sails to Etruria laden with pottery and fine jewellery to sell; I am sure they will have a place for an enterprising young man like yourself on board.’