My stomach drops. ‘Nothing at all?’
‘No.’ She pauses. ‘We heard of what happened to Agamemnon, of course. But your son has sought no sanctuary with us. I would not hide it from you if he did, not for a single heartbeat.’
I look away from her. Tears are burning in my eyes, and I am determined not to let them fall. Could he have died on the journey here? Of course he could. Brigands, beasts, anyone loyal to Aegisthus, any opportunistic thief or false friends ready to betray him for gold or favour. He could have been buried hastily at the roadside, flung into the sea or left on the ground for the crows, anywhere between Mycenae and Sparta.
Or he could have been spirited away elsewhere, anywhere in the vast world beyond here. He could be hidden on the smallest island or tucked away in the most sprawling city. Where will I find one child in the whole of Greece?
‘Wherever he has gone, we will hear of it,’ Helen is saying. ‘Take heart; we will find out in time.’
I nod dully. ‘If he comes here, he will not want you to tell me.’
‘I won’t let him know about this. But I will get a message to you the moment I hear anything of your son, I promise.’ She takes my hand. ‘It is likely he will come here, to seek his father’s brother. But I can tell you, Menelaus has no appetite for fighting any more. Not to avenge Agamemnon. I can speak for you, if Orestes arrives here: he will hear your cause.’ She hesitates. ‘When I heard you had borne a son, I thought of my daughter – that the two of them could marry one day, join our houses closer again.’
I try to imagine that. Helen can so easily sketch out a future, seeing years ahead how things might fall to our advantage. Since Aulis, I have only made one plan, and that is done. I do not have the heart to look to what might come; I do not have the faith to envision that it will be in my favour.
‘My guards are waiting, outside the palace walls,’ I say. I pull my hand from hers and stand. ‘I have what I came for – I must return before they come to find me.’
‘I’m glad you came,’ she says softly. ‘It was brave of you to risk it.’
I bite my tongue. ‘You go back to the feast,’ I say. ‘I will slip out, the same way I came in.’
She stands. ‘I will seek news of Orestes. I will tell you anything I discover.’
I let her embrace me. I needed to come here, to see for myself. I am sure she isn’t lying, that she knows nothing of my son, but the urgency that brought me here has all drained away, and I feel nothing but a great, weary disappointment.
‘Farewell,’ she whispers in my ear, and then she slips out of the room.
I watch from her door to make sure there is no one around. I jump at the sound of a voice, but it isn’t the booming sound of Menelaus; it is a soft and girlish tone.
‘Mother,’ she says, and I see a young woman step out and catch Helen’s arm at the end of the corridor.
‘Hermione, have you come to find me?’ I watch as she slips her arm through her daughter’s, pulling her close as they walk on together, their chatter dying away as they disappear.
Hermione, the daughter that Helen left behind. Still here in Sparta, waiting for her mother all those years since Helen walked away from her. Fury blooms inside me, though I know rage will do me no good. Why rail against my sister’s good fortune? It will not bring any of my children home to me.
34
Elektra
‘Elektra! We have news.’
Georgios is standing in our doorway with another figure, someone I don’t recognise from this distance. We never have visitors. I nearly drop the jar of water I’m carrying. I set it down carefully on the ground, trying to calm the pounding of my heart. I don’t want to have to walk all the way back to collect more if I spill it all. I won’t let myself hope that this could be Orestes. I walk over to them as steadily as I can, my eyes raking the stranger for details. He’s roughly dressed, a peasant like Georgios – like me, now. There’s nothing familiar about him, and no light of recognition in his eyes either.
‘Word has come of Odysseus.’ Georgios looks more concerned about it than I would expect. I can’t see why it matters so much.
‘Odysseus?’ I shake my head, confused. ‘Isn’t he dead?’
‘He’s alive, all these years after the war,’ Georgios says. ‘Everyone’s talking about it, what they’ve heard.’
‘What does it have to do with us?’ How lucky for Odysseus’s wife and son, I think, to have him back even so many years after the war has ended. I would have waited so gladly, for twice as long, if it meant my father could come home alive.
The stranger clears his throat. ‘He’s been to all kinds of places. There are many stories, but no one in Mycenae is allowed to talk about it.’
‘Why not?’
He lowers his voice, even though there is no one visible anywhere near our deserted shack. ‘The queen and Aegisthus have spies, constantly searching for information about your brother. But they aren’t always so discreet, especially when their lips are loosened by wine. One of them recently returned from Sparta, where they are always monitoring in case King Menelaus takes Orestes in, and he overheard the whole tale recounted to the king by a herald.’
I can hardly breathe. ‘Did Odysseus find Orestes? Is that it?’
He shakes his head. ‘Not Orestes, no. It’s said that Odysseus went to far stranger places: that Poseidon wanted him dead and wrecked his ships; that he had to battle monsters and seek refuge with nymphs; and that it was Athena who guided him home at last.’
Georgios interrupts. ‘Odysseus claims he’s been to the Underworld. That he spoke to the dead.’
I feel a cold thrill. ‘How can that be?’
‘I don’t know. But they’re saying he spoke to Agamemnon.’
It’s like a blow, his words striking me with so much force I think my legs will give way. ‘He saw my father.’ I won’t believe it; it can’t be true. If it is true, then I can’t bear it. Why would Odysseus, a man we all thought dead years ago, get to see my father and come home alive and triumphant? Rage crackles in my chest.
Georgios steps towards me, concerned, reaching out to steady me. ‘I thought you’d want to know.’
‘I do! Please, tell me the rest of it,’ I say to the other man. He has all my attention. I need to know what they’re saying about my father, true or not.
‘He sailed across the ocean to find the place, a stream that runs underground all the way to the house of Hades. He poured libations there and sacrificed a ram, to lure out the dead. The ghosts rose up to drink its blood, and Agamemnon was among them.’
I close my eyes, overwhelmed for a moment by the thought of it. My father, the king, the leader of the greatest army the world had ever known, reduced to a wraith tussling over sheep’s blood. ‘Go on.’
‘He told Odysseus how he died, how shameful it was to be killed by a treacherous wife. He begged for news of his son, but Odysseus knew nothing of Orestes, or anything that had happened here. They wept together over it all.’
‘Elektra?’ Georgios’ voice is solicitous.
‘Everyone knows.’ I can imagine them all talking, the gossip igniting again, the burn of their words. My father was murdered so long ago, but still his death goes unavenged, still Orestes is gone and no one dares breathe a whisper about him. And now this. A rumour of Agamemnon of the House of Atreus, the head of our family, mourning the loss of his reputation, which tarnishes more every day that his son does not come back to bring retribution to his killers. ‘Everyone knows what a disappointment we are to him.’
Georgios is shaking his head vehemently. ‘You are no disappointment. Not you, not Orestes either. That’s not what this means. It is Clytemnestra who betrayed him, it is only her that people will condemn for his suffering.’
‘How can they not condemn us, too?’ I can hear how shrill I sound. ‘My father is languishing in the Underworld, desperate for justice, and it still hasn’t been done!’