Now that they are standing in front of her, she understands what her sister was talking about. Lynceus doesn’t look like a prince: he’s more like a farmer who can handle an ax. He has a thick beard and a wolf skin on his shoulder. Idas’s face is shaven to reveal a clean cut on his left cheek and a terrifying smile. Three daggers are tied to his belt, the blades short and thin, the kind a cutthroat would use. Though he is younger, he does the talking.
“Our dearest cousins,” he starts, “how good it is to see you.” He looks around at the frescoed walls and opens his arms wide. His eyes are flat and cold, of a dirty gray. They remind Clytemnestra of a frozen puddle. “And what a palace this has become. Once, your people didn’t care about riches, but now it seems you have more gold and weapons than mighty Crete.”
Clytemnestra feels Helen shift in her chair, but she doesn’t move. She stares back at Idas, serious. She remembers her father once saying that when a king welcomes a guest in the megaron, the more he moves and fidgets, the more terrified he appears.
“Welcome to Sparta,” she says, her voice steady.
The smile doesn’t drop from Idas’s face. It is like the grin of a poisonous snake. “I must admit, I am a bit confused. We came here ready for our women to welcome us with open arms, and instead we find ourselves in front of the queen of Mycenae.”
He walks toward the throne until Leon blocks his way. Idas looks at him and chuckles. He takes a step back.
“We all know why we’re here,” he continues cheerfully. “Return the girls to me and Lynceus, and we will forgive your brothers for abducting them. Rather than treating you as traitors and thieves, we will forget about this.” His smile becomes wider, creepier.
“Phoebe and Hilaeira were not abducted,” Castor says. “They came with us willingly.”
Idas turns to him. “You speak, cousin, yet you don’t even sit on a throne. Have you lost your cock by any chance?”
Helen gasps. Castor laughs. The sound echoes against the walls, and when it dies, it leaves behind a faint, evil echo.
“Speak of my brother like that again and I will cut your throat,” Polydeuces says.
Idas’s eyes find Polydeuces’s, and he grins. “I hope you won’t do that, Lizard Killer. That is what they call you, isn’t it? I’m sure you haven’t earned that name by being merciful.” His tone is mocking. “But you seem an honorable man, one who wouldn’t murder a cousin in your own home, not after you have taken his bride.”
“Your bride wasn’t taken,” Castor repeats.
“You are right, Idas,” Clytemnestra intervenes. “We wouldn’t murder you in our home. We can give you hospitality, food, wine, but not Phoebe and Hilaeira.”
Idas smiles again. His front tooth is chipped. “Well, it seems we are at an impasse. We are not leaving without them.”
Clytemnestra takes a deep breath. She sees Leon standing tense by the throne, his grip tight on the handle of his sword. Wrong move. Idas doesn’t seem like a strong man, but he must be quick. He has the stillness of those animals that strike before you can anticipate them.
“Would you still take a woman who is pregnant by another man?” she asks after a long pause.
Idas’s smile drops. Lynceus places his hand on his brother’s arm as if to still him, but Idas isn’t moving.
“You fucked them, then,” he murmurs. His eyes are shining, with satisfaction or rage, it is hard to tell. “Lynceus told me you would, didn’t you, Brother?”
Lynceus nods. He looks like a bull with his mean little eyes.
“He told me, ‘Don’t trust these bastards, Brother. They will bed our women before you know it.’ And he was right.”
There is nothing to say, so Clytemnestra is silent. She has known cruel men before, she even married one, but Idas looks like someone who would torture people for the sake of it.
“I imagine you enjoyed them,” he says, opening his eyes wide. “Phoebe especially is a spirited girl. Did she tell you of our own time in bed together?” he asks Castor.
Castor’s face is as cold as a blade. “She did.”
“That’s it? She didn’t comment on it? She didn’t mention how she cried when I took her?”
“You will never take her again.”
Idas’s smile curdles. “We came to ask. If you don’t give them back, we’ll take them, and that will be worse for everyone here.”
“Sparta is more powerful than your father’s kingdom,” Clytemnestra says. “Offending Menelaus would be bad for you. Half the Greek cities are loyal to him and to my husband.”
“I’m sure the king of Sparta would be happy to give back what belongs to us.”
“He is not here,” Clytemnestra says, “so we decide.”
Anger flashes across Idas’s face. “If you were my wife, I’d cut out your tongue.”
Leon, Castor, and Polydeuces all take a step forward, but Clytemnestra stops them with a movement of her hand. “That wouldn’t be necessary,” she says. “If I were your wife, I’d murder you in your sleep.”
Idas smiles. “Would you? Because you didn’t murder your husband, and I hear he slaughtered your child. So maybe,” he says and licks his lips, “you are not as strong as you think you are.”
“Leave,” Clytemnestra orders, “or I will have you cut to pieces here and now.”
Idas looks around, and for a moment, Clytemnestra thinks he will be crazy enough to fight them. But then his brother grabs his arm and a look passes between them.
“Thank you for your hospitality,” Idas says. “I am sure we will meet again soon, and then we will have some fun.”
He turns and leaves, his brother behind him. The daggers on Idas’s belt flash across the hall.
“Should I shoot them as they ride away, my queen?” Leon asks when their steps have faded in the corridors. His voice is firm, though Clytemnestra knows he is as scared as the rest of them.
“No,” she says. She turns to Castor, and it pains her to see that he is hurt, sorrow and rage assailing him.
“Did you know about them?” she asks.
“Yes,” Castor replies.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t want you to turn them away because they’re monsters. I wanted you to do it because I love Phoebe, and Polydeuces loves Hilaeira.”
She goes to him and hugs him. He puts his arms around her, though his body remains rigid, alert. She understands why her brother loves Phoebe now. Colchis had hardened him, left him empty inside. But with Phoebe, he has a chance to care for something broken, someone who deserves his love. That must give him purpose.
“What if they come back?” she asks.
He stiffens in her arms. “We’ll kill them.”
*
Later, Phoebe finds Clytemnestra in the gardens, among the fallen leaves. “You were brave today, facing Idas like that,” she says. Her steps were silent; Clytemnestra didn’t hear her coming.
“I did what I had to. There was nothing else I could have done.”
“You could have sent us back, like Menelaus asked you to.”
Clytemnestra feels the tip of her nose redden with the cold. “You said Idas told you he would kill your horse if you married,” she says. “Did he do it?”
“He did. And he made me watch while the horse died.”
“What else did he do?”
Phoebe lifts her chin. There’s something challenging in her face. “Idas did horrible things to me and my sister. No one complained because everyone fears him. He is cruel and perverted. Death amuses him.” She adjusts a sleeve of her gray dress. The color doesn’t suit her, but Phoebe doesn’t look like someone who cares about being pretty. “But I don’t want to talk about it,” she adds. “Each of us has her own scars, and it’s our duty to bear them. I just came to say that I am grateful for what you did.”
Clytemnestra takes her arm. “And I am grateful that my brother was lucky enough to find you.”
Phoebe nods and her auburn hair falls around her face. Her eyes hold Clytemnestra’s, dark and steady.
“Whatever happens, whatever Idas and Lynceus do, I’d rather die than go back to Messenia.” Each word is like a stone, heavy. “Your brother knows this.”
Then she walks back to the palace.
*
“I always thought our brothers would marry someone vain,” Helen says.
They are in the bathhouse, just the two of them. Helen is resting her head against the painted clay, her eyes closed. Clytemnestra watches her face, tipped up to meet the leaping torchlight.