Agamemnon and his brother had a glamour about them, I couldn’t deny it, arriving from their unjust exile and heading off bravely to take back what belonged to them.
Also, Helen had chosen Menelaus from a hundred men. If she were happy with him, perhaps I could trust that I might find the same with his brother. It would be better than pinning my faith on the kindness of an unknown stranger, surely?
‘Just think,’ she went on, ‘how nice it would be if we sisters were married to brothers.’
I watched the river flowing on, out to sea. I didn’t have Helen’s confidence that the future would always be as sunny as the past.
But what if Father’s plans didn’t come to anything? I pictured my future then. Would every afternoon stretch on like this one, a monotonous roll of days until a different suitor stepped off a ship and offered for me?
Helen had unleashed a flood of questions in my mind. I scanned the winding sweep of the river down to the distant southern harbour every day, waiting for the sight of the brothers’ ship.
The weeks rolled by, until at last, one morning, the shout went up and echoed the length of the river as the watchmen called out from post to post. ‘The Atreidae have returned!’
Helen and I exchanged a quick, panicked glance, my self-possessed sister unbalanced for a moment. We hurried to the palace gates to wait for them, and she caught up my hand in hers.
And then there they were, striding along the river towards us. The sun glinted off the reddish tints of Menelaus’ hair, and I was reminded of the first time we had met. Except that now, Agamemnon did not glower at the floor, but looked up towards us, his face open and clear.
The reunion of Helen and Menelaus was a joyous one and I stood back from their embrace. Our father was close behind us, taking Agamemnon’s hand, a flurry of words and welcome and congratulations abounding.
Agamemnon’s face was transformed. No seriousness, no scowling. It was quite the difference to see him with the weight shrugged from his shoulders. ‘Thyestes is dead,’ he said, a note of quiet exultation running through his words. ‘But his son, Aegisthus, lives.’ He glanced at me as he spoke. ‘The gods can be pleased that no innocent blood was spilled.’
Perhaps that was it. The curse that plagued his family, lifted at last. Perhaps that explained the difference in him.
My imagination had been given free rein whilst he had been away. Now he stood before me in the flesh. Perhaps a trifle shorter than I had remembered, the set of his features a little heavier. Still, the lightening of his spirits had worked wonders. He didn’t have the fine nose and jawline that a sculptor would long to carve in marble, but he put me in mind of a bearskin my brother had brought back once from hunting. He’d borne it home as testament to his prowess with its head intact, its face still frozen in a snarl, before it was cut into furs for Helen and me to nestle in through the chill of winter nights. Something about Agamemnon’s bristled brows reminded me of it. Helen had been afraid of it, but I had been intrigued by the thought that it had so recently been roaming the mountains, wild and savage, and I could reach out a hand and stroke its fur.
Agamemnon’s eyes flickered to mine again before my father moved between us, slinging his arm about Agamemnon’s shoulder, urging him to come inside, promising fine wine and celebrations. Agamemnon’s face stretched into a smile.
The men walked ahead – Menelaus reluctant to drop his wife’s hand, but pulled along by my exuberant father – and Helen and I turned to follow. She pulled me close as we walked together, the perfume of her hair sweet and soft against my face, my uncertainties forgotten for the moment, obliterated by the triumph of their successful homecoming.
I suppose he was emboldened by victory, for he did not hesitate in finding me later that evening as the celebrations roared on. This time, he wasn’t hiding in the shadows, but instead caught my arm with a lightness that felt almost playful as he invited me to walk out into the courtyard, away from the heat of the great hall.
I paused, not sure how best to demur. It was one thing to meet him alone outside by chance as we had before, but quite another to go with him to some secluded place on purpose. He saw my reluctance and leaned close. ‘Your father permits it.’
I accompanied him. I supposed this was the moment, and I still did not know entirely what to say. Outside in the courtyard, the moon shone full and bright against the painted pillars.
‘I will return to Mycenae tomorrow,’ he said.
I waited for him to go on. I had watched him through the evening as he drank and cheered with the rest of them, and I had wondered if there was anything different about him after all. I found that I quite missed his solemnity, the burden he had carried before. Maybe I didn’t want a conquering hero shouting about his victory; I had rather preferred the tormented anguish of the exile.