‘What will we do?’ he asked. His voice was quiet. Gentle. No kingly timbre.
‘Agamemnon took his men with him. He took all the men with him.’
Aegisthus’ eyes stayed intent on mine. ‘All of them?’
‘He doesn’t want the glory to belong to Achilles or Odysseus or any of the rest of them. He wants it to be his. He took every man of fighting age; he only left the old ones and the boys. There is no one to stand against us here.’
He frowned. ‘They can’t all be so frail. There must be enough to cause us trouble if they choose. Agamemnon is their king. What if this war is done quickly? They won’t want him to return to find them disloyal.’
‘Is Agamemnon their king?’ I asked. ‘All of them? The men still here are old enough to remember Thyestes, to remember you. Their loyalty turned from one to the other before; it can happen again. I know that there are those here who loved your father. Who pitied you your fate, who would welcome you back. All we need to do is to find out who they are.’
‘And what about the others?’
‘Agamemnon is not well loved,’ I said. ‘Even less so now that he has taken the men. Husbands, sons and fathers, all swept away – and who knows how long this war will last? How many will return? The Trojans have their mighty warriors, just as we do; they have gods who love them, too.’ I hesitated over my next words. ‘And all for a woman, they will say. A faithless woman who ran away with a foreign prince. Is she worth a thousand of our ships, tens of thousands of our men?’
He wanted to believe me. The sound of my voice was convincing, even to me. I heard it as though it was Helen’s, soft but certain, and I felt a giddiness spiralling within me that I had not felt since before the moment Menelaus arrived, grey with shock and despair, with his shattering news of Helen. The looks on everyone’s faces would be worth it.
Worth it, yes, but we had to wait for our moment. Aegisthus had slipped unknown into Mycenae, and keeping him hidden was paramount. We needed strength behind us; he had come recklessly, fired with his passion for revenge, intent upon sharing it with me, but I wanted to move carefully. I had my guards already, but we sent for more; men young and strong, from far away, who had not been taken to war.
When I took the slave-woman into my confidence, the woman who had told me, early on in my marriage, of the curse, her face lit up. ‘Aegisthus lives?’ she asked, and when I told her yes, it was true and he was here, her eyes shone with delight. There was love for the boy who had been chased from the palace, pity for his grief and anger at his exile. We were not alone in Mycenae, Aegisthus and I. She helped to send our messages, discreet and protective, and when we had quietly gathered enough men, the time came to act.
I was satisfied with the stir it created among the elders of the court, the old men that Agamemnon had left behind to rule, when I led Aegisthus into the wide chamber, where he had watched his father die. I felt it like the keen edge of a knife blade: not the nerves I had expected, but excitement. Behind us, our guards stood tall.
‘Many of you saw Thyestes die; many of you served him as your king before Agamemnon slit his throat here.’ I paused and let them think of it; the man they had known slaughtered before their eyes as his son looked on. ‘You saw my daughter grow up here; you waved her away to her new life and husband, and you know what happened instead – the cruel trick Agamemnon played so that he could take our men, your sons and your nephews, to fight his war. I can tell you that he did not flinch, did not waver for one moment when he murdered Iphigenia. Sweet Iphigenia, loved by all of you. He turned his back on Mycenae, killed its loveliest princess and sailed away.’ I let my words hang in the air and I settled my gaze on each of them in turn. Some stared back, arms crossed over their sunken chests; others lowered their eyes or looked into the distance as though squinting through heavy fog. Always, our guards loomed, silent and impenetrable. Beside me, I felt Aegisthus standing rigid, but the words rolled from me as smooth as pouring honey. I didn’t need to be Helen, I thought.
‘I remember,’ said one. He lifted his rheumy eyes to Aegisthus. ‘I remember you.’
There was a shuffling in the room, sandals shifting on the stone floor, throats clearing and robes rustling as some of the others muttered an assent. Some stayed still and silent. I noticed them. No matter. Those who resented us did not dare to stand against us at that moment, and it would only become harder for them to do so later.
But if that battle seemed easily won, there was another still to fight.