I find that I do not care whether they accept my words or not. Their judgement is nothing to me. I look from face to face across the room, slowly and steadily. No one here will challenge us. They are weak and we are strong. The leader of the Greek army lies dead between us at my hand. The pleasure of my words dies away, the thrill subsiding already. I want to be gone from here, to be alone with my thoughts. To find somewhere peaceful, somewhere silent, where I might hear her at last, where the echoes of her gratitude might reach me from a world away.
Into the sullen silence, Aegisthus clears his throat. ‘It is not just the murder of his own child for which Agamemnon has paid the price today,’ he says. His voice is scratchy, too quiet to be heard across the cavernous space. ‘His father’s monstrous crimes against my father were a horror I will not speak of, though they were known to you all. Yet instead of atoning for the atrocities of Atreus, Agamemnon came back to drive me out and to murder Thyestes in front of me, here in this very room. I have waited patiently for this day when justice could be delivered.’
I think for a moment that someone might speak out at this. I feel the shift in the room when they look at him. He might claim justice now, but he was not the one to swing the axe. That was me, and me alone, and everyone in here knows it to be true. But just as I feel the gathered elders teeter on the brink at Aegisthus’ words, they see his eyes flicker to the edges of the room. With slow and measured footsteps, his guards step in closer from all sides.
‘No one needs to answer us,’ I say, gesturing at the bloodstained bundle slumped on the floor. ‘It is done.’ I turn to Aegisthus. ‘Come, let us put things in order.’
A slave turns to look at me and almost immediately looks away, fearful.
‘Yes?’ I ask.
She hesitates. ‘The body . . .?’ she asks, falteringly.
‘Take it out for the dogs,’ Aegisthus sneers. I catch the sleeve of his tunic, shaking my head slightly.
I smile at the girl. ‘Prepare him for burial,’ I tell her. Aegisthus follows me, radiating annoyance, but I am not interested in what he feels.
A funeral for her father is the only thing I can give to Elektra.
29
Elektra
I scream until my voice is exhausted, until there’s nothing left in me at all, until I’m curled into myself on the floor, drained and numb. That’s when I hear the shouting, the swell of panicked voices, and, cutting clearly through it all, the words that I dreaded. The king is dead, the king is dead. It echoes back and forth along the corridors; hurrying footsteps and slamming doors, and then a terrible quiet. I lie there, unmoving, until long after they’re gone, long after he’s lost to me forever, and the realisation starts to settle into my bones: the single glimpse of him that I got was all I have, and all that I will ever have.
When they finally come to unbolt the door, the palace is still eerily hushed. The slaves cast their eyes down when I walk past them, and the old men turn away. Only Aegisthus’ guards stand tall. Only they look me in the face: insolent, defiant, forgetting that I am a princess, and it is they who are the interlopers.
Shadows flicker on the walls, cast by the fires burning in shallow bowls. The door to Orestes’ chamber is open, and as I drift past, I notice it is empty. I know that I need to care about that, but I cannot force it to the forefront of my mind.
There are guards posted everywhere, more than I have ever seen before, but none make a move to stop me from walking out. Has she instructed them to leave me unmolested? I wonder if she would bother, if the thought of me has crossed her mind since she had me locked away.
My steps take me out beyond the walls of the citadel. I have never been out here alone so late before, but no one materialises from the quiet dark to seize me and drag me back. I can hear my footsteps on the path, and the distant hooting of an owl. How far could I walk before they found me? A breeze whispers around me, and the thin light of the moon barely illuminates the ground in front. If it were not for the torches burning ahead, I would be swallowed up by blackness, but I keep my eyes on the soft orange glow and do not let the fear skirting at the edges of my mind take hold.
Someone has left these torches burning to light the way to the towering entrance to the tomb, which is cut into the mighty rock of the hillside itself. I know that it is visible from the throne room of the palace, and I cast a glance back towards the citadel. I wonder if she looks out across the plain, watching for me.
The great opening of ornately carved and painted stone dwarfs me. Within, the long tunnel leads to the dim interior, the smooth walls of stone built inside a hill, giving way to a cavernous dome in which I feel so small. This is where they have left him.