‘I’m afraid,’ said the king, ‘that my strength will not suffice. I must face a powerful coalition, alone.’
The queen’s lips curled into a smile. ‘You’re not alone,’ she said. ‘You have the most powerful ally that exists in the world. Come, I want to show you something.’ She got up and walked down the corridor. Menelaus followed her to the end, then down a stair that led under ground. They reached a small door closed with bronze bolts. Anaxibia drew them and thrust her torch into the interior. Menelaus was struck dumb, his eyes filled with stupor.
‘The talisman of the Trojans!’ he gasped. ‘Oh gods, gods of the heavens. . then it was not all futile. . all of that blood was not spilled in vain. . oh gods, I thank you.’
The queen closed the door and bolted it. ‘This is why you’ve found me here at Arne. This fortress in the middle of the lake is impenetrable; no one can violate it.’
‘But how could you have. .’
‘When our brother was murdered by that bitch, a ship managed to reach me here before anyone had thought of chasing it. Everyone thought that the talisman of Troy was to be found on Agamemnon’s flagship, which was burned at port and sunk by its crew. Clytemnestra was led to believe that the men had carried out an order of the king, who had somehow sensed her betrayal. She even sent divers down to explore the wreck, but the sea bottom was too deep; not even the most expert sponge divers could reach it. She could not know that the talisman was aboard a little thirty-oar which escaped towards the north and went ashore at Aulis.’
‘An action that seems inspired by the mind of Ulysses!’
‘Who says it wasn’t?’ said the queen.
‘Yes. .’ murmured Menelaus. ‘Ulysses turned back. . I’ve always asked myself why.’
Anaxibia shut the door that closed off the underground stair from the corridor and motioned to her handmaidens, who were waiting in a group, chatting with each other, each holding a lit lamp in hand. They rushed to hear her orders, then took Menelaus up to his room. They undressed him and bathed him with abundant warm water, then dried him off and dressed him in a fine linen dressing-gown. They asked if he wanted one of them to remain with him in his bed, whichever of them he preferred, but the king let them go and stretched out exhausted on the big pine-scented bed. An able craftsman had carved it from a trunk uprooted by the winds of Mount Ossa. Above his head was a bronze plate embossed with a line of warriors flanking charioteers on their swift war- cars.
One autumn evening some time later, princess Electra left the great Gate of the Lions at Mycenae and walked down the narrow valley of the tombs. She was carrying a basket filled with offerings, honey and milk and white flour, offerings for the shadows of the dead. But she didn’t stop in front of any of the great mounds along the path. She continued with hurried step until she found a large slab of stone covering a cistern hollowed out of the underlying rock and there she stopped. She poured the milk on to the stone and then the honey and then scattered the flour, invoking the shade of her father.
Big congealed lumps showed how many times her hand had generously poured those offerings and were proof that not even the animals, the stray dogs and the foxes, had dared to contend with the angry shade of the Great Atreid. She prostrated herself on the bare rock and wept with her cheek pressed against the huge slab, wetting it with her tears.
The sun had dropped behind the mountains and its light was suddenly swallowed up by a dark mass of clouds that advanced from the most remote horizon. The wind slipped into the valley and its voice, in the narrow gorge, joined her lament. The princess got up on to her knees, her right hand still caressing the stone. Her head was low. She could hear the twittering of the birds seeking a shelter for the night. The last swallows circled low on the arid grass, crossing in flight between the dried amaranth and the thorny brambles.
The valley was nearly completely invaded by the shadows when Electra got up. ‘Farewell, father,’ she murmured, bringing her hand to her mouth for a kiss. ‘I’ll come back as soon as I can.’
She had seen him, for the last time, all covered with blood with his throat cut, being dragged obscenely across the floor like a butchered animal. Awakened in the night by the screams coming from the great hall, she saw everything from the gallery on the second floor but she could not cry out the horror and desperation gnawing at her heart; her soul was lacerated with pain and then invaded by the most implacable hate. Yet every time that she came to that wretched, unworthy tomb, she tried to remember her father as he was when she saw him leave for the war. He had come into her room where she, sitting on the floor in a corner, was trying to swallow her tears. He had put his hand on her head and had said: ‘Iphigeneia will leave tomorrow to become the wife of a prince, but you must keep watch over your brother who is still small, and respect your mother. I will think of you every evening, when the sun descends behind the mountains or among the waves of the sea, and I’ll dream of holding you in my arms and of stroking your hair.’
She had got up and hugged him. She had felt the cold contact of the bronze covering his chest and had been seized by a stab of pain, the same that she felt now, every time she laid her face against that stone, always so cold, even on the hottest summer evenings.
‘Farewell, father,’ she had said, crying, and she had raised her eyes to meet his. In his face she had read the mark of dark desperation, in his eyes the uncertain sparkling of tears. He had given her a kiss and had left, and she had remained to listen to the pounding of his wide steps down the stairway and the clashing armour on his powerful shoulders. She would never see him again. Alive.
A pebble suddenly rolled near her feet, from the left; Electra turned in that direction and saw a cloaked figure advancing at a cautious pace from behind the boulders in the valley. She shrank back, frightened; anything could happen in such a solitary place. The man stopped and bared his head, revealing the face of a young blond god.
His voice rang out, close and warm, in the silence of the evening: ‘Electra.’
‘Oh, gods of the heavens. .’ stammered the princess, peering in the near darkness so that her eyes might confirm what her heart already knew. ‘Brother,’ she said, ‘is that you?’
The young man embraced her, nestling her head against his shoulder, while she could not hold back her tears. He led her to the shelter of a jutting rock and had her sit beside him. He held her tightly, nearly cradling her in his arms.
She suddenly started: ‘You are mad,’ she cried, ‘to have come here! If anyone sees you, you’ll be killed at once. Aegisthus’s men are everywhere.’
‘I had to see you and let you know you’re not alone. We are gathering an army and when we are ready we shall lay siege to the city.’
‘You’ll never succeed,’ said Electra. ‘The city is invincible. The Phocian forces have no chance against the squadrons of war chariots that Aegisthus can send into the field.’
‘Uncle Menelaus is back. Haven’t you heard?’
‘Yes, but I had heard that he was very ill, close to death.’
‘He’s fine. But don’t let the word out; no one must know. Nestor will send his fleet to sea to stop the Cretans if they should attack us; he’ll send us one thousand men, commanded by Pisistratus, and one hundred chariots. Many others will join us from Argos, Tiryns, Nemea and from Mycenae as well.’ He took a fleeting look at the slab covering the cistern. ‘Our father will be avenged and he will finally have peace in Hades.’
Electra couldn’t take her eyes away from him, and he stroked him gently as he spoke. When he had finished she dropped her head for a while as if gathering her thoughts: ‘Do you know what all this means?’
‘I do,’ said the youth. ‘It means the death of our mother. By my hand. If we win. If we are defeated, it means my death, and yours, and the death of all of our dreams.’
‘You’ve never killed anyone. How could you kill your mother? Have you thought of how you will feel afterwards? Of the nightmares that will torment you for your whole life? Her spirit will give you no peace, neither by day or night.’ She kissed his eyes, his forehead, his hair. ‘You’re just a boy. . you would have the right to different thoughts. Oh gods. . why? Why us, we’ve done nothing!’
‘Do not ask, sister. There is no answer to your questions. Destiny is blind and has cast all this misfortune upon us. In this very moment someone else, in some other place, far away, is enjoying every happiness. . even ours, the happiness that would be ours. But one day, who knows, perhaps more serene days will dawn for us as well. Perhaps we’ll be able to live, and to forget.’ Orestes rose to his feet. ‘But now we will do what must be done. Don’t cry as I leave you.’
He covered his head and turned, soon disappearing into the darkness that had descended to cover the land.
