The House of Atreus | ONC 2023 Shortlist

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The way back is an indistinct blur. I'm numb after my father's confession, which wasn't a confession at all. He never even answered my question. My ears ring from his shouting. Achilles is quiet beside me but I can feel his anger boiling. I see it in the grim set of his lips, the way his nostrils tremble and his brows are drawn tightly together, yet his hand on my arm is gentle as he guides me back to my own tent.

I'm lost, untethered and I don't know how and what to feel. My life, it seems, is about to end. Yet I don't know if I even really lived it. The thought sounds like such a platitude and if I could muster an ironic laugh, I would. I, the princess who has spent her whole childhood and most of my recent adulthood behind palace walls, sheltered but well-fed and protected. Complaining about her life going awry while others starve and die every day. But only because I am fortunate to live in a comfortable home, doesn't mean I don't have dreams of my own. Shouldn't I be angry that I won't get to experience so many of the things I've merely daydreamed about? Scared at what might come after? If there even is an after.

When we get back, Mother is still where I left her. Her eyes are hard like gemstones, her rage cracking like white-hot lightning behind them.

"So, what did he say?" Her voice has a challenging edge to it, unafraid to lash out with everything she has. She knows the answer to her question, of course.

My eyes flutter closed and I don't bother to reply. I walk towards the back and lie down on the bunk bed again. The skin on my neck feels tender and chafed but my fingers itch to scratch it again, just to feel something. Something other than this utter emptiness.

"He said the Gods demand it," I hear Achilles say. He sighs and drags a hand through his messy curls and over his face. But despite this defeated gesture, his body remains taut.

"Of course he did." My mother lets out an unladylike snort. "You poor men just can't help yourself, can you? You have no other choice but to murder your way through life."

"This isn't really helpful, anassa." His voice is firm, straining to contain his annoyance.

"It's not?" Mother releases a humourless laugh. "Tell me, Achilles," she continues, drawing out the sound of his name, "how exactly are you being helpful?"

He remains stoic, not rising to her taunt. She huffs again. I squeeze my eyes shut hard, trying to close myself off to the tension. It hangs thickly in the air, crawling over my skin like goosebumps.

"I'm trying to do the right thing," he says then. "I'm trying to keep your daughter alive. Something you should be more concerned with yourself."

"You don't even care about her!" Mother almost closes the distance between them, jabbing a finger in his direction. "All you care about is your own involvement in this. This all," she throws her arms out wide in a gesture that is meant to include everything around us," is just so you can preserve your own honour."

Achilles doesn't reply though his eyes are blazing now as well. His pent-up frustration is swirling inside of them and he looks ready to explode. Mother ignores it and instead pushes him further.

"You can't possibly know how it feels to lose a child, so don't assume you do."

I stir at her words. She makes it sound as if I'm already dead, yet I'm right here. Still breathing, for now. There's something buried there, beneath her angry tone there's... pain, not fresh and raw like in Father's voice, but scraped open like an old wound. I sit up and look at her, puzzled, unable to solve this riddle that is my own mother.

"Do you think you're the only mother, who has lost a child, anassa?" Achilles leans forward until his face is level with my mother's. They're so close they could stare into each others' souls. Both of them burning brightly, while I sit on the side, impassively watching. His words are quiet but icy when he continues: "My mother thinks I won't survive this war. She tried to keep me away from it. She dressed me up as a girl so I wouldn't be drafted. But when Odysseus saw through my disguise, she wept at his feet as they took me away." Finally, he pulls away then and turns to go. "Don't assume you know me. You know nothing about me."

When he's gone, my mother remains rooted on the spot for a few moments as if she's forgotten herself before she seems to remember I'm there. Tears spring to my eyes and I look at her, but she has no comfort to give. I resist the urge to get up and throw myself into her arms. Mother has never been good at physical closeness, tenderness. But now she looks back at me and I can see the anguish clear on her face.

"Oh, Iphia," she says with a pained sigh and in two strides, she's at my side. She pulls me against her and my head comes to rest on her chest while her arms clutch my shoulders so hard I can feel her nails digging into my flesh. The embrace is so foreign, I haven't leaned against her in this way since I was a very small child. Yet her scent is familiar. I squeeze my eyelids shut and that's when the tears finally break free. Hot and silent, scalding my cold face.

She holds me for what feels like hours as I cry, yet it can't be more than mere moments.

"Have I ever told you that I was married to another King before I met your father?" she finally asks, so low I almost fail to make out her voice beneath the blood rushing in my ears.

I swallow a sob that tries to break free from my chest and suck in a breath of air. It burns on its way through my closed-up throat. My head lifts from my mother's breast to stare at her. She looks back at me with those hard eyes of hers that hold so many secrets I will probably never have the chance to uncover. I shake my head, not trusting my voice to speak.

She sighs again and runs her hands over the curves of my shoulders, over the pins that hold my peplos together, smoothing her fingers over the fabric that is gathered into fluttering sleeves at the sides.

"There's so much I never told you. I thought I could protect you from this curse." Her eyes shimmer now and I struggle to make it out through the haze of tears that still obscures my vision but I think she's crying. "I'm sorry I failed you, agapete."

Notes:

Agapetos (m.)/agapete (f.): Dear, darling

I could find the feminine version of this term of endearment only in Greek letters, I hope I transcribed it into Latin ones correctly.