The House of Atreus | ONC 2023 Shortlist

XIII

"Avenge our father?" I ask. "Do you know what you would have to do for that?" I look at him sharply. No wonder he seemed so paranoid anyone might overhear us outside. Merely talking of regicide could get you to spend a night at the dungeons. Not to mention what might happen to the rightful heir to the throne.

"I keep trying to tell him," Pylades says with a sigh. "The people would riot. You can't just appear out of nowhere and claim the throne for yourself when the last time they saw you, you were merely a child."

"But they hate him! They hate what he has done to the kingdom. The whole city is in mourning over the true king."

I look Orestes over again, taking in the contours of his face; so young, yet so hardened already. The resolve in it is palpable but there's doubt there, too. Both emotions are warring in his eyes. He might've grown into the body of a man. His arm might be strong enough to deal the killing blow. But he came here, came to me to hear my advice, to ask me to help him. Is he strong enough to make right what has gone so terribly wrong before?

"Your father isn't as beloved as you think, Orestes. Many still blame him for the war, for all the deaths it cost them, all the sons and husbands that were lost on the shores of Troy. And for what? Just because your uncle was cuckolded?" Pylades shakes his head softly. "True, we won the war and Troy is ours now, but Helen wasn't brought back."

Orestes opens his mouth again to continue arguing. I can see that they must've had this conversation many times, either on the way here from the Oracle or even before. There's a fire in my brother and a weariness in his friend that comes from having made the same points over and over again.

Even though my heart screams that Orestes is right, Pylades makes a point. The war was, in the end, pointless, a pile of bodies — on both sides — just to defend the honour of a man, whose reputation still remains compromised. Our uncle survived, of course, and returned to Sparta, but Aunt Helen wasn't seen again. Even as they dragged Paris' body out of the burned-down shambles of Troy, she was nowhere to be found. She'd somehow escaped both the downfall of her home and the reunion with her husband. Some people claim they've seen her in Athens, walking the streets like a common woman, hiding her golden hair beneath finely woven shawls in an attempt to remain unrecognised. Others say she probably fled across the ocean to the shores of Libya or joined the group of survivors that escaped the siege through secret tunnels. We will likely never know the truth.

"I wasn't talking about killing Aegisthus," I say into the pause and l let my gaze linger on both men in front of me, unblinking. First on Pylades, who shifts a little uncomfortably on the floor where he's seated and then, longer, on my brother. I don't dare speak it out loud, afraid some God might overhear and smite me for even proposing such a sin. What I really want to know is: Is my brother strong enough to kill his own mother?

He doesn't say anything but by the way his jaw works, I can tell he must know what I think. His gaze flickers away from mine as I continue to assess him. My heart feels heavy in my chest. I wish so much that Orestes wouldn't have to do this. But he is my father's only son and it's his duty to right this wrong. As it was Agamemnon's duty to avenge Atreus' death and take back his throne. The Fates spin their threads impassively and we are merely caught in their net.

My brother can't know what it was like, to run back home that night. To live in the palace after what had happened. To see them every day, sitting on my father's throne and ruling his kingdom. I didn't get to stay long though, they married me off shortly after. But when my first husband died, there I was again. I refused to be brushed aside. I'd never seen my mother so enraged as she'd been when I returned to Mycenae. She hit me, for the first and last time, accused me of poisoning the old man they'd given me to, sold me to. I laughed in her face and told her I'd learned from the best. We never spoke of it again and after the mourning period ended and the suitors began to file back into the palace, I was betrothed again. To a commoner this time.

I smooth out the wrinkles in my dress and swallow my frustration. He wouldn't understand if I told him, but in a way, this is my brother's duty to me too. He wouldn't be here if I hadn't saved him that night. Aegisthus wouldn't, couldn't, have let him live.

"We will have to take care of the King first." I pick up the jug and refill their cups. I should've brought the wine instead, I think. It would've fortified their resolve. My hands are steady, but I see Pylades' fingers tremble when he picks up the water to drink. "You will have to enter the palace under some pretence. Something innocent... like bringing news of the Prince's death." I lift my gaze away from the tray and study them again, watching for signs of withdrawal. They stare back at me silently, intently as I relay my plan.