The House of Atreus bears a curse. One steeped in blood and nourished by decades of violence.
Klytemnestra knew this when she married Agamemnon, but being a princess in Sparta doesn't leave you with much choice, though she longs for it. The Fates s...
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Hours pass again before the guests finally leave and the banquet comes to an end. The celebrations across the city will continue for a couple more days. As I send the slaves to clean up, my head pounds but I force myself to focus. I tell them I'll take care of my husband myself and I notice the looks that pass between the younger girls we've brought in for today especially. Their cheeks redden as they scurry off and leave me alone with Agamemnon.
I take his hand and lead him down the hallway towards the bath and the family quarters, the quieter parts of the palace. He follows without complaints, not quite drunk anymore but still sluggish. It's funny how he's the stoic leader in front of his men, how he rallies them with great words and grand gestures to make them follow him into battle, yet when he's intoxicated, he turns back into a clingy child. Though it shouldn't surprise me so much, he is an egocentric child after all.
The bath is considerably warmer than the courtyard with its marble floors and the breeze from the sea that always stirs the air. It's a small room compared to the others in the palace, heated by braziers. Columns surround the circular pool in its middle. Steam hangs around us as we step inside, blurring my vision and enveloping me in its humid embrace. My dress feels heavier than it did mere moments ago, clinging to my warming skin, the fabric suddenly scratchy, even though it's so finely woven it's almost sheer. I itch to take it off and relieve myself of it as sweat starts to bead beneath it.
I say nothing as I begin to undress Agamemnon, taking the laurel wreath out of his hair and unfastening his golden breastplate. This isn't the armour he wears to battle, it would be too heavy and uncomfortable to fight in. This one's only for show, for the parades and processions. As I take it off of him, it reveals the body underneath, still firm with muscle but not as sculpted anymore as the breastplate suggests. The King has grown old.
I undo the pins on his chiton next, letting the fabric slide to the ground and fall at his feet. He looks at me through heavy lids and I stare back into his eyes. I push him backwards, forcing him down the shallow steps that lead into the tiled basin. The water ripples and splashes around his ankles as he wades inside. His hand closes around my wrist and he pulls me along with him. I hesitate at first and want to resist but then I let him have his way.
I step into the water fully clothed. It seeps into my garment and closes around me. It's warm, heated by coal fires and carried inside by the slaves. Bay leaves and lavender buds swim on its surface, releasing their essences into the air, infusing it with an earthy fragrance. The light is dim, only a few of the torches mounted to the columns surrounding us are lit at this hour. They glow faintly through the steam that rises from the water. Agamemnon's hand wraps itself around my throat like a necklace, caressing my neck and coming to rest just above my collarbone. His gaze follows the movement as drops of water bead on my skin.
"You've been unusually clingy tonight, anax," I say as I watch him.
"Maybe I just missed you, anassa," he replies and pulls me against him, splashing water as he does. "Ten years is a long time for a man to be separated from his wife.
