Prologue
What might the grey, part tumbled
Cyclopean stones of Mycenae,
a city said once to be rich in gold, tell us of her past if they could speak?
The great wall surrounding the city, standing proud to keep out her enemies some
three and a half thousand years ago, today proclaims in silence the
depredations of men and of time. Through her famed Lion Gate, above which the
rampant beasts of carved stone remain standing, once passed worthies, emissaries and traders from the Peloponnese and much of Greece
beyond. Her alleyways, her squares, then alive with calls and chatter, with
careering, pestering children and yapping dogs, offer now only gaping emptiness
to birds wheeling darkly in the sky above.
The palace, once
looking down upon the city, once a centre of power and wealth, of vibrant
columns, richly frescoed walls, proudly displayed bronze armour, weapons and
trophies, lies open and desolate. Long forgotten are the finely attired
courtiers who spiced the air with talk and laughter. It was here the bard
played and sang of great deeds, here beyond memory the rulers and their coterie
gathered and contrived the fate of others.
The gods of
old are gone but could those walls speak through the sighing breezes of night they
would surely have dark tales to tell; tales of deceit, of intrigue and of
murder. They might even now weep blood.
Chapter 1 - The Voice of Electra
That
I, Electra, a daughter of the one-time great and victorious Agamemnon, King of
Mycenae, hero of the Trojan war, am here to speak as I do is a blessing
bestowed by the gods who have seen fit to preserve me until this day in a world
of dark and devious scheming. To understand why my life has taken the path it
has means your knowing the history of my family, of events that took place well
before I was born, of what I have witnessed and what I have been a part of through
my tender years and beyond. Somewhat involved, I have to say, but I must here occupy
myself in relating it, though this bizarre tide of events will manifest itself also
through the voices of others.
I sit by the window in the comfort of what is now my
occasional retreat from the busy court below. These modest rooms used to be my living
area and were for long my prison. They are located above the palace which rises
above all other buildings at the south of the town, its parapets lined with
those stylised, stone bulls' horns common throughout the larger cities of Greece
and those of her islands. Within the palace is the great hall, what we refer to
as the megaron, the social heart of the palace where the court is held. Here
stands the royal throne - the throne from where, long ago, Agamemnon ruled. The
palace is quite out of keeping with the rugged stone and timber buildings that
occupy most of Mycenae
though all are designed to resist those occasional earthquakes from which our
land suffers. For the palace of Mycenae, as with those of many other cities
throughout Greece, an
attempt has been made to emulate the style if not the grandeur of the great and
famous palace of Knossos
on Crete; witnessed by some but little more
than hearsay to others. Should you be familiar with Knossos then you surely will know what I
mean.
Anyone visiting the ruler of Mycenae would enter via a flagstoned portico
whose great stone lintel is supported by a pair of russet coloured, downward
tapering columns. On passing through a frescoed anteroom they first would be confronted
by the large, ceremonial circular hearth where much of the day burns a lively
fire from which smoke rises to small windows above. The hearth is flanked by
four great columns, these colourfully painted and rising to a profusely
decorated, coffered ceiling. A few steps beyond this hearth rests the royal
throne of scalloped-edge, alabaster, draped with lavish coverings and a soft cushion
for the comfort of its occupant. A few steps from the throne, seated by a
column as I well recall, was once to be found pale-gowned, white-bearded old
Leucon. There he played his lyre and recited the deeds of heroes. His fund of
heroes was considerable and their deeds grew ever more impressive with the
passing years. Displayed about the walls are the weapons of violence, swords, spears and axes of gleaming bronze. There, too, the heavy,
man-covering, figure-of-eight shields and their smaller, lighter companions
better suited in close combat for the forward, brutal push. Portrayed about the
flat, plastered walls between these clusters of objects are colourfully painted
armed warriors frozen in prancing postures of aggression.
The modest walls of my incense-laden retreat are brightly
painted with images more pleasing to my eye; swooping birds and the wild
creatures of nature. In a room next to this there stands that greatest of
luxuries in Mycenae,
a private bath with hot water dispensed from a valve set into the wall. Yes,
hot water. There is an odd-smelling soap made from the fat of slaughtered
animals, this cooked together with wood ashes, but it serves its purpose well
enough. The water is drawn from an adjacent chamber, not accessible from my bathroom,
by braziers heating a tank that also feeds two other sets of rooms similar to my own, these once occupied by others we are soon
to meet. Close to me a polished bronze mirror stands upon an elegantly carved
wooden table together with my gold and silver inlaid ivory comb and my perfumed
oils in small, decorated pots. There, too lie the jewelled and bodily
adornments of gold and even more precious silver, these of a kind so valued by
others but, I often feel, of lesser worth to me. Further back stands the loom,
now sad and abandoned. This I made much use of when held here against my will.
I gaze into the mirror. I see long hair, hair the
colour of ripening corn, cascade freely about my white-gowned shoulders. My blue
eyes are bright, my cheeks unblemished. I offer the mirror a smile, just a
little smile, and I think upon what has been and what might have been of my
life. A warm, gentle breeze touches my cheek. My fingers embrace a gilded
goblet and I drink honeyed wine poured for me from an amphora by Melia, a young
woman, once a slave of the palace, now my personal attendant. Yes, she is
dedicated to my worldly pleasures when, after my bath, she caresses my body
with those perfumed oils and so delicately massages my flesh. Oh, what a
comfort she is, and was in this blighted city when most of our best men were
gone to fight at Troy.
Yes, Troy.
Memories of Troy,
a theatre of heroism and death, will echo through ages beyond our imagination.
Perhaps what happened there will change the whole world.
I look out now beyond the mighty cyclopean wall that
circles all about to protect our city from invasion, though as you will learn, that
same wall has served also to contain many evils. I peer down to the land below
where olive groves and orchards bask in the clear morning light of a newly
risen sun. I see where cattle, pigs and sheep are gathered together
or are free to roam, and further still I gaze to where woodlands and farms
spread way into the hilly distance. All is peaceful now throughout the Peloponnese though conflict has never seemed far away. These
have been violent times throughout much of Greece
and beyond but nowhere has it been more manifest than here at Mycenae in what people refer to still as the
House of Atreus; a house cursed by the gods. And because Atreus once ruled this
city as a powerful king it is his afflicted tale I must first relate for that
curse was to be handed down through generations. I ask now for your patience.
In their earlier days Atreus and his brother Thyestes
were nobles of Elis, a town in the north-west Peloponnese. They fled from their city with a small
number of followers after murdering their half-brother in a family squabble. By
all accounts Atreus was a big man, course in manner, long-bearded and
aggressive, whereas his brother, inclined more to the refined life of the court,
was less assertive. Thyestes three legitimate sons also joined their father so as to avoid the vengeance of others of that town falling
upon them, though his wife chose to remain there, as did those sons of his by a
woman of the court. It is related how, some time before the murder, an oracle
within one of Elis'
temples had prophesied one of the brothers would become king. King of where,
and which of them it might be was never made clear,
though at the time it seemed to them of scant importance. But then oracles are
oracles; if they prove true they are usually remembered and when they do not
they are easily forgotten.
The brothers travelled eastward to Mycenae,
then at war with Athens.
There, finding her king, Eurystheus, and his only son had recently been killed
in battle and the court in turmoil, Atreus, on recalling the words of the Elian
oracle, seized the throne of Mycenae.
Thyestes, never given an opportunity to discuss the matter with his brother,
was incensed and claimed the throne ought to have been his through his greater
familiarity with court affairs. The bombastic Atreus, his position quickly assured,
was not inclined to argue over this so, for the time being, the resentful
Thyestes occupied himself in hunting and the pleasures of the court. Pleasures
of the Mycenaean court being mainly its wine and its women who dressed then, as
now, in the commonly followed Cretan palace fashion of long, flounced
and colourful dresses with short-sleeved bodices that left their breasts
exposed. Also in the Cretan style, real or imagined, they wore diadems and
beads twisted in their hair, bracelets, necklaces, precious rings and on
occasion, large gold or silver hooped earrings. Yes,
many of the great cities of Greece vied to affect the image of Knossos.
Now established as king of a wealthy and powerful
city, Atreus married Airope, a renowned beauty and daughter of the dead
Eurystheus, an act that would help secure his position as ruler. By her he had
two sons; firstly Agamemnon, a year later Menelaus, then a girl who did not for
long survive. All might have been well for Atreus and for Mycenae except that Airope, more a free
spirit than Atreus would have wished, had all along preferred the more refined
company of Thyestes. This she enjoyed in full on those occasions when the king
himself was out hunting. Through this torrid relationship Thyestes perceived a
means of getting back at his brother, though how this was to be achieved in the
long run could not have been clear to him at the time.
Atreus became increasingly suspicious of his brother's
reluctance to accompany him when away from the city and decided, as Thyestes
was reluctant to account for his activities, he must be busy plotting mischief
within the palace. A bid, perhaps, for the throne. Consequently, Atreus ordered
him banished from Mycenae
together with his sons.
Thyestes' affair with Airope however, had been impossible
to keep secret. All the court, aware of what had been going on, gossiped as
people are prone to do, but dared say nothing to the king. And, yes, as you may
have guessed, Atreus, though last to know, did hear of it shortly after his
brother's departure; informed by one of his female attendants who Thyestes had
abused and insulted when drunk. Atreus, on realising he'd been made a fool of
throughout palace and perhaps all the city, was possessed by a vengeful rage
that, helped by surfeit of wine, turned his mind away from reason. He ordered
members of the palace guard to conduct a protesting Airope out of the city and
to the coast where it was rumoured she was thrown into the sea and drowned.
That same day he appointed an envoy to set off and locate Thyestes with a
message of forgiveness, of reconciliation and assurance that he would be
welcomed back to Mycenae
and appointed joint ruler as should have been the case all along.
The envoy returned, accompanied by Thyestes with his
three sons. All were warmly greeted by Atreus who declared a banquet would be
held for Thyestes the following day. Sensing deceit and wary of his brother's
motives, Thyestes insisted his sons go to and remain in the temple of Zeus
where their safety, as custom demanded, would be assured. Atreus, however, was
of no mind to observe customs. The promised banquet was held next evening in
the megaron. It was a lavish affair by all accounts with entertainers, singing
and wine in abundance. I'm told what then happened by one of the male court
attendants who was witness there, one now an aged acolyte at our temple of Zeus.
When the dining and entertainment was ended, Atreus
called in two of the palace guards who laid upon the table before Thyestes a number of personal items lately possessed by his three
sons, including the daggers each had worn at his belt. He then informed Thyestes
that the boys had been executed and that the meat their father had just eaten
was not that of a sheep but the flesh, specially prepared and cooked for him,
from one of his son's severed limbs. Thyestes, believing in full what he'd been
told, leaped from the table to flee in stark horror from the megaron and into
the night before anyone could stop him.
Since hearing this I have wondered often to what depths
some men will stoop when blinded by vengeance. It was later learned Thyestes
had somehow avoided capture and made his way to Sicyon,
a coastal town to the north of Mycenae and somewhat
closer to Corinth.
There he entered the temple of Apollo, one renowned for punishing the wicked, there sacrificed
to the god and laid the curse upon Atreus and all of Mycenae for what her king, his own brother,
had done. Apollo, evidently, was listening and was sympathetic, and so too was
mighty Zeus. Perhaps for a time Atreus was satisfied with the appalling act he had
committed but his contentment was destined not to last and others, too, would
suffer because of it.
Also in Sicyon,
quite by chance, for surely the gods would not have planned it, was a daughter
of Thyestes. She had, when still a child, been sent there by her mother to avoid
the family troubles in Elis and, now a young
woman, she served at the temple
of Athena.
It is said what had happened at Mycenae had afflicted Thyestes' mind and
driven him to consume an excess of wine, something he was anyway not adverse to.
Having squandered much of one day at an inn, he wandered after dark into the temple of Athena where, in a drunken act of lust,
he attacked Pelopia as she made sacrifice at the altar and raped her without knowing
or caring who she was. He had thrown aside his sword while there and having
forgotten to retrieve it, was unable when awakening next day to recall where he'd
been and all but nothing of the vile act that he'd committed. Pelopia did of
course recognise the sword as that belonging to her attacker and was tempted
through an onset of shame to fall upon it and end her own life. She did not,
but decided in future to ensure the company of one or more of those serving at
the temple when not in her private rooms. There was no one she felt she could
turn to and disclose what had happened - not even grey-bearded Thesprotus, the
aging king of Sicyon who, though treating Pelopia very much as his own daughter
was, so most people considered, somewhat ineffectual as a ruler.
Within a month of Thyestes' fleeing Mycenae his curse in the form of a pestilence
had descended upon the city. Thought by many to be the onset of plague, it was
feared this would soon affect the entire population within and without the city
wall. The priests of Zeus' temple were quick to point out that this was indeed punishment
for the murder of Thyestes three sons at the very altar of their god and only
an appropriate sacrifice would counter the affliction. Sacrifice at the altar
of Zeus is what Atreus undertook in person; not simply goats or pigs but three
young male slaves falsely accused of offenses; one for each of the murdered
youths. After this sanctified butchering he also offered a
number of gold vessels and to his amazement as well as to that of the
priests, the pestilence, if indeed that's what it was, receded almost as
quickly as it had taken hold.
On consulting one of the priests who claimed oracular
powers, Atreus was advised to seek out his brother and return him to Mycenae. Atreus, it was
said, concluded that this could mean dead or alive and set out at once to Sicyon with an armed
party. With them were gifts for the king, Thesprotus, as custom required, for Sicyon was at the time on reasonably good terms with Mycenae. Thyestes,
however, on hearing of his dear brother's arrival with armed men, had
understandably taken refuge some distance away from the town.
It was when in discussion with Thesprotus that Atreus
spotted Pelopia with her female companions. Like the women of Thesprotus' court
who dressed in the Cretan manner, by which I mean with their breasts revealed,
Pelopia, a woman of great beauty, was likewise attired in keeping with her priestly
status. She struck Atreus as most desirable and the king, in noting his
attention, seems to have conceived certain possibilities. Thesprotus had
doubtless conducted formalities with Atreus when he ordered wine to be brought
and summoned Pelopia to join them. As Pelopia had never been to Mycenae she had only
distant memories of Atreus, her uncle. The now deceptively calm-faced and on
this occasion well behaved Atreus she found most appealing in
spite of his less than cultivated appearance, his table manners, and his
greater age. I'm sure you will agree, there is at times no accounting for
female taste. Thesprotus, so it is told, noted her attraction, introduced her
as his daughter and had Atreus thinking the King of Sicyon meant his true
rather than his make-believe daughter. Pelopia said nothing to cast doubt upon
this casual deception and so it was maintained.
Atreus stayed at Sicyon
for many days during which he spent much time with Pelopia, encouraged all
along by her assumed father who entertained them together as often as possible.
Thesprotus may have been somewhat ineffectual as a ruler but in desiring to
maintain his alliance with Mycenae
he was anxious to see a bond develop between the two. Had Pelopia known of
Atreus' past deeds and in particular the fate of Airope, things would have been
very different but soon enough he asked Thesprotus for her hand in marriage. With
this the king was eager to agree and offered arrangements for the ceremony
there at Sicyon.
Apart from his acquiring a beautiful wife, Atreus saw this marriage as
maintaining Sicyon
as a dependent ally after Thesprotus' death. Pelopia feared Thyestes might
return after Atreus' departure and dreaded encountering this otherwise unknown
man who had so brutally defiled her. The court of Mycenae, so she imagined,
ought to be a better proposition. Such are the misconceptions people may at
times have.
After the wedding, a relatively quiet affair, arrangements
for Pelopia to transfer to Mycenae
with her attendant girls and her possessions were undertaken but by this time
Pelopia had discovered she was pregnant and realised it would soon be
impossible to conceal the fact. Atreus decided no more time should be wasted before
returning to Mycenae in case it was to there Thyestes had gone, hoping to take
advantage of his brother's absence. Pelopia begged for more time to have her
affairs put into order before she would be escorted from Sicyon to take her place by his side and to
this Atreus, with a rare show of condescension, agreed.
After his departure Pelopia retired to the privacy of
the rooms allocated to her at the palace by Thesprotus where she was visited
only by her most trusted attendants. Messengers eventually arrived from Mycenae wanting to know when she was to leave Sicyon and join her new
husband. They were told she had much yet to attend to because of her position
as priestess at Athena's temple but would shortly set out to join the
increasingly impatient Atreus. When the child was born an envoy was sent to Mycenae to inform Atreus
that Pelopia was at last on her way to him. Pelopia's male child, together with
his father's, her father's sword, accompanied
the party when early one morning they set off to Mycenae, hidden from view inside a covered
wagon.