The Young Lion by Laura Gill

Author:Laura Gill [Gill, Laura]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-one

I might have said that everything was all right now, except that it was not.

Spheros had said something about the delayed shock that hit men after battle or some other great trauma. “When you’re caught up in the madness, you feel nothing,” he explained. “It’s only afterward that the gods afflict you.”

I coped well enough that first afternoon. Strophius spent more than an hour listening to the tale of my adventures in the Corinthian wilderness, interjecting with occasional questions, and seemed satisfied with what he heard. “Well, Orestes, it would appear that you’re quite a brave and resourceful young man.”

By then, it was past noon, and the chamber had grown warm and close from the day’s heat. Even though hours remained before sunset, I dreaded the coming night without comprehending why. Am I not safe now? I wondered. Aegisthus and his trackers can’t reach me here.

Had Strophius left the matter alone after hearing my tale, I might not have approached nightfall with such apprehension. Yet as he started to take his leave, my uncle leaned forward and reached for my hand. “I know it is not much, but it might comfort you somewhat to know that your father was laid to rest in his tomb on the third day with his companions and all the customary rites.”

Picturing the funeral twisted my stomach into knots. Mother would have shammed before the people, playing the role of dutiful, mourning wife, while Aegisthus bent Father’s sword and shattered the first cup beside the bier. That should have been me! I should have performed the sacrifices and poured out the libation! And then I should have slashed Aegisthus’s throat and thrown his corpse to the dogs, and walled Mother up alive inside the tomb!

My anger only grew as Strophius gently informed me that my mother had remarried. Aegisthus now sat upon the throne of Mycenae and wielded the scepter as king. Those renovations in the king’s apartment had not been intended for Father at all, but for the usurper, the murderer, the misbegotten hell-beast from Tartarus. Gods, I had even helped choose the furnishings!

Anaxibia, who had stayed throughout, regarded me with a worried look. “You need some fresh air, young man.”

All I wanted was to curl into myself, think about nothing, and be left alone until the hurt went away.

Pylades caught my arm above the crutch as we left the chamber. “Swallow your tears and be a man,” he quietly admonished.

Outside, it was mid-afternoon. Strophius led me down to the great court, now deserted, and into the megaron in order to pour out a libation to Zeus Xenios and welcome his guests in the god’s name.

Servants set up a trestle table before the hearth, as it was the custom to feast honored guests on their first night in the citadel. I had little appetite, and had to choke down the roast meat, bread, and vegetables my aunt pressed upon me. “Eat something, Orestes,” she said. “You are all skin and bones.”

“Leave him be,” Strophius rumbled amiably.

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