shore, cleaning the beach of lost things and dead things, and every day it falls again, exposing the smooth sand. I miss the sound of it still. It used to lull me to sleep.
'There, Electra, I declare that you have learned the beginning of weaving faster than any child of mine. Look, Chrysothemis! Ten years old and a straight, smooth, even cloth. Aren't you ashamed of all those knots?'
'It's very nice,' agreed Chrysothemis grudgingly. I glowed with pride and smiled in my sleep.
Cassandra
I was exalted at my rescue. I had seen the death of Agamemnon so often that I was not even mildly surprised at it. I had expected to die. I had heard my own death cry and was prepared for it. I had not died. I had been freed. Hecate had come and disconnected me, possessed me, at the moment when I would have resisted rescue because of the danger that my followers were in. I might have pulled away and bidden them run before they shared my fate, but the Gods had wrapped me in trance and I had allowed them to take me from the altar.
I was a slave of the Palace of Mycenae no longer. I was out on the road with a destination and some chance of peace and delight. Now, beside me, wine cups in hand, replete with goat meat and bread, were my dear ones, my unutterably faithful Chryse and Eumides, smiling, touching me; real, not visions.
And the haughty Princess Electra and her silent brother had finally fallen asleep.
I had put the gold aside; now my movements were silent. Eumides unfastened one brooch and Diomenes the other. The chiton fell to my waist, and I lay back on my thick sheepskin mantle and held out my arms.
One face dark, on pale; golden silk and curly fleece, smooth, smooth skin, as they shed tunics and lay down beside me. I stroked them. Palm down, my hands moved along slender thigh and muscular thigh, along flat muscles which grew rigid under my touch.
It had been so long since someone had loved me that I took a moment to identify the thrill running along my nerves as a mouth closed around a nipple.
I clutched a handful of curly hair and tried not to cry out.
Then it was all firelight pictures, scenes from a Dionysiad, the Three Days when Troy was mad and lived for nothing but mating. I tasted grease and honey on someone's mouth; hands touched, slid, skin grew hot then wet as we rolled, curled, curved, pressed close. I held one phallus, hard as metal, and the other pierced me, there were thighs between mine, a strong body, a gasping breath, an urgent mouth. A heart beat wildly under my cheek, and another pulsed inside my flesh.
Then the charcoal glow blurred, and I would have screamed, but a mouth sealed mine. Oh, honey and fire, I melted into the light. Diomenes lay beside me, cradling my body against his, and Eumides on the other side shuddered and was still.
I lay in the goat-scented hut in this dual embrace and wept with pleasure and release, and they kissed my tears away.
'Lady,' said Eumides, 'we are yours now.'
'My loves,' I said, touching their flanks. 'I am yours.'
We could not bear to be apart, and fell asleep where we lay, in the warm darkness, wrapped in the mantle which was once the gift of King Agamemnon to his captive.
I woke in cool grey light. Diomenes had rolled over in his sleep and lay with his head on my thigh. My cheek rested on Eumides' chest. I was warm and sated and unable to account for what had woken me.
Eyes, for there were eyes on us, inimical, horrified. Golden eyes of the small woman clutching the boy on the other side of the room. I felt for the source of her disgust, trying to find what had shocked her, and recoiled from a burning rage, deep as a pit. I had not felt such a thing before.
I was suddenly very awake. I sat up, dislodging my lovers, and said, 'Lady, we must take the road again.'
She did not reply. The boy wriggled out of her too-tight embrace and said calmly, 'Electra, you are hurting me.'
Chryse woke, kissed the thigh he was lying on, then hauled himself and Eumides to the crouch which was all the hut allowed a tall man.
'Morning,' he stated.
'Again?' groaned Eumides, ran a hand through his hair, and smiled at me so that my heart glowed.
'Perhaps the Princess can make a fire, we'd better cook the rest of the meat, while I go out and find a leather worker. If you will give me your sandal, Lady, I'll get you some boots.'
'I can't walk further,' she said angrily.
'Perhaps, horses? Mycenae won't need them now that the treasure's in the city,' suggested Diomenes.
'I'll try. Give me four gold bracelets. And the sandals. Stay quiet, Cassandra,' Eumides said to me. 'We won't be long. The traders know us.'
It was the first time he had used my name.
Electra
The whore and the two strangers had mated in my plain sight - I had heard their breathing, their gasps, their laughter; I was revolted. Into such company my mother's actions had thrown me, and I had to rely on them, for I was so still that I could hardly move and I did not know the way to Delphi.
Therefore I said no word to the slave Cassandra as she blew into the brazier and made the coals glow. The hut, which stank of humans and goats and mating fluids, began to smell of roasting. Orestes took a skewer of meat from the fire and sat down to eat it. He was dirty and dishevelled but he seemed composed, licking his fingers as the grease dripped down.
I was not used to sitting on the ground and my legs cramped as I tried to move. I crawled to a crouch and snagged my feet on a trailing edge of my chiton. Cassandra reached out a hand and hauled me to my feet - she is very strong - saying, 'We will have to shorten these garments, Princess. Court robes are not suitable for the road. Have you a needle amongst your things?'
'I think so,' I had to talk to this degraded woman. I found two needles and gave her one, and she sat down to bundle up the hem of her own delicate robe with uneven stitches. I did not like to see beautiful weaving so mishandled, so I said, 'Let me do it.'
She smiled at me. 'I have never managed to learn sewing. I'm a healer, that's my skill,' she observed, shedding the outer robe so that I could work on it. Her body was almost bare under the northern chiton, which is slit up to the thighs on both sides, a garment that only a heterai, a courtesan, would wear.
I made a neat seam along the chiton and the undergarment, then started on my own. She watched me and commented, 'You sew beautifully.'
'It's easy,' I said, for it sounded like an honest compliment. I had not had much to do with other people. My mother's house was not happy, but it confined me in propriety to her company and those of the slaves. This woman was neither sister nor slave and I did not know how to talk to her. I had never met a courtesan before. I said, 'See? Just don't drag the needle through and it won't snag.' She began to copy my action, though she was clumsy.
'This must be your skill,' she said, sucking a pricked finger.
'You said that before. Not my skill alone, but the skill of all women. We are required to spin, card, weave and sew to supply the household. It is the mark of a good woman.'
'Good as in virtuous?' she asked, and I nodded.
'Good women do not stray abroad, gossiping; we do not visit other women and drink wine, even at festivals. We stay in the women's quarters, make clothes, supervise the slaves, and make all comfortable for our Lord when he returns.'
'I see. So you have no learning?'
'We do not need learning,' I said, a little stiffly.
She nodded and asked, 'Who tends you in childbirths? Physicians?'
'Indeed no, what an idea!' I was shocked. 'Good women never look into the eyes of a man, not even a relative, not even her husband. Midwives and wise women come to a birth. Of course, the baby is not named until the father has accepted it.'
'What if he doesn't accept it?'
I