She was the first to leave the sanctuary, as night was falling. Her driver was waiting for her, holding by the reins a couple of horses as white as the dust on the road. Helen was to go last, after allowing some time to pass. Clytemnestra approached her before taking leave herself. The sanctuary was dark by then and nothing could be seen but the image of the goddess crowned in pale light, although the priestess continued her woeful chanting.

‘Have you seen anything strange among the things that Menelaus brought back with him from Ilium?’

‘What do you mean?’

Clytemnestra smiled and her lips twisted into a kind of grimace. ‘You know. They say that this wretched war was not fought over you, but over something else. .’

Helen did not turn. ‘The talisman of Troy?’

‘But then it’s true,’ gasped Clytemnestra. ‘It was all done for the mad dream of endless power. . that is why Iphigenia was sacrificed, her throat slit at the altar like a lamb’s. .’ Her voice trembled and her eyes filled with darkness; her forehead was creased and drawn. She bowed her head and gathered her thoughts in silence, then said: ‘Aigialeia had all of Diomedes’s comrades killed and requisitioned all their booty. She searched everywhere. She was evidently looking for something.’

‘Yes,’ nodded Helen. ‘The same thing.’

‘But you must certainly know then. . Who took it? Was it Diomedes? Menelaus? Ulysses perhaps? Or maybe. . perhaps it was Agamemnon. He was the great king, after all.’

‘If Agamemnon had had it, how could it have escaped you? No one got away, as far as I’ve been told. .’

‘Many of his ships managed to set sail that night; we do not know where they went. No one has seen them since. Could destiny mock us so? Could it have been on one of those very ships?’

‘I do not know who has the talisman of Troy. I know that many that night were looking for it: Diomedes, Ulysses, Ajax, perhaps even Agamemnon or Menelaus. . there’s only one person who surely knows where it is to be found: princess Cassandra, who is your slave, I believe. She was the priestess of the temple.’

‘She’s dead,’ Clytemnestra said.

‘Dead? But why?’

‘She was his lover. I killed her.’

‘How could you have done that? What did it matter that Agamemnon had a lover? You have destroyed the only chance we had to learn the truth.’

‘What is done is done. Maybe Menelaus knows something nonetheless. It won’t be difficult to find out if you use your wiles. . You must learn everything before making him die.’

‘Why do you desire that thing so? By wanting it, you’re making us like them. Seeking power for power’s sake.’

Clytemnestra was pale, and her forehead was damp: ‘I must know why this war was really fought; I must know, at any cost.’

‘Tonight I will go naked to Menelaus’s bed, and I will be wearing the perfume you have given me. You will soon know whether your design will be brought to completion. And you will know all the rest, if there is anything more to know. But how will you remain silent, until then? Menelaus will surely demand to see the burial place of his brother, and will immolate a sacrifice to his shade. How will you explain his death? Will you shirk your own part in it?’

‘Perhaps it would be better to kill him at once.’

‘Impossible,’ replied Helen. ‘He is always accompanied by his guard, all veterans from the Trojan war who never leave his side for a moment. I am the only person to have intimate contact with him. Should something happen to him, I will be immediately blamed, and put to death. There are many who hate me. Especially the elders, who believe that the war was fought for my sake, and reproach me for the deaths of their sons in the fields of Asia. I must convince Menelaus of your innocence. Or at least leave him doubting your guilt.’

‘I know what I can do,’ said Queen Clytemnestra. ‘I will send a legation to render homage to Menelaus and to invite him to Mycenae so he can learn the truth about his brother’s death and make a sacrifice on his tomb. He will certainly sense a trap and refuse. At this point I will no longer have to justify myself, and I can accuse him of being in bad faith. You will take care of the rest.’

‘That seems like a good solution,’ responded Helen. Clytemnestra drew close to embrace her, but Helen flicked her eyes at the men of the guard who stood observing them at the threshold of the sanctuary. ‘Better not,’ she said. ‘Farewell, my sister, may the gods enable us to fulfil our aspirations.’

They left, taking each her own road.

That same evening Menelaus met in his palace with old Hippasus, who had once been the lawagetasat Mycenae, head of the army under the Atreid king. His sons had brought him there in secret, disguised as a farmer on a hay cart.

The king approached him and clasped the old man tightly to his chest. Hippasus ran his hands over the king’s face. ‘The war has left its mark on you, my king,’ he said. ‘Where have the days gone when I would take you and your brother on my chariot to hunt boar in Arcadia?’

‘Those days are long gone, my old friend,’ said the king with moist eyes, stroking the old man’s thin white hair. ‘Days that will never come again. But tell me the reason for your visit. You certainly haven’t come all this way in disguise just to welcome me back.’

He ordered the servants to bring a seat and a stool, and told the maidservants to wash his guest’s feet. The old man sat down, while his sons remained standing behind him. There were four of them, big men all, with wide shoulders and powerful arms. The old man let the women wash his feet in a large basin filled with hot water.

‘I have come to bring you unhappy news. Your brother Agamemnon. .’

‘I know. He’s been killed.’

‘Murdered in his own palace by Queen Clytemnestra and her lover, Aegisthus; he is a monster, generated by incest. His father and his grandfather are the same person.’

The king bowed his head: ‘Much horror has gathered around our family. The house of a king is always a house of blood, but we must nonetheless do what must be done.’

‘How did you learn of Agamemnon’s death?’

‘It’s difficult to explain. I visited an oracle in the land of Egypt, where I saw, like in a dream, his body butchered and his funeral mask rise like a bloody moon behind the tower of the chasm. When I landed here and did not see him come to greet me, I understood that my dream was the truth.’

‘Diomedes is gone as well. They say that he was killed in a trap set for him by his wife Aigialeia, but no one knows where he is buried. Some say that he escaped with his fleet and took on the winter sea. Idomeneus was driven away from Crete and we know nothing of Ulysses.’

‘I am alone,’ said the king, and he spoke with a deep, low voice, laden with sadness.

‘Not all is lost. Your brother’s children, Prince Orestes and Princess Electra, are safe. Electra lives in the palace but never leaves her rooms except to pay homage to her father’s tomb. Orestes is in Phocis with your sister Anaxibia: I had him brought there myself, by one of my sons. Now that you have returned, you must put him back on his father’s throne. King Nestor of Pylus will surely give you his help.’

‘I know,’ replied Menelaus, ‘but it will be another bloodbath. How can I ask my people to begin another war? Another endless siege? The walls of Mycenae are unassailable. Tiryns could only be taken by the Giants. Certainly Aigialeia and Clytemnestra have joined to see their plot brought to completion.’

‘We will help you from the inside,’ said Hippasus. ‘Many are still faithful to the Atreid dynasty and hate the queen and her lover for the atrocities they have committed.’

Menelaus remained silent in thought as the maidservants brought more seats and prepared the tables before each one of them. Hippasus’s four sons sat and, as soon as the meal was served, reached out and devoured the large pieces of meat on the trays.