News came to me this morning by a rider that Clytemnestra has killed Agamemnon in his home. A most terrible crime that begs of vengeance. I have yet to deliver the news to brother, but I fear how he will react. My feelings for Ere have only grown in the past years, but now this changes everything. I must make sure that I am there for him and make sure that I act in his best interest, not mine. As much as I would like to stay with him, I know the things that he must do, the revenge that he must take which may separate us.

In the afternoon, I walked to the training grounds. Brother was practicing with the sword. His chest was bear, sweat off his well-toned muscular skin reflecting the light of the afternoon sun. His smile when he saw me outshone that sun, and my heart ached at the news that I am to deliver. I wasn’t sure how to do this, so decided to be direct.

“The war has ended,” I say, and I see that his eyes were filled with hope but also trepidation.

“But I am sorry to say that the worst has happened in your house, Clytemnestra struck down Agamemnon in front the people of Argos and declared herself queen with her lover Aegisthus.”

He sat down, there in the grass. I sat down beside him and let the silence stretch. Eventually, I spoke: “Brother, know that I will be with you whatever you decide to do.”

He nodded, and suddenly hugged me while sobbing quietly. I returned his hug and held him there. I cannot imagine how hard his heart must ached, but I do understand his dilemma. The murder of a father, by our ancient traditions, demands the blood be repaid. And the murder of a mother, by the same traditions, demands death or exile. It was a sacred obligation bounded up with the most atrocious crime: he who wanted to be right was placed between two hideous things, to either be the traitor to the father or the slayer of the mother.

Dinner in the family was quite that night, for we all knew what brother had gone through. Though mother at first warned me against a close friendship, she has also grown to like Ore. How could she not, Ore was a good son, even though not in his own household, and mother was fundamentally a good woman. We all felt for him, though none of us had real advice. Near the end of dinner, as we were about to retire, bother spoke up.

“I shall pack my belongings,” he said, “and journey north, to the oracle at Delphi. Perhaps Apollo’s true words can grant me guidance in this time of turmoil.”

“And I will join him,” I say. My mother shot me a pained look, while father grimaced.

Brother shook his head. “This is my duty,” he said, “and my duty alone. I cannot ask anyone to accompany me on this, especially since I may need to perform a terrible deed. If the oracle says that I need to…” He shook his head, “the stain of this crime will taint all those around me, I cannot ask of you to accompany my dear brother.”

I reached forward and grabbed his face so that he couldn’t avoid my gaze. “Listen,” I say, “wherever you go, you shall not go alone. I will always be by your side, remember? In good times or otherwise.” He didn’t speak, but simply nodded.

I can feel that my parents have something to say, but I know I wouldn’t want to hear it. I turned to them and poke before they could say anything.

“You’d sooner convince the morning tide not to break than convince me out of this,” I say. Then I turned back to my brother, “and that includes you as well.”

My father sighed and I can hear that my mother was about to weep. I could not bear to see this pain that I am causing, so I grabbed Ere and bid them good night. “We will need rest for the journey ahead,” I explained.

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The next morning, when our servants have made sure all were prepared for, I bid farewell to my parents, and rode off with brother. We had no guards to accompany us as we have decided already that if Apollo decided Clytemnestra should die, then that would be the case. None of the guards wanted to help someone commit matricide, for it was the greatest of sins and sure to draw the wrath of the gods. So it was that we rode off with no one but each other.

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Luckily we had plenty of coin and so slept in inns instead of under trees or bushes. Our coin we kept hidden, we also dressed plainly, and showed our weapons in the open so that we were not targets for bandits. For two days we rode north, until we arrived at the port of Corinth. There we decided to sleep before catching a ship in the morning.

That night, when I was in my bed, I heard a shuffling sound. At first, I thought nothing of it; probably just Ere getting up since he had one too many cups of wine at dinner. But then I felt brother’s hand next to mine. I suddenly became wide awake, and just in time as well. There was a swooshing sound above my head as I rolled, and then the sound of metal against the wooden bed. I turned and saw a cloaked man beside the bed. He had two daggers, one was in the bed, and the other he still held in his hand. That one he plunged towards brother and without thinking I lunged at him.

I pushed him out of the way, and I fell onto the floor. The assassin was now on the floor beside me but his dagger still in his hand, it was red with blood and I feared that the worst had happened. The fear of losing Ere took hold of me, and it was so strong that I didn’t even try to defend myself as the stranger turned his dagger towards me.

Swoosh. Suddenly there was a dagger in the assassin’s throat. He gurgled a few times on his own blood, but then died quietly. I looked up, and saw brother there, his face red with blood.

“Py, you ok?” he asked.

“You are the bloody one,” I said.

He wiped at his face, then looked surprised to see that there was blood. I cleaned his wound with the bedsheets and the wine we had in our room. It was a shallow cut, and clean, probably didn’t even need stitches. It was going to leave a scar on his handsome face though. Now that I knew his life wasn’t in immediate danger, my brain was able to turn to these sorts of thoughts.

“Why are you smiling?” He asked, “we almost died.”

“Almost,” I agreed, “but we didn’t, and I am just happy that I still get to be here with you.”

He then eased up as well, but then became serious again. “I don’t think there is much room to doubt who sent that assassin.”

“There are only two people in the world that would benefit from you being dead,” I say, softly, for I know that it must hurt him to think of his own mother’s betrayal. I was about to use the phrase “happy to see you dead,” but thought better of it at the last second.

“We should leave now,” he said, “Delphi is just one boat ride away, and the longer we stay the more anger we are in. We also need to make sure that we keep away from cities on the way back to avoid something like this again.” I agreed and we packed our stuff. We left coin in our room enough for the room and the mess in there. Arriving at the port, there was no ship scheduled, but we bribed a fisherman with enough gold to buy himself a new ship so he’d ferry us across the strait.

It was early morning when we arrived on the shores, and noon when we climbed the mountain Parnassus. The view was magnificent, the steps leading towards the grand temple, with the sun directly above it. It is not difficult to see why our people thought this place the center of the world. When we finally arrived at the marble-clad temple, there was but a short wait. It was said that in the days of old that the line waiting to see the Pythia, the high Oracle of Delphi, would be so long that it reached the base of the mountain, and that people had to wait days if not weeks to get their prophecy.

This was probably because consultation with the oracle was free those days, when the temple was supported by optional donations. Somewhere along the way, a financially-oriented Pythia decided to charge a consultation fee, claiming that the money was used for upkeep of the their good favor with the gods through sacrifices. Judging by the golden domes of the temple, that money was also used for other things as well.

But we were prepared with coin, and when it came to our turn we handed a small bag filled with gold. It is funny that those at the temple still pretend that the fee is optional. For they ask you kindly whether you would like to give an optional donation, yet you can be sure in knowledge as the rise of the sun that if you decline they will tell you the high Oracle is busy at the moment and that you better come back another time, preferably with a sizable donation.

We journeyed deep into the temple, to parts where its ancient history showed in the cracks of stone. There the High Priestess burnt incense and engulfed herself in its smoke. Then from her mouth came Apollo’s words of truth.

Slay the two who slew.

Atone for death by death.

Shed blood for old blood shed.

Exact vengeance and pay with ruin.

Truth has been spoken, and with it came despair. I supported brother as we walked down the mountainside. He knew what he needed to do, and that with his actions would come ruin.

“Last chance to ditch,” he said, “before you couldn’t be sure about what I needed to do, but now you are, and you know me well enough that you know I would go through with it.”

Then he turned to me, and softly, said “please Py, you don’t need to do this. I don’t want to you share the stain of matricide upon your soul.”

“Any stain upon you is no stain to me,” I say, “remember that we are brothers, in good times or otherwise.”

“I don’t deserve a brother like you.”

“No,” I joked, “but you need one like me.”