The Children of Jocasta

Haem and I hurried through the corridors and colonnades of the palace, without anyone asking where we were going or why. The guards who seemed to have nothing better to do than stop me moving around the palace when I was alone were blinded by the presence of my cousin. We walked into the family courtyard, and Haem stopped dead. I looked at him, annoyed.

‘I give you permission to enter the women’s quarters,’ I said. ‘Come on. I need your help.’

‘I can’t,’ he said. ‘I’m risking enough bringing you back here while my father is busy elsewhere . . .’

‘Busy taking the role that my sister and I should be playing in our brother’s funeral?’ I asked. He nodded, but did not speak.

‘You know he is wrong about Eteo,’ I said. He nodded again.

‘He would never forgive me if he thought I had gone against his decision,’ Haem said helplessly. ‘I’m all he has.’

I could not reply. Creon would still have had two nephews, if he had been able to bear being the second or third most powerful man in our city. He would have a niece standing by him now, if he had not demanded that his men lock her in the cells beneath the palace. He would have me if I weren’t sneaking around behind his back to try and ensure my brother received some sort of burial, to appease his shade and placate the gods. I could feel little sympathy for Creon’s isolation. And my cousin was weak, I could see that now. His mouth had no strength, his soft jaw revealed no determination. I wondered how I could ever have thought I loved him.

I wished that Ani could help me, but whatever was happening to my sister, I could do nothing to change it. I would have to deal with my family one member at a time. Polyn was being carried to his tomb as I scurried off to my room to find what I needed. Ani would have to wait. At least I could overturn the most terrible injustice, and lay Eteo to rest. I swung open my door, and a sweet, rotten stench filled my nostrils. I knew it was him. I took off my formal dress and left it on the bed, so I was wearing only my charcoal-coloured tunic. I dug a thick scarf from my wardrobe and wrapped it around my face, to try and ward off the smell. I wondered how long I would have, before the funeral party returned to the palace. I needed to be quick. I opened the door of a small cupboard next to my bed, and groped around for the key which Eteo and I had found, all those years ago. My fingers closed round its cold edges and I exhaled. The key was the first thing.

I ran into the courtyard and towards the south corner. An old, battered door stood closed, but not locked. It contained only gardening tools: a small spade, a fork, some rope and a few other things. I took the spade and the rope and ran on towards the ice store. There was no sign of my cousin anywhere: he had ensured he could not be tainted by what I was about to do. The servants were nowhere in sight either. I rounded the corner of the deserted corridor and stopped by the door which led nowhere, to thin air. It was the only route out of the palace where I could be reasonably sure I wouldn’t be seen. As I jiggled the key into the ancient lock, I wondered if Haem knew I could get out here, or if he thought I would be trying to leave via the main gate. The key stuck for a moment, and I thought the lock must have rusted over. But eventually there was a snapping sound and the door swung open into my waiting hand. I was worried that the hinges would rasp in protest, but they were quiet.

The rope was thick and dry, but still I forced it into six fat, ill-tied knots. I passed the rope around the bars which covered the tiny window at the top of the door, and fed it through until both ends hung loose in my hands. I pulled on them as hard as I could, but the bars didn’t move. I would have to hope they would hold. I threw the spade out onto the ground beneath me, and looked around for a loose stone. I found a broken piece of flagstone just along the corridor against the wall, and pushed it into the space next to the doorpost.

I dropped the spade down onto the ground, then I took one length of rope in each hand, and jumped. I felt a quick burn on my palms as they slid down before my hands juddered into the knots. I was not so far from the ground now. I dropped down the rest of the way, bending my legs as I landed. I stumbled forward and pitched onto my knees. One of my ankles turned over on the uneven ground. But I had made it outside. And as the rope had pulled the door almost closed behind me, the stone I had wedged into the doorframe held it slightly ajar. I would be able to get back inside, when I had done what I needed to do.

I didn’t have time to stop and think about the space that opened out before me. I had been enclosed behind the palace walls for so long, I had forgotten what it was like to see the whole of things, not just squares through the windows. But while I had been thinking about how I would get myself outside – and finding everything I needed – I had been able to avoid thinking about what I was coming out here to do. I could not stand here admiring the mountains and the trees, because I needed to walk around the edge of the palace and up the hill a little. I needed to look at my brother’s broken body, not askance through a window, but standing beside him. And then I had to find a way to cover him with earth, as quickly as I could, to protect him from scavengers. I had nothing left to give him but this.

I picked up my spade, and began to walk up the hill. The palace was so forbidding from the outside, with its high stone walls and tiny windows: it faced inwards, mostly lit from within, from the open squares which poured light into the rooms along their sides. As I turned the corner of the building, I looked up the hill and there he was. I felt a horrible wave of revulsion: the gods force us to see our own death when we look upon the dead. Except it was scarcely him now, scarcely even a person. I could feel the tears running down my cheeks, as a burning sickness filled my throat. It wasn’t my brother. It didn’t even resemble him. Only by repeating this in my head could I persuade my legs to keep climbing the hill. It wasn’t him. Not my brother. Not the man I loved.

The smell of death – I tried to think of the proper words, to distract myself from what they truly described – the stench of putrefaction was much stronger out here. But at least I had prepared myself for that, covering my face once more with the scarf I had brought, breathing through my mouth, trying to set my mind on the physical task ahead of me. Still I could not prevent myself from collapsing to my knees and retching onto the ground. A body should be wrapped. My brother should have been kept in linen. He should be under the earth.

I hadn’t anticipated the noise. There was a humming sound, like a distant buzzing, angry crowd. But the crowd wasn’t distant at all: they were flying around him, crawling over him, defiling him further, as though the insults, the injuries he had sustained had not been enough. They swarmed around his neck, feeding off the blood which had coagulated around the fatal wound. I drove my nails into my palms as I forced myself to see that his eyes were gone: two blackened sockets were all that remained from the sharp beak which had enucleated him, my brother, my poor blinded brother. I could see the birds, sitting on the hillside above me, waiting for me to be gone so they could get back to their vicious work. I wanted so much to run away, to turn and shoot back down the hill, the way I had come. But I knew I had to dig next to where he lay: I wouldn’t be able to carry him on my own. I could look at him no longer. So I turned my back on the brother I loved, and I began to dig.

For a while, I thought it was hopeless. It was hard to guess how much time I had before Creon and the funeral party returned to the palace. And even harder to guess how long it would be before any of them noticed that I was missing. Creon had planned the celebrations of Polyn’s life in the main square this afternoon; he would expect me to be there, certainly. But it was possible that his argument with Ani this morning had put him off the idea of a full wake. My shadow was shortening all the time, but I had scarcely shifted enough earth to cover my own hands. I didn’t know what Creon would do if he caught me out here. But it scarcely mattered now. What worse could he do to me than this? I kept digging.

The ground was dry, and so hard I was worried it would break the edge of the shovel I was using. But gradually, I found myself standing next to a pile of earth, though every muscle in my arms was screaming for me to stop, and my back ached from bending over. The sun was almost directly overhead now, it must be close to midday. I knew I should run back to the palace, as Creon would be back shortly. But I could not. I had done too much to give up now. If he slammed me into prison with my sister, so be it. Part of my mind would not be quiet, reminding me that it wasn’t my own safety I should worry about: it was Ani’s. What if Creon decided to punish her, as a way of punishing me? But I silenced the question: this is what Ani wanted, as much as I did. She was in no position to perform the task herself, but she would never forgive me if I valued her comfort over that of my brother. And I would never forgive myself. My parents were dead: I could never have another sibling. I would see Eteo into his grave, into Hades, where he belonged.

I dug more soil, more and more, and finally I had made a hole which looked like it could contain him. I turned to face the boulder against which my brother was resting. No, not resting: that was what a man would do. And this was not a man, not my brother, not any more. It was just a thing, a thing I needed to place in the ground to appease the gods. I crushed every instinct which told me not to touch the dead, to shy away from the insects and the ruination. I walked around to his flank – not his, its – and knelt down. I begged my brother’s forgiveness, closed my eyes, and pushed. His body slid away from me, and lurched towards the grave. I opened my eyes a little, to see how far he had moved. Then closed them again as I shoved him once more across the small patch of ground. Finally, I heard the thudding sound of him dropping down into his grave. I opened my eyes, and realized I was crying so hard I couldn’t see anyway. My brother was in the last home he would ever have.

It didn’t take much longer to cover him over and pile the earth on top. I left a gold ring on his blackened hand to pay Charon for the ferry. I muttered a short prayer to the gods, asking them to be sure that the earth would lie light above my brother. Then I found five large stones, each the size of two fists, and used them to mark the head of the grave. It was a poor memorial, but it was the best I could do. And it was enough.

I had been gone for too long, I knew. I ran back around the palace wall, and hid the spade in the grass beneath the door: no one would see it from outside the palace, and I couldn’t carry it back up the ropes. My arms were so tired from digging that I wondered if I could climb at all. But I needed to get back inside and this was easily the quickest, safest route. I reached up and pulled on the two ropes, making sure they would still take my weight. I twisted one below the other, once and then once more, and spread my arms wide to tug the loose knot as high as it would go, so that the cords were bound together. Otherwise, when I rested my weight on one of the knots, the ropes might easily slip from my hands and slither free of the bars at the top.

I reached above my head and pulled myself up until my feet found the first knot. I gripped the ropes tightly, and moved my foot until I found the next one, a few hands above the first. I reached my left arm up and then used my right to heave myself up another foot. My shoulders were burning less than my biceps, but I held on and kept climbing. Once my feet were on the final knot, I could grab the stone floor beneath the door to take my weight, lean forward and push the door open. It groaned quietly and slid away from me. With one last wrench, I dragged myself onto the flagstones and lay panting on the ground. I was trying to listen out for servants or guards who might find me, but I could only hear my own breath. After several moments, I raised myself to my knees and then my feet. I kicked the stone away from the door jamb and reached into my pocket for a small knife which had once belonged to Eteo. I hacked through the ropes and let them drop to the ground, pushed the door shut and locked it with my key. I hurried back down the corridor and saw that the courtyard was quiet. I scuttled across to my room just in time for Haem to step out of the north colonnade and call out.

‘There you are, Isy. Are you awake at last? My father is waiting for us in the main square. I sent word that we would be there as soon as we had each had time to wash and refresh ourselves.’ He was walking towards me as he spoke, so by the time he had finished his sentence, he was close enough to mutter, ‘You have grass stains on your legs and you need to get all that soil off your hands. As fast as you can. We don’t have long. He doesn’t know you’ve been outside. Is it done?’

I nodded. ‘I’ll be quick.’

And as I changed my clothes and scrubbed my knees and elbows clean and tried to force a comb through my sweaty hair, I wondered how long it would be before Creon discovered that Eteo was safe, under the earth. And what he would do when he found out.