Disclaimer: No surprise surprise I do not own most of these characters or the places etc. Also I would like to state now that I don't know an awful lot about Clytemnestra's history before Aeschylus' Agamemnon so large amounts of the following story is probably full of inaccuracies so if you know better please contact me and I will be more than happy to correct it. Thanks. One more thing, this is last disclaimer I will put up but the same thing applies to every chapter. I'm just too lazy to write it out.

The Clytemnestra

The equally biased companion story to the Agamemnon

Chapter 1: Helen

"Was this the face that launched a thousand ships?"

A pair of almond shaped liquid brown eyes stared back at her in the mirror. Helen's eyes, Clytemnestra thought and scowled at her sister's eyes in her face. The scowl caused little creases to form around those beautiful eyes and they were hers again. Helen never scowled. One simply cannot afford to when one is the most beautiful woman in the world. Every frown added the possibly of more lines on that perfect face and so her twin only ever smiled. Once when she was feeling especially spiteful Clytemnestra had pointed out that one's face was more likely to get creased through smiling and that when Helen was nearing forty she would have more wrinkles than newly washed linen. Helen had fled in tears and Clytemnestra had felt a vague sense of triumph. She allowed herself a slight smile before remembering what had followed. Summoned before her father she had had to apologise to Helen before the whole court. She had never insulted Helen since but Helen had kept her smiles to a minimum, which she supposed was enough of a reward for the humiliation of the public apology.

A slight tug at her hair pulled her out of her daydreams.

"Sorry your highness," the slave arranging her hair apologised quickly. Clytemnestra dismissed her concerns and the slave continued to pin her long tresses into place. Tired of studying her own reflection the princess turned her attention to the slave. Which one is this? she wondered absently. All the slaves looked the same, rough brown skin and dark hair. There was nothing to mark one from the other; was the person tending her hair Erigone or Marea?

"Finished your highness," the slave announced and stepped away.

Slowly Clytemnestra raised her hands to intricacy-braided hair and smiled in satisfaction.

"Thank you Marea," she guessed hopefully. The slave beamed with pleasure at being recognised. "You look beautiful highness."

She didn't want to ask but the words escaped her anyway. "As beautiful as Helen?" she asked and looked up expectantly.

There was a long pause before Marea answered tentatively, "well I'm not s…"

Clytemnetra sighed. Oh course not. "Don't trouble yourself." Nobody was as beautiful as Helen. Once more she reprimanded herself: I should stop asking, but even as the thought arose she knew she wouldn't. As a child a slave had told her that true beauty comes from within. So Clytemnestra waited as thousands upon thousands of people told Helen how beautiful she was, waited for someone to see her inner beauty.

"I haven't seen the Princess Helen up close," Marea was stammering, desperate to correct her mistake. "She may not be as beautiful as everyone says she is."

Clytemnestra glowered at her. "She is."

The poor girl was almost in tears, each word she spoke edged with a sob that threatened to break Clytemnestra's fragile control. "Just forget what I asked," she said and rose stiffly from the chair and stalked out of the room. "Everyone else does sooner or later."

It was the day of Helen's wedding to Menelaus and the palace was in uproar as Clytemnestra slipped almost unnoticed through the thronging crowds who had come to gape at the most beautiful woman in the world. She wanted to be alone and there was no where inside this Helen obsessed palace where she could truly be alone so she pushed her way through the bustling courtyard towards courtyards near the exercise yard. She was only delayed once and the man who she had almost knocked over forgot her as soon as she had passed and resumed his conversation with his neighbour.

"Menelaus is a lucky dog."

"Did you try and win her hand too then?"

"Yer. You?"

"Nah, I knew I wasn't rich enough with out coming down here so Tyndareus could humiliate me in person."

Clytemnestra turned back to scrutinise their faces. One of them, the poor one, was a complete stranger but the other seemed vaguely familiar.

"I'm sure I was in with a chance but my brother turned out to be richer than I ever remembered."

Ah and the mystery was solved, the unknown speaker was Agamemnon, Menelaus' brother. He was still speaking. "I'm here today to try my luck with the sister." Clytemnestra edged closer.

"Really?" his companion asked. "I didn't know she had a sister. What's her name?"

"Two sisters," Clytemnestra hissed under her breath but neither man noticed.

"She's got two," Agamemnon replied to his friend's astonishment. "But the one I'm after is called Clytemnestra."

Behind them Clytemnestra held her breath as the conversation continued to play out. "Is she pretty?" asked the one who was not Agamemnon. Yes come on. Is Helen's sister pretty?

"I don't know," he replied to the others' disappointment. "She never comes out."

Never comes out?! Mighty Zeus give me strength! Never comes out without being over shadowed by Helen more like it.

"But if she's Helen's twin she can't be bad," Agamemnon continued oblivious to the seething presence behind him. The discussion continued for some while after that with Clytemnestra listening in until she had grown weary of Agamemnon's tedious conversation and left fuming. I will never marry that arrogant bore.

Nobody else stopped her although many times she heard gathered nobles discussing the possibility of marriage with Helen's illusive twin sister. Some of them made Agamemnon seem almost attractive in comparison; some of them didn't even know her name. As she neared the exercise yards the crowds had thinned out until she could see no sign of human activity at all. The courtyard here was one of the most beautiful in the palace grounds, it was here Clytemnestra came when she wanted to be alone. For a while she strolled along the garden path listening to the clash of sword on sword coming from the exercise yard. When she reached the centre of the garden she sunk slowly onto the little wooden bench underneath the honeysuckle. There all the anger, resentment and hurt dwelling deep inside her soul escaped her normally needle tight control and she let out a long cry of anguish and frustration. She screamed until she had no more strength left and then she collapsed onto the soft grass near the base of the tree and sobbed quietly until her brothers found her there.