Thyone
Aegisthus was not prepared for what he would find when he finally summoned the courage to enter the megaron. He had known what she planned, or dimly grasped at it; it was not like her to reveal her thoughts to anyone. Nor could he say truthfully that he was displeased at the idea. Agamemnon had been a louse, to be crushed under his toes. Mycenae should, by right, belong to his branch of the family, not these sick, puling Atridae.
All the same, there was something about seeing her, tall and pale as a lily and covered in blood, that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up, prickled his arms with goosebumps. She still carried the axe, holding it tightly as though it were a child, and blood occasionally dripped from it to stain the hem of her chiton: no laundress would ever scrub that from the embroidery. There was blood on her face as well, a great dark splotch of it across the bridge of her nose, and when Aegisthus reached to wipe it away, she gave him such a terrible look that he forbore and drew back.
He could see that some of her fingers were stuck together from blood: Agamemnon's, or the Trojan woman's, or maybe both. The words stuck in his throat; he could hear his heart hammering in his ears, scarcely able to believe that now it had all come to fruition. "So…ehhh…I'm to be King then, eh, Clytie?"
"No." He had always thought that her voice sounded a little harsh when she addressed other people, but had never imagined that she would turn her scorn on him. "You are to be the prince consort. I will rule, as I have done for the past decade." She paused, tilted her head as though listening for some faint sound—footsteps in the hallway? "I have developed a taste for power, Aegisthus."
"That isn't what we agreed on! You knew I wanted to be King! You went back on me!" How just like a woman, Aegisthus thought briefly. "You killed them for me, Clytemnestra. For me!" Had she been lying about everything else, then? Was he to be next? Slim though she was, she must have been able to lift that ax and strike the death-blow, and if she had already killed them both, she would not balk at killing him. For a moment, Aegisthus contemplated fleeing.
"You fool!" Her voice rang out in the silent hall. Drawing herself up to her full height, Clytemnestra quivered with divine rage. "You bumbling, nattering boob. I did not kill them for you. I did nothing for you. You forget yourself, little boy."
Ordinarily, at this juncture, there were a number of things Aegisthus might have said—most of them along the lines of bitch!—but something about her reminded him of the old statues of the snake-goddess, and he did not dare to cross her. As he took a step back, she brushed imaginary lint from her skirt with sticky fingers, leaving dull red traces.
"I shall set all things to rights," she said quietly, and then swept out the doorway, into the light of day.