“I can’t see the distinction,” said Menelaus. “To all intents he did it himself.”

“Yes,” said the gate-keeper, “there isn’t much difference, but I thought what little there is might comfort Hermione.”

“If he didn’t kill her,” said Helen, “who did?”

“His sister, Electra.”

“You don’t mean he let his sister do it for him?” said Menelaus.

“It’s only a rumour—the messenger says no one knows just how it was done. You see, Electra hasn’t been living with her mother and Ægisthus, whether she wouldn’t, or they wouldn’t have her, you can guess for yourself. As soon as Orestes had killed Ægisthus, he hurried to the little house where Electra was staying—I believe she was married or something; I remember she was in a peculiar situation, anyway—and Electra had asked her mother to call on her early that morning. Clytemnestra came, not suspecting the hospitable invitation, and Electra welcomed her cordially, then got her to enter the house, where Orestes was concealed, and there they killed her. Which one actually did it, you’ll have to ask Orestes.”

“Don’t tell us any more!” said Menelaus. “The further you get, the worse it is. They betrayed her through hospitality. They asked her to come to her daughter’s home, to kill her! You can’t think of a sin they haven’t committed! To reverence your parents comes first, with any people who are above the beasts; next after that comes the duty to the guest.”

“That’s how Orestes felt long ago, the time I wouldn’t let him in,” said Eteoneus. “He thought we were completely demoralised because we weren’t hospitable. But I suppose he and his sister excused themselves by remembering the way Clytemnestra welcomed Agamennon home from Troy; she went through the motions of hospitality, too. On the other hand, you could say that he was a husband, and the laws of hospitality didn’t apply.”

“Eteoneus,” said Helen, “what reason have you for thinking that Electra did the killing?”

“Why, that idea sprang up from things Electra said afterwards. When the vengeance was complete, they had the bodies of Ægisthus and Clytemnestra brought out, and called the people together to tell them what had happened—they were paralleling Clytemnestra in that, you see. But when the crowd gathered, Orestes and Electra couldn’t get their mind off their dead mother lying there; they both collapsed, you might say, pretty badly, Electra worse than her brother, and they accused themselves publicly. The messenger says it was awful to listen to. Electra kept saying she did it, and though Orestes claimed a share in the guilt, he didn’t contradict her. But you can’t judge by things said at such a moment.”