English fiction -- 19th century; Short stories, English
But Clytemnestra suddenly, with a kitten-like girlishness that sat but
ill upon her, pounced playfully upon the weapon. 'I want to see it
drawn,' she cried; 'I want to look upon the keen flashing blade which
has penetrated the inmost recesses of so many of our country's foes. Oh,
it won't come out,' she added, as she attempted to pull it out of the
scabbard; '_do_ make it come out!'
The King tried, but the blade stuck half way, and what was visible of it
seemed thickly coated with rust; but Agamemnon said it was gore, and his
orderly must have forgotten to clean his accoutrements after the fall of
Troy. He added that it was the effect of the sea air.
'Troy really has fallen then?' asked Ægisthus. 'I suppose you stayed to
see the thing out?'
'I did, sir,' answered the monarch proudly; 'I sacked the
most fashionable quarters myself. I expect my booty will be
forwarded--shortly. Didn't you _know_ Troy was taken?' he asked
suspiciously. 'Couldn't you see the beacon I lighted just before I
started?'
The courtier murmured that it was wonderful to find so long and tedious
a journey accomplished in such capital time.
'What do you mean by that? How do you know how long it took?' demanded
Agamemnon.
'Don't you see?' said Clytemnestra. 'Why, you say you had the fire
lighted at Ida when you started; then, of course, they would see it
directly over at Lemnos, and light theirs; and then at Athos, and
then----'
'You are not a time-table, my love,' interrupted the monarch, coldly.
'I won't trouble you for all these details. Come to the point.'
'The point is,' she explained sweetly, 'that we have only just seen the
beacon flame arrive here at Arachnæus, after leaping from height to
height across lake and plain; so that you, my dearest, must have made
the distance with almost equal celerity!'
'I came _with_ the beacon,' said Agamemnon, coughing; 'perhaps that
disposes of the difficulty?'
'Perhaps,' said the Queen; 'I mean _quite_. And now,' she continued,
after a rapid exchange of glances with Ægisthus, 'you will come indoors,
and have a nice cup of coffee and a warm bath before you do anything
else, won't you?'
He almost thought he would, he said; fighting for ten long years without
intermission was a dusty, tiring occupation, and he was accordingly
about to enter, when his eye fell on the awnings and flags and the red
stair carpet, which had been prepared for the betrothal festivities, and
he frowned.
'Now, my dear, this sort of thing is all very well, no doubt; but I
don't care about it. I'm a plain, honest ruler of men, and I hate
flummery and flattery--particularly when it all comes out of _my_
pocket! Why, you've laid down the drugget from the Throne-Room over all
this gravel. Take it up directly; I decline to walk over it. Do you
hear? This wasteful extravagance is positively sinful. Take it up!'
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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