They had been present at her burial, when they had taken her body to the grave circle of their ancestors, placed coins on her eyes and bade her a safe passage to the underworld. There would be no one there she would recognise, Clytemnestra realised, as she attempted to drown the images of her dead daughter in wine. Her grandparents had passed over the river Styx, but she had never met them. And a brother she had not even known existed. It should be a parent’s job to go first, to welcome their children to the next stage of existence. But as much as she thought about joining her daughter, she
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