This is the last story I heard of him, from a Chalcidian man who had been in Sicily.
Hermione.
Had he gone so far away?
Orestes.
Beyond the end of Sicily to a kingdom of the Iberians. For he vowed that he would be like Paris, and win the most beautiful of all women for his wife; for, you must know, the gods had marred all the world for him, and made it all as ashes in his mouth, except beauty. For beauty is immortal, like themselves; and they cannot hurt it. So he sought and questioned where that woman might be; and men said she was queen of a land among the Iberians.
Hermione.
[Half divining his meaning.] Had he seen her himself?
Orestes.
Ay, long ago, they said.