The Firebrand (29 page)

But that was not her destiny; a fate was approaching her, and she must live to behold it and to endure it.

She bent to kiss Phyllida and the baby too and said, not answering directly, “We must all bear our fate; you and I and the baby too. Believe me, knowing a fate makes it no easier to endure.”

“I don’t understand you,” Phyllida said.

“I don’t understand myself,” Kassandra said, and went out into the courtyard of the Temple, overlooking the sea. She saw a ship there.... Yes, Andromache had said Paris’ ship had been sighted.

It was no part of her duty to welcome Paris to the city; but something stronger than duty drew her downward.

AS KASSANDRA walked down the long street, she saw processions forming at the ships, readying to approach the palace, and another procession coming slowly from the palace down to the shore.

Paris was driving his chariot—no doubt he had had it unloaded first so that he could make an impressive entrance to the city, in contrast to his unheralded entry to the Games. Beside him in the chariot was a female figure, her identity concealed by a long veil.

Had Paris succeeded, then, in having Hesione returned to Troy? Kassandra quickened her pace slightly so that she emerged from the city gates just as Paris pulled up before them. At the same time, Priam and Hecuba, riding in Priam’s best ceremonial chariot, drew up facing him. Hector stood a pace behind his father, looking something less than pleased, and Kassandra looked about for Andromache. Surely her friend would not want to miss all this excitement? She looked up at Andromache’s window and saw her sitting there, with Oenone standing beside her, each with her son in her arms. Even at this distance she could see that Oenone was clutching the side of the window, white-knuckled.

Paris descended from the chariot and turned to lift down the veiled woman; then he bowed low before Priam, who raised him and embraced him.

“Welcome home, my son.” He extended a hand in welcome to the veiled woman, who stood motionless beside the chariot. “You have succeeded in your mission, my son?”

“Beyond our wildest hopes.”

Hector tried to look pleased. “Then you have brought Hesione back to us, my brother?”

“Not so,” said Paris. “My King and my father, I bring back a prize far greater than that for which you sent me.”

He brought the lady forward and pulled back her veil. Kassandra gasped: the woman was beautiful beyond imagining.

She was tall and exquisitely formed, with hair as fine and yellow as the best beaten gold; her features were like chiseled marble, and her eyes the blue of the depths of a stormy sky.

“I present to you Helen of Sparta, who has consented to become my wife.”

Kassandra raised her eyes to the window where Oenone pressed a trembling hand to her mouth, then whirled and was gone, leaving Andromache staring after her in dismay. Paris glanced upward; Kassandra could not guess whether he had seen Oenone’s swift retreat.

He turned quickly back to Helen, who prompted him in a whisper; then he turned again to Priam.

“Will you welcome my lady to Troy, Father?”

Priam opened his mouth, but it was Hecuba’s voice that was heard first.

“If she is here of her free will, she is welcome,” the old Queen said. “Troy will give no countenance to the stealing and ravishing of women; else we should be no better than that vicious man who stole Hesione from us. And speaking of Hesione, where is she? Your mission, my son, was to return Hesione to our family; in that, at least, it seems you have failed. Lady Helen, have you come here willingly?”

Helen of Sparta smiled and touched her shining hair. It was long and loose, as only young virgins wore it in Troy, like a shining veil hardly paler than the fillet of gold which held it back from her forehead. She wore a tunic of the finest linen from the country of the Pharaohs, and her waist, which was narrow, was encircled with a girdle of disks of beaten gold inlaid with circles of lapis lazuli which echoed the color of her eyes.

Her body was full, deep-breasted, with long legs whose shape was just perceptible beneath the loose folds of the linen. When she spoke, her voice was deep and soft.

“I beg you, Lady of Troy, give me welcome and harbor here; the Goddess Herself gave me to your son, and She Herself could know no more of love than I have for him.”

“But you have a husband already,” said Priam hesitantly, “or did we hear falsely that you were wed to Menelaus of Sparta?”

It was Paris who replied, “She was given to him unlawfully. Menelaus was a usurper who took the lady for her lands. Sparta is Helen’s own city by mother-right; her mother, Leda, held it, from her mother before her and her grandmother. Her father—”

“Is no father of mine,” Helen interrupted. “My father was Zeus Thunderer, not that usurper who seized my mother’s city by force of arms and wed an unwilling Queen.”

Priam was still suspicious. “I know little of the Thunderer,” he said. “He is not worshiped here in Troy. And we are not stealers of women—”

“My lord,” Helen interrupted him, advancing to Priam and taking his hand with a gesture that seemed bold to Kassandra, “I beg you in the name of the Lady to extend me protection and the hospitality of Troy. For your son’s sake, I have made myself an exile among the Akhaians who have conquered my home. Would you send me back to be outcast among them?”

Priam looked into the lovely eyes, and for the first time Kassandra saw the effect Helen always had upon strangers; there was a sort of melting in his face. He swallowed and looked at her again.

“That seems reasonable,” he said, but even in so short a sentence he had to breathe twice. “The hospitality of Troy has never been appealed to in vain. Surely we cannot return her to a husband who has taken her by force—”

Kassandra could keep silent no longer. She cried out, “Now, there, at least, she lies; do you not remember how Odysseus told us that she herself chose Menelaus from more than two dozen suitors, and made the others swear to defend her chosen husband against anyone who refused to accept her choice?

“Father, have nothing to do with this woman! It is she who will bring ruin and disaster on our city and our world! What does she really want here?”

Helen’s lovely mouth opened in surprise; she made a cry—like a stricken animal, thought Kassandra, hardening herself not to feel sorry for the Spartan Queen.

Paris looked at Kassandra with angry distaste.

“I have always known you were mad,” he said. “My lady, I beg you to take no notice of her; she is my twin sister, whom the Gods have stricken with madness, and the deluded think her a prophetess. She speaks of nothing but ruin and death for Troy, and now she has chosen to think you the cause.”

Helen’s wide eyes rested on Kassandra.

“What a pity that one so beautiful should suffer madness.”

“I pity her,” said Paris, “but we need not listen to her ravings. Can you sing no other song, Kassandra? We have all heard this one before, and we are all weary of it.”

Kassandra clenched her fists. “Father,” she appealed, “see reason, at least. Whether I am mad or not, what has that to do with what Paris has done? Paris cannot marry this woman; for she has a husband, whom dozens of witnesses saw her marry of her free will, and Paris has a wife. Or have you forgotten Oenone?”

“Who is Oenone?” asked Helen.

“She is no one who need ever trouble you, my beloved,” Paris said, gazing into Helen’s eyes. “She is a priestess of the local River God, Scamander, and I loved her for a time; but she went forever from my mind on the day I first looked on your face.”

“She is the mother of your firstborn son, Paris,” Kassandra said. “Do you dare deny that?”

“I do deny it,” said Paris. “The priestesses of Scamander take lovers where they choose; how do I know who fathered the child she bore? Why do you think I did not take her in marriage?”

“Wait,” Hecuba said. “We accepted Oenone because she bore your child . . .”

Oenone was good enough for the wife of a shepherd, son of Agelaus, but not highborn enough for Priam’s son,
Kassandra thought. She said aloud, “If you abandon Oenone, you are a fool and a villain. But whatever he may do, Father, I beg you to have nothing to do with this Spartan woman. For I can tell you now that it will bring down war, at least, on this city—”

“Father,” Paris said, “will you listen to this madwoman rather than to your son? For I tell you now, if you refuse shelter to the wife the Gods have given to me, I shall go from Troy and never return.”

“No!” cried Hecuba in despair. “Don’t say that, my son! I lost you once . . .”

Priam said, looking troubled, “I want no quarrel with Menelaus’ brother. Hector,” he appealed, “what say you?”

Hector stepped forward and looked into Helen’s eyes; and Kassandra saw in dismay that he too succumbed to her beauty. Could no man look at Helen and retain his reason? “Well, Father,” Hector said, “it seems to me that you already have a quarrel with Agamemnon; have you forgotten he still holds Hesione? And we can always say that we hold her as hostage for Hesione’s return. Are we nothing but a field from which these Akhaians steal women and cattle? I welcome you to Troy, Lady Helen—Sister,” he said, holding out his hand and enclosing her small fingers in his big ones, “and I pledge to you that an enemy to Helen of Sparta is an enemy to Hector of Troy and all his kin. Will that content you, my brother?”

“If you take her into this city, it is you who are mad, my father!” Kassandra cried out. “Can you not even see the fire and death she brings in her train? Will you set all Troy ablaze because one man has no loyalty and desires another man’s wife?” She had resolved to remain calm and sensible, but as she felt the dark waters rise to take her by the throat, she shrieked in dismay.

“No! No, I beg you, Father . . .”

Priam stepped back up into his chariot.

“I have tried to be patient with you, girl; but I have no more patience now. Get you back to the Sun Lord’s house—He is the patron God of the demented; and pray to Him for kindlier visions. As for me, let it never be said that Priam of Troy refused hospitality to a woman who came to him as suppliant.”

“Oh, Gods,” she cried, “can you not even see? Are you all besotted with this woman? Mother, can’t you see what she has done to my father, my brothers?”

Hector stepped forward and dragged Kassandra, protesting, out of the path of the chariots. “Don’t stand here wailing,” he said good-naturedly. “Calm yourself, Bright Eyes. Suppose it really does come to war with the Akhaian crew? Do you think we couldn’t send them yelping back to those goat pastures they call their native land? War would mean disaster not to Troy, but to our enemies.” His voice was compassionate. She flung her head back and gave a long wail of dismay and despair.

“Poor girl,” Helen said, stepping toward her, “why have you chosen to hate me? You are the sister of my beloved; I am ready to love you as a sister.”

Kassandra jerked away from Helen’s outstretched hands; she felt that she would fall down and vomit if the woman actually touched her. She stared up at Priam in anguish.

“Oh, why will you not listen to me? Can you not see what this will mean? It is not man alone but the Gods who struggle here—and no man can live when there is war among the Immortals,” she wailed. “And yet you say it is I who am mad! Your madness is worse than mine, I tell you!” She whirled and ran toward the palace.

Her heart was pounding as if she had run all the way from the Sun Lord’s house; she felt sick and shaking, and it seemed that she was running through flames that rose around her, engulfing all the palace in the smell of burning, the smoke ... When hands touched her, she shrieked in terror and tried to pull away; but the hands held her tightly, and in a moment she was wrapped in loving arms. The darkness rolled away; there was no fire. She gazed in confusion into Andromache’s dark eyes.

“Kassandra, my dearest! What ails you?”

Kassandra, jolted out of the nightmare but not yet fully aware of what was happening or where she was, could only stare, unable to speak.

“Sister, you are exhausted; you have been too long in the sun,” Andromache said. She put her arms around Kassandra and led her into the cool, shadowed room.

“Oh, if it were only no worse than that,” Kassandra gasped as Andromache pushed her down onto a bench with soft cushions, and held a cool cup of water to her lips. “Don’t you think I would rather believe myself mad, or sun-smitten, if it meant I need not see what I have seen?”

“I believe you,” Andromache said. “I do not think you mad; but I do not believe your visions either.”

“Do you think I would invent such a thing? How wicked you must think me!” Kassandra cried out indignantly. Andromache held her close in an affectionate embrace.

“No, Sister; I believe that the Gods have tormented you with false visions,” she said. “No one could believe you malicious enough to pretend such things. But my dear, listen to reason. Our city is strong and well defended; we have no lack of warriors or weapons, or if it came to that, of allies; if the Akhaians should be fools enough to come chasing after this bitch in heat instead of saying ‘Good riddance to a very nasty piece of rubbish,’ why should you think they would not get more from Troy than they ever bargained for?”

Kassandra could see the good sense in that; but she moaned, clutching at her heart.

“Yes, Hector said something like that,” she murmured, “but . . .” She heard herself crying again, “It is the Immortals who are angry with us!” She fought desperately to bring herself up out of the dark waters.

“At least you know she is no more than a bitch in heat,” she said at last.

“Oh, yes; I saw the looks she cast on Hector and even on your father,” Andromache said. “And it may well be that she is a curse sent to our city by one of the Immortals; but if it is Their will, we cannot avoid it.”

Kassandra rocked to and fro in misery; Andromache’s quiet words and acceptance filled her with despair.