The Firebrand (33 page)

“He lies,” Phyllida cried out. “I know the voice of the God—and I will swear that it was the voice only of Khryse! Kassandra has complained to me before that he had asked of her what was not lawful to give any mortal man! Later I heard him speak in the voice of the Sun Lord—”

“We all heard that,” said Charis. “The question now is which of them, or both, or neither, blasphemed.”

“I say she was guilty of refusing the word of Apollo,” said Khryse. “She blasphemed; and in the name of the God we both serve—”

“Certainly she invoked the Goddess in Apollo’s own Temple,” said Charis, “and that is forbidden.”

“I think both of them should be sent away from here,” said the old priest, “for creating a scandal.”

“I do not see why I should be punished,” Kassandra said, “for fighting a lecherous priest who would have ravished a woman who had given herself to the God he pretended to serve. As for the Goddess, I did not seek Her protection; She comes and goes as She will. I am not party to Her quarrel with Apollo.”

“I call Apollo to witness—” Khryse began hotly.

Kassandra said sharply, “And what will you do, blasphemer, if He should come to answer you?”

Arrogantly, Khryse said, “It is certain that He will not come. I sought Kassandra, yes; I serve the God, as she says she does—”

“Take care,” said Charis sharply, but Khryse laughed.

“I will take that chance!”

Charis said, “We owe Kassandra protection; the maidens of the Temple are sworn to the God, and are not to be abused by a mere man, be he priest or otherwise; and certainly not by a trick of this kind.”

There was murmuring in the room; Kassandra was grateful to Charis for speaking in her defense.

“One thing I ask,” the old priest said. “Come here, daughter of Priam. You were heard to say to him that you would not give yourself to him even if he were possessed by Apollo in truth. Did you mean that, or did you speak in anger?”

“Since the God did not come to me, I spoke only to reject one who would have raped me in Apollo’s name.”

There was a blaze of light and Kassandra raised her eyes to see the brightness where Khryse had been standing.

The deep familiar voice resonated to the corners of the room:

Beyond all question it was the voice of the God. Kassandra felt her knees loosen, and she slid to the floor, not daring to raise her eyes or speak.

The shining Form turned to Kassandra; she trembled and bowed her head.

The voice was filled with throbbing sadness; Kassandra, kneeling with her head bowed, felt within herself a surge of protest and resentment.

“Sun Lord, I only wish You could,” she said aloud. “
I
want nothing more than to be freed of that gift I did not seek!”

She bowed as if buffeted with mighty winds; her body was a battleground, her eyes burning, the dark surging waters of the Goddess raging against the blasting heat of Apollo’s wrath.

Abruptly the presence was gone; Kassandra, released from the grip of the warring Immortals, slumped to the floor. Dimly, she knew Charis bent to lift her. As if she were floating somewhere near the ceiling of the room, she saw Khryse fall, his body jerking wildly, heels drumming on the floor and teeth chattering. Blood-flecked foam burst from his lips, and an eerie cry emptied his lungs.

And serves him right,
she thought,
who thought to speak with Apollo’s power to deceive one of His own . . .

Like an echo of Apollo’s voice, she heard:

Shuddering with cold, she felt the dark waters withdraw, and came back as if surfacing from a very deep dive. She still could not speak; the priests were ministering to Khryse, while her own head still lay in Charis’ lap.

Charis rocked her gently and whispered, “Don’t cry; even if Apollo’s anger is terrible, it will be good for you to be free of this dreadful curse of foresight.”

IF KASSANDRA had felt that the reprimand of Khryse would solve anything, she was mistaken; it seemed that her peace had been destroyed for nothing.

Nor was she the only one to seem troubled; Khryse looked pale and exhausted. He was still needed in the shrine, for he had not yet managed to teach anyone except herself enough of his new method of tallying to take his place. He had already managed to make himself all but indispensable. Most of the priests were aging; no more than thirty, he was the only priest of the Sun Lord still in the prime of his strength.

It was made no easier for Kassandra that every time she saw the sun glinting on that brilliantly gold hair, she remembered the moment when he had spoken to her in the voice of the Sun Lord. What a fool she had been, after all, she thought despondently. Surely he was capable of summoning Apollo . . . or was it she, by her appeal against the imposture, who had summoned the Sun Lord to protect her against this man she so despised? He would still have been Apollo, in whatever outer form, and had she not refused him, she might now have been carrying the child of the God. But was that what she wanted? Was that her destiny, and had she refused it?

All the same, done was done, and she could only rejoice, although with a certain bitterness, over the punishment of Khryse’s presumption.
The Immortals are not mocked,
and now at least Khryse knew it.

It was no comfort that Apollo had intervened; now it was said (and of course the story had spread, first through the Temple and then throughout the city) that she had refused the God Himself, and that in return Apollo had cursed her. The truth was known only to those who had been there that night, and, she thought almost in despair, not all the truth was known even to them.

They believed Apollo had withdrawn His gift of prophecy from her. But foresight had been hers since her earliest childhood, and the Sun Lord could not withdraw it, for it was not His. He had only made it certain that her words would never be believed.

It was no satisfaction, either, to see Khryse viewed with the same half-frightened reverence as herself. At least once every day, sometimes two or three times, he would be seized and fall to the ground in the terrifying clutch of the falling sickness, to lie there shaking with convulsions. She had (though rarely) seen men and women and even children taken this way; they were usually regarded as a victim or favorite of the God. Kassandra began to wonder if this were not a sickness like any other. But why, then, had Khryse shown no sign of it before?

She took no satisfaction from these internal doubts and questions; if anything, she longed for her old childish belief. She was still constantly forced into Khryse’s company. After a time, she realized that the episode had connected them in the minds of most of the priests and priestesses—as if she had actually committed the misbehavior into which Khryse had sought to seduce her, instead of their being common victims of Apollo’s wrath.
Or malice,
she thought.

One day she was summoned to the court by Chryseis, who had been set to carrying messages within the shrine. “Kassandra, you have a visitor; I think it is the princess of Colchis.”

She came to the court and looked around to see Andromache, her child on her shoulder, dressed in the clothing of a commoner. She hurried to embrace her.

“What is happening?”

“Oh, my dear, it is worse than you can imagine,” Andromache said. “Everyone is under the Spartan woman’s spell, even my own dear husband; I tried to repeat to him what you said about Helen, and he said that all women are jealous of a beautiful woman, that was all. I think you are prettier than this Helen,” Andromache added, “but no one agrees!”

Kassandra said soberly, “It is as if she wore the girdle of Aphrodite—”

“Which, as we all know, makes men capable of thinking only with their loins,” Andromache said with a sarcastic smile. “But women too? Do you think her so beautiful, Kassandra?”

“Yes,” Kassandra blurted out, “she is as lovely as the Beautiful One Herself,” and then was shocked at herself. She murmured to Andromache, almost in apology, “Since childhood I have seen through Paris’ eyes,” and stopped. She could say nothing about the curious intensity with which she had reacted to Oenone, or Helen, not even to Andromache, who had been brought up among Amazons and would probably understand. “Someday,” she said, “I will tell you all—but for now, tell me what is happening.”

“You did not know Menelaus had come?”

“No; what is he like?”

“No more like his brother Agamemnon than I am like Aphrodite,” Andromache said. “He came, weak and stammering, and demanded that we render up Helen to him, and Priam said, laughing, that perhaps—
perhaps,
mind you—we would return Helen when he brought Hesione back to Troy with a dowry to pay for the years she remained unwed; and Menelaus said that Hesione had a husband, who had taken her with no dowry, perhaps impressed by the fact that she was the sister of the King of Troy, and
he
at least was no stealer of women from their husbands.”

“That must have pleased Father,” Kassandra said, grimacing.

“Then,” Andromache went on, “Menelaus told him Hesione would not return to Troy and suggested that Priam send an envoy and ask Hesione herself if she wished to return—without her child, of course, since the child was a good Spartan and belonged to Hesione’s husband.”

“And what said my father to that?” Kassandra asked.

“He said to Hecuba that Menelaus had played into his hands; and he sent for Helen and asked her in Menelaus’ presence, ‘Do you wish to return to your husband, my lady?’ ”

“And what did she answer?”

“She said,
‘No, my lord,’
and of course Menelaus just stood and looked at her as if she were cutting him to pieces.

“Then Priam said, ‘So, Menelaus, you have had your answer.’ ”

“And what said Menelaus to that?” Kassandra asked.

“He made matters worse by saying, ‘Will you listen to what an unfaithful whore wants? I tell you, she is mine, and I will take her,’ and he tried to grab her wrist and drag her away.”

“And did he?” Kassandra asked, thinking that if Menelaus had indeed acted with so much resolution, it might have impressed even Priam.

“Oh, no,” Andramache replied; “Hector and Paris both jumped forward and grabbed
him,
and Priam said, ‘Thank your own Gods, Lord Menelaus, that you are my guest, or I would let my sons have their way with you; but no offense shall be offered to any guest under my roof.’ And Menelaus began to stammer—with rage this time—and said, ‘Guard your tongue, old man, or you will have no roof from which I need to drag her.’ Then he said something filthy to Helen—I would not repeat it in these sacred precincts,” added Andromache with a superstitious gesture, “and flung down the cup he was drinking from and said he wouldn’t accept hospitality from a—a pirate who sent his sons out to steal women.”

Kassandra’s eyes were wide; she had never seen anyone except his own sons defy Priam.

Andromache went on, “Then Priam asked, ‘No? Then how do you Akhaians ever get wives?’ Menelaus swore at him and said I don’t know what all, and yelled to his servants and stormed out, saying perhaps if Priam would not listen to him he would listen to Agamemnon. And Paris had the last word . . .” Here Andromache began to giggle.

“Priam said, ‘Yes, when I was a boy I sometimes told someone who teased me that my big brother would come and beat him up.’ And Paris said, ‘If it comes to that, Menelaus, I have a big brother too; would you or your brother care to have a word with Hector?’ Then Menelaus stormed out, cursing all the way back to his ship.”

Kassandra, overwhelmed, had hardly heard the last few sentences; all she could think was
It has come.
Already she could see the harbor blackened with foreign ships, the world she knew torn asunder by war. She could not stop herself from interrupting Andromache to cry out, “Pray to the Gods! Pray and sacrifice! I told my father he should have nothing to do with that Spartan woman!”

Andromache’s voice was very gentle, ignoring the interruption. “Don’t trouble yourself so, Kassandra, my dear.”

“What makes you think that we will not drive the Akhaians back to the islands they hold? It was one thing for those folk to defeat the simple shepherds and landless men who held their islands . . . but quite another for them to come up against the whole might of Troy! What I say is let those Akhaians look to themselves! Are we to let them think that they can go on stealing our women unpunished, but if we touch theirs, they can punish us?”

“Andromache, are you blind too? Can’t you see that Helen is only the excuse? Agamemnon has been trying to find some such reason to come against us in war for many years, and now we have walked straight into his snares. Now we will have these iron-wearers trying to take all the lands that lie to the south of here. He will muster the full might of all these warlike people to . . . oh, what does it matter?” Kassandra sank down on a bench. “You can’t see it because you are like Hector . . . You think war leads only to fame and glory!”