The Firebrand (50 page)

All the women agreed that this was a lovely name. It would be used until the princess was given a formal name by the priestesses, and informally all her life.

Then Queen Imandra beckoned Kassandra forward.

“Your eyes are red, Kassandra, and you do not seem to rejoice with us. Have you seen some evil omen for my child, that you do not share my joy?”

Kassandra cringed; she had been afraid that she would not be able to conceal her grief from Imandra’s sharp eyes. “No, Kinswoman; I truly rejoice for your happiness,” she said, bending down and kissing the little princess, “and I cannot tell you how greatly I rejoice that you are safe and well. But my eyes are always red when I sleep so little as this night; and”—she hesitated, her voice breaking—“the Gods have sent me an evil omen from Troy. I am needed there. I beg you, Kinswoman, grant me leave to depart at once for my home.”

Imandra looked distressed, but the pain in Kassandra’s face softened her anger. She said, “In this weather? Winter is approaching, and the journey would be terrible. I had hoped you would remain to help me raise my daughter. I had little luck in raising Andromache to be Queen after me. I put small faith in oracles or omens, yet I can deny you nothing on a day when the Goddess has sent me this beautiful daughter. Yet it is not my leave you must obtain, but that of Serpent Mother. It is to Her, not to me, that you are sworn here. And you must wait at least until I can gather gifts to be sent to Troy; for Andromache and her child, and for my kinswoman Hecuba, and not least, for you, my dear daughter.”

Kassandra had known this would be required, and she told herself that the catastrophe she had foreseen could not be so imminent that a day or even a week could make so much difference. The dues of kinship and courtesy should not be ignored for one who had been so good to her as Queen Imandra. Yet her heart rebelled; everything which held her back from Troy now seemed hateful to her. She was sure that Arikia would chide her for disloyalty; but there was no other honorable thing to do. They had given generously of their knowledge and friendship; she could not, after all, steal away from Colchis like a thief.

So she braced herself and went to take leave of the Serpent Priestess.

DURING THE night and the long next day, while wagons and beasts and gifts and all that she would need on the long road to Troy were being made ready, Kassandra had time to regain some degree of calm, if only because she could not remain at that fever pitch of dread and terror and live. While she knew that the Gods had summoned her to Troy to meet whatever might be her destiny, it never occurred to her that remaining in Colchis might serve to avoid it; history was full of tales of those who selfishly thought to avoid their destiny by neglecting some duty, and inevitably brought upon themselves the very fate they feared.

The vision might not mean catastrophe; it might even mean that Apollo would not tolerate the war as it was being waged. Perhaps He would force them to some kind of truce, and all would be well.

So in the end, although truly sorry to part from Colchis and the freedom and honor she knew there, she set forth three mornings later with a high heart, glad—or at least, not sorry—to be on the road again.

THEIR JOURNEY began at the earliest daylight, the three women riding in a strong cart drawn by mules which Queen Imandra had provided. As the cart trundled down through the city, all was dark except for sparks from a forge, where a burly woman blacksmith worked. Adrea and Kara were openly jubilant that they were going home, although they spoke with dread of the long miles of the journey, and the dangers of bandits and Kentaurs as well as of mountain passes deep in snow, and roving wild men or women who might think they bore riches—or who would find their simple supplies of food and clothing riches enough.

Kassandra rode silently, already missing her friends in the Temple of Serpent Mother, both human and reptilian, and sorry to leave Imandra. It was hardly likely that they would meet again in this world.

As they passed through the iron gates of Colchis, a few flakes of snow were sifting down, and the skies were gray and sullen. Light grew, though the sun did not appear, and Kassandra took a last look at the high gates of the city, gleaming red in the grayish dawn light.

There could not be many women her age who had made such a journey twice in a lifetime; and if she could journey this road twice, why not three times or more? There might still be many adventures before her; and even if she rode back to Troy, there was no need to feel the walls of the city close about her again until she must.

The first night, when she and her women prepared as usual to settle down for sleep, Adrea demanded, “Are you going to sleep with that
thing
in your bed, Princess?”

Kassandra let her hand stray to the coils of the snake, warm and soft in her chemise.

“Of course. I am her mother. I hatched this snake with my own body’s warmth, and she has slept in my bosom every night of her life. Besides, it is cold at night; she would die if I did not keep her warm.”

“I would do much, and I have done much, for your mother’s daughter,” said Adrea. “But I will
not
share my bed with a snake! Can’t it sleep by the fire in a box or a pot?”

“No, it cannot,” said Kassandra, secretly filled with glee. “I assure you it will not bite, and it is a better bedfellow than a human child, for it will not wet or soil the bedclothes as a baby is likely to do. You will never sleep with a cleaner creature.” She stroked the snake and said, “You needn’t worry; she will stay close to me. I am sure she is more afraid of you than you are of her.”

“No,” Adrea said pleadingly. “No, please, Lady Kassandra, I can’t do it. I can’t sleep in one bed with that serpent.”

“Why, how dare you! She is one of the Goddess’ creatures, the same as you, Adrea.
You
will not be so foolish, will you, Kara?”

Kara said stubbornly, “I’m not going to sleep with any slimy snake, either. She’d be sure to crawl on me in my sleep.”

“She doesn’t even bite—and she wouldn’t hurt you if she did,” Kassandra said crossly. “Her teeth aren’t grown yet. What a fool you are.” She lay down, idly caressing the snake’s head, which stuck just a finger’s breadth out of her chemise.

“If you had the sense the Gods gave a
hen,
” Kassandra said, “and would just
touch
her, you’d know she’s not slimy at all, no more than a bird; she’s very soft and smooth and warm.” She thrust the snake, draped over her hand, at Adrea, but the woman recoiled with a squeal. Kassandra lay down, stretching out on her pillows. She said, “Well, I am weary, and I shall sleep, even if you two make fools of yourself by sleeping on the cold floor of the wagon. Make what beds for yourselves you will, but turn out the lamp and let us all sleep, in the Goddess’ name.
Any
Goddess.”

THEY WERE soon out of sight of Colchis, riding through the winding hills and past a succession of little villages. The days grew progressively colder, and fine snow was beginning to sift down, melting as it fell.

One morning, riding almost before the sun was up, Kassandra heard a strange, insistent wailing cry.

“Why, it’s a child, and by the sound, a young one; what’s a baby doing alone in this wilderness, where there could be wolves or even bears?” she said, and got down from the cart, looking around through the falling snow for the source of the sound. After a time she saw a bundle of coarse-woven fabric on the hillside: a small, well-made girl, its navel-string not healed, a dark fuzz covering its head.

“Don’t touch it, Princess!” said Adrea. “It’s just a baby been exposed from one of the villages; some harlot who can’t raise a child, or some mother with too many daughters.”

Kassandra stooped and lifted the baby. It felt icy cold in spite of its wrappings, but still kicked strongly. As Kassandra held the infant against her breast, the warmth soothed it somewhat, and the wailing ceased; it began to squirm around seeking to suck.

“There, there,” Kassandra said soothingly, rocking the bundle. “I’ve nothing for you, poor child. But I’m sure we can find something for you to eat.”

Adrea said, horrified, “Why would we do a thing like that? Surely, Princess, you aren’t thinking of keeping it?”

“You would be eager to get me married,” Kassandra said, “to have a baby, and now I can have one without breaking my oath of chastity, or suffering in childbirth. Why should I not take this daughter whom the Goddess has sent directly to me?” The baby felt warmer now, and dropped off to sleep against Kassandra’s breast. “Surely it is a virtuous deed to save a child’s life.”

She had said it at first to tease Adrea; but now she began to think of the inconvenience and trouble, when the woman said, “How are you going to feed it, Princess? It’s not old enough to chew hard food, and you’d have to get a wet-nurse somewhere, and drag her along all the way to Troy.”

“Not at all,” Kassandra said, thinking it over. “Go to that village there, and get a good healthy nanny goat, fresh in milk. Babies thrive on goat’s milk.” Adrea’s face contorted in dismay, and Kassandra said, “Go at once; such food will be good for all of us. Or keep my snake while I go. . . .”

Thus admonished, Adrea ran for the village and came back with a young black-and-white nanny goat, strong and healthy, which at once set up a racket with its bleating. Neither of the waiting-women knew much about milking goats, but Kassandra showed them how to do it, and when they had milked a good bowlful, she fed the baby with milk dripped off the edge of her finger. The child sucked enthusiastically and collapsed again into sleep, still pulling on Kassandra’s finger, a warm lump in her arms. Kassandra took a piece of cloth and rigged a sling so that when she rode the donkey the baby could travel with her on her saddle, clinging to her neck like the babies of the Amazon mothers. She decided at least for the moment to call the child “Honey” because, clean and warm and full fed, she had a sweet smell like honeycomb.

At least it would give her something to think about on the long road to Troy. And when she got there, if it did not suit her to have a child to bring up, she would make a present of her to the Queen, or to one of the Temples; young girls were always useful for the endless spinning and weaving that must be done in all households.

At first Adrea and Kara made scornful comments about “your roadside brat,” but soon they were quarreling over which one should carry Honey on her lap on the long stretches in the cart, singing to her and telling her stories which she was too young to understand. She grew plump and pretty; they combed her curly hair into ringlets and made her dresses from their own clothes. Kassandra soon could not remember what life had been like without the little girl clinging around her neck when she rode donkey-back or snuggling in her lap when she rode in the cart. She seemed quickly to know who was her mother; the women were kind to her, but she would always leave them (even if they were feeding her sweetmeats) to go to Kassandra’s arms. She slept curled in the back of the cart on the longer stretches of the journey, with Kassandra’s snake curled up beside her, and often wanted to carry it in her own dress. When the women protested, Kassandra only laughed.

“See, she has more sense than you; she is not afraid of one of the Goddess’ creatures. She is born to be a priestess, and she knows it.”

Days stretched into weeks on the road as they retraced the long journey. When they came to the great plain, they kept a sharp eye out for Kentaur bands. Kassandra hoped to meet with them; she had a weakness for the riding folk, although both the waiting-women and all the escort and drivers hoped they would be spared any sight of them. But they encountered no living Kentaur, although one evening they saw a dead horse in a ditch, and clinging to him, the thin, twisted body of his rider, cold and dead; the bones, almost protruding through the skin, told them that the poor fellow had died of starvation and cold.

Kassandra’s heart twisted in pity, though her driver and the women said it was good riddance and wished all his fellows a similar fate.

One evening, as they were setting up camp, Kassandra caught sight, far off, of a little group of riders: a single old man, withered and deformed from years in the saddle, and half a dozen of what seemed to be children but were probably undernourished half-grown boys. Kassandra could not tell for certain, but she thought it might be Cheiron. She motioned to them, and called to them in their own language, but they would not approach; they kept circling slowly around the camp, too far away to see clearly, or to hear what they were saying.

“We had better set a watch,” one of the drivers remarked, “or while we sleep they may approach the camp and murder us all. You can never trust a Kentaur.”

“That’s not true,” said Kassandra. “They won’t hurt us; they are much more afraid of us than we are of them.”

“They should all be done away with,” said Kara. “They are not civilized men.”

“They are hungry, that is all,” Kassandra said. “They know we have food and beasts; our nanny goat alone would give them the best meal they have had this year.”

In spite of the disapproval of her women and the escort, she would still willingly have given them gifts and food, and tried to attract them near for some time, but they kept a wary distance, circling on their horses, and did not approach the camp. So as they settled down for the night, one or two of the men kept watch; and Kassandra lay awake thinking of the Kentaurs out there in the dark on their horses. In the morning, she left some loaves of barley bread and a measure or two of meal in an old cracked pot her party was ready to discard.

As they rode away from the camp, Kassandra saw that the Kentaurs were approaching; at least they would get the food—which might postpone death by starvation for only a little while.
To Honey,
she thought,
it will be only a legend, and everyone will tell how evil they were. But there was wisdom there, too, and a way of life we will not see again. Will the Amazons also go this way?