The Firebrand (58 page)

“Not a bit of it,” she said. “But it looked to me as if Menelaus had some kind of vision; he stopped fighting and stared at the wall, and Paris ran for his life.”

Hector sighed and said, “Well, it’s too late for any more fighting today; but wait till this gets around. But of course, if the Goddess intervened—even by giving Menelaus a vision—no one can blame Paris.”

But he did not sound altogether convinced.

BY TWILIGHT everyone in both armies, and most of the civilians in the city, had heard the story, which of course did not grow less in the telling.

According to most of the eyewitnesses, the Goddess had appeared on the city wall and snatched Paris from under Menelaus’ very sword, delivering him from a certain death-stroke; in one version, Menelaus had sliced Paris in one stroke from chin to pelvis, and the Goddess had healed him at a touch; She had bound up his wounds with nectar and ambrosia and transported him into Helen’s very chamber.

Kassandra, when asked, replied only that she was not sure what she had seen; the sun had been in her eyes.

Privately she was certain that somehow the Goddess had intervened. But she was no longer certain quite how it had happened, although she was perfectly sure that for a moment at least, Helen had worn the semblance of the Goddess. It would not be, after all, for the first time.

For two days the city talked of nothing but the duel, and the supposed intervention of the Goddess. Hector and Aeneas came back from councils saying that the Akhaians were insisting that Menelaus had won the duel because Paris had fled, wounded.

“What did you answer them?” Priam asked eagerly.

“What do you think? We said that it was obvious that Paris had won, since the Goddess had intervened to save his life,” Hector replied.

Kassandra, who had watched from the walls during part of the day, remembering her own arms-training and thinking that she could probably do as well as most of the Akhaian soldiers or any of the Trojans, asked, “What was that all about this afternoon? I saw two soldiers I did not know stand out for combat, and before they ever got to fighting, one of them started unarming and ended by stripping off his clothes down to his loincloth. Did they decide to wrestle instead of fighting with swords?”

Aeneas chuckled.

“Oh, no,” he said. “Do you know Glaucus the Thracian?”

“I have spoken with him,” Helen said. “He was the sailing-master of one of the ships that brought us here.”

“Well, he stood out and challenged any Akhaian to give him a fight, and Diomedes accepted. So they began calling out their lineage, in order to find out if they could meet honorably in single combat, and before they reached their great-grandfathers, they discovered they were cousins.”

“So did they decide not to fight?” Kassandra asked.

“Didn’t you see?” Aeneas asked.

“No; I was called away to the Temple. One of the great serpents is about to shed her skin, and needed special care; a serpent is blind at this time and cannot be handled by strangers,” Kassandra said.

“They agreed they must fight for the honor of it; but they decided to exchange armor. Diomedes said that his ordinary armor was not handsome enough for an honorable gift, so he sent back to his ship for a precious set of silver armor with gold inlay, and then of course Glaucus had to trade around with his comrades for a fancy set to give him a gift of equal worth. They sounded like a couple of old men in the flea market haggling over the value of some trinket, and it went on and on—and of course they did the fighting in their old battered fighting armor, with the two fancy sets hanging up to be admired. . . .”

“Who won?” asked Helen.

“I have no idea; I think they knocked each other down a time or two, and then it got too dark to see, so they embraced each other, thanked each other for the handsome gifts and went off to dinner.”

Hector chuckled. “No advantage either way, I suppose; but it passed the afternoon. Of course, we had nothing better to do anyway today; until the councillors on both sides have decided whether Paris or Menelaus won
their
duel, everything else is simply for amusement anyhow. Glaucus and Diomedes would have done better to make it a wrestling match; at least we could have had some bets on that one. I’ve been tempted to challenge Big Ajax to wrestle—he’s the biggest man on the Akhaian line. I don’t know if he can wrestle—”

“He can,” said young Troilus. “He won the garland for wrestling at their Sacrificial Games.”

“Then I shall certainly challenge him,” said Hector.

“Watch out you don’t get an elbow in the face; his specialty is breaking teeth,” Troilus said.

At dinner, Hector asked Priam, “Sire, what will happen if the Council decides that Menelaus won the duel?”

Priam shrugged.

“Nothing,” he said. “The Akhaians will refuse to accept the decision and the war will go on. They don’t want to settle; they’re not going to give in till they break down the walls of Troy and sack the city.”

“Why, you sound like Kassandra, Father.”

“No,” said Priam, “I know what Kassandra thinks.” But for once, as Kassandra raised her eyes, struck again by that terrible fear, and the vision of Troy in flames which came between her and the living world, Priam smiled at her kindly, as if to try to dispel her fears. “I have heard her say often enough that she believes that they will destroy us. But that is not true.”

“
Can
they break the walls of Troy, Father?” Paris asked.

“Not unless they can persuade Poseidon to help them with an earthquake,” Priam stated.

Now Kassandra felt it through all her body: the walls would fall to the wrath of Poseidon, His earthquake. She should have known all along that no ordinary efforts of men could break the walls of Troy; only a God could tear down the great high citadel.

“Then we should sacrifice to Poseidon as soon as possible,” Hector said, “for He is the only God who can help us.”

“Yes,” Kassandra said quickly, “let us make sacrifices at once to Poseidon and beseech Him to aid us in our cause! Is He not one of the guardian Gods of Troy?” Not knowing what she was going to say until she heard it flooding through her mind like a scream of anguish, she cried, “Paris! You—oh, beware of the earthquake! Sacrifice to Poseidon! Make Him pledges, for it is you He will destroy—destroy—destroy!”

She stopped herself by main force, actually clamping her hands across her lips. Priam scowled at her in anger and disgust.

“Haven’t we had enough of this, Kassandra?” he demanded. “Even at your mother’s dinner table? Can’t you even make up your mind which God is to destroy the city? I really think you must be mad.”

She could not speak; the lump in her throat was so great that it took all her strength merely to breathe. She swallowed and felt tears flooding down her face. Helen came and wiped her face with her veil, and the tenderness in the gesture disarmed Kassandra so that she could only stare at her brother’s wife and whisper, “It is you He will destroy.”

“My poor girl,” Hecuba said, “the Gods still torment you with these visions. Leave her alone, Helen; there is nothing you can do for her. Kassandra, get back to the Temple; among your companions there, I am sure that the priests have remedies against such seizures as this.”

Priam said firmly, “Never again prophesy here, Kassandra. I have spoken; so let it be done.”

Unable to control her sobbing, Kassandra rose and ran out of the hall, fleeing up through the streets. After a time she became aware of footsteps following her upward, and she redoubled her pace, but the steps quickened to follow her, and then gentle hands seized her and brought her to a stop.

“What’s the matter, Kassandra?” asked a man’s voice. She gasped in panic, and at first struggled wildly against his grasp; then, realizing it was Aeneas who held her, she relaxed and stood silent. “Can’t you tell me?” he asked. “What’s really wrong?”

“You know what they say: that I am mad,” she said dully.

“I don’t believe that for a moment,” Aeneas said. “Tormented by a God, perhaps; but not mad, nor anything like it.”

“I don’t know the difference,” she said. “And I cannot keep silent; when the Sight comes to me, I must speak. . . .” She heard her own voice shaking so that the words were almost indistinguishable.

“Perhaps,” Aeneas said gently, his arm around her, “all those who see farther than the rest of us are considered mad by those who can see no farther than tomorrow’s breakfast. When you ran away, I was afraid for you—afraid you would fall and hurt yourself. I do not for a moment believe that your wits are astray—you seem perfectly sensible to me; nor do I see why it should be considered madness to warn our people that the Gods are eager to destroy us. Ever since I came to Troy it has seemed to me that we are under the shadow of one angry Immortal or more, and I too seem to smell the danger of destruction on every wind.”

He kissed her gently on the cheek. “Now, can you tell me what it is that you see?”

She looked him straight in the eye, filled suddenly with certainty. “I have seen that you will survive the danger; I have seen you leave Troy alive and unwounded.”

He patted her shoulder gently. “That is good to know, of course. But that is not why I asked you. Come, let me take you up to the Sun Lord’s house.” They climbed silently for a few moments. Then he said, “You truly feel there is no hope for Troy in this war?”

“I knew that the moment Paris brought Helen here,” she said, “and believe me, this is not malice; I have come to love Helen dearly, as if she were my own sister born. I knew it when Paris entered Troy’s walls at the Games; Hector was right to wish to send him away, but for the wrong reasons. Hector feared that Paris would try to make himself King; but that was not the danger. . . .”

Aeneas stroked her cheek. He said, “I do not share your Sight, Kassandra, but I trust you; you are speaking the truth. You may be mistaken, but you are not doing this from malice or from madness. And if this is what you see, of course you must say what the Gods have given you to say.” They had reached the Temple gate; he embraced her and said, “When you speak, I will listen always, I promise you.”

“I think,” Kassandra said, “that some Immortal began this war—but I think Aphrodite has had Her chance to aid or to destroy us; and now it seems to us that it is not She, but the strife of other Gods that threatens us. When Father said that no mortal could pull down the walls of Troy, I knew he spoke the truth. It will not be to the hands of the Akhaians that we will fall, but to the hands of the Gods; and I do not know why They should destroy our city.”

“Maybe,” said Aeneas, “the Gods do not need reasons for what They do.”

She whispered, “That is what I am beginning to fear.”

THE CLIMATE of Troy was considerably warmer than that of Colchis; the serpents Kassandra had brought from Imandra’s city were more active here, and she spent much of her time caring for them.

For this reason, she did not hear immediately when the Council determined that neither Paris nor Menelaus had won the duel, but that a truce would be proclaimed while it considered the matter further. Kassandra knew it would make no particular difference—both sides were resolved to continue fighting—so she paid little heed. She was still concerned with the serpents when the word came that the fighting had been resumed. Later, someone told her that the truce had been broken when one of the Argive captains—later claiming that the Maiden Goddess had prompted him—had shot an arrow at Priam, which pierced his best robe and came near to killing him.

A few days later, from the safety of the wall, she and the other palace women watched the gathering of Hector’s forces, both chariots and armed foot soldiers. She heard among the women that Aeneas had accepted a challenge from Diomedes, the Akhaian who had fought with Glaucus.

Creusa did not take it very seriously.

“I have not heard that Diomedes is a fighter to worry about,” she said. “This nonsense about exchanging gifts—what was that except an excuse for talking instead of fighting?”

“I would not count on that too much,” said Helen. “Granted, that day they were both playing a game; but I have seen Diomedes when he is really set for fighting, and I think perhaps he is stronger than Aeneas.”

“Are you trying to frighten me, Helen?” Creusa asked. “Are you jealous?”

“My dear,” Helen said, “believe me, I have no interest in anyone’s husband but my own.”

“Which one?” asked Creusa unkindly. “Two lay claim to you, and no one in Troy talks of any other woman.”

“I am not to blame if they have nothing to do but mind the affairs of their betters,” Helen said. “Tell me, is there any woman in Troy who claims I have spoken one word to her husband that could not be repeated before my mother and his?”

“I do not say that,” Creusa muttered, “but you seem to take pleasure in showing yourself to all men as the Goddess—”

“Then your quarrel is with
Her
and not with me, Creusa; I am not to blame for what She does.”

“I suppose not—” Creusa began, but Kassandra interrupted.

“Of course not; don’t be silly, Creusa. Is it not bad enough that the men down there are at war? If we women begin to fight with one another too, there will be no good sense left anywhere in Troy.”

“If the Gods and the Goddesses are quarreling, how are we to remain free of entanglement?” asked Andromache. “I think perhaps the Gods take pleasure in seeing us fight, as They take pleasure in fighting Themselves. I know Hector’s greatest pleasure is battle; if this war stopped tomorrow, he would weep.”

“What troubles me is that he seems to welcome it,” Helen said. “One would think he sought to be possessed by Ares. Kassandra, you are a priestess; is it true that men can be possessed by their Gods?”