The Firebrand (72 page)

“No, Father,” she said, “and I will go unarmed if you will, or weaponed; have you forgotten I was trained as a warrior?”

“No,” Polyxena said in her childish voice, “no weapons, Sister; we go barefoot with our hair unbound, praying for his mercy. It will flatter his vanity to have us kneeling at his feet. Go and robe yourself in an unadorned white tunic without embroidery or bands, and comb out your hair—or better yet,” she added, seizing the scissors from Paris, “cut it in token of mourning.” She hacked vigorously at her long reddish curls, disregarding her mother’s cries of protest. Then she began to cut away Kassandra’s, and as Kassandra looked, shocked, at the waist-length tresses lying on the floor, she exclaimed, “Do you begrudge Hector your vanity?”

I wouldn’t if I thought it would make a fingernail’s worth of difference to Hector
, Kassandra thought, but was wise enough not to say the words aloud. She let Polyxena take off her rings and the necklace of pearls she wore; her sister then stripped off her own jewels. Priam kept only one large and beautiful emerald ring on his finger—a gift for Akhilles, he said—and removed his own sandals. Kassandra took a torch in her hand, and Polyxena another, and with their father they went down from the palace. At the gates of Troy, Priam bade his servants turn back.

“I know you do not want to desert me,” he said, “but if we cannot do this alone it probably cannot be done at all. If Akhilles will not listen to a grieving father and sisters, he would not listen to the whole armed might of Troy. Go back, my children.”

Most of them wept, and cried out with grief and fear for him; but at last, one by one, they turned back and the three suppliants went through the opened gates, and began moving deliberately, by the light of their two torches, across the plain.

The ground was still muddy underfoot from the last night’s rain; and it was very dark, for the sky was covered with thick clouds which now and then opened to show a withering moon. Kassandra shivered in her plain robe, the cold rising up through her muddy feet, and wondered if the sky would open for a further downpour. Such a useless errand, and yet if it gave peace of mind to her father, how could she refuse?

Priam moved slowly, she noticed, with a pain at her heart, as if his legs would hardly carry him and he were borne along by his strength of will alone.
Will this, then, be his death? Oh, damn Hector for having the bad luck and the bad sense to go and get himself killed!
she thought, stumbling along behind Polyxena with her eyes so full of tears that she could hardly see where she was going.

Was Hector still here on this plain, bound somehow to that lump of decaying flesh tied behind Akhilles’ chariot? Why did he not come and speak with them, forbid his father to humble himself to Akhilles? No, Hector had bidden her farewell and said they would not meet again. If she had told her father and mother that she had seen the ruin of Troy, would they have believed her? Or would it have made them even more eager to see all things done in order while there was still time enough?

A solitary watchman challenged them: “Who goes there?”

Priam’s voice sounded thin and quavering; Kassandra had never realized quite how old and feeble he sounded.

“It is Priam, son of Laomedon, King of Troy; I seek a parley with the Lord Akhilles.”

There was a muttering of voices, and after a time a lantern flashed on them.

“My lord of Troy, you are welcome, but if you have an armed guard you must leave them here.”

“No guard at all, armed or unarmed,” Priam said. “I come only as a suppliant to Akhilles; my only company is my two young daughters.”

It made them sound, Kassandra thought, as if they were little girls, not grown women past twenty. As if explaining this, Priam added, “They are both sworn priestesses, one of Apollo and one of the Maiden; not the wives of warriors.”

“Why are they here, then?”

“Only to support our father if his steps should stumble by the way,” said Polyxena, as the torch flashed in their faces.

Kassandra added, “I am known to the Akhaian captains; I was present at the negotiations for the return of Chryseis, daughter of Apollo’s priest.” After she said this she wondered if she should have mentioned it; Akhilles had not come out of that encounter so well that he would wish to be reminded of it.

But the watchman evidently didn’t know or didn’t care about that. He said, “Let them come, then,” and lowered the torch, saying, “Follow me.”

He led the way across the ground, rutted by chariot wheels, toward the light that streamed from the tent of Akhilles. Inside was warmth and even a certain degree of comfort; chairs covered with furs and skins, tapestry hangings and a table spread with fruits and wine. Akhilles sat at the center of the tent, looking as if he had arranged himself to give audience. At the far end of the tent, in the shadows between the light of half a dozen lamps, lay the shrouded and mummified figure of Patroklos, just as Kassandra had seen it in her vision. Nearer the door stood Agamemnon, and beside him Odysseus with a cup of wine in his hand; they looked as if they had been set up for a tableau. Akhilles was apparently just fresh from his bath; he looked very clean, his skin as pink as a little child’s; his hair, which had been cut short, silver-gilt in the light, was being combed by a slave, whom Kassandra recognized as her mother’s woman Briseis. As his gaze fell on Priam, he put up his hand to stop the combing, and the woman drew back.

“Well, my lord of Troy,” he said, his thin lips stretching back in what Kassandra thought of as a grin of contempt, “what brings you out on a night like this?”

As if he didn’t know perfectly well!
But it was obvious to all of them that Akhilles was all set to enjoy this. Priam came forth into the lantern light; Kassandra and Polyxena drew together, watching him. Priam knelt clumsily down, extending his hands in a pleading gesture toward the younger man.

“Oh, my lord Akhilles, I am sure I need not say to you why I have come; I beg you to yield up to me what is customary and proper, and give me the body of my fallen son Hector for proper burial.”

Akhilles’ facial muscles barely twitched into a slight smile. Priam rushed on, “You are so valiant, sir; you have fought long; but all these years of battle, we have returned your dead to you that their bodies may be given to the fire and their spirits sent off properly to the Afterworld.”

“Hector angered me,” Akhilles said. “He really should not have had the arrogance to go up against me, whom the Gods have sworn to protect.”

Priam stopped and swallowed; he could not think what to say to that. Kassandra clenched her fists under her hanging sleeves.

Priam said at last, “My lord Akhilles, a warrior challenges the finest opponent he can. And he has fallen; you who are so powerful, can you not be merciful to Hector’s wife and child as well?”

“No,” said Akhilles, “I can’t.”

He stopped, and Kassandra could hear them all listening for his next word; but he was so silent for so long that she thought he intended to leave it at that. But then he said, “I have sworn that I will have the revenge that has been given to me.”

Priam leaned forward and laid his hands on Akhilles’ knees. His words rushed out of him.

“Prince Akhilles, you must have had a father once; can you not for your own father’s sake be merciful? Hector was the eldest of my sons; I was proud of him as your father must have been of you. And when the gallant Patroklos fell in battle, Hector did not seek to keep his body; he honored a brave fallen foe! He came to the funeral games for Patroklos, because, he said, Patroklos would not begrudge him a good dinner; and he said that he looked forward to having much to talk about with Patroklos in the Afterlife. They were both warriors, and when the battles of this world were over he trusted they would be friends as fellow warriors. Let us lay Hector to rest as you will bury Patroklos.”

Akhilles looked toward the shadowed corner of the tent, and Kassandra saw that his eyes were suddenly filled with tears. She could see emotions chasing themselves over his features: hatred, scorn, pity, sorrow; but the sorrow predominated. Her father had evidently found the one thing that might cut through the arrogance and scorn. Akhilles said slowly, “You are right, my lord of Troy; Patroklos has a friend, then, in the Afterlife. Guard!” he snapped out. “Go out and bring us the body of royal Hector!”

The soldier bowed to the ground and fled.

Akhilles said, “What of a ransom? What ransom do you offer me, then?”

Priam muttered, “That is for you, noble Akhilles, to say.” He drew the ring from his finger and set it on Akhilles’ finger. “First I offer this as a gift to you with my thanks.”

Akhilles stroked it consideringly. He said with his cruel smile, “I suppose Hector is worth more to you than a few captured chariots.”

The madman is enjoying this.
It was obvious to Kassandra that he was contemplating something outrageous. Priam mumbled, “I have sworn that I will pay without haggling whatever you ask, Prince Akhilles.”

Akhilles rubbed his chin, evidently intending to extort the most drama he could from the scene. “Agamemnon—what should I ask for ransom?”

“Get a good one,” Agamemnon said carelessly. “The King of Troy can afford anything you ask; his city has half the riches of the world within its walls.”

Odysseus interrupted and said clearly, “Your nobility will be measured by your generosity, Akhilles; will you allow a Trojan to outdo you in generosity?” His face was turned away; Kassandra thought that he was ashamed. She wished that they could have dealt with Odysseus alone.

“It’s easy to see what a friend to the Trojans you have always been, Odysseus,” said Agamemnon. “I have not forgotten how we hardly persuaded you to fight on our side at all.”

“Half the riches of the world,” murmured Akhilles, looking greedily at the ring. “But still, I do not want to be too greedy; what would I do with half the wealth of the world? I will ask, then, only the weight of Hector’s body in gold.”

“You shall have it,” said Priam, unflinching. “I have sworn.”

But this is unsufferable,
Kassandra thought;
no such ransom has ever been asked or paid in the whole history of warfare.
Only Akhilles would have ventured such a thing. Odysseus made a sharp movement as if he were about to protest; but he did not speak. Kassandra knew why: a wrong word might touch off Akhilles’ madness, and then there would be no ransom at all.

Priam said, “It shall be weighed out before your eyes at dawn before the walls of Troy, Prince Akhilles, to the last ounce.” Priam bowed so that Akhilles could not see the angry contempt on his face.

Akhilles smiled; he had what he wanted, and he had it before his allies.

“Will you drink with me to the bargain, then, my lord of Troy?”

“Thank you,” Priam said; it was all too obvious he would rather have spat in Akhilles’ face, but he raised the cup the prince set in his hand and took a few swallows, after which he passed the cup to Polyxena and then to Kassandra, who put the cup to her lips without drinking; she knew it would choke her.

“May I then have Hector’s body, that his mother and sisters may ready it for burial?”

“It shall be returned to you washed and decently shrouded, anointed with oil and spices, at dawn before the walls, when the ransom is paid,” Akhilles said.

“Akhilles, in the name of Zeus Thunderer!” Agamemnon burst out. “The King of Troy makes no niggling bargain! Give him what he came for!”

“I did not think a father would wish to look on the body as it is now,” said Akhilles, deliberately, watching Priam’s face as he spoke.
(A cruel child, pulling the wings off nesting birds.)
“I would have it made seemly for his mother to look upon.”

“My Lord Akhilles is as kind as we believed all along he was noble,” said Kassandra quickly.
Yes, just exactly as we believed.
“Let it be so. At dawn then, Lord Akhilles,” and she pulled at her father’s sleeve. Priam’s head was bent, and he was weeping. She steadied him, and Polyxena took his other arm as they went out of the tent—quickly, so that Priam would not hear the laughter of Akhilles behind him.

AS Soon as they returned to Troy, Priam set all the people of the household to frenzied activity, stripping the palace of golden ornaments, demanding the golden necklaces, earrings and rings of the women and gold cups from the table, even before he opened the treasure room, and had the gold carried up to the walls.

Priam sent for a priest from the Sun Lord’s Temple to rig up a pair of scales. It was Khryse, and for once he was genuinely too busy to take the slightest notice of Kassandra as he worked with pulleys and weights. She watched him work, understanding the principles of what he was doing, but knowing she had not the skill with her hands or knowledge to do it herself. When he had the strange-looking balance strung up, he asked her to lie on one of the platforms so that it could be tested.

“Just pretend you are a dead weight,” he said.

“As you like.” She took her place, watching as the people of the household piled gold on the other part of the scale. She was surprised at the smallness of the heap that balanced her, lifting her slowly into the air. He saw her look and said, “Gold is heavier than most people think.”

She was sure Akhilles knew to the fingerweight how much gold he would be getting. She began to sit up as they took off the gold and piled it up.

“Your weight in gold, Kassandra,” Khryse said: “if it were mine, I would offer it all to you for a bride-price.”

She sighed and said, “Do not begin that again, my brother.”

He looked crestfallen. “Must you always destroy any hopes I might have for happiness in this world?”

“Oh, if what you want is a wife,” she said with an angry laugh, “there are women enough and to spare in Troy.”