Discord's Apple

4

That night, Troy slept, drunk with wine and celebration. Sinon climbed to the top of the wall and lit a torch, the signal for the Greek army to return. Then he went to the main square, where the horse stood. Wide streets led out from the square, giving easy access to the heart of the city and its riches. As he watched, a door on the horse’s belly swung out, and Odysseus dropped to the ground.

He spent a moment stretching arms and legs, easing the cramps from sitting motionless all day. Nevertheless, he drew his sword in a heartbeat when Sinon approached.

“Easy,” Sinon said, his arms raised. “I’m a friend, I think.”

Odysseus’s gaze widened. “Sinon, thank the gods!” They met in two strides and embraced. Odysseus stank of sweat and bodies, from being locked in close quarters with a dozen other men. But they were here, within the walls of Troy.

“You lit the torch?” Odysseus said, stepping back to grip Sinon’s shoulders.

“Yes.”

“Then we should open the gate. The army will be here soon.” The man’s eyes blazed in the dark of night. Sinon grinned, though his swollen face felt stiff.

A short hour later, Troy was on fire.

Sinon didn’t fight much. He’d done his part for the final battle, had gathered enough wounds, and found that he was too weary to do more. He’d be more of a hindrance than a help, lagging behind while the army pillaged the city. Troy was rich. There’d be plunder enough for all. Right now, all the treasure he wanted was rest.

He found a vantage at the temple of Apollo, a rotunda built on the highest hill. He hiked the steps to the portico and leaned on a column. From here, he could see most of the city. The fires started on a few roofs had swallowed entire blocks. He smelled the smoke, thick and caustic. The Trojans had been caught off guard. They ran out of burning buildings, fleeing in blind panic from bands of Greek soldiers. The Greeks, identifiable by the waving crests on their helmets, scoured the streets. Screams, shouts, the clanging of weapons and armor, drifted to him here.

The streets ran with blood. As well they should. The Trojans had been safe behind their walls for too long. Now let them suffer for their pride.

Sinon crossed his arms and mused.

Something bronze clattered on the marble floor behind him. He grabbed his sword and looked.

A woman reached for the dagger she had dropped. Her black hair was unbound, streaming in tangles down her shoulders. She wore the white tunic of a priestess, dusted with soot and blood. She limped, and her face was bruised. She was crying, the sobs coming in dry gasps.

She held the knife like she was thinking of lunging at him, and her face twisted in anguish. “I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you!”

He gripped his sword, but kept it low, not to threaten but to guard, to show she couldn’t reach him before he could defend himself. “I think not.”

“Then there is only this,” she said, and lay the point of the dagger on her own chest.

He jumped at her and knocked the weapon out of her hand before she could drive it through her ribs. Screaming, she fell away from him, pawing at him, as if his presence pained her.

She’d been raped, of course. There probably wasn’t a woman in Troy who’d reach morning unscathed.

“You’re Cassandra,” he said, finally recognizing her.

Huddled against the next column, she steadied her breathing. “And you’re the liar.”

He started to argue, but he knew what he’d done. What name he’d earned for himself. Two sides to every battle. To the Greeks, he was a hero. But theirs was not the only story to tell. “Yes.”

“And you want to have your piece of me as well.” She spat the words.

“No,” he said, and meant it. She was pitiable, trembling on the ground, hugging her tunic tight around her shoulders. She’d dropped the knife because her hands were shaking.

“You’ve changed the world today, Liar. Think what you could have done if you’d told the truth. All the people who would be alive now. The city would still be alive.”

They both looked over the nightmare below them, the inferno and the battles that carried on from house to house.

“And what of the Greek dead? Paris brought this on you when he took what was not his,” Sinon said.

Cassandra shook her head. “It was the gods. The gods have played us. Do you see them? I do. Athena fights for Odysseus, there, guiding his spear. And there is Aphrodite, going to save her son, Aeneas. And Poseidon, shaking the walls of the palace. Do you see them?”

Sinon didn’t, but her words painted a picture: giants among men, the gods and goddesses of Olympus moving people like they were game pieces.

He sat down, leaning against the column next to hers. “They say you’re a seer. A prophetess, but that no one ever believes you.”

“I am cursed,” she said, forming a vacant, mad smile. “I told them the horse is hollow and filled with Greeks. They laughed. Ridiculous. And it is, of course it is! I speak, I tell, I plead, and they never listen. And they wonder that I’m mad.”

He chuckled, a soft, ironic noise.

She looked sharply at him. “What?”

“And there I was, lying with every word I spoke. And they believed me.”

She covered her mouth. He thought she was going to start crying again, that the gesture was to hold back tears. But the skin around her eyes crinkled, and she laughed.

“We’re an awful pair,” she said. She looked away, but the smile lingered.

They sat together until dawn. When the sky began to pale with the rose-colored fingers of dawn, he found the courage to say, “I could take you home with me. They—” He nodded to the smoldering city, its streets now paved with bloodied bodies, an occasional scream still tainting the air. “—they will be making slaves of all the women. I could ask for you. I know it is not—it is not what you would wish. But I would be kind. I promise, I could protect you—”

She was already shaking her head, as he expected.

“I’m bound for another. Fate has measured out my thread to a frayed end. But—thank you. It is an . . . unexpected kindness that you offer. As kindness goes in these times.”

He wanted to say more. He felt like he ought to say more, to defend himself and the sacking of the city. She seemed to be mocking him.

A small group of Greeks climbed the path up the hill, flushing out the last of the stragglers. Below, on the street leading outside the city, the warriors were herding the surviving women and children. They were a weeping mass of bodies, clinging together, shuddering. Crying like sheep. No men were left alive.

Cassandra saw this scene as well. She hugged the marble column, pressing her cheek to the ridged stone. “I don’t want to go.”

He stood, straightening his sword belt, smoothing his tunic. “I’ll go with you, if you like.”

“It won’t help. Nothing will help, don’t you understand? I’m already dead.”

He waited for the soldiers, standing by Cassandra as if he had captured her himself.

A trio of the Greeks reached the temple. One of them spoke to the others, then stepped forward alone. He still wore his helmet, masking his face and giving him an inhuman expression. His tunic, breastplate, and arms were covered with blood.

“Sinon! Sinon the Hero!”

Sinon raised his hand in greeting. He didn’t know him, but he shouldn’t have been surprised that this one knew his name. He supposed he was famous now—the man who cracked the walls of Troy with a lie.

Smiling broadly, the newcomer stared at Cassandra. “I hope you haven’t spoiled this one too badly. King Agamemnon has asked for her. She’s the most beautiful of Priam’s daughters.”

One couldn’t tell by looking at her now. Tears and soot streaked her face, which was still contorted from crying. Her hair was tangled, her clothing soiled. But her eyes still shone with spirit. Sinon remembered her from the day before—had it only been a day?—shouting, defiant: He is lying!

“She’s mad, you know,” Sinon said.

“Hmph. So she’s lost her mind. That isn’t what the good king wants her for.” The soldier moved to grab her.

Before he could reach her, Cassandra struggled to her feet, pulling herself up against the column. Sinon reached to help her, but she shrugged away from him. She kept her gaze on the helmeted soldier, glaring at him like she could peel back his skin with a thought.

“He is dead. Your King. Your Agamemnon. He doesn’t know it yet, but he is.” Scowling, the soldier again went to take hold of her, but she evaded him, circling the pillar, keeping the stone between them. “He doesn’t know what’s been happening at his home, but I do, and he is already dead. We’re all dead. All of us.”

Then she looked at Sinon, her dark eyes lit with madness. “Except for you.” Her gaze narrowed, her head tilting curiously. Wonderingly, she said, “You don’t die.”

She was mocking him again. Except she never lied. And she was a prophetess. But the phrase could mean anything. It could be a symbol. Men made careers interpreting the phrases of oracles. It could mean anything.

“Come on.” The soldier caught her at last, his fingers digging into her arm. She didn’t make a sound, didn’t struggle at all. He dragged her down the steps, and Cassandra stared at Sinon until they reached the street and traveled out of sight.

Slowly, Sinon followed, descending the steps carefully, as if he walked on coals. The world had changed this night. Language itself had changed, and he didn’t understand the sounds he heard on the air.

Before he could raise his foot to leave the temple stairs and start on the path down to the city walls, an arm closed around his neck in a lock. Sinon grabbed the arm, trying to pull away, but his attacker was too strong, unnaturally strong. He dragged Sinon back up the steps as easily as he might have pulled a feather. The unseen man—for he was unseen, Sinon craned his head back, rolled his eyes to try to gauge the stoutness of the arm that held him so tightly, and saw that nothing held him at all—gripped him firmly, locking him against his body. Sinon was trapped, immobile, his head tilted far back, his lungs struggling to draw breath.

A voice, taut with anger and sweet with power, said at his ear, “Hera promised Cassandra to Agamemnon. But I will be compensated for the loss of my priestess, and you have desecrated my temple with your presence. You are mine, mortal. I will have you, Liar. You will feel what is being done to the women of Troy. You are now a slave.”

The arm released him, only to grab the front of his tunic and slam him to the marble floor of the portico. Sinon’s head bounced, his teeth cracking. His vision flashed as pain seared his skull.

For a moment he saw the invisible one who attacked him: a man, thick golden hair crowning a beautiful, smooth-cheeked face and brushing perfect, sculpted shoulders. His glaring eyes were the pale blue of the sky.

Sinon winced. “Apollo!”

Apollo grinned and hauled him inside the temple.