The Firebrand

CHAPTER 20

After all the noise and excitement of the wedding the House of the God seemed even more silent and peaceful, more separated from the disturbances of ordinary life. Ten days after Creusa's wedding, Kassandra was summoned again to a celebration at the palace: for the birth of a son to Hector and Andromache, Priam's first grandson.

"But it is not Priam's first grandson," Kassandra said. "There is Paris's son by Oenone."

"That's as may be," the messenger said, "but Priam chooses to call Hector's son his first grandson and as far as I know the King has the right to choose who he'll name his next heir after Prince Hector."

This was true, but, Kassandra thought, it is hard on Oenone to see her son passed over as was his father. So she chose not to attend the naming-feast.

She had come to treasure the peace and calm of the Temple and resented anything which broke into it, but she got leave to pay a visit to Andromache. She found her in the elaborate suite with the murals of sea-creatures, sitting propped up on pillows, the small red-faced baby in a wicker basket at her side. She looked healthy and blooming, with a good colour in her cheeks, and Kassandra was relieved; so many women died in childbirth or soon after, but Andromache looked quite well.

"What is all this nonsense about Hector's son?" she asked, only half joking. "It was you who went to the trouble of carrying him for the best part of a year, and you who went through all the pain and fuss of birthing him. I would call him Andromache's son!"

Andromache grimaced, then giggled. "Maybe you have the best of it, being sworn to the God and forbidden to men! After all that, I am in no hurry to welcome Hector back to my bed. Childbirth is a much overrated pastime; I would as soon wait a few years before I try it again. And they say women are too fragile to handle weapons for fear of wounds? I wonder how brave my dear Hector would have been in this battle!"

Then she chuckled. "Can't you hear it now - we change all the customs and bards will make ballads about the bravery of Hecuba, mother of Hector! Well, and why not - she has triumphed in that battle at least a dozen times, which means she has more bravery than I ever hope to have! They tell us about the delights of marriage, every girl is brought up to think of nothing else; but the delights of childbearing we are left to discover for ourselves. Ah, well—" she leaned over, grimaced with the pain of movement, and beckoned to one of the servants to put the baby into her arms; the look of delight on her face as she held him close belied her words, "I think my prize of battle is worth more than the sack of a city!"

"Well, I should think so," said Kassandra, touching the tiny curled fist. "What will you call him?"

"Astyanax," said Andromache. "So Hector desires. Did you know that when he is carried down to the naming-feast, he will be laid in Hector's shield and carried that way? Imagine it -what a cradle!"

Kassandra tried to visualise the infant laid at the center of Hector's great war-shield; suddenly she shuddered and went rigid, seeing the great shield, and the child - how old was he? Surely too young for a warrior! - his broken body laid out as for burial. It was like a wave of icy water; but Andromache, happily holding her baby at her breast, did not see.

Kassandra closed her eyes in hopes that that would drive the bloody sight away. "How is it with Creusa?"

"She seems happy; she says she cannot wait to be pregnant. Shall I tell her all of what lies in store for her?"

"Don't be unkind," said Kassandra. "Let her enjoy her first happiness; there will be time enough for everything else later."

"You are right; there are enough old witches who try to spoil things for young brides by warning them of everything in store for them in the fullness of years," Andromache agreed. "And no matter what, I would not have wanted to miss my little darling." She buried her lips in the baby's soft neck, and snuffled at him ecstatically. As when she had seen Phyllida holding her child, Kassandra was touched and almost envious.

"Is there any other news?"

"Yes; the ship of Paris has been sighted; a runner from the mountain lookout came to tell the King so," said Andromache. "He is your twin, but I do not think him so much like you."

"I am told we are much alike in looks," Kassandra said, hesitating. "I do not think we are much alike otherwise. There are some who think him the handsomest man in Troy."

Andromache said lightly, stroking Kassandra's hand, "I am not among them, of course; for me no man is the equal of Hector, whether in looks or otherwise."

This pleased Kassandra; she felt herself responsible for this marriage and rejoiced that Andromache was content with her husband. And Hector had no reason to be dissatisfied either.

"And everyone thinks you beautiful," Andromache went on, "but I do not think your face would well suit a man: it is too delicate. I do not remember that you were as like as that; is he so girlish then?"

"I don't think so, and surely he is manly enough, for he won so many events at the games," Kassandra said. "He is a fine archer and athlete and wrestler, and a very devil in a chariot. But I think," she added with a touch of mischief, "if we were matched on the field, he would be no better warrior than I."

"My mother said," Andromache remarked,"that you had the soul of a great warrior in the body of a field mouse."

Kassandra giggled, and put her face down to the baby Astyanax; she felt she had somehow wronged him in giving way to her visions.

"May all the Gods bless him, and you too, my dear," she said.

"Will you not stay to drink to his good fortune at the naming-feast?"

"No, I think not," she said. "I will come home, perhaps, for a day or two when Paris returns. For now I will go and embrace my mother, and then return to the Temple."

She took an affectionate farewell of Andromache, knowing that she was closer to her than to any of her own sisters, and went briefly to Hecuba for her blessing. Then she went to the simple rooms at the back of the house where Oenone dwelt with a couple of servants, quiet girls who had been, she knew, votaries of the River God.

Oenone was curled up in a hammock nursing her son; Kassandra came and embraced her, aware of the woman's fragility; it was Oenone, she thought, and not herself, who had the spirit of a warrior in the body of a field mouse. Oenone seemed so delicate that she would break at a touch.

"Are you well, my sister?" Kassandra asked, using the word deliberately. She was certainly fonder of Oenone than of Creusa or even Polyxena. But when she was close to her she felt again that disturbing impulse to caress the girl, and because she did not know whether this was her own emotion or Paris's, it made her diffident and shy with Oenone.

"I would have come to visit you when I was here for Creusa's wedding, my dear; but they told me you were not well enough for guests," she said.

Oenone smiled and returned her embrace. She said, "Well, now that Andromache's son is born and Hector's place is secure, I need not fear for my son."

Kassandra was shocked. "Surely there is no need to fear for him—"

"Surely I hope there is not," Oenone said, "but Hector managed to be rid of Paris and I do not think he welcomes Paris's son or has any reason to love him."

"I think surely you misjudge Hector," Kassandra said. "He has never shown any jealousy of Paris—not to me."

Oenone laughed and said, "Oh, Kassandra, I do not think you know how much everyone values your good opinion and wishes to show you only their very best side. If Hector felt so you would be the very last to know."

Kassandra blushed. To turn the conversation aside she picked up the baby and dandled him in her arms. "He is pretty," she said. "Is he like his father, do you think, or like you?"

"It is too soon to tell," Oenone said. "I should hope he would be like my own father, true and honorable."

Kassandra sensed the disappointment in the words, more strongly perhaps than even Oenone herself knew. She said, "He may well be like you; and then none can question his goodness."

"Only time will tell whether he or Hector's son is best fitted to rule over this city; and I truly rejoice that he will bear no such burden or such fate."

Kassandra said quickly, "Oenone, never envy the fate of Hector's son."

"What have you seen?" Oenone asked apprehensively. "No, do not tell me; I heard what you prophesied at Andromache's wedding. I wish for no such blessing on my son… Paris's son."

"Yes, I was talking about that with Andromache," said Kassandra. "At least among the Amazons a son may bear his mother's name; Hector would be the son of Hecuba—"

"And my child son of Oenone, not son of Paris of the house of Priam," said Oenone. "Fair enough; yet in your city only the son of a harlot bears the name of his mother and not of his father."

Kassandra said gently, "None could call you so, Oenone, and so I would bear witness." Yet the words were meaningless for she had no power to change matters; Andromache had been pledged to Hector before all of the city, where Oenone was Paris's wife only by virtue that she had accepted him with her father's blessing.

"Oenone, who was your mother?"

"I never knew her name," Oenone said. "Father told me she died young. She too was one of the priestesses of the River God's shrine."

Yes; women who bear the children of Gods are more nameless even than the children of men. She kissed Oenone and promised to send her son a gift; on the way back to the Sunlord's house, she had plenty to think about. If there were men like Aeneas in the world, there might be others she would be willing to marry.

Later that morning she was in Phyllida's room, holding the fair-haired baby while the young mother folded an armful of freshly washed napkins and blankets. She had taken off the baby's swaddling bands so that he could kick freely and was holding the small chubby feet in her hands, admiring the soft perfection of the tiny toes and nails, putting her face down to the little feet to kiss them and caress them with her lips. She blew into the middle of his soft belly to make him laugh, and laughed herself. At this moment she was almost wishing she had her own baby to play with, though she was by no means interested in any of the preliminaries necessary for getting one.

Phyllida came and bent to reclaim her son, but Kassandra clung to him.

"He likes me," she said proudly. "I think he knows who I am, don't you, beautiful?"

"Why should he not?" Phyllida said, "You are always ready to cuddle and spoil him when I am too busy to give him all the attention he wants."

Hearing his mother's voice, the baby began to squall and reach toward her.

"He is hungry," said Phyllida with resignation, beginning to unfasten her tunic at the neck, "and that you cannot do for me, I fear."

"I would if I could," said Kassandra, barely above a whisper.

"I know," Phyllida said, settling down with the baby at her breast.

Watching her with the child, Kassandra felt the dark waters of a vision rise and subside.

"Kassandra, why will you not tell me what you see?" Phyllida asked, staring at her fearfully.

Kassandra was silent.

This morning I have held in my arms three babes and have seen no future for any of them; what does this mean? Perhaps that I am to die and can see no future because I shall not be here to see any of them grow to manhood? If only I thought it was as simple as that - if I thought it was only that, I would fling myself from the heights of the city before this day's sun had set.

But that was not her destiny; a fate approached her and she must live to behold it and to endure it.

She bent to kiss Phyllida and the baby too and said, not answering directly, "We must all bear our fate; you and I and the baby too. Believe me, knowing a fate makes it no easier to endure."

"I don't understand you," Phyllida said.

"I don't understand myself," Kassandra said and went out into the courtyard of the temple overlooking the sea. She saw a ship there—yes, Andromache had said Paris's ship had been sighted.

It was no part of her duty to welcome Paris to the city, but something stronger than duty drew her downward.

As Kassandra climbed down the long street she saw processions forming at the ships, readying to approach the palace; and another procession coming from the palace down to the shore.

Paris was driving his chariot - no doubt he had had it unloaded first so that he could make an impressive entrance to the city, in contrast to his unheralded entry to the Games. Beside him in the chariot was a female figure, her identity concealed by a long veil.

Had Paris succeeded then in having Hesione returned to Troy? Kassandra quickened her pace slightly so that she emerged from the city gates just as Paris pulled up before them. At the same time Priam and Hecuba, riding Priam's best ceremonial chariot, drew up facing him. Hector stood a pace behind his father, looking something less than pleased, and Kassandra looked about for Andromache. Surely her friend would not want to miss all this excitement? She looked up at Andromache's window to see her sitting there, with Oenone standing beside her, each with her son in her arms. Even at this distance she could see that Oenone was clutching the side of the window, white-knuckled.

Paris descended from the chariot and turned to lift down the veiled woman: then he bowed low before Priam, who raised him and embraced him.

"Welcome home, my son." He extended a hand in welcome to the veiled woman, who stood motionless beside the chariot. "You have succeeded in your mission, my son?"

"Beyond our wildest hopes."

Hector tried to look pleased. "Then you have brought Hesione back to us, my brother?"

"Not so," said Paris. "My king and my father, I bring back a prize greater far than that for which you sent me."

He brought the lady forward and pulled back her veil; Kassandra and everyone else in the courtyard gasped. The woman was beautiful beyond imagining.

She was tall and beautifully formed, with hair as fine and, yellow as the best beaten gold; her features were like chiselled marble, and her eyes the blue of the depths of a stormy sky.

"I present to you Helen of Sparta, who has consented to become my wife."

Only Kassandra raised her eyes to the window where Oenone pressed a trembling hand to her mouth, then whirled and was gone, leaving Andromache staring after her in dismay. Paris glanced upward; Kassandra could not guess whether he had seen Oenone's swift retreat.

He turned quickly back to Helen, who prompted him in a whisper; then he turned again to Priam.

"Will you welcome my lady to Troy, Father?"

Priam opened his mouth but it was Hecuba's voice that was heard first.

"If she is here of her free will she is welcome," the old Queen said. "Troy will give no countenance to the stealing and ravishing of women; else we should be no better than that vicious man who stole Hesione from us. And speaking of Hesione, where is she? Your mission, my son, was to return Hesione to our family; in that, at least, it seems you have failed. Lady Helen, have you come here willingly?"

Helen of Sparta smiled and touched her shining hair. It was long and loose, as only young virgins wore it in Troy, like a shining veil hardly paler than the fillet of gold which held it back from her forehead. She wore a tunic of the finest linen from the country of the pharaohs, and her waist, which was narrow, was encircled with a girdle of discs of beaten gold inlaid with circles of lapis lazuli which echoed the colour of her eyes.

Her body was full, deep-breasted, with long legs whose shape was just perceptible beneath the loose folds of the linen. When she spoke her voice was deep and soft.

"I beg you, Lady of Troy, give me welcome and harbor here; the Goddess herself gave me to your son, and She herself could know no more of love than I have for him."

"But you have a husband already," said Priam hesitantly, "or did we hear falsely that you were wed to Menelaus of Sparta?"

It was Paris who replied, "She was given to him unlawfully; Menelaus was a usurper who took the lady for her lands; Sparta is Helen's own city by mother-right; her mother Leda held it, from her mother before her and her grandmother. Her father—"

"Is no father of mine," Helen interrupted. "My father was Zeus Thunderer, not that usurper who seized my mother's city by right of arms and wed an unwilling Queen."

Priam was still suspicious. "I know little of the Thunderer," he said. "He is not worshipped here in Troy. We do not serve the Olympians and we are not stealers of women—"

"My lord," Helen interrupted him, advancing to Priam and taking his hand with a gesture that seemed bold to Kassandra, "I beg you in the name of the Lady to extend me protection and the hospitality of Troy. For your son's sake, I have made myself an exile among the Akhaians who have conquered my home. Would you send me back to be outcast among them?"

Priam looked into the lovely eyes, and for the first time Kassandra saw the effect Helen always had upon strangers; there was a sort of melting in his face. He swallowed and looked up at her again.

"That seems reasonable," he said, but even in so short a sentence he had to breathe twice. "The hospitality of Troy has never been appealed to in vain. Surely we cannot return her to a husband who has taken her by force—"

Kassandra could keep silent no longer. She cried out, "Now there at least she lies; do you not remember how Odysseus told us that she herself chose Menelaus from more than two dozen suitors, and made the others swear to defend her chosen husband against anyone who refused to accept her choice?

"Father, have nothing to do with this woman! It is she who will bring ruin and disaster on our city and our world! What does she really want here?"

Helen's lovely mouth opened in surprise; she made a cry—like a stricken animal, thought Kassandra, hardening herself not to feel sorry for the Spartan Queen.

Paris looked at Kassandra with angry distaste.

"I have always known you were mad," he said. "My lady, I beg you to take no notice of her; she is my twin sister, whom the Gods have stricken with madness, and the deluded think her a prophetess. She speaks of nothing but ruin and death for Troy, and now she has chosen to think you the cause."

Helen's wide eyes rested on Kassandra.

"What a pity that one so beautiful should suffer madness."

"I pity her," said Paris, "but we need not listen to her ravings. Can you sing no other song, Kassandra? We have all heard this one before, and we are all weary of it."

Kassandra clenched her fists. "Father," she appealed,"see reason at least. Whether I am mad or not, what has that to do with what Paris has done? Paris cannot marry this woman; for she has a husband, whom dozens of witnesses saw her marry of her free will, and Paris has a wife. Or have you forgotten Oenone?"

"Who is Oenone?" asked Helen.

"She is no one who need ever trouble you, my beloved," Paris said, gazing into Helen's eyes. "She is a priestess of the local River God, Scamander, and I loved her for a time; but she went forever from my mind on the day I first looked on your face."

"She is the mother of your first-born son, Paris," Kassandra said. "Do you dare deny that?"

"I do deny it," said Paris. "The priestesses of Scamander take lovers where they choose; how do I know who fathered the child she bore? Why do you think I did not take her in marriage?"

"Wait," Hecuba said. "We accepted Oenone because she bore your child—"

Oenone was good enough for the wife of a shepherd, son of Agelaus, but not high-born enough for Priam's son, Kassandra thought. She said aloud, "If you abandon Oenone you are a fool and a villain. But whatever he may do, Father, I beg you to have nothing to do with this Spartan woman. For I can tell you now that it will bring down war at least on this city—"

"Father," Paris said, "will you listen to this madwoman rather than to your son? For I tell you now, if you refuse shelter to the wife the Gods have given to me, I shall go from Troy and never return—"

"No!" cried Hecuba in despair. "Don't say that, my son! I lost you once—"

Priam said, looking troubled, "I want no quarrel with Menelaus's brother. Hector," he appealed, "what say you?"

Hector stepped forward and looked into Helen's eyes; and Kassandra saw in dismay that he too succumbed to her beauty. Could no man look at Helen and retain his reason? Hector said, "Well, Father, it seems to me that you already have a quarrel with Agamemnon; have you forgotten he still holds Hesione? And we can always say that we hold her as hostage for Hesione's return. Are we nothing but a field from which these Akhaians steal women and cattle? I welcome you to Troy, Lady Helen—sister," he said, holding out his hand and enclosing her small fingers in his big ones, "and I pledge to you that an enemy to Helen of Sparta is an enemy to Hector of Troy and all his kin. Will that content you, my brother?"

"If you take her into this city it is you who are mad, my father!" Kassandra cried out. "Can you not even see the fire and death she brings in her train? Will you set all Troy ablaze because one man has no loyalty and desires another man's wife?" She had resolved to remain calm and sensible, but as she felt the dark waters rise to take her by the throat, she shrieked in dismay.

"No! No, I beg you, Father—"

Priam stepped back up into his chariot.

"I have tried to be patient with you, girl; but I have no more patience now. Get back to the Sunlord's house; he is the patron God of the demented - and pray to him for kindlier visions. As for me, let it never be said that Priam of Troy refused hospitality to a woman who came to him as supplicant."

"Oh, Gods," she cried, "can you not even see? Are you all besotted with this woman? Mother, can't you see what she has done to my father, my brothers—?"

Hector stepped forward and dragged Kassandra, protesting, out of the path of the chariots. "Don't stand here wailing," he said good-naturedly. "Calm yourself, bright-eyes; suppose it really does come to war with that Akhaian crew? Do you suppose we couldn't send them yelping back to those goat pastures they call their native land? War need not mean disaster to Troy, but to our enemies." His voice was compassionate. She flung her head back and gave a long wail of dismay and despair.

"Poor girl," Helen said, stepping toward her, "why have you chosen to hate me? You are the sister of my beloved; I am ready to love you as a sister."

Kassandra jerked away from Helen's outstretched hands; she felt that she would fall down and vomit if the woman actually touched her. She stared up at Priam in anguish.

"Oh, why can't you listen to me? Can't you see what this will mean? It is not man alone but the Gods who struggle here—and no man can live when there is war among the Immortals," she wailed. "And yet you say it is I who am mad! Your madness is worse than mine, I tell you!" She whirled and ran away into the palace.

Her heart was pounding as if she had run all the way from the Sunlord's house; she felt sick and shaking, and it seemed that she was running through flames that rose around her, engulfing all the palace in the smell of burning, the smoke… when hands touched her she shrieked in terror and tried to pull away, but the hands held her tight, and in a moment she was wrapped in loving arms. The darkness rolled away; there was no fire. She gazed in confusion into Andromache's dark eyes.

"Kassandra, my dearest! What ails you?"

Kassandra, jolted out of the nightmare but not yet fully aware of what was happening or where she was, could only stare, unable to speak.

"Sister, you are exhausted, you have been too long in the sun," Andromache said. She put her arms around Kassandra and led her into the cool, shadowed room.

"Oh, if it were only no worse than that," Kassandra gasped as Andromache pushed her down on a bench with soft cushions, and held a cool cup of water to her lips. "Don't you think I would rather believe myself mad, or sun-smitten, if it meant I need not see what I have seen?"

"I believe you," Andromache said. "I do not think you mad: but I do not believe your visions either."

"Do you think I would invent such a thing? How wicked you must think me!" Kassandra cried out indignantly. Andromache held her close in an affectionate embrace.

"No, sister; I believe that the Gods have tormented you with false visions," she said. "No one could believe you malicious enough to pretend such things. But, my dear, listen to reason. Our city is strong and well defended; we have no lack of warriors or weapons, or if it came to that, of allies; if the Akhaians should be fools enough to come chasing after this bitch in heat instead of saying "good riddance to a very nasty piece of rubbish", why should you think they would not get more of Troy than they ever bargained for?"

Kassandra could see the good sense in that; but she moaned, clutching at her heart.

"Yes, Hector said something like that—" she murmured, "but—" she heard herself crying again, "it is the Immortals who are angry with us." She fought desperately to bring herself up out of the dark waters.

"At least you know she is no more than a bitch in heat," she said at last.

"Oh yes; I saw the looks she cast on Hector and even on your father," Andromache said. "And it may well be that she is a curse sent to our city by one of the Immortals; but if it is their will we cannot avoid it."

Kassandra rocked to and fro in misery; Andromache's quiet words and acceptance filled her with despair.

"Do you truly believe that the Gods would stoop to fight against a mortal city? What reason could they have? We are not wicked or impious - we have not angered any God."

"Perhaps," said Andromache,"the Gods do not need reasons for what they do."

"If the Gods are not just," Kassandra said, weeping, "what hope is there for us?"

As if in a blaze she saw the face of the Beautiful One, the Goddess who had tempted Paris successfully.

I will give you the most beautiful woman in the world—

As she had thought then, she thought again: But he already has a woman…

She raised her face to Andromache.

"Where did Oenone go?"

"I did not see; I thought perhaps she went to care for her child—"

"No; she saw Paris with Helen and ran away," Kassandra said. "I will go to her."

"I cannot see why Paris would desert her even for Helen, beautiful as she is," said Andromache. "Unless some Goddess has ordained it."

"Such an unjust Goddess I would never serve," Kassandra said bitterly.

Andromache covered her hands with her ears. "Oh, don't say that," she implored. "That is blasphemy; we are all subject to the Immortals—"

Kassandra raised the unfinished cup and drained it; but her hands were shaking and she almost dropped it.

"I will go and speak with Oenone," she said, rising.

"Yes," Andromache urged, "go and tell her we love her and we will never accept that Spartan in her place, were she Aphrodite herself."

Though Kassandra searched the palace everywhere, Oenone was nowhere to be found; nor was she ever again seen in Priam's house. At last, hearing the royal party on the stairs - making ready, she thought, to solemnize Paris's wedding - which, since Oenone was not there to protest it, could not be prevented -Kassandra left the palace and returned quietly to the Sunlord's house. She had no wish to hear wedding hymns sung for Helen when they had been denied Oenone. She would have been willing to rebuke them in the name of any God if a God had spoken to her, but nothing happened, and she had no wish to make a further spectacle of herself crying out the death and disaster that she could not help but see.