The Women of Troy

33

Outside, it was dark at last. Before leaving the hut, I filled a bowl with blackberries and added a dollop of the claggy porridge the Greek fighters were inexplicably addicted to. I found Maire sitting on her bed with the baby guzzling at her breast. Helle was hovering behind her.

“Just hold still for a minute.” I crushed a few blackberries against the side of the bowl, mixed them into the grey gloop and began sticking them onto her face and chest. Not too many, but enough to persuade the curious to take a step back.

“What’s that supposed to be?” Helle asked.

“Plague.”

“Plague? Doesn’t look anything like it.”

“Have you got any better ideas?”

Maire handed the baby to me while she spread the shawl to wrap him in. I felt the warm weight of him in my arms and a slight dampness against my chest. Looking down, I saw his eyes beginning to close. Sleep, eat, sleep again. There were thin blue veins on his lids and a small grey milk-blister on his upper lip. When Maire was ready, I handed him back and felt a chill emptiness where his warmth had been. The girls clustered round Maire to say goodbye, peering into the folds of the shawl for a last glimpse of the baby’s face. One or two of them were crying; they’d invested so much hope in that child—far, far, far too much. We all had.

When Maire was shrouded in her black robe, I told her to say a final goodbye and went to wait by the door. Andromache came over and wished me luck. I wondered if she was secretly pleased that Maire and the baby were going. The surprise, as so often, was Helle, who followed Maire and me out onto the veranda. “I’m coming,” she said, in a tone that brooked no argument. “Oh, not to stay, I know I won’t be able to stay. But there’s safety in numbers—and anyway, I’ve got this.”

She pulled back her cloak and I saw she was holding a knife—a wicked-looking thing with a bone handle and a long blade. She must have stolen it from the hall on one of the evenings she’d danced after dinner. I didn’t find the sight of it at all reassuring. Helle was strong, but no match for a Greek fighter; I thought she’d just be handing them a weapon—and she was a striking figure, likely to attract the attention of anybody walking past. I felt Maire and I would be safer on our own. But she wanted to come, and I couldn’t deny her the chance to spend a few more minutes with her friend.

“All right,” I said, reluctantly. I could see they were waiting for me to lead the way. They hadn’t been outside the hut since their arrival, except for Helle’s short trips across the yard to the hall, so they’d have no idea of the layout of the camp. “We’ll go along the beach,” I said. “C’mon, this way.”

“Where are we going?” Helle said.

“I’m taking them to Cassandra.”

“You trust her, do you?”

“No, but I think she’ll agree to help. And she does have a certain amount of power.”

I’d thought about this long and hard. Ritsa and Hecamede would have helped if they could, but realistically what could they hope to do? It had to be Cassandra.

Keeping to the shadows as far as we could, we scaled round the edges of the yard. I was tense with fear that the baby would wake up suddenly and howl. As we passed through a circle of torchlight, I noticed he was awake, but he didn’t move and he made no sound. Perhaps the walking movement soothed him, or perhaps, like so many young animals, he knew to keep quiet when there were predators around. Soon we left the torchlight and the cooking fires behind, setting off along the path that led to the beach. The moon kept disappearing behind black clouds, but the darkness didn’t bother me. This was one of the paths I’d often followed before dawn and sometimes late at night during my early days in the camp. Not usually at this time, because I’d been required to serve wine in the hall.

When we came out onto the beach, I started to relax a little, but then immediately froze because there were two men standing at the water’s edge. One of them had waded a little way in and seemed to be getting ready to swim. I heard their voices between the crashing of the waves, but I couldn’t make out the words. One of them looked a bit like Pyrrhus, but I couldn’t be certain because in the moonlight his hair looked black. I didn’t dare move, for fear of attracting their attention, but we needed to take a break anyway: Maire was gasping for breath. She wouldn’t have been a fit woman at the best of times, and she’d lost a lot of blood after the birth. Turning to my right, looking up at the headland, I saw dark shapes of men with torches moving around, their huge shadows flickering on the grass. They’d be building the funeral pyre for Priam. On my left, peering cautiously out of the shadow of the dune path, I saw the ground was clear. One of the men at the water’s edge had picked up his tunic and was striding off. After a while the other got up too and followed him.

Maire was breathing more easily now. “Come on,” I said. “Let’s keep going.”

Feeling that the shore was too exposed, I led the way along the line of cradled ships that circled the bay. We moved in quick bursts, darting from one patch of shadow to the next. From the moment I arrived in the camp, the constant thrumming of the rigging against the mastheads had haunted my dreams. It struck me then as the sound of a mind at the end of its tether, but I was stronger now, and focused solely on getting Maire and her baby to safety—or what passed for safety in that camp. There were no guarantees for anybody.

As we drew level with the arena, a whole bunch of fighters, many of them carrying torches, erupted from between the ships and spilled out onto the beach. Most of them set off at a run, probably on their way to the next compound for a drink, but three stragglers happened to notice us standing in the shadow of the hulls. One of them lingered for a moment, but then shrugged and moved off.

“Hello, girls!”

The man facing me was thin, sweaty and very, very drunk. Not nasty, not threatening—or not yet. There was no way round him—no way back either. In effect, we were trapped in the narrow space between two ships. I put my arm round Maire and made a great show of supporting her. Helle did the same, but I felt her stiffen and hoped she wasn’t reaching for the knife. “We’re on our way to the hospital,” I said. “She’s got a fever. I wouldn’t come too close.” He peered at Maire, who was sweating and panting. No acting required—half an hour of floundering through loose sand had tested her to the limit. “I think it might be the plague.” Taking her cue, Helle pulled Maire’s mantle away from her face and neck, while I clutched the shawl to make sure the baby stayed hidden. Seen by torchlight, in the shadow of the ships, the purple crusts that had been so unconvincing in the hut looked absolutely terrifying. Fear of the plague was a constant feature of life in the camp; less than a year ago there’d been a really bad outbreak and most of the men would have known somebody who’d died of it then. The man stopped dead in his tracks. “C’mon!” the man behind him shouted. “Leave it.”

He turned and fled, though when he’d reached a safe distance he stopped and wished us luck. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught the glint of Helle’s knife. “Will you put that bloody thing away!”

Though I have to admit, I felt better with her there. It would have been harder managing Maire and the baby on my own. As it was, I ended up carrying the baby, while Helle supported Maire. Fortunately, we didn’t meet anybody else. We heard shouting and singing coming from men drinking round the cooking fires, though I thought they were rather more subdued than usual. Nobody knew quite what to expect the following day. At last, we reached Agamemnon’s compound. For once, I had no time to dwell on the feeling of desolation that always hit me the minute I passed through the gates. The hospital lay straight ahead, the lamps inside making the canvas glow. Leaving the others outside, I ducked under the flap and looked for Ritsa. Two women at the bench filling jugs with wine, but no Ritsa. She must be with Cassandra—I couldn’t think of anywhere else she might be.

Sounds of eating and drinking, sporadic singing, laughter and a clattering of pots and plates came from Agamemnon’s hall, but the yard outside was quiet. I knocked on Cassandra’s door. A maid answered and was obviously reluctant to let us in, but then I heard Cassandra asking, “Who is it?” I called out my name and a moment later the maid invited us in. Maire and Helle stood, uncertainly, just inside the door while I went through into the living quarters to talk to Cassandra. I found her with her hair unbound, wearing a yellow robe that didn’t suit her—and my mother’s necklace.

“What is it?” She didn’t meet my eye and I got the impression she was ashamed to be seen like this: dressed to titillate and seduce, and from sheer lack of practice not doing it very well. Of course, dinner in the hall would be over soon; she’d be expecting a summons to Agamemnon’s bed. I wondered how she felt about that. All very well to see yourself sweeping through the gates of Hades, crowned with laurels, being hailed as a conqueror by all the Trojan dead—but there was a lot of lying on her back while Agamemnon puffed and sweated on top of her to be got through first. But perhaps she didn’t mind? Perhaps she might even enjoy it. She hadn’t chosen to be a virgin priestess; Hecuba had made that choice on her behalf.

I was about to explain why I was there, when Ritsa, who must have heard my voice, came in carrying a diadem and veil. Cassandra snapped at her to put them down. “Well?” she said, turning back to me. “What can I do for you?” Her tone was only just not hostile.

I explained the problem and, thinking that the baby might be his own best advocate, called for Maire and Helle to come in. Maire had tried to rub off the blackberry “sores” and so her face was now entirely purple. Helle was looking truculent. Cassandra glanced at them, placing them instantly in a category far beneath her notice. Maire pushed the folds of her shawl away from the baby’s face, obviously thinking the sight of him might move Cassandra to pity. Her gaze did flicker across him—briefly—but her expression was difficult to read. She must have given up hope of motherhood years ago—and since she obviously believed her prophecy that she and Agamemnon were soon to die, there was no prospect of it in the future either. What could a baby be to her other than a source of pain and, perhaps, regret? I thought it might even harden her against us. But, in fact, she simply turned away, picked up the diadem and began fiddling with it, distractedly. “Oh, well,” she said, at last. “I suppose she could work in the kitchen.” She looked at Ritsa. “Will you see to it?”

Ritsa glanced at me and then, spreading her arms wide as if she were herding geese, swept Maire and Helle out of the door.

Perhaps Cassandra expected me to leave with them, but I sat down facing her instead. I wanted to give Helle plenty of time to say goodbye to her friend. I waited till I heard the front door close. “You don’t serve wine at dinner, then?”

“I’m his wife.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” I said. “Quite different.”

There we were, two women who’d shared Agamemnon’s bed. We had to talk, because good manners required it, but the conversation merely limped along, weighed down by the things we were not saying. She couldn’t bring herself to look at me. I doubt if Cassandra had ever had an intimate conversation with another woman. At last, after an awkward pause, she said: “What was it like for you?”

“Brutal.”

She darted a glance in my direction.

“He was angry with Achilles. He took it out on me.”

“Every time?”

I laughed. “It only happened twice. And then he stood up in the arena and swore by all the gods he’d never laid a finger on me.”

“Did Achilles believe him?”

“No!” I looked across at her. “You’re his wife—you’re right, it’s not the same.”

“Calchas says the marriage isn’t lawful.”

“It is if Agamemnon says it is. He is the law.”

I was trying to give Ritsa plenty of time to settle Maire in. I only hoped it was going to succeed, that the cook in Agamemnon’s kitchen wouldn’t object—but they always seemed to be short of staff and Maire had experience of kitchen work. Agamemnon wouldn’t even know she was there. I was more concerned about Helle. She wasn’t a woman to make friends easily; this wouldn’t be a trivial loss. But really, I was finding Cassandra in this prickly, defensive mood rather hard to take. It was a relief when the door opened. I looked up expecting to see Ritsa, but it was the maid relaying the summons from Agamemnon. Cassandra stood up, looking rather helplessly at the diadem and veil. I picked them up and began pinning them into place. She seemed agitated: the red lights inside the opals stirred with every breath. Our faces were only inches apart, but she endured my fingers in her hair, my breath on her skin, and managed to get through the whole awkward business without once meeting my eyes.

“I’m sure Ritsa will be back soon,” she said, retreating to a more comfortable distance. “You’re welcome to wait.”

After she’d gone, I sat alone in the lamplight until Ritsa and Helle returned—without Maire. “Don’t worry about them, they’ll be all right. I’ll keep an eye on them and the cook’s not a bad sort.” I hugged her, wishing we’d had more chance to talk, but feeling the pressure of getting Helle safely back to the women’s hut. Ritsa came with us to the door and waved us goodbye.

We walked along the beach, keeping as far as we could to the shelter of the ships. The moon came and went on the surface of the water. Helle still hadn’t spoken. If it had been one of the other girls, I’d have put my arm round her, given her a hug perhaps, but you couldn’t do that with Helle. The body she trained so hard and displayed with such complete arrogance was not for touching. It was armour, I thought, rather than flesh.

We said goodbye at the door of the women’s hut. I didn’t feel like going in, and Helle would be able to tell them what had happened. At the last moment, as she was about to step across the threshold, she looked back and raised a clenched fist. We did it, she seemed to be saying. We got them out.

She obviously thought they were safe now. And perhaps they were, safer anyway than they would have been if they’d stayed in Pyrrhus’s compound.