Cassandra (27 page)

`Live long and be blessed!' the company cried. Priam filled a cup with wine and gave a mouthful each to Andromache and to Hector. Then he and Hecube the Queen drank the rest and flung the cup to smash against the wall.

Priam was old and his aim was not good. The cup flew wide, breaking against the pillar next to which Pariki and I stood. This was a very bad omen. The crowd murmured. But before the effect could deepen, Hecube cried, `Feast and rejoice!' and servers filled cups and thrust forward tables on which honey cakes, bean cakes and gluey confections were heaped.

I had sighted Eleni with the priests of Apollo but I did not approach him. Sorrow deeper than death was gnawing at me, souring the sweetness of the cake I was eating.

Pariki walked gracefully to the front of the hall, followed by a sailor bearing a cage in which something grey lay still. I followed him, drearily sure that there was not going to be anything amusing in this gathering for one cursed of Apollo and terrified that I would be presented with a vision.

`Brother,' he said to Hector, `I rejoice in your wedding and I have brought you a present from Egypt.'

He gestured to the crewman, who laid the cage on the floor and drew out a limp furry thing with trailing legs and tail. Hector cupped it in his hands, then put it to his face and breathed gently on it. I saw one ear come up and the little ribcage heave.

`Cassandra,' said Hector, `bring me warm goat's milk, hurry.'

I was so pleased and honoured by his relying on me that I ran straight out of the hall and chivvied a kitchen hand into warming me a pipkin of milk while she was doing three other things at once and yelling at the boy who turned the spit.

`If it is for the Lord Hector then I will do it,' she declared. `though what he wants with milk at a wedding I cannot guess. There, now get out of my kitchen, Princess,' and I sped back.

The limp fur was reviving a little in the warmth of Hector's huge hands. He took the milk and began to feed it, drop by drop, to the creature. It put out a little pink tongue and I realised that it was a Státhi, a tiny one, with a black nose and wet silver whiskers.

When it was full of milk, Andromache took it from her husband's hands and laid it in her breast, tightening the ceinture to hold its negligible weight. It mewed a little and Státhi himself rose majestically from his seat at the table to sniff at it. He then sat down on Andromache's lap, a thing he had never done before, and began to purr. Andromache bore up under the weight and seemed conscious of the honour.

`I thank you, brother,' said Hector politely, rising to his feet to embrace Pariki. `You must have travelled far to find another such as Státhi. He will be grateful, too.'

`Travelled far? Yes, indeed,' said Pariki, lounging with one buttock on the table and still contriving to look decorous. `As far as Sparta, where I took the most beautiful woman in the world for my own as the goddess promised, and then to Egypt where she was stolen from me.'

Hector had gone cold and stony in a moment. His voice, was however, calm.

`As the goddess promised? Tell me the tale, brother! All should hear it!' and he shouted for silence. Pariki, delighted by the attention which he considered his due, began not to speak but to sing in his pleasant light voice:

 

Pariki on Mount Idus, watching the sheep graze,
Saw three women glowing with the sun's fire.
Bearing an apple came Hermes the God,
`Judge between them, most beautiful of shepherds,
Who is Kalliste, the fairest of them all?'

 

As he sang, I saw them in my mind's eye. The tall and commanding Mother, spindle in hand; the Warrior Maiden, helmeted, bearing aegeis, the goat's skin shield; the sinuous Ishtar, smiling, her hands running down her perfect body. Pariki offered kingdoms and wisdom, and choosing instead, as might have been guessed, the possession of Elene, Princess of Sparta.

His voice chanted on, describing his arrival at the palace, the foolish hospitality of Menelaus - fat, breathless, old and red-faced, hence deserving no courtesy - the stolen moments with almond-eyed, dark-haired Argive Elene, until she agreed to flee with him.

Then the driving of his ship by jealous gods across to Egypt, where the priestesses of Isis took Elene into their temple and refused to let her go. Pariki sang:

 

...Trojan ships will come,
Red sailed and well found to the delta of the Nile,
To restore Elene of Sparta to her Pariki again.

 

That was too much for Hector. `No, they won't,' he roared. `Fool, fool of a brother. Well, do they call you City-Destroyer!

`What will you tell the Achaeans, boy, when they come knocking at the gates of Troy asking for their princess again? "Sorry, she left me in Egypt." For she left you, Pariki, she was not stolen.

`I have been often to Egypt. The priestesses of the Lady of the Pillar do not kidnap women. She fled her husband with you and then she left you because of what you are, Pariki, a graceful, decorated doll with no brains in your head or heart in your chest. A perfect dupe for an unhappy woman.

`I have heard about the marriage of Elene of Sparta, poor girl. You must have been ideal for her purposes, Pariki. Cruel, discourteous and stupid. You have brought an army down upon us. What other ingenious things have you done? Did you steal the Státhi as well?'

It was clear from the shocked, sly look on the shepherd's face that Hector had hit upon the truth.

`So we cannot even ask Egypt to give the girl up,' groaned Hector. `You have insulted them by stealing a divine beast - and nearly killing it. Well done, Pariki. What will you do next? There is still Phrygia and Caria to insult; perhaps you can bring the Hittites into this as well.'

`Come, it may not be as bad as that,' said Priam in his creaking voice. `I at least am glad to see you, Pariki, safe home and honoured by the goddess.' He stretched out a hand for his son's.

Pariki knelt at his feet and stared up into the old man's face. `Have I done badly, father?' he whispered piteously. Priam stroked the downcast head. Hector snorted.

I was in the grip of so horrible a vision that I bit my knuckle to blood. Black ships and the stench of death and rotting. It rolled over me until I was nearly stifled. Clenching my jaw to keep from speaking.

I looked for Eleni and found him - sweating and trembling. Apollo Priest bore him up on one side and wiped his face with a cloth. Eleni was still sharing my visions. But he was saying nothing.

With an effort I dragged myself out of the vision. Unlike the skeletal man, I had at least seen this one many times before.

 

We sent the newly wed son and daughter of Priam off to their decorated bed. Státhi accompanied them and I hoped that he would not wound Andromache too badly. She walked firmly into the chamber, sat down on the bed, and held out her arms to Hector. Despite bad omens and an impending war, Andromache had no doubts.

I had thousands, but it was not the time to voice them. Perseis took us up to the walls after noon to watch them bring in the bull of Dionysius, Troy's one perfect sacrifice. He was carefully chosen, a black bull with certain white markings, the one under the tongue being the most important; a mark in the shape of a dolphin. A herd of Dionysius cattle had been bred with care and kept apart from the other beasts, so that Troy would always have its Three Days' bull.

The air had turned soft; it was nearly spring. We saw the procession heading across the plain; men and women danced and leapt around the bull, garlanding him with fresh leaves and flowers, kissing his nose. A sacrifice to the Lord Dionysius would not be proper unless it was something that everyone loved and cared for. The Dionysius bull had been gentled and handled since he had been a calf. He had no fear of humans and would not be afraid until the moment that the knife cut his throat; perhaps not even then.

`Spring is early this year,' commented Perseis. `Clear your forehead of that frown, daughter of Priam,' she chided me. `Hector is married and the Dionysius bull is mustered. Eleni did not come because he could not; the god Apollo keeps him close.'

`Or his priests do,' I muttered.

`Or his priests, what matter? Was it another vision, Cassandra?' she asked in a low voice. I set my jaw and nodded my head. My hair, unbound for the festival fell forward over my eyes. I waited for the nausea and spasm to jolt me, but it seemed that the god could tolerate gestures.

`The same vision?' persisted Cycne. I nodded again.

`Then there is nothing new to report,' said Perseis cheerfully. `There - what a fine bull! Look at the way he paws the ground.'

My eyes were blurring. All I could see, overlaid on the glossy coat of the bull and the fluttering, flowery tunics of the dancers were carrion birds, vultures and buzzards and crows, stooping over a battlefield littered with unburied dead. The skeletal bull pawed the ground with a hoof which had been dry for years; around him danced the merry rout of the dead, corpse-pale and ragged, bones glinting through their cerements. I said nothing.

 

Tithone always locked herself in for the Dionysiad. I took leave of her early in the morning. She handed over a basket of medicines and patted me on the cheek.

`If any maid needed to disconnect her wits, my daughter, it is you,' she said. `Give that to Perseis and tell her not to worry about the virgins. I have looked them all over and none of them have any disease that time will not cure - time even cures maidenhood, eh, my bird? In any case she can summon me in the noon watch if she needs me. Go, Cassandra, drink deep and revel. It is the due of the god, and not one of these new male ones either, but the old pulse of the land and the sky. Forget Apollo. The Sun Bright has treated you ill and you need the flesh to comfort you.'

Then she shut her door on me, grumbling to one of the birthing mothers, `Hush, pretty, hush. It will all be over soon.'

I walked up the steep street to Perseis, wondering how the flesh could disconnect my visions. On the way I looked in on Nyssa. As I neared the door, I heard her talking to a baby.

`Cassandra!' she said. `How is it with you, my child?'

`I am all right,' I paused at the door. `Is this your new one, then?'

`Yes, the precious lamb, the first of last year's sacrifice babies. Look at its beautiful eyes!'

`Beautiful,' I agreed, burning with jealousy. I wished fervently that I was a baby again, when I had my twin and I was sure of everything. Nyssa glanced at me, cradling the newborn.

`Eleni loves you,' she said. `I'm sure that he loves you still.'

`I cannot tell,' I said, and trailed drearily away, though she called to me to come in and sit down and she'd talk to me when she'd fed the baby.

 

`Dionysius the Lord is the oldest god,' Perseis instructed as Cycne, Eirene, Iris and I sat at her feet in the noon calm. `He is the god of increase, of maleness, the phallus, wine, music and madness. For three days in each year, his rule of Troy is absolute, as it was in the Island. For those three days any act is sanctioned; no taboo stands. Of course, if any acts take place which the city has forbidden by law - like rape or murder - then they will be investigated later and the offender punished.

`But Dionysius rages in these three days, so all maids and tenderlings are shut away. These are the rules, young women. If you tire of the mob, or are afraid, you may leave it and come indoors. But you must not bring anyone with you into the Temple of Maidens - do you understand? Dionysius rules in the open, in the plain and in the streets; he is forbidden to those within doors and you must not bring him with you.

`Any door will open to your knock, but once inside, you cannot come out again, for the god will have left you. You must behave with courtesy to those who shelter you, and they in turn will help and comfort you. Take off the ivy wreath when you go in, leave the thyrsus outside.

`Old people and children have nothing to do with the youthful god of reckless joy. Every year some people are hurt, and occasionally someone is killed, but that is not your concern. Bring or send all those who are injured to Tithone's house.

`But this is the rule, daughters of Priam: once you have drunk the bull's blood, you can leave the worshippers only once and then for the rest of the festival you cannot rejoin them. Is that understood?'

We nodded. It seemed clear. She looked at us. We had made wreaths out of ivy and each of us had a staff cut of ash-wood, crowned with a pine cone and wound about with white wool - the thyrsus of the Lord Dionysius.

`Come, we must welcome him into Troy,' she said, and we joined all the people running down the streets to the Scamander Gate.

The bull was crossing the Place of Strangers' Gods as we lined the top of the gate and cheered him inside. No visions came to cloud my sight. On every side were the citizens of Troy, from market-women to smiths and spinners, all clad in the white tunics demanded of the cult, bare of jewellery or bracelets of rank. I caught sight of the Egyptian woman who had borne the deformed child, with her husband beside her, clad in `woven air'. They were shadowed with mist; I saw blood on their fine gauze. I shook my head, bewildered for a moment. The visions came and went in the blink of an eye.

My tunic streamed out behind me as I joined hands with Cycne and Iris and we began the long dance which escorts the sacrifice to the topmost point of the city of Tros.

Drummers and pipe players accompanied us as we began to sing the chant which summons our Lord Dionysius.

`Evoë!' we called, and I heard deep voices rumble under and shrill voices carol over the stave I was singing. `Evoë, evoë! Come Lord Dionysius, Dolphin-Rider, Grape-Crusher, Wine-maker, Joy-Filled, Lord of laughter and of light! Come to thy daughters, fill us with thy wine, sate us with thy love, Phallus Bearer! Evoë! Evoë!'

The hindquarters of the bull flexed as he strode up the cobbled street, winding like the dance around the hill of Troy, his hoofs cleaving prints in the carpet of petals, the air heavy with jasmine and spring flowers. Cycne's hand was strong in mine, Iris clutched my wrist. I felt the drag of my hair as I shook my head and someone planted a passing kiss on my neck as we surged up, up into the acropolis, with the sky as blue as forget-me-nots and the sun as warm as Apollo's blessing, which I had forfeited.