The Firebrand (61 page)

“His mother was a priestess of Aphrodite—some say Aphrodite’s self,” Creusa said, “and she gifted him with these horses when he came to Troy. . . . Look, what’s going on?”

Below them, Diomedes had ridden like a madman at Aeneas, and managed with his spear to overturn the chariot, tumbling Aeneas out on the ground. Creusa screamed, but her husband sprang to his feet, evidently unharmed, his sword out and ready. But Diomedes had cut the harness of the horses and seized their reins; it was obvious from his gestures that he claimed horses and chariot as his prize. Aeneas shouted in protest and rage, so loudly that the women could clearly hear his voice, but not the words. He turned on Diomedes, and as they watched, he seemed before their eyes to grow taller, and his head to glow with a shining aura; it flashed through Kassandra’s mind,
Why, I did not know his hair is the same color as Helen’s!
Then she knew that she saw before her the beautiful Goddess Herself, turning on Diomedes in the fury of an Immortal. Diomedes visibly flinched—he had not been prepared for this. But his courage did not fail; he dashed at the towering form of Aphrodite and thrust with his sword, wounding the form of the Goddess in the hand.

Abruptly it was again Aeneas who stood on the field, screaming like a woman and shaking his hand, from which blood was pouring. Diomedes did not lose the advantage, but put up shield and sword in defense. Aeneas, however, attacked strongly, and after a moment Diomedes went down full length on the ground; a few seconds later, Agamemnon and four of his men were backing up Diomedes, driving Aeneas off in a fury of blows. Hector’s chariot dashed by, and Hector jumped to the ground, briefly engaged Agamemnon in a wild exchange of swordplay and lifted Aeneas into his chariot. They dashed back toward the gates of Troy, while a handful of Hector’s soldiers drove off Agamemnon and his men from Aeneas’ chariot and managed to recapture the horses.

“He’s hurt,” Creusa cried, and ran down the stairs. The other women followed in haste, just in time to greet Hector’s chariot. Hector swung down and motioned them away.

“Get back so we can get these gates closed, unless you want Agamemnon and half the Akhaian army in here,” he said; the women surged back and the men joined hands pushing the gates closed, cutting down one luckless Akhaian soldier who was trapped inside.

“Throw him over the wall to his friends,” Hector said. “They want him, and we don’t.”

Creusa was holding Aeneas tightly, summoning healers to bandage up his hand. He seemed dazed; but when Kassandra came and took over the bandaging, he smiled up at her and asked, “What happened?”

“If you don’t know,” said Hector,“how are we to tell? You were fighting Diomedes and suddenly you stopped . . .”

“It was not you but Aphrodite,” Helen said. “She fought through you.”

Aeneas chuckled. “Well, I don’t remember anything except being in a rage at Diomedes for trying to claim my chariot and horses; the next thing I remember, my hand was bleeding and I heard someone scream—”

“That was you,” Hector said; “or the Goddess.”

Aeneas laughed. “The Beautiful One,” he said, “screaming all the way back to Olympos, I daresay, to sit in Zeus Thunderer’s lap and tell Him all about the nasty men fighting. I hope the Thunderer commands Her in no uncertain terms to stay off the battlefield from now on; it’s no place for ladies—not even when they’re Goddesses,” he added.

Kassandra continued tying up his hand.

His eyes smiled at her. To her he still bore the glamour of the Goddess, and her heart beat faster. If he sought her again, she knew she would not be able to resist him.
Is this the revenge of the Goddess because I would not serve Her? Has Aphrodite conquered me,
she wondered,
when Apollo could not?

She had finished the bandaging; it was with reluctance that she let go of his hand. There was a little stall nearby where the soldiers bought bread and wine at midday; Hector went to it and brought back two goblets of wine and gave one to Aeneas, who shrugged it away. Creusa said, “Drink it; you have lost blood,” and he shook his head.

“I’ve cut myself worse and lost more blood shaving,” he said; but he sipped at the wine after all, and laughed. “I wonder if they will tell the same mad tales as they did when the Goddess appeared when Paris fought Menelaus.”

“No doubt,” Kassandra said. He was looking straight at her. “The Akhaians seem to like that kind of story.”

“Well, the Gods will do as They will, and not as we ask Them to,” Aeneas said. “Yet by my divine ancestress, I wish They would go away and let us get on with the war. It’s not Their business, it’s ours.”

“I think perhaps it is Their business more than ours,” Helen said, “and we have very little to say about it.”

“But why? Why should the Gods care who wins a mortals’ war?” Andromache asked.

Hector shrugged. “Why not?”

And to that not even Kassandra ventured an answer.

“There was a time,” Hector said, “when I believed that we were altogether at the mercy of the Akhaian troops. But now that Akhilles has abandoned them—”

“That can hardly go on for long,” Helen said. “I cannot imagine the great Akhilles remaining for long sulking in his tent like a little boy . . .”

“But that is exactly what Akhilles is like,” Aeneas said. “A cruel, arrogant schoolboy. There might be something great and heroic about falling to a madman, but a brain-sick child is something else.”

Hector said without changing expression, “We must not question the decrees of the Gods.”

“If the Gods make decisions that would be set aside as the decisions of the mad,” Aeneas replied, “perhaps They are not to be obeyed blindly. Perhaps”—but he lowered his voice and looked around fearfully as he spoke—“perhaps They are testing us to see if we have the wit to stand against Them.”

“Maybe They are headstrong like Akhilles,” Helen said, “and if They cannot have Their own way in a game They will smash all the playthings.”

“I think it is like that,” Hector said; “and we are the playthings.”

FOR THE NEXT few days Kassandra heard the war news from the old cake-woman. It seemed that Akhilles remained in his tent, never showing his face even to encourage his companions; and the war dragged on without much change. Hector fought a prolonged duel with Ajax; they battled till it became too dark to continue, and neither had the advantage. Agamemnon tried a bluff, threatening to pull out of the war too, if Akhilles would not fight; but the Akhaians greeted this threat with so much glee, rushing for their ships and starting to pack up their gear, that he had to spend much of the next day coaxing his men to come back, offering them gifts and bribes to continue fighting.

Kassandra drifted that night in confused dreams of Olympos. Hera, tall and proud, stood and demanded help in destroying the city of Troy.

“Zeus has forbidden Us to intervene,” said the tall Athene, somber and sad, “although He has allowed Me to counsel the Trojans, if they will but listen to My wisdom. Why do You hate them so fanatically, Hera? Are You still jealous because Paris did not award the crown of beauty to You? What did You expect? Aphrodite
is,
after all, the Goddess of Beauty; I learned long ago that I could not compete with Her. And why should You care what a mortal thinks?”

Kassandra woke in dread, hearing the sound of Poseidon’s rage, wondering if it presaged another earthquake; but all was quiet in the Temple, and at last she slept again. In the morning she found that a few vases and dishes had fallen from tables and shelves, and a lamp had overturned, but had burned itself out on the stone floor without setting anything afire; if there had been an earthquake, it had been a very small one, hardly more than a shrug of the God’s shoulders. The Immortals seemed to have the same unresolved squabbles as those inconclusive duels between the soldiers, which settled nothing. Well, they—the soldiers—were only human and could hardly be blamed for behaving foolishly; but Kassandra would have thought the Gods would have something better to do.

She resolved that this day she would stay away from the city wall; she had seen enough of these duels, and she supposed that with Akhilles still hiding in his tent, there would be nothing happening yet again. It was surprising, she thought, how much time she had wasted of late gossiping with the other women watching from the walls.

Honey was outgrowing her frocks. Kassandra spent the morning looking through her own possessions and inquiring of the priestesses; perhaps there would be something suitable among the offerings that she could use to make her daughter some clothes. She was given a piece of saffron-dyed material (which she thought would look pretty with the little girl’s dark curls and lively dark eyes) from which she could fashion a gown and kerchief. The child would still need sandals; she was running everywhere now, and after the big earthquake the courts were full of rubbish on which she could hurt her feet. Kassandra started to call a servant to go to the market to fetch leather for sandals, then decided to go herself and take the child.

Honey was big enough now to scamper along beside her, and to understand that she was to have sandals like a big girl; Kassandra enjoyed the feeling of the small chubby hand in hers. Sagely she examined the sandals displayed for sale; the prices were not, it seemed, exorbitant. She arranged to try a sturdy pair on the child, and finding them well built and satisfactorily fitting the little feet, allowed Honey to choose which pattern she liked best.

“And for you, Lady?” the sandalmaker asked. By habit Kassandra started to say no, then followed the man’s gaze to her feet. Her sandals were much worn, thinning at the sole, and one strap mended and remended. Well, after all, she had worn them to Colchis and back.

“Well, these sandals have been halfway around the world; I suppose they deserve to be honorably put out to pasture like an old mare,” she said, and allowed him to show her several pairs, all of which were too large. At last he measured her foot and said, “The Lady has such a little foot; I must make a pair to your measure.”

“I did not design my own foot,” Kassandra said, “but if you will make me a pair by this pattern”—she indicated the most nearly fitting of the sandals he had shown her—“that will do nicely. Meanwhile, I suppose you can simply mend the strap of these yet again.”

“I don’t think it will hold together; it has been sewn so often,” he protested. “If the Lady will be content to wait in my humble shop but half an hour, the new ones will be ready. May I send for a glass of wine for you? A slice of melon? Some other refreshment? No? Something for the child?”

“No, thank you,” Kassandra said; Honey too must learn to wait patiently when necessary. She stood watching the man trimming the soles of the sandals that had been just a little too large, repositioning the straps and stitching them with his thimble and heavy leather needle. He had an iron needle, which, she thought, must be why he did such fast work; bronze needles could not pierce the leather so readily. She wondered whether he had had it smuggled in past the blockade, or whether he traded with the Akhaians. It was probably better not to know. Such commerce was forbidden; but if Priam’s city wardens were to thrust into prison everyone who traded illegally, there would be no trading at all, and commerce in the city would come completely to a halt.

Already many foodstuffs were hard to come by after the long siege; what had saved the city was the gardens inside the walls, where grapevines and olive trees were the sources of wine and oil, and vegetables could be grown. Many houses had caged doves or rabbits, previously kept for sacrifice; now these were eaten, and kept away the most acute hunger. Bread was in short supply except for the soldiers’ mess and the palace, though some wagons of grain had been brought in overland, avoiding the Argive ships, during the truce.

Now that the truce was officially over, would it mean a tightening of the siege? Or would the Akhaians get tired of fighting without Akhilles, and go away again? That might be the best that could happen.

But if they felt they had the Gods on their side—and there Kassandra’s thoughts broke off in the old confusion: why should the Gods meddle in men’s affairs? Well, Hector’s answer had been simply: Why not? Anyway, she had been asking that same question since the beginning of the war, and she had had no answer—except in her dreams.
Dreams! What good were they?

Yet her dreams had sent her warning of the great earthquake; she should, then, trust them. Anyway, she had no choice. The dreams were
there;
she ignored them at her own peril—and for all she knew, the peril of Troy and her world.

She had drifted into reverie when she heard a great commotion in the streets; Hector’s chariot raced down through the city toward the lower gates. To Kassandra, watching from her bench inside the sandalmaker’s shop, it seemed that half the population of Troy emptied itself into the streets to watch. After so long, one would think they would take it for granted and go on about their business. But there was as much enthusiasm evident as on the first day he had paraded before his troops. Well, that was nice for Hector, she thought, not entirely without sarcasm, and would have turned away; but the sandalmaker brought her new sandals and stood watching Hector’s chariot instead of helping her put them on.