At least it would give her something to think about on the long road to Troy. And when she got there, if it did not suit her to have a child to bring up, she would make a present of her to the Queen, or to one of the Temples; young girls were always useful for the endless spinning and weaving that must be done in all households.
At first Adrea and Kara made scornful comments about “your roadside brat,” but soon they were quarreling over which one should carry Honey on her lap on the long stretches in the cart, singing to her and telling her stories which she was too young to understand. She grew plump and pretty; they combed her curly hair into ringlets and made her dresses from their own clothes. Kassandra soon could not remember what life had been like without the little girl clinging around her neck when she rode donkey-back or snuggling in her lap when she rode in the cart. She seemed quickly to know who was her mother; the women were kind to her, but she would always leave them (even if they were feeding her sweetmeats) to go to Kassandra’s arms. She slept curled in the back of the cart on the longer stretches of the journey, with Kassandra’s snake curled up beside her, and often wanted to carry it in her own dress. When the women protested, Kassandra only laughed.
“See, she has more sense than you; she is not afraid of one of the Goddess’ creatures. She is born to be a priestess, and she knows it.”
Days stretched into weeks on the road as they retraced the long journey. When they came to the great plain, they kept a sharp eye out for Kentaur bands. Kassandra hoped to meet with them; she had a weakness for the riding folk, although both the waiting-women and all the escort and drivers hoped they would be spared any sight of them. But they encountered no living Kentaur, although one evening they saw a dead horse in a ditch, and clinging to him, the thin, twisted body of his rider, cold and dead; the bones, almost protruding through the skin, told them that the poor fellow had died of starvation and cold.
Kassandra’s heart twisted in pity, though her driver and the women said it was good riddance and wished all his fellows a similar fate.
One evening, as they were setting up camp, Kassandra caught sight, far off, of a little group of riders: a single old man, withered and deformed from years in the saddle, and half a dozen of what seemed to be children but were probably undernourished half-grown boys. Kassandra could not tell for certain, but she thought it might be Cheiron. She motioned to them, and called to them in their own language, but they would not approach; they kept circling slowly around the camp, too far away to see clearly, or to hear what they were saying.
“We had better set a watch,” one of the drivers remarked, “or while we sleep they may approach the camp and murder us all. You can never trust a Kentaur.”
“That’s not true,” said Kassandra. “They won’t hurt us; they are much more afraid of us than we are of them.”
“They should all be done away with,” said Kara. “They are not civilized men.”
“They are hungry, that is all,” Kassandra said. “They know we have food and beasts; our nanny goat alone would give them the best meal they have had this year.”
In spite of the disapproval of her women and the escort, she would still willingly have given them gifts and food, and tried to attract them near for some time, but they kept a wary distance, circling on their horses, and did not approach the camp. So as they settled down for the night, one or two of the men kept watch; and Kassandra lay awake thinking of the Kentaurs out there in the dark on their horses. In the morning, she left some loaves of barley bread and a measure or two of meal in an old cracked pot her party was ready to discard.
As they rode away from the camp, Kassandra saw that the Kentaurs were approaching; at least they would get the food—which might postpone death by starvation for only a little while. To Honey, she thought, it will be only a legend, and everyone will tell how evil they were. But there was wisdom there, too, and a way of life we will not see again. Will the Amazons also go this way?
AFTER THE almost-encounter with the Kentaurs, the road seemed long and empty; day after day they toiled across the great plain, seeing few or no travelers, the days differentiated one from another only by the waxing and waning of the moon, the changes from fine to snowy weather. In passing through the country where she would have expected to encounter tribes of the Amazons, they met with no riders at all, neither men nor women. Had all the Amazons perished, or been kidnapped to serve in the men’s villages? She would have liked to send a message to Penthesilea, but had not the slightest idea how to get word to her, or even if she still lived. She sought to see her in the scrying-bowl, but could not find her.
Snow lay deep on the steppes, and it was bitterly cold. Kassandra feared for the life of her snakes in this weather; she and Honey stayed in their blankets, a brazier keeping them warm, sharing their heat with the serpents. Sometimes the snow was so deep that the cart could not travel and they were cooped up all day, with no light, little heat and unable to cook food. They had to keep the nanny goat in the wagon, too, because she could have been lost in the deep drifts.
As the months passed, there was change, too, in Honey: there were times when it seemed to Kassandra that the little girl could be seen growing between dawn and sunrise. It seemed that every day she had some new clever trick or, in growing, had developed something new to fascinate her foster-mother. A few days after the appearance of the Kentaurs, she developed her first tooth; soon after, she was able to sip her milk from a cup; and soon after that, she was eating bread soaked in milk, or soft-mashed foods fed to her with a spoon. Rather sooner than Kassandra had expected, she had a full set of teeth and was grabbing and chewing anything she could reach from everyone’s plate; Kassandra could no longer set her down on the ground at their night halts, for she would crawl away and quickly make a game of disappearing for the fun of being called and chased. Finally a time came (fortunately, after the worst of the snow was past) when they had to watch her constantly lest she crawl out of the cart, even when it was moving; and soon she was running around at every halt. She was not, Kassandra thought, a particularly pretty child, but she was a strong and sturdy one, never sick, and rarely fretful even when she was cutting her teeth.
As time wore on and travel ate up the long road, they came into country with better roads, and encountered more travelers. It seemed the whole world was bound for Troy with weapons and all manner of goods to be sold to the Trojans (or to the Akhaians; it seemed that the Akhaians were now blocking all goods coming into Troy, by land or by sea). And at last, one day, they sighted the familiar outline of Mount Ida and began to travel along the Scamander toward Troy.
When they came within sight of the city, it seemed to Kassandra that another city, a spread-out city of shacks and tents and shelters, had sprung up at the foot of the great walls, and the sea was black with ships crowded into the harbor. There was a strong stench near the harbor as if the very tides had been fouled; the streets of this new-made city were clogged with carts and chariots, and as soon as Kassandra’s escort brought the cart near, Akhaian soldiers, dressed in the armor she remembered Akhilles’ men had worn, came at once and demanded to know her business there.
Her escort had no success in explaining, so Kassandra, who spoke the language somewhat better, got down from the cart, with Honey astride her shoulder, and explained that she was Priam’s daughter, returning from a long journey to Colchis. This news, which Kassandra did not imagine would be particularly surprising, went from mouth to mouth, and finally there was a general outcry that the commander should hear it himself.
She had supposed this might be Akhilles, but instead it was the somewhat taller, stronger dark-haired young man she had seen in Akhilles’ company. They spoke of him as Patroklos, and he came and addressed her with a certain degree of politeness—more, at any rate, than she remembered in Akhilles himself.
“The old King’s daughter you say you are, then? Wait a minute; there’s a girl in Lord Agamemnon’s tent who was brought up in the palace up there, or so she says. She can tell
us whether or not you’re who you say you are. Wait here,” he ordered, and went away.
Honey felt heavy on her shoulder, and Kassandra asked leave of one of the soldier-guards to set her down. “Stay close to me,” she admonished; she did not suppose any of the soldiers would knowingly harm a child except perhaps in the heat of battle, but she was not certain, and she did not trust these Akhaians enough to wish to test the theory.
After a time Patroklos returned with a veiled woman; she put back her veil and looked at Kassandra. “Yes,” she said, “this is Priam’s daughter.” To Kassandra’s shock and dismay she recognized the girl as Chryseis.
Kassandra, however startled, was relieved to know that Chryseis was alive and well. She said, “Chryseis, my dear, I have worried about you, and I know how troubled your father must have been.” Chryseis had grown tall and heavy-bodied, but she still had the astonishing blond hair that had given her her name.
Patroklos spoke to one of the soldiers; they seemed to be discussing whether they might hold her for ransom, or for exchange for one of the Akhaian prisoners.
“You cannot do that,” said her main escort. “She is a priestess of Apollo and is traveling under Apollo’s truce.”
“Oh, is she?” Patroklos demanded. “Maybe we can do something, then, to silence that priest of Apollo who never stops complaining to the Lord Agamemnon or anyone else who will listen to him. Our own priests keep demanding we make offerings to Apollo; perhaps we should consult with her about the proper sacrifice.”
He turned to Kassandra and said, “Would you sacrifice to the Sun Lord for us, then?”
She said, “I remember all too well the fate of the last priestess Agamemnon sent for to make sacrifices for you; I know who and what would be sacrificed.” And she could see by their faces that this answer was not at all to their liking.
Chryseis addressed her for the first time and said, “You should not speak like that of Agamemnon, Kassandra.”
“He is no friend to me, nor to my family,” Kassandra said. “Nor do I owe him any duty as guest to host; I shall speak of him as I will. Why are you so deferential to his name?”
“Because he is my lord and the most powerful man of all the Akhaians,” said Chryseis, “and you would do well not to anger him; we are all in his power here.”
“Shall I try when I return to the city to arrange for your freedom?” Kassandra asked in a whisper.
Chryseis tossed her head. She said scornfully, “I have not asked for that. My father has been invoking Apollo for my return, but Apollo has no power here compared with Agamemnon, and I would rather belong to a man than a God.”
Then Kassandra recalled her terrible vision. She found that she was trembling; then she looked at Patrokolos and said, “You have done me no discourtesy, so I will give you an honest warning; I have seen the terrible arrows of Apollo falling on this city, on Trojan and Akhaian alike.” She heard her voice rising to a cry and felt the familiar heat and blaze of the Sun Lord: “Oh, beware His anger, beware the wrath of Apollo! Provoke not His dreadful arrows!”
Patroklos seemed to shrink slightly, but he frowned at her and said, “Yes, I heard you were a prophetess. Listen to me, woman; I’m not afraid of your Trojan Apollo, but it is always unwise to provoke another’s Gods. I’d be inclined to let you go; our priests will probably say the same thing, and I have no love for warring on women. But it’s for Akhilles himself to make the final decision.” He spoke to a young boy who was watching, and told him to run for the commander.
A considerable crowd had gathered around the cart and were staring at the waiting-women. Patroklos looked up at the two elderly women and asked Kassandra, “Who are these women?”
“They are my mother’s servants; my waiting-women.”
“Are they, too, sworn priestesses of Apollo?”
“No, they are not; but they are under my protection and His.”
Kassandra began to be uncomfortable at the way they were looking at her. She picked up Honey, who had been crawling around her feet, and held her in her arms. Patroklos said, “We have not nearly enough women in our camp to do the women’s work. I will not strive with the Trojan Apollo for you, but these women are legitimately my prisoners.” He went to the cart and seized Kara by the arm.
“Get down, old lady. You’re staying here.”
She shook him off with a furious shrug.
“Take your hands off me, you dirty Akhaian beast.”
Quite deliberately Patroklos raised his arm and slapped her, not very hard, across the mouth. “I’m not quite sure what you said, but here’s your first lesson, old woman; among us you don’t talk that way to men. Get inside there; you’ll find some clothes to mend. If you do it well, we may feed you.”
Kassandra exclaimed, “I told you these women are under my protection and that of the Sun Lord! Let her go—or beware His anger!”
“And I told you,” said Patroklos, “that I care nothing at all for your Trojan Apollo. I will honor His truce to the extent that I will not offer insult to His prophetess, but these women are my prisoners and there is nothing you can do about it.”
Kassandra noticed that in the crowd there were a number of women, none of whom seemed to be at all surprised at Patroklos’ words or actions. Kara cried out and began to run, heading for the gates of Troy; Patroklos motioned to one of the soldiers to bring her back, and said to Chryseis, “Here, you, you speak her language; tell her what I said. No one will abuse her if she does her work well. And you might repeat what I said to Priam’s daughter; she doesn’t seem to understand very well either.”
Chryseis began to repeat Patroklos’ words to Kara, but Kassandra interrupted.
“Tell the Akhaian captain that I understand what he said perfectly well; but these women are my handmaidens, and under the protection of Lord Apollo just as I am myself; he cannot take them from me.”
“Do you think you are going to stop me, Princess?” the man inquired, and dragged Adrea out of the wagon. “Now, this one, she’s too old for bedding, but I’ll wager she can cook; Akhilles has been saying he wants someone to wait on that woman he keeps in his tent. Send her over to Briseis, somebody.”
One of the men standing about said, “What about the baby? She looks strong and healthy—shall I get her?”
“Gods of Hades, no,” said Patroklos, as Kassandra’s hand tightened on her dagger. “She’s still wetting her clothes; do you think we will hang about in Troy till the brat is beddable? Forget it.” He said to Kassandra, “Be grateful that you are under Apollo’s protection; I suggest you climb into your cart and be on your way. But not quite yet.” He motioned to his men and said, “Strip the cart; the food we can use, and other things.”
The men at once began swarming all over the cart, hauling out provisions and throwing them down. Kassandra had nothing to say; she knew they would not listen. After a time, as she knew they would, they got into the blanket rolls, and began to unfold them on the ground; then a soldier jumped back with a shriek as the largest of the serpents uncoiled before him. He grabbed at his spear, but Kassandra cried out a warning in his own language.
“No! She is sacred to the Sun Lord; do not dare to touch her!”
The man staggered back, as pale as death; Kassandra had been in Colchis so long she had forgotten the terror with which the creatures were regarded in the islands. Now she reached inside her dress and encouraged the serpent there to crawl slowly out. It circled her waist and flowed along her arm, as the soldiers drew back one by one, gripped by superstitious terror.
“A—aaahhhh! Look there! What has come by her sorcery!”
“Don’t be fools,” said Patroklos. “In our country priestesses are taught to handle them too; but don’t lay a hand on her. We don’t want them here. Go,” he said to Kassandra, “and take your damned pets with you.”
Kassandra knew she would get no better. Kara and Adrea were kneeling and weeping; Kassandra went to them and said softly, “Don’t be too frightened; do as they say and d
on’t make them angry. I swear by Apollo, I’ll get you back.” She had no great love for either of the waiting-women, but they were under her protection, and were dear to her mother.
Now she could see reason for Apollo’s anger. She would speak at once to His priests.
19
AS THE CART clattered across the space before the walls of Troy, Kassandra realized that all the sentries on the walls must have seen what had happened. The plundering of a cart must not be an unusual occurrence, or they would have interfered, at least by shooting arrows down into the Akhaian camp. No doubt better-informed travelers with goods bound for Troy knew enough to do as she should have done, and approach from the landward side.
Kassandra still had the serpents destined for the Sun Lord’s Temple. She herself was unharmed, and the Akhaians had not seriously threatened Honey. Matters could have been worse. But she realized that the level of hostilities had escalated; she should have had the forethought to inform herself of how the war was progressing.
In front of the gates an armed Trojan soldier stopped her, and after a moment she recognized Deiphobos, Priam’s son by one of his palace women.
He bowed.
“The main street is too steep for the cart, Princess,” he told her. “You will have to have it driven around to the landward side. But for you we will open the small gateway beside the great gate. The great gate itself is never opened now for fear the Akhaians will rush it; so long as it stays shut, it can’t be breached—unless some God or other, Poseidon perhaps, decides to break it,” he added quickly, making a gesture against evil luck.
“May that day be far,” Kassandra said. “Can you find someone to take the cart to the Temple of Apollo? There are serpents for the Sun Lord’s house in the cart, and they must not be frightened, or allowed to get too cold.”