The Firebrand

CHAPTER 17

Then began for Kassandra a time like no other in her life. Since she was already a priestess, there were no wearying ordeals or trials; although as the youngest - many of the priestesses of-Serpent Mother were elderly and frail, for few young women chose to serve the Serpent shrine - she had to take her turn at the more troublesome duties such as caring for the animals being raised for feeding the serpents, cleaning pots, and accepting and tallying temple offerings. She was welcomed by everyone and treated in accordance with her station; Queen Imandra herself received no more deference, and soon Arikia came to love her as a daughter.

In many ways her stay in the Serpent Mother's Temple was like her early years in the Sunlord's house, with one great difference: all the devotees of Serpent Mother were women, and she had nothing like her early troubles with Khryse; the only men in the house of the Serpent were slaves and none of them would have dared make any advances to any of the priestesses.

She learned all that the priestesses could teach her about the ways of serpents and snakes; how to tell the venomous from the harmless, how to tame and handle certain kinds of harmless serpents which looked identical to certain poisonous snakes so that any onlooker would believe that she was defying death. She herself had no fear of even the largest snakes, and soon was one of the preferred handlers; often when the enormous matriarch of serpents was carried in processions, Kassandra was one of those chosen to carry her.

No facet of serpent lore escaped her; how to find and capture them in the wild, how to feed and keep them, how to bathe them and care for them when they shed their skins. She even hatched one herself, carrying the egg between her breasts for more than a month, and sheltering the baby snake against her body when it crawled out of the egg. For this she was given the coveted title of honor among the priestesses, Snake Mother.

She seldom thought of Troy. Word came to them now and again, perhaps distorted by the long journey, of how the war went. Idomeneo of Crete, and the Minoan Kings, became Troy's allies; most of the mainlanders stood with the Akhaians. The Islanders, because of alliances forged when Atlantis still ruled the seas, held with Priam and the Goddesses of Troy and Colchis.

Sometimes at the full moon, Kassandra kindled witchfire and looked into her scrying-bowl by its light; and so she knew when Andromache bore Hector a second son who died before his navel-string was healed; she wished that night that she could have been in Troy to comfort her friend's grief.

She knew, too, when Helen bore Paris twin sons, which did not entirely surprise her; Paris, after all, was a twin—and Helen too had a twin sister. It occurred to her that if she herself ever bore children, she might produce twins, perhaps twin daughters. Helen's twins were strong and healthy children, though they hadn't the beauty of either their mother or father, and grew so fast that within half a year they were walking.

Before Paris's younger sons were weaned, Priam suffered a fall in a skirmish on the shore, and the thunderbolt stroke, during the illness that followed, left the right side of his face twisted and sagging, and he limped thereafter on his right foot. He made Hector the official commander of his armies—to no one's surprise. The soldiers, though they were loyal, and cheered Priam when on rare occasions he appeared before the armies, worshipped Hector as if he were Mars himself.

Time in Colchis slipped past without incident. She was always welcomed at the palace, and Imandra often sent for her; sometimes simply for her company, occasionally to look into a scrying-bowl and tell her how it went with the war, or sometimes to search out the Amazons to be certain it did not go too badly with Penthesilea and her band. With her days filled with study and duties, it surprised her to discover that she had been gone from Troy for more than a year. Among women, birth was always a festival and someone in the palace was always having a baby; the women sworn to Serpent Mother did not marry and most of them had taken formal vows of chastity, so there were no births in their temple. She wondered when the Queen would have her child.

Soon she heard in the city that the Queen would walk abroad to bless her subjects in the name of Earth Mother; Kassandra vaguely remembered - it was almost her first memory - that

Hecuba had done this before Troilus was born. In Troy it was simply an old custom half-remembered and informally observed: whenever the Queen showed herself in the streets women would rush up to her and ask her blessing; in Colchis where the customs were kept in the old way, Kassandra was not surprised to find there it was a formal procession. But surely they had left it to very late; the time of birth must be imminent. Imandra would not walk the streets but would be carried in a sedan chair, and Arikia, the earthly representative of Serpent Mother, would be carried with her, the serpents of wisdom adorning her from head to foot, so that all women in the city could seek blessing not only from the pregnant queen but from the Serpent Mother.

"But why now? Do they want the Queen to fall into labour in the streets?" she asked.

"Well, it has happened before," Arikia said. "This would not be the first child of a Queen of Colchis to be born in the streets of the city. There will be many court midwives in the procession. But the Queen's astrologers have chosen this as an auspicious day; and of course, the nearer to her time Imandra is, the more blessing she can confer."

"Yes, of course." Kassandra could understand that. It was the morning of the procession, and Kassandra along with her fellow priestesses was helping to dress and adorn Arikia, winding the serpent matriarch about her waist and two smaller serpents about her arms. It would be tiring for her, for the serpents must be held up so that the people could see them. Kassandra wished that she, who was younger and stronger, could take the older woman's place. She said so, but Arikia only said, "It is harder still on the Queen, my dear; she is as big as a python who has swallowed a cow. Perhaps next time, my dear; Imandra is an old friend and I am happy to ride in her procession. She has been more than kind to you, too. A little more of the crimson paint on my left cheek, if you please, and some of the herbal powder to be burned in the brazier; the serpents love it, and they give far less trouble when they can smell it. Will you ride with me, Kassandra? And you can feed the brazier, and stand ready to take the smaller snakes from me if they should be restless. It is not likely, but of course anything can happen."

Kassandra knew this was a privilege of which other priestesses in the temple would be envious; but they deferred to her as princess of Troy and she was entitled to these honors. She went and put on her best ceremonial robe at once, and wrapped her arms with two or three of the smaller serpents, binding two others around her brow so that they formed a crown. Thus arrayed (and thinking that perhaps the statues of the legendary Medusa might have been inspired by such a serpent crown) she went out to the street and as Arikia was lifted into the high raised chair, let herself be lifted in after her.

It was cold; a high wind was blowing through the streets between the high buildings; and all the leaves were gone from the trees and bushes. She sat holding her serpents high so that the women in the streets could see them clearly. Imandra's chair was ahead; Kassandra could see the Queen's form, heavily pregnant now, her loosened hair flowing down her back. The streets were crowded with women, many of them pregnant, rushing up to the carriages, pushing through the guards, reaching up their arms to beg for the blessing.

The wind chilled her; she was glad for the cosy weight of the serpent about her waist. The snakes were sluggish; they do not like the cold any better than I do, she thought, longing for the warm sun of her home.

She fell almost into a trance, looking at the tall figure of Imandra on her carriage, shadowed with the powerful magic and glamour of the Goddess. Women rushed to hold up their hands, crying out for good fortune, fertility, and just the good luck of touching the pregnant Queen who embodied the Goddess. Automatically holding up her serpents, she heard the women calling to Imandra and Earth Mother, to Arikia, and the Serpent Mother, and then from somewhere in the crowd she actually heard someone call, "Look, it is the Trojan priestess, the beloved of Apollo!"

That brought her to sudden awareness. Was it still true? Or had Apollo forgotten her? Perhaps it was time, she thought, that she should return to Troy and her own people and her own Gods; serving the Goddess, women were more free here, but what good was the freedom if she must dwell forever among strangers? Then her heart smote her; she was well loved here and had many friends, could she bear to abandon them and to return to a city where women were regarded as little better than prostitutes or slaves?

The sun grew hotter; she pulled her veil over her head and dipped her kerchief into a bowl of water to moisten the snakes' heads. "Soon, little ones," she murmured,"this will be over and you will be where it is cool and dark." One of the serpents was trying to crawl into the darkness of her dress; the crowds were thinning, so she did not try to prevent it.

The chair-bearers slowed; then came to a halt. Servants were carefully lifting Imandra down from her seat - not easily. She walked heavily toward the chair where the priestesses sat surrounded by their serpents.

"Kassandra, my friend, will you come this evening to the palace and look for me into your scrying-bowl?"

"With pleasure," Kassandra replied. "As soon as I have cared for my serpents - if Arikia will give me leave," she added, glancing at the senior priestess, who smiled and nodded permission.

At the temple of Serpent Mother, she helped the bearers to settle Arikia down on her bed in a darkened room; then she helped to unwind the snakes and bathe them in the fountain in the inner court. After swallowing a little fruit and bread, she dressed herself in her simplest robe and went out again into the chill of early afternoon. It was a little warmer—what heat there was in the sun was full strength now—and the noonday streets were full of people, but none of them recognized the slight dark-haired woman in her plain tunic as the priestess who had been carried, robed and crowned in her serpents, through the streets.

The Queen's women conducted Kassandra to the royal apartments. It was pleasantly warm there, with a fire in a fireplace. Imandra was lying in a hammock, her hair unbound and her huge body mounded high against the cushions. She had shed the glamour of the Goddess and now looked weary, her drawn face would have been pale, except that she had not even troubled to remove the paint from her cheeks.

She should have kept Andromache here in Colchis instead of sending her to Troy; then she would not need to expose herself to the dangers of a belated childbearing, Kassandra thought, surprised at herself; now she needs a daughter to rule after her in Colchis. As if some hint of Kassandra's thought had reached her, the Queen opened her eyes.

"Ah, daughter, you have come to keep me company," she said. "I am glad; I think the little one—" she laid her hand across her belly, "may be born today; but at least the procession was completed and I need not give birth to their Queen in the streets. Soon I will summon the palace women—they will be cross if they are not told at once; they are entitled to their festival. Kassandra, how old are you, my dear?"

Kassandra tried to reckon up the years; in Troy they did not keep track of a woman's age once she had arrived at puberty.

"I think I shall be nineteen or twenty this summer," she said. "Mother told me I was born near to midsummer."

"A year older than my Andromache," Imandra said, "and you told me that Andromache's oldest son, is old enough for his first bronze helmet and lessons in swordplay. I do not think I know any woman of your years who is not married. Sometimes I think you should have been my daughter, since you cleave to the old ways in Colchis, and Andromache seems happy in Troy, even as an obedient wife to Hector." Her lip curled a little, almost in scorn. "But you are Priam's daughter, and a Trojan. Is it your will to remain unmarried all your days, my dear?"

"I had thought of nothing else," Kassandra said. "I am sworn to Apollo Sunlord."

"But you are missing all that makes life worth the living," Imandra said, and sighed.

Imandra frowned and lay motionless for a time, then said, "Will you look into the scrying-bowl and let this old woman once set eyes upon my daughter's child?"

Kassandra demurred. "Perhaps just now you should think first of this child. You must save all your strength and energy until she is safely here among us, kinswoman."

"Spoken like a priestess - and they are all full of nonsense," said Imandra crustily. "I am not a maiden of fifteen in my first childbed; I am a grown woman and a Queen, and no less a priestess than you yourself, Kassandra of Troy."

"I had no thought of suggesting—" Kassandra began defensively.

"Oh, yes you did; don't deny it," Imandra said. "Do as I ask you, Kassandra; if you will not there are others who will, though not many who see so far or so well."

Everything Imandra said was true, and Kassandra knew it.

"Oh, very well," she agreed, mentally adding you stubborn old creature. "Call your women," she said, "and let them prepare you for the birth. Hold me harmless of it if what I say gives you pain or sorrow; I am but the messenger, the wings of the bird on which such greetings fly." She knelt down, making the preparations for kindling the witchfire for the spell of sight.

Imandra's women came and went in the room, making all ready for the birthing. Among them were Kassandra's two waiting-women, who came to greet her and ask quietly out of earshot of the Queen, "Are we to stay in this foreign city forever, Princess? When shall we return to Troy?"

"That shall be as Queen Imandra wills," Kassandra said. "I shall not leave her while she has need of me here."

"How can she have more need of you than your own mother, Lady? Do you truly think Queen Hecuba does not long and grieve for you?"

Kassandra said indifferently, "You have my leave to return to Troy whenever you will; this very night if it should please you. But I have made a promise to Imandra and I will not break it." She rose and strode to the high bed where the women had placed the Queen to rest till it should be time for the birth-chair. The room was slowly filling with the women in the palace, come to witness the royal event.

"I wonder," Imandra mused fretfully, "if it ever happens that the Earth Mother sends the babe to the wrong womb? From what I know of her, Hecuba would have thought Andromache her perfect daughter, and you were always misplaced in Troy." She clung hard to Kassandra's hand, "No, don't leave me, the Gods will wait on the Sight till our eyes are ready to see…'

"I do not know what the purposes of the Goddess may be, that sent me to the womb of Hecuba of Troy instead of Imandra of Colchis," Kassandra said, laying her cheek against the older woman's, "but whatever it may have been, kinswoman, I love and revere you as if you were my mother in truth."

"I believe you do, child," said Imandra, turning her face to kiss Kassandra. "Should the Goddess take me today, as we all come under her wing at such times as this, promise me to stay in Colchis and rear my daughter in the old ways."

"Oh, come, you mustn't talk about dying; you will live many, many years and see this daughter with her own sons and daughters at her knees," Kassandra said. One of the serving-women handed her a cup of wine and a plate of honey cakes; she sipped at the wine absently, and put the cakes aside.

"Let me look for you into the bowl," she said, and knelt again on the stones by the kindled witchlight, casting her mind to the day when Andromache's son had been born; Hector's face pale and excited, looking at the little creature…

Shadows moved in the water, flowing and congealing into Hector's face… the crimson plumes draggled, slimed with a wet darker crimson… Kassandra gasped as a sudden pain pierced her heart. Hector! Was he dead, or did she but see what was to come? When a city was at war it was more likely than not that the leader of the army who always was first among his troops in battle, should fall at the hands… the bloody hands of Akhilles… that sneering face, pale and beautiful, beautiful and evil. Snow drifted across the face of the water, and Kassandra knew she saw what was to come in a future year; but which year? This one, or some year in the future… Kassandra had no way of knowing.

Imandra, her eyes fixed on Kassandra's face as if desperately trying to share the vision, asked, "What did you see?"

"Hector's death," Kassandra whispered, "but for a warrior there is no other end, and we have long known already that this was to come; but'tis not yet, perhaps not for many years…'

"But the child—" Imandra whispered,"tell me of the child—"

"When last I saw he was healthy and well-grown, and had already a wooden sword and a toy helmet—" Kassandra said, reluctant to look again and see disaster, and for some reason she never doubted that this was what would come. "The omens this night are evil for the sight, Imandra; I beg you excuse me from looking again—"

"As you will," said Imandra, but her face twisted with disappointment. "I could die content if only I could see my daughter's son, even by your sight rather than my own

"Now, then," said young Agon, holding Imandra's hand tight, "I will not let you think of dying, content or otherwise; you must stay with me to teach our daughter to be Queen of Colchis."

Flickers of colour flowed across the surface of the water; firelight, flame across the gates of Troy; and she remembered Hector's teasing voice:

You have but one song, Kassandra, fire and doom for Troy, and you sing it in season and out, like a minstrel who knows but one tune…

Yes, I know Troy is to perish, but not yet… I beseech you, let me see something else…

The flames died; there was a flare of light, the bright sunlight reflecting on the white walls of Troy… melting into the angry sombre face of Khryse, distorted into the familiar lines of mourning.

Apollo Sunlord: if I see all this in your light, why must you show me nothing but what I already know?

Then glare, as if she was staring directly into the face of the sun; it seemed Khryse grew taller, and now Kassandra saw the blazing light of the God, and knew who now strode the walls and ramparts of Troy, terrible in his wrath; his shining bow drawn, the golden arrows shooting… shooting at random among Akhaians and Trojans alike, the terrible arrows of Apollo, striking…

Kassandra screamed, covering her face with her hands; the vision blurred and ran like water, was gone.

"Not upon us," she moaned, "not upon thine own people, Sunlord, not the wrath, not the arrows of Apollo…'

Then they were all round her, shaking her, trying to lift her, holding wine to her lips.

"What did you see? Try and tell us, Kassandra—"

"No, no," she cried, trying very hard to keep her voice from becoming a shriek. "We must go at once, we must return to Troy…' but dread iced her heart, thinking of the endless leagues of the journey which lay between Colchis and home.

"We must go at once, we must set out at daybreak, or even this night," she cried, reaching for her waiting-woman's hands holding her up. "We must go… we must not lose a moment…'

She pulled herself unsteadily to her feet, and made her way to Imandra's side, kneeling there, pleading, "The Gods call me at once to Troy; I beg you, kinswoman, give me leave to depart…'

"To go now?" Imandra, her whole mind and body concentrated on the birth-throes sweeping her body, stared at her without comprehension. "No, I forbid it; you promised to remain with me…'

Despairing, Kassandra realized that she could not impose her own need upon this woman gripped in the most imperative of all callings. She would simply have to wait. She wiped away the tears she had not realized were flooding down her cheeks, and turned her attention to Imandra herself.

"Did you see my Andromache's child?" Imandra pleaded.

"No," Kassandra said soothingly, blocking from her mind the sight of a child's broken body before the walls of Troy… she had seen that before… 'No, this night the Gods gave me no such sight. I saw only how ill it went with my city."

The sea black with the Akhaian ships, the walls of Troy swarmed by the storming ants of Akhilles's armies… walls breaking, flames rising… No, not yet… not that final destruction, not yet… but worse, the terrible arrows of Apollo's wrath flying against Akhaians and Trojans alike…

One of the women started one of the traditional birth-songs, and after a stunned moment of silence… How could they sing and behave as if this were an ordinary women's festival? But no, they had not seen blood or flames or the arrows of the angry god… Kassandra joined in the chant, encouraging the waiting soul of the child to come into the body prepared for it, for the Goddess to release the child's body from the Queen's imprisoning womb. Song followed song, and later some of the priestesses danced the curious dance of the soul making its way past the guardians of the World Before. The night wore slowly away, and when the sky was paling for sunrise, the Queen at last, with a shout of triumph, gave birth; the senior palace midwife, into whose hands the child had been born, held it up, crying out:

"It is a daughter! A strong and healthy daughter! A little Queen for Colchis!"

The women broke into a triumphant chant of welcome to the infant, taking her to the window and holding her up to the rising sun, passing the little naked body around the circle of women from hand to hand that each woman might embrace and kiss the, new one. Queen Imandra finally demanded, "Let me take her; let me see that she is truly strong and healthy."

"Just a moment; we must first have her swaddled against the cold," said the court midwife, and wrapped the baby in one of the Queen's own shawls.

They put her, swaddled and washed at last, into Imandra's hands, and the Queen laid her face tenderly against the little one's cheek.

"Ah, I have waited long enough to hold you, little one; it is like bearing my own grandchild; I know no other woman who has born a child at my age and lived," she said, "yet I feel as strong and well as when Andromache was put into my arms." She was unwrapping the baby in the compulsive way of all new mothers, counting each finger and toe, then counting them all over again in case she had missed one, then giving each one a separate kiss, like a special tribute.

"She's beautiful," she said, smiling blissfully when she had finished nudging and nuzzling the baby, and drawing a beautiful ring from her finger, presented it to the court midwife. "This, in addition to your regular fee which my chamberlain will give you."

The midwife gasped thanks, and backed away, overwhelmed at such largesse. Imandra continued:

"We will name her on the first auspicious day. Until then she will be my little pearl… since she is as smooth and pink as one of the pearls the divers in the Islands bring from the depths of the sea. And I shall call her Pearl, my little pearl princess."

All the women agreed that this was a lovely name. It would be used until the princess was old enough to be given a formal name by the priestesses, and informally all her life.

Then Queen Imandra beckoned Kassandra forward.

"Your eyes are red, Kassandra, and you do not seem to rejoice, with us. Have you seen some evil omen for my child, that you do not share my joy?"

Kassandra cringed; she had been afraid that she would not be able to conceal her grief from Imandra's sharp eyes. "No, kinswoman; I truly rejoice for your happiness," she said, bending down and kissing the little princess, "and I cannot tell you how greatly I rejoice that you are safe and well. But my eyes are always red when I sleep so little as this night; and—" she hesitated, her voice breaking,"the Gods have sent me an evil omen from Troy. I am needed there. I beg you, kinswoman, grant me leave to depart at once for my home."

Imandra looked distressed, but the pain in Kassandra's face softened her anger. She said, "In this weather? Winter is approaching, and the journey would be terrible. I had hoped you would remain to help me with raising my daughter. I had little luck in raising Andromache to be Queen after me. I put small faith in oracles or omens, but I can deny you nothing on such a day when the Goddess has sent me this beautiful daughter. Yet it is not my leave you must obtain, but that of Serpent Mother. It is to her, not to me, that you are sworn here. And you must wait at least until I can gather gifts to be sent to Troy; for Andromache and her child, and for my kinswoman Hecuba, and, not least, for you, my dear daughter."

Kassandra had known this would be required, and she told herself that the catastrophe she had foreseen could not be so imminent that a day or even a week could make so much difference. The dues of kinship and courtesy could not be ignored for one who had been so good to her as Queen Imandra, yet her heart rebelled; everything which held her back from Troy now seemed hateful to her. She was sure that Arikia would chide her for disloyalty, even for dishonor; but there was no other honorable thing to do. They had given generously of their knowledge and friendship; she could not, after all, steal away from Colchis like a thief.

So she braced herself and went to take leave of the Serpent Priestess.

During the night and the long next day, while wagons and beasts and gifts and all that she would need on the long road to Troy were being made ready, she had time to regain some degree of calm, if only because she could not remain at that fever pitch of dread and terror. While she knew that the Gods had summoned her to Troy to meet whatever might be her destiny, it never occurred to her that remaining in Colchis might serve to avoid it; history was full of tales of those who selfishly thought to avoid their destiny by neglecting some duty, and inevitably brought upon themselves the very fate they feared.

The vision might not mean catastrophe; it might even mean that Apollo would not tolerate the war as it was being waged. Perhaps he would force them to some kind of truce, and all would be well.

So in the end, although truly sorry to part from Colchis and the freedom and honor she knew there, she set forth three mornings later with a high heart, glad—or at least not sorry—to be on the road again.