The Firebrand

CHAPTER 18

"There is no relying on the winds at this season," said the bald man who called himself Pharaoh, and was regarded as a God incarnate by his court. "It would please us if you remained as our guest until the seasons change and the winds can be relied on to bear you to Mykenae, or wherever you wish to go."

"The Lord of the Two Lands is gracious," Agamemnon demurred, "but I had hoped to make my way home before that."

"Pharaoh gave this advice to the noble Odysseus, when he guested with us and Odysseus ignored it," said one of the courtiers. "Now word has come that bits and pieces of Odysseus's ship have been cast up on the rocks of Aeaea; he will never be heard from again."

"Well, well, I suppose it is better to come late home than to arrive early on the shores of nowhere," said Agamemnon, "and I accept your gracious invitation, for myself and my men." Kassandra knew he was annoyed; this meant that he would have to ransack his chests for worthy guest-gifts for Pharaoh, and if they stayed too long he would not get any of his plunder home at all. They were not the first from Troy to be cast on these shores; Pharaoh's hall already displayed recognizable spoils from the city, including the statue of the Sunlord from the shrine.

In the next few days Kassandra discovered that a few of the priests and priestesses of the Temple of Apollo had taken refuge here; although none of her closest friends to whom she might have appealed. She would have been overjoyed to know that Phyllida, or even Chryseis, was alive.

Egypt was hot and dry, and filled with bitter winds from the desert, which could wipe out all signs of life if people did not take shelter at once; even in Pharaoh's great stone palace the damage could be seen.

Nevertheless, at least it was on land, and better than being daily battered by wind and sea.

Kassandra was glad of the respite. The Egyptians gossiped about Agamemnon and one of the waiting-women told her secretly that everyone in Egypt knew that after the death of Iphigenia, Klytemnestra had sworn vengeance and had openly taken a lover, a cousin of hers named Aegisthos, and was living with him in the palace at Mykenae.

Kassandra's attitude was simply, "Well, why shouldn't she? Agamemnon, away in Troy, was no good to her as a husband."

But these Egyptians also worshipped male Gods and felt a man's wife must do what he bade her, and that the worst thing that could happen was for a wife to lie with anyone but her husband. If it was a King's wife then the Queen's behaviour brought disgrace upon the whole country. Kassandra could only hope that Agamemnon would not hear the story and have another grievance. He spoke often of putting Klytemnestra away and making Kassandra his lawful Queen, and that was the last thing Kassandra wanted.

She even heard that Klytemnestra, feeling young again when she had taken Aegisthos to her bed, had to all purposes disinherited her remaining daughter by marrying her off to a lowborn man who had been the palace's swineherd or something of that sort. The people of Mykenae believed that, following the old custom, Klytemnestra, who was past the age of childbearing, should have married Aegisthos off to her daughter Elektra and allowed Elektra to take her place as Queen. At least everyone agreed that Elektra's marriage was to a man no one could possibly have accepted as King.

Agamemnon finally heard the story—not about Klytemnestra's lover, everyone was careful that no breath of that should reach his ears - but about Elektra's marriage. And about that he was angry.

"Klytemnestra had no right to do that; it was as if she had presumed my death. Elektra's marriage was mine to make, a dynastic marriage which would have bought me allies. Odysseus had spoken of marrying her to his son Telemachus, and now that Odysseus's ship is lost, Telemachus will need powerful allies if he is to hold Ithaca against those who would like to take it," he said.

"Or I might have married her off to the son of Akhilles—he was never formally married to his cousin Deidameia, but I heard he seduced the girl and she bore him a son after he went to fight in Troy. Well, when I come home, Klytemnestra will learn that I mean to set my house in order and that her rule is at an end," he said. "Elektra as a widow will be just as valuable a marriage pawn; the girl cannot be more than fifteen or so. And it is your son and not Klytemnestra's son Orestes who will sit on the Lion Throne when I am gone."

Kassandra had noted that the Akhaians thought much of their sons coming after them; it seemed to be how they coped with the thought of death, for they seemed to have no concept of an afterlife. No wonder they had no code of decency; they seemed not to believe that their Gods would hold them responsible in the next life for anything they did in this one.

The days in the calm Egyptian land were all so much alike that Kassandra was hardly aware of the passing of time; only by the growth of the child within her did she have any awareness of the days that were hastening by. At last the season was sufficiently advanced that Pharaoh said they might set sail; but that very night Kassandra fell into labour, and at sunrise the next morning she gave birth to a small male child.

"My son," Agamemnon said, picking up the baby and looking carefully at him. "He is very small."

"But he is healthy and strong," said the midwife, eagerly. "Truly, Lord Agamemnon, such small children often grow up as big as those who are larger at birth. And the princess is a narrow woman; it would have gone hard with her to bear a son of a proper size to be yours."

Agamemnon smiled at that and kissed the baby. "My son," he said to Kassandra, but she looked away from him and said, "Or Ajax's."

He scowled, not liking to be reminded of that possibility, and said, "No; I think he has a look of me."

Well, I hope you enjoy thinking so, she thought; it will not make the poor child prettier.

"Shall we name him Priam for your father then? A Priam on the Lion Throne?"

She said, "It is for you to say."

"Well, I will give it thought," Agamemnon said. "You are a prophetess; perhaps we can think of a name full of good omen." He stooped and laid the baby back to her breast.

But there are no good omens for a son of Agamemnon, she thought, remembering that Klytemnestra and her new king awaited Agamemnon at home. This son, no more than Agamemnon, would never sit on the Lion Throne of Mykenae.

She felt a familiar far-off humming in her head; the sun blinded her eyes. The child seemed to weigh less in her arms - or was it that her arms had released him? She had believed the Sight was gone from her forever; she had not managed to save her people or her loved ones with her prophecy, and had thought herself free of it at last.

Now she saw the great double-bladed axe that cleft the head of the great bulls in Crete, and Agamemnon, staggering with his eyes full of blood.

She clasped her hands to her eyes to shut out the sight.

"Blood," she whispered. "Like one of the bulls of Crete - go not to the sacrifice—"

He leaned down to stroke her hair.

"What did you say? A bull? Well, for this fine gift no doubt I should give a bull to Zeus Thunderer; but not here in Egypt; we will wait for that till we reach my country, where I have bulls in plenty and need not pay the outrageous amounts of gold the priests here demand for sacrificial animals. I think Zeus can wait till then for the proper sacrifices; but when you can get up you may take a couple of doves to their Earth Mother in thanksgiving for this fine son."

Maybe that was all I saw, a sacrifice somehow gone wrong -she thought, but all at once her malice was gone; she had hated and despised him, but now she saw him among the dead, and wondered if after death he must face all the men he had slain in battle. Hector had said that when he crossed the gate of death he was first greeted by Patroklos—but it would be different for Agamemnon, as it had been somehow different, she knew, for Akhilles.

She lingered abed, knowing that as soon as she could walk, Agamemnon would set sail for the port of Mykenae. And she had been so sick every day of the voyage which had brought them here that now she was in terror of the sea.

She finally decided to call her son Agathon. Before his birth, she could not imagine loving a child conceived like this one, and she had begun to suspect that a good part of her sickness during pregnancy was just revulsion against the very thought that this parasite of rape had fastened on her from within and would not be cast forth. If he had turned out to have been poisoned by her loathing, with two heads or a marred face, she would have thought it only fitting.

And yet he lay on her breast so small and innocent; and she could not see anything about him that was like Agamemnon. He was just like any other newborn child, very small indeed, but everything about him was perfectly formed, down to hands and full-formed little fingernails, and tiny toenails on every toe.

How strange to think that this soft little being, who could lie at the center of his father's great shield and leave room for a good-sized dog, might grow up to bring down a mighty city. But for now he was all softness and milky fragrance, and when he nuzzled at her breast she could not help thinking of Honey helpless in her arms. Why should this perfect little creature be blamed for what his father had done?

But she knew that, like Klytemnestra, she would be sure to send this son away so that Agamemnon could not school him in king-craft. She found no pleasure in the thought that her son might one day sit on the Lion Throne. She did not wish her son to be brought up as the Akhaians brought up their sons.

She supposed that Helen by now had borne Paris's last son; and she wondered if Menelaus had carried out his threat to expose the child. It was the sort of thing he would do; these Akhaians seemed only to care for their own sons; as if a child could be anyone's except the mother's who bore it.

Even Agamemnon had no idea whether this child was his or Ajax's—or, for that matter, Aeneas's. She would take care not to remind him again of that. This was her son; and no man's. But she would hold her peace and let Agamemnon think it his if he wished, for its safety.

She gathered the babe up in the swaddling clothes that had been provided in Pharaoh's palace, and went through the streets of the city with one of the women of the royal household who had borne a child the day before. In the temple of the Goddess—a repulsive statue of a woman with huge breasts like a cow, and the head of a crocodile—she sacrificed a pair of young doves, and kneeling before the statue, tried to pray.

She was a stranger in this land and a stranger to their Goddess. She supposed there was not so much difference between the Goddess of crocodiles and the Goddess of snakes; but no prayers would come, nor could she look even a little way into the future and see whether it would be well with her child.

She should seek the Sunlord's house; here in Egypt, the Sunlord was their greatest God, and they called him by the name of Re; but she still feared the God who had been unable—or unwilling - to save her city, and would not approach him.

If he could not save us, he is not a God; if he could and would not, what son of God is he?

The next day Agamemnon's goods were prepared and loaded; he gave final guest-gifts to Pharaoh, and they departed.

Kassandra had been in terror of renewed seasickness; but this time she felt only a little queasy the first night they lifted the anchor. The next morning she felt perfectly well. She ate fruit and the hard ship's bread with good appetite, and sat on deck with the baby at her breast. The illness, then, had been a side effect of head injury and then of her pregnancy.

She knew nothing of ships and sailing, but Agamemnon seemed pleased with the strong winds that day after day drove them across the clear blue waters. The baby proved as good a sailor as his father. He suckled strongly, and it seemed that she could see him growing every day; his small hands becoming more formed, his nose and chin, from mere blobs, taking a real shape. She felt that perhaps, considering the shape of his chin, he might be Agamemnon's child after all. His father liked to hold him and joggle him in his arms, trying to make him laugh. This was the last thing she had expected. Well, Hector and even Paris had enjoyed playing with their children. Painful as it was to admit it, Akhaians were not all that different from other men.

One morning, just as it was getting light, she had gone on deck to rinse the child's swaddlings in a bucket of sea water and spread them to dry. The ship was silent except for a single steersman at the stern, for the winds were strong enough that the rowers were not needed except for maneuvering at close quarters to land.

She looked from horizon to horizon; the sea was peaceful, and they were passing between two shores, one a high mountain rising steeply above them, its shadow reaching almost to the ship itself. On the other side was a long, low, treeless headland; there, suddenly on the side of the mountain a streak of fire flared upward to the sky, like a flower of flame blooming there. The steersman let out a shout of exultation and yelled for one of his fellows to come and steer.

Agamemnon appeared on deck and shouted to the crew, "There it is, my brave lads! The beacon on our own headland! After all these years, we've come home at last! A bull to Zeus Thunderer!"

The sunlight glinted in his eyes - as red as blood, Kassandra thought. Her own eyes felt strained and dry and it struck her that he should hardly be so overjoyed at coming home—who knew what he would find there!

She came to the rail, the child in her arms, and stood beside him.

"What is it?"

"When I left home," he said, "I gave orders that a great pile of wood should be made on the headland, and a watchman kept there at all times. When I set sail, I sent a message by a swift courier that a watch should be kept for my ship; they have sighted us and word will be sent to the palace; they will prepare a feast and a welcome for us.

"It is good to be home again. I am eager to show you my country and the palace where you will be Queen, Kassandra." He took the child from her, bending over the little face, and saying, "Your country, my son; your father's throne. You are silent, Kassandra."

"It is not my country," she said, "and it is certain Klytemnestra will have no joyful welcome for me, eager as she may be to see you again. And I am afraid for my child; Klytemnestra—"

"You need not fear anything like that," he said arrogantly. "Among the Akhaians, our women are dutiful wives. She will not dare say a word of protest. She has had a free rein while I was away; she will soon learn what I expect of her, and she will do as she is told or be the worse for it, believe me."

"It is cold," she said. "I will go and fetch my cloak."

"It seems warm and fine to me," he said, "but perhaps it is because this is the port of my native city. Look, now you can see the palace on the hill, and the walls, built by Titans centuries ago. The port here is called Nauplia."

She went to fetch a cloak and stood beside Agamemnon at the prow, letting the woman who had been her mother's servant take the baby.

The great sail had been lowered; and the rowers had taken their places to maneuver the ship in the harbor; it glided smoothly along inside the sheltered waters in the lee of the headland.

Now she could see a number of people collecting along the pier. As the boat drew in close, one man raised a cheer, and Agamemnon's soldiers, clustered along the sides of the boat, began waving and yelling to people they recognized on shore.

But for the most part the crowd was silent as the boat drew slowly closer to the pier. To Kassandra the silence seemed ominous. She shivered, although the rich cloak she wore was warm, and took the baby back from the serving woman, to clutch him close against her body.

The prow of the ship bumped gently against the land. Agamemnon was the first to step ashore; at once he fell to the ground and solemnly kissed the stones of the pier, crying in a loud voice, "I give thanks to the Thunder Lord who has returned me safe to my own country!"

A tall red-haired man with a gold torque about his throat stepped up to him and said with a bow, "My Lord Agamemnon, I am Aegisthos, a kinsman of your Queen; she has sent me with these men to escort you with great honor to the palace."

The men closed in around Agamemnon; and marched away. It looked to Kassandra as if he were a guarded prisoner rather than a king with an escort of honor. Agamemnon was scowling—she could see he had little liking for this.

Nevertheless he went with them, unprotesting. One of the men on the pier climbed aboard and came to Kassandra.

"You are the daughter of Priam of Troy? My master sent word you would be coming and you were to be shown all regard," he said. "We have a cart for you and your child, and your woman."

He gave her his hand and helped her ashore, settling her in the cart with the baby on her knees and the serving woman crouched at her feet.

In spite of this luxury—and the road up to the palace was so steep that she had dreaded climbing it on foot - Kassandra felt uneasy. The stone walls of the great palace, almost as massive as the fallen walls of Troy, seemed to frown above her, deep in shadow. They passed under a great gate above which two lionesses, painted in brilliant colours, kept watch face to face. As the cart trundled through the Lion Gate, she wondered if they represented the ancient Gods of the place, or were Agamemnon's private emblem? But they were lionesses, not lions, and anyhow Agamemnon had come here as consort of the Queen in the old way. Klytemnestra's symbol, then?

Ahead of the cart marched Agamemnon and his honor guard with Aegisthos. Just inside the Lion Gate was a city built on the same pattern as Troy on the hillside: palace, temples, gardens, above one another, the walls rising in many terraces and balconies. It was beautiful; yet it seemed shadowed darkly, the depths of the shadow falling on Agamemnon where he walked at the center of the soldiers.

On the steps of the palace, a woman appeared; tall and commanding, her hair elaborately dressed in ringlets fresh from a curling iron, flaming gold in the morning sun. She was dressed richly in the Cretan style: a laced bodice low across her breasts, a flounced skirt dyed in many colours, one for each flounce.

Kassandra saw at once the close resemblance to Helen. This would be her sister Klytemnestra. The Queen came through the escort and bowed low to Agamemnon; her voice was sweet and clear.

"My Lord, a great joy to welcome you to these shores and to the palace where once you ruled at my side," she said. "We have long awaited this day."

She held out her two hands to him; he took them ceremoniously and kissed them.

"It is a joy to return home, Lady."

"We have prepared a celebration and a great sacrifice suitable to the occasion," she said. "I can hardly wait to kill you."

No, Kassandra thought in shock; that could not have been what she said; but it is what I heard.

What Klytemnestra had actually said was: I can hardly wait to see you take the place we have prepared for you.

"All is prepared for your bath and the feast," Klytemnestra said. "We are entirely ready to—to see you lying dead among the sacrifices." Once again Kassandra had heard what Klytemnestra was thinking, not what her lips had actually spoken. So again foresight, undesired, had come upon her.

Klytemnestra gestured Agamemnon toward the palace steps.

"All is prepared, my Lord; go in and officiate at the sacrifice."

He bowed and began to walk up the steps. Klytemnestra watched him go with a smile which made Kassandra shudder. Couldn't he see'?

But the King moved without hesitation; just as he reached the great bronze doors at the top of the stairs, Aegisthos, armed with the great sacrificial axe, flung them open and thrust him inside. The door closed after him.

Klytemnestra came down the stairs to the cart. She said, "You are the Trojan princess, Priam's daughter? My sister sent word to me that you were the one friend she had found in Troy."

Kassandra bowed; she was not sure that Klytemnestra's next move would not be to thrust a knife through her heart.

"I am Kassandra of Troy, and in Colchis I was made a priestess of Serpent Mother," she said.

Klytemnestra looked at the baby on her breast. She said, "Is that Agamemnon's child?"

"No," said Kassandra, not knowing whence came the courage which bade her speak so boldly. "He is my son."

"Good," said Klytemnestra, "we want no king's sons in this land. He may live, then."

At that moment, a great shout arose from within the bronze gates; someone thrust them open from inside and Agamemnon appeared on the top of the steps with Aegisthos behind him, bearing the great double-bladed sacrificial axe. He whirled it high and brought it down into the fleeing king's skull. Agamemnon staggered and tripped over the edge of the stairs, falling and rolling down the steps almost to Klytemnestra's feet.

She screamed, "Witness, you people of the city; thus the Lady avenges Iphigenia!"

There was a tremendous cheer and cry of triumph; Aegisthos came down with the bloody axe and handed it to her. A few of Agamemnon's soldiers started a cry of outrage, but Aegisthos's guard quickly struck them down.

Klytemnestra said fiercely to Kassandra, "Have you anything to say, princess of Troy who thought perhaps to be Queen here?"

"Only that I wish I could have held the axe," replied Kassandra, gasping in a wild joy. She bowed to Klytemnestra, and said, "In the name of the Goddess, you have avenged wrongs done to her. When a woman is wronged, she is wronged too."

Klytemnestra bowed to her and took her hands. She said, "You are a priestess, and I knew you would understand these things." She looked into the face of the sleeping child. "I bear you no grudge," she said. "We will have the old ways returned here. Helen has not the spirit to do so in Sparta, but I do. Will you remain here and be the Lady's priestess then? You may enter her Temple if you will."

Kassandra was still breathing hard, her heart pounding at the suddenness of her release. Through Klytemnestra's features she still saw the hunger for destruction; this woman had avenged the dishonor offered the Goddess, but Kassandra still feared her. The Goddess took many forms, but in this form Kassandra did not love her. Never before had she faced a woman so strong: princess and priestess. For once she had encountered a force stronger than her own.

Or did she but see in Klytemnestra the ancient power of the Goddess as she had been before male Gods and kings invaded this land? She could not serve this Goddess.

"I cannot," she said, as calmly as she could. "I - this is not my country, O Queen."

"Will you return to your own country, then?"

"I cannot return to Troy," Kassandra said. "If you will give me leave to depart, Lady, I will seek my kinswomen in Colchis—"

"A journey like that, with a baby still at the breast?" Klytemnestra asked in astonishment.

Then a curious change came across Klytemnestra's face. An unearthly peace relaxed the sharp features; and she seemed to glow from within. A voice Kassandra knew well said, Yes, I call you home; depart at once from this place, my daughter.

Kassandra bowed to the ground; the word had come. Still she had no idea how she would travel or what would become of her; but she was once again under the protection of the voice which had called her first when she was no more than a child.

Truly had the priestess in Colchis said, The Immortals understand one another.

"I beg leave to depart at once," she said.

And Klytemnestra replied, "Whom a God has called we must not detain. But will you not have rest, fresh clothing, food for yourself and the babe?"

Kassandra shook her head. "I need nothing," she said, knowing that with the gold Agamemnon had given her she was well provided. She wished to accept nothing from Klytemnestra - or from the Goddess of this place.

She departed within the hour.

She went to the harbor, her child tied in her shawl, where she would find a ship to take her and the baby on the first step of the arduous journey halfway to the world's end, which would bring her at last to her kinswoman Imandra and the iron gates of Colchis. And above all, she was no longer blind and deprived of sight; she was herself again and after all the sufferings she knew the Goddess had not yet forsaken her.

On the docks a woman approached her, clad in a ragged earth-coloured tunic, her face covered by a ragged shawl.

"Are you the Trojan princess?" she asked. "I am bound for Colchis—and I have heard you are going there—"

"Yes, I am, but why—"

"I too seek Colchis," the woman said. "A God has called me there; may I bear you company?"

"Who are you?"

"I am called Zakynthia," the woman said.

Kassandra stared at her and could see nothing; perhaps the woman was bound to her by fate; in any case no God forbade it. And even Klytemnestra had doubted her ability to make this long journey alone with an unweaned child. With a sigh of relief she unslung the shawl in which she had tied her son, and passed him over.

"Here," she said. "You can carry the baby till I need to feed him again."