The Firebrand

EPILOGUE

The woman was soft-spoken and obedient, even submissive; she cared for the baby, rocking him and keeping him quiet. Kassandra, prey to renewed seasickness, had little opportunity to pay much attention to her child or the woman, though she did watch unobserved for several days to make certain that the servant - about whom, after all, she knew nothing—could be trusted not to ill-treat or neglect the baby when no one was watching. But she seemed conscientious, attentive to the baby, singing to him and playing with him as if she were really fond of children. After a few days Kassandra decided that she had been fortunate in finding a good servant to care for her child, and relaxed her vigilance somewhat.

And yet Kassandra began to suspect her companion was not what she professed to be.

Underneath the ragged garments the woman seemed strong and healthy; Kassandra could only guess her age - perhaps thirty or even more. When Kassandra was near she was modest in her manner, but her voice was rough and hoarse, and her manners with the sailors and crew were free as an Amazon's. And one morning she was washing herself on the deck when a stray wind blew aside her shawl; her bosom was flat and hard, more like a man's than a woman's, and her legs hairy and muscular. Her face looked as if it had never known cosmetics or smoothing oils. Finally it struck her that Zakynthia might very well be not a woman, but a man.

Why would any man, she wondered, have sought her out in woman's guise? If he was a man, she thought, he might try to have his way with her—although, catching a glimpse of her own reflection in a basin of water, she could not imagine that any man would desire her as she was now: pale from seasickness, dressed in ragged garments, her body still shapeless after childbirth. Even so, she took to sleeping with Agathon in her arms; if the suckling at her breast did not deter a ravisher, probably nothing would, except her knife.

One night of storm, when the ship was tossed about like a cork on the heavy waves, Zakynthia spread her blanket close to Kassandra's, and offered to take the baby into her bed. The waves slammed their blanket-rolls together, sliding first uphill and then downhill in the cramped little cabin, until at last Zakynthia, who was larger and heavier, took Kassandra in her arms.

Kassandra, sick and weary, felt nothing except relief at the shelter her companion's body offered against the constant battering.

After this incident some of her fears subsided. Surely no ordinary man would have ignored such an opportunity. She began to consider other possibilities. Perhaps he was a eunuch, or a healer-priest under vows of chastity. But why then did he wear women's garments and profess himself a woman? Finally she decided that it did not matter, and after a time it occurred to her that she no longer cared whether her companion was a woman or a man. He/she was simply a friend she trusted and was beginning to love. The baby loved her companion too, and was willing to leave his mother's arms to be held and rocked by Zakynthia.

When at last the ship came to shore and they disembarked, she sought through the market for horses.

"But surely, Lady," said the merchant, "you will not travel overland, with a baby and a single servant, into the country of the Kentaurs?"

"I did not know any of them remained alive," Kassandra said, "And I am not afraid of them." She almost hoped that on their journey they would meet some of that vanished race. She bartered a single link of gold for a horse, and food for the journey; she also bartered for a cloak for herself which could double as a blanket for sleeping, or as a tent.

"We should also have another tunic for you, Zakynthia," she said, turning over in her hand a remnant of woven cloth which might make a cloak for the child. "You are so ragged that you might be a street-sweeper. And as for me, I have been thinking that before we go on, I should cut my hair and wear a man's garment. The babe can soon be weaned. Surely they raise goats hereabouts—it might be somewhat safer for travelling in this wild country. What would you think of that? You are taller and stronger than I; you would perhaps be more convincing as a man."

Her companion stood very still, but she had heard the caught breath of consternation before the other said quietly, "You must do as you think best, Lady; but I cannot put on a man's garment nor travel as one."

"Why not?"

Zakynthia did not meet her eyes.

"It is a vow. I may say no more."

Kassandra shrugged. "Then we shall travel as women."

Kassandra looked up at the gates of Colchis and remembered the first time as a young girl in the Amazon band of Penthesilea she had seen them. She had changed and the world had changed; but the great gates were just the same.

"Colchis," she said quietly to her companion. "The Gods have brought us here at last."

She set Agathon on his feet, he was beginning to toddle at last. If the journey had not been so long, she thought, he might have been really walking already but she had been forced to carry him much of the time instead of letting him crawl or walk around. He was almost two years old now and she could see in the strong development of his little chin, in his dark eyes, the dark curly hair, that he was Agamemnon's son.

Well, at least he would not be trained into Agamemnon's version of manhood.

It had been a long road; but not, she knew now, endless as it had seemed. They had travelled overland mostly at night, hiding by day in woods and ditches. She had worn out several pairs of shoes and the clothing she wore was threadbare and she had had little opportunity to replace it.

There had been encounters on the road with soldiers—veterans of the sack of Troy—but she had seen and heard nothing of the Kentaurs; most of the people to whom she spoke of them believed they were only a legend, and either frankly accused her of telling tales or secretly smiled with contempt when she said she had seen them in her youth.

They had hidden from wandering bands of men, bribed themselves free, used their wits, and sometimes their knives to get out of danger. They had gone cold and hungry - sometimes food was not to be had even for gold—and had stopped once or twice for a whole season to find work as a spinner, or as handlers of animals.

Once they had travelled for a time with a man who was exhibiting'dancing' serpents. They joined once or twice with other lone travellers, and had lost their way for long distances.

And after so many adventures that Kassandra knew she would never dare to try and recount them, they had arrived safely in Colchis.

She picked up the child again as they walked through the gates. She knew she looked like a beggar woman. Her cloak was the same one with which Agamemnon had covered her on board his ship - it had once been crimson, but was now faded to a greyish colourlessness. Her gown was a shapeless tunic of undyed wool; her hair loosely bound with a scrap of leather thong which had once been used to tie a sandal. Zakynthia looked even worse, if possible; less like a beggar woman than some kind of ruffian. Her sandals were worn almost through and she would have had to find another pair in Colchis even if it had not been her destination.

But they had managed to keep the child well and warmly dressed. His tunic - though he was outgrowing it—was from a good piece of wool which she had bought two towns ago and was fastened with a pin made from one of her last bits of gold, and his sandals were stout and strong. Sometimes she thought he looked less like Agamemnon than like her brother Paris.

"Now we are at journey's end," she said to her companion.

She asked a passer-by the way to the palace, and asked if Queen Imandra still reigned here.

The woman said, "Yes, though she is growing old; there was a rumour from the palace that she was mortally ill, but I do not believe it." She stared at Kassandra's threadbare cloak and asked, "And what can the likes of you want with our Queen?"

Kassandra merely thanked the woman for her help and did not answer. She set off for the palace. After a time Zakynthia picked up the child and carried him. Climbing the palace stairs, she nervously smoothed her hair with her fingers. Perhaps she should have stopped in the market and provided herself with proper clothing to visit the Queen.

She spoke to the guard on duty - one of the old woman guards whom Kassandra actually recognized from her stay in Colchis.

"I would like audience with Queen Imandra."

"I'm sure you would," said the woman, sneering, "but she doesn't see every ragtag and bobtail who comes looking for her."

Kassandra called the woman by name. "Don't you know me? Your sister was one of my novices in the House of Serpent Mother."

"Lady Kassandra!" the woman exclaimed. "But we heard you were dead - that you had perished at Mykenae - that when Agamemnon died, Klytemnestra murdered you too."

Kassandra chuckled. "As you see, I am here alive and well. But I beg you to take me to the Queen."

"Certainly; she will rejoice to know you survived the fall of Troy," the woman said. "She mourned for you as for her own daughter."

The woman wished to take her to a guest chamber and make her ready for her audience; but Kassandra refused. She would have bidden Zakynthia await her, but her companion shook her head.

"I too was bidden here by the hand of the Goddess," her companion said. "And I can reveal only to Imandra why I have come."

Kassandra was eager to know her fellow traveller's story, so she agreed. A few moments later, Kassandra was in her kinswoman's arms.

"I thought you dead in Troy," Imandra said, "with Hecuba and the others—"

"I thought Hecuba went with Odysseus—" Kassandra said.

"No; one of her women made her way here and said Hecuba died - of a broken heart, she said - as the ships were loading. It is just as well; Odysseus was shipwrecked, and no one has heard of him since, and'tis now close on three years. Andromache was taken back to one of the Akhaian kings; I cannot remember his barbarian name, but I heard that she lives. And this is your child?" Imandra picked up the little boy and kissed him. "So some good came of all your sorrows?"

"Well, I have survived and made my way here," Kassandra said, and they fell to talking of other survivors of Troy. Helen and Menelaus were still reigning in Sparta, it seemed, and Helen's daughter Hermione was betrothed to the son of Odysseus. Klytemnestra had died in childbirth a year ago and her son Orestes had killed Aegisthos and taken back Agamemnon's Lion Throne.

"And have you heard anything of Aeneas?" Kassandra asked, remembering, with a sweet sadness, starlit nights in the last doomed summer of Troy.

"Yes; his adventures are widely told; he visited in Carthage and had a love affair with the Queen. They say, when the Gods called him away, she killed herself in despair, but I believe it not. If any Queen was fool enough to kill herself over a man, so much the worse for her. She cannot be much of a woman and still less of a Queen. Then the Gods called him far to the North, where, they say, he took the Palladium from the Trojan Temple of the Maiden, and founded a city."

"I am glad to hear he is safe," Kassandra said. Perhaps she should have gone with Aeneas to his new world, but no God had called her. Aeneas had his own fate; and it was not hers. "And Creusa?"

"I fear I do not know her fate," Imandra said. "Did she even escape Troy?"

Kassandra began to wonder. She remembered parting from Creusa, but it had been so long ago she wondered if she had dreamed it. All things surrounding the fall of the city were like dreams to her now.

"And you remember my daughter Pearl—" Imandra said. "Come here, child, and greet your kinswoman."

The child came forward and greeted Kassandra with such poise that Kassandra did not kiss her as she would have done with any other child her age. "How old is she now?" she asked.

"Nearly seven," Imandra said, "and she will rule Colchis after me; we still keep to the old ways here. With good fortune that will never change."

"There is not that much good fortune left in the world," Kassandra said, "but it will not change tomorrow nor the day after."

"So you are still gifted with the Sight?"

"Not all the time, nor for many things," Kassandra said.

"So what do you want of me, Kassandra? I can give you gold, clothing, shelter—you are my kinswoman, and you are welcome to remain in my house as a daughter - that would be most welcome to me. I know the temple of Serpent Mother would welcome you as the chief of their priestesses."

Klytemnestra had offered her this; but she knew it was too late to spend her life within walls.

"Or if you wish," said Imandra, "I will do as your father should have done long since, and find you a husband."

Kassandra said fiercely, T am as little inclined as ever to be some man's property. In less than a year with Agamemnon I had a lifetime's worth of that."

Zakynthia suddenly interrupted, came forward and fell prostrate before Imandra.

"O Queen," the rough voice entreated, "it was laid on me by the Goddess to come to this city for your help. The Gods have called me to found a city, and I cannot do it alone. At first I thought the Goddess had sent me here to know if any of the Amazons yet survived; for the Goddess sent me a vision that only such a woman could assist me in this task."

"And who are you?" asked Imandra.

"My name is Zakynthos," said the one Kassandra had known as Zakynthia. "Is there none left of the Amazon women who could help me to found a city where the Goddess is served without Gods or kings? I would not have an ordinary wife after the fashion of the Akhaians, but one who can serve as a priestess in the city. Yet I have heard there are no more such women—"

"No," Kassandra said. "No Amazon outlived that last battle, where Penthesilea died."

"I cannot accept that," Zakynthos said, putting back the veil he had worn as a woman. "Now I am free of my vow, I will search the world over if I must—"

"What was your vow?" Imandra asked.

"To live as a woman until I came here to Colchis, so that I might know the life women must lead," he said. "Before I had worn women's garb three days, I knew why women must go in fear, and so I sought protection from the Trojan princess - and in her company as we travelled I discovered why women seek to be free of men; she needed no man's protection or help—"

"Yet," Kassandra said warmly,"the protection you gave me—sharing my journey and my burdens—"

"But it was not because I was a man," Zakynthos said, "and again and again, I swore I would search the world over, if I must, for a woman in whom the Amazon's spirit still lived."

"And so," Imandra said, "have you not found one?"

"I have," said he, and turned to Kassandra, "and I have come to know her well."

Kassandra laughed and said, "I have long outlived any desire for weapons, Zakynthos. Yet—how will you found your city?"

"I will sail far to the west into the great sea and there find a place where a city can be built," he began. "Outside these accursed isles where men worship gods of iron and oppression—"

Listening, Kassandra could not but remember Aeneas; this had been his desire too. She would willingly have helped him fulfil it, and Zakynthos seemed to have been fired by that same spirit.

"I seek a world where Earth Mother will be worshipped in the old ways," he said with enthusiasm. "It is she who has given me this vision, a dream of a city where women are not slaves, and, where men need not spend their lifetimes in war and fighting. There must be a better way for both men and women to live than this great war which consumed all my childhood and took the lives of my father and all my brothers—"

"And of mine," Kassandra said.

"And of yours."

Zakynthos turned and knelt again before Imandra. "I beseech you as this woman's kinswoman, give me leave to take her in marriage—"

Imandra said, "But marriage is one of the evils which came with the new ways; who am I to give her to you, as if she were a slave?"

Zakynthos said with a sigh, "You are right. Kassandra, we have travelled far together; you know me well. Will you continue to travel with me—to build a world better than Troy?"

She said slowly, thinking of their long journey together, "But, like other men, you will want a son—"

"I have carried your son at least half this long way in my arms," he said. "If I can be a mother to your son, do you doubt I can be a father to him too? For I think if I sought the world over I could not find a woman more suited to my purposes. And I think perhaps it would suit your purposes too," he added, smiling. "Do you wish to sit here at Imandra's court and spin thread?"

"It does not trouble you that I was forced to be Agamemnon's concubine and that I bore him a child? All men will know," she said. He smiled very gently and again she thought of Aeneas.

"Only as much as it troubles you," he said. "And as for the boy, he is your son, and you have seen how well I love him. Some day we may have others for whom I can be both father and mother as well—" His voice was very tender as he added, "I would like to have a daughter like you."

She had spent too much of her life with the idea that she could never marry, yet this war had taken all her kindred and she had no place of her own. And the Amazons too were gone, as Troy was gone.

Their new city might be one where men and women need not be enemies, where the Gods were not the implacable enemies of the Goddess…

If Troy could not last forever, there was no assurance that the new city would. But if for her lifetime's work she could have a share in building a city where men did not deform their sons into fighters so that they need not follow cruel Gods into battle or their daughters into men's playthings, then her life would be well spent.

She remembered the young girl she had been, seated in the Sunlord's house and dealing out wisdom to the petitioners. What had she said then?

I give such answers as they could give if they could trouble themselves to use such wits as the Gods gave them, she remembered. But she had added, Before I speak, always, I pause and wait in case the God has another answer to be given.

She listened within her heart, but there was only silence, and the memory of a God's burning smile. Might a day come when like any dutiful wife she would see the face of the God in her husband? She looked at Zakynthos. He was no Sunlord, but his face was honest and kind. She could hardly imagine a God speaking through him, but at least what he said would not be cruel or capricious. Agamemnon had been no worse than Poseidon, Paris had set Troy aflame at the bidding of a Goddess more cruel and capricious than any man. The worst of men, in her lifetime, had been no worse than the best of Gods, and what evil they had done, they had done at the bidding of Gods made in their own image.

She listened, but no God's voice spoke to forbid her; she knew at that moment what her answer would be, and already her heart was racing forward across the great sea to a new world which, if it was no better than the old, would at least be as much better as men and women could make it.

"Let us go, Zakynthos, to search for our city. Perhaps one day those who come after us will know the truth of Troy and its fall," she said, and took his hand in her own.

Somewhere, a Goddess smiled. She did not think it was Aphrodite.