My mother had been to the treasure rooms below the palace to choose a scanty dowry – there were many girls in our family to provide for. She sorted out golden cups, a bracelet of lapis lazuli, linen sheets and woollen blankets for the bed, a coronet of gold and an ancient hanging, once my grandfather’s. In addition there was my grandfather’s patch of land, dating back to the days when the family lorded it over the fishing village and a few acres which were then the territories of Troy. This smallholding was just on the other side of the hill from the city.
There I would sit, my back against the tumbledown wall of the farmhouse, thinking of the marriage which would take me far from here. I dreamed of voyages, taking me to Pharaoh’s great new capital on the Nile at Memphis, or beyond that to the wealthy kingdom of Saba, where Ethiopian queens reigned and spotted leopards roamed. I dreamed of Thrace, Tyre and Sidon, Babylon, Hattusas – the world. Little birds were carrying twigs for the nests they were building in the gnarled apricot and apple trees of the ruined farm while I dreamed of a tall-masted ship, of journeys, cargoes of ivory and ebony, blue linen, corals, silver, copper from Thrace, gold from Egypt, amber from the Slavic lands beyond the Black Sea. Ethiopian gold and tusks of ivory, wheat, honey, spices and the iron of Anatolia where the Great King ruled –
They tried to get me to the loom to weave, but I was distracted. I quarrelled with my sister Creusa, Aeneas’ wife. She said, ‘Cassandra, you cannot voyage with your husband. That is a dream. A woman stays at home with her children.’
‘I shall leave them with Arvad’s mother,’ I told her, ‘or take them with me.’
‘Do you think he will allow that?’ she asked.
Creusa was heavily pregnant Aeneas neglected her. It was unfair to have an argument with her but I was continuing the debate when Hecuba came up. She took my side: ‘Cassandra is a princess,’ she said. ‘Allow is not a word her husband will use to her.’
Creusa looked sceptical. One of the women gazed at her and teased, ‘Have you been taking lessons from the Greeks, Creusa?’
‘Even the Greeks can’t make a woman do everything they say,’ said another. ‘Think of Helen.’ But all knew that Helen’s mother came of some strange old stock, was held, as was the tradition, to have been a goddess. Helen had not been reared according to the custom of the new Greeks. This was why both she and her sister, Agamemnon’s wife, somewhat awed their own countrymen – even their own husbands, perhaps, though those brothers would not, being proud, have wanted to admit this.
Hecuba took Creusa away to rest. She was weary with pregnancy and her husband was making her unhappy. He still spent most of his evenings with Paris and Helen. Creusa was much alone. Before they went, my mother ordered me from the looms. I was useless. Naomi then took the opportunity to slip down into the town where she was conducting a precocious affair with a wealthy fish merchant.
Although I pined, the land was prosperous. The storm damage was cleared away, the drowned beasts buried, the weather became good, planting went well and the harbour was busy with ships. A time when, as the people said, all ewes had twins. My father, though, was anxious. Our request for help from the Hittite Great King had not been met. The king sent regrets, declared he thought for the time being an attack on the Greeks would be unwise. It was diplomatically worded, but a refusal just the same.
Meanwhile I did not sleep and had taken to roaming the ramparts early on, had become a dawn companion for whatever watchmen were on duty. On a fateful day I stood beside that night’s watchman, with my brother, Troilus.
‘When will he come for you?’ he asked. ‘You’ll have to sleep before autumn,’ he added in the sympathetic way of all brothers, ‘or you’ll be ugly when he returns. He might take a look, change his mind and set sail, never to be seen again.’
‘You’ll be pleased enough to visit me in Tyre,’ I said.
‘I’ll be the first,’ he grinned. ‘Before any of the others.’ He had always wanted to roam. A year ago he had been forbidden to go to Ethiopia, where our father’s cousin was married to the queen, Candace. Now his eyes were sparkling.
‘How wonderful that will be,’ I said. ‘Troilus, what do you think…?’ But as I spoke I looked at him and my voice trailed off. He was staring far out to sea in disbelief. ‘No,’ he said. ‘No – it can’t be.’ His voice cracked.
The sea reflected what little light there was. Far, far out on the horizon we could see a set of small black dots, which might have been birds had they not been so close to the water or might have been porpoises or dolphins, had they not been so evenly spaced. Peering through the darkness, we thought desperately that they could not be creatures of any kind. There was only one thing those shapes could be, but that was unthinkable. Finally I said in a low voice, ‘They must be ships – but they cannot be. No fleet could be so large.’
We stood, chilled for a little while, taking in the sight, dreading it, unwilling to rouse the city until we were quite sure. And finally I said what we both knew, ‘A Greek fleet,’ and Troilus said flatly, ‘It must be,’ and was off along the ramparts like the wind, crying ‘A fleet’s coming! A fleet is here!’ He ran into the palace shouting, heading first for the warriors’ room, then for the chamber of my parents. While I, who had so often cried out in my visions of this arrival, now stood quite still, in the cool spring wind, looking out to sea.
The first person to arrive was a woman wearing only a cloak. She was in no doubt of what she saw, stared across the sea, raised her arms and cried, ‘Oh, goddess, what are you doing to send this fate upon us? Where have we been at fault?’
Then came Deiphobus, dressed, carrying his sword. ‘It is the Greeks,’ he said, as if to himself. A woman with a crying child came up – Andromache. Then my brother Hector, her husband, in armour. He put his arm round his wife.
Now cries were coming up from the town. More people disturbed by the cries of others arrived on the ramparts. Meanwhile in the harbour, nearly a mile off, the arrival of the fleet had been spotted. Small figures were congregating on the quays. A sail was hauled up. Some people were running to the town. The captains, preparing to leave quickly, had despatched men to collect their crews. A laden waggon jerked out of the city gates and along the road to the quay. It was piled high with bundles. A woman sat on top, combing her long hair. Beasts were being tugged by their bridles across the quay and driven aboard ships. Inside the palace the shouting went on. There was complete panic.
Now, in the harbour, the captain of an Egyptian ship was fighting, on his own deck, with the skipper of a fishing vessel who had been trying to get out of the harbour ahead of him. Hector cried, ‘Deiphobus! Get a fast horse and some men and go down to the harbour to control things – those sailors will wedge each other in, block the harbour and sink each other before any vessel can get out. We’ll lose all the ships to the Greeks!’ Not long after, Deiphobus, standing up in the stirrups, was galloping down the road to the harbour, overtaking waggons, people on foot with bundles and some with nothing at all, all trying to flee the invasion.
Throughout all this I stood by the palace wall, my face against the stones. The war had come at last And what chance now had I of marrying the Phoenician? Hecuba found me in all the confusion. Hector was giving orders to the men, people were pushing past to see the oncoming fleet. Down in the harbour Deiphobus and his men were enforcing order with swords and spears. Hecuba seized my arm firmly. ‘Come with me, Cassandra. I need you.’ So, still mourning for my future, I followed her inside the palace. In the great hall the looms had been thrown at one end in an untidy heap and slaves were pulling up the flagstones where they had once stood. Helenus, in full armour, raced past me with a despairing look. Clemone ran in, a slave behind her, carrying wooden shovels. Armed men went to and fro as the slaves continued to haul up heavy flagstones. A small child stood and cried, knuckling his eyes. Two farmwomen entered and fell on their knees to Hecuba. ‘We must shelter here, lady,’ they said. ‘But shut the gates, we pray.’
‘Later,’ Hec
uba said. ‘First those who want to escape by sea must go. The country people must enter the city up to the last moment. Then we will shut the gates. Did you bring food with you?’
‘As much as we could.’
My mother’s face was strained. ‘Eat as little as you can. Save the rest,’ she said. ‘There may be hunger, later. Tell this to everybody.’
‘You have seen this before,’ I said.
My mother shook her head. ‘I have heard what it is like,’ she said. She paused. ‘A siege.’ She spoke the word as people speak the word ‘death’.
Priam and Paris came in, arguing, Anchises behind them. ‘We must attack them as they disembark,’ Paris cried.
‘We’d be massacred,’ Priam told him. ‘They must have a thousand men, all warriors, aboard. What have we – some two hundred and fifty, just woken, taken by surprise. And if we’re all killed, the city falls to the Greeks. We must get reinforcements from the countryside, from along the coast – from wherever we can.’
‘We could pick them off as they leave their ships,’ Paris argued.
Anchises said, ‘They might overwhelm us. This is very serious. Somehow Agamemnon and his brother have united the Greek kings. We are unprepared.’
‘Why?’ Paris asked furiously. ‘Where were your spies? Perhaps we should have listened to Cassandra. My sister appears to have had a better idea of what was to happen than my father’s chief adviser.’
‘No one could have predicted Agamemnon’s being able to make a coalition of that pack of warring dogs.’
‘We should have known –’
‘We could arm the slaves and the women for a battle by the sea,’ Hecuba said calmly. ‘It has been done.’
Anchises said, ‘No, lady, if we lose a battle on the beach the war is over – they’ll take the city. It’s too dangerous.’
‘Is our city’s motto – has it always been – Do not attack the Greeks?’ Paris cried furiously. ‘They have come for my wife! Hector! Where’s Hector?’
The noise in the room was great, as slaves hauled up the floor tiles and broke the packed earth with whatever tools my mother had been able to supply. My step-brother Connates came in with breastplates, and threw them in the entrance with a crash. There were cries outside, the rattle of waggon wheels, the neighing of horses being forced into the traces – my mother was plainly sending out waggons to get supplies from nearby areas. There were shouts and more crashes of armour from the men’s room. From the women’s came the cries of children woken early and still unfed.
My sadness was that I could not join wholeheartedly in the struggle for survival, the preparations for siege and battle. I knew the outcome, had known it for years. So, of course, had Helenus, apparently now down in the town helping the smith to get his furnace burning hot, collecting any scrap of metal for melting, organising the collection of armour, swords in need of repair (how ill-prepared we were for this crisis). Both Helenus and I were to spend much time from now on in a struggle we were convinced would end in defeat. My mother swept me up. She said, ‘Cassandra – I have need of you. There are letters to write, matters to organise. I need your help.’
I followed her from the room. ‘Where’s Hector?’ cried Troilus as we passed. No one knew. In fact he had joined Deiphobus down at the harbour trying to sort out the confusion. It was important to get our own ships out to evade enemy capture.
By now the situation was near riot, as the captains tried to get from the harbour and people desperately tried to get aboard, offering coins and jewellery for passage away from Troy. One small, overladen fishing boat had already foundered under the weight of passengers and their goods taken on board by a greedy captain. Another fight aboard a ship began. The crew of a Phoenician trader and some Trojan soldiers were fighting aboard the Phoenician craft to see which vessel would leave first. Deiphobus had leaped from deck to deck to reach the ship and break up the fight.
Clemone was left with a whip to keep the slaves digging the pits for the storage jars. The disadvantage of slave labour in time of war is that a slave has nothing to lose at such a time. One captor is much the same as another. The slave may feel a change might be for the better. In the confusion a slave may escape. He may find advantage in siding with the enemy or subtly undermining his master’s interests in the hope of his defeat. He may be bribed. He may be revenging himself for an injury – the injuries of servitude are many. And there is always a possibility of a slave revolt at a time of crisis. Consequently it is not unusual at such times for the masters to order the deaths of slaves.
We entered the room my mother used as an office and I saw her eyes rest speculatively on Naomi, returned from the fishmonger, who had followed me in, like a ghost. Naomi lifted her eyes to Hecuba’s. What thoughts travelled between them I still do not know. Roused by the alarm from whatever nook she had been sleeping in – she was by no means the loyal attendant who sleeps across your threshold each night, nor did I want her to be – she had run to the palace and found me. She was obviously ready for orders. She had the advantage of not being surprised by this sudden overturning of the old certainties of a world at peace. In her short life she had seen more trouble than the rest of us. As she felt my mother’s eyes on her she must have known she was between life and death, for in an emergency a clever slave can be more dangerous than one in whom the spark has died. Somehow, without words, if she did not assure my mother of her loyalty, she at least convinced her she would be more useful alive than dead. My mother went to her and put her hand on her head. She promised her freedom, when the Greeks were beaten. Naomi fell to her knees and thanked her.
Then my mother and I began to work. The hubbub in the palace continued. The Greeks must have been coming nearer and nearer and we both knew that before nightfall we might be defeated or under siege. There might be a battle and many deaths. Whose pyre would we be building tomorrow? Would we be conducting funerals for our dead, or leave them lying in the open, as we were led off into captivity?
Hecuba broke off from one point in her dictation, breaking the flow of my stylus as I wrote on the clay. She said bitterly, suddenly overwhelmed by the thought of what might be to come, ‘You’ve been ready enough to alarm us for many years, Cassandra. What a pity your vision failed at the most crucial moment.’
The remark was unjust; it was foolish. But today my mother looked old. She was now a few years over forty, had married my father at the age of fifteen, taken over duties of priestess and queen and borne many children.
She was always calm and confident, but this shock invasion had taxed her sorely. The prospect of war bore heavily on the warriors, but it may have been that at this time her part of the struggle was more complex and more demanding than theirs. And she had not told me, then, that Hector had taken my young brother Polydorus to the harbour and entrusted him to a captain bound for Thrace that morning. He would be looked after by King Polymnestor of Thrace who had married one of my half-sisters. She had just sent her youngest son away from home with barely the chance to say farewell.
My mother sighed and continued with her dictation. That morning, as the Greek fleet came closer and closer to our shores, horsemen left with messages for our neighbours – to inland Phrygia, my mother’s country of origin, to Paphlagonia by the Black Sea, to Macedonia, hundreds of miles off, but likely to send contingents to combat their Greek neighbours – and to all the nations and cities of the Aegean and Mediterranean coasts. Few would welcome the conquest of the wealthy regions around Troy by the Greeks. The question was whether we could impress them with the urgency of our case and persuade them that if Troy fell they might be next, as the hungry Greeks slowly devoured the whole region. Or would they do as people will, imagine we could defeat the Greeks without support or with the help of others, not themselves? Or think, even if Troy fell they would be able to accommodate their new, ferocious neighbours?
My mother, using all the subtlety at her command, had to call in old debts, make promises of future concessions, hint at marriages betwe
en her children and potential allies, finally, leaving them in no doubt of their fate if we, the most powerful city of the Aegean coastal region, a crucial spot for the Greeks to seize if they wanted to mount a full-scale attack on the mainland, were defeated, fell to our enemies.
The most important of these messages was to tell the Great King of the Hittites, Suppiluliumas, in his fortress at Hattusas that we had been attacked. We had to gain the help of this powerful ally. We wrote also to Rameses, Pharaoh of Egypt, reporting on the state of affairs.
We sent messengers on mules, in waggons, even on foot, when we dared take no more horses, to all the neighbouring farms and homesteads. We appealed for supplies and begged the farmers, if they had any care for their futures, not to trade with the Greeks and to hide what food and livestock they could from the raiding parties they were bound to send out. One such message went to Adosha’s parents.
We noted on tablets the quantities of wood, oil, grain, metal and medicines in the city. I made lists, noted instructions, wrote and wrote.
My father came into the room, crying out that all his horses were being taken from the stables by messengers. Was he to fight the Greeks on foot and leave the chariots in the stables? My mother said she had only commandeered what horses she needed, but wasn’t it more important to tell our neighbours what was happening and get reinforcements? Without her knowing it, as she spoke, tears flooded from her eyes, for her son, I suppose, or perhaps for all her sons, about to go into battle, or for the city – there was much to weep about on that day. My father sighed then and sat down on a stool. She recovered herself, said, as if nothing had happened, ‘Are the preparations for battle made?’
‘The harbour is slowly clearing. The army is almost ready,’ was all he said. Then wearily, ‘Now, shall we go to the battlements to see our former guests invade our shores?’
And so they went to the ramparts, I following them, Naomi following me. The whole city was up there, men, women and children, the men in armour, or part-armour. The tradesmen, fishermen and some farmers from nearby who had heard the news had arrived with billhooks, slaughtering knives, whatever they could find. Most of the women had knives. I saw one with a child on her hip and an axe in her other hand.
Cassandra Page 18
