“I am glad to see it,” Andromache replied, and it was true. Iphigenia looked older than the world, but the gleam in her eye was as intelligent and calculating as ever.
Andromache gazed around. “Are the women all leaving the island, too? It seems deserted.”
Iphigenia frowned. “When the earthquakes started at the time of the Feast of Artemis, Kassandra convinced all the girls the island would be destroyed. With her dreams and her visions she can be very persuasive, your sister. One by one they left despite all my efforts to stop them. The last one, little Melissa, departed two days ago.” She gave a barking cough that Andromache recognized as a laugh. “She even took the donkeys, saying she did not want them to suffer when the end came. A ship full of donkeys.” She shook her head. “Foolish girl,” she said tenderly.
“How is Kassandra?”
Iphigenia looked at her with compassion, and Andromache wondered why she ever had thought the old woman unfeeling.
“She is dying, Andromache. Her visions… they injure her mind and give her hideous fits. Each fit takes something vital from her, and they have been getting more frequent. She is very frail, but the visions go on relentlessly.”
“Where is she? I must help her.”
“She is in the temple. Walk with me, my dear.”
Andromache’s sense of panic was almost uncontrollable now. Nevertheless, she took the old priestess’ arm and walked with her slowly into the dark building.
Kassandra was lying on a narrow bed in a corner of the high bleak chamber. It was dark and very cold. The only windows were high above, and she was staring at the dusty shafts of light they shed, her mouth moving as if in conversation.
“Kassandra,” Andromache said gently.
After a long delay her sister looked at her. Andromache was shocked to see her condition. She was dirty, and her hair was in rats’ tails. She was skeletally thin, and looking into her fevered eyes was like staring into a black furnace.
“Is it time?” she asked feebly. “Can I go now?”
There was a jug of water and a goblet beside her, so Andromache filled the goblet, then gently lifted her sister up and dribbled some water into her mouth. After a few mouthfuls Kassandra drank greedily, holding on to the goblet, water running down her filthy gown onto the floor.
“Andromache,” she said at last, clutching at her with bony fingers. “I’m so glad you’ve come. There is much to tell you and little time.”
“Listen to me, Sister,” Andromache urged her. “You must come with me. I will take you to the Xanthos. It is here, with Helikaon. We will travel together again.”
“She is too ill to be moved,” Iphigenia told her reprovingly.
“I will bring men from the Xanthos. Helikaon will come and fetch you, my love.”
“Men will not defile this temple,” the old priestess barked. “Do not be so arrogant, Andromache, as to bring down the god’s wrath on us.”
“Then I will carry her myself,” Andromache told her defiantly.
“Listen, Andromache. You never listen,” Kassandra cried, pulling her close. “I am dying, and I have always known I would die here. You know that. I told you so many times. It is my fate, and I rejoice in it. I will see Mother again. She is waiting for me just beyond, so close that I can almost touch her. She knows I am coming. It is my fate. You must let me be.”
Andromache felt tears running down her face, and Kassandra brushed them gently away. “Tears for me, Sister? You cried for Hektor, too. I saw you.
“They never should have killed him, you see. Hektor and Achilles were the last great heroes. And after the Age of Heroes comes the Age of Darkness.” Kassandra seemed to gain strength as she spoke. “Even now they are coming down from the north, the barbarians, sweeping through the lands of the western kings. Soon they will learn the secret of the star metal; then nothing will stop them. Within a generation they will tear down the stone palaces of the mighty. In the Lion’s Hall where the heroes walked there will be only rats and beetles feeding; then green grass will cover the ruins, and sheep will graze there.”
“But what of Troy, Sister?”
“Troy will be a place of legend. Only the names of its heroes will live on.”
“Did they all die?”
But Kassandra had paused, listening to her voices. “Astyanax and Dex,” she asked suddenly. “Are they safe?”
“Yes, they are safe. Was Melite’s prophecy true, Sister? Is Astyanax the Eagle Child?”
Kassandra smiled then. Her manner became less anxious, and her voice was that of a normal young woman, the passion and urgency gone. “Prophecies are slippery things,” she told Andromache, patting her hand. “Like oiled snakes. Priam and Hekabe searched for many years for the meaning of Melite’s words. Finally they found a soothsayer who interpreted them to their liking. He told them the prophecy meant that a king’s son born to the Shield of Thunder—you—would never be defeated in battle and that his city would be eternal.”
“But you do not believe that?” Andromache asked. “Is Astyanax not the Eagle Child? Priam believed he would found a dynasty.”
Kassandra laughed, and the sound was bright and merry and echoed off the roof and walls of the temple. For a moment the dust motes seemed to dance in the shafts of light.
“Like his father Hektor, Astyanax will have no sons,” she said, smiling at the paradox. “But because of him a dynasty will be founded, and it will last a thousand years. It is true, Andromache. I have seen it set in the stones of the future.”
“But that is not the prophecy of Melite.”
“No, it is the prophecy of Kassandra.”
A shudder ran through the temple as another small earthquake hit, and a corner of the temple roof gave way, collapsing to the floor, sending a new cloud of dust boiling around the chamber.
“You must go now,” Kassandra told her. They looked at each other calmly. Andromache felt the turmoil in her heart cease, and acceptance took its place. She nodded, then embraced her sister for the last time. But Kassandra suddenly pulled away from her, her eyes wild again.
“Go now!” she shouted, flailing her arms. “Agamemnon is coming! You must go now!” She pushed urgently at Andromache until her sister stood up.
“Agamemnon?”
“He is coming to rescue me,” Iphigenia explained. “Kassandra tells me he will be here before noon, with a fleet. I will return with him to Mykene.”
Andromache hesitated no more but ran to the door, pausing for a last wave to Kassandra. But the girl had turned away and was speaking to her unseen friends again. Andromache picked up her skirts and raced from the temple toward the cliff path.
On the beach Helikaon watched as Andromache strode away up the path toward the temple. Her back was straight, and her hips swayed delightfully under the flame-colored dress.
Odysseus observed him, grinning. “You are a fortunate man, Helikaon.”
“I have always been fortunate in my friends, Odysseus. You taught me to face my fears and conquer them. Andromache taught me that life can be savored only if you look to the future and leave vengeance to the gods.”
“A good woman and a fine philosophy,” Odysseus agreed. “And if Agamemnon were to walk up this beach now?”
“I would kill him in a heartbeat,” Helikaon admitted with a grin. “But I will no longer seek out revenge and let it rule my life.”
“You are sailing to the Seven Hills for the winter?”
Helikaon nodded. “The Trojan fleet has gone ahead of us. With all the extra men in the settlement, there will be a great deal to do.”
“Many men and not enough women,” Odysseus observed. “There will certainly be work for you to do, arbitrating disputes and settling grievances. Try to do it without severing their heads from their bodies.”