As the fleet approached its harbor, the Mykene king could see a heavy gray pall lying over Thera. The black isle at its center was much bigger than he remembered, and a column of smoke was rising from the top. He heard the rumble of a small earthquake like a portent of doom. He shivered.
“My king,” said his aide Kleitos, “the beach is empty. The Xanthos is not here.”
“Then the vile Helikaon must have been to the island already and left. He can be no more than half a day ahead. He will not expect to be followed, so he will be taking his time.”
“What do we do, my king?”
Agamemnon thought swiftly. “Send six of our ships around the black isle to ensure that the Xanthos is not hiding on the other side. We will go ashore and find Priam’s insane daughter. I will make her tell us where Helikaon is. She claims to be prescient, and now she can prove that claim. If she is no longer here and we find no treasure, we sail on to Ithaka.”
My visit to Ithaka is long overdue, he thought. I will revel in the deaths of the fat fool Odysseus and his family.
Agamemnon’s flagship and the Kretan war galley beached on the black sand, and the three kings stepped ashore with their bodyguards. There were hundreds of dead rats on the strand, and it was difficult to cross the beach without treading on their carcasses. A pungent smell of blood and burning lay over the island.
“Why are all these rats here?” Menelaus questioned nervously. “And that black isle is growing. There is the stench of witchcraft here. I do not like this place.”
Idomeneos, who as usual was garbed in full armor, growled, “An island of women is an abomination. We have all heard tales of the unnatural practices they revel in. It will be pleasant to see the witches sold into slavery.”
Menelaus was astonished. “But they are all princesses, some of them daughters of our allies!”
Idomeneos turned on him. “And will you go running to tell them, you fat lapdog?” he spit.
Irritably, Agamemnon told them, “We are near the end of our journey. We will not have to suffer each other’s company much longer. Now, follow me!”
He set a fast pace up the cliff path, with bodyguards in front and behind. They were near the top when there was the low grumble of another quake. They all froze for a heartbeat, then threw themselves to the ground as the earth shook under them. Two guards ahead of them were dislodged from the path and fell, plummeting to the rocky shore below. Agamemnon closed his eyes and waited grimly for the ground to stop moving. Something deep inside screamed at him to run to his ship and race away from this witches’ isle. He ruthlessly suppressed it.
It was a while before the kings cautiously picked themselves up. A thick layer of gray ash lay over them, and they brushed it off their clothes. Agamemnon stalked off angrily. “This island is cursed,” he agreed with his brother. “We will take what we need and leave quickly!”
Menelaus looked around. “It is very quiet,” he muttered.
As Agamemnon breasted the top of the cliff, he saw the Great Horse temple looming above him. A faint, elusive memory touched the edge of his mind, but he forgot it as he saw one of the priestesses stumbling toward him. She was an old crone and had difficulty walking, but she struggled forward, holding her arms out in front of her as if to touch him. Agamemnon drew his sword. He lanced it into the old woman’s skinny breast and walked on, leaving her in a pool of blood.
Agamemnon handed the etched and decorated sword to a soldier to clean, then returned it to its scabbard, feeling more elated than he had for days. He strode between the horse’s front hooves and into the temple.
It was cold and very dark in there. All he could see at first were bright shafts of daylight streaming vertically from the roof. He paused to give his bodyguards time to fan out in front of him. There were only women there, but he felt unnerved by the strangeness of the isle.
“My king!” With his sword the Follower indicated a gloomy corner where a dark-haired young woman lay on a pallet bed. She was singing quietly to herself, her eyes closed.
Without opening them, she cried, “Fire in the sky and a mountain of water touching the clouds! Beware the Great Horse, Agamemnon King!” The words nudged the elusive memory in Agamemnon’s mind.
Then the girl sat up and turned to look at them, sitting on the edge of the bed, swinging her legs like a child. She was an ugly creature, he thought, dirty and thin as a blade.
“Words of prophecy, King!” she told him. “Words of power! But you did not listen then, and you will not hear me now.” Agamemnon realized that the mad girl had been quoting the words of the priest of the Cave of Wings long ago. How could she know? He was the only one still alive who’d heard the prophecy.
The girl cocked her head and frowned. “You killed Iphigenia,” she said sadly. “I did not foresee that. Poor Iphigenia.”
Agamemnon heard a gasp and turned to see Menelaus hurrying from the temple. So that old crone was our sister, he thought. I never could abide her.
“You have defiled the temple with your bright armor and sharp swords,” Kassandra told him. “You have killed a virgin of the temple.”
Agamemnon snorted. “Will the demigod eat me up?” he asked scornfully.
She looked up at him and locked her eyes with his. “Yes,” she told him simply. “Something is rising.”
He felt a cold trickle down his spine and realized the ground was trembling continuously now, making an infinitely deep note that set his teeth on edge. A headache formed screaming behind his eyes.
“Stand her up!” he ordered, unsheathing his sword again.
Two soldiers grabbed an arm each and lifted Kassandra. She hung like a doll between them, her toes barely touching the ground. The Mykene king placed the tip of his sword against her belly, but the blade seemed to shimmer and buckle in front of his eyes, as if it had been placed in a furnace. He blinked, and it was whole again. He rubbed at the ash and grit in his eyes.
“Where is Helikaon?” he demanded, and was relieved to hear that his voice was firm.
“I would have offered you a forest of truth, but you wish to speak of a single leaf,” she quoted. “Helikaon is far away.”
Her gaze went inward. She frowned. “Hurry, Helikaon. You must hurry!”
“Is he going to Ithaka?”
She shook her head. “Helikaon will never see Ithaka again.”
“And Priam’s treasure, girl? Does he have the treasure?”
“There is no treasure, King. It was all spent long ago. On sharp swords and shiny breastplates. Polites told me. I have seen him with his wife. They are very happy. Just three copper rings left,” she told him. “The price of a whore.”
In frustration Agamemnon made to strike her, but another fierce quake made them all stumble. Kassandra fell from the soldiers’ grip and slipped past the armored men and out of the temple. Agamemnon followed her, cursing.
She had not gone far. She was standing outside, staring at the Burned Isle, where dense black smoke was boiling from the summit. A thick layer of ash lay on the ground. Nearby Menelaus sat weeping beside the body of his sister. Both were covered in ash and looked like stone statues.
Kassandra glanced at Agamemnon. “You see, there is a great chamber under Thera, full of fire and burning rock. Perhaps it is where the god lives—I don’t know. But it has been growing for generations, and now it is about to burst from its restraints. Hot air and dust and rocks will come spewing out. Then, as the fire chamber empties, its roof will collapse and the sea will pour in. Seawater and fire are enemies, you see. They will battle to get away from each other; then the island will soar into the sky like a pebble thrown by a child. We will ride with it. It will be glorious!” She turned toward him with a brilliant smile, inviting him to join her rejoicing.