CHAPTER 13
Now that Akhilles was gone, a mood of confidence swept through Troy, everyone was looking forward to a swift end to the war. There was no formal period of mourning, and no funeral, games; Kassandra suspected that there was little genuine mourning, though some ritualized wailing arose around the funeral pyre. She remembered Briseis, who had gone to Akhilles of her free will and wondered if the girl mourned the lover she had idealized. She almost hoped so. Even for Akhilles, it was not just that there should be no one to mourn.
Yet Agamemnon, who had assumed command of all the Akhaian troops, and even commanded the Myrmidons to go on fighting, seemed to have no doubt of the final outcome of this war. The Akhaians began building an enormous earth-rampart to the south, from which they might assault the wall partially tumbled in the last earthquake. It was a few hours before the Trojans noticed what they were doing, and when they did Paris ordered all available archers to the highest wall to shoot the soldiers down. The Akhaians worked for a considerable time under cover of extra-large shields held over their heads, but as the shield-bearers were shot down one after the other, faster than they could be replaced, the Akhaians finally gave up the attempt and withdrew the builders.
Kassandra had not watched Akhilles's funeral pyre, nor the battle of the archers, though the women in the Sunlord's house reported every move to her. The temple was in mourning for the Great Serpent, and would continue to be so for a considerable time. Serpents of this variety were not found on the plains of Troy and they must send forth to the mainland or to Colchis or even to Crete for another one. Privately she believed that the death of the serpent was an omen, not only of the death of Akhilles which it so briefly preceded, but of the fall of Troy which could not now be long delayed.
She spoke of this one night in the palace when she had gone down to see her mother.
Hecuba had never really recovered from the death of Hector. She was appallingly frail and thin now, her hands like a bundle of sticks; she would not eat, saying always, "Save my portion for the little children; old people do not get as hungry as they do' -which in fact sounded sensible enough - but there were times when Kassandra thought her mother's mind had gone. She spoke often of Hector, but seemed not to realize that he was dead, she talked as if he were out somewhere about the city, overseeing the armies.
"What are the Akhaians doing now?" she asked Polyxena.
"They have felled a good many trees along the shoreline, and are hacking them into lumber; I spoke with the woman who sells honey cakes to the Akhaian soldiers, and she said they spoke of a plan to build a great altar to Poseidon and sacrifice many horses to him."
Poseidon would indeed be a friend to those Akhaians, if they should persuade him to break our walls. And their soothsayers know it, if they have persuaded the attackers to invoke the Earthshaker.
She rose from Polyxena's side and went to speak with Helen. She had learned long ago that Paris would not listen to her but he could sometimes be approached through his wife. Helen greeted her with her usual affectionate embrace.
"Rejoice with me, Sister; the Goddess has heard my grief and will send us another child for the ones I lost in Poseidon's blow." When Kassandra did not smile, she begged, "Oh, be glad for me!"
"It is not that I am not glad for you," Kassandra said slowly, "but at this particular time—is it wise?"
Helen's pretty smile was full of dimples. "The Goddess sends us children not as we will but as she wills," she reminded Kassandra; "but you are not a mother, so perhaps you do not yet understand that."
"Mother or not, I think I would try and choose my time better than the end of a siege," Kassandra said, "even if it meant sending my husband to sleep among the soldiers when the moon was full or the wind blowing from the south."
Helen blushed and said, "Paris must have a son; I cannot ask him to take Nikos as his heir and set the son of Menelaus upon the throne of Troy."
"I had forgotten that particular foible," Kassandra said, "but I had believed that Andromache's son was to rule after Hector. Has Paris then resolved to usurp that place?"
"Astyanax cannot rule Troy at eight years old," Helen said. "It goes ill with any land where the king is a child; Paris would have to rule for him for many years at least."
"Then perhaps it would be better for Paris to have no son," Kassandra said,"so that he would not be tempted to overthrow the rightful heir." Helen looked indignant, so Kassandra added, "In any case, Paris already has a son, by the river-priestess Oenone, who dwelt with him here as his wife till you came from Sparta. It is not right that Paris should refuse to acknowledge his first-born."
Helen frowned and said, "Paris has spoken of her; he says-there is no way to be certain that he fathered Oenone's child."
Kassandra saw the frown behind Helen's eyes and decided not to pursue this further.
"This is not what I came to say. Have they more horses in the Akhaian camp than are needed to draw Agamemnon's chariots and the chariots of the other kings?"
"Why, I've no idea; I know nothing of things like that," Helen said, and leaned across the table to touch Paris's arm. She repeated the question to him and Paris stared.
"Why, no; I don't think so," he said. "They've been trying to capture the horses from our chariots, even at the cost of leaving gold, or the chariots themselves."
Kassandra said urgently, "If they are building an altar to Poseidon, you don't suppose the Kings are going to sacrifice the horses that drew their own chariots, do you? I beg you to set a double watch on all the horses of Troy, wherever they are stabled."
"Our horses are all well within our walls," Paris said negligently, "and the Akhaians can no more get at them than if they were in the stables of Pharoah of Egypt."
"Are you certain? Odysseus, for instance, is crafty; he might by some ruse inveigle his way inside the walls, and get the horses out," she said, but Paris only laughed.
"I don't think he could get inside our gates even if he could manage to disguise himself as Zeus Thunderer," Paris said. Those gates will not open to man or Immortal; even for King Pnam or myself it would be difficult to persuade anyone to open them after dark. And if he did get in somehow, how do you think he would get out again? If Agamemnon wants horse-sacrifices, he will have to sacrifice his own, for he'll get no Trojan ones."
Kassandra thought he was dismissing the possibility a little too lightly, but there was no way to continue; Paris would not admit the fallibility of his defenses, certainly not to his sister. If he would be the only one to suffer from this casual attitude, she would have said no more, but if he was wrong all Troy would pay; so she urged, "I beg you, set extra guards around your horses for a while at least," and repeated what Polyxena had told her.
"Sister," Paris said, not altogether unkindly,"surely there is enough women's work for you to do that you need not concern yourself with the conduct of the war."
Kassandra pressed her lips together knowing that whatever she said would only harden Paris's decision to ignore her advice. She could hardly set guard on the horses herself, but she did speak to the priests in the Sunlord's house, and they agreed to set a watch themselves upon the royal stables. Late that night the alarm was sounded from the walls, and Paris's soldiers, roused, caught half a dozen men, led by Odysseus himself, leaving the royal stables. The guards, who had not recognized the Argive general, said that he had come into the stable with a royal signet and an order to take a dozen horses to the palace. They had believed him a messenger from Priam himself, and had given up the horses without protest. Only when they had gone did one of the priests of Apollo notice the Akhaian sandals that they were wearing, suspect a trick and sound the alarm.