"I do not know what the purposes of the Goddess may be, that sent me to the womb of Hecuba of Troy instead of Imandra of Colchis," Kassandra said, laying her cheek against the older woman's, "but whatever it may have been, kinswoman, I love and revere you as if you were my mother in truth."
"I believe you do, child," said Imandra, turning her face to kiss Kassandra. "Should the Goddess take me today, as we all come under her wing at such times as this, promise me to stay in Colchis and rear my daughter in the old ways."
"Oh, come, you mustn't talk about dying; you will live many, many years and see this daughter with her own sons and daughters at her knees," Kassandra said. One of the serving-women handed her a cup of wine and a plate of honey cakes; she sipped at the wine absently, and put the cakes aside.
"Let me look for you into the bowl," she said, and knelt again on the stones by the kindled witchlight, casting her mind to the day when Andromache's son had been born; Hector's face pale and excited, looking at the little creature…
Shadows moved in the water, flowing and congealing into Hector's face… the crimson plumes draggled, slimed with a wet darker crimson… Kassandra gasped as a sudden pain pierced her heart. Hector! Was he dead, or did she but see what was to come? When a city was at war it was more likely than not that the leader of the army who always was first among his troops in battle, should fall at the hands… the bloody hands of Akhilles… that sneering face, pale and beautiful, beautiful and evil. Snow drifted across the face of the water, and Kassandra knew she saw what was to come in a future year; but which year? This one, or some year in the future… Kassandra had no way of knowing.
Imandra, her eyes fixed on Kassandra's face as if desperately trying to share the vision, asked, "What did you see?"
"Hector's death," Kassandra whispered, "but for a warrior there is no other end, and we have long known already that this was to come; but'tis not yet, perhaps not for many years…'
"But the child—" Imandra whispered,"tell me of the child—"
"When last I saw he was healthy and well-grown, and had already a wooden sword and a toy helmet—" Kassandra said, reluctant to look again and see disaster, and for some reason she never doubted that this was what would come. "The omens this night are evil for the sight, Imandra; I beg you excuse me from looking again—"
"As you will," said Imandra, but her face twisted with disappointment. "I could die content if only I could see my daughter's son, even by your sight rather than my own
"Now, then," said young Agon, holding Imandra's hand tight, "I will not let you think of dying, content or otherwise; you must stay with me to teach our daughter to be Queen of Colchis."
Flickers of colour flowed across the surface of the water; firelight, flame across the gates of Troy; and she remembered Hector's teasing voice:
You have but one song, Kassandra, fire and doom for Troy, and you sing it in season and out, like a minstrel who knows but one tune…
Yes, I know Troy is to perish, but not yet… I beseech you, let me see something else…
The flames died; there was a flare of light, the bright sunlight reflecting on the white walls of Troy… melting into the angry sombre face of Khryse, distorted into the familiar lines of mourning.
Apollo Sunlord: if I see all this in your light, why must you show me nothing but what I already know?
Then glare, as if she was staring directly into the face of the sun; it seemed Khryse grew taller, and now Kassandra saw the blazing light of the God, and knew who now strode the walls and ramparts of Troy, terrible in his wrath; his shining bow drawn, the golden arrows shooting… shooting at random among Akhaians and Trojans alike, the terrible arrows of Apollo, striking…
Kassandra screamed, covering her face with her hands; the vision blurred and ran like water, was gone.
"Not upon us," she moaned, "not upon thine own people, Sunlord, not the wrath, not the arrows of Apollo…'
Then they were all round her, shaking her, trying to lift her, holding wine to her lips.
"What did you see? Try and tell us, Kassandra—"
"No, no," she cried, trying very hard to keep her voice from becoming a shriek. "We must go at once, we must return to Troy…' but dread iced her heart, thinking of the endless leagues of the journey which lay between Colchis and home.
"We must go at once, we must set out at daybreak, or even this night," she cried, reaching for her waiting-woman's hands holding her up. "We must go… we must not lose a moment…'
She pulled herself unsteadily to her feet, and made her way to Imandra's side, kneeling there, pleading, "The Gods call me at once to Troy; I beg you, kinswoman, give me leave to depart…'
"To go now?" Imandra, her whole mind and body concentrated on the birth-throes sweeping her body, stared at her without comprehension. "No, I forbid it; you promised to remain with me…'
Despairing, Kassandra realized that she could not impose her own need upon this woman gripped in the most imperative of all callings. She would simply have to wait. She wiped away the tears she had not realized were flooding down her cheeks, and turned her attention to Imandra herself.
"Did you see my Andromache's child?" Imandra pleaded.
"No," Kassandra said soothingly, blocking from her mind the sight of a child's broken body before the walls of Troy… she had seen that before… 'No, this night the Gods gave me no such sight. I saw only how ill it went with my city."
The sea black with the Akhaian ships, the walls of Troy swarmed by the storming ants of Akhilles's armies… walls breaking, flames rising… No, not yet… not that final destruction, not yet… but worse, the terrible arrows of Apollo's wrath flying against Akhaians and Trojans alike…
One of the women started one of the traditional birth-songs, and after a stunned moment of silence… How could they sing and behave as if this were an ordinary women's festival? But no, they had not seen blood or flames or the arrows of the angry god… Kassandra joined in the chant, encouraging the waiting soul of the child to come into the body prepared for it, for the Goddess to release the child's body from the Queen's imprisoning womb. Song followed song, and later some of the priestesses danced the curious dance of the soul making its way past the guardians of the World Before. The night wore slowly away, and when the sky was paling for sunrise, the Queen at last, with a shout of triumph, gave birth; the senior palace midwife, into whose hands the child had been born, held it up, crying out:
"It is a daughter! A strong and healthy daughter! A little Queen for Colchis!"
The women broke into a triumphant chant of welcome to the infant, taking her to the window and holding her up to the rising sun, passing the little naked body around the circle of women from hand to hand that each woman might embrace and kiss the, new one. Queen Imandra finally demanded, "Let me take her; let me see that she is truly strong and healthy."
"Just a moment; we must first have her swaddled against the cold," said the court midwife, and wrapped the baby in one of the Queen's own shawls.
They put her, swaddled and washed at last, into Imandra's hands, and the Queen laid her face tenderly against the little one's cheek.
"Ah, I have waited long enough to hold you, little one; it is like bearing my own grandchild; I know no other woman who has born a child at my age and lived," she said, "yet I feel as strong and well as when Andromache was put into my arms." She was unwrapping the baby in the compulsive way of all new mothers, counting each finger and toe, then counting them all over again in case she had missed one, then giving each one a separate kiss, like a special tribute.