"It is growing so late that it is almost early," she said. "Do you want to come into my room and wash your face before you are seen like this in the temple?"
"No," Chryseis said. "Why should I? I am not ashamed of whatever I do."
"I would spare your father the sight of you like this," she said. "It would break his heart."
Chryseis's laughter was brittle as breaking glass.
"Oh, come, surely he cannot still cherish any illusions that I came from Agamemnon's bed a virgin!"
"Perhaps not," Kassandra said. "He cannot blame you for the fortunes of war; but to see you like this would distress him—"
"Do you think I care for that? I was well content where I was, and I wish he had minded his own affairs, and left me there."
"Chryseis," Kassandra said gently,"do you have any idea how dreadfully he grieved for you? He thought of little else—"
"Then the more fool he."
"Chryseis—" Kassandra looked at the girl, wondering what was in her heart or indeed if she had one. She asked at last curiously, "Doesn't it shame you at all, to stand before all men in Troy, and know that all men know and recognize you for having been Agamemnon's concubine?"
"No," Chryseis said, defiantly, "no more than it shames Andromache to have all men know she is Hector's, nor Helen to have it common knowledge that she belongs to Paris."
There was a difference, Kassandra knew, but she could not muster her thoughts to tell this confused girl what it was.
"If the city should fall," Chryseis said, "all of us will be given into the hands of some man or other; so I give myself where I choose while I still can. Will you, Kassandra, keep your own maidenhood so that it may be taken by a conqueror by force?"
For that I cannot fault her at all. Kassandra could not speak, she only turned and went into her own room.
Inside, some neglectful servant had left the shutters wide open; the rain and wind were beating in through the window. Honey's bed was soaked with rain and the child had rolled off the quilts and on to the stone floor against the wall under the window to escape the rain. Even so she was soaked.
Kassandra closed the shutters, and lifted the child into her own bed. Honey felt as cold as a little frog and whimpered when Kassandra lifted her, but did not wake. Kassandra wrapped her in blankets and rocked her, holding her close against her breasts until she felt the icy little feet and hands beginning to warm and at last Honey was sleeping the heavy sleep of any healthy child.
She put the little girl down, and laid herself beside her, wrapping them both in her warm cloak. The noise of the storm outside the closed windows was muffled, but still rattled the shutters with its force. She closed her eyes, trying to move her spirit forth from where she lay.
To her surprise, once she had slipped free of her body, moving her consciousness away from the bed and through the window, she had no awareness of the storm, only a deep silence; on the level where her spirit now moved there was no weather. As swiftly as thought she glided down the hill into clear moonlight, flying over the plain between the gates of Troy and the earthworks which guarded the Akhaian camp.
Under that impossible moonlight, shadows lay sharp and black on the plain, silent and untenanted except by a single drowsing night watchman. Paris was right, she thought, they should have flung all their forces at the camp by night. Then she remembered that in the physical world the Akhaian earthworks were better guarded by the pouring rain than by all the watchmen in the world. She could see a dark-shadowed structure which she recognized for Akhilles's chariot, and a blurred shape which had to be Hector's bound body. Her first thought was gratitude that in this analogue of the afterworld—and how had she come to walk so handily in this world of the dead when she was still among the living?—Hector's body was not battered by rain and howling wind. And as she thought of him he was standing there before her, smiling.
"Sister," he said, "it is you. I might have expected to see you here."
"Hector—" She broke off. "How is it with you?"
"Why—" he stopped and seemed to consider. "Better than I ever expected," he said. "The pain is gone, so I suppose I am dead; I only remember being wounded, and thinking this must be the end; then I woke and Patroklos came and helped me to rise. He was with me for a while, and then he said he had to stay with Akhilles; and went away. After that I went to the palace tonight, but Andromache could not see me. I tried to speak with her and then with Mother, to tell them I was all right, but neither of them seemed to hear me at all."
"Well, when you were living, did you ever hear the voice of the dead?"
"Well, no, of course not; I never learned how to listen for it."
"Well, then; that is why they could not hear. What can I do for you, my brother? Do you want sacrifices or—"
"I can't imagine what good it would do," Hector said. "But do tell Andromache not to cry; it feels very strange not to be able to comfort her. So tell her not to mourn, and if you can, tell her I will come soon and take Astyanax with me; I would like to leave him to take care of her; but I have been told—"
"By whom?"
"I don't know," Hector said. "I can't seem to remember; perhaps it was Patroklos - but I know well that my son will come to me very soon, and Father, and Paris. But not Andromache; she will stay there a long time." He advanced to her and she felt the faint touch of his lips against her forehead.
"I will bid you farewell too, sister," he said, "but have no fears; there will be much to suffer, but I promise you, all will be well with you."
"And Troy?"
"Ah, no; it is already fallen," he said. "See?" And he turned her round, with gentle insubstantial hands, and behind her she saw a great heap of rubble, with flames rising, where once Troy had stood. But the sound of such destruction… how could she not have heard it?
"There is no time here," he said. "What is, and what is to be, are all one - I do not understand all these things," he said fretfully. "For tonight I walked in the halls of my father's palace where they were feasting, and now look, the city has been fallen for a long time. Maybe when I was on earth I should have inquired of those who know these things, but there never seemed to be time. But now I see Apollo and Poseidon—look, they are striving with one another for the city—" he said, and pointed to where above the fallen walls it seemed that two monstrous figures, spanning the clouds, stood and battled, their flesh glowing like lightning.
She shivered at the sight of the beloved face of the Sunlord, crowned by brilliant golden curls; would he turn and see her walking in the forbidden realms? Resolutely she turned back to Hector's shadowy form.
"What of Troilus? Is it well with him?"
"He was with me for a little; he came running out just a little behind me," Hector said. "But he remained at the palace with Mother; he was trying to tell her not to grieve. He would not believe that he could not make her hear him. Perhaps she would listen to you if you told her; she knows you are a priestess and wise in such things."
"Ah, I do not know if she will listen to me, either, dear brother," Kassandra said. "She has her own opinions and no room for mine. But for the sake of our parents and their peace of mind—" she stopped to consider. "I came here to try to perhaps frighten Akhilles into releasing your body for ransom; perhaps you would do better than I at that."