"That's a good thought," murmured Priam, himself now the worse for a good deal of wine, "but you do not want to leave us already, do you, Paris?"
Paris murmured correctly that he was eternally at the disposal of his father and his king.
"He has charmed us all," replied Hector, not without malice. "So why not let him try this irresistible charm upon Agamemnon and persuade him to ransom the Lady Hesione."
"Agamemnon," said Paris, looking up sharply. "Is he not the brother of that same Menelaus who married Helen of Sparta? And is he not himself married to the sister of the Spartan Queen?"
"It is so," Hector said. "When these Akhaians came from the north with their chariots and horses and their Thunder Gods, Leda, the Lady of Sparta, wedded one of these kings, and it was rumoured that when she bore him twin daughters, that one of them had been fathered by the Thunder Lord himself."
"Well, Helen married Menelaus," Hector said, "although she was said to be fair as a goddess, and could have married any king from Thessaly to Crete. There was, I heard, much dissension at Helen's wedding, so that it nearly resulted in a war then and there. You are not ill-looking, my Andromache," he said, coming close and looking attentively at her face, "but not so beautiful, I think, that I will need to keep you imprisoned lest all men envy me and covet you." He took her chin in his hands and looked down at her.
"My lord is gracious to his humble wife," said Andromache with a small grin which only Kassandra recognized as sarcasm.
Paris was watching Hector so closely that Kassandra could not help but notice. What was he thinking? Could he be jealous of Hector, who was neither as handsome nor as clever as he? With a beautiful wife like Oenone, he could hardly envy Hector Andromache just because she was a princess of Colchis. Or was he envious of Hector because Hector was the older, and his father's established favourite? Or was he angry because Hector had, after all, insulted him?
She sipped slowly at the wine in her cup, wondering how Andromache really felt about this marriage; she could not imagine anyone being overjoyed at being married to the bullying Hector but she supposed Andromache was not displeased at eventually being a Queen in Troy. Surreptitiously - her mother had always warned her that it was not proper to stare at men -she looked round the room, wondering if there was any man there she would willingly marry. Certainly none of her brothers, even supposing she were not their sister; Hector was rough and contentious; Deiphobos was shifty-eyed and a sneak; even Paris, handsome as he was, had already neglected Oenone. Troilus was only a child, but when he grew up he might be gentle and kindly enough. She remembered how even among the Amazons the girls had talked all the time about young men, and there too she had felt the weight of being different on her heart. Why was it she cared nothing for what was so important to them?
There must be something worthwhile in marriage or why would all women be so eager for it? Then she remembered the words of the Colchian priestess: You are priestess-born, called and set apart. At least this was a valid reason for difference.
Her eyelids were drooping, and she blinked and sat up straight, wishing this was over; she had been awake and travelling before daylight and it had been a long day.
Priam had called Paris to his side, and they were talking about ships, the route for sailing to the Akhaian islands, and how best to approach Agamemnon's people. Andromache was half asleep. This was, thought Kassandra, the dullest feast she had ever known—though after all she had not attended so many.
Finally Priam was proposing a toast to the wedded pair, and calling for torches to escort Hector and his bride to the bridal chamber.
First among the women, Hecuba led the procession with a flaming torch in her hand. It flickered and flared brilliantly coloured lights along the walls as the women, with Kassandra and Polyxena on either side of Andromache, led her up the stairs, followed by every woman in the palace: Priam's lesser wives and daughters, and all the servants down to the kitchen maids. The torches smoked and hurt Kassandra's eyes: it seemed to her that they were flaming high, that beyond the walls was a dreadful fire, even within the bridal chamber, that they led Andromache forth to some dreadful fate—
Clasping her hands to her head as if to shut out the sight, she heard herself screaming; "No! No! The fire! Don't take her in there!"
"Be quiet!" Hecuba gripped her wrists till Kassandra writhed with the pain. "What is the matter with you? Are you mad?"
"Can't you hear the thunder?" Kassandra whispered. "No, no, there is only death and blood… fire in there, lightning, destruction—"
"Be still," Hecuba commanded. "What an omen at a bride's bedding! How dare you make such a scene—"
"But can't they hear, can't they see—" Kassandra felt as if she brimmed with darkness and could see nothing but darkness shot through with fire. She put her hands over her eyes to shut it out. Was it no more than the smoking torches, distorting her sight.
"For shame," her mother was still scolding as she dragged her along, "I thought the princess of Colchis was your friend; would you spoil her bridal night with this fuss? You have always been jealous whenever anyone else is the center of attention; but I thought you had grown out of that—"
They led Andromache into the bridal chamber. It too had been painted, with sea-creatures so realistic that they seemed to wriggle and swim on the walls. Hecuba had told her at supper that workmen from Crete had been in the palace for a year, redecorating the walls in the Cretan style, and that the carved furniture was tribute from the Queen of Knossos.
On the table beside the bed there was a little carved statue of Earth Mother, her breasts bared over a tightly laced bodice, a flounced skirt, a serpent clasped in each hand. Andromache, as the women were stripping off her bridal finery and putting her into a shift of the Egyptian gauze whispered to Kassandra, "Look, it is Serpent Mother; she has been sent from my home to bless me this night—"
For a moment the dark flooding waters inside Kassandra again threatened to swell up and take over, she was drowning with fear; it was all she could do to keep from shrieking out the terror and apprehension that threatened to strangle her.
"Fire, death, blood, doom for Troy—for all of us—"
Her mother's face, stern and angry, held her silent. She embraced Andromache with a numb dread, thrusting the beautiful little statue at her and murmuring, "May she bless you with fertility, then, little sister." Andromache seemed no more than a tall child in her shift, her hair brushed out of its elegant curls and streaming over her shoulders, her painted eyes enormous and dark with the kohl smudged around the lids. Kassandra, still submerged in the dark waters of her vision, felt ancient and withered among all these girls playing at weddings without the faintest idea what lay beyond.
Now they could hear the chanting of the men as they led Hector up the stairway to claim his bride. Andromache clung to her and whispered, "You are the only one who is not a stranger to me, Kassandra. I beg you, bless me and wish me happiness."
Kassandra's throat was so dry she could hardly speak.
If only it were as easy to bestow happiness as it is to wish it. She murmured through dry lips, "I do wish you happiness, sister."
But there will be no happiness, only doom and the greatest grief in the world…
She could almost hear the shrieks of anguish and mourning through the joyous singing of the marriage hymn, and as Hector, led by his friends, came into the room the streaked red torchlight made their faces crimson with blood… or was it only the bones of their faces standing out like skulls?
The priestess standing by the bed gave them the marriage cup. Kassandra thought, That should have been my task, but her face was frozen in dread, and she knew she would never have had the heart to set it in her friend's hand.