Kassandra sensed the disappointment in the words, more strongly perhaps than even Oenone herself knew. She said, "He may well be like you; and then none can question his goodness."
"Only time will tell whether he or Hector's son is best fitted to rule over this city; and I truly rejoice that he will bear no such burden or such fate."
Kassandra said quickly, "Oenone, never envy the fate of Hector's son."
"What have you seen?" Oenone asked apprehensively. "No, do not tell me; I heard what you prophesied at Andromache's wedding. I wish for no such blessing on my son… Paris's son."
"Yes, I was talking about that with Andromache," said Kassandra. "At least among the Amazons a son may bear his mother's name; Hector would be the son of Hecuba—"
"And my child son of Oenone, not son of Paris of the house of Priam," said Oenone. "Fair enough; yet in your city only the son of a harlot bears the name of his mother and not of his father."
Kassandra said gently, "None could call you so, Oenone, and so I would bear witness." Yet the words were meaningless for she had no power to change matters; Andromache had been pledged to Hector before all of the city, where Oenone was Paris's wife only by virtue that she had accepted him with her father's blessing.
"Oenone, who was your mother?"
"I never knew her name," Oenone said. "Father told me she died young. She too was one of the priestesses of the River God's shrine."
Yes; women who bear the children of Gods are more nameless even than the children of men. She kissed Oenone and promised to send her son a gift; on the way back to the Sunlord's house, she had plenty to think about. If there were men like Aeneas in the world, there might be others she would be willing to marry.
Later that morning she was in Phyllida's room, holding the fair-haired baby while the young mother folded an armful of freshly washed napkins and blankets. She had taken off the baby's swaddling bands so that he could kick freely and was holding the small chubby feet in her hands, admiring the soft perfection of the tiny toes and nails, putting her face down to the little feet to kiss them and caress them with her lips. She blew into the middle of his soft belly to make him laugh, and laughed herself. At this moment she was almost wishing she had her own baby to play with, though she was by no means interested in any of the preliminaries necessary for getting one.
Phyllida came and bent to reclaim her son, but Kassandra clung to him.
"He likes me," she said proudly. "I think he knows who I am, don't you, beautiful?"
"Why should he not?" Phyllida said, "You are always ready to cuddle and spoil him when I am too busy to give him all the attention he wants."
Hearing his mother's voice, the baby began to squall and reach toward her.
"He is hungry," said Phyllida with resignation, beginning to unfasten her tunic at the neck, "and that you cannot do for me, I fear."
"I would if I could," said Kassandra, barely above a whisper.
"I know," Phyllida said, settling down with the baby at her breast.
Watching her with the child, Kassandra felt the dark waters of a vision rise and subside.
"Kassandra, why will you not tell me what you see?" Phyllida asked, staring at her fearfully.
Kassandra was silent.
This morning I have held in my arms three babes and have seen no future for any of them; what does this mean? Perhaps that I am to die and can see no future because I shall not be here to see any of them grow to manhood? If only I thought it was as simple as that - if I thought it was only that, I would fling myself from the heights of the city before this day's sun had set.
But that was not her destiny; a fate approached her and she must live to behold it and to endure it.
She bent to kiss Phyllida and the baby too and said, not answering directly, "We must all bear our fate; you and I and the baby too. Believe me, knowing a fate makes it no easier to endure."
"I don't understand you," Phyllida said.
"I don't understand myself," Kassandra said and went out into the courtyard of the temple overlooking the sea. She saw a ship there—yes, Andromache had said Paris's ship had been sighted.
It was no part of her duty to welcome Paris to the city, but something stronger than duty drew her downward.
As Kassandra climbed down the long street she saw processions forming at the ships, readying to approach the palace; and another procession coming from the palace down to the shore.
Paris was driving his chariot - no doubt he had had it unloaded first so that he could make an impressive entrance to the city, in contrast to his unheralded entry to the Games. Beside him in the chariot was a female figure, her identity concealed by a long veil.
Had Paris succeeded then in having Hesione returned to Troy? Kassandra quickened her pace slightly so that she emerged from the city gates just as Paris pulled up before them. At the same time Priam and Hecuba, riding Priam's best ceremonial chariot, drew up facing him. Hector stood a pace behind his father, looking something less than pleased, and Kassandra looked about for Andromache. Surely her friend would not want to miss all this excitement? She looked up at Andromache's window to see her sitting there, with Oenone standing beside her, each with her son in her arms. Even at this distance she could see that Oenone was clutching the side of the window, white-knuckled.
Paris descended from the chariot and turned to lift down the veiled woman: then he bowed low before Priam, who raised him and embraced him.
"Welcome home, my son." He extended a hand in welcome to the veiled woman, who stood motionless beside the chariot. "You have succeeded in your mission, my son?"
"Beyond our wildest hopes."
Hector tried to look pleased. "Then you have brought Hesione back to us, my brother?"
"Not so," said Paris. "My king and my father, I bring back a prize greater far than that for which you sent me."
He brought the lady forward and pulled back her veil; Kassandra and everyone else in the courtyard gasped. The woman was beautiful beyond imagining.
She was tall and beautifully formed, with hair as fine and, yellow as the best beaten gold; her features were like chiselled marble, and her eyes the blue of the depths of a stormy sky.
"I present to you Helen of Sparta, who has consented to become my wife."
Only Kassandra raised her eyes to the window where Oenone pressed a trembling hand to her mouth, then whirled and was gone, leaving Andromache staring after her in dismay. Paris glanced upward; Kassandra could not guess whether he had seen Oenone's swift retreat.
He turned quickly back to Helen, who prompted him in a whisper; then he turned again to Priam.
"Will you welcome my lady to Troy, Father?"
Priam opened his mouth but it was Hecuba's voice that was heard first.
"If she is here of her free will she is welcome," the old Queen said. "Troy will give no countenance to the stealing and ravishing of women; else we should be no better than that vicious man who stole Hesione from us. And speaking of Hesione, where is she? Your mission, my son, was to return Hesione to our family; in that, at least, it seems you have failed. Lady Helen, have you come here willingly?"
Helen of Sparta smiled and touched her shining hair. It was long and loose, as only young virgins wore it in Troy, like a shining veil hardly paler than the fillet of gold which held it back from her forehead. She wore a tunic of the finest linen from the country of the pharaohs, and her waist, which was narrow, was encircled with a girdle of discs of beaten gold inlaid with circles of lapis lazuli which echoed the colour of her eyes.
Her body was full, deep-breasted, with long legs whose shape was just perceptible beneath the loose folds of the linen. When she spoke her voice was deep and soft.