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.
"She's beautiful," she said, smiling blissfully when she had finished nudging and nuzzling the baby, and drawing a beautiful ring from her finger, presented it to the court midwife. "This, in addition to your regular fee which my chamberlain will give you."
The midwife gasped thanks, and backed away, overwhelmed at such largesse. Imandra continued:
"We will name her on the first auspicious day. Until then she will be my little pearl… since she is as smooth and pink as one of the pearls the divers in the Islands bring from the depths of the sea. And I shall call her Pearl, my little pearl princess."
All the women agreed that this was a lovely name. It would be used until the princess was old enough to be given a formal name by the priestesses, and informally all her life.
Then Queen Imandra beckoned Kassandra forward.
"Your eyes are red, Kassandra, and you do not seem to rejoice, with us. Have you seen some evil omen for my child, that you do not share my joy?"
Kassandra cringed; she had been afraid that she would not be able to conceal her grief from Imandra's sharp eyes. "No, kinswoman; I truly rejoice for your happiness," she said, bending down and kissing the little princess, "and I cannot tell you how greatly I rejoice that you are safe and well. But my eyes are always red when I sleep so little as this night; and—" she hesitated, her voice breaking,"the Gods have sent me an evil omen from Troy. I am needed there. I beg you, kinswoman, grant me leave to depart at once for my home."
Imandra looked distressed, but the pain in Kassandra's face softened her anger. She said, "In this weather? Winter is approaching, and the journey would be terrible. I had hoped you would remain to help me with raising my daughter. I had little luck in raising Andromache to be Queen after me. I put small faith in oracles or omens, but I can deny you nothing on such a day when the Goddess has sent me this beautiful daughter. Yet it is not my leave you must obtain, but that of Serpent Mother. It is to her, not to me, that you are sworn here. And you must wait at least until I can gather gifts to be sent to Troy; for Andromache and her child, and for my kinswoman Hecuba, and, not least, for you, my dear daughter."
Kassandra had known this would be required, and she told herself that the catastrophe she had foreseen could not be so imminent that a day or even a week could make so much difference. The dues of kinship and courtesy could not be ignored for one who had been so good to her as Queen Imandra, yet her heart rebelled; everything which held her back from Troy now seemed hateful to her. She was sure that Arikia would chide her for disloyalty, even for dishonor; but there was no other honorable thing to do. They had given generously of their knowledge and friendship; she could not, after all, steal away from Colchis like a thief.
So she braced herself and went to take leave of the Serpent Priestess.
During the night and the long next day, while wagons and beasts and gifts and all that she would need on the long road to Troy were being made ready, she had time to regain some degree of calm, if only because she could not remain at that fever pitch of dread and terror. While she knew that the Gods had summoned her to Troy to meet whatever might be her destiny, it never occurred to her that remaining in Colchis might serve to avoid it; history was full of tales of those who selfishly thought to avoid their destiny by neglecting some duty, and inevitably brought upon themselves the very fate they feared.
The vision might not mean catastrophe; it might even mean that Apollo would not tolerate the war as it was being waged. Perhaps he would force them to some kind of truce, and all would be well.
So in the end, although truly sorry to part from Colchis and the freedom and honor she knew there, she set forth three mornings later with a high heart, glad—or at least not sorry—to be on the road again.
CHAPTER 18
Their journey began at the earliest daylight. Queen Imandra had loaned them a strong cart drawn by mules. As the cart trundled down through the city, all was dark except for sparks from a forge, where a burly woman blacksmith worked. Adrea and Kara were openly jubilant that they were going home, although they spoke with dread of the long miles of the journey, and the dangers of bandits and Kentaurs as well as of mountain passes deep in snow, and roving wild men or women who might think they bore riches - or who would find their simple supplies of food and clothing riches enough.