“How dare you say wily, Patroklos!” said Odysseus in an offended tone. “Hera, Mother of Wisdom, was my guide at every step. Let me tell you about it, Kassandra.”
“With pleasure,” she said. “But you must all be hungry and weary. Let me call for breakfast, and you can tell me while we eat.”
She summoned servants and had bread brought, and olive oil and wine, and Odysseus told his tale.
“When Menelaus summoned us all to keep our vow to fight for Helen,” he said, “I foresaw this war, and so did others; Thetis, priestess of Zeus Thunderer—”
“My mother,” Akhilles interrupted under his breath.
“Thetis sought to know from prophecy what would befall her son, and the prophecy stated—”
“I am weary of prophecies and old wives’ tales,” Akhilles muttered. “They are moonshine. I love my mother, but she is no more than an idiot, like all women, when it comes to war.”
“Akhilles, if you will stop interrupting me, we will have this tale done,” said Odysseus, dipping his bread calmly into the oil. “Thetis, who is almost as wise as Earth Mother, read the omens and was told that if her precious son fought in this war, he could be killed—which takes no more of Sight than forecasting snow on Mount Ida in winter. Therefore, she thought to help him escape his fate; dressed him in women’s garments and concealed him among the many daughters of King Lycomedes of Skyros—”
“And a pretty maiden he must have been!” exclaimed Patroklos, “with those shoulders of his! I’d have liked to see that darling with his hair curled and done in ribbons—”
Akhilles gave his friend a great thump between the shoulder blades that sent him to his knees, and he growled, “Well, you’ve had your laugh, my friend; mention it again and you can go laugh at it in Hades! Not even you can say that of me!”
“Don’t quarrel, boys,” Odysseus said with unusual mildness. “It’s but a sorry joke that parts sworn friends. Be that as it may, I too sought omens, and my Goddess told me that it was Akhilles’ fate to join in this war; but I thought perhaps he had been made cowardly by his woman’s rearing, so I gathered up many gifts for the daughters of the King, and I spilled them all out—dresses and silks and ribbons; but among them I concealed a sword and a shield, and while the other girls were squabbling over all the pretty things, Akhilles grabbed at the sword; and so of course I brought him away.”
Kassandra laughed.
“Bravo, Odysseus,” she said, “but your test was not entirely sure; I too have borne weapons—I rode with the Amazons, and if I had been among that King’s daughters, I would have done exactly the same. One need not be a hero to be desperately weary of the gossip of women’s quarters.”
Akhilles laughed with contempt.
“Penthesilea said once,” she observed, “that only those who hate and fear war are wise enough to wage it.”
“A woman,” said Akhilles scornfully. “What would a woman know of war?”
“As much as you—” Kassandra began, but Odysseus, looking very tired, interrupted: “Will you help us, Kassandra?”
“Gladly,” she said. “Let me go and warn my father to be ready to meet with you tonight.”
“You are a good girl,” said Odysseus, embracing her, and she flung her arms around the old man and kissed his leathery cheek. Then, a little surprised at her own boldness, she said, “Well, you said you were my uncle—they will be expecting it.”
Patroklos said, chuckling, “I will be your uncle too, if you will kiss me like that, Kassandra.”
Akhilles scowled, and Kassandra blushed. She said, “Odysseus is an old friend; I have known him since I was a little girl. I do not kiss any man younger than my father.”
Odysseus said, “Forget it, Patroklos; she is sworn a virgin of Apollo. I know you. When you see her brother Paris you will forget her; they are as alike as two birds on a bush.”
“A man with her beauty? I would wish to see that,” said Patroklos.
Akhilles said angrily, “Oh, is that one Paris? The pretty coward?”
“Coward? Paris?” demanded Kassandra.
“I saw him on the wall yesterday when Odysseus landed me with my soldiers,” he said, “before I slipped away at night to join Odysseus where the ship lay hidden. I said then, these Trojans are cowards; they stand on the wall like women, and shoot with arrows so that they need not come within range of our swords.”
All Kassandra could think of to say to this was “The bow is the chosen weapon of Apollo.”
“It is still the weapon of a coward,” said Akhilles, and she thought, That is simply how he sees the world, all in terms of fighting and honor. Maybe, if he lived long enough, he might grow out of that. But men who see the world that way do not live long enough to learn better. It is almost a pity; but perhaps the world is better without such men.
Kassandra’s visitors were waiting for her to speak. She suggested that they remain hidden during the heat of the day; then, under cover of night, she said, she would lead them to the palace and to Priam.
“This goes against me,” Akhilles said, “slinking about in disguise. I am not afraid of all the Trojans ever whelped, or any of Priam’s horde of sons and soldiers; I will fight them all the way down to the palace and back.”
“You young fool,” said Patroklos with affection, touching his shoulder, “no one doubts your courage; but why waste yourself on that when you can await the great battle and challenge any or all of the leaders of Priam’s armies? There is enough fighting ahead of you, Akhilles. Do not be so impatient.” He smiled and put his arm through his friend’s.
Can this be the greatest of warriors, Kassandra thought—a child proud of his new toy sword and shiny armor?
And does the survival of Troy and of our world depend on this mad child?
SHE CLOSED the door and left them inside the room, admonishing them to stay hidden. The sun was high now and Kassandra threw a shawl over her head before she went down the hill to the palace. Seldom had she deliberately sought the presence of her father, and she could count on the fingers of one hand the times she had been alone with him and not part of a family gathering.
Odysseus would not believe this, she thought, but I who am Priam’s daughter find it harder to gain access to his presence than Odysseus himself would.
She finally went to an old steward who told her that her father was reviewing the weapons issued to the soldiers, since the Akhaians had not chosen to raid today.
“After that, Princess, he will go to the bath with his older sons, and after that he will probably drink wine in his rooms; I am certain if you went to him then he would be willing to speak with you.”
She spent the intervening hours in Creusa’s room, playing with the baby. Creusa warned her of the hour the men usually returned, and she went along to her father’s suite, half hoping—and half dreading—to find her mother there. It would be difficult to explain her errand to Hecuba, who would not believe it suitable for a woman to have any active voice in this war—although if this city does fall to the Akhaians, Kassandra thought in despair, she will suffer as much as any, and more than most.
In Priam’s suite, she found her father alone with his armorer, who was showing him some new javelins, and he broke off to look at her with displeasure.
“What are you doing here, Kassandra? If you wanted to speak with me you should have told your mother, and I would have seen you in the women’s quarters.”
She did not bother to protest.
“Be that as it may, Father, now that I am here, will you hear me? Would you speak with Odysseus if it would help to end this war?”
“To do that, I would speak with Agamemnon himself,” said Priam. “But among the ships of the Akhaians, I have not seen that of Odysseus.”
“No, it is hidden in a secret cove,” Kassandra said. “Odysseus is in the Temple of the Sun Lord, and he wishes to speak with you tonight. May I bring him and Akhilles here to the palace at the dinner hour?”
“What, Akhilles too? Do
you have Agamemnon and Menelaus hiding behind your skirts, ready to swarm upon us in treachery?”
“No, Father; only Odysseus and Akhilles and his friend; because Odysseus is to present Akhilles to the Akhaian leaders tomorrow, but he wished to parley with you first because of your old friendship.”
“True; he has been a good friend over many years,” Priam said thoughtfully. “Let him come, and Akhilles and his friend too—I have heard he never takes any step without his friend.”
“I will tell them, Father,” Kassandra promised, and quickly made her escape before Priam could ask more questions or change his mind. She did not bother to inform her mother or any of the palace women—there was always food enough for a dozen extra mouths at the main meal, and the very thought of entertaining Akhilles would frighten the palace women.
She returned to the Sun Lord’s house quite weary, and had only time to change into her finest robes and to put on the necklace of blue faience Odysseus had given her before she went to the room where she had left her guests. Patroklos smiled at her in a friendly way; but Akhilles was restlessly pacing the floor, and Odysseus looked distressed and impatient.
“I told you, Akhilles, we cannot simply charge into Priam’s house; we would not get past his guards. Even if we managed to force our way in, we would not then be received courteously as ambassadors; and this is crucial to our mission. Trust Kassandra; she will make a way for us.”
“I trust no woman,” Akhilles said sullenly. “For all I know, this may be a trap while she summons the Trojan guards to take us.”
“I tell you she is well disposed toward us, for here she is,” Odysseus said. “How went your day, Kassandra?”
“Well enough.” She did not elaborate. “My father will receive the three of you as guests at the dinner hour.” And now, she thought, the problem was to get them from here to Priam’s great hall without encountering the spies who might be in the city.
“You must all wear the cloaks of priests of Apollo Sun Lord,” she said. “None would think anything of it, or question why—or whether—Priam had summoned you.”
A great cloak was brought for Odysseus; in it he looked wholly unlike himself. Akhilles grumbled a bit about wrapping himself in the disguise—“as if I were afraid of any Trojan, from a simple priest to Hector’s self!”
“Gods on high! Does the man think of nothing else?” Kassandra demanded.
Odysseus said, “Enough, Akhilles; when I brought you on this mission, you swore on your sacred lineage to be guided by me in all things, and now I bid you disguise yourself. Keep that promise.”
Grumbling, Akhilles wrapped his cloak around his body, and Patroklos pulled it up over his head.
“They would know you in a moment by your hair. Cover it, now,” he urged, draping the third cloak around his own shoulders and drawing it up to conceal his face. “But do the Sun Lord’s priests really go about covered like this in this weather, Lady Kassandra? They will think we have all fallen ill with toothache!”
She could not help laughing. “Who cares what they think? The priests do what seems right in their own eyes; they may think you are about some intrigue, but they will ask no questions, and certainly they will not demand that we show our faces. And that is all that matters. Come this way; we will go out by a little-used door, the better to support the notion that three priests are on some errand they don’t wish known.”
AKHILLES WAS still grumbling under his breath, but Kassandra paid no attention. Swiftly she led them downward, under cover of the deepening twilight; it was still early enough in the year that the light did not linger long.
Torches flamed on the lower steps of the palace, and the great hall was ablaze with light. Priam was seated on his high seat; but he came down a few steps and welcomed the three men ceremoniously. Kassandra he ignored; she slipped into her usual seat next to Hecuba, where she could see and hear well.
Her mother patted her hand.
“I did not know we were to have you here this night,” she whispered. “Is that Akhilles? He is handsome for an Akhaian; but then, my mother used to say that handsome is as handsome does. Is he as young as he looks, or is it only that he’s clean-shaven and looks boyish?”
“I don’t know, Mother, but I’d say he’s just too young for the manhood rites of the Akhaians; sixteen perhaps, or seventeen at most.”
“And this pretty boy is the greatest of their warriors?”
“So they say; I haven’t seen him fight, but I’m told he is possessed by their War-God when he fights,” Kassandra murmured.
Odysseus came to kiss Hecuba’s hand in homage.
“And all your daughters more beautiful than ever,” he remarked. “Is the lovely Helen not at table this night?”
“She is still in bed after childbirth,” Hecuba told him. “And she does not really like to dine with men.”
“Ah, that is a loss to us all,” Odysseus said. “But if she wishes to keep to her own people’s customs, I suppose it must be allowed to her. Had she a son, then?”
“Oh, yes, the finest of boys—not big, but strong and healthy; a credit to any grandmother,” Hecuba said, almost purring.
Odysseus smiled and said, “If I had known, I’d have had a present for the little one. But perhaps the business we do tonight, if it comes out as we wish, will be a better present to all our sons than any string of beads.” He bowed and resumed his seat as the serving-women began to pass the wine and trays of food.
Custom demanded that a guest’s hunger must first be satisfied; only when the roasted kid and poultry from the spit and broiled fish, the great wheels of bread and the fruits with honey had been cleared away and the household and guests were toying with nuts and wine did Priam turn purposefully to Odysseus and say, “It is always my pleasure to have you a guest at my table, Odysseus; but tonight I understand you did not come here only to share my food. What other purpose brings you here, with your friends from the Argive country and the islands?”
Akhilles had eaten hungrily, but was restless; when he finished he had risen and was walking aimlessly about the hall, examining some ancient weapons hanging on the walls. He seemed especially intrigued by a great double-bladed ax with a handle twice as long as the height of a tall man. He looked as if he were eager to take it down and try it.
“Is this a real ax which would be wielded in battle, or is it a remnant of the Titans, Lord Priam?”
Kassandra, as a child, had been told fanciful tales of Titan warfare in which such weapons had played a part; she had always wondered if they were true, but had never dared ask. She supposed it would take an Akhilles to ask such a question of her father and get an answer.
“I do not know,” he said. “For its size, it might well be a relic of the warfare against the Titans, but I cannot say it is or is not.”
“It is not a weapon—at least, not for battle between mortals or even Titans,” said Hecuba firmly. “It is a ritual object from the House of the Double Ax in the country of the Minoans, brought here after the great Temple fell into the sea. There are such axes no longer than my little finger; but there are many of this size, and even, I was told, larger. No one now knows their true purpose, not even in Knossos; but once I was told that the priests used them for sacrifice, when a bull’s head must be struck off at a single blow.”
Akhilles looked calculatingly at the length of the great ax, as if trying to decide whether it could be hefted in that way, for the shaft was more than twice his own height.
“That Temple must have had some rare big priests,” he said, “if not Titans, then Cyclopeans. I do not think even your Hector could strike off the head of a sacrifice, man or bull, with such an ax.”
Hector came down from his seat and joined Akhilles looking up at the weapon.
“I have always wanted to try and see if I could do just that,” he said, “but when I was a youngster I was told it would be sacrilege to handle it. Now I am grown, and if there is a God to be offended, I know not who He is; I am tempted to t
ry my strength at it.” He glanced up at Priam for permission. “May we, Father?”
“I see no harm in it,” the King said. “No God has forbidden it; if it is sacred to any God, He lies in His sunken Temple a hundred fathoms below the ocean, and even if He should take offense, I doubt He could or would punish you now. Do what you wish.”
Hecuba opened her mouth indignantly. “This is sacrilege; the blade is sacred to Earth Mother,” she said, but not loudly enough for Priam to hear, or Hector.
Hector dragged a bench over below the great ax; it took him three tries, even with his mightily muscled arms, to lift it off its hooks. He grasped it at the center of the long handle and sprang down from the bench, holding it with both hands and whirling it above his head in the open space.
Akhilles leaped forward, but Hector cried, “Get back! Clear the floor!” The blade revolved around his head faster and faster; he cried out, “Bring on your bull for sacrifice!” then slowly let it sink to the floor.
“My turn,” Akhilles cried.
“Don’t be foolish,” Hector said sharply. “I am sure you are strong, boy, but you will rupture yourself or crack your sinews even trying to lift it; you are our guest and I wouldn’t have you hurt.”
“How dare you say ‘boy’ to me in that tone, Trojan? I will make any wager you like that I am stronger than you, and whatever you can lift I can lift,” Akhilles cried, grasping the ax handle; but where Hector had had to lower it from above his head, Akhilles had to lift it up from the floor. Patroklos came and admonished him in a low voice, but Akhilles thrust him angrily away. His hands were large for his size; he clenched them round the handle and gripped hard, thrusting upward. He heaved, the veins standing out in his forehead; stopped, spat on his hands to get a better grip and heaved mightily upward again. Slowly the ax came up, till he held it balanced at arms’ length over his head; then he began to spin it in the air, till it was making great sweeping circles, with a rushing sound. A cheer went up at the high table; all of Priam’s sons joined in, and Hector generously led the applause.