The Women of Troy: A Novel Page 19

  Calchas shakes his head.

  “What about Little Ajax?” Machaon says. “Raping a virgin priestess in the temple of a virgin goddess…? Isn’t he the front runner?”

  “Nah, he’s too useful,” Odysseus says. “If it comes to war with Menelaus, we’re going to need all the allies we can get.”

  War? Calchas still hasn’t spoken and he’s becoming ever more convinced that silence is his best option. Sometimes, at night, he lies awake and doubts his faith. In his darkest moments, it seems to him that all his agonizing over the will of the gods is no more than self-deception. Only now, listening to this talk of “front runners” and the need for alliances, he knows it’s not true. Without vanity, he knows himself to be a different kind of man. Not better, he doesn’t claim that—but different. Somewhere in all this he thinks a real truth lies buried, and he won’t be able to rest till he finds it.

  “So,” he says, not bothering now to hide the sarcasm. “Who’s my best bet? Who do you think I should blame?”

  “I’d stick with Achilles, if I were you,” Machaon says. “At least he’s dead.”

  Odysseus pulls a face. “No, I’d go for the ‘ungrateful little shite.’ ”

  “Pyrrhus?”

  “Why not? Unless you enjoyed having his foot up your arse?”

  They move off together, laughing. Calchas follows more slowly, bracing himself to face yet another tussle with the wind. The slight lull that often comes in the last few hours before dawn is already over. As he steps out onto the veranda, vicious little gusts blow specks of grit into face.

  I’d go for the “ungrateful little shite.” Unless you enjoyed having his foot up your arse?

  Immediately after it happened, he’d consoled himself with the thought that very few people had witnessed it. With any luck, he’d thought, the gossip would be confined to Pyrrhus’s compound—and might be a nine-day wonder even there. Of course, after all his years in the camp, he should have known better. The fact that nobody’s mentioned it to him means nothing; they’d all have been sniggering about it behind his back. Ignore it. But he can’t ignore it; it gnaws away at him, night after night, like a rat in his intestines. The damage to his reputation is real, and in this camp men live—and die—for reputation. Reputation is all-important. If people start to believe they can treat him with contempt, that’s dangerous—and it doesn’t just devalue him; it’s an insult to the god he serves.

  Calchas looks up at the stars. The wind’s doing crazy things, making them swarm and dance like fireflies. After a few seconds he’s so dizzy he’s glad to look at the ground again. He wishes he could talk to somebody, but there’s nobody he can trust. Hecuba? Yes, perhaps—though really a priest should derive his solace solely from his god—that’s what he was taught, in the temple of Apollo in Troy. Though it had never really worked for him, even then. He’d always found his solace in the arms of strangers, at night, in Priam’s orchards, under the trees. He’d so much like to be back there, just once, before he dies.

  Out of some primitive impulse, he tries to pray, to ask for mercy, though he knows the gods have none—particularly not the god he serves.

  Lord of light, hear me,

  Son of god, hear me,

  Slayer of darkness, hear me…

  But the long-familiar litany fails to soothe. He walks on, and on, wanting to tire himself out, before he goes back to the hut where he eats and sleeps alone. It’s getting lighter now, the stars are beginning to fade, until finally, out of the heaving grey mass of the sea, the sun rises, as small and hard and cold as a stone.

  25

  Amina’s death changed everything. I say that, and immediately I think: How ridiculous! No, it didn’t—it changed absolutely nothing. For the first few days it seemed as though she had just sunk beneath the waves, unnoticed, leaving not a bubble behind. I went to the women’s hut as usual, but I was aware all the time of that slim ghost flitting around the edges of the group. We still sat outdoors in the evening, but these were miserable gatherings. Then, one evening, about a week after Amina’s death, Helle called for music. As always, the girls shouted out their favourites, but that night many of them asked for the song Amina had sung. I don’t know why that song’s so sad, because it’s about a girl in love with a young man, a celebration of love with no shadow of parting. And yet sad it certainly is. When the music faded, we sat in silence for a moment, thinking about her. One or two of the girls openly wept, and even Helle looked suspiciously bright-eyed.

  * * *

  ——————

  I was sleeping badly. After one particularly disturbed night, I got up and went out onto the veranda in my nightgown, with just a blanket thrown across my shoulders. Several of the fighters glanced at me curiously as they walked past on their way to the training grounds. The games were well underway now, the atmosphere in the compound tense, almost febrile, with excitement. I went back indoors and put Alcimus’s breakfast on the table. The bed was empty, but the covers had been thrown back so I knew he’d slept in it. He must have set off for the training grounds before dawn, as he often did these days. When, only a few minutes later, he came in, I saw his hair was stringy with sweat. After eating in silence for a while, he looked up. “It must be lonely for you here.”

  “Lonely?”

  “Well, on your own…”

  “It’s quiet, but I’m all right—I don’t mind.”

  “I just wondered if you’d be happier living with the other women?”

  Yes, I thought. And then there’d be another woman waiting for you in the room at the end of the passage. Because he had other women, I knew he did; all Greek men do. All Trojan men too, to be fair.

  “I’ll go if that’s what you want.” I was afraid to raise my eyes. “But it’s very crowded in there.”

  “Is it?” Of course, he didn’t know. Only Pyrrhus was allowed inside the women’s hut. “I wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

  A glance at my belly where, as if in response to the attention it was getting, what felt like a tiny foot moved. “How are the games coming on?”

  Immediately, his face lit up. These games were the fighters’ substitute for war, and the training was going well, really well, though the men did sometimes get carried away with enthusiasm. One young idiot had just dislocated the shoulder of their best wrestler—in a training session! But at least everybody seemed to realize that if they wanted the games to continue, they had to stop fighting pitched battles every time they lost.

  I listened and admired and sympathized and by the end of the meal he seemed happy. I saw him off to the training grounds, and then I stood with my back to the door and shut my eyes. I was on my own too much—Alcimus was right about that—and visits to the women’s hut didn’t help at all, because everybody there leant on me. I had to watch every word, every change of expression, because I must never appear depressed or sad or frightened. I didn’t mind, I accepted it, but it meant I could never be myself.

  Ritsa, I thought. I needed to see Ritsa. But before I could allow myself to see her, there was another—overdue—visit I had to make.

  * * *

  ——————

  Hecuba was quiet for a long time after I’d told her about Amina’s death. This wasn’t one of her better days. I thought she looked like an old mottled spider sitting there.

  “Suicide?”

  “Some people seem to think that’s what it was.”

  “But you don’t?”

  “I try not to think at all.”

  She was rocking a little from side to side, more shaken by the news than I’d expected.

  “She was Polyxena’s friend, you know?”

  “No, I didn’t know.”

  “There was only two months between them.” Her hands were perpetually pleating and smoothing the hem of her tunic. “Ah, well. A sad end
to a young life.”

  Poor woman. She’d seen so many sad ends to so many young lives. I couldn’t imagine what it must be like to survive your sons and grandsons—and then, when you thought nothing worse could happen, to lose your youngest daughter too. What was left to her really except grief and anger and the craving for revenge? A craving she had absolutely no hope of ever satisfying.

  She looked at me, and her eyes were as sharp as they’d ever been. “What do you think happened?”

  “I think Pyrrhus killed her. Though I don’t know why—he didn’t have to do it.”

  “Something else we’ve got to thank him for.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that, because there you have it: Pyrrhus, son of Achilles, my child’s half-brother. The enemy. It doesn’t get any starker than that.

  After a pause, Hecuba said, “Calchas came to see me. He’d not long left when you arrived.”

  “What did he want?”

  “That’s a very cynical question.”

  We smiled at each other.

  “No, he came to tell me Cassandra’s married.”

  Again, I remembered Cassandra on the day she arrived in the camp: her triumph as she danced around the crowded hut whirling torches above her head, calling on her mother and sisters to dance at her wedding. Her absolute conviction that her marriage to Agamemnon would lead directly to his death.

  Hecuba was shaking her head. “I never thought he’d do it. I mean, I could see he was besotted, but I didn’t think he’d actually marry her. He’s got a wife already!”

  “He obviously doesn’t believe in her prophecies.”

  “Obviously!”

  “Do you?”

  She shifted uneasily. “I think a lot of it’s completely random. People used to say it was Apollo speaking through her. I could never see it—I think she just made up things to suit herself. Anyway, it doesn’t matter what I think—I need to see her.”

  “Well, it’s not easy,” I said. “I lived in Agamemnon’s compound, for a time—you were hardly allowed out of the hut.”

  “Yes, but that’s slaves. She’s married now—he can’t keep his wife locked up.”

  I thought he probably could; but I could see how much the hope of seeing Cassandra meant to her, so of course I said, “I’ll try.”

  She tried to speak, but choked and had to squeeze my hand instead.

  “Was that all he wanted? To tell you about Cassandra?”

  I was curious about these visits. I couldn’t see what was in it for Calchas. At last, after a pause, she said, “No, he was asking me about the time Priam went to see Achilles.”

  “I wonder why he’s interested in that?”

  “Oh, he’ll have his reasons.” She was sunk in thought, in memory. “I didn’t want Priam to go, I begged him not to, I was sure Achilles would kill him—I honestly didn’t think he’d last five minutes once he was inside the gates—but he just said: ‘I’ve got to try. He’s not a wolf, he’s a man—and if he’s a man, we can talk.’ Talk? Talk? I wouldn’t have talked to him; I’d have ripped his throat out with my teeth before I’d have talked to him. He killed my son. And that wasn’t enough, no, he had to drag him round the walls, tear him to pieces in front of everybody—killing him wasn’t enough.”

  “I hope you didn’t see that?”

  “No, Priam made them take me away. He saw it though—he saw all of it—and he still went to see him. There was nothing I could say that would change his mind.” Her fingers were busy with the hem of her tunic again. I was watching her hands because I couldn’t bear to look at her face. “I followed him into the store room. Torchlight, just him and me, none of the hangers-on, so I could say what I really thought. He was holding the Thracian cup. He absolutely loved that cup, and it’s a beautiful thing, it is, but it didn’t matter, it still went into the ransom for Hector. I told him he was a fool, I told him Achilles had no more compassion than a mad dog, but he wouldn’t listen. In the end I just had to give up. I wanted him to have a proper send-off—because I didn’t think I was ever going to see him again. I brought him a parting cup.” She laughed. “He was sitting in a farm cart wearing a tatty old tunic—I thought he’d never looked more like a king. So, I prayed to Zeus to take care of him. He kissed me—and he was just about to drive off when he said, ‘Look!’ And there were two eagles flying over the palace. Two eagles together, you never see that. He said it was a good omen and of course I went along with it. I didn’t think it was. But there you are, you see, I was wrong—he did bring Hector’s body back, and it was like a miracle. All those terrible injuries—they’d all vanished. He looked as if he was asleep.” She paused for a moment, remembering. “And do you know, when we unwrapped the sheet, there were fresh herbs inside it. Somebody must have put them in.”

  “That was me.”

  “Was it?” She smiled. “I thought it might be.”

  We continued to sit in silence after that. I persuaded her to drink a little wine.

  “Calchas wanted to know what Priam said when he came back. I told him to ask Cassandra. She ran out to meet him. I was too busy grieving for my son.”

  A lot of bitterness there, and some jealousy too, perhaps. Cassandra had obviously been very close to Priam. I patted Hecuba’s arm and stood up. “I’ll go to see her as soon as I can.”

  Outside, a wrestling match had just started. A big crowd, quiet at the moment, were watching two men circle the arena, sizing each other up. Their oiled bodies gleamed in the bronze light. Everybody waited tensely for the bout to start, but the circling went on and on. “Get a bloody move on!” somebody shouted. The men sitting round him laughed, but several other voices yelled: “Shut the fuck up!”

  In the arena, in their bubble of silence, the wrestlers made contact and grappled each other to the ground.

  26

  Cassandra and I got off to a bad start, which was neither her fault nor mine.

  A maid answered the door and led me through into the living quarters, where I found Cassandra sitting in a carved armchair spinning wool. As she stood up and turned to greet me, I caught sight of her necklace: fire opals in a silver setting. I was too shocked to speak—though I don’t think I gave anything away. The necklace had belonged to my mother, given to her on her wedding day as her bride-gift from my father. When Lyrnessus fell, it had gone to Agamemnon as part of his share of the booty. Now, I supposed, he’d given it to Cassandra as her bride-gift on her wedding day. As she moved her head, streaks of fire woke inside the milky stones. I couldn’t take my eyes off them. Cassandra raised her hand to the necklace, but then seemed to mistake the direction of my gaze.

  “Yes, I know,” she said. “Looks awful, doesn’t it?”

  I was puzzled, until I realized she was referring to the rope burns on her wrists.

  “People seem to think I was dragged kicking and screaming to Agamemnon’s bed, but it wasn’t like that at all.” She fixed her startling yellow eyes on me. “I went willingly. Because I knew the sooner it happened, the sooner he’d be dead.”

  “Did you tell him that?”

  “No, I couldn’t, they gagged me. It wouldn’t have made any difference anyway. Nobody ever believes me.” Her hands were busy arranging sweetmeats on a plate. After finishing the display to her satisfaction, she looked up. “His wife kills us, you know.”

  “Is that right?”

  “I mean, she has every reason…You can’t blame her. You know what he did?”

  I started to say “Yes,” but Cassandra ignored me and swept on.

  “He sacrificed their daughter. It was a trap. He told her mother the girl was going to be married to Achilles and you know that would have been a brilliant match, so they all ran around making dresses and then they went to the camp at Aulis. She was sacrificed on the altar of Artemis to get the fleet a fair wind for Troy.” She smiled, and for a moment I saw a re
semblance to Hecuba. “I’d murder the bastard, wouldn’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, I’m glad we agree. I knew we would.”

  I’d never met anybody like Cassandra, that curious mixture of the childlike—almost retarded, it seemed, at times—and the chilling. I wasn’t sure how to respond.

  She offered me the plate of sweetmeats. “Try one of those, they’re really good.”

  I took one and then we sat back in our chairs, mouths full of a gooey mixture that made talking almost impossible. When she finally managed to un-clag her jaws, she said: “I believe my family has reason to be grateful to you?”

  I just shook my head.

  “You tried to bury my father?”

  “Not me, that was Amina,” I said, flatly. “She paid the price for it too.” I had no desire to be thanked for an action I’d merely blundered into.

  We went on chatting while she mixed the wine. There was something odd about this occasion and it took me a while to work out what it was. Cassandra seemed to have no recollection of our previous meeting. Perhaps it was the nature of the frenzy that she couldn’t recall anything she’d said or done during one of her “episodes”—or she may have remembered very well, but chose not to speak of it.

  She handed me a cup of wine. “I expect you’ve been to see my mother?”

  “Yes, several times.” It would have been natural at this point for her to ask how her mother was, but she didn’t. I said, hesitantly, “I’m sure she’d love to see you.”

  “I’m sure she would.”

  “Well, then, why—?”

  “I don’t think so. I will go, I won’t let her leave without saying goodbye—but not just yet.”

  “Why is it so difficult?”

  I didn’t expect her to answer—in fact, I regretted asking the question almost before the words were out of my mouth—so I was surprised when she plunged straight in. “It wasn’t, to begin with. Not till Helen—that’s when it really started to go wrong. You know, I watched them drive through the gates, Paris and Helen. I saw my father welcome her and I knew, I knew what was going to happen. It wasn’t a vague premonition or anything like that—I saw Troy in flames. So, I clawed her face. I thought if I could stop her being beautiful, even just for a few days, Paris would come to his senses—and my father and everybody else—and they’d send her back to her husband where she belonged. Instead of that, I got sent away—that’s when it all began. Apparently, I attacked anybody who came near me, my mother came and tried to calm me down—and I attacked her too. So they locked me up. They had to force food down me, I didn’t want to eat, I didn’t want great big wobbly fat tits like Helen. I had women to look after me—guards really, but they weren’t allowed to hit me. Didn’t need to—Hecuba did that. With a hairbrush. I used to think she hated me—because I was the one stain on her perfect family.