The old soldier shrugged. ‘They must have had some fresh news.’
Diomed told me, as we were pushed out of the waggon, ‘This was why I came to visit you – to urge you to return to Egypt with me.’
I nodded but could not speak. We were crossing the square where Agamemnon’s body had been thrown. It was as if he still lay there, with his arms spread, huge, bloody, the red cloak still entangling his legs, trailing over the stones of the courtyard.
Then we were marched in to see Orestes. He sat beside his wife, Helen’s daughter. But I had seen the flash of a blue gown disappearing through an entrance even as we were thrust unceremoniously into that room. I saw also costly hangings, gold vases displayed on an ebony table, along with a well-shaped ewer and cups which had come from my parents’ store.
Orestes, unhappily for him, perhaps, resembled his dead mother, not his father. He was slender, not tall, and had a dark, narrow face, small-boned, even feminine, and fringed with a black beard. His black hair hung, uncombed, beside his face. He had been king in Argos now for more than ten years. Some of the dignity of kingship sat on him, but beneath it he seemed uncertain.
His wife, Hermione, unhappily for her, perhaps, did not resemble her mother, Helen. She, too, looked like Clytemnestra, though she was less beautiful. Like brother and sister, these cousins sat in stately robes, each assuming the regal position, their arms laid along the arms of their curved wooden chairs, backs straight, feet planted side by side. Yet something in their manner did not speak of perfect ease.
The only other person in the room was a court official, a young man also in a robe.
No one in the room could have recognised me – except perhaps Orestes, but when we had met, so long ago, he was mad and as I looked at him I observed he did not know me. On the other hand, there might be some soldier or official of Agamemnon’s nearby who would see in the woman I now was the young princess of Troy.
And I had seen Orestes blink as Diomed was pushed in. He had not seen his father since he was eleven or twelve years old and the Agamemnon he would have seen then was a warrior, almost forty years old. Nevertheless, from Diomed’s appearance he must have concluded that Helen’s story might have been true. There was a possibility this unknown man was Agamemnon’s son – and if he was, then the rest was true. I was Cassandra.
‘Are you indeed Cassandra? Are you Diomed, her son by my father?’ he said, in the flattened voice of royalty. It was a deep voice, belying his unimposing appearance, and it echoed round the pillars of the room.
Diomed replied for both of us, as was only suitable, for no Greek farmer’s wife would respond to a king. He said, ‘There has been a mistake, Lord. I am the son of a farmer from Thessaly, Iphitus of Tolos. I have been fortunate enough to have been distinguished by the Pharaoh of Egypt. This is my mother, Iphianissa of Tolos. I returned only days ago from Egypt to visit her and to see the tomb of my father, who died two years ago, while I was absent in Egypt. That is all. Before we had a chance to greet each other, even as I returned from my father’s tomb, your soldiers seized us from our home and roughly brought us here. Now we have false names put upon us by you. This is unfair. The King of Egypt will be much annoyed if you hold one of his captains in this illegal manner.’
This speech made Orestes unhappy. His eyes flickered towards his wife’s.
‘We have it on good authority this woman is Cassandra of Troy, and you her son,’ she said.
‘That is absurd – let the accuser come here and speak and say what evidence he has for believing what he says,’ Diomed answered boldly. This was risky: if Helen appeared, and I knew she was in the palace by the sight of that vanishing gown, and if she then made a direct statement she knew me to be Cassandra of Troy, we were lost. I could only hope that, though she dared to betray us, she would not dare to face us. I knew her. She might act, but would not wish to see the results of those actions. She would not have the courage to confront us and say what she knew. She must have agreed this with her relatives beforehand, or she would have been seated in the room when we came in.
‘There are those who will recognise your mother,’ Orestes told Diomed. ‘They will also say if you resemble my father.’
‘There are those who may say they recognise a woman briefly seen twenty years ago in this woman here. But all know Cassandra is dead. There may be those who say your father could have been mine. Any man can be any man’s father, as you know,’ Diomed replied firmly. He went on, ‘Lord, this is an injustice, and can never be other than an injustice. And as a soldier, I know you have more important enemies to think about than a farmer-woman and her son. You are thinking of the past – I speak respectfully – when the future is demanding your urgent attention. You are reinforcing your walls, equipping your army, supplying your city. As we travelled I saw watchmen at the coast, bonfires ready to be lit in warning if an enemy attacks you by sea. Let us go, my Lord, to attend to our business while you attend to yours. We are not who you think we are.’
All this time I had kept my eyes to the ground and twisted the folds of my woollen gown in workworn hands. I felt Hermione’s gaze on me, but did not meet it. Diomed’s last statement, cleverly drawing the king’s attention to his fears of invasion, had, I thought, made the king hesitate. Nevertheless they produced a grey-haired man who had been one of Agamemnon’s sergeants aboard the ship which had brought the Trojan captives to Aulis so long ago. We went through an embarrassing performance. He was instructed to come close to me and scan my face, to see if I was the woman he remembered. I slackened my jaw and screwed up my eyes, staring at him as stupidly as possible, like a woman stunned by everything happening to her. He said, and I had known he would, that I was Cassandra. I burst out, in the accents of Thessaly, ‘You call me Princess of Troy, you fool. How can I be? I have never left Tolos. You must be mad. Cassandra is dead. Everybody knows that. It’s in the ballad, sir,’ I appealed to Orestes, falling to my knees, ‘do not believe him. I’m no Trojan, nor my son.’
‘Lord, I beg you,’ said Diomed, ‘do not allow my mother to be humiliated in this way. She is a simple woman, a widow, a farmer’s wife, a good mother to five children. She has been taken brutally from her home on a suspicion, a vicious rumour. This reflects badly on that reputation for wisdom and justice which has reached all parts of Greece – and further, to the coast of Pharaoh himself. If you cannot produce a better witness than this man, who saw Cassandra of Troy briefly, for a week perhaps, on a ship, so long ago, please accept that your informant was mistaken, a mischief-maker, perhaps even mad.’
Again it was a clever speech, involving Orestes’ reputation, of which he was naturally jealous, the impression all this would make on Rameses of Egypt, if reported, and Orestes’ own suspicions and dislike of Helen.
‘Well,’ he said wearily, ‘let us keep you a day or so, to look into this matter further.’
Obviously he and his wife would go back to Helen, perhaps insist she confront us. Diomed protested, but it was no use. The soldiers took us through the doorway where I had seen Helen’s gown flash, to a windowless stone chamber, which, though small, was nevertheless furnished. Food and wine were brought to us. Then we heard the crossbar of the door imprisoning us thud down.
We spoke into darkness in low tones, fearing that we would be overheard by the guard outside, even though the door was thick. ‘He’ll re-question Helen, then let us go,’ Diomed asserted. ‘Let us hope she doesn’t agree to confront us.’
‘I don’t think she’ll dare. She can’t bear anything which is not pleasant. And I think she fears me a little.’
Diomed sighed, ‘Naomi was right to suggest murder.’
‘I know it,’ I said. ‘Helen needs to trick her way back into Orestes’ favour. Plainly, she daren’t return to Sparta.’
‘We hear songs and sagas of the nobility of that war,’ he said disgustedly. ‘Now this shameful affair, an ignoble sequel.’
‘The songs and sagas are for Greeks,’ I told him. ‘In life, war creates
war, evil deeds give rise to others, lies and murders create more lies and murders, and there is no nobility about it.’
‘My soldiers will have sent messages to Egypt.’
‘Pharaoh could come too late.’
‘Let us talk,’ he said. ‘We have much to say and if we are to die we should say it now.’
He woke before I did that night. His soldier’s instincts alerted him to the sounds of fighting. We sat in the darkness, hearing far-off shouts, the clash of metal.
‘They’re defending the Lion Gate,’ Diomed told me. ‘I doubt if it’s a neighbour. The soldier was right – few of those who know of Mycenae would dare to attack her. Only the Sea People.’
‘Mycenae is doomed. I have known it for a long time.’
‘The king is no general,’ he said. ‘You can see it in his face.’
‘Small help for us,’ I said. ‘We may avoid being killed by Orestes only to be killed by those who triumph over him. Questions are not asked in situations like this.’
‘We must try to get this door open.’
We battered at it with a stool. It was no use. The door was too thick, the bar across it heavy. It barely trembled under the blows. All the while the battle came closer. ‘They’re through the gates, the Greeks are being pushed back to the palace,’ Diomed told me.
I reminded him, ‘I have heard these sounds before.’ The noise of swords and shields and the shouting came closer. Then there were sounds of crashing vessels, the thud of things being thrown about, the sounds of looting.
We stopped trying to break the door open when we heard heavy feet outside, the sound of swords hitting shields. To spare Diomed having to explain to me what I well knew, I said, ‘The Greeks are overwhelmed. Now the killing and looting begin.’ As if to confirm this, in the distance a woman screamed. Diomed took up a position in the doorway as if to fight for his life.
‘You are unarmed,’ I said. ‘Better to talk, if possible, than fight.’
He nodded. We stood in the middle of the room and waited for the door to open. I thought how terrible it was to have struggled for my own life and Diomed’s for so long just in order for both of us to die in this awful place.
Then the crossbar on the door was flung back and a man in armour filled the entrance. He stared into the darkness, looking for enemies. From the sounds, there were others behind him.
‘No treasure here,’ said Diomed. ‘Only two captives, who will be ransomed by Pharaoh if you spare us.’
It was then that I heard the sound of my native tongue again, after so many years. The man in the doorway, sword in one hand, a torch in the other, could evidently speak little Greek, those behind him less. As he peered at us, wondering who we were, trying to understand Diomed’s speech, a voice from behind him said, ‘Who’s there? Are they armed? What’s happening?’
The man in front, sword poised, came in further. ‘Captives, I think. They’re unarmed, a man and a woman.’
Both men spoke the language of the country people of Troy. The man in the doorway was moving towards Diomed, sword raised, when I said, my voice cracking with fear, my tongue rusty after so many years of disuse, ‘Put down your sword. We are Trojans.’
He stopped. ‘Who are you?’ he asked. The men behind were crowding him, saying, ‘Has the woman any rings?’
‘Who are you?’ I asked.
‘Towilas, son of Tacho of Cassawa. And you?’
The men behind had fallen silent, half-hearing. He shouted, ‘Trojan slaves.’ They had come across others, I am sure, as they fought up from the coast.
I was overcome with joy. Tears filled my eyes. I could hardly speak. ‘Is Adosha, your mother, still living?’
‘She is,’ he said in astonishment.
Adosha must have told him no doubt many times in winter how she had been put in charge of mad twins by the Queen of Troy and had reared them and endured war and siege. She must have told him of the deaths of Hector, his father, and all from the Trojan royal house. But had she told him Hector was his true father? Weeping, I saw Hector’s son and my own son, Agamemnon’s, face each other in that little room. I asked, ‘Have you driven the Greeks from Troy?’
Diomed asked, ‘What are you saying? What’s happening?’
Adosha’s son laughed, ‘They all ask, have you driven the Greeks from Troy? We have. But who are you? What is your name?’
‘I am,’ I said, for the first time in twenty years, ‘Cassandra, the daughter of Priam and Hecuba of Troy.’
Forty
Returning to Troy
We set sail for Troy only a week later. We returned to Thessaly under safe conduct from Towilas to collect a few things from the farm, for there was no knowing what conditions might prevail in Troy when we arrived. The city had been sacked again, the land again wasted.
Naomi persuaded her lover to leave his employer, telling him if he went to Troy he would get land, fertile, well-watered by rivers, of his own. This I believe to be true – Towilas will see to it. So Diomed, I, Naomi and her lover commandeered a waggon and two white mules. Piled high, we went to Pinios. I parted again from Diomed. He urged me to go to Egypt with him, but I told him I must see Troy first. I yearned to see my native land again, and desired also to finish my own account. I had rescued the papyrus from the farm, with domestic items – two ewes, a ram, a crate of chickens and storage jars of grain, oil and fruit – and I knew I must tell my tale, or the other voices, of Greeks, warriors and ambitious kings would overwhelm me. Perhaps even now they will, whatever I do, but I must make the attempt.
So Diomed returned to Egypt and I to Troy. I will try to live in Troy again. It is a midden compared with the old city, for it is built on two sets of burned ruins – the Trojan city and the one the Greeks rebuilt later. Towilas may, if he survives, declare himself king of the new Troy. He has every right, by blood and by conquest. Adosha will certainly declare herself queen (until her son marries, and then I pity his bride) so she will be queen and rule over me. Fate brings many things on us.
I know the fates of the mighty. I shall be happy in my obscurity. I have reclaimed that little piece of land I was given at my betrothal to the Phoenician. I shall cultivate my land, and write my story of Troy and then, when I have finished, perhaps I shall go to Egypt or to Phoenicia, to see if Arvad still lives or go wherever I please, for my story will be told, I will be free at last.
Author’s Note
This book is a work of fiction, but readers might be curious about how much of it is factually true, how much based on the old legends of Troy and how much my own invention. Much could be said, enough for another book, but here is some of the basic information.
There was probably a war in Troy between the Trojans and the Greeks, some three thousand years ago. The most popular date for this is 1250 BC. The site of Troy was probably near Cannakale on the Aegean coast of Turkey just north of the Dardanelles. In ancient times people may have known of the site, but over the years it began to be assumed that the story was entirely legend and the city also. It took a German businessman and amateur archaeologist, Heinrich Schliemann, to decide that, as far as he was concerned, Troy had really existed – and he would find it. He went to the site in 1870 and started digging, finding the buried city now generally accepted as having been Troy. After that, he then went on to discover Mycenae – one of the most wonderful and fascinating stories of archaeology. In a way it still goes on. For Schliemann donated much of what he called the Treasures of Priam to a Berlin museum. In 1944, in the confusion of war, all the Trojan items disappeared, looted, it was supposed, by allied troops or removed by fleeing Germans. It was thought the Treasures of Priam would never be seen again, until, in 1992, the Russians confessed that these objects, along with many others, had been removed from Berlin during the Russian advance into the city and were now under lock and key in St Petersburg. But so far no one has seen them.
At the time of Troy there was indeed a great Hittite empire, as described in the book. Based in Anatolia, it stretched
to the east, up to and over the borders of what are now the CIS, Iran and Iraq, and ran south down into what is now Syria. I have seen Troy as one of an important chain of coastal cities, ruled independently but allied, for reasons of mutual gain, with the Hittite kings. Ethiopia also existed as a kingdom, ruled by queens called Candace. One of the principal cities was Saba, which was probably where the Queen of Sheba came from to visit Solomon. Also – though it is fanciful, it is not impossible that Naomi, Cassandra’s servant, was indeed an Israelite following Moses through the wilderness after the flight from Egypt.
The Sea People, too, existed, though little is known about them. They were not one people or particularly connected with the sea. They left behind no records, did not settle, created no cities. Nevertheless, around the time of the Trojan War they certainly more or less destroyed the Hittite kingdom and made several attacks on powerful Egypt and were barely defeated. When they turned their attentions to Greece, they wiped out Mycenaean civilisation all over the Peloponnese, killing or scattering the population. By the time Homer came to write about the Greeks (a loose term but convenient) his countrymen were not even of the same race as the warriors of the Trojan Wars.
The Amazons, led by Penthesilea, were certainly part of the Homeric tale, but little else is known about them.
About the Trojans nothing is known, not their race, language or religion.
People might find it curious that throughout my book there is no mention of the pantheon of Greek gods and goddesses we read of in Homer. But the Mycenaean Greeks probably did not worship them. Excavations in Mycenae contain many religious objects, figurines of women and animals being common, but there is nothing, apart from some rudimentary pottery figures, which might suggest the beginnings of the Greek religion, with which we are familiar, to suggest the Greeks at the time of Troy worshipped the Greek gods as we understand them. I have also made suppositions about the religion of Troy. The worship of the tri-partite goddess – girl, woman and crone – was very common in Europe and the Middle East at the time, the goddess being known by various names (and, incidentally, the name Hecate is a variation on the name Hecuba). Evidence either way is inconclusive but both the Trojans and the Greeks may have practised a religion like this.
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