A Song of War: a novel of Troy

by Kate Quinn

  I’d have played the part of assassin if I thought it would solve this labyrinth of a mess, but these Achaeans were like the heads of a hydra. Cut one off and more would follow. Unfortunately, that was what my father had just done.

  “I am Cassandra, the most beloved daughter of King Priam.” I almost choked on the half lie. “Leave your men and please follow me.” Hellenus had not yet detached himself, but I dared not waste this opportunity. I beckoned for Odysseus to follow me, ducking into an airy, columned anteroom used for ritual animal sacrifices. Storage chests built into the floor beneath wide windows held sacred faience figurines of gods and goddesses. Terra-cotta jars painted with seashells and my father’s double-axe motif lined the walls, filled to the brim with precious wines and oils. Hellenus and I had played here as children; he knew to follow me here from our earlier discussion.

  “I’ll admit I’ve enjoyed a clandestine meeting with a pretty girl more than once,” Odysseus said as he joined me at one of the windows. He hadn’t entirely followed my directions; the Ox lurked at the doorway. “But I must admit this is most unusual, Princess Cassandra.”

  “Thank you for indulging me,” I said. “It appears that you and I share similar goals. Might you spare a moment for a little game?”

  Ajax crossed his arms over his barrel chest, his eyes black stains of pitch. “We don’t have time for games, girl.”

  My skin prickled at the sound of his voice, like a jagged blade against a whetstone. I liked this one not at all, especially not the way his eyes scoured me. Suddenly, luring Odysseus here without Hellenus seemed foolhardy.

  Odysseus scratched his short black beard, looking at his companion. “You know me not at all, Ajax, if you think I’ve no time for games. There is always time for games.” He gestured for the man to wait outside, giving me room to breathe. “What manner of game do you have in mind, Princess Cassandra? I fear you and your Trojans enjoy only the dangerous kind.”

  This one was no fool.

  “I ask only that you allow us to set aside our differences so I might ask you a question, and you answer. Then you ask, and I answer. We swear only to tell the truth.”

  “And the winner is decided…?”

  “When the other can no longer answer without lying. Are you up for the challenge?”

  “It would be my honor to play with the likes of Priam’s favorite daughter.”

  I almost snorted with laughter, for I’d already broken the rules by claiming my father’s love. I could look forward to my cell becoming my tomb if Father ever found out what I’d done here. “Why did you jump upon your shield when you landed on our shores?”

  Odysseus blinked. I had caught him unawares.

  Better and better.

  “An oracle prophesized that the first Achaean to land on Troy’s shores would die,” he answered. “I thought it better to be safe than sorry.”

  I chuckled at that. “I assume your friend in the striped tunic hadn’t heard the prophecy.”

  Odysseus gave a devious grin. “You would be correct in that assumption. Your turn, daughter of Priam. Can your father be persuaded to return Helen of Sparta?”

  “You’ve wasted a question, Odysseus of Ithaca, for my father made that answer readily apparent,” I said. “Although if it were up to me, I’d serve you her head on a golden platter.”

  Odysseus chortled at that. “I’ve always thought that woman more trouble than she was worth.”

  “Then we’re agreed on something. Can Menelaus be persuaded to let Helen go? Perhaps if Father were to buy him off?”

  “Is he willing to do that?”

  I shrugged. “Answer the question.”

  “It’s not likely. Especially with…”

  “With what?”

  “It’s not your turn,” he said with a sly grin. “Is your city prepared for war?”

  “Our walls have never been breached.” I dodged the question, for Troy thought herself invincible. “What did you mean, Menelaus isn’t likely to let Helen go?”

  Odysseus hesitated, and I knew he was contemplating ending the game. “Menelaus’ brother, Agamemnon, looks for an excuse to wage war against Troy. Your brother has just delivered the perfect opportunity.”

  “Half brother,” I corrected Odysseus out of habit.

  Agamemnon, king of Mycenae. That was the second time I’d heard that name today, and it didn’t bode well.

  I strummed my fingers on the window ledge but stopped when Odysseus watched the movement. I doubted whether the scars on my wrists or my battered knuckles escaped his notice.

  Too late.

  “Those are terrible scars for a gently born princess to bear. Where did you get them?”

  I might have ended the game there, but my scars weren’t worth the lie.

  “By my own hand,” I said.

  “So you’re tormented by daemons.” It was a statement, not a question. I wondered what Hellenus had mentioned of me while he was in Sparta.

  “We all fight our own daemons.” Mine just happened to be louder than others. “My father also craves war. You believe Agamemnon is willing to walk into his trap and find himself a client state of Troy once he loses?”

  “You assume Troy will win,” Odysseus said with a sly smile. “Agamemnon will be happy to avenge his brother’s honor if it means he can steal Troy’s riches for himself. The question is, who will win this war?”

  “Do you think I’d play games with you if I knew the answer to that question?”

  “No, I suppose not. Are there any holes in your city’s defenses?”

  “It’s not your turn,” I said.

  He waggled a finger at me. “You asked if I thought you’d play games with me. I answered.”

  I wrinkled my nose. This Odysseus was more slippery than a saltwater eel, yet I had to admit that I’d have liked him very much had he not been a cursed Achaean.

  “Are there any holes in Troy’s defenses?” he asked. “Chinks in your city’s armor?”

  I sighed. “None I’m aware of. Not that I’d have told you if I did know.”

  He waggled his eyebrows at me. “I had to try.”

  I laughed, sad that this game was almost finished, for there was little left to learn. “How long do you believe this war will last?”

  “So there will be a war.”

  No. I will die trying. “Answer.”

  He shrugged. “Your reputation as an augur precedes you, Lady, for your brother spoke of you at my wedding. I fear this fight, if it comes to these shores, will last long enough for the bards to sing about us for years to come.”

  “That’s a long time to be away from your new bride,” I said, raising an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t you go home to fair Penelope and persuade Agamemnon that these walls aren’t worth assaulting?” I saw that the thought of his wife swayed him, but the hulking Ajax reentered then, his patience finally run out.

  “Enough of this game, Odysseus,” he said, running his pitch-black eyes over me. My skin crawled. “The mealymouthed Trojans won’t give Helen back, but it occurs to me that this daughter of Priam’s would make a fine substitute.”

  Odysseus held up a hand. “We are not thieves, Ajax. And Princess Cassandra has done us no harm.”

  “Doesn’t matter.” Ajax moved to close the distance between us. I forced myself not to shudder, but bile rose in my throat anyway. This was one Achaean I would rejoice to see slaughtered should our peoples clash on the battlefield.

  “Don’t take another step,” said a voice behind Ajax.

  “Hello, Brother,” I said to Hellenus as he stepped around Ajax’s huge shoulder. “You missed all the fun. Odysseus and his friends were just leaving.”

  “It was my pleasure to while away the time with you,” Odysseus said to me, bowing. “I do hope you’re able to change your father’s mind before the tides change and we must carry his words back to Menelaus’ brother.”

  It was a threat and a promise. I didn’t answer, only watched the Achaeans march away. It wasn’t until
the echo of their sandals faded that I allowed myself to slump against the wall, spent and exhausted—but hopeful.

  “What did you think you were doing, letting yourself be cornered by them?” Hellenus grabbed my arm when I didn’t answer.

  “I don’t care if meeting with the Achaeans was dangerous,” I said, shrugging him off. “Odysseus listened to me. He’ll speak reason to Agamemnon, keep him from declaring war on Troy.”

  “Do you truly believe Agamemnon will listen?”

  “He must. Because if war comes, we will lose. There is no escaping death’s gate if the Achaeans come again. But they will not. I will stop it.”

  My brother only gathered me into his arms. “Hush,” he said, stroking my hair. “You can’t know that.”

  He doesn’t believe you. He thinks you cursed by the gods, just like Hector and the rest of them.

  I shoved him away. “You don’t believe I can avert the Fates, do you? You think me mad.” I glowered at him, wrapping my arms around myself at the sudden chill. “You have to believe me, Hellenus, or I’ll lose myself...”

  While the snickers of laughter and snide comments from others had always stung, Hellenus’ love and belief in me kept their insults from piercing my heart. I grasped the window ledge, for this would be a mortal wound if Hellenus no longer believed me.

  “Of course I believe you,” Hellenus said, but I wasn’t entirely sure I believed him. He tucked my hand around his arm and led me out of the anteroom. “And you are right—much can change. Perhaps Apollo grants you visions of what may be, not what will be.”

  Yet none of my visions had been wrong, not since Apollo’s priest had cursed me.

  A terrible idea blossomed, but I pushed it to the back of my mind. Hellenus himself would lock me in my room if he knew what I planned. In fact, I might lock myself away.

  “Promise me you’ll stay behind the walls if the time does come,” I begged him. I could survive much, but I’d never survive witnessing my twin cut down by the Achaeans, his lifeblood watering the plains along the Scamander.

  “You know I can’t promise that,” Hellenus said. “All of us will fight if it comes to war: Hector, Paris, Deiphobus, all the family. Father has spoken of calling Aeneas from Dardania and the rest of our cousins.”

  My father would gladly send his family to die for his foolishness. Yet I would spend my life on my knees making sacrifices to all the gods to keep them safe.

  Except Paris. He could go hang himself.

  “Aeneas won’t fight,” I mused, thinking of our dour cousin. He was the only sheep in the family blacker than me—his uppity religious views made everyone go running whenever they saw him. “He wouldn’t think a war like this godly.”

  “He doesn’t.” Hellenus smiled. “He’s already sent our father a foul-tempered letter condemning Paris’ behavior and predicting godly retribution if Helen is not returned to Sparta. You can imagine Father’s rage.”

  “I always knew Aeneas was clever. He’ll probably outlive us all.” I wondered if my cousin felt as I did, like all the advice in the world was nothing more than futile shouting into a winter storm. I’d screamed until my throat bled. I wondered then if I might enlist Aeneas as an ally, for he was one of the few to speak out against Helen’s presence in Troy.

  “You know, Father didn’t just talk of war and the Achaeans today,” Hellenus said. Something in his tone had changed, and my ears pricked in warning. “In fact, he spoke of you before Menelaus’ and Odysseus’ arrival.”

  “Lovely,” I said, my voice flat. “Does he plan to redecorate my cell? Perhaps shackle me to my bed each night?” Hellenus shook his head, his dark eyes clouding, and I wondered why Father didn’t see his worth. He wasn’t dazzlingly handsome like Paris or an extraordinary spearman like Hector, but he was kind and dependable, his advice sound, his arm strong, his temper calm. He might not please our father, but he’d make some woman a happy bride one day.

  “No, he spoke of your betrothal. If war comes, he will promise you as a prize to the greatest warrior outside our family.”

  I laughed then, great gut-wrenching guffaws that no princess should have uttered, as I clutched my ribs. Hellenus waited patiently for me to finish, his eyebrows raised in silent amusement.

  “Ha,” I finally managed to say, wiping the tears from my eyes. “My hand in marriage would be a punishment, not a prize. Father missed his chance ages ago. Now I’m old and cursed, so no man this side of the Aegean will have anything to do with me.”

  “If you’re old, then I must be ancient,” Hellenus said, for he’d emerged first from our mother’s womb, before I’d killed her. “Surely, we’re neither of us too old for a marriage bed.”

  As if age was the biggest hurdle a potential suitor of mine would have to jump.

  I thought of Andromache then. She and all the other wives of Troy should steal as much happiness with their husbands as they could in the months before the sea lanes opened again and the ships came.

  But I refused to dwell on that. The ships would not come. I’d seen to that today.

  I clasped my twin's hand so we might walk along the sunny ramparts before I returned to my cell. I’d impressed myself by ducking my guards this long, but all good things must come to an end.

  “Don’t fret, Brother,” I said, kissing him on the cheek. “I shall not marry, for no man could ever compare to you.”

  “You deserve a good man at your side,” Hellenus continued. “One with a more adequate sword arm than mine.”

  “I have all the champion I need in you,” I said, pressing a finger to his lips when he made to protest. “Yet I shall not fight Father if he decides to give me away as if I were a trinket.”

  “Meek obedience? From you?”

  I laughed again. “Probably not. I’ll merely make my new husband so heartily sorry that he’ll send me right back.” Hellenus and I shared a chuckle, then walked on in silence until we reached my cell. Although my punishment was officially over, my attendant had informed me that this would now be my permanent residence, although my door was no longer barred and I could travel inside the citadel with a chaperone. Still more reminders that I wasn’t to be trusted.

  That same attendant waited outside, arms crossed before her broad chest and wearing a scowl that might have made Zeus piss himself. I only gave her a honeyed smile as I released my brother. “Go well, Hellenus.”

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t persuade Father today,” he said. “Truly, I am.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I had better luck with the Achaeans.” In fact, I had high hopes. Hellenus gave a brief smile and let me go. I slipped back into my cell, giving my attendant a snide curtsy before closing the door myself.

  I stayed in my room, pacing like a fox whose next meal was just out of reach until the night owls hooted outside, the terra-cotta vial tucked safely in my bodice. Finally, I gathered my courage. The Achaeans might be gone, but I would do everything in my power to save Troy.

  I might have chosen some other night to bring my plan to fruition, but I’d never been one to suffer patiently. There was no yelling this time. I only rapped a relentless staccato beat on the door in the way I knew irked my attendant.

  I allowed myself a smile of satisfaction when the door groaned open.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “I require that you chaperone me to the temple of Apollo. Now.”

  “It’s the middle of the night.”

  “I wasn’t aware that the gods accepted sacrifices only after dawn. My punishment is over, and I can go where I please. Escorted, of course.”

  My attendant may well have been sucking lemons for the face she gave me, but she stepped aside and let me pass, no doubt cursing me to the gates of Hades and back. The sickle moon shone brightly, and the Archer pulled his starry bow taught overhead. Everything seemed to me a blade or weapon now, but soon I would rectify that. Apollo’s temple was nestled against the southern walls of the palace so it might catch the most of the sun’s rays during dayti
me, and that was where I went now.

  I’d not been to the sun god’s abode in many years, nor had I ever planned to go there again. My heart battered against my ribs—the last time I’d walked this path, I’d been running away, hysterical. Panic threatened to overwhelm me, but I touched the lump in my bodice for reassurance. One step at a time.

  I could do this.

  The exterior of the temple shone dully in the weak moonlight, illuminating the pediment’s carvings of the god’s four horses pulling his sun chariot. I purified my trembling hands in lukewarm water from sacred urns in the forecourt before gesturing for my attendant to remain behind. “I won’t be long,” I said without waiting for a response. With my back to her, I removed the vial from its hiding place in my bodice and clutched it tight in my palm.

  My footsteps echoed eerily off the tiles of the columned portico until I stood before the marble statue of the God of the Silver Bow, his mighty hands clasping a laurel and a round phiale, the symbols of his oracle. Remainders of the day’s offerings lay heaped at his feet: piles of laurel leaves, golden honeycombs, and bottles of olive oil. The god seemed to be laughing down at me, as if he knew what thoughts churned in my fractured mind. I wondered if Apollo favored the god-born Trojans or the sea-wolf Achaeans most among his worshippers.

  Long ago, as an acolyte in this very temple, I had placed on the altar the loin of a sheep and the chine of a tusked boar before offering them to the sacred fire. Now the god’s house reeked of death and dripping blood, a stench like the breath of a tomb. This time I stood before the sacrificial fire empty-handed, for I’d already made the sacrifice of my sanity on the sun god’s altar.

  If I succeeded in changing Troy’s fate, perhaps he would give it back.

  I waited, knowing that my presence wouldn’t go unnoticed for long. I was right, for soon a foul and familiar terror arrived to greet me.

  “Cassandra,” the high priest said, his lone eye blinking as he passed the line of trim bronze kouros statues sculpted in Apollo’s image. Their male nakedness made me shudder, a stark contrast to the balding, middle-aged filth standing before me. “What makes you think you can trespass against the most august of gods?” he asked. His good eye was the color of newly threshed wheat, but his other was a withered and puckered hole, its empty socket attesting to the bleakness of his soul.