The princess got up and came straight over to them, hugging Myrina tightly. “Thank you for coming, my friend,” she murmured. “I’m so glad to see you.”
Myrina hugged her back, but saw with concern the quick tears that filled the princess’s eyes. “I heard about Achilles,” she whispered. “This guest that Paris brings, it’s not him, is it?”
“No,” Cassandra assured her. “Whoever it is, they’ve arrived in a closed litter, surrounded by slave girls and waiting women.”
Myrina frowned. “Is it Clytemnestra back again?”
Cassandra shook her head. “If it is, she’s not got Iphigenia with her. I saw her in my mirror-gazing last night, and now I recognize the palace at Mycenae.”
Suddenly the deep notes of double pipes were sounding and Priam and Hecuba came in, followed by Hector and his young wife, Andromache.
They’d no sooner taken their seats than the pipes were sounding again and Paris was announced. He strode forward looking more splendid than ever, dressed in a robe of deep, dyed Syrian purple. He bowed to his parents but then turned back to introduce a veiled woman who followed him.
“Mother, Father,” he cried. “Please welcome our honored guest Helen, Queen of Sparta.”
Both Priam and Hecuba rose to their feet. They were a little puzzled by the arrival of King Menelaus’s wife. Helen drew back her gauzy veil and at once a stunned silence fell.
Myrina had never before seen such a perfect face. Her eyes were deep turquoise, her skin smooth and white, golden curls framed all this beauty, drawn up high onto the back of her head and twisted into an elaborate headdress. The Spartan queen’s gown was made of fine snowy white linen, trimmed with golden thread. The silence was so long and the surprised expression on the faces of Priam and his queen so funny that Helen suddenly laughed, a deep, pleasant, comfortable sound.
“Please excuse my unbidden arrival,” she said. “But the fame of your Trojan fabrics has reached me in Sparta and I swore that like my sister Clytemnestra I must come on a shopping trip.”
Everyone seemed to smile and relax at the friendly tone of her voice. She did not seem haughty or proud, even though she might look like a goddess. Priam shook himself out of his surprise and back to his usual courtesy. “You are as welcome to this city as spring sunshine,” he said, and rushed to kiss her hand.
Priam led Helen to sit at his right hand; a great honor in this city where the women usually sat separately from the men.
Hector obligingly allowed the servants to shuffle his chair along so that Paris could take a seat on Helen’s right hand. “For this courtesy you must introduce me, brother,” he whispered good-naturedly to Paris.
After such an amazing start to the feast, it took a little while for the guests to settle down and the servants to rally themselves to start serving. Myrina turned and saw that Cassandra was staring down at the marble floor, looking troubled. Myrina almost rose to go to her but now that baskets piled high with soft white barley bread were being carried around by the slaves, she knew that it would be discourteous to get up. A touch of irritation returned. Why couldn’t Cassandra just enjoy herself?
Large flat dishes of crayfish cooked in herbs, olive oil, and garlic appeared. The smell was delicious and Myrina couldn’t resist helping herself, and enjoying such wonderful food. The strongest pangs of hunger satisfied, she looked over at Atisha and Hati, whose heads were bowed together, deep in conversation. The two old women stared up at the high table, to where the Queen of Sparta sat, then back to each other again, whispering furiously.
Myrina turned back to Cassandra and saw with dismay that she was eating nothing, pointedly ignored by Hecuba’s waiting women, who sat either side of her. Myrina sighed; hadn’t riding with the Moon-maidens at least taught Cassandra to eat properly?
The feast went on and wonderful steaming meat dishes arrived: beef, mutton, goat’s meat, and pork, all oiled and spiced and roasted on sticks. Fruits dipped in honey, nuts, and aniseed followed, and Myrina swore that none of the feasts provided for the honored Moon Riders, excellent though they were, had ever quite come up to this. As the evening wore on, musicians appeared, and a message came around from Queen Hecuba, inviting Myrina to dance. Her stomach felt tight but she obligingly got up to dance, while Hati and Atisha nodded their approval.
Myrina didn’t feel she’d performed well; the musicians did their best to keep time with her, but they didn’t have the Moon-maiden’s touch. Despite that feeling, she was rewarded with enthusiastic applause. Cassandra did not even look at her, but sat with fists clenched, staring at the floor. When the cheers had died down, Myrina ran to the princess, holding out her hand in invitation.
“Come, show them what you have learned with the Moon Riders,” she begged, longing for Cassandra to cheer up and show her family what a fine dancer she’d become.
Hecuba and Priam nodded indulgently at the suggestion, but Cassandra shook her head.
Then suddenly the princess rose to her feet and Myrina saw with apprehension that she was trembling from head to toe, her face turned white as snow. Cassandra pointed her finger at the beautiful Queen of Sparta. “How could I dance, on such a night as this?” She then swung around and pointed at Paris. “My brother brings us no honored guest; he brings destruction to Troy!”
A horrified silence fell. Guests sat there gaping, shocked beyond belief. This was the deepest discourtesy. Chryseis put her head down between her hands in shame.
“How dare you? How dare you?” Priam bellowed.
Myrina took Cassandra’s arm. “Hush, my friend,” she whispered, trying to calm her. “You do none of us any good.”
But Cassandra was awash with tears that came flooding down her cheeks, though her arms had gone stiff as sticks. She turned her gaze once more to Paris, her mismatched eyes deeper in color than ever. Then her voice sank suddenly low, though in the quiet every word was heard. “This is no shopping trip. King Menelaus’s wife is your lover and you bring her here to Troy! You bring us death.”
Both Priam and Hecuba were on their feet, Hecuba in tears and Priam purple-faced with rage. “You are no daughter of mine,” he shouted, then he was lost in a violent fit of choking.
Cassandra stumbled to the side as though she’d faint, but Hati was there, taking her arm, Atisha on the other side, supporting her around the waist.
The king recovered his breath for a moment. “Get her out of my sight!” he growled.
“I shall go!” Cassandra gasped. “Away with the Moon Riders again!”
“Go—and don’t return,” Priam told her. “If these are the manners that you’ve learned you’d best stay with the wild barbarian dancers.”
“No!” Hecuba cried.
Suddenly Atisha was speaking, her deep soothing storyteller’s voice carrying well across the great hall. “Forgive this discourtesy,” she begged, bowing to Helen. “The princess suffers much from sudden melancholy. We will be honored to have her travel with us again. I beg that you will not think too unkindly of this disruption.”
Her calm sensible manner seemed to restore a little of the good feeling that had prevailed at the beginning of the feast. Hati and Atisha both bowed deeply to the high table, then turned and walked swiftly away, Cassandra borne along between them.
Myrina hesitated for a moment, stunned and sickened at what had happened. Chryseis rose from her place at table, and came to her. They both bowed to Priam and followed Cassandra out.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The Troublesome Daughter
THE TWO OLD warrior women did not stop once they left the hall. They marched Cassandra out of the palace, down the steps and the slope that led toward the stable block. Cassandra went white-faced and obedient, moving between them like a sleepwalker. Myrina and Chryseis broke into a run to try to catch up with them. When they reached the stables, Atisha rode out on her stallion, Cassandra mounted in front of her, supported in the Old Woman’s strong arms. “We go at once,” she told them. “The king may change his mind a
nd want his daughter back.”
“Then should we not wait?” Myrina cried. “He might forgive her.”
Hati followed them out of the stables, mounted on her own mare, shaking her head. “There is no safe harbor here for Cassandra, not after tonight! Not for a while, at least!”
Chryseis seemed to accept this as wise. She stretched up to take Cassandra’s hand. “Good-bye, dear friend,” she whispered. “I don’t know when we’ll see each other again, but you will always be here in my heart!”
Cassandra nodded though she couldn’t speak. Myrina was reminded of the bond that still lay between Iphigenia and the princess. “Few friends,” she murmured. “Few friends, but true friends.”
Atisha galloped through the Southern Gate while Hati bent to pull Myrina up behind her, then they trotted down the stone-paved ramp and into the lower city. As they moved out onto the plain, leaving the small winding streets behind them, Hati brought her mare up to a gallop. Myrina clutched her grandmother tight about the waist, feeling a little better. She whispered into her ear, “No fine bedchamber for us after all, Grandmother!”
Hati laughed. “Nay, sleeping safe is better than sleeping in luxury.”
“Priam surely wouldn’t have harmed us?” Myrina said.
“Not Priam,” Hati replied.
“Who then?”
“His son Paris! Did you not see the look that passed between Paris and the Spartan queen? Did you not see the way his hand flew to his dagger?”
“No,” Myrina answered, trying hard to understand what this might mean. “Was there truth in what Cassandra said?” she murmured. “Prince Paris and the Spartan queen are lovers!”
Hati slowed the pace a little, bowing her head in respect as they passed the ancient burial mound of Dancing Myrina. “Oh yes!” she said. “Cassandra did not pick a very suitable moment, or the best company to announce such a thing, but Atisha knew she spoke the truth. She always does!”
Myrina fell silent as they galloped fast across the plain, back toward Mount Ida and the Place of Flowing Waters. It must have been that the beautiful queen had willingly come away with Paris, for she herself had cheerfully announced that she’d come on a shopping trip. Did her husband know, or did he too think this a shopping trip, like Clytemnestra’s?
“What do you think King Menelaus will do?” she asked her grandmother.
Hati shuddered. “I dread to think,” she whispered. “I suppose he’ll go to his brother Agamemnon for help. All I know is that between them they now have just the excuse that they’ve been looking for, to come here and wage war on Troy!”
Myrina knew what such a war would mean. The whole of Anatolia would be dragged into it and the tribes and those who traded in Troy would lose their livelihoods and maybe their lives.
Hati rode on grim-faced.
“But Grandmother, you said that Troy would never be an easy place to get into,” Myrina reminded her.
“No,” Hati agreed. “That’s still true. It could take a long time to wear the Trojans down and a great deal of death and misery first.” She sighed and her lined face seemed more skull-like and fragile to Myrina. “I’m too old for this now, too old and weary to turn warrior again.”
“Maybe Menelaus will think himself best rid of Helen. If she wants to go away with Paris, let her. He has his kingdom to rule.”
They were coming in sight of the great spring camp now and the mare slowed her paces. Hati swung down from the horse’s back and looked up at her granddaughter, her face drawn with anxiety. “It’s not as simple as that. Menelaus will have to come seeking his wife. You see, Helen inherited the kingdom from her father, so that Menelaus only rules Sparta as her husband. If Helen chooses Prince Paris as husband, who then is the true King of Sparta?”
Myrina began to understand the seriousness of Cassandra’s outburst, when Atisha came pushing back through the crowd toward them. She looked worried.
“Where is Cassandra?” Myrina asked her.
“Safe with Penthesilea; go to her!”
Myrina went into Penthesilea’s tent. The older girl supported the princess, making her sip a sharp-smelling herbal brew. Cassandra tightly clutched her precious obsidian mirror.
“Can you see something in there?” Myrina asked, sitting down beside them.
Cassandra shook her head. “Gone,” she murmured.
“But you did see something?”
Cassandra nodded and shuddered.
Penthesilea got up. “I must see Atisha,” she told them. “Will you look after Cassandra?”
“Of course.” Myrina nodded.
They sat together in silence for a moment. Myrina hadn’t even thought of rushing back to Reseda and baby Yildiz. “What was it that you saw?” she whispered at last.
Cassandra answered her in a flat quiet voice. “Blood,” she said. “Blood everywhere and falling walls, crumbling towers, fire and screaming—terrible screaming!”
Now Myrina shuddered. “Where was it?”
“Troy,” Cassandra mouthed, her voice still flat, her face blank. “It started in Troy, then it spread.”
“Spread where?”
“Here,” she said. “The plain, Mount Ida, everywhere. I know it to be the truth, but they will never believe me.”
“Atisha believes you,” Myrina told her firmly. “She believes you and so do I. Rest now and I will stay here and keep you safe.”
To Myrina’s surprise Cassandra obediently lay down on the cushions, closing her eyes; she fell asleep almost at once, like an exhausted child. Myrina took the dagger from her belt sheath and held it ready, clasped in both hands. She never had trusted Prince Paris, not one bit.
When Atisha and Penthesilea returned with Hati they found Cassandra still sleeping and Myrina alert and on her guard.
“Well done,” Atisha told her. “A better guard dog I couldn’t find. We have agreed that Cassandra must go ahead with Penthesilea and wait for us in Thrace.”
“I shall go with them,” Myrina said with determination, then politely added, “if you think fit, of course.”
Atisha smiled and nodded. “Three is a good number, more might attract attention, but you will have to ride fast.”
“Isatis will carry me like the wind.”
“Little Yildiz?” Hati reminded her.
“She is safe with her mother.” Myrina didn’t hesitate. “And especially with her great-grandmother to look to her safety. Cassandra has greater need, I think!”
Hati kissed her. “You are turning into a fine young warrior, my young Snaky,” she said.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Escape to Thrace
ALTHOUGH IT WAS a sacrifice to miss the spring dances, Myrina couldn’t help but feel excited at the task ahead. Penthesilea would be expected to do such a thing, but Myrina was pleased at the way Atisha seemed to put trust in her as well.
The three young women went off the following morning, walking their horses calmly away, while the other Moon Riders rose to greet the sun. Once they had left the great gathering behind they mounted and cantered steadily around the foothills of Mount Ida. Then at last they set off at a gallop, skirting the plain of Troy. They stayed up on the high ground, passing the tall towers of the city in the distance, riding fast toward the narrow sea crossing of the Hellespont.
Cassandra did not even glance at her home city but rode white-faced and quiet, staring straight ahead with Myrina and Penthesilea on either side of her. They all had their bows strung, leather breast-straps in place, and daggers in their belts covered by long cloaks. Their horses were fastened into felt-padded chest guards that might deflect an arrow or spear, covered and disguised by the usual riding blanket.
Though Cassandra never turned, Myrina looked toward the high windy city of Troy and the deep blue sea beyond. She saw a gang of riders leave at the Southern Gate, heading southeast toward Mount Ida, their helmets and weapons glinting in the sun. She said nothing, but she couldn’t help but wonder if they’d just got away in time.
&nb
sp; As they came to the sea they turned north, away from the very narrowest point, riding up the coast toward a small village of huts and boats. Penthesilea swung down from Fleetwind and walked straight to the biggest hut. The headman of the fisher-people sat outside with his wife, mending nets in the spring sunshine.
“We need a boat,” Penthesilea said, thrusting at him a silver medallion bearing the image of the crescent moon on one side and the plump figure of Earth Mother, Maa, on the other.
“In the service of Maa!” He spoke in the Luvvian language to his wife. She nodded and they both stood up, immediately putting down their nets.
Orders were shouted and six young men rose at once, leaping onto the largest of the boats that were tied up. They started to haul the ropes and unfurl the sail, but then suddenly all the fisher-people were shouting at one another; Myrina’s heart beat fast as her hand crept to clasp the handle of her dagger. But the headman was talking again in Luvvian, explaining the argument. “The wind is turning to the west, not ready yet. You eat first. Roast mackerel—anchovies—fresh bread.”
Myrina wanted to smile, letting go of her knife, but Penthesilea looked anxious. “Our journey is important,” she told them. “We cannot wait.”
“Can’t wait to eat?” The fisherwoman was surprised.
“No,” Penthesilea insisted.
Then suddenly it was all agreed. Strong wooden oars were brought from the nearest hut and a wooden ramp set up against the boat so that they could lead their horses aboard. When at last everything was made ready, the fisherwoman pushed a basket into Myrina’s arms; it contained fresh bread, a gray stoneware flask of olive oil and three smoked mackerel.
“You take—eat,” she told her. “This one—too thin.” She prodded the slender wrist of the Princess of Troy.
Myrina wanted to laugh and cry all at once. She took the basket and thanked her; they were not going to get away without food.
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