The Firebrand

by Marion Zimmer Bradley

  “What God gifted you with such strength as that?” Hector asked, and without waiting for an answer, he said, “I doubt it not you are stronger than I! I wish I might face you sometime in a peaceful wrestling bout; I would rather be your friend than your enemy, Akhaian.”

  Akhilles’ lip curled in a sneer, but Odysseus interrupted and said, “It was for this I brought these young men hither tonight, Priam. If Akhilles does not enter this combat, then you can still make peace with the Akhaians. So the oracles have said.”

  “I too would rather have you as friend than as enemy,” said Priam. “Must we fight, then, young man? I will make you an offer: you shall marry any one of my daughters you choose, and you shall be heir to this city on an equal footing with Hector; when I die, the people shall choose freely between you and Hector as King. Come, will you avoid this terrible war as my son and heir? For if you do not join them, the Akhaians will go home.”

  “Even Agamemnon? Even Menelaus?” asked Hecuba.

  “Menelaus knows Helen does not want him,” Paris said quietly. “He will yield to Fate and to Aphrodite, knowing it is the will of the Goddess of Love.”

  “And Agamemnon has had evil omens,” said Odysseus. “He will fight if the Gods will it, but at Aulis, where his fleet lay becalmed, he was persuaded to offer his eldest daughter as a sacrifice for the winds. She was his favorite; he feels the price was too high, and his wife has never forgiven him. I think he would be glad to withdraw from this war, if he could do so without loss of face. This prophecy about Akhilles would give him a perfect excuse, and we can have peace. And Akhilles will rule Troy with Hector, rather than both of them being killed in battle.”

  “I do not fear being killed in battle!” Akhilles said angrily. “But perhaps there would be renown to be won as King of Troy. As for your daughters, King Priam . . .” He broke off and sought with his eyes for Kassandra. “What about that one?”

  Kassandra opened her mouth to protest; but Priam said, “That one is not mine to give in marriage; she is sworn a virgin of Apollo, and the Sun Lord has claimed her; would you contend with Apollo?”

  “By no means,” said Akhilles with a pious shudder. He looked again at the bench where the women sat ranged, and walked toward them; he bowed to Andromache.

  “This one surely is the most beautiful.”

  Hector broke in with a shout. “No! She is my wife and the mother of my son!”

  Akhilles’ mouth drew back in his peculiar lipless grin. “I will fight you for her,” he offered.

  Hector said, “By no means. She is the daughter of the Queen of Colchis.”

  “Come, come,” said Odysseus uneasily. “This war began over one stolen wife; we can’t carry it on with another one. Akhilles, choose one of Priam’s virgin daughters, one who is free to marry. Polyxena, who is as beautiful as the Spartan Queen—”

  “The offer was not a fair one,” Akhilles said spitefully. “I chose not once but twice, and was told I could not have either of the ones I wanted. Hector, why will you not fight me fairly for your wife?”

  Hector chuckled and said, “I will fight you for anything reasonable, whenever you say, but I will not put up my wife in any bargain whatever; she has not deserved that of me.”

  “So much for Priam’s fine offers,” said Akhilles with a snarl of rage. “Forget it, then; I shall fight you on the battlefield, and when I have taken the city, I will take your wife.”

  Hector stepped forward with a menacing gesture.

  “Over my dead body!”

  “Well, yes; that was the idea,” Akhilles said. “And I am sure she would rather have me than you.”

  Andromache leaned forward and whispered to Hector, who smiled and gently patted her shoulder, saying, “Should that day come, Akhilles, I cannot prevent you. But that battle will be a long time in coming.”

  “It is ordained by the Gods,” said Akhilles, “that if I join in this war, Troy will fall.”

  Priam said, “Then you refuse me, Akhilles?”

  Akhilles snarled, “I do; I would rather be your enemy than your ally, old man, and I will take this city myself and rule it without your help, or Hector’s—and with one, two or three of your daughters if I choose.”

  “My sister Kassandra is a prophetess,” Hector said, “and I dare say she can make a better prophecy than any of yours.” He turned to Kassandra and said, “Will this bantam rooster take the city, Sister, in Apollo’s name?”

  Kassandra felt a spiking anger at Hector for drawing all eyes to her this way. She said, “Thus say the Gods: Akhilles will win renown before Troy, but let him beware. Akhilles, when you leave Troy this night you will never enter it again, nor will you rule it.”

  Now all pretense of courtesy was gone from Akhilles’ snarling face.

  “Oh, we have prophetesses too,” he growled. “For the smallest coin they will give you a dozen prophecies—doom or triumph, whichever you choose; my own mother is as good a prophetess as any, and I’ll listen to her prophecy before that of any Trojan woman of Apollo.” He dragged his sword from his sheath and cried, “Here and now, if you wish, Hector, I’ll have you off the throne of Troy; why waste time with the war?”

  Patroklos grabbed his arms and struggled to pin them behind his back. “Your host is sacred!” he reproached.

  And Hector strode forward, saying, “I would fight him here and now if he wished it; but he is my father’s guest.”

  Priam growled, “Take him out of here, Odysseus; I received him at your request.”

  Odysseus came to embrace Priam and said, “Forgive me, old friend, that I brought this wild man into your hall. I regret this with all my heart.”

  Hecuba said graciously, “You did your best for all of us, Odysseus. War or no war, you are always welcome here as our guest. I trust the day will come when you may come here again—and not in secret.”

  He bent again and lifted her hand to his lips.

  “Lady Hecuba,” he said. “May the Lady Hera bear witness I wish you nothing but good; and if ever a day should come when I may do you a good turn, I pray Her She will show me how to do it.”

  “The Gods grant it may be so,” said Hecuba, smiling kindly at him. Kassandra felt a tremor; she wanted to cry out to her mother, but the moment passed. Odysseus drew on his cloak; Akhilles and Patroklos were already striding from the hall, Hector glaring at them both. Kassandra stood shuddering, for it seemed that the torchlight had become the color of blood, and blood surrounded Akhilles’ fair hair like a halo.

  Priam beckoned Kassandra as the Akhaians passed from the hall.

  “I received these guests,” he said in a tone of angry reproof, “because you asked me. You are not now an Amazon; never again presume to speak to me on such matters.”

  Kassandra bowed her head. It seemed to her that the smell of blood and carrion flowed out from her father and that he and she stood ankle deep in blood. How was it that he neither saw nor smelled the blood? Besides, he had bidden her never speak again to him about the war.

  Never. Not while I live. Or after.

  12

  FOR THE NEXT several days, Kassandra watched, from the heights of the Temple, the arrival of Akhilles’ soldiers; they were nicknamed “Myrmidons”—ants—and from this height they seemed indeed as numerous and ugly as insects swarming over the beach. So far, however, they made no attempt to move on the city, but marched back and forth over the plain, running, drilling and performing military exercises. Akhilles was clearly visible among them, outstanding not only for his brightly dyed cloak, but for his shining silver-gilt hair and the straight posture of his body.

  A few days later, she went down to visit her mother; she was troubled by the deepening lines of age in Hecuba’s face. As she approached the Queen’s quarters, she was shocked by the sounds of strife; she could not make out the words, only the sound of women’s voices raised in anger. As she came into the main room near the great loom, she heard the sound of a ringing slap, and a muffled cry, then Hecuba’s voice, crying
out, “Never!”

  “Then,” said a young voice, “I shall go without your leave, Lady, or your blessing either.”

  The voices of the women fell silent as they recognized Kassandra and drew back to give her room. It seemed that all the women in the palace were crowded there, surrounding Hecuba, who was wearing an old gown, her hair falling down from its usual coil in gray straggly locks, and one of her sewing-women, a girl Kassandra did not know by name though she had often admired her expert work.

  “Here is the princess! She is a priestess; she will know what to say to her.”

  Kassandra came into the circle of women, who were suddenly quiet except for a murmur or two.

  “What’s wrong, Mother?” she asked. “What’s happening?”

  The young woman, her cheek reddened from the blow, spoke up proudly. She was slender and pretty, with soft brown hair which she had been interrupted in the middle of dressing, so it hung half curled almost to her waist. Her big dark eyes were shaded by long lashes.

  “The God has spoken to me,” she said, “and I have chosen my lord.”

  “This foolish girl,” Hecuba said, “this stupid child, has taken it into her head—oh, I am almost ashamed to tell you! That any woman could so degrade, so demean herself—she is no servant or slave but well born; she is one of my best embroiderers, and I have treated her as my own daughter here in the palace. She has wanted for nothing—”

  “Well, tell me, what has she done?” asked Kassandra. “Has she opened the gates for the Akhaians to invade the city?”

  “No, it has not come to that yet,” Hecuba admitted.

  “She’s mad,” Creusa said. “At the feast a few days ago she set eyes on Akhilles, and since then she’s talked of nothing else; how strong he is, how skilled at arms, how beautiful—if a man can be beautiful—and now something has put it into her head to go down and offer herself—”

  “To the Akhaians?” Kassandra asked in consternation.

  “No,” said the girl softly, her eyes glowing, “to my lord Akhilles.”

  “Not even King Priam would send you to him as a slave,” Kassandra said.

  “It could never be slavery, because I love him,” the girl said. “Since first I laid eyes on him I have known there could never be any other man for me in this world.”

  “My mother is right; you have lost your wits,” Kassandra said. “Don’t you realize what an animal he is, what a brute? He thinks of nothing but war, takes pleasure in nothing but killing; certainly there is no room in his life for any woman, nor the love of a woman; if he loves any, it is his comrade-in-arms, Patroklos.”

  “You are wrong,” said the woman; “he will love me.”

  “And if he did, it would be the worse for you,” Kassandra said. “I tell you, the man is deranged, mind-sick with the lust for death.”

  “No, I saw how he looked at me,” said the young woman. “How can you say such a thing? The handsomest man the Gods ever made; such beauty must be good, too. Those eyes ...”

  With a shudder, Kassandra remembered the woman in the Kentaurs’ village, her ankles pierced with a rope, defending her mutilation as an act of love. It was quite hopeless to talk to any woman in this state.

  Yet she must try, if only because they were both women and therefore sisters.

  “You—what is your name?” she began.

  “Briseis,” said Hecuba. “She is a Thracian.”

  “Briseis, listen to me,” said Kassandra. “Can’t you even see how you are deceiving yourself? This is some mad fancy put into your head by a demon, not by a God. You have invented a man from your own dreams, and called him by the name of Akhilles. Do you really believe that if you leave us and go down among the Akhaians you will mean any more to him than any harlot or slave?”

  “I could not possibly love him so much without kindling some love in return,” said Briseis.

  Creusa came and shook her.

  “Listen to us, you mad thing! This kind of love is a silly girl’s fantasy! If you are simply hungry for a man, I will speak to my father and he will arrange a marriage for you; there are soldiers and chiefs here from all over the world, and your father is a reputable man in his own country; my father will find you a worthwhile husband.”

  “But I don’t want a worthwhile husband,” said Briseis. “I want only Akhilles; I love him. You are jealous because love has not come to you this way. If it had, you would know I can do nothing else. There is nothing in the world for me but Akhilles; I cannot eat or sleep for thinking of him—of his eyes, his hands . . .” The very sound of her voice as she spoke the name convinced Kassandra that they might as well be speaking to the wind blowing.

  “Let her alone,” she said hopelessly. “This is a fever like that of Paris for Helen, a curse of their Goddess of Love. She’ll come to her senses soon enough once she’s had him, but then it will be too late,” she said.

  “If only I can have him, I don’t care what happens to me afterward,” Briseis said, and Hecuba brushed the tears from her eyes.

  “Poor child,” she said, “I cannot prevent you. Go, if you will, and take the consequences of your folly. I will send to Priam, and you shall be carried down in a litter, with a message that you are a gift for Akhilles; and if he deigns to accept you, and does not throw you to the common soldiers to show his contempt for our gifts . . .”

  For an instant the girl blanched, but then she said, “When he sees how much I love him, he must love me in return.”

  And if he should, you will be worse off than before, Kassandra thought, but she did not say the words aloud.

  She watched the women dress and adorn Briseis; Hecuba even placed a golden necklace about her neck. When she was ready, Kassandra almost envied her—she looked so joyous.

  Women dream of this kind of love. And then comes the rope piercing the ankles, the slavery, the degradation.

  I should be in her place, Kassandra thought. Akhilles asked for me, and he would certainly receive me as befits my rank. And then while he slept, a dagger for the throat, and perhaps an end to this war . . . the great Akhilles, conquered by no hero but by a woman, by his own passion where all the warriors of Troy could not bring about his doom.

  Is that woman meeting my fate, my destiny?

  No; the Gods may sometimes give us what belongs to another, as Paris has the wife of Menelaus; but another’s destiny none may live.

  I trust this is so. I believe it; for if it is not true, I will never know how to bear my guilt.

  A FEW DAYS later Kassandra descended again to Priam’s palace and found Helen in the courtyard, looking down at the Akhaian camp. Her son Bynomos was running about now, and Kassandra, counting in her mind, realized that Helen had now been with them for the better part of two years. It was hard to remember the women’s quarters without her, or that there had been a time when there was not war.

  Three years ago I was riding with the Amazons, she thought, and wished she were back on the plains, free of city or palace walls.

  Would I leave the house of the Sun Lord? He has forgotten me; He no longer speaks to me, Kassandra thought; I am no other than any woman. But it is a God I love, not a man. . . . I suppose it is better to love a God than a man like Paris, or Akhilles. . . .

  She thought of Briseis, and sought out the tent of Akhilles below; standing near it she could see the brightly colored hangings of the litter in which Hecuba had sent the girl down. And now, standing near the doorway of the tent she could make out the straight slender body of the warrior; and nearby the smaller, rounder, brightly clad form of a woman. Briseis? So at least he had not scorned the gift, nor thrown her to the common soldiers. Kassandra wondered if she was happy and content.

  “At least she has what she most wished for,” said Helen, walking to the wall and gesturing down at the girl, wrapped in her saffron-dyed veils. “So there is at least one woman in Troy who has what she most desired.”

  “Other than you, Helen?”

  “I don’t know,” said Helen, “I
love Paris.... At least, under the blessing of the Lady of Love, I loved him; but when She is not with me . . . I don’t know.”

  So she too loves only at the will of a God.... Why is it that the Gods intrude into our lives? Haven’t They enough to do in Their own divine realms, that They must come meddling with the lives of mortal men and women? But she only asked, “Do you think there will be a raid today?”

  “I hope so; the men are getting bored, cooped up inside the walls,” Helen said. “If the Akhaians do not raid us in a day or two, our men will go out and raid the Akhaians, just for something to occupy their time.... Why, Kassandra, what’s the matter with you? You’ve turned pale.”

  “It occurred to me,” Kassandra said, speaking with difficulty, “that if this war goes on for long, no son of Troy will survive to be a warrior.”

  “Well, I would as soon that any of my sons were something other than a warrior,” said Helen. “Like Odysseus, perhaps, to live peacefully in his home country and be a wise judge of his people. . . . If you had a son, Kassandra, what would you want for him?”

  That she had never considered. “Anything,” she said. “Whatever made him a happy man. A warrior, a King, a priest, a farmer or shepherd . . . anything, except a slave to the Akhaians.”

  Helen turned to her child and held out her arms; he came running up to her. She said reflectively, “Before this one was born, I still had it in my power—and often I thought of it—to stop this war. To steal quietly down to the camp and to Menelaus; I think then he would have agreed to go home, and when there was nothing more to fight for—or at least, no further excuse to fight—the Akhaians would have had to turn round and go back to our own islands. But now”—she shivered a little—“he would not take me back; not with another man’s son at my breast.”