Cassandra (2 page)

Olympus, home of the gods, basked under honeyed sunlight.

Even perfection can become tedious.

`My Lord,' she called, `Sun God and brother, shall we play a game?'

`What game, lady?' asked Apollo, lounging at the foot of the throne of the gods. `And what is the wager?'

`A golden apple, one of the Hesperides' from the tree at the end of the world. A mortal sent it to you, but I stole it,' she smiled. Apollo returned the gaze levelly, blue eyes staring into grey, and the goddess of love faltered a little.

`You have a regard for mortals,' she challenged. `You guard them and teach them and they amuse you. Let us play a game with mortals - for the apple. My power against yours, my Lord.'

`Your thesis?' asked the woman, Demeter, Earth Mother.

`That love is stronger than death,' said Aphrodite. `That there is nothing, nothing which even the gods can inflict upon humans that will have victory over love.'

`Sentiment,' snorted Athene, Mistress of Battles. `Men are foolish, clumsy, and ruled by lust and greed. Except for my own city, the realm and cities of Achaea are brutal and stupid.'

`Your city, Athens, is as brutal and stupid as the rest,' rumbled the Sea God, Poseidon. `And Mycenae, ruled Agamemnon, yes, and Tiryns and Agros, are bloodsoaked and cursed. Even my greatest storms could not wash the taint of brother murder from them. Even worse is Troy, the holy city Ilium, where an upstart king banished my worship from the walls. I am minded to the destruction of Troy, my lords.'

`Then let it be Troy,' said Aphrodite eagerly. `We shall play out our wager between Achaea and Troy; that should be a testing enough ordeal for our game. If you lose, I keep the apple. Come now, my Lord Apollo - you may have first choice in creating your creature. Will you wager?'

Apollo looked at the apple, gleaming in the immortal hand, and nodded.

He sat down on the edge of the Pool of Beginnings and breathed on the water, which misted and then cleared. A picture began to form.

`I shall have an Achaean, since you support Troy,' he commented. `A child, since we must train him all his life. A peasant, I think; they are stronger.'

Green hills and bright sun formed in the mirror-pool, idly stirred by Apollo's breath. `A beautiful boy,' he continued, `but one who does not know his beauty. A priest healer, Lady Aphrodite, not a warrior. Warriors die too easily, and if he was killed in battle I might lose my bet. Where are you, little one, favoured of Apollo?' he asked, stirring the mirror. `Come, come to me, my gage, my plaything. There.' His finger stabbed into the pool, and ripples ran out silver and sparkling. `The perfect one. His name Diomenes, but they will call him Chryse, the Golden One.'

`Too late,' gloated Aphrodite. `Thanatos, the God of Death, has him. Try again, Lord Apollo. Your plaything is dead.'

`Not yet.' Apollo cupped his hands around his smiling mouth and called. Something swam up to the surface of the pool; an angel in cloudy draperies, cradling a sleeping boy in his arms.

`Mine,' said Apollo. `Diomenes is mine.'

`Drop your prey, good dog,' taunted Aphrodite. `Snarl, dog!'

Death inclined his hemlock-crowned head with dignity and swooped down into the picture again, delivering Diomenes into the arms of Death's brother, bay-crowned Morpheus, who is called Sleep. The boy shifted unhappily, writhed in pain, and held out his arms to Death, and the gods laughed merrily.

`There,' said Apollo. `He will grow up in the temple, my temple, worshipping me. Who will give me aid? Poseidon, my Lord Zeus?'

`I will give him no gifts,' said Poseidon. `He will fear the sea. And until Troy is fallen, my Lord Sun God, I will not help you.'

`He must worship without belief,' said Zeus the Father. `You have an advantage, my son; your puppet is male and the Achaeans do not recognise the importance of women, who they call slaves and vessels for seed, of no more significance than a fertile field.

`Therefore, I will give him an independent mind, but that is all. I do not like these games,' added the Lord Father Zeus, walking away. `Mortals were not created solely for your amusement, my son.'

Apollo did not reply but bent his head, the dark hair falling over the marble-smooth shoulders, hiding his face and his bright, disturbing eyes. There was a short silence, in which Aphrodite and Queen Hera exchanged glances.

Apollo stirred the surface a little, watching the child Diomenes settle into sleep. The pool showed the interior of a white temple, and the statue of the healer Apollo, whose son is Asclepius the physician, made of ivory and gold.

He drew in a breath, snuffing the savour of burnt meat. Divine nostrils flared. When he spoke, his voice was rich with satisfaction. `Diomenes will meet your puppet, Lady Aphrodite, but all your sweet scents and fluttering doves will not be able to seduce him. If he loves her, it will not last.

 

Because this is a doomed love; as doomed as a god can make it. Many things are stronger than love, the frailest force in the universe. Chryse Diomenes will sicken under the burden of death and blood and war; and he will leave her there, at the gates of Troy, as the towers flame like oil-lamps and are quenched with blood.'

`Troy will fall,' said Poseidon hungrily. `I will wash out their presumption with bitter water as salty as unnumbered tears.'

Aphrodite, in her moss green draperies, sat down on the edge of the pool and breathed on the water. It revealed a large city built of grey stone. Many ships were in the harbour, and banners flew from the highest point.

`In the palace of Troy, which shall not fall if I can prevent it,' said Aphrodite, stroking a silver-feathered dove, `she is being born. My maiden. Cassandra the twin, understanding all, seeing all. No god will be able to hide from her! I give her clear sight and a strong heart. She will meet your Diomenes - your golden Chryse, Lord Apollo, and she will not falter, and neither will he. They will endure though the city falls into destruction, because love is stronger in despair. Nothing will part them; they will be one flesh. Join with me, mother and queen! Hera, Demeter, behold your daughter.'

They looked into the Pool of Beginnings, where a golden-haired child and her brother toddled fearlessly into a temple and snakes wreathed them. Demeter Earth Mother put out her hand, palm down, her arm twined with never-fading flowers. `Daughter Cassandra,' she said, `be wise and strong. Trust in yourself.'

Hera, queen of the gods, breathed divine life into the small figure. `Daughter Cassandra,' she said, you have dominion and the power of command. But beware of men, little princess. Beware of the beguilements of the Lord of the Sun. For that is what you intend, is it not?' she challenged Apollo. `You intend to seduce her from the Mother to your worship, Sun God?'

`Of course,' agreed Apollo. `She will be my maiden, then maiden no longer - and she will fail, Lady of Mortal Love. No human can be more steadfast than the gods. I will test her, Aphrodite of Cyprus, and she will fail. Her loves will fall from her like leaves from a tree, leaving her naked to men's cruelty and men's lust. No love will be left in her when she meets my creature Diomenes, and he will have no love left to give. Your wager is lost,' he smiled his three-cornered smile, breathtakingly beautiful.

`Humans cannot be as enduring as trees,' Demeter was uneasy. `What game is this, played without rules? Poor healer, poor princess! If you persist in this, my lord, I will oppose you. The power of Earth is great and it is ancient - far older than your petty male worship of ideas and words. I will assist her, I warn you, if you intend to cheat.'

`What about Troy?' Poseidon breathed on the water, and black ships swept across the troubled sea. `Troy can stand against any siege. How then, shall it fall and I be avenged?'

`That is another matter,' said Athene uneasily, `in which the Father Zeus has an interest. Leave to me the fall of Troy, and the punishment of blasphemers.'

`And the maiden Cassandra and this poor healer-priest Diomenes?' asked Demeter. `Shall they be caught up in these great events and tortured and twisted, all for the sake of a wager? Have you no pity?'

`For the sake of the golden apple,' said Apollo to Aphrodite, `I oppose my Chryse Diomenes to your Cassandra, Princess of Troy. I will prove that your light power, frail love, easily broken, is no match for thought and philosophy and war; I will prove that men will trade all the happiness in the world for a handful of ashes. The golden apple is mine.'

He snatched it out of Aphrodite's hand, then dropped it as if it stung his fingers. She had warmed it with the heat of her eyes, and it shone white hot, sizzling on the marble floor.`Not yet,' said the goddess of love. `You have not won yet.'

It was a black vision. Sand under my feet, the ocean roaring, the flames biting at the sky as the holy city of Ilium was consumed. Achaean voices in the night; harsh, triumphant, trumpets braying the death of Troy.

It was not a vision. I smelt sweat, grease, salt, men, and burning. Always the burning, the reek of wood and flesh which soured my nostrils and seared my throat. I have no refuge. I am unarmed. I will not be here. I will not hear. I will not see. I will not feel.

 

When we were three they took us, my twin brother and me, to the house of the Mother, the cave under Troy where Gaia the goddess dwelt, pregnant with life. I am told that we are identical, Cassandra and Eleni, both small square children with the golden hair of the house of Tros.

We were not afraid, because we were never afraid when we were together. Nyssa, our nurse, led us to the entrance of the cave, and I remember hearing her voice quaver as she said, `Go in, now, and don't be scared.' We wondered that Nyssa was frightened.

We could see nothing to fear. We joined hands in case there should be something interesting in the dark which one of us might miss, and toddled forward into the grateful dark. Both Eleni and I have always had sensitive eyes which cannot bear strong sunlight.

It was not black, in the womb of the earth mother. A little light leaked in from the open door, and more through cracks in the beehive brick which made the dome. The floor was dry and sandy.

The walls were decorated with frescos of dancers and bulls and we were fascinated. Eleni pointed and said, `Bull,' and we toddled over to touch the picture, tracing the proud horned head and the curves of the elegant acrobats, the bull-leapers, coloured ochre for male and white for female. In the centre of the womb rose the phallus of Dionysius the god, erect, pointing skyward, and when we ran out of bulls we sat down with our backs against it, beginning to be bored.

There was a slither in the sand and two snakes came out of some hole and inched towards us. We were delighted. We had never been allowed to play with the house snakes, and these were much bigger than the rat killers that lived under every house altar. They were as fat as my arm, mottled a beautiful green and brown like the gauze on our Lady Mother's veil that came, she said, from so far away.

The snakes paused, flicked the air with their forked tongues, and inched towards us. Eleni and I held our breath, afraid that we might scare them. They moved in a fascinating way, leaving v-shaped patterns in the dust. Although we could hear a scrape of scales, they seemed to flow, without effort, and the patterns rippled as they moved. They seemed to be creatures entirely divine, unearthly, purposeful.

They split up and approached us. I stared into the dark, hoping that they would come closer. Eleni whispered, `Pretty,' and reached out his hands. They came closer, one snake for each twin, and rose up from the ground, so that we were looking for a moment straight into the serpents' eyes.

There was something there, we both felt it: intelligence, or will. Slowly, as though they did not want to startle us, the heads swayed to left and right, and we giggled as the flickering tongues touched first one ear and then the other.

The snakes withdrew. We were sorry. Then an old woman and a young man came in, looked at us, and went out again. The woman was ancient. Her hair floated like a white cloud, she was bent and toothless and leaned on a staff. The young man glowed with life.

 

He had a fierce, wild face and he grinned at us with white teeth. He carried a vine staff in one strong brown hand and he was wreathed with vine leaves.

It was the first time we had seen the gods. Mother Gaia as crone and Lord Dionysius in all his dangerous joy.

We cried when they left, and Nyssa rushed in with two priests and took us into the temple. I remember it chiefly because they gave us honey. We had never tasted such sweetness before.

 

The Lady Queen Hecube was our mother and the Lord King Priam was our father. They were magnificent, golden, and distant as clouds. Nyssa looked after us, the royal twins. She was fat and skilled and loving. Her eyes were black, as was her hair, and her skin was like the sea foam at the water's edge, where it is pale brown and crinkly. She was an Achaean and she taught us her language, as well as our own and the words for the gods, which were in an old and holy tongue. Nyssa's only child had died, and when we were born the Lady Hecube had given us into her arms. She loved us as if we were her own.