Cassandra (19 page)

`There may be something in what you say, Lord,' I said, considerably astonished.

`Come then, Chryse, perhaps we will leave the philosophical speculations for when you know me better and trust me more. I am sorry that I scared your suppliant away. I did not mean to. That was his own fear, not my doing. What more would you know about the House of the Double Axe?'

`Lord, I think I know enough. Quite enough. I shall have bad dreams in this place. If you make this league, do you think that it will hold?'

He shrugged. `I am a small lord of a very small island,' he said quietly. `These are heroes, Chryse, big men with vast conceptions and unbounded greed. What they will make of the matter I cannot tell. Except that they have a respect for honour, considering it to be a matter to boast of. You will find that men can be compelled to behave acceptably if you give them something to boast of. That is why words must be kept and honour maintained. If this league is sealed with words, then we must keep it or die in the keeping. Otherwise the world is ruled by night, death and chaos - and they are not comfortable companions.'

`Arion says that the world is ruled by idiots,' I ventured.

He laughed loudly, throwing back his shaggy red head, and almost fell off our wall. I grabbed him as he slipped. He was slim but strong; I would have said that they were rower's muscles.

`Ah, Chryse, who can argue with a bard? Especially not that one. The difficulty, my asclepid, is not to govern people, but to make them govern themselves. And here we are dealing with men who have never ruled themselves, who have never been controlled except by circumstance. If they see a bright pretty thing, they grab for it. If they want a woman, they take her unless someone stronger and better armed can stop them. They are men of passion and courage; heroes, you know. I myself have never been a hero. In my small and poverty-stricken island we cannot afford the luxury of heroes.'

I smiled at this. His chiton was of `woven air'. The fillet which bound his hair was of the finest water gold, set with irregular pearls. On one wrist he wore an archer's brace two handspans broad, made of the same gold, finely figured with dolphins, studded with pearls and green and blue aquamarines. His boots were of the softest kid. `Poverty stricken' could not have been a description of Odysseus, King of Ithaca.

He saw my expression in the half dark and smiled. Odysseus had a sweet, cynical smile which forced the watcher's own lips to curve. I felt mine doing so.

`Ah, but these things are beautiful. I like to wear them, they suit me and they please me. Heroes cause waste - remember that, Chryse God-Touched, little brother of Death. Wasted cities, wasted lives, wasted love and trust and blood. Where there is a hero there is destruction and the ailing of women. A hero's harvest is a waste of thorns. What is your real name?'

`Diomenes, Lord,' I mumbled, fascinated by the gaze of his amber eyes.

`If I call you, Diomenes Asclepid, if I need you and I should call you - and I will not do so lightly - will you come?'

I was suddenly sure I could trust him with my life. `Yes, Lord.'

`Yes. Remember heroes, my golden one. There must be laws and words carved in stone and honour in the world or it is all wasted. And I, Odysseus of Ithaca - I cannot bear waste.'

He was gone into the semi-dark. I saw his tunic fluttering as he paced along the wall, talking to the guards in that smooth voice. I started at a touch on my knee.

`That was Odysseus,' said Eumides from the ground. `A subtle man, unlike these barbarians.'

`And there are no barbarians in Troy?' I asked, nettled.

`No,' he said consideringly, as if it had been a fair question. `Troy is ruled by the sons of Priam. Strange, asclepid priest, the man I miss most is the prince of the city, the bulwark of Troy: Hector. All I ever talked to him about was those missing sheepskins which vanished at the port when we were unloading. But he is Troy for me, now that I am lost to the city forever. Hector standing on the dock with his lists of cargo, calling across the water for news of the Nile, promising us new wine if we unload quickly, with grey Státhi at his side.'

`What is Státhi?' I asked.

`Show me your knife, Healer. Yes, I thought so.' He pointed to the small, lion-like animal hunting ducks along the blade. `That is Státhi the cat, shadow of Hector. It is an Egyptian beast. They call it bashtet or mou. It is a sacred animal, though most animals are sacred in Egypt, the most priest-ridden place in the world - I beg your pardon, asclepid. I meant no disrespect.'

`Have you been to Egypt?'

`Yes, and to Libya, to Caria, even to Africa, where we traded for gold.'

`Have you stories to tell?'

`When my jaw heals the asclepid shall hear of wondrous beasts and amazing cataracts, living waters and teeming seas.'

`Rest for tonight,' I said. `I will talk to you tomorrow.'

Arion's songs had calmed the mob in the great hall. At the introduction of a certain village tune plucked on the lyre and accompanied by two slaves on drums, the heroes had begun an old round dance with a lot of slapping and shouting.

The noise hurt my head. I found my master in our sleeping chamber and sat down at his feet. He ruffled my hair.

`Well, Chryse? How was the feast?'

`Noisy, master.' I leaned against his knee. `I have repaired a dislocated jaw and the suppliant told me such fascinating and horrible stories.' Soothed by his touch, I asked, `Master, how much does it cost to buy a man?'

 

Purchasing the slave was not very expensive. I had seven coins, pressed upon me by grateful patients, and four sufficed to buy me Eumides the sailor, the Trojan slave. I summoned him from the kitchens. Someone had hit him again. His nose was bleeding.

`Take this,' I said, giving him my remaining coins, `and come with me.'

`Where are we going, Master?'

`Don't call me master, I'm Chryse the asclepid,' I said crossly. We came into the smithy, where a very large sooty person brandished a huge hammer at us until he saw my healer's robe. `An asclepid - I was about to send for you. I think it's broken,' he said extending a foot.

It is the custom in the Argive lands that a slave must pay the smith for removing the slave's collar from his neck and the bands from wrists and ankles. I had given Eumides money for this purpose but it did not look as though he was going to need it.

`Strike the bands from this man, he is freed,' I said, showing the seal of Agamemnon which was my receipt. `Then I will look at your foot.'

Eumides did not speak or thank me. He sat down on an anvil and did not flinch as the soldering iron hissed on the fetters and they were bent away from the flesh by hands as strong as pincers. The smith offered them to him, saying the ritual words, `Free man, rejoice! Dedicate these chains to the god Hephaestus and thank him for your deliverance,' and Eumides took the still-warm metal and stayed where he was while I sat the smith down and examined his ankle. It was swollen and badly bruised.

`How did it happen?' I asked, feeling around the arch of his huge filthy foot to find if any of the little bones were broken. His sole was as hard as a hoof.

`I was shoeing the horses of the prince of Larissa,' he said. `Ouch! And one of them stood on my foot, may it break all of its thrice-cursed legs and those of its master. That hasn't happened since I was apprenticed. Is it broken?'

`The little toe is broken,' I said, finding a flat bandage in my bag and binding it tightly to the next toe. `Make an infusion of these herbs with a large wine pot full of boiling water,' I added, putting a bunch of comfrey and vervain into his hand. `Drink it three times today and tomorrow, fasting, without wine. A prayer to Asclepius and to your patron, the lame god, must be made every time you drink it. Within a week the bones will knit; keep the splint on until then. After that you must strip and wash thoroughly all over and wear a new loincloth,' I added, for of all dirty men I had ever seen this smith was the dirtiest. I could only tell that he was human because I could see his eyes, startlingly white in the dark face.

We asked the way to the temple of Hephaestus, a dark cavern under the acropolis, and there Eumides went to the altar and knelt to pray. I did not hear what he said. He wiped one palm across his injured face and smeared the bronze slave-bands with his blood. Then he threw the fetters down with a clatter and laid one of the silver coins on the stained stone.

I wondered what his prayer was, but it is never proper to enquire into another man's converse with the gods, however much I did not believe in them. We walked out into the street.

Mycenae was anxious. We were shouldered aside by soldiers in armour and women, usually confined close to the houses in Achaea, struggled past carrying children and bundles. They were hastening to the lower city, to the gate which gave onto the mountains, in case they had to flee the army of suitors. Babies wailed and men cursed.

`In here,' grunted Eumides, catching my arm. He dragged me into a niche and we stood very close, watching the throng and tasting their fear and excitement, which burned on the tongue like copper.

Eumides the freed slave caught me in an embrace and kissed me on the mouth. The kiss of a free man, they say, is different from the kiss of a slave. I kissed him back cordially. His body was warm but there was blood in his mouth and all my love was given to Argive Elene, Princess of Sparta. I freed myself gently.

`Well, asclepid priest, I belong to you now.' He was grim. `What will you do with me?'

`You weren't listening,' I said, so close that I was speaking into his chest. `You are not mine or any man's. You are free and can go where you will, though not immediately because we are in a castle under siege. If you want, you can come with my master and me and Arion Dolphin-Rider to Argos, which is where I think we are going next, thence to Corinth where you can get a ship.'

He was staring at me, expressionless, his eyes dark with suspicion.

`Why did you free me? Am I to be sacrificed?'

I was so shocked that I could not answer for a moment. `No,' I gasped. `What? Sacrifice a man? To what god? Do you think we are barbarians?'

`Yes,' he agreed. `I do think so. You sacrifice all manner of creatures, spilling their blood to feed your hungry beast-ghosts of gods. Why not a man?'

`No, impossible,' I stuttered. `Never would we do such a thing. What, do you Trojans have no gods?'

`Yes, but they do not feed on entrails and they do not snuff the stench of burning flesh with pleasure. We offer beautiful things and gold and wine and honey to the gentle gods of Troy. So you do not mean to kill me? They spoke in the kitchens of the sacrifice of a free man to ensure success. Do you not want my life? Is that not why you had me freed?'

He was in earnest. Feeling for my knife, I gave the hilt into his hand, the point to my throat.

`You can kill me,' I said calmly into the wild eyes. `I mean you no harm, Trojan.'

He stared at me for what seemed like minutes. His breath was on my face, tainted with the scent of starvation and the overlay of blood. His eyes, I noticed, were very dark, deep and beautiful. They were filling with tears.

`Are you not afraid to die?' he whispered, letting the blade fall. `I could have killed you then, asclepid.'

`No,' I said truthfully. `I am Chryse the golden one, Diomenes, Asclepid, Healer Priest, Death's little brother, Thanatos-freed. I am not afraid of meeting the black angel again. He held me in his arms and was as gentle as a mother.'

`I am ashamed,' he said, and kissed me again, frantically, although it must have been an action full of the most exquisite pain.

I pushed him gently away and wiped his face. He was weeping freely, his chest heaving with sobs.

`Come, we will go to my master,' I said. `It will be quiet there. You need rest. And then you can tell me more stories about the world, if you will. I have seen very little of the world,' I added, as I led him by the hand up to the acropolis, `and it seems very big and dangerous to me, and very astonishing.'

I came into my master's room and watched Eumides as he stripped and washed. He was beautiful, slim and strong, like in body to Odysseus of Ithaca. There were scars on his back from floggings, and his hands had been burned and healed many times. I had never thought about slaves before. They had been in the background all of my life. They were the hands which mended, sewed, drew water, chopped wood, cultivated fields and poured wine. I had never thought of them as men. I was much more ashamed than Eumides, the ex-slave.

He came and knelt, naked and clean, beside me where I was sitting on my master's bed. His scarred hand cupped my face.

`I thank you for my life,' he said softly. `Unlike you, Chryse, I am afraid to die. How can I repay you?'

There was a strong sensual suggestion and he was very beautiful. I had never lain with a man, but I still loved Elene and would not forget her by obscuring her memory with any later love. I stroked the hand and held it briefly.

`Tell me of the world,' I said, and he sighed. `But first, I will give my third best tunic which is too big for me and you shall lie down on my bed and sleep until night.'

Master Glaucus and Arion came in as Eumides was settling down and he immediately scrambled to his feet. I desperately hoped that my master would say something which would soothe the ex-slave.

`The free man?' asked my Master. `The Trojan?'

`His name is Eumides and he may travel with us to Corinth.'

Arion grinned and embraced the surprised Trojan. `I am Arion Dolphin-Rider, famed singer, bard of the Argives,' he roared. `You can tell me of the world, Eumides free man. A mariner by the look of you?'

Eumides nodded, dumbfounded by the bard's robust energy.

`Good. I have sailed many seas but it does a bard good to hear new tales. I would be honoured if you could bear us company to sea-bordered Corinth, should we get out of Mycenae alive. And...' he lowered his voice and looked meaningfully at me, `You can be company for the boy. He gets into trouble if he is left to wander alone.'

I blushed and Eumides grinned.