She endured it because she genuinely loved Andromache; her cousin was far from stupid, but she never thought to let her mind range beyond the permitted destiny of a married woman, and that seemed enough for her. If she had ever thought about it at all Kassandra would have thought that all women were like herself and Penthesilea, wanting more freedom; even her mother, though outwardly she accepted her life, at least knew that a wider life was possible.
On her outward journey (it seemed to her that she had been immensely younger then) Kassandra had never realized the enormous distances they had covered; only when summer arrived again and they were only beginning to see the distant hills behind Troy, was she fully aware of how long this journey had been. In Troy, Colchis was popularly regarded as being halfway round the world. Now she was old enough to take account of the many months of travel; and of course with the wagons they were travelling more slowly than the riding bands. She was in no hurry to see the end of the journey, knowing that her arrival in Troy would close the walls of the women's quarters round her again', but she wondered how things fared in the city, and one night while Andromache slept, she reached out in her mind to see, if not Troy, at least the mind of the twin brother whom she had not visited for so long. And after a time pictures began to form in her mind, at first small and faraway, gradually enlarging and becoming all of her awareness…
Far to the south on the slopes of Mount Ida, where the dark-haired youth called Paris followed his foster-father's bulls and cattle, on a day in late autumn, a group of well-dressed young men appeared on the mountainside, and Paris, alert to any dangers to the herd he guarded, approached them with caution.
"Greeting, strangers; who are you, and how may I serve you?"
"We are the servants and the sons of King Priam of Troy," replied one of them, "and we have come for a bull; the finest of the herd, for it is a sacrifice for the funeral games of Priam's son by his first wife. Show us your finest."
Paris was somewhat troubled at their arrogant manner; nevertheless his foster-father Agelaus had taught him that the wishes of the King were law, and he did not wish to be thought lacking in courtesy.
"My father is Priam's servant," he said, "and all that we have is at his disposal. He is from home this day; if it will please you to await his return, he can show you what we have. If you will rest in my house out of the heat of the noonday sun, my wife will bring you wine, or cool buttermilk; or if you prefer, mead from the honey of our own bees. When he returns he will show you the herds and you may take what you will."
"I thank you; a drink of mead would be welcome," replied the newcomer from the city, and as Paris led the way to the little house where he lived with Oenone, he heard one of them whisper, "A handsome fellow; and I had not thought to find such manners so far from the city."
As Oenone, bright and pretty in her working-day tunic, with her hair tied up under the cloth she wore mornings for sweeping the house, fetched mead in wooden cups, he heard the other muttering, "And if nymphs as lovely as this are in abundance on the mountainsides, why should any man stay within city walls?"
Oenone looked sidewise at Paris, as if wondering who these men were and what they wanted; but he knew little more than she, though he had no desire to say so in their hearing. "These men have business with my father, my dear," he said. "Agelaus will return before the noon hour, and then they can settle it with him, whatever it may be." If they had wanted goats or even sheep he would have felt qualified to deal with them himself, even if they were specially wanted for sacrifice; but the cattle were his father's special pride and joy. So he sipped at the mead Oenone had poured and waited, finally asking, "Are you all King Priam's sons?"
"We are," replied the eldest of them. "I am Hector, Priam's eldest son by his Queen, Hecuba; and this is my half-brother Deiphobos."
Hector was unusually tall, almost a head taller then Paris himself, who was not a small man. He had the broad shoulders of a natural wrestler, and his face was strong-featured and handsome, with brown eyes set wide apart over high cheekbones and stubborn mouth and chin. He bore at his waist an iron sword which Paris at once coveted, although until recently he had thought there could be no finer weapon than the bronze dagger Agelaus had given him as a special gift when he had gone out into a late-winter snowstorm and brought back a dozen weakling lambs who would all otherwise have perished.
"Tell me about these funeral games," he said at last. He noticed the way Hector was looking at Oenone and did not like it. But he also noticed that Oenone was taking no notice whatever of the stranger. She is mine, he thought. She is a good woman and modest, not one to go about staring at strange men.
"They are held every year," Hector said, "and they are like any other games at festivals; you look strong and athletic, have you never competed in such games? I am sure you could carry off the prize for running and jumping at least, if not for archery or any sport requiring training or special skill."
"You mistake me," Paris said, "I am not a nobleman like yourselves, with leisure for sport; I am a humble shepherd and your father's servant. Games and the like are not for me."
"Modestly spoken," said Hector, "but the games are open to any man not born a slave; you would be welcome."
Paris thought about it. "You spoke of prizes—"
"The major prize is a bronze tripod and cauldron," Hector said. "Sometimes my father gives a sword for special valour."
"I would like that prize for my mother," said Paris. "Perhaps if my father gives me leave I will go."
"You are a grown man; you must be fifteen or more," said Hector, "quite old enough to come and go without permission."
And as Paris heard the words he thought it must be so indeed; but he had never gone anywhere without Agelaus's leave and had never thought he would. He noticed that Hector was staring at him fixedly, and raised questioning eyebrows.
Hector coughed nervously. "I am wondering where I have seen you before," he said. "Your eyes - they seem to remind me of someone I know well, but I cannot remember where."
"I go sometimes to the marketplace on errands for my father or my mother," Paris said, but Hector shook his head. To Paris it seemed that a curious shadow hung over him; he felt an instinctive dislike for this large young man. Yet Hector had been in no way offensive, but had treated him with perfect courtesy, so he did not understand it.
He rose restlessly and went to the door of the house, peering out. After a moment he said, "My foster-father has come home," and almost immediately Agelaus, a small slight man who still moved quickly despite his age, came into the room.
"Prince Hector," he said, bowing, "I am honored; how is it with my lord your father?"
Hector explained their errand, and Agelaus said, "It's my boy can help you with that, my prince; see, he knows the cattle better than I do, does all the cattle-judging at fairs and such. Paris, take the gentlemen out into the cattle-field and show them the best that we have."
Paris chose the finest bull of the herd, and Hector came and looked into the beast's face.
"I am a warrior and I know little of cattle," he said. "Why choose this bull?"
Paris pointed out the width of the bull's shoulders, the breadth of his flank. "And his coat is smooth, without scars or imperfections; fit for a God," he said, and inwardly thought, He is too good for sacrifice, he should be saved for breeding; any old bull will do to strike off his head and bleed on an altar.