"Rejoice with me, Sister; the Goddess has heard my grief and will send us another child for the ones I lost in Poseidon's blow." When Kassandra did not smile, she begged, "Oh, be glad for me!"
"It is not that I am not glad for you," Kassandra said slowly, "but at this particular time—is it wise?"
Helen's pretty smile was full of dimples. "The Goddess sends us children not as we will but as she wills," she reminded Kassandra; "but you are not a mother, so perhaps you do not yet understand that."
"Mother or not, I think I would try and choose my time better than the end of a siege," Kassandra said, "even if it meant sending my husband to sleep among the soldiers when the moon was full or the wind blowing from the south."
Helen blushed and said, "Paris must have a son; I cannot ask him to take Nikos as his heir and set the son of Menelaus upon the throne of Troy."
"I had forgotten that particular foible," Kassandra said, "but I had believed that Andromache's son was to rule after Hector. Has Paris then resolved to usurp that place?"
"Astyanax cannot rule Troy at eight years old," Helen said. "It goes ill with any land where the king is a child; Paris would have to rule for him for many years at least."
"Then perhaps it would be better for Paris to have no son," Kassandra said,"so that he would not be tempted to overthrow the rightful heir." Helen looked indignant, so Kassandra added, "In any case, Paris already has a son, by the river-priestess Oenone, who dwelt with him here as his wife till you came from Sparta. It is not right that Paris should refuse to acknowledge his first-born."
Helen frowned and said, "Paris has spoken of her; he says-there is no way to be certain that he fathered Oenone's child."
Kassandra saw the frown behind Helen's eyes and decided not to pursue this further.
"This is not what I came to say. Have they more horses in the Akhaian camp than are needed to draw Agamemnon's chariots and the chariots of the other kings?"
"Why, I've no idea; I know nothing of things like that," Helen said, and leaned across the table to touch Paris's arm. She repeated the question to him and Paris stared.
"Why, no; I don't think so," he said. "They've been trying to capture the horses from our chariots, even at the cost of leaving gold, or the chariots themselves."
Kassandra said urgently, "If they are building an altar to Poseidon, you don't suppose the Kings are going to sacrifice the horses that drew their own chariots, do you? I beg you to set a double watch on all the horses of Troy, wherever they are stabled."
"Our horses are all well within our walls," Paris said negligently, "and the Akhaians can no more get at them than if they were in the stables of Pharoah of Egypt."
"Are you certain? Odysseus, for instance, is crafty; he might by some ruse inveigle his way inside the walls, and get the horses out," she said, but Paris only laughed.
"I don't think he could get inside our gates even if he could manage to disguise himself as Zeus Thunderer," Paris said. Those gates will not open to man or Immortal; even for King Pnam or myself it would be difficult to persuade anyone to open them after dark. And if he did get in somehow, how do you think he would get out again? If Agamemnon wants horse-sacrifices, he will have to sacrifice his own, for he'll get no Trojan ones."
Kassandra thought he was dismissing the possibility a little too lightly, but there was no way to continue; Paris would not admit the fallibility of his defenses, certainly not to his sister. If he would be the only one to suffer from this casual attitude, she would have said no more, but if he was wrong all Troy would pay; so she urged, "I beg you, set extra guards around your horses for a while at least," and repeated what Polyxena had told her.
"Sister," Paris said, not altogether unkindly,"surely there is enough women's work for you to do that you need not concern yourself with the conduct of the war."
Kassandra pressed her lips together knowing that whatever she said would only harden Paris's decision to ignore her advice. She could hardly set guard on the horses herself, but she did speak to the priests in the Sunlord's house, and they agreed to set a watch themselves upon the royal stables. Late that night the alarm was sounded from the walls, and Paris's soldiers, roused, caught half a dozen men, led by Odysseus himself, leaving the royal stables. The guards, who had not recognized the Argive general, said that he had come into the stable with a royal signet and an order to take a dozen horses to the palace. They had believed him a messenger from Priam himself, and had given up the horses without protest. Only when they had gone did one of the priests of Apollo notice the Akhaian sandals that they were wearing, suspect a trick and sound the alarm.
Paris had the deceived guard hanged, and when Odysseus was brought before him, said to him:
"Is there any reason I should not hang you from the topmost wall of Troy for the horse-thief you are?"
Odysseus said, "In my country, we hang woman-stealers, Trojan. If you had not shown us all how fast you could run, you would now be nothing but bare bones hanging outside the great walls of Sparta, and none of us would have had to leave our homes and come and fight here for all these years."
Priam had been hastily roused from sleep; he looked unhappily at his old friend and said, "Well, Odysseus, you're still a pirate, I see. But I see no reason to hang you. We've always been willing to ransom captives."
"What ransom do you want?" Odysseus asked, looking only at Priam and ignoring Paris.
"A dozen horses," Paris said.
Odysseus waved a hand. "There they are," he replied, and Paris scowled at his effrontery.
"Those are our horses already. We will have a dozen of yours."
Odysseus said, "Have you no piety, friend? Those horses have already been dedicated to Poseidon; they are not mine to give back, they belong already to the Earthshaker."
Paris sprang up, ready to aim a blow at him; Odysseus deflected it easily.
"Priam, your son is lacking in the manners of diplomacy; I would rather deal with you. You can take those horses back if you are willing to risk angering Poseidon Earthshaker with your stinginess; but I swore to sacrifice those horses to him. Do you really think he will favour Troy if you rob him of his sacrifice?" •
Priam said, "If you have vowed those horses to Poseidon, they are his. I will not be more stingy than you with a God. These horses are for Poseidon then, and a dozen more from your people to ransom you."
"So be it," Odysseus agreed, and Priam called for his herald to send the message to the Akhaian army. Agamemnon would not be pleased, though, Kassandra thought. She wished Odysseus no harm; in spite of his place with the enemy host, she could not help thinking of the old pirate as a friend - as he had been in her childhood. She still had, in one of her boxes, the beautiful string of blue beads he had given her years ago.
As Odysseus took his departure to arrange for the actual exchange and delivery of the ransom, Paris said to his father, "You fool! Are you really going to give those horses for sacrifice? What are Odysseus's promises to you? You don't believe he was going to sacrifice them, do you?"
"It may well be," Priam said, "and what have we to lose? We need Poseidon's good will too; and we will be getting a dozen more for Odysseus's ransom, so we have lost nothing."
"I don't think they will do the God half as much good as they would do our armies," Paris still grumbled; but when Priam made up his mind there was nothing to be done.
The next morning, before the walls of Troy, the horses were sacrificed to Poseidon; Kassandra watched the slaughter, troubled; Priam hardly seemed strong enough. She remembered such sacrifices in her childhood, when Priam had been strong and vigorous enough to strike off the head of a bull with a single blow. Now his shaking hands could scarcely close on the axe, and after he blessed the weapon a strong young priest took the axe and completed the sacrifice, chanting invocations to the Earthshaker.