As the halfway mark was reached and the sixth horse fell to the ground, there was a small sound like a very distant thunderclap, and the ground beneath them rolled slightly. An omen? she wondered. Or was Poseidon simply acknowledging his sacrifice?
Apollo Sunlord, she implored, cannot you save this city which has been yours for so long, even if you first took it from Serpent Mother?
The glare of the sun was bright in her eyes, and the well-known voice seemed to crash like the distant surf in her ears.
Even I cannot contend with what the Thunderer has decreed, child. What is to come must come.
The sacrifice went on, but she was no longer watching. What was the use of sacrificing to Poseidon if he was bound by the Thunderer - who is no God of mine, and no God of Troy - to break the people who sacrificed to him, while Apollo Sunlord stood helplessly aside as the Earthshaker ravaged the city - his own city}
If this was all ordained anyhow, why sacrifice and petition the Immortals? Defiance struggled in her, never again to be wholly silent; the old cry, still unanswered, What good were these Gods?
It seemed now that high above the city, as she had seen once in her vision, two mighty figures, fashioned of cloud and storm, stood toe to toe like wrestlers, struggling and casting blows of lightning and thunder at one another. The sound seemed to slam through her consciousness. She swayed, her eyes fixed on the battling Immortals.
Then she stumbled and fell, but lost consciousness before she touched the ground.
When she woke she was lying with her head in her mother's lap.
"You should have stayed out of the midday sun," Hecuba reproved gently. "It was not right to make a disturbance at the sacrifices."
"Oh, I don't think the Gods cared that much," said Kassandra, pulling herself upright through the stabbing pain behind her eyes. "Do you?" But seeing the faintly bewildered look on her mother's face, she was sure the Queen did not understand what she was talking about; she was not sure, herself. "I am sorry; I meant no disrespect to the Gods, of course. We are all here to do them honor; do you think they will feel in honor bound to return the courtesy?" But all she saw in Hecuba's eyes was the old look - the look that said I don't understand you.
"What in the name of all the Gods are they doing out there?" Helen asked.
"Polyxena heard that they are building an altar to Poseidon."
Down below, on the open space which had been so long a battlefield, what looked like the whole Akhaian army was lugging lumber, and under the protection of a veritable wall of lashed-together leather shields, hammering and sawing frantically.
"Their priests drew up the plans," said Khryse, strolling up to join the women.
Paris came toward them, and bent down to kiss his mother's hand.
"It looks unlike any altar I have ever seen," he said, "more like some form of siege machine; look, if they build it this high they could shoot down over the walls, or even climb over into the city, like boarders on a ship."
Hecuba seemed troubled by the tone of his voice. She demanded, "Have you spoken to Hector about this?"
Paris bent his head and turned away, but not before Kassandra could see that his eyes were filled with tears. " How can you bear it when she talks like that?" he murmured.
"The question is not how we can bear it, but that she must," Kassandra said sharply. "You at least can go out and try to avenge the ills that have broken our mother's mind and are breaking down our father's. Tell me, can they really build that thing high enough to climb into the city?"
"Probably; but they shall not while I live," said Paris. "I must send to rally all the remaining chariots and archers." He kissed Helen, and went down the stairs. Soon after they heard the battle cry as Paris and the remaining chariots dashed breakneck at the structure, shooting flights of arrows that all but darkened the sky. The wild charge actually knocked down one corner of the structure, sending it down with a crash, and half a dozen men fell screaming to the ground.
The Akhaian soldiers broke and began to run, with the Trojan chariots in hot pursuit, cutting them down as fast as they could. When they were in full retreat and looked like running as far as the ships, Paris called off the chase and rode back to the unprotected structure. Finding a barrel of tar on the site and sloshing it liberally about, he set the whole construction alight.
As it burned, they heard the cries of Agamemnon uselessly trying to rally his men, and they rode back inside the walls before Agamemnon could assemble the Akhaians for a renewed attack.
The Trojans on the walls were cheering wildly. It was the only battle they had clearly won since the burning of the Akhaian ships. Paris came up and knelt before Priam.
"If they want to build an altar to Poseidon, they will not build it on Trojan ground, sir."
"Well done," said Priam, embracing him heartily, and Helen came to help him out of his armor.
"You're wounded," she said, seeing him flinch as she removed the vambrace from his upper arm.
Paris shrugged; the movement made him flinch again.
"An arrow wound. It didn't touch a bone," he said.
"Kassandra," Helen said, "come and look at this; what do you think?"
Kassandra came and folded back the sleeve of Paris's tunic. It was a flesh wound, a small depression just above the elbow. Purple and puffy, like pouting lips, it had already closed, and from it a drop or two of blood oozed.
"It is not, I think, too serious," she said, "but it should be washed in wine and bathed with very hot water and herbs; if a puncture wound closes too quickly, it can be serious. At all costs it must be kept open and made to bleed freely to cleanse it."
"She is right," said Khryse, bringing a flask of wine which he began to pour over the wound; but Paris grabbed the flask.
"A waste of good wine," he said, and poured it into his mouth instead, making a wry face. "Ugh, not even fit for that. Might be good to wash my feet with."
Khryse shrugged. "There is better wine for the drinking, in the Sunlord's house, Prince Paris; this is a poor vintage kept for cleansing wounds. Come and have some of the better vintage while we tend you."
"Better yet, come to our rooms in the palace and let me tend you," Helen said. "You have had enough fighting for one day -and there is nobody left to fight."
"No," Paris said, walking to the wall, "I hear Agamemnon; he's got some of those archers of his to attack again; let's go down and drive them off. Already they say I spend too much time in your boudoir being cosseted, my Helen; I am weary of a coward's reputation. Here, tie this up with your scarf and let me go." He pulled his armor together over the bound wound, and was off down the stairs. They heard him shouting to his men.
"Oh, why did he have to have a damned attack of heroism right now?" Helen said, smiling angrily. "And if it was really an altar to Poseidon, do you think the God will be angry because he burned it down?"
"I don't see what else he could have done, whether the God is angry or not," Kassandra said. "Perhaps the Earthshaker will remember all those nice fat horses that we gave him courtesy of Odysseus a couple of days ago."
"I pray it does not hamper his riding and shooting," Helen said. "When he comes back - if he survives this charge—I will take him off to be tended by the best of the healers."