Or did she but see in Klytemnestra the ancient power of the Goddess as she had been before male Gods and kings invaded this land? She could not serve this Goddess.
"I cannot," she said, as calmly as she could. "I - this is not my country, O Queen."
"Will you return to your own country, then?"
"I cannot return to Troy," Kassandra said. "If you will give me leave to depart, Lady, I will seek my kinswomen in Colchis—"
"A journey like that, with a baby still at the breast?" Klytemnestra asked in astonishment.
Then a curious change came across Klytemnestra's face. An unearthly peace relaxed the sharp features; and she seemed to glow from within. A voice Kassandra knew well said, Yes, I call you home; depart at once from this place, my daughter.
Kassandra bowed to the ground; the word had come. Still she had no idea how she would travel or what would become of her; but she was once again under the protection of the voice which had called her first when she was no more than a child.
Truly had the priestess in Colchis said, The Immortals understand one another.
"I beg leave to depart at once," she said.
And Klytemnestra replied, "Whom a God has called we must not detain. But will you not have rest, fresh clothing, food for yourself and the babe?"
Kassandra shook her head. "I need nothing," she said, knowing that with the gold Agamemnon had given her she was well provided. She wished to accept nothing from Klytemnestra - or from the Goddess of this place.
She departed within the hour.
She went to the harbor, her child tied in her shawl, where she would find a ship to take her and the baby on the first step of the arduous journey halfway to the world's end, which would bring her at last to her kinswoman Imandra and the iron gates of Colchis. And above all, she was no longer blind and deprived of sight; she was herself again and after all the sufferings she knew the Goddess had not yet forsaken her.
On the docks a woman approached her, clad in a ragged earth-coloured tunic, her face covered by a ragged shawl.
"Are you the Trojan princess?" she asked. "I am bound for Colchis—and I have heard you are going there—"
"Yes, I am, but why—"
"I too seek Colchis," the woman said. "A God has called me there; may I bear you company?"
"Who are you?"
"I am called Zakynthia," the woman said.
Kassandra stared at her and could see nothing; perhaps the woman was bound to her by fate; in any case no God forbade it. And even Klytemnestra had doubted her ability to make this long journey alone with an unweaned child. With a sigh of relief she unslung the shawl in which she had tied her son, and passed him over.
"Here," she said. "You can carry the baby till I need to feed him again."
EPILOGUE
The woman was soft-spoken and obedient, even submissive; she cared for the baby, rocking him and keeping him quiet. Kassandra, prey to renewed seasickness, had little opportunity to pay much attention to her child or the woman, though she did watch unobserved for several days to make certain that the servant - about whom, after all, she knew nothing—could be trusted not to ill-treat or neglect the baby when no one was watching. But she seemed conscientious, attentive to the baby, singing to him and playing with him as if she were really fond of children. After a few days Kassandra decided that she had been fortunate in finding a good servant to care for her child, and relaxed her vigilance somewhat.
And yet Kassandra began to suspect her companion was not what she professed to be.
Underneath the ragged garments the woman seemed strong and healthy; Kassandra could only guess her age - perhaps thirty or even more. When Kassandra was near she was modest in her manner, but her voice was rough and hoarse, and her manners with the sailors and crew were free as an Amazon's. And one morning she was washing herself on the deck when a stray wind blew aside her shawl; her bosom was flat and hard, more like a man's than a woman's, and her legs hairy and muscular. Her face looked as if it had never known cosmetics or smoothing oils. Finally it struck her that Zakynthia might very well be not a woman, but a man.
Why would any man, she wondered, have sought her out in woman's guise? If he was a man, she thought, he might try to have his way with her—although, catching a glimpse of her own reflection in a basin of water, she could not imagine that any man would desire her as she was now: pale from seasickness, dressed in ragged garments, her body still shapeless after childbirth. Even so, she took to sleeping with Agathon in her arms; if the suckling at her breast did not deter a ravisher, probably nothing would, except her knife.
One night of storm, when the ship was tossed about like a cork on the heavy waves, Zakynthia spread her blanket close to Kassandra's, and offered to take the baby into her bed. The waves slammed their blanket-rolls together, sliding first uphill and then downhill in the cramped little cabin, until at last Zakynthia, who was larger and heavier, took Kassandra in her arms.
Kassandra, sick and weary, felt nothing except relief at the shelter her companion's body offered against the constant battering.
After this incident some of her fears subsided. Surely no ordinary man would have ignored such an opportunity. She began to consider other possibilities. Perhaps he was a eunuch, or a healer-priest under vows of chastity. But why then did he wear women's garments and profess himself a woman? Finally she decided that it did not matter, and after a time it occurred to her that she no longer cared whether her companion was a woman or a man. He/she was simply a friend she trusted and was beginning to love. The baby loved her companion too, and was willing to leave his mother's arms to be held and rocked by Zakynthia.
When at last the ship came to shore and they disembarked, she sought through the market for horses.
"But surely, Lady," said the merchant, "you will not travel overland, with a baby and a single servant, into the country of the Kentaurs?"
"I did not know any of them remained alive," Kassandra said, "And I am not afraid of them." She almost hoped that on their journey they would meet some of that vanished race. She bartered a single link of gold for a horse, and food for the journey; she also bartered for a cloak for herself which could double as a blanket for sleeping, or as a tent.
"We should also have another tunic for you, Zakynthia," she said, turning over in her hand a remnant of woven cloth which might make a cloak for the child. "You are so ragged that you might be a street-sweeper. And as for me, I have been thinking that before we go on, I should cut my hair and wear a man's garment. The babe can soon be weaned. Surely they raise goats hereabouts—it might be somewhat safer for travelling in this wild country. What would you think of that? You are taller and stronger than I; you would perhaps be more convincing as a man."
Her companion stood very still, but she had heard the caught breath of consternation before the other said quietly, "You must do as you think best, Lady; but I cannot put on a man's garment nor travel as one."
"Why not?"
Zakynthia did not meet her eyes.
"It is a vow. I may say no more."
Kassandra shrugged. "Then we shall travel as women."
Kassandra looked up at the gates of Colchis and remembered the first time as a young girl in the Amazon band of Penthesilea she had seen them. She had changed and the world had changed; but the great gates were just the same.
"Colchis," she said quietly to her companion. "The Gods have brought us here at last."
She set Agathon on his feet, he was beginning to toddle at last. If the journey had not been so long, she thought, he might have been really walking already but she had been forced to carry him much of the time instead of letting him crawl or walk around. He was almost two years old now and she could see in the strong development of his little chin, in his dark eyes, the dark curly hair, that he was Agamemnon's son.