“We had fun, though, didn’t we?” Hecuba says.
“Now and then.”
“Oh, come on, you know we did.”
Yes, it was fun. It was tremendous fun. He remembers hot summer evenings in Priam’s orchards, moonless nights when you could barely see the person you’d bumped into. Good, while it lasted, but his position at court had become increasingly precarious. Not long after the unfortunate incident, it had been gently suggested that perhaps a celibate priesthood might not be his true vocation. He’d taken the hint and packed his bags, telling himself he’d welcome a change of scene, though in fact he’d been deeply hurt. Perhaps they were right, he’d thought. And here he is, twenty years on, still a priest, still celibate; though admittedly the celibacy is rather more strictly observed now.
“How’s Agamemnon?” Hecuba asks.
“What makes you think I know? I haven’t seen him since—”
“Since you officiated at my daughter’s death.”
“That wasn’t just me, it was—”
All of us. Every priest in the camp had been there. He’d closed his eyes as Pyrrhus raised the sword, and kept them closed till it was over. Sheer cowardice, and even so the attempt to spare himself had failed. At night, in dreams, he still hears the silence, the gasp from the crowd as the blade fell.
“She died bravely.” He swallows to dislodge the lump in his throat. “Do you know the men put flowers on her grave?”
“The Greeks do?”
“Yes. She was brave, they respect that. And you’ve got to remember it was quick. Seconds. She was dead before she hit the ground.”
“I suppose I have Pyrrhus to thank for that. Well, yes, I suppose I have—he could’ve made a mess of it. God knows he made a big enough mess of Priam. You wouldn’t kill a dog like that.”
“You were there?”
“Yes, I saw it all.”
She throws back her head, exposing her wrinkled neck and throat and a new sound comes from her mouth, a whimpering, like a dog that’s about to howl. He can’t bear it; he has to look away. When he turns back, she’s put her fingers round her mouth; she is actually holding her lips together to stop the dreadful sound getting out. He waits while she brings herself back under control. At last, she straightens up.
“She was a good girl, Polyxena. She’d have taken care of me.” A shuddering breath. “We’d have taken care of each other.”
“They say he’s mad.”
“Agamemnon?”
“Yes—apparently he sends for Machaon every night. Can’t sleep. Downs a whole cup of Machaon’s sleeping draught, still can’t sleep. You know, you’re not supposed to take it with strong wine—try telling that to Agamemnon! Oh, and apparently, he’s started seeing things.”
“What sort of things?”
“Achilles.”
“Oh, I know about that. That’s why Polyxena had to die. Give him a girl, he might stay underground.”
“He’s livid with Menelaus. Apparently, they don’t speak. You know, he’s back sleeping with Helen?”
“Yes—and I’m not surprised. I warned him…I said: Don’t let her anywhere near you—send her home on a different ship. I knew she’d worm her way back—I knew. Oh, well, there you are. Grab a man’s dick, you can lead him anywhere.”
He is inclined to bridle a bit at that, which does seem to imply an unduly low opinion of his sex. She’d been married to Priam, for god’s sake—what did she have to complain about? Not like his own poor mother, fastened to a man who’d been stingy with his money and generous with his fists.
“Has he sent for Cassandra?” she asks.
“Now that I can’t tell you.”
“Can’t—or won’t?”
“We-ell, she did foretell his death…”
“Huh, they think she’ll set fire to the bed, do they? Mind, she did do that once. Set fire to the bed.” Her voice softens. “How is she?”
“Calmer—so I’ve been told; I haven’t seen her.”
“Surely you could ask to see her?”
“No. I don’t know who Agamemnon listens to these days, but it certainly isn’t me.”
“Why do you think that is?”
“I don’t know.”
“Oh, come on, you must know, clever man like you?”
“He quarrelled with Achilles once—and my advice to the assembly went against him.”
“Backed the wrong horse, didn’t you?”
He says, stiffly: “I was telling the truth.”
“I want to see my Cassandra. I’ve lost one daughter. I don’t want to lose her.”
Suddenly, she looks completely exhausted. It is extraordinary how rapidly the colour drains from her face. Even her lips have gone white.
“I can’t help you.”
He hates saying it, though it’s no more than the truth. Agamemnon’s women are kept in close confinement, and his own influence in that compound is close to zero.
“Well, then.” She sets the wine jug aside. “Off you go.”
Dismissed, he stands up, bows—and from sheer force of habit begins to back out of the room; but then catches himself up, sharply. She might suffer from delusions about her status, but that’s no reason for him to share them. He turns on his heel and marches straight out of the door, trying not to hear the chuckle that pursues him down the steps.
14
The next time I went to see Hecuba, the arena was being prepared for an archery competition and I stopped for a moment to watch the targets being set up: crudely painted faces of Trojan warriors left over from training sessions during the war. As many events as possible were being held in the arena because it was comparatively sheltered. Some games—archery and spear-throwing among them—would have been impossible at the training grounds up on the headland where the wind blew even more fiercely than it did down here. I’d turned away and was edging through the outskirts of the crowd towards Hecuba’s hut when the door opened and Calchas came out. We bowed to each other. I was astonished he’d bothered to visit Hecuba; he’d always seemed so totally focused on cultivating powerful men. For a moment, I thought he looked as if he wanted to stop and talk, but then he appeared to think better of it and strode off.
As soon as I entered the hut, I could see that Hecuba looked brighter. Her blankets were folded neatly at the foot of her bed and she was walking, though rather unsteadily, up and down the hut.
“Well,” I said. “Look at you.”
She actually smiled. “I’ll be glad to sit down though.”
I helped her back onto the bed. Not wanting to arrive empty-handed, I’d brought figs, grapes and white cheese and I was pleased to see Hecuba force a little down. There was a jug of wine already on the floor beside her. She was used to the fine wines of Priam’s court, but I noticed again that this rough, peasant stuff went down easily enough, bringing a slight flush to her cheeks.
“What did Calchas want?”
“Oh, what does he ever want? You can’t always tell, can you?” She seemed to be considering whether to say more. “That’s the second time he’s been. We had a good laugh—well, I did. You won’t credit it, but as a young man, he was really beautiful. You know, not just a bit good-looking—absolutely stunning.” She sighed. “Ah, well, some people should just die young, I suppose.”
I think I was rather shocked by her flippancy. The fact is, I couldn’t keep pace with her changing moods. One day she was on the beach, howling for Priam; the next, she mentioned him quite casually, as if he’d just gone ahead of her into the next room. I was nineteen. I knew nothing. It’s taken me nearly fifty years to be able to say: I understand Hecuba.