He turned and fled, though when he’d reached a safe distance he stopped and wished us luck. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught the glint of Helle’s knife. “Will you put that bloody thing away!”
Though I have to admit, I felt better with her there. It would have been harder managing Maire and the baby on my own. As it was, I ended up carrying the baby, while Helle supported Maire. Fortunately, we didn’t meet anybody else. We heard shouting and singing coming from men drinking round the cooking fires, though I thought they were rather more subdued than usual. Nobody knew quite what to expect the following day. At last, we reached Agamemnon’s compound. For once, I had no time to dwell on the feeling of desolation that always hit me the minute I passed through the gates. The hospital lay straight ahead, the lamps inside making the canvas glow. Leaving the others outside, I ducked under the flap and looked for Ritsa. Two women at the bench filling jugs with wine, but no Ritsa. She must be with Cassandra—I couldn’t think of anywhere else she might be.
Sounds of eating and drinking, sporadic singing, laughter and a clattering of pots and plates came from Agamemnon’s hall, but the yard outside was quiet. I knocked on Cassandra’s door. A maid answered and was obviously reluctant to let us in, but then I heard Cassandra asking, “Who is it?” I called out my name and a moment later the maid invited us in. Maire and Helle stood, uncertainly, just inside the door while I went through into the living quarters to talk to Cassandra. I found her with her hair unbound, wearing a yellow robe that didn’t suit her—and my mother’s necklace.
“What is it?” She didn’t meet my eye and I got the impression she was ashamed to be seen like this: dressed to titillate and seduce, and from sheer lack of practice not doing it very well. Of course, dinner in the hall would be over soon; she’d be expecting a summons to Agamemnon’s bed. I wondered how she felt about that. All very well to see yourself sweeping through the gates of Hades, crowned with laurels, being hailed as a conqueror by all the Trojan dead—but there was a lot of lying on her back while Agamemnon puffed and sweated on top of her to be got through first. But perhaps she didn’t mind? Perhaps she might even enjoy it. She hadn’t chosen to be a virgin priestess; Hecuba had made that choice on her behalf.
I was about to explain why I was there, when Ritsa, who must have heard my voice, came in carrying a diadem and veil. Cassandra snapped at her to put them down. “Well?” she said, turning back to me. “What can I do for you?” Her tone was only just not hostile.
I explained the problem and, thinking that the baby might be his own best advocate, called for Maire and Helle to come in. Maire had tried to rub off the blackberry “sores” and so her face was now entirely purple. Helle was looking truculent. Cassandra glanced at them, placing them instantly in a category far beneath her notice. Maire pushed the folds of her shawl away from the baby’s face, obviously thinking the sight of him might move Cassandra to pity. Her gaze did flicker across him—briefly—but her expression was difficult to read. She must have given up hope of motherhood years ago—and since she obviously believed her prophecy that she and Agamemnon were soon to die, there was no prospect of it in the future either. What could a baby be to her other than a source of pain and, perhaps, regret? I thought it might even harden her against us. But, in fact, she simply turned away, picked up the diadem and began fiddling with it, distractedly. “Oh, well,” she said, at last. “I suppose she could work in the kitchen.” She looked at Ritsa. “Will you see to it?”
Ritsa glanced at me and then, spreading her arms wide as if she were herding geese, swept Maire and Helle out of the door.
Perhaps Cassandra expected me to leave with them, but I sat down facing her instead. I wanted to give Helle plenty of time to say goodbye to her friend. I waited till I heard the front door close. “You don’t serve wine at dinner, then?”
“I’m his wife.”
“Oh, yes, of course,” I said. “Quite different.”
There we were, two women who’d shared Agamemnon’s bed. We had to talk, because good manners required it, but the conversation merely limped along, weighed down by the things we were not saying. She couldn’t bring herself to look at me. I doubt if Cassandra had ever had an intimate conversation with another woman. At last, after an awkward pause, she said: “What was it like for you?”
“Brutal.”
She darted a glance in my direction.
“He was angry with Achilles. He took it out on me.”
“Every time?”
I laughed. “It only happened twice. And then he stood up in the arena and swore by all the gods he’d never laid a finger on me.”
“Did Achilles believe him?”
“No!” I looked across at her. “You’re his wife—you’re right, it’s not the same.”
“Calchas says the marriage isn’t lawful.”
“It is if Agamemnon says it is. He is the law.”
I was trying to give Ritsa plenty of time to settle Maire in. I only hoped it was going to succeed, that the cook in Agamemnon’s kitchen wouldn’t object—but they always seemed to be short of staff and Maire had experience of kitchen work. Agamemnon wouldn’t even know she was there. I was more concerned about Helle. She wasn’t a woman to make friends easily; this wouldn’t be a trivial loss. But really, I was finding Cassandra in this prickly, defensive mood rather hard to take. It was a relief when the door opened. I looked up expecting to see Ritsa, but it was the maid relaying the summons from Agamemnon. Cassandra stood up, looking rather helplessly at the diadem and veil. I picked them up and began pinning them into place. She seemed agitated: the red lights inside the opals stirred with every breath. Our faces were only inches apart, but she endured my fingers in her hair, my breath on her skin, and managed to get through the whole awkward business without once meeting my eyes.
“I’m sure Ritsa will be back soon,” she said, retreating to a more comfortable distance. “You’re welcome to wait.”
After she’d gone, I sat alone in the lamplight until Ritsa and Helle returned—without Maire. “Don’t worry about them, they’ll be all right. I’ll keep an eye on them and the cook’s not a bad sort.” I hugged her, wishing we’d had more chance to talk, but feeling the pressure of getting Helle safely back to the women’s hut. Ritsa came with us to the door and waved us goodbye.
We walked along the beach, keeping as far as we could to the shelter of the ships. The moon came and went on the surface of the water. Helle still hadn’t spoken. If it had been one of the other girls, I’d have put my arm round her, given her a hug perhaps, but you couldn’t do that with Helle. The body she trained so hard and displayed with such complete arrogance was not for touching. It was armour, I thought, rather than flesh.
We said goodbye at the door of the women’s hut. I didn’t feel like going in, and Helle would be able to tell them what had happened. At the last moment, as she was about to step across the threshold, she looked back and raised a clenched fist. We did it, she seemed to be saying. We got them out.