Читать книгу Cassandra - Kerry Greenwood - Страница 10

I was six when I died.

I heard Glaucus, master of Epidavros, talking to my father, their voices blurring in the gloom. My eyes were dimming. I could no longer feel my hands or feet. I was beyond the awful pain which had burned through my insides. I floated for a little, listening.

`The boy has eaten nightshade berries,' the master said evenly. `They are lethal. There is nothing we can do. The boy will die.'

`Is there no god to whom I can sacrifice?'

My father sounded desperate. The Carian woman, my mother, had died when I was born. I was his only son. If I had been in my body I would have wept as my father did, but I was floating like a feather, and feathers cannot weep.

`A white kid to Apollo,' said the master kindly. I know now that he was certain of my fate and was just giving my father a task, so that he should not have to stay and watch me die - poisoning is an unsightly death to watch. `Apollo can do anything.'

Footsteps sounded on the marble floor as my father ran out. The body was gathered up into the master's arms. He laid it gently on a carved bench, composed the limbs decently, and sat down to watch it die.

Thanatos came for me. Out of a light more golden and beautiful than ever sun shone in Achaea, came a glorious man, clad in streamers of cloth like clouds. He touched me, and I reached up both arms to clasp around his neck. Warmth and a sweet scent like spring seemed to infuse me.

`Little brother,' said Thanatos, god of death, `you are young to die, but you are welcome. Look down. There is your body.'

From the sky I looked down, as he said, while he held me carefully. There was a pale boy with golden hair. His face was twisted ugly. He writhed and groaned. Next to him sat master Glaucus. Around him flowed a warm, rich energy, following the contours of his strong hand, his bony shoulder, his bearded head. He glanced up and spoke, as though he could see us.

`Farewell, little brother,' he said gravely, `if it is your time.'

I nodded. I was joyful in the embrace of Thanatos the angel, and I did not want to go back to that whimpering thing on the bed. I snuggled closer, into the cloud-soft drapery, and whispered, `Let us go, Lord.'

A great voice spoke, though I could not understand what it said. Thanatos sank gently, cradling me close. The voice spoke again and Thanatos kissed me, his lips printing a warm mark on my forehead. Cloud-dark and crowned with bay leaves, Death leaned down towards my body.

I cried because I did not want to leave him; he was so glowing and soft. He said, `I will see you again, little brother, never fear,' and swept me down to my body again.

I did not want to be there. I screamed so hard for Thanatos to come back that the master gave me a strong infusion of poppy syrup. I slept, finding Sleep almost as gentle an angel as Death.

Since then, I have never been afraid of death. I know him to be a benign deity, who gathers the fallen into his arms. I was so young when I died that I had not had a chance to be afraid; now I doubt I ever will be.

That does not mean that I do not fight him when I have to. We have a good understanding, Thanatos the bright angel and I. I save all that can be saved; he comforts all that cannot.

I told the master of Epidavros all about Thanatos and Morpheus when I awoke the next day, cured even though I had swallowed a handful of nightshade berries (I had seen ravens eating them, so I thought they were edible). He listened politely, until I told him that Death had kissed me. He exclaimed at that, and showed me my face in a silver mirror. I had never seen my own face before. My forehead was pale and high. I have brown eyes, the golden hair that made the boys call me `Chryse' and a long nose which my father said resembled my mother's. I smiled into the mirror, interested, because the boy in the mirror smiled when I smiled.

But Glaucus, the master of the temple, was looking at my forehead. It was marked. There was a double line, a scar like a burn without puckering, the silvery mark of Death's lips.

My father did not want to leave me at the Temple of Asclepius but the master gave him such presents - a young woman from Corinth as wife, two farm workers, half a flock of goats and a slip of the sacred olive tree, which bears more fruit than any other - that he left me with the master to learn to be a healer.

I remember that they washed me in the lustral basin, gave me a clean tunic and cut a lock of my hair. Then they took me to the temple and the priests blew the sacred trumpets and lit incense before Asclepius. There was singing all about me. It was not a miracle - Death is the only god I have ever seen - but as I stood there in the cool carved temple with the morning sun spilling in through the columns, one of the temple snakes came out of its hole, flicked its forked tongue at me, flowed across the altar and coiled up between my hands.

I was so small that I could only just reach both hands and my chin onto the altar, so I was eye to eye with the snake. It looked at me in the way of its kind, unemotionally, then rose a little to flick its tongue at each hand. Then it lost interest and coiled up again in a patch of sun.

I thought it was interesting, but it did not impress me as the angel had done. Behind me, I heard the assembled priests gasp. The snake belongs to the Mother, of course; Earth, the mother of all men. But the house snakes in the temple belong to Apollo the Archer, who bestowed the gift of healing on Asclepius and his followers. Master Glaucus embraced me as I came down the steps and told me that I had been greatly favoured.

I was sleepy and hungry and overawed by the great temple and all the people. The master seemed as tall as a pillar, his white hair flowing, his white beard curling around like tree roots. His face was all bones, his nose like the prow of a ship his eyes as black as midnight and as sharp as a needle. He picked me up, wrapped in his mantle, and I fell asleep on his shoulder.

He took me into his own house, to be educated with his own sons and other pupils. I was much younger than they were - they were young men and I was a child - so instead of oppressing me they adopted me as `Death's Little Brother'. Macaon and his brother, Podilarius, taught me riding and dicing and how to play the lyre. I was a complete failure at hunting, as I hated killing things, but they did not despise me, saying instead, `Here is Asclepius' tender plant, healer of wounds.'

Though I could not hunt, I could sing. We sang a lot. Beautiful, delicate harmonies praising the god in the temple, and rough Phrygian and Achaean drinking songs for the tavern. I never sang the war songs, saying my voice was not suited to blood and death and heroes.

The temple of Asclepius was not a sad place. People died there, it is true, but many people were born there and most of our patients lived. Some were touched by the god. Some were mad. The god sends dreams to those who sleep in his temples, and from the dreams our wisest priests could sometimes unravel the knot which had tangled sanity.

From the direction of the rising sun, the suppliants came along the white road. They were always thirsty and dusty when they came into the first temple. I used to sit in one of the cypress trees and watch the procession trailing towards us, the rich on horses or in litters carried by slaves, the poor limping along on crutches, attended only by anxious daughters or wives.

Rich or poor, they received the same treatment and care from us; otherwise the god would have been angered. The Bright One dealt healing and peace but if offended, fired arrows of pestilence and death.

The suppliants travelled in groups, as there were bandits on the road, and timed their arrival for dawn. If they arrived later than that, they would have to wait until the next day to sleep with the god, although we dealt with urgent wounds and broken bones on the spot. The first temple was built to receive them, to feed them broth with soothing herbs and to wash off the stains of travel.

I asked my master why they could only come in at dawn, while we came and went from the sacred precinct all the time. He smiled and said that the ways of a god were not to be questioned by men, adding, `We are healing their minds, Chryse, not just their bodies. Know thyself. All the stages of this treatment have a purpose and a reason, tried over many years. One thing that cannot ever be hurried is the undermind, the mind which must be convinced that it can be healthy. You are Hermes psychopomp today. As you are a guide, do you know the ways of the passages?'

`Yes, Master Glaucus,' I nodded. I had wandered through and played in all of the maze of tunnels which connected the dormiton of the god, the cool paved underground chamber where the suppliants slept, to the dazzling surface. They slept in the tholos, in the womb of the Mother, and waited for the god to send them a dream which would reveal the root of their disease and give us a clue to their treatment. Sometimes dreams were perfectly clear - a certain herb or treatment would be revealed to the suppliant. More commonly the dream would be rich with symbolism, obscure, requiring the wise priests to sit and talk for days with the dreamer before they could find out the core and seed of their illness.

As Hermes, I took the seekers by the hand, one by one and led them through the tunnels and mazes underground, where various priests in the masks of gods spoke to them out of the darkness.

Master Glaucus said, `Today, instead of just waiting for the suppliants to come to the tunnel, you shall stay with them from the beginning. Then you may see how the god reveals himself to men. How many herbs do you know now, Chryse?'

`One hundred and three, Master, and most of the combinations,' I said proudly.

`What treatment would you give a woman of thirty suffering from yellow jaundice and dropsy, boy?'

`Hot water baths, Master, and infusions of vervain and dog's grass in barley broth.'

`Why would you give barley?'

`It soothes, master. Also it is good with vervain, they complement each other.'

`Why not use rue for the jaundice?'

`Master, rue is cold and wet and her complaint is also cold and wet. She needs hot dry herbs.'

`Barley is hot and wet, boy.'

`Yes, master, but combined with vervain it is drying, and stimulates excretion of liquids.'

`Good, very good. What herb is in your wreath?'

`Vervain, Master.' I reached up to touch the spray of leaves which encircled my head and confined my hair. I was already clad in the psychopomp's purple tunic and golden harness.

`Why do you wear vervain?'

`It is the divine herb, master, revealed to Asclepius by the god himself.'

`Tell me of the four humours.'

It was getting on to dawn. A small cold wind sprang up. In the light of the flammifer on the temple gate, my master was as tall as a tree. I could not see his face, but his voice was gentle.

`The four humours are sanguine, which is hot and wet; bilious, which is cold and dry; choleric, which is hot and dry; and phlegmatic, which is cold and wet. As above, so below, Master, they are the four elements, air, fire, water and earth.'

`Good. As we walk, tell me how to reduce a broken nose.'

I fell in at his side and took his hand. Like those of all physicians, his nails were short and his hands were always clean. To be otherwise would be like leaving blood or matter on a temple floor - displeasing to the god.

`Master, one washes the blood away and feels the cheekbones and jaw for breaks.'

`How do you detect a break?'

`Master, it feels soggy.'

The shadows of the cypress trees which grew all through the temples were black as ink, and their aromatic scent was all about me. As I tried to match my pace to master's stride, the owls of the lady hooted a warning about the coming day.

`Then the suppliant should drink a soothing infusion of poppy, vervain and marshleaf. If there are no other breaks, I would take two rolls of bandage and gently push the nose back into line from inside the nostrils, then leave the bandages in place for three days until the nose begins to heal.'

`What warnings for this treatment?'

`Er... oh, yes, Master, the suppliant must not lie down on his back to sleep, but on his side or front, in case blood fills his throat and he chokes.'

`Your are a good pupil, little Golden One.'

I trotted faster to keep up with him and said, `I have good masters, Lord.'

`Here we are. Now, Chryse, you will accompany the suppliants all the way to the dormiton and tholos. After that, you may come and see me and we will talk again. Do not interject with questions,' he added, smiling at me, `but save them for me when you have seen all there is to see.'

I nodded, and he patted my shoulder and left me.

There were seven people waiting in the reception temple. They were tired and dusty and priests were serving them with the sleepy broth, composed of chicken's flesh and onions, sage, rue and vervain, comfrey, barley and poppy. It nourished those who had fainted on the road and soothed the over-stretched nerves of the anxious.

When I entered the temple the priest hurried over to order me out. `The master told me to follow the suppliant,' I protested.

He cast me a harried look and muttered, `You cannot be seen here, dressed like that! Put this cloak on, boy. The psychopomp must not be visible until the cavern entrance.'

I wrapped and pinned the himation which covered my purple tunic, and sat down against the wall as unobtrusively as I could. I had noticed that if I concentrated hard on not being seen, people's eyes skated over me. Besides, the patients were concerned with their own ills.

There were four men and three women. Milanion, a soldier, with a spear point lodged in his jaw. Cleones, a woman with dropsy, swelled and uncomfortable, her skin so stretched that it seemed about to split. A pregnant girl who could not be delivered, panting and red faced with the effort of staying upright and conscious, her arms cradling her swollen belly.

Mindful that no one was allowed to die or be born in the sacred precinct, I knew that the attendants would carry her out of the tholos as soon as her labour became productive.

A child of perhaps four in the arms of his mother, whimpering in a strange monotonous voice. He had fallen down a cliff, chasing a goat, and hit his head, and now he was blind. His mother would lie down with the god and dream for him.

There was a man seeking help for impotence, a woman hoping to be cured of barrenness and an Achaean with a bandaged foot, which had been broken and healed without setting properly, so that he could hardly walk. A bony man of perhaps forty clutched his belly, complaining that he could not digest his food any more and that his insides had rebelled against him.

As Eos, the goddess of the dawn, trailed her golden draperies over the horizon, the suppliants began to talk, encouraged by the seven listening priests. I watched, secure as a mouse in a mouse hole, as the suppliants talked and the appropriate priest found the right patient.

Milanion spoke confidently to Telops, who had been a soldier, when he would not have been comfortable with Achis, the slender Kritian. The pregnant girl held out a sweating hand to Achis, however, recognising something essentially female and understanding in him. The barren woman leaned into Thorion's shoulder, comforted by his bulk and strength, while the impotent man spoke quickly to Asius the eunuch, Attis Priest. Lapith the Corinthian spoke to the dropsical woman in her own dialect while the club-footed Itarnes was seized by the wounded Achaean.

The temple was a babble of voices and I could only hear snatches of the conversations.

`I got it at the battle of the deep valley,' the soldier was saying. `Near enough to killed me. There my brothers died and my father and uncle. I am the only one left of my grandfather's kin.'

`I was given to him by my uncle, for my father is dead,' the pregnant girl gasped to Achis. `I hate him. He has said that he will kill me if I bear him a girl. I wish I were dead. I have been so long in labour that my bones are racked. I want to die.'

`Death cannot be what life is, little sister,' said Achis gently. `The cup of death is empty, and in life there is always hope.'

She began to cry. Achis gave her some more broth and his shoulder to rest her head.

`It catches me here,' said the bilious man, `especially after a feast. I must have offended some god - but I've made offerings before them all, and nothing does me any good.'

`We were ambushed and we had to run,' the Achaean said to Itarnes, `across the stream and up the ridge. We were hiding under a brow of stone when a boulder fell and crushed my foot. I couldn't scream. It was the hardest thing I have ever done. The scouts would have heard a fly rubbing its wings together. I did not make a sound, not then, and not when my brothers hauled me across the rough ground. By the time we got home my foot was a mass of broken bones and nothing to be done. I am less than a man, I dare not marry lest my children bear club feet too. I healed, though it would have been better if I died.'

`I am a man with grown sons, all of them clean and handsome' said Itarnes, exhibiting his deformed foot. `And there was a hero with a swollen foot, worse damaged than you. His name was Oedipus.'

`And look what happened to him,' said the patient sourly. `Killed his father. Married his mother. Spent the rest of his life wandering blind until he finally died in Theseus' territory and caused a war.'

`Come now, how many wars have you caused?' Itarnes asked, and the suppliant laughed, almost against his will.

`He will sell me,' mourned the barren woman to Thorion. `My only chance is to have a child, a son. I love him, and am so afraid! He will sell me to the Corinthians who know not the Mother, or to the barbarians from Caria.'

`Or to the pygmies, who will make you a goddess,' murmured Thorion, `or to the Massagetae who will teach you to ride a horse and fire a bow. A terrible fate, little sister, to be given to the Amazons who fight like men, or to the Tauraeans who eat human flesh.'

This did not seem to be a comforting statement and I wondered why Thorion had made it. The woman burst into tears and Thorion continued, `Or to the Trojans who are masters of horse, to live in windy Ilium of the tall towers and scatter grain before the triple goddess. Or to the Hittites, to worship the pillar of the sun and eat porridge. Or to the Phoenicians, to sail on their well-found ships and visit many ports, bargaining for tin as far as the Cloudy Islands, or down the coast of Africa to trade for gold with men as black as night, so far away that the stars are strange. You spirit is in fetters, little sister. The world is wide. Why are you so afraid of it?'

The woman wept loudly. The impotent man was saying to Asius, `I was given her as a present. My wife is old and has borne many sons. This new girl is a slave and so beautiful - black as a serpent and lithe like a willow. I wanted her, I lay down with her, she was willing, and then - nothing. She laughed at me and I beat her and now she is sullen and my wife is angry with me. I am old and my seed is dry within me. I am as impotent as you, Attis Priest. Sex makes a man. Like this, I am a woman, helpless, laughable, useless.'

`There are more things that make a man than his sex,' said Asius.

I listened carefully, trying to sieve meaning out of what sounded like common gossip, to be heard in every agora in any village. Just so had my elders talked when I came with my father to sell goats and cheese in our own village. It was the speech of the women at the market stalls, discussing pregnancy and birth and death and the best lichen brew for dyeing cloth. It was the talk of old men sitting on benches in the shade drinking watered wine and talking, endlessly talking, about old battles and lost heroes and the ways of the neighbours. I could not see the sense in it but I had been ordered to accompany the suppliants and I would never have disobeyed Master Glaucus.

After hours of this conversation, the suppliants were taken, one by one, into the temple next door, where they were stripped of their clothes and jewellery, bathed with lychnis and warm water and clad in the white robes of those who go to meet the god. I went with the pregnant girl Païs, horrified by the distension of her belly, which curved out abruptly from slim legs and narrow hips.

There was no shame in nakedness before the god and his priests, although the Achaeans required such modesty of their women that we often received suppliants who had concealed some disease of childbearing so long out of shame that they were incurable except by the god himself. Most of them died. At least at the temple they died without pain, possessed by the sleep of Hypnos the dreamer.

Païs was carried in Achis' arms to the entrance of the temple. I stripped off my cloak behind a laurel bush, straightened my wreath, and came forward to take her hand.

`I am your guide, Lady,' I said giving her the honorific for all women - Pronaea, the Mistress, whom the Athenians call Palla Athene. Her hand was strong in mine, sweating and hot. `Can you walk?'

She leaned on Achis a little and then straightened, her back arched against her burden, walking on her heels with her free hand cradling her belly. `I will walk,' she said proudly. `I will thus die sooner. I want to die.'

I drew her gently forward into the dark, and the dazzling brightness faded as we paced along a dry, sandy incline. We turned the first corner, and the light was cut off. Her hand clutched mine.

`Do not let me go!' she cried, and I held tight, saying, `Lady, I will not let you go,'

First turn to the left, and the first god. Ares, god of war in his golden mask appeared and Païs gasped. `Hatred butchers in the heart,' said the god, and vanished. I led her on, slowly, second to the right and the next god. Aphrodite, goddess of love, masked, scented with jasmine, stroked the suppliant's cheek. `Love is stronger than death,' she said. Païs sobbed. Further into the soft dark, and another goddess; Artemis the virgin, masked and angry; `You betrayed me!' she cried and I felt Païs flinch. Zeus appeared and said nothing, only laid a heavy hand on her shoulder, and Demeter, pregnant with Spring, whispered, `Don't be afraid, little daughter.' Hera, the crowned queen, bent her head in acknowledgement, then we were past into the cavern, Païs sobbing and stumbling behind me, Hermes the guide of the spirits, psychopomp, in purple and gold.

She lay down in her place and I covered her with a blanket made of the finest white lamb's wool. Achis, who had come the direct way and was waiting for her, sat down at her head and she slept. There was only one more god for her to meet, and it was Apollo, the Sun God, who would come in her dream.

My next suppliant was the old soldier, Milanion, whose hand was cold and calloused in mine. He started when Ares loomed out of the dark.

`Your comrades are dead,' said the god in a great voice. `Dead and gone, resting in the Elysian fields or paid the toll to Charon. You cannot call them back, warrior.' Then we went on, past Aphrodite, who smiled; Hera, who frowned; Artemis, who seized his wrist and hissed, `Release my warriors, old man, they are my huntsmen now!'; and Zeus, who extended a shadowy hand and laid it on his head. `Live,' said the god. I led Milanion down into the cavern and delivered him to sleep. He had not said a word.

I went back to the direct tunnel to the surface, and took the barren woman by the hand. Her skin was chill and dry. She did not speak and never altered, although Ares ignored her, Aphrodite slapped her, and Demeter the Mother sprinkled her with pollen, honey scented in the dusty darkness.

The others had all been led through the back passages to their sleeping places. I carried the only light, a pearly bead of flame in my oil lamp. Usually I went back to the surface once my task was done - I did not really like the dark - but I had been ordered to watch. I sat down by the wall and cradled my little light.

Each sleeper lay outstretched, head to the north, feet to the south. Each attendant priest sat at the sleeper's head, listening to whatever words might fall from their lips as they dreamed. I wondered whether I would see a god, one perhaps as splendid as Thanatos had been when I was so young.

I saw no god. I heard the sleepers muttering. The Achaean with the broken foot began to scream, a hoarse, sobbing cry of mortal pain. It seemed to go on for years. I nudged his attendant, my friend Itarnes.

`It's all right, little brother,' he whispered. `That is the scream he has been keeping inside all these years. He needed to release it.'

`Won't he wake the others?'

Itarnes smiled and shook his head. He was right. Everyone was concerned with their own inner torments.

A priest in the mask of Demeter approached Païs, knelt, and ran his hands up her thighs, so that she parted them. I could not see what he was doing. My friend explained. `The baby is twisted in the womb and cannot be born. We can move it into the right position and thus she will be lighter of her son.'

`Then why send her here to lie down in the dark?'

He hushed me with a finger on my lips. `To give the god a chance to intervene. The gods are benign, but they need means to their hand, and we are their instruments. Hush, little brother. You are here to watch.'

I watched. I saw Milanion's finger scratching at his jaw, where the spear point was immovably fixed in the hinge of the bone. I had examined him myself. The injury had partially locked the jaw, and no force would have removed the metal. Now he was so relaxed by poppy-laced broth and the holy sleep that he was clawing a slit in the skin and removing the spear point with his own fingers.

A priest in the mask of Apollo lay down next to the barren woman. In her sleep, she moaned, an animal noise full of desire, and pulled at the robe, dragging the priest on top of her. I do not know who it was, the mask covers the whole head. Should she have opened her drugged eyes she would have seen the golden face of the god looming over her, a man's body caught in her arms.

I watched in astonishment as the suppliant's robe was pushed aside and the bodies joined. The barren woman cried aloud in what sounded like triumph.

Itarnes laid a whole hand over my mouth, sensing that I was about to say something unwise and far too loud.

`While he is in that mask he is the god,' he hissed. `Sit down, Chryse!' When I struggled, he said coldly, `Diomenes!' At the sound of my real name I sat still and listened. `He is the god, and she needs a child. It may be that there is no fault in her, but that her husband is barren. However good the soil, it needs fertile seed. The god will give her a child. Will you behave if I let you go?'

I nodded and he released me. I was shocked and said nastily, `What of the impotent man? Do we mate with him, too?'

`No need. His impotence is in his mind. The mind is our province, little brother. There. The birth is imminent.'

Païs' cries had changed. She was panting. Shudders were running up and down her body. Her legs twitched. Two attendants lifted her gently onto a stretcher and carried her up the direct path to the outside world. They moved at a brisk jog trot and I followed them, blinking and crying in the sudden sunlight. They laid Païs in the cool temple of women and her attendant priest Achis caught the baby as it emerged, blue and red and ugly, on a burst of blood. I felt ill.

He then wiped the creature clean, and tied and severed a throbbing blue cable which attached it to the girl's body. There seemed to be blood everywhere. It was the first birth I had seen and after the revelation that there were no gods, it was too much for me. I sat down suddenly and closed my eyes.

I heard a thin wail and Achis' voice crooning `There, there, little man! Mother,' he urged gently, `here is your son.'

Païs gave a tired laugh. I heard the swish of a cloth on the marble floor. The slaves were cleaning up, as a mess is distasteful to the god. Achis hauled me to my feet and I was led outside.

`Overcome by the mystery, little brother?' he asked lightly, smiling. He knew what went on in the fraudulent dark. I hated him, violently and suddenly. I shook off his hand and ran, tears streaming down my face, into the temple and slid, falling in an ungainly heap at my master's feet.

I did not look up but held onto a fold of his robe as the whole story tumbled out - the soldier removing the spear point and the barren woman mating with the priest in her sleep and the Achaean screaming. He heard it all, in grave silence. Then he raised me to my feet and dusted down my tunic.

`Was it possible to remove the metal from Milanion's face?'

`No, Master.'

`Why not?'

`It was too firmly fixed, Master, and the muscles had contracted.'

`So the only way it could be removed was to make him sleep.'

`Yes,' I agreed dubiously. `But we could have just drugged him.'

`Yes, we could. Then where would have been the story?'

`The story, Master?'

`If consulting a god is as easy as ordering a wheel fixed, would men believe in it enough for it to work?'

`I don't know, Master.'

`Would the Achaean have screamed in any other place?'

`No, Master.'

`And the barren woman, would she have accepted a lover?'

`No, Master.'

`And the birthing woman - would she ever have allowed a man to touch her?'

`Probably no, Master.'

`Well, then. We need to heal, Chryse. It is our great task.'

`But, Master...' I grabbed a fold of the dark robe, `Master, there are no gods.'

`You saw a god yourself, once, little brother.'

`That was Death, Master. There are no gods but Death, then,' I said mulishly. He smiled at me and patted my shoulder.

`Every asclepid knows that, Chryse,' he said sadly.

`You have saved him from death and removed him from belief,' commented Poseidon. `And your maiden is in love with her twin brother. I don't understand how those two can ever come together. Meanwhile, what about my revenge? Is Troy to stand?'

`Troy will fall,' said Apollo absently, staring down into the water at Diomenes asleep in the temple. `Have patience, Sea God.'

`Troy will not fall' said Aphrodite with equal certainty. `See how brave she is, how beautiful! Your puppet will surely love my daughter Cassandra as soon as he sets eyes on her.'

`Then he shall not set eyes on her. There is another he shall see first,' chuckled Apollo.