Marion Bradley - The Firebrand

She lingered abed, knowing that as soon as she could walk, Agamemnon would set sail for the port of Mykenae. And she had been so sick every day of the voyage which had brought them here that now she was in terror of the sea.

She finally decided to call her son Agathon. Before his birth, she could not imagine loving a child conceived like this one, and she had begun to suspect that a good part of her sickness during pregnancy was just revulsion against the very thought that this parasite of rape had fastened on her from within and would not be cast forth. If he had turned out to have been poisoned by her loathing, with two heads or a marred face, she would have thought it only fitting.

And yet he lay on her breast so small and innocent; and she could not see anything about him that was like Agamemnon. He was just like any other newborn child, very small indeed, but everything about him was perfectly formed, down to hands and full-formed little fingernails, and tiny toenails on every toe.

How strange to think that this soft little being, who could lie at the center of his father's great shield and leave room for a good-sized dog, might grow up to bring down a mighty city. But for now he was all softness and milky fragrance, and when he nuzzled at her breast she could not help thinking of Honey helpless in her arms. Why should this perfect little creature be blamed for what his father had done?

But she knew that, like Klytemnestra, she would be sure to send this son away so that Agamemnon could not school him in king-craft. She found no pleasure in the thought that her son might one day sit on the Lion Throne. She did not wish her son to be brought up as the Akhaians brought up their sons.

She supposed that Helen by now had borne Paris's last son; and she wondered if Menelaus had carried out his threat to expose the child. It was the sort of thing he would do; these Akhaians seemed only to care for their own sons; as if a child could be anyone's except the mother's who bore it.

Even Agamemnon had no idea whether this child was his or Ajax's—or, for that matter, Aeneas's. She would take care not to remind him again of that. This was her son; and no man's. But she would hold her peace and let Agamemnon think it his if he wished, for its safety.

She gathered the babe up in the swaddling clothes that had been provided in Pharaoh's palace, and went through the streets of the city with one of the women of the royal household who had borne a child the day before. In the temple of the Goddess—a repulsive statue of a woman with huge breasts like a cow, and the head of a crocodile—she sacrificed a pair of young doves, and kneeling before the statue, tried to pray.

She was a stranger in this land and a stranger to their Goddess. She supposed there was not so much difference between the Goddess of crocodiles and the Goddess of snakes; but no prayers would come, nor could she look even a little way into the future and see whether it would be well with her child.

She should seek the Sunlord's house; here in Egypt, the Sunlord was their greatest God, and they called him by the name of Re; but she still feared the God who had been unable—or unwilling - to save her city, and would not approach him.

If he could not save us, he is not a God; if he could and would not, what son of God is he?

The next day Agamemnon's goods were prepared and loaded; he gave final guest-gifts to Pharaoh, and they departed.

Kassandra had been in terror of renewed seasickness; but this time she felt only a little queasy the first night they lifted the anchor. The next morning she felt perfectly well. She ate fruit and the hard ship's bread with good appetite, and sat on deck with the baby at her breast. The illness, then, had been a side effect of head injury and then of her pregnancy.

She knew nothing of ships and sailing, but Agamemnon seemed pleased with the strong winds that day after day drove them across the clear blue waters. The baby proved as good a sailor as his father. He suckled strongly, and it seemed that she could see him growing every day; his small hands becoming more formed, his nose and chin, from mere blobs, taking a real shape. She felt that perhaps, considering the shape of his chin, he might be Agamemnon's child after all. His father liked to hold him and joggle him in his arms, trying to make him laugh. This was the last thing she had expected. Well, Hector and even Paris had enjoyed playing with their children. Painful as it was to admit it, Akhaians were not all that different from other men.

One morning, just as it was getting light, she had gone on deck to rinse the child's swaddlings in a bucket of sea water and spread them to dry. The ship was silent except for a single steersman at the stern, for the winds were strong enough that the rowers were not needed except for maneuvering at close quarters to land.

She looked from horizon to horizon; the sea was peaceful, and they were passing between two shores, one a high mountain rising steeply above them, its shadow reaching almost to the ship itself. On the other side was a long, low, treeless headland; there, suddenly on the side of the mountain a streak of fire flared upward to the sky, like a flower of flame blooming there. The steersman let out a shout of exultation and yelled for one of his fellows to come and steer.

Agamemnon appeared on deck and shouted to the crew, "There it is, my brave lads! The beacon on our own headland! After all these years, we've come home at last! A bull to Zeus Thunderer!"

The sunlight glinted in his eyes - as red as blood, Kassandra thought. Her own eyes felt strained and dry and it struck her that he should hardly be so overjoyed at coming home—who knew what he would find there!

She came to the rail, the child in her arms, and stood beside him.

"What is it?"

"When I left home," he said, "I gave orders that a great pile of wood should be made on the headland, and a watchman kept there at all times. When I set sail, I sent a message by a swift courier that a watch should be kept for my ship; they have sighted us and word will be sent to the palace; they will prepare a feast and a welcome for us.

"It is good to be home again. I am eager to show you my country and the palace where you will be Queen, Kassandra." He took the child from her, bending over the little face, and saying, "Your country, my son; your father's throne. You are silent, Kassandra."

"It is not my country," she said, "and it is certain Klytemnestra will have no joyful welcome for me, eager as she may be to see you again. And I am afraid for my child; Klytemnestra—"

"You need not fear anything like that," he said arrogantly. "Among the Akhaians, our women are dutiful wives. She will not dare say a word of protest. She has had a free rein while I was away; she will soon learn what I expect of her, and she will do as she is told or be the worse for it, believe me."

"It is cold," she said. "I will go and fetch my cloak."

"It seems warm and fine to me," he said, "but perhaps it is because this is the port of my native city. Look, now you can see the palace on the hill, and the walls, built by Titans centuries ago. The port here is called Nauplia."

She went to fetch a cloak and stood beside Agamemnon at the prow, letting the woman who had been her mother's servant take the baby.

The great sail had been lowered; and the rowers had taken their places to maneuver the ship in the harbor; it glided smoothly along inside the sheltered waters in the lee of the headland.

Now she could see a number of people collecting along the pier. As the boat drew in close, one man raised a cheer, and Agamemnon's soldiers, clustered along the sides of the boat, began waving and yelling to people they recognized on shore.

But for the most part the crowd was silent as the boat drew slowly closer to the pier. To Kassandra the silence seemed ominous. She shivered, although the rich cloak she wore was warm, and took the baby back from the serving woman, to clutch him close against her body.