Cassandra. Kerry Greenwood

I was pregnant - could I not do that?'

      `Healers must deal with the situation as it is, daughter. Could I tell them that their love was cursed, that the corruption in the woman's blood was the closeness of her birth to her husband?

      I would merely have given them both up to death by despair. Their love is the only thing they still have left to them after such long and painful voyaging. This way, they will not conceive any more monsters and can stay with each other. But you, Princess, are not yet compromised. And even if you were' - she knew me well, Tithone my mistress - `even if this night you and Eleni defied the most solemn edicts of the gods of Troy, I would not allow it to continue. After cleansing on barley bread and water for three moons, you would go to the maidens and Eleni to the youths, and you would not see him again until after both of you were safely married to someone else. I could mention to your father, Priam the Lord King, that an Achaean marriage might keep the peace a generation more. Do you want me to do that?'

      `No,' I whispered.

      My heart was breaking.

      Suddenly a god was with me - Apollo the Archer. Sunlight blinded me; heat burned my skin. He was tall, beautiful beyond belief, golden as molten gold from the furnace. He laid one hand on my breast, and I melted in his fire. His voice spoke not in my ears but in my head and reverberated in my womb, which contracted into a knot. Something like a finger penetrated me. `You are mine, Cassandra,' said the great voice. `My ears and eyes in Troy, my woman, my bride. I will lie with you and fill you with my fire. I am yours, and you are mine, Princess.'

      Sweet, sweet, piercing sweet, the touch of the god. I opened my eyes and he was gone, but there was a scent of honeysuckle in the filthy street. I trembled as I stood and Tithone bore me up. I leaned on her stringy shoulder, blinded by the light.

      `Which god?' she asked, and I heard myself say, `Apollo.' Tithone grunted.

      `Go back to your twin, most favoured of Priam's daughters,' she said. `Talk to him. Explain.'

      I don't remember walking back to Nyssa's house, but about an hour later I found myself lying beside Eleni in the afternoon heat, trying to explain.

      He stared at me, and we embraced with desperate closeness. We clung for an hour, not consoled by the touch of skin on skin. We would never be lovers. I was the daughter of Priam and the bride of Apollo. Eleni and I could not evade our destiny. If we broke all the laws of the gods and of Troy we would only bring forth monsters.

      Then a vision came to Eleni, which I shared. He had flung himself over onto his back, out of my arms, and a golden woman appeared, lying beside him. My twin's eyes widened. She was beautiful beyond compare, glowing with life. Her hair hung down and brushed his breast and left delicate scorched lines where it touched. She laid both hands on his shoulders as she leaned over to kiss his mouth. I heard his breathing shorten and his pulse raced in the wrist I held in my hands.

      `Mine,' said the woman. `Eleni, you are my husband, the creature of my heart.' I was suddenly reminded of someone, a mortal woman like myself. The bones of the face and the way she framed words; the curve of the mouth and the way her hair hung down as though it flowed like water. I could not catch the resemblance. Eleni was transfigured. He was as beautiful as the goddess. She reached up and unpinned the chiton. Naked, she was perfect. Eleni gasped something and held out his arms. Ishtar the goddess knelt over my brother and her smooth flank and thigh touched mine, the golden skin as hot as metal. For a moment she towered over us, Eleni supine and me clutching him from the side. Then she bent and kissed him; once on the mouth, once on the belly, once on the phallus.

      Then, as I lay and could not breathe, she sank down on my brother, engulfing in her sheath the phallus I could never have. I watched as it vanished. Eleni cried as if in pain and stiffened until I thought his back would break. Once, twice, the phallus slipped into the sheath. Then she said, `You will lie with me again, Eleni the Trojan - not with your twin, but with me,' and she vanished.

      Eleni threw himself into my arms and kissed my mouth and I had barely touched him when he reached his climax and sank onto my breast to weep as if his heart was broken. Thus in tears we discovered that the love of the gods is shattering for the mortals whom they favour. We wished that we had been born apart and unrelated, and that we had never attracted divine attention.

      But we knew as we wept that we were fated. That night we lay down with Hector on the roof of the palace. Alexandratos, our brother, whom we called Pariki, the purse, after the shepherd's bag he always carried, was sitting with his back against the bull's horns which crowned the roof.

      Pariki was eighteen, a vague and dreamy youth, with a streak of cruelty. Eleni and I did not like him; he had nasty fingers which tweaked and tickled when no one was watching. Luckily he was about to leave on a trading mission to Sparta and Corinth. Pariki had the grey eyes of the god-touched and long golden hair which he was very proud of, arraying it across his smooth shoulders. The only skill he had so far envinced was the Dionysiac one of making love; at this his repute was very high. This did not concern Eleni and me and one of the most satisfying moments of our childhood had been the contrivance which spilled oak gall distillate on Pariki's pretty head. It had dyed his hair black for some months. We reckoned it worth the spanking we had got from Hector for wasting his Egyptian ink. Typically, Pariki would never say that he liked Hector's stories, but he often happened to be on the roof when we came there to hear them.

      Andromache had joined us that night. She was twelve too, taller than me, and we were glad that she was there because Hector knew all about what had happened to us and we did not want to talk about it. Because Andromache worshipped our brother and would be married to him in spring, we yielded the place on his left side, nearest his heart, to her. Eleni lay behind me and Státhi reposed in his customary place on the warrior's chest.

      I was meanly pleased that Státhi did not treat Andromache any better than the rest of us. He scratched her just as hard if she tried to touch him. Since Státhi slept every night with Hector we wondered what he would do to the maiden when she came to the warrior's bed.

      Then I saw how Eleni looked at Andromache and nothing seemed funny any more. The face and form of the woman in the vision had seemed familiar; now I knew. The goddess had taken Andromache's form to seduce my brother. He was in love with her.

      And she was in love with Hector, Bulwark of Troy, eldest son of Priam. It was the first time the gods had played games with us. We were desperately vulnerable and hurt.

      Andromache snuggled into Hector and demanded a story.

      `What story, children?' he asked amiably. `Gods?'

      Eleni and I shuddered. `Not gods.'

      Hector's face changed; he noticed our reaction. `Andromache shall choose,' he said gently. `Come closer, twins, you are cold.' His chest was bare and his flesh was dry and warm. I rubbed my face against his shoulder, feeling the thick pad of muscle over the bone, and his arm encompassed Eleni and me.

      `Heroes,' said Andromache. Hector chuckled. `Which hero, little maiden?' he asked `Perseus? Theseus?'

      `No, Theseus is a cheat,' said Andromache, who had strong opinions on honour. Myrine said that she thought like an Amazon, which was a great compliment from Myrine. `Heracles.'

      `Ah, well. There are many stories about Heracles.' Hector sat up a little, his back against our rolled cloak, causing Státhi to slide down his chest, make a short, disgusted exclamation and leave red furrows in his wake. Hector rearranged us with Státhi on his lap and began in his storyteller's voice.

      `Once there was a great hero who came to Troy to seek horses from Laomedon, our grandfather, king of Troy.'

      We had heard this story before but we liked hearing stories again. The first hearing you are too excited and long for the resolution; the second time you can pay attention to the story. Andromache wrapped herself around Hector while Eleni and I, desolate in the wake of the shattering of our marriage and our encounters with the god, embraced closely, his belly against my back and my face buried in Hector's chest.

      `They will call me Hector Sibling Coat if you get any closer,' he commented. `Now, to the story. Laomedon was the fifth king, descendant of