Cassandra. Kerry Greenwood

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ 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 Dardanus who received the divine horses in exchange for his son Ganymede. Laomedon inherited the herd; all subsequent kings had bred them wisely and they were the best horses in the world.'

      `They are still the best horses in the world,' declared Andromache. She was a better rider than any of us - probably better than any Trojan warrior. She seemed to have an instinctive understanding with her mount. I had seen her leap onto the shaggy back of a wild stallion, a lord of horses, just brought in from the summer pastures, and tame him into willingness, if not submission, on one wild ride. I could ride adequately, as could Eleni, and our brother Hector could drive a two-horse chariot with as much ease as a child drives a wooden toy.

      We had always wondered if part of his charm for Andromache was that he had promised to allow her to drive his own prized chariot pair, whom no other hand was allowed to touch.

      `Heracles was the son of the Achaean father god, Zeus, the stern one, compeller of the clouds,' Hector continued, `and Alchmene, a Danaan woman from the Tiryns, which is girded with walls. The hero's companions were Telamon and Iolas and the men of Tiryns, and he came with six ships through the straights, which we thus call the Pillars of Heracles. They arrived at a time when Laomedon had broken his bargain with Poseidon.'

      `What was the bargain?' I asked ritually.

      `Laomedon had offered six of his horses to Poseidon if he would build the walls of Troy. The god agreed. But when the king could not bear to part with the horses, Poseidon sent a sea monster so ravenous it bit the keels out of boats and swallowed crews whole.'

      Hector paused dramatically, then went on. `An oracle commanded that the Princess Hesione, daughter of the king and sister of our father King Priam, be chained on the shore for the sea monster. This sacrifice, the oracle said, would appease Poseidon Blue-Haired, whom Laomedon had cast from the city.'

      This was troubling, as we in Troy did not sacrifice living things. Our gods did not like such sacrifices. Only the barbarian Achaeans burnt dead flesh and spilled blood before their cruel gods.

      We gave seed and flowers and garments and gold to the gods of Troy, and honey and wine; only once a year did a creature die for the gods. That was the bull which was sacrificed to Dionysius, at the festival which marked the turning of winter to spring. We garlanded the perfect bull with flowers and brought him from his stall to die for the season. Then we ate his flesh and drank his blood mingled with wine which made the whole city drunk, giving our fleshly worship to the god of increase and wine. The Dionysiad lasted for three days and even the maidens of the goddess and the man-loving priests of Adonis danced and coupled in the squares, for a god must have his due.

      Hector continued, `The hero Heracles sailed into the bay and saw the princess chained to Scaean Gate where the oak tree grows. Telamon seized Hesione, and Heracles bargained with the sea monster which began to rise beneath the Achaean ship. It was bigger than the ship, and angry because it was baulked of its prey.

      Its head came out of the water and it grabbed the mast, snapping it and chewing the sail. Laomedon had promised horses if the hero could kill the monster.

СКАЧАТЬ