The Oracles of Troy (The Adventures of Odysseus)

Cassandra pulled the cloak tighter about her shoulders in an attempt to keep out the cold west wind that haunted the plains of Ilium. Looking up, she could see a circle of tall plane trees at the top of the slope, their branches silhouetted by the waxing moon. She tipped back her hood to reveal a beautiful but melancholy face, her skin pale in the thin half-light. Her dark eyes contemplated the temple of Thymbrean Apollo with unease. As a girl she had encountered a young man there who offered to teach her the art of prophecy. In her naivety – partly enticed by his noble looks and partly thrilled at the thought of reading the future – she accepted and for months he had shown her the mysterious secrets of divination. Inside the shadowy temple, where the pillars were the boles of the trees and the ceiling the interlaced fingers of their branches, he showed her how to peel back the dark layers of her mind and use her inner eye to see far and wide, into things past and things yet to come. The knowledge was fearful for one as young as she was, but it quickly enslaved her, and when the man had taught her everything she needed to know he told her his price. Her virginity. She was at once horrified and excited by his impudent demand, but in spite of the way he made her heart race and her skin flush with desire she reminded herself that she was a princess of Troy, the daughter of King Priam, and she refused him. His handsome face became dark and terrible and in that moment he revealed his divine nature to her, transforming into a being of light and glory before her eyes. But Apollo did not rape her, as she had expected, or threaten to take back the gift of prophecy; instead he cursed her, announcing that her visions would continue but her words of doom would never be believed. And so it had been ever since.

She shuddered at the memory – and at the knowledge she would soon be calling on the god again. Inside the temple she would ask him to open the future to her. Though she had refused her body to Apollo, to have his divine spirit inside her was an experience much more intense and intimate than she imagined physical intercourse could ever be. And like sex, prophecy had its dangers. When a woman allowed a man to enter her body, she risked pregnancy and death in childbirth, but when she allowed a god to enter her mind she risked insanity. Yet it was a risk she had always been ready to take, and all the more so now as she sensed the end of the war approaching. Looking back over her shoulder she saw the River Scamander in the vale below – gleaming like a line of mercury as it fed into the great bay – and the high walls and towers of Troy rising up beyond it. She loved the city with all her heart, though few within it loved her; and if, by sending her inner eye farther than she had ever dared to go before, she would discover how to keep Troy safe, then the loss of her sanity was a peril she was prepared to face.

She climbed to the top of the ridge and entered a dark gap in the circle of trees. The floor inside was laid with heavy flagstones that had been polished smooth by the feet of countless worshippers and gleamed in the filtered moonlight. Cassandra did not wait for her eyes to adjust to the deeper gloom – she could have found her way around the temple blindfolded if she needed to – but walked up to the pale monolith at the far end of the temple. She dropped to her knees before the marble altar, letting her gaze hover briefly on the carved effigy of Apollo in the shadows behind it, then lowered her forehead to the hard floor. As she bent her body, the leather satchel at her hip slipped to the flagstones and she heard the contents twisting and thrashing inside, hissing in protest before becoming still again.

‘Lord Apollo,’ she whispered, feeling the blood rush to her head and the coldness of the stone against her skin. ‘Bringer of dreams. Receive my sacrifice.’

She pushed herself up with the palms of her hands and, still kneeling, fumbled with the tie of the satchel. It came free and she thrust her hand inside, grasping for the smooth, cord-like body of the snake. She caught it close to the neck and lifted it free, holding it at arm’s length so that it danced in anguish before the rough image of the god. A small woollen bag had been tied around its head to keep it from biting or attempting to escape. Cassandra unslipped the knot and pulled the bag away to expose the thin, triangular head with its dark eyes and flickering tongue.