"Why would I want to do that?" he demanded. "I did not - I do not - want to disrupt my life, or trouble your peace, or hurt Creusa, but I think that Goddess of Love who played such a cruel trick on Paris has chosen to throw discord my way as well—and I felt I must say to you, once, what I felt."

She put out her hand, hardly knowing she was doing so, and touched his; he clasped his fingers strongly over hers. He said softly, "When first I saw you, seated among the girls with your eyes cast down modestly, I knew all at once that it was you I wanted, and that I should have stood up at once and proclaimed it to Priam and to my father…'

The thought made Kassandra smile.

"And what would Creusa have said to that?"

"I should not have let that matter to me," Aeneas said. "I was the one whose life was being cast into the balance. Tell me, Kassandra, would you have had me for a husband? If I had refused Creusa and demanded you instead - as the price of my fighting for Troy—"

Her heart was beating as wildly as his agitated words. "I don't know," she said at last. "Whatever I might have said or done then, it's too late for thinking about it now."

"It need not be too late," he said, and drew her into his arms. She did not know that she was crying until Aeneas's finger wiped away a tear.

"Don't cry, Kassandra; I don't wish to make you unhappy. But I cannot bear to think that now I have found that you are the one I love, that there can never be anything more for us than this—"

He enfolded her in an embrace so rough, so completely compelling, that nothing outside seemed to exist at all; she was drowning, suffocating, wiped away into non-existence; incapable of thought. Nevertheless after a time that seemed too long - but very short - she pulled herself upright and on to her own feet, wiping her eyes with her gown. So that is what it is like.

She knew her voice was shaking as she said, "You are my sister's husband; You are my brother."

"By my own immortal ancestress! Don't you think I have chewed on that until it sickens me?" he muttered. "I can only beg you—not to be angry with me."

"No," she said, and it sounded so foolishly inadequate for the moment between them that she began helplessly to giggle, "No, I'm not angry with you, Aeneas."

He pulled her again, into an embrace she could not and did not want to fight off; but this time there was caution too, as if he were taking great pains not to hurt or frighten her. He said against her ear, "Tell me you care for me too, Kassandra."

"Oh, Gods," she said helplessly,"do you have to ask?" Her mouth was crushed so tightly against his that she wondered how he could understand her words.

"No," he said, "I don't have to ask, but I need to hear you say it. I don't think I can stand to go on living unless I hear you say it."

Suddenly Kassandra was filled with the most unbelievable sense of generosity; it was in her power to give him something ht wanted so much. She leaned forward again against him and whispered, "I do care for you. I think - I think I have loved you since first I saw you." And she felt him move softly against her as if it was where he had always wanted to be. He was touching only her fingers; but it was somehow closer than an embrace. She wanted him to hold her again, yet she knew that if he did, she and she alone would be responsible for whatever happened.

She said softly, "Aeneas—" and stopped.

"What, Kassandra?"

"I think—" she whispered with a sense of overpowering wonder, "I think I only wanted to hear myself say your name."

He tightened his arms round her, but gently, as if he was afraid the slightest touch would break her. He said, "My little love. I don't know - I'm not sure what it is that I want, but it is not to seduce you into my bed - that I can have from anyone, anytime. I love you, Kassandra. I wanted to tell you, to try and make you understand—"

"I do understand," she said, tightening her hand on his. Above them the moon swung so brilliant that she could see his face as if by daylight.

"Look," he said, "all the fires are out in the Akhaian camp. It is very late. You must be weary—I should let you go."

It was late; she drew a little away from him, feeling cold out of his arms, and offered him her hand. He bent over her very close, but he did not kiss her again. He whispered, "Good night, my little love, and the Goddess keep you. I will stand here till I see you safe inside the gates of the Sunlord's house."

She climbed the last steps alone, thrust at the gate, which was opened from inside.

"Ah, Princess Kassandra," said one of the temple servants, as he opened the gate, "you are returning from dining with your parents at the palace? Did you walk up alone?"

"No; the Lord Aeneas escorted me," she said, and the young man thrust out his head.

"Would the Lord Aeneas like a lighted torch for the way downward?"

"No, thank you," Aeneas said courteously. "The moon is very bright." He bowed to Kassandra. "Good night, my sister and my lady."

"Good night," she said, and when she was out of hearing, she heard herself whisper, "Good night, my love."

She was stricken with dismay. She had sworn - knowing nothing of it - that she would never serve the Goddess Aphrodite nor succumb to this kind of passion.

And now she was like any other of that Akhaian Goddess's servants.

Akhilles's soldiers were loading their boats; the quarrel in the Akhaian camp had evidently not subsided. One of Priam's favourite agents, an old woman who sold cakes to the Akhaian camp and came back inside the walls every day about noon for a new load of cakes (and a long talk with the Captain of the Watch), reported that Akhilles had not stirred from his tent. Patroklos had tried to dissuade the soldiers from leaving, but without much effect.

Patroklos, she said, was liked by all the soldiers, but everyone felt their loyalty was to Akhilles, and if he had decided to give up the fight, they would give up too.

Halfway through the morning, Kassandra went down to the wall to see for herself, along with most of the women of Priam's house: Hecuba, Andromache, Helen and Creusa.

They listened to the old cake-woman's report and wondered what this would mean to the Akhaian cause.

"Not much," said Paris, who this morning was the Captain of the Watch. "Akhilles is a maniac for fighting, but Agamemnon and Odysseus are the brains of the campaign. Akhilles is great in single combat, of course, and drives his chariot like Helios. Those Myrmidons of his would follow him in a charge over the edge of the world—"

"What a pity someone can't persuade them to do it—" Creusa murmured. "That would solve most of our trouble - with Akhilles at least. Does anyone know a friendly Immortal who would appear in Akhilles's form and lead his men off on an urgent mission somewhere on the other side of the world, or convince them they're desperately needed at home—"

"But the point is," Paris said, ignoring her,"that's all Akhilles has in his favour: he's crazy for the kill. He doesn't know a damned thing about strategy or war tactics. Losing Akhilles from the war, having him go home like a little boy saying, "I'm not playing any more," is no great blow to the Akhaians. It would be far worse for them, and better for us, if they lost Agamemnon, or Odysseus, or even Menelaus."

"What a pity we can't think of some clever way to get rid of one of them," said Hecuba.

"It almost happened," said Paris. "This quarrel between Akhilles and Agamemnon meant they would have to lose one or the other. Losing Akhilles distressed the soldiers - he's their idol - but the leaders knew they couldn't lose Agamemnon or the whole campaign would fall apart. Why else do you think they let him take Akhilles's girl? They know how important Agamemnon is to the whole campaign. Why do you think Akhilles is sulking? He's been shown very clearly that he's not nearly as important -not to anyone - as Agamemnon."