But still, nothing moved in the square but Helen; no one made a sound except for her. When at last she had completed her swaying circle, calling every name of every man who could be concealed within that horse, she stopped and turned to us, her eyes shining in the firelight.
I could see that my father was convinced, Deiphobus and the guards as well. ‘You see, Cassandra?’ Priam breathed. ‘There is no one within; there is no trick here.’
I cast my eyes away from him, staring at the ground. Soon, these streets would run with Trojan blood. ‘Burn it,’ I said again. ‘Risk the vengeance of the gods; what the Greeks will do to us is worse.’
He sighed, a sad and defeated exhalation, and rubbed his hand across his tired eyes. ‘The Greeks are far across the sea already,’ he said. He made a weary gesture to Deiphobus. ‘Bear her away,’ he said. ‘Be sure she cannot escape.’
They dragged me from the square, deaf to my pleading. I thrashed my head to the side and saw Helen, framed against the horse, and I cursed her witchcraft, railing against her and the soft light of sympathy in her eyes as my feet scraped across the stones.
I shouted still as they yanked me through the palace entrance, down the winding corridors, to my own chamber. My voice was hoarse, and, as the guards loosened their grip upon my arm, I clutched at my brother’s hand before he could turn away. ‘Deiphobus,’ I begged, ‘the only protector left to Troy. Please, you are the prince of this city. Hector is dead and Priam cannot see the truth; it is for you to burn the horse, to stop our doom, to save us, there is only you who can—’ But he was shaking his head, his eyes flickering past me in revulsion.
‘You should sleep.’ He caught my wrist in his hand and pushed me away from him, stepping back quickly and slamming the heavy oak door shut between us. I hurled myself against the unforgiving wood even as I heard the key turn in the lock and his footsteps fade away.
I screamed in frustration and clawed at the door, the wood splintering beneath my fingernails, the blood welling from the torn flesh, though I barely felt the pain. Whirling about, I flung myself at the narrow slit window, where the night air spilled through, where I could see a patch of dim sky that I could not reach. I pressed my forehead to the wall and concentrated on the cold, smooth touch of stone. The waiting felt unbearable, each second stretched beyond the limit of imagining, but spilling like sand through my fingers at the same time. The final moments before the end of everything.
Although there was no sound, at once something shifted. The air around me seemed to hum; I felt a prickling on the back of my neck, a visceral shudder rippled through the heavens, and I lifted my eyes to the sky.
It started like a rush of wind, perhaps a crashing wave, and then it roared into a great, rumbling bellow from the fiery maw of a monster as the inferno took hold. The Greeks must have fanned out across our sleeping city and, at some hidden signal, ignited a hundred fires simultaneously.
Through the narrow slit of the window, I could see the tops of the leaping flames as they rose higher and higher, gleefully devouring the wooden rooftops and towers. An orange glow infused the sky as the macabre dance of the fire spread, greedy and rampant, and black smoke hung heavy above.
Now, I could hear the sounds of panic seizing the palace. The pounding of footsteps, the slamming back of doors as people ran and shrieked and urged everyone to flee, as fast as they could. As the breeze turned and a torrent of burning air rushed through the window, choking me for a moment with heat and ash, someone twisted the key to my door and shoved against it. Winded and bent double, I only heard them yell to me to get out as they ran past.
The Greeks would storm the palace. In an aching spasm, I thought of my father, my mother, Andromache and little Astyanax. There would be no sanctuary here.
I squeezed my eyes shut. ‘Apollo,’ I muttered fervently. ‘Apollo, I have been your faithful servant; I have endured my punishment without complaint. Please help, please show mercy to us.’
For years, since I had turned from him in his temple and felt his wrath, he had been with me. A taunting, tormenting presence in my head, his brutal attacks coming without warning, his malice permeating every inch of my body, seeping through me like venom whilst I writhed in agony.
But I was alone. No excruciating twist of prophecy skewered me; no sleek shimmer of menace rippled the air; no mocking trail of laughter followed me.
He was gone. He did not even linger to watch me suffer the last. He had deserted me.
The sound of frantic footsteps had died away. The palace felt empty. A desolate and hollow calm descended in place of chaos.