by JJ Hilton
The Trojan Princess
JJ Hilton
Copyright © 2015 2i Publishing Ltd
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licenses issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.
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Table of Contents
Chapter One
Andromache of Thebes
Chapter Two
Princess of Troy
Chapter Three
The Return of Paris
Chapter Four
Helen, The Unwelcome Guest
Chapter Five
The Start of War
Chapter Six
A Royal Wedding
Chapter Seven
Hector vs Achilles
Chapter Eight
The Dishonouring of Hector
Chapter Nine
Achilles’ Proposal
Chapter Ten
The Death of Paris
Chapter Eleven
The Madness of Priam
Chapter Twelve
Diephobus
Chapter Thirteen
Menelaus in Troy
Chapter Fourteen
A Palace in Discord
Chapter Fifteen
The Sack of Troy
Chapter Sixteen
An Uncertain Fate
Chapter Seventeen
Neoptolemus
Chapter Eighteen
The Last
Chapter One
Andromache of Thebes
The sun beat fierce and steadily down upon Cilician Thebes, a small town nestled between the mountains and the ocean in the far eastern reaches of the world.
Andromache watched the procession make its way down the hill from the window of her private chambers in the great palace. She had been bathed and dressed, and now she waited. The nerves of earlier had dispersed, replaced by a frustration that it was taking so long for the Trojan guests to arrive. Her father, the King, had come to her earlier.
“Andromache, my darling daughter,” he had said, when he dismissed her maids from her chambers and beamed at her - for she knew, as did everyone in their kingdom, that as his only daughter she was prized by the King above all of his seven sons. “The King of Troy is making his way to us, and with him he brings great news for your future.”
If Andromache had been surprised by the news, she had hidden it well. Her mother had imparted on her all that she knew about being a queen – for Andromache had always known she would be a queen – yet the thought of being the Queen of Troy was so much more than she had imagined. When she had looked to her future she had seen herself here, in Thebes, Queen and ruler of the people she had grown up amongst, caring for the people that had so cared for her all of her life.
She did not find the thought of marriage frightening, as so many other young women might, but she found herself wondering as to what her husband would be like. For that, she told herself, was far more important than whether he was an heir.
“People say he is the most handsome of all the princes of Troy,” Iliana, her maid, sighed as she had drawn Andromache her bath, “And the bravest, too.”
“No,” Ilisa, her sister, and Andromache’s maid also, countered. “They say one of his brothers is the most handsome, but –”
“Sister, you are wrong,” Iliana said, insulted by her sister’s correction. “The brother of which you think is the most beautiful of the princes; but Hector is surely the most handsome!” Before Ilisa could respond, Iliana went on; “But he is said to be the bravest of the princes.”
“Yes, they say he already has the respect of all the armies of Troy,” Ilisa said, lowering her voice conspiratorially, “And so many women have already thrown themselves at his feet, begging for him to make them his wife!”
“And yet he refuses them all?” Andromache asked, slipping off her gown and stepping into the bronze tub. The water, carried by her maids to her chambers from the hot water springs, was still warm and it caressed her pale skin as she sank beneath its depths. She dipped her head beneath the water and when she resurfaced, Iliana clasped her long, dark hair and began to wash it, her fingers soft and gentle.
“Perhaps they were not worthy for him,” Ilisa suggested, reaching for the pumice stone on the floor and brandishing in Andromache’s direction. She nudged her sister, and Iliana nodded in agreement.
“Surely they weren’t worthy,” Iliana readily agreed. “They were most likely –”
“Why would I be any more worthy than them?” Andromache asked.
She thought on it even as she spoke the words; her father would tell her it was because she was heiress to Thebes and had a large dowry besides. Her mother would gush and stroke her face, telling her that it was because she was a noble princess. Her brothers would all have different answers, but Podes, her eldest brother, and favourite, would pronounce that it was because she, of all the woman in the realm, was the most intelligent.
“You are the most beautiful princess ever to be known,” Iliana offered, and Andromache stifled a smile. So many suggestions, yet she did not know which, if any, were why King Priam and his son were coming to her home to discuss marriage. Andromache winced as Iliana dragged a thick brush through her hair, “Sorry, my lady, but your hair must shine like precious metal if you are to win the Prince’s heart.”
“And your skin must glow like the sun and the moon combined,” Ilisa said, scrubbing Andromache’s skin raw with the pumice stone.
Andromache had tried to relax, her skin burning and her scalp itching with the pain of the brush, letting the water cool around her. She thought of nothing but Hector and King Priam, and when she had been bathed and changed, dismissed her maids and retreated to her balcony.
Now, as she watched the procession enter the town of Thebes, to much fanfare and applause from the townspeople, she felt excitement fluttering within her for the first time since she had heard of the procession departing from Troy. She wondered what Hector might look like, and thought on Iliana and Ilisa’s depictions of him. Could it really be true that he was the most handsome in the kingdom? And the bravest?
Though she would hold her own counsel until she had met the prince, she felt hopeful as she left the balcony and passed through the palace to prepare to greet the King, his son, and her future.
* * *
It was to Cicilian Thebes and to its ruler, King Eetion, that the procession made its journey along the shoreline from the majestic city of Troy, with a most important proposition to discuss. King Priam of Troy was himself undertaking the journey and, though he was by no means old, his beard was beginning to grey. Having sired fifty sons and only the Gods knew how many daughters, all knew that he was tiring of power and of the mighty weight of responsibility that went with it. Even so, King Priam was not a man to send others forth to do his bidding, at least not in such important matters as these. For he was making the visit to see Eetion, not to discuss matters of trade and law, as they so often had discussed in the past, but about the future. Priam was a King, and though he had fathered a great many children, so few of them were legitimately borne to him by his wife and Queen, and of these, he knew fewer still could rule the mighty kingdom of Troy in his stead.
His handsome eldest son Hector, was such
a man. He saw his younger self in the prince: staunchly loyal and brave, with wisdom as well as courage. As his rightful heir, Hector needed to be married and though there were many suitable noblewomen in Troy who would have been honoured to make such a marriage, Priam had turned his attention on the smaller kingdom of Cilician Thebes, and to his old, loyal supporter, Eetion, whom he recalled had a young daughter, Princess Andromache.
It had been just a thought at first, Priam recalled, this plan to wed Hector to the princess he had yet to lay eyes upon, but it was a thought that had not been forgotten. With each noblewoman that tried and failed to secure herself a betrothal to Hector, Priam thought increasingly of Andromache.
He had sent one of his councillors to the town to meet with Eetion, on the pretence of having discussions about trade, but Priam had tasked the man with a far more important, and secret mission; to seek out the princess that had lingered for so long on the periphery of his thoughts, and to bring back word of the princess.
Priam had waited patiently, and when his councillor returned – and how anxious he had been in the weeks he was absent! – the man was summoned directly to the King’s private chambers. His wife, Queen Hecuba, weary of such plans and indeed weary of her husband, excused herself from their presence.
The words the councillor had to tell him had been like sweet music to Priam’s ears, for the man could only gush as he spoke of Andromache’s beauty and wit, charm and manners. She had been raised to be a princess and she would make a fine queen. Priam had sent at once for Hector, relayed his plans to his son, and ordered the trip to Eetion with haste.
“Andromache,” he repeated under his breath, “And-rom-o-kae.”
And so the procession made its way to Cilician Thebes. Priam, usually so tired and weary of making journeys now that he was no longer a young athletic man, did not feel his usual weary self as the rooftops came into view beyond the hilltop they were traversing.
Looking down upon the town with the small but beautiful palace at its centre, Priam felt excitement in his blood. His eldest son - his heir - was to be married, and he longed to set eyes on the face of the princess who would soon become his daughter.
* * *
King Eetion of Thebes was renowned throughout his lands for his generosity and kindness, so it was with genuine warmth and respect that he welcomed King Priam and his men into the palace.
Eetion had long known Priam, for they had both ruled over their domains for so long, and there had been much discussion between them about trade and the defence of their waters from the Greeks, whose men sought to control the eastern reaches of the world as they did their own lands; with barbarity and bloodshed.
It was not many kings who could boast of seven sons, Eetion thought, as he introduced each of them to Priam, although he remembered the tales of Priam’s own offspring – if rumours were to be believed, and Eetion did not like to dismiss them outright, he had fifty sons and fifty daughters! And only a handful of them legitimate! – but he did not voice these remembrances, and Priam greeted each son with a handshake and they in turn bowed to him and kissed his hands and the rings upon them, for Priam wore his wealth about him like a proclamation of greatness.
Hector, Prince of Troy, and Priam’s heir, greeted Eetion with all the respect he was due, bowing and kissing his own hands. Eetion beckoned for him to rise, for he felt, though King for so many years now, awkward at the sight of such patronage to himself. Podes, his son and heir, considered Hector and nodded in approval. If Hector could earn Podes’ approval, then Eetion knew he was a worthy suitor for Andromache.
“Come, come, you must be tired from your journey,” Eetion said, when the greetings were done. He turned to Priam. “I have a feast prepared in your honour, and the wines of Thebes that I know you are partial to.”
Priam smiled indulgently, but did not make to move towards the dining hall from which the smell of roasted meat and aromatic herbs and spices drifted.
“But what of your illustrious daughter?” Priam asked, “Will she not be joining us for the feast?” He looked about, as if he may have missed her. Beside him, Hector shifted on his feet, and Eetion thought he looked uncomfortable faced as he was with Priam’s bold words.
“Fear not,” Eetion said, smiling, shooting Hector another glance, and noting that his expression remained guarded. “Andromache will join us shortly, as will my dearest wife.”
“Ah yes, how is the great Queen?” Priam asked, distracted but pacified, and allowed himself to be guided towards the dining hall by Eetion and his men. “I heard she had been taken unwell some weeks ago.”
“She’s very well, very well,” Eetion answered, as they went into the dining hall. The tables were laden with food and goblets of wine, and the men dispersed to take their places. Eetion guided Priam to the high table at the front of the hall, raised on a dias above the others, where Hector and his seven sons joined them.
When the men had been seated, Eetion deemed it time to introduce his wife and daughter. The men stood as the Queen of Thebes entered the room in fine gowns of blue, followed at her heels by Princess Andromache, looking radiant in silken gowns of pure white. Her hair was fashioned in tiers of dark curls, intertwined with bands of gold, and jewellery shone from her neck and wrists. She smiled demurely as she joined the high table, and took the place beside her mother, who sat on the right of her husband.
As Eetion raised a toast to the visit and to King Priam and his son, Andromache looked furtively at Hector. He was indeed handsome, she thought, taking note of his broad shoulders, dark hair and chiselled features. He looked as though he might have been a statue come to life, dark brown eyes behind the locks of dark hair, his body that of a lean warrior. His own robes were a royal purple, bright against his bronzed skin, and he smiled when he caught Andromache looking at him, so that she blushed and looked down at her plate.
Hector took this chance to look upon the girl his father wanted as a bride for his heir. Andromache, he thought – such a beautiful name – aptly given to such a beautiful princess. Her body was slender, only recently blossomed into womanhood, and her eyes were dark and deep, her lips bowed and pink in her pale face. Her hair seemed to shimmer in the candlelight, and a pleasant blush crept onto her cheeks when she realised he was looking at her. He smiled again, and she returned it, though hesitantly at first.
Perhaps, Hector mused, his father had not been wrong in making such a suggestion. He would gladly marry this princess, for she was far more beautiful than any of the other noblewomen who had come to the palace to seek his hand, and something about her demureness intrigued him.
“We have much to discuss it seems,” Priam said, smiling widely, having caught the glances between his son and the princess. He skewered a piece of meat and turned to Eetion. “How long it has been since last we saw each other!”
“And what a shame it has been so long,” Eetion concurred, lifting his goblet to his lips. “Alas, perhaps in time, we shall see more of each other. I hope.”
Priam, taking his meaning, lifted his own glass.
“It seems I was wise to come here seeking an audience,” he said, still smiling.
The feast continued, and as it did so, Andromache pardoned herself and retreated outside to the atrium, where she stood and looked up at the stars in the dark sky above. She was about to return to the dining hall when footsteps sounded and Hector appeared in the archway, smiling tentatively as he approached her.
“Good evening,” Andromache greeted him, bowing. Hector came to her and clasped her hands, raising her up so that they stood looking at each other.
“You have welcomed us well indeed,” Hector said, gesturing behind him towards the dining hall, where the sounds of revelry and laughter could be heard, drifting into the night air where they stood. “It is a great pleasure to come here and meet you.”
Andromache nodded, unsure of what she should say or how she should act. Though her mother had given her instruction now that she was facing such a man, her nerves ove
rcame her and she felt herself quiver. Hector was a gentle man, a kind man, and he did not mention her silence, nor indeed comment upon it, and joined her in silence as Andromache returned her gaze upon the stars.
“You like to look at the stars and the moon?” Hector asked, after a long silence, in which they stood side by side together.
Andromache nodded, half-turning to find him also looking up at the skies.
“I do,” she said. “There is something magical about the night’s sky. It is almost as if we can look up passed Mount Olympus, passed the Gods and Goddesses, to somewhere far above, far beyond...” She trailed off, worried she had spoken too much, but she looked at Hector to find the prince smiling, enthralled by her, his eyes on her, shining brightly in the moonlight.
“You are right,” he said, his voice quiet, “They are quiet fascinating. Myself, I love to look upon the moon. It is as nothing compared with the fiery brightness of the sun, but yet it is still so beautiful.”
Andromache watched him as he spoke, saw that he meant the words he said, that he was an earnest man and a smart one too.
“You are intriguing,” Hector said, and Andromache felt herself blush, though she hoped he would not notice it in the pale moonlight. “I feel honoured to have met you,” he went on, looking a little nervous now, as if talking to her was more fearsome than riding out into battle - something she was sure he had done so many times without the anxiety that was now written on his face. “I am glad my father brought me here,” he pressed on, “So that I could look upon you at last.”
Andromache, touched by his words, realised she shared his feelings.
“I am glad too,” she said, meeting his gaze, feeling that she could get lost in such dark, beautiful, beguiling eyes as his. “I hope that we shall meet again.”
“I have no doubt that we will,” Hector said, and he took a step towards her, closing the gap between them so that they were almost touching. Andromache felt a thrill through her body, but she could not tear herself from his eyes.