by JJ Hilton
In that moment, Andromache felt anything could happen between them, but then a voice called out to them and she took a step away, the spell of the moment broken.
“It seems our absence has been noticed,” Hector said, gesturing for her to go ahead of him back into the dining hall. She did, hoping that she was not still blushing when she entered the candlelit hall, but no comment was made as she and Hector re-joined the high table. Nobody spoke of where they might have been, though Priam and Eetion shared a knowing look and nodded their heads.
“In the morning, perhaps, we can discuss the band of warriors that have been raiding along these shores?” Podes enquired of Hector. Hector took a drink of wine, and nodded.
“Of course, I’ve heard stories of plunder,” he said. His voice was aggrieved, and Andromache did not believe his concern was false; sincerity showed on his face. “Tomorrow we shall discuss what should be done about them.”
Podes seemed pleased.
“If we do not strike at them fast, more will come, thinking us an easy target,” Podes continued, assured by Hector’s words.
“Then they will quickly learn that we in the east do not suffer there like,” Hector said, and Podes and his brothers roared in agreement. Andromache caught Hector’s eye and he smiled. It seemed a smile only for her, Andromache thought, for no one else seemed to see it, and she felt warmed by his look.
“Let us discuss other, more joyous things further,” Eetion was saying, rising to his feet, Priam with him. “There is much to be agreed upon, and much to be excited about.”
“Let us retire to make the necessary arrangements,” Priam agreed.
The two kings left the room, and Andromache felt her heart fluttering. Nobody in the room was under any illusion about what matters the two men would be discussing, for it was surely the matter of Andromache and Hector’s marriage.
She looked towards Hector, but he was deeply involved in a discussion with Podes and her brothers. She was grateful that he seemed to have befriended her brother so quickly, especially Podes, whose opinion and love meant so much to her.
“Fear not,” her mother said quietly, leaning close so they would not be overheard. “Your future is not far away now, dear daughter. You will make a wonderful queen.”
Andromache looked to her mother and saw she was wearing a knowing look. Andromache looked to Hector again, and tried not to feel anxious about the discussions between her father and King Priam in the other rooms. She allowed her mother the indulgence to talk of a trousseau, her dowry, and Hector maintained a respectful silence as he nodded at her words. She soon changed the topic of discussion, turning her attention to bridal silks and jewellery, as if the talks in the chambers were a mere formality, the wedding a foregone conclusion.
When at last the two men returned and stood before the high table, a hush fell over the hall and Andromache felt her heart beat faster. She caught a glimpse of Iliana and Ilisa, peering round a pillar at the far end of the hall, anxious to hear the announcement.
“It is with great pleasure,” Priam said, his voice carrying easily across the room, “That I announce my son, my heir, Prince Hector of Troy, is to be married.”
“And it is my great pleasure also,” Eetion announced, “That it is to my daughter, Princess Andromache, that the Prince of Hector is betrothed.”
A roar went up in the hall as goblets clashed together, and Podes and his brothers cheered along with them all. The queen clapped with restraint, though the triumph was clear on her face. Priam and Eetion embraced like brothers, and Andromache looked to Hector for his reaction. He caught her glance, smiling towards her, and she saw in his eyes that he was pleased by the news, just as she too was pleased by it.
Hector lifted his goblet and made to toast her, and Andromache felt her heart flutter once more. Her nerves from earlier had lifted, drifted somewhere else far away, for she knew that she would be his wife and that he would be her everything.
* * *
When the procession from Troy had once again departed from Thebes, Podes was determined that it should be he and his brothers that would rid the coast of the pillaging Greeks who had laid waste to a town not a few hours away from them.
Andromache, as she always did, feared for her brothers. They were so headstrong and eager to prove themselves that she oft wondered if perhaps they didn’t take a few too many risks in their endeavours to make their father proud, but today she was too happy, too joyous, to think of danger.
She was betrothed to Hector, Prince of Troy. Iliana and Ilisa were perhaps as excited as she was, and Andromache insisted that when she went to Troy for her wedding they would come with her, and they would all experience the wonder of the great, majestic city of Troy together.
So excited was she over her betrothal that she did not go down to the courtyard to see her brothers off, and only when she caught a glimpse of their retreating backs across the land did she wonder whether they might be drawn into battle against these violent Greeks who had infiltrated their lands, bringing lay and ruin and death wherever they set foot.
“Fear not, Princess, your brothers are strong and brave,” Iliana assured her, seeing the look that passed across Andromache’s face at the sight of her distant brothers. “They will not waver if they encounter the Greeks.”
Ilisa looked less certain, though she tried to hide it. Iliana shot her a furious glare, but it was too late and Andromache turned on the younger of her maids.
“What is it Ilisa?” she demanded. “What do you know that I perhaps don’t?”
Ilisa let out a long sigh, ignoring the look her sister gave her, and sat down beside Andromache on the silken sheets of her bed. She clasped her hand, and Andromache felt a sense of forbearing descend upon her.
“It is most likely nothing,” Iliana insisted, before her sister could get the chance to speak. “Stories she has heard in the town, my lady, and you know how those women like to gossip. I wouldn’t put any faith in such tales, not –”
She halted at Andromache’s look, and Ilisa took over.
“My sister is right, it is most likely not the truth,” she said quickly, shooting a glance to Iliana, before returning her gaze to Andromache. “But some women in the town, they were saying that it is Achilles who leads this band of Greeks.”
“Achilles?” Andromache echoed her, fear seeping into her. “Surely he does not seek to conquer our lands in the east?”
“No, my lady, that is why it must be false,” Iliana jumped in, nodding, seeing the worry on her mistress’s face. “Why would the mighty Achilles seek treasures from us?”
“He does not care who he defeats in battle, so long as he defeats them,” Ilisa said quietly. “The stories I have heard of him,” she went on, ignoring the look of horror on Andromache’s face and the angry look on her sister’s. “He has never been defeated; and his mother a sea nymph, his father Zeus, King of the Gods. How could anyone hope to defeat him in battle?”
“He is still mortal,” Iliana interjected, and Ilisa realised what she had been saying, and quickly backtracked.
“Then again, my lady, it is doubtful it is Achilles who leads these raiders,” she said hastily. “Just rumours,” she said.
“Untrue rumours,” Iliana added. “Pay them no heed, my lady.”
Andromache nodded, though she could not shake the thought of Achilles raiding her lands, killing her people, stealing their goods. And if it were true, her brothers had gone to fight a man who had never been defeated in battle.
Making a sudden decision, she rose to her feet, and Iliana and Ilisa started.
“What’s wrong?” Iliana asked her.
“I am going to the temple,” she answered. “I will make a sacrifice, to ensure my brothers’ safety on their quest.”
“We will come with you then,” Iliana said, but Andromache held up a hand to stop them as they made to follow her.
“No, I wish to go alone,” she said. Iliana and Ilisa exchanged looks, but nodded and bowed their heads.
Andromache left her chambers, her earlier joy replaced with worry for her brothers.
* * *
Podes and his brothers travelled along the coast in search of the Greek warriors. Though the journey was hard, with steep hills, scorching sands and rough tracks to follow, the seven men were spurred on by a thirst for revenge and a burning of honour within them. They were the sons of King Eetion, and they had his blessing to vanquish these men from their shores.
The Greeks had long wished to conquer the east, with its rich, fertile lands, its plentiful spices and fruits, and the beautiful women who were borne to its peoples, but they had never succeeded. Troy, the might bastion of the east, had long protected its people, and the other kingdoms, lesser though they were, did their part to keep the Greeks at bay.
Now it seemed that their lands had been chosen by Achilles and his men as an easy target and it enraged Podes and his brothers all the more that they did not seek to conquer, merely to steal and raid, retreating to their ships after each merciless onslaught.
It was infuriating, Podes thought, and he hoped he would be the one to finally put an end to Achilles’ life. There were many tales, even in the east, of the warrior’s great skill and aptitude in battle, but Podes knew he had unsurpassed strength, and the axe he gripped tightly in his hand would cut as easily through Achilles and his men as it had hundreds of Greeks before.
Their travels had taken a week and Podes could see some of his brothers began to tire of the journey, their conviction lessening as their limbs grew weak. He tried to encourage them and reminded them of the glory that would be theirs when they were the ones to slay Achilles.
“Just think of the honour our family will know,” Podes shouted to them, when they reached their lowest ebb. “Our sister to marry the heir to Troy, and us, her brothers, the ones to kill Achilles and bring peace back to the eastern shores!”
His words were so honest in their delivery that they gave his brothers the encouragement they needed, and the seven men went on.
They came across Achilles and his warriors on the tenth day of their trek, laying waste to a small village high up on the coast. The three Greek ships were anchored unguarded off the coast, and Podes thought of torching them, but the calls for help and the shrieks of the dying villagers tore at him. He made his decision, and led his brothers up the hill, over the rocky outcrops towards the sounds of steel clashing in the besieged village.
At once, Podes realised his mistake. Achilles and his men were greater in number than he had thought, and they came upon them from the top of the hill. Podes and his brothers were at a disadvantage, fighting uphill with their axes, as Achilles and his men raised their swords and descended upon them.
Podes lifted his own axe, ready for the attack, and roared with the anger and hatred inside of him. His brothers did the same and soon the loud clash of metal on metal came upon them as battle commenced.
A sword flew by him, almost taking his ear off, and Podes swung his axe at his opponent. His axe sliced easily through the man’s neck, and his head flew in an arc, blood trailing behind it, until it came to the floor, the helmet clattering against the rocks on the ground. He took a glance around, and saw one of his brothers fall to the sword of a large, dark Greek. Perhaps a slave, Podes thought, and his anger flared again.
He battled through the crowd, making for the black Greek, his axe feeling light in his grip as he readied it. His brother lay still on the ground, blood gushing from his wound; there was nothing to be done for him now.
Podes raised his axe and swung it, catching the man off guard. The man staggered backwards, his wooden shield shattering at the force of the axe, but he righted himself and lunged forward, sword whistling in the air as he went for Podes again and again. Podes dodged the blows, swinging his axe once more, but the man was fast and his sword was more agile than a great axe. Podes left his stomach exposed as he swung the axe and the man lunged forwards. Podes braced himself for the blade to pierce his bowels, but they did not, and he saw one of his brothers standing before him, the body of the Greek twitching at their feet, an axe embedded in his spine.
The two brothers exchanged looks, and Podes again observed the battle. More of his brothers had fallen now; three lay dead amongst twice that number of Greek corpses. Yet Achilles and his men were better prepared for attack than Podes had thought them to be, and another brother fell even as he watched.
He was about to call a retreat, when he came face to face with Achilles. The man had golden hair that flowed to his shoulders, a warrior’s physique, bare chested, his body slick with sweat and the blood of his enemies.
“You are from Thebes,” Achilles said, looking upon Podes as one might an insect, not a worthy adversary in battle. “I shall see your home destroyed for this.”
“You would not dare,” Podes sneered, though fear licked at him. It seemed Achilles sensed the fear upon him, for he stepped backwards and called to his men.
“Back to the ships,” he cried out, his voice loud even over the clashing of swords and axes. “We head for Thebes.”
Podes swung his axe towards him, but Achilles easily avoided the blow and darted past him. Before Podes could react, he felt Achilles’ blade under his throat, damp and warm from the blood of his brothers.
Achilles leaned close, whispering in his ear.
“I will spare you, only so that you can see the vengeance I’ll reap for the slaughter of my men,” he said, and Podes knew this was no idle threat.
Then the blade was gone from his throat, and he turned to see Achilles and his warriors scaling the hilltop, descending to their ships, leaving behind them Podes, standing with only two brothers, four of their brothers and kinsmen lying dead upon the ground.
“Should we go after them?” one called, as the other surveyed their fallen brothers.
“No, we go home,” Podes said, receiving a surprised look from his brothers. “You heard Achilles; he means to go after Thebes. We cannot let him attack them unaware. We must warn them and defend them.”
He granted only time enough for his brothers to be burned and their rites read, then he initiated the long journey home. Even as he hoped they would make it back in time, he doubted. One glance towards the seas told him how right his doubts were; for Achilles’ ships had already set sail, the winds on their side, billowing their sails, setting them on course for Thebes. He pictured he could see Achilles at the prow of the ship taunting him, though he could not be sure.
Anger grated on him, but fear drove him forwards.
* * *
It had been a long while since word had come from her brothers, and Andromache had begun to fret over their continued absence. Try as they might, Iliana and Ilisa could not soothe the princess.
“They are good warriors, brave and strong,” Iliana had encouraged her, but to little avail, as Andromache continued pacing back and forth in her chambers.
“Achilles was far from Thebes when your brothers set off,” Ilisa said cajolingly, “It will take them many days to find them, perhaps they have not even caught up with them yet.”
Her maids’ words did little to cheer Andromache, but soon talk turned to Hector and her wedding, and Andromache felt her heart lift a little despite her fears.
“It’s sure to be such a beautiful wedding,” Iliana sighed longingly.
“And such a handsome husband you’ll have,” Ilisa said, finally eliciting a smile from the princess. “Of course, such a beautiful princess deserves such a well-suited man.”
“One day you will be Queen of Troy,” Iliana said, wistful, and Andromache wondered what would become of her two maids. She wanted them to come with her to Troy and perhaps as handmaids to the Queen, they too would find wealthy, noble suitors.
Lounging in her bedchambers, Andromache did not hear at first the calls of alarm from the outskirts of the town, nor did she hear the frantic cries of the soldiers as they rushed from the palace. Only when they heard the clattering of hooves and the calls from the co
urtyard did Andromache send Iliana to find out what the commotion was.
It took only a few moments for her to return, pale-faced and awash with fear.
“Princess, we must go,” she said, “Your brothers have returned.”
“I must go and greet them, of course!” Andromache smiled, rising to her feet, cheered at the thought, her earlier fears dispersing. “There is no need to look so fretful.”
“You misunderstand me,” Iliana said, her eyes brimming with tears. “Only three of them are returned.” Andromache froze, and Ilisa threw her hands to her mouth in horror. Iliana continued, glancing anxiously over her shoulder as calls from downstairs grew louder, “And the Greek warriors are also here.”
“In Thebes?” Andromache gasped. How could this be? What was the meaning of this?
“In the town, yes,” Iliana nodded. “We must go, your mother is waiting to take you into hiding. Podes will see you safely away from the fighting –” She trailed off, left unspoken was where Iliana and her sister would seek hiding.
“You must come with us,” Andromache said at once.
“You’re very kind,” Iliana said, bowing graciously.
Andromache, though panicked, took a deep breath. She gathered her maids to her and ushered them out of the bedchambers, rushing down the stairs in search of her mother, who was to lead them out of the town and away from Achilles and the bloodshed, with Podes to protect them.
Her mother stood beneath an archway, in the corner of the palace, a shawl wrapped around her hair and shoulders, concealing her face. Podes stood, axe in hand, his body bearing the stress of his laborious journey and his anxiety, and motioned for Andromache to join them.
“We need to go now,” Podes said, but before they could go further, steel clattered around them, sounding so close that Andromache felt as if the swords were clashing within her head. She half-turned, but Podes grabbed her arm and threw her out of the archway, out into the brilliant, dazzling sunlight beyond the palace walls. She heard her mother cry out, and Andromache clasped her mother’s arm and dragged her away from the fighting, which she knew had broken out within the very walls of the palace, her home.