The Trojan Princess

by JJ Hilton

  Her mother was awake, the blanket drawn down from her face. Andromache approached quietly and sat down on the edge of the cart, but her mother made no effort to turn to her.

  “Mother, will you have some water?” she whispered, leaning close. Her mother seemed not to hear her, her eyes focused on the moon above them.

  “The fates have been cruel,” she said. Her voice was barely audible, raspy from her dry throat. “No water can save me, no water can bring back your father.”

  “You must have a drink,” Andromache pleaded. She wanted to remind her that she was all she had left of her family, the last thread that remained between her and her brothers and her father. Yet her mother shook her head. “Please, mother,” Andromache spoke. “You must drink, we are almost at Troy, we will be safe there.”

  “Nowhere is safe,” her mother sighed. “And even if it were true, I do not need safety now. I long for death, so I may be reunited with my King. My dearest Eetion, your father. I long to be reunited with him.”

  Her words were enough to make Andromache want to weep, but she did not. She leaned down and kissed her mother’s forehead. As she made to move away, her mother grasped her hand in hers.

  “Mother?” Andromache hoped, prayed, that she would ask for water, for food.

  “You have been a good daughter to me,” she said softly. “And you will make a great queen.”

  With that, she slid her hands away from Andromache’s, and returned her gaze to the moon. Andromache saw tears slip from her mother’s eyes and roll down her turned cheek, glistening in the moonlight.

  * * *

  The gates of Troy were huge, and as they passed beneath them Andromache was reminded of the stories her father had told her as they had awaited the arrival of King Priam, his son Hector, and their party, in their small palace at Thebes.

  It seemed such a long time ago, Andromache mused, but she did not dwell on her grief nor her memories. Beyond the walls, the city of Troy seemed to swell before her; she had always imagined the walls, great and powerful, but never the city that must lie within them, flourishing and magnificent.

  Their Trojan escort went ahead, clearing their path through the crowded streets. Stone buildings rose around them everywhere, market stalls had sprung up along the edges of the streets and in the doorways of homes, bright and brilliant colours hanging from windows and balconies as robes and garments were hung out in the sun to dry. The people did not seem to notice them; surely there were too many people arriving in the great city to be of much interest to them, though some cast Andromache curious glances – perhaps, she mused, they saw beyond her sun-beaten brow and stained clothes to the princess that she was – and children stopped their play to let them pass, eyeing the soldiers with interest, barely glancing at the women trailing behind them.

  Her mother remained shrouded beneath the blanket, and this drew some curious looks, but Andromache for once did not worry for her mother. She was too intrigued by this brilliant city she had arrived in. Iliana and Ilisa, walking either side of her, seemed as awestruck as she, and now that they had reached their destination they seemed to forget their fatigue and pointed out the large towers, the brilliant silks, and muttered and gasped much as Andromache wished to do, and would have done so, if she had not been a princess and trained to be above such displays of emotion.

  The Trojan guards led them through the city and it seemed they must have walked the length of the city when they finally began to ascend up a steeper road. There were less people here, the streets no longer bright with colour and faces. Now they passed guards in fine robes of silk, shields and swords upon them, bedecked in helmets of silver that glistened and shone in the sunlight.

  At the entrance to the royal palaces, a large, squat man in robes of purple greeted them. His demeanour was polite but suspicious, his eyes narrowed often, but his jowls quivered upon learning of the identity of Andromache and her group. He introduced himself as Laocoon, a councillor and elder of the city.

  “They seek an audience with King Priam,” one of the Trojan escorts informed him. The fat, bald man nodded, clutching his purple robes to his chest, his eyes turning to each of the party in turn, lingering on Andromache longer than the rest.

  “And this is the Princess Andromache?” he asked, attention focused upon her. Andromache nodded, remaining composed even as Laocoon’s eyes took in the state of her gown, his face registering surprise at the state of her appearance. “My condolences, Princess, for your tragic loss.”

  “Thank you for your sympathies,” Andromache managed, inclining her head slightly towards him. Laocoon considered her for a long moment. Andromache worried that he may turn them away, disbelieving of her identity, but then he was muttering to the head of their escort and waved them to follow him.

  “I will inform the King and his council of your arrival,” Laocoon called over his shoulder as he led them up the road, his bald head already shimmering with sweat, and Andromache felt relief course through her body. “I will have Sarpedon,” he gestured towards the head of their escort, whose face remained impassive at the mention of his name, “Guide you to some chambers, where you can wash and prepare yourself.”

  Andromache did not know whether to be slighted or not by his words, but she was too relieved that she had been received and would have an audience with the King that she could only smile. The palace rose mighty and beautiful before them, perched atop what surely must be the largest hill within the confines of the city. The walls were of white stone, towers and arches rose high above them, and Iliana and Ilisa gasped. Andromache herself had to fight to keep her awe from showing on her face, though Laocoon must have read her inner thoughts for he smiled indulgently at her.

  “Many a greater princess has been brought to silence upon the sight of the Royal Palace of Troy,” he shared with her, and Andromache felt her feelings soften towards the man. Before the huge doors to the palace, Laocoon stopped and glanced towards the cart.

  “The cart may come no further,” he said primly. “I can send for a doctor to come and see to your mother,” he suggested, when her mother made no effort to move from her position. Andromache nodded, a blush creeping up her face at her mother’s behaviour.

  Leaving her mother in the cart, they passed through the main doors, between two guards who showed no expression as they passed.

  Laocoon came only as far as the entrance to the palace, and departed along the cool, shaded corridors and disappeared around a corner out of sight. Sarpedon took a different path and Andromache followed, savouring the shade of the palace after days beneath the baking sun.

  Sarpedon showed them to their chambers, high in the palace, with a balcony that overlooked the great city sprawling beneath them. As he left them in privacy, leading his men out, Andromache saw Axion visibly relax as he watched his retreating back. She thought, once again, of how well he and his two comrades had served her these past few days.

  She dismissed them, and Axion looked grateful as he and the other two men went in search of a hot meal and a bath. Iliana and Ilisa watched their retreating backs, and Andromache thought of how well these two girls had served her too; she only hoped that Hector and his father wanted her hand in her marriage so that she might somehow reward these loyal maids. If she was rejected, what would become of them? She shook her head, willing herself not to think on such things.

  The baths of the palace were huge and lavish, and Andromache allowed Iliana and Ilisa to bathe with her, the three of them savouring the scented hot water on their skin, washing away the dirt and sand and aches of the journey. Iliana and Ilisa washed her hair, scrubbing her scalp until she felt her head might burst, and she languished in the waters whilst the sisters took it in turns to wash their own hair.

  Andromache wondered if her mother had been bathed yet. Word had arrived on the way to the baths that she had been found rooms in the palace and was being looked after. Andromache longed for her mother to recover, but how could one overcome such crippling grief? Seeing her ma
ids frolicking in the water, reinvigorated now that the journey was done and they were clean and fresh, Andromache allowed them a smile that beguiled her sense of worry.

  * * *

  King Priam was known for many things – his great many children, mostly illegitimate, for one, and his knowledge and love for his people – but one trait that had never been used to describe the king was stupid.

  He was an astute man – for didn’t all kings need to be? – and the news that Cilician Thebes had been sacked, the king slaughtered and its people either dead or spread to other lands, had left him in a dilemma.

  Now he was told that Princess Andromache had arrived in the city, seeking refuge and an audience with him. He had no doubt what she really sought. With her position in society so uncertain now, Priam did not doubt that the young woman was seeking assurances that her betrothal to Hector was safe. What would he tell her? He had so many things to consider, he thought, pacing the rooms of the council chambers. He had not summoned the council to him - not yet - though he thought that he must have to if he were to make a decision over such matters. Not that he needed their permission, but it did not serve anyone well to disregard such a powerful group of men. Only Diephobus, the second son in the line of accession to the throne, was with him.

  “You doubt the benefits of such a marriage for our beloved Heir Apparent?” Diephobus asked, reading the trail of his father’s thoughts as he had grown accustomed to doing, for his father was not one for speaking his mind, even in such private circumstances. “It is true that so many of the advantages that made the princess such a good choice are no longer so,” Priam said, shaking his head, glad to be able to speak openly without fear of them being overheard. “Her father is dead, her city destroyed by all accounts, and her mother is said to be bedridden with fever. How can such a princess be suitable to marry our Hector?”

  “Indeed, it is true,” Diephobus sighed, though his eyes showed no sign of displeasure. “A princess with no kingdom is, truly, no princess at all, father.”

  “True, true,” Priam murmured. “You think we should call a halt to such a match?”

  “If it pleases my king, then of course,” Diephobus nodded. His eyes seemed to gleam at the thought of causing such distress to others, but his father did not notice, as he had never done.

  The doors to the council chamber flew open and both men jumped, startled, for nobody ever entered the chamber without consent, the two guards standing either side of the entrance outside saw to that. Hector walked towards them, his face a mask of fury. The guards closed the doors hastily behind him, and neither Priam nor Diephobus spoke as the Heir Apparent, Prince of Troy, approached.

  “You dare to discuss matters of my marriage without my presence?” Hector demanded. He did not shout, but he did not need to; his voice carried across the room, loud and clear, and his years of training to lead an army had given him a commanding voice that made even his father hesitate. He reached them and stood, shoulders squared, defiant in the face of the two men. “Diephobus. Brother. Why does it not surprise me that you be here in times of trouble?” he demanded of him. Diephobus smiled sourly and bowed his head in deferment to his older brother.

  “We did not seek to exclude you from discussions,” Priam said, and Hector bowed his head to him, for even in his anger he knew that he could not dismiss etiquette. “Yet you have grown fond of the girl, and we needed to be level-headed in such matters that –”

  “I will not be moved in the matter,” Hector insisted, “Princess Andromache is my betrothed, I will accept no other.”

  “Hector –” Priam protested, but his son had turned from him.

  “I will hear no more of this,” he insisted. “King Eetion was a loyal friend of yours for many years, was he not, father?” Priam looked shamed by the words. “Yet you seek to treat his daughter, a princess, with such dishonour? I shall do no such thing, she will be my wife.”

  He swept from the council chambers, leaving an uncomfortable silence in his wake. Diephobus edged forward, closer to his father, quiet until he had learned of what mood his father might be in now.

  “What think you?” he asked, when Priam remained quiet, brow burrowed in thought.

  “Hector is right,” he said, “Though how can such a disadvantageous marriage –”

  Diephobus clapped his hands together, and Priam looked at him hopefully.

  “Perhaps the princess’ position is not so undesirable after all,” he said, delighted as his father eagerly clung to each word. “It is true that her father is dead, and her mother near death. Her lands are destroyed, yet she still remains heiress to them. Sole heiress, I believe, given that her seven brothers were slaughtered in the sack of Thebes?”

  Priam nodded, eyes sparkling with interest as he began to understand his son’s meaning.

  “If her mother was to pass away, and it seems likely that she will,” Diephobus went on, “Then our dear Andromache will be heir to all that land, and when she marries Hector, her lands will naturally pass to him as her husband, will it not?”

  “Of course,” Priam exclaimed, clapping his hand together. He smiled at the thought of delivering such good news to Hector; he would send for him at once.

  Diephobus bowed and made for the doors to exit the council chambers. His father was delighted, but Diephobus felt no such joy. He rarely did; he was pleased to have found a solution to his king’s dilemma, but only because he knew his father would not forget such help. Perhaps he would get some of the lands when they passed from Andromache to the royal family. He could but hope, he thought.

  In the council room, Priam called for the guards and sent one off to find a servant who could bring Princess Andromache to him. He would receive her warmly, he decided, for she was a princess, he reminded himself, and to marry his Heir Apparent as well.

  Chapter Two

  Princess of Troy

  King Priam and Queen Hecuba of Troy received Andromache, the princess of a destroyed and kingless Thebes, with joy and ceremony. Priam showed no intention of calling off such a wedding, though the fact that the advantages of such a marriage being diminished significantly since the attack on her homeland was clearly not lost on the wily king, and Hecuba hugged her close to her bosom and wept warm, salty tears of commiseration over her. Whether Priam inwardly regretted the betrothal, Andromache saw no sign, and it made her sigh with relief that she had been welcomed so kindly to the royal palaces of Troy.

  “Your mother will be cared for by the best healers in the land,” Hecuba told her, gathering her to the seat beside her at the royal high table. “Grief is the cruellest illness in the world, dear child.”

  Andromache knew the truth of those words. She prayed that her mother would recover but part of her knew that she would not. She remembered her mother’s words under the moonlight, and she knew it had been a goodbye. Her mother did not want to recover; she wanted to return to her husband’s side, and Andromache thought that perhaps it would have been kinder for her to die on the sword beside her husband, rather than be left alive in a world without him, a shadow of her former self, as if caught between the afterlife and the world of the living, haunted by ghosts and the memories of her sons and her king.

  Yet despite her mother’s ailments, Andromache could not feel too sad, not when there was so much to see in this new, amazing world of hers.

  Her chambers were far larger than any she had seen before, and the palace itself was a huge maze of chambers, corridors and passageways, broken up by balconies and balustrades that opened onto beautiful gardens and courtyards. There were temples too; huge ones and tiny ones in the topmost towers, all ornately decorated and scented - no matter their size. The palace had been built against the huge walls of the city, and halfway up the palace’s great height, one could walk out onto the ramparts of the walls and from this vantage point the huge sandy shores could be seen opening before the city, the ocean glistening beneath the sun a mile or so in the distance.

  There was so much to see, An
dromache thought with delight – and this was just the royal palace! – and she wondered on the other palaces, smaller than the royal household, but built across the city for the noblemen and women of Troy.

  Hector’s sisters, or the daughters of Troy, as they were known to the inhabitants of the city, fell upon Andromache with much fussing and delight when news reached them that she had arrived. Andromache felt immediately that she was one of them, so warm and enchanting they were.

  Ilione, the eldest of the daughters, had long left the city with her Greek husband, taking her youngest brother with her as her ward. The second eldest, Creusa, who now insisted upon being entitled ‘eldest’ by default now that Ilione was far away in foreign lands, was married and regarded Andromache as both a younger sister and a possible protégé, her fair hair almost white, as her mother’s had turned at a similar age, and Andromache soon felt a motherly warmth from this elder of sisters.

  “You will make a good wife to Hector,” Creusa said, upon embracing her. “I am a good judge of character, and I can tell you and my eldest brother will make a fair match.”

  “Thank you,” Andromache said, extricating herself from her new sister’s arms, unsure of what else she was expected to say to such a high compliment.

  “Now, sister, anyone might think that perhaps you have the gift of foresight as well,” another sister said, nudging Creusa out of the way so she might greet her new sister. “I am Cassandra, entrusted with the gift of foresight,” she said, at which Creusa snorted in derision. “I am a prophetess, and I share such power with my twin brother, Helenus.”

  Like Creusa, Cassandra was fair-haired, though hers had not yet begun to turn white. She had a kindly face, not beautiful as the others, but pleasant, Andromache thought.

  “Nobody believes my prophecies,” Cassandra sighed, “Alas, I am cursed by the Gods in that respect.”

  “Now, now,” Creusa said levelly, “We all have our parts to play in life –”