The Trojan Princess

by JJ Hilton

  As much as they might be fascinated by Andromache, she knew that their adulation went to Hector, their future King. They adored him and he seemed to love each of his subjects as much, waving and shaking hands, smiling down upon children, rich and poor alike. None was beneath the adoring smile of the eldest prince.

  When they returned to the palace, Andromache had a renewed devotion to her betrothed and her heart beat fast, exhilarated as she was by the adoring masses that they had greeted. It was then that Andromache understood the power of this royal family; though they ruled justly, it was their popularity amongst all of their citizens that kept them in power. She thought of her father; he had been popular in Thebes, too, and it had seen him through all the trying times, the years of poverty and famine, when food was scarce. She knew, as she dismounted from the litter and received the congratulations of Hector and the other members of the procession, that she was expected to continue this popularity contest as the Heir’s wife. For the people who so loved them would be easier to rule over if they loved their royals; if they grew out of love with them, it would surely be another matter.

  Andromache retreated to her chambers, exhausted but happy, with much to think on. As she stood on her balcony and looked out on the city, a kingdom that would one day be her realm, she thought of the people she had seen, who were at this moment going about their lives in the buildings and streets that sprawled beneath her, and felt awed once more.

  * * *

  “You are surely the most beautiful bride there ever was,” cried Iliana, as Ilisa dabbed at the corner of her eyes, nodding fervently in agreement.

  Andromache, though used to such flattery from those who wished to ask for something, felt her own eyes brimming with tears. Iliana noticed and wagged a finger at her, shaking her head disapprovingly.

  “No, no, princess,” she swept across the floor to her, “You mustn’t cry and spoil it.”

  Andromache was not used to such things as the dark powder the Trojan women wore around their eyes, and she did not understand it though she saw, when she looked upon her reflection, that it did indeed have a certain allure to it and that her eyes now stood out, dark and dazzling, in the paleness of her face. She blinked rapidly to stifle any tears and pursed her lips, hoping that she would not be overcome with emotion over the coming days.

  The first day of her wedding had dawned and she could not find it within herself to be nervous at the prospect of becoming Hector’s wife. The wedding ceremony would last for three days in the Trojan tradition; the first of which was for Andromache to visit the great temple in the centre of the city and make her sacrifices, so that the gods and goddesses might look favourably upon her in her married life and bless her. It was a ceremony only for women on this day, and she would be accompanied to the great temple by her maids, her new royal sisters, and Queen Hecuba herself. Her own mother was expected to be in attendance, but her health was still fading and she had been deemed unable to make the journey.

  It hurt Andromache, for she longed for her mother to see her married, but she knew that her mother had eyes and thoughts for her husband and sons alone, so she set off – almost an orphan - without her mother from the royal palaces, Iliana and Ilisa trailing behind her in their own finest robes, and with the other women of the royal household looking elegant and bright in their most elaborate headdresses and boldest gowns.

  “You must be excited,” Polyxena whispered, as they climbed atop the litter that would carry them from the palace to the temple, which stood on a low hill in the centre of the city, so that from the top of its pillars one would be able to see all of the city spread out from it in every direction. “I do so long for a wedding of my own!”

  “You will not have one before I do,” Laodice said, seemingly affronted that her sister would say such a thing. “I am older than you, it will be me that marries first.”

  “Perhaps neither of you are ready for marriage,” Creusa pointed out, her voice stern and her lips pursed in disapproval, “If this childish squabbling is what you think befits two royal princesses on this most important of days.”

  Polyxena and Laodice fell quiet and still upon the murderous look their elder sister gave them, but Queen Hecuba put a placatory hand on Creusa’s arm.

  “Today is a joyous occasion,” she said, giving her daughters, and then Andromache, an indulgent smile, “It is about none of us, but Princess Andromache.”

  Creusa’s hard look softened and she too smiled upon the new princess.

  As the litter made its way towards the temple, the streets were lined with people, all waving and weeping and calling for their new princess. Andromache waved from the litter, savouring all the well wishes that were being heaped upon her. She caught Queen Hecuba watching her, and though she said nothing, Andromache fancied that she had seem a glimmer of approval in the queen’s eyes.

  The temple rose above them as they neared and cast them into shadow as they reached it. The citizens of Troy were not allowed to enter the temple to share in this ritual, so Andromache led the royal ladies up the smooth, marble steps and into the cool shadows of the temple alone. Attendants robed in gold stood at the foot of each mighty pillar, their heads bowed; whether in reverence to the gods or in greeting to the royals, Andromache did not know and did not ask. She walked the length of the mighty room and knelt before the altar, bowing her head and the rest of her party did the same.

  She prayed then.

  To Hera, Queen of the Gods and the goddess of marriage and fertility, she prayed for a long and fruitful marriage, filled with joy and happiness, and for the power to be a loyal and blessed wife to Hector, the man who would be her husband and also her king one day.

  To Aphrodite, Goddess of Love, she prayed for her desire for Hector to continue, and grow stronger with each passing day, and for the passion of their union to be blessed with a child.

  To Athena she prayed for wisdom; and to Demeter she prayed for fruitfulness and growth as a woman; and to Artemis, she prayed that she would bless her with a child.

  With the prayers concluded, Andromache lifted her head, hoping that the goddesses upon Mount Olympus had heard her prayers and sought fit to answer them.

  * * *

  On the second day of the wedding ceremony, Andromache felt excitement once more flutter in the depths of her stomach. This day, perhaps more than either of the others, was the most important of the marriage ceremonies, for it was when she and Hector would join hands and enter into their marriage.

  The day began with the nuptial bath; and Andromache slipped naked from her robe and climbed into the icy cool water in the gold tub, which had been adorned with flowers, as her attendants and the women of the royal household looked on. She sank beneath the water and did not feel the cold; for she knew that this ritual was to purify her, ready her for the marital bonds she was to enter into, and it would also sanctify her, blessing her with children and happiness in the future with Hector.

  When she resurfaced, she felt invigorated by the waters cool depths, and she stepped from the golden tub feeling as though the gods had truly blessed her and her marriage.

  The nuptial bath complete, she allowed Iliana and Ilisa to dress her in her finest robes and they placed a shimmering silver veil over her head, so that it fell to her waist on all sides, covering her face and upper body completely from the eyes of others. To keep it in place they put the elaborate peacock-feather adorned headdress that had been presented to her as a gift from Hector atop her head.

  Veiled as she was, Andromache felt freed from the watchful eyes and stares as she and her maids went once more to the great temple. The streets were heaving with citizens and it looked to her as if perhaps every citizen of the city had turned out to celebrate the nuptials. Everywhere she looked, from the streets to the balconies and even to the rooftops, she saw people clamouring to get a glimpse of her in her ornate finery, and of Hector as he rode atop a white stallion, looking for all the world as if he were already a king.

  At the temp
le, Andromache and Hector knelt before the altar and made their offerings to the gods. Andromache, her face hidden behind the veil, looked sideways at the man who was becoming her husband on this day. His face was serious as his lips moved silently in prayer, and she longed to reach out to him, stroke his handsome face, run a hand through his dark hair, but she did not. She remained kneeling until the offerings were made, and Hector rose to his feet. He offered her his hand, and she grasped it, allowing him to help her to her feet. On her feet, Hector gave her a smile - one that she knew only she could see - and squeezed her hand gently before he released it from his grip.

  Heart soaring, Andromache followed him from the temple, where the procession through the streets once more resumed as they returned to the royal palace.

  The feast was a mighty one – weren’t they all, in this city, Andromache mused – but this one was by far grander than any she had seen before, and perhaps would probably ever see again. The men and women dined at separate tables, and Andromache, still veiled in the silver cloth, did not eat nor drink, though her royal sisters urged her to. Only when Creusa, sat beside her and sensing her uncertainty, had discreetly shown her how she could, with dignity whilst wearing the veil, did Andromache manage to relax and enjoy the feast. She drank wine – the most beautiful wine in all the world! – and allowed the musicians and singers to entertain her as they did the whole hall.

  As the sun began to set upon the city and the skies turned from brilliant blue to a fiery, dazzling orange, King Priam rose from his seat, silence descending over the room in anticipation of what was to come.

  Hector joined his father before the whole room, and Andromache followed suit, feeling her legs shaking with nerves and excitement. She wished her mother was here for this; for the lifting of her veil, which would signify the completion of the wedding, and that Andromache was now a true part of the royal family, the wife of Hector in the eyes of the gods and of the people.

  She stood before the silent room and faced Hector, who clasped her hands in his, the smile upon his face assuring her that he, as she, felt no doubts about their union. Priam uttered a short prayer, and turned to his new daughter, a smile upon his ageing face, and with still hands he lifted the veil, and Andromache looked upon her husband, Hector. He leaned in and kissed her lightly on the lips and the room erupted in cheers and joy.

  * * *

  That night was filled with the sounds of revelry still reverberating about the royal palace as Andromache went to Hector’s chambers. Now that she was his wife she had no longer any need of her own small private rooms and it was with anticipation and longing that she made the as yet untravelled route to his bedchambers.

  The rooms were large and opulent, the bed adorned with fresh petals and the curtains and silk sheets threaded with gold and silver for this most special of nights, though Andromache knew that her husband did not find pleasure in such lavish furnishings and decorations. He was waiting for her on the large balcony that led from his rooms and this was where Andromache joined him.

  He sensed her approach but he said nothing and so it was with silence that she looked down upon the darkness of the shore and the black ocean beyond. Orange flames burned far below them on the ramparts of the wall, and only the faint tinkling of laughter and hum of the lutes could be heard from their places high above.

  “You look beautiful,” Hector said, breaking the silence. Andromache turned to him, and saw that he had drawn closer, his eyes on her face, whilst she had been distracted by the view. “I thought I would have become accustomed to such beauty, but you surprise me each day when I think to myself that you are more beautiful than the last.”

  Andromache blushed a little from the flattery, though she knew he meant his words. This man, now her husband, was not a man to speak of things he did not mean.

  “Are you happy?” Hector asked.

  “Very happy,” Andromache replied, knowing it to be true. “And you? Are you happy, my prince?”

  “I have never been happier than I am at this moment,” Hector said. “And I may be your prince and you my princess, but for tonight, let me just be your husband, and you my wife. Titles are for the daylight, and it is in the moonlight we now stand.”

  Hector closed the distance between them and brought his face to hers, kissing her warmly. His body pressed against hers as his arms slid about her waist and she leaned in against him, the heat from his body scorching her as a fire might, although she felt only pleasure at such passion. His kiss deepened and she ran a hand through his dark hair, his body responding to her touch.

  He lifted her from her feet, his strong arms easily holding her to his chest as he carried her from the balcony and into the bedchambers. Silken hangings blew in the breeze, but Andromache barely glanced at them as he laid her atop his sheets.

  She watched as he undressed in the moonlight and then, naked, began to undress her too, pulling the pins that held her robes together so that she too lay naked on the bed. He lay beside her and kissed her hard on the mouth, his arms wrapping around her, and though his kisses were hungry, urgent – and his body taught and hard at the intensity of their passion – he was gentle with her, his hands caressing her breasts and her skin tingled with pleasure at the touch of his fingertips as they traced contours of her body.

  He entered her with a moan and she clasped at his back with shaking hands, feeling the muscles beneath his skin straining with the pleasure, and she held him to her then, their moans of pleasure intertwining as their bodies did, locked together in passion until dawn.

  * * *

  The third and final day of the marriage ceremony was a joyous one; Andromache tired but exhilarated, sat in a huge, ornately carved wooden chair, reminiscent of a throne, beside her husband, who sat in one matching, and from the dais of the great hall the husband and wife received the gifts and congratulations of the people.

  Andromache had not thought of the gifts that would be bestowed upon them, for she had thought only of becoming Hector’s wife, but hundreds of people came to the palace.

  The noblemen came with their wives, and sons, and daughters, all in their finest, to present a huge variety of wondrous gifts; one of the wealthiest men in the city, who had grown rich from ship-building in the docks, presented Hector and Andromache with a new ship, to which Andromache had gasped, bringing tears to the old man’s eyes; another nobleman, loathe to be outdone, brought a chest of jewels for the new princess, and Andromache could scarce believe her eyes as she looked upon golden headbands encrusted with huge red rubies, necklaces of spun silver that glittered with green emeralds, and tiaras adorned with diamonds and crystals.

  It was not only the noblemen that came; the people of the city gave whatever they could, farmers brought goats and lambs and horses; millers brought sacks of corn, and fisherman huge crates of fish, salted and smoked and filling the room with their aroma.

  Her royal family, of course, presented gifts too; Creusa and her husband, Aeneas, presented her with a wardrobe full of expensive gowns of the finest silks; Polyxena and Laodice gave her vats of scented oils and perfumes; and perhaps grandest of all, King Priam and Queen Hecuba presented a highly exquisite and detailed, life-sized golden statue of Andromache and Hector, holding hands, loving looks upon their faces as they gazed upon each other.

  It was enough to make Andromache feel faint with the intoxication of it all, but the guests did not end there. The kings and queens of nearby lands had either come to the city or sent envoys in their place, and these too presented gifts, both to congratulate them and to remind King Priam and the city of how wealthy and how respectful their countries were. From Ethiopia came a host of exotic creatures, and Andromache fell in love with the long-legged, pink-feathered birds that strutted around the great hall calling out in soft tones, their long beaks pecking at the stone floor as if there might be food to find there.

  By the end of the day, Andromache was exhausted from the excitement and delight of the day. There was still one gift left to be presen
ted to her, and Hector found great pleasure in introducing Andromache to Philomena, the daughter of Trojan nobleman, who was to be her maid-in-attendance, and join Iliana and Ilisa as part of her household.

  “You spoil me so,” Andromache said, smiling at him as Philomena bowed to her.

  “Does not every wife deserve to be spoiled?” Hector asked, and Andromache kissed him on the lips, savouring the warmth of him. She did not care that Philomena, her new maiden, saw and was shocked at the overt display of affection. For what did she mind who knew of her love for her husband? Andromache wanted everyone in Troy, in the whole world, to know that she and her husband were in love and would always be so.

  * * *

  Andromache found married life both pleasant and wondrous and took upon her wifely duties with vigour and enjoyment. The household at the palace grew accustomed to Andromache’s presence by his side and indeed welcomed the sight of the young couple, so in love that it was plain for all to see, and there was often talk amongst servants and the royal family themselves that it could not be long before the heir and his wife bore a child.

  The princess went to see her husband train with the other soldiers of the household guard, cheering when he disarmed an opponent or won at swordplay, for he always won and she would bestow kisses upon him that caused the other soldiers with whom he trained to look away, fearing they were looking upon a scene too intimate for their eyes.