The Trojan Princess

by JJ Hilton

  Andromache loved her child, though he was yet to be born, and she spoke to him as she lay upon her pillows, telling him of his father’s bravery and of her own father’s wisdom. She felt sure that the child she was carrying was a boy, and Hector shared her feelings.

  All was well in the royal palace of Troy as they awaited the birth, and it was into this peaceful, happy household that an unwelcome visitor was brought; his wrists and ankles bound in chains, his body bruised and his face bloodied from his encounter with Helenus and Hector. It was not usual for King Priam to receive such visitors, and he did so in secret, surrounded by members of the council as the prisoner was brought to them in the council chambers, and forced to kneel before them on the lowered stage in the middle of the room.

  “You have made grievous claims,” King Priam spoke, voice wavering with rage, as he looked upon the man’s face. “I would not have blamed my sons for putting you to death in the fields.”

  “He sought refuge in the Temple of Zeus,” Hector explained, standing behind the kneeling prisoner, adrenaline still coursing through him from the chase. He and Helenus had been riding through the fields when they had come across the traveller, who had fled from them. They had pursued him on foot, abandoning their stallions, and had beaten him before he had crawled into the temple. “We did not want to bring about Zeus’s wrath should we have put him to death in such a sanctified place.”

  “You did well to act with caution,” Priam said. “For I believe a trial is in order.”

  “A trial?” Helenus asked, anger still flaring within him. “Have you not heard of his treason, father?”

  “I have heard,” Priam said solemnly. “Yet the gods stopped you from killing him, did they not? They must have stayed your sword for a reason.”

  “No, my king, it was not the gods who stopped me,” Helenus answered. “It was Cassandra. She begged us to let him live.”

  “Indeed?” Priam asked. “And did she give a reason for her kindness to this man?”

  “She did,” Helenus said, disquieted now. Priam leaned forwards in anticipation.

  “And what reasoning did your twin sister give you, Helenus?”

  Beside his brother, Hector bowed his head, bracing himself for the words.

  “Cassandra told us she had foreseen his arrival,” Helenus said slowly. “She claims that this man, Paris, speaks the truth and not treason. She says he is our long lost brother, your son, Paris, Prince of Troy.”

  * * *

  Andromache knew that something was amiss when Hector came to their bed that evening. His lips were drawn tight in a worried frown and he was restless as he paced the floor at the foot of their bed, shooting cautious glances to his wife.

  “Tell me what’s on your mind,” she implored him, but he shook his head.

  “I don’t want you to fret,” he insisted.

  “You do not need to fear worrying me or our child,” she insisted, placing a hand upon her stomach. “I feel more anxious seeing you in such a state and not knowing the cause of such distress.”

  Hector sighed and sat down heavily on the bed beside her. A hand went to her stomach, rubbing her stomach gently, his palms warm against her bare skin.

  “We have a prisoner who claims to be my brother,” he confessed, soothed by her presence. “I confess I do not know whether to believe him or not.”

  “What say the others?” Andromache asked, her level tone belying the surprise she felt inside at such a suggestion. “And your father?” She thought of the stories she had heard from Philomena, of Priam’s hoards of illegitimate children across the city and further afield.

  “Cassandra believes that he is honest,” Hector told her. “She says she had a vision that he would return to us. Helenus protests that he does not believe a word of it, though he seems uncertain of it within himself. The others, they do not know what to think, as I myself do not.”

  “Does he claim to be a true prince?” Andromache asked. “Or –” She left the rest of her words unspoken, for she knew that Hector would take her meaning.

  “He does not claim to be one of the king’s illegitimates,” he said. “He claims to be Paris, Prince of Troy, and the second heir after myself.”

  “Can there possibly be a word of truth in it?”

  “It is true that I had a brother named Paris, who was heir to the throne after I as the second of the king’s legitimate sons, and it is true he was sent from the city to be put to death by my father.”

  Andromache did not know what to think and so she remained silent. Hector, it seemed, did not need her to speak, for he went on, putting voice to his frustrations.

  “I suppose it is possible that he survived, for a body was never brought back to the city,” he said. “And to look upon him, he looks similar to me; perhaps he does speak the truth.”

  “Why, pray I ask, was he banished from the city?” Andromache asked. Her curiosity was piqued, and she knew that her husband longed to speak further on the matter.

  “There was a prophecy,” Hector answered her. “My father’s great friend and councillor, Aesacus, foretold that great doom would befall Troy if Paris was allowed to live. My father trusted his friend so much that he sent Paris to the mountains to die.”

  Andromache listened, her hands protectively laid upon her stomach as she thought of what she might do to protect her own son when he was born. Prophecy or not, she would never allow him to be taken from her, she knew that with all her heart. She did not doubt that Hector felt the same, for he glanced at her stomach as if sharing in her thoughts.

  “My father sent him from us for the safety of our city,” Hector said, by way of an apology on behalf of his father, sensing Andromache’s line of thinking. “But it seems that Paris, if he is indeed my brother, bears no grudge upon him or us.”

  “Is there a way of knowing beyond doubt, if he is truthful or not?”

  Hector let out a deep sigh.

  “I do not know of a way, except for asking the gods,” he answered after a while. “He is to face a trial by the council tomorrow. We shall see then if he confesses to lying.”

  “And if he does not?” Andromache asked.

  Hector’s eyes met hers and she saw the turmoil swirling in the depths there. Her precious husband, conflicted so! She drew him to her, her arms around his shoulders, and held him to her breast, stroking his skin with her tender hands, as she soothed him.

  * * *

  The trial of Paris was put to the council of Troy the following day and, though usually a matter for just the council, due to the severity and nature of Paris’ claims, the royal family had been allowed to partake, and Andromache joined them, sitting on a stool to ease her discomfort. She did not wish to witness such a trial, but she had come in support of her husband, who she knew needed comforting in this matter, and so she was here for him and him alone. Her heart went out to them all as she looked upon the princes and princesses, wearing solemn looks upon their faces, as they watched the trial of the man who claimed to be their brother.

  King Priam’s eyes seemed to linger on the prisoner, uncertainty rife in his expression. Queen Hecuba looked more uncertain than even he, her lips trembling and her eyes threatening tears before the trial had begun. The older of the royals looked cautious too, for they had vague and distant memories of their long lost brother from childhood, and Andromache imagined them reliving these snatches of youth, trying to place this man before them in their minds. The younger members of the family had been born after his supposed death, so they had no recollection of him; they seemed bewildered by what was happening, perhaps jealous that a stranger had arrived with claims to be higher up the royal line of accession than them.

  Andromache felt none of these jealousies, none of these memories; she felt only worry for her husband. She knew that he longed to believe his brother had not died as he had for so long believed, but she saw distrust in his eyes also, for this man was little more than a stranger, even if he was a true prince and a true brother.


  The council studied the man before them with suspicion. Laocoon’s bald head shimmered with sweat; Antenor and Antimachus murmured indecipherably between themselves; and Paris, the prisoner, was the only one in the room to show no sign of anxiety.

  King Priam spoke to him, his voice unwavering.

  “You, prisoner, claim to be my long dead son, Prince Paris of Troy, do you not?”

  Paris bowed his head, the chains about his ankles and wrists clinking with the slightest movement.

  “I do claim it, for it is the truth,” he answered, his voice quiet but no less clear. “Though I cannot confess myself dead, as you have believed me to be all these years.”

  King Priam frowned.

  “I sent my second son to be put to death in the mountains,” Priam said, no trace of regret in his voice. “Though I confess never to have looked upon the body of the boy, I have no doubt that he died many years ago as a child. You do not bear resemblance to him.”

  “No, my king, for the one you sentenced to death was but a scared child,” Paris said, “And before you I kneel, a man grown and wishing to make peace with his family.”

  “Pray, prisoner, tell me how you survived my death sentence,” Priam said, bearing down upon him. “Then we will judge whether your words are plausible.”

  “As you wish,” Paris bowed once more. “As you will recall, my king, there was a prophecy made to you that I would bring about the downfall of Troy should I live –”

  “Yes, yes, it was I who was told of the prophecy,” Priam snapped impatiently. He waved his hands, urging him on. “I could not bring myself to harm such a boy as my son, and nor could my queen. In our stead, Agelaus, my chief herdsman at that time, was sent forth with the young prince to leave him on the mountainside, so that he might die.”

  “Indeed, Agelaus took me to a mountainside,” Paris said, looking up into Priam’s face. “I survived and when the herdsman returned nine days, I was still alive. He doubted that the prophecy foretold the my parents could be true, for me to live as I had, so he took me to his home and raised me as he would a son of his own.”

  “Outrageous!” Priam cried out, startling those in the room. Andromache saw sweat pooling on his hairline as his eyes flickered nervously over the prisoner. “You claim that one of my most faithful servants, the honourable Agelaus, betrayed me and let my son live, even though it had been foretold that he would bring about the downfall and ruin of Troy!”

  “He did not wish to bring about your anger,” Paris said, his voice calm. “He simply could not bring himself to leave me alone to die on the mountainside - much as you say that you yourself nor your queen, my mother, was able to do before him.”

  Priam looked imperiously down at him, for never had a prisoner spoken to him in such a way. He was King of Troy, head of this council, and no herdsman’s son with ideas above his lot in life was going to speak in such a manner to him.

  “I’ve heard enough,” Priam called. “I will hear no more treason from this herdsman’s son. Take him back to the cells where he will await his sentencing.”

  Two guards moved forwards, but Cassandra rose from her stool and pushed through the others, before throwing herself onto the prisoner, tears glistening on her cheeks.

  “Father, my king, please believe my words,” she cried, and Priam waved for the soldiers to halt their approach. “If you do not believe him, then please believe me. I have been an honourable daughter, a noble princess, and a dedicated priestess. When this man, Paris, my brother, sought refuge in the Temple of Zeus, chased by my brothers, I knew at once who he was. He is indeed our brother, Paris, your second son and a prince of Troy.”

  Antenor and Antimachus narrowed their eyes and shook their heads, looking scathingly at Cassandra. Andromache did not know what to believe – her eyes fell upon her husband, who looked as uncertain as his siblings now did.

  King Priam looked about to dismiss his daughter and call forth the guards again, when Helenus, the twin of Cassandra and also gifted with visions, rose to his own feet and walked slowly to stand beside his sister, between the prisoner and his father.

  At this, the tension in the room heightened and Andromache instinctively put a hand over her stomach, as if to protect her unborn son from being witness to it.

  “I must confess that I did not believe this man’s claims,” Helenus said, speaking directly to his father before him. “I do not know this man and nor do I trust him. But I know my twin, and I trust her. She speaks the truth, I see that much, and I know that she must have indeed seen such a vision. Therefore, as I know what she says to be true, I must profess that this man is indeed Paris, Prince of Troy, and my brother, as Cassandra says he is.”

  King Priam looked affronted, shocked by such temerity, but he turned and saw Queen Hecuba’s watery eyes, and his sons and daughters looking bewildered, unsure of what to do or say. The council were whispering amongst each other, more uncertain now.

  “Please believe my words father,” Cassandra implored him, falling to her knees and raising her hands in pleading to him. “This man, this prisoner, is your son Paris.”

  King Priam closed his eyes and was silent for a long moment. The room was deathly still and Andromache dare not breath for fear of disturbing the man. When at last he opened his eyes, he held out his arms.

  “I have heard enough,” Priam declared. “Release this man from his chains, for he is Paris, Prince of Troy, my believed-dead son returned to the city once more.”

  * * *

  The city of Troy was rife with talk of the triumphant return of Prince Paris, and Andromache wondered how the man, brought into the city a prisoner bound in chains and now walking the corridors of the royal palace adorned with the fanciest of garments, had the ability to overlook such gossip and rumour.

  For though many praised the return of Paris, the older generation, some of the council amongst them, Andromache suspected, remembered the prophecy of doom foretold upon the birth of this man, and they did not warm to him. Even those who doubted the prophecy, suggesting it was said of another prince perhaps, often questioned whether this man, raised by a shepherd and with none of the graces or polite manners of the royal family he now belonged to, was really a prince at all. Could he not simply be the son of a shepherd who had heard whispers of Paris’ tale and decided to try his luck? Andromache could not quite believe that such a man existed who could fool an entire royal household; though she confessed herself unsure of the man.

  Paris confessed himself married to a nymph he had come to love on the slopes of Mount Ida, the mountainside he had been left to die upon by the shepherd, and that he had a son by her, named Corythus. Though he spoke of his wife Oenone and their son often, he had made no effort to summon them to the city, insisting that he wanted his wife to stay in their home.

  “He is a man of much intrigue,” Hector said tiredly, as he disrobed one evening and lay beside Andromache in their bed. “I cannot feel love towards him, though he is my own brother.” His voice was full of self-loathing, though Andromache did not blame him for his feelings.

  “You are only just beginning to know the man,” she said, massaging his shoulders to ease the tension within her husband. “And he does not make it easy for others to warm to him.” She had heard tales of his arrogance, often spoken through Iliana, Ilisa and Philomena, who had learned much from the other servants of the palace. “He does not seem to seek a strong relationship with any of his family,” she mused.

  “And can we blame him for that?” Hector asked, “My father sent him to his death as a child and now he is returned, and all of the city questions his story and looks for flaws in his character! How unkindly we have treated him, both in the past and in the present.”

  “You cannot hold it against people for talking of him. It is surely a great surprise for them, as it certainly was for me, to hear of him. A second son, returned from supposed death! In truth, I still find myself wondering how something like this could happen!”

  Hector turned to he
r and smiled. His hands went to her stomach, vastly swelled since even Paris had arrived in the city; it was not long now, Andromache knew, as did her husband, until their son was born to them.

  “I do not blame my brothers and sisters for their discontent,” Hector said, and Andromache knew that he would only speak so openly with her and nobody else. “Now Paris is here, he is second heir to the throne after me. They are surely angered by such a change in their circumstances!”

  Andromache remembered hearing of Diephobus’ reaction to Paris’ welcome. It was said that, alone in his palace in Thebes, he had been apoplectic with rage upon hearing of the brother’s return. He had still not returned to the city to welcome his brother, despite summons from the king and his royal siblings, and Andromache did not envy Paris, for she would not have welcomed the wrath of someone as cunning nor as deceitful as Diephobus.

  As she lay in bed beside her husband, talking of such things, Andromache did not feel concerned. She could not find it within herself to fear Paris, though she could not be sure that she trusted nor liked him much. Hector would always protect her, and if he was not scared then she had no reason to be.

  * * *

  Knowing that the time for her son to be born was growing close, Andromache sought the blessings of the goddesses, who had so kindly blessed her in her marriage, and she wanted the same good blessings to be awarded upon her son when he was born.

  It was with Iliana, Ilisa and Philomena, her trusted maids, that she left the safety and shade of the royal palace to cross the city and pay homage at the temple. She had sent word to Cassandra, her royal sister and a priestess, to expect her arrival.

  She lay on the litter as they made the short journey, Iliana and Ilisa mopping her forehead with a cool, damp cloth and Philomena massaging her swollen feet with gentle hands. All three maids knew it would not be long before their princess had her child, and each of them were as excited as Andromache for the new arrival.