by JJ Hilton
It was as they ambled slowly back along the ramparts that they heard the cries of men nearby, calling out that it was Paris returning from Sparta whose ships had sailed into the docks moments before. Andromache held a wriggling, playful Astyanax in her arms as she looked to her maids, though they were as surprised as she was of the news.
She gave up squirming Astyanax to Philomena, who retreated within the palace with Iliana and Ilisa to bathe the child, and Andromache went in search of her husband, or answers in his place.
“Have you heard the cries?” she asked Polyxena, when she came across in the corridors. “They say your brother Paris has returned from Sparta.”
“That is not all they whisper,” Polyxena said quietly. “They say he does not return alone.”
“He has brought his men back with him,” Andromache said, unsure of Polyxena’s meaning, though she knew her words held some hidden secret.
“Yes, he has returned with his men,” Polyxena nodded. “And also, some are already saying, with a woman.”
“A woman?” Andromache repeated. She thought of Paris’ wife, left alone for so many months living atop Mount Ida, and wondered at the cruelty and disregard some men had for their wives. “Surely he has not brought a Spartan woman back with him?”
Polyxena shrugged her shoulders, not knowing the answer.
“All I’ve heard is a passing rumour,” she said, “That a woman with gold hair was standing atop the deck, hand-in-hand with my brother.”
Andromache thought on this matter as she parted from Polyxena, and continued in search of her husband. She found Hector surrounded by worried faces, a few minutes later in one of the courtyards that formed the entrances to the palace.
Upon seeing her, Hector extricated himself from the crowd and came to her. She saw at once that he was troubled, and she knew well enough that it was because of Paris’ return and she thought of what Polyxena had said.
“Has Paris returned?” she asked.
Hector did not need to answer, for at that moment, Paris and his companions entered, looking weary from their journey, and shouts and activity filled the courtyard. Hector turned from his wife and Andromache saw his dismay as he saw his brother, indeed still hand-in-hand with the golden-haired woman Polyxena had described to her just moments earlier.
He rushed forward, pushing through the men, and directed his questions to his brother. Paris wore a defiant look on his face, as if he knew of his brother’s anguish before he spoke a word.
“What have you done?” Hector demanded, looking to the woman that accompanied Paris. “You were to go to Sparta and negotiate trade agreements, not –”
“They sought no agreements,” Paris interrupted him. Hector fell silent, despairing. “Menelaus may have done, but his brother does not want any agreements or alliances. He seeks to conquer these lands, and he controls Menelaus, crown or not.”
“And she?” Hector asked of his companion.
“This is Helen,” Paris said, a smile alighting his features as he looked at her. Helen smiled with trepidation as Hector turned his full attention on her. Andromache could see that Paris was in love with this woman; he seemed incapable of tearing his eyes from his beautiful companion. “Helen, Queen of Sparta,” he went on.
Hector’s frown deepened.
“You have brought King Menelaus’ wife with you?” Hector asked, shocked.
Andromache felt her chest constrict, her hands trembling ever-so-slightly. She had never heard such trepidation in her husband’s voice and this worried her more than anything.
“I am in love with her,” Paris said simply. “We are in love, and we wish to marry.”
“She is already married,” Hector said, his anger building. “To the King of Sparta, who has surely noticed his wife has fled, with a man he invited to his home as a guest, no-less. Do you know what this will mean?”
“He will be angry,” Paris suggested, and there was nothing in his voice that gave an indication that he might be worried or regretted his actions. “But Helen wishes to put him aside in favour of me. He cannot stop her.”
All trace of goodwill had vanished from Hector’s face and he spoke through thin lips, his body trembling with the anger he longed to unleash upon this arrogant brother.
“That will not stop him trying,” Hector hissed, “And for blaming you - and us.”
Before Paris had a chance to respond, Hector turned away. He strode across the courtyard and swept inside, with no glances back at his brother and Helen, Queen of Sparta. Andromache hurried after him, shooting a last look at the lovers that stood in the courtyard, surrounded by travel-worn sailors. Paris’ look remained defiant while Helen looked uncertain; surely it was not the welcome she was used to as a queen.
Andromache had to quicken her pace to keep up with her husband. Hector did not speak, his anger still high. They came across Helenus and Polites in a corridor, and it took them one look at their brother’s face to know that Paris had brought trouble with him.
“We must summon the council at once,” Hector shouted, making Andromache jump. Polites bowed in acknowledgement and rushed away, robes billowing behind him. Helenus hesitated, as if too nervous to ask for news of Paris.
Hector paid him no mind and turned to Andromache, who attempted to smile in a bid to lighten his mood. He seemed to soften at her look, but she knew the anger remained and that he did not wish to show it to her.
“Andromache, dear wife, you must find my sisters and my mother,” Hector said.
She nodded, for she knew that he wanted them to hear the truth from her rather than Paris, who she was sure would make light of the situation when clearly, from her husband’s pained expression, it was far from so. She bowed her head and went in search of them.
* * *
“You are not only a fool, but a dangerous fool,” King Priam raged.
Hector had never seen his father so filled with anger as now, pacing the council chambers, the object of his wrath, Paris, standing before him. Paris seemed unwavering in his certainty, and he offered no apologies, no excuses, for what he had done.
“Do you not hear me, boy?” Priam demanded, stopping in front of Paris and shouting in his face, so that the prince’s face was sprayed with spittle from his mouth. Paris remained silent. “Answer me,” Priam screamed, “Tell me why you have done this!” He raised a hand and struck Paris hard across the face with the back of his hand. The slap rang loud in the room and seemed to echo off the walls.
Hector remained still, as did the other members of the council.
Paris blinked hard, lips pursing as he rubbed his reddening cheeks. Priam lowered his hand, staring at his second son with hatred.
“Still you do not speak,” Priam shouted, “Tell me, I pray of you, was it this silence that so won the Queen of Sparta’s heart?”
Hector watched as Paris bit down on his tongue to keep quiet.
“You would do well to answer me,” Priam said, resuming his pacing. “Or I may see fit to send the queen back to her rightful home, and send you to the dungeons.”
Paris swallowed hard at this threat. Hector knew then that his brother was a coward, for he saw fear flicker in his eyes at the mention of such a treatment.
“You would not send her back,” Paris said quietly.
“Why not?” Priam snarled, turning on him once more.
“I love her,” Paris replied. His voice was quiet, pathetic, yet Hector could not help but feel some sympathy for him. He wondered what he would say if it were Andromache who was spoken of in such a manner, but he forced the thought from his mind. Andromache was not Helen; and he most certainly was not Paris.
“You love her?” Priam mocked him. “You love her, you say? Do you have no love for your brothers and sisters? For your king and queen? For your homeland?”
“Cannot I love them as well as Helen?” Paris argued, though his voice quivered with nerves. Hector thought his father would strike Paris again, but he did not. He remained quiet, seething, and Par
is went on. “I went to Sparta with good intentions; to prove my worth to you and this council.”
“Prove yourself?” Priam snorted in derision. “You have proven yourself a fool.”
“I hoped to return in glory, with trade agreements and an alliance with Sparta and King Menelaus,” Paris insisted, ignoring his father’s mockery. “I wished for all these things, I truly did.”
“And yet you returned with Menelaus’ wife instead!”
“Agamemnon, King of Mycenae, who is Menelaus’ brother, did not wish me to succeed in negotiating a trade agreement,” Paris said. His brow was damp, and he wiped it with the back of his palm. “I stood no chance against such a formidable opponent.”
King Priam regarded him for a long moment. Then he turned and rounded on Laocoon who had travelled with Paris to Sparta, and who had been tasked with guiding the prince in his plans. He had remained quiet since his return, and Hector knew that the bald man had been hoping to keep a low profile.
“Tell me, Laocoon, is this true?” he demanded.
Under the direct ire of the king, Laocoon trembled.
“Yes, my lord, it is true,” he confirmed. “At first we did not realise it, but it was soon brought to our attention that King Agamemnon did not have our best intentions in mind, and that he did not wish us to negotiate any further with Menelaus.”
“What did Menelaus say of all this?”
“He did not know of his brother’s scheming,” Laocoon answered. “Or if he did, he gave no indication of it.”
“So this Agamemnon seeks conquest rather than treaties, does he?” Priam asked, resuming his pacing. “He wants our lands, is that it?”
Laocoon let out a long breath in relief now that he was not under such intense scrutiny. “I believe so,” he answered, his voice braver now. “He certainly wanted no agreements with us, and neither he did not want his brother to treaty with us.”
“How did you come to know this?”
Laocoon swallowed hard, glancing at Paris.
“It was Helen, the Queen of Sparta, who informed us,” Laocoon said meekly.
Priam’s eyes grew round with anger once more at the mention of her name. Laocoon took a discrete step backwards, but Priam turned to Paris with a swirl of his robes.
“Is this true?” he asked.
Paris nodded.
“Yes, she came to me and informed me of what she had learned,” Paris explained. “That was when I knew that I could trust her, and –”
“You fell in love with her,” Priam spat in distaste.
Paris blushed but remained quiet.
“And whose idea was it that she should join you when you departed Sparta?” Priam asked, ignoring his son’s embarrassment. “Hers? Yours?” He gestured towards Laocoon. “His?”
“It was mine,” Paris said, a hint of defiance returned to his voice.
Laocoon gave a small cough. Priam spun around to face him. The room was deathly still as Priam approached him, eyes glistening with impatience.
“You wish to speak?” he hissed.
“My king, I fear that my prince is not entirely correct in his assertions,” Laocoon spoke quietly, timidly. Hector and the others watched as Priam frowned.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“I believe that Paris did indeed ask Helen to join us as we prepared to depart,” Laocoon answered. “Yet I have it on trusted authority that it was not the prince’s charms alone that persuaded the queen to leave her homeland and join our voyage.”
“Come, explain yourself,” Priam insisted, impatient.
“Helen came to me once we were aboard the ships and had departed from Sparta,” Laocoon explained. “She said she had a confession and she sought advice from me. She told me that Agamemnon had known of her plans to flee the city with Paris and had indeed encouraged her in these fanciful pursuits.”
The chambers were silent when he finished. Hector gathered the meaning of the words immediately, but it took a moment longer for the others to reach any understanding. Priam was the last and his face fell with the realisation.
“Of course,” he said, shaking his head, the anger gone, replaced with resignation. “If he did not wish us to succeed in our negotiations, and he did not want his brother to treaty with us because he wished to launch an invasion against us, then he needed to convince his brother to wish the same.”
“I do not understand,” Paris said, bewildered. “Helen loves me, and I love her.”
Hector shook his head sadly. It seemed Paris, the cause of all of this, was the only one who did not understand the true severity of the situation. Though he longed to strike his brother for his stupidity, Hector also felt overwhelming pity for Paris.
Priam did not share such pity and turned on him.
“King Agamemnon wishes to invade Troy and the eastern shores,” Priam said, a note of spite in his voice as he addressed Paris. “No doubt he needs his brother Menelaus’ support and backing in waging a war against us. Menelaus could have been an ally to us, could have stopped war from coming to our shores, if you had not stolen his wife.”
“What has Helen to do with war and Agamemnon?” Paris asked, though Hector thought he saw a flicker of uncertainty on his brother’s face now.
“You fool,” Priam shook his head sadly. “Agamemnon must have been waiting for years for an excuse to drag his brother into a war against us, and you and Helen have provided him with the perfect reason. No wonder he was so eager to persuade Helen to run away with you, for now he will have undoubtedly no trouble in persuading Menelaus to sail against us!”
Paris’ look of defiance cracked and he looked scared.
As each man in the room thought on the prospect of war against the combined might of Kings Agamemnon and Menelaus, two brothers united - one seeking conquest and one seeking vengeance for the theft of his wife and betrayal of his trust - the eyes that looked upon Paris were filled with anger and hate.
* * *
The evening was tense as Paris and Helen joined the royal table to dine with them. Andromache sat beside her husband and watched them approach with trepidation, but also a certain amount of curiosity. The hall fell silent upon their entrance and Paris guided Helen with their hands clasped together, yet to Andromache it looked as if the earlier meeting, that Hector had told her about, had at least taken some of the arrogance from his demeanour. Perhaps, she hoped, he would learn some humility and respect, although not at too great a cost for Troy. Cassandra’s words echoed in her mind, and she pushed them from her thoughts.
King Priam remained silent as they joined the high table. Queen Hecuba welcomed her son from his travels with open arms and had not raised her voice once in her talks with him. It seemed she had accepted Helen and her son’s love for her, although Andromache wondered if her blindness when it came to Paris was more because of her guilt for sending him to his death as a child than an overt love and respect for the prince.
It had certainly served Paris well to use his mother’s guilt and blind love – at least, that is how it seemed to Andromache - as Hecuba had persuaded Priam to give them shelter in the royal palace and to allow them to dine as royals. According to Hector, his father had been all for stripping Paris of his royal titles and sending him and Helen both out of the city walls and disowning them. Andromache had to admit she was of the same mind if it put them all in danger to harbour them here, especially when she thought of her beautiful Astyanax upstairs in their chambers, nursed by Philomena.
Helen and Paris took their seats at the table and slowly conversation resumed and the hall filled once more with noise. At the high table it remained tense and quiet. Hector and his brothers were silent as they ate, studiously avoiding looking at Paris and Helen. Andromache could only assume that the tensions from the council meeting were not yet forgotten. The daughters of Troy, the royal princesses, did not seem eager to engage Helen and their brother in conversation either; Creusa went as far as to pretend neither were there; Cassandra glanced at the lovers with
fear and suspicion and Andromache knew why, remembering the prophecy she had delivered too. Only Polyxena looked as if she might accept the golden-haired queen, but with her sisters so against Helen, she did not dare speak. So it was with relief that Andromache later left the table, exhausted by the tense atmosphere that seemed to follow Paris and Helen around the palace.
As Andromache stood over her son’s crib and watched him sleep, his thumb between his puckered lips, his small but sturdy chest rising and falling in rhythm with each breath, she turned to her husband who stood beside her smiling adoringly down at their son.
“Hector, do you really believe that there will be war?” she asked. She had tried to keep the fear from her voice, but Hector must have noticed it nonetheless for he turned to her and put his arms around her, pulling her close to him and kissing her forehead.
“I confess that I do not know what the future holds now,” he said, his voice calm despite his earlier anxiety. “But what I do know is that you will never need to fear. I will always protect you and our son, above all else, so whatever happens, fear not. I am here.”
* * *
Although Andromache knew that her husband would always protect her, and that war was not yet a certainty, she could not help herself but to fear over what may come to pass, and she found herself thinking often of Cassandra’s dire warning that Paris would bring about the deaths of a thousand.
It seemed curious to her that Cassandra should have made the prophecy, only for Paris to return months later with the Queen of Sparta as his lover, sparking fears of war.
As hard as Hector might try to comfort her and ease her worry, Andromache knew that she was not the only one in the palace to fear for the future. King Priam was distracted of late, worried more each passing day, when no word came from Sparta or King Menelaus about the whereabouts of his wife. The council, too, seemed more strained since Paris’ return and though Paris maintained a seat on the council, he had not attended since he had been so angrily interrogated by his father. While Paris made light of the situation, nobody believed that he was not unhappy at being cast out of the meetings. Cassandra no longer visited the palace as often as she had done before, preferring the silence and isolation of the temple and Andromache suspected she longed to be away from Paris and Helen – for whose existence she was partly to blame.