by JJ Hilton
“Who knows what goes on inside the mind of a fool?” Hector sighed. “Whatever his motivations were, King Menelaus called off all negotiations. King Agamemnon was delighted by his brother’s decision and instantly declared war.”
“They command so many men,” Andromache said quietly, thinking of the vast wave of ships that even now waited upon the shores.
“It is not only the armies of Sparta and Mycenae that are here to wage war,” Hector went on. “Menelaus informed us that all of Helen’s suitors, the great kings and royal princes of most of Greece – and it would seem there were many! – swore an oath upon Helen and Menelaus’ wedding day to defend the marriage, and now they have all raised their swords against us in support of Menelaus’ claim to his wife.”
“All those men, so many ships – all come to claim one woman?” Andromache could hardly believe such a thing to be true.
Hector nodded.
“It would seem she has a face able to launch a thousand ships in pursuit of her,” Hector said sadly. “Though for many, I suspect they just wish to conquer us and claim our lands and our riches; I am certain that is King Agamemnon’s priority, though he says he only seeks justice for his brother’s betrayal.”
The room fell quiet. Iliana and Ilisa held each other’s hands, fear in their eyes. Philomena looked a frightened too, for all her talk of the great walls. Even Astyanax seemed to understand something was wrong, for he fell quiet, looking from his mother to his father with wide eyes, though he had no way of knowing what was happening.
Later as darkness set and Iliana made to take Astyanax to his crib in the other room, Andromache stopped her. Between them they dragged the crib into the master bedchamber and Andromache pulled the crib close to the edge of her bed, so that she could hear and see Astyanax as he drifted to sleep. Hector smiled down upon his son when he returned from another council meeting, and did not question Andromache’s wish to have her son so close to her side on this night.
Andromache remained awake even as her son and her husband fell asleep. She could not stop thinking of the events of the day and how Paris seemed with every part of his being to bring more trouble down upon them. When eventually she drifted into sleep it was restless and unsound, her dreams filled with terror and longing, and death.
* * *
Though the city of Troy was in a state of war, Andromache noticed that very little changed within the walls of the palace over the following days and nights. When Hector had come to their chambers and told her that Menelaus had declared war upon them, she had worried that Hector, as General, would lead his armies out the very next morning and that she would be subjected to anguished waiting for him to return at the end of each battle. Yet the army had not left the city walls, even though Andromache heard them training in the courtyards and on the ramparts, Hector’s loud voice shouting commands to his men. Helenus and Diephobus, as his advisors, spent a great deal of time with her husband now and, though she did not begrudge her husband his duties or his commitment, she longed for the return of the days when they had taken walks together and made love by the moonlight. Hector was too busy now, training and preparing his men for the battles he knew must come, even though King Priam seemed not to share in such an idea.
The reason that no soldier had left the city walls, Andromache heard, was that King Priam refused to waste any man on the Greek armies. The walls were thick and impregnable, the gates to the city were closed and guarded, and no Greek could get in. Why should they risk losing men when they could wait safely and comfortably inside their walls for the Greeks to grow tired and go home? Though Andromache knew her husband wished to take a more assertive step and lead an army to drive them from their shores, she secretly had to confess herself pleased with King Priam’s tactics; she did not want her husband to leave the city where he was safe and close to her.
The same could not be said of Paris. Andromache did not care whether he left the city or not, but it seemed that even if the Trojan armies did seek battle with the Greeks, Paris would not be among them. Much outrage had been sparked when Paris had refused to train for battle as his brothers had; he had made it clear that he would not be venturing forth with sword and shield to defend his city. This and the fact that he and Helen had brought about the war in the first place led to a mutinous hatred towards Paris, yet the same did not seem to extend to the golden queen.
Andromache and her maids maintained their frosty distance from the woman, and she knew that many of the other royal sisters and noblewomen did so too. Yet Helen was a beautiful woman with, Andromache supposed, charm and wit, for she soon won men to fight her cause; the royal princes, though scathing of their brother Paris, had seemed to warm towards Helen, and Andromache disliked her all the more for this. Hector alone seemed uncharmed by the woman, for even King Priam had softened towards her, and Andromache had often found herself pondering on how easily a manipulative woman could control the men around her. Andromache would make sure, however, that Helen never managed to fool her own husband in such a way.
As days and weeks passed and still no battle was fought, Andromache grew accustomed to this unusual, yet tense, state of affairs. She no longer took walks along the ramparts, for she still felt chilled when she looked upon the ships gathered along the shore, and now huge rambling camps had been set up on the shore, animal skins and wooden sheets forming tents and buildings for the Greek armies. She continued to sleep with Astyanax beside her bed, for though she knew that no Greek would pass beyond the walls, she still feared when he was not close to her. Yet she was hopeful, too – perhaps, she dreamed, King Menelaus would leave these shores and his brother would lose hope in conquering these lands, for they had taken no land yet and killed no Trojan - as far as she knew. It must be a dreadful time, she thought, in those rambling camps, with the hot sun beating down upon them and no victory to boast of for their troubles, all the while looking up at the huge, mighty fortress that was the city of Troy. Perhaps the soldiers would revolt against their kings and set sail for home?
Andromache thought and hoped of this often, yet it was not to be, for she knew that Hector sought out his father at every opportunity to urge his father to sanction him to lead the army out of the gates and against these invaders. She knew that her husband meant well to want to bring about an end to this siege, and drive the Greeks from their shores, but she worried, for now was the first time in her marriage that she did not wish her husband to succeed. Whenever he went to discuss private matters with his father, she hoped that Priam’s resolve would remain and that he would dismiss her husband’s talk of attacking the waiting army.
Alas, her hopes were not to be, for Hector came to her one night, his face victorious - a sight she had not seen in a while - and she knew that Priam had succumbed to his heir’s will and sanctioned a battle. Her heart raced and she could not lose herself in pleasure as Hector made love to her that night, her mind on what would happen when the new dawn broke.
As she had feared, the following day as the royals gathered for a meal in the evening, King Priam announced that Hector would be leading the army out in battle against the invading Greek armies. Andromache had known it was coming, for her husband had been in the council chambers all day discussing matters with Helenus, Diephobus and his men, but hearing the words spoken so boldly by the king filled her heart with dread. She looked around the great hall at the men’s excited, if nervous faces; their wives and daughters paling with fear for the lives of their husbands, brothers and sons. Andromache turned to her own husband, his smile bright and confident, and felt tears brimming in the corners of her eyes.
* * *
With Hector and the Trojan armies preparing for battle, Andromache found herself envying Helen, Queen of Sparta; not for her beauty, but for the cowardice of the man she loved. As the men trained and readied themselves, Paris somehow kept his head aloft though he was not putting himself in danger, not seeking to help his brothers or his people, and Andromache hated him for this. Yet Helen would not have
to fear for her lover, for he would be beside her as the battle commenced, whilst Andromache and so many other women would be anxiously awaiting the return of their own, wondering all the while if their husbands would be one of the men who never made it back home. Even as she felt such envy, Andromache knew that Hector would never be a coward – and wasn’t this part of the reason she loved her husband so? – and so she could not entirely begrudge her husband his desire to go to battle.
On the eve before Hector was to lead his armies out against the enemy, Andromache prepared him a bath and poured oils into the warm depths. When he came to their chambers from another council meeting that evening - the last before battle was to commence - she disrobed him and watched as he slid into the bronze tub. She rubbed his shoulders, washed his hair, her fingers running through it gently, and massaged the oils into his skin, hoping they would ease his muscles so that he was fast and strong, though she knew he did not need oils for such attributes.
Instead of climbing out of the tub when he had finished bathing, Hector held out his arms and as Andromache stood still before him, he slid the gowns from her body until she stood naked before him. She climbed into the water and allowed him to caress her body with his fingers, then his lips. He pulled her close to him, so that they could look into each other’s eyes and he kissed her, his hands in her hair and then covering her breasts. She closed her eyes and wished that they would never have to leave the scented water, that his arms could remain wrapped about her forever.
Despite her wishes and prayers, dawn broke the following morning. Andromache awoke to find her husband already dressed for war, his breastplate gleaming gold even in the sliver of sunlight that had made its way through the window. Philomena brought Astyanax into the room and left the family alone in private. Astyanax rubbed at his eyes with his fists, not appreciating being awoken earlier than usual. Andromache smiled adoringly down at him on the bed beside her.
Hector picked his helmet up and pulled it over his head; Astyanax, startled by all the gold armour, gave out a cry and began to wail so that Andromache had to pick him up and hold him to her to soothe him. Hector lifted the helmet off the top of his head and Astyanax looked confused. Recognising his father, his cries stopped and he smiled, gurgling happily once more. Hector picked him up and kissed him tenderly on the forehead. Andromache thought her heart would break as her husband said goodbye to his son.
When Hector turned to his wife, Andromache fought hard to stop her tears, for she did not want her husband to think her weak, nor to worry about her when he went out onto the shores beneath them that would soon be a battlefield.
He held her to him and she felt the warmth of the armour at his chest. She kissed him and held his face in her hands. She did not have to speak for understanding to pass between them; their eyes communicated what words could not, and she asked only one thing of him.
“Make sure you return to me,” her eyes commanded.
* * *
Andromache watched the procession of soldiers follow her husband and his brothers out through the gate facing the shore and march across the sands. The ramparts on which she stood were crowded with the women of Trojan nobility, some crying, some comforting others; all watching their beloved menfolk leave the safety of the city. King Priam and the older men, now unable to fight, stood too on the ramparts, his face as anxious as any of the women that stood about him. Paris, too, stood upon the ramparts watching his brothers lead the armies, Helen beside him, a reassuring hand on his shoulder. If Paris felt remorse for not joining his brothers in battle, Andromache could not see it upon his face. Nobody seemed to care for Paris, yet he seemed oblivious to the looks of disgust and distaste that were shot towards him from the wives of men who were likely to die or be wounded to protect their city from his mistake. For her part, Helen shifted uncomfortably at the looks, and Andromache wondered if the golden queen was regretting leaving her husband and home, igniting a war such as this, for a cowardly prince who would not even take up a sword to defend the woman he claimed to love.
Now was not the time to think of them, Andromache thought, her eyes searching the sands for her husband. It did not take long to catch sight him; for Hector was the man adorned in gold armour at the head of the mass of Trojan soldiers. At the first sight of the gates opening and the Trojan army emerging, the Greek camps had become a hive of frantic activity, and Andromache could make out, though it was far distant, that men were rallying themselves into rank and order, readying themselves for battle.
A horn bellowed from further along the ramparts; it was the cry of war. It echoed across the city and over the surrounding lands; Andromache wondered briefly if her people in Thebes could hear such a sound, whether the sound made them scared or anxious. A breeze blew along the ramparts and Andromache shivered. She was not the only one, for everyone seemed to give a collective shudder, whether from the sound of the horn or the cool wind, Andromache did not know.
Far beneath them on the shores, Andromache thought she saw Hector lift his sword above his head. They were too far away to hear any calls from the soldiers, but Andromache watched her husband begin to run forwards, and gradually a roar grew from the mass of Trojan soldiers he led as they followed after him, kicking up a cloud of sand as they raged across the shore to attack the Greeks.
It soon became impossible to see which man was which; sand floated on the air, and it seemed to Andromache that the Trojan army had swallowed up each individual, becoming a huge beast of its own, made up of thousands of shimmering swords and helmets, moving haphazardly across the sand to engage the enemy in battle.
* * *
At the Temple, Andromache and the other royal princesses made their prayers and sacrifices, wishing for the safe return of their men. Iliana and Ilisa wept, and Andromache wondered if perhaps her two beloved maids had found love with Trojan men in the time they had been here. Philomena, who was descended from Trojan nobility, looked terrified and her hands shook as she knelt in prayer, for her brothers, father and uncles had all gone into battle as part of the army.
To her affront, Andromache saw Helen, the golden queen, had also come to the temple with them. Catching her eye, Helen made her way through the flocks of worried women and sought her out.
“I will pray for your husband,” Helen said, bowing her head to Andromache as she stood before her. “He is a good man; a brave General. I am sure he will lead his army to victory.”
“Do you feel no shame?” Andromache asked, glaring upon this fickle golden queen as one might look upon a leper or a thief. “You dare to offer up your prayers, to come to the temple with the women who suffer, yet you have no place here with us.”
“I did not mean to offer offence.”
“Your very presence offends us all,” Andromache said. She was joined by Creusa, Laodice, Cassandra and Polyxena, the daughters of Troy, who had heard Andromache’s raised voice. The women around them went quiet, looking upon Helen with scorn, and upon Andromache with delight, for she was speaking what many of them wished to but dare not. “You pretend, perhaps, that your prince is as noble, as brave, as courageous as our husbands, our sons and our brothers. Yet you forget, Helen, that the man you love is, at this moment, hidden within your chambers, quaking like a coward, whilst our men are out on the battlefield seeking to drive away the forces that you brought down upon us.”
“My heart and prayers go out to your husband,” Helen said, and she opened her palms, to include all the women who now surrounded her, angry looks on their faces, “And to all of your husbands, brothers and sons. I wish, as you all do, for their safe return.”
“If you truly wished this,” Andromache said, “Then you would return to your lawful husband, King of Sparta, and bring an end to this war.”
The women around them nodded in fierce approval. Helen, though her eyes flickered with hurt and nerves, maintained a dignified expression.
“You do not know King Menelaus as I do,” Helen said defiantly. Her arrogance, Andromache thought, was
matched only by Paris’. Perhaps they were a good match after all, she thought. “His brother rules him as a puppet. This war is not my doing, ladies.”
There were snorts of derision from the women.
“You shame yourself,” Creusa said, sweeping a white hair off her face, eyes narrowed as she addressed Helen. “Just as Paris, my brother, shames us all to bring you here. You have no place here.”
“I am sorry that you think that of me,” Helen said, bowing her head to her. “Though you may not believe my words, I must insist that they are honest; I truly do wish for –”
“A Trojan victory?” Andromache asked. “You say that, yet your husband, your brothers, your true kinsmen, all fight against us, against Troy. Do you not grieve for them, should they fall?”
Helen looked trapped, as the women pressed about her, hatred permeating the air.
“Of course I would grieve for them,” she said, her voice soft. “I pray for them too. Yet my place is with the man I love, and Paris is the Prince of Troy, and so my loyalty is with him and hence with you.”
Andromache considered her. Though she hated the golden queen before her, she saw emotion flicker behind her piercing blue eyes. Did she feel pity for such an arrogant queen? The man she loved fought on one side of the battle, her family on the other. Andromache could not imagine such a predicament, such an intertwining of loyalties and thoughts. If it had been any other, she would have sought to reassure the woman, yet she could not bring herself to reach out to this unwelcome queen.
Instead of comforting the woman before her, Andromache summoned her maids to her and squared her shoulders.
“I have heard enough of your excuses,” she said. “I no longer wish to be in the presence of a woman such as you.”
With that she gathered her robes about her and walked out of the temple, noble women parting to let her pass, approving looks on their faces at her words. Her maids followed her and she knew that they too approved, for their enmity towards the golden queen was perhaps even greater than her own. Creusa, Cassandra, Laodice and Polyxena followed after them, without a look nor a word for Helen, who stood, shoulders slumped, as the women around her deserted her, ignoring her or giving her loathsome looks.