by JJ Hilton
Andromache bowed her head and entered the chambers.
King Priam turned at her approach and the other councilmen remained still, watching the scene unfold, and Andromache wondered who, like Helenus, wished her well, and which of them wished her ill.
“My king,” she bowed, going to her knees before the king and kissing his ring hand.
He gestured for her to rise, which she did, keeping her head bowed.
“You must know why you have been summoned here,” Priam said.
“I do, my king, and I apologize for my poor and ill-judged conduct,” Andromache said. She thought of Astyanax and his inheritance, and continued. “I am still grieving for my husband, the royal prince, and as such my actions are not my own, and I beseech –”
Priam waved a hand at her, and she fell silent.
“I understand your reluctance to accept Achilles must become a part of our family,” Priam said slowly, and Andromache looked at him. “He is more warrior than man, and a great many have lost fathers, sons, brothers and husbands to this warrior. Yet he is also skilled and he commands great respect from his men. If he was to fight on our side, then it will be of great benefit to us and of great consequence to these invaders that remain on our shore.”
“I understand this,” Andromache said humbly, though she felt hatred for the warrior thick and ever-present within her.
“Yet still, your actions were bold and caused much talk within this palace and no doubt beyond,” Priam said sternly. “For those who do not wish to see Achilles and Polyxena wed, you could become a figurehead for protest, and I know that neither of us wish to see Hector, our beloved prince’s name and his family dishonoured by such a thing.”
Andromache wondered what he spoke of. She had known that talk must have spread of her abrupt departure from the high table, yet she had not expected so much to be read into such an act. As for those who did not wish to see Achilles wed, she would happily support them, though that was not what the king, in his reprimands, wanted to hear.
“We both share a desire to preserve the honour and dignity of my husband’s name,” Andromache said quietly. Priam nodded, thinking.
“It appears that your apologies are genuine, and that grief is behind your behaviour,” Priam said, and Andromache felt hopeful. “Yet still, I cannot be seen to show such mercy to someone who acts in such a way. If you were to leave unpunished, it would only serve to encourage and embolden others to disagreement.”
Andromache swallowed hard, fearing for Astyanax’s position.
“Though I must punish you, it is clear to me that grief is the cause of your behaviour and of your insolence,” Priam said, his voice kindly but stern. “I hereby suggest, by order of the council, that you are confined to your chambers until such a time as your grief is passed.”
Andromache bowed her head and thanked him for his mercy.
* * *
The palace had been informed that Andromache had retired to her chambers until such a time as her grief for Hector’s death had passed, but it was whispered that the princess had been imprisoned in her rooms until Priam was satisfied that she no longer held such opposing views to his own and of course, until after Achilles and Polyxena had been wed.
Andromache, who had so craved isolation in the days and weeks after Hector’s death, now longed for freedom and company now that she was not allowed to venture beyond her chambers. Ilisa and Philomena felt the strain of imprisonment too, for neither were they allowed to leave; for Priam knew, as did all, that maids gossiped with each other, and he wanted no news to reach Andromache, nor for her to pass messages to others who might share in her disapproval of the impending marriage.
Though she could not summon people to her, she was not without visitors. Helenus came often in the weeks that followed her sentencing and he brought news with him of Achilles and Polyxena and of life outside of the chambers. When he came, Andromache and her maids would gather about him, desperate to hear tales from beyond the walls within which they were confined.
“Polyxena is most set against the marriage,” Helenus told them on one of his visits, “And Priam seeks to blame you, Andromache, for encouraging such protestations, though Polyxena has no recourse but to marry Achilles.”
“Poor princess,” Ilisa and Philomena commiserated sadly.
“And what of King Priam?” Andromache asked. “Does he say when he thinks of releasing me?”
Helenus looked at her for a long moment and shook his head.
“He worries over what should be done with you,” Helenus confided, when Philomena and Ilisa had been sent to another room to give them privacy. “He welcomed you into this palace as a princess, wife to his son and heir. Now however, you have no husband, yet you wield great power as the mother of his Heir Apparent, with no man to guide you or your son.”
“I need no man to guide me,” Andromache said indignantly.
“That may be so,” Helenus said, “But the king fears your power and your popularity, and also your influence over Astyanax. And for you to so boldly oppose him, in full view of royalty and nobles, he wishes to exert control over you though he knows that soon the time will come when his power diminishes and yours increases as Astyanax grows older.”
“He cannot keep me imprisoned in my chambers forever,” Andromache insisted.
“I have no doubt that he wishes that he could,” Helenus sighed. “Yet I think that, once Polyxena and Achilles are wed, he may relax these restrictions he imposes upon you.”
And so Andromache waited, spending her days within her chambers, talking idly with her maids and waiting excitedly for visits from Astyanax, who visited daily and was often accompanied by Helenus, who had taken it upon himself to act as his nephew’s surrogate father.
The weeks passed and Andromache remained restless, so that she knew that she could do nothing but wait for King Priam. Philomena and Ilisa seemed to grow frustrated and irritable too, and Andromache worried that these two maids would leave her service just so that they could escape the chambers, though they remained loyal and did not. Axion, her personal guard, who had travelled with her from Thebes and remained a constant companion in the years since, stayed too in adjoining rooms. He did not trust these Trojan royals, nor the guards they had posted at the entrances to her chambers.
She heard word too, through her visitors, of news of the war upon the shores, and it was with sadness that Helenus informed her one morning of the death of King Memnon of Ethiopia. Andromache remembered the king well; presenting her with the beautiful flamingo at her wedding, his black eyes delighted to see how enthralled she had been by the gift. And soon news came also of Penthesilia’s death, the mighty Amazon Queen, who had been slain by Achilles. To her, it seemed that Achilles sought to prove how dangerous an enemy he could be to King Priam, as if he doubted the king truly intended to let him marry his daughter.
At last, King Priam came to her chambers, his face solemn. Andromache dismissed her maids to their bedroom, and fell upon her knees, hands clasped before her, tears in her eyes.
“Please, my king, I no longer grieve,” she proclaimed, the words catching in her throat, so desperate was she for the confines to be lifted.
King Priam put a gentle hand atop her head.
“Fear not, Princess Andromache, I bring glad news,” he said slowly. “I see that your grief and with it your feelings of enmity towards Achilles, have passed.”
“They have,” Andromache cried, “I bear no ill will to the mighty warrior,” she lied.
“And what better way to show such forgiveness, than by attending Achilles and Polyxena’s marriage ceremony tomorrow?” Priam asked, delighted. “I feel sure that your blessing, above all others, will impress upon the people how Achilles is most welcome in our palace.”
Andromache knew at once that the king sought to use her. Her disapproval had caused rumours and disharmony amongst Priam’s subjects, and though he had locked her away, the people had only grown stronger in their enmity, for what king impri
soned the mother of his heir for opposing a marriage that nobody wanted? If Andromache were to attend the ceremony and give Achilles her blessing, then how could the people remain against such a match? Andromache had lost her husband and her family to the man, so if she was able to forgive him, how could they not? She knew his plans, and yet imprisonment had tired her; she would do anything to be free, to ensure her son remained rightful heir.
“I will bless them,” Andromache agreed, nodding fervently, hating the smile upon the king’s lips at the desperation within her voice. “I forgive him, and I will bless him.”
* * *
Freed from her confines and with her dignity restored, Andromache found herself unable to forget the weeks she had spent alone with her maids. Though she was greeted with warmth and delight as she walked about the palace and along the ramparts, she took note of those who received her so kindly yet had paid her no mind when she had been a prisoner and her future uncertain. The royal princesses had not come to her, nor had the princes, except for Helenus, who had been her most frequent guest during her confinement. She did not reproach them, but nor would she forget it, for now that she no longer had a husband to protect her, it would serve her well, she knew, to be cautious.
She knew that Paris and Diephobus still sought to be named Heir Apparent, and so she also watched Astyanax with caution too, for her son was still too young to understand the precariousness of their situation, as beloved as they might be by the people. Axion, her faithful guard, she tasked with watching over her son and he did so with great pride, assuring her that no danger or harm would come to Astyanax whilst he was by his side.
It was a quiet evening that Andromache re-joined the high table in the great hall, for Polyxena, her sisters and her mother were observing the rites of the first day of the marriage ceremony and had gone to the temple to make their offerings. Andromache ate quietly, aware of eyes on her every movement, and the memory of her imprisonment was enough to stay her tongue and keep her calm as Priam made a toast to the marriage that was to be made tomorrow morning.
After eating, Andromache did not return to her chambers, for she had seen enough of them for now. Instead she walked the ramparts, savouring the cool night air. She was thinking of Polyxena’s marriage when she came across Paris, seated upon a stool, looking out over the dark shore to the line of campfires that signified the Greek camps.
She did not wish to disturb him, nor to speak with him, so Andromache turned and hoped to remain unseen, but Paris called to her.
“You have been ill-treated by my father,” he said, his voice loud. Andromache turned, alarmed, for fear that his words would be overheard, though they were completely alone. “I too do not wish for my sister’s marriage tomorrow, yet my father is intent upon it.”
Andromache approached cautiously, for she had not heard the prince speak so openly to her before. She did not speak, still fearing to be overheard or that perhaps this was some trap, so that Paris may inform his father of her continued disapproval. She remembered that this prince still sought to steal her son’s titles and name himself Heir Apparent, and it did not warm him to her.
“Do not fear, I know that you have been subdued by your imprisonment,” Paris said airily, as if he did not care if he were overheard. “My father both fears and respects you. That is more than I can boast of the king.”
“Perhaps,” Andromache said, unable to help herself, “If you had proved yourself more worthy in battle, then his opinion of you would not be so.”
“I am a coward by nature, I do not deny it nor have I ever done so,” Paris said, sadness in his voice. Andromache was surprised by his admission. “My brothers mock me, as does my father and the council. Hector often scolded me for not going into battle, yet I still live whilst he does not.”
“He died honourably with a sword in his hand,” Andromache said. “He would rather have died upon the sword than die cowering in the corner.”
“That is true,” Paris nodded. “I am indeed cowering, though on the ramparts and not in the corner.” He let out a bitter laugh. “Now Achilles is set to become my brother.”
“Indeed, it is so,” Andromache said quietly, for the thought still angered her.
“Speak openly, for there is nobody to hear us,” Paris said, turning to her, looking upon her face with interest. “Do you really forgive Achilles, the man who killed your husband?”
“Achilles killed my husband, my father, my brothers and my mother,” Andromache said, unable to keep the truth inside. “Though I will bless him and forgive him by my words for all the world to see, in my heart I shall pray every day for vengeance.”
Paris considered her for a long while and then nodded.
“You are a brave woman,” he said. “I can see why Hector loved you so.”
“And you are not such an arrogant man as it would first appear,” Andromache said, for though she still thought him a coward and selfish, she had found herself softening towards the man she had so despised. “Tell me, why such talk of Achilles? It surely does not pain you as much as it does I to have him wed into the family.”
Paris’ look turned dark.
“It is not Achilles, nor his marriage, that so offends me,” he said quietly, his voice almost a whisper so that Andromache had to strain to hear him over the whistling of the wind over the ramparts. “For Polyxena is not the only one, it would seem, who must make such a sacrifice for my father’s desire for peace.”
Andromache wanted to ask him for more, but a guard came along the rampart and so she bid him goodnight and returned inside, strangely chilled by Paris’ words.
* * *
The palace was full of anticipation as dawn arrived and Andromache rose early with the others so that she might bathe and dress in her finery for Polyxena’s marriage. Ilisa and Philomena remained disapproving, for they too had loved Hector, and Andromache often had to hush them as they spoke of the king’s decision, for she did not want it to be known that she allowed her maids to speak so openly nor as loudly in opposition to Priam.
The royals were to greet Achilles in the courtyard to the palace but Andromache was not to be at his reception; for King Priam, though he had accepted her decision to publicly bless and forgive the warrior, knew that she must still bear some contempt for the man who had killed her husband and her family. He had, perhaps wisely, ensured that Andromache would have as little interaction with Achilles as possible on this most important day.
Andromache, accompanied by Astyanax and her maids, went instead out onto the ramparts from where they could watch Achilles approach the city from the Greek camp. She wondered how the Greek kings had reacted upon learning that Achilles would be changing his allegiances; for surely they would be most infuriated to learn that they were losing such a proclaimed hero and she thought - and hoped - that Greek morale would be low.
The ramparts were quiet, for most of the royals had gone to the courtyard far below. She thought of Polyxena, due to marry such a man, and her heart went out to her. It was still whispered that the youngest princess had no desire to marry the man who had killed two of her beloved brothers. A few noble men and women also sought a glimpse of Achilles from the ramparts, and Andromache could not help but think of the last time she had looked down upon Achilles – for that had been when he had slain her beloved Hector.
Astyanax was the first to spot Achilles and he pointed across the shore to the Greek camps. Andromache and her maids looked to where he indicated and saw a large force of men leaving the Greek camps and marching across the sands. A single man led them and as they neared the base of the walls, Andromache knew it to be Achilles, for his golden hair blew in the wind and he alone could command such obedience from the men who followed his lead. The force that he commanded did not seem so huge, Andromache thought, wondering if Priam would see them and doubt his decision to sanction the marriage. Yet Achilles still approached, and she saw that he no longer wore armour, but a robe that befit his impending status as a member of royalty.
Achilles had neared the gates now and she heard the familiar rumblings from beneath as the grille was lifted to admit him. Andromache still could not fathom how such a thing was happening, remembering her husband and the dishonouring of his body at the hands of the man who now walked towards the open gates of Troy.
From the corner of her eyes she saw Paris leap up onto the stone wall of the ramparts and for a moment she thought he would jump to his death. Yet now she saw what he held, and it was not a staff as she had first thought, but a bow. He clipped an arrow to it and there was silence upon the ramparts as he released it from his grasp. There was the whistle of the arrow as it shot from their sight and then a cry of shock from below.
Andromache rushed forwards, as did everyone else atop the ramparts, to see the target of Paris’ arrow, though she already feared she knew. She looked down and saw Achilles lying on the sand, so close to the gates, the arrow in his heel and blood upon the sand, the body of the man she hated above all others lying dead upon the shore.
Chapter Ten
The Death of Paris
Achilles was dead.
It was a joy to Andromache, for finally she thought justice had been done, but she could not voice this opinion, and she feigned sadness, for these were dangerous times in the palace and she did not wish to arouse any further suspicion from King Priam.
Though it had been Paris who had fired the arrow that had killed the warrior, it had not gone unnoticed that Andromache had been atop the ramparts too when the arrow had been shot, and a guard remembered seeing Andromache and Paris talking in the darkness upon the ramparts only the night before!