by JJ Hilton
Andromache was sure that King Priam suspected she had played a small part in what had happened, yet she had not been questioned by him, and nor had she found herself once more confined to her chambers. Yet still she feared that she would be and so she hid her true feelings and showed solemnity whenever she left her chambers.
King Priam’s rage was said to eclipse any that had come before and Paris, already so low in his father’s esteem, had not been spared his wrath. It was announced that Paris would go out to fight in battle for the first time since the war had begun, and Andromache, as so many others, did not know whether it was under the king’s orders that the prince sought to fight or if it was to win Helen over with his bravery, for rumours were rife that Helen and Paris’ marriage was no longer a happy one.
Andromache could not find it within herself to like Paris, though it was true that her feelings towards him and softened somewhat. Still, she knew that he feared battle and that he had none of his brothers’ skills with a sword, and she wondered, as he prepared to go to war, whether he would return.
It was as Andromache walked to her chambers that she came across Helen, the golden queen, wiping tears from her cheeks, huddled in a window overlooking the city. Upon hearing Andromache’s footsteps, Helen righted herself and made to disguise her sadness, but Andromache could not feign ignorance to her plight and took her for a walk, so that Helen might have a chance to air her woes.
“You fear for Paris in battle?” Andromache asked her, as they strolled beneath the palisades surrounding the royal gardens. “I grew accustomed to such fears, when Hector was to fight,” she shared, “And though it does not seem like it, the feelings shall pass.”
“I do fear for my husband,” she said, nodding, though Andromache sensed there was more than just this that made her cry. “He is not a warrior, and though I confess that he has often angered me with his cowardice, now that he is to fight I fear for him and wish him to stay by my side, though I know how it does not endear him to the people nor his father.”
“Is it under his own will that he seeks to fight, or under his father’s?” Andromache asked. Helen bowed her head, and Andromache hoped she had not offended the princess in her meaning. “Sorry,” she said hastily, “I do not mean to offend.”
“I do not know why he will fight,” Helen said, shaking her head. “Though I doubt it would ease my fears if I did.”
“He is a prince, and he will have his brothers alongside him,” Andromache reminded her. “He will have more protection than most, and he has shown his bravery.”
She spoke of his act of killing Achilles, and though many whispered that it was cowardice to use a bow and arrow from far atop the ramparts, Andromache did not agree, for she knew that he had faced anger from his father and the council with his actions, though his motives for doing so remained elusive to her. Helen, taking her meaning, gave a swift smile, for it seemed she too had wished Achilles dead, though Andromache did not know why she should.
“You were lucky to have such a brave husband,” Helen said. “Hector was a great man, and he is still missed sorely by all those he fought alongside, I think.”
Andromache smiled, for she still received warm wishes from the men he had battled alongside.
“Perhaps your husband just has yet to prove himself in battle,” Andromache suggested, though she remembered that Paris had confessed himself a coward to her.
“Perhaps,” Helen agreed wistfully. “But it is not only that which pains me.”
Andromache turned to her, stopping, and Helen did so too.
“I can see your countenance is troubled,” Andromache said. “What ails you?”
Helen put a hand to her stomach, and though it was a small gesture, Andromache took the meaning at once. Seeing realisation dawn upon her face, Helen blushed.
“I have not told anyone,” she said at once. “Not even Paris knows that I carry his child.”
“Why do you not tell him?” Andromache asked, her mind racing with such news.
“He prepares for battle as we speak,” Helen answered. “I cannot put this news upon him now, not before he goes to fight.”
“Perhaps it is best to keep this from him,” Andromache agreed, “At least until he has returned from battle. A soldier needs a clear mind when he goes out onto the battlefield.”
“And I fear what this might mean for me,” Helen said quietly, almost a whisper. “If the king, and the rest of the council, were to learn that I carry Paris’ child –” She trailed off, leaving her fears unspoken.
Andromache could not see the reason for such fear, though she found herself worried nonetheless, not by Helen’s concerns, but for her own. Paris and Diephobus both sought to proclaim themselves Heir Apparent above her son, the rightful heir, and yet neither had done much, as far as she had heard, to act upon these desires they held. Yet if Paris were to learn that he too was to sire an heir then perhaps he would be encouraged to change Priam’s mind. Though Andromache was sure that in Priam’s anger he would not grant Paris such a high honour, there was time enough for his anger to fade, for Paris to plot and scheme for such an outcome. And Helen could promise him more children; she was fertile, whereas Andromache could not birth more heirs, for Hector was dead and as such she had only Astyanax, the lone heir, so vulnerable.
“Yes, I think to keep this news quiet for now, would be a wise idea,” Andromache told Helen, putting a hand to her shoulder, “For Paris’ sake, as well as your own.”
Helen nodded, smiling weakly in thanks. Andromache returned to her chambers with a troubled mind, worried what such a child would mean for Astyanax’s future.
* * *
When at last the time came for Paris to go to battle, Andromache could not help but feel a slight pleasure at seeing his determined, yet nervous, face as he bid farewell to Helen. She thought of the times, so long gone now, that he had looked on arrogantly as she had bid farewell to her husband as he went off to defend the city.
She had remained true to her word and not spoken of Helen’s pregnancy, though she still felt uncertain of what a new heir might mean for her own son. Yet Priam remained angry with Paris and so she felt secure, at least for now, that Astyanax would maintain his position, so long as she did nothing to turn Priam’s wrath upon her.
As the men departed from the gates to march upon the shore, Helenus at their head, commanded them in her husband’s place, Andromache felt strangely empty of emotion. Where once she would have looked upon the departing army with fear – for her husband was amongst them, now she felt little. She hoped for Helenus’ safe return, for he alone of the royal princes had shown kindness to her in the long year since Hector’s death, and she felt compassion for the women who the men had left behind, for she could understand only too well the fear and worry they endured.
The battle was long and arduous, and Andromache came and went from the ramparts, no longer compelled to stay for the duration of battle. No longer would she snatch a glimpse of her husband’s golden helmet amongst the men who returned.
She found herself upon the ramparts as the men returned, and news soon reached them of another great tragedy to befall the royal household – for Paris was gravely wounded from his sojourn into war, and had been rushed to his chambers, Helen tending to him, beside herself with grief and yearning. It was not known if Paris would last the night.
Andromache felt such a whirlwind of emotion, for she had not liked the prince, but that did not mean she had wished him to die. She did not intrude upon his sickbed, for it was already crowded by Helen and the royal princesses, and she could not find it within herself to share in their overt grieving.
Though by all accounts the prince was gravely wounded, he did not die. Andromache listened to news from her maids and from Helenus, who visited his brother’s bedside often in the passing days. With no end to his suffering, it was whispered that Paris begged for either a cure or for his death - anything but the prolonged agony that he felt day and night. Helen took it upon herself,
it was told, to seek out word of Paris’ first wife, Oenone, who was a great healer and renowned for bringing the wounded back from the edge of death.
Andromache could not help but feel compassion for Helen as she readied herself for the journey to the mountainside, still not breathing a word of her pregnancy nor daring to think of what the hard journey may do to her unborn heir. Paris was loaded onto a litter and Helen departed with her husband and a small party of men to seek Oenone in the home she and Paris had once shared, before being abandoned for Troy, royalty and Helen of Sparta.
It was many days before Helen returned to the city and her husband did not come with her. Grief gripped the palace once more as Paris’ death was mourned, for Helen spoke of how Oenone had refused to heal him. Her bitterness and anger at his abandonment had remained fresh in her mind even though years had passed since he had departed. Andromache comforted Helen, even as she felt no grief within her own heart.
* * *
King Priam felt great grief for Paris’ death, for this was the third son he had seen killed in this never-ending war, and it pained him and angered him that such tragedy should befall his royal house when he had served his people, and the gods, well for so many years.
In his grief, Priam retreated to his chambers and would see nobody except his wife.
Faced with the king’s absence from the council, Helenus took it upon himself to call a meeting, knowing that his father would want matters of state to be discussed even though he were not there to oversee it himself.
“This is a great sadness that has befallen us,” Helenus said to his councilmen, who nodded in agreement, even though the prince doubted Paris’ death was mourned by these men. “But we are still at war, let us not forget.”
“Why should we continue this war?” Polites asked, stepping forward. “The gods know it has been going on for too long, and we have lost too many men, too many brothers, to continue in such a way.”
“Polites is right,” Laocoon agreed, “How diminished this very council has become in the long years of war!” He spoke the truth. Helenus looked about, and seemed to see the ghosts of those who no longer stood in this room with them; Hector, Troilus, Paris, and now Priam threatened to become one of this number. “Now that Paris is no longer with us, what reason do we have for fighting?”
“Paris brought this wore upon us,” Antenor nodded, his white beard rustling with the movement. “Why should we continue to fight it when he is no more?”
“You think of returning Helen to King Menelaus?” Helenus asked, turning to the old man. It was a thought he himself had considered when Paris looked to die. “It has been a long time since he sought to treaty with us, and he was angered by her marriage to Paris.”
“Her family was not consulted, nor did they give their sanction to such a marriage,” Laocoon argued. “It could be said that Helen and Paris’ marriage was no real marriage at all.”
“He may not be so forgiving,” Helenus said. “What if he only wishes to harm Helen now, for the indignity she has caused him? Would we send her to her death?”
“Many have died for her,” Laocoon said quietly.
“Let us not talk of such things, when we have not even thought to seek Menelaus’ response to such a suggestion,” Polites said. “He may be willing to treaty with us if Helen were returned him, he may not, but we will not know until we have asked him.”
“This has been a long war,” Antimachus said. “And the Greeks have been away from home for many years now. They must surely miss their homes, their wives and their children. They will be eager to leave these shores - if they can keep their pride also?”
“Let us not forget many of them only came to reclaim Helen due to the oath they swore at her wedding,” Polites said. “Should we return her, many will have done their duty and not be honour-bound to remain.”
“Indeed, that is so,” agreed Laocoon.
Helenus considered it. He did not wish to send Helen so unceremoniously from them, and in the midst of her grieving too, but if it could spare more bloodshed and bring peace back to their shores, he was willing to consider the notion.
“Diephobus, you have been quiet on this matter,” he turned to his brother. “What say you on this?”
Diephobus considered it, and Helenus wondered, not for the first time, what duplicity went on in his brother’s mind.
“I think it is a matter worth considering,” he said, “Yet we must not rush a decision.”
Helenus nodded in agreement.
“We shall keep these matters to ourselves for now,” he decided.
The councilmen nodded - hope amongst them now that peace was in sight.
Chapter Eleven
The Madness of Priam
A Trojan Princess. The widow of a royal prince. It was a precarious position to be in, Andromache reflected, and though she thought that she had navigated her own circumstances fairly well; her son was still Heir Apparent to the throne of Troy and she herself still enjoyed a place at the high table. With her past indiscretions forgotten, she did not envy Helen her own circumstances.
Though Helen had not been popular with the women of Troy, Helen had always been relatively safe, Andromache thought, whilst her husband Paris had been a royal prince and therefore able to keep her close to him. Yet now he was dead and she his vulnerable widow.
Whatever safety Paris had once provided her with had disappeared, and Andromache knew that much talk – and hope – was rife that Helen would now be sent back to King Menelaus, who many claimed was still her rightful husband, and that in doing so the Greeks would leave and the city would be at peace.
Yet Andromache knew of Helen’s pregnancy – the only one besides the widow herself to know such a secret – and she also knew that this complicated matters beyond compare, for how could the Trojans send Helen back to Sparta whilst she carried a royal heir, a prince or princess of Troy, the child of one of its princes?
She knew the council must have discussed the matter of Helen’s widowhood, yet Andromache felt that they surely could not come to a decision without knowing of the child whom the golden widow carried within her womb.
Helen had made her promise not to breathe a word, but Andromache found herself regretting the promise as the days passed and Helen remained silent. She must have heard the rumours, whispers in the corridors, of the council’s plans to send her back to Menelaus, Andromache thought, and yet still she did nothing to save herself from this fate!
With each passing day, the silence continued – and Andromache could not bear it any longer. She must tell someone, so that Helen would not be sent from the city whilst she still carried an heir of Troy.
It was with great trepidation, the secret barely held between her pursed lips, that Andromache sought an audience with King Priam, who remained hidden away in his chambers.
The queen admitted her to their chambers, though her expression was one of reluctance, and Andromache feared that she was too late, that a decision had already been made. Upon entering the king’s rooms, she found him sat upon a gilded chair, staring out of the window across the city.
“My king,” she bowed to him, “I bring some news of most importance.”
“It is a sad thing to lose a son,” Priam said, not lifting his gaze from the window. “It is a greater tragedy to lose two. But three? That is a most awful of omens, is it not?”
“It is a great tragedy,” Andromache acknowledged.
“I have ruled justly, and with kindness and wisdom,” Priam continued. “I thought to see Hector sit upon my throne after me, and yet now he is gone.”
Andromache was silent, for she did not know what to make of the king’s words.
“Troilus, what a beautiful prince!” Priam cried out. “I adored him for his beauty as much as I adored Hector for his bravery.”
“He was indeed a most beautiful man,” Andromache agreed.
She felt Hecuba enter the room behind her, and she realised now why the queen had been so reluctant to admit
her to their chambers, for she saw the way the queen looked at her husband, her eyes fearful for his mind and for this grief that had gripped him so powerfully.
“The prophecies were true,” Priam went on, shaking his head sadly. “I sent Paris to his death to save this city, yet he returned and as it was foretold he has ruined us all.”
“There is still hope, is there not?” Andromache asked.
It was as if Priam had not heard her, for he spoke as if she had not.
“I should not have sent a shepherd to do what should have been my task,” he said. “I should have slain him as a babe, so that I might be certain he was dead and the prophecy could not come to pass.”
Hecuba wiped her eyes at his words, shaking her head sadly.
“My king, I must tell you something,” Andromache persisted. “It is most important.”
“If only Paris had died as a child, before he could bring that ruinous queen into our city and into our lives,” Priam said, speaking to himself, for Andromache was sure he did not know - or did not care - that he was not alone in his room. “Poor Hector, poor Troilus, to have to die because my hand and mind were weak. If I had killed Paris, they would still live.”
His ramblings continued, his eyes never moving from the window, and Andromache turned to the queen.
“What has become of the king?” she asked quietly.
Hecuba wiped away more tears.
“He is consumed by his grief,” she said. “I fear for him, as I fear for us all.”
Andromache bowed and excused herself from the chambers. She knew that she could not tell King Priam of the secret she held, and so in turn she knew who she must find.
* * *
Helenus and Diephobus were in the council chambers, immersed in discussion, when Andromache was bidden entry and approached them cautiously. Helenus read the look on her face and knew that she was troubled. He had grown to know her expressions as one of her sole companions during her time in confinement.