Rage of Queens (Homeric Chronicles Book 3)

by Janell Rhiannon

  “Obviously, it’s not my strategy, brother. Just fucking chaos.” The Great King signaled for a messenger. “We need to pull back. Regroup.”

  “Agreed,” Menelaus said, pulling his spear form the slippery ground.

  ✽✽✽

  TROJAN LINES

  Hektor unbuckled his helm and embraced his younger brother, Helenus. The years of warfare insulated Hektor from many of his siblings for much of the time. If he wasn’t fighting alongside them, they drifted to shadows in the endless halls of the citadel. “What news?”

  “Hektor, you’ve aged. Your hair is grayer than I recall.”

  Placing a hand firmly on Helenus’ shoulders, Hektor leaned close and said, “War is the great equalizer of men. Tell me, what news? Good or bad, I must hear it.” Then he winked.

  “Brother, my dreams plague me on your behalf. On the city’s behalf. The gods refuse to show us their constant favor. By all the stories past, these Greeks should have given up and left long ago. But they remain. Stubborn. Determined. As if they believe they are the chose of the gods.” Helenus stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Brother, I have seen the city in ruin for myself. Our women dragged to their ships. Children screwed on spears. You men lose heart and you must settle them before we lose everything.”

  Hektor rubbed his beard. “That cannot happen.” The prophecy of Paris crept through the crevices of his memories. Troy’s doom trails behind my brother, wherever he goes. They should have let him die.

  “You speak of Paris.”

  Hektor jerked his head up. Surprise etched his face. “How did you … how did you know my mind?”

  “I know a great many things, Hektor. Most of them unpleasant. Helenus’ eyes bore into his elder brother’s. “You must find a road into their hearts. Go to our mother. Persuade her to offer the richest treasures, a jewel-encrusted robe, to Athena. And sacrifice a dozen sacred cows. Perhaps then Athena will show mercy on Troy. Protect us from Diomedes, who has become the new Achilles.”

  “Your words echo Cassandra’s of long ago.”

  “You may not like what I say next, brother.”

  Laughing, Hektor said, “Don’t hold back now.”

  “Bring Paris to the field. He has a part to play, yet. Despite the conflict raging in your heart.”

  Hektor shook his head. Paris had been a bull herder. He’d danced fearlessly and gracefully with the beasts as a youth. However, since his parents had embraced their lost son, it had been nothing but a slow descent into madness and misfortune. The whispers of Troy’s demise trailed behind Paris like a thin smoke. “I will do what I must.” He jumped into his chariot and sped to the city.

  When Hektor crossed the threshold of the inner gates, a throng of anxious women rushed him, eager to hear news of their men. He addressed the women he knew. The ones he did not, he offered sincere apologies. “Pray to the gods,” he said to one and all.

  The palace was oddly quiet. No one came to greet him. He grabbed a female slave carrying a basket of bread across the courtyard. “Where is the queen?”

  “Weaving.” The startled woman rushed off without another word.

  Hektor hurried to Hecuba’s private chambers. He wanted to make the request and return to the field before his men noticed that he’d gone. He knocked softly.

  “You may enter.”

  “Mother,” he said.

  Hecuba’s back stiffened, then she turned to face him. “Are you some trick of the gods sent to haunt my waking eyes?”

  “No, Mother, I am here.”

  With tears shimmering in her eyes, she said, “I had not dared to hope that I would see you before the end. If at all …” She had no need to speak more of her thoughts aloud, for both of them knew what she implied. Hektor would return victorious, or he would be dead and Troy captured.

  Hektor crossed the space between them. “Neither did I, Mother. But I’m glad I have come.” He wrapped his arms lightly around her, while she clung briefly to him. His armor was filthy and smudged with war.

  “Why have you left the battlefield? Has something happened?”

  “I come at the request of Helenus.”

  She pushed against his chest, wiping her hands on her gown. “The news can’t be good, then. Neither he nor your sister, Cassandra, have pleasant words to share with anyone. Ever. Tell me, does Achilles fight?”

  “No. No one has seen him or his army. The rumors prove true. He battles Agamemnon in some feud or other. Unfortunately, a new threat has emerged to take his place.”

  “Who?”

  “They call him Diomedes. He rages like a wild bull. Helenus calls him the new Achilles.”

  Hecuba clicked her tongue. “Well, that is sour news indeed. Wine?” She signaled for a servant to pour the honeyed mixture. “You must be thirsty. Tired. Rest a moment since you’re here.”

  “No amount of wine will not help me now. I must keep my wits sharp. But,” Hektor sat on a soft stool, “I am weary.”

  Hecuba sipped her libation. “How is the fight going?” Sighing, she ran her finger around the rim of her cup and then set it down. “If you’re here at Helenus’ request, it must be … unwelcomed.”

  “He says you must make an offering to Athena. That you are to take the elder women with you to her temple. He says you must lay your most exquisite robe at her feet. And sacrifice a dozen cows. If Athena is pleased, perhaps she will slow Diomedes.”

  Hecuba’s lip pressed to a thin line. Shaking her head, she said, “I will do as you ask. But the gods tend to do as they please.”

  “I must bring Paris back to the field, as well.”

  “There is a surprise. He fights, and then is whisked away on a goddess’ whim. I am confused by everything.”

  “I am beginning to worry that the prophecy—”

  “Shah. Do not say it aloud.”

  “I’d rather the earth swallowed him whole for all the misfortune he’s brought to Troy. If I could send him on his way to the Underworld, I would rejoice.”

  “Be careful what you say, for our words may be taken as a prayer used against us in a way we had not intended.”

  Hektor rose from his seat. “Gather the offerings as quickly as you can. I will find Paris—”

  “No doubt abed with Helen.”

  “And get him back to war.” He kissed his mother on the cheek. “Until I see you again.”

  “My heart will rejoice on that day.” She reached up, taking his face in her hands. Her eyes searched his. “So blue, my son.”

  He smiled wanly. “Farewell, Mother.”

  Hecuba watched his powerful frame leave the chamber. His presence had filled the lonely space if even for a few moments. She drained her cup. “Farewell, my son.” Her only hope was that Apollo would follow through on his promise to her and bring Achilles to his knees. Whatever kept him from battle, kept him safe from her vengeance. “The bastard must return to war.” A flash of gold and dust blinded her from behind her eyes. She shivered. “You have work to do,” she reminded herself.

  As she crossed the threshold, a chill of another kind stopped her dead in her tracks. “Goddess?” she whispered.

  “Athena.”

  Panic rose in the queen’s heart. Was the goddess listening all this time? Had Athena heard her speak? “I am making my way to your temple as Helenus requested.”

  Athena’s cold laughter filled Hecuba with dread. “You think Apollo will help you, old woman?”

  Hecuba stood, struggling under Athena’s heavy hand like a wild doe caught in a hunter’s trap fearing for her life and her fawn.

  “Do words fail you?”

  “My apologies.”

  “You need not bother, Hecuba. I will never abandon Diomedes. Childbirth at your age will kill you, if you should survive the Greek’s victory.”

  Athena’s presence evaporated as quickly as it had come. Hecuba shivered again. “Please, Apollo, do not forsake us.”

  ✽✽✽

  CHAMBER OF PARIS

  Hektor’s long
strides carried him swiftly across the courtyard to Paris’ chamber. He didn’t knock, but bust through the door, all politeness gone. Paris sat in a chair polishing his weapons, while Helen sat in the corner sewing finery with a few of her maids.

  “Men are dying beyond the wall. Dying, because of your selfish desires. How can you remain in your chamber while war rages all around us?”

  “My heart is heavy, brother. Aphrodite has placed me here. What good is a man’s will against a goddess? But, if you must know, Helen has been encouraging me to fight.”

  “A Trojan warrior needs no encouragement from his wife. He already knows his duty.”

  “I know my duty. I fulfill what I must. Besides, the gods show neither side favor, so what’s the point?”

  Helen rose from her soft chair. “Hektor, I know your love of me is thin, or,” she paused, licking her full lips, “perhaps it doesn’t exist at all. Paris deserves some small measure of your grace. The hardship that befalls Troy is my fault. It would have been better for everyone had Leda drowned me at birth. Aphrodite has brought this upon all of us. If Menelaus had been a different man … But that is not what the gods handed me.” She leaned closer, taking Hektor by the arm, steering him to a private corner. “Paris is what the gods and fate have made him. The same as you or I. We don’t choose who or what we are. And your brother, he’s more like a flowing stream, ever changing. He’s not made of the oak you are. Sit a while—”

  “I’ll not sit here wasting time.” Hektor shook his head in disgust. “My brother has no use for our father’s legacy. Nor songs. What will they sing of him? That he stole a queen and ruined a city? My city.”

  Helen dropped her hand from Hektor’s arm.

  Hektor’s angry gaze found his brother’s. “Once this war is over and our city is safe, if you are still live, I will kill you myself.” He turned and left, leaving the chamber door wide open and Helen’s mouth agape.

  He quickly passed through the main hallways, before exiting the main palace for his private quarters on the palatial hill. Bursting through the main entrance, Hektor yelled, “Andromache!”

  A startled maid ran to greet him. “My lord.” She bowed her head. “We weren’t expecting you.”

  “Where’s my wife?” he asked brusquely.

  The maid’s eyes widened in fear. She stammered, “Sh-She is … she is o-on the w-wall, my lord. With your son.”

  “Why? Why would she go to the wall without sending word?”

  “Forgive me, my lord, but whispers reached us that the Trojans were failing. That the invaders were too many. Too strong. She took the babe and ran for the tower. Hoping, I think, to catch sight of you.”

  Hektor bolted from his home, panic gripping him as he ran.

  ✽✽✽

  Andromache pushed her way through the small crowds dotting the upper sections of the wall. Astyanax’s arms clung tightly around her neck. “We are safe for now, little one. Perhaps, if the gods are willing, we will catch sight of your father.”

  Her name carried across a short distance. “Andromache!”

  She turned. There he stood, helm shaking in the sunlight, tall and beautiful in her eyes. “Hektor!” she cried out and rushed toward him. His embrace became her entire world in that moment. All her fears melted in tears down her face. “I heard you had come. I was afraid—”

  Hektor brushed her cheek with his thumb. “Afraid I wouldn’t come to you?”

  “If you had business with your father, or the elders …”

  “My love, I will always come for you. Never doubt that. Never doubt my love.”

  “Then why have you returned? The war rages on. I fear …”

  “What do you fear?”

  Andromache swallowed hard. How could she voice the words that haunted her dreams? Give light to the darkness creeping into her mind, whispering of his doom? “What if you … what if you don’t return from the battle?” She dared to meet his eyes. “You are the Defender of the City.”

  “Andromache —”

  “No. Let me finish. You know what’s coming. I’ve seen it in your eyes a hundred times.” Lowering her voice, so only he could hear, she said, “Troy will fall because of Paris and what he’s done.”

  “Not as long as I am alive.”

  “That is what will be our undoing. If you fall—”

  “I will not fall.”

  “Can you read the mind of the gods? Will Achilles stay away forever? Why do the gods allow us to suffer as we have?”

  “We will push the Greeks into—”

  “The sea. Aye, I’ve heard you say that a dozen times.”

  Hektor grabbed her arm, steering her away from the eyes now lingering on their passionate conversation. “You will frighten the boy.”

  Andromache could see the hurt in her husband’s eyes. The aftermath of war lingered in her mind, pushing her to the edge of madness. For the first time, she understood her mother’s wishing to die. To end the fighting forever. “I am more frightened by what will happen to us when you’re gone. It would be better for you to take our lives now, than face this life without you. Our son will be fatherless, as I am. We will have no protector.”

  “Know that I love you, Andromache, and our son. If I don’t fight, these fears of yours may very well become reality, not just for you and Astyanax but for all the widows and children left behind. One day Troy will fall, Andromache. When, I don’t know, but one day. If I should fail what would become of you and our son? You’ll be a slave to some foul-mouthed Greek, forced to weave another woman’s loom—”

  “Stop, Hektor. We both know what comes after. For me and Astyanax.”

  “I’d rather be dead than hear you cry out for me as they dragged you to their ships.” He reached for Astyanax, but the babe cried.

  “Look at you, Hektor. Armed for battle. He’s frightened of your helmet.”

  Hektor laughed and removed it, then scooped his son into his arms. “He’s getting so heavy. A true Trojan prince.” He smiled, tears glistening in his eyes. “I pray the gods make him a better man than I have been. A strong king, when I am gone.”

  Andromache knew in her bones that Hektor would never be king, nor would their son rule Troy. She believed her husband to be the most valiant warrior and yet even under his leadership; the Greeks had not been defeated. Worse yet, the gods themselves shifted favors, so no victor emerged. So many had lost so much how would their world recover? She wondered if these days of war would end Priam’s line forever, and if her husband shared her mind. “I beg you. Position men at the lowest section of the wall where the invaders have tried scaling it—”

  Hektor placed their young son in her arms, pulling them both into his protective embrace. “Do not let fear control you. Fate will lead all of us, brave or weak, down our intended path. My soul will not wing to the Underworld if it is not my time. Let me worry about the war.”

  Andromache met Hektor’s gaze. “If you think your safety and the welfare of the city are beyond my concern, you’re wrong. Who keeps the home while the men are away? Who births and cares for a man’s legacy? We do. We bear the brunt of your wars. For you, your death would be a relief from endless fighting, but it will ruin me in every way.”

  “Believe me, Andromache, I know. Why do you think I fight so hard for Troy? For you? Prepare for my return, wife. Nothing fills me with more courage than the thought of your arms wrapped around my neck and your sweet, hungry kisses.” Hektor kissed her firmly on the lips. He studied every line of her face before placing on his helmet. “Farewell, my love.” He turned and hurried from the wall without looking back.

  Andromache, holding Astyanax tight, cried watching Hektor disappear from sight.

  ✽✽✽

  After donning his shining armor, Paris ran from his chambers to find his elder brother, knowing he’d be making his way swiftly to the field of war. He caught sight of Hektor as he was descending the tower stairs. “Brother!”

  Hektor stopped and turned. He waited, spear in hand.<
br />
  “Brother, I told you I would come. Did you not believe me?”

  “You fight as hard as any man once the battle has begun.” Leaning against his spear, Hektor’s azure eyes pierced Paris’. “It’s your lack of urgency to fight and win that concerns me. How many Trojans have died simply because you draw breath? How many wives have lost husbands and children their fathers because you chose Helen? Do you even know? But, there’s no more time to talk, brother. If we drive these Greeks from Troy for good, then we will find our way to being brothers once more. If that is even possible.”

  Paris nodded mutely. He could no more explain why Helen tore him from his duties, than he could explain why he returned to her bed even after all that had happened. There was nothing more to say. They descended the stairs, making swiftly for the plain and the war.

  TROY

  TWENTY ONE, long-shadowed spears

  1238 BCE

  The sky burned deep blue with the length of the day, when Athena saw Hektor and Paris in their shining armor sending up their war cries to rally the Trojans against her beloved Greeks. Anger rose in her chest like molten rock. “Fools,” she seethed. She blazed down the sacred slopes, taking refuge beneath an oak to strategize how best to defeat the Trojans once and for all.

  “What are you hiding from, sister?”

  “Go away, Apollo.”

  The Shining One rested his back against the tree trunk. “Not very friendly of you.”

  “Don’t you have a temple to fly off to? A hapless mortal to fuck? Or mutilate?”

  Apollo laughed wickedly; his crystal locks shook and his blue-orange eyes blazed. “And miss whatever mayhem you’re plotting?” He licked his lips. “Against Zeus’ wishes? No, I wouldn’t miss this for all the virgins on my altar.”

  Athena stood to her full height, eye to eye with Apollo. “You know why I’m here. But what is it, I wonder, that you hope to gain?”

  “Aren’t you tired of this war already? It’s tedious.” He casually folded his hands behind his back. “Why don’t we just … end it?”