The Trojan Princess (3 page)

           
The Greeks had long wished to conquer the east, with its rich, fertile lands,
its plentiful spices and fruits, and the beautiful women who were borne to its
peoples, but they had never succeeded. Troy, the might bastion of the east, had
long protected its people, and the other kingdoms, lesser though they were, did
their part to keep the Greeks at bay.

           
Now it seemed that their lands had been chosen by Achilles and his men as an
easy target and it enraged Podes and his brothers all the more that they did
not seek to conquer, merely to steal and raid, retreating to their ships after
each merciless onslaught.

           
It was infuriating, Podes thought, and he hoped he would be the one to finally
put an end to Achilles’ life. There were many tales, even in the east, of the
warrior’s great skill and aptitude in battle, but Podes knew he had unsurpassed
strength, and the axe he gripped tightly in his hand would cut as easily
through Achilles and his men as it had hundreds of Greeks before.

           
Their travels had taken a week and Podes could see some of his brothers began
to tire of the journey, their conviction lessening as their limbs grew weak. He
tried to encourage them and reminded them of the glory that would be theirs
when they were the ones to slay Achilles.

           
“Just think of the honour our family will know,” Podes shouted to them, when
they reached their lowest ebb. “Our sister to marry the heir to Troy, and us,
her brothers, the ones to kill Achilles and bring peace back to the eastern
shores!”

           
His words were so honest in their delivery that they gave his brothers the
encouragement they needed, and the seven men went on.

           
They came across Achilles and his warriors on the tenth day of their trek,
laying waste to a small village high up on the coast. The three Greek ships
were anchored unguarded off the coast, and Podes thought of torching them, but
the calls for help and the shrieks of the dying villagers tore at him. He made
his decision, and led his brothers up the hill, over the rocky outcrops towards
the sounds of steel clashing in the besieged village.

           
At once, Podes realised his mistake. Achilles and his men were greater in
number than he had thought, and they came upon them from the top of the hill.
Podes and his brothers were at a disadvantage, fighting uphill with their axes,
as Achilles and his men raised their swords and descended upon them.

           
Podes lifted his own axe, ready for the attack, and roared with the anger and
hatred inside of him. His brothers did the same and soon the loud clash of
metal on metal came upon them as battle commenced.

           
A sword flew by him, almost taking his ear off, and Podes swung his axe at his
opponent. His axe sliced easily through the man’s neck, and his head flew in an
arc, blood trailing behind it, until it came to the floor, the helmet
clattering against the rocks on the ground. He took a glance around, and saw
one of his brothers fall to the sword of a large, dark Greek. Perhaps a slave,
Podes thought, and his anger flared again.

           
He battled through the crowd, making for the black Greek, his axe feeling light
in his grip as he readied it. His brother lay still on the ground, blood
gushing from his wound; there was nothing to be done for him now.

           
Podes raised his axe and swung it, catching the man off guard. The man
staggered backwards, his wooden shield shattering at the force of the axe, but
he righted himself and lunged forward, sword whistling in the air as he went
for Podes again and again. Podes dodged the blows, swinging his axe once more,
but the man was fast and his sword was more agile than a great axe. Podes left
his stomach exposed as he swung the axe and the man lunged forwards. Podes
braced himself for the blade to pierce his bowels, but they did not, and he saw
one of his brothers standing before him, the body of the Greek twitching at
their feet, an axe embedded in his spine.

           
The two brothers exchanged looks, and Podes again observed the battle. More of
his brothers had fallen now; three lay dead amongst twice that number of Greek
corpses. Yet Achilles and his men were better prepared for attack than Podes
had thought them to be, and another brother fell even as he watched.

           
He was about to call a retreat, when he came face to face with Achilles. The
man had golden hair that flowed to his shoulders, a warrior’s physique, bare
chested, his body slick with sweat and the blood of his enemies.

           
“You are from Thebes,” Achilles said, looking upon Podes as one might an
insect, not a worthy adversary in battle. “I shall see your home destroyed for
this.”

           
“You would not dare,” Podes sneered, though fear licked at him. It seemed
Achilles sensed the fear upon him, for he stepped backwards and called to his
men.

           
“Back to the ships,” he cried out, his voice loud even over the clashing of
swords and axes. “We head for Thebes.”

           
Podes swung his axe towards him, but Achilles easily avoided the blow and
darted past him. Before Podes could react, he felt Achilles’ blade under his
throat, damp and warm from the blood of his brothers.

           
Achilles leaned close, whispering in his ear.

           
“I will spare you, only so that you can see the vengeance I’ll reap for the
slaughter of my men,” he said, and Podes knew this was no idle threat.
    

           
Then the blade was gone from his throat, and he turned to see Achilles and his
warriors scaling the hilltop, descending to their ships, leaving behind them
Podes, standing with only two brothers, four of their brothers and kinsmen
lying dead upon the ground.

           
“Should we go after them?” one called, as the other surveyed their fallen
brothers.

           
“No, we go home,” Podes said, receiving a surprised look from his brothers.
“You heard Achilles; he means to go after Thebes. We cannot let him attack them
unaware. We must warn them and defend them.”

           
He granted only time enough for his brothers to be burned and their rites read,
then he initiated the long journey home. Even as he hoped they would make it
back in time, he doubted. One glance towards the seas told him how right his
doubts were; for Achilles’ ships had already set sail, the winds on their side,
billowing their sails, setting them on course for Thebes. He pictured he could
see Achilles at the prow of the ship taunting him, though he could not be sure.

           
Anger grated on him, but fear drove him forwards.

*
* *

           
It had been a long while since word had come from her brothers, and Andromache
had begun to fret over their continued absence. Try as they might, Iliana and
Ilisa could not soothe the princess.

           
“They are good warriors, brave and strong,” Iliana had encouraged her, but to
little avail, as Andromache continued pacing back and forth in her chambers.

           
“Achilles was far from Thebes when your brothers set off,” Ilisa said
cajolingly, “It will take them many days to find them, perhaps they have not even
caught up with them yet.”

           
Her maids’ words did little to cheer Andromache, but soon talk turned to Hector
and her wedding, and Andromache felt her heart lift a little despite her fears.

           
“It’s sure to be such a beautiful wedding,” Iliana sighed longingly.

           
“And such a handsome husband you’ll have,” Ilisa said, finally eliciting a
smile from the princess. “Of course, such a beautiful princess deserves such a
well-suited man.”

           
“One day you will be Queen of Troy,” Iliana said, wistful, and Andromache
wondered what would become of her two maids. She wanted them to come with her
to Troy and perhaps as handmaids to the Queen, they too would find wealthy,
noble suitors.

           
Lounging in her bedchambers, Andromache did not hear at first the calls of
alarm from the outskirts of the town, nor did she hear the frantic cries of the
soldiers as they rushed from the palace. Only when they heard the clattering of
hooves and the calls from the courtyard did Andromache send Iliana to find out
what the commotion was.

           
It took only a few moments for her to return, pale-faced and awash with fear.

           
“Princess, we must go,” she said, “Your brothers have returned.”

           
“I must go and greet them, of course!” Andromache smiled, rising to her feet,
cheered at the thought, her earlier fears dispersing. “There is no need to look
so fretful.”

           
“You misunderstand me,” Iliana said, her eyes brimming with tears. “Only three
of them are returned.” Andromache froze, and Ilisa threw her hands to her mouth
in horror. Iliana continued, glancing anxiously over her shoulder as calls from
downstairs grew louder, “And the Greek warriors are also here.”

           
“In Thebes?” Andromache gasped. How could this be? What was the meaning of
this?

           
“In the town, yes,” Iliana nodded. “We must go, your mother is waiting to take
you into hiding. Podes will see you safely away from the fighting –” She
trailed off, left unspoken was where Iliana and her sister would seek hiding.

           
“You must come with us,” Andromache said at once.

           
“You’re very kind,” Iliana said, bowing graciously.

           
Andromache, though panicked, took a deep breath. She gathered her maids to her
and ushered them out of the bedchambers, rushing down the stairs in search of
her mother, who was to lead them out of the town and away from Achilles and the
bloodshed, with Podes to protect them.

           
Her mother stood beneath an archway, in the corner of the palace, a shawl
wrapped around her hair and shoulders, concealing her face. Podes stood, axe in
hand, his body bearing the stress of his laborious journey and his anxiety, and
motioned for Andromache to join them.

           
“We need to go now,” Podes said, but before they could go further, steel
clattered around them, sounding so close that Andromache felt as if the swords
were clashing within her head. She half-turned, but Podes grabbed her arm and
threw her out of the archway, out into the brilliant, dazzling sunlight beyond
the palace walls. She heard her mother cry out, and Andromache clasped her
mother’s arm and dragged her away from the fighting, which she knew had broken
out within the very walls of the palace, her home.

           
Holding tight to her mother, she guided them through crowds of terrified
people, down the streets she knew so well, pushing past the people her father
ruled over, fear driving her forward, her senses in overdrive.

           
It was only as she reached the outskirts of the town that Andromache slowed,
allowed her pulse to slow, her breathing to grow even. Her mother was beside
herself, tears clinging to her face, hands clawing at her eyes, lips moving in
silent prayer for her husband and sons. Andromache thought then of her maids –
for Iliana and Ilisa, the two ever-quarrelling but lovely sisters – had been
lost to her back in the palace when the Greeks had burst in upon them. She
prayed for them, and for her father, for she had not seen nor heard of King
Eetion’s whereabouts as she had fled the palace. And Podes, dearest Podes, she
prayed for him though she knew it was of no use.  She knew that her eldest
brother would not have saved himself, for he would have stayed and slain all
the invaders he could until he himself had been slain.

           
With trepidation, she guided her mother into an abandoned house and waited for
a sign that the invaders had left. She was shaking, but her mother offered no
reassurances, praying for her husband and sons, her eyes not even glancing
towards her daughter.

*
* *

           
King Eetion watched as his town fell to the warriors led by Achilles. He had
known Achilles was a worthy enemy, but he had not foreseen that such a downfall
would be possible in such a short space of time. He had ruled over his lands
for so long, and none had defeated him! Yet now it lay in ruins.

           
From the top of his palace he saw the town burn. A hundred Greeks had sailed
onto his shores and brought ruin and devastation with them. He looked to the
small docklands, now wooden debris smouldering in the waves, and the three
Greek warships in the waters beyond. The way the invaders had come through the
city was clear, a path of black, burning ruins showed him their route. Yet the
fires had spread, sweeping through homes and hovels, shops and stalls, and the
calls and smells of the dying rose on the warm air to meet his senses and chill
his blood.           

           
He scanned the town beneath him for some sign that his daughter and wife may have
reached safety, yet there was nothing he could see except the burnt and the
burning. Smoke was thick in the air, and he glanced down to see that even his
own palace was beginning to burn. Though made of stone, the interior was
aflame, and the gardens he had so loved to walk amongst were charring even as
he turned at the sound of footsteps on the rooftop behind him.