The Trojan Princess (6 page)

           
“You doubt the benefits of such a marriage for our beloved Heir Apparent?”
Diephobus asked, reading the trail of his father’s thoughts as he had grown
accustomed to doing, for his father was not one for speaking his mind, even in
such private circumstances.        “It is true
that so many of the advantages that made the princess such a good choice are no
longer so,” Priam said, shaking his head, glad to be able to speak openly
without fear of them being overheard. “Her father is dead, her city destroyed
by all accounts, and her mother is said to be bedridden with fever. How can
such a princess be suitable to marry our Hector?”

           
“Indeed, it is true,” Diephobus sighed, though his eyes showed no sign of
displeasure. “A princess with no kingdom is, truly, no princess at all,
father.”

           
“True, true,” Priam murmured. “You think we should call a halt to such a
match?”

           
“If it pleases my king, then of course,” Diephobus nodded. His eyes seemed to
gleam at the thought of causing such distress to others, but his father did not
notice, as he had never done.      

           
The doors to the council chamber flew open and both men jumped, startled, for
nobody ever entered the chamber without consent, the two guards standing either
side of the entrance outside saw to that. Hector walked towards them, his face
a mask of fury. The guards closed the doors hastily behind him, and neither
Priam nor Diephobus spoke as the Heir Apparent, Prince of Troy, approached.

           
“You dare to discuss matters of my marriage without my presence?” Hector
demanded. He did not shout, but he did not need to; his voice carried across
the room, loud and clear, and his years of training to lead an army had given
him a commanding voice that made even his father hesitate. He reached them and
stood, shoulders squared, defiant in the face of the two men. “Diephobus.
Brother. Why does it not surprise me that you be here in times of trouble?” he
demanded of him. Diephobus smiled sourly and bowed his head in deferment to his
older brother.

           
“We did not seek to exclude you from discussions,” Priam said, and Hector bowed
his head to him, for even in his anger he knew that he could not dismiss
etiquette. “Yet you have grown fond of the girl, and we needed to be
level-headed in such matters that –”

           
“I will not be moved in the matter,” Hector insisted, “Princess Andromache is
my betrothed, I will accept no other.”

           
“Hector –” Priam protested, but his son had turned from him.

           
“I will hear no more of this,” he insisted. “King Eetion was a loyal friend of
yours for many years, was he not, father?” Priam looked shamed by the words.
“Yet you seek to treat his daughter, a princess, with such dishonour? I shall
do no such thing, she will be my wife.”

           
He swept from the council chambers, leaving an uncomfortable silence in his
wake. Diephobus edged forward, closer to his father, quiet until he had learned
of what mood his father might be in now.

           
“What think you?” he asked, when Priam remained quiet, brow burrowed in
thought.

           
“Hector is right,” he said, “Though how can such a disadvantageous marriage –”

           
Diephobus clapped his hands together, and Priam looked at him hopefully.

           
“Perhaps the princess’ position is not so undesirable after all,” he said,
delighted as his father eagerly clung to each word. “It is true that her father
is dead, and her mother near death. Her lands are destroyed, yet she still
remains heiress to them. Sole heiress, I believe, given that her seven brothers
were slaughtered in the sack of Thebes?”

           
Priam nodded, eyes sparkling with interest as he began to understand his son’s
meaning.

           
“If her mother was to pass away, and it seems likely that she will,” Diephobus
went on, “Then our dear Andromache will be heir to all that land, and when she
marries Hector, her lands will naturally pass to him as her husband, will it
not?”

           
“Of course,” Priam exclaimed, clapping his hand together. He smiled at the
thought of delivering such good news to Hector; he would send for him at once.

           
Diephobus bowed and made for the doors to exit the council chambers. His father
was delighted, but Diephobus felt no such joy. He rarely did; he was pleased to
have found a solution to his king’s dilemma, but only because he knew his
father would not forget such help. Perhaps he would get some of the lands when
they passed from Andromache to the royal family. He could but hope, he thought.

           
In the council room, Priam called for the guards and sent one off to find a
servant who could bring Princess Andromache to him. He would receive her
warmly, he decided, for she was a princess, he reminded himself, and to marry
his Heir Apparent as well.

           
King Priam and Queen Hecuba of Troy received Andromache, the princess of a
destroyed and kingless Thebes, with joy and ceremony. Priam showed no intention
of calling off such a wedding, though the fact that the advantages of such a
marriage being diminished significantly since the attack on her homeland was
clearly not lost on the wily king, and Hecuba hugged her close to her bosom and
wept warm, salty tears of commiseration over her. Whether Priam inwardly
regretted the betrothal, Andromache saw no sign, and it made her sigh with
relief that she had been welcomed so kindly to the royal palaces of Troy.

           
“Your mother will be cared for by the best healers in the land,” Hecuba told
her, gathering her to the seat beside her at the royal high table. “Grief is the
cruellest illness in the world, dear child.”

           
Andromache knew the truth of those words. She prayed that her mother would
recover but part of her knew that she would not. She remembered her mother’s
words under the moonlight, and she knew it had been a goodbye. Her mother did
not want to recover; she wanted to return to her husband’s side, and Andromache
thought that perhaps it would have been kinder for her to die on the sword
beside her husband, rather than be left alive in a world without him, a shadow
of her former self, as if caught between the afterlife and the world of the
living, haunted by ghosts and the memories of her sons and her king.

           
Yet despite her mother’s ailments, Andromache could not feel too sad, not when
there was so much to see in this new, amazing world of hers.

           
Her chambers were far larger than any she had seen before, and the palace
itself was a huge maze of chambers, corridors and passageways, broken up by
balconies and balustrades that opened onto beautiful gardens and courtyards.
There were temples too; huge ones and tiny ones in the topmost towers, all
ornately decorated and scented - no matter their size. The palace had been
built against the huge walls of the city, and halfway up the palace’s great
height, one could walk out onto the ramparts of the walls and from this vantage
point the huge sandy shores could be seen opening before the city, the ocean
glistening beneath the sun a mile or so in the distance.

           
There was so much to see, Andromache thought with delight – and this was just
the royal palace! – and she wondered on the other palaces, smaller than the
royal household, but built across the city for the noblemen and women of Troy.

           
Hector’s sisters, or the daughters of Troy, as they were known to the
inhabitants of the city, fell upon Andromache with much fussing and delight
when news reached them that she had arrived. Andromache felt immediately that
she was one of them, so warm and enchanting they were.

           
Ilione, the eldest of the daughters, had long left the city with her Greek
husband, taking her youngest brother with her as her ward. The second eldest,
Creusa, who now insisted upon being entitled ‘eldest’ by default now that
Ilione was far away in foreign lands, was married and regarded Andromache as
both a younger sister and a possible protégé, her fair hair almost white, as
her mother’s had turned at a similar age, and Andromache soon felt a motherly
warmth from this elder of sisters.

           
“You will make a good wife to Hector,” Creusa said, upon embracing her. “I am a
good judge of character, and I can tell you and my eldest brother will make a
fair match.”

           
“Thank you,” Andromache said, extricating herself from her new sister’s arms,
unsure of what else she was expected to say to such a high compliment.

           
“Now, sister, anyone might think that perhaps you have the gift of foresight as
well,” another sister said, nudging Creusa out of the way so she might greet
her new sister. “I am Cassandra, entrusted with the gift of foresight,” she
said, at which Creusa snorted in derision. “I am a prophetess, and I share such
power with my twin brother, Helenus.”

           
Like Creusa, Cassandra was fair-haired, though hers had not yet begun to turn
white. She had a kindly face, not beautiful as the others, but pleasant,
Andromache thought.

           
“Nobody believes my prophecies,” Cassandra sighed, “Alas, I am cursed by the
Gods in that respect.”

           
“Now, now,” Creusa said levelly, “We all have our parts to play in life –”

           
“Easy for you to say, with your devoted husband, and your –”

           
“Jealousy is an evil trait in a princess,” Creusa snapped, flaring up to her
considerable height. Cassandra squared her shoulders, though she was shorter
than her elder sister and the affect was not so intimidating. Creusa put a hand
on her sister’s shoulder, the others watching, as if used to such disagreements
amongst them. “You should go to the temple and make your prayers if you aren’t
able to behave in such company –”

           
She trailed off, but Cassandra seemed cowed.

           
Pushing aside both of her sisters, Laodice swept up Andromache in a warm hug.
The most beautiful of all the princesses, Laodice had dark hair that fell to
her waist in ornate curls, and Andromache was awed by her appearance, feeling
plain and ordinary in comparison to her.

           
“Welcome, dear sister,” Laodice whispered in her ear, holding her close, “We
are so pleased to have you here.”

           
Then the youngest of the daughters of Troy, Polyxena, with her dark hair and
petite figure came forward. Andromache realised that Polyxena was younger than
her, and the pair at once sensed that they perhaps more than any of the others
would share a great bond.

           
Introductions over, Andromache sat amongst them and soon grew used to the
laughter of the girls, and the bickering between them too. At first, Andromache
was weary of the disputes, but she soon came to understand the warmth and
strong bonds between the sisters, and that whenever they fought, they remained
protective of each other, and after each argument they would quickly reconcile
their differences and were laughing and giggling between each other once more.
Their happiness was infectious and Andromache soon felt at ease whenever she
was with them, whether in their chambers or at the frequent feasts the royals
seemed to hold.

           
Polyxena often visited Andromache in her chambers, and Iliana and Ilisa soon
warmed to the youngest princess, so the four women would sit and Andromache and
her maids would listen with rapt attention as Polyxena relived fond memories
aloud to them, or regaled them with lively stories and tales of Trojan history.

           
Hector, who adored all of his sisters so much, was obviously delighted that
Andromache had bonded with them so quickly and strongly, and Andromache was
pleased that she had so endeared herself to him and him to her.
    

           
“My brothers will love you just as much as my sisters do,” Hector assured her
that evening after the feast, and Andromache was so delirious with happiness
that she did not think much further on his words. “But none of them, whether my
brothers or my sisters, could possibly grow to love you as much as I already
do.”

           
Andromache smiled at that, leaned in close to him and kissed him gently on his
mouth, his lips warm and his breath smelling of sweet wine. He kissed her back,
his tongue exploring her mouth, one hand sliding around her waist and the other
tousling a lock of her dark hair, his fingers slipping through her hair, eyes
closed.

           
Footsteps sounded on the floor down the corridor and Andromache put a hand to
his chest, gently pushing him away from her, their lips breaking apart.
Hector’s lips were moist, and the taste of him lingered on her tongue. His eyes
were mellow as they gazed upon her, and she could hardly bring herself to pull
away from him. He took a step back, though reluctantly, she could tell, and he
smiled wickedly at her, his love for her clear at that moment.

           
“You should return to your bedchamber,” Hector said quietly, the longing in his
voice clear to them both, so that they almost laughed with the obviousness of
it. “Should I walk you?”

           
“No, you should return to the feast, your father will be expecting you,”
Andromache said, though she wished that he would walk her. Hector bid her
goodnight and she felt his eyes watching her as she retreated down the corridor
and began the ascent to her chambers.

           
Both Andromache and Hector were thinking of the days, or rather the nights, in
a not so distant future when they were man and wife, that they would share
their bedchambers, and they would not have to say goodnight at all.

*
* *

           
The following day, it was with great trepidation that Andromache went into the
court to meet the council of Troy. Hector had explained to her that whilst King
Priam ruled the city and their lands, the council provided advice and debate to
the king and, in minor matters of city and state, they presided without need to
consent the king, for not all matters required a man as noble and busy as the
king to preside over.

           
“Do not fear them,” Hector had told her, taking her hand. “The men of the
council all love this great city, and they love me as their heir. They will
love you too, as my bride.”

           
Not entirely reassured, but with little other recourse, Andromache had nodded
and forced a smile to her lips. Hector, upon seeing her smile, kissed her
softly upon her lips and that in turn had brought about a real smile from her.
As if knowing what reaction his kiss had elicited, Hector smiled playfully at
her and squeezed her hand in reassurance.

           
“Trust me, you have nothing to worry about,” he said.

           
The doors to the council chambers were thrown open and Andromache let Hector
lead her across the marble floors, down a corridor of ornately decorated
pillars, to the centre of the huge room. A large rectangle had been cut from
the floor, and steps of marble went down to the lowered floor, reminding
Andromache of an amphitheatre.

           
It was on this stage, of sorts, where the men of the Trojan council waited to
greet her. Andromache approached them cautiously, Hector releasing her hand, so
that she might grasp of each of the men’s hands in turn and receive their warm
welcomes to the city.

           
As Hector had told her, several of his brothers made up most of the council. As
the eldest of Priam and Hecuba’s legitimate children, Hector was the Heir
Apparent and would inherit the crown when Priam passed away, but his other
legitimate brothers had some sway in matters of politics and rule, each with a
place in the distinguished council.

           
Diephobus, the second in line to the throne after Hector, was the first to
greet the princess. He had dark hair like his brothers, but he did not have a
warrior’s physique like Hector, and his shoulders seemed slightly stooped to
Andromache. His eyes were dark but held none of the warmth his brother’s did
and when he smiled and kissed her hands with warm lips, she fancied that the
smile did not reach his eyes. His lips lingered a little longer on the skin of
her hand than was necessary, and Hector gave a quiet cough, that seemed to
bring Diephobus to his senses. He stood up straight again, letting go of
Andromache’s hands, and she noticed that he was tall, though his slumped
shoulders made him seem less so than the others. His eyes watched her closely
as she moved on to the next brother.

           
Helenus was fair-haired, taking after his mother more than his father in that
respect, but his skin, like those of his brothers, was lightly kissed by the
sun to a warm bronze hue. He looked so like Cassandra, Andromache thought,
remembering that they alone of all the King’s children were twins, and she
wondered if Cassandra was right and that he had inherited the gift of prophecy
as his sister had. Like Hector, Helenus was a soldier and he stood tall and
proud, though his shoulders did not yet have the width or strength of his older
brother’s. He had a pleasant, if serious, face and he greeted her warmly.

           
Polites, the fourth son, was also fair-haired, and he shared the thin, wiry
frame of Diephobus. He was a scholar, not a fighter, as Hector had explained to
her as he talked of his family. He greeted her kindly, clasping her hand in a
loose grip, but made no bow nor kiss to her, his eyes, so used to studying
texts, ran over her, sizing her up. Andromache did not feel uncomfortable at
his look, as she had with Diephobus, and she smiled. Polites inclined his head
politely to her, and let her withdraw her hands from his.

           
The youngest of the brothers that still remained in Troy, Troilus was clearly
the prized child of Priam and Hecuba. Tall and fair-haired, he shared the look
of Helenus, but his face was full of beauty. Indeed, Andromache recalled Iliana
and Ilisa’s words; they had said that Troilus was the most beautiful of all the
princes, and she now saw the truth in their words, though she much preferred
Hector to this young, pretty prince.

           
“My youngest brother,” Hector explained, after Troilus had kissed Andromache’s
hand and proclaimed her worthy of his brother’s hand in marriage, “Yes, even
younger than our fair Troilus,” he said, indulging Troilus with a warm smile,
“Has been sent to Greece, with my sister Ilione, where he remains her and her
husband’s ward.”