The Trojan Princess (7 page)

           
Andromache nodded in understanding; it was not uncommon, especially in royal
households, for one sibling to take another under their protection. In such a
royal family as this, Andromache thought, it was perhaps necessary for such a
thing – after all, the poor little prince would be so far along the line of
succession, and there was so much more of a future for him as ward to a foreign
King and his queenly sister.

           
Next in the line of counsellors was Laocoon, whom she had already met. Short
and squat, he remained steeped in fine purple robes, and he smiled warmly at
her, his bald head still shining with a sheen of sweat. She briefly wondered
whether it was the heat or nerves that made him sweat so, yet she found it was
rather cool in these marble chambers.

           
“Once again I welcome you,” Laocoon said sweetly, his jowls wobbling with his
words, “I hope you have settled in well to our beautiful city and this wondrous
palace.”

           
“Thank you, I have indeed,” Andromache said, as graciously as she could.

           
Beside Laocoon, two white-bearded men hunched, both grasping walking sticks of
polished wood. Antenor and Antimachus both greeted her kindly with lilting,
rasping voices, but did not bow to kiss her hands, for they were too frail, so
Andromache inclined her shoulders a little and kissed their withered hand,
noticing their papery, pale skin on the backs of their hands. One of the men,
Antenor, the eldest on the council, his years greater by far than even King
Priam, seemed to shake constantly with the strain of remaining standing.

           
When Andromache suggested he sit down awhile, he protested, shaking his head
side to side, looking affronted at the suggestion that he may need rest.

           
“I have been stood at this council for over fifty long years,” Antenor said,
still quivering. “I have not yet needed to sit when greeting a guest, and I do
not yet need to do so.”

           
Andromache bowed her head in silent apology, and Antenor seemed appeased,
though his eyes, more alive and youthful than the rest of his body, watched her
closely. Hector had warned her before her entry into the chamber that the
council was difficult at times – so many men wanting different things,
different personalities clashing over the wills and wishes of the people they presided
over, and all the while having to appease the king. Andromache did not envy him
his role in the council, grateful that she would have nothing to do with the
running of the city, only as part of the royal family, which the people of
Troy, she had been told, seemed to put above all else.

           
With the greetings done Hector made to take Andromache from the council room,
when the doors swung open at the end of the room and King Priam entered, gowns
billowing about him as he walked towards them, arms opening as he sighted
Andromache.

           
“My darling princess,” he cried out, embracing her warmly, “I am glad that you
have met our most respected council.” He turned to Hector, “I trust you are
enjoying the company of your betrothed.” Hector nodded. “Wonderful, wonderful,”
Priam cried, and then turned to his council. “We have much to discuss,
gentlemen,” Priam said, descending the steps to the central stage of the room.

           
Andromache, feeling Hector’s hand on her forearm, allowed herself to be guided
from the room. She felt pleased to have met his brothers and fellow councilmen,
yet something troubled her. Diephobus’ lingering lips on her hand; Antenor’s
eyes that seemed to bore straight through her; and Polites’ studied look into
her eyes, they all played on her mind.

           
“See, there was nothing to fear in meeting them,” Hector said, when the doors
to the council chambers had closed firmly behind them, and he guided her back
down the corridors to her private chambers, where Andromache had no doubt
Iliana and Ilisa would be waiting excitedly to hear of her morning. “Now you
can rest assured, you have met all of the family,” he said, though his eyes
narrowed as he said the words, and Andromache slowed, concerned.

           
“Is anything amiss?” she asked, reaching to stroke his face, for his brow had
furrowed.

           
“Just a memory resurfacing,” Hector said, shaking his head, regaining his
manner. “Nothing to worry yourself over.”

           
Andromache walked with him back to her chambers, her mind on the men she had
left in the council chambers. She wanted to share Hector’s easy belief that
they were all great men, wise men, men they could entrust with the running of
the city; yet something told her to be wary around them.

*
* *

           
As preparations for the royal wedding began, Andromache realised that she had
not yet really thought upon the wedding, nor married life itself, until she had
arrived in Troy. She reflected on the weeks spent in Thebes after her betrothal
had been announced; she had too preoccupied with fears, proved justly so, over
her brothers to pay much heed to the life she would lead when she became a
royal princess in Troy.

           
She had certainly thought of how grand and lavish the ceremonies would be;
though she had sat with Queen Hecuba and the princesses and talked of such
things since her arrival, it still stunned her when she heard talk of the plans
– Iliana had heard that a thousand pheasants had been sent for by the king, and
that a huge games, consisting of sword fighting, discus, and javelin, would be
thrown in her and Hector’s honour.

           
Though she was aggrieved over the deaths of her father and brothers and her
heart was still raw with the pain of the tragedy, she could not feel sad for
long in such a place as this. She longed for her mother to regain her strength,
so that she might share in the joy of the wedding, but she did not hold out
much hope for such a recovery.

           
Even as she doubted it so, Andromache often visited her mother’s small chambers
to talk of the wedding and the excitement that had filled the royal palace as
the celebrations drew nearer. She spoke of her adoration of Hector, and her
warm welcome from his family, but she spoke to herself, for her mother did not
answer her, struck dumb by grief and mourning.

           
The chambers that had been given over to her mother were small but comfortable
and she had a view from the window of the shore and the sea beyond. For all the
beauty of such a scene, Andromache was saddened that her mother had not yet
gone to the window and would therefore not appreciate the wonder of such
sights.

           
Her maids Iliana and Ilisa took it in turns to wait upon the widowed queen, but
Andromache knew that they dreaded these hours spent nursing a ghost. They did
not mention their feelings, but Andromache had known them for years and they
did not have to speak for her to read their thoughts.

           
Though a healer was treating the queen with herbs and potions, Andromache had
soon noticed that the royal family did not take an overt interest in her
mother’s health. Hector asked after her often, though she knew it was for her
welfare that he asked and not out of concern for her mother. Polyxena, too,
worried for her new friend the princess, but they were alone of the royals in
showing interest.

           
Diephobus, the sly brother of her betrothed, sometimes asked after her, and
Andromache would reply politely but did not elaborate any more than was
expected of her; she found something about this particular prince underhanded
and she did not trust him.

           
But who could she trust? She often wondered on this. She trusted Hector, and
Polyxena too, and the other daughters of Troy seemed to love her as one of
their own, but she was not one of them, she often remembered, as she came to
adjust to their customs. She was still getting used to wearing an elaborate
headdress, as was the fashion amongst wealthy Trojan women, and Hector had
presented her an ornate one; a gold band that fit over the top of her head,
adorned with plush feathers from a peacock, so beautiful that Iliana and Ilisa
had at once been filled with jealousy and admiration.

           
She could not forget, at times like these when her suspicions were rife,
usually after spending any length of time in the presence of Diephobus, that
she was alone in this world. Her father and brothers, her protectors, were
slain. Her mother, for all intents, had gone too. She had her maids and Axion
who remained a loyal guard to her, still suspicious of such overt wealth and
displays of warmth by the inhabitants of their new home, but that was all.

           
Perhaps it would be different after her wedding, Andromache often thought. Then
she would truly be a part of the royal family, she would be the wife to the
Heir Apparent, and she would have nothing to fear.

*
* *

           
Each day the royal wedding drew closer, and Andromache found herself the object
of intense curiosity. Though she was used to it by now, for so many of the
royal household had been intrigued upon her arrival, she had not yet
experienced the interest of the citizens of Troy.

           
The first time she rode out onto the streets of the city as a princess and the
bride of the people’s heir, she was overwhelmed with nerves. Hector rode on a
horse alongside the litter that carried her. The litter was adorned with silk
curtains and cushions, and the people strained to see her as they went down the
streets.

           
Frightened as she was, she soon began to grow bold. With each wave she granted
them, she received applause; women held their babies up to her as if she might
carry the powers to bless them with good fortune; children rode on their
fathers shoulders so they might get a better look at this future queen of
theirs; and old women and young soldiers in training alike waved, cheered and
bowed as she passed them.

           
Though the palace was mighty, it was as nothing compared to the enormity of the
city. Houses, small and large, filled every space within the walls, broken only
by the narrow, crowded streets, made smaller still by the market stalls,
carriages and fountains that seemed to fill each of them. There were small
squares in the places where the larger of the streets met at intersections, and
a myriad of narrow alleyways wound and weaved from the main streets. From the
balconies of the royal palace, Andromache had seen that there were small
patches of greenery in the city (the courtyards and gardens of the rich) but
from these streets she could see none, hidden as they were within the confines
of the wealthier citizen’s private lands. Though the city had so many citizens,
all of the inhabitants of Troy came to welcome their new princess; wealthy
noblemen and their wives, adorned in their robes of bright colours; the women
themselves, with their tall headdresses and piercing eyes adorned with dark
black powder; even the poor street urchins in rags, smiling and giggling,
running barefoot to keep pace with the litter that carried her and hoping to be
graced by her attention - even their mothers, laden with wriggling babes in
their arms, robes stained and hair braided simply.

           
As much as they might be fascinated by Andromache, she knew that their
adulation went to Hector, their future King. They adored him and he seemed to
love each of his subjects as much, waving and shaking hands, smiling down upon
children, rich and poor alike. None was beneath the adoring smile of the eldest
prince.

           
When they returned to the palace, Andromache had a renewed devotion to her
betrothed and her heart beat fast, exhilarated as she was by the adoring masses
that they had greeted. It was then that Andromache understood the power of this
royal family; though they ruled justly, it was their popularity amongst all of
their citizens that kept them in power. She thought of her father; he had been
popular in Thebes, too, and it had seen him through all the trying times, the
years of poverty and famine, when food was scarce. She knew, as she dismounted
from the litter and received the congratulations of Hector and the other
members of the procession, that she was expected to continue this popularity
contest as the Heir’s wife. For the people who so loved them would be easier to
rule over if they loved their royals; if they grew out of love with them, it
would surely be another matter.

           
Andromache retreated to her chambers, exhausted but happy, with much to think
on. As she stood on her balcony and looked out on the city, a kingdom that
would one day be her realm, she thought of the people she had seen, who were at
this moment going about their lives in the buildings and streets that sprawled
beneath her, and felt awed once more.

*
* *

           
“You are surely the most beautiful bride there ever was,” cried Iliana, as
Ilisa dabbed at the corner of her eyes, nodding fervently in agreement.

           
Andromache, though used to such flattery from those who wished to ask for
something, felt her own eyes brimming with tears. Iliana noticed and wagged a
finger at her, shaking her head disapprovingly.

           
“No, no, princess,” she swept across the floor to her, “You mustn’t cry and
spoil it.”