Song of Princes (Homeric Chronicles #1) (22 page)

“SHE HAS ACCEPTED
my last payment,” Hektor said.

Hecuba continued weaving. She let a moment pass as if she had not heard the announcement. In the corner of her eye, she saw her grown son toe the floor with the tip of his sandal. She smiled to herself and pulled the blue weft thread through the width of the warp threads. She combed the new weft tightly against the others. Without stopping her work, she said, “My son has found for himself a wife.”

“Her name is Andromache.” Hektor waited for his mother’s reply.

“She is the dark-haired beauty from the lower Troad...Hypoplakia Thebe, is she not?”

“She is,” Hektor affirmed.

The queen put down her work and turned to her eldest son. Tears glistened in her eyes. Her smile was sad. “Where has all my time flown? I sit here weaving and time steals my world from me. My son, my golden warrior, it was only yesterday that you sat next to me telling me that one day you would take a wife, and I told you we would find you one most beautiful...”

Hektor took a seat next to his mother on her bench, taking her hand in his. “I remember Mother. Do not be sad. I do not wish my joy to bring you sorrow.”

“Then truly you are happy?” Hecuba asked.

Hektor looked at his mother sitting at her weaving as she had done his whole life. “I cannot imagine my world without her. There was a time I did not know Andromache and my life was full. I laughed. I fought. I broke horses and many bones.” He paused to kiss his mother on the cheek. “Now, I feel as if I have been looking my entire life for her. Only her.”

Hecuba squeezed Hektor’s hand. “Do not mistake my tears as having displeasure. On the contrary. I am quite pleased.” She looked her son in the face. “It is no easy task letting go...one day, if the gods are on your side, you will experience the ache of releasing your own children to a life of their own. Then, you will know it is mingled with pride and joy. And the sadness.”

“You will not be hurt that I wish my own household?” Hektor asked.

“On that account, yes, I will be hurt,” she answered truthfully. She’d relied on his steady presence as an anchor against the storm of the ever present darkness that lurked around every corner. He’d been her only true light in the shadows that haunted the recesses of her heart and mind. She pulled her hand gently away from her son’s and resumed her weaving. “It is natural to desire your own dwelling. Raise your family apart from the palace.”

“Then it is settled. You give me your blessing?” he asked.

“It is your father’s blessing you must acquire.”

“For the sake of tradition, yes. But for me? Your grace is all I ask for.”

“And you have it. Now, go and leave me to my loom. This is a difficult pattern. I would work in silence.”

Hecuba watched her son turn and leave the chamber. When she was certain he was gone and would not return, she let her tears fall freely. She would never let him know that his presence had saved her all these years and kept her grief from consuming her even after so many years had passed.

KING EETION SMASHED
his bronze kylix on the table splashing wine everywhere and clattering the platters and shaking the nerves of those seated near him. “I would say something!” he bellowed. The conversation and laughter died down to an expectant silence. “When pale dawn pierces the morning sky, we make for Troy. The city of Titan walls. The city where men are breakers of fine horses. The palace where I will leave my daughter, Andromache, forever.” The assembled family and servants waited. King Eetion was known for his lengthy, boring orations. “King Priam and I have struck the bargain for her hand. And Troy pays fine tribute for our princess. She will be well received. If I am not mistaken, she has already won the heart of Prince Hektor.” The assembly cheered and clapped their free hands to their thighs.

He continued to the dismay of several who groaned out loud. “What?! What is this? Tired of an old man speaking for his daughter? Disgraceful!” A few voices mumbled. “Daughter, may your new life bring you as much joy as your mother has brought me.” The king winked at his wife, who shook her head in mild embarrassment. “True! We have had troubling years. Quit your gossip!” his grin widened, knowing that rumors of their tempestuous relationship had certainly reached the ears of everyone assembled for the farewell. “There is none as fair in form or heart than my Andromache. I would have agreed to nothing less than a royal prince for her.” The gathering cheered again. “It is time to make your offerings my girl.”

Andromache shyly stepped forward. Such a large and noisy gathering on her behalf unnerved her. She longed for a simpler life. A quiet life. She had hoped to serve the goddess Artemis or even the god Apollo, but she had not been selected. The high priestess of Apollo informed her parents that her fate would lead her elsewhere and to a more public existence. When her father came to her expressing his desire that she wed this golden prince of Troy, she resisted at first. He reminded her that it was a daughter’s duty to obey and contribute to her family’s honor. Andromache acquiesced to his request before ever laying eyes on Hektor.

When the Trojan prince arrived with the first gifts of betrothal, she’d barely spoken to him. He was a tall intimidating man. Dark curly hair hung to his shoulders, framing a perfectly chiseled jaw and his blue eyes sparkled like midnight stars. His skin was darkened from Apollo’s light. It was the look of surprise in his eyes when he was allowed to gaze on her unveiled face that warmed her to him. His face had softened, revealing a wide honest smile that reached his eyes. In that moment Andromache knew she could trust this man, perhaps even love him. 

“I am ready, Father.”

She laid a small hand loom and a pair of her maiden sandals at the feet of the household shrine to Hera. “I apologize they are so worn,” she whispered. The princess pulled her himation over her head and spoke silently to the goddess.
I have never lived on my own. And I am frightened. Help me to be a steadfast wife.

As she knelt before a similar shrine to Artemis, a servant girl came up next to her carrying a small sharp knife on a bronze platter. Andromache took the blade in her hands and took a thin lock of her long black hair between her fingers. She cut the lock off mid-length and placed it at the painted wooden feet of Artemis’ statue.
Help me to put aside my childish thoughts and become a woman my husband will respect and, if I do not ask for too much, that he will love me. Goddess, he will be my all in Troy. I will have no family, no friends except the ones I am able to make. Guide me in this passage from girl to woman
. She pulled her himation closer over her head and remained in supplication. In the background she could hear her family talking and the wagons being loaded below.
Artemis, I am frightened of marriage. I cannot tell my father or my mother. Their hopes are great that I will be a good wife, perhaps queen one day. Troy is...a great city. How will the nobles accept me? I have no desire to leave my family...I will be alone in Troy
...a warm comforting hand weighed on her shoulder. Andromache tried to open her eyes and turn to see who had approached her, but found her eyes and body would not obey.

“Young daughter,” a golden honey voice sounded in her ear. “Calm your fears. Win the queen’s heart.”

“What if I am unable? I am just a girl,” Andromache whispered out loud.

“You are woman now. The way will come to you.”

The pressure on her shoulder released. The presence vanished. She stood up on shaky legs.
Artemis
. The goddess had spoken to her. She rubbed her shoulder where the goddess’s hand had rested. It ached. Andromache decided to keep the words of Artemis private. She would share her fears with no one. She did worry about Queen Hecuba. It was widely rumored she was a cold woman since the loss of the Forgotten Prince. She had no idea how she would gain the acceptance of such a woman, but the goddess had made it clear that was the path she must follow.

“Good! I see you are finished praying to Aretmis,” her mother said behind her.

Andromache turned and flung herself into her mother’s soft bosom and loving arms. “I will miss you, Mother.”

The gentle woman kissed the top of her head and held her close. “Not as much as I shall miss you, my sweet child.”

“Must I go?” Andromache couldn’t help but say the words.

Her mother grabbed both of her shoulders and pushed her back far enough to meet her eyes. “All women must go to their husband. But you, my little dove, go to the most handsome man in the Troad. He is beyond compare, is he not?”

“He is old,” she said.

Her mother laughed. “Yes. Yes to you he must seem old. He is a man, no mere boy.”

“What if he will not love me?”

“Daughter, you are a young flower, eighteen winters have you blossomed in this household. Have you not caught a glimpse of yourself? Have you not earned the love and respect of your family?”

“But what—”

“Andromache, listen to me. Hektor is just a man. He will be helpless at your feet soon enough. He will protect you. If I am not mistaken, he will love you, if he does not already. Come child, stop this worrying. The carts are loaded. We wait only for the bride,” her mother patted her cheek playfully. “You know your father hates waiting.”

HEKTOR LOOKED OUT
from one of the south facing balconies, down into the streets of Troy. Women carried water to the walkways and steps lining the central plaza to wash the dust from the stone. Garlands of flowers woven into elegant greenery hung from balconies and adorned the main passage to the center of the citadel. His servant had sent word that the wedding entourage from Hypoplakia Thebe had arrived within the upper gates of the citadel and soon the gamos, the day of his wedding, would begin.

His stomach knotted as he watched the first wagon pull up to the palace entrance below.

“It is a fine day to take a wife,” Hecuba said behind him.

Without turning, Hektor said, “Do you think I will make a good husband?”

“Such a question, my golden prince. Of course. You will be the finest.”

The morning sun splashed the streets with golden light as the last wagon pulled into the crowded mess of carts and new comers. A heavily veiled figure stepped from a sheltered cart.

“That is her most likely,” Hektor whispered to his mother.

“I believe you are correct.”

“Do you think I have made a wise choice, Mother?”

“If you have chosen with your heart, you have made a wise decision.”

“I know not all brides love their husbands. I intend to make her love me.”

“My sweet, Hektor. You cannot force a woman’s heart. She must give it freely or it means little. If you woo her, Hektor, with gentle words and your fidelity, you will win her.”

Mother and son watched as the guests entered the through the palace doors below and fell from their sight.

“And so it begins, my son,” Hecuba said.

THE MAIDS STRIPPED
Andromache of her gown and wrapped her in a soft linen towel. The ritual bathing tub had been moved into the chamber and placed in the center of the room. Her mother and their female attendants gathered chatting softly awaiting the sacred water bearer. The bride stood silently apart from the assembly. The sound of women singing filled the air.

A giddy servant blurted out, “They’re here!” Within moments the chamber door swung wide as women bearing jars of water carried from the nearest river filed through the door. One by one they emptied their clay jugs into the bath. The final vessel to be poured was carried by Cassandra, priestess of Apollo and Hektor’s sister. Andromache had been warned about her. The priestess nodded to Andromache to step into the cold water.

The bride dropped her covering to the floor and stepped into the chilly water. Her skin prickled with the cold. She wondered if the rumors were true about Cassandra as the priestess approached. Andromache lowered her body into the water and shivered. Without warning, Cassandra poured the water slowly over her head completely drenching her. She closed her eyes and spat a mouth full of water out. The bride’s eyes flew open at the jarring sound of pottery crashing to the ground. She turned her head to see Cassandra’s horrified face staring at her. Her eyes were wide open and glassy.

Andromache stood up from the bath and a maid scurried to wrap her in a drying towel. “What is it priestess? Why do you stand so amazed? Speak, you are frightening me.” 

“It is of no use to speak. You will not hear me.”

“I hear you,” Andromache said with fear rising from her gut, worming its way to her chest.

Cassandra nodded. “You will be led in chains before the ships,” she warned, tears streaking her face.

“Before what ships?” Andromache asked terrified.

“The ships from Achaea.”

“There are no ships from Achaea here,” a strong female voice echoed through the chamber. 

Andromache turned to see a tall, elegant woman wearing a golden circlet on her head. Her dark hair was curled and arranged so that it spiraled through the golden ring and spilled down her shoulders and back. Her gown was pale blue and sheer. She appeared as a goddess among the assembled females. The bride knew it must be Queen Hecuba.

“The son of the greatest warrior will lead you in chains from the ruins.” With that pronouncement, the god’s fever left Cassandra visibly slumped.

“The son of the greatest warrior shall take her away? Hektor? Why should our new daughter have fear of her own husband or son? Cassandra your visions are always askew. Look at what you have done? Frightened the bride with useless prattle,” Hecuba scolded harshly. She spoke directly to Andromache, “My dear, the greatest warrior is my son, your husband, Hektor. Any son of his would be your own. You need never fear from Hektor. Put her words from your mind and be at ease child. She speaks in riddles and provokes fright.”

Andromache’s lips twitched slightly when she tried to smile at the queen.

Hecuba clapped her hands. “Bring the wedding gown.”

Andromache’s mother nodded to the servants to obey the queen. The gown was presented to Hecuba who draped it herself over Andromache’s head and fastened the shoulder broaches. The queen stood back admiring the shimmering saffron folds. “Your mother’s work is stunning,” she smiled. “You are a most fetching creature Andromache of Hypoplakia Thebe.”