Song of Princes (Homeric Chronicles #1) (23 page)

“I thank you, my queen.”

Hecuba laughed quietly. “You may call me mother as Hektor does. You will be as my own.”

“As you wish, Mother.” Andromache caught her mother’s gaze and held it with her own.

“Are you ready to make the walk to Aphrodite’s temple? Hektor will be waiting.”

“I am, Mother.” Andromache pulled her veil over her head.

Queen Hecuba motioned the doors be opened. The gathering of women spilled from the room with gowns flowing behind them as if a breeze blew against them. The path to the temple was lined with spectators tossing flower petals and sweet herbs before the procession. Andromache kept her eyes down. Questions about her future rose up and fell away.
Will I bear fine sons?
Goddess, let him be kind, please. Let him love me.

As the procession made its way up the glistening white steps to the entrance of Aphrodite’s temple, Andromache’s stomach clenched tightly with apprehension. She couldn’t turn back. She conjured up the conversation Hektor had with her father when he’d brought her family gifts and gold. She thought him old and foreign. He hadn’t revealed any feelings she could discern, although, her parents were certain he would love her.
I do not even know what it is to love a man
. The procession halted. Hecuba led her forward, still veiled; to the side of a man she knew was Hektor. Through her veil, she could see her father and a man she assumed to be King Priam waiting near the altar.

The Prince of Troy took her hand and led her to the altar before Aphrodite’s marble image. He reached for a simple clay jar of wine and poured it into a bowl before the goddess’s feet. He took a sharp blade from his belt and grabbed Andromache’s hand. Instinctively, she withdrew her hand and let out a small gasp.

“It will only sting for a moment. The goddess demands our blood in exchange for her blessing,” Hektor spoke quietly to her, reassuring her that the pain would be slight and quick.

“I am sorry, my lord. I was unaware...,” Andromache murmured.

“Give me your hand.”

The young bride held out her trembling palm. Hektor took it more gently this time. Held the blade above her soft flesh, and then deftly drew the blade across the skin leaving a thin red line. He held it over the bowl of wine until a drop fell breaking the surface tension of the liquid. He released her hand and performed the rite on his own hand.

“Goddess, we ask that you bring us many healthy children,” Hektor prayed the required words.

Andromache remained at his side with her hand elevated unsure of what to do about the thin wound. She had nothing to wipe the blood away.

Hektor took her delicate palm in his hand and pulled a corner of his chiton free to wipe the thin wound. “It will heal over quickly. It is not so deep.” With that, he turned with Andromache at his side and faced their families. Cheers and applause echoed through the chamber.

King Priam stepped forward embracing his son warmly. Andromache could see the pride in his eyes for Hektor. “I am most happy for you, my son.”

“Thank you, Father. I am famished!”

“Yes! To the great hall! We have a feast to devour!” The king’s voice boomed against the stone walls and columns.

GOLDEN LIGHT FROM
hundreds of oil lamps flooded the great hall of Priam’s palace. Garlands of green olive branches and draping pines adorned walls and tables. Wild flowers and rosemary springs strewn across the floor sent spicy aromas into the air as the guests crushed the stems with their feet. The tall columns were wrapped with ivy and delicate white flowers. Tables were laden with platters of roasted boar and beef, trays of feather dressed foul and bowls of sweet plums and figs stuffed with honeyed goat cheese.

Flanked by two priestesses of Apollo, Hektor and Andromache were escorted to the statue of the god. His golden figure was adorned with flowers and ivy and his head crowned with sacred laurel. The bride and groom offered food and wine before the deity. Cheers rose from the assembled guests.

King Priam stretched his arms wide before the guests in the hall. All voices hushed.

“Family and friends, honored guests. Be seated. Celebrate with me and my queen, the marriage of the Prince of Troy and his bride, Andromache of Hypoplakia Thebe.” A great noise of chatter and applause rose filling the massive chamber with resonating joy as the assembly took their seats. Hektor was positioned at the king’s right hand and Andromache at her father’s side. Very quickly, servants appeared carrying kylikes of wine. Drinking bowls were filled and passed between guests. The clanking of platters and pottery signaled the feasting and merriment had begun.

The feasting was well underway when a handsome singer stepped forward with his lyre and a stool. He set it down and took position. His fingers expertly plucked the strings bringing forth sweet music. The guests turned in his direction anticipating the wedding song. Hektor hoped his new bride would be pleased with the commission.

As the minstrel sang, Andromache’s father stood signaling his daughter, as her patriarch for the final time, to stand. She placed her hand in her father’s and he led her before Hektor. The guests clapped their hands to their thighs. Men and women cheered their young prince. Hektor stood acknowledging their presence.  The wedding guests hushed as Hektor made his way around the heavy wooden table to stand by his bride’s side. He grabbed her by the waist with a firm hand, while her father feigned resistance. King Eetion spoke the binding words, “Gathered together are the witnesses who will confirm that on this eve I give my daughter, Andromache, to Hektor the Prince of Troy, to have as wife. May you both be blessed with an abundance of children.” He lifted the veil from his daughter’s face. Then, he handed her over to her husband, stepping into her new life.

“You are as beautiful as I remember,” Hektor said just loud enough for his new wife to hear.

“Thank you, my lord.”

The Prince of Troy whisked her from her feet and carried her from the hall to the happy sound of more cheering and laughter. He carried her all the way to the wedding cart that would take them to the house he had prepared for her, for their life together away from the palace.

Andromache’s mother along with the female relatives and servants began the marital procession with loud weeping and wailing as Hektor tugged on the oxen’s reigns and the heavy beasts lumbered when pulling the cart away. The baker’s boy, adorned with a crown of tender olive branches and almonds, had been chosen to carry the bread basket before the cart. He handed bread to the wedding guests and spectators as he walked with the bride’s family to the nuptial home. Some of the women waved torches about to scare the bad spirits away from Andromache and Hektor on their wedding night. Others carried fruit and wild field violets and sweet smelling roses to bring good fortune, occasionally throwing some at the bride and groom. Several flute players blew happy melodies while the joyful assembly meandered through streets behind the cart.

“Hold!” Hektor called out. The throng of merry-makers halted. Hektor nimbly jumped from the cart and reached up his hand, assisting Andromache down. Hecuba handed Andromache a torch. Several servants emptied the wagon of the few possessions being towed in the cart, carrying them into the house.

“Clear the wagon!” Hektor commanded. Everyone stood back as the bride held the flame to the wagon’s axle. The wood smoked until it finally caught fire. “Do not look back, Andromache, for you are now home.” The Prince then lifted his bride, quite by surprise, in his arms and carried her into the house, shutting the door with his foot, sealing them in and alone for the first time. He carried her directly to their bed chamber.

Andromache trembled as he set her down in the center of the room. She stood like a statue. Hektor realized his young bride must be nervous, so he poured them some wine. He held out the bronze kylix for her to take. “Drink. It will calm you.” Andromache sipped the warm cinnamon spiced wine slowly. Hektor noticed the pulse wildly beating through the vein in her neck. “The entire bowl,” he said. It sounded more of a command than he intended. His young wife drank the wine leaving one small drop on her bottom lip. He leaned forward to kiss it from her mouth. Her lips parted inviting him to move closer. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her harder than before. Hektor tasted the cinnamon and the honey on her tongue. He kissed her deeper. Her body began to soften as he smashed her closer to his hard frame. His wife’s hand began exploring his lower back. Her touch intoxicated him.

The groom slipped his fingers beneath the shoulder fastenings of her gown and swept the delicate cloth from her shoulders, exposing her breasts. Andromache visibly shook under his gaze. “You are beautiful. You have nothing to fear from me.” Andromache dropped her head as nervous tears filled her eyes. Hektor tilted her chin up so their faces could meet. He kissed each teary eye closed and lifted her in his arms. When she pressed her face against his chest, he was certain she’d feel his heart pounding as he carried her to their marital bed. Gently, he set her down on the soft coverings. Andromache leaned back against the pillows and brought an arm up to cover her bare breasts. Hektor lay beside her and kissed her with great tenderness. He wished to raise a fire in her heart for him, he wished her to burn for his kisses, his touches, his love making. Slowly, her arm relaxed and she turned on her side wrapping her arm around his neck. He pulled her closer.

When her body arched toward his, he knew she was ready for the necessary consummation of their marriage. He sat up and undid his waist belt and then pulled his tunic over his head. He watched his wife’s cheeks flush with blood at his nakedness. He helped her slip her gown from her body, and then lay her back. He kissed her slowly as he entered her sacred cross. She arched and cried out as he pressed fully into her body. Hektor was careful to move slowly, not wishing to injure her. Andromache’s body soon matched the rhythm he created for them. He smiled into their kiss as her legs shook and her fingers dug into his shoulders. Only then did he release his passion, hoping his seed would take hold and plant a son into her willing body.

THE BLUSH OF
dawn lit the sky as Hektor and Andromache woke to the song of women outside their new home.

His words brushed lightly against her ear. “How is my wife this morning?”

“I am well,” she said shyly.

“You move me, Andromache. As I have not been moved before.”

“Then, we are the same, my husband.”

Hektor’s smile widened. “Then you will not mind if I...” His fingers traced a trail to her thighs. “Take you once more before we are forced by that singing to leave our bed.”

They made love with deliberate slowness, extending their new found pleasure and joy in one another. When they finished, Andromache lay atop him and confessed in a quiet voice, “...I thought you old.”

He snorted laughter and slapped her bottom. “I am not so old now?”

She shook her head against his shoulder. “No.”

“Perhaps I need prove my stamina once more.”

Andromache giggled into his chest. “I am willing.”

PARIS WATCHED FROM
across the arena as King Priam welcomed the Prince of Troy with open arms as he took his place with the new Princess. His noticed Queen Hecuba sitting separate from the king. She looked sad to him even at this distance. It was said not all mothers take their son’s marriages with grace. Perhaps she didn’t like losing her eldest son to his new wife. He took note of the woman draped in white standing aloof. He thought it must be the oracle princess. The tall, proud sons of Priam stood randomly facing the games.

Loud, excited banter filled the air as the crowd’s anticipation of the public ceremony consecrating the Prince’s marriage began. The entire city had been waiting to celebrate the marriage of its prince to his princess. The bull dancing arena was decked in laurel garlands and flowers for the final day of the royal wedding celebration. Paris hoped to win the prize of gold coin to take to Agelaus and Lexias. He’d grown taller and stronger than his older brothers in the last year. He knew his skills with the bulls had also grown superior to almost any of his competitors, so he told himself that he had as good a chance as any to win the entire event. The royal family settled into their seats and Priam signaled the games to begin by raising his right arm and bringing it sharply down across his chest.

Cassandra eyed the man with dark curly hair jumping elegantly over the decorated bull. Her blood cooled and slowed and her eyes went glassy before they rolled back revealing only the blind whites of her eye balls. She saw a baby wrapped in royal linen being nursed by a silver bear...an older boy caught between bulls in a corral...her own mother weeping endlessly in a dark corner of the palace. When her eyes returned her to the present, she stared hard at the man who had prompted her vision. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t noticed it before, but he bore a striking resemblance to Hektor...and he had the royal cleft in his chin. The image of her mother weeping flashed once more.
The Forgotten Prince. He is the Forgotten Prince. My brother. The doom of Troy. He must die. He must die
.

The priestess raised her arm from her flowing white sleeve and pointed an accusing finger at the bull dancer. She spoke in hushed awe at her revelation, “The Forgotten Prince.” The roar of the crowd drowned out her words to all except the one who wanted most to hear them.

The queen turned her head in Cassandra’s direction. “What did you say daughter?”

The priestess of Apollo stared at the man leaping over the bulls and spoke again. “He is the doom of Troy,” she hissed, and then she shouted in desperation, “HE IS THE DOOM OF TROY!”

Cassandra’s words rose above the din, pricking King Priam’s ears. “What is this? What treason are you spewing now insane girl? Keep your tongue civil. Better yet, keep it silent. We want none of your prattling nonsense this day.”

Cassandra ignored her father. “He is the Forgotten Prince.”

Hecuba stood up and went to the railing. Her shawl slipped from her shoulders and fell to the ground. Priam’s gaze followed her accusing finger into the ring. He had been watching the spectacle with detachment, now he looked with purpose. He studied the tall figure of the man facing the bull that was stabbing at the dirt with a heavy hoof sending showers of dust into the air. The beast charged him and he ran at it like a sprinter with the wind at his back and launched himself forward gracefully grabbing the bull’s horns. The force of their collision propelled him into the air with the dancer never releasing his hold on the horns. Priam watched as the young man’s body cleared the dangerous horns and whipped around, his back parallel to the bull’s but never touching. He landed solidly on the ground making his leap appear an easy task. The crowd cheered the dancer’s skill and elegance.

Priam looked to his wife. Hecuba’s hands clung to the railing. The blood had drained from her face. He moved closer to her. “Do you think it possible?” she asked in a desperate whisper. “I cannot take my eyes from him.”

“The dead cannot rise and walk among us,” King Priam said quietly, regretfully.

Hecuba’s grip released the railing. “No, they cannot.” Her hope already fading.

He reached for her hand, but she pulled it to her side before he could. “I am sorry. Truly.” In all their years together since they’d lost their second son, he’d never been able to reach her heart. “Drop your fucking arm Cassandra.”

“It is him, Father. Look closely.”

Her insistence annoyed the king and he decided at that moment she should be locked up for her own safety and everyone else’s sanity. But, he couldn’t resist her words. They tempted him as a sweet wine tempts an old man. He looked hard. The dark curly hair. The towering height. His gait. In fact, from this distance, he might be mistaken for Hektor. “It cannot be...”

“It is,” Cassandra said simply. She lowered her arm.

“Bring me that damned cattle herder, Agelaus,” the king yelled over the cheering throng. “Bring him to me straight away.”

“Where will I find him?” a servant asked.

“He will be down there.” The king pointed toward the pens under the arena. “He will be with the bulls no doubt.” Priam didn’t even look as the servant scurried away. He sat down heavily in his chair. The young bull leaper had disappeared. Another had entered the grounds with a fresh bull. His mind raced with thoughts of the day he handed his squalling son to Agelaus, who had sent the gruesome evidence of his deed. He dared a sideways glance at Hecuba. She sat staring straight ahead, a single tear streaking down her pale cheek.
What if
...

Hektor’s words pierced Priam’s thoughts. “Are you well, Father?”

“I do not know. In all honesty, I do not know.”

“Does it have to do with Cassandra’s warning?” Hektor asked, his concern for his father rising.

Priam looked at his eldest son, and then at his many other children gathered for this special occasion. Of them all, the king knew Hektor remembered. He’d been all of five summers old when his brother was lost to them. “Her words do concern. Impossible...” He couldn’t bring himself to say he was hoping she was right, that somehow the boy had survived and made his way back to the city that banished him. No, he thought, the king who banished him. Worse, the father who had sent him to his death.

The eldest prince asked, “Do you truly believe Cassandra’s words? She is always spilling some mystery which amounts to nothing.”

“There is only one man who can provide the answer. I have sent for him.”

“I shall stay with you Father and hear what he says,” Hektor said.

They didn’t have to wait much longer, as the servant returned with the requested man. King Priam signaled Agelaus to approach. The bull herder bowed his head and then knelt before his king.

“Agelaus, many years ago I made a terrible request of you. Do you recall?”

“I can never forget that day,” Agelaus responded.

“Good. Tell me what happened to that child.” Beside him, Priam heard Hecuba gasp.

The bull herder twisted uncomfortably as he knelt. “In front of the Queen?”

“She has as much right to hear the truth as any,” King Priam said.

Agelaus swallowed hard under the hot gaze of the royal family. “I left him to die as you commanded my lord. I cut out his tongue and left him to die.”

Hecuba nearly fainted with his telling. Andromache stepped to her new-mother’s side.

The king pressed him further. “Who is the young bull dancer who resembles my sons?”

The question stunned Agelaus. Suddenly, his nightmare was unfolding before him. He always feared that one day someone would mistake Paris for a son of Priam, but he’d not anticipated that the day would be this day. Fear overwhelmed his senses. He would have to confess everything, he knew, so he prostrated himself before addressing Priam. “My king, please forgive me.” He sent up a silent prayer that his life would be spared. For the first time in all his days, he feared death.

Priam stiffened with equal measures of hope and horror. “You did as you were commanded. I will find no fault in you.”

“If I had only done as you requested...” the bull herder’s voice broke over the stone beneath him.

“What riddle is this, Agelaus? What did you do with my son?” There it was. The truth of the past that he’d avoided for over twenty summers.

“I...I...couldn’t my king. I just couldn’t let the child die. I went back for him. He survived.”

Priam stood up. “Where is my son? What have you done with my son?!” he demanded.

“The bull dancer, my lord. He is the bull dancer.” Agelaus confessed face down to the stone before his king’s feet.

“How do you know this? Is it certain? There can be no mistakes herder or that you will pay for.”

“It is true. And certain,” Agelaus paused terrified the next sound he’d hear would be the quick swoosh of a sword cleaving his head from his shoulders. “I raised him myself.”

Hecuba’s hand flew to her mouth stifling a cry. Priam sat back down slowly as the herder’s words undid his most regretted act as king and husband. “Bring him to me,” King Priam commanded. “I will see my son.”

DESPITE HIS ACHING
bones, Agelaus quickly stood. “Yes, my King.” He bolted from the royal compartments and made straight for the stable holdings. As he rushed to obey his king, his mind whirled with worry about the future of his family. What would Lexias say? How would she take the news? What punishment would the king give him? He’d stolen the prince from him...he reasoned against the latter as his own fear. Priam said it was no fault of his own.

He spotted Paris talking with some men. “Paris!”

The tall handsome man turned. “Father! Did you see that last pass with the bull? I may have won with that leap.”

“I did. And perhaps it was enough.”

“Perhaps?” Paris asked incredulously.

“Paris, there is no time to talk about bull dancing.”

Paris threw his head back laughing. “The heat is making you mad. No time for bull—”

Agelaus grabbed Paris roughly by the elbow and pulled him close speaking directly into his ear. “I barely have time to tell you what you need to know. All will change for you I fear.”

“Concerning what, Father? The purse is not so large.”

“Everything.”

“You make no sense, Father.”

“Paris, you know I love you. Lexias loves you as if you were our own.”

Paris pulled his arm from his father’s grip. “Now, you cause concern. Why are you speaking as if you are about to punish me?”

“Have you never wondered about your true parents?”

“Often, yes and you have failed to speak regarding the matter.”

“I am ready to speak. I must speak.”

“Father, what has happened? Why now? Has someone threatened you?”

“It is none of that. But your real father has seen you and wishes you to come to him.”

Paris snorted disbelief. “My
FATHER
?!” He turned and grabbed the post of the pen behind him to steady himself. “I had hoped one day I might find my parents, but I gave that up years ago. Now, you tell me
he
is here? That he desires to meet me?”