Song of Princes (Homeric Chronicles #1) (9 page)

PARIS LOOKED DEEPLY
into the dark watery eyes of the laboring cow as she lay on her side in the field. She snorted as he ran a calming hand between her ears. His young brow knitted with concern for her extended labor.

“Why does the calf not come to the light, father?” Paris asked. “She is frightened.”

Agelaus knelt beside his son and shook his head. “Her first water spilled at dawn.” Agelaus looked up into the sky. “Apollo’s light is high above us now. You speak true words, son. She should be frightened. Too much time has passed.” The way Paris spoke as if he knew what the cattle were thinking always puzzled Agelaus. He never corrected the boy, because he always seemed to be right. He watched as Paris continued stroking the cow’s forehead. His normally loud and rambunctious son offered gentle hand and word to the cow.

“I must help her bring the calf to light, Paris. It will be distressing for her and the newborn. But, if I don’t do this, we may yet lose them both. Can you help her remain calm?”

Paris broke his spell with the cow and looked his father dead in the eye. “I will, father. Please, stop her pain.” Paris bent his head near the animal’s ears again and spoke in a low, comforting tone to her. “Be patient, cow. Father knows how to help you. Be calm.” His small hands continued stroking her head and neck.

Agelaus moved to the hind quarter of the beleaguered mother. He noted her heavy breathing steadied. He wasn’t certain if it was Paris’ calming effect or her labor stealing her strength. He knew he had to reach inside her cavity and pull the calf. He placed a firm hand on the cow’s hip, and gently inserted the other hand inside the birth canal. The beast snorted and groaned and kicked her leg at Agelaus. “Calm her, Paris!”

“Be still, cow. You are being aided. Soon you will see your baby,” Paris reassured the beast.

Agelaus pressed his arm deeper into the birth canal until he touched the problem. “Paris, one of the calf’s legs is turned back. I need to push it back, so she can push the calf without exhausting herself to death. Tell her it will soon be finished.”

Paris stroked the cow’s head. He leaned so close to her ears that Agelaus couldn’t hear the secret words his son murmured.

Sweat soaked Agealus’ tunic so it clung like a second skin to his back. He felt for the calf’s head and gently pushed it back, reaching for the bent leg. “Ah! There it is girl.” The cow’s body pushed against his arm impeding his progress in pulling the calf straight. “Tell her to stop pushing her baby to the light. I can’t get the calf positioned if she works against me.” Paris murmured into the mother’s ears again and her body stopped heaving against Agelaus’ arm. The calf’s bent leg slipped from his grasp. “By Zeus you’re hard to get hold of.” He reached again, moving slowly and carefully. He did not want to risk injuring the cow for the sake of the calf. The cow winced with his effort, and groaned with her effort to birth her baby. She lifted her head, looking back at Agelaus. “Paris, keep her down!”

“Be still. Be still,” Paris reassured the animal. Her head dropped back to the grass. She closed her eyes. “Father, she is spent and wishes to give up.”

Agelaus heard the worry in his young son’s voice. He reached up to wipe the sweat from his brow with his free hand. “Not long now, Paris. Tell her to ready and welcome her calf.”

“Did you hear my father? The wait is not much longer. Be still. Your calf is coming.”

Over the years, Agelaus had assisted many cows through difficult deliveries, but he had never had such an able hand to aide him. And such a young one at that. Paris merely five springs on the earth had managed to keep a distressed mother from struggling against his intrusive arm. “Ah! The head and both legs are facing the light!” Agelaus announced triumphantly. He removed his arm gently, wiping the birthing matter on his tunic. “Your mother will not be pleased with the filth and stench on my clothing.”

“Why should she be upset that you helped to bring a calf to our farm? Is it not what we do? Who we are? Proud herdsmen?” Paris asked.

“I wish she saw it so simply, Paris. We are indeed breeders of fine cattle.”

“And prize bulls most of all!” Paris exclaimed. “And this new bull shall be mine to raise.”

“Yes, we have been blessed by the gods with the finest bulls in Troy. We do not know yet if this one is a bull.”

“She does,” Paris said.

“The cow?” Agelaus asked.

“Yes, she told me he will be a fine bull. The biggest we’ve ever bred.”

“How does she know this?” Agelaus asked incredulously.

“Was that not your intent, father, when you bred her to Theodoros? The god-gift?” Paris eyed his father resolutely.

“Yes. It’s true. I’d hoped the pairing would breed a fine bull. The finest. She is the best cow we own. And he the biggest bull.”

“She said Theodoros is fierce, but will pale in comparison to this bull calf.”

Agelaus threw his head back and laughed. “Tell her to bring him to the light without delay. Let us see this magnificent beast.”

“Did you hear father, cow? Bring your baby to the light!”

Agelaus watched as the cow seemingly understood Paris. Her belly contracted several times, until first the calf’s front hooves appeared and then its nose pushed into the air, followed by its entire head. “Paris, quickly! Come here!” Agelaus urged. “The calf must take its first breath now.”

Paris stood behind his father, observing over his shoulder. “He is not breathing.”

“No, it is not. We must clear the nose, so it can inhale its first breath.”

“The calf is a bull, father.”

“Reach like this, and clear its nose.” Agelaus began to wipe the slime from the calf’s nostrils, encouraging it to breathe. “Go on. Finish this Paris.”

Without hesitation, his son reached his hand to clear its nostrils. The cow heaved her body, struggling to sit up momentarily. The upper body of the calf, covered in a thin slimy skin, slid out. Its black tongue hanging limp from its mouth and closed eyes worried Paris. “Is he dead?” Paris asked, refusing to take his eyes from the birth.

Agelaus marveled that the boy did not turn away in disgust or sickness, as most do when witnessing the messy birth of calves for the first time. “No, he is not dead. Soon, Paris we will see if she is right.” The cow’s wide belly constricted one last time pushing the rest of calf from her body, spilling clear amber colored water with it. The calf lay still. Its black hide glistening wetly in the sun.

“Father! Why does it not breathe?”

Agelaus knelt to wipe the clear the debris from the calf’s nostrils again and pinched its nose and slapped it firmly on its side.

“What are you doing? You will hurt him!” Paris hollered.

“It helps the calf take its first air. Here.” Agelaus grabbed Paris by the wrist, pulling him next to the newborn. “Rub his nose. Pat him until he breathes. Quickly now. The sooner he takes his first breathes the more robust he will be. Pull the birth skin from its body.”

Paris did as his father commanded. He wiped the slimy skin away from the newly born calf. It snorted. It gagged. It breathed its first air and picked its head up coming eye to eye with Paris. “He is well, father!” Paris’ excitement evident in his gleeful tone.

“She was right, Paris. It is a bull, by Zeus, with balls to rival the god-king himself!” Agelaus smiled proudly at his youngest boy.

The bull-calf stood on his new unsteady legs. His entire body shivered in the warm breeze.

“He is cold,” Paris stated.

“He will get warm soon enough. How is his mother?” Agelaus asked.

Paris whispered the question into the cow’s ear. She nudged Paris’ shoulder and then licked his hair. “She said she is happy to be done.”

“After she delivers the birth sac, she will be done. I will take it to Apollo’s temple for examination. Let us see how fortunate we will be with this new addition to our farm.”

The cow groaned loudly as she stood up and turned her full attention to her baby wobbling next to her. She licked him so hard, he nearly fell over. Paris laughed. Agelaus wondered about the nature of Paris’ royal bloodline. The boy was more than observant with the animals; it was more like he was connected to these great beasts. Priam’s line was renown for their god-gift of speaking with horses. And Agelaus wondered if this god-gift coursed through Paris’ blood, making it possible for his son to speak to bulls. He noted that Paris bore the royal dimpled chin. A chill ran up his spine, thinking Paris’ talent might be their undoing. Agelaus reminded himself that this was Priam’s son, a Prince of Troy, not his. It pained his heart beyond measure contemplating that one day his precious son might leave him for the life he was surely destined to live; that of a royal prince, not a cattle herder.

“MOTHER!” PARIS HOLLERED
approaching the house with his father. “Mother!”

“Paris! I am here in the stable,” Lexias yelled in return.

Paris ran into the stable and found his mother milking goats. He smiled broadly. “Guess what I have done today?”

Lexias looked up from her work to see the boy’s brilliant flash of teeth. It was not the smile of mischief, but of pride. She breathed a sigh of relief. “Tell me, little Paris, what is this thing you have done?”

“Remember the cow heavy with calf? In the far field?”

Lexias hesitated. “Yes?”

He beamed with accomplishment. “I helped father bring her calf to light.”

“Cow and calf are doing well?” she asked.

“Yes. Yes! Father said the leg was turned back, so he had to help her. It was messy. He fears you will be upset—”

“For what cause?” Lexias quipped more sharply than she intended.

“That my clothes are filthy and reek of field work,” Agelaus answered, as he approached behind Paris. He held out a corner of his garment for his wife’s inspection.

“Your tunic is nearly ruined. It will require heavy laundering,” Lexias said, her mouth set at a grim line. “The calf is as fine as you hoped?”

“Mother, it will be the finest bull we have,” Paris answered.

“Truly, son? The finest?” She inquired, pretending it might not be so.

“Ask father. He knows.”

Lexias slapped the nanny goat on her hind quarters. She skittered off. “What say you, Agelaus? Is our young son speaking true?”

“He is. The bull-calf is strong despite his difficult entry into the world.”

Lexias nodded her approval. “And you, Paris, helped deliver this bull-calf?”

“Yes, mother.”

“And you did not shy away from the birth?” she inquired further.

“No, mother. The cow needed me. I spoke the words in her ear to keep her calm.”

Lexias looked to her husband for confirmation. He nodded his head. “Then you have done well. I am proud you did not turn away. Only the finest of men can appreciate the agonies of birth for animal or woman.” She stood from her stool. “You must be famished. The both of you. Away with you to wash up. I will prepare the evening meal early.”

Paris ran to his mother and wrapped his little arms around her waist. Lexias leaned down, smoothing his curly black hair from his face before placing a gentle kiss on his forehead. “You are a son any mother would be proud to call her own.” As she said the words of her heart, she missed the tear her husband wiped from his eye. “It is his calling to be with you, husband. He grows fine and strong with your care.  You’ll find our other sons about their chores. Now, off. Off with you both.” She hurried them from her presence. Once alone, she took her stool again to finish milking the last goat. She smiled as she completed her work.
He is a fine son.

FIVE YEARS, HECUBA
thought. Five years and the ache for the son she’d never known still throbbed painfully in her chest. She’d grown accustomed to the hurt. She sighed watching her children romping in the courtyard. Little Deiphobus entertained his younger twin siblings with his wooden sword and shield. The youngest, Polydorus, nursed at her breast. She refused a wet nurse for all her children after the loss of her second son. She could hardly stand to have them out of her sight. The ache pulled at her again. It never gave her peace. In truth, some days she conjured the pain to remind her of his little face, and some days she cursed the sadness and prayed to Apollo and Artemis to take her memories from her.

She smiled widely despite her melancholy when Hektor appeared at the courtyard gate. He waved and made straight for her. Only he had the power to dull the pain that had become as much a part of her as her hand or foot. The other children were a source of joy, but each of their births reminded her of the one she lost. Hektor’s presence was the only one not marred by grief. He was her golden prince.

Hektor kissed his mother’s cheek. “Mother,” he said. He pinched Polydorus’s bare foot. The baby kicked at his eldest brother’s attempt at affection. “Such a strong leg for someone so little,” he laughed. “You’re sad again, Mother. I can see it in your eyes.”

“Nothing can be hidden from my Hektor. Someday you will be a wise king.” Hecuba sighed. Her eyes found her son’s. “I will always be sad. I fear that if I am not, I will forget him forever. And that would be worse. His memory is all your father left me of him.” She switched the baby to her other breast, adjusting his heavy weight in the crook of her arm. “Deiphobus! Be mindful of Helenus! Cassandra move away from the fountain! Where is Tessa when I need her? Tessa!”

From the balcony above them, Tessa called down to her queen, “Yes, my lady?”

“Come and get the twins and the baby. They must rest.” Deiphobus laughed at his younger siblings. Hecuba added, “And take Deiphobus as well.” The boy threw his wooden armaments down mumbling to himself. He kicked at the ground. Hecuba looked to Hektor. “Truth be spoken, I am the one in need of rest.” She rubbed the side of her swollen belly. “I am forever with child.”

“Where is my father?” Hektor asked.

Hecuba stiffened. “Where he always is this time of day.”

Hektor said nothing. Rumors swirled around the palace about the king’s new favorite and the bastard she was carrying at the same time the queen was expecting.

Tessa came to take the children. The queen handed her servant a very sleepy baby. “My lady, he is a fat one.” The nurse cradled him carefully in her arms and steered the gaggle inside leaving Hektor and his mother alone.

He wrapped his hand around his mother’s, dwarfing hers. “I’ll have only one wife, Mother.”

The queen considered her son. “We will find you a fine wife, my golden prince. A beauty in heart as well as face.”

“If she is as beautiful as you, I will be satisfied. But that is a long way off!” Hektor’s grin warmed her heart. Hektor pulled his mother’s hand, encouraging her to stand. “Come. I want to show you my horse.”

Hecuba stood reluctantly putting a hand to the small of her back. “The stables are a long walk from here.”

“It is not so far. And you smile more when away from the palace.”

They began the leisurely walk through the courtyard and along the cobbled road to the citadel’s lower level where the stables dominated the entire southwest of the grounds. Spread out as far as the eye could see, in fields of tall swaying grasses and low brush, the horse fields were known as the Sea of Trojan Horses.

Hecuba made small talk to pass their steps together. “Strange is it not? That Troy existed without horses not so long ago.”

“I would not recognize our city without horses,” Hektor mindless answered. “Mother?”

“Yes?”

“I remember, too,” he said quietly.

Hektor was tall for a boy his age, but still Hecuba looked down at him, his curly black hair shining in the sun. His heart possessed a kindness and empathy his father did not. Her love and pride swelled for her eldest son. She reached her arm out and wrapped it around his shoulders, pulling him close to her. “You are truly Troy’s greatest treasure.”

Hektor looked up at his mother then. His face beamed. “You say that only because you are my mother. What else would you say?”

“I say it because it is truth.”

PRIAM PULLED THE
woman in his arms closer. “You are beautiful rounded with my son.”

“My king,” Melita blushed. “I hope that he is strong.”

The king kissed her mouth, letting his lips linger to kiss her again. “All my sons are strong.”
All my sons
... he thought, as the old pain surfaced. Sometimes, when walking the palatial halls, he heard the cries of the forgotten prince echoing against the stones, and he wondered if the memory of the child would haunt his waking moments forever. Quickly, he commanded the memory of the forgotten prince back into the darkness it had escaped from.

“As you say. All fine, strong boys,” Melita said. “I am only sorry he will be a bastard.”

“He is my child, bastard or not. And I will love him, as I love all the others. And you.” He leaned down to kiss her again. His hand gently caressing the mound of her belly. His hand slipped lower as his kiss deepened. His fingers found the sacred cross between her thighs. His experienced hands brought her close to finishing before he mounted her. The king pressed his need for comfort deep inside her. Melita moaned her affection for him into the room where it echoed down the hall for gossip mongering servants to overhear.

Priam rolled away from his lover, sweating and satisfied. The mask of king began its slow descent. “Briseus of Pedasus arrives this evening with his wife. I will not return here until he leaves for home.”

Melita frowned against his shoulder. “I understand, my king.”

He kissed her cheek. “Do not be sad. It is just a short while.”

“Will you be staying with the Queen?” Melita asked.

Priam knew the jealousies of women all too well. Since Hecuba’s heart had chilled against him, he’d taken several concubines and minor wives to ease his loneliness. Balancing them all with his own happiness grew a tiresome chore, and he still yearned for Hecuba’s love to return to him. He told himself that if her heart ever warmed from winter to spring in his regard, he would forget all the others.

“Do not fret. Hecuba is my wife. She must give me legitimate sons. It is my duty and hers that we live as man and wife, king and queen.”

“Forgive me, my king,” Melita whispered. “My words carry no bitterness.”

Priam swung his legs from the bed. “There is nothing to forgive.” He pulled his tunic over his head. “The hour grows late. There is much to do before guests arrive.” Melita got up and arranged his sash around his waist, pleating the soft folds of the linen garment in even rows.

“This is a beautiful dye, my king. Deepest blue. It compliments your eyes,” his mistress said.

The king looked down at her. “You are most beautiful today.” He knew returning a fair word would bring him more peace with his hasty departure.

Melita blushed again. “My king.”

“Remember, I will return.”

“I will remember.”

Priam kissed her again on the mouth, not a deep lover’s kiss but a hard certain kiss, his mind turning to his royal duties and away from physical pleasures.

After the king left, Melita released her anguish as hot tears in her eyes. She would always be second to the queen in every way. As a concubine, she had no rights, no say, and no where to run. Her life depended solely on the king’s favor. It burned her heart to cinders knowing he would bed his wife tonight. And she knew full well the queen was also with child, so she reasoned that the queen was cold but not too cold. Perhaps, she grew lonely as well. She scolded herself. It mattered not at all why the queen slept with the king, only that he did. When first brought before Priam, she trembled with fear. His gentleness and sexual appetite won first her body, and then her heart. She never expected to love him, for loving him had become a trap of a different kind. And now that she did, it pained her to have to share him with anyone, especially the only woman who could take him from her forever. She comforted her aching heart by caressing her belly rounded with her lover’s royal seed growing inside her.

“MOTHER, DO I
have to sit the entire dinner?” Hektor asked, tugging on his robe.

Hecuba nodded and smoothed his wild hair and adjusted his diadem. “Yes, my son. You are expected to behave as the Prince of Troy this night. Not Hektor the Breaker of Horses.”

The prince’s frown deepened. “I would rather be riding or sword fighting than sitting around listening to old men talk.”

“Some day, Hektor, if you are fortunate enough, you will be an old man talking about the glory days of youth. These days will pass with swiftness.” A premonition shivered through the queen.
Dust and gold flashing
. “Come, my golden prince. To the feast. Your father will be waiting.”

As Hecuba and Hektor entered the main hall, Priam stood to greet them. All eyes turned towards them. “My queen! My son, the Prince of Troy!”

Hecuba bowed her head acknowledging her lord. Hektor nodded to his father and escorted his mother to the head of the table, seating her next to his father. Servants resumed their scurrying about the main hall, carrying silver platters of roasted wild boar and beef, loaves of hot bread, and soft cheeses. Wine stewards funneled sweet wine mixed with honey, mint and cinnamon into finely crafted silver pitchers and poured the fragrant libations into hammered gold and silver kylikes for the guests. Hecuba glanced at the side of Priam’s face, and he turned to meet her gaze.

“You are radiant this night,” he said.

Hecuba did not smile at the compliment. “My lord.”

“Come, my love, surely you find some joy in our company?”

A servant leaned between them, filling the queen’s kylix with spiced wine. Hecuba sipped the dark liquid. “This is very good,” she said.

Priam picked at a fig on his plate. “I am pleased even if you are not. You have been long absent.”

“With good cause,” Hecuba replied sharply. She glanced to an adjoining hallway catching a glimpse of a very pregnant servant girl. “You have not missed our presence over much. If my eyes judge correctly.”

Priam followed her line of sight, his eyes resting on Melita. He leaned close to her ear and whispered, “She is small comfort when you refuse me.”

Hecuba sighed and closed her eyes. Trojan kings took many wives and this wasn’t the first time he’d turned to another woman. She searched her heart for the reason she stiffened when Priam laid loving hands on her. She conjured up images of their unions when they had been happy. She recalled how eager she’d been to revel in their vigorous love-making. But, now...she barely endured the weight of him over her as he pressed deep into her body, burying his cock and spilling his seed. Every coupling resulting in a child. Always the child. She felt the emptiness of the forgotten prince in her arms still; the grief spread a blackness usurping her heart from her husband. The darkness shrouding her heart obscured Priam’s affections for her, so she could endure the pain and agony of losing her second son as a private pilgrimage. She knew she’d never be whole again no matter how many children she bore, or in returning the love her husband had for her. Only in her grief could she find any peace at all. 

A voice interrupted her thoughts. “My Lady Hecuba, are you well?”

The queen looked up into a pair of honey-brown eyes and the kindly face of Shahvash, the wife of Briseus. “Yes, I am well. Apologies, my thoughts flew elsewhere.”

Shahvash smiled warmly. “I see you are again with child. That is wonderful for you and the lord, your king.”

Hecuba placed her hand on her belly feeling the hard rounded curve of a new child pressing against her stomach. Soon, eating would become difficult and relieving her waters much more frequent. “Yes. It is a joy much anticipated.”

“Briseus and I are expecting our first by summer’s end.”