The Trojan Princess (13 page)

“It
was mine,” Paris said, a hint of defiance returned to his voice.

Laocoon
gave a small cough. Priam spun around to face him. The room was deathly still
as Priam approached him, eyes glistening with impatience.

“You wish
to speak?” he hissed.

“My
king, I fear that my prince is not entirely correct in his assertions,” Laocoon
spoke quietly, timidly. Hector and the others watched as Priam frowned.

“What
do you mean?” he asked.

“I
believe that Paris did indeed ask Helen to join us as we prepared to depart,”
Laocoon answered. “Yet I have it on trusted authority that it was not the
prince’s charms alone that persuaded the queen to leave her homeland and join
our voyage.”

“Come,
explain yourself,” Priam insisted, impatient.

“Helen
came to me once we were aboard the ships and had departed from Sparta,” Laocoon
explained. “She said she had a confession and she sought advice from me. She
told me that Agamemnon had known of her plans to flee the city with Paris and
had indeed encouraged her in these fanciful pursuits.”

The
chambers were silent when he finished. Hector gathered the meaning of the words
immediately, but it took a moment longer for the others to reach any
understanding. Priam was the last and his face fell with the realisation.

“Of
course,” he said, shaking his head, the anger gone, replaced with resignation.
“If he did not wish us to succeed in our negotiations, and he did not want his
brother to treaty with us because he wished to launch an invasion against us,
then he needed to convince his brother to wish the same.”

“I do
not understand,” Paris said, bewildered. “Helen loves me, and I love her.”

Hector
shook his head sadly. It seemed Paris, the cause of all of this, was the only
one who did not understand the true severity of the situation. Though he longed
to strike his brother for his stupidity, Hector also felt overwhelming pity for
Paris.

Priam
did not share such pity and turned on him.

“King
Agamemnon wishes to invade Troy and the eastern shores,” Priam said, a note of
spite in his voice as he addressed Paris. “No doubt he needs his brother
Menelaus’ support and backing in waging a war against us. Menelaus could have
been an ally to us, could have stopped war from coming to our shores, if you
had not stolen his wife.”

“What
has Helen to do with war and Agamemnon?” Paris asked, though Hector thought he
saw a flicker of uncertainty on his brother’s face now.

“You
fool,” Priam shook his head sadly. “Agamemnon must have been waiting for years
for an excuse to drag his brother into a war against us, and you and Helen have
provided him with the perfect reason. No wonder he was so eager to persuade
Helen to run away with you, for now he will have undoubtedly no trouble in
persuading Menelaus to sail against us!”

Paris’
look of defiance cracked and he looked scared.

As
each man in the room thought on the prospect of war against the combined might
of Kings Agamemnon and Menelaus, two brothers united - one seeking conquest and
one seeking vengeance for the theft of his wife and betrayal of his trust - the
eyes that looked upon Paris were filled with anger and hate.

*
* *

           
The evening was tense as Paris and Helen joined the royal table to dine with
them. Andromache sat beside her husband and watched them approach with
trepidation, but also a certain amount of curiosity. The hall fell silent upon
their entrance and Paris guided Helen with their hands clasped together, yet to
Andromache it looked as if the earlier meeting, that Hector had told her about,
had at least taken some of the arrogance from his demeanour. Perhaps, she
hoped, he would learn some humility and respect, although not at too great a
cost for Troy. Cassandra’s words echoed in her mind, and she pushed them from
her thoughts.

           
King Priam remained silent as they joined the high table. Queen Hecuba welcomed
her son from his travels with open arms and had not raised her voice once in
her talks with him. It seemed she had accepted Helen and her son’s love for
her, although Andromache wondered if her blindness when it came to Paris was
more because of her guilt for sending him to his death as a child than an overt
love and respect for the prince.

           
It had certainly served Paris well to use his mother’s guilt and blind love –
at least, that is how it seemed to Andromache - as Hecuba had persuaded Priam
to give them shelter in the royal palace and to allow them to dine as royals.
According to Hector, his father had been all for stripping Paris of his royal
titles and sending him and Helen both out of the city walls and disowning them.
Andromache had to admit she was of the same mind if it put them all in danger
to harbour them here, especially when she thought of her beautiful Astyanax
upstairs in their chambers, nursed by Philomena.

           
Helen and Paris took their seats at the table and slowly conversation resumed
and the hall filled once more with noise. At the high table it remained tense
and quiet. Hector and his brothers were silent as they ate, studiously avoiding
looking at Paris and Helen. Andromache could only assume that the tensions from
the council meeting were not yet forgotten. The daughters of Troy, the royal
princesses, did not seem eager to engage Helen and their brother in
conversation either; Creusa went as far as to pretend neither were there;
Cassandra glanced at the lovers with fear and suspicion and Andromache knew
why, remembering the prophecy she had delivered too. Only Polyxena looked as if
she might accept the golden-haired queen, but with her sisters so against
Helen, she did not dare speak. So it was with relief that Andromache later left
the table, exhausted by the tense atmosphere that seemed to follow Paris and
Helen around the palace.

           
As Andromache stood over her son’s crib and watched him sleep, his thumb
between his puckered lips, his small but sturdy chest rising and falling in
rhythm with each breath, she turned to her husband who stood beside her smiling
adoringly down at their son.

           
“Hector, do you really believe that there will be war?” she asked. She had
tried to keep the fear from her voice, but Hector must have noticed it
nonetheless for he turned to her and put his arms around her, pulling her close
to him and kissing her forehead.

           
“I confess that I do not know what the future holds now,” he said, his voice
calm despite his earlier anxiety. “But what I do know is that you will never
need to fear. I will always protect you and our son, above all else, so whatever
happens, fear not. I am here.”

*
* *

           
Although Andromache knew that her husband would always protect her, and that
war was not yet a certainty, she could not help herself but to fear over what
may come to pass, and she found herself thinking often of Cassandra’s dire
warning that Paris would bring about the deaths of a thousand.

           
It seemed curious to her that Cassandra should have made the prophecy, only for
Paris to return months later with the Queen of Sparta as his lover, sparking
fears of war.

           
As hard as Hector might try to comfort her and ease her worry, Andromache knew
that she was not the only one in the palace to fear for the future. King Priam
was distracted of late, worried more each passing day, when no word came from
Sparta or King Menelaus about the whereabouts of his wife. The council, too,
seemed more strained since Paris’ return and though Paris maintained a seat on
the council, he had not attended since he had been so angrily interrogated by
his father. While Paris made light of the situation, nobody believed that he
was not unhappy at being cast out of the meetings. Cassandra no longer visited
the palace as often as she had done before, preferring the silence and isolation
of the temple and Andromache suspected she longed to be away from Paris and
Helen – for whose existence she was partly to blame.

           
With so much turmoil settling over the royal palace, Andromache longed to visit
Thebes, her homeland, but it was not possible. She wanted to show Astyanax the
kingdom his grandfather had ruled, and to check on the lands now that Diephobus
was ruler. However Hector was needed at home and she did not wish to travel
without him, especially at such a difficult time, so she remained at the royal
palace in Troy.

           
The first time that Andromache met Helen, Queen of Sparta, properly, was on the
ramparts of the palace, overlooking the beautiful shores. Andromache was joined
by Iliana and Ilisa, and she held Astyanax in her arms as his beautiful dark
eyes, so like his father’s, scanned the horizon and smiled in delight.

           
“It’s her,” Iliana gasped, as Andromache pointed out a ship’s sail in the blue
vastness of the sea to Astyanax, and she half-turned to her maid, though she
had no need to ask to whom she was
referring.        

           
Helen of Sparta was indeed beautiful, Andromache had to admit, though she did
so grudgingly. Her hair flowed in golden waves to her waist and instead of a
headdress she wore an elaborate gauze of spun silver and crystals. Her lips
were a rosy pink, her skin pale and clear as marble, and her eyes were a
piercing blue, as perfectly magnificent as the ocean.

           
She approached Andromache hesitantly, and Andromache passed Astyanax to Ilisa,
who clasped him to her breast protectively as if to shield the child from
Helen.

           
“You have a beautiful son,” Helen said, her first words to Andromache.
“Astyanax, that is his name?”

           
“Yes,” Andromache nodded. “Yours is Helen.”

           
It was no question; they both knew who she was.

           
“And you are Andromache,” Helen said, “Am I pronouncing it right?
And-rom-o-kae?”

           
Andromache nodded.

           
“You are the wife of Hector, the General of the armies and Heir Apparent?”
Helen asked. Andromache wondered if she was only imagining the hint of jealousy
in her voice, but nodded. Helen smiled. “You are a very beautiful woman, if it
is not too bold to say.”

           
“You are not without beauty yourself,” Andromache said.

           
Astyanax let out a cry from Ilisa’s arms and the maid tried to hush him.
Andromache’s fears returned; of what the future would hold, of the possibility
of war and of danger. The woman before her was responsible for all of these
fears, she reminded herself, and yet she dared to speak of beauty and of
husbands, as if she had any right to do so, when she had brought such strife to
the palace and to the city.

           
“I must go,” Andromache said. She gestured to her maids and stepped forward.

           
“It was a pleasure to meet you,” Helen said.

           
Andromache narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips, deigning not to reply. She
knew that the royal princesses did not speak to her; and neither did King
Priam, nor Hector or his brothers. Only Queen Hecuba did, and that was because
she was blinded with guilt where Paris was concerned.

           
Andromache swept past Helen, her maids beside her, ignoring the surprised,
affronted look on Helen’s face as she departed without giving a response. As
she retreated from the ramparts to the cool interior of the palace, Andromache
felt a certain vindictive pleasure at dismissing the golden queen who had
brought so much trouble with her.

*
* *

           
After their meeting upon the ramparts, Andromache sensed Helen’s dislike
whenever they shared each other’s company. Though they were never alone -
indeed, Andromache actively ensured that she was never around Helen without
others – whenever they were seated at the high table for meals, Andromache
sensed the other woman’s silent scorn and anger towards her. It seemed Helen
did not dare show open disregard or dislike, but she let Andromache know her
feelings nonetheless.

           
Though she disliked the golden-haired queen, Andromache did at times feel pity
for the lonely woman. Much to Hector’s frustration, Paris had quickly regained
his arrogance and re-joined the council meetings, and with it he seemed to
spend less time with his lover. With rumours still being whispered of Paris’
existing marriage, to Oenone, the nymph he had abandoned to live with their son
on the mountainside, Andromache often wondered how Helen could hold her head
high, and her eyes dry from tears, with so much enmity and rumour circulating
about and directed towards her.

           
At times, Andromache considered reaching out to Helen and offering a kind word,
a sympathetic gesture, yet she always caught herself before she did, reminding
herself of that which Helen had brought with her upon her arrival in the city:
worry, fear and uncertainty.

           
Walking along the ramparts, Andromache once again found herself face-to-face
with Helen, who walked alone as she always did, for nobody sought out her
friendship or her company. Andromache felt herself compelled to say a kind
word, or initiate a conversation, something to show this lonely, golden queen
that she was not completely despised, no matter the circumstances of her
presence in the city.