The Trojan Princess (15 page)

Later
as darkness set and Iliana made to take Astyanax to his crib in the other room,
Andromache stopped her. Between them they dragged the crib into the master
bedchamber and Andromache pulled the crib close to the edge of her bed, so that
she could hear and see Astyanax as he drifted to sleep. Hector smiled down upon
his son when he returned from another council meeting, and did not question
Andromache’s wish to have her son so close to her side on this night.

Andromache
remained awake even as her son and her husband fell asleep. She could not stop
thinking of the events of the day and how Paris seemed with every part of his
being to bring more trouble down upon them. When eventually she drifted into
sleep it was restless and unsound, her dreams filled with terror and longing,
and death.

*
* *

           
Though the city of Troy was in a state of war, Andromache noticed that very
little changed within the walls of the palace over the following days and
nights. When Hector had come to their chambers and told her that Menelaus had
declared war upon them, she had worried that Hector, as General, would lead his
armies out the very next morning and that she would be subjected to anguished
waiting for him to return at the end of each battle. Yet the army had not left
the city walls, even though Andromache heard them training in the courtyards
and on the ramparts, Hector’s loud voice shouting commands to his men. Helenus
and Diephobus, as his advisors, spent a great deal of time with her husband now
and, though she did not begrudge her husband his duties or his commitment, she
longed for the return of the days when they had taken walks together and made
love by the moonlight. Hector was too busy now, training and preparing his men
for the battles he knew must come, even though King Priam seemed not to share
in such an idea.

           
The reason that no soldier had left the city walls, Andromache heard, was that
King Priam refused to waste any man on the Greek armies. The walls were thick
and impregnable, the gates to the city were closed and guarded, and no Greek
could get in. Why should they risk losing men when they could wait safely and
comfortably inside their walls for the Greeks to grow tired and go home? Though
Andromache knew her husband wished to take a more assertive step and lead an
army to drive them from their shores, she secretly had to confess herself
pleased with King Priam’s tactics; she did not want her husband to leave the
city where he was safe and close to her.

           
The same could not be said of Paris. Andromache did not care whether he left
the city or not, but it seemed that even if the Trojan armies did seek battle
with the Greeks, Paris would not be among them. Much outrage had been sparked
when Paris had refused to train for battle as his brothers had; he had made it
clear that he would not be venturing forth with sword and shield to defend his
city. This and the fact that he and Helen had brought about the war in the
first place led to a mutinous hatred towards Paris, yet the same did not seem
to extend to the golden queen.

           
Andromache and her maids maintained their frosty distance from the woman, and
she knew that many of the other royal sisters and noblewomen did so too. Yet
Helen was a beautiful woman with, Andromache supposed, charm and wit, for she
soon won men to fight her cause; the royal princes, though scathing of their
brother Paris, had seemed to warm towards Helen, and Andromache disliked her
all the more for this. Hector alone seemed uncharmed by the woman, for even
King Priam had softened towards her, and Andromache had often found herself
pondering on how easily a manipulative woman could control the men around her.
Andromache would make sure, however, that Helen never managed to fool her own
husband in such a way.

           
As days and weeks passed and still no battle was fought, Andromache grew
accustomed to this unusual, yet tense, state of affairs. She no longer took
walks along the ramparts, for she still felt chilled when she looked upon the
ships gathered along the shore, and now huge rambling camps had been set up on
the shore, animal skins and wooden sheets forming tents and buildings for the
Greek armies. She continued to sleep with Astyanax beside her bed, for though
she knew that no Greek would pass beyond the walls, she still feared when he
was not close to her. Yet she was hopeful, too – perhaps, she dreamed, King
Menelaus would leave these shores and his brother would lose hope in conquering
these lands, for they had taken no land yet and killed no Trojan - as far as
she knew. It must be a dreadful time, she thought, in those rambling camps,
with the hot sun beating down upon them and no victory to boast of for their
troubles, all the while looking up at the huge, mighty fortress that was the
city of Troy. Perhaps the soldiers would revolt against their kings and set
sail for home?

           
Andromache thought and hoped of this often, yet it was not to be, for she knew
that Hector sought out his father at every opportunity to urge his father to
sanction him to lead the army out of the gates and against these invaders. She
knew that her husband meant well to want to bring about an end to this siege,
and drive the Greeks from their shores, but she worried, for now was the first
time in her marriage that she did not wish her husband to succeed. Whenever he
went to discuss private matters with his father, she hoped that Priam’s resolve
would remain and that he would dismiss her husband’s talk of attacking the
waiting army.

           
Alas, her hopes were not to be, for Hector came to her one night, his face
victorious - a sight she had not seen in a while - and she knew that Priam had
succumbed to his heir’s will and sanctioned a battle. Her heart raced and she
could not lose herself in pleasure as Hector made love to her that night, her
mind on what would happen when the new dawn broke.

           
As she had feared, the following day as the royals gathered for a meal in the
evening, King Priam announced that Hector would be leading the army out in
battle against the invading Greek armies. Andromache had known it was coming,
for her husband had been in the council chambers all day discussing matters
with Helenus, Diephobus and his men, but hearing the words spoken so boldly by
the king filled her heart with dread. She looked around the great hall at the
men’s excited, if nervous faces; their wives and daughters paling with fear for
the lives of their husbands, brothers and sons. Andromache turned to her own
husband, his smile bright and confident, and felt tears brimming in the corners
of her eyes.

*
* *

           
With Hector and the Trojan armies preparing for battle, Andromache found
herself envying Helen, Queen of Sparta; not for her beauty, but for the
cowardice of the man she loved. As the men trained and readied themselves,
Paris somehow kept his head aloft though he was not putting himself in danger,
not seeking to help his brothers or his people, and Andromache hated him for
this. Yet Helen would not have to fear for her lover, for he would be beside
her as the battle commenced, whilst Andromache and so many other women would be
anxiously awaiting the return of their own, wondering all the while if their
husbands would be one of the men who never made it back home. Even as she felt
such envy, Andromache knew that Hector would never be a coward – and wasn’t
this part of the reason she loved her husband so? – and so she could not
entirely begrudge her husband his desire to go to battle.

           
On the eve before Hector was to lead his armies out against the enemy,
Andromache prepared him a bath and poured oils into the warm depths. When he
came to their chambers from another council meeting that evening - the last
before battle was to commence - she disrobed him and watched as he slid into
the bronze tub. She rubbed his shoulders, washed his hair, her fingers running
through it gently, and massaged the oils into his skin, hoping they would ease
his muscles so that he was fast and strong, though she knew he did not need
oils for such attributes.

           
Instead of climbing out of the tub when he had finished bathing, Hector held
out his arms and as Andromache stood still before him, he slid the gowns from
her body until she stood naked before him. She climbed into the water and
allowed him to caress her body with his fingers, then his lips. He pulled her
close to him, so that they could look into each other’s eyes and he kissed her,
his hands in her hair and then covering her breasts. She closed her eyes and
wished that they would never have to leave the scented water, that his arms
could remain wrapped about her forever.

           
Despite her wishes and prayers, dawn broke the following morning. Andromache
awoke to find her husband already dressed for war, his breastplate gleaming
gold even in the sliver of sunlight that had made its way through the window.
Philomena brought Astyanax into the room and left the family alone in private.
Astyanax rubbed at his eyes with his fists, not appreciating being awoken
earlier than usual. Andromache smiled adoringly down at him on the bed beside
her.

           
Hector picked his helmet up and pulled it over his head; Astyanax, startled by
all the gold armour, gave out a cry and began to wail so that Andromache had to
pick him up and hold him to her to soothe him. Hector lifted the helmet off the
top of his head and Astyanax looked confused. Recognising his father, his cries
stopped and he smiled, gurgling happily once more. Hector picked him up and
kissed him tenderly on the forehead. Andromache thought her heart would break
as her husband said goodbye to his son.

           
When Hector turned to his wife, Andromache fought hard to stop her tears, for
she did not want her husband to think her weak, nor to worry about her when he
went out onto the shores beneath them that would soon be a battlefield.

           
He held her to him and she felt the warmth of the armour at his chest. She
kissed him and held his face in her hands. She did not have to speak for
understanding to pass between them; their eyes communicated what words could
not, and she asked only one thing of him.

           
“Make sure you return to me,” her eyes commanded.

*
* *

           
Andromache watched the procession of soldiers follow her husband and his
brothers out through the gate facing the shore and march across the sands. The
ramparts on which she stood were crowded with the women of Trojan nobility,
some crying, some comforting others; all watching their beloved menfolk leave
the safety of the city. King Priam and the older men, now unable to fight,
stood too on the ramparts, his face as anxious as any of the women that stood
about him. Paris, too, stood upon the ramparts watching his brothers lead the
armies, Helen beside him, a reassuring hand on his shoulder. If Paris felt
remorse for not joining his brothers in battle, Andromache could not see it
upon his face. Nobody seemed to care for Paris, yet he seemed oblivious to the
looks of disgust and distaste that were shot towards him from the wives of men
who were likely to die or be wounded to protect their city from his mistake.
For her part, Helen shifted uncomfortably at the looks, and Andromache wondered
if the golden queen was regretting leaving her husband and home, igniting a war
such as this, for a cowardly prince who would not even take up a sword to
defend the woman he claimed to love.

           
Now was not the time to think of them, Andromache thought, her eyes searching
the sands for her husband. It did not take long to catch sight him; for Hector
was the man adorned in gold armour at the head of the mass of Trojan soldiers.
At the first sight of the gates opening and the Trojan army emerging, the Greek
camps had become a hive of frantic activity, and Andromache could make out,
though it was far distant, that men were rallying themselves into rank and
order, readying themselves for battle.

           
A horn bellowed from further along the ramparts; it was the cry of war. It echoed
across the city and over the surrounding lands; Andromache wondered briefly if
her people in Thebes could hear such a sound, whether the sound made them
scared or anxious. A breeze blew along the ramparts and Andromache shivered.
She was not the only one, for everyone seemed to give a collective shudder,
whether from the sound of the horn or the cool wind, Andromache did not know.

           
Far beneath them on the shores, Andromache thought she saw Hector lift his
sword above his head. They were too far away to hear any calls from the
soldiers, but Andromache watched her husband begin to run forwards, and
gradually a roar grew from the mass of Trojan soldiers he led as they followed
after him, kicking up a cloud of sand as they raged across the shore to attack
the Greeks.

           
It soon became impossible to see which man was which; sand floated on the air,
and it seemed to Andromache that the Trojan army had swallowed up each
individual, becoming a huge beast of its own, made up of thousands of shimmering
swords and helmets, moving haphazardly across the sand to engage the enemy in
battle.

*
* *

           
At the Temple, Andromache and the other royal princesses made their prayers and
sacrifices, wishing for the safe return of their men. Iliana and Ilisa wept,
and Andromache wondered if perhaps her two beloved maids had found love with
Trojan men in the time they had been here. Philomena, who was descended from
Trojan nobility, looked terrified and her hands shook as she knelt in prayer,
for her brothers, father and uncles had all gone into battle as part of the
army.