The Trojan Princess (21 page)

           
“Polyxena is most set against the marriage,” Helenus told them on one of his
visits, “And Priam seeks to blame you, Andromache, for encouraging such
protestations, though Polyxena has no recourse but to marry Achilles.”

           
“Poor princess,” Ilisa and Philomena commiserated sadly.

           
“And what of King Priam?” Andromache asked. “Does he say when he thinks of
releasing me?”

           
Helenus looked at her for a long moment and shook his head.

           
“He worries over what should be done with you,” Helenus confided, when
Philomena and Ilisa had been sent to another room to give them privacy. “He
welcomed you into this palace as a princess, wife to his son and heir. Now
however, you have no husband, yet you wield great power as the mother of his
Heir Apparent, with no man to guide you or your son.”

           
“I need no man to guide me,” Andromache said indignantly.

           
“That may be so,” Helenus said, “But the king fears your power and your
popularity, and also your influence over Astyanax. And for you to so boldly
oppose him, in full view of royalty and nobles, he wishes to exert control over
you though he knows that soon the time will come when his power diminishes and
yours increases as Astyanax grows older.”

           
“He cannot keep me imprisoned in my chambers forever,” Andromache insisted.

           
“I have no doubt that he wishes that he could,” Helenus sighed. “Yet I think
that, once Polyxena and Achilles are wed, he may relax these restrictions he
imposes upon you.”

           
And so Andromache waited, spending her days within her chambers, talking idly
with her maids and waiting excitedly for visits from Astyanax, who visited
daily and was often accompanied by Helenus, who had taken it upon himself to
act as his nephew’s surrogate father.

           
The weeks passed and Andromache remained restless, so that she knew that she
could do nothing but wait for King Priam. Philomena and Ilisa seemed to grow
frustrated and irritable too, and Andromache worried that these two maids would
leave her service just so that they could escape the chambers, though they
remained loyal and did not. Axion, her personal guard, who had travelled with
her from Thebes and remained a constant companion in the years since, stayed
too in adjoining rooms. He did not trust these Trojan royals, nor the guards
they had posted at the entrances to her chambers.

           
 She heard word too, through her visitors, of news of the war upon the
shores, and it was with sadness that Helenus informed her one morning of the
death of King Memnon of Ethiopia. Andromache remembered the king well;
presenting her with the beautiful flamingo at her wedding, his black eyes
delighted to see how enthralled she had been by the gift. And soon news came
also of Penthesilia’s death, the mighty Amazon Queen, who had been slain by
Achilles. To her, it seemed that Achilles sought to prove how dangerous an
enemy he could be to King Priam, as if he doubted the king truly intended to
let him marry his daughter.

           
At last, King Priam came to her chambers, his face solemn. Andromache dismissed
her maids to their bedroom, and fell upon her knees, hands clasped before her,
tears in her eyes.

           
“Please, my king, I no longer grieve,” she proclaimed, the words catching in
her throat, so desperate was she for the confines to be lifted.

           
King Priam put a gentle hand atop her head.

           
“Fear not, Princess Andromache, I bring glad news,” he said slowly. “I see that
your grief and with it your feelings of enmity towards Achilles, have passed.”

           
“They have,” Andromache cried, “I bear no ill will to the mighty warrior,” she
lied.

           
“And what better way to show such forgiveness, than by attending Achilles and
Polyxena’s marriage ceremony tomorrow?” Priam asked, delighted. “I feel sure
that your blessing, above all others, will impress upon the people how Achilles
is most welcome in our palace.”

           
Andromache knew at once that the king sought to use her. Her disapproval had
caused rumours and disharmony amongst Priam’s subjects, and though he had
locked her away, the people had only grown stronger in their enmity, for what
king imprisoned the mother of his heir for opposing a marriage that nobody
wanted? If Andromache were to attend the ceremony and give Achilles her
blessing, then how could the people remain against such a match? Andromache had
lost her husband and her family to the man, so if she was able to forgive him,
how could they not? She knew his plans, and yet imprisonment had tired her;
 she would do anything to be free, to ensure her son remained rightful
heir.

           
“I will bless them,” Andromache agreed, nodding fervently, hating the smile
upon the king’s lips at the desperation within her voice. “I forgive him, and I
will bless him.”

*
* *

           
Freed from her confines and with her dignity restored, Andromache found herself
unable to forget the weeks she had spent alone with her maids. Though she was
greeted with warmth and delight as she walked about the palace and along the
ramparts, she took note of those who received her so kindly yet had paid her no
mind when she had been a prisoner and her future uncertain. The royal
princesses had not come to her, nor had the princes, except for Helenus, who
had been her most frequent guest during her confinement. She did not reproach
them, but nor would she forget it, for now that she no longer had a husband to
protect her, it would serve her well, she knew, to be cautious.

           
She knew that Paris and Diephobus still sought to be named Heir Apparent, and
so she also watched Astyanax with caution too, for her son was still too young
to understand the precariousness of their situation, as beloved as they might
be by the people. Axion, her faithful guard, she tasked with watching over her
son and he did so with great pride, assuring her that no danger or harm would
come to Astyanax whilst he was by his side.

           
It was a quiet evening that Andromache re-joined the high table in the great
hall, for Polyxena, her sisters and her mother were observing the rites of the
first day of the marriage ceremony and had gone to the temple to make their
offerings. Andromache ate quietly, aware of eyes on her every movement, and the
memory of her imprisonment was enough to stay her tongue and keep her calm as
Priam made a toast to the marriage that was to be made tomorrow morning.

           
After eating, Andromache did not return to her chambers, for she had seen
enough of them for now. Instead she walked the ramparts, savouring the cool
night air. She was thinking of Polyxena’s marriage when she came across Paris,
seated upon a stool, looking out over the dark shore to the line of campfires
that signified the Greek camps.

           
She did not wish to disturb him, nor to speak with him, so Andromache turned
and hoped to remain unseen, but Paris called to her.

           
“You have been ill-treated by my father,” he said, his voice loud. Andromache
turned, alarmed, for fear that his words would be overheard, though they were
completely alone. “I too do not wish for my sister’s marriage tomorrow, yet my
father is intent upon it.”

           
Andromache approached cautiously, for she had not heard the prince speak so
openly to her before. She did not speak, still fearing to be overheard or that
perhaps this was some trap, so that Paris may inform his father of her
continued disapproval. She remembered that this prince still sought to steal
her son’s titles and name himself Heir Apparent, and it did not warm him to
her.

           
“Do not fear, I know that you have been subdued by your imprisonment,” Paris
said airily, as if he did not care if he were overheard. “My father both fears
and respects you. That is more than I can boast of the king.”

           
“Perhaps,” Andromache said, unable to help herself, “If you had proved yourself
more worthy in battle, then his opinion of you would not be so.”

           
“I am a coward by nature, I do not deny it nor have I ever done so,” Paris
said, sadness in his voice. Andromache was surprised by his admission. “My brothers
mock me, as does my father and the council. Hector often scolded me for not
going into battle, yet I still live whilst he does not.”

           
“He died honourably with a sword in his hand,” Andromache said. “He would
rather have died upon the sword than die cowering in the corner.”

           
“That is true,” Paris nodded. “I am indeed cowering, though on the ramparts and
not in the corner.” He let out a bitter laugh. “Now Achilles is set to become
my brother.”

           
“Indeed, it is so,” Andromache said quietly, for the thought still angered her.

           
“Speak openly, for there is nobody to hear us,” Paris said, turning to her,
looking upon her face with interest. “Do you really forgive Achilles, the man
who killed your husband?”

           
“Achilles killed my husband, my father, my brothers and my mother,” Andromache
said, unable to keep the truth inside. “Though I will bless him and forgive him
by my words for all the world to see, in my heart I shall pray every day for
vengeance.”

           
Paris considered her for a long while and then nodded.

           
“You are a brave woman,” he said. “I can see why Hector loved you so.”

           
“And you are not such an arrogant man as it would first appear,” Andromache
said, for though she still thought him a coward and selfish, she had found
herself softening towards the man she had so despised. “Tell me, why such talk
of Achilles? It surely does not pain you as much as it does I to have him wed
into the family.”

           
Paris’ look turned dark.

           
“It is not Achilles, nor his marriage, that so offends me,” he said quietly,
his voice almost a whisper so that Andromache had to strain to hear him over
the whistling of the wind over the ramparts. “For Polyxena is not the only one,
it would seem, who must make such a sacrifice for my father’s desire for
peace.”

           
Andromache wanted to ask him for more, but a guard came along the rampart and
so she bid him goodnight and returned inside, strangely chilled by Paris’
words.

*
* *

           
The palace was full of anticipation as dawn arrived and Andromache rose early
with the others so that she might bathe and dress in her finery for Polyxena’s
marriage. Ilisa and Philomena remained disapproving, for they too had loved
Hector, and Andromache often had to hush them as they spoke of the king’s
decision, for she did not want it to be known that she allowed her maids to
speak so openly nor as loudly in opposition to Priam.

           
The royals were to greet Achilles in the courtyard to the palace but Andromache
was not to be at his reception; for King Priam, though he had accepted her
decision to publicly bless and forgive the warrior, knew that she must still
bear some contempt for the man who had killed her husband and her family. He
had, perhaps wisely, ensured that Andromache would have as little interaction
with Achilles as possible on this most important day.

           
Andromache, accompanied by Astyanax and her maids, went instead out onto the
ramparts from where they could watch Achilles approach the city from the Greek
camp. She wondered how the Greek kings had reacted upon learning that Achilles
would be changing his allegiances; for surely they would be most infuriated to
learn that they were losing such a proclaimed hero and she thought - and hoped
- that Greek morale would be low.

           
The ramparts were quiet, for most of the royals had gone to the courtyard far
below. She thought of Polyxena, due to marry such a man, and her heart went out
to her. It was still whispered that the youngest princess had no desire to
marry the man who had killed two of her beloved brothers. A few noble men and
women also sought a glimpse of Achilles from the ramparts, and Andromache could
not help but think of the last time she had looked down upon Achilles – for
that had been when he had slain her beloved Hector.

           
Astyanax was the first to spot Achilles and he pointed across the shore to the
Greek camps. Andromache and her maids looked to where he indicated and saw a
large force of men leaving the Greek camps and marching across the sands. A
single man led them and as they neared the base of the walls, Andromache knew
it to be Achilles, for his golden hair blew in the wind and he alone could
command such obedience from the men who followed his lead. The force that he
commanded did not seem so huge, Andromache thought, wondering if Priam would
see them and doubt his decision to sanction the marriage. Yet Achilles still
approached, and she saw that he no longer wore armour, but a robe that befit
his impending status as a member of royalty.

           
There were murmurs and mumblings along the ramparts, and Andromache caught a
glimpse of Paris, making his way through the gathered nobles, clutching a
wooden staff in his hand. Andromache wondered if he too had been discarded from
the royal welcome in the courtyard, thinking of those ominous words that he had
spoken last night.