The Trojan Princess (23 page)

           
“Let us not forget many of them only came to reclaim Helen due to the oath they
swore at her wedding,” Polites said. “Should we return her, many will have done
their duty and not be honour-bound to remain.”

           
“Indeed, that is so,” agreed Laocoon.

           
Helenus considered it. He did not wish to send Helen so unceremoniously from
them, and in the midst of her grieving too, but if it could spare more
bloodshed and bring peace back to their shores, he was willing to consider the
notion.

           
“Diephobus, you have been quiet on this matter,” he turned to his brother.
“What say you on this?”

           
Diephobus considered it, and Helenus wondered, not for the first time, what
duplicity went on in his brother’s mind.

           
“I think it is a matter worth considering,” he said, “Yet we must not rush a
decision.”

           
Helenus nodded in agreement.

           
“We shall keep these matters to ourselves for now,” he decided.

           
The councilmen nodded - hope amongst them now that peace was in sight.

           
A Trojan Princess. The widow of a royal prince. It was a precarious position to
be in, Andromache reflected, and though she thought that she had navigated her
own circumstances fairly well; her son was still Heir Apparent to the throne of
Troy and she herself still enjoyed a place at the high table. With her past
indiscretions forgotten, she did not envy Helen her own circumstances.

           
Though Helen had not been popular with the women of Troy, Helen had always been
relatively safe, Andromache thought, whilst her husband Paris had been a royal
prince and therefore able to keep her close to him. Yet now he was dead and she
his vulnerable widow.

           
Whatever safety Paris had once provided her with had disappeared, and
Andromache knew that much talk – and hope – was rife that Helen would now be
sent back to King Menelaus, who many claimed was still her rightful husband,
and that in doing so the Greeks would leave and the city would be at peace.

           
Yet Andromache knew of Helen’s pregnancy – the only one besides the widow
herself to know such a secret – and she also knew that this complicated matters
beyond compare, for how could the Trojans send Helen back to Sparta whilst she
carried a royal heir, a prince or princess of Troy, the child of one of its
princes?

           
She knew the council must have discussed the matter of Helen’s widowhood, yet
Andromache felt that they surely could not come to a decision without knowing
of the child whom the golden widow carried within her womb.

           
Helen had made her promise not to breathe a word, but Andromache found herself
regretting the promise as the days passed and Helen remained silent. She must
have heard the rumours, whispers in the corridors, of the council’s plans to
send her back to Menelaus, Andromache thought, and yet still she did nothing to
save herself from this fate!

           
With each passing day, the silence continued – and Andromache could not bear it
any longer. She must tell someone, so that Helen would not be sent from the
city whilst she still carried an heir of Troy.

           
It was with great trepidation, the secret barely held between her pursed lips,
that Andromache sought an audience with King Priam, who remained hidden away in
his chambers.

           
The queen admitted her to their chambers, though her expression was one of
reluctance, and Andromache feared that she was too late, that a decision had
already been made. Upon entering the king’s rooms, she found him sat upon a
gilded chair, staring out of the window across the city.

           
“My king,” she bowed to him, “I bring some news of most importance.”

           
“It is a sad thing to lose a son,” Priam said, not lifting his gaze from the
window. “It is a greater tragedy to lose two. But three? That is a most awful
of omens, is it not?”

           
“It is a great tragedy,” Andromache acknowledged.

           
“I have ruled justly, and with kindness and wisdom,” Priam continued. “I
thought to see Hector sit upon my throne after me, and yet now he is gone.”

           
Andromache was silent, for she did not know what to make of the king’s words.

           
“Troilus, what a beautiful prince!” Priam cried out. “I adored him for his
beauty as much as I adored Hector for his bravery.”

           
“He was indeed a most beautiful man,” Andromache agreed.

           
She felt Hecuba enter the room behind her, and she realised now why the queen
had been so reluctant to admit her to their chambers, for she saw the way the
queen looked at her husband, her eyes fearful for his mind and for this grief
that had gripped him so powerfully.

           
“The prophecies were true,” Priam went on, shaking his head sadly. “I sent Paris
to his death to save this city, yet he returned and as it was foretold he has
ruined us all.”

           
“There is still hope, is there not?” Andromache asked.

           
It was as if Priam had not heard her, for he spoke as if she had not.

           
“I should not have sent a shepherd to do what should have been my task,” he
said. “I should have slain him as a babe, so that I might be certain he was
dead and the prophecy could not come to pass.”

           
Hecuba wiped her eyes at his words, shaking her head sadly.

           
“My king, I must tell you something,” Andromache persisted. “It is most
important.”

           
“If only Paris had died as a child, before he could bring that ruinous queen
into our city and into our lives,” Priam said, speaking to himself, for
Andromache was sure he did not know - or did not care - that he was not alone
in his room. “Poor Hector, poor Troilus, to have to die because my hand and
mind were weak. If I had killed Paris, they would still live.”

           
His ramblings continued, his eyes never moving from the window, and Andromache
turned to the queen.

           
“What has become of the king?” she asked quietly.

           
Hecuba wiped away more tears.

           
“He is consumed by his grief,” she said. “I fear for him, as I fear for us
all.”

           
Andromache bowed and excused herself from the chambers. She knew that she could
not tell King Priam of the secret she held, and so in turn she knew who she
must find.

*
* *

           
Helenus and Diephobus were in the council chambers, immersed in discussion,
when Andromache was bidden entry and approached them cautiously. Helenus read
the look on her face and knew that she was troubled. He had grown to know her
expressions as one of her sole companions during her time in confinement.

           
“Andromache, you are looking well as ever,” Diephobus greeted her, kissing her
upon the hand. “You sought a meeting with my brother? Alone?” His eyes gleamed
at the words, and he turned to Helenus, imparting a knowing look upon him, and
Helenus frowned at his brother’s insensitivities.

           
He turned to Andromache himself, and greeted her in the same manner.

           
“I wished to speak with you,” she said, looking at Helenus and not his brother.

           
“Whatever it is you wish to speak of can surely be said in front of me?”
Diephobus asked, drawing her attention from Helenus’ face. “Unless it is of a
personal nature?”

           
Helenus knew the meaning that Diephobus sought to convey and had to swallow
down anger towards him. Andromache seemed to read into his words too and
blushed, her cheeks colouring at the suggestion that anything untoward may be
between her and Helenus, her husband’s brother.

           
“It is about Helen,” Andromache said, composing herself. “I have news regarding
her that I think must be brought to the council’s attention.”

           
“Indeed?” Diephobus’ interest was piqued.

           
Helenus bid Andromache sit, but she shook her head, studiously avoiding looking
too closely upon him. Helenus wondered if it was Diephobus’ jibes that had made
her feel uncomfortable and hated his brother a little more. He had never spoken
a word of how his feelings for Andromache had developed, yet something of his
inner thoughts must have been noticed by his brother, for Diephobus seemed to
study Helenus’ face closely whenever they were in Andromache’s presence - as if
hoping for confirmation of what he suspected.

           
“What is this news of Helen that you bring to us?” Diephobus asked, sweeping
Helenus aside and clasping Andromache’s hands. “Is our dear princess still
grieving?”

           
“Of course she still grieves,” Andromache said, her lips curling slightly at
Diephobus’ touch, and Helenus felt a smile twitch at the corners of his lips.

           
“Come, Andromache, this news you speak of?” Helenus asked, voice soft and
encouraging, and Andromache turned from Diephobus and rested her gaze upon him.

           
“Helen confided in me, before Paris went to battle, that she was carrying his
child,” Andromache said. Helenus and Diephobus took a moment to register the
news, and exchanged looks. “She has yet to tell anyone, and I think that she
fears for her future.”

           
“Perhaps she is right to fear,” Diephobus said slowly, “Or was, at least.”

           
“This surely changes matters,” Helenus sighed. “If she does indeed carry an
heir.”

           
“You were right to come to us with this,” Diephobus said, smiling upon Andromache.
“And yet, may I ask, why did it take so long for you to do so?”

           
Andromache looked affronted at the question.

           
“I made a promise,” she said. “The only reason I have broken it is for her own
safety, for I have heard talk that she is to be returned to Menelaus, and I
could not allow it.”

           
Diephobus smiled indulgently at her, though Helenus could see his brother’s
mind was already racing, no doubt running through schemes and plots.

           
“It is not your place to decide what will or will not be allowed,” he said, his
tone cold. “But we thank you for finally seeing the sense to impart this secret
to us.”

           
Andromache shot him a dark look and made to leave.

           
“Thank you,” Helenus said, and Andromache’s look softened, before she left the
chambers.

           
Diephobus rounded on him, a sneer upon his lips.

           
“Your desire for our brother’s widow is most amusing,” he mocked. “Though I do
not see that she returns any such feelings you may hold for her.”

           
Helenus ignored him, more important matters to discuss.

           
“Surely, this changes everything,” Helenus said. “We cannot send her back.”

           
“No, indeed, it seems that we cannot,” Diephobus said, his voice quiet, lost in
his own private thoughts, and Helenus thought he saw a scheming look in his
brother’s eye.

*
* *

           
Andromache returned to her chambers feeling deflated after her meeting with
Helenus and Diephobus, for she did not trust Diephobus and she felt worried
that Helen would not thank her for interfering and betraying her promise,
though it had only been in her best interests that Andromache had acted.

           
In her chambers, she found Philomena comforting a distraught Ilisa. Andromache
rushed to her maid at once, putting an arm about her shoulders.

           
“What is the matter?” she asked, surprised at such distress.

           
Ilisa could not speak through her sobs, and Philomena looked over the top of
her head to Andromache.

           
“It is her sister,” Philomena said. Andromache remembered Iliana, once her
maid, who had left her employ with two children, widowed by the war.

           
“Iliana?” Andromache asked. “But what has happened?”

           
“Ilisa received word that her sister is dying,” Philomena said. “Iliana asks to
see her from her deathbed.”

           
Andromache at once granted Ilisa permission to leave the palace to visit with
her. Ilisa was grateful and thanked her through her tears, and rushed from the
chambers.

           
It was evening when Ilisa returned, eyes reddened, to inform  Andromache
that her sister had passed away. She had caught one of the diseases that were
rife in the city with so many of the dead piling up against the walls due to
starvation and sickness.

           
“She wished me to thank you,” Ilisa said to the princess. “She said that she
never forgot your kindness or your warmth. She wishes you and Astyanax all the
best.”

           
Andromache was touched, feeling a tear in her own eye for Iliana’s passing.

           
“What will become of her sons?” she asked Ilisa, remembering that Iliana had
been living with her husband’s family after her husband was killed in battle.

           
Ilisa swallowed down a sob.

           
“They will remain in the care of their father’s family,” Ilisa told her. “They
are a kind family and have enough money to support them; they will be well
cared for.”

           
“That is good,” Andromache said. “More than many orphans can wish for in these
uncertain times.”

           
“Indeed, it is,” Ilisa said. “Iliana was pleased to see me one final time,
before she went.”

           
Andromache comforted her maid and when Philomena came in to ready the princess
for bed, she too consoled Ilisa. Andromache held both of her maids to her,
grateful for the loyalty and love that they showed her, for they had endured
much together.

*
* *