The Trojan Princess (10 page)

           
Diephobus opened his mouth to speak, shock on his face, but Hector raised a
hand, silencing him instantly.

           
“Andromache, my dear wife, it is your decision to make,” Hector said.

           
All eyes fell on her, and Andromache did not know what to say or what to do.
She had never been called upon to make such a decision.

           
“I need some time to think on the matter,” Andromache said.

           
The elders bowed and accepted this, but Diephobus shifted uncomfortably, and
Andromache wondered if she could ever entrust her kingdom, the lands and people
her father had loved and ruled over his whole life, to someone such as him.

*
* *

           
The decision over who was to rule Thebes was one that Andromache felt unworthy
to make, yet it was on her that the decision rested. She had never expected to
rule over Thebes as she had seven elder brothers and so had always thought
Podes, eldest of them all, would one day take the crown and be king.

           
The choices lay before her and weighed heavily on her mind and heart. Hector
told her that if she wished to remain and rule as Queen she could do so, though
she could not fathom such an idea. She was his wife and her place was at his side,
as princess of Troy and one day, as his queen.

           
Yet what other options remained to her? She could not leave the elders to rule
without governance, for what would happen when they passed away? She was sure,
though it pained her to think of more death, that their time would be near, for
their beards were white and their skin wrinkled with age, and then what
struggle would ensue once the last of them had gone over to the afterlife?
Thebes needed a ruler, and she could not be that.

           
She thought on Diephobus’ words and knew that what he said was true, though she
did not like to admit anything that slipped from his snake-like lips to be so.
If she gave the power of guardianship to one of Hector’s siblings then she
would always know what was happening in her homeland. And they were royalty;
their rule, though perhaps not welcomed by the people, would be obeyed
nonetheless because the decision had been made by her.

           
Which was worthy? She thought of Helenus, brave like Hector, but he was an
advisor to his brother and she knew King Priam would be loath to part from him.
Polites was intelligent, but he had no leadership, no way of charming the
people, winning them over would be harder for him than perhaps all the others.
Troilus, the youngest prince, so beautiful that it dazzled the eyes, yet still
had so much to learn? And Diephobus, who had seemed most eager to declare
himself a contender. He was certainly capable, she thought, but she did not
trust him and would not wish him upon her people. Of her new sisters, the
daughters of Troy, would any of them take to ruling a city such as Thebes? No,
King Priam would not allow them to, for as daughters he required them to make
advantageous marriages, not leave unwed to rule over a small kingdom that was
not wealthy nor strategically located to be of huge value.

           
“I am sorry to intrude upon your thoughts,” Diephobus said from her doorway,
and she turned to watch his approach. He stood beside her, overlooking the
kingdom, and was quiet for a moment. She studied this man, the one member of
her new family who she could not find it within herself to warm to, and
wondered what was going on inside his mind. When he spoke, she imagined him
hissing like the snake she often pictured him to be. “The elders who have ruled
in your mother’s stead adore you, Andromache,” he said. “And yet they are not
capable of ruling these lands. Surely, you must know this.”

           
“I know,” Andromache said, pained to agree with him. “Yet there are those who
are equally incapable who would have me think otherwise.”

           
Her words were barbed and he knew it, yet he feigned ignorance to her meaning.

           
“Many would seek to guide your hand in such a matter,” he said cautiously.
Andromache lifted an eyebrow to him, letting him know that she knew him to be
one such advisor. He went on boldly; “I know you do not think to rule here
yourself, for it would mean spending so long apart from your beloved husband,
my dearest brother,” he said, and Andromache listened, intrigued in spite of
herself by his gift of knowing what others were thinking.

           
“You seem to know me well,” she said.

           
“I am a clever man, though you do not like to hear such things,” Diephobus said
by way of a response. “Just as you do not wish me to rule, you know that I
alone of my brothers am capable of doing so.”

           
“You regard yourself highly,” Andromache said.

           
“Polites will not agree to rule,” Diephobus went on, “He would never consent to
leave behind his libraries and scholarly pursuits.” Andromache nodded. “And
Troilus, he is too young, too adored by his people to leave that all behind to
come here. Helenus, perhaps, but Hector and my father will not allow him to
leave, he is too valuable to them.”

           
“That leaves you,” Andromache sighed, seeing where his speech was taking them.

           
“I can rule this small kingdom which is so precious to you,” Diephobus
insisted. “I can instil order and bring a change in fortune to these people. I
can protect them, with the might of Troy behind me.”

           
“You speak openly,” Andromache said slowly. “I thank you for that, at least.
Now I need to be alone to consider your arguments.”

           
“As you wish,” Diephobus said, uncertainly, and he was gone.

           
Andromache continued to think of what options were available to her, yet she
knew what she must do.

           
When she had gathered the elders to her, Diephobus and Hector with them, she made
her decision known.

           
“Diephobus, my husband’s dear brother, will rule in my stead over Thebes and
its lands,” she said with a decisiveness she did not feel in her heart. “I
hereby relinquish my lands, my power thereof and my rights by inheritance to
this dearest of my kinsmen.”

           
The elders bowed at her words, and she could not make out their faces to see if
they approved or not. Hector was silent beside her; he had already let it be
known that he would accept whatever decision she made. Diephobus smiled, eyes
gleaming in victory, as he swept across the room to take command of his new
kingdom. Andromache stepped backwards at his approach, wondering if she had
made the right decision.

*
* *

           
It was with a heavy heart that Andromache left Thebes to return to Troy. Iliana
and Ilisa came with her for they wished to be with her wherever she went, and
Axion insisted upon joining her, having knelt before her and pledging his
allegiance to her and her alone. Andromache had been touched by his words and
accepted his wishes. He would be her personal guard, she decided, and Hector
had allowed this title to be bestowed.

           
Upon their return to the city, King Priam did not seem as surprised by news of
Diephobus’ elevation to ruler of Thebes as much as the rest of the household,
and Andromache thought momentarily of whether he had known what decision would
lie before her when she left, though she dismissed it from her mind.

           
“You must be tired from the journey,” Hector said, and Andromache did indeed
feel exhausted. He put a hand to her face, caressing her cheek with a tender
look. “You look pale.  You should rest awhile.”

           
Andromache retreated to their chambers and settled upon the bed, grateful not
to be on her feet any longer, even though she had travelled in the litter on
the journey. She could not understand where the exhaustion came from, but she
fell into a deep sleep and did not awake until the following morning, when she
found she was again alone in the bed.

           
“Hector?” she asked, as Iliana entered the chambers.

           
“The prince has gone to train,” she answered. “You’ve slept a long while.”

           
“Yet I still feel tired,” she said.

           
Iliana looked at her with a moment’s concern and then smiled.

           
“I’m sure it’s the journey that has tired you so.” She went about her duties,
leaving Andromache to lie in bed. She could barely keep her eyes open as
tiredness swept over her once more and she fell into another restless sleep.

*
* *

           
Within days, news of Princess Andromache’s bedridden state was the talk of the
palace and rumours swirled of illness and of Prince Hector’s anxiety for his
wife’s welfare. The princesses went to her chambers and filled her rooms with
laughter and chatter, and Hector kept a constant vigil by his wife’s side.
Iliana, Ilisa and Philomena were inundated whenever they left the chambers,
everyone desperate for news of the princess and how she was faring.

           
It was good news that rang through the palace and soon after, the city,
when  the cause of Princess Andromache’s exhaustion was established; she
was with child. The city cheered at the news and smiles lit up the royal
palace. The princess was carrying Prince Hector’s heir and there was much to
celebrate at the tidings of such joyous news.

         
Pregnancy became
Princess Andromache and her fair skin glowed as her stomach swelled with the
baby heir. Iliana and Ilisa were so filled with joy that one might think them
with child as well, the way they gushed over the princess’ well-being and oiled
her skin with damp scented cloths. Prince Hector was adored even more, if that
were possible, for fathering an heir so soon into his marriage, and the people
excitedly waited for the baby heir to be born, a man who would one day rule
over their children, and grandchildren, after Hector.

           
Andromache loved her child, though he was yet to be born, and she spoke to him
as she lay upon her pillows, telling him of his father’s bravery and of her own
father’s wisdom. She felt sure that the child she was carrying was a boy, and
Hector shared her feelings.

           
All was well in the royal palace of Troy as they awaited the birth, and it was
into this peaceful, happy household that an unwelcome visitor was brought; his
wrists and ankles bound in chains, his body bruised and his face bloodied from
his encounter with Helenus and Hector. It was not usual for King Priam to
receive such visitors, and he did so in secret, surrounded by members of the
council as the prisoner was brought to them in the council chambers, and forced
to kneel before them on the lowered stage in the middle of the room.

           
“You have made grievous claims,” King Priam spoke, voice wavering with rage, as
he looked upon the man’s face. “I would not have blamed my sons for putting you
to death in the fields.”

           
“He sought refuge in the Temple of Zeus,” Hector explained, standing behind the
kneeling prisoner, adrenaline still coursing through him from the chase. He and
Helenus had been riding through the fields when they had come across the
traveller, who had fled from them. They had pursued him on foot, abandoning
their stallions, and had beaten him before he had crawled into the temple. “We
did not want to bring about Zeus’s wrath should we have put him to death in
such a sanctified place.”

           
“You did well to act with caution,” Priam said. “For I believe a trial is in
order.”

           
“A trial?” Helenus asked, anger still flaring within him. “Have you not heard
of his treason, father?”

           
“I have heard,” Priam said solemnly. “Yet the gods stopped you from killing
him, did they not? They must have stayed your sword for a reason.”

           
“No, my king, it was not the gods who stopped me,” Helenus answered. “It was
Cassandra. She begged us to let him live.”

           
“Indeed?” Priam asked. “And did she give a reason for her kindness to this
man?”

           
“She did,” Helenus said, disquieted now. Priam leaned forwards in anticipation.

           
“And what reasoning did your twin sister give you, Helenus?”

           
Beside his brother, Hector bowed his head, bracing himself for the words.

           
“Cassandra told us she had foreseen his arrival,” Helenus said slowly. “She
claims that this man, Paris, speaks the truth and not treason. She says he is
our long lost brother, your son, Paris, Prince of Troy.”

*
* *

           
Andromache knew that something was amiss when Hector came to their bed that
evening. His lips were drawn tight in a worried frown and he was restless as he
paced the floor at the foot of their bed, shooting cautious glances to his
wife.

           
“Tell me what’s on your mind,” she implored him, but he shook his head.

           
“I don’t want you to fret,” he insisted.

           
“You do not need to fear worrying me or our child,” she insisted, placing a
hand upon her stomach. “I feel more anxious seeing you in such a state and not
knowing the cause of such distress.”

           
Hector sighed and sat down heavily on the bed beside her. A hand went to her
stomach, rubbing her stomach gently, his palms warm against her bare skin.

           
“We have a prisoner who claims to be my brother,” he confessed, soothed by her
presence. “I confess I do not know whether to believe him or not.”

           
“What say the others?” Andromache asked, her level tone belying the surprise
she felt inside at such a suggestion. “And your father?” She thought of the
stories she had heard from Philomena, of Priam’s hoards of illegitimate
children across the city and further afield.

           
“Cassandra believes that he is honest,” Hector told her. “She says she had a
vision that he would return to us. Helenus protests that he does not believe a
word of it, though he seems uncertain of it within himself. The others, they do
not know what to think, as I myself do not.”

           
“Does he claim to be a true prince?” Andromache asked. “Or –” She left the rest
of her words unspoken, for she knew that Hector would take her meaning.

           
“He does not claim to be one of the king’s illegitimates,” he said. “He claims
to be Paris, Prince of Troy, and the second heir after myself.”

           
“Can there possibly be a word of truth in it?”

           
“It is true that I had a brother named Paris, who was heir to the throne after
I as the second of the king’s legitimate sons, and it is true he was sent from
the city to be put to death by my father.”

           
Andromache did not know what to think and so she remained silent. Hector, it
seemed, did not need her to speak, for he went on, putting voice to his
frustrations.

           
“I suppose it is possible that he survived, for a body was never brought back
to the city,” he said. “And to look upon him, he looks similar to me; perhaps
he does speak the truth.”

           
“Why, pray I ask, was he banished from the city?” Andromache asked. Her
curiosity was piqued, and she knew that her husband longed to speak further on
the matter.

           
“There was a prophecy,” Hector answered her. “My father’s great friend and
councillor, Aesacus, foretold that great doom would befall Troy if Paris was
allowed to live. My father trusted his friend so much that he sent Paris to the
mountains to die.”

           
Andromache listened, her hands protectively laid upon her stomach as she
thought of what she might do to protect her own son when he was born. Prophecy
or not, she would never allow him to be taken from her, she knew that with all
her heart. She did not doubt that Hector felt the same, for he glanced at her
stomach as if sharing in her thoughts.

           
“My father sent him from us for the safety of our city,” Hector said, by way of
an apology on behalf of his father, sensing Andromache’s line of thinking. “But
it seems that Paris, if he is indeed my brother, bears no grudge upon him or
us.”

           
“Is there a way of knowing beyond doubt, if he is truthful or not?”

           
Hector let out a deep sigh.

           
“I do not know of a way, except for asking the gods,” he answered after a
while. “He is to face a trial by the council tomorrow. We shall see then if he
confesses to lying.”

           
“And if he does not?” Andromache asked.

           
Hector’s eyes met hers and she saw the turmoil swirling in the depths there.
Her precious husband, conflicted so! She drew him to her, her arms around his
shoulders, and held him to her breast, stroking his skin with her tender hands,
as she soothed him.

*
* *

           
The trial of Paris was put to the council of Troy the following day and, though
usually a matter for just the council, due to the severity and nature of Paris’
claims, the royal family had been allowed to partake, and Andromache joined
them, sitting on a stool to ease her discomfort. She did not wish to witness
such a trial, but she had come in support of her husband, who she knew needed
comforting in this matter, and so she was here for him and him alone. Her heart
went out to them all as she looked upon the princes and princesses, wearing
solemn looks upon their faces, as they watched the trial of the man who claimed
to be their brother.

           
King Priam’s eyes seemed to linger on the prisoner, uncertainty rife in his
expression. Queen Hecuba looked more uncertain than even he, her lips trembling
and her eyes threatening tears before the trial had begun. The older of the
royals looked cautious too, for they had vague and distant memories of their
long lost brother from childhood, and Andromache imagined them reliving these
snatches of youth, trying to place this man before them in their minds. The
younger members of the family had been born after his supposed death, so they
had no recollection of him; they seemed bewildered by what was happening,
perhaps jealous that a stranger had arrived with claims to be higher up the
royal line of accession than them.

           
Andromache felt none of these jealousies, none of these memories; she felt only
worry for her husband. She knew that he longed to believe his brother had not
died as he had for so long believed, but she saw distrust in his eyes also, for
this man was little more than a stranger, even if he was a true prince and a
true brother.

           
The council studied the man before them with suspicion. Laocoon’s bald head
shimmered with sweat; Antenor and Antimachus murmured indecipherably between
themselves; and Paris, the prisoner, was the only one in the room to show no
sign of anxiety.

           
King Priam spoke to him, his voice unwavering.

           
“You, prisoner, claim to be my long dead son, Prince Paris of Troy, do you
not?”

           
Paris bowed his head, the chains about his ankles and wrists clinking with the
slightest movement.

           
“I do claim it, for it is the truth,” he answered, his voice quiet but no less
clear. “Though I cannot confess myself dead, as you have believed me to be all
these years.”

           
King Priam frowned.

           
“I sent my second son to be put to death in the mountains,” Priam said, no
trace of regret in his voice. “Though I confess never to have looked upon the
body of the boy, I have no doubt that he died many years ago as a child. You do
not bear resemblance to him.”

           
“No, my king, for the one you sentenced to death was but a scared child,” Paris
said, “And before you I kneel, a man grown and wishing to make peace with his
family.”

           
“Pray, prisoner, tell me how you survived my death sentence,” Priam said,
bearing down upon him. “Then we will judge whether your words are plausible.”

           
“As you wish,” Paris bowed once more. “As you will recall, my king, there was a
prophecy made to you that I would bring about the downfall of Troy should I
live –”

           
“Yes, yes, it was I who was told of the prophecy,” Priam snapped impatiently. He
waved his hands, urging him on. “I could not bring myself to harm such a boy as
my son, and nor could my queen. In our stead, Agelaus, my chief herdsman at
that time, was sent forth with the young prince to leave him on the
mountainside, so that he might die.”

           
“Indeed, Agelaus took me to a mountainside,” Paris said, looking up into
Priam’s face. “I survived and when the herdsman returned nine days, I was still
alive. He doubted that the prophecy foretold the my parents could be true, for
me to live as I had, so he took me to his home and raised me as he would a son
of his own.”

           
“Outrageous!” Priam cried out, startling those in the room. Andromache saw
sweat pooling on his hairline as his eyes flickered nervously over the
prisoner. “You claim that one of my most faithful servants, the honourable
Agelaus, betrayed me and let my son live, even though it had been foretold that
he would bring about the downfall and ruin of Troy!”

           
“He did not wish to bring about your anger,” Paris said, his voice calm. “He
simply could not bring himself to leave me alone to die on the mountainside -
much as you say that you yourself nor your queen, my mother, was able to do
before him.”

           
Priam looked imperiously down at him, for never had a prisoner spoken to him in
such a way. He was King of Troy, head of this council, and no herdsman’s son
with ideas above his lot in life was going to speak in such a manner to him.

           
“I’ve heard enough,” Priam called. “I will hear no more treason from this
herdsman’s son. Take him back to the cells where he will await his sentencing.”

           
Two guards moved forwards, but Cassandra rose from her stool and pushed through
the others, before throwing herself onto the prisoner, tears glistening on her
cheeks.

           
“Father, my king, please believe my words,” she cried, and Priam waved for the
soldiers to halt their approach. “If you do not believe him, then please
believe me. I have been an honourable daughter, a noble princess, and a dedicated
priestess. When this man, Paris, my brother, sought refuge in the Temple of
Zeus, chased by my brothers, I knew at once who he was. He is indeed our
brother, Paris, your second son and a prince of Troy.”