The Trojan Princess (5 page)

As
they pressed forward on the journey, Andromache prayed that the walls of Troy
would soon come into view; that alone, she knew, would be enough to encourage
her loyal subjects. She prayed for her mother, too, who needed a temple or a
doctor. She prayed with every step, with every movement and with every ache
that grew in her limbs and her muscles as she walked.

*
* *

           
When finally the great walls of Troy rose from the horizon, large and
unyielding, emblazoned by the sinking sun, Andromache knew that her prayers had
been answered. Though it was still a day’s journey to the city, she knew that
they had been saved. She felt some of the tension, the desperation, lift itself
from her small party of travellers, and wanted to rejoice, but she knew that
she could not celebrate until they had reached the safety of the walls
themselves.

           
They made camp for the night, her mother still not taking water or food, and
despite Iliana and Ilisa’s protestations that they should travel through the
night to reach the walls by morning. Andromache had been tempted to agree with
her maids, but Axion had begged to differ.

           
“It is dangerous to travel at night,” he had warned her, when she had voiced
her thoughts to him. “We are a small, lightly protected group. We would be an
easy target for thieves, and the path ahead is dark by nightfall, and it would
be only too easy to fall and suffer injury or –”

           
Andromache had nodded then, understanding his reluctance.

           
“We would be best to wait until morning,” Axion had continued. “The city of
Troy has stood tall and impregnable for many, many lifetimes,” he warned, “And
they will not let strangers beyond their walls in the dead of night, not when
–” He trailed off, looking abashed at the princess. Andromache knew his words
to be true and free of menace. She knew how they must look to others – their
clothes filthy and their sandals now but torn to shreds on the hard ground –
and she knew that no guardsmen would accept her for a princess, not by the
light of the moon.

           
“We will wait until dawn,” she had decided then, and Axion had nodded in relief
at her words. Though Iliana and Ilisa had not been pleased, they had settled
down willingly enough, their bodies too exhausted to offer protest, and soon
they were asleep.

           
The two maids lay either side of Andromache, their maidenly duties not
forgotten even in such circumstances, so that neither of the three soldiers
could approach their princess without their consent. Andromache smiled down at
them as they slept, slipping away from them, bare feet silent on the ground as
she went to the cart and to where her mother lay.

           
In the moonlight, she could make out the sleeping forms of two of the soldiers.
Axion, she knew, was not asleep; she could see his hunched figure, sat on a rock,
keeping watch over their small camp. She decided that she would reward him well
for his service to her during this time.

           
Her mother was awake, the blanket drawn down from her face. Andromache
approached quietly and sat down on the edge of the cart, but her mother made no
effort to turn to her.

           
“Mother, will you have some water?” she whispered, leaning close. Her mother
seemed not to hear her, her eyes focused on the moon above them.

           
“The fates have been cruel,” she said. Her voice was barely audible, raspy from
her dry throat. “No water can save me, no water can bring back your father.”

           
“You must have a drink,” Andromache pleaded. She wanted to remind her that she
was all she had left of her family, the last thread that remained between her
and her brothers and her father. Yet her mother shook her head. “Please,
mother,” Andromache spoke. “You must drink, we are almost at Troy, we will be
safe there.”

           
“Nowhere is safe,” her mother sighed. “And even if it were true, I do not need
safety now. I long for death, so I may be reunited with my King. My dearest
Eetion, your father. I long to be reunited with him.”

           
Her words were enough to make Andromache want to weep, but she did not. She
leaned down and kissed her mother’s forehead. As she made to move away, her
mother grasped her hand in hers.

           
“Mother?” Andromache hoped, prayed, that she would ask for water, for food.

           
“You have been a good daughter to me,” she said softly. “And you will make a
great queen.”

           
With that, she slid her hands away from Andromache’s, and returned her gaze to
the moon. Andromache saw tears slip from her mother’s eyes and roll down her
turned cheek, glistening in the moonlight.

*
* *

           
The gates of Troy were huge, and as they passed beneath them Andromache was
reminded of the stories her father had told her as they had awaited the arrival
of King Priam, his son Hector, and their party, in their small palace at
Thebes.

           
It seemed such a long time ago, Andromache mused, but she did not dwell on her
grief nor her memories. Beyond the walls, the city of Troy seemed to swell
before her; she had always imagined the walls, great and powerful, but never
the city that must lie within them, flourishing and magnificent.

           
Their Trojan escort went ahead, clearing their path through the crowded
streets. Stone buildings rose around them everywhere, market stalls had sprung
up along the edges of the streets and in the doorways of homes, bright and
brilliant colours hanging from windows and balconies as robes and garments were
hung out in the sun to dry. The people did not seem to notice them; surely
there were too many people arriving in the great city to be of much interest to
them, though some cast Andromache curious glances – perhaps, she mused, they
saw beyond her sun-beaten brow and stained clothes to the princess that she was
– and children stopped their play to let them pass, eyeing the soldiers with
interest, barely glancing at the women trailing behind them.

           
Her mother remained shrouded beneath the blanket, and this drew some curious
looks, but Andromache for once did not worry for her mother. She was too intrigued
by this brilliant city she had arrived in. Iliana and Ilisa, walking either
side of her, seemed as awestruck as she, and now that they had reached their
destination they seemed to forget their fatigue and pointed out the large
towers, the brilliant silks, and muttered and gasped much as Andromache wished
to do, and would have done so, if she had not been a princess and trained to be
above such displays of emotion.

           
The Trojan guards led them through the city and it seemed they must have walked
the length of the city when they finally began to ascend up a steeper road.
There were less people here, the streets no longer bright with colour and
faces. Now they passed guards in fine robes of silk, shields and swords upon
them, bedecked in helmets of silver that glistened and shone in the sunlight.

           
At the entrance to the royal palaces, a large, squat man in robes of purple
greeted them. His demeanour was polite but suspicious, his eyes narrowed often,
but his jowls quivered upon learning of the identity of Andromache and her
group. He introduced himself as Laocoon, a councillor and elder of the city.

           
“They seek an audience with King Priam,” one of the Trojan escorts informed
him. The fat, bald man nodded, clutching his purple robes to his chest, his
eyes turning to each of the party in turn, lingering on Andromache longer than
the rest.

           
“And this is the Princess Andromache?” he asked, attention focused upon her.
Andromache nodded, remaining composed even as Laocoon’s eyes took in the state
of her gown, his face registering surprise at the state of her appearance. “My
condolences, Princess, for your tragic loss.”

           
“Thank you for your sympathies,” Andromache managed, inclining her head slightly
towards him. Laocoon considered her for a long moment. Andromache worried that
he may turn them away, disbelieving of her identity, but then he was muttering
to the head of their escort and waved them to follow him.

           
“I will inform the King and his council of your arrival,” Laocoon called over
his shoulder as he led them up the road, his bald head already shimmering with
sweat, and Andromache felt relief course through her body. “I will have
Sarpedon,” he gestured towards the head of their escort, whose face remained
impassive at the mention of his name, “Guide you to some chambers, where you
can wash and prepare yourself.”

           
Andromache did not know whether to be slighted or not by his words, but she was
too relieved that she had been received and would have an audience with the
King that she could only smile. The palace rose mighty and beautiful before
them, perched atop what surely must be the largest hill within the confines of
the city. The walls were of white stone, towers and arches rose high above
them, and Iliana and Ilisa gasped. Andromache herself had to fight to keep her
awe from showing on her face, though Laocoon must have read her inner thoughts
for he smiled indulgently at her.

           
“Many a greater princess has been brought to silence upon the sight of the
Royal Palace of Troy,” he shared with her, and Andromache felt her feelings
soften towards the man. Before the huge doors to the palace, Laocoon stopped
and glanced towards the cart.

           
“The cart may come no further,” he said primly. “I can send for a doctor to
come and see to your mother,” he suggested, when her mother made no effort to
move from her position. Andromache nodded, a blush creeping up her face at her
mother’s behaviour.

Leaving
her mother in the cart, they passed through the main doors, between two guards
who showed no expression as they passed.

           
Laocoon came only as far as the entrance to the palace, and departed along the
cool, shaded corridors and disappeared around a corner out of sight. Sarpedon
took a different path and Andromache followed, savouring the shade of the
palace after days beneath the baking sun.

           
Sarpedon showed them to their chambers, high in the palace, with a balcony that
overlooked the great city sprawling beneath them. As he left them in privacy,
leading his men out, Andromache saw Axion visibly relax as he watched his
retreating back. She thought, once again, of how well he and his two comrades
had served her these past few days.

           
She dismissed them, and Axion looked grateful as he and the other two men went
in search of a hot meal and a bath. Iliana and Ilisa watched their retreating
backs, and Andromache thought of how well these two girls had served her too;
she only hoped that Hector and his father wanted her hand in her marriage so
that she might somehow reward these loyal maids. If she was rejected, what
would become of them? She shook her head, willing herself not to think on such
things.

           
The baths of the palace were huge and lavish, and Andromache allowed Iliana and
Ilisa to bathe with her, the three of them savouring the scented hot water on
their skin, washing away the dirt and sand and aches of the journey. Iliana and
Ilisa washed her hair, scrubbing her scalp until she felt her head might burst,
and she languished in the waters whilst the sisters took it in turns to wash
their own hair.

           
Andromache wondered if her mother had been bathed yet. Word had arrived on the
way to the baths that she had been found rooms in the palace and was being
looked after. Andromache longed for her mother to recover, but how could one
overcome such crippling grief? Seeing her maids frolicking in the water,
reinvigorated now that the journey was done and they were clean and fresh,
Andromache allowed them a smile that beguiled her sense of worry.

*
* *

           
King Priam was known for many things – his great many children, mostly
illegitimate, for one, and his knowledge and love for his people – but one
trait that had never been used to describe the king was stupid.

           
He was an astute man – for didn’t all kings need to be? – and the news that
Cilician Thebes had been sacked, the king slaughtered and its people either
dead or spread to other lands, had left him in a dilemma.

           
Now he was told that Princess Andromache had arrived in the city, seeking
refuge and an audience with him. He had no doubt what she really sought. With
her position in society so uncertain now, Priam did not doubt that the young
woman was seeking assurances that her betrothal to Hector was safe. What would
he tell her? He had so many things to consider, he thought, pacing the rooms of
the council chambers. He had not summoned the council to him - not yet - though
he thought that he must have to if he were to make a decision over such
matters. Not that he needed their permission, but it did not serve anyone well
to disregard such a powerful group of men. Only Diephobus, the second son in
the line of accession to the throne, was with him.