Rise of Princes (Homeric Chronicles Book 2)

by Janell Rhiannon

  “Do you think he will come finally?” Menelaus dared to ask his brother.

  Odysseus interrupted, “He will, my lord. You know he will. If only to let his men gorge on the fine feast you have prepared.”

  Agamemnon considered Odysseus’ plea, veiled as it was, for Achilles’ sake. “He will always do what is best for his men that we may always count on.” The Great King took a huge gulp of wine, and as he set his cup down, a distant hum could be heard on the wind. The feasting clamor quieted. The gathered army grew silent, straining to catch the faint and distant sound. It grew louder and louder. Soon, it was clear that the sound, heading in the camp’s direction, was the chorus of hundreds of men bellowing out in song.

  Odysseus lifted his cup. “The Myrmidons approach, my lord.”

  Menelaus frowned and murmured into his cup, “I hate that fucking Phthian.”

  From the darkness surrounding the feasting men, the Myrmidons filed into the encampment never breaking their boisterous song. Their presence lifted the spirits of all and soon every voice was lifted in song. Wine cups smashed together in merriment, spilling wine into the foreign sand instead of blood. Men stood and cheered the Black Shields. As soon as they settled, servants scurried to serve them. Arriving last was the Myrmidon’s captain, accompanied by Patrokles. Side by side, they were mirrored images of each other, the first young and golden, the last older and darker. They were as Apollo and Ares striding together.

  Achilles took his accustomed place among his men, avoiding the king’s table where his place had been set.

  Menelaus wasted no time driving the insult home. “Look how he disrespects you in front of the entire assembly. He has no shame. No courtesy.”

  Agamemnon, silently fuming, could do nothing. He fumed knowing that Achilles knew it as well. Had Zeus himself been at the king’s table, Achilles would have snubbed him all the same.

  Again, the King of Ithaka intervened to soften the blow. “My lord, do not let this bother you. Achilles is rough-trained by Chiron, schooled in soldierly ways. It is well-known that he dines only with Patrokles or with his men. He makes no distinction between his captains and himself.”

  Agamemnon countered, “His only distinction is that he and his lot are superior to us and ours.”

  “My lord, you miss the mark. Did you not hear the men when the Black Shields arrived? The entire army admires them … wishes they were them. All are counting on Achilles to help us win this war and return as kings to the small corners of our worlds.”

  The Great King seethed beneath his cool exterior. He held his cup out to cheer the Black Shields and Achilles. Under his breath he whispered, “I will make him pay, one day. By the balls of Zeus, I will make him pay.”

  The men followed suit, raising their cups to Achilles. From the assembly, a voice rang out, “I will kill fifty Trojans!”

  An echo challenged, “Is that all, you bastard? I will slay twice that!”

  Laughter rose from the crowd.

  A soldier from Menelaus’ camp stood and shouted, “I will kill two hundred Trojans!” Menelaus raised his cup to him. The Spartans cheered their man. Feeling emboldened by drink, the Spartan shouted, “How many will Achilles kill?” A roar loud enough to wake the gods arose. All eyes turned toward the Golden Warrior, the mighty Captain of the Black Shields.

  Slowly, Achilles stood and the throng of soldiers hushed. With a lion’s roar, he shouted, “I will kill them all!”

  The assembly leapt to their feet and cheered Achilles’ boldness.

  Agamemnon sipped his wine without remark. Menelaus secretly wished he were made of such arrogance. Odysseus smiled knowing that with Achilles on their side, the Trojans didn’t stand a chance.

  FIVE

  TROY

  1251 BCE

  “There is no mistake, Father. A unified army of Greeks moves in our direction,” Hektor said. “We must plan for their attack.”

  Priam sank heavily into the king’s high seat at the head of the Council Table. “War.”

  Hektor leaned forward. “We must prepare.”

  “How can this be? The western tribes have no love for one another,” Priam stated.

  The Golden Prince pressed his position. “There are rumors, Father. But you will not like them.”

  King Priam searched the faces of his council members, realizing that regarding this matter, he was the last to know. “Tell me what you have heard.”

  “They come for Helen.”

  Priam laughed. “They unite for a woman? Make war on the case of Helen?”

  Hektor leaned back, relieved that his father was listening. “I have sent for her. Only she can speculate about the mind of her true husband.” Hektor emphasized the word true, driving home the fact that Helen’s disgrace blighted them all. He couldn’t understand the forgiving and gentle manner his father cultivated on behalf of the Spartan harlot.

  Within moments, the king’s guards ushered in the rare beauty, her white gown and golden ribbons flowing behind her.

  The king rose. “My dear, Helen.”

  Helen tilted her head in deference, as she bowed. “My lord, Father.”

  Priam held her hands in his, gently lifting her to stand before him. “Helen, I come straight to the point. You have heard, no doubt, the Greeks are approaching Troy. As a single army.”

  The fair beauty, her blue eyes moist with tears, nodded. “I have.”

  “What can you tell us of this? The western tribes have no common cause, save the rumor Menelaus wishes your return. Why would all the kingdoms of the west want to help Sparta?”

  Helen hesitated. “They are bound by an oath to follow him.”

  Hektor slammed his open palm on the table. “What oath?”

  “The one every suitor took on my behalf before I chose my husband from among them.”

  “What was the oath?” Hektor demanded, looking around the table at the stunned council.

  “They each swore to serve my chosen husband if harm should befall me in the future.”

  Hektor’s eyes narrowed in anger. “And Paris knew of this oath?”

  Helen whispered, “He did.”

  “That fucking coward! It is his fault, then, that the western tribes unite and advance against us.”

  Helen’s face flushed with anger and embarrassment. “I came of my own free will. I fell under no harm. Menelaus has no right to make such a claim on me.”

  The Prince of Troy’s words flew at her like arrows. “You selfish whore! Did you think the King of Sparta, however cheaply made, would stand by and let his wife, the queen, desert him in front of the entire world and Olympus? Did you think he would just let you go as one sighs when a prized dog has wandered off?”

  Tears stung Helen’s eyes. “I thought if I left behind his heir he would let the matter rest between us.”

  Hektor’s face hardened, his mouth curved in disgust. “You cuckolded him before the world! And now your shame touches my brother, my entire family.” He had begun to regret the day Paris had been brought before Priam. Better he had died on the hill.

  Helen could take no more abuse. She ran from the hall weeping loudly.

  “You were rough with the girl,” Priam remarked, slightly annoyed at Hektor’s rude behavior with a guest.

  Hektor brushed away the rebuke. “She is no mere girl. She sat as a queen, and should be ready to shoulder the weight of her actions. When the people hear that war is coming, they will look on her with hate and resentment.” He poured himself a cup of wine. “They will see my brother with the same hateful eyes.”

  “On that we agree, my son,” Priam said dryly. “I fear your mother will fly into a rage at this.”

  “If I were Helen, I would wing my way back to Sparta before facing the dark side of Troy’s queen. Even the icy breath of Hades would seem warm compared to Hecuba’s wrath.”

  Priam sighed heavily at that. “Her wrath burns like a cold winter’s wind. How long until the Greeks land on our shore?”

  “If they ha
ve resupplied at Lemnos, then within the month, if fate is favorable, two.”

  The king slammed his wine cup on the table. “If the Fates favored us at all, they would drown the Greeks. Every last one of them.”

  Helen flung herself on her bed and wept into her elbow. She came to Troy hoping a new life would bring her the security of true love she craved in her bones. Her entire existence in Sparta had been spent under a threatening storm cloud. For as long as she could recall, discussions of her future were always shrouded with fear. Her parents had isolated her not only for her safety, but for Sparta’s as well. All she had wanted was love and Paris had given her that. Now, her former life threatened to tumble her new world to ruin.

  “Why are you weeping, Helen?” Paris asked from the doorway.

  With her face partially buried in her pillow, she answered, “I thought I was alone.”

  Paris walked to their bed and sat next to her. He smoothed a few wild locks of her honey-colored hair from her exposed cheek. “I can see that, my sweet. Who has brought you to tears? I will have words with him.”

  Helen’s sobbing calmed. She turned her head, seeking Paris’ eyes. “You would defend me?”

  “Always.”

  “Even against Hektor?”

  Paris frowned. “Hektor? It was he who offended you?”

  “He blames me, Paris, for seducing you and bringing war to Troy. He called me a whore!” She buried her face in her pillow, tears springing anew.

  His elder brother, the Golden Prince, was the one man he would not argue with on anyone’s account, not even Helen’s. His temper was fierce regarding the surprise arrival of Helen to Troy. Avoiding Hektor, not confronting him, was their best plan. Then the rumors are true. The Greeks are coming. Paris placed a comforting hand on his lover’s back. “My brother is a hard man. He relents very little where I am concerned.”

  “He hates me!” Helen cried out, her sobs shaking the bed.

  “Calm yourself, my sweet. He does not hate you. He is angry with me. If anyone is to blame for what is coming to Troy, it is me.”

  Helen rolled onto her side and smiled meekly up at Paris. “It is not your fault. How could we know Menelaus would pursue me … us across the sea?”

  “Any man having claimed you would follow you to the Gates of Hades.”

  “You flatter me because you love me.”

  “I do not flatter you at all. It is the truth, my sweet Helen.”

  Helen’s eyes, moist with fresh tears, pleaded with her lover. “Promise me you will not send me back to him. To Sparta. I will die if I must return.”

  Paris scooped her up in his arms. Her flesh warm against his body. Her nearness sparked a need in him that he’d never experienced before. With the nymph, he could defer physical pleasure; but, with Helen, he found he lacked all control. He would lie abed with her every day if his duties as prince didn’t demand his attention. No, if Hektor did not demand it of me. He respected his elder brother, but feared him more. “I will never let you go, Helen. I promise.”

  “But what of Hektor’s accusations? Will you stop him from turning the entire court against me?”

  He kissed her forehead tenderly. “My sweet, we cannot help what others think of either of us. It only matters what we feel for each other. Do you understand?”

  Helen pouted. “I understand that you love Hektor more than me.”

  “It is not about love, Helen. If I were to challenge Hektor, he would kill me. Then, you would be sent back to Sparta for certain.”

  “Do all in Troy despise me?”

  “That is a strong word, my sweet.”

  The young Queen of Sparta pulled away from her lover’s arms. “It is true then. I have exchanged one prison for another.”

  Paris gently brushed her cheek with his hand. “If that is true, we are the most fortunate of prisoners. For we have each other and our love. Not even the mighty Hektor can take that from us.” Paris brought Helen’s hand to his lips. “Since we are already here, let our passions keep the gloominess at bay a bit longer.”

  Hektor brushed the coat of the black stallion until it shone. Reaching up, he scratched Ares above the eyes and behind the ears. “You are a great beast, Ares.” The horse stomped a hoof into the hay covered ground. “If I could know your mind …”

  “I do not understand why the gods gave Paris such a gift,” Andromache said.

  “Why do the gods do anything that they do?” he said, as he continued grooming the horse that he’d raised from boyhood. “This will be our last battle together, my old friend. We prepare to ride against the Greeks. Hektor and his mighty Ares.”

  Andromache placed her hands on her rounding belly. “Is the mare close to foaling?”

  Hektor stopped grooming Ares and looked at his young wife. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever gazed upon. He could almost understand Paris’ desire to make love to Helen all day long. Almost. Hektor loved his wife, but would always love his duty to Troy more. He put the brush down and went to her. “You are most fetching, rounded with my son, and smelling of dung and hay.”

  Andromache swiped a hand playfully at his shoulder. “You are sweaty and smell of Ares.”

  He pulled her close to his chest, tilting her chin to his mouth. “Then, we are equally matched.” Desire flamed as her hard belly pressed against his cock. His mouth descended slowly on her lips. His teeth teased her bottom lip, before his tongue invaded her mouth. He grinned through their kiss when her arms tightened around his neck. “Shall I take you here in the stables?”

  “If you must,” she replied breathlessly.

  Hektor slid her gown up and thrust gently into her. Andromache urged him to quicken his love-making, as her body craved the ecstatic release more hungrily in the last few months of being with child. When the act was over, they clung to each other lovingly. Hektor tenderly tucked a stray lock of hair behind his wife’s ear. “You are most beautiful when glowing with our love-making.”

  Andromache blushed even though he’d taken her many times before. “I am pleased you find me so … even fat with child.”

  Hektor placed a large hand on her belly, caressing it. “My heart only grows in your presence. I can imagine no other life without you.”

  Pulling away, his wife smoothed her gown. “I heard rumors of invasion from the west. Is it true they come for Helen?”

  The Golden Prince shook his head, the tender mood passing. “Paris never should have brought her here. He knew her husband would come for her.”

  “How could he know that? What man chases after a wanton wife?”

  “An oath was given to Tyndareus by all her suitors. Why make such a bargain for something that holds no worth? No. Her father knew that one day such an oath would be necessary.”

  “So it was Paris who unleashed the Greeks against us?”

  Hektor scowled. He slammed his fist against a wooden pen, startling several horses. Paris had risked the entire kingdom for a woman. Agelaus should have let him die on that mountain. “Do you see how she bewitches him? He wants nothing more than to lay about all day making love and fucking another man’s wife.”

  “What will you do?”

  “We must prepare for war.”

  “Can Troy withstand the attack?”

  “It is not our citadel that most concerns me. It is the undefended cities of the Troad that will suffer most. The invaders will likely raze many of our allies to the ground, amassing slaves and supplies along the way.” What he feared most was that when war came to Troy, and if he should fail as Defender of the City, some other man would take his beloved wife as slave and concubine. And their child would be enslaved as well … or worse.

  Andromache shuddered at the revelation. “I had hoped the rumors false, or exaggerated by fear. But these words you speak are far darker than the whispers.”

  Hektor took her hand in his. “Do not fret, Andromache. You have my protection always. No man will lay a hand on you as long as I draw breath.” He kissed her lightly on th
e lips. “Enough talk of war.”

  “As you wish, husband.”

  It had been many months since Paris had ventured to the home of his first father, or the woods of his youthful joy and Oenone. Since returning from Sparta, he’d avoided his past as much as possible. Over the years, he’d come to peace with Agelaus’ silence regarding his true birth parents. He’d been utterly unprepared for the day of truth. When Agelaus had finally revealed that King Priam was his father, that he was the Forgotten Prince, he’d refused to believe it. Disbelief turned to anger, then sadness. Paris found himself caught between two families—one he loved and the royal strangers bonded to him by blood. In the beginning, he’d refused to allow his dual life to shatter the peace he and Oenone had built together. And then the gods had blessed them with a son, Corythus.

  He recalled the day of his son’s birth. Corythus had wrapped his tiny fingers around his own. Paris’ heart had filled with contentment. He’d smiled at his wife, tears glistening in his eyes thinking how small his son was. He remembered Oenone’s laugh when he’d compared the babe to a calf. At that moment, feeling the slight weight of the tiny child in his arms, he could never have imagined anything existing, in the heavens or on the earth, with power enough to draw him from Oenone or his son.

  But his duties as a prince of Troy slowly stole his days. The shining citadel beckoned with its golden finger of promise, reminding him of his royal blood. Raising bulls and bull leaping had been all he’d known. Hektor saw to it that he’d began training with a sword and shield. His skill with a bow, the natural weapon of a bull herder, wasn’t enough for a prince. And after a time, he’d found his old life with Oenone less satisfying. His simple desires began to give way to palatial tastes. As Troy became the home of his heart, he visited the sacred woods less frequently, until hardly at all. But, Aphrodite’s promise haunted him whether in the city or in the woods. When Oenone had warned of war, those many years ago, he’d been confident that it was simply a wife’s worry.