by JJ Hilton
Indeed, such was Hector’s skill in the arena, and so wise was his talk of tactics and battle, that King Priam and his council appointed him General of the Armies of Troy. The honour was a great one and, though he would be advised by his brothers Helenus and Diephobus, the people knew that it was by Hector that the highest accolade had been won.
A feast was thrown in honour of Hector’s new titles and Andromache sat merrily by his side, feeling joyous just to be in his presence and to share in his happiness and his mirth.
That night as the couple enjoyed the throes of passion, Andromache promising Hector the gift of a child in celebration of his new honours, the forgotten queen, Andromache’s mother, alone and bedridden in her small chambers, breathed her last breath. With this, an unknowing Andromache was silently bestowed the title of Queen of Cicilian Thebes, as the last of the royal family, and though she did not feel the weight descend upon her, a great responsibility had now been placed upon her.
* * *
As Queen of Thebes, Andromache’s mother was mourned respectfully as befit her position, but Andromache knew that nobody grieved in this city for her beloved mother. They wore black gowns and bowed their heads respectfully as Andromache passed, but she could see in their eyes that they did so only out of duty and not out of sadness. Even Hector, who consoled his wife in the midst of her grief, did not share in her woe, for he had not known the queen. Since she had arrived in Troy she had not left her chambers, not sent a gift to her daughter to celebrate their wedding, nor joined them at any feasts. The people of Troy knew her even less for she had only passed through the city once, hidden beneath blankets as she rode on the back of a cart, dragged by Axion and his two men.
Iliana and Ilisa shared her grief, and so it was in her chambers, apart from Hector as he trained or held council, that she felt she could truly share her tears for her mother. Philomena, though she had bonded well with the two sisters, had never known the queen and so she busied herself with changing the sheets and washing the silks, giving them time to grieve alone.
As was tradition, her mother’s body was to be burned on a huge pyre along with her worldly treasures and Andromache was to make the journey to Thebes where the ceremony was to take place. Andromache had insisted upon this; her mother would have wanted to make the final trip home.
Hector and Diephobus were to travel with her, though she did not like the company of the sly prince, Andromache made no protest.
The journey was so different from the one which had brought her to Troy; she remembered her mother lying helpless with grief on the back of the cart, Axion commanding them to keep going, her maids crying in their sleep with the fresh memories of the sacking of Thebes at the hands of Achilles. Now a plush litter carried Andromache back to her home, which was slowly recovering from the attack.
She thought of Achilles often as they travelled. He had slain her father and her brothers and she held him responsible for her mother’s death too. She willed herself not to think of the warrior, but he entered her thoughts unbidden, and she hated him with every inch of her being.
Cilician Thebes was much as she remembered when they passed through its streets to the now abandoned palace at its centre. The townspeople gathered to welcome her, but they did not smile and wave, but wept for their fallen queen. There was no sign of the attack that had taken so much from her, Andromache thought, the burnt houses had been rebuilt, the fallen had gone to the afterlife.
The palace was empty and an air of neglect hung heavy in its deserted chambers. Axion, who had accompanied her, swept the building and found nothing; all trace of her brothers and father had gone, burnt on pyres by their adoring subjects.
A huge pyre of wood had already been constructed on the outskirts of the city, by the shore, and Andromache’s eyes could not help but linger on it even as she tried to push the thoughts from her mind. She retreated from its sights, into the cellars of the palace, where she and her maids tearfully prepared her mother’s body.
Hector and Diephobus remained upstairs, discussing matters with the elders of Thebes, who had all but run the city in the absence of a ruler.
“Your mother is at peace now,” Iliana said softly.
“She is reunited with your father and your brothers,” Ilisa assured her.
The words soothed Andromache, for she knew it to be true.
As darkness fell, Andromache led the procession of mourners through Thebes and out across the shore to where the pyre stood, black in the growing darkness. Axion and his men carried the queen’s body to the top, and as they clambered down and a torch was set to the wood, Andromache felt Hector squeeze her hand in reassurance.
She watched as the flames took hold of the pyre, spreading with vigour until it her mother’s body was consumed, and the people wept, though her eyes remained dry. She knew that her mother was with her family and she felt eased at the thought.
The flames burned all night and slowly the mourners dispersed, reassured that their queen had passed to the afterlife. Andromache remained, flanked by Iliana and Ilisa, Axion and his men, until the pyre was all but gone and soon enough the darkness became impenetrable as the last embers died.
* * *
It was the following day when Andromache discovered why Diephobus had journeyed with her and Hector to Thebes. She was called to a meeting between the two brothers and a group of Theban elders, whom she recalled from her childhood; these men were wise, but they were not rulers and nor did they have any right to be, she thought as she greeted them each in turn, still weary and tired from grief.
“As you must know, Princess, you are now the sole heir of Thebes,” one of the men said, his beard a snow-white, in contrast to his bald head. He bowed as he approached her, “And so we recognise you as our Queen, and bow to your rule.”
Andromache was nonplussed, for in her grief she had forgotten that as her mother’s sole heiress, the rule of these lands would pass to her. Diephobus stepped forwards, hands clasped in front of his body, and Andromache turned to him, weary of what words might come forth.
“I beg to differ, sir, but the princess has since been married to my dear brother,” Diephobus said, his tone placatory, but his manner suggesting otherwise. Andromache was once again reminded of her distrust of the man she must called brother. The elders exchanged looks and Andromache wondered if they too distrusted him.
“That is so,” agreed one, nodding.
“And as such, as I am sure you are aware, her inheritances are also my brother's to share in accordance with the marriage laws of this land,” Diephobus continued, eliciting more weary looks from the elders. “She is our most beloved princess in Troy now, and her place in the city will surely be missed if she were to return to rule over Thebes.”
“She is our queen,” one of the elders countered, “And her place is –”
“Her place is with her husband,” Diephobus cut him off, scowling at him, eyes flashing, before he remembered himself and feigned a smile for them. “Hector is heir to Troy, one day to be king of our great city, and as such the princess must remain at his side. It would be unseemly to allow her to remain in Thebes, parted from her husband, and after so recently being wed. For how can they hope to produce an heir if parted in this way?” Diephobus held up his hands in question and the elders murmured amongst themselves, at a loss as to what could be done to overcome such a problem. “My father, King Priam, in his wisdom, has offered a solution,” Diephobus pressed on, “That perhaps another could rule in her stead. Maybe someone from her new family, a Trojan royal.”
“The Trojan royal family have no right to rule over Thebes,” one of the elders protested at once. “King Eetion would never have sanctioned such a –”
“Alas, you mistake my words,” Diephobus feigned horror at offending him, “It would be a person of dear Andromache’s choosing who should rule in her place. Of course, all decisions would pass through her, but the day-to-day ruling of such a small city need not trouble a princess of such importance in the k
ingdom of Troy –”
“And who do you propose should be this figurehead?” an elder asked.
“There are so many of brothers and sisters who would be honoured to take such a position,” Diephobus said airily, “Perhaps, as I am already here, I could, in the interim –”
“You fancy yourself King of Thebes?” the elder asked, shaking his head. “That would never do.”
“Brother, you speak the truth,” Hector said, stepping from Andromache’s side to the centre of the room, and all eyes fell upon him at once. Though the elders may have regarded Diephobus with uncertainty, they did not do so with Hector. Hector turned to Andromache, his face as earnest as always, “But if my wife wishes to rule over Thebes, she may do so.”
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 fou
nd 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.
Chapter Three
The Return of Paris
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.
