The image of her dream flashed again, haunting her, etching its brutality into her waking memory and she struggled to shake it free. The dream had awakened her darkest and most dreaded fear. The loss of the two unborn children after Hektor had pained her heart and all but destroyed her. With each loss, she had prayed for mercy from the gods. But it wasn’t from the gods she reached for strength. Without Priam’s love, she knew she would’ve surely faded into the shadows and never recovered. Only recently had she even dared to hope that this child would come to the light as another proud young prince for Troy. She imagined Hektor, her eldest son, and his younger brother, the one kicking her ribs, striding side by side into golden fields...
“What is it my wife?” King Priam’s voice was rough with sleep and soothed Hecuba from across the room. She watched the dark outline of her husband’s body as he lit a bedside oil lamp, its glow a floating orb of light against the purple night as he walked to her side offering her the reassurance of his company.
“It is nothing, my love. The child is restless.”
“You and our son will catch a chill.” He stated matter-of-factly, as he stepped behind her, wrapping a shawl around Hecuba’s shoulders. Priam pressed his chest against her back encircling her roundness in the hollow of his arms, his hands reaching for the familiar curves of her widening waist and heavy breasts. The king’s lips brushed against the nape of her neck and his warm breath tickled as he spoke, “You are too tempting without a covering.”
“Surely, one of your concubines would please more than I.”
“None that I desire more than my sweet Hecuba.”
Hecuba slapped Priam’s arm. “Leave me be.”
“We are no strangers to these discomforts are we, my love?”
Hecuba reluctantly accepted the tradition that as Queen of Troy, she would never be the only woman in her husband’s life. The king’s councilors had urged him to take more wives and concubines after she’d lost the children after Hektor. Custom, after all, decreed that the king of Troy should have as many children as possible to secure the royal line and breed strong, valiant Trojan warriors. As king, Priam must father as many sons in his lifetime as possible. In these moments of weakness and self-doubt, she reminded herself that he’d chosen her for love, not simply lust. He proved his absolute loyalty by sharing his royal bed only with her, his queen, every night without fail. No concubines or other wives desecrated their private chambers. Priam never remained long in the arms of another woman after mating. He always returned to her freshly bathed. She had never caught the lingering scent of another woman on her husband’s skin or dress. He made sure her heart felt safe, and she returned his love in full measure without reservation.
“I had a dream, Priam. It frightened me,” she finally admitted.
“It is not unusual to have troublesome sleep when you are with child. You should know that. You worried incessantly when you carried Hektor.”
She knew he’d carefully avoided any reference to their shared loss. “This was different, Priam. This felt real. I could smell the smoke. I heard myself screaming, and the horrible wailing from below the palace.”
“Consult Iphicrates in the morning, if it will ease your mind. Now, come to bed, wife. I grow cold.” Hecuba turned in his arms, catching the mischievous gleam in his eye. She smiled up at him. She couldn’t help herself. He may complain of chilled skin, but his cock throbbed with the heat of desire.
“You will keep me with child until I am old and gray.”
He stung her buttocks with a firm slap. “That would not be such a bad thing.” He lifted his pregnant wife in mock protest and carried her to bed. Despite her giant belly, she wrapped her legs around his still narrow waist. He growled into her neck, biting and kissing her. She responded with equal enthusiasm nipping the square of his chin. She grabbed his curly black hair at the nape of his neck pulling his head closer so her teeth could find his earlobe, then she kissed softly down his neck, surprising him with a rough bite on the shoulder. He untangled her legs from his waist and lay her down against the pillows.
“You are a playful woman,” he laughed. “And you will pay for assaulting your king so harshly.”
Hecuba laughed, “Take your payment.”
Priam settled several pillows behind her. He moved between her legs on his knees and pushed the silken folds of her gown passed her thighs exposing her sacred cross. He smiled down at her. Hecuba’s skin heated under his passionate gaze. Priam bent down and kissed the insides of her thighs, nibbling her soft flesh, moving his kisses to her center until she begged him to stop, squeezing her knees around his head.
“Now, I will take your treasure,” he said, sliding his body up between her legs. He plunged his desire deep inside her. He moved with deliberate pace until Hecuba dug her fingers into his shoulders begging for him to quicken his love making. She wrapped her legs around his thighs urging him faster. When her pleasured moans echoed across the chamber, Priam quickened his pace roaring his pleasure over hers. They collapsed together, their legs tangled in the linen. With a content sigh, Priam collapsed on his side and fell back into an easy sleep.
IN THE MORNING, Hecuba summoned the royal seer. Sleep had eluded her, even after engaging in rigorous love making with her husband. Any other night and she would have fallen quickly into a deep slumber, but the dream had chased her in the darkness, stirring up worry and concern with each passing hour.
Every day the routine remained the same. Her attendants brushed her dark hair arranging intricate curls or braids pinned with precious metals and pearls and gemstones to match her garments. They brought her fresh bread with olive oil, fruit and salted dried fish. She thought it strange how the mere smell of a fig could bring her to nausea yet salted fish made her salivate with hunger.
“My lady, he is here,” Tessa interrupted Hecuba’s silence. The maid servant had served in Hecuba’s father’s house, proving her steadfastness and loyalty. When she’d married Priam, Tessa had been sent to live with her in Troy. Hecuba decided long ago that only the most trustworthy of slaves should attend her as queen.
“Let him in, then leave us,” Hecuba said.
“As you desire, my lady.”
Iphicrates entered with the scent of incense trailing behind him. His robe swept the marble floor as he breezed through the doorway. This morning in particular his presence unnerved Hecuba. His divinations almost always came to fruition. Iphicrates’ ability as a dream interpreter had gained him to the king’s attention. After an extended period of trials, Iphicrates assumed the mantle as chief royal diviner. The smoky sweetness of temple incense nauseated queen, she pressed her palm against her stomach trying to calm the discomfort. Sweat dampened the nape of her neck as she recalled her dream. Hecuba began to doubt whether she should share the contents of her nightmare with anyone, let alone Iphicrates. I don’t want to know. What good can come from knowing? Perhaps, I am better not knowing. It is most likely nothing. But, even now she couldn’t deny the vividness of the dream. The blazing images frightened her.
“I am here to serve you, my queen. The king informed me you have had a troubling vision.”
“A dream.”
“Dreams rarely cause us to lose sleep if they have no meaning. What other purpose would the gods have to enter our dreams, if not to warn through vision?” Iphicrates replied.
Hecuba pressed her hands together. Her throat tightened around the words she feared to utter. Concerns for her unborn child’s safety filled her with dread. She couldn’t bear it if she lost another child. She didn’t want to hear the words. Her chest tightened painfully under her breastbone.
“Go ahead, my lady, release your dream from its cage.”
She inhaled, choking slightly on the stench of incense. She whispered hoarsely, “I lay on the bed. In labor.”
The queen’s chin quivered ever so slightly, but Iphicrates missed nothing and noted the small sign of panic and grief. He knew full well the trials Queen Hecuba had faced in recent years. “
Go on. Tell me everything.”
“There was difficulty delivering the child. As if he lodged unmoving in the birth canal. A burning sensation began to fill me. I heard a woman crying for me to push. Push the child out.”
“Continue.” The seer’s brow knitted into tight rows of wrinkles. He contemplated his queen’s words carefully, the meaning emerging like a dusty cloud on a distant horizon. His mind tumbled one word over the other polishing an interpretation like a precious stone.
“I pushed the child out. But it was no child. I beheld a burning log…it was hideous. And I screamed myself awake.”
Iphicrates stood silent for many moments as the vision uncloaked itself layer by layer. He took in the smell of charred wood, then the stench of burnt flesh. Gray smoke clouded his vision, blurring his natural sight opening up his prophetic inner eye. As the hazy ethereal mist faded, Iphicrates’ eyes filled with tears that did not spill. The queen’s dream prophesied a dreadful future for Troy. The remedy pushed to the surface by Apollo’s golden hand called that a drastic rite be carried out. He wiped the unshed tears on the back of his hand with a quick flourish. He hoped his life would be spared when his revelation met breath.
“Well?” Hecuba inquired gently, fearfully.
“My queen,” he started and stopped. “This is best discussed in the presence of the king.”
Hecuba exhaled her exasperation. She narrowed her eyes contemplating the seer’s motives. She was angry at her earlier vulnerability and that she’d allowed him to observe it. Hecuba vowed to remember his shrewd manner. “Tessa! Fetch the king at once.” A small metallic click of a door latch told Hecuba her loyal chamber maid had heard and obeyed her command. Bless that woman for her watchful ears and eyes. “You may as well sit, Iphicrates.”
The seer eyed a gold encrusted stool but didn’t sit.
“I will permit it.” The queen made a graceful indication toward the stool. “I insist.”
Moments lingered over long awaiting the king, and Hecuba suppressed a heavy sigh, as dread scurried up her spine like a scorpion searching for the precise spot to drive its stinger home. Hecuba caressed the swell of her belly, her hands finding thin comfort in the heavy roundedness of her body. The baby kicked its presence into the waiting doom. I know little one. I know. She cradled her hands beneath her belly to hide the shaking as her blood shivered through her veins. When Hecuba thought she would scream from waiting, Priam burst through the door, his voice booming into the polished chamber.
“What news Iphicrates? Is my wife well? Is all well with our son?” With less than seven strides, he crossed the room. Iphicrates hurried to stand and scrape low before his king.
“My lord,” the seer stumbled for the right words. “There is no easy way to tell you this.” The prophet’s courage faltered in Priam’s presence. “Perhaps, I should put more thought into my divination.”
“The accuracy of your prophesying has not been called into question. Speak what you have foreseen. We will endure what words spill forth.”
“I think perhaps you cannot,” Iphicrates uttered.
The king growled. “Speak.”
Iphicrates exhaled the rest in one hurried breath, “The burning birth represents the doom that follows this child.” He watched the queen’s eyes widened as he continued. “The smoke represents the doom of Troy. The unborn child, this prince, will herald the annihilation of our city. Because of him, Troy will burn to the ground.”
Priam nodded his head in understanding, his pain hidden behind the mask of a king. “Go, Iphicrates. I will hear no more.”
“My lord.” The seer bowed low again full of apology. “You must hear all.”
“Your dark words steel my joy seer. What more can you say than this?” Priam asked.
Hecuba’s tears flowed freely now, soaking her cheeks in salty rivers. “There must be some other meaning than this? It cannot be as you say.”
“You must take the child as soon as he’s born and…,” Iphicrates’ voice trailed off. What he needed to say might get him killed. Messengers bearing tidings of lesser consequence often found themselves with their heads detached from their necks. “All who seek do not receive words of comfort. They only bristle when my words do not suit them.”
“Do what?” demanded Priam. “What are you saying?”
The last two words croaked from the seer’s mouth, “Kill him.”
“No!” Hecuba roared like a lioness. “No!” She still refused to believe what she’d heard. She wished now that she’d kept her dream to herself and told neither Priam nor the seer. Why? Why did I not listen to my first instinct? “He’s wrong. He must have the signs wrong.”
Priam looked to the seer for assurance. Iphicrates lowered his eyes. He had spoken. He stood silently praying that Apollo would save him should Priam decide to take a blade and open his throat.
“Speak to no one of this. Or I will have your tongue cut out,” the king commanded.
Iphicrates uttered not a single word, nor did he create even the slightest noise as he backed out of the room. He liked his tongue just where it lay—in his mouth behind his teeth.
When the seer left, Hecuba flung herself on the bed and sobbed. She curled her knees up as far as they would go and wrapped her arms around her belly. Her every instinct told her to protect the child growing inside her. The child wasn’t even born and Fate already declared his life would bring only misery and death. The unfairness stabbed at her heart. The revelation of the unwelcomed words suffocated her hopes and dreams for this second son.
Priam sat next to his wife in silence. He didn’t know if words existed with enough power to ease the burden and grief of the divination. As king, he knew what the prophecy demanded, as a father and husband; he didn't know if he could actually carry out what Iphicrates said the gods demanded. What if the seer is wrong? I will have killed my son for nothing. But, if that old man is right…we all suffer and Troy burns.
Priam stroked his wife’s brow with a gentle hand. In the moment, he saw no need to force his wife into acceptance of this omen, not just yet. “Hecuba?”
“Why our son, Priam? Why would the gods burden a child with such a heavy Fate? He is to be a prince of Troy.”
“I suggest we remain unmoved by Iphicrates’ words. Trust me, my love, I will cut out more than his tongue should he speak of this to anyone outside the temple. Let us hold hope he is mistaken. I will allow no harm to touch our son…if it can be helped.” Priam’s duty and his love tore him into equal halves. The gods were never concerned with fairness, only obedience and homage. It didn’t feel like much of a choice. The gods used humans for their own amusements, and sometimes their humors fell nothing short of cruelty. “Sleep, my dear. Rest. I’ll return this evening.”
“Where are you going?” Hecuba asked
“To seek wiser counsel than my own.”
“You must not let anything happen to our son.”
“I will have Tessa bring Hektor to you. Rest first. Compose yourself. No need to worry the boy.”
Priam walked quickly to the door. Hecuba heard him thundering directives in the hall. She knew his concern for her was paramount in his heart. She also knew that Priam would decide their fates as king, not as husband or father. She knew her husband’s loyalty would always lay with his first mistress, the city he ruled over, Troy. Grief consumed her and she slept.
“MAMA? MAMA WAKE up now.” Little Hektor’s face peered over the edge of his mother’s bed. He put his chubby hand on her arm. “Mama?”
Hecuba opened her eyes to see her eldest child. Hektor was a glorious boy. His eyes shone like two polished stones of lapis lazuli, a gift from the gods from her family’s side. The rest of him exuded Priam’s stock. Black curls framing a rounded face with a recognizable square jaw waiting for age to take form. He inherited the slight dip in the middle of his tiny chin from his father’s side and the bump of Priam’s strong nose already revealed itself on Hektor’s face. Hecuba loved her son’s contagious lopsided smile th
e most. Whenever Hektor asked his father why they both shared the same chin, Priam regaled him with stories of how the gods touched all those of true royal blood with the same mark. A mark of honor. The mark of the princes and kings of Troy. Hecuba saw nothing but complete and utter perfection in her first born son.
She gently placed a hand over his. “I am awake now, Hektor. Tell me, what have you been doing all morning?”
He lifted his brow, rounding his eyes as large as possible. “I was in the stables with Xenos. Helping with the horses.”
“As a prince should. What else did you do?”
Hektor’s face lit up. “I rode Ares.” He took pride in his first horse. Priam purchased the stallion as a colt from the southern Troad where the finest war horses were bred. The colt’s sleek obsidian coat and the luminous white crescent stamped on its forehead set him apart from all the other colts in the royal stable. Hektor and Ares had become inseparable. Life existed this way for the princes of Troy. The Trojan tradition of breaking horses was a gift admired far and wide, reaching even across the storming seas. Some worlds revered their fast ships and others their monuments stretching toward the heavens, but the Trojans venerated their magnificent horses. A warrior’s worth extended to the mount he rode into battle. Honor and nobility bonded the rider and the steed. And for a sacred few, the god Apollo gifted the ability of communicating directly with the majestic beasts by whispering secret words into their ears. The gift had not come to Hektor, but she had hoped it might be granted the son she now carried, but the seer’s words were slowly turning her prayers to dust.
“And how is mighty Ares?”
“He grows strong, mama. He ate all the oats I carried to him.”
Song of Princes (Homeric Chronicles #1) Page 2
