Song of Princes (Homeric Chronicles #1)

by Janell Rhiannon

“Apollo’s will must be obeyed.”

  “Apollo? Did he strike the child with some malady?”

  “No.”

  “Then, what happened, my lady? I beg you tell me, as my heart breaks for you both with your silence.”

  “To put the truth to words would not make it less painful,” Hecuba whispered against her palm.

  “My lady...” Tessa’s voice failed her. She imagined that the child had died and been whisked away. The queen had lost two children after Hektor, but she couldn’t believe that the gods would be so cruel as to take this one as well.

  “Who knows why the gods truly do anything?” groaned the queen, as if the very words pained her as she spoke. “Do not ever speak of him again. His existence is best forgotten.”

  Tessa stepped back from Hecuba hiding her horror and disbelief behind her hand. “The gods give and take what they wish and we mortals suffer.”

  “Yes,” murmured Hecuba, as a fresh wave of grief washed over her. “Please, leave me.”

  Tessa decided against further efforts of consolation. What balm exited for the broken heart of a mother? What words or nourishment could fill the emptiness of the circle of a mother’s arms where a child should be? There is nothing I can do for her now. Gods be merciful to the child, this prince who would be forgotten by decree. Tessa left the queen weeping in bed. I’ll try again this evening.

  IN ORDER TO reach the rolling hills that formed the wide base of Mount Ida, Agelaus followed the Scamander River across the boggy plain, where the famous wild horses of Troy roamed. The jostling and swaying of walking kept the infant from crying. In fact, he hadn’t heard even the slightest whimper from the prince the entire journey. Except for the occasional gusts of wind and Agelaus’ occasional humming, the long trek to the sacred slopes proved a quiet venture. This was the first time, and he prayed his last, he’d be ordered to expose an infant. He knew he must obey or face a nasty death, but still he doubted he could do it. He walked until the sun passed its zenith and hovered midway in the western sky. Agelaus traveled along a small dirt trail worn through the weeds and grasses that followed the river. Soon the sacred mountain rose up before him and the path became rockier and uneven.

  In late afternoon, he reached a place where the trees began to grow more sparsely. Agelaus stopped and untied the swaddling backpack. The child who’d slept the entire morning hike was now awakened by being untied and removed from his comfort. The baby’s whimper turned to a loud wail. The newborn’s cry echoed up into the trees and into the clear sky. Startled birds flew from the brush, a hare scampered away leaving its own dust trail behind it. Agelaus set the prince down on the ground beneath the base of an ancient tree. He stared at the little nobody as his eyes filled with pitiful tears. He knew if he didn’t do as commanded, his own family would be forced to pay a high price, one that might require blood. The situation pitted his loyalty and obedience against his nature. It was a battle Agelaus lost either way.

  “I’m sorry little prince. I’ve got my own family to worry about.” He looked up to the sky hoping to find Apollo or Zeus flying down to stop him, but saw only the beauty of blue heavens. “May the gods forgive me.”

  He walked away as fast as he could with the child’s cry echoing in his ears. After a few moments, the sound of the little prince faded into the surrounding hillsides and groves. Guilt filled Agelaus’ heart all the way home. The only solace he permitted himself rested in the knowledge that he had done as commanded. Artemis, have some mercy on this child. Save him if you can from wild beasts.

  ARTEMIS LISTENED TO the cries of the abandoned newborn and the herdsman’s desperate prayer. Intervention by the gods appeared as answered prayer for mortals. A whim, a call to protect destiny, a plea from a loyal worshipper all sounded the same in the ears of the gods. They did as they pleased or as directed by the Fates. Artemis responded not because Agelaus asked for her help, but because it fell to her by decree of Zeus, to preserve the destiny the Fates declared for this child before the age of men had even begun, when their souls still swirled in the stars.

  Artemis knew that Apollo took as much pleasure as any of the gods in watching mortals’ weave their lives into complicated webs tangled with fear and self-doubt. The baby’s royal parents sought to outwit the prophecy and heed Apollo’s misleading decree. By killing the infant, they hoped to break the chain of events culminating in a brutal end for Troy. When the seer, under Apollo’s influence, demanded the child be murdered to save Troy, the sun god’s intention was to save the city that revered him. But not even the gods can defy the Fates. It fell to Zeus to rectify the course. So, he sent Artemis to task ensuring destiny’s thread continued unaltered, for Troy’s destiny was inextricably linked with the child.

  She first inspired Priam with an icy whisper to call Agelaus forth. He did so without reservation, even believing the idea his own. Artemis knew all along that Agelaus’ faith could be wielded in fate’s favor. The prince would never be safe with his parents, or in the palace or anywhere in Troy as long as it was believed he brought the doom of their city. Eventually, someone would attempt to take his life to spare Troy. Eliminating the seer could spare the child for a season or two, but eventually, threats would rise anew. Removing the child from his parents was the only way to save him so he could fulfill his destiny. But, neither she nor Zeus had counted on Agelaus’ fear of disobeying his king. She didn’t believe he would actually leave the infant, until he actually did it. Mortals lose backbone too easily.

  So, Artemis flew from Olympus to the newborn Trojan prince who bore no proper name. Passing through clouded skies, Artemis transformed her goddess silhouette into her totem bear skin. She forced her back into a rounded hump, pulling her arms and legs squat. Her regal neck pulled deep into her expanding chest making the final twist into a bear. All appearance of goddess vanished except for the magical cloak of silver fur as her paws hit the earth.

  The abandoned child lay sprawled on the dirt. He had cried and squirmed his way from the safety of the bunting. Dust caught in his thin tears smudging his tiny cheeks. His little belly ached for something with no relief. His hazy blue eyes were incapable of focusing on the dark form blocking the blinding light of day.

  As the silver bear sauntered its bulky form up to the child on wide padded paws, the filthy infant stretched out his tiny palm toward the shadow. Silver paws gently scooped up the pathetic child. The goddess-bear placed him on her breast and he suckled her rich milk until his limbs went slack with warmth and peaceful slumber. Everyday for nine days and nights, the gleaming beast came to feed and care for the child, all the while sending Agelaus bad dreams and ominous signs. Artemis knew the herdsman eagerly bent his ear toward the gods like a big-headed sunflower turns to the heat of the sun, striving to live a pious life. She began insidiously imposing her will into his mind after he turned his back on the forsaken child. Fate demanded the demise of Troy and Agelaus would play his part, as would the child despite Apollo’s interference for love of Troy and Agelaus’ fear of retribution.

  FOR DAYS, SLEEP refused to come. Dark shadows crept into the corners of his dozing eyes to startle him awake. Haunting cries of a newborn filled his ears drowning out the sounds of the ordinary day. On the tenth day, Agelaus woke drenched in sweat again.

  “What’s wrong?” Lexias asked groggily.

  “The cattle keep dying in my dreams,” he whispered into the dark, fearful the gods plotted to strike him dead or worse. “I see myself walking around their carcasses. What do you think it means?”

  Lexias rolled over. “That I shall never sleep again.”

  “Are children not innocents? He showed no deformity,” Agelaus agonized.

  “I know. I know. We will never know. Be satisfied, husband. Go back to sleep. None of it is our concern.”

  “Lexias?”

  “What now, Agelaus?”

  “Can you keep your lips sealed tightly with a secret?”

  Lexias sat up. “What do you mean ‘a secret’?”

/>   “About the child.”

  “If you intend on telling me the child is your bastard and you left him out to rot in the sun—”

  “Lower your voice woman,” Agelaus hissed. “The child isn’t mine.” His voice conspiratorial now. “He is the son of Priam.”

  “You mean...,” she dug her fingers into her husband’s shoulders and pulled his head close to hers. “As in a son of king Priam?”

  “Yes.”

  Lexias shook him. “By Apollo! You must fetch the babe!”

  “Apollo commanded Priam do this. I doubt he cares at all for the child.”

  “The gods! The gods! What do they do but rain misery on us? What good are the gods?” Lexias scoffed.

  His wife’s disbelief shook his security. “Keep your voice down, woman. They may hear you.”

  “You need to get that baby.”

  “Are you certain, Lexias? Once done, it can’t be undone.”

  “The child may already be dead! Most likely is. We must provide proper burial. Lessen your part in this affair...if the queen should change her mind….if the king should regret his decision…perhaps you will be spared.”

  Agelaus grabbed his wife’s arm. “Me? Be spared?”

  “Ouch. Let go husband.”

  “Explain your words.”

  “You’re so concerned about the gods, you haven’t thought about the world we live in, the world of men.”

  Agelaus sat bolt upright, veracity dawning quickly on him. “By the balls of Zeus, you speak truth. I must do what I can. Perhaps it may all come to nothing, but if it should turn the other way…” Agelaus closed his eyes against such imagined punishments. “Are you certain Lexias?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  A rosy dawn veil swept across the sky as Lexias packed her husband a hearty lunch of flat bread, sweet purple grapes and a hunk of wrapped goat cheese. She filled his worn leather flask with a mixture of tart wine and water.

  Lexias kissed her husband on the cheek and sent him on his way. “Travel with care, my dear.” The chores of feeding all the penned calves, milking the goats, and grinding grain for bread called for her attention. If she had spare time in the afternoon, she would card wool and weave in the shade. Her brooding husband had proved of little use these last several days around the farm. His worrying made him ill and made her impatient. She reasoned the tragedy was not her husband’s fault. He did the bidding of his king, but he certainly did it against his will, against his heart. Punishment would be handed the man who disobeyed a king, or a king who disobeyed a god. Agelaus was cleared of the first. He obeyed his king avoiding a death sentence. Only the gods knew the truth of Priam’s heart and what secrets he held there, so any fault of the king’s lay between him and the gods. If a king disobeyed a god, an entire kingdom might crumble to dust and ash. Lexias sighed and looked up at the climbing sun, sweat matting a few stray tendrils of her hair to her neck and face. She wiped her forehead on her sleeve. Let Agelaus do what he must and be unstained. “Quit these morbid thoughts woman. Get to your goats,” she said to herself. She gave one last glance upwards and went about her day, her thoughts at war in her mind as she worked.

  THE PATH ALONG the Scamander passed by faster than before beneath Agelaus’ feet. His anxiety and worry pushed him at a frantic pace. He didn’t stop to eat the entire way there. His stomach twisted and complained, but he pressed forward feeling that every moment he lingered might negate his late effort. The herdsman’s head pounded as the heat of Helios rose with each passing hour in the clear blue sky. Sweat trickled into the corners of Agelaus’ mouth and stung his eyes. He trudged forward undeterred, his mind set stubbornly to purpose that he would at least find the infant to bury it, easing his guilt for his part in its death with a proper burial. King Priam would never know.

  Agelaus recognized the terrain as he neared the area he’d abandoned the infant. He blinked the heat from his eyes, catching a flash of silver in the sunlight. He froze in fear when a silver-furred bear emerged from a small patch of brush ahead of him. He hadn’t thought to bring a weapon of any kind. He stayed back far enough hoping the animal wouldn’t catch his scent. In horror, Agelaus watched as the bear headed straight for the very spot he’d left the baby. Horrifying images of the bear sucking the little bones dry filled his head. He scratched at the prickling sweat on his neck. His heart thudded with remorse in his ears. He willed himself to stop breathing so hard, fearful that the bear would hear him and eat him, too.

  Then, in the midst of his panic, a woman’s gentle singing carried on the breeze hypnotizing Agelaus with its sweet melody where he hid. He didn’t understand her words but fell to peace inside. It struck him then, this is the language of the gods! In the temples, he’d heard this divine tongue spoken by the priests and priestesses when under the influence of the gods. What is a woman doing this far up the sacred mountain? He pressed closer to the brush. The lullaby faded to soft feminine speech. A twig snapped under his foot. He froze. The voice stopped. Agelaus, wide eyed and certain he was about to die, watched as the silver bear reemerged from the brush. Its shaggy silver coat shimmering in the bright sun. The bear’s glittering black eyes found Agelaus’ face and then lumbered away. Could it be? Fearful for the child, he rushed to the spot where he’d left the prince. What he saw stunned him in his tracks.

  There, lying as peaceful and serene as ever, lay the carefully swaddled baby. He was unharmed by the bear. “It must have been Artemis...the bear...Lexias will never believe this.” Agelaus stooped to pick the child up. “I’m sorry little one to have left you here.” The baby felt much heavier than before. He undid the cloth wrapping and checked the baby for injuries. “Why, you’re fat!” He pulled the loin wrapping away. “You’re not even soiled!” Agelaus had expected to find a carcass or bones or some other gruesome remains of the newborn, maybe even nothing at all if a wild animal had dragged it away. The one thing he never expected was to actually find the baby alive, let alone thriving. The herdsman knew in his heart it was a god-sign. He eyed the sky, “Artemis, you’ve set the child in my care. Allow him your protection in my house.”

  He wrapped the baby tightly in the back pack sling. “Well, my little backpack babe,” Agelaus smiled. “That is as good a name for you as any. Paris, yes, that’s what I’ll call you...the little backpack. It’s time to go home. One more mouth to feed won’t break my back.” Fear of discovery unnerved him. He looked around making certain no one spied him, because what he did now was treason and certain death. “I’d better make sure king Priam never even questions my actions or we’re both lost little Paris.” He knew the gods must see and hoped they would take pity on the child as he did. And take pity on him as well.

  THE RETURN HIKE covered miles of quiet farmland and empty spaces. Occasionally, a stray cow or goat crossed his path. Birds flew above looking for freshly sown fields to plunder with eager beaks. When the sun hit its searing zenith, Agelaus began to worry about strangers, or worse, people he actually knew stumbling across him and little Paris. In his rush to retrieve the baby, he’d given little thought to the future or the suspicious talk that would certainly surface. Everyone he did business with knew that Lexias was not with child. How would he explain the sudden appearance of the infant? He began concocting a story as he walked.

  “I am returning with my cousin’s child. She died and…thank you, you’re very kind. Well, Lexias insisted that we care for the orphan. Unusual I know, but you know Lexias...” He practiced the lie over and over, adding a convincing what-can-I-do-about-it shrug. After a mile of practice, Agelaus convinced himself he could answer anyone’s questions.

  It wasn’t long before his resolve was tested. A farmer’s cart lazily approached from the opposite direction. Despite his earlier resolve he jumped off the road to hide behind a tree as the farmer passed. “By the balls of Zeus, I’m such a coward,” he whispered into the tree trunk.

  Just then, a woman’s silver voice rang clearly in his ear with am icy air: You are brave to take this chil
d. Fate is served. He shook off the chill, but the words lingered, ripening like a fig in the hot sun. Brave? Foolhardy, maybe. The words Fate is served weighed ominously in his heart. He as yet had no idea why the child stood condemned before the world. He received no premonitions, no messages about why the child must suffer and die. Then it struck him. He recognized the voice as the same he’d heard when he first saw the silver bear. Agelaus sighed, reluctantly accepting that he’d likely never know why King Priam commanded such a harsh judgment on the child.

  When the farmer’s distance created safety, Agelaus pulled the baby off his back to rest. “Just a few more miles little one. Just a few more miles.” He held his new son in his arms. Holding babies came naturally for him. The brood he and Lexias continued to raise provided all the practice a man needed for gentle fathering. Over the years, Agelaus realized that his temperate prodding and corrections produced the desired actions of his children. The harshness his father lashed upon his backside while he grew to manhood made him seethe with hatred not respect. “Time to get you home to your mother, little Paris. You’ll get a feeding soon enough. Can’t have you bawling in my ear.” Agelaus wrapped the infant securely onto his back again and began the last leg of their journey home. He hoped Lexias wouldn’t feel too over burdened. Sometimes, when he grew exhausted and wished only for rest, his wife still rushed around with wind in her sails. Her vigor amazed him. He hoped she wouldn’t keel over from exhaustion one day leaving him to raise the two, now three, children alone.

  LEXIAS SQUATTED NEXT to a goat for its evening milking. “Come girl. Let’s get it done with.” Lexias placed the pottery jar under the low hanging milk gland. She pushed the backs of her hands firmly into the engorged udder. Fresh warm milk whizzed into the jar. “There’s a good girl.” She repeated the process on the opposite side. “You give the best milk for cheese of all the goats.” She scruffed the goat behind the ears before slapping its hind quarters. The goat skittered off into the herd of nannies. One down, four to go.