Song of Princes (Homeric Chronicles #1)

by Janell Rhiannon

  HEKTOR LOOKED OUT from one of the south facing balconies, down into the streets of Troy. Women carried water to the walkways and steps lining the central plaza to wash the dust from the stone. Garlands of flowers woven into elegant greenery hung from balconies and adorned the main passage to the center of the citadel. His servant had sent word that the wedding entourage from Hypoplakia Thebe had arrived within the upper gates of the citadel and soon the gamos, the day of his wedding, would begin.

  His stomach knotted as he watched the first wagon pull up to the palace entrance below.

  “It is a fine day to take a wife,” Hecuba said behind him.

  Without turning, Hektor said, “Do you think I will make a good husband?”

  “Such a question, my golden prince. Of course. You will be the finest.”

  The morning sun splashed the streets with golden light as the last wagon pulled into the crowded mess of carts and new comers. A heavily veiled figure stepped from a sheltered cart.

  “That is her most likely,” Hektor whispered to his mother.

  “I believe you are correct.”

  “Do you think I have made a wise choice, Mother?”

  “If you have chosen with your heart, you have made a wise decision.”

  “I know not all brides love their husbands. I intend to make her love me.”

  “My sweet, Hektor. You cannot force a woman’s heart. She must give it freely or it means little. If you woo her, Hektor, with gentle words and your fidelity, you will win her.”

  Mother and son watched as the guests entered the through the palace doors below and fell from their sight.

  “And so it begins, my son,” Hecuba said.

  THE MAIDS STRIPPED Andromache of her gown and wrapped her in a soft linen towel. The ritual bathing tub had been moved into the chamber and placed in the center of the room. Her mother and their female attendants gathered chatting softly awaiting the sacred water bearer. The bride stood silently apart from the assembly. The sound of women singing filled the air.

  A giddy servant blurted out, “They’re here!” Within moments the chamber door swung wide as women bearing jars of water carried from the nearest river filed through the door. One by one they emptied their clay jugs into the bath. The final vessel to be poured was carried by Cassandra, priestess of Apollo and Hektor’s sister. Andromache had been warned about her. The priestess nodded to Andromache to step into the cold water.

  The bride dropped her covering to the floor and stepped into the chilly water. Her skin prickled with the cold. She wondered if the rumors were true about Cassandra as the priestess approached. Andromache lowered her body into the water and shivered. Without warning, Cassandra poured the water slowly over her head completely drenching her. She closed her eyes and spat a mouth full of water out. The bride’s eyes flew open at the jarring sound of pottery crashing to the ground. She turned her head to see Cassandra’s horrified face staring at her. Her eyes were wide open and glassy.

  Andromache stood up from the bath and a maid scurried to wrap her in a drying towel. “What is it priestess? Why do you stand so amazed? Speak, you are frightening me.”

  “It is of no use to speak. You will not hear me.”

  “I hear you,” Andromache said with fear rising from her gut, worming its way to her chest.

  Cassandra nodded. “You will be led in chains before the ships,” she warned, tears streaking her face.

  “Before what ships?” Andromache asked terrified.

  “The ships from Achaea.”

  “There are no ships from Achaea here,” a strong female voice echoed through the chamber.

  Andromache turned to see a tall, elegant woman wearing a golden circlet on her head. Her dark hair was curled and arranged so that it spiraled through the golden ring and spilled down her shoulders and back. Her gown was pale blue and sheer. She appeared as a goddess among the assembled females. The bride knew it must be Queen Hecuba.

  “The son of the greatest warrior will lead you in chains from the ruins.” With that pronouncement, the god’s fever left Cassandra visibly slumped.

  “The son of the greatest warrior shall take her away? Hektor? Why should our new daughter have fear of her own husband or son? Cassandra your visions are always askew. Look at what you have done? Frightened the bride with useless prattle,” Hecuba scolded harshly. She spoke directly to Andromache, “My dear, the greatest warrior is my son, your husband, Hektor. Any son of his would be your own. You need never fear from Hektor. Put her words from your mind and be at ease child. She speaks in riddles and provokes fright.”

  Andromache’s lips twitched slightly when she tried to smile at the queen.

  Hecuba clapped her hands. “Bring the wedding gown.”

  Andromache’s mother nodded to the servants to obey the queen. The gown was presented to Hecuba who draped it herself over Andromache’s head and fastened the shoulder broaches. The queen stood back admiring the shimmering saffron folds. “Your mother’s work is stunning,” she smiled. “You are a most fetching creature Andromache of Hypoplakia Thebe.”

  “I thank you, my queen.”

  Hecuba laughed quietly. “You may call me mother as Hektor does. You will be as my own.”

  “As you wish, Mother.” Andromache caught her mother’s gaze and held it with her own.

  “Are you ready to make the walk to Aphrodite’s temple? Hektor will be waiting.”

  “I am, Mother.” Andromache pulled her veil over her head.

  Queen Hecuba motioned the doors be opened. The gathering of women spilled from the room with gowns flowing behind them as if a breeze blew against them. The path to the temple was lined with spectators tossing flower petals and sweet herbs before the procession. Andromache kept her eyes down. Questions about her future rose up and fell away. Will I bear fine sons? Goddess, let him be kind, please. Let him love me.

  As the procession made its way up the glistening white steps to the entrance of Aphrodite’s temple, Andromache’s stomach clenched tightly with apprehension. She couldn’t turn back. She conjured up the conversation Hektor had with her father when he’d brought her family gifts and gold. She thought him old and foreign. He hadn’t revealed any feelings she could discern, although, her parents were certain he would love her. I do not even know what it is to love a man. The procession halted. Hecuba led her forward, still veiled; to the side of a man she knew was Hektor. Through her veil, she could see her father and a man she assumed to be King Priam waiting near the altar.

  The Prince of Troy took her hand and led her to the altar before Aphrodite’s marble image. He reached for a simple clay jar of wine and poured it into a bowl before the goddess’s feet. He took a sharp blade from his belt and grabbed Andromache’s hand. Instinctively, she withdrew her hand and let out a small gasp.

  “It will only sting for a moment. The goddess demands our blood in exchange for her blessing,” Hektor spoke quietly to her, reassuring her that the pain would be slight and quick.

  “I am sorry, my lord. I was unaware...,” Andromache murmured.

  “Give me your hand.”

  The young bride held out her trembling palm. Hektor took it more gently this time. Held the blade above her soft flesh, and then deftly drew the blade across the skin leaving a thin red line. He held it over the bowl of wine until a drop fell breaking the surface tension of the liquid. He released her hand and performed the rite on his own hand.

  “Goddess, we ask that you bring us many healthy children,” Hektor prayed the required words.

  Andromache remained at his side with her hand elevated unsure of what to do about the thin wound. She had nothing to wipe the blood away.

  Hektor took her delicate palm in his hand and pulled a corner of his chiton free to wipe the thin wound. “It will heal over quickly. It is not so deep.” With that, he turned with Andromache at his side and faced their families. Cheers and applause echoed through the chamber.

  King Priam stepped forward embracing his son warmly. Andromache
could see the pride in his eyes for Hektor. “I am most happy for you, my son.”

  “Thank you, Father. I am famished!”

  “Yes! To the great hall! We have a feast to devour!” The king’s voice boomed against the stone walls and columns.

  GOLDEN LIGHT FROM hundreds of oil lamps flooded the great hall of Priam’s palace. Garlands of green olive branches and draping pines adorned walls and tables. Wild flowers and rosemary springs strewn across the floor sent spicy aromas into the air as the guests crushed the stems with their feet. The tall columns were wrapped with ivy and delicate white flowers. Tables were laden with platters of roasted boar and beef, trays of feather dressed foul and bowls of sweet plums and figs stuffed with honeyed goat cheese.

  Flanked by two priestesses of Apollo, Hektor and Andromache were escorted to the statue of the god. His golden figure was adorned with flowers and ivy and his head crowned with sacred laurel. The bride and groom offered food and wine before the deity. Cheers rose from the assembled guests.

  King Priam stretched his arms wide before the guests in the hall. All voices hushed.

  “Family and friends, honored guests. Be seated. Celebrate with me and my queen, the marriage of the Prince of Troy and his bride, Andromache of Hypoplakia Thebe.” A great noise of chatter and applause rose filling the massive chamber with resonating joy as the assembly took their seats. Hektor was positioned at the king’s right hand and Andromache at her father’s side. Very quickly, servants appeared carrying kylikes of wine. Drinking bowls were filled and passed between guests. The clanking of platters and pottery signaled the feasting and merriment had begun.

  The feasting was well underway when a handsome singer stepped forward with his lyre and a stool. He set it down and took position. His fingers expertly plucked the strings bringing forth sweet music. The guests turned in his direction anticipating the wedding song. Hektor hoped his new bride would be pleased with the commission.

  As the minstrel sang, Andromache’s father stood signaling his daughter, as her patriarch for the final time, to stand. She placed her hand in her father’s and he led her before Hektor. The guests clapped their hands to their thighs. Men and women cheered their young prince. Hektor stood acknowledging their presence. The wedding guests hushed as Hektor made his way around the heavy wooden table to stand by his bride’s side. He grabbed her by the waist with a firm hand, while her father feigned resistance. King Eetion spoke the binding words, “Gathered together are the witnesses who will confirm that on this eve I give my daughter, Andromache, to Hektor the Prince of Troy, to have as wife. May you both be blessed with an abundance of children.” He lifted the veil from his daughter’s face. Then, he handed her over to her husband, stepping into her new life.

  “You are as beautiful as I remember,” Hektor said just loud enough for his new wife to hear.

  “Thank you, my lord.”

  The Prince of Troy whisked her from her feet and carried her from the hall to the happy sound of more cheering and laughter. He carried her all the way to the wedding cart that would take them to the house he had prepared for her, for their life together away from the palace.

  Andromache’s mother along with the female relatives and servants began the marital procession with loud weeping and wailing as Hektor tugged on the oxen’s reigns and the heavy beasts lumbered when pulling the cart away. The baker’s boy, adorned with a crown of tender olive branches and almonds, had been chosen to carry the bread basket before the cart. He handed bread to the wedding guests and spectators as he walked with the bride’s family to the nuptial home. Some of the women waved torches about to scare the bad spirits away from Andromache and Hektor on their wedding night. Others carried fruit and wild field violets and sweet smelling roses to bring good fortune, occasionally throwing some at the bride and groom. Several flute players blew happy melodies while the joyful assembly meandered through streets behind the cart.

  “Hold!” Hektor called out. The throng of merry-makers halted. Hektor nimbly jumped from the cart and reached up his hand, assisting Andromache down. Hecuba handed Andromache a torch. Several servants emptied the wagon of the few possessions being towed in the cart, carrying them into the house.

  “Clear the wagon!” Hektor commanded. Everyone stood back as the bride held the flame to the wagon’s axle. The wood smoked until it finally caught fire. “Do not look back, Andromache, for you are now home.” The Prince then lifted his bride, quite by surprise, in his arms and carried her into the house, shutting the door with his foot, sealing them in and alone for the first time. He carried her directly to their bed chamber.

  Andromache trembled as he set her down in the center of the room. She stood like a statue. Hektor realized his young bride must be nervous, so he poured them some wine. He held out the bronze kylix for her to take. “Drink. It will calm you.” Andromache sipped the warm cinnamon spiced wine slowly. Hektor noticed the pulse wildly beating through the vein in her neck. “The entire bowl,” he said. It sounded more of a command than he intended. His young wife drank the wine leaving one small drop on her bottom lip. He leaned forward to kiss it from her mouth. Her lips parted inviting him to move closer. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her harder than before. Hektor tasted the cinnamon and the honey on her tongue. He kissed her deeper. Her body began to soften as he smashed her closer to his hard frame. His wife’s hand began exploring his lower back. Her touch intoxicated him.

  The groom slipped his fingers beneath the shoulder fastenings of her gown and swept the delicate cloth from her shoulders, exposing her breasts. Andromache visibly shook under his gaze. “You are beautiful. You have nothing to fear from me.” Andromache dropped her head as nervous tears filled her eyes. Hektor tilted her chin up so their faces could meet. He kissed each teary eye closed and lifted her in his arms. When she pressed her face against his chest, he was certain she’d feel his heart pounding as he carried her to their marital bed. Gently, he set her down on the soft coverings. Andromache leaned back against the pillows and brought an arm up to cover her bare breasts. Hektor lay beside her and kissed her with great tenderness. He wished to raise a fire in her heart for him, he wished her to burn for his kisses, his touches, his love making. Slowly, her arm relaxed and she turned on her side wrapping her arm around his neck. He pulled her closer.

  When her body arched toward his, he knew she was ready for the necessary consummation of their marriage. He sat up and undid his waist belt and then pulled his tunic over his head. He watched his wife’s cheeks flush with blood at his nakedness. He helped her slip her gown from her body, and then lay her back. He kissed her slowly as he entered her sacred cross. She arched and cried out as he pressed fully into her body. Hektor was careful to move slowly, not wishing to injure her. Andromache’s body soon matched the rhythm he created for them. He smiled into their kiss as her legs shook and her fingers dug into his shoulders. Only then did he release his passion, hoping his seed would take hold and plant a son into her willing body.

  THE BLUSH OF dawn lit the sky as Hektor and Andromache woke to the song of women outside their new home.

  His words brushed lightly against her ear. “How is my wife this morning?”

  “I am well,” she said shyly.

  “You move me, Andromache. As I have not been moved before.”

  “Then, we are the same, my husband.”

  Hektor’s smile widened. “Then you will not mind if I...” His fingers traced a trail to her thighs. “Take you once more before we are forced by that singing to leave our bed.”

  They made love with deliberate slowness, extending their new found pleasure and joy in one another. When they finished, Andromache lay atop him and confessed in a quiet voice, “...I thought you old.”

  He snorted laughter and slapped her bottom. “I am not so old now?”

  She shook her head against his shoulder. “No.”

  “Perhaps I need prove my stamina once more.”

  Andromache giggled into his chest. “I am willing.�
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  PARIS WATCHED FROM across the arena as King Priam welcomed the Prince of Troy with open arms as he took his place with the new Princess. His noticed Queen Hecuba sitting separate from the king. She looked sad to him even at this distance. It was said not all mothers take their son’s marriages with grace. Perhaps she didn’t like losing her eldest son to his new wife. He took note of the woman draped in white standing aloof. He thought it must be the oracle princess. The tall, proud sons of Priam stood randomly facing the games.

  Loud, excited banter filled the air as the crowd’s anticipation of the public ceremony consecrating the Prince’s marriage began. The entire city had been waiting to celebrate the marriage of its prince to his princess. The bull dancing arena was decked in laurel garlands and flowers for the final day of the royal wedding celebration. Paris hoped to win the prize of gold coin to take to Agelaus and Lexias. He’d grown taller and stronger than his older brothers in the last year. He knew his skills with the bulls had also grown superior to almost any of his competitors, so he told himself that he had as good a chance as any to win the entire event. The royal family settled into their seats and Priam signaled the games to begin by raising his right arm and bringing it sharply down across his chest.

  Cassandra eyed the man with dark curly hair jumping elegantly over the decorated bull. Her blood cooled and slowed and her eyes went glassy before they rolled back revealing only the blind whites of her eye balls. She saw a baby wrapped in royal linen being nursed by a silver bear...an older boy caught between bulls in a corral...her own mother weeping endlessly in a dark corner of the palace. When her eyes returned her to the present, she stared hard at the man who had prompted her vision. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t noticed it before, but he bore a striking resemblance to Hektor...and he had the royal cleft in his chin. The image of her mother weeping flashed once more. The Forgotten Prince. He is the Forgotten Prince. My brother. The doom of Troy. He must die. He must die.