Shield of Thunder (23 page)

The death was considered an ill omen for the coming wedding, and an evening of tribute was being arranged by King Priam, to be held in the temple of Poseidon in five days, when all the kings of west and east were hoped to be present. The Mykene king, Agamemnon, had volunteered to speak the words of praise for the departed.

∗ ∗ ∗

The awful knowledge that she was pregnant filled Andromache’s days and sleepless nights with anger and self-loathing. How could she have done something so stupid? How could the gods have punished her so harshly?

She tried to convince herself she had slid into Helikaon’s bed only to follow the advice of the Prophet, putting a warm body next to the dying man to draw him back to life. But Andromache had never been swayed by self-deceit. Almost from the moment she had seen Helikaon on the beach at Blue Owl Bay, she had yearned to be close to him, naked, skin on skin. Even now, with the dreadful consequences of her action hanging over her like a storm bird, she felt the thrill of that moment.

Her maid, Axa, was moving through the apartments, chattering as she gathered up discarded clothing. She was in a happy mood, as she had been throughout the winter. Her husband, feared dead with Hektor, was home again, and Axa’s joy was complete. Her babe was healthy, her man was alive, and the world shone with delight.

“Perhaps the saffron gown today,” she said. “The sun is shining, and I could braid your hair with golden wire. That would catch the light.”

“I want no braid today,” Andromache said. “And the yellow is too bright. Bring me the pale green.”

“You always wear green,” Axa complained. “Did you see the
Xanthos
on the bay yesterday? Perhaps the lord Hektor will come to visit now. The yellow gown will dazzle him.”

“I do not want him dazzled. And he will not come.”

Axa looked puzzled. “You think not?”

Andromache turned toward her. “How many times has he visited his own palace since I have been here?”

“Several times. I saw him once.”

“He came to see Helikaon, and always when I was absent.”

“Oh, I am sure he—”

“Please, Axa, make no excuses. This is an arranged marriage that Hektor obviously does not want. My guess is he will go to his farm and I will not see him until the wedding feast.”

Axa’s face fell. “Oh, you mustn’t think that, my lady. Hektor is a wonderful man. Mestares worships him. He told me Hektor thinks you the most beautiful woman.”

“So beautiful that he cannot bear to spend time with me. Enough of this. You are right—let it be the saffron gown.” Andromache had no wish to wear such a bright color but knew acquiescence would deflect Axa. The plump maid beamed happily and rushed off to fetch the robe.

Andromache walked out onto the balcony. It was still in shadow, but she could see sunlight dappling the city and hear the sounds of workmen preparing the games area. Farther off she saw men building an embankment along the length of the hippodrome, where the chariot and horse races would be held. The city was becoming filled with travelers and contestants eager to win gold in the games. The plain to the north had become a city of tents and hastily built huts.

A feeling of nausea swept over her, and she took a deep breath.

Back on Thera she had walked with the other priestesses on the slopes of the angry mountain, chanting hymns to placate the Minotaur rumbling beneath the ground. She felt now a similar danger. On the surface she was Andromache, virgin princess of Thebe, about to wed the heir to the throne of Troy. But growing within her was her own Minotaur, whose presence, when known, would bring about her destruction.

When Priam discovered her infidelity, he would have her killed. The king, despite his desire for her, could be ruthless. He had in recent years ordered the deaths of several wayward sons. And with her his rage would be towering, for she had spurned his advances on what he would see now as merely the pretext of honor. She would, in his eyes, have sought to fool him. Priam’s ego would not tolerate that.

So what can I do? she wondered. Go to Helikaon? Tell him his dream was no dream at all? Her heart sank. He would seek to protect her and earn the enmity of Priam. Could Dardania’s small army stand against the might of Troy? She knew the answer.

Andromache thought then of Hektor. She could try to seduce him. If she was successful, he would believe the child was his. Even as the thought came to her, she dismissed it. All her life she had believed in honesty, especially between lovers. Andromache had never lied to Kalliope. How, then, could a marriage begin with such a lie? It would sit like poison in the heart. No, there was only one honorable course—go to Hektor, admit everything, and accept what followed as the will of the gods.

Axa returned and helped her into the saffron gown. It was a beautiful dress threaded with delicate golden wire and silver embroidery.

“I am going to take a walk,” she said as Axa knelt down to tie the thongs of her sandals.

“Shall I come with you?”

“No, Axa. I will not need you anymore today. Go home and see your babe.”

“He is growing well,” Axa said, “and he is going to be handsome like my Mestares, not dull and plain like me.”

Andromache stared down into Axa’s moon face and felt a lump in her throat. “Axa, you are not plain. Everything you are shines from your face: your strength, loyalty, love, and courage.”

Axa blushed. “You say the strangest things sometimes, my lady,” she said. “Now, what about gold thread in your hair?”

“No, I shall let it fall free.”

Axa rose and stared at Andromache’s flame-red hair. “The sun has caught it,” she noted critically. “There are golden streaks in it. You should wear a veil more often.”

Andromache laughed, her mood lightening momentarily. “You are never satisfied, Axa. One moment you want to put gold in my hair, and then you complain because it is already there.”

“You know what I mean,” Axa argued. “Only peasant women have such streaks in their hair, because they are out in the sun all day.”

“Then I must be a peasant,” Andromache said. “Now be off with you.”

At the palace gates she saw Cheon sitting quietly on a bench, his glittering bronze helm beside him, his breastplate gleaming in the sunshine. He rose as she approached.

“Are we going to the tomb?”

“No. We are walking to Hektor’s farm.”

“It is a fair distance in this heat, lady. Shall I call for a chariot?”

“I like to walk.”

He said no more, and together they strolled out into the city. Cheon donned his helmet. It was a full-faced helm that, happily for Andromache, made conversation nearly impossible. Cheon led the way through the crowds in the city center, and then through the Dardanian Gate and onto the stone road beyond.

Cheon was right. The walk was long in such heat, and by midday they were still far from their destination. Andromache’s pride would not let her admit her error, and she strode on, sweat staining the saffron robe, her sandals chafing her ankles. Cheon glanced at her.

“If you do not object, lady,” he said, removing his helm, “I would appreciate a halt in the shade.”

She looked at him and smiled. “You are a gracious man, Cheon, and there is not a bead of sweat upon you. And yes, thank you, I would really like to rest awhile.”

He grinned at her, then pointed to a small stand of trees. A white shrine had been set there. Within an alcove there was a statue of a woman holding a bow. Dried flowers bedecked it. Reaching out, Andromache stroked the statue and smiled. It reminded her of Kalliope. Just behind the shrine she heard the sounds of running water. She moved through a screen of bushes and found a stream bubbling over white stones. Kneeling down, she cupped her hands and drank. The water had an indefinable aftertaste that was not entirely pleasant. Cheon stood by, his hand on his sword hilt.

“You are not drinking?” she asked him.

“I am not thirsty.”

She dipped the sleeve of her gown into the stream and dabbed some water to her face, then rose to stand beside him in the shade. “Whose shrine is this?”

“The mother of the wrestler Archeos built it to honor the goddess Artemis. It is said Archeos won more games than any man living.”

“He was a Trojan?”

“No, lady. He was from Samothraki.” He tugged at his ear and seemed about to speak. Then he drew in a breath and stepped away from her.

“What is it you wish to ask?” she said.

“I was wondering why you were going to Lord Hektor unannounced.”

“How do you know I am unannounced?”

“He would have sent a carriage for you and a company of horse.”

“You know him?”

He shook his head. “He has spoken to me, but I do not know him. Great man, though.”

“So everyone keeps telling me.”

He glanced at her, then grinned. It made him seem suddenly boyish. “My brother serves with Hektor. Was with him at Kadesh.”

“Yes, yes, a great warrior. I have heard it all before, Cheon.”

“I wasn’t going to speak of war, lady. All men know Hektor is a fighter. His greatness, though, lies in the small things. He knows the names of his men, the names of their wives. My brother is not an officer. He spoke to Hektor once, as they sat by a stream. He told him of his pregnant wife. When the child was born, Hektor sent a gold cup as a birth gift.” He turned away. “I suppose that it doesn’t sound like much.”

“Yes, it does,” Andromache said. “It would surprise me to learn that my father knew any soldier’s name. He would never consider sending a gift to one.” She stepped out into the sunlight and walked on. Cheon fell into step beside her. A breeze began to blow, and a few puffballs of cloud blocked the sun. As they made their way downhill, it was cooler, the breeze whispering over puddles from the previous day’s rain.

At last they saw the farm and the horse pastures beyond. The main building was old, stone-built, single-storied, and flat-roofed. The three structures around it were timber-built and tall, with wide doors. One was obviously a stable; the other two, Andromache guessed, were either storehouses or barns.

In front of the main house men were trying to catch a pig that had broken through a fence. The beast turned and charged at the men, scattering them. Then it slipped in the mud, rolled over, and collided with the broken fence. In that instant a huge man, bare-chested and mud-covered, hurled himself at the animal. It darted away, and the giant slithered face-first into the fence to loud laughter from his fellows.

Andromache heard their laughter carried on the wind, and her heart lifted. As she and Cheon made their way down the hill, the men formed a semicircle around the pig, trying to herd it back behind the fence. But it ran at them again. This time the mud-covered giant timed his leap better, massive arms circling the pig’s shoulders. It grunted and struggled, but the man pinned it down. Amazingly, he then surged to his feet, the enormous pig in his arms. Slithering in the mud, he staggered into the enclosure.

The others grabbed a fence rail and slid it into position. The man dropped the startled pig, then turned and ran back for the fence. Instantly the pig gave chase. The man reached the fence just ahead of the angry beast and vaulted it. He landed on a slick patch of mud and skidded from his feet. Once more laughter burst out. The man sat up, trying to brush the mud from his face and hair. Then he saw Andromache.

Slowly Hektor climbed to his feet. “This is an unexpected pleasure,” he said.

Andromache did not reply. Her mind fled back to the tent of the seer Aklides, who had predicted the three great loves of her life. The first was Helikaon. The second was the Oak.

“And how will I know him?” she had asked.

“He will rise from the mud, his body caked with the filth of pigs.”

Andromache’s mouth was dry, her head spinning. The now familiar feeling of nausea swept through her. “We need to speak, you and I,” she managed to say.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

ANDROMACHE’S CHOICE

Andromache waited in the cool of the main room, its windows shuttered against the bright sunlight. A young servant brought her a bowl of fruit and a jug of water. Sliced yellow fruit floated on the surface. The girl filled a cup and passed it to her. Andromache thanked her. She was slim and fair, with large blue eyes. For a moment Andromache was reminded of Kalliope. “You are very lovely,” she told the girl, reaching out and stroking her face.

“Thank you, Princess,” the girl replied, and Andromache saw her pupils widen.

How strange are the emotions, Andromache thought. Here I am, about to face my doom, and yet I can feel my blood stirring and the need in me to draw a servant into an embrace. With a soft sigh she turned away from the girl and looked around the room. The furnishings were functional, with not a sign of gilding or engraving. There were three long couches and five deep chairs. On the stone floor was a huge rug decorated with autumnal colors. Despite the lack of adornment, the room had a welcoming feel. Without the burden she now carried, it would be a place Andromache could enjoy.

She sipped her water, trying to think of what to say when the Trojan prince returned from his bath. But her thoughts were clouded, random images intruding: Helikaon crying out in the ecstasy of delirium, Kalliope dancing on the Night of Artemis, herself standing on the upper gallery of the king’s
megaron,
shooting arrows down into the Mykene. So much had happened in these last few months.

And now this. The seer’s vision must have been misinterpreted, she thought. Yes, he had seen this moment—no doubt about it—and had somehow, perhaps, sensed the power of Andromache’s emotions. Yet Hektor could not be a great love of her life. She felt no rush of blood when she gazed upon him, no yearning to touch him, to be close, to feel his lips upon hers.

Moving to the far wall, she gazed up at the shield hanging there. It was an old piece, black oxhide stretched over a wooden frame. There was a white decoration at the center: a leaping stag.

“It was carried by a Thrakian rebel,” Hektor said, entering the room behind her. “He gave it to me. I rather like it. Simple, well made.”

She swung toward him. His golden hair was wet from the bath, and he was dressed in a tunic of pale gold. For a moment it seemed the large room had shrunk, and as he approached her, the size of him was daunting.

“You move very quietly for a big man.”

“I have learned to walk softly around women,” he said with a shy smile.

“Or indeed not to walk around them at all.”

His gaze shifted from hers. “I apologize, Andromache. I have neglected you.”

“It is of no matter. I am here to ask you to release me from this duty of marriage.”

He said nothing but filled a cup with water and drank. The silence lengthened. Andromache had not known what to expect, but she had thought there would be some angry response. Instead he gave a rueful smile and moved to a couch. “Come, sit,” he said gently. “Let us talk awhile.”

“What is there to say?”

Hektor regarded her gravely, and when he spoke, his tone was regretful. “If only it were that simple, I would grant your request in an instant. You are a fine, brave woman, and you deserve far more than I can offer. However, this match was not made by me but by Hekabe and Priam. I am as much bonded to their will as you are. In this we cannot escape our fate, Andromache.”

“It is not a question of escape,” she told him. “I cannot wed you.”

He gazed at her, and she felt the power of his blue eyes. “You love another. I can understand that. Not many of royal birth get to marry those they love.”

“Yes, I love another,” she said, drawing in a deep breath, “but that is not the problem.” The moment was there, and she could avoid it no longer. “I am with child.” Her green eyes looked defiantly at him, awaiting the eruption of his righteous fury. But there was no angry outburst.

“Father never did waste time,” he said. “And now you know Hektor’s shame.” He did not look at her but took a deep breath and leaned forward. “I have faced many dangers in my life and many fears, but this moment is the worst. Of course I can understand why you would not wish to wed me. Who would?”

Andromache sat quietly for a moment. That he thought the father was Priam was obvious, but the rest left her nonplussed. Rising to her feet, she crossed the room to sit beside him.

“I have not been bedded by Priam,” she told him. “I refused his advances.”

He turned toward her then, blue eyes locking to her green gaze. “Then who is the father?” The question was softly asked. In that moment several thoughts struck her. She was sitting close now to a man of enormous physical strength, yet she felt no threat. Instead there was a curious comfort in his nearness, and she was surprised by it. In all her thoughts of this meeting she had never expected to feel so…so safe. All tension faded from her, and sitting quietly in the shaded room, she told him of Helikaon’s sickness, and the words of the Prophet, and her foolishness in sharing his bed. He listened quietly. “So it is Helikaon you love?”

“Yes.”

“And he loves you?”

“He said that he did when we both thought you were dead.”

“And he has married Halysia. What foolish people we nobles are. Does he know of the child?”

“No. Nor will he. He was delirious and believes it was a dream he had. He has no memory of our lying together.” And then the walls of her resistance crumbled to dust, and despair overwhelmed her. Tears began to flow, and she was sobbing. Hektor leaned toward her, drawing her close. Not since she had been a child in her father’s arms had she felt so protected. Hektor said nothing, merely holding her quietly, his hand gently patting her back as if she were a babe.

After a while she managed to halt the sobs and draw in deep, shuddering breaths.

Only then did Hektor speak. “Priam must not find out, Andromache. I love him, but he would have you walled alive or strapped into a box and hurled into the sea. His rages are towering, his punishments barbaric. But I do not know how we can fool him.”

“Are you still willing to marry me?”

Hektor smiled at her. “I can think of no greater honor for me.”

Relief swept through her. “Then the problem is solved. The wedding is soon now. My pregnancy is new, and no one will question it if I give birth a few days early.”

“The problem is not solved,” he said sadly. “Father will know the child is not mine.”

“How?”

Hektor leaned back from her. “You do not know, then?” He closed his eyes and turned away. “I have dreaded this moment,” he said. “It has hung over me, haunting even my dreams.”

She reached out and took his hand. “If I am to be your wife, I will stand by you loyally. Nothing you tell me will be breathed to another.”

For a while he remained silent. Then he walked to the table and poured himself a goblet of water. “I would sooner face armed men than have this conversation,” he said.

“Then don’t have it,” Andromache said. “I do not want to cause you pain.”

“No, it needs to be said. I may not be a man, but I am not a coward.” Returning to the couch, he sat alongside her. “Two years ago I was wounded and likely to die. Spear thrust into the groin. I regained my strength, but something vital was lost to me.” He took a deep breath. “I cannot father children, Andromache, or enter a woman. Only Priam and the surgeon knew this, and Priam had the surgeon strangled. He could not bear any to know his son’s shame.”

Andromache stared at him, her fears and concerns diminished by the weight of his grief. “A man is not defined by his prick,” she said. His head jerked around, and she saw his surprise. “Yes,” she said with a smile, “even a priestess knows the vulgar words. The one-eyed snake, the red spear, the spitting serpent. Listen to me, Hektor. If I didn’t know before today, then I know now that you are a fine man. And I grieve for your loss, for I understand how men prize their parts, bragging about the size of them, the thickness of them. And I will not lie to you. Your loss will be my loss also. Understand this, though: I would sooner have a man with heart, who cares for others and will love my child, than an uncaring idiot with a stiff prick. Not a man? That is nonsense.”

He turned to her and took her hand, lifting it to his lips. “I thank you for that,” he said. “It was gracious of you.”

“No,” she said. “Do not allow yourself to believe I am some sycophant trying to please you. I am Andromache, and I speak the truth. Look into my eyes, Hektor, and tell me if you see a lie there.”

She gazed at him frankly and watched him relax. “No,” he said at last. “I see no lie.”

“Will you trust me to deal with this problem and not question my decision?” she asked him.

“I will trust you,” he told her.

“Good. Then have a carriage brought around to take me back to the city. And tomorrow I will move here so that we can sit and talk and learn of one another.”

A little while later, as they stood beside the wagon, Hektor took her hand. “I will be a good husband to you, Andromache of Thebe,” he said.

“I know that, Hektor of Troy,” she replied. Emotion surged in her again, and tears formed. “You will be my Oak,” she told him, her voice breaking.

Ordering the driver to take her and Cheon to the gates of Priam’s palace, she sat back in her seat. Cheon, apparently sensitive to her need for reflection, said nothing during the journey. Once at the palace, she instructed him to wait for her, then strode through the
megaron,
telling a servant that she wished to see the king on a matter of urgency.

This time she was not made to wait.

Priam was in the queen’s apartments. He rose as she was ushered in, then waited until the servant had departed. “What is so urgent?” he asked.

“I have been to see Hektor,” she said, and was struck by the physical similarity between the two men. Priam was not as hugely built, but the shape of his face and the power of his eyes were almost identical to his son’s.

“And?”

“I now understand why you pursue me.”

“He told you? That must have been hard for him. So why are you here?”

“You know why,” she said, anger in her voice.

“You seek to dissolve this marriage?”

“No. If I did, I would not survive. I would die like the surgeon who treated him.”

He nodded. “You are an intelligent woman.”

“I will grant your desire, but I have conditions.”

“Name them. I will grant them all.” She could see the eagerness in his eyes now, his face flushing.

“I will come to your bed only once in every full phase of the moon. I will do this until a doctor confirms I am with child. After that you will never attempt to bed me again. You agree?”

“I agree.” He laughed then, opening his arms. “So come to me, Shield of Thunder.”

And she stepped into his embrace.