The Trojan Princess (33 page)

           
It was with regret that she watched Neoptolemus leave them, not just for fear
that he would not return, but for what might become of them when he did come
back.

*
* *

           
It had been months since he had gone to his grandfather’s aid, but Neoptolemus
did return and Andromache greeted him with his new born son, Pielus, in her
arms.

           
Now that he had returned, Andromache thought that things would return to the
way they had been aboard the ship, and yet Neoptolemus brought back with him
some unexpected  news.

           
“I am to marry,” he announced, as he and his court sat down to dine. “The betrothal
is most favourable, for Hermione, my betrothed, is the daughter of King
Menelaus and Queen Helen of Sparta.”

           
Andromache and Helenus exchanged looks across the table, for Andromache had
heard nothing of what had become of the golden queen since she had been left in
the dungeons beneath the palace in Troy.

           
“Helen?” she asked, momentarily forgetting her status, which earned her a
disapproving look from the men who sat about Neoptolemus and who had never
warmed to her; they had feared that Neoptolemus was unwise to share so much
affection with a woman who had been their enemy for so many years of war. “My
apologies, I should not ask,” she hastily apologized, but Neoptolemus’ gaze
softened.

           
“I forget that you are acquainted with the Queen of Sparta,” he said, and the
men all knew that he referred to her traitorous time as a Trojan princess. “She
and King Menelaus set sail from Troy days after we ourselves did. They have
returned to Sparta and sit upon their thrones there once more, excited at the
prospect of their daughter’s marriage.”

           
Andromache nodded, but she wondered how the golden princess had managed to save
herself and persuade King Menelaus to forgive not one, but two marriages to
Trojan princes. Yet she did not press Neoptolemus for further details, merely
watched as the men surrounding him drank and celebrated the news of his
betrothal.

           
She wondered what such a marriage would mean for her, for she knew well enough
that once he had a wife to sire his children and fulfil his desires, she would
no longer be required to share his bed. She found herself wondering if perhaps
he would set her and Helenus free, to do as they pleased, perhaps start afresh
in this new land far from the painful memories of Troy and the lands they had
long left behind.

           
A sense of uncertainty also came upon her, for she knew that Helen had
witnessed her escape with Astyanax, and she was one of few who knew that her
son and true heir had survived the sack of Troy. It worried her to know that
Neoptolemus and Helen would be in such close quarters and what may be discussed
if Helen were to inquire after her.

           
That night she was disturbed from sleep as Neoptolemus crept into her small
chambers and came to her bed. He reeked of wine as he staggered to her. She did
not need to ask him what business he sought, and she dutifully threw the covers
aside so that he may look upon her.

           
Her hope that she might one day be free began to dwindle as Neoptolemus’ hands
caressed her skin, not rough but not gentle; she realised she had borne him
children and he would not likely let her leave with them. She wondered what
Hermione would say of her on her return from Sparta as his wife, when she were
to learn that Andromache had borne him three illegitimate children and that he
still thought to visit her bed in the night hours. She did not think Hermione
would warm towards her and fear once more crept into her heart. Andromache
longed for freedom, yet she doubted she would ever see it again.

           
The palace in Epirus was both excited and nervous as they prepared for the
return of Neoptolemus and his new wife Hermione. Many had heard tales of
Hermione and her cousin, Orestes, and Andromache, though she tried to pay no
heed to such wanton talk, could not help but fear the woman that it was said
had seduced her cousin and thought more of war and politics than she did of
children and wifely duties.

           
The ship arrived to find a warm welcome awaiting them, and Andromache and
Helenus stood with the rest of the household to bid them greeting. Sensing her
anxiety, Helenus held her hand and Astyanax, now a grown man of twenty, took up
her other hand so that she could feel reassured within their loving grasp.

           
Neoptolemus embarked from the ship clutching his bride at his side, and upon
his arrival he swept Molossus, Pielus and Pergamus into his arms and held them
close to him, delighted by the healthy appearance of his golden haired sons. He
looked upon Andromache warmly as the mother of his children, but did not
embrace her in the presence of his new wife.

           
“My darling sons, how I have missed you all!” Neoptolemus exclaimed, and he had
a warm smile too for Astyanax, who bowed his head to him.

           
Andromache smiled, for she was glad to see him safely returned, and then looked
upon his wife, the formidable Hermione, who met her warm look with a cold
glare.

           
“You are the woman of which my mother has spoken,” she said, as she greeted
Andromache. “She said that you had a certain beauty, but I see no trace of it.”

           
Andromache bowed courteously, and as the woman passed she looked at this
daughter of Helen’s. Hermione looked much like her mother, though she was not
as beautiful, yet she had shining golden hair and a slender, alluring body. Her
eyes, too, were the piercing blue of her mother's, and yet there was no warmth
there - only ice.  Andromache felt her own pleasure at seeing Neoptolemus
waver under his new wife’s look.

           
As the festivities to welcome them commenced, Andromache felt the woman’s gaze
constantly upon her and she knew that Helenus and Astyanax felt it too, for
they stayed by her side and did not greet Hermione as warmly as the rest of the
household did.

           
“I trust you will find my household as accommodating as I have always found
them,” Neoptolemus said to his wife, gesturing about at the people smiling
towards them.

           
Hermione’s eyes fell upon Andromache and she did not smile.

           
“Some are said to be more accommodating than others,” she said, and Andromache
knew it was of her that she spoke. “Yet now I am here, they shall not be so
called upon.”

           
Andromache wished to assure the woman that she posed no threat to her or her
marriage, for she was sure that Neoptolemus, married now to such a wife as she,
would no longer feel the need to come to her bed.

           
Yet as the days passed, Neoptolemus did indeed seek the comfort of his
concubine, and Andromache felt dread upon the sound of door opening in the
night and the sight of her master as he came to her across the darkened room.

           
“You should be in the arms of your wife,” she chastised him, her voice quiet so
as not to wake her sons in the adjoining room, nor Helenus who slept in the
same room as them. “She already has a dislike for me, and it will be the worse
if she discovers you have been here.”

           
Neoptolemus tugged at a strand of her hair playfully, not heeding her warnings.

           
“You should not care of my wife’s concerns,” he said, stroking her face. “How I
have missed you,” he whispered, pulling her close to him so that their bodies
were pressed against each other, but Andromache struggled against him.

           
“Please, you should honour your wife, she is only just arrived in Epirus,” she
pleaded.

           
“Enough talk of my wife,” he said, a sterner note to his voice now, and
Andromache knew that it was no use trying to dissuade him from the passion he
felt.

           
When Neoptolemus crept out of the room later, Andromache knew that his wife
must know where he disappeared from her bed to go, and she did not enjoy the
thought of what Hermione must be thinking as she lay alone in her new home,
waiting for her husband.

*
* *

           
Hermione did not seem to take kindly to her husband’s frequenting of
Andromache’s bedchamber, and though he had other concubines in Epirus, Hermione
reserved her spite for Andromache. Andromache did not know whether it was
because she had borne him three sons, or because of her history with Hermione’s
mother, but she did not know how to ease the woman’s anger or how to direct it
away from her and her sons.

           
As the months passed, Hermione and Neoptolemus’ marriage became volatile.
 Andromache was afraid of such a thing, for she knew that Hermione sought
to blame her. It was whispered that Hermione was barren, and as each month
passed and she showed no signs of pregnancy, Andromache knew that such talk
grew in foundation.

           
“Perhaps I would have more chance of carrying your child if you did not spend
so much time in that whores bed rather than mine own,” Hermione raged at
Neoptolemus, and nobody who heard her words could be in any doubt as to who she
blamed for her barrenness.

           
Andromache tried to urge Neoptolemus to spend less nights in her bed and more
in Hermione’s, however she was but a servant and he did not heed her advice and
nor did he seem to show interest in his new wife.

           
As such, Andromache grew to fear Hermione, who found the most odious of
household tasks and would summon Andromache to fulfil them, whether it was
cleaning up after the dogs or mopping the floors after a member of the household
had been taken ill.With such tension within the palace, Andromache felt
ashamed. Astyanax and Helenus could only watch as she was demeaned by such a
woman, and Hermione seemed to note her humiliation and strive to make it worse.

           
It was when guests came from Neoptolemus’ grandfather to discuss political
matters that Hermione sought Andromache in her chambers as she readied herself
for bed.

           
“My lady, I did not expect you would desire me at such a late hour,” Andromache
bowed, startled and worried by the woman’s presence in her room.

           
“I have need of you,” Hermione said, looking at her with distaste. “Our guests
need entertaining and it seems they have grown tired of music and dancing.”

           
“Allow me a moment to dress,” Andromache bowed again, and reached for her robes
for she was naked, yet Hermione snatched the robes from her.

           
“You shall not be required to be clothed for the entertainment you shall
provide,” Hermione said, and a wicked smile came upon her lips.

           
Realisation dawned on Andromache’s face and she blushed, which only served to
widen Hermione’s smile.

           
“Hurry,” she snapped, clicking her fingers. “They will not thank you for
keeping them waiting; you know how men’s desires can be so overwhelming, I’m
sure.”

           
Andromache followed her from the room, her hands trying to cover her nakedness,
her cheeks flaming red with the humiliation of such a thing. Hermione led her
to the room in which Neoptolemus’ guests were lounging, and stepped aside so
they could look upon her gift.

           
“I give you your entertainment,” Hermione said, gesturing to Andromache. “I
trust you will enjoy her; she was once a royal princess of Troy, now here to
please you.”

           
Andromache bowed her head to the men as they leered at her, and Hermione was
gone from the room with one last spiteful look upon the woman she hated.

           
It was not long before Neoptolemus learned of Hermione's scheme and before
Andromache had so much as been approached by one of the honoured guests, he had
thrown open the doors and dragged her out.

           
Andromache lay in bed shaking with fear, and Helenus came in to comfort her,
laying his arms about her and whispering soothing words to calm her and ease
her into sleep.

           
The following morning, Neoptolemus came to apologize to Andromache.

           
“I wish you to know that I had no part in my wife’s schemes,” he said, and she
knew that it was true, for Hermione it seemed was as duplicitous as her mother
had been before her. “I can only offer my apologies, and assure you that
Hermione has been reproved.”

           
Andromache bowed her head in acceptance of his apologies, yet when she saw
Hermione later that day, her eyes blackened and her lip cut, Andromache did not
feel pleasure but pity for the scornful woman, and as they dined that evening,
Andromache noticed that not only did Hermione look upon her with hatred, but
also now upon Neoptolemus, her husband of so few months. In that moment
Andromache feared now not only for herself but for him and their sons.

*
* *

           
Although Andromache feared for Neoptolemus and their sons together, she could
do nothing except warn him of his wife’s hatred and watch as he ignored her
advice and continued to mistreat his wife.

           
Hermione still carried no child of her husbands and Andromache knew that it was
because Neoptolemus no longer sought pleasure with his wife, preferring the
company of her or one of his other concubines. She did not fear for Astyanax,
for he was a grown man and he no longer needed her protection; she knew that
Helenus kept a careful eye on his nephew and would allow no harm to come to
him.

           
With her marriage at such an impasse, Hermione it seemed had turned her
attentions towards others. Andromache grew wary as Hermione seemed to set her
attentions upon Astyanax, for he had grown into a handsome man. She was aware
that many women’s eyes lingered upon him, as they had done on his father.

           
Andromache tried to warn her son of Hermione’s looks and that he must be
careful in her presence, yet Astyanax, with the bravado that all men seemed to
have, insisted that he was not a fool.

           
“Your son is such a handsome sight to behold,” Hermione said, when she caught
Andromache washing robes one morning. “If I am not mistaken, and I fear I am
not, he bears a mighty resemblance to your late husband, Prince Hector of
Troy.”

           
Andromache knew what the woman meant to impart and her heart raced.

           
“Yet how could that be, I wonder?” Hermione continued, seeing the fear upon her
enemy’s face. “For the Heir Apparent it is said, was thrown from the walls of
Troy. So unless all those stories my father has told me of such a thing are
false, then he and his armies were deceived and the true heir is well and alive
and working within my own palace.”

           
“You are surely mistaken,” Andromache said, hoping that her voice did not
betray the fear within her.

           
“Perhaps,” Hermione shrugged, “But I shall mention such an interesting thing in
my letters to my father, King Menelaus, for surely he and my mother can offer
some wisdom on the matter.”

           
She retreated then, and Andromache grew more anxious, for she knew that Helen
knew the truth and should Hermione ask it of her, would Helen really lie to her
own daughter of the secret she held?

           
Andromache went to Helenus with word of her encounter and he knew the danger of
what Hermione suggested, even if Astyanax was too brave to acknowledge.

           
“I will keep alert for sign of trouble,” Helenus reassured her, “And fear not,
for I do not doubt that Neoptolemus will seek to protect you, and indeed
Astyanax, from his wife.”

           
“Perhaps,” Andromache said, not feeling eased by his words. “Yet I fear
sometimes that Hermione seeks to do him as much harm as she wishes upon me.”

*
* *

           
It was not long before Andromache discovered proof that Hermione wished her
harm, for Helenus came to her carrying a note and wearing a grave look upon his
face.

           
“I have a letter here from Hermione to her father, King Menelaus,” he said,
passing her the note. “I am sorry, but it will bring no joy to you to read what
it contains.”

           
Andromache read Hermione’s untidy scrawl and as Helenus had warned her it did
not make pleasant reading. It seemed that Hermione wished her dead, and that
she sought her father’s hand to help her do it. Neoptolemus was planning to
ride out to some battle in the coming days, and Hermione thought that such a
time would present a perfect opportunity for her father to rid his daughter of
her enemy and her husband’s concubine.

           
Andromache passed the note back to Helenus, tears upon her cheeks.