Stella Gemmell - Fall of Kings

Then the sun moved beyond the clouds and shone down on her child and the powerful man beside him. The two were disheveled and covered with dust, as if they had been rolling on the ground. They were kneeling, facing each other, engrossed in something in the dirt between them. The boy pointed to an insect or a leaf, perhaps, and raised his small face in inquiry to his father. The expression of love and tenderness on Hektor’s face made a lump form in Andromache’s throat.

The panic passed. He loves Astyanax, she thought, and he will never stop. He will guard the boy with his life.

Quietly, unnoticed, she went into the palace.

Entering her high, airy apartments, Andromache greeted the two young handmaids who sat in an outer room embroidering heavy cloth. Both were Women of the Horse and wore hip belts crafted from bronze disks threaded with gold wire.

Andromache recalled the first day she had seen such a belt. Heavily pregnant, she had been walking with Hektor along the Street of Goldsmiths. A young woman with braided blond hair had been standing by a stall. Her tunic had been long and white, and around her hips there had hung a disk belt.

“I would like one of those,” Andromache said.

Hektor stared at her curiously. “I think you do not know what the belt signifies,” he said softly.

“No, I do not,” she replied honestly.

“If ever you get one, it will mean I am dead.”

Andromache learned then of the Women of the Horse, wives and daughters of soldiers killed serving with the Trojan Horse. The belts were crafted from the breastplate disks of the fallen.

Andromache’s handmaids were sisters, the raven-haired daughters of a warrior named Ursos who had died in the battle for Dardanos. They would work in the palace until suitable husbands were found from among the ranks of the Horse. The older one, Penthesileia, was tall with deep-set eyes and a strong chin. Her sister, Anio, younger and more nervous, was slight of build and pretty.

“Is there anything we can do for you, lady?” Penthesileia asked.

“No. Have you eaten?”

“Yes, lady,” Anio said. “There is fresh bread in the kitchen. Shall I fetch some?”

Andromache smiled at her. The girl was fifteen years old and desperately eager to please. “I need nothing at the moment,” she told her. “Why don’t you and your sister go for a walk. Familiarize yourselves with the palace.”

“We are your handmaids,” said stern Penthesileia. “We must serve you.”

Andromache sighed. “Yes, you are my handmaids, and you will also be my friends. You are not slaves. You are daughters of a hero. If I need you, I will call for you.”

“Yes, lady,” Anio answered. “You have a guest waiting in your chambers. The princess Kassandra.” She suddenly looked nervous. “She is”—she dropped her voice—“talking to herself.”

“She does that,” Andromache told her. “Do not let it concern you.”

Walking through to her inner rooms, Andromache heard Kassandra speaking excitedly. “I did not see it, Dios. I don’t see everything.” She sounded distraught.

As Andromache entered the room, she saw Kassandra sitting and staring at a wall. Dressed in her usual black, her wild hair pulled roughly back with combs, she was alone.

Andromache took a deep breath and approached the girl. “I’m so glad to see you, Kassandra,” she said, sitting beside her on the couch. “I’ve missed you these past few months.”

Kassandra’s head drooped forward, and she sighed. “Did you know Vora died?” she asked.

“Who is Vora?”

Kassandra’s eyes had a faraway look. “Vora was a dolphin. She was very old. Cavala, her mate, sings of her. He will spend a year traveling the Great Green singing her song in every place she loved; then he will follow her to the ocean of the South Wind, and they will be together again.”

Andromache smiled. “Perhaps he will swim to Thera with us.”

“No. He is frightened of Thera. He won’t go there. I am frightened of it, too. I never expected to be.” Kassandra sighed and leaned forward, her hands on her lap. She looked just like a child again.

Andromache put her arm around Kassandra’s shoulder. “There is no need for fear. Thera is a place of beauty and serenity. You will like it there.”

“Thera is where the world will end,” Kassandra whispered. “I will rise into the sky like an eagle, and three kings will die with me…” Her voice tailed away.

Andromache kissed her cheek. “Why not come to the gardens with me. We can shoot our bows. You used to enjoy that. It will lift your spirits.”

Kassandra straightened and suddenly smiled. “Of course!” she said. “We must prepare them. It can begin now. I would like that. It’s very important!”

She ran to the far wall and took two bows and two quivers of arrows down from the rack. Then she rushed into the outer room. Andromache followed. Kassandra ran to the sisters.

“Put down the embroidery,” she ordered them, then pushed the bows into their hands. “You must learn to shoot! The Women of the Horse with shaft and bow!” She swung back to Andromache. “You see? You see, Andromache?” Her head jerked, and she turned away. “What? Yes…” she said to the wall. Then she nodded and sighed.

Looking into Andromache’s eyes, she smiled sadly. “Too soon,” she said. “But you will remember, Andromache? The Women of the Horse? You will teach them the bow?”

“Be calm, little sister,” Andromache said softly. The girls were standing very still, their eyes watchful. Andromache put her arms around Kassandra’s slender shoulders. “Come, let us take our bows and go to the garden,” she said, retrieving the weapons from the sisters.

“You will remember?” Kassandra cried.

“I will. I promise. I will teach them to shoot.” Turning to the sisters, she asked, “Would you like to learn the bow?”

“I can shoot a little,” Penthesileia answered. “Father taught me. And yes, I would enjoy taking up a bow again.”

Andromache felt the tension fade from Kassandra. The young princess looked at Penthesileia and smiled. “You will be a warrior woman of Troy, and great songs will be sung of your bravery.” Pulling away from Andromache, she said: “We will not need the bows now.”

Andromache returned the weapons to the inner chamber and led Kassandra through the palace and into the gardens, where the shadows were lengthening. Hektor saw them and walked over, Astyanax sleeping in his arms.

Andromache smiled at her husband, who leaned in and kissed her. “I am sorry for your hurt today,” she told him.

Hektor nodded. “It is already forgotten.” She knew it was a lie, but it was meant well.

Kassandra stepped up to him. She took his free hand and kissed it and held it against her cheek. “I will not see you after tonight. You will remember me kindly, won’t you? Not as a little madwoman.” Tears suddenly fell to her cheeks.

Instantly Hektor passed the sleeping boy to Andromache and took Kassandra into his arms.

“I will miss you,” he said, kissing her brow. “I love you, and I always have. You are my little sister, and I treasure you.”

“I am not mad, Hektor. I do see things.”

“I know.”

In the still silence that followed a soldier burst through the courtyard gates and ran across the garden toward them. “Hektor! Lord Hektor!” He stopped and hesitated as if suddenly aware of the impact of his news.

“Well?” said Hektor, releasing Kassandra and facing the soldier. “Speak, Mestares, my friend! No one is going to slice out your tongue.”

“It is Dios, lord. He has been killed. Murdered in the lower town.”