That caught me unawares. “What do you mean?”
“Andromache? When she comes back to the palace after her little visits to you here, she pretends to everyone that you and she are still happily wed. Everyone tells her what a brave husband you are and what a good wife she is and she smiles and goes into her apartments with all the appearance of a contented wife. Then she cries all night. I can hear her sobbing. There are now more liars in Troy than there ever were in Mycenae.”
I thought of Andromache’s last visit. She had brought so much wine that I had become drunk. She had encouraged me to talk, and it seemed a little like it was in the old days, just the two of us sharing private words. I sent her home after she began to cling and beg me to come back to the palace with her. I almost wished I had gone.
And now the bitterness arose in Helen again. She had shown it more and more often. She rarely smiled. If it were not that I had to have her, I would have sent her away long ago. She was tiresome. Could I do it, though? Could I send her away?
My mind began to pick at it, pulling at the ends of the knot. I hadn’t known she had slept with Agamemnon. I had thought the war was the stepchild of geography and tribute. What if, instead, this war was about Helen and Agamemnon? What if I weighed her down with gold and sent her back to him with offers of peace? Secretly, at night? No; why not during the day? Let all the damn Achaeans see her. They were tired of fighting too. My spies told me they were at each other’s throats. If they had Helen back, most of them would be eager to go home. Those in favor of continuing the war would be shouted down. A few carts of treasure and they would gladly board their black ships and return to Achaea.
Helen had been watching my face. “You are not thinking of me,” she said. She refilled my cup. “You look just like Odysseus when he is hatching one of his little plots. Tell me what you are thinking.”
“Not now. It is only an idea. A way to end the war, perhaps.”
“End the war? That’s all I ever wanted — for men to stop fighting over me. All I ever prayed for was to be left alone.”
She said it as if she believed it. What nonsense.
“Do you know what I would really like to be?”
The question baffled me. People are what they are born to be.
“I would like to become a priestess. Take care of Aphrodite’s grove. Harvest the olives, press the sacred oil. That is the life I wish I lived.”
I laughed and raised the cup to my lips, draining it. “You have the best of lives now. You have me.”
The rumors began soon after: Hector is afraid of Achilles. Hector ran away from Achilles. Hector sends his men to face Achilles when he will not face him himself. I laughed at first. My reputation could withstand a few lies. But I had misjudged the mood of the city. People began to curse me in the streets. A woman threw rotten fruit at me, calling me a whoremonger and saying I had murdered her husband.
Then Paris called a council of war.
I was angry when I arrived. Our strategy had not changed since the day, nine years ago, when I had first taken charge. Don’t risk too much. Wear the Achaeans down. They would leave eventually. It was the right strategy, but it had never been popular.
I was surprised to see Priam seated at the council table. He had not come to one of these since the Achaeans had arrived at our shores. What was important enough to make him set aside his wine cup now?
Paris began. He recited the well-known litany of the city’s sufferings and the hardships of the war.
“What is new in that?” I asked. “People suffer. At least we have a city to call our own.”
“My brother is a great warrior,” said Paris, avoiding my eyes. “But we do not all have his stamina. We cannot all fight one battle in the day, and another at night.”
Several men snickered.
I ignored his remarks. “If you have a solution, Paris, other than another cup of wine and an arrow in some real warrior’s back, tell us.”
He turned on me with a scowl. “I do have a solution, brother. We must break the will of the Achaeans. It hangs by a thread. One tug and it will snap. The war will be over.”
“I agree.” Paris was preparing the ground for me to explain my new plan to the council. There were still loose threads, but the idea was sound. Troy would be willing to pay a high price to be rid of the Achaeans. Paris might object to it, but what choice did he have?
“I am glad that you do, brother,” said Paris. “Because you hold the key. I have heard that you are Troy.”
Where had he heard that? Had I said it to Helen after too much wine? Had she been foolish enough to reveal our lovemaking?
“Who am I to debate such a claim?” he continued. “But I say we cannot hold out any longer. The war must end. The question is how. I will give you the answer, my friends: Achilles. He is the one binding the Achaeans together. Were he to die, they would leave. Only one man among us can accomplish that. Hector. Our own Achilles. Hector the brave. That is my plan. March out in battle array, and when the Achaeans come against us, we thrust Hector into the line opposite Achilles and let the war be decided there.”
I sneered. What a witless plan. I was the one indispensable Trojan. My strategy was the right one. We would win if we did nothing but sit behind our walls. And if we threw Helen onto the scales... I was surprised to hear several men murmur that Paris’s plan might work. These men were my captains of battle, the trusted councilors who administered the city. Paris, I could understand, but the others?
“Could you do it?” At first I didn’t clearly hear the voice, nor comprehend the question.
“Could you do it? Answer me.” It was Priam, my father.
“Perhaps, Father. He is a great warrior. I might win, but I might lose.”
“That is the same chance that every man takes in battle. Do you know if Achilles has a weakness?”
Why was he asking that? The only one whom I remembered saying that to was Helen. What mischief had she been up to?
“I will not lie,” I answered. “Everyone around this table knows I do not lie. I have seen a weakness in his fighting. But I would have to expose myself, and give him the opening to kill me first.” They ignored the last part. Instead, they seized on Achilles’ vulnerability, and how I would certainly defeat him.
Paris smiled. “You have my proposal. I request that the council approve it.”
I stood up. “You forget that I am the leader of the Trojan host. I have not asked for a council meeting. I have not asked for a plan. We will not risk the safety of the city in single combat.”
The almost-forgotten voice spoke again. “You forget yourself, Hector. I am still king here. And I say that you have too long led the host. I am entrusting Paris to command the Trojans in battle. You, of course, will be his most honored captain and advisor.”
I opened my mouth but no words came forth.
“The plan is accepted,” snarled Paris. “Hector will fight Achilles. We will march out tomorrow and end this. And the gods willing, the war will be over.”
“Over? Of that there can be no doubt. Whether our portion is victory or defeat, who can say?” I shouted. “You are fools.”
I stormed out of the council room. My feet brought me to my old apartments. Andromache was sewing in the main chamber, as she always did. What a contrast to Helen, who didn’t know one end of a needle from the other. Andromache never liked to waste a single moment when work could be found to fill it.