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.