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.”