The Trojan Princess Read Online Free Page B

maids. She wanted them to come with her
to Troy and perhaps as handmaids to the Queen, they too would find wealthy,
noble suitors.
               
Lounging in her bedchambers, Andromache did not hear at first the calls of
alarm from the outskirts of the town, nor did she hear the frantic cries of the
soldiers as they rushed from the palace. Only when they heard the clattering of
hooves and the calls from the courtyard did Andromache send Iliana to find out
what the commotion was.
               
It took only a few moments for her to return, pale-faced and awash with fear.
               
“Princess, we must go,” she said, “Your brothers have returned.”
               
“I must go and greet them, of course!” Andromache smiled, rising to her feet,
cheered at the thought, her earlier fears dispersing. “There is no need to look
so fretful.”
               
“You misunderstand me,” Iliana said, her eyes brimming with tears. “Only three
of them are returned.” Andromache froze, and Ilisa threw her hands to her mouth
in horror. Iliana continued, glancing anxiously over her shoulder as calls from
downstairs grew louder, “And the Greek warriors are also here.”
               
“In Thebes?” Andromache gasped. How could this be? What was the meaning of
this?
               
“In the town, yes,” Iliana nodded. “We must go, your mother is waiting to take
you into hiding. Podes will see you safely away from the fighting –” She
trailed off, left unspoken was where Iliana and her sister would seek hiding.
               
“You must come with us,” Andromache said at once.
               
“You’re very kind,” Iliana said, bowing graciously.
               
Andromache, though panicked, took a deep breath. She gathered her maids to her
and ushered them out of the bedchambers, rushing down the stairs in search of
her mother, who was to lead them out of the town and away from Achilles and the
bloodshed, with Podes to protect them.
               
Her mother stood beneath an archway, in the corner of the palace, a shawl
wrapped around her hair and shoulders, concealing her face. Podes stood, axe in
hand, his body bearing the stress of his laborious journey and his anxiety, and
motioned for Andromache to join them.
               
“We need to go now,” Podes said, but before they could go further, steel
clattered around them, sounding so close that Andromache felt as if the swords
were clashing within her head. She half-turned, but Podes grabbed her arm and
threw her out of the archway, out into the brilliant, dazzling sunlight beyond
the palace walls. She heard her mother cry out, and Andromache clasped her
mother’s arm and dragged her away from the fighting, which she knew had broken
out within the very walls of the palace, her home.
               
Holding tight to her mother, she guided them through crowds of terrified
people, down the streets she knew so well, pushing past the people her father
ruled over, fear driving her forward, her senses in overdrive.
               
It was only as she reached the outskirts of the town that Andromache slowed,
allowed her pulse to slow, her breathing to grow even. Her mother was beside
herself, tears clinging to her face, hands clawing at her eyes, lips moving in
silent prayer for her husband and sons. Andromache thought then of her maids –
for Iliana and Ilisa, the two ever-quarrelling but lovely sisters – had been
lost to her back in the palace when the Greeks had burst in upon them. She
prayed for them, and for her father, for she had not seen nor heard of King
Eetion’s whereabouts as she had fled the palace. And Podes, dearest Podes, she
prayed for him though she knew it was of no use.  She knew that her eldest
brother would not have saved himself, for he would have stayed and slain all
the invaders he could until he himself had been