Rage of Queens (Homeric Chronicles Book 3) Read online

  “How do you propose to stop nine mortal years of battle? Ride across the sky west to east?”

  “Not a bad idea.” Apollo shrugged, as if he was actually considering the idea. “We could inspire a man-to-man combat to end it for good.”

  “That hasn’t worked so far. Paris—”

  “Aphrodite loves him too much to see him suffer. She has her reasons. I have another in mind. Hektor.”

  “Hektor?”

  “Yes, let him raise the challenge. We’ll see which Greek of yours will accept.”

  Athena was skeptical of Apollo’s intentions. She knew he was capable of lying just to steer matters into his favor. “And no interference?”

  “None.”

  “Agreed.”

  Apollo sped to Hektor’s side, whispering his will, “Call a challenge, Hektor. Call a challenge and end the war. You will sleep soundly in your bed tonight next to your lovely wife.”

  Hektor moved by the god’s inspiration bravely marched to the front of his army and called out in a booming voice, “Greeks! Let us end this war. Send your best to fight me. The loser’s body will be treated with respect and be housed in Apollo’s temple as a reminder of the Greek brave enough to challenge Hektor and lose.” The army shuffled nervously behind him. “Well, where is this brave Greek?”

  Menelaus stepped forward and shouted across the chasm. “I hope you are no coward like your brother.”

  Hektor’s heart pounded. He bellowed, “Come find out.”

  Agamemnon leaned into his brother, and said, “You are no match for Hektor. Even Achilles had some reservation fighting him. I won’t risk losing you now. The men would race for the ships.”

  “You’ll make me the coward, then,” Menelaus fumed beneath his helm. “I have no wish for the men to see me as the weaker brother.”

  “Better the weaker brother, than dead.”

  Menelaus ripped his helmet angrily from his head. “Fuck!”

  Agamemnon and Menelaus folded back into the ranks of their army.

  Hektor cried out, taunting them, “Is there no one brave enough? Why don’t you just leave now? Come, send your best man … or is Achilles still playing the coward to your fight?”

  Ajax of Telemon, brilliant in his bronze-ringed armor, pressed through the ranks of men to face Hektor. His strides were confident and long. He moved like the God of War himself. “Pray for me, friends, that I take this bastard’s life quickly so we can claim our victory.” Facing Hektor, he smiled cruelly and shook his spear. “I will eat your beating heart while your dying eyes watch. Then you will know who is victorious and who will fuck your wife by sun down. I always wanted to fuck a princess.” The Greeks cheered their champion.

  The Trojans trembled for their prince. This giant of a man was no Achilles, but he was close in stature. Many had witnessed Ajax’s savagery in the field. Hektor’s heart pounded against his ribs as the call to fight filled him with red fury. He would see the challenge through and not cower like Paris did in the face of Menelaus.

  Ajax moved nearer his opponent. “Let all you Trojans be assured the best of us are here on this field, not moping about like a child on a ship. I accept your challenge. Apollo will gladly take your body, as I will happily take your armor to my tent. Best ready yourself to die.”

  Hektor replied, “I know the dance of blood and death.” Hefting his mighty ash spear, he cast it, piercing Ajax’s shield down to its last layer. The giant set his shield edge on the ground and smashed down on the protruding spear shaft, snapping it off.

  Ajax laughed aloud. “Your arm is weaker than I thought, Prince of Troy.” With an arm like lightning, he loosed a spear toward Hektor. It pierced clean through the Trojan shield.

  The tip of Ajax’s blade bit Hektor below the ribs. Dropping his ruined shield, Hektor drew his sword, undeterred. He leapt at Ajax, sword extended to jab the Greek’s shield. His sword tip bent back like a soft river reed. Ajax hammered Hektor in fury with his sword; the clanging song of blade on blade filled the air. With a mighty strike, Ajax caught Hektor’s unprotected neck, slicing just above the collarbone. Hektor fell to his knees. A roar went up from the gathered Greeks. Crimson spilled down Hektor’s shoulder. Reaching for a heavy rock, he threw it at Ajax, but it clanged off his shield.

  Ajax laughed to the sky. “This is the man who defends Troy? It is a wonder we did not storm the walls years ago!” He stooped to pick up a small boulder, for his hands were much bigger than Hektor’s. He spun once, then again, picking up speed, and loosed his stone at Hektor. Hektor fell straight back with the force of the blow, gasping for breath.

  They fought back and forth, no clear winner and neither giving ground. Apollo’s light faded from blue to gold. Exhausted and dripping blood and sweat, both men rested a moment, leaning in spears and staring at one another.

  Hektor said, “Night is approaching. And the gods appear content to declare no victor between us.”

  “You challenged me, Hektor of Troy. Call the fight if you wish. As for me, I will fight beneath the stars.”

  Hektor reluctantly removed his helm, sweat dripped down his face and into his eyes. “Go feast at your camps. We Trojans will do the same. War will wait until the dawn. Perhaps, the gods will choose a victor with the new day.”

  Men on both sides gathered up their weapons and armor, silently retreating to their respective sides. Both armies, tired and hungry, secretly longed for food and sleep more than they wanted to watch Ajax and Hektor trade blows into the night.

  ✽✽✽

  PRIAM’S PALACE

  Fires lit the ramparts as women and children sang in the winding lanes of the citadel. The dark mood of the city lifted beneath the stars. Every household celebrated the returning men, and Hektor, Defender of the City, most of all. As long as he survived the war, there was hope for everyone. Hope that the Greek invaders would be defeated and sent back across the sea.

  In the halls of Priam’s palace, the feasting was bittersweet. Hecuba took her place beside her husband. She smiled at Hektor and Andromache. Their marriage brought her joy in her dark moments. Paris and Helen sat across from Hektor. She couldn’t understand why Aphrodite demanded the acceptance of Paris and another man’s wife, when clearly the first husband wished for her return. She signaled for her wine to be poured. She glanced down the table. Cassandra and Helenus whispered together. Polyxena sat alone, quietly picking at the figs. Hecuba sighed and her heart ached to see the empty chair that belonged to Troilus. At the farthest end, Melita, Priam’s most recent wife, sat with her son, Kebriones.

  Her eyes wandered to Priam. Despite the fine tunic and the gold and lapis lazuli draped around his neck, she couldn’t help but notice that war had aged him. She smoothed her hand over the slight swell of her belly. She worried that age had caught her as well, and that Apollo’s gift would claim her life in the end. Soon, she would not be able to hide the child growing inside of her.

  Helen’s silver laughter caught the queen’s attention. It sickened her stomach seeing her second son engaged in intimate conversation with the whore from Sparta. “How can you laugh, Helen, when the tragedy wrought by your own hands hangs above you?”

  Hecuba’s barbed words quieted the polite chatter at the table. The royal family looked to one another. “Well?” Hecuba prodded. “The boy’s bones can hardly be cooled. Yet, you sit here among his family, mirth tumbling from your lips.”

  Helen opened her mouth, and then closed it.

  “What tragedy do you speak of?” Hektor asked.

  Paris looked at his mother and shook his head. “Another time, brother. I have no wish to dwell on the grief in my heart.”

  “I have never dismissed such heartache so easily,” Hecuba said her words as sharp as any blade.

  “What are you talking about?” Hektor asked.

  Hecuba simply said, “Ask Helen, she knows exactly what she’s done.”

  Priam mercifully intervened. “For the sake of what may be our last meal together, Hecuba, stop ho
unding Helen. You’ve made your disdain clear enough over the years. Her wrongs have been righted and sealed by Aphrodite herself.”

  At that, Antenor spoke up, “Why do continue to risk our city for Helen?”

  Priam’s cheeks flush red. “I will have no more talk of Helen.”

  Antenor stood up, resting his hands on the table. “As your counselor, it is my duty to advise you as best I can. Why do you refuse to see the truth, Priam? Paris dishonored a king by stealing his wife away. Then, compounded that dishonor by fleeing the field like a coward, breaking a sacred oath made before the gods, the Greeks, and his own people. Send Helen and her possessions back. It will go bad for us, if we do not.” He looked at Paris with stone cold eyes. “You know in your heart, what you must do. Haven’t you had enough of this bloody war?” Antenor sat in a heated huff.

  Paris stood. “I tire of everyone pushing me to give Helen back to Menelaus. She has been my wife for years. Is it because she has given me no sons that you all continue to reject her? You expect me to throw her away as if our life together has no meaning? Well, I refuse. If you wish, return her possessions. For me, it was never about the treasure she enriched our city with. My brothers and their wives have never complained when her wealth provided them more luxury or weapons. Or have you all conveniently forgotten that?” He took his seat. “Give the gold back. But I will never give back Helen. Never.”

  Priam sank deeper into his chair. Despair was his constant companion these days. His family fought amongst itself as viciously as they fought the enemy at the gate. His shoulders sagged under his burden. “I’ll send a messenger with Paris’ proposal at dawn. I will also to ask for a reprieve so we can give proper rites to the fallen. The foul air wafts to the city. I will not have that for my people.”

  ✽✽✽

  “Why did you defend me, Paris? After … everything. After,” Helen choked out, “Corythus.”

  “His death is as much my own doing as yours. I never should have abandoned him. If I had stayed, he would be alive. If I had brought him here instead of chasing a life I never wanted, he would be alive.”

  “It would be easier for you to send me away and never look on me again.”

  Paris took Helen’s face in his hands. His blue eyes searched hers. “We both know it is more complicated than that. Aphrodite will never allow us to part. If we did, it would insult her.”

  Helen could read the deep sorrow on his face. Her desire to produce an heir for Troy, securing her position within the royal family had withered like a broken branch. Now, she questioned everything about her life. With Corythus, she knew her passion was genuine. It was hers, not the goddess influencing her to love. She found that she craved that connection with her lover. “She will never be satisfied, until we are dead.”

  “We agree on that.” Paris released her and sat heavily on the edge of their bed. “His body is in his mother’s care by now. It’s a small comfort knowing that she will honor him.”

  Helen nodded, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. She heaved a heavy, shuddering sigh.

  “Why did you do it? What could he give you that I could not?”

  “The truth will not bring you comfort.”

  Paris’ eyes flashed with anger. “Tell me.” His tone grew sharper. “Tell me why you had to sleep with my son.”

  “He loved me, Paris, for me, not because of a promise by a goddess. We both know if it wasn’t for Aphrodite, we would never have met … and I would never have come to Troy. There would be no war.”

  Paris lay back on the bed. “I have truly brought the wolf to the gate. Oenone tried to warn me that this day would come. But I refused to listen.”

  “Why?”

  “I believed I could save my life with her, if I obeyed the goddess. But then I saw you.”

  Helen lay back beside him on the bed. She entwined her fingers with his. “I believed our life together would be different than the one I lived in Sparta under Menelaus’ watchful eye. I am no better off than any woman taken prisoner and used against her will.”

  Paris stared at the ceiling. “You truly believe you are nothing more than a war prize to me?”

  “There is no other way to see it. You only desired me because of Aphrodite. And I abandoned my virtuous life, the life I could never quite embrace, for the same reason. The goddess stole our wits and played her games with us. For her prize. To be the fairest.”

  Paris’ thumb brushed hers. “We are both wretched fools, Helen.”

  Helen turned her head to Paris, her eyes seeking his. “Perhaps, I should go to Menelaus and end the war.”

  “I believe the Greeks would fight on. They’ve been here too long. Suffered the loss of too many men. You may have been a true concern in the beginning, but now … it would never be enough.”

  Helen got up and glided to the balcony, pushing the privacy draping aside. “It is a beautiful night. Do you suppose it will be our last?”

  From the bed, Paris said, “It’s hard to say which way the gods will lean. Come to bed.”

  Helen turned to see the familiar look of lust in his eyes. “We can’t.”

  “Why not? What if it is our last night together?”

  “No.”

  Paris was up from the bed in an instant. He crossed the chamber in a few long strides. Taking Helen by the waist, he turned her to him. “I will not be denied, Helen,” he said huskily. Her body softened in his embrace. “You want this as much as I do. I don’t care if it’s some trick of Aphrodite’s.”

  “It’s wrong.”

  Paris’ mouth hovered over hers. His warm breath warmed her lips, before they descended in a desperate and searching kiss.

  Helen wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. Her tongue probed his mouth. The familiar need to have Paris inside of her coursed through her body. “Take me, then.”

  They reached for each other beneath the stars, satisfying their passion on the balcony. Once they were done, sweating and miserable, they untangled their bodies and went to bed.

  In the dark, Paris said quietly, “I was angry at Agelaus for many years after I came to Troy.”

  “Why?” Helen whispered softly.

  “My whole life I wanted only the truth.”

  “And now?

  “I wish only for the lie.”

  ✽✽✽

  Andromache tucked the purple-striped blanket around Astyanax sleeping soundly in his cradle. Turning to Hektor, she said, “I thought I’d never see you again after the wall.”

  “I told you I would return. What can I do to ease your fears?”

  “End the war. Come home and never fight again.”

  Hektor took her hand. “Come.” He led her to their balcony. Above them the stars winked against a cloudless night. “We will endure, my love.”

  She leaned into his strong embrace. “I can’t survive without you. Neither will our son.”

  “For reasons we are blind to, the gods wish Troy to suffer for now. But this city … Listen. Do you hear that, Andromache?”

  “Yes.”

  “That is the sound of our stories already being sung. The heart of Troy is strong. Our walls have endured generations.” He turned Andromache to face him. “Trust that we will prevail.”

  “But what if—”

  “Do not speak words of doubt.” Hektor’s eyes darkened. “If you do not believe in me, then I am lost. Do you understand?”

  Swallowing her doubts, Andromache managed a weak smile. “You are my everything.” She pressed her cheek to his chest. “When this is over, promise me, no more war.” Hektor’s chest rose and fell. His heart beat steadily in her ear. “Promise me.”

  “I cannot.”

  A silent tear slid down her cheek. “Make love to me, Hektor,” she whispered, desperate to cling to him.

  Sweeping her from her feet, he carried her to their bed. Their hands and lips explored the known territories of each other’s bodies. And when they lay together, satisfied and sweating, Hektor pulled Andromach
e into his arms and slept.

  In the darkness, Andromache wept quietly.

  ✽✽✽

  Priam entered Melita’s chamber unannounced, startling her. “My lord, I did not expect you.”

  “I wanted to … to see my son before the dawn.”

  “He is here. Out on the balcony.”

  “May I speak with him? Alone?”

  “As you wish.” She paused before leaving. “Come find me in the garden when you are through.”

  Priam nodded, as she closed the door behind her. Crossing the room slowly, he carefully thought on the words he wanted to say. He stepped onto the balcony. “Kebriones?”

  Kebriones turned to face Priam. “My king.”

  Priam took in his bastard son’s appearance. Dark eyes, unlike the children he fathered by Hecuba. But the dimpled chin was a clear sign. His long, black hair curled in ringlets to his shoulders. He was as handsome as any of his legitimate sons. “What do you see when you look out on Troy?”

  “An unconquerable citadel.”

  “I understand Hektor requested you fight alongside him?”

  “He is running short of brothers.”

  “I am running short of sons.” Priam sighed heavily. “I never knew a man’s heart could break so many times in one lifetime. For once, I’m grateful I am mortal.”

  “Why, my king?”

  “I know that one day, perhaps soon, the agony will end.”

  Kebriones remained silent, looking out into the night. “Hektor fought bravely against Ajax.”

  “Our hopes and those of Troy are bound to his victories.”

  “Do you believe the Greeks will allow a day of rest to collect the dead? Or that they will take the offered gold for the Spartan woman?”

  Priam eyed Kebriones. “Even you hate her.” It was not a question. “The city blames her.”

  “And Paris.”

  The old, festering wound stung renewed by the fact that Paris’ life had brought about their impending end. Cassandra had been right all along, but there was no way to change the past. “It was an impossible decision. I pity them both.”