Helen's Judgment by Susan C. Wilson

Author:Susan C. Wilson
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781915584694
Publisher: Neem Tree Press

PART FOUR

CHAPTER 18

“He’s a fine boy. He’ll be just like his father, one day.” Cassandra dandled the pink-cheeked infant on her knee and caressed his downy hair with her lips. A little hesitantly, she smiled over his head at Helen. “Would you like to hold him?”

Andromache, arms outstretched, hurried to the child. “Give him to me.”

The familiar ache burned in Helen’s breast as she watched the baby settle in his mother’s arms. His contented crowing pierced her heart far more than Andromache’s endless taunts.

Andromache dropped a light kiss on the boy’s nose. “The gods reward men with victory in battle; women, with healthy children. They gave me Astyanax to love and to raise into righteous adulthood, as a decent mother should.”

Cassandra smoothed an imaginary crease from her skirt. “We never know when the gods might shower their blessings on us.” She darted a shy glance at Helen. “We should never despair. The gods’ ways are mysterious.”

Helen managed a weak, grateful smile. Blushing, Cassandra looked away. The little novice priestess was one of the few members of Priam’s family who’d never treated Helen with scorn, vocal though she was about her fears for Troy. Sometimes, she stared at Helen with such intense pity that Helen was the one to lower her eyes.

“You understand their ways better than most, Cassandra,” said Andromache. “Others might say you’re just a child, but that’s why you speak so truthfully. Before the Achaeans came, your god showed you our beautiful plain trampled to mud by the foreigners’ feet, awash with blood. Your visions are a warning we must heed. The god shows you worse to come, doesn’t he?”

“Please, Andromache, Mother says I must be guided by those who understand these things. I shouldn’t say the first interpretation that comes into my head.”

Andromache took a few absent paces, rocking Astyanax. “Poor little Cassandra, but you don’t suffer alone. No, I see horrors too. I think Apaliunas is sending me visions.” She hovered beside the bench where Helen sat alone.

“Oh! What do you see?”

Andromache’s dark eyes took on a faraway look. “I see Achaea, a ravenous bitch, whose jewelled sandals stamp on our people. Stones sprout from the bitch’s soil, so she craves the fruit of other wombs. Her mouth, a gaping, insatiable hole, opens wider and wider until it swallows our land.”

Helen rose, silent and stiff, and left the hall. A sob caught in her throat, before her maidservant Amata had time to close the door. She choked it back and cursed.

“Hush, mistress, they’ll hear you,” said Amata. “Don’t give them the satisfaction.”

“What difference does it make? What use is pride to me? I have nothing to be proud of.”

“You have a man who loves you.”

“And Andromache has Hector. The Bulwark of Troy, everyone calls him. She has his child. The people love her. They hate me.”

“The people love Prince Paris.”

“They did. Now, they say he’s lazy and a coward. They say the gods have cursed our marriage with sterility. Andromache gives them a prince, and I give them war.

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