Politicians.
Hector hated the word.
Hector was a man of plain talk and great purpose. He found politicians to be the exact inverse.
Hector knew them to be talkative, naïve, and honestly quite boring. He understood the importance of letting diplomats play the part of diplomats, but beyond the declarations of peace and war, Hector found little need for politicians.
And here he was, sitting at a table full of them. For hours, he had stared at his plate of lamb and cheese, letting the mindless chatter roll over him like waves of nausea.
He could take little more of this.
But Hector could not leave. Having been placed at the right hand of his father, he was bound to stay. There would be no feigning illness or attending to urgent business for him.
And so he let his eyes wander. The hall where they now supped was adorned with all sorts of antiquities meant to capture the eye and impress the heart, for it was a hall of a King. Thebes, Hector was finding, was not so different from Troy in the wealth and luxury it displayed.
But it was not gold or embroidery that so captured Hector's eye this time. A flash of bright blue, obscured by a mass of deep brown curls, turned about a pillar.
No woman had been admitted to the hall during supper before, and Hector found himself at once curious. A moment passed as he stared on, and then the woman rounded the pillar once more, now clutching at its side as she looked towards the table.
"She is a pretty thing,"
Hector startled as his father's light voice sounded at his side.
"You should ask her to dance this night, Hector. After supper, I would like to see her in your arms,"
Bewildered, the young prince gave a shake of his head. Women were a foreign thing to him, and he dared not ask one to dance. Tragic things befell those who meddled in the affairs of females.
Priam opened his mouth once more to speak, perhaps to chastise his eldest's impotence, but he stopped as a voice sounded out from his left.
"Daughter, what have you?"
Silence fell as all eyes turned first to Eetion and then to the girl. She climbed the dais to the table hesitantly, her face glowing with crimson.
"Tis' mother, milord," she said, her voice weak as her eyes darted from one stranger's gaze to the next. "Her babe has come,"
Eetion stood at once and rounded the table, wordlessly taking his daughter's hand and following her down a near hallway.
"It is a devoted husband that would so easily leave his dinner guests for his wife," Priam chided, and polite laughter sounded from the men. They at once turned back to their babbling.
"Perhaps there won't be any dancing this night, father," Hector said, his fingers crossing beneath the table.
"Oh, I doubt that very much, Hector. Eetion would look for any excuse to lay more wine upon the table and more women in his allies' beds,"
Hector smirked as his father winked, and then turned to look at the pillar behind which the lady had hid. He thought it sad that she had felt the need to hide; if he had been her father, Hector might have displayed her gentle beauty to the all of the world.
He blushed at the thought, surprised in himself for thinking such a thing. His younger brother was the one who chased girls and lusted after beauty; Hector was a man of swords and horses. Yet he could not deny that she was lovely.
The thought of asking her to dance grew both more frightening and more enticing.
The dancing did arrive, and Eetion beckoned forth a feast in honor of his newest son. Though the infant and its mother laid resting in some chamber far from the Trojan guests, they celebrated as if they had known the boy for years.
Andromache was overwhelmed by it all. She was weary, for she has returned to Thebes only hours before after a long sojourn to her mother's homeland. And she was cold, for winter's cool touch had just sprung out of the north. And she was embarrassed, for the sting of her blush was still sore even hours after interrupting her father's supper.
He had said nothing to her about it, but Andromache knew well that had she come with any other news, her father's words would not have been kind.
From her place in the garden, she could see her father's beaming smile through the windows of the hall below. 'A kind man in public,' she thought, 'and a just ruler. But a cold father nonetheless,'
She shivered once as a breeze tore through the ferns on either side of her. She pulled her cloak around herself and let her hands rest upon her own shoulders. She jumped as fingers enveloped her own.
"Peace, sister. I only harm attractive women,"
Andromache laughed once as she stood and turned into her brother's arms.
"Podes," she sighed, content as his arms encased her.
"Too long you were away in Sikyon. I have missed you, little one,"
Andromache looked up into her brother's kind eyes and smiled back. "How is Eunike?"
Podes smiled and kissed the top of her head. "With child,"
Andromache leapt back in surprise. "Does father know?"
"No, not yet. Besides, he'd have my head on the spit if he knew before the wedding,"
"And how are the wedding arrangements coming along?"
Podes snorted. "Splendidly,"
Andromache grinned at her brother's sarcasm before elbowing him in the ribs.
"Oh, you know how women can be, 'Mache. They dream in the colors of perfection and moan when they realize such dyes do not exist in the real world. You are not such a fool, are you?"
His little sister smiled and looked down the bluff to the sounds of music and laughter. "Not in that regard, no,"
Podes followed her gaze. "You should be dancing, Andromache. You should be fraternizing with men,"
For a moment, she leaned towards the hall, almost moved by his words. But, as if burned, she pulled herself back.
Tentatively, Podes let his palm rest upon her waist. He breathed in deep before continuing his tale.
"You must forget him, sister. He would not have wanted you to despair,"
Andromache whirled about, one hand lying over her heart. "Of whom do you speak?"
"Again, my girl, peace. I mean you no harm," Podes said, sitting on the marble bench upon which he had found Andromache. He studied her for a while, fighting back his frown as he saw then the shadows beneath her eyes and the pallor of her skin.
"I was not blind to your love for him, sister. I can imagine how deep his passing pains you,"
Andromache turned away before the grief in her eyes could betray her. Steeling her own voice, she turned her head to speak to him over her shoulder. "Maybe I should dance this night. If it would spare me from your nonsense, perhaps it would do me some good,"
And within her mind, a voice agreed with her. Her feet passed down over the bluff before she could find the reasoning to turn back.
Hector cherished the cool air, touched with silken rays of Artemis' glow. Lifting a hand to his forehead, he settled on a velvet settee. His headache, triggered by one goblet of mead too many, passed at once.
"Are you well, milord?"
Hector blinked once and then turned to his right. Unnoticed by him, a rather scantily clad woman had claimed the armchair nearby.
"Yes, fine, thank you," he said, pulling himself upright at once.
"I don't believe you," the strumpet murmured, tilting her head. "Come, sit with me. I'll make it better,"
Hector was not oblivious to gesture she had made to her own lap as she beckoned him forward. Though he was no stranger to concubines and bed-warmers, he had never escaped the chill that came with meeting them.
"No, truly," he said, standing now with a look of mock purpose of his face. "Don't trouble yourself. I was just going to go back ins…,"
The woman unfolded herself and exited the chair. Before Hector found the sense to round her and return to the festivities, she had already gathered him in her arms.
"Shhh, little prince. I can see the weariness on your brow,"
Hector noticed the way that she, like a snake, managed to hold her kohl-rimmed eyes wide open. He couldn't help but notice also the subtle way that her hands has slipped lower around his waist.
"Let me make it better," she cooed, pressing herself just that much closer to him.
"No, no. Really, no, I cannot…," he mumbled, stepping back. He jumped back towards her as his foot landed upon something soft. A hiss sounded from behind him at once while the harlot before him moaned theatrically.
Hector spun about, one hand upon his dagger. "Who…?"
Eyes wide, the beauty whom he had marveled after not hours before stepped away from him. "I am sorry," she muttered. "I should have paid better attention,"
The girl made as if to walk around him, and Hector noticed the way that she gingerly carried her left foot.
He reached out to her instinctively. "My apologies. I did not mean to step on your…,"
A brusque hand swept his fingers off of her shoulder. "It is no trouble. Please, carry on," she said, her eyes darting to the concubine still standing behind him.
Hector inhaled sharply, his heartbeat sounding loudly in his own ears. He reached out as she stepped towards the entryway, and fumbled in silence for words that would not come to him. When her damaged foot stepped over the threshold, his pulse gave a jarring sputter. Courage surged up within him that was quite unlike that which he summoned on the field of battle.
"Please," he pleaded. "Let me make it up to you. Let me dance with you,"
The woman stopped and looked back at him. Her eyes returned to the concubine –who had by now lost interest and was strutting back through the gardens.
"I would not care to dance with a man with such tastes as your own," she said.
The venom in her voice stung Hector long after her mahogany curls were lost behind the entryway.
With a groan and a heavy heart, Hector fell back onto the settee. His headache had returned.
"Women,"