10
…
MaryScot…
Swatting away the flurry of hands fussing over her, Andromache sunk even lower in her chair; such a feat was marvelous considering how terrible her posture was just prior. Three simpering maids were hovering around her; so many things were being done that Andromache could not keep track of them all.
"I can take care of myself," Andromache mumbled sullenly. "While I appreciate the help, I am certain there are other things you would much rather be doing."
"Lady Briseis ordered us to make sure you follow all the instructions she gave you," one of the maids tittered.
"She never presented me with anything," Andromache said in annoyance.
Wordless, but unfortunately not without more giggles, one of the maids produced a letter. Just as her hand closed around it, something sharp fell into her lap. Unfolding and scanning the letter, Andromache gripped it tightly in a fist.
"This is ridiculous!" Andromache declared, pointing to the seventh item on the list. She held up the metal item that fell out. "Don't even think of putting that in my hair! It looks like some kind of weapon!"
The maids shrieked with laughter, whisking the item away before Andromache could protest. "It's only a hairpin, Princess. The hurt will be worthwhile, let me assure you. The most dazzling beauty must always be accompanied by some kind of pain."
"No it doesn't!" Andromache contradicted vehemently, trying to fend off the pair of hands that rested firmly on her shoulders. Realizing she couldn't fight off four more hands, she allowed her hair to be restyled.
"Why am I even wearing something this extravagant?" she asked, pointing to her reflection in the looking glass. The ornament was stunning; the narrow, silver shaft of the pin was decorated with the most unusual coral-colored stones, complimenting the peach gown nicely. At the top, sprays of coral stones were arranged, much like the tail of a peacock. Currently the dress was draped carefully over the bed, the sheer, shimmering silk glinting pleasantly in the candlelight.
"Lady Briseis picked that pin out, saying you could use something more fancy," the youngest maid answered. "She has no problem with what you normally wear, but stresses that this entire week is a series of special occasions. She told us to tell you that she knows you favor gold jewelry over silver, but that it will look incredible on you."
Feeling her cheeks redden, Andromache crossed her arms. She looked down at her fingers, which had been submitted to the attention of her maids earlier that day. Three coats of shimmering coral paint had been meticulously applied to her fingernails, but Andromache was certainly not going to admit that she liked them. The shade was beautiful but sheer enough to be tasteful, the touch of color as much as Andromache thought she could take, given the present situation of constant fussing.
Andromache straightened up immediately when she felt one of the six hovering hands approach her eyes with a stick of kohl.
"I don't like hands around my eyes," declared Andromache firmly. "I would very much appreciate if you allowed me to do this, if it simply must be done."
"Lady Briseis told us that we are not to let you leave if you don't us prepare you," the tallest maid revealed, surrendering her kohl.
"Where is that girl, anyway?" asked Andromache peevishly. "Briseis told me she would be here."
"Oh, she's talking to prince Paris," said the thinnest maid, giggling like mad. The other two joined in, and Andromache rolled her eyes, a marvelous feat she managed to accomplish whilst she lined them simultaneously. "That lucky girl."
"They're cousins!" Andromache groaned. "Besides, I know all three of you girls could do better than him. Apollo knows I love the boy, but I'm begging you: don't fall for his charms."
"Oh, but I already have," sighed the tall maid, giggling even harder. "He was incredible!"
Andromache tried not to swear as the kohl line slipped. Those silly girls…
"Oh, tell us all about it!" urged the thinnest one. "Please! I must know!"
"I don't think this is the proper place," Andromache cut in smoothly, using a cloth to clean up the mistake she made lining her left eye. "Thank you girls for helping me today, but I believe I can handle the rest. You may tell Lady Briseis that you have completed your duties."
The three girls bowed and left, their infernal giggling nearly driving Andromache mad. Thanking Apollo that they were gone, Andromache resumed the application of kohl before rising. She stood over her bed, admiring the lovely fabric of the gown.
It's beautiful, but it does not fit me, she thought pensively. The color is simply too…delicate. I'll bet Paris will adore it. Briseis did say she selected it with him in mind. What color did she pick for Hector, again?
Shaking her head for worrying about such inane thoughts, Andromache changed into the gown. The cut was simplistic; the gown was designed as all of Andromache's other ones, but of a finer quality. All clasps were silver, but were decorated with gold stones in addition to the unusual coral ones she noted earlier.
Reaching into one of the many boxes that Hector had commented on earlier, she pulled out a pair of silver earrings, the only silver jewelry she actually owned. Very small and very plain, she admired their simplicity and fine craftsmanship. The strange design almost resembled the shape of arrows.
Leave it to Theseus to find the strangest, most eccentric jewelry, Andromache thought wryly. He probably looked for ages to find something I could never be able to wear under normal circumstances. And leave it to him to buy me silver, which he knows I don't care for…
Rolling her eyes when she recalled her brother's response, she slid the clasps through her earlobes.
"You hate them, don't you?" he had cried dramatically, more to embarrass her than anything else. In front of the entire family, he had fallen at her feet, tugging on the hem of her dress in supplication. His exaggerated apology had almost made Andromache laugh; Theseus loved being silly. "And I bet you won't ever wear them, either! Oh, I'm a terrible brother, I really am! I'm so sorry….no, you don't ever have to wear something so ugly! It's all my fault, really!"
Frowning when she realized she would never deal with his antics again, she found that any excitement she had been bearing was gone. In its place was a feeling suspended between sadness and acceptance. Before he had joined the army, Theseus had been her constant companion. Very rarely did he abandon her to side with his older brothers, but when he did, any hurt she felt was more at his desertion than anything else.
"Andromache?" a voice asked, coming from Briseis who stood in the doorway. "I've been saying your name for almost a minute, so I came in. Are you alright?"
Andromache nodded. "I'm fine. I'm sorry I didn't hear you at the door. I suppose I should be meeting Paris now."
Briseis took her hand, pulling her along. "His mouth will drop when he realizes what you've been hiding under that cloak," she beamed.
Rolling her eyes, Andromache did not deign that comment with a reply. She gently broke the grasp of her friend.
"Why don't you go on ahead, I'll be along in a moment," Andromache told her. Looking confounded but complying with the request, Briseis continued down the hall, tossing a baffled look back at her friend. Brisies walked to the entrance of the palace, where Paris and Hector were obviously discussing something intensely. As soon as Hector saw his cousin come into sight, he broke away from Paris to her.
"Good evening, Briseis," he said, his gaze flickering politely her, taking notice of the makeup she wore. "You look lovely this evening."
Puzzled and perplexed when Hector headed back inside the palace, Briseis called after him. "Hector, you're not going to the festival tonight?" she asked.
"I've got a lot of business to attend to," he answered, never breaking his stride.
"But it's the very first night!" Briseis wailed.
"There are six more of them," Hector told her, finally turning around.
"You aren't even going to keep an eye on Paris and Andromache?" she asked helplessly. Trying to find a good reason, she blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "You know how Paris is, don't you want to make sure he doesn't try anything?"
"I trust my brother not to do anything questionable," Hector said, deflating a great deal of Paris's irritation. "I hope you all have fun tonight, Briseis. Don't go and break some poor lad's heart tonight."
Briseis smiled. "I'm not the one who has to worry about that," she grinned, pointing to where Andromache was walking down the palace steps.
Delicate silver sandals were barely visible under the long hem of Andromache's gown, which shimmered becomingly in the radiance of the fading sun and flickering torches. The depths of the pale hue were cultivated by such an odd combination of light.
Hector studied her closely, taking more than her outward appearance. For all the magnificent finery she wore, she seemed different than she had last night. She was stunning; there was no question. But for all her beauty Hector did not find her as alluring as he had the evening before. Something was gone that had been present last night.
"Andromache, you look amazing," Paris said sincerely, taking her right hand and brushing his lips to her knuckles. She smiled gravely, and Paris noticed the odd expression she wore.
"Andromache, what's the matter?" Paris questioned softly. He flinched when she jerked away, not looking him in the eye. The motion sent her earrings swaying, and Hector noticed how sharply they reflected light.
"I will be fine," Andromache said after a moment, straightening herself up. "Perhaps we should go to the festival."
Taking the hint, Paris nodded. Electing not to take her arm in his, the pair descended the palace steps evenly. Briseis waited a moment before following. Hector sighed, knowing it was proper custom for a male relative to accompany her. Usually she was permitted to go alone; no one wanted to argue with her and risk the wrath of her fiery temper. But Hector knew he had better go with her.
"Briseis, wait a moment," Hector said, catching up with her. He missed the look that Andromache threw him when she heard his voice.
"Yes, Hector?" she replied, genuinely puzzled. "What is it?"
"Do you have anyone to accompany you this evening?" Hector asked, trying to sound stern.
"No, but I don't need anyone, if that is what you imply," Briseis said quickly, her voice rising in pitch sharply. Hector was thankful that his brother and Andromache were out of hearing range.
"I just thought that maybe—" Hector began slowly.
"No, Hector!" Briseis cried. "I don't need anyone to look after me! I'm sixteen years old, Hector! I'm not a baby!"
Hector threw up his hands in exasperation when Briseis turned abruptly and stormed off, her gold sandals clapping sharply against the gray, stone stairs. Sighing deeply, Hector resigned himself to the difficult task he had originally planned for the evening.
Unsure what to make of Andromache's strange mood, Paris decided that the best thing to do was to start off the evening with a good meal. Though Andromache and Hector had undoubtedly believed that he had spent the last few weeks going about his usual carousing, he had been snooping around the city trying to find out all he could about plans for the festival.
His campaign was not easy; learn more about Andromache so he could inform his brother, who was not nearly as easygoing around women as he. Paris had deliberately asked Andromache out on the first night so could fish for the information his brother would never think of asking. Briseis had even persuaded her maids to spend the entire week pampering Andromache so he had time to tell his brother everything in time for the next night. Paris had been proud of his uncharacteristically brilliant plan, at least until he had sighted Andromache's dejected mood.
At a loss for words, an experience that he was not familiar with, Paris sat across from Andromache had a small table. She picked at her food disinterestedly, which Paris had learned she only did when she was displeased. Before becoming comfortable at the palace, she had hardly eaten anything.
"How is it?" Paris asked bravely, nodding at the food on her plate that she had been pushing around for the last five minutes.
"Alright," she replied listlessly, looking down. Her magnificence had been drawing stares ever since they had left the palace, but she was either oblivious or indifferent to them.
"Listen, I think there's something you would like," he told her with an impish grin. Recognizing the mischievous look, Andromache responded more vividly than he could have hoped.
"Paris, what are you planning?" she asked sternly, her eyes narrowing as his smile grew. She would never admit how much it unnerved her, but Andromache found the playful gleam in his eye as a bad omen promising all kinds of trouble.
"You shall see."
Hector tried not to skulk through the streets of Troy, feeling distinctly uncomfortable as he tried to fulfill his self-appointed task. Shopping was not something he did, really, unless he absolutely had to. He knew exactly what he wanted to buy, but finding it was a difficult matter.
I had thought Briseis would be able to help me, but it appears I am on my own, Hector thought grimly, remembering her flaring temper. I don't know where to find such shops…
Many special booths were open during the festival in addition to the normal establishments, so there were even more places to look. Hector did not have many material possessions aside from his clothes and armor, and those were provided for him. Searching for things and purchasing them was a process he had never grown familiar with.
Most shops at this end of the city were closed, but occasionally a light would be visible from the window, indicating its open status. Deciding it would be best to check every possibility, Hector made his way through the deserted-looking street.
Ducking into a promising looking shop, Hector nearly collided with another man. Apologizing generously, Hector proceeded to enter the store, scanning the shelves with the hope of finally finding it. He asked the vendor if he sold what he was looking for.
"Oh yes, but I don't have any more bottles," the vendor said sadly, shaking his head. "I'm afraid it is not a very popular item; it's rare, expensive, and not widely-known. I'm surprised I even sold my last bottle to that gentleman you just bumped into."
Heart sinking into his belly, Hector gaped. "That man bought your last bottle?"
"Oh yes, I almost didn't want to part with it, but I left him buy it," the vendor said cheerfully. "He was absolutely ecstatic, if you ask me. If you could allow several months, I'm sure I can get my hands on another bottle."
"No, that's not necessary," Hector assured him, wondering if he could catch up to the man who had just bought the last bottle.
Apollo damn him if there is not another bottle in Troy, Hector cursed, racing out of the store and into the streets. I hope I can find him.
"…You simply cannot be serious," Andromache stated flatly, arms crossed. "That is absolutely ridiculous."
"But you will be spectacular!" promised Paris.
"Why did you tell him I would do this without even asking me first?" she hissed, glancing nervously at the man's expectant look. "Especially if I have to wear that!"
Paris followed her pointed finger to the bundle of fabric the booth owner held. Folded neatly, the white cloth was pristine. Paris did not foresee a problem.
"What's wrong with it?" Paris asked confidently, grabbing it and unfolding it. Holding it high, as he had expected it to tumble to the ground, he was surprised when the dress ended nearly three feet sooner than he had thought.
"Ah, yes, well…" Paris was speechless. "Um, it's a very nice shade of…er, white. It will look absolutely stunning with your coloring."
"Paris, white doesn't have shades, it's white!" Andromache told him, snatching the dress away to inspect if for herself. "Everyone is capable of looking good in white. However, color is the least of my problems. This dress ends mid-thigh!"
"Well, it will look stunning on your figure, then," offered Paris, stepping back as if to envision Andromache wearing it. Obviously pleased with his imaginary results, he nodded. "I think you should do it."
"No, I won't compromise my modesty for a—a foot race!" Andromache shrieked, barely suppressing the urge to rip out Paris's hair. Throwing the dress back at Paris, he managed to catch it before the white fabric touched the ground.
Paris shrugged. "It goes along with the game's theme, Atalanta vs. the suitors. You know how the tale goes. Atalanta was a very beautiful woman, but since wolves raised her, she was very strong. Unwilling to marry a man weaker than herself, she issued a challenge: she would marry any man who could beat her in a foot race. The winner would receive her hand in marriage, but the loser would lose his head."
"If I'm to be Atalanta, what exactly do I collect from the losers?" Andromache asked. "Do I get their lives?"
"What makes you think you will win?" Paris countered. "A bit over-confident, don't you think, to assume that you will beat the other competitors?"
Narrowing her eyes, Andromache crossed her arms. She looked disdainfully at Paris. "I could beat you."
Paris laughed. "That's very funny, Andromache, dear, but I think not. I'm not even participating."
"That's because you know I will beat you," Andromache returned, and before he could stop her, she had flagged down the man who ran the booth. "Sir, I shall serve as Atalanta for the game as long as you wish."
"Good, good," the man said, smiling widely. "It's simple; attract participants to compete against you in a race. They pay a fee to compete, and if they win, you have to give them a kiss—" Andromache bristled at this, so he quickly rethought, "or a coin from your own pocket. Whichever you prefer. Also, you have to run the next race for me for free. If you win, you collect a kiss—er, coin, from the winner."
Contemplating this, Andromache peered carefully at the gamer owner, then at Paris. "What if the "suitor" wins? Shouldn't something worse happen to him?"
"Well, as much as I like the old tale, I can't have you killing the loser," the booth owner said quickly, a bit uneasy at her interest. "So the loser will have to put an additional coin in one of three jars. Each jar represents a golden apple, and once a jar is filled the golden apple will belong to you."
"This is a confusing game," Paris muttered. "I didn't know it would be so complicated."
"No it's not," Andromache elbowed him lightly on the arm. "They pay to race; if they win, they get their fee back. I have to give the winner a coin and I have to run the next race for free and give all the money, whether I win or lose, to the booth manager. If I win, I keep half of their entry fee, plus I get an additional coin from them so I earn golden apples."
"What will you do with three golden apples?" Paris asked, puzzled.
"I'll shoot them off your head the next time we use your bow for target practice," Andromache said sweetly.
"You aren't that good," Paris pointed out. "At least not good enough to be doing that. I could die!"
"Well, could is much better than will, because if I were really Atalanta, your life would definitely be forfeited," Andromache shrugged. "Unless you're scared, of course. I don't want to make you do anything you don't want to do."
"I'll do it, because I know I'll win!" Paris declared. "And if I win, since I can't marry you as the tale goes, I shall have a kiss. A chaste one, I promise you, but on the lips in front of everyone."
"Fine, but if, no when, you lose, you have to wear the robe you're holding," Andromache said, pointing to the minuscule article of clothing. "Tomorrow when you attend the festival."
"It does not matter," Paris muttered, "because I shall win. Prepare to kiss the lips of the most handsome man in Troy!"
Rolling her eyes, Andromache sighed. "I don't see him, you'll have to point him out." Receiving a good-natured smack on the arm, Andromache seized the dress from Paris. "I will change into this…costume, and when I come back, prepare to suffer the most humiliating defeat of your life."