Chapter 28

Andromache had seen Kallisto in many different moods, from jovial to fearsome, but never before had she seen such ferocity on the old woman's face. It was a twisted brew of anger, shock, disappointment and wounded pride.

The sharp, burning eyes looked from Eudorus to her and back again. The words, when they came, snapped as brightly and dangerously as lightning in a summer storm.

"So, what do you propose to do with her?"

The challenge was obvious, the unspoken options terrifying.

Andromache glanced over at Eudorus and saw that he was as surprised by Kallisto's reaction as she. With only the slightest hesitant doubt, she hoped that she would continue to have his love and understanding through this latest trial. He had yet to disappoint her. When she had decided to profess her true identity, finally convinced the risks were worth the honesty, she had entrusted herself to him and he had reacted as she had hoped he would.

An entire month had passed, the knowledge held only between themselves and Iasemi. Andromache was reveling in the newfound intimacy. She wanted to savor it as she and Eudorus conveyed silent conversations through eyes and gestures when in the presence of others, a secret none could guess, a delicious bond, a new life alight within her, a vibrancy of sharing and creating.

Perhaps she had become too confident and misjudged Kallisto. She knew the woman would not greet the news as kindly as some might, but this was unexpected. And she worried.

Indeed, she worried. Kallisto wielded more influence over Eudorus than she did, a privilege forged from years of loyalty that Andromache could never hope to surpass. Despite her faith that Eudorus would remain steadfast to her, that initial doubt still lingered. She knew the pushes and pulls that loyalty could exert and had seen it work its weighty burden on Hector over the years. Eventually, she had leaped ahead of other, longer-lived bonds, but it had required no small effort on her part. Hector's loyalty to Paris had never been completely surmounted, and never had she encountered a Kallisto in her former life.

Kallisto had forged Eudorus into the man he was, had spent nearly her whole life serving him. That was something not lightly tossed aside. Her own royal blood could mean nothing compared to that.

"No one need know," Eudorus replied, and Andromache was startled from her thoughts at the sound of his voice. She looked over at him, saw an encouraging gleam in his eyes that could not be a trick of the bright, autumn sun.

A sustained breeze whistled over the knoll upon which they stood, laying the dying grass over without mercy. The stiff, dancing ends tickled Andromache's ankles and the river that plodded beside them was whipped ever so slightly. The sun, a blinding yellow of very late autumn, reflected more brilliantly upon the surface until the river seemed awash in sparkling jewels. She shivered and tugged her woolen cloak around her, venturing an expectant glance at Kallisto.

The old woman, bare-armed and having come straight from the hot kitchen, was untroubled by the cool wind. She stood as rigid and unconquerable as she always did, and Andromache felt a strong urge to suggest to her that she was more suited to serve as a column than as a person.

She did harbor affection for Kallisto; the woman had been an ally after Eudorus had chosen to take her to his bed, but if that friendship had been based on who she was, rather than Eudorus' own desires, then she had severely misjudged her.

"These hills will forever keep the secret," Andromache offered with a meek smile.

Kallisto snorted and gave Andromache a penetrating, stony stare. "I trusted you, Nephele, as much as I can trust anyone. But what have you been up to all this time, I wonder?" Her glare pivoted to Eudorus, its strength undiminished. "We have a fat treasury in these hills, and what could it be used for, I wonder?"

Her tone was unmistakable, and Andromache understood. In the span of only a few moments, Kallisto had formed a scenario to her satisfaction about this imposter's motives and plans.

"There's a city out there I am certain you want to get back to," Kallisto continued, her eyes and words a relentless ram of intimidation. "Were you going to manipulate Eudorus into winning it for you?"

Andromache grasped desperately at words, any words, but Kallisto's fierce suspicion, her lightning leaps into truths and accurate theories, rendered her speechless. She felt a betraying warmth nest in her cheeks and realized she had lost when she saw Eudorus' face suddenly pale, his lips part in sudden disbelief and a betrayal of her own making.

Kallisto seized upon her misstep immediately.

"But what I should be asking is what were you planning for your son? We have a king under our roof, Eudorus! And a mother who wants to secure his rights, as should any mother of a prince. With all of this wealth flowing into our coffers, it must have occurred to her to lay hold of it through whatever means and use it to take back the city she was robbed of!"

It is hurt pride, Andromache told herself. Kallisto is vituperative, yes, but she is wounded. She prides herself on being impervious to trickery, the clearest pair of eyes to ever see. Eudorus has immense pride himself, but he weighed it against my secrecy and found it not as important as the feelings he held for me.

She had to say something, or all would be lost.

"I never thought myself better than you, Kallisto," she said, smothering the tremor that threatened to betray her nervousness. "I took no pleasure in hiding myself and deceiving you."

"Better than me?" Kallisto asked incredulous. "I should say not! It is on Eudorus' behalf that I am outraged."

Andromache ventured another glance at Eudorus, who seemed more subdued and doubtful than before. The flush on her cheeks had faded, but it had left a mark on his conscience and he seemed to be pondering it still.

"Kallisto--" he began.

"So what do you propose to do with the Trojan heir now?" the old woman demanded. "You would not have hesitated in the past."

Andromache felt her entire body go numb. She was inciting him to murder! "There will be no harm to him!" she cried. "None! He has done nothing and he will do nothing! He is but a baby! He knows not his father or who he is!"

This has gone so terribly wrong! she wailed to herself, the cry careening impotently inside her. And it was I who suggested to Eudorus that Kallisto be told, that she was owed the privilege of such honesty.

What options were open to her? Squaring Eudorus and Kallisto against one another? No, she would not even consider it. That was a trick fit for Helen, not Andromache.

"This life here has made you too complacent and soft, Eudorus," Kallisto went on, her voice acquiring a note of regret. "Some of your men have left to seek their glories as they have always known them. Tydeus stays, though why he does is a mystery for the gods to reveal. His loyalty runs deep and I would guard that more preciously than the deceitful heart of a Trojan."

Andromache feared that Kallisto's bold gambit to seize control by demanding answers from Eudorus and belittling her directly would succeed. She indeed felt as if the reins of the conversation had been snapped out of her hands. What more could she say that would not betray something, someone, else? She could not mention Paris now. That would be one revelation too many.

Eudorus was not easy to rile, although he did not attempt to mask his growing impatience. When he spoke, his voice was tight, the words clipped.

"I have always let you speak more freely than another would, Kallisto," Eudorus said. "One more word and you will have overstepped my leniency."

Kallisto would not be cowed. "Do you truly believe that she would continue to silently submit to slavery?" she went on without hesitation. "That she would gladly stay if there were opportunities for her to leave or plot to get what she wants?" Her own impatience was showing as well, and she made a desperate bid to her adopted son, her hands gesturing sharply in agitation.

"Think, Eudorus! Your commander slew her husband, dragged him in the dust behind his chariot, defiled his body! Then he taunted the entire city with his action! You think that would pass unavenged? You think she could not hold you partly accountable for such a thing? My son, I fear you have been made a dupe, thinking the sighs and moans from this woman's mouth have been for you and you alone."

The accusations were becoming expected, but though Andromache was terrified by their merciless bile, her anger was nothing compared to the rage that flared within her when the details of Hector's death were exhumed. As the memory of Hector's brutalized body was forced in front of her eyes again, she felt reason and control bolt like a frightened horse.

She leaped forward from Eudorus' side and struck Kallisto with brutal force. The woman's head snapped to the side from the impact and Kallisto staggered blindly before falling to her knees. Further blows would have come, but Andromache's arms were soon pinned behind her back and she was dragged away from the object of her wrath.

"Do not dare to presume anything about me!" she screamed. "You think I am nothing but a desperate queen scheming to secure a mound of dirt and charred brick? That is Helen, you describe, not I! She wants Troy more than I do!" She tried to wrench herself from Eudorus' tight hold, but he would not let her go. As Kallisto slowly pulled herself to her feet, Andromache rained invective upon the old woman.

"And do not dare to speak of Hector! He begged me to leave Troy, right until the very moment he went out to face that butcher Achilles. He did not tell me to fight to win Troy back, Kallisto. He only wanted me to live! He wanted Astyanax to grow tall and be as loved as I loved him." She heard herself speaking, but did not comprehend the words. It was a spring burst from within her, formless but with only one need: to leave the vessel that contained it. She had fallen slack in Eudorus' embrace, the tears coming freely. She felt bloody, every scab ripped open and now raw and oozing.

"Can I not be as devoted to my own as you to yours?" she wept.

Kallisto, now upright, looked at Andromache pitilessly. "What is mine is now yours, also. You are bound to Eudorus, as am I. Your home is here, as it is mine. When Troy perished, so did your claim to it. It is lost to you. Accept it." She sighed, as if she was unbelieving that she needed to continue instructing two unruly children when the lesson should have been learned long ago.

"And what if Agamemnon had discovered you were here, yet Eudorus was still ignorant?" she went on. "If you harbor any love for him, that possibility must have occurred to you. And a great shame if not. Agamemnon may love his gold, but he is very fond of trophies and you are certainly...that." She looked to Eudorus, her deliberate calm nearly as powerful as an infernal rage. "And what would you have done, had he appeared one day to demand her? Bartered her for goods, to spare our home? Would that it had happened earlier, for I daresay you would have done it. Now, you are too attached--"

"Kallisto," Eudorus warned, low and threatening, "your tongue is fast forcing me to a choice I never wished to make."

The old woman's chin rose, her challenging demeanor undiminished. "No son of mine would choose a pair of soft thighs over the wisdom of a mother," she said confidently.

When Eudorus did not speak, the surprise on Kallisto's face could not be masked. "But you cannot trust her!" she implored. "I want her to answer me: just what plans did you have to use his treasure to get your city back in your hands? Protest to the contrary all you like, but I will see through any lies from this moment on!"

Andromache knew not what to say. Kallisto's question had forced her into a corner where another confession would exonerate her of one crime, but convict her of another. This plan that Kallisto was convinced existed did, in fact, exist. A scheme of Paris' devising. She had agreed to help him where she could, but he had struck out for Mycenae with but a desire to kill Agamemnon using internal strife to achieve it. Nothing else had been assured. But how could she confess any of that without bringing further anger upon her head from Kallisto and further showing Eudorus how deeply she had betrayed him?

Kallisto's eyes narrowed, her mouth curving into a grim smile. Her silence had been confession enough for the old woman.

Andromache felt Eudorus' hands grip her upper arms. He spun her around to face him. "Andromache?" he asked. She could see he was wounded by the uncertainty, his eyes conveying his pain and doubt clearly.

"W-would you have bartered me to Agamemnon?" she asked, trying to forestall answering Kallisto.

"No," he said, vehement. "I would have given Agamemnon nothing. He would have been shown a fresh grave and told lies about who rested in it before he took you or anyone else."

Andromache looked deeply into his eyes and believed he meant it. The fervor nearly moved her to fresh tears.

"Very noble, Eudorus," Kallisto said dryly. "That you would endanger a greater enterprise for one woman."

Eudorus shot Kallisto a withering gaze. "Had I known you would react like this and were you of proper age, I would send for Agamemnon right now and tell him you were Hector's widow."

The air around them had grown foul and angry, and Andromache did not wish to see Eudorus turn so harshly against the woman who had raised him. She could afford to be generous, to attempt some measure of peacemaking. She had never deliberately forced Hector to choose between her and Paris in any argument, and she would not do so now with Eudorus and Kallisto. She laid a hand on Eudorus' shoulder.

"Kallisto is only speaking truthfully, and I admire her for that. I would not have her be dishonest, now that I have decided to shed my own dishonesty with you."

She turned, but her gesture went unacknowledged. Kallisto's glare was still stony and unyielding. "You still haven't answered my question. You saw our treasure build, you have a son without his rightful kingdom. Do not lie to me and say your ambitions died from the charm to be found here. What scheme were you devising?"

There was a pregnant silence. Andromache thought furiously. She could not mention Paris, but there was another…

"Menesthius…" she began.

"I knew it!" The words burst from Eudorus angrily. "He assured me the decision to pursue Agamemnon was mine and he would abide by it, but that devil sought to undercut me, and using you! Did he know who you were?"

"No!" she protested. "I never spoke to him when you were not present. He wants Agamemnon dead, as do I. With him gone, I would be safe." She looked at him earnestly, then glared over her shoulder at Kallisto. "We all would be safe." Returning her gaze to Eudorus, she said, more softly, "That has become my only desire. If Troy should ever come into my hands, I would not turn it away, but I do not seek it. I only want Agamemnon dead and then I can again know peaceful sleep. I trust Menesthius to best him in some manner."

Eudorus said nothing, his pale eyes searching her face, for what she did not know. She was not exactly lying; Menesthius' own desire had been clear and she was only saying that she was placing her faith in him to carry out her unspoken will. For all she knew, he could very well do it.

Eudorus gestured at Kallisto with a motion of his head. "Leave us." Kallisto began to protest, but Eudorus' dismissive nod became more emphatic. "Go back to the kitchen. This has not turned out as I had hoped."

"Hardly!" Kallisto snapped. She reluctantly turned and strode back to her domain.

The wind continued to whip around them, and Andromache pulled her cloak tighter around her. She did not look at Eudorus as she wondered with dread what would be the next thing to fall from his lips. The thoughts accumulated, knotting her stomach into a heavy lump. She brought a hand to her mouth, nauseous, and sank to her knees. The grass gave way beneath her; it was soft, but far from comforting. Like a scared child, she took the edge of her cloak and covered her face, doubling over in fear, wanting to sink, wanting to die.

The wind was shuttered from her, and a strong, broad hand was laid gently on her back, stroking her through the coarse, woolen cloak as one would soothe a fretful child. It was a clumsy gesture, thoroughly inadequate to quell the turmoil that racked her. She gave a short, mournful laugh.

"Andromache."

Her name still sounded slow and unsure on his lips; he rarely ventured to say it outside their bedchamber in the dark watches of the night. She wondered if she would again hear the many inflections of it that Hector had uttered over the course of their marriage: the sharp four jabs spoken in surprise or joy; the undulating whisper of fulfilled desire or marvel; the leaden beat of fatigue; of weary resignation at a wife's emotional twists.

She could hear the latter now, if only a little.

She pulled the cloak from her head and looked up at him anxiously, saw that he was kneeling before her, sheltering her from the wind. "It gives me more pleasure to hear you say my true name than envisioning I hold Troy in my hands again."

Eudorus smiled wanly, but it slowly faded. "I want to believe that." He sighed and lowered himself fully beside her, giving another sigh as the cool grass met his skin. He drew up his knees and locked his arms around them.

Andromache straightened and glanced at him quickly before following his gaze, a contemplation of the river that ripped before them. The sun was high, but there was little warmth in it. She saw gooseflesh crawling down his arms and she slid her cloak around him as he had done with his robe around her shivering, naked body the night they had knelt besides Astyanax's cradle.

The gesture stirred him and he turned to look at her. His eyes were not entirely trusting, but the invitation for her to earn it was clear. "If you never discussed anything secretly with Menesthius about murdering Agamemnon, should I know about something? Is there some plot that could fail? I don't want to discover it when the consequences of that failure suddenly appear outside my door. Kallisto is entirely right in that fear."

Andromache met his gaze before returning her attention to the river.

"I shall not be angry," he said, "but I think it is time I know the truth. Whatever that word means. I am not so certain anymore."

"It is moments such as this where I wonder how a man like you followed Achilles as loyally as you did. You are as calm as I know he was rash, intemperate, and cruel."

"It seems I was rash to think I had seen the last of Troy," Eudorus said. "But it appears that is not yet over for me."

Andromache drew closer against him and he took the edge of her cloak and wrapped it around him more fully.

"It will be over," she said. "It will be."

"At least when Achilles fell in love with that priestess, he knew who she was. He was rash and blind in many things, but not in that." His brow furrowed, eyes fixed on his hands that twisted each other in agitation. She saw his throat clench, wished she could divine his thoughts.

"Eudorus--"

"Where is that priestess?" he asked. "The one who sent Agamemnon to his first death?"

"Briseis? I wish I knew. She left us with a young man who seemed eager to care for her. She was grieving mightily for Achilles and though I tried, I think she felt my sympathy was lacking."

Eudorus' hands did not stop in their ceaseless, straining wringing. "I was horrified when Achilles returned to camp, with Hector behind him--"

"Stop…don't…" she begged.

Eudorus made no move to comfort her, but he left the thought unfinished. "He was blind, as you say. He was ever so with Patroclus."

"As was Hector with his brother."

"And what of that boy? Paris?"

Andromache flinched. Was he going to question her on everyone who escaped that day? "He was there," she said guardedly. "On the beach the day you took me. Hidden in a cave with Helen."

Eudorus made a noise of surprise. "He failed to risk himself for you? After what his brother did to save his sorry hide in combat with Menelaus?"

Andromache nodded miserably, then checked herself. No, Paris had changed, if only a little. It was Helen who, according to Paris, was the same as the day she last saw her. "The cowardice came from Helen, I suspect."

Silence again reigned over the knoll. Andromache decided to let him ponder in peace, wary of volunteering any more information. She realized her mistake when he sighed sharply and spoke with slow clarity. His eyes never left the river.

"Kallisto said nothing, but I sent her away before she could seize upon it," he said. "She would have beaten an answer from you, but I will simply ask. It is probably nothing, but you cried that Helen was scheming to secure Troy? How do you know of this?"

"Because it is Helen!" she immediately replied, not liking how shrill her voice sounded. "I can hardly expect her to calmly submit to being without power, not after having reigned in Sparta as queen and Troy as princess." She wanted to add that the sojourn in Egypt, enjoying Pharaoh's splendor, had no doubt whetted her appetite even further. "Kallisto seems to have confused me with Helen, for what ambitions Kallisto believes I cherish, I assure her she is describing Helen."

He smiled again, but it was as wan as before. "Andromache, if there is one thing I have discovered, it is that you are a woman of endless surprises and vast talents. Who else could have so convincingly begged a cold mercenary to spare a useless infant? I always intended to carry out my threat the next day, and then the next. Something always stayed me until I could no longer bear to contemplate it. And now I wonder…"

"You and Kallisto both wonder about many things," she chided, laying her cheek against his shoulder.

"There is so much more about you I yearn to know. I would rather I learn from your lips than from another's."

Andromache harnessed her breath, refused to make it come unnaturally fast. "What is it you wish to learn?"

"The Fates will see to Agamemnon, but if you have tried to hurry him towards his end, I want to hear it. Now."

His voice was still as soft and mild as it ever was when they were alone, but it was a clear ultimatum. He had already asked her to speak whatever truths were still locked inside her, was still unsatisfied at the feints and deflections she had thus far given him.

She had no one but herself to blame. Her first confession could not be stemmed. More had to ensue. One secret of such importance meant that there were likely others. Her name and past guaranteed it. She would forever be a font of suspicion, and Kallisto had succeeded in making her look guilty of harboring unspoken knowledge.

Regrettably, the old woman was right about one thing: lack of preparation would mean lives lost. If any danger beat its way up into the hills of Phthia, it would be the result of Paris' failure. And she would be to blame.

But she could not reveal the truth about Paris. For the greater good, Paris would be a small sacrifice. She could imagine that Eudorus would assure her he would let events unfold as they might and only look to his own defenses, yet silently send someone to Mycenae to remove Paris from his purpose through fair means or foul. Kallisto would certainly advocate such a course, and the wisdom of it was undeniable, but family loyalty to Priam's house - past as it was - was not easily tossed aside in unquestioning favor of current ties.

"Agamemnon's life is in the hands of the Fates," Andromache replied levelly. "If he dies, I had no part in it other than fervently hoping it came to pass. Still, misdirected revenge might come upon us and we must guard against being taken by surprise." Feeling she had steeled herself adequately, she tilted her head upwards and found Eudorus watching her intently.

She wanted to kiss him, assure him, but it would speak of manipulation. Such clumsy tricks had been attempted early in her marriage and found lacking in art. Hector had once told her she was a poor coquette, although he confessed that her actions had a certain pleasure about them. That had been a game in those long ago, happier days, but there was no place for games now.

Eudorus' gaze remained intense for some time before he looked away. "You must think me the easiest fooled of men," he said, and Andromache heard embarrassed self-recrimination, rather than accusation, seep into his voice. "How blind I am to what exists under my nose when it is not charging at me with sword drawn and baying for my blood."

"But I am no enemy skulking under your watch," she said. "No longer, and I have not considered you such for a blessed long time. I deceived you only because I was afraid for Astyanax."

"I would not have harmed him," Eudorus insisted.

"Even if you would have, in those early days Kallisto referred to, I understand. My boy would not have been the first baby condemned for the accident of his birth. Hector and I knew the risks. Troy had seen violence and regicide before, and we knew it was likely to see it again, in our lifetime or another's."

"And Helen ensured that it was in your lifetime. You would still be in Troy, with Hector, had she been content with her lot."

She was silent, uncertain if he was testing her, waiting to see if she would protest foolishly that it would not be so. He wanted truth; he would have it, at least in this matter.

"Aye, perhaps," Andromache said sadly. "I loved him, loved him with an ache that seemed to come from a deep well within me. It was so bottomless, so infinite." She watched him as she spoke, saw his jaw work subtly in tense control. She brought her hand to his cheek and turned his head insistently. "You need not feel you must compare yourself to him. If you have done so these past wonderful weeks, I wish you to stop. A better man I never knew, yes, but only of Troy."

Her fingers stroked his beard and, for the first time, she noticed just how fast it was beginning to grey. "You're carrying so many worries, and I would have none of them due to the ghost of my Hector. Think of our home and our love instead."

She let her hand fall slowly from his face, down his chest, and grasped him lightly around the wrist.

"The gods saw fit to give me shadow, and I accepted it. I bore it as well as I could. I wept, I feared the dangers I thought you threatened. But that shadow passed into sun, as all sorrows eventually do. Why was I ever frightened? Eventually I came to love you." She guided Eudorus' hand to her stomach. It was still smooth and taut, but there had been signs that she now recognized. It was early yet, but her instincts told her she had guessed true.

"And, my love, I think the gods have seen fit to give us a child."

* * * * * * * * * * *

Two chapters left. Three, at most. Odds are by year's end, this fic will see "The End." (At last!)

I hope you enjoyed reading! I like to read, too, so shoot me a review. ;-)