An Unlikely Union 11:
Quick Comment: This is it - this is the very last chapter! I'm sorry it's taken so long ... I found this one the most difficult and I'm still not sure if I'm that happy with it but never mind ... was conscious of having a happy ending with a bit of drama whilst tying all the ends together. Warning: It is seriously long because of this! But keep with it ...
Reviews as always please .... and for those who want an 'uncensored' version of Chapter 8, I am just tidying it up, it'll be on it's way soon.
Enjoy ... for the last time "sob!" :o(
The Trojans
Cassandra furrowed her brow in concern, almost mirroring Sofia's worried expression:
"Sofia? What's wrong? Is there something you haven't told me?"
Before Sofia could answer, the farmer's wife came trundling down the avenue, as fast as her little plump legs could carry her, her jolly face beetroot red and wobbling as she puffed through her mouth with sheer effort.
"Sofia! Sofia! Come quickly, you are required at the house!" She was waving her arms for attention and shouting breathlessly.
Sofia looked to Cassandra, her eyes full of doubt. It was what she had been expecting, to be summonsed. But she felt hesitant and did not want to face these men, in fact she feared it - but she knew she had no choice but to do so. Cassandra could see her friend needed support, whatever was happening. She smiled cheerfully and held out her hand to Sofia. Thunder rolled again overhead and the sky drew dark grey, heavy with rain clouds.
"Don't worry. The storm will pass." Cassandra said poignantly.
Sofia took her hand, grabbing it tightly and Cassandra led her down the avenue towards the villa entrance, running past the farmer's wife, mud splashing up their ankles.
In the courtyard before the villa entrance, a stable boy was lifting the leather bridles from the magnificent horses, one silver-white, the other a shiny brown. The boy was almost too short to reach their thick muscley necks and he stood balanced on tiptoe to hook feedbags over their noses. The horses munched away happily as he led them to the stable building, on one side of the courtyard so they could take a well-earned rest.
Cassandra continued to lead and Sofia trailed behind, trying to buy as much time as she could to decide exactly she was going to say to these men, breathing deeply to slow her racing heartbeat. Cassandra marched purposely through the rose covered archway and towards the already open door determined and curious all at the same time, grasping her reluctant friend tightly at the wrist - so much so Sofia thought that she might bruise. Both girls gasped after the exertion of running down the lane, their deep breaths echoing around the wooden-beamed reception room. It smelt homely, of cooking broth and was already full of people – the men had drawn quite an audience. Most of the other women had arrived before Sofia to get a look at these strange visitors, giggling and chatting excitedly amongst themselves, staring at the men in wonder.
One man stood to the side of the room, leaning his hand leisurely against the old wooden sideboard, studying with a degree of curiousness several domestic objects that messily lay on it: a large spoon, a couple of wilting daisies that one of the children had picked from a field, an old hairpin and some pieces of flint the farmer must have had in his pocket. The man's bronze helmet was carefully placed beside these, a shining contrast to the muddle of bits and pieces. Sofia soon realised that the women were shyly giggling amongst themselves about him in particular – he was strikingly handsome, beautiful in fact. Young, perhaps mid-twenties, slim with dark curls framing his big brown eyes, long lashes, a nose that was perfectly balanced with the rest of his features and cheekbones so chiselled that they could probably cut ice.
The other man stood in the centre of the room, deep in conversation with the farmer. As Sofia moved closer she could see this did not appear to be uncomfortable or even formal; they appeared to chat with ease. The farmer was smiling and nodding whilst the man was explaining something, using his hands expressionately. Like the other man, he wore full armour but he was taller and bigger than his counterpart. Imposing with a peculiar air of nobility about him - perhaps because of the way he held himself or perhaps because he still wore his helmet: a huge, domed bronze affair topped with a great plume of black horse hair, like Cassandra had said. The helmet obscured most of his features, curving over the brow, around the cheekbones, a guard hiding his nose and upper mouth. The horse hair swished about gracefully as he moved his head in conversation. As Sofia drew slowly closer, the man stopped talking suddenly, staring at her, almost right through her. It made her uncomfortable and she lowered her eyes, pulling the headscarf from her hair, embarrassed of her dishevelled appearance.
"Ah ... here she is!" The farmer exclaimed nervously, rubbing a patch of grey-brown bristly beard thoughtfully. He was still smiling but eyeing Sofia in a strange way as if he was trying to work out what this little visit was all about:
"Sofia, this gentleman would like to speak with you ... well go on child, don't be scared!" He continued, ushering her towards the man with a sweep on his hand.
Sofia immediately bowed dutifully to the figure before her, head lowered and she remained crouched at his feet:
"My lord."
The man continued to stare.
"You of all people do not have to bow to me." he said quietly, after a short and uncomfortable pause.
His voice seemed somehow familiar. Sofia looked up at him as she crouched there although she knew it was rude to make eye contact with such an obviously important man - she found his words to be a strange informal thing to say. She narrowed her eyes at him, curious then self-consciously stood again.
"I promised that I would find you, whatever happened." The man continued, a smile breaking out on his lips. Sofia remained motionless, confused. It couldn't be.
"You do not recognise me? Oh. My helmet. Where are my manners?" He muttered nervously. He lifted it from his head with both hands, his face emerging slowly; dark curls unleashed and dropping around his face and shoulders.
Sofia's legs turned to jelly and her heart was pounding so hard that her gown was visibly fluttering. She felt breathless, dizzy. Was she going to faint? Breathe deeply Sofia, breathe deeply.
Her mind must have been playing tricks.
It was not possible.
The man who stood before her was Hector.
She stuttered for a few seconds before she finally managed to get her words out:
"I must be dreaming!"
"No. This is real. I am real. I promise you." Hector laughed, placing his helmet carefully on the floor. She watched him in amazement as if she was seeing a ghost.
"But ... but they stabbed you. I thought you died." She said softly, her eyes fast welling up with tears as she stood static. Her emotions were about to burst. The tears brimmed over and a couple of drops slid easily down her cheeks.
Hector said nothing; instead he slowly unbuckled the leather strap on one shoulder of his breastplate, pulling it back and lifting the soft blue undershirt up to display his defined abdominal muscles, a little trail of dark hair leading to his groin. He held up the shirt with one hand and ran his fingers over a raised pink scar to the left and just underneath his navel to demonstrate that he wasn't a spectre or a figment of her imagination. Sofia blinked hard as she tried to focus, the tears blurring her sight. She could still see little bumps surrounding it, where the stitches had been, where they had mended him. He then dropped the shirt and buckled his breastplate back into place.
"I survived."
Sofia could not say anything. Without a sound, she stepped forward quickly, flinging her arms around him so forcefully that she almost knocked him backwards. The side of her face was pressed tightly to his chest, her lungs filling with his familiar smell. She listened to his heartbeat as if she needed proof that he really lived, squeezing him hard, not wanting to ever let go. He laughed a little tinkling laugh at her definite, vigorous show of acceptance then wrapped his big arms tightly round her in return, burying his head into her hair, closing his eyes in joy. He could feel that she was shaking, crying, happy.
They held each other for what seemed like an age. The farmer signalled silently with his raised eyebrows and ushering hands that it was time for the others to leave the room and give the strange couple some privacy. In her elation, Sofia had completely forgotten about the gathered audience. The inhabitants of the farm slowly, nosily left, - now even more curious about the Trojan visitors after gossip that quickly spread round the room like a brush fire about the men being famous Princes of Troy. The other Trojan tapped Hector on the arm to get his attention. Hector opened his eyes, dark pupils dilating and he quickly lifted his head from where it lay on Sofia's as if he had been suddenly woken from a lovely dream. This still did not disturb Sofia, who continued to hold onto him tightly.
"Brother ... I will leave too, with your consent of course." The young man said brightly.
"Yes Paris, that is fine."
The room was now silent except for the pot of broth bubbling on the hearth, popping and steaming in the corner.
"Let us sit Sofia. You've had a big shock; you look like you need it." Hector said, signalling to the empty bench that lay under the window, a long plump cushion lying across the seat
The herb garden outside was running wild, a few stray tendrils of dark green rosemary intruded through the window and reached up as if it wanted to touch the ceiling.
"You are shaking just as much as me!" She exclaimed happily, pulling away and leading him to the seat. They had so much to talk about, where could they possibly start?
"Let me look at you ...Oh Sofia, you are such a sight for sore eyes, I have been searching for you for so long ...." He said, still smiling broadly as they sat, the cushion yielding pleasantly under their combined weights.
They sat close, legs touching and hands grasped tightly, observing each other in detail as if they both could not quite believe they were finally reunited. Hector reached up and stroked Sofia's hair from her face - pulling her head scarf off as quickly as she had a few minutes previous caused the short layers around her face to escape messily from her tight braid. He affectionately picked from her hair the odd husk of chaff that was hiding in her tresses, looking at them in puzzlement before flicking them away.
"You look so different!"
Sofia wrinkled her nose at his comment. Was that a good or a bad thing? He laughed happily at her adorable expression; he could see she did not know how to take it. He lent forward to kiss her forehead reassuringly. His lips felt sensually firm.
"I mean, you look so beautiful ... although you were before. But now you look so well, so healthy ...." He explained.
He was finding it difficult to articulate, she could tell ... he was starting to babble. Who would have thought it – Prince Hector of Troy, nervous! But Sofia knew what he meant - the face he remembered was pallid, gaunt, and dirty. Now it was rounder and fuller. Her cheeks and nose were sun-kissed from a summer working in the fields; it gave her delicate pale skin a healthy glow and tiny freckles. Her blue eyes sparkled as she watched him. Hector looked different too. She ran her fingers gently around his face as she studied it, needing to touch him for a sense of reality. She ran them over his brow and, as he closed his eyes in pleasure at her touch, she drew her thumbs softy over his eyelids then out and around to his cheekbones, over his beard and down to his mouth, running them back and forth over his lips. He looked positively handsome, so much so it took her breath away. He was clean, no more scars, bruises or blood. His beard and had been neatly trimmed, his hair was no longer unruly although a little lighter than she remembered, a little more redder, probably bleached by the sun. It was secured at the nape of his neck by a gold band, the shorter curls framing his face with a few small ornamental braids, also decorated with tiny gold bands that ran back from his temples - a decoration customary for royal men of Troy. His dark eyes were shining as he watched her back. She also noticed tiny wrinkles beginning to appear around them, just like any middle-aged man might have, betraying his age. She loved all the little quirks of his features the best.
Her heart pounded happily. When Sofia had met him all that time ago in the cell, he looked like a wild animal. But now he definitely looked like a prince. Dignified. It was still the face that she remembered and adored. But something was missing – that sorrowful frown had gone.
"How did you know I was still alive? How did you find me? .... I have so many questions ...!" She exclaimed, still holding his face in her hands.
"I've been looking for you for almost three months, since the war ended."
"Did you fight in the last battle? Before the walls of Troy? I bet it was you who slew Agamemnon...." She gabbled excitedly, moving her hands from his face and grasping both of his hands tightly, their fingers locking.
He shook his head:
"I was just fit enough to fight but it was not me who killed Agamemnon. It was Achilles."
Sofia's head was swimming, her disorganised thoughts spiralling round in her head like a vortex. Achilles?
"Wait ... wait. This is all too much for me to take in Hector! The shock of seeing you has almost done me in! Start from the beginning. Start from where I left you with blood pouring from your stomach..." She pleaded breathlessly with excitement.
Hector thought for a moment: "Well, a big chunk of my memory is missing; all I can tell you is what was relayed to me. I fell unconscious just after you were taken from the boarding house. I thought I was dead ... all I could see was the brightest white light, it shone so forcefully I could see nor feel anything. But the next thing I knew I was back in Troy, my concerned family in vigil around my bedside. I have never felt so dazed, so bewildered in my life. Apparently Paris and his men arrived at the boarding house just after Agamemnon's men - they had been trailing around Greece for days searching for me ... they vanquished the soldiers and managed to stem my bleeding. My brother bought me home. I was unconscious for weeks in a deathly fever, my father called on the best physicians in the whole of Troy but none of them could help or thought that I would pull through. But against all the odds, here I am." He shrugged. There was nothing more to tell about this point of his life, he simply could not recall any of it.
"The gods do truly love you ... you seem to have the nine lives of a cat!" Sofia laughed.
Hector smiled:
"Indeed. It seems that I am the luckiest man that walks this earth." He added thoughtfully, looking straight at her and squeezing her hand, not only referring to his brushes with death but also to how he had finally found his Sofia.
She squeezed his hand back happily, gazing at him in adoration. She was still half-sure that she would wake up at any moment.
"Anyway, the fever left me and my wounds healed just in time for me to lead my men in to battle. It was an easy victory: the Greeks were no longer diligent, growing weary of the war and of their leader. It seems Achilles was the most tired of the king's antics ... I am not quite certain of the details but I think Agamemnon had riled him for the last time, causing Achilles' patience to finally break. With their war-mongerer leader dead, the Greeks were happy to leave our shores and return to their wives and children ... and believe me, my men were happy to let them flee without contest. My father honoured Achilles: but all the gold in the palace vaults could not appease him. Instead, he asked for my cousin Briesis as reward and much to our surprise, she accepted without protest. With their ship waiting in the bay, my cousin bid us a tearful farewell. When it was my turn to wish her well, she secretly pressed a note in my hand. I read it that evening in the privacy of my chamber. In Briesis' own fair hand, it simply said: 'Sofia is alive and well, living on a farm in the north-east of Greece. No harm came to her'. I do not know how she knew of your existence, I but I guessed Achilles had a part to play. My heart immediately soared; the words in her letter were such a comfort to me. But my soul could not rest until I found you again. I was almost ready to give up; my brother and I have visited almost every farm in the region but to no avail! Until today."
But Sofia's smile dropped despondently. She was confused. The doubts she had harboured about Hectors true feelings came back to haunt her. Why would the prince of Troy be concerned with a lowly farm-girl?
"But ... if you knew I was safe, why bother trying to find me?"
Hector smiled broadly at her uncertainty, squeezing her hands even more tightly, trying to find the right words to explain.
"Oh Sofia! If only you knew. I have constantly worried about you all time we have been apart! I have missed you so much it physically ached inside of me..." He gasped then managed to regain his composure, suddenly seeming more nervous. He looked away for a few seconds, deep in thought:
"Sofia - I promised I would find you remember? A Prince of Troy always keeps his word. I have not stopped thinking about the night we spent together since we have been parted, you know."
Sofia sighed and remained silent for a long time, her face frowning, her nose wrinkling again. So, it was just her body he craved. The thought of being only his lover, a concubine for his bed did not appeal to her. But she was in no way good enough to be anything else to him; she wasn't a lady or a princess. How would she ever be accepted or feel comfortable at the Trojan court? And what if he re-married? She could not stand it if he were to share his body with her but his mind with another.
"Hector ... I have no wish to be your mistress."
"No, no. You misunderstand. It is not just for your body that say that. Come back to Troy with me as my wife ... I have my father's consent." He said seriously, carefully, his eyes burning into hers. He had obviously been practising this sentence for some time.
Sofia did not feel wholly elated. She didn't smile, hold him or kiss him like Hector had expected. She just sat there, still and silent, gazing to the floor consumed by thoughts. She let go of his hands and let them rest in her lap, drawing them both into empty fists. It was not that she would not love to be his wife – it was a fantasy she had never dare imagine ... but there were so many things to consider now, there were complications in her life that he may not accept or understand. He watched her carefully, not comprehending her cold reaction. The frown returned.
"What is it?" he asked suddenly, his brow furrowed.
"Hector, I am happy here." She sighed, her eyes sad.
Hectors heart sunk. Things just wouldn't do without her. And it would be so embarrassing to return to Troy without the woman he had started this quest for, without the woman he loved.
"But you work on a farm!" he exclaimed incredulously. "Would you not rather be a princess than a slave?!" He spoke a little arrogantly, impatient and unthoughtful.
Sofia rolled her eyes and took a deep breath, angered by his haughty comments:
"I am no slave here; I can leave whenever I choose. Besides, it's good for the soul to keep the body – and mind - busy. I could not sit on a silk cushion all day a let some poor servant dress me, feed me and practically do everything for me!" Her eyes were fiery, her voice loud. She pounded one fist onto her lap hard.
Hector looked away from her despondently, his eyes fixed blankly on the far corner of the room. He watched long abandoned feathery cobwebs billow in the breeze then he rubbed his face with both hands, in frustration rather than in weariness. He hadn't meant to upset her.
"You do not love me then." He said quietly after a short silence. He stated rather than asked as if he had already made his mind up.
Sofia was touched and flattered that he looked so crestfallen. He must have thought that she was rejecting him. Her countenance softened and she took his hand again, a gesture of comfort.
"Hector ... if I could only explain in words how I feel for you. I am deeply in love with you, and I always have been, since the first time I ever set eyes on you." She explained softly.
Hector looked mystified:
"What, nothing more than a naked, dirty wretch lying on a cell floor?" He shrugged, his hand loosening on hers.
She smiled as she thought about it. She didn't actually mean that moment; she had meant the time she had been mushroom picking and had secretly spied on the Princes as they passed by during their hunting trip, many years ago. But there was no time to explain that now.
"I would adore you if you were fat, hairless and covered in boils!" She joked, trying to lighten the atmosphere.
But Hector did not find it amusing, too distracted by the important matter at hand.
"Well there must be someone else ... are you married? Engaged?" His eyes turned black as he became more agitated and impatient, snatching his hand away from her grasp.
He was hurt and unable to deal with the rejection. His defensive body language distressed Sofia; it made her heart felt heavier then the stone pestle the farmer's wife was using earlier. Maybe she wanted to cry, she couldn't tell. There was no easy way of explaining.
"No. I am neither married nor engaged. There is only you in my heart and it has always been that way. But there is someone else I have to consider ..."
Hectors furrowed brow was the deepest she had ever seen it. His mind raced faster than the river Scamander flowed; he did not understand what she was trying explain. The room grew uncomfortably silent. In all the dreams she had about him over the last year, everything was perfect, a true happy ending. But reality was so different, so much more problematical. Hector watched Sofia closely as she stood without a word, smoothed down her gown and quietly paced over to the hearth. With a cloth in hand she lifted the huge pot of broth from the fire, standing it on the stone hearthside to cool. It had been cooking so long that a skin of semi-transparent fat had began to form over the top of the liquid, causing a dry crust around the edges of the pot. Hector watched her conscientiously perform this domestic task: the pot looked heavy but she did not appear to struggle with it – she was still delicate looking but as strong as an ox, just as he remembered. She then turned her attentions to a wicker basket lying on a high-backed chair near the hearth. Hectors sharp eyes had spotted it when he had entered the room; something was moving in it – he assumed at the time that it contained new-born puppies or perhaps a lamb to be nursed, rejected by its mother and being warmed by the fire. With her back to him, Sofia slowly bent down to it and lifted something, swathed in fleecy blankets. She held the bundle snugly in her arms as she slowly approached Hector, beaming at whatever it was, bouncing it gently in her arms.
As she drew herself closer, Hector could see protruding from the blanket a little arm, a tiny hand, a fuzzy dark head ... he swallowed hard. Nothing could have prepared him for this moment.
"Hector, I want you to meet your son ...." Sofia smiled, sitting next to Hector again with the child in her arms.
She pulled the blankets away from the baby's face gently with her fingertips, gazing lovingly at him. The baby had obviously been asleep. He woke at his mother's touch and gave a huge, prolonged yawn, his dark eyes beginning to focus on her. She affectionately stroked the chubby face and the mop of dark hair then she looked to Hector for a response - he was suddenly awfully quiet. Her heart melted when she saw his face. His was visibly shaking; his eyebrows rose in amazement and his black eyes appeared to be filling up with tears. She felt sorry for him; he was obviously and understandably completely stunned. This was not the way she had planned to tell him, not that she had a plan at all of course. Less then an hour ago she believed Hector to be dead.
"His name is Scamandrius .... I thought it sounded suitably regal." She smiled nervously, trying to break the ice. "Here, do hold him I'm sure he would love to meet his father properly ...."
Hector still said nothing, staring at Scamandrius as if he were a little miracle. He blinked hard and a single tear rolled down his cheek, disappearing into his beard. He wiped it away quickly with the back of his hand, embarrassed. He hadn't cried since he was 10 years old, thrown from an obstinate horse and into some nettles, covering his whole body with bumpy stings. Sofia offered the baby to him, guiding his arms with one hand, showing Hector how to hold him right. Still shaking, Hector struggled and was a little clumsy at first, Scamandrius letting out a quick little cry in response to the awkward handling ... but his proud father did not seem to notice, still beaming at the child. He quickly got the hang of holding his son and Scamandrius stopped fidgeting and settled, gazing up at his father in wonderment, his brown eyes darting all over his face, gurgling gently.
"Scamandrius Hectorides ... the world's delight, as fresh as a pure shining star ...." Hector spoke softly, not taking his eyes from the child, his brown eyes brilliantly glowing.
Sofia's grinned as she watched father and son quickly bond, a beautiful sight. It was all so much more than she could ever have wished for; Hector to be alive, for Scamandrius to have a father, for Hector to accept him – it was all too much, she felt so happy she was sure she going to burst. Scamandrius reached up to his father's face, and explored the beard with his little podgy fingers in wonder. Hector laughed out loud at how adorably inquisitive his son was and reached instinctively for the baby's hand. Scamandrius clamped his tiny hand around his father's thick middle finger in response, holding it comfortably and tightly.
"He's strong!" Hector exclaimed suddenly to Sofia.
"Oh yes! He's growing very fast, he eats like a horse. I have a feeling he's going to be just like his father ...he's very like you all ready."
"He has my eyes." Hector noted in a whisper, still smiling at the child.
"Yes and your ears ...!" Sofia joked dryly. Hector laughed again, in no way offended by her comments - he could see what she meant.
Hector looked up from his son's face thoughtfully:
"I know you have had a shock to see me alive and well, but the gods know I have had one too in meeting this little one ... you must tell me all there is to know about my son .... How old is he?"
"Just over three months. You should have seen me when I was pregnant; my belly was huge even though he arrived a little earlier than expected. He was born one morning in late spring as I was taking a stroll in the orchard. I reached up to a low branch to pick an apple blossom from a tree when my waters suddenly, unexpectedly broke. There was no time to get back to the house, I went into labour very quickly - he had made up his mind that it was time to make his entrance into the world and he wasn't about to wait ... he also has his father's stubborn determination! Anyway, the farmer's wife heard my cries and my labour was over rapidly - he was delivered right then and there, under the apple tree." Sofia reached forward to stroke the baby's face as she relayed her story. Scamandrius was closing his dark eyes drowsily, totally relaxed in his father's arms.
"You must have been so scared ...." Hector said suddenly.
"I was terrified." Sofia answered immediately, narrowing her eyes as she remembered that spring morning. "Terrified that I might lose him. It's odd. When I first arrived here I did not realise that I was carrying your child and I grieved for you so greatly that it almost killed me. But then I discovered I was pregnant and it changed everything. Suddenly there was no time for self pity: this tiny life growing inside me was all that mattered. When he was born and I looked into his little wet and wrinkled features for the first time, I knew I hadn't lost you." A tear rolled down Sofia's cheek as she finished telling her story. She still remembered how helpless she had felt in the beginning, and how much she loved Scamandrius from the first day, more than anything.
"Why did you not bring him home to Troy, to claim his birthright as my heir?"
"I thought about it but I had to consider what is best for Scamandrius. I do not want him to be known as Prince Hector's illegitimate son."
"Illegitimate?! How can that be when I have asked you to be my wife, even before I knew of his existence?"
"I thought you were dead Hector. Imagine a ragged farm girl like me turning up unannounced at the Trojan court, claiming that my baby is the heir to the Trojan throne, even though he was born out of wedlock! Do you really think your father or brother would have believed me? They would have laughed in my face!"
"Perhaps they would not have accepted you but they would have accepted Scamandrius. Look at him! He is certainly his father's son! He should be raised as a Prince, not a farmer". Hector answered self-importantly, trying not to raise his voice and rouse his peacefully sleeping son who was still cradled in his arms.
"Do you really think I would allow anyone to take my son from me?! I would sooner die then lose him" Sofia answered furiously, her angry voice waking the child. How dare Hector speak to her like that or insinuate that her child could be taken away from her so easily!
Scamandrius whimpered in response, frowning just like Hector. Sofia lent over took him out of his fathers arms protectively, gently recovering Scamandrius with the blanket, tucking him in tightly. She sighed to herself, calming down as she watched his little face relax into serenity as he dropped off to sleep again.
"Look Hector, I am glad you have accepted him as your son, I was worried that you would not. I suppose being raised as a prince has its advantages but I also have a reason for not wanting our son to ever set foot in Troy. It is because he is your heir. I want him to grow to be a normal man, to lead a simple life – which is not the life of a prince or a king. As a normal man he will not have all the duties that you have to face; he will not be expected to fight battles or do anything that would put his life in danger – I know that you, as the King's son, do not have that choice".
Hector looked at Sofia imploringly then back again to the sleeping child:
"But Sofia, it is his destiny; he has royal blood. My blood - for better or worse. I understand your hesitancy and fears, but it is for the gods to decide his ultimate future, not us."
He sighed defeatedly. This is not what he had a planned, not what he had wanted. He had not meant to upset Sofia and he cursed himself inwardly for being so harsh – he simply did not know who to convey how he felt. He could be so emotionally inept ... if only he had the wit and charm of his brother Paris! He stared into the distance for a moment deep in thought, gazing at the sooty hearth and the dying fire. A gust of wind whipped outside and the tendrils of rosemary encroaching into the room shivered in response. He looked right at Sofia, his dark eyes burning into her in that way that made her shiver, almost as much as the wind-swept rosemary:
"I know that perhaps I did not propose in the most romantic of ways and I apologise for that – I am a little overwrought by this whole situation. But I love you, that is why I have come to find you, that is why I want you to be my wife. I want to be able to make love to you every night and wake up next to you every morning. I want to be able to chat idly with you and rub your feet in the evenings. I want to take you riding on the beach. I want to be able to kiss the end of your nose every time you wrinkle it like that. I want to grow old with you. I cannot promise you that living at the palace will be very easy to begin with - you are strong willed and free of spirit, the obligations of a princess of Troy and the responsibility of running a household will not come naturally to you. But you – and our son – are dearer to me in this world over anything and I would not change you for the world. What I can promise you is that I will be a doting, faithful husband and father until the end of time." His eyes were earnest as he spoke, a smile breaking on his lips as he imagined their possible future together.
His words of total affection made her heart soar. But Hector interrupted before she could respond to him by a kiss or words of love in return:
"Take some time to think about it, please. Do not make any rash decisions and live your life full of regret. As for tonight, let us forget our troubles and celebrate our reunion ... and my handsome son! Now tell me about Achilles and how he came to bring you here. Something tells me you know more about his relationship with my cousin than you have so far let on! ..." He grinned reassuringly. It seemed that almost nothing could dampen Hectors ecstatic mood on that astounding evening.
--0--
Hector stood alone, his back against the wall sipping wine from a simple ceramic goblet - a silent, surly observer. He held one hand behind his back and pressed it against the rough, cracked plaster. It was a little damp; the room was full of people and the condensation from sweat, laughter and breath had magnetised magically to the cool walls. The joyful sound of many voices talking and laughing filled the night air, filling his ears like a million tinkling bells.
The farmer had decided to hold a spontaneous celebration in honour of his very special Trojan guests. Everyone who had anything to do with the farm were there: workers, merchants, family members - even the neighbours from a little hut-like farmhouse some twenty miles away had invited themselves along. All of the berry-stained, rotund barrels of wine had been lumbered up from the dank, dark cellar and almost a dozen lambs had been sacrificed, roasted and gratefully eaten, appetites whetted by a day of hard work in the fields and a few too many mouthfuls of wine. A few of the shepherds had brought along their drums or pipes and were playing a quaint but lively jig which added to the cheery atmosphere.
The room was full of bobbing heads as far as the eye could see - people young and old dancing and having fun. Hector smiled as he surveyed the crowd then laughed heartily as he watched a teenage farm girl, a wobbly blonde little thing who had seemingly overcome her shyness with excitement and wine, lunge for Paris' hand and whisk him to his feet, twirling him across the room and burying her red cheek into his chest. Of course, Paris was more than happy to oblige, laughing too.
The farmer had spent the first hour of the night continuously apologising for his humble farm, he seemed self-consciously aware that this party was nowhere as grand as a palace celebration might be. But in truth, Hector was really enjoying himself; it was so much more unpretentious and relaxed compared to a palace event. He watched people laugh, eat drink and dance like they had no care in the world. But he felt different. He did have cares that night; they worried him like a woodpecker niggles at tree bark. Perhaps Sofia was right - her words from earlier echoed in his mind. It would be a glorious world for Scamandrius to grow up in ... these nice people, this peaceful farm .... Hector stared at his feet, kicking his right heel against the toes on his left, fidgeting as he thought. Had he ever been that happy? He began to wish that he was just a farmer too, his only concern being for his wife, children and for the harvest, not for politics, war or the duty of being a Prince and Commander of the Trojan Army. Perhaps he could stay here with Sofia, never to return to Troy and throw off his obligations like a dirty, ripped cloak. But then he would be forsaking his beloved family and his loyal subjects, could he be so selfish? Besides, he knew nothing about farming. He drained the goblet slowly whilst deep in thought, bitty sediments of wine touching his lips then falling back down into the bottom. He carefully stood it on the sideboard, twisting round the stem broodingly then crossed his arms over his chest, an involuntary closed gesture. It mirrored the pose he had held on the night he had explained to his father about Sofia and how, in no uncertain terms, he was going to set out to find her, with or without his permission.
It had been at the grand celebration after the war had ended in the main hall of the palace. Food was plentiful, littering the long, clothed tables like scattered pebbles; wine was flowing freely like river water and laughter pierced the air, the noises bouncing off the tall, flamboyant ceiling mouldings and rich tapestries. The air smelt of a strange intoxicating mix - stale alcohol, burning charcoal, and the jasmine perfume of exotic dancing girls. The party was in full swing when King Priam noticed that his eldest son was stood alone in the far corner, watching proceedings rather too thoughtfully. Something was wrong; Priam knew well enough when Hector was troubled, he had seen that frowning face many times in his life before – as a baby when Hector had broken the head of his favourite horse-toy; The night he was informed by his father of the arranged marriage with the Princess of Thebe; when Andromache passed away; when Paris stole away Helen and bought her to Trojan shores; the night after he had slain Patroclus and before his ill-fated battle with Achilles.
Priam stood slowly from his high golden throne, his aged joints clicking. He slowly approached Hector, lifting his heavy cloak with one bony hand and weaving his way through drunken revellers and writhing dancers, occasionally being stopped to be admired and congratulated on his way. Priam always humoured his subjects but right at that moment but his real concern was for his son - and nobody would delay him from speaking with Hector. Hector did not notice his father's approach until Priam was standing almost right in front of him, his beautifully embroidered slippers coming into view as Hector stared at the floor.
"Beloved son ...." Priam smiled affectionately at Hector, holding out one hand as he approached. Hector bowed dutifully as Priam held his sons head, planting a loving kiss on his forehead. "Why do you not join in with the festivities? We have much to celebrate tonight ... Troy still stands; my son is alive and we finally have the peace that you have slaved so hard for. Are you not pleased our labours have been fruitful?"
"I am happy the war has ended, father." Hector answered not wanting to alarm the king, his dark eyes earnest.
"Then what troubles you Hector? The Trojans are at peace but you do not seem to be. You cannot hide it from me, I know you too well – precious son, trusted commander of my army ... my heir."
"We have peace, I am thankful for that ...but I still greatly desire peace in my heart, father. I cannot deny it." His dark eyes were downcast, lifeless. It made Priam's heart wrench to see his son look so forlorn.
"What can I do to make you smile again my son? I would give you the sun and moon if I could. What would give you inner peace?"
Priam's matured face appealed to Hector as he took hold of his son's hand. Hector studied his father's features, wrinkled with age like a waxy date, hair thinning, and beard grey and wispy, dark eyes which he had inherited. Priam had a formidable reputation but was a kind man inside, a good father. Hector adored and admired him - perhaps one day he would be just like his father, he hoped.
Hectors sad eyes drifted away as he thought. He had to be blatantly honest with his father, he could not lie:
"I desire nothing more than to grow old with a woman at my side and children playing at my feet."
Priam smiled at his son's answer, his hand still grasping Hectors large palm.
"I thought as much. I can see that in your face when you sometimes watch your brother happily canoodle with Lady Helen. I know you yearn for a woman's touch and support. Andromache's death was such a sad loss but she would not want you to die a lonely old man, you know – she would want you to find love again."
Hector shrugged and grasped his father's hand tighter:
"I know father. She made me promise her many times, as did I make her promise me that she would find love again if I died. That is why I must leave Troy, at least for a while. I have to find Sofia; it is what my heart tells me to do." He replied, looking for his father's blessing.
"Sofia?!" Priam exclaimed, dropping his son's hand in surprise: "The wench you babbled endlessly about whilst in your fever?! You are of pure Trojan blood, a prince. I do not understand ...you could have any woman you want ... why a pauper?"
Hector should have accepted at his father's rather unkind words but instead he became rather protective of the situation – and of Sofia. He crossed his arms defensively over his chest with such a force his robe displaced slightly at the shoulder.
"She is no wench or pauper father. She saved my life, kept me strong then healed my heart. I love her."
Priam said nothing, pondering his son's words. He had not seen Hector so passionate about something for a long time.
Hector continued, his eyes staring into the distance as he remembered her with ardour:
"You know, when I first laid eyes on her I was almost dead. The Greeks had beaten almost every breath from my body. She cradled me in her arms and I thought she was a divine vision, sent by the gods to watch over me."
"Then she must be a beauty?" Is as Priam could think to ask, raising both grey furry eyebrows, still stunned at Hectors apparent powerful emotions for this mysterious girl.
"Exceptional." Hector smiled broadly. She had looked absolutely beautiful as she slept on the night they had spent together. He had watched her for a long while.
"But she must be more than a pretty face for her to win your love ... I know you Hector, you are not like Paris, you are not only swayed by the flutter of long eyelashes and the wiggle of a pert bottom ...."
Hector laughed at his father's observation, his chest shaking. How true. He then straightened his face, looking into his fathers eyes in all seriousness.
"Oh father. She has fire in her belly and wings on her soul." Priam could see Hectors dead eyes come alive and shine as he spoke of her.
"Well ..." Priam said cheerfully as he put out his hand again, grasping Hector by the shoulder and shaking him slightly, a masculine show of affection "... in that case you had better find your Sofia. It pains me to see my sons unhappy and the gods know I pander to Paris enough – how can I allow him to steal Helen from Sparta, beginning the war but not give you my blessing to marry who you choose? My subjects think I am a war-hardened when in fact I am soft and love to spoil my beloved sons. I would do anything to see your smile again Hector. Go after her. And take that troublesome brother of yours with you. If you find her – and she reciprocates your love – you have my permission to bring her home and take her as your wife."
--0--
Sofia's head pounded - too much wine on an empty stomach the night before, never a wise idea. Not that she was much of a drinker – just one cupful made her giggly and her cheeks burning red. But last night, she had been too excited to eat, she remembered. Cloudy, translucent memories of the day before became clear and distinct as she woke woozily from her sleep.
Was it really true?
No, she must have just dreamt it.
Her eyes slowly opened and she stretched her arms languidly, the morning sunlight stinging her eyes. They watered like a sea sponge snatched suddenly out of a rock pool. Then she suddenly realised that the dormitory was very quiet – only the sounds of tiny birds singing their lungs out by the window sill could be only heard rather than the normal clatter-crash-chatting that filled the room of a normal morning as all the women were getting ready for work .... She sat up with a jolt, so quickly it made her comically dizzy, like the wine had made her last night. The dormitory was bathed in yellow-white sunlight and empty, all the women were already awake, probably out in the fields harvesting crops. Why didn't they wake her too? It was unlike Cassandra not to give her friend a quick nudge before breakfast if she slept in - although it was usually Cassandra who clinged onto her bed for a last few stolen minutes of sleep, not Sofia who was normally up with the larks. She sighed and shrunk back into bed.
How strange.
No. It WAS true. She remembered now. Hector was here! Her heart began to beat quickly in joy as she remembered, her memories overlapping excitedly in her mind, great flashes of beautiful colour and emotions. Hector had come for her; he had professed his love, asked her to marry him, held his son like he was the most precious thing on earth - more than she could ever dare to wish for. Her heart stopped fluttering however, when she recalled the quarrel they had over Scamandrius.
Oh yes. She was expected to give Hector a decision – go to Troy with him, be a dutiful wife with Scamandrius growing to be an obligated prince. Or stay at the farm; lead a simple life, free of all real worries and threat of death. What should she do? Why would the gods not guide her now?
But then she recalled a conversation she had with Paris during the party the night before. When Hectors little brother - as he called him - approached, Sofia had been watching totally mesmerized. She was observing Hector as he talked with the farmer across the other side of the crowded room. What were they chatting about? She couldn't make out their voices; they stood too far away .... but Hector was laughing so hard, at one of the farmer's daft jokes she assumed, that he had thrown his head back with mirth, his whole body shaking, his eyes scrunched up, his teeth flashing - a picture of happiness.
"What is it?" Paris had asked her, noting the look of astonishment in her blue eyes as she watched his brother.
"I have never seen him look like that before. I have never seen him look so happy." She exclaimed, not taking her eyes off Hector.
Paris followed her gaze and watched for a moment as he stood casually relaxed next to Sofia, a goblet in hand. He took a sip of wine, a film of red liquid covering his full, girlish lips for a moment before he licked it off delicately with his tongue:
"Sofia, I have not seen him that happy for a while either - it is you that has given him his smile back."
Goblet still in one hand he reached over with the other, taking her hand in his. She noticed his hands were not as big as Hectors broad palms, not as rough.
"You have truly bewitched my brother; he has not spoken or thought about anything else but you since I bought him back to Troy. And now he has discovered he has a son, a beautiful little baby by all accounts ... it is all he has ever wanted. He loves you Sofia and I am sure it was thoughts of you that kept him strong as he lay in that deathly fever for weeks. Come back with us sister and let him smile and laugh like that for the rest of his days, I beseech you." Paris squeezed her hand imploringly as he said this and she looked up at his handsome face, his dark eyes similar to his brother's.
So charming he could persuade Apollo himself to stop the sun from rising, she remembered thinking.
Scamandrius. That's why the dormitory was so quiet. She had not heard a peep, a happy gurgle or a cry from the cradle at the end of her bed at all, very unusual for him not to wake for his morning feed from his mother's breast. Sitting up again, she could see over the top of the little wooden cradle the farmer had somehow crafted out of old pieces of wood in the barn. The blankets in the cradle were empty. The little stone tiger that he loved to suck on was still there, lying discontentedly on its side. She flew out of bed like the autumn wind.
"Where is Scamandrius? Where is my son?" Sofia panicked, padding around in bare feet as she ran onto the landing. She almost crashed straight into one poor girl who going about her chores in a world of her own, carrying a full bedpan to be emptied.
"Lord Hector took the bonny boy for a walk early this morning. He did not want to wake you. I saw them about ten minutes ago heading for the stables." The girl stuttered, trying to avoid getting splashed by urine that was flying out in drops from the ceramic receptacle she carried.
--0—
As she slowly approached the stable door, she could hear a low murmur even before she could see Hector. He was talking in soothing tones to Scamandrius, she could tell. She lingered silently at the entrance, leaning against the rotting wooden door post, ruining a full night's work of some industrious spider who had built a web there. She watched. Shafts of sunlight streamed through the door from behind her, illuminating randomly, making ethereal floating particles of dust sparkle and glisten. Hector hadn't yet noticed her and he continued to talk to the child, pulling hilarious faces at Scamandrius as he held him tightly, comfortably. The baby gazed up adoringly at his father, his chubby legs kicking, gurgling and clapping his miniature hands in amusement ... this meant that he was happy. Hector was animatedly widening his eyes at the boy in praise, pulling his lips into a pronounced 'O' and 'Ah' shapes. She realised that they were standing by a silver-grey horse, tethered to the wall and she was happily, enthusiastically munching on a breakfast of fresh hay from the newly-harvested field. The majestic mare lifted her head to meet Hectors hand as he held it out to her, lowering her watery eyes and long eyelashes, whinnying contentedly at her master. Hector patted her nose for a moment then gently took Scamandrius' tiny hand in his, encouraging his son to touch the horse. The mare sniffed at the baby with huge fleshy pink nostrils, tickling his fingers, making him giggle.
But then Hector noticed Sofia standing there in the doorway, silhouetted by the morning sun, smiling at them. He swivelled his upper body to face her, leaning back slightly to handle the weight of Scamandrius. The baby still was still fascinated by the horse, ignoring his mother completely.
"I was just introducing Scamandrius to my horse, Whitefoot. She likes him so I can tell he will be quite the horse-master when he grows!" Hector exclaimed proudly.
Sofia said nothing, grinning at the happy scene. How strange to see the great Prince Hector, feared warrior, talking back to his son in baby-language, pulling stupid faces and grinning inanely with pride. How beautiful it was to see Scamandrius gaze at his father, blowing little spit bubbles in happiness as his Hector held his hand and bounced him in his arms.
"I have made my decision." Sofia said suddenly as she stood there.
Hector was stunned. He widened his eyes in anticipation - he had not expected an answer so soon, and definitely not at such an informal, peculiar moment.
"How could I deny a father of his son and my son of his father? And I don't think I could deny myself of you - I love you Hector whether you be a beggar, farmer or prince, it doesn't not matter to me. I would be honoured to be your wife."
Hector said nothing although his relieved exhaled breath and broad grin conveyed everything. He approached her slowly, the sparkling dust moving quickly by the air currents his body was causing, parting and moving out of the way. As she stood there in the doorway, he stood over Sofia. She looked up at him affectionately and he bent down, planting little gentle butterfly kisses all over her face. She closed her eyes blissfully to receive them. The baby was between both their bodies, watching his father and mother with his dark eyes, dribbling from his smiling mouth.
"I will come back with you on two conditions ..." Sofia whispered passionately as Hectors lips searched for hers.
"Anything ...."
"That you really do rub my feet every night" She joked .... And that my friend Cassandra comes with us...." She added more seriously.
Hector laughed, she could feel his warm breath all over her skin. He had not expected the first request but the second he had anticipated.
"Ah yes, Cassandra – a lovely girl, I talked with her last night. She seemed a little shocked to discover that I was your lover although she seemed so happy for us. Of course she may come with us you do not even need to ask!" He said before he bent down again and kissed her so fervently Sofia thought her knees were going to give way.