A/N: I just wanted to say thank you for all your wonderful reviews! I really appreciate all the feedback. I'm working hard and hope you are all enjoying the story: )
Natalie and Chandramukhi: Yes, Andromache may recognize Achayus. But, I can't tell you anymore because it will ruin what I plan to write! LOL… NO SPOILERS! I don't want to give it away. All will be revealed in due time.
Donna-Lyn: That is a perfect example! Patroclus, with dark hair. LOL… You just summed Achayus up in one word.
Maxa: She SHOULD have been more motherly, yes. But I sort of based Andromaches personality on my friends mother Linda. Linda lost her husband in a drunk driving accident when my friend was a baby. This woman has been bitter, and angry and upset. She loves her son (my friend) very much, but she didn't cope with the hurt and the pain very well and sometimes isn't exactly mother of the year. That's the back story to Andromaches sudden chilliness.
Chapter Six: Happy Birthday!
The feast was truly grand. A mammoth of an animal sat roasting upon a crude spit over a large fire. Various other dishes lay in a circle around the flaming pit and the entire village of Priat had congregated to celebrate the day the Helen, the most beautiful woman in all the world, had come to be.
Singers played drums and sang joyous songs as the dancers leapt and twirled in a frenzy that seemed as graceful as a porpoise. Across the fire, there were three seats. Two were already occupied. A dark haired man with streaks of gray, was dressed in a majestic navy blue robe and sat on the right. A circlet of gold sat upon his brow and a large golden amulet hung heavily around his neck. This was Paris, Achayus noted, his second cousin. On the right, Andromache sat in a deep purple toga. Her face done up with kohl and ocher, she looked stunning. Her gold band was still gracing her temples. Andromache's eyes swept critically over Achayus, and he felt a slight chill from across the fire.
A small girl came flying across the village shouting, "She's ready! She's ready!" The dancers stopped dancing, the singers stopped singing. Even the squirming children, eager to join into the fun had ceased moving. Achayus followed the turning heads and was astounded.
It was Helen. The cause of the Trojan War, the lover of Paris, and the most beautiful woman in the world. Her long hair was held back by a leather lace, a diadem similar to the one Paris wore adorned the top of her forehead. A thin smile parted her lips as she looked lovingly at her husband.
"Ah! Helen, wife, my love. Welcome to the party!" Paris said, standing to his full height. He embraced her and grasped her hand in a tight lock.
"It warms my heart that you went to all the trouble of such a grand feast!" The woman said with a red blush creeping into her fair complexion.
"Helen, how could we not rejoice on the day you were born?" Paris replied with a wide smile. Helen nodded her head and allowed her husband to lead her to her seat.
Still standing, Paris leaned in and kissed the woman on the cheek. A sheepish grin was added to the flush of her visage. He turned to the people surrounding the fire and looked back over his shoulder. An impatient look crossed his face and he gave a long sigh.
"It seems," he said loudly. "That another has decided not to join in the festivities." Clearing his throat, he jerked his gaze to look at his wife. Helen looked away and Paris sighed again before turning back to the crowd and smiling.
"Everyone! Rejoice! Today is the day that Helen of Troy was born. The most beautiful of all women. So beautiful that even the gods are jealous of her beauty!"
Suddenly, Paris turned abruptly and stalked off in the direction he had looked first. A low muttering could be heard as the navy blue toga soon faded into the darkness. The dancers took this as their cue and began to sway their hips and move about to the rhythmic drumming of the singers as they belted out songs about the gods. Achayus leaned over and, with his gaze forward, whispered into Astyanaxs' ear.
"Who is it that Paris seeks?"
The elder man whispered his reply.
"His daughter. Petra. Some say she is even more beautiful then Helen herself."
"Then why is she not at the feast? Surely her mothers birthday warrants her appearance." Achayus said confusedly.
"That, my shipwrecked friend, is precisely why Paris has left the feast. Petra is…" Astyanax paused for thought. ".. headstrong. Yes that is the word that best described her character."
Achayus had no time to reply, as on the outer edge of the rejoicing circle, he saw a stern looking Paris mouthing firm words to a thin shadow. He stared ahead in an anxious attempt to get a better look at this Petra. As the father daughter pair neared the bonfire, he saw her striking eyes before anything else. Two clear pools of blue, taken in an icy stare set overtop of the set line of her lips. She did not look at all content to be included in the festivities. Her plain robe dragged over dirt and bare feet as she stalked to her seat to the left of her fathers chair. He watched out of the corner of his eye as she sat herself mere meters from the two men. A small defeated sigh escaped her lips. Achayus found himself drawn to this defiant creature.
Staring at the great fire before her, Petra slumped in her seat. Resting her chin on an open palm she regarded the dancing villagers with a bored gaze. Her mahogany curls fell over her shoulder and she moved to lace them back. It was in the action that she noticed the dark haired stranger. He was seated next to Astyanax. Her cousin seemed engaged in the ceremonies, as did the dark haired stranger. She curiously leaned to her left to listen in on their conversation.
"I'm telling you Achayus, this is the most important holiday that Paris celebrates. He is so much in love with Helen." Astyanax sighed. Petra nodded quietly in nonchalant agreement. She had to strain to hear the end of the phrase. "I only wish my father were here to make my mother smile. I've heard stories of Hector the great. The triumphant warrior for Troy. If only the slime Achilles hadn't taken him… perhaps I'd still have a father"
Achayus, as it seemed the younger stranger was named, replied softly.
"I too recognize the pain of losing a father. My mother is also stained by the title Widow."
Her eavesdropping was interrupted by her mothers hand on her arm.
"Petra my darling, why do you trouble your father so? I care not about the festivities your father plans, but for his love for me that is the root of all this. Why must you make his efforts seem so empty?" Helen whispered to into her daughters ear.
"Mother, this is nor the time or the place for this discussion. Aunt Andromache will be most troubled should this wonderful feat be interrupted by our squabbling. I promise that we shall speak tomorrow morning. I am sorry for tonight, Happy Birthday Mother." Petra replied kissing her mother on the cheek.
Helen smiled, and it seemed that the gods smiled with her. Petra understood her fathers love for her mother. What she did not understand were the letters she found underneath his traveling robes as she borrowed them for a hike inland. Who was this Briseis? Why had she never heard of this distant cousin begging for her fathers forgiveness? All questions to be answered in good time, she supposed. At the moment, the stranger was looking her way, and the drummers began the dance.