A deathly silence swept through the city of Troy, the Trojans on the walls stared down to their fallen Prince Hector with wide eyes and open mouths. Their last hope of winning the war with Greece had suddenly gone; it had vanished to the underworld. The still silence lasted only for a few moments before an eruption of wailing broke out from the walls and flooded through the city.
While word of Hector's death passed through Troy and through the Greek camps and on the plain, there was one who was still unaware of his death.
Andromache sat in her chamber, working at her loom to keep her mind occupied and away from the thought of her husband fighting. She paused in her work, of adding a flowered border to a dark red robe, and turned to look at her son. A smile spread across Andromache's face as she watched her son sleeping peacefully, but then a loud cry caught her ears and she suddenly dropped her shuttle to the ground.
She felt the life of her husband slip away from within her; she could almost see her husband, within her mind, as he lay dead on the battlefield. Andromache slowly sunk down to the floor, her mouth open slightly in shock, and her eyes gradually filling with tears.
Another high pitched cry echoed within Troy, it reached Andromache's ears and she knew it was Hecuba, even from where she was.
The threads of Andromache's life were beginning to tear, one by one, and she was unable to stop it, she felt as if her life was slowly, and painfully, ending. She stared off to where Hector's armor would stand at the end of each day and rose to her feet.
The door to Andromache's chamber slowly opened and Xanthe entered. Her face was pale and tears rushed down her aging face. She saw Andromache and suddenly froze, not knowing how to tell her dear friend that the Prince was dead.
"I know," whispered Andromache, ignoring the sad glances from Xanthe. "I know…"
Xanthe stepped closer to the Princess and tried to comfort her, but Andromache forcefully pushed her away.
"Watch over Astyanax," said Andromache sternly, tears still gathering in her eyes but she was adamant not to release them. She then fled from the chamber, and to the stables were she mounted an already prepared horse, and rode to the walls of Troy.
Appearing untouched by the death of Hector, Achilles looked down to the Prince he had killed. He had never killed a man with such rage inside him, he had never felt the burning desire for revenge, and as he looked at the result of such vengeance … he still remained unmoved by it.
The previous night Achilles had asked Eudorus to bring him his chariot on the battlefield, only once he had slain Hector. Achilles intended to take Hector's body to the Greek camp, and as he needed his chariot for this task, he asked Eudorus to bring it to him.
Eudorus's face was grave as he ordered for the horses pulling the chariot to slow down, when they neared Achilles and Hector's body. His mouth opened a little as he saw Prince Hector lying dead on the plain, it was such an odd sight, which he never grew used to, to see a man alive and then to see him dead so suddenly.
Achilles gave no word of greeting to his friend; instead he walked towards his chariot and picked up a coil of rope from it. He looked to Hector for a few seconds, an almost sorrowful gaze covered his face, but that was soon replaced with a cold and unfeeling mask.
"You cannot do this, Achilles!" exclaimed Eudorus, as he watched Achilles tie the robe around Hector's ankles, and then tie the other end of the robe to the end of the chariot. "I thought you were jesting when you expressed a wish to bring Hector to the camp." Achilles said nothing in reply as he made sure the rope was secure at the end of the chariot, and so Eudorus ventured to speak on. "Hector must return to Troy, the Trojans will fight for him and our armies need to rest!"
"Let the Trojans fight then!" spat Achilles, his eyes glaring into those of Eudorus.
Eudorus gave no reply except for a slight nod and stepped off the chariot and onto the plain. He was unwilling to rekindle Achilles's temper, and so looked on as Achilles stepped onto the chariot and rode away, with Prince Hector being dragged in the dust and sand behind it.
Andromache hurried up the stone steps to the walls of Troy; she ignored the glances of shock and pity towards her, and pushed past all those in her path. Her soft sandals then stepped onto the wall and she suddenly halted as she saw a sight that would forever torment and haunt her dreams.
All those on the wall could see the sight that Princess Andromache did; they all witnessed their great prince being dragged behind the chariot of Achilles. A cloud of dust rose around Hector as he was dragged, and his once brown and untamed hair was now filled with blood and sand. It was a sight no Trojan would ever forget, seeing their prince so degraded and dishonoured.
With tears racing down her pale and wrinkled face, Hecuba rose from her chair and hurried to the edge of the wall. She leaned over it, outstretching one of her hands, in futile attempts, to reach her dead son.
"My son!" cried Hecuba, not caring if all the people of Troy saw that she had lost her Queenly composure. "My first-born, how can I live without you now?" She swayed a little and her handmaidens immediately gathered around her and took her to palace.
Andromache watched as Hecuba was escorted away and saw that Cassandra followed her, she had never seen the Queen in such a state of grief, and it made Hector's death even more real.
Paris's eyes were glued onto the plain, he appeared to have not noticed his wailing mother, or that his sister-in-law had come to the walls. His heart hammered against his ribs as he thought of the last words his brother had spoken, the words which were whispered across the plain and in Troy.
"Why does no one do something?" said Andromache quietly, as she continued to watch her husband being dragged away from her. She looked across to Priam, whose face was stained with thick tears, and she knelt down before him. "Why don't you help him? Hector is your son, we may still be able to help him … we need to bring him back!"
Paris was ripped away from his own thoughts at the sound of Andromache's voice. He sharply turned his head to where she knelt before his father, pleading the king to rescue Hector.
"He's gone, Andromache, Hector's gone," Paris said hoarsely, while he helped Andromache to her feet. He saw her face, the tears mounting in her eyes, and wished to the gods that he could take her pain away, that his brother would be restored to them.
"Get away from me!" shrieked Andromache. She pushed away from Paris, unable to be near the man who had brought war to Troy.
Helen walked closer to Paris and rested a hand on his arm, she then whispered to him: "Leave her, Paris. She needs time to grieve." She then removed her hand from Paris and drifted away to comfort Polyxena, knowing Paris would care for Andromache.
Tears finally escaped from Andromache's eyes as she once again looked out to the body of her husband. She looked to those around her, all within their own world of grief, and raced down the steps from the walls of Troy and to the gates.
Paris hurried after Andromache, silently battling with the guilt that had erupted within him by bringing war to Troy.
Andromache demanded for the gates to be opened once she had reached them, but the guards were unwilling until they saw the anger and grief across their Princess's face. She went to the horse she had ridden to the walls of Troy, and was about to mount it before she heard Paris's voice.
"Close the gates!" ordered Paris, and the gates were slowly closed. He knew guards would follow Andromache to the Greek camp, but he wouldn't risk her safety after already losing so much.
Paris slowly walked over to Andromache and she turned to him and embraced him, clinging onto him tightly in case she fell as she felt faint.
"I need to bring him home," cried Andromache as she tried to gain control of her grief once more, "his bath is run … you know how he enjoys them after battle. I need to bring him home, Paris, I need to…"
Andromache then suddenly fainted on Paris's arm, the grief she had battled had finally won over her and she was powerless to stop it.
With the help of the guards at the gate, Paris placed Andromache, still unconscious, on the horse she had ridden, and rode with her to the palace.
Upon returning to the Greek camp, where all stopped to watch as Hector was dragged behind the chariot of their fearless warrior, Achilles stopped outside his own tent. He untied the robes that bound the prince to his chariot, and then dragged Hector to the side of his tent.
Soldiers, with eyes hungry for revenge of their own friends and family, stepped closer to Hector with their knives raised. Each of them desired to stab the prince who had taken someone away from them; they wished to attack the man only when he was dead because they feared him when he was alive.
Achilles ignored the soldiers, not caring who harmed the body of Hector, and stepped into his tent with a bottle of watered wine.
King Odysseus, as well as many other kings, had now gathered to see the fallen prince. He saw what the soldiers were about to do and stepped in front of the body of Hector, his voice and face equally stern and angered. "Step back, men! No one is to harm or touch the body of Hector! He was our enemy, but he is dead now and cannot harm us … do not anger the gods by disgracing his body!"
The soldiers, undoubtedly angry with Odysseus, wisely stepped away and returned to their own camps, leaving the body of Hector untouched by them.
"What a glorious day," sneered Agamemnon as he arrived beside Odysseus. He withdrew his own sword, a mad and evil glint growing in his eyes as the prospect of defeating Troy drew ever closer.
"Don't, Agamemnon!" said Menelaus sternly as he too arrived to see the body of Prince Hector. He had seen the prince fall and the grief of the Trojans, and for the first time, since he had arrived on the shores of Troy, he felt regret at bringing war to a nation, when it was only a person of that nation who had caused him pain.
"We will anger the gods if we are seen to be shaming Hector's body," continued Menelaus.
The kings and soldiers gradually left the area of Achilles's tent and returned to their own tents. They did so silently, all too absorbed in their own thoughts of Hector's death and the war to speak.
It was not until nightfall that Achilles finally emerged from his tent, a fresh bottle of wine clenched within his hand. He was panting quietly and stared down at the uncovered body of Hector.
In his mind, Achilles kept replaying the dream he had had only moments before suddenly waking. He had dreamt Patroclus had come to him and asked for their bones, his and Achilles's, to be mixed together in a golden urn forever more.
"Your fate has already been decreed by the gods," Patroclus had said to Achilles in the dream, "you will die in battle beneath the great walls of Troy."
"Let our bones remain together," continued Patroclus, "let us remain together, just like we grew together in the house of your father."
The dream Achilles had dreamt made the death of Patroclus once again fresh in his heart and he stormed off into the main Greek camp, searching for ravenous dogs that would eat the flesh of Hector. But each dog refused to step near the body of Hector; instead they all cowered – as if being pushed away from the gods themselves – and whined to leave.
Wishing to revenge the death of Patroclus as much as he could, even though Hector was dead, Achilles once again tied Hector to the end of his chariot. He raced around the grave of Patroclus, the area he had been burned and where his bones lay before they were to be placed into a golden urn.
Hector's skin did not rip or bruise as it was dragged around the grave of Patroclus; it amazingly remained fresh and clean. Many of the soldiers said; while they witnessed the mad Achilles continue to drag the prince around the grave of Patroclus, that the gods were protecting Hector's body.
The palace of Troy was in chaos as precious items were gathered and loaded onto a wagon, destined for the Greek camp. Priam, though stricken with grief, had begun gathering items that now seemed worthless, only to have the body of his son returned to him.
Priam ignored all protests from his wife, that he should allow the guards to retrieve Hector's body instead of going himself. He could not rest while the horrific image of Hector's body, being disgraced by Achilles, was so ripe in his mind.
Paris had sat by Andromache all afternoon while she slept, she still hadn't woken since she had fainted earlier that day, and he only left her to see how his mother and father were. He had pushed his own grief aside while he sat with Andromache because he was scared to face the truth, that his brother was dead.
It was not until Paris found his father stepping onto the wagon loaded with the gifts of ransom for Hector's body, that he finally yielded to the grief and allowed tears to slip into his eyes.
"Father!" shouted Paris as he ran closer to his father. "What are you doing? You can't go near the Greek camp; they'll kill you without another thought!"
"I am going, my mind is made up," said Priam proudly. His eyes then caught sight of Paris and he gritted his teeth angrily, disgusted to see the son who had caused such pain for Troy by stealing another man's wife. "I wish that you had been killed instead of Hector! Death has taken my dear son, and now I am left with you! You're a disgrace to your country, a disgrace to me!"
Paris was silent as he looked upon the face of his father; he was shocked by his father's words, yet knew them to be true. He had been a disgrace to his country and father, but he had never thought his father could say that he wished him to be dead instead of Hector.
"How can you think of going to the Greek camp?" cried Hecuba, as she clung to a small blue robe which Hector as worn as a child. "If Achilles sees you then he'll show no mercy, he'll kill you and I'll be left alone, with no Hector and no you!"
Priam looked to his wife and gently shook his head, he said no words to comfort her or ease her nerves, and instead he called to the servant who would accompany him on the wagon. "Let us go on to the Greek camp!"
The servant obeyed his king's words and the wagon, pulled by two mules, began its journey to Achilles…
A/n: Just in case anyone is interested as to why I wrote about the soldiers wishing to stab Hector's body, in "The Iliad" the Greek soldiers did stab Hector's body on the plain, although I couldn't bear to write that so I wrote that the soldiers wished to and that Odysseus stepped in. Thank you for all of the reviews, I greatly appreciate them :)
Queen Arwen – I'm so sorry that you happened to read this after getting a hug from a hot guy, I'm so sorry, but congrats on the hug :) Thank you for the review and I really appreciate that you read it, even though it saddened you, thanks!
Priestess of the Myrmidon – Pitiful Paris will kill Achilles's, just like in the myth, it won't be for a few chapters yet though, I think. Thank you for the review :) And thank you for reading the last chapter even though Hector died in it.
Gaby – I'm really glad you thought the last chapter was well written and that it was good, even though Hector died. And thank you for reading it, and thank you for the review :)
Kitera – Thank you for the review and for reading the last chapter! I'm really glad that you liked the imaginary I created, thank you :) And I'm sorry that Hector died.
meitsiwong36 – You have a right to review whenever you want, and I'm really glad you did review, thank you :) Andromache won't be marring Helenus, who was also Hector's brother in "The Iliad", or any other man. I'm currently torn between the fate of Astyanax in this and I really liked the suggestion of bringing Alexander into this, so I'll consider both things. I'm certainly not annoyed with the review, quite the contrary, and I know it wasn't a flame, so thank you!