ONE: Smoke and Dreams
Troy- 1290 BCE
APOLLO’S LIGHT, FLASHING off the golden helm and shield of the foreigner, blinded Hecuba as she gazed down from the dizzy heights of Troy’s southern wall. The stranger caught her stare, his eyes flashing blue fire, chilling her to the bone. Those eyes see through me. She pulled her dark veil tighter around her face. The warrior hefted a bronze-tipped spear, leveling it at the man armored as a Trojan warrior. His helm hides his face. I should know him…the gait…the shoulders… From below, the foreigner’s voice thundered through the air, shaking the stone foundation beneath her feet. “There can be no promises between lions and men!”
Hecuba watched in horror as the golden armored man charged with shield tilted and spear leveled for a fatal strike. This is all wrong. The men crashed into one another, splintering their shields, tossing the remnants to the ground. With a roar, the tall, golden warrior circled and attacked like a lion. Death sang clearly in the clash of their silver swords. The queen’s heart pounded sharply against her ribs. She knew one of them would die.
The queen opened her mouth to scream the burning questions: Who are you? Why do you fight? But the words dusted on her tongue. She clasped her hands beneath her heavy belly. Not now. Not now. Dust swirled about the combatant’s feet, as they danced to their death. The shining warrior lunged with grace, his spear finding the soft flesh beneath the Trojan warrior’s shoulder. Her heart leapt to her throat. The foreigner laughed as blood sprayed across his armor. She gasped behind her hand. The man whose face remained in shadow dropped hard to his knees, his chin bobbing at a precarious angle. Is he dead? Hecuba stood alone on the rampart. Smoke rose from the citadel. Distant cries carried in the air. Priam! Priam! Why have you abandoned me?
Hecuba glanced down to see a pool of blood at her feet. I cannot have the child on the wall. Her fingertips bled as she gripped the edge of the stone wall, bracing for the birth.
A searing pain tore through her, dropping her to all fours. Not yet—please, not yet. She placed a trembling hand to her sacred opening, feeling for the baby. Her fingers touched a rounded object emerging.
Groaning, she pushed for relief only to find she held a burning log.
It fell from her hands.
Screaming, she ran from the wall.
Hecuba jolted upright in the darkness of her chamber, her breath ragged, her body slick with sweat. For a moment, she still smelled smoke. Still felt blood between her thighs.
But there was no wall. No fire. No foreign warrior. Only the soft rustle of the balcony drapes whispered through the chamber. “Let the child live,” Hecuba whispered into the night. “Please… I beg you.”
With a small groan, she pushed herself from the bed. “I do not think I would survive losing you.” Her hands traced the round curve of her belly, reverent, protective.
She crossed to the polished stone railing and leaned into the cool air. Silver moonlight spilled over her shoulders. Below, the citadel stretched wide and still. Oil lamps burned in scattered windows of merchant houses and quiet homes—small constellations of orange against the dark, reassuring her that Troy slept in peace.
The child stirred within her answering the pull of the Moon Goddess. Confirmation her child lived. Thank the gods. Hecuba closed her eyes to the city and thought of her firstborn.
When Hektor came into the light, she rejoiced in his black curls and hazy blue eyes. She had kissed each tiny finger, each perfect toe, memorizing him. It was the only time she had ever seen her husband weep. Hektor…the Golden Prince of Troy. The beloved son.
Within a year she conceived again, but the joyous birth ended in mourning. And then again with the third. Hecuba, grief stricken and desperate, routinely made sacrifices to Apollo and Artemis. She had even set up a private shrine to Eileithyia, Goddess of Childbirth, in her private quarters. But not until now had her womb quickened for a fourth time.
Hecuba rubbed her naked belly again and ran her hands up to cup each aching breast. Beneath the inky blue sky dusted with stars, she prayed. Please. What must I do?
Only recently had she even dared to believe that this child would come to the light as another proud young prince or princess for Troy. But as soon as she embraced the thin hope of happiness, the gods sent her a troubling vision. The jumbled images held no clear meaning, but try as she might, she could not dismiss them. The figure of the foreign warrior, armored all in gold, haunted her even in the light of Apollo. No promises. Between lions and men.
“What is it, Hecuba?” King Priam’s voice, rough with sleep, soothed her from across the room. The king came up behind her, pressing his warm, naked skin against her nude backside. He set the lamp on the balcony railing.
Hecuba shrugged. “It’s nothing, my love. The child is restless.”
Reaching for her himation draped over a sitting bench, Priam wrapped the finely spun cloth around her shoulders. “You and our son will catch a chill.” Priam’s hands slid down the familiar curves of his wife’s widening waist, then up to the sides of her heavy breasts. His lips brushed against the nape of her neck, his warm breath raising the fine hairs along her arms. “You’re too tempting without a covering.”
She took his hands in hers, placing them on the widest part of her belly. “Surely, one of your concubines would please you more than I. What if it is a daughter?”
King Priam chuckled. “I love all our children.” He nipped Hecuba’s neck with his teeth. “You know there is no one I desire more than you.”
She swatted at his exploring hands. “Leave me be.”
“We’re no strangers to these discomforts are we, my love?”
Hecuba reluctantly accepted the tradition that as Queen of Troy, she’d never be the only woman in her husband’s life. After the loss of two heirs, the king’s councilors urged Priam to take other wives and concubines. Custom, after all, decreed that the King of Troy should have as many children as possible, securing the royal line and breeding strong, valiant Trojan commanders and warriors. When Priam had agreed, Hecuba realized for the first time what it meant to truly be queen. The king would be her whole world, but he would enjoy a life separate from the one he shared with her.
In these moments of weakness and self-doubt, she reminded herself that he had chosen her for love, not simply duty or lust or pedigree. He proved his loyalty to her by sharing the royal bed only with her, his queen, every night without fail. No concubines or other wives desecrated their private chambers. Priam had never remained long in the arms of another woman after coupling, always returning to her freshly bathed. She had never caught the lingering scent of another woman on her husband’s skin or dress. But from time to time, she’d catch sight of a woman, radiant with a rounded belly. And soon, little children with dark curls and dimpled chins ran about the halls and courtyard. Hecuba knew in her heart they belonged to Priam, but she could never voice her agony or speak of betrayal. The king would do what he must for the city.
“Why are you standing here, naked for all of Troy to see?”
“It’s hot.” She leaned against him. “I couldn’t sleep.”
Priam sighed. “Is it the vision?”
“I can’t forget it.” She pulled his arms tighter around her. “It frightened me. I hear that warrior’s voice roaring in my head. No promises. Between lions and men. What does it mean? We’re at peace, finally. Aren’t we?”
“War is inevitable, Hecuba. Peace is only what we steal in between.”
“What if—”
“It means nothing, sweet wife.”
She shivered in his arms. “But the warrior—”
He leaned his cheek against hers. “Consult Iphicrates in the morning, if it will ease your mind. Now, come to bed, wife. I grow cold.”
Hecuba turned in his arms, his warm gaze easing the fear still knotted in her chest. “You will keep me with child until I am old and grey.”
“That would not be such a bad thing.” He scooped up his pregnant wife, lightly protesting, and carried her to their bed.
Her himation slipped to the floor.
His lips grazed hers.
He positioned her against the pillows.
“You’re a playful woman.” His laugh rumbled in his throat. His eyes sparkled. “And you’ll pay for teasing your king with such kisses.”
Hecuba cocked an eyebrow. “How shall I pay you? I have no gold or silver, my lord.”
The king knelt between her legs, his eyes holding hers as a supplicant holds a goddess. Priam kissed one knee, then the other. “The gods made no other woman...” His breath was hot against her skin. Desire drove each word. “...as beautiful as you are, my love.” Priam’s touch was slow and tender, lingering where she was most sensitive. The fine hairs on her arms rose to his touch. “Tell me that you’re beautiful,” he whispered against her ear.
Hecuba was incoherent as his hands traced every curve and hollow of her body, moving with the certainty of a man who knew the terrain by heart. “I…” A small gasp slipped from her throat.
“Say it.”
Delicious chills washed over her stomach, her sides. “What?”
There was command in his voice now. “Say it.”
“I am beautiful.” His devotion to her pleasure brought tears to her closed eyes and Priam kissed them from her cheeks.
Hecuba wrapped her legs around his thighs, chasing her pleasure. “By Apollo… now.”
A knowing look passed between them.
“Then come here, my queen.”
He moved with unhurried tenderness, kissing her as they collapsed together, their bodies tangled in the bed linens. When it was over, Priam slid to her side and fell quickly into sleep.
Hecuba stared into the dark for a long while, until sheer exhaustion pulled her into the restless world of nightmares.
Hecuba watched in horror as the golden armored man charged with shield tilted and spear leveled for a fatal strike. This is all wrong. The men crashed into one another, splintering their shields, tossing the remnants to the ground. With a roar, the tall, golden warrior circled and attacked like a lion. Death sang clearly in the clash of their silver swords. The queen’s heart pounded sharply against her ribs. She knew one of them would die.
The queen opened her mouth to scream the burning questions: Who are you? Why do you fight? But the words dusted on her tongue. She clasped her hands beneath her heavy belly. Not now. Not now. Dust swirled about the combatant’s feet, as they danced to their death. The shining warrior lunged with grace, his spear finding the soft flesh beneath the Trojan warrior’s shoulder. Her heart leapt to her throat. The foreigner laughed as blood sprayed across his armor. She gasped behind her hand. The man whose face remained in shadow dropped hard to his knees, his chin bobbing at a precarious angle. Is he dead? Hecuba stood alone on the rampart. Smoke rose from the citadel. Distant cries carried in the air. Priam! Priam! Why have you abandoned me?
Hecuba glanced down to see a pool of blood at her feet. I cannot have the child on the wall. Her fingertips bled as she gripped the edge of the stone wall, bracing for the birth.
A searing pain tore through her, dropping her to all fours. Not yet—please, not yet. She placed a trembling hand to her sacred opening, feeling for the baby. Her fingers touched a rounded object emerging.
Groaning, she pushed for relief only to find she held a burning log.
It fell from her hands.
Screaming, she ran from the wall.
Hecuba jolted upright in the darkness of her chamber, her breath ragged, her body slick with sweat. For a moment, she still smelled smoke. Still felt blood between her thighs.
But there was no wall. No fire. No foreign warrior. Only the soft rustle of the balcony drapes whispered through the chamber. “Let the child live,” Hecuba whispered into the night. “Please… I beg you.”
With a small groan, she pushed herself from the bed. “I do not think I would survive losing you.” Her hands traced the round curve of her belly, reverent, protective.
She crossed to the polished stone railing and leaned into the cool air. Silver moonlight spilled over her shoulders. Below, the citadel stretched wide and still. Oil lamps burned in scattered windows of merchant houses and quiet homes—small constellations of orange against the dark, reassuring her that Troy slept in peace.
The child stirred within her answering the pull of the Moon Goddess. Confirmation her child lived. Thank the gods. Hecuba closed her eyes to the city and thought of her firstborn.
When Hektor came into the light, she rejoiced in his black curls and hazy blue eyes. She had kissed each tiny finger, each perfect toe, memorizing him. It was the only time she had ever seen her husband weep. Hektor…the Golden Prince of Troy. The beloved son.
Within a year she conceived again, but the joyous birth ended in mourning. And then again with the third. Hecuba, grief stricken and desperate, routinely made sacrifices to Apollo and Artemis. She had even set up a private shrine to Eileithyia, Goddess of Childbirth, in her private quarters. But not until now had her womb quickened for a fourth time.
Hecuba rubbed her naked belly again and ran her hands up to cup each aching breast. Beneath the inky blue sky dusted with stars, she prayed. Please. What must I do?
Only recently had she even dared to believe that this child would come to the light as another proud young prince or princess for Troy. But as soon as she embraced the thin hope of happiness, the gods sent her a troubling vision. The jumbled images held no clear meaning, but try as she might, she could not dismiss them. The figure of the foreign warrior, armored all in gold, haunted her even in the light of Apollo. No promises. Between lions and men.
“What is it, Hecuba?” King Priam’s voice, rough with sleep, soothed her from across the room. The king came up behind her, pressing his warm, naked skin against her nude backside. He set the lamp on the balcony railing.
Hecuba shrugged. “It’s nothing, my love. The child is restless.”
Reaching for her himation draped over a sitting bench, Priam wrapped the finely spun cloth around her shoulders. “You and our son will catch a chill.” Priam’s hands slid down the familiar curves of his wife’s widening waist, then up to the sides of her heavy breasts. His lips brushed against the nape of her neck, his warm breath raising the fine hairs along her arms. “You’re too tempting without a covering.”
She took his hands in hers, placing them on the widest part of her belly. “Surely, one of your concubines would please you more than I. What if it is a daughter?”
King Priam chuckled. “I love all our children.” He nipped Hecuba’s neck with his teeth. “You know there is no one I desire more than you.”
She swatted at his exploring hands. “Leave me be.”
“We’re no strangers to these discomforts are we, my love?”
Hecuba reluctantly accepted the tradition that as Queen of Troy, she’d never be the only woman in her husband’s life. After the loss of two heirs, the king’s councilors urged Priam to take other wives and concubines. Custom, after all, decreed that the King of Troy should have as many children as possible, securing the royal line and breeding strong, valiant Trojan commanders and warriors. When Priam had agreed, Hecuba realized for the first time what it meant to truly be queen. The king would be her whole world, but he would enjoy a life separate from the one he shared with her.
In these moments of weakness and self-doubt, she reminded herself that he had chosen her for love, not simply duty or lust or pedigree. He proved his loyalty to her by sharing the royal bed only with her, his queen, every night without fail. No concubines or other wives desecrated their private chambers. Priam had never remained long in the arms of another woman after coupling, always returning to her freshly bathed. She had never caught the lingering scent of another woman on her husband’s skin or dress. But from time to time, she’d catch sight of a woman, radiant with a rounded belly. And soon, little children with dark curls and dimpled chins ran about the halls and courtyard. Hecuba knew in her heart they belonged to Priam, but she could never voice her agony or speak of betrayal. The king would do what he must for the city.
“Why are you standing here, naked for all of Troy to see?”
“It’s hot.” She leaned against him. “I couldn’t sleep.”
Priam sighed. “Is it the vision?”
“I can’t forget it.” She pulled his arms tighter around her. “It frightened me. I hear that warrior’s voice roaring in my head. No promises. Between lions and men. What does it mean? We’re at peace, finally. Aren’t we?”
“War is inevitable, Hecuba. Peace is only what we steal in between.”
“What if—”
“It means nothing, sweet wife.”
She shivered in his arms. “But the warrior—”
He leaned his cheek against hers. “Consult Iphicrates in the morning, if it will ease your mind. Now, come to bed, wife. I grow cold.”
Hecuba turned in his arms, his warm gaze easing the fear still knotted in her chest. “You will keep me with child until I am old and grey.”
“That would not be such a bad thing.” He scooped up his pregnant wife, lightly protesting, and carried her to their bed.
Her himation slipped to the floor.
His lips grazed hers.
He positioned her against the pillows.
“You’re a playful woman.” His laugh rumbled in his throat. His eyes sparkled. “And you’ll pay for teasing your king with such kisses.”
Hecuba cocked an eyebrow. “How shall I pay you? I have no gold or silver, my lord.”
The king knelt between her legs, his eyes holding hers as a supplicant holds a goddess. Priam kissed one knee, then the other. “The gods made no other woman...” His breath was hot against her skin. Desire drove each word. “...as beautiful as you are, my love.” Priam’s touch was slow and tender, lingering where she was most sensitive. The fine hairs on her arms rose to his touch. “Tell me that you’re beautiful,” he whispered against her ear.
Hecuba was incoherent as his hands traced every curve and hollow of her body, moving with the certainty of a man who knew the terrain by heart. “I…” A small gasp slipped from her throat.
“Say it.”
Delicious chills washed over her stomach, her sides. “What?”
There was command in his voice now. “Say it.”
“I am beautiful.” His devotion to her pleasure brought tears to her closed eyes and Priam kissed them from her cheeks.
Hecuba wrapped her legs around his thighs, chasing her pleasure. “By Apollo… now.”
A knowing look passed between them.
“Then come here, my queen.”
He moved with unhurried tenderness, kissing her as they collapsed together, their bodies tangled in the bed linens. When it was over, Priam slid to her side and fell quickly into sleep.
Hecuba stared into the dark for a long while, until sheer exhaustion pulled her into the restless world of nightmares.