been wearing a gown of pale blue. A long and delicately braided length of silver was looped around her neck, crossing under her breasts and then around her slender waist. Her face was flushed, and Andromache realized she had been drinking. She filled a golden cup with wine, added a little water, and passed it to her. Andromache sipped it. It was strong, but underlying the taste she recognized the bitter tang of meas root. It was used on Thera during revels and feasts to heighten awareness and release inhibition. Andromache had never taken to it, though Kalliope used it regularly. Kreusa had sat close to her on the wide couch, and as she talked she reached out and took Andromache’s hand. ‘We should be friends,’ she said, her smile bright, her eyes gleaming, the pupils wide and distended. ‘We share so many .. . interests.’
‘We do?’
‘Oh, do not be coy, Andromache,’ whispered Kreusa, moving closer. ‘There are few secrets in the king’s palace that I am not privy to. How was slender Alesia? Did she please you? I chose her for you myself.’
‘And why would you do that?’ asked Andromache, thinking back to the young Thrakian servant, and recalling how simple had been the seduction.
‘I wanted to know if our… interests… were truly shared.’ Kreusa leaned in closer, her arm sliding over Andromache’s shoulder. Andromache’s hand closed over Kreusa’s wrist, lifting the arm clear, and she eased herself to her feet.
Kreusa rose alongside her, her expression puzzled. ‘What is wrong?’ she asked.
‘Nothing is wrong, Kreusa.’
‘You spurn my friendship?’ Kreusa’s eyes were angry.
‘Not your friendship,’ replied Andromache, trying to be conciliatory.
‘Then be with me,’ she said, moving in closer. Andromache realized then that there was no diplomatic way to end this meeting.
‘We will not become lovers,’ she told Kreusa. ‘You are very beautiful, but I do not desire you.’
‘You do not desire me} You arrogant bitch! Get out of my sight!’
Andromache had returned to her rooms, her spirits low. She had not desired to make an enemy of Kreusa, and had known that trouble would follow.
She had not, however, anticipated the depth of Kreusa’s malice.
It was Axa who bore the brunt of Kreusa’s revenge. The little maid had been suffering in miserable silence since word had come that Hektor’s men were lost. Her husband, Mestares, was shield bearer to Hektor and one of the men who was missing with him. As if the uncertainty and fear for her husband were not enough, Axa had birthed her baby son ten days ago. Seeking the reassurance of her palace duties, she had left him with a female relative in the lower town to return to Andromache’s side during the day.
Yesterday had started like most days. With the help of another serving girl Axa had laboured to carry bucket after bucket of hot water for Andromache’s bath, and sprinkled into it perfumes and rose petals. But when Andromache wandered half naked into the bathroom, she found her maid slumped on the floor.
She crouched down beside her. ‘Axa! What’s wrong?’
‘I’m sorry, lady.’ Axa struggled to sit up. ‘I have had a weakness since the birth of my son. He is a big boy. It has passed. I’ll carry on now.’
‘No you won’t.’ Andromache looked into her face and saw the greyness of exhaustion. ‘Sit there for a while and tell me about your baby. Has he a name?’
‘No, lady. It is for my husband to decide. When he returns.’ Her face crumpled then, and a moan born of tiredness, pain and grief arose from her.
‘Come.’ Andromache started to unwrap the woollen shawl round Axa’s waist. ‘You need a rest. Get up.’ She put an arm round her and raised her to her feet. She undid the straps of the apron Axa wore and it fell to the ground.
‘Now, out of that tunic,’ she said. ‘You’re going to have a bath. It will make you feel better.’
‘Oh no, lady,’ Axa cried, fear in her voice. ‘I mustn’t. I’ll get into trouble.
Please don’t make me.’
‘Nonsense,’ Andromache said, laughing a little. ‘If you’re modest get into the bath like that, in your shift.’
Axa cast an agonized look at Andromache’s face, recognized the determination there, and stepped reluctantly into the warm bath. She sat bolt upright in the water, her face a picture of misery.
‘Relax, lie back,’ said Andromache, hands on her shoulders. ‘See, isn’t that good?’
Axa gave a weak smile and said, ‘It feels very strange, lady. It doesn’t feel natural to be wet all over.’ Growing in confidence, she splashed the water a little and watched the rose petals float on the ripples.
Andromache laughed and stroked her maid’s thick brown hair. ‘We’ll have to wash this, too, you know.’
Just then there was a rattle of curtains and they both looked round. In the doorway stood Kreusa. She said nothing, but gave a radiant smile before turning and leaving the room.
Axa had climbed clumsily out of the bath, water sluicing from her linen shift onto the floor.
‘She saw me. I’ll be in trouble now,’ she wailed.
‘Nonsense,’ Andromache repeated. ‘I won’t let anyone hurt you.’
Her words had been hollow. When she had awoken today it was to find a new servant by her bedside, a round-faced girl, who told her, after much shilly-shallying, that Axa had been flogged and dismissed from the palace that morning, on the orders of the king.
Andromache went immediately to the megaron, where she found Priam seated among his advisers. Barely reining in her anger, she demanded, ‘What have you done with my servant?’
The king sat back on his throne, waving away his counsellors. They moved back a few steps but remained within earshot. Priam gazed at her for a moment. She thought she could see satisfaction on his face, though he spoke mildly.
‘Your servant, Andromache? Every servant in this palace is mine. These greybeards in their bright clothes and gaudy jewellery are mine. You are mine.’
‘I was told…’ Andromache forced herself to think coolly. ‘I was told she was flogged and thrown from the palace. I wish to know why. She was a good servant and deserved better.’
Priam leaned forward and she smelled wine on his breath. ‘A good servant,’ he hissed, ‘does not frolic naked with the daughter of a king. She does not cavort in a bath with rose petals on her breasts.’
There was amused whispering among the counsellors.
‘You have been misinformed about cavorting,” Andromache replied. ‘Axa was exhausted and in pain. I ordered her to rest and take the bath.’
Priam’s face darkened. ‘And you thought you would take it with her? What is done is done. Be more careful of your behaviour in the future.’
‘Either that, or ensure I am not spied upon by people with minds like shit buckets,’ said Andromache, her anger flaring dangerously out of control. ‘The person who should have been flogged is the vile bitch…’
‘Enough!’ roared Priam, surging to his feet. ‘If you want to plead for your servant, then get on your knees!’
Andromache stood very still. All her pride urged her to turn away from this harsh and arrogant man, and to walk from the room, back straight, spirit defiant. And yet it was because of her that poor Axa had been flogged and humiliated. Axa herself had warned her, but proud Andromache had not listened.
Yes, she could retain her pride and walk from the room, but what would that pride be worth thereafter?
Her mouth was dry as she closed her eyes and dropped to her knees before the king. ‘I would ask…’ she began.
‘Silence! I have matters here to attend to. Remain where you are until I bid you to speak.’
Now the humiliation was complete. Priam gathered his courtiers around him, and they discussed their matters of state. Time passed, and her knees began to ache against the cold stone of the floor. But she did not move, nor open her eyes.
After a while she did not even listen to their conversation. At one point she felt the warmth of sunlight on her back, and realized the afternoon was wearing on.
When Priam spoke to her, and she opened her eyes, she saw that the courtiers and scribes had gone.
‘Well?’ he said. ‘Make your plea.’ She looked at him. He seemed more weary now, and his eyes had lost
