The Pearl of Troy

Chapter Twenty:

A/N Trigger warning for mentions of CSA

Hector's funeral began at dawn with a procession to the Temple of Apollo led by a knight dressed in Hector's armor and twelve poor men carrying lit tapers. All of Troy poured out its grief, not only for their dead prince but for everything else they've lost. The royal family wore sackcloth and ashes. The city elders bowed their heads as the procession passed them. Widows clawed at their cheeks and tore at their clothes while their fatherless children clung to them. Even Apollo himself hid his face behind a gray veil and wept.
They finally laid Hector to rest with his ancestors in the royal crypt under a purple shroud. A tremendous burden lifted from Briseis' shoulders. All the sadness, confusion, and anger dammed up inside her broke free. She cried until her eyes were red, scratched at her cheeks until she drew blood, and wailed until she lost her voice. When she had nothing left, her soul felt lighter.
"Hector," said Cassandra. Briseis turned toward her cousin, who stood in front of her, between Andromache and Queen Hecuba, staring at the icon of Apollo. Oddly, Cassandra had been the only one who'd remained quiet and calm during the funeral. "Wasn't I right?"
Queen Hecuba and Andromache were too wrapped up in their grief to pay Cassandra any mind. Hector's widow, with her bloody, tear-stained cheeks, would never again be the imperious beauty who'd been his wife. His mother's hair had gone gray, and she'd become an old woman.
Briseis shed one final tear for her aunt and cousin, who seemed stoically resigned to whatever terrible fate awaited them now that Hector was gone.
Paris came and squeezed Cassandra's hand. "I'll avenge him," he said. "I swear on the heads of our parents." But Cassandra didn't notice he was there.
Briseis scoffed. I would love to see you go up against Achilles.
Helen, who had been lighting a votive in front of the icon of Apollo, nuzzled up to Paris. "I can see it now," she said. "You call Achilles out and he answers the challenge." She cupped his face in her hands. "He charges at you like a lion but you stand tall and proud as a stag. You pull a splendid arrow from your quiver." Helen's hand brushed against Paris' thigh. She pulled him close by his belt.
Paris turned crimson. "Sweet Nell."
Briseis held back the bile in her throat. Such shamelessness and in a temple, too.
Helen put her arms around Paris' neck. "You draw your bow. Your splendid arrow brings Achilles to knees." Paris purred with delight. "Achilles roars like a wounded beast. Another arrow flies to his neck. He is helpless before you. A final arrow pierces his heart. He collapses, dead. Hector is avenged."
Aeneas and Troilus cut in, craving a word with Paris. Paris kissed Helen and left with them. Troilus bowed to Briseis. Aeneas just walked right by her.
Briseis remained unaffected by this slight. She and her brother hadn't spoken much since Hector's death.
"Wasn't I right?" Cassandra had turned away from the icon and fixed her large, pleading eyes on Briseis.
Briseis avoided those eyes. What did Cassandra want? For someone to tell her yes, she'd been right all along. But why? Correctly predicting Hector's death would hardly make her happy, nor would it bring her much credit.
Maybe Cassandra had wanted to be wrong?

The blanket was made from the softest wool Briseis could get her hands on, dyed in shades of Trojan blue and gold. Briseis wove it into geometric patterns with subtle touches of green and white, a nod to her child's Thessalonian heritage. At the bottom were the words Thetis had woven into Achilles' garter, which was still tied around Briseis' arm: either with your shield or on it.
The bile rose again in Briseis' throat. She put down her shuttle and rose from her stool.
Cressida put down her spindle. "What's the matter?" she asked Briseis.
"He's acting up again," said Briseis. She placed a hand on her belly, only now starting to protrude.
Heartburn and indigestion troubled Briseis more and more as her pregnancy progressed. Cressida and Creusa tried to get her to drink warm milk and ginger tea, but pacing across her chambers was the only thing that helped.
"As my old nurse used to say," said Creusa, who sat by the window sewing a smock. "You can tell what a child's temperament is going to be by the symptoms his mother has while she's carrying him. If she's right, then your little one will be choleric."
Briseis smiled. Yes, her child would be choleric. Hot-tempered and restless, just like his father. Would he also have his father's ruddy complexion and fiery halo of golden curls?
"I'm still not going to eat fish with mint sauce," Briseis said, referring to the dish she'd returned to the kitchens a few hours earlier. The cooling fish and mint were supposed to balance out the hot and dry humors that made Briseis ill, or so the royal physicians said, but the smell killed her appetite.
Cressida rolled her eyes. "Doctor Brontes is a quack, anyways."
The herald pounded his staff and announced, "Queen Helen." Briseis, Cressida, and Creusa rose and bowed to Helen as she entered the room. Helen had removed her mourning weeds and now wore an embroidered silk gown and golden hairnet, which looked dull against her gleaming curls.
"My Lady Cousin." Briseis kissed Helen's cheek. "What an unexpected pleasure."
Helen should have been comforting her grief-racked mother-in-law and sister-in-law, but even she wasn't foolish enough to think Andromache and Queen Hecuba wanted anything to do with her right now. They probably would have torn her to shreds if she approached them.
The welcome Helen received from Creusa and Cressida was only slightly less hostile. Creusa treated Helen with only the barest minimum of civility. Cressida glared at her with a face like thunder. Helen shrank from them. "Do you ladies mind letting me have a word in private with Princess Briseis," she said.
Cressida rolled her eyes and packed up her spinning. Creusa picked up her skirts and flounced off. They left Briseis feeling unsure of what to do. She hadn't had a private conversation with Helen since her return. So much had happened since then to make them drift apart.
As a queen, Helen had the right to the softest chair in the room and the closest spot to the fire, but she let Briseis have them.
"Thank you," said Briseis, settling into the velvet upholstered armchair. Her back ached after bending over the loom for so long.
Helen smiled. "We have to look after our little mother. She's gone through so much." Her smile turned wistful. "You know, I was younger than you when it happened to me."
Briseis folded her hands in her lap. "You were younger than me when you gave birth to Princess Hermione?" Helen rarely spoke about the daughter she'd left behind in Sparta, either from guilt or indifference. Hermione was now the same age as Briseis.
How strange it was that Briseis often thought of Helen as a silly girl when Helen had a daughter her age.
"No." Helen leaned back in her chair. "When I was twelve, King Theseus of Athens came to Sparta."
"I've heard this story before," said Briseis. The court ladies often gossip about how Helen was no maiden when she married Menelaus and how, even as a child, Helen's beauty had been enough to drive old Theseus mad with lust.
But Helen continued her story. "I was playing with some friends on the banks of the Eurotas one afternoon when Theseus came upon us. He was hiding behind a myrtle tree, fondling himself underneath his tunic. We all laughed at how the old soldier couldn't raise his sword."
Briseis dug her fingernails into her palms. Why was Helen telling her all this?
"I was only twelve, but I'd already started turning the heads of all the men around me. Theseus...he was staying with my parents at the time...drooled and slobbered over me like an old dog. I don't know what came over me, but I unlaced my bodice and flashed my budding breasts at him. The old soldier could certainly raise his sword then." 
"My Lady, please." Briseis squeezed Helen's hand. She couldn't bear to hear any more of this story.
A tear ran down Helen's cheek. "My friends ran away and left me there." She dried her eyes on her sleeve and sniffled. "By the time I came home, everyone already knew what had happened. I've told you how my sister Clytemnestra and my cousin Penelope used to pick on me?"
Briseis nodded. From the stories she'd heard about Queen Penelope of Ithaca as a child, she got the impression of a clever, mischievous girl who had a bit too much fun at the expense of her naive and gullible cousin. Queen Clytemnestra of Mycenae was just spiteful and cruel.
"They used to just call me Helen the Half-Wit, but after that, they started calling me Helen the Whore." 
"I'm sorry," said Briseis. In all fairness, what else was she supposed to say?
"But all was well in the end." Helen tried to smile. "Theseus was betrayed by a friend and pushed off a cliff and I still made not one but two grand marriages."
Briseis held her tongue. It would be rude, not to mention unkind, to point out the obvious. Both of Helen's grand marriages were disasters. "My Lady, with all due respect, I don't see your point."  She folded her hands in her lap.
"What I'm trying to say is..." Helen reached over and stroked Briseis' arm. "Your life isn't over." Her fingers caressed Achilles' garter, which had come loose. "What is this? A lovers token?" 
Briseis' blush gave her away. Before she could object, Helen pulled the garter from her arm to examine it. Her fingers traced the letters of Thetis' message.
"This is Greek," said Helen. "Did Achilles give this to you, sweet girl?" 
"Can I please have it back?" said Briseis. Helen was sorely mistaken if she thought she could tease a confession out of her.
"Now, my dear. It's rude not to answer someone when they ask you a question." 
Briseis huffed. This infuriating woman. "Yes," she said. There. Was Helen happy now? She leaned forward to take the garter back, but Helen held it out of reach.
"It isn't fair, child," said Helen in a voice like poisoned honey. "I told you a secret and now it's only right that you tell me one."
"I have no secrets." Briseis tried to reach again for the garter but it was still beyond her grasp. No secrets that are mine to share.
Helen patted Briseis' stomach with her free hand. "Come, now. Our little mother must have plenty of secrets in her condition." She dangled the garter over the hearth fire.
Briseis' stomach dropped. She wouldn't?
"Thetis wove it and its partner for her son," said Briseis. "They protect him."
"And what does the great Achilles need protection from?" Flames singed the garter's edges. Briseis snatched it before it was consumed by the fire.
Plumes of smoke and the scent of burning silk tickled Briseis' nose. The edge of her sleeve glowed orange. Briseis shrieked and shook her arm to put the fire out.
Damn you, Helen!
Helen's face turned white. "I'm so sorry, Briseis," she said. "I didn't mean to..."
Briseis seethed. She didn't mean to what? Start the war? Get Hector killed? Doom them all? "Achilles' only weak points are his heels," she said. "Consequently, he suffers from great pain in legs. Thetis enchanted these garters so they would soothe his pain." Helen should be pleased. She got the confession she wanted. "Now get out. I never want to speak to you again." 
Tears filled Helen's eyes as she rose to leave. She whimpered like a beaten puppy. Briseis turned away from her.
"I didn't mean to," murmured Helen. "It's not my fault."
Briseis sighed. She didn't mean to. It wasn't her fault. Wasn't that what Helen had been saying her whole life. Briseis rested her hands on her belly. Whatever happened next, she wouldn't let herself be the victim.
The shush-shush of silk garments on the marble floor made Briseis turn around again. Has Helen returned? She hadn't. No one was there. But a woman's singing echoed through the halls. Her song made Briseis sniffle.