Page 48 of Odette's Vow

“And Helen,” – the woman we had pinned this war on – “will return to Menelaus.”

The women were ledfrom their falling city and herded across the desert plains, where they had once watched their men battle from the safety of their keep. Myself and the generals stayed with the royal group, our subordinates taking care of the rest of the Trojan slaves that would now travel like cattle in our ships back to Greece.

The royal entourage was mostly silent, except for Andromache’s muffled sobs and Hecuba’s insistent hushes. It reminded me of Odette’s group, when we’d rounded them up from that pathetic village that was really no more than a dirt square with a drinking fountain, bordered by houses and some fields of crops.

The women’s steps were small, unsurprisingly, given their stature and fate. None we had collected over the years had been eager to stride into slavery. Still, it irked the men. Even seasoned generals could behave like children, and more than once I caught Menelaus nipping at Helen’s calves with the flat face of his sword. They were desperate to get home, anyone could smell it on them. And though no one actually let out a breath, there was a collective sigh from the Greeks when our group could eventually see the ocean.

For the women, the ocean watered down their resolve. It was a brutal slap in the face from their reality, for whichever way they looked spelt a new future. Poseidon had never been a kind master to females. On the horizon, lands they didn’t know of or didn’t want to return to, unsure of what to expect. Behind them, remnants of a life they’d never have again.

The realities of war.

Andromache was openly weeping now. Hecuba had stopped her hushing. Polyxena began crying in earnest as Pyrrhus grabbed her roughly around the arm and led her away. The others in the group didn’t so much as get a chance to say goodbye before she would be sacrificed at Achilles’ tomb. Some would say that was cruel of him, but honestly, the extended farewells were worse. Letting them linger in their heartbreak only amplified a woman’s feelings.

Better to get it over with.

One of Pyrrhus’ soldiers tried to grab Andromache and follow after the young general, but Hecuba clung to herforearms. We all watched him attempt to pull them apart for a moment before I stepped in behind the former Queen of Troy and forced her to relent, crushing her delicate wrists with bruising force.

“Bastard,” she hissed at me.

I ignored her.

Instead, I led her away from the pack of royals and towards the ships where my men were setting up our tents once again. We would stay now until the rest of the Trojan spoils were divided up between our counsels, which meant replanting ourselves in the sand.

Just like we had all those years ago.

We were on the easternmost border, which meant we would be some of the last to leave through the Mare Aegeum when the time came. But, for now, it gave us the long-grass hills, the less damp sand, and I was grateful we were away from the rabble of the beaches as we climbed, Hecuba’s wrist still in my grasp.

At the top of the hill I spied Odette, her figure outlined against the fading light as she busied herself instructing the men to set up a campfire in that practical way of hers I had come to love. No doubt the men had grumbled of hunger and rather than listen to them gripe, she had set them to work. Things had changed; the men had come to occasionally listen to the women that took care of them. I hoped Hecuba would be able to see that.

I glanced sideways at her. She pressed her lips into a thin line, her gaze sharpening as she took it all in.

“Odette was once a slave,” I remarked.

“And what is she now, Lord?” Hecuba replied, disdain dripping from her thick accent.

I snapped my mouth shut when I realised I didn’t have an answer. Not one I could say out loud. Eventually we reached where the men were gathered around the campfire, and I thrust Hecuba towards Odette.

“Get the former queen cleaned and settled into a guest tent,” I grunted.

Odette’s eyes widened, a small but telling gesture. It was her only giveaway that she still thought me a brute, though she said nothing. Instead she nodded her head, curtsied to Hecuba, and held out her hand. To my surprise, Hecuba took it graciously.

“You don’t have to curtsy to her. She is no longer queen,” I grumbled.

“Because my city is destroyed?” Hecuba turned and faced me.

Odette watched me too, her head cocked.

“And who, King of Ithaca, is making sure your kingdom still exists? Do you even know? Are you even king any longer?” Hecuba continued. She gave a wry smile at my lack of reply. “Or does your wife keep your seat warm? Surely not, for a woman can’t rule a city on her own. You and your comrades laughed at that notion only this morning.”

“Just take her to get clean and settled,” I muttered. “Feed her, too. She must be hungry.”

“Certainly,” Odette said with a smile. “Come, my lady, let us freshen you up.”

“Thank you, my child.”

1 The inner sanctuary of a temple, a most sacred area, often inaccessible to the general public and reserved for religious activities, such as prayer and offerings to the gods.

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