The Women of Troy

21

I spent the rest of the day alone. Once, I went out and sat on the veranda, but I thought one or two of the fighters who walked past were staring at me, so I went back inside. I cooked, I changed the beds, I swept the floor. I didn’t allow myself to sit down until late afternoon and then I think I must have dropped off because when I next became aware of my surroundings somebody was knocking on the door. Alcimus had told me not to let anybody in, but the door was pushed open before I’d even got out of my chair. I couldn’t see anything clearly, only a bulky shape and a gleam of pale eyes. Pyrrhus. I stood up, remembering, though only just in time, to bow.

He came a little further into the room.

“I’m afraid Alcimus isn’t here,” I said.

“No, I know, he’s gone to see Menelaus. I suppose I should have gone too, but I just didn’t feel like it.”

I pulled a chair away from the table and waved him towards it. “Please…”

Without needing to be asked, I went to the wine store in the sideboard and poured him a cup of the best wine, realizing as I took it across to him that, for the first time ever, I was seeing Pyrrhus sober. He more than filled his chair, meaty thighs spread wide apart—massive; and yet there was an adolescent gawkiness about him that suggested he hadn’t yet grown into his full strength—god help us. I remembered my brothers at that age, how clumsy they’d been, scarcely able to get across a room without bumping into furniture. He looked up as he took the cup, and smiled. I didn’t find the smile reassuring. It occurred to me that when Alcimus warned me not to let anybody in, he might have been thinking of Pyrrhus, but hadn’t been able to bring himself to say it outright.

This visit was unconventional, to say the least—men don’t normally visit women when their husbands are known to be absent—but Pyrrhus didn’t seem to think there was anything odd about it. To say he was retarded would give entirely the wrong impression, and yet there was something lacking. He didn’t seem to know how people normally behaved, how relationships worked, and so he was always breaking the rules, not because he was driven to rebel against them, but simply because he wasn’t aware that they existed. Or perhaps he thought they didn’t apply to him.

“Won’t you have a drink with me?” he said.

So, I poured myself a cup—still in silence—and sat down opposite him. I was too wary to speak.

“Alcimus says you’re expecting Achilles’s child?”

“Yes, I thought you knew?”

He shook his head.

“The Greek army gave me to Achilles as his prize of honour after he sacked Lyrnessus—and then, when he knew he was going to die, he gave me to Alcimus. He thought Alcimus would be a good protector for the child.”

“Well, he was right there. Good choice.”

I sensed he hadn’t come to talk about Priam’s burial and I think the relief of that made me a little mad. At any rate, I drank half a cup of strong wine much too quickly, and when I looked up again, I saw he was holding out his hand.

“Look.”

I leant forward. Realizing I still couldn’t see, he got up and came towards me, his huge bulk blotting out the light. I felt him put something into my hand, and then he stepped aside to let the lamplight fall on it. I was holding Priam’s ring.

“Do you know what that is?”

“Yes, it’s Priam’s ring.” I tried to hand it back.

“Definitely Priam’s? Not Hector’s?”

“No, Priam’s—he always wore it. I think it was Hecuba’s gift on their wedding day.”

“But you’ve seen it since then?”

“Yes, Andromache showed it to me, she said you’d given it to her. She said how kind it was.”

“Huh.”

He returned to his chair. For a moment, I thought that was it, but then he said, “Sometimes I think people mistake kindness for weakness.”

“I’m sure some people do—but not Andromache. She’s not like that.”

“I offered her a whole tray of jewellery—bracelets, necklaces…All of it fit for a queen. And she chooses a man’s ring?”

“Well, she wore it round her neck.” I couldn’t think of a single good reason why he’d be pursuing this. I was being asked to implicate Andromache in Priam’s burial.

“Do you honestly believe that girl stole it?”

That girl. Poor Amina, she didn’t even have a name. To put off answering, I took a sip of my wine and tried to think. Any lie I told to help Andromache would make things worse for Amina—but then, they couldn’t be much worse. Perhaps I should try to save the one person who could still be saved? “Look, all I know is Andromache was frantic when she lost it. She was; she was really, really upset.”

“You’re a loyal friend.”

Was I? I felt that was the last thing I was. “Have you spoken to Andromache?”

“No, I want to get the truth out of the girl first.”

I tried to close my mind to what “getting the truth out of the girl” might involve. His huge hands lay on his thighs in the lamplight. If he’d inherited nothing else, he’d inherited Achilles’s hands. I found it hard to look away.

“Anyway.” He slapped his knees and stood up. “Tell Alcimus it’s all right.”

All right? “Yes, of course I’ll tell him.”

I escorted him to the door, relieved that this strange, unsettling meeting was over—but then, just as he was about to step outside, he held out Priam’s ring, as if he were offering it to me. I took a step back.

“No, go on, I’d like you to have it. For…you know…” He pointed at my stomach.

“I couldn’t possibly,” I said, firmly. I was remembering how he’d given Hector’s shield to Andromache—and how bitterly he’d regretted it. He was a man who couldn’t answer for himself for two hours together. “No, you took this from Priam’s hand, the day you killed him. It belongs to you now.”

He tried to push it into my hand, but once again I backed away. Finally, I managed to convince him that I wasn’t going to take it. Immediately, he put it on his thumb, and I thought I saw relief flit across his features. The offer had never been real. He was always acting out some idea of himself, as if he were living his whole life in front of a mirror.

I remembered to say: “Thank you. Please, don’t think I’m not grateful, it’s extremely generous of you—I just don’t think it would be right to take it.”

As I spoke, I felt a rush of blood to my face. I just wanted him gone and, after a few further awkward words, he did finally leave. I watched him walk across the yard towards the hall. On the way, he stopped to greet somebody—one of the young men from Skyros—and they talked for a while. A burst of laughter, a bit of back-slapping, then Pyrrhus ran up the steps into the hall, and the darkness swallowed him.