What if…?

[The tale of Troy is one of the most enduring and tragic stories in the annals of history. It is a saga of heroism, love, betrayal, and the inexorable march of fate. In the traditional narrative, Hector, the noble defender of Troy, meets his end at the hands of Achilles. With Hector’s death, the Trojan resistance crumbles, and the Greeks breach the city’s defences. The young crown prince, Astyanax, is mercilessly thrown from the city walls, extinguishing the last flicker of Trojan hope.

But what if history took a different turn? What if, in the midst of despair and destruction, a glimmer of hope survived? This story explores an alternate version of the fall of Troy, where Astyanax, the son of Hector, escapes his grim fate. In this reimagined tale, the spirit of Troy endures through the young prince, and with him, the hope of a future where the city might rise again.]

Hector stood, outside the city gates, alone and drained of strength. The day long gruelling battle had surely taken a toll on him – covering his face with grime. He held his shield, dented with countless scars, firmly in his left hand as blood dripped from his arm. His matted hair, wet with perspiration, seeped through the bronze helmet obscuring his vision. A swift motion using the back of his forearm and the hair was brushed aside. He looked up in the sky only to see scores of ravens circling high up in the sky. How do they sense easy meal? Can they smell blood? His friends, lot of them valiant ones lay motionless on the ground. It was a matter of time before these scavenging birds would descend to feast on their remains. Hector smiled at the futility and ignobility of human life. He looked straight ahead, his eyes fixed on the approaching figure of Achilles. What should he do now? Achillis was gifted, formidable, blessed and the gods were favouring him. Hector thought in his mind. The weight of his bronze armour felt heavier than ever, sweet memories of his family started weighing in. He could almost hear the laughter of his son, Astyanax, and feel the gentle touch of Andromache’s hand. What could happen to them if he was not there? The mere thought of it spread a chill down his spine. Nobility was a curse, for the fall of Troy could certainly mean sufferings at the hands of the tormenters for the commoners; his wife and son would certainly die or be enslaved. Was there anything dearer to him than his life and family that he could fight for? Should he flee. Thoughts clouded his mind.

He imagined standing on the golden beaches along the sea and waves gently kissing his feet. He remembered galloping on horseback through the lush green fields filled with wildflowers, feeling the wind trickling through his hairs. Freedom, Yes! Freedom and Glory, that is what he could fight for. Hector knew that Achilles was a force of nature, undefeated and relentless. Yet, he would fight him, he would fight till the end of time, he would fight till the last drop of his blood so that Trojan men and women remain free.

Hector’s heart pounded with adrenaline as Achilles closed in. One deep breath, and he tightened his grip on his sword. “Alala! Alala”, with a burst of energy he sprinted towards his enemy. His armour clinked against the ground as the earth trembled beneath his feet. With a roar, Hector charged, his battle-worn sword raised high. The clash of metal echoed through the plains as their swords met. Hector fought with all his might, possessed by the devil reincarnate. His strikes were fierce and brutal, pushing the mighty Achilles back. The battle raged on, for minutes or for hours as Priam and Andromache looked on from the ramparts.

Achilles, younger and full of rage, moved like a predator. He sidestepped Hector’s attacks, his eyes chilly and calculating. In a swift turn of events, Achilles struck Hector’s shield, breaking it into pieces. The force of the blow sent Hector back, his breath staggered.

Desperation surged through Hector. He knew his end was near, but he couldn’t give up. He thought of his father, Priam, his mother, Hecuba. He thought of the future that would be stolen from his son, the fate that awaited his beloved wife. Summoning every ounce of strength, Hector lunged at Achilles, aiming for a decisive blow.

But the gods favoured Achilles this time. With a swift and deadly counter, Achilles sidestepped Hector’s attack and drove his sword into Hector’s neck. The pain was immediate and overwhelming. Warm blood flowed like a thousand rapids, and Hector’s vision blurred.

As he fell to the ground, Hector’s thoughts were of his homeland. The sun was yet to sink in the horizon, casting a golden glow over the city he loved. He tried to plead for a respectful funeral, but his words were mere mumbles, lost in the wind. Achilles stood over him, victorious but unmoved. The great warrior of Troy had fallen, and with him, the hopes of his people.

Priam, the hapless father, looked on from the lofty city walls. He reached out to his son. He tried to scream out loud but only an inaudible stutter could be heard. Hector! My Son…While the doom of Troy was now palpable nothing was more profound than the death of his son whose body was now dragged mercilessly tied to the chariot. For a moment Priam felt, nothing mattered any more – his kingdom, the legacy, his people; Hector was dearer to him than anything else.

Andromache stood next to Priam, covering her face in disbelief. Her mind a whirlwind of emotions – grief, shock and fear. She felt a sudden numbness that disconnected her from her immediate surroundings; her heart raced like a Trojan sprinter. As the world around her crumbled she felt a sense of isolation – the bonds that rooted her to this world – family, friends, her country – everything dissolved in a moment of chaos. The weight of the catastrophe had not sunk in when a newfound fear gripped her mind, her son, Astyanax and his safety.

“My dearest dear Andromache, my heart aches even at the thought of leaving you. You have been my rock; your love means the world to me. I have always admired the strength and devotion in you, and I know that same strength will help you navigate the trials ahead. I must go now, knowing very well, what awaits me in the battlefield today. My country beckons.

Remember, our son Astyanax is the only hope for Troy. He will carry through the legacy of Troy within his bosom. You must be sturdy and wise, for his sake, for the sake of our people so that the dream of freedom lives on. Seek refuge with those who remain loyal to our cause, and teach Astyanax the values of courage, valour, honour, and resilience. The Trojans will rally around our son. Together, you can and will endure and rebuild, even in the face of adversity. With their support, you must find a way to keep Astyanax safe and ensure that Troy’s spirit stays alive for posterity.

Andromache, your love and faithfulness have been my greatest assurance. Hold onto that love, and let it be the light that leads you through the darkness. Our bond is firm, and it will give you the power to face whatever comes…”

Andromache remembered the last words of Hector before he left to face Achilles. What should she do now? Where could she go and seek refuge? The Greeks would break the city gate open any moment. She suddenly felt someone holding her hand tightly. She looked to her right. It was, Lydia, her loyal companion. Despite the dire circumstances, Lydia’s smirk hinted at a glimmer of hope, as if she had a plan to navigate the uncertain future.

Lydia gently pulled an unwilling Andromache off the rampart, through scores of lamenting Trojans who gathered expecting a miracle to happen, expecting Hector to emerge victorious. Lydia guided Andromache down the steps, through the familiar paths of Troy, as tears rolled down her cheeks. She tried to resist, her voice trembling with sorrow; but then she was drained off all strength.

“Lydia, please,” Andromache pleaded, “Will you not even allow me to lament my husband’s death. I wanted to see Hector for a few more seconds before the birds of prey devour him. I wanted to spend time with Priam and Hecuba, to share in our grief.”

Lydia tightened her grip on Andromache’s hand, her voice calm but firm. “Andromache, I understand your pain, even I am in deep sorrow today. All my life I have never sensed despair and fear more closely than I did today. Hector was not yours alone. He was a brother, a son and a protector of the Trojans. In him we saw our future, our hope. Even I am in heart-wrenching grief but we must act fast; for Astyanax and the future of Troy. Hector would want you to be strong for your son.”

As they passed the gardens, the court of commons, and the temple of Athena, Andromache’s resistance softened, but her heart still ached. “Lydia, why won’t you let me mourn? Why must we hurry away?”

Lydia paused for a moment, looking into Andromache’s eyes. “Because, my dear friend, our defeat is now imminent, but our spirits remain unbroken. Because, you are now the hope of Troy, and Astyanax needs you more than ever. We must ensure his safety.”

Entering the inner quarters of the kingship, Lydia continued, “I have a plan to protect Astyanax and give Troy a chance to rebuild. We must keep him hidden and safe until the time is right. Hector’s legacy must live on through him. And with him the hope of Trojans.”

Andromache remembered the first time Lydia had come to her aid, a terrified girl with a heart full of courage, meeting nobility for the first time. She had done everything for Andromache and her family. She had tended to Hector’s wounds after battle, she had risked her life to smuggle food into the city besieged by the Greeks, just so that Andromache and other Trojans did not go to bed hungry. Over the years, Lydia had become more than a servant; she was a confidante, a friend, and a pillar of strength. She recalled the countless times Lydia had soothed her fears with gentle words and unwavering support. In Lydia, Andromache saw a reflection of her own resilience. She knew that she could trust Lydia with her life, for Lydia had proven time and again that her loyalty was unshakeable. Andromache’s eyes filled with tears, but she nodded, understanding the gravity of Lydia’s words. “I trust you, Lydia. You have always been a faithful friend. What must we do?”

Lydia smiled gently, her resolve unwavering. “We will find a safe place for Astyanax, away from the chaos. We will gather those loyal to our cause and ensure they are ready to support him when the time comes. Together, we can keep Hector’s spirit alive and give Troy a chance.”

As they spoke, Andromache felt a glimmer of hope amidst her sorrow. She knew that Lydia’s plan was their best chance to protect Astyanax and honour Hector’s memory. With Lydia by her side, she found the strength to face the uncertain future, determined to do whatever it took to safeguard her son, her husband’s legacy.

They entered the women’s quarters and finally Andromache’s room. The room was much cooler than the heat outside mainly owing to the thick walls made of mud bricks and stone foundation. Lydia placed a comforting hand on Andromache’s shoulder, as she guided her towards the bed. She felt a gentle breeze flowing from the central courtyard picking up moisture from the fountain as she sat down on the bed. Lydia rolled down the awnings to provide shade from the sun and knelt beside

Andromache. Holding Andromache’s hands in hers, she looked straight into her eyes, resolute and firm. A big gasp and she started.

“Andromache, we have to act fast. I have a plan to save Astyanax.” Lydia’s voice now stuttered, her lips trembling with emotion. “We can swap him with Fillipos. The Greeks will never know the difference. Fillipos and Astyanax are of the same age, same built, and look alike. Fillipos has even learned royal manners growing up with Astyanax. We can send Astyanax away with a few loyal servants and warriors who will ensure his safety. He will grow up to avenge his father’s death and the unfair war that will now destroy the Trojans. Fillipos will take his place, and we will wait for the Greeks to come.” Lydia paused, her heart pounding with emotions; she closed her eyes and took a deep breath allowing her lungs to expand fully.

Andromache could not believe her ears as if the flooring of stones and packed earth was giving way. Filipos and Astyanax were growing up together. They were just like brothers from two different mothers. While Andromache would sing lullabies for both of them and tell stories of the Trojan past transmitting culture to the next generation Lydia would prepare a soothing concoction of chamomile, mint, and thyme whenever the kids had fever or a bad cold. She would sit beside the sick child’s bed for hours, on end, till sunrise. Such a suggestion coming from Lydia was unbelievable, to say the least. Moreover, Filipos was Lydia’s only bloodline. Andromache shook off Lydia’s grip and distanced herself. Waving her hands in disbelief she exclaimed, “Lydia, how can you even suggest such a thing? Fillipos is a mere child, and he is barely five years old. How can you ask me to sacrifice him for Astyanax?”

Lydia opened her eyes distraught with anguish. “Andromache, this is the only way to save Astyanax. The Greeks will show no mercy. They will kill him without a second thought. They will throw him from the lofty city walls or end his life with their swords and with that end the Trojan race. Men will either die or be slaves and women concubines with no one ever to save them, no one ever to break this ordeal. We must act now to protect him.”

“But Fillipos!! He is your son! How can you be so heartless? Do you not love him?” Andromache’s voice trembled.

Lydia’s jaws now stiffened. “Of course, I love him. He is my flesh and blood. When he was inside me, I could not eat anything for months and I felt like throwing up everything. Yet, I fed myself with nutrition. And when he was born on a winter night both his father and I were filled with boundless joy. You know very well Andromache; he means more than my life. But I also love our country, our people. This sacrifice is for the greater good. If Fillipos were an adult, I am sure he would understand this. We should do whatever it takes to save our homeland.”

“There must be another way. Perhaps the Greeks will spare Astyanax. Maybe they will show mercy. They also have some sane people like Odysseus and Diomedes.”

Lydia shook her head side to side maintaining eye contact showing her disapproval. “You know as well as I do that the Greeks will not spare him. They will see him as a threat, a potential avenger of Hector. We cannot take that risk.”

“I can’t bear the thought of losing Fillipos. He is like a son to me too. How can I live with myself with a sense of extreme guilt if I let this happen?” Andromache sobbed inconsolably.

“Andromache, I know this is hard.” Pointing at the richly painted frescos in red and black, on the walls, depicting stories of Trojan bravery and victory, reminiscent of the glorious past, she continued. “Think of our past, think of our forefathers; they shed blood, gave up lives for Trojan glory. And what is the future we can see now? A gloomy one? One where there is no hope? We, only we two, can now protect

the future of our race. Think of Astyanax growing up, avenging his father, restoring our city, freeing up Trojans from slavery. This is the only way to ensure that future.”

“But… but Fillipos…how can I ask you to put your own son in such danger? How can I live with myself knowing that I sent another mother’s child to his death just to protect my own?” Andromache’s resistance continued. The weight of what they were thinking of doing sat heavily on her heart. Andromache loved Filipos as a son. Filipos would proudly wear the blue amulet gifted to him by Andromache as a royal insignia. Andromache was now getting consumed by an overwhelming sense of guilt. Images of Filipos, his laughter, his joy, his innocence – flashed past her mind. She knew she would lament for the life that would now be lost. She knew she would seek solace in prayers, hoping for redemption, one day. She knew she would spend her time seeking apology from the wind, the sun, the nature around her – a path of sorrow, reflection and hope that some day she might find peace.

Lydia held her hands in hers. “Fillipos is brave, just like his mother. He would understand the importance of this sacrifice. We must be strong for him, for Astyanax, and for our people. This is the price we pay for freedom. This is the price we pay for our future.” Lydia paused her glance fixated at Andromache.

The argument continued for minutes or for hours. The room was now filled with silence. “Alright, Lydia. If this is the only way, then we will do it. But my heart will forever ache for Fillipos.” Andromache relented. Andromache’s eyes filled with tears, her heart breaking at the thought.

Lydia embraced Andromache and smiled at her. “We will honour his sacrifice, Andromache. And one day, Astyanax will make sure it was not in vain.”

Andromache shook her head, her voice choked with emotion. “Will I ever see my son again. I need him here with me, to hold onto some piece of Hector. Even the thought of him growing up without his mother splits my heart. Will he ever know his true heritage? Will I live to see him again as a grown up, man strong and powerful as his father.” Andromache’s tears flowed freely, her heart torn between her love for her son and her duty to her people.

Lydia squeezed Andromache’s hands; her voice gentle but firm. “You will live, Andromache, because you must. You will live to see the day when Astyanax returns, stronger and braver than ever. You will live to see him fulfil his destiny and honour Hector’s memory. This is the only way to ensure his survival and the future of Troy.”

After a long silence, Andromache finally nodded, the rays of the setting sun glistened on her face as the room lit up with a glimmer of hope. “I will do it, Lydia. I will trust in your plan. For Astyanax, for Hector, and for Troy.”

Lydia hugged Andromache, her own eyes moist with tears. “Thank you, Andromache. Together, we will protect Astyanax and give him the chance to grow into the hero he is destined to be.”

The silence in the room was interrupted by a sudden clamour as relentless pounding of battering rams against the sturdy wooden gates echoed through the city, each strike reverberating like thunder. The creaking and groaning of the wood and metal, strained under the immense pressure, mingled with the sharp, splintering cracks as the gates began to give way.

Amidst the assault, the shouts and cries of the Greek warriors could be heard, their voices a mix of determination and fury. Inside the city, the terrified screams of the Trojans echoed as they realized their defences were finally being breached. It was now a matter of an hour or a couple.

Amidst the chaos two brave women held each other’s hands tightly, their eyes sparkling with hope and shared dreams. They knew there was enough time to execute their plan. They turned to each other,

their eyes meeting in a moment of silent understanding as a gush of wind blew from the western window fluttering through their locks as they looked outside.