The Chain Duo
Aranel and Encaitarë; 2005
Author's Notes: Just another very interesting idea. At least it kept us laughing all night. We even tried being chained to each other like Hector and Achilles for almost two days. It was fairly amusing, but people were looking at us kind of oddly. Cheers!
"Why does everyone have to hate each other?" lamented Briseis bitterly, hunched over in a ball on Achilles' makeshift bed. "Why can't everyone get along?"
You see, Briseis was a lover of peace. Weapons and war made her ill. Hence, staying with Achilles, a war-mongering killing machine, was almost too much for her to endure. His very presence vexed her, since melees, skirmishes, and bloody deaths were all he ever wanted to talk about (once in a while he'd throw in an insight about the gods, but it was very seldom and just as much despised).
Still, she was fascinated by him, though she couldn't understand why. Being sanguine by nature, she believed that he was essentially good at heart. He was merely misguided by people like Agamemnon. She truly believed that if he had a choice, he wouldn't fight at all. And that is precisely why she concocted an elaborate scheme as to how she could accomplish her aim. She thought that if she could reform both Achilles and Hector, the majority of the Greek and Trojan armies, save maybe a few hardcore warriors, would lay aside their arms and resolve their differences peaceably, putting an end to the war. Easier said then done. But she did have a plan…
Achilles sauntered into the hovel, very well pleased with himself after a great slaughter. He strode to his ornate bronze washbasin and began rinsing the blood and grime from his arms. Briseis cringed at the sight of him. This was not going to be easy. But then, the drugged cup was prepared. She raised the glass enticingly towards him.
"You must be thirsty," she said pleasantly. "I made this for you."
Achilles dried his hands and took it from her roughly. He turned, muttering a thank-you, and sniffed the liquid hesitantly.
Briseis watched as he set the cup down momentarily. She hoped he didn't notice her expectancy, as well as the way her limbs were trembling. She was concerned that he wouldn't drink, but she needn't have worried.
After he removed his armor and donned some more comfortable attire, he picked the cup up again and began swallowing it down, probably just to make Briseis happy. His eyes clouded for a moment and he staggered to the bed, mumbling indistinctly. He fell like dead wood upon it, near Briseis. She smiled, satisfied, and pulled a blanket over him. She had given him enough to be certain he'd be unconscious till at least the next morning.
After hours that passed at a snail's pace, the shadows fell, and one by one, the men withdrew into their shelters. Only one person had stepped into Achilles' hut that day, Patroclus. He had inquired as to why his cousin was sleeping during the day. Briseis' nervous explanation that Achilles was strangely exhausted from the day's warfare had seemed to satisfy him. As he was leaving, she had also informed him that his cousin had requested that his chariot be readied for the evening. Patroclus had assured her that it would be done.
Briseis stepped outside and seized the great black horses' rein. Leading the chariot forward to the door, she crept back inside. This was the most difficult and perilous segment of her endeavor, but that didn't matter. She was willing to risk it. It was for a good cause, at least.
She made for the bed. Gripping Achilles' arms firmly, she rolled him off. He hit the soft dust of the ground with a light thud. Achilles moaned in his sleep, but other than that, made no sign of protest. Briseis sighed in relief. She grabbed his ankles and began to pull. He was heavy, but not so much that she couldn't move him. Slowly, she dragged him to the canvas door and brought him out. After much straining, she got him up into the chariot, arranging him in a sitting position against the side. She was just about to give the eager horses rein, when an even better idea came to her. She slipped back into the hovel and located Achilles' armor. First, she exchanged her long, flowing dress for his substantially shorter leather skirt, and also donned the chest armor, as well as his grieves and sandals. She even placed the tall helmet on her head, tucking in her hair to further veil her identity. She knew that in broad daylight it would be quite obvious that she was not Achilles. But under a sliver moon, in the dead of night, when the watchfulness of the sentinels is low…she just might have a chance. She tip-toed out again, carrying her gown. She would need to change before reaching the city or she might very well be mistaken for Achilles and shot. Noiselessly, she urged the horses on. They went keenly forward, their hooves making little noise on the soft sand of the shore. Briseis stood up on Achilles' lap so that her silhouette would appear tall enough to be the Greek warrior. She passed Patroclus' hut and heard whispering, though nothing became of it. She thought she recognized the voice of Patroclus and Eudoras, but by this time, she was a ways past them. She hoped that she would have this much fortune with the sentinels. She traveled past numerous shelters without difficulty. She even passed Odysseus. He was filling the doorway of his dwelling, simply looking out. Briseis kept her face left and he didn't seem to perceive anything was amiss.
"A good night, Achilles," he said. Briseis only nodded in response. One word from her would divulge her ruse.
At long last, she came to the end of the huts and turned right. She went on in silence in a wide circle around the pillaged temple of Apollo, and after this, she knew that she was home free.
"Who is that in the chariot?" the burly sentinel inquired of his companion.
"Why, if my eyes do not lie, 'tis Achilles," replied the man.
"Where is he going?"
"Who am I to know Achilles' business?"
Briseis had already exchanged garments again and was making for the lofty silhouette of the gate. When she judged the distance right, she halted and shoved Achilles out of the chariot. It would be no good taking him into the city. Any of the Trojans would have sooner killed him than looked at him, and in his defenseless state, he couldn't resist them. He would have to remain there for the present. She slowly traversed the rest of the expanse, a mere shadow on the vast plain of windblown dust.
"Hector! Prince Hector!" shouted the guard in exhilaration. "Your cousin, Briseis…she lives!"
Hector leapt up, rapidly dressing. "Can it be?" he asked with reservation, pulling a few dark hairs out of his eyes.
The guard nodded happily. "She escaped from the Greek camp."
"Where is she?" asked Hector. "I would see her."
"She is with Paris," responded the guard.
"Very good."
Hector was smiling as he strode swiftly down the torch-lit corridor. "Briseis!" he exulted, walking through the ornately carved doorway. "My blesséd cousin, you live. However did you escape?"
Briseis hesitated a moment before answering. "Well, it wasn't easy," she said simply.
"I think we should celebrate!" exclaimed Paris jovially, jumping right into the ruse. He produced three cups of wine from a small side-table and handed each to a person. Paris glanced first at Hector, and then at Briseis, barely able to contain a smile. "To Briseis' return home," he said, raising his silver chalice.
"To her safe return," said Hector, quite properly, raising his glass to meet both of the others'. They all drank. Hector finished half of his before he had apprehensions. He brought the glass down and studied the hazy liquid with scrutiny. "What is this, Paris?" he asked vaguely. "It – it doesn't taste right."
"It's wine, my brother," answered Paris. "I didn't notice anything strange about it."
Hector didn't comment further. He appeared to be trying to keep his balance.
"Take this for a moment, Briseis," he said, handing her the wine chalice. He went and leaned against a nearby support pole to steady himself. Briseis noted that he was squinting uncertainly around the richly furnished room, as if the light pained his eyes.
"Are you ill?" Paris asked, stepping to Hector's side.
"I believe so," replied the warrior drowsily. "But I can't seem to—" He pitched forward suddenly to the ornate tile floor (fortunately, he landed on a plush rug, or he might have injured himself).
"Imperial work, Paris," said Briseis hastily. "Now help me move him; he's heavy." They flipped Hector onto his back. Paris took his arms and Briseis his legs, and picked him up. So going, they made it out the door fairly well, without being seen, and down the corridor. They leisurely continued down to the spacious stables, rather dark except for the light of a few torches that danced gently upon the walls of stone. Paris had redirected the guards to be walking the beat elsewhere that night, so that they shouldn't have any trouble. They finally crept through the stable door and found Achilles' chariot waiting where Briseis had left it. She had ordered the guards to leave the horses harnessed until she returned and told them otherwise. They questioned her motives, but reluctantly agreed.
Paris and Briseis, who were now straining madly (for they were wearied), literally dragged Hector behind the chariot and halted.
"On three," said Briseis, "hoist him up." She began to count: "One…two…thr—" All at once, Paris' grip slipped and Hector plunged into the well-trodden hay upon the floor. Both Paris and Briseis drew back in alarm. Hector moaned lightly and tried to get up, but finally collapsed to the ground again. The doers of this heinous plot met relieved eyes. For a moment, they had thought that Hector was awake. If he had been, they certainly would have caught it! They resumed their lifting positions and finally, with much effort, hoisted him into the chariot. Then, they both leapt aboard.
"Do you have the chain?" asked Briseis, going over her mental checklist.
"Right here," he answered, pointing down next to his feet. He had stashed it there right before they had gone to catch Hector. Briseis gave the horses rein, and they forged onwards.
"Open the gates!" called Paris. The nightly sentinels looked very hard at him, as if they were pondering all possible reasons as to why he and Briseis would be exiting the city at this (or any) hour of the night. But in the end, they acquiesced, not wishing to anger their prince. It might mean their jobs. So they slowly nodded, while all muttering some form of, "As you wish." They gathered a few other guards who had been meandering about, and soon, the gates creaked deliberately open.
"That's what I like to see," commented Paris loudly, to Briseis' chagrin. "Devotion to duty and royalty! What finer warriors have we in Troy than these?"
Flattered, the guards smiled and saluted smartly.
Briseis turned and eyed Paris disapprovingly. Then, she goaded the black steeds on through.
At length, they reached Achilles. He wasn't tricky to find. Briseis simply followed her chariot wheel tracks until she arrived at where he still lay in the dust, very much sound asleep. He didn't look as if he had moved, though he had rolled over onto his belly during her absence. Briseis maneuvered the chariot over to Achilles and shoved Hector out, next to the other warrior. She leapt down and snatched the chain from Paris' hand, quickly chaining Hector and Achilles arm to arm. What Briseis and Paris failed to notice was that Achilles was on his belly and Hector on his back, so they were chained right to right. This would create some difficulty if they wished to go anywhere when they awoke. Briseis finally knelt and took Hector's dagger from where he kept it at his side. She had already searched Achilles, so no need to once more. Satisfied, she hopped back into the chariot and clucked to the horses.
"This should be amusing," commented Paris.
"They'll become friends, or die trying," responded Briseis, turning to survey the scene behind her one last time.
The sun rose slowly from the sea, a pale rose that illuminated the sandy plains, gradually brightening till it at last stirred the eyelids of the great prince of Troy. He rose to his knees, his hand holding his head as if remembering some dreadful nightmare. Leaning left, he prepared to turn, but his arm seemed to be pinioned behind him. He couldn't even get up! He turned the other way and realized that something far worse than his nightmare had taken place. He was staring into the terrible face of his most despised enemy, none other than Achilles, son of Peleus. Hector grunted in amusement, deciding that he was the brunt of someone's most distasteful practical joke. Suddenly, it all came back to him and he remembered what had happened with Paris and Briseis the night before. He easily pieced together what they had done. "Paris!" he bellowed, shattering the morning silence. Hector squinted up at the wall and noted there was already quite a gathering there staring at him in bewilderment, including King Priam.
"What useless dissipation has my son immersed himself in this time?" questioned the king, impatiently. He said this because he thought that anything that Hector did (besides what he and the priests told him to do, of course) was fairly useless and quite foolish. (Especially the time he suggested that the Trojans should establish defenses on the beach for when the Greeks attacked. As usual Priam said, and I quote: "Greeks? Ha! They'll never attack! They are not that imprudent, are they? Ha! Greeks! Of all the silly ideas!" A few days later, what a surprise! And all Priam could say was: "You see? What did I tell you? The Greeks are imprudent, aggravating, irksome, loathsome, uncultured, ill-nurtured, worthless abalones!" Hector simply rolled his eyes and went to do all the fighting, as usual.)
In the intervening time, Priam was still staring down upon Hector with mingled scorn and concern. "Does anyone know what he is doing?" he asked. "Who is that beside him?"
"It is the gods' doing!" said a priest in awe, before Briseis had a chance to speak. He was used to attributing anything unexplainable to them. He added onto his explanation with: "They have made their will plain."
Priam turned and eyed the priest, his name was Teontipas, with reverence. Of course, the priests were never wrong. Then, he turned back to his stranded son. "It is the will of the gods, Hector!" he shouted. "I cannot help you!"
At this, Hector angrily grabbed a fist full of sand and hurled it forcefully towards the wall. The wind simply returned it to his face. Hector spit the sand out of his mouth furiously and turned back to the situation at hand.
Achilles yawned and rolled over towards Hector. "Briseis?" he mumbled groggily. "Where are you going?" Hector found himself scrambling away as fast as he could, Achilles in hot pursuit.
"Come here, Briseis," ordered Achilles, eyes still half-shut, his mind less clear than his vision.
Hector was feeling ill already. Is this what Briseis had to deal with? He continued crawling frantically away. Achilles grabbed Hector's arm and hauled him back. He was about to plant a kiss on Hector's cheek, but before he could manage, the Trojan prince clocked him with his chain.
Achilles recoiled, rubbing his face, and finally opened his eyes. He was taken aback. "Wha—?" he questioned, glancing around. Hector kept the chain taut. He was as far away as he could get. Achilles looked down, noticed the chain, and recognized to whom he was bound. The look in his eyes was one of mingled rage, humiliation, and terrible confusion. He didn't wait for Hector to give explanation. He bolted forward, trying to pull his sword, but found it unaccountably absent from his side. After fumbling at his belt for a time, he looked down and noticed that his blade was gone. He snarled angrily, glowering at Hector.
Hector laughed and clicked his tongue. "It appears you've been robbed. By your former captive, no less."
Achilles cocked an eye strangely at him and snorted like a stallion. He ran forward and seized Hector's throat, but found it difficult to master him, for Hector had his own throat straightaway. They shoved against each other forcefully.
Then Hector wedged his arm around Achilles' arm and twisted, putting the latter's limb in a most dreadful position. The Greek howled and let go. Hector blew Achilles a raspberry.
Achilles was irate. "How dare you!" he growled, trying to whack Hector in the face. But the Trojan prince rapidly shoved Achilles to the side, where he had the ability to get behind him and wrap his arm around the man's neck. Hector staggered to his feet, dragging Achilles up as well. Achilles' face was crimson with rage. He twisted around and grabbed Hector's neck fiercely. Each went around in circles endeavoring to get behind the other.
Achilles decided that he was getting nowhere by trying to master Hector with brute strength. He would have to be clever. Unfortunately, he wasn't the brightest star in the universe. He furtively slipped a foot under Hector while they were both running and tripped him up. But what Achilles had failed to remember was that they were chained together, so they both went down in a tussle. Hector fell on his belly with Achilles on top of him. The Greek warrior began to elbow Hector harshly in the neck. Hector felt something twig-like near his hand. He quickly took a look down and noticed that it was a gnarly stick. He closed his fingers around it tightly and came up with a great hit to the other man's head. Achilles toppled down, but Hector somehow managed to keep his feet, though he was stooped over a great deal on account of the restricting chain. Hector wasted no time in smacking Achilles heavily on the rear with the newfound weapon. The Greek scrambled forward, yelping like a whipped cur. Hector was quite enjoying himself. He got in at least five good hits before Achilles regained his feet and started swiping madly at the branch. But Hector held it out of his reach and Achilles found his efforts futile.
Soon afterwards, Achilles spied a promising shrub nearby. He dove for it, taking Hector with him. The bush was dry and hardy, with dark, glossy, green leaves that shone almost with a light of their own under the scorching heat of the morning sun. Achilles reached it and hurriedly broke off a branch, although he suffered a few hits from Hector. A mad fire came into his eyes as he turned, repaying Hector stroke for stroke. They swatted insanely at each other, trying to parry offensive blows best they could. Presently, the sticks broke (not that the prospect of this was a surprise). They then found themselves racing in a circle, trying to catch one another. Finally, being fed up with the foolishness, Hector punched Achilles in the jaw, sending the Greek spinning.
"What did you do that for?" asked Achilles, spitting out a couple of teeth. Then, he poked Hector in the eye. They soon stopped and simply stood there, panting for breath.
Hector, to his relief, saw the Trojan Gate opening and turned to Achilles urgently. "We can get the keys from Briseis if we go in the city!" he said.
"Why should I listen to you, my sworn enemy?" asked Achilles skeptically. "How can I be certain you're not going to lead me into an ambush?"
Hector sighed. "If the Trojans had wanted to kill you, they could have done so already," he said. "You must trust me, or we'll never get out of this. I'll solemnly swear that once we are set loose, you will have guaranteed safe-conduct back to your ships. And then presently, you will doubtless return to fight me fairly…with weapons instead of in this primitive manner."
"Very well," said Achilles, "but may the gods curse you if you prove treacherous. I am well loved by them."
"Sure, sure, whatever," said Hector. "Let's go. And let's stop switching from informal to archaic speech! You mind?"
They ran towards the gate, Hector running forward, Achilles running backward, because of the chain. They rushed past some soldiers, who had just opened the gate, and through the street, towards the palace. As they ran, Hector could see puzzled faces staring out of numerous windows along the street. They were quite a sight, to be sure. Soon, they reached the steps and had some trouble getting up them (because of their awkward positions). Hector ended up having to virtually drag Achilles up the steps. When they reached the top, they crossed the threshold and waited for their eyes to adjust to the dimness. To their surprise, Briseis was standing right there to greet them.
"Get her!" roared Hector. "Jump her!"
Achilles (because he was backwards) did not know what was going on. "What?" he questioned, rather puzzled. Hector jumped at Briseis, but Achilles didn't, being oblivious to what was happening. So Hector flew back and fell to the marble floor.
"I said 'jump her'!" scolded Hector stridently. "She's getting away, after her!"
Suddenly, they heard cries of, "They're trying to kill me! Quick! Help me!"
Soon, some guards emerged from a corridor and stopped Hector and Achilles. "What do you think you are doing, chasing the lady around?" asked one in disbelief.
"We need the key to our chain!" pleaded Hector in desperation. "She has it!"
"I haven't heard anything about it," said the guard.
"Bring me the key!" said Hector. "That is an order. I am your prince. You must comply!"
"We have other orders," continued the guard coolly. "We are to accompany your highness to your personal chambers for the night. We have this order from the king. To that we 'must comply.' Now come along quietly or we'll help you along." And so with a lot of struggling, the guards succeeded in locking Hector and Achilles in the Trojan prince's room.
"I think you need to appoint better guards," said Achilles. "Try getting some that actually listen to you."
Hector didn't sleep well at all that night. He lay bitterly lamenting his dilemma the entirety of the hours of darkness as they crept slowly by. "Why me?" he moaned, as he stared up at the ceiling. The silence was unnerving. All he could hear was the muffled snoring of Achilles, who was thrown hastily upon the stone floor (Achilles refused to sleep in the same bed with Hector).
Hector was furious about his situation, especially at Paris and Briseis for their wicked plot. He wondered why they had done it. There didn't seem to be a reason that he could see. And now it seemed that Priam was going to do absolutely nothing about it, thanks to his priests, whom it seemed were the only advisors the old king could hear. It was all madness in Hector's eyes.
Hector plummeted to the floor with a large thud, on top of Achilles. He opened his eyes and saw Achilles glaring back at him. Achilles grunted and threw him off. He crawled forward, dragging Hector behind him. But Hector resisted. He pulled himself up and seized Achilles' arm, throwing him back down to the floor. Achilles snarled in rage and braced himself against the corner table to stand up. Hector powerfully pulled him backwards, subsequently sending the table and a valuable porcelain vase flying. Hector involuntarily winced, expecting the sound of the table splintering, which he heard soon after. But instead of the great crash afterward he expected would be the vase, the meeting of porcelain and stone, the noise that greeted his ears was a hollow shattering. He opened his eyes in puzzlement and noted that Achilles had taken the vase on the head. The broken shards and remnants of porcelain slid from his hair. The Greek carried a very stunned look in his eyes that made Hector wonder if the man was still there.
He heard a sudden rattling of keys and the door creaked open. "What was that?" asked Andromache, peering around the door.
Hector and Achilles eyed each other sheepishly, then noticed suddenly that the door was open.
"Quick!" cried Hector. "To the door!"
"All right!" agreed Achilles. They scrambled forward, a flurry of arms, legs, and chains, only to see Andromache hurriedly slamming the door with a look of remorse.
"No!" yelled Hector. He made a sudden great leap towards the quickly shutting door, but his efforts were fruitless.
"What ill-luck!" sighed Hector, rubbing his flattened nose.
"Sacks of wine," Achilles mumbled to himself. "I want to get out of this." He commenced banging his head against the door cognitively, trying to think of an idea.
"I have a plan," said Hector.
Achilles ceased his methodical pounding. "What?"
"I'm starving to death!" called Achilles, louder than he would have if he wasn't trying to notify the entire palace of this fact.
"Me too!" agreed Hector, his voice echoing raucously in the darkened silence of the room.
When at first that didn't seem to work, they tried the most annoying thing they could concoct: Hector would start by saying in an Irish accent, "I'm starvin'! Are you starvin'?" Then Achilles would say, "I'm starvin', too. We're all goin' t' die if we don't get somethin' t' eat!" And then they would start over. They did it around fifteen times.
At length, they heard a great amount of whispering and discussion outside the door. Hector and Achilles were hushed and still. Listening intently, they soon heard the clanking of keys. They dually leapt to their feet and prepared to charge. The door creaked leisurely open. When Hector and Achilles judged the space right, they flew at the door, knocking the servant, the trays of food, and the people behind him to the floor like a stack of dominoes. Then, they fled down the hallway, dashed around the corner, down the steps, down another corridor, and through a doorway, finding themselves outside. In the process, they mutilated everything in their paths, including vases, statues, rugs, stray guards, a cat or two, and Priam. The aged king had been in the last corridor. He put his hands out to stop the duo catapulting down the hall, but it availed him little. They flattened him quite well in their haste to escape.
When they got outside, they breathed a mutual sigh of relief and ran behind a humble clay house. They decided to wait out the hours of darkness right where they stood. No one attempted to stop them, or even approached them.
Early the next morning, they began plotting as to how they might get the key.
"We need to go in quietly," suggested Hector. "If we're seen, it will ruin everything. So not a word. We need to sneak."
"Very well," said Achilles. They emerged from behind the house and crept towards the palace. After entering the door once more, they slinked to Briseis' room. Quietly the door creaked open and they burst inside. Briseis (still in bed) screamed, but Hector leapt forward and covered her mouth. "Give us the key and you needn't fear," he said.
"Paris has it!" she blurted out.
"Lock the door, Achilles!" said Hector. They both ran towards the door and Achilles set the bolt.
"Now tell us where it is," said Hector, his voice growing threatening. "Or…or…else!"
"What are you going to do, kill me? I'm your cousin; you wouldn't hurt me!" said Briseis.
"No," said Hector, "I wouldn't harm you. But I would—"
"Never marry you!" broke in Achilles.
"You…you wouldn't marry me, Achilles?" questioned Briseis. "But, but, that's not fair!"
"It is in my book," said Achilles, turning around and crossing his arms. "Take your pick: me or the key."
Briseis trembled noticeably and finally broke. "You," she said. "Paris has the key, like I told you. He's using it as a belly-button adornment."
Achilles and Hector eyed each other strangely and Hector grinned. "That sounds like my brother."
They rushed out and down the corridor to Paris' room. Flooding inside like water from a burst dam, they rushed in upon Paris (who was just getting up) and knocked him down.
"What are you doing?" asked Paris in surprise as Hector fumbled at his shirt.
"We need the key," he said. "Get your hands away from your shirt. We want to look at your belly-button adornment."
"My what?" squeaked Paris. "I don't have a belly-button adornment!"
"Are you certain?" asked Hector. "We can find out."
"Um…well," said Paris.
"You're not hiding anything, are you, Prince Paris?" asked Achilles.
"Of course he's not!" laughed Hector. "Here, I'll show you." He grabbed Paris' shirt and easily ripped it off, much to Paris' chagrin. And there dangled a beautiful silver key at his belly-button.
"Oh, who put that there?" cried Paris. "I'm completely in ignorance. I've never seen this key before! Who did this?"
"I think he's in denial," said Achilles. "Poor Prince Paris." He clicked his tongue and broke into a laugh.
"It's not funny," sulked Paris. "I really didn't know about it! Someone must have done it during the night!"
"I'm sure that's what must have happened," said Hector in mock agreement.
"Can I have my shirt back, please?" said Paris, rather abashed.
"Maybe later," said Hector. "Achilles, I think we should teach this naughty little boy a lesson. Close your eyes, Paris."
"But…but…" stammered Paris in protest.
"Let's put him against the wall," suggested Achilles.
"Good idea," agreed Hector. So they did. "Ready? One…two…three!"
Paris let out a blood-curdling scream as Achilles ripped the key off.
"Got it!" said Hector. "Wasn't that fun, Brother Paris?"
Paris said nothing. He was sulking.
"Oh, no pouting!" said Hector. "I never like to see a pouty-face."
The chain soon snapped off and the two warriors stroked their chafed arms gingerly. After this, Hector decided that Paris needed to get a taste of his own medicine. "Achilles," he said. "Why don't we go see what's in Prince Paris' clothes drawer!"
"No…wait!" cried Paris in alarm. "Please don't! You mustn't!"
It was too late. Achilles opened the top drawer and pulled out a lacy pink thong. "Well, well," he said, "isn't this remarkable?"
"How did THAT get in there?" asked Paris in feigned astonishment. "Helen must have put that there. I know nothing of this! It's a mistake."
Hector and Achilles smirked and went to the next drawer down.
"I've got an idea," said Achilles. He whispered in Hector's ear.
"Good idea," said Hector. "Paris, since all of these clothes appear to belong to Helen, why don't we take them to her?"
Achilles picked up the dresser and Hector opened the door. He carried it out.
Hector closed the door once more and scanned the room. His eyes fell on Paris, who was holding his torn shirt. "Oh," he said, "some more of Helen's clothes! I'd best take them to her!"
"Oh, no, you don't," said Paris, backing away.
Hector came out the door grinning from ear to ear. He tossed Achilles a royal blue shirt and skirt and began to laugh.
"Hector, I'm going to kill you for this!" they heard from inside Paris' room. They went to a large window and threw the dresser and the clothes out onto the ground below. The dresser, made of solid wood, cracked in two and the clothes fell out. Soldiers raced outside and inspected the scene. They looked up to the window and saw not a soul. Hector and Achilles had already made themselves scarce. The guards decided to find out what was going on. They went up to the royal quarters and found a furious Paris, dressed in a thin white bedsheet, shouting angrily for someone to bring him some clothes. He ordered the guards to find Hector and Achilles.
Meanwhile, Achilles and Hector decided to pay Briseis another visit. As she was the criminal mastermind, she had to be taught a lesson. They discussed what they would do on the way, and came to a decision as to what would be fitting. Achilles marched right into her room and snatched an astonished Briseis. He carried her out and quickly put the chain on her right wrist.
"But…but…" she said. "I thought…"
"You," said Achilles, "are going to have some fun with your good friend Eudoras for a week."
"No!" cried Briseis. "He's so ugly!"
"Oh well," said Achilles. "You'll learn to like him…at least you should after a week!" He took her out the door and down the corridor, assisted by Hector, who had just finished putting a sign on her door that read: Briseis will be sorely occupied for the next few days. Come back later! P.S. And in case you were wondering, those are her underpants hanging from the flag pole.
Achilles hitched up the black horses to his chariot and bounded in. He helped Briseis up beside himself. Then he directed the horses out, Hector following to see that they weren't stopped. As Achilles approached the gate, he turned and said, "I'll be leaving in the morning. This is not my war. Briseis and Eudoras will remain here for the allotted time, after which Eudoras will bring her back to Greece to marry me…if she behaves herself, that is. Farewell."
Hector watched them go, a smile upon his face. The perpetrators were finally being given their just desserts, and he was content. Though, he had to admit it, if it weren't for them, Achilles and he would still be enemies. So, in a very small way, he was indebted to them.
Briseis spent seven days sitting around in a dirty hut, chained to a smelly Greek named Eudoras. She had to fan him with ostrich feathers, feed him grapes, sing and play a lyre, and give him foot massages. Agamemnon was furious at Achilles' departure. He sulked for weeks. Then, after serious prodding from his advisors, he sailed home. Troy was victorious.
After Briseis and Achilles were married, they went back to Troy for a visit and were welcomed by everyone (that is, except Paris, everyone who had lost someone in the war, Priam, several servants and guards, a dog, a few cats, several smashed statues and pots, a Persian rug, etc.) Well, let's just say Hector greeted them. When they entered the city, Briseis looked up and noticed something strange blowing from the flagpole. She squinted up at it, and soon realized what it was. She gasped and glowered at Hector.
"What?" asked Achilles. "Are those your underpants?"
"I think I'm going to cry!" wailed Briseis, mortified.
Soon after, Paris approached them, dressed in a bedsheet.
"What happened to your clothes?" asked Achilles, looking him up and down. "Didn't you get them back?"
"No," replied Paris. "Every time I acquire a new pair of clothes, Hector swipes them. I've been running around in this sheet for a year. Ask my brother where my clothes are. He might listen to you."
"Where are they?"
"I'll never tell," said Hector, smiling elusively.
Finis