Chapter 7
The day had finally come where Patroclus was to meet Eudoros son of Echekles, face-to-face. His greatest rival, according to Machaon and Podalirius. Eudoros had invited Patroclus for a meeting at his house. Machaon had tutted and shaken his head when he heard this.
"Never on your opponent's home ground, your highness. You will reply immediately and cordially invite him for a reception in your own quarters. Normally one would not have the nerve – but Eudoros clearly knows you're new to the game. He's testing the waters."
The gleam in Machaon's eye had matched that of a strategist overlooking the map of the battlefield. Patroclus realized Machaon actually enjoyed his job a great deal.
"What if he refuses?"
"He cannot refuse. You are higher-ranked than him, technically speaking. Now, we must go through how you as a consort will hold court and receive guests on your territory. The rules of hospitality in Phthia are not quite what you remember from Opian palace life."
So here they were, Patroclus waiting on the other side of the screen where he had been informed of Eudoros' arrival. The infamous Eudoros, who apparently was not shy about taking his place whenever the opportunity arose. Patroclus took a deep breath and entered the courtyard outside his quarters to greet Eudoros. The man was not by himself, but Patroclus could immediately tell him apart from the others. He had only gotten a quick glimpse at the banquet, but if it was even possible, Eudoros looked even more distinguished in broad daylight. He smiled immediately upon seeing Patroclus, and stepped forward before his companions. He bowed in one graceful sweep, and Patroclus inclined his head in return.
"Patroclus, dearest friend. It gladdens me that we finally meet." Eudoros' smile was bright and pleasant, his eyes roamed over Patroclus' face, searching.
"It is good to see you, Eudoros. I am most thankful you were able to accept my invitation," Patroclus replied.
Never your invitation, but mine. Machaon's words echoed in his head. He will address you informally, to show he sees you as an equal. You will match him, but keep your words formal.
"Of course, of course! How could I not, especially in your own home?"
"Please, have a seat and let us get to know one another. I am most curious about a man so close to the king himself." Patroclus smiled at Eudoros, hoping he didn't come across as a complete fool.
I hate this, he thought. Playing the part like an actor in a play.
Eudoros seemed to enjoy it. His smile never ceased, and he stared at Patroclus in what could almost be perceived as genuine affection.
"Indeed, I could tell you many things about the gifts Phthia has bestowed upon my family. But I'm sure it pales in comparison to the life of an Opian prince."
"Hardly. Perhaps you could enlighten me on matters I knew little about before."
"Oh, yet you seem so well-versed already, dear friend. It seems court life has been good to you. I do so want to congratulate you on your marvelous performance the other night. So beautifully done. You are deserving of praise."
"I thank you. I take it you are a lover of poetry?"
"As all true Phthians are. Surely our prince has accompanied your practice with his musical skills?"
Our prince. Patroclus gritted his teeth and nodded in reply.
"I am, however, a poor match for his skill. He plays as though a professional musician."
"I doubt it. He must enjoy the company, even if you are a beginner in the Old Phthian way."
An attendant had served them both cups of wine, and Patroclus hadn't touched a drop of it. Eudoros swirled the wine in his cup, appearing to admire the ornate design.
"I must extend to you a gift worthy of your hospitality, dear one. Surely you are a lover of beauty. I hope my trinket does not disappoint." Eudoros waved his hand and one of his companions brought forth a decorated chest, which he opened to reveal a set of golden pins, the kind Briseis used to fasten Patroclus' robes together. They were lovely, with intricate carving and encrusted with blue stones. Machaon had warned Patroclus that the exchange of gifts was not unheard of for a first reception, and that Eudoros would probably seize the chance to show off his wealth.
"You are too kind, Eudoros. There are few things lovelier than your gift. But surely, you will accept a gift from me, your host." Patroclus beckoned his own attendant over with a krater painted in red figures.
"You must recognize the scene?" He watched Eudoros studying the painting on the krater.
"Of course. The exchange between the king of Pylos and the storyteller."
"A token, then, of my friendship and good faith." Patroclus rose, and Eudoros followed.
"There are few things more precious to me." Eudoros' smile had waned, but he now threw a level look at Patroclus.
It had been enough to earn Eudoros' respect, at least.
"It went about as well as you could have hoped for, your highness. You did not let him overwhelm or outsmart you. He will see you as a worthy rival, and think twice before his next move."
"What do I do with these?" Patroclus waved the golden pins at Machaon, who sniffed in disapproval.
"Such an ostentatious display… taking trivial objects and finding the most elaborate to throw in your face. Yes, it is no doubt the way of the House of Echekles. You must wear it, of course. Let the court know of the good faith between you and Eudoros. It will be in your favor. Sowing good relationships with those close to the king is always wise."
Patroclus removed the plain brass pins Briseis had carefully tucked into the sides of his robes and replaced them with Eudoros' golden ones.
"There. I suppose I look fancier?"
"They compliment you well, your highness."
Nighttime had approached and Patroclus was in Achilles' chambers, listening to the sounds of the lyre playing in the otherwise silent space. He gazed sleepily at Achilles' clever fingers plucking the strings.
"You've stopped."
Patroclus started, looking at Achilles, puzzled.
"You've stopped reciting."
"I… the music has lulled me to near-slumber, it seems," Patroclus grinned sheepishly.
"I want to hear you while I play. Two beats to the same drum, and all."
Patroclus sat up, straightening at Achilles' suddenly stern face.
"Have I… done something to offend you, my lord?"
Achilles' brow furrowed, the downward tilt of his mouth furthering still.
"Of course not. Why would you think that?"
"I could start again. Though I seem to have forgotten where I lost track. Would you mind?"
Achilles sighed and tossed the lyre aside. It landed with a thunk on the mosaic tiles, and Patroclus felt bad to see such a beautiful object treated so crassly.
"Forget it. I'm tired of playing. Especially if you're not going to recite for me. What is the point, then?" Achilles got up and poured himself another cup of wine. Patroclus watched him, confused and wary at the same time. He had never seen Achilles so frustrated before. The prince had always treated him pleasantly, or indifferently, but never with irritation.
"Have you even been continuing your lessons in Old Phthian?"
"I don't think this is about my Old Phthian," Patroclus murmured. Achilles shook his head angrily.
"I thought you wanted to impress my father when you performed that night at the banquet. It seems I was wrong."
"Impress your father, yes. But I wanted to impress you, first and foremost. To show you that I care about the Phthian ways, your history, your home. It was the best way I could do it."
Patroclus stood and went over to Achilles, seating himself next to him on the long couch near the hearth. "Did I not communicate that?"
Achilles narrowed his eyes at Patroclus. "If you cared so much about learning Old Phthian, you would be working night and day to perfect your skill. Perhaps you wouldn't have time to spend with certain captains of the Guard."
A chill went down Patroclus' spine. He knows I spend time with Automedon.
Forcing himself to meet Achilles' gaze, Patroclus replied.
"This is what it's about, then? You think I mean more than friendship towards your old friend, Automedon?"
"I can't imagine what matter could be so pressing that my consort finds the need to speak with the Captain of the Guard, alone, quite so often."
"He is a friend to me, my lord. Just as he has been a friend to you, for most of your lives, it seems." Patroclus placed a tentative hand on Achilles' shoulder, thankful when the prince did not pull away.
"You know he is loyal to you. He would never attempt to do such a thing. And I would never betray your trust. But we are kindred spirits, and I hope my lord understands. If you want me to stop speaking with him, I will stop." Patroclus hoped, deep down, that Achilles did not command him to do that. He was already feeling exhausted at the half-truths he was spouting at the prince, his husband. But he could not allow Achilles to doubt his faithfulness as a consort.
Achilles stared at him for a long time, and finally, his expression softened. He turned so that he could place his hands on Patroclus' waist, and leaned forward so their faces were close to one another.
"How could I doubt you, beloved. You must forgive me."
Patroclus reached up to cup Achilles' face.
"No, my lord, forgive me for ever causing you doubt."
"I insult my good friend by implying such a thing. You are right, Automedon deserves nothing more than my trust." Achilles sighed, rising. "Come to bed."
They lay together, and Achilles turned to kiss Patroclus gently.
Patroclus tried to quell the tightening in his gut. He had never felt more confused and uncertain about himself. Here was Achilles, whom he had married, and whose favor held his position in Peleus' court. Achilles who sometimes did these things, where he spoke words of love and treated Patroclus like a treasured partner, rather than a disposable one. It was not enough to forget the times when he seemed to look right through Patroclus. They were not equals, and they never would be. Patroclus had no idea where he stood with Achilles, except that he should always act as though he loved and respected the prince. And perhaps he did, or he could, someday. But Achilles' sweet words and gentle touches were not enough to win his love. Even in their most intimate moments, there was something amiss. Achilles did not know him, or understand him.
And Automedon – it was dangerous land to tread on, and Patroclus knew he could never get too close. Automedon knew it too, evidenced by how much less they had seen each other in the past few weeks. Yet Automedon seemed to have burned a hole in the back of Patroclus' mind, one that was permanent and would not scar over. He was not in love with Automedon – not yet, at least. But he was afraid to be. And he knew it was not something so quickly dismissed if it was worth being afraid of.
Note: So, this fic is still mainly Achilles/Patroclus, as I'd originally planned. However, Automedon suddenly sprang up and insisted on joining the fun. I have yet to determine how much this will affect the main pairing.
