~twenty-one~

"Patroclus, I'm not sure about this."

"Yeah, you know, I think you might have mentioned."

"I mean I'm really, really not sure about this."

"Why? What harm could it do?"

"Bodily harm, maybe? As in, physical injury? As in Nekros with a big pointy stick?"

Patroclus rolled his eyes and turned from Quintos to look demandingly at the other boys. They were all avoiding his gaze and, it seemed, had all suddenly become very interested in their own feet. "Oh come on," he exclaimed in disbelief. "None of you? A few minutes ago you were all swearing eternal loyalty and devotion. What happened to 'we want to help'?"

"We do want to help," answered Stylax. "Just…not in a way that could get us tortured and impaled."

The others nodded eagerly. Patroclus looked desperately at Deiomachus and Leonides, both of whom were looking uncomfortably hesitant. "Well…you see Patroclus," Leonides began. "Nekros…he's not the kind of man you stand up to. And you know, while we like you and all, we also quite like being able to see and talk."

"He cuts out people's eyes with silverware," Calisthenes explained. "And tears out their tongues."

"Here's an idea," said Quintos. "How about we all go to the Temple of Athena and pray to the Goddess to absorb Achilles' sins?"

"Here's a better idea," snapped Deiomachus. "How about you shut up? Patroclus, pay no attention these cowards. I'm up for it. Possible death, almost certain blindness and small chance of success? Sounds like my kind of plan."

Patroclus nodded his gratitude, yet inside him his stomach squirmed as the enormity of the situation dawned upon him. He was only just starting to understand the full extent of Nekros' influence and the shadow he cast upon the lands and lives of the people here. For the past half hour the boys had regaled him with stories of cannibalism and infanticide and men whose skin had been flayed off their bones, stories that apparently followed Nekros' army and settled around the turrets of his northern castle, like a thick black mist. He thought about what he was asking his friends to do and wondered, with anxiety, what his answer would have been had the roles been reversed.

"But this is why we have to do this," he continued ardently. "If no one stands up to him, he'll just keep doing whatever he likes. At some point, you have to say no to these people. And not just Nekros, but all men like him."

"What's the point of being able to talk," quipped Leptine. "If you are silent when you have something to say?"

Deiomachus clapped appreciatively. "Here here," he exclaimed to Leptine's bemusement. "Wise words, well said." He glanced around him hopefully. The other boys were still looking uncertain and none of them spoke, although some of them were glancing up at Patroclus with pained expressions, as if suffering from some kind of internal torment.

Eventually, Patroclus threw his hands up in the air in defeat. "Fine," he exclaimed, not bothering to hide his irritation. "If you're too afraid for your own skins to save an innocent man from being thrown to the wolves then so be it. But I tell you this," and suddenly his eyes burned furiously, as if someone had lit a leaping fire in his chest and his voice grew low, "Cowardice is not being unable to throw a spear or shoot an arrow. It is not losing a fight or trembling in the face of battle. Cowardice is seeing wrong done and standing there and doing nothing."

At his words several faces turned flushed and indignant, mouths gaping open and closed in wordless objection but, unwilling to listen to their protests Patroclus had already begun to walk away, his back turned so that they would not see the disgust on his face.

oOo

The bell was rung, commanding everyone back to the courtroom and one by one the spectators began to trickle in until the Hall was once again choked with buzzing anticipation. Patroclus and Leptine took their place in the stands, closely followed by Deiomachus who was looking determinedly cheerful although he kept casting nervous glances in Nekros' direction, as if judging the safe distance between them. He had cast off his furs and sat there gleaming in his scarlet robe, like a bright snake. Although his eyes betrayed nothing he was smiling, smug with perceived victory, a horrible twisted thing which only served to make him look all the more threatening.

Achilles took his seat before the jury, led by a guard who remained warily at his side. There was no need however; all trace of scornful, derisive anger had vanished to be replaced by a pale, wide-eyed trepidation, evident in the edgy way he tapped out the characteristic jumpy beat on his thigh. But it was not this that shocked Patroclus, rather it was the look of resignation with which he greeted the courtroom and the deflated slump of his shoulders and spine. It was as if all the fury had been let out of him, and with it, all the fight.

Peleus cleared his throat and a hush fell on the room. "We have heard statements from both the witness and the accused," he announced wearily. "Now is the time for the jury to review the evidence with which to judge the actions of Prince Achilles Peleides and also, in light of Lord Nekros' indictment, the questioned innocence of Patroclus Menoitides. Unless any new witness has further evidence to add to the case let him speak now, or we shall continue on to the weighing of the current testimonies-"

"I do my lord," declared Deiomachus, standing confidently.

The spectators whispered excitedly to each other. Nekros' eyes narrowed. Peleus looked surprised but gestured amiably. "Very well. State your name for the record."

"Deiomachus, son of Eustos, foster-son of King Peleus of Phthia," he stated, making his way onto the floor. Patroclus saw the flash of stylus as the jury hurried to note it down.

Peleus inclined his head. "Speak, Eustoides."

Patroclus watched, heart hammering as Deiomachus began to recount. He began by describing the way Mynax had picked him out from the start, his frequent bullying and harassment. When he came to relating the details of that first fight his voice rose and fell with such fervour it was as though he were a bard narrating some legendary bloody battle and, looking round the room, the spectators sat rapt as listeners round a campfire. He swore Patroclus' statement to be true, and when he told of Mynax's promise he did so in a whisper, "I'll kill you, you ugly sonofabitch if it's the last thing I ever do". In the cold, shadowy dark of the Hall, Patroclus saw several people shiver.

When he had finished the spectators burst into applause. Deiomachus performed a mock bow and sauntered back to his seat. Out of the stands Leptine was clapping hardest, Patroclus cringed as her enthusiastic whoops shot past his eardrums. "That was fantastic," she was saying breathlessly. "Wasn't he fantastic?" Patroclus noticed her cheeks were rather pink.

Nekros, it seemed, was less impressed. His lip had curled, showing those curiously pointed canines and he was appealing to the courtroom. "A very skilled storyteller," he announced. "I can see a great future ahead for this young man as a minstrel or in the theatre. Comedy, perhaps. But might I remind you my lords this is a trial, not a drama, one boy's word is hardly going to alter proceedings."

He waited patiently while the jury conferred. Phoinix and Melanthon were in heated debate, the latter protesting loudly against the value of Deiomachus' testimony. At last Phoinix turned away looking cross and Melanthon smug as Eumenes announced gravely, "We are regretful to declare Eustoides' account insubstantial."

Even as the courtroom rose to abuse the judgement Patroclus felt his insides sink, like lead, to the bottom of his stomach. He and Leptine looked, stricken, at each other, both at a loss of what to do or say. Nekros was smiling again, his long sleeves hanging as if heavy with blood. Seated on his stool Achilles had ceased the tapping of his thigh and now stared, glumly, into empty space.

Peleus called for order, his voice very worn and his pale eyes seemed to droop with resignation. "The jury have made their decision," he sighed heavily. "It is now for them to decide the verdict-"

"-Wait!" came a timid, squeaky little voice from the back of the hall. Patroclus whipped round and all heads in the courtroom followed suit as slowly, tentatively, Andros rose to his feet.

Peleus raised an eyebrow. "And you are?"

"Andros Stomatides, foster-son of Phthia," he rushed.

"You have some evidence to add to the case, Stomatides?"

Andros looked at Nekros, then at Patroclus. He gulped. He nodded.

Patroclus watched as Andros confirmed Deiomachus' statement, as well as adding his own embellishments when it came to telling of Mynax's character, recounting instances of abuse he'd exacted on anyone within range of his fists. Although his testimony lacked the charisma and performance of Deiomachus', Patroclus could not suppress the tiny bubble of hope beginning to grow inside him, a hope that continued to swell as the jury began to converse again.

As soon as Andros finished Nekros stood up to object. "Pure nonsense!" he bellowed. "Surely you don't expect us to believe that-"

But suddenly Leonides was on his feet and telling everyone enthusiastically that he had once overheard Mynax's plans to drop a poisonous stoat in Patroclus' mattress. He sat back down and was immediately replaced by Calisthenes and after him Stylax.

Patroclus watched in dumfounded amazement as one by one the foster sons of Phthia rose to their feet and declared witness, testifying the truth of Achilles' and Patroclus' statements and relating their own tales of Mynax's violent and dangerous behaviour. Some of the accounts Patroclus recognised and remembered, others were completely new to him, and others were elaborately sensationalised, including Calisthenes' speculations that Mynax practiced dark magic and was the follower of a secret heathen cult, followed by Quintos' statement which ended with him bursting into tears and revealing that Mynax had once tried to touch him.

Each witness was punctuated by Nekros screaming his protests and pointing out every irregularity and fabrication but it didn't matter, suddenly no one was listening to him. The crowd were utterly absorbed by the boys' tales as though they were actors provided for their specific amusement. Soon the Hall was resonant with laughter, tears and applause and Nekros' pleas were utterly drowned out. Phoinix and Phaedrus were both chucking heartily, Peleus was grinning indulgently behind his hand and even Eumenes had cracked a faint, amused smile.

Finally, when the last witness had sat back down Peleus fixed his expression into one of impartial severity and called once again for silence.

"Thank you boys," he said. "For your contributions to the case. But it is now time to hand over to the jury to make a decision…taking into account, of course, the newly imparted evidence," Patroclus and Leptine shared a look of glee, "And relay their verdict."

Peleus folded his hands together and looked expectantly at the table of lords. No one dared utter a word, as if the whole room was holding their breath. The jury was debating again, Phaedrus and Phoinix heartily abusing Melanthon's challenges while Cleitus and Amyntor looked on sullenly but it was Eumenes Patroclus sought, Eumenes who was reviewing his notes with a slight frown, his owl eyes thorough and meticulous. Patroclus could hear the blood rushing in his ears, his heart pounding violently against his chest as the torturous silence stretched on and on for what felt like an eternity. Beside him Leptine's fingers were crossed in her lap, her lips moving in a wordless prayer. Achilles was watching the jury, wide-eyed and poker straight.

Finally Eumenes looked up. He whispered something and the debate ceased. Heads began to nod. And after a millennia, he faced the courtroom.

"We find the defendant…not guilty."

"NO!" shrieked Nekros as the whole room jumped to their feet, waving wreaths and scarves in celebration with a cheer that shook the great double doors and resounded across the stone, vibrating the floor beneath their feet. Achilles sat dazed with bewilderment amongst the colour and the sound, as if he were struggling to let himself believe it, then suddenly he was swarmed with blessings and congratulations until he had disappeared under the joyful horde of bodies wishing to shake his hand or clasp his shoulder. Patroclus and Leptine were jumping up and down with their arms around each other, shedding tears of joy and relief.

"You did it!" she was screaming. "You did it Patroclus, you did it!"

She whirled around, and, spotting Deiomachus exclaimed, "And you! You were brilliant!"

"Oh that? That was nothing," Deiomachus shrugged in a gallantly modest sort of way. "Just helping out a friend."

Leptine beamed and hugged him. When she let go, rather quickly, Deiomachus looked flushed but very pleased with himself. Somewhere in the midst of the crowd, Nekros was still shouting abuse.

"You've made a mistake, Peleus!" he spat, flinging a long nailed finger at the king. "Who will Phthia run to when the Thessalaians cross the borders and your so-called 'Myrmidons' lie in the dirt? When the hordes of invaders flood the fields and the market place who will you turn to? Because I tell you now, no soldier in my army will come to your aid unless you give me that boy's head on a spike, your son in return for the one he took!"

"The jury has spoken Nekros," replied Peleus, surveying him with one eyebrow raised. "Go home. Bury your son. Justice has been served."

"THIS IS NOT JUSTICE!" Nekros screamed, spittle flying from his thin lips as he stamped his foot against the ground. "And mark my words, this is not over!"

And with that he spun round and marched out the door, the folds of his scarlet robe billowing and his pale wife, after casting a hasty terrified look behind her, hurrying at his heels.

When he was gone, Peleus' shoulders slumped and he and Phoenix shared a troubled look. But Patroclus, who was already weaving doggedly through the crowd didn't notice. All he saw was a flash of golden hair and a face, turned up in euphoric disbelief as he neared. Achilles still had the look of someone in shock but as Patroclus came into view he stood up, pushing people impatiently out the way in order to grasp his shoulders.

When he spoke it was as if the noise and the cheering of the crowds had faded away to nothing. For all Patroclus heard was his voice, all he saw was his face gazing at him in almost rapture and everything that was and had ever been had turned to a meaningless haze. "This was you," Achilles spoke and his eyes blazed with green flame as he held Patroclus' gaze. "You did this."

Patroclus' throat was dry and he could not speak. Achilles' grip on his arms was scalding, he felt his eyes could burn right into him. Achilles licked his lips. "You saved my life," he whispered.

Patroclus opened his mouth to reply but before he could summon the words Achilles' arms were round him, folding him against his torso. The breath died in Patroclus' chest, coming out in a muffled gasp at the glowing heat of Achilles' skin, the supple hardness of his muscles tensing, and relaxing as he held Patroclus to him. And standing there, amongst the chaos and the laughter and the confusion it seemed the real world slipped away, leaving just the two of them, alone in a blur of colour and sound.

oOo

The benches were scraped back into the centre of the room and the table where the jury had sat was gone. Soon there was no sign there had ever been a trial. Torches burned in their brackets, spilling pools of warm yellow light onto the stone floor and in the centre of the room a fire burned, casting a rosy glow on the shadowy corners as it leapt towards the high ceiling.

On the left side of the room stood the lords of Phthia, all looking solemn, their eyes following Patroclus as he approached the king. As he passed, Ampelius gave him a wink. Achilles was standing at the front beside his father, the ostentation and formality of his ceremonial robes looking rather ridiculous compared to his jaunty gait and casual stance. He grinned at Patroclus, his hands clasped behind his back in a pose of mock seriousness.

Peleus sat on his throne, wearing his most regal robes and a similarly sombre expression, however the effect was ruined slightly by the genial twinkle in his eye and the warmth with which he clasped Patroclus' hands.

"Achilles tells me it was you who mustered the witnesses to speak at the trial," he stated. "Is that true?" Patroclus nodded and Peleus broke into a smile. "Then your courage and quick-thinking has saved my son," he said. "And he and I are eternally in your debt."

Patroclus snuck a look at Achilles who was looking slightly unhappy at the idea. Restraining a smirk, he bowed humbly before the king. Peleus touched his forehead in blessing. "I shall thank the Gods every day that he has you by his side," he said. "Rise, my boy."

Patroclus stood up. Peleus took his hand and reached for Achilles'. Then he turned to face the Hall. "My lords," he proclaimed in his clear, ringing voice. "Two souls stand here today. But, with the swearing of this Oath they will be joined together as one. They will be brothers, tied by a bond more powerful than blood. That is the bond of friendship and loyalty and it can never be broken, not by man nor God. You will no longer be two men but two parts of a whole. One soul in two bodies."

He nodded to his left and a servant appeared, carrying an elaborately wrought golden goblet which he set into Achilles' hands. Achilles raised it before him, staring into Patroclus' eyes. "With this Oath I swear," he declared. "To be your shield, your sword, in peace and in war. For your life is my life and my blood is your blood."

He drank and passed the goblet to Patroclus. "With this Oath I swear," he answered with the words he had been taught. "To be forever by your side in battle and in counsel. For your life is my life and my blood is your blood."

He raised the cup to his lips and drank. The wine flowed hot through his body, like the nectar of the Gods. Peleus raised his arms around the two of them. "The sun was shining when this son of Opus first stepped into these halls," he announced. "Henceforth he shall be received in most high honour and status, as the hetairoi of the prince and an eternal friend of our house." He clasped their shoulders and beamed at them both. "You have each other's devotion. Now you must earn it." He clapped them jovially. "Go, my boys. I know you'll make me proud."

Achilles and Patroclus leapt of the stage to raucous cheer and applause. After they had poured out the remainder of the wine onto the fire in libation to Zeus, thus concluding the ceremony, Patroclus turned to Achilles smirking mischievously. "So," he said. "Apparently you're in my eternal debt."

Achilles scowled. "I am not in your debt," he replied scathingly.

"That's not what your father said."

"My father is a senile old man who can't remember one day from the next," Achilles huffed. "I owe you nothing. I saved your life, you saved mine. That makes us even."

"Until I save your life again, of course," Patroclus taunted. "With my…what was it? Courage and quick-thinking?"

"Suppose I get myself into dangerous situations," said Achilles wickedly. "And make it harder for you."

"Then I suppose I'll just have to always be there," Patroclus answered. "To save your life."

"And I will always be there to save yours," countered Achilles.

They grinned at each other. The whole of the palace had finally been let in and the room was bursting with celebration. The slaves and foster-sons were dancing together; Patroclus saw Leptine's yellow ribbon flash as she was led into the ring. "It's a deal then," said Achilles softly. Then, as if on impulse, he reached for Patroclus' hand, rubbing his thumb along the knuckles. He leaned in. Patroclus felt his blood freeze in his veins as Achilles' his lips stopped millimetres away from his neck.

"Thank you," Achilles whispered, like the brush of a feather against his ear.

Then it was gone, as quickly as if it had never happened. Achilles dropped his hand and disappeared into the festivities. For a few seconds Patroclus stood there staring at his abandoned palm, his neck tingling with the promise of Achilles' touch. Then he shook his head, took a deep breath and followed his retreating figure into the crowd.

oOo

The Phthian traditions of celebrating the swearing of companionship were far more exuberant than Achilles had led Patroclus to believe. But then, he supposed, they all had much to celebrate. Very soon the formal ceremony marking Patroclus out as the prince's hetairoi had turned into a salutation of Achilles' victory at the trial and his triumph over Nekros.

Patroclus watched with amusement as Achilles was hoisted into the air, laughing as he slopped wine over the people who were all chanting his name. He was grinning wildly, drunk on victory and the praise of his subjects. Patroclus shook his head exasperatedly as Achilles began to chant his own name along with them.

"To Achilles and Patroclus!" someone called out. "The best of the Myrmidons!"

Everyone took up the cheer, raising their goblets in great clamour. Patroclus found himself being clapped on the back and his hand wrung thin, he thanked them all hurriedly in an attempt to escape his new found fame which was quickly becoming suffocating. Achilles, who was being plied with wine by a slave girl, did not notice him slip out the back door.

It was very late and the sky was pitch dark, except for the glow of light and laughter that grew less as Patroclus increased his pace. There was no one about, for everyone was in the Hall celebrating and his footsteps sounded eerily loud across the cold stone. His pulse too had quickened, he could almost hear his heart pounding with every step.

As Thetis' handmaiden, Pamaia had her very own quarters in the palace. Patroclus traced the route automatically, his mind somehow disconnected from his body and conscious. There was still a part of him that was screaming What are you doing? What are you doing?! But he ignored it, steeling himself as he reached her door.

He knocked twice and waited. There was a short pause in which he considered fleeing for all his life was worth, then he heard movement and with a click she opened the door.

She smiled when she saw him. "Patroclus," she said, the word barely escaping her lips. "I'm glad you came."

Patroclus nodded, doubting his ability to form coherent sentences. Pamaia was wearing a long chiton of an impossibly light, floating material which did little to disguise the curve of her breasts and hips, nor the warm glow of her skin. Her long, shining black hair had been thrown over one shoulder, revealing the fine line of her collar bone. Even in the dark, her kohl-lined eyes glimmered like tiny candle flames. Patroclus swallowed. Hard.

"What are you waiting for?" she asked, her lip twitching teasingly.

And without a moment's hesitation, Patroclus took a breath and stepped inside. The door clicked shut behind him.