Thanks so much for reviewing and thanks to all you silent readers, too! I hope I've delivered the chapter in good time. Good news: I seriously think I can get this done in 4 more chapters, or less. I've got a bit of middle part to fill, but I already know how I'm going to end it and have synopsized it meticulously. That's more than half the battle, right? :-)

Enjoy!

Chapter 26

"It's good to see that Agamemnon still hasn't happened across you yet, Menesthius," Eudorus said, clasping his old comrade tightly and thumping him soundly on the back. He held him out at arm's length and grinned. "Your skin could be used for leather. That salt air and sun is curing you into a tough piece of meat."

Menesthius scratched at his head, as if in doubt that the salt had been washed from his lank hair in the bath only hours before. "I wouldn't have thought, more than a year ago, that I would find the sea a beautiful mistress, but she has bewitched me completely." He looked around the room, the large dining hall that was beginning to churn with busy slaves on individual missions to ready for that night's dinner.

"Come," Eudorus said, putting an arm around him and steering him towards the door. "This is no place to discuss business. Not with no food or wine to enjoy while we do so."

They exited, and Eudorus caught sight of Iasemi heading towards the kitchens with a small bushel across her back. He captured her attention with a quick gesture. "Bring some wine to my chamber, and some bread if you can," he told her.

When the girl nodded and continued on her way, Menesthius turned to Eudorus. "You become a finer and fancier lord each time I see you. You're as adept at the orders as a palace eunuch."

"I'll sew that mouth of yours shut even if I have to use your own sail needle to do it," Eudorus retorted jovially.

They soon entered the main living quarters and Eudorus directed Menesthius into a small room adjacent to the master's sleeping chamber. It was arranged with comfortable seats and a small table around which visitors could gather and meet with secure privacy. Menesthius took immediate advantage and threw himself into one of the chairs.

"Don't stand on my account, Eudorus!"

Eudorus took a seat opposite and warmly regarded his old friend. "So you have found love upon the sea," he said, picking up their conversation from where they had abandoned it. "And the contents of unsuspecting ships have nothing to do with this enchantment of yours?"

"You seem pleased with what I brought this time. It wasn't easy to do. Agamemnon's been keeping a close eye on the coasts, even has a few ships he's set aside to escort nervous trader captains."

"All for a fee, of course," Eudorus said dryly.

"Would you doubt it? He's not invincible, and I'm positive he would rather not have me flitting about, but it's become harder for me to take the risks I used to when the seas were open and everyone was walking with two left legs after the war." He laughed. "We need another one to set everyone off-kilter again."

Menesthius' grin faded when he saw that his jest had not had its intended effect. "Oh, come, Eudorus, stop scowling at me. I'm not asking the gods to rain death down upon us again."

Eudorus relented and summoned an apologetic smile. "I know you're not. I'm sorry if I made you think otherwise."

"I accept. However…" He silently studied his commander's face, then shook his head in slow disbelief. "This reluctance of yours. I wouldn't have thought it of you, my friend."

"What?" Eudorus demanded.

"When I was last here, you had a woman in your bed that I suspected you felt a bit more kindly towards than the average slave. What I saw in the bath today proved me right." Menesthius could not hide his smug satisfaction when Eudorus' jaw worked in tight agitation. "I think that if it were not for me periodically showing my face and reminding you of our business agreement, you would happily live here in the hills, totally forgotten, and kicking shit like the commonest farmer."

Menesthius grinned wider when Eudorus tugged at the sides of his rather elegant robe in bruised pride.

"I've hit on it, haven't I?" Menesthius pressed. "It's that woman of yours. She's tamed you into wanting a life of dusty fields, fat children, and utterly tiresome peace." The tanned, weathered face twisted slightly in exaggerated incomprehension.

"The fields are well-watered, Menesthius, and you'll have noticed that I have no fat children running about. Not from Nephele, at least. The two I do have are their mothers' children, not mine so much. What's more, they're content to have it so and I oblige them."

"And what of the peace?"

"That's always in jeopardy when you return," Eudorus finished with a resigned shake of his head. "I haven't forgotten our arrangement, and I've kept the spoils well-divided and secure. Your share is always ready for the taking, whenever you decide to want to collect."

"Why do I have the sense that you would rather I take up my toys and hie myself off to parts unknown? If my appearances put you in danger from a vengeful Agamemnon, I can see why my face is no longer welcome."

Eudorus snorted dismissively. "I don't need to say anything to make you feel unwelcome. You're doing a fine piece convincing yourself."

Menesthius sobered. "All banter aside, while Agamemnon has enviable strength – and no doubt about it – I have acquired yet another ship and crew and they have been doing a fair bit of business closer to Troy than I have ever dared."

"You've ever been one for recruiting the mad, reckless ones."

"Like finds like, I say," Menesthius offered lightly. "Agamemnon's been able to keep the lanes into and out of Troy well-defended, but there have been signs of weakening as I've forced him to attend to areas closer to home. If we prod him a bit further, wound him in some vulnerable gaps in his armor, perhaps I can reach that city again and see what I can take out from under his nose."

Eudorus' even, cold stare was unwavering, his feelings unmistakable. "If I never lay eyes on that city again, the day will come too soon."

Menesthius put out a hand in a bid to be heard, but Eudorus shook his head with sharp finality.

"The sands there still seep the blood of our men," he said, "and if they don't, then I won't let it allow me to forget. Pick your war elsewhere, Menesthius. I want nothing more to do with Troy. Achilles' ashes lie there among those of Priam and Hector. Let others make of the city what they will, but it can be done without my sword or gold."

A clamor rose up outside. It was loud enough to divert Menesthius' attention from persuading Eudorus, and he straightened in curious alarm.

Eudorus was glad of the distraction and, when Charis appeared with a platter laden with bread, goat's cheese and fruit, he rose and swept the table clean for her.

"You're normally so beautifully graceful, Charis," Menesthius said, his voice liquid and caressing. "Did you stumble into a wall out there?"

Charis glanced at him sharply, her displeasure at the familiarity of his tone causing her priestess' demeanor to surge to the forefront. Her neck stiffened and she tilted her chin upwards slightly as she regarded him coolly. "It was not I."

Both men quickly discovered the cause of the commotion when Eudorus' large, stray mongrel entered the room, tail wagging with the lethality of a war club. But he was not alone; riding upon his back was a small child who had his fists clenched in the shaggy scruff and was valiantly trying to steer him as one would a horse.

"Well, look at this one!" Menesthius marveled. "Teach him how to throw a spear or use a bow, and he would give pause to those mounted warriors in the East. I've heard they're actually half-man, half-horse."

The pair trotted around the table, child and steed all smiles and cheerful barks and shouts. Then, the dog stopped suddenly and, as if realizing it had a flea on its back, shook with such force that the child was tossed off.

Eudorus scrambled after him and caught him by the leg before he pitched headfirst onto the flagstone of the floor. A gasp quickly added to the din of confusion, followed by the shattering of crockery. Menesthius, dazed, looked towards the door and saw Eudorus' woman standing with her mouth open in shock and surprise at the sight before her. Around her feet were clay shards and olives, but she had not been so surprised to drop the amphora of wine in her other hand.

Eudorus swung the boy upwards by the ankle so that he could catch him easily in his arms. Far from being scared or hurt, the child fidgeted and squirmed and worked his way out of the Myrmidon's hold, only to crawl onto his back and throw his arms around Eudorus' neck. "No harm done, Nephele," he assured her. "Just an unruly horse."

Menesthius prodded the flanks of the beast in question, which he thought was revoltingly close to the table and the food. "This place has quickly gone over to utter madness," he lamented.

"It is called a home," Charis said from her position beside the door.

Menesthius smiled at her broadly. "Perhaps I'll have one of my own someday, but I'll need a woman to give me this kind of strange, domestic chaos."

Charis' neck stiffened further at the plain invitation. She had seen his eyes, his unmasked expressions and intentions, whenever he came with his stolen bounty. She balked at his insinuations completely each time and thought him an ill-bred lout.

Andromache set the amphora on the table after a worried glance at Astyanax, who still clung to Eudorus' back, then dropped to her knees and began to quickly pick up the clay shards. "I am sorry if you have been disturbed, Menesthius," she said.

"No worries," he replied airily, reaching for a piece of bread. "As I said, it is chaotic, but strangely comforting after such quiet at sea." He looked up at Eudorus and spoke around the hunk of bread in his mouth with some effort. "So, is he one of yours?"

Eudorus shook his head and looked at Andromache, who was rising to her feet, her skirt apron heavy with broken clay. At her feet was the monstrous cur, busily cleaning up the olives that had rolled all about the room.

Menesthius followed Eudorus' gaze. "He's an excellent rider," he told her, "and I'm sure an excellent boy." Andromache smiled and nodded in acceptance of the compliment. He could not help noticing that she glowed at the praise.

"But give this poor man the son he wants," he went on tactlessly. "He's already admitted he's given his other children over to their mothers. It does make one wonder if he's looking for one mother in particular—"

"Enough, Menesthius!" Eudorus snapped. He gave the sailor a viciously embarrassed look before gruffly shrugging his burden off his back and catching him deftly. He awkwardly held the boy out to his mother, who took him with an equally embarrassed smile.

Seeing the two squirming adults before him, Menesthius felt a fleeting regret that he had been so blunt, but it did not last. "Think of it as a tremendous sacrifice on my part, Eudorus," he said.

"Sacrifice?" Eudorus asked, turning. "How so?"

"Well, think of it. If you get yourself one of those fat children I mentioned, it will truly make you into a domestic, shit-kicking farmer, and then where would I be? But a small price to pay to see you get what you want. Gold doesn't satisfy you as it does men like me."

A contemptuous sniff came from the region of the door and all heads turned to see Charis watching Menesthius with a knowing disdain.

"Charis, take Phaedrus with you," Andromache said hastily. "Spare yourself any further grief by staying here." She was well-aware of Charis' low opinion of the mariner and although she admired the woman's ability to harness her temper, Menesthius had a way about him that could provoke even the mildest soul. Eudorus' own outburst, no doubt infused with a measure of familiar tolerance, had been more biting than she had ever heard. And Menesthius had prodded Eudorus before on past occasions.

The priestess took the boy with gentle care and left the room with nary a glance backward at either lord or guest. Menesthius' eyes avidly watched her depart, but he was soon distracted when Andromache smiled at him pleasantly.

"Now that's something I never expected to see," he said. "You look happy to be in the same room with me."

"I admit earlier today in the bath it was unexpected and not altogether desirable," she allowed, "but all is well now. Iasemi told me you needed food and wine, and I took the duty upon myself. To serve you with my own hands is the least I can do for all the beautiful things you brought."

Eudorus looked at Andromache strangely. Menesthius laughed and said, "I'm not well-versed in the wiles of women, but even a blind man could tell that you are angling for something. And it seems my dear commander agrees with me, if his face is any indication. You look like you've run into a tree, Eudorus."

"It seems I have an advisor, whether I like it or not. She convinced me in the bath today."

Menesthius nodded knowingly. "Universal methods of female persuasion, my friend. I fully understand. They can be powerful enough to make a man promise to spill his guts every time he has a thought in his head." He leaned forward towards Andromache. "I have nothing against a woman's mind," he confided. "In fact, I think it can be a treasure, and I'd be obliged if you'd let Charis know I am of such an opinion."

"You're welcome to tell her yourself. I cannot vouch that she would listen to you past the first word."

Menesthius smiled. "We'll see about that. Perhaps my future prospects would persuade her of my worth."

"If you want her so badly," Eudorus put in, "she's yours. It can be as simple as that."

"And have her despise me?" Menesthius shook his head vehemently. "I can stifle my impulses for a while longer."

"And what future prospects would those be?" Andromache inquired, taking up the amphora and pouring two full cups of wine. She handed one to Eudorus first, then Menesthius, her curiosity bland and polite. "Charis has been steadfast to me and I would see her well cared for."

Menesthius glanced over at Eudorus with regretful accusation. "It's entirely possible that one day I could sail right into the Port of Troy and take the riches from the docks even before they're put on Agamemnon's ships."

Eudorus snorted. "You're mad. That'll be the day we all sprout wings and fly."

Andromache brought a hand to her mouth, tried not to smile. "You truly could do that? How dangerous!"

Menesthius drank deeply from his cup and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, clearly relishing this moment to proclaim his abilities. "When the wind is with you, you can sail through the strait quicker than Ares' temper, and I daresay I could take advantage of it more than most other sea salts."

"Ah, yes, I have heard that such feats are possible, though I'm not overly familiar with the straits myself," Andromache lied smoothly.

"Is there anything you want from Troy?" Menesthius asked her. "Eudorus thinks me crazy—"

"—and drunk."

Menesthius ignored Eudorus and continued to beam confidently at Andromache. "Whatever you would like, beautiful woman, it shall be yours."

Andromache looked over at Eudorus and laughed softly, partly in a bid to drag her stolid lover into the frivolity of the moment. She had no great love for Menesthius, but he was undeniably amusing and had never failed to bring at least one smile to her lips whenever he sprawled about in Dionysian satisfaction. However, she was elated beyond measure that her suggestion to Paris earlier was already bearing fruit. Menesthius did have ambitions, aspirations in complete agreement with what Paris wanted to achieve. If all she needed to do was flatter him a little and cultivate that ambition a little further, she felt it no great trial.

She clasped her hands together and brought them to her mouth in a show of serious contemplation. "What should I like?" she asked him, and cast a sly, inquisitive look at Eudorus, who seemed as genuinely interested in her response as Menesthius did playful.

"I'm afraid I'm asking for more than I deserve or you can deliver…" she began slowly.

"I've never been unable to fulfill a promise yet."

Andromache nearly hesitated, unsure if she should say the words that danced on the tip of her tongue. She was treading on dangerous ground, more perilous still if Eudorus was in a suspicious frame of mind, but he seemed more weary from talk of Menesthius' grand schemes than alert to whatever subtleties might swarm around him. From what she could see, he was treating it as a fanciful joke, which would suit her request all the more.

"If there's a throne laying about," she told Menesthius, "that would be a fine thing to have!"

Menesthius roared and nudged Eudorus ungently. "You heard her, my lord. Are you going to deny her something so trifling? That is what you need: get a throne, get a son, and you'll have your name in the rolls of kings."

Eudorus shook his head. "And be in Agamemnon's company? I'd rather be counted among murderers and thieves than in his brotherhood of kings. He will come here, bristling with spears, if you or I get so close to Troy."

Menesthius groaned and held out his cup to Andromache, who refilled it promptly. "Even if he is left alone to his gold and his miserable family, there's no guarantee he won't attack."

Andromache cleared her throat softly. "My lord, Kallisto and I have the same fears."

Mention of Kallisto made Eudorus shift uncomfortably in his chair. Menethius seized upon it. "Ah, see? That old hen of yours has the right of it." He inclined his head in apology to Andromache. "And you as well. Both of you have a clear head for this matter." He turned to Eudorus, his voice suddenly grave and stripped of the gaiety of wine. "I can't go about the sea as easily as I once did. I can weaken him, but not fast enough. I want Agamemnon gone."

The declaration sang throughout Andromache's body. She had to tell Paris; he had not yet left. It was his plan to slip away under the cover of night. She would find him and tell him to proceed with more courage and wiser daring.

"My lord," she said, "if I am no longer required here…"

"He'll no doubt be glad to see you go!" Menesthius put in. "I can't imagine that he'll be sleeping soundly tonight, what with such a gift to ponder capturing."

Andromache looked at Eudorus, questioning. "May I leave?"

Eudorus nodded, and Andromache felt a spreading pang of guilt at the misery that was etched across his face. It will all work to our good, Eudorus, she told herself. The world will be rid of Agamemnon and our lives will not be blighted with fear or worries.

Never had she felt such an urge to tell him who she was, give him a measure of her confidence and purpose. He was not weak – far from it. She did not hate him – far, far from it. If she could only slip her hand in his, bind him to her tightly, absorb his strength as he would hers and level their eyes on the same far horizon. She needed it, but what's more, she wanted it.

Instead, she contented herself by leaning over him and pressing her lips against his in a kiss of loving encouragement. Menesthius turned away and busied himself with his cup of wine until he glanced sideways and saw her straighten with a grace that seemed innate, unthinking, regal. He stared into his wine, uncertainty pulling at him, piercing the haze of wine that had gathered about him.

"I shall leave you both to devise a way to get that throne," Andromache said. "Menesthius is right. Such a trifling thing!"

She laughed and Eudorus gave a reluctant smile at this gentle prod into light humor. Menesthius stirred himself from his contemplation to join the levity, but he was not fast enough. As his eyes met those of Eudorus' woman, he saw the smile still there on her wide and sensual mouth, but it had lost a measure of its genuineness. It seemed frozen and anxious, if only a little.

"Dinner will be memorable, Menesthius," she said levelly. "I have a feeling it will initiate an enterprise of some sort between you, and I would see both of you well-fed."

With that, she bowed her head and left.

Menesthius heard Eudorus say something, but he did not listen. He craned his neck around to look through the small window behind him. She soon appeared, walking across the central yard with no visible signs of agitation or nervousness. The wine was playing tricks on him. Very briefly, like a lightning flash, the thought had occurred to him that this Nephele was not a lowly slave after all – not some dyer's wife caught up in the turmoil of war, or whatever it was she had been before Eudorus caught her.

He shoved his suspicion away impatiently. Impossible. Anyone of any importance who had fled from Troy had vanished into the mountains, there to die without the comforts to which they had grown so accustomed. Palace rats were fat and lazy compared to those that haunted the wharves and quickly died when they were forced out into harsher conditions. Their human co-habitants were no different.

With a laugh to mask his inattention, he drained the rest of his cup and envisioned the day he would again set foot on the sands of Troy.

Paris smothered the urge to look over his shoulder again, to glance out the window at the deepening night. Clouds had gathered and rain seemed imminent. It would be a perfect opportunity to vanish and put miles between him and any unlikely pursuit before dawn.

He regretted coming to dinner, wished he had remained hidden in a dark corner until the propitious moment to spirit away, but Andromache had insisted on his appearance. When she had come to him with news of Menesthius' desire to be rid of Agamemnon, he had been hard-pressed to not leave at that moment, all the quicker to put his plan into action. But when she told him of Menesthius' contemplating gaze, he agreed that the less suspicious actions on their part, the better. He tried to chide her for her blunder in asking for the throne, but her defense that she had found some measure of safety in boldness was well-argued. While he remained unconvinced, he acknowledged that she had survived thus far and bent to her judgment.

So he fought his impatience as he sat amongst the other men brought by Menesthius, smiling and laughing when appropriate, listening intently when required. His eyes never strayed far from Andromache when he did happen to look about the room and, while his impending journey was never long absent from his thoughts, he found himself thinking often of his brother's widow.

If she was miserable, she showed no sign of it and recalled his accusations earlier that day. He had called her a desperate whore, the insult couched in kinder terms but no less vicious. It was he who had been desperate, wielding the weapon of Hector's spectre and condemnation as clumsily as a warrior the first time he hefts a spear. Despite what she had said about finding peace, he had not allowed himself to believe it. Yet now, sitting here, he could not deny it. It had happened; she had truly made peace, or as much as she could.

On the heels of that came a stinging question: Had Helen and I been separated during the siege and unable to reunite, had I been forced to make of a dire situation when absolutely no control was given me, would I have found peace somehow, somewhere? With someone?

He swallowed the rest of the wine in his cup, pushing away the misery that crept into him. His purpose was no longer linked to Helen, but to his mission and that alone. It was something to fix his eyes upon and strive for, but how much better it would be to not have to do it at all.

Too late. Too late to reverse his decision, too late to remain any longer. The voices around him had become louder, more raucous. He would not be able to walk far with a pounding head, so best to leave now.

He looked up. Men and women had risen from their benches and were beginning to dance. It reminded him intolerably of Menelaus' palace, of that night years ago when he had arrogantly defied Hector and set to burning the embers that would eventually flare and consume Troy.

He could hear Menesthius, the most boisterous of a rowdy lot, and Paris felt regret pull at him. Had matters been different, he thought that he would have enjoyed sailing the sea under Menesthius' command. He was a good man.

A useful man, Paris reminded himself. Rising, he weaved his way through the gathering bodies. When he reached the door, he paused and turned his head for one last glimpse of Andromache. Their eyes met, but not for long. Eudorus, beside her, spoke something into her ear and she turned towards him. Her eyes brightened, her mouth curving into the most pleasing smile Paris had ever seen. It spoke of affection and desire. Contentment.

He slipped out through the door and into the night. Their unspoken farewell had been so brief, it might not have ever been. But it was of no consequence.

The beauty, the hope, the joy he had seen on Andromache's face might be the last image he would ever have of her. In no way did she look like the angry, vengeful woman who had struck him and rained down righteous abuse upon him.

She looked like the Andromache of old, the Andromache he had admired, the bride who had blossomed under the affection of his brother and become Hector's mate of body and soul.

He was glad he had lived long enough to see it.