Thank you everyone who commented on the last chapter so respectfully. It was a difficult one to write and it was very reassuring to know I'd managed to deal with the issue without turning the comments section into YouTube. Again, thank you all for supporting this and making your thoughts heard, it's one of my favourite things about writing.
Very long chapter now and pretty bookey towards the end...prepare for major action next chapter.

~chapter thirty-seven~

The news was all over the palace before Patroclus even had a chance to hear it himself. Someone who had it from the king directly had told a lord who'd confessed it to a porter who had whispered it to a slave who had told the entire underground. It was scarcely possible to move down a corridor without someone claiming that they had been the first to hear it, had been privy to the conversation at the time or else wiping the floors with one ear crooked above ground. But regardless of the source, the simple fact remained fixed and unaltered. The wedding was off.

Considering the number of those who claimed to have heard the news first hand, Patroclus was surprised how few knew the truth of the actual events that had ended the engagement. So far the rumours he'd heard had ranged from Chloē herself being pregnant to the princess actually having been a manticore in disguise. Certainly many of the stories included the involvement of Thetis as it had been difficult to miss her, storming into the palace in a whirl of blue-grey skirt , her red hair streaming behind her and eyes raging with immortal fury to accost Peleus while he was having his bath. Patroclus had done a double take on his journey down a hallway upon spotting several servants with their ears pressed up against the door as Peleus' oddly squeaky, high-pitched voice informed his ex-wife that on no account would he be calling off the marriage unless King Thoas first decreed so.

Clearly, the ire of a goddess was too much for a king's will to stand for long, or so was the common conclusion. Only Patroclus, Leptine and Penelope it seemed knew of how Chloē had gone to her father and begged him to call off the marriage, possibly making the valid point that a flimsy alliance really wasn't worth the consequences of divine wroth. With the added pressure of Thetis glaring at him from across the room, Thoas' fatherly compassion proved indomitable and within the time it took to dissolve a legal contract the two kings were shaking hands amiably, though it must be said, letting go rather quickly.

"You'd think they'd find something else to talk about," muttered a disgruntled Achilles, having just overheard a slave-girl telling her friend that Chloē had taken one look at Achilles' nether regions and headed for the hills. "Like, I don't know, that perhaps we're at war."

"Or perhaps that you've just been made the youngest army captain in a century," Patroclus suggested with a raised eyebrow.

Achilles tossed him a dirty look but said nothing. Certainly they had found very little time to celebrate their victory of late. Over the past few weeks the Thessalian force had been mounting over the border and the time had finally come for the Myrmidon army to depart, including a number of the most formidable young members of the home defence. And with it, Achilles as captain.

It had not taken Acastus much persuading to allow Patroclus to serve as his second-in-command. It was mutually accepted that Patroclus had served his worth both on the battlefield and off it, his deeds as well as his status of hetairoi making him more than the suitable choice of deputy. And so Patroclus found himself in the courtyard, saddling his horse with provisions for the journey ahead and watching the stream of Corinthian household staff stumbling through the gates, lugging heavy chests and tripods away with them.

"You know, I have never understood what those were for," said Chloē, eyeing one of the latter thoughtfully.

"Me neither," replied Patroclus. "I mean, I suppose you could balance flower vases on it or something."

"There's a hole in the middle," Chloē pointed out.

Patroclus shrugged cluelessly. "Then I really have no idea."

Chloē gave her little indecorous giggle. She was prone to laughing much more now, and even when she wasn't there was a ghost of it on her face, as if she were just waiting to. Patroclus spotted Pamaia barking orders concerning some of her dresses and supressed a smile of his own.

"How long is the way back to Corinth?" he asked Chloē.

"At least four days hence," Chloē replied. "But I do not think the time will go by too slowly."

She cast a significant glance in Pamaia's direction and Patroclus felt his insides glow, as if someone had smothered them in warm butter. Chloē was grinning again, her brown eyes so alight with joy that Patroclus hadn't even needed to ask if she was happy. Were it another case he would not have had the chance, for in the next moment Chloē's arms were around his neck and she was hugging him so tightly he thought he might faint.

"Thank you Patroclus," she whispered into his ear. "For everything."

"Thank you," Patroclus wheezed back. "I mean, we couldn't have done it without you."

Chloē laughed. "I'm sure you'd have found a way," she said. "I'm starting to think you're the kind of person who can do anything, if you put your mind to it."

She released him and waved sunnily as he massaged his ribs. "Goodbye," she said. "And remember, if you're ever in Corinth you have a place to stay. And that goes for all of you," she added as Leptine and Penelope had just emerged.

They waved goodbye as she followed her father into the royal carriage. Pamaia hesitated, apparently having some trouble with the clasp of her bag. They had not spoken since that night; Leptine had informed him sternly that some things were not for sharing and if Pamaia ever wanted to speak of it then she could tell Chloē in her own good time. But she did not look unwell, although Patroclus was wary of asking. They were not friends after all, there was too much bad blood between them for that. But the old animosity had died away, and Patroclus was glad of that at least.

When she had made sure they were out of earshot, she looked up at Patroclus. Her eyes were hard as they always were but they lacked their previous malice and there was a new flatness to her tone when she spoke.

"Congratulations," she said. "Be sure you look after each other."

Patroclus nodded. "You too."

The corners of Pamaia's mouth twitched in what he thought might have been a quickly suppressed smile. "She is a good girl," she acknowledged. "A sweet girl. She will need protecting from some of the harsher realities of life."

"Thank you for agreeing to go with her," said Patroclus sincerely.

Pamaia shrugged. "Every house welcomes a dancer," she replied. "Besides, we are even now. There are no lost bargains between us. Which means neither of us have any excuse to see each other again."

Patroclus inclined his head in acknowledgement. For a moment, Pamaia's eyes flickered to Leptine's and held her gaze. Patroclus was just aware of Leptine nodding slightly before the contact was broken and she had turned round abruptly to follow the Corinthians out the gates, her long black hair swinging behind her. Patroclus watched her go, and as she climbed in next to Chloē, could not help wishing her well.

"All these goodbyes are making me quite emotional," he stated with a mock sniff.

"Well I hope you can sum up the effort for a few more," answered Penelope. "My ship's just arrived."

Patroclus whirled round instantly, mouth hanging open. "You're leaving?" he demanded indignantly. "But I thought…Odysseus…"

He gestured vaguely in the direction of the Ithacan and Myrmidon armies where Odysseus was busy making last-minute preparations. Penelope shook her head.

"Someone has to go back home and look after things," she replied. "Odysseus needs someone he trusts to rule in his place while he fights the Thessalians. Better me than some shit-brained old army veteran who will turn Ithaca into a chauvinist's Elysium."

Patroclus blinked at her glumly. "But," he began. "I'm going to miss you."

Penelope laughed and enveloped him into an embrace. "And I you," she told him. "You have transgressed all expectations, Patroclus. I have never been more proud of someone I can call a friend. Promise you'll write to me."

"Every day," Patroclus swore passionately.

"That's excessive," said Penelope. "But do keep me posted on the goings on of this place. It's very rare that anything exciting happens in Ithaca. And watch over him," she added in an undertone, jerking her head towards Achilles. "It's our job, remember?"

Patroclus nodded. "I will."

Penelope smiled and clasped his shoulders. "Good man," she said. Someone had brought her a horse to take her to the beach. She swung up onto it easily, as if anxious to get off the ground, and once seated, despite the man's breaches she wore, she looked more like a queen than Patroclus had ever seen her.

"Keep in touch," she ordered him, pulling on the reigns. "I'm rooting for you, remember?"

And with a last roguish wink and a wave for her husband, she cantered out the palace gates and disappeared from sight. Patroclus wanted to watch until she had gone completely but an urgent jerk at his arm prevented him from doing so. He turned to see Leptine, looking anxiously at him. "I need to talk to you," she whispered.

"Patroclus!" Achilles' voice rang from across the courtyard. "We need to go."

"Hold on," Patroclus called back and gestured for Leptine to lead on.

She led him towards a small alcove, away from the bustling servants and the clanking of newly polished armour where they were certain not to be overheard. Patroclus frowned curiously at her and saw that she had resumed her old habit of biting her nails.

"What's wrong?" he asked concernedly.

"There's nothing wrong," replied Leptine, chewing her lip. "Not…exactly."

"Then what is it?"

She cast a cautious look over her shoulder, checking that there was no one nearby who could hear before taking a deep breath. "Deiomachus has asked me to marry him."

Patroclus felt as though his whole stomach had plummeted towards his feet. Conscious of Leptine watching him nervously he blinked through the shock and struggled to sound as if he knew how to articulate words.

"Bloody hell," he uttered. "Wow. Um…and uh…what was it that was the…er…how do you say…"

"I said yes," Leptine cut across him bluntly. "Was that wrong?"

Patroclus scratched the back of his head evasively, rather taken aback by her wide, anxious eyes and the urgency in her voice. "I dunno," he shrugged unhelpfully. "Do you er…love him?"

"What does it matter?" answered Leptine impatiently. "Patroclus, he said that he's going to use his army wages and whatever loot he gets from Thessaly to buy my freedom from Peleus.And then he will come back and marry me. Did you hear me, Patroclus? He's going to buy my freedom. I'm going to be free!"

And now he understood why her eyes shone so brightly, why her cheeks were so aglow with all the warmth of the newly in love. She looked so excited, yet there was something else there, something that could only be seen if you had been friends with Leptine for as long as he had. "So what's the matter?" he asked her.

Her bottom lip trembled. "I'm scared," she confessed, her voice tiny. "What if something goes wrong and he doesn't come back? Or he falls in love with some pretty camp follower over there and forgets all about me? And I'll just be sat here, waiting, so close but with no way of knowing how much further there is to go…I'm so close, Patroclus! I'm so, so close to being happy, to having everything I've only ever dreamed of having and I'm…I'm terrified!"

"Hush," whispered Patroclus, folding her against him and holding her tightly as she began to sob into his chest. "Shh, don't cry, you mustn't cry. This is amazing news Leptine, amazing. I'm so, so happy for you. It's only natural to be scared but you really shouldn't be…everything's going to be fine. Better than fine, you're going to be a free woman! And you're going to have your own house, and a grey cat like you've always wanted, and…and babies and…and a husband who loves you. This is everything Leptine and it will happen because no one deserves it more than you, no one! Please don't cry…don't be scared, this is amazing…"

Leptine made a tiny, hiccoughing noise that Patroclus took to mean she was calming down. He gently prised her off his chest and looked at her. Her eyes were red and there were tear tracks running down her face, thin pale lines shining through the dirt and ash of the kitchen fires. He wiped them away, smoothing her brown hair down around her ears.

"Patroclus!" he heard Achilles shouting.

"I'm coming!" he yelled back, rolling his eyes before turning apologetically back to Leptine. "I have to go," he told her. "Please don't worry. It's going to be fine."

Leptine sniffed in response. "Here," she said, and pressed into his hand a single yellow primrose, such as the kind Deiomachus so often presented her with. "For luck. Look after yourself. Don't let Achilles do anything stupid."

"I can't work miracles Leptine," Patroclus grinned, tucking the primrose into his tunic pocket.

"You've done alright so far," Leptine shrugged. "Go on. And come home safely."

Patroclus hugged her and just had time to plant a kiss on her forehead before sprinting off to join the Myrmidons. Achilles was waiting for him by the gates, holding Banthus and Xalius by the reigns. Patroclus looked them up and down incredulously.

"We're travelling by horseback?" he asked, scandalised.

"No idiot, we're planning on defeating the Thessalians with the power of flight," replied Achilles, scathingly. "How else do you plan on getting across the border?"

"But it's a full days' ride!" Patroclus protested, feeling his knees grow weak at the thought. "At the very least!"

"Penelope mentioned you Northerners have little experience in this method of travel," said Odysseus, appearing from behind them. "Don't worry. After three hours or so you stop feeling very much at all. Until the next morning of course, but by then you'll have an army of ten thousand strong to take your mind of things!"

Chortling, he climbed up on to his horse with the same grace his wife had done before him. Patroclus turned to Achilles, who was wearing a smug-faced grin, and glared blackly at him.

"I hate you," he said.

"I missed you too," Achilles replied.

oOo

The Myrmidons were hardy folk and strong soldiers, however it soon became apparent that travelling by horseback was an ordeal that few could have predicted. By the time the sun was highest in the sky several men were complaining of pains in the most sensitive of areas, as well as general aching all over the body. The best that could be said was that it was not a hot day; the sky retained a fair amount of cloud coverage and a cool breeze aided the horses in batting flies away from their rumps and ears, as well as jolting Patroclus away from the strong temptation to fall asleep. As it was, this would have been nigh impossible, for the simple fact that he had Achilles as a travelling companion.

Patroclus did not know whether it was the successful ending of an unwanted engagement, his promotion to army captain or the simple anticipation of what promised to be a particularly bloody battle up ahead. But whatever the reason, Achilles was in a better mood than Patroclus had seen him in for a very long time. He had spent the better half of the journey whistling, (bad) singing, (worse) and chatting aimlessly, regaling his company with a number of "funny" stories, (an irritating number of which seemed to involve Patroclus). When at last Patroclus threatened to resume his silent treatment he turned to Odysseus for his source of entertainment, asking several questions about the king of Ithaca's adventures both on land and on sea.

"Is it true you are a pirate?" Achilles asked him directly, interrupting Odysseus' explanation of Arabian shipping laws.

If Odysseus was taken aback he did not show it. On the contrary, he looked at Achilles as if he had just asked him a question of very deep, meaningful and perplexing significance. "Some say pirate," he answered, scratching his short brown beard thoughtfully. "Others say an enterprising young man particularly skilled at coercing people out of seaborne goods."

Patroclus scoffed. Achilles spared him a dirty look before returning to Odysseus. "You're not that young," he stated bluntly. "But is it hard? I mean to say, is it very dangerous?"

"Depends on how you do it," answered Odysseus, apparently deeply amused at Achilles' curiosity. "Of course with anything from a medium to a smaller sized vessel you can get away with the traditional old boarding and slaughter…we always look like a merchant ship so we tend to catch most people unawares…of course, with anything larger you've got to use a little more…initiative. A particularly favourite trick of mine…you disguise the ship to look like you've been caught in a storm, or robbed by pirates yourself. Then you wait until another boat draws nearer, looking to offer help and…"

Odysseus drew a thin, long-nailed finger across his throat. Patroclus winced as Achilles laughed heartily. Catching sight of his expression, Odysseus tilted his head.

"I see Patroclus disapproves of my methods," he said with a small smile.

"I just don't find the idea of killing innocent people particularly funny," Patroclus replied haughtily.

"An interesting one, the word 'innocent'," observed Odysseus. "Would you be so quick to use it, I wonder, if I were to tell you the men I robbed belong to Nekros, or to the rich King Agamemnon? And that a fair portion of the spoils go to much smaller vaults than my own?"

Patroclus said nothing, unwilling to enter into a debate on ends versus means. He knew now that he was right to be wary of Odysseys; no matter how much he liked him and Penelope, they were both far too cunning for anyone's good.

"Well I don't see a problem with it," said Achilles stoutly. "Except that there's not much glory to be offered in that kind of trick. A fair fight is the only real honourable means of gain."

Odysseus laughed. "You might think differently when the odds are not entirely in your favour," he advised him. "Although I think our definitions of glory might differ somewhat slightly. I see myself as an adventurer above all things…for what is gold and silver compared to new lands…a distant sunrise, the smell of strange spices in the air…different faces, different worlds. And so many more, yet to be discovered. That, my friends, is the true treasure. The real glory of living."

Achilles and Patroclus exchanged glances. Suddenly Patroclus was uncomfortably aware that this was the most he had ever travelled, the furthest away from either Phthia or Opus he had ever been. The thought was strangely discomforting; he wondered how much time he had left to see all these worlds Odysseus spoke of with such wonder…or even if he ever would. Looking at Achilles, he wondered whether they were making the best use of their time, fighting pointless wars he didn't really understand, or if they'd be better off finding a boat and sailing away together, in search of another kind of immortality.

They journeyed on for several hours. With the steady plodding of horse hooves being the only measurement of time Patroclus had no way of telling how long; certainly it seemed like several seasons had passed as the scenery shifted around them. As they edged further north the fields that surrounded the citadel became fewer, the land around them no longer flat but harsh and uncompromising. Greens morphed into browns and then into greys with the approach of the mountains, not gently rolling but sharp and craggy as flint stone, their shadows casting ominous stretches of dark over the ground.

There was a change in the temperature up here too. Patroclus shivered as a blast of wind whistled past them and drew his cloak tighter over his sheepskin tunic. Beside him the end of Achilles' nose and his hollowed cheeks were slightly pink; Patroclus resisted the urge to ride up close to him and put his arm around his shoulders. He was not sure how much of the army knew about the two of them, but he was unwilling to give credence to the several theories as to why Patroclus was made second over several more experienced and prolific warriors. Whispered rumours of nepotism were already rife enough with Achilles' captaincy and he had been wary of several eyes on him the whole time he had been riding.

At long last they came to the border and Achilles gave the command for his company to halt. Patroclus peered at their surroundings through his face wrappings. They were right in the shadow of a large mountain, on the edge of an equally foreboding looking forest. Before he had a chance to voice his anxieties however, Achilles had already swung of his horse and was swaggering over to join the other officers.

"Looks like good enough ground than we'll find anywhere else," stated General Acastus, sifting the earth with the toe of his boot. "Give the order to make camp."

"We're making camp here?" Patroclus questioned Achilles as he joined him in unloading the horses. "But it's so dark…and…spacious."

"For Gods' sake Patroclus," Achilles huffed. "We're doing battle against an army nearly twice the size of ours in the morning. I'd really rather you didn't pussy out now over some scary looking trees."

"What I meant," Patroclus snarled. "Is that it would be the perfect terrain for an ambush."

Achilles frowned, glancing round the space thoughtfully. "You may have a point," he conceded. Then, spotting Deiomachus and Leonides, he waved them over. "You two are in charge of overseeing the camp," he told them. "Patroclus and I are going to scout the area. There's a chance the Thessalians have sent spies ahead of us."

Deiomachus and Leonides nodded and went to organise provisions while Achilles and Patroclus made a beeline for the trees. Patroclus suppressed a gulp as the forest swallowed them up; it was darker than the one back home with the trees growing much closer together, shutting out the very last of the dying evening light overhead. He was suddenly very aware of the sound of his own breathing and that of Achilles' beside him. Evidently Achilles was thinking along the same lines for he gestured towards his weapon. "Swords out, do you reckon?"

"Yeah," nodded Patroclus, glad that he had made the suggestion first.

They picked their way very carefully, sensitive to the slightest hint of sound or movement. Achilles was on hyper-alert, his ears pricked, nostrils slightly flared like a wild animal picking up a scent. Even the fine blonde hairs on the back of his neck were vigilant, standing to military attention. He searched the undergrowth while Patroclus watched the trees, ready for the flash of a bow and arrow or the booted foot of a Thessalian spy. They came to nothing, however, until a dip in the patches of bracken they were following led them into an almost clearing, right in the centre of which there seemed to be what looked like a very tall, thin boulder.

"What in Hades is that doing there?" Achilles frowned, edging around it curiously.

Patroclus followed nervously. As he did so, his eyes were drawn to the branches surrounding the boulder, from which dangled a number of curious objects: snatches of ribbon, pieces of brightly coloured glass, feathers, little cloth pouches. They all dangled jauntily in the mountain breeze, flashing amongst the leaves like some bizarre fruit.

"It's a woman," Achilles breathed, examining the rough stone. "Patroclus, it's a sculpture."

Sure enough Patroclus could make out the crude bulk of roughly-hewn breasts, wide hips and long hair framing a coarse, expressionless face. Once again his eyes flitted to the glittering branches and then back to the stone carving.

"It's not a sculpture," he said. "It's a shrine."

Achilles stood up slowly, his eyes flickering towards the strange dancing objects. Patroclus saw him shiver and a swallow travelled down his throat.

"We should go," he said.

"So soon?" came a voice.

Quick as lightning Achilles thrust out an arm, pushing Patroclus back so that he almost fell against the statue, and in his other hand a knife suddenly glinted. Harsh laughter echoed through the trees, the sound of thin reeds rubbing together. Patroclus held his breath as up ahead the bracken parted, revealing a figure coming towards them. Then, as they entered the clearing, he breathed a sigh of relief.

It was a woman. She was old, impossibly old; her brown, weather-beaten skin hanging off her like scraps of old leather. She was also tiny, her long white hair falling way past her knees, and the sack-like brown robe she wore seemed to drown her. From her face, wizened and lined as a riverbed, two beetle black eyes blinked out at them, creased in the dry humour that even now still lingered in the trees. Patroclus nudged Achilles, telling him to drop the knife but he ignored him and the weapon remained raised.

"Who are you?" Achilles demanded. "Declare yourself."

"I need not, nor shall I," replied the woman in her thin, reedy voice. "And you can put that down, son of Peleus, unless your fear of the Thessalians extends to an old woman."

At that Achilles did lower the knife, although slowly, and his eyes never left her face but held her gaze warily. "I fear nothing the mortal world can offer me," he declared seriously. "So unless you be a goddess, you might dry directing your taunts elsewhere."

The woman's smile was no more than a contortion of lines. "I am no goddess," she replied. "Although from what I hear, it would make little difference to you, son of Peleus, who holds the immortal world in likewise scorn. But no, I am merely a humble priestess looking to live out the rest of her days in service to the Divine."

She gestured with a long-nailed, claw-like hand towards the statue. Patroclus followed her gesture and found to his discomfort that despite the crudity of the carving, a reverent shiver ran up his spine.

"Hekate," the woman said. "Mistress of magic, Lady of mysteries, Queen of all things that dwell in the dark. Will you not allow her to pull back the veil, to dispel the mists that at this moment enshroud your future…"

"I have no business with the Witch Queen," Achilles interrupted her. "Nor any with the future."

"Fool," the woman snarled, her voice sharp and dry as the crack of the whip. "Your destiny will be offered to you on a silver platter, when the time comes, although the fates will seem obscured to you until it is too late. However, I was not speaking to you."

Patroclus held his breath as the woman laid her heavy, black stare upon to him. Logic told him that he had never met her before, yet somehow it seemed that she knew everything about him, as if right now she could see into his soul.

"Tell me son of Menoetius," she said and her voice rang out as if several had spoken. "Why always do you walk in shadow? Do you think the Gods will not see you if you hide behind the sun?"

Achilles and Patroclus exchanged confused, nervous glances. "No…" replied Patroclus tentatively. "I suppose I just…I didn't think they'd be that interested in me."

"An unwise presumption," the old woman sneered. "Yet so it is with the ways of men: so often those who expect greatness receive little, and those who seek to fade into history find themselves with more fame than they could have possibly imagined. Others may think you are nobody Patroclus, you may even still think so yourself. But I tell you now: The Gods have great plans for you."

Patroclus gulped and sought another look at Achilles. A crease had appeared between his brows and he was chewing his lip, clearly discomfited. The old woman was still watching him expectantly, as if anticipating his reaction.

"Will you ask the Goddess?" she prompted him after he still had not spoken. "Will you draw back the veil?"

Her hand was extended now, reaching out to him. And suddenly, Patroclus had an inexplicable yet powerful urge to take it.

As if reading his mind, Achilles sent him a warning glance. "Patroclus," he said. "We have to get back."

"Wait a minute," murmured Patroclus. He was looking into the stone face of Hekate's statue. Before he had thought it seemed blank, vacant, even vapid. Now, it seemed to be smiling at him.

"Wouldn't you like to know," the old woman was purring at him. "The answers lie before you…"

The answers…and if he thought about it, Patroclus realised he had a lot of questions. For one day Achilles would have to marry and what would happen to the two of them when he did? How long was it before the divinity in his veins started yearning for something greater than Patroclus could provide? Tomorrow they would be walking onto a battlefield, and who was to say what the day might bring? And always Thetis' prophecy sounded at the back of his head, never far away: Someone is going to die…it might even be you…

"Patroclus," Achilles' voice sounded louder, yanking Patroclus back to reality. "Come on. We're leaving now."

Patroclus nodded, trying to clear his head of the sudden disturbing images that had flooded it. He felt strangely cold all over and more aware than ever of the pressing, claustrophobia of the increasingly darkening trees and the cool, damp smell of the clearing. He took Achilles' hand and allowed him to lead him authoritatively away, sparing one look over his shoulder for the old woman. However, no sooner had he turned his head than had she disappeared.

They walked back through the forest in silence. Achilles still hadn't let go of Patroclus' hand which Patroclus was glad of; his head was still a swimming mess of dark greens and browns and he felt woozy, as if he had drunk too much wine. Once they had arrived back at camp and into the open air however the vertigo lifted and he raised a shaking hand to his forehead to wipe of the sweat, aware that Achilles was watching him anxiously.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

Patroclus nodded again. "Yeah," he muttered. "That was weird."

Achilles said nothing but continued to look at Patroclus with concern.

Deiomachus and Leonides had done a good job; all the tents were pitched and someone had even got the cooking fires going, around which men had huddled in small groups to warm their hands and ladle thick-looking stew into their bowls. Achilles and Patroclus ate quickly, unwilling to make small-talk with the other captains and when they were done headed directly into their tent which, Patroclus was pleased to see, was one of the larger and less moth-eaten ones.

They undressed, dumping their travel-worn cloaks and tunics in the corner next to the armour they would be putting on the next day. Patroclus tried not to look at it. The anticipation of the coming battle had just started to kick in and he wasn't in the mood for another bout of wooziness. The events in the forest had disconcerted him more than he could reason; try as he might he could not get the little old woman's words out of his head.

Clearly they had had an effect on Achilles too for he turned to Patroclus abruptly, his hands planted on his hips. "Listen Patroclus," he said in the tone of voice he used whenever he wanted to convince people that he was a solemn and mature young man. "What that old witch said…about you being a nobody. It's bullshit. No one has ever thought that."

Patroclus raised an eyebrow. Achilles made an assenting gesture. "Okay, so it's possible some people used to think that. And maybe one or two still do. But those people are very few and far between. You're a hero now! And that's something no one can deny. You heard Odysseus and Penelope…people have literally travelled far and wide just to see if the stories about you are true."

"To see if the stories about you are true," Patroclus corrected him. "I'm just a quirky side character."

"You are not," Achilles gritted his teeth angrily. "That's what I'm trying to tell you. This is your story Patroclus, your song. Because you're golden and they know it now…I've known it since first I ever laid eyes on you. And now they do to. But you've never been nobody to me. Not ever."

Achilles stared at him plaintively and wide-eyed and Patroclus half wanted to laugh at the desperate bid for understanding in his expression. He stepped forward, placing both his hands on the sides of Achilles' face and looked directly into his eyes.

"I know," he promised him as Achilles' bottom lip trembled. "And I'm sorry. All that stuff with Chloē…I don't know why I was so jealous…I just can't stand the thought of losing you."

"But you won't," Achilles insisted and Patroclus noticed that he was blinking rather fiercely. "You won't lose me because there's no one…I don't see anyone else. Only you-"

Patroclus cut him off, pressing his lips fiercely to Achilles'. Achilles responded eagerly, throwing off the last sleeves of his tunic so that he could grasp Patroclus by the shoulders, pressing their bodies closer together. They moved hastily, clumsily, tripping over the pots and cushions littered around the tiny space of their tent and Patroclus realised, with a violent pain somewhere in his chest how much he really had missed him.

"You can't pretend now," Achilles muttered against the crook of Patroclus' neck as he pushed him onto the pallet. "You're much more jealous than me."

"I'm not-" Patroclus tried to protest before he felt Achilles' hand skirt his hip.

"I didn't like you not talking to me," said Achilles. "Don't do it again. I would rather have you scream at me than ignore me."

"Funny, I was just starting to enjoy the peace and quiet," Patroclus breathed back and felt Achilles' chuckle reverberate through his kiss.

oOo

An hour later Achilles lay sleeping, his face calm and untroubled once more. Patroclus watched him a little while, lightly following the curves of his bones with his finger and savouring how his eyelids flickered slightly when Patroclus' knuckle brushed his bottom lip. Then, trying carefully not to disturb him, he gently untangled himself from Achilles' arms and crossed to the other side of the tent where his clothes lay.

He dressed quickly, drawing his cloak tightly around himself to protect from the biting midnight cold. He frowned at his sword, deliberating, and in the end settled on Achilles' knife, tucking it securely into his boot. Then, with one last look at Achilles to make sure he hadn't woken, he slipped out from the tent and into the night.

There was no one left outside, the mountainous temperature having driven even the commanders in search of the protection offered by canvass walls. All around him the sounds of sleep rumbled from tent flaps, a hum of breath like low thunder, readying itself for the storm ahead. The Myrmidon army lay in a pool of milky light as the moon shone directly overhead, the barest patch of it scraped by the summit of a distant mountain. It lit a path for Patroclus, guiding him away from the camp and sloping downwards into the forest.

The way was harder to find by nightfall and Patroclus swore at his foolishness for not bringing a candle. He was aided by the moon, however, and the reassurance that for some reason he was less fearful than he had been earlier that evening. All previous dread had been replaced by a feverish, humming anticipation, almost reaching excitement as he found his way once again into the clearing.

The old woman was there, as Patroclus knew she would be. She was kneeling before the statue of the goddess Hekate, her long white hair flowing around her, giving her the look of a drowned person. Patroclus hovered uncertainly between the trees, unsure of whether he should announce himself. This, however, proved unnecessary as the woman lifted her head and turned to him with a knowing smile.

"Back again, Patroclus?" she rasped in her rough, high voice. "What is your excuse this time?"

Patroclus shifted his feet awkwardly and shrugged. "Curiosity."

The old woman nodded sagely. "It happens to the best of us," she said. "Even the strongest men are oft unable to withstand the pull of the moon."

She gestured to him to come forward. He complied somewhat tentatively, unwilling to meet her eyes and fall victim to that terrible, soul-searching gaze. He stopped before the feet of the statue, looking up into the face of the goddess. Hekate loomed down at him, seeming somehow taller and more imposing in the dark. For a moment it seemed as though her folded hands would twitch and shoot out towards him, even as the old woman's hands were now extended.

"What is it you want to know?" she asked him at last.

Patroclus tore his gaze away from the goddess, forcing himself to look at the old woman. She was watching him, her expression steady, betraying nothing. He took a deep breath, swallowing the last of his fear before he spoke.

"Everything," he said.