Author's note: Well this chapter came about pretty quickly, so I hope it's not a pile of crap! Please do review if you get chance, I really does motivate me to carry on! :o)
My frustrated ire dissipated slightly as Hector's strong forearm snaked around my solar plexus and pressed me to him. He smelt of the sweetness of hay, musty leather and the salt of his fresh sweat. I could feel his chest rise and fall as he breathed, his warmth radiating across my back. Along with the movement of the horse we were both sitting atop, it was all quite hypnotic and I relaxed a little, allowing myself to lean into him.
As you can tell, I was not sat pillion behind him like I would have been when riding with my father - Hector had me sat before him at the front of the saddle. Because of that previous experience of horseback riding, at least I had not been a graceless idiot when attempting to mount his horse however, Whitefoot was such a large animal that I still struggled and Hector did have to lend one of his ever-durable hands in aid. Thankfully, once I had sat, Hector had Whitefoot walk at a leisurely pace, one hand skilfully holding the reigns, the other occupied with holding me steady in the saddle with him. As we started down the hill, he reflexively moved his arm from around my middle to position his large palm, fingers splayed, to rest gently on the slight curve of my stomach. I gripped the front ridge of the saddle stiffly but it was not because I was anxious of the ride.
The washed-out, misty morning was ripening into a beautiful day. The sky was taking on a brilliant blue tint, largely cloudless save for a few wind-whipped wisps streaking the sky like daubs of chalk. A group of excited sparrows, bouncing and chattering as they flew, came dangerously close to our heads as they sought the cover of a large hedge we were passing. They dived into the foliage there and bobbed their little heads in and out. They cheeped to each other with enthusiasm, as if they were trying to drown the voices of one another out. One, with markings across its tiny eyes that made it look like it was wearing a little black mask, seemed to watch us curiously.
"Are you hungry?" My spine felt Hector's deep and even voice rumble from his broad chest. He had bent slightly behind me so his mouth was close to my right ear; I could feel his hot breath on the sensitive ridges there and the tiny hairs on my arms stood up. Was he referring to food or something entirely different?
"I am." He said simply, answering his own question as I found I had become quite mute.
He pulled Whitefoot to halt and it took me a moment to realise the tall hedge we were passing was the one that concealed the jumbled line of palace kitchen buildings from view. It was so large, I could not even see over the top of it sitting there high on Whitefoot. I started to smell the faint, alluring whiff of baking bread permeating the crisp morning air as Hector handed me the reigns before expertly dismounting.
"Wait here, I'll be back."
And before I knew it, he had pulled on the hood of his cloak and started off at speed towards an opening at the end of the hedge towards kitchen buildings. It all happened so fast it took me a moment to realise he was leaving me alone and in sole charge of his horse.
"Hector!" I called after him, more than a little apprehensive but he simply turned back to me, put his forefinger to his lips to 'shush' me and carried on until he disappeared out of my sight.
He must have been only gone a few moments and to Whitefoot's credit, she had been very good, she waited for her master more patiently than I. When I saw him again, tearing his way back to me, he was being followed by large, red-faced woman with a halo of wiry silver hair, huffing and puffing after him. She was wearing an apron and brandishing a huge rolling pin above her head, waving it angrily to and fro. It did not look like she would be afraid to use it in the unlikely event that she caught him, either.
"Prince Hector!" She was yelling. "You are not too big to be put over my knee and spanked!"
Hector was sniggering as he reached me. He quickly mounted Whitefoot behind me once more and ordered her to walk. As we passed by the irate woman Hector performed and exaggerated bow of his head. She rolled her eyes and marched back towards the kitchen buildings almost as angrily as she had burst out of them – this time with the ominous rolling pin tucked safely in her apron pocket.
"Sorry Glad!" Hector called out to her. He did not sound very apologetic in all.
"What did you do?" I hissed.
"I stole breakfast". He answered proudly: "Gladioli's fruit buns are to die for."
I could not quite comprehend what I was hearing but it seemed obvious to me that this little excursion had not been the first time Gladioli and her buns had fallen foul of the pilfering Prince.
"If she had caught you, I have no doubt you might have died!" I half-laughed in disbelief "Why on Earth did you steal them? You are the Prince, surely all you had to do is ask nicely and she would have given them to you?"
"And where would be the fun in that?" He chuckled, wrapping his arm around my waist again.
Soon, we reached the giant, wooden palace gates. The head guard – not the same fat, rude one I had encountered when I came here for the selection process, thankfully – did not even bat an eyelid at Hector in all his scruffy glory, he just waved him through. The second guard, a slight young man, seemed to take more notice of us. Only after he offered me a tiny wave and a smile, did I realise it was Lysander under that domed helmet. He had finally been admitted into the Troy's military as he always wanted and I was pleased for him, although I would be sad to see his sweet temperament get lost as he hardened - in the army that would be inevitable.
As we headed down one of the narrow, tightly-packed streets it struck me that I had not seen the city for weeks, not since I started life as Hector's and became cooped up like a caged bird in the palace, albeit in a very gilded cage. I felt an awful sadness wash over me. The city now seemed strange and alien to me. I suddenly thought about the home I grew up in with mother and father – back then it was so full of warmth, laughter and love. It now felt like a stranger's life. Perhaps Hector would take me to see my mother, I hoped with a pang of longing. How I missed her.
But, alas, we were not headed in that direction. Whitefoot picked her way down the cobbled street of a city just waking. Citizens were opening the shutters of their little, squashed together homes, ready for the heat to come. We passed an old man who hobbled slowly towards the square. He pushed a colourful cart full of fruits and baskets of fragrant spices ready to be sold at the market. Laying in the curb to the side was a dishevelled younger man. He had clasped to his chest a small amphora, the contents spilled and staining his robe as he snored loudly. Meanwhile, his friend was barely concealed down a nearby side-alley, singing tunelessly to himself. His hand was braced against a wall and his robe was hitched up as he urinated without a care. A woman, who was standing at an open doorway shaking the dust from a worn rug was the only person who seemed to take notice of us. Her scowling, haggard face stared at Hector, then at me and she shook her head in disapproval. I wondered if she recognised her Prince.
Hector was completely unaffected by it all:
"You seem quite comfortable on a horse." He said thoughtfully, breaking the silence between us. "Have you ridden before?"
"Yes" I answered: "I rode with my father frequently when I was younger. He wanted to teach me but mother would not allow it." I smiled a little to remember my father. I wondered what he would say if he could see Hector and I right at that moment.
"I could teach you how to ride, if you wish." Hector said gently, his arm tightening slightly around my stomach.
I was suspicious that it was an empty offer but nonetheless, I was touched. I imagined myself confidently on a horse of my own, black as Hector's eyes, racing across the plains. The freedom of this image gave me a certain yearning.
"I would like that. Thank you." I answered politely, as I took one of my hands from the front of the saddle to delicately rest it on the forearm that held me to him. I wanted him to know how much I appreciated his offer.
As we neared the gates to the city walls, the houses and buildings grew noticeably smaller and shabbier. Plaster flaked from walls exposing brickwork, rotting roofs had been hastily patched and windows were shutter-less. Knotty weeds grew from neglected terraces and from cracks in the paving whilst skinny, desperate-looking dogs roamed here and there patrolling for scraps. We were definitely in the poorer, Lower Town. As we passed a tavern with a painted sign hanging proudly from the front which depicted an impossibly large and juicy looking bunch of grapes, I saw a woman wearing a utilitarian headscarf, sweeping the steps whilst a little boy no older than three or four played with a wooden horse close to her feet. Both looked to us as they heard hooves approaching, squinting in the morning sunlight, the woman raising her hand as a shield above her eyes to gain a better view. As we neared closer, the little boy excitedly exclaimed '''Ekta!" and scampered off towards us as Hector halted Whitefoot.
"Good morning soldier!" Hector greeted the little boy cheerfully. When the little boy arrived to where we stood, Hector reached down to affectionately ruffle his thick, mop-like hair. The boy patted Whitefoot, wide-eyed as if he could not believe he was touching a real horse after playing with the wooden one.
"I have a treat for you, Erastos" Hector said engaging the boy. "But first you must promise me you will give one to your mother. You must look after her seeing as she is growing your baby brother or sister inside of her".
Erastos nodded dutifully. I was mystified how the Prince seemed to personally know a little boy from the Lower Town. As I Hector reached into his leather bag for some of Gladioli's special fruit buns, I looked to the woman who was previously sweeping the steps of the tavern. She was still now, leaning on her broom and watching. I could indeed see she was heavily pregnant and she was smiling knowingly at me. It was then I recognised Korina. I had absolutely no idea she worked at a Tavern. As Erastos toddled off back to his mother, carefully holding two buns (one in each hand), Korina waved to us both. As I returned her greeting, Hector called out to her:
"You are blooming today, my lady!"
Still smiling, she mockingly flicked her hand at him as if to entreat him to stop with the flattery as she probably was not feeling very blooming. Hector laughed as he gathered the reigns and his legs squeezed Whitefoot, entreating her to walk again. The level of familiarity and affection he and Korina appeared to share made me slightly jealous and I hate to admit it even now but I wondered if Erastos or Korina's unborn child were perhaps Hector's own.
It had not taken us long to travel from the City gates to the deserted beach. Hector had tied Whitefoot's reins to a crude fence on the dunes so she could rest and contentedly nibble at the grasses that grew there. We both discarded our cloaks and sandals so we could feel the fine, fair sand between our toes. We walked the shore, allowing the white-crested waves to gently wash our feet as they sunk into the wet sand. The footprints that were left in our wake were remarkedly different - mine were faint, small and slim where his were deep, large and spread. We talked of nothing notable – of the tides, the clouds and of the fresh, salty air that tousled his messy curls and ruffled the dirty hem of my dress. It felt simple yet comfortable. Hector patiently attempted to show me how to skim pebbles on the calm sea - how to select the right pebble, how to hold and then flick it away. Like most things that take skill, I was terrible at it of course. I just could not achieve the required spin and angle with my throw no matter how many times I tried! However, I had rather enjoyed Hector as my teacher, standing behind me, one hand grasping my waist, the other manipulating my pebble-throwing hand as he tried to correct my terrible technique. I soon gave up and left him to expertly skim his own pebbles whilst I scoured the shore for pretty shells. I thought they would make a nice, alternative offering for the shrine in my room to the usual posy of flowers I would collect from the South Courtyard. I never much liked picking flowers anyway, I always thought they were more beautiful still growing on the mother plant. I hated plucking them, only for them to slowly wither and die.
Completely lost in my task of bending, examining, admiring and gathering shells, I did not look up until an unusual golden light glinted in my peripheral vision. It was the temple of Apollo on the shore, reflecting the sun, Apollo's own charge. I stood there for a moment, considering the gilded statue that stood proudly at the entrance. It was Apollo himself, brave and strong, posed with a bow like he about to fire an arrow, almost as if he were protecting Troy. I reverently wished I could be as courageous and resilient.
"What a beautiful view." I heard Hector say from behind me.
I turned to meet his voice to see he was sat relaxing on the sands but he not looking out to sea or to the temple – but at me. It was then I looked down at myself to see Apollo's sun had rendered my simple blue gown partially see-through. I blushed and self-consciously retreated to where he sat, hoping that if I sat too my dignity might remain intact.
When I joined him, Hector reached into his bag and handed me a bun. He took one for himself and tore into it with enthusiasm, as if he had not had a good meal in weeks whereas I picked delicately at mine. He pretty much finished it within three large bites and his hand was greedily back in the bag searching for another before I had even made a dent in mine. I tried not to show how peculiar I found it to watch him eat so I looked out to the deep indigo of the sea's horizon line where tiny white boats seem to quiver in the light.
"The fishermen are lucky this morning." Hector said after swallowing a bite of bun, somehow knowing I was watching the boats: "However, Poseidon can bless you in the morning and curse you in the afternoon. There is nothing worse than travelling on the rough seas you know. Do not tell anyone but it makes me quite sick."
I smiled that this much-famed hero had a nemesis in something as ordinary as seasickness. I thought about lands unknown to me that lay just across the waves: of Sparta, Ithaca, Thessaly, Mycenae – all places my father had told me stories of.
"Do you cross the sea frequently?" I asked him, genuinely interested.
Hector finished his second bun and shook his head slightly "Not as often as I would like. There is unrest brewing over there, I think. My view is Troy needs allies but father will not hear of it, he thinks we should not concern ourselves with the problems of other lands." He looked from me back to the boats and suddenly, his serious mouth turned at the edges as if he was thinking of something amusing. "Just last night, father threatened to disband my prized army and let the womenfolk take up arms if I continue to press the issue!"
No doubt he was trying to lighten the sobering statement he made about problems abroad but I felt quite offended. I did not like my sex to be generalised as weak, witless and unqualified.
"I do not see what is so amusing about that!" I snapped: "Why should only men be able to arm themselves? Women should be able to protect themselves and their loved ones too!"
Hector looked at me, startled that I had spoken so out of turn but instead of admonishing me, he considered me with a strange look in those dark eyes.
"I have no doubt an army of women would be a lot more cunning than the men. Maybe I should put the idea to Council. Goodness knows all I seem to do now is sit in meetings." He sighed, rolling his eyes tiresomely.
His words still insulted me somewhat, however I was relieved he had changed the subject.
"You must be busy." I replied tersely: "I have not seen you since that night your sister found us in the hallway." It had been weeks I remembered bitterly.
But he offered me no excuse for that. Instead he thought for a moment, using a forefinger to trace circles in the sand:
"Ah. That is right. Cassandra. I hope she did not frighten you."
"No. She seems very – interesting." I carefully remarked, hoping this would lead Hector to tell me more. He did intuitively know what I was trying to convey.
"Cassandra is my twin, born only a few moments after me." He confessed, this time drawing deep lines with his finger: "People say she was a normal child growing up but something happened just before she came into womanhood. They say Apollo came to her in a dream and bestowed a gift onto her, the gift of prophecy. However, I know that my dear sister was born like it - and it is more like a curse. Everybody, my father especially, thinks she is quite mad of course. He keeps her confined to her quarters most of the time and has forbade her from talking of the future". His eyes took on a strange sadness as he told me this, like the time he considered his childhood suit of armour in the tower.
The tightly-shut chest that was Hector finally seemed to be opening and revealing some of its treasures to me. Poor Cassandra. I remembered what she had told me that night – that I would bring forth the sun – and it still made no sense to me. Perhaps she really was afflicted by madness.
Another thing did not make sense to me: "Why does the King keep her confined if he does not believe her?" I asked, intrigued.
Hector seemed quite sombre: "No man wants to hear about the manner of his death, whether it be true or not".
He flopped back on the sand almost in defeat, arms bent with the back of his head braced by his hands as he trained his eyes to watch the emerging clouds travel silently across the sky. I recalled the night I had met Cassandra and how Hector seemed to constantly warn his sister about what she spoke of so I just had to ask, even though Hector was clearly finding discussing the matter difficult. The suspense was simply killing me:
"Do you doubt her too?"
He shrugged blankly. "I think my sister has a fragile mind." He answered cautiously, neither confirming or denying what I had asked.
He still stared ahead at the sky, so melancholy now. I thought about the dream I had, of 'fixing' Hector. My father had told me to "comfort him and make him smile, it will ease his pain." I think I finally began to unravel what that really meant and I fought the urge to slide my fingers in to that glorious mane of curls, pull him to me and wrap him tightly in my arms. I feared if I did, he would reject me. I did reach forward to his hair, but only to gently pluck and discard the stay stalks of hay that had been trapped there since the stables and as I did, I noticed that the sun revealed a reddish tinge to it. My attentions drew him out of his unhappy reverie and he looked to me, touched by my small token of affection with that tiny, private smile playing on his lips. I truly loved that smile and a warmth embraced me, like an invisible blanket.
"So, tell me Phile." He offered more brightly: "what is the gossip about me these days?".
I was pleased Hector had found more cheer within him although I really did not want to indulge him. I had heard nothing but poisonous whispers about Hector and his family after all (is there such a thing as 'good' gossip?). He raised his eyebrows expectantly and I sighed, my slow brain not being able to conjure up a way out of it.
"I am not sure it would be really proper for me to …" My voice trailed off weakly as I tried to delay, hoping he would read my unease.
Hector being - well, Hector – was undaunted: "Please do! I find it so amusing!" He entreated with a gleam of glee to those dark eyes.
How could I disappoint this complex yet clearly world-weary man? He seemed far too young for the latter. I hesitated, took a deep breath and closed my eyes. I repeated the first rumour I had been told, straight from the drunken mouth of that monster Sophus: "That you have been drinking and whoring around the Lower Town".
To my relief he laughed, so much it shook his whole chest as he lay there and I relaxed a little: "The drinking bit might be true but I have certainly never had to pay to get a woman into my bed, that is for sure!" he answered assuredly and I suddenly understood perhaps this was an excellent way of understanding the inscrutability that was the man that lie strangely at ease beside me. He was the Prince, with the blood of gods and someday to be King of our fair and powerful city. Yet I was so keen to unravel this plain, flesh-and-blood man that was my companion.
I felt so awfully foolish for the next one as it was clearly a complete falsehood. I had witnessed that that with my own eyes: "That you are not the King's son but have the blood of a Barbarian". I was embarrassed to even let the words tumble from my mouth but Hector was undaunted.
"Ah! That old rumour!" he laughed heartily: "I am still at a loss to where that little earworm hatched from. Anyone who is not blind can see I am my father's son."
I nodded in emphatic agreement to that. I watched a large and rather self-possessed seagull patrol the shoreline as I thought about the other gossip I had the misfortune to hear. Being much more personal in nature, they would certainly be difficult to voice and I deliberated whether I could get away with not telling Hector these.
"There must be more." Hector said, now propped up on one elbow, staring at me intently.
I sighed and looked back out to the shoreline as a means of delay. The seagull now had a friend and they lurked the shoreline together like a couple of marching guards.
"Go ahead." Hector said gently coaxing me: "I have thick skin."
I narrowed my eyes distrustfully at him: "Just do not shoot the messenger."
He smiled and ardently pressed his free hand to his chest, over his heart to demonstrate his authenticity "I promise Phile. Besides, I'm not the surest of shooters, archery is not my greatest talent".
I did not believe that for a second, I could not imagine Hector being bad at anything. More seagulls were arriving now, riding the breeze easily in the sky. I wondered how the world looked to them, so free and high. How I wished I was able to join them right at that moment. I decided I could do nothing but tell Hector the gossip as I had heard it. There was no point drizzling honey on it to make it taste sweeter.
"Some speculate that your true desires lay with your fellow men." I told him. I already knew this one was totally unfounded of course.
"Certainly not!" He scoffed: "I pride myself as a disciplined man but a woman's curves and softness have always been my biggest weakness". He said as his eyes trailed down to stare at my breasts as if to make the point.
"That you were castrated in battle." Another baseless rumour. I knew from scant experience this was not the case.
Hector laughed hard and long at this one – "I'm definitely all in one piece - all man. You know, I hear that Eunuchs no longer feel carnal desire - my life would have been a lot easier if that were the case!" He said trying to catch his breath, wiping a tear of merriment out the corner of one eye.
I closed my eyes momentarily before telling him the next one. It could not be anything else but awkward:
"That your wife is barren."
Hector sat up suddenly in reaction and his mouth levelled sternly. The attractive eye creases caused by his laugh disappeared. His eyes became black and cold – I immediately regretted declaring this one, although he did not seem to be displeased with me as such. He kept his word about not shooting the messenger, gratefully.
"I know there is talk of it and it is the rumour I like the least. She bleeds as she should. The physicians and priests say she is fertile" He admitted in surprising frankness: "What I hate more than anything is the blame is never laid on my shoulders. I would rather them gossip about me. She would never voice it but I know it hurts Andromache so."
"I am sorry, Hector" I told him gently. I genuinely meant it, too. I could not sympathise with the desire to have children as that had never been something I had wanted for myself. However, Hector's wife, Andromache, had been nothing but kind to me; I felt some real amity for her.
Hector nodded and smiled a little regretfully, accepting my sympathy. He grasped a handful of sand, held it up and silently let the grains run through his fingers, deep in hard-faced thought.
I wondered why Hector thought the problem may lie with him. "Did you never sire children before you were married?" I asked, attempting to break the uncomfortable silence.
He shrugged and looked out to sea, his expression unreadable: "Not that I am aware of. I certainly had my fun as a bachelor but I was always … careful not to make any of my lovers pregnant".
"A lot of men seem to think to sire many children is a medal to wear with pride." I observed without much thought.
Hector shook his head emphatically: "Not this one!" He said certainly.
I was taken aback by the sheer fierceness of his opinion. I must have looked rather disturbed because Hector visibly softened and sighed to himself. He realised he needed to explain himself.
"Look at my family, Phile." He entreated of me with an edge of frustration to his voice: "I have so many half brothers and sisters, I do not even think my father can name them all. I know I cannot. I have the privilege of being a pureblood son but many of my brothers do not have that luxury. Father has been unable to be a real parent to all of them and he plays favourites. They fight amongst each other, jostle for his attention and favour. Most of them have been raised differently because they are bastards and it just does not sit well with me. I would love more than anything to father children of my own but I plan to make sure they are pureblood and I will be a proper parent to them. I will love them as a father should".
He searched my face when he was finished speaking to see if I understood his standpoint. Although I was an only child myself, I empathised. Hector's life was not as perfect as one would have thought. It seemed to me a cruel twist that he was so very prepared to be a good father, yet the gods had seen fit to deny him so far. At least his apparent desire for only pureblood children discounted Acantha's theory that any child I would bear Hector would be passed of as his wife's. Indeed, he adamant that did not want children with anyone else. I was quite relieved.
Hector laid back down on the sand, suddenly a lot more relaxed since he had disburdened himself a little. I looked to the horizon line again and noticed the little boats were gone. I wondered if they had sailed further out in search of a bigger catch or whether their nets were now full and they had already returned to the docks. I supposed I might find out if we had fish for dinner tonight. I hoped I would be dining alone in my quarters again and not called upon for a big palace dinner, I did not feel that I had the energy or patience for one of those. I thought about what Acantha had told me at the last one – that Hector did not want me. She had looked so delighted to cause me misery.
"What bothers you, Phile? You suddenly look so downhearted." Hector said suddenly, taking me from my contemplation. Seeing as he had been so honest with me, I supposed it was time I returned the favour.
I turned to him questioningly: "I was told that you did not want a Hetaerae".
He heaved a heavy sigh and sat up again. He took some time to say anything as if he was trying to think of the right words to speak.
"I admit, that is true." He finally said and I felt my heart had plummeted violently from my chest down to my feet. His dark eyes felt quite penetrating as he attempted to explain himself:
"It was thanks to your dear father's influence that I have always been resolute that I should remain faithful to my wife. Andromache …" He sighed again as he thought of his beloved wife: "… she is so desperate now to bear my child. It was she that finally talked me into it. With seven older brothers, hetaerae were ever-present in her household and she says some were even like sisters to her. It was normal for her. She somehow seems to think it would benefit me and the potency of my seed to make love to another woman, without the pressures of trying to create a royal heir". He shook his head, he clearly did not share her beliefs: "I relented in the end – I cannot resist indulging my wife - and only planned to do it for the sake of appearances. But I find I am pleased I did. By some trick of the Fates, it bought you to me."
"Why would I please you?" I half-whispered, confused as to why he had said that after explaining he so resolutely why did not want me. I do not know why I had been so dazed by his revelations. I suppose I had not expected them to hurt so much.
"I knew as soon as you appeared at the selection that your home life must be dire. Then when I attended your home after the death of your stepfather and I saw with my own eyes how bad your domestic life had become. It was a painful realisation that I had failed in my duty to Erymas' family. With you now at the palace, at least I can undo some of my previous neglect and take care of you. You will want for nothing at the palace."
Now I felt fury and resentment swallow my sadness whole. I could not quite believe what I was hearing.
I stood up suddenly, my half-eaten breakfast bun that was sat in my lap rolling to the sands. I towered over Hector, my arms rigid down my sides and my fists balled in tension. "What do you know of what I want Hector?" I yelled: "You think I want to be taken care of? I had a father, I do not want or need another!"
He looked up to me, confused at first but I could see his brow darkening and his eyes turning black.
"You are being so ungrateful." He muttered.
I was absolutely enraged now and I practically exploded: "What do I have to be grateful about? You have taken me away from my mother to trap me in this lonely existence – and what for? Just so your image does not suffer and so you can feel better about yourself! It only serves you!"
He pinched at the furrow in his brow which he always seemed to do when he was dissatisfied: "Where would you be if I had not, Phile?" He shouted back: "You were poor, with no-one to recommend you to court and no man of substance would want to marry you. You would be out in the taverns selling your body to survive." He waved a hand at me dismissively.
I was so incensed that I actually kicked sand at him but thankfully it only hit his thighs, not his face. "But I would survive without you! You know, people keep telling me you are a good man but it seems to me that you are nothing but a selfish, arrogant … horse's arse!"
I did not wait to find out what Hector's reaction was to that – I stormed off leaving him there on the beach alone.
