An Unlikely Union

Quick Comment: Okay, okay I put my hands up. I said this would be the last chapter but ... it ended up being far too long! So, here is the penultimate chapter. I promise this time!

Thanks for all the great reviews peeps, I find it really helpful and inspiring so keep them coming. I have been trying to read all your stories too but finding the time to do so is difficult as I only have use of a PC at work - most of my spare (or slacking!) time is mainly used typing up this fic! I'm going to get RSI! Anyway, I would be interested to read your stuff, give me a prompt when you review

Anyways, I hope you are all itching for the next chapter after this!

10. Peace

Sofia stood up straight and lent backwards, hands resting on her lower back as she stretched. The continuous bending was making her ache. She took a deep breath and looked at the sun as it disappeared behind a heavy-looking grey cloud. The woman opposite her continued her task, winnowing the chaff from the grain with wooden paddles, the little puffs of husk floating in the air whilst the grain fell back to the ground like summer raindrops. On the other side of the yard by the silo, the farmer's wife was grinding grain for bread-making tomorrow. She sat on an old milking stool, skilfully pounding a heavy stone pestle into a large circular receptacle made of marble. It had huge chips missing out of the lip through its years of use and Sofia smiled to herself as she imagined the farmer quietly picking little pieces of marble out of his teeth after dinner, not wanting to offend his wife.

The farmer's wife stopped grinding every now and again to wipe her sweaty brow and make silly faces at a couple of gurgling babies that lay happily next to her in a wicker basket laying on the ground in the partial shelter of the silo. The two babies, the older one a girl with wisps of sandy brown hair, the younger one a boy already with a full dark mop found her fascinating, staring at her face as she manipulated her wrinkly lips into weird and wonderful expressions, some of her teeth missing as if she were a baby herself. A young girl of about eight or nine was sat on a blanket on the other side of the farmer's wife. She played with a toddler, bouncing him in her arms and tickling his little pink toes. It was a happy sight and Sofia sighed contentedly to herself as she picked up her paddles again to resume her winnowing.

Quite a few of the women who worked at the farm had children. They were all the flotsam and jetsam of war, somehow washed up at the farm. All had their own story to tell - Greek, Trojan, it didn't matter. Some women had waved their husbands away at the docks and had never seen them again. Some were Trojan bought over as slaves. Some were women who had fallen in love with a soldier, gotten themselves into trouble with no means to bring up a child. All of them had so much in common - now the war was over there was no place for them in society.

However, nobody who worked at the farm was a slave. They had an understanding with the farmer and his wife - they worked in payment for their food and board. They could leave whenever they chose to although most never did – a few of the lucky ones had married farmhands and set up a home of their own but as for the others, they simply had nowhere else to go. The farmer and his wife were kind people, they looked after all the women with as much care as if they were their own daughters - and in return for this kindness, the women were loyal, trustworthy and hardworking. A close-knit community, an extended family ... and the farm prospered from it. It was a huge estate - a large villa, fields of goats, sheep and arable, a small vineyard and an orchard.

Sofia was happy there. She had learnt to accept her fate now although she was still haunted by her memories of what had taken place just over a year ago. She often woke in the early hours of the morning, beaded in sweat after vivid nightmares, about the cell, about fire, about swords and knives, about dead rotting flesh. She welcomed the dreams where she was back at the school in Troy or where Hector was still at her side - although her heart always ached when she awoke and remembered that these beautiful dreams were no longer reality.

She had never talked about her memories and these dreams with anyone, just as she had promised Achilles that night in his tent before he had brought her here. He was right - he had bought her somewhere safe, well at least she felt it to be. That was another good thing about living there .... nobody asked questions, an unspoken understanding that perhaps not everyone could talk about their past with ease. Some of the women there had been through some horrific experiences: rape, forced prostitution, watching loved ones die - sometimes it was just easier to forget.

As she busily worked away she recalled a whispered conversation she had a few nights previous. It was with her friend Cassandra in the dormitory – rows of beds where the women slept. Most of the others were asleep, exhausted from a hard day harvesting in the fields but Sofia and her friend couldn't sleep: they both sat edge of their beds which lay next to each other, wrapped up snugly in their night gowns, gossiping in whispers whilst their lone stumpy candle hardly lit the long room, strange elongated shadows projecting onto the plastered walls. Sofia had never met anyone like Cassandra before. Although around the same age as Sofia, she seemed younger, like an excitable teenager. She was very brazen and honest which was understandable when Sofia learnt about her past. She was one of the women who had been forced into prostitution. A Trojan, she had fallen in love with a Greek soldier and had left her home in disgrace, following him back to Greek shores. Uncaring and disrespectful, the soldier used her and later forced her to sleep with other men at his barracks, charging his friends for the pleasure and pocketing the proceeds for himself. He would beat her regularly so she would comply with his orders. One night, when she found she had fallen pregnant, he beat her half to death in a rage and she subsequently miscarried. The farmer found Cassandra whilst he drove his empty cart back from the market. She was apparently lying unconscious in a ditch beside the road where she had been dumped, left for dead, a mess of bruises and blood. It was uncertain whether she could ever conceive children now as the soldier had caused so much damage to her insides.

However, after all this Cassandra was still amazingly positive and always laughing. An inspiration to Sofia who's grief almost destroyed her: for a couple of weeks she would not get out of bed - the physician called it a brain fever – an even though she was already too thin from being imprisoned by the Greeks, she lost a lot more weight, hardly eating. Cassandra had sat at her bedside during these dark days, holding her hand and keeping Sofia company, willing her through the depression. She was an excellent storyteller, full of funny tales and was brilliant at mimicking people – she had the farmer down to a tee, the wonky smile, his slight limp, everything. She often admitted to Sofia that her joviality was her way of coping: "If you don't laugh about what life brings you than you will waste all your time crying – and where is the use in that" she would say. She was also very frank about her experiences as a prostitute, often shocking her friend with revelations about things Sofia did not even know was possible for men and women to do with their mouths, hands, and bodies. "A few tips to keep your future husband happy!" Cassandra would exclaim with a cheeky wink whilst Sofia sat stunned, her hand covering up her open mouth, giggling.

Husband – what a distant, girlish dream. Cassandra was still positive that she would find love again and perhaps marry whereas Sofia had resigned herself to the fact that she would remain a spinster. Priorities had changed and whimsical thoughts of love and marriage were simply not of interest to her any longer. Sofia felt that she would never love again after all that had happened – it had changed her. Besides, she did not feel as much curious wonderment about the world, she wasn't so foolish, so recklessly brave or naïve.

In the dormitory, Cassandra had just finished drawing a comb of animal bone through her long brown hair:

"Sofia ... What happened to you?" She whispered to her friend thoughtfully. Typical for her to pick such a strange time to ask.

"What do you mean?" Sofia tried to play dumb, casually taking the comb from Cassandra's hand, unravelling her own braid and running it through her tangles. It had rained that day and the damp made Sofia's hair awfully curly and clumpy.

"Why are you here? What's your story? You have never talked about it ... I know it might be painful but perhaps talking about it will help ... you bottle things up too much. Your eyes always look sad."

Sofia sighed to herself despondently and stopped combing, dropping her hands into her lap. She was bursting to tell Cassandra but Achilles words about keeping everything a secret echoed around her mind. Cassandra was right, she did bottle everything up, corked tightly inside – pouring it all out and talking about it would perhaps quell the horrible memories and stop the nightmares. And she felt that she owed it to her friend to be honest after she been so open and frank about her past.

But she couldn't tell her. Not everything anyway.

"...All I know about you is what you have told me about your life in Troy; the school, your village ... and that you arrived here just over a year ago, after walking for miles, knocking on the door in the early hours of the morning. You said you were lost and in need of food and shelter....I was already here remember." Cassandra continued, trying to work out Sofia's story in her own mind, thinking that her friend would not give anything away as usual.

These were not the full facts of course; Sofia had knocked on the door of the villa in the early hours of the morning. But she hadn't walked for miles – Achilles had personally taken her there, she had ridden with him for two days. He dropped her off at the end of the long tree-lined avenue that led up to the main courtyard and the villa front, well out of sight and sound.

Cassandra was still jabbering away trying to persuade her friend to talk, not so much in a whisper this time. Sofia watched Aethra, who lie in the bed next to Cassandra, roll over, frowning. She was still asleep but a little disturbed by the talking.

"... I mean, there must have been a man ....!"

"Why do you say that Cassandra?!" Sofia smiled.

"Oh come on, don't insult my intelligence now! And why wouldn't you? You are a pretty girl. I mean, for example, Peisander the shepherd who works in the lower field does not stop making eyes at you!" she grinned wickedly.

"Cassandra!" Sofia exclaimed incredulously, still smiling "You are going to make me blush!"

"Come on, we are sisters! Tell me!"

Cassandra always called Sofia her sister, even though they looked nothing alike. She was a lot taller with a more athletic build than Sofia. Her face was thin, cheekbones jutting out, a pointed chin, and a longer nose. Her hair was thinner, darker and poker straight.

Sofia sighed again. Cassandra was not about to give up. This was difficult.

"Was he a soldier? Your man?"

Sofia could do nothing but nod in reply.

"I bet he was handsome!" Cassandra exclaimed in a hissing whisper, grinning and clapping her hands together in a curiously silent way, excited that Sofia had given her a clue.

Surely keeping his identity a secret could not hurt.

"Oh yes. He had a mane of dark curly hair and the darkest eyes to match ... almost black." Sofia smiled a little as she imagined him.

"And I bet his body was even more handsome ...!" Cassandra naughtily added, nudging her friend with her elbow.

"Cassandra!"

Sofia was definitely blushing now - but not just because of her friend's cheeky comments. She remembered Hectors naked body as well as his face: the tanned skin, the muscley arms, broad shoulders and chest, the way his hip bones jutted out a little, the thick columns of his thighs that joined with his tight buttocks and his taught stomach with a trail of dark hair leading down to his groin.

"Like the marble statues of gods and heroes that stand near the Scythian gates of Troy" Sofia sighed dreamily in response, holding the comb tightly in her hand. It was the only way she could think of describing him – in a non-titillating manner of course.

Cassandra laughed mischievously. The laugh was so loud Aethra shifted over restlessly in her bed again:

"With a much more impressive manhood I hope!"

Sofia rolled her eyes at Cassandra's nerve ... but she was laughing too. Her smile gave the true answer away.

"What happened ...?" Cassandra was serious this time, her large brown eyes narrowing in concentration: "... Did he forsake you?"

"No. The Greeks killed him." Sofia answered carefully, her eyes gazing into the distance and her face dropping as she remembered that terrible moment.

"How can you be sure?"

Sofia looked straight at her friend this time:

"Because I was there. I saw. They stabbed him in front of my very eyes."

Cassandra began to wish she had never pushed the subject as she watched Sofia's eyes quickly fill with tears. She sat herself next to Sofia on her bed, taking the comb from her hands and running it through her hair for her, trying to comfort her.

"Oh Sofia. I'm sorry ... did you love him?"

"Yes." Sofia's voice wavered a little as she brushed away an escaped tear with the back of her hand, not really wanting to cry.

"And did he love you?"

It was a question Sofia had often secretly asked herself:

"I don't know. We were not really acquainted for that long. I only spent one night with him, in an intimate sense. He was my first. My only. We knew time was not on our side so we made love ... without thinking of the consequences."

"Well ..." Cassandra whispered brightly, trying to cheer Sofia up as she moved back on her own bed to face her. She took her friend's hands in hers. Sofia's were smaller, stouter. "... I'm sure he waits for you, in the next life."

Sofia nodded in response, a lump still in her throat. He wouldn't be waiting, she thought. He would finally be back in the arms of his wife, wherever that may be – an idea that was not particularly painful to Sofia. In fact, it had given her comfort to think that Hector had finally found the peace he craved.

She had thought about Hector every day of course. She grasped onto to her memories tightly, to her as precious as the air she breathed.

It was the little things she liked to remember best: his funny sticky-out ears and the nose that had been broken probably more times than even Hector could remember; the position of every scar and mole on his body; how he would rub his eyes like a child when he was tired; how his hands were strong yet so gentle; how it felt to have him inside of her.

She could never forget him.

She thought about when she first met him, unconscious and filthy on the cell floor. How he had been nothing more than a ragged wild animal, rude, aggressive and proud. What a contrast that was compared to the night they had spent together. Affectionate, gentle ... and very sensual. It had always amazed Sofia that this man who was a renowned warrior, who had killed many men, could be so tender. Mindful that she was a virgin, he had been so concerned that he might hurt her. He had spent a long time kissing her, relaxing her, readying her for him. She remembered it was a little sore at first but she soon began to enjoy the exquisite sensations his body was providing. She had been nervous, not knowing how to please him but he was wonderfully patient, guiding her, showing her how to pleasure him too.

Did he sleep with her because he felt sorry for her? Or was it just for the physical release? Perhaps he did have feelings for her, it was hard to tell. Whatever the answer she never regretted a moment she had spent with him.

"It looks like it's going to rain ... I'm going to take the little ones indoors." said the farmer's wife, suddenly waking Sofia out of her daydreams.

As she spoke she halted her grinding, sighed heavily in relief and lifted her large rump from the milking stool, bending slowly to pick up the wicker basket. The younger baby raised his little podgy arms to her as she lifted the basket, dribbling and smiling, his brown eyes darting all over her face. The farmer's wife widened her wrinkled eyes at him and grinned animatedly in response then signalled for the girl to roll up the blanket and follow her to the villa with the toddler in hand. It was a good five minute walk down the avenue to the villa and Sofia was not sure if they were going to make it in time, she could already hear the faint rumble of thunder in the distance. One of the babies had started to cry, alarmed at the sound of the thunder and Sofia watched the farmer's wife disappear behind a tree as she stepped onto the avenue, making her way home with the basket safe in her arms, rocking it soothingly.

"If it's going to rain, we had better sweep this grain up into our baskets and get it safely dry into the silo". Sofia added sensibly to her winnowing partner, bending down to scoop up as much grain as she could with one of her paddles, sweeping it into a basket meant for apples. Smaller pieces of grain slipped rebelliously back onto the ground from in between the wicker weaves.

Her winnowing partner, Cassandra, stood up straight, wiped her forehead tiresomely with the back of her hand and pulled the scarf from her head. She hated wearing it even though it was supposed to stop the chaff getting into her hair. It invariably didn't and she would spend hours picking the little husks from her tresses. She watched Sofia busily sweep up the grain – she knew better then to get involved with her friend when she was on a mission like that; she could be quite pernickety and bossy – it was better just to leave her to it.

The sound of drumming hooves drew Cassandra's attention away from Sofia, her eyes focussing on the avenue which ran directly beside the yard they were working in. The drumming became louder, faster as the horses approached. A couple more of the women that were working in the same yard, grinding or pulling the ears and stalks from the grain, stopped their chore and looked to the road suddenly as the noise drew close. Cassandra wiped her hands on her apron and lifted her hand over her brow, shielding her eyes from the hazy light, trying to gain a better view.

Two riders rushed past them in a blur of bronze and horse hair towards the villa. Sofia who was previously too engrossed in her task finally heard the hooves and looked up from the ground, dropping her paddle.

"What was that?!" She exclaimed, startled, to no-one in particular. She had not looked up in time to see them pass.

"Two riders ... pretty important looking if you ask me!" Cassandra was obviously excited, judging by the tone of her voice. They did not get many visitors to the villa.

"They looked like soldiers to me ... they were wearing armour ..." One woman offered matter-of-factly, as she was hastily scooping flour into a bowl with her bare hands.

"I wonder what they want ..." Sofia said quietly, furrowing her brow as she stood there. A few light drops of rain started to fall but she didn't notice. She suddenly wasn't worrying about the grain anymore.

The woman shrugged as she stood and picked up her bowl of flour, unhooking the bottom of her gown from her sandals:

"Probably just a place to stay for the evening ...."

A few Greek soldiers had passed that way since the end of the war on their way back home. The farmer was more than happy to provide them with lodgings for the night in trade for exciting tales of the battlefield as his own two sons had sadly never returned from combat. No side truly won the war: a truce had been called after the tyrant Agamemnon had been slaughtered in a great battle before Troy's high walls. His brother Menelaus had returned quietly to Sparta with his tail between his legs. Other than that, no other news had reached the farm. Sofia had often wondered what had happened to Achilles – did he die fighting or did he win back his beloved Breseis after all? She hoped for the latter. She had also not heard a word of Troy, of any victorious celebrations or about Hectors funeral. Strange, they would have mourned him for weeks - perhaps they had never found his body.

"I'm sure they were not Greek .... Their armour looked Trojan if you ask me." Cassandra said quietly, her face suddenly serious.

"How would you know? Oh yes, Cassandra I forgot you were the expert on everything to do with soldiers!" The women jokingly taunted as she sauntered past and steeped onto the avenue on her way back to the villa, hugging the bowl in her arms.

But Cassandra did not laugh along with her, something that was completely out of character. She had seen Sofia's expression. One of alarm - her eyes wide and her skin turning white.

"I know Trojan armour ... the bigger one ... his helmet was bright bronze, plumed with a tail of horse hair. Greek helmets are crested, not plumed." She whispered to Sofia.

Trojans visiting: what did it all mean? Cassandra thought. Sofia knew. It was the day she had dreaded and feared, the day Achilles had warned her may come. They had finally found out about her relationship with their prince, they had come to question her. Her heart felt heavy, her limbs froze.

She was discovered.