A/N: I'm sorry this chapter is late in coming. My visit to my parents' house was extended by a day so that I could get my car fixed; and then my niece came home with me to spend the night and most of the day. I'll be back on schedule next week.
Achilles felt eyes on him for the entire banquet that evening and he knew right where they were coming from: two guards milling about the table. This was nothing new; more than a few of the Trojan nobles and their guardsglared at him nightly, offended that a mere Greek was sitting in a place of honor next to the royal family. These guards, however, seemed especially adamant about keeping an eye on him. If he didn't have more pressing matters on his mind he might paid more attention to them, tried to figure out what they were thinking about. At that moment he was only willing to spare then a cursory glance, deemingby their dull expressions that very little had ever been on either of their minds.
Almost all of Achilles' focus was on Paris, seated next to him. He'd been distant and preoccupied all evening. While they could never talk at mealtimes, they'd taken up the habit of touching knees or rubbing their feet together under the table for just a second. These were acts of support and love for each other and a way they could silently and safely defy Priam's control, but his love would have none of it that night. Instead he studied his goblet and utensils as if they had the secrets of the gods and the Oracle of Delphi etched into their surfaces. He was torn, Achilles knew; the prince desperately wanted to figure out a way in which a detailed goodbye to his brother and a safe retreat to Achilles' homeland would be possible. All that the warrior could do to help him was encourage Paris, in the most support, gentle and yet urgent way he could, to make the smart decision.
Before that could happen, though, they would have to overcome a more immediate problem. Achilles had been so set on the idea of getting out of Troy that he never thought through the details about how that was exactly supposed to happen. Now he didn't even know how either of them was going to leave the banquet hall without arousing suspicion in both Priam and his paranoid mind, and Isidore and his constant watching. The Trojan king seemed determined to keep Paris in attendance to make up for his premature departure the night before and the boy could not plead ill again without being escorted at once to a healer. Even if he did manage to convince his father to let him leave, there was no plausible explanation available for Achilles to use for his own departure immediately afterwards. Achilles refused to even consider not directly following Paris out of the room,knowing that it was no longer safe to leave him alone. Perhaps they could slip away now that the feast was ending that the prostitutes were filtering into the hall…
The table shook as an inebriated body slammed into it, spilling several goblets of wine. "Sorry about that," slurred the drunk. Achilles just barley managed to contain his growl of annoyance, disapproval, and rage when he recognized that it was one of his own Myrmidons: Jason, whom he had to reprimand only earlier that day for trying to cavort with a prostitute instead of receiving his orders.
"Hello there, Prince Paris," Jason continued cheerfully, apparently unaware of all the glares he was receiving. "You don't look like you're having fun. You never look like you're having fun. You're young and rich and all that; you should be having fun. Come on, let's dance and then you'll have fun."
Paris shrank back from Jason's outstretched hand as Priam sprang to his feet. "This is an outrage!" he fumed. "Guards! This is an insult to the entire city of Troy! Guards! Paris, leave here at once! Guards!"
"Hey, there's no need for that," hiccuped Jason as Paris scurried out the door. The Myrmidon stumbled a bit and Achilles rose to his feet, grabbing his to keep him from falling flat on his face (even if he did deserve to). "We weren't going to do anything. I know the difference between a pros-pros- a whore and a prince. I was going to do anything but dance with him."
"Jason," Achilles hissed. "If you utter another word, I'll break your neck."
Priam's face was a rather distinctive shade of purple. "How dare you let your men insult me in such a manner?" he demanded. "How could any leader allow such behavior amongst his people? I order you to make that – that inebriated idiot the respect I deserve."
The respect he deserved? Achilles used up a lifetime of self-restraint as he resisted the urge to spit in the king's face. "I have no control over this situation; he's drunk."
Priam was anything but appeased. "Get him out of my sight, now!"
"Thank you so much for the novel suggestion," muttered Achilles sarcastically, hoisting his man's arm around his shoulder in the hopes that it would be enough to support him and his wobbly knees. He was half-tempted to just leave him there, but that was out of the question.There would be no way of retrieving him before the ship had to set sail and that the life of any Myrmidon left behind was bound to be made unpleasant. Oh, of all the nights the young man had to make an ass of himself!
Getting Jason out of the hall turned out to be a much larger chore than the warrior first thought. He stumbled at every step, occasionally knocking his body against that of his commander, and was so off-balance that Achilles practically had to carry him. It took them several minutes to even get through the doorway, and by the time they were in the corridor with the doors slammed behind them Achilles was in a very foul mood. "You ignorant, selfish jackass," he growled. "I have more important matters to attend to than dragging you back to the quarters! And you have a job to take care of! Don't you realize what's supposed to happen tonight?"
"Of course I do," replied Jason, the drunkenness gone from his voice. He moved away from Achilles to stand on his own sturdy legs. "In fact, I'm doing what I'm supposed to be doing right now."
"What?" Achilles managed to ask, completely baffled.
"Patroclus told me to ask you what you'd do without him," Jason told him with a knowing glint in his eyes. "He was in the midst of devising escape plans when I arrived to get my orders earlier. He figured you'd hadn't had the chance to give it much thought."
Achilles let out a breath as understanding relaxed his tensed muscles. "Patroclus," he commented. "How far did he get with his planning?"
"All the way to the Aegean Sea," Jason informed him. "I'm to go to the ship right now to begin the preparations. The others will continue to leave either alone or in groups no more than four as the festivities continue. That way their absences won't be noticed right away and we'll all have a better chance at sneaking past any guards posted at the city gate."
Achilles shook his head in amazement and gratitude. "Leave it to Patroclus," he said with a wry smile.
"Oh," said Jason. "He also wanted me to advise you not to force Prince Paris into anything. Give him as much time as we can spare to make this decision on his own." A grave expression crossed his face as Achilles gave him an assessing look. "Your cousin informed the Myrmidons of Paris' predicament; we know the difference between a prostitute and a prince and it's obvious that your love is the latter."
"And to think I was so close to snapping your neck," marveled Achilles with no malice.
"We'll be ready to depart within two hours," the young Greek told him. "That should give you enough time to convince him once and for all to leave now. The ship will be ready by the time he's prepared to do so."
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOLord Isidore observed Achilles struggle with his inebriated Myrmidon with a great sense of satisfied amusement. Abdominal, lowly creatures, those Greeks, to think that such behavior was appropriate in that regal setting. Honestly, no Trojan would get drunk in public, brazenly ask amember ofa royal familyto dance (if that word could be used to describe the Greeks' clumsy movements), or generally make an idiot of himself in front of a superior sort of people. He found an undisturbed goblet and took a sip of wine, smug in the knowledge that he could hold his alcohol.
Titus and Philo made their way over to him, vibrating with excitement and anticipation, and Achilles finally dragged the worthless young man out of the doors. "He's leaving, my lord," noted Titus. "He's closing the doors."
"Yes, I can see that," he replied in exasperation. Honestly, he was amazed with how well he was able to tolerate the guards' inadequate levels of intelligence. Thank Apollo they were smart enough at least to be easily trained to follow his commands down to the last detail.
"Should we follow him?"
"Of course we should," snapped Philo. "We won't get a crack at the prince by just standing in here."
By the gods, enough with this inane babbling! "Go," ordered Isidore, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "But be careful. Achilles will have to deposit that fool in the Greek quarters before he can go to Paris' bedchamber. Do not let him see you; I fear you'll need the element of surprise to succeed in killing him. I warn you: do not mess this up; if you do, not only will you not, as you put it, 'get a crack at the prince' but I'll also see to it that any similar satisfaction will be physically impossible for you to achieve."
"Yes sir," said Philo as he and his comrade marched towards the doorway.
Isidore turned away from them, irked, before they were even two steps away from him, choosing to look over the crowd. More would have to happen before his plan could succeed. First of all, he would place himself and his guards beyond suspicion. One way he could achieve that was to engage in normal activities that could easily put them in relative proximity to the royal chambers. What he needed was a prostitute. No one would be able to prove his involvement if it was plan to see that he was busy with other matters. By taking said prostitute to one of the unoccupied bedchambers close to the royal quarters, Isidore could also provide his guards with a plausible explanation as to why they were able to catch Achilles in time.
Soon the pathway to Paris would once again be cleared of any and all annoying obstacles. Just the very thought of having unrestricted access to the prince's bedchamber excited him. Yet another reason why the services of a prostitute would be helpful; Lord Isidore thoroughly disliked being aroused without someone there to provide him with the proper release. He scanned the crowd to find the perfect one to celebrate such a momentous occasion. True, none of them could compare with Paris, but he could make due. In fact, now that he was secure in the knowledge that he wouldn't have to make due for much longer, he was eager to give one of those little toys a night he'd never forget.
The only prostitute that escaped his scrutiny that night was the young man with a hooked nose that had stopped Titus and Philo just before they made it to the doors.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOIt seemed a bit odd to him, but Hook actually had to refrain from humming a victory tune as he hurried to intercept the guards before they left the room. Perhaps it wasn't so strange after all; now he could truly see that, for all the power that Lord Isidore and his two minions wielded over the prostitutes, he still had the ability to destroy their schemes. Funny, he'd spent so many years fearing them that realizing now how easily he could read – and therefore manipulate – them was almost a liberating experience.
Anyone could see that Titus and Philo were watching the Lord Achilles; those morons couldn't have been more conspicuous if they tried. Something was going to happen tonight, something very important. Apparently Lord Isidore suspected the Greek warrior was up to something, thus setting his henchmen on his trail. Was Lord Achilles actually going to try to take the prince away from Troy? Well, that was good news as far as Hook was concerned. The Greek at least acted like he cared about his well being, and the young prostitute couldn't imagine the prince finding himself in a worse situation than the one he'd soon be in if he remained in the palace. Best of all, it would drive the lecherous lord to distraction if he were to be outwitted by a Greek of all people.
Now Hook had the opportunity to help that happen and he was going to take it. "Pardon me, sirs," he said in his most proper voice as he ran up alongside them.
Titus and Philo looked stunned as they stopped and Hook couldn't fault them for that. None of the prostitutes had ever approached them like that before, as all of them were aware of their brutal nature in bed and lower social status. Some of the more ambitious ones, the young men who had resigned themselves to their miserable lives but not contentto just survive, might seek out a violent noble if they believed they could gain anything by it, but never anyone beneath that lordly status. Not one of them would seek to subject themselves to the abuse of some guard. "What – what is it?" asked Titus, staring at him as if he was an apparition.
"I would be most…honored if you permitted me to pleasure you tonight," he propositioned, getting on his hands and knees before them to kiss their feet. Such a gesture of submission usually only took place when a prostitute made an offer to a noble, as a way of reestablishing proper authority. It was the perfect way to ensnare these guards even further.
Philo indeed was slack-jawed with amazement as he watched Hook kiss both of Titus' feet before crawling over to kiss his. "Which one of us do you mean?" he wondered aloud, not believing that they could be that fortunate.
'Apollo, give me strength.' "I wish to please both of you."
Titus looked strained. "The lord told us to follow the Greek," he said to his comrade, gesturing half-heartedly to the doors.
Philo ignored him in favor of asking Hook, "And by that, do you mean…""In whatever order and manner you want," replied Hook, forcing the bile down. "I will do everything you desire."
"He told us," Titus reiterated, trying to convince himself as well as his colleague and not doing a very good job of it. Instead of continuing on, he pulled Hook off the floor and started running his hands all over his body.
"Are you incapable of having an original thought?" purred Philo as he stuck his hands beneaththe young prostitute'sgarment. "We won't have the chance to do this later. Come, my friend; you saw how long it took for him to get that drunk out the doors. It will take him even longer to get him all the way to their quarters. There's more than enough time."
Hook let out a feigned gasp of pleasure. "Please allow me to do this for you, most valiant sirs," he pretended to whimper. He saw the resistance wavering in Titus' face and went in for the kill. "I beg of you to take me somewhere where no one can hear me scream."
Oh, Hook knew what was about to happen. The very idea of being with the two of them made his stomach churn, but it was worth it. For once a prostitute would get the upper hand over Lord Isidore and that would be a thought he would forever relish, even if the lord would never discover what part he played in it. That victory tune rang clear in his mind as the doors of the banquet hall closed behind him and the lusty guards led him away.
To be continued…