8)
'What do you think?' Paris asked Aeneas' opinion.
They were laying in the bushes on a hill, observing Troy and the Greek troops surrounding it. Paris was not an military expert, so he left the judgment of the situation to the more experienced Aeneas. But in Paris' humble opinion, it was not looking good. There were just too many Greek soldiers.
No wonder they had lost the first battle. Against every Trojan stood ten Greeks.
'We can't take Troy in one battle.'
He had already been afraid of that. 'So what do you suggest?'
'A guerilla war.'
'Gue-what?'
Aeneas looked amused. 'No wonder Hector was the commander of the army and not you!'
Hector. The thought of his brother made him sad. He had to be dead, because if he was not, they would have heard of him already. They were in contact with the villages, which supplied them with some food, water, clothing and information. If his brother had been alive, he would have been able to reach a village. Last night, Paris had sworn to the Gods he would avenge his brother, although he knew of all persons on earth he was not the most qualified to do so. But he would retake his city and safe his wife and the family of his brother, or die. One of the two. His whole life he had been a coward, but these days were over now.
He had to be strong.
'I'm just not a good soldier, and was never interested in war tactics,' Paris tried to defend himself.
'No good soldier and never interested in war tactics,' Aeneas repeated. Paris knew that didn't sound very good. 'Do you have useful skills than?'
He was glad he had, if not he would have looked like a complete fool. 'I'm pretty good with horses, and an excellent archer.'
'You're an archer?' Aeneas said while he started his retreat from the hill. 'That's a very good quality for a guerilla.'
Guerilla. That damn word again. Paris wished he had more often listened to Hector instead of chasing temple maidens he had liked but never loved.
If she hadn't known Paris, Helen could still have loved Menelaus. But now she could only hate and despise him. He had brought the Greeks to Troy. Her lovely Paris was gone, because of him. Her brother-in-law, a wonderful man, was gone too, leaving Andromache, a woman Helen had come to love and respect, in despair and as a slave. Menelaus had ruined everything that had been good.
Now, they just had to survive. Helen knew she could do this. She would be unhappy for the rest of her life, but she would live. But she wasn't so sure about Andromache. She had literally lived for her family, Hector and Astyanax were her life. Helen thought it was questionable if she would be able to live without them. Maybe if they knew for certain Astyanax was alright and would be safe for the rest of his life, maybe then she would be "okay" because she knew she had not failed to protect her son. But the baby wasn't safe yet, it was very likely the greedy Greeks would plunder the city and kill it's habitants when their celebrations were over.
But Helen couldn't do anything about that, so she decided to put some work in the only thing she could do: supporting Andromache. They were sitting in the gardens together, guarded by some Greeks at a discreet distance. Andromache was silent and staring at her motionless hands in her lap. Helen didn't know whether she was sad, scared, or both. In either way she was close to a nervous breakdown.
In an attempt to comfort her friend, Helen took Andromache's hand into hers. It made her look up, and a sad smile appeared on her face.
'What's wrong?' Helen asked. She hoped that if she talked about her sorrows, Andromache would feel better.
Andromache first gazed at her with a look that meant: you know what's wrong! 'Hector, Astyanax, Priam, Troy, Briseis, Agamemnon,' she bitterly recited her long list. 'Where do you want me to begin?'
'Agamemnon,' Helen simply said. She already knew everything about the rest. 'He……did he hurt you?'
'Not yet. But he said I would bare him wonderful children.'
That was a serious threat. Helen couldn't help but to feel sorry for her sister, who was married to Agamemnon. She had married a real bad man.
Just like she had.
'Andromache, Helen!'
Briseis was back. And she had sounded almost…..cheerful? Strange. But maybe she had some good news.
Briseis sat down next to them. Helen realized she really must have been cheerful, because there was a big smile on her face.
'Why are you so happy?' Helen whispered so they wouldn't be heard by the guards.
'I saw Hector. He's alive!'
Unbelievable, that was really wonderful news! And it cheered up Andromache, who immediately wanted to hear the whole story.
'Where? And is he okay?'
'Achilles has him.'
'Achilles!' The dejected look returned on Andromache's face, and panic appeared also. And Helen just didn't get it. Why would Achilles capture Hector instead of killing him? And how was it possible no other Greek seemed to know about this?
Briseis was optimistic though. 'He is wounded but alive. And if Achilles didn't kill him before, why would he do it now?'
It made sense, but still… 'But what does he want with Hector?'
'I don't know,' Briseis answered honestly. 'But with Hector alive, there is still hope for us and for Troy.'
'Hope,' Andromache mumbled.
Hope.
Helen had never known this was such a great thing.
This was just not possible!
Patroclus stared at the man standing in front of him. It was the same man he had fought before, the Trojan who had almost killed him in battle. Back then he had only known his adversary had been royalty, he had recognized the royal symbol on his armor. But now he knew only one Prince had been taking part in the battle: Prince Hector.
Nobody had known what had happened to the Trojan Prince. But now Hector was here, alive, in the tent of his cousin. And whatever he was doing here, it couldn't be good. So he drew out his sword.
Oh great! This was not a situation he could have wished for. How should he explain this to Patroclus? He cousin would probably assume Hector was an intruder. This he was not, but Achilles didn't exactly know himself whatever he really was. He had postponed his decision on Hector time and time again, and now he was screwed. Achilles had to make a decision, and he had to make it now.
Suddenly Patroclus had his sword in his hands, ready to strike at Hector. The Trojan Prince just stood in the middle of the tent, motionless. There was nothing Hector could do, he clearly wasn't in the condition to fight and also was not armed.
'Patroclus!' he called at his cousin.
Patroclus gave him a questioning look, he evidently didn't understand why Achilles did not want him to take care of Hector.
'He has no weapon,' Achilles tried to justify it to Patroclus.
'So what?' Patroclus slowly moved in on Hector, who watched Patroclus' every move. He wasn't in a good shape yet, but had apparently decided he wouldn't allow anyone to kill him that easily. 'He is the enemy. When we bring his head to Agamemnon, we will get many rewards and extensive honor.'
Achilles groaned inwardly. He wouldn't be able to convince his cousin, Patroclus was too naïve and dedicated to the "Greek cause". So he had to find another excuse, one Patroclus had to respect, whether he liked it or not.
So Achilles also pulled out his sword, and stepped in to defend Hector. 'Patroclus, it would be a tremendous insult to hospitality to let you kill my guest.'
Both Hector and Patroclus were bewildered.
