9)

Guest? Hector was a guest? Patroclus had no clue what his cousin was doing. Why had he accepted Hector, the enemy general himself, as his guest? It just didn't made sense. They had not come here to become friends with the Trojans, not even to resolve the conflict between Troy and Sparta, but to fight for glory,

But even weirder was the fact Hector's face showed astonishment too. How could someone be a guest without knowing it? Had he really been Achilles' guest, or had Achilles just said this to make him stop? Patroclus didn't know. But he did know Achilles was hiding things from him, and he didn't like this a bit.

But he couldn't keep standing like this, with his sword still ready to strike Hector. Reluctantly, he put it back in its place on his belt. Hector clearly sighed of relief, but was still visibly on guard. He didn't seem to trust the situation yet, which was another sign Achilles had just been improvising.

But whatever was going on, Achilles had to explain it. Now!

'Sit down,' Achilles offered Hector. The Trojan looked suspicious, but did as told.

Now Achilles turned to him. As Patroclus had hoped, Achilles took him outside. He really wanted, no needed answers.

'He is your guest!' Patroclus almost yelled. He had been so impatient he had barely been able to safe his outburst for the outside.

Achilles hesitated. 'He had gone down before me. After Agamemnon's speech, I went back to search for his body. I found him alive.'

Patroclus couldn't believe it. Instead of killing him, Achilles had brought Hector to his tent, secretly hiding him from the kings. 'But why?'

'He is the best I ever fought. He deserved better than being killed while being unconscious.'

'So that's why he had to become your guest?' Patroclus was beginning to think Achilles had been gone mad.

'Guest, prisoner, I don't know.'

And Hector accepted this odd situation? Didn't the Trojan have more honor than to be the guest or prisoner of the enemy? Personally, Patroclus would have preferred the honor of the sword. 'And what does Hector think about this?'

Achilles shrugged. 'I don't know. He was wounded pretty bad, most of the time he has been sleeping. But I guess we're about to find out soon.'

'And then what?' Patroclus asked. 'I mean, you must have a plan what to do with him. Because he won't stay weak and wounded forever.'

But Achilles didn't answer. He avoided an answer by entering the tent. So he hadn't had a plan? Patroclus was really worried now. Achilles didn't appear to realize what he was doing lately. He was acting strange towards King Agamemnon over a girl, didn't want to fight the Hittites and was hiding their greatest enemy. An enemy who might would try to kill him when he got the chance. Achilles had put himself in a lot of danger.

Patroclus decided he should do something, but he didn't have much options. He could fill in Agamemnon, but then Achilles would absolutely never forgive him and their friendship would be over. Besides, Agamemnon would not be able to help Achilles, if he was even willing to. No, Achilles needed some guidance. And there was only one man who could get through to him.

But would he be willing to help in this situation?


'So,' Achilles said standing before him. 'Now what?'

Hector thought he was the one who should be asking this question, not Achilles. They were in this situation because of him. And the Greek also was the man with the weapon, the man in charge. 'You must have had a plan, so you tell me.'

Achilles sat down across him, an amused smile around his lips. 'What if I would tell you I don't have a plan?'

He was kidding, right? Achilles had taken him to his tent, taken care of his wounds, but had nothing planned with him yet? That just wasn't possible. 'I would have problems to believe you.'

'I wouldn't blame you,' Achilles replied. 'Hungry?'

Still perplexed, Hector nodded. He felt like he hadn't eaten in days. It slowly came to him he probably really hadn't eaten in days.

Achilles left the tent and returned with roasted meat a little while later. He put it on the floor between them, and added bread and fruit to make it a complete meal. To drink he offered whine and water. Hector realized he got the meal of a guest, not that of a prisoner or slave.

Hector ate slowly and not very much. He was just to weak for that. His little walking exercise had drained his energy. He realized that even if he wanted to, he just couldn't go away or escape because he wasn't able to take care of himself yet. Besides, he had nowhere to go. As far as he knew, Troy could have been destroyed and it's citizens killed.

But he didn't know. 'Is Troy still standing?' Achilles' look was odd, which made Hector realize he should rephrase. 'The buildings I mean.'

'Yes. The city itself is still standing. And its residents are still alive too.'

Hector was relieved, but he also didn't understand why, because a conquered city usually isn't left alone for such a long time.

'It can't last long though,' Achilles remarked. 'Agamemnon has plans to leave.'

Hector understood. 'He wants to go home, like any other soldier would.'

'No.' Achilles shook his head, both in denial and disapproval. 'He doesn't want to go home. He wants to conquer the land of the Hittites.'

Hector frowned. If Agamemnon really wanted to conquer Hatti, he had lost it. And he probably would never return to his Mycenae. Now Hector absolutely did not care about the fate of the arrogant king. But he remembered Agamemnon had taken a certain prisoner.

Andromache.

If he ever wanted to see his wife again, Agamemnon had to be stopped.


All his muscles were tensed. Sweat dripped off his forehead, although it was actually pretty chilly. He felt his heartbeat in his throat. His senses were going on overdrive. He was nervous, but ready.

Paris was about to fight his first battle ever. Well, not really a battle, if everything went right. It would be a guerilla attack; they would hit quickly and then run off. Tonight's goal was to show the Greeks they were still there and had the ability to strike hard. It was also meant to give hope to the people of Troy.

Paris noticed some men put an arrow on the string of their bow. Others moved a little backwards, so they would be harder to see from the road. Apparently the Greeks were coming.

They were laying in ambush close to the river. The Greek army needed water in the evening, mainly for cooking, so they would come here. And if it was up to the Trojans, they would never return to their camp.

Paris now also saw the enemy. There were about seventy of them, some with mules so they could take more water, others just on guard. He now also put an arrow on the string and picked his target. First they would unleash a rain of arrows upon the Greeks, and then they would finish it off with their swords.

As agreed, the Trojans waited until the Greeks had reached the river. This because there they were the most vulnerable and because they could not get back to the camp without having to pass the Trojans. When the soldiers were about to fill their water bags, they were hit from behind by arrows. Paris also used his bow, and hit his target. He felt a strange feeling of triumph; he had killed his first enemy!

The first Trojans came out of their cover, not yelling as on the battlefield, but quiet so the rest of the Greek army that was still in their camp would not be alerted. Paris shot another man before taking hold of his sword too. He didn't feel fear anymore; a combination of triumph, adrenalin rush and desire for revenge for his father and brother drove him forward.

But there was nobody left to kill.

Their attack had been so successful all the enemy fighters had been killed already. The Trojan warriors laughed, shook hands and hit each other on their shoulders. Their fist attack had been successful and was a powerful message to the Greeks. Agamemnon had taken Troy, but he would not leave it alive.

At least that was the plan.