Chapter 4-I'll Never Tell

The Trojans and spent the entire day traveling. Each step took them further and further away from their burnt down home. But no matter how far away they got from the ruins of Troy, the memory still remained.

When dusk had fallen, the weary survivors turned in for the night. Each making a bed under a ceiling of stars.

Sleep did not come easy for Paris. He spent most of the night watching Helen sleep and stroking her hair. The distraction worked for a little while, but not matter how hard he tried, Briseis's last moments kept replaying in his head. The guilt was eating away at him in a slow agonizing way. Why did he lie to his people? To his family?

In the distance, Paris could hear Andromache weeping in her sleep, grieving for her dead sister. If Hector had still been alive, he would have been furious at Paris. Not just for killing his cousin, even if it was an accident, but for causing his wife pain.

Nothing Paris could say to Andromache could take away what she was feeling. So why bother telling the truth? In fact it would probably make things worse. And Paris refused to up his already grieving People. They've been through enough. Give them time to mourn and heal. And after that, don't open old wounds.

When Paris's heavy eyelids finally closed, and sleep overcame him, nightmares paid him a visit.

It was that night. The smell of burning wood and death was heavy in the air. Smoke fogged his vision but he managed to find her. And that monster was touching her. Paris felt the anger rising in him, as the hand griping his bow turned white. He did not hesitate, he raised the bow and shot the arrow. It was time to avenge Hector's death. But wait, why was she in front of him? The arrow was in her chest and he watched in horror as she crashed to the ground, blood pouring from the wound. He staggered back. What had he done? What had he done?

Paris turned around and there, with Andromache and Helen at the front, stood the survivors. They had all seen what he had done. Andromache shot him a look of pure hatred and Helen's eyes asked: Why? They were chanting something now, he listened. 'We will never forgive you Paris! Never!' Was what they were saying. They kept chanting it over and over again, as Paris pressed his hands tightly to his ears. They then stopped and Paris turned around. Standing there with his sword raised was Achilles. He sent his sword crashing down and plunged it into Paris's stomach
.

Paris sat bolt upright. His entire body was covered with sweat and his hands were shaking. Beside him, Helen slept peacefully. Clearly, undisturbed by her love's nightmares.

Paris got up and walked around the clearing where the survivors slept. He stared at each one of them. Their chanting words suddenly returned to him and echoed in his ears. They wouldn't forgive if he told the truth. So that is when he decided he would never tell them. He would never tell them he was the one who killed Briseis.