Hector didn't know how long he sat in that corridor with his back up against the wall while he stared blankly at his entwined hands, resting between his bent knees. His mind was far too occupied with what he'd just heard, trying to incorporate it into the rest of the information he'd been given about Paris' so-called 'abduction.' In one story Achilles broke into Paris' bedchamber; in another he walked in and was apparently welcome. One person said that Lord Isidore's guards were slaughtered for trying to rescue Paris; someone else observed Achilles killing them in order to defend the boy's honor. The Greek warrior was a brutal assailant; no, he was Paris' lover. And what happened on the bed – it was too hard for the Trojan prince to even think about either possibility. Hector shut his eyes but couldn't stop all of the lies and half-truths surrounding the situation from almost overwhelming his senses. Did no one know the entire truth about what took place? Could he trust any of them to tell him if they did?
The latter question was surprisingly easy to answer: yes, he could at least trust the servant boy's account of events. It was Julian who'd actually seen what happened take place and from that Hector was able to deduce some uncomfortable truths. Paris wasn't startled when Achilles entered his bedchamber or started touching him – he had been expecting him, for who else but the younger prince could have unlocked the door? Achilles had taken a moment to soak in Paris' nudity but had looked primarily in his eyes – a sign of respect, perhaps? They'd spent a good deal of time kissing so affection could be interpreted as well. 'Do you remember what I taught you?' was the Greek's question, the one that Paris had answered affirmatively before…putting his head – between –. Hector's hands started trembling violently but he forced himself to go on to what Julian had heard but not seen: Paris had willingly had sex with Achilles.
Oh Apollo, how did all of this happen? It was baffling enough that the unlikely pair had the chance to even exchange words beyond formal greetings – let alone spending any time in each other's company away from everyone else – considering the isolation that Priam imposed on Paris and the Trojans' natural mistrust for the Greeks, although he knew all too well how inviting a few kind words sounded after being so alone for most of your life. What Hector was really having trouble comprehending was Paris choosing to go to such lengths to be with Achilles in the first place. The boy had always been nervous around strangers in general and Greeks in particular, especially after Agamemnon tried to force himself on him four years ago. It seemed strange now that a Greek – one who had previously been officially (though not actually) under the dead king's command – could make Paris happy.
A stab of jealousy twisted the prince's heart. Achilles, not Hector, was the one who could make the sadness in Paris' eyes go away. It was Achilles who could make Paris laugh. When was the last time that Paris had genuinely laughed in Hector's presence? 'When he was a child,' he guessed; before people stopped seeing him as an adorable child and started seeing him as a desirable being. At a time when their secret nighttime visits could last for a couple of hours before fear of discovery would force Hector to tear himself away. Hector clung to the memory of Paris' childish giggles but had no idea what laughter from the sixteen-year-old young man that the boy had become would sound like. The only ones who did were a ten-year-old servant and a Greek who may or may not be lying about loving him.
Just focusing on the laughter and their intimacy of that night, however, would not help Hector needed understand everything in the way he needed to. What happened before then that led up to the events of two nights ago? How had Paris' romance – if it could even be called that – with Achilles began? Had he just been curious and then lost control of the situation? Did Achilles really love him or was he just trying to earn the right to brag that he'd seduced the youngest prince of Troy in the royal quarters? And those guards – where did they fit in? Where had Achilles gotten it in his head that Paris needed protection that only he could give him and why had Paris so readily agreed without even waiting to speak to Hector about whatever he was afraid of? Most importantly, how in the name of the gods was Hector supposed to find the answers to any of those questions?
So far he'd received information from two other people besides Julian: the soldier Lucius and Priam. Neither of them had any reason to lie to him and yet they couldn't be telling the truth either, according to the servant's account. But then again why should they know the entire truth when apparently no one else did? That left Hector with bits of the truth that were buried, distorted, and camouflaged with lies, deceptions, and misunderstandings. He would need to piece off of it together to find the truth, but some of the essential parts were still missing. 'Odysseus,' he remembered suddenly. 'Odysseus, Achilles' friend, is waiting to tell me something he thinks is rather important.' Perhaps the remedy for his confusion was waiting for him in the garden.
"My goodness," a condescending voice startled Hector out of his revelry. He looked up to see Lord Isidore smiling down at him but the smile wasn't friendly, kind, or even polite. His father's trusted right-hand man always treated him with disdain; openly whenever he could and discreetly needling him in the presence of others. The prince could deal with that, though; it was the way the old lord acted around Paris that made Hector's skin crawl.
"It is refreshing to see that you've finally found a fitting place for yourself within the palace walls," he continued snidely, "but I must still ask you to move. The floor in that little corner is just as filthy – perfect for wallowing with the added benefit of you being out of the way and hidden in shadows from the rest of us."
"Not now," responded Hector in a strained voice. His poor mind was already reeling from the constant shocks he'd received ever since arriving back at the city and he just didn't have the strength to put up with the man's insinuations and insults at the moment. "I'm tired and not in the mood. If you have nothing of relevance to say to me, move along."
A flash of some emotion that Hector couldn't quite read crossed over Isidore's face; it looked almost as if he'd been reminded of something he didn't like. "Such spirit," he commented, sneering. "Young Paris was displaying a little bit of a rebellious streak himself while you were away struggling not to be outwitted by the oh-so-clever Menelaus. It made him act with less care than he should have with Greeks like Achilles in our midst. Such a pity, but I imagine he learned his lesson well enough when the Myrmidons undoubtedly took their turns between his legs. Perhaps a similar punishment should await him when he's brought back to Troy; do you agree, Hector?"
Hector drew in a sharp breath. "You are the most disgusting man I've ever met," he growled, his eyes burning with hatred. "Do you think I haven't seen the way you look at Paris? The way you try to touch him? Stay away from him or I'll tell my father; he wouldn't take kindly to your revolting intentions."
"You presume a lot," replied Isidore smoothly. He ran the back of his hand over one of Hector's cheeks and enjoyed the feel of his responding sickened shudder. The elder prince didn't appeal to him as sexual conquest but Isidore still liked the feeling of dominance he was experiencing from touching him. "Disgusting and revolting, you say? You'll tattle to your daddy if I don't behave myself? I doubt you possess the nerve. Oh, Hector; your pathetic nature is an endless source of vast amusement for me. Do you know who I am?"
"A snake in the grass. A pig in fine clothing."
Isidore crouched down and leaned in closer. "I am the keeper of your family's secrets," he hissed in Hector's ear. "I know them all. In one breath I could tell everyone you care about – Andromache, Paris, all of those men who admire your fictional virtue – about that shameful little indiscretion of yours. Perhaps, just for fun, I should tell your father about how long and how often you've been sneaking into Paris' bedchamber at night when he's made it clear that you're not supposed to do things like that."
The prince tensed even further if that was possible and Isidore found the gasp that tore from his lips most satisfying. "Yes, I know," he purred, lightly brushing his lips against his ear. "You should thank me, Hector, because I've been allowing you to get away with it. It just seemed like a waste of my precious time trying to put a halt to such a trivial matter. A mistake, I know now, for that guard probably figured it out as well and got into a routine of leaving little opportunities for someone to slip past him. That is how Achilles was able to get into Paris' bedchamber, I'll warrant you. How would your father react if he discovered that your weakness, your inability to restrain yourself after all of these years, assisted that barbarian in ruining your brother?"
"Probably in the same way he would if he found out that you knew the extent of Achilles' feelings toward Paris and said nothing," answered Hector almost conversationally. Isidore had misjudged how he'd react to the physical intimidation. He wasn't afraid or feeling put in his place; but rather filled with a reckless type of strength. Hector could now see openly who the lord really was: a hateful, perverted man who was either not as clever or observant as he held himself to be or else opportunistic enough to learn about Paris and Achilles' relationship and not reveal it to his liege-lord without first finding a way in which it would best benefit him. Most likely, it was both.
"I knew nothing of the sort," snapped Isidore, not liking the way the conversation was turning one bit. He didn't appreciate it when people fought back against him.
"If you want to maintain such a lie don't tell the truth – or a version of it – to an honest man like Lucius," replied Hector, a nasty glee building up in his body as he felt the lord's power over him break away. "Now that I think about it, the more I found out about what really happened the more your name keeps turning up. You share your 'concerns' with Lucius and thus incite him to challenge the greatest warrior in the world to a duel. You end up losing your seat of honor at the banquets to Achilles as a result of said duel. Your guards are the only ones who miraculously get to Paris' bedchamber almost in time, say some interesting things, and get themselves killed. Why do I get the feeling that you're much more entangled in this whole affair than my father is aware of?"
"Interesting things? What exactly did they say?"
That was the first time he'd ever heard the lord's voice sound less than confident. "I guess you don't know all of the secrets," taunted Hector as he slowly rose to his feet.
Isidore shot up in an instant, unable to tolerate kneeling before someone he found to be so unworthy. "How adorable," he ridiculed him. "You think that now you wield some great power over me because of gossip you've picked up from your men. I'll tell you what: you just go ahead and tell Priam all about it and then listen to me deny it. Whose words do you think will hold more sway? Your father knows what you are and because of that I can say with utter certainty that he will never hold anything you say to be more truthful than what I tell him."
Hector's face screwed up in anger but Lord Isidore too distracted by movement somewhere behind him to fully take it in. "You there, boy!" he called hardly to someone over the prince's shoulder. Hector turned to see a young man with a hooked nose who didn't look much older than Paris shuffle over. "What do you think you are doing wandering aimlessly around the corridors?"
The young man played with the hem of his garment that told his position as some type of servant, though Hector couldn't place him. "I apologize, my lord," said the young man contritely while keeping his eyes firmly on the floor. "I was just looking for Red; he didn't return to the chambers this morning."
That was enough to explain to Hector why he didn't recognize him: he was one of the palace prostitutes. Each one of those unfortunate young men who were forced into that particular duty were immediately stripped of his given name in favor of simply being addressed by his most distinguishing feature, and then crammed into one chamber room away from the rest of the servants. It turned the prince's stomach to see anyone treated in such a dismissive way. His choice to not engage their services was as much of a silent protest as it was a show of respect for his relationship with Andromache.
"So one of your numbers isn't where you think he should be and that gives you the right to go wherever you please?" Isidore grabbed the young man's chin roughly and shook him. He took great care to make sure that the prostitutes understood their place and were able to perform their jobs in a pleasurable manner. It was a lesson he taught without mercy and most only needed to learn it once, but this Hook let his concern for the others push all that he'd learned out of his mind more often than not.
"I don't think that, my lord, I promise –"
"Then how do you explain yourself?" demanded Isidore unrelentingly. "Do not think that I have not noticed how lazy you have been over the last couple of days. You left the after-banquet festivities almost instantly two nights ago and did not even bother to show up at all last night. Now, the absence of one insignificant whore is not worth making a fuss over; however, if that same whore starts getting too uppity then it is time for me to give him an unmistakable reminder of his place!"
Hook cried out in pain as the lord jerked him closer, aggravating injuries that weren't fully healed. "I haven't – I just – looking for him," he sobbingly protested in a quiet, trembling voice.
"That is enough, Lord Isidore," ordered Hector with strength and authority. "I see no harm in allowing him to keep searching. Release him at once."
Damn him! Isidore resented how the prince had chosen that hour to start using his backbone. Now it put the lord in the uncomfortable position to either engage in a debate with him, demonstrating to the prostitute that not all people held his word to be law, or else back down and letting Hook think that he was weak. Looking from Hector's glare to Hook's downcast glaze, Isidore decided that the young man would know soon enough how powerful he actually was without him having to give a demonstration now by arguing with the prince. "You'd better not be lying," he threatened, squeezing Hook's chin painfully as he forced his head up. He planted a vicious kiss on the prostitute's lips, disengaging before Hector could react. "I'll know if you are. I know all the secret."
Hook immediately turned his burning face back down after the lord stormed off. He'd been used, abused, and passed around for a few years; why was he feeling so humiliated now? Being kissed like that in front of someone else shouldn't compare with what happened so recently; also in front of a one-person audience, albeit a rotating one. The fact that the audience was the kind and noble Prince Hector, however, just made him feel all-the-more dirty.
"Pay him no mind," advised Hector kindly but awkwardly.
Closing his eyes for a moment, Hook reminded himself of the one thing that could comfort him. "He doesn't know all the secrets," he mumbled to himself and limped away before a stunned Hector could ask him what he meant by that.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Odysseus was with Andromache and Astyanax when Hector arrived once more at the garden, seated a comfortable distance away on the bench. "Yes, Telemachus was walking more," he was saying. "However, my son didn't have a vocabulary near the size of Astyanax's when he was at this age."
Their conversation halted when they noticed him standing before them. "Did you talk to Julian?" asked Andromache, smiling when he nodded in the affirmative. "What did he tell you?"
"He told me the truth," he reported dully. The idea of Paris and Achilles engaging in intercourse still made him very uncomfortable. "He – he witnessed everything that happened – accidentally, of course."
Odysseus flinched. "That poor child. The one time Achilles makes an effort to be discreet and something like that happens…"
"You knew that Paris and Achilles were intimate, didn't you?" demanded Hector even though he already knew the answer.
"What?" Andromache was absolutely floored. "How could that be?"
"They managed to build up quite a relationship during the duration of our visit," Odysseus said. "It feels a bit strange to be telling you all of this here. This garden was the place where they were alone together for the first time and where they initially chose to meet in secret. If I'm not mistaken," he added in a tone that might have been described as wistful but resigned, "this is the very bench on which they kissed for the first time."
Andromache shifted a little uneasily and Odysseus gave them both a long-suffering, tight-lipped smile. "If it's any comfort to you at all," he went on, "they really do love each other. I knew that their relationship had the capacity to destroy the negotiations and I told Achilles just that on several occasions. He would never budge, though; and he's never been that attached to anyone he's been 'romantically' involved with. I'm afraid he fell quite hard for your brother, Prince Hector."
That was probably the best answer he'd get to the question about Achilles' feelings without talking to the man himself so Hector decided to press on to other questions. "Julian said that Achilles was adamant about Paris needing protection," he told him, silently begging the Grecian king to explain the rest of the tale. "And those guards who were supposedly trying to save him spoke to Paris in such a crude and callous manner. Were they threatening him before that night?"
Odysseus struggled to find the right words while knowing that none existed. "There seemed –" he started haltingly. "What I mean to say is that he always sounded so – odd – when he spoke about him."
"Who?" Hector was tense with frustration. "Achilles? A guard? A member of the nobility?"
The king of Ithaca just shook his head. "Achilles never liked him but I didn't want to believe that it was that bed," he said. "I was forced to, though, after our conversation three nights ago. Perhaps I shouldn't have told Achilles about it but I was horrified and he was in love with Prince Paris. Afterwards he became obsessed with keeping him safe from…"
"Who?" roared Hector when Odysseus let his voice trail off in order to gather his nerve for what the next word would be. "WHO, WHO, WHO? I am tired of half-truths, lies, and deceit! Now tell me plainly: who was such a threat to Paris that Achilles felt it necessary to remove him to Troy like that?"
'Athena protect us all from the truth.' "Your father," answered Odysseus at last. "Achilles was protecting your brother from King Priam."
To be continued…
