A/N and Warning: Things get a little violent in this chapter. I don't know if this needs a warning, but better safe than sorry. Let's just say that Lord Isidore is a violent, sick man.
The beginning stages of chaos were breaking out in the court meeting hall of Troy. Nobles and soldiers were arguing amongst themselves; low-voiced, dignified, but fierce debates that promised to mutate into more violent altercations at any moment. This discord was spreading quickly to the rest of the palace: whispers of what had taken place between Hector and the king, what Odysseus had revealed about Paris and Achilles, and what the imposing Lord Isidore had to do with all of it. More than one servant were contemplating flight to the mountains before the situation escalated even more while others scattered about, uneasily listening for anything that could tell them what their futures would hold. For these people, Hector's revelation didn't outwardly change their lives: Paris, as far as the servants were concerned, was still a royal and of higher station than them, no matter if he was the son or the grandson of the king. At the same time…it had already affected so many of their betters. Whatever happened as a result of that court meeting, high-born and low-born alike knew that no one was going to endure the aftermath and emerge unchanged.
Lord Isidore was stewing in his venomous thoughts about that very fact as he strode purposefully through the corridors of the palace, heeding very little about the fears of those around him. It was difficult for him to care much about what the other nobles thought – after all, he was in the highest confidence of the king and they were not as trusted – and, as far as he was concerned, servants were there to be of assistance and not to burden their betters with such trivial things as their own worries. In fact, he didn't really believe that anyone low-born had such complex emotions. The only thing he cared about at the moment was that his reputation with the other nobles and high-born soldiers was all but ruined.
'Curse Hector and Odysseus!' Isidore thought bitterly. It was Troy's eldest prince that had weakened any good opinions the others might have had about the lord by vomiting out his shameful secret and making the others feel sorry for him. Why should any of them react in such a way over Hector getting weepy over losing his first whore? Isidore had many die on him in the past and he never minded because he understood that it was easy enough to get another one. Hector had laid the lord's reputation on the funeral pyre and, Odysseus – a Greek, beneath every Trojan in the room, and suspected of helping Achilles with his escape – had took it upon himself to set it ablaze. The court should have strung him and every Greek in the city upon hearing the news that Paris had been in the Greek quarters – and without supervision – but they had, unfortunately, chosen to focus on Isidore's part in provoking the duel between Lucius and Achilles.
Once Linus had heard that he'd set up his son to challenge the greatest warrior in the world to combat fully knowing and actually planning on seeing the Trojan soldier slaughtered the battle lines between him and Isidore were clearly drawn. The whole affair was ridiculous to the lecherous lord – soldiers were meant to die for the chosen causes of the nobility, weren't they? – but much to his disdain most of the other nobles had come down on the other side. The uncaring, malicious manner in which he was willing to use one their colleague's eldest son to achieve his own ends made them more rebellious than they would normally dare to be against Priam's right-had man.
The only consolation that Isidore had received was that the king still stood by his side and even that had to be fought for. The old fool had almost abandoned him wholly in the throes of what amounted to be a childish temper tantrum. Why hadn't he told him what he knew about Paris and Achilles? How dare he do all of those things without asking for permission first? Oh, the king's whining had been insufferable! Isidore had quickly taken care of that, however, by reminding Priam rather pointedly that he would soon need all of the support that he could get and, in light of Hector's impassionate outburst and melodramatic wailings for his illegitimate son, such a thing would be harder than ever to come by.
Indeed, the rebellion against Isidore's standing could be interpreted as a dangerous first step toward the court openly defying the king of Troy. Many of the nobles and even more of the soldiers were voicing their displeasure and hostility for what Priam had done to Hector and Paris; such a situation had been unheard of before now. The king was growing furious but Isidore was less concerned: he doubted that nothing would come of it in the end. Revolting against any king, let alone one with so much power, came with steep odds against success and dire consequences when the rebellion failed. They might be speaking bold and treasonous words, but no matter how badly they felt for that sniveling brat and his whorish spawn no one would actually risk their own lives trying to avenge them.
That left Lord Isidore with a lot of anger; unfortunately he wasn't in the position to force those who were responsible for it to bear the brunt of his wrath. Where Hector was at the moment was a mystery to many. The lord figured that the wretch was struggling to heal his family or seeking out a way to repay his debt to Odysseus for telling him the truth or some other load of sentimental excrement. The Ithacan king was similarly missing; most likely rounding up his men – well, good riddance to them all! The similarly absent Achilles, of course, held a good deal of the blame; it was his actions that had caused all of these secrets to come to light and his lust and manipulations that had robbed him of a virginal Paris.
His thoughts drifted to the younger prince. What would Paris be doing right now if he was still in the city and away from Achilles' protection? He'd probably be holed up in his bedchamber, afraid of all of the internal fighting and possessing neither the skill nor the mental capacity to handle it. It would have been the perfect opportunity to sneak in there and be the first to claim his body – Isidore could have even killed whatever guard was posted outside and blamed someone else when it was over. That scenario was gone forever, though; no matter what noble intentions Achilles had used to trick Paris, he simply didn't have the self-restraint to not take him to bed either willingly or unwillingly once they'd left the Trojan shores. Paris would one day be recovered but his purity was gone forever and that made Isidore spitting mad.
So he couldn't exact his revenge on those four just yet. He had almost gone insane thinking of someone else to take all of his rage out on. That Priam was in the wrong was an unthinkable notion, for if he found fault with the king's designs he would also have to judge his own thoughts, feelings, and actions. He needed to find an easy target, not search inwardly for his own shortcomings and how to amend them. An easy target…someone he could attack and no one would care…. 'The prostitutes!' he thought with malevolent relief. Yes, now that he thought about it he could see that one of them had clearly plotted against him the night that Achilles and Paris vanished. He was the perfect scapegoat, so conveniently at hand, and Isidore was determined to make him pay.
"My lord?" a guard's uncertain voice caused him to halt when he was almost at the door to the prostitutes' chamber. "I apologize, but considering all that has happened –"
"If you truly understood all that has just happened you would dare impede me right now," hissed Isidore in response. "But because you are not worth any special effort on my part, consider yourself to be the recipient of my last shred of mercy: leave now and I will not have you punished. No, wait," he amended as the guard perceived his wicked mood and took a nervous step away. "You will give me your whip and then run away."
The guard reached for the weapon but paused to look Isidore in the face. 'He's judging me to determine whether or not he should obey my command,' realized the lord with a surge of fury. Had the situation really sunk so low that a common guard felt as if he had the right to pass judgment on him? "Now," he ordered again, his words deliberately paced and dripping with spite. "Or else I will spare your life and hang the bodies of everyone you love from the main gate to rot. Perhaps that would help you remember your place."
Looking into his crazed eyes, the guard knew that the lord meant every word that he had just threatened and fearfully handed over the whip before making a hasty exit. Without considering how that exchange might cost him later, Isidore marched undisturbed the rest of the way until he was finally directly facing the prostitutes' door. He stared at it, pondering how ironic it was that among the very servants that he extracted so much pleasure from on a regular basis was someone who'd caused him so much suffering. Tightening his fist around the whip, he burst into the room.
Many of the prostitutes were stretched out on cots after an exhausting and full night's work. They raised their heads at the sound of the door crashing in only to immediately cower down at the sight of Lord Isidore, enraged to the point of insanity. He didn't care about any of their reactions, however; an evil glee spread through him as he caught sight of whom he was seeking. Without uttering a single work he stormed over to one of the shaking forms and pulled a boy with freckles all over his face off of his cot.
Freckles fell bonelessly to the ground, as experience had taught him that no good would come from defying the lord and fear was arresting his movements anyway. "How may I be of service to you, my lord?" he asked dutifully while he trembled so hard that his teeth chattered.
"You were of plenty service to me two nights ago," growled Isidore. Snarling down into that terrified face, he balled a fist and delivered a merciless blow to the boy's temple. "So much so that I wasted all of my attention on you and just let Achilles waltz away with Paris. Were you purposefully distracting me or are you simply too lustful and seductive for your own good?"
"No, my lord." Freckles struggled to keep his voice from wavering. "I was only trying to please you in the manner you instructed."
"Still a lying little dung insect, I see," replied Isidore curtly. "Lie down on your stomach – now – and turn your face toward me."
The young man obeyed and Isidore smiled evilly into his eyes. "I want to see the look on your face," he said, allowing the whip to unravel out of his grip and practically buzzing with excitement when realization hit Freckles as to what his punishment was going to be, "when I give you a few scars that will stop you from hindering a man like me ever again."
The first strike against his back was enough to make even someone trained and experienced with enduring almost all manner of physical pain cry out. Isidore felt an intoxicating feeling of power wash over him – he found all of this more arousing that he thought he would. "It sounds like you are enjoying this immensely," he purred. "Do you want more? Do you need for me to do it harder? Is that not what sluts like you are supposed to say? Go on now; ask me for it. Beg me to whip you again or else I will bring in some more of your betters and we will really make you scream."
"No! Stop it!" shrieked a voice from behind. Isidore shifted his eyes to see that the bothersome prostitute Hook had entered, supporting a limping and weakened redhead. Hook gently but swiftly deposited the redhead on the closest cot and shuffled hurriedly to stand between him and Freckles. "Leave him be, I beg of you!"
"Your insolence will no longer be tolerated," declared Isidore through gritted teeth. "Set aside and prepare yourself to submit to me after I am finished taking care of this. Do it before I decide that there should be two bloody whores on the floor instead of one!"
Hook stood his ground. "He had done you no wrong!" he insisted. "There is no reason for you to treat him like this!"
"And you deem that I need to have a reason to do anything to any of your bodies?" Isidore demanded. He reached around and seized Hook by his hair, pulling him back so hard that the young man thought that his spine was going to snap. Through his pain, the prostitute registered the feeling of both a hand and the handle of the whip sliding up his body under his garment and caressing him with a deceptively soft touch. "This flesh is public property, and that holds true for every whore in this room. However, if you really must know why I will tell you: that freckle-faced piece of rubbish tricked me two nights ago. He was the one who provided Achilles with the distraction he needed to destroy everything that I desire."
A strange sound filled the chamber that made Isidore's blood freeze: laughter. Through his suffering and terror Hook was actually daring to laugh in his face! "Do you find the prospect of your own torment so amusing?" the old lord questioned threateningly.
"No; only your delusions," retorted Hook defiantly. He knew that he was going to die for this but he'd be damned if he was going to stand idly by as Freckles was subjected to a brutal beating when he had the power to stop it. At least he'd have the look on the vile lord's face and the memory of reveling in how he foiled this violent noble's schemes to comfort him in those last horrific moments.
"You sent your guards to follow Lord Achilles that night, correct?" he continued gloating. "They were supposed to stop him even before he entered the prince's bedchamber, I assume. Well, those two blustering idiots didn't even manage to follow him beyond the door of the banquet hall. Do you know why, you disgusting, pathetic excuse for a man? I stopped them. I seduced them, enticed them, begged them to hurt me until I screamed for mercy and then not give me any. And do you know why? Because I knew that Lord Achilles had feelings for Prince Paris; in fact, I advised him that morning to get the prince out of Troy and away from you as soon as possible. I was intent on seeing that happen. What's more, Lord Isidore, if I had to make the choice to do it all over again I would, just to see the look on your face that's there right now –"
Isidore was breathing in deep pants by the time he'd recovered from his shock enough to cut Hook off. "Treacherous bastard!" he exploded as the final bit of his self-control snapped. He flung Hook furiously to the floor. The poor young prostitute sprawled flat on his face a slip second before the whip came down on his back. It was a beating like no other - nothing had ever hurt that badly before. The screams of agony that tore from his lips mingled with the lord's wordless bellows as he brought down the whip again.
'Please Hades, take me to whatever the afterlife has in store for me,' begged Hook as tears streamed down his face and racking sobs began to suffocate him. Even if he was sent to Tartarus, nothing there could be as worse as the abuse he was receiving now.
The god of the Underworld didn't answer his pleas, but apparently Apollo and Athena were more receptive. "What do you think you're doing!" roared Hector, grabbing Isidore's arms and pulling him back. The third whip strike cracked against the floor a breath away from Hook. "Are you so twisted and pathetic that you've been reduced to beating defenseless servants for fun?"
Isidore tore himself wildly from the restraining hold. "How dare you interrupt me?"
"We heard screaming," replied Odysseus hardly.
"You have no right to treat anyone like this," added Hector. "Especially not now that everyone knows what kind of snake you truly are."
The lord gestured at Hook. "He was in cahoots with Achilles," he snarled, inching away slowly. "Not surprising, considering he's exactly like your son – a traitor and a whore. There lies the reason why all of this happened." Turning suddenly he fled before anyone could stop him.
Hector made a move to pursue him but was called back by Odysseus. "No Hector," he stated definitively, kneeling beside Hook's prone body. "There are more pressing matters to attend to here. Chasing him around would be fruitless; his actions just now show that he's at the end of his power."
Hook let out a sob, capturing Hector's total attention. His eyes widened as he peered through the tearstained, red cheeks and smears of spit and snot and recognized the young prostitute that he'd noted was so Paris' age a little while ago. "I remember you," he recalled slowly. "You said that Lord Isidore didn't know all of the secrets." He walked toward Hook at the same pace as his words. "And now he claims that you were working with Achilles."
Misinterpreting the prince's statements as accusations, two figures flung themselves to Hook's side: Freckles and a young man with green eyes who'd been frozen with fear while Isidore was present. "Mercy, I beg of you!" pleaded Freckles.
"He didn't mean it," sobbed Green. "He only said it to make him leave Freckles alone. He was only taking care of us; he's the one who takes care of us…"
Their loyalty was both inspiring and heart-wrenching to witness. "Peace," Hector told them soothingly. "I was just thinking out loud, trying to finally make sense of what happened two nights ago. It seems your friend has the last missing piece." He gently parted Green and Freckles' guarding bodies and sat down next to Hook, smiling encouragingly at him. "Achilles was in love with Paris; did you know that?"
"Y-y-y-yes, sire," answered Hook in a shaking voice. He'd never been so happy to hear anything in his entire life – Prince Hector knowing about Lord Achilles' feelings might just spare him from further punishment. "That is, he said something when I thought that he was hassling Green and was trying to get him to leave him alone –"
"He was just seeing if I was all right," interjected Green solemnly. "I sort of collapsed right in front of him."
" – and from that I figured out how he felt about the prince."
"So you decided to offer your assistance?" nudged Odysseus.
Hook shook his head, wincing as the movement sent a sharp pain to his head. "Lord Achilles doesn't know anything about my involvement," he admitted. "He probably thinks it was just a lucky coincidence that those guards didn't show up until it was too late, but it wasn't. I distracted them. Please don't be angry, Prince Hector; Prince Paris is much better off with him – the things that Lord Isidore was planning to do to him…"
Hector closed his eyes briefly at the thought of what the lord could do that would make even someone who'd been hurt so at his hand to be rendered speechless. "I've heard enough," he declared. "A healer will be sent immediately to tend to your wounds. Now listen all of you: I'm going to see Paris; my father doesn't want me to and the nobility and members of the army are taking side. It's not going to be pleasant around here for quite a while, so I suggest that you maintain a low profile until I return."
"What?" blurted out Hook, imagining what was in store for all of them if what the prince was implying came to pass. How many beating like the one that he just received would he have to endure? "Is that all you have to say about it?"
"Excuse me?"
"We are the palace prostitutes, Prince Hector," Hook asserted. "In times of political turmoil no one will think twice about tearing us to shreds and smashing us into little pieces along with the rest of the possessions."
Glancing at his bloodied back, Hector gave him a small, sympathetic smile. "Lord Isidore –"
"Do you really think that Lord Isidore is one anomaly in the entire palace?" Hook shifted painfully to sit on his knees with his back to them. Drawing in a deep breath, he tore the tattered remains of his garment off. "I didn't get these from him alone."
Odysseus turned green at the sight of the myriad of scars in various stages of healing. He couldn't pick out a piece of skin that wasn't marred in some fashion. "By Athena," he croaked out.
"Who did this to you?" Hector demanded furiously as he thought about Paris and how Priam thought that his precious son should be subjected to the same fate.
"Many, many people; and to all of us," Hook told them desperately. "Though the latest ones – besides the ones you witness being inflicted – were courtesy of those guards I diverted. It's not easy to keep a guard from doing what he's told to do and I had to deal with two of them. This is what happens to us during times of peace; what do you think we'll have to go through when people are really bloody-minded?"
"You're right," said Hector, feeling the burden of the welfare of his people upon him again. As much as he wanted to leave there with only his family in mind, he knew he could just abandon everyone else left within the city of Troy to turmoil, fear, and possible death. Paris was safe, but most of those that Hector would be leaving behind wouldn't be. "Gather whatever you need and can carry, as send word to anyone else you can think of while you're at it. My wife and youngest son are leaving for the countryside as soon as possible and all of you will be accompanying them."
"You're leaving them behind?" asked Green timidly.
Odysseus carefully laid a hand on the prostitute's shoulder and suddenly recognized him from the night when Priam had told him his true intentions toward Paris. "The Myrmidons most likely won't be happy about Hector's arrival," he explained softly. "Having a wife and infant on the receiving end of one of their offenses would not be ideal."
"I'm sending some of the more trustworthy soldiers and guards with them," Hector told them. "They'll protect you all. A healer will be with you at every step of the way," he added, reaching for a blanket and covering the boy's exposed, abused body with it. "I don't what what's going to happen, but this" – he gestured to the now-covered back – "will never happen again as long as I still breathe. You're a brave young man Hook; not only for helping Achilles but also in how you care for these boys and for your honesty with me. You have my utmost admiration."
"Thank you, sire," replied Hook, and then frowned. "Youngest son?"
To be continued…
