Chapter 1 – A memory woken

8 years previously

Apollo's Lyre was one of the best taverns in Troy. Unlike many other drinking houses, the place was organized and well mannered. It would rarely attract any brawls or commotions. The food was fine and the supply of wine excellent. The serving maids were also a lot more discreet and tasteful. This was the place were the noble men of Troy would go when their throats became raw and they longed for a place of relaxation.

"Thank gods!" Paris exclaimed as he opened the doors with a bang and entered the main hall. "I was beginning to think we would never get away from that stuffed castle and those insufferable so called guests!"

Hector glared at his brother as they stepped into the tavern, wishing that Paris would keep his voice down. He didn't want to declare to the whole of Troy that King Priam's sons had run away from home.

Paris wanted to settle down close to the musicians, but Hector ordered him to find a place further inside the hall, where they would not attract attention. They managed to find an empty table and sat down, stretching their long legs.

They were followed by Captain Tecton, who according to Paris had come along to act as their "nursemaid". Tecton was a bald, muscular young man who had already made himself a position in the Apollonian guard, that were currently lead by King Priam's closest man, General Glaucus. Tecton was a promising young officer and if nothing befell him, he would most likely succeed as commander.

However, he would always stand under Hector's authority. As the king's son and heir, no military officer outranked him. He would lead Troy, her people and her armies in the future. It was a great privilege, but also a huge responsibility that Hector had carried on his shoulders since the day he was born. He knew that he had to live up to it and he worked hard to do so. Despite his twenty-four years, he was already the best horseman in the country and his skills in the arts of war were extremely promising, both when it came to fighting and to strategy plans. He knew that his father would depend on him.

The thought of Priam made Hector feel guilty. He glanced behind his shoulder. "I am still not sure if this was such a good idea," he muttered.

Paris raised his eyebrows. "Not such a good idea? Come brother, this is the best idea we have ever come up with."

Hector sighed. "Well, I am not surprised that you think so, Paris," he said grimly. "But our father might not agree with you."

"Not even father could protest," Paris assured him. "He wouldn't want his sons bored to death, would he?" he asked, grinning.

Hector sighed again and realized the pointlessness of the argumentation. Paris would never be reasonable. In his young brother's mind, the world was about one thing only; having a good time. Nothing else seemed to matter. Hector was Paris' brother but he often felt more like his father, or even grandfather.

But this time, he couldn't just blame Paris, he realized. He had been just as guilty of escaping from his duties as his brother had. Troy had been visited by peace envoys from Sparta; the country they had constantly been fighting these last years. Priam was eager to put an end to the conflict, but Hector doubted that he would ever make it. The Spartan messengers had been unspeakably dull, rude and pompous. Every word they said seemed like a poorly disguised insult. Hector had tried to keep his diplomatic courtesies as long as they remained in the castle, but it had proved impossible. Finally, he had been ready to throw up over their boots.

I ran away from my duties, he thought. But what was I suppose to have done? I am only human. I am not perfect. Why does father expect me to be?

He pushed the irritating thoughts away and tried to relax with his brother and his comrade. A short, pretty serving maid with raven hair provided them with jars of full, red wine. She bowed neatly to them, apparently noticing their expensive garments and hoping for a few coins.

"And where is the rest of it?" Paris asked her nonchalantly.

The girl looked taken aback. "The rest, my lord?" she repeated unsurely. "You have been given wine. Is it not enough for you?"

"This?" Paris gestured at the two full jars. "If you think this will do for our thirsty throats you have better think again, my sweet."

The girl blushed slightly. "Forgive me, my lord," she said in embarrassment. "I should have asked how much you required. I was being very neglectful."

"So you were," Paris agreed, smiling flirtingly at her. "However, I might forgive you if you do something about it this instant."

The girl nodded quickly. "I'll get you some more wine at once, my lords." She hurried off so quickly that she almost tripped on her long skirts. Paris chuckled slightly and Hector looked grimly at him.

"That was unnecessary," he said grimly.

"Was it?" Paris acted like he was surprised. "Don't tell me that you are content with this meagre amount of liquid?"

"I wasn't talking about the wine," Hector snapped. "If you really wanted more to drink, you could have asked for it, instead of seizing the moment to act like a spoiled child."

"Oh Hector, you..." Paris stopped and his eyes rounded. In puzzlement, Hector turned around to find out what he was staring at. "It seems that we were not the only people who grew weary of that banquet," Paris said knowingly.

Hector cursed silently. A well-dressed party of men had just entered the tavern and the innkeeper was busy clearing off a few tables to make place for them. They were all familiar. Their leader was Constantine, King Menelaus of Sparta's own cousin; a short man with tousled blonde hair, a gaudy taste in clothes and a particularly unpleasant character.

"Don't you think we should leave, my lord?" Tecton asked nervously. He knew very well that the young princes didn't have any high regard for the envoys from Sparta.

"Not yet," Paris protested. "They won't see us if we keep ourselves at this distance. Besides, they'll soon be too drunk to notice anything."

Hector frowned. He certainly didn't want to bump into the Greeks and be forced to sit with them. And he knew that they might tell Priam about his sons' lack of dutifulness. But on the other hand, he really didn't have any desire to go back to the castle yet. Better wait until people were asleep.

"We stay," he decided. "But, don't bring any attention to yourself," he said with a sharp glance in Paris' direction.

His brother made a face, but his face brightened when the young serving maid returned to their table. She had brought two new jars of wine with her and she was completely out of breath.

Hector took pity on her and thanked her when she filled his cup. Paris on the other hand seemed to enjoy teasing her. "This is your best, I suppose?" he said as he lifted the cup to his lips.

"Yes, my lord. The finest in Troy," she answered, but the sparkle in his eyes clearly made her uncomfortable.

"That's good," Paris grinned back. "I'll let you know when I need another filling up. Or perhaps you can offer me something even better?"

For a tavern wench, the girl seemed rather innocent and Paris' blatant invitation made her cheeks crimson. "My lord, I... I am not sure I understand what you mean."

"Don't you?" Paris raised his eyebrows to her. "Then you could use a lesson, my dear. I could show you..."

"Paris," Hector sharply interrupted. He had had enough of watching Paris torment the poor girl. "My brother is just jesting," he assured her. "And he won't require anymore wine. As I am sure you can tell, he is merely a little boy who shouldn't drink strong drinks."

He brought a few coins from the pocket of his jacket and pressed them into her hand. "Thank you for your services," he said politely. The girl watched him for a moment with her wide, blue eyes and then she glanced down at his generous gift. Wordlessly, she curtsied and left their table.

When she had left, Hector turned back to his brother, scowling. "I can't remember, are you seven or seventeen, Paris?" he asked him frostily.

Paris rolled his eyes. "For gods' sake, Hector, I was just having a little bit of fun. There was no harm in it. She didn't take offence-"

"Maybe she didn't," Hector snapped. "But that's not the point. I don't enjoy watching my brother making a fool of himself, especially not in front of a young woman."

"He has got about as much spirit as a dead ewe, doesn't he?" Paris told Tecton, who looked embarrassed. "All he ever does is to preach about every single thing I do."

"I am not preaching for the fun of it, Paris," Hector growled. "And I wouldn't have to preach at all if you would only realize that you are a prince and start behaving like one."

Paris rolled his eyes. "My gods Hector, can't you ever relax? I am starting to believe that you prefer to bed horses before women."

Hector darkened. "Don't try to tell me about things you know nothing of," he said grimly.

"Perhaps you are saving yourself?" Paris smirked. "What's the name of that princess again?"

Hector glared at his brother. "Andromache. And you know that very well."

"Oh yes, I remember," Paris said smiling. "Father wants the wedding to take place quite soon doesn't he?"

Hector felt like he could cheerfully strangle his brother. He knew just were to hit. "So what if he does?" he flatly asked.

Paris chuckled, enjoying his brother's discomfort. "Scared to death, aren't you? Well, I can't say that I blame you. If it was me who would be forced to marry a horse-faced daughter of some ridiculous little king of Thebe..."

"Well, it isn't," Hector said. "It's me. I am the crown prince and you are nothing but a spoiled and empty-headed good for nothing. Let's just leave it at that."

"My lords," Tecton said before Paris could answer to Hector's statement. His eyes were on something behind Hector's back. The prince turned around.

The party of Spartans hade become louder and louder with the amounts of wine they had poured down their throats. The young girl that Paris had teased had been asked to serve them another round of drinks, but it seemed like Constantine of Sparta wanted more than wine from her.

He roughly grabbed the girl around her waist and pulled her into his lap to the sound of loud, drunk cheers from his men. The unprepared girl cried out and when the Spartan tried to kiss her, she dropped the jar of wine she held in her hand. The red liquid fell out over the envoy's expensive attire.

Cursing, he pushed the girl away so that she tripped and fell to the floor. When he realized the condition his clothes were in, he was sent into a fit of rage. The girl had tried to get back on her feet, but she raised her forearm to shield her face when the Spartan lifted his fist to strike her.

That was when Hector reached them. He quickly grabbed the man's arm and forced him to lower it. Constantine spun around and faced Hector. "Who are you?" he demanded. "What do you think you are doing?" His voice was shocked, like he couldn't believe that someone had actually dared to prevent him from taking care of his own concerns.

Hector ignored him and offered the girl his hand to help her up. "Are you all right?" he asked her in concern.

The girl looked almost as surprised as the Spartan. "My lord, I am sorry..." she stuttered. "I didn't mean to..."

"You have nothing to ask forgiveness for," Hector firmly assured her. He turned back to the Spartan. "You have treated the girl in a disgraceful way. I expect you to give her an apology."

The man blinked in disbelief; apparently far too drunk to recognize Hector. "I will not apologize to some little tavern wench." he snorted "Do you know who I am, boy? I am Constantine of Sparta, King Menelaus' own cousin."

"Yes, I thought I recognized you," Hector answered coldly.

"We are here to make peace and this is how the Trojans show their good intentions? King Priam shall hear of this, I assure you..."

"I am sure he will," Hector interrupted. "But that will have to wait. First, you should tell this girl that you are sorry for what you did to her."

"Oh, you say so?" the Spartan said, his eyes dark with indignation.

"Surely you are not deaf, are you, my friend?" Paris interjected, stepping up behind his brother.

The table of Spartans had become dead silent. Constantine looked furious, but he was not blind and he couldn't help but notice that prince Hector was more than a head taller than himself. The odds would not favour him in a fight.

But he had all of his men behind him and besides, there were other ways but physical violence. The Spartan grabbed a cup from the table and threw its content in Hector's face.

Hector cleaned the wine off in irritation, but he was determined not to get provoked by this Spartan oaf. He was about to say something more when a furious Tecton suddenly attacked like a whirlwind. The princes' bodyguard could usually keep himself under control, but he would not stand by and watch as the king's son was humiliated. He flew at Constantin, grabbing his throat and sent him backwards over the table.

Hector didn't have the time to restrain Tecton before he received a punch against his forehead from another Spartan and fell to the ground. Pain exploded in his mind and fury came with it. Without a thought, he attacked the nearest man who looked Spartan.

"My lords, if you please..." he heard the innkeeper's desperate voice, but it was too late. By now, the entire tavern seemed to be involved in the brawl. Everyone was fighting and no one seemed to be able to tell who was friend or foe. Tables and benches were tipped over. Jars and cups were crushed; floods of wine fell out over the floor.

Hector crawled out from under a stack of senseless people. He could see Paris at the other end of the hall. His younger brother was up against three Greeks who looked like they were about to cut him open. Hector cursed himself for having included the boy in this fight. He should have kept him out of it. Tecton had Constantine by his throat and was shaking him savagely. He didn't seem to notice that Paris was in trouble. Quickly, Hector started to make his way through the mass of people, towards his brother.

But keeping himself out of the brawl was not an easy thing. He felt someone tugging his legs and he was pulled down to the floor. He didn't know whether the man who had attacked him was Spartan or Trojan and he had no means to find out. He could do nothing except trying to defend himself.

Suddenly, the aggressor was knocked down from behind and fell unconscious to the floor. Tecton gave Hector his hand and used his massive strength to pull him to his feet. The Captain's cheeks were red and his eyes were flashing with anger. "Are you all right, my lord?" he asked.

Hector nodded quickly. "I am fine. But Paris..." He glanced towards the other end of the hall, but he couldn't see his brother. "What..." he started.

"I am here, Hector," Paris voice suddenly said.

Hector and Tecton spun and found Paris standing right behind them. The prince was soaked and dirty and had a cut on his cheek, but otherwise, he seemed to be unharmed. "Good to see you alive, brother," he grinned.

Hector frowned in astonishment. "How did you get away from those Spartans? They looked like they were going to kill you."

"Oh, they probably were too," Paris answered nonchalantly. "Fortunately, I had some assistance." He made a gesture and Hector suddenly discovered that the young girl he had tried to protect from Constantine was standing right behind Paris. She looked cautiously at him.

"She emptied a waste pail over the heads of those Spartans when they were about to cut me open," Paris explained, laughing. "That took the mood out of them. It was really effective actually." He lifted his arm and breathed in the odour from his soaked sleeve. "So you can tell by the smell of me."

"I am sure it's no worse than your usual stench, Paris," Hector said dryly. Then he turned towards the girl. "I am very grateful for what you have done."

The girl looked embarrassed and blushed. "It was the least I could do after what you did for my sake, my lord," She said earnestly. "I am terribly sorry I brought this on you."

"You bear no blame," Hector assured her. He quickly gave her hand a squeeze. "I am in your debt. I won't forget it."

The girl looked at him, amazed and blushed even more. "You don't need to trouble yourself, my lord," she said and added. "I think you have better leave now before those Spartans will realize that you have left the fight."

She was right, Hector realized. Paris seemed like he wanted to protest, but he quickly dragged his brother towards the door, followed by Tecton. But before they had reached the exit, armed soldiers suddenly stepped into the inn. Hector recognized their armours. It was the apollonian city guard.

"All right, you drunkards!" the leader shouted. "For those of you who haven't yet lost your desire to blunder about, I can offer a warm and cosy cell in the dungeons of our lord, his grace King Priam."

"Dungeons!" Hector heard Constantine of Sparta's high voice shrieking from somewhere inside the tavern. "Is this the Trojan way of showing hospitality? Me and my good Spartan men just came here to enjoy ourselves a little and we were attacked and brutalized by some vile scoundrels!"

Constantine made his way towards the guards, whose leader looked slightly uncertain. "Which scoundrels are you talking about, my lord?"

Without hesitation, Constantine pointed at Hector, Paris and Tecton. "Those scoundrels. Carry out your duty immediately, soldier!"

Hector sighed to himself. Explaining this to his father would not be an enjoyable experience.