Chapter Ten: Fear Is Faithless
Wrapped
in burnt orange silk and arranged beneath a wealth of warm, soft
furs, Paris nestled his chin into the gray pelt of some large beast,
his shining nut brown eyes shut tight against the world. Pale as the
young prince was when Hector had carried him aboard, a delicate bit
of color rouged his cheeks and nose now that he was safe and calmed.
On the deck above him heavy-set steps shook the boards and a sharp,
precise voice, like a verbal lash of a whip, cracked through the
lively night. Orders were being given to row harder, in time,
together.
"Row as one! Come on men, homeward bound we are, now,
PULL!"
From his nest, Paris shivered and tried to sleep as
Hector had suggested before they cast off. However, the continuous
rocking of the ship upon the waves, the grunts and banter of the men
above, and the thunderous footsteps pounding across the floor above
him, all conspired to deprive him of his one and only means of
escape. In the distant, nebulous realm of dreams Paris could freely
and joyously become Alexandros, shedding the fine silks, priceless
jewelry, and unearned privilege as he ran into the blinding sunlight,
trusting that his minds remembrance of his lover would catch him on
the other side of waking. In his beloved Achilles, he trusted with a
faith that the gods, had they knowledge of its depth and fervor,
would become jealous and envious in their admiration.
There were
no windows to show him the stars he knew filled the skin outside his
small, floating room. Distraction was all he could wish for to keep
the face of his newest and greatest nightmare at bay. His name, even,
had become a jinx upon his bored but fair mood. Menelaus, king of
Sparta he was born. Covetous snake, Paris named the man, and by his
own actions did he prove to be.
His years, though few in number,
were shortened he was sure by the fight he'd received when he'd
thought himself victim to the Spartan kings deranged lusts. The gods
be praised that Achilles would never know of his cursed weakness that
night. Would his proud, heroic love still find his Paris so beautiful
or virtuous should he learn of his near ravishing? He knew in his
mind that Menelaus was a warrior with many battles to his credit and
was several stones heavier than he, but that meant little to his
distressingly guilty heart.
He could hear his brother stop before
his door to speak with the stoic armed guard standing watchful and
intent before his door, even though they were aboard a ship full of
his trust Trojan men. Since finding him crushed beneath the girth of
Menelaus, weeping and struggling, Hector had been beyond dutifully
kind to him.
Since his grand, albeit reluctant, return to Troy
and his family-by-blood, Hector had quickly become his favorite from
among his seven other brothers. Hector always had time to explain
some strange custom of court or correct some breech of etiquette he
had unwittingly committed. It had been Hector who, late one night
when Paris couldn't sleep for homesickness, had shown him a serene
bit of garden near a tower from which you could see all of Troy.
Under the glow of the heavens it brought scared Alexandros some bit
calm. There, Hector had told him stories about his own childhood,
about his wife Andromache and infant son Astaynax, and about some of
the glorious places he'd seen.
Yes, it was blissful sort of
ignorance he wished for his beloved warrior from Larisa, and for
Hector… Well, he didn't know all of his brother's heart, but
for what he understood, he wished his brother peace.
The ship was
bound for Troy. He would have to wait a long while before he could go
home.
TBC...
PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE review this story!