"Spear."

Eudorus passed on the wooden shaft, looking the young man over with an inscrutable expression before turning away as his own spear was handed him. Another of the men, Diogenes, shook his shaggy head as the watched Patroclus pass by him to answer their lords call.

"Go with the gods, boy, if they see fit to follow."

"Put down your spear."

"But I'm fighting the Trojans, cousin."

"Not today." Achilles tightened the laces of his wrist guards, testing their give as he looked his confused cousin in the eyes.

"But I'm ready." The youth defended fervently, "You taught me how to fight."

Achilles took up his cousin's spear and clutched the narrower shoulders familiarly. "And you're a good student. But you're not a Myrmidon yet."

Seeing still the resistance and lurking defiance he said, "Look at these men." Achilles continued, guiding his cousin to view the men around them who made ready for landing.

"They are the fiercest soldiers in all of Greece. Each of them has bled for me." He smoothed Patroclus's short blond hair and warrior knots. "You will guard the ship."

"But this is a war-"

Achilles pulled him close, held him hard against his chest so that he could not pull back. Eyes on the scuffed boards of the ship, Achilles spoke earnestly into his cousin's ear more harshly than he had intended. A confession, it was, being as much a gesture of concern as an order of command. Had that not been the reason for his entry into this damned war?

"Cousin, I can't fight the Trojans if I'm concerned for you. You wanted war- you have it, but you will not disobey me in this. Guard the ship." He released him suddenly and turned away, almost as if he could no longer bear the sight of him.

The young man stared hard at the back of the golden warrior sharpening his sword. When his cousin refused to acknowledge him again he bristled, stung. Throwing down his shield in a fit of temper bred from endless frustration, Patroclus fled to the other end of the ship. Far from his cousin and the love that he both cherished and resented.

Four additional soldiers, newly arrived, joined the proud ranks of the Apollonian Guard without. Arrayed before the gates through which peasants and farmers from outlying communities still fled, seeking the protection of strong walls and trained soldiers. It was an inspiring sight.

Beside Hector rode Glaucus, a revered general of the old order who had for forty years and some, defended Troy's good name and represented Her strength. From Glaucus had Hector learned the art of war; strategy, tactics, weapons and above all a respect for ones enemies. Be they honorable or no.

"It is not the quality of your opponent," Glaucus had schooled a very young Hector, "which determines the glory gained from victory, but the way in which you present yourself to fight it. Fairness and honor in deeds large or smalls begets fairness and honor before family and the gods."

Presently, old war horse gesture for silence among the men and bowed his head to his prince.

"TROJANS!" Hector removed his helmet shortly. Taking the reigns of his horse, Antares, he addressed his men with a clear, loud voice.

"All my life, I've lived by a code. And the code is simple: Honor the gods, love your women… and defend your country!"

The men cheered, hoisting their spears aloft. Hector continued through the noise. "Troy is mother to us all. Fight for her!"

Raising his helmet as if it were the head of his enemy, he rode the length of the Calvary line, roaring with his men beneath the hot sun at high noon. Turning his horse, he led the Guard to the shore in a cloud of tawny dust.

Paris stepped from his room dressed in blue and black. The colors he wore were thoughtfully chosen, if any had cared to ask why. The blue in observance of his respect for Troy and the black to mark the memory of his absent lover who was never far from his thoughts. He wore no paints or oils, or bobbles save for a simple necklace made of shells that any common child would wear, fastened about his bared neck for all the world to see.

Just as he quietly shut his door and turned to go, he saw his mother coming from Cassandra's room, a bundle of fabric and jewels in her arms. Their eyes met compulsively, deeply, before Hecabe turned deliberately away, breaking their connection and a small piece of Paris's heart. Casting a weary look at the cool stone beneath his sandaled feet, a statue of sorrow, Paris collected himself and went his own way.

Within near sight of Apollo's golden temple, over-looking a stretch of white-sanded beach, the Myrmidon ship with its promising black sails, bore down upon those who stood entrenched and in wait.

At the stern of his ship, bronze armor reflecting a divine glow from the sun, Achilles stood to face his men, his brothers-in-arms.

"Myrmidons…" He called, and they came. Battle ready and with bloody death a shine in their eyes and dark in the lines of their faces, Achilles gathered their attentions for the moments before they reached Troy.

"… my brothers of the sword. I'd rather fight beside you than any army of thousands."

They banged their swords against the deck in unison, fifty in all.

"Let no man forget how menacing we are. We are lions!"

The thudding of fifty spears began to sound as hollow thunder. Achilles turned disturbingly ferocious eyes on his men and pointed with his hand to Troy.

"Do you know what's there, waiting, beyond that beach?" His voice thrilled through his men like god-guided thunder, from Zeus himself.

Achilles lifted his sword and directed with its polished, honed blade, "Immortality! Take it! It's yours!"

His men bellowed and made such a cacophony that it was carried on the winds back to the trailing ships, as the sound of howling beasts. Achilles turned his sword, catching a beam of light, his face chilling.

The Myrmidon ship struck upon the beach.

TBC…
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