"Owning Odysseus"
Part 1
by Beryll
Hector was tired. The festivities of the evening had worn on and on deep into the night and while everybody else had found a reason to excuse themselves hours ago, duty had bound him to stay.
Duty and the knowledge that the people of Troy drew as much hope and confidence from the fact that he was there - highly visible and alive - as from the reassuring truth that the war against the Greeks was over. That it had hit Troy with the might of a raging storm and had passed at last, leaving countless dead on both sides behind.
But the dead would be mourned in the morning. Now was the time to celebrate survival and victory.
Still, Hector was tired. He longed for nothing more then to shed armor and arms. To be father and husband instead of prince and commander.
He tried hard not to listen too closely when he passed the doorway leading to Paris quarters but he could not help his brother's voice finding a way to his ear.
"What good do your fabled wits do you now?" Paris hissed full of spite. "A king you are no longer now. You won't need wits to scrub floors and wash your mistress' feet."
There was a short pause, then the sound of a hard slap, followed by a muffled groan. "Don't you dare look at me, slave!" Hector heard his brother bark angrily. Then his voice turned honeyed. "We will make a good slave of him, won't we, love?"
"I am sure you will tame him," Helen's voice answered, just as sweetly, "you will teach the bastard to respect his betters. No arrogant Greek will ever show his face on this shore again."
Then her voice softened to a whisper so that Hector took an involuntary step closer to the door to hear her next words.
"You know what they would have done to me had they recaptured me, don't you beloved?" she said, her voice filled with fake fear, "that monster who called himself my husband would have shared me with all his despicable allies. I can almost still feel his paws on me..."
Hot anger rose in Hector at her words. That she was a manipulative bitch he had known right from the first moment he had laid eyes on her. But he had hoped she would quit playing her games now that she had what she wanted. But obviously, she needed more satisfaction.
The answer of his brother was what he had expected and still hoped not to hear. He was hers completely.
"Do not fear, love, he will not harm you now. Shall I make sure of it?"
"And how would you do that?" Helen asked back, cruel curiosity now dominating her voice.
Hector could almost see his brother's smile at the next words.
"Shall I break his hands? He won't need nimble fingers for simple tasks."
Hector felt bile rise in his throat.
"That would greatly reassure me." Helen answered.
Hector hesitated another moment, still wanting nothing more than to return to his wife, to ignore his notoriously dishonorable brother, to find some peace.
But in his heart, he knew he would not find peace knowing what was happening to a valiant man only a few rooms away. Had fate taken another turn, this might have been him in the hands of some cruel Greek king.
He pushed open the door to his brother's quarters, hearing Paris next words.
"Beg me, Greek, and I might spare you."
The scene presenting itself to Hector was as unpleasant as he had feared.
Helen was reclining on a low couch, in her hand a goblet with wine, in front of her a bowl with grapes. She was slightly flushed, if with excitement of too much wine Hector couldn't tell.
Paris was crouching next to one of the large columns dominating his spacious quarters, an ugly sneer on his face, just as flushed as his wife.
And bound to the column was the man they had been talking about. He was sitting on the floor, his arms drawn tightly back around the column. He was clad only in a simple woolen tunic that he had probably worn beneath his armor as it was bloodied, soiled and torn. Just as was the man himself. He wore the various scrapes and cuts any warrior accumulated in a battle and his brow was caked with dried blood. Probably he had been hit there and lost consciousness and thus been captured alive.
But that wasn't all. His wounds had not been tended to and he was covered with fresh bruises as well, as if he had been beaten recently. There were even some scratch marks on his cheek that Hector was pretty sure had been put there by Helen.
The man had leaned his head back against the column, his eyes closed tightly, gritting his teeth in expectancy of yet more pain.
Odysseus of Ithaca was definitely not in the best of shapes.
"Stop it!" Hector told his brother firmly, as Paris twisted the Greek's fingers further.
Immediately Paris snatched his hands away as if they had been burned, of course knowing fully well that his brother would never approve of his cruel behavior.
"He's my part of the spoils of war!" Paris launched into his defense before Hector could say another word. "He is my slave now. I can do with him what I want!"
The slight whine to his brother's voice dangerously grated on Hector's nerves.
Paris glances over at Helen seeking aid but she was suddenly busy studying the grapes in her bowl. If there was one thing she had learned since she had come to Troy it was not to try her games with Hector.
She had tried to weasel into Andromache's trust when she had failed with Hector but there she had met only stony silence and Hector was endlessly grateful that his wife had not fallen prey to Helen's charm. It was hard enough that he had been forced to fight a war for the viper. He did not want her in his household.
Hector stared down his smaller brother silently, conveying all the disgust he felt at the sight of Paris with his eyes alone. He wondered how his brother, who had not fought in a single battle, had managed to secure the only remaining Greek king as his spoils. Probably he had either charmed or threatened until he had received this undeserved honor from whoever should have owned Odysseus.
Probably the Greek would have come into Hector's hands, if Hector hadn't refused any such offers. Just as he didn't want Helen in his household, he could well do without some Greek slave forever harboring grudges.
Still it presented a simple way to solve this matter.
He looked over at the Greek warrior whom he had never met in battle on the field but had watched fight with honor and courage.
Odysseus had opened his eyes and was looking back at Hector, tired and his eyes clouded with pain but also with a shred of hope at the sudden appearance of the elder Trojan Prince.
"I thank you that you have taken such good care of him for me up to now," Hector said, turning his gaze back to his brother, completely disregarding his words "but I think will take him with me now."
Paris stared back at Hector openmouthed. Whatever admonishment he had expected, this was not it.
"But... but..." he sputtered dumbfounded.
Hector ignored his feeble complaints and instead walked over to the column, noting that now there was a hint of amusement in Odysseus’ eyes. However bad the last days must have been for the Greek king, he had obviously managed to retain his sense of humor. Something greatly reassuring Hector.
He drew a dagger and cut the ropes binding the Greek to the column.
A glance at Paris showed him that his brother was seething with anger but knew full well that there was nothing he could do or say to prevent the elder Trojan Prince from claiming this slave for himself.
Grabbing the Greek by the shoulders, he helped him to his feet, noting how he winced but kept his mouth tightly shut, suppressing any sound of pain.
"I bid you and your wife a good night." Hector said to Paris, accepting his brother curt nod as farewell, ignoring Helen's suddenly reappeared sweet smile.
Still supporting Odysseus with one arm, he left his brother's quarters. Hector's own suite of rooms was only a few doors down the hallway but by the time they reached them, the Greek was leaning on Hector heavily, all pretense of strength abandoned.
Andromache had gone to sleep several hours earlier, so there was only a single oil lamp burning still in the sitting room. Hector helped Odysseus over to a low bench, setting him down there. The man was barely able to remain on his feet so Hector decided to not consider him as a possible threat just then. He went in search of water and some cloth to clean the Greek's wounds.
By the time he returned the first light of early morning was already seeping into the sitting room. From outside Hector could hear the regular calls of the guards and the first noises from early risers. There would be few today, Hector mused as he carried a jug of water over to the bench. All he wanted to do now was sleep but that would have to wait a little longer.
Odysseus had leaned his head back against the wall behind the bench and his eyes had drifted shut. He looked exhausted. Still he managed to open his eyes again, when Hector approached.
A tired smile formed on his lip. "I should thank you for saving me from the tender mercies of your brother and dear Helen," he stated warily, "but then again maybe I should wait until I learn what you plan to do with me."
A good question indeed. One that Hector had no answer to.
Instead of replying, he sat down next to Odysseus and wet the cloth. "Let me have a look at that." he said and gently turned the Greek's head so he could examine the wound on his brow.
"My horse threw me off," Odysseus explained while Hector carefully cleaned away the dried blood and dirt, "can you imagine? I hit some rock. Of all possible reason to lose, it has to be something that unspectacular." Then he hissed slightly as Hector touched the actual wound.
It must have bled a lot but it didn't seem to be very deep. "You have a hard head." Hector told the Greek.
"So I have been told before." Odysseus' voice held a cheerful note but the wariness remained in his eyes.
For a long moment both men looked at each other quietly and Hector tried to decide what to do with his new slave. The thought of binding him like his brother had done did not sit well with him but on the other hand he did not want his enemy free near his wife and son. This was exactly the reason why he had refused to claim any of the enemy soldiers as slaves.
As if sensing his thoughts Odysseus said: "I won't give you any trouble, Prince. I know when I'm defeated and right now I couldn't even win in a fight against your wife."
Common sense told Hector not to trust the Greek who was renowned for his cunning. But on the other hand, there was no guile in his eyes and he looked exhausted enough to drop asleep right where he sat.
With a tired sigh, Hector rubbed his temples. "There's a small storage room behind that door.," he told Odysseus, hoping that he wouldn't later regret his decision to trust the Greek. "Take those blankets over there and go to sleep. I'll figure out what to do with you when we have both slept."
Odysseus nodded and then bowed to him. Not like a king acknowledging a prince but deeply as a slave would to his master.
Hector watched warily as the Greek did what he had been told.
Andromache would not be happy, Hector thought, but he would deal with that later
Then he got up to find his own bed.
If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to: Beryll
go to PART 2