"Owning Odysseus"
Part 4
by Beryll
Hector was in a splendid mood when he dismounted from his horse and handed it over to the waiting stable hand. He had just come back from the temple of Apollo outside the city.
Rebuilding the temple had been a special concern to him as he still believed he owed his very life to the god who had been so grievously insulted by Achilles.
Only two days ago had the work finally been completed and the priests had returned with much celebration and offerings of gratitude from the whole city to their patron god.
This afternoon Hector had gone to the temple on his own to pray to Apollo, bearing offerings for the sun god. Not only thanking the god for his own life but also for the new life growing in Andromache.
He smiled at he entered the palace. It was only a few weeks ago that they had talked of having another child and this morning Andromache had told him that the gods had heard their words and granted them their wish. She had been glowing with life and happiness, more beautiful than ever before and he had not been entirely sure if he should go to the temple or maybe worship at her feet instead.
Of course, she had soundly smacked him when he had mentioned that and sent him out to the temple. But she had been smiling as well.
Odysseus on the other hand had been quiet and thoughtful and Hector had wondered what ailed the Greek who had become almost a part of their small family instead of a slave since that first warm evening they had spent 'sharing Hector's bed' - as Odysseus mocked Hector regularly.
At first Hector had been a bit worried that Andromache might get jealous even though she had set them up. He had asked her one quiet evening and she had replied with a surprisingly dirty smirk that she didn't mind at all, as his unions with the Greek seemed to 'wet his appetite'.
And he had realized with some blushing that it was true that they had made love every other day ever since the war was over. Probably that was another reason why they had been blessed with Andromache's pregnancy so quickly.
Lost in his pleasant thought he might have missed the voices from his brother's quarters when he passed them by, hadn't there been this strange shrill and at the same time triumphant tone to Helen's voice.
Both his brother and Helen had been blessedly absent from his life for the last weeks. He had only seen them at a dinner held by their father and of course at the celebrations for Apollo two days ago. And even then, they hadn't exchanged more than a word of greeting.
His father on the other hand still seemed infatuated by the viper and had talked with Helen for quite a while. A sight that had filled Hector with a nagging sense of unease even on such a happy day. The notion that she must be up to something had settled on him but he couldn't think of what it might be.
"You will suffer for daring to touch my wife, bastard!" Paris voice spoke, not much more than a hate-filled hiss.
Hector had a moment to wonder what this was all about when he heard Odysseus answer with barely checked anger.
"You know full well I would never touch the bitch, princeling. I wonder that you have survived her attention for so long..."
The words were cut short by the crack of a whip, immediately followed by a startled yelp from Paris.
Not hesitating a second, Hector pushed open the door to his brother's room, afraid that he already was to late to stop what ever Helen had cooked up.
The woman was leaning against a column, the bodice of her gown ripped, her artful make-up smeared by tears streaking down her face. She would have looked the perfect victim hadn't she thought herself unobserved. She was smiling wickedly, watching the scene in front of her.
Paris was standing there, his face contorted in rage and pain and fear. In his upraised hand, he held the whip Hector had heard but Odysseus had caught the young prince's wrist in an iron grip before he could bring it down. This time he was not bound and injured and Paris was no match for the fury burning in the Greek's eyes.
Hector, on the other hand, was. With one step, he was beside the two men. Ignoring how Helen quickly wiped the smile from her face at his appearance, he grabbed Odysseus by the shoulder and pulled him back. The Greek whirled, dropping in a fighting stance. Hector made no move to oppose him and instead just looked at him hard, trying to convey the danger Odysseus was in and to bring him back to his senses.
They stared at each other for a long moment till the fury in Odysseus' eyes faded. He quickly glanced at Helen, who leaned against the column weakly, then at Paris who was rubbing his wrist, looking ready to kill the Greek on the spot, then back at Hector, who could see how realization dawned on Odysseus at how he had been manipulated.
Quickly lowering his head, Odysseus sank to his knees by Hector's feet.
Steeling himself, Hector turned his attention to his brother who was fuming with barely suppressed rage.
"I will see him killed for this!" the younger prince announced. "The bastard touched my wife! The gods only know what he would have done had I not come in!"
Helen gave a tiny sob at that and Hector shot her a look of pure disgust. He wasn't entirely sure if she had come up with this on her own or if Paris was only acting the part of enraged husband but he was willing to give his brother the benefit of doubt.
"And he attacked me!" Paris continued. "You saw it yourself! He must die! He must die slowly and painfully!"
He took one step forward but Hector quickly put himself between Odysseus and his brother.
"How can you protect the bastard?!" Paris hissed, obviously close to completely losing his composure.
"I agree that he must be punished." Hector conceded, as much as it pained him to say so. "But how to punish him is up to me."
If he didn't take care of this right away, he was sure that Helen would involve his father. And then Odysseus' life would be forfeit for sure. His word would mean nothing against Helen's, Paris would take her side and Hector had simply not been there to witness what had happened. So, he would not be able to testify in Odysseus' favor. The viper had picked the time for her game well.
"You won't punish him!" Paris spat, his voice filled with disgust and loathing. "You fuck him, he's your pet!"
Hector felt Odysseus tense at the words without having to look at him. He just hoped the Greek would be able to keep his temper in check this time or he might well end up dead even with Hector trying to prevent it.
At least Odysseus’ anger helped Hector to remain calm for some reason. His patience was sorely tested though, when Helen spoke up.
"He tried to rape me..." she sobbed under fake tears, finally parting with her column to seek Paris' protective embrace.
Hector felt sick at her outrages lies but Paris obviously believed her, wrapping her in his arms, glaring alternately at his brother and at the slave by his feet.
"Well...?" he asked, his voice still the same hateful hiss. "How do you plan to punish your slave? No dinner tonight? I will take this to father. He will see to a proper punishment!"
Realizing that his brother's hatred would only be satisfied by blood, Hector did the only thing that came to his mind so quickly.
He stretched his hand out to Paris. "The whip." he demanded calmly.
At that, Odysseus head shot up. Again, they looked at each other, Hector willing Odysseus to understand why he had to do this. He could see in the Greek's face how he fought with himself to accept a punishment for something they both knew he would never do. Finally he gave Hector an almost imperceptible nod, his eyes going cold and flat as he steeled himself for what was to come.
Paris was still gapping at his brother at this unexpected turn of events but when Hector took the whip from his hand, he noticed the gleeful anticipation Helen couldn't hide.
Silently he swore that she would pay for this.
Then he turned to Odysseus. "Take off your tunic." he commanded. The Greek obeyed without hesitation. Hector had the distinct feeling that he wanted this to get over with just as quickly as Hector did himself.
"On your feet, hands against the wall."
Again, Odysseus obeyed wordlessly, assuming the position that exposed his naked back to the two Trojan princes and Helen.
Hector was almost relieved when he heard his brother draw in a sharp breath. A glance showed him that Paris was hugging Helen closer, now some doubt in his pretty face. It assured Hector that this had been Helen's plot alone.
Still that would not spare Odysseus the pain or be any consolation afterwards.
Hector cracked the whip once to get a feel for it. Long, made of braided leather it would normally be used for the horses in front of a chariot. Hector knew how to use it. He hoped reverently that he knew well enough not to cripple the man who he now realized had become his friend.
Knowing that his hesitation would only be additional torment to Odysseus, he brought the whip down on the Greek's bare shoulders, suppressing his own wince in sympathy as the impact raised a first welt.
He did not stop after that first blow, methodically using the whip on Odysseus till his back was crisscrossed with angry red lines, then till the skin broke and blood started to seep from the cuts, till he was shaking with the effort to remain on his feet. The only sounds in the room were the crack of the whip, Hector's harsh breathing and the grunts of pain from the Greek.
At last his strength was spend and he grumbled to the ground with an anguished cry, his blood soiling the white marble floor where he lay on his side, panting, his whole body heaving as he drew in one ragged breath after the other.
Hector closed his eyes, the whip limply hanging in his hand, stilled at last.
To see this man, his lover, like this pained him to the core of his being.
Slowly he turned around to face Helen and his brother again. He was satisfied at the look of quiet horror on Paris' face. Whatever his brother had hoped to achieve with demanding Odysseus' punishment, he had obviously not been prepared to face it quite so intimately. If nothing else, Hector was thankful that his honorless brother did not find pleasure in the pain of others as much as he had feared.
Helen was another matter altogether. Her face was slack and her eyes glazed over with undeniable lust. In that moment she was not beautiful - she was the most disgusting thing Hector had ever seen in his life.
He walked over to Paris, grabbed his brother's hand and put the bloodied whip into it, watching with sick humor as Paris looked at the whip as if it would turn into a snake any moment.
"He well never come near your wife again." Hector said, amazed at the calm in his own voice. He looked directly at Helen with his next words. "I suggest you make very sure your wife does not come near him either."
At that Paris turned to Helen too and this time she did not manage to get her features under control in time. Hector was very sure that his brother had seen what lurked beneath that pretty exterior. But that was for Paris to deal with.
He went back over to Odysseus. It took him his last bit of strength to remain calm when he again faced what he had done to his friend, the bloodied mess that should have been a proud warrior. Gently he picked the Greek up, first trying to bring him back to his feet, when that didn't work picking him up fully. Odysseus was hardly conscious, still he whimpered in pain as Hector lifted him into his arms.
Now covered in the Greek's blood as well, Hector left his brother's rooms, silently swearing only to return to extract revenge from Helen.
If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to: Beryll
go to PART 5