Take Me Home

Part 12

“Feel the wind, Paris!” Achilles shouted at the top of his voice, above the clattering dins. His face beamed as bright as the hot sun beating down on them.

He looked over at the youth standing with his knees bent slightly, attempting to stay steady on his feet while the golden chariot jostled, vibrated and bumped mercilessly along the dusty road. They were heading for the beach.

For dear life, yet exuberantly exhilarated, Paris held on to the sides until his fine, long fingers turned white while his teeth rattled in his skull. Miraculously, he was also grinning madly, showing his two rows of perfectly shaped teeth. A glint of mischievousness reappeared in eyeseyes, one that was long ago forgotten when he was initiated into manhood on his first night with a courtesan. Achilles saw it. He couldn’t help chuckling with unstoppable pride seeing how Paris had transformed into a boy yet uncorrupted by the reality of life.

“Hang on!” Achilles whipped the flanks of Xanthos and Balios – two magnificent immortal horses gifted by his father, Peleus – to make them gallop faster.

The exhilaration invoked the pair into a frenzied delirium and they ululated shrilly their mock war-cries. Paris even released one of his hands to wave it in the air as if a warrior brandishing a sword over his head. Like a pair of children they took recklessness and danger as a thrill.

After their unbelievably sensual kiss this morning that left Achilles much more satisfied than after a night’s tryst with a willing servant girl, Paris had sadly retreated into his shell of gloom again. It provoked Achilles to want to work harder to make his lover smile always and thus, gambled on this outing.

It had paid off brilliantly.

From afar, the two men standing side by side had seemed like an odd pairing. Dark haired and olive tanned and still retaining his youth’s willowy form, Paris was a version of boyish Apollo. In complete opposite, Achilles’ physique was greatly admired, comparable to Adonis. His bronze skin and golden blond set him apart from the mortal men.

What was missing was a shell-horn. With Achilles reigning the horses and Paris blowing the horn, and the chariot’s wheel sluicing through the lapping water violently, they were like two gods descended to mortal land in search for a war to fight.

They traveled along the beach for about three miles before Achilles led the horses away and inland.(1) Not far ahead was a stack of large boulders, pieced together in a way that resembled giant steps fit for the feet of Great Zeus. The pork-marked limestone was the only exposed part of the grassy hills.

The chariot was left close at the foot of the hill. Paris jumped off awkwardly, thankful for the respite to stretch his legs after so long in that stiff position. His body and limbs still buzzed with the after-effect of adrenaline. Nearby, the Greek prince watched him and smiled indulgently. Clearly his lover was not used to such strenuous adventure. He wondered what Paris did at home in Troy to pass his time.

Pressed for time to get to his secret retreat before sundown, Achilles made for the boulders. He began climbing with expert agility. The Greek had come here often whenever he wanted to be alone and loved to stay at the top of the hill and watch until the sun sunk below the horizon. He hadn’t tried to bring anyone here before and Paris was his first visitor. If Patroclus knew about this, his cousin would never forgive him.

Contrary to his earlier display of a comfort creature used to an easy life, the hill climbing was an effortless task for the Trojan youth as he had grown up in the mountains since he was born. He would never forget the healthy exertion and feeling of triumph when he made it to the top. It always left him with the confidence that he could conquer the world.

Achilles, being a worried lover, nevertheless kept an eye on the youth. However, he was most discreet about it, as he didn’t want to hurt Paris’ feelings by causing the misunderstanding that he took his lover as someone weak and helpless.

Once they arrived at the top, they crossed briefly a low slope before coming to the edge of a cliff on the opposite. They were just in time for the spectacular vie the the giant, red sun slowly dipping behind the blood-red clouds. Several beams of light had escaped and fanned out across the sky.

Side by side they stood facing the sun. It was a déjà vu all over again – them facing the same direction.

They were at ease with the silence between them and stayed like that until the sun had disappeared. Then Achilles turned to check on the youth.

It was windy up there and the differenrectrection of winds blowing caused Paris’ long, dark curls to toss about his head messily. Feeling the urge to take care of his lover, Achilles reached over and smoothed them out for him. His huge palms were on the sides of Paris’ head when the youth gazed at him and gave him an appreciative smile.

The Greek prince’s heart swelled with joy to see that Paris seemed more at ease and happier now so he leaned down slightly to kiss the top of Paris’ head. After that he dropped a hand down to lace his fingers with Paris’. He pulled him with him and they left the hill together.


About half an hour later, they were in the chariot once more. Achilles turned back from where they came from, but only until they pass the hill. Just beside the sheer rocky walls completely covered with creepers and hanging ferns, there was a narrow path buried thickly with fallen leaves.

“Aren’t we going back to the palace?” Paris was curious. The sky was gradually darkening, but there were still plenty of light to find their way around for at least an hour or two.

“Not yet. There is someone I want you to meet,” Achilles answered cryptically.

Seeing as his master would not divulge any more hints, Paris scanned the immediate surroundings for any signs of inhabitants. It was not likely that they would travel far because they didn’t carry any torches with them to move in the dark and the horses could get wounded by unseen obstacles.

The pair remained silent, listening to the constant crunches of dry leaves made by the stamping of the horses hoofs and the rolling wheels. They had left the sea behind them though they could still hear the waves crashing on the shore. Towering trees cascading lush green leaves above provided shadows of protection from the sun during the day to whomever was using this road. The forest was quite scant here, so there was still enough light to make their way through.

Just ahead, a clearing came into view. Nestled snugly beside a row of fully bloomed pink cascades, swaying hypnotically in the salty sea breeze, was a small thatched-roof hut. What made this hut so unique was that its entire front wall was a mosaic of colourful seashells. A natural shade weaved out of slim, flexible branches and covered by miniature pink, red and white vine roses were extended at the forepart of the hut to convert it into a porch.

Paris was intrigued to discover the owner of the hut and the answer presented itself when a woman appeared from behind the front door. She looked to be in her late thirties, but there was something ancient about her that Paris couldn’t quite put a finger on.

For anyone living so far away from the main town, the youth had expected an elderly, bent widower preferring the solitude yet this woman was extraordinarily beautiful and carried herself proudly. She gave off an impression of someone noble even, but what was she doing here?

The chariot was stopped a few paces from the hut and the two men got off. Achilles took Paris’ hand, to the youth’s surprise, and tugged him along to meet the woman. Paris felt a little awkward by the open display of affection in front of others.

The woman stood quietly, her face inscrutable; her pale, thin hands clasped in front of her long skirt. She stood expectantly waiting for them.

Paris watched curiously as Achilles released his hand to hug the woman. It was clear that they shared a very close relation. Was she Achilles’ wife? Then why did his master hold his hand in clear view? They exchanged a few quiet words together before turning their attention to Paris. Now the youth felt the hairs at the back of his neck rise all of a sudden.

“Mother, this is Paris,” he heard the man introduced.

This was Achilles’ mother? She looked so young.

“Paris, my mother, Thetis,” he continued as he watched Paris’ expression changed to disbelief.

Remembering his manners, the boy gave a quick bow. When Paris looked up again, he found Thetis’ piercing blue eyes stared coldly at him. She didn’t look happy.

“Send him back to Troy now!” she snapped. Both men were startled by her open hostility although Paris had expected it, but not by what she had in mind.

“Mother, what … ,” Achilles’ couldn’t continue because Thetis stopped him with a raised hand.

“He is a son of Priam’s, is he not? Have you forgotten the prophecy?” Thetis stared at her son angrily, but also hurt by his direct betrayal. Her face was pinched.

“I didn’t forget. I didn’t die and I came home. Perhaps the gods have other purpose for me,” Achilles rebuked, refusing to back down. He had questioned himself often enough about this matter. He knew within his heart that his mother’s divination was as accurate as the sun rising every morning and setting every evening yet he also believed that somehow the Prince of Troy had brought him luck and thwarted his foreseen fate.

Irrespective of teasoeasons, he was disappointed by his beloved mother’s antagonizing behaviour. He had never seen her lose her calm demeanor like that before.

“No, I had spoken ereuereus. The prophecy stands,” the Nereid was also firmly adamant.

“Then he could be wrong for once!” Achilles raised his voice. He felt one of his infamous rages rising and it was becoming more difficult to suppress it as he continued to lock head with her. He felt ashamed of himself because he had never shouted at his mother before, but she had overstepped this time.

Paris watched the argument with growing terror; he had been the cause of their heated discord. He squirmed nervously. Unconsciously, he began backing away from them, but Achilles saw what he was doing and grabbed his forearm to restrain him. The reproachful look he gave Paris made the youth shrink away. Realizing his mistake, Achilles’ features softened and he lessened his grip on the thin forearm.

“Mother, please,” his voice changed so suddenly to a pleading tone that Thetis was taken aback. She had many times witnessed his unforgiving fury in front of his men. It was simply incredulous that this fragile youth could hold such influence to placate her son with just one gaze.

“I’ve come to see you because I wanted to tell you that I have found a better purpose in life now and I wish to live to enjoy it. That’s what you would have hoped for, isn’t it? You should thank Paris instead. Because of him, I am standing here today,” Achilles let his words sink for while.

Thetis remained silent, she was still fuming.

“For whatever reasons that had tied me here in Phthia, please be happy for me. Now apologize to Paris or I will never come here again. I mean it.” He didn’t mean to blackmail his mother, but he didn’t have any choice; Paris didn’t deserve this animosity.

The Nereid’s gaze fell from one man to the other, staying longer with the Trojan. She saw the frightened brown eyes and noticed the way her son was trying to soothe him by rubbing his back. Achilles had changed a lot since he left Phthia and difficult as it may for her to admit, he was right; Paris had unwittingly prevented his early demise. By this, Achilles might live a few years longer or if she could help it, he would survive until his natural time was up.

Being the daughter of a god, she kept her pride with fierceness yet she was a woman and her instinct told her that it was better to lose a little than losing her son entirely.

“I apologize for my rude behaviour just now. Please forgive me, Paris. You must understand the anxiousness of a mother when it concerns her child,” Thetis said finally. She reverted to her detached façade when dealing with situation she didn’t like; otherwise her son would never forgive her if she kept glaring with malice at the boy.

“Please … please don’t apologize. hav have every right to be angry with me. I’m a Trojan. I deserve this.” Paris flitted his eyes between mother and son, to gauge their reaction to this.

Before anymore awkward tension stretched further, Thetis instructed her son to tend to his horses. Then she went into the house without anothernce.nce. She needed to get away quickly, to be alone so that she could compose herself.

The two men went together to the chariot.

“I’m sorry, Paris. I didn’t bring you here for this. I have no idea why she reacted like that,” Achilles spoke quietly. He blamed himself for the whole incident.

“It’s all right. All mothers fear for their own child’s life. I understand,” Paris replied though without conviction.

A victim of abandonment, Paris still carried some of the scar inside him. He secretly harboured distrust of his mother till today because she never fought to save his life as a mother should. She was as guilty as Priam for leaving him in the wilderness in Mount Ida; a defenseless babe waiting to be devoured by passing carnivores.

One of the reasons he was more attached to his eldest brother, Hector, was that he took him under his winds the instant they met. Hector had always been extra careful with him and overprotective, taking his fraternal responsibility seriously.

As Paris was about to unstrap the bridle of one of the horses, it snapped its teeth at him. Paris pulled away his hand in alarm, just in time to save his fingers. Achilles chuckled and patted the irate horse to appease it.

“Sorry, I forgot to tell you that Xanthos does not like to be touched by anyone except its masters. Only my father and I would groom them daily,” Achilles explained. Just to prove the point, Xanthos gave a glare at Paris and snorted arrogantly.

The horses – the other called Balios – were left to roam freely, without any strap on them. Achilles did not worry if anyone would try to capture them becahe hhe had seen what was left of the last person who tried that.

When they entered the hut, Paris was amazed by the decorations inside the house. Everything carried a woman’s touch, giving a sense of homeliness and comfort. He liked it very much except that he was still rather apprehensive to be anywhere near Thetis.

Since Achilles disappeared into another room, leaving Paris alone for awhile, the youth took his time to look around the house.

Big scallop shells, each half mounted on a clay stand, had been turned into oil lamps and were placed all over the room. In the bright, yellow illumination, Paris saw three elaborately painted chests against one wall depicted of mythological scenes. There was a low table in the centre of the room and many cushion strewn about it though not in a messy way.

“Take a seat on the cushion,” Achilles said when he returned. He knelt down by the table and placed the tray he was carrying on the floor. He started to set the plates, glasses and utensils, ready for dinner.

“Can I help?” Paris offered. It was strange to watch a warrior prince, the nation’s hero, attending to domestic chores with such ease as if he was used to living a commoner’s life.

“No, thank you. Just sit there and wait for us.” Then Achilles left again with the empty tray.

The Nereid was busy preparing dinner in the kitchen, the delicious aroma wafting into the main room making Paris’ tummy rumble hungrily. It had been a while since he felt this famished. He was glad that no one was around to hear it.

Paris wondered if the mother and son would continue with their arguments in the kitchen, away from his ear shot. So far, he hadn’t heard any raised voices and Achilles did not seem upset awhile ago. Without moving away from his seat, the youth strained his ears to listen, but to his surprise, a woman’s laughter floated from the other room, separated only by a flowery door curtain.

The good hosts did not let their guest wait for long. Thetis and Achilles came in with food on the trays. Paris’ mouth watered as she placed the plates on the table and Achilles began pouring wines into their glasses. There were fishes and crustaceans, as well as goat cheeses and bread.

“Eat, Paris,” Thetis urged, seeing the boy eyeing hungrily at her cooking.

Paris was too occupied with which dish to start first, to notice that Thetis’ mood had changed. Achilles was only too happy to see that his lover had worked up a big appetite. It was a good sign that Paris would be his old self again very soon.

The atmosphere was relaxing and familiar, something Paris had not experienced inong ong time. He used to live in such condition when he was with his foster father and he missed it a lot. An innocent envy started to creep into Paris’ heart as he listened to the mother and son talking. The way they interact – their tones and laughter, their shared jokes – all these were things Paris had never done with his mother.

Queen Hecuba was nice and kind towards him when he returned to live in the palace, but it wasn’t this close. She had yet to give him a motherly hug that Paris craved so much, only amicable kisses on his cheeks.

Men had been the centre of his life – his foster father, Priam, Hector, his brothers and his weapon instructors. He lacked the woman’s attention and care. That was why he jumped at the offer of Helen being promised to him because he thought that she would be the balance in his life. It was the loneliness that drove him to this.

Unfortunately, he was misled. The person he was looking for was someone who could understand him and wanted to chase his loneliness away. This person would love every part of him and only wished to see him smile. Everyone he knew cared for him and protective over him, but no one really took the time to ‘know’ him. When Achilles showed him a different kind of ‘care’, it scared him because he believed that this blond warrior only wished to obtain something from him. No one gave away kindness in charity, a philosophy he learned while he was growing up in Mount Ida.

“Tell me, Paris,” Thetis suddenly reverted to the youth, startling him out of his reverie. “Are you my son’s lover?” She calmly said this while watching the youth. There was no malice in her eyes this time.

The spoon dropped from Paris’ fingers with a loud clatter on the ceramic plate. The look of disbelief horror etched on blanched face.

“Mother, you’re scaring him again!” Achilles whined. “Why are you so direct with this sort of questions?”

“Well?” Thetis remained unfazed.

“Don’t mind my mother, Paris. You don’t have to answer the question,” Achilles interjected.

“He’s a slave. He must answer what I ask,” Thetis remarked with authority.

“He’s not a slave, mother,” Achilles defended his lover immediately.

Paris watched the banter with silent apprehension. He prayed that another argument would not erupt.

“Then YOU tell me what is he?” the Nereid challenged. She took a long drink from her wine glass and set it down heavily, breaking out a satisfied sigh.

The youth peered at Thetis inconspicuously, making guesses if she was drunk. So far, he had been the one eating the most while the mother and son barely touched anything, taking their time talking and drinking mostly.

“He’s my lover,” her son answered confidently.

Both Thetis and Paris turned to look at Achilles who was grinning madly.

“You love him then?” Thetis put another question. She seemed sober still.

“Oh, I do, mother,” Achilles replied without the slightest hesitation this time. He had kept this feeling for so long and wasn’t sure before. However, after he sat down to talk to Deidameia about it, he became clear.

That was the reason he was in such a good mood yesterday when he came to fetch Paris. He was so filled with love in his head and heart that he felt as if he was floating all day.

Paris worried that he couldn’t handle any more shock. His hands were shaking so badly that he had to quickly hide them below the table. Worse still, his heart pumped furiously and he was afraid that the other two would hear it.

Achilles’ pupils were dilated when he gazed affectionately at Paris. Even the blind could feel the love oozing out of the man.

“You said the same thing about Patroclus and Deidameia,” Thetis added, interrupting her son’s daydreaming.

“Well, Patroclus is still my lover although not as intimately as I shared with Paris and I married Deidameia, didn’t I? Besides, this time it’s different. I want to wake up in the morning to find him sleeping beside me. I want to go through the day with him. Even if we’re apart, I’ll know that he’ll be there waiting for me.”

Although Paris had not drunk more than half a glass of wine tonight, his face had managed to redden a few shades deeper. He was rendered speechless that his jaw slackened, parting his lush, ruby lips.

That sensual image emboldened Achilles to add a daring declaration in front of his mother. “And at night, I want to share my passion with him. Do you accept this Paris for I love you since the first day I laid eyes on you?”

Clearly, the poor boy had a hard time sorting through what Achilles had just told him because his eyes rolled back into his head and he toppled backward. Luckily the cushion behind him broke his fall; otherwise he would have a large lump at the back of his head the next morning.

Thetis cackled seeing Paris fainted, but Achilles was already beside him, checking his condition.

“Take him to your room, Achilles. I think your passion is a little bit too much for him. I’m going to sleep.” The Nereid got up with some effort and stumbled back to her own bedroom.

“Good night, mother,” Achilles called out behind her. She waved absently.

After determining that Paris was all right, the blond prince left his lover’s side to pick up a shell oil lamp and brought it to his bedroom. Then he came back to scoop his motionless lover to carry him to his bed. Next, he put out all the wicks in the main room and retired.


(1) I gave up on ancient Greek forms of measurement. The words were tongue-tying and confusing. Therefore I decided to use modern measurements instead. Easier on us all, I think?