Take Me Home

Part 21

“The curse of the Minotaur of Crete had come to Phthia,” someone whispered with caution.

This had seemed true and was sworn with pain of death by those who had escaped to tell the tale of their terrifying experiences.

“He had hair spun from gold and even his face was covered with some. He will stand in one dark corner and stares at you from the shadows. He gives me the shivers when I see his eyes red and flashing dangerously, flitting left and right seeking for preys. He snarls and shows his white fangs, ready to tear flesh from bones!” Those were some of the horrific accounts spun by the witnesses who were summoned to Paris’ bedchamber to perform some duties.

“Did you see how sick and wounded his beautiful slave is? Even the younger slave looked deathly pale. Yes, the curse had definitely struck the king’s household,” whispered another.

These went back and forth among the slaves, yet ignorant as they were, their conjured image of Prince Achilles was not wrong. The man barely slept for days, staying close to his lover as if a parasite though instead of sucking the life out of the youth, was giving as much love and care that he so well deserved. Tired in body and numb in mind, Achilles had forgotten entirely to shave and thus leaving him looking haggard and unkempt like a wild man. He hardly ate any food and had no interest in the world outside the bedchamber that he shared with Paris.

This gave more worries to Tassos because he had to take care of two masters now. It resulted in the boy taking a toll too.

After hiding in his lair for five days the ‘Golden Minotaur’ finally emerged. He was exactly as everyone had described – untamed and dangerous. If Tassos had not reminded him to put on his tunic, the man would have gone out with just a short skirt hanging low on the waist; Achilles had lost a lot of weight.

He sniffed the air like a hungry lion and gave a purr deep in his throat. Today was a good day to ‘hunt’.

The cursed prince charged towards the Throne Hall where he knew he would find Neoptolemus. He was so fearsome in looks that all the slaves got out of his way as he stormed pass in a blur. They had never seen the man this angry before and he was frightening. Even the passing guards were too stunned to react.

Achilles felt every muscle in him tightened and corded, a conscious act of his body ready for battle. As always he was calm in such familiar condition even though every fiber in his body quivered with excitement. It knew the joy that was to follow – the sight of the dead eyes rolled back into the head and the spilled blood to taint the ground as an offering to goddess Athena, protector of all warriors.

The moment he stepped into the huge hall, his eyes searched for his intended enemy. Those who had seen him fell silent suddenly, too shocked to express in words. Achilles found Neoptolemus standing with a group of men, talking and laughing with not a care in the world. That aroused loathing and more hostility in the son of Peleus.

Like a mad bull seeing red, he tore across the hall with such ferocity and swiftness that Neoptolemus never noticed his father coming at him until it was too late. Achilles cannoned a hard punch at his son and the force was enough to make the young man stagger backwards and losing his balance, fell on the floor while upsetting a few chairs.

The younger prince was more surprised and stunned by the attack than feeling the throbbing in his left cheek. Before he even managed to get up, his father already threw himself on top of him and lashing out brutally. Neoptolemus defended himself as much as he could, but had no way of getting away or retaliating against an angry lion set to kill. Achilles was ready to kill his own son with his bare hands. He would not taint his sword with Neoptolemus’ blood; no, he would not disrespect his mother’s gift to him.

Fueled by such powerful emotions, Achilles continued to batter Neoptolemus on his face and his chest. Fearing that his ribs would crack, Neoptolemus rolled to cover his front, but that gave Achilles a clear way to pound his kidney. Angered by the pain and losing his pride, Neoptolemus swung a surprise strike on Achilles’ right ear. That shock of pain made the older man lost his concentration for a moment, but enough for Neoptolemus to push his father away and got up. However, it wasn’t long before they were on the floor once more and clobbering each other.

No one in the hall dared move to separate the two – either they were too shocked or too afraid to move. It was a magnificent sight though to witness the two dominant felines fighting with such fierceness and perfectly deadly grace.

“Enough!” a voice boomed. His command was blatantly ignored. “Separate them!” Peleus snapped.

Immediately, several guards and close friends of the two princes went to pull the men apart. It took a lot of muscles to do so because both of them were strong and relentless.

Neoptolemus’ face was covered with streak of blood where he had lost a tooth and split his lips while Achilles’ lower jaw was swollen and coloured. There was also a small cut just above his right eyebrow.

“Let me go! I want to kill him!” Achilles screamed and wrestled to get free from the hands that were holding him.

“What’s this about?” King Peleus came up to them. He looked stern.

For days, Peleus had pondered over his son’s troubles, but he found nothing that could answer his questions. There was no way to talk to him before as the Greek warrior hid himself in Paris’ bedchamber. With Achilles attacking his own son right now, it raised more questions. Why was his grandson involved?

Achilles was about to blurt off his son’s crimes, to let everyone hear the boy’s mindless and shameful acts that even Peleus would condone, but thought better of it as he gathered about his senses. He would seek his justice in more honourable methods. There was no sense in humiliating Paris anymore than it already was.

“Don’t ever go near Paris again,” he growled threateningly.

“So the little whore told you?” Neoptolemus spat the blood in his mouth and wiped with the back of his hand. Like everyone else, he didn’t know of Paris’ latest misfortune.

“No. I saw the evidences you left so generously.” Achilles stood up tall and shook the hands off of him. They let him go, seeing that he was composed now, but they were prepared to restrain their prince should he try again.

“Achilles! Shame on you. You lay your hands on your own son for a slave boy?” King Peleus was greatly displeased after he came to the wrong conclusion.

He had heard about Patroclus’ broken nose and who had beaten him, but he did not take action nor confronted Achilles about it. Patroclus was Achilles’ lover and if he chose to let the matter go, so would he; it was not his place to meddle in their affairs. However, there was no reason for Achilles to kill his own flesh and blood over a boy’s brawl and especially when his slave had lost the fight. Achilles was too attached to his slave and that was not to be encouraged. Slaves were expendable and that was inevitable.

Achilles bristled and glared at his father dangerously causing the old man to take a step back from shock.

“He is no SLAVE boy,” Achilles spat. “Paris is a Prince of Troy.”

He gave one last malicious gaze at Neoptolemus and then stalked away.

King Peleus was stumped by his son’s wrath. What had Neoptolemus done that had vexed Achilles so much? He turned his attention to his grandson and gave him a look that asked for explanation from the young man.

Neoptolemus did not answer, but shrugged as if he was innocent of anything that Achilles had accused him of. Without another word, he limped out of the Throne Hall, followed by three of his friends.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Neoptolemus was sitting cross-legged on the dry grassy ground, his face tilted upwards while his friend, Pynder, after wetting a small piece of cloth in the water fountain and dabbed gently on the young prince’s face to clean off the blood.

The prince never once winced nor voiced his discomfort when the open injuries and tender flesh was touched. He was a tough boy, made to take any pain and suffer no ill effects in the face of violence – just like his father. They didn’t even seem to notice the colder temperature outside the palace despite clad only in thigh-length chiton.

They spoke not a word while Pynder worked. He was really waiting for the prince to cool down his head. Occasionally, Neoptolemus would spit to the ground, not just to get rid of the blood from the uprooted tooth, but also because he was disgusted by his father’s behaviour and protectiveness over a mere slave. He had really thought that his father would only be angry that he spoilt his war prize, but to attempt to kill him was unbelievable. His father would choose a whore over his own flesh and blood.

“Looks like I am no longer in favour of my dear famous father,” Neoptolemus voiced out his thoughts. Not only that, he was sure Achilles would disown him and take away his birthright claim to succeed him when he dies.

Pynder remained silent. He knew better than to add fuel to the fire. They had been friends since childhood and he was accustomed to Neoptolemus character and mood.

“If I knew this, I would have made that whore suffer more. At least I would already have my satisfaction and my father cannot use him again,” he added thoughtfully.

Strangely enough, Neoptolemus didn’t look very upset over this. Of course it hurt to be discarded by his own parent, but that was the dangerous thing about this young man – no one could tell what ran behind that cool, arrogant façade that he wore every day. It had been known that when he lashed out, it would be deadly.

“But it’s not too late yet. I will still have my chance. I think it’s time we push ahead what we’ve discussed two weeks ago,” the blond continued and he stared up at his friend.

Pynder stopped what he was doing and returned his gaze. He saw the twinkle of wickedness in one of Neoptolemus’ eyes. Pynder nodded with conviction. He was not a man of many words.

“Neo!” a frightened shrill voice shrieked behind them.

Both men turned around in alarm by the suddenness, but as soon as Neoptolemus recognized his mother, he relaxed.

“I heard what happened and I was worried about you. Are you all right?”

Deidameia ran to kneel beside her son. Her long, white fingers were already probing here and there, making sure the boy did not break anything serious. Being utterly occupied by her concern as a mother, she forgot to cover her head as a proper woman would do in the face of public.

“I’m all right, mother,” Neoptolemus pushed his mother’s hands away. He hated when she fussed over him as if he was still a five year old.

“Thank Apollo it is nothing serious!” Deidameia huffed in relieve.

“It’s not me that you should be worried about. I think you should look on your husband instead. He seemed to have broken something inside his head,” he added sarcastically.

“Neoptolemus!” his mother scolded. “How can you say such things about your father? You must have done something really bad to make him so angry thus, although I disagree that he should take it out on you like that.”

“His mind is being poisoned by that Trojan whore. Aren’t you afraid that he is stealing your husband from your marriage bed?”

Deidameia was about to open her mouth to defend her husband, but she clucked her tongue on the roof of her mouth with disapproval instead. She was reminding Neoptolemus that this was not the place to speak of private family matters in front of another even if she had known Pynder since he was a boy; even if everyone knew of Achilles’ capriciousness.

“Go to him, mother,” Neoptolemus spoke disdainfully. “He needs you more. He looks like a wild barbarian from the northern woods. He has no more respect for himself.”

Deidameia was not happy to hear this from her son. The older Neoptolemus grew the more bitter he became towards his father. They were simply too alike and no lion would want to meet its own reflection.

Knowing that she had been dismissed like a little girl, she got up and went away with her ladies-in-waiting. She understood that she was losing her child. Neoptolemus would no longer looked at her in an adoring manner nor need her any further. Her duty was done.

After they had disappeared inside the palace, Neoptolemus turned to his friend.

“Tell the others to prepare our plan. We are moving ahead of schedule,” he instructed. Then he also left the garden while Pynder went the other way to carry out his orders.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

“No. Go away,” Paris said brusquely and fanned his right hand to emphasize his point.

Tassos let out a long, loud dramatic sigh and dropped his head. “If you’re not going to eat, then I will starve with you. If you wish to die, then I will accompany you. You are my good friend and I will never forget that,” he spoke sadly.

Paris gave the younger boy an evil glare. Why was Tassos being so persistent with his welfare?

“Paris,” Tassos looked up and cast his friend the most pitiful expression he knew how – his eyes all glassy with unshed tears. “Master Achilles will be terribly sad when he finds out that you wish to reside in the realm of Hades before your time. I am sure he will follow us shortly after. I know his heart and his love for you and they are true.”

The corner of Paris’ right eye twitched nervously. ‘That brat!’ he cursed silently. He was sure that Tassos was saying it just to make him feel guilty and forgive the Greek prince.

Instead of giving in to the conniving youngster, Paris folded his arms on his chest and whirled away like a cross child. Tassos thought that he even saw a pout on the youth’s parched lips.

For days now, since he could sit up, Paris had been an unbearable person. He would either ignore Tassos completely or snapped at him impatiently. However, the young slave boy continued to serve and take care of Paris faithfully. He knew that Paris had not meant to be so difficult; he was only venting his anger for breaking his promise.

In Achilles’ presence though, he was totally different. He would be as silent as a mouse and his eyes constantly tracked the Greek prince’s every movement like an agitated deer. Whenever Achilles came too near, he would spontaneously back away as far as he could.

This clear display of mistrust hurt Achilles’ feelings badly. Every time he received that reaction, he felt a pang of pain in his chest. He didn’t dare say anything about it though. It was his fault and now he was paying dearly for his rashness. Tassos saw the crestfallen look and he, too, said not a word about it. Every night before he settled to sleep, he would stare out of the window and find the brightest star. Then he would pray in his heart that Paris would forgive Achilles soon because his stubbornness was killing the both of them.


Achilles’ anger had not dissipated after he left the Throne Hall. His steps were a little sluggish now; the lack of sleep and food was taking its toll on his body. He didn’t want to go anywhere else except back to Paris’ bedchamber and was determined to make it even when his head started to spin a little.

When he finally stumbled inside, he didn’t realize it until Tassos called out to him.

“Master Achilles! What happened to you?” Tassos gasped in shock, seeing the damages mete out on his face. He also noticed the paler complexion and sweat dripping from his forehead. Achilles appeared very sick.

This prompted Paris to turn around. He was just as shocked and apprehensive as Tassos by what he saw, but he tried not to show it. He didn’t know why, but suddenly, he bristled and tensed.

Seeing how weak Achilles seemed, he wanted to go to him yet pride got in the way so he stayed where he was and made as if he didn’t care.

“Just a little disagreement,” Achilles answered dismissively as Tassos guided him to sit on one of the chairs in the room. The wound on his face was nothing compared to the ones inflicted on his pride and his lover’s honour.

Tassos was quick to bring a bowl of clean water and a piece of cloth. Meanwhile, Achilles sat there and allowed the young slave to begin cleaning the blood from the wounds. That was when he felt an intense gaze bore into his soul. It was as if something burned inside him and made prickles of heat appear all over him. He knew where it came from so he turned to his lover. He was just in time to catch the distress in Paris’ eyes before the youth hardened them again.

This made Achilles’ heart flutter a little. Paris had shown his worries for him and no matter how miniscule that was, as long as it existed there was still hope for him.

“He’s not eating again?” Achilles asked, seeing the untouched tray.

Tassos shook his head.

“Paris, you must eat something. If you didn’t want to do it for me, then do it for Tassos. Have pity on him. He had worked so hard to serve you,” Achilles cajoled his lover.

For days now, he had not been able to get near the youth and the fact that every time he made any sudden movements the youth would jerk in fright, upset him. He wished he could hug that frail body and together they could comfort each other. The very thought that he would never touch his Paris again saddened him to grief.

“Eat, Paris,” Achilles raised his voice. It was not his intention to frighten the boy anymore than he already was, but there was nothing he could do; he had lost his patience. He was at his wits end and his mind was frazzled. He hadn’t slept well for days and he had lost all interest in anything else.

Either it was through fear or submission, Paris was still capable of obeying Achilles. With obvious unwillingness, he sat down on the bed and picked up the spoon to begin feeding himself. The boy took his time chewing and swallowing, trying to stall time so that he would not have to eat too much, but his trick did not work anymore; the tray would not be removed unless the plates were empty.

After Tassos finished with Master Achilles, he took his usual spot at the corner of the room, watching his two masters like some shadow apparition.

“I’ve gone to confront Neoptolemus just now,” Achilles stated.

Somehow this confession did not surprise Tassos anymore. It caught Paris’ attention though for the youth looked up to stare at Achilles.

“Don’t worry, I have not killed him … yet,” Achilles consoled his lover, remembering what Tassos had told him about Paris’ fear of retaliation against the city of Troy.

This pacified the youth somewhat and he returned to eating. He did not look up anymore. No matter how nonchalant he may have appeared, he could not fool the other two that he was not disturbed by this. Paris knew this was coming anyway.

“What he had done is wrong, just as I had hurt you wrongfully. I am also ashamed of myself for I had committed the same crime while I was at your home.”

Tassos saw Paris’ face darkened from anger and shame. Often war prisoners went through horrendous ordeals and they were helpless to protect themselves.

“As difficult and as painful as it is to me, I will do anything to make you happy again. Therefore, I am setting you free. I will personally take you home to Troy. I will escort you until to the gates of the city and make sure that your family received you safely. Then I will leave her shore and never return again.”

Tears were pooling in the lower lids of Achilles’ eyes as he watched his unaffected lover. He felt a sharp stab in his heart and suddenly the lump in his throat ached too much that he found himself difficult to swallow and even to breathe. Achilles the Golden Lion had never really cried before and he did not understand the signs. He thought that somehow Neoptolemus must have injured him more severely than he originally thought.

He grabbed the arms of the chair and gripped them tightly, and told himself to inhale and exhale slowly. When he couldn’t, he panicked and started wheezing. Tassos was already by his side, comforting him and telling him to calm down.

It was sometime until the room turned silent once more; time had given the impression that it had stopped and nothing moved, not even the wind. It was only when the spoon fell on the plate with a loud clatter that Achilles was awaken to his senses that the world still revolved even though his life had seemed to come to an end.

“No,” a small voice replied.

Achilles did not hear it at first, but as he realized that Paris had spoken his first word to him, he couldn’t believe it.

“What did you say?” he asked.

“I said no. I have no home in Troy now,” Paris spoke in a louder voice.

Achilles was perplexed by the answer and it showed on his wet face.

“You’ve promised me a home here beside you. Are you throwing me out to the wolves now?” Paris stared piercingly into Achilles’ grey eyes.

The Greek prince frowned, still unsure how to process the information he had just heard. His head was still reeling with grief. When it finally dawned on him, he didn’t know whether to cry even harder or laugh till he could not breathe.

“Oh sweet Paris!” Achilles exclaimed happily.

Within the blink of an eye, he was already kneeling in front of Paris and cupped his lover’s hands in his. He was crying so hard he didn’t know how Paris had reacted. All he remembered was that he rested his wet cheek on the slender hands of his lover and without realizing that all his tears were caught in Paris’ palms.

Even Tassos couldn’t help himself with utter happiness by their reunion that he, too, dashed to kneel beside his masters.

Paris watched their emotional displays without any tears in his eyes. He only felt his heart pounding fiercely behind his rib cage. He didn’t know what he was feeling inside.