No Mercy *revised*

(CH-3)

Patroclus swam towards Achilles, who sat on a rock with nothing on him but his necklace. The younger man’s golden body glistened in the sun, and his eyes were sweet and adoring, looking up at his older kin.

“What are you thinking about, Achilles?”

Woken from his thought, the man answered the question with a mere smile.

“Are you thinking of the fine horses of Troy?” Patroclus asked playfully. “And perhaps the riders?”

No one ever dared asking such question with him. But Achilles let Patroclus look at him with curious eyes. The boy might not be a great warrior, not yet, but he had quick senses. He was equipped with innocent bravery, and he was using his best weapon on Achilles now.

Achilles contemplated the question, and could not find an answer. His lingering silence only strengthened the suspicion in the youth’s eyes, and the smile had vanished from the sun-bathed face. The corner of Achilles’ mouth turned upward, and he extended his hand towards his cousin, who took it and let himself be pulled to his lover. Achilles cupped his face and looked straight into those clear blue eyes. He parted his legs, revealing his manhood. Patroclus’ eyes grew huge, fixed by the sight before him, and he leaned in, his hands sliwardward Achilles’ thigh. And the rest of the world became nothing more than a vague impression.

Achilles had his fingers and hands in Patroclus’ fine, blond mane as the boy devoured him, drawing quiet sigh of pleasure from his lips.

Far away, the Trojan ship was anchored at the shore. Its flag with a lean, fine horse flew in the wind. Achilles threw his head back, and in his mind he saw the tall, hard body on the horseback—Hector. Achilles’ fingers tightened in the youth’s hair, and he thrust his hips faster. Even from the distance, he did not fail to gauge how splendid that body would be, that Prince of Troy. What a sight it would be to have him kneel before Achilles like this, to have his lips wrapped around Achilles’ erection?

The thought triggered his completion. Achilles loved to touch his lover’s lips and kiss them after the care he was given. He always returned the favor, pushing the boy face down on the rock. Slowly, he traced his fingers and lips down the pure, muscled back and spectacular buttocks, exploring further and deeper. Patroclus squirmed and moaned quietly, and Achilles made him cry out loud with his lips and tongue. Patroclus’ face was flushed and sweaty, his body wriggling as Achilles kissed and licked him. Oh, how they did not know he enjoyed love making as much. For he loved Patroclus, and Patroclus loved him.

Their bodies rocked together, like wave after wave hitting the shore, sweeping and unrelenting. Achilles bit the nape of Patroclus’ neck, making the younger man groan, and pushed back against him vigorously. He wrapped his arms tightly around the boy…this better version of him, a youth full of life, a loyal partner and a beloved friend, driving faster, and reached his climax just before Patroclus did. They lay on the rock, breathing hard. Resting his head on the youth’s shoulder, Achilles saw the ship from the corner of his eyes. For a brief moment, he was wondering again about that solid tenderness, and the strong, solemn face surrounded by a crown of dark hair.

+


Achilles gazed upon the horrified Hector, and saw a glimpse of vulnerability. The sight gave him small satisfaction.

“My, I hope I haven’t scared the Prince too much,” he said coldly, smiling.

“You Greeks are dogs,” Hector snarled.

“I am disliking this as much as you, Prince Hector,” Odysseus said gravely, “But there is not enough mercy in this battle, let alone for one who had killed great friends of Greeks like you.” He then spoke to Achilles, “We all want this to end, and I do not want to fight for anyone’s indulgence any longer. You have to do something before Agamemnon thinks of something better.”

Achilles frowned. After a brief silence, he said:

“Fine, let our men have their revenge first.”

Odysseus looked troubled. He looked at Hector again, and said before leaving: “At least give him a tunic.”

Hector let out a short laugh without humor. Odysseus exited the tent.

Achilles faced him, but he no longer had death on his mind. Instead, Hector saw the cold blue eyes turned icy and dark, and they burned into his heart like a blade of thin ice. Achilles rummaged through his crate, and threw a dirty black tunic at him. Then, he called for his men, and one man with dark blue eyes and dark hair entered the tent. Achilles whispered something to him, and the man’s eyes grew wide, looking at Hector who was finishingerinering himself.


After a minute, Eudorus and other four Myrmidons entered the tent with ropes in their hands, and they took hold of Hector. He struggled and fought them, hitting one of them and broke the man's nose. Achilles stood watching, certain that his men would subdue the Trojan. After some minutes, Hector was pushed on the floor, two men held his arms behind. Eudorus wound the loop around Hector’s neck like he would do to a wild horse, while the others tided his wrists behind his back.

Eudorus handed the rope to Achilles, and he dragged Hector to the beach.

+

The Greeks cheered as Achilles hauled his prisoner out with ropes around his neck and wrists, shackles on his ankles. They were taken aback and halted briefly, seeing the Trojan warrior in Achilles’ dirty tunic. They were accustomed to Hector’s reputation and ferocity like a god, but what they see now was a mere man, just like them, wieateeaten and pale face, being dragged on rope by their Achilles.

Eagerly, they erected a pole in the sand, where Achilles pulled the resisting Hector towards it. The more he struggled, the more the rope cut into his neck. Approaching the post, Hector saw two Greeks standing on each side. Another man held a horsewhip and another a cane in his hand. Hector shouted aloud, resisting.

“WHIP HIM! WHIP THIS TROJAN DOG!” The maddened Greeks cheered around them.

“Whip his back and buttocks raw, punish him like a slave! He killed our Ajax!” More shouts broke from the crowd.

“And Patroclus!” Others shouted out, intending to fume Achilles.

Hector grounded himself, resisting, causing Achilles to turned and yank the rope violently, making Hector fall to the sand. The Greeks ran toward him and kicked him in the torso and legs, one foot slamming into his wound, and Hector doubled in pain, his teeth bared with silent choked cry. Odysseus shouted, telling the men to step back. Achilles continued dragging Hector, who was lying on his side, arm clutching at his body, sands grating and covered his arms and legs.

Achilles hauled him up and wound the rope around the post, tying Hector’s wrists above his head. He stepped back, examining the man. Then he said,

“Do you know that in Sparta they teach boys courage by savagely whipping them? Perhaps these men can reeducate you what courage is.”

“Do not speak to me as if I am a feeble boy or a woman!” Hector spat to Achilles then looked around his enemies. “I will cry cry before you barbaric Greeks. I was wrong to have thought high of you, as a nation of brave and fierce soldiers. You are not soldiers but hungry, greedy animals, just like this man. Any of you who did not run away from me in the battle field, who dared face me when I had sword in my hand, then step out!”

Some of the Greeks stopped shouting and looked away.

Achilles glanced at his men, and back at the captive.

“Brave, honourable words, Prince? What about killing a boy who had never killed a single soul before? Did he deserve to die more than that wretched wife-stealer brother of yours?”

Hector’s face fell at the words.

Achilles ordered the Spartans, “Do not stop until he weeps like a woman.”

He left the beach behind. As he walked away, the loud crack of wood against flesh gave a very little comfort to his soul.

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