Take Me Home

Part 8

The trireme was made for speed and maneuverability, to sail in the shortest time to the enemy’s shore and engage in battle. It was never made for comfort or long voyages, only to transport soldiers from one point to the next. The ship was practically stripped bare of any holds in the hull and replaced with three tiered thwarts for the slaves to pull the oars. (1)

Thus everyone slept, ate and lazed around on the open deck with only patched up canopy above their heads as protection from the rain and sun. There was no privacy among the men, not even for the great warrior like Achilles.

The sun was already riding high in the sky and the men were taking their time with their lunch. Quite a few were shamelessly naked while the others were stripped to their waist and in short kilts as they lie down to eat. Occasional odd sound of passing wind mingled in the drones of conversations, unnoticed by anyone as these were considered normal bodily functions.

Achilles was with Patroclus, taking lunch together as if nothing had ever come between them. Neither of them offered any apologies for their outburst two days ago and they also deliberately avoided bringing it up. They were chatting and joking like old times again, putting many of the men at ease except Eudoras.

The Second-In-Command was quite sure this was all a show because he had seen the hints that tension was still between the cousins. The tight smiles offered freely could not conceal the hardness in their eyes whenever they gazed at each other and in the past, they were never ashamed to show some affections in front of the men yet now, they hardly stood to a hand-span close to one another.

Many times, Eudoras caught Achilles glancing over to Paris when he thought his cousin was not looking, but Patroclus knew. The younger blond would press his lips firmly together till they turn white, uttering no complains while the son of Peleus obliviously engrossed himself in this new found feeling of being madly in love.

The fact that the two men did not speak of the incident proved that they had not forgiven each other, but they understood that it was to be put to rest, at least until they reach Phythia again.

After the meal was over, it was the quietest moment on board the ship. Everyone was ng ang a short nap except for the helmsman and the lookout-man placed near the prow of the trireme. With the lull of the gentle roll and comforting creak of the ship, it was like sleeping in a gigantic cradle.

From where he was lying on his side, Achilles was watching Paris without being suspected. The poor youth was like an abandoned child, hugging to himself while seated on his usual spot behind the barrel and nodding off to sleep. He had been avoiding everyone all day and had spoken not a single word except a nod of acknowledgement when Achilles handed him a skin bag of water.

Patroclus could have gloated, seeing Paris faring not so well. There were slight hollows below his cheekbones and light shadows had appeared under his eyes. The youth was quite tanned by now as with everyone on board the ship, but he looked unhealthy just the same.

No, jealousies gave way to nothing, not even pity. The Trojan’s suffering was not enough, not in Patroclus eyes anyway.

The weight lost in Paris was nothing to be alarmed as some men had a tough time adjusting to the motion on the ship, but Achilles suspected that it has nothing to do with that because he had not noticed the boy bending over the side. What worried him the most was that Paris was starving himoughoughough depression.

This behaviour was quite perplexing to Achilles. While Paris had shown clear signs that he was the unwilling hostage yet he accepted with quiet shyness every affections Achilles offered him. Then why was he in misery still?

While no one would go near the new slave except Eudoras, Achilles could understand that he was very lonely. However, he had no idea that Paris would rather rot in prison, no matter how dark, dirty or smelly it was; that would be better than being glared at maliciously, leered on or listening to the whispers of dark intent between Patroclus and his followers.

Paris had wondered why he had not jumped off the ship by now and ended his life, but every time he looked into the dark blue waters, he couldn’t work up the courage to do it. It was precisely this cowardice that had landed him into so many troubles. How could he forgive himself now?

Up above their heads, the single, black sail bent fully under the good, strong winds sent by Aeolus. It was a personal summon from Poseidon himself as a small favour to one of his favorite Sea Nymps – Thetis. The god of water realm wished to make this Nereid happy again, knowing that she had suffered so much since Achilles set sail for Troy.

Within ten days, the look-out man spotted the white shore of the island of Phythia. He hailed out loudly, sending the men scrambling to the side of the ship. Cries of joy came from them and some had stretched out their hands towards the sky to send thanks to the gods.

Achilles, son of Peleus was especially happy because he would see his mother again. He knew that she had resigned to the fate of gloom and loneliness without him when he set sail for Troy, but he hoped his return would give her a pleasant surprise. At the same time, he was anxious of Paris’ state, hoping that once they stay on solid ground again, he would be better.

Two soldiers stationed on the high-tower that looked out to the open sea saw the black ship of Achilles and immediately raised the alarm by beating the bronze gong. The loud clangs brought the attention of a lone soldier sitting below the tower. Life had been idle lately so he s a n a nap or two under the shade of the tower when he was supposed to be on guard duty. He looked up and saw his comrade bent over the wooden railing, shouting the message that he was to bring to the king.

The young man swiftly mounted his horse and galloped back to the palace. The nearby villagers who also heard the alarm looked to the direction of the tower. Their hearts were beating fiercely in their chests, afraid to see the column of blackke rke rise to the air, signaling an attack by the pirates.

After some time, seeing that no other signals were raised, the villagers began to send their youths to run from village to village to announce the return of one of their ship. Many wives, parents and children poked their heads out of the huts when they heard the heralds and immediately made haste for the harbour to greet the return of their loved ones.

The sail was lowered and now the trireme relied on human power to maneuver around the long arm of the island. The tall, gray cliffs facing them were treacherous. The rowers must have the strength to fight the waves from being pushed against the side. The helmsman’s forehead was furrowed as he fully concentrated in maneuvering the shis sos soon as the ship came round, they were met by a narrow opening that led to an enclosed bay where the harbour was built. While passing by, the Myrmidons on the ship waves their tunics above their heads to the cheering soldiers and little boys at the banks of the channel. The danger was over now.

By the time the ship was making its way towards the jetty, a huge group of people were gathered there. More cheers resounded from them and the women waved colourful head scarves above their heads. Expectant mothers and some carrying infants in their arms stood at the very front of the crowd, anxious to catch a glimpse of their returning husbands, if at all.

The closer they got to land, the more nervous Paris became. He had retreated to the back of the ship quietly; his eyes darted around like a frightened doe, looking for a place to hide. The helmsman did not take any notice of him, his eyes staring ahead as they made their way slowly to the jetty.

Paris’ heart was pounding madly by now and his palms felt sweaty and clammy. He was a son of Troy and he would be the only one amidst an entire nation of enemy. With nowhere to run, his only refuge would be with his master and if the man still favoured him, he could still garner some protection from him; otherwise, he would be left at the mercy of the others.

Despite that Troy and Phythia were not natural enemies except through its allegiance to King Agamemnon, there was no guarantee that Paris would not be harassed. This was time of war and hostility was common especially where men must leave home to fight a battle not their own and probably never come home again. There were also the jealousies of Patroclus who could make his life like living in Hades.

The moment the plank was in place and the Myrmidons were about to cross it, King Peleus arrived in his chariot, driven by a young guard and immediately behind, the royal guards in handsome stallions. The rest of his royal guards followed from behind and they dismounted in unison. His subjects made room for him in the front and the guards stood at attention just slightly behind him.

King Peleus was still a man in his prime, his vigour showed in his body and the way he stood tall and proud as a regal king. However, there was a certain sadness etched on his face. Like his estrange wife – Thetis – he had already accepted the fact that he would not see his son again. Even though he had sired many sons, Achilles was his favourite.

Thetis also appeared to greet the returning ship, but she had come on foot and hid herself among the commoners. Her head scarf was drawn over her head to cover her identity. She didn’t really believed that she would see Achilles again, but her heart told her to come to the harbour anyway, at least to bury her heart and mind to rest.

She had to stand on tiptoe to look over the tall shoulders, just to catch a glimpse of the ship. No one had believed that it would return so soon. Perhaps the ship had returned early, now that the Myrmidons were leaderless, carrying Achilles’ ashes back to his homeland.

Her heart was pounding madly in her chest and she debated if she should start beating her chest and pulling her hair, wailing her lament as the men brought out the urn from the ship.

Gasps and murmurs of surprise went back and forth among the gatherers; then someone started to clap his hands and the others followed. Another round of cheers erupted in full force when the first Myrmidons started to cross the plank.

This disrespectful reception clearly upset Thetis. They should be mourning, not celebrating.

From the very beginning, Thetis saw a young man with long, blond hair stepped onto the wooden quay and assumed immediately that he was Patroclus. They had been so close and the younger man simply adored his cousin, thus purposely growing his hair to the same length as his lover. ‘Patroclus’ and his fellows went straight to the king.

After they gave their respectful bow, ‘Patroclus’ approached the king. They hugged and exchanged a few words before he moved away.

The blond young man now looked around the quay as if searching for someone and like the close bond that mother and son shared, he detected the Nereid among the crowds. He went straight for her, the gathered men and women and children parted to let him through.

Standing a head taller with a wide smile, he looked down with homesick affections at her. Thetis’s heart beat so hard behind her bosom, unsure if she was afraid to meet this man or that she could believe her eyes.

Achilles was standing right in front of her, waiting for her for her reactions.

It was all that Thetis could do was hugged her son so tightly as did he. The mother and son broke down in tears by the unexpected reunion. It was a happy sight indeed.

(1) For the experts in these kinds of ancient ships, if I make a mistake, please let me know. ^_^