Take Me Home

Part 18

Two days later, Achilles was invited to a neighbouring country to arbitrate a dispute. He didn’t like the job because it was time consuming and a lot of patience was needed. However, his reputation as a revered hero and commander of his myrmidons was taken highly and deemed a fair judge.

He thought at first to take Paris along with him, wanting to keep the youth close to him and also giving him a chance to visit other places, but Paris preferred to stay back. This was because the youth was ecstatic to learn from him that he had spoken to Tassos’ master and the boy was ready to be fetched at any time. So Achilles made a promise that he would return home as soon as possible and Paris whispered bashfully into his ear that he would be waiting for him – much to the warrior’s delight to hear it.

Immediately after Achilles and his small troop of warriors departed on horse back, Paris ran to the slaves’ quarter like an eager child. When he got there, the other slaves told him that Tassos was sent out on an errand. He felt a bit disappointed with the delay in sharing the good news, but was not deterred entirely. So, he left a message that he would be waiting for his friend in a small clearing area near the riverside. They had been there twice to fish when they had finished their chores early at the olive slopes.

Paris had liked it there because it was peaceful. He thought that he could do a little fishing while waiting, to sort out his mind concerning Achilles. However, when he got there, the river had swelled higher and the water was rushing by dangerously.

Autumn was coming to an end and the chilly winds were blowing from the sun-parched mountains. The sky was greyer now as the sun was often hidden behind the clouds. Although Paris had on a cloak to keep warm, the strong wind was still a nuisance. He found a tree that was large enough to take refuge from and sat leaning against it to wait for his friend.

It never occurred to him that it was not advisable to stay alone in such a place. Being quite confident that he could take care of himself since he had beaten Patroclus and that incident had spread all over Phthia, he let his guard down as his mind wandered off easily into the clouds.

His blue eyes stared blankly ahead to the opposite forest; a small smile played on his lips. He wasn’t even aware of the chill anymore because his entire being was being warmed by the intimate memories of three nights ago. His grin grew wider as he replayed the moment when they called one another’s name in the throes of passion and Achilles’ sincere admission while tucked snugly in his arms.

He really wanted to express his love for the man yet he didn’t know what stopped him. It wasn’t that he was unsure of his heart for he was quite reckless with it sometimes. He had stopped believing that he would ever return to Troy despite what Thetis had told him. It was more logical to assume that if that ever happened, it would be that when his ashes was strewn into the sea and it found its way back to the shore of his birth land. Therefore, there was nothing to lose if he confessed to Achilles.

So engrossed he was in his little world, that he didn’t realize or heard when someone came up from behind him.

“I hope you are smiling because you remembered of our little coitus,” Neoptolemus announced his presence.

Startled out of his skin, Paris jumped to his feet immediately. The moment he feared the most was finally catching up to him. Even against all odds, he had that tiny hope that Neoptolemus would have forgotten about him if not lost interest in him. He was terribly wrong.

Now he cursed himself for coming here alone. He was in vulnerable state, with no one around to help him. And how Neoptolemus knew where to find him was puzzling. He found out that most of the slaves didn’t like Achilles’ son because the man was merciless. Could it be that someone had been sent to follow him all these while and Neoptolemus had been waiting for his chance to strike again?

Another man stood beside the Greek prince, someone Paris didn’t know and didn’t think was his bodyguard. He looked too confident to be one.

“I met Patroclus the other day. I saw what you did to him and I heard that my father even taught you wrestling after that. What witchery have you cast upon my father to fall so deeply for you that he forgets his own family and lets you go unpunished for daring to raise your hands against one of your masters? Did you use the same magic on Helen when you stole her from her husband?” Neoptolemus showed no emotions, but there was no mistaking his underlying dark tone. “I would never have believed that she would ever swoon for a BOY like you.”

The two men moved subtlety without arousing suspicion that they were trying to corner their frightened prey.

“I did not use any witchcraft on anyone. She begged me to take her away because Menelaus was mistreating her. He is a jealous man and kept her possessively. I only agreed to help her because I cannot stand to see any woman abused like that. As for your father, I knew not his reason. Ask him yourself.”

Paris eyes flitted between the men and became increasingly alarmed when he felt that they were getting too close to him.

That reaction caused the man beside Neoptolemus to step to one side and crossing his hands over his chest in a dare to Paris to try and run past them. Like a trapped hunted deer, Paris backed towards the river. He stopped when he was close to the banks. There was no where to go except swim across the river, but the dark waters looked dangerous.

“Oh believe me, I did. And you know what he told me? That your tightness was the most exquisite that he ever had the pleasure of taking. He was so drowned in your wild passionate heat that he completely forgets himself. I couldn’t agree more,” and Neoptolemus licked his lips in a lusty manner.

The Trojan youth was appalled by Neoptolemus’ vulgarity and he would never believe that Achilles could ever say such things to others. He wondered if Neoptolemus was simply taunting him to react or he was just being his usual self?

“I am hurt, Paris. You favored my old man more than me who is younger, stronger and full of energy. You know I can give you more,” Neoptolemus remarked derisively as he rubbed his already engorged cock through the fabric of his skirt.

The blond prince’s intention was clear. It was time to make a dash for escape. Paris ducked from their attempt to catch him and made a blind run along the river. He knew he was going the wrong way, getting further away from the nearest help, but he didn’t have any choice; Neoptolemus’ companion had blocked that route. The only thing he could do now was put a distance between him and them and then change his direction back towards the slaves’ village.

Unfortunately, the two men easily chased their nervous buck down and pushed him to the ground; Paris’ escape plan was too predictable for the experienced men. Neoptolemus was quick to straddle his thighs to stop his kicking while the other pinned his wrists above his head. Paris fought hard to free himself, trashing about wildly, but he didn’t have enough strength to wrestle against two well-trained warriors. He resorted to screaming for help.

“Cover his mouth. He’s too noisy,” Achilles’ son instructed to his accomplice.

The other man dug his boney kneecap onto Paris’ right wrist to free one hand and slapped that clammy palm on top of his mouth.

Stretched prone on the rough ground, Paris watched futilely helpless as Neoptolemus began tearing the front of his tunic apart. His breathing sounded harsh through his flared nostrils when his loin cloth was ripped away.

“I’ve missed you miserably, Paris. No one had been able to satisfy me ever since I was seduced into your bed. Be a good boy and put an end to my torture,” the blond young man said in a mocking tone and lifted up his skirt.

Paris let out a chocked whimper when he saw the huge purple phallus; its swelled head twitched excitedly with anticipation. The Trojan youth was terrified to the point of desperate panic and he started to fight against their restraints once more.

He knew it as well as they did – there was no escape.

His scream remained trapped inside his throat when he was cruelly breached. His cry of anguish was as much a prisoner as his body was held down and his mind was forced to endure the ugly experience with clarity.

His face was showing the agony he felt in his lower body; his legs had been rendered uselessly limp by that effect. His lungs burned sharply from the lack of air because he wasn’t able to draw enough through his runny nose. His sight was watery by the tears flooding in the pools of his eyes, distorting his vision, but not washing away his misery.

His only clear memory was that he heard grunts as his assaulter pounded into him with force and his body jerked back and forth harshly.

Gradually, everything else disappeared except the sun that broke through the walls of grey clouds. The glare did not hurt his eyes, but strangely enough, despite the bright daylight, he saw dimness closing in.

Was the gods witnessing this crime and was now descending from Mount Olympus to strike upon Neoptolemus? Was that the shadow of Apollo, his childhood protector, swallowing up the sun? Soon the darkness had turned too great and the weight oppressing, so much so that Paris had to close his eyes and flee.

~*~

The sound of water rushing by was the first thing that penetrated Paris’ grogginess. He used that as a focus and crawled towards that direction, gradually coming to brightness. He blinked several times to clear the drying tears from his eyes. He couldn’t see the sun anymore, being well hidden behind the thick clouds once more.

His first instinct was to get away although that was hampered by slow, cautious movements as if his limbs were tied to pieces of heavy iron slabs. This was due to stiffness that he felt all over and the dull throbbing below his waist discouraged any sudden movements.

He felt sick all over his body and the back of his skin crawled with disgust. He couldn’t stand the touches Neoptolemus left on him and the slimy feeling between his inner thighs and the cleft of his ass was especially repugnant. He had an extreme urge to want to clean himself.

With difficulty, he rolled to his side and using his elbow and hand to push himself up. This caused a sudden spasm in his stomach, forcing all the contents inside shot out of his mouth. He held himself up on all fours as he coughed and spluttered. Unable to bridle his uncontrollable fit of emotions, he cause tears to leak in torrents too. There was too much darkness in his heart.

“Paris! Oh Mighty Zeus! What has happened to you?” a friendly voice cried out in alarm.

Within an instant, Tassos was beside Paris, helping the youth to sit up. The poor Trojan youth was still so sick – hacking and crying so piteously – he couldn’t say a word.

Judging from the torn tunics hanging off his body and the familiar recognizable bruises on certain part of his body, Tassos understood what misfortune had befallen him.

So, he waited patiently for Paris to calm down on his own without making any attempt to touch him. He didn’t want to scare the frightened youth into hysteria.

The coughing fit stopped after a while and his cries died down to sniffles. The tears were drying a bit, but the runny mess was still dribbling off his face. Taking pity, Tassos took a corner of his cloak to clean if off.

“Help me up. I need to go clean myself,” Paris said finally when his throat didn’t hurt so much anymore.

“I will bring you back to your master now. He must know this and catch the assailant who did this to you,” Tassos suggested instead, not knowing that the matter was much more complicated than this.

“No!” Paris exclaimed vehemently, clutching onto Tassos’ rough linen tunic; unwilling to let go. “Don’t tell Achilles about this. He will kill his son and I don’t want that in my hands. This will cause Phthia to retaliate against Troy. Promise me, Tassos. Please! I beg you.”

Tassos was dumbfounded to discover that Neoptolemus was to blame. Even more shocking, he finally pieced together the reason Paris had looked utterly ashamed when Patroclus had mentioned about Neoptolemus’ ‘punishment’ on that day of incident. This had not been the first time with Achilles’ son.

“You need not beg me, Paris. You have my word as a friend. I pledge my honour too, if you needed,” Tassos committed himself sincerely as he stared into Paris’ red and swollen eyes.

“Do not worry, Tassos. Your friendship is enough.” Paris attempted to give his friend a smile as reassurance, but failed miserably. “Please help me to the bank. I need to clean myself.”

With the youth’s help, Paris took off his ruined tunic. Then Tassos turned it into two pieces of rags before wetting it. While Paris cleaned the more intimate area of himself, Tassos cleaned the other parts. Once done, he gave his cloak to his friend to cover his nakedness. He also picked up Paris’ own soiled cloak to wrap around the shivering youth.

“I need to rest for a while before we go back,” Paris said.

So they huddled together behind some thick bushes, away from the cold wind and hidden from sight in case someone should come around – particularly Neoptolemus.

“Are you all right?” Tassos whispered as he watched Paris adjusted himself to a more comfortable sitting position beside him. “Put your head on my shoulder,” he offered. When Paris did, he wound his arms around his back to give him more warmth as he felt the older youth was still quavering.

“Thank you, Tassos,” Paris whispered his gratitude.

“Don’t worry about anything. Just close your eyes and rest. I will wake you later.”

Paris nodded once.

“The people of Phthia will forgive quickly even if Achilles had killed his own son with his bare hands because he is their pride and champion. He can still sire more heirs. I, on the other hand, will receive not even a shred of pity for causing this grievance in Peleus’ household because I am their enemy and only a whore. I am not worth the cause for this bloodshed.”

It was at this time that Tassos felt warm wetness on his shoulder. He turned a little to look and saw a dark patch there. He tightened his arm to let his friend know he was there.

“I worry for my brother and my homeland. I’ve given them enough suffering. If reducing my honour to a more wretched life than a hetaira and keeping my silence can ensure the safety of Troy, I will do it. Did you know Tassos that I’ve already severed all ties to my former family? I’ve kept my birth name only as prove of my existence in this world and I will take it with me when I walk to the land of Hades. No one would ever suspect that Priam had such a son and the memory of the once Prince Paris of Troy, the wife stealer, will fade one day. This is my fate.”

Paris’ deep and dark thoughts frightened Tassos. He pondered if it was better to keep silent or to tell someone of what was happening to his best friend.