Between Lions and Men

9: doomed to live but for a little season

Hecktor

"What is so important that I left my wife's bed----don't do that," I growl, as my brothers tug me well below the ramparts. Of course we're up on the wall.

"Shhh, lower your voice," Alexsander laughs, though his voice is equally loud.

"Their fires still burn," Dion says, kneeling next to him, "Why do you suppose?"

"I hear there are sick among them," the stranger says. He's dressed in a long, gold and red coat, and his blue eyes glow pale and unnatural in the evening light. I don't know how he got here, or appeared within the city walls. But in this world we don't ask questions like that. He is clearly something else. And if he hasn't given us a name, we don't want one.

My brothers take an immortal walking among us rather lightly. My brothers are idiots.

"You hear?" I say, because news does not pass through the walls.

"Yes, there are sick, soon many shall die," he say, cheerfully, as immortals talk of death which does not come to them. "Come, let's shoot arrows at their camp."

"We may hit nothing," Alexsander says.

"So?" the stranger laughs, "Join us Hecktor. You frown too often."

"My face will remain the same. I am off to bed, as you should be," I say, pushing my brother's knees, "You have wives of your own as I recall."

"We also have other entertainments."

"A good woman is all the entertainment I need." I leave them, winding my way back off the wall and into the palace. Knowing them, they'll be up till all hours with this ragged man they found. If they're lucky it's merely a trickster demi-god, and not some god bent on cursing us all. We are rarely lucky, in this house.

"Did you find your brothers?" Andy asks, turning from her dressing table, long hair spilling down her back.

"Yes," I say, sliding my arms around her to lift her up.

"And?"

"And they're stupid. As always," I say, tossing her onto the bed then crawling in next to her to kiss her.

"What's gotten into you tonight?" she laughs, submitting all the same.

"Nothing," I lie, putting my face in her sweet smelling hair.

"You're not going to die," she says, moving my face so I'll look into her eyes.

"Okay," I don't believe it. She knows this.

"Your mother's prophecy is that the only man that can kill you—"

"Is the son of Peleus, we know he's here," I say, quietly, tucking her hair behind her ears.

"But why would he kill you? You're not the only soldier—"

"They call him the butcher."

"You're important though, he'd take you captive if anything. Why should he slaughter you?" she asks.

I shrug. "I don't have reasons. That doesn't mean I believe it any less. I saw him on the field, the day before last. When he runs out of bullets, he gores the men with his bayonet. When that too breaks, he breaks their necks with his bare hands."

"If you encounter him, surrender, then," she frowns, "Ask him to bring you back alive."

"Men cannot bargain with lions," I laugh, "If he sets me in his sights I shall be truly finished."

"Then don't go to battle," she says, stroking my cheek.

"We both know I'm not a coward."

"I'd sooner you live than you preserve what you suppose to be your honor. You have a son to raise, if you'll recall."

"I do. I'm not dead yet. I may not be soon," but my time does run short. I know that.

"He probably doesn't even know who you are," she says.

"I doubt a man like him knows anything. I don't want to talk of him tonight. You'll think of him enough when I am dead," I say, cupping her sweet face in my hands, "Hold me tonight. Tell me about our son. I missed him today."

"He missed you. He asked after you. I'm to make you promise to say goodbye in the mornings, even if he's not awake."

"All right then. A promise I can keep."

"You'd better keep all of your promises. I think you're supposed to defend me, in sickness and in health, for all of my life."

"I will for all of mine, and form whatever death I can escape. You know heroes have broached the walls of death before," I say, kissing her neck then arm.

"You'll wait for me, if you die first. If I die, then I'll wait for you. And when I die I want you to bury me with white lilies," she says, smiling wickedly.

"Of course you do. Do the same for me then, or whatever strikes your fancy. I suppose you'll throw yourself upon my body and kiss my lips and beg me to come back? I'd sooner you didn't. Don't make a scene, everyone will already know I'm dead."

"No, I'll wash you face gently, and put flowers in your hair, and actually brush it, because you never stay still enough or me to do that," she says, pressing her forehead against mine, "And I'll make you look very very pretty so everyone in the land of the dead will know you're my prince."

"Good, you do that," I say, kissing her and almost laughing, "Good to have little plans and things to look forward to, when I'm ritualistically slaughtered."

"You keep talking like that it'll come true."

"You don't believe in fate?"

"I believe in our fate, you and me. And what we make of it."