Hecktor
"I'm fine, don't weep," I say, as Andy flies to my arms. They patched me up, and I pushed them off for the last of it. Suddenly, I needed her in my arms.
"They said Peleus was afield I—,"
"Shh, it was not him, it was his companion, who is now dead," I say, cradling her.
"Your poor face," she says, putting her delicate fingers up to my skin.
"It's nothing, I'm well," I say, kissing her, "Is Scam asleep?"
"No, the noises kept him up, we don't tell him you're out there, but he asks after you and then you don't come, so he cries," she says.
"He can't know," I say, following her to the nursery. Scam is sitting up in his crib, dark curls hanging his eyes. He reaches out when he hears my voice, then cowers when the light from the lamp shines on my face. He begins to cry.
"Shh—it's me," I say, taking off my helmet and kneeling. "It's still me."
"Da?" He mumbles, rubbing his face.
"Come here, I'm home safe," I say.
"Tonight," Andy whispers.
"Do not doubt me, woman," I say, smiling, playfully, "I will not leave you. Peleus' ships are prepared to sail. We have won yet."
"Not just yet," she says, stroking my hair, which still has blood in it, "The last word we had you were carried off field, a boulder to your chest."
"An exaggeration, I'm well as you see," I say, picking our son up and standing, "Come, I'm exhausted. I left them at medical, I'd sooner you see to my injuries."
"You know I shall," she kisses my cheek, wary of the scar.
"Good," I wonder what my chest looks like. He said tell no one. I don't intend to tell her, but she shall see the remains of the injury.
YOU ARE READING
Between Lions and Men
Historical FictionA modernized retelling of the last few books of the Iliad. History's classic war story, which is actually a love story. How deep goes grief run, and what do we leave behind after we're gone? The tragic tale of Achilles' rage and loss, the great warr...
