Defying Fate

Chapter 1-p1-The King

The horse was nearly complete.

It had been a week since Achilles, brokenhearted, idiot, and hero, had rampaged through Troy, killing Hector and many Trojans besides. But Hector's brothers still lived, most chiefly Paris, who had begun this whole thing, and there were rumors that Hector had recently celebrated the birth of a son. "The Lord of the City," Astyanax.

It had been a week since the funeral of Achilles, where they'd laid him to rest beside his Patroclus. Every prophecy that had been told about the hero had come true. Including that of his death.

It had been a week since they'd held the meeting, wherein the plan was laid down to finally rescue Helen and fulfill the oath the Achean coalition had taken. If the gods were on their side, the war would end tonight.

Odysseus, king of Ithaca, and the Achean's best (or second best depending on who you asked) tactician, stood on the hill overlooking the project. Of average height and build, most underestimated him at first glance, because he lacked the physique of some of the other heroes in the army. His hair and beard were slightly unkempt, but short, the dark locks were now sprinkled with some silver, though he was still young, not yet in his 30th year. His eyes were a deep brown, keen and clever. He stood with his arms folded, watching the engineers apply the final panels to the massive construction before him.

The horse was designed to look like a gift, a sign of surrender. Nearly 25 feet tall, they had leveled a small forest for enough wood to build it. Wood that Agamemnon grumbled would have been better suited making and repairing spearshafts and shields, but he'd been outvoted. The horse was built to hold up to twenty men in its belly, and a hidden catch and a lever in the forward leg would open the sides to reveal the men at the appropriate time. The legs had been fashioned with cleverly concealed slots for swords and shields, and the entire thing could be moved on massive wheels, pulled by a team of a dozen slaves.

"That is the ugliest thing I have ever seen," Diomedes, king of Argos, the Achean's second-best (or first-best if you asked him) tactician, and Odysseus' friend, came beside him. Diomedes was the picture of the Achean hero, tall and strong, with long dark hair and a deep brown complexion. His scarred face was intimidating, but his demeanor was easy-going, and he always had some plan brewing behind those black eyes. 

Diomedes rested an elbow on Odysseus' shoulder, but Odysseus shrugged it off, grimacing at him. "So long as the Trojans buy it, I don't care," he replied. "Are your men ready? You're going to be the one leading the main force."

"I'm not worried about where I'm going to be," the taller man responded. "How's your focus?"

"It's fine, I'm anxious to get this done with." Odysseus walked a few steps away, and Diomedes let him go, but, Odysseus wondered if he saw through the lie.

He knew he should keep his mind on the coming battle. Everything hinged on his actions, after all, but all he could think about was his home.

The island of Ithaca was not the most powerful of kingdoms. The island was small, the soil was rocky and the terrain was mountainous, mostly suitable only for the hearty olive groves and the goats that called it home. He'd done everything he could to avoid coming to Troy, and now, after ten years of fighting, he was *beyond* ready to get back.

Once he was out of sight of Diomedes, he sat and pulled out the old, comforting memory of his wife, Penelope, on the day that he left. She stood slightly taller than him, in her favorite dress, dyed indigo, with her dark hair braided back the way she liked it. Her deep blue eyes gazed down at the bundle in her arms.

Odysseus reached out a hand to brush back the blanket, to see the glimpse of his son Telemachus, who had been asleep at the time, but—

"Captain," Eurylochus never called Odysseus king, and why should he, when he was married to his sister, and as close as a brother? The man's name meant 'Broad' and it suited him, as he was one of the tallest men that had joined Odysseus from Ithaca, and built like a door, though his disposition was kind. His curly hair was cut military short, and he kept his beard trimmed, the perfect image of a soldier. As one of Odysseus' oldest friends and companions, Eurylochus was now second-in-command of the Ithacan legion. "It's time," he said. "They're waiting for you."

Odysseus looked up and saw the sun was setting behind the city walls. How long had he been sitting out here, lost in a daydream?

"Thank you, Eurylochus," he said, reaching up to put his hand on the man's shoulder. "Get the ship ready. With any luck, we set sail for home by dawn."