Patrochilles {achillesXpatroclus}

Part the Fifth

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Achilles himself came speeding at full pelt up to where we stood, feet flashing.

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Running at his full speed, which was certainly something, was when I first saw my prince. How he knew just when to arrive, heaven knows, the Gods must have sent him. He was wearing strange armour, I eventually realised it was Trojan. Trojan? What was Achilles, greatest of the Greeks, doing in Trojan armour? Then I took in the rest of his appearance. I was able to recognise my prince, how could I not, but it was clear the rest of the men thought him just to be a foot soldier, as befits the armour he was wearing. He looked at me, one brief glance full of concern and love, but soon he turned his head to Hector, for fear of the emotions in his eyes when he looked at me would be correctly interpreted by the Trojans. He began to speak, and when he did I knew there was no risk of his being discovered now, he put on the perfect Trojan accent, slightly lilting as was common among Trojan plebeians. If anything were to have given him away, I would have thought it would be his princely manner, his way of speaking and standing that commanded such respect that had been ingrained in him since he was a child, for he was Achilles, of course. I inwardly rejoiced that I was the only one to recognise my prince, my love, my Achilles, and that no one but him recognised me, but I kept the same dazed, shocked, humble demeanour. We both knew we weren't out of the woods yet. My reverie was broken by a movement from Achilles. He knelt down and kissed Hector's feet, as was the custom for soldiers greeting their prince and leader.

'I have just heard the news, my lord', he breathed reverently, his Greek accent so well hidden that I could hardly believe the voice I heard was his, he was perfectly at home with the language of the Trojans. 'Please allow me', he continued, 'allow me the honour of assisting this young hero to our wives inside our walled city, to tend to these wounds. Look, here, at the one on his head!' Hector bowed his consent.

'Very well', he concurred. 'Take him, boy', he continued, condescendingly. It was clear he had no idea who he was dealing with. I wondered why absolutely no suspicion had occurred, for, accent disguised and armour changed, Achilles still looked slightly foreign, out of place. Then I realised. Thinking of every detail, Achilles had come from the direction of Troy, wasting valuable time, but ensuring no suspicion would ensue. I was awed. Awed by his clear thinking in a crisis, his devotion to me, but most of all, by Achilles himself. Gods how I love this man, I thought. I could see that Hector's words and condescending manner has made Achilles' blood boil, but he hid it well, merely bowing once more to Hector, before rushing over to help me up.

'Come, soldier', he said gently, leading me away. He looked at me, I made to speak.

'Ssssssst', he whispered urgently under his breath. 'Not here'. He looked at me again, his eyes full of worry and love. When he caught me looking at him, the worry there turned to lust. He took my arm and guided me towards Troy, very quickly. I knew I couldn't pass the walls, he knew it too. I knew he would have a plan. He always did.

I felt safe with him, as we put more and more distance between us and the men, staggering slightly in their drunken stupor, I felt safe even as we walked towards the walls that would prove fatal to both of us if I stepped inside them. I felt no fear. How could I though?

I was with Achilles.