Author's Note - Hi everyone, hope you are all keeping well. I don't know what else to say about this chapter apart from - bleak times :o( Anyway, I hope you enjoy it and review if you can!

Our journey to Cilician Thebe felt long and tedious although in truth, it only took a day and a night I think - I could not be sure of this as most of the time I slept; exhausted from the worry of everything that had suddenly been thrust upon me. There was little else to do, safely ensconced in the caravan whilst we travelled, apart from chat to the other Hetaerae - and I was in no mood for that. I sometimes eavesdropped on what the others talked of and it seemed to me to be vain and trivial as they were painfully unaware of the enormity of the event that we were walking right in to. I think I envied their naivety - perhaps ignorance is bliss.

The caravan that transported us – myself and seven other Hetaerae, including my friend Thais – was a large, covered truck pulled by six strong horses and guarded by some members of the army. It was by no means uncomfortable or basic however – the ride was fairly smooth due to an excellent suspension system and inside was as luxurious as the Gynaecium. It was decorated like that room with drapes in the windows, cushions for us to lounge on, furs and blankets all around to keep any chills at bay and a few lamps were hung from the roof in case it became too dim inside. We had also been provided with a provisions box full of food, wine and utensils. I only snacked on a few grapes and drank one cup of wine the entire time – it was not just that I did not have much appetite, I was quite concerned about needing to relieve my bladder as arrangements for that had not been made clear.

"Phile, you are not yourself, what is wrong?" Thais leant over and whispered to me.

I had pulled a window drape to the side and was looking out absently at the terrain we passed though. It was nothing much to look at – a never-ending plain of beige, dry grasses with jagged mountains looming indistinctly in the background. A few desperate-looking trees and seemingly lifeless weeds were dotted throughout.

I shrugged, still looking out at the most uninspiring view: "Nothing much." I answered flatly.

I felt terrible lying to my friend, especially as I knew I could easily confide in Thais even my deepest feelings and thoughts and she would always keep them a secret. However – I did not want to alarm or upset her and it was not like we had privacy with eight of us stuck in a travelling box. I did not want any of the others to overhear and upset and alarm them either.

"Try not to worry about your mother. She has a strong will, just like you." Thais told me with a smile, squeezing my wrist reassuringly then considerately leaving me to my dark musings.

I was relieved Thais assumed my gloomy temperament was down to fretting about mother – and some of it was – but there was something else, something much more pressing that made me question my own future and the unconditional love I held for Hector. The other Hetaerae were blissfully unaware about the situation we were fast heading to - and I wished to the gods I was too.

You see, I could not get the niggling question out of my head of why Hetaerae were deemed necessary on a military campaign, no matter how hard I tried just to focus and trust in the instructions of my Prince and my King's orders. So, the previous day – just after I had left mother to take an afternoon nap once she had finished her chicken broth meal and instead of resting myself – I had headed straight for the records room to see if I could find some answers.

When I got there, everything was the same as it always was – cavernous, dim, musty smelling with Nereus snoozing at his desk and Bo resting on his perch. In some ways, I found the unchanged constancy of the place rather comforting. I was so familiar with the layout by then that I knew exactly where I should look for the information I needed, although it was a corner I had always deliberately avoided until now. With my thirst for knowledge outweighing the trepidation pulling on my stomach, I pulled some piles of parchment from the shelves and took them to the table where I sat, took a deep breath to quell my apprehension and started to read. The documents I had before me were witness accounts of war – field battles, attacks on cities (it seems that King Priam had quite a thirst to assert his power in his younger years), how attempted raids on Troy were defeated and there were even accounts of small skirmishes (I actually found the account of when my father died protecting Hector from the Gaul pirates but I stopped reading when I realised that, I already knew all I needed to about that terrible day).

The accounts were mainly concerned on what battle strategies were used, how significant members of the army died and how noteworthy men of the enemy were killed. The injuries described were very upsetting – the loss of heads and limbs, slit throats, disembowelments, swords right through the heart and some men with lesser injuries dying slowly as they bled out, suffering in their pain for far too long. It was all described very matter-of-factly and in a cold manner, making the details seem even more harrowing. Much more distressing than that were tales of what happened to the city dwellers during an invasion. Whole families burned alive whilst trapped in their own homes, marauding soldiers running through city streets, indiscriminately slaughtering anybody they found trying to hide or escape - children included. Women were raped and killed on the spot or imprisoned to be taken as servants and slaves. By far the worst thing of all was innocent babies being heartlessly tossed from battlements to their deaths – I found those parts particularly difficult to read due to the tears in my eyes. The cruelty and lack of any mercy was terribly disturbing and even Troy's men were not innocent of ruthless acts. I am pleased to say that I did not discover my father or Hector to be involved with such awful deeds however, which was some (but not much) comfort.

The opposite of 'comfort' is what I found when I discovered why Hetaerae were taken to a military campaign – it was not so much for female company for their Kyrios but rather a means to trade and barter with the enemy as if they were objects rather than people. I was absolutely disgusted to read that an enemy Army Commander in a past battle of many years ago had accepted the bribe of four of the most attractive Hetaerae (including Troy's then own Army Commander's woman, as she was seen as the highest of value) in return for the release of a captured General. He had meant all four of them for his own bed and what happened to them after that was not recorded but it was clear the girls had not returned.

I put the parchment down and tried to compose myself as I do not think I have ever been so appalled. My head swam with questions and possibilities. I felt dizzy, sick even – was that to be my fate? Would Hector really give me away to a strange man like trading grain for gold to be raped, abused and most likely disposed of?

I spent a sleepless, tearful night worrying about my future and questioning the nature of my relationship with Hector which I had assumed was strong, trusting and close. I had felt that we truly cherished each other but now I felt nothing more than a thing, a belonging to be leant out or given away without much care. It made me question Hector's character too – was the warm, generous and loving man I thought I knew completely hiding a much more violent, cold and callous side?

By the time morning came, I felt numb and like a ghost of my former self. I bid mother a tearful and heartfelt farewell and I gave the palace and city below a long, yearning look, not knowing if it would be the last time I would see my home. I dutifully boarded the awaiting caravan even though every sinew of my being was screaming at me not to go, to run far away and hide. Ultimately, my obligation to the Prince would not allow it. All the other Hetaerae were already waiting – Thais and six others, notably the youngest and prettiest of all of us. Of course they were, I thought with a dragging feeling in my gut – we had to be attractive prospects to sway the enemy.

We arrived at Troy's encampment at Cilician Thebe just as the sun was rising the next day. We were quickly ushered out of the caravan and into the safety of tents although I did catch a glimpse of our location. We were just outside the fire blackened city walls, which looked very much the same but smaller than Troy. There was wisps of dark smoke and the smell of burning in the air and I wondered glumly if it came from the embers of the city buildings or whether it was from funeral pyres.

Hector's tent was large, very comfortable with all the 'normal' luxuries (it was the quarters of the Crown Prince and Army Commander after all). It had a basin for washing, a large bed on the floor, food, wine and lamps. To one side was a table surrounded by wooden and canvas folding chairs and on top lay parchment, a quill and ink, maps and painted counters - no doubt a place to plan strategy. Hector was not present and neither was his armour or sword so I assumed he was within the city walls, fighting as the probability that some of the invading Achaeans remained there was high. There was not a lot I could do with myself – there was nothing to read or to sew and I had already deduced I would be unable to leave Hector's field sanctuary as I could see the silhouette on the canvas and hide walls of the tent of a guard stationed outside. The first thing I did was take off my golden collar, to some relief (you really could not wear it and relax very well). I kicked off my sandals and ate a little of the food laid out for Hector's return (or perhaps my arrival), then also drank some water and wine as I was quite parched from abstaining during the journey. I sat at the table and wrote down some poetry I had memorised, adding little doodles to the boarders of flowers, trees and the moon phases. On one sheet of parchment, I tried to draw Hector's face – not only was it difficult to get his nose and ears right but the eyes too, they seemed to lack the warmth I was so used to.

I felt a strange mixture of emotions – obviously I was still most upset and anxious I would be given away and I was worried about how mother was faring in my absence. I would have given anything to be with her and not here, in a strange land with so much uncertainty hanging over my head like pendulous, black storm clouds. Most of all, despite everything, I feared for Hector. I remembered the story he told me about his shoulder injury and how he had almost died. Although he was undoubtedly the best fighter in Troy, he was a mere mortal man after all, despite most of my fellow Trojans regarding him as some sort of demi-god. I began to try to comfort myself with the thought of his level head and tried not to think about how often rash bravery and pure rage could cloud a man's judgement. I tried not to think about how, as quickly as sundown, I could belong to another.

Hours later, when the entrance of the shelter was pulled back and I could see Hector's stooping figure enter alone, the relief I felt was indescribable. However, I could immediately see that fighting appeared to make Hector change. Not only was he physically and mentally exhausted but he was silent and more remote than ever before. I understood that although outwardly he was a hero, inside he held guilt for taking the lives of every man he had met in battle. Hector had once confided in me that there was nothing glorious about battle; there was nothing glorious about watching men die and after reading the accounts in the records room, I could more than understand.

He stood before me without a greeting, body rigid and face frowning with his helmet in the crook of his arm. He was covered in blood – by the looks of things, not his own – and smelt strongly of sweat and horses. I took his hand and led him to the basin of water. He began to slowly, methodically take off the rest of his armour – grieves, shin guards, breastplate – all as filthy as he was, yet I did not recoil. Without a word I helped him undo the straps and take his undergarments off and he yielded to me; too worn out to protest otherwise. When he was completely naked, I dipped a soft cloth in the basin, carefully wringing out the excess water then began to gently wipe his body clean the best I could. I was pleased he looked to be uninjured, apart from a few bruises. He watched me with a look I had not seen before – a rather disturbing hungriness. Of course, I was used to his eyes looking to me in lust but this was different, it was almost cold and animalistic. I could sense that he was so full of anger inside, hostility that must have first exploded in him in battle and still resided there afterwards. I was almost scared to go near him but he was my Hector - my lion man - and he needed to be tended to.

It soon became clear to me, in all of Hector's naked glory, that my touch had awakened his arousal. He was not shy about it either. He suddenly shoved my mouth towards his by grabbing the back of my head. Hector kissed me roughly, so much so I was unsure if I would be able to breathe. His tongue jabbed into me as he pushed me towards the bed. I found it rather stirring to be treated with such hurried and wild lust but it was unknown territory for me. I literally fell backwards onto it with Hector heavy on top of me, one hand already between my legs, the other trying to find another entrance into my robe. Impatient and frustrated by the material, he soon simply ripped it at the neck and pulled it downwards, whisking it off by my feet so my body was completely exposed to him. His mouth soon sought out my breasts and for a moment, I was pleased of the respite from his lips on mine as his beard was really starting to chafe me there. He forcefully took a nipple into his mouth, sucking on it with his teeth grazing the sensitive nub and I yelped a little in discomfort although it seemed to send lightning bolts directly to my now throbbing loins. He took this noise and my slippery wetness on his probing fingers as an invitation to enter me immediately and he thrust himself into me so suddenly that I reflexively closed my eyes and cried out in a strange, stimulating mixture of pleasure and discomfort.

I opened my eyes to look at Hector's face looming above me and I was shocked at what I saw. I almost did not recognize him as the man I loved. His black eyes were unseeing; his features contorted in an ugly, animalistic fashion. Hector's thrusting was fast, frantic even and unrelenting. His jutting hips cut uncomfortably into my thighs as he pounded at me, his testicles making an audible noise as they slapped away at my bottom. It did not take him long at all to finish. With one more long, deep thrust that almost pushed me off the bed, he made an unusual guttural cry and I could literally feel his member spasm as a few short jets of his semen spurted inside of me. He had been so carried away he had forgotten to be careful.

Hector's body left mine quickly and I felt our mixed secretions slide out with him, soiling the sheet beneath me. He lay next to me, catching his breath, not touching or not whispering words of warmth in my ear like he usually would. This man who was so close to me physically, could not have been further way emotionally. I felt numb. What had just happened? As Hector lay inert, staring at the tent ceiling and locked deep within his undoubtedly troubled thoughts, I turned away from him so he could not see my face because silent tears began to streak down my cheeks. It had finally become too much for me. He did not touch me again all night.

I awoke at what must have been dawn. A strange orange light had begun to permeate the tent and the air was chilly. I was not used to feeling so cold in bed when I shared it with Hector – his body temperature naturally ran quite hot and he always held me. Not now. I lifted my head suddenly with a start, panicking in my groggy half-asleep state that Hector had abandoned me, probably the thing I secretly feared the most but of course, he had not. He easily slept next to me, tired from whatever had happened when he arrived in his wife's sacked city. Fighting. Death. Witnessing horrific scenes of slaughtered townsfolk, murdered children and crushed babies at the bottom of battlements. Due to the accounts I had read in the records room, I was now painfully aware of the things Hector might have seen yesterday and of the memories of previous military campaigns that must have haunted him. He had never shared these with me, probably so as not to alarm me but in some ways, I wish he had. I felt so sorry for Hector, that he must have always carried those harrowing pictures in his mind and I dearly wished I could take that burden from him for a while. As I watched him sleep - his broad chest rhythmically rising and falling, his closed eyes flickering in their sockets and his brow frowning - I wondered if he saw those horrible things in his dreams.

I could not stand all the emotions I was feeling any longer, I decided. Now, along with the worries I already carried, I was shocked by the unfeeling and vacant way Hector had bedded me the night before, yet I felt such empathy and love for him still. I was so conflicted and confused. I needed to get out of that damn tent - which felt like a prison - and get some fresh air, I decided.

Luckily I had packed some things to take with me – a comb so I could keep my hair in check, some perfume just in case I did not have the opportunity or the means to wash myself, a couple of spare gowns, the dagger Hector had gifted to me for protection and my medical kit, in the event Hector got injured. As he had ruined the gown I had worn the day before, I unfolded another from my bag, pulled it on, neatened my hair then pulled it back into a bun. I purposely did not put my collar back on - it was a symbol of my belonging to Hector and at that moment, I did not want to be reminded of that. With my dagger tucked into my belt (a little visible as a warning), I donned a cloak, slung the bag straps of my medical kit over my shoulders so the bag itself was secure under my arm and I stalked out of the tent with resolve. I had decided that I needed to help others as I could not be of aid to my mother, neither could I do anything to unburden Hector's damaged mind.

The soldier guarding outside stood up straight to attention as he heard someone leave Hector's tent, obviously expecting to see the Prince himself. I cursed in my head when I spotted him, I had forgotten I was being watched over. However, when the soldier saw me instead of his Commander, he seemed completely surprised.

"Phile?" He questioned. I recognized that voice – it was Lysander. "I do not think the Prince would like you to be out here." He told me cautiously.

I looked out at the scene – our encampment consisted of many canvas and animal hide tents grouped together, smaller and more basic than Hectors. Most of the soldiers were sitting outside their temporary homes, huddled together in the morning chill, wrapped in their cloaks with some warming themselves over fires they had made, talking sullenly and few cleaning swords and spears. I could see their dirty, bloodied armor and shields propped up against the sides of some of the tents and the smoke from their fires seemed to add to the bleakness of the morning. There were two open-sided shelters, one which obviously housed a makeshift kitchen as some men queued quietly holding wooden bowls for a ladle-full of stew and a hunk of dry-looking bread. The other - I could only just see the roof but it made sense to me that it might be some sort of medical centre, so I decided to head there.

"I am going to try to help some of the injured men, if I can." I told Lysander with purpose as I pulled up the hood of my cloak "The Prince will just have to not like it!"

Lysander looked rather shocked at my impertinence towards Hector and he stood there, mouth slightly agog as I defiantly walked away and starting to pick my way between the tents on the way to the far side shelter. Some of the men regarded me curiously as I passed but many did not seem to notice, to my relief. As I drew closer to my destination, I passed the place where the horses were being kept. It was a large area with a crude, temporary fence. Some of the beasts were laying down resting, steam from their sweat rising in the morning chill. Some were tethered to a row of hitching posts, saddled ready for another day with their masters in the ruined city. The last hitching post in the row did not tether a horse however – a man sat on the ground against it, wearing iron manacles securing his hands and feet together. An iron hoop was locked around his neck, the chain coming from it attached to the post he sat against. If the man had been wearing armor before, he had been stripped of it, as all he was clothed in now was a tattered, bloody under-skirt. His face had been beaten black and blue, swollen on one side almost to beyond recognition and he had a large gash across his chest. His wrists and neck were red, bleeding and bruised so he had obviously spent time trying – and failing - to escape. Normally my instincts would have compelled me to help this man, however I was not about to aid what was clearly an Achaean prisoner. Although he was previously hanging his head, the noise of my feminine footsteps must have caught his attention as I heard him call out:

"Have you come to give a doomed man a last moment of pleasure, lovely?" He jeered.

Appalled that he would even dare to address me, I span on my heels to stare him down.

"Why would I lay with a dog like you?" I retorted, furiously.

The man smiled wickedly and managed to hitch up his skirt even though his hands were manacled together, exposing himself to me. I kept calm and did not to recoil in alarm as that was what the prisoner was trying to achieve with such a disrespectful act. I was not about to give him the sick pleasure.

"How about you back that shapely rear onto this and we can do it like dogs?" He sneered.

I laughed mockingly and drew the dagger from where it was tucked into my belt. I held it up, unsheathed it and let the light glinting off the sharp blade speak for itself.

"That looks like quite a nasty wart … shall I cut it off for you?" I taunted with a knowing smile.

The prisoner visibly flinched a little at the thought and simply spat in contempt in my direction.

I continued to the medical tent which was almost opposite. It contained orderly rows of bunks where various men lay convalescing, most filthy, bloodied and bandaged. Some of the lesser injured were dotted around, sitting in chairs. Although I could see a few healthy soldiers tending to the injured, they seemed to be struggling to cope. I really had my work cut out; I remember thinking morosely. A seated man almost completely shrouded in his dirty cloak seemed to notice my approach and in reaction, he stood from his chair with some difficulty, limped over to me and as he did so, he unhooded himself. It was Jasper, confusion and concern written all over his handsome but bruised and face.

"Phile – you should not be here." He hissed: "You will anger Hector."

I rolled my eyes at him tiresomely: "Why does everyone keep telling me that? I thought I could help."

"No doubt you can, I hear your knowledge and skill at healing is quite something … but it is not safe for you here." Jasper stated firmly. I must have looked baffled as he heaved a heavy sigh, realizing he had to explain himself: "You are a lone and attractive woman, unprotected out here with hundreds of men that need distraction and amusement. Most are not aware of your status as Hetaerae to the Prince."

It suddenly dawned on me that Jasper was intimating I could be raped, many times over and that although my standing protected me at the palace, those rules did not apply here. However, even though alarm jolted my heart at the realisation, my stubborn resolve still shone through.

"I can protect myself." I told him firmly.

Quick as a flash, Jasper reached for my waist and pulled my dagger from my belt. He had it held to my throat, still sheathed to prove it was only a demonstration, not a threat. It had all happened so quickly, I had no time to react.

"Not as well as you think." He told me seriously, with an arch of his eyebrow.

As he withdrew the dagger from against my throat and handed it back to me, I suddenly felt so foolish. I was shocked at how quickly he had been able to take power over me but of course he could, he was the army Captain, an expert at fighting and bigger and stronger than me. Jasper was right, my rashness and overconfidence had put me in danger and I was now very aware of my vulnerability. I felt a little panicked. All this must have played out over my face as Jasper softened.

"Come Phile, I will escort you back to Hector's tent." He told me gently as I tucked the dagger back into my belt, red-faced. I was a bit doubtful how a man with a sudden and pronounced limp would be able help me anywhere.

"At least let me help you." I told him, grateful for his advice and care. "Why do you have difficulty walking?" Surely Hector would not have minded me aid his friend.

He closed his eyes and sighed heavily at my suggestion. "I have a wound to my left thigh. I was speared but I managed to kill my adversary before he pushed it into me too deeply. The men we have treating the injured here have been too busy tending to the worst wounded to see to me yet." He admitted, rather emotionlessly.

"Let me have a look." I told him, taking him by the wrist and leading him back to his chair at the edge of the medical centre. I sensed quite a bit of hesitation within Jasper but he seemed to be too drained to protest.

I motioned for him to sit and show me the wound. Once seated again, he cautiously pulled his skirt up to show me, being very careful indeed to shield his private parts so as not to disrespect me. I appreciated that. I removed the crude dressing to see that the wound in question was round but neat and Jasper had seemed to have cleaned it himself quite well. All it would need is another clean, some stitches and a proper dressing. Easy. I knelt before him, shrugged the bag down my arm and reached into it, pulling out all I would need – some cotton swabs, my vinegar solution, a needle and thread, a dressing and bandage to secure it. Unfortunately, I was unable to sterilize my needle with flame but at least I could wipe it with the vinegar solution.

As I cleaned the wound and started the preparations for stitching, Jasper, totally unflinching in my treatments, began to speak:

"I killed many men yesterday, without much thought or any feeling." He told me coldly: "Are you not scared of me?"

I thought for a moment. Hector still had a soul, despite being a killer himself. My father too. There was no reason for Jasper to be any different.

"No." I told him, not looking to him as I was concentrating on making sure the stitches I was putting into his slightly enflamed flesh were neat.

"…But you do not like me." He added, like a statement more than a question.

"No, I do not." I told him honestly, with no feeling of awkwardness. "I think you are a scoundrel with the womenfolk and you are not a very good friend to Hector."

Jasper laughed a little, somehow amused at my frankness which meant I had trouble with the last stitch. As his mirth subsided, there was quite an uncomfortable silence for a moment as I covered his wound properly.

"What is your real name?" I blurted suddenly as I wrapped the bandage around his pale thigh – seeing his light skin colour had reminded me of his probable non-Trojan origins and it had occurred to me that perhaps his proper name might reveal more about that.

Before he could answer, I felt myself suddenly and quite violently lifted - I shrieked, shocked and surprised by it. I was easily slung over a strong, broad shoulder like I was an errant goat that had escaped the herd and he was a shepherd, the muscled arm holding me securely there as he purposely stalked off with me in large strides. I could tell by the familiar smell of the person carrying me away that it was Hector and judging by his unusual treatment of me, he was absolutely furious. I did not try to struggle - to do so would be foolhardy. Jasper had already proved that I was weaker than I had previously considered myself to be and I did not want to arouse any more anger in Hector. He did not say a word the whole way back to his tent. When we entered, he practically threw me down on the bed.

"If you try to leave here again, I will have you manacled and chained like the prisoner!" He roared wrathfully, brow glowering and pointing an accusing finger at me as I was rubbing the soreness out of the elbow I had just landed on, still in shock.

Hector's eyes burnt into me, blacker than black and colder than the snow that sometimes covered the highest mountaintops. It was rather frightening. He then clenched them closed them for a while, trying to calm his temper and when he opened them again, they were not looking to me so harshly. He grunted as if he was disgusted and stormed out of the tent leaving me there alone and disorientated.

I lay there for a while, not knowing how to feel. Yes, it had been foolish of me to leave the safety of the tent as Jasper helped me realize but did Hector have to be so severe? He had brought me here - away from my sick mother - to possibly give me away. He had taken me to his bed, strangely aggressive and remote, making me feel used - and he had the audacity to lose his temper with me! Suddenly, I DID know how to feel. I was livid with him and not being able to contain my frustration, I sat up suddenly, my fists balled up and I punched one of the bed pillows a few times, screaming to let it all out. The guard outside popped his head through the doorway to check on my welfare, I seem to remember – although it was not Lysander this time. I guessed Hector had relinquished him of that particular duty as Lysander had allowed me to leave but I sincerely hoped he did not get too much of a telling off on my account. After my fury had dissipated, I lay back down on the bed and had a little cry, the last of my frustration leaving my body, I think. Then I fell asleep.

I do not know how long I was slept for but I felt a gentle, large hand grasping my shoulder, trying to rouse me.

"Kitten." Hector whispered.

As soon as I was awake enough to recognize Hector was touching me, I rudely shrugged his hand off my shoulder as I did not want it. I sat up quickly, scowling at him. He was sat on the edge of the bed next to me. I watched him run the hand I had rejected through his messy mane of curls whilst he exhaled in exasperation. It was if he had hoped I had forgiven him but was also prepared for the event if I had not.

"Do you remember when I told you that you could never disappoint me? Well you have, Hector." I spat at him.

He closed his eyes for a moment, my words obviously wounding him a little.

"I am sorry if I hurt you this morning." He told me remorsefully. I realised then he looked terrible, his eyes were so sad and sunken, his face and neck peppered with bruises. I forgot my anger for a fleeting moment and had to fight the urge to pull him to me and hold him.

"Physically you did not. But I felt used last night and humiliated this morning." I admitted angrily, wanting an apology for those, too.

Hector sighed heavily: "I have no excuse for the way I treated you last night. I should have waited for my aggression to dissipate before I made love to you." He admitted softly with regret.

"That was NOT love making!" I angrily spat back and Hector winced a little, surprised at my angry tone and slightly raised voice although he could not find it in himself disagree with that.

"This morning I was just trying to keep you safe, Kitten." He began to carefully explain: "You should not have been out there." He told me as his mouth turned down at the edges and pulled in guardedly.

I could not believe he was trying to justify himself for grabbing me and carrying me off like an animal. I stood suddenly, my body rigid with the indignation I felt.

"Then TALK TO ME, Hector!" I yelled at him, not being able to keep my ire in check. "Yes, you are my Kyrios – my master – but perhaps I mistakenly believed our relationship was more special than for you to try to control me like a servant or soldier. I wear that stupid golden collar, like a pet dog, to signify I belong to you …" I told him, gesturing angrily to my ridiculous Hetaerae necklace sitting with my other belongings in the corner of the tent: "And my heart does, completely …" I admitted in total honesty: "But to me, my body and my mind do not." I told him resolutely, shaking my head as if to demonstrate my point.

Hector's eyes darkened to the cold blackness I knew that signified his anger or displeasure. He stood too, pulling himself up to his full, proud height.

"Your body is not mine?" He asked with a slightly raised voice and disdainful arch of a dark eyebrow: "Is that why you had your hands all over Jasper's groin this morning?"

"Hector." I countered evenly as if he were a simpleton: "I was cleaning and stitching a wound he had in his upper thigh. I was trying to help your friend. There was nothing sexual in it."

"Not TO YOU maybe!" He bellowed and I was taken aback for a moment. It was not just my disregard for my own safety that had riled him. He was envious.

I sat back down on the bed, my bemusement making me a little calmer now but Hector was not. He paced up and down as if he did not quite know what to do with his anger.

"I cannot believe you have the audacity to be jealous of that, when you would freely have given me to the enemy to appease them." I told him, putting my hand to my forehead in exasperation.

"What do you mean?" He growled as he stopped pacing for a moment, waiting for an explanation as if I was talking utter nonsense. I did not appreciate his attitude.

"Do not play innocent, Hector." I accused: "I am aware of the real reason it was deemed necessary to bring Hetaerae on a military campaign. I read some witness accounts in the records room, of wars and battles."

"Of course you did." He muttered. I think the distain in his tone was not meant for me but for himself, it was as if he was a little upset that he had not foreseen that was something I was bound to do.

He softened for a moment: "I would never give you up, you must know that." He told me sincerely, those dark eyes I loved so much almost pleading as he looked to me.

As much as I was pleased with his heartfelt affirmation, I still felt the need to stand up for my fellow Hetaerae: "But the other girls … it is fine to trade them like cattle and condemn them to a life of being a slave or a whore? It is sits well with you that they could be used and killed, does it?"

Hector said nothing, he just looked at me wretchedly and I took his silence on the matter as substantiation.

"You know, I thought I knew you but now I am not so sure." I told him sadly: "I do not like this version of you."

"I DID NOT WANT TO BERING YOU, OR ANY OF THE OTHERS ON THIS MISSION! IT WAS MY FATHER'S ORDERS!" Hector yelled suddenly, so angry that he violently swept everything from the table with the back of his large hand in a pure rage – the quill and ink, the parchment, the maps and counters all tumbling to a mess on the floor.

I was shaken although the only thing that let that show was my widened eyes – I had never seen him so riled and frustrated. To my relief, he soothed himself quite quickly and sunk down defeatedly into one of the folding chairs. With elbows on the table, he sat with his face in his hands. I did not know how to proceed.

After a while, he removed his hands, resting them on the tabletop and tangling his long fingers together. He stared at them, through them almost.

"I have not been myself - I admit that … but I am the most worried I have been in my entire life right now." Hector confessed in that deep and even voice I was more used to hearing and was very fond of. Before I could ask him why, he continued independently: "The sacking of my wife's city, the murder of her family - it was not a mindless act. Agamemnon, King of Mycenae has spent years warring and conquering other nations, swallowing their armies into his own to create the biggest in known history. He hungers for power and control. The Achaeans who attacked here are allies of his, a fierce and merciless race of men. Agamemnon has had his sights set on Troy for a long time. The only thing that has prevented him attacking us thus far is that we are allies to his brother, King Menelaus of Sparta and a direct attack on us would be an affront to him. Agamemnon knew of our alliance by marriage with Cilician Thebe so targeting my wife's city with the Achaeans was no accident. They are trying to incite us into a war."

Hector would not normally be so candid with me, not in such a direct manner anyway. I recognised he was doing so as he needed to offload. Although I found myself quite frightened by the serious things he was telling me, I knew he required a sympathetic ear.

"What will you do?" I asked him stunned by what I had just heard.

He simply shrugged, his fingers lacing together this time. He still did not take his eyes from them: "You know I detest war and I certainly dislike having my arm twisted into going into one. I never have the final decision on these sorts of affairs anyway, that is down to my father but I am sure his opinion still stands that we should not get involved with the politics of other nations. We need more allies, as I told you before but father will not hear of it. Perhaps he will now." He told me, now watching himself as his fingers picked absently at a knot in the wood of the tabletop.

He was quiet for a while, lost in his own dark musings but I was determined not to lose him to those. I thought of the Achaean beast and his unimpressive manhood that was currently chained up with the horses.

"What of the prisoner?" Are you going to kill him?" I questioned evenly.

Hector shook his head in the negative: "No, we will just maim him as an example." He answered indifferently: "He will be released to go back to his people as a messenger to tell them Troy will not be provoked into getting involved in Agamemnon's power games. We slaughtered all the other Achaeans we found remaining in the City. There were too few of them to have lost so many of my good men over." He told me, with pain and regret playing over his face.

More burdens for his troubled mind, I thought and it pained me that he felt that. Again, he never looked at me whilst explaining all this and I started to wonder why that was. As he mused on something else that was worrying him and I mulled over why he could not look me in the eye, we were both silent for a good while.

"Andromache is pregnant, Phile." He blurted suddenly and I found I was equally pleased for him but somehow quite gutted by the news: "My seed has been growing inside of her for only two months so we did not want to officially announce it until the risk of her miscarrying has lessened. I do not want the shock and grief she is feeling to adversely affect our growing child. I do not want to go to war and perhaps never return to be a father."

Stunned by the news, I honestly did not know what to say at that point. Hector suddenly stood from the table and strode to the tent entrance, without even uttering a goodbye.

"Where are you going?" I asked him desperately and he stopped in his tracks just before he reached it.

His voice was strangely flat and lacking in all emotion: "To drink and talk with my men, I need to let off some steam and raise their spirits. I will send the Hetaerae back to Troy tomorrow morning – yourself included – whilst myself and my army stay here for a day or so to collect and burn our dead. We also need to help the city survivors that wish to stay and do not want to seek refuge in Troy. For those that do, I have to appoint them a new leader until they are in the position to do so themselves." He told me, staring out of the tent entrance into the beyond.

I was by now quite alarmed that he had not been able to bring his eyes to meet mine for quite a while – nor had he called me by my pet name. It was like he had detached himself from me completely

"Look at me, Hector!" I pleaded.

"I cannot at this moment … I am so very hurt that you would think I would truly, freely give any of the women of my people away to the enemy." He said sadly, still staring out at the beyond: "It was the old way but not my way." Hector added staunchly: "My father ordered me to bring you all … and specifically told me to take you. I tried to argue the case that your mother is sick but he would not hear of it. You are all here to appease him … but it is for appearances, that is all. None of you girls have ever been at risk, not until you left this tent anyway." he added, twisting the proverbial dagger that I had already been stabbed with.

With his parting words, he did look to me, and his eyes burnt was such darkness and sorrow it was like his very soul had rejected mine: "I assumed that you of all people had more faith in me than that. Perhaps you are right – we do not know each other as well as we thought. You are not the only one who is disappointed, Phile."