What Feats He Did That Day Pt. 03

"Handroclus, my old friend."

"Achilles," I murmured.

"The Trojans will make their final assault upon our ships on the morrow as you said. I will not fight for Agamemnon, but the Myrmidons to a man bid me release them to go into battle. And you are right. I cannot let my feud deprive them of their glory."

"No," I said. "Certainly not."

"So I will take your counsel, my dearest companion, and let you fight in my place."

"I . . . I'm no longer sure that's a really great idea," I said.

"Nonsense. You shall take my armor with you, my gleaming bronze, my breastplate blazoned with stars. And this, my sword, which has caused the death of many men. Use it well, dear love."

Dear love?

"In fact, let us test its edge. I will get my second. Now come at me, Handroclus. Test your mettle against Peleus' son."

He swung his sword at me and I met it with the one he had entrusted to me. The noise rang throughout the camp. The men gathered to watch. It was a much heavier sword than the one that Inigo had trained me to use, less useful for thrusting perhaps, but far better for slashing. After a few minutes, Achilles tossed me his shield. He picked up his own and attacked me as if he meant to take my head off its shoulders.

I met him with equal fierceness, knowing that there was nothing I could do to kill Achilles, who had been dipped in the River Styx by his mother, Thetis, and whose sole vulnerability was the ankle by which she had held him. But I proved his equal. His blows bounced off my shield without shattering it while mine staggered him just as much as his did me.

"Enough!" he finally cried. Tossing his sword and shield aside, he strode toward me with an expression of surprised delight playing across his face.

"Who would have dreamed?" he asked. He raised his voice to address the crowd that had grown around us. "Who among us would have dreamed that Handroclus could stand against mighty Achilles and not give an inch? My friends! Myrmidons! Handroclus will lead the Achaeans tomorrow, and drive the Trojans from our ships. And once you have done so, brave Handroclus, return to me, and let the Trojans slink back to their city. You and I will celebrate! All Argive shall celebrate!"

The crowd roared. For my part, I thought that the more time I spent away from his tent the better. If I could drive the Trojans all the way back, so be it. What Achilles did next merely confirmed the wisdom of that decision.

Achilles put his hands on the sides of my head and pulled me toward him. I felt his lips against mine. Eww. I closed my eyes. I found myself squirming. I started to push myself away.

"Easy there, big guy. We've got all night."

I opened my eyes to see Angie sitting in my lap. She was wearing one of my flannel shirts, and it looked like damn little else.

"We have lots of time to kiss, don't you think? Especially now that I've woken you up with my 'kiss of life.'"

"I'm sorry. I can't believe I fell asleep."

"Hey, I don't blame you. You didn't even know you had a date six hours ago. Otherwise you would have spent three hours preparing yourself, right?"

"That's right," I said softly. "Six hours?"

I looked over at the clock. It was just past midnight. I had indeed fallen asleep. Well of course I had. Otherwise I wouldn't have dreamed. But it couldn't have been more than 15 minutes. We hadn't started watching the movie until just after eight-thirty.

"Just don't fall asleep while we're making love," she said just before she returned to her kissing. "That can really hurt a girl's feelings."

My heart began pounding against my ribcage. The chances of my falling asleep were nil.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Angie and I were still kissing as I rolled us quietly into my bedroom. It wasn't until we got there that she blinked open her eyes and looked around.

"You are smooth, aren't you?"

She climbed off my chair and began unbuttoning the flannel shirt she had borrowed. She took particular delight in watching me watch her, dragging out the exposure as if she were a burlesque queen. Finally, though, she had only one button left, and when she unfastened it, and the sides of my shirt fell apart, I saw the cleanly shaved skin between her legs. She slowly separated her feet, giving me a glimpse of the moist opening between her legs. Her hands drifted up to her lapels, and she teased me a little longer, showing me the inner slope of first one breast and then the other.

"If you wait any longer," she said in voice as sexy as any I had ever heard, "you're not going to be able to get your pants off, baby."

"We're long past that," I said. I tore off the long-sleeve T-shirt I was wearing, and pulled myself out of the chair with one hand on the rope. With the other I unfastened my belt and unzipped my pants. She was quite right. It took an extra effort to get my pants and shorts over my stiff cock. She seemed pleased when I was finished. Pleased enough, at any rate, to pull both sides of her shirt back at the same time, revealing two perfectly tanned breasts tipped with crinkled red nipples.

She slowly walked toward me, her hips and breasts moving in a rhythm that seemed to perfectly match my shallow breaths. I lowered myself to the bed, and she moved to sit astride my useless legs. I cringed as I watched her settle herself on her heels. But as my gaze moved up past her thighs, her belly, and her breasts, I saw the wild grin on her face. Her head moved lower, her long hair tickling my dick as her mouth came closer and closer.

I wasn't a virgin. I had had sex before the accident, and we – the girl I had been going with then – had tried it a few more times before she gave up on it. Before she gave up on me. The paralysis hadn't deprived me of feeling there, but since I couldn't move my legs, I knew it would take a different sort of woman to make it work for both of us. As I watched Angie open her mouth and extend her tongue toward me, I thought that perhaps I had found one.

She wrapped her hand around my dick, stroking it with her thumb. And then I felt her lips close around it. I had dreamed it last week, and last night. It was nothing like this. This was the wet silk of her tongue as it darted back and forth. It was the firm pressure of her lips as they slid up and down. And it was the sparkle in her eyes as she watched me, fully aware of the effect she was having and yet wanting me to know that she too was taking pleasure in the act.

And after she had fully taken my pleasure, after she had sucked it out and swallowed down with a loving lick of her lips, she climbed further atop me, holding her sex just above my mouth. She looked down at me through her heavy breasts and smiled her plea. I lifted my hands up and over her thighs, bringing the fingers down between them. My thumbs silently spread apart the lips of her sex and teased out her clit.

"Rick," she moaned. "Honey."

I twiddled my thumbs against her, a rapid up-and-down movement that had her moaning even more. I pulled her down, meeting her wetness with my lips, entering her with my tongue. I listened to her as I continued. Her breath told me where to press, where to flick, where to caress.

"Oh, God, baby. Rick, baby, take me."

I reached upward and encircled her breasts with my fingers. She put her hands atop mine, encouraging me to squeeze harder, to pinch her nipples. I could feel the muscles of her thigh twitching against my cheeks. Her body began trembling.

And I stopped. She looked down at me and I looked up at her. It was time. She slid her ass backward, a trail of her oils on my chest and stomach. Her breasts hung low, almost within reach of my lips, and her pussy met my cock and sucked it inside without any further touch.

"Rick," she whispered.

"Angie," I groaned.

I was an iron sword. She was a silk sheath. It was electric.

I reached for her hips. It was an instinct that had worked last night in my dream. I had brought Lara atop me, transfixed by those naked breasts. And to keep her there, I had used the strength of my arms to give Lara a ride that left her crying in climax.

In real life, this was the only position open to me. I began to move Angie up and down on my cock, slowly at first and then with increasing fever. Her fingernails dug into my arms as her helplessness grew. I was an animal, doing with my arms what most men did with the muscles of their legs.

Her mouth froze in a long, drawn-out vowel, an "uh" of surprise, the sound itself a vibrato that danced in rhythm with frenzied impalement. But she wasn't completely helpless. As her body began to tremble again, as the muscles in her thighs vibrated against me once more, she tightened herself.

"Angie." It was a whisper of hope, hope that I could take her where I knew that she would soon be taking me.

"Yes, Rick, yes. I want you . . . Come with me."

I thrust her down upon me one final time and held her there. The spasms that overtook her claimed me as well. We fulfilled her request. We came together.

We made love again late that morning at the same time that Melissa Wickers, the best fact-checker at the Messenger, was leaving a message on my machine. She told me that the article was fully vetted and that she couldn't wait to see it printed.

"Way to go, Hando!" she said before ringing off.

"Way to go, Hando," Angie echoed. In a fit of narcissism I had played the message while I prepared us something to eat. "Allie said you wrote obituaries."

"I'm branching out," I told her. "Learning new things."

"I have to go after we eat, Rick." I saw a bittersweet smile play over her face. "I have to pack my stuff at Allie's and then there's all that security at the airport.

"You're probably thinking of LAX," I told her. "Security at Charleston takes about a half hour. But you're right. You can't miss your plane. Will I see you again?"

"You could come to California . . ."

I nodded toward the machine. "Too much to do. Too much to learn."

I knew better than to ask her to commit to a life in West Virginia. We didn't do much filming here. Not that many swimsuit modeling gigs, either.

"You'll probably meet Brad Pitt next week, anyway. Forget all about me."

"Right," she said with a harsh laugh. "Eat quickly, Hando. We have just enough time left for a quickie."

"A quickie?" I asked. "For our last time?"

"Fine," Angie said. "No quickies, then. We'll skip lunch."

**********

For some reason I found myself starving at dinner time, but without any interest at all in cooking. Instead, I ordered a pizza. I opened a bottle of wine, and relaxed as I thought what a lucky man that Brad Pitt fellow would be if he only opened his eyes.

I fell asleep. And my dream turned into my nightmare.

**********

"The men are ready, Handroclus."

I looked up to see the messenger again. I was lying in my tent, fortunately by myself. I was thankful that Wizen hadn't used the "save" command last night. I wouldn't have wanted to have picked up with Brad where we left off.

"The armor of Peleus' son waits without."

Peleus' son waited too. He helped me into his armor, and once again gave me his sword and shield.

I passed on the kiss he offered. I told him I'd be back afterward.

We watched the Trojans ride out from the gates of Troy, thousands of warriors intent on the destruction of the Achaean ships and the decimation of our stranded army. We waited until they had engaged our vanguard.

"A little longer, men," I said. "Just a little longer."

"They slaughter our allies," a man behind me said with growing impatience.

"And now we slaughter them," I said with a savage grin. "To the walls!"

I led the roaring Myrmidons into their midst, and the battle was joined. The man at my side fell, a victim of a perfectly thrown spear. I threw my own at his attacker, piercing him through the gut and dropping him to the ground. I yanked another spear out of a Trojan before me and continued my charge.

We drove them backward toward the impenetrable walls of the fortified city. They conducted an admirable retreat, meeting each feint we made toward their flanks. They would not allow us between themselves and the gates. Even if we beat them this time, the Trojan War would continue.

Their inevitable counterattack was fierce. It was our turn to retreat. In the midst of their army I could see Hector, the son of King Priam. He was also the brother of Paris, the cause of this damnable war. Ajax felled him with a stone and I took hope. But he soon regained his feet. He was the darling, as I remembered it, of the gods. I rallied the Myrmidons yet again, and one more time we drove our foes to the very base of their walls. My sword struck death everywhere it touched. I finally stood alone, encircled by men who dared not close with me.

Hector was nowhere in sight. He had retreated, it seemed, into the shelter of Troy. But he emerged again, of course. And I swallowed hard as it became apparent that the battle would devolve to single combat. In the movie, and the Iliad as well, Hector had claimed the life of Patroclus. The life of the man whose place I know took. As I faced Hector – as the Greek and Trojan armies ceased their fighting to surround us and watch – I could see my doom writ on his brow. I had died before, though. I saluted him.

I recalled that Patroclus had blamed the gods for his defeat. I vowed not to suffer a similar fate. Live or die, it was to be my effort, my valor, my skill that determined the outcome. I met Hector in the center of the circle made by our respective armies, and our swords screamed as they met.

After what seemed an eternity of thrust and parry, a terrible blow knocked my shield aside, and with the same slowing of vision that I had experienced when I had been killed by Inigo, I saw Hector's sword come toward me.

After my lessons, however, I was nowhere near as helpless as I had been. My sword knocked his aside, and as I brought it back in front of me I thrust it toward him. I watched it penetrate his armor just above his waist. I stared in shock as he looked down and realized that the wound was fatal.

"No!"

Twin screams split the air. I looked up and saw two women atop the walls staring down at me in horror. One was obviously Andromache, the wife of the man I had just slain. The other was probably his sister, Cassandra. As I stared back, her eyes rolled up into her head and her titian tresses vanished behind the wall.

In front of me, Hector dropped to the ground. The Trojan army broke and began to stream toward the wall in headlong panic.

"After them!" I screamed. As the Myrmidons' trance broke and they began pursuit, I became conscious that I had changed the Trojan War. There would be no battle between Achilles and Hector. There would be no Trojan horse. We were inside the walls before the Trojans could react. The sack of Troy would begin now.

My bloodlust was spent with Hector's death, and I entered Troy quietly behind my men. I was an observer and what I observed was more chilling than war itself. Blood ran in rivers down the streets as the Achaeans – my Achaeans – hunted down the Trojans who had kept them from their homes and beds for ten long years. Trojans were not just killed; they were slaughtered, their screams filling the night.

The city burned. Its people panicked. I saw Locrian Ajax drag Cassandra by her hair from a statue of the goddess Athena. She cried out as he savagely tore at her clothing. I could watch no longer; I put out a hand to stop him. It went right through. It was as if I had become a ghost, able to watch the rape of Troy but not to stop it. Cassandra's cries turned to screams as Ajax forced himself into her.

"Mr. Wizard!" I found myself screaming. "Get me the hell out of here!"

My impotence was complete. I wandered the streets of Troy, my cry for relief unanswered. Instead, I was forced to watch the death of noble Priam, whose only sin was loving his son Paris, spitted on the altar of Zeus by Neoptolemus, son of Achilles. I saw Andromache fall prisoner to that same cruel man.

But the worst was yet to come. Back on the street, I heard an infant cry and looked up. On top of the Priam's palace one of Agamemnon's sycophants held a boy above his head.

"No," I whispered. Tears welled in my eyes. It was Hector's son.

"No, you bastard!"

I screamed in vain. As I watched, and as I cried, he dashed the child to his death on the streets below.

I blinked my eyes in the sudden darkness. As the lights slowly came on I saw Wizen at the foot of my bed.

"What did I learn, you fucking son of a bitch?" I shrieked at him before he could even open his mouth. "You tell me what I learned, you sick bastard! You tell me what the point of that was!"

Tears were streaming down my face as I raved. He let me cry myself out before answering.

"You learned the cost of war," he said quietly. "The cost of losing."

He waved his hand and I awoke in my own bed, my body drenched with sweat, my heart pounding.