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Hektor's war against the pirates began in autumn, as the weather was beginning to turn bad. It's widely expected that it'll last for the better part of a year, if not more. There's much territory to cover, and many small holds to purge. And there is the winter itself; while the last few battles have been successful and the greatest hold in these lands was wrested from its master, the weather has gone from bad to worse, and now the men of Troy and their allies are waiting out the latest Hellespont storm in that self-same hold and the shelters in its vicinity.

There are fairer places to spend a winter, and then again, there are fouler. This place must surely have been built long ago by giants, or Titans themselves, to have been situated so well and held out so long. Hektor would not mind keeping it as part of Troy's claim on these lands, were it not that his hearth-friends of Dardania lie in the way. They'll owe his city a great debt when he's turned it over to them, he knows full well. For that alone, it will be worth it.

For now he passes through the halls, looking into this room and that, assessing what might be done with the place; and as he opens one door, the sound on the other side is nothing like what ought by rights to be there. He stops a while, and stares.

Presently he turns and goes in search of two of his men. "Find the madman and bring him to me," he says. "And then leave us both; there is a thing he must be shown."

The weather has grown foul with the coming of autumn, just as Hektor had been waiting for. Around here that mostly means rain, and terrible windstorms; it has been long since snow covered the ground properly anywhere near Troy. Still, it matters little. The ships belonging to the first of the two pirate strongholds between Troy and Dardanus have been beached for the season, so the prince's campaign may begin.

He has spoken of it to no one, but more hinges on this successful battle and the next after than mere glory and prize-takings alone. Up to now Hektor has fought in the wars of other leaders, or commanded a few spearmen or chariots under someone else's lead. This is his first great campaign. If this battle does not go well, the men will still follow, but the barons and other leaders will turn from him and there will be little further to do.

He will not borrow that trouble yet, but the really observant may catch it on him as he goes over his chariot-horses' condition one last time before setting out.

The foreigner, Kou'te-bpe as he has asked to be called, has been learning the use of the spear at a commendable rate. Likely he'll never be an expert in its use, but one cannot have everything. Besides, he above all men has less need than most to keep his enemy as far away as a spear will reach; so as long as the enemy still uses bronze, and does not turn to rampant foolishness and silver-plate their weapons, it should be well.

But there remains the matter of knowing what he is entirely capable of, and so today he is being called away from spear practice to the high-walled enclosure where cattle are kept, one or two at a time, before being led to sacrifice. If there is any place in the Citadel where the foreigner can show what he is capable of without there being danger to everyone else, it is there.

"Sir," said the servant, who stood swaying at the door-frame as he tried to catch his breath, "you must come quickly. It is your sister."

For all that Hektor had many sisters, the servant could only mean one, and he knew it. Hektor nodded once and gestured for the other man to go about his business. He could find his way to her bedside of his own- but she was not there when he arrived, to his surprise. It was only a lucky glance out a window into the high-walled courtyard that kept him from wasting further time. Two of the princess's serving-women had taken her outside on a dark cornel-wood litter, perhaps to catch the slanting rays of the afternoon sun. Certainly the litter sat in the exact center of the golden light that came streaming over the walls. It was as good an omen as any they had had lately; and when Hektor saw that the figure in the litter was sitting up, it was all he could do not to leap for the window itself.

By the time he reached the courtyard, Kassandra was sitting up in truth, holding her twin Hellenus' hands in a death-strong grip. The boy's hands were white as cheese where she squeezed them, though that was no more pale than her face as she struggled with some great thing that wanted saying. Hektor looked a question at his brother, but Hellenus had eyes only for Kassandra; when Hektor lifted his gaze away he caught the eye of his father, dressed still in his best things. Someone had summoned him away from the audience-hall for this.

A short, croaking gasp split the evening quiet. There was no more question of looking away. Kassandra's moon-pale face creased with terrible effort, and she spoke; but there was no sense in it, no word Hektor had ever known. Only a string of sounds, the words falling to ruin like a cracked earthen jar. The gibberish paused, and he thought of a Median he had seen in fits in the marketplace, but she had sense yet in her eyes. . .

"She says it was Apollo who struck her," said Hellenus, voice hushed.

Priam came forward a half-step. "She speaks nonsense, boy-"

"I say that she says Apollo struck her, father!" snapped Hellenus, his words too sharp by far for a boy his age. "I know what she is saying! This is a thing between us, and has been since we two were born- would you send her silent again after all this time? She speaks, I tell you!"

The king drew himself up, shoulders squaring and dark eyes blazing. Hektor touched his father's arm, pointing in silence to the serving-women. One had her hand up in the sign against evil; the other, older by far and Phrygian-born, clutched at the little bronze Goddess she wore always about her neck. Priam bit back his reprimand and looked to the struggling Kassandra with such gentleness as he could muster. It was not much, but it was enough; she drew a great shuddering breath and spoke again, meaningless rattling syllables.

There was meaning enough for Hellenus in them. As his sister spoke, he said, "Apollo offered her a great gift, if only she would vow him her service always, him and no other. Three times he offered, in a dream she had three nights running." Kassandra swallowed, nodded; there were tears in her eyes. "She says that the vow was very great, and too heavy for her. But she wanted the gift."

Hektor sucked in a hissing breath. It did not do, to reach for a god's gift and not repay them according to their desires.

"She says she got a slave-girl, and dressed her in her own clothes, and offered her to the temple instead," relayed Hellenus. "And she thought the god was pleased enough. But when the priests took the girl away, the god struck her down with a great clap of light. She cannot speak to anyone else now, for having spoken false before the god."

The prickle of holy fear that raced up Hektor's back was not alone; he knew, without looking, that his father and the assembled servants were doing much the same. It was not every day that one saw the hand of the gods revealed so plainly. Kassandra turned pleading eyes to her father then, and then to Hektor. With a shudder, she spoke another string of meaningless sounds before sagging limply back against her litter. Hellenus dropped her hand, staring at his sister's form, his eyes wide with horror.

"What is it, boy?" Priam said when he found his voice. "What did she say?"

"The gods will call again," said Hellenus, his words thick and slow. "Before the son our mother carries is grown to manhood. . ."

He looked to his father and brother, just for a moment, before looking back to his sister's still form.

"And it will not be Kassandra that they ask for."

For three weeks, it seemed, Hektor had been too tired during the day to be of any use to anyone. Priam had set one of the servants to keeping an eye on his son, as it seemed very unlike the boy, especially with a task at hand. But Hektor showed no signs of being unwell, beyond being sleeping far too late of a morning, and so he put it out of his mind.

When the fourth week came, and the boy seemed to be his usual self, Priam was pleased enough. More so was Hekabe, who had feared some mischief to her eldest son. It was she who commented that Hektor seemed well pleased with himself, too, as if something great had been accomplished; and for that reason alone, Priam took it in mind to see whether the boy had achieved anything at all with the foreign horse. There was little else, after all, that would account for such pride; Hektor had been relieved of all his other duties for the space of a moon's turning. But it was no small thing, to get away from the daily business of the Trojan court. It was not until three days before the new moon that Priam finally found the time to come to the stables, and then it was a little before sunset.

Alektryon met the King himself, instead of one of the grooms. "He's in the far pasture," he said. "The prince took that horse out there this morning; they've been out there since, the same as all the other days this week."

"Did he, now," said Priam, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "I will have to see that, I think."

Alektryon bowed, and the King went on his way.

The sun had crept visibly further down the sky before the sound of hoofbeats at the trot reached Priam's ears. Sure enough, it was the great bronze horse. One could not mistake that shape for any other, even at a distance. The beast was taller than the other horses in Priam's stable by several hands, and none of the Trojan breed could match the curve of his neck. It would be a sorrowful thing if he had to offer the beast on the altar after all. Then he frowned, peering a little more closely. There was something not right at all about that shape, particularly the ears. Priam remembered them as being finely shaped and set well apart. From where he stood they seemed almost to resemble a young ox's horns. If something had befallen the horse. . .

Then he thought no more of the ears, because the horse turned sideways to begin a slow, wide circle around the King; and he had a rider. Priam's breath fairly caught in his throat. None of his stable servants were as small as that rider, and no one else would dare approach the horse, let alone throw a leg over him.

When the circle had finished, the horse wheeled about to face the king again, no doubt at the rider's command. A few short paces later the great bronze stallion stood stock-still before Priam, sides heaving a little. Sure enough, it was Hektor who leaned out from the horse's back to raise a hand in greeting to his father. "As you can see," said the boy, "I have not been idle these weeks."

"No," said Priam, his voice thick with wonder. "No, indeed. And it's paid off handsomely, I see."

Hektor beamed, shifting the reins of braided bronze hair to his left hand. "He has no love of strange noises," he said, and pointed at the cloths he had tented about the ears. "I have had to put worse on him, before this. Every day there is a little less to block out the city's sounds, until he finally needs nothing at all. It will be another week or two before that happens, I think. Also his mouth is very tender; I do not think a bit would be wise, really, or at least not without some means of easing him into one. Lord Roustam's men never made him take one, and that is a thing we ought to have noticed."

Priam nodded. "And was this all that you needed, to bring him to this state?"

"No, I have been about the business of winning him over a little at a time, ever since you gave me his taming as my charge," said the boy. "He'll suffer others to groom him now, or to feed him, but his temper's not ever likely to be any less. I haven't tried ordering him harnessed for the chariot yet. That will take a moon or more at the least; the Turkmen don't use them, so he will need to be introduced to them a little at a time, every day, or he'll go savage again the moment he's asked to put up with the thing."

"But you think that he'll do it?" Priam asked, eyebrows rising.

Hektor stroked the horse's neck a moment, and said, "He will; but you'll need to find some other Turkoman horse to match him. He'll never be teamed with anything less; you might as well ask one of our horses to pull alongside a mule."

"Well, Roustam and his fellows will not be leaving Troy for another month or two," said Priam. "I will see what can be done about that. You will have to take the other horse in hand, of course. It would not do, to have someone else train your first team."

The horse whinnied at that, tossing his head wildly. Priam for a moment thought the beast had understood, but it was only his rider's startlement passing on to his mount; when the horse had gone calm again, Priam saw his son's eyes wide and his face flushed. "Truly?" said the boy, for other words were a little beyond him just then.

Priam smiled quietly, though the look was lost in his dark beard, and nodded. "No one else in the Palace would be willing to approach this horse," he said. "Not even your uncles, and you know that none of them are fearful men. I myself would not have come so close if I could not help it. And there are no other nobles in the city who would deserve such a gift, even if they were accomplished horsemen- so he is yours, and so will any other horse the Turkmen may offer to us be."

Hektor laughed and said, "Why, thank you, Father. I'd be sorry to part with him, that's for sure."

"Is he why you've been so tired of late?" asked Priam. "I had wondered about that."

"Oh, yes; I've been working with him by night, even if it's only to be sure he knows me, and is fond of me," said Hektor. "It's quieter then, and he doesn't have to wear the ear-masks on his bridle. I will apologize to Mother later, as I had to steal some of her roving to make them."

"They don't look right on him," Priam observed. "I shouldn't show him off until he doesn't need them the more, if I were you."

"I was thinking the same thing," Hektor admitted. "Although I thought perhaps they ought to be remembered, if only because they saved his life. When I make the offerings I promised Poseidon in exchange for his life, I will tell the god they are in Boukephalos' name."

"Ah, so I was not alone in thinking they make him look more an ox than a horse. . ."

Alektryon was quite convinced that Prince Hektor had gone mad when the message came at full moon that the bronze stallion was to be set loose at night in the training pen. He would have sought out the Prince and given him an argument over it, if his head had not been pounding from too much wine the night before. Easier by far just to obey the order and turn his attention to other, less unpleasant beasts.

He did have to admit that the horse had given the grooms less trouble of late, but the thought slipped his mind as he went about the rest of his tasks.

The torches guttered in the evening breeze, casting dancing shadows all about the pen. Hektor didn't like it much, but there was no help for it. The Palace noises were going still one by one as darkness fell, and so were the sounds of the rest of the city. He had hoped the moon's light would be enough to work by, but the clouds that came scudding in from the west put paid to that idea. Torches would have to do; he could only pray that jumping shadows would not trouble the horse the way the city's noises did.

He had brought the horse's bowl of grain with him tonight, along with several other things; there had been no other feed for the animal today, save the poor pickings he'd had in the south paddock. The wind was in his favor, even if the clouds were not, and the horse came willingly to the familiar smell. It was no great thing to reach up and stroke the bronze beast's forelock; by now the horse was used to such small touches, at least from Hektor. It was the greater that he hoped to accomplish tonight. He murmured a few soft words to the horse, who slanted an ear at him, but continued to eat.

When the grain was gone the beast nudged at Hektor's shoulder, expecting, as was usual, an apple for his troubles. "Not just yet," Hektor said to the horse. "Be still for me, and we'll see what it gets you, all right?"

The halter Lord Roustam's men had used to lead the horse had been hanging unused in the tack-room. It looked a little bit to Hektor as if it were meant to serve as a bridle, though it had no bit; the nose-band was of stiff rawhide, and the reins attached not to the sides but fastened in a great knot at the bottom. The rest was made of softer, braided rawhide, save for the reins, which looked to have been plaited from the horse's own tail-hairs. He had not seen its like before in Troy, but it seemed to him that the horse's like had not been seen before either; why not put it to use? When he held it up the horse sniffed it a few times, but showed neither fear nor objection, so he slid it over the beast's lowered head. The horse tossed his head once, but once only; when he stilled, Hektor held out the first piece of apple for him. "There, now," he murmured as the horse lipped the fruit away. "That's what you wanted, isn't it? Something you knew?"

The horse snorted, but gave no further trouble. Hektor smiled and took hold of the braided reins. "Now," he said, "let's see about your back, hmm? The blanket first..."

When Hektor returned to the Palace, he thought for a moment. Alektryon, he knew, was not the sort to take being wakened from his sleep lightly. No good could come of disturbing the Horse Master to do what needed doing. So he only nodded to himself instead, and crept off to the kitchen store-rooms, coming away with a few old apples and a lump or two of salt that nobody would miss. Luckily, the slave who oversaw one of the pantries was no great watchman.

It took more care to make his way to the stables without being seen; the pride of the Palace was in its horses, and one did not place such animals in the hands of careless men. Still, Hektor knew of a few ways in not much used; he'd caught a servant at it once, coming away from a secret meeting with some girl. No one was about such business tonight, a thing for which he thanked the gods. There would be extra offerings later to Apollo, who blessed cleverness, and Hermes, who so often worked in the dark. But for now there was only one god to pray to, because once in, there was no turning back. Blue-Haired Poseidon, Father of Horses, I would not deny you any tribute you had set your heart on. If this plan has not your blessing, send me a sign.

There was no sound, no change in the air around him. If the Horse Father did not outright bless the venture, at least he did not consider it grounds for anger.

In silence, Hektor undid the latch to the stall where the great bronze stallion was kept. The horse was considered too dangerous to have a half-door, as he had bitten one of the grooms when the man had shouted at him. It would be all or nothing. The horse, as he had half-expected, was awake; it whickered quietly, a patch of deeper shadows in the darkness. "Easy, there," murmured Hektor. "No harm meant, this time."

He stayed where he was, his back to the stout wall. The horse snorted again; he swallowed and murmured something, he didn't know what. Better that the horse hear him, and know he was there, than think him some night-stalking predator. There was enough room in the stall for the horse to spin about and split his skull with a hoof. No such strike came, so he stood there as long as he could; eventually the horse gave off trying to sort it out, and ignored him. It was a start, if nothing else. He bowed a little and set the bits of apple in the horse's feed-bucket, with a lump of salt nearby. Then he crept out and went to find a wax tablet to send to the Horse Master:

The horse given the King by Lord Roustam is to receive his feed from Prince Hektor. He may graze as he wills, but any other feed given him is to come from Hektor's hand, or it is not to come at all.

The Turkmen had come to the Palace when the moon was a little past full, and it was rising new now as Hektor settled himself in silence among the hay, to watch the other horses and to wait. Priam was going to see the bronze stallion Yima today, and his thoughts had been ranging too far afield to forbid Hektor's following. The boy thought it best if he hung back a little, though; there was that about the horse which made him think too many visitors at once were a bad idea.

And he was right, for when Yima had only himself as company in the paddock the stallion was as calm as any beast in Troy. When one of the grooms approached he grew wary; and when three came he squared himself to fight, as Hektor had seen other stallions do at mating-time. It was a near thing indeed for the grooms, who came in on tiptoe and moved like men who wished they had spears. The stallion was faster by far than they and nearly took one man's head off before he could escape. Priam shook his head wearily, watching the horse snort and stamp his great hooves. "A bad temper is one thing," he said to the Horse Master, "but this is madness. If he were even once to get loose-"

"It would be a slaughter, I know," said Alektryon. "Intractable isn't a word I use often, sire, but for a beast like this it's not strong enough. That horse is some god on earth wanting vengeance."

"For what?" asked Priam; Alektryon only shrugged. "I don't know, sire. Maybe he was meant as a curse to the Turkmen, and they passed him off to us. I've heard of such things in Thrace."

Priam gave a great and weary sigh, passing a hand over his face. "I would send him back to the god, if we could only put him to a few of the mares first."

"If the truth be told, I'd give him to Poseidon now, and spare us having that strain to tame in the generations to come," muttered Alektryon. "Roustam said it, they're all foul-tempered. I doubt there's any mare in Troy whose blood could cool that fire."

The king shook his head a little, watching the beast; then he turned, looking for his son. "Well, Hektor?" he called. "You have a liking for the fierce ones, I know; what do you think of this fellow?"

Hektor came forward a little, eyes upon the stallion and then on his father. "He would be worth keeping, sir," he said. "Oinops has been as bad at times, I have seen; not as often, I know, but I think he could be gentled, given time."

Alektryon snorted, muttering to himself, but Priam merely stroked his beard. "How much time, think you?" the King asked.

It was not often that Priam asked such questions, Hektor knew. He felt sure in his heart that his father looked to teach him a lesson, and stop him reaching too far beyond what he ought to try, at his age. He would have confessed to not knowing, had they been alone; but Alektyron was there, and with the Horse Master as witness Hektor knew his own honor was in it. So he only said, "More than most of our horses, but not so much that he could not be gentled at all. I think it might be done with a little care."

The King and the Horse Master looked at each other over the boy's head. At last Priam looked to where Yima stood once more, wild and proud; he let out a long, considering breath. "You are the only one who has seen the horse who has spoken up for him," he said. "Everyone else, from the least of the slaves to the spearmen who got him away from Podargos, would see him on the altar. Very well; he is in your charge then."

Hektor stared at his father, shocked past speech. Priam almost smiled as he said, "If he can be tamed at all, it must be by one who believes it possible, must it not? You are the only one who thinks so, my boy. You may call on the servants as needful, of course, but from now until the next new moon, the horse is your only duty. Bring him to bear by then, or he goes back to the Horse Father."

The boy bowed, knuckling his brow in homage, and the King returned to the Palace.

Mykale, the youngest of Priam's serving-women, peered for a moment through the crack in the door before coming into the room. "Has anyone seen the lord Hektor of late?" she asked, worrying at her lip with her teeth. "His father is looking for him."

"And he will find him soon enough, most likely," returned Thalestris. The older woman was in an ill temper indeed; she had been chasing after Priam's youngest yet, Podarges, for a good half the day. "The boy heard that the Turkmen had come to the city with their horses, and there was nothing for him this morning but to make ready to see them. If they are come to the Palace to see the King, Hektor will be there, I'm sure."

Mykale shook her head, thinking of the ways that could go wrong; but it was not her place to say, so she bowed her head and slipped off to see if she might not find the young prince anyway. As it happened, Thalestris was right. Mykale found Hektor nowhere that she searched, but as she drew close to the courtyard to beg the King's pardon for her failure, she heard Hektor's voice and could draw breath freely again. She found a spot where she might look out into the courtyard without being much seen, and settled down to watch.

"We do not see your people here in Troy often," said the King. His hair was dark, though not so dark as his son's; brown, where the boy's beside him was black. There was no grey yet beginning either in his hair or in his beard. "We are glad indeed to receive the people of Ashgabat in our city. Be welcome here in Troy, Lord Roustam."

The foreigner was perhaps half a head taller than Priam, garbed in brown robes embroidered with phoenixes. His beard was trimmed down to the area around his chin, and his upper lip untrimmed, so that the hair above flowed smoothly into that below. "It is an honor," said Roustam. "Blessings and good fortune be upon you and your household."

"And yours as well," said the King. This sort of exchange of compliments would go on for a good while, Mykale knew, so she contented herself to watch without listening. The men from Ashgabat had brought many servants with them, some of whom, she knew, would be staying behind as gifts to the King and his family. No one made such a great journey as this without leaving behind some token, she knew. Roustam's people had brought silks as well, for that was their mission in Troy. The fabric was lighter and finer than any linen woven in Egypt, and came from some land so far to the east that it was said it was a year old before it ever reached Babylon. How the men of Ashgabat had received it, she did not know, but it would fetch a handsome price indeed in the city's market.

There were gifts of gold offered in return, of course. Not given in exchange, as if it were some common purchase, but as tokens of esteem; too, they allowed Priam to show the foreigners the best of his people's craftsmanship, and of the handiwork of those that Troy traded with to the west. Jewels and diadems for the women, hung with disks of hammered gold and wrought silver; belts for the men, and such rings and bracelets as any lord might envy. And necklaces, too, heavy with Hyperborean amber, which was only had seldom and then at a great price; but one well worth it, if the light of Roustam's eyes were anything to judge by. "King Priam," said the foreigner, holding the necklace up to catch the light, "this is a princely gift indeed."

"As well it should be," said Priam, smiling. "The guest of the land is sacred."

Roustam nodded. "So too do we say in my own land," he said, "but you have outdone by far our own poor generosity to our hosts. I fear I have only one gift left that I might offer, and you must judge its worth for yourself." He turned and gestured to one of his servants, calling to him in their own tongue. As the man retreated, bowing, Roustam said, "He is ill-tempered, I am afraid; all his bloodline are so. But it is well worth it. His father was my own stallion Rakhsh, and you will find none finer in all of our lands."

Priam's own eyes lit at that, but it was as nothing compared to his son's. Hektor had stood silent and sober, watching and listening, through all the meeting of the two men. But at the mention of the foreigner's horse he drew himself up straight, watching the gates at the far end of the courtyard alertly, tense as a bowstring in the moment before the arrow flies. Roustam noticed, and smiled. But he said nothing, for five men were leading the horse in: a horse very nearly the color of bronze, as tall at the shoulder as any ever seen in Troy. It needed five men to lead him, for he was tossing his head in fury and bugling as if he meant to warn all the world of his wrath.

The king looked to his son, and then to the horse. Even so far away as this Mykale could see it in his eyes: it would be the work of half the Palace Guard to keep the boy away from the magnificent monster.

"Hektor," said Hekabe gently, holding the linen bandage to the gash in her first-born's brow, "you are going to have to be more careful. Aisakos is four years older than you, and look how much bigger he is than you. What possessed you to get into a fight with your half-brother?"

The boy grimaced, but then he had already been grimacing, so that was nothing new. "I didn't start it," he protested. "He was the one who took my knife."

"Aisakos says you gave it to him." Hekabe looked at her son, a touch of worry in her dark eyes.

"Well, yes- at first," Hektor said. "He wanted a look, he said, so I let him have it- and then he said I could have it back if I could get it away from him, and he held it out of my reach."

"So you tried to knock him down." Hekabe shook her head. "Hektor, you shouldn't be starting fights you can't win."

"But he had my knife! I couldn't leave it with him."

"You could have told me about it," said Hekabe. "I could have got it back for you."

Hektor shook his head mutely. He would sooner have died than turned to an adult for this, least of all his mother. He'd meant even to dress his own bruises and bandage the gash, which came of catching his head on a table-leg during the fight.

Hekabe sighed and sat back, looking at her boy. "Does he still have it?"

The knife was still with Aisakos, but Hektor said nothing until his mother went away.

"Hektor," said Priam wearily, looking down at the dusty face of his son, "Melanippus tells me you have been giving Alektryon all sorts of trouble today."

"It wouldn't have been trouble if they had just let me alone," muttered the boy.

"No matter how well you think you know Podargos and Oinops, they are still war-horses," Priam pointed out. "And while they may like you well enough, they're my war-horses. They know my mind- not yours. You should have known better."

Hektor kicked at the floor with one sandaled foot, but said nothing.

"What were you thinking, to climb into a pen that small with Oinops? He could have killed you just by leaning against the wall while you were there!"

"But he didn't, Father! I've been in there plenty of times, and-" He bit his words off; but it was too late.

"What's this, now?" said Priam, one dark eyebrow rising. "Have you been sneaking in with that horse?"

"A time or three, sir," Hektor murmured, wanting to hunch his shoulders and duck his father's gaze. It would do him no good, though, so he fought back the shamed gesture and looked back to his father. "I brought him treats, to show him I meant no harm, and so that he would be used to me when I was there for longer. That's all."

"Well, that shows some sense, at least," Priam said grudgingly. "But it remains: you put the stables into a panic today, especially the Horse Master, and you have been sneaking around behind his back doing things that could have gotten you killed. I can't have that, Hektor. You know that."

Hektor nodded glumly.

"You took no injury today, is that so?" Priam asked. When the boy nodded again, he said, "Good. I don't like to do this, but it's best you remember what comes of deceiving and disobeying."

"Yes, sir."

Hektor hails from roughly 1250 or so BCE; his specific year is difficult to pin down, thanks to Mary Renault's tinkering with the archaeological record. (She combines several different events that destroyed most, if not all, of the Palace at Knossos into a single night.) The exact year is not especially relevant, only the general time frame. This is for two reasons: one, the Mediterranean Dark Ages descended a little after 1200 BCE, thanks to the Dorian invasions and the hordes of Sea Folk involved, and two, Hektor's language.

If we go with the assumption that Hektor's Troy is culturally part of the Greek system of city-states, even though it's genetically and physically foreign, then we have to assume that the city uses the Greek language. This is fine, but Greek as of 1250 BCE was a much older dialect even than the sort of Greek that Homer used. If Hektor leaves the Bar's translation field to visit some other world, he will be almost entirely incomprehensible to speakers of modern Greek. Ordinary people who are educated in classical Greek will have a better chance of understanding him, but he's separated by a good four hundred years or more from the Greek spoken at the time of Homer. He has a minuscule smattering of other area languages, but they tend to be things like Phrygian dialect or Anatolian or Hittite.

Hektor's written language, as well, is different. Several different alphabets- syllabaries, really- developed in the Mediterranean basin and died out entirely during the Dark Ages. The Greek alphabet of later centuries bears little to no resemblance to the writing system Hektor knows. He uses Linear B, which looks like this.

It is a thing Hektor has found, that horses and men are more different than one might think. Oh, yes, there are plenty of jokes to be made there; he has heard his uncles at it often enough. But he's seen men working with horses, assuming that the beasts have the same wills and desires as men, and it is not so. They have wants, yes, and needs- but theirs are not like those of men; there is no scheming in them so far as he can see. Only that which they want, if it is fodder or water or mares or shelter, and whether or not they can have it. They go after it, and if it is in them, they take it and that is that. If it is not- well, they wait and try again some other time; or they fall away from it and forget, or go off in search of something else.

That is not so different from men, in itself, but he has never seen a horse lay a trap for its rival. Neither has he seen one sulk and grow bitter, hiding its heart. If a horse dislikes you, you cannot help but know it. At the most, he has seen them wait and seem quiet, at least until the chance to strike comes clear; but they fight then, of their own will, and they do not call others in to do their work for them and walk off tutting with clean hands. And mostly they do not fight, anyway. A nip here, a kick there- that is all, no harm done. The air is clean, after that.

A thing worth learning, maybe; for certain he will never learn it from Phoitios.

In a palace the size of the one at Troy, it was easy to miss one of the King's many sons. Phoitios did not worry much after the boy headed off to work on his letters; the Palace was big, and he had the other boys to teach. Not until the sun was halfway down the sky again did he realize young Hektor was missing. Biting back a curse, he set out to look for Priam's wayward boy. Along the length of the main Palace hall, up the stairs to the towers, down again to the armory- the boy was always poking his nose into the armory- but no; there was no king's son there. He bit back a curse and turned to the last remaining place the boy was likely to be found.

Alektryon, the Horse Master, grew tense as he saw the royal tutor approach. "I haven't seen him, Phoitios," he began.

Phoitios cut him off with a jerk of the head. "I haven't said who I'm looking for."

"Word travels, when you move through the Palace like a thundercloud," Alektryon answered. "He didn't come to the stables, I know that for certain. Or if he did, it was none of my doing; I haven't seen him at all, today."

A curse slipped through Phoitios' clenched jaws. "Well, then," he said when he felt himself again, "where do I look for the brat?"

"Have you tried-" began Alektryon, but from the far side of the stables came a cry of "Hoy!", and he stopped. "That, I think, is your charge. Go and fetch him yourself; I've had nothing to do with it."

If he's gotten himself kicked by one of the stallions, I shall never hear the end of it, thought the royal tutor with a scowl. Though it would serve him right- oh, Merciful Zeus, he's got into the paddock with Podargos!

The big dapple-grey stallion's whinny was the sort you do not forget and know anywhere that you hear it. Phoitios swore and ran for the paddock. The king would have him whipped like a serving-boy if Podargos had at his son, for to be certain the stallion would leave the boy battered within an inch of his life. There was no way, none at all, that this could end well.

Yet there was no further sound from the stallion, or at least none that Phoitios could hear; and when he drew close enough, a sight he had little expected met his eyes. The great grey stallion stood no more than a spear's cast from the fence that marked off his grazing-ground. His ears were pricked forward, his attention fixed; but he neither tossed his head nor stamped in anger. He only watched the small brown boy who clung to the top-most pole of the paddock fence like a monkey, and once gave a snort of curiosity.

"It is all right, Phoitios," said Hektor, without taking his eyes from Podargos' shoulder. "He knows I mean him no harm, or I should have come down from here long ago and done it."

"What are you doing up there, boy?" Phoitios cried. "Are you mad? Your father will have someone's hide for this."

"For what?" asked Hektor. "I've not been harmed, and I've done no harm to the horses. I sat here all these hours, watching them; that's all. Better I learn their ways without bothering them, or Alektryon, if I am ever to have a chariot-team of my own."

"If you fell from up there you would break your neck, you young rascal," said Phoitios. But there was no real heat in it. He had seen the boy climb before.

"I was in no danger of falling," said Hektor. "I would have come down first."

"Well, come down now. It's nearly your supper-time- horses or no."

"Oh, very well," said Hektor, and with a sigh he clambered down the proper side of the fence.

Homer, as I found out some time ago, was a shameless concatenator of stories and legends to suit his needs. Therefore I feel no shame at all in turning to other sources to provide background material and fill in the rest of the world for Hektor; in specific, I am mostly drawing on the Bronze Age historical novels of Mary Renault. This means that there are certain specific deviations from 'standard' legend as the modern world knows it. A few of them are as follows:

Agamemnon was the first High King of Mycenae, who invaded that country and took the land from the native Shore Folk (a race also referred to as Earthlings or Minyans). He married the Queen, which in a Minyan kingdom was how you became king, and imposed the worship of the Sky Gods- those who dwell on Olympus. While he was away at war the Queen revived the old religion, which focused primarily upon chthonic goddesses and a constant cycle of life and death. Kings in that tradition only ruled for a set period of time, and at the end of their reign were sacrified in some way or other whether they accepted it or not. The Queen took a new man to be King and sacrificed Agamemnon upon his return home. Agamemnon's son had been hidded by Hellenes, however (Hellene being used throughout the Bronze Age books to refer to the more 'classical' Greeks out of the Achaian lands), and he avenged his father's death by cutting down the Queen and her new lord. He was the Queen's son too, though, and to someone with the old religion in the blood there is nothing holier than a mother; he was hounded over most of the civilized world by Night's Daughters (the term 'the Furies' never comes up in the books), driven beyond endurance until he fell at Apollo's feet. Apollo being the god who frees men from curses; the Daughters of Night were thus driven off and the young King was freed. . . Needless to say, Agamemnon will not be showing up at Hektor's Troy.
Theseus of Athens was one or two generations before Hektor's. In the second Bronze Age book, an aged Theseus encounters a pre-teen Achilles a little before Theseus' death, though I do not remember how old Theseus is supposed to be at that point. His half-Cretan son ~~Idomeneus~~ Akamas may be putting in an appearance eventually, but I do not know.
Oedipus of Thebes died at Kolonnos during an earthquake, not long after Theseus' reign as King of Athens began.
Jason, the captain of the Argo, hails from ~~Kolchis;~~ Iolkos; Theseus' friend Pirithoos was friends with him before Theseus' reign as king. Theseus and Pirithoos got golden fleeces of their own from the land of Kolchis during the years when Theseus increased Athens' wealth by piracy along the coasts and in the lands of other kingdoms not allied with his own.
Medea was the mistress of Theseus' father for a time, until Theseus appeared in Athens at the age of eighteen. She fled with her two sons shortly thereafter, back towards her native lands, and encountered Jason there.
Orpheus is referred to in the first book as 'the bard' or 'the Thracian singer'. He told the tale at Troizen when Theseus was a little boy, of his voyage to the land of the Hyperboreans, who had sent to the shrine at Delos for advice from Apollo's oracle on how best to build their great stone circle in honor of the sun-god. They had the assistance of Cretan engineers with ropes and levers, but needed the great singer to inspire their work, even though the Cretan machinery halved the effort necessary. Yes, this means that Orpheus helped to build the outer circle of Stonehenge, although the inner circle was said to have stood there since time out of mind.
Orpheus is said after his death to have been loved by the Dark Mother beneath the earth, and to have stayed in her realm while seven years passed over him like a day, and to have refused to drink of Lethe. He never spoke a word there, nor did he touch any of her magic pomengranates or apples that mind a man forever, because he was vowed to Apollo and the gods of light. When the time came for him to return to the world above she followed him all the way, weeping and crying for him to turn back, but he only sang the whole way and played upon his harp and did not turn until he had stepped into the sunlight. She sank away into the earth, weeping for her secrets and her lost love. (Theseus, upon hearing this, tells the one who told him 'He never said any of that to me. Is it true?' and is told, 'It is true after its fashion.')
Herakles occurs some time long enough before Theseus' time that there are stories and legends of him, but I have no clear indications of when or how or where he lived. I think we can therefore eliminate the legends which say he killed all of Priam's siblings, since Priam is Hektor's father and Hektor was Priam's first son by his second wife, born during Theseus' lifetime.

More notes to follow, as I have the time.