which in Troy was serious business. It was a dangerous game to face a wild bull and jump over it. Many men died learning the art of the dance. It was the herder’s task to ensure the bulls remained wild and unpredictable, ignorant of men, unfamiliar with their smell, or the challenge of the experience wasn’t honor worthy in the arena. These giant creatures were highly prized and required a watchful eye to ensure the security of the animals and future profits.
Agelaus looked up at the stars scattered and blinking across the imperial dark. “Tonight, my son, you will join a long line of proud men of the house Távros.” He met the boy’s eyes in the dimming light. “It will be different you know, being out here without your brothers or I.”
“I will make you proud, Father. I want you to be proud of me. Even...even...if I’m not really yours.”
Agelaus looked down at his son. “You are mine, Paris. From the moment I brought you home. Squalling and fat from the foothills. Do you know what makes a boy a good son?”
Paris shook his head. He was often scolded by his mother for not thinking before he acted, like the time he let the goats out to race them in the field came to mind. He’d never seen his mother so red in the face. “No.”
“It’s not the blood tie, Paris. Even the Olympians, in a moment of madness, turned against Zeus. No, it’s not the blood ties.” He put his arm around Paris’ shoulders. “It’s the measure of heart he offers. And you give your mother and I your full heart. We give you ours in return.”
“And that makes me a good son?”
“Yes.”
“As good as Tymon and Harmon?”
Agelaus chuckled. “Do not tell them, but you give more heart than they do.”
“So you give me more heart in return?”
“Shah! That is our secret.”
Paris beamed with pride. “I will keep our secret, Father.”
“Now, about tending these bulls. You must be vigilant for thieves and wolves,” Agelaus said.
“I know father.”
“Do you have your bow?” Agelaus took great pride in his son’s lethal ability with the weapon. The art of bow hunting had come easily to Paris at a very young age. He felled his first stag at age six. His aim neared perfection. His strength much advanced than other boys his age. Agelaus was certain the boy’s royal nature revealed itself in these small, unexpected ways.
“I can take care of the herd, Father. Don’t worry,” Paris said, munching a mouth full of cheese and bread. “If I see anything, I’ll pierce it with my arrows.”
“That’s my boy.” Agelaus put his hand on his son’s curly black hair. “You do that. I can’t afford to lose another bull.” He stood up. “Well, it’s a long walk back to the farm. Better get started before it gets dark. Your mother will flog me if I miss dinner...again.”
“No bulls lost on my watch. I promise.” Paris became all seriousness. “You can sleep well tonight, Father.” Paris stuck his dimpled chin in the air with confidence. Agelaus had begun to worry that with every passing day Paris looked more and more like prince Hektor. Priam’s seed was definitely strong. He prayed to Artemis and Apollo that no one made the observation.
Paris packed up the remaining flat bread and chunk of cheese he’d been eating and stored it in his knapsack for later. He knew he’d get hungry and eating on and off all night would help him stay awake. He was determined to barely blink, if he could help it.
Young Paris loved the moment when daylight began to diminish and darkness spread like ink across the sky and the stars magically appeared one by one, as if the goddess Asteria cast them from a basket like jewels strewn across a meadow. He imagined the goddess of stars with a silver gown floating all around her. He imagined her hair illuminated by starlight and for eyes silver flames. Paris played a game inside his head every night at the moment her immortal hands dropped the first star. He counted each sparkle
Agelaus looked up at the stars scattered and blinking across the imperial dark. “Tonight, my son, you will join a long line of proud men of the house Távros.” He met the boy’s eyes in the dimming light. “It will be different you know, being out here without your brothers or I.”
“I will make you proud, Father. I want you to be proud of me. Even...even...if I’m not really yours.”
Agelaus looked down at his son. “You are mine, Paris. From the moment I brought you home. Squalling and fat from the foothills. Do you know what makes a boy a good son?”
Paris shook his head. He was often scolded by his mother for not thinking before he acted, like the time he let the goats out to race them in the field came to mind. He’d never seen his mother so red in the face. “No.”
“It’s not the blood tie, Paris. Even the Olympians, in a moment of madness, turned against Zeus. No, it’s not the blood ties.” He put his arm around Paris’ shoulders. “It’s the measure of heart he offers. And you give your mother and I your full heart. We give you ours in return.”
“And that makes me a good son?”
“Yes.”
“As good as Tymon and Harmon?”
Agelaus chuckled. “Do not tell them, but you give more heart than they do.”
“So you give me more heart in return?”
“Shah! That is our secret.”
Paris beamed with pride. “I will keep our secret, Father.”
“Now, about tending these bulls. You must be vigilant for thieves and wolves,” Agelaus said.
“I know father.”
“Do you have your bow?” Agelaus took great pride in his son’s lethal ability with the weapon. The art of bow hunting had come easily to Paris at a very young age. He felled his first stag at age six. His aim neared perfection. His strength much advanced than other boys his age. Agelaus was certain the boy’s royal nature revealed itself in these small, unexpected ways.
“I can take care of the herd, Father. Don’t worry,” Paris said, munching a mouth full of cheese and bread. “If I see anything, I’ll pierce it with my arrows.”
“That’s my boy.” Agelaus put his hand on his son’s curly black hair. “You do that. I can’t afford to lose another bull.” He stood up. “Well, it’s a long walk back to the farm. Better get started before it gets dark. Your mother will flog me if I miss dinner...again.”
“No bulls lost on my watch. I promise.” Paris became all seriousness. “You can sleep well tonight, Father.” Paris stuck his dimpled chin in the air with confidence. Agelaus had begun to worry that with every passing day Paris looked more and more like prince Hektor. Priam’s seed was definitely strong. He prayed to Artemis and Apollo that no one made the observation.
Paris packed up the remaining flat bread and chunk of cheese he’d been eating and stored it in his knapsack for later. He knew he’d get hungry and eating on and off all night would help him stay awake. He was determined to barely blink, if he could help it.
Young Paris loved the moment when daylight began to diminish and darkness spread like ink across the sky and the stars magically appeared one by one, as if the goddess Asteria cast them from a basket like jewels strewn across a meadow. He imagined the goddess of stars with a silver gown floating all around her. He imagined her hair illuminated by starlight and for eyes silver flames. Paris played a game inside his head every night at the moment her immortal hands dropped the first star. He counted each sparkle
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