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* * *
King Priam loved hosting ceremonial games and paced along the walkway behind the battlements on the high wall enclosing the pergamon of the royal city of Troy. The sky was clear, and the air off the sea invigorating. His sons Hektor and Deiphobus stood at his side. "The others racing chariots will provide little competition for you two."
"Are you sorry or proud?" Hektor inquired with a sly smile. He was a handsome young man, tall and muscular with thick black curls and laughter brightening his dark eyes. Deiphobus had finer features and a slender more elegant frame. He was an equally fierce competitor, however.
"I won the last time we raced," Deiphobus reminded his father.
Priam nodded. "I've not forgotten, although Hektor may have the finer team today."
"If he can control them," Deiphobus countered.
Hektor took a playful swing at his brother and Deiphobus countered with his own. "Come, let's go on to the sporting grounds and be ready when our turn comes."
Priam watched his sons walk away toward the Scaean Gate, the main entrance to the city. He was proud of them, but still missed the baby son he'd lost so long ago.
* * *
At Paris's urging, Agelaus found a place to stand on a gentle rise above the oval-shaped grounds. "We'll have a fine
view here," the older man said. "But we should go before the close of the games to avoid being caught in the rush of people leaving."
The noise of the gathering crowd rolled over Paris and the bright colors stung his eyes. He'd never thought his clothing shabby, but when so many others wore garments in a beautiful array of colors, tunics and skirts without a single stain, he hoped no one would notice his dusty country clothes. He saw many beautiful women with make-up and elaborate hairstyles and doubted any would even look his way.
"They always begin with chariot races." Agelaus pointed out the two horse teams being led into the broad clearing. Drivers gestured for the surrounding crowd to move back and a surge of movement rippled around them. "Next to King Priam's high field throne, there's an altar for Zeus. Gods love the games even more than we mortals do."
Paris had never seen a chariot race and unable to stand still, he jostled from foot to foot. He liked the black team better than the bays or grays. "What fine horses they have."
Agelaus nodded. "They are known as the horse taming Trojans. Those young men are King Priam's sons, Hektor and Deiphobus. They win most races, but here come men leading several more teams, so we'll have a good race with real competition."
"Have you ever ridden in a chariot?" Paris asked.
"A few times as a boy," his father replied. "It can be a wild ride if a man fails to control his team. Some here are undoubtedly hoping for a bloody accident where both men and horses will die. Unfortunately, spectators could also be killed."
"Why would anyone hope for that?" Paris asked with a puzzled frown.
"There's a meanness to a crowd that you don't see in a single man," Agelaus offered with a shrug. "I hope we see only a fast race rather than a tragic one."
Paris straightened his shoulders. "So do I."
The chariots were light in weight with small platforms for a charioteer to stand and a semi-circular front guard covered in leather to protect him from the horses flying hooves. Paris could see the inherent danger even as the men lined up their teams near King Priam's throne. He had expected the king to shine like a god, but he made his way to his throne, a mere white-bearded mortal in fine robes. If only there were some way for him to impress Priam, then his dream of becoming a warrior might come true. With no chariot to race, or any knowledge of how to drive one, he would have to wait for another chance to come his way.
The royal Herald began the race with a shout and swung a red pennant. Just as Paris had expected, the chariots burst forth like sparks from a torch. The man with the black team drew ahead as they swung around the curved track. As his father had feared, a chariot swung wide and careened into another man's. The charioteers jumped clear as their chariots flew apart in a rain of splinters, and the horses ran on dragging what little remained of their once fine chariots. The race slowed long enough for the men to catch their loose teams, and then continued to a rising roar of the crowd.
The man with the handsome black team won, and the crowd roared in praise and applauded. The winner jumped from his chariot to salute King Priam with a fist to his forehead. "Which son is he?" Paris asked.
"Hektor, although Deiphobus's bay team ran a close second. Have you seen enough? Are you ready to go?"
"What will they do next?"
Anxious to leave, Agelaus sighed unhappily. "Boxing. The men wrap their hands with leather thongs and fight to the last man standing. It will be brutal and bloody."
"I could do that." Paris pushed his way through those standing in front of them, creating a narrow aisle as he made his way into the clearing.
"Wait!" Agelaus yelled, but his son was too fast to catch. The men who'd stood ready to fight laughed when Paris joined them, but one had extra leather and wrapped the young man's hands even as he called him a fool for entering the fray.
Paris waved to his father, and stayed on the outside when the men spread out into a wide circle. The man nearest him wore a fierce expression, but his punches were wild and weak, and he went down with Paris's first blow to his chin. Unsure of the rules, Paris found another man to box and then another. Life as a herdsman had made him tough and strong, and he fought with a keen relish none of the other combatants possessed. When he turned to search for another opponent, he was surprised to find he had beaten them all.
The surprised crowd cheered, and he saluted King Priam as he'd seen Hektor and Deiphobus do. He was awarded a beautiful red leather headband, which he handed to Agelaus. "Do you think I might meet the king?" he asked.
