Aeneas readily agreed to Euryalus's invitation. A stroll through the market to observe daily life sounded like a fine bit of fieldwork.
So the trio entered the bustling town market. Stalls lined the river valley path, offering a dizzying array: various flours, olive oil, sheep's milk cheese, and small, hide-wrapped blocks of salt.
Nisus and Euryalus were busy selecting essentials. Their eyes were sharp, focused. It was like a contest to find the best, fastest. Aeneas ambled along beside them. He occasionally crouched. Ran a thumb over a grape. His eyes held an observer's curiosity.
He asked questions now and then. Seemingly 'casual' ones. Really, he was gathering intel.
"This cheese price always so stable? Huh? Everywhere else raised prices? Why not here in our territory?"
"Where do you usually get the salt from? Is the route safe?"
Nisus gave him a puzzled look. "Forgive me, sir, but… is all that something you truly need to know?" He hesitated. "Still—no harm in telling you."
Euryalus was more relaxed. He added with a grin, "Young master, asking like that, you sound like a little official checking on prices!"
Aeneas's lips quirked. He chuckled inwardly. Replied playfully, "A little official? Hmm… maybe. Who doesn't want to know more about things?"
As they neared the market's edge, the sound of hooves and shouting drew their attention.
A dust-covered, swarthy merchant stood there. A worn rope hung over his shoulder. Beside him was a tall, magnificent horse. Its muscles were well-defined, its coat so glossy it seemed freshly washed in the river. It stood out starkly amid the market's grime. Aeneas instinctively craned his neck for a better look—the lines, the posture, the rhythm of its breathing all spoke of excellent breeding and training.
Seeing interested onlookers, the merchant's eyes lit up. He launched into a loud, enthusiastic pitch. "Fine steed from Assyria! Can run a hundred miles a day! Look at this build! Look at these lines!"
He hurried over to Aeneas. Waved the rope about. His tone was wildly exaggerated.
"Noble sir, look at this beauty! Came through the eastern mountain pass few days back. Near that damned Red Bean Forest. Ran into a pack of cursed bandits! They took all my other goods. Only escaped thanks to her! A real treasure! Just... thirty thousand Drachma in silver!"
Nisus and Euryalus gasped in unison. Thirty thousand… Drachma…! Their eyes widened. They nearly dropped their salt and flour.
That price was about two hundred and sixty Mina. In modern terms, one hundred and thirty kilograms of silver. Or thirteen kilograms of gold.
Nisus's mouth twitched. He muttered under his breath, "That's… that's just insane!"
Euryalus stifled a laugh. He patted his brother's shoulder. "Careful. We can't afford it. But this young master… he doesn't look ordinary."
Aeneas merely raised an eyebrow. A faint smile played on his lips. But his focus wasn't on the price. He crouched down. Ran his fingers lightly through the horse's mane. Felt the power in its sinews, the rhythm of its heartbeat.
Aeneas dismissed the high price. His attention had subtly caught the undercurrent in those words—"Came through the eastern mountain pass few days back. Ran into a pack of cursed bandits. Only escaped thanks to her!" — Bandits on the Ida mountain trade route? That didn't sound like a one-off event...
His brow furrowed slightly. His mind raced. Though he appeared just a common passerby, as the young lord of the Dardan Valley, he couldn't afford to miss such details.
—Our lands aren't coastal. Ships from our river valley port have a long way to go before reaching the sea. We can't compete in maritime trade with the great nobles in the city of Troy itself. The main overland trade route is this one—the Ida mountain road to the Anatolian plateau. Our olive oil, furs, mountain goods, crafts... they all go out that way. In return, we get grain, metals, weapons, luxuries. Everything depends on that road!
He drew a soft breath. A flicker of concern crossed his eyes.
—Bandits on that route? That's a stranglehold on our territory's economic lifeline! Caravans will hesitate. Tax revenue drops. Crucial supplies can't get through... This is serious.
Aeneas looked down at the recently purchased roe deer meat and the supplies now held by the brothers. His face remained calm. A mild curve even touched his lips.
"It's a fine horse, but I've no need for it now." His tone was even. He gave a slight, polite nod to the merchant. Revealed nothing of his status. Added lightly, "Thank you for the news about the mountain pass."
The merchant seemed disappointed. But another inquiry sounded nearby. He hurriedly turned to the next potential buyer. Aeneas's gaze returned to the brothers. Nisus was frowning, examining the freshness of the deer meat. Euryalus held the basket lightly. A smile played on his lips, as if anticipating something interesting.
—Once the offering to the goddess is done, I must deal with this immediately! Clear the bandits. Secure the trade route. It's one of the most urgent tasks now.
His fingers brushed over their purchases. Deep inside, a cool, firm resolve took shape. This wasn't just a noble's duty. It was a promise to all the people of the river valley. He had to act. The trade routes of this land must be safe and open. Only then could wealth and life flow as they should.
Aeneas looked up. His gaze cut through the market noise. Settled on the winding Ida mountain road in the distance. That path was the key route to the Anatolian plateau. And his next strategic priority.
Their shopping done, Nisus hoisted the roe deer over his shoulder again. This time willingly. As if to say, "Alright, I've got this one."
Euryalus carried a full basket. Olives, grain, bread, salt, a pair of new thin-soled sandals, and a new spindle for their mother. His steps were light. He hummed a little tune now and then.
Aeneas watched the scene. A mild, amused smile touched his lips.
"Right. Let's head home." His voice was clear, magnetic. "I promise you won't be disappointed with lunch—more exciting than any roast you'll find in this market."
Nisus raised a brow slightly: This young master… always speaks with this magical confidence. Makes you want to believe him.
Euryalus subtly quickened his pace. A knowing, playful grin on his lips. The "I knew he was special" kind.
Both brothers felt a vague anticipation and curiosity. This young man's presence, even in an everyday market, carried a different kind of charm.
The three left the noisy market behind. The sun slanted down the valley, stretching their shadows long. Aeneas walked in the middle. His stride was steady. His shoulders swayed slightly. Like he was silently leading the way.
Nisus and Euryalus adjusted their loads. But they couldn't help stealing glances at Aeneas's every move—whether a playful sweep of his eyes or a thoughtful frown.
Aeneas walked on, calculating. The bandits on the Ida road. The security of the territory. How to recruit these two promising young hunters. These thoughts wound through his mind like a stream through the valley.
"Hey, you two. Stop staring at that basket. You'll trip on your own sandals." Aeneas's tone was light. Nisus grinned. Euryalus rolled his eyes with feigned exasperation—We're hunters from Mount Ida, for gods' sake. But he couldn't suppress a laugh. The young master's clumsy friendliness was received, loud and clear.
*****
When the hunter brothers followed Aeneas into the main hall of the Dardan Valley estate, their steps grew hesitant.
This was an utterly foreign world to them. Tall stone walls were hung with tapestries depicting Troy's founding. Their rough yet intricate woven lines seemed to breathe in the candlelight. A long cedar table took the center. The bronze candle flickered, light shaking on the clay plates.
Wild amaranth with olive oil. Fresh cheese and berries. A pot of stew, still steaming. The smell of beeswax mixed with warm bread. The space felt solemn, yet held a domestic warmth.
Nisus couldn't help but stare. Euryalus looked around like a child entering a temple. His eyes shone.
Aeneas walked between them. His manner was natural, yet carried an innate noble bearing. He placed a hand lightly on Nisus's shoulder. With the other, he gestured for his guests to sit. The move was casual, yet left no doubt about who was the host here.
Servants moved forward. But at a near-imperceptible look from Achates, they melted back into the shadows along the wall. Standing ready.
"Father, Mother, these two are... uh..." Aeneas's smooth introduction hit a wall.
His mind went blank. He realized, with a jolt, he'd never actually asked their names. The corner of his mouth twitched. He finished with an awkward chuckle. "Very skilled hunter friends I met at the market."
The brief awkwardness was deftly broken by Nisus. He stepped forward half a pace. His right hand touched his chest. He bowed his head in a formal warrior's salute. His steady voice filled the hall.
"Nisus, my lord. This is my brother, Euryalus. It is an honor to receive your invitation."
Euryalus smiled broadly. His bow wasn't as precise as his brother's, but his eyes held genuine respect. He looked at the steaming food on the table. Swallowed hard. But stayed silent.
Terani, standing to the side, couldn't hide her thoughts at all. The girl clasped her hands in front of her. Tried to look like a proper, solemn attendant. But her eyes kept drifting irresistibly toward the flatbread on the table. Who the young master brought home didn't matter! Her gaze was fixed, as if willing the bread to sprout legs and jump into her hands.
Meanwhile, Aeneas was mentally kicking himself.
(That was close! Almost socially annihilated! In modern terms, the post would be 'HELP: Brought two internet friends home for lunch, just realized I never asked their usernames,' with comments like 'Honey you're brave, and also a total dumbass'... Ugh, the cringe!)
He roasted himself internally. But his face maintained a neutral smile. It was a noble's composure, carefully held, yet tinged with a comical embarrassment. The strict, formal rules of the noble table were, unnoticed, loosened by his blunder.
As the meal began, the hall's atmosphere soon shifted from stiff to warm. A breeze from Mount Ida slipped through the half-open window. Carried the scent of resin and fresh grass.
Sunlight fell between the indoor stone pillars. Lit every detail brightly.
Anchises leaned on his oak cane. But his gaze was sharp as a hawk's. He stroked his greying beard. Stared at Nisus standing nearby. Said slowly,
"Hyrtacus... that old fox. His spearwork was among the best of the Trojans. His son stands solid as a mountain oak. How does he fare?" His voice held both probing and unmistakeable nostalgia.
Nisus's expression turned solemn in an instant. His hands fell naturally to his sides. His spine straightened. He bowed his head. His tone was full of respect. "Thank you for asking. My father is in good health. Still practices with the spear daily. Though he often complains his old wounds ache when it rains." He squared his shoulders and added, "He remains the warrior in our hearts."
A slight smile touched Anchises's lips. He asked no more. Just nodded. That silence held more weight than any praise.
On the other side, Aresya was watching Euryalus. Her gaze was soft as dawn on a river. She smiled.
"And how is Arisbe? Give her my regards. We used to gather herbs in the sacred groves of Mount Ida when we were young. We'd argue over which type of bay leaf was most fitting for the goddess." Her tone held a gentle tease. As if those bygone days were still vivid.
Euryalus grinned immediately. A mischievous light in his eyes.
"Mother is well, my lady! She'd be amazed I can still name more than three kinds of bay leaf. Say I've finally wised up." He exaggerated, lifting his tone playfully at the end. It made Aresya cover a light laugh with her hand. The mood instantly brightened.
Aeneas sat nearby. Watched the scene. Nodded inwardly. A few short sentences had drawn out the brothers' lineage. Their parents' old connections—Hyrtacus, the retired veteran; Arisbe, former priestess, and her past friendship with his mother Aresya.
These ties were like an invisible net. Weaving everyone together naturally.
As the talk grew lighter, the brothers began sharing hunting tales. Euryalus gestured animatedly. Showed how he'd mimic a deer's call with a whistle. Lure a great stag near a trap. Nisus filled in the details. How he'd grabbed his brother's tunic when the stag almost charged the snare.
Another story involved a protective mother boar chasing them up a tree. Euryalus dramatically acted out "hanging from a branch by one foot."
Anchises listened, his expression relaxed. The corner of his mouth lifted almost imperceptibly. He gave a low chuckle now and then. Aresya gasped softly behind her hand at times. Couldn't suppress light laughs. Warmth shone in her eyes.
Outside the window, the outline of Mount Ida was clear. The distant Red Bean Forest lay on the horizon like a slumbering beast. Holding its unspoken worries. But here in the hall, a long-missed, family-like conversation had quietly turned strangers into familiar company.
Aeneas lounged against one side of the long table. Picked up a piece of warm flatbread with his fingertips. Dipped it casually in olive oil. On the surface, he seemed to simply enjoy the ease of the family meal. But his gold-black eyes watched his father intently through the gaps in the chatter.
"Oh, right—" He brought it up casually. With a young man's lightness. "Heard some gossip in the market today. A Hittite merchant said the trade route near the Red Bean Forest to the east… seems troubled. Said he ran into bandits. Lost some goods. Father, have you heard anything?"
Anchises's hand, lifting his cup, paused mid-air. The pale red wine swayed in the clay cup. Looked deep in the bright sunlight. He didn't answer immediately. Took a slow sip of the diluted wine. Only when the cup settled back on the table did he lift his gaze, heavy with the years. His fingers tapped unconsciously on the wooden table. The rhythm was slow, heavy. Mirroring a weight hard to shake from his mind.
"Hmm." His low voice finally came. Laden with a steady, grim concern. "Thirty kilometers out. The edge of the Red Bean Forest. There is a group there. Twenty or more. These bandits are like ground moles. Hiding in the woods. They take goods. Rarely kill. Seems they want wealth more than lives. Perhaps deliberately limiting the damage. To avoid a real crackdown."
Aeneas listened quietly. His lips pressed into a slight line. He knew this 'selective cruelty' was the most troublesome kind—not enough to provoke full-scale war, but enough to make merchants fearful. A slow, draining bleed on the entire trade route.