Aeneas's brow furrowed slightly, his thoughts already ranging farther. With just three hundred troops, protecting the estate, the fortress, and the villages within ten miles was already the limit. Thirty miles… The supply line would be too long, intelligence insufficient. A failed expedition would leave the estate vulnerable. The consequences were unthinkable. Not to mention—across the sea, the shadow of the Greeks loomed.
Anchises also closed his eyes. Drew a deep breath. As if forcing the weight in his chest back down. When he spoke again, his voice had regained a lord's calm restraint.
"Our area of actual control doesn't extend that far. Sending troops rashly, without clear intelligence, is foolish. As long as they don't approach our borders, don't threaten our villages… For now, we can only post watchers."
The mood at the table sank with his words. Aresya quietly refilled her husband's wine cup. Her gaze was soft, but worry lay beneath it. The servants held their breath. Sensing the shift. This seemingly warm family meal had quietly turned to matters of the entire territory's security.
Aeneas ate his flatbread slowly. Deliberately. But his mind was racing faster than anyone's. This conversation between father and son marked the start of a crucial game.
The hall grew quiet. Only the crackle of torchlight in the bronze sconces remained. The earlier talk of bandits and trade routes was gone. Replaced by this new, weightier topic. Security. It was like a stone dropped into still water. Ripples spread, but no one spoke.
Anchises shifted slowly. Leaned on his oak walking stick. His eyes settled on his son. They held a father's stern appraisal. And a warmth, a reluctance, he couldn't quite hide.
He spoke, his voice low and steady, tinged with a hint of self-mockery.
"Aeneas. You have proven your courage. Your wit. I will grow old one day. This lame leg… it serves me less well each season. Perhaps it is time for you to take a greater role in the estate's affairs. Its defenses. I will guide you."
The unspoken words hung in the air: Son, I am preparing to pass this burden to you.
The silence in the hall deepened. Aresya's fingers unconsciously traced the purple ribbon at her chest. She looked at her husband. A flash of heartache in her eyes. Then her gaze turned to her son. It grew firm. Like a silent flame. A message: I am behind you.
Nearby, Achates had been holding his breath. Hearing this, he straightened his spine instantly. As if ready for new orders. His right hand formed a fist. Tapped his left breast in a silent soldier's salute. His eyes were hard as stone. A clear promise: Whatever comes, I stand with Aeneas.
Euryalus was the first to break the gravity. He grinned. His tone was light.
"That's good news! Lord Aeneas, just say the word! My brother and I are ready for any hunting or errands!"
Nisus, less boisterous, nodded gravely in agreement. His expression held new respect. Expectation.
"Ah—!" Terani nearly squealed. She looked ready to hop on the spot, wine jug in hand. Clamped a hand over her mouth. But her shining eyes gave her away. They were full of 'The young master really is the best!' excitement. The girl's fervor lightened the mood a little.
As for Aeneas himself, his head just went 'thrum'. It's happening. The handover. Sooner than I expected.
Feels like an intern suddenly promoted to project manager. For a struggling firm with gangsters next door... The pressure is on, folks.
He mentally grumbled. But on the outside, he managed a confident smile.
In the bright daylight, their expressions varied—expectation, delight, resolve. The quiet hall seemed to witness a silent vow: the flow of power had shifted.
As the sun slanted westward, servants filed in. They cleared the clay bowls and silver plates with quiet efficiency. The clatter faded. The lively atmosphere in the manor's great hall dissipated. Only the slanted sunbeams remained. They illuminated the dust motes dancing in the air.
Aeneas waited until his parents had withdrawn for their midday rest. While the servants were busy cleaning, he stood. Casually gestured to Nisus and Euryalus. It looked like a simple stroll. But he deliberately led them to the colonnade outside the courtyard.
The flagstones still held the day's warmth. The afternoon breeze stirred. It carried the faint scent of olive leaves through the pillars. In the distance, Mount Ida stood serene and mysterious. The Red Bean Forest was out of sight, but its shadow lay over the trade route like an unseen veil.
Aeneas stopped. Turned to them. Lowered his voice. His gaze was earnest, serious.
"You heard today," he began. His tone wasn't playful like at the feast. It carried a new weight. "The hills are restless. You know Mount Ida like the back of your hands. I'd like to formally ask for your help. With the patrols. The hunting. I'd be grateful. You'll be paid fairly, of course."
Euryalus laughed immediately. His eyes sparkled. His tone held a youth's cheeky sincerity. He slapped his chest with a solid thump.
"An honor to serve! The pay can be sorted later," he said, grinning widely. "Just keep us fed and watered! Honestly, the porridge here smells better than ours back home!"
Nisus stood quieter. More measured. He didn't speak at once. Just looked at Aeneas. A faint light gleamed in his eyes. He slowly placed his right hand over his heart. Gave a slight bow. His voice was low, firm.
"Our bows and our blades are yours. For you, and for the peace of the Dardan Valley, Lord Aeneas."
Two brothers. One boisterous, one calm. Reflecting the same fervent heart. Aeneas watched them. A smile touched his lips. It held warmth, and a thread of private satisfaction.
—Good. Two skilled hunters recruited. Next step: strengthen our defenses.
Further down the colonnade, Achates directed servants checking torches. These small flames in their bronze sconces were vital for pushing back the night. His careful eye ensured they were ready. Leaving no small detail overlooked. He turned. His gaze met Aeneas's. For a moment, neither spoke. Just a faint, almost imperceptible nod. A pact of steel, forged in silence.
Achates's thought was clear, certain—Whatever comes, my sword and my life are your shield.
In the smaller dining hall behind the main room, the long table was now set with platters of food. This was where the servants ate. They waited until their masters had finished before they could take their own meal.
The outline of Mount Ida showed through the high windows. The softer light of late afternoon washed over the stone pillars and walls. It warmed the small room, which served as both refectory and meeting place.
The mood in the great hall ahead had settled after the noon's bustle.
Aresya lifted her wine cup gently. She noticed her son seemed lost in thought. She deftly steered the conversation back to lighter, everyday matters.
Her voice was a gentle, steady stream. "Don't forget the offerings, dear. Tomorrow the moon waxes. A good day to offer a wooden sword to Lady Athena. To ask for her wisdom and courage in battle. And the day after—that is Aphrodite's sacred day. We must return to the temple at Maple Ridge. Offer the boar. Give thanks for her protection."
Aeneas snapped back to the present. A smile touched his lips. He nodded, feigning nonchalance, but his tone was sincere. "Don't worry, Mother. I have the schedule. After all—" He paused slightly, a mischievous glint in his eye. "we can't skip boosting the goddess's favor. Every single blessing and bit of gear counts."
The phrase 'boosting the goddess's favor' made his mother blink. Another of his odd, flippant phrases. He'd been using them lately. She could only guess what he meant.
Behind them, Terani was nibbling the last piece of her flatbread. Her eyes lit up at the word 'boar'. She seemed to picture golden, glistening roast meat. A soft "gulp" escaped her throat.
She flinched at the sound. Her cheeks flushed crimson. She clapped a hand over her mouth, as if she could stuff the hungry noise back in.
Aeneas didn't miss it. His eyes twinkled. He caught Terani's gaze from an angle his mother couldn't see. Winked. Mouthed the words 'little glutton' silently.
The maid's ears turned bright red, as if lit by firelight. A low, helpless giggle escaped her. It was a purely innocent sound. A strange, bright contrast to the hall's recently solemn mood.
Aresya watched it all calmly. Shook her head with a soft sigh. A fond smile played on her lips. She didn't scold. She seemed comforted by this brief, warm moment.
Amid these small laughs and shared looks, a lighter mood flowed back into the room. The serious talk was deftly diluted. Leaving only the rare, simple warmth of family.
As the daylight softened to gold, the manor kitchen was, as ever, a hub of noise.
Heat poured from the great stone hearth. Smoke hazed the air, staining the walls in the dim light. The smell was thick. Grease, a jumble of herbs, a faint undercurrent of staleness. It was hard to tell if this was where feasts were born, or a battlefield of fire and sweat. Vegetables waiting to be washed piled up near the water jars. Maids with rolled-up sleeves worked at cleaning them. The damp floor still shone with a dubious gleam.
Aeneas stepped into this 'logistical fortress'. His mind immediately protested—
Gods, the sanitation here is a microbe paradise! No wonder life expectancy was low. Improving latrines and mandating soap is now an ultra-high priority.
The kitchen sweltered. The clatter of pots and pans rose and fell like war drums. He quickly found its commander—Head Cook Marsha.
The ample woman stood with hands on hips. Her voice boomed as she directed the kitchen maids chopping vegetables, boiling water. Aeneas put on his most affable smile. Greeted her breezily.
"Cook Marsha! That roe deer the hunters brought today is wonderfully fresh. It got me thinking... perhaps we could try a... hmm, a secret method from the Far East?"
His tone was mysterious. His eyes held a 'you'll never guess' mischief. It wasn't from the Far East at all. A pure fabrication. Just to make the new method sound more impressive.
Marsha, stirring a pot of lamb stew, nearly dropped her spoon. She turned. Stared at the young master with deep suspicion. "Far... Far East? Wh-what method is this, young master?"
Seeing her reaction, Aeneas leaned closer. Dropped his voice like he was sharing a forbidden secret.
"First, handle the head and hide. Keep what can be saved. The venison... we can't just roast it. That's too crude. We have to—do some 'preparatory work'."
He paused. Saw the utter confusion on Marsha's face. Coughed quickly. Corrected the 'modern' term.
"Ahem. I mean... let it rest first. Add some things while it dreams. It'll wake up incredibly fragrant!"
Marsha's eyebrows shot up. Her unease grew. —Rest? Dreams? Is he joking? Or does he truly want me to stuff the meat under a bed? Wh-what do I do?
Aeneas kept a perfectly straight face. His hands moved rapidly, sketching shapes in the air. Like conducting a sacred rite.
"Cut the meat this thick—" He held his fingers an inch apart. Showed her his palm for emphasis. "Must be even. Don't make matchsticks. Or it'll be... emmmm, a total disaster."
"A... what disaster?" Marsha blinked, her mind blank.
Aeneas backtracked instantly. Adopted a grave tone. "Uh, it'll... fail! You know? The kind of failure that angers the gods."
That sent a chill down Marsha's spine. —Right. This must be god-related. Can't mess it up. If it's truly an oracle... I don't want Zeus's lightning!
Aeneas hid a smile at her hesitation. Pressed on, gesturing emphatically.
"Then, put the meat in a clay pot. Cover it completely with wine, olive oil, salt, rosemary, and crushed garlic... Yes, completely submerged. Oh, right! And lavender buds. That's the—core power-up!"
He almost laughed at 'power-up'. Quickly coughed into his fist. "Ahem, I mean... a sacred aromatic blessing!"
Marsha's mind buzzed. —A blessing? It sounds... almost divine... But! But are flower buds even edible?!
A fine sweat broke out on her forehead. She was torn, but didn't dare object.
He paused again. Added mysteriously, "Then, seal the pot. Place it somewhere cool. Leave it overnight. At least twelve hours. Uh, I mean... until sunrise tomorrow!"
"What?" Marsha was utterly lost, her eyes wide. "You mean... mix a bunch of things together... and just leave it? And... a miracle will happen?"
Aeneas nearly snorted. Forced seriousness. "It's not a miracle. It's a sacred technique. When you prepare breakfast tomorrow, place the sealed pot near the hearth. Not in it, just near. Use the residual heat. Let it cool there. Then, in the evening, take out the tender meat. You can roast it directly, or warm it gently in a pan."
He gestured broadly. "Finally, slow-roast it over olive wood charcoal. Brush it with the leftover marinade as it cooks. When the outside is lightly charred and the inside is still blushing pink—perfection!"
Seeing Marsha's continued bewilderment, he went for the final sell.
"For the sauce, take the leftover marinade. Add more wine, some dried figs. Reduce it until thick. A drizzle of olive oil at the end. A final touch of lavender. You'll get an unprecedented herbed wine sauce. Slice the venison steaks. Drizzle the sauce over them. Serve with roasted onions, some mint, or wild greens—I promise you..."
Aeneas slung an arm around Marsha's shoulders. Dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.
"Tomorrow, you'll see. The meat will be tender as a newborn lamb's leg. It'll melt on the tongue. Paired with my special wine sauce... Everyone at tomorrow's feast will think it's a gift from the gods themselves! They'll be singing hymns to the goddess, I guarantee it!"
Marsha's lips moved silently. She was desperately trying to process instructions that defied all her experience. Decades in the kitchen, she'd seen every kind of stew and roast. But 'letting meat sleep in wine and oil'? It was absurd.
But she looked at the young master's shining eyes. Full of confidence and mischievous excitement. His vivid description left her utterly torn. —Is this a miracle or madness? Ah, forget it... If the young master wills it... I'd better just do it. What if it actually works?
So, she gripped her wooden spoon until it creaked. Forced a wobbly smile. Nodded.
"Al... Alright, young master. I'll... do as you say."
"I'll be in Troy tomorrow, but I'm counting on you, Cook Marsha." Aeneas patted her arm. His smile was warm, mysterious. "Don't worry. This will be the star of tomorrow's feast."
—Win their stomachs first, then their hearts and minds! Call it... 'The Trojan Chef's Table'. Yes, gourmet food is a vital part of the kingdom-building playbook!
—He chuckled inwardly, utterly pleased with his grand 'scheme'.
Marsha didn't understand at all. But his sheer confidence cowed her into silence. She could only pray quietly. —Lady Goddess, please don't let this meal be a disaster!
The kitchen's clamor faded behind him. When Aeneas stepped outside, the sky was deepening into dusk. In the colonnade, the torches weren't yet lit. The flagstones gleamed with the last of the sunset's glow.
He lifted his gaze to the distance—Mount Ida's dark silhouette stood tall. A silent giant guarding the land. Further east, the Red Bean Forest was swallowed by deep shadows. Quiet, yet radiating a palpable sense of danger.
Tomorrow was the offering to Athena. The day after, the rites for Aphrodite. Aeneas knew it. Whether it was his small culinary experiment or the coming religious ceremonies, they were all part of the same grand opening act for his 'reform project'.