Four decades had faded the opulence of this comfortable guest chamber which boasted a large bed and two upholstered chairs, as well as other furniture—an armoire, dresser, and three small tables, all of dark polished wood. That Ramirez great-grandfather provided well for his hunting companions, Zachary thought and marveled yet again that this lodge was the most unusual partisan stronghold he had ever encountered. Definitely not the customary cave and campfire accommodations. There were no modern amenities like gas or oil lamps, but he did have a branch of candles by which he was reading a well-worn copy of The Iliad. Zachary never traveled without at least one book and he had long since determined it wiser to stick with old friends when he could take only one volume with him. As a warrior himself, Zachary invariably found himself empathizing not with Achilles, the consummate Greek hero, but with Hector and Patroclus. He found these two, motivated as they were by duty and love, far more admirable than the glory-chasing Achilles.
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