Rise of Princes (Homeric Chronicles Book 2)

by Janell Rhiannon

  TWO

  SKYROS

  1251 BCE

  Achilles stood midway on his galley as it plowed through the waves, spraying white foam into the air. The image of the young Iphigenia’s horrified face as she dropped to her knees in death haunted his waking eyes. He scowled. That he’d been used by Agamemnon for such trickery burned his anger toward the fat king deeper into his soul.

  “What has our captain so lost in thought?”

  Achilles turned, finding Patrokles standing behind him. “I did not hear you.”

  “You state the obvious,” Patrokles said, hooking his thumbs in the girdle of his chiton.

  The Myrmidon captain returned his gaze to the open sea. “How do you like the girl?”

  Patrokles grinned mischievously. “She is adequate.”

  Achilles turned around again, raising his brow incredulously at his companion. “Adequate? She is the most beautiful woman in the court save Deidamia. Maybe we should throw her overboard.”

  Patrokles shifted his feet, sensing that his captain was aware of his passion for the girl. “Iphis serves her purpose.”

  The Golden Warrior tilted his head back, roaring with laughter into the wind. “The man who has speeches on every subject has no words for his new concubine? You have scarce been from your bunk in two days. The woman has stolen your tongue! Careful you do not lose more than your tongue.”

  “She has stolen nothing. I merely stated she pleases me.”

  Achilles wrapped his long, flaxen locks and braids into a knot behind his head. “If it pleases you to say so.”

  “If we were equals—”

  “What would you do, friend, if we were equals?” Achilles asked.

  Patrokles glanced down at the smooth timber of the deck. “Remove your tongue for mocking me.”

  “Then, it is good we are not equals. Otherwise, I would have to beat you soundly for such an attempt.”

  They both laughed. Achilles leaned against the rail. “If we are to be companions, as my father wishes, then I would hear how you came into his service. I know how you came into mine.”

  Patrokles corrected, “Your guardian.”

  Achilles frowned. “I need no guardian, Patrokles.”

  “Not in the way you are thinking.”

  “I need no one,” Achilles asserted.

  “Is that why you avoided your father-in-law at Skyros?”

  The Myrmidon captain’s frown deepened. “Deidamia and Neoptolemus are safe in Phthia under the care of Peleus. I am done with farewells.” I have only one farewell remaining. Thetis. “We are resupplied, and that is all that matters.” Another stray thought landed on his son, Neoptolemus, but he deftly brushed it away.

  “As you say,” Patrokles deferred.

  “Are you avoiding the tale of how, exactly, you came into Peleus’ service?”

  “It is a long story.”

  Achilles grinned. “It is a long journey across the Aegean.”

  “He insists …” Patrokles nodded. “Gambling. I would say gambling.”

  “You owed coin?” Achilles asked, incredulously. “I did not take you for a dicer. Did my father pay your debts?”

  Patrokles shook his head, laughing. “No, by the balls of Zeus, he did not. It sounds better than saying murder.”

  “Ah! Now, there is a story I should like to hear.”

  Grey-eyed Patrokles corrected, “Stories.”

  “Proceed, master of stories.”

  “I have a passion for gaming. Dice in particular. Let us just say, I prefer not to be cheated.”

  Achilles nodded his head. “This sliver of truth tells me nothing.”

  Patrokles continued. “The first time I ran into trouble was at the fisherman’s dock in Megara. One fat fisherman did not take kindly to my winning rolls, so he tossed the table end over end. He attempted to clobber me with his stinking, meaty fist.”

  “Did he?”

  Patrokles shook his head. “By the balls of Zeus, no … but my dagger did find its way into his chest.”

  “Cold-blooded. But deserved, I suppose.”

  “The council elders determined at trial that I was justified. I was released but exiled all the same.”

  “Nothing of importance lost. Megara is full of thieves and bastards,” Achilles offered.

  “Then, there was Las of Gythium. I barely escaped discovery on that account. Took to Sparta hoping to catch Helen’s eye and cover my tracks.”

  “You were a suitor? You took the oath?”

  “I was and I did.”

  “By Zeus, there must be half-dozen men or more cursing themselves over that promise.”

  “Aye. Or laid eyes on Helen. Had you not volunteered your Myrmidons, and I sworn to you, Menelaus would have hunted me down and forced me into his service. Look at poor Odysseus! For all Helen’s beauty, she is more trouble than she is worth. Now, Menelaus chases a wife who does not want him, towing an army behind him as witness.”

  Achilles clasped his hands behind his back. “Tell me, Patrokles, did you see her … Helen, close up? Is she as bewitching as they say?”

  “I caught her gaze as she danced passed me at the feast. Close enough I could smell her … all honey and flowers. Yes, she is beautiful. We all acted like rutting dogs crazed to catch her scent upon our upper lips. All of us, that is, except Odysseus.”

  “We digress. I would hear more of your gambling.”

  “Very well. The last of my troubles was in my home of Opus, with a boy named Clitonymus. Coin was on the table. Wagers set. Men were shouting. He lost. I gathered the prize and by chance slipped a coin between my teeth in jest that it was counterfeit. Turned out to be tin leafed with gold. Granted it was dark in the tavern. The boy argued that he was innocent of the swindle. Words turned to blows around the room. I fought off half-dozen men. But …”

  “Your dagger once again found flesh?” Achilles asked.

  Patrokles assessed his captain. He discerned no judgment on his face or in his tone. “It did.” He sighed. “It should not have been him. He was a boy, Achilles. He should not have paid with his life.”

  “Man enough to gamble. Man enough to challenge. Man enough to pay the consequence.”

  “After the Opus disaster, I made my way to Phthia. At my father’s urging, of course. He was certain his cousin would take me in and rehabilitate me. Peleus threatened to send me to Chiron if I did not correct my wrongs. My uncle trained me daily and kept me far, far away from gaming.”

  Achilles held up his hands. “Hold your tongue. You are … cousin to me?”

  Patrokles grinned. “I am that, Achilles. Although, I have years enough almost to be your uncle.”

  “Why would my father keep this from me?”

  “He had no wish to force our friendship. He thought you less likely to take my counsel if you did not believe our relationship sincere.”

  “This changes all,” Achilles said.

  “How so?”

  Achilles clapped Patrokles hard on the shoulder. “Peleus is genius, or I will wager Chiron put him up to it! We have become friends on our own accord and now I learn we are bonded also by blood. You, dear cousin, will never be far from my side from now on.”

  Patrokles smiled. “As you say, Captain.”

  Turning back to face the sea, his black cape billowing behind him, Achilles laughed. “My father chooses a gambling murderer with a temper as hot as my own for my guardian? This will be a war worth remembering!”

  Ahead of them, stationed at the bow, the lookout cried, “The Isle of Lemnos! The Isle of Lemnos is on the horizon!”

  Blocking Apollo’s light from his eyes, Achilles scouted the thin line ahead. He saw the hazy green form rising from the blue abyss. “Lemnos. What does Agamemnon wish with Lemnos?”

  THREE

  LEMNOS

  1251 BCE

  Agamemnon walked along the shore, taking stock of the anchored fleet under his command. His heavy red cape caught the wind behind him as the breeze skimmed across the
water, greeting the sandy shore. Flanked by Menelaus, Odysseus, and Ajax, he strode with his head held high, arrogance and pride his shield against the evil eye. He was well aware his captains obeyed his command out of fear after the events at Aulis. It both pleased and disturbed him that is was so. He wished his men to admire him, to follow him as the Myrmidons followed Achilles. There was not a single man serving among Achilles’ Black Shields who wouldn’t lay down his life for the Golden Warrior. Agamemnon sneered at the thought. Brazen fucking Achilles. The only one of the assembled commanders who refused to walk the inventory with him. And there was nothing he could do to compel the Prince of Phthia into obedience. Achilles cared for no man’s lead except his own.

  Gripping his sword hilt, Agamemnon murmured, “I will bring that pompous golden cur to heal.”

  “Pardon, my lord?” Odysseus asked. “The wind … I could not hear your words.”

  “Nothing. I only think aloud how ready the men seem for diversion.”

  Odysseus nodded in agreement. “War does that to a man. Makes him ready for drink and women.”

  “All men save our chaste Odysseus,” Menelaus jeered.

  Odysseus growled, “Not all of us have a whore for a wife.”

  Menelaus’ face instantly reddened and his cheeks shook. “I will have your tongue for that remark!” He yanked his sword from its scabbard, pointing the blade at his tormentor.

  Odysseus drew his sword and Ajax stepped beside him. “You may challenge me, but it will not change the fact we find ourselves on foreign shores seeking a war none of us desired on account of your wife’s betrayal. At least we are honest men.”

  “Take back what you said about Helen!” Menelaus demanded.

  “I will not,” Odysseus replied, his voice even and steady.

  Agamemnon placed a hand on his younger brother’s shoulder. “Peace, Menelaus. You cannot raise your anger and blade against every man who thinks your wife a whore. You would have to fight almost the entire army, I should think.”

  Menelaus roared his frustration into the air. “Best you tell your captains to keep their thoughts to themselves, or I will plunge my blade between the ribs of the next man who dares mock me.” He stormed off, leaving the king and his men amused. Odysseus sheathed his weapon.

  Agamemnon addressed his captains with sincerity, “It will not breed unity of purpose if my war leaders fight amongst themselves. Helen’s betrayal does not sit well with any man, I dare say, for it serves as reminder that wives are not always as virtuous as they may appear.” He looked each man in the eye. “Who among us has no worries that he might be cuckolded while he is away from home?” His words fell close to the heart of each man. It was indeed the silent fear of warriors that their women would not be there to greet their triumphant return. Fear that their wives would seek comfort in another man’s arms, that she might wrap her legs around another man’s thighs kept many a warrior awake late into the dark nights of war. Helen had but performed her betrayal publicly, leaving Menelaus to shoulder the shame alone.

  Agamemnon resumed his tour, his entourage silent now.

  “My lord, the king is heading our way. Perhaps, you should get up. Dress?” Patrokles goaded his captain to wakefulness. He flipped Achilles’ tent flap open, letting the bright light stream in.

  Achilles groaned. “I will arise when there is need of me.”

  Patrokles stood in the small entry. “Stubbornness does not become you, my lord.”

  Rolling over, the Golden Warrior lifted his head. “You are certain you exchanged no words with Chiron while guested at my father’s hall?”

  “I cannot say we did not share any words. We may have spoken a time or two regarding your … strengths and weaknesses.”

  Achilles scoffed. “Weaknesses?”

  “Even the greatest among us is imperfect.”

  “Fine wit this morning. Your point has found its mark. I will—”

  The light behind Patrokles blinked to darkness as a huge form pushed passed his shoulder.

  Achilles pressed his lips to a thin line. “Agamemnon.”

  “Achilles,” Agamemnon said, his voice dripping with disdain.

  The Myrmidon commander arose from his blankets, hair a tangled mess, wiping sleep from his eyes. “Why do you disturb my slumber? Have you called the men to arms? Has the war begun?” He purposely stood naked before Agamemnon without even the slightest shame. He stretched his back and shoulders, flexing his muscular frame. “Patrokles, my wine.”

  Agamemnon ignored the impropriety. “So early in the day the Captain of the Black Shields takes to drink?”

  Achilles laughed heartily at the attempted insult, glancing down at his nudity. “When does Achilles refuse wine? It is the nectar of the gods, is it not?”

  The allusion to Achilles’ semi-divine superiority was not lost on Agamemnon. “Whether you like it or not, you are a part of my army. I expect your conduct to match that of all my generals. You may not respect me, as you so clearly stated at Aulis, but your actions disrespect men who hold you their equal.”

  Achilles spat at the mention of Aulis. “I will conduct myself as I please. If you or your generals do not care for my actions, send me back to Phthia. I care not.” He took the proffered drink from Patrokles, draining the entire cup of its contents without taking his lion’s gaze from the Great King’s face. He wiped his mouth on his bare arm. “What is your word, then, King Agamemnon?” Achilles mocked.

  Agamemnon realized too late he’d been cleverly snared by Achilles’ words. He would watch his words more carefully in the future. Every man knew Kalchus’ prophesy. Without Achilles, they had no hope of winning the war against the Trojans, or returning safely home. And Achilles is not bound by that fucking oath … “You make your point, Achilles. I ask only for the morale of the men.” The Great King bowed from the tent. Only Odysseus remained.

  “May I offer you some advice?” the King of Ithaka asked.

  “Speak,” Achilles said, as he washed his face in a bronze basin. “I will hear whatever you wish to say.”

  “Good. You know, as well as I, that none of us wish to be here any more than you. We all took the oath in haste, wishing to return to our corners of the world. At the time, none of us truly believed Helen’s safety would ever be in jeopardy again after her marriage was made.”

  “Common knowledge. What is it to me?”

  “For better or worse, we fight as a single army. It is for the men’s benefit that we show solidarity in form, if not in mind and purpose.”

  Achilles dried his face and hair on a blanket he pulled from his bed. “What does Patrokles say to this?”

  Odysseus looked to Achilles’ man. “Yes, I should like to hear your thoughts.”

  Patrokles cleared his throat. “My mind is with … Odysseus, my lord.”

  Achilles roughly tossed the blanket back to his bed. “You truly believe I should bow to Agamemnon? He abused my name at Aulis. Sacrificed his flesh and blood using my name as his lure! I can scarce utter his name without a sneer curling my upper lip.”

  “It is not for him, cousin—”

  Achilles shouted, “Zeus! He seeks to trump me with blood ties!”

  Odysseus worked his angle then. “We all have homes … families we wish to return to as soon as this war is won. Before the glory, the groundwork must be laid. Supply lines need securing. Treasures need gathering, or none will have geras worth the sacrifice of his time away from family.”

  The commander of the Black Shields sat heavily on a stool, sinking it deep into the sand beneath his weight. “I admit this is wiser counsel than I have in my heart. I will yield to your advice.”

  Odysseus clapped Achilles on the shoulder. “Good. We dine tonight on roasted beef and spiced wine appropriated for our good use.”

  “I will require an amphora of my own,” Achilles said, sullenly.

  “That can be arranged,” Odysseus replied as he left.

  FOUR

  LEMNOS

  1251 BCE
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  Patrokles watched over the last haul of medicinal clay potted in sealed black jars being loaded onto the ship. “Hurry on, Myrmidons! Your feast awaits!” He balanced like a dancer on the lead ship’s rail, his black hair whipping around his face in the wind, looking every inch a dark Achilles. His grey eyes keenly observed who among the men worked hardest, who slacked, or who was in need of a physician, and reported all to their captain. Apollo’s light beat down on their heads, sweat glistened on bare chests, and shoulders groaned, so Patrokles’ words were welcomed by those who heard. “Hurry on, Myrmidons! Tomorrow, we sail for Troy!”

  Without glancing behind him, Patrokles asked, “Will you attend the feasting this night, my lord?”

  Achilles hopped up onto the railing next to his cousin. “Do you think it matters much to the fat king if I attend?”

  “The men will refuse to go without their captain.”

  Achilles scowled. “I do not command it.”

  “No, my lord, you do not. But they will refuse to go without you all the same.”

  The Golden Warrior jumped from the rail into the shallow surf below, leaving Patrokles staring after him as he waded through the water, disappearing into the throng of men on shore.

  The sky had faded from bright blue to soft orange by the time the smell of roasting meat wafted through the Greek camps, signaling the king’s feast had begun. Soldiers, arriving from all the armies, filed into the banquet area underneath a canopy of emerging stars. Wooden tables, hastily built or appropriated from Lemnos, were laden with platters of roasted beef and wild boar, stacks of freshly baked bread, and bowls of goat cheese. Beyond the gathering, cooks tended the pits, roasting enough carcasses to fill each man’s belly to bursting. A section of tables sat empty, and all silently wondered if Achilles and his Myrmidons would show.