The wine the men had broken out made them boastful as they minded the spits. “—Lord Achilles charged them and before they could gather their wits, he’d killed all seven brothers in one charge—that’s a commander you can follow with confidence.”
Seven brothers lost at once, thought Briseis with a pang. Nisa gave her a look as if to say, what else do you expect from these men?
Briseis addressed the man who’d spoken. “Who were the seven your Lord Achilles slew?”
The man took a drink and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Interested in the prowess of Lord Achilles, are you? The seven he killed, almost in one blow, were the sons of King Eetion—whose daughter became a princess of Troy, married to Hector, the deadliest of our enemy. Lord Achilles will have knocked all the joy from her lofty marriage. Maybe Hector will stay off the battlefield to dry his wife’s tears.”
The men around the fire grunted in appreciation. The man laughed. “The old man, King Eetion, didn’t have to suffer over losing his sons. He’d already been killed.”
“How considerate of your commander. I assume by Lord Achilles?”
The bitterness in her tone finally penetrated the man’s awareness. He scowled at her.
“Of course it was Lord Achilles. Who else could kill a warrior like King Eetion?”
Sumiri’s brows knitted in concern, and Briseis suspected that Sumiri’s worry was for her—for provoking this soldier unwisely.
Briseis broke a branch over her knee. On the other side of the fire, Patroklos rose. He had heard what she said. Now I’ve gotten myself in trouble.
Her courage dimmed as he approached her. He raised his hand. She flinched as she remembered Mynes’s blows.
He pointed to the water’s edge. “May I speak with you? Away from the others.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Warriors at Troy
Briseis did not wish to be dragged, so she walked quickly to where the waves caught slivers of moonlight. She pulled herself to her full height as she turned to face Patroklos.
He leaned toward her, pointing at the soldiers around the fire. “Achilles’ men boast of his prowess because his skill as a warrior keeps them safe, but they do not understand what it costs him.”
Briseis drew back in surprise. “What do you mean—what it costs him?” She realized the tension in the set of his shoulders did not come from anger.
“Back there, as I listened by the fire, I could not bear to let the men’s boasts stand without trying to explain. Some battles a warrior chooses with a willing heart. Put Hector on the field and Achilles will arm with enthusiasm, but sacking towns grows grim unless you are very greedy. It must offend you to hear me complain about this since you have lost everything at our hands, but it’s true. Some men enjoy these raids. Achilles and I do not. But Achilles cannot go halfhearted into these attacks. His nature knows no control or limit—in this he is like his divine mother. Besides, devoting his whole strength to the fight brings the surest safety to his men, and his loyalty is always for them. It’s even more the case when we meet up against warriors the like of Eetion and his sons.”
That was what he wanted to tell her? To defend his friend?
His eyes did not leave hers. “You hate him, don’t you?” Sorrow darkened his expression. “I don’t blame you—neither does he. But you have no idea the agony your hate causes him.”
“Agony I cause him?” She took a few steps away to where the waves unfurled softly against the sand. She needed distance from this man whose words felt like a cruel affront, even though he delivered them with gentleness in his voice and carriage. He wanted something from her, but the energy he exerted had no threat behind it, only a disappointment that she could relieve if she chose.
“Forgive me. Nothing could be as painful as losing your brothers and husband, your home and all the familiar places of your childhood. What he feels seems trivial to you, but that is because you do not know him. Nothing is small or manageable about Achilles.”
“Isn’t being a good killer what makes him a hero? Isn’t that what you love about him? Does he grieve for all those he’s slaughtered or destroyed on these raids?” She had a bitter taste in her mouth. She leaned down, picked up a pebble and tossed it as far out as she could.
Turning back, she was startled to see the moonlight shine on a tear running down Patroklos’s cheek. He shook his head. “No warrior can grieve for all the harm he’s done in life—that would be a madness no god could relieve. All this sickens him, but you cause him a singular agony—though you deny this power.”
“I am a slave woman. I have no power.” She knew as she said it, this wasn’t true. She’d felt her power when she lifted the sword. No one could take that from her.
Patroklos tipped back his head. “Achilles has never treated you as a slave. From the moment you defended your brother with a sword, you have held a place in Achilles’ heart. You have the courage of a warrior. I thought he expressed his love with all the signs of respect he has given you since.” Patroklos studied her face. She felt uncomfortable under his scrutiny. “He has taken your distaste for speaking to him to heart, but didn’t you notice his actions—even tonight restoring you to your role as priestess?”
She had. And now she knew Achilles acknowledged her courage and loved her for it. She recognized the spark she felt on hearing that and disowned it. She avoided Patroklos’s eyes, looking down at the sand, refusing to be tricked into feeling guilty about hating her brothers’ killer.
“Even in your anger, haven’t you noticed how well you are suited? When you straightened tall as you faced me after I called you here, your gesture mirrored his exactly.”
She turned to him in surprise. What now?
“If he could withdraw that day’s fate when he sacked Lyrnessos, he would, but fate can never be undone or avoided. Agamemnon’s demands have sunk him into despair, and you overflow with grief. Each of you holds the comfort the other most needs. You are meant for each other. Even the men see that: your height, your hair color and the divine poise you share. I see more than that. I see inside you: the same gifts, the same fire. Only you can heal each other. I have always been the one who brings him peace, but his anguish lately has been beyond my power to mend. I give way to you—you have a fire whose strength can quiet his fire. Imagine. Fire dampened by fire. You two should cause a conflagration. I do not understand it, but I accept it. Only you can calm his storms.”
For the second time that evening she thought of her vision at the Spring Festival—flames that brought her pleasure as they danced upon her arms and blended into an embrace. But what if she did not want to restrain Achilles’ fire or soften his storms? What if she longed to plunge headlong into a fiery maelstrom and whip it into greater force? What would happen to his friend then?
“On that day he found you, Achilles swore an oath that he would make you his wedded wife. If you are willing, when this hateful war ends, Achilles will take you back to Phthia, to his father’s palace. He will bring you before Peleus, bent by old age and the too-long absence of his dear son. ‘Here is my bride, my lawful wife,’ Achilles will say, and Peleus will welcome you.”
Tears came to her eyes. For a moment she could feel the loving acceptance, the family she would again have. Did the dreams sent by Kamrusepa have a gentle purpose, to make her long for Achilles before his actions could set her against him? She did not see how she could wed the man who had slaughtered her brothers. She turned away from the illusion.
Patroklos must have sensed her refusal to accept Achilles’ offer. He sighed and walked back to the fire where the men were enjoying the spitted venison. Briseis stayed by the shore alone until hunger drew her back and she sat with the women.
They reached their destination early in the afternoon the next day. Briseis, alerted by a shout from the man at the tiller, climbed on the thick wooden box that housed and supported the mast, grasped the mast for balance, and looked out.
She knew the Greeks used a small harbor so
uth of Troy. She looked out at an unimpressive bay guarded by a fort built on the rocky headland. She tried to glimpse Troy, but either the cliffs or the distance hid the city.
Achilles ordered the men to lower the sail. As they maneuvered the ship into the bay with their oars, she waited with the anxious women.
After her strange conversation with Patroklos, Briseis avoided Achilles. He did not seek her out. She was tempted to pour out her confusion to Eurome, but much as she loved and admired the brave old woman, she was afraid her nurse would not understand. Achilles’ and Patroklos’s courtesy had charmed Eurome. She would tell her to make the best of these circumstances by marrying Achilles. Dear as Iatros, Bienor, and Adamas had been to Eurome, she would not understand the guilt that clutched at Briseis when she remembered the caresses Achilles had given her in her dreams—she could never tell Eurome about those. It didn’t matter that even the scent of the man lighted desire in her body. She had found Mynes attractive before her wedding—look how mistaken she had been. What would her father think—if he still lived—to hear she had accepted the man who had destroyed their family and city?
Perhaps Eurome would know best. They both lived as slaves now. What had happened to Eurome’s dreams of marriage when she became a slave? It had never occurred to Briseis to consider Eurome’s life beyond being her nurse. What if Eurome’s experience provided a wiser guide than her own confusion?
Briseis saw wagons appear on a road cut into the hill surrounding the bay. Scruffy gray-green shrubs and trees dotted the rough white stone of the hillside. The men herded the sheep toward the gangplank and off the ship. The frightened animals bleated and skittered, and the soldiers cursed and shoved them. Next, on shoulders glistening with sweat, they carried the chests filled with treasure to the wagons that would carry them up to the Greek camp. Finally a soldier signaled the huddled women to disembark.
Their feet touched the beach and Eurome said, “Soil under my feet. I don’t never want to step on a ship again.” She sat on a large rock while Briseis walked a ways to work off the rocking feeling.
Briseis lifted her hand to block the sun’s glare while studying the fort.
“It feels good to stretch your legs after being shut up at sea, doesn’t it?” said Achilles, startling her. How had he slipped near her unnoticed? His face shone in the sunlight, his green eyes calm, his smile relaxed.
She stammered a yes and looked around for the safety of the other women, but she had walked a long way without realizing it.
He had put on his armor and sword belt—bringing images of the destructive warrior he had been in Lyrnessos. The huge ash spear balanced easily in his right hand, as if he’d picked up a stick from the beach. The muscles along his arm swelled and glided as he swayed the great weight of the spear back and forth without noticing. She remembered the sensation of power she had felt when she took up sword against him.
“So close to Troy, it’s wise to be secure,” he said, indicating his armor and sword. “Our camp has been safe till now, but we can’t chance a Trojan ambush on the road.”
Despite her resolve against talking to Achilles, her curiosity overcame her. “How close are we to Troy? I’ve been told it is a beautiful city.”
“Troy is majestic. We Greeks have been close to it for a long time and yet immeasurably distant. I sometimes think the omens deceived us when they showed we would seize Troy.” His gaze had gone far away, but he returned and smiled at her. “It’s that direction.” He pointed, leaning closer to her. “Farther up the coast.”
She looked where he pointed, but saw only the turquoise sea, the narrow strip of pebbly beach and the headland covered in tough, wind-beaten shrubs. She liked the dreamy quality of his voice when he spoke of Troy.
He seemed to enjoy this chance at conversation with her. “Troy lies opposite our camp on a sizable bay that opens onto the narrow strait of water we call the Hellespont. From the camp you can look across to the city’s mighty walls. Sailing through the Hellespont is often impossible because of strong winds. This small harbor is easier for us.” Briseis remembered her father had told her that much of the Trojan wealth came from payments the merchants had to make while their ships waited for the winds to change.
“Before our long siege reduced her glory, the splendor of Troy surpassed anything I had ever seen. Troy’s beauty spread out from her citadel in all directions. As you approached, wide wheat and barley fields stretched from the lower flanks of Ida to the shore of the sea. The Scamander and Simoeis rivers flowed down, embracing Troy on either side. The golden wealth of grain fed Priam’s people and his mighty stock of horses. The city itself still rises in two parts. A stout ditch and stone wall surmounted by a wooden palisade surround the lower city where people have their homes and, until we came, made their livelihoods.” His voice had dropped into a mournful register. “The grandeur of the palace citadel sits like a crown upon the whole—huge stone walls rise up to protect it, and room after room of golden splendor lies within—or so I’m told.”
A bitterness in these last words made Briseis look at him in surprise. “No wonder,” he said, “that we cannot draw ourselves away even while we destroy ourselves by staying.” She felt pulled under a spell by the beauty of the images he described.
His attention focused on her again. Their eyes met. The spark of that meeting made her hear an echo of Patroklos’s phrase “the same fire.” She looked down and wanted to flee, but once again Achilles had been kind to her. He had told her so much more than she had asked—things she wanted to hear. She could be polite in return.
“I can picture Troy from your words. Thank you.”
His face lit up with a broad smile. She smiled back in spite of herself.
He cleared his throat. “The wagon is ready.” He pointed the way.
As Briseis settled onto the floor of the wagon, she shuffled closer to the woman next to her to make room for the other captives climbing in. What would happen next? She held her arms tightly around her knees to stop the quivering. The faces grouped around her showed the same fear.
The oxen made their slow way. As Achilles had described, behind her rose Mount Ida and from the foothills came a line of trees marking the course of one of the two rivers. The wheat and barley fields lay fallow now. No spring planting had occurred. No farmer could plow or reap in the midst of this prolonged war.
As the road climbed, Troy came into view across the plain and her breath caught. The massive walls glowed gold in the afternoon sun as though the city were made of that precious metal, worth, to some, the grief this war had caused. Even the frightened women sitting around her in the wagon exclaimed softly among themselves when they saw the city’s walls.
The broad sweep of Troy’s bay lay ahead of them. The road brought them near the river where it flowed into the bay.
“Look! That must be the Scamander River,” exclaimed Asdu. Briseis contemplated how Asdu had collected all her information, but she noted which river was called Scamander.
The road followed the edge of the bay furthest from Troy. The shore inclined gently up to a ridge. In one place the ridge dipped low and the sea twinkled beyond it. They must be on a peninsula bounded by the sea and bay on either side.
Soon she saw what looked like a city of ships terraced in row upon row around the sloping shore of the bay. A mighty force—greater than she had imagined. In the midst of the ships, propped with long timbers to keep them upright on the land, the Greeks had built wooden shelters, some larger than the farmers’ homes on her father’s land. These structures spoke of a determined permanence. This huge army would only leave when it chose to. Troy was doomed. Her own city had had no chance in the face of such power.
Around her in the wagon, Briseis felt the women’s anxiety grow in equal measure to her own as they approached this intimidating camp where a distribution would determine their fates as captives.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The Choice
The wagons stopped near an open area where f
eet had turned the grass to mud in what seemed to be a meeting place for the army. Many soldiers had gathered and more were arriving. She heard the heralds’ shouts, calling them to an assembly of the army.
The first load of women climbed down from their wagon. The soldiers doing the unloading told them to wait at the far side of the field. The assembled men, when they caught sight of the captives, began heckling them about the roundness of their breasts, their youth or age, their desirability.
From her wagon, Briseis saw a larger group of women being herded by soldiers. Seeing familiar faces, she realized these women had come from Lyrnessos on the earlier ships. She scanned the crowd for Maira, but a soldier ordered her out of the wagon. She jumped down and turned to help Eurome.
As Briseis crossed the field of assembly, the men’s heckling grew quieter and they stared at her. They jostled each other to get a better look and she heard comments, “red-gold hair like Lord Achilles” and “tall as an Amazon.”
“It’s true. She looks like Aphrodite.”
“When has any goddess ever appeared to you?”
“If she had, that’s what she’d look like.”
“I’ll take a woman who won’t plunge a sword into me. I’ll do the plunging.” Coarse laughter. She glared at the men. They fell silent.
Achilles appeared among the crowd. He had removed his armor and wore a cloak the color of lapis-lazuli, pulled back from his shoulders. His hair captured the sunlight so that his head seemed surrounded by flames. He stepped onto a speakers’ mound and raised his hand in greeting. The men cheered wildly.
A commotion revealed a group of Greek lords hastening to the speakers’ mound. One man carried a gold scepter and wore a gold-trimmed cloak held in place by an enormous clasp studded with precious stones. He had a chest like an ox’s, but Achilles towered over him. He scowled at Achilles and tried unsuccessfully to use the group of men around him to push Achilles aside. This must be Agamemnon, thought Briseis, the most powerful of the kings, the one the men called greedy. He seemed angry that Achilles had gotten here before him and had been cheered while he was not. Even in her fear for herself and the women, she thought how similar this vying for positions was to the tensions among nobles that she’d sometimes witnessed in Euenos’s court.
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