Warrior's Captive: I, Briseis

by Jackie Rose

  “The way he is now?” I demanded. “What could he ever be to me but the great Achilles, my lord?”

  She nodded, satisfied with my answer, and gestured to the servant to open the door to the house. The great hall was painted with armed soldiers, larger than even Achilles had been. My eyes filled with tears, thinking of him surrounded by these torturing memories.

  Having cared for wounded men, I knew the sound of a man on a crutch. As I heard that sound now, I wheeled toward the stairway, bracing myself for what I would see when he reached the great hall.

  At first, I saw a stranger with a red, cracked, bloated face, who squinted at me suspiciously out of bleary blue eyes. They revealed years of drinking, as clearly as his odor of wine. Who is this old serving man, I wondered, and why is Thetis keeping him here in this sodden state? As she went to stand between us, I raised both hands to stifle my gasp of horror, realizing who he was.

  Ten women had died for their worship of Aphrodite, and I had tried to stand for them. Perhaps now they stood before our goddess in turn, begging her to show her mercy and power to me. If so, she heeded their pleas. My hands dropped to my sides as I gazed into that drunkard’s ruined face and saw the great Achilles behind it.

  But he had seen my horror, and it had filled him with anger and shame.” So, Briseis,” he said. “You have found me after all. Did Odysseus betray me?”

  “He had to tell me where you were,” I answered shortly. “It was the only way to keep me from killing his son.”

  The blue eyes came to life as they widened in amazement. “You got the better of Odysseus? How I would have loved to see that!”

  “He was going to kill me,” I explained. “So I used Telemachus to bargain with him for my life.”

  That brought a laugh of real amusement. With it, more of Achilles returned from behind that ravaged face.

  “He should have known better,” he told me. “I always knew that the gods would have to help the man who crossed you, my flower with the iron stem.”

  Hearing those words again, I found myself racing towards him. My heart fell when he pulled away.

  Turning on his mother, he said coldly, “I told you I would kill myself if she ever saw me as I am now.”

  “But she does not see you as you are now,” his mother answered reasonably. “She sees only the great Achilles.”

  “You argue as she and Odysseus do,” he grumbled. “But I still want her to go.”

  “Well, dear,” his mother retorted, “We might all be tired of hearing what you want. What about what Briseis wants? She has come far enough to ask for it.”

  “Does she want to see my leg now, or the place where it used to be?” he demanded. “Then, look.” And he lifted his long robe.

  My heart turned over with pity for him as I looked at the smooth round stump. To keep him from seeing my feelings in my eyes, I quickly turned towards Thetis.

  “You have cared for it well,” I told her, trying for the same calm tone that Hecamede would have used. “I see no redness here.” Turning back towards him, I added, “Do you forget that I was trained to help the physicians? Do you think this is the worst I have seen?”

  “You have seen it, and you can go,” he told me, letting the robe fall again. “I do not want you here.”

  Thetis jumped back as I strode towards him. She had no need to do so. I could have easily squeezed past her, as I would have done before. Now I was amazing us all at the sheer amount of space I was taking up in the bright spacious room. They both watched me closely, wondering what I was about to do.

  They did not have to wait for long. I reached back and slapped him across the face with all my strength. He almost fell then but, instead, he steadied himself on his crutch and struck me so hard that I fell to the floor. His mother rushed to steady him as I struggled back to my feet.

  “Oh, so you do not want me!” I cried, ignoring my stinging cheek. “Do you think I wanted to live for ten long years of mourning for you? How could you have done that to me? And if you did not care about me, how could you do that to your father, with the world thinking he was mad?”

  “It was enough for him to know that I still lived,” Achilles replied uncomfortably.

  “But Polyxena is dead, murdered on your funeral pyre, to avenge your death that you made us all believe in!” I cried, in growing rage.

  “We learned too late to stop it,” Thetis quickly put in, shaking her silver-and-gold curls for emphasis, as she helped me to my feet. “And we agree that that was a dreadful, dreadful thing. It was all Odysseus’ fault, of course, no one can blame Achilles or his son, but it can only blacken Achilles’ name.”

  It also ended Polyxena’s life, I thought in outrage. That was, for Thetis, a minor complication. Did these people never think about anything but themselves? I remembered how Lykaon begged for his life and Achilles tried to console him by talking about himself and the fact that even he must die. There was something almost sublime in so much self-absorption. In its way, it was comforting. There could be no shame in being bound to a family that thought the entire world existed to serve them and, what’s more, to be grateful for the chance to do so. Perhaps they had earned our gratitude, for the way they lit up our world. And, in coming here, without caring what Achilles wanted, was I not proving to be as selfish as they?

  I would have been grateful for the chance to serve them now, but it seemed I would not have it.

  “I don’t want you to stay here pitying me,” he repeated stubbornly.

  “Why should she do that?” his mother asked cheerfully. “You do a good enough job of pitying yourself. It’s about all you do all day, besides drinking wine.”

  He gazed at her in amazement. He had obviously never heard such words before, but now, he knew, Thetis had support in saying them, from the other woman who loved him.

  “That is hardly all I do,” he retorted. “Don’t you remember how you let your dear old friend Medea come to visit you? I entertained her, too.”

  “Medea?” I gasped. “You mean, that Medea?”

  “That Medea. We famous people are naturally fond of each other. And of course, she is too old to have any children of mine whom she could kill for revenge. So you have no need to pity me.”

  “And why should I pity you, when you had no pity for me or anyone else?” I chimed in, while wondering how lonely, sad and bored he must have been, to comfort himself with Medea. “But you need not pity me either. I have learned to live without you, and I can do it again if I must.”

  Trying in vain to fight back the tears, I wound up angrily brushing them off my cheeks. He obviously saw them.

  “I still have pain in the leg that is gone,” he said, as close to apology as he would ever come. “But that is far from being the worst thing. The worst, is knowing that nothing I do matters any more, when I used to matter so much. I feel that I’ve fallen off the edge of the world. I told Odysseus I would rather plough a field than live this way.”

  Tears stung my eyes at his words, but Thetis had obviously heard them too often before.

  “Of course, he never ploughed a field in his life, ” she put in. I ignored her.

  “You matter to me,” I cried. “You matter to Thetis. You matter to the world.”

  For an instant, I saw that faint smile again. “You reflected my glory,” he said. “But I no longer have any to reflect. I would not have you here to reflect my shame.”

  It was over, then, and I was defeated. My shoulders sagged as I asked him, “Can you arrange a ship to take me back to Sparta?”

  “Whenever you like,” he said. “You called me away from a good flask of wine. I would like to go back to it now.”

  With a last desperate hope, I said, “And I am going back to King Menelaus, who has said he would make me his second wife.” I was remembering Achilles’ famous rage when Menelaus’ brother took me from him. Now I hoped to arouse it again.

  “I entrusted you to Menelaus,” he said with a shrug. “I knew he would care for you. He is
a generous man.”

  “He can afford to be. He is richer than Zeus,” I shouted. “And he has good reason to be generous with me. I have borne his son, the next King of Sparta!” And, I thought, Menelaus looks a lot better than you do now, because you look older than old Mynes, who bought me in marriage so many years ago.

  Thinking of Menelaus, I could see myself happily sitting on his left side, across from Helen. Both Helen and I would be dripping with jewels: He was, as we all knew, richer than Zeus and twice as generous. More generous, I realized, than Achilles would ever be.

  “And Iphis is now Helen’s favorite handmaid, and Diomede married a royal guardsman, and it was kind of you to ask about them,” I went on.

  “I am glad to hear it,” Achilles answered. His voice told me that he really was glad to hear it, even though he would not have thought of asking about them.

  Menelaus would have asked about such faithful servants, I knew. He had only one flaw that I could think of. He was not Achilles, and did not light up the world.

  But there was no sense thinking about that now. Rather than jealousy, I saw only admiration in Achilles’ eyes.

  “Well then, you have done well for yourself,” he said. “It shows that Menelaus is not a complete fool, after all. I am glad to hear it. So you’ll go back to your good king and your royal prince as soon as I can arrange it. They still matter in the world, and I really do not want you in mine. Or do you think that I am sacrificing my own desires for your benefit?”

  “I would not insult you that way, my lord. If you say you do not want me, it is true. And if you really do not want me here, then I must go.” And I could no longer hold back my tears.

  We had said all there was to say.

  Thetis, however, had not.

  “There is something that she must see first,” She said. He moved to block her but she brushed past him, took my wrist and led me up the stairs.

  “No!” he shouted, hobbling up as quickly as he could in his effort to stop her. She moved too quickly for him. As she pushed open the door to his bedroom, I saw a mural showing a woman fastening a warrior’s sword to his back. The caption described the painted couple: 'Briseis arming Achilles.' Another painting stood on the side wall, depicting a woman pouring out a libation beneath a warrior’s watchful eye. Even without reading the caption I knew who they were: 'Briseis praying for Achilles.' The third wall showed a more crowded scene: 'Briseis being returned to Achilles.'

  He had remembered us so long and so well, and he had never ceased to love me. His pain must have been as great as mine during all those years. My eyes filled with tears again at the thought.

  “You have loved me for so long?” I asked in a shaking voice. “And was I ever really that beautiful?”

  “The artists could not capture it,” he said, behind me. “They could not capture your beauty now. You have not changed as I have.”

  “Do you think you could ever be anything else but beautiful to me?” I demanded as I raced to throw my arms around him.

  His chest was hard beneath my cheek, a stone wall holding me away. It did not curve inward to let his arms enfold me, the way they had done so often before. This truly is the end, then, I thought, in the unending instant before his right arm closed around me.

  “But I gave you to Menelaus,” he said, even as he embraced me.

  “Actually, you did not, my lord,” I retorted, as I returned his embrace. “You merely asked him to care for me. I am still your captive, as I was when you promised to make me your wife.”

  “Then do you wish to be my slave girl again? No one else has lasted in the position for more than a month or so.” With a faint smile, he added, “For one thing, they would all have prayed to the Titans to cover the world with ice again, if I had ordered them to do it. I would not have had to bruise their backsides to make them.”

  “Helen herself would be proud to be your slave girl,” I told him once again. Only this time, he did not call them ugly words. No more did I: Being his slave girl was more happiness than I had dared to expect for more than ten long years.

  “But I promised to marry you,” he pointed out. “So, girl, I suppose I must keep my promise. Otherwise, you might change your mind out of sheer stubbornness and refuse to stay unless I do it. You really are stubborn, you know.”

  “It is a fault, my lord,” I agreed, looking down. “I admit it.”

  So, friends, he married me. The ceremony was rather a makeshift affair. Thetis had to press a handful of grapes into service to take the place of the absent pomegranate. As I ate the grapes I took from his hand, I realized that at that moment I could have ended my life happily. I also realized that he was scented with fennel again, not wine.

  In my gratitude, I told Thetis that her former husband, Achilles’ father, called her a goddess. She replied that she would at least consider inviting him to see Achilles and even to live with her again.

  “I might even tell him that we will be a god and goddess together,” she said with a smile. I smiled happily for both of them in reply. Then my smile faded.

  “But he may bring bad news about Neoptolemus,” I warned her.

  “Well, I never knew my grandson,” she answered, with a shrug. “And from what I heard, he does not bring any honor to Achilles’ name. It seems you really can’t breed heroes, after all.”

  I almost shuddered at her ruthlessness, but remembered it had saved her son.

  But once a hero, like Achilles, had been born, he was a hero forever, no matter what life did to him.

  If my life had ended as she married us, I would have been satisfied. But then, I would have missed the night that followed.

  As befits a wedding night, he did something to me that he had never done before. After he had pushed my gown to my waist, he lifted my knees and pushed them apart so he could caress my secret place with his tongue.

  I gasped with amazement at the tidal wave of pleasure that washed over me. Then I was writhing and moaning even more violently than I ever had before, as his new assault ravaged all my senses. I learned forward with my own mouth open, eager to repay my debt, but he pushed me back gently again. He plunged his spear, it seemed, into my very depths, then pulled it out and pushed it back even more deeply than before.

  “But tomorrow, I will return the favor,” I assured him, as I lay back beside him, completely content.

  “Why wait so long?” he responded, leaning up on one arm to gaze down at me. His hand guided mine to his spear, showing me that it was ready for service again. And I served him by spreading my lips around it, pulling them back and forth almost as far as he had pulled and thrust his spear.

  Just as I was falling asleep, he woke me by asking, “Is it different for a wife than a captive?”

  That took so much thought, I came fully awake again before I answered, "It is the best of all for me, because I am both at once.”

  So, friends, now you know the part of my story that the bards never learned. Why should I care what they say, though, when I, Briseis, live here on the White Island with Achilles, as bride and captive to my lord and master, master and lord?

  The End

  About The Author

  Living in Northern Virginia, Jackie Rose indulges her passion for history by touring restored colonial homes. A resulting newspaper story on historical re-enactors led to a Virginia Press Association first prize. This was the first of five VPA prizes she earned during her ten years of feature writing for the Connection and Times Community Newspapers.

  Her husband David shares her love for history, cruising, Walt Disney World and their son Frank. He is less enthusiastic about her other hobbies: working out with Jazzercise and buying the latest Vera Bradley pattern handbags.

  Jackie is especially proud of her volunteer efforts to help our Armed Forces by working at Fort Belvoir with the American Red Cross.