Paris had left for anywhere away from her, and she was glad to be alone. She knew somewhere out there the Greeks were plotting their battles against the city. And Menelaus was stewing in his cups about her leaving, probably pitying himself. But he was no coward and whatever attachment he had to her wasn’t a spell cast by Aphrodite. Even though he repulsed her mostly, she tolerated his grunting and sweating. She’d birthed Hermione. Was life so horrible in Sparta?
She believed, in the beginning, that Sparta’s very air choked her. Paris appeared and it was as if the gods had sent her a savior. But it was all a lie. Without Aphrodite’s interference, she would never have left Sparta. This never ending war would never have happened. She might have had a palace full of children with Menelaus, surrounding her with love and acceptance. Maybe I should give myself up?
Helen sat straight up. I could give myself up. Go home. But, would Menelaus take her back? By rights he could kill her for what she’d done, but … he was always too proud to claim her as his wife. She might be able to persuade him. She got up from the couch. What are you thinking, Helen? Stop, you can’t go back and you know it.
TROY
TWENTY FOUR, the pride of Achilles
1238 BCE
Gusts of wind swiped at the tent. The flaps snapped despite being tied down. Above, the heavens rumbled with Zeus’ displeasure. Agamemnon sat dejected in his chair surrounded by his captains of war. “How could Zeus be against us? Hera … ” He drank deeply from his wine. “I know it was the goddess in my ear.”
“The gods do not always favor us,” Nestor offered. “Perhaps, when dawn comes—”
“What then, Nestor? We lose more men? Burn more bones to bundle for home?”
“I have led us to disgrace, dragged you through countless battles. Zeus has tricked me once again. The gods fuck us with this war.”
Nestor stood. “We’ve conquered cities, my king.”
“Achilles has conquered cities.” All eyes turned to Patrokles who sat alone and apart from the others. “You cannot win without him. You know it. We all know it.”
Nestor sat. Patrokles’ words were the undeniable truth. He tugged at his white beard.
“Some of us have half grown sons and daughters in the camp,” Odysseus said, eyeing Menelaus from across the table.
Agamemnon continued drowning his defeat in more wine. “We should return home. I can divine no other message, but that the walls of Troy were never meant to be breached. I was … wrong.”
Menelaus fumed in a darkened mood. “But my wife—”
“Has no use for you,” Odysseus muttered loud enough for all to hear. “And we tire of hearing you complain on that account.”
Diomedes threw his cup; it thudded against the tent side. “Look at you, you greedy bastard. King of Mycenae. Wallowing in self pity. Achilles was right to speak up when he did. You’ve been crowned with honors since the day we left. The day you sacrificed your daughter for our success.”
An audible gasp sounded around the table. Agamemnon’s mouth was agape.
Diomedes kept ranting. “You would let her death mean nothing, because you don’t have an easy victory? My rewards pale in comparison to yours. Where is your gratitude? What about the rest of us? If you want to return to Mycenae, have your men ready your ship. Go. But I am staying until Troy’s fate is sealed, one way or another. Whether that be going home or Hades.”
The captains applauded … all except Odysseus. His thoughts bent fiercely on Ithaka.
Nestor stood again. “Although the youngest among us, Diomedes’ words land on wisdom. But before we discuss anything further,” he turned to Agamemnon, “is that roasted meat I smell, my lord?”
Agamemnon grinned, gathering Nestor’s intent. “It is.”
“Then, let us eat together. Bring the wine from your ships, my lord, and let us all enjoy the evening. I’m certain wise counsel will follow the wine.”
Odysseus leaned into Diomedes shoulder. “You spoke well. Honest. True.”
“I did not come all this way to leave as a dog with its tail between its legs.”
Odysseus spoke behind his wine cup. “Look at the poor bastard. Sulking because his whore wife chose someone else.”
Diomedes smirked. “I would kill her as soon as I laid hands on her, if it were up to me. All the loss of good men on her account.”
“Agreed. Why would he wish her back? A faithless wife is no wife at all.”
“Maybe she has a golden cunt.”
They both laughed loudly. Menelaus scowled from across the table, sensing their mirth was at his expense.
Odysseus said, “And he has been fortunate enough to father a son … a bastard perhaps, but more comfort than some of us have had. I haven’t seen Telemachus since he was a babe. He’s half grown by now.”
Nestor purposely cleared his throat. “My lord, Agamemnon, I wish to suggest something you may not wish to hear.”
“Go on, old man. You have been … mostly on my side.”
Nervous laughter floated around the gathering.
“You expressed a desire to return home because you fear you have lost Zeus’ favor.”
Agamemnon shrugged. Men nodded.
“But you have forgotten our secret weapon.”
The Great King scoffed and tossed a date in his mouth. “What are you talking about?”
Nestor glanced quickly at Patrokles, took a deep breath, and answered unflinchingly, “Achilles.”
All eyes were on Agamemnon.
Diomedes leaned over to Odysseus and whispered, “This could go either way for Nestor.”
Odysseus whispered back, “This may be the last day the old man draws breath.”
“My lord, we all know you treated Achilles poorly. You dishonored him because you were mad about the priest’s daughter. I can’t even recall her name that’s how unimportant she was. Yet, because of your anger you disgraced Achilles, who clearly the gods favor. Who Zeus favors. We all know who his mother is. Make your peace with him. Win him over to fight with us again. We can’t lose if he is with us. Patrokles is right.”
Agamemnon drained his wine cup. “I have heard you, Nestor. Every word.”
Diomedes whispered to Odysseus, “Here it comes.”
Agamemnon was weary of war, as much as any of his men. He was also tired of the humiliation of losing, and the prospect of returning empty handed. And most importantly, he could not let Iphigenia’s death be for nothing. “You are right, Nestor. My anger has blinded me. I should atone for that with Achilles. Win him back to our cause.”
An audible gasp sounded among the men.
Odysseus said to Diomedes, “That was most unexpected.”
Nestor sat heavily in his chair, relieved his head was still attached to his body for another day.
“I have been thinking about this for days,” Agamemnon said. “It seems clear that without Achilles we will fight, until we are all dead, and there’s no one left to carry on but our bastards.” He looked around at the men. “And they do not know the way home, nor would they be welcomed after delivering our bones.”
Menelaus asked, “What do you intend to do?”
“When we defeat Troy … and we will once he is with us, I will let him fill the hull of his ship with treasures. Give him seven of the most beautiful Trojan women we capture. And my daughter’s hand in marriage.” Agamemnon looked Patrokles dead in the eye. “And I will give Briseis back to him. Untouched by me.”
Nestor smiled, folding his hands atop the table. “Who should we send with this news?”
Patrokles broke his silence. “I will go.”
Ajax stood. “I will accompany Patrokles.”
Odysseus elbowed Diomedes. “We will also go.”
Agamemnon drained his wine cup. “So be it.”
✽✽✽
The generals walked along the beach in the moonlight, heading toward the far end of the Myrmidon’s ships where Achilles had secluded himself. They all prayed that Achilles would accept Agamemnon
’s proposal. Before they left Aulis, even reluctant men secretly longed for the adventures and the wealth this war promised. But, now, the very notion of returning home was a siren’s song worth more than gold.
“Do you think Achilles will listen to reason?” Diomedes asked Odysseus.
“Depends on how much wine he has drunk already. My last encounter with him did not go so … smoothly.”
The sound of a man singing while plucking a lyre caught their ears, as they approached Achilles’ ship.
Fat king, fat king
bastard coward cur
takes his portion
and leaves our ship hulls bare
Ajax turned to Odysseus, “That doesn’t sound promising.”
Achilles called down to them, “I hear you clucking about down there like a bunch of hens. What do you want?”
“I will go first,” Patrokles said. As he pulled himself over the rail, he saw Nax mending a tunic by a fire burning in a bronze cauldron. The other captains poured over the side following Patrokles.
“What do you want?” Nax asked.
Achilles stepped into the pale circle of light. “It is late.” He set his lyre down against the ship’s side. “Have you decided to leave this forsaken place?”
“No, not yet,” Odysseus replied.
“All the good captains have come at Agamemnon’s request I think. Nax, get more wine. Pour some for my fellow kings and princes. There is meat and bread, as well.”
Patrokles stepped to help Nax. “How is his mind this night?”
Nax’s face soured at the question. “He is drunk. I think. But when is he not these days?”
“I expected as much, but let’s hope he can hear reason.”
“Is that why you brought a small army? To convince him of whatever you want him to do?”
“Something like that,” Patrokles said.
Achilles tossed the first cuts of meat into the fire to honor the gods, and then sat on a fur opposite Odysseus. “I assume you are the mouth piece of Agamemnon?”
Odysseus, careful with his words, said, “You honor us with wine and bread … and yes, we come with heavy news. The Trojans are camped on the plain. We can see thousands of campfires. Zeus has shown them his favor.”
“Why should I care who Zeus favors? He is a god. He may do as he chooses.”
The men looked nervously to Odysseus, who did not flinch. “With the dawn, we will likely see our defeat. Hektor has threatened to burn our ships to the ground.”
Achilles shrugged. “That will make sailing for home more difficult.”
Undeterred, Odysseus pressed on. “Save us, Achilles. Surely, your father or Chiron counseled you on the dangers of divided loyalties in war?”
“What you mean is that without the Myrmidons, you will lose.”
“Listen to reason, Achilles. Agamemnon has promised to give you gold, bronze, women, horses. Whatever you can carry in your ships, if you join us.”
Achilles threw his head back and laughed. “He offers me what I offered him … and he refused?”
Odysseus said, “And also to return Briseis, who he swears by all the gods, he has not touched.”
Achilles stared blankly at Odysseus.
“When we return home, he will make you his son by marriage.”
Achilles’ jaw clicked in agitation. “He offers me a daughter?”
“Aye.”
“He promised another daughter my hand, so he could slit her throat in front of all of us. Why would I wish to join a family so cursed as the House of Atreus?”
Odysseus back-tracked. “Think of all the men. Your Myrmidons. The other Greeks. They all tire of war. Whether you like it or not, they have always looked to you for courage. Hektor has grown bold, too bold. He would challenge you, and we know … you know you would defeat him.”
Achilles leaned back on his hands. “I will speak from my heart. I am not afraid of Agamemnon or his threats. The man has no honor in my eyes, or in yours. I can see it. He speaks one way and does the opposite. This fat king wants to persuade me with the very treasure I won for him? If my presence was so valuable, if his actions were so regrettable, why is he not here himself? I will tell you why.” He took a swig of wine straight from an amphora. “If he showed his face here, I’d kill him for the disrespect he showed me. You all honor him as if he bloodied himself alongside you in war as often as I have. Odysseus, how many raids did we make in the south? How much treasure, how many slaves did we bring to Agamemnon’s coffers? He is still the same. Wanting honor and glory for himself alone.”
“But, surely you—”
“What? Wish to fight? Risk death? Even you don’t fight for the fat king. You fight to return to your Penelope, do you not, Odysseus?”
Odysseus’ backside ached from sitting on the hard wood. He shifted on his haunches. “I do.”
“How many of you benefitted from my conquests? I lost count of the treasure I laid at Agamemnon’s feet. He kept the largest portion, even though he made the least contribution of blood. Some, he rewarded generously … but it was only from me, he demanded more than I should have been required to give.”
“He wants to give her back,” Odysseus said.
“If he had taken Penelope from you, would you accept the gesture?” Achilles threw the clay jar in his hands across the deck with such force it shattered into a thousand pieces against the rail. Lesser men would have startled at the sound, but these hardened men did not even flinch. “You have the gall to sit across from me and demand I do less than any of you. Briseis was my wife, not by law, but by right,” he roared angrily. His eyes caught Patrokles’ heated stare and his guilt took hold of him, forcing a long overdue admission. “You all guessed long ago that she holds my heart.”
Men murmured their acknowledgment.
“Are Agamemnon and his brother the only men allowed to love their wives? I loved Briseis, even if she was my slave before I loved her. To me she is as Penelope is to you, Odysseus. Would you stand beside a man who took her from you?”
“I’d slit his throat.”
Achilles shrugged. “I would have slit his throat if Athena hadn’t stopped me. You of all men should know how persuasive Athena can be. I will not rejoin the fat king’s war. He is a liar. Nothing to me. And tell him I would never marry a daughter of his after Aulis.” Achilles laughed wickedly. “Iphigenia deserved a better father than him. Tell him that as well.”
A terrible silence wrapped around everyone.
“He used my name to lure her to her death. Of all the unseeing eyes that haunt my sleep, hers I see the most. If I return to Phthia, my father will chose a queen to rule beside me when he is gone. Remember this, all of you, it doesn’t matter the geras you acquire. This is war and no one knows their fate.”
Patrokles asked, “What of Briseis?”
Achilles lowered his voice, his sharp tone softening. “There is so much more in the balance for me than to chose to love her or not. My mother counseled me years ago that I bore the burden of two fates. If I remain at Troy and fight, I will die. My song will be eternal. If I chose to sail home … marry Briseis or a woman of Peleus’ choosing, I will live a long life. But no one will remember Achilles the Sacker of Cities. Who am I, Patrokles, if all these years of war mean nothing? If no one remembers what I have done here? Agamemnon seeks to steal it all away from me. He cannot have my woman and my fate, as well. I cannot live knowing that all of this will fade to a whisper. But you may all sail home. Do you really care what happens to Troy more than returning to your wives and children?”
Ajax spoke up, “Why do we bother with him, Odysseus? He won’t change his mind. Achilles’ heart will not be moved. All because of Briseis. A slave girl, no matter what he calls her.”
Achilles’ anger rose to his face. “Your words only remind me why I hate Agamemnon so much. Go tell him what I’ve said. I won’t lift a finger until Hektor storms your fucking wall and starts burning your fucking ships. If he makes it as far as my camp, rest assured he
will be stopped.” Achilles looked to his second in command. “Patrokles, stay. I have missed your company.”
Odysseus stood, making for the rail. Passing Nax, he said loud enough for Achilles to overhear, “Your master is as stubborn as an ox.”
Ajax followed him overboard. Their arguing voices faded into the night.
“Pour fresh wine, Nax.” Achilles’ servant quickly refilled their cups, before sitting down to mending once again. “You may go, Nax. What Patrokles and I have to discuss is for us alone and no other ears.”
Nax glanced at Patrokles and then set down his work. “As you wish.”
For several long moments both men sipped their wine, avoiding each other’s eyes.
“What do you want, Achilles?”
“Why have you stayed away?”
“You know why.”
Achilles rubbed his bottom lip, narrowing his eyes at his companion. “There was a time when I knew your mind as well as my own. But, now, I cannot say what you are thinking. It is as if …”
“As if what?”
“As if our bond is broken. Betrayed.” Patrokles stiffened just slightly, but Achilles caught the tiny movement. “Have you seen her? Briseis?”
“Once.”
“How does she fare?”
“How do you think, Achilles? She is a slave in a whore’s tent in Agamemnon’s camp, while you sit here drunk and more preoccupied with your glory and honor than her.”
The truth of what Patrokles said was not lost on him. Being perpetually drunk was the only way he could cope with the stalemate with Agamemnon. He could hear Chiron’s voice scolding him for stubbornness, and loving a woman he probably should not. “Why have you been to see her only once? Did I not command you to see to her well being?”
“Your commands carry little weight while you sit about your ship sulking like a child.”
“What are you keeping from me, Patrokles? I can see that much at least.”
Rage of Queens (Homeric Chronicles Book 3) Page 21