Rage of Queens (Homeric Chronicles Book 3) Page 5

  “Athena,” Patrokles repeated under his breath. “I cannot believe Agamemnon would be so bold.”

  Achilles pressed his palms against his temples. “I have quit the war, Patrokles,” he mumbled miserably.

  Patrokles sat back, eyeing his cousin. “Quit the war?”

  Achilles looked up, his eyes blazing blue fire. “I will not fight for him. And neither will any of the Myrmidons.”

  Rubbing the dark stubble on his chin, Patrokles said, “You will abandon the men for pride?”

  “I abandon nothing but this unworthy cause.” Even as he said the words, he bemoaned the prospect of an ignoble death. If I do not fight, I cannot die with honor or song.

  “Why interrupt my fucking a warm, gentle woman to tell me this, when you have no plan to save Briseis?”

  “You must deliver her to Agamemnon. I cannot.”

  Patrokles slammed his fists against the table rattling the lamp. “You are truly an iron-hearted bastard. Do your filthy deed yourself.”

  Achilles stood slowly, approaching his cousin with a few measured steps, his blue eyes boring into Patrokles’. “You will do as commanded. Or you will die.”

  The dark twin of Achilles sneered, his voice dripping with disgust. “Does she know?”

  “Not yet.” Achilles made to leave. “Give me time enough to say farewell, then come for her.” He strode quickly from the tent, leaving behind his most trusted companion to contemplate his reasoning.

  Achilles hoped that Patrokles would offer Briseis comfort in the near future when he could not. Will not. A war waged between his head and his heart as he walked the lines of tents to his Myrmidon encampment. His fury cooled in the chill night air. As he approached his tent, he saw the familiar sliver of light where the tent flap rested askew. He stopped, standing alone in the darkness, contemplating his life in small moments, all of which he now realized were but steps in a long farewell to life and love.

  His days in Troy would be his last; he’d known that since the day on the beach in Skyros when he heard the eagle screeching above him. Until that moment, he’d questioned the dual nature of his fate. And now he longed for more time, because swift-footed fate was closing in on his heels. Soon, the hot sands of Troy would swallow his mortal frame and the wind would sing his song.

  It angered him that his end might be one of dishonor at Agamemnon’s hand. He hadn’t thought that a possibility, until this very moment staring at his tent, knowing his woman, the wife of his heart, waited patiently for his return. Not so patient, Achilles. Not Briseis. Her touch, her words …

  He laughed. Angry words as much as loving … comforted him in this dreary place. He’d spent most of his life brushing away soft feelings, love in particular, into the dark recesses of his mind, locking them away to forget. But this woman … this woman held the key to open everything his iron-heart sought to keep hidden from the world. Love was weakness. Before Briseis, affection had been enough to sustain him, untamed sex enough to preoccupy him. He’d cared for Deidamia with great affection. The pleasure he found between her thighs had occupied many a lonely day in his prison on Skyros. He adored his son, Neoptolemus. The love he bore his mother and father was pure enough. But his feelings for Briseis, that was something else entirely.

  Once his prisoner, Briseis had found her way passed his heaviest armor. Her spirit remained indomitable in his presence. She would not be conquered, as Odysseus had warned him. He’d decided after first making love to Briseis that love was no game of war, but one of attrition. Has enough time passed for her to forgive me? To love me? She was the calm in the midst of his storm. She’d kept his counsel and held his heart. Agamemnon had struck him a near fatal blow with his pronouncement, placing Briseis as a pawn between the Fat King and his own honor. Achilles had no wish to lose her before his final day. Yet, I must let her go.

  ✽✽✽

  Briseis looked up from her mending when Achilles entered the tent. She smiled warmly, as he sat heavily into a stool near the table.

  She set the garment and threads aside. “I know that look. It is never good. What is troubling you, Achilles?”

  He avoided her eyes by examining his feet. “There are matters, Briseis, which I must speak of before the moon passes into dawn.”

  She shivered, pulling her himation tighter across her shoulders. “I have never known you to sound so … fearful. What is it? Tell me.”

  Achilles’ shoulders rounded slightly. His eyes nervously found hers. “Do you remember the first day I saw you? In the temple?”

  Briseis nodded. She wanted to vomit at the recollection. She tried never to think of the time before. It does not matter now, she reasoned, as she mended Achilles’ clothes, fetched his water, and satisfied all his appetites. She’d grown to love him, but it was complicated by pain and guilt and what-ifs. “Why do you bring up old wounds? It is … different now.”

  “You said I would never claim you.”

  She closed her eyes, willing the tears to stop before they fell. The hairs on her arms rose. “I did.” The words stuck dryly in her throat. “What has happened?”

  Achilles leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “It was the first time I recognized that I, Achilles, son of Thetis, had a mortal weakness.” He reached a calloused hand toward her. “For all the protection my mother had endowed me with, this she could not protect me from.” He dropped his hand back to his lap.

  She pressed her lips fiercely together, yet her chin still quivered. “Maybe, I don’t want to hear what it is …”

  “I must speak.” He stood up, closing the gap between them. Kneeling before her, he wrapped his arms around her knees in supplication. Pressing his lips against her soft thigh, he whispered, “On that day, Briseis, I loved you first.”

  Briseis kissed him on top of his head, his words forcing her quiet tears. “I never thought to hear those words uttered until the last. What sorrow do you bring to me, Achilles? Do you go to battle?”

  “No.”

  “I do not understand? Are you ill?”

  “No, I do not have the camp sickness.”

  Briseis tilted her lover’s head to face her. His forehead was deeply furrowed, his eyes gazing at her with a softness she’d never seen before. “Then, what has brought you to your knees? Please, get up. I want no more heart break.”

  Achilles stood slowly, pulling her with him. “Woman, you will always have my affection. In the days to come, you will doubt that I have loved you. But it would be wrong to forget the truth between us. No other woman has heard those words fall from my lips. Not even the mother of my son. They are not spoken lightly.”

  “In the days to come? What are you talking about?” She pushed him away. “You tell me of your heart, yet sound like you are casting me aside?” Her heart pounded. “Why be so cruel and speak aloud the only words that could pain me more than living each day? You are heartless.” She collapsed back into her chair and buried her face in her hands.

  Standing before her, Achilles brushed her cheek with his unsteady hand. “That is not my intent,” he said hoarsely. “Come, wife of my heart.” Briseis allowed him to lead her to their bed where he laid her gently down beside him on the coverings.

  “I want to memorize every part of you.” His hand traced a line down her arm, his touch as soft as carded lamb’s wool. His kisses landed sweetly along her neck and shoulders. The tenderness was foreign to her.

  “You kiss me as a wayfarer kisses the feet of a goddess.”

  “Shah, woman.” His tongue explored her mouth more deeply, running it against her teeth.

  “Where is my Achilles?” she asked, her breath shaky.

  “He is not here, my love. It is only me. A man. Imperfect.” He pulled her close, wrapping his heavy arms around her. “Promise me, Briseis, that you will remember me this way.”

  She wept freely now. “I promise.”

  Achilles kissed her eyes, her cheeks, her lips. “For me there is only death or love. I can’t live in both worlds.
”

  His confession pierced her defenses. She’d always known it was true, but she’d silently hoped she was wrong. Their love would break them both no matter what they chose. They needed each other for divergent reasons, but they were real none-the-less. There would be no escaping the war to come and its aftermath.

  “War is no place for a woman … or for such softness as I feel for you.” His hand slid slowly up her side, tracing the soft, round curve of her waist, finally cupping her breast in his hand. “I am sorry the gods have kept the joy of a child from your breast.”

  Briseis buried her face in Achilles’ neck. “As am I.” She had longed and prayed for a child, but each moon the gods denied her. She had not longed for a child to claim him, but to have a small piece of life that was hers alone.

  “My days are few, Briseis.”

  She looked up, desperately searching his eyes for comfort. She found only confusion. “No one is your equal in battle. I have seen you dance in the blood of your enemy.”

  “You are more than a beautiful spoil of war. There are no words to beg the forgiveness I would ask. And no heart should grant after …” A tear caught in his eye. “After what I have done.”

  Briseis turned away from him in his arms. “Speak no more of that day. Or of your last days. You will live out the war, if any mortal can. Patrokles has promised to marry me, if you would not, when we return to Phthia. I must believe it is possible to survive this, or every sacrifice has been for nothing.”

  “My fate is set in the stars now. And if I had the might of the gods, I would scatter the stars so I might begin anew. This time knowing that you were coming to me.” He pulled Briseis back into the crook of his arm. “Let us not waste this night.” He mounted her slowly, pressing deep into her flesh, each thrust bringing her agonizing pleasure. They cried out together, collapsing as one flesh.

  Achilles kissed her again. Sweetly, like a new lover. “No matter how this war breaks us, you will always be the one.”

  A loud commotion sounded outside of the tent and tore the sacred shroud of their lovemaking. Achilles spoke quickly. “Agamemnon has ordered me to give you over to him. Compensation for his loss. He has demanded an equal prize.”

  Briseis sat up, her eyes wide and horrified. “What? What do you mean?”

  Achilles roared and threw the linens from their bed as he got up. “He has demanded you to replace the priest’s daughter.”

  His words stunned her. “You are handing me to Agamemnon?” Then is dawned on her. A terrible knowing in the pit of her stomach. “You did not even fight for me.”

  “It was not as simple as that,” he snapped angrily.

  Patrokles’ raised voice carried on the night. “You fucking bastards have no right!”

  A rough voice growled back, “We have every right. Stand aside.”

  At least a dozen armed guards pushed into the Achilles’ tent. The biggest one, Talthybios, spoke with as much confidence as his shaking spear. “You know why we have come, my lord.”

  Patrokles pushed passed the intruders. “I am sorry, cousin,” Patrokles said through his clenched jaw. “They insist they follow Agamemnon’s command.”

  The shorter guard, Eurybates, trembled before Achilles. “We’re here for that woman.”

  Briseis instinctively pulled a linen sheet up over her nude body. She pleaded with her lover, “Tell me this is a mistake, Achilles.”

  “I cannot,” was all he said.

  There he was, the warrior returned. She recognized the stony scowl and cold eyes. The love so tenderly expressed moments ago had vanished like some magical mist.

  Achilles picked Briseis’ chiton up from the ground and tossed it at her without even a glance in her direction. “Put this on, woman. And you fucking cock-holes remember this day. Soon, you will need me in battle, and I will not be there. Tell Agamemnon I hope his bloated pride is satisfied.”

  With tears streaming down her face, she reached for the garment and slipped it on over her head. She now understood what his words meant. Remember him with love, because he’d known death was coming for both of them. Terror filled her with what Agamemnon would do to her. He hated Achilles, and would surely take that out on her, Achilles’ prized possession. No matter the sweet words that fell from his lips, she was and always would be nothing more that—his spear-won prize.

  Achilles turned to look at her now, holding her eyes with his as he lifted her gently from their bed. “She is ready.” Then, without warning, he pushed her toward the guards.

  “Wait! Wait!” Briseis screamed. “I beg you, Achilles!”

  One of the guards slapped her across the face, leaving a burning red mark on her cheek. “Shut your mouth. You’re nothing but a whore slave in this camp.”

  Too late Achilles heard Patrokles’ blade slide from its scabbard. His cousin was at the guard’s throat, pressing his gleaming blade to bone. The man’s blood gurgled from the gapping wound at his neck. In shock, the guards nearest Patrokles and the dead man backed up, but before Patrokles could grab the next man Achilles seized his cousin tightly around the shoulders. “No more, Patrokles. I command it!”

  Patrokles continued struggling, but couldn’t free himself from Achilles’ grasp. Slowly, Achilles released him.

  As they dragged Briseis from the tent into the night, the sound of her weeping and screaming trailed to silence. Patrokles stared after them, before unleashing his rage on his companion. Turning into Achilles’ body, Patrokles took them both to the ground. The dark warrior wrapped his arm beneath Achilles’ chin and his leg around Achilles’ waist. He pulled back with all his might, furious that his cousin had allowed Agamemnon’s men to take Briseis. Achilles, ever quicker, twisted from Patrokles’ hold and shoved him roughly against a stool. They lay panting and exhausted on the hard sand.

  “Why?” Patrokles roared in anguish. “Why did you let them take her?”

  “You are a fool if you believe I would let her go willingly. Hera forbids me to raise my hand to Agamemnon. I cannot fight to keep her, by will of the goddess, so I must let her go.”

  Patrokles’ gray eyes burned with angry tears. “The gods curse you at every turn. You do not deserve her.”

  “No. I don’t. But she deserves your friendship and comfort. And that you must give. She will be lonely and frightened.”

  The dark-eyed cousin of Achilles shook his head in disbelief. “I will be as I always am for her sake.”

  Achilles pulled himself up to his elbow, looking his cousin squarely in the face. “You think I do not know you love her?”

  Patrokles stood, brushing sand from his arms and legs, the hurt evident in his eyes. “I have loved you both more than you know. But she will not have me for love of you.”

  “When this war ends and I am gone, you will be the one to comfort her into old age.”

  “What is your meaning? You of all mortals will not die in this fucking war.”

  “Still, promise me, you will be her protector, when I am dead.”

  “On my life.”

  Achilles stood and grasped his cousin’s shoulders firmly. “Go then. Begin your vigil on her behalf.”

  Patrokles nodded. “I will never forgive you for what you’ve done to her.”

  The Myrmidon commander watched his cousin disappear into the night and hoped he’d not broken their bond forever. Scanning the tent empty now of her presence, his heart finally cracked, flooding his love for her into his chest. He beat his fist into the growing ache. He hadn’t realized, until this empty moment, how much Briseis was woven into the tapestry of his world. He would no longer hear her singing quietly as she mended his garments. He would no longer feel her hands stroking his furrowed brow and cheeks. He would no longer smell the sweat and salt of her skin as they made love. Would he be able to win her back and keep his honor? Would she want him?

  Patrokles’ words already haunted him. He knew he didn’t deserve her and was certain now that Patrokles loved her the way he could not. He loved Briseis becau
se the war had placed them together and she comforted him, but Patrokles loved her despite the war. His threat of marrying her if Achilles did not sprang from his heart; his words were not for convenience or for Achilles’ sake. She was a rightful princess, a queen. And he had made her a slave, and worse, had given her to his enemy without explanation. Patrokles fought for her, when he would not. He had to let her go, so he could die as fate decreed. For the songs that would be sung. He sat staring into the quiet space of his tent.

  Achilles poured a cup of wine and drank deeply, the nectar bittering on his tongue. “Glory is empty for the living.” He then drained the amphora. “Nax!”

  The young servant, ever faithful, scurried into the tent. “Yes, my lord.” His eyes fell to the dead body on the sand, a red tide spilling from it into the thirsty sand. He stepped back, hesitating to approach Achilles in a murderous mood. “My lord?”

  Without meeting Nax’s gaze, he snapped, “Get rid of it.”

  “Yes, my lord.” He hesitated. “Briseis—”

  Achilles groaned, throwing pottery across the tent. “She is gone. I will say no more.” He strode from the tent, leaving his servant to clean up the mess he’d made of everything.

  ✽✽✽

  Restless and miserable, Achilles wandered to the beach far from the Myrmidon ships beached deep into the foreign shore. The silver moon hung high above him, casting its eerie glow on the foaming waters of the bay. Many an evening, he’d brought Briseis here to lie beneath the stars. “Briseis,” he whispered into the wind, as he sank to his knees. What have I done? Mother …

  For the first time since he set foot on Troad lands, he freed the darkness of his deeds to the light and regret filled him. Deidamia’s sad eyes as he knowingly abandoned her and their son. Iphigenia’s dead eyes staring up at the sky. Peisidike’s horrified eyes pleading for her father to save her. Troilus’ wide-eyed terror just before his blade slit the young prince’s throat. Countless thousands of pairs of eyes had been dimmed by his hand. And now, he added Briseis to his private agony. How many more eyes would look up to see their futures dashed at his hand? War roared within his blood, he could not deny that, but no one had cautioned him that the weight of it would crush his mortal soul and steal one of the two people who tempered the storm inside.