“…some armed man shall drive you away, weeping,
and take from you the day of freedom…”
Iliad, Homer, Book VI,
(Rouse’s translation)
There was a breathless hush. My stomach twisted. I felt I was going to be sick. But Achilleus only turned and walked away through the parting crowd of warriors.
A voice called after him, “You’ve made your choice, Achilleus! Now let us have ours!” A buzzing, an excited stirring arose from the men who surrounded us. They stared at us with moist, glistening eyes and surged forward, their big rough bodies closing in. Blood besmeared their hands, their arms, their chests. I smelled the stink of their sweat. Their heavy breathing stole all the air. They began that dreadful pounding again. Fists against shields. Spears against the ground. Feet stomping in the dust. Voices chanted, “Give us our reward! Give us our reward!”
We women pressed close and clung to each other.
“We want them now!” someone bellowed.
A man wearing a bloodied corselet looked at me with eyes that seemed to pierce through my gown. He grinned, showing brown, broken teeth. Next to him, a big brute with a small unsmiling mouth nudged me aside and seized Speio behind me. As if that were a signal, all the men pushed toward us, thrusting themselves into our group, arms reaching, hands groping. Several women screamed in terror. Many were seized and held, though no man grabbed me, and I was shoved aside. Elonis, a distant cousin of mine, was pulled to the ground.
“Halt, all of you!” The thunderous shout stopped the men in their tracks. Hands dropped away. Silence fell.
Achilleus came forward again, shoving men roughly aside as he forced his way into the group. “Cool your blood!” he bellowed. “You know how it is! No one touches the women until we get back to camp and the spoils are divided.” For a moment the air rippled with tension. Then a collective sigh seemed to go through the men. Some cast down their eyes and backed away. “Now there’s work to do before we can go home.” Achilleus began issuing orders in a voice that brooked no opposition. “Menesthios! The men of your division shall take the provisions down to the shore. Eudoros, your division is to round up all the livestock that can be found in the town. Peisandros, your men stay here and guard the women.”
As the men dispersed, our miserable huddle loosened. We well knew what he had saved us from. Yet the women saw that no man had touched me. Some of them shot me resentful stares. By making his choice known, Achilleus had opened a gulf between the others and me.
I was still holding Mynes’s ring, the only thing I had of him. I was glad of it, and put it on my thumb, where I wouldn’t lose it. Achilleus walked a few paces away with Patroklos. Their backs were turned. When Achilleus yanked off his helmet, his sweat-drenched hair, bright as bronze, fell partway down his back. He ran a careless hand through it and slung an arm about Patroklos’s shoulder. “A successful raid, eh?”
Patroklos nodded and muttered what I thought was, “—best not set your heart on her.”
Did he mean me? He said something else I didn’t hear and cast a glance over his shoulder.
He added, “Agamemnon will likely claim her.” I started in surprise. It was not the first time I’d heard that name. Agamemnon was the High King, the commander of the Achaeans.
Achilleus dropped his arm. “The Furies take him! I do all the fighting to provision the army! I don’t see him risking his life. This time I intend to have what I want.”
“Resign yourself, my friend,” Patroklos said. “You know he gets first choice.”
Achilleus only waved his words away. At that moment, before I could hide among the women, they both turned to look at me, and I saw Achilleus’s face for the first time.
High brow, firm jaw, angled cheekbones—his beauty astonished me. His eyes were blue-green as the sea, but under their scrutiny I quickly turned away. I knew without looking that he’d taken a step toward me.
Patroklos, who seemed not to notice that Achilleus wasn’t listening, said, “Remember, we’ve captured many other fair women—the ones we took from Thebe.”
Thebe? Had the Achaeans sacked that town as well? Two years ago I’d gone there for the wedding of their king’s daughter Andromache. My mind flashed back to that day—sunlight, music, wine, and dancing. Now that past joy was as a dream.
“Thebe.” Achilleus made an abstracted gesture as if shooing a fly. He turned to face his friend. Free of those searing eyes, I breathed again. “Perhaps one of those will interest our king.”
“Don’t count on it.”
Achilleus shrugged. “Patroklos, I’ve sent a runner for the ships. Go see if you can catch sight of them.” As Patroklos loped off toward the shore, Achilleus approached me. I longed to flee but had nowhere to run. He drew me apart from the group of women, his hand like iron about my wrist. As his gaze traveled over me, I saw the blood spatters on my gown, which was beltless and torn at the bottom. If he noticed these things, he made no comment.
Instead he said, “You have not told me your name.” When I didn’t speak, he added, “You have nothing to fear from me.” His voice was reassuring, even caressing. The murderer of my husband now sought my favor.
“I am called Briseis. Wife—widow—of Mynes, the prince.” I tugged viciously against his grip. “Let me go.”
He released my wrist at once. “No more hidden daggers?” he asked with a teasing grin. “I’m quite unarmed.”
“You know I’m helpless. But if I had the strength of a man, I would kill you.”
He gave a snort of laughter. “I hope to change your mind about that!” His expression sobered. “I’m sorry about your husband. But now it’s your fate, decreed by the gods, to belong to someone else. There’ll be a choosing at the camp, and I intend to have you for my own.” When I said nothing, he gave a sudden smile and took my hands before I could pull away. He was very free with his touch. His eyes lit as his glance met mine. “I will treat you well, Briseis.”
I looked down at his hands. Saw the dried blood. Snatched my hands away. I thought of the babe growing inside me without a father. I thought of the women around me who had lost husbands, fathers, brothers, sons—and their freedom. I saw their marks of grief, the blood on their cheeks stinging with the salt of tears. Rage burst within me. Before I could stop myself I lashed out with all my strength, catching him by surprise, and raked my nails down his cheek. Red streaks sprang out on his sun-browned skin.
There, I thought, I’ve put the marks of mourning on his skin. Let’s see how he likes it.
Too late, I was giddy with fear. He seized my hands and forced them behind my back so hard I cried out. I saw shock, then anger on his face. He will kill me now, I thought.
In a rough voice he said, “Woman, you don’t know whom you reckon with!”
But his ire passed as swiftly as it had come, replaced by an expression I couldn’t read. As he dropped my hands, there was an ironic twist to his lips. “It does you little good to fight me. I still want you, spitfire that you are, and I will have you, regardless of Agamemnon.”
This Agamemnon was a powerful king. The thought gave me a quiver of fear. Still, it would be better to belong to him than to Mynes’s murderer. “What if you can’t?” I retorted. “I shall pray that he claims me!”
He laughed shortly. “At least wait until you’ve seen him!”
A shout from the shore drew his attention. Patroklos stood there, arm raised to signal. “The ships are coming,” Achilleus said. “I’ll send Patroklos to help you aboard. And don’t even think about mauling him, or I won’t answer for my temper.” Something sparked in his eyes. “I suggest you don’t try the mountain lion trick on my men either. You’ll find them far less merciful than I am.” He gave a small, mocking bow. “I will see you on my ship.” As he turned toward the shore, he repeated, “Mountain lion!” He seemed vastly amused by his choice of words, for he was chuckling as he walked away. Laughing at me.
I shook with outrage.
The women swarmed around me, all talking at once.
“Why did you do that?”
“He might have killed you!”
“You’re trembling! Are you all right?” asked Maira, a young girl of fifteen. All at once, I was so weak I clung to her.
Sharp-tempered Speio said, “Fool! You humiliated him. You’ll get us all killed.”
“I don’t think so,” I said, thinking how he’d made fun of me.
“Still, you’ve made matters worse,” Speio retorted. “He’s the only one protecting us.”
“Protecting you,” said an indignant voice from the middle of the crowd.
I could have wept. I didn’t choose his favor! I asked, “Is there no one else to rescue us? What of Prince Aeneas?”
Speio made a scornful noise. “We heard Aeneas escaped. Along with the Dardanians. The Achaeans took two of the Trojan princes for ransom.”
“But not our men,” wailed my sister-in-law Pherusa. “All our men are dead!” At her words, the women’s weeping broke out anew.
All? Grasping her hand, I asked, “Pylaios is dead? What of Amphios?”
Pherusa’s eyes were red and swollen. I remembered her coldness and cruelty when Laodokos and I had lived in her house, but now as she wept I could only feel pity for her. “Aye,” she sobbed, “they fought side by side. Amphios fell first, and my Pylaios right after. What am I to do without him, Briseis?”
Both my older brothers. “Oh, gods!” I whispered. I had not been close to either of them. Growing up, they had scorned girls. The eldest, Pylaios, was a brutal drunkard like our father. The second, Amphios, also a roughneck, a plunderer in his own small way, had fought with the Trojans whenever they offered him sufficient reward. But they were my kin. I clung to Pherusa, my whole body clenched against the uprush of tears.
Someone gave a loud cry and pointed to the shore. We all looked. A fleet began to appear around the cape. “Their ships! They’re going to put us on those ships.” They would take us to their encampment up the coast. The women again began wailing with heightened agony. Nesaia, who had lived in the house closest to my home with Mynes, wept inconsolably. She had two young children. “My babies, oh my babies!”
I realized there were only young women and maidens here. “Where is everyone else—the old ones, the children?”
“The lucky ones fled into the hills. Some were left in the town,” said Speio, who was childless—and dry-eyed. All the others were shrieking ever more loudly and hysterically. The marauders guarding us stood in a circle about us, and now they moved in closer, forming a barrier. One woman made a move to break away, and all at once the others charged toward the group of men surrounding us. Arms flailing at the men, they tried to push their way through. “Our children! Our children! Let us get our children!” screamed Nesaia.
The men brandished their spears. “Silence!” they shouted menacingly. “Cease this!” One lifted his javelin as if he would spear us.
“Stop!” Speio bawled. “Stop this, or they’ll kill us all!”
But Nesaia pushed forward, and an Achaean struck her with the blunt end of his javelin, the blow landing across the side of her head. She cried out and stumbled to her knees. She was sobbing so hard she couldn’t catch her breath. “My little ones—“
I took her in my arms. “Hush, my dear! Don’t fight them—you’ll only get hurt.” I remembered that her parents and other kin lived nearby. “Your mother and your aunts will care for them and keep them safe. You know they will,” I said, hoping it was true.
“But I’ll never see them again!” Nesaia subsided against me. Her pain burned into me. I held her close and wept with her, feeling guilty that I carried my own baby in secret within me.
As I helped Nesaia to her feet, Speio said, “The old ones must take care of the children now.” She added bitterly, “They’ll fare much better than we will.” The women fell into a silence of horror and grief. My thoughts flew to my beloved Laodokos, who was only fifteen, barely more than a child. “What of my Laodokos?” I asked. “Has anyone seen him?”
Those around me shook their heads. That boded well. If he had somehow joined the battle before the wall, someone would have seen him. Yet if he knew of the battle, would he have stayed away? He loved to drill with the warriors and had been so proud of the javelin Mynes gave him. I remembered how he had polished the point and carved his mark in the wooden handle. The young girl Maira, who had a fondness for Laodokos, touched my arm gently. “If he was tending the flocks, he surely didn’t know about this until it was over. He probably fled with the Dardanians.”
I nodded gratefully. “I’m sure you’re right.” But I sorrowed for Maira. If the Achaeans had not come, she might in time have wed him. Now instead she would become the slave of some rough marauder. I put my arm around her.
Achilleus’s fleet began to fill the waterfront. The ships must have come from further up the gulf, perhaps from Thebe. I guessed there were close to fifty black-hulled vessels crowding our small harbor. At a shouted order from Achilleus, some were driven up the beach until their keels rested on sand. The men propped planks against hulls, and the loading began.
Our Achaean guards began prodding us. “Come on! Down to the shore.”
But as the wailing and sobbing women began to walk, my feet rooted me to the ground. What if Laodokos came back to look for me?
An Achaean shoved me so hard I stumbled. “Move!” he snarled, hauling on my arm.
“Leave her alone!” Nesaia said. “Your commander chose her!”
The man let me go and pulled her forward brutally. “But I’ll teach you your place!”
“No!” I hooked my arm around Nesaia’s. The man gave me an angry look but let her go.
Pherusa said, “Just come quietly, Briseis! Don’t make any more trouble.”
Maira understood my fear. She said, “You can do nothing for Laodokos now. But don’t worry. He will surely find others who survived.”
She was right. If he came back now, the Achaeans would kill him. I could only hope that he was safe and would make a new life for himself. I gripped Maira’s hand and walked with her, following the others, a hundred or so bedraggled women of Lyrnessos.
When we reached the shore, Achaeans bustled around us, carrying amphorae of grain, and armloads of silver, pottery, weapons, and bronze caldrons—all the treasure of Lyrnessos. I saw my loom, the cloth I’d been weaving still on it. My grandmother had given that loom to my mother before me. Two rough men lifted it toward a ship with no care, the loom twisted, my uncompleted weaving hanging off it in loose threads. As they heaved it into the hold, I bit back a cry, even as I knew this loss was trifling.
The marauders had penned up most of our sheep and goats in a makeshift corral nearby, ready to load on the ships. Listening to their pitiful bleating, I thought of old folks and children left behind. Without food and livestock, how would they survive?
As the marauders manhandled household furnishings up the gangplanks of the ships, I thought of the home I had shared with Mynes, its shady courtyard, its trellis covered with climbing grapevines. I stared up at the hills with their silver-green olive groves and piney woods. Just yesterday I’d walked there with Mynes. Tears blinded me. I remembered Akamas, the man I had tended in the hills. The help I’d promised him would never come. I wondered if he would survive.
As we were led toward the ships, I huddled close to Pherusa and Nesaia and kept my arm around Maira, hoping we could stay together. More women were led away to board ships until at last only a few of us were left, and only two ships remained on the shore. Two Achaeans came to fetch Pherusa, Nesaia, and Maira, leaving me to stand apart. “No!” I cried, clinging to Maira. “Please let me go with them.” I wanted to comfort her even if I couldn’t protect her.
One of the men said, “You’re to wait. You’re going on Achilleus’s ship. And there’s no room there for the others.”
As Pherusa was led away, she said roughly over her shoulder, “Just let them take us and don’t make them angry. We’re surely all going to the same place.”
Maira was torn from my grip, but I managed a quick hug and begged Nesaia to look after her. Then I stood alone on the shore, watching them go toward the smaller of the two remaining ships. These women were all that was left of my life. Most were young wives like me. We’d shared companionable hours over the washing at the spring. Mostly they talked and I listened to their tales of how to remove stains from clothes, or the best way to cook beans, or the difficulties of childbirth, or even sometimes, guardedly, how to keep a husband happy. We’d shared stories and toil, laughter and tears. Being a part of their pain would have eased my own. Their company would have lessened my fear. But Achilleus had taken even this from me.
Patroklos appeared at my side. “Come.” He took my elbow and led me to the last ship, which loomed tall as a house. Achilleus stood in the prow, his profile in shadow as he stared out over the sea, head high, hair blown back in the wind. Then he turned and his gaze lanced through me with searing intensity. There was no mistaking his message.
I was his, and I’d best not forget it.
