Who is this who comes along through the dark night,
when all others are sleeping in our camp?
Iliad, Homer, Book X,
(Rouse’s translation)
A shaft of moonlight fell from the opening above the hearth. Deep breathing sounds came from the curtained alcove where Hektor slept with Andromache. I pictured him drowned in oblivion, black hair tousled, mouth slightly open. Weary as I was, I envied him for his slumber.
Andromache was surely awake. This mission was as much hers as mine. She’d somehow persuaded Hektor to do nothing about his plan today. Though we had not spoken when I returned from Helen, our eyes had met, and I’d nodded slightly to let her know I’d leave tonight. She’d squeezed my hands in answer, silently telling me that all her hopes rested in me. Now she would be lying rigid, breath held, ears attuned to the rustle of cloth, the soft brush of bare feet on stone.
I sat up and groped to my feet. Clutching my sandals, I crept toward the door, knowing that in her mind she followed me. When the door creaked, when the courtyard gravel grated under my feet, I felt no great alarm. If Hektor roused, she would seal his lips with hers and roll into his arms. Until I left Hektor’s house, I was safe.
But as I reached the courtyard gate, my stomach tightened. I opened it, slid through. The street was a river of darkness. I sped along it downhill, bare feet soundless on the flagstones. The Skaian Gate—Helen had told me how to find it. I must look for the third turning to the left. I passed one. Here was the second, and—
I stopped. A shadow blocked my path. A tall, thin shadow made of substance and utter silence. I couldn’t breathe.
A voice hissed, “I know where you’re going.”
A hand lifted, flinging back a hood, and I saw the pale blur of a face with wide dark eyes. “Kassandra!” I whispered.
She stood very still. Her shoulders slumped with a palpable weight of sadness. I let out my breath slowly. She knew of my errand, yet she had not alerted Hektor. “I came to warn you,” she said at last. “The outcome will not be what you think.”
“How can you know?” I asked.
“Do you think the future is hidden from me? Would that it were!” Her voice was a sorrowful, broken whisper. I thought she might be mad, yet she saw too much. I pitied her—and found I didn’t want to hear what she had to say.
I forced myself to ask, “What do you see?”
“You think you can prevent their deaths. You can’t! You think you will help Troy win the war. But even if we win, we are lost. If the Achaeans win, they too are lost.” Her voice rose. “We are all lost!” It was a desolate cry that echoed from the walls of stone. I feared it would awaken the sleeping Trojans. “A great darkness is coming.”
A chill ran through me. “Hush, Kassandra, I beg you—”
Abruptly she spun around and moved out of my path. “Go, Briseis, if you must!” she said softly. “You cannot go against the will of the gods, and you cannot change fate. But—” Quite suddenly, she took my hand in both of hers. She held it a moment, looking down at it. “Ah!” she whispered. “I thought so. You carry the future within you.” Before I could react, she sank back into the shadows and was gone.
What did she mean? But it didn’t matter. I was more determined than ever to go on. Drawing a shaky breath, I stooped to put on my sandals. I took the next street to the left and reached a narrow alley where no moonlight penetrated the gloom. I put out my hands and touched cold stone on my right. My fingers traced the outlines of huge blocks—the Cyclopean stones of the outer wall. Feeling my way, I set off in the direction I judged to be west. The wall curved inward a long way until at last I saw a faint vertical line of moonlight. When I came close to it, a cool breeze from the plain touched my cheek. I had reached the gate.
I stopped. Helen hadn’t told me what to do next. As I waited, a heavy, sandaled foot clunked on the flagstones. A step. Another. A spear haft struck the ground. I shrank back, flattening myself into deepest shadow. A harsh male voice rang out. “Who goes there?”
I sensed he was only a few paces ahead of me. I held my breath. Moments passed. The unseen guard took another step. I crouched lower against the wall.
Then, from another direction came the rustle of a gown, a low, throaty laugh, a soft whisper. “Why, Chromios, it is only I! You sound so fierce. Do you not know me?”
“You!” the guard said in a husky voice. “What are you doing here?”
“Hush! You must tell no one that you have seen me.” Soft steps came forward. Now I could see a graceful figure draped from head to toe in a light-colored cloak that glowed in the moonlight. I heard her sigh. “It’s been so long, dear Chromios! I couldn’t get away.” Helen’s soft voice grew petulant. “I get so tired of being cooped up. But tonight my man sleeps like the dead. And the moon is lovely! Can we not walk outside the walls and look at it?”
The guard let out a long breath. Then the gate creaked wide open and moonlight flooded the alley. Two figures, arm in arm, slipped through the opening. I sped to the gate and took a cautious look. Their backs were to me. Their steps took them eastward, around the wall—away from the path to the Scamander River and the Achaean camp.
Unchallenged, I slipped out through the gate, walking quickly in the moonlit darkness until I was far from Troy.
During the long walk I thought about how everything had changed. I’d sought a haven and a way to help the Trojans win the war—never dreaming of seeing Achilleus again. Now I hoped only to keep him alive and be with him again. And Hektor’s life as well hinged on this. I carried the burden of the promise I’d made to Andromache. I prayed to the gods I could keep it. Pausing for a rest, I looked back at the citadel of Troy, looming pale and almost ghostly in the moonlight. I thought of Kassandra’s words. We are all lost! A shiver ran over my skin.
One more hurdle remained. I must find Achilleus’s camp and gain entry.
When I reached the wall of the encampment, I followed it to my left, seeking the gate nearest to Achilleus’s quarters, which would be guarded by his own men. But how would I recognize it? At last I came to a wide gate, surely the right one, as it was nearest the end of the encampment. I hesitated for several moments, then smote upon the rough wood.
The gate opened a crack. A head peered out. “Who’s there?”
“Are you Achilleus’s man?” I asked.
“Aye.” The voice was suspicious. “Who wants to know?”
“I—I’m Briseis. I’ve escaped.” I paused, not sure my name would mean anything to him. He shone a torch in my face, its bright flame blinding me.
“From Agamemnon? What are you doing outside the wall?” He knew who I was. He withdrew the torch and I saw his face. To my relief, a name surfaced in my mind.
“Trechos! I—how glad I am to see you!” I gulped in a breath. “I got away from the king, hid among the chariots, got outside the gate—” My words stumbled over each other as I concocted an explanation that I hoped sounded plausible.
He looked at me for a long time in silence. At last he said, “Achilleus can sort it all out, I suppose. You’d best come in.”
“For your master’s sake, please say nothing, sir, not to anyone,” I said.
He only grunted.
Inside the camp I breathed deeply, savoring the breeze, the smell and sound of the sea, even the dirt and grit in my sandals. This was home. For now I had no other.
But I’d best be careful. Menelaus would have his men searching for me on the quiet. Agamemnon’s men, too, would be looking. At least, I thought, no one would have any reason to suspect I had been to Troy.
I reached Achilleus’s hut and stopped. Now that the moment had come I couldn’t face him. I remembered how strangely distant he’d been when he let me go. I had no idea how he’d receive me. For that matter I had no idea if he was even alone in his bed.
I could go to the women’s quarters and face him in the morning. But I’d have to explain everything to the women. All at once weariness overcame me. I had not slept much the previous night, and this one was half gone. Too exhausted to think or plan, I decided to go to Achilleus’s ship, where I could sleep until daylight.
The night wind had turned cold. Drawing my shawl about me, I walked toward the shore. As I passed the stables, I saw a movement against the shadowed wall. I hesitated. There was no sound, no further movement. I waited. Nothing. Surely it was only one of the men obeying a call of nature. I went on.
At the shore I paused to look at the long line of ships, their prows resting on the sand like strange, quiescent beasts. Only the soft lapping of water against their black hulls broke the stillness. It seemed as if the whole world slept and I alone was abroad, under this gibbous moon that lit the sky and silvered the sea. The breeze stirred and sent tiny ripples racing, racing, going nowhere.
I recognized Achilleus’s ship by the carved serpent’s head adorning its prow. A plank leaned against the side of the hull. Icy waves splashed against my ankles. Shivering, I hitched up my skirts and found a purchase on the plank. My strength was almost gone as I climbed, scratching my way upward until at last my fingers found the rail. I started to pull myself over it—and froze.
He was here—Achilleus, asleep on the moonlit deck, enveloped in a mantle that looked black as the midnight sea. My hands locked on the rail. I stared at the dark-lashed crescents of his closed eyes, the furrow between his brows. He slept, but not at peace.
I was unprepared to face him and terrified that he’d awaken to find me here. As I tried to back down, my desperate feet fumbled for the gangplank—and knocked it over with a splash. I clung to the rail, hands slipping from their grip.
In an instant he was awake. He sprang up, clutching a javelin. Then he saw me, and the javelin clattered to the planks. “Briseis! By the gods, what are you doing here?”
He grabbed me and pulled me up onto the small triangular deck.
