“If I go home to my native land, there will be no great fame
for me, but I shall live long and not die an early death.”
—Achilleus, Iliad, Homer, Book IX
(Rouse’s translation)
He stared at me for a breathless instant. The grip of his hands sent shivers along my skin. “How did you come here? Does Agamemnon know?” He released me abruptly and scanned the shore, his right hand reaching for the sword that wasn’t there. “Who saw you? Who knows you’re here?” He shot the rough questions like stones.
“Only the gate guard—Trechos.” I sputtered.
He let out an explosive breath. “You escaped.” I heard amazement in his voice. “How did you do it?”
I tried to remember what I’d told Trechos. “I managed to get away from—where I was confined. I hid among the chariots until near dark.” I hesitated, hoping he wouldn’t notice the holes in my story. “When I—when some men took the horses out onto the plain, I—I slipped out unseen. It seemed safer to stay outside the camp until everyone slept, and—“
“And no one saw you? Besides Trechos?”
I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”
He was quiet for a time. Then he said, “You can’t stay here—you know that, don’t you?”
I gasped. “Why not?”
“I have been dishonored, Briseis. If I take you back now, I will be further dishonored.”
“I don’t understand.”
He hesitated and seemed not to know what to say. “We have to talk.” I waited. He settled himself back against the rail and moved me to his side. “If I keep you here, I’d be a thief. I’d lose all chance of ever regaining my honor.”
“Honor!” Rage surged in my heart. “What about me?”
Again he was silent. Then he said, “This isn’t about you.”
“Then will you please tell me what it is about?” I was beginning to realize that in this struggle between the two men, I was nothing but a hostage. Luckless pawn, Kassandra had called me. “Achilleus,” I cried, “you can’t send me back to him!”
“Hush!” He looked quickly around as if he feared someone might hear. “Listen. I want you to understand.” He put his arm around my shoulders. His touch was soothing, but his words were not. “When Agamemnon took you, I was disgraced before all the army. I wanted to kill him, but that would have been a great evil. So I mastered my rage. I expected the other chieftains to support me, but even though they knew the king was in the wrong, they did nothing.” He paused, breathing hard. He withdrew his arm. “Which made them as guilty as he. So I swore an oath before them all.”
The oath. I raised my eyes fearfully to his face. “What did you swear?”
“I was holding the speaker’s staff,” he picked up the javelin, “like this. I told them I was leaving the war. And I swore that when they were so hard pressed they begged for my help, I would no more fight for them than the dry wood of the staff would turn back into a living tree.” Vehemently he flung the javelin away.
I was stunned. “Then you will never return to battle?” That meant he wouldn’t fight Hektor now, and my plan to get him away from the war might be easy after all. I had but to find a way to make him take me back, and—
“But—” he said, and my heart sank, “if I don’t fight, I will never regain my honor.” He paused, breathing harshly. “So I prayed to Zeus.”
“What did you pray?” I asked, wondering if I really wanted to know.
“That the Achaeans would be utterly defeated,” he said bleakly. “Then my honor would be restored.”
I sensed no good would come of this, even if it benefitted the Trojans. “So you’re going to wait here to see if it happens?”
His eyes fell away from mine. “I must.”
I stared at him. A chasm separated him from me. And from everyone else, it seemed. I wondered what Patroklos thought. “Is honor so important?” I whispered.
“It’s the only thing that gives my life meaning.”
“None of this makes any sense.” The wind gusted, penetrating my bones and my heart. “I don’t understand you at all.”
He gave a sudden, short laugh. “No one else does either! My parents want different things for me. My father wants me to win honor, to be the greatest warrior. But my mother wants me to live. She tried to keep me from this war by sending me to the island of Skyros when I was a youth. She would be happy if I never returned to the fighting.”
“Your mother sounds like the only sensible one. And what do you want?”
He said, “There’s a prophecy about me: If I fight in this war, I’ll die young but win everlasting fame. If I go home, I’ll live a long life without glory. So when I came to fight at Troy, I made the choice.”
“An early death.” The words caught in my throat.
“Undying glory. It was my birthright. A promise from Zeus. But now Agamemnon has turned me into an outcast. My life’s purpose is gone. And the only way I can get it back is if the Achaeans beg me to return to battle.”
Each word filled me with fury. Honor—undying glory. He would choose it over life itself. “And will they?”
“I don’t know. All my hope is in that prayer, for if I’m dishonored, I can’t face my father. I can’t go home.”
“What is honor?” I said. “A word, no more. It won’t fill your belly or ease your pain. It can’t make you happy.”
He gave me a look of sorrow. “I was taught that happiness doesn’t matter. Only one’s name and one’s deeds.”
“There’s nothing left for you here, Achilleus. Why do you stay?”
“Enough!” he snapped. “I’ve told you—the Achaeans must restore my honor.”
His honor or his life. This was beginning to seem like a repeating nightmare. But nothing I could say would change his mind. And how would I ever keep my word to Andromache?
I turned away furiously—then turned back. “And where does that leave me?”
His glance dropped from mine, and he was silent.
A cloud fell over me. He had become a stranger. How could I have thought his camp was home? I had no home, and if it came to it, nor did he. We were both adrift. I groped for the rail. Without any idea of where I would go, I swung one leg over the side. The plank was gone, and I would drop to the hard-packed sand, but it didn’t matter. I lifted the other leg. Before I could jump, he grabbed me and pulled me back.
“What are you doing? You can’t just leave. I must think what to do with you.” I shivered as the night wind gusted. “You’re cold.” He draped his mantle around me. His nearness, his sudden concern brought tears to my eyes. But he looked away. “Briseis, you don’t know what this has been like for me. If only I could—”
His voice faltered, and he did not go on. At that moment I understood this was tearing him apart. I stepped toward him and lifted my arms to embrace him.
He drew a sharp breath. Backed away. “I—we can’t, Briseis. You’re his now.”
“By the gods! He stole me!”
He said in a whisper so low I barely heard, “And he had you.”
“No! I fought him—I never lay with him, Achilleus. I held him off until drunkenness overcame him, even though he nearly killed me. After that he kept me locked up in a filthy hut.” When he made no reply, I sagged in defeat. “You don’t believe me. But I too have my honor.”
“I do believe you, Briseis,” he said. “You’re very brave. Many men don’t have half your courage.” He made a move toward me, quickly checked. “I wish I could take you back. None of this is your fault. The fault is mine. My accursed fate—the vow I made—”
Acting on pure instinct, I drew him into an embrace. His breath caught. I rested my head on his chest and heard the pounding of his heart. My arms tightened around him. An insatiable hunger swamped me. For a time neither of us moved. Then his mouth fused with mine. The taste of him left me weak with longing.
After we broke apart, I said breathlessly, “Love me, Achilleus. Whatever the gods have decreed, we have this moment—maybe only this moment.” Our lips joined and parted again, and I whispered, “This means more than honor,” but he was breathing too hard to hear.
At last, with a shaken sigh, he drew back and bent to spread his mantle on the deck. He lowered me onto it, pulling me hard against him. There was only him, only us, in all the world, and as our bodies became one, joy flooded through me, deeper than any I had ever known.
Afterwards we lay entwined. He freed a hand to caress my hair. He raised himself up on an elbow and kissed my cheek, my lips, my neck.
“My Briseis! I don’t want to give you up,” he said. I opened my eyes. His words brought me back to the unresolved question. “But if I keep you,” he added, “I can’t stay here.”
I seized those words like a lifeline. “Then surely you need not stay! Oh, Achilleus, your mother is right—your life matters more than anything!” When he was silent, I went on rapidly, “If Zeus answers your prayer and the Achaeans can’t win without you, your honor will surely be restored, even if you leave, for they’ll understand the wrong they did to you.” The wind whipped up, sending shivers deep into my bones. He pulled me closer but made no reply. “There’s nothing for you here anymore,” I whispered, burying my face in his shoulder. “Take me home with you.”
He sighed sharply. At last he said, “What you’re saying, I’ve already thought to myself a thousand times. Something tells me you’re right. I should set out at once—tomorrow, or even tonight—or I will never see my homeland again.” I heard yearning in that desolate whisper. His voice came, soft and broken. “I do—want—happiness.”
Hope filled me like wind rushing into a sail. “Then why don’t you—”
“Perhaps. Now hush!” His fingers stole across my lips. “I must think.” He wrapped the mantle more tightly around us. I was muffled in warm wool that carried the scent of his body. Yet, he had withdrawn from me, and for a long time said nothing. At last he lifted a hand to stroke my hair again, trailing a loosened strand through his fingers. “In my home, not many women have hair like this. What will they make of you, I wonder? They will call you Raven, or Midnight, or perhaps Melanippe—little black mare.” I heard the smile in his voice. Then he paused and gave a start, as if at some new thought. “If we sail tonight, while they yet think you are locked up, they won’t know I stole you back—”
My heart jumped. “Oh, Achilleus!” I tightened my arms around him. I listened to the sound of his breathing as if it could tell me his inner thoughts. “Take me to your home. I want to see it. I want to know it.”
He let out a shaky breath. “Home!” That whisper was so fraught with longing it pierced me through. Home. A safe refuge. I shut my eyes and nestled my head against his chest, so close I could hear his heart. I imagined the green fields and hills of Phthia. Half asleep, I could see black mares galloping, their hooves drumming, drumming, like his heartbeat.
All at once he thrust away from me and sat up, listening. Cold air surged between us. I heard a wild rhythmic pounding. The hooves of galloping horses. A long, frightened whinny tore the air. Fear stopped my breath. He sprang to his feet, pulling on his tunic, and went to the rail.
“Balios and Xanthos! My horses! How did they get loose? The horse boy must have not secured them properly.” I pulled myself up and saw two dark equine shapes galloping down the strand. I slipped on my gown and started toward him as he swung one leg over the side. “Stay here,” he said. “It won’t take me long to bring them back.” He caught me in his arms and kissed me fiercely. “Wait for me here, my love,” he whispered, and sprang overboard.
He ran swiftly down the beach after his horses. They paid no heed when he whistled. He kept running until the gray edges of night swallowed him.
Then I heard a cry. By the nearest hut, not far up the shore, a form lay crumpled in the sand, enveloped in trailing robes. A woman.
What was she doing out here? Perhaps going to or from the privy. Had the horses hurt her? My instinct was to jump off the ship and run to her aid, but caution held me back.
The cry became a sobbing whimper, as if from pain. She needed help. I recalled my distress when I’d been about to miscarry my child. Perhaps her need was equally dire.
I stayed glued to the railing. I should at least go see. I hesitated—on the ship I was safe. But I couldn’t bring myself to turn away from her. At last, after looking far up and down the shore and seeing no one else, I lowered myself off the ship and dropped to the sand. I could run back if it wasn’t safe. I took a few cautious steps toward the woman. I couldn’t see her face, and I dared not call out. But as I approached, she got up and staggered toward the nearest hut, shouting, “Help! Here! Quickly!”
I stopped. Her voice sounded familiar, and she did not appear hurt. “What do you want?” She glanced at me over her shoulder. I saw her face—the hard glare of her eyes. “Aglaia!” I remembered her hatefulness from the very first day, and the words she spoke. If a time ever comes when he can’t protect you, you had best look to your life!
Achilleus, the horses. Treachery. All at once I smelled male sweat, leather. I turned and ran back toward the ship.
Heavy footsteps crunched the sand behind me. Something hard smashed against my head. The moonlight splintered into fragments, and I fell in darkness.
