“Akhilleus,
be reverent toward the great gods! And take
pity on me, remember your own father.”
—Priam, Iliad, Homer, Book XXIV
(Fitzgerald’s translation)
The Achaeans did not return to battle. A dreadful quiet pervaded the Myrmidon camp, for the unburied corpse haunted us all. Every time my chores took me near the courtyard, I held a cloth over my nose and mouth, but I could never be free of the stench. I tried not to think, for there were too many places where I could not allow my mind to go: Achilleus, Patroklos, the babe growing within me, the lost soul of Hektor, and most of all, Andromache.
At night sleep often eluded me. One night, when the sleeping quarters were hot and close, I gave up on rest and decided to walk along the shore. Careful not to wake the others, I groped for my sandals. Crept to the door. Let myself out into the night.
A half-moon sailed above feathered clouds. All was still. The sea sent black ripples against silver-gray sand. Near the water’s edge I heard a muffled groan, and stopped. A man lay face down on the shore—Achilleus, seemingly insensible to the world. I stood staring at him, feeling hatred swell within me. He had turned the world into a place of utter evil.
He must have sensed my presence, for without warning he sat up and turned to me. I wanted to flee, but before I could move, his fathomless eyes, black in the darkness, looked into mine—and revealed his heart.
I saw that, in his abuse of Hektor’s corpse he sought to blunt a pain that gave him no respite—the knowledge that he brought about the death of his friend. He was a prisoner of his rage and grief, as much as he had made the rest of us. And he would never, ever forgive himself. To my surprise, I felt a deep, unwilling pity for him.
I said, “Achilleus, let go of your revenge! Do you think Patroklos wants you to suffer like this?”
Something sparked in those eyes and was gone. He buried his face on his bent knees. He was silent for so long I turned away.
At last he said in a muffled voice, “I have little time left.”
A chill ran along my skin. “What do you mean?”
“Left to live.”
“You can’t know that,” I said.
He looked at me. “I do know it.” I took a step toward him, but he lifted his hand to ward me off. “Leave me.”
I hesitated, then turned away, my hopelessness deeper than before. He was broken beyond mending, and he had made a pact with death.
The next morning he once again took Hektor’s corpse on that terrible chariot ride. When he came back, he closed himself in his hut and stayed there for hours. Much later in the afternoon, as I was returning from the spring with water for the evening meal, I saw a strange sight: a wicker cart loaded with goods and pulled by a team of mules, driven by an old man. Another gray-bearded man in a plain, soiled brown cloak followed in a horse-drawn cart. He bowed down as if under a great weight. The ancient travelers were heading along the shore. Where had they come from, and what were they doing here?
As they drove past me, the driver of the horse cart glanced my way. He looked like Hektor’s father Priam, King of Troy, whom I remembered from Andromache’s wedding. But it couldn’t be. Many graybeards, sunken in age, looked alike. These two were surely peddlers who had come from some nearby town to trade goods for food.
Even so, I hurried after the carts. At Achilleus’s gate I set the water jar against the fence and watched the old men continue up the shore. They paused when they met a man near a hut. They seemed to be asking for directions. The Achaean turned and pointed—right to where I stood. The men reversed the carts in a wide turn. I watched with horror as they approached.
They must not come here!
They halted near the gate. The one who had driven the horse cart tossed the reins to his companion, climbed down, and walked toward me.
My blood turned to ice. It was Priam.
He spoke in a quavering voice. “Good woman, is this the hut of Prince Achilleus?”
The dreadful carrion stench wafted up behind me. I held up my hands. “Sire, this is a place of death,” I said. “Go back!”
He squared his thin shoulders. “Take me to Achilleus.”
“Sire, he will kill you!”
“I’ve come to ransom the body of my son. I won’t leave without him.”
I backed against the gate, shaking my head, spreading my arms.
He said, “Stand aside. Let me pass.”
It was a command. But I didn’t move. In the courtyard he’d see the body. Unless I could find a way to conceal it. “Wait!” I drew a deep breath. “Please wait, Sire.” Though I was sure Achilleus was in the hut, I said, “I—I’ll go see if Achilleus is within.”
I sped through the gate to where Hektor lay. Holding my breath, I covered him with my gray shawl, scattering swarms of flies. Now, in the deepening twilight, he was hidden from sight.
Just as I turned away, the king and his servant came through the gate.
I bowed before him. “Achilleus is inside with his companions, Sire. But you shouldn’t—”
Priam went silently past me to the door of the hut and opened it, followed by his attendant.
Achilleus would kill him. I had to stop it—or at least try. I sped around to the rear door that connected Achilleus’s room to the women’s quarters. Diomede, kneading bread there, looked up in surprise. “Maybe you shouldn’t go—” she began.
I pulled the door open a crack and peered in.
And stopped dead. Achilleus sat in his chair by the hearth, looking down in astonishment. I saw him in profile, but could only see Priam’s hunched back as he crouched trembling at Achilleus’s feet. Oh gods, had Achilleus already harmed him?
But then Priam lifted his head. Taking his enemy’s hands, he brought them to his lips and kissed them. I silenced a gasp.
Achilleus’s face went still. His eyes filled. The firelight caught the silvery line of a tear running down his cheek. Neither man saw me. Nor did Achilleus’s two companions, who sat back in the shadows watching. After a moment Achilleus reached for Priam’s hand.
I knew then that the old king was safe.
I pushed the door a bit more ajar and crouched, looking through the crack, listening, hardly breathing.
“What—?” Diomede whispered, but I waved her to silence.
“Achilleus, think of your own father, old and alone, and take pity on me!” Priam said. “No man has ever done what I’ve had to do—kiss the hands of the man who slew my son.”
Achilleus grasped the old man’s hand and moved him gently away from his knees. He covered his face with his other hand. He wept.
Priam too was weeping. Tears stung my eyes.
Long moments passed. At last Achilleus straightened. “How could you have the courage to come here to me? Your heart must be made of iron.” Achilleus got up, took the old man by the hand, and raised him from his knees. He said, “Zeus brings all men evil things as well as blessings. My father too. Though you have many sons, he has only one ill-fated son—me. I’ve left him alone in his old age, while I am far away, bringing you trouble and—grief.” His voice broke on the word. “Your sorrows are great. But you must not mourn endlessly. It will not bring your Hektor back. Let your heart find comfort. Now, come, sir,” he invited, “sit and—”
But Priam interrupted harshly. “Do not invite me to sit when my son’s body lies untended. Release him to me, Achilleus!” Oh, Priam, I thought, you will reawaken his rage. “I’ve brought gifts—ransom. Take them, enjoy them. I wish you a safe return to your home, since you spared my life.”
A spasm crossed Achilleus’s face. He turned away from Priam and sprang to his feet, his eyes blazing. “Do not provoke me, sir! I intended to give back Hektor’s body. But I have sorrows of my own. If you stir up my wrath, I may lose my temper and forget that you are a suppliant.”
He stood still for a moment, his hand pressed to his brow. Then, leaving Priam standing there, he came abruptly toward our quarters and the door that hid me. “Briseis! Diomede!”
I scrambled away, collided with Diomede and the breadboard, and plunged my hands into the floury dough. My back was to Achilleus, my heart thudding as he entered our hut.
“Come,” he said. We stood quickly. “Get the other women. I need you to wash the body of Hektor and make it presentable for his father.”
“Aye, my lord,” Diomede said. As he turned away, she stared at me. “Briseis! You’re white as a shroud! Achilleus,” she called after him. “Briseis can’t help, she’s ill with—”
“Hush!” My hand flew to her lips. “I can!” Achilleus hadn’t heard. He walked out of our door to the courtyard. “Quickly!” I said. “He needs us. Call the others.”
She went to summon the women, and we followed Achilleus. In the main courtyard he called to Automedon and Alkimos and gave them orders to unhitch the wagon, tend the mules, and take the old King’s attendant to another hut to eat and rest. Then, going to the wagon that contained the ransom, Achilleus lifted out a fine-spun tunic and two mantles and carried them to where the corpse of Hektor lay.
“Dress the body in these,” he told us. Glancing at the open door of the hut, he added, “I don’t want you working out here. The old man mustn’t see him as he is now.” When he noticed the shawl over Hektor, he cast a puzzled look at us, his eyes coming to rest on me. But he said nothing. He only bent and lifted the body in his arms. He carried it around the building to the women’s courtyard where he called for a clean blanket on which to lay it.
As I followed him, the odor of death swept over me, and I was afraid my stomach would betray me. Yet my spirit stayed strong, because at last we could do this for Hektor and for the living. When Achilleus removed the shawl, the body was mangled, dirty, the wounds caked and blackened. But my stomach remained steady. I knelt down next to the corpse.
Achilleus crouched next to me. When he glanced at me, a heightened resolve sparked in his eyes. I expected him to leave us to this work and go back to Priam, but to my surprise he stayed to help, lifting the corpse as we washed it and rubbed it with scented oil, holding the head when I poured water to wash the hair. I could feel the intensity of his purpose. It mattered greatly to him that this was well done.
When we were finished, he lifted the body with care and reverence and placed it on a bier. Then he called to Automedon and Alkimos to take it to the horse cart. As they left, he stood looking down at us. He said, “Bread. Get it ready and bring it in. I will be preparing the evening meal for the King.”
He left. I stared after him, recalling how afraid I had been for Priam a short time ago. But, strange as it seemed, compassion had bloomed between these two desperately grieving enemies. I realized that Achilleus could offer the old king more comfort and healing than anyone else.
But I wanted more. I wanted healing for Achilleus as well.
Later, after we had cleansed the death stench from our hands, changed our gowns and prepared the bread, we inhaled the aroma of grilling lamb. It had been so long since I had smelled this that it seemed to come from another life. When the flattened barley cakes had been browned over our fire, Diomede placed them in a basket. “I’ll take this in.”
I reached for the bread. “Let me.”
As I walked in, Automedon took it from my hands. Achilleus was busy over the fire, turning the grilling spits, sprinkling salt. Alkimos mixed wine, poured it into goblets. When the food was served, Automedon and Alkimos retired to the far end of the hut, leaving Achilleus in privacy with his royal guest.
But I lingered. To stay near him, I thought of another duty. I brought a cloth and a basin so that they might wash their hands before eating. First I offered these to the king, who barely noticed me. Then I went to Achilleus, who gave me an unfathomable look and nodded thanks.
“If you need anything else—” I whispered.
“Aye. Not now.” Although it was a dismissal, I sensed only his urgent need to offer hospitality to the king. He gestured in the direction of the door to the women’s quarters, or perhaps the corner. I chose to interpret that he meant the corner and I could stay. I backed into the shadows there.
As the men ate, sometimes one or the other would speak, or silence would fall between them, a companionable silence. When at last they finished, they looked at each other with a kind of wonder. The firelight burnished Achilleus’s skin and the smooth lines of his brow and cheek and jaw, and highlighted the ravaged nobility of Priam’s features.
At last Priam said, “I have tasted pain and grief a thousand times since Hektor died. This is the first time I’ve tasted bread and meat. Another cup of wine, please! Then make a bed ready for me that I may sleep. I’ve not slept a full night since then, either.”
“Nor I!” Achilleus responded. He beckoned toward my corner. “More wine, Briseis, and take these away.” As I refilled the goblets my trembling fingers brushed against his. But his eyes remained focused on Priam. I removed the platters, taking them to the corner to wash them.
Achilleus said, “My friend, you should sleep outside in the courtyard under the stars. We’ll make your bed there. I’ve spoken to my men. At first light they’ll guide you out of the encampment so that Agamemnon and the other chieftains do not learn of your presence.” He stood, raised Priam by the right hand and said, “One more thing. How many days do you need for the funeral of Hektor?”
Priam replied, “Eleven days. Nine days to mourn him and to bring in wood from the far hills for his funeral pyre. On the tenth day we will have his funeral feast, and on the eleventh day we will make his tomb.”
“Then for eleven days,” Achilleus said, “I will hold the Achaeans back from fighting.”
I should have been surprised, but somehow it was part of this strange evening, this transformation of the world—and Achilleus’s return to life. Warmth filled my heart. He had done what was needed for the living. I spared a thought for Andromache. She would embrace her Hektor one last time.
Achilleus looked at me, his eyes deep as the sea. “Briseis, fetch the women. Tell them to bring bedding for King Priam and his servant.”
He stood holding a lamp for us as we prepared the beds. When we had finished and Priam was lying down, Achilleus extinguished the lamp. “Good night, sir!” he said softly and turned toward the doorway of his hut.
Our work was done. The other women went hastily ahead of him through his hut to our own quarters. I followed slowly, my pulse racing.
He came in, closed the outer door, and approached the hearth. As I was about to leave, I heard a sigh so soft I might have imagined it. The only light in the room came from the dying fire. I turned. He was a black outline, motionless.
He said, “Stay with me, Briseis.”
I flew across the room to him. I would have crossed the dark river itself to hold him in my arms.
