The beautiful greaves, fitted with silver anklets
first he put upon his legs, and next
the cuirass on his ribs; then over his shoulder
he slung the sword of bronze with silver scabbard;
finally he took up the massive shield…
Iliad, Homer, Book XIX
(Fitzgerald’s translation)
Though he came back whole that night, he continued to go to battle day after day, whenever there was a sortie or a skirmish. If I made the slightest protest, either by look or gesture, his eyes, hard and bright, would ward me off, and he would turn away abruptly. So I learned to hold my tongue and guard my face.
When I shared my fear with Diomede, she shrugged and said, “No one can foretell the future. He can know no more of his fate than any man.” I had once thought the same, but now I was not sure. Someone who believed in a certain fate could inadvertently make it happen.
Each time he left for battle, I pleaded, “Have a care, my love. Guard your life.” I spoke softly, wary of angering him. “The gods are capricious. Perhaps it’s their will that you live.”
Each time he smiled and said, “I will take great care to come home to you.”
He never again spoke of his fated death, yet it lay on my heart like a stone.
The baby was pushing out a little mound in my belly. At night, when I lay against the warmth of Achilleus, I savored a fleeting happiness. As weeks passed I even began to have hope, for there was a lull in the war. Without Hektor the Trojans seemed to have lost heart. They often stayed within their walls, coming out only now and again for skirmishes. Perhaps they were sick of the war. If only they would agree to hand over Helen and a large amount of treasure, the Achaeans would go home satisfied.
Then one day it all changed. After the Achaeans went forth to meet a Trojan onslaught, we heard shouts and clashes, unusually loud, even from afar. Diomede, the others, and I climbed onto Achilleus’s ship. Straining our eyes we saw a huge multitude fighting on the plain. “Those can’t all be Trojans,” Diomede said. “Some other tribe or nation must have come to their aid.”
I climbed down and sat crumpled in the sand. Zeus and all gods, let him come back safely! Hours passed before the men returned, Achilleus’s chariot in the lead, galloping, urgent. In a chariot behind him, a man was doubled over, bleeding from the shoulder. As Automedon brought the horses to a halt, sending up a shower of rocks and sand, Achilleus sprang to the ground and shouted to his men, “Quick! Take Menesthios to his hut. I’ll follow.”
Throwing off his armor, he ran into our hut and came out with jars of herbs, ointments, and bandages, some of which he thrust into my hands. “Help me with these, Briseis. Menesthios was shot with a poisoned arrow, and—” As I followed him, he said, “Today the Amazons came to the aid of the Trojans.”
Amazons? I’d heard they were a tribe of warrior women from the eastern plains. I wanted to ask Achilleus more, but at Menesthios’s hut he took the medicines from my hands and rushed in alone. Much later he returned to wash and change into a clean tunic. “We drove the Amazons away, and Menesthios will live, but many others died. We are holding their funerals tonight. There’s not even time to mourn. We must be ready for the next enemy.”
Next enemy? Was there another? I felt cold inside as I watched him go up the shore. Soon the sky was aglow with light from the pyres. Very late he returned to the hut and fell into bed, exhausted. “Women,” he said. “We killed women today. What has this war come to?”
I crept under the covers with him. “Were they huge, these Amazon women? Did they have magical powers?”
“No, but they fought like men! I did not believe such a thing could be. They used wiles and tricks as well as strength, and poison in their arrows and spear tips.”
“What did they look like?”
“Like other women, though they wore armor. Their queen—” He fell silent.
“Tell me,” I whispered.
“I—I slew her myself, after she killed many of our men. Her helmet came off as she fell, and she was—beautiful.” His voice caught. “Now we hear that another, even stronger nation is coming from afar to the aid of Troy.” He was silent for a moment. “And now the Trojans are using the Amazons’ poison in their own arrows.”
A stronger nation. Poisoned arrows. Achilleus slept, but I lay awake, alone in my fear.
A few days later, when the men had left for battle, word flew through the camp that a great army was marching from the south. The other women and I ran to the main gate where a crowd had gathered. An Achaean sentry, mounted on top of the wall, shouted down to us. “There are hundreds of them, with many chariots and horses. And the men—they’re huge and—they’re dark skinned!” A gasp of surprise went through the crowd. “They’re a head taller than ordinary men, and—”
But I heard nothing more. There was a rippling movement deep inside me, like a little fish swimming. I stood very still and, for the first time, felt the baby moving, kicking, strongly alive, as the other one had never been. My thoughts sped to Achilleus. I wanted him to feel it too.
Then noises penetrated my mind. Tramping feet and hooves, creaking chariot wheels, jangling harnesses, shouts of men on the move, not far beyond the wall of our camp. My fear returned with such force I was sick with it. I slipped away before the others took notice. At the water’s edge I sat looking at the waves, imagining those fearsome dark warriors driving at Achilleus with spears and swords. Oh, gods! Would I lose him just as our child was quickening?
When the sun was low and copper colored, the sentries’ shouts heralded the army’s return. Chariots and men poured through the gate. The women of our camp ran to watch, some calling out in relief, some in alarm when they did not see their men. My feet dragged as I followed, afraid to look. Clouds of dust arose as chariots came to a halt and men jumped down, milling about, yet I couldn’t see any sign of him. Then I saw his chariot, Automedon at the reins, but he wasn’t in it. My knees buckled. “Where is he?” I screamed at Automedon.
He gestured stolidly behind him, where Achilleus followed on foot, helping a wounded man to his hut. I went weak with relief. As I ran to meet him, he said, “I’m here only to take off my armor and wash. There’s an assembly to decide how to deal with this new enemy.”
He returned late at night and sank into his chair by the hearth. “Warm some wine, Briseis. Take a cup with me.”
I served us, and knelt next to him, my hands clasping the arm of his chair. “Our baby is kicking inside me,” I told him. “He moved for the first time today!”
He stared at me as if he hadn’t heard. “Briseis, these Trojan allies who arrived today, these Ethiopians—”
He said more, but I could barely keep my attention on his words. I was desperate to draw his mind away from the war. I had a wild hope that if only I could make the baby real to him, he might reconsider his determination to fight. I waited until he paused to sip wine; then I pulled his hand to my belly. “Feel our baby. He’s moving!” He was restless, his hand tense, as if he willed himself not to pull it away again. When there was a ripple, he started and jerked back. Even though I couldn’t be sure it was a boy, I said, “This is your son, Achilleus! What will happen to him if tomorrow—if—”
He interrupted harshly, “What are you saying?”
“Only that he needs a home,” I said, barely above a whisper. “He needs a father.”
“He already has a home—in Phthia. You’re not to worry, Briseis. There’s nothing we can do to change fate.” You could leave the war. But I dared not say it. “I told you—I’ve given orders to my men to take you home to my father when the war is over. No matter what happens to me, my name will protect my son—and you—even if I die tomorrow.”
“But our child—”
He said wearily, “Briseis, I can do nothing better for him than to be what I am.”
“You can care for him—teach him. Oh, Achilleus!” A howl of agony. “Don’t go!”
He stared at me, his eyes hard. He stood, paced restlessly, turned to me again. “The Achaeans need me more than ever. A huge army has come—swarthy men, a race of giants. I’ve never seen their like. Their leader Memnon is taller than I. He’s my match or more.”
I was stunned. Was this the enemy the gods had sent to kill him?
“I would be a coward without honor if I stayed away now.”
Honor! I wanted to scream the word, but I knew better than to venture down that path again. “No one could ever accuse you of being a coward. But why is it you who must fight this fearsome warrior? Why not someone else for a change? There is Ajax, who is as tall and strong as you. You could back away and let him earn the honor and glory.”
Achilleus’s eyes blazed. “I have never backed away!”
And that was the crux of it. He was so bent on being a hero he wouldn’t even spare a thought for our child. I was suddenly so angry I wanted to hurt him.
I was on my feet, the words coming in a raging torrent. “You don’t care about your sons—the one you already have, and this one not yet born.” His eyes narrowed dangerously, but I couldn’t stop. “If you had any concern or love for them, we could have a life in your homeland. The house I dreamed of—you could build it for us. We could raise our children there. We could have an orchard where they could climb trees together and gather sweet fruit, and—”
“Enough!” He shook his head incredulously. “I’m about to face the battle of my life and you speak to me of fruit trees? You understand nothing, woman!” His voice went deadly quiet, “If you keep seeking to unman me, I shall not come near you again.”
Turning away abruptly, he threw his mantle over his shoulder and strode toward the door.
“Achilleus, wait!” But he stormed out of the hut.
I raced after him and watched the darkness swallow him. My anger ebbed, leaving me weak and shaky. I was right, of course, and I’d meant every word, but he’d never change. To rage against him would only drive him away.
All at once I understood what he had been saying all along. The truth hit me hard in the gut. However difficult, however painful, I had to let Achilleus be Achilleus.
I could only take each day as it came, and pray for the strength to endure it.
My hopes faded. I felt immensely sad. I had lost husband, home, and baby before. I could not survive it a second time. Yet I couldn’t force him to be what I wanted for the sake of our child. And he had laid the onus on me. Look after my child, Briseis.
I spent an anxious, restless night waiting in vain for his return. At daybreak I stepped out of our courtyard and saw him coming up the shore. He did not even glance my way, but went straight to the hut of Automedon and Alkimos, where he took his morning meal. He returned to fetch his gear but would not look at me. As he gathered the pieces and fittings of his armor, I said what I knew I must to settle things between us. “Achilleus, I’m sorry. Please forgive me.”
But he walked by me as if I didn’t exist. He armed himself outside in the courtyard, fastening greaves and corselet under the gray sky. Around him the men, many wearing bandages, mustered in grim silence. Automedon brought his chariot, the horses snorting and pawing restively.
As Achilleus mounted, he stumbled and had to grab the rail. Never before had I seen him stumble! I cried out and ran toward him, but he only lifted his helmet onto his head. Automedon snapped the reins, and the horses surged forward, the chariot disappearing in a cloud of dust.
Oh, gods, I prayed, if you let Achilleus live, I’ll ask for nothing more.
