Warrior’s Prize
: Part 1 – Chapter 6

Akhilleus slept in the well-built hut’s recess,

and with him lay a woman he had brought

from Lesbos, Phorbas’ daughter, Diomede.

Iliad, Homer, Book IX

(Fitzgerald’s translation)

Mynes, I will not lie with the man who killed you, I vowed in silence, all the while wondering how I could prevent it. Every part of me hurt. I pulled the rugs around me and closed my eyes, willing myself to drift into oblivion. Then, just before sleep took me, a sound came into my mind—the buzzing of insects, growing louder until my closed eyes saw huge swarms of flies. I was outside the gates of Lyrnessos again, looking at Mynes’s dead face and all the other corpses. I saw things I hadn’t seen then—my two brothers, their bodies black with flies as they decayed and were eaten by maggots. I saw Mynes calling me in helpless silence, his face eaten by worms. I pressed my hands over my ears to drown out the hideous buzzing. I squeezed my eyes shut. But the visions would not go away. I saw carrion birds digging their beaks and talons into the faces of Mynes and my brothers, tearing out their eyes.

Death was here in the darkness, its icy hand reaching to seize my heart. It would possess my body and take the life of my baby.

I pressed my hands over my belly. I tried to tell myself it was not real. Around me I could hear the soft, regular breathing of the unknown sleepers, drowned in oblivion—the noises of the living. I lay very still, alone among them, my gut clenching in terror. I could not let myself sleep, or I might never wake up. Time stretched and slowed unbearably. The night would never pass.

Much later I heard sounds of revelry from afar, growing louder as they approached. Shouts, snatches of song. The Myrmidons, Achilleus’s men, were returning, some with booty, some with a new woman, all with a bellyful of wine. Achilleus would be with them. There was a harsh, brash reality to the sounds, and I almost welcomed them, for they came from the world of the living. Moments went by. My legs were so cramped and cold they ached. Voices grew louder, passed quite close, receded. Others came—an endless stream of warriors finding their way to huts and ships. The babble increased; I imagined the hut surrounded by men.

There was a creak, a slam. The hut shook. Footsteps crossed the outer room. The door to the women’s quarters abruptly opened and Achilleus stood there, holding a lamp that cast light and eerie shadows upward over his features, making him look like a demon. He peered into the darkness—seeking me. I cringed and shrank beneath the covers.

“Briseis?” The call was no more than a murmur. I felt him hesitate, then take a step forward. Through the thin cover I could see the light moving as he advanced into the room.

Eliminating the others who were not hiding their heads, he soon found me. In one swift movement he crouched at my side. Holding the lamp above me, he peeled the cover back from my face. A suffocating pulse beat in my throat. He cupped his hand under my chin. His touch was beginning to feel familiar. His thumb traced the stinging scrapes of mourning down my cheeks. I wanted to back away from that touch, gentle as it was, but I couldn’t move. I wanted him to withdraw his hand, but when he did, my skin missed the warmth.

He set down the lamp and was still for a long time. His face, close to mine now, looked normal now, even familiar. Twin flames, reflected from the lamp, shone in his eyes. His body emanated heat and the scent of wood smoke. My breathing eased. He pushed back the hair that stuck to my cheek and brow and smoothed the disordered cover around me as tenderly as if I had been a child. As my body yielded to the comfort, death and fear receded.

“Poor lady, you were a good wife to him, weren’t you?” he said softly. Then his eyes returned to mine. “Sleep, Briseis! I’ll not trouble you tonight.”

In one nimble movement he sprang to his feet and stood looking beyond me into the darkness. “Diomede,” he said. “Come with me.”

There was an answering flurry from the depths of the room as a woman emerged—a small, softly rounded woman with a mass of curly hair. He beckoned her out and closed the door.

I lay motionless, too stunned to understand my reprieve. Then I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. Mynes, I still belong to you.

But death hovered in the shadows, and the night was a long darkness to be faced alone.

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