King of kings

"You possess all the attributes of a demagogue; a screeching, horrible voice, a perverse, cross-grained nature and the language of the market-place. In you all is united which is needful for governing." Aristophanes, The Knights.

Briseis had not moved from her spot. She had sat there and tried not to think. Tried not to imagine what he would want with her.

She looked around. There were plenty of weapons there. She eyed one short knife on the low table not too far from her and thought about palming it but... where would she hide it anyway? And what chance did she have with a man twice her own size, a man so skilled at taking life that his reputation as a brilliant killer proceeded him anywhere he went. She did not even know if she had the strength of spirit to take a life... Could she be a killer? Soon she would lose everything she was to a man she despise. What did it matter if she shed that last bit of innocence from herself?

The world of men. She knew it now. And it was so different from learning her way with a sword just for play, or even sitting in a political table.

The world of men was war.

Were men wretched creatures because of war, or was war that made them that way?Did it matter, in the end, whether it was one way or another?

Briseis reached for the knife. She was almost hypnotized by the glint of the blade in her hands so when the two soldiers blundered in the tent, she was so startled that she almost cut herself. She backed away, but there was nowhere to run. Tried to struggle, but one swipe of his metal-gloved hand and she could only see blackness for a few moments, enough for them to yank her out.

She was dragged through the camp, struggled until they entered a big ship turned into a tent.

"Not a word." The soldier to her left said as his blade threatened to cut into her flesh. Her breath froze in her lungs, she did not even have to nod, indeed she could not have because a move of her head would have cut the knife into her flesh.

Voices reached her distantly, and she realized she knew one of them: it was him, Achilles. But he sounded so different from when he'd spoken her to only moments ago – curt, harsh, even mocking.

"… you can have the beach. I didn't come here for sand."

"No, you came here because you want your name to last through the ages…"

Briseis started listening carefully now.

"A great victory was won today – but the victory is not yours. Kings did not kneel to Achilles. Kings did not bring homage to Achilles."

The fact that this needed confirmation already worked against the statement itself, Briseis thought. And the fact that this king – for the man speaking was the king of the Greeks army, she did not need anyone confirming her that – felt that he needed to assert his authority over Achilles proved that he had none over the man to begin with.

A king that needed to remind his subjects he was king, was in fact no king. Her uncle had taught her that.

"Perhaps the Kings were too far behind to see." Achilles replied smoothly. "The soldiers won the battle."

"History remembers kings, not soldiers. Tomorrow we'll batter down the gates of Troy. I'll build monuments to victory on every island of Greece, I'll carve Agamemnon in the stone."

The King's voice rose and scratched, layering with what Briseis perceived as a sort of slimy greed. There was hatred and contempt between these two, but louder rang the absence of something else that was not there: respect. Which was perhaps why Achilles enjoyed this king's irritation so openly, why he measured the damage of his words with the same lethal aim he measured the strikes of his sword.

"Be careful king of kings. First you need the victory." Achilles said slowly. There was a threat there, Briseis could sense it. It was folded neatly in the smooth, lethally quiet way in which Achilles delivered those words, like a sharp dagger folded in silk.

Apparently she was not the only one to sense it, because the King who had been spitting out threats and indignation was silent for a moment or two. The silence that stretched was littered with the sound of heavy, assured steps that started to come closer.

"One more thing, son of Peleus." The king called, this time composed.

The steps stopped.

"I don't want to hear my father's name from your mouth." Achilles said and this was the only time when the edge of his voice was so openly sharp that it was a wonder it did not cut the other man down.

The games were over.

"The first pick of the battle's spoils always goes to the commander. Your men sacked the temple of Apollo, yes?

"You want gold? Take it. It's my gift, to honor your courage, take what you wish." And the mockery in those words stood out so clear that Achilles might as well have spat in the Kings' face and called him a coward.

But the King sounded pleased none the less.

"I already have… Aphareus! Haemon!"

So this is what I'm here for…

Briseis spared herself that thought as she was dragged inside so violently that she couldn't help the whimpers. They were handing her roughly on purpose and she could not see the why of it. But it hurt none the less. They wrenched her about until she could feel the strain on her shoulders about to give, their fingers dug in her flesh hard enough to bend her bones.

They threw her in the first thing she saw was him.Saw his eyes widen and then sharpen with unconcealed fury at the sight of her. His face slackening in an undiluted moment of surprise before it hardened into stone.

"The spoils of war."

The grating amusement in the now familiar voice of the King of Greeks was almost obscene. Briseis' eyes found a face to connect to the familiar voice of the King. She thought he was larger than she had imagined him, but just as brutal. His leer made her want to tear his eyes out.

This was what she was now: the toy with which two proud men played with, tossing her back and forth. But maybe this one was not a game the king of kings should have started, for the look on Achilles' face was anything but playful. The younger man's expression was as blank as a clean sheet of papyrus and it chilled her to the bone, because in that blank face, his eyes burned with rage as sharp as the edge of his sword. In that moment she was afraid, but unsure what it was she feared more.

"I have no argument with you brothers, but if you don't release her, you'll never see home again… Decide."

He spoke harshly and Briseis realized that she had not seen Achilles before this moment. This, this feral creature she was looking at now was the feared man of the legends she had heard.

"Guards!"

The swish of his sword was what brought her to life so swiftly that she was surprised at her own strength as she slithered out of the guard's hold. But then again, that may have been because they were too afraid of him to hold her properly.

"Stop!"

And despite the desperation in her voice, the men in the room stood frozen and looked at her with surprise, and then at their would-be-murderer wearily, because he too was standing still.

"Too many men have died today."

Briseis looked around the room and then finally, at him, at the sight he made so ready to take life, the ferocity of him so fierce that she could barely stand to look at for too long.

"If killing is your only talent, that's your curse. I don't want anyone dying for me."

And despite the bleeding cuts and bruises on her face, beyond exhaustion and fear and sweat, Briseis could still speak the way she was taught to: strongly and without hesitation, so that she may command the attention of all those in the room. She was taught to speak as a queen would… but she had never thought that this would have been how she used her skill.

But then, the most extraordinary thing happened – and Briseis was so surprised that she realized she hadn't thought, not even for a heartbeat, that he would listen to her when he was not willing to listen even to his king…

But he did!

Achilles withdrew angrily and started pacing around like an feral beast in a cage, his rage poisoning the very air around him, making the soldiers take steps back, afraid of him. Briseis understood them perfectly. Even though not poised to fight, the violence so tightly coiled in him frightened her to the point that she felt like backing away from him too. Still, she did not move an inch, because backing from Achilles would mean stepping into Agamemnon… and that would be pure stupidity. It hadn't taken long for Briseis to figure that she'd be better off suffering at the mercy of Achilles' rage than Agamemnon's cruelty… but she had stopped him from getting into a feud with this so called king.

How exactly had she done that?

Apparently, Briseis was not the only one who wondered.

The King's laugh resonated but it was devoid of humor. "Mighty Achilles, silenced… by a slave girl."

His eyes were like blue flame when they fell on the King, the violence in them so sharp and real that if looks could kill, Agamemnon would be now in front of Hades and accounting for his sins.

"She's not a slave." Achilles hissed, his teeth gritted so tightly that it was a wonder he could speak. Briseis looked at him with surprise.

"She is now." Agamemnon pointed out, smirking – and the different between the two men could not have been clearer to the girl that stood now between them.

Agamemnon came close and took some of her hair and smelled it, the same way Achilles had. Her skin crawled, her eyes remained on the floor, impassive, unreachable.

"Tonight, I'll have her give me a bath." The king said and Achilles' eyes flashed like a blade, to the king's great pleasure.

"And then… who knows."

The king spoke of her, but it was Achilles he watched. So eager this king seemed to spite the golden warrior, that the moment he found something that even distantly resembled a vague chance to do so, he exploited the opportunity without any regard for boundaries.

A moment later, perhaps, Agamemnon regretted ever doing so, when Achilles turned to look at him, with flat and merciless eyes. That had been the last thing many men had seen before dying.

"Before my time is done, King of Kings, I will look down on your corpse and smile."

And Achilles saw in the way Agamemnon's face fell, that he believed every world.

He should.

Just a moment before he exited the tent, Achilles looked upon her one last time and this time, she was looking at him straight in the eyes, as if she had been the one to draw his gaze there. He felt his fists clench tightly and forced himself to look away with a scowl.

Those dark haunted eyes staring at him expressionlessly would haunt him for days to come, he knew that.

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TBC:::