WOOHOO you get to meet Odysseus this chapter! He is one of my favorite characters from the Iliad overall. Hope you like this next installment. Of course, I own nothing but a few OCs! Thanks for reading and feel free to leave a review!
Chapter 10
After that night, the days fell into a pattern. Adara shared a mat with Melitta, slowly distancing herself from Briseis who was becoming colder and more vicious with each day. She had returned in the morning after spending the night with Patroclus and cast a smug glance at Adara. The handmaiden had remained silent; the loyal half of her heart reminded Adara that she was still Briseis' charge and that she could do nothing about the queen's actions. She tried to ignore her jealously over the handsome Greek Prince and the fact that he had chosen Briseis over her.
Melitta was proving to be a fast friend. Adara and she did everything together, bathing in the ocean, serving meals at night, and sunbathing on the decks of the Achaean ships. At night they stayed up whispering stories to each other about the soldiers and in the day Melitta would grasp Adara's hand and hold her close when the fighting began. The Princess was kind, though not very smart, and Adara found that the more time they spent together the more comfortable she became at the camp.
Achilles had continued his interest in her, much to her dismay. When the battles ended he returned to camp blood-soaked and wild, prepared to rip the limbs off of anyone that stepped in his way. Adara would have to spend agonizing hours with him in his tent cleaning his armor, waiting for his bloodlust to simmer down. He would scrub down his body and then pace about the tent eating and drinking nothing. His summer blue eyes would dull eventually and he would come to sit on his bed of furs and watch Adara clean, his face empty and slack. She never knew what he thought and rarely did he say anything to her.
To avoid looking at the ferocious yet beautiful warrior, Adara admired his armor as she cleaned. Masterfully made, it must have taken the craftsman years to finish the set, built and designed only for the best of the best. The metal was shaped perfectly to Achilles' body, curving and hugging his body and masking all parts of his figure. Each day Adara wiped away the fresh layer of human gore until the gold sparkled even in the darkness of the tent. She would hang his breastplate and greaves from a wooden mannequin to dry and then begin on the shield.
The shield was the most wonderful piece of art Adara had ever been seen. She had decided it must be art, for nothing that beautiful could be a weapon. Seven rings of perfect craftsmanship spiraled inward, depicting scenes of love and triumph and war and royalty. The etchings were so realistic that she could count the hairs on the heads of the people and the leaves on the trees. Adara noted that there were no dents anywhere on his armor with some confusion. It is because he is too talented a warrior to let anyone close enough to land a blow she realized with some dismay.
Each night after the feasting was over Achilles would return to his tent, motioning for her to follow. She trudged through the sand behind him, ignoring the furious stares from Briseis and the looks of mild interest from the Myrmidons. Saying nothing he would unwrap her bandages, clean her wounds and apply fresh herbs and bindings. With a nod he would dismiss her and Adara would scamper away, bewildered about his acts of kindness. Within days her wounds were completely healed.
"Achilles has never treated another captive like this before," Melitta explain one day to Adara as they were kneading bread for that night's dinner.
"Then why me? He says nothing to me and I say nothing to him. I can think of many girls that would prefer his interest," Adara complained, an image of Briseis flashing into her mind. Melitta nodded in agreement.
"I do not think Briseis will manage to win his heart as she desires," Melitta whispered, glancing around for a sight of the sultry queen. "He values loyalty above all else, and honor, and it is clear she lacks both."
"The Gods were kind to kill Mynes. He will never have to know his wife's shame," Adara replied.
The only ray of light that came with Achilles was his young counterpart Patroclus. He often spent time in Achilles tent, laughing and telling stories and occasionally he would include Adara. His presence lightened the room, his smile was radiant. His love for Achilles was clear and none matched his loyalty. Through his cold exterior, it was clear that Achilles loved Patroclus too. They were inseparable.
It was just before sunrise, two weeks after her arrival at the Achaean beaches, that Patroclus awoke Adara from her slumber. Dressed in full battle armor, he pressed a finger to his lips to keep her quiet and then led her out of the tent. Awaiting them in the blue light of morning was Achilles; his golden armor glistened and he leaned confidently on his spear, his face alight with excitement over the upcoming battle.
"Adara, I desire you to deliver a message for me," Achilles murmured, his voice rumbling like thunder.
She froze. Deliver a message? That would mean leaving the Myrmidon camp. Adara had not stepped off Achilles' land since Patroclus had first escorted her here and had not planned on leaving it. She had laid eyes on the other Achaeans; their large, frightening faces loomed in and out of nightmares and their rough voices crackled in her ears. Pushing down her fear, she nodded once.
"Go to Odysseus. Tell him that Agamemnon has summoned a gathering of all the kings tonight and that he is to bring gifts."
"How will I find him?" Adara asked, a hint of her fear leaking into her voice.
"His tents are gray, located along the beach. If you walk along the shore you will not miss them," Achilles instructed. Patroclus, hearing his name called by one of the soldiers, wandered away. Achilles paused for a moment, watching his counterpart leave, and then stepped closer to Adara.
"No man should touch you while you are dressed in my colors, but if you does, give me the color of his tunic and may the Gods help him I will find the man and punish him," he threatened. Although Adara knew she should be afraid of this statement, she did not feel any alarm. Up close his blue eyes were striking and she gazed into them, fancying she saw the rolling of the ocean in his irises. The smell of blood that clung to him perfumed the air and his golden hair seemed to flame. He lifted a callused hand and pressed it to her cheek for a moment, and then stepped away.
"Achilles," she called out after him before she could clap a hand over her mouth. What was she thinking? She was being a fool. But already it was too late, the warrior had stopped to look at her, his face alight with amusement. Pulling her hand away slowly, Adara managed to maintain eye contact with the prince.
"May the Gods protect you," she whispered, and he smiled. The change that overcame him was astounding. He transfigured; no longer was he deadly and cold, but instead he was warm and gentle. His beauty was overwhelming and for a moment Adara could not breathe. This must be what a god is like she wondered with awe, gazing upon his glowing figure.
When at last he turned away Adara felt her body release and she released a shuddering breath as if she had been released from a spell. Remembering her task she wasted no time.
Although her heart was hammering in her chest, Adara was excited. Her life at the Myrmidon camp had been similar to that of castle life. She spent her days tending to a new master, and whenever she was not occupied with Achilles she was cooking or strolling or bathing. Although her clothing had changed and her skin was darker and her arms stronger, she still grew tired of the simple life she lead.
She made her way towards the shore, the army preparing to march behind her. When she reached the water she turned right and began to make her way along the shore. Boats were spaced every hundred paces with sails folded and wrapped and oars lashed down to the sides. After a few minutes the black tents marking Achilles' section of the beach ended. Hesitating for just one moment Adara pushed onwards along the shore.
Although the beach had not changed, the place grew foreign the moment she was no longer with Myrmidon territory. The first set of tents she passed through were a dusty brown bearing red banners; spears leaned against every doorway and a foul smell permeated the air. Adara saw no one as she passed through these tents although she could hear men gathering on the opposite side near the Greek wall.
She passed beside four more camps, occasionally see a solitary soldier. She could feel their stares as she walked by, but no one approached her or called to her. Thank the Gods for Achilles' protection she thought, running her hands over the light blue fabric.
At last she reached a camp made of gray tents. They were larger and more elegantly constructed than others. Round and airy with some sense of comfort about them Adara peeled away from the ocean to weave through the tents, moving tenderly.
Odysseus' camp was deserted and Adara knew she was running out of time. The army would be leaving any moment and she had yet to find Odysseus. After several minutes of weaving in circles through the tents she finally came across an old wizened man and a young soldier. Taking in several deep breaths she approached them, setting her mouth in a hard line. The men saw her approach and eyed her silently.
"I must speak with King Odysseus. I bring word from Achilles," Adara commanded, hoping that she sounded more convincing than she felt. The two men glanced at her blue robes and nodded.
"I can take you to him," the young soldier offered. Adara nodded and then curtsied to the elder man before following the young soldier. He was dressed in bronze armor with a gray tunic underneath. His hair was short and black, curling close to his head and skin white as cream. He carried no shield, and instead grasped two spears in his left hand, the muscles of his biceps bulging with their weight.
"You are one of Achilles' charges, yes?" The man asked.
"Yes. I come from Lyrnessus," Adara replied. The question appeared innocent.
"Ah, you come from the raid. I hear your city fell faster than all the others." Adara felt her face burn with shame and she clenched her fists. An image of Malthus falling to the ground flashed before her eyes and she felt her heart begin to ache. But the soldier had not meant it as an insult; he recited it as simply as if he were praying to the Gods. "If only the walls of Troy would fall as quickly. I grow weary of war."
How open this man was! In Lyrnessus the men never spoke of war in such a way. They returned from battle flushed and recalling great acts of heroism and recounting the numbers of enemies they had brought down. The Achaeans have been fighting here for many years she reminded herself. Surely one would grow tired of death.
The gray soldier led her through a maze of tents, walking at a great pace so that Adara had to take longs strides to keep up. As they moved, the sounds of men became louder and louder. There was shouting and clashing but at a volume she had never heard before. At last they rounded a bend and the army came into view.
The numbers were astounding. If Zeus was to give a star to each man in the Achaean army there would not be enough stars for each man. They moved in I sea of soldiers, shields and breastplates flashing and voices shouting battle cries. Men embraced and bellowed, banging spears against armor and participating in mock swordplay. Adara came to a halt, amazed, and only just managed to keep sight of her guide as he plunged into the crowd. She followed behind at a jog, ducking around bearlike men and shrinking away from their leers. As she moved through the ranks, a divide seemed to open up as the men fell silent to stare at her. Shaking with fear she kept her eyes focused on the soldier's feet and followed him to the base of a silver chariot.
Two white stallions were tethered to the vehicle, their manes' braided and eyes wild. In front of them running a gentle hand over their faces was a large man, his silver armor setting him apart from the bronze of his soldiers.
"Odysseus," her guide said, stopping in front of the man and bowing. "Achilles has sent word to you." He turned and motioned to Adara, and she stepped forward to meet the king.
Odysseus was great, although in a different way from Achilles. His lined face and graying black curls seemed to possess greatness rather than embody greatness the way Achilles did. He was tall and lean, with glittering black eyes that seemed to laugh at her. As she bowed, he chuckled, crossing his arms across his chest.
"So you are the fabled handmaiden I have heard rumors of. You are more striking than the gossips relay," the king laughed, amused by his own statement. Adara stared, feeling her face flush with embarrassment.
"I did not know that I was a topic of gossip," she said, smiling slightly. At this, Odysseus' face broke into a crooked grin.
"Did you not?" His black eyes twinkled with intelligence and Adara knew he saw through her lie. It was true that wherever she wandered whispers seemed to follow. The other captured queens and handmaidens stared at her in awe, impressed that she could stand Achilles' fiery temper while the men pointed and nodded. She did not know what they said; she did not want too. "The woman that washes the great Achilles' armor is bound to attract rumor."
"That is what they are talking about? I assumed they spoke of my superior baking skills," Adara jested, smiling broadly now. Several of the men that were listening in on the conversation laughed, including the king.
"What word do you bring from your master, Achilles'?" Odysseus asked.
"My Lord, Agamemnon has summoned a gathering for kings tonight. Achilles said that you are to bring gifts." Her words did not falter; she did not feel uneasy around Odysseus. The king raised a scared hand to his face and scratched at a beard that lined his cheeks.
"Not the news I wished to hear before going off into battle, but all the same." Odysseus frowned and then shrugged. "Tell Achilles that I will be there."
Suddenly there was a load roar from the men and Odysseus glanced around. He appeared to recognize so signal and he stepped up into his chariot, taking the helmet that was handed to him.
"I will be seeing you tonight then," Odysseus said, sliding the helmet down over his face.
"Me?" Adara asked in confusion.
"All the men bring women. Achilles, Patroclus, myself, and every other king. And you are the newest acquisition. Achilles' will be sure to bring you as a statement of his success in Lyrnessus," Odysseus stated. "May Zeus be with you, Handmaiden," Odysseus shouted over the men in farewell. Adara bowed.
"Athena guide you and your horses, My Lord," she called back, and then she turned and ran through the ranks of lion-like men. She did not stop running until she had reached the Myrmidon camp and the screams had already begun to echo down over the hill.