CHAPTER NINE

A month later, we had developed a routine of sorts. When the Myrmidons had to march – which happened about every other day – you and Patroclus would leave with them in the morning, after eating a particularly hearty breakfast cooked by Patroclus himself, and would return late in the afternoon, exhausted and covered in blood and dirt. However tired you might be, you'd always make a quick tour of the camp to check on your men and give them a word of praise, encouragement or comfort, and to make sure the wounded were being cared for, then you'd go to your hut to have a bath and rest. You never asked me to assist you with your bath, an act of courtesy I truly appreciated, but you always called me to keep you company afterwards.

You'd be sitting on your chair with your eyes closed, drinking a goblet of spiced wine, and you'd ask me to tell you about myself. Whatever I felt like telling, you'd say, without opening your eyes, when I tried to ask what it was that you wanted me to talk about. I realized soon enough that you just wanted something to distract you from the still raw memories of battle, so I tried to choose funny stories, mostly from my childhood or from the women's everyday life at the camp. You'd seem to be slumbering, but you'd contribute an occasional comment or ask me a question now and again.

At night I'd sit for supper in your tent, always accompanied by Iphis and my chosen chaperon, who was, quite appropriately, called Sophronia. Besides Patroclus, who lived in your tent and, therefore, always ate there as well, you'd usually have two or three other guests, the more regular being Phoenix, Alcimedon and Eudorus, who had already returned from Lyrnessus. By then you'd have recovered from your post-battle exhaustion at least enough to enter the match of wits and wills that your original dare had become.

I was slowly learning to know you. I had to admit I enjoyed the light conversations at supper and, what was a little harder to forgive myself for, that the duel of minds with you made me feel unexpectedly alive and even powerful – being able to stand my ground with someone like you as an opponent gave me a whole new sense of self-confidence. But those quiet moments in your tent had a magic all their own. It was then that I caught glimpses into your inner self, into what your core as a person was really made of.

On those occasions, your defensive barriers would be stripped to their bare minimum. You were simply too tired to be a predator, too depleted to be a tough warrior, too raw to be a strategist. You did keep whatever pain, physical or otherwise, you might be feeling under a tight check, and your features seemed more blank and expressionless than ever, but weariness was carved on every line of your face, making you look ten years older than you actually were.

Sometimes when you arrived you were in a state of euphoria, which at first I attributed to the exhilaration of victory. But when I asked you about it, you opened one eye just a crack, shook your head and said simply: "No. I arrived euphoric because I was alive." Then you shut your eye again and added under your breath: "And so were all of my men."

And that, I was beginning to understand, was the true foundation on which most of your actions were built. The main basic rule you lived by. When everything went well, that is, when every man that had left in the morning came back in the evening, you'd arrive euphoric, charged with some inexplicable kind of energy that only wore off when exhaustion caught up with you after your bath. But when any of your men was felled on the battlefield, you'd arrive grim and silent, wearing darkness like an aura around you. On those days, you never brought back prisoners. It was Patroclus who explained to me, in a voice so clipped it could have been yours: "When one of ours falls, we avenge him."

However grudgingly, I had to respect you for your attitude toward your men. Although you had split them into five autonomous divisions, each with its own captain, you never let any of them go into battle without you. When they marched, so did you. That meant that the men rotated – you rarely sent out the same division two days in a row – but you had very little rest.

That particular day was one of the bad ones. You climbed down from your chariot, exchanged a few words with Patroclus and went straight to your tent, your face sombre and your footsteps heavy. You signalled for me to follow you and I obeyed, a little worried.

"I need help with my straps", you said. "I'm having trouble moving my left arm." I nodded and fumbled with the buckles until I managed to rid you of your cuirass. When it came off, I took a step back in horror. Your shoulder was completely dislocated, your left flank bruised black and blue.

"What happened?", I asked, looking around for something I could use to help set your shoulder.

"We got caught in an ambush on the river bank. Bad terrain, the chariots were useless. I jumped down to fight alongside the guys. We were doing alright, pushing the enemy back, then our line broke." You clenched your teeth, a sudden savage look in your eyes. "A coward withdrew, instead of holding his position. His comrade was left exposed and got killed on the spot. A breach in the phalanx, the whole formation messed up for a moment. Enough to get another two men killed and several injured. We regrouped, of course, and left no enemy standing to enjoy his delusion of triumph. But we lost three of ours and there's no telling whether all of the injured will make it."

Without warning, you walked up to the wall and slammed your shoulder violently against it. I screamed in shock. You swayed, your face so ashen that even the lips where livid, then slammed your shoulder again. Then you staggered to your chair and sunk on it.

"Get me some wine, will you?", you asked, your voice barely audible. You hadn't cried out, you hadn't made a sound, but you were clearly on the brink of unconsciousness. I rushed to fill your goblet and handed it to you.

"Thanks", you whispered. But your hands were shaking so badly I feared you'd drop the cup.

"Here, let me help you", I said, letting a few drops of wine fall on the floor for the gods, then steadying your hand to raise the goblet to your lips. You drank deeply, then rested the cup on your thigh, closed your eyes and remained motionless for a long while.

"Five years of war and I find out there's a coward in my Myrmidons", you murmured at last. "A coward in my Myrmidons!", you repeated, louder this time.

"Maybe something happened to him as well", I suggested. "Perhaps he was injured first and that's why he pulled back."

You shook your head, eyes still closed. "I'm afraid not. I heard his comrade shouting 'where're you going' before being hit with a spear to the chest." There was a pause, then you added: "But we'll find out for sure before his sentence is issued. Patroclus is calling the court as we speak."

"Who will be the judges?"

"The man's own captain, Pyndarus, the three eldest veterans in his division, the captains of the other four divisions, and myself."

"You have the final decision", I stated more than asked.

"Yes, of course. But I listen to the others first."

"When you say the eldest veterans in the man's division, you mean common foot soldiers?"

"Yes. It's right that the men are judged also by their peers. I also take particular note of the veterans' position before making my decision."

"If he's found guilty of cowardice, what will be his sentence?"

"In a case like this, where his actions were the direct cause of death for some of his comrades, it's equivalent to treason and the penalty is death by stoning. And his family will be dishonoured."

"Death by stoning?"

You nodded, your lids as shut as before. "The sentence is carried out by his own comrades."

"But if…" I was feeling ill-at-ease. I could understand how the cowardice of one man might put the lives of a whole phalanx in jeopardy, but a death penalty for a first offence seemed too harsh. "What if it was a once in a lifetime mistake, a moment of panic, unlikely to happen ever again? I mean, you said yourself that the war has already lasted five years. This was surely not the first battle this man has fought. He may even have been heroic on other occasions. He must be punished, there's no question about it, but shouldn't he be given a second chance?"

You finally opened your eyes and locked them with mine. To my surprise, I realized that the main emotion in them was not anger anymore, but sadness.

"Death gives no second chances, Briseis. The three Myrmidons who lost their lives because of that man's cowardice won't have a chance to live again. So if he's found guilty… he'll deserve his sentence." You rubbed your face with your hands, cringing when you raised your left arm. "But if indeed he's behaved bravely in the past, even if only once, his comrades will have mercy on him. They'll move for his family not to be dishonoured, they'll probably even help the poor wretch's relatives themselves. And they'll deal him a quick death."

"I thought it would be death by stoning?"

"Yes, but like I said, the sentence is carried out by the man's own comrades. This means they can either aim for the head and finish him off with two or three throws, or aim for the limbs and lower body and make it very slow and painful. That will depend precisely on how he's behaved in the past. If he's ever saved a comrade's life, for instance, that comrade will make sure he doesn't suffer and will take care of his family for him."

There was a brief silence. Then you sat up on the chair and rolled your shoulder tentatively.

"Good, it's getting better. Thank you for your help. You may leave now, if you want. I need to clean myself up."

I hesitated. You were still pale and rising awkwardly from your chair, trying to spare the injured shoulder.

"No, I'll stay and help. You're not alright yet", I said on an impulse.

You gazed at me, your face suddenly inscrutable again. Then you nodded gravely:

"Thank you."

I unclasped your greaves, then you finished undressing on your own and walked slowly to the wooden basin around which the servants had previously put the jugs of warm water for you. You grabbed one of the jugs to pour the water over your head, but it was heavy, hard to lift with just one hand, so I moved around you to help.

I kept my eyes resolutely averted, but it was impossible not to see the outlines of your body with my peripheral vision. I lowered my head, moved slightly to the side, then passed you the sponge almost with my back turned. There was an unmistakable chuckle in your voice when you said "thanks".

"How did that happen?", I asked at last to break up the awkwardness, gesturing vaguely at your bruised side.

"Pushing the Trojans shield against shield in order to close the breach in our lines. It was difficult, took quite a great deal of effort."

"You were pushing on the front line, then?"

I felt your eyes on me, but kept mine down.

"I'm always on the front line."

Of course you were. I knew that already, didn't I? I wanted to see your face, but I didn't want to look at you.

"Mighty Zeus, Briseis! Just hand me that towel, will you?" Your voice was shaking with laughter.

I did as you asked.

"Alright, you may look now", you said a moment later. I turned to see that you had wrapped the towel around your waist and were smiling at me with an entirely expected look of amusement, but also a totally unexpected expression of endearment.

And I was breathless. "Beauty" was the only word swirling around in my mind. You were beautiful. All the way from the golden hair, darkened by the water and sticking all around your head like some wild frame to your perfectly symmetric face, with its straight nose and strangely delicate lips, to the sculpted body and long muscled legs. Just… beautiful.

I don't know how long I stood there staring without speaking a word. Somewhere in the back of my mind, a small voice was wondering why you seemed to be as entranced as me, why would you be reaching out so slowly to my face, but it was as though my eyesight had taken over all of my brain, not leaving room to process anything else.

Then there was a knock on the door. I stumbled hurriedly back, you turned abruptly.

It was Patroclus. He stood on the doorway for a moment, taking in the scene, then said:

"The court is assembled. It's time to go."