Thank you Annemone Lee and therealbriseis for your reviews. Thank you also to the readers who faved/are following this story, and to the reader who PM'd me so kindly about it in my own native language. :)

I suppose I'd better just stop apologizing and making promises about updates that I keep failing to keep. Let's just say I'll do my best not to take too long. One thing I can and do promise: I will finish the story. :)

Sorry, everybody. As a way to kind of make up for the delay since the last time I updated, this chapter is a bit longer than usual. Hope you enjoy!

As always, your feedback is highly appreciated.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

The council had been going on for quite a while. The entire Achaean camp seemed eerily deserted. Except for the ones on sentry duty, each and every man had gone over to watch the proceedings. Every eye and ear in the army was focused on the deliberations of the assembled Achaean kings and chieftains.

I was worried, of course, and became even more so when the echoes of a commotion carried over to our part of the camp. But I fought the urge to sneak over and see for myself what was going on. Women – captive women – were not welcome in the assembly of the Achaean warriors, not even as simply part of the audience, and the last thing I wanted was to be caught breaking the rules, thus attracting wrath over myself – and, indirectly, over you. I would not contribute to increase the danger of what I knew was already an extremely volatile situation.

So I stayed at the edge of your own camp, pacing and waiting. I strained to hear, but all the wind carried were the distant cries and catcalls of the crowd. At one point, however, the rumbling became loud and long enough that I realised tensions were rising. Then there was an almost-silence: the noise subsided, but one could tell the crowd was listening to speakers, and listening intently. The air was charged with tension.

Then the rumbling erupted again, but now it was shriller and more chaotic, as if the audience itself had split and were shouting at one another. The cacophony kept increasing, like a huge storm wave.

It was still going on, showing no signs of calming down, when I noticed a small group striding toward me at a fast pace. I squinted, trying to see who it was. As the group approached, I counted eight men, and when they got a little closer, I realized it was you and your captains and counsellors.

It had gone wrong. There was absolutely no doubt about it. But exactly how wrong...?

I started running over, but one of the men – Patroclus, it seemed – raised a hand, signalling me to stop. I froze on the spot, biting my nails. Whatever had happened, it had clearly been even worse than I had feared.

When the group finally reached me, you walked right past me as if you hadn't seen me. Which, of course, I knew you had. A feeling of shock and hurt rose in my chest, but I put it aside. That was not the moment to dwell on details. It was more important to find out what was going on.

You and your men were speaking in the Myrmidon dialect. In the meantime, I had learned it as well, of course, but I still had some trouble understanding it when people were speaking very fast – and I'd never heard anyone talk as fast and furiously as you were at the moment.

So I started racing along, paying as much attention as I possibly could, and managed to get the words Phoenix was saying:

"We can't fight him, son. If he comes against us with the entire army, we will be massacred to the last man."

You whirled on him:

"I know we can't fight him. All our camp is structured for defence against an attack from the side of the sea, not for an inland strike. Not to mention how heavily outnumbered we'd be." You resumed walking, at an even faster pace. "Those sons of bitches supporting him! Knew damn well how wrong he was, but still they sided with him. Will side with him, whatever he does." You spit on the ground, in a futile display of contempt.

I could feel my heart beating in my head. "We can't fight him"? "Massacred to the last man"? "Inland strike"? "Outnumbered"?

"What's going on? Why are you talking about an attack?" My own voice sounded alien in my ears.

The entire group stopped on their tracks. And I had the weirdest experience of watching eight fully grown men, warriors who were used to race at full speed toward armed enemies who wished nothing better than to kill them, lower their heads, avert their eyes, and look anywhere but at me.

What on earth...?

"Achilles", I addressed you directly, "what is going on? What happened?"

The silence stretched on. Every last one of your companions seemed to have found something extremely interesting somewhere around their toes. Your fists were clenched and your muscles were rippling in obvious anger. But there was something else, something I couldn't quite put my finger on, but that I had never seen in you before.

Finally, you raised your eyes to meet mine.

"You were right", you said, your voice low and raw. "The Mycenaean bastard did find a way to strike exactly where it would hurt me the most." You made a short pause, clenching your fists even harder, to the point where the nails were surely digging into your palms. "Remember what I told you, that I could deal with anything he might throw at me, as long as he didn't touch you or my men?"

An icy fear spread all through my limbs.

"What did he do?", I asked, my voice barely a whisper. But you seemed to be choking, unable to speak. "Did he threaten your men?", I probed, equally unable to contemplate the alternative.

You were looking down again, mute. I began to shake.

"Achilles! What did he do? Who is he threatening?"

I had to strain hard to hear your words: "Both. He's threatening both."

"Both?"

"You and my men."

I was shaking uncontrollably now. "How? How is he threatening us?"

Another endless silence. At long last, you looked up at me with bloodshot eyes.

"He demanded you as a replacement for the priest's daughter he has to send back to her father. If I resist, he'll send the army against us."

I felt suddenly dizzy. But you were still talking:

"Not just the Mycenaeans, the entire army. The other kings… they talked a lot, saying he shouldn't do that, that it wasn't right, that my services to the army warranted respect, and so on and on. But when push comes to shove, they're all too scared to defy him. They submitted to him, every last one of them. If he orders them to attack me, they'll obey."

I swayed. It was Patroclus who steadied me, kept me from collapsing on the ground.

I felt strangely detached from my own body. I could feel a river of tears streaming down my cheeks, but it was as though I was watching somebody else cry. You didn't really need to say anything else. I knew what was going to happen. You'd never sacrifice your men.

You'd sacrifice me. And that oddness I had noticed since you first walked past me, that slightly off thing that I had never seen in you before, was shame. You were ashamed.

"You have reason to be. Ashamed, I mean." Was is it really mine, that harsh voice ringing through the air? It must be: every man in the small group had suddenly looked up and was staring at me. "You're giving me up. I warned you how dangerous the situation was, but you were too stubborn to listen. And now, I have to pay for your stubbornness!"

"I'm not giving you up!" It was a roar, primeval and savage, that must have stopped every living creature in its tracks for miles around. "I'm not giving up anyone whatsoever! He may take you away by force, but, make no mistake, I'll get you back!"

We stared at each other for what felt like an eternity. Then you took a quick step toward me and gripped my arms so tight your fingers dug painfully into my flesh.

"I'll get you back", you repeated, your voice lower now. "I already told all of them: if he dares follow through with his threat, I'm withdrawing from battle. If there's an ounce of brain left between the lot of them, they'll know they'll be lost without me. I'm the one who's always really led the army in battle. None of them will even know how to begin."

"Then why can't you fight them here?" I couldn't believe my own words. I couldn't possibly be asking you to fight a hopeless battle for me, could I?

Twenty-five hundred men against over forty-five thousand. On open ground. No palisades, no defences, just the empty beach and the makeshift roads that cut across the Achaean camp in straight lines and right angles, all the way from your own ships to Ajax's on the other end. Even I knew it was impossible. Like Phoenix had said, any attempt to fight would indeed result in a massacre of your people.

I shook my head. "Forget that. I know why." There was a heavy pause, laden with despair. Then I looked straight into your eyes again: "But there is a way out. We could leave."

"Leave?", you echoed slowly.

"Yes, leave. Get on the ships and sail the hell out of here. Someplace away from this mess. Someplace we can live in peace!" My voice had gone shriller with each word and broke altogether in the last sentence.

Your forehead was furrowed in confusion:

"You mean, run?"

"Yes, run, leave, whatever you want to call it. Just get out of here while we can!" I was screaming now, unrestrained.

You shook your head. "I can't run. I'd be irreversibly dishonoured."

I started shaking again. The feeling of detachment was so strong now I was hardly even aware of my own body anymore.

"Oh, of course", I said, the level of sarcasm in my tone surprising even me. "I forgot: your honour is sacred above all else. The only thing worth sacrificing everyone for."

I turned on my heel and ran off. I heard you calling after me, but I paid you no heed. I had to get away from you, from the men that surrounded you and who you had chosen over me, from the whole tragic crumbling of all my hopes and dreams.

I stormed into your hut. I looked around at the weaponry – spears and swords, shields and armour – hanging from stands along the walls. Oh yes, it was a warrior's quarters. How could it have felt so familiar to me only that very morning? How could I have felt so comfortable, so at home in it, for so long? True, my loom was also there, in the far corner from the door, and there were my tapestries lining the walls, lending warmth and a measure of cheerfulness to the atmosphere. But now even they felt foreign, almost hostile.

I wanted to lay down and cry my eyes out, but it was slowly dawning on me that I had no place to lay. The hut I had called home was in fact yours, the bed I had called mine was likewise yours and yours alone. I had only shared it for a while.

So I stood where I was, shaking and letting my useless tears flow. I didn't belong there anymore. I belonged nowhere.

I don't know how much time later, the door opened and someone slid inside. Light steps approached and a warm hand pushed a strand of hair back from my face.

"Come here. Patroclus told me. Oh, Briseis!" It was Iphis.

I collapsed into her arms, sobbing uncontrollably.

"He's giving me up. He's giving me up to save his men and he refused to leave with me while we still could!"

Iphis held me close, cradling me like a baby and letting me cry freely. When I had calmed down a little, she said:

"Patroclus told me he actually drew on Agamemnon. They had to pull him back and talk sense into him. If he'd slayed the high-king during council, it would be treason. He'd have been sentenced to death."

I felt an unexpected spark of curiosity.

"How did it come to this? Did Patroclus tell you exactly what happened?"

Iphis sighed. "Only the broad lines. Apparently, the council started according to plan: Achilles summoned Calchas and questioned him about the plague. The soothsayer requested protection because, he claimed, what he had to say would displease a very powerful man. Achilles responded by promising him his own protection."

"Fool!", I cried. "Of all the stupid things he could do… I mean, surely everybody knew the 'very powerful man' Calchas was talking about was the high-king himself."

"Indeed", Iphis agreed. "So, after Achilles promised him protection, the soothsayer said that the plague had been sent by Apollo, who'd been deeply angered by Agamemnon's mistreatment of his priest, and that the only way to appease the god would be by returning the captive girl to her father, complete with a fortune in amends, and also by offering a hecatomb to Apollo himself. Agamemnon was furious, as you might expect, and reacted by threatening everyone in sight. Then he tried to save face, saying he would comply with the god's wishes because he had the interests of the army at heart, but adding that he would have to receive a compensation for the sacrifice he was making. Specifically, that he would have to be given a new captive to replace the one he was being forced to return. Achilles argued that there were no unattributed captives left and that Agamemnon could get his compensation when Troy was taken. Agamemnon responded by saying he would take either Ajax's, or Odysseus' or Achilles' own girl."

"So he honed in straight on the three men he perceived as having defied him", I commented.

"Yes. Ajax and Odysseus said nothing, which was, obviously, the most sensible thing to do. But Achilles… the moment Agamemnon threatened to take you, he lost it. He turned on the Mycenaean, insulted him in every way imaginable, and, as I said, ended up drawing his sword on him. The others had to restrain him until he came back to his senses. Patroclus told me he actually grabbed Achilles by the hair." Iphis couldn't help a small smile, then she got serious again. "After that, it was inevitable: Agamemnon realized he had found Achilles' weak spot and focused on it. He dropped the threat against the other two and stated plainly that he would send for you and that if Achilles tried to resist, he'd come against him with the entire army. There was a lot of screaming and shouting, but eventually all the assembled kings made it clear that they would remain loyal to Agamemnon. Ajax took a neutral stand – he won't partake of an attack against Achilles, which is justified by the fact that they're cousins, but he won't side with him against Agamemnon either. As for Odysseus, Agamemnon punished him by sending him to return the girl, as if the king of Ithaca were a mere errand boy."

Iphis fell silent. I couldn't find anything to say. It had gone far beyond my worst fears. You had been unbelievably naïf in offering your protection to the soothsayer against the high-king. Now Agamemnon was proving, before the entire army, that you couldn't really protect anyone if he, Agamemnon, decided otherwise. Not even your own woman.

Olympus help us! There truly was nothing you could do. If you had accepted my suggestion and tried to run away, you'd be worse than dishonoured: you'd be labelled a coward, unfit to be king. You'd lose everything.

I had to accept that your strategic mind had indeed taken over and that the only course of action now was to do exactly what you were doing: withdrawing from battle until it became mortally clear to everyone in the army that you were fundamental to them. And 'mortally' was definitely the right word; there was very little doubt that men would soon start dying by the handful.

As a matter of fact, it was terribly ironic: you had called the council and risked defying Agamemnon because you wanted to save the men. Now you'd be letting them die. I wondered if you'd really be able to take that to the bitter end.

Iphis stayed by me the rest of the day. I heard you sitting outside, with Patroclus, Phoenix, Automedon, Eudorus and a few others, but you didn't come inside. You hardly spoke at all and the others also said little. The atmosphere was sullen, the voices, subdued.

The sun was already low over the horizon when I heard your voice ringing strong and clear:

"Heralds. You may come forward, I'm not in the habit of striking the messenger because I loathe the message. My quarrel is not with you, but with the one who sent you."

Inside the hut, I started trembling from head to toe. Iphis squeezed my hand.

You were still talking: "But you will bear witness, before immortals and mortals alike, that Agamemnon is taking the girl by force and against my will, and that henceforth the Achaeans will no longer count on me when they need a strong arm and a steady spear to keep them from harm."

A moment later, Patroclus stood in the doorway, looking sadder than I'd ever seen him.

"Briseis", he called softly. "It's time."

I nodded curtly, picked up my veil and cloak, hugged Iphis with all my might, then headed for the door. Suddenly, Patroclus grabbed my arm:

"Don't give up, Briseis", he said urgently. "Whatever it takes, whatever you need to do, just stay alive. We'll get you back. Achilles will get you back."

I didn't reply.

As I stepped outside, I searched for you from the corner of my eye. You were staring blankly in front of yourself, your face stonily devoid of expression.

I turned to face the heralds. They came up to me and held my wrist.

And suddenly I realized that, just as it was important for you to make it absolutely clear to everybody that you were not giving me away and that I was being taken by force, it was equally important for me to make it just as clear that I was unwilling to go. So I dug my heels on the ground, threw my head back and started struggling and screaming.

As Agamemnon's heralds were dragging me away, I looked over my shoulder to see you jump to your feet and start after me with the eyes of a madman. It was all Patroclus and Eudorus could do to hold you back.