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CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE

After a while the dizziness subsided and I managed to sit up straight. I still felt a little wobbly, though. You were holding me, your face still moist.

"Are you feeling better?", you asked softly. I nodded, allowing myself to relax into your arms and realizing how much I had missed the feel of you. You tightened your hold. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be so aggressive to you. I…" You shook your head. "I've been losing it, Briseis. There's a chaos in my mind, I can't even begin to make sense of any of it." You paused, then added so softly I guessed more than heard your words: "I'm drowning."

I raised my hand to touch your face: "Let me help pull you out, then."

You sighed, then nodded. "I will. But not now. Now you need to rest. And eat. You haven't been doing much of either, have you?"

I managed a weak smile: "No, I haven't. But neither have you. We could rest and eat together."

You reciprocated with an even paler smile. "I admit we both could use it. But I can't now. I have to go. This evening."

I looked up sharply. "You've been impossible in the evenings."

You had the decency of looking embarrassed. "I'll be sober. I promise. You could be there for supper and shoot me a warning if you feel I'm slipping. But you'll see that won't be necessary. If I can see you there, I won't be so tempted to try and sink into a sea of wine."

I studied your face for a moment. There was an unspoken question hanging over it.

"I haven't been there because I wasn't sure you wanted me to be", I said. Your features relaxed visibly. "I'll be there tonight. But, Achilles…" I hesitated, fully aware that you didn't deal well with threats of any kind. "If you do get drunk, I'll leave."

As expected, I felt every muscle in your body tense, but then you seemed to make a deliberate effort to calm down. "Very well", you said, the hint of formality betraying a lingering remnant of anger. "It's fair enough."

There was a pause. I started drawing small circles on your forearm.

"Why can't you stay the day?", I asked. "Are you fighting again?"

"We have to keep the pressure on the city, now that their army's broken."

"Then I need another promise from you", I said, my tone much lighter than I actually felt. You nodded, not needing me to elaborate any further:

"I'll be careful", you said. "No stupid unnecessary risks." This time you succeeded in producing a genuine smile. I blinked back a rebellious tear.

"You'd better deliver on that", I muttered, trying and failing to feign a joking sternness.

You squeezed me tighter. "You know I'm a man of my word." But your voice was as brittle as mine.

We sat there in silence a while longer, then you helped me walk back to the women's hut and gave strict instructions to Sophronia to make sure I ate and rested properly, even if it meant "forcing food down my throat and tying me to the bed". You weren't joking and Sophronia was nodding away enthusiastically, only too eager to comply. I realized it would be pointless to protest, so I settled myself meekly on my pallet and took the much too big bowl of yoghurt with berries Sophronia was handing me.

I was convinced I was in for a long day of tossing and turning and worrying, but as it turned out it wasn't as bad as I thought. I was truly exhausted, so after eating I fell into a deep dreamless sleep from which I was awaken only by the noise of the men returning from battle. I felt unexpectedly refreshed.

I could hear your voice, talking evenly with Automedon, so I knew you were alright and everything seemed to have gone well. I got up, washed, fixed my hair and chose my clothes carefully. I wanted to dress in Achaean fashion because I knew you liked it, but we were still mourning, so bright colours and jewellery were out of the question and most of my Achaean outfits were rather colourful. After much rummaging, however, I managed to dig up a slate grey skirt which I paired with a black vest that featured only a narrow silver-embroidered edging as adornment. I completed the outfit with a simple white blouse to cover my breasts. Satisfied that it looked both elegant and appropriate, I finished dressing and called Sophronia to get ready as well. Then we both walked slowly to your hut.

You were sitting with Automedon and Alcimus. You were calm and unquestionably sober, and I noticed with pleasure that even though you had still not shaved in respect for your mourning, you had smoothed your stubble with perfumed oil and trimmed your previously uneven hair. You no longer had that unkempt, wild appearance. I smiled warmly at you and you smiled back.

But nowhere was Patroclus' absence as haunting as in your hut. His empty place was like a gaping pit-black whole, palpable and inescapable. A presence made of absence, if that makes any sense at all. It wasn't difficult to understand why you'd be crumbling beneath its weight and why you'd try to escape it in a mist of wine.

Still, you remained true to the promise you had made me. That evening the wine was so heavily watered it looked more pink than red, and even so you were drinking sparsely. We were halfway through supper when one of your Myrmidon guards suddenly stood on the doorway. "A messenger from Troy, my lord", the man announced.

There was a short silence. You stared down at your plate for a moment, with your jaw set, and I thought you were going to refuse to see the messenger, as you had done every time before. But then you looked up. "Send him in", you decided, your voice even and your eyes straight on mine.

The Myrmidon stepped aside and an old man carrying the insignia of Hermes, protector of messengers, scurried inside and threw himself at your feet. He took your hands in his and raised them to his lips.

"Show compassion, Achilles", he said in a broken voice. "Think of your father. Like me, he's old and frail, but he has the comfort of knowing his son lives and he may hope to see you again, whereas I have lost the best of mine at these hands I just kissed."

I nearly jumped out of my skin. Sophronia dropped her knife and both Automedon and Alcimedon gasped audibly, then sprang to their feet and gripped the hilt of their swords. You were still as a statue, your face as pale as white marble.

"King Priam?", you asked in a shocked whisper. The man raised his face, framed in a mass of white hair and beard. It was indeed the king of Troy himself. For a moment, it seemed that everybody was holding their breath.

The king of Troy. What were you going to do? He had come as a supplicant, so honour required that you respect him. Still, it was the enemy king. Having him in their power would give the Achaean army an advantage no one could have dreamed of. And, all things considered, as an Achaean yourself your first allegiance was to them. It was the kind of opportunity very few would turn down.

I shivered. The father of Hector. What was he going to do? He was presenting himself as a supplicant, but was that his real purpose? Or had his pain driven him to a crazy suicide mission to assassinate you and avenge his slain and desecrated son? After all, he had already managed to get dangerously close to you and trap your hands. He did look frail and broken, but he was a king and no king could exist without either strength or cunning, or both. With his limbs entwined with yours the way they were, all it took was a poisoned barb. Not even your extraordinary reflexes would be quick enough to save you. Automedon and Alcimedon had reasons to be wary.

But you didn't seem to share their wariness. Your face showed no alarm, none of that catlike alertness I had so often seen in it. It showed nothing but an immense, boundless sorrow. You disentangled yourself gently and stood up, pulling him kindly up with you.

"The immortals may live without a care in the world, but they don't allow us mortals to share the same fortune. For us, they met out fates woven of both good and bad." You were speaking slowly, picking your words, your eyes never leaving Priam's. "You were blessed with a prosperous kingdom and a wealth of sons and daughters. Now war fell upon your kingdom and you lost many of those sons. You say my father is blessed that I still live, but I'm his only son and the fact is that instead of being home to take care of him, I'm stuck here, bringing hell into your life. And for all that my father may hope to see me again, he never will, because my fate will be cut short in these shores."

I felt like my heart had stopped beating. You sounded so sure of what you were saying, so resigned to the idea of your own untimely death.

Priam seemed shocked as well. He gripped your arms tightly. "No man can escape his fate, can he?", he murmured.

You shook your head: "No. When his time comes, be it morning, evening or high noon, all he can do is face it with his head held high. As your son did."

Priam began to shake. You hugged him to your chest and suddenly both you and the Trojan king were crying desperately in each other's arms.

It was unreal. Anyone who didn't know better would think it was a father and a son sharing an unfathomable pain and comforting each other.

The rest of us exchanged glances, completely at a loss of what to do. Automedon and Alcimedon let their hands slip slowly from the hilts of their swords and Sophronia began to cry openly as well. I faltered and dropped back on my bench. There was an eerie, unbelievably healing quality in what was happening before our eyes.

At long last, you and Priam calmed down and pulled away from each other. You made to lead him to a chair, but the old man resisted: "I just want to take my son's body and be on my way", he said. "There's a kingly ransom on my cart outside."

You frowned. "Don't refuse my hospitality, Priam", you retorted warningly. "You have shown incredible bravery, coming alone into the midst of your enemies, but don't forget you need the protection you'll be awarded as my guest." You paused, letting your words sink in, then added: "I had already decided to return your son's body. But it will take some time to get everything ready, so please use it to eat and drink and restore your strength at my table."

Priam looked startled, then nodded and settled on the chair you had offered him. "I hadn't thought of that", he said. "Thank you for both your hospitality and your protection."

"Go get the prince's body", you ordered Automedon, then turned to me. I stood up immediately, not needing you to explain what you wanted, and nudged Sophronia to come with me. You were already walking out of the tent, followed by your two squires.

While you and Alcimedon unloaded the cart and Automedon went to get the body, Sophronia and I brought water, perfumed oils and a couple of clean cloths. We would wash and dress Hector ourselves. The less people knew what was happening and who was in your hut, the better.

When you finished unloading the cart, you picked out a rich garment, then stood still for a moment, your head low and your hands together, as if you were praying. Then you walked up to me and pressed the garment into my hands. "To dress him in", you said, gesturing at Hector's body. "There are some mantels in the cart as well."

I nodded and reached out to keep you from walking away.

"I've never been so proud of you", I said softly. "It's more than pride, it's true admiration. Patroclus, wherever he is, will be enormously proud as well."

You started, becoming unexpectedly tense. "What made you say that?", you demanded.

"What? That I'm proud of you? The fact that I am."

But you were shaking your head: "No. About Patroclus being proud."

I stared at you, dumbfounded. "Well, I'm sure that if he could see you, he'd be. He was always big on compassion. You know that. And what you just did, the way you acted toward Priam… that was beautiful, Achilles. A true act of greatness."

You tried to say something, but you seemed to be choking and no sound came out. You breathed in hard. "I had just begged him to forgive me for returning the body of his murderer", you confessed at last in a trembling voice. "Just, just begged him not to be angry with me for it."

I wanted to throw my arms around you and hold you close, but knew you wouldn't thank me if I caused you to break down again, so I settled for squeezing your hands as warmly as I could.

"Patroclus would forgive you anything" I said. "But I'm dead certain that he'd find it a lot harder to forgive you for being cruel than for being compassionate."

We looked long and hard into each other's eyes. Then you nodded, your shoulders sagging in relief. "You're right. Thank you."

When Sophronia and I finished preparing Hector's body and dressing him in the regal garment you had chosen, you picked it up yourself and laid it on a bier, which you then placed in the cart with the help of Automedon. After covering it with the finely woven mantels you had set aside for that purpose, we all went back inside.

Priam was waiting on his chair, leaning back with his eyes closed and an expression of unspeakable anguish. You sat down on your own chair, then turned to him and said, as kindly as you could: "It's done as you wished. The body is waiting in your cart, dressed as the king's son he was. You'll be able to let his mother, wife and son behold him and say goodbye properly. Someone was brave enough, and loyal enough to your house, to risk their lives and make sure he's still whole."

Priam looked up sharply, a different kind of concern pinching his features. There was a short pause, then you smiled thinly: "Bravery and loyalty are commendable qualities. So let's just say an immortal decided to preserve him and leave it at that."

A look of sheer gratitude spread across the old king's face. "You are an honourable man, king of the Myrmidons", he said. "Thank you."

Supper resumed with a new serving of freshly roasted meat. It was obvious that you and Priam respected and even admired each other. Of all the strange things myths and legends are made of, nothing had ever been stranger and more unexpected. Yet, nothing had ever been more human. I couldn't stop marvelling at what we were all witnessing in your hut that night.

After everybody finished eating, you agreed with Priam a truce of eleven days for Hector's funeral, then stood up to accompany him to the room in the forecourt where you had ordered a bed to be set for your guest.

"This way you can get some rest while there's still movement in the camp and then be free to head back whenever you see fit", you told him. "And you won't risk being seen by any herald or messenger that may come to my tent. If Agamemnon finds out that you're here…" you hesitated, then finished somewhat awkwardly, "it may delay the return of the body."

It was the first – and only – time I've ever seen you try to soften the truth. You were lousy at it, of course, and Priam was no fool anyway.

"You mean that if the high king gets even a whiff of my presence in your camp you'll either have to go to war with him or I'll be taken hostage and the ransom demanded is sure to be one my city will never be able to afford." The old man smiled. "I'm grateful for the bed, Achilles. In fact, I'm grateful for everything you did tonight."

You gripped his forearm in a silent assurance of safety and Priam returned the gesture. Then you both walked out together.

When you came back, you instructed your two squires to keep watch and be careful to accompany Priam all the way to the Achaean camp's fence, to make sure he made it out safely. They nodded and left to wait in the forecourt. Sophronia glanced at me and hurried out in their wake.

An irrepressible and ever growing longing was overwhelming me. I knew there were still a hundred questions begging to be answered, a hundred matters clamouring to be discussed. First and foremost, why you seemed to be so sure of your own impending dead.

But right now all I could think about was that I had never loved you more. That I had never needed you, craved you more. The instant we were alone, I jumped literally into your arms. We kissed hungrily for a moment. But then you tensed and stepped back. And I knew. I just knew.

I pulled you back to me, cupped your face in my hands:

"You won't allow yourself any kind of joy or happiness because Patroclus no longer can experience either. You think he died in your stead, so you are trying to act as if you were dead yourself." You tried to break from my grip, but I held fast. "But you're not dead, Achilles. You're alive. Right here, right now, it's your fate to be alive. So, live."

You looked up at me, your eyes overflowing with hurt, lost like a little boy's.

"If it's true that no man can escape his fate, my love, then just live while it's your fate to do so", I insisted softly, feeling my own tears begin to spill. "And let me live as well."

You were still gazing at me, but now there was a spark starting in your eyes. It soon became a fire that matched the one blazing in my heart. You circled your arms around me and leaned in to capture me in a whirlwind of passion.