It is getting so hard to write this because, eventually, it must end. Thank you so much for the kind words and reviews - I cannot express how dearly I cherish and re-read all of them and it truly inspires me to keep going! Please enjoy this latest chapter, we are beginning our initial descent into the finale, but still a bit to go. As always let me know your thoughts or concerns in the comments! Thanks for being here and happy reading Xoxo:)
Chapter 37
Adara awoke before Achilles, rolling into consciousness with a deep, rattling breath. Her body felt heavy as stones, but within her chest her heart pounded. She had not had a nightmare -she never did in Achilles' presence – but what she dreamed of was close to as painful. Patroclus had sat before her upon the deck of a Myrmidon ship, his typical smile upon his face, golden hair winking in the sun, ocean blue eyes crinkled in the corners with laughter. Adara had wept when she first beheld him, and then enveloped him in his arms, but when at last she tried to speak, she had no voice and neither did he, and so they had cried into each other's shoulders. Even in dreams the gods deny me she shuddered, taking another deep breath in a feeble attempt to still her heart.
Feeling her restless movements beside her, Achilles awoke, his hands moving across the skin on her stomach. Adara lay still beneath his touch, unable to rid herself of the chill of her dream nor the haunting of Patroclus' face. When Achilles rolled over and pressed his lips to her shoulder, Adara at last reacted.
"No," she murmured, sitting up staring down at him. Achilles hair fanned across their bed like a field of golden oats, his summer blue eyes swimming as he gazed up at her. Last night she had needed his closeness, she still needed it, but if she gave in now they would both be putting off what they knew was required. There were funeral games to plan, and the matter of the sacrifices Achilles had made.
"First you must prostrate yourself at the graves of the Trojan boys," Adara commanded, surprised by the layer of steel in her voice. Achilles rolled onto his back, his tempest blue eyes sparking and his jaw working to remain silent.
"You know I do not regret it – just as I do not regret killing Hector," he replied, finally turning back to look at her so that she could see and hear the truth in his words.
"Yes," Adara admitted, and she found that she was not disappointed in herself when she said it. He is proud, and he believes his actions just, it is his nature. "But you will do it for their mothers who will never have the chance, and for me."
Achilles at last nodded and got to his feet without a word, although Adara could still see the tension in his back as he moved to put on his black chiton and step out into the early morning light. She knew, with uncanny certainty that if any other person had ordered Achilles about in such a way, he would have struck them, and she lay back upon their bed with satisfaction. When at last the whim struck her, she got to her feet and walked to the river to bathe herself, and then returned to camp where she stopped by the provisions tent to instruct the women there on preparations for that night's dinner. It would be the beginning of Patroclus' funeral games, and all the kings and princes of Achaea would be in attendance.
As she spoke with Lanassa, Adara glanced around for Melitta, but she did not spot her friend, and turned from the tent when she was at last certain that they had everything they needed for a kingly dinner.
Back in her tent, she summoned to lounging Myrmidons to prepare a bath for Achilles when he returned. It was a treat reserved for special events, often holidays or weddings, but Achilles would need to look his best this evening, even if he felt weak within. It took the men an hour to carry enough water from the creek to their tent in order to fill the copper tub that was placed within, and in the meantime Adara had others collect wood and heat the water. Each man and woman took her order without any hesitation, and one young soldier even gave her a slight bow before he turned to do her bidding. How quickly they have accepted me as the leader of this camp she considered, her heart swelling when she thought of the man who had given her this chance.
When he had returned hours later, skin black with ash and eyes rimmed red from tears, Adara undressed him and motioned his limp form into the water. She took linen rags, and dipping them in the water, began to scrub at his skin, revealing the crisscrossing layer of scars that wrapped about his form and the golden gleam of his hair. Achilles did not move except for once when he pounced with predatory speed to grab her arms and puller her down into a kiss. Breaking apart breathless, Adara saw the corner of his lips turn upwards – the strongest smile he could muster in the wake of the prostration he had just undergone. But the kiss had not been one to stir heat in her chest. She felt his grip like bands of iron around her arms, and with a gentle brush of her lips to his hair she pulled away so that he would release her. He expects me to fill the void within him Adara realized, and suddenly there was a stinging sensation in her eyes. Quickly she moved behind him and began to clean his hair so that he would not see the look upon his face. It was Achilles first true day without Patroclus – she had possessed all of yesterday to at least think. For what little good it did you one half of her mind nagged.
When he was at last clean, Adara stepped back and watched him exit the tub, no longer bashful as he dried his form with spare fabric. Noticing her gaze, Achilles stilled his motions and flashed her a true smile, his teeth glinting and face as rapturous as the sun. Adara's heart thundered to a stop and it took all of her strength not to gasp aloud. He was beautiful when he smiled, in a way that drew heat into her belly and filled her head with air. When at last his lips fell, Adara found herself left with an overwhelming sense of loss. His joy had been brief and from nowhere – she could not keep up with his mood swings.
"I must go and prepare the track for the chariot races," Achilles told her, pulling a clean, black chiton over his head. Adara glanced at the dark fabric, her mind briefly considering if Achilles would ever wear another color again, or if he would go on mourning Patroclus to the end of his days. "You are welcome to come with us. Eudoras and a few other men will be helping me…" he trailed off, his voice suddenly wistful and his face drawn. Adara was reminded of a child begging his mother for a treat knowing fully well he had done nothing to earn a reward. Instead of feeling charmed that he sought her presence, Adara felt a crumbling sensation within her. He would have asked Patroclus, had he been here she realized, feeling a ripple of goosebumps across her skin. It had been three days since their companion had departed this life – the gaping hole within Achilles chest must be all consuming. Yet Adara knew the truth: I cannot replace him. She glanced down at her toes, burying them in the cool sand within their tent for a moment before answering him.
"I will go to visit with Odysseus," Adara replied thoughtfully, chewing on the words before finally speaking. Achilles muscles flexed for a moment and she saw his hands form into fists, and then he sighed. For the briefest moment she thought there was a flash of red in his eyes, but it was gone before she was certain. There is his possessiveness she mused, unafraid. But she knew both Achilles and herself better. Adara was selfish too, and though she prized Achilles above all else, she would not sacrifice their last days or months trying to heal him. There was no time for that. I must spend my time loving him, and him me, and we will cope with our grief the best way that comes to us.
"Tell him I expect to see him tonight," he murmured. Adara felt a trickle of warmth down her spine, and stepping forward she stood on her toes and lightly brushed her lips across his. Achilles hands hung limply by his side, and up close Adara was overwhelmed with the lemon scent of the bathwater and the ever present metal tang of blood, and with some mental fortitude she did not know she possessed, she managed to step away from him.
"Be with your men, they need you now more than ever," Adara said with one final glance and then she turned and stepped out into the day through the tent flap.
The light was blinding, and for a moment she stood still adjusting to the stark white of the beaches and cloudless sky. When at last she could look up from the skirt of her green chiton, Adara's eyes immediately fell upon the one blemish upon the sand. Throat constricting, she forced herself to turn to the left and stumble away. Hector's body lay crumpled upon the sand, limbs sticking out at odd angles, the wound that had ended him slowly browning as the days went by. And yet, there was no smell. The skin had not grown waxy, and the sand would not stick to the corpse. Even the dirt that had clung to his skin seemed to have been scrubbed away. Making a sign to ward off evil, Adara quickly moved out of sight of the body. She would speak with Achilles about his actions, but the Trojan sacrifices had demanded his immediate attention this morning – there was still a chance Hector's body could be returned.
Adara's feet wandered the familiar path to a smaller black tent, and without hesitation, she swatted aside the flap and stepped into the interior. It was not so fine as her and Achilles' tent, but the bed was made of furs and Iatrokles armor glistened upon it's rack.
"Adara!" Melitta shrieked, getting to her feet and enveloping her in a hug. Melitta's skin was warm under her touch, and Adara breathed deeply the scent of rosemary from the baking, remembering her first night in Troy and how her companion had sheltered her.
"Mel," she whispered, drawing her friend closer for a moment more before finally releasing. Melitta looked rosy cheeked and healthy – and with some shock Adara realized that they had not spoken since she had been sent away to live with Menelaus in the Spartan camp. Since Patroclus she shivered.
"Are you well?" Melitta ask, seeming to read her mind. There was a flicker of something darker in the brown depths of her eyes.
What could she say? That each day the pain of Patroclus' death washed over her anew so strong that she felt as if she would rather melt than bear it? That Achilles mood swings had become more pronounced and he was no longer able to cope with the shades that haunted him at night? That Hector's dead body lay just outside her door so that she was forced to look upon it each morning? That Achilles' life could be ripped from Adara at any moment? No, there were no words for any of that, so instead she offered a weak smile.
"As well as can be expected," Adara lamented, taking the hand Melitta had reached out and interlacing her fingers with her friend's. "And you?" Adara added hastily, glancing around the neat tent that obviously had been well cared for under her companion's touch.
"I am well," Melitta replied, her voice full and sure. Adara smiled and nodded her head, glancing around the tent once more. It only seemed right that Melitta should be happy. She had been upon these shores much longer than any Adara, and although Iatrokles was only a Myrmidon soldier, he was kind and treated her well. And he does not have a prophecy that foretells his doom she thought, but Adara forced that thought from her mind.
"Good, it is well deserved."
"And Achilles?" Melitta continued. For one moment Adara paused, choosing her words.
"He is…unstable. I do not think he will ever be happy in the same way again," Adara said, leaving off that he had no time too, "but I do think he will come to find peace with what has passed."
"I pray that to the gods every night," Melitta whispered, and the deepening of her voice hinted at the fear there. In another time Adara might have laughed at the idea of being afraid of Achilles, but she had always been unique in this respect.
The conversation paused briefly and Adara felt the overwhelming urge to tell Melitta of Achilles' prophecy, to share the burden with another, but she knew the tale was not hers to tell. Inwardly she cursed the fates.
"Mel, I came to see if you would like to accompany me to the Ithacan camp. I am going to lunch with Odysseus this afternoon," Adara offered. She knew Melitta did not get to leave the Myrmidon camp, and she thought perhaps her friend might enjoy an afternoon return to form of having others serve her as once they had long ago in Cyme. However, instead of beaming, Melitta's chocolate eyes began to swim with tears and she let out a half strangled sob, half hiccupping laugh.
"Oh damn all!" She said, batting at her tears with the back of her hand in annoyance. Seeing the shocked look on her face, she let out another hiccup and took both of Adara's hands in her own, the skin moist and smooth under Adara's own. "Oh Adara, of course I wish I could, it's just that…I'm uncertain how to say it… I'm with child," she whispered, her face breaking into a smile that did not reach her eyes.
Adara felt as if she'd been punched in the stomach momentarily, but quickly she gathered herself.
"Mel," Adara murmured, dropping her companion's hands and pulling her into a hug instead. "That is the most wonderful news – I will have to sacrifice to Hera and Aphrodite this afternoon."
In her arms, Melitta let out another hiccupping laugh which shook her gentle frame. It was not uncommon for women to get pregnant in the Achaean camps, and in fact in other king's domains where women were treated more like animals than humans, many small children could be seen peeking out from tent flaps and playing down by the surf on days when the men were off at battle. But in the Myrmidon camp, just as death was an infrequent visitor, so too were children. There were a few kids around the ages of five and six who had been born after the first few years of fighting, back when they would have assumed that the war could not possibly drag on for several more years. Yet Melitta had been in Troy much longer than Adara – she knew as well as any that this war might never end.
"And Iatrokles? Does he know?" Adara asked, petting her friends black curls, refusing to let her pull away. From the way that Melitta clutched at Adara's skirts, she thought her friend appreciated the gesture.
"No, I am still uncertain myself. But it has been almost a full moon since I was supposed to have my bleeding," Melitta replied.
"Then there is nothing to fear. The gods and goddesses of Olympus have blessed the two of you. When you are certain, you will tell him. I can be here if you like, and Achilles too," Adara offered. Surely Melitta is not worried that Iatrokles would be angry? This is the natural result of marriage and coupling – I do not take the man for a fool. But men were always surprising, and her husband most of all.
"Oh I do not fear his anger," Melitta finally said, pulling away from Adara's grasp. "The Trojan beaches are no place for a child."
"Your baby will be as safe amongst the Myrmidons as it might be in Greece," Adara offered, and it was entirely true. Melitta nodded, but she stared at her feet. Adara felt herself wince slightly, seeing the look on her friend's face, and so desperate to feel useful she motioned Melitta to sit on her bed and scanned around for food. At last she found water and some bread and gave it to her friend.
"Please do not worry – Iatrokles and Achilles and the rest of the Myrmidon's will protect you and the babe, when at last he comes, and in the meantime, you find out if you are certain and tell your husband."
"Yes, of course," Melitta said, nibbling at the bread. Her cheeks held a slight red flush and already she seemed happier. She just needed to talk about it with someone Adara considered, a pang of jealousy ringing through her. There is no one but my half-crazed lover that I can speak too. Well that was not entirely true, there was one other. "I am sorry that I cannot go to see Odysseus with you, but if Iatrokles knew I do not think he would wish for me to leave the camp."
"Yes of course, it is nothing. But tonight you will sit beside me at the Funeral Games feast for Patroclus. Achilles will not mind, and you may meet him tonight," Adara instructing, getting to her feet to leave now that she was certain her friend was well. Turning she was almost out of the tent when at last Melitta's voice spoke, once again uncertain.
"Adara," she said, forcing her to turn and peer through the darkness of the tent into her dark brown eyes. "I am sorry for your loss too. I know you loved Patroclus likewise…I was sad to see him go…and what happened at his funeral."
Adara's hand froze on the flap of Melitta's tent for a moment, her throat constricting so that she thought she might never breathe again, but at last she managed a smile, and with an acknowledging nod she once again stepped out into the white sunlight.
Her walk to Odysseus' quarters was not as buoyant as it might have been had Melitta accompanied her, and after their conversation, she had new thoughts to consider. She could understand Melitta's fear of bringing a child into a war strewn world – it was daunting enough to think of childbirth in normal circumstances, let alone here. And there was another thought that crossed Adara's mind as she moved down the shore, her eyes scanning for the beautiful, lofty gray tips of the Ithacan tents. Without an active thought to move her arms, Adara spread her hands across her lower abdomen, feeling the warmth of her body through the fabric. Am I pregnant? She had not even considered the possibility with the trauma of Patroclus' passing and her sequestration in the Myrmidon camp. But now that she was once again free, she felt the thought pass through her, one unfamiliar.
In Lyrnessus she had been told she would never marry without Briseis approval, so her chances of meeting someone and baring children were slim and she had never truly considered it. And then she had been brought here, to the least idyllic place to bring forth new life into the world. And would I want too? Would Achilles? She thought of how he spoke of Neoptolemus. It was if he spoke of a prize cattle instead of his own blood child. But that is because he has never met the boy. He does not love his mother, and he has been cheated out of raising him. I would be bitter too Adara reasoned. And as she walked, she found that she felt certain that Achilles would be overjoyed to know that Adara was pregnant with his child.
But that did not change the fact that she was not pregnant. Adara's monthly bleeding had taken place during her stay in Menelaus' tent only a short time ago, and then there was the horrible possibility that the gods themselves would keep her barren. For if Adara had Achilles child, she would be written into his tale, and Apollo himself had told her that her name would not live on alongside Achilles. The idea that her own body was being turned against her filled Adara with a deep, overwhelming sadness. Bearing his child would give her something to remember him by when…don't think it Adara commanded herself, and with a slight shake of her head she forced her feet to move faster until at last he Ithacan camp came into view.
{{{}}}
Odysseus was laying up his bed staring at the tapestry which hung across from him. It was a picturesque scene of sprawling green hills dotted with wooly grey goats and a searing blue sky. Ithaca he thought, the ache within his chest so familiar to him now after these ten year that he no longer recognized it. Odysseus had watched his wife Penelope weave this same tapestry in the months it took him to gather his feeble army and sail to Mycenae. It was not her best work; she had been rushed to meet the deadline of his departure date, and often at night when the conversation between them lulled their room would be filled with the sound of her shuttle moving like a swallow through the air. Often he considered having it moved to his quarters in his ship so that he would not be forced to reconcile with his grief anew every time he stared at it, but then he would consider that it may be worse to be parted from this testament of his wife's love. Men do stupid things to prove their hearts he snorted, rolling onto his side to reach for his cup of wine.
As he sipped at the peppery liquid the flap to his tent was thrown open and a familiar green glad, slightly glistening figure stepped inside.
"Adara!" He called, surprised at the joy he felt seeing her. She was always a happy distraction from his never ceasing brain – whether it was a message from her lover or an insight into the workings of the Myrmidon camp or even just an opportunity to lecture her, Odysseus found their conversations easy and smooth.
"Odysseus," she greeted, her catlike eyes crinkling with her smile. He observed that her face was still sallow and her skin paler than before from her days indoors in Menelaus' tent, but it was no surprise. She loved him after all Odysseus reminded himself, recalling the unbearable heat from Patroclus' pyre.
"What can I do for you," he asked, swinging his feet off his bed and offering her a glass of wine. She took it, and when they had each poured their libations they sat and drank, enjoying the fine flavor that exploded across the tongue.
"To be frank, I am not truly certain why I am here, but there is a something I need you to do for me before tonight" she replied, her eyes scanning the interior of his tent. Odysseus felt a tightening in his gut in surprise. Despite the slightly unhealthy appearance too her, Adara was certainly changed. She had never been afraid, and always proud, but now her back stood straight and her voice commanded with ease.
"Oho? And what's this you need me doing?" Odysseus replied, feeling his typical smirk sliding onto his face. What is happening in the Myrmidon camp to make her so sure of her leadership. Few women would walk into my camp and deem to order me he mused. He would see what she wanted before he told her off. It may be Adara before him, but thus far the only women he had ever obeyed were Athena, his mother, and Penelope. Before him Adara crossed her legs and the coins in her skirt clinked and jingled.
"I need you to tell Agamemnon he must return Briseis tonight at the funeral games dinner. There doesn't need to be any ceremony, but she does need to be returned," Adara replied. Odysseus had practice keeping his face still, and so when her words reached him, he did not react. She does not like her queen, why send for her? But before he could wonder, Adara continued. "I would have gone myself, but Achilles would lose his mind if he knew I had gone to Agamemnon's camp alone. And sending Menelaus would have added insult to injury – I would assume the King of Kings bears no good will towards his brother at the moment after discovering that he hid me, so that leaves you."
"I am happy to be your third best option," Odysseus said with a laugh, although he couldn't deny her reasoning. "Achilles won't fetch her himself?" Odysseus had thought to make her laugh, accustomed to their typical banter, but instead her face remained stony.
"Do you think he's even noticed she's gone after all that has happened?" Her voice was quiet, nothing like the commanding tones he'd heard a few moment before. Of course Odysseus realized. She wants to talk about Achilles, and with Patroclus gone and Menelaus' well know dislike for the man, there is no one but me. Odysseus felt a ripple of pride at determining her inner motives, but he remained quiet.
"Does Achilles know you're here," he asked, his voice less friendly than before. He considered himself and Achilles on good terms, but a stolen afternoon alone with his lover might set him off. Anything could these days he thought, remembering the red sheen in his eyes and the smile upon his face as he ripped out the throats of the Trojan sacrifices.
"Yes," Adara snapped, a bit of her fire returning. "He is preparing for the funeral games, the chariot track I think."
"And why are you here and not with him? I find it hard to believe he would be parted with you after his display raving and screaming when they sent you away," Odysseus replied. Adara shrugged slightly and then downed the rest of her wine.
"This needed tending too and he was not going to do it. It is a slight against his honor that Briseis has not been returned, and I won't stand for it," she said fiercely, whatever quietness had momentarily been in her voice fading away completely. His honor Odysseus thought. He had never known Adara to speak of this before. Typically her actions around Achilles were straightforward – she did them because she loved him and wanted to be with him, but this was something more. Honor…pride….glory… Lighting bolts seemed to run down his body and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end.
"He told you," Odysseus said. It was not a question – he knew it to be true. He had the clenching sensation in his gut that occurred when Athena summoned him. Adara said nothing.
"I was the one who told him of the prophecy, Adara. Nothing you say to me is new. You do not betray him by speaking," he offered, somewhat softer. Odysseus could not decide if he was surprised that Achilles had told the girl or not. She was, after all, not a Greek and so it was not common knowledge to her, and it meant that Adara would not have to spend their time together in dread. But Achilles is selfish – he will not have wanted to suffer through the thought of their loss alone Odysseus reasoned. He wondered how Penelope would have reacted to a prophecy such as Achilles if it had been about himself. She would have sailed to Troy with me he knew, and the thought filled him to bursting with smugness. Perhaps proud Achilles and I are not so different.
"I forget that you know," she acquiesced, the admittance of her own lack of knowledge coming from her lips as if forced at knifepoint and Odysseus had to keep from laughing. She is as proud as him. "He only told me yesterday – it does not feel as if it is real yet."
"What do you want me to say, Adara? That it is not true? That he will live to see the end of this war and return to Pythia with you?" Odysseus replied, unable to keep the pity out of his voice. "I heard the prophecy from the goddess Athena – it has been foretold."
"You think because you have one ounce of wisdom that you know all," Adara roared, getting to her feet, her bony hands clenched into fists. "I had it confirmed to me by the god of truth yesterday – I need nothing from you in terms of affirmation. Has it ever crossed your pompous mind that perhaps I came to seek solace from a friend, a friend that knew Patroclus and could comprehend what his loss might mean to me? You pig-headed oaf!" She was shaking and there were tears forming in her eyes. She is not so strong as she pretends to be. He had never seen her this way, he was accustomed to her being the soft and warm to Achilles deadly and warm. They are two halves of one whole, when he is hurting, so must she Odysseus thought, considering the other half of his heart across the Aegean which was somewhere aching for him in return. Without a word Odysseus got to his feet again, ignoring his battle wounds, and enveloped her in a hug. She was frail, and the moment her head was buried in his shoulder she began to weep.
"Forgive me Adara," he whispered, glancing at another of Penelope's tapestries over her shoulder. "I forget what you have suffered on top of this news." They stood in quiet for some time until her tears ceased and her shoulders stopped shaking.
"How do you bear it, being parted from her," she asked, her eyes trained down upon her bare feet. Odysseus did not have to ask who she meant.
"I bear it because I know she bears it too, because she needs my strength as much as I need hers, and if it must be suffered through, then I must control it, own it, tame it. Greif is a powerful thing to let run uninhibited throughout your mind, Adara," he warned.
"Knowing that Achilles suffers like I do, perhaps twice as much might perhaps make it bearable, but I think he is going mad," she said, shaking her head slightly and closing her eyes against some thought within her. "Hector's body lays like a discarded animal outside my door, and those sacrifices…"she hissed, her shoulders slumping. "His mood swings are frequent and random, and atop it all I think he expects me to heal the void within him where Patroclus lay. No one can do that."
"You know Achilles better than any of us – I will not presume to tell you how to handle him. But I can offer to be your sounding board, and if I may, I will tell you this: you miss Patroclus terribly, but each of us knew him for years and Achilles almost his whole life – consider his grief, our grief – you are not alone. And as for the prophecy, the one's we love do not leave us upon death. We all must pass at some point, you will see him again, whether in this life or the next."
Adara nodded, and after that they returned to normal conversation and she at last took her leave. The next time he saw her she was adorned in fine golden jewelry with khol around her eyes enhancing her catlike golden features. She and Achilles sat side by side at the head of the table for Patroclus' funeral games, often falling out of the general conversation to stare into each other's eyes and whisper softly. She did not seem happy, but she seemed content, and she sat back and watched as Achilles played the host for once. He was buoyant, alarmingly so, calling for rounds of wine and more meat for the table with a gusto Odysseus had never seen, even when Patroclus was alive. She is right, his mind is slipping he considered. Yet through it all Adara sat beside him, her hand often intertwined with his. When their eyes briefly met over the table she did not smile at him, but she nodded. Odysseus understood. She would love him through it, till the end.