"No," said King Priam thoughtfully. "We will not attack."
Hector hissed the air through his teeth.
The council gathered around the long pool looked equally surprised.
"This is Paris' victory," Priam said, his watery blue eyes surveying the men around him. "We can take a day or two to celebrate such a magnificent victory over our enemies. Achilles will still be dead, three moons from now."
"Achilles might not be dead even now," Hector said through gritted teeth, every fibre of his body straining to be calm.
"Paris said he is," Priam replied, narrowing his eyes for a split second at his son.
"But father – "
"This is my decision," the Trojan king said, cutting him off. "Lyros, you may check the kitchens and wine cellars and tell me what provisions we have to offer the good people of Troy."

Priam smiled regally and nodded his dismissal at the councillors and they left, glancing at Hector and Paris nervously as they did.

"My son," Priam said, putting an arm around Paris' shoulders, "you are to be the hero of the day. I would like you to go to your Helen and make sure your finest armour is polished and buffed. You must look like a god before your people. They owe you a debt."

Hector balled his fists till he could even feel his closely-trimmed fingernails digging into the flesh of his palms. Paris beamed and kissed his father's hand, clapping Hector on the shoulder before he turned and left.

Hector waited till his little brother had left the chamber, then turned to the king with an agonised,
"Father!"
"What?" Priam answered insouciantly. "Will you begrudge your little brother his day in the sun?"
"Father, we do not know for sure the man is dead. The Greeks were running back and forth at the base of the wall, there was no body there the next morning – "
"Maybe they took it."
"No pyre has burned on the beach, father."
"Maybe the body is being sent to Phtia to be burned near his ancestors."
"My king," Hector said urgently. "Achilles is not dead. But he has been injured, this much I am willing to stake my life on. Why are we not striking now, when they are at a disadvantage?"

Priam looked at him, placed a hand on his older son's shoulder.
"Sometimes the biggest step forward seems a small step backwards," he said. "Our people are sick of defeat, Hector. Do you know what they need, more than anything else? A victory! A feast, a parade, a day of celebration. I cannot send the men out, even if Achilles is dead or lying snapped in two, because this evening, the funeral pyres will burn again and they cannot stand it anymore."

He looked at his son sharply.
"Three years, my Hector," he said. "I cannot smell burning flesh any longer. It hangs in every corner, every crack, and I smell it in my dreams. Let Paris have his victory, let him for once stand clear of your shadow and be applauded for his bravery. Let the people thank the gods and feast on what little we can scrape together. They will fight with renewed vigour, strengthened by this celebration of Trojan might."
"And if Achilles is not dead?" Hector wanted to know.

Priam sighed.
"Then we will cross that bridge when we come to it," he said.

He put an arm around his son's shoulders.
"But you said you had something else to tell me?" asked Priam.
Hector tried to pull himself together, tried to gather his thoughts.
"Yes, father," he replied. "We have a visitor. An esteemed visitor, no less. The former Queen of Kalios, the one they call the She-Wolf. She escaped the Greeks and was brought here by some villagers. She might have some information that may be useful to us when we attack."

He couldn't help but emphasise the when.
Priam smiled at him.
"Now that's a sign to proceed with care if ever I heard one," he smiled at his son. "Apollo has sent us a messenger with inside information about our enemy. See, my son? The gods smile in our favour."

Hector, too, tried to smile, but twisting his mouth also twisted his gut.
His father returned to his throne and while his son ordered one of the guards to bring the northern woman down to meet the King of Troy.

xXx

Agamemnon pulled the chicken meat from the bone and ate it noisily.
He did not offer any to Odysseus; but then, he had not offered him a drink or a seat either.
"Those Trojan bastards," was all he said, before he threw the bone down with a clatter and wiped the grease on his embroidered robe before reaching for more chicken.
"Aye," Odysseus agreed.
"Celebrating! Celebrating!"

He thought it prudent to say as little as possible: Agamemnon had been dining alone, not even in the humour to endure his brother's company, when he had sent for Odysseus. The Ithacan had been hunched in the sand outside Achilles tent at dusk, talking to some of the Myrmidons in low whispers when the messenger came; they, like all the men in the camp, were in their armour, ready for a battle that was evidently not going to come. On the wind they occasionally caught the faint sound of music or cheers, and all along the Trojan walls they saw the blaze of torches, burning jauntily to mock Agamemnon.

"Is there any improvement?" Agamemnon growled.
"He grows stronger by the hour," lied Odysseus smoothly.

Achilles lay on his bed, his ribcage bound in white as though they had started to prepare him for burial. His blond hair had been hacked off on Phoenix' orders so they could keep an eye on the gash on his head, to make sure it didn't become infected. And his leg was bound tightly in a splint, which Odysseus covered with a linen cloth when he visited: whenever he saw the limb, he had a sickening vision of the bone protruding from the flesh. The Myrmidon's face was ashen, his skin had lost its golden hue. Now it just looked tarnished, yellow, his skin stretched over his cheekbones and his lips cracked and dry. Odysseus knew his friend could – should – heal, but at this point in time, Achilles looked like he'd been laid out for his own pyre.

"We need to get him on a ship to Phtia," Agamemnon growled. "He's affecting morale. If he'd had the good sense to just die and get it over with, we could've sent him off to the gods with a bang and riled the men up to seek his revenge. But this? He's just hanging around, like a wraith. He looks like shit, that's what he looks like."

The Ithacan king drew a breath, bit his tongue.
"Aye, it's true, he does not look well," he said as evenly as he could.

Agamemnon pushed the plate away angrily and it fell to the floor with a clatter. Two serving girls rushed forward to clean it up.
Looking down at them, the king of kings snapped, "And where is his woman?"
"She is by his side every second of the day," Odysseus said with a placating smile. "Never has a man had a more devoted nursemaid."
"No, no, not the savage little Abyssinian. The slave girl. The one that had him so jolly for a while. Where is she? Why is she not tending him? Nothing cheers a man like a pretty girl at his side."
"He let her go," Odysseus said.

With the tip of his toe, he pushed one of the bones over to the serving girl closest to him. She glanced up at him gratefully and gathered it on the tray.

"Well, go to the slave quarters and get him a new one," Agamemnon announced with a generous wave. "No, wait, I'll pick him out one. There's a sweet little thing from Thrace that might make a good nurse – and if we still don't see an improvement in the next three days, it's on a boat to Phtia he'll be."
"I don't think he wants or needs a pretty little slave girl right now," Odysseus said, "But on his behalf I thank you."
"Why not?" the Achaean king said. "He was happy enough with the others I sent."

He sat back on his throne and clicked his fingers.
One of the women rushed forward with a wet cloth and dabbed his face. Agamemnon grabbed her wrist and twisted it until she mewled in pain and sat, reluctantly, on his lap.
"What others?" Odysseus asked, trying not to look as the king tried to wriggle his fingers under the girl's robe.
"All of them. Well, most of them. I picked him out some good breeders, you know. Not that it did any use. That man – it's like the gods gave him the ability to plough the field, but not plant the seed. You know what I mean?"
He leered at the man before him.
Odysseus felt his chest tighten.
"I do not, my king."

Agamemnon grinned, his eyes closing to little slits above his reddened cheeks, rubbed shiny by the slave girl's cloth.
"The great warrior has no issue, Odysseus. Have you never wondered about that? He has sired no children. No little Myrmidon bastards running about the camp, swinging little swords and causing little chaos. Why is that?"
Odysseus had no answer.
"And I thought to myself ... I said, Agamemnon, you will never call this man to heel. This is the dog that will never be trained. But his offspring?..."

He looked up at Odysseus and smirked in satisfaction.
"If any of my slave girls bear his child, I thought, then the child is mine. The progeny of Achilles? A warrior in the making - and what care I if it's a bastard son of a slave whore? I want a man to swing a sword for me and if I can get him early enough, I can train the pup where I could not train the dog."

Odysseus could not find the words.
"So," Agamemnon continued, "I sent some fine women this way and, by the gods in the firmament above us, he fucked them all and fucked them often. But not one single child. Not one!"
He pinched the girl and she yelped.
"It sounds like you sent him out to stud," Odysseus said in a low voice.
"Oh, that I did," agreed Agamemnon equably. "But the man is sterile."
He spat on the floor.
"The gods blessed him in every way but one."
Odysseus breathed deeply.

The king of kings grinned again at the Ithacan.
"And that knowledge is what has prevented me from smashing that cur's head in, time and time again. I have put up with his insult, with his insolence, because I need his sword. But every time he looks me up and down, mocks me with his handsome face, I have looked at him and I have thought, You are not a man. You have no sons and you will never have."

He pushed the girl off his knee, slapping her rump hard as she hopped up.
"What do you think of that, my good Odysseus?"
Odysseus took another breath. It was at times like this that he thought of his wife, Penelope. Be cautious, she would warn, choose your next words carefully.
"Hmm," he said finally.

Agamemnon frowned, unhappy at not getting the reaction that he wanted.

"Give him three days – let it not be said that I am not magnanimous. Then put him back on a boat to Phtia and out of my sight," he snapped. "And send me the slave girl he was finished with. I'd like to see for myself what got Achilles so excited for a while."
"I told you," Odysseus said, "He let her go. Not back to the slave quarters; he freed her."
"Well, damn him again," said Agamemnon. "Who was she? What tricks did she have up her sleeve – between her legs – to make the Myrmidon hop?"

No, Odysseus, Penelope would beg. Be judicious, my love. Be circumspect. Be discreet.

Aye, to hell with that, he thought.

"It was the Kalion queen," Odysseus said. "The she-wolf. He smuggled her back to Troy and bedded her every chance he could. I haven't seen him as satisfied with a woman since ... oh, since ever."
He sneered at the fat man in front of him, and then rearranged his features into a neutral smile as a dull red colour crept up the king's neck.

Agamemnon spluttered.
"I told him she was mine!" he roared. "You were given orders to bring her back to me!"
"And you gave him the chest she was smuggled in, so she is his tribute. He claimed her."

Odysseus bowed his head.
"Not that it matters, but we have sent out men to find her, king of kings. I fear it may be in vain, but the Myrmidons think he will heal faster if he has his woman, so there are scouts in the outlying villages trying to track where she went."
"If they find her – when they find her – " Agamemnon began.
"If they find her – when they find her –" Odysseus said, "she will be returned to Achilles and there will be a mutiny if she is not. I warn you now, king of kings. And though the Trojans are celebrating at the moment, it's only a matter of time before they use the opportunity to cut us while we are weak."

He bowed low.
"Thank you for the invitation, my king," said Odysseus and left the tent as quickly as he could.

xXx

Thank you for reading along. I hope you're enjoying it.