Relta was not a good nurse.
Then again, nor was Achilles a good patient.
He lay on the cot on the floor and cursed at her and Ahma every time they touched him. After she had emptied the tent of onlookers, well-wishers and hangers-on, she knelt beside him and delicately examined his wounds. Ahma knelt on the other side, whispering soft words in her own language, stroking the skin of his arm.
Relta fervently wished she'd paid more attention to her mother's healing craft. She knew a few tricks and understand the power of a small number of herbs; little more.
But the Myrmidons who had gathered outside the tent looked at her expectantly when she went out for clean washing water.
"Well?" Eudorus asked. "How does he fare, my lady?"
"The same as he fared this morning," she answered. "If anything, more ill-tempered."
Their faces fell and she realised that they thought she was capable of some kind of miracle.
"I'm not a healer," she said again, her patience wearing thin.
"But when you came back, the skies cleared," Timon said. "Within minutes, the clouds disappeared and the heavens were blue."
That's called weather, Relta fumed, I'm not responsible for the vagaries of the weather.
But she nodded politely, smiled patiently and softly said, "That wasn't me, I assure you."
Her assurance made no difference; the men grinned at her as though they were all complicit in some kind of secret.
Achilles' witch, his weather-controlling queen, had returned to care for him. He would be back on his feet in a matter of days!
She got the water and returned inside.
Achilles' leg was bound and she was afraid to undo the bindings; Ahma told her that Phoenix himself had done it and Relta trusted the older king's skill well enough to let it be. She made sure his other wounds were clean and, despite his protests, took his sharpest knife to his hair and cut it all to the same length.
"Leave me alone," he growled, as the first locks fell.
He tried to push her hand away but that meant moving his bandaged shoulder and he gasped with pain as he did so.
"You look like a fool," she said sharply. "Your hair is sticking up at all angles, you look utterly ridiculous. I'm going to make you look like less of an idiot."
That seemed to convince him; he reluctantly allowed her hack the rest of his hair off, which Ahma gathered up almost reverently and took outside.
With his hair short and his face thinner, he looked younger and more vulnerable, and it made something in Relta's chest swell and press against her ribs.
Spontaneously she leaned over and placed her cool forehead against his warm one, breathing in the scent of his skin underneath the smell of his sweat and the weeping wound. He raised his good hand to her cheek and they remained there, silently, till the leather straps were pushed aside and Ahma returned.
"You need to eat something," Relta said.
"I'm not hungry," was his curt reply.
"Still, you need to eat something."
"Woman," he said sharply, "Are you deaf? I'm not hungry."
He pulled himself up into a half-sitting position and his face turned grey as he did so.
"Man," she snapped back in the same tone, "Are you deaf? You need to eat something."
She gestured at Ahma. "He needs a broth, a soup. Something warm and light. Do you understand?"
"Ahma," Achilles said, raising his voice, "I'm not hungry."
Ahma's eyes darted from one to the other, she hesitated on the threshold.
"Well, I am," Relta said. "Soup, Ahma, please. Now," she added when the woman hesitated again.
She turned to Achilles when the old woman had left.
"Tonight," she said, "you are going to eat some damned soup. And tomorrow things are going to change, do you hear me?"
He rolled his eyes and lowered himself carefully back on to the cot, hissing as his shoulder brushed against the canvas. His eyes closed and his lips moved; she wasn't entirely sure but she thought he was mouthing, Witch.
xXx
He ate a few mouthfuls of soup, then she let Ahma give him the milk of the poppy and they went outside. A few of the Myrmidons were still outside the tent, sitting on the nearby rocks playing stones or knuckles.
They stopped talking when she approached.
"He has to come outside tomorrow," she said. "We need some kind of shelter or canopy to keep the sun off him, but he needs fresh air."
There was a murmur of protest – what about his humours? How could she balance his humours outside in the air, like a savage? There were herbs to be burnt and sacrifices to be made! And surely he would need more blood-letting if he was exposed to too much sun?
Relta bit her tongue.
"He needs to be out in the air," she repeated firmly.
"The kings don't want him outside," Eudorus said into the awkward silence that followed her words. "They say he is bad for morale. And we think – "
"We're sure –" Patroclus added.
"- the Trojans are gearing up for another attack. They don't want the men discouraged by the sight of Achilles ... like that."
He looked at her, his silver eyes pleading, begging her to understand.
"I'm sorry," she said, "but tomorrow he's going out into the air for a few hours. It would be better if a few of you could help me because it will happen and it will be far easier if Ahma and I had some help."
She stared them down, looking from one to the next. A couple of the Myrmidons held her gaze defiantly, others looked away, embarrassed.
"Good night," she said finally and went back inside the tent.
xXx
"No more milk of poppy," she said to Ahma. "He can have valerian during the day but he only gets poppy at night."
The Abyssinian snorted.
"I'm serious, Ahma," Relta said. "If I catch you giving him some, I'll make you drink the whole jug yourself. And don't think I'm joking."
"She'd not joking," Achilles said weakly.
They looked down at him. The two women had washed him as best they could and carefully dressed him on one of his embroidered black robes. Ahma had combed his cropped hair back, using some olive oil to keep the unruliest locks from sticking up. Achilles' face was gaunt and ashen, but he seemed stronger and was willing to allow himself to be brought outside.
Relta waved at Eudorus through the open doorway and he came in, followed by three other warriors. They carefully lifted Achilles outside the tent, where they had placed a low chair underneath a small canopy. Ahma placed a couple of pillows at his back and he sat up, wincing.
Immediately some of the other warriors came over to see him, hailing him joyfully as they approached.
For the first time since she returned, she saw Achilles smile as he raised his good arm to return their salute.
She looked up and caught Eudorus' eye.
He nodded happily at her and she beckoned him to follow her inside Achilles' tent.
"Get me a woman," she said, scooping up a handful of coins from the little chest on the floor.
"My lady?"
"A slave, I need a maid. And not one of those silly little handmaidens from Thrace, I want a capable woman. Get me a northern woman if you can."
Eudorus nodded.
"Leave it up to me," he said.
He returned a short time later with a sullen woman in tow.
She was as tall as he was and broadly built, her face set in a scowl. Relta was busy tidying the tent when he came in; she pushed back her sweaty hair and looked at the woman who followed behind him, looking around the inside of the structure with open distaste.
Outside came a roar of laughter and Relta recognised Odysseus' laugh among them. The warriors might have been preparing for battle, but they still had time to gather outside Achilles' tent and exchange ribald comments.
"She's from the Gaulish tribes, my lady. Her previous owner said she is most capable but stubborn as a mule. You might have to take the stick to her now and again," Eudorus said, pushing the woman towards her.
"What's your name?" Relta said.
She knew bits of some of the languages of the Gauls – at least, she understood a bit. They had words in common and there had always been Gaulish traders in their village.
The slave woman raised her eyebrows in surprise.
"Dunni," she said, pulling her dark hair to show her. Donn meant brown in her language too, so Relta knew why she'd been called that name. Her voice was low and husky like a man's and once she started talking, she did not intend to stop.
Dunni said, "Why was I brought here? Are you Achilles' slave as well? I heard he'd died, all the women are talking about it, then one of them said he was broken into bits like a stick and now he lies a cripple in his bed but that was him outside, wasn't it? He was laughing as I came so he doesn't look that bad anymore – "
"I'm not his slave," Relta interrupted, "But you are mine. And now I need you to help me. I want this place cleaned up before he comes back inside. Help me push the bed over to the wall, then we're going to ... " she searched for the word in Gaulish but gave up. "...rake the sand," she finished in Greek.
Eudorus, still standing by the door, looked at her curiously.
Relta went up to him and listed the things she wanted off the boat:
"He has chests in storage," she said. "I want any drapes and rugs you can, if the mice haven't got to them. Wall hangings, tapestries – any gold he has taken in conquest, like platters and bowls. Bring them to me."
"But my lady," Eudorus said, glancing furtively over his shoulder, "If the Trojans attack, we might need to leave in a hurry. Are you sure you want all of his treasures off the boat?"
"Yes," she answered.
Eudorus paused, chewed his lip.
"Please," she said in a soft voice. "Trust me on this, Eudorus."
The Myrmidon nodded and left the tent. She heard him call a couple of the men's names as he left, then she went outside and knelt at Achilles' right hand, watching him try to disguise his pain in front of the other warriors gathered around.
A horn sounded from down the beach and the other men stood, putting on their helmets, adjusting the straps of their shields.
Achilles looked at them longingly.
"You will be joining us soon enough, my friend," Odysseus said, his eyes crinkling with good humour. "I see you are well on the path to recovery. In a day or two the Myrmidons will swell our ranks again."
"But not yet," Relta interjected.
The Myrmidons looked at the other men hurrying by and she felt their impatience, their desire to join them. The horn blared again and the men took their leave, hurrying down the beach to assemble with the rest of the army.
Achilles watched them go, then fell back against the cushions. His face had that grey pallor again; all of his energy had been spent on talking and teasing with his friends.
Relta nodded at Timon and said, "Please carry him inside."
xXx
"What witchcraft is this?" Achilles wondered when he woke.
Ahma had applied poultices to his wounds before giving him a dose of valerian. He'd eaten a small bowl of soup and drunk some warm wine before lying back on the cot they'd carried him in on. He slept soundly, not even waking when Dunni dropped a stack of platters outside the tent.
The Gaulish woman and Ahma had helped her clear out and clean the tent, gathering up the clothes and goblets Achilles had discarded carelessly, sweeping and raking out the sand before laying down a woven rug that Eudorus had brought up from the depths of the boat. The bed was pushed to the side then Relta covered it with the cloth that she herself had embroidered, back in her other life, when she was a queen.
They hung the sides of the tent with tapestries woven in Persia and stolen from some eastern kingdom, then she had Timon, who was the ship's carpenter, to make her a sideboard and a low table. He reappeared a couple of hours later with some furniture that would not win prizes for beauty, but were functional and sturdy – and could be smartened up with some of the cloths Eudorus had brought from the boat.
Relta arranged the divan and the table on the rug, scattered plump cushions on the floor and set out a selection of gold and silver goblets on the sideboard.
When Achilles awoke, his tent was transformed.
"It looks ..." he began.
"Better? More comfortable? More befitting a Prince of Phtia?"
"It looks different," he conceded, then squinted at the shape of the stranger standing behind her. "Who is that?"
Dunni stepped forward and bowed.
"This is Dunni, from the land of the western Gauls. She's mine, I bought her," Relta added quickly.
She didn't mention she'd bought the woman with his money.
"So you have slaves, now?" Achilles said and there was a note of teasing in his voice. "You really are making yourself at home."
Relta grinned at him.
"You need to get off the sand," she said. "It's not fitting for a Prince to be lolling about on the floor."
"Lolling about on the floor," Achilles grumbled good-naturedly, "As if I had a choice."
He allowed Timon and Eudorus to help him slowly and carefully onto the divan.
"Are the men back?" he asked. "How goes the battle?"
"They are holding the line," Eudorus answered carefully, "But there are many losses."
Achilles frowned.
"Agamemnon swears there are reinforcements coming from Greece and Sparta," Timon said. "A scout boat landed yesterday and told of a fleet of boats coming towards Troy."
"I hope they are his and not friends of King Priam," Achilles said drily.
"We'll see soon enough," said Relta briskly. "In the meantime, it won't hurt you to eat and Ahma wants to clean your head."
Achilles rolled his eyes and she pretended to cuff him.
"The sooner I am well enough to put manners on her, the better," he said.
The two warriors laughed and left the tent.
Relta followed them.
"We will need wine," she said. "Get a cask from the ship, one of the good wines. When the men have returned from battle, they should come by and report to Achilles of the fighting."
Eudorus frowned thoughtfully.
"Is that wise, my lady?"
"He is the Prince of Phtia. He cannot fight but he can hold court. Invite Odysseus and Phoenix, the rest will follow. We'll uncask the good wine and I'll have the Gaulish woman get food – we'll have platters of cheese, bread and meat for anyone who has an appetite."
"Agamemnon will not come," Eudorus said. "In fact, he might take offence if the other kings go to see him."
"That is not my concern," replied Relta haughtily. "Achilles is my concern and he will want to hear a report of the fighting."
Eudorus sighed and nodded slowly.
"Very well, my lady," he said. "But I truly fear you will end up offending Agamemnon."
"Everything offends Agamemnon," she said. "And I have offended him so much already, a little more insult will make no difference."
xXx
By midnight, the tent was full and they had to throw open the curtain to let in the cool night air. The kings had gathered, sitting cross-legged around the low table, helping themselves to the food and wine that Dunni and Relta had laid out and swiftly refilled when necessary.
Achilles was sitting upright on the divan, his injured leg still bound tightly, but not appearing to cause him pain.
His tousled hair gleamed golden in the lamplight and he talked earnestly, giving the other men directions for the next day's battles, his good arm moving expansively as he discussed how they should position their men and what tactics he expected Hector to employ.
Voices rose and fell, and occasionally the tent swelled with laughter at one of Odysseus' dry witticisms. Relta watched Achilles like a hawk and when she saw his face begin to pale, she swooped in and began to whoosh the men out.
"Time to leave," she said, smiling at them. "Because if Prince Hector decides to strike early in the morning we will all be done for, I'm sure."
The kings and generals laughed and gathered their things, saluted Achilles, clapping him on his good arm and bid their farewell.
Within minutes the tent was empty.
Ahma and Dunni gathered up the goblets and platters for washing, bowed and withdrew. Relta doused all the lamps but one, then went over to the divan where Achilles lay.
"Would you like to sleep there tonight?" she asked.
"No, help me up," he replied.
She hesitated but he gestured for her to help him and she bent down so he could wrap an arm around his shoulders. He raised himself slowly, then half-hopped, half-fell on to the bed. His face was covered in sweat when she straightened his broken leg as carefully and gently as she could, but he did not complain.
"Shall I get you some milk of the poppy?" she asked.
"No," Achilles replied. "I do not need it."
He closed his eyes.
"I am healing. It's good. I don't need the poppy milk anymore."
Eyes still closed, he patted the bed beside him.
"Now take off your robe and get in beside me," he said. "I can't do anything to you yet, but at the very least you can ensure that I have pleasant dreams."
She snorted, but slipped her chiton off.
She bent to blow out the last lamp and when she looked up, she saw him grinning at her in the darkness.
"Come to bed, white queen," he said and she slipped in beside him, pressing her naked body against his side, his good arm underneath her head.
"I feel much better already," he whispered.
