"Wait," Agamemnon commanded when the guard announced her.
Relta paused at the entrance to his quarters, her fingertips flying to the hard shape of the vial tucked into the waistband of her robe.
"He's bathing," the guard whispered.
Ugh, she thought and considered turning on her heel to leave.
"You may come in," the king said in an imperious tone.
"If that old pig is naked, I'll vomit," Dunni said in her ear.

Luckily, though, Agamemnon was not naked. On the contrary, he was wrapped up tight in a costly robe, a thick band of embroidered material knotted around his waist.
He knows I've seen Achilles naked, Relta thought, suppressing a smirk as she dipped into a deep curtsey. It's not in his best interests to have me draw a comparison.
"Oh, come closer," Agamemnon said crankily.
He waved a whooshing hand at the + servants and they scurried out quickly, shooting pitying glances at the two foreigners.
"That goes for you as well," he said to Dunni, who just looked at him blankly.
"Doesn't she speak Greek?" snapped Agamemnon.
"No, not a word," Relta lied glibly.
"Fine, she can stay then," he said and sank down on his throne.
It stood behind a table that still glistened from the cloth that had wiped it after his meal. He signalled to Relta to sit opposite him.

Agamemnon leaned back in his chair and surveyed her wearily.
"You need not fear me, girl," he said. "I have no intention of incurring Achilles' wrath, not when I need him up and fighting for me at sun-up." He looked at her slyly. "He still harbours a suspicion that I was somehow behind the murder of his little slave woman. Me! The king of kings, as though I had nothing better to do than slay slaves!"
Relta bowed her head.
"Of course not, my lord king," she murmured.
"Speaking of the devil, where is he now?"
"He is with Odysseus, my lord king," she said meekly. "The men say he is in a bad way and may not survive the night."
Agamemnon sighed deeply, seeming to deflate to half his size as he did so.
"Aye, Odysseus," he said sadly.
They sat in silence for a moment or two, Relta waiting for him to speak, as was proper protocol.

Finally, stirring himself out of his thoughts, Agamemnon said,
"Well, witch, have you got your magic stones with you?"
Wordlessly, she reached into her pouch and pulled out the little cloth bag, tipping the runestones out on to the table. Agamemnon examined them carefully, plucking a handful and turning them over to look at the carvings. He stood and fetched a jug of wine and returned to the table with it and two goblets. Relta's fingers flew once more to the vial.

"Pour," he commanded, and she did.
"How does this work?" Agamemnon said, grabbing his cup. He did not wait for her to be seated again, but drank a long draught.
"Normally the person wishing insight asks a question and then turns over three stones, usually in a row like this, from north to south, then four more, two on either side of the central stone, east to west. Then the seer must interpret the stones as they are turned."
"And you have the sight?" he sneered.

Relta smiled wryly.
No one has the sight, she wanted to say.
Sometimes the stones seemed to produce an uncannily accurate combination, but she was not stupid enough to think the finger of Danu had flipped them into place. No, it was luck. And if the combination was not exactly perfect – well, she could twist most stones' meaning into something that worked.
"People say I have the sight," she said modestly.
It was not a lie. People did say that, after all.

Agamemnon drained his cup and smacked it down on the table.
Relta slipped the vial out of her waistband and hid it in the folds of her skirt.
"What do you wish to ask?" she prodded gently.
"When will my reinforcements arrive?" Agamemnon said.
"Your reinforcements?" she repeated, buying time.
"Yes," he thundered. "No need to ask if we will break down the walls of Troy, we all know that is a foregone conclusion. No, I want to know when my damned reinforcements will arrive. The men say they saw lights on the horizon during the last storm a few days ago – but where are they? Where are my ships, my men?"

She heard her mother's voice in her ear: Drama! You must give them a little bit of theatre.
Relta closed her eyes, raised her hands palms up and said in her own tongue,
"Mother Danu, guide me in your wisdom."
Behind her, Dunni snorted and hid it with a cough.
Relta slowly placed her open hand on the stones, then pushed them to the king.
"I will point at the stones you must turn," she intoned solemnly. "We start with your past – "
"No, I want to know about my present. I need to know when my men will arrive from the mainland."
"As you wish, my lord king," she said in the same solemn tone and waved her hands once again over the stones.

Agamemnon glanced at her, impressed, then selected his runes, laying them out as instructed, glancing up at her to see if he was doing it correctly, as eager as a child to get his schoolwork right. She nodded regally at him and he turned the runes on either side of the central stone over.

"These stones represent the now," she said. "Here you have the stone that represents water, the elemental spirit. It usually signals a journey or the return of a traveller from overseas. However, this other one represents ..."
She chuckled, a low laugh, fingering the white stone.
"This is the stone of the ash, it signals joy or celebration, usually the arrival of good news. To me, this is an indication that your reinforcements are on their way, soon to arrive."
"How soon?" he asked, the pitch of his voice higher.
"The stones don't give me times or dates," she said, smiling at him. "This is what you have laid bare: good news will arrive by water very soon. The stones say this is your present, your near future."

Agamemnon sat back, beaming.
"And the other stones?" he asked. He leaned back in his chair and waved an arm expansively. "I have no interest in my past. It's done now; I am a man who lives in the present, who looks to the future."
"Then I will divine your present and your future," she said, smiling at him with the same fake smile.

He turned over two runes, starting at the bottom, leaving the central stone in the cross pattern unturned.
"This is where you find yourself right now," she said, touching the polished white surface of the lowest stone. "This is the stone of ..." she searched for the Greek word. "... cattle."
"Cattle?" Agamemnon spluttered. "What need have I for cattle?"
"This stone represents great wealth," she explained. "In our country, the kings and queens own huge herds of these beasts, they are worth their weight in gold, some of them."
She smiled at him again and he was mollified.
"Great wealth, well, that's true. And more to come when Troy crumbles before me."
"No doubt," Relta murmured placatingly. "This one here is the stone of the elder tree, the one that represents your ancestors and your family. What you have been given by your fathers and forefathers; what you will pass to your children. This is a very powerful combination, lord king, they signify a dynasty of which men will speak for hundreds of years."

Agamemnon preened.
"Witch!" he cried, full of good humour, "I brought you here to tell me something I did not know!"
He chuckled and raised his empty glass, peering into it almost comically.
"Pour me more, woman," he ordered and pushed the goblet at her.
This is it, she thought. This is my chance.
Her heart began to thump wildly, banging loudly in her chest.

"Sire," she said, trying to keep the shake from her voice, "the last three stones represent your destiny. Not your future, not your present, but your destiny as a man. You must concentrate hard, focus on them and turn them slowly, starting with the top-most rune and finishing with the middle one, the one that represents your destiny, your fate."
He nodded, leaned forward and stared at the stones.
Relta uncorked the vial under the table and held it in her left hand as she poured the wine from the jug.

Agamemnon turned over the first stone.
The stone of the spear, she thought, the rune that represents victory.
But the symbol was upside-down: a victory that could not be, or a victory that would not be as expected.
She placed Agamemnon's goblet behind the jug as he turned over the second stone, slowly and carefully, his brow furrowed in concentration.
The thorn, she thought, the thorn that sticks in the foot of man, the sharp pain of loss.
Relta tipped the contents of the vial into the wine. It was a dark colour and it sat on the surface of the wine like oil.
Shit, she thought. Curse you, Hector. What kind of potion is this?

Agamemnon looked up at her expectantly and she nodded at the middle stone.
"Offer a thought to your gods that you have chosen wisely," she said in a soft voice, "Before you turn it over."
Obediently, the king shut his eyes for a moment and she spontaneously plunged her finger into the goblet and mixed the poison quickly. It disappeared in the dark wine, swirling into the scarlet liquid.

The central stone, the stone of the king's destiny, made her catch her breath.
"Well?" he asked and reached out his hand for the goblet.
She handed it over.
"The top two stones are just as auspicious as the others," she said, trying to sound sincere. "They represent victory and loss – "
He opened his mouth to protest.
"If combined with the stone of victory," she said quickly, "we are speaking of the losses incurred by the vanquished."
And if the rune is upside-down, she thought, the losses will be Agamemnon's. Like a thorn in his side, they will build up until he cannot bear it any more.

"Ah!" he crowed and raised his goblet triumphantly.
Relta beamed at him.
Outside, there was shouting and Agamemnon looked around.
No, she thought. Drink the wine, man.
"To victory!" Relta cried and grabbed her cup.
"What is going on?" he said as the shouting became louder.
Desperate, she cried, "King of kings, we should toast your victory!"
Dunni behind her made a shuffling sound as they heard the sound of feet running up the wooden gangplank that led to Agamemnon's quarters on his boat.
"My lord," she said loudly, "we must toast your victory."
He looked at her distractedly. "I have more important things to do," he snapped, "but I will drink to victory."
He swigged from the cup and looked up as the curtain that covered the entrance was thrown open.

Achilles stood in the doorway, resplendent in his black armour, his helmet jammed under his arm.
He looked from Relta to the Achaean king.
"Hector attacks," he said curtly. "The men are in disarray, they are gathering arms as we speak but Hector's archers have come close enough to take out the sentries and the first men over the dunes."
"God's teeth!" Agamemnon roared, smashing the goblet down on the tablet, upsetting the wine and sending it across the table, leaving the stones in a pool of blood-red liquid.
Relta cried out, but Agamemnon ignored her.
"Where is my brother?" he shouted.
"He is putting on his armour," Achilles said, approaching the table.
Relta tried to hold back tears, gathering up the wet stones, the red wine splattering her chiton like blood.
"Leave the stones, queen," he said quietly.

"Get me my servants!" Agamemnon roared at the guards. "My armour! My sword, my shield! Light the torches up and down the beaches so that we may see what this bastard has planned for us!"
"The Ithacans are putting Odysseus on board his boat," Achilles said. He paused. "With your permission, a small crew will leave with him now, so that he may die honourably beneath the stars and not lying at the feet of some lowly Trojan."
"Fine, fine," Agamemnon said. "A handful of men, mind. The Ithacans will fight, regardless of whether their king lives. If Odysseus perishes, they will fight on for me. Tell them that, Myrmidon."
"Yes, sire," Achilles said.
He held Relta tightly by the arm. She grabbed her pouch, tried to scoop up the runestones but Achilles pulled her away, out of Agamemnon's quarters, followed by Dunni, whose arms were full with her cloak and her queen's. As they hurried down the gangplank, Menelaus passed them and growled at Achilles to leave his damn witch and get his men.

"I told you – " Achilles began.
"Listen," she interrupted. "Listen to me: tonight Agamemnon will die."
"Is that what your stones said?" he hissed, bending his face to hers.
They could hear arrows whizzing and some of the dry brush on the dunes was starting to burn, tainting the night sky with an acrid smell.
She shook her head.
Achilles frowned, uncomprehending.
"I poisoned him," she said, a wave of hysteria rising in her. "I put poison in his wine."
"Where did you get poison?" he said in disbelief.
She hesitated.
Oh, why bother? Relta thought. This is it, this is the end. The end of all things.

"I made a deal with Hector," she said. "I promised to kill Agamemnon – to end this war, Achilles. With Agamemnon dead, you would all return to your homeland and Troy would be left in peace."
"And you, would you return to your homeland?" he asked.
The sky was cloudy, she could barely make out the expression on his face.
"Hector said he would put me on a boat to Carthage if I killed Agamemnon," she said. "That was the deal. But he must have become impatient - "
She could hear fire crackling, a gust of wind blew smoke towards them and the sound of metal clashing.
"And you poisoned him? With the wine? The same wine that spilled all over the table?"
"He drank some," Relta said, doubt rising. "He drank deeply – surely enough to kill him?"
"Have you seen how big he is?" Achilles said. "It would take more than a mere sip of poison to kill him."

She cried out again, this time in frustration and despair.
"He will be sick," Achilles said, starting to walk off.
She ran after him, Dunni scurrying behind them.
Achilles spoke to her over his shoulder.
"He will probably be sick and he will know that it was poison. So he'll know it was you. If we survive the night, the first thing he will do is round you up and have you killed. Possibly slit your throat. Maybe let his men rape you first, just to teach me how to control my women in future. That is, if he lets me live. He'll probably suspect that I put you up to it."
He stopped and looked down at her, his face impassive.
Relta covered her face with her hands.

"This will incapacitate him," she said, looking up. "He will be too ill to fight well. Tonight will be the night he dies."
Achilles shook his head silently but she said with more confidence than she felt: "It will. I know it will."

"My lord!"
It was Eudorus, running up the beach, Achilles' sword and shield in his hand.
"The men await their orders, my lord!"
He looked down at her, then raised a hand to her cheek.
She flinched, but he gently placed a cool palm against her jaw, cradling her face.
"You would risk everything. You would make a deal with Hector," he said sadly. "Do you want to leave me that badly?"
She felt tears well up and bit her lip to hold them in, but he looked at her, waiting for an answer.
"I don't want to leave you," Relta answered. "It's just that – it's just that I can't stay."
"But I love you," Achilles insisted.

Relta smiled at him, and in doing so, a tear ran down her cheek. She wiped it away quickly.
"You don't love me enough," she said. "I'm not your destiny, Achilles. Another woman will make you happy. Another woman will give you peace in this time of war. Not me. It was never me."

Eudorus stopped beside them, looking from one to another.
Dunni cleared her throat nervously behind them as an arrow hit the canvas of a tent at the edge of the dunes and lit it like a bonfire.
Achilles took his sword and shield, looked out over the sea, thinking.
She waited, studying his face, trying to memorise it.
"Where's Timon?" he asked.
In answer, Eudorus turned and let out a piercing whistle, which was returned from the darkness.
Achilles looked down at her, fixing his blue eyes on hers.
"You will board the boat with Odysseus," he said. "If he dies, they will make for the nearest port on the mainland, his body will be embalmed there and taken on to Ithaca for burial rites. You can either take your chances on the mainland or travel to Ithaca and find a boat there."

The shouts grew shriller, more panicked; the wind blew a billow of smoke down the beach. The crackling grew louder and the penned animals started to low and bleat plaintively in the darkness. Some of the children were crying as their mothers tried to make their way down the beach, away from the advancing army.
"My lord," Eudorus implored impatiently.
"Have you gold, my lady?" he asked her, ignoring his captain, placing his helmet on his head.
She shook her head.
"Take what you want of mine," Achilles said. "Timon will put you and your woman on board the boat."
Timon, out of breath, appeared beside them in time to hear his orders. He nodded.

"Goodbye, then, my queen," he said without emotion. "I wish you well."
Achilles stood upright, sword and shield in hand, then nodded at her slowly and walked away.
She watched him, his familiar gait, the muscles of his back, his long fingers gripping the sword, disappearing into the smoky night.
"I did love you!" she called out, suddenly overwhelmed with a feeling she had not wanted to know.
"But not enough," came his reply from the darkness.
She raised her hands to her face again.
Her cheeks were wet with tears.

xXx

The boat pushed off as the first wave of Trojans came over the top of the dunes. The men rowed as fast as they could while the sails were being raised. The wind was blowing over the beach, out to sea. A wind that was favourable for the sailors, but deadly for the Greeks defending the sand.
Below decks, two male slaves were tending Odysseus, who was raving with fever, conversing with the gods and negotiating his price across the Stix.

From the deck, Dunni and Relta could hear the screams, hear the scratching metal of the swords, till the wind changed and blew the sound of the horror over the northern sea.
"It's hopeless, isn't it?" Dunni said bleakly. "The Greeks will be driven back into the water."
Relta nodded numbly.
The Ithacans on the board the boat paused in their work to look at the blinking lights of the battle on the sand. Relta heard them whisper to their gods and one of them shouted, "White Queen! If you are a witch, use your magic to help the Greeks."
She looked at Dunni in despair.

There was no sound but the swish of the waves, the battle reduced to a bare hum, then suddenly one of the sailors screamed: "There! There!"

Around the head of the bay they saw a light, a small row of lights.
"It's a boat!" one of the men shouted in terror. "The Trojans - the Trojans have them trapped!"
The sailors and the two women rushed to the other side of the boat, clamouring to see.
Another boat appeared, then the flickering lights of a third.
"That's not a Trojan flag," the Ithacan captain said suddenly. He put his hand over his eyes, squinting in the darkness. "They're Greeks!"
The lights flashed a greeting to the other boat and the Ithacans roared into the wind.

Agamemnon's reinforcements.
Relta felt a wave of ice wash over her: fear? Relief?
She did not know.
The men on board the Ithacan boat raised a cheer, the rowers paused to cheer with them.
"Row on!" the captain cried. "Row on, our comrades will be saved! The White Queen has saved them!"

The Ithacan boat cut swiftly through the waves and Relta made her way to a quiet corner, her legs weak. She crumpled into a heap, her back against the side of the boat.
"The rune stones said that Agamemnon's reinforcements would arrive," Dunni said. "You were right."
Relta nodded. She felt a wave of nausea rise.
"And will Agamemnon win a great victory?" the Gaul asked.
"No, no, he won't. I lied. He will lose – I just don't know if it will be tonight. But the king of kings will not leave Troy alive."
"Is that why you left the Myrmidon behind?"

Relta pressed her eyes closed, saw her daughter's face, her little arms reaching up for her. The yellow dress.
"No," she said. "I didn't think ... I didn't think I was to stay. Then that pig king turned over the last stone, his centre stone, and I knew for sure."
"What was it?"
"Mór-Rígan," Relta answered, but Dunni shook her head.
"What's that?"
"The one we call the high queen, the ghost queen," Relta said.
"Mara-Rigu!" Dunni cried, sitting up.
Relta opened her hand and showed the slave woman the stone she had been clutching, her palms bloodied from her fingernails.
"Yes, Mara-Rigu. See this symbol here? That's her symbol, the wolf."
Relta laughed out loud, a bitter, harsh laugh that made a nearby Ithacan look up.
"The stinking wolf, the animal that haunts me," she said to Dunni. "Apparently, I wasn't meant to affect Achilles' destiny, I was meant for Agamemnon."

She spat on the stone, then tossed it over her shoulder, in a high arch over the side of the boat.

xXx

One chapter left - then that's the end of my saga.
(... For now?)
Please leave a comment if you've been reading along and stay safe and healthy, wherever you are.