This makes no attempt to be historically accurate, it's completely off-canon and good old romp through Greek antiquity. Caps are doffed to the Illiad and to Wolfgang Petersen - all errors and flights of fancy are mine. Enjoy - and please comment!
Patroclus waited till Phoenix left – so late, he grumbled, his old bones needed to feel the comfort of his furs, not the cold sand of Achilles' tent – before he turned to Odysseus.
"Tell us again," he begged. "Tell us of Agamemnon's defeat at the hands of the women of Kalios."
His cheeks were pink with wine and the warmth of the fire, which had burnt down to embers, smouldering in the middle of the small tent.
Achilles groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose to stave off his headache. They'd fought hard that day and men had died; they'd set the pyres and then withdrawn back to Achilles' tent to drink to the fallen. Odysseus looked over at his friend, who was shaking his head in mock-despair. His young cousin leaned forward and slapped Odysseus' leg.
"Tell," he said.
"Cousin," Achilles said, "we have heard this story a dozen times."
"And with every telling it gets better!" Patroclus said, ebullient with wine.
"Don't you have a woman waiting for you?" Achilles asked slyly, glancing at Odysseus.
Patroclus had finally taken a concubine but she, a dark-eyed Syrian, was driving him to despair. He had not yet learned how to control his woman and she was most definitely controlling him. When the boy went outside to relieve himself, Achilles had murmured to Odysseus that she'd thrown him out of their tent and told him not to come back, something the older man had found amusing. Patroclus was finally one of the Myrmidons, but he still had much to learn. He could fight a man and win, Odysseus thought with a grin, but he didn't know what weapons to use with a woman.
Patroclus looked at the two men, stricken at the thought of the angry woman seething in his bed, and Odysseus smothered a laugh. He took pity on him.
"Very well, then, the story of how the King of Kings was defeated by the White Queen of Kalios," Odysseus said. He leaned back against one of the tent posts and wished, for the umpteenth time, that these gatherings could take place in his tent, where there were seats for all and comfortable rugs. Yet, without fail, they always seemed to end up on the hard ground of Achilles tent, which smelled of blood, sweat and leather, and not the healing herbs Odysseus had burning in his. How it happened this way had been a mystery to him till he recognised that Achilles did not care enough for anyone to go to anyone. He simply assumed that they would all come to him.
And, curse the man, they all did.
Patroclus leaned forward.
"Aye, well, when you lot took off to Pedasus, the Kalion King died," Odysseus began, as he always did.
"The woman-king," Patroclus said. "Married to the man-queen."
"They say," Odysseus said, "that he wore the robes of a woman and lay with his lover, while his Queen rode into battle on a black horse, a huge black horse, that galloped like thunder through the battlefield, cutting men down as she went. She had six dogs as big as mountain lions, big enough to take down wolves, they said."
Achilles snorted.
"I'm just saying what I heard," Odysseus insisted, shrugging. "That's what they say."
Achilles rolled his eyes and drank deep.
"But you saw her," Patroclus insisted.
Odysseus held up a hand. "Many years ago, young friend, at a gathering of the kings. They were barely married then and she wore the fine clothes of the Kalion, kept her eyes down and her mouth shut. No horse, no dogs."
"As befits a woman," Achilles said, poking his cousin with his foot. "Take note."
Patroclus ignored him. "What did the king die of, then?" he asked, though he knew the answer.
"No one knows how or of what. For sure, he was not a young man but he was healthy and strong. But a fever or ague took him and to his wife's great sorrow, and the greater sorrow of all his subjects, he succumbed and died. Agamemnon decided it would be fortuitous to attack Kalios – they have salt, after all, and God knows we could do with salt. Three years here and no sign of an end to this siege; our salt supplies are waning faster than we can replenish them. And what harm? Agamemnon said. The king's brother and heir had not yet returned to the city from his wife's home, so Kalios was practically inviting invasion."
Odysseus smiled at the young man and shrugged. "The signs seemed to point to it: an eagle flew overhead with a snake in its beak, so a watchman said. This was enough to convince our King of Kings. But the same day, a wolf – a lone wolf – crept into camp and killed a ram."
"A she-wolf," Patroclus said.
"Male or female, who knows?" Odysseus replied. "But that's what they call the Queen of Kalios: the she-wolf. Nestor told Agamemnon that the gods had sent a she-wolf into the thick of our camp and she'd slaughtered a ram, a fine ram. But that drove him into a temper: how dare Nestor attach significance something he would rather overlook? Against all of our advice, the signs of the gods and ignoring the honour of the funeral rights, Agamemnon set off to capture Kalios."
"While it was weak," Patroclus prompted.
"While he thought it was weak," Odysseus corrected. "I told him, nay I implored him to wait for the return of the two best warriors in camp –" Patroclus grinned " – but he would not hear of it. Kalios: a tiny kingdom on a rocky cliff? He could take it in an hour, he roared. So we set sail, just a small force. After all, it would be beneath his honour to attack such an insignificant city with a significant army, so he picked a few of the leaders he tolerates best and we took a jaunt across the water – to flex our muscles, he said. That's what he called it: flexing our muscles. At first the gods seemed to smile on us; the winds were in our favour and we sliced through the water like a knife – "
"- cutting through bread," Patroclus finished.
"You've heard this story too often," chided Achilles. He reached for the wine jug. He was, Odysseus noted, pretending not to care for the tale, but he had known the Myrmidon long enough to see how he watched him from the corner of his eye, following his every word.
Satisfied he had a captive audience, Odysseus leaned back against the hard post.
"We arrived at a beach that was nothing but a waste of pebbles, in a tiny bay not big enough for our ships. Of course, we knew that Kalios was famed for its stony beaches, its fortress, but it's one thing to hear of a shitty little kingdom on a rocky outpost and another to actually land there. Agamemnon's chariot had to be carried across the beach to the road and there he discovered that the road to the city runs almost vertically up their damned cliff to the city gates."
Odysseus laughed, a deep, hoarse laugh that made even Achilles smile.
"Aye, he had a face as sour as spoiled milk on him then. And he had no choice but to climb that hill, huffing and puffing, his face as red as a lobster, followed by all of his men. By this time, the clouds were gathering like an omen and the men were already discontent. Some started to murmur that the place was cursed: they had left the beach of Troy in sun, arrived but days later to darkness. Agamemnon was attacking a city during the king's funeral rites – the gods were watching and showing their disfavour."
Patroclus nodded.
"We got to the gates and Agamemnon caught his breath – "
Odysseus mimicked the older man clutching his side, drawing air in deeply.
"- Then he roared, 'Queen of Kalios! I am Agamemnon, King of Kings! Look upon my army and despair!' But there was no response. Not a single figure on the ramparts. Not a soldier, not a lookout. Just that damned door, high as ten men, and those stony walls. His face grew redder still and he screeched, 'Queen of Kalios! Queen of Kalios!' It echoed about the cliffs – for the city is built into the cliffs, the houses are hewn from the very rock, I swear – and then finally, just as he was giving the order for the troops to attack that accursed gate – she appeared on the ramparts."
"What did she look like?" Patroclus asked eagerly. "She was beautiful, no?"
"Like I've said before," Odysseus smiled, "I could not tell. When I saw her years ago, she wore a veil."
"They say she is beautiful," the young Myrmidon said in a wistful tone.
"They say she looks strange and outlandish. Some say she is an Amazon because she fights like a man. Others yet say she comes from the far north, where the people have hair the colour of orange fruit and skin that shimmers blue. I saw not orange hair, nor blue skin. Rather, she is very pale. Looks half-dead, some say."
Patroclus looked disappointed, as he always did at that point in the story, and Odysseus felt a little sorry for him.
"She was very regal," he said. "She wore white and she was, in fact, pale like the moon. She stood on the ramparts and shouted, 'Why are you here?' at our king. He called up to her to surrender or he would take the city by force. He said he knew that they were weak, that the king's guard had gone forth to fetch the heir and the city was guarded by only their auxiliary. He shouted, 'Surrender or I will attack!' and we rattled our swords and roared, to put the fear of the gods in to the Kalion Queen."
Achilles stirred and Odysseus looked up. The tent was in darkness, save the light from the fire. He saw the two blond heads of the cousins draw near.
"She just looked down on us and smiled. 'Attack!' she called and inclined her head."
He leaned forward, sure of his audience's attention, bowing his head briefly.
"Agamemnon, flustered, blustered and shook his sword. He gave his order to attack, then their archers stood. They had been perched behind the walls, like little birds. As soon as we made a move, the arrows came down like hail. The Phylaceans made it to the gate, but on them they rained down rocks, stones, pots and plates, balls of burning rags, dipped in tar. Every single inch of those ramparts were taken up with Kalions: the archers stood behind small children who dropped every piece of shit they had on hand – "
"And shit, they actually dropped shit," Patroclus cried.
"Aye, they emptied pots of faeces and piss, oil and stagnant water – every foul-smelling mixture you can imagine – on the heads of the men below. And the women howled. They stood by the men, howling like animals, like wolves, and threw stones and rocks."
Achilles sighed and rubbed the skin between his eyes.
"Then the heavens rumbled and broke open. It grew darker still and lightning flashed from the sky. The men became uneasy, they were caught in the narrow ravine leading to the city gates and some murmuring started that they were like chickens to a fox: easy prey. What if the Kalion army were waiting, hiding, to bring up the rear from the beaches? What if this was a ruse to drive them towards the city for the slaughter?"
Odysseus looked from one set of blue eyes to the other.
"So I told my men to pull back, and Ajax told his to do the same. The other leaders pulled back quickly enough and then, finally, Agamemnon huffed and puffed back down the hill, slipping and sliding in the torrential rain. We convened on the beaches, considered making camp and waiting it out, but there was nowhere to pitch the tents, no fresh water, and it was already as dark as Hades. Ajax figured the winds would drive us back towards Troy, so we cut our losses and set back across an angry sea to the sandy beaches of our new home."
Patroclus clapped, his young face bright with mischievous delight.
"And Agamemnon cursed her, cursed her name, her ancestors and her offspring," he said.
"He did. Nestor tried to calm him, as did Phoenix. Beneath his dignity, they reminded him, beneath his dignity to get so worked up about a city so unimportant. Kalios is far from here, it has little culture or influence. All it has is its salt mine and even that barely kept the king in gold. But, no, now he has added Kalios to the list of enemies that have wronged him and, mark my words, he will have us all set off again some day to take those city gates. That's something to look forward to, my friend," he grinned at Achilles.
Achilles stretched.
"I cannot wait," he answered, deadpan. "These are the battles that make us immortal. A blue-skinned queen and little children with buckets of piss."
He smiled his crooked half-smile and raised his goblet at his friend.
Odysseus stood and saluted the two.
"I take my leave," he said. "I shall have the women pour me a bath tomorrow, but for now I intend to fall into the slumber of the dead, happy in my own filth."
"And I will return to my woman," Patroclus said, brave words that belied his nervous tone.
"At least she's no she-wolf," Achilles said, holding back the leather curtain that functioned as a door.
Patroclus laughed and stumbled off in the darkness. Odysseus went in the opposite direction, back to camp. But in his mind's eye, he saw the White Queen, pale as ivory in the sleeting grey storm. When he turned to leave, he had looked back and looked up. The ramparts were empty again, the men, women and children had melted away, as though they'd never been there. Only she stood in the streaming rain, her robes flapping in the wind.
As he looked at her, she seemed to look straight at him: she nodded her head, eyes cast downwards, as he remembered her from the gathering of kings, then stood like that, motionless, till the injured and dead were gathered and removed down to the beach. He had shuddered, pulling his cloak closer as he stumbled down the pebbled path to the waiting ships.