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Briseis struggled to raise her head up, her chest heaving with effort to take in a breath of air. She choked and a cough rose up from her lungs as she inhaled the dust the soldiers kicked up into her face with each step they took. The stale thick air entered her parched mouth and instead of easing her discomfort as she hoped it would, restricted her breathing even more. The fine dust seemed to stick onto the dry insides of her throat, and it constricted, leaving her in great agony. Briseis coughed hard, trying to expel the affliction from her tormented body. The harsh action caused her head to be thrown up and it fell back limply, jarring her throbbing head.
She let out an anguished cry, but it went unheard, drowned out by the reverberating monotony of footsteps. The blistering sun beat down on her scorching back and she felt as though she was on the verge of death.
Is this how death feels like? Being tortured by Hades? She despaired. Not being able to see, hear and speak, but only know pain?
Then the merciless sunlight disappeared, and in its place she sensed the cool darkness, tranquillizing her sore eyes and tender nerves. With the darkness came a soft cool breeze, washing over her heated skin like good medicine.
Briseis blinked her eyes, unaccustomed to the darkness and after a few moments, her eyesight returned. She gazed at the unfamiliar surroundings, trying to gain ground.
Numerous soldiers stood rigidly under a large expansive shelter, waiting in front of a large tent entrance. Loud, dignified voices resounded from within and judging from the many different ways of speech, there were many men inside, holding a meeting of some sort.
Looking about more carefully, Briseis saw that she was, in truth, on a huge wooden ship, one only used for the likes of royalty.
Agamemnon. The name hit her like a massive force and a shiver ran down her back. As much as she did not want to admit it, she was Achilles war prize. And between him and Agamemnon, she would choose Achilles in a minute. She had heard stories of Agamemnon's cruelty, his consuming greed, his unfaithfulness to his wife, and his lack of regal mannerisms. In other words, he was a brute, unfit to be King.
The conversation in the tent came to a gradual stop and Briseis turned weakly in its direction. As she watched and waited, men dressed in finery and gold streamed out of the tent, low mutterings passed between them. They walked past her as though she was not there and faded out of sight into the beaming sunlight.
She noted each face as they brushed past her, old wrinkled faces creased with worry lines and mouths up turned in constant grumble and distain. But none of them Achilles. There was no flash of golden hair, strong sturdy strides and a smooth, bronze face colored with arrogance.
Her heart gave a grudging leap, somehow vaguely comforted by the fact that he might still be inside. Perhaps he would save her from Agamemnon.
In this place of Greeks, I have no one else. Briseis acknowledged reluctantly, a resigned frown appearing on her face. It stung that she had to depend upon an enemy to ensure her dignity and survival, but it would be foolishness to choose her pride over life.
When all the royal men and generals had gone, the Greek soldiers secured the grip on her arms and she was jerked up to her feet as they pulled her towards the entrance. Her arms were numb from their grasp and she struggled in their captivity, her legs kicking and flying with surprising force. Ignoring her shouts of protest and anger, they carried on. She found herself hauled up short wooden steps till she was thrown down on her knees when they came to a sharp halt.
Briseis glanced up at this new place, regarding it uncertainly.
They were in a sheltered tent, with wooden floors and gaudy ornaments displayed everywhere. Standing at a distance in front of her was Achilles, and a stout, well-fed, bearded man; Agamemnon. She stared at him with disgust and revulsion, hating the sight of him at once. With beady black eyes, thick graying hair and a mouth curled up in a sinister, triumphant smirk, he resembled not a King of Greece, but a crafty and shrewd merchant.
He is no King! She thought scathingly, thinking about Troy and her uncle Priam. Greece will fall in the hands of this man!
She shifted her gaze discretely onto Achilles, and was taken aback at the intense anger and rage in his eyes. He stood, tense and boiling with hatred, cutting a striking figure with his black attire.
Her flow of thoughts was broken abruptly as her head was jerked up in a violent manner. Knowing that she could not fight their strength with her feeble one, she masked her growing panic with a look of bravery and resilience, hoping that in time she would feel that way.
Her attention was averted back to Achilles when she heard the sharp rasp of a sword running against its sheath. Her eyes dilated with horror and her heart felt as though it would explode any moment from sheer anxiety. His eyes were deadly grave and she struggled to keep her defiant demeanor, fearfully awaiting the blade of the knife against her neck.
You fool! This man has killed hundreds, if not thousands and would not give a second thought about a mere girl!
Then he spoke, his voice tight and firm, strung with controlled wrath. His jaw clenched fiercely, his eyes cool but piercing.
"No argument with you brothers, but if you don't release her, you'll never see home again. Decide!" His words were final, and he swung out his sword staunchly, pointing it menacingly at the stricken soldiers.
"Guards!" Agamemnon roared in response to his threat. His face had grown red, his chest heaving in anger. He kept his gaze moving back and forth, from the guards to Achilles, but dared not take a step in either direction.
Stunned to silence at his words, her legs gave away, and she hung, limp like a wet leaf, on the soldiers support. Briseis waited to see what would happen next, sucking in her breath nervously. The soldiers did not release her, but their grip had loosened measurably.
They fear Achilles more than their King, but dare not show such audacity in his presence, slowly beginning to understand the way of things.
Then, like a roaring fire, his eyes blazed with anger and more anger. He would not stand to have anyone, anyone, much less a man like Agamemnon, touch her and mistreat her. She was his, and no one else's.
"Step aside." He ordered through gritted teeth.
His words seemed like a candle in the darkness, and in that short pause, she saw what this whole foreplay was about, and everything as it truly stood for. This was not about her mistreatment, or a twisted way of showing he cared. This was between two men, fighting over a woman to prove their power and status. It was a battle of pride, sparked off by one that had been injured. It was not about her; she was just a mere property in their eyes, not a mortal worthy of choice and say. She was just an opportunity that presented itself, one, which each opponent had taken to their advantage in hope to gain an upper hand.
I will not allow this to ensue any further! Two men's foolish pride is not worth slain lives!
"Stop!"
He froze to slide his gaze upon her and felt the gazes of Agamemnon and the soldiers rest upon her shoulders as well. "Too many men have died today!" she went on with paced urgency, becoming more incensed with each word she spoke.
"If killing is your only talent, then it is your curse," Briseis proceeded, turning to look directly into Achilles burning eyes. She lowered her voice darkly. "I don't want anyone dying for me!" Each word rolled off her tongue dripping with venom and she bristled. She was angered greatly. Never before had she felt so foolish, so insulted. They had managed to inflict the worst wound they could upon her without their knowing.
If all these men only know how to kill, then I pity them, for they know nothing! Blood shed cannot be repaid!
Then, to her immense relief and astonishment, Achilles slid the sword back in its sheath with a forceful push of his hand and straightened up. His eyes glazed with frustration, he was seething, though bound to her words. He wanted badly to free her, but her words had held too much truth. He could not have killed the men knowing it was against her wishes.
Briseis was thankful, thankful for his actions, though why he did so remained unclear. She still trembled with fire, but she was thankful he had spared more lives. He was a strange man, a very strange man. His actions contradicted whom he was, how he was supposed to behave. She did not understand him, but she was grateful to him, for she knew he did not need to heed the words of a Trojan priestess and give the King more reason to celebrate any further.
"Mighty Achilles! Silenced by a slave girl!" Agamemnon leered, basking in his timely victory, goading in his triumph; seemingly oblivious to the dark stares he was receiving from Achilles.
"Tonight I think I'll have her bring me a bath," he continued in a silky tone, his complacency filling her with detest, while his words began to strike a terrible fear in her.
As he spoke he walked up to her and reached out for her hair with a ring-adorned hand. Briseis moved her head back sharply in a bid to get away from him, but he carried on, a greasy sick sneer on his face, and held up her hair to smell it. Her stomach churned and flipped as he did so, and she yearned for nothing more than to lunge out at him.
No, both of them!
"And then, who knows?" Agamemnon finished on a taunting note, delighting in the internal anguish he was inflicting upon Achilles.
She jerked her head away from him, loathing his very being. Inside, she feared greatly, but she would not show it.
"You sack of wine!" Achilles spat furiously, striding fiercely around. He walked up to Agamemnon and at his height, towered over him. Abomination was written clearly on his features, and at that moment, he was the very spirit of hatred itself.
"Before my time is done, I will look down on your corpse and smile." His words uttered ominously, and the dark aura of his threat settled upon the room as he took a final look at Agamemnon, then Briseis, and left in a whirl of black.
Agamemnon paled and the pompous expression he wore disappeared as he registered his words. After a long pause, he regained his composure and turned his attention onto her. His eyes glittered superiority but he was undeniably less cocky than before.
"You girl, have become very useful. Very useful indeed. Who would have thought that a Trojan whore would be the great Achilles' weakness?"
He laughed jeeringly, pleased and excited with his discovery. With her as his captive, he could manipulate Achilles to do as he wished. She was a gift to Greece indeed; for she would help them win this war.
"I am not a whore." Briseis hissed angrily. No man would ever use that title upon her!
A heavy hand came up to meet her face and she staggered back from the impact. Then he gripped her chin fiercely, pulling her face close to his.
He hissed in a low, slow voice. "You may not be one now, girl, but before the third day comes, you will be."
And before she could say another word, he had ordered his soldiers to tie her beside his chair, adding that no food or water would be given to her. Her heart thumped rapidly, defeated by the unfairness of it all. Inwardly, she laughed at her innocence, her naivety.
After all, I am a captive and this is how they are treated.
But with Achilles, there was respect, and with Agamemnon, there was brutality.
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