Briseis lifted her head up towards the Greek men who had just entered. Evening had fallen upon the land and torches of fire had been lit and placed about the room. The warm hues of light flickered gently and cast indistinguishable shadows on the cloth walls. From her position next to Agamemnon's seat, she could not make out the identities of the men from their faces, but she could differentiate their voices. There were three voices, three men. Their words were harsh and their movements sharp and jerky.

An oily slick voice told her Agamemnon was present but the other two voices carried no sense of familiarity with her. She could not make out their talk, for her mind was not clear.

She was tired, so tired. So worn out from the day's events that her vision was failing her. She wanted sleep and even if she did not, her body was persistent in its desire for rest. Her eyelids were weighing down heavily on her eyes but she struggled to keep them open.

I cannot fall asleep. I must stay awake, for if I sleep, I may never see morning again. She repeated in her head, but even her determined spirit had grown weary.

Earlier in the day, when she caught herself nodding of to blissful sleep, her eyes would spring open, alarmed. But now when the darkness had begun to entice her with its peaceful slumber, her senses had become less alert. Almost every part of her no longer held any restrictions against rest, and the only thing that stopped her from giving in to the temptation was hunger.

Agamemnon had been true to his words and she had not received a single morsel of food the entire day. Apart from the thin breakfast she had partaken in this morning, she had not eaten anything since. The intense hunger pains were sharp enough to arouse her from her dazed stupor.

The only things she now saw were dark shapes looming in and out and bright lights wavering lightly. She hung her head against her shoulder, shifting her stiff legs softly. Her wrists and ankles were cut badly; her excessive struggling in the afternoon only resulted in the coarse rope slicing through the fresh wounds she had earlier acquired. She was certain they were inflamed and swollen, for the ropes seemed to be tighter.

Then the rough voices neared her and stopped abruptly. She raised her head slowly, her heartbeat accelerating. Briseis sensed danger; it was too strange for the voices to stop so suddenly. She blinked fast, wanting to see clearly again, forcing her drooping eyelids up.

Like an eagle swooping in on its ignorant prey, a huge hand flew at her throat and grasped its fingers around her neck. With a mighty push upwards, she was pulled up to her feet, the sides of her arms searing against the wooden pole. Briseis gasped, choking as the hold on her throat threatened to cut off her breathing. Writhing awkwardly and gulping for air, her insides shivered with trepidation. Her heart had nearly jumped out when that hand clutched her throat, and in this new state of danger, her senses had awakened with a jolt.

She eyed him hatefully out of the corner of her eye, lifting her head up to fight for breath.

"You savage!" Briseis choked out spitefully. "Greece deserves no…King…like you!"

She stared at him straight in the eye, where a fire burned dangerously in his. Agamemnon raised his other hand and she braced herself for the impending abuse. She gritted her teeth, knowing full well that she could not win this one.

Determined to fall with dignity, she raised her chin up stately, glaring staunchly at the three enemies before her.

"Watch your words, girl," Agamemnon snarled, his fist curled into a ball under her chin. "Be careful you don't go too far!"

"I shall have no barbarian direct my manner of speech!" she hurled at him, trembling with rage.

"Then," He replied, nodding to the two men beside him, who at once knelt to free her bounds. "I'll just have to see what you make of the men, and what they make of you!"

He sneered evilly when he saw her eyes fly open in horror. He had no patience for such a wild fiery girl. When the men were done with her, she would come crawling back like a beggar, beaten and broken!

At his words, her heart had plummeted down and throbbed painfully, as though it had been stabbed. And if indeed someone had rushed at her with a knife, it would not cause as much fear to surface as Agamemnon's words had. Her eyes stung hotly, and she suppressed the tears.

As the two men dragged her out of the room, she wanted to collapse on the ground and cry out to Apollo. But she gazed emptily at the passing surroundings; her eyes only wide open with fear and her mouth slightly open in a silent scream.

The Greek soldiers would break her and kill her spirit, she knew. There was no denying or fighting against this fact.

Then there will be no more, nothing left. She murmured blankly in her mind as a warm tear slid down her cheek.

All too shortly, the men stopped in their tracks, viewing the scene before them with malicious grins. Slowly they turned to face her and her eyes widened in an urgent plea, ignoring her pride and dignity. Briseis shook her head fearfully, desperate to get away.

With their grins stretching wider in a sick expression of delight, they flung her to the crowd of men drinking and talking loudly in callous tones.

Her face hit the soft sand and she made to get up, hoping that she could leave unharmed in the confused and rowdy mess. But drinking had only served to heighten their lust and lecherous thoughts and they seized her as a timely opportunity.

Now the tears ran freely down her face, and she sobbed and screamed despairingly, circled and enclosed by the raving hordes of men. She stumbled about in the soft sand, crying out in helplessness as she was pushed and tossed in various directions around the circle.

"Stop! Stop this!" Briseis pleaded hoarsely. The rough men squeezed and groped her everywhere, tugging at her torn robes, running their grimy hands up and down her exposed flesh.

Escaping from their clutches was not possible. The men out matched her in strength and determination, while hers was rapidly weakening. Gasping sharply as her arms were twisted back, she regarded the advancing crowd. A wrangled scream emitted from her as the two men holding her started pulling at her hair and sliding their hands in places that made her squirm with anguish to be freed from such torture.

Her face prickled with heat and thick warm blood oozed down her nose from a fresh wound while salty tears mixed with sweat trickled into the crook of her mouth.

"Hold still, you wench! Trojan whore!" A soldier spat, igniting a loud roar of verbal abuse upon her.

Suddenly an unknown source of anger rose up in her. All the emotions and feelings that had welled within her exploded and she wrenched her arm back and drew her hand across the soldier's face in a ringing slap. Barely having time to register her actions though astounded at the force of her slap, the outraged soldier caught her arms once more.

Her struggling grew more frantic and desperate as she watched a Greek soldier approach her with a glowing red branding stick. His twisted sinister grin loomed before her eyes but she remained rooted on the ground, unable to break free.

Hector! Paris! She gasped, feeling herself grow faint as a wave of complete exhaustion swept through her.

Then the man was gone, branding stick snatched from his hand, writhing in agony on the sand. Her arms were flung free and she collapsed onto the soft ground, the breath almost knocked out of her.

And in the midst of the chaos, rang a great cry.

"Achilles!"

…………………………………

Thanks for your lovely reviews. I appreciate them a lot. I have added something that I had previously forgotten to add in Chapter Five, during the last few paragraphs. It is important, though not necessary that you read them, because then you will know where she stands with him. It is not love yet, is the point I want to emphasize. Thanks very much once more. Hope you like this.