Disclaimer: Just rewind to Chapter 1 (but you've probably already read that chapter) .
Chapter Subjects: Briseis and Achilles
Language Note/Summary: This is the part where Achilles gets real pissed Agamemnon for taking Briseis. I have some lines from the movie and I hope I do it justice. The quote is something I came up with. This chapter begins with Achilles, goes to Briseis and then back to Achilles.
Announcements: Please REVIEW!!! and read the NOTE!!!
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Footsteps in the Sand
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"Where would their paths lead them? Who would perish in the name of loyalty? Who would live to mourn the death of his brother?"
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"A great victory was won today, but that victory was not yours. Kings do not kneel to Achilles. Kings do not pay homage to Achilles." Very angry, now, isn't he? Stuck-up pig.
"Perhaps the kings were to far behind to see. The soldiers won the battle."
"History remembers kings, not soldiers! Tommorrow we'll batter down the gates of Troy! I'll build momuments of victory on every island of Greece. I'll carve Agamemnon into stone."
"Be careful, king of kings. First you need the victory."
"So, you bring no gifts?" As if you don't already have enough wealth.
"Take the gold, I don't care."
"Do not trouble yourself, Achilles. I have already taken what I want, as you can see." He gestured towards the tent opening…
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Their hands felt like the hands of Hades, groping, tugging, pulling. Hector!
"Hector!" I suddenly realised I had screamed his name aloud, a last plea. But there was no cousin her to rescue me.
The soldiers just howled, like the wolves Paris would hunt down in the mountains after they snatched a baby on a dark night. Their voices were rough, like the coarse wool of peasant's clothes. They laughed at my feeble attempts to resist them. I clenched my fists tighter and continued to pound at their arms. But like wolves, like men, are strong. Monsters!
I am not afraid… I am not afraid… I am afraid. For some reason, I began to wish that Achilles was here. He wouldn't let them touch me like this. He would probably kill them. Mother of Zeus, when he finds out about this he will kill them. So it did not surprise me when they began to drag me out of Achilles' tent.
When some of his men saw this, they rose from their seats on the logs which they had found scattered along the stretch of coastline. But they knew better than to become involved I in the matters of kings. Their lord would do what needed to be done. The blue-eyed man from earlier was not seen.
My feet left deep grooves in the sand, as they dragged across the beach, soon to be trampled away by the feet of a soldier, or blown apart by the wind. The soldiers were leading me, or rather dragging me, to a tent.
It was elaborately decorated on the outside, ribbons and banners flapping in the light breeze, and tents are usually more decorated on the inside… like people. And not always in a good way. Only one man came to mind when I thought about who would be so lavish: Agamemnon.
I remembered that Achilles' blue-eyed friend had said that Agamemnon requested Achilles in his tent. Wrong decision, king of kings. I could only imagine how Achilles would react. A figure emerged from the opening.
His face was that of a man which much wisdom, acquired over the years. I knew of three men whom could have such a face; Priam, my Uncle, Nestor of the Pylians, and Odysseus of Ithaca. It could not be Priam, and he was certainly too old to be Nestor. It had to be Odysseus. He squinted for a moment, though it was not anywhere near nightfall, as if he recongnised me.
It came to mind that Odysseus was a clear-thinker, and would make sure that no harm came to anyone. He was not a rash man, though certainly without as much skill as Achilles. Odysseus was a tactician, a man who could mould words to suit his purposes, not a fighter. I sent out a silent plea. Please, Odysseus, whose words weave legends, please…
But he did not recongnise me, and turned and walked off to his own section of the Greek camp.
The inside of the tent was empty, except for two men, whom I knew by sight. One, Achilles; the other, Agamemnon. You could tell who Agamemnon was because of his bearing, because of how he adorned himself with gold and gaudy gems, because of his oiled limbs and long black hair. But they were greasy, unlike Achilles' fair tresses. He was clothed in rich robes.
"Do not trouble yourself, Achilles. I have already taken what I want, as you can see," he was saying. But he looked like a pig. I could not imagine…
Achilles trembled with rage. Before I could say anything, he drew his sword, as if to cut down those men who held me in an iron grip, even now. It seemed as if he were going to cut down Agamemnon himself. If he does, it will be better for Troy. Better for everyone, even the Greeks. But it came to mind that even Achilles, famous for his rage and temper, would not kill Agamemnon himself. He might be immersed in his fury at this very moment, but he was not an idiot.
"I have no quarrel with you, but if you do not release her!" Their grips lessened considerably, but did not release me.
"Stop!"
Agamemnon raised his eyebrows ever so slightly. Achilles' face held that expression of a child's confusion and surprise.
"Too many men have died today. Trojan soldiers and priests. If killing is your only talent, then it is your curse. I don't want anyone dying for me." I directed the priest comment at Achilles. "I'll not have blood being spilled for me. And certainly not from you." You monster, I added silently.
I hoped that he would not cut me down for my harsh words against him. That was better than being a concubine. I was a slave now. He was still the greatest warrior in the world. But I controlled my expression, turning it into a look of pure defiance. I held my head a little higher. A princess of Troy would not bow down to a Greek invader. Make Hector proud.
I bit the inside of my lip, drawing blood, and dared not breathe. Then, it was my turn to be surprised. He slid the sword into its beautifully tooled scabbard, with a loud Screech!, another sign of his anger. His hand still remained on the hilt.
Outside the tempest loudly roars, but no storm can shake my inmost calm.
He glared at the animal-skin covered floor, as if it was Agamemnon himself, shoulders and chest heaving in some sort of frustration and definitely anger. His jaw was set firmly, and I could tell he was gritting and grinding his teeth. For some reason, I thought of how many rabbits had been killed to cover this tent floor of Agamemnon's.
"My, my, Achilles. Silenced by a slave girl. Why, I never knew this pretty thing had so much power over a man such as yourself."
The words were taunting, and it seemed as if the flame burning within Achilles flared at this. Next, to my utter disgust, Agamemnon picked up a few strands of my hair, like Achilles had done earlier, yet this man's touch seemed oily, fat and, in every way, the touch of a pig.
"Tonight, I'll have her fetch some warm water for my bath. And then, who knows?" At this, Achilles unsheathed his sword and pointed it in the direction of Agamemnon's throat. His eyes burned with a passion.
"Before my time is done I will look down upon your corpse and smile." He snarled these words.
And then he left the tent. Sheathed his sword again and swept out of the tent. Dread came upon me.
I had looked around me and seen, earlier, the hearts of Greeks. It took only one look. They had black hearts, all of them, and the blackest of them as black as coals. Agamemnon's was even blacker. Like the black of a raven's wing. Oh, what have I done?!
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Night fell. The moon sailed over and put on a cloak of cloud. A long-beaked cry of a gull curled across the water. Waves lapped at the shore and against the wooden ships of the Greeks. A figure strode across the beach and towards his tent. No one stepped in his way, all men wary of the son of Peleus' famous anger.
He flung himself through the tent opening. How dare Agamemnon do such a thing to him? And that priestess, how dare she speak to him in such a way? Didn't she know help when she saw it?
"Women," he muttered angrily.
Un-buckling his sword and belt, he tossed it aside, and poured himself a cupful of wine. It was tasteless in his mouth. Walking to his bed, he sat down on the edge of it, drinking in great gulps, and ran the tip of his tongue over his lower lip.
"Silenced by a slave girl." He snorted. "I'll silence my blade's song and my war-cry. And we'll see who will come crawling and begging for the aid of Achilles, greatest of all the Achaeans. Oh, yes, Agamemnon, I'll be silenced." He drained the rest of the cup, tossed it carelessly to the floor, and leaned back on the cushions.
There was silence, save for the brazen drunken laughing of the soldiers outside his tent. A victory, hmm? Well, you'll not be seeing one tomorrow. Agamemnon will certainly get immortality; for over-estimating himself and forgetting of the power of Achilles.
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NOTE: I will be writing on Paris and Helen next. Also, I am planning on writing a sequel to this story after I finish it. What do you think about that? REVIEWS!!!