Chapter: Hatred
Author's Note: Characters' thoughts are italicized.
Briseis's POV
The hideous sight tore a gasp from my throat and suddenly, I found myself scrambling out of my hiding place.
'What are you doing?' my own mind was screaming at this insanity.
I wasn't thinking when I fell to my knees near the body of my dead cousin. I wasn't thinking as I picked up his head. And my insides recoiled in disgust and shock as my fingers felt blood. I would've screamed, but as I looked into those dead eyes, my very mind froze. I felt nothing, I heard nothing, I saw nothing.
I didn't even realize that I was still holding Helenus's head until strong fingers pulled it away from me. They were the fingers of a Greek. I shrank back immediately. And something, something I've never felt before, blazed up in roaring flames.
One Greek was trying to pull me up now. I bit his fingers.
And got struck in the face in return. I couldn't help, but cry out. The blow knocked me to the ground and I lay there cowering with blood trickling from my new wound as my Greek harasser hovered over me, his face ugly with triumph. His fingers, slimy fingers, wiped away some blood from my cheek before flicking it in my eyes. Tears were gathering, threatening to spill.
"Go on," the Greek whispered. "Cry. Cry for me, darlin."
He and his whole posse of warriors burst out laughing. All I could do was will not to cry, not to show any sign of weakness. I swore to Apollo that I would defy them until they killed me. I would be every bit as brave as Helenus had been, standing up to the leader of those murderers, Achilles.
Achilles who had been coolly watching this whole time, suddenly spoke as one of his men raise a hand to slap me.
"Leave her," he ordered, his eyes demanding immediate obedience.
He considered me for a moment with his intent eyes and then said,
"Take her to my tent."
"No!" The cry burst from my lips. I knew what they did to their captives and I absolutely refused to be a whore to my cousin's murderer. Achilles looked at me once more before turning to leave. He probably thought that I should've been thankful. He probably expected me to be drooling at his feet.
I would've been thankful if he had just killed me right there and then.
As they dragged me out the temple, I spotted Helenus's chain of gold that he had always worn around his neck. Cassandra wore one as well. I snatched it before any other greedy Greek could. As I walked out of the temple, I could hear the chants of roaring praise.
"ACHILLES! ACHILLES! ACHILLES!"
They threw me into Achilles' tent which was of course, larger than most. That didn't mean it wasn't messy because the floor was scattered with weapons and boxes.
My captors tied to a pole, ignoring my whimpers of pain as the rough fibers of the rope stung my skin. Every lady of nobility is trained to have soft skin and soft skin does not go well with rough rope.
Barbarians. Barbaric savages who slaughter unarmed elders to show off their might.
All I could do was wait, sit there and wait for Achilles who would probably...
No, I couldn't think about that. Anything, but that.
But it wasn't Achilles who walked through the hut's entrance. It was Patroclus.
At first, he squinted at me, trying to see who I was underneath all the blood and muck.
"Briseis?" he exclaimed, disbelieving. "Briseis!"
"I had almost forgotten that name."
Achilles too had entered the tent, followed by a dark-haired man.
"As you requested, my lord," the dark-haired man said respectfully. "For your...amusement."
Achilles did not look amused.
Patroclus didn't either. He looked at the few threads left of my robes and said,
"I'll find you something...less exposing."
He left. Achilles strode to a set up wash bowl filled to the brim with water, clean water. I suddenly realized how dirty I was.
"You're a priestess, Briseis?"
I didn't answer. This man was evil, evil, evil! How dare he speak to me as if he knew me? How dare he after he killed my cousin in front of my own eyes?
I could hear the clank of steel armor falling to the ground and the softer fall of leather. I turned around, confused, and then closed my eyes rapidly.
This man had just shown a priestess what a priestess should never see. Pure. I have to remain pure. I willed to forget and yet it stayed and a blush was darkening my cheeks.
"Did you hear me?" Achilles asked, oblivious to what a shameful act he had just committed.
His fingers flicked droplets of water in my face and my blush deepened to more red from anger. Hatred stirred up within me again and I spat out in an accusing voice, the voice that the high priest used to make me feel guilty,
"You killed Apollo's priests."
That flat statement should've been enough to summarize what I felt. You killed innocent old men who couldn't defend themselves. You killed my cousin. You men say you kill for glory and honor, but killing innocents isn't glorious or honorable!
And suddenly, Achilles was at my side, whipping out a knife and brandishing it toward me.