Chapter 5
"I don't understand why you are being so concerned," Andromache said, trying her best to keep her voice down, since Astyanax was sound asleep in his crib in the corner.
The battle was over; the Greeks had been forced to pull back in shame. Her husband was now out of his armour and he was miraculously without any serious wounds. They were together again, alone in their chamber with their son. This moment should have been peaceful. But it was anything but.
Hector was wandering about across the floor with a deep frown painted across his forehead. As an answer to her words, he sighed deeply and pulled his fingers through his tousled hair.
"Troy has won the battle," Andromache continued. "You drove the Greeks away. Our city is safe."
"For the time being," Hector finished grimly.
"For the time being? The Greeks will not be foolish enough to attack us again any time soon after this," Andromache insisted.
Hector shook his head slowly. "It's not as easy as that."
Andromache sighed to herself. She just wanted to celebrate the victory and she was in no mood to listen to any forebodings right now, but she knew that her husband had a realistic character. "Well, how is it then?"
Hector's eyes met hers. "Did you see the myrmidons fighting today? The black armours?"
The word myrmidon was enough to make Andromache flinch, but she managed to answer. "No, I didn't."
Hector nodded. "Neither did I. They weren't there."
Andromache closed her eyes slowly. "So if they had been there..."
"The outcome might have been rather different," Hector finished flatly. It was silent between them for a moment before Hector spoke up again. "I have hard that Achilles and king Agamemnon don't get along. That soldier seems to have a hard time with authorities."
"Believe me, he does," Andromache thought sarcastically to herself.
"The longer their rift continues, the better for us," Hector concluded thoughtfully. "Our chances of defending ourselves against a Greek army without Achilles are quite decent, but if he is with them, they are drastically decreasing."
Andromache shook her head. "This war doesn't depend on one man."
"No, it doesn't," Hector agreed. "But there are also his warriors to consider. And besides," he sighed, "I am afraid that father's councillors will under estimate the Greeks after this. They will think that we are invincible and they might come to some unwise decisions."
"Then you'll have to talk to your father," Andromache said encouraging. "You are his son and he will listen to you."
"Will he?" Hector answered gloomily. "I guess that's all I can hope for."
His face was still very grim. Andromache sighed. Although she was becoming more and more worried, she did her best to see things from the bright side. She placed her hand against her husband's unshaved cheek.
"We won a great battle today," she told him empathically. "And thanks to you, our walls still stand. Right now, it doesn't matter how we did it and it doesn't matter what will happen in the future. What matters is that we won. A victory can never be a bad sign."
Hector shook his head slowly. His sense of perfection wouldn't allow him to be satisfied with this triumph. She knew well that his demands on himself were unlimited.
"This will weaken the morale of the Greeks," she continued. "Menelaus is dead. Many of them probably think that they came here to restore his honour by getting his wife back. What will they fight for now? Agamemnon will find it difficult to motivate them again."
Hector smiled slightly. "You are right," he said. "You are always right."
Andromache squeezed her husband's hand slowly. "You must take pride in what you have done," she said firmly. "You cannot be a warrior all the time. You must let yourself relax."
Hector's smile grew wider. "Maybe I can do that – if you'll help me," he added, pulling her a little closer to his body.
----
Achilles was sitting outside of his tent with a goblet of wine in his hand. He was thoughtfully watching Patroclus who was carefully strolling through the wet sand by the water. Despite the cruelty of his situation – Achilles' refusal to let him fight – his cousin was looking extremely content at the moment.
The reason was standing in front of him.
The previous night, one of Odysseus' men had brought him a warning. After a conference with Agamemnon, Odysseus had found out that the young temple maid, Briseis had been given away to the soldiers. When Achilles found her, she was in a precarious situation to say the least, but he fortunately got to her in time, before the soldiers had inflicted any serious damage to her.
As Achilles carried the girl to his tent, he had been met by his cousin, who was horrified to see Briseis' bruised face and torn robe. Most of all, he would have wanted to skin the men who had done this to her alive. Achilles managed to talk him out of it and convinced him that it was more important that the girl was taken care of.
From the first moment, it was obvious that the girl didn't trust Achilles. She pushed him away when he tried to clean her wounds, angrily snapping that she didn't want his help. At first, Achilles had simply rolled his eyes at the little wildcat, but when she used the rag to slap him, he was forced to realize that she was serious.
When Patroclus made an attempt to approach the girl, she looked suspicious, but his soft voice and gentleness calmed her. She reluctantly allowed him to care for her wounds. Patroclus tried to make conversation with her, but she wasn't eager to reply. It was obvious that Achilles' presence in the tent still intimidated her and made her tense. Finally, he realized that had better leave.
By now, Patroclus was taking Briseis for a short walk. She was still somewhat unsteady on her legs, but he held her hand as they slowly walked through the water's edge and let the gentle waves flood over their feet.
Achilles couldn't help smiling a little as he saw the look on Patroclus face. He was clearly smitten and hardly seemed to be able to take his eyes off the girl. And who could blame him? Even with her face bruised, the girl was pretty with her long brown curls and sparkling eyes. She was also in need of help and Achilles knew that was something that appealed to his young cousin who longed to be considered a real man and warrior.
The girl's feelings for Patroclus seemed to be a little bit more difficult to interpret. She was certainly not unaware of his interests, she would have to be blind to be, and nor was she unmoved. However, she seemed to have a hard time deciding if she should encourage him or not. She was undoubtedly influenced by the fact that she was a Trojan and that he belonged to the enemy. Casually, Achilles remembered his suspicions about whether the girl was royalty. He wondered if Patroclus had noticed the girl's obviously noble heritage? He probably hadn't and even if he did, it would hardly make any difference to him.
As Achilles watched the young couple, he sighed to himself. Was it really so easy to fall in love when you were young? Their feelings seemed to be so open, so innocent and honest. But then why had he never experienced these sorts of uncomplicated emotions? Maybe he was the problem. Maybe he was unable to care for another human being wholeheartedly and without a selfish interest.
In frustration, Achilles grabbed a handful of sand from the ground and let the tiny grains slip down into the red liquid in his goblet. Ever since the battle the day before, he had been in a peculiar mood and seeing the young romance before his eyes only strengthened this feeling. He had spent the whole night brooding and more and more, he had started to question his decision to come here.
Why had he taken his men with him across the sea to fight this unfamiliar country? To win glory? Yes. To make his name remembered? Absolutely. But as the war had been going on, these two reasons had been weakened in his eyes. He didn't want to be remembered or have his glory as one of Agamemnon's pets. In fact, he wanted nothing to do with the man at all. He would probably have sailed home a long time ago, if there hadn't been something else that firmly held him to this place.
That was the main reason why he had come here: to take revenge on the Trojan prince. But what motive was there behind his desire to kill Hector? Achilles asked himself. Because he loved someone close to the prince? Was that really true?
Achilles' eyes moved back to the couple on the beach, watched grimly as they splashed water on each other and laughed carefully. As he did, he couldn't keep the feelings from creeping up at him again.
He was jealous.
He had felt jealousy ever since the night before when Briseis flatly refused to let him take care of her. Her attitude towards him had been hostile and contemptuous ever since he first met her, even though he had done his best to save her life and her virtue at two occasions. Her dislike wouldn't have bothered him – if she hadn't so clearly showed that she trusted Patroclus. To him, she smiled and laughed. He was a man she could feel comfortable with.
Achilles saw things clearly: he wasn't jealous because he had any particular affection for the girl; he was jealous because she was with another man. And even though this man was his own cousin, his pupil and student, he still wanted to make her his.
And what about Andromache? The woman he had felt closer to than anyone else he had ever met. The woman he had considered his soul mate. The woman that still haunted his dreams...
Was she also just a thing he desired because he couldn't have it? Did his hatred towards the prince of Troy merely come from the fact that he had taken something Achilles wanted from him? Like a horse or a fine sword? The thought left a sour taste in his mouth. He had spent so many years in bitterness after she rejected him. Had he spent those years grieving an illusion? Had he come here to chase something that had only existed in his imagination?
But if this was true, then why had he felt so much pain? She must have meant something, he told himself. Maybe he just couldn't stand the fact that she had said no? He wasn't used to being turned down by women. But Andromache had. And Briseis...
He closed his eyes. What was he doing really? More and more, he was beginning to feel like an idiot for having come here. He should have stayed in Laryssa instead of sailing off like some obsessed fool. He remembered his mother's words before he had left. "If you stay in Laryssa, you'll find peace. You'll find a wonderful woman. You'll have sons and daughters and they will have children. And they will love you."
But he had valued his personal pride and glory higher than anything else, so he had left for Troy. It had been the wrong decision. He should have waited for that woman his mother had been talking about. Maybe she could have showed him what it was like to love someone unreservedly? Or maybe she couldn't have. Maybe he was just incapable of caring deeply for anyone except himself.
Achilles was pulled out of his dark thoughts when Eudrorus came up to him, looking somewhat nervous.
"My lord," he said. "The king of Ithaca is on his way to see you."
Achilles sighed, but nodded shortly. "Very well. I'll speak to him." Eudorus nodded, seemingly relieved and turned to leave, when Achilles stopped him. "Tell the men to start loading the ship." He spotted Odysseus heading towards his tent and raised his voice to make sure that he heard what he said. "We are going home."
Eudorus looked stunned for a moment, but as always, he wouldn't protest against his commander and gave the order to the men.
Achilles had some more wine brought and settled down next to his friend. If any other king of Greece had come to see him in his present state of mind, he would probably have thrown the wine in his face, but Odysseus was one of the few men he really appreciated.
Still, he couldn't possibly understand why he kept crawling for that pig of a man, Agamemnon, and he didn't bother to hide his opinion. Odysseus simply sighed and said that to him, the world was simple. But when you were a king, very few choices were simple. Neither himself nor his country could afford to turn Agamemnon against them.
"How can I live with myself if I'll continue to serve a man I despise?" Achilles asked coldly. "How can I truly fight with my heart when I know that I am fighting for someone like him?"
Odysseus sighed again. "In your world, very few people exist except yourself. But I have not only myself to think about. A lot of people are depending on me and no matter what I do, it will also affect them."
Odysseus eyes found Briseis and Patroclus by the water and he followed them as they played and smiled to each other. "I have a wife," he suddenly said abruptly.
"I know that," Achilles answered impatiently. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"Everything I do will also affect Penelope – and our son," Odysseus said simply. "When I am fighting, I am also fighting for them. And for their sake I can put up with a lot. Even a foolish and dishonourable king," he added with a grimace.
Achilles glanced at him in disbelief and Odysseus smiled faintly. "You really cannot understand this, can you? No woman has ever managed to open that hard warrior heart of yours. You fight only for your own glory."
"You are wrong," Achilles answered flatly, looking intently at his cousin and the girl. He could sense the surprised look on Odysseus' face and turned back to him. "I didn't come here simply to fight for my own glory. I came here for a woman's sake."
Odysseus frowned in puzzlement.
"I thought that if I came here I could somehow get something back that I lost in my past," Achilles grimly continued. "But I have realized that I was wrong. The past is the past and I can't change it now. I should have seen this from the beginning."
Odysseus looked slightly astonished to hear this. "Women have a way of... complicating things," he finally said weakly and took a drink. "Who is this woman?"
Achilles smiled joylessly. "It doesn't matter now. Like I said, she belongs to the past."
"Is it really that simple?" Odysseus asked cryptically.
Achilles decided to ignore the question. "Of all the kings of Greece, I respect you the most. But in this war, you are a servant."
"Sometimes you must serve in order to lead," Odysseus answered thoughtfully.
Achilles just shook his head. "If you want to keep serving him, don't let me stop you. But I am through with this war."
Odysseus said nothing; he just nodded slightly and left. When he was gone, Patroclus walked up to Achilles. His expression was upset. He had obviously seen that the men had started to load the ship.
"We are going home?" he asked grimly.
Achilles nodded firmly. "We are leaving in the morning."
"Greeks are being slaughtered. We can't just sail away."
Achilles gave him no answer and Patroclus just seemed to get even more upset. "This is not honour!" he stated angrily. "A man of honour wouldn't turn the back on his countrymen just to see Agamemnon fall! I refuse to leave like some..."
"Don't worry," Achilles answered with coolness in his voice. "I won't make you part from that girl. She is welcome to come with us if she wants to. And if she doesn't want to, I am sure you can think of some way of persuading her." His tone of voice was mocking.
Patroclus stared at him with anger clearly painted across his face. "Briseis says that she doesn't want a killer," he said coldly. "She says she couldn't possibly be with someone who enjoys cutting other men to pieces."
Achilles blinked in confusion. "Well, if that's what she feels, then I really don't see why you still wish to fight? I am sure Briseis will be happy to find out that you are leaving this war."
"You don't understand!" Patroclus snapped back. "I am going to prove to her that I am not fighting for greed! I'll show her that I am fighting for my country, for my honour. Then she'll understand!"
Achilles rolled his eyes slightly. "If you long to fight so much, there will always be another war, that I promise you."
"It's this war I want to fight in!" Patroclus exclaimed. He seemed to have forgotten that he wanted to be considered a grown man and started more and more to sound like the boy he really was.
Achilles glared coldly at him. "We are leaving in the morning," he said firmly and entered his tent.
----
It was a gloomy, dark and cold morning. The mist of the night had not yet scattered and it was like cold, heavy smoke in the air.
Hector grimly pounded his shield with the shaft of his spear. He was once again dressed in his armour and the helmet was placed on his head. His men were lining up behind him.
He still found it difficult to believe that he was actually doing this; that he had agreed to go through with this mad act. For once, his wife had been wrong. At the counsel the night before, his father had refused to listen to his son's advice. Instead, he had decided to put his faith in some superstitious nonsense, offered by the high priest of Apollo. Something about a curse on the Greeks, the gods favouring Troy's cause.
But as crown prince and highest commander of the Trojan army, Hector had little choice but to follow his father's wishes. That was why he standing here in the cold dawn, lining up his men to attack Grecian camp.
Hector was convinced that this was the wrong tactics. If there had been dissention among the Greeks, this would definitely unify them. Still, he could do nothing more than to carry out his duty and fight for his country. He could only hope for the best, that he and his men would be favoured by the advantage of surprise – and of course, that the myrmidons wouldn't be fighting.
As he pulled forward, he could tell that chaos had ensued in the Grecian camp. Men and animals were frantically running about as they tried to prepare for battle. The fire arrows that he had sent had caused a commotion.
The Greeks were lining up. In the front, he could spot Odysseus, the king of Ithaca; a reputable man. He was a skilful fighter, no doubt about it. But he was more of a strategist and not at all in the same class as...
Hector suddenly heard the Greeks cheering and when he looked up he saw a group of warriors, dressed in black running to take their place in the line. Their commander was a tall, powerful man with a mane of light hair that fell out from under his helmet.
"Achilles," he whispered to himself and cursed his own bad luck. So, he had made peace with Agamemnon after all. Well, it wasn't something he could do anything about. Hector raised his spear and loudly commanded his men to attack.
----
Achilles had heard the alarm from the battle, but he had found it surprisingly easy to ignore it. All he wanted now was to set sail and get back home to Laryssa.
By now, the battle seemed to be over, and it seemed to be quiet outside. Had the Trojans won or maybe the Greeks had been victorious today? He didn't care; it made no difference to him anymore.
"My lord," he suddenly heard Eudorus voice from outside.
Achilles stepped out on the sand in front of his tent. To his surprise, a group of his men was standing outside. They were all dressed in their armours and armed with spears and shields. Some of them were bleeding from open wounds, wounds you would only get when you were fighting somebody.
Achilles scowled at Eudorus. "You have violated my command."
"No, my lord," Eudorus answered, his voice shaky. "There was a mistake."
"I ordered the myrmidons to stand down," Achilles said firmly and walked ominously towards his second in command. "Still, you led them into combat."
Eudorus sank down to his knees. The look on his face was distraught. "I didn't lead them, my lord. We thought you did."
That was when a cry suddenly reached Achilles' ears. As he turned his head, he saw Briseis bent over a cart. She was crying and repeating the word: "No!" over and over again. Something was on that cart, hidden under a blanket.
A suspicion was starting to form in Achilles' head. He swallowed tightly. "Where is Patroclus?" he asked. "Patroclus! He called out when no one answered.
"We thought he was you, my lord," Eudorus said with regret in his voice.
Eudorus said something about Patroclus wearing his armour, his shield, his gloves. That he had even moved like him, but Achilles couldn't take in the words. His mind refused to accept what his ears heard. Furiously, he attacked Eudorus, striking him against his face. "Where is he!" he furiously demanded.
Bleeding from his lip, Eudorus slowly rose to his elbows. He glanced nervously towards the cart. "He is dead my lord," he said honestly. "Hector cut his throat."
Something exploded inside Achilles when Eudorus uttered the Trojan prince's name. His face was contorted with rage; as if all of the bolts that had kept him within the borders of sanity all of his life had been shattered.
He put his boot over Eudorus' neck, pressing hard. He wanted to kill him. Kill the pain and the hurt and as always, he only knew one way of doing it.
"Don't!" It was Briseis who had left the cart. She was braver than she looked. None of his men would have dared to go near him when he was in this state of mind, but she did. She grabbed his arm and tried to pull him away, despite the fact that he was at least twice as strong as she was.
In a single movement, Achilles grabbed her by the throat and lifted her from the ground. She coughed and choked in his grip. He squeezed her delicate neck tightly. The desire to kill her was almost overwhelming.
But then he let go of her and threw her carelessly into the sand. He removed his foot from Eudorus' neck. He walked away from his men, who all wisely went out of his way. He was moving without a thought, without an aim.
In his mind, he recalled what Patroclus had told him, the night before the attack on Troy's walls.
"Soldiers obey," he had stated firmly.
"Don't waste your life following some fool's orders." He had answered contemptuously.
And Patroclus had listened to his cousin's advice.
----
The Trojan soldiers had returned much sooner than anyone had expected them to. And no one seemed to be able to tell what had happened in the battle.
Andromache was on her way to see Hector, worried and filled with apprehensions. Her husband had not wanted to have any part in this. But as Priam's son, he had to do what was expected of him. Still, she realized that it must have been a hard thing for him to lead his men into a battle that he didn't wish to fight.
When Andromache reached Hector's private chamber, she could hear her father-in law speaking through the open door. "I don't understand, my son. Are you saying that you just retired with the men?"
She heard Hector's sigh. "No, father. I told you, I made an agreement with the Greek commander, king Odysseus. We both felt that it was enough for one day."
"It could have been a trick," Priam said.
"No," Hector answered firmly. "That Odysseus seemed like an honourable man. I trust him."
"But I still don't understand," Paris voice said in confusion. "It must have been something more than this."
"It was," Hector sighed and stopped for a moment, before he continued. "I cut Achilles' throat off."
Priam and Paris silenced in astonishment. Andromache could feel her cheeks being drained of all colour. Suddenly, she was unable to move and she found it difficult to breathe.
"At least I thought I did," Hector added grimly.
"What do you mean?" Priam asked in alarm.
"There was a young man who had dressed himself in Achilles' armour," Hector reluctantly explained. "It was quite amazing... He looked just like him; he was fighting like him, moving exactly like I've seen him do..." Hector stopped for a moment and it was obvious that the memory pained him. "I killed him," he said simply. "And it wasn't until his helmet fell off that I discovered that he wasn't Achilles."
Hector swallowed and continued. "Even the Greeks were shocked; they had all thought that it was really Achilles. That was when I made that deal with Odysseus." Hector shrugged slightly. "He told me that the boy was... his cousin."
The room was silent for a long time. Then Priam spoke up again. "A most unfortunate mistake, my son."
By the wall outside the chamber, Andromache couldn't agree more with her father-in-law. When she found out that it wasn't Achilles who had been slain, she had felt a momentarily, reluctant sense of relief. But when she heard who her husband had actually killed, her horror returned. This was the worst thing that could possibly have happened.
Andromache closed her eyes. As she did, she could still remember how they had been sitting together on a huge rock by the beach, talking to each other as they looked out across the water. She could still see the warm smile that lit up his handsome face when he told her about something that made him particularly pleased.
"His name is Patroclus," he said. "His parents are dead and he has been under my protection ever since. He is more than a cousin to me, almost like a younger brother. I have been training him for many years now and I am sure he will become a great myrmidon when he is a little older."
"Oh, you have been teaching him too?" Andromache answered in amusement. "Like you taught me?"
He laughed a little "Yes, but I have to admit that he is a much more attentive student than you are. And unlike you, he doesn't get furious when I criticise him," he said teasingly. Then he became slightly more serious. "He is a fine boy and I am sure he has a bright future. It's an easy thing being the instructor when you are teaching someone who is so eager to learn."
Andromache smiled as she heard the pride in his voice. "I am sure he is glad to bee taught by you. Who wouldn't be?"
Achilles laughed, slightly embarrassed by his display of affection. "They say we are very much alike," he admitted. "Both in terms of looks and behaviour. We are talking in the same way, fighting in the same way... Some even say that we are moving just like each other..."
Andromache swallowed harshly. Her husband had not killed Achilles, but she knew that she had more reason than ever to fear for his life now.
----