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The beachscape resembled a marketplace from afar. With the Trojans long gone, the Greeks took their time setting up camp by the sea. From every corner available, various activities kept them preoccupied. Soldiers gathered before their captains, grabbing sturdy ropes, tugging more ships onto the sand. From the landed ships, gangplanks were lowered and various commodities were brought down. Horses, provisions, armor and weaponry...it was a busy afternoon, and the kings who supervised each of their armies stood on their ship helms, ensuring progress and the absence of delay.
The men paused in the middle of their work though, to make way for the much-admired king of Phtia who had just arrived from his successful battle. Achilles strode across the beach, carrying his helmet, accepting congratulations from every troop he passed by.
"Achilles!"
Ajax, the king of Salamis, came forward to greet him. He was a large man - possibly the largest in the entire Greek army - but Achilles was used to dealing with men three times his size and the encounter did little to faze him. Ajax' eyes were filled with admiration as he reached out to shake Achilles' hand.
"You are as fearless as the gods...I'm honored to go to war with you!"
Achilles smiled. "As am I...but then again, what do the gods have to fear? They're immortal, after all."
Ajax laughed and they shook hands.
The next man he encountered was Odysseus, who had been the last king to arrive on land. "If you sailed any slower the war would be over," Achilles mocked, and the king of Ithaca was quick to defend his tardiness.
"I don't mind missing the start as long as I'm here in the end," he retorted, but there was humor in his voice.
"What happened to you?"
"Penelope gave birth earlier than expected. She grew ill after labor and was unable to nurse our son for nearly a week, in fact." Odysseus scratched the back of his head, embarrassed. "I tried to delay my journey to care for her- you wouldn't believe the effort I exerted to remain in Ithaca a bit longer- but Agamemnon sent his royal guard after me and I had no choice but to set sail, leaving my wife and child at so critical a time."
"And what trick did you perform to postpone your journey?"
Odysseus flushed. "Oh, never mind that. The point is, lying to someone as powerful as Agamemnon is unwise, not to mention reckless."
"I'll keep that in mind," Achilles replied, sarcastically. "My congratulations on the birth of your son, by the way. What name did you give him?"
"Telemachus."
Achilles patted his shoulder. "I'm sure he'll grow up to be just like his father."
A minute later, Achilles finally reached the area where his army had settled. Beside his ship, a throng of female servants from Phtia threaded strings of coarse, tussock grass, while a group of Myrmidons carried pine trees on their shoulders for chopping. Massive preparations were being made in order to build him a lofty, palisade lodge, one that was fit for a king. In the meantime, he would be residing in a simple, dark tent, which had already been set up for his exclusive use.
He met his cousin in front of his tent. Arms crossed, the boy had stationed himself by a campfire, staring moodily into the flames beneath a roasting calf.
"Were you hurt?" he inquired, carefully eyeing Patroclus for any signs of injury.
Patroclus rolled his eyes. "How is that possible, considering that nothing ever happens to me?" He sighed. "The cook and I had a fine time lowering sails that caught on fire, but other than that I've been standing here for quite a while now, having a grand adventure, as you can very well see."
"We'll be raiding Troy's neighboring cities tomorrow," Achilles said, ignoring his sarcasm. "Is there anything you want? The first stopover is at Lyrnessos. They have beautiful women there. You may choose a concubine from the lot the Myrmidons acquire."
"I'll take my pick as soon as you're done with the sacking," Patroclus said, turning to leave. "Isn't that our usual routine?"
Achilles watched him leave in a tantrum. He made a mental note to kidnap a particularly beautiful girl in the morning, to give as a present in hopes of diverting Patroclus' ire.
"My Lord?"
Eudorus appeared from a tent a few yards away. "The serving women have brought in a tub filled with warm water for your bath...and King Agamemnon requests your presence in his tent as soon as you're finished - for the division of plunder."
It was Achilles' turn to roll his eyes. "Ah, that pig only wants a share of the gold we brought from the temple. Is there any reason we should give him even one talon of it, when he's done nothing to deserve what we've fought for?"
"He may want to bargain with you, sir," Eudorus said, hesitantly. "His men have stolen a few goods from Apollo's shrine after we left. Some overlooked treasure...and a temple maid or two."
"I have no need of a concubine for the moment...and we have plenty of riches, more than enough to sustain an army large as this. Our supply of provisions will grow as soon as more cities are invaded. What great loss can it bring if I don't attend the assembly?"
"All the Achaean kings will be present, my lord."
Achilles waved his hand as if to ward off the unpleasantness of the situation. "And that is the only reason I might be in attendance. My regard for the responsibilities I bear as your ruler far outweighs my disgust at being within ten feet of him. All the better for that coward they call a king I suppose, and all the worse for me."
He entered his tent, and Eudorus let out a sigh of relief.
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Briseis opened her eyes and winced. A dull pain throbbed at her temples, blurring her vision. Her head ached something terrible and there was a buzzing in her ears. It took awhile before full consciousness returned and she found herself in a dark tent, gagged and bound to a wooden post, unable to move. She pulled at the restraining ropes but this only served to deepen her wrist wounds, which were already red with swelling. Finally, she gave up the futile attempt and slumped to the ground.
"Where am I?" she thought. Nothing in the current surroundings gave a hint as to her exact location, and it was too dark in the tent to comprehend the time of day. She recalled the frightful events earlier and guessed that she was likely in one of the enemy camps. Whether to be executed or to be handed to a soldier as a mistress, she did not know, nor did she care. It was ironic, how a girl could be a princess one-day, a priestess the next, and a slave in the last instant. The shame of it was more than she could bear. But she reminded herself that survival was her primary concern, the demotion in status being paltry in comparison.
Khryses' image came upon her, and she vividly remembered the cruel details of his murder. He had called for his daughter and while Briseis could not forget Chryseis' betrayal -- the way her rival screeched for the soldiers to take her, a Trojan princess, instead -- she could not help but wonder as to the other girl's whereabouts. The gentler side of Briseis' nature tried to convince her that Chryseis may not have meant what she said in the midst of that frenzy, and that she might have blurted it out as an act of desperation.
But where was she now? Probably beaten to death or lying injured somewhere, sharing a similar, wretched, fate.
The sound of someone fast approaching from the outside could be heard and Briseis immediately straightened, her pulse quickening in apprehension.
The tent flap opened and two soldiers came in, their stern expressions making them appear vaguely threatening. One of them untied the cords binding her, while the other took the gag of her mouth. "Where...where am I?!" she asked, alarmed.
"Be quiet, wench!," snapped the man to her right. With a rough motion, he pulled her to her feet and she was forcibly dragged out.
The Greek camp stirred with life that evening. Torches were strategically placed to light the sandy passages connecting each tent, and at the far end of the border separating the beach from unconquered territory, sentries were posted, on the lookout for intruders. Within the site, servant girls prepared boiling cauldrons for their lords and soldiers toasted wine around blazing fires, celebrating their victory against the Trojans. Too worried to notice several curious stares being thrown in her direction, Briseis missed all of this and was soon led to a large, red tent...possibly the largest on the seafront.
Inside, the ground was carpeted with the skins of wild animals and several spoils of war decorated the lush interior. A stout man sat at the opposite end of the quarter, his throne inlaid with gold and mother of pearl. Briseis paid him little attention though, for her gaze was directed to the girl tied at the center pole of the tent.
It was Chryseis.
When the head priest's daughter spotted her, she struggled and spat in fury. "THAT'S THE GIRL I'VE BEEN TALKING ABOUT! SHE'S ROYALTY, I TELL YOU...AND SHE'D MAKE A BETTER PRIZE THAN ME!"
The man on the throne waved his fingers and Briseis was instantly presented to him.
"If your friend doesn't hold her tongue, I'll have it cut off," he said, a sinister twinkle in his eye. Chryseis gasped and quieted down. Briseis held her silence, curiously studying him. This man was heavily bearded and his long, dark hair was arranged in braids, his red rich robes heavily adorned with gold trimming at the hemlines.
There was a scar on his left cheek.
"I suppose it's time for an introduction," he grinned, wolf like. "I am Agamemnon- surely you recognize the name?"
Briseis' mouth opened. This was the high king of Mycenae? Hector often spoke of him; according to her elder cousin, his greed sentenced hundreds of people to death everyday and Paris only provided him the perfect excuse to steal from their countrymen. Up close, he seemed every bit as pompous as rumor would have it. And no wonder, kings from all over Greece practically deemed him a god.
"I see my name has quite an effect on you," he laughed, relaxing in his seat. "But I'd like to know what this girl meant about your being royalty? Is this true or is she just another liar I might dispose of?"
Briseis stared at him, unsure of how to respond. If she denied the charge, he would most likely have Chryseis slain. If she said yes, there was no knowing what he'd do. Suddenly, she recalled a small piece of gossip relayed by Hector and an idea swiftly formed from it.
"She's right, I am a princess," she said, hoping he wouldn't notice the betraying flush of her cheeks. She hated lying. "I am the princess of...of...of Lyrnessos!"
"Lyrnessos?" Agamemnon raised an eyebrow. "You must be related to king Mynes then." His smile widened. "Did you know that the Myrmidon plan to sack your city tomorrow? You won't be seeing your precious relatives again!"
"That's of no consequence to me," Briseis replied. "For I hardly know my family. I was sent to serve the sun god from the moment I was born."
"Strange occupation for a princess."
"It was determined by the stars!"
"The stars? What rubbish is this?!"
"I was conceived under a bright sign, and our local seer prophesied that I'd bring fortune to any kingdom as a priestess."
"If you think such fabrication will postpone your fate as a concubine, then you're a fool," he drawled. "I don't fall for stories of that kind- especially from the desperate."
"On the contrary," Briseis whispered, "I wouldn't mind that fate, as I hated having to waste my life serving Apollo."
He glared at her and she lowered her lashes, hoping the ruse would work.
"Alright" he muttered, waving for her dismissal. "I'll let your story hold for now. Your friend over there won't be killed...but you'll both still be sharing the same fate, in spite of your imaginary 'good luck'." He sneered maliciously. "In awhile, my guests will be arriving and I'll have them bid for your friend... if I don't decide to keep her, that is."
Briseis stared at him, her calm composure belying an inner turmoil at what he had planned.
"And as for you...why, I think you'll make a fine prize for my brother," Agamemnon gleefully rubbed his beard. "Yes, after that whore of a wife abandoned him, I imagine that Menelaus will need much comforting...women these days have such bad taste, preferring cowardly youths to powerful kings."
It was extremely hard for Briseis not to defend Paris' honor at the insult, and she bit her lip as Agamemnon's guard took her by the arms and led her to another pole at the middle of the tent. There, facing Chryseis, she was tied once again. The other girl was livid with fury.
"What on earth were you babbling about?!!" Chryseis hissed, her tone lowered so as not to be heard by the Mycenean king.
Briseis was spared from having to reply when a horde of men filed into the tent. They were all dressed in gleaming armor, and each man had a servant accompanying him, carrying a sack, which contained loot stolen that morning.
In a few minutes, Grecian royalty crowded the whole area with their presence.
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Achilles was the last to join the assembly. Without waiting to be acknowledged, he swept by two of Agamemnon's soldiers who were guarding the entrance, and immediately halted in revulsion. The war had not even started, and Agamemnon was already being venerated as if he had personally accomplished an awesome feat. The Achaeans were lining up to pay him homage, offering him valuables from their bulk of treasure. Currently, an old man was kneeling before the Mycenaean, handing him a ceremonial dagger with a gold hilt. Achilles recognized Triopas, the ruler of Thessaly, whose warrior he defeated four months ago.
"You've won a great victory, King of Kings," Triopas gushed, "no one thought the Trojan beach could be conquered so easily."
"This is a beautiful gift, my friend," Agamemnon said, receiving the dagger with relish. "You will be among the first to walk the streets of Troy tomorrow."
Nestor of Pylos was next in line. His sons, the noble princes Antilochus and Thrasymedes, stood by him in greeting.
The Pylian bestowed a shiny urn, decorated with painted warriors. "My father Neleus had this urn made to commemorate his victory at Cyparisseis. I present it to you, in honor of an even more memorable victory."
Agamemnon's grinned. "Thank you, old friend. Tomorrow, we'll eat supper in the gardens of Troy."
Achilles surveyed the nauseating scene with alternating irritation and amusement. It amazed him, how such dignified men could stoop so low before the son of Atreus, who couldn't even lift a finger to help himself.
"War is young men dying and old men talking...you know this," said a familiar voice.
Odysseus approached him, chuckling. "Ignore the politics and you'll survive the night." He patted Achilles' shoulder and drew away, heading for a wooden table where an enormous roasted calf was being served.
Achilles scanned the rest of the crowd with fading interest. A cluster of royals consolidated nearby and he recognized most of his former battle comrades. King Diomedes of Argos was raising a wine goblet and Prince Menestheus of Athens was following the example, lifting his in unison. Together, they downed their drinks and poured the remaining liquid to the floor, as custom dictated. Gathered at another table, Ajax, son of Telamon conversed with likes of King Agapenor of Arcadia and Idomeneus, sovereign of Crete.
Elsewhere, piles of luxurious items were stacked at the base of the enclosure, and two girls -- Trojan priestesses by the looks of their attire -- were tied to twin masts, facing each other. A quiet spat seemed to be taking place between them, and Achilles studied the incident with curiosity. The taller female was glaring daggers at her companion, whispering furiously. The recipient of this ire was trying hard to ignore her predicament, but she would, every now and then, strive to reply in defense. She shifted her head by an inch and Achilles caught a full view of her face.
She had the darkest eyes he had ever seen, and they were made more expressive by her existing anxiousness. Despite the bruise on her upper lip, her mouth was plump and pink as a blossom, and her waist length hair lay disheveled, but in thick and abundant array, framing young features that couldn't have belonged to a maid of more than twenty summers.
Achilles was not unaccustomed to beautiful women but there was a distinct quality to the girl, which made everything pale in comparison. He heard the gist of her 'conversation', and was about to close in when Agamemnon and Menelaus emerged behind the captives.
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"I'll never forgive you for this!!!" Chryseis said, gritting her teeth. "What were you THINKING?!!...Inventing that damn story about stars- what nonsense! If anything horrible happens to me, you're going to regret it! I'll curse you, curse your family, your children and your children's children, too!"
Briseis sighed in exasperation. "If Agamemnon discovered who my relations were, he would've killed me- or used this knowledge against my family...I couldn't let that happen...But I'm not entirely to blame. You shouldn't have revealed my identity to him, Chryseis, and you know it!"
Chryseis unrepentantly brushed this off. "And what was that ridiculous tale supposed to achieve? Was it designed to impress him? Do you assume your story will solve our problems and bring us back to Troy?!"
"I tried to spare us both by convincing him that you were telling the truth. I couldn't have your death on my conscience, but I didn't want to suffer, either."
"And what of Lyrnessos?"
Briseis tiredly leaned back against her post. "Do you honestly believe it's being targeted because of me? The Greeks will pillage as many kingdoms as they wish. They're going to Lyrnessos; it was a plot conceived from the beginning. Nothing I say now or in the future can change what they have in store for this country."
Her statement failed to comfort Khryses' daughter, and a short silence ensued.
"How now ladies, why the gloomy dispositions?"
Agamemnon and his brother drew near them and Brisies moaned inwardly. Menelaus was an unpleasant looking man. Gray haired and brawny, he wore a permanent scowl that emphasized the wrinkles on his forehead and he constantly clenched and unclenched his hands, spoiling for a fight. He was a looming specter in her path and the idea of spending the rest of her life with him was downright depressing. She had to think of an escape.
"Is this the girl you spoke of?" Menelaus asked, roughly seizing her by the arm. "She's attractive, but how old is she?"
"My brother asked you a question," Agamemnon demanded, smirking arrogantly.
"I celebrated my eighteenth birthday last month," Briseis truthfully replied, feeling very sorry for Helen indeed. It wouldn't matter whether she was sixteen or thirty. Her sole worth was as a concubine, and if she tried to appear inept, undesirable or rebellious, her life would be at stake. She flicked a worried glance at the gold dagger attached to his belt.
"And you?" Agamemnon asked Chryseis, with a leer. She stubbornly refused to answer him and Briseis' alarm escalated. This was not an occasion to be feisty! She tried to signal the other girl by blinking thrice, but Chryseis would not budge. Did she want them both to lose their heads?!
"She's rather old...about twenty-seven I'd say," Briseis desperately blurted. This succeeded in breaking her companion's obstinacy.
"Wh...what?!!" Chryseis gasped in outrage. "Don't listen to that little idiot. "I'M NOT A DAY OVER TWENTY!!!"
"I'm afraid she's sensitive about her age, too." Briseis said, staring straight ahead, avoiding the unflattering glares being thrown in her direction. She was not a schemer, but desperate times called for desperate measures and in the grimness of the situation, Paris would've been proud of her inventiveness. Not that she was.
"Hmm...you're not overly fond of each other, it seems." Agamemnon said, rubbing his chin. "Ah, what difference does it make? You'll be separated soon enough. I'd like to know if any of you possess talents other than praying and quarreling, though."
Once again, Chryseis gave him the cold shoulder and Briseis was compelled to resume her goading. "I don't cook often, but my friend can't fix a meal to save herself."
"How dare you!"
"...It's due to her fear of flames and burning things," she went on, unmindful of the fact that her 'friend' was purpling at the affront. "...In fact, she caused an accident last summer, and had to be banned from the kitchen. Worse, she can't play any instrument and her singing so offends the guests at our temple that they leave on the second note."
Chryseis had had enough. She turned to Agamemnon, fluttering her lashes. "Pay no heed to these lies. I am not merely a proficient singer- I can play the lyre and harp, as well!"
"...And I make the finest roast pork in the kingdom." She regarded Briseis in triumph. "This girl's been jealous of me since her arrival at my father's house, which explains her amount of falsehood."
Agamemnon watched their exchange in rapt fascination. "In that case, you wouldn't mind offering me your services...starting now, for instance?"
"What would you have me do?"
The king gestured to the dining table. "Serve meat and wine to every guest available. You can please me later, when we're alone." He had his guards summoned and when they arrived, he ordered for them to untie her. With her ropes loosened, Chryseis tossed her head, enjoying her newfound freedom. She shot a scornful glance at Briseis. "I guess I won't be seeing you again!"
Agamemnon chuckled, watching his latest prize skip off to begin her duties. "Feisty brat, isn't she? A perfect diversion for a man like me."
"I would've strangled her for such insolence," Menelaus muttered.
"Aren't you going to beg for her friend's release?" Agamemnon asked, "Who knows? She might be better at it than Helen!"
"Women are whores, the whole lot of them...so I couldn't care less," the jilted husband said, his face bitterly contorted. "I'll carry her off when your assembly's finished and not a minute after."
They departed, leaving the Trojan princess to ponder at what had just happened.
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This spectacle was, in Achilles' opinion, the highlight of his evening. Stealthy and light-footed, he easily witnessed the entire event without being seen; and by the latter half of their discourse, was deeply intrigued with the Trojan priestess. She seemed lost when they deserted her, but as of the moment was studying the intricate patterns of the floor's carpeting in dismay. Possibly dreading the outcome of their teat-a-teat, he mused.
He strode forward and in a smooth motion, tilted her chin up, looking into her eyes. "Yes, you must be royalty," he said, his lips twitching in humor. With those words, he walked off to rejoin the assembly.
Brisies, who had been too absorbed to be wary of anyone, gaped at the retreating figure in surprise. Achilles disappeared into a crowd and she wondered if the blonde man was a figment of her imagination. Was it Apollo who had come to her rescue? She mentally shook herself. Anxiety was a leading cause of madness...that was probably it.
A trickle of perspiration ran down the side of her cheek.
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As soon as they had their fill of food and drink, the Achaeans congregated in a circle and Agamemnon clapped his hands for attention.
"Kings and princes, lords and warriors...today is the start of a glorious era for the Greeks." They cheered in agreement. "In a year, our power will increase tenfold. Once we sack the city of Troy, our coffers will overflow with gold and silver. Our livestock, slave count, armor and weaponry shall also multiply with it." He rubbed his brother's back comfortingly. "And this is a result of the effort we exert to defend our honor...let no nation insult Greece by stealing what belongs to him."
Menelaus nodded.
"...Let no nation underestimate us," he boomed. "Let no nation embrace us in friendship, only to break the sacred bond between guest and host, and flee like a coward the next day."
"That original speech sounds eerily like the one you provided when we first set sail." Achilles said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. The men started to laugh at the snide remark, and Agamemnon gripped his throne's armrests, eyeing the younger man hatefully.
"What are you implying, son of Peleus?"
"Get to the point," Achilles said, roughly. "The men are tired from a hard day's work- and another battle awaits them tomorrow. You've said your piece, and reiterating the same message is senseless, not to mention irrational."
"Are you suggesting that my encouragement serves no purpose?"
"I am suggesting that we finish the meeting as early as possible, so that the soldiers can rest."
"Don't presume to lecture me on what's best for them," Agamemnon snarled, "You may be indispensable as a warrior, but my experience makes me your superior..."
"I wouldn't expect you to understand the need for adequate sleep, as it is a luxury you take for granted, "Achilles drawled, crossing his arms. "But don't presume that wisdom comes with age- I'm afraid that results from courage...another concept you are unfamiliar with."
"Why don't we divide the plunder among ourselves?" Odysseus hastily interrupted. "As you've said, we do have other armies to fight and it is getting late..."
"GET ON WITH IT!" Agamemnon cried, heatedly. How he despised the young, cocky, insufferable, king of Phtia!
In less than an hour, the Achaeans had emptied their sacks and bartered most of their wares. The only remaining lot was Achilles', and it was by far the largest. Agamemnon practically salivated at the sight of the gleaming treasure the Mymidons won from the fray. Silver chalices and small golden idols adorned with precious jewels, not to mention twenty talons of bronze and gold.
"Are you going to distribute it, or are you going to have us wait all night?" he asked, barely able to contain his greed.
Achilles drew a partition, marking the items that were to be reserved for the Phtian army. "The prime share of gold goes to my men, as it was through their bravery that these gifts were obtained." He pointed to the remaining bundle. "The rest of you may partake of what is left. How you distribute them is your business, which I'll have no more to do with."
He picked up the most beautiful chalices from the pile. "Do you see these goblets, son of Atreus?" Agamemnon's eyes widened at their radiance. Their hollows were deeper than other cup varieties and they gleamed with polish, their handles vertical and extending above the rims. "These are no ordinary vessels...they are sacred, closely associated with Dionysus, the god of wine. They are employed during festivals and religious events, not to mention sacrifices...they have no equal."
He paused for the Mycenean to digest this.
"...I will give them to you freely if you accept my condition."
Agamemnon almost fell out of his chair. "Say it. What are your terms?"
"You have something I want."
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Briseis was in a state of utter shock. When the blonde stranger had vanished, she believed him to be a phantom; a product of her exhaustion and despair. But when the meeting began and the tyrant king was wrapped in his monologue, the phantom stepped up yet again, effectively putting an end to the ridiculousness.
And when his name was mentioned, a wave of dizziness proceeded and she thought she might faint.
Achilles.
The son of Peleus. A man reputed to be the greatest warrior who ever lived.
Achilles.
Slayer of thousands. The most feared king in all of Greece.
ACHILLES.
Troy's most dangerous adversary, the topic of many a conversation, and a force rumored to be a descendant of the immortals.
It was only natural that he'd be among the gathering...but why had he singled her out and in such a peculiar manner? Was he making fun of her? Or was he too plain drunk to realize what he was doing?
So chaotic were her ruminations that she barely concentrated on what went on...until the level of din indicated that the party had ceased.
The sound of footsteps broke her train of thought, and she looked up.
...There he was again. Standing before her, his gaze dark and intent with some hidden secret.
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It was easier than he anticipated. For once, Achilles was thankful for Agamemnon's greed and Menelaus' subservience. Initially, the king of Sparta objected when the terms of trade were declared, but it took his elder brother five minutes to convince him to agree to the bargain. "Those chalices are a rarity...and remember the ill fortune you said all women bring?" Agamemnon cajoled. "That goes for this girl, too. For all you know, she's probably a troublemaker who will run off with the first young man she sees."
Menelaus grimaced, the deal was finalized and Achilles eagerly revisited his temple maid.
She grew pale upon seeing him, but he smiled reassuringly. He removed a makeshift dagger from his waist and she gasped, obviously frightened of the weapon. Gently, he cut the ropes around her arms and ankles, and when the cords lay in shreds at her feet, she looked up at him, warily. She was a little bit of a thing, below average height for a female, prettier than most, not as sophisticated as others.
She was definitely royalty.
It was apparent in her stance, the queenly way she carried herself...her diction and mannerisms. He knew a lady when he saw one, but this girl was different. She didn't have the airs so many daughters of the court possessed. She was an innocent and in a very appealing way.
He held his arm out, offering her his hand. She continued to look at it and at him, but she made as if to retreat, backing up 'til she bumped against the post.
"It's alright. I won't hurt you," he said, and then frowned. "Did you sprain your ankle? I could carry you if you like."
She shook her head, staring at the ground. He was about to reassure her further when she looked up... and lifted her hand in acceptance.
He grabbed it, along with its partner, and took a moment to examine them. Her wrists were sore, but her hands were small and white. Twining their fingers together, he noted that his hands were twice the size of hers, and that they engulfed them completely. After a moment of marveling at her softness, of delighting in her fair arms and delicate fingers, he escorted her out of the tent, his servant trailing behind them.
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(to be continued...)
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Author's Note: And so the couple finally meet!As always, if you like this fic, please support it and leave a review. If you don't, please leave suggestions for improvement. I'd really like to know what I'm doing right, and what I'm doing wrong.
Extra Notes:
Odysseus: According to the sources, he tried to stall his trip to Troy by pretending that he was crazy. Obviously, they saw through the trick. That's what he was referring to, when he talked to Achilles on the beach in the first scene.
Chryseis: Obviously, she doesn't have a personality in the Iliad...she doesn't even have a scene, come to think of it. But according to Euripides, Agamemnon brought her home with him. In this fic, she is written this way in order to complement Agamemnon's Troy 'persona'. He liked her even more than his wife in the Iliad. So I gave Chryseis an attitude that would complement him perfectly.
The guests at the assembly: I got most of their names and origins right. Diomedes of Argos, Idomeneus of Crete, etc. But I'm not sure if they're kings or princes...because the Iliad doesn't always mention it. For example, the book mentions that Diomedes is the son of Tydeus, but it doesn't say whether Tydeus is dead...oh, never mind that.
The beautiful cups from Achilles' loot: Forgot what they're called, but they do exist and they were associated with Dionysus, the god of wine. I just don't know if they were used for festivals or sacrifices. Those were extra details I added. I'm also not sure in what exact period of ancient Greek history they were made.
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