THERE, BUT FOR THE GRACE OF GOD, GO I.
Chapter Five: Who Loves, Fears
Odysseus sat back and listened to the hemmed half-truths and blatant lies Agamemnon invented to regale his table, and wondered if any of the nobles gulping wine from bejeweled cups and feasting from gold plates brought to them at the expense of many -young- Greek lives, believed the animated fictions so fervently as their faces expressed. Would Achilles snapping the necks of a few fat landowners add color to the stories? A layer of reality that these stuffed silk lords had paid to avoid?
Sighing to himself at humorlessness of the thought, Odysseus reluctantly put aside the suddenly empty wine jug in his fist and searched the room for some mindless amusement. Memories, while still fresh and red and vivid, were terrible company to keep on nights like this one when a man was truly an island even while surrounded by his own.
Achilles glided past him.
Odysseus sucked in a breath, suppressed a grin, and turned back to Agamemnon's circle. This King of Kings had become careless, not to notice who stalked his halls. The last time the son of Peleus joined the Great King at banquet in Thessaly, after summoning yet another overwhelming victory from the hallowed hands of Fate, a petty disagreement broke out over the flavor of the wine served, it being displeasing to the golden warrior. "Mediocre, nothing more than colored horse piss!" The exact phrasing Achilles had used, if Odysseus recalled correctly. A gaggle of fools in crimson, dressed in the favored color of their liege lord, recounted rumors to the air about bastard children having such a demented sense of reason that honor and civility was obviously beyond them and that brute labor was all they were meant for. Good for dying but not dining with.
Then the blood really flowed.
Two of the more pompous (and drunk) lords ended their night, and their lives, by Achilles sword, the fine room with its art and sculptures stood no chance in the face of his rage, and for months afterward Agamemnon's call to arms was ignored and all emissaries from the king of Greece were dismissed before ever seeing the inside of his fathers halls. It was just another brick in the wall between the King of Kings and the greatest warrior in the world.
The moon was radiant and swollen round in the night sky before Odysseus was able to excuse him self from the naked festivities. While he enjoyed beautiful, nude, amorous women, good, strong wine, and a comfortable couch upon which to enjoy both, the infamous orgies that often broke out at Agamemnon's drinking parties were defiantly not to his taste. They ran as common with stories of rape as bestiality, neither of which appealed to Odysseus. Whores were well and good in their place, as they served their purposes. To be raped and abused was not one of their duties. As it was, the lovely boys filling the cups and beds of Agamemnon's guests as a gesture of his hospitality too often now reminded him of his own boy at home, new born the day he'd left, and the women of his dear, loyal wife, Penelope. In all his years he'd never met a braver women that could boast both great beauty and a sincere heart to her credit.
Where Agamemnon saw these spectacles as examples of his generous spirit and powerful wealth, Odysseus, also a king, saw them for the weaknesses they were. He used the sex and violence to hold the people in thrall, to distract them while he executed his plots. His hold on power was tenuous but he had ambition. One significant defeat could, possibly, spell the end for him. It all came down to too many enemies, not enough friends, and a long history of abuse of power. The slightest suggestion of weakness could be fatal for both Agamemnon and his empire. Call the jackals out with blood and they begin to sniff around for more.
No. No satisfaction would not be found or had in the company of such.
On across the high grass meadow, on the far side, Odysseus could see the welcoming orange glow of the fires and the round silhouettes of the black tents. The Myrmidon camp, secluded from the tents of the Greeks and Allied Forces, was clean and modest as a standard. Efficiency and practicality rather than excess and decadence ruled the routines here. Several of Achilles men were gathered around a central fire, telling tales and sharing bowls of fruit and olives, and tearing bits of meat from the three roasted rabbits spitted above the fire.
Moving with a hunter's caution, Odysseus followed the ribbon of chilled air left by Achilles' passing as if it were a tangible thing. The sentry on duty, a man senior in age to him by at least twenty years nodded as he passed, recognizing him after a moment in the moonshine. Achilles stood in the middle of the meadow, yards away from the laughter and good spirits of the fire, his face raised to the night sky while the delicate breeze riffled his blond hair.
Not a twig or pebble gave under his foot but Achilles turned to him nonetheless.
Odysseus hesitated. He knew what that possessed, glazed look in Achilles's eyes meant, remembered only too well what had happened in battle when that look took him and that tender, murderous smile hardened his cool beauty for mere seconds before the spray of blood from a severed neck masked the strong features. Nothing, and no one, was safe when Achilles was in this mood. Zeus be with him, but it was what made dancing with Achilles the Invulnerable fun.
Straightening his shoulders and smiling his own lazy, arrogant smile, the one he knew would gall Achilles right, Odysseus moved forward through the waist level grass, crossing his arms loosely. "I'd compliment the loveliness of the night and the beauty of the plentiful stars if I thought for one moment your eyes saw what was before them."
Achilles did not speak, staring at him with an inscrutable expression. Taking the silence for an agreement (as was his way when he wanted to be getting on with a conversation), Odysseus asked wickedly, "Drunk any good wines lately?"
Achilles smile thawed. "That you'd appreciate, no." He raised an eyebrow and studied him speculatively. "You're far from the revelry, and a full cup. What form of possession guided you to my camp, king Odysseus?"
"Love. Regret. Morality. Loneliness. Boredom. All the ills that commonly befall great men such as my self. I admit that you, my friend, are an embodiment of distraction. You live as if you will lose everything tomorrow. It's fascinating to me how you move through a situation possessing such confidence that you invoke in others a feeling of similar strength. Invulnerable they call you, Achilles, a name to fit your legend and I do believe you've taken it to heart. You've got nothing you cherish so much that you can't stand to lose it. You live without regrets and in that Achilles, I find I envy you."
"You," Achilles chuckled, "feel envy? I thought you were the perfect meeting of mind, body, and spirit? Clever as a fox, handsome as a god, and pure as the new fallen snow. The Great Odysseus of Ithaca; virile, wise, strong, and brave, kind and benevolent as the spring is fair. Worthy of every acola-"
"And the poets say Achilles has no sense of humor!"
"Humor? I but speak the truth! Truth I've heard many a'time from your own lips."
"Heartless! You are truly a beast to mock a man's vanity, especially one as tender as I!"
"Tender? So tender is it now, old fox?"
"Wouldn't you know it! One of us must be tamed and gentle, and it is either Penelope or I!"
The two men shared a long, hard laugh and it felt good, smoothing some of the tension between them.
Odysseus sobered first. "I was right though, wasn't I?"
Achilles turned his face away, giving the other man the elegant line of his back.
"I was."
"I cherish nothing so much that I can't stand to lose it, you say?" The words were spoken softly on the wind, and only because of a small breeze flowing in his direction did he hear the beginning of the confession at all.
"I love. There is nothing so loyal as love. Nothing so distracting."
"Yes, because it demands all. I understand now, what I saw in your eyes."
Achilles threw back his head and laughed but it was not a happy sound. "You know? You think you know."
"I suppose, this is true," Odysseus amended, stepping forward looking out over his friends shoulder at the silver cast poured upon the grass and shining on the dark leaves of the trees further in the distance. The perfect calm of the meadow was suddenly very evident as the grass swayed and their clothes were teased around their bodies. "I have seen hate in your eyes and this look is just as strong, and as devout."
When Achilles refused to respond, Odysseus continued quietly.
"The betrayal I fear I will always be forsworn for, no matter if I should live forever to atone, is the abandonment of my family and for that I hate Agamemnon more than, I think, even you."
"Intrusive bastard," Achilles muttered, shaking his head at the ground. "But of all the kings, I respect you the most."
"I know."
"Then listen as I tell you now, because I trust you, that the Invulnerable Achilles loves and that for that love, even glory and greatness must wait."
TBC…
PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE review this story!