Briseis walked wearily back towards the Trojan camp as dawn began to lace the sky. She felt so tired: she just wanted it all to end: the pain, the sorrow, the grief, the exhaustion.
As she came out into the clearing she realised she was later than usual: the others were rolling up their blankets and starting the breakfast fires. Briseis could see Paris talking angrily to Andromache, and she sighed, turning her back on them and packing her blankets.
Suddenly she heard a cry of pain and spun around to see Paris strike Andromache. She fell backwards, and sat there with one hand on her cheek, staring up in Paris in shock more than pain.
Looking properly now, Briseis saw Paris' face clearly. The sheer hate and rage on it made her stop in shock. Never before had she seen such raw emotion in his usually placid features. She met Andromache's gaze for a moment, and the frightened woman's eyes pleaded with Briseis for forgiveness, though Briseis did not yet know what for.
Then Paris turned to Briseis, and she could feel herself quail under his enraged stare. Not even when Achilles had held her by the throat, with the power to throttle her, had Briseis felt so weak, so helpless.
In three short strides Paris crossed to Briseis and hit her smartly about the cheek. Briseis' stood still, gasping with shock, for a moment, her chin still above her shoulder, before she turned to meet her cousin's tirade.
"Is it true?" he demanded of her.
"Is what true?" Briseis asked, trying to find the courage to face up to the oncoming onslaught.
"Is it true…" Paris asked, his face right up to hers, "…that you carry the bastard child of the man who destroyed Troy?"
"If you mean am I pregnant with Achilles' child?" Briseis mustered her courage, fuming at Paris words. "Then yes, it is true."
Paris hit her face again, but this time Briseis was ready, and she slapped Paris back. He caught hold of her arm, and for a moment stood, poised with one fist clenched. Briseis lifted her chin proudly, daring him to hit her, but he let his hands drop to his side.
"You will kill it," he said in a controlled voice, turning away from her.
"No," Briseis voice was scarcely above a whisper, and she stood with her head bowed and her hand resting on her stomach.
"What?" Paris asked in a dangerous voice, turning slowly back around to face her.
"I said no," Briseis eyes rose slowly, and they glinted as dangerously as Paris'. The Trojans had gathered around them, but neither saw them.
"You will do as I say," it was an obvious effort for Paris to control his voice.
"No," Briseis repeated.
"I will not let the bastard child of Achilles live!" Paris shouted suddenly.
"It is also my child, and you cannot, you will not take what is mine from me," Briseis spoke quietly, but every word dripped with anger.
"I can, and I will!" Paris screamed at her.
Suddenly Helen burst through the ring of onlookers, grabbing her lover's arm with pleading eyes.
"Let her be," she begged. "She's done no wrong."
Briseis was still wracked with grief for the angry words she had spoken to Helen, and when their eyes met, she could see that Helen was trying to make peace. But Paris did not even see his lover; the woman he destroyed a kingdom for.
This was not Paris, Briseis thought. It was as if her cousin had been taken over by someone else, for his anger was not of this world.
"Now you are going to tell me that you will the child," Paris said, oblivious to Helen's pleas.
Briseis shook her head defiantly, and Paris hit her cheek with such force that she staggered backwards. She tripped on her pack, and fell heavily, landing on her stomach on her bulky haversack.
A shooting pain shot up from her stomach, and Briseis groaned in agony. In that moment she knew Paris' wish had come true: Achilles child was dead, and the pain of the realisation hurt as much as the stabbing pain in her stomach.
An agonising scream rose, and Briseis was not even aware that it was coming for her. She screamed and sobbed, and then, blissfully, the scream stopped, and Briseis lay still.
Paris seemed to wake, as if from a dream, and looked down on his unconscious cousin on the floor dazedly. He looked up, but none of the others would meet his eye. Helen and Andromache lifted Briseis between them, and slowly the crowd dispersed, leaving Paris, shaking in the horror of what he had just done.