Chapter Twenty Four- Felt The Ground
The moon was about to reach its high point in the sky when Achilles finally got to his tent. The battle on the beach lasted less than three hours, Greek power (AKA the Myrmidon) overtook the unprepared nomads. He took part in a short but strenuous meeting only to have it end with the night in full swing. He slipped his armor off and washed off the dirt and blood.
"My lord," Eurdorus said, from outside the tent. Achilles pulled on his black tunic and signaled him to enter. "You wished to speak to me?"
"Yes, what were our losses today?"
"Only ten, my lord. Three injured, but nothing too serious. Mostly flesh wounds."
Achilles nodded. "You fought well today, my friend."
"Thank you my lord." With a short nod, Eudorus left him to his own devices. He laid back in bed, adjusting to how cold it felt without Briseis next to him. He could call upon one of the women in the camp. Everyone one of them knew Achilles fought today and would gladly share his bed. But he despised himself for even thinking about it. He wanted his wife, his woman, no one else.
He slipped off into slumber, a single dream punctuating the entire night.
Dorlia pressed harder, blood soaking through to her hands. She called for more bandages, but didn't dare move herself. She blinked forcefully, pushing the tears from her eyes. It hurt her just to look yet she couldn't look away.
Briseis' face was so serene, peaceful and beautiful. The blade cut deep in her stomach, but even with the blood soaking her clothes, she held a god-like beauty. A light surrounded her being, calming the young maid in an eerie way.
Her attention remained adrift as the physician entered with two assistants.
"You need not stay, girl," the one said to her. "We can care for her now. Just bring more water." She nodded absent of thought, leaving the room. As the doors were shut behind her, she snapped back to reality. She bolted to the palace messenger who left at top speed with the news, her hands still covered in the princess' blood.
The night cloaked even the most beautiful of things in a mysterious blanket. The men in the camp drank and laughed around the fires. They boasted of their attack, suggesting even the great warrior couldn't stop them even if he was there. A message to him, they laughed. A message that they would return to avenge their people's defeat in the north.
When sleep over took them and the clouds rolled across the moon, perfect silence entered the camp. The guards of the camp barely noticed the movement of the trees and plants surrounding their position. Soon, they lay on the hard earth, throats cut and exposed.
It took the Myrmidons little time to kill almost all in the camp. The leader of the band was dragged from his tent, naked, by a rope around his neck. The warriors clad in black circled around him, watching and waiting. He gasped for breath, laying against the dirt. The sound of murmuring and swift footsteps caught his ears.
"I got your message." He lifted his eyes just as a club hammer came down in a swift blow, crushing his rib cage, and again, shattering his skull. The body twitched then stilled, the silence reentering the camp. Achilles pulled the hammer from the crushed skull with a flick of his wrist. He passed Eudorus who began to shout commands to the rest of the men.
Achilles didn't notice the spray of blood across his face. Right now, his rage boiled and all thought ceased. He returned home to find his wife dying and message scrawled on a piece of her dress in her blood. It took him little time to track down the small band, creating a swift, no-mercy plan to wipe them out.
The moon rose to the height of the sky as he sped off on his horse.
He removed his armor down in the armory, washing himself slowly. Once he was clean and dressed, he wandered up into the house. Cracking the door slightly, he saw his sleeping sons, curled together on the same bed. He went down the hall further, going into Achillae's room. The babe slept soundly, her blue blanket clasped tightly in her grasp. He bent and placed a soft kiss on her head.
Shutting the doors softly, he turned to face the bed. He walked over and pushed the curtains back. The moonlight spilled over the soft features of Briseis' face. Her hands were at her sides, the stiff appearance of a corpse upon her. He knelt down and took her hand in his, pressing his lips to the cool skin.
There he remained, tears slowly trailing down his face.
A/N: One more...