6 - The Greeks

With a flash of bright colours and noise Niera opened her eyes to the conscious world. It took several long moments for her to grasp where she was and what had taken place. Memory flooded back to her, in full spectrum, replaying disturbingly in her mind. It had been real, no dream, no such comfort to be found there. With a grimace Niera tried to move... Very real... Hands bound tightly (almost painfully) behind her back, the same done to her feet, Niera was lying lopsidedly on her side, her vision limited somewhat by her awkward position, she flailed about, struggling to regain a sitting posture. After several moments of effort she managed to accomplish her goal and take in her surroundings. She was in a sort of tent, linen walls framed a square abode which was held up by various posts staked into the sand that provided the surface beneath her. A large pile of stretched-out furs was strewn in one corner of the tent, several large chests also occupied space as well as a few other usual items. Niera had been placed (or rather thrown) into another corner of the construction, and as she she had sat upright rivulets of sand poured off from her battered jeans and loose tunic-top that replaced her former shirt. Almost unknowingly Niera tried to reach upwards to push back the mass of her tangled curls that now sprang forward over her eyes, the ropes that held her hands somewhat hindered that attempt and furthered thought.

She wasn't dead. She was among the greeks. Tied up and caught. Niera's face pulled into a deep frown, none of her thoughts were encouraging or optimistic, all of them had a fatalistic sense of doom about them. With another flash of recent memory Niera's mind delved up the image of the warrior, the man she had seen just before she... Niera's frown broke into a full-blown look of outrage. Just before she had keeled over like a limp fish. Fainted? No! She didn't faint, never had and never will. She had merely... No one had banged her on the head had they? With an almost sulking expression Niera's childish impulsion took on the fact that she had fainted for the first time in her life. She had always hated her sister for fainting, hated it when others fainted, it made them seem so weak and defenseless, now she had. Oddly enough that fact was bothering her more, at the moment, than any of her other problems, namely being captured in the middle of a war that changed history. Skipping back, before her keeling over like a dead fish, Niera remembered that man, the leader. Obviously. Who was he? She was still certain that she would know him when she learned his name and that made her all the more curious. Trying to install a slight amount of common sense into herself Niera tried to set everything in order, work it all to where she could understand where her position was. Her options were very limited, Nothing like stating the obvious now, Niera thought with rueful smile. She was tied up, stuck where she was and things like biting off ropes and that rot you read in books was merely that, for books, it never worked out in real-life and certainly wouldn't in her case.

The last thing she remembered, before she had... Niera once again winced at the thought, fainted, was that man. Was it reasonable to deduce that he had something to do with this? With her being where she was? Or had she just been dumped here for... Once again Niera's brows contracted. Why had she been taken here? Why hadn't she just been killed? What was the purpose for keeping her alive. The solution hit her hard, if she had been standing she would have staggered. Sheltered in the modern world as she had been the ideas of one's freedom being taken away, except through underground criminal ways, was preposterous. Slavery! The word had a ugly taste to her mouth, that was what she was here for. Not her own self anymore, someone else's belonging. With a surge of self-righteous justice Niera's head snapped up, her face assuming a grim set. If she saw the person responsible for getting her here she would... Niera's vivid imagination supplied fine examples of punishment for the person threating her independent rights. Being killed in a war was one thing, not a pleasant thing at all, but being enslaved in a culture that she had never experienced... It was too much. Face still very much severe with anger Niera's teeth gritted, wait until she could get her hands on someone. Niera had never been one to cultivate common sense, she had never done so, now was no exception. A more steady-headed person would have perhaps considered the consequences of bringing about punishment on those whom obviously held the upper-hand, would have thought about where such rash actions might lead. Niera thought of no such thing but her own anger, which she nursed into a burning rage.

At that moment the very answer to her mental wish was supplied. Through all the voices and general bustle outside of the tent a close noise caught her disturbed attention. Looking upwards, towards the cut-in flap that marked the entrance of the tent, her eyes met someone to vent her indignant wrath upon. The very someone that had so caught her attention before her embarrassing loss-of-consciouness. Two others followed closely at his heels, a young fair-headed man and an older, darker soldier whose held some bearing of authority whereas the younger held himself merely as a boy who is careless. None of these things Niera noticed, her attention was centered on the one that was most clearly in charge and therefore (in her mind) responsible for all ill-doing towards her. Instead of bursting out in blind and confused raging, as one might have thought from Niera's state of mind, Niera's tactic in this stage of anger was always to cut as deeply as possible. To wound the opponent as much as she possibly could. Her family had always steered clear of her wrath for this very reason, Niera's methods were very effective and she held her grudges long. She dug up every bit of information she could to bring it to bear against her enemies. In her current position, she knew nothing of the man before her, she knew only that she was angry and that he was somehow responsible, therefore he was her enemy and must be brought down.

Awkwardly trying to bring her posture up with some sign of dignity, Niera realised with further outrage that she was being ignored, the younger man threw a curious but dismissing glance at her as he first entered but the others did not so much as look at her. Like she was.. Nothing.. Like she was one of those chests over there. With great difficultly fighting down the urgent impulse to start yelling and shouting Niera clenched her mouth shut, her steel-eyes more gray coloured than usual, forming into icy spheres. She would not be the first one to talk, as if trying to gain their notice. "Agamemnon will not have liked what you did today." The words were said in an almost gleeful tone, full of mirth as if enjoying the idea. They came from the younger-man who couldn't have been more than twenty. Pulling a goblet (the sort you would see in museums today) from one of the chests and pouring dark-coloured liquid into it from a nearby pitcher the warrior (as Niera had labeled him wrathfully) glanced back towards the young-man. "You know I don't expect he will." He responded, a grim smile forming on his face as he lifted the cup to drink. "Achilles, was it wise though? Desecrating the temple of Apollo?" The gleeful look had flown from the young-man's face and was now replaced by one of sobriety. His look was mirrored more intensely by that of the older soldier, whose look was that almost of masked fear. Upon the name of 'Achilles' Niera's face at changed, not from the angry set that it was in, that look was still there, but was filled also with curiosity and then with more anger. So this was what the hero, practically the star of Homer's epic, was like. An arrogant, prig-headed, git who went around enslaving normal people! Well, so much for the hero-image of Achilles. If it was possible Niera's face darkened more. He had the nerve to ignore her, to ignore her! Overcome with cynical wrath she flung out, her dark curls standing out over her face, "Oh no, I'm sure Apollo's going to come swooping down on your precious Achilles and give him a killing sickness. I bloody well hope he does!" Three faces turned abruptly to face her. Niera had got her attention.

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b Reviewers! /b Another chapter up.. And in answer to your question b Gerber /b No, I'm going by the book in this one. No Breisis to get in the way. And so far the vote tally is ::: Patroclus (1) Achilles (0) Other (0) ::: Come on! Vote people..Give me your opinions, especially vote!