A/N – Well guys, I'm sorry it's been so long. I've had some mild writer's block and I don't really like this chapter much, but I thought I'd post it and see what you guys think, and then maybe sort it out when creativity returns! Anyway, I hope it's not too bad, and hopefully I'll be back on form soonish :D
Chapter Eight: Nowhere to Run
'Where can you run to escape from yourself?
Where you gonna go?'
Switchfoot, 'I Dare You To Move'
Briseis walked through the palace gardens, her head held high, her heart burning with fresh resolve. She did not need him, nor did she want him. He was gone: no longer a part of her life, and it was now up to her to forget him and move on.
She knew, deep down, that she was ruined, and she thought that she had come to terms with it. She would never marry, for what man would want a woman soiled by Greek flesh? She would never bear children, and equally she could never return to the temple. The latter was not such a great sacrifice, for, Briseis thought, how could she pay homage to the Gods that had cursed her so? A dry, disconnected part of her mind pointed out that before, she would never had dared to even think such disrespectful things of the Gods, but Briseis found that she no longer cared. They had cursed her already. How much worse could it truly get?
And, as she realised this, a huge weight that she did not even know she was carrying, rose from Briseis' chest, and she suddenly she felt light and free. She almost laughed out loud as she padded through the dewy grass on bare feet, her gown trailing on the ground behind her and soaking up the water on the grass.
And then she came around the corner and saw Andromache. The thin woman was sitting on a stone bench, her body curled forwards and her back shaking as she was wracked by silent sobs. She had her back to Briseis, but sensed her presence and whirled around, angry at the intrusion on her grief.
Briseis paused, uncertain as to what to do or say, and as her eyes met those of Andromache, Briseis flinched as the force of the hatred in those eyes hit her.
She knew. That thought took over and dominated Briseis' mind so that nothing else could break through to calm her sudden terror. Somehow, the grieving Princess knew that Achilles had been with her that night. Briseis stood, frozen, as Andromache walked slowly and deliberately towards her. The red-eyed woman paused a pace from Briseis, her face full of loathing and contempt.
"Whore," she said softly and cruelly, slapping Briseis hard around the face before walking past and leaving Briseis alone in the garden.
It was some time before Briseis found that she could move again. The slap itself had not really hurt her: she had known much worse pain in the hands of the Greek soldiers before Achilles had saved her, but that one word had penetrated to her very soul and caused her more harm than any beating she would ever endure.
Briseis wanted to turn around, to scream at the retreating form of Andromache that she was not a whore, but she found that she could not do it. She could not blame Andromache for hating her, neither could she find it in herself to deny the malicious label that she had given her.
Something in Briseis died then. Perhaps it was because only a few short minutes earlier she had been so content, but whatever it was, it killed Briseis. She moved out of the garden, he eyes dead, her footsteps heavy and her head bowed, filled with shame.
It was as she was walking towards the arched doorway that led from the gardens to inside the palace that Briseis suddenly remembered something. She was not the only outcast priestess in the city. She wondered dumbly why she had never thought of her before: Cassandra. The poor, mad priestess who floated around the palace like a ghost. People turned away as she passed, and closed their ears to her ramblings. But if there was anyone in Troy that she could actually talk to, it would be Cassandra.
So Briseis moved out of the palace gardens and through the stone hallways, her feet, still damp from the dew, leaving a trail of footprints on the floor. She wondered dimly why she was going to see the mad priestess. She had usually been afraid of her, and had done all she could to stay away from her, but now she was somehow drawn to the lonely girl who people avoided, as if she knew that Cassandra would understand.
She found Cassandra standing on a balcony overlooking the city. She wore the traditional white garment of the virgin priestess, and her long dark hair tumbled loosely down over her shoulders. She did not turn when Briseis stepped uncertainly out onto the balcony, but Briseis could see the priestess smile gently.
"I was wondering how long it would be before you found me," she said in a soft, kind voice. "What is it you want?"
Briseis shrugged. "To talk," she admitted.
"You've never wanted speech with me before," Cassandra commented in a wry voice that was not unkind.
Briseis blushed, ashamed both of her actions, and also that they had been so obvious. "Things change," she said finally.
"Yes," Cassandra said, turning to study her. "They do."
"How did Andromache find out?" Briseis blurted out after a moment's silence.
A brief frown crossed Cassandra's face. "You're not meant to believe me," she said in a troubled voice. "You're not meant to believe that I really do know and speak the truth."
Briseis smiled bitterly. "You said Helen would bring ruin to Troy. She has. I would have to be a fool to not believe you after you told us that." When this explanation did nothing to satisfy Cassandra, she continued, "Perhaps it is because we have both been cursed by the Gods," Briseis suggested.
Cassandra sighed and shrugged lightly. "Perhaps," she admitted.
"Do you know how Andromache knows?" Briseis pressed, worried whether it was just Andromache who knew, or if others did as well.
Cassandra raised one eyebrow. "That Achilles was in your bed last night?" she asked, and when Briseis' nodded, continued, "She saw him leaving your room from where she was in the gardens."
Briseis sighed. "Will she ever forgive me?"
Cassandra looked at her. "Would you forgive her if it was the other way around? You made the choice to love him, so you cannot blame her for hating you."
Briseis sighed and looked away. She knew it was true, but she still wished that Cassandra had not been quite so blunt.
"That's what everyone says, or at least thinks," Cassandra commented in response to Briseis' thought.
Briseis looked sharply over to the dark haired princess. "Then why don't you stop doing it?" she asked sharply.
"I cannot," Cassandra answered simply.
Briseis sighed and looked away once, unconsciously straining to see past the high city walls and to the Greek encampment on the distant beaches.
"What am I going to do?" she asked after a moment's pause.
Cassandra sighed. "I cannot tell you that," she said in a kind voice. "I may be able to see the path before you, but it is up to you to place your feet on it."
Briseis looked away again, and the two stood in a comfortable silence, side by side, staring out over the city as the sun rose higher in the sky. Eventually Briseis turned to her companion, and Cassandra could see bright tears standing out in her eyes.
"Cassandra," she asked in a whispered voice. "Am I pregnant?"
Cassandra turned to look at the grieving princess. "What would you do if you were?"
Briseis just shrugged.
"Would you get rid of the child?" Cassandra pressed. "There are ways, you know."
Briseis shrugged again, and then shook her head. "I couldn't," she admitted in a scared voice. "I couldn't get rid of something of his."
Cassandra nodded. "And if you weren't?"
"Try and forget about him, I suppose," Briseis said in a dead voice, and Cassandra could tell that her heart really wasn't in it.
"Are you sure you want to know?" she asked carefully. She had hurt so many people by telling them the truth when they did not want to hear it, and she could see that Briseis was already carrying enough pain on her slender shoulders.
Briseis nodded mutely.
"You are," Cassandra told her. "It will be a boy."
Briseis said nothing, but an enormous wave of relief flooded through her, followed by a wave of fear. She now knew, at least, and even knowing that she was carrying the bastard child of Troy's greatest enemy was better than the terrible uncertainty that had haunted her.
"Briseis?" Cassandra asked nervously, scared by the lack of emotion on Briseis' face. "Are you alright?"
Briseis turned her head slowly, her face blank. "Yes," she said. "I'm fine. Thank you Cassandra." And she moved away towards the door.
"Briseis!" Cassandra called after her.
Briseis paused and turned to look back, a questioning expression on her face.
Cassandra sighed. "Be careful," she said, knowing full well how inadequate the words were.
Nothing on Briseis' face showed that Cassandra's plea had registered in her mind, and she turned away, moving as in a trance through the halls of the palace, until she reached her own room.
She closed the door behind her, locking it firmly, and then sank down to a heap at the bottom of the doorframe, her head in her hands, screaming one incoherent word of pain and loss before collapsing into broken sobs.