Chapter Two – Instinct & Weakness

The next day, I lived by instinct. I woke, put on my armour. I left the tent without waking Briseis or checking on Theo, and mounted my chariot. I rode to Troy, and I shouted for Hector. He came.

I lived by instinct.

I fought, as best as I could, and I killed him, and took him back to the Greek camp.

But there was no release. I thought, by killing Hector, I would find some sort of solace, some sort of comfort, but there was nothing. I felt the same as I had the night before: angry and hollow. The void left by Patroclus had not been filled by Hector's death; I felt as empty as ever. And now I had pushed away the thing most precious to me: Briseis.

She knew what had happened, I could tell without having to say a word. I could tell by the way she cowered and hugged Theo closer when she saw the look on my face as I walked in.

Now she stared around, down, at anywhere but me. Theo was asleep, but she still clutched him tightly to her breast. I knew I should apologise, or try to reduce the pain, or something, but I couldn't find the words. Nothing would ever be good enough, nothing could relieve the agony of the loss of a loved one, and I knew it.

Briseis spoke quietly from the corner.

"You lost your cousin, now you've taken mine. When does it end?" she asked, her voice devoid of any of her vivacity, the passion that I so loved in her.

Once again, as she had done many times, she silenced me. So many things I could say fell short, would not answer the question she had put forward. So I chose the only answer I could find, the only one that I truly believed.

"It never ends."

Briseis closed her eyes and sighed, the sound of a tear in her voice, and Theo started to whimper. She held him closer and ran her hand down his back, but it didn't make any difference.

"Take him outside, Briseis." I said, the harsh tone of my voice almost surprising me.

She obliged, and, with one last glance at me, left the tent.

As her steps and Theo's cries grew softer, I picked up Patroclus' shell necklace from the table. Patroclus. My mother made it for him when he visited Larissa, when he was little more than a baby, and he wore it almost every day thereafter. He was wearing it when he died. When he was murdered.

I was on the brink of tears, trying to restrain them, when a hooded figure pulled back the fabric that hung from the door.

The man had been talking for minutes now, about love, and war, and death. And his son, Hector.

I would never have expected Priam, great king of Troy, to come here. He could have been spotted by anyone, and if they had a hot temper or if Agamemnon heard the news, he would be dead in a second. I half wanted to kill him myself for having the nerve to come here and ask what he was asking.

After I tried to defend myself by reminding Priam that his son killed my cousin, he started talking about me, asking how many cousins I'd killed. "How many sons, and fathers and brothers and husbands? How many, brave Achilles?"

I listened, but all the way fighting back images, memories that were returning to me with the king's words. Patroclus, dead on the sand, a slit across his throat. Hector, in his dying moments. My own father, on his funeral pyre, my mother weeping.

As if Priam could read my thoughts, he said, "I knew your father. He died before his time, but he was lucky, not to live long enough to see his son fall."

That's what hit me, like a sword against my breastplate. I couldn't find any words, and if they came, the sound died on my lips. Priam continued, but I didn't hear. I was too busy thinking, words and images and memories returning to me like a hail of arrows. The next thing I heard was a voice, my voice, saying, "I admire your courage. Meet me outside in a moment."

And I left.

Outside, I kneeled beside Hector's body, covering it with a blanket. Now, the cool night air and the sound of waves were my only company, and the tears overcame me.

I can't remember the last time I wept. Not at my father's death, or when I left Greece, knowing I would not return. Not for Patroclus. But now, one look at the Trojan prince's face, bloodstained and covered in sand, and I didn't feel victory, or acceptance. I just felt lost.

The blame could be laid on Briseis, I'm sure. Before I met her, before Theo was born, I was just a warrior. I did not feel like other, weaker men did; I did not feel love or fear, or any of those dangerous but altogether human emotions. But Briseis, my dear, sweet Briseis, she changed me.

And she would have to go.

She would have to leave with Priam and return to Troy. It half killed me to think it, but I could not live one more day with her knowing what I'd done, what I had taken from her. Not one more day.

"Your son was the best I've fought." I said to King Priam as Hector's body was strapped to the chariot that would take him back to Troy. "In my country, the funeral games last for twelve days."

Majestic as ever, Priam replied, "It is the same in my country."

"Then the prince will have that honour." I hesitated, knowing I would incur the wrath of Agamemnon by offering what I was about to offer. "No Greek will attack Troy for twelve days."

Then what – or who – I had been dreading all along came running up the beach.

"Briseis?" Priam half smiled and went to embrace his niece, only to stop at the sight of the tiny bundle she held in her arms. But he asked no questions. "We thought you were dead, we thought…" Briseis shook her head, and, as she did, she noticed me for the first time. Readjusting Theo in her arms as a distraction, she slowly made her way over, and I said the words that I could barely bring myself to push past my lips.

"You're free. Eudorus, fetch Theo's things."

Briseis glanced up at me and then over at her uncle. I'm sure, even without a baby, he would have noticed something pass between his niece and myself. I felt it then just as I had felt it every time before, so surely even the old king could see it.

"If I hurt you," I paused, this being the closest to an apology I had ever given, "it's not what I wanted." I looked down at Theo, sleeping peacefully in his mother's arms. Eudorus had brought his blanket and toys out now, and was loading them onto the chariot. "Take care of him. Don't let him… don't let him become like me."

Leaning in and bringing Patroclus' necklace up, I fastened it behind her neck, breathing in her scent for one last time. Memorising everything about her and out son, so, if I needed it, it could last me until the end of my days.

"Go. No one will stop you, you have my word." I looked down as I pulled away, fearing that if I spent any more time with my eyes fixed on her, I would change my mind and take back my words.

"Come, my girl." Priam called from the chariot. Briseis joined him slowly, seemingly unable to take her eyes off the black blanket that contained her cousin's body.

And then, with just a fleeting glance back at me and the camp, she disappeared into the night.