I-am-a-Myrmidon, almythea, Annemone Lee, thank you very, very much for your reviews and your patience. Thank you also to the ones who faved this story, and to all my readers. I owe everyone an apology for the very long wait for this update. July was beyond hectic workwise, I honestly couldn't get a moment to spare. Then we went on vacation in August – and in my family we declared computers taboo during that precious free time together.

So… I'm really sorry and I can only promise that now that I'm back, I'll do my best to update more regularly.

Without further ado, here's the new chapter. Hope you like it!

CHAPTER TWENTY

Three years later, almost to the day, the end of harvest feast was in full swing. As was your habit, the feast had begun with a celebration of the Demeter rites – the "lesser", public ones, not the greater mysteries that were reserved exclusively for initiates – to which you also invited the few highborn enemy warriors you had captured and hadn't yet sent away "overseas", as you used to say. It was an euphemism, of course, for selling them into slavery to some remote place whence they would hardly ever have a chance of coming back. It was as effective a way of neutralising your enemies as any, and, as harsh as it might be, it was certainly more merciful than killing them. But as long as they were still in your camp, they were part of your household and you would treat them with the respect their former status warranted. One of those captives was Lycaon, a son of Priam by one of his secondary wives, whom you had captured just a few days before during a raid through the Trojan countryside, and who seemed quite impressed with the ceremony.

After the rites and the banquet in your tent, we had joined the rest of your soldiers and the other captives, who had also had their feast, but on tables set outside. Luckily, the weather was good. The previous year it had been drizzling constantly, which pretty much had dampened the mood of the party in spite of the awnings that had been set up for the occasion.

But this year the night was perfect, with a wonderful full moon that bathed everything in a silvery glow, and everybody seemed to be enjoying themselves. There was food, wine, music and dancing to everyone's heart's content. There were not a few people singing frightfully out of key and staggering around completely drunk, and not a few young couples slipping away not quite as discreetly as they thought. But that night no-one would be brought to heel for that kind of behaviour. The feast was a celebration of abundance and fertility, so a little excess was to be expected.

I felt absurdly proud that you were wearing a vest and chiton I had made for you. I had commissioned from our best weaver a beautiful turquoise fabric with blue-green nuances that brought out your sun-tanned skin and sea-colour eyes, then I had decorated it myself with patterns embroidered in gold thread. You seemed to love it: you had already worn it to a banquet at Agamemnon's camp and had chosen it again now for this special occasion in your own camp. I wasn't entirely sure whether that was because you really thought it was beautiful or because I had sown and embroidered it with my own hands, but whatever the case, it gave me an almost silly pleasure to see you in it.

As for me, I had adopted the Achaean style for the last two years: colourful tiered, bell-shaped skirts, combined with a blouse that opened all the way down to the waist at the front, after the Cretan fashion, but unlike the Cretans, who left their breasts exposed, Achaean women covered the chest with an inner garment tied at the neck – a nice detail, as far as I was concerned. I found I actually liked those clothes, that were a lot more flattering to the female shape than the simple gowns worn in my own region, and I had realized that you also enjoyed to see me wear them. I suppose my wearing the clothing of your people made you feel a little closer to home.

I considered myself happy. Not just that particular night – happy in general. In some respects you had proven every bit as difficult as I had anticipated, but you had also shown enough redeeming qualities to more than make up for your flaws. I had come to appreciate the discreet way you had of making me feel loved and treasured, even if you remained as overbearing as you'd always been and although I had never quite managed to get you to lower your barriers regarding what happened in the battlefields. Sometimes you'd talk about it, but those occasions were few and far between. Still, I felt unquestionably part of your world, and most of the doubts and insecurities that had plagued me in the beginning of our time together had all but vanished. The only thing that weighed heavily on my mind now was the brutal fact that, throughout those three and a half years of life in common, I had never experienced the slightest sign of pregnancy. And unlike what had happened in my marriage to Mynes, with you there were no "visits" every few days: your bed was my bed, and rare were the nights when we didn't join in love. Also unlike what had happened when I was Mynes's wife, this barrenness I could no longer deny was now a serious cause of panic for me. If there was one thing that might ruin my hopes of ever legitimating our relationship, that was it.

I knew you wanted children. You'd often express the idea that it was a pity that your father didn't have any more male sons; you seemed to view your status of only son of Peleus as a bit of a burden for you, as well as a risk for him. "If something happens to me", you'd say, "who will help him preserve his land and his throne? He's too old to fight, and my son's just a child." In fact, you had even made Patroclus promise he'd take your place at your father's side should the worst come to pass.

So it was clear that you wouldn't wish to settle for just one son. You wanted more and I had made up my mind to give them to you, one way or the other. For you, I was willing to follow the advice my brother had given me what seemed like a lifetime ago: I'd use a surrogate I could trust not to turn against me to bear you children in my stead.

But I hadn't told you any of that yet. Actually, we had never discussed the matter of children at all. I wasn't even sure whether you had stopped to consider the significance of my lack of pregnancy. You were too busy living in the present – or rather, surviving the present – and if the issue had ever crossed the back of your mind, you probably felt only relief that you didn't have to deal with a child running around your warrior's tent. However, that would change as soon as the war was over.

That night, though, was no time for worrying. You had come over to fetch me to dance, and now we were both swirling happily around. You seemed rather relaxed and upbeat. You had partaken in all sorts of toasts, but you were obviously not really drunk. I smiled up at you:

"How did you manage to remain sober after all that toasting?", I asked.

You smirked. "In these kinds of feasts I only ever fill my cup halfway up. Otherwise I'd have long rolled under the table. And someone has to keep their wits about them, wouldn't you say?" You gestured at the merrily drunken crowd and I chuckled.

"You could almost convince me you're a wise man when you say things like that", I commented.

"I'll have you know I'm a very, very wise man indeed. Don't tell me you hadn't noticed that yet?"

I laughed out loud and you squeezed me tighter. "One of these days I'll definitely have to teach you not to laugh at me, woman."

I smirked back at you: "And then I'd be just like everybody else, fearing the infamous wrath of Achilles, and you'd be bored to death."

"Mmh. I guess you got a point there."

"Of course I do. Unlike some sorely deluded people I know, I am a wise woman indeed."

You responded to my smile and I felt taken back to the first time we had danced together. Like that evening long ago, for a moment it was as though we had stepped into a bubble and there was nobody else in the world but us. I was intensely aware of the nearness of your body, the hardness of your muscles, the feline grace of your movements. Your scent, so familiar and yet so alluring, even after all this time. It was hard to believe how you still had such a powerful effect on me after more than three years of living together.

I leaned my head on your shoulder and asked dreamily:

"Do you remember the first time we danced?"

You hesitated and I looked up to see a puzzled crease on your forehead.

"Was it on your first harvest feast here?"

I tried telling myself it was natural for you not to remember: a man's memory doesn't work exactly the same as a woman's. Besides, to me it had been a bit of a revelation of how deep my attraction to you was becoming, whereas to you it had perhaps been nothing more than a confirmation of something you already knew. Still, I couldn't help feeling a slight pang of disappointment.

"No, that was the second time. The first one was when…" I stopped, frowning. There was an unmistakable mischievous gleam in your eyes. "Oh, you…!", I blurted out angrily.

"Ha, ha. Got you!", you chanted triumphantly. "Did you really think I'd let you laugh at me and get away with it? Retribution, my dearest."

"Yes, the core law of the warrior", I replied, pouting. "Didn't know we were at war, though."

"Only when you decide to poke fun at me." You tightened your arm around my waist and added, with a suggestive smile: "Not to mention the added bonus of seeing that pout of yours."

I glared at you, which, of course, only served to further fuel your mirth. Another thing that obviously hadn't changed the tiniest bit was your knack for being insufferably annoying.

You whirled me, then pulled me back against your chest.

"How could I forget the first time I ever held you in my arms, albeit not quite the way I was wishing for? You can bet your sweet life I remember." Then you lowered your voice in a mock accusation: "Just like I'll never forget how you turned me down right after."

It was my turn to give you a suggestive look:

"I can make up for it, shall I?"

I had the rare pleasure of seeing you caught completely off-guard. But you recovered quickly. You broke into a face-splitting grin and leaned in to whisper in my ear:

"It's a wonderful night. Would you care to go for a walk?"

I raised a disbelieving eyebrow:

"A stroll in the moonlight? Aren't you afraid people will realize you do have a couple of romantic bones in your body after all?"

We danced our way to the edge of the crowd, then ran off as if we were a pair of secret lovers, giggling like children. We passed the rows of ships and came out onto the beach. The tide was high, the air vibrating with the roar of the surf breaking against the rocks. You rested your hand on the small of my back, leading me across the sand.

We started walking along the water line, away from the muffled sounds of the feast. There were couples scattered across the beach, like dark specks on the sand, but they were too occupied to notice us. Only one man – one of your soldiers – looked up as we passed by and froze when he recognized you, but you waved dismissively and I saw his shoulders sag in relief.

"They really do fear you, don't they? Yet they also seem to love you."

"They had better. Do both, I mean. I demand absolute respect and obedience from them, but they also know I would lay down my life for them. It's the way it has to be, otherwise none of us would stand a chance of getting out of here alive."

I was filled with a strange sense of foreboding.

"Is there anything you wouldn't sacrifice for them?", I asked.

You didn't hesitate:

"My honour. Aside from that, no, there's nothing I would not sacrifice."

A question I had never even posed before came unbidden to my lips:

"If you had to choose between me and them…?"

This time you paused. The silence stretched on forever and I knew the answer you didn't want to put in words.

"Why should I ever have to choose between you and them?", you said at last.

Why indeed… I slapped myself mentally. It was silly to dwell in that sort of speculations that would lead us nowhere.

We reached a small secluded cove at the end of the beach, where we could hope for privacy, and sat down on the dry sand, watching the rolling waves. The reflexion of the moonlight on the sea looked like a silver road painted on the black surface of the water.

You tipped my chin up and looked straight into my eyes:

"Briseis, there is nothing I wouldn't do for you either."

Except sacrifice your men, I thought to myself. But how could I possibly blame you for that? Your responsibility toward them was as stringent as the one you had toward me. Actually, even more so. They were your people, you were their king.

I reached up to pull you closer to me:

"Never mind. I understand."

We kissed. Your arms closed around me, your hands started roaming my body. A familiar, welcome heat spread all the way to the tips of my fingers and toes.

I loved your hands on me. I loved your lips on mine. I loved all of you.