Thank you Riverslegacy and Isabella. Your feedback, particularly at this point in the story, is incredibly important.

As ever, thank you to everyone reading and following this story.

A quick note: PTSD in war veterans is a terrible problem that, to my knowledge, still doesn't get the attention and care it deserves. I always thought that Achilles, both in the Iliad and in most ancient legends about him, illustrates several classical symptoms of this type of PTSD. I've been trying to explore this issue in the last few chapters. This one is the last in that line of thought and I based it on an extra-homeric legend that combines some fascinating elements with some truly gruesome ones. It isn't an easy chapter.

CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT

It was a difficult night. At supper you were tense, your temper flaring at the drop of a hat, harsh words always at the tip of your tongue for whoever incurred in your disapproval. And even though you were clearly making an effort not to go too heavy on the wine and didn't get really drunk, you still drank more than you should. Later you fell asleep quickly enough, but then I had to wake you up several times during the night, because you were thrashing and moaning with nightmares.

In the morning, however, you were calm and focused, as you always seemed to be before leaving for battle. You kissed me lightly on the lips, smiled as you always did and said simply: "I'll see you this evening."

And left me struggling not to go mad with worry for what has surely been one of the longest days of my life.

When I finally heard the familiar noise of the army returning from battle, I jumped to my feet and raced outside. Relief washed over me when I saw you at the head of the mass of men, standing upright in your chariot and driving the horses yourself at a steady canter.

But as you came closer my heart tightened painfully. There was blood spattered all over you. You were very pale, your lips pressed hard into a thin line, as if you were barely keeping yourself together. The moment the chariot came to a halt in front of the hut, you shoved the reigns into Automedon's hands, jumped down and went straight inside, shutting the door behind you.

I looked up at Automedon, fear strangling my throat like an iron first. He shook his head, his expression grim: "That blood's not his. I think he suffered a blow, but that's not where the blood came from." He breathed in hard through the nose, then let the air out in a long, drawn out hiss. "But it was bad. Very bad." I turned on my heel and ran after you.

I found you sitting on a chair, your elbows resting on your knees and your head buried in your hands. You had dropped the shield and the spear on the floor, but you still had your armour on and your sword still hung over your back. I walked over silently, crouched in front of you and stroke your arms gently, noticing that your knuckles were oddly chaffed and swollen.

"Achilles? Automedon said you were hit. Where was it? Let me take a look."

You raised your head to look at me and my heart froze in my chest. I had never seen such hopelessness in anybody's eyes.

"Achilles?" You buried your head in your hands again, without a word. "Achilles?"

But there was no response. What had happened? What on earth could have happened to leave you so broken, so utterly desperate?

I needed to control the panic that threatened to overwhelm me, otherwise I'd never be able to get through to you. I took a long, calming breath, then spoke softly, keeping my voice gentle and even:

"Here, let me help you get rid of all that gear." I stood up to unbuckle the straps that secured the hilt of the sword to your shoulders, then began unbuckling your cuirass. You stood up abruptly to tear the remaining pieces of armour off your body, then threw everything carelessly to a corner of the hut and sunk back on your chair, all without uttering a single word.

I walked over to the pitcher, poured some lukewarm water into a shallow bowl, picked up a sponge and came back to where you remained sitting in silence, your matted hair covering your face and hands like a curtain.

"Do you want me to help you clean up?", I asked in the same soft, even tone. "Just let me know where you're hurt, so that I can be careful."

You took the sponge from my hands and dropped it back in the bowl. "Later", you muttered.

Well, it was only one word, but it was a start. "Alright", I replied. "Shall I get you a little spiced wine?" You lifted your head again to gaze at me. Your movements were slow, your eyes unfocused, as if you were lost in some dark, faraway place. At long last, you nodded: "Yes, please."

Two words. I hurried to fix you a cup of heavily spiced wine, then decided to pour one for myself as well. I didn't really want it, but I figured that drinking together would help build a more sharing mood.

We drank in silence for a while, then I tried again, gingerly: "Where were you hit? Are you sure it's not better to call Machaon?"

You shook your head. I insisted: "At least let me take a look. You know sometimes you don't realize how bad a wound is until you cool down."

You stared at me without a word again. Then, suddenly, you blurted out: "I killed a woman. And then I killed Tersites."

Now I was the speechless one. "A… A woman?" I stammered. "But how… what…"

"You know those reinforcements I told you about? The squadron on horseback?" I nodded in confirmation and you went on: "Well, they were amazons."

My lips rounded in an "Oh" of surprise. Amazons. The legendary women-warriors. My curiosity spiked even through my concern over you. "How are they like? Do they really fight like men?", I asked.

There was a vague look in your eyes, as if you were staring at something only you could see.

"Their queen came at me. She sought me out in the battlefield." Your eyes became suddenly focused, blazing into mine. "She was seeking me", you repeated. "Do you realize how unusual that is? Nobody does that. Nobody at all. Quite the opposite: everyone runs and does anything in their power to stay well away from me. Even Hector did. But this amazon, this woman, she came straight at me at full gallop, swinging her double-bladed axe and screaming at the top of her lungs. Women's screams… the way you usually hear them in a war they're terrible wails of pain and loss. One of the things that's always haunted me most. But her scream had nothing to do with pain or loss. At least, not for herself. It was a war cry, so shrill it made my ears hurt, but as powerful and fierce as I ever heard one." You fell silent for a moment, seemingly lost in visions of battle, then began to speak again, your tone almost conversational: "One of the changes I have noticed in me lately is that I don't really see things when I'm fighting. I mean, I'm aware of what's going on and of my surroundings, of course, but it's all a sort of continuous blur. There's nothing that stands out on its own. Neither things, nor animals, nor people. It's like… I sense a motion and I know it's an enemy warrior on a chariot, but I don't actually see neither the warrior, nor the chariot, nor the horses pulling it. Do you understand?"

I nodded, although I wasn't sure I did. You went on:

"Well, I could see her. As sharply and clearly as a beacon of light in a pitch black night. I saw every feature of her, her armour, her helmet shining in the sun, her weapons, her horse. Her fearlessness and her unwavering resolve to face me." You hesitated for a moment. "The others were laughing at her and making all sorts of dirty jokes. But the fact was they were all giving her a pretty wide berth. And the ones who were foolish enough to remain in her way… well, she didn't give them a chance to laugh for long." You hesitated again. "I know it sounds silly, but I felt honoured to be singled out by her as a worthy enemy."

There was a long pause. To my shame, I realized I was grappling with an unexpected pang of jealousy. You seemed so impressed by that woman who was so much more like yourself than I could ever be. I slapped myself mentally: you had fought her, not loved her. Or could both things somehow melt into one in that twisted warrior mind of yours?

You gobbled down the rest of your wine and reached out to fill your cup again.

"She was fighting to die."

I looked up, startled: "Excuse me?"

You nodded distractedly. "She was in it to die. And she somehow chose me for it. She wanted to go down in a blaze of glory and, if at all possible, to take me down with her."

There was another pause. You seemed lost in thought again and I was struggling to make sense of what you were saying.

"Odysseus", you said at last, "told me later that she had killed the previous queen in a hunting accident." You shook your head in wonder. "That man knows the strangest things. Anyway, according to him, fighting me was her way to cleanse herself. I didn't know that, but I did realize from the start that she was on a suicide mission. And unquestionably acquitted herself marvellously of it. Nearly succeeded in bringing me down too." I tensed and you shook your head again, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the cuirass laying on the corner. I turned to look and saw there was a deep dent immediately below the neckline. So that had been the blow Automedon was talking about. I shivered. It had been close. Terribly close. I leaned over to examine your collarbone, but the cuirass had done its job and you were unscathed.

"So she came at me with all she had and forced me to also give it my all to keep her at bay. Eventually I managed to strike home with the spear. She fell. And I…" Your voice trailed off. I waited. At long last, you went on: "I stood there, gazing at her. She had fallen like the great warrior she had been, but all that was left now was the body of a young woman, lying dead on the ground. And I realized that I had fought and bested a magnificent warrior whose fearlessness I'd never forget, but what was truly gone was the woman, a real woman I knew nothing about. Who probably no-one knew much about, because she was very far away from home and most of her amazon companions were also dead." You paused again, before adding in a desperate tone: "The warrior would be remembered, but the woman… she was lost forever. Gone without a trace. Do you understand?"

Suddenly, any lingering remnants of the uncalled for jealousy that had been eating at me vanished into thin air. It was not about love. Or rather, it was about love, but not the kind that might threaten me. You were seeing yourself in the amazon.

"Achilles…", I began, but you gripped both my arms like a drowning man hanging on to a lifeline:

"Will you remember me, Briseis? The man I've been?" I felt tears prickling my eyes. You insisted: "There's precious few people who really know me. Not even my son does. He's seen me once for a few days, years ago. What does he know about me, beyond whatever stories of the warrior people tell him? Or my parents, they haven't seen me since I was fifteen. They remember the boy I was, but they never actually even met the man I became. There was Patroclus, there is Phoenix and there's you. That's all. The others… they have an idea, but none of them was ever really close enough."

My tears spilled. "Oh, Achilles!", I sobbed. You pulled me fiercely into your chest and I could feel moisture in your own cheeks. "There's still a chance that your son will get to know you and that your parents will see for themselves how well you turned out."

"No, there isn't", you cut in. "It's too late. Even if I live, I'm not the same anymore."

You pulled back from me, your expression darker and grimmer than ever. My heart fell.

You took another long swig from your cup. "Tersites… You know, that horrible guy who's always bickering at everybody, who made even Odysseus lose his temper and give him a beating the other day?"

I nodded. "The ugliest man in the army, they call him," I commented.

You didn't smile. "The most despicable, that's for sure", you replied, then took a deep breath. "Well, when I was standing there, looking at the amazon and thinking about what I just told you, Tersites began poking fun, both at her and at me. Really dirty, sick comments. And I lost it." You clenched your fists so hard your chaffed knuckles became white. "You know what I said about not really being able to see things in the battlefield? Well, it became worse than ever. It felt as if I was in a tunnel and all I saw was this blotch in front of me, this faceless thing that I wanted erased off the face of the earth." Your voice was suddenly raw and shaking, and I shuddered at the unfathomable level of anger it conveyed.

"I pounced. I literally pounced on him and punched again and again and again. By the time Odysseus and Diomedes managed to drag me off of him, he was dead." You stretched your hands in front of you, staring at them as if you'd never seen them before. "I'd beaten him to death. With my bare hands. One of my own countrymen."

There was a long, heavy silence. I didn't know what to say.

And then I knew. The man you were, the man I loved, the man you wanted me to remember, was dying. Bit by bit, every time you set foot on a battlefield, you lost another piece of yourself. It was slow, painful, relentless. And to make it all worse, you were fully aware of it, yet completely powerless to stop it.

It was my turn to grip your arms in an urgent plea:

"You can't go back. Not ever."

You looked up at me and, to my utter shock, smiled tenderly: "So now you see it too."

"No. No, no, no, no." I was shaking my head frantically, my voice becoming shriller with every syllable. "It's not hopeless. All you have to do is not to go back. And then you'll heal. I'll make sure you do."

Your smile became even warmer. "My Briseis. My sweet, sweet Briseis."

I wanted to shake you. Hard. "Achilles, please. You know I'm right."

You sighed. "Maybe you are. But they won't march without me. After what happened when I withdrew from fighting, the army will never go without me again. And then everything, all the pain, all the suffering and lost lives, Patroclus, all will be for naught." You shook your head. "I can't do it."

I tightened my grip on your arms to the point where I was sure I was hurting you. "If you'd lost a limb, would they expect you to go on fighting anyway?"

You let out a bitter laugh. "If I'd lost a limb, it would be easier to understand."

There was a short, defeated silence. And then I was angry:

"Whether people can understand it or not, this is destroying you. You can't go on."

You started to say something, but there was a knock on the door and you straightened up in your chair. "It will be Odysseus", you said. "He offered to mediate the compensation for the death of Tersites and to lead the purification rite for me."

Indeed it was Odysseus. The king of Ithaca entered the hut, exchanged a few words with you about the compensation he had agreed to in your name, then looked at me and, after a brief hesitation, said:

"I couldn't help overhearing what you were saying. You are both right." He turned to you: "Your woman is absolutely right that you shouldn't go back to battle. And you're right that the men trust no-one else to lead them. But there may be a way out… if you send the Myrmidons, I can get the rest of the army to follow."

I allowed myself the briefest moment of hope, then saw the look in your eyes. Of course you wouldn't do it. After what had happened to Patroclus, you'd never send the Myrmidons without you again.

Odysseus saw it too. His face fell. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't even have suggested it. I'll… I'll try to think of something else." But his voice was hopeless.

You took a quick step in my direction, wrapped your arms around me and rested your head on mine. "Thank you for believing in me, regardless of all the evidence to the contrary", you whispered so softly I barely heard. "Just don't forget how I used to be."

I tried to hold on to you, but you turned on your heel and left with Odysseus.

For all I knew, the rite would take all night and in the morning the army would be marching for battle again with you at its head.