Chapter III: Philoctetes
The next morning, Achilles wanted nothing more than to find his beloved Patroclus and spend the day away from the palace, away from the city altogether. He decided that they would travel to the outskirts of Phthia for a hunting trip, where they could be alone.
And when they were alone in the meadows, they could do as they pleased.
"Patroclus?" he asked, peeking his head into his best friend's room. "You awake? I want us to take a hunting trip today." He went into the room. "Pat?"
But inside the bedroom, the bed was unoccupied though it had been made, which meant that Patroclus had been there this morning to make it. He searched the room and found that Pat's sandals were missing, which meant he had gone out somewhere.
Achilles returned to the palace hallways, calling out his dear friend's name. "Pat? Where are you, Pat?" But there was no answer, just giggles from the servant girls he passed.
He checked every room on the east side of the Phthian palace, then he checked the rooms on the north side, then the west, and finally the southern wing. But his dear Patroclus was nowhere to be seen, not even in the medicine room where he practiced his healing arts.
Now Achilles was beginning to grow concerned, and angry — not at Pat, but at whoever was keeping Pat from him, and he had an idea of who that may be, though he prayed to the gods he was wrong. Anger and worry mixed in his heart, which was now thumping fast.
"Father," he said as he entered the king's chambers. "Where is Patroclus?"
King Peleus stepped out of bed and wrapped himself in his robe, yawned nonchalantly, then finally looked at his son. "Patroclus is serving his city-state, as all eligible young men are required to do in times of war."
Horror and rage mixed in equal parts on the prince's face.
"You sent Pat off to war?" he screamed. "You forced him to enlist?"
"Lower your voice, you foolish boy," his father hissed. "Yes, I required Patroclus to enlist to serve Phthia in the Trojan War. He is a healer and will prove useful to our army." He strolled over to Achilles as if there was nothing in the air. "Pat is doing a noble thing."
The prince's fists shook so hard he thought he might lose control and attack his father. For a moment, he speculated about what the worst punishment he would receive for attacking the king — he was the prince, after all, and wouldn't be executed, but he supposed he could be put under house arrest in the palace — but fortunately, Achilles controlled himself.
"Very well. I insist upon enlisting myself. I will accompany Pat."
"Like Hades you will," the king retorted. "I forbid it."
"But you just said all eligible young men are required to serve!" Achilles shouted. Any self-control he'd maintained went out the window. "There is no man stronger than me in this entire city-state, you know that! I would be an asset to the army. Let me fight."
"Absolutely not. You are not just any young man — you are the prince and heir to my throne. If we lost you overseas, Phthia would fall into ruin. You cannot go."
"I no longer care if Phthia falls to ruin," Achilles hissed.
"Insolent boy," his father said in his deep, kingly voice. "I hereby order you to stay within the palace walls until you learn some respect. No outdoor sports, no market visits, and most of all, no sneaking out. Do I make myself clear?"
Achilles flushed. His father had not grounded him for many years, and to be grounded now made him feel like a foolish little boy. But Achilles stood his ground and didn't reply. He wouldn't give his father the satisfaction of getting under his skin.
Instead, Achilles muttered, "Yes, Father," and walked out of the king's chambers.
The moonlight that shone over the palace and the surrounding grounds must've been a blessing from either Artemis or Selene, both goddesses of the white orb in the sky. Certainly one of them must've smiled upon Achilles, for it was just the light he needed to navigate by.
The prince had packed everything he needed into a knapsack and flung it over his back. He had tied his bed sheets and curtains together into a long rope that he could drape out his second-story window. The stage was set for him to run away.
Achilles looked around the room — true, he had possessions here that he would miss, like his hunting trophies and his fine princely clothes and the special seashells that Patroclus had given him — but they were nothing compared to being with Patroclus himself.
And without further adieu, he tied the bedsheet-rope around one of the posts of his bed frame, threw the strung curtains out the window, and descended the palace walls.
He'd had the idea to run away the instant he realized his father had sent his beloved into the army. Now he had to find Pat and they could run away together.
Achilles came to the end of the bedsheet-rope and dropped, falling a few feet to the ground below and rolling down the hill that the palace rested on. He sprang into the bushes, knowing that the sound of him rolling must've alerted the palace guards. When no one came, he deemed it safe to stick his head out.
He could see the warship on the docks, where the army's new recruits were being loaded single-file. One of those recruits was Patroclus. All that Achilles had to do was march down to the warship, present himself as prince of the city-state, and demand that Patroclus be released. Everyone listened to the prince's demands.
Suddenly, a ghostly voice sounded through the air, or possibly just in his head. "Achilles… Achilles…" It was a woman's voice, saying his name over and over. "Do not pursue the warship. The guards will not honor your demand."
"Who are you?" Achilles whispered, clamping his hands over his ears. "Why are you talking to me? What you do mean they won't honor my demand?"
"If you want to reunite with Patroclus, you must be patient. You will go to the Trojan War, but first you must be properly trained." When the guards did not respond to the voice, he realized that it was only in his head. He wondered if this was a goddess playing tricks on him. "I shall be your guide. I shall reunite you with Patroclus. You must trust me."
"How can I trust you?" he whispered. "I don't know who you are."
"Follow me into the woods, away from the guards, and I shall reveal myself to you."
Achilles did not trust the mysterious voice, but he knew that bad things happened to mortals who disobeyed the will of the gods, even princes. So reluctantly, Achilles turned his back to the warship and entered the woods as the voice instructed.
When he was deep in the trees, out of sight of the guards, a blue light suddenly flared up in front of him. He leapt back and nearly cried out in shock. The blue light materialized into a woman's form, a strong-armed woman in a blue dress with a helmet and armor on her bosom, arms, and legs. She held a spear and a shield with the face of a gorgon on it. Though her entire form radiated blue, her eyes were startlingly gray, like storm clouds in the sky. On her shoulder sat a blue owl who stared at Achilles with a judgmental expression.
"I am Athena," the woman declared, "goddess of wisdom, crafts, and strategy."
Instantly, he dropped to one knee. "Sacred Athena, I am unworthy of your presence."
"That is untrue," she said with a smile. "But I appreciate the sentiment."
"You said I must be properly trained," he stammered out. "But why? I am already skilled in combat. What more training could I need?"
"You have trained like a soldier. I will train you like a hero." She held out her hand, and he gently took it, trembling. "I will take you to Philoctetes the satyr. He will teach you."
She snapped her fingers and another burst of blue light appeared. Out of the light came a magnificent blue chariot with massive wheels, drawn by wild horses. They neighed and stamped when Achilles approached, but calmed at Athena's touch. "Well, get in."
He decided it'd be unwise to disobey. A smirk from Athena confirmed this.
When they were both inside, she drew the leashes back and cried, "Yah!" The horses whinnied and took off through the forest. They navigated between trees, which Achilles was sure they would run into, but the trees seemed to leap out of their way.
His heart ached as they drove farther and farther from his beloved Patroclus.
A rather stout, hairy, potbellied satyr — a creature that was a man from the waist up and a goat from the waist down, complete with horns on the top of his head — was in the woods outside his cave home gathering sticks to use as kindling.
He muttered to himself, complaining about everything from the gray skies to the humidity to the tree nymphs who never returned his affection, as he gathered his firewood.
Suddenly a mighty blue chariot came thundering out of the woods, drawn by four untamed horses, stopping within an inch of the satyr's face.
"Gaaaaaahhhh!" he cried, falling back and spilling his firewood everywhere. "What in Zeus's name? Who gave ya a driver's license, ya dumb broad?"
When he realized that he had just insulted a goddess, the satyr dropped to his knees.
"Oh, magnificent Athena! I didn't realize — I mean, I didn't see — "
"Your apology is half-hearted," she said solemnly, "but accepted." Athena stepped out of the chariot and gestured to the fat satyr. "Achilles, this is Philoctetes."
"Call me Phil, everyone does," the satyr mumbled.
"Phil then." Athena drew herself up to her full height. "It would behoove you to know that there is a great war brewing across the sea, between the Greeks and the Trojans. This young man, Achilles, is destined to play a part in deciding the war. But he is not ready for battle. He must first be trained, which is why I have brought him to you."
"I don't know nothing about no war. Ya got tha wrong satyr."
"The fighting has not yet broken out," she explained, pointing to the rumbling thunderous skies above, "at least not in the mortal world. But the gods are already picking sides, drawing lines in the sand. It is of the greatest importance that Achilles be trained."
"Look, lady, I don't wanna refuse a goddess, but I ain't — "
"Is it not your desire to coach a star player? A hero for the ages?" Athena knelt down to whisper in his ear, "Imagine a hero commemorated by a constellation. Now imagine you trained him. Is this not what you've always wanted?"
Phil gulped and slowly nodded.
"Good. You will begin at once." Athena stood back up and put her hand on Achilles's shoulder. "I leave you in Phil's capable hands, but should you need me, I will answer."
And on that note, Athena and her chariot disappeared in a cloud of blue smoke.
"Well, kid," Phil clapped his hands together, "you can start by gathering my firewood."
"Keep those push-ups coming!" Phil declared, sitting on Achilles's back as the young man pushed up and down, up and down, on the ground.
Hero training so far required waking up at the crack of dawn to run laps around a path that Phil had marked out. After laps, Achilles had to practice swimming in the lake beside Phil's home. Then came the obstacle course — hurdles to leap, spears to avoid, pillars to jump up and down onto, and great rings of fire to leap through, like he was a tiger in the circus.
"Go for tha head! Tha neck! Don't just sit there, swing ya sword!" the satyr yelled as Achilles was hacking away at a training dummy with his bronze sword.
Once he'd finished laps, swimming, and the obstacle course, Achilles had gymnastics where he balanced on a thin wooden beam, learned to do a tuck-and-roll, and even had to practice doing the splits. When he complained about gymnastics not being important to a hero, Phil would throw knives at him and expect Achilles to somersault out of the way.
Achilles didn't think anything out of the ordinary when a knife hit his chest but left no mark, didn't even cut his skin. He simply kept leaping past the knives.
After gymnastics, it was the middle of the day and they took a lunch break. Achilles was expected to eat copious amounts of meat, fish, and nuts to get as much protein in his diet as possible. Soon his muscles were bulging larger than ever. His arms were like tree trunks, his chest as broad as a bull's, and his calves were prominently displayed.
Once they'd had lunch, it was time for the knowledge-based part of his training.
"What do ya do if ya meet a gorgon?" Phil asked.
"Don't look her in the eyes, look at her reflection in my shield."
"Correct. What do ya do if ya fighting a hydra?"
"Don't cut off it's heads, burn it to death with fire instead."
"Correct! What do ya do if ya facing a swarm of harpies?"
"Put distance between us and shoot them with my bow and arrows."
"Correct again! Ya really know ya stuff, kiddo!"
His training went on for weeks, and then the weeks became months. Achilles was stronger than ever, faster than ever, and he felt he was ready to go off to war. He ran laps, swam, and completed the obstacle course in his best times yet. He could do the splits perfectly and dodge every knife Phil threw at him. He knew the answers to all of Phil's monster trivia questions. "How much more ready can I be?" Achilles asked one day.
"It ain't up to me, kid. I'm waiting on a message from Athena."
"You always say that, and I've been praying to Athena to send me a sign, but she hasn't answered! We haven't seen her since she dropped me off. She's forgotten me."
"If Athena wants ya to be her champion, I guarantee she ain't forgotten."
"Well, I'm sick of waiting. You want to see how fast I can run the obstacle course? Here, watch me." And Achilles took off on the familiar challenge path. He leapt over every hurdle, jumped through each ring of fire, and dodged the spears that revolved on a wooden contraption.
Then he came to the part when spears were fired from a cannon at him.
Blinded by his fury at Athena for ignoring him, he somersaulted past one spear, past a second, but then came the third. It launched from its cannon and struck Achilles right in his chest, throwing him to the ground. He sputtered and coughed.
"Kid! Are ya alright?" Phil ran as fast as his goat legs could carry him.
But incredibly, Achilles stood up, holding a broken spear in his hands.
"How is this possible? Ya took that spear straight to tha chest."
"I — I don't know. I should be impaled," Achilles said.
"I can explain," came a familiar, ethereal female voice.
A cloud of blue smoke descended from the sky, and on it was the goddess herself. Athena looked as dignified yet terrifying as ever, in her blue gown and armor and gorgon shield. And judging by the smirk on her face, she knew that Achilles had just been complaining about her.
"Impatient Achilles, I have not forgotten you. I have watched you from up on Mount Olympus, and I am pleased by your progress." Athena touched the spot on his chest where he should have been killed by the spear. "And I will tell you why no weapon can harm you."
She touched the spot between his eyes and a vision appeared in his mind.
"Your mother was a sea nymph whom your father, King Peleus, coveted on the beach. When he'd had his way with her, nine months later she gave birth to you." He saw a beautiful water spirit, his mother the sea nymph, as she was chased down by his father. He recognized the beach as the same one that he and Patroclus liked to skip stones at. Then he watched as his mother cradled a small baby boy — himself, of course — humming a sea shanty to stop the baby's crying. "Your mother well knew the dangers of the world, and she desired to keep you from ever being harmed. So she took you to the Underworld."
Now the vision in his mind's eye showed the sea nymph and her baby boy descending a flight of pitch-black stairs to the realm of Hades. But neither of them were deceased souls, so she did not wait for ghostly Charon and his boat to cross the river. Instead, the sea nymph took her boy to the edge of the river, held him by his ankle, and dipped him in the icy water. "Your mother also knew that bathing in the River Styx would make you invincible… except for the single spot on your body that was not submerged."
"My ankle," Achilles said bluntly. Athena nodded to confirm this. Now the vision showed the sea nymph lifting her baby out of the Underworld river — and he was shining all over, like he was an immortal, except for the spot on his ankle where she'd held him.
"That is why no weapon can harm you… except on your ankle." Athena removed her finger from his forehead and the vision vanished. "I recommend steel-toed boots."
"If I'm immortal except for a single spot, why can't I go to war now?"
"You are the strongest warrior that Greece has to offer, and I have a strategy for exactly when to use you. You will enter the war when the Greeks have turned the tides and the Trojans are at their most vulnerable. Then you enter and clench victory."
"But why should I wait? If I enter now, I could end the war quickly."
"This is not a war that will end quickly," Athena said coolly. "Which one of us is the deity of warcraft, you or me?" He said nothing. "That's what I thought."
Achilles could not believe what he was hearing. She wanted him to wait because she thought it was more strategic. But every day that he waited was another day that Patroclus was at risk — he could be impaled any day now, and unlike Achilles, the spear wouldn't break.
"I know what you are thinking," Athena said. "It would be unwise to disobey me."
He had nothing more to say to the goddess. Furious, Achilles whipped around, taking his sword and slicing open one of Phil's training dummies. Then he stormed off into Phil's cave.
"Don't worry, I won't let him go running off," Phil said.
"You had better not, or we will eat roast satyr on Mount Olympus."
Phil gulped and nodded vigorously.
At the top of a nearby hill, just far enough to escape the goddess's line of sight, stood a portly god glowing red like the last embers of a fire. He had a beard and wore a full suit of Greek armor, and he carried more weapons than he could ever need in battle.
"Just as I thought," Ares chuckled, "he's headstrong and impatient."
But Ares was not talking to himself on the hilltop. The ground trembled like there was an earthquake, and suddenly the ground was split open. Diamonds, rubies, emeralds, and other gems from the underground began pouring out, and sitting on top of the pile of priceless treasures was the God of the Underworld himself, the God of Underground Treasures.
"Oh, babe," sneered Hades, "you weren't kidding. He's as angry as a plucked harpy."
"And he is vital to our plan," Ares said, extending a friendly handshake to the lord of the dead. "When Achilles enters the Trojan War, it will be nothing short of a bloodbath."
Hades clapped his hands slowly. "You've got it all figured out, soldier boy." The God of the Dead was his usual self, pale grayish-blue skin with a prominent chin, a robe of darkness fastened by a skull pin, and a head of flickering blue flames. "Step one: Achilles enters the war in one of his tantrums. Step two: Achilles kills more Trojans than we could ask for. Step three: the carnage on the battlefield and the sudden influx of souls to the Underworld make us the two most powerful gods in the pantheon, bada-bing bada-boom!"
"Step five," Ares laughed. "Mount Olympus is ours for the taking."
"Oh, Ares, you are the best nephew an Underworld god could ask for."
"And you, Hades, are the best uncle a War god could ask for."
The gods cackled at their scheme, then they vanished in a wisp of black and red smoke. Down below in Phil's cage, Achilles was throwing one of his temper tantrums, knocking over shields and breaking poles in two, beating pillows until feathers flew everywhere, and screaming his frustration. Not knowing that his fury was playing right into the gods' hands.