Warrior’s Prize

“…it would be better for me to go down into my grave.”

Iliad, Homer, Book VI

(Rouse’s translation)

Sun poured down, blinding me. For a moment my body exulted in the pure feeling of being alive. Then pain crushed me once more, and cold penetrated my bones. I shivered so hard my teeth clacked. Someone wrapped a mantle about me. I looked up into Achilleus’s angry eyes, flashing like choppy seas. “Why?” he demanded.

I closed my eyes. When I looked again, another face was beside his. “Gently, Achilleus!” Patroklos murmured. “She’s shaking. Her lips are blue. Shall I send for a physician?”

Achilleus shook his head. “No need.”

“Then shall I fetch Iphis—Diomede?”

“Leave the women out of this!” Achilleus flared. “Do you think I want the whole camp to know she tried to kill herself? I’ll care for her myself.” He looked up at someone I could not see. “Automedon, go to my hut. Make a fire. The rest of you—leave us.”

The group of men around us dispersed. I pushed up and tried to rise. Achilleus caught me as my arms gave way. “Lie still, you foolish girl. I’ll carry you.” Scooping me into his arms, he got to his feet. Patroklos picked up his mantle and tunic and followed.

In the hut, Achilleus laid me on his bed of sheepskin rugs. “Patroklos, fetch a dry gown from the women’s quarters. Automedon, make haste with that fire. She must be warmed.”

When the two men left to obey, Achilleus removed the pins from my gown. Unwrapping the dripping garment, he pulled it from under me. I was so numb that it took me a moment to snatch a blanket and cover myself. Achilleus laughed softly as he spread the rugs over me. “Do not fear me, Briseis! You need warmth and rest.” But his too-intense eyes probed mine. “Who’s Laodokos?”

For a moment I wondered how he knew the name. Then I remembered. “He was my brother—my baby brother.” Tears spilled. I fought to breathe. “I cared for him since my mother died, when he was three. You should have let me die!”

“The gods have ordained that you’ll live. Don’t reject their gifts.” He added, “I did not mean to bring you sorrow.” He straightened abruptly. “You need to sleep and forget.”

As if I could.

“I’ll fix you a potion in some warmed wine.” When he got to his feet, I had a sudden view of Automedon, a dark, somber man bending over the hearth. “Haven’t you got it lit yet? Out of my way. Begone!”

Automedon hastened to obey. Achilleus crouched by the hearth and soon had a fire blazing. Patroklos appeared with a folded garment, which he placed next to me. Going to Achilleus’s side, he handed him a bronze vessel and a wineskin. Achilleus mixed wine, sprinkled something into it, warmed it, poured it into a cup, and brought it to me. “Here, drink this.”

As he held the cup to my lips, I caught the faint, unmistakable odor of poppy. Oblivion. I lifted it to my lips. Then I realized I would be naked and unconscious in his bed, completely at his mercy. I mustered the strength to say, “Why do you seek to make me helpless?”

Achilleus looked astonished, then burst out laughing. “This is so you can sleep!”

Patroklos gazed down at me, disapproving. “Lady, take the drink. It’s for your own good. Achilleus is learned in the art of healing.”

“How can he be?” I said. “He’s only a marauder.” Patroklos’s eyes glinted angrily, but Achilleus laughed again, and all at once I knew he spoke truth. He had not even thought of ravishing me while I slept. I downed the drink in one gulp. The wine was strong. A warm lassitude seeped through my veins.

“I do have other skills!” Achilleus was saying. “I spent part of my boyhood on Mount Pelion studying under old Cheiron, the leader of the Kentaurs. He trained many kings’ sons.”

The drug was already muddling my brain. “Kentaurs?” I asked.

“They are horse people and expert healers,” he explained. “They train wild horses and ride them bareback with such skill it is as if man and beast were one.”

My limbs were heavy and languid. As I tried to make sense of his words, I saw images in my mind of strange beings, half man, half horse, running through the hills. Then came a knife-flash of pain. Laodokos.

I tried to stay awake but my eyes closed. I heard Achilleus say to Patroklos, “She’s almost asleep.” He pulled the blankets up to my chin. “We’ll leave you now, Briseis. Have no fear, you’ll be quite safe.”

When they left I struggled into the gown so that at least I would not be naked. It took my last strength. I crept weakly under the rugs. The bedding smelled of him. As I pulled the covers over me, I fought to keep the awful grief at bay. Mercifully the drug dulled the pain. My eyelids fell as if weighted, but in a last instant of clarity, I remembered how I had promised my dying mother that I would care for Laodokos. I will guard his life with mine. Those had been my last words to her. And I had failed.

Just before sleep claimed me, I thought, I must avenge him. And Mynes as well.