Warrior’s Prize

Then Hector leapt within, his face like sudden night, his

eyes blazing; light flashed from his armor, two spears were

in his hands. No man alive could have checked that rush.

Iliad, Homer, Book XII

(Rouse’s translation)

I had hoped I was wrong. Now, with my last hope gone, my legs dissolved so suddenly that I slumped against the rail and buried my head in my arms. Ianeira was at once beside me, her arm around my shoulders.

She rebuked Odios. “Why did you break the news so roughly?”

His anxious voice asked, “What ails her? I thought by now she was well.”

“This was too much of a shock,” Ianeira answered, “and she’s with child.” I lifted my head, stared at her. “Didn’t you know?” she asked me.

“No,” I whispered, but unconsciously I had known—and denied it. It can’t be! I’d thought. I only lay with him a few times since I lost the baby. I’d paid scant heed to the changes in my body. Diomede had said that a captive woman’s courses often stopped. And lately, when I was weak and sick all the time, I thought it was from the blow on my head.

I remembered Kassandra grasping my hand. You carry the future within you.

Oh, gods, she had known!

“You’ve that look about you,” Ianeira said. “I can always tell.” She turned to Odios. “The king must know nothing of this, do you hear? Swear it!” Odios nodded. “Do you want to go below?” she asked me.

I shook my head, and went to sit on the seaward deck. She fetched me a blanket, then left me, evidently sensing my need to be alone. My hand slid down over my belly. Achilleus’s child! For a moment I allowed myself to savor a joy almost too great to bear. Then it was swallowed in fear. If I never went back to him, he’d never learn I was carrying his child.

But if he’d known, would it have made a difference? No, not with his fierce pride. Not when Agamemnon’s offer was nothing more than an attempt to bribe him and dominate him. The king had not even gone in person to ask pardon for the wrong he had done.

At least for now, Achilleus would stay out of battle. He was safe from Hektor, and Hektor from him.

Small consolation, when I needed him so.

I pulled Ianeira’s blanket around me. Gone were all thoughts of escape. I was adrift, with a new life to fend for in an unknown future. Weary beyond measure, I lay down and slept.

When I awoke it was day. Ianeira was holding a cup to my lips. “Briseis, you must take nourishment.” I sipped the goat’s milk, willing myself to keep it down. But immediately I was sick. She sighed and wiped my face. “I’ve seen women like you who can hold nothing in their stomachs. I’ll make you an herb draught.”

She was getting to her feet when she froze at the sounds of battle, suddenly audible, growing louder. Shouts, crashes, cries. The fighting was once more drawing near. Without a word, she ran to the foredeck.

I lay without moving, my thoughts very far from the battle. Much later I realized there was silence again, broken only by the soft slap of waves against the hull. The Achaeans must have driven the Trojans back across the plain. Feet thumped along the gangway—Ianeira returning with her potion. “Drink this, Briseis. I have known it to work wonders.” I drank and lay down again, wanting to be left in peace, to drift—not to think. But once again the battle turned, and its clamor assaulted our ears.

Odios shouted from the shore. Ianeira hurried to him and came running back. “The Achaeans are in full retreat. Agamemnon is wounded!” she told me, triumph in her voice. “Also Odysseus and Diomedes, two of their chieftains. And many others.”

“Is the king’s wound serious?” I asked hopefully.

“Alas, it’s only a flesh wound. But the Trojans have backed the Achaeans almost up to the wall. Come see!” She pulled me to my feet and led me to the landward deck.

On the deck we were high enough to have a clear view of the battle just outside the wall. The potion had strengthened me, but the blinding reflections of the sun on a thousand helmets and shields, the moving, seething masses of men, made my head hurt. I turned away from the play of spears, the slashing blades.

Ianeira cried, “The Achaeans are fighting for their lives!” Then her glance slid to Odios, who was watching from the shore. I understood that look: out of all the loyalty for our own people, a spark of love for one of the enemy. That spark could become a conflagration. But it would turn to ashes. My heart went out to her. I clasped her hand.

“See that chariot, those black horses. Isn’t that Hektor?” Her grip tightened in mine. She leaned over the rail. “He’s leading the charge! The Achaeans are yielding!”

I looked. The Trojans, a tidal wave of men, were driving the Achaeans back toward the wall. With their chariots leading the retreat, the Achaeans began to push through the gates in a disorderly, panicked throng. Wild and fierce, the Trojans pursued them.

“Just like yesterday,” I said. A lifetime ago.

“No, it’s different today!” Ianeira cried. “Look! Hektor is leading the men straight to the gate!” I saw him at the front of his men, a tall figure with a black horsehair crest on his helmet.

Amid the deafening tumult, we could hear the Achaeans’ desperate shouts.

“Leonteus! Hold those gates open!”

“Polypoites, help! To me, to me!”

“Close the breach—fast! They’re coming! Ayeee!”

The Trojans’ shouts were harsh with triumph.

“Onward, onward!”

“Come on, men! We have them now!”

Below us, Odios gave a shout of dismay. “By the gods! They’re going to breach the wall!” He gestured wildly at us to go below deck, then turned away, groping for his sword.

Ianeira paid no attention to Odios’s unspoken command. “They’re doing it this ti

Then Hector leapt within, his face like sudden night, his

eyes blazing; light flashed from his armor, two spears were

in his hands. No man alive could have checked that rush.

Iliad, Homer, Book XII

(Rouse’s translation)

I had hoped I was wrong. Now, with my last hope gone, my legs dissolved so suddenly that I slumped against the rail and buried my head in my arms. Ianeira was at once beside me, her arm around my shoulders.

She rebuked Odios. “Why did you break the news so roughly?”

His anxious voice asked, “What ails her? I thought by now she was well.”

“This was too much of a shock,” Ianeira answered, “and she’s with child.” I lifted my head, stared at her. “Didn’t you know?” she asked me.

“No,” I whispered, but unconsciously I had known—and denied it. It can’t be! I’d thought. I only lay with him a few times since I lost the baby. I’d paid scant heed to the changes in my body. Diomede had said that a captive woman’s courses often stopped. And lately, when I was weak and sick all the time, I thought it was from the blow on my head.

I remembered Kassandra grasping my hand. You carry the future within you.

Oh, gods, she had known!

“You’ve that look about you,” Ianeira said. “I can always tell.” She turned to Odios. “The king must know nothing of this, do you hear? Swear it!” Odios nodded. “Do you want to go below?” she asked me.

I shook my head, and went to sit on the seaward deck. She fetched me a blanket, then left me, evidently sensing my need to be alone. My hand slid down over my belly. Achilleus’s child! For a moment I allowed myself to savor a joy almost too great to bear. Then it was swallowed in fear. If I never went back to him, he’d never learn I was carrying his child.

But if he’d known, would it have made a difference? No, not with his fierce pride. Not when Agamemnon’s offer was nothing more than an attempt to bribe him and dominate him. The king had not even gone in person to ask pardon for the wrong he had done.

At least for now, Achilleus would stay out of battle. He was safe from Hektor, and Hektor from him.

Small consolation, when I needed him so.

I pulled Ianeira’s blanket around me. Gone were all thoughts of escape. I was adrift, with a new life to fend for in an unknown future. Weary beyond measure, I lay down and slept.

When I awoke it was day. Ianeira was holding a cup to my lips. “Briseis, you must take nourishment.” I sipped the goat’s milk, willing myself to keep it down. But immediately I was sick. She sighed and wiped my face. “I’ve seen women like you who can hold nothing in their stomachs. I’ll make you an herb draught.”

She was getting to her feet when she froze at the sounds of battle, suddenly audible, growing louder. Shouts, crashes, cries. The fighting was once more drawing near. Without a word, she ran to the foredeck.

I lay without moving, my thoughts very far from the battle. Much later I realized there was silence again, broken only by the soft slap of waves against the hull. The Achaeans must have driven the Trojans back across the plain. Feet thumped along the gangway—Ianeira returning with her potion. “Drink this, Briseis. I have known it to work wonders.” I drank and lay down again, wanting to be left in peace, to drift—not to think. But once again the battle turned, and its clamor assaulted our ears.

Odios shouted from the shore. Ianeira hurried to him and came running back. “The Achaeans are in full retreat. Agamemnon is wounded!” she told me, triumph in her voice. “Also Odysseus and Diomedes, two of their chieftains. And many others.”

“Is the king’s wound serious?” I asked hopefully.

“Alas, it’s only a flesh wound. But the Trojans have backed the Achaeans almost up to the wall. Come see!” She pulled me to my feet and led me to the landward deck.

On the deck we were high enough to have a clear view of the battle just outside the wall. The potion had strengthened me, but the blinding reflections of the sun on a thousand helmets and shields, the moving, seething masses of men, made my head hurt. I turned away from the play of spears, the slashing blades.

Ianeira cried, “The Achaeans are fighting for their lives!” Then her glance slid to Odios, who was watching from the shore. I understood that look: out of all the loyalty for our own people, a spark of love for one of the enemy. That spark could become a conflagration. But it would turn to ashes. My heart went out to her. I clasped her hand.

“See that chariot, those black horses. Isn’t that Hektor?” Her grip tightened in mine. She leaned over the rail. “He’s leading the charge! The Achaeans are yielding!”

I looked. The Trojans, a tidal wave of men, were driving the Achaeans back toward the wall. With their chariots leading the retreat, the Achaeans began to push through the gates in a disorderly, panicked throng. Wild and fierce, the Trojans pursued them.

“Just like yesterday,” I said. A lifetime ago.

“No, it’s different today!” Ianeira cried. “Look! Hektor is leading the men straight to the gate!” I saw him at the front of his men, a tall figure with a black horsehair crest on his helmet.

Amid the deafening tumult, we could hear the Achaeans’ desperate shouts.

“Leonteus! Hold those gates open!”

“Polypoites, help! To me, to me!”

“Close the breach—fast! They’re coming! Ayeee!”

The Trojans’ shouts were harsh with triumph.

“Onward, onward!”

“Come on, men! We have them now!”

Below us, Odios gave a shout of dismay. “By the gods! They’re going to breach the wall!” He gestured wildly at us to go below deck, then turned away, groping for his sword.

Ianeira paid no attention to Odios’s unspoken command. “They’re doing it this time!” she cried. “We’ll be slaves no more. We’ll be free.”

But I knew the Trojans cared nothing about us. To them we were whores and traitors.

The Trojans ferociously battered the gates, which the Achaeans held open only wide enough to allow those left outside to enter in twos and threes with the occasional chariot, the horses screaming in fright. When they closed the gate at last, many Achaeans were stranded and slashed down savagely. I saw one receive a spear in his face. Blood spurted over his nose and mouth. Sickness rose in my throat. I turned away, but Ianeira gripped my arm. “Look!” she screamed. “Look at Hektor!”

He was advancing toward the gates just as the Achaeans closed them, massing themselves on the inside to keep the Trojans out. The gates appeared oddly fragile, their wooden slats cracked and dried. Hektor picked up an enormous rock that most men couldn’t have lifted. As he trudged toward the closed gates, a space cleared around him, and a hush fell. The Achaeans crouched in terror. Then a Trojan shouted, “Hektor!” A thousand throats took up the cry: “Hek-TOR! Hek-TOR! Hek-TOR!” The pulse beat in my blood. The Trojans were still but for that chant—all massed ferocity, a flood held momentarily in abeyance, waiting to surge forth in a torrent of destruction.

Hektor lifted the boulder above his head. The black horsehair crest of his helmet quivered with the fury of his effort. He came so close to the palisade that he vanished from my sight. Then his forearms rose above the gate, holding the boulder aloft. His muscles bunched as he hurled it with all his strength. Wood splintered and shattered with a crack like thunder. The broken slats bulged inward. A thousand Trojans roared with victory as they flung themselves forward and burst through the gates.

me!” she cried. “We’ll be slaves no more. We’ll be free.”

But I knew the Trojans cared nothing about us. To them we were whores and traitors.

The Trojans ferociously battered the gates, which the Achaeans held open only wide enough to allow those left outside to enter in twos and threes with the occasional chariot, the horses screaming in fright. When they closed the gate at last, many Achaeans were stranded and slashed down savagely. I saw one receive a spear in his face. Blood spurted over his nose and mouth. Sickness rose in my throat. I turned away, but Ianeira gripped my arm. “Look!” she screamed. “Look at Hektor!”

He was advancing toward the gates just as the Achaeans closed them, massing themselves on the inside to keep the Trojans out. The gates appeared oddly fragile, their wooden slats cracked and dried. Hektor picked up an enormous rock that most men couldn’t have lifted. As he trudged toward the closed gates, a space cleared around him, and a hush fell. The Achaeans crouched in terror. Then a Trojan shouted, “Hektor!” A thousand throats took up the cry: “Hek-TOR! Hek-TOR! Hek-TOR!” The pulse beat in my blood. The Trojans were still but for that chant—all massed ferocity, a flood held momentarily in abeyance, waiting to surge forth in a torrent of destruction.

Hektor lifted the boulder above his head. The black horsehair crest of his helmet quivered with the fury of his effort. He came so close to the palisade that he vanished from my sight. Then his forearms rose above the gate, holding the boulder aloft. His muscles bunched as he hurled it with all his strength. Wood splintered and shattered with a crack like thunder. The broken slats bulged inward. A thousand Trojans roared with victory as they flung themselves forward and burst through the gates.