Dreading having to face those I loved and keep my counsel from them, I returned to the Myrmidon stockade with a dragging step. Patrokles and Phoinix were sitting on either side of a table in the sun, playing knuckle bones amid much laughter.
‘What happened? Anything important?’ asked Patrokles, and got up to throw his arm about my shoulders. Something he was more prone to do since Brise had entered my life, and that was a pity. It couldn’t help his cause to lay public claim to me, and it irritated me into the bargain. As if he was trying to put a burden of guilt on me – I am your first cousin as well as your lover, and you can’t just drop me because of a new plaything.
I shrugged him off. ‘Nothing happened. Agamemnon wanted to know if we were having difficulty in curbing our men.’
Phoinix looked surprised. ‘Surely he could have seen that for himself if he’d bothered to tour the camp?’
‘You know our imperial overlord. He hasn’t called a council in a moon, and he hates to think his grip on us is slackening.’
‘But why only you, Achilles? I pour the wine and see to everyone’s comfort at a council,’ said Patrokles, looking wounded.
‘It was a very small group.’
‘Was Kalchas there?’ asked Phoinix.
‘Kalchas is out of favour at the moment.’
‘Over the girl Chryse? He’d have done better to have kept his mouth shut on that subject,’ said Patrokles.
‘Perhaps he thinks that if he pushes hard enough, he’ll get his own way in the end,’ I said casually.
Patrokles blinked. ‘Do you honestly think so? I don’t.’
‘Can neither of you find anything more significant to do than play at knuckle bones?’ I asked, to change the subject.
‘What more pleasurable thing could one do on a beautiful day which won’t see the Trojans come out?’ asked Phoinix. He looked at me shrewdly. ‘You’ve been gone all morning. A long time for a trivial meeting.’
‘Odysseus was in fine form.’
‘Come and sit down,’ said Patrokles, stroking my arm.
‘Not now. Is Brise inside?’
I had never seen Patrokles in a rage, but suddenly it was flaring in his eyes; his mouth shook, he bit it. ‘Where else would she be?’ he snapped, turned his back and sat down at the table. ‘Let’s play,’ he said to Phoinix, who rolled his eyes.
I called her name as I stepped inside, and she came flying through an inner door to land in my arms.
‘Did you miss me?’ I asked fatuously.
‘It seemed like days!’
‘Half a year, more like.’ I sighed, thinking of what had gone on in that boarded-up council chamber.
‘No doubt you’ve already drunk more than your share of wine, but would you like more?’
I looked down at her, surprised. ‘Come to think of it, we drank no wine.’
Laughter brimmed in her vivid blue eyes. ‘Absorbing.’
‘Boring, I’d say.’
‘Poor thing! Did Agamemnon feed you?’
‘No. Be a good child and find me something to eat.’
She busied herself about the task of waiting on me, chattering like a hedge bird while I sat and watched her, thinking how lovely her smile, how graceful her walk, how swanlike the turn of her neck. War carries a perpetual threat of death, but she seemed oblivious to any impending doom; I never spoke to her of battle.
‘Did you see Patrokles outside in the sun?’
‘Yes.’
‘But you preferred me to him,’ she said with satisfaction, proving that the rivalry was not merely one sided. She handed me hot bread and a dish of olive oil to dip it in. ‘Here, fresh from the oven.’
‘Did you bake it?’ I asked.
‘You know perfectly well I cannot bake, Achilles.’
‘True. You have no womanly skills.’
‘Tell me that tonight when the curtain is drawn across our doorway and I’m in your bed,’ she said, unruffled.
‘All right, I concede you one womanly skill.’
The moment I said it, she plumped herself down in my lap, took my free hand and slipped it inside the loose gown she wore, covering her left breast.
‘I love you so much, Achilles.’
‘And I you.’ I put my hand in her hair and lifted her face so she had to look at me. ‘Brise, will you make me a promise?’
Her wide eyes betrayed no anxiety. ‘Anything you ask.’
‘What if I should dismiss you, command that you go to some other man?’
Her mouth trembled. ‘If you so commanded, I would go.’
‘What would you think of me?’
‘No less than I think of you now. You would have sufficient reason. Or else it would mean that you had tired of me.’
‘I’ll never tire of you. Never in all the time left to me. Some things can’t change.’
Her colour returned in a flood. ‘So I believe too.’ She laughed breathlessly. ‘Ask me to do something easy, like dying for you.’
‘Before bed time?’
‘Well, tomorrow, then.’
‘I still require a promise of you, Brise.’
‘What?’
I twisted a lock of her amazing hair between my fingers. ‘That if there should come a time when I seem a fool, or stupid, or coldhearted, you’ll continue to believe in me.’
‘I’ll always believe in you.’ She pressed my hand a little harder against her breast. ‘I’m not stupid either, Achilles. Something troubles you.’
‘If it does, I can’t tell you.’
Whereupon she left the subject alone, and never tried to bring it up again.
It was beyond any of us how Odysseus went about the tasks he had set himself; we knew his hand was there, yet we could see no sign of it. Somehow the whole army was buzzing with the news that the bad blood between me and Agamemnon was coming to a head, that Kalchas was being aggravatingly persistent about the affair of Chryse, and that Agamemnon’s temper was fraying.
Three days after the council meeting these interesting topics of conversation were forgotten. Disaster struck. At first the officers tried to hush it up, but soon the men who fell ill were too many to hide. The dread word flew from tongue to tongue: plague, plague, plague. Within the space of one day four thousand men succumbed, then four thousand more the next day – there seemed no end to them. I went to see some of my own men who were among the stricken, and the sight of them had me praying to Leto and Artemis that Odysseus knew what he was doing. They were feverish, delirious, covered in a weeping rash, whimpering under the onslaught of headache. I talked to Machaon and Podalieros, who both assured me it was definitely a form of plague.
Not many moments later I encountered Odysseus himself. He was grinning from ear to ear.
‘You have to admit, Achilles, that I’ve created something of a landmark when I can fool the sons of Asklepios!’
‘I hope you haven’t overstepped yourself,’ I said dourly.
‘Rest you, there’ll be no permanent casualties. They’ll all rise from their sickbeds well men.’
I shook my head, exasperated at his self-congratulatory glee. ‘About the moment Agamemnon obeys Kalchas and yields up Chryse, I suppose. A magnificent, miraculous recovery at the hands of the God. Only this time it will be the god out of the machine.’
‘Don’t say it too loudly,’ he said, drifting away to minister to the sick with his own hands, and thereby earn an undeserved reputation for bravery.
When Agamemnon went to Kalchas and asked for a public augury, the army sighed with relief. There was no doubt in any mind that the priest would insist upon the return of Chryse; hearts began to lighten at the prospect of an end to the epidemic.
A public augury involved the personal attendance of every officer in the army senior to those who commanded mere squadrons. They gathered in the space set aside for assemblies, perhaps a thousand of them ranged behind the Kings, all facing the altar; most of them, of course, were related to the Kings, some closely.
Only Agamemnon was seated. As I passed in front of his throne I made no attempt to bend the knee to him, and scowled fiercely. It was noticed; every face grew rigid with concern. Patrokles even went so far as to put a warning hand on my arm, but I threw it off angrily. Then I found my place, listened to Kalchas say that the plague wouldn’t lessen until Apollo was given his due, the girl Chryse. Agamemnon must send her to Troy.
Neither he nor I needed to do much acting; we twisted in the web woven by Odysseus and hated it. I laughed and jeered at Agamemnon, he retaliated by ordering me to give him Brise. Shoving the frantic Patrokles aside, I left the assembly ground to make my way to the Myrmidon stockade. After one look at my face Brise said nothing, though her eyes filled with tears. Back we went in silence. Then in front of all that great company I put her hand into Agamemnon’s. Nestor volunteered to care for both girls and ship them to their fates. As Brise walked away with him she turned her head to look at me one last time.
When I told Agamemnon that I was withdrawing myself and my troops from his army I sounded as if I meant every word. Neither Patrokles nor Phoinix doubted my sincerity for an instant. I stalked off to the Myrmidon stockade, leaving them to follow.
The house was full of echoes, empty without Brise. Avoiding Patrokles, I slunk about it all day, alone in my shame and sorrow. At the supper hour Patrokles came to dine with me, but there was no conversation; he refused to speak to me.
In the end I spoke to him. ‘Cousin, can’t you understand?’
Eyes filmed with tears, he looked at me. ‘No, Achilles, I can’t. Ever since that girl came into your life, you’ve become someone I don’t know. Today you answered for all of us in something you had no right to decide on our behalf. You withdrew our services without consulting us. Only our High King could do that, and Peleus never would. You’re not a worthy son.’
Oh, that hurt. ‘If you won’t understand, will you forgive?’
‘Only if you go to Agamemnon and retract what you said.’
I drew back. ‘Retract? Are you insane? Agamemnon offered me a mortal insult!’
‘An insult you brought on yourself, Achilles! If you hadn’t laughed and derided him, he would never have singled you out! Be fair! You act as if your heart is broken at being parted from Brise – did it never occur to you that perhaps Agamemnon’s heart is broken at being parted from Chryse?’
‘That pig-headed tyrant has no heart!’
‘Achilles, why are you so obdurate?’
‘I’m not obdurate.’
He struck his hands together. ‘Oh, I don’t believe this! It’s her influence! How she must have worked on you!’
‘I can see why you’d think that, but it isn’t so. Forgive me, Patrokles, please.’
‘I can’t forgive you,’ he said, and turned his back on me. The idol Achilles had toppled from his pedestal at last. And how right Odysseus was. Men believed in trouble made by women.
Odysseus slipped in the next evening very quietly. I was so glad to see a friendly face that I greeted him almost feverishly.
‘Ostracised by your own?’ he asked.
‘Yes. Even Patrokles has wiped his hands of me.’
‘Well, that’s maybe to be expected, eh? But take heart. In a few more days you’ll be back in the field, vindicated.’
‘Vindicated. An interesting word. Yet something has occurred to me, Odysseus, that ought to have occurred to me at the council. It didn’t. If it had, I could never have agreed to your scheme.’
‘Oh?’ He looked as if he knew what I was about to say.
‘What will become of us all? We naturally presumed that after the scheme succeeded – if it does! – we’d be free to tell of it. Now I see that we can never tell. Neither the officers nor the soldiers would condone such an expediency. A coldblooded means to an end. All they’d see are the faces of the men who must die to fulfil it. I’m right, aren’t I?’
He rubbed his nose ruefully. ‘I wondered which one of you would see it first. My money was on you – I win again.’
‘Can you ever lose? But have I made the correct conclusion, or have you worked out a solution that will make everyone happy?’
‘There’s no such solution, Achilles. You’ve finally seen what should have been screaming at you in the council chamber. A little less passion inside that rib cage of yours and you would have seen it then. There can never be a revelation of the plot. It must remain our secret to the tomb, each of us bound by the oath Agamemnon was moved to suggest – thus saving me the trouble, not to mention some questions I would have found it difficult to answer,’ he said soberly.
I closed my eyes. ‘So to the tomb and beyond Achilles will seem a selfish braggart, so puffed up with his own importance that he allowed countless men to perish to feed his wounded pride.’
‘Yes.’
‘I ought to cut your throat, you twisted conniver! You’ve saddled me with a load of shame and dishonour that will forever cast a shadow on my name. When in future ages men speak about Achilles, they’ll say that he sacrificed everything for the sake of his wounded pride. I hope you go to Tartaros!’
‘No doubt I will,’ he said, unworried, unimpressed. ‘You’re not the first man to curse me, nor will you be the last. But we will all feel the repercussions of that council, Achilles. Men may never know what really went on, but the hand of Odysseus is bound to be suspected somewhere. And what of Agamemnon? If you seem to be the victim of overweening pride, what will he seem? You at least were wronged. He did the wronging.’
Suddenly I realised how foolish this conversation was, how little even men as brilliant as Odysseus had to do with the plans of the Gods. I said, ‘Well, it’s a form of justice. We deserve to lose our stainless reputations. In order to get this ill-starred venture started, we consented to be parties to human sacrifice. It’s for that we pay. And because of it I’m willing to continue this idiocy. My greatest ambition is forever denied me.’
‘What ambition is that?’
‘To live in the hearts of men as the perfect warrior. It’s Hektor who’ll do that.’
‘You can’t say for sure, Achilles, though your great-grandsons might. Posterity judges differently.’
I looked at him curiously. ‘Don’t you hunger to be remembered by many generations of men, Odysseus?’
He laughed heartily. ‘No! I don’t care what posterity says about Odysseus! Or even whether posterity knows his name. When I’m dead I’ll be rolling the same boulder up some hill in Tartaros, or leaping for the water flagon forever out of my reach.’
‘With me alongside you. For all our talk, it’s too late.’
‘And there you have the right of it at last, Achilles.’
We lapsed into silence, the curtain drawn against intruders who wouldn’t come to commiserate with their hubristic leader. The wine jar stood upon the table. I poured our cups full to the brim and we drank reflectively, neither of us willing to part with his private thoughts. No doubt Odysseus experienced the prettier reverie, since he didn’t expect rewards from posterity. Though he seemed to believe in nothing beyond eternal punishment, I thought it marvellous that he could contemplate his fate with his confidence unimpaired.
‘Why did you come to see me?’ I asked.
‘To apprise you of a strange occurrence before someone else does,’ he answered.
‘A strange occurrence?’
‘This morning some soldiers went along the banks of Simois to fish. When the sun rose they saw something rolling in the water. The body of a man. They ran to fetch the officer of the watch, who brought the body in. Kalchas. He died, they think, not long after nightfall.’
I shivered. ‘How did he die?’
‘An excruciating head injury. An officer of Ajax’s happened to notice him walking along the clifftop on the far bank of Simois as the sun was setting. The officer swears it was Kalchas – he’s the only man in our camp who wears long, flapping vestments. He must have stumbled and fallen headlong.’
I stared at him as he sat looking soulful, the light of the godly shining out of his beautiful grey eyes. Could it be? Was it? With a shudder of sheer terror I found myself wondering if he was weighed down with a fresh sin on the long list of sins he was already whispered to carry. Add murder of a high priest to sacrilege, profanity, blasphemy, aetheism and ritual murder and you had a list which outdid Sisyphos and Daidalos combined. Godless Odysseus who was yet beloved of the Gods. Mortal paradox, knave and King rolled in one.
He read my thoughts and smiled blandly. ‘Achilles, Achilles! How could you think such a thing, even of me?’ A chuckle erupted. ‘If you want my opinion, I think Agamemnon did it.’