by Peter Tonkin
The corpse-filled entrance opened into a broad reception area, still piled with oozing cadavers – equally well-organised as those outside by the look of things but fewer this time. Here, Odysseus’ Cephallenians were mixed with Aias’ Locrians. There was an air of tension, almost as though another war was about to break out between them. The armies disliked each other just as much as their generals did. The reception area ended in a short corridor lit by torches blazing in sconces on either hand that led through to the palace’s central megaron throne room. And here we slowed to a standstill for a heartbeat as Odysseus considered the situation that now confronted him.
Prince Aias, in helmet and full armour, his sword, red and dripping, in his right fist, stood like a statue looking inwards. A couple of his officers stood behind him, one at each shoulder, spears at the ready. Facing them stood Princess Briseis, her slim figure seeming to fill the end of the passage where it opened into the megaron. I knew her instantly from Elpenor’s description, though he had not mentioned the high-fronted robe of Tyrian purple she wore, nor the fact that it was liberally stained with blood. I also knew her from the fact that she was holding a wicked-looking dagger to her throat, beneath the angle of her wide, square jaw immediately under her right ear. The point had broken the skin of her neck and a trickle of blood was oozing sluggishly down towards her collarbone where the purple neckline just failed to conceal a gleam of fine golden chain. The two things I noted most immediately, however, were how wide her grey eyes were as they stared unflinchingly at her enemy and how steady the fist holding the dagger was.
‘Well, Prince Aias,’ said Odysseus in a relaxed, conversational tone as he approached the situation, ‘unless you wish to enjoy the princess as her corpse bleeds and cools, you had better start negotiating an outcome that guarantees she stays alive.’
Princess Briseis said nothing but her icy gaze flicked up from Aias to Odysseus and back down again before the slow-thinking prince could take advantage of her momentary inattention.
Odysseus’ head tilted a little and I realised he was looking past the princess and into the megaron behind her. I was shorter than him and not so well placed. I could see nothing in the great room beyond her. My ears were sharp, however, seemingly compensating for my dull vision. I could hear a great deal of whimpering and whispering. It struck me abruptly that the princess was not simply trying to protect her honour, or even her body from violation. She was trying to protect a sizeable number of women and children packed into the rear of the palace behind her. But, I reasoned, she must know that this was a gamble she could never win unless the Gods were particularly eager to help her. She could not stand guard for ever. There had to come a time when she must either lower her blade or use it. The only difference those actions would make must be, as Odysseus had already wryly observed, whether she would be living or dying when Aias raped her and unleashed his men onto the unfortunates cowering fearfully behind her.
‘Come along the pair of you,’ said Odysseus, his voice booming in the confines of the passage as he reached up to pull off his helmet. ‘We haven’t got all day. Make up your minds!’ He turned to Elpenor and me. ‘What do you think? Will he give in, or will she?’
Elpenor also removed his helmet and frowned, clearly thrown off balance by his general’s unaccustomedly brutal attitude and the volume of his voice. ‘I don’t know, General,’ he said uneasily.
Odysseus turned to me, his eyebrows raised and I hurried to answer his silent question. ‘If the princess yields,’ I said, ‘surely she can only do so in one of two ways. She must drop her hand or slit her throat.’
‘Good lad,’ said Odysseus with a booming laugh. ‘A logical answer! So, there are three probable outcomes – if we discount the possibility that we all grow old and die here waiting for this impasse to be resolved!’
‘Yes, General,’ said Elpenor. ‘But so what?’
‘So, Elpenor, we have the ground for an interesting wager,’ said Odysseus, who was famous for never betting on anything unless he was absolutely sure of the outcome. ‘Either Prince Aias will yield. Or Princess Briseis will drop her hand. Or Princess Briseis will slit her throat. I wager my sword against yours that Prince Aias will back down before the princess takes any further action, fatal or otherwise.’
iii
Elpenor gaped at his general. The soldier’s sword was a workaday weapon with an ancient bronze grip and a battered blade whose edge would be so dull after the battle that the thing was little better than a club. Odysseus’ sword, on the other hand, was a weapon befitting a king, with a blade of the finest quality still sharp enough to shave with, a grip sheathed in gold and a pommel encrusted with jewels. I shook my head in disbelief, then looked away from the gaping soldier and glanced back across at the subjects of all this lethally dangerous foolishness.
Briseis’ grey eyes were full on Odysseus now and the ice in her gaze had been replaced by fire, which was hardly surprising. I could almost share the unfortunate woman’s outrage myself. But she was not the only one insulted by Odysseus’ heartless words. Aias swung round, his face a picture of naked fury.
‘Just what in the name of Hades…’ he began. But that was as far as he got.
For, in an instant of understanding, I saw what Odysseus had been up to. I recognised the cunning of the trap that he had laid not only for the murderously brutal Aias but also for the suicidally intrepid Briseis. But my understanding came only a heartbeat before the trap closed and its cleverness became obvious to all. There was a strange stirring immediately behind the courageous princess. A broad hand flashed across her shoulder with the speed of a striking snake and closed around the wrist beside the dagger, pulling it away from her throat with an irresistible firmness. Another arm snaked round the shocked woman’s waist. It closed, lifting Briseis completely off her feet. The two forearms caught the light of the torches. Not only did the arm-guards protecting them gleam, so did the light covering of hair clothing the backs of the hands and the areas of skin which the armour did not conceal. It all gleamed as though lightly dusted with gold. For the merest instant, no more than the beat of a heart or the blink of an eye, a figure towered behind her, then it stepped back, taking her with it and the path into the megaron was clear.
Aias stood, wide eyed and gaping – almost drooling. It was as though he had been confronted suddenly by Medusa herself and the gorgon had turned him to stone with one toss of her snake-haired head. The Locrian prince’s two companions, quicker-thinking than their leader, leaped forward, spears levelled, but they only made it as far as the end of the passage before they too froze on the same spot Briseis had occupied the merest instant before. Then they began to back down the corridor towards us. ‘What?’ said Aias, completely bemused by the speed of events. ‘What’s going on?’
His answer came into view at once. Princess Briseis reappeared, but her hands were empty now. Her arms were at her sides, each one held just above the elbow by a broad masculine fist. She moved unwillingly a step further forward, revealing the man who held her. It was Achilles, of course. Golden Achilles, I thought. As they moved further forward, I could see behind him. There was a wall of Myrmidons, and in their midst stood Odysseus’ crewman Perimedes, who had clearly been sent to summon the golden prince.
Achilles and Odysseus exchanged a glance and a brief smile of complicity.
‘I led the attack on Lyrnessus,’ said Achilles formally, his virile tones ringing, the golden emblem of his importance and authority gleaming against his breast. ‘I was first through the gate of the city and also the gate of the citadel. This woman is the daughter-in-law of the king, wife to the prince, his principal general. I claim her for my prize as befits my actions, my standing and my honour.’
‘Kill me!’ spat the captive princess in fluent Achaean, her accent only faintly tinged by the foreign vowels of her native Anatolian tongue. ‘Kill me now! I would rather die than have anything to do with the cowardly scum who ravished my home by craven deceit then slaughtered my famil
y so dishonourably that the name of Achilles will stand for the foulest trickery and treachery until after the end of time!’
***
I had seen Achilles angry before but never as angry as this. ‘How dare she question my honour?’ he raged a little later in another chamber off the megaron. Odysseus and I sat on a couple of convenient stools. Achilles paced, restless with outrage. ‘I should have let her slit her throat!’ He snarled. ‘I should have allowed that animal Aias to have his way with her!’ He stopped pacing and turned, his eyes narrow, his expression spiteful. ‘Perhaps I shall do so yet.’
‘No. It’s far too late now,’ said Odysseus. He sounded more thoughtful than sympathetic, and vaguely amused by his young friend’s discomfiture.
‘What do you mean?’ Achilles demanded.
‘You’ve taken her. Publicly and memorably: “As befits my actions, standing and honour,” you said. It’ll be all over the camp by nightfall and echoing round Agamemnon’s tent before the new moon’s in.’ Odysseus gestured towards the golden simadi exousia disc on Achilles’ chest. ‘You can’t give her back or all three will be open to question, not just your honour.’
Achilles was many things – some good, some less so – but he was no fool. The spite in his expression faded. His eyes widened. His frown became thoughtful. He ran his clawed fingers through the golden mane of his hair. He touched the disc that Odysseus had pointed to. ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘I’ll talk it over with Patroclus when I catch up with him but you’re right.’
‘I know I am,’ agreed Odysseus. ‘But what if she’s right too? Or half right at least?’
His question hung in the air for a heartbeat or two. Everything outside the little propylon ante-room we occupied was silent. The Myrmidons who had accompanied him so quietly through the citadel’s rear entrance were sorting and securing all the other people – mostly women and children leavened with a number of palace officials and city fathers – all of whom had been packed in there under the princess’ protection. Despite the wishes of Aias and his Locrians, the senior leaders Odysseus and Achilles had ruled that they should all be transported to Agamemnon’s camp with everything else we had taken from the city. If any of them were to be shared amongst the army, that would be done at the beach below Troy, and Agamemnon would make the decisions.
Except in the case of Briseis, of course. Briseis was spoken for, and not even High King Agamemnon could do anything about that.
‘Half right?’ demanded Achilles. ‘What do you mean, she’s half right?’
‘She didn’t strike me as foolish or too frightened to think clearly,’ Odysseus explained. ‘She knew what she was saying. I suspect that everything she accused you of was true – or seemed so to her. She was just accusing the wrong man.’ He shrugged, met Achilles’ gaze and continued. ‘What did she say? “Cowardly scum who ravished my home by trickery and slaughtered my family so dishonourably.” What if that is in fact what has happened here? Lyrnessus fell into our hands not because of our bravery but someone’s cowardly deceit? You have to admit that the main gates went down pretty easily; so did the citadel’s gates and that postern beside the West Gate presented no real barrier either in the end. What if her family did not all die honourably in battle? I for one did not encounter any royal opponents outside the gates or in amongst the streets. Not in the citadel. Not even here in the palace…’
‘Nor did I,’ said Achilles.
‘Then, what if they were murdered so that they could not organise a proper defence. So that the city could be handed over to us with no-one any the wiser? I must admit, if that were anything like what actually happened, I can see why the princess thinks you might have had a hand in it, because you seem to be the main beneficiary. And, as our young rhapsode here will remember me saying on more than one occasion when seeking a suspect guilty of murder, who benefits?’
‘We do. But I do most of all,’ allowed Achilles. ‘But who would do such a thing? And in the names of all the gods, why?’
‘At this stage I have no clue,’ said Odysseus. ‘But I have a fair idea who might well have the glimmerings of a notion. As long as I can convince her of your innocence and of my good intentions.’
‘I’d have thought,’ I observed, ‘given that the pair of you kept her from losing her life to that dagger or her honour to Prince Aias – or both - that that one fact alone might begin to soften her attitude. After a period of quiet reflection at least.’
‘The lad has a point,’ admitted Achilles.
‘You’re as well aware as I am that for a poet he’s no fool,’ said Odysseus, amused.
‘For a half-blind rhapsode,’ nodded Achilles, ‘he sees things pretty clearly.’
‘Agreed,’ said Odysseus. ‘So, while you and the Myrmidons get some order in what’s left of the city, the citadel and the palace, my clear-sighted songsmith and I will go and talk to the princess. See what a period of quiet reflection has done to her attitude.
iv
‘Get out of here!’ spat Princess Briseis. ‘And take your anapiro cripple with you!’
While my cheeks flamed and my breath shortened with outrage, Odysseus looked around the chamber in which she was imprisoned, the entrance guarded by two of Achilles’ largest Myrmidons. Not only was the enraged princess not getting out, I thought bitterly, no-one except the two generals and their cripple were getting in either. It was a nondescript room with a table, a chair and a window - too small to climb through - which let in not only daylight but the smoke and the sounds of her city’s continuing destruction.
‘Your command of Achaean is most impressive, Princess. Anapiro indeed.’ He shook his head, apparently struck by her fluency. Then he continued, ‘Are you quite comfortable, here?’ he asked, though he must have been as well aware as I was how inappropriate the question and its tone must seem to the imprisoned princess. ‘I do realise it’s not what you must be used to, but I assure you it won’t be for long.’
However, just as they had been designed to do, his bland tones fooled her into joining a conversation rather than simply hurling insults. ‘Since you and your armies arrived, I and my people have been in far worse accommodation than this!’ she snarled.
‘Of course,’ he replied. ‘Like your late husband you are a natural leader. I can see that. And I can tell from the state of your hands, not to mention your dress, that you have also been involved in caring for the wounded. As I would have expected.’
‘Time which I wasted, no doubt!’ she spat. But as she spoke, she joined her hands behind her back like a child with sticky fingers accused of stealing honey cakes. The gesture lifted the neckline of her dress up to the trickle of blood which had dried almost unnoticed on the right side of her neck. The gleam of the golden necklace I had noted on first seeing her disappeared.
‘It is a burden that any battlefield physician must bear is it not?’ he sympathised, apparently failing to notice her guilty action. ‘Those you heal must go back to the battle, no doubt to die. Those you cannot heal must die a little sooner, that is all.’
That took the wind out of her sails. She stood, frowning silently.
‘But you told Prince Achilles that your husband and the other men in your family did not die honourably,’ continued the general softly. ‘You told him they died dishonourably through the trickery of some coward. And, given that you have been attending the sick and wounded I would suppose you to know what you are talking about.’
‘I do know what I’m talking about! And you expect me to believe Achilles had no part in it?’ she sneered. ‘When he so obviously benefits from the outcome. And,’ she added, ‘now I think of it, he is not the only one who benefits.’
‘Ah. You see that, do you?’ he asked quietly.
‘But he doesn’t benefit,’ I struck in, my lingering anger giving me license. ‘And neither do Odysseus and Aias. In fact, it is you and your people who are most likely to do so, especially if you cared for the men you were tending as much as you appear to have done. Our Achaean
generals would have broken through eventually and the slaughter would have been all the greater after a long campaign if what I saw of the fall of Thebe was repeated here. Whoever did the things you accuse Achilles of doing simply made sure that the battle would be over more swiftly and with even fewer casualties! Casualties like, for instance, all the people who were standing behind you in the megaron and whatever parts of the palace that lie beyond it.’
‘Your thoughts are as lame as your legs!’ she spat. I did not blush this time but met her gaze unflinchingly.
‘No,’ countered Odysseus gently. ‘The lad has a point and you know it, your highness, much though you would clearly like the matter to be black or white – daylight or darkness. You cannot deceive us. The lad and I, we do not deal in bright day or dark night. We deal in the grey shadows of the dawning and the twilight where things are never so simple or certain. We have no intention of rushing away from Lyrnessus for some time yet. After you have had leisure to think matters through a little more fully, perhaps we can discuss the detail of your suspicions and how we may look into them for you.’
‘And why would you wish to do such a thing?’ she demanded haughtily.
‘We would do it for Prince Achilles,’ Odysseus explained, his voice still gentle. ‘I am relatively careless about my honour and my reputation and as for Prince Aias, it is far too late for him to worry about his. But Prince Achilles is the most honourable man amongst us, and the most sensitive about his honour. We will not rest on his behalf until we have discovered whether your suspicions have any basis in fact and, if they do, then who the real culprits are. We will do this so that Achilles’ honour can be cleaned of the stains your accusations have put upon it and held up to the world, all burnished bright once more.’
***
Odysseus had just delivered himself of this rather sententious speech when Elpenor and Perimedes appeared in the doorway. ‘General,’ said Elpenor, ‘we think you ought to come and look at this.’ His gaze flicked towards Briseis and away again instantly.
