“Where will you start, Odysseus?” Palamedes questioned.
Odysseus’ jaw ticked at the very sound of Palamedes’ voice grating in his ears like a screeching hag. “If Thetis has taken her son up the sacred mountain, we are doomed. The hospitality of King Lycomedes and his court is logical.” Odysseus hefted the water bladder over his shoulder and set off in the general direction of where he thought the palace might be. There was no trailhead from their landing site, but he was certain any palace built on this side of Skyros would have a clear view of this minor inlet. Odysseus reasoned that if he were king of this place, he would build his house where he could see every entry point from the sea. So, they traveled straight up the hill.
ACHILLES PULLED DEIDAMIA into his arms and kissed her hard. When his mother brought him here, he was a beardless boy. The princess had been the first to befriend him, and became his first conquest on the island right beneath her father’s nose. Achilles’ reputation for combat rivaled his growing appetite for sex. He craved love-making and fucking almost as much as he craved battle. Blood sport would always be held in higher regard for there glory was won. Achilles desired that more than anything else. He was born to fight. As he kissed the soft body beneath him, he pushed the thoughts of war aside to concentrate on pleasing the woman.
“Do you remember the first time you kissed me, Achilles?”
He smiled into the face of the dark haired woman in his arms. The deep color of her skin intoxicated him. Her almond shaped eyes sparkled like polished obsidian, the pupil barely distinguishable from the iris. Her enticing glances rendered him helpless. “Yes.”
“Well?” Deidamia asked.
“Well, what?” Achilles teased. He reached his hand through an opening in her chiton, cupping her full breasts in his hand, then rolling the nipples between his fingers, and pinching them until she squealed.
She slapped him. “Did you love me then?”
Achilles thought for a moment. Love. What did he know of love besides sex? He’d learned enough about women to know avoiding this question served his needs better, so he held her tighter in response. Deidamia eased his loneliness. But love? Why do women always want to know about love? He’d married her so as not to disgrace her or her father. In truth, he longed for open seas and war, not domestic life and its comforts.
Deidamia grew unsettled by his silence and avoidance of the question. She was the mother of his son and that was enough for now she supposed. “Will you ever return to Phthia?
Achilles brushed her chin with his hand. “Soon, I think.”
A commotion in the court yard caught their attention. The clattering of wheels over stone was unmistakable. Achilles’ smile disappeared as he moved quickly to the window. He saw a man, shoulders stooped with old age, wearing a frayed and thin robe with its hem trailing behind him guiding a rickety wooden cart brimming with brightly colored textiles and shiny baubles swinging from various pegs.
“What is it Achilles?” Deidamia asked.
“Just some poor peddler selling cloth and trinkets,” Achilles answered, turning in time to see his wife running out the door. He watched as Deidamia entered the courtyard below squealing with delight along with her sisters and cousins. They pulled at colorful lengths of cloth and held them up to themselves and each other, admiring this one then that. One of them picked up what looked to him to be a sword hilt and tossed it back into the pile of unbound cloth. He heard it clatter against the wood. Achilles wanted to examine this cart more closely.
When the golden warrior entered the courtyard dressed in a woman’s robe and veil, the old man looked up, motioning him to examine the contents of his wares. Achilles fingered an edge of purple cloth. Its softness and quality meant for royalty. He thought it odd that a dusty traveling peddler should carry such extravagantly dyed cloth. Purple was for kings and gods, not old men. He let his hand slip deeper into the pile of fabric and the point of a blade pricked his fingertip. He let his hand slide carefully along its edge until his hand curled around the hilt. Like a bolt of lightning, Achilles pulled the sword free, slashing the blade and checking the balance of the weapon.
The old man watched. His eyes narrowed with knowing. “Achilles,” the old man finally spoke, but his voice was deeper than the young prince expected.
Achilles watched as the old man’s guise magically fell away and in the peddler’s place stood an imposing figure of a man. Achilles leveled the sword directly at the intruder. “Who are you to dare entry into this court?”
“I am Odysseus, King of Ithaka.” He reached into the cart pulling the purple trimmed himation from the pile and draped it across his shoulders.
Achilles lowered his sword. “I have a cloudy memory of you from my father’s court years ago. What business brings you to Skyros, my lord?”
“You do.”
The golden warrior laughed pulling the veil from his face. He tugged at the woman’s chiton with his free hand and it slipped from his bare shoulders into a pile at his feet. Never once letting his guard down, or the shining blade in his hand. “You are far from your home, Odysseus. What business do you have with me? Has my father sent you?”
Odysseus flashed Achilles an engaging smile. “No, your father has not sent me. It is King Agamemnon who summons you.” Odysseus eyed the young woman hiding behind Achilles, taking the warrior’s hand familiarly in her own. She may have kept her eyes diverted toward the ground, but her regal presence was not lost on the beggar-king. “Perhaps we should talk privately.”
Achilles whispered something to the woman who then walked away, giving one backwards glance at Odysseus, who noted her worried expression. The other women silently followed suit, leaving the two men alone.
Odysseus leaned against the cart. “It seems that you have been living quite comfortably among the woman.” He gestured to the discarded robe on the ground.
Achilles flashed a brilliant smile and shrugged his shoulders divulging nothing, denying nothing. “How did you find me?”
Odysseus’ broad smile divulged nothing.
Achilles put the sword back in the cart. “What is the king of Ithaka doing so far from his kingdom? And what are you doing in the company of Agamemnon?”
“What is the future king of Phthia and commander of the Myrmidons doing living here dressed as a woman?”
“Surely, you haven’t traveled hundreds of miles to spar words. What do you want with me?”
“That you accompany me to Aulis,” Odysseus answered.
“What does Aulis have to do with Agamemnon or you?”
“It is where all the generals are gathered.”
The soft hairs on Achilles’ neck stood on end. “Speak plainly, Odysseus. No more banter.”
Odysseus nodded. “Do you remember Helen, wife of Menelaus?”
“I have heard the rumors of her bewitching beauty. Of the oath her suitors took.”
“She has been kidnapped and we go to free her.”
“Go where? Who took her?”
“Paris, son of King Priam. We sail for Troy.”
There it was the city of his glory and his doom, beckoning him with destiny’s imposing finger. This is the moment my mother tried to keep from me. My glory. The immortality of my name…Achilles stood for a moment. For the first time, the weight of his decision pulled him to the earth. He looked at the stone path beneath his feet. It was safe here. I could just stay with Deidamia. Become a father, farm, live a long life. “Troy,” Achilles said, looking up to meet Odysseus’ gaze. His eyes sparkled with lust for battle. “When do we leave?” I chose glory...
“Before the sun sets. My ship is a short hike from here.” Odysseus shoved the linens that lay strewn across the ground back into the cart. “She will wait for you, Achilles. It is what women do.” He clapped Achilles on the shoulder.
“She is my wife.”
“I see. All the more difficult to leave then,” Odysseus acknowledged.
“Do not judge me harshly, but I long to go. Confinement here has t
aken all but my life.”
Odysseus nodded understanding at that as well.
Achilles embraced the messenger. “I must take my leave of her father. Then make my way to Phthia and my father. If we are to win this war, I will need the Myrmidons behind me. Their allegiance is only secured by my father’s word. By my honor I will follow you to Aulis. My fate is tied to Troy.”
“Then go quickly. Agamemnon is no patient man. But I will follow you to Phthia, then we will make for Aulis.”
THALPIUS STOOD AT the cliff’s edge, his eyes squinting out across the horizon. He could see nothing but the blinding sun bouncing back at him. Three days had passed since Odysseus’ messenger had returned promising that Achilles would soon follow. The messenger had said that Achilles intended to return to his father’s land to request the admiralty of the Myrmidons and would meet with the assembled army waiting at Aulis to head for Troy and war. The sun gave Thalpius a throbbing ache behind his brow.
“How long will we wait, sire?” Thalpius asked his king.
“As long as it takes. We cannot win without Achilles. If I have to retrieve him myself I will. By the balls of Zeus, I will bring him back in chains…” Menelaus’ voice trailed off. Until he’d uttered it aloud, he hadn’t feared facing Achilles. But now, the lack of wind, the suffocating heat, and the lapse of days made him uneasy. What if I have to force Achilles here? Could I do it?
“What if the wind doesn’t pick up? Isn’t that a bad sign? Perhaps the gods inform us of something…something we’re doing wrong.”
“He will come. The winds will come. I will have my wife back.” Menelaus wasn’t as confidant as he sounded. “Keep your lookout.”
YEARS HAD FLOWN by since Peleus had seen his golden son. Achilles was on the verge of manhood when Thetis whisked him off to seclusion at Skyros. When Achilles strode into the hall seeking audience with his father, his stature stunned the king. Gone was the lanky golden boy with a wide smile. He had been replaced by a god among men. Achilles stood a head taller than almost any man present. His azure eyes blazed fire beneath a handsome brow. His hair, catching the light, shimmered with gold and tumbled about his wide shoulders in long twisted locks and tight braids. His stride was long, his gait easy and confident.
“Surely, the gods have had a hand on you since the womb,” the king said, as he greeted his son.
“Father.”
Peleus embraced him, the sinewy muscles and strength beneath the linen chiton evident. “You have become a man while you have been away.”
Achilles released his father and turned his gaze to his beloved mother. They both knew why he’d come home. The future now entwined with the present. He had made his choice. Thetis already knew in her heart her son’s response. She could hear the call of the sea behind him, the clash of swords above him, and worst, she could see the look of anticipation in his eyes. Yes, he has chosen. Her heart cried out for him to stay, knowing it was too late. She smiled at her son although joy failed to reach her eyes.
Achilles leaned down to kiss her cheek. “Mother.” His eyes spoke the words: You know why I have come.
The stench of dust and blood and the sweat of warriors swirled around him. “Forgive me, I must ask.”
“No.” It was a simple answer. His voice held no tremor of hesitation. His eyes gave away no hint of fear. “It is no small matter the course I have chosen. Do not be saddened by it.”
The king interrupted the tender moment, declaring, “I have waited far too many years for this day. Tonight, we feast and drink to my son’s return!”
“We accept your invitation,” Achilles’ grin stretched wide across his face, a secret glinting in the corner of his eye.
Peleus and Thetis looked to each other. The king asked, “We?”
“My wife and I,” Achilles said.
“Wife? You have married Iphigenia? I was not informed you traveled to Mycenae to claim her.” Peleus looked to Thetis, but could see by her surprised expression that she knew nothing of the marriage either.
Achilles laughter roared across the marble hall. “Not Iphigenia, Father. Deidamia of Skyros.”
Thetis gripped the arm rest of Peleus’ throne as her legs gave way beneath her.
“Mother!” Achilles flew to her side, catching her before she tumbled down the steps of the dais.
Thetis pushed her son’s hands from her. “Truly, I am fine. You have given us a shock, no doubt.” She smoothed her gown. “Why keep such news from us? This I do not understand.”
“The story is long. It does not matter how it came to be. We are happy. That is all you need to know.” Achilles’ face revealed nothing to his parents of the scandal Deidamia’s father had quieted. It served no purpose revealing his recklessness and breach of hospitality at this point.
“But what of Iphigenia? I swore an oath years ago with Agamemnon—”
“It was not meant to be. Agamemnon will no doubt find a more suitable prospect for his daughter.” The golden warrior turned toward the over-sized cedar doors. “Escort my wife into the hall.” Deidamia entered, her purple silk gown flowing behind her and took her place beside her husband. “As you can see, father, I am quite pleased.” Deidamia slipped her delicate hand into his lion’s paw.
“Mother, father… I present to you…Deidamia of Skyros.”
Thetis stepped forward first to greet the young woman who bowed her head with gentle ease. “Come here child, let me look at you.” Achilles’ mother took in the visage of her new daughter. The olive skin a stark contrast next to Achilles’ golden hues, her hair black as still water, and eyes the deepest black framed by exquisitely long dark lashes. Thetis took her son’s young wife’s hands firmly in her own. “There is no need to stand on such ceremony with me. I am grateful that you have made my son happy while he has…been away.”
“Thank you…I am not sure how I should call you. Forgive me.” Deidamia bowed her head.
“If it pleases you, call me as does Achilles. I am now mother to a daughter.”
The young princess smiled relief. “Yes, Mother.”
“May I present, my husband, King Peleus.” Deidamia turned her eyes toward to king and bowed her head once again. “My lord.”
“My dear, you have brought much joy to heart…even of it forces a renegotiation with Agamemnon. I do not relish that thought, but I do welcome you.” The king took his new daughter into a hearty embrace.
“Thank you, my lord.”
Achilles took his mother’s hands in his own. “One gift yet remains.”
“What more wives?” Peleus laughed.
“My son,” Achilles said.
The king’s mouth hung open. “Son? There is a child?” He recalled the day when Thetis had placed Achilles, small and fragile, in his arms. His pride and his heart were boundless in that moment. Now, a son sprung from his own son’s loins, blood of his blood, this was a gift unexpected so soon.
Thetis beamed as her eyes glittered with tears. “A grandson.”
Peleus echoed her joy. “A grandson, indeed, you present the kingdom with a legacy.”
“We call him Neoptolemus. He is all of two summers.” Achilles, pleased with the greeting his parents gave, scooped his bride into his arms. Deidamia squealed in surprised delight.
“We are off to our chamber. We bring the child this evening!” Achilles winked, flashing a roguish grin at his parents. The ever present slaves pushed opened the great hall doors before Achilles could command it, leaving Peleus and Thetis staring after him.
The king took Thetis’ hand in his. “Many years have passed since that night...it seems a lifetime ago. Now our son stands before us a grown man with a child of his own.”
“Peleus,” Thetis spoke his name softly. “It has been a lifetime.”
The king gently squeezed her hands regret filling him. “The burning...I feared for his safety. I was angry when I sent you away.”
“And after?” Thetis asked.
“After my anger subsided, I realized you would ne
ver harm our son. But my pride was too great to say so.”
“And now?” Thetis asked, the distance in her voice reflecting the wall around her heart.
“Is there a chance you might forgive an old fool? Would you be willing to take your place, once again, by my side...as my queen?”
“Perhaps, there is a way, Peleus. The distance between who we were and where we are is no small space.” Thetis slipped her hands from his. “For now, I suppose we have nothing to do but ready a feast. Shall I command the kitchens, then? Boar or lamb?”
“Both. We are celebrating our son’s return home, a wedding...and an heir for Phthia.” The king kissed Thetis lightly on the cheek. “Do as you wish.” In this private moment, he allowed himself the luxury of expressing his fondness for her. With rough fingers, he tucked a strand of her dark hair behind her ear.
“What is it, my king? There is something more you wish to say?”
“Nothing. Nothing but this.” Peleus took her hands into his own, brushing her fingertips with his lips “I take my leave, my lovely nymph.” Thetis stared after him as he went wondering if she could truly return as wife and queen. She wasn’t certain if she could or if she wanted to.
THE PALACE HALL shimmered with laurel and olive garlands entwined with strands of sea pearls. Delicate alabaster lamps hung from the ceiling, lighting every corner of the hall where the shields of Peleus’ forefathers hung with pride and honor. The hammered bronze shone as brilliantly as if each shield had been newly forged for the celebration. Amphorae of sweet pomegranate wine and spiced honey wine flowed freely into every guest’s cup. The tables overflowed with wooden and silver trays stacked high with sticky dates, apples, honey glazed figs, oranges, olives cured with garlic and rosemary, and flat breads, bowls of olive oil steeped with wild sage, and fresh goat cheese by the slab. Lamb and roasted boar on spits sizzled and sputtered over the fire filling the air and making mouths water in anticipation of the main course.
At the high table, the king and queen sat overlooking their guests. Achilles and Deidamia sat to the right of them in a place of honor with little Neoptolemus cradled safely in his mother’s arms.
Song of Princes (Homeric Chronicles #1) Page 32
