Warrior's Captive: I, Briseis

by Jackie Rose

  At the last moment, though, Hector’s resolve broke, and he fled. Again, I prayed hopelessly that Achilles would let him go, for his own honor’s sake. Instead, Achilles raced in pursuit, like a man hunting wild game, coming ever nearer to his exhausted pray. At last, Hector turned to face him.

  Because Hector had once been my protector, I was glad that he refused to beg for mercy. Instead, he merely asked Achilles to agree that the victor would return the other’s body. Even this plea Achilles rejected, shouting that he would shame Hector by feeding his body to the dogs. He was too far gone in madness now to realize that he was shaming only himself.

  Facing Achilles head-on now, Hector threw the spear that stuck fast in Achilles’ shield. Achilles answered by hurling his own spear, then leaping from his chariot and racing in with his sword.

  What the world has almost forgotten was that Achilles, even now, would not cause needless pain. Once again, those surgeon’s hands sought the big neck vein where his blade would bring death most quickly.

  What he did next, with Hector’s women watching, is something I can only explain by saying that he was mad, just as the great Hercules, the son of Zeus himself, was mad when he slew his wife and son. Achilles’ own men saw his madness and muttered to each other against it.

  Achilles—but, no, not Achilles, rather the madness consuming him—tied Hector’s feet to his chariot and dragged him away from the walls, westward toward the Argive camp, across yellow sand soaked with red.

  Climbing down the ladder, I heard Odysseus say, in his most innocent tones, “Won’t you stay longer, to reflect his glory?”

  “He has won no glory today,” I cried, as I strode back home.

  * * *

  The scene that greeted me there was as bad as I had feared it would be. Patrocles’ body had been taking out of his sleeping porch by now and laid for burning on the pile of logs. Around and around it, Achilles—or, rather, not Achilles, but Achilles’ madness—drove his chariot at a gallop, dragging Hector’s body behind the wheels. I waited for him to wear himself out, so he would finally stop and come home. I had reckoned without the endurance that kept him riding hour after hour, until it grew dark. When it became too cold for me to stay there, I gave up and went inside.

  He stumbled home at last, early the next morning. His eyes were bleary with exhaustion, and I hoped that this was the end of it. Instead, he told me that I would lead the seven women mourners at Patrocles’ funeral. I did not like the way Achilles stared at me, with his blue eyes glittering above the unshaven red-gold stubble, but I still hoped that the madness was starting to fade. The service would be an honor for me, I assured him.

  “Shouldn’t that honor be given to Iphis, though?” I asked.

  “Those seven women will follow you. You may all see what kind of master you have. I would rather Iphis did not see it, because she was good to Patrocles.” He bared his teeth in a grin more frightening than his rages.

  Accordingly, I led the other women out to the funeral pyre. When the ceremonies had started, they followed my lead in the ritual chanting. It was more than a ritual, though. As the flames turned Patrocles’ body to ashes and the women wept for him, I realized that they were all mourning their own private griefs. I could hardly blame them, now that they found themselves at the mercy of a master who seemed to be mad. They had good reason to think so, with Hector’s pale corpse still lying beside the funeral pyre.

  If his new women were starting to fear him already, I cannot imagine what they felt when he led seven sobbing prisoners to the pyre, their hands tied behind them. I hoped against hope that he meant merely for them to join in the mourning, until his men led them to him one by one and he cut their throats.

  When he was done, he sauntered over to me.

  “You see now, my Briseis,” he said, with his horrible mockery of kindness. “You must learn who is master here and not try to give me commands.”

  I would never try to command a madman. I pressed my lips together to keep those words from escaping. And still, I would not have left him, even if I could, and even to save my own life.

  “It is very cold out here,” I finally said, pulling the cloak closer around me. “Will you let us go home now?” For once, I did not add 'my lord', because he had ceased to be that to me. He did not seem to notice my discourtesy.

  “Of course,” he answered. “I would never keep my women standing out here in the cold, when I have no use for them." But now, not even these words could hurt me.

  The others were glad enough to scurry back to the women’s hall, where they could find their dinner. I was about to join them when he came home, having been driven inside at last by the cold. I slipped out to the courtyard, to avoid seeing him as he was now.

  I found myself walking towards the cold grate filled with ashes, where Patrocles had roasted our supper over the coals before higher flames had devoured him. I remembered how happy the four of us had been then. My tears flowed again, more freely than they had done during the ritual mourning.

  Then I made out a young man’s form in the flickering torchlight. I jumped at the sight, wondering if it could be Patrocles’ ghost. Realizing that a living assassin was much more to be feared, I opened my mouth to scream.

  As he came limping towards me, I recognized him as one of my first patients, whose friends had brought him to me with a wounded leg.

  “What are you doing here, and how did you get in?” I asked.

  “Some others helped me, mistress,” he answered, in a tone that told me he was a well-bred young man. “You took good care of all of us when we were brought to Machaon’s house. We will not let anyone hurt you now, not even our prince.”

  “Achilles would never harm me,” I objected. But saying the words made me wonder if they were still true.

  He shook his head in denial. “Not in his right mind, he wouldn’t, but he’s gone out of it now.”

  “Only because of his grief and guilt,” I insisted. “He blames himself for the death of Patrocles.”

  “No matter what caused his madness, I don’t think anyone is safe from it now,” he retorted impatiently. “We have all talked it over and we agreed. If you want to escape, we will help you.”

  “Do you know what he would do to you, if he knew you had offered to do that?”

  “If you hadn’t taken such good care of us, we might not be here to talk about anything,” he answered shortly. “We will not let him hurt you now.”

  For a long moment, I was tempted, thinking of how it could be done: a small suit of armor with a helmet to hide my face as I left with my companions. For the first time, I realized that my training might help me earn my own living in any city where physicians used their skills.

  Then I shook my head. I could not let my would-be protectors run into that kind of danger. Even more, I still could not imagine, even now, my life without its bright, warm sun at the center.

  “Thank you,” I said, “but I cannot do it.” Looking around for some way to thank him that would not sound too intimate, I said, “Your parents should be very proud of you.”

  That brought a faint smile. “Well, I hope so, mistress. But I still think you should try to get away.”

  He could not hide his relief, when I shook my head firmly again.

  “Very well, then,” he said. “But I am leaving the gate open. If I hear you screaming I will come and try to save you, no matter what he does to us. Just you yell for Argophontes, and I will be there.”

  “But now, you really must go,” I told him. “He could come out and see you.”

  That thought sent my new friend hurrying back to the gate that led out of the courtyard.

  * * *

  At last, too cold and hungry again to stay out here any longer, I turned to go into the house. I turned back again when I heard the courtyard door creaking open behind me.”

  “It’s me again, it’s Argophontes,” he called out. But this time, I saw, he was not alone. An old man walked behind him, so disheveled and du
sty that I thought he might be another old beggar poet who had gotten up his nerve, for once, to come and see the war he sang about. I almost shouted that he would find no scandal here to report, until I saw that his robes were trimmed with gold. They were torn, though, in sign of mourning, and his eyes were fiery red above his sunken, unshaven cheeks.

  With sickening certainty, I knew who I was looking at. Bowing low from the waist, as I had never bowed to the Argive kings, I said, “Your Majesty.”

  “He insisted on coming here,” Argophontes said quickly, stepping between us as though to protect his charge. My heart sank even further as I realized what the old man had come to ask for and what Achilles' answer would be.

  “Did you tell him that your prince is—ill?” I asked.

  “I told him that Achilles has gone mad,” he answered. “But he still refuses to go until Achilles sees him.”

  “I can pay you if you will help him,” the old man added, in a timid tone that tore at my heart. “I brought a cart filled with gold as a ransom.” It was heaped high with both coins and jewelry. Seeing those adornments piled there, I could picture the Trojan women’s hands, tearing their treasures from their throats, wrists and fingers, to help bring their hero home.

  I quickly assured him that I had no need for either jewelry or coins. My lord Achilles was most generous, I added, except that now he was not himself.

  “Then I will sit on the ground until he sees me,” he declared, with a hint of his old tone of command.

  “No, you will not!” I heard myself saying. “You will come in with me.”

  Argophontes opened the door for me. I strode towards it, with King Priam behind me, before I had time to change my mind.

  I need not have feared Achilles’ anger at me. He was so amazed at seeing the enemy king right there in his own stronghold, he dropped his spoon onto his plate. I was able to slip quietly into a shadowy corner.

  I turned my head away when the old man threw himself at Achilles’ feet and kissed his hand. I saw that scene all too clearly through the dim, smoky torchlight. For both their sakes, I wished I had not seen them at all.

  “Great prince, think of your own royal father,” King Priam begged. “He has no one to defend him with you gone. Just let me ransom my son’s body with the gold I brought you. If that is not enough, look at what I am doing now—kissing the hand of the man who killed my son.”

  I shut my eyes tight as I started to glimpse him kissing Achilles’ hand and closed them even more tightly as the old man started weeping.

  Then I opened my eyes wide, because I heard that they were weeping together. Achilles was leaning down to put his arm around the old man’s shoulder.

  “How can I be there to protect my father?” my prince demanded. “I must be here making trouble for your sons and you. Please stand up, and I will have a seat brought for you.”

  “How can I think of sitting when my son is lying in the dirt?” he demanded.

  I shuddered as Achilles flared up again.

  “Don’t make me angry,” he cried, slapping his thighs in his all-too-familiar gesture of rage. I knew that he had meant to say, “Don’t drive me mad again.”

  Then he pulled the old man to his feet, to show that he had granted his request.

  “I will have his body washed before I bring it to you,” he said. “My women will see to it.

  “Briseis!” he called, making me jump. “You show the others how to do it. You learned how in Machaon’s house.” I tried to stammer an apology for having spied on him, but he seemed not to have heard me.

  * * *

  As I hurried into the women’s hall, I called for Diomede and the seven new working-women who had come there that day.

  “We must bathe Hector’s body,” I told them. “His father is here, and Achilles is returning it.”

  “I can’t wash a naked corpse!” Diomede wailed.

  I waited for my own rage to subside before I answered, “I have just heard a king beg on his knees for that corpse. He was once your king and mine. Washing his son’s body is not beneath you.”

  More calmly, I added, “I will show you how to do it. I was trained to bathe the wounded in Machaon’s house. This will be no different.”

  Two of us hauled a bucket of warm water while others carried rags, as we went on to the cold pyre where Patrocles’ body had burned. Hector’s body still lay on the ground beside it.

  Fighting my own unreasoning revulsion, I knelt on the ground beside him showed them how to wash the wounds, just as they would have done for living men. Patiently, again and again, I went over the deep gash at his throat until it was clean. Because he was dead, it did not start bleeding again. The others timidly came forward to wash away the sand that had become embedded in the body while it was dragged behind Achilles’ chariot wheels.

  Achilles watched us soundlessly. When we were done, he picked the body up in his arms and carried it to Priam’s cart. It was empty now, waiting for its new burden, with the ransom gold lying on the ground. Taking the old man’s elbow, Achilles helped him into the seat.

  Just as the old man took the reins, Achilles said, “King Priam?” When the old man turned his head to hear him, my prince added, “You have more courage than I do.” I knew then that my prince was a man to love.

  I led the others back to the women’s hall, where we sank down onto the benches.

  “That was hard work,” sighed Diomede. Her words reminded me how hungry I was. I was wondering which of the women to send looking for dinner leftovers when the door swung open, admitting the bright torchlight from the main hall. Achilles strode into the women’s hall with the light behind him, wearing the light, just as he had the first time he came to me.

  His gaze circled the benches, going from one of us to another. I gazed steadily down at my dusty sandals, willing myself to accept the fact that, in the moment of winning him back to his sanity, I had lost him to Agamemnon’s latest gifts. They, too, now saw that he was a prince to love, and he must see them as new measures of his glory.

  I must still thank Aphrodite for the time with him that she had given me, I reminded myself. She had given me that miracle, did I dare to demand any more? Had I forgotten how great and famous he was, when I was just a country girl?

  “You ladies are all welcome here,” he said, fixing each one in turn with his bright blue gaze and faint smile. “You will continue to help us fight our enemies, who are now yours as well.” In misery, I waited to see which lady he would choose for his personal welcome.

  But even as I struggled to accept her will, my goddess showed me even more of her mercy and greatness.

  Once his gaze had passed across the others, it came to rest on me.

  “Briseis,” he said.

  “My lord?” I will call for Iphis again, no matter how deeply she is mourning, I thought, if he wants me to bathe his new favorite. I will not prepare her for him.

  He nodded towards the main hall, signaling me to follow him. I tried to keep from running as I did so. He had proven that he loved me, as no words could ever do. With seven beautiful new women to choose from, he had still chosen me.

  And he proved his love in other ways as well. He had never been so gentle as he was at that moment, when we had been gone from each other for so long and we were both so eager.

  Almost reverently, he lowered my bodice with both of his hands. His lips sought my nipples, and I writhed beneath him as his tongue caressed them in turn. Then he spread the lips that guarded my sheath and his powerful, gentle hand caressed the secret place, under I was pressing myself towards him urgently in my longing for his spear. The thrust, when it came, sent me into even more violent spasms of delight, growing ever stronger until they burst into the ultimate moment of delight.

  But when we were finished his face grew dark again.

  “Agamemnon swore that he did not have you, but I am not sure I believe him,” he said. “Did he take you? If he did, it was by force, I know. I would never blame you, but I must know
the truth.”

  I prayed to Aphrodite for a way to make him believe me. Then I asked, “My lord, did you see the wound on Agamemnon’s ear, where he used to wear his gold hoop earring?”

  “What about it?”

  “I made that wound, when he tried to force me. I pulled his earring off. That stopped him quickly enough.”

  After staring at me for a long moment, he began to laugh so helplessly, I had to catch him to save him from falling onto the floor.

  “You did that to Agamemnon?” he howled. “By all the gods and goddesses, I could marry you just for that.” More soberly, he added, “I always knew that all of the gods would have to help the man who ever tried to take you against your will.”

  “You could marry me?” I asked carefully.

  “We are married already,” he said. “I knew it, when Agamemnon came begging me to take you back and marry one of his daughters. I told him that I would not have any daughter of his if she were Aphrodite herself, because he had already taken the bride of my heart. And Menelaus as much as told me he would himself steal you if I gave him half a chance. I suppose I must make it official, before one of those two brothers tries to take you away again.”

  I could only stare at him, my mouth hanging open.

  “Well,” he said, with his teasing smile. “It seems that for once I have left you speechless.”

  Chapter Seven

  He slept through half the next day as I held him in my arms. I knew he had not slept that way since his cousin had died. I was determined to hold onto these precious hours in the same way, fearing that he would have forgotten his promise when he awoke, refreshed and calmed.