Warrior's Captive: I, Briseis

by Jackie Rose

  For my part, I could hardly keep from smiling at the way Melantho kept praising Eurymachus for his good looks, his jolly nature, his sweet smile. When she praised him one day for his sweet fragrance, I asked if he was the youth with all the floral bath oil in his hair. Yes, indeed, she agreed, and wasn’t it a delightful scent?

  “If you think he’s so delightful, why don’t you marry him yourself?” I asked her. I was pleased when the queen was forced to smile.

  “Oh, no, Hippodamia, it’s our queen he loves, I’m just a diversion for him,” she insisted hastily.

  “You seem to be winning him away,” I went on, mostly in the hopes of seeing Penelope smile again “I don’t see how even our queen can prevail against you.”

  Oh, no, Melantho insisted again. She herself was only his way of consoling himself while he waited for his true love, the queen.

  “Then why doesn’t he go to her father and offer a bride price and ask for her hand properly?” I inquired.

  Obviously, the girl had heard that question often enough so that she was ready for it.

  “How can you ask him to do such a thing?” she wailed. “Having to go away and not see her, that would break his heart. She might even turn to one of his rivals while he was gone.”

  “I have it, then!” I cried, clapping my hands in delight at my sudden inspiration. “Why doesn’t he tell her that he will have her without any of her money or property, just for herself. That would prove his love.”

  Penelope and I glanced at each other in amusement as Melantho fell silent at last. This lasted only for a moment, though, before she started up her protestations again.

  “Oh, no!” she exclaimed, throwing her plump hands in the air. “He would never do that to her majesty, making her live like some poor country housewife. My brother Melanthus is a poor farmhand, and I was lucky he found me my place here. You must never live that way. Your sweetheart cares nothing about wealth for its own sake, you understand, but he could never endure to see his queen in poverty.”

  When the queen finally burst out laughing, Melantho seemed so pleased that I suspected this had been her purpose all along.

  * * *

  There were times, though, when the queen was momentarily absent, and Melantho was very serious with me.

  “I know he is a rough fellow, like all of them,” she said. “But I am not the only woman here who likes them. The one who really frightens us is our prince, Telemachus. His mother says he isn’t old enough to give us women orders now, but may all the gods help us when he is.”

  I had thought she was only echoing her friends, the suitors, who openly disliked Telemachus. I soon learned that she was shrewder than I had thought.

  I learned that on the night when I heard a piteous mewing, almost like a human cry, coming from his room, across the hall from the women’s quarters. I pulled open to see a sight I will never forget or forgive. He was hanging five kittens from a little gallows with five nooses.

  “What in the name of the gods are you doing?” I gasped, expecting him to order me out in a rage. Instead, to my horror, he smiled proudly.

  “It seems I forgot to lock the door, but no matter,” he said. “What do you think of my little invention?”

  I tried to race past him, to the choking, writhing, clawing little figures dangling from their nooses, but he was too strong and blocked my way. Desperately, I clawed at his face as, still laughing, he held me off until their struggles had ceased.

  “I think,” I said, through my tears, as he finally released me, “that if there is one god on Olympus he will punish you.”

  “Are you going to tell my mother?” he asked, apparently fearing her more than he feared the gods. “I will say you are lying about me.” He moved closer to me then, his eyes like burning black coals under his heavy brows, reminding me all too much of his father’s.

  “I will say you are like those other slut maids of hers, who push me away and go with her suitors,” he said. Then he grasped my wrists and whispered, hot in my ear, “But if you will be kind to me, I would remember it when I am ruling this place. Then I will be kind to you in turn. It won’t be long now, my beard has started growing, I am already almost a man.”

  What you are, I thought, not even the wounded soldiers had words for. Unable to make even that answer, with those pitiful little corpses dangling there, I twisted out of his grip and ran blindly downstairs. Wanting desperately to tell his mother as the only one who could deal with him, I wanted even more to spare her from further grief. I was still struggling with that dilemma when I reached the foot of the stairs and ran headlong into Antinoos.

  “I knew you’d come running after me, Briseis,” he said, grasping both my wrists.

  “Will you let go of me?” I shouted, trying to twist away.

  “You don’t really want me to,” he told me, gripping harder, making the small bones ache. “From all I have heard about you, you were every man’s dream of an adoring slave girl. You still are, even with those few lines around your eyes, above those famous soft cheeks of yours. That means you enjoy a bit of force.”

  “From the great Achilles, not from you,” I told him in outrage.

  “He was every girl’s dream of a master to adore.”

  “Then just imagine I am him,” he answered. For just a moment, I was so blinded by his arrogance, his vibrant youth and his blond hair that it seemed possible to do it. When he grasped my shoulders and pulled me towards him, I did not resist his embrace but lifted my lips to his, and his were rough against mine. I remained locked within his right arm, even as he thrust his left hand between my legs. His spear was hard and promising, I saw, between his fine shirt and my blue gown, and I pressed unthinkingly against it.

  Then he reached down to lift my skirt to my waist. At last, I tried to push his hand aside, but he slapped my hand away. I let it fall to my side.

  “You will have more later,” he whispered into my hair.

  “What are you doing, you little slut?”

  We jumped apart at the old hag’s shrieking, which had echoed my own thoughts. It was the same old woman who had scolded Melantho.

  He smiled and shrugged. “Later, Briseis,” he said, as he left.

  I wheeled on the hag in a rage.

  If she had been the queen or one of her ladies, I would instead have stammered an apology and fled. There was something about this harridan that made me want to rage against her, just as it had made Melantho stick out her tongue. Perhaps she reminded me of my mother and her surrogates, those vengeful women of Troy. Then, too, it was the time of my monthly bleeding, when I was most open to both rage and desire. I only know that, even while speaking, I was sorry for what I said.

  “What business is it of yours, old woman?” I demanded. “I am no slave of yours. Who are you to question me?”

  “I am Euryclea, our king’s nurse,” she quavered. Then, more boldly, she went on. “You will suffer for your insolence when he comes home, along with your worthless lover.”

  “I don’t care whose nurse you are,” I shouted. “What I do here is no business of yours.”

  She drew back, frightened at my tone. I saw then how fragile she was, with her wispy white hair and her bony arms that I could have snapped between my fingers. I wanted more than ever then to beg her pardon, but I was too proud or stubborn to do it.

  * * *

  I had even more reason to beg her pardon at dinner that night, for having denied her judgment. Antinoos showed us all then how worthless he really was.

  Penelope had told me that we always had to dine in the great hall, or her suitors would come to drag us there. Once there, we could hardly eat in all the noise they were making. Two newcomers made it worse.

  The first was one of those traveling bards who, for a penny, will add your name to any great event in their songs. Naturally, all of the young men clamored to be listed among those who had fought at Troy. Perhaps they admired him, because he had found this way to earn a living, even though he was blind. Fo
r my part, I forgave the bards for putting these names beside Achilles’ Even if they did it only to earn their pennies, they were keeping his name alive that way. For that matter, they often mentioned my name favorably, too, and I admit that that pleased me.

  The second man was a beggar, apparently less ingenious. He pleaded for his pennies as he shambled among the tables. You can imagine the charity that those gallants gave him.

  “No wonder we can’t find a man to clean the stables!” shouted Eurymachus, shaking his oiled hair, as he threw a chunk of bread at the bowed head of the old beggar. “They can all find free food here.”

  Just as you are finding it, I thought in outrage. To my shame, Antinoos’ greeting proved to be even worse.

  “Go stay in the public shelter!” he cried. Then he threw a table at the beggar’s shoulder, knocking him down as the others laughed.

  Had I ever, for even a moment, felt attracted to this man? Now I felt only contempt for him, since he actually imagined that he could win my regard by abusing a beggar, who depended on our generosity for his very life.

  I walked boldly to the table where Antinoos sat. Reaching out both of my hands, I helped haul the beggar to his feet. Then I deliberately lifted one of the garnet-studded gold chains from around my neck and dropped it into his dirty, cracked palm.

  He gazed up at me with eyes like black coals from beneath his shaggy brows. “May all the gods bless you, mistress,” he said. Too stunned to reply, I realized that I was staring at Odysseus.

  Chapter Twelve

  My lips half parted to say his name. He lifted a finger in a gesture of warning, and I quickly shut them again. As much as I disliked Odysseus, I did not want to see him beaten, or worse, by those young bullies, here in his own throne room.

  Fearing that my constant glances would give him away, I left the great room and headed towards the women’s hall. As I reached the stairs, Antinoos’ hand gripped my shoulder and pulled me into the corner.

  “I promised you more,” he reminded me. “You will have it now.”

  Once again, he lifted my skirt to my waist. This time, I grasped his hand with both of mine, trying to pull it away. He dropped my garment long enough to imprison my wrists in his right hand, before his left raised my skirt once more. Its fingers then fumbled to lift his tunic, showing me the spear that was ready to thrust.

  But this time, I really fought him, kicking frantically at his legs until he looked up from his task, knowing at last that I was in earnest.

  “Stop it, or I will scream!” I cried

  He laughed abruptly at that. “Who will hear you, with all the noise they make?”

  “I don’t want you, Antinoos. Aren’t there enough maidservants here who do?”

  “Plenty of them,” he assured me. “But none of them was ever Achilles’ woman. You are, so you want a bit of force. And who am I to refuse you?”

  He laughed briefly, as a thought struck him. “I will have both of these heroes’ women,” he exclaimed, “Achilles and Odysseus both. That is worth a bit of force, don’t you think?”

  “I do not want a bit of force from you,” I shouted, as loudly as my whispery voice would allow. “I do not want you at all! I want you to go away! If you don’t, I will tell the queen that you are forcing her ladies, and we will see if she wants to marry you then.” And I struggled so desperately, with such a wild fury in my eyes, he knew at last that I meant every word.

  As he fought to hold me, he kept glancing back towards the great hall, afraid that someone would hear us and come to help me, after all. Yet with both hands busy fighting me, he could not silence my cries. Seeing his quandary, he finally threw me into the corner and started to walk away.

  “Very well, then, creep up to your lonely bed,” he told me, with a great show of indifference. “I should be going back to Penelope, to save her from having to do the same. Perhaps I’ll make your old beggar friend amuse us both again.”

  As I fairly flew up the stairs, I realized that I was looking forward to seeing that old beggar reveal himself as King Odysseus and drive these suitors away. I had underestimated—or, perhaps, overestimated—his cunning and cruelty once again. This final miscalculation almost cost me my life.

  * * *

  We all know that the gods reward a generous giver, and I had been generous to Odysseus that night. They must have been the ones who sent Melantho fairly flying past me to her room the next morning. She threw herself onto her bed, sobbing and shaking.

  When I went in to ask what the matter was, she said through her tears that the old beggar had threatened to kill her, “and all the other sluts, too,” along with the men they had slept with. What’s more, he had glared in a way that made her believe him.

  And, I thought, thank all the gods she had.

  Menelaus will save us, I thought, now that Achilles is gone. I have only to send him a message. Not even Odysseus would dare offend him. Then I knew I had no way of sending to him and certainly no time to do it in. Odysseus would never believe me if I told him that Menelaus had promised to make me his second wife: I could still barely believe it myself. That meant I would have to face Odysseus, that dreadful man, alone, as I had somehow always known I would, with no ally but this foolish, flighty girl.

  I barely heard Melantho sniffling about how she had gone down to the great hall after breakfast—where she should not have been, I thought absently Seeing the gallants dancing in a circle, she had joined some of the other girls who were laughing and clapping their hands in time.

  The old beggar had still been around, after sleeping by the door. He had dared to tell the girls that they must go upstairs and entertain their mistress, instead of amusing themselves this way. All she had done, in answer to this insolence, was to tell him that he should go sleep in the public shelter and stop bothering decent folks. I could imagine how pertly she had said it, too, as though she really had been the daughter of the house, rather than merely a servant. In return, he had actually threatened to tear her limb from limb.

  Having said that, Melantho sat up with a final sniffle and reached down for the fringed hem of her pale green skirt to dry her eyes. Now that she had told me about her fears, she said, she realized how foolish they had been. How could she have feared an old beggar? As her smile started to return, she invited me to go down with her to watch the gallants dancing.

  “Melantho,” I answered, as calmly as I could, while I fought down the terror that clawed me. “We must get out of here now. That beggar was King Odysseus. He is going to kill us both.”

  She gaped at me, as amazed as I would have been in her place.

  “That can’t be,” she said. “He must be dead by now.”

  As patiently as I could manage, with time running out so quickly, I replied, “Do you think a beggar would have dared speak to you that way? That man you saw was the king. Part of you must have known it, because you knew enough to be frightened. If you want to live, you will leave this palace this moment with me.”

  And thank the gods she believed me, as she had believed him.

  “Can’t we take anything with us?” she asked.

  “Yes,” I answered shortly. Going next door to my own room, I hastily seized the curved knife I had used to cut my embroidery thread and thrust it into my sash. Then I scooped up a fistful of jewelry from my traveling box, my gifts from Achilles and Menelaus, and pushed them into my pocket.

  Running back to Melantho’s room, I said, “Now let’s get out of here while we can.”

  “He didn’t mean it,” she assured me. I sighed, realizing that, in my absence, she had convinced herself of what she wanted to believe so desperately.

  “He did.”

  “The queen would never allow it,” she said. “I am like a daughter to her, and she loves me. When I was a child she gave me toys to play with.”

  “I don’t care how many dancing dolls she gave you,” I answered, as my hands twitched to shake her. “You are her servant. The king told you that he is going to kill you.
Believe him. He has already killed an old man, a woman and a child—a king, a royal princess and an infant prince—because they might have made problems for him. His son will gladly help him. Telemachus tortures animals for pleasure. He will probably advance to human beings today, and I am not going to be among them.”

  “But where can we go?” she asked me, sinking down onto her bed. “My brother has a little house, but they’d be sure to look for us there.”

  “It doesn’t matter where we go. We have to leave right now. Somehow, we’ll get back to Menelaus later, my gold and garnets will pay for our passage. Right now we’ve got to get as far away from here as we can.”

  My head swiveled towards the door of her room, as I heard the great wood-and-bronze door of the women’s hall slowly creaking shut behind us. Achilles, help me, give me your swift feet, I thought wildly, as I raced from my room towards the end of the hall, holding my skirts high. Old Euryclea was pulling the door closed, the lock in her hand.

  “Mistress’ orders, Hippodamia,” she told me, as I approached her. I could see the look of triumph in her eyes. “I am to lock you all in.”

  Then she shrank back in fear, just long enough to save me. She shrank back because it was Achilles she saw running towards her, Achilles in his battle rage, Achilles in me, with me, through me. She shrieked in pain as I grasped her bony wrist. She had the sense not to struggle, or I would have snapped her wrist like a rotten twig.

  “I am not Hippodamia!” I shouted in her face, so close I felt her moist old breath. “I am Briseis, I was the great Achilles’ woman, and you will not dare stand against me!”

  Hearing the commotion, the other girls had come to their doors along the hall.

  “We’ve all got to get out of here!” I shouted. “Or else we are going to die.”

  “No one is going to die,” Euryclea whimpered. “He only wants to know the names of the ones who disgraced him with those suitors, like Melantho and you, Hippodamia Briseis, so he can scold them for it. You have to admit you deserve it.”