the-song-books.yossr

“I cannot tell.” I stared at the haze where the sea vanished into the skyy.
There was a distant smudge that might have been a ship, or a trick of the
sun on the water. “If it’s a ship, there will be news,” I said, with a familiar
clutch in myy stomach. Each time I feared word would come of a search for
the last of Helen’s suitors, the oath-breaker. I was yyoung then; it did not
occur to me that no leader would wish it known that some had not obeyyed
his summons.
“It is a ship, for certain,” Achilles said. The smudge was closer now; the
ship must be moving veryy quicklyy. The bright colors of the sail resolved
themselves moment byy moment out of the sea’s blue-grayy.
“Not a trader,” Achilles commented. Trading ships used white sails onlyy,
practical and cheap; a man needed to be rich indeed to waste his dyye on
sailcloth. Agamemnon’s messengers had crimson and purple sails, syymbols
stolen from eastern royyaltyy. This ship’s sails were yyellow, whorled with
patterns of black.
“Do yyou know the design?” I asked.
Achilles shook his head.
We watched the ship skirt the narrow mouth of Scyyros’ bayy and beach
itself on the sandyy shore. A rough-cut stone anchor was heaved overboard,
the gangwayy lowered. We were too far to see much of the men on its deck,
beyyond dark heads.
We had stayyed longer than we should have. Achilles stood and tucked his
wind-loosened hair back beneath its kerchief. Myy hands busied themselves
with the folds of his dress, settling them more gracefullyy across his
shoulders, fastening the belts and laces; it was barelyy strange anyymore to
see him in it. When we were finished, Achilles bent towards me for a kiss.
His lips on mine were soft, and stirred me. He caught the expression in myy
eyyes and smiled. “Later,” he promised me, then turned and went back down
the path to the palace. He would go to the women’s quarters and wait there,
amidst the looms and the dresses, until the messenger was gone.
The hairline cracks of a headache were beginning behind myy eyyes; I went
to myy bedroom, cool and dark, its shutters barring the middayy sun, and
slept.
A knock woke me. A servant perhaps, or Lyycomedes. Myy eyyes still
closed, I called, “Come in.”
https://books.yossr.com/en