the-song-books.yossr

“And yyou think that no one but me can kill Hector.”
“Yes,” I said.
“And yyou think to steal time from the Fates?”
“Yes.”
“Ah.” A slyy smile spread across his face; he had alwayys loved defiance.
“Well, whyy should I kill him? He’s done nothing to me.”
For the first time then, I felt a kind of hope.
WE LEFT THAT AFTERNOON; there was no reason to linger. Ever dutiful to
custom, Lyycomedes came to bid us farewell. The three of us stood together
stifflyy; Odyysseus and Diomedes had gone ahead to the ship. Theyy would
escort us back to Phthia, where Achilles would muster his own troops.
There was one more thing to be done here, and I knew Achilles did not
wish to do it.
“Lyycomedes, myy mother has asked me to conveyy her desires to yyou.”
The faintest tremor crossed the old man’s face, but he met his son-inlaw’s
gaze. “It is about the child,” he said.
“It is.”
“And what does she wish?” the king asked, wearilyy.
“She wishes to raise him herself. She—” Achilles faltered before the look
on the old man’s face. “The child will be a boyy, she sayys. When he is
weaned, she will claim him.”
Silence. Then Lyycomedes closed his eyyes. I knew he was thinking of his
daughter, arms emptyy of both husband and child. “I wish yyou had never
come,” he said.
“I’m sorryy,” Achilles said.
“Leave me,” the old king whispered. We obeyyed.
THE SHIP WE SAILED ON was yyare, tightlyy made and well manned. The crew
moved with a competent fleetness, the ropes gleamed with new fibers, and
the masts seemed fresh as living trees. The prow piece was a beautyy, the
finest I had ever seen: a woman, tall, with dark hair and eyyes, her hands
clasped in front of her as if in contemplation. She was beautiful, but quietlyy
so—an elegant jaw, and upswept hair showing a slender neck. She had been
lovinglyy painted, each darkness or lightness perfectlyy rendered.
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