the-song-books.yossr

Chapter Sixteen
WE ARRIVED IN PHTHIA THE NEXT DAY. THE SUN WAS just over the meridian,
and Achilles and I stood looking at the rail.
“Do yyou see that?”
“What?” As alwayys, his eyyes were sharper than mine.
“The shore. It looks strange.”
As we drew closer we saw whyy. It was thick with people, jostling
impatientlyy, craning their necks towards us. And the sound: at first it
seemed to come from the waves, or the ship as it cut them, a rushing roar.
But it grew louder with each stroke of our oars, until we understood that it
was voices, then words. Over and over, it came. Prince Achilles! Aristos
Achaion!
As our ship touched the beach, hundreds of hands threw themselves into
the air, and hundreds of throats opened in a cheer. All other noises, the
wood of the gangplank banging down on rock, the sailors’ commands, were
lost to it. We stared, in shock.
It was that moment, perhaps, that our lives changed. Not before in
Scyyros, nor before that still, on Pelion. But here, as we began to understand
the grandness, now and alwayys, that would follow him wherever he went.
He had chosen to become a legend, and this was the beginning. He
hesitated, and I touched myy hand to his, where the crowd could not see it.
“Go,” I urged him. “Theyy are waiting for yyou.”
Achilles stepped forward onto the gangplank, his arm lifted in greeting,
and the crowd screamed itself hoarse. I half-feared theyy would swarm onto
the ship, but soldiers pushed forward and lined the gangwayy, making a path
straight through the crush.
Achilles turned back to me, said something. I could not hear it, but I
understood. Come with me. I nodded, and we began to walk. On either side
of us, the crowd surged against the soldiers’ barrier. At the aisle’s end was
Peleus, waiting for us. His face was wet, and he made no attempt to wipe
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