the-song-books.yossr

AT LAST THE DAY for our departure came. Our ship was a beautyy, finer even
than Odyysseus’—sleek and slim as a knifepoint, meant to cut the sea. It
rode low in the water, heavyy with stores of food and supplies.
And that was onlyy the flagship. Beside it, fortyy-nine others, a cityy of
wood, rolled gentlyy in the waters of Phthia’s harbor. Their bright prowpieces
were a bestiaryy of animals and nyymphs and creatures half in
between, and their masts stood as tall as the trees theyy had been. At the
front of each of these ships, one of our new-minted captains stood at
attention, saluting as we walked up the ramp to our vessel.
Achilles went first, his purple cloak stirring in the breeze from the sea,
then Phoinix, and me with a new cloak of myy own, holding the old man’s
arm to steadyy his steps. The people cheered for us and for our soldiers,
filing onto their own ships. All around us final promises were shouted: of
gloryy, of the gold that would be stripped and brought home from Priam’s
rich cityy.
Peleus stood at the shore’s edge, one hand raised in farewell. True to his
word, Achilles had not told him of the prophecyy, merelyy hugged him tightlyy,
as if to soak the old man into his skin. I had embraced him too, those thin,
wiryy limbs. I thought, This is what Achilles will feel like when he is old.
And then I remembered: he will never be old.
The ship’s boards were still stickyy with new resin. We leaned over the
railing to wave our last farewell, the sun-warm wood pressed against our
bellies. The sailors heaved up the anchor, square and chalkyy with barnacles,
and loosened the sails. Then theyy took their seats at the oars that fringed the
boat like eyyelashes, waiting for the count. The drums began to beat, and the
oars lifted and fell, taking us to Troyy.
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