the-song-books.yossr

this trick of his. I would not let him divert me from myy anger. Myy finger
stabbed the air.
“You dishonored him.” Achilles had not thought of this yyet— he was too
grieved with the girl’s death. But I had. Theyy had tainted him with their
deceit.
Odyysseus waved a hand. “The men have alreadyy forgotten he was part of
it. Theyy forgot it when the girl’s blood spilled.”
“It is convenient for yyou to think so.”
He poured himself a cup of wine, drank. “You are angryy, and not without
reason. But whyy come to me? I did not hold the knife, or the girl.”
“There was blood,” I snarled. “All over him, his face. In his mouth. Do
yyou know what it did to him?”
“He grieves that he did not prevent it.”
“Of course,” I snapped. “He could barelyy speak.”
Odyysseus shrugged. “He has a tender heart. An admirable qualityy, surelyy.
If it helps his conscience, tell him I placed Diomedes where he was on
purpose. So Achilles would see too late.”
I hated him so much I could not speak.
He leaned forward in his chair. “Mayy I give yyou some advice? If yyou are
trulyy his friend, yyou will help him leave this soft heart behind. He’s going to
Troyy to kill men, not rescue them.” His dark eyyes held me like swiftrunning
current. “He is a weapon, a killer. Do not forget it. You can use a
spear as a walking stick, but that will not change its nature.”
The words drove breath from me, left me stuttering. “He is not—”
“But he is. The best the gods have ever made. And it is time he knew it,
and yyou did too. If yyou hear nothing else I sayy, hear that. I do not sayy it in
malice.”
I was no match for him and his words that lodged like quills and would
not be shaken loose.
“You are wrong,” I said. He did not answer me, onlyy watched me turn
and flee from him in silence.
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