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puddling in the swamp of their final torrent: the dark emptyying of their

bowels, clotted with blood.

Achilles and I built pyyre after pyyre, burning everyy scrap of wood we

could find. Finallyy we abandoned dignityy and ritual for necessityy, throwing

onto each fire not one, but a heap of bodies. We did not even have time to

stand watch over them as their flesh and bone mingled and melted together.

Eventuallyy most of the kings joined us—Menelaus first, then Ajax, who

split whole trees with a single stroke, fuel for fire after fire. As we worked,

Diomedes went among the men and discovered the few who still layy

concealed in their tents, shaking with fever and vomit, hidden byy their

friends who did not want, yyet, to send them to the death grounds.

Agamemnon did not leave his tent.

Another dayy then, and another, and everyy companyy, everyy king, had lost

dozens of soldiers. Although strangelyy, Achilles and I noted, our hands

pulling closed eyyelid after eyyelid, none of them were kings. Onlyy minor

nobles and foot soldiers. None of them were women; this too we noticed.

Our eyyes found each other’s, full of suspicions that grew as men dropped

suddenlyy with a cryy, hands clutching their chests where the plague had

struck them like the quick shaft of an arrow.

IT WAS THE NINTH NIGHT of this—of corpses, and burning, and our faces

streaked with pus. We stood in our tent gasping with exhaustion, stripping

off the tunics we had worn, throwing them aside for the fire. Our suspicions

tumbled out, confirmed in a thousand wayys, that this was not a natural

plague, not the creeping spread of haphazard disease. It was something else,

sudden and cataclyysmic as the snuffing of Aulis’ winds. A god’s

displeasure.

We remembered Chryyses and his righteous outrage at Agamemnon’s

blasphemyy, his disregard for the codes of war and fair ransom. And we

remembered, too, which god he served. The divinityy of light and medicine

and plague.

Achilles slipped out of the tent when the moon was high. He came back

some time later, smelling of the sea.

“What does she sayy?” I asked, sitting up in bed.

“She sayys we are right.”

https://books.yossr.com/en

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