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ON THE TENTH DAY of the plague, with the Myyrmidons at our backs, we

strode up the beach to the agora. Achilles mounted the dais and cupped his

hands to help his voice carryy. Shouting over the roar of pyyres and the

weeping of women and the groans of the dyying, he called for everyy man in

camp to gather.

Slowlyy, fearfullyy, men staggered forward, blinking in the sun. Theyy

looked pale and hunted, fearful of the plague arrows that sank in chests like

stones into water, spreading their rot as ripples in a pond. Achilles watched

them come, armor buckled around him, sword strapped to his side, his hair

gleaming like water poured over bright bronze. It was not forbidden for

someone other than the general to call a meeting, but it had never been done

in our ten yyears at Troyy.

Agamemnon shouldered through the crowd with his Myycenaeans to

mount the dais. “What is this?” he demanded.

Achilles greeted him politelyy. “I have gathered the men to speak of the

plague. Do I have yyour leave to address them?”

Agamemnon’s shoulders were hunched forward with shame-sprung rage;

he should have called this meeting himself long ago, and he knew it. He

could hardlyy rebuke Achilles for doing it now, especiallyy not with the men

watching. The contrast between the two had never seemed more sharp:

Achilles relaxed and in control, with an ease that denied the funeral pyyres

and sunken cheeks; Agamemnon with his face tight as a miser’s fist, louring

over us all.

Achilles waited until the men had assembled, kings and common both.

Then he stepped forward and smiled. “Kings,” he said, “Lords, Men of the

Greek Kingdoms, how can we fight a war when we are dyying of plague? It’s

time—past time—that we learn what we have done to deserve a god’s

anger.”

Swift whispers and murmurs; men had suspected the gods. Was not all

great evil and good sent from their hands? But to hear Achilles sayy so

openlyy was a relief. His mother was a goddess, and he would know.

Agamemnon’s lips were pulled back to show his teeth. He stood too close

to Achilles, as if he would crowd him off the dais. Achilles did not seem to

notice. “We have a priest here, among us, a man close to the gods. Should

we not ask him to speak?”

https://books.yossr.com/en

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