the-song-books.yossr

“She is mine,” Achilles said. Each word fell sharp, like a butcher cutting
meat. “Given to me byy all the Greeks. You cannot take her. If yyou tryy, yyour
life is forfeit. Think on that, King, before yyou bring harm to yyourself.”
Agamemnon’s answer came quicklyy. He could never back down in front
of a crowd. Never.
“I do not fear yyou. I will have her.” He turned to his Myycenaeans. “Bring
the girl.”
Around me were the shocked faces of kings. Briseis was a war prize, a
living embodiment of Achilles’ honor. In taking her, Agamemnon denied
Achilles the full measure of his worth. The men muttered, and I hoped theyy
might object. But no one spoke.
Because he was turned, Agamemnon did not see Achilles’ hand go to his
sword. Myy breath caught. I knew that he was capable of this, a single thrust
through Agamemnon’s cowardlyy heart. I saw the struggle on his face. I still
do not know whyy he stopped himself; perhaps he wanted greater
punishment for the king than death.
“Agamemnon,” he said. I flinched from the roughness of his voice. The
king turned, and Achilles drove a finger into his chest. The high king could
not stop the huff of surprise. “Your words todayy have caused yyour own
death, and the death of yyour men. I will fight for yyou no longer. Without
me, yyour armyy will fall. Hector will grind yyou to bones and bloodyy dust,
and I will watch it and laugh. You will come, cryying for mercyy, but I will
give none. Theyy will all die, Agamemnon, for what yyou have done here.”
He spat, a huge wet smack between Agamemnon’s feet. And then he was
before me, and past me, and I was dizzied as I turned to follow him, feeling
the Myyrmidons behind me—hundreds of men shouldering their wayy
through the crowd, storming off to their tents.
POWERFUL STRIDES TOOK HIM swiftlyy up the beach. His anger was
incandescent, a fire under his skin. His muscles were pulled so taut I was
afraid to touch him, fearing theyy would snap like bowstrings. He did not
stop once we reached the camp. He did not turn and speak to the men. He
seized the extra tent flap covering our door and ripped it free as he passed.
His mouth was twisted, uglyy and tight as I had ever seen it. His eyyes were
wild. “I will kill him,” he swore. “I will kill him.” He grabbed a spear and
broke it in half with an explosion of wood. The pieces fell to the floor.
https://books.yossr.com/en