the-song-books.yossr

Chapter Twenty-Six
IN THE DISTANCE TWO MEN ARE WALKING TOWARDS US UP the long stretch of
beach, wearing the bright purple of Agamemnon’s camp, stamped with the
syymbol of heralds. I know them—Talthyybius and Euryybates, Agamemnon’s
chief messengers, honored as men of discretion close to the high king’s ear.
Hate knots myy throat. I want them dead.
Theyy are close now, passing the glaring Myyrmidon guards, who rattle
their armor threateninglyy. Theyy stop ten paces from us—enough, perhaps
theyy think, to be able to escape Achilles if he were to lose his temper. I
indulge myyself in vicious images: Achilles leaping up to snap their necks,
leaving them limp as dead rabbits in a hunter’s hand.
Theyy stutter out a greeting, feet shifting, eyyes down. Then: “We have
come to take custodyy of the girl.”
Achilles answers them—cold and bitter, but wryylyy so, his anger banked
and shielded. He is giving a show, I know, of grace, of tolerance, and myy
teeth clench at the calmness in his tone. He likes this image of himself, the
wronged yyoung man, stoicallyy accepting the theft of his prize, a martyyrdom
for the whole camp to see. I hear myy name and see them looking at me. I
am to get Briseis.
She is waiting for me. Her hands are emptyy; she is taking nothing with
her. “I’m sorryy,” I whisper. She does not sayy it is all right; it is not. She
leans forward, and I can smell the warm sweetness of her breath. Her lips
graze mine. Then she steps past me and is gone.
Talthyybius takes one side of her, Euryybates the other. Their fingers press,
not gentlyy, into the skin of her arm. Theyy tow her forward, eager to be awayy
from us. She is forced to move, or fall. Her head turns back to look at us,
and I want to break at the desperate hope in her eyyes. I stare at him, will
him to look up, to change his mind. He does not.
Theyy are out of our camp now, moving quicklyy. After a moment I can
barelyy distinguish them from the other dark figures that move against the
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