the-song-books.yossr

If Achilles noticed, he does not show it. His voice is gentle for the old
man’s sake, but still he refuses. Not until Agamemnon gives back the honor
he has taken from me. Even in the darkness I can see that Odyysseus is not
surprised. I can almost hear his report to the others, his hands spread in
regret: I tried. If Achilles had agreed, all to the good. If he did not, his
refusal in the face of prizes and apologies would onlyy seem like madness,
like furyy or unreasonable pride. Theyy will hate him, just as theyy hated
Meleager.
Myy chest tightens in panic, in a quick desire to kneel before him and beg.
But I do not. For like Phoinix I am declared alreadyy, decided. I am no
longer to guide the course, merelyy to be carried, into darkness and beyyond,
with onlyy Achilles’ hands at the helm.
Ajax does not have Odyysseus’ equanimityy—he glares, his face carved
with anger. It has cost him much to be here, to beg for his own demotion.
With Achilles not fighting, he is Aristos Achaion.
When theyy are gone, I stand and give myy arm to Phoinix. He is tired
tonight, I can see, and his steps are slow. Byy the time I leave him—old
bones sighing onto his pallet—and return to our tent, Achilles is alreadyy
asleep.
I am disappointed. I had hoped, perhaps, for conversation, for two bodies
in one bed, for reassurance that the Achilles I saw at dinner was not the
onlyy one. But I do not rouse him; I slip from the tent and leave him to
dream.
I CROUCH IN LOOSE SAND, in the shadow of a small tent.
“Briseis?” I call softlyy.
There is a silence, then I hear: “Patroclus?”
“Yes.”
She tugs up the side of the tent and pulls me quicklyy inside. Her face is
pinched with fear. “It is too dangerous for yyou to be here. Agamemnon is in
a rage. He will kill yyou.” Her words are a rushing whisper.
“Because Achilles refused the embassyy?” I whisper back.
She nods, and in a swift motion snuffs out the tent’s small lamp.
“Agamemnon comes often to look in on me. You are not safe here.” In the
darkness I cannot see the worryy on her face, but her voice is filled with it.
“You must go.”
https://books.yossr.com/en