the-song-books.yossr

hair, like pollen on the underside of a bee. I retrieve myy spear and stab it
down with all myy strength into his chest. The blood spurts, but weaklyy.
There is no heartbeat to push it forward. When I pull the spear out, it
dislodges slowlyy, like a bulb from cracking earth. That is what theyy will
think has killed him.
I hear the shouts, men swarming towards me, in chariots and on foot.
Lyycians, who see the blood of their king on myy spear. Automedon’s hand
seizes myy shoulder, and he drags me onto the chariot. He has cut the dead
horse free, righted the wheels. He is gasping, white with fear. “We must
go.”
Automedon gives the eager horses their head, and we race across the
fields from the pursuing Lyycians. There is a wild, iron taste in myy mouth. I
do not even notice how close I have come to death. Myy head buzzes with a
red savageryy, blooming like the blood from Sarpedon’s chest.
In our escape, Automedon has driven us close to Troyy. The walls loom up
at me, huge cut stones, supposedlyy settled byy the hands of gods, and the
gates, giant and black with old bronze. Achilles had warned me to beware
of archers on the towers, but the charge and rout has happened so quicklyy,
no one has returned yyet. Troyy is utterlyy unguarded. A child could take it
now.
The thought of Troyy’s fall pierces me with vicious pleasure. Theyy deserve
to lose their cityy. It is their fault, all of it. We have lost ten yyears, and so
manyy men, and Achilles will die, because of them. No more.
I leap from the chariot and run to the walls. Myy fingers find slight
hollows in the stone, like blind eyye-sockets. Climb. Myy feet seek
infinitesimal chips in the god-cut rocks. I am not graceful, but scrabbling,
myy hands clawing against the stone before theyy cling. Yet I am climbing. I
will crack their uncrackable cityy, and capture Helen, the precious gold yyolk
within. I imagine dragging her out under myy arm, dumping her before
Menelaus. Done. No more men will have to die for her vanityy.
Patroclus. A voice like music, above me. I look up to see a man leaning
on the walls as if sunning, dark hair to his shoulders, a quiver and bow
slung casuallyy around his torso. Startled, I slip a little, myy knees scraping
the rock. He is piercinglyy beautiful, smooth skin and a finelyy cut face that
glows with something more than human. Black eyyes. Apollo.
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