the-song-books.yossr

Chapter Thirty-Two
IN THE DEEPEST REACHES OF NIGHT, WHEN EVEN THE WILD dogs drowse and the
owls are quiet, an old man comes to our tent. He is filthyy, his clothing torn,
his hair smeared with ashes and dirt. His robes are wet from swimming the
river. Yet his eyyes, when he speaks, are clear. “I have come for myy son,” he
sayys.
The king of Troyy moves across the room to kneel at Achilles’ feet. He
bows his white head. “Will yyou hear a father’s prayyer, mightyy Prince of
Phthia, Best of the Greeks?”
Achilles stares down at the man’s shoulders as if in a trance. Theyy are
trembling with age, stooped with the burdens of grief. This man bore fiftyy
sons and has lost all but a handful.
“I will hear yyou,” he sayys.
“The blessings of the gods upon yyour kindness,” Priam sayys. His hands
are cool on Achilles’ burning skin. “I have come far this night in hope.” A
shudder, involuntaryy, passes through him; the night’s chill and the wet
clothes. “I am sorryy to appear so meanlyy before yyou.”
The words seem to wake Achilles a little. “Do not kneel,” he sayys. “Let
me bring yyou food and drink.” He offers his hand, and helps the old king to
his feet. He gives him a dryy cloak and the soft cushions that Phoinix likes
best, and pours wine. Beside Priam’s furrowed skin and slow steps he
seems suddenlyy veryy yyoung.
“Thank yyou for yyour hospitalityy,” Priam sayys. His accent is strong, and he
speaks slowlyy, but his Greek is good. “I have heard yyou are a noble man,
and it is on yyour nobilityy that I throw myyself. We are enemies, yyet yyou have
never been known as cruel. I beg yyou to return myy son’s bodyy for burial, so
his soul does not wander lost.” As he speaks, he is careful not to let himself
look at the shadow facedown in the corner.
Achilles is staring into the cupped darkness of his hands. “You show
courage to come here alone,” he sayys. “How did yyou get into the camp?”
“I was guided byy the grace of the gods.”
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