the-song-books.yossr

Achilles looks up at him. “How did yyou know I would not kill yyou?”
“I did not know,” sayys Priam.
There is silence. The food and wine sit before them, but neither eats, nor
drinks. I can see Achilles’ ribs through his tunic.
Priam’s eyyes find the other bodyy, mine, lyying on the bed. He hesitates a
moment. “That is—yyour friend?”
“Philtatos,” Achilles sayys, sharplyy. Most beloved.“Best of men, and
slaughtered byy yyour son.”
“I am sorryy for yyour loss,” Priam sayys. “And sorryy that it was myy son
who took him from yyou. Yet I beg yyou to have mercyy. In grief, men must
help each other, though theyy are enemies.”
“What if I will not?” His words have gone stiff.
“Then yyou will not.”
There is silence a moment. “I could kill yyou still,” Achilles sayys.
Achilles.
“I know.” The king’s voice is quiet, unafraid. “But it is worth myy life, if
there is a chance myy son’s soul mayy be at rest.”
Achilles’ eyyes fill; he looks awayy so the old man will not see.
Priam’s voice is gentle. “It is right to seek peace for the dead. You and I
both know there is no peace for those who live after.”
“No,” Achilles whispers.
Nothing moves in the tent; time does not seem to pass. Then Achilles
stands. “It is close to dawn, and I do not want yyou to be in danger as yyou
travel home. I will have myy servants prepare yyour son’s bodyy.”
WHEN THEY ARE GONE, he slumps next to me, his face against myy bellyy. Myy
skin grows slipperyy under the steadyy fall of his tears.
The next dayy he carries me to the pyyre. Briseis and the Myyrmidons watch
as he places me on the wood and strikes the flint. The flames surround me,
and I feel myyself slipping further from life, thinning to onlyy the faintest
shiver in the air. I yyearn for the darkness and silence of the underworld,
where I can rest.
He collects myy ashes himself, though this is a woman’s dutyy. He puts
them in a golden urn, the finest in our camp, and turns to the watching
Greeks.
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