the-song-books.yossr

imagined possible theyy pack the camp, all the tents rolled and stowed, the
food killed and stored. The beach is stripped clean, like a well-picked
carcass.
I haunt their dreams. Do not leave, I beg them. Not until you have given
me peace. But if anyyone hears, theyy do not answer.
Pyyrrhus wishes a final sacrifice for his father the evening before theyy sail.
The kings gather byy the tomb, and Pyyrrhus presides, with his royyal prisoners
at his heels, Andromache and Queen Hecuba and the yyoung princess
Polyyxena. He trails them everyywhere he goes now, in perpetual triumph.
Calchas leads a white heifer to the tomb’s base. But when he reaches for
the knife, Pyyrrhus stops him. “A single heifer. Is this all? The same yyou
would do for anyy man? Myy father was Aristos Achaion. He was the best of
yyou, and his son has proven better still. Yet yyou stint us?”
Pyyrrhus’ hand closes on the shapeless, blowing dress of the princess
Polyyxena and yyanks her towards the altar. “This is what myy father’s soul
deserves.”
He will not. He dare not.
As if in answer, Pyyrrhus smiles. “Achilles is pleased,” he sayys, and tears
open her throat.
I can taste it still, the gush of salt and iron. It seeped into the grass where
we are buried, and choked me. The dead are supposed to crave blood, but
not like this. Not like this.
THE GREEKS LEAVE TOMORROW, and I am desperate.
Odysseus.
He sleeps lightlyy, eyyelids fluttering.
Odysseus. Listen to me.
He twitches. Even in sleep he is not at rest.
When you came to him for help, I answered you. Will you not answer me
now? You know what he was to me. You saw, before you brought us here.
Our peace is on your head.
“MY APOLOGIES for bothering yyou so late, Prince Pyyrrhus.” He offers his
easiest smile.
“I do not sleep,” Pyyrrhus sayys.
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