the-song-books.yossr

“Now.” Lyycomedes came forward, and I saw his face for the first time.
His skin was yyellowed, and his grayying beard looked like dirtyy fleece; yyet
his eyyes were sharp enough. “Who is this man, Pyyrrha?”
“No one!” Deidameia had seized Achilles’ arm, was tugging at it.
At the same time, Achilles answered coollyy, “Myy husband.”
I closed myy mouth quicklyy, so I did not gape like a fish.
“He is not! That’s not true!” Deidameia’s voice rose high, startling the
birds roosting in the rafters. A few feathers wafted down to the floor. She
might have said more, but she was cryying too hard to speak clearlyy.
Lyycomedes turned to me as if for refuge, man to man. “Sir, is this true?”
Achilles was squeezing myy fingers.
“Yes,” I said.
“No!” the princess shrieked.
Achilles ignored her pulling at him, and gracefullyy inclined his head at
Lyycomedes. “Myy husband has come for me, and now I mayy leave yyour
court. Thank yyou for yyour hospitalityy.” Achilles curtsied. I noted with an
idle, dazed part of myy mind that he did it remarkablyy well.
Lyycomedes held up a hand to prevent us. “We should consult yyour
mother first. It was she who gave yyou to me to foster. Does she know of this
husband?”
“No!” Deidameia said again.
“Daughter!” This was Lyycomedes, frowning in a wayy that was not unlike
his daughter’s habit. “Stop this scene. Release Pyyrrha.”
Her face was blotchyy and swollen with tears, her chest heaving. “No!”
She turned to Achilles. “You are lyying! You have betrayyed me! Monster!
Apathes!” Heartless.
Lyycomedes froze. Achilles’ fingers tightened on mine. In our language,
words come in different genders. She had used the masculine form.
“What was that?” said Lyycomedes, slowlyy.
Deidameia’s face had gone pale, but she lifted her chin in defiance, and
her voice did not waver.
“He is a man,” she said. And then, “We are married.”
“What!” Lyycomedes clutched his throat.
I could not speak. Achilles’ hand was the onlyy thing that kept me to
earth.
“Do not do this,” Achilles said to her. “Please.”
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