Warrior’s Prize
: Part 2 – Chapter 34

“These are the gifts I shall arrange if he

desists from anger. Let him be subdued!”

—Agamemnon, Iliad, Homer, Book IX

(Fitzgerald’s translation)

Agamemnon’s heavy steps thumped up the ladder, followed by the lighter steps of Odios. Silence returned. The rock crushing my heart wouldn’t let me breathe. For a long time I lay inert with despair. How I hated the king! How I hated Aglaia, who had betrayed me to his men! But most of all, I loathed myself for letting it happen.

I had to move. I had to think. I started to sit up but my stomach sickened, and dizziness overwhelmed me. I lay back against the side of the hull. What did Achilleus do when he found me gone? He would have questioned his men—perhaps learned of Aglaia’s betrayal.

I had to get back to him. Somehow. I had escaped before and could escape again.

A terrible thought struck me. What if he had decided, after all, to sail for home?

Oh, gods, surely not! I prayed. But I couldn’t think anymore. I was so weary and sick that I fell into a torpor from which I could not rouse myself.

As I lay only half aware, a dark-haired man of middle years came to kneel at my side. I shrank in panic. He said, “I’m Machaon. The physician. The king bade me examine you again to see how you fare.” I let him feel my pulse and inspect my wound. At last he got to his feet. “There’s nothing I can do. You will heal—or not. The next few days will tell.”

Much later a woman came, carrying a bowl. “My name is Ianeira. I’m here to help Odios care for you.” She was large and strong looking, with brown hair. “Try to eat. You must regain your strength.” The bowl contained some kind of gruel, which she proceeded to spoon into my mouth. I swallowed each spoonful although it was a huge effort. Before the bowl was empty, I retched without warning and was sick until nothing remained in my stomach.

She sighed. “It was too much too soon. We need to give you smaller amounts until your head heals.” She put a gentle hand on my brow. “Rest now.”

Reassured by her kindness, I slept.

When she returned, she fed me small sips of broth. Again my stomach rebelled. Her brow creased with worry. When my retching stopped, I asked the question that burned in me.

“Achilleus?” I whispered. “Has he—have he and his men sailed to their home?”

“Nay, he has not stepped foot out of his camp since the day of the assembly when Agamemnon took you.”

I let out a breath and asked, “Does he—Achilleus—know where I am?”

“How should he not? Agamemnon never let it be known that you escaped his camp.”

I wondered if she knew I’d been in Achilleus’s camp when Agamemnon’s men caught me. I wondered if I could trust her and persuade her to help me. Too weary to ponder these things, I closed my eyes. I would rest until I was healed. Then I would think of escape.

“I don’t understand. The wound on your head is much better, and you say you’re no longer dizzy,” said Ianeira several days later, when I was still unable to keep anything in my stomach. “The physician says you should be well. Why are you still sick?”

I will be sick no longer, I vowed. I will regain my strength. Once a day I made myself climb the ladder to pace the gangway. But the fresh sea air did not lift my nausea, and my energy soon drained like water from a leaky pot, forcing me back to my pallet.

Whenever I was on the deck, I observed what I could see of the camp. Several armed men stood on the shore, spread evenly along the sides of the ship. “What are they doing here?” I asked Ianeira.

“Agamemnon fears you’ll try to flee again. He ordered them to keep watch day and night. He wanted to put you in chains, but Odios and I promised we’d guard you, and you wouldn’t try anything. You won’t, will you, Briseis?”

“Of course not,” I answered promptly, secretly determined to replace a way. But it seemed impossible. A black cloud fell over me. It would have been better if I had died before ever going to Troy—if I’d never met Hektor and Andromache, never returned to Achilleus. All I’d accomplished was to betray Andromache and make everything worse for Achilleus.

One day as I was dozing, loud shouts and clangs jolted me awake. Men fighting. I pulled myself up in a panic, still confused with sleep. I was again on the hillside above Lyrnessos watching the slaughter. But when I managed to get to my feet, I only saw my familiar prison. I struggled over to the ladder. “Ianeira!” I called. “What’s happening?”

She climbed down into the hold. “They’re fighting today for the first time since the plague, and the Trojans have pushed the Achaeans back almost to the wall of the camp. We can see the battle from the deck. Come with me and you’ll see.” Brooking no refusal, she pulled me to the ladder and helped me up it.

I stared, dazzled by the blinding sun. Masses of warriors were fighting just on the other side of the wall. Shouts, challenges, and clashing weapons burst upon my ears. Was Hektor attacking because of what he had learned from me?

I hoped Achilleus was still safely out of the fighting. Looking over the railing far down the shore toward his camp, I saw only the long line of beached ships that separated me from him.

I asked Ianeira fearfully, “Is Achilleus—has he returned to battle?”

She shook her head. “I would certainly have heard if he had.” She added, “I’ve never seen the battle come this close before.” She smiled grimly. “This is good for the Trojans!” These were her people, but I did not miss the quick, anxious glance she shot toward Odios, who stood on the shore near our ship. Clearly her emotions were mixed. “I’m glad Agamemnon ordered Odios to stay out of battle and guard you,” she said.

I looked again toward the fighting. The wall of the encampment was five hundred paces from the ship. The men were on the other side of it, too far away for us to see their faces clearly, and I couldn’t always tell Trojan from Achaean. At first it seemed to be just an unbridled display of ferocity and shouting. Then I heard the screams of the wounded and saw growing splotches of blood all around. I saw a man fall dead. My stomach heaved. Whether friend or foe, I had no stomach for watching men die.

“Ianeira, I’m going below.” I crawled down the ladder. Alone in the hold, I vomited.

Much later she came down to tell me that the Trojans had been pushed back and all was quiet again. “Come and get some air on the deck.”

I went. When Odios saw us there, he clambered up to join us. “It’s good to see you up and about, Briseis,” he said. “Are you well?”

“I’m better, thanks to your care and Ianeira’s,” I told him, touched by his concern. I didn’t tell him how little I could eat, or how often I was sick.

He gazed back at the plain and pointed. “We’ve pushed them back.” I saw a swarm of men, small as insects. For a moment we three watched the conflict in silence—with very different feelings, I imagined.

Odios said, “It went very badly. Many died here by the wall. Many were wounded.” On the open ground on the other side of the wall, men were moving around, many stumbling from their own wounds, as they lifted the corpses of the fallen. “Those will come home for burial. The Trojans tried to carry off the bodies for trophies, but we fought them off.” He seemed shaken, and Ianeira looked at him keenly and laid a gentle hand on his arm.

Odios continued, “It was a near thing. They almost breached the wall of the camp. Agamemnon is worried.” He shot a glance at me. “I heard he wants Achilleus back.”

My heart jumped. Would the king give me back to Achilleus in exchange for his return to battle? I felt torn in two. If Achilleus rejoined the war, I wouldn’t be able to keep my promise to Andromache. But if Agamemnon didn’t make this bargain with him, I’d never see him again.

I had to be ready for whatever happened. I went up on deck every day and relentlessly paced the ship, fore to aft, to regain my strength. Ianeira and I watched what we could see of the battle, though mostly the fighting was far away. The next few days were hot, the air still. Insects swarmed and stung. Each day the Trojans pushed the Achaeans hard. Each day we watched them bring back the wounded and dead in great numbers. With difficulty they managed to keep the Trojans far from the camp. But Odios said the men were losing strength and courage. He did not again bring up the subject of Achilleus.

Then came a day when clouds covered the sun and weighted the air with heat and moisture. “There’ll be a storm,” Ianeira said as we watched the army march out. The heat grew more oppressive with the passing of hours. Late in the day, when we were on deck trying to replace a cool breeze, we heard shouts, a growing clamor.

“The Achaeans are in retreat,” Odios called from the shore. Chariots, horses, men were approaching with furious desperation. The noise grew to thunder. Men were bellowing, “The gates! Open the gates!”

Odios ran to the aid of his comrades.

“The Trojans are slaughtering them. This might mean victory for our people!” Ianeira cried. Her eyes met mine with a fierce look of triumph. Then her gaze fell, and I knew she was adding a silent prayer—May Odios be spared.

The gates were flung open. Men hurtled through, while the battle raged on the other side of the wall. At last every Achaean left alive was in the camp, and the gates were shut. Twilight had fallen when Odios returned.

The Trojans did not retreat. A watch fire blazed in the purple darkness of the plain—then another and another, until hundreds of fires glowed like stars. The Trojans had encamped just on the other side of the wall, a relentless presence the Achaeans could not ignore. An eerie stillness settled on the camp. The wind arose, bringing a sharp bite of cold as darkness deepened.

A begrimed, weary warrior emerged from the dark to speak to Odios, who listened tensely. When the man left, Odios climbed up to the deck.

“The leaders are in council,” he told us. “They want to make peace with Achilleus this very night. The king wants to give you back, along with many gifts and treasures, in exchange for his return to the war.”

I sprang to my feet. Thunder shook the air, and goose bumps skittered along my skin. Zeus, the thunder god! I remembered Achilleus’s prayer to him: that the Achaeans will be utterly defeated without me. I added a prayer of my own. Zeus, let me go back to him.

But if he took me back, he would return to war and either he or Hektor would die.

Nothing is sure until it happens, I told myself. If only I could be with him again!

Odios said, “They’ve summoned me. They’re sending me with the emissaries as one of the heralds.”

Emissaries? Why did Agamemnon not go himself to make atonement? Had the arrogant, high-handed king doomed his mission from the start?

As Odios vanished into darkness, I went to the seaward deck and stared at the stormy waters. I paced the gangway, breathing deeply and watching the play of lightning as it faded in the distance. The clouds parted and pale stars appeared. Restlessness seized me like insects crawling over my skin. As night deepened, I looked at the Trojan watch fires. Somewhere on that plain, Hektor sat by a fire, his eyes like a wolf’s, hungry for blood, and Andromache waited for her man in a lonely bed.

“Try to sleep, Briseis.” Ianeira’s voice came out of the dark. “It‘ll be a long time. You want to be rested when they send for you.” After a while she went below, and I returned to the seaward deck. The rain had never come. Night was waning when I lay down, wrapped in my shawl, and somehow slept.

A voice woke me. Ianeira—urgent, excited. “What word, Odios?”

In the east was a faint wash of light. I rose and raced along the gangway as Odios heaved himself up, his shoulders sagging from weariness.

I opened my mouth to echo her question, but I remembered Achilleus’s oath.

I swore I would no more fight for them than the dry wood of the staff would turn back into a living tree.

My knees went weak, even before Odios said, “We failed. Achilleus refused.”