Warrior’s Prize
: Part 2 – Chapter 47

…the Myrmidons were stirred again to weep.

Then Dawn with rose-red fingers in the east

began to glow upon them as they mourned

around the pitiful body.

Iliad, Homer, Book XXIII

(Fitzgerald’s translation)

Diomede and Iphis leaned over me. “Come, Briseis, to our quarters,” Diomede said. “We’ll be together there.”

In the women’s hut, I found myself sitting on my old bed, where I had not slept for a long time. Darkness had fallen, and someone had lit a lamp. The women formed a circle around me. They were speaking, but I couldn’t make sense of their words. I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes. Diomede reached for my hand. I forced myself to listen to the women.

One of the Lesbos women, Theano, said, “The men are saying that he was their greatest warrior ever, that his fame will never die.”

You knew, I thought. All along you knew that you could not escape your destiny.

His own words came back to me. True honor can come only from the gods… I prayed to Zeus. And Zeus had granted his prayer. Glory or long life—it had never been a choice. Honor had kept him in chains. Honor had killed him.

Even now I didn’t understand honor.

“You’re lucky, Briseis,” Theano continued. “You’re carrying his child. You will be in a very good position when we are chosen by new masters.”

It took me a moment to grasp her words. Then I shook my head. “I won’t have a new master. I’m going to his father, to his home in Phthia. He promised me his men would take me there.”

Theano looked at me pityingly. “Automedon is the leader of the Myrmidons now, and he has no standing among the Achaean chieftains. He won’t be able to protect you when they fight for Achilleus’s possessions. But never fear; you’ll be chosen by someone of high rank, for it would be deemed an honor to raise the son of so great a hero.”

“And if it’s a girl?” someone asked.

“Then many would want to wed her to link their name and their bloodline with his,” Theano answered.

You foresaw this, Achilleus, I thought. You knew that the honor of your name was your legacy to your child.

But that meant the strongest chieftain would claim possession of the child and me. We might even be given to Agamemnon.

At that moment I felt a sharp movement inside me, as if the little one protested against this fate. All at once I knew—my child must never become the prize of any Achaean chieftain.

I must run away from the camp this very night.

I looked around at the kind, concerned faces of the women. If they guessed what I intended, they would try to stop me. They could be punished, even killed, if they helped me. I would have to manage on my own, and soon, before the men returned.

I would replace my way to Lyrnessos, where those who had escaped the raid were surely eking out a living on whatever had been left behind. Forgive me, Achilleus, for rejecting what you tried to give our child. But this is the better way.

I asked, “Is—is the funeral pyre tonight?”

“Nay,” Diomede said gently. “Tonight, and many nights more, they will mourn him in the center of the camp. The Trojans mourned Hektor for nine days. The Achaeans will not give Achilleus a lesser mourning.”

The men would likely be gone most of the night. The mourning ceremony for Patroklos had lasted until dawn. I got to my feet. My legs were shaky. I leaned for a moment against the wall. The women were all looking up at me questioningly.

“I want to be in his hut for a while,” I said. “Then I’m going down to the shore.”

“I’ll go with you.” Diomede got to her feet. As I sought a way to put her off, I saw the love and compassion in her eyes. From the beginning she had been my dearest friend, had helped me and comforted me more times than I could count, and now, when I had the greatest need of her, I would never see her again. I put my arms around her, and my tears spilled over. “Thank you for your care, Diomede,” I whispered. “Thank you for saving my baby. I can never repay you.”

“Hush!” she said. “It’s nothing. Now why don’t you let me fix you a potion so you can rest and—”

I put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I need to be alone. Just for a while.”

“Very well. You won’t do anything stupid?” she asked in her blunt way.

“You mean try to kill myself?” I forced my lips to smile. “Of course not. I have this little one to think of.” I squeezed her in a last embrace, saying a silent farewell.

“Come fetch me if you need me,” she said. I shut my eyes against bitter tears.

As I moved out of the circle, wrapping my shawl around me, several hands reached up to touch me, to comfort me.

“Come back soon. Get some sleep.”

“You’ll be all right. It will pass. I, too, lost my master.” This was Iphis, but she and Patroklos had never been close.

In his hut I lit a lamp from the hearth. My glance fell to his bed, still tumbled from our sleep last night. I kneeled, buried my face in his pillow—inhaled his scent. Sobs washed over me, great gulping cries from the depths of my body. I lay on his bed, curled in on myself, feeling that my weeping would never end, but at last the spasms slowed. I pulled myself to my feet. I did not have the luxury of endless weeping. I must be on my way before anyone could stop me.

I opened chests and took his knife, a warm mantle, a cooking vessel, some bread and hard cheese, and a pair of water skins. I rolled everything into a carrying pack, slung it over my shoulder, and let myself soundlessly out of his hut.

As I walked away from the Myrmidon huts along the dark shore, the sky was lit with a glow but the camp was dark, quiet, and empty. At the post at the end of the encampment, a lone guard stood, holding a wineskin. When he lifted his lamp, I recognized the sentry who had been here when I came with Achilleus. “Who goes there?” he called out.

I stopped. “You remember me? Achilleus said to let me through.”

“Achilleus is dead.”

“All the more reason to honor his word,” I said firmly.

“Very well, go. But don’t be long.” He returned to his wine.

I waded across the shallow ford and walked swiftly down the shore. As I looked back toward the camp from far away, the sky was lurid with the flames of bonfires. I saw in my mind the cold stiff body on the bier.

Perhaps he had intended this escape for me all along. Perhaps those words he had spoken to the sentry to allow it had been his last gift to me. My Briseis, I love your fierceness—your fiery spirit! That same day he had also said, look after my child.

I will, I promised him silently. Your child will grow up free.

I would not say farewell. I would take him with me always.