For the Most Beautiful (22 page)

I felt as if the whole world was giving way beneath my feet.
Everyone I love, gone.
How could this have happened? How could the gods have done this to me?

What have I ever done to wrong them?

I gave a sob, and Deiope gathered me into her arms again. ‘I don't know any more, Deiope.'

Someone pushed past me, their elbow burrowing into my ribs as they forced their way through the crowds of slaves. I stumbled back, tripped on my cloak and fell to the ground.

‘What are you doing?' I exclaimed, pushing the hair out of my eyes.

A young woman of striking beauty stopped in her tracks and moved to lean over me. Her hair curled in loose golden waves over her shoulders, and her eyes were like honey. ‘My apologies,' she said. ‘I did not see …' She frowned. ‘Wait.' She stared at the stamp of Achilles' family, a dolphin intertwined with a lion, sewn on to the corner of my slave's tunic. ‘You are
Achilles'
girl?'

I felt a flash of pain at the sound of his name. ‘You could say that.'

‘Your name?'

‘Briseis.'
No longer Briseis of Pedasus, or Lyrnessus.

Just Briseis.

Deiope was glaring at the girl with her arms crossed, but the girl seemed not to notice as she moved closer and knelt by my side.

‘Briseis,' she said, lowering her voice. ‘I am Krisayis, the daughter of High Priest Polydamas of Troy, captured by the Greeks and now a slave in Agamemnon's tent. There is something I need to ask you.'

I felt numb, my mind still filled with despair and confusion. ‘What is it?'

She took a deep breath. ‘What do you know of Achilles?'

I gazed over the sea, unseeing. ‘Much,' I said shortly. ‘Much that I would not wish to know. He is a cold-hearted murderer. He pretends to grief at what he does, yet still he slays every man in the Troad, like a plague.' My voice broke, my throat thick with grief. ‘He has destroyed everyone I ever loved.'

She considered me. ‘He has not told you … He has not told you of any weakness?'

‘He has not told me himself,' I said, distracted. ‘But Patroclus says he has a weakness in his heel. He grew furious with me when I touched it once when bathing him …' I tried to think clearly through the fog that seemed to have settled upon my mind. ‘Why do you ask?'

‘No reason.'

But I thought, for a moment, that I saw her eyes brighten as if in triumph. In the next breath, however, it was gone, and she was peering down at me with concern. ‘Here,' she said, holding a hand out towards me. ‘Let me help you up.'

I stood, and looked into her face. She seemed honest, and her eyes were full of sympathy. ‘Have you lost anyone?' I said. ‘In the war? Is that why you are here, in the camp? Are you alone, too?'

She bowed her head. ‘Yes.'

I clutched her arm. ‘Tell me – this pain, this anger, does it stop?' I felt my legs sway slightly beneath me, and held on to her to steady myself. The world was swimming with tears as I gazed at her. I lowered my voice to a thread of sound. ‘I don't think I can bear it. I don't think I can bear it any more.'

She looked at me for a long time, Deiope standing beside us, her hands on her hips now, her face creased in anxiety.

‘No,' the girl said at last, leaning towards me, and her eyes seemed to have understanding in them. ‘No, it does not stop.' She considered me. Then, inexplicably, she smiled. ‘But there are other ways to fight your grief than with anger and despair.'

And, with that, she loosed herself from my grip and walked away across the beach towards King Agamemnon's tent, Deiope and I staring after her.

I could hardly believe it. I had discovered Achilles' secret.

I knew how to save Troy.

I knew how to kill the greatest of the Greeks.

I almost ran back to King Agamemnon's tent, my heart skipping with excitement. I half wished I could turn back and tell Idaeus what I had just learnt, but I knew I could not risk any more delay. If the king noticed I had been missing …

I was rounding the corner of the hut of King Agamemnon's heralds, Talthybius and Eurybates, when I stopped short. There, ahead of me, standing before the heralds' driftwood shelter, was none other than my father, his grey beard damp with water and his white priest's robes flapping in the evening breeze.

‘
Father!
'

I stared at him, hardly able to believe that he was real. But surely no apparition or invention of the mind could look so solid.

‘Father?' I asked again, a little hesitant. ‘It
is
you?'

He nodded.

I stepped forwards and knelt at his feet for his blessing, then felt the warmth of his hand touch my head. When he had finished, I stood up, looking into his old, lined face as if I would drink it in. ‘What are you
doing
here?'

He smiled at me, and the corners of his eyes creased in the familiar way. I saw with embarrassment that there were tears, and pretended I had not noticed.

‘My daughter,' he said, pulling me close to him. I inhaled the familiar scent of incense and smoke from his robes. ‘Oh, my daughter. Thank the gods you are alive.'

A few soldiers passed nearby, talking between themselves and laughing. I let him hold me for a few moments, then pulled away, my mind flooded with a thousand questions. ‘But why did you come?' I glanced over my shoulder at the warriors play-fighting beside the nearby huts, swords clashing on sharpened swords and spears burying themselves in targets of woven rushes with dull thuds. ‘Are you safe? Does King Priam know? Did you—?'

My father held up his hands with a faint smile. ‘Enough, daughter! Let me speak, and I will tell you all. I have come to deliver you from the Greeks. The herald Idaeus informed me that you were being held captive in the Greek camp, and I have brought with me a ransom with which to pay for your freedom. You are to go to Larisa, back to our home, where you will be safe.'

I felt my heart leap. No longer a slave. No more nightly torments in King Agamemnon's bed. I shivered with relief.

But then I remembered Idaeus.

There will be no one to pass Idaeus information from the Greek camp.
I thought of the war council, and Odysseus' words echoed in my head:
Troy shall be yours.

Troy shall be yours.

I felt the smile slide from my face.

‘Daughter?' my father asked, a line appearing in his forehead.

I shook my head. There was a long pause. ‘I cannot go.'

My father's frown deepened, and his eyes grew dark with anger. ‘Krisayis, this is no time for disobedience.'

‘I am not trying to disobey you, Father,' I said. ‘But Troy needs me here.'

My father's eyes sparked. ‘Troy,' he said, his voice rising in impatience, ‘has been doing very well without you, daughter, and will do perfectly well when you are gone. You are to go to Larisa, where you will complete your apprenticeship to the Great God Apulunas in preparation for the advent of your sixteenth year.'

I stared at him. ‘My – my apprenticeship? Surely you cannot still wish me to be a priestess. Not after all that has happened.'

He said gravely, ‘After all that has happened, daughter, it is more imperative than ever that you serve the pure and virtuous gods and learn obedience from your fellow priestesses. You will reach your sixteenth year in ten days, and I am determined that you will be fully prepared for the initiation ceremony by then.' He took a deep breath. ‘I am only trying to do what is best for you, Krisayis. The priesthood is the highest honour a woman in your position can hope for. You should be grateful for this chance to serve your city—'

At this I lost patience. ‘By all the gods, don't you
see
?' I said, my voice rising uncontrollably. ‘We are at
war
, Father! What use is it if you send me away to become a priestess when the fate of our country and our people is at stake? If we do not do something soon, there will be no city left to serve!'

I lowered my voice, struggling to keep myself from shouting. ‘As a slave in Agamemnon's tent I can pass – I have
already
passed – important information to our heralds from the king's council of war. I have just this moment learnt the greatest, the most important piece of information of all. I can
help
with the war, Father. I can help Troy, if only you would give me the chance!'

My father's eyes were sharp as ice chips on dark rock. ‘No,' he said.

I stared at him. ‘No? That is all you have to say?'

‘This is not your choice to make, daughter,' he said, his clipped tones conveying anger in every syllable. ‘You are to go to Larisa, no matter what you think. I am still your father and your lord and
I say you shall go
.'

It was a long time before I returned to Achilles' hut. The stars were rising above the pool of the ocean and the curve of Atimite's moon was gazing at itself in the sea when I left Deiope's side at last and moved back towards my captor.

Achilles was there when I entered, alone, sitting on a three-legged stool by the hearth and playing his lyre. He seemed weary and careworn, frowning as he gazed down at the strings. I stopped when I saw him, then turned abruptly away.

‘Wait – Briseis,' he said, setting down the lyre and striding towards me, catching me by the arm. ‘Don't go.'

‘Don't touch me!' I recoiled from him, pulling my arm from his grip as if from burning heat. ‘Don't you
dare
touch me,' I said again, my voice low and trembling.

‘Briseis,' Achilles said, as if he had not heard me. ‘Patroclus has told me that you are the daughter of the King of Pedasus. I did not know. If I had, I swear I would not have—'

‘Would not have
what
?' I cried, all my grief and rage bubbling to the surface until I could bear it no longer. ‘You would not have slaughtered my father and brothers? Is that what you were going to say? You would not have killed my husband?'

‘Briseis—'

‘
No!
' I struck out at his face with my nails. I wanted to tear him apart. I wanted to destroy every inch of his flesh, to hurt him, if it might ease some of my pain. ‘I will not hear you!'

I was beating his chest now, scratching, hammering at him, thrashing wildly like an animal in pain.

Achilles gripped my shoulders and still I thrashed out at him. He did not try to stop me.

‘I did not know,' he said, in a soft voice, as I pummelled his chest with my fists, sobbing. ‘I did not know, Briseis.'

I let out a cry. ‘Is that your excuse?
You
killed them! No one forced you to be their executioner!'

His grip tightened upon my shoulders. ‘I do what I have to,' he said, his voice tight. ‘Whether because of the gods, or my fate, or the commands of my king – I must do it. From my earliest moments I have been trained to fight, told it is my duty and my destiny. I am a slave to my calling, Briseis, just as much as you are.'

I could feel myself weakening. I was so tired. My arms were feeble, my hands still beating upon his chest but hardly hurting him at all.

I looked up at him. His dark eyes were gazing down into mine.

And I did not see any hatred there. I did not see a killer.

All I saw was a man in pain.

I felt something shift in my heart – impalpable.

‘I would never have wished to hurt you,' he said gently, leaning towards me, his voice straining with emotion. ‘Never, Briseis. If I could take back what I did—'