For the Most Beautiful (26 page)

A single tear rolled down my cheek. ‘Achilles, I – I don't think I can stand—'

‘Talthybius and Eurybates are outside, Achilles,' Patroclus said abruptly, and he pushed open the door.

The sound of voices was louder now, and accompanied by the crunching of sandals on sand.

Without warning, Achilles pulled me towards him and kissed me, deeply, urgently, one hand against the small of my back, pressing me into his body, his mouth so hard on mine that I could hardly breathe.

Then he let go and turned away without a word.

Agamemnon's two heralds were standing outside on the seashore, each of them carrying the golden messenger's rod and looking distinctly uncomfortable.

There was a tense silence as Achilles stepped out of the hut.

‘There is no need to be afraid, Talthybius,' I heard Achilles say shortly. ‘I do not blame you – it is Agamemnon who shall have to answer for this, not his heralds.'

They took a tentative step forwards, clearly still afraid of Achilles and what he might do.

‘Hand her over, Patroclus,' Achilles said, and his voice broke. He turned away as Patroclus led me through the door and over to the heralds.

I glanced at Achilles, my eyes brimming with tears, my mouth framing a plea, a protest, but his back was to me.

Patroclus handed me to them, then stepped back. He was still avoiding my gaze.

‘Well – if that is all – we shall not trouble you any further, Achilles,' Eurybates said awkwardly.

They turned to lead me away to Agamemnon's tent.

I looked back. Patroclus and Achilles were standing before the hut, Patroclus watching me with a strange expression on his face, Achilles turned aside, looking out towards the sea.

It was the last time I saw Patroclus and Achilles together alive.

I was following my father to the beaked ships of the Greeks, two guards flanking me on either side, my thoughts filled with despair, when I saw her. Dark-haired and pale-skinned, Briseis was being led from Achilles' hut by the heralds of the Greeks, and they were approaching us, not twenty paces away. My heart leapt.

Perhaps there was one last chance for Troy, after all.

I stopped where I was.

‘What are you doing?' one of the guards beside me asked roughly. ‘We're meant to be going to the ships. No stopping on the way. That's the king's order.'

I pointed down to my feet. ‘My sandal has come untied.'

The guard exchanged a look with his companion.

The other guard shrugged his shoulders. ‘Women …'

I took this as assent and crouched to the ground. As the guards turned away to talk to each other, I risked glancing up. In a single, heart-stopping moment I saw that Briseis was only feet away from me.

The heralds who were leading her had stopped to talk to my guards. Reaching out, I caught at her cloak and pulled at it with all my strength.

The clasp broke and the cloak fell to the ground at Briseis' heels. She turned. ‘What—'

I placed a finger to my lips, and her eyes widened as she caught sight of me.

‘You!' she whispered, bending down as if to pick up the cloak. ‘What are you doing here? I was told you were on a ship, on your way home!'

I spoke quickly, my voice low. ‘I will be soon. Briseis, I have to warn you before I leave. The Greeks have been given a prophecy that Troy will fall. I do not know if it is true or not, but if it is … you are the only one left in the Greek camp who can help to prevent it.' I paused, gazing into her eyes, which were round with fear. ‘You have to be the one to kill Achilles. You and I are the only ones who know his secret, and when I am sent to Larisa—'

‘Krisayis?'

It was my father's voice, and it was biting with impatience.

‘Promise me,' I said in a rush. ‘Promise me you will do your utmost to ensure Achilles dies so that Troy is saved.'

Her face was oddly pale. She shook her head. ‘No.' She took a deep breath. ‘No. I cannot.'

‘
Krisayis!
'

‘But—'

Hands grasped at my shoulders and pulled me up to stand. ‘That's enough. No more delays.'

I turned and stared back at the girl as the guards half marched, half dragged me away towards the line of the breaking sea, but she did not meet my eyes. I watched with a sense of desperation as she straightened her back, then began to walk towards King Agamemnon's tent, like a soldier marching to battle, the heralds at her sides.

My last hope, gone.

I stared at her. How could I trust her to come to her senses and do what she had to for Troy? And why –
why
– had she suddenly changed her mind? Had she not said that Achilles had killed those she loved most? Why, by all the gods, did she not wish him destroyed?

Then I forced myself to look away. There was only one more thing I could do.

‘Father?'

I tried to get free so I could talk to him, but the guards tightened their grip upon my shoulders as we walked.

‘I am allowed to talk to my own father,' I said pointedly.

They did not release me.

‘Father, I have something I must tell you. In private.'

My father did not turn. ‘Whatever you have to say can wait until I come to see you in Larisa.'

I struggled against the guards, but their grip was like metal against my skin. ‘It cannot wait!' I gasped, as one of the guards dug his fingers into my collarbone and pain ripped across my chest. ‘It is about the fall of Troy!' I shouted to him, throwing caution to the winds. ‘I must return to the city and tell the king myself!'

At last, my father turned to me, his eyes fixed upon mine, his expression unreadable. ‘King Priam has given orders that you are not to return to Troy. He is most displeased at the death of his son in defiance of his command, and he holds you in part accountable for it.'

I gasped. ‘No! He cannot!'

We had reached the ships now, their prows soaring high into the sky above us, like immense trees in a forest, their hulls creaking with the ebb and flow of the waves. Our eyes locked, and I tried to beg him, without words, to listen to what I was trying to tell him.

‘Farewell, daughter,' my father said, turning from me, his head bowed.

‘No!' I kicked and struggled against the guards, but they pushed me easily on to the ladder that leant against the ship's hull and almost lifted me up it and on to the deck. ‘No! Father—'

But my words were drowned in the snapping of the sail as it unfurled into the wind, and my father did not hear me.

At least someone is smiling as Krisayis is dragged away from the shores of Troy. In the skies above, seated on the peak of Mount Ida, Hera and Athena are watching the scene with undisguised pleasure. It is a clear afternoon – Hera has made sure of that – and the sun moving to the horizon in the west is a pale gold, setting the sea glimmering in tones of yellow and green-blue, and glinting off Krisayis' golden hair.

They both watch as the sails of the ship are hoisted, white like a bird's wings upon the sea, and the prow ploughs into the furrow of the sea. Soon the vessel is rounding the headland of the Trojan bay.

It is Athena who breaks the silence at last. ‘It worked,' she says, with a smile.

Hera nods. ‘Yes. It did.'

They exchange a knowing look. ‘Of course, I expected Agamemnon to steal the treasure,' Athena continues, in a conversational tone. ‘He probably would have done it without my help. But who would have thought Krisayis would be so easy to get rid of after that?'

Hera smiles and leans back on her throne. ‘Apollo played right into our hands,' she says, with smug satisfaction. ‘What fools he and his sister are. I imagine they didn't consider for a second that we might actually want her gone, what with all the trouble she was causing, passing information to the Trojans.' She turns to Athena with approval. ‘You played your part well last night.'

Athena shrugs her shoulders. ‘It wasn't hard to pretend to be annoyed with them. Hermes is getting my back up half the time anyway.'

Hera gives a sympathetic sigh. ‘Yes, I know. He does tend to do that.' She turns to the south, towards the little town of Larisa. ‘The question is,' she continues, with a slight frown, ‘how we are going to keep Krisayis there, once she arrives.'

‘You think she won't stay?'

Hera gives a grim laugh. ‘No. She will do everything she can to escape, so she can tell the Trojans what she has found out about Achilles. And we can't have that – can we?'

Athena shakes her head. ‘No. We can't.'

Hera taps her fingers against her olive-skinned thigh. ‘I've been thinking,' she says at last. ‘You saw how taken Apollo was with her last night, I'm sure.'

‘Has there ever been a time he has not been after some mortal or other?'

‘Well, quite.' Hera smiles. ‘I was thinking, however, that perhaps this time we might want to encourage his suit. Give him a little nudge in the right direction. To keep Krisayis distracted, so to speak.'

Athena frowns slightly. ‘What about Cassandra?'

Hera waves a hand in a regal gesture. ‘She was a princess. When did you last hear of a priest's daughter refusing a god?'

‘Well, if you're sure …' Athena turns to gaze at the little temple of Apollo in Larisa, set by the shining azure shore of the sea, the blue smoke of sacrifice curling up to the sky from its altar. She looks back at Hera. ‘So, which of us should be the one to do it?'

The corners of Hera's mouth turn up in a smile. ‘Me, I think,' she says. ‘Apollo would never listen to you.'

Athena gives a wry smirk. ‘I'll take that as a compliment.'

And with that, Hera stands gracefully from her throne and wafts away towards Apollo's palace.