Page 86 of The Song of Achilles

She piles cushions around me and heaps blankets. She lies down beside me, pulling the cover over us both. I am surrounded by her scent, familiar and warm. I press my mouth to her ear, speaking barely louder than a breath. “Odysseus says that tomorrow the Trojans will break the wall and storm the camp. We must find a place to hide you. Among the Myrmidons or in the forest.”

I feel her cheek moving against mine as she shakes her head. “I cannot. That is the first place he will look. It will only make more trouble. I will be all right here.”

“But what if they take the camp?”

“I will surrender to Aeneas, Hector’s cousin, if I can. He is known to be a pious man, and his father lived as a shepherd for a time near my village. If I cannot, I will find Hector or any of the sons of Priam.”

I am shaking my head. “It is too dangerous. You must not expose yourself.”

“I do not think they will hurt me. I am one of them, after all.”

I feel suddenly foolish. The Trojans are liberators to her, not invaders. “Of course,” I say quickly. “You will be free, then. You will want to be with your—”

“Briseis!” The tent flap is drawn backwards, and Agamemnon stands in the doorway.

“Yes?” She sits up, careful to keep the blanket over me.

“Were you speaking?”

“Praying, my lord.”

“Lying down?”

Through the thick weave of wool I can see the glow of torchlight. His voice is loud, as if he is standing beside us. I will myself not to move. She will be punished if I am caught here.

“It is how my mother taught me, my lord. Is it not right?”

“You should have been taught better by now. Did not the godling correct you?”

“No, my lord.”

“I offered you back to him tonight, but he did not want you.” I can hear the ugly twist in his words. “If he keeps saying no, perhaps I will claim you for myself.”

My fists clench. But Briseis only says, “Yes, my lord.”

I hear the fall of cloth, and the light disappears. I do not move, nor breathe until Briseis returns beneath the covers.

“You cannot stay here,” I say.

“It is all right. He only threatens. He likes to see me afraid.”

The matter-of-factness in her tone horrifies me. How can I leave her to this, the leering, and lonely tent, and bracelets thick as manacles? But if I stay, she is in greater danger.

“I must go,” I say.

“Wait.” She touches my arm. “The men—” She hesitates. “They are angry with Achilles. They blame him for their losses. Agamemnon sends his people among them to stir up talk. They have almost forgotten about the plague. The longer he does not fight, the more they will hate him.” It is my worst fear, Phoinix’s story come to life. “Will he not fight?”

“Not until Agamemnon apologizes.”

She bites her lip. “The Trojans, too. There is no one that they fear more, or hate more. They will kill him if they can tomorrow, and all who are dear to him. You must be careful.”

“He will protect me.”

“I know he will,” she says, “as long as he lives. But even Achilles may not be able to fight Hector and Sarpedon both.” She hesitates again. “If the camp falls, I will claim you as my husband. It may help some. You must not speak of what you were to him, though. It will be a death sentence.” Her hand has tightened on my arm. “Promise me.”

“Briseis,” I say, “if he is dead, I will not be far behind.”

She presses my hand to her cheek. “Then promise me something else,” she says. “Promise me that whatever happens, you will not leave Troy without me. I know that you cannot—” She breaks off. “I would rather live as your sister than remain here.”