Warrior’s Prize

“It would be comforting to make love with a woman.”

Iliad, Homer, Book XXIV

(Fitzgerald’s translation)

His warm breath brushed my neck as he set me on my feet. “Come!” That taut syllable conveyed his eagerness. He pulled me toward the bed. Cold sweat broke out on my skin. I wasn’t ready, but I made as if to follow. I needed to distract him, slow him down. And I needed light, to find that sword and position myself. But Patroklos had extinguished the lamps, and the only light came from the dying embers in the hearth. Not enough to see.

Midway to the bed I stopped. “What is it?” he whispered.

“I’m cold.”

“I’ll warm you in my bed.”

“The fire,” I said. “Build it up—please.”

“There’s no need.” He tried to lead me forward.

I planted my feet. His arm muscles tightened. Then he released me. “Very well, you shall have a fire.” He went to the hearth.

I groped across the floor and stopped, deep in shadow, when my bare feet made contact with the sheepskin rugs of his bed. I glanced over my shoulder. Achilleus was a darker shadow crouching over the hearth. At the other end of the hut, the door opened and closed. I heard footsteps, then faint noises from Patroklos’s end of the room. I could not tell if he had summoned Iphis or was settling down to sleep alone.

A twig blazed up in Achilleus’s hand, briefly sending a pale light flickering over the walls. The sword—quickly! My hands closed around it, pulled it part way from its sheath. But I dared not move it off the wall hooks. He would hear. I crouched, not breathing, watching him over my shoulder. Busy with the fire, he did not turn in my direction. I eased the sword out further. He heaped kindling over the embers, added a log, another. There was a hissing noise, a fountain of sparks. I pulled on the hilt until only a handbreadth of it remained in the sheath. Flames leapt up, crackling softly. He reached for a poker. The clang of bronze on stone gave me the chance I needed. Swiftly I pulled the sword free of the sheath and away from the wall hooks. I dropped to my knees on the bed. My hands were wet and slippery. My legs were shaking. I wished he would finish with the fire and come quickly, before I lost my nerve and my will.

The sword’s weight strained against my wrists. I pulled some of the bedding over the blade to hide it. His back was to me now as he worked on the fire. Keeping both hands locked around the hilt, I gained a purchase with my knees in the soft rugs. Every muscle in my body was drawn tight. I tried to quiet my breathing as I watched and waited.

Terror filled me. Don’t think about it, I told myself. Just act.

Satisfied with the fire at last, he stood up slowly and loosened the clasp at his shoulder. His mantle dropped to the floor. He stooped, unfastened his sandals, kicked them free.

A knot constricted my throat. A tremor ran through my arms. My hands were so sweaty I could barely keep my grip on the hilt.

He turned his back to sling aside his belt and pull his tunic over his head. He stood naked in the firelight. His body glowed gold in the glow of the flames, all smooth hard planes and muscular curves.

My hands slid off the sword. I couldn’t do it. Not if he was naked.

No matter! screamed a voice inside me. He had shown no mercy to my people.

I grasped the sword again. He turned, took a step toward me. He was a dark shape outlined in fire. I could not see his face, but a crescent of light curved around his cheek.

He was smiling.

“Briseis!” he whispered softly, happily, as he came closer.

My knees dissolved. I can’t! Then came a thought that gave me strength. Don’t think of him as a man. Think of him as a dangerous beast that must be destroyed. I focused on the shadow of his throat. The jugular. I went into a crouch, gathered my feet under me. The firelight flickered. He took a step—another.

Now! I lifted the blade and—

Without warning I lost my grip and the hilt slipped from my sweaty fingers. The sword fell clanging onto the floor.

I was trembling so badly my teeth rattled.

He stood frozen for about two heartbeats. Then faster than thought he seized me and forced me down onto the bed. My face was muffled in the rugs, my arms twisted with wrenching pain behind my back. The length of his body lay over mine, pinning me. Long moments we lay thus in a strange intimacy, his hard breaths convulsing me, his hot closeness stifling me. My head was wedged between his shoulder and his jaw. My whole body shook.

“Briseis!” he said at last in a shaken whisper. Then his voice grew harsh. “How dare you heft my own sword against me?” I couldn’t speak. He shifted me on the bed so that I was facing him. “What do you think you were doing?”

Now that I’d failed, he mustn’t know I’d meant to kill him. My life depended on it. My voice came out hoarse and muffled. “I—I didn’t think—”

His hands tightened around my arms. “What were you doing with my sword?”

“I was just—“ I mumbled, “testing it. I was—curious.”

“Testing it!” he said with blistering scorn.

“To see if—” I sputtered. “Your sword— So much heavier than Mynes’s.” I held my breath. I couldn’t tell if I’d convinced him. I didn’t even know if I had clumsily dropped the sword or if some part of my will had forced me to release it. I only knew that now, somehow, I must preserve my life for the baby.

“Mynes let you handle his sword?”

“To—to polish it only.”

“I see.” His grip tightened. “Well, Mynes is dead, and I’m your master now. You live by my mercy. Never forget it!” He broke off, breathing hard. “Don’t ever, ever touch my sword again! Or else—” He shook me. “Or else you’ll die as anyone would who went against me.” I felt his eyes boring into me, and I had not a doubt he meant every word. “You couldn’t have killed me, Briseis,” he said. “You wouldn’t have succeeded where hundreds have failed. But you took a grave risk. If I’d had to defend myself I might have done you harm. Lucky for you that you lost your nerve!”

He knew. Of course he did.

At last he let me go and lay still at my side. His breathing slowed, and he was silent for a time. I went weak, belatedly terrified, relieved I’d dropped the sword. My baby, I thought, perhaps you and I will live to see another day.

He huffed a breath. “I’ll let bygones be bygones. This time. In your place I’d have done the same.”

He got up to retrieve the sword. I thought about leaping from the bed and making a run for the women’s quarters, but I could only lie there, drained of will and strength. He replaced the sword in its sheath on the wall hooks and lay down again next to me. His mood shifted. “I already know of your spirit, my fierce one!” In the darkness I sensed his smile. “I’ll never forget my first sight of you—bravely defending your husband’s body. You have the heart and courage of a warrior.” He caressed my cheek, trailing his fingers down a long strand of my hair. “But no more! Leave the fighting to me.”

He leaned over me, and I felt his warm breath on my face. Before I could turn my head, his lips met mine. I couldn’t pull away—couldn’t even move. I was only aware of the heat of his mouth, awakening something inside me that I hadn’t known existed. His arms wrapped around me and pulled me closer. A distant voice told me to stop this from happening, but his kisses forced even that thought from my mind. I had no mind. I was a stranger to myself, observing as he loosened my gown, bundling it aside until we lay naked, flesh against flesh. His hands and lips traveled down my body. My knees went weak. When he pulled me close again and slid his legs between mine, I made no protest. I had no will. My body invited him in. A rush of feeling surged in me until my bones liquefied, and a white-hot wave carried me to an unendurable bliss that was almost pain. I wanted it to never stop. I heard myself crying out.

He was breathing hard, holding me tightly. He whispered my name as if it were the only word he knew. Then he lay against me, his breath slowing. For long moments I rested, floating, wrapped in the warmth of his flesh. I wanted never to move again.

But at last I stirred. Awareness returned. How had this happened? I was in an unaccustomed bed, in the arms of my enemy. I had failed Mynes in the only way that mattered.

I felt a shame unlike any I had ever known.

The room was in complete darkness until a log in the hearth caught, sending up a little spurt of flames, and I saw his face next to mine, the tense lines smoothed out of it. He was looking at me, sparks in the depths of his eyes.

“My beautiful Briseis!” He stroked my hair. “Patroklos wanted me to send you away. He said you were trouble—you would hurt me.” He came up onto an elbow, peering down into my face. “But you’re worth the trouble!” I heard the smile in his voice. I wanted to protest but I couldn’t speak. He kissed the side of my neck and laid his head next to mine. His arm rested across me. His body relaxed, and his breathing grew deep and peaceful as he drifted into sleep. He seemed not to care that his sword hung just above us.

And why would he? He knew he’d won.