Warrior’s Prize

“…this time, for the girl, I will not

wrangle in arms, with you or anyone,

though I am robbed of what was given me…”

—Achilles, Iliad, Homer, Book I

(Fitzgerald’s translation)

The night was far-gone when I eased myself from under Agamemnon. I was desperately uncomfortable and needed to breathe more easily. Terrified that he would awaken, I lay listening to his harsh snores. I dared not move further, but at last I slept. Deeply. Much later, when I opened my eyes, morning light seeped through the window. The door was closed. I was alone in Agamemnon’s bed.

Achilleus had never come.

A voice came from just outside—a man’s voice—impatient, angry. I sat upright. The door burst open, and Agamemnon staggered forward to lean against the doorjamb, his eyes focusing on me with difficulty. A mighty frown compressed his brow.

“You!” he snarled, then shouted at someone in the outer room. “Why is this woman still here? I want her gone!” A head looked over his shoulder—the serving woman who’d waited on him last night. “Phrontis, summon my heralds,” he ordered her. “Then I want this room cleaned of all trace of her.”

I shrank back as he approached. His eyes were bloodshot, his hands trembling. “Get out of my bed—my house! I don’t want Achilleus’s leavings.” He gripped his head. “My men will take you away. I’m being merciful. Instead of killing you, I’m going to lock you up.” The outside door stood open. Through it I saw the two men who, yesterday, a lifetime ago, had brought me here. My legs weakened. I longed so much for Achilleus that I shaped his name silently on my lips.

Agamemnon saw, and gave an angry, contemptuous laugh. He pushed the door shut so that once more I was alone with him. He shook me savagely, then released me so suddenly that I fell back. “Don’t you dare even speak of him! He left you here—aye, abandoned you!” His eyes narrowed to malicious slits. “And now he’s gone. Sailed away.”

The words hit my chest like a rock. “I don’t believe you.” He wouldn’t; not without me. He laughed harshly. “I saw his ships myself, all of them, sailing at first light, his own ship in the lead with its wine-red and white sail and Patroklos at the helm. Achilleus himself was at the prow.” He gave me a malicious look. “With another woman at his side.”

Was he lying? I could clearly see Achilleus’s ship with its striped sail, and I remembered Automedon saying, I might as well start packing. And who was the woman standing at Achilleus’s side—Diomede?

Agamemnon said, “Do you know what he said about you in front of all the chieftains? ‘I will not fight for the girl.’ If you don’t believe me, ask anyone. They all heard. And now he’s on the high seas. So like it or not, you’re mine. Don’t try anything, or I’ll kill you.”

My strength fled as he opened the door again and shoved me outside. I stumbled, lost my footing. Hands caught me and gripped my arms. The two men, one on each side of me, led me away from the hut.

I went. One mindless step, another. One foot before the other. We came to the familiar prison, now furnished with a straw pallet and a slop pail. They pushed me in. Dimness and stale air closed around me. The door shut. With a thud, the wooden bar locked me in.

All at once, rage burst through me. How could Achilleus abandon me? He’d killed everyone I loved and destroyed my home, so that I had no one in the world but him.

I fell on my knees, howling, choking on my tears. I curled my body, as if to keep myself from flying apart. I remembered his face as he said, You got what you prayed for, after all. Horrible, cruel, taunting words! Did he believe them himself? Was that why he let me go?

What if he thought I’d begged his forgiveness only to secure my position? Perhaps I’d failed to convince him how strong my feelings were. I searched my mind to remember exactly what I’d said last night. That all I wanted was to be with him. Perhaps it wasn’t enough. I should have told him I loved him, but those words were perilously hard to say.

I recalled the times I lay in his bed. I thought he cared for me. It seemed I was wrong.

I will not fight for the girl.

Why? I asked the dark silence. I didn’t understand. Perhaps I had never understood.

Had Agamemnon lied? His words had a ring of authenticity. Ask anyone. They all heard.

Now he was sailing home, Diomede at his side. My rage and grief threatened to devour me.

I remained on the floor. Hours passed. Somehow I slept. I woke up with a start when the door opened. The same stooping gray-haired woman from yesterday appeared, holding a jug and a platter. A guard urged her to make haste, and after she set down the food and water, I was locked in alone once more.

What would Agamemnon do? Kill me? Or give me away? I slept again, waking to eat and drink before slipping into sleep again. All I wanted to do was sleep, not to think or feel. When I awoke, I ate the rest of the meat scraps.

Time passed; dawns and sunsets I saw only as waxing and waning of the dim light, twice daily visits from Klymene, who never spoke more than a word or a grunt to me. Day by day I was losing strength, becoming dirtier, grittier, smellier, even growing numb to using the slop bucket. I existed like some hidden creature in a burrow—eating, drinking, falling again and again into a dark sleep. I no longer tried to count how many days had passed, but surely enough time for Achilleus to have crossed the sea and reached his home.

I began to dream of things long forgotten—green fields, wooded slopes, the blue sky and blazing sunlight of summer, the smell of sage, the cool breeze from the mountains, the ceaseless chirping of crickets as night fell. The hills of home. I saw faces from my earlier life: Mynes, Laodokos, my mother, my brothers. Why are you penned up like a beast? they asked.

One night a new face swam into my dreams, a face I had seen only once, though it was imprinted on my mind. She called my name, very clearly and firmly. Briseis! We need your help.

How does she know my name? I thought. I was only one guest among the multitude at her wedding. And why is she calling me? I awoke trembling and sat up in the darkness. “Andromache!” I said aloud.

I paced the tiny hut. I can’t stay here waiting to die. I felt as weak as an old woman. Walking cleared and sharpened my mind. There was a world outside my prison, and beyond the camp a world that belonged to the Trojans and their allies, who’d fought so valiantly against the Achaeans. My people. Their faces, dead and alive, their voices, flooded my mind, filling me with a fierce resolve. I won’t stay here, alone and apart. “I will escape,” I said aloud. “I will go to them.” I might even find a way to help them.

Somehow I would make my way to Troy. Or die trying.