Warrior’s Prize

…they pursued at once, like a couple of savage dogs

on the hunt chasing a fawn or hare through the woods…

Iliad, Homer, Book X

(Rouse’s translation)

The hard part was to find a way out of my prison. Once free of this hut, I could find some slave women who would hide me and perhaps even help me on my way to Troy. I had news that could be of immense value to the Trojans: the deaths from the plague, the quarrel between the chieftains—and the departure of Achilleus. All this would embolden them to fight, perhaps even enable them drive off the Achaeans and end this terrible war.

Through the flimsy walls of my prison, I inhaled smells and listened to every noise from outside. Smelling no smoke from sacrificial fires or funeral pyres, but only the evening cooking, I guessed that the plague had died out. When I heard no sounds of horses and chariots, no shouts of mustering men, I guessed the war was at a standstill. A quiet emptiness, a strange lethargy, seemed to pervade the camp. My mind ranged far down the shore to the place that had been Achilleus’s encampment. I could almost hear the rhythmic splash of the surf and the whisper of wind sweeping sand across the beach, obliterating all signs that he had ever been there.

I forced my thoughts away from him. I sat passive and motionless whenever I heard the twice-daily approach of Klymene and the guard. I barely spoke to them, yet I observed their every move and listened to their every word, burning with awareness of the world beyond the tantalizingly open door. How to find a way through it? They were watchful and thorough. Then I thought of feigning illness. Even if the plague was over, there were other ailments. If my captors believed I was ill, I might be able to trick them into one unguarded moment.

That evening I was ready with my plan. When Klymene came to bring me food and water, I sat huddled in the corner. She greeted me in her usual gruff, unfriendly way. “Here’s your grub.” I just stared past her unblinkingly and muttered incoherent things. She hesitated, but after a moment withdrew.

The next morning I lay on my pallet with my eyes closed. “What’s wrong with you?” she demanded. I only moaned. As she set the food down, I thrashed about with my arms, scattering the contents of the plate. “Lady!” she exclaimed. I sensed rather than saw her exchange a look with the guard outside. Scurrying about, she removed the spilled food.

After she left, I gobbled up the barley cakes and meat scraps she had not found and drank the water, which I’d been careful not to spill. Then I paced around, flexing my legs to strengthen them. The night would be the crucial time, when I would try to break out.

I still had no idea how I would escape the camp.

One step at a time.

When the light coming through the cracks began to dim, my nerves were wound tight. I listened at the door for Klymene’s shuffling approach, and heard noises, voices that drew near and then faded off in various directions. At last came the sound of footsteps, growing louder, halting right outside the door. A shiver ran over my skin. Klymene? Or someone else? I held my breath.

A familiar scraping sound as the door was pulled open. I recognized the wheeze of her breath. Heart beating hard, I lay on my pallet, halfway off it, eyes closed, mouth open. Keeping my face muscles rigid, I made a one-sided grimace such as I had seen on the face of Andromache’s mother on the ship.

I squinted my eyes open for a quick look as Klymene stepped into the hut, then held myself still, hoping she couldn’t see my rapid heartbeat. I heard a thud against the dirt as she put down the water pitcher and trencher with food. Then soft steps. I felt her very close and smelled her sour breath. “Lady—?”

I stayed motionless, my breathing quick and shallow. I sensed her staring. After a moment she lifted my arm. When she released it, I let it fall slackly. Still she stooped over me, hesitating. I feared that she would turn, shuffle out, and wash her hands of me.

She stepped back. “Sir, I—” Her voice, speaking to the guard, quavered. “I fear she’s ill.”

The guard’s voice demanded, “Are you sure?” He came into the hut. I smelled leather and sweat as he leaned over me. He shouted in my face, then grabbed my shoulder and shook me hard. It took every jot of my willpower to remain limp and still. At last he straightened, standing over me. He said, “She’s in a deep swoon. It looks like some kind of seizure or fit.”

“Shall we tell the king?” Klymene asked fearfully.

“Not yet. I’ve a comrade who’s something of a healer. I’ll fetch him. Stay here.”

Steps retreated through the door and across the hard ground, fading. I waited to give the guard time to get far away, knowing I had to incapacitate Klymene and flee before he returned.

I opened my eyes a crack. Klymene was outlined against the open door. Golden twilight drowned my sight. My eyes fell on the water pitcher. I leapt to my feet, grabbed it, and swung it at her head. It slammed into her skull. She fell, mouth open, eyes closed. Water splashed all over. I pushed her onto the pallet, tore off my sash, and bound her hands. A dirty rag lay on the floor. I shoved it into her mouth so she couldn’t cry out. Then I snatched her shawl, put it over my head, and shot through the door, shutting it quickly behind me. I slid the heavy bar into place.

Breathing hard, I looked around. There were others about, men lounging outside the huts, women going about their chores. I prayed none had heard anything. The nearest men, a pair, were strolling down the shore a hundred or so paces away. They glanced toward me. My skin prickled. I pulled the shawl over my face and hunched down like Klymene, imitating her small shuffling steps as I walked away. My legs, charged with panic, longed to run, to get far from the hut before the guard returned, but I dared not. My pace was excruciatingly slow. I ventured a glance over my shoulder. The two men on the shore had been joined by a third one. They had stopped and were looking in my direction.

Keep walking. A tight drumming filled my chest. My eyes scanned the nearby buildings. I needed to hide until after dark, when I could venture out to one of the other camps and persuade some of the women to shelter me until I planned my next move.

Suddenly—a shout. I looked back. Two men came running toward me from a different direction, yelling something. I ran. The shawl slipped down and hampered me. With no more need of a disguise, I held it around my waist and sprinted. Steps thudded behind me, gaining.

The sky had dulled to a deep rose. I veered away from the shore, gasping for breath. Ahead was a long, low, narrow building. I heard a whinny, smelled horses. The stables.

I rounded the corner of the wall. The stalls were open on the landward side. I ducked into the deeper shadows of the first stall, which held a pair of horses eating their evening fodder. Their heads reared up, their eyes suddenly ringed in white.

No place to hide here. And the men had seen me.

A diversion, then. I fumbled at ropes and tethers. One set of knots came free—another. I struck a horse across the rump and shouted. The beast whinnied and shot out of the open stall. The other followed, snorting. I dodged their hooves and went to the next stall, releasing two more. One of them reared to a terrifying height. As his front hooves crashed down, I dove out of the way. There were so many untethered horses surrounding me that their immense bodies threatened to crush me. Yet I forced my way into the next stall and the next, loosing tethers as fast as I could, until the open space in front of the stables was full of huge, rearing beasts, snorting, whinnying, running in all directions.

Shouts rang out. “Agamemnon’s prize horses!”

Men came running. They dodged flying hooves and chased after trailing ropes.

“Quick, grab them!”

“There go Swiftness and Midnight—headed for the fence!”

Amid the confusion I ducked into a stall. Peering out, I saw my pursuers, but they had their hands full. I sped out of the stall and around the corner of the stable, out of their sight.

A shout came. “Where is the woman? Curse her!”

And an answer: “Search the stables! She can’t have gone far.”

Across an open space, I saw another building, a stall where bulky objects draped with canvas were stored. War chariots, from their shapes. I dashed across the space, lifted a corner of canvas, and crawled into a chariot. Each breath tore my lungs. My legs cramped as I crouched. I heard only muffled sounds. But if I hadn’t been seen, I might be safe until nightfall.

I heard steps, voices. Coming closer.

If they found me, Agamemnon would kill me for certain.

My hand, slippery with sweat, gripped the polished rail of the chariot. Moments passed. No more sounds. I hardly dared to breathe. Someone was near—listening.

A step—another. A crunch of loose dirt. The canvas was flung back. “Here she is!”

My throat closed. Two men, with deadly purpose in their eyes, hauled me to my feet and led me out of the building, surely with the aim of taking me straight to the king.

The sky was deepening to purple. The sea glowed brilliantly where the sun had set. I drank in the beauty of falling night. I had not seen these sights for many days, and now I might be looking at them for the last time. My knees shook so hard I could barely walk.

The men led me to a hut I’d never seen before. One of them rapped on the door. At once it was flung open. I found myself face to face with—Menelaus!

“What good fortune!” he said, smiling coldly.