Warrior’s Prize

“…three brothers dear to me, these all my own mother’s

sons, these also met their doom.”

—Briseis, Iliad, Homer, Book XIX

(Rouse’s translation)

Deep in a dream, I was a little girl again, lying on my pallet in the house on the hill above Lyrnessos. My mother had gone far away and was never coming back. Sorrow filled me. I could not move, yet I must get up to fetch water and bake bread, or my brothers would go hungry and my father would beat me. I reached for Laodokos, lying beside me with his small-boy warmth, his downy hair tickling my cheek, his hands curled in sleep. But there was no Laodokos, and my eyes flew open. I was in a room with a low ceiling, walls of rough wood, and a dirt floor.

When I remembered, a cry rose to my lips, but I quickly smothered it. I was a captive in an alien world. The dimness of early morning showed me a room with several bedrolls and a few tousled heads. I heard regular breathing. Mercifully, the others here still slept. Pulling the blanket over my head, I shut my eyes and tried not to think. I managed to doze again.

A while later I awoke to rustles, whispers, mumbled greetings. I couldn’t face these others. Not yet. I feigned sleep. Around me I heard the soft thud of bare feet on hard dirt.

A whisper near me said, “There she is—the new one!”

“Sssh! She’s sleeping.” But their low-pitched voices were clear.

“Her name’s Briseis. Patroklos told me. She was taken on the raid. She’s Achilleus’s prize.”

“Where’s she from?”

“I don’t know, but Patroklos said—”

She broke off. A door opened. The whispers addressed a newcomer. “Diomede!”

I ventured a look from beneath the covers. Four women were seated on their bedding. A fifth entered, carrying a tray with a goblet and a basket of bread. I recognized her as the woman who had gone with Achilleus last night.

Someone asked, “Who’s the food for?”

Diomede answered, “Her—the new one.”

Short, sharp hisses. “What! Why?”

Guessing they would look at me, I quickly pulled the cover back over my face. “Achilleus bade me,” Diomede whispered. “She’s to do no work today—only rest.”

“No work! Is she a princess?”

Someone gave a low, malicious laugh. “Perhaps she’s a goddess come down from Olympus!” My skin grew hot. I longed to put an end to their talk.

“We’re to prepare her a bath,” Diomede said.

“A bath! Carry water for a captive? We never had such consideration!”

“She’s not to carry water at all,” Diomede continued. “He commands it. And she’s not to do the heavier chores. We’re to treat her well. She’s his favorite.”

“His favorite!” The word was emphasized nastily. I cringed. By calling me that, Achilleus had ruined any chance I had of friendship with these women. The angry one continued, “How does he know? He hasn’t even tried her yet! He slept with Diomede last night.”

Someone asked, surprised, “Is this true, Diomede?”

But the spiteful voice answered in her stead. “Aye, our goddess here slept undisturbed!” She had forgotten herself and spoken too loudly.

Diomede said, “Be silent, Aglaia! You’ll wake her!”

I felt them all turning toward me. I flung back the covers and sat up, trying to look as if I had heard nothing, but my face grew hot.

Diomede gave a forced smile and carried the tray over to me. “Good day, Briseis. I’ve brought you breakfast.” She set a cup of milk and a round of barley bread before me. The women watched like a pack of wolves. I could no more have eaten that bread than if it had been a rock. I looked helplessly at Diomede.

“Let me make us known to you,” she said. “I am Diomede. This is Iphis.” I recognized Iphis from last night—Patroklos’s woman. She regarded me neutrally and nodded. Diomede continued, “This is Kallianassa. She and Iphis serve Patroklos.” Kallianassa was pretty but thin, frail, and timid-looking. “This is Helike—and Aglaia. We serve Achilleus,” Diomede finished. Helike was tall and shapely, her features stolid, her manner subdued. She kept her eyes lowered and did not return my glance. Aglaia was dark and attractive. As her glittering eyes met mine, her lips sneered. So it was she who had made all those spiteful remarks.

Diomede spoke briskly to the others. “Go now—prepare her bath. It won’t take long with all of you to help.” I opened my mouth to protest, but with a gesture she forestalled me. Unwaveringly, she met the challenge in Aglaia’s eyes as the women filed out of the room.

When Diomede turned back to me, her smile was more natural. “I’m sorry if you heard Aglaia’s nastiness.”

“It’s nothing to me,” I lied, then burst out, “But why do they hate me? Don’t they remember what their first day here was like?”

“They’ll come around,” Diomede said. “But perhaps not Aglaia. She’s always wanted to be Achilleus’s favorite, only she’s too harsh and demanding. At first he liked her, but now he’ll have nothing to do with her.”

And you? I wondered, Do you too want to be the favorite? I stole a look at her; her face gave nothing away. She gestured to the food. I felt nauseous. “I thank you for the food, but I’m not hungry.”

“You’ll feel better if you eat,” she said.

Thinking of the poor little babe inside me, I drank the milk and managed to eat some of the bread. As I ate, I stole a glance at her. She had a pleasant face, her cheeks rounded, her chin small and pointed. Her dark, curly hair had a reddish cast. Her eyes were a clear golden hazel. I wondered if her solicitude sprang from kindness or was merely the result of Achilleus’s commands. Those eyes made me inclined to trust her. To please her, I forced myself to eat the rest of the bread.

“Come. Your bath will be ready.” She got to her feet, then gave me a curious look as I rose. She was staring at the tunic I wore.

“Oh. Patroklos lent me this. My gown was filthy and torn.”

“Never mind. We’ll find you another one.”

She led me to a small, sunny, empty courtyard behind the hut. In the center stood a large bronze basin filled with water. “I’ll fetch the clothes.” Diomede left.

Discarding Patroklos’s tunic, I stepped into the basin. As I washed, the cool water should have felt soothing on my skin, but I could only think how bitterly the women had resented preparing it. Their ill will seemed to swirl and ripple in the bath. When Diomede came back, holding an oblong of white cloth, I got out and dried off quickly. She helped me to drape and wrap the new gown about me, pinning it at the waist and shoulder so that it hung in folds to my ankles. She had also brought a comb. It took me painful moments to get the tangles out of my wet hair. When I finished, I left it loose to dry. Diomede handed me a sash woven with gold threads. I could not help exclaiming, “How fine this is!”

“Aye. It was taken on the raid. From Thebe, I think.”

Thebe. Perhaps Andromache herself had fashioned this before she wed Hektor and went to live in Troy. Now her father, the king, was dead, her mother dying, her brothers slain. I flung the sash to the ground. “I can’t wear it! Why did you give me this?”

Diomede’s eyes were blank as she retrieved it. “Achilleus told me to.”

“To hurt me!” To make me a traitor to Andromache and my people. Tears threatened.

“Nay, Briseis,” she said gently. “Most likely he wanted you to have a bit of finery. You must resign yourself. This is a camp of war. Everything in it was either plundered or made by the captives.”

I dropped my hands and said nothing, realizing that my refusal would only cause trouble for her. Firmly she tied the girdle about my waist, where it seemed to burn like a circle of fire. Forgive me, Andromache, I thought.

Diomede stood back to regard me. “There! You look lovely.” But her smile was perfunctory. “You’re to do no work today. I’ll show you about the Myrmidon camp. You must use today to accustom yourself to this new life.”

As we left the courtyard, I asked her, “Where are you from, Diomede? How long since you were brought here?”

“I’m from Lesbos. I’ve been here for about a year.” For a moment her eyes became teary. Then she frowned and shook her head. “The past is best forgotten. Come this way.”

A whole year, I thought, when even one day seems unendurable. Outside the courtyard, she pointed to rows of huts. “That’s where most of Achilleus’s men, the Myrmidons, live. Some sleep on the ships.”

“Why are they called that?” I asked.

She shrugged as if it didn’t matter. She pointed to some long, low buildings beyond the huts, where a man was walking a pair of horses. “Over there are the stables.” I saw a few men down by the shore. Others were lounging in front of their huts. I wondered where Achilleus was but did not ask.

“The men didn’t go out to fight today?” I said instead.

“Nay. There are many lulls in the fighting. Sometimes there’s a big battle—more often just skirmishes. Sometimes a raiding party goes off,” she lowered her eyes, “like this recent one, but often the Trojans keep within their citadel. So far it’s a standoff.” She lifted her eyes in triumph. “The Achaeans have failed to breach the walls of Troy.”

“Why are they fighting this war?” I asked. “I’ve heard it’s about a woman one of the Trojan princes stole from the Achaean king’s brother, but—” I shook my head in disbelief.

Diomede’s brows arched. “Ah, but this woman, Helen, is reputed to be the most beautiful woman in the world.” She shrugged. “Still, I don’t believe men would fight a war over a woman, no matter how beautiful. I think it’s about greed. The Achaeans want the gold of Troy. And all men love war for its own sake.”

She led the way up the shore to the place where sheep and goats were kept in pens. The animals swarmed toward us, bleating. “Oh, you poor things!” she exclaimed. “Nobody has fed you yet.” She went to a huge pile of dried grass and picked up armfuls, which she dumped into the feeding trough. As the animals grazed, she reached a hand down into the pen to scratch one of the goats on the top of its head. Her face was gentle, her eyes sympathetic, as if she saw in this creature a kindred spirit.

“What is it like here for the women of the camp, Diomede?”

“We make the best of it,” she said indifferently. “We work long hours, serving the men’s needs, and at night sometimes we lie in their beds.” A knot tightened in my stomach. “At first it’s hard to endure. Then it doesn’t matter. Was it any different for most of us at our homes? Achilleus is a just master. He makes sure we’re provided for. Some are afraid of his temper, but I’ve never known him to be unfair.” She added vehemently, “It’s not so with all the Achaean warriors. Some women are beaten—starved. Many have died. Make no mistake about it; a captive’s life is of no great value. I’m glad I belong to Achilleus.”

I told myself I would never feel glad. Yet, unwillingly, I remembered his hand on my cheek. But perhaps the care he had shown me was akin to that of a man fattening up a lamb he planned to eat later.

“Sometimes women are given away as prizes—or sold.” Diomede smiled wryly. “A good slave woman is worth four oxen—not nearly as much as a bronze caldron!”

I was shocked. “Why would a woman be sold?”

Diomede shrugged. “For failing to please her master, perhaps, or to pay off a wager. Of course, if a warrior dies, his women and all his possessions are given away.”

If Achilleus died, I would go to another master. But it was a useless thought. As we walked toward the shore, I said, “Tell me about this camp—this place.”

“I hate it!” she replied with a force that surprised me. “It’s an evil place, full of flies and stinging insects from the swamps. There are no green things growing, save marsh grass and slime. It’s hot and dusty in the summer—cold and damp in the winter.” She made a gesture of contempt at her crumpled gown, her soiled bare feet. “It’s impossible to keep clean here. The men have baths prepared by their slaves, and sometimes wash off in the sea, but the women— It’s not often that we get the luxury of a bath such as you had today, Briseis.”

The words stung. I smoothed my fresh gown with a guilty hand. No wonder the other women were hostile. When we reached the shore, Diomede stopped. “I must go. I’ve neglected my chores. Enjoy your leisure, but don’t try to leave the camp.”

“Nay, wait!” There was so much more I needed to ask her. And I wanted her friendship. “Let me help you with your chores.”

She shook her head. “Achilleus said not.” She started to turn away but remembered something and pulled two green figs from her sash. With a furtive glance around, she put them in my hand. “He told me to give you these. I didn’t want to, in front of the other women. Figs are very rare and hard to get.”

“Where do they come from?” I asked suspiciously.

Diomede’s eyes evaded mine. “From the fig tree just outside the Skaian Gate of Troy. Only Achilleus dares gather them.” With an uneasy smile, she turned and walked away.

Feeling abandoned, I fought against welling tears. I looked at the figs. Did she really think I would eat them? I sat down and drew my legs up, resting my chin on my knees. Between two ships, I could see the horizon. The sea had a glowing stillness. The day stretched ahead of me, endless. I felt so alone. I wondered how Nesaia and Maira and the others of Lyrnessos were faring. Where in this vast camp were they? Would I ever see them again?

Footsteps crunched the sand behind me. I looked over my shoulder. Aglaia. I got to my feet, guilty to be idle, holding the precious, stolen figs. On impulse I held them out. “Here, Aglaia. Would you like them?”

She looked me over, chin lifted, eyelids drooping. “Figs from Troy.” She took them and flung them to the sand, squashing them under her feet, grinding them to a thick, gritty pulp. “That’s what I think of your gifts!”

I turned away quickly.

“So!” she said softly behind me. “His latest fancy! Let me look at you.” Rough hands spun me around. She smiled maliciously. “You must be asking yourself why he didn’t take you to his bed last night. You think it was out of kindness, don’t you?” she demanded. “Well, you’re wrong! He’s proud, he’s vain, our master.” She laughed harshly. “Perhaps you failed to show the proper eagerness. I’ve heard him boast that no woman comes unwilling to his bed. How many other favors and gifts will you manage to get from him before you submit? You can only play that game so long, you know.” She stamped her foot like a child. “You make me sick! Why don’t you go away?”

“Where would you suggest I go?”

She shrugged. “We don’t want you here. Diomede is only being kind because he ordered her to. You’ll never be welcome—never!” Having delivered herself of her venom, she started to turn away, but her eyes fell on my sash. Her face twisted. “That’s mine! He promised me the next fine thing he brought back.” She grabbed at it and tried to yank it off. My hands went immediately to loosen the knot. Thinking I was trying to hold onto it, she struck me across the face with all her might. I was blinded, stunned. She tore at my hair, grabbed handfuls of it hard enough to tear it out by the roots if she continued. She jerked me forward, shaking me.

“Stop!” I couldn’t loosen her grasp. Pain filled my head. I lost my balance. “Leave off! He’ll punish you!” I said in desperation, not quite sure where the words came from, but she dropped her hands instantly, and I knew I had spoken no less than the truth.

A look of pure hatred shone in her eyes. “Go then! Run and tattle to him. But if a time ever comes when he can’t protect you—” a dangerous smile appeared on her lips— “you had best look to your life!” Before I could answer, she walked away.

I stared after her. Then with no idea where I was going I started walking fast, almost running down the shore. I stopped when I heard noises, shouts. A group of men, their backs to me, were engaged in some kind of spear-throwing exercise or contest. I had no trouble recognizing Achilleus’s tall form among them. There were piles of weapons strewn about. I spun away, my only thought to escape before he saw me, and collided with a stack of spears planted in the sand. I fell down, spears clattering around me. I heard a startled shout, and instantly Achilleus was leaning over me.

“What are you doing here, Briseis? Are you hurt?”

Struggling to get up, I didn’t answer. Then my eyes fell on a javelin that lay nearby. I froze. An emblem had been carved, then burned, into the shaft. Now the blackened mark swam into focus. Two slanted lines meeting at an angle, one curving over the top of the other. Laodokos! Sitting by the fire, he had heated his knife to a red-hot point and laboriously carved his mark into the spear Mynes had given him, of which he was so proud. My body went rigid and icy. I reached out, touched the mark. There could be no mistake.

Achilleus said, “What is it?”

I sat on the ground, staring up at him. Comprehension came only slowly to my heart. I was surprised to hear my own voice, quiet, each word spoken with deadly emphasis. I held up the javelin to him. “Where did you get this spear?”

“Why, in Lyrnessos. Up in the hills, before we reached the town. Someone came out of the trees and threw it at me, a lad, and—” He stopped when he saw my face.

Perhaps after throwing the javelin my youngest brother had somehow run to safety. I sprang to my feet. “Then what happened?”

Achilleus lowered his eyes. “He did not have good aim or a strong arm. When I loosed my own spear, my aim was true, and he fell.”

Against all reason, I hoped he was not dead but gravely wounded, and I could go to him, find him. But Achilleus said, “I had my men carry him down to the town so he could be burned on the pyre with the others who—”

“Oh, gods, Laodokos, no!” I screamed. “NO!” The cry was wrenched from fathomless depths. Achilleus’s hands gripped my arms, but I tore free. I was sprinting, as if driven by the Furies. Scraping fresh gouges into my cheeks as I ran.

Shouts came from behind me. “Stop! Come back!” I heard him running behind me with several others. I raced with wings on my feet. I must outrun the unspeakable thing devouring me.

When at last my pursuers gave up, when there was only silence behind me, I stopped and turned toward the sea.