Warrior’s Prize

“My fate I will accept, whenever it is the will of

Zeus and All Gods to fulfill it.”

—Achilleus, Iliad, Homer, Book XXII

(Rouse’s translation)

The next day I mustered the courage to ask him outright, “Why don’t you abandon this futile war and sail home?”

He lashed out with more anguish than anger. “Briseis, why can’t you leave me alone?”

After that he became withdrawn and distant.

It was clear I was not allowed to speak of the future or his leaving the war. It was a solid wall between us. I had to find another way. On the third day, as we sat together over the remains of the evening meal, I thought of a new tactic. I spoke to him of my own home in the days of peace: of harvest festivals in Lyrnessos; of gathering grapes in the vineyards, and how as a child I had stolen grapes and gorged on their sweetness until I was sick. I spoke of going with my brothers when they led the sheep to the high pastures to graze on the new spring grass, and what it was like to breathe the clean air of Mount Ida and drink icy water from streams on its slopes. Achilleus listened, smiled, but said nothing.

The next evening I came upon him playing the lyre, drawing from the strings a tune of almost unendurable longing. What is devouring your soul? I asked him in silence. What do you pine for? Your home? Your lost friend? Life itself?

I thought, if I can’t breach this wall I must find a way around it.

Two more days passed swiftly. Each day, when he was with his men, all their activities and speech revolved around the war. I must counter that. I recalled the board game I’d played with Patroklos. That evening I said, “Achilleus, I played a game with Patroklos when he was wounded. A game on a board. Do you—can you—?”

His face lit up. He went to fetch it.

For a time we played happily, a hotly contested game, and I thought I would best him, but at the last moment he made a move that defeated me. “Not fair!” I said as he laughed. “I will have revenge!” I quickly set up the board for the next game. But halfway through it, his eyes lost focus, and his face went sad.

He stood up. “It’s no good, Briseis. Let’s just go to bed.”

After our love, I lay awake wondering what else I could try. Another walk down the shore? A chariot ride? Get him to teach me a song on the lyre? But when I suggested each of these things, he turned me down.

Two days slipped by in which he went off with his men, returning late in the afternoon. We shared meals and walks on the shore and lay in his bed at night, but nothing changed.

I felt a growing desperation.

That night I dreamed of his homeland, Phthia. I was outside a house with a beautiful garden where birds sang and fruit trees grew. A house he had built for us. He asked me, Isn’t this much better than the cold stone palace? I awoke with a happy memory of that place. I could see it clearly and hear birds in the trees. On this godforsaken shore, how I missed trees!

An idea formed in my mind. I would make him believe in my dream.

That night in bed I told him of the dream, embroidering it with vivid details. “Achilleus, it was lovely! You built us a house where we could raise our child.”

“That’s wonderful,” he said, his voice slurred as he slipped into sleep.

With four days left I shared my dream with him again. “When we live in Phthia, your son can make his home with us. He could be a mentor to his new brother—or sister—”

Achilleus said nothing.

“I’d love to meet your father, Achilleus. Your mother too.”

“Enough. Let us talk of something else.”

With three days left, I was in despair. I watched Achilleus jump into his chariot and take his magnificent horses for their daily gallop down the beach. He stood straight and tall, his shortened hair whipping out behind him, and I remembered the times I had watched him leave for battle. My nostrils imagined a carrion stench, as if I had actually inhaled it. The memory of butchered bodies, the corpses of Patroklos and Hektor, the burning pyres, filled me with horror. Oh, gods, no! I couldn’t stand the thought of the war resuming.

With just two days left, the somnolent mood that had pervaded the camp was over. I saw heightened activity, men flinging spears at targets and sparring with swords. Achilleus’s tension increased. On the last night, after I cleared away the remains of the evening meal, I found him sitting by the hearth, honing his sword and testing the fittings of his armor.

“Achilleus, no!” I cried involuntarily.

His hands went still. He looked up at me for a long moment. Then his gaze fell, and he began again with his work. “My father will take care of you,” he said, “you and the child.”

The world went dark. I clung to the back of a chair. “What do you mean?”

He met my gaze squarely. “You know it is my fate to die in this war.”

I’d expected these words, but they still jolted me. “You—you can’t be certain!”

He got up, unclasped my fingers from the chair back, and guided me into the seat. “Briseis, we’ve spoken of this. You must accept it, as I’ve known and accepted it from the start.”

“But that night on your ship, you said—” Remembering how Agamemnon’s men had ambushed me and stolen me back that night, I could not go on.

His face twisted momentarily. He said, “I told you then about my fate.”

“You called it a prophecy. But prophecies don’t always come true, and you said you wanted to return home.”

“Everything has changed, Briseis. That’s no longer possible.”

“Why not?” I almost shrieked. “You’ve regained your honor!”

“How can I make you understand?” He got to his feet. “When I withdrew from the war, I hoped that I’d somehow cheated my destiny, but it was a vain, stupid hope, and it cost Patroklos his life. He was not meant to die. When in my folly I sent him out to help the Achaeans, he died the death that was meant for me.”

I was shaking uncontrollably.

“It was my duty to avenge him,” Achilleus continued, “even if it meant taking back my fate. I owe Patroklos my death.”

I reached out blindly toward him. “Nay! He would want you to live, Achilleus.”

“But I promised his spirit that I would not leave him alone on an alien shore. That my bones would lie with his in the same funeral urn.”

“Let him go, Achilleus.” A jagged rock lodged in my chest. “Bring his funeral urn home. Build a tomb for him in your homeland.”

He shook his head. “I did not mean this shore. I meant the shore on the other side of the river of death. I abandoned him once. I will not do so again.”

It was as if I had plunged into water so icy I couldn’t breathe. “Surely you still have a choice. You could leave this war now and—”

“Enough!” He came to me and drew me into his arms. My skin felt so cold I wondered he didn’t notice. “Briseis, you mean everything to me. Come, let’s enjoy the time we have.” He pulled me toward his bed. I could not understand the heat of his flesh after the words he had just spoken. As I lay beside him, joy was far from my heart.

All too soon morning came. He arose, ate a quick breakfast in silence, and began to don his armor. His face was pale with a sheen of sweat. I had a terrible fear that he would go to battle heedless of his safety and submit willingly to death.

He fastened his corselet, reached for his greaves. “Help me with these.”

“My fate I will accept, whenever it is the will of

Zeus and All Gods to fulfill it.”

—Achilleus, Iliad, Homer, Book XXII

(Rouse’s translation)

The next day I mustered the courage to ask him outright, “Why don’t you abandon this futile war and sail home?”

He lashed out with more anguish than anger. “Briseis, why can’t you leave me alone?”

After that he became withdrawn and distant.

It was clear I was not allowed to speak of the future or his leaving the war. It was a solid wall between us. I had to find another way. On the third day, as we sat together over the remains of the evening meal, I thought of a new tactic. I spoke to him of my own home in the days of peace: of harvest festivals in Lyrnessos; of gathering grapes in the vineyards, and how as a child I had stolen grapes and gorged on their sweetness until I was sick. I spoke of going with my brothers when they led the sheep to the high pastures to graze on the new spring grass, and what it was like to breathe the clean air of Mount Ida and drink icy water from streams on its slopes. Achilleus listened, smiled, but said nothing.

The next evening I came upon him playing the lyre, drawing from the strings a tune of almost unendurable longing. What is devouring your soul? I asked him in silence. What do you pine for? Your home? Your lost friend? Life itself?

I thought, if I can’t breach this wall I must find a way around it.

Two more days passed swiftly. Each day, when he was with his men, all their activities and speech revolved around the war. I must counter that. I recalled the board game I’d played with Patroklos. That evening I said, “Achilleus, I played a game with Patroklos when he was wounded. A game on a board. Do you—can you—?”

His face lit up. He went to fetch it.

For a time we played happily, a hotly contested game, and I thought I would best him, but at the last moment he made a move that defeated me. “Not fair!” I said as he laughed. “I will have revenge!” I quickly set up the board for the next game. But halfway through it, his eyes lost focus, and his face went sad.

He stood up. “It’s no good, Briseis. Let’s just go to bed.”

After our love, I lay awake wondering what else I could try. Another walk down the shore? A chariot ride? Get him to teach me a song on the lyre? But when I suggested each of these things, he turned me down.

Two days slipped by in which he went off with his men, returning late in the afternoon. We shared meals and walks on the shore and lay in his bed at night, but nothing changed.

I felt a growing desperation.

That night I dreamed of his homeland, Phthia. I was outside a house with a beautiful garden where birds sang and fruit trees grew. A house he had built for us. He asked me, Isn’t this much better than the cold stone palace? I awoke with a happy memory of that place. I could see it clearly and hear birds in the trees. On this godforsaken shore, how I missed trees!

An idea formed in my mind. I would make him believe in my dream.

That night in bed I told him of the dream, embroidering it with vivid details. “Achilleus, it was lovely! You built us a house where we could raise our child.”

“That’s wonderful,” he said, his voice slurred as he slipped into sleep.

With four days left I shared my dream with him again. “When we live in Phthia, your son can make his home with us. He could be a mentor to his new brother—or sister—”

Achilleus said nothing.

“I’d love to meet your father, Achilleus. Your mother too.”

“Enough. Let us talk of something else.”

With three days left, I was in despair. I watched Achilleus jump into his chariot and take his magnificent horses for their daily gallop down the beach. He stood straight and tall, his shortened hair whipping out behind him, and I remembered the times I had watched him leave for battle. My nostrils imagined a carrion stench, as if I had actually inhaled it. The memory of butchered bodies, the corpses of Patroklos and Hektor, the burning pyres, filled me with horror. Oh, gods, no! I couldn’t stand the thought of the war resuming.

With just two days left, the somnolent mood that had pervaded the camp was over. I saw heightened activity, men flinging spears at targets and sparring with swords. Achilleus’s tension increased. On the last night, after I cleared away the remains of the evening meal, I found him sitting by the hearth, honing his sword and testing the fittings of his armor.

“Achilleus, no!” I cried involuntarily.

His hands went still. He looked up at me for a long moment. Then his gaze fell, and he began again with his work. “My father will take care of you,” he said, “you and the child.”

The world went dark. I clung to the back of a chair. “What do you mean?”

He met my gaze squarely. “You know it is my fate to die in this war.”

I’d expected these words, but they still jolted me. “You—you can’t be certain!”

He got up, unclasped my fingers from the chair back, and guided me into the seat. “Briseis, we’ve spoken of this. You must accept it, as I’ve known and accepted it from the start.”

“But that night on your ship, you said—” Remembering how Agamemnon’s men had ambushed me and stolen me back that night, I could not go on.

His face twisted momentarily. He said, “I told you then about my fate.”

“You called it a prophecy. But prophecies don’t always come true, and you said you wanted to return home.”

“Everything has changed, Briseis. That’s no longer possible.”

“Why not?” I almost shrieked. “You’ve regained your honor!”

“How can I make you understand?” He got to his feet. “When I withdrew from the war, I hoped that I’d somehow cheated my destiny, but it was a vain, stupid hope, and it cost Patroklos his life. He was not meant to die. When in my folly I sent him out to help the Achaeans, he died the death that was meant for me.”

I was shaking uncontrollably.

“It was my duty to avenge him,” Achilleus continued, “even if it meant taking back my fate. I owe Patroklos my death.”

I reached out blindly toward him. “Nay! He would want you to live, Achilleus.”

“But I promised his spirit that I would not leave him alone on an alien shore. That my bones would lie with his in the same funeral urn.”

“Let him go, Achilleus.” A jagged rock lodged in my chest. “Bring his funeral urn home. Build a tomb for him in your homeland.”

He shook his head. “I did not mean this shore. I meant the shore on the other side of the river of death. I abandoned him once. I will not do so again.”

It was as if I had plunged into water so icy I couldn’t breathe. “Surely you still have a choice. You could leave this war now and—”

“Enough!” He came to me and drew me into his arms. My skin felt so cold I wondered he didn’t notice. “Briseis, you mean everything to me. Come, let’s enjoy the time we have.” He pulled me toward his bed. I could not understand the heat of his flesh after the words he had just spoken. As I lay beside him, joy was far from my heart.

All too soon morning came. He arose, ate a quick breakfast in silence, and began to don his armor. His face was pale with a sheen of sweat. I had a terrible fear that he would go to battle heedless of his safety and submit willingly to death.

He fastened his corselet, reached for his greaves. “Help me with these.”

“No! I won’t help you get yourself killed.”

His eyes grew hard. “I can manage on my own. But it’s bad luck to send me off like this.”

Instantly I was wild with remorse. As I bent to fasten the straps, my tears blinded me, and all I could do was fling my arms about his legs and kneel with my face pressed against his thigh. But he needed my strength, not my tears. I said, “If you are strong, if you guard your life well, perhaps the gods will let you live. Promise me you’ll have a care, Achilleus.”

He smiled and reached down to touch my cheek. “I give you my word.”

With trembling hands I fastened the straps about his calves and ankles, praying, Zeus and all gods, keep him safe. I reached up the sides of his legs to his hips, his waist, his chest, as if my touch could cover him with an invisible shield. Aphrodite, don’t let him be taken from me! I got to my feet slowly. Hera, mother of the gods, my little one needs his father. As I continued to run my hands over his body, as if my prayers could wrap him in protection, the door opened. Automedon and Alkimos stood there.

Wait! I wanted to cry. I’m not finished!

He gently detached himself, kissed me, picked up his helmet and shield, and was gone.

“No! I won’t help you get yourself killed.”

His eyes grew hard. “I can manage on my own. But it’s bad luck to send me off like this.”

Instantly I was wild with remorse. As I bent to fasten the straps, my tears blinded me, and all I could do was fling my arms about his legs and kneel with my face pressed against his thigh. But he needed my strength, not my tears. I said, “If you are strong, if you guard your life well, perhaps the gods will let you live. Promise me you’ll have a care, Achilleus.”

He smiled and reached down to touch my cheek. “I give you my word.”

With trembling hands I fastened the straps about his calves and ankles, praying, Zeus and all gods, keep him safe. I reached up the sides of his legs to his hips, his waist, his chest, as if my touch could cover him with an invisible shield. Aphrodite, don’t let him be taken from me! I got to my feet slowly. Hera, mother of the gods, my little one needs his father. As I continued to run my hands over his body, as if my prayers could wrap him in protection, the door opened. Automedon and Alkimos stood there.

Wait! I wanted to cry. I’m not finished!

He gently detached himself, kissed me, picked up his helmet and shield, and was gone.