Between Lions and Men

32: he has fallen far from home

Major Ithaca

Fear is not the right word to describe the war room when Peleus graces us with his presence. To be clear, I am not afraid, I have been assured that I have many more terrible (the goddess calls them interesting, I choose to translate that as terrible, vile, and dangerous to my person) trials before I get anywhere near the sweet release of death. I assume the others have no such grim assurance, for if I have ever tasted fear in the air, it was in that room that night.

And Peleus? Well, I had seen mad men before well enough to know that the calm truly does come before the storm. His face is bruised and blood shot, but the eyes are clear and filled with evil. He would strike us all down in this room if the whim suited him, and laugh while doing it. That is the level of madness in his face. It is the madness of man who has had the one anchor that kept him here in the mortal realm stripped away. We all forget he is part god. And gods know no rules of murder, massacre, or bloodlust. Those things do not apply to their kind. And that tiny thread of conscience in him has been snapped.

"When do we march?" he asks, coolly, spear in his hand with the countenance of a man waiting for the answer to be 'now'.

"Captain Peleus, I'm so glad you are attending---" the words 'simper' and 'grovel' and 'for one's life' do not accurately describe Colonel Mycenae's actions but as I can find no better ones at this late hour we'll leave them there to settle for they are something approximating the level of absolute panic that he's about to be torn limb from limb. He hasn't had a good day, by the way, we found him drunk and ill earlier and his brother's been caring for him, of course they claim he's been poisoned. I said that a gut full of whiskey after loosing blood will poison a person, they are correct.

"I forgive you, and wish to speak of our quarrel no more," now reader, I will confess I am the world's chief liar, and I will guarantee on my finest bow that Captain Peleus' tone is not, at all, what forgiveness sounds like. It sounds like my mother telling me she believes I didn't steal the guest's socks while luring me into a dumbwaiter where she'll torture me till I confess. My schemes have improved since age three as has my ability to read moods.

"That's good, I am glad," Colonel Sparta looks at me as though wondering if I find this as disingenuous as he does. I do, but I do not let it show in the construction of my face.

"When do we march?" completely calmly and yet not at all calm.

"Peleus---"

"I will answer no longer to my father's name for I shall not bring his house honor," he says, gripping his spear. His knuckles are white upon it.

"Achilles. The men are tired, they have fought all day, you can expect little from any army that has had no rest. They need food, and the night's sleep, we will strike again in the morning," I say. He is not at all capable of my original plan. No. I'm going to have to go to plan 348 sub plan 34 instead of sub plan 21. He's a crashing comet now. I just need to arrange for what I want destroyed to be in his path. "You yourself should rest, and prepare for the day."

"I would take your council, Ithaca, when I was of a better humor, but for now I will take none," he growls, "The answer was intended to be soon."

"We are all of us wounded, stay a few hours," I say, I'm the only one standing up to him, all right. Thank you. Thank you everybody. That's fine I'll win this war myself with our completely out of control demi-god that is something I can do. "I know you want to win, as do I. And we do that by letting our men rest. They are not of the same blood as you." And I.

His hand, the one not on the spear, is trembling violently.

"In the morning, you will lead the charge to the wall. We will stave them from our ships. I have good intelligence that Hecktor will be afield."