Between Lions and Men

40: many a tear he will cost you

Briseis

The last time I see him he's in the midst of battle. Splattered with other people's blood and his own, lovely blue eyes filled with hate.

Nobody quite knows when he fell. They find him once the battle is finally over, dead in the street, with a million different wounds, and one foot lamed by arrow. They suppose that did him in. I suppose he was ready to go.

They burn his body by the beach. His mother comes, but only when we gather his ashes. Ithaca and I do that. We put them in the urn with Menoetius, as they both wanted. And we bury that there, by the sea. The men put up a monument.

Neo does not speak after the battle. Ithaca will not tell me how he found him, but the boy was bloody so he did fight. Auto was killed, we don't know how.

Neo's staunchly opposed to returning home, and will respond only to Pyrrus, not his real name. So I call him that. He is content to stay with me at the farm.

And slowly we rebuild. The army prepares to go home, that takes weeks. And we slip something towards normal life. Not happy life. Not yet. Just something dangerously approximating peace.

I take Pyrrus to his father's grave, on the day the ships are set to leave. I take him often, hoping he'll talk to him if no one else. He does not. He stares at the water and picks up rocks and tosses them.

I'm not the only one to visit that day. I didn't suppose I would be. Maybe that's why I came.

"You're staying then?" Ithaca asks. It's strange to see him out of uniform, white shirt and work pants, ready to sail again. His dark hair longer and curlier than it was, fully out of regulation now. The bruises and scars he got in the battle are fading though a fresh red one still mars faint stubble on his cheek.

"I am, this is home to me. And Pyrrus refuses to go back to his mother," I say.

"You're welcome aboard with me, my wife would readily accept your and the children's company. I'm not promising an easy voyage but— you would have us," he says, shrugging a little and glancing away from the waves to me.

"Thank you, but this is our home. Such as it is," I say, "It has to be."

"No one ever came for this one?" he asks, nodding to the little boy in my arms. He, like Pyrrus, has said little since the night of the battle. He's a baby of course, but his words are reduced to asking after his parents. He was a fat happy thing when I got him, but now he barely eats. It's all I can do to coax something down him. He thinks he should nurse and grabs for my swollen chest often. I have no milk for him yet, of course, which disappoints him further.

"No. I doubt his mother did survive the night," I say. I know his name, or what his mother called him, Scam. That's all.

"Probably not, too many didn't," he says, heavily.

"It's not your fault," I say, quietly.

"My scheme, I live with that," he says, nodding at the grave we stand before, "I live with this as well. We all do now."

"I think they're happy, at least," I say, snuggling Scam closer a I balance him on my hip just above my round belly.

"Did you ever tell him about the child?" he asks.

"No, it served no purpose," I say. I'm now obviously pregnant, of course.

"I suppose it wouldn't. I'd like to think there's some meaning to all of us. But I don't have clever words for it, I'm afraid," he says.

"It's all right. You sail tonight, do you not?" I ask.

"The gods willing."

"I pray you get home soon," I say.

"Let's go with safe, not set the bar very high," he says, winking a little. "Come, Pyrrus, say goodbye to me now. I'm leaving in a few hours."

The boy glares at him.

"He's still cross with me, that's his option," he shrugs.

"Does he know who killed his father?" I ask.

"I think he thinks he knows, good luck with that one. You will need it. Good luck with them both actually," he says.

"We'll be all right," I say, and I actually believe it.

We stay and watch his ship depart. Pyrrus pretends he doesn't care. Scam cries a bit and asks for his mum again. He will not get her.

And we went back home. Very quietly, very routinely. I went back to getting the farm working.
After time, Pyrrus proved useful at most chores that needed doing, especially as the pregnancy progressed. Other women came by then.

And soon enough I gave birth to a treacherously red headed, curly haired, blue eyed, daughter. A daughter who learned to run as fast as her father. Who chased her brothers about to no end and could out swim and out run any of us, much to our dismay.

Scam soon forget his original parents, remembering only me. He was soft, quiet, and gentle, while his new sister was wild and ten kinds of trouble. No one doubted who that girl's father was, though I didn't speak of him to them. Not to them. There were tales that I reserved for the firelight of the evenings.

Pyrrus was the one who hung on every word. The other two, sleepily, would curl up on either side of me. Achilles was right. There is no good way to tell his tale. No happy ending for him. So I don't make it that. We talk of long summer nights, and cold short winter days. I tell my daughter how her father out ran everyone, just like her. I tell them of his sweet voice, his dancing, his laughter, and every part of him I saved up as worth my memory.

And no, we are not perfect. Pyrrus and Scam both grow to be strong young men, who want glory. And stories told of them. And we have trials, yes, many. But mostly we have moments. Moments of peace and happiness that I can save up forever until they are everything. I have three muddy children skidding into my kitchen, blaming the other for something they clearly did collectively. I have a little girl that bounces around me, making me dance with her in the kitchen just like her father did so many years ago. And as I look around, every day. I see home. Not without tears or pain, but in spite of it. Suspended between the lonely nights of listening for footsteps in the dark, and long days filled with laughter and chaos, I find a simple twilight of peace.

The End