A Gift from the Gods

15

It was becoming a habit to be stirred in the morning by the call of Eudorus. Something in his voice this morning set Zephyra on edge. Achilles seemed at ease, almost gleeful as he stepped out of the tent, ready to set sail for home. But the shift in emotion was immediate and palpable as they watched the Myrmidons drag their feet and drop their weapons in utter defeat, physical and emotional.

"You violated my command," Achilles said, his tone firm.

"No, my lord," Eudorus said. "There was a mistake

"I ordered the Myrmidons to stand down. You led them into combat."

"I didn't lead them, my lord. We thought you did."

Realization poured through Achilles though it took Zephyra a moment to catch on.

"Where's Patroclus?" Achilles said. "Patroclus!"

Calling for him would do nothing now.

"We thought he was you, my lord. He wore your armor, your shield, your greaves, your helmet. He even moved like you."

"Where is he?" Achilles moved forward like a ghost and knocked Eudorus to the ground, his foot on the man's neck. "Where?"

"He's dead, my lord. Hector cut his throat."

No. no, gods no. They were almost out. How could Hector make such a stupid move? But it wasn't Hector, was it? It was Priam, still stuck in the idea that safety behind the walls would keep the war from really touching his people. The old fool. Lost touch with reality. He restarted the war.

Zephyra took slow steps toward him, putting her hand out in an attempt to draw his attention away from Eudorus. She spoke his name, a whisper, but it was enough for him to divert his focus to her, grabbing her arm and throwing her to the ground next to Eudorus. Bereft, Achilles snatched his sword from the sand and staggered toward the water, shoving men out of his way as he went.

Eudorus stumbled as he got up and helped Zephyra to her feet. "Are you all right, milady?"

"I am," she said. "And you?"

Eudorus nodded.

While Achilles mourned on the beach, the Myrmidons set to work building a pyre. Zephyra helped to wrap the body, whispering prayers of safe passage across the river Styx and other prayers of stillness for those who loved Patroclus, including herself, though it wasn't always apparent. She had only spent a few months with these men, but they had become a family to her the same as the Trojans. Odysseus was right – choices were never simple.

The pyre was more than twenty feet tall, towering over any of the previous pyres for the fallen Greeks. At sundown the soldiers lifted the boy atop the structure, and after a quick goodbye, Achilles lit the pyre. It was quickly engulfed in flames taking Patroclus to the underworld.

There was no drinking that night. No celebration. The men retired to their tents early. Achilles' own tent was somber and silent. Neither Zephyra nor Achilles spoke. Neither slept. Just silence and canvas walls. Until the late morning when Zephyra woke, not having realized she had fallen asleep, with a blanket over her. Achilles was not there. His armor was absent too. It was time.

The soldiers were bringing Achilles' chariot about. She had not missed him yet. She knew he sensed her, but he refused to look at her. She would have to make herself be seen. She clasped onto the chariot, hoping he would stay a moment rather than run her down.

"Give him an honorable death," Zephyra said. "When it is done, come back to us. Come back to us, and take us home."

She kissed his hands and stepped away.