The Song of Patroclus

Chapter 14

Deidameia left the next morning, as she had said she would. “She is visiting an aunt,” was the excuse Lycomedes gave his court. No one dared to question the flat explanation. She was gone until the child’s birth, when I would be named the father. It was something I dreaded.

The weeks after that, the joy of our reunion was long gone, replaced with impatience. We wanted to leave, to escape the court’s sharp eyes and Lycomedes’ deep frown whenever he saw us. Even if the court did not know what was going on, their curious stares still managed to make us feel guilty for the princess’ departure.

And then there was the war. Even on this lone, forgotten island, we had gotten constant news of the growing war. All of Helen’s suitors had honored the vow, made Agamemnon’s army rich with princely blood. Agamemnon had done what no king before him could have done, united all our kingdoms for one cause. Even though Paris is more responsible for that. There was not much I had known about Agamemnon. I could picture him from Patroclus’ words, a grim-faced shadow, shaggy as a bear. Patroclus had said there was nothing memorable about him. He seemed to favor his younger brother, Menelaus. But Agamemnon was older, with a larger army. He would be to lead the Greeks to war against the Trojans.

It was one morning in late winter. We sat on a rock cleft that looked above the horizon, fingers interlocked, watching silently for trader ships and calm waves. We tossed rocks over the edge of the cliff, but were high enough that we didn’t hear it touch the ground. We had just watched a pebble break on the rocks when I spoke.

“I wish I had your mother’s lyre,” I said. I could feel Patroclus’ eyes on the back of my head.

“Me too,” He said. We remembered it for a while, how the strings melodically bumped against each other. Something floating on the waves caught my eye. I looked forward and squinted.

“What is that?” I asked. He crawled up beside me.

“I cannot tell,” He admitted. “If it’s a ship, there will be news.” I nod. I felt his figure tense beside me as it came closer to us.

“It is a ship, for certain,” I agreed. On a closer sight, the colors of the ship were unique. None I had seen before. “Not a trader,” I said. Trading ships only had white sails, simple and effective. It was not Agamemnon’s ship either, his kingdom’s colors were crimson and purple, while this ship’s sails were yellow, whorled with patterns of black.

“Do you know the design?” He asked me. I shook my head. We followed the dark sails of the ship as it skirts the shore of Scyros. We were far too high to see any faces, they were all dark heads from up here.

We peeked over the edge for far too long. I quickly tucked my hair back behind its kerchief, while Patroclus’ hands ran over the folds of my dress, smoothening out the wrinkles over my shoulders. He fastened the belts and laces; it was not strange to either of us anymore.

When he was done, I turned and placed my lips on his. I savor the taste of his soft lips and open my eyes to see his startled impression. I smile. “Later,” I promise him. I had done what mother had told me I would do, stay in the women’s quarters and wait there, among the dresses and darkness until the messenger was gone.

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It had been far too long in the chambers. Why had the messenger not yet left? My own mind was my biggest enemy. Did someone perhaps find out? Figure out the mystery of Prince Achilles’ disappearance?