The Pearl of Troy

Chapter Fourteen

The small ferry boat Patroclus had hired slipped through the Scaean Gate during the wee hours. Briseis looked up. Troy's white marble walls gleamed in the rising sun. Above them loomed the azure domes and dazzling golden spires of the royal palace. Behind those graceful parapets was the terrace garden where Briseis used to observe the Plains of Illium below and dream of adventure.

Briseis smiled. After what seemed like a lifetime, she was returning home from a journey her old self couldn't have imagined. 
The sentries on duty ordered the ferry boat to stop and made a half-hearted search before letting Briseis and Patroclus go free without so much asking them to remove their hoods. It was too early in the morning to care who they were. As long as they paid the toll, it didn't matter. So, the portcullis rose and let them into the city.
The boat hit the dock with a bump. "Here we are," Patroclus said. He helped Briseis onto the quayside, then handed the ferryman a small pouch of coins.
Briseis pinched her nose. It was low tide, and the river stank like a privy. Patroclus grabbed her free hand and led her up the quayside steps, then through a stone passageway.
He brought her into a courtyard in the center of the palace kitchens. Wispy plumes of smoke wafted out from the chimneys. The smells of bread baking and meat roasting tickled Briseis' nose and made her stomach growl. She'd been in too much of a hurry to leave the camp to have time to break her fast.
Patroclus let go of Briseis' hand and pulled away. "Now go," he said.
Briseis let her eyes linger on him before turning to leave. Any longer, and her strength might falter. She lifted the left sleeve of her tunic. Her fingers traced the strange letters woven into the band tied around her wrist: either with the shield or on the shield.
This goodbye wouldn't be permanent, she told herself.
Two spit boys carrying logs for a roasting fire approached Briseis. One blinked at her, and the other furrowed his brow. Briseis smiled and lowered her hood. She produced the gold and enamel icon of Apollo she wore around her neck, which would prove her identity. On the backside was an impression of her father's seal.
"Tell them Princess Briseis has returned," she said.

The kitchens were a part of the palace that Briseis wasn't familiar with. So, she followed two maidservants bringing breakfast trays to the harem. Her eyes had to readjust to the colorful riot of tiles, mosaics, and glass panes that made up the apartments where she'd spent seven years of her life.