No sooner had I regained my wits and composure than I heard the door flap being moved aside and the voice of the blue eyed man telling Achilles that the men thought I would "amuse" him. If I could have stretched that far, I would have buried my face in my raised knees, but I could not. I fixed my gaze on a spot on the wall opposite me. With my peripheral vision, I could make out the form of the golden warrior from the temple. He took a long drink from a water pitcher then threw the rest down his back. He looked younger than the other man and had it been different circumstances, I would have been quite taken by his beauty. Even with a layer of blood and grime allover him one could easily see his chiseled jaw and muscular body, fashioned by the gods. But I was too frightened and angry to notice just then. I set my jaw and kept my eyes focused on that most enlightening dark spot on the wall.
The older man was given a grunt of dismissal. When he had gone, a weary sigh escaped the tall, golden warrior's lips. I cautiously glanced sideways at him but turned back quickly, my face hot with discomfort. He was meticulously removing his blood stained armor, stripping to nothing before me. I wondered if he had no sense of decency.
"What is your name?" I jumped when his voice broke the silence. It was not an unkind voice but my mind wasn't working. I was too angry. I turned my head, intending to fix him with one of my looks, the kind that made the palace slaves cower, but instead, I found myself caught in his intense, blue gaze. I finally managed to tear my eyes away and refocus them on that same spot on the wall. "Did you not hear me?" His tone said that he was not used to being disobeyed or ignored, yet betrayed a note of wonder at my daring.
"You killed Apollo's priests!" I blurted angrily, unsure at my own refusal to tell him my name.
"I've killed men in five countries; never a priest." Now his voice sounded tired or stretched, but anger still clouded my compassion.
"Then your men did! The sun god will have his vengeance."
"What is he waiting for?" he continued in that same, tired tone, seemingly unmoved or impressed by my wrath, or perhaps he was simply wishing for an end to my outbursts.
"The right time to strike."
He calmly continued to clean himself, washing the sand and blood from his hands and face in a basin. "His priests are dead." He began to rinse his torso as he continued. "And his acolyte's a captive. I think your god is afraid of me." As he finished, he leaned, completely naked, over the basin and fixed me with those eyes again, daring me to have an answer.
I started trembling in my rage. How dare he speak that way of the sun god! "Afraid?! Apollo is master of the sun! He fears nothing!"
"Then where is he?" He spread his arms as if inviting a bolt of lightning to strike, or the god to appear before him.
His mocking tone cut through whatever semblance of composure or wisdom I had left. "You're nothing but a killer!" I screamed and turned my face away from him again. "You wouldn't know anything about the gods." Because my face was turned away, I didn't see the hand full of water he flung in my direction until the large droplets landed on me. Startled, I flinched, which in turn pulled on my bound wrists. A hiss of pain escaped my lips.
"I know more about the gods than your priests." he said quietly - too quietly. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched him tie a sarong around his hips as he continued, speaking as if to an insolent child. "I've seen them." I caught my breath. So the rumors were true - he was an immortal and part god. I should have been more afraid than I allowed myself to be. "You're royalty, aren't you?" He sounded like he already knew so I said nothing. "You've spent years talking down to men."
I started silently praying for a miraculous rescue as he came nearer. He touched my hair like one would a pet dog before he lifted a long, curly lock to his face and sniffed the scented oils that my maidservants had poured over me after my bath the day before. He wasn't cruel or lewd in his manner and didn't pull my hair hard. He let it drop before he spoke again. "You must be royalty." He turned back away, seemingly disgusted. "What's your name?" His voice was more demanding this time as he watched my reaction over his shoulder.
I almost answered, but caught his look and stopped myself, setting my jaw. He walked over and crouched next to me. I was transfixed, unable to look away from those bright blue eyes. "Even the servants of Apollo have names." His voice was marked with mixture of kindness and impatience. As he spoke, he reached behind me.
I closed my eyes and tensed, ready for my inevitable death. The rope on my wrists loosened and my eyes flew open in surprise. I watched him toss the rope aside and I tentatively began to rub my wrists. "Briseis." I said in a sulky tone.
"Are you afraid, Briseis?"
"Should I be?" I asked.
The older warrior from earlier called from the doorway. Achilles looked annoyed at the interruption, but I was thankful for it. "Agamemnon 'requests' your presence, Sir." Thank the gods those hypnotic eyes turned from me! "The kings are gathering to celebrate the victory," he continued.
Achilles gave a derisive snort, then looked back at me as he spoke to the warrior. "You fought well today, Eudorus."
"My lord." There was a smile in the old warrior's voice as he inclined his head in thanks, then backed out of the hut.
When he was gone I looked back to my captor. "What do you want here in Troy? You didn't come for the Spartan queen."
He spoke as if it should've been obvious. "I want what all men want. I just want it more."
Glory. The unspoken word left a bitter taste in my mouth. Too many men have, and will die for those damned twin muses, Fortune and Glory.
He looked away and stood to his feet. "You don't need to fear me, girl." He was removing his sarong to get dressed and I felt myself blush. He looked over his shoulder after sliding a leather breastplate over his head. "You're the only Trojan who can say that."
