I was dropped unceremoniously to the sand. I caught bits and pieces of the very short battle as I danced between consciousness and darkness. I tried to regain my feet, but had only managed to struggle to my knees when I felt the golden warrior's hands gently lifting me into his arms. He carried me like a child across the beach and into his hut. Once inside, I began to struggle weakly. "Put me down." I gasped in little more than a whisper. This didn't seem to affect him until he'd reached his destination and he set me down gently on a pile of furs. In fact, he even shushed at me like one would a child. I scrambled back from him, anger replacing the fear in my heart, though I couldn't have said why.
"Are you hurt?" he asked, as he picked up a basin of water and set it near me. He repositioned himself on his haunches before dropping a cloth into the water. I scooted farther back from him and hit the wall of the hut. "I watched you fight them," he said calmly, ignoring my look of indignation as he wrung out the cloth. "You have courage."
"To fight back when people attack me?" I asked, incredulously. "A dog has that kind of courage."
He made a face that I couldn't quite read before it was gone, then reached forward with the damp cloth to try to wipe away some of the blood and grime. I smacked his hand away. He grimaced and tried again. A second time I smacked his hand away from me. Frustrated, he tossed the cloth in my general direction. It hit my shoulder. I took all my pent up rage out on him then, throwing the cloth back at him with all my meager strength. With a resigned sigh, he dropped it back into the basin before turning halfway from me and looking down at a platter of fruit beside him. It was a long stretch for me to catch the edge of the cloth and wring it out, far less as well as Achilles had done it to begin with. I wondered why I was behaving so childishly toward the man who had just saved my life as I dabbed at the blood on my face.
"Eat," he said holding the platter out to me. I froze and stared at him. With another sigh, he set it down at my feet.
"I've known men like you my whole life." I said, more to convince myself, than him.
He looked at me with those eyes. Gods, why do they affect me so? There was a tiny hint of a smile on his face, making him look rather boyish. "No you haven't."
"You think you're so different from a thousand others? Soldiers understand nothing but war. Peace confuses them."
"You hate these soldiers," he stated, rolling a grape around in his fingers.
"I pity them."
He turned completely to face me. "Trojan soldiers died trying to protect you. Perhaps they deserve more than your pity."
His remarks stung. He was right, though I hated to admit it. I hesitated while I collected my thoughts. It was becoming increasingly hard to keep my indignant anger alive. I dabbed at my bruised lips before speaking again. "Why did you choose this life?"
"What life?"
"To be a great warrior." I said, with a grand air.
"I chose nothing. I was born; this is what I am. And you. Why did you choose to love a god? I think you'll find the romance... One sided."
Gods preserve! He had a look like Paris used to get when he was up to something. "Do you enjoy provoking me?" I asked.
"You've dedicated your life to the gods; Zeus, god of thunder; Athena, goddess of wisdom. You serve them."
"Yes, of course." I couldn't imagine where he was going with this.
"And Ares, god of war? Who blankets his bed with the skins of men he's killed?"
That's where. I struggled for an answer. When it finally came, it was weak, even to my ears. "All the gods are to be feared and respected." I finally replied, leaning forward to drop the cloth back into the basin. I turned my eyes away from his intense gaze and shyly tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.
He moved till he caught my eyes again then leaned forward. "I'll tell you a secret," he whispered. "Something they don't teach you in your temple." Whether I liked it or not, he had my full attention now. He scooted slightly closer to me and I wished that I could back up. "The gods envy us," he said quietly. I know my face must have been a mask of shock, for that tiny grin widened slightly as he continued. "They envy us because we're mortal; because any moment might be our last. Everything is more beautiful, because we're doomed. You'll never be lovelier than you are now; and we will never be here again."
I was shocked silent. I could come up with nothing witty to say. To cover my embarrassment, I reached for a grape on the platter. "I thought you were a dumb brute" I said at last, with a half chuckle. I bit into the grape and tucked the bite under my tongue. "I could have forgiven a dumb brute."
He gave an amused snort then left the hut for a while. I used the free time to bathe and nurse my injuries between bites of fruit. I grew bolder and moved about the space, examining things and admiring the craftsmanship. That's how I came across the knife. Tired though I was, my mind started to form a plan. I finished cleaning myself up, then lay down on the firs, hiding the knife among them. I would rest for now and wait for just the right moment...
When he returned he must have thought I was a sleep, for after glancing my way once, he said nothing and began to undress. I was watching him through my hair and half closed eyes. He lay down; completely nude on his own bed, atop his cover fur for the night was very warm.
I was increasingly grateful that he couldn't see my face, for my cheeks and insides felt hot and I was sure that I was blushing scarlet. He lay still for hours. When his breathing finally changed, I waited a few more minutes before creeping toward him, the knife clutched in my hand. He never stirred as I slunk toward him, nor as I stood over him. I put the blade at his throat, ready to slice his jugular open.
"Do it," he ordered quietly. I froze, shocked, as he opened his eyes and turned them on me. I couldn't do it, not when those hypnotic blue orbs were looking at me. "Nothing is easier," he continued in the same tone.
"Aren't you afraid?" I gasped.
"Everyone dies," he answered, his voice intense. "Today or fifty years from now, what does it matter?" He slowly reached up and grabbed my shoulders. "Do it!" He gave me a slight shake and it was a wonder he didn't get cut.
"You'll kill more men if I don't kill you." I was again trying to convince myself more than him.
"Many." He confirmed.
I hesitated too long and he flipped me over smoothly, the blade still at his throat. Ignoring it, he leaned in to kiss me, as I felt one of his hands draw my robes up to my thighs. The rest happened so fast. I'm not sure when I dropped the knife, all I remember is a jumble of feelings-- shock at myself for letting him do this to me; surprise that he was actually doing it; and crowding out all others, the desire for him to never stop.
