I had stayed sitting quietly on the furs but when he stepped through the doorway, I knew. I knew that my cousin was dead. The look on the golden warrior's face said it all. My heart leapt to my throat and I began to gasp. He looked at me and I thought that I would be next, but he turned away and began his ritual washing as I lost control and my gasps became sobs.
I covered my ears with my hands and curled up into a ball, waiting for him to leave again, or tell me that I could. But he never spoke. He turned and looked at me before sitting on the edge of his bed. Silence surrounded us for hours on end. My tears dried up. I had no more to cry and I felt empty.
Some time later, Achilles had moved to a sitting position on the floor of the hut, sharpening his sword. The sound of the whetting stone grated into my brain. My anger eventually overcame my fear and I broke the silence. "You lost your cousin. Now you've taken mine." His rhythm never faltered and he remained silent. "When does it end?" I asked.
"It never ends." His eyes never left his sword blade, though his arm stopped.
That was it then. That was the answer. This was what Fate had deemed for me; to love a man enough to abandon my service to the gods, only to find that he was a murderer-- only to find that I hated him. I stood to my feet as the ringing swoosh of the whetting stone returned. He said nothing. I walked out. He said nothing.
No one stopped me and no one seemed care where I went. I could have vanished into the countryside, but I walked instead to the water's edge. I hugged myself and considered throwing myself into Poseidon's kingdom. But what good would it do? Would it bring my cousin back? Would it put an end to my anguish? No. My grief in the underworld would remain, and because of Achilles' cruelty, my cousin would never reach it anyway. No matter how angry I was, how much I loathed the golden warrior, I knew that I would still love him; and that was the cruelest torture that Fate could have given me. My tears were all gone, but I wanted to cry. I stared out at the moon reflected on the restless waves, wanting to die; wanting to live; wishing I'd killed Achilles when I had the chance, before he took everything from me. I sank to the sand and just sat there. No one came for me. I was there for at least an hour and no one came looking.
A voice brought me back to the cruel, real world-- a voice I had never hoped to hear again. My uncle was on the beach. My uncle was near. I turned from my contemplation of suicide and ran to find him. Had Fate decided for me that I was to return to my place as a princess of Troy and live out my days alone? I ran to my uncle.
He was speaking to Achilles and saw me coming over the warrior's shoulder. "Briseis?" I sighed as my uncle embraced me. He had been crying, I could tell and seeing me opened the floodgates again. His voice cracked as he spoke of believing me to be dead.
"No, Uncle." I whispered. He saw the rope burns on my wrists, the bruises on my arms, and the scratches on my face. He knew. I was a slave now. He and I both turned to Achilles; he for permission to take me; I for an explanation of my uncle's presence.
"You are free." He said quietly, inclining his head to his waiting chariot.
I looked to my uncle, then back to the man I loved. I was torn again. His eyes were no longer hard and angry, but sad, and maybe even lonely. I walked up to him as my uncle went to the chariot. I wanted to say something, but no words would come. I wanted him to hold me like before and tell me that everything was going to be alright, but he too was struggling for words.
"If I hurt you," he was choking on the words, but trying to hide it. "It's not what I wanted."
I started to say something but he took my hand and dropped something hard and smooth into it. I looked down. It was a shell necklace. I realized then that it was the same one that Patroclus had worn. I looked up to question him, but again, no words would come. He put his other had over mine, gently closing my fingers over the necklace. Speechless, I could only place my other hand over his.
"Go," he whispered.
I saw tears glinting in his blue eyes as he turned to Uncle Priam. "No one will stop you. You have my word."
"Come, my girl." my uncle said when I continued to hesitate. I obeyed woodenly, looking back at Achilles.
"You are a far better king than the one leading this army," he called after us as my uncle helped me to step up into the chariot. Uncle Priam said nothing, but his look spoke volumes before he turned forward and picked up the reigns. I looked over my shoulder and stared, transfixed into my love's eyes until I couldn't see him any more.
While the men prepared Hector's body, Helen and Andromache helped me bathe and dressed me in the dark blue gown worn by royals in mourning. When they left for a moment, I put on Patroclus' necklace. I know they noticed, but nothing was said. I was wooden at the ceremony, and my eyes dry as I watched my cousin's funeral pyre. I had already cried my last tear. I was empty. For twelve days I felt nothing, ate little and slept little. For twelve days the city mourned their prince.
On the twelfth day a rider came to the gates. The Greeks were gone. Apollo had finally taken his vengeance by casting a plague upon them and they were fleeing home. They had left a large wooden horse on the beach to please Poseidon.
Paris told me the news himself before going to stand with Helen. He had wanted to burn it. He said that when he looked at it he had seen death. But Uncle Priam, as always, listened to the priests, and brought it into the city. When I saw it being dragged into the city and the Trojan people celebrating our victory with drinking and reveling, I too saw death written on that black wooden beast.
I didn't sleep that night. I sat and listened to the sounds of the night fall over my doomed city. For twelve days I was again a princess of Troy; but on the thirteenth, the city was no more.
