The Story of Briseis

Chapter Two

I followed Achilles and his second to what had to have been their part of the war camp. I later learned that Achilles was but one of a tribe of kings who came together in an attempt to siege Troy and recover Helen. As we walked, I took note of Achilles' armor, and the blood that covered it. My people's blood. The blood splatter I saw on his arms very well could have come from my father. The dried maroon spray on the helmet he carried could've been my sweet little sister's. Or my brother's. Or my neighbors. I tried to shake the images out of my head, but while I was following this murderous demigod, I found that I could not. It was not until we stopped walking, and he turned around with a knife in his hand that I regained consciousness of the predicament I was in. There was no one left from my village to terrorize, and so it was my turn at last to die at the hands of a Greek warrior. I just hoped that whatever he wanted of me would be quick.

I heard it before I saw it. The sound of a weapon being unsheathed made my head jerk up. I looked Achilles in the eyes, taking in his blood stained armor from the day's raid. Although I was scared, I thought that I had at least done a decent job at hiding it, but as Achilles's second gently took the knife from Achilles's hands, I realized that they knew I was frightened. The second said something to me, but what I could not say. I looked at him. There was no blood on him. He did not look like a warrior. He was speaking softly to me, but I could not understand Greek back then. He put a hand on my arm, and the fear on my face must have been plain as day, because his eyes softened and he quickly took his hand off of me. He turned to Achilles then. He grabbed Achilles's tunic and pulled him in, forcing their faces together into a kiss. As I watched them kiss, I felt the acute panic that was vibrating through my body shift to confusion, and then to a realization. They were lovers. Then confusion again. If they are lovers, why did Achilles claim me? I later learned that Achilles did not choose me. His Patroclus did.

As their lips parted, I could not stop from staring at them. We could not communicate, so what else was I to do? I still did not know if they wished me harm, or what exactly the message they were trying to send me was. My main concern at that moment was my safety. If they did not require me for sexual purposes, then what did they require me for?

Achilles's second pointed at my bound hands, and stated something I could not understand. I lifted my hands, still confused, and he used Achilles's knife to cut the rope that bound me. Achilles left us, so this man took me to a grass covered hill. I waited while he made a compress for my face. He handed it to me and I pressed it to the bruise I knew was blossoming across my face. He pointed to my leg where the tear in my dress revealed a pretty decent cut. I reluctantly let him take a look at my leg. He cleaned and dressed the wound. I watched as his hands worked, silently cursing the man who threw me from the horse and caused the throbbing in my face.

When he was done, he led me to a tent that would become my home for nearly a decade. I didn't know it then, of course. But the tent itself scared me. It marked a private place where a thousand bad things could be done to me. I remember thinking that the time has finally come. I will be this man's, not Achilles's. I tried not to picture the horrors that might happen to me in this tent, but I couldn't stop my mind from racing. My vision blurred and my stomach turned. My legs felt weak. It was then that I realized just how exhausted I was; I was exhausted in every way a person could be. I didn't think I had much more to give this life. I didn't want to enter the tent, but Achilles's second had just opened the flap. He pointed at the food, water, blankets, and clean clothing that was inside. I was surprised; why were they providing me with such things? I stepped inside the tent, and turned to face him. I was trying to prepare myself for what was to come, but he did not enter. Instead, he dropped the flap of the tent. At first I thought it was a trick, but when I heard his footsteps retreating, and I knew he was gone.

I thought that surely there must be something else to come. Someone else would enter the tent, and life as I knew it would change. My body would no longer be mine, and all I could do was pray to the gods that a child would not come from whatever I experienced at that camp. I tied the flap of the tent shut in the hopes that it would bide me time if someone came for me. But no one came. I listened all through the night for footsteps and voices nearing my tent, but I never heard anyone come near me. I stayed awake until the light of dawn began to seep through the walls of my tent. At some point after dawn I drifted into a restless sleep. My sleep was filled with what most would call night terrors, but I was able to claim them as memories. Memories of the last moments of the lives of my family members. Memories of the last time I spoke to each of them. Memories of them begging for their lives, and trying to protect their children. Maybe under different circumstances, I would have awoken from these dreams screaming and sweating, but ultimately cutting the tale short. But the exhaustion I had experienced kept me in a realm of unconsciousness, where I experienced dreadful dream after dreadful dream, with no relief of interruption.

When I finally awoke from sleep, I was initially confused. I looked around the tent, wondering where I was. Then every memory of the day prior played before my eyes, and my confusion ceased. I stood up and paced the tent, trying to make sense of it all. No one came to get me during the night, and no one forced their way in while I slept. Maybe they did not wish me harm. Or maybe they had just forgotten about me?

I ate the food and changed into the clothes that had been left for me. The clothing was certainly meant for a man, but the dress I had on was ripped and stained with blood and grass and dirt, so I made due with the oversized tunic. Although I made every movement as slowly as I could, I eventually finished all the food and was dressed with nothing more to do inside the tent. By then I guessed it was around midday, and I was desperately curious of what was happening outside my 4 little walls. I untied the tent flap and peered outside. I made sure to stay in the safety of the shadows as I peered out into the world. I looked around at the men that were walking through the camp, and took notice of where the other tents were in relation to mine.

As my eyes were scanning the scenery in front of me, I felt a pair of eyes looking back. It was the man from the night before. The one that had kissed Achilles, and the one that had tried to heal my wounds. I started to sink back into my tent, to reconstitute my solitude and safety, but it was too late. He had seen me, and shouted something before walking toward me. He said something else when he got closer. Did he think that I understood him? He kept talking to me as if I was somehow going to magically respond in Greek. The exhaustion and confusion began to swirl together into anger. Then he did something I finally understood. He pointed at himself and said, "Patroclus." I was weary of this introduction, and desperately wanted to become invisible once more. But he persisted. "Pa-tro-clus" he repeated, slower this time. He said something else in Greek, yet another thing I was unable to understand.

He started to leave, and something in me decided that he was worth making a friend in. Maybe it was the force of a god, or maybe it was my survival instincts finally kicking in, but before I had consciously decided, I was pointing to myself and saying my name. The first time I uttered it I knew it was too quiet. He turned to look at me, and with slightly more conviction I repeated myself.

"Briseis," I said.

He repeated my name back to me.

I nodded, and felt the slightest smile play out on my face. Maybe I will make an ally in this man.

With the gift of time, the gods allowed me to make much more than an ally in my sweet Patroclus. They allowed me to make a friend. My dearest friend.