The Pearl of Troy

Chapter Seventeen

Achilles couldn't bring himself to attend Patroclus' funeral or visit his tomb. It was his fault Patroclus had died, and he didn't have the right. So, Achilles mourned out on the dunes with Thetis, who sang a lament with the waves and gulls accompanying her.
"Is that all, Lady Mother?" he said when she finished singing. Or did he have more to add to the dirge she was composing?
Oh no, not yet. The wind tousled Achilles' hair.
Achilles uncorked a flask filled with milk of the poppy dissolved in wine, the only thing that dulled the pain in his legs anymore. He only had one of his garters, and Patroclus was no longer there to make his poultices.
Patroclus... Whenever Achilles needed him to make poultices, cool his temper, or tell him off for being an ass, Patroclus had always been there. And how had Achilles repaid him? Patroclus died because of Achilles' selfishness.
You deserved better, old friend. Achilles raised the wine flask and chugged down its contents.
The bells of a nearby monastery rang for Compline. Agamemnon had paid a college of priests to remember Patroclus during their evening prayers. When Hector returned Patroclus' body, he also sent a purse of gold to use for a similar purpose.
"The pious hypocrite." Achilles spat. "He kills a man and thinks he can set things right by throwing money around."
Thetis stood over him. Her face was hidden by black tresses. They will be saying prayers for Hector's soul soon enough. She vanished into the night.
Achilles laid his weary head among the dune grass. The crashing waves rang in his ears. Had the Gods decreed that Hector would shortly keep Patroclus company? Would he, Achilles, be the one to send him there?
Judging from what Briseis had told Achilles about her cousin, Hector was a good man. And his recent conduct proved what Briseis said to be true. The rules of chivalry dictated that a fallen knight's body be returned for burial, but these niceties weren't always observed. Hector could have just left Patroclus' corpse out for the wild dogs and carrion birds.
A gull shrieked above Achilles. But Hector was the one who sent Patroclus' soul to the underworld in the first place.
Achilles rubbed his throbbing temples. He and Hector were kin by marriage. Generations to come would curse him for slaying Hector. But they would also curse him for letting Patroclus go unavenged.
It should have been you in Patroclus' stead. You owe him this, at least.
And Briseis? She was already mourning a friend; must she also grieve for a cousin?: a cousin killed in battle by her husband. Must someone so young and lovely go through so much heartbreak?
O Sweet Briseis. Achilles laughed at himself. Your beauty truly has made me womanish. No woman respected, let alone loved, a husband who stayed behind, cowering and letting others fight his battles.
Thinking all this over had been a waste of Achilles' time. He'd know from the beginning what he wanted to do. All he'd done was try to rationalize his choice. So, in the morning, Achilles put on borrowed armor and led the Myrmidons on an expedition to the walls of Troy.

The rains had swelled the Scamander beyond its banks. Though it had stopped raining many days ago, the water levels hadn't yet returned to normal. The bridges across the river had been demolished on Hector's orders, and there wasn't a single ferry boat that hadn't been burned to prevent the Greeks from stealing it.
Yet, all these precautions weren't enough.
Achilles rode Mouchet, his dappled gray war horse, into the river. The water reached Mouchet's knees, and riding across wouldn't be too difficult. Laughing, Achilles ordered his men forward. "Swim across, if need be," he said.
The Scamander grew deeper and more turbulent the further they went in. Achilles gripped his reins tighter and thanked Neptune, creator of horses, and Patroclus, who'd trained him, that Mouchet was a strong swimmer. Waves crashed over them, and Mouchet's ears twitched back. The animal tossed his head, and Achilles tried to calm him down. If it was his fate to die today, his end wasn't going to come by drowning.
"Easy...easy, my friend," he said. He stroked Mouchet's neck. "We're almost there."
The walls of Troy were visible on the horizon. They were only a few feet from the shore. Several breakers hit Achilles and knocked him out of the saddle. He held on tighter to the reins. If the Scamander swept him away, he would sink to the bottom in all his plate armor. Achilles tried to pull himself out of the water and remount Mouchet, but the damned beast wouldn't stay still. Mouchet reared and pulled the reins away with him. The foaming currents caught him and dragged him down the river. Achilles reached out to save Mouchet but quickly gave up as Mouchet drifted further away. If he tried to rescue the horse, they would both drown.
Left without a mount, Achilles now had to swim. He stripped off his armor and let it sink to the river bed. Free of its burden, his body floated to the surface.
Achilles coughed up water. "Onward," he called to his men, his voice coming out as a hoarse gasp.
The Scamander carried off both men and horses, decimating the Myrmidon ranks. Achilles battled against the river to reach the other side. When he set foot on land, he would dam its waters with Trojan bodies.
It was hard to tell if Achilles won his fight with the Scamander or if the river tired of him and spat him onto the shore. His ears rang. Perhaps he was light-headed after almost drowning? Gathering up all the strength he had left, he stood up. His legs wobbled like newborn colt's. But, several leagues before him was the Scaean Gate, Troy's southernmost entrance. This was the closest the Greeks had ever come to the city.
Achilles' jaw dropped. Do I dream?
The surviving Myrmidons came ashore, shaking the water off their backs like dogs. Achilles approached Phoenix, one of his captains, and clapped him on the back.
"Today could be the day," Phoenix said. "It's a shame Patroclus couldn't be here."
Not yet. Achilles' head and calves ached. It wasn't his fate to take Troy. Nor is it yours.

The Trojans were there to meet the bedraggled Myrmidons when they reached the Scaean Gate. Mounted knights, lances held in readiness, waited in formation. Archers poked out from behind the battlements. A bowman let loose an arrow, which grazed the heel of one of the surviving Myrmidon horses. The horse reared, and its rider fell from its back and landed ass-first in the mud.
Achilles looked up. The archer who'd fired the first volley wore a blue surcoat emblazoned with golden suns. Achilles gritted his teeth. Paris. Would the cowardly bastard now run off to the safety of Helen's ambrosial thighs? Gods, these Trojans were knights of Venus, not knights of Mars, and were more valiant in the bedchamber than on the battlefield. Hector was the only one of them worth a damn.
"Have at' em, boys." Achilles turned around to address his Myrmidons. "But remember, Hector is mine."
The Myrmidons marched forward. Some shouted, "Hector must die," or "Achilles wills it." The Trojan knights charged toward them, kicking up mud. Achilles scanned the ranks for Hector. Where are you, villain? Show your face.
The Trojan knights rallied to a white banner with a galloping horse in the back of their ranks. Achilles smiled. There he was.
Hector ordered his men to retreat. Achilles blinked. What? This had to be a trick. Sure enough, the advancing wave of Myrmidons crashed into a hidden pit. Men and horses were impaled on wooden stakes or sank into the shin-deep mud, making them easy prey for Trojan lances and arrows.
Achilles stumbled forward, and a sharp pain pierced his side. Fuck. He winced and writhed, and his hands traveled down to the wound. Shit. A wooden stake had lodged between two of his ribs. Achilles pulled himself out of the mud and ripped the stake from his body. He roared in agony. Venus' cunt. Blood soaked his doublet. Dizzy with pain, he dragged his bleeding carcass out of the pit.

The tip of a sword grazed Achilles' chin. Achilles looked up. The knight who challenged him had raised the visor of his helmet. He must have wanted Achilles to see his face. The sun was in Achilles' eyes, but he could make out the features of his brother-in-law, Aeneas. The large, slanted eyes, hooked nose, and full lips resembled Briseis'.
Aeneas' eyes fixed on something tied around Achilles' arm. Briseis' favor. Even after everything Achilles' went through, it stayed with him, though its purity had been defiled with blood and filth. "You bastard," Aeneas said.
Achilles grabbed his hilt. This insolent little shit had been a thorn in his side ever since the betrothal feast. Don't bother. It isn't his time. He let go.
"Get out of my way." Achilles pushed aside Aeneas' sword. He wouldn't waste his time with this boy. "You're not the one I want."
But the wet-eared nave kept swinging. Achilles drew his sword to block Aeneas' attacks, but the wound in his side had weakened his strength. Aeneas' blade came down across his shoulder, slicing it open. When Aeneas wound up to take another strike, Achilles kicked him in the back. Aeneas landed face-down in the mud. Another knight wearing the Trojan royal heraldry, presumably Aeneas' cousin Troilus, Hector, and Paris' younger brother, came to help him up.
Achilles' vision went blurry, and the din of the battle around him made his ears ring. He'd fought off the little dogs. Now, where was the big dog? "It's really me this time, Hector. Too scared to face me, are you?"
"I'm not a child," Hector said, walking toward Achilles. Everything around them stood still. "You can't frighten me with words." He held his sword in readiness. Achilles uttered a battle cry and advanced, but Hector's blade held him back. Steel scraped against steel. "Let's promise each other something..."
"Damn you!" Achilles spat on the ground. How dare he talk about promises.
"Whichever of us dies today will be allowed a proper burial. Remember, I showed Patroclus that courtesy."
Achilles shoved Hector. He had no right to speak the name of the man he killed. "There are no promises between lions and men." Hector's body would be left for the beasts of Mount Ida to devour.
With his sword raised, Hector came at Achilles. He struck at Achilles' knees to incapacitate him. Achilles yelped and staggered backward. The ringing in his ears grew sharper. He gritted his teeth and continued tussling with Hector, whose form became hazy and multiplied. Three Hectors ducked and dodged him.
Achilles closed his eyes. Without his vision to deceive him, he would strike true. He let out another war cry and thrust his sword forward. His eyes flickered open after the impact. Hector gagged, and his warm blood sprayed Achilles in the face. His sword had impaled Hector through the neck.
Hector reached out for Achilles. His fingers pulled at Briseis' favor, which came loose and fell to the ground. Achilles let go of his sword, and Hector collapsed. He smiled. Troy would crumble next.