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Wrath

His hands brush away the stray hairs on my forehead, gently, like they have already forgotten the rage that made them squeeze my arms just now. I am reminded again of when we were just kids, when he had made it a game to mess up my hair when I was not paying attention and laugh at how ridiculous I looked. Then he would fix it again, carefully detangling the strands by hands, because he knew I did not like to look bad when he always looked perfect. I never managed to get him back. He always caught me before I could get close.

He fits the helmet over my head, pulling me out of my memory. "Do not take this off", he says, the first words he has said since giving me his permission. I nod and the helmet slides forward a bit, slightly too big for my head. He sighs, annoyed, and puts it right again, together with the few hairs that had fallen out. I try to catch his eyes, but he purposefully looks away. He checks the rest of the armour one more time, retying something that has gotten loose, less tightly this time, before he turns away from me again. I take this as permission to leave, so I start to walk away to join our men outside the tent.

"Patroklos." He pulls me back, his fingers curled tightly around my arm. I can feel them trembling against my skin. He finally meets my eyes and I can see my own reflection in his dark eyes. I do really look like him. "Do not dishonour me", he says.

It feels like such a ridiculous thing to say in this situation that I almost laugh. Instead I just smile, in the same way he always would. "You do not need me to do that for you." I pull my arm away and he lets me go.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The battlefield is louder than usual. The sounds of battle are now mixed with the sounds of the camp, the cries of livestock mingling with the screams of men. I can see fire in the distance, our only way out of Troy burning up. Our men are trying to save as much of the ships as they can, but when they also have to battle Trojans at the same time, it is harder to focus on the burning wood.

Automedon urges the horses to go as fast as they can, making the wheels of the chariot carve deep tracks into the sand of the beach. The men follow behind us, eager for battle. It takes me a while to hear what they are chanting, when I realise it is his name. Achilles, Achilles, the steady beat that guides us forward. We did not tell them of our plan, they have to believe I am him for it to work. They will fight twice as hard if they believe it is their godly general leading them in battle.

We pass empty tents and abandoned meals, with bodies laying motionless between them. The Greeks who were stationed here must have been able to push the Trojans back far enough, to the heart of the camp, where reinforcements were waiting for them. Or maybe they are all dead. The number of bodies does indicate that.

"Almost there", Automedon says, skilfully dodging the corpses, even at this speed. He does know of my true identity, because he would see the difference between Achilles and me, even with the helmet. He sees Achilles up close every day, standing next to him on the chariot, and I would not be able to fool him with my face and my voice, but he is trustworthy, he would not betray me, not even on accident.

We are getting close to the battle, where the Trojans are pushing the Greeks far back into the sea. There are not that many of them, and we have fought far greater troops of the Trojan army, but the element of surprise was their strongest ally. They caught us off guard, unarmed and unprepared, and now that the battle has been going on long enough for the Greeks to catch up, the added chaos of the burning ships feeds the Trojan victory. The first soldiers spot us – I can not see whether they are Greek or Trojan – and they start to run. Now that I know for certain they are enemies, I take up a spear and hurl it in their direction. I am not used to fighting from a chariot, since that honour only comes to generals, like Achilles, but the spear hits its target perfectly. The Trojan soldier falls dead in the sand.