Warrior Rising (12 page)

“Ah, we see why you've been struck dumb. You're unused to escorting beautiful women. Imagine that the Trojans have been battling the mighty Achilles for nine years. Luckily for us they didn't know it only took the touch of a woman to slay him.” Agamemnon chuckled cruelly and reached a hand out to stroke the young girl who sat in a scantily clad pool of gold silk on the floor beside his throne. The girl, who Kat assumed must be Briseis, was glaring at her hostilely, but she didn't so much as glance at Achilles.

Kat could not believe what an asshole this guy was. And he was their king? Jerk. Bully. She seriously hated bullies. Well, as she knew from years of experience, when one was dealing with a bully it was best for one to show no weakness and to confront the asshole directly. Kat glanced around the room until she found the face she was looking for, and was relieved that he was one of the few men present who wasn't laughing like a good little sycophant along with Agamemnon.

“Odysseus,” Kat said, raising her voice so that it carried over the laughter. “I was confused earlier today when you remarked on my father's reputation for being wise and honorable and beloved by his people, as if that was unusual. Now I understand. They are traits that appear to be in short supply in your Greek rulers.”

“Impudent harlot!” Old Kalchas screeched as he popped out from behind the king's throne. “She should be beaten for her disrespect!”

Several of the other men started shouting for her blood, too, but Odysseus's raised hand stilled them.

“Have a care, Kalchas. Athena has proclaimed Polyxena not just under her protection, but her oracle,” he said. “Remember, I witnessed Athena gifting her to Achilles, and there was no mistaking the Goddess's will.”

“The princess is also under my protection.” Achilles' voice cut through the angry muttering that had begun in response to Odysseus's proclamation. “I have no wish to quarrel with any of you,” he continued, but Kat saw that it was obvious that he didn't look at the king, purposefully excluding him in the “no wish to quarrel statement,” “but if you so much as touch her, I will kill you.”

Kat's eyes went to Achilles' face. He said it so calmly, so matter-of-factly, but his expression was implacable, and Kat had no doubt that he meant exactly what he said.

Agamemnon's patronizing laughter cut through the silence Achilles' words had caused.

“Oh, come now, Achilles. Save your death threats for the Trojans. Well, all the Trojans except this small, soft-looking one. After all, we're not threatening your new war prize. It is good that you found a replacement so quickly, and such a lovely one at that.” Agamemnon smiled at her and Kat's smarm meter went to high. “You'll need your strength on the morrow. I was visited by Hera today, and I believe that was a sign that our victory is close at hand. Tomorrow will be a great day for Greece!”

Kat had to work not to have her mouth flop open in surprise. Hera's visit was a sign that the Greeks were going to win the war? She could only imagine the goddess's reaction to that news. Kat had never heard such utter bullshit. No wonder this place had given birth to the mother of all rumors.

But the men bought every word of it and shouted in testosterone-filled response. Achilles waited until the tumult had died down and then he said a single word that appeared to shock the gold-loving king to his marrow.

“No.”

Agamemnon recovered his façade of patronizing indifference quickly. “No?” He said with a sarcastic smile. “Is there a problem with the Myrmidons, Achilles? Some new sickness? I returned Khryseis, as you insisted. That stopped the darkness that had settled over our camp. Now what sacrifice do you ask of me?”

“I ask no sacrifice of you, Agamemnon. I simply ask you to fight your own battles.” Achilles pulled his arm gently from her hand and walked forward, addressing not the richly dressed old men in gilded chairs, but the young warriors who stood behind them. “Why is it that wars are talked about by old men, but fought only by young men? If I want a woman, I fight for her. If I want riches, I fight for them. If I want glory, I fight for it. I have never taken something for which others have fought and died.”

Along with everyone else in the room, Kat was mesmerized by Achilles. He wasn't just a mindless killing machine bent on glory and fortune. Achilles was a leader of men, a king in his own right. He moved through the room until finally he was standing before Agamemnon's dais.

“Perhaps it is time you fought for that which you would claim as yours, great king.” Unlike Agamemnon, Achilles' voice wasn't thick with sarcasm. It was firm and deep and honest. He held the king's gaze easily using the truth, not demeaning tricks. “And perhaps it is time I rested. There is more to life than war.” He turned and looked back at Kat. “Today I have been reminded that Athena is Goddess of Wisdom as well as Goddess of War.”

“You cannot withdraw from battle!” Agamemnon exploded to his feet, all pretense of control gone. “I am your king and I command you to fight!”

Achilles turned slowly so that he was, once more, facing Agamemnon. “You are not my king. I have never sworn loyalty to you. I am the son of a king and I lead my own men. I am only here because of a youthful mistake.”

“Do you really believe you can run from your fate?” Agamemnon sneered.

“I have no intention of running, but I can tell you that I will fight again only when there is something worth dying for,” Achilles answered and then strode back to Kat.

“Stop him!” Agamemnon shrieked.

Achilles reacted instantly. He pushed Kat toward the tent flap, backing protectively in front of her while he unsheathed his sword and held it ready before him. Kat saw the warriors hesitate. That they didn't want to fight Achilles was abundantly clear.

Suddenly there was a wild flapping of wings and a huge owl, white as untouched snow, burst into the tent. The men gasped as it landed in front of Achilles and stared at them, as if daring anyone to move.

Odysseus was the first person to break the silence. He took two strides forward and kneeled before the owl. “As you wish, my Goddess,” he said. Then he stood and confronted the room. “Athena's will is clear. Achilles and the princess are not to be harmed. Should any of you wish to go against the will of my Goddess, you shall also have to go against me.”

That was the last Kat heard, because Achilles had backed their way out of the tent. Grasping her arm firmly, he steered her through the Greek camp, heading across the beach to Myrmidon territory.

She didn't see the warrior, Talthybios, whisper into Agamemnon's ear a story about a temple he had sacked earlier that day, and a princess who should have been very, very dead.

CHAPTER NINE

Kat didn't take Achilles' arm on the return trip—he took hers, practically keeping her feet from touching the sand as he propelled her through the Greek camp and then across the stretch of beach and dunes that separated them from his Myrmidons. Even had she not needed all of her breath to stay upright, Kat wouldn't have bar-raged him with the zillions of questions she had. In just a few minutes, Achilles had turned from a scarred, almost shy man to an imposing warrior king, and Kat needed a little time to process the change in him.

For the first time she began to wonder about this berserker rage that overtook him. Kat thought he was still himself. He wasn't foaming at the mouth or violently out of control as he would be with what the historians called a berserker rage. She glanced sideways at his stony face. His entire body seemed to be alert. No damn way could anything or anyone sneak up on him. His sword was unsheathed and it glittered dangerously in the moonlight reflected off the sea. But Achilles' sword wasn't the most deadly thing about him. It was Achilles himself that was a weapon—and the scars on his body now truly made sense. He'd used himself as a tool—as a machine. A killing machine.

Finally they reached the Myrmidon camp and Achilles slowed, and then released her arm.

“Automedon!” he shouted. “To me!”

A short, muscular man whose leather chest plate had the image of a chariot carved into it ran up to Achilles.

“Agamemnon has deluded himself into believing he can command me. He may try to press the point. Double the watch.”

“Yes, my lord!” Automedon saluted and jogged off.

Achilles continued walking through his camp and with each step he took Kat could see the tension release from him. By the time they reached his tent, the stony look that had overtaken his face had relaxed and he had sheathed his sword.

“Are you still hungry?” he asked, speaking to her for the first time since they'd left Agamemnon's tent.

"I am.”

“The dinner meal is served there.” Achilles pointed to a campfire situated between his tent and the rest of the camp. “Come, the food is simpler here than in Agamemnon's tent, but much less bitter.”

They walked over to the campfire where delicious scents wafted from a huge iron caldron that was simmering over it. About a dozen men were seated on large rocks and driftwood that had been pulled in a circle around the fire. They were being served by a couple women who were pretty enough, but wearing plain linen robes. Jacky was, unfortunately, nowhere to be seen.

The men greeted Achilles familiarly, speaking to him with obvious respect, though there was no bowing or scraping. Immediately a woman handed him a bowl filled with aromatic stew and a hunk of fresh bread. Kat noticed she avoided looking directly at Achilles. He motioned to Kat, and the same woman hurriedly filled another bowl and brought it and bread to her. As her eyes met Kat's there was an obvious shock of recognition. Almost imperceptibly she bowed her head and murmured, “Princess.”

Kat was eating the excellent fish stew and thinking that it would probably be best if she avoided the other women as much as possible for the short while she'd be here. It only made sense that many of the war prizes were Trojan and they would know her, or at the very least recognize her as their princess. Or, more accurately, recognize the young body she now temporarily inhabited as their princess.

“How goes it with Agamemnon?” an older warrior asked Achilles.

“He's much the same—arrogant and rude and under the mistaken impression that he can rule me.”

“You set him aright, didn't you my lord?”

Achilles' lip twitched in what Kat was beginning to recognize as his version of a smile. “I did, which is why the guard will be doubled tonight, and every night hereafter.”

The men grunted wordless agreement.

“I have formally withdrawn from the battle against the Trojans.” Achilles dropped that bomb nonchalantly between bites of his stew. Kat watched the men's faces carefully, and saw expressions that ranged from shock to disbelief and even to anger, though it was only the older warrior who spoke.

“For how long, my lord?”

Achilles shrugged. “Until I feel the need to fight for another man's glory.”

“But, my lord, we have been fighting for the glory of Achilles,” blurted one of the younger men. “So that your name will be sung for centuries.”

Achilles nodded and looked from man to man. “And you have all fought bravely in this war for almost ten years because of a fate not of your own choosing. It may be time for each of us to reevaluate our fates.”

“Do you ask that we fight on without you, my lord?” the younger man said.

“I ask only that each of you follow his own conscience, as I will follow mine.”

No one spoke for several minutes, and then the old warrior yawned and stretched and said, “I believe these old bones deserve a rest from battle. I will stand down with Achilles.”

“And I,” said the younger man.

“I as well.”

"I.”

All of the Myrmidons present chimed in, siding with their leader. Kat studied Achilles as his men chose him over battle and glory. He stared sightlessly into his bowl of unfinished stew and made little response to any of them.

When he finally spoke again, it was to her and not to the men who had resumed their casual conversation around him.

“My tent is now your home. Anything Briseis left within is yours. If you lack anything, these women will bring you whatever you need.” Then he tossed his bowl down by the fire, grabbed a wineskin that lay nearby, and without another word strode off toward the shore.

Kat didn't have a clue what she should do. The men ignored her. The women, who were sitting a little way off from the men, kept shooting her furtive, yet curious looks. The only thing she knew for certain was that Achilles had just annoyed the crap out of her. Hadn't they been getting along okay? It had seemed like it. Then that business with Agamemnon had screwed up everything. With a sigh she got up and approached the woman who had given her the stew.

“Hi. Uh, I was wondering if you knew where my, um, servant, Melia, is,” Kat said.

“No, Princess. We have not seen your maidservant.” The woman fidgeted nervously. “How may I serve you? Are you well, Princess? You have not been harmed, have you?”

“No, I'm fine. Perfectly fine,” Kat assured her.

The woman stepped closer to Kat and whispered, “Princess, I am Aetnia, a kitchen maid from your father's palace. I was captured with a group of servants who were buying fish outside the city more than two years ago. It will be difficult, but we can help you escape. Once you are within sight of the walls, Hector will surely come to rescue you.”

Kat blinked in surprise, taken aback by the earnestness of this woman who wanted to help her. “Oh, no, I don't need anything else tonight,” she answered loudly enough for the men to hear. Then she lowered her voice and whispered, “Thank you, but I don't want to escape. At least not right now.” Raising her voice again, she continued, “I think I'll turn in. It's been an exhausting day.” And she retreated quickly to Achilles' empty tent.