Firstly, thank you, Riverslegacy, for the continued support that has been meaning the world to me.

Thank you also to the guest who was kind enough to review, and to the reader who favorited this story and added it to a community.

As ever, thank you to everyone reading, faving and following this story.

This is the hardest chapter I've written. I'd be really grateful for your feedback on it.

CHAPTER THIRTY NINE

Silence. A strange, eerie silence seemed to be spreading through the camp.

I tensed for a moment, then shook myself out of it. Of course it was quiet. The whole army had marched in your wake, for what was meant to be an all-out attack on Troy. I was just too jittery, no doubt because of the endless night of anguish, crying and praying, followed by this equally endless day filled with more anguish, tears and prayers.

You had arrived shortly after day break. You had bathed, as part of the purification rite, so you were completely clean of blood and dirt, and your hair was no longer matted, but shining in its fiery shade of gold. Somewhere in the back of my mind I was struck by a sense of wonder at how handsome you still managed to look, even with your face ravaged by the exhaustion of the terrible events of the eve and the blank night you had just spent.

I rushed over to you, but before I could get one single word out, you had cupped my face in your hands, taking in the streaks of tears on my cheeks.

"I thought I had told you not to cry for me while I'm alive", you said. Your voice was gentle and there was a hint of a smile on your lips. Actually, aside from an almost imperceptible veil of sadness in your eyes, your expression was calm, even serene.

This time, however, I was totally unable to cover up my heartache. I didn't even try. "I'd rather cry out of fear for your life than because I'm mourning your death", I said, pressing on before you had a chance to reply: "Achilles, please, even Odysseus agrees. You can't go on fighting this way. Let the others handle it. If you get killed, or lose your mind irreversibly, they will be forced to go on without you anyway, right? So why can't they just do it now, before you're completely destroyed? Haven't you given enough to this war already?"

The silence really was disturbing. It wasn't normal. Even with the army out, there were always people in the camp: soldiers recovering from wounds, watchmen, priests, slaves. It was always noisy. But then again, whenever something bad had happened there had been even more noise, I reasoned to myself. Not to mention that you were out with the army, so any potential bad news about you would be brought back with the return of the men – and there was never anything silent about a returning army.

You were gazing deeply into my eyes, your hands warm and firm on my cheeks.

"Briseis, listen to me. When I withdrew from battle before, the Achaeans suffered their heaviest defeats since the beginning of the war and, in fact, nearly got massacred. Mind you, we both know that them realizing they wouldn't make it without me was exactly what I was gambling on, but not even I expected things to get so out of hand." You took a deep breath. "Now, some may say, or, indeed, many do say that my withdrawal was selfish and heartless, and maybe they're right. But, selfish or not, I had legitimate reasons to do it. Firstly, it was undeniable that I had suffered a vicious and deliberate attack on my honor. Secondly, it was my responsibility to free you from Agamemnon's clutches." You squeezed me against your chest for a moment, then pulled back to face me again. "So there were justifiable, legitimate reasons and I had both the right and, in a sense, even the obligation to fight back by whatever means at my disposal. Even those who accuse me of selfishness agree that my withdrawal had nothing to do with cowardice."

You paused, gathering your thoughts, then finished in a tone that bore no reply:

"However, if I withdrew now to save myself, knowing full well the consequences my withdrawal would entail for the army as a whole, that would indeed be an act of cowardice. And whatever else I may be, I am not a coward."

The resolve on your face was unmistakable. It was a matter of principle to you, that warrior honor you'd never give up on.

"No, you're not", I whispered brokenly, my voice thick with defeat.

Aching and damaged and refusing to stand down. You're a freaking hero, I added mentally with immense bitterness. And that is already being the end of you.

Maybe that's what the soothsayer had seen all those years ago. Not your future, but your nature. The combination of bravery, passion and uncompromising sense of honor that, should you ever get caught up in a war, would ensure you'd achieve greatness, but would never be able to walk out of it.

The silence was becoming unbearable. Pervasive, insidious, spreading like the ominous, ill-meaning presence of an invisible foe.

I stood up gingerly and walked to the door, then hesitated with my hand on the latch. I wasn't sure I wanted to know what was happening outside.

I could still see you the way you looked when you had left that morning. Standing proud on your chariot, your armor clean and shining brightly in the sun. The perfect image of the perfect warrior, towering and golden, strong and fearless, followed by an entire army of men who trusted you with their lives and who'd be hard pressed to believe you might be as vulnerable and mortal as every last one of them.

I pushed the door and stepped out of the protection of your hut. And reality hit me like a slap in the face.

The army was back. They were the ones bringing the silence.

That's why it was so ominous. Because it wasn't made of quiet, but of the subdued muffled steps of a full host of men stunned into utter soundlessness.

Ajax and Odysseus were walking stiffly ahead of the men. Odysseus was limping badly, Ajax seemed to be bent under the weight of something he was carrying on his shoulders.

I could feel a scream begin to form somewhere deep in my guts. You were nowhere to be seen.

As they came closer, I noticed there were stains of blood dotting Odysseus' right side up and down.

The scream kept growing inside me, but not a sound came out. A mane of golden hair was hanging over Ajax's breastplate.

No.

Suddenly, a voice cut through the silence. An old man's cry of agony. "My boy! Oh, my dear boy!"

Phoenix ran past me, looking suddenly twice as old as he already was, and threw himself at the burden Ajax was carrying.

It wasn't something. It was someone. It was…

No!

Then people started rushing over. The women servants poured out of their quarters. Gasps of shock sounded in the thick stillness.

How could they all be so ready to believe you dead? You might just be wounded. It was perfectly possible, wasn't it? I needed to walk over and see for myself.

But my feet refused to move, just as my throat refused to let go of the scream that would surely tear my insides out the moment it was finally released, leaving me empty me of everything I had ever been.

I knew it was no wound.

A sympathetic hand landed comfortingly on my shoulder. Sophronia was taking over. "Bring a bier. Right now. Water, cloths and perfumed oils. Hurry!", she ordered the servants, who scrambled to do as she said.

They had just finished putting up the bier when Ajax drew near and bent lower to lay down his burden. There were tears streaming down the big man's face.

But my eyes were as dry as a scorched desert. Pain was burning me alive.

Your cuirass seemed to have been dyed red. But the blood had already ceased to seep through the myriad of holes that punctured it. Arrows, some broken, some still complete with shafts, I realized absently.

Terrible wails of pain and loss, you had said to describe the screams of women you'd heard during the war. And, somewhere deep inside me, my soul was wailing, trapping my mind in a deafening whirlwind of pain, but still my throat remained shut. Maybe it was for the best– if grief choked me to death, it would be more merciful than having to live through this.

This was the loss I couldn't deal with.

A couple of pairs of hands reached out to your body, to unbuckle the destroyed cuirass. And it suddenly struck me that there was one sacred task left for me to do. You deserved to be tended by gentle, loving hands, not indifferent ones. My hands.

I rushed over and swatted the other women off.

"I'll do it myself." My voice was no more than a croak, but it carried through the silence.

"You can't move him without help, darling", Sophronia objected gently. "He's too heavy."

"I'll do it!", I repeated forcefully, my voice rising abruptly to an angry, rasping roar.

"I can move him for you, if you want", Ajax offered.

I nodded in acceptance. He was your kin and clearly mourning for you. His strength would be useful and his hands would be kind on your body.

I touched your face gingerly. The gods be praised for small mercies, your skin was still warm.

A small sound escaped my lips. A broken mix between a sob and a moan, too pitiful to relieve any of the unbearable pain that was wracking me inside. But now I had a purpose, this one last thing I could do for you, so I held it in. I couldn't allow myself to break down just yet.

I pushed the hair back from your face and leaned in to whisper a word against your unmoving lips. The word I had heard so many times from you, the first word in your dialect I had learned. "My love."

Another sob tore through me. Not yet, not yet.

I took off your cuirass carefully, dipped a cloth in the bowl of lukewarm water Sophronia was holding out for me and started to wash the dust from your face and neck. Then Odysseus began to speak:

"He managed to breach the gates. He's actually been inside Troy. Ajax and I had decided to stay close to him, to fight at his side the way Patroclus used to do. To share the danger and the pressure, take part of the load off his shoulders, anchor him if he needed. But it was almost impossible to keep up. He was too swift, too insanely fearless. In spite of our best efforts, he still became isolated in front of the army a couple of times. But he'd always been skilled enough to hold his ground until the rest of us reached him and today was no exception." Odysseus paused for breath. I dipped the cloth in water again and began working on your bloodied torso.

"So he breached the gates and we followed", Odysseus went on, "but then the Trojans managed to push us back. We all fought like madmen for a while, then decided to pull back a little and regroup. Achilles was railing the men for a second rush at the gates, when Nestor raced up to him in tears." The Ithacan king paused again, apparently choking, but I remained focused on my task.

"Antilochus had been killed. Nestor wanted to avenge him, but his old age was betraying him and he didn't have the strength. So he asked Achilles to avenge Antilochus for him."

I looked up sharply, white hot fury flaring in me. How could Nestor have asked such a thing from you? Didn't he realize the impact that having to avenge another slain friend would have on you?

Odysseus' eyes were brimming with understanding: "He's an old man who'd just lost his son, Briseis. It was only natural that he'd turn to the best fighter he knew and who also happened to be a friend of his fallen boy."

I pressed my lips together hard. Maybe so, but still it would take me a very long time to forgive Nestor, and that's if I ever truly did. There was no doubt in my mind that the old man's grief had been the source of my own.

I picked up a fresh cloth and began to clean your legs. There was a lone arrow embedded in your heel.

"We were all still reeling from the news", Odysseus carried on, "and Achilles had already taken off. He looked like a man possessed, as if there was nothing in the world but the target he was chasing. He didn't even take the chariot, just ran over full speed." There was a short pause. Your words the day before, about feeling as if you were in a tunnel and seeing only the object of your wrath in front of you, came unbidden to my mind. Odysseus resumed his tale: "Antilochus' slayer was the king of Troy's Ethiopian allies. A really big man and a formidable warrior, probably the best fighter on the Trojan side since Hector's death. For a moment, some of us actually feared he might turn out to be Achilles' match. The duel between them was one of the longest I've ever seen, and unquestionably one of the most terrifying. But eventually Achilles succeeded in coming out victorious."

I finished cleaning your legs and looked up at Ajax. He rolled you over carefully with surprising gentleness, as if he feared a rougher gesture might cause you pain.

There wasn't a mark on your back. Except for that lone arrow protruding from your heel, every single one of the shots that killed you had hit you in the chest or stomach. Of course, I thought bitterly.

Odysseus' voice became suddenly hoarse: "But in the heat of the duel they had gotten too close to the walls. Within range of the archers. When the Ethiopian fell, Achilles was left exposed."

"First mistake I've ever seen him make in almost ten years of fighting", Ajax almost sobbed.

"First and only", Odysseus agreed somberly.

The tunnel, indeed. There was no doubt about it. You must have lost track of your surroundings, for the first time ever in battle, and it had cost you your life. One mistake, just a single one in nearly ten years, had been enough. If there was anything that could give the true measure of the terrible pressure you had been continuously subjected to, this was it.

"It was as if fate itself had been looking for that one rare opportunity", Odysseus seemed to echo my thoughts. "The archers instantly started to shoot from the top of the wall. Achilles covered himself with his shield quite effectively, but Paris got lucky and hit him in the bit of leg that was exposed." He reached out to touch the arrow in your heel. "Achilles swayed, nearly went down on one knee, but then managed to recover his balance and stay upright. However, Paris' arrow had cut his tendon. He could stand, but only barely, and there was no chance he'd be able to walk. Then the Trojans rushed forward – not to him, even with him wounded none of them had the guts to face him in hand to hand combat – but so as to cut off his retreat and prevent us from getting to him and dragging him away."

"Achilles realized he was trapped", Odysseus went on, his voice even hoarser than before. "He turned to face the archers high on the wall, raising his shield and letting out a shout of defiance. And they just kept shooting, and shooting, and shooting…" His voice trailed off.

"My love", I breathed one more time into your hair, then looked up at Ajax once more, in a mute request to roll you on your back again.

Silence set in again while I finished anointing your body with perfumed oils and dressed you in your richest and most regal clothes. At last, I combed your fiery golden locks and stepped back from the bier.

You looked at peace now. As if you were finally getting a much needed rest. Your face was as handsome as it had ever been, the body I had washed and tended seemed to be unmarred.

You looked young. Painfully, intolerably young. So very young, you should still have your whole life ahead of you.

But you were gone.

And, at long last, the scream that had been scorching me inside burst its way out of my throat. I crumbled at the foot of your bier and exploded in desperate wails of pain and loss.

x-o-x

This is the chapter I really didn't want to write. I had outlined it in my mind since the beginning of this story, but putting it black on white turned out to be much harder than I expected. Tackling Achilles' death… it's the kind of thing that makes you wonder whether you didn't bite off more than you can chew. So I truly would appreciate your feedback on it. It would be important for me to know whether I did it justice or not.

There will be one more chapter – an epilogue – so that we know what happened to Briseis afterward and how she came to be in the island where the eagle is now waiting for her, and that's it. Story's almost over…