The Pearl of Troy

Chapter Five

The dove fluttered in Achilles' hands. What a shame such a pure and perfect creature had to die, but Venus would be pleased with this offering. Achilles raised his dagger and slit the dove's throat, giving it a swift, merciful death. Blood soiled its pristine feathers.
Achilles gave the gods their due reverence for the same reasons he put on his armor before a battle- not doing so was a risk only a fool would take. But as fickle and unreasonable as the gods were, they were easy to placate. The right sacrifices and prayers and all scores were settled. Unfortunately, mere mortals weren't so simple.
The Trojan girl, Briseis, looked beautiful when she cried. But, no. Beautiful wasn't the right word. "Heart-breaking" was more appropriate, or maybe "haunting." Achilles wanted to dry the tears from those stunning hazel eyes and do everything he could to make sure she never had a reason to cry ever again. But he was the reason why her cheeks were wet.
Achilles placed the dead dove's bloody carcass on the fire as gently as if it were the body of a beloved comrade onto his funeral pyre. The delicious fragrance of roasted fowl wafted up to heaven along with the smoke, along with Achilles' prayers for Venus' forgiveness. If Venus were in a generous mood, then she might persuade her daughter, the weeping maiden in Achilles' tent, to forgive him as well.
Briseis had every right to weep and curse him. She couldn't be so innocent that she didn't fear rape. Achilles could have held her down on the bed and taken what he wanted by force. Wasn't that how his father had claimed his mother? Briseis was no sea nymph. She couldn't hold him off by transforming into a snake or a lion, into water or fire. Conquering her would be too easy, and the gods knew how much Achilles had been tempted. But such an act was disgraceful. Briseis would hate him afterward, and Achilles would hate himself even more.
Achilles shouldn't care what some willful Trojan brat thought of him, but for whatever reason, he did. That Briseis would see him as a scoundrel was more than he could bear.
Picking up a bucketful of damp sand, Achilles emptied it over the fire to smother out the remaining embers.  The first few rays of sunrise appeared behind the limestone crags and dense pine forests that surround Achilles. He had been out all night. Achilles rose early and retired late as a rule and rarely got enough sleep, but this problem had grown worse of late. Something had lured him out to the dunes beyond the Greek camp every night this past month.
At first, it sounded like the roar of waves crashing on the beach or the trilling of sandpipers, but you could make out a woman singing in a low, sorrowful voice if you listened closely. She sang of inevitable tragedy, unbearable loss, and regret for what had been and what could never be.
Achilles rubbed his eyes. He should go back and see if he could get a few hours of rest before he had to report for duty, but he couldn't. She was there. So, he lay back against one of the sand dunes and closed his eyes.

"Boy..." Achilles opened his eyes. Ulysses stood over him, jabbing his boot into Achilles' side. "What are you doing out here?"