War has raged outside the walls of Troy for the past seven years. Safe inside the royal palace, Briseis, a spirited young Trojan princess, sits back as her famous cousins, Hector and Paris, fight against the Greeks, who encroach upon Troy's borders...
The plague spread fast, but gossip spread faster. By the end of the day following that catastrophic dinner party, Achilles' quarrel with Agamemnon was the talk of the entire Greek army. Bow-legged Thersites, a well-known rabble-rouser among the common soldiers, harangued anyone who would listen. So one afternoon, when Briseis accompanied Patroclus to the hospital to try out his latest cure, a potion made from herbs soaked in vinegar, Thersites limped over to a group of men-at-arms gathered outside.
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"The boy, Achilles had the guts to speak the truth," he said. "We're all suffering because Agamemnon thinks with his cock and not his brain." Patroclus sighed. He put a hand on Briseis' shoulder. "Pay no attention," he said. "...Apollo sent that little Trojan maid Achilles keeps with him an omen, and it still hasn't gotten through Agamemnon's fat head...." Hearing herself mentioned, Briseis couldn't help but stop to listen. Thersites pointed in her direction. "...look at the girl. As fair and virtuous as I am, ugly and wicked. How could she not speak for the gods?" Briseis blew a kiss to Thersites, who then blushed like a young swain. Thanks to gossip-mongers like him, her fame as a prophetess had spread throughout the camp. It, of course, started with Achilles' Myrmidons. Even if Achilles hadn't started the rumor or even actively encouraged it, he at least did nothing to quell it. Patroclus rolled his eyes. "Stop flirting," he said. He held the door to the hospital open for Briseis. When they entered the hospital, Briseis was cheered by the men. They hailed her as "Apollo's Demoiselle," "Darling of Venus," and "Little Queen." Briseis greeted them by waving and blowing kisses. "What did I say about flirting?" Patroclus cocked an eyebrow. "What?" Briseis replied. "Can't a queen show appreciation for her loyal subjects?" Why shouldn't she enjoy being the sweetheart of the troops? This was the first time in her life she'd ever been important. Briseis and Patroclus stepped aside so two men carrying a stretcher could pass. "Clear a bed for King Ulysses," one of the men shouted to an orderly. The hospital didn't have enough beds for all its patients, and the aristocratic officers had precedence over the common soldiers. So, when a person of higher rank came in, someone of lower status had to be moved to a makeshift cot on the floor. Ulysses lay on the stretcher, shivering and drenched in sweat. "No," he said. "I'm no more deserving of a bed than any other man." Briseis tried to place a cold compress on Ulysses' forehead. He turned away from her. "Don't get too close. You'll catch it." Briseis held Ulysses down by his shoulder. "Lay still," she said. "And don't worry. I'm a woman and that means I'm safe." One of the plague's biggest mysteries was why only a handful of women had come down with it, and all of them managed to recover. Patroclus theorized that this came down to the humoral differences between men and women. The naturally cold and wet female constitution balanced out the excess of hot and dry humors caused by the plague. Laughing, Briseis had argued that maybe fewer women succumb to the plague because they put more effort into keeping clean and sweet-smelling. Briseis placed the cold compress on Ulysses' forehead. Ulysses cracked a smile. "If the gods have a soft spot for anyone," he said. "It's you, my girl." Briseis kissed his cheek. Maybe he was right? Patroclus fed Ulysses a spoonful of his herb-infused vinegar concoction. Ulysses gagged and coughed. "What the devil was that? A demon's piss?" "Medicine," Patroclus replied. His face was flushed with indignation. "Medicine, demon piss. It's all the same thing." Briseis held a cup of water to Ulysses' lips. "This should help it go down," she said. They did their best to bring down Ulysses' fever by giving him water and cold compresses. Finally, Ulysses drifted off into a sleepy delirium, where he only had the strength to groan and call out for Penelope and Telemachus. "Penelope, my duck," he moaned. Briseis squeezed his hand. It was best to keep him calm by playing along. "I'm here, my love." She tried to disguise her voice by lowering it a couple octaves. "Telemachus... Telemachus, get back here, boy." Patroclus blinked at Briseis. She responded with a nod. "You'll have to catch me first, father," Patroclus said in his best imitation of a little boy. They could only pray and hope the fever would run its course before reaching the final, deadly symptoms.
