Odysseus walked into King Lycomedes’ court with Adresteia perched on his shoulder in owl form. Rumor had it Skyros was the last place anyone had seen Achilles.
“Odysseus!” Lycomedes shouted, “Welcome! No one told me you would be coming to Skyros!”
“Lycomedes,” Odysseus bowed, “I’m afraid this trip was planned rather quickly.”
“Ah, you’ve come to bring me to Agamemnon’s war.”
“You were one of the suitors all those years ago…” Odysseus reminded him.
“True, but as you’ll recall I contracted a particular condition during that contest that forced me to withdraw.”
“Yes, I do remember that night. Does the affliction still bother you?”
“Only for a few days out of every month,” Lycomedes said, “I’ve come to grips with it over the years. Still, I don’t think you’d want to share a ship or a tent with me for more than a couple of weeks.”
“Maybe, though Agamemnon would say that a ship full of people like you could end this all very quickly.”
“I don’t think that would work out as well as he imagines,” Lycomedes said.
“Well, that’s probably true. What would be much better would be, ah… Achilles.”
“Yes, I’m sure it would. Even as a boy he could more than match me, even at my most… frenzied. It’s unfortunate that no one’s seen him for so long.”
“Indeed, it is unfortunate,” Odysseus nodded.
Lycomedes invited him to join them at the long dinner table, and Odysseus accepted, releasing Adresteia to perch nearby. Odysseus took a quick study of Lycomedes company in the dining hall – Lycomedes had no sons, but having already been married once when they met, he did have a number of daughters much older than Odysseus’s own children. A few of them were wed, and attending with families of their own. Odysseus could name all save one, an especially tall woman hanging on the arm of a man Odysseus did recognize – a prince from Opus.
Odysseus leaned closer to Lycomedes, “I’m embarrassed to have to ask this, but I’ve completely forgotten the name of the woman with Prince Patroclus,” he nodded toward the tall woman.
“Oh!” Lycomedes exclaimed, “That’s Pyrrha, my eldest daughter, actually.”
“I don’t believe we’ve ever met,” Odysseus said, “Have I been rude?”
“Not at all,” Lycomedes said, “You haven’t seen her before because… her mother was a servant girl I grew up with. You know how it is, I was very fond of her, but my parents didn’t approve, so when a child came into the picture I’m afraid they ran her off. Her mother died during the birth of her second child, sadly, and poor Pyrrha grew up in the backwoods.”
“Did you just happen upon her and recognize her one day?”
“Something like that,” Lycomedes said, “She’s the spitting image of her mother at that age, really.”
The woman looked like she was in her mid-twenties; Odysseus did the math in his head and immediately knew something was fishy. Lycomedes hadn't been the only widower that had competed for Helen's hand, but his first wife had herself passed in childbirth only a year before the contest. This, 'Pyrrha' would have been born about ten years before that, when Lycomedes was eleven or twelve years old. It wasn't impossible, but Odysseus had never imagined the man to be that sort of player. Odysseus glanced back at Adresteia, who was also scrutinizing Pyrrha carefully. He nodded at Adresteia and then brushed his nose, a sign for her to create some trouble.
Adresteia flapped her wings and drained the light from the room. The orange glow of the olive-oil lamps dimmed to bare dots in the enveloping darkness. Lycomedes and his family gasped in shock and alarm. Odysseus picked up a copper chalice and threw it blindly across the room. It hit someone in the darkness, soliciting a yelp, a clatter, and a scramble. Odysseus stood up and shouted, “By the gods! We’re under attack! I- I- Oh god, no! Someone help me!”
Other people immediately started screaming as panic spread through the room. People tripped and tumbled trying to get out of the room, and just as the fear hit its crescendo, the darkness receded and the room was once again bathed in warm light. At the center of the room, Patroclus and ‘Pyrrha’ stood back-to-back, brandishing cutlery knives and prepared for any assault.
Achilles sighed, his shoulders slumping, when he realized that he’d been outted.
“For what it’s worth, Achilles,” Odysseus said, “You make a stunning woman, and are working that dress like a summer field.”
“Damn you!” Patroclus waved his knife at Odysseus, but Achilles motioned for him to stand down.
“The jig is up,” Achilles said, “No sense in burning an old friendship over it.”
Lycomedes was furious at the disruption and deception, “You ungrateful… do you have no respect for hospitality!”
“King Lycomedes,” Odysseus said, “I deeply regret that such a disruption was necessary, but Agamemnon needs warriors, good ones, so unless you’re ready to come out of retirement and stretch your hairy, hairy legs on the shores of Troy, I’m leaving with Achilles.”
“Come on Odysseus,” Achilles said, “we’ll round up our things and get a move on.”
Odysseus followed them out of the room and up a stone staircase to one of the palace’s rooftop apartments. Achilles lit some lamps, walked over to a polished metal mirror behind a bowl of water, and began wiping the charcoal smudges off of his eyelids. Patroclus opened a chest and began pulling out weapons, armor, and traveling gear.
“Were you two living here… together?”
“Uh, yeah…” Achilles said, giving no further explanation.
After some awkward silence, Odysseus decided to press forward, “You were disguising yourself as a woman to avoid Agamemnon’s call to arms… right?”
“Well, I disguised myself as Lycomedes’ bastard child to dodge you, yeah. As to whether I ‘disguised’ myself as a woman depends on your definition of what a woman is.”
Odysseus, a bit more worldly and forward thinking than most Achaeans at the time, didn’t reflexively balk at the answer, but he was still a little confused, “Are you two… were you living like a man and a woman…?”
“Yes, Odysseus,” Achilles laughed, “We were.”
“By that I mean…”
“He knew what you meant,” Patroclus said, “Yes, we were sleeping together. And we went hunting together, fished together, worked out together, went to the theater together, cooked dinners together, played games together. We were living together, but Agamemnon’s Trojan War will see an end to that, won’t it?”
Men having sex with men wasn’t in the least bit shocking at that time, but two men choosing to live together like a married couple certainly was. “Is that why you came here? Why you just dropped off the map?”
Achilles shrugged, “Basically.”
“Thetis was pretty understanding,” Patroclus said of Achilles’ mother, “but old Peleus was not so much. And my parents… Oh no, no, no…”
“But Lycomedes is a pretty open minded guy,” Achilles explained, “So my mom asked him to give me a new identity that would allow me to wed Patroclus without his parents’ objections.”
“Would they really fall for that…?”
“I don’t see my parents too much,” Patroclus said, “I figured we could count on them not making a trip to see us until there was a grandchild involved, and well…”
Achilles teared up facetiously, “We tried Odysseus, but it never happened – I’m sure it must be something wrong with me. Patroclus did everything very, very right.”
“So, I guess I pretty much ruined your life tonight,” Odysseus said.
“Maybe,” Achilles said, “But hey, if we follow you and Agamemnon to war, no one will bat an eye at two men sharing a tent, taking their meals together, wrestling naked… We can basically do our thing, and I don’t have to wear a dress.”
“He says that as if he objects ted it,” Patroclus commented.
“I like to feel pretty,” Achilles raised his chin, “It’s the only way I ever get to feel vulnerable.”
“Well, Agamemnon says this whole trip will take less than a year,” Odysseus said.
“HA! Right,” Achilles said, “I was told as a child I had two fates to choose from – a long life that would fade into obscurity, or a short one that would be remembered for millennia. The second we set sail for Troy, my path will be set. I won’t be coming back.”
Patroclus grabbed Achilles arm and gave it a gentle squeeze, “Have faith Achilles; you’re the greatest warrior in Greece. I’m sure you’ll outlive all of us.”
“Oh, not me,” Odysseus said, “I’m dying as an old man at home in Ithaca, my end hopefully being directly related to an amount of sexual activity far above what would be considered appropriate for a man of my age.”
“Does Penelope know that?” Achilles laughed.
“As always, our long term goals are compatible in this regard,” Odysseus said, “Though we’ve agreed we may need to enlist outside help to follow through with it.”
“Look,” Achilles said, “People are going to talk about how you found me tonight. Word will get around. Do me a favor and tell people I was trying to dodge the war.”
“You aren’t afraid people will call you a coward?”
“I don’t give a shit what people call me,” Achilles said, “But if we’re going to war with Troy, we need troops, my Myrmidons, and my father won’t release them if he finds out about our relationship.”
Odysseus nodded, “I understand. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I thought better of your father, Achilles.”
“It is what it is,” the young man said, “There are other men like us that have it far worse.”
Patroclus brought a golden cube out and set it down before Achilles.
“The Hephaestus armor I gave you all those years ago,” Odysseus said, “You kept it with you.”
“It was a hell of a gift Odysseus, and I finally grew into it.” Achilles pressed down on a panel, and the cube snapped apart, unfurling and wrapping around Achilles, covering him in a second skin of gold and bronze, “I figure, if we have to make an exit, it might as well be an ostentatious one. Let’s go.”
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