Tuesday, May 21, 2019

4.14: Don’t You Know That You’re Toxic?

1192 BCE - Greek Occupied Pedasus.

Achilles’s altar to Apollo was well built, but once the fire was going, he decided there was a personal touch missing. He retrieved an arrowhead he’d carried with him for years. It was forged by Hephaestus according to Apollo’s design, made of a rare alloy Apollo had called ‘steel’. Years ago, Artemis had, in a quarrel with Apollo, shot her brother in the back with his own arrow. Menelaus and Paris had pulled it out and cast it aside, but Achilles had searched for and retrieved it later. Steel, and the iron it was made from, were among the few things that could hurt Apollo as easily as they could harm a human, and that was true for Achilles as well. He used the tip of the arrow to draw some of his own god blood, and flicked it onto the fire, triggering a blue fwoosh!


Apollo appeared within the hour. He descended from the sky as a golden eagle, but transformed into his god form as he fell, landing with a mighty smash. When last Achilles had spoken to Apollo, the god had opted for a somewhat humble form – still taller than any mortal man and covered in an incredibly dark purple skin that marked him clearly as inhuman, but still approachable.

Now, however, Apollo was putting on a bit of a show. Achilles himself had grown far bigger and stronger since they last met, so Apollo had reproportioned himself to match. His nearly black, purple skin was now outlined with golden tattoos that radiated light, highlighting his powerful, lean muscles, and his archer’s shoulders seemed broader than ever. His golden hair moved and radiated yellow light as if  it were a burning fire, and Apollo’s eyes looked like twin suns.

“S’up?” Achilles asked nonchalantly.

Apollo’s aura seemed to dim from burning radiance to comfortable glow as he laughed, “Hello Achilles. It’s been a long time.”

“Hey, you’re the one that’s decided to be a stranger in Greece.”

“I still tour the temple circuit every year,” Apollo said, “where I never see you. Patroclus though, I’ve seen him. You did good there, brother.”

“Coming from you, that means a lot,” Achilles said sincerely, “Have you heard Odysseus’s terms yet?”

“A portion of the temple’s wealth and Astynome’s freedom in exchange for medical care for the Greeks who’ve fallen outside Dardanus? Seeking my help for wounded men is noble, but asking for the temple offerings seems petty.”

“He says it’s to pay the widow’s dowry for any men you can’t help,” Achilles said, “But I think it’s just so he has something to give up if you play hardball with him. He’s also offering protection for your temple and all within its physical walls, going forward.”

“I would hope so,” Apollo said, “But I suppose in war one should not assume. Sounds like this should be a fairly amicable negotiation, though.”

They joined the other parties in a tent they’d set up outside of town. Agamemnon and Chryses were already arguing, with Odysseus trying to moderate. Briseis was sitting with Astynome, who was weeping intensely.

Patroclus rushed over and bowed before Apollo, “My lord.”

“Patroclus,” Achilles said, “What’s happening? Please don’t tell me we’ve already fallen off the horse?”

“Agamemnon is smitten with Astynome,” Patroclus said, “And is absolutely convinced that she feels the same way. Rather than returning Astynome to her father, he’s demanding that Chryses marry them as soon as possible.”

“Agamemnon’s already married,” Achilles pointed out, “And she doesn’t look like she’s in love with anyone here.”

“She’s not. And Agamemnon claims it’s all fair because he’s only married in Greece, not in Troa, and that in Troa men like Agamemnon have many wives.”

“So, what?” Achilles asked, “He’s going to keep a second family here after the war ends?”

“I don’t think he’s thought that far ahead,” Patroclus said, “Pretty sure he’s not thinking with the same brain the rest of us are. He’s dressing it up in flowery language, but I think all he really wants is to take her to bed. Chryses sees it and doesn’t want to sell off his daughter to someone that’s going to pump and dump.”

“Agamemnon is not the best of us,” Achilles said, “But this is still wildly out of character for him.”

“No, this is exactly in character for their kind,” Apollo said.

“Their kind?” Patroclus asked for clarification, but Apollo marched past him, the corona around him blazing bright enough to nearly blind everyone present.

“Mighty Apollo!” Odysseus exclaimed, “Now that you are here we can begin the negotiations in earnest.”

“Begin the negotiations?” Agamemnon shouted, “I’ve stated my terms. I want the girl. End of negotiation.”

Odysseus patted him on the chest, “Agamemnon’s a very spirited negotiator, but he sometimes takes it too far.”

“I’m not haggling,” Agamemnon said, “I want the girl, and I’m taking her.” As if possessed by pure insanity, Agamemnon grabbed Astynome’s arm and tore her away from Briseis.

“No.” Apollo said, “I will not allow this.”

“Didn’t ask you for permission sunshine,” Agamemnon growled, reaching for his weapons.

Apollo raised his hand to release a searing burst of light, but Agamemnon had apparently given at least some thought to how to fight him. Rather than grab his sword he snatched up his very well polished shield and covered his eyes. The burst of light reflected off the shield. Most everyone was quick enough to look away, but Chryses, trying to see his daughter, looked straight into it.
The old priest screamed and clutched his eyes, blinded by the light.

“No!” Apollo cried and rushed to the man’s side.

Agamemnon grabbed Astynome again and ran out of the tent, but Briseis rushed after him and tackled his legs, knocking him to the ground. He kicked her in the face to knock her off of him, but before he could get to his feet, Achilles fell upon him, seized him up, and slapped him with the back of his hand hard enough to draw blood.

“WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!” Achilles demanded while Patroclus helped the women scramble away.

“What is wrong with me?!” Agamemnon cried, “You are assaulting your king because he claimed spoils of war that rightfully belong to him!”

“Belong to you?!” Achilles shouted, “She was my prisoner!”

“But you are my vassal, prince Achilles,” Agamemnon hissed, “Whatever you claim, it is my right to claim from you. Or do you think your strength gives you the right to ignore our laws?”

Achilles looked around. A number of their officers had gathered around and were expressing agreement with Agamemnon – he was king, and that was what being king meant. If Achilles could take the girl from him, he could take anything from anyone – anyone in the Greek army could stab their brother in the back for his spoils. It would be anarchy.

“What do you think you’re going to do?” Agamemnon spat blood on Achilles’s face, “Kill me? In front of my men and yours? It’d be murder. What would Peleus and Thetis say when they found out their perfect little boy murdered his king for some girl he wasn’t even going to bed?”

Achilles was sorely tempted. With Agamemnon gone, who would be keeping them there? Menelaus? Let him and Odysseus figure out their own plan for rescuing Helen that didn’t involve 45,000 starving Greeks stretched across western Troa.

But it would be murder. Cold homicide. Achilles was supposed to be a better man than that – other men looked to him to do the right thing. It was part of the reason he’d gone to Skyros, to escape the expectations of being Achilles. He dropped Agamemnon unceremoniously, “The girl goes home with her father, and you never lay a hand on Briseis again. End of negotiation.”


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