As the plague ravaged the Greek forces, Troy breathed a little easier. Thanks to the plague, Aeneas was able to defeat the Achaeans at Dardanus, and secure the Dardanelles for Troy, re-establishing Troy’s trade routes to their northeastern allies and opening the way for reinforcements. To Priam, it seemed like it was only a matter of time before Apollo’s torturous, burning sunlight drove the Greeks into the sea. Kassandra tried to convince her brothers that they should march down to the beach at high noon and burn the Greek’s cover, forcing them out into the light of day. Hector was nearly persuaded, but Priam overruled it – the Greeks’ defeat seemed inevitable, there was no sense in jeopardizing Trojan lives to take down a mortally wounded, cornered animal.
After her face-to-face with Aphrodite, Adresteia decided to leave Troy for a while and return to the Greek camp. Adresteia sat with Odysseus as he tried to salve the burns and lesions forming on his skin. It had been nine days since one of those scorched had fully succumbed to the malady, and many had followed him already. Frustratingly, although Dionysus’s acolytes had been first to become sensitive to the sun, they seemed to be weathering its effects better than everything else – some partially effective protection their patron must have given them.
Adresteia had known she’d have to watch Odysseus die one day, but she wholly believed they would get through the war together, and she would deliver him back into the arms of Penelope. Odysseus grew frustrated enough he threw the bowl of clean water across his tent and began weeping.
“We can’t even leave,” he said, “Even if we made peace with Poseidon, how could we sail in this state? And even if we could make it home, we would certainly pass this affliction onto the rest of Greece. Our only future is death.”
“To Hades with that sentiment,” Adresteia said, “I promised Penelope you’d come home. I’m not letting anyone – even Apollo – prevent that.”
“Addy… I’m glad you’re here, but I think this is beyond you…”
Adresteia looked at him, suffering in front of her, “You love me, in a way, don’t you?”
“Of course I do.”
“And you trust me as well?”
“Implicitly.”
“Then have some faith, and spread the word that any who would renounce Dionysus should offer their prayers to Nemesis.”
“What? What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to perform a miracle.”
Adresteia walked outside and morphed into her god form, spreading her black wings. She transformed the loose grey tunic she’d worn as part of her human guise into a segmented cuirass of black plates, which spread across her limbs to her talons. The few men that were outside collapsed in terror as she walked to the center of the Greek camp. The more men who saw her and quaked in fear, the stronger she got. She’d almost forgotten the sensation – the intoxicating feeling of ambrosia. It was the same thing that compelled the other gods to all sorts of abuses, and she had been fasting for a long time, fearful of the consequences of overusing her powers. Now, though, Odysseus and Penelope were depending on her, and all gloves were off.
She marched straight to the altar where Apollo’s faithful – blistered and bleeding under heavy wraps – desperately burned offerings, trying to appease him. When they saw her they ducked back behind the small structure, to escape her icy gaze.
“Apollo!” she shouted, “Dionysus! You know who I am, and you know what I do. Face me now, or become my prey!”
She waited for a few minutes with no response. Men had gathered despite the burning sun to see what the ruckus was about. Emboldened by the awe of her audience, Adresteia reached towards the sun with an open hand and then slowly closed her fist. Darkness appeared to close in upon the heavenly sphere as she bent its light away from the surrounding world and funneled it into herself. The energy she absorbed was so great, lightning began to spark at the fringes of her hair, flickering from her eyes, and arcing across the black metal plates of her armor.
Men now came in droves to see what was happening, the darkness assuaging their pain. One man clambered up onto the altar and began to preach. “Behold!” he shouted, “Dionysus has sent his herald to save us from Apollo’s treachery!”
Adresteia turned and unleashed a portion of the power she was absorbing upon the man. A torrent of blinding white electricity arced into him. He smoked, bloated, and exploded in a cloud of burning gore.
Odysseus leaped onto the altar next, wiping hot blood from his face. He shed his protective robe so that everyone could see he suffered as they did. Always a short man, Odysseus looked absolutely diminutive next to Adresteia’s godly form.
“You lay eyes upon Nemesis! Avenger of Rhamnous! Punisher of hubris! Bringer of divine retribution! Fall to your knees in supplication, my country men, and beg mercy for your sins,” Odysseus himself took a knee before her.
“Not bad, Oddy,” Adresteia smiled at him. The groveling of the Achaean soldiers was making it easier to absorb the solar energy, and soon she was able to maintain the shroud of darkness over the camp without deliberate effort.
“I call forth the worshippers of Dionysus,” she shouted, “I call upon you to step forward, and vow penance. Free the slaves you’ve taken, and beg the souls of your victims for forgiveness!”
Some of the men began rushing to the platform and renouncing Dionysus emphatically, begging for mercy. More ardent followers of his cult drew weapons and began to attack the men denying their master. Nemesis waved her hand, and an arc of electricity jumped out to every raised blade before her, melting bronze and cooking meat. It was the sort of thing she’d once thought only Zeus was capable of.
“Dionysus!” Nemesis shouted, “I say again, come forth to answer for the sins of your followers! Come before me! Offer yourself as a sacrifice, and I will shed your blood in their stead!”
A shimmering light appeared in the air before her. The crowd parted, and Apollo appeared from the globe of bright light. It was a pretty parlor trick, not true teleportation, so it was safe to say he’d been nearby, watching and listening.
“He won’t answer your challenge,” Apollo thundered, “Because he is a coward, who cares more for himself than those who love him.”
Adresteia had banked on there still being a good and merciful man underneath Apollo’s increasingly inhuman exterior. She’d believed that, the Apollo she’d known, was tempestuous enough to over reach with his punishment, prideful enough not to admit his mistake, but smart enough to seize an opportunity to gracefully recant. She was right.
“I have tested my younger brother’s resolve for a year now,” he shouted, “I have brought the wrath rightly owed to him down upon his followers, and all those who shelter them. I have been merciless, implacable, as I have waited for Dionysus to show himself, to confront me and answer for the crimes he instigated. Many of you have begged for my forgiveness, and have even condemned those among you who still revel in Dionysus’s sadistic debauchery. Know now, that Nemesis’s entreaty has persuaded me to answer your prayers,” Apollo turned to Adresteia, “Nemesis, Goddess of Retribution. I must beg your forgiveness, for I myself have made a mortal mistake. I have confused revenge with justice, punished those who have done nothing to warrant it, and tormented men who were misled by powerful words. I pray Nemesis, you can forgive my transgression, and help me to seek the justice that is warranted.”
A god was begging Nemesis for absolution. That was something Adresteia never imagined might happen, and she was now put on the spot to provide an answer.
“Let those who still indulge in Dionysus’s evil be cast out of this camp. Let them become enemies to this army, damned never to return to Greece, and let them become your prey, Lord Apollo. Let them run across the plains and hills of Troa, fearing the harsh light of day and the quick shaft of an arrow. But let any man who would sincerely repent stay, and fight this war as good men fight, with honor, mercy, and respect.”
“Agreed, Lady Nemesis,” Apollo said, “Beyond that, all I ask is that my faithful, those who survived the desecration of my temple, be released to Troy. Astynome, daughter of Chryses, and all others taken as slaves from my temple.”
“I object!” Agamemnon emerged from his tent covered in so many scabs that it was hard to believe he was still alive, “Astynome is mine! A gift granted to me by Lord Dionysus himself! None but he can compel me to release her!”
Achilles walked up behind Agamemnon, pulled the man’s helmet off, and struck him across the top of the head with it, “Shut up. For your own gods damned sake, shut the hell up!” Agamemnon crumpled to the ground unconscious.
“King Nestor, son of Neleus and Chloris,” Adresteia shouted, “Present yourself!”
The Argonaut stumbled forward, looking older than he ever had, “How can I serve you, my lady?”
“Bring forth all records of spoils taken in the raid upon Apollo’s temple. By this time tomorrow, every surviving hostage or slave taken from the temple is to be set upon the road, their arms filled with as much of Apollo’s treasure as they can bear, and allowed safe passage to Troy.”
“Yes my lady,” Nestor bowed.
“Finally,” Adresteia said, “you will deliver unto myself and Apollo, a full list of those no longer in the possession of this army and any details regarding their fate.”
“Yes my lady,” Nestor nodded. He didn’t wait for a dismissal – he had thousands of records to pore through. He took off running, grabbing Odysseus and every other literate man he thought competent enough to help him.
“Lord Apollo,” Achilles stepped forward, “When we have done this, will our debt to you be squared?”
“No,” Apollo said bluntly, “My alliance with Troy will remain. Too much harm has been done that cannot be undone. But when you have heeded Nemesis’s commands, I will lift the blight that has afflicted you, and heal you of the harm it has done. And when you all decide, eventually, that you are done with this war, I will allow you to return home in peace.”
“Yes, Lord Apollo,” Achilles said, “Though we remain enemies, I thank you for the mercy you’ve shown my countrymen.” Patroclus had been nearing death's door, and knowing that he would live overshadowed any strategic concerns.
Achilles dragged Agamemnon back to his court tent and called in the other kings and princes. Agamemnon had, evidently, been in the middle of his dinner, so Achilles casually took a seat at the table and began helping himself, inviting Patroclus and Briseis – their aide de camp – to join him. Not surprisingly, Agamemnon had been stuffing himself with fine meat and good wine, while his men withered and died. Achilles and his friends felt no shame in partaking of the unjustly hoarded food as they looked forward to a suspenseful showdown between the mad king and the vengeful goddess. Achilles was certain the standoff would end up with Agamemnon groveling to the woman for forgiveness, which would make this one of the best meals of his life.
Nestor brought their records to the tent and diligently sorted through them as the others came to discuss the arrangement with Agamemnon. About two thirds of them believed that the King of Mycenae had become thoroughly unhinged, but were afraid of the consequences that would befall their homelands if they questioned his sanity.
“The spoils we’ve taken are ours to use as we see fit!” Agamemnon shouted, holding a cold cloth to the lump on his head, “And I’m not about to be run off into the countryside to be hunted by some queer, Trojan-loving lute-player!” Many of his Mycenaean officers, participants in the desecration of Apollo’s temple, stood squarely behind him on the matter.
Adresteia had returned to human form, but had retained a cloak of ethereal darkness to be sure everyone remembered who she was, “Whether you agree to my terms is your decision, King Agamemnon, but I will kill any who go against them. Your crown will not protect you from me.”
“I find your threats hollow,” Agamemnon said, “When was the last time you did anything that wasn’t the bidding of your mistress, Athena? You haven’t been ‘Nemesis’ for decades. You promise retribution, but I know that Athena demands that I live to win this war. You won’t dare raise a hand against me.”
“Even if it’s true that Nemesis answers to the same master as we,” Menelaus said, “I think you underestimate the impulsivity of women, brother. They are just as inclined to disobedience and defiance as we are and I believe she is more than willing to smite us down, regardless of whatever commands Lady Athena might have given to the contrary. And I don’t see the Goddess of War standing between you at this moment.”
“Whose side are you on Menelaus?” Agamemnon asked.
“The side of not being a suicidal asshole?”
“To hell with you,” Agamemnon said, “None of us would be here if you could manage your woman.” Agamemnon’s cronies cheered and laughed.
“How can you…? You know what happened to her!” Menelaus said, “It’s not her fault!”
“Not her fault that her husband let a jealous prat give her an obviously cursed necklace?” Agamemnon asked, “No, I would place the blame for that squarely at your feet. The rest of us are just trying to make the best of a bad situation that you created.”
“Enough!” Adresteia shouted with a burst of shadow that teemed with thin wisps of elecricity, “If death is your choice then death is what you shall have!”
Adresteia began to march towards Agamemnon, but Odysseus threw himself in front of her.
“No! Please!” he begged, “Please don’t do this! We have until tomorrow afternoon to sort this out, right? Please give us time to change his mind.”
“He invites death onto himself, and his sycophants as well,” Adresteia hissed, “Why shouldn’t I answer that call now?”
“His ‘sycophants’ make up a large portion of this army,” Odysseus said, “Kill them all and we have no hope of winning the war. Kill Agamemnon and the Grecian league collapses. The result will be chaos.”
“That’s a thin justification, Odysseus,” she glared at him.
Odysseus stepped in closer and whispered, “I’m worried about you.”
“What?”
“You’re talking about killing hundreds, maybe thousands of men, simply because they aren’t acceding to your demands quickly enough. I don’t want you to become like Zeus,” Odysseus said, “Or even Athena. Callous, unforgiving, implacable. Pathologically self-righteous.”
“You think I’d be wrong to kill Agamemnon for what he’s done?”
“You’ve let his transgressions slide this long, haven’t you? We all have, out of necessity, so are you standing there ready to tear his heart out now because it’s justice, or because now he's insulted you?” They stared intensely at each other for a long moment, and then, in a gesture of trust, Odysseus stepped aside to give Adresteia a clear run at the mad king.
Agamemnon stood up, held up a hand, and extended an obscene gesture.
Adresteia started to move but Achilles actually reacted faster. He stood up from the seat where Briseis had been calmly braiding his blonde hair and ripped the entrails out of the roast pig on the table before them with his bare hands. With a powerful swing, he threw the hog’s guts in Agamemnon’s face. The tent went deathly silent. Even Adresteia paused as the moment of confusion played out.
“How dare you, Achilles?” Agamemnon said.
“Right, sorry,” Achilles said, “That’s not the right way to serve tripe.” Briseis handed him a large bowl of gravy and Achilles tossed the contents onto Agamemnon’s waist. Menelaus began laughing, and several of the other men in the tent soon joined in. Agamemnon seethed.
Adresteia grabbed Achilles by the arm and wheeled him around, “What are you doing?!”
“I don’t give a rat’s ass about Agamemnon, but some of those men you’re talking about killing… they’re poor-as-dirt farmers. I grew up with slaves better educated than them. They follow Agamemnon because he puts on airs of being this great genius, and they’ll follow him to the death for it. I just want them to live long enough to wise up, so please, let us deal with this ourselves. I swear we’ll manage a compromise of some sort.”
Adresteia stared the warrior in the eye for a while, “I’ll hold you to that.” She turned and left the tent.
“Do you have a plan?” Odysseus asked Achilles.
“Don’t you?” Patroclus asked.
“Why should I have a plan?”
“You always have a plan,” Briseis said, “That’s what everyone says about you. I'm not one of you, and even I know ODYSSEUS ALWAYS HAS A PLAN.”
“Obviously, I do not.”
“Well, then let’s throw money at it,” Achilles said. He walked up to Agamemnon, who stood and drew his sword. Achilles looked down at the little bronze blade, “Put it away, Aggie. You’re embarrassing yourself.” Agamemnon was still red with rage, but he sheathed the weapon.
“Right,” Achilles said, “Would you and yours be willing to give up any further raping and pillaging and otherwise violent debauchery, if you didn’t have to give away your spoils?”
“Why should we?” Agamemnon asked.
“Because the other option is death.”
“Nemesis won’t kill me.”
Achilles leaned forward, “No, she won’t kill you, because if she has to kill you, she will kill all of those men licking the shit dribbling out of your asshole. So, for their sake, I will kill you before she has the chance to.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“I don’t have any obligations to any gods. No Athena, no Apollo, no Dionysus. I’m a free man. The only people I answer to are the men in this camp. So where their well-being is concerned, I would not push my luck if I were you.”
Agamemnon glared at him for a moment. “Apollo and Nemesis seemed quite intractable on the release of the prisoners,” he said, “How do you intend to convince them that we should be permitted to keep them?”
“Well,” Achilles spoke loudly enough for everyone to hear, “All of our spoils have some monetary value, right? And it’s not as if everything in our ledgers is from Apollo’s temple. My men and I have wealth and slaves taken from Pedasus, Lyrnessus, and Thebe. All legitimate spoils of war, unsullied by your sacrilegious barbarism. So, how about the four fifths of the men in this army who want to be square with Nemesis pool our wealth and purchase your illegitimate, cursed spoils. Then we can set them free, satisfying Apollo, and you can be happy knowing that it was the lot of us who made the sacrifice, and not you and yours.”
“How much do you really have from the temple?” Odysseus asked Agamemnon, “Over the course of this war, you’ve captured or looted cart loads of treasure, many head of livestock, wagons of food, countless slaves… How much did you really bring back from that one raid? Chryses’s daughter, a few other slaves, and maybe one cart of gold? Let Achilles and I buy the damned contraband from you. Or reimburse you for the loss – however you want to frame it.”
“Astynome is no ordinary slave,” Agamemnon said, “I would expect a hefty trade for her.”
Achilles released a breath, relieved he wouldn’t have to commit regicide, “Name your price Agamemnon. We’re good for it.”
Agamemnon studied Achilles for a moment and smiled wickedly, “I will forfeit all of my spoils from the temple of Apollo – gold, jewels, and women – in exchange for one of your slaves,” Agamemnon nodded to the woman standing behand Achilles. Patroclus was weak from illness, but he stood up and moved in front of her, prepared to defend his friend.
“What?” Achilles was confused.
“Briseis, Achilles,” Agamemnon said, “If you want to put this all behind us, that’s my price. Just… Briseis.”
“Well… no,” Achilles laughed, “No. She’s not up for trade.” The other men, who’d been thrilled to see this travesty approaching a close, booed and jeered Achilles for backing out of his deal.
“If my Astynome must be offered up for trade, then so too must your slave.”
“Well, she’s not a slave.”
“Really? Did you emancipate her?”
“Well, no. I mean, she is a slave, yes, but she’s not a ‘slave’ slave. She’s not a tradeable slave. More of a sentimental possession…” More jeers. Some of the men began throwing food at Achilles.
“If I must suffer the pain and indignity of having my woman taken from me,” Agamemnon said, “Then so must you. That is my price. In fact, I’ll use the rest of my spoils to pay for the liberation of the other captives taken from Apollo’s temple, and all I ask for is one, ordinary woman.”
Odysseus laid a hand on Achilles’ shoulder, “If you refuse this offer, it will split the army. The men won’t care about the welfare of one woman. They’ll only care that you turned away from a deal that would have finally ended this curse.”
Achilles tensed. There were seventy two different ways he could kill Agamemnon without moving from this spot. Odysseus was right though. Refuse the offer or kill the cretin, and the Grecian league would collapse. The camp would turn on itself. Sick men fighting a civil war on another nation’s soil; there would be few if any survivors.
If he accepted the offer, though, Briseis would be tortured. Poisoned by Dionysus's corrupting influence, Agamemnon had become the worst sort of man. With his vanity insulted, he would take all of his rage out on the woman. He looked back at her, silently pleading for forgiveness.
“Do it,” Briseis stepped out from behind Patroclus, “Make the trade. If it means all those people go free, it’s worth it. Astynome was one of my best friends. If trading me to Agamemnon will return her to her father, then that’s what you have to do.”
“But… do you understand what Agamemnon will do to you?” Patroclus asked.
“Theoretically, though twisted men do show a remarkable capacity to surprise a person. But all those people on the line? I would die for my countrymen’s freedom, wouldn’t you?”
“Okay,” Achilles nodded and turned back to Agamemnon, “I will transfer custody of Briseis to you."
"There," Agamemnon smiled smugly, "Was that so hard, Achilles?"
"I'm not done," Achilles said, "I will transfer legal ownership of Briseis, but you will immediately emancipate her, as I should have done, so that she can leave our camp as a free woman.”
“Why on earth would I do that?”
“Because if you don’t, I’m done with this war,” Achilles addressed the room, “Did everyone hear that? Agamemnon accepts Briseis in trade for all spoils taken from Apollo’s temple, but until the woman is emancipated, I will not raise arms against the Trojans.”
“You can’t be serious?” Menelaus said.
“We need you Achilles. You’re the best among us,” Odysseus said.
“I know. And that’s what I’m being right now. The best among you. I would see Greek ships burn where they lay before I spill more blood for the man who holds my friend prisoner,” Achilles said, “I swear that. If you want me to fight for Greece, then free Briseis. Those are my terms.”
Agamemnon laughed, “You overvalue yourself, Achilles. You might have the blood of a god but you have the body of one man. Two arms, two legs. You are not an army. We will win this war without you.”
“Fine, I’ll be in my tent. You’ll know where to find me when you realize your mistake.”
No comments:
Post a Comment