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She awoke late the next morning. A young man had brought her a freshly roasted fish, and the scent turned her stomach. "Take it away. I can't eat."
He sat down beside her. "I'll eat this one and bring you another later. I'm Patroclus, Achilles' comrade, and he asked me to look after you."
Her eyes were still so swollen she saw only a thin slice of him. She reached for the watered wine and took a sip. "Does he plan to share me?" she murmured.
"Of course not. Achilles is an honorable man, and he'll not mistreat you."
"He's a murdering thief," she countered, her voice hoarse with sorrow. "My presence here proves it."
Patroclus ignored the insult and continued eating his breakfast. "Young women always become spoils after a battle. That's the way of war, however distasteful it may seem to you today, you'll have a pleasant life with Achilles if you'll accept what your fate has become. You'll be honored too, for he is the greatest warrior in the world."
She turned away and closed her eyes. She heard him leave and was grateful to be left in miserable solitude. She hurt all over, and not merely from the rough way she'd been tossed upon a chariot and carried to Achilles' camp. Her sorrow ran so deep her spirit ached, and she thought she might die from grief alone.
* * *
Patroclus returned later in the day with an apple and cheese. He sliced the apple with his dagger and handed her a piece. "This is a remarkably delicious apple. You must give it a taste."
She took a bite, and as promised, it was moist and sweet. She licked the juice from her lips before it ran down her chin. Her mind a comforting blank, she couldn't recall the young man's name and didn't care. A piece of cheese tasted very good with the apple, and she chewed slowly.
"You appear to be feeling better," he said. "I'll have water brought to you so you can bathe, and it will improve your mood."
She looked down at her blood-smeared skirt. "My clothes are ruined, and I've nothing else to wear."
He rose and looked through the garments Achilles had brought to Troy. "This tunic will have to do, but I'll have the women, our slaves, find something suitable for you."
"Stolen from another woman widowed by your marauding?" She bit her lip before swearing she'd rather go nude, certain Achilles would quickly arrange it.
Patroclus went to fetch the promised water rather than argue, and she ate another piece of cheese. It brought the comforting taste of home, and knowing all she'd loved was lost, she wept again.
* * *
Achilles did not enter his tent for several days, and he found Briseis sitting right where he'd left her. "Briseis? Is that your name, girl?"
She nodded. Patroclus had loaned her his ivory comb, and she'd undone what was left of her braids and untangled the snarls. Her fair hair lacked any hint of curl and lay in a straight cape over her shoulders. Still clad in one of Achilles's tunics, she resembled an orphaned waif more than a grown woman.
"Have you been given enough to eat?" he asked.
She nodded and looked away.
"Patroclus enjoys your company, perhaps you'll soon be able to find a smile for me."
Appalled by the thought, she closed her eyes to shut out the sight of him. "You murdered my husband. How can you expect anything more than hatred?"
He dropped to his knees beside her and cupped her chin to force her to look at him. "Many men die in a war."
"The wrong ones," she hissed.
"Your husband fought well, but he was no match for me. You're fortunate I like a woman with spirit." He chuckled and released her. He stripped and bathed using water from a large clay basin and sorted through his clothing for a clean kilt.
Briseis looked away. He was a muscular, handsome man, with golden blond hair and blue-eyed, but evil from head to toe, and she had no use for him whatsoever. Outside the tent, she could hear men shouting to one another, laughing, as though needless death were a cause for celebration. When Achilles again knelt down beside her, she flinched at his touch. He leaned close to kiss her, but she felt nothing other than the unwanted pressure of his lips. He left without pressing for more, but she dreaded his return.
When it was Patroclus who next appeared carrying another roasted fish, she was so relieved she deigned to take a bite. It was a tasteless meal, but he ate the rest with undisguised gusto. A tall shadow crossed the front of the tent, the man who'd passed by before, and she feared a warrior of his size would take whatever he wanted without offering a single taste of apple or cheese.
Patroclus follow
ed her gaze. "That's Ajax. After Achilles, he's our finest warrior. He's a head taller than the tallest of us, and carries a huge bronze shield none of us can even lift. You needn't be afraid of him. He knows that you belong to Achilles, and he'll not touch you."
"I belong to no one," she vowed darkly.
