Killer of Men - Christian Cameron [178]
‘You’re up early,’ I said. ‘I’m Arimnestos. Have you come to pay the ransom?’
The two best-armoured men halted the rest, and they formed a small phalanx on the beach.
‘The men of the town will be here in the time it takes to sing a hymn,’ I called in Persian. ‘And they will kill all of you and take your ship.’ I pointed up the hill. ‘The lord of the town is my friend – any bribe you paid the guards was wasted.’
They were arguing among themselves.
It’s a lesson you learn early – plotters never trust anyone. I was nearly certain that the town garrison were going to watch me butchered and not raise a hand – but the Phoenicians didn’t know that.
I pointed out to sea. ‘My prisoners are out there, in that fishing smack,’ I called. ‘And if you don’t pay up, they’ll have their throats slit and be pushed over the side.’
The two men in bronze armour argued, and finally, when I could see the new sun shining on spear points in the town, they turned and went back to their ship. ‘We’ll pay,’ one of the men said. Honey, I’ve seldom heard those Persian words invested with so much hate.
They stacked bars of silver on the sand.
I ran off down the beach to Paramanos, and I didn’t look back.
The exchange went well enough. I rolled the silver and gold in my cloak and carried it to my boat. Then we released all four prisoners, well down the beach, almost as far as the threshing floor where the goats play.
We were gone around the point before the freed men joined their friends. Briseis asked me to take her around to Eresus. How could I refuse?
Eresus is one of the most beautiful places in the world. Briseis had made that fart Aristagoras buy her a house there, on the back side of the acropolis, good land with figs and olives, like a little piece of Boeotia in the desert of eastern Lesbos. The jasmine on the slopes of the acropolis perfumes the air, and the sun is bright on the cliffs over the town.
The people came down to meet us, then Briseis took me up to the acropolis, where I met Sappho’s daughter – an old, old woman. She was strong, the lady of the town and still fully in command.
‘You are her husband?’ she asked.
I shook my head, no, but she smiled.
‘You are her true husband,’ she said.
She was an odd woman, a priestess of Aphrodite, and the lady of the Aeolian goddess, and a famous teacher. I was a tongue-tied killer in her presence, but I saw another Briseis that day – a witty, educated woman who could sing a lyric as well as an Olympic competitor.
That night we lay together in her house, with the doves cooing and the jasmine smell, and I have never forgotten it. It was the first time we had been together without an element of fear. It was different. She was different. I knew love that night – not the maddened, half-angry love of the young, but the gift of the Cyprian that turns your head for ever.
I would have stayed a second day, but Paramanos came to me, pounding on her door, and his words were hard.
‘You are mad!’ he said. ‘And she is no better.’
And that is what is wrong with the world, thugater. Because I accepted his words. We shared a last drink of wine under her fig tree.
‘You are Helen,’ I said to her.
‘Of course I’m Helen,’ she said. ‘Why shouldn’t Achilles have Helen? Why can’t Helen have Achilles?’
‘I have to sail away from you for a time,’ I said. ‘Otherwise, one of us will die, or I’ll kill Aristagoras and be an outlaw.’
She put her arms around my neck and it felt like the most natural thing in the world. ‘When I’ve had my way with the world, I’ll call you to me and we will make love until the sun stops in the sky,’ she said. ‘I’ll send you a copy of Sappho’s epic to pass the time.’ She laughed.
I kissed her. ‘I love you,’ I said.
She laughed. ‘How could I have doubted you? Listen, Achilles – when you have a chance, kill my husband. If you don’t, I’ll have to do it myself, and men will talk.’ She laughed again, and ice touched my spine.
There was never anyone like Briseis. And if you know your Iliad, you’ll know that it was on that very beach that Achilles took