Page 27 of Odette's Vow

His words were bitter with resentment, yet it did nothing to dull the charge in the air.

“Don’t you think I’d rather be with my dead husband than you?” I hissed.

And then he did something I never expected. His hands gripped my face and he crushed his lips to mine, until there was no more oxygen between us.

1 Stupid.

2 Also spelt π?ρνη: prostitute, whore, slut, harlot, hooker, wench.

3 The equivalent of being called a ‘bastard’.

4 Undiluted wine and bread served at akratisma (breakfast).

9

Οdysseus

Ishouldn’t have done it. I knew that.

But it had been nine long years since I’d last felt the warmth of a woman’s touch, and in that moment of weakness, I succumbed to the allure of Odette’s presence. Yet now, as I rubbed my jaw, remembering the sting of the slap she had delivered afterwards in her rightful anger, I couldn’t help but feel a strange fascination alongside the sense of regret.

Penelope was a woman of strength and cunning. Unlike Odette, she possessed a quiet resolve, a calculated wisdom that she wielded with precision. In all our years together, she had never lashed out at me in such a manner, never raised a hand in anger. Her silence spoke volumes, her words measured and deliberate. She’d always held me steady.

Odette was different. She was a tempest of emotions that threatened to consume everything in her path. Her desperation created a vacuum in the very air around her. All of her emotions were so obvious in every action she took, painted across her face, and yet somehow it was not a weakness. For the way it drew me in, it mademethe weak one.

Had she been in another man’s tent, I’m sure she would have taken a beating for her insolence. But violence had neverappealed to me, certainly never against one of the opposite sex. Punishing her would just make her fearful and myself displeased. So what would be the point? No one else needed to know what went on between us.

I couldn’t ignore the pang of guilt that echoed through my bones for betraying Penelope’s trust. But I was aware enough to admit I was lonely. It was an ever-present state in this war; comfort was scarce. I longed for Penelope, who had always challenged me; and now here was Odette, offering the same giftandsolace in the midst of chaos.

She was both a confidant and a rival. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps I was taking advantage of her station, but she stirred something within me, a longing that I had long since buried beneath the weight of duty and responsibility. And though I knew I should resist, I found myself drawn to her in ways I could not fully understand.

With a heavy heart, I sighed and turned to stare at the horizon, where the shadows of war loomed large on another day in battle.

The moat project had only lasted three weeks, and yet somehow in that time I had forgotten the scent of true battle. Now that I was back, all I could smell was shit. I should have been used to it – how often men shat themselves right before they died. Late in the day, when both sides retreated and each collected their bodies, the ground was always soaked with blood, sweat, and other bodily fluids cast across the plain as we cut down man after man.

Looking out on the barren expanse of the field on a fresh day that offered only death in its void, I felt a wave of despair wash over me. I could feel it in the men beside me, too, sneaking between us on the wind, as we listened for Agamemnon’s cry to charge towards the wall of Trojan soldiers awaiting us. The samecry he would have made yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that.

Except, with each passing day, there were fewer men. Not just on the battlefield itself, but back in camp. A dreaded black plague had begun to sweep through the tent rows and firepits, infecting the men. It had arrived on the night of the first full moon after the moat was built. Many men grumbled that Artemis had sent it, but those of us closer to King Agamemnon knew the truth.

The king hadn’t been satisfied with just taking Achilles’ war-prize, Briseis. No, he’d also claimed a woman named Chryseis, the daughter of a Trojan priest of Apollo. The priest had come to beg for his daughter back, risking slaughter himself, and still Agamemnon had denied him.

This plague was Apollo’s punishment for Agamemnon’s greed and cruelty. Twelve nights of fever and chills, swollen faces and discoloured skin. Twelve nights of death to welcome us, even when we returned from the battlefield.

Agamemnon willfully remained ignorant to the rumors like the coward he was. Instead, he turned to us, as if he could sense the despair and offered a cajoling – clearly rehearsed – speech. “Men, I have decided it is time for us to give up this charade. Let us return to Greece, knowing that we have slaughtered a good many Trojans, and have made our point loud and clear. You cannot take from us without losing many of your own.”

His tone was prideful, as always, but there was an inflection there, a catch I didn’t believe the other men heard. Agamemnon sent me a glance with a small smirk, as if to say ‘watch how they rally for me now’.

He and I both knew why despair hung heavily off the men, after all. He’d insulted the great warrior, Achilles, who now refused to fight. Without the one who could win this war for us, what hope did the other men hold?

This, I realised, was a test. One which failed almost immediately as a deafening cheer went up around me and carried back through the crowds of men, who upon hearing the news, turned on their heels and started running for the ships. There were splashes of ocean, an ever-gathering crescendo, as the men quickly waded into the water. I turned back to Agamemnon, who looked more like a forlorn boy than a king.

Then, she whispered in my ear. I knew it was Athena who spoke to me, but for the strangest reason I heard her words in Odette’s voice. “You must call them back. You are not done here yet.”

“Are you really so cowardly?” I bellowed, catching Agamemnon’s look of surprise as I turned around to face the men heading for the ships. “Do you not remember what the soothsayer Calchas said to us before this war began? Do you not remember your vow, that you would not abandon this struggle weallface, until this city falls? Are you really so weak to put that all on Achilles’ shoulders? Do you have no pride? Have you not held your own on this battlefield day after day, for the last nine years?”

The men shifted on their feet, their faces a mix of shame and defiance, but no one moved closer to the ships.

“You have made it this far, and now you would turn and run when victory is millimetres from your grasp? Nine years, men. That is what the soothsayer said. You know it is darkest before dawn. This is it, the end in sight! Are you so very sure you want to return home when you are so close to claiming honour?”

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