Page 29 of Odette's Vow

I saw her clench at that, no doubt wondering what her fate would be when the war ended. I was still contemplating that myself. I wanted her to ask; I felt myself yearning for her curiosity, but she didn’t broach it. I could feel her hoarding thoughts, and I wanted to tug them out of her, one morsel at a time.

“What are you thinking?”

Once again, she surprised me. “I am thinking, if you want to be successful on your quest this night, you will appeal to the one thing Achilles won’t say no to.”

“His pride?”

“No. Patroclus.”

The menand I had found Achilles engrossed in his lyre within his tent, Patroclus listening intently beside him. Within minutes of being there, it became evident that persuading him to rejoin the war would not be a simple task. Achilles rebuffed Agamemnon’s offer immediately after we presented it, his resolve unwavering. The chance to voice my own thoughts, so closely aligned with Odette’s, was ripped away as Phoenix launched into a fervent plea, invoking the story of Meleager in a desperate effort to bend Achilles’ resolve.

It had failed.

With another meeting scheduled for tonight comprising myself, Diomedes, Nestor, Phoenix, Agamemnon, and Meleanus, the weight of decision loomed before us as Ajax, Phoenix, and I trudged back into Agamemnon’s territory. It did not help that the camp remained quiet, as it was when we had left. There had not been revelries around the firepits for weeks. There had been nothing to celebrate. Instead, all we could hear was the scuffing of our feet across the sand and the snores of men behind their tents.

“Well?!” Agamemnon demanded, as soon as we entered his tent.

The others gave him grimaces, while I shook my head and cloak off at the same time.

“Then, pray tell, what are we going to do with wretched Achilles? How can we force him to do what we wish, when he did not kneel to me?”

The men all looked at one another. I wondered which of them would be the first to speak. When the silence stretched on, uncomfortably taut, I sighed. “We cannot force him to do anything. Therefore, it seems obvious to me that we need another plan.”

“Well, then, what do you suggest, Odysseus?” Agamemnon snapped.

I crossed my arms as I regarded him. The temptation to say something snide was appealing, but I held my tongue. Just.

“Why don’t we send a spy to infiltrate the Trojan ranks?” Nestor suggested, breaking the eye contact – and the tension – between Agamemnon and myself. “If we can figure out their movements, pre-empt them, we will have a greater chance of beating them on the battlefield tomorrow. And if we can show the men that we can do it without Achilles, we can win this war and be done with it.”

A round of nods and murmurs followed.

“I would go,” Diomedes offered. “Though I wouldn’t say no to another joining me?”

“I’ll join you, friend,” I replied.

“It’s decided then,” Agamemnon declared. “You’ll come back and report to me before dawn and we will show Achilles how pathetic his pride is.”

With that, we were dismissed. Diomedes threw me a look and I shrugged. We knew who Agamemnon was when we came to these shores. He hadn’t changed; he had only become more petulant and child-like the longer he didn’t get his own way. War, like greed, simply highlighted and exacerbated a man’s character.

“Well, friend, we best arm ourselves if we’re going into the enemies’ trenches.” Diomedes slapped me on the back and we returned to camp to get what little sleep we could. The best time to raid a man, as we had learned from villages like Odette’s, was at the third watch when a clock would strike four in the morning. Then, men were prone to drowsiness and sloppiness. Easier to get past. Easier to kill.

At three, we met again at the intersection of our two camps. Diomedes nodded to me, I to him, and we continued quietly on foot across the plain. Nothing needed to be said. We had been on the battlefield together long enough to know each other’s styles. He was quicker on his feet, more brash with his execution of movements. He would inevitably catch any man who spotted us, and I would kill them. I was quieter when it came to that part.

We stuck to the outer edges of the field, where the long grass brushed against our calves, and for some reason, I thought of Odette. A heron called to us with its three rolling ‘rohs’, and once again I found it puzzling that I saw a sign of Athena while I thought of Odette.

“We should pray,” Diomedes whispered loudly to me, nodding at the heron.

Exactly what I was thinking.

We each muttered under our breath. “Lady Athena, protect us. Lady Athena, guide us. There is none wiser than you, particularly in the art of warfare. Guide our path and protect us, good lady, if you should see fit.”

In the privacy of my mind, I thought of Odette’s inquisitive eyes. That I might see them again.

The heron gave us one calling ‘roh’ before it flew off.

For the next hour, it was unnervingly quiet. I was used to the grunts of men thrusting swords and spears, shouting, screaming, pleading, groaning as weapons were removed with force from lifeless bodies. Not this unending silence.

I was not used to being able to smell the sea breeze on this battlefield, and I was so enamoured with it, it took me a minute to place the second scent.

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