Though anyone who lookedlike that wouldn't need to tie girls up and imprison them in order to get themto marry him.

"Doyou often sleep tied to the bed?"

bowlegged creature

what I do, as long asI don’t “totally screw up like Faisal.”

This is NYU, man

The only people I’ve seen pull off those kinds of glasses are Korean popstars. Does Professor Pryce think he’s more attractive than a Korean popstar? The nerve. He does have a nice jaw, admittedly. He’s pretty young fora professor, too, but he’s already got the beginnings of salt-and-pepper hairat his temples, which I’m pretty sure is one of those weird things thateveryone agrees is a sign of Hotness. Like dimples or rolled-up sleeves.

and Hassan’s celebrating Eid in Virginia

Imran’s visiting fam in Bangladesh

: I got your number from the six flags fieldtrip a month ago

I bite my lip. It’s true; dating in the casual sense is still frowned upon inmany Muslim communities, and it’s not something you can openly talkabout unless you’ve practically made a formal Jane Austen–styledeclaration that you’re in pursuit of a life partner.

Or before Mom died.

Then again, he has virtually zero observation skills and probably doesn’teven realize I wear the same sweatpants three times a week

N THE DARKNESS, two shadows, reaching through the hopeless, heavy dusk.Their hands meet, and light spills in a flood like a hundred golden urnspouring out of the sun.

“I have done it,” she says. At first I do not understand. But then I see thetomb, and the marks she has made on the stone. ACHILLES , it reads. Andbeside it, PATROCLUS.“Go,” she says. “He waits for you.”

Why are you not with Pyrrhus?Something flickers in her eyes. “He is dead.”I am fiercely glad. How? It is a command, almost.“He was killed by Agamemnon’s son.”For what?She does not answer for some time. “He stole his bride and ravished her.”“Whatever I want,” he said to Briseis. Was this the son you preferred toAchilles?

Her mouth tightens. “Have you no more memories?”I am made of memories.“Speak, then.”

T HE G REEKS SAIL, and take my hope with them. I cannot follow. I am tiedto this earth where my ashes lie. I curl myself around the stone obelisk ofhis tomb. Perhaps it is cool to the touch; perhaps warm. I cannot tell. A C H IL L E S , it says, and nothing more. He has gone to the underworld, and I amhere.

“I have a wife. I have not seen her for ten years. I do not know if she isdead, or if I will die before I can return to her.”

Odysseus shrugs. “We cannot say. We are men only, a brief flare of thetorch. Those to come may raise us or lower us as they please. Patroclus maybe such as will rise in the future.”“He is not.”

Odysseus inclines his head. “True. But fame is a strange thing. Somemen gain glory after they die, while others fade. What is admired in onegeneration is abhorred in another.” He spread his broad hands. “We cannotsay who will survive the holocaust of memory. Who knows?” He smiles.“Perhaps one day even I will be famous. Perhaps more famous than you.”

I am only an honestman, who likes to see right done.”

“I cannot say I was your father’s friend, nor he mine. But I admired hisskill and valued him as a soldier. And in ten years, you get to know a man,even if you don’t wish to. So I can tell you now that I do not believe hewould want Patroclus to be forgotten.”Pyrrhus stiffens. “Did he say so?”“He asked that their ashes be placed together, he asked that they beburied as one. In the spirit of this, I think we can say he wished it.” For thefirst time, I am grateful for his cleverness.

Odysseus .He sleeps lightly, eyelids fluttering.Odysseus. Listen to me.He twitches. Even in sleep he is not at rest.When you came to him for help, I answered you. Will you not answer menow? You know what he was to me. You saw, before you brought us here.Our peace is on your head.

Pyrrhus’ hand closes on the shapeless, blowing dress of the princessPolyxena and yanks her towards the altar. “This is what my father’s souldeserves.”He will not. He dare not.As if in answer, Pyrrhus smiles. “Achilles is pleased,” he says, and tearsopen her throat.I can taste it still, the gush of salt and iron. It seeped into the grass wherewe are buried, and choked me. The dead are supposed to crave blood, butnot like this. Not like this.

I haunt their dreams. Do not leave, I beg them. Not until you have givenme peace . But if anyone hears, they do not answer.

plucks the child from her arms and dashes his head against the stone of thewalls, so hard the skull shatters like a rotted fruit. Even Agamemnonblanched when he heard.

Her limbs lift into the gray waves like the steady beats of wings. She hasalways been the strongest swimmer of the three of us. She used to swearshe’d gone to Tenedos once, two hours by boat. I feel wild triumph as shepulls farther and farther from shore. The only man whose spear could havereached her is dead. She is free.The only man but that man’s son.The spear flies from the top of the beach, soundless and precise. Its pointhits her back like a stone tossed onto a floating leaf. The gulp of black waterswallows her whole.Phoinix sends a man out, a diver, to look for her body, but he does notfind it. Maybe her gods are kinder than ours, and she will find rest. I wouldgive my life again to make it so.

“Yet your father loved him well, and honored him. He would be wellpleased to know they were buried together. He had no need of me.”Pyrrhus stares at her.

“Them?”There is a slight pause. “Your father and his companion. Patroclus.”“And why should this man be buried beside Aristos Achaion?”The air is thick. They are all waiting to hear Menelaus’ answer.“It was your father’s wish, Prince Neoptolemus, that their ashes beplaced together. We cannot bury one without the other.”Pyrrhus lifts his sharp chin. “A slave has no place in his master’s tomb. Ifthe ashes are together, it cannot be undone, but I will not allow my father’sfame to be diminished. The monument is for him, alone.”Do not let it be so. Do not leave me here without him.The kings exchange glances.“Very well,” Agamemnon says. “It shall be as you say.”I am air and thought and can do nothing.

If it is so, we are indeed glad to have you,” Menelaus says. “We weretalking of your father’s tomb, and where to build it.”

“I have come to take my father’s place.” The clear voice cuts across theroom.

Agamemnon’s face is caught between disbelief and displeasure. He hadthought he was done with Achilles. And the boy’s affect is strange,unnerving.

I feel nothing

Closest totears is Ajax, leg bandaged and healing. But perhaps he is just thinking ofhis own long-awaited promotion.

Achilles hears the faint hum of its passage a second before it strikes. Heturns his head a little, as if to watch it come. He closes his eyes and feels itspoint push through his skin, parting thick muscle, worming its way past the

Penthesilea

an old man comes to our tent

His chest heaves. “Then who is it, Mother? Am I not famous enough? Ikilled Hector. And who else? Send them before me. I will kill them all!”Her face twists. “You act like a child. At twelve Pyrrhus is more of a manthan you.”“Pyrrhus.” The word is a gasp.“He will come, and Troy will fall. The city cannot be taken without him,the Fates say.” Her face glows.Achilles stares. “You would bring him here?”“He is the next Aristos Achaion.”“I am not dead yet.”“You may as well be.” The words are a lash. “Do you know what I haveborne to make you great? And now you would destroy it for this?” Shepoints at my festering body, her face tight with disgust. “I am done. There isno more I can do to save you.”Her black eyes seem to contract, like dying stars. “I am glad that he isdead,” she says.It is the last thing she will ever say to him.

Hector’s eyes are wide, but he will run no longer. He says, “Grant methis. Give my body to my family, when you have killed me.”Achilles makes a sound like choking. “There are no bargains betweenlions and men. I will kill you and eat you raw.” His spearpoint flies in adark whirlwind, bright as the evening-star, to catch the hollow at Hector’sthroat.

Achilles’ face is sweat-streaked, his breaths harsh. But he does not pause.“Hector!” he screams. And the hunt begins again.Somewhere, the gods whisper:He has beaten one of us.What will happen if he attacks the city?Troy is not meant to fall yet.And I think: do not fear for Troy. It is only Hector that he wants. Hector,and Hector alone. When Hector is dead, he will stop.

Achilles buries his face in his hands. But she does not relent. “You havenever deserved him. I do not know why he ever loved you. You care onlyfor yourself!”Achilles’ gaze lifts to meet hers. She is afraid, but does not draw back. “Ihope that Hector kills you.”The breath rasps in his throat. “Do you think I do not hope the same?” heasks.

B RISEIS IS KNEELING by my body. She has brought water and cloth, andwashes the blood and dirt from my skin. Her hands are gentle, as thoughshe washes a baby, not a dead thing. Achilles opens the tent, and their eyesmeet over my body.“Get away from him,” he says.“I am almost finished. He does not deserve to lie in filth.”“I would not have your hands on him.”Her eyes are sharp with tears. “Do you think you are the only one wholoved him?”“Get out. Get out!”“You care more for him in death than in life.” Her voice is bitter withgrief. “How could you have let him go? You knew he could not fight!”

Achilles’ eyes lift. They are bloodshot and dead. “I wish he had let youall die.”

Odysseus grabs his shoulders. “Tomorrow,” he says. “He has gone insidethe city. Tomorrow. Listen to me, Pelides. Tomorrow you can kill him. Iswear it. Now you must eat, and rest.”

He snatches for his sword to slash his throat. It is only when his handcomes up empty that he remembers: he gave the sword to me. ThenAntilochus is seizing his wrists, and the men are all talking. All he can seeis the bloodstained cloth. With a roar he throws Antilochus from him,knocks down Menelaus. He falls on the body. The knowledge rushes up inhim, choking off breath. A scream comes, tearing its way out. And thenanother, and another. He seizes his hair in his hands and yanks it from hishead. Golden strands fall onto the bloody corpse. Patroclus, he says,Patroclus. Patroclus. Over and over until it is sound only.

But he cannot feel it. There is a numbness in him. The writhing field islike a gorgon’s face, turning him slowly to stone. The snakes twist and twistbefore him, gathering into a dark knot at the base of Troy. A king has fallen,or a prince, and they are fighting for the body. Who? He shields his eyes,but no more is revealed. Patroclus will be able to tell him.

and the last image I see is of Hector, leaning seriouslyover me, twisting his spear inside me as if he is stirring a pot. The last thingI think is: Achilles.

My breaths are shallow gasps that feel like new wounds tearing.Remembrance drums in me, like the pulse-beat of blood in my ears. Hecannot kill me. He must not. Achilles will not let him live if he does. AndHector must live, always; he must never die, not even when he is old, noteven when he is so withered that his bones slide beneath his skin like looserocks in a stream. He must live, because his life, I think as I scrapebackwards over the grass, is the final dam before Achilles’ own blood willflow.

Somehow I am quick enough,and it passes over me, ruffling my hair like a lover’s breath.

I set my jaw and begin again; I will not let it defeat me. I amdelirious, fevered with my dream of Helen captive in my arms. The stonesare like dark waters that flow ceaselessly over something I have dropped,that I want back. I forget about the god, why I have fallen, why my feetstick in the same crevices I have already climbed. Perhaps this is all I do, Ithink, demented—climb walls and fall from them. And this time when Ilook up, the god is not smiling. Fingers scoop the fabric of my tunic andhold me, dangling. Then let me fall.

A voice like music, above me. I look up to see a man leaningon the walls as if sunning,

The thought of Troy’s fall pierces me with vicious pleasure. They deserveto lose their city. It is their fault, all of it. We have lost ten years, and somany men, and Achilles will die, because of them. No more

“Be careful,” he said.“I will.”There was more to say, but for once we did not say it. There would beother times for speaking, tonight and tomorrow and all the days after that.He let go of my hand

I feel like Daphne,” I told him, barked up in her new laurelskin.

I must stay away from the walls of the

“Then do something else. Send the Myrmidons at least. Send me in yourplace. Put me in your armor, and I will lead the Myrmidons. They will thinkit is you.” The words shocked us both. They seemed to come through me,not from me, as though spoken straight from a god’s mouth. Yet I seized onthem, as a drowning man. “Do you see? You will not have to break youroath, yet the Greeks will be saved.”

His face had gone cold as I spoke. “If they are dying, it is Agamemnon’sfault. I told him what would happen if he took my honor.”

nd so many wounded kings—Diomedes,Agamemnon, Odysseus, strewn about the camp like crumpled tunics.

have lived eighteen years

The smile is thick in her throat. “I am glad.” I do not say that I do notthink I will ever leave Troy.

, you will not leave Troywithout me. I know that you cannot

I am nolonger to guide the course, merely to be carried, into darkness and beyond,with only Achilles’ hands at the helm.

Hereis Phoinix’s craft: Cleopatra, Patroclus. Her name built from the samepieces as mine, only reversed.

He stormed off to his room to lie with his wife,Cleopatra, and be comforted.”When he speaks her name, Phoinix’s eyes flicker to me.

Itell you as a friend, it is better to seek it on your own terms, to make it go atyour pace, than theirs.”

“You have eked out ten more years of life, and I am glad for you. But therest of us—” His mouth twists. “The rest of us are forced to wait for yourleisure.

I am glad that there is only Ajax with him, who will not understand theexchange.

The excitement of the day has flared through him, like flame in drygrass. For the first time, he dreams of killing: the stroke of glory, hisinevitable spear through Hector’s heart. My skin prickles to hear him sayso.

“That the best of the Myrmidons will die beforetwo more years have passed.”

“Apollo is angry and looks for ways to move against the Greeks. You willsacrifice to him today?”“I will,” Achilles said. We always observed the festivals, dutifully slittingthe throats and roasting the fat.“You must,” she said. Her eyes were fixed on Achilles;

Achilles would shake his head. “I don’t know howyou remember them all. I swear they look the same to me.”

But then Diomedes stepped forward, praising the plan and frightening themen with visions of night raids and burning ships.

“I havealways said that Hector’s done nothing to offend me. But he cannot say thesame, now.”

Andromache, and she is the only daughter of King Eetion ofCilicia. Hector is said to love her above all things.“He first saw her when he came to her father’s kingdom for tribute. Shewelcomed him, and entertained him at the feast that evening. At the night’send, Hector asked her father for her hand.”“She must have been very beautiful.”“People say she is fair, but not the fairest girl Hector might have found.She is known for a sweet temper and gentle spirit.

But Machaon saw how well theshoulder healed, with no infection and little pain, and next time there wasan arrow wound he called me over and passed me a sharp blade, looking atme expectantly.

“No.” He was quiet a moment. “But I can see it. That’s the strange thing.Like in a dream. I can see myself throwing the spear, see him fall. I walk upto the body and stand over it.”Dread rose in my chest. I took a breath, forced it away. “And then what?”“That’s the strangest of all. I look down at his blood and know my deathis coming. But in the dream I do not mind. What I feel, most of all, isrelief.”

Afterwards, when Agamemnon would ask him when he wouldconfront the prince of Troy, he would smile his most guileless, maddeningsmile. “What has Hector ever done to me?”

Hector. He was always alone, strangely solitary in the space theother men gave him. He was capable and steady and thoughtful, everymovement considered. His hands were large and work-roughened, andsometimes, as our army withdrew, we would see him washing the bloodfrom them, so he could pray without pollution. A man who still loved thegods, even as his brothers and cousins fell because of them; who foughtfiercely for his family rather than the fragile ice-crust of fame.

Diomedes, unlike his commander, was fearless. He fought like a feral,savage animal, leaping forward, teeth bared, in quick strikes that did not somuch puncture flesh as tear it. After, he would lean wolfishly over the bodyto strip it, tossing the bits of gold and bronze onto his chariot before movingon.

Odysseus carried a light shield and faced his foes crouched like a bear,spear held low in his sun-browned hand. He would watch the other manwith glittering eyes, tracking the flicker of his muscles for where and howthe spear would come. When it had passed harmlessly by, he would runforward and spit him at close quarters, like a man spearing fish. His armorwas always soaked with blood by the day’s end.

“So which of the suitors would you have picked?”I shoved him, and he laughed.

I hoped that Achilles might object, declare that there was no glory inkilling farmers. But he only nodded, as if this were his hundredth siege, asif he had done nothing but lead raids his whole life.

Later, I would see those walls up close, their sharp squared stonesperfectly cut and fitted against each other, the work of the god Apollo, itwas said. And I would wonder at them—at how, ever, the city could betaken. For they were too high for siege towers, and too strong for catapults,and no sane person would ever try to climb their sheer, divinely smoothedface.

If the pick had beenOdysseus’ design, we owed him our thanks—it was the best of the campsby far, offering green and shade and quiet.

Protesilaus, Prince of Phylace, leaptlaughing from the bow of his ship and began to swim to shore. Perhaps hewas drunk; perhaps his blood was fired with hopes of glory; perhaps hewished to outdo the prince of Phthia. A spinning spear, from Hectorhimself, hit him, and the surf around him flushed red. He was the first of theGreeks to die.

No spearman could throw half so far as an arrow could fly. Itwould fall well short.It did not.

A chariot flew along their ranks,churning up sand. The man in it wore a horsehair helmet, and even from adistance we could see the strong lines of his body. He was large, yes, butnot as large as Ajax or Menelaus.

If you aretruly his friend, you will help him leave this soft heart behind. He’s going toTroy to kill men, not rescue them.” His dark eyes held me like swift-running current. “He is a weapon, a killer. Do not forget it. You can use aspear as a walking stick, but that will not change its nature.”

If it helps his conscience, tell him I placed Diomedes where he was onpurpose. So Achilles would see too late.”I hated him so much I could not speak.

Yes. It was the only way Clytemnestra would letthe girl come.” The mother, back in Argos.

The goddess is appeased.

She was too shocked to struggle, to know even what was happening.Agamemnon yanked something from his belt. It flashed in the sun as heswung it.The knife’s edge fell onto her throat, and blood spurted over the altar,spilled down her dress. She choked, tried to speak, could not. Her bodythrashed and writhed, but the hands of the king pinned her down. At last herstruggles grew weaker, her kicking less; at last she lay still.Blood slicked Agamemnon’s hands. He spoke into the silence: “Thegoddess is appeased.”

I watch his eyes as he does—they are cold and almost sad. Later, I will remember this.

“I have a daughter, Iphigenia. I would wish her to be yourwife.”

goddess Artemis

She is a priestess of Artemis, and the youngestwoman ever to have been so anointed; perhaps she can soothe the raginggoddess.

. But most ugly of all are his eyes:blue, bright blue. When people see them, they flinch. Such things arefreakish. He is lucky he was not killed at birth.

There was no wind, I realized.

Did they believe thoseslender limbs could hold against an army of Trojans?

nd then Odysseus was there, his handhard on Achilles’ shoulder, wrinkling the fabric as his voice smoothed theair.

My gaze caught on Odysseus and Diomedes; their eyeswere sending sharp messages

Achilles, went rolling down his hair and back and skin, turning him to gold.He seemed suddenly larger, and his tunic, wrinkled from travel,straightened until it shone white and clean as a sail. His hair caught the lightlike buoyant flame.Gasps amongst the men; new cheers burst forth. Thetis, I thought. Itcould be no one else. She was pulling his divinity forth, mantling it likecream on every inch of his skin. Helping her son make the most of hisdearly bought fame.

thought, This is what Achilles will feel like when he is old.And then I remembered: he will never be old.

As he lay alone in his rose-colored cave, had some glimmer of prophecy come to him? Perhaps hesimply assumed: a bitterness of habit, of boy after boy trained for music andmedicine, and unleashed for murder.

As for the goddess’s answer, I did not care. I would have no need of her. Idid not plan to live after he was gone.

I will kill myself rather than miss it.

Achilles was looking at me. “Your hair never quite lies flat here.” Hetouched my head, just behind my ear. “I don’t think I’ve ever told you howI like it.”My scalp prickled where his fingers had been. “You haven’t,” I said.“I should have.” His hand drifted down to the vee at the base of mythroat, drew softly across the pulse. “What about this? Have I told you whatI think of this, just here?”“No,” I said.

His great-grandfather Tantalus was a son ofZeus. Surely you’ve heard his story.”All knew of Tantalus’ eternal torment. To punish his contempt for theirpowers, the gods had thrown him into the deepest pit of the underworld.There they afflicted the king with perpetual thirst and hunger, while foodand drink sat just out of his reach.

“What about Hector?” Achilles’ eyes never left Odysseus.“Priam’s oldest son and heir, favorite of the god Apollo. Troy’s mightiestdefender.”

Aeneas, his name is, a child ofAphrodite herself.”

Ajax. Both Ajaxes, larger and lesser.”

After Helen picked him for herhusband— Patroclus can tell you about that—he became king of Sparta.

“I’ll go.” Diomedes stood from where he leaned against the rail. “I’veheard this one almost as many times as that sickening bed story.”“Your loss,” Odysseus called after him. “Don’t mind him. His wife’s ahellhound bitch, and that would sour anyone’s temper. Now, my wife—”“I swear.” Diomedes’ voice carried back up the length of the ship. “If youfinish that sentence, I will throw you over the side and you can swim toTroy.”“See?” Odysseus shook his head. “Sour.” Achilles laughed, delighted bythem both. He seemed to have forgiven their part in his unmasking, and allthat came after.

In the hall, I had taken Diomedes for Odysseus’ dog. But there was akeenness that hummed between the two men, a pleasure in their sparringthat could come only from equals. I remembered that Diomedes wasrumored to be a favorite of Athena as well.

“Tell me,” Odysseus continued. “Do you think such quick wit comesfrom your father having eaten that man’s brains?”“What?” Achilles’ mouth hung open.“You don’t know the tale of Mighty Tydeus, king of Argos, eater ofbrains?”“I’ve heard of him. But not about the—brains.”“I was thinking of having the scene painted on our plates,” Diomedessaid.

“Bragging about your new ship again?” Diomedes had joined us. His hairwas lashed back with a strip of leather, and it made his face look sharpereven than usual.“I am.”Diomedes spat into the water.“The king of Argos is unusually eloquent today,” Odysseus commented.Achilles had not seen their game before, as I had. His eyes went back andforth between the two men. A small smile curled at the corner of his mouth.

A marriage for love, rare as cedars from the East. It almost made mewant to like him. But I had seen his smiles too often now.Politely, Achilles asked, “What is her name?”“Penelope,” he said.“Is the ship new?” I asked. If he wanted to speak of his wife, I wanted tospeak of something else.

“You are admiring my wife, I see.” Odysseus joined us at the railing,leaning on muscular forearms. “She refused at first, wouldn’t let the artistnear her. I had to have him follow her in secret. I think it turned out ratherwell, actually.”

The prow piece was a beauty, thefinest I had ever seen: a woman, tall, with dark hair and eyes, her handsclasped in front of her as if in contemplation. She was beautiful, but quietlyso—an elegant jaw, and upswept hair showing a slender neck. She had beenlovingly painted, each darkness or lightness perfectly rendered.

“She wishes to raise him herself. She—” Achilles faltered before the lookon the old man’s face. “The child will be a boy, she says. When he isweaned, she will claim him.”Silence. Then Lycomedes closed his eyes. I knew he was thinking of hisdaughter, arms empty of both husband and child. “I wish you had nevercome,” he said

“And you think that no one but me can kill Hector.”“Yes,” I said.“And you think to steal time from the Fates?”“Yes.”“Ah.” A sly smile spread across his face; he had always loved defiance.“Well, why should I kill him? He’s done nothing to me.”For the first time then, I felt a kind of hope.

she considered mea moment. “Hector’s death will be first,” she said. “This is all I am given toknow.”

He would sail to Troy and I wouldfollow, even into death. “ Yes,” I whispered. “ Yes.”

He wasspring, golden and bright. Envious Death would drink his blood, and growyoung again.

The last of her fire was gone; only marble remained. “It is true. But thereis more, and worse that he has not said.” The words came tonelessly, as astatue would speak them. “If you go to Troy, you will never return. You willdie a young man there.”Achilles’ face went pale. “It is certain?”This is what all mortals ask first, in disbelief, shock, fear. Is there noexception for me?“It is certain.”If he had looked at me then, I would have broken. I would have begun toweep and never stopped. But his eyes were fixed on his mother. “Whatshould I do?” he whispered.The slightest tremor, over the still water of her face. “Do not ask me tochoose,” she said. And vanished.

“Athena has no child to lose.” The words grated from Thetis’ throat, hungin the air.

“The gray-eyed maiden has ever been kind to me,” Odysseus said, almostapologetically. “She knows why I am here; she blesses and guards mypurpose.”

Odysseus’ dark beard was dusted with fine debris from the door’s ruin.He stood. “Greetings, Thetis.”Her gaze went to him as a snake’s to her prey, and her skin glowed. Theair around Odysseus seemed to tremble slightly, as if with heat or a breeze.Diomedes, on the ground, edged away

. Heracles would kill hiswife again for a chance to come along

“This will be the greatest war of ourpeople, remembered in legend and song for generations

“Oh yes,” Odysseus called over his shoulder. “You’re welcome to bringPatroclus along, if you like. We have business with him, as well.”

I yanked my gaze to Odysseus and Diomedes and was horrified to seethem smiling. “Greetings, Prince Achilles,” Odysseus said. “We’ve beenlooking for you.”

All the girls but one. Before the final blast was finished, Achilles hadswept up one of the silvered swords and flung off its kidskin sheath. Thetable blocked his path to the door; he leapt it in a blur, his other handgrabbing a spear from it as he passed. He landed, and the weapons werealready lifted, held with a deadly poise that was like no girl, nor no maneither. The greatest warrior of his generation

“Please, take what you would like,” Odysseus said. The girls movedswiftly to the tables, and I watched them fingering the bright trinkets:

and herankles

The king of Argos made a noise of disgust. “I’m sick to death of this taleabout your marriage bed.”“Then perhaps you shouldn’t have suggested I tell it.”“And perhaps you should get some new stories, so I don’t fucking killmyself of boredom.”

‘A wedding bed should not bemade of dead, dry wood, but something green and living,’ she told me.‘And what if I can make such a bed?’ I said. ‘Will you have me?’ And shesaid—”

“Invited,” Diomedes scoffed. “Is that what they call crawling through thebracken to spy upon them?”“I’m sure the prince of Ithaca would not do such a thing.” Lycomedesfrowned.“Unfortunately I did just that, though I appreciate your faith in me.”

“Of course. And these were too young, I’m afraid.” He tossed a smile atme, then turned back to the king.

. “I left my wife and sonthere, both in good health.”“Ask him about his wife,” Diomedes said. “He loves to talk about her.Have you heard how he met her? It’s his favorite story.”

“Actually, he’s only a prince,” a voice drawled. “I’m the one who’s aking.” I looked up to meet the third man’s eyes; they were a brown so lightit was almost yellow, and keen. His beard was short and black, and itemphasized the slanting planes of his face.“This is Lord Diomedes, King of Argos,” Lycomedes said. “A comradeof Odysseus.” And another suitor of Helen’s, though I remembered no morethan his name

“Thank goodness for hosts,” Odysseus said. “I realized after I left that Inever told you my name.”And I did not ask because I knew .

Useless information is my curse, I’m afraid.” He was amused again, thatslight smile. “Now don’t forget to come find me if you decide you want tojoin us. Or if you happen to know of any other likely young men I shouldspeak to.” The door snicked shut behind him.

I nodded. He made as if to go, then stopped. “You know, it’s funny; Ikeep thinking I’ve seen you before.”“I doubt it,” I said quickly. “I don’t recognize you.”He studied me a moment, then shrugged, giving up. “I must be confusingyou with another young man. You know what they say. The older you get,the less you remember.” He scratched his beard thoughtfully. “Who’s yourfather? Perhaps it’s him I know.”“I am an exile.”He made a sympathetic face. “I’m sorry to hear it. Where were youfrom?”“The coast.”“North or south?”“South.”He shook his head ruefully. “I would have sworn you were from thenorth. Somewhere near Thessaly, say. Or Phthia. You have the same

The campaign looks to be short; we will have you back homeby next fall.

“Chironides,” he repeated. I watched him for disbelief, but saw none. Thetension in my muscles ebbed a little. Of course he did not recognize me. Ihad changed much since I was nine

his clever dark eyes that missed nothing

Good.” He smiled and stretched his feet in front of him. The fading lightfell on his legs, revealing a pink scar that seamed the brown flesh of hisright calf from ankle to knee. A pink scar. My stomach dropped as if Ileaned over Scyros’ highest cliff, with nothing beneath me but the long fallto the sea. He was older now, and larger, come into the full flush of hisstrength. Odysseus .

“It’s rather too late for that,” a voice answered. The tone was amused, dryas driftwood. I opened my eyes and sat up. A man stood inside the opendoor. He was sturdy and muscular, with a close-cropped philosopher’sbeard, dark brown tinged with faintest red. He smiled at me, and I saw thelines where other smiles had been. It was an easy motion for him, swift andpracticed. Something about it tugged at my memory.

“Wait.” Her voice sounded raw. I turned. “Tell him good-bye,” she said.And then closed the door, dark and thick between us.

He floundered as hetried to describe the heavy, thick smell, the wetness between her legs.“Greasy,” he said, “like oil.” W

Achilles had told me about their nights together when I asked. It had notbeen awkward for him to do so—nothing was forbidden between us.

“It was not just once.”It was twice . Achilles had told me. She thought that she had power todrive a wedge between us, but she had nothing.

“You are not even handsome, that is the funny thing. You are quiteordinary.”

If their tales found the ears of someone clever enough—I did notlike to think of it.

Menoitiades

Diomedes

Odysseus . The scar that wrapped his calf, pink as gums.

Agamemnon and Menelaus now charge these men to fulfill their oath andbring her back to her rightful husband.

“Achilles,” Chiron said, “do you remember when I asked you what youwould do when men wanted you to fight?”“Yes,” said Achilles.“You should consider your answer,” Chiron said. A chill went throughme, but I did not have time to think on it. Chiron was turning to me.“Patroclus,” he said, a summons. I walked forward, and he placed hishand, large and warm as the sun, on my head. I breathed in the scent thatwas his alone, horse and sweat and herbs and forest.His voice was quiet. “You do not give things up so easily now as youonce did,” he said.I did not know what to say to this, so I said, “Thank you.”A trace of smile. “Be well.” Then his hand was gone, leaving my headchilled in its absence.“We will be back soon,” Achilles said, again.Chiron’s eyes were dark in the slanting afternoon light. “I will look foryou,” he said.

went to say our farewells to Chiron.Achilles, always bolder, embraced the centaur, his arms encircling the placewhere the horse flank gave way to flesh.

“Whatever it is, we’ll only be gone for a night or two,” Achilles told me.I nodded, grateful to hear him say it . Just a few days.

Because you’re the reason. Swear it.”“I swear it,” I said, lost in the high color of his cheeks, the flame in hiseyes.“I swear it,” he echoed.We sat like that a moment, hands touching. He grinned.“I feel like I could eat the world raw.”

I know. They never let you be famous and happy.” He lifted an eyebrow.“I’ll tell you a secret.”“Tell me.” I loved it when he was like this.“I’m going to be the first.” H

His eyes opened. “Name one hero who was happy.”I considered. Heracles went mad and killed his family; Theseus lost hisbride and father; Jason’s children and new wife were murdered by his old;Bellerophon killed the Chimera but was crippled by the fall from Pegasus’back.

Yes . I would be horrified to find Chiron upset with me. Disapproval hadalways burrowed deep in me;

This was the trinity of my fears—Chiron, Peleus, and Thetis.

He paused now, considering. I loved this about him. No matter how manytimes I had asked, he answered me as if it were the first time.

F C HIRON NOTICED a change, he did not speak of it. But I could not helpworrying.

This, and this andthis. We were like gods at the dawning of the world, and our joy was sobright we could see nothing else but the other.

I savored the miracle of being ableto watch him openly, to enjoy the play of dappled light on his limbs, thecurving of his back as he dove beneath the water.

Achilles spoke again. “She says she cannot see us here.”I had not been expecting him to say more. “Hmmm?”“She cannot see us here. On Pelion.”There was something in his voice, a strain. I turned to him. “What do youmean?”His eyes studied the ceiling. “She says—I asked her if she watches ushere.” His voice was high. “She says, she does not.”

—a boy playing the lyre, head raised to the sky, mouthopen, as if he were singing.

It was difficult sometimes, after, to return to the cave. “Where wereyou?” he’d ask.“Just—” I’d say, and point vaguely.He’d nod. But I knew he saw the flush that colored my cheeks.

Other images came in their stead. The curve of a neck bent over a lyre,hair gleaming in firelight, hands with their flickering tendons. We weretogether all day, and I could not escape: the smell of the oils he used on hisfeet, the glimpses of skin as he dressed

e paused, and my face grew warm.“That’s enough,” I said, more abruptly than I meant to. I sat again on thegrass, and he resumed his stretches. I watched the breeze stir his hair; Iwatched the sun fall on his golden skin. I leaned back and let it fall on meas well.After some time, he stopped and came to sit beside me. We watched thegrass, and the trees, and the nubs of new buds, just growing.His voice was remote, almost careless. “You would not be displeased, Ithink. With how you look now.”My face grew warm, again.

We were only twelve, too young to brood.

“You will be dead soonenough.”

“No one hasever tried to take something from me.”“Never?” I could not believe it. A life without such things seemedimpossible.“Never.” He was silent a moment, thinking. “I don’t know,” he repeated,finally. “I think I would be angry.” He closed his eyes and rested his head

I found myself grinning until my cheeks hurt,my scalp prickling till I thought it might lift off my head. My tongue ranaway from me, giddy with freedom. This and this and this, I said to him. Idid not have to fear that I spoke too much. I did not have to worry that I wastoo slender or too slow. This and this and this! I taught him how to skipstones, and he taught me how to carve wood. I could feel every nerve in mybody, every brush of air against my skin.

O UR FRIENDSHIP CAME ALL AT ONCE AFTER THAT, LIKE spring floods from themountains. Before, the boys and I had imagined that his days were filledwith princely instruction, statecraft and spear. But I had long since learnedthe truth: other than his lyre lessons and his drills, he had no instruction.One day we might go swimming, another we might climb trees. We madeup games for ourselves, of racing and tumbling. We would lie on the warmsand and say, “Guess what I’m thinking about.”

“I mean—” I broke off. There was an edge to me now, that familiarkeenness of anger and envy, struck to life like flint. But the bitter wordsdied even as I thought them.“There is no one like you,” I said, at last.He regarded me a moment, in silence. “So?”Something in the way he spoke it drained the last of my anger from me. Ihad minded, once. But who was I now, to begrudge such a thing?As if he heard me, he smiled, and his face was like the sun.

stepped forward, defiant.Something burned hot in me now, an impatience, a certainty. I would havethis thing. He would give it to me.

rpheus’ voicemade the trees weep

O NE AFTERNOON, as I went to leave him to his private drills he said, “Whydon’t you come with me?” His voice was a little strained; if I had notthought it impossible, I might have said he was nervous. The air, which hadgrown comfortable between us, felt suddenly taut

Up close, his feet looked almost unearthly: theperfectly formed pads of the toes, the tendons that flickered like lyrestrings. The heels were callused white over pink from going everywherebarefoot. His father made him rub them with oils that smelled ofsandalwood and pomegranate.

. In the dim light I saw his easybreathing, the drowsy tangle of his limbs. In spite of myself, my pulseslowed. There was a vividness to him, even at rest, that made death andspirits seem foolish. After a time, I found I could sleep again. Time afterthat, the dreams lessened and dropped away.

“Tonight you’re to sleep in my room,” he said. I was so shocked that mymouth would have hung open. But the boys were there, and I had beenraised with a prince’s pride.

“Some know of it, and some do not. But that is why I go alone.” But hedidn’t go. He watched me. He seemed to be waiting.

“Yes. But it is not his fault. I forgot to say I wished him for acompanion.” Therapon was the word he used. A brother-in-arms sworn to aprince by blood oaths and love. In war, these men were his honor guard; inpeace, his closest advisers. It was a place of highest esteem, another reasonthe boys swarmed Peleus’ son, showing off; they hoped to be chosen.

“Your excuse for where you have been.” His voice was patient. “So youwill not be punished. What will you say?”

His gaze, which had been following the circling fruit, flickered to mine. Idid not have time to look away before he said, softly but distinctly, “Catch.”A fig leapt from the pattern in a graceful arc towards me. It fell into the cupof my palms, soft and slightly warm. I was aware of the boys cheering.

After that, I was craftier with my observation, kept my head down andmy eyes ready to leap away. But he was craftier still. At least once a dinnerhe would turn and catch me before I could feign indifference. Thoseseconds, half seconds, that the line of our gaze connected, were the onlymoment in my day that I felt anything at all. The sudden swoop of mystomach, the coursing anger. I was like a fish eyeing the hook.

For a second our eyes held, and I felt ashock run through me. I jerked my gaze away, and busied myself with mybread. My cheeks were hot, and my skin prickled as if before a storm.When, at last, I ventured to look up again, he had turned back to his tableand was speaking to the other boys.

Indeed, he seemed utterlyunaware of his effect on the boys around him. Though how he was, I couldnot imagine: they crowded him like dogs in their eagerness, tongues lolling

In the huge hall, his beauty shone like a flame,vital and bright, drawing my eye against my will. His mouth was a plumpbow, his nose an aristocratic arrow. When he was seated, his limbs did notskew as mine did, but arranged themselves with perfect grace, as if for asculptor.

Here is where I tasted the full truth of Peleus’kindness: well trained and indebted, we would one day make him a finearmy.

“Patroclus.” It was the name my father had given me, hopefully butinjudiciously, at my birth, and it tasted of bitterness on my tongue. “Honorof the father,” it meant. I waited for him to make a joke out of it, some wittyjape about my disgrace. He did not. Perhaps, I thought, he is too stupid to.He rolled onto his side to face me. A stray lock of gold fell half into hiseyes; he blew it away. “My name is Achilles.”

. It struck from me a sudden, springing dislike.I had not changed so much, nor so well.He yawned, his eyes heavy-lidded. “What’s your name?”His kingdom was half, a quarter, an eighth the size of my father’s, and Ihad killed a boy and been exiled and still he did not know me. I ground myjaw shut and would not speak

carved lyre, gilded atits tips.