For the Most Beautiful (31 page)

Our eyes met, and I knew what I had to do. ‘I cannot accept your offer,' I said.

Apulunas' forehead creased, very slightly, in a golden frown. Then, unexpectedly, the corners of his mouth turned up in a gently mocking smile. ‘You don't know what you're saying,' he said, his voice dripping condescension. ‘Poor Krisayis. You've seen a god for the first time and he wants to lie with you. You're overwhelmed. I understand.'

‘No,' I said again, my temper rising. ‘No, you do not understand. I cannot accept. I – I
will
not accept.'

There was a long silence.

‘You
will
not?' Apulunas repeated, his smile vanishing.

‘No.'

There was a moment as I looked at Apulunas and he looked at me.

Then there was another flash of white light and, without warning, the cushions, tables and food disappeared, sending me plummeting on to the hard stone floor.

Apulunas leapt to his feet. ‘You choose to deny the attentions of a god, like your foolish friend Cassandra?' he asked. His skin was glowing a deep, fiery red now. He was no longer handsome: he looked angry and petulant, his sensitive mouth sneering.

I almost collapsed as a wave of shock flooded over me. Cassandra must have been telling the truth. But I held my ground. ‘Yes.'

‘You choose to deny me, when I have promised you all the influence and power you could ever wish for?'

‘Yes,' I said.

Without warning, he let out a long laugh. ‘What fools you mortals are!' He began to circle around me. ‘Don't you see, Krisayis? The gods you Trojans worship to protect you, and the gods the Greeks invoke, you think we care for you at all? You think we protect one side more than the other? You truly think
I
will help the Trojans win the war when I know that they will lose? You think Athena,' his eyes glittered, ‘or, as you call her,
Atana
, will not turn her eyes from the Greeks the moment they offend her? The god of war, the goddess of love, the god of lightning – are you such a fool that you cannot see we are the
same
?'

I stared at him. I was remembering that day in the Greek camp, when my father released me to Larisa and Achilles said he had been visited by Athena. And Odysseus, saying that Apollo had given them the prophecy about the fall of Troy … How had I not seen it?

He gave me a terrible smile. ‘We are
divine
, Krisayis. Every mortal upon the earth worships us in different names. How many gods do you think heaven can hold? The Greeks,' his smile broadened, ‘even use similar names to yours … I would have thought at least some of you would have worked
that
out … eventually.' His eyes glittered. ‘But, then, perhaps it is a good thing my father Zeus gave you so little intellect. Imagine how few wars there would be if you knew the truth.'

I shook my head numbly. ‘And everyone thinks you are the protector of Troy …'

Apulunas laughed. ‘Troy has been fated to fall since before the Greeks even came to your shores, and a thousand years before! Even as I built the city with my own hands, even as I made the temple where you foolish mortals worship me as your protector, I knew that it was destined to be destroyed, a city founded for burning and pillaging and looting. And Hera has had her sights set on it ever since Paris gave the golden apple to Aphrodite.' He flicked his forefinger against his thumb with a shrug of his shoulders. ‘And you, who think you are so important, are nothing but dust, a mortal who takes a breath of air and is gone for ever. What does it matter if the people of Troy die because their city is destined to fall? It is
we
who remain.'

I almost staggered. ‘No …'

His smile broadened into a grin. ‘Ah, poor foolish mortal. You thought that you would change the fate of Troy?'

‘You are lying,' I breathed, my voice harsh. ‘You are lying.'

‘You will see soon enough which of us is all-knowing and which of us is a fool,' he said. ‘But you should know that it is not about power, or love, or even beauty – only what we gods want.' He tilted his head. ‘Speaking of which, I need to give you a reminder of my visit. You cannot defy a god without consequences, Krisayis. You, of all people, should know that.' He paused.

‘What do you mean?'

‘I cursed your friend with being doubted though she speaks the truth, for her insolence in denying me. From you, I shall take the only thing you have left.'

I stared defiantly at him, though in truth my knees felt as weak as water. ‘And what is that?'

He leant towards me. ‘Your beauty.'

Back on my pallet in the slave quarters of Agamemnon's tent, I could not sleep. The memory of Patroclus' white face kept surfacing in my mind. If only I had not said anything! Patroclus had always been kind to me. I should not have taunted him. But I had been shocked and angry, upset. If he had not goaded me in the first place …

I turned on to my side, trying to find a comfortable place to lie on the hard straw. The thought that had been haunting me all night came back to me with the force that all our deepest fears possess.

What if Patroclus was right?

What if Achilles did not care for me after all?

I closed my eyes.
No. Don't think it. It isn't true. He only said it to upset you.

But if Patroclus was telling the truth and he had not told Achilles what I had said, why
had
Achilles refused the embassy? Did he not want me back? Was I not the reason he had left the war?

I turned over to the other side, pulling the thin linen sheet flat over the straw. One of the slaves beside me opened her eyes at the noise and hushed me irritably.

I tucked my knees up to my chest for some warmth and tried to let go of my fear. I would find Patroclus tomorrow and apologize. I would wait for him all day on the shore if I had to, and tell him that I had not meant what I had said, and that I was sorry for it.

And then, surely then, he would tell me that he, too, had spoken in anger.

That Achilles cared for me still.

I looked up from where I lay. All I could remember was a burst of white light and a blast of cold air, then blackness as my head had hit the ground. The dark temple around me flickered, then swam into view. The torches in the brackets on the columns had been snuffed out, but a cool, silver-white light was suffusing the floor around me.

Moonlight.

I looked up quickly. The doors were hanging open on their hinges, swinging in the cold breeze from the sea, as if they had been pushed apart by some unnatural force. Outside, the stars were glittering in the dark sky, and a full moon was shining with a pale white glow.

I pressed my hands against the cold stones of the floor and pushed myself up unsteadily to stand. The force that had knocked me unconscious … the doors …

I spun around, the memory of what had happened suddenly returning. Heart beating very fast, I stared into the shadows of the temple, looking for any movement, any sign that someone was there. But I was alone.

Apulunas was gone.

I gathered my cloak around me and set out for the open doors, my legs still weak but my stride determined and quick. It was more important now than ever that I return to Troy. If what Apulunas had said was true, my city was in greater danger than any of us could ever have imagined.

I had to get to Prince Hector and tell him what I knew.

The walk through the woods felt interminably long. My head ached from where it had hit the floor and I felt exhausted from lack of sleep, but I refused to allow myself to rest. The moonlight pooled in patches of pale light on the forest floor, guiding me to the rough-beaten path to Lycaon's farm and turning the leaves of the olive trees and pine needles to silver.

At last I emerged from the forest. Dromas did not even raise his head as I crept around the side of the farmhouse to the stables. Three heavy chestnut horses and a grey mare stood stabled in the yard, their dark eyes regarding me sleepily. I walked up to the mare and stroked her soft, warm nose, then lifted a leather bridle and bronze bit from a hook on the stable wall nearby and fastened it to her mouth. She snuffled as I took the reins and led her, as quietly as I could, to the mounting block. The stable yard was quiet, and it would be many hours before Lycaon woke and saw that I had taken his mare. I drew a deep breath, then climbed on to her back and took the reins into my hands. Turning her, I urged her into a walk, then a trot through the northern entrance to the yard and into the moonlit fields. Then I dug my heels into her sides, and we were out on the plains, my hair flying behind my back as we galloped north, following the twisting line of the coast to Troy.

The next morning I awoke abruptly in the same position I had fallen asleep, back stiff and my feet as cold as blocks of ice. The sun was rising, bleak and pale through the linen of the tent. The sound of soldiers shouting and screaming slaves was on the wind all around me.

I could smell smoke.

It was like the sack of Lyrnessus all over again.

The odour of burning grew stronger, bitter.

I sat up. Slaves all over the tent were waking, their expressions puzzled. The curtain to the quarters parted and one of the kitchen slaves appeared, her face a picture of terror. ‘Get out!' she shouted. ‘All of you, get out! The Trojans are sacking the camp! It's going up in flames!'

In a moment I had grasped my cloak and leapt from the bed. The room was a confusion of panicked voices, slaves running in all directions, and the distant sounds of battle. I darted through the kitchens to the camp outside.

The air around me was filled with a thundering drum of noise. Soldiers were shouting, women screaming, bronze-tipped arrows hammering against wood. A large hole had been smashed in the wooden palisade near the camp's south gate, and a company of Trojan soldiers was pouring through the gap, shouting and rattling their spears against their shields. A group of them had managed to set fire to one of the ships and it was already blazing, a bright orange-red stain on the sky and dark smoke billowing over the camp.

‘A larger force approaches!' one of the lookouts called down from the rampart. ‘The entire Trojan army is gathering for the attack! Sound the alarm!'

A cacophony of trumpets was added to the noise, shrieking to the sky a warning to the Greeks. I turned in horror to look back at the upper city of Troy, set high on its rock over the bay. Would the Trojans recognize me? Or – I shuddered – would they kill me before I had the chance to tell them who I was?

I looked around desperately, my skin cold with terror, searching for someone, anyone, who might save me.

But this time I was alone. I had no Mynes to protect me.

‘Briseis!' a voice close by me shouted, and I felt my wrist locked in a strong grip, pulling me upright. Before I knew where I was, I was being dragged across the sand, half pulled, half running.

‘Patroclus!' I gasped. ‘What are you doing here? Why—'

‘No time for questions!' he shouted, pushing his way through the crowds of Greek soldiers arming themselves, still holding my wrist. He had a rough beaten-bronze shield on the other arm and held it over our heads to protect us from the fire arrows that were now showering down from the sky, setting aflame anything they hit. I ran through them, shaking with fear, my free hand held over my head.