Warrior Rising (Goddess Summoning #6)(22)

Blinking, Kat looked up at him. They had fallen behind the warriors, who had turned to the right and followed the shoreline after they had climbed down and then out of the trench.

“Achilles and his Myrmidons do not camp with the rest of us,” Odysseus said, with a rueful twitch of his lips.

“Even before Agamemnon took Briseis?” Kat asked.

Odysseus nodded. “Even before.” He motioned for the two women to walk with him. “The dislike Achilles and King Agamemnon feel for one another is common knowledge. Though it is only recently that the dislike has turned to outright hatred.”

“It doesn’t sound smart to hate your king outright,” Jacky said.

Odysseus glanced with mild surprise at Jacky before answering her, and Kat breathed a silent sigh of relief. Maybe their oracle-and-her-weird-highborn-servant masquerade would actually work.

“Achilles is Greece’s greatest warrior. Perhaps the question should be why a king would alienate himself from his champion.”

Kat laughed sarcastically. “How about because of arrogance, vanity and lust? Aren’t kings prone to those things?” She was silently singing a rousing chorus of “God Bless America” when she thought about current American politics and the song skidded to a metaphoric halt.

Odysseus’s gaze was shrewd. “And yet they say your father has none of those characteristics. Instead it is rumored that he is wise and honorable and much beloved by his people.”

“He’s not the only king I know,” Kat said quickly, hoping that she wasn’t putting her foot directly in her flapping mouth, and wishing desperately college hadn’t been so many years ago and that she’d actually paid attention during world lit class.

“They say you were to be betrothed to the son of the King of Sardis,” Odysseus said.

Holy shit! She was almost engaged? And to a king, no less. Huh. Kat swallowed hard. Venus should have given them a damn briefing. “Uh, I’d really rather not talk about, you know, my life before.”

Odysseus bowed his head in silent acknowledgement of what Kat guessed must be her ruined life.

“So, what kind of a girl was Briseis?” Kat asked, neatly changing the subject.

Odysseus’s brows went up at the question. “She was a war prize—beautiful and compliant.”

Jacky snorted, which made the famous hero smile.

“How did she get along with Achilles?” Kat asked.

Odysseus’s tone turned enigmatic. “As all women get along with him.” He hesitated and added, “Achilles is a great warrior.”

“There’s more to life than war,” Kat said.

“Not since Paris took Helen, there hasn’t been,” he said. “In my world or in yours.”

“Maybe it’s time that changed,” Kat said.

Odysseus’s gaze speared her. “Has Athena sent you here to grant us victory over Troy?”

No, actually, I’m here so that Achilles stays out of the war and, as quickly as possible, the Trojans win, she thought, but when Kat spoke she only said, “As Athena said, I’m here for Achilles.”

“Of course you are,” Odysseus said, making it clear that was the last thing he believed.

The seashore had gone from being flat and sandy to dune filled and grassy, and Kat was glad that she and Jacky had to fall back, scrambling single file behind Odysseus around the mini-hills, and making it impossible to talk. Then the dune gave way abruptly to a cove that was impressive in size, though smaller than the harbor where the Greek fleet docked. It was protected on either side by huge jutting teeth of dark coral. Between the teeth were more ships—all black sailed. Kat stopped counting at thirty something. The beach in front of the cove was filled with tents.

“Achilles is there, closest to the shore.” Odysseus slowed so that the two of them could walk around the sea side of the encampment with him as he made his way toward a huge tent that sat apart from the others. Its canvas had been dyed a yellow so bright it almost appeared gold, and on each side of it was painted a majestic eagle.

Kat could see that Achilles was outside the tent and had joined a little circle of men standing around someone seated in the middle of them.

“Nice of him to wait for us,” Jacky muttered. “Mr. All That needs some etiquette lessons…”

Kat sighed, silently agreeing with Jacky.

They had just caught up with Achilles, who paid them no attention. Clearly he was totally involved with whatever was going on with the guy in the middle of the circle, and Kat was wondering if she should ask him where she was staying, or if she should just go on inside the tent and check things out, when she realized what everyone was staring at. A guy was sitting on a bench, and he was bleeding pretty badly from a nasty cut down the outside of his left bicep. An old, short guy was rummaging around in a raggedy straw basket. With a grunt of victory, he pulled from the basket a large needle that looked almost as sharp as it was dirty. It was already threaded with a long length of something that reminded Kat of black fishing line. The old man looked at the bleeding guy on the bench and, with a wicked smile, said, “Well, my boy, this will hurt.” He bent over the arm, and started pressing the edges of the flapping flesh together, clearly getting ready to sew.

“Oh, no you do not!” Jacky exploded from Kat’s side, snatching the needle from the old man who stood openmouthed staring at her. “This”—she held up the needle—“is disgusting. If you stick it in that”—she pointed at the gaping wound—“his arm is gonna fester and rot.”