Warrior Rising (Goddess Summoning #6)(29)

The men grunted wordless agreement.

“I have formally withdrawn from the battle against the Trojans.” Achilles dropped that bomb nonchalantly between bites of his stew. Kat watched the men’s faces carefully, and saw expressions that ranged from shock to disbelief and even to anger, though it was only the older warrior who spoke.

“For how long, my lord?”

Achilles shrugged. “Until I feel the need to fight for another man’s glory.”

“But, my lord, we have been fighting for the glory of Achilles,” blurted one of the younger men. “So that your name will be sung for centuries.”

Achilles nodded and looked from man to man. “And you have all fought bravely in this war for almost ten years because of a fate not of your own choosing. It may be time for each of us to reevaluate our fates.”

“Do you ask that we fight on without you, my lord?” the younger man said.

“I ask only that each of you follow his own conscience, as I will follow mine.”

No one spoke for several minutes, and then the old warrior yawned and stretched and said, “I believe these old bones deserve a rest from battle. I will stand down with Achilles.”

“And I,” said the younger man.

“I as well.”

"I.”

All of the Myrmidons present chimed in, siding with their leader. Kat studied Achilles as his men chose him over battle and glory. He stared sightlessly into his bowl of unfinished stew and made little response to any of them.

When he finally spoke again, it was to her and not to the men who had resumed their casual conversation around him.

“My tent is now your home. Anything Briseis left within is yours. If you lack anything, these women will bring you whatever you need.” Then he tossed his bowl down by the fire, grabbed a wineskin that lay nearby, and without another word strode off toward the shore.

Kat didn’t have a clue what she should do. The men ignored her. The women, who were sitting a little way off from the men, kept shooting her furtive, yet curious looks. The only thing she knew for certain was that Achilles had just annoyed the crap out of her. Hadn’t they been getting along okay? It had seemed like it. Then that business with Agamemnon had screwed up everything. With a sigh she got up and approached the woman who had given her the stew.

“Hi. Uh, I was wondering if you knew where my, um, servant, Melia, is,” Kat said.

“No, Princess. We have not seen your maidservant.” The woman fidgeted nervously. “How may I serve you? Are you well, Princess? You have not been harmed, have you?”

“No, I’m fine. Perfectly fine,” Kat assured her.

The woman stepped closer to Kat and whispered, “Princess, I am Aetnia, a kitchen maid from your father’s palace. I was captured with a group of servants who were buying fish outside the city more than two years ago. It will be difficult, but we can help you escape. Once you are within sight of the walls, Hector will surely come to rescue you.”

Kat blinked in surprise, taken aback by the earnestness of this woman who wanted to help her. “Oh, no, I don’t need anything else tonight,” she answered loudly enough for the men to hear. Then she lowered her voice and whispered, “Thank you, but I don’t want to escape. At least not right now.” Raising her voice again, she continued, “I think I’ll turn in. It’s been an exhausting day.” And she retreated quickly to Achilles’ empty tent.

Okay, it wasn’t exactly empty. It was just Achilles-less. The tent itself was filled with beautiful things. Kat gave a low, appreciative whistle. No way was the man who had collected all of these treasures a mindless killing machine bent only on war and destruction. The tent was huge, though not as large as Agamemnon’s. It was softly lit by scented oil lamps suspended from ceiling supports. Under her feet was a thick crimson carpet with birds and wild flowers woven throughout it. Hanging on the tent walls were tapestries of exquisite detail. Most of them showed sea scenes, though a few depicted a lovely temple-filled city on a hill that overlooked the sea. Except for his helmet, a few spears, and a golden shield that bore the figure of an eagle on it, there was no evidence that the tent belonged to a soldier at all. In the rear of the tent Kat could see a bed, thick with linens and canopied with gauzy curtains. She was studying it nervously and thinking that it might seem big at the moment—minus Achilles laying on it—but she was sure that with him present there was no way she could sleep all chastely without brushing against his skin and touching him and his battle-hardened muscles and…

Then she noticed the thick pallet of comforters and pillows that made an opulent nest situated way on the other side of the tent—literally as far away from the bed as was physically possible for it to be and still be inside the tent.

“That’s where the war prize must sleep,” she said aloud to herself. And, hell yes, regardless of how stank and trifling it made her, Kat was disappointed. “Yep. I’ll admit it. Out loud. It would have been interesting to sleep next to him and try to keep my hands off him. Ur, I mean try to keep his hands off me.” She laughed at herself. “Katrina, honey, it has been too damn long since you’ve had sex. With a partner.”

She continued looking around the room and, with a happy little cry, found a pitcher filled with red wine sitting alluringly next to a couple empty goblets. “Well,” she said as she poured herself a generous cup full. “He did say the stuff in here is my stuff, so I’m definitely commandeering the wine.”