Warrior Rising (Goddess Summoning #6)(77)

“Well, if you hadn’t been so preoccupied lately you’d know why.” Venus made a motion for Athena to follow her a few paces away. “If I could have a word with you in private?”

Still frowning sternly at the Goddess of Love, Athena told Odysseus, “I’ll be just a moment.” And she followed Venus down the beach. “Explain yourself,” she said when they were beyond his hearing.

“First of all, I must say I told you so. You should have taken him as a lover ages ago.”

“My love life is not open for discussion.”

“Darling, I’m not discussing your love life, just your previous lack of one. Anyway this whole thing is rather simple. You’ve been aiding Odysseus, which has basically nullified Achilles’ absence from the battlefield.”

Athena drew a deep breath, obviously readying herself to launch into an excuse. Venus’s upraised hand silenced her. “Oh, save it. I say good for you.” She glanced over Athena’s shoulder where Odysseus waited for his goddess. “Actually I say very good for you. But you did mess up our little plan.”

“I realize that,” Athena said shortly.

“So, Hera and I have altered it. The Greeks might as well win. I mean, it’s not like we actually care. We just want the war to end.”

“I care,” Athena said.

“I can see that—so this works out doubly well for you. The Greeks win. Your lover is a Greek. All will be happily ever after. Hey, maybe you can manipulate it so that it takes Odysseus another decade to get home. That way you can have him all to yourself for a lovely long affair.”

Athena’s gray eyes narrowed again. “We are not discussing my love life.”

“By Poseidon’s wet buttocks, you’re boring!” Then remembering where she was, Venus glanced nervously out to sea. “Sorry darling, you know I said it with love.”

“Would you please stay focused? What about Achilles and his fate? Does this mean he dies tomorrow?” Athena said.

“Oh, don’t worry about that. Achilles will be sleeping safely in his bed. It’ll be Patroklos, plus a little of my magic, who is actually leading the Greeks. But do not share that information with your boyfriend.”

“He is not—” Athena blustered.

“Oh, whatever. Just don’t tell him. I’ll see you tomorrow after this whole thing is finally over. Unless you’re otherwise occupied.” Venus blew a kiss at Odysseus, and then she disappeared.

* * *

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Agamemnon’s voluminous tents were filled with celebration. Of course most of the revelers were Agamemnon’s contemporaries—men either too old or too highly placed to be involved in the actual fighting—but one would never know from their toasts and their boasts that they hadn’t been in the thick of the battle. And there were women aplenty. Young, supple war prizes who, if not exactly eager to please, were willing to pretend they were for the advantage such a night might gain them.

Briseis hated them—every old, shrunken-testicled, rutting goat. Though even as she hated them she shot surreptitious smiles to those she found the least repulsive. Agamemnon could tire of her at any time, and if he did, only one of these soon-to-be corpses would be all that stood between her and whatever peasant warrior managed to fight off his comrades for her.

What she wouldn’t give to belong to someone as virile as golden Achilles. His scars had never bothered her, and the thought of the berserker had always excited more than frightened her. But when she had belonged to him, he had never so much as glanced at her unless he’d wanted her to fetch wine or food for him. Since he’d allowed Agamemnon to take her, Briseis had cursed herself for not being bolder when she’d had a chance at him. She should have gone to his bed uninvited. She should have thought of bespelling him as Polyxena had.

“Briseis! More wine!” Agamemnon ordered, reaching down from where he sat on his golden throne to cup her breast and tweak her nipple for the benefit of the watching generals.

Briseis wanted to curl her lip and hiss at him like a viper. Instead she arched her back erotically and said huskily, “Anything you wish, my lord.” Then she picked up the large empty wine jug and took her time walking past the other men, stroking the smooth side of the pottery suggestively and allowing them ample opportunity to gaze at her aroused young nipples and fantasize about anything they might wish.

As soon as she left the tent, Briseis’s sensuous walk disappeared and she moved with the catlike silence she’d perfected when she was just a child. Naturally the bovine warriors who huddled around the wine casks didn’t hear her approach. When she heard his name, she froze in the shadows.

“Achilles! Truly? Are you certain?” One short coarse-looking man said.

“I heard from Odysseus himself. It must be truth,” came the reply from a taller, pockmarked soldier.

“With Achilles and his Myrmidons leading the charge, victory will be ours tomorrow, brothers!”

“I didn’t believe he would fight again. I heard that the Trojan princess had cast a spell over him,” said another man.

“She only cast a spell here,” the short man said, grabbing his genitals and thrusting his hips up, “and not here.” With his other hand he lifted his sword and swung it in a singing arch around his head. All the men laughed.