Update time... This story will be completed... It's just taking it's time... Thanks for showing an interest.

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CHAPTER FOUR

Earlier that evening, before dusk had fallen, a less pleasant scene was continuing to unfold on Trojan beaches. Back in Agamemnon's tent, Odysseus threw up his hands in despair.

'There is no way our siege will hold up now, my Lord…'His hand motioned to the map stretched on the long table before him, indicating the losses and positions now held by the Achaean army.

'…What with the Myrmidons no longer supporting troops from the left flank, and the decimation of Nestor's men along the central column before the wall, we do not have enough manpower to force the Trojans away from their gate. At best we can pin them in position, and hope to pick as many off as we can through Diomedes's archers on the right flank…but even then it will be awhile before we can breach Troy's army and bring a battering ram to her gates '

Sitting on his throne at the end of the room, Agamemnon grunted in acknowledgment. Standing up, he walked to the table, pointing a finger on ground before Troy's walls. 'And if we pull all our forces to attack here, right before Troy's gates? Surely we can force our way through, without the need for all your tricks and ploys? We still have the greater numbers in this war, after all, what have we to fear?' The fat King said rhetorically, grinning at his tactician.

Odysseus inwardly grimaced. He forced a returning smile for a moment, then his eyes returned to the map, his hand motioning to the placement of the entire Achaean army before Troy's walls and the disaster that would befall them in such a move.

'…And so you see my Lord, attacking Troy in force openly again on the plains will only further result in massacre. If the Trojans weren't prepared to push against our front men with their shields in their regimented formation, then almost certainly we would break through them with our greater numbers. But surely your Highness remembers last time… Our strength was deployed against us, Hector used…'

'Hector!' Agamemnon spat venomously, causing Odysseus to pause. His King sounded dangerously incensed. 'Do not speak to me of that – that Trojan! Speaking to me like that before my own army – refusing me…'

The High King's eyes flashed as he rambled incoherent rage, '…Achilles, at least, was tolerable – he could be manipulated… but, no, Troy has cost me my best warrior…'

Odysseus cut in, '…yes, and with Achilles is dead, my lord, we have lost all the advantages the Myrmidons brought to the war. The fact is Troy's army has a more than capable general to lead them to victory. In such circumstances that now face us, my lord, admitting failure and turning the ships back to Greece is a wise option to consid-'

Agamemnon looked at Odysseus, pure animalistic fury in his gaze. His robes billowed as he paced the length of the long table, his hand moving violently over the map before banging down hard on the table, his fist crushing the painted Troy's walls.

'I will not abandon Troy's beaches… never will I allow Priam the satisfaction of our surrender!' Agamemnon thundered, blazing fire in his eyes.

Odysseus frowned hard at his Lord's words, but slowly the frustration melted away into despair at Agamemnon's adamant refusal. How blind had the greedy man become, that his stubbornness should condemn them all? In his heart he knew that any success against Troy had died along with Achilles. The King of Ithica let out a sigh he realised he'd been holding all throughout their debate. So be it.

Defeated, Odysseus slumped down on the throne at the right hand of his king, Agamemnon's puppet, as ever he had been.

'So, we will continue our siege as you would have it, my lord, through to the end. In this war of attrition, we will eventually succeed…' He spoke coldly, in a monotone. 'Despite the lack of any other option available to us… eventually we must succeed…'

But at what cost, Odysseus thought sadly, my life? My only chance of seeing my family again? He stood suddenly to his feet.

'My lord? I shall prepare myself for tonight's funeral ceremony…'

At Agamemnon's dismissal by wave of hand, Odysseus left, a slow anger beginning to burn in his heart.

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The night was quiet and restful. A full moon shone undimmed silver brilliance on the shores of Troy, alighting the sands in white fire. From the shoreline to the top of the dune sands, the largest funeral pyre yet erected on Troy's beaches stood proudly on the horizon. Its size and meticulous construction honoured the body laid deferentially on the mass of wood heaped up on high so all gathered could see.

Almost the entire make up of the Achaean army had gathered around the new pyre that had been built for this evening at the sea's edge. All stood still in respectful stillness as a lone figure broke apart from the gathered multitude, a flaming torch in his hand, and climbed the ladder to the large pyre built at the top.

Solemnly Odysseus approached Achilles's body, laid out gently on the stacked timbers. Even in death his body seemed imbued with life; his golden hair shone like a lion's mane as it splayed out around his shoulders, and Odysseus could see the knots and strong form of his muscular body clearly in the silver moonlight.

Hector had left his slain enemy's body completely untouched and, silently, Odysseus thanked the Trojan prince for this kindness.

With the utmost respect he laid the two coins on Achilles's face, murmuring his own prayer for Achilles's soul's safe passage, before alighting the funeral pyre. Even the flames themselves seemed to lick the fuel they burned with an almost respectful silence, never flaring up or crackling in greed. Odysseus smiled sadly. Truly this was all befitting Achilles's farewell.

'Be at peace, my brother' he whispered, feeling the warmth of the fire lifting the ashes of Achilles body into the night…

Amongst the multitude of mournful men, a single woman stood, trembling slightly from a mixture of the cold night breeze and turbulent inner emotions.

Briseis felt tears run down her cheeks, but she didn't raise a hand to wipe them away. Softly spiralling into the midnight air, the black smoke that freed the soul of the man she loved reminded her to the fate he had left her. Alone.

Shuddering, she ran her hands lightly over her collarbone. She felt dirty; the feeling of Agamemnon's hands on her body from earlier lingered, repulsively, in her mind. Tonight he would call for her, she knew. He attended this funeral ceremony only for show, and to acknowledge some sort of gratitude to the man who might have won Troy for him, and for a while sated his inexhaustible greed.

Turning her head slightly from the burning spectacle before her, she sought out the fat man's figure from the opposite side of the front ranks of the gathered Achaean army on the sands. In a moment she located him.

The High King had taken his eyes off the pyre and was talking to a smaller man beside him who bent low, his face hidden by dark cloth. One of his servants, Briseis thought, fear gripping her heart afresh. She watched as Agamemnon seemed to mutter something in the stooped man's ear, who then bowed and shuffled quickly away. Briseis watched as a look of supreme serenity washed over Agamemnon's features, her heart in her mouth, wondering what on earth would make the High King of the Achaeans look that way.

One horrible second later she realised her terrified gaze had lingered too long. Surveying the surroundings, Agamemnon's eyes locked onto Briseis's form and the girl felt her very blood freeze as the sadistic man smiled at her, the flames casting eerie shadows on his face.

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Later, when the men began to disperse finally, withdrawing to their tents, Briseis found herself, as predicted, being escorted to the High King's presence. Numbly she allowed the soldiers their frustrations; they prodded and pushed and hit her all the way to Agamemnon's tent which she entered sprawled on her face.

The Achaean Overlord was sitting in his chair, apparently enjoying a glass of wine. Briseis remained huddled on the floor, hoping to avoid his attention. Slowly Agamemnon lowered the goblet, licking his lips.

'It appears, my pretty, you have been somewhat untruthful with me…'

His voice was low and gruff and it sent shivers down her spine, causing Briseis to shudder. With her head lowered she didn't see Agamemnon rise and approach her.

'It's a thing I cannot stand, when people keep secrets from me – and yours has been such a big secret, hasn't it my dear?'

Briseis raised her eyes, her mouth opened in askance, but Agamemnon had darted forward and grabbed her suddenly, a hand clenched around her neck.

'No! Don't deny it, I won't listen to any Trojan lies. My closest spies have already informed me… They have confirmed beyond any doubt what they've heard passing between you and dear Achilles these past few evenings…'

His voice grew low, husky. He gazed down at the terrified girl clearly enjoying himself.

'…All this time, and I thought you were just a common serving girl, a slave to Apollo's Temple…' his grip around her neck loosened and became soft. Briseis whimpered as he traced his fingers down a pulsing artery...

'…When really you were so much more – a daughter of royal blood, related directlyto old Priam himself, and cousin to his bastard sons…' Agamemnon's fingers stroked her cheeks almost reverentially.

No… Briseis's mind screamed silently, but Agamemnon was without mercy. In a second he had pulled her face to his lips. His kiss was more of a physical assault. Briseis's trapped arms fluttered weakly.

'Suddenly I have such plans for you, my sweet,' Agamemnon murmured into her ear afterwards, '…and perhaps now, if all goes well, Troy will at last succumb to me, after all.'

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Half of the next chapter is written... praps it will be up sometime during the summer... Anyway thanks for reading! review if you can spare a moment... cheers.