The Greek and the Amazon

Among all creatures that breathe on earth and crawl on it there is not anywhere a thing more dismal than man is. (Iliad, XVII.446-447)

Achilles lunged forward, hoping to catch the enemy's neck with the sharp bronze spearhead. Firstly to his shock, and furthermore to his horror, his opponent pirouetted to the side, moving with a grace unseen in most men. The Greek's spear bounced harmlessly off the upper coat of Gorgan shield, scraping only a little of the gold inlay from the boss. The enemy stopped moving and Achilles realised his mistake. That final lunge, extending his entire right arm forward with the spear shaft, had left his armpit hideously exposed. Achilles realised this too late, as the masked warrior struck.

The bronze bit into his flesh like a hot dagger through curdled milk. As the warrior forced the blade onward, they twisted the shaft at the same time. The blade span within him, ripping more flesh, snapping two ribs. Blood poured from the wound onto the soil, soaking the dark earth with his life force. The pain was unlike anything he had felt before. Dropping his spear, Achilles fell to his knees, the Trojan spear jutting out from just below the right arm. Another push and the point would have punctured his heart, killing him instantly. Instead, the victorious fighter stood over him seemed content to let the Greeks life ebb away, like the dropping tide slowly drifts away from the shore.

Darkness began to take a hold of him, numbness extending its icy tentacles up from his feet, slowly reaching for his heart. Achilles, bravest of the Greeks, leader of the Myrmidons, fell forward and rolled onto his back. The dull thud of the lodged spear shaft hitting the ground with him echoed around his mind. His vision began to blur. Before he joined the endless queue for Charon's ferry services, Achilles saw the face of his killer. The Trojan removed the gilded helmet, revealing a fiery red mane, which reached down to the shoulder blades. Achilles' anguish intensified as he realised the truth. This was no Trojan man. It was a beautiful woman. Her hazel eyes seemed to shimmer, as though she was shedding a tear for his downfall. Her ruby lips opened, but no sound came out. Achilles heart rejoiced, yet screamed at the way the gods toyed with him. Here was a woman like no other, a woman who on any other occasion would have made a fine wife for the Greek. Yet he had not found her until his death throes. A tear fell from his own eye, as darkness finally began to worm its way into his vision…

Achilles sat bolt upright, his toned body drenched in sweat from the nightmare. A nightmare; that was all it was. He put his head in his hands, praying that the gods would release him from the nightmare's torment. Apollo's chariot had carried the sun across the sky seven times since then, and still the vision of the Amazonian warrior lingered in his dreams, seared into his thoughts by some unknown deity. It had not been him to die. He was still among the living; Charon left waiting for his fare from swift-footed Achilles. His was not the ever-green plains of Elysium; instead, he remained on the plains of the Scamander, camping closer and closer to the solid walls of Ilium...

No he was still alive. She was not so fortunate.

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He thrust the bronze spear forward, missed as she pirouetted around the attack, her own spear aimed at his unguarded armpit. The luck of the gods was with him. The Amazon's thrust missed the opening, glancing off the back of his carapace . The force of her attack dragged her further forward than she had anticipated. She stumbled, caught completely off balance. In one swift movement, he spun away from the stumbling form, extended the oak shaft of his own spear and caught his foe in the gut. The tumbling body combined with the thrusting spear bit straight through her bronze corset, the bronze ripping vital organs with great ease.

Withdrawing the spear would have finished her off, but Achilles had wanted – no, needed – to see who had fought him so well. Not since the dual with Hector outside the walls of Ilium had Achilles found a worthy opponent. The rank and file of the Trojan army were cannon fodder. The great oak spear of Peleus had created more widows and orphans that that of Laertes or Atreus. Even the giant Telemonian Ajax had failed to kill as many noble sons of Troy as swift-footed Achilles.

He tore the helmet from the fallen warrior, expecting to see the harsh weathered face of a Trojan veteran. He would have been content to smile into the dark eyes of a battle-hardened warrior, a face scarred by war, bronzed by the sun. He would have happily intoned the gods himself to carry such a worthy fighter to Elysium. Instead, to his surprise…no, his horror, he found himself looking into the dying eyes of a beautiful young woman. Her hazel eyes seemed to hold him with their dying strength, and he unable to turn away. Her autumnal hair, now matted with sweat, blood and dirt, still shone in the late afternoon sun. Achilles struggled to find breath in his body. Here was the most beautiful creature on earth, and he had killed her.

He gently laid her head to the ground, before standing up. Any other fallen enemy and the son of Peleus would have retreated back to camp, or gone in search of his next victim. Instead, he found his feet cemented to the spot, unable to move a muscle from the goddess at his feet. He kept his eyes on the fallen woman, unable to blink despite the afternoon sun beating down upon the gleaming bronze of both armies. Achilles crouched back down, both knees hitting the soft dirt as he leant in to talk to the mortally wounded Amazon. "By what name do you go by, fair lady?" asked the Greek, his eyes never moving from Penthesilia's. She too, despite the obvious pain from her injury, kept constant eye contact between the two of them.

Penthesilia, the breath of life slowly evaporating from her body, stared back into the bright blue eyes of the victor. "P…p…Penthesilia…is my name" she gasped, unbelievable pain coursing through her body with every word. That didn't stop her from continuing. "I am…d-daughter of…Ares…queen…o-of the…Am…Amazons…"

Achilles almost reeled back in shock. Amazons? Here? He thought back to the last few skirmishes. Yes, there had certainly been fresher warriors in the Trojan ranks, all built leaner than their Trojan counterparts. Had they really been fighting Amazons for three days, and no-one in the Greek camp knew? Achilles could not help but smile gently at the fallen queen. "Then it is true what the legends say". His voice was soothing to her ear, almost taking the mortal pain away from her broken body. "They say that the Amazons are unlike any other warrior created by the gods. They say that your fighting skills outmatch all others." A racking cough overtook Penthesilia as she tried to laugh. "I…I fear that the…legends may…may be wrong about you…son of Peleus."

Achilles sat in silence, knowing that the moment where Penthesilia's mighty Amazonian body gave up the fight for life was close, and edging closer. Had this been a mere Trojan, even a son of Priam, he wouldn't have thought twice about leaving the poor soul to the crows and dogs. Now, however, he felt compelled to stay, to sit with the dying woman until she took her last breath. He even held her hand, as if using his strength to keep her going. Did he want her to survive? He wasn't sure. After all, they were on opposite sides in this bloody and, to be honest, pointless war. He wondered if Priam held the Amazon queen in as little regard as his own commander. Agamemnon, that pathetic trumped up old fool, wouldn't stand a chance against such power, such grace, such beauty… The sight of the Amazon queen mortally wounded, helpless and defenceless stirred something within him. We are the unlucky few. Those who are destined to die by the sword, never to have experienced real love…

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of approaching feet, crunching on the gravel alongside the Scamander. He turned to see who was approaching, and was instantly cursing each and every one of the Olympian Gods for his misfortune. Zeus almighty, you had to send HIM now, of all times? Thersites, the ugly, loudmouthed bastard son of a whore (very much the most pleasant name Achilles could think of at this moment in time), came trotting up with his diseased limp, a miserable example of a man if ever one lived.

As soon as the soldier came within ten feet of Achilles, his ugly face broke out into a hideous smile. Achilles felt that that was the sort of face that parents should show their children to keep them in order. 'You'd better do as you're told? Do you want this coming after you in the night?' Shaking these thoughts from his head whilst struggling to restrain a smirk, Achilles walked over to Thersites, eager to send the repulsive little man on his way. "Listen, soldier. I have no need of your tongue now, nor shall I be in need of that repulsive little muscle any time before you and I are dwelling in the Halls of Hades. Now return to your ranks." Thersites, however, had other ideas. "What's this then? Killed a woman, did you? Bet she loved the spear of Achilles being thrust into her. Why not give her a thrust of a different kind? I bet she's still warm. It's not as if she'd be able to fight ba…"

The ugly soldier's words were cut off by a weak voice. Both Thersites and Achilles turned to its source, both surprised to see Penthesilia had pulled herself up to rest on her elbows; a struggle, no doubt, with Achilles' black handled spear still embedded in her, the weapon in a way prolonging her life. Her weak voice was filled with strong words, all directed at the miserable specimen of soldiery who stood before her.

"I…would have…you know…ugly one" she started. Achilles could not help but smirk at the way she addresses Thersites. "I would have you know…that were conditions different…were it so that we were at peace rather than war…that I would gladly offer my body to one such as your commander." The admission took Achilles by surprise. It shocked Thersites into a fury.

"You dare to speak to me like that, you filthy Trojan whore? I shall end your life myself!" With that he rushed past Achilles and delivered a vicious kick to the side of the Amazon Queen. The pain was so immense that Penthesilia cried out in agony as Thersites managed to land three well aimed kicks to her bleeding body. Blinking through the tears, Penthesilia saw Thersites' ugly gaze fall upon her face, his lips twist into a sneer as he readied a blow to the head. Before the foot could swing and connect, Thersites disappeared from view. With one last breath, the Amazon queen felt everything go black.

The last kick was cut off by a massive right fist to Thersites' face. The soldier hit the ground in a heap, the raging Achilles standing over him. "How dare you attack an Amazon queen like that, you ill-gotten spawn of Hades! You insult me by trying to steal the glory of a noble's death? I shall teach you manners and the ways of war!"

With those words, Achilles was abreast the fallen Thersites, striking his face repeatedly with furious fists. Thersites cried out in pain and terror with every blow, his face slowly being broken and crushed by the incessant punches. One connected with his jaw, dislocating a handful of rotting, yellowed teeth. Another opened a gash above his left eye, blood pouring into the eye itself, half blinding the fallen man. Achilles, filled with rage, unleashed all kinds of hell upon the soldier, until the cries for mercy died down, the pathetic whimpering stopped, and the arms that attempted to shield the battered face went limp on the dusty ground. Achilles glared at the man beneath him. Thersites was still breathing, only just but it was still there. In a final rush of rage, Achilles drew his sword. Thersites uttered one final scream, which ended as the sword was plunged through his neck. Skin, muscle and bone all broke beneath the weight of Achilles' sword. "Never again shall the world have to listen to your filthy tongue" muttered Achilles. The son of Peleus suddenly found himself being pulled off the man, two strong arms gripping his shoulders and roughly pulling him to the side.

Achilles jumped to his feet, his sword still jammed in Thersites' windpipe, and narrowly avoided throwing his next punch into the face of Diomedes, whose own fists were raised ready to fight the young hero himself. Only when Agamemnon himself stepped between the two men did Achilles pause for thought. The red mist lifted, and for the first time Achilles saw what he had done. Thersites face was a bloody pulp, the ugly face battered beyond all recognition. Blood pooled behind the back of the head where Achilles had split skin and bone. The bronze blade embedded in his neck quivered through the last spasms of the dead. A snarl grew in Achilles throat as he looked at the lifeless face. An improvement , he thought bitterly.

He turned to Diomedes, his gaze fixed firmly on the ground. "I beg your forgiveness, Diomedes. My quarrel is not with you, and I apologise for nearly attacking you." Diomedes remained silent, but clapped his hand on Achilles shoulder, before turning and heading back towards the Greek camp.

Agamemnon looked at the body of Penthesilia, then at the bloodied mess that used to be Thersites. He sighed, mentally cursing Achilles for his raging temper. On the other hand, can't say anyone will particularly miss the sorry bastard , he thought, before shifting his gaze to Achilles. The Myrmidon leader was gazing sadly at the body of Penthesilia. Agamemnon noticed that the Amazon queen was no longer breathing, her complexion paled to near-white. To the surprise of the Greek commander, Achilles shed a single tear as he grasped the dead woman's hand one last time. Having placed both of Penthesilia's hands across her chest, Achilles stood and gripped his spear. With a grunt, he removed the bronze point from the queen's abdomen, pooled blood oozing from the now open wound.

Achilles turned to Agamemnon, the trail of a single tear evident upon his dusty features. "Purify me" he said, Agamemnon stepped back, startled by the gruff request. "What?" "Purify me of that miserable son of a whore's murder" said Achilles, his voice in monotone. "I wish to be present at the queen's funeral." Agamemnon nodded silently, before motioning a messenger from his chariot. "Return to camp, tell Lord Odysseus to ready his ship for Lesbos. Then tell him to report to myself at once." The messenger nodded and headed off towards the camp. Agamemnon returned to Odysseus.

"Many have known love, my boy. Many more will never know it. Those who experience it and lose it are the most unfortunate." With that, Agamemnon started towards his chariot. "By the way" he called back to the son of Peleus. "Odysseus will take you to Lesbos to be purified. I will personally ensure that Priam is aware of your intentions. A small truce for a funeral will do both armies some good." Achilles nodded his agreement, before retreating within himself, sitting down next to the fallen Penthesilia, considering his options for the future.

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That was seven days ago. Since then Penthesilia had been cremated and her remains sent inland, back to the homeland of the Amazons. Achilles had been purified on Lesbos by Odysseus, after many prayers to Apollo, Leda and Artemis. After returning to the shores of Ilium, Achilles had set off in the middle of the night towards Troy. He had gained access to the funeral, albeit in a heavy cloak borrowed from the Trojan king. Priam, having met Achilles in private, had no qualms with the son of Peleus being present at the funeral. It was a favour that Priam was willing to give, in return for Achilles granting the release of hector's body to the Trojans a couple of months ago.

Achilles had wept quietly, the warrior inside him refusing to be dragged down to the level of the common Trojans. However, the sight of the Amazons, silent tears falling down their cheeks, steeled his heart against the agony of watching the queen's body being consumed by the flames. He had offered his own silent prayers to Hades, asking the death god to watch over Penthesilia, until his own death came.

Now Achilles was sat in the camp, as rosy-fingered Dawn started to make an appearance. Something had died inside him alongside Penthesilia, he could feel it. He no longer had the urge to kill, top maim, to carve the name of Achilles into the Trojan rock. He wished to be alone with his thoughts, his wishes of things that could never be.

An elderly woman walked gracefully over to the warrior, her grey hair shining in the early morning light like polished silver. Achilles noticed the woman and smiled. "Mother" he said, as the woman sat next to him. Thetis put her arm around Achilles, offering the strength of a maternal bond that was unbroken by time or war.

"My child. I know how much your heart hurts. But heed this message from the gods who rule over the earth, heavens and afterlife. Your time on this mortal plain is almost at an end. There is but one more obstacle before you, one more barrier that you will break through. After that, it is only a matter of time" Tears fell down the goddess' face, as the thought of her son's impending death caused her a great amount of grief. With a kiss to the cheek, Thetis vanished from sight.

Achilles blinked, taking in the message from her mother. His time was almost up. Once it was, he and Penthesilia could be together in Elysium, for all eternity. That single thought re-lit his fire for battle, as he gripped his spear eagerly. One more obstacle…one more barrier…

His thoughts were interrupted by Odysseus, who had come looking for the young Myrmidon commander. "Achilles!" the king of Ithaca shouted. "They are attacking again. This time they are supported by black warriors from Ethiopia. They are led by the one called Memnon, who claims to be son of the immortal old man Tithonos and rosy-fingered Dawn" Achilles grinned as he donned his helmet and took up his shield. "Then what say you and I greet this Ethiopian with the might of the Greeks?" he asked at he and Odysseus jogged back to the centre of the camp to join the rest of Agamemnon's forces.

One more obstacle, my love, then you and I shall be together…