The Bitter Gall of Heaven

"You don't look so fierce now," she said, curling a finger in his chest hairs.

"Too hard to be so around one so charming as you," he replied, easing his head deeper into the sweet valley of her breasts.

"Tell me what it's like," she said. "In battle. As women all we get to do is pray for our men. Even when alive you never talk about it."

His eyes rolled up, amused yet dispassionate. "You wish to hear of the threshing-floor of battle? Men winnowed like wheat? The hooves of war-horses thrashing one and all, whitening with dust, like aged bones left in the whirling to Heaven's firmament?" His face grew tender as he gazed into her widened eyes. "Not much to say."

Chin dropping, she looked away and said, "You are indeed as arrogant as they say. When we were captured I feared the worst." Her eyes misted, silken-lined, like the Doe-Eyes of Hera. "Our men are not like you. Simple and plain-speaking; most of the time good but sometimes coarsened, calloused, no matter how many oblations and cleansings.
Your hands are strong but gentle. Alive with tenderness." Her chin still dropped, cheeks weighted with tears, she added, "I suppose that makes me lucky..."

The canopy's entrance stirred and in walked Patroclus. "Are you two planning to lay about all day?"

"What do you propose we do?" Achilleus eased hands behind his head. "You wish to help old Dog-Faced One? No thanks-to you or that cowardly idiot...Last night at council Diomed spoke truly; Agememnon is jinxed-whether by scheming Saturn or not. For some reason given Jove's honour and aegis to rule us, but how bereft of valour..."
At those words Patroclus assumed a stoop, squinted his eyes and bobbed his neck."H-H-How dare you!" he stammered in a high pitch of outrage, thrusting feet at half-angles outward in waddling walk.

"Ooo-oh!" Briseis jumped upright and clapped her hands, "Yes, Agememnon the Mum-mer!" Glee shone full in her eyes. "Do Nestor! Patroclus; or Odysseus!"

At her side Achilleus raised an eyebrow. "Friend I do indeed think she favors you better than me..."

"Now, now," noble Patroclus gently chided, "Play you your lute, why even your savage heart is thus calmed; yes, do your complaining with fanciful notes..."

On Achilleus the trace of a scowl broke the heightened smoothness of his cheeks, "No, I think not-though that pleasure be most pleasant and without conflict; I've no use today; as most hateful to me is the arrogance of Agememnon the two-faced-the grievance has soured me, too deeply."

Though Patroclus knew how poorly their council had gone, he could tell that Achilleus had not told his dear Briseis…
When he and Achilleus had captured her home city, the poor woman had been shrieking with madness upon the sight of her dead husband and three brothers returned to her; blood having barely dried upon the wounds, cooled forever now, faces fixed in the death mask of agony.
When she was brought to the presence of Achilleus and Patroclus, with fierce beauty she'd hurled insults at them, Yes, I know all about you, heartless Achaean, do you wish to slake your lust and kill me too?

Patroclus had watched as for the first time ever, he saw his good friend taken aback by a woman. It even seemed as if he were to cry-at least it looked as if his eyes had grown moist beneath the metalwork of his war helmet, which he removed and set aside. With both hands outstretched, he then reached down to the huddled Briseis, and, beckoning for her hands, helped her rise. I am most sorry, he murmered, I vow I will care for you now…
Patroclus had then said, And I will be your brother…
Now as Achilleus rose from his bed and gazed down upon Briseis, Patroclus saw the same sorrow.

"Friend, please entertain our dear lady, I will be back," Achilleus said. Bowing deeply, he backed through the curtained entrance and was gone…

Waves gently loamed upon the sands before him-the sounds as soothing as his mother's voice.

"Oh Thetis," he murmered, "What am I to do? How is it I am to have no wife? I swear Briseis is an honourable woman and she is my choice…"

A full moon hung in all soft glory off the horizon. Across the sea-all molten, deep midnight blue. The skiffs of waves spangled as if silver.

"To be first among the foremost-this matter have I always been taught…For what, mother? To die an early death for the sake of that skulking dogface who now steals my wife after having stolen my honor? He was to be only our principal chief, how is it none of the other Acheans can see the error of his ways? Why, Mother? Why has our Heavenly Father Zeus forsaken me so?…"

His voice faded to a whisper. Before him the slow roll of waves lulled him as low, steady thunder…

"Yes, I truly see your rides, kind mother," spoke Achilleus, as he drifted off to sleep…

When the mighty chariot of Phoebus again pulled the sun's constant globe all ablaze from the depths of Oceanus, Achilleus woke with a start. In front of him was a smoothly rounded, polished cedar chest.

He lifted the lid-stiff with finely-crafted hinges-and found inside, wrapped in silken cloth, a chalise of exquiste beauty. Silver embroidered with a ring of delicate leaves, the body inlaid with rubies…

Outside the tent now sounded footsteps through the sun-hardened earth. Standards announced Agememnon's emissaries and waited, ill at ease, for response. "Yes, yes, come in," said Achilleus, gesturing both with eyes and hands. "We've been expecting you." Wary and tense, the king's heralds advanced. "Orders from the king," clipped one, "The oracle predicts victory from Zeus upon return of the daughter of Apollo's priest and award of Briseis to our king."

Hands neared swords as Achilleus widened eyes-flashing sparks of rage before softening like embers.

"Come, come," he gestured, overly gracious, "Enjoy a good feast, good cohorts, before your dictum falls."

Patroclus, made suddenly humble, laid cuts. Briseis, whom Achilleus had told, as best he could, upon his return that morning, emerged from the rear room of the tent in full fury. "Are you a coward?" she screamed at Achilleus. "Defend me if you are indeed a man!"

Achilleus averted her eyes, unable to speak. "Dear Sister," Patroclus said, gently taking her arm, "He can do nothing right now, he is powerless to go against our war council. I told you, by all and utmost sacred vow, when he is able to secure your rescue and return he will…"

Made deeply uncomfortable, out of respect for their great warrior, the standards proffered excuse to decline the feast table. Achilleus shrugged, gestured for them to gather the chests of Briseis in the rear of the tent. When he walked to Briseis, palms outstretched, beseeching forgiveness, none was granted-she strode to the standards, departed, her head held tremoringly high, not looking back.

Void of utterance, the night sky- imperturbable Heaven-radiated stars...Not a breath of air...While a thousand watch-fires gleamed down upon the plain; gesturing men gathered round each, their war-horses, cleansed of the day's hardened blood and mud, coats spangling anew, crunching oats and corn beside the darkly gleaming war chariots...

Inside the gently rustling canopy of his tent, Achilleus, his newly found chalice in hand, sat drinking the mead of Zeus...Sipping, careful not to unman himself...

They shall seek and they shall not find.

Biography

Tom Noonan is a Bay Area (US) multimedia artist.This piece's title comes from the wisdom of the ancients, who believed that the nourishing milk of the Heavenly Mother,Hera, would--through misuse of "the feminine principle"-- turn into "the bitter gall of Heaven." A karmic transmutation perhaps akin to the ancient Chinese saying of "may your life be interesting."