A/N Trigger Warning: there is implied SA in this chapter

Briseis placed a crown of rosemary atop her head to keep her flowing veil in place. She'd stuck dried cloves in her braid because, like rosemary, cloves were supposed to keep miasmas away. And, even if these precautions weren't enough to protect her from the plague, she had her dependable bouquet of lavender which had kept her safe so far.

"They've arrived," Achilles called to Briseis from the entrance to the tent.
Briseis finished adjusting her crown and veil and rose from the dressing table. "I'll be there in a moment," she replied.
Achilles had invited some of the other Greek kings and their consorts to dine with them that evening.
Hagne nuzzled Briseis' skirts.
"Sorry, little one." Briseis bent down to pet the lamb's fleecy head. "You can't join us. Unless you'd like to be roasted on a spit and served for dinner."
Hagne licked Briseis' hand and looked up at her with big, pleading, dark eyes.
"Alright! Alright!"
The lamb tottered after Briseis on her unsteady little legs.
Achilles and his most important guests sat around a table underneath the tent's awning. They rose when Briseis and Hagne joined them.
Next to Achilles at the head of the table were Ulysses and Patroclus. Ajax and Techmessa had also been invited to sit at the top table. So had Menelaus, and Pisistratus and Iphis. Pisistratus' father, Nestor, sat the closest to Briseis' place at the foot of the table.
Nestor took in Briseis' crown of rosemary, her lavender bouquet, and the little lamb at her side. "How charming you look, My Lady," the old man said. He kissed Briseis' hand. "Like a shepherdess in a ballad."
The Greeks were fond of pastoral poetry, where nymph-like shepherdesses wove garlands of flowers which they wore as they frolicked with handsome shepherds. Briseis had borrowed a book of this type of poem from Ulysses to try to keep herself occupied when she was mad with restlessness during a rainstorm. Unfortunately, reading it had the opposite effect on her than she'd hoped, but that hadn't been the poor book's fault.
Briseis greeted Nestor with a slight bow of her head. "No need for My Lady, sir. Tonight, I'm just a simple shepherdess."
She'd carefully chosen her garments, a green homespun dress and a plain veil of unbleached linen, and her only ornaments were the rosemary crown and lavender bouquet. It wouldn't do to appear in silks and jewels while people suffered. A queen must set an example for her countrywomen, as Aunt Hecuba always said.

Briseis sat down and placed her bouquet in her lap. Hagne settled at her feet underneath the table. The guests partook in coarse brown bread and Achilles' household's entire weekly allowance of butter. Because whole herds and flocks were lost to the plague, the milk the remaining animals produced, and the butter and cheese made from that milk, had to be rationed. 

One guest was conspicuous by his absence. His seat was a gaping, empty space at the table.
Achilles sniffed. "You would think Agamemnon could at least be on time," he said to Patroclus, who was drumming his hands on the table and glancing side-to-side.
"What bad manners," Briseis whispered to Nestor. Dinner couldn't be served until Agamemnon finally decided to grace them with his presence. The King of Mycenae seemed to enjoy inconveniencing others just because he could as much as he enjoyed raping priestesses and threatening violence on priests.
Achilles gestured to his steward. "We've waited long enough," he said. "Bring it out. Agamemnon can go hungry for all I care."
"And good evening to you too, my gracious host." Agamemnon stood smirking behind Achilles. Briseis blushed on Achilles' account. Agamemnon really had the devil's own timing.
Servants carried in the meal. The menu had been planned to be as humble as the homespun dress Briseis wore. First, a rabbit and vegetable pottage seasoned with the wild garlic Briseis and Cressida had gathered. The wild garlic also featured in a salad of land cress, dandelion greens, primroses, violets, and pansies, also picked by Briseis and Cressida. Achilles and Patroclus caught the rabbits for the stew. A feast of succulent, spit-roasted meats would have been inappropriate in these dire times, when beef, pork, and mutton were nearly impossible to come by.

No, better to leave such extravagance to Agamemnon, who passed his days holed up in his tent with two fires burning, drinking crushed emeralds in water.
"Looks like I've arrived just in time," Agamemnon said. He crooked a finger at one of the servants. The servant put down the dish he carried and pulled out Agamemnon's chair.  As the highest-ranking guest, Agamemnon was served first. He dipped his spoon into the pottage's broth and slurped it up.  "A bit rustic but not bad."
"But not as good as crushed emeralds," said Briseis.
Nestor furrowed his brow. "Hush, child."
Briseis blinked at him. This was the first time she'd ever been scolded by Nestor, who usually treated her like an indulgent grandfather.
The food might have been rustic, but everyone seemed to enjoy it. So, once the guests ate their fill, nothing remained to hand out to favored men among the Myrmidons, who saw receiving leftovers from Achilles' table as a jealously guarded privilege. They would be sorely disappointed not to get anything tonight.
Achilles took a deep breath and stood up. He exchanged looks with Briseis across the table. She also took a deep breath.
Now, it was time.
"My Lords," Achilles said. He tapped his knife against his wine glass to get everyone's attention. "I've invited you all here this evening, not only for the pleasure of your company, but, because..." he cleared his throat. "...to get right to the point, I've found a way we could end this plague."
The guests either leaned forward to better listen to what Achilles had to say or cocked a skeptical eyebrow.  Menelaus almost spat out his wine, and Agamemnon crossed his arms and sat back in his chair. Here's your rope. Let's see how long it takes for you to hang yourself.
Briseis gave Achilles a reassuring smile. She was there for him. They made a pretty good team if the farce at their betrothal feast were anything to go by.
Achilles cleared his throat again. "Apollo granted Princess Briseis an omen. She was there to see a dozen crows feed from Lady Cressida's hand. The meaning is obvious. Apollo requires that Lady Cressida  be returned to her father, the priest, Chryses, and prayers and sacrifices to atone for the insult."
Briseis bit her lip and waited to see how Agamemnon and the others would respond. Please listen. Please believe him.
Agamemnon snorted. "And is Princess Briseis now a prophetess," he said. "A holy maid who foresees gloom and doom like her mad cousin, Cassandra."
"Is this true?" Nestor said. He put a hand on Briseis' shoulder.
"Ask Lady Cressida yourselves," Briseis said. "She can verify that my story is true."  She looked Agamemnon in the eye. He flushed a little and turned away from her.
Achilles had been right. They weren't telling Agamemnon anything he didn't already know.
Agamemnon rose from the table. "It's nearly summer. Plagues are as common as straw this time of year. Apollo has as much to do with it as I do. So why are we listening to a delusional child spouting nonsense?"
"Apollo has been known to speak through young maidens," Nestor said. "Just think of the Delphic Pythia and the Cumaean Sibyl."

"And this plague started not long after you turned Chryses away with a flea in his ear," Ulysses added.
Patroclus gritted his teeth. "So, Achilles has a point."
Briseis chuckled. If Achilles was going to hang, Patroclus would swing with him.
"I refuse to let her go." Agamemnon pounded his fists on the table, causing it to shake and disturb poor Hagne, who'd been sleeping by Briseis' feet. "I won't be the only king who's given up treasure he'd fought for and won...."
Achilles laughed. "I imagine all those shrieking priestesses were quite formidable."
"...Treasure he prefers to his own wife. Especially, after what I had to suffer to get us this far."  Agamemnon's voice quavered ever-so-slightly. After all, he'd sacrificed his favorite daughter, Iphigenia, to Diana for a fair wind to bring the Greeks to Troy. "It would be an affront to my honor."
"What honor?" Achilles sneered.
Agamemnon reached for his sword. Menelaus grabbed Agamemnon's arm. "Calm yourself," he said. "No woman is worth all this."
"That's rich coming from you." Agamemnon shoved Menelaus away.
Briseis bent down to check on a pathetic bleating at her feet. Hagne was nuzzling her skirts. She scooped up the lamb and tried to soothe her by stroking her fleece. The dear thing must have been frightened by all the commotion.
"I consider myself a reasonable man." This statement from Agamemnon made Achilles laugh. "But I won't stand by and be disrespected."
Achilles sized up the older, larger man. "Then, good evening, sir."

Sleep was impossible after the excitement of that night.
Briseis parted the bed curtains to let in some cool air. The oppressive stuffiness had made it nearly impossible for her to rest. She couldn't help but roll over or kick her legs whenever she tried to lie still. Once the velvet hangings were out of the way, she lay back down against the pillows and closed her eyes.
Eventually, sleep would come to her.
Her eyes flickered open, and she stared at the painted sky on the underside of the canopy. Its stars twinkled in the faint light from the dying lamp. She groaned, stretched, and rolled onto her right side.
"Upon my right side, I lay," she whispered. "Blessed Diana, to thee I pray. And as long as my eyes sleep, this night from peril thou me keep."
Briseis chanted this prayer over and over until she gave up trying to sleep altogether. Then, finally, she sat up in bed and hugged her knees.
You didn't need to be a prophetess to predict that something worse than a plague would befall the Greeks because of Agamemnon's sins. Not only had Agamemnon violated the sacred chastity of one of Apollo's priestesses and insulted and threatened his high priest, but he'd also refused to heed an omen from the god himself. What little Briseis could do to mitigate the coming tragedy was return to the pomegranate grove with her incense burner filled with bay-laurel leaves.
The night was balmy but with a deliciously cool breeze. Outside the hot and stuffy tent, Briseis' frayed nerves were soothed. She took a break from swinging her incense burner to sit in the grass and look up at the stars through the branches of a pomegranate tree.
There's the constellations Virgo and Corvus. The Maiden and the Crow.
"You wench," a male voice boomed. A hand smacked against a cheek.
A female voice sobbed. "My Lord," she said.
Briseis' ears pricked up. Who else could be up at this hour? They might assume she was up to no good if they caught her out this late with an incense burner filled with bay-laurel leaves. Her strange Trojan rite would be seen as treachery, possibly witchcraft. She could be punished worse than whatever servant girl was being reprimanded by her master.
The best option open to her at the moment was to climb the pomegranate and hide among its branches.
"This is the last time you will defy me." The booming male voice belonged to Agamemnon. No one could mistake it for anyone else.
Briseis' fatal curiosity drove her to peak between the blossoms and leaves. Agamemnon dragged Cressida by her hair and threw her to the ground. Cressida struggled to get free, but Agamemnon grabbed her wrists and held them over her head. He didn't bother to cover Cressida's mouth to keep her from crying. Even if someone heard Cressida scream, who would risk Agamemnon's wrath to come to help her?
Briseis turned away. The springy twigs on the branches scratched her cheeks, but she didn't move or make a sound.
Down below, Agamemnon grunted like a wild boar while Cressida gagged and moaned. He must be wringing her neck. His hands on either side of her throat, twisting the breath out of her lungs. Then, he released an animalistic growl, and she gasped for air.
All went quiet for a moment, and Briseis checked to see if the coast was clear. Cressida was on her knees, coughing and spitting. Then, she wiped her mouth on her sleeve, rose, and ran off. Agamemnon tucked his shirt back into his braies, then re-fastened his belt.
Briseis' shoe fell off her foot. She held her breath. Please. Don't let him notice.
The shoe had landed at the bottom of the pomegranate tree and disappeared into the darkness. Agamemnon circled around the tree, and when he was gone, Briseis breathed again. She climbed down and groped about to find her shoe. It seemed to have landed behind the tree when it fell, but it wasn't there. Neither was it in front.
"Looking for this?" Agamemnon loomed over Briseis. Her shoe was in his hand.
Briseis reached over to grab it from him. "Yes," she said. Agamemnon pulled the shoe away from her. "Please give it back."
"What have you got there, Princess?" Agamemnon's eyes narrowed on Briseis' incense burner, which was still smoking.
"Nothing." Briseis clutched the incense burner to her chest. " May I have my shoe please?" Then, she attempted to take it from him with her free hand.
Agamemnon pulled away from her again. He gave the fragrant cloud of incense from the burner an exaggerated sniff. "It smells like bay-laurel leaves, like the kind the priests of Apollo burn. Now, what could a little princess be doing out at night with this?"
He'd found her out. But, of all the Greeks, why did it have to be him? The only way she could face him was to stand upon her dignity.
"I'm Queen of Thessaly and Lady of the Myrmidons," she said. "I don't have to explain myself to anyone."
Agamemnon laughed. "You put a crown on a child and she thinks she can act like a queen." He dropped the shoe at Briseis' feet.
"Thank you." Briseis rolled her eyes. She knelt down and picked up her shoe.
"Allow me." Agamemnon offered a hand to help her up. Before Briseis could refuse, he grabbed her by the wrist and twisted her arm. He leaned in and whispered, "You've brought nothing but trouble since you arrived."
Briseis cried out. "Stop! You're hurting me."
Agamemnon gave her arm a more violent twist. "Step out of line again," he said. "And I'll have you ducked in the river like the witch you are."
Briseis kneed him in the groin. Agamemnon staggered back and released her. She ran toward Achilles' tent, where she hoped to climb into bed, fall asleep, and wake up to find that none of this had happened.