Achilles put down his quill pen and sprinkled ground cuttlefish bone over the wet ink. The musical notes moved across the parchment like a funeral procession. Little pieces of the song had come to him while he wandered the dunes at night or sat by the fire strumming his lute. The tune wasn't his own composition. He was merely taking dictation.
When the ink dried, he picked up his lute. His fingers searched for the following line of the song. 
"That dirge again?" Achilles turned his head. Patroclus ducked to get through the doorway. Since Briseis left, Patroclus had the lost, pining look of a lap dog far from its mistress' skirts. "Who is it for?"
"For all of our damned souls," Achilles said.
The Greek cause was a doomed one. Their ranks had been decimated by plague and discord, rendering them helpless against the Trojans, who tormented them at night like a legion of boogeymen. It was nothing more than what they deserved, grumbled Thersites and other like-minded cranks.  They'd brought all this upon themselves with their folly, wickedness, and greed in coming to Troy in the first place.
Achilles agreed. They'd been damned since the moment they first set foot on this accursed land. This was the reason he'd held his Myrmidons back. Why fight to save a sinking ship? Especially when the captain of that ship was a craven fool who'd been willing to drown an innocent girl to soothe his pride.
Briseis' wind chime rang in the doorway. "Nestor and Ulysses wish to speak to you," Patroclus said.
"Tell them I'm unwell." Achilles continued playing. It wasn't hard to guess what Nestor and Ulysses wished to speak to him about. He had no interest in obliging them.
Ulysses stuck his head through the tent flaps. "You look well enough," he said.
Patroclus let Nestor and Ulysses in. "Come in, my lords," he said. "You're very welcome." He shot Achilles a stern look. Stop sulking like a petulant child.
Achilles rolled his eyes. Don't act like some prim old grand-dam. After dispatching a servant to fetch food and drink for his guests, he joined Patroclus, Nestor, and Ulysses at the dining table.
Hagne lingered around Patroclus' knees, bleating for his attention. Patroclus placed the lamb in his lap and stroked her dusky fleece.
"Isn't that Briseis' pet?" Nestor asked.
"Yes." Patroclus' countenance became grave. "She asked me to look after her."
"Poor thing." Whether Nestor was referring to the lamb or the girl, Achilles couldn't tell.
The servant returned with a pitcher of wine and a platter of bread, cheese, and fruit. Achilles bid his guests help themselves. "So what brings you here?" he said as if he didn't already know.
Nestor and Ulysses shared a look. Ulysses produced a letter with the triple lion seal of Mycenae. Achilles broke the seal and skimmed over Agamemnon's flowery greetings and compliments to reach the point. 
Agamemnon was trying to lure Achilles back by dangling treasure in front of him as if he were a fickle courtesan. A gilded dinner service for fifty people, a dozen jeweled goblets, and a gold and enamel reliquary taken from the temple at Delos said to contain a vial of Latona's breastmilk. On top of that, ten war horses, seven skilled weavers from Lesbos, and half a pound of Indian pepper.
Achilles scoffed. Agamemnon could afford to be so generous. He sat like a dragon atop a mountain-sized hoard made of spoils taken from better men. "Tell him to throw his table scraps to some other dog," Achilles said.
"Read further," Nestor said. He and Ulysses shared another look.
So Agamemnon had yet to run out of bribes? Achilles went over the next part of the letter to find what else Agamemnon was offering him... The hand in marriage of whichever of Agamemnon's two daughters, Electra and Chrysothemis, Achilles wanted with three castles, one in Argos, one in Tiryns, and one in Corinth, and all their lands and revenues as a dowry. Achilles crumpled the letter in his hand and then threw it into the fire.
How dare he! Even if Achilles were free, the last woman he'd want to marry would be some Mycenaean harpy who wasn't fit to tie Briseis' shoes.
"Does Agamemnon think my honor is so cheap?" Achilles said. "That he can threaten a girl under my protection, and I'll come back with my tail between my legs? That he can rip my bride from my arms and drown her as a witch and I'd just take it?" And Agamemnon and his brother were the ones who made a big show about fighting to rescue Helen and protect the virtuous Greek wives and daughters at home. "Ulysses, if someone called Penelope a witch, you wouldn't stand for such an insult? And Nestor, you have daughters and granddaughters? Wouldn't you do anything to defend them? Tell me, are the sons of Atreus the only ones who love their women?"
If anyone could understand, it would be Ulysses and Nestor. Achilles had seen how they doted on Briseis. They'd loved her as if she were their own flesh and blood. 
Ulysses reached over and put a hand on Achilles' shoulder. "Briseis is a very pretty girl, but..."
"But what..?" Achilles said. He should forget about her and wed one of Agamemnon's daughters? Give up his honor for a few looted baubles?
"There's no use sulking over her, lad." Ulysses poured wine into Achilles' goblet. "Do you know what happened while you were here sitting on your ass?" 
Achilles shook his head.
"Other men were winning glory. Last night, Trojan raiders attacked our supply lines along the coast.  Hector himself led them. We would have been completely cut off if Diomedes and the Argives didn't hold them back. The Trojans retreated when Diomedes crossed swords with Hector and sliced Hector's sword arm open. Diomedes is being cheered as the reason everyone is eating tonight. If he'd had the honor of slaying Hector, they'd be cheering him as the best of the Greeks." 
With his gaze fixed on Ulysses, Achilles folded his arms. He wasn't going to take Ulysses' bait.  "What do I care about Hector?" Achilles said. "Or any Trojan? They've never done anything to me."  They weren't the ones who tried to take his girl and his honor. "Please bring Agamemnon my final response, that he can respectfully eat shit in Hell."
Ulysses and Nestor's faces went pale.
Patroclus glared at Achilles. Just shut up!
Achilles met Patroclus' eye. Make me. "If Agamemnon wants me to come back, then he has to be the one to crawl on his hands and knees and beg."
Let Agamemnon be the one to grovel and plead, just like the priests he'd beaten and the captive girls he'd raped. Let him be shown the same mercy he showed them. 

With supply lines unreliable and the flocks and herds significantly diminished after the plague, the Greeks were reduced to gathering wild mussels on the beach. The mollusks didn't taste too bad, especially when steamed and served drizzled in a mixture of oil, herbs, and spices, but they left grit in your teeth.
Achilles took a sip of ale to rinse the sand out of his mouth. The summer heat had come in full force, and he and Patroclus were dining under the tent's awning. Patroclus fanned himself with a small wicker screen and grumbled, "Vulcan's ass-crack."
Apollo was punishing them with the hottest summer in generations. Even old Nestor couldn't remember when the sun had burned with more ferocity. And it would scorch the earth until there was nothing left but dust.
After whipping his hands on a napkin, Achilles massaged his calves, painfully sore after a long day of climbing over rocks and wading through tide pools. The throbbing had worsened since the heat hit, and he only had one of his garters (the other he'd given as a token to his lady) to relieve him.
Ajax, returning from the beach, approached the tent. His clothing and hair were still wet from swimming. Achilles was fond of the big brute and saluted him. "Good evening," he called out.
"Ha?" Ajax turned away from Achilles and toward Patroclus. "How now, Patroclus?"
"Well-met, Ajax," Patroclus said. He bowed his head.
Achilles folded his arms. Had Ajax suddenly become blind and deaf and not seen or heard him? "Good evening," he tried again.
"Ay," Ajax grumbled. He turned his back to Achilles and walked off.
"Is the giant oaf in a bad mood because of the heat?" Achilles said to Patroclus. "Or did he quarrel with Lady Techmessa?"  Ajax's tiny little wife was the only person who intimidated him.
A servant held a sunshade over Nestor, who was leaning on Menelaus' arm for support as the two men spoke in confidence. The trio passed before Achillles' tent.
"They're not coming to speak with me?" Achilles said.  He'd already told Menelaus' brother that he'd rather wade through the River Styx than fight for him again, and bringing Nestor along wouldn't change his mind. The furies take both sons of Atreus. Someone of Nestor's venerable years shouldn't be dragged out in this heat.
Courtesy demanded that Achilles acknowledge them with a nod. "Good day, my lords."
"Did Achilles say something?" Menelaus said to Nestor. "Does he have some business with us?"
Achilles huffed. As much business as your wife has with you, cuckold.
"I'd say no," said Nestor. He looked over his shoulder at Achilles, who must have seemed as friendly as a starved guard dog. 
"So much the better." Menelaus, Nestor, and the servant who held the sunshade went on their way.
This snub was more than Achilles could tolerate. "Have I fallen so far?" he said. "That the cuckold of Sparta shuns me." 
Patroclus just continued fanning himself.
"More ale?" Before Patroclus could respond, Achilles filled his cup to the brim. 

A pleasantly cool breeze came in from the sea after the sun went down. It whistled through the tent flaps, making Briseis' wind chime dance, and drew Achilles down to the beach.
Achilles undressed and waded into the sea. His body shivered as the water lapped against his skin, which felt blissful after a long day of blazing sun and buckets of sweat. He dove under the waves and came up gasping for air.
On such a clear night, the shoreline of Thrace was visible on the horizon. The Hellespont gleamed in the moonlight like polished bronze. Most strong swimmers could make it to the Greek mainland by morning. The first time Achilles brought Briseis to this beach, she told him a story about a youth from Abydos who would swim across every night to visit his lover in Sestos. But hadn't that youth drowned when the sea turned treacherous?
The waves and gulls joined in with a woman's singing. Achilles turned around to face the shore. A tall, slender woman in a flowing gown, her form silhouetted by the light from far-off campfires, was wandering the dunes.
Achilles sighed. What is it now, Lady Mother? Thetis never came with glad tiding, did she?
The last time he'd heard from her was around when the plague hit. And before that, when he'd learned that Peleus was dying. Tragedy after tragedy.
Achilles turned around and dove back under the water. Perhaps Thetis came to tell him it was his fate to drown that night like that youth from Abydos? Well, the sea was welcome to take him. He went beneath the waves to escape Thetis' dirge but even underwater, he couldn't escape it. His head bobbed back up to the surface when he could no longer hold his breath.
Alright, Lady Mother, I'll listen.

Achilles' fingers itched to write down the notes to the next verse. Once the notes were on the page, they might escape his head and stop haunting him.
Still weeping, my son? Thetis' long, dark hair rippled in the breeze and obscured her face. Don't waste your time. You don't have much left. Her whispers carried on the breeze, and her footsteps followed Achilles back to the camp.  Life is sweet. Love is sweeter. Glory is the sweetest of all. But, in the grave, all tastes bitter. 
Someone had lit the lamps in Achilles' tent, casting two large shadows on the wall—two shadows shaped like Patroclus and Ulysses. Achilles groaned. For Patroclus, this was to be expected since he practically lived there. But, Ulysses? He usually did Achilles the courtesy of waiting to be invited first.
"I see you've made yourselves at home." Achilles pulled back the tent flaps. His two friends sat at the table where Achilles' armor, freshly polished, was laid out. Patroclus' eyes darted everywhere except in Achilles' direction. Ulysses poured a cup of ale and leaned back in his chair. "Did I interrupt something?"
They looked like two children caught dirtying their best clothes.
Achilles snapped his fingers, and a servant appeared. "Bring some more ale," he said. "And whatever is leftover from dinner." He hadn't yet eaten his supper, and since there were guests, he might as well be a good host.
"Don't bother," Ulysses said. "We've already said all we meant to." He rose to leave the table.
"What were you talking about?" Achilles had been snubbed enough, and Ulysses wouldn't get away with it.
Patroclus lifted Achilles' helmet. He raised the visor with his pointed finger. "I'm borrowing your armor," he said.
Achilles blinked at him. Had he gone mad? 
"I'm doing you the courtesy of letting you know first." Patroclus' pointer finger ran along the gilded coronet around the helmet's brow. "But your permission isn't necessary."
"And what do you plan on doing with it?" Light and flexible steel plate gleamed in the lamplight. Achilles' armor was the work of Thessaly's greatest craftsmen and a masterpiece of artistry. What a shame it hadn't served its purpose in what seemed like a lifetime.
"If I wore your armor, no one could tell I'm not you..."
Achilles nodded. Now, he was starting to see his friend's point.
"... the Trojans have become cocky. We're weak in both numbers and spirits, so they've been able to hold us off with only a few raiders, like a fox can scatter a flock of lost sheep. But if the shepherd returned? We Greeks would become lions again." Patroclus gave the helmet back to Achilles. It had been so well polished that Achilles' face was reflected on its surface.
"Lions commanded by an ass," Ulysses said. Lest Achilles thinks this comment referred to Agamemnon alone, Ulysses looks him dead in the eyes. "Did you know they still call Briseis a witch? The Trojans boast that she made Achilles womanish. She stole your mettle and made herself as bold as a knight, and now you can do nothing but stay behind, cowering like a virgin girl afraid of ravishment. On the field, they thrust their swords and shout at us to send them the lovely Pyrrha- Hector will make her bleed."
Achilles put the helmet down on the table. And your mother was a whore, Ulysses.  Still, the barb had hit its intended mark.
Achilles' pride couldn't allow his name to be sullied with accusations of womanishness, but neither would he submit to the indignity of returning to the battlefield without a groveling apology from Agamemnon. No, he could not...would not give Agamemnon the satisfaction. Patroclus' solution allowed him to have it both ways and save face.
"Very well." Achilles turned away from Ulysses and Patroclus. "If anyone asks, I knew nothing about it." 
They didn't stay to dine. Achilles watched them carry off his armor from the doorway. Somewhere off in the dunes, Thetis still sang her lament and he raised a glass to his mother. Juno and Minerva-willing, whatever disaster Thetis foretold would be on the Trojans.