Briseis rolled back her headscarf so she could feel the sun on her face. Tonight, she would have to rub buttermilk and lemon juice into her skin to keep it from getting as brown and wrinkled as an almond, but she didn't care. It was too beautiful a day to worry about anything.

The most determined grump would find it hard to sulk on this day. So even Cressida had a contented smile on her face as she sat in the shade of a willow tree, watching her sheep drink from the stream where the Myrmidon camp followers were washing bed and table linen.

The camp followers laughed and splashed each other between rinsing out sheets and napkins in the waist-deep, refreshingly cool water. In such sultry, gorgeous weather, laundry looked like a pleasant task.

Briseis sat on a rock at the stream's edge and removed her shoes.
"Going to join us, Little Queen?" said one of the camp followers. She and her companion were beating the dirt and stains out of a tablecloth by whacking it against a flat rock with wooden paddles.
Briseis considered for a moment, then rolled up her sleeves. Why not? What they were doing seemed fun.
The wooden paddles were heavier than they looked. It took Briseis several swings to work up enough force for the job. Before long, her arm muscles throbbed, and she needed to put down the table for a moment. The two camp followers laughed. Briseis furrowed her brow and pouted at them. They had the beefy biceps of those used to physical labor such as this, while she had a princess's slender, delicate arms, which never did anything more strenuous than lifting a casket of jewels.
"Too much for you, Little Queen?" said the second camp follower.
Briseis gave an indignant huff. She wound up for another swing of her paddle. It came down on the wet sheet with such force that she sprayed the two camp followers with water. She giggled. Mother Venus, they looked like a couple of drowned kittens.
The first camp follower retaliated by splashing Briseis.
Briseis splashed her back. "Too much for you?" she said, mimicking her earlier taunt.
The second camp follower joined the fray by throwing a bucket of water at the first camp follower.  This mock battle continued until all three of them were soaked to the skin and howling with laughter.
Techmessa and Iphis were sitting on the stream bank among patches of buttercups. Iphis absentmindedly twirled a flower she'd plucked between her fingers. Techmessa had her bare feet in the water and her eyes focused on Eurysaces, who was crawling through the tall, warm grass.
"Get that out of your mouth," shouted Techmessa. She yanked a stick away from her son that he had been teething on. Eurysaces scrunched up his little face and wailed.
Briseis wrung out her damp skirts. "I don't see why people have children," she said. "They seem like such a nuisance."  She and Aeneas had certainly been little terrors when they were younger.
Techmessa picked up Eurysaces and placed him in her lap. "Just you wait. Someday soon, you and Achilles might have a little nuisance of your own." 
Briseis smirked. A union needed to be consummated for it to bear fruit. Achilles only kissed her and held her in his arms on their betrothal night. Since then, neither of them dared to bring up the question of anything more.
Finding a comfortable spot in the grass next to Eurysaces and Techmessa, Briseis sat down. "You mean a strapping boy like him." Eurysaces grabbed her offered pointer finger.
"No, of course not. Boys are nothing but trouble." Techmessa bounced Eurysaces on her knee. "Isn't that right, Little Man?"
The camp followers carried the wet linen out of the stream, twisted and wrung them out, and laid them to dry and bleach on the grass. Then, still sitting under the willow tree, Cressida took out her hurdy-gurdy and began to crank out a dreamy, bittersweet tune.
Iphis tossed the buttercup she'd been twirling between her fingers. "Play something jolly," she shouted at Cressida. "I want to dance."  She leaped to her feet and clapped her hands.
Briseis sighed. Something about Iphis' empty-headed and mercurial nature was not unlike Helen.
Cressida obliged Iphis by switching to a lively jig. The camp followers then put down their work and formed a circle with Iphis. Briseis took her place in the chain and tried to keep up with the others.

"What do we have here, lads?" A posse of Myrmidon knights came down the hill behind them, whistling at the camp followers. "Fair ladies dancing alone without any partners." 
The camp followers whistled back and beckoned the men to come and join them. Briseis waved to Achilles and Patroclus, who she spotted among their numbers. Both answered her with a bow.
Preening and trying to appear to their best advantage, the camp followers waited for the knights to choose who they wished to dance with. The knights remained on the stream bank, expecting the camp followers to approach them. Instead, a playful argument erupted about who had the right to pick their dance partners: the men or the women.
"The little queen should decide," shouted one of the women who had played in the stream with Briseis.
All eyes fixed on Briseis to see her reaction.
Briseis' answer was obvious. "The women of course."  She approached Achilles, with whom they all expected her to partner.
Achilles crouched against the willow tree where Cressida had sat earlier. He'd had to duck his head to fit underneath its branches. When he looked up at Briseis, she blushed. His face was like the sun. You couldn't look at him without being blinded. Briseis took his head to lead him away to join the other dancers.
The camp followers giggled, and the knights hooted their approval.
Cressida started playing a new song, something a little more refined and courtly. Briseis made the first move in the dance, and Achilles followed her lead. Unfortunately, poor Achilles, who usually moved with a stag's swift grace, danced as though he were wearing stone shoes.
"Who is that with Patroclus?" Achilles asked.
Patroclus was dancing with a buxom, rosy-checked lass who seemed quite taken with him. And why wouldn't she be? Patroclus was good-looking, courteous, and kind. A camp follower could do a lot worse than to become his doxy.
"I don't know," Briseis replied. Whoever she was, Briseis wished her luck with Patroclus, though the best she could hope for was to come in second to Achilles in his heart.
This part of the dance required them to touch hands. Achilles' rough palms against her skin sent a hot, fluttery sensation throughout Briseis' body. She lowered her eyes away from his gaze.
Gods above, this man was too much for her.
Achilles stepped on Briseis' foot. "Who is that?"
Briseis turned around, too curious to see what had startled Achilles to notice how her foot throbbed.
A tall figure in dusty priest's robes stood on the opposite side of the stream. Behind him was a heavily-laden pack mule. He lowered his cowl, revealing a gaunt, clean-shaven face and thinning reddish hair.
"Father?" Cressida murmured. She put down her hurdy-gurdy and ran across the stream. Her shabby brown dress became soaked.

"Chryses," Briseis told Achilles. "High Priest of Apollo."
Briseis had seen Chryses several times during her visits to the temple of Apollo. The old priest always frightened her a little. His hooked nose, observant eyes, and proud expression resembled a bird-of-prey.
Chryses embraced and kissed his daughter. "What are you doing here?" Cressida asked him.
"I've come to ransom you," Chryses said. He pointed to the cargo atop his pack mule, now drinking from the stream. "This should be enough to satisfy Agamemnon's greed."
Briseis folded her hands in her lap. Though it would have seemed impossible just hours ago, she envied Cressida. Cressida's father had traveled for miles on foot to rescue her. Chryses made himself a target for every bandit in the area with his mule laden with treasure, but it was worth it to bring his daughter home. Briseis' father hadn't even lifted a finger. Only Aeneas, gods forgive him, did anything to try to save her.
Achilles approached Chryses with a bow. "I greet you, Reverend Father," he said. "I am Achilles, King of Thessaly and Lord of the Myrmidons." He took Briseis' hand. "You may have met my betrothed, Princess Briseis of Troy, niece of King Priam."
Time for Briseis to play the decorous and decorative consort. She smiled and curtsied to Chryses, who acknowledged her with a slight bow of his head. Usually, she and Achilles would have tried to engage Chryses in polite small talk (Briseis had a million questions about how everyone back in Troy was doing), but he got right to the point.
"I request safe passage to the Greek camp," he said. "And an audience with Agamemnon of Mycenae."
Achilles nodded. "Very well, I grant your request."

The knights bid adieu to the camp followers. Both groups were saddened that such a pleasant afternoon had to come to an abrupt end.
Achilles led the party back to the Greek camp, followed by Chryses and Cressida. Father and daughter chatted among themselves. Cressida was positively radiant with joy and relief. Briseis could see why Troilus had fallen in love with her.
In front of Briseis, the pack mule staggered underneath its titanic burden.
"Poor creature," Briseis said to Patroclus. "I hope Agamemnon will be pleased."
Patroclus frowned. "This isn't going to end well."
"What do you mean?" Indeed Chryses had sent enough gold to be a sop to Agamemnon's greed and vanity.
"Agamemnon will be offended that he's asked to give up part of his war booty, even if he's promised all the riches of India in recompense."
The party intercepted Agamemnon as he was returning to his tent. Chryses approached him as a supplicant. Agamemnon frowned and folded his arms, and Cressida disappeared behind the red and orange tent flaps.
"We should go," Patroclus said. He put a hand on Briseis' shoulder.
"No," Briseis replied. She pushed away his hand. "I want to see what happens."  She was there when this drama began, so why not stay till the end.
Patroclus mumbled something about Pandora's curiosity.
Chryses rose to his feet and met Agamemnon's gaze. "Lord Agamemnon," he said. "If you revere Phoebus Apollo, you will grant my request. I've come to ransom his priestess, my daughter, Cressida."
Agamemnon laughed. "Don't waste your gold, priest. Your daughter is no longer of any use to Apollo."
Briseis bit her lip. How dare Agamemnon mock Cressida for breaking her vow of chastity when it was his fault she broke it.
Cressida returned with goblets of wine for her father and Agamemnon. Agamemnon grabbed her by the waist.  "Isn't that right, sweetheart?" he said. He pulled Cressida to him and kissed her neck. Wine sloshed onto Cressida's dress. After taking one of the now half-empty goblets, Agamemnon dismissed her with a pat on the backside.
Cressida's face blanched with shame, and she couldn't look her father in the eyes when she handed him a goblet of wine.
Chryses glared at Agamemnon. "Your sins against my poor Cressida are an offense to the Gods," he said. "Return her to me and maybe they'll forgive your blasphemous crimes."
Agamemnon chugged down the contents of his goblet in a single gulp. "Which of us has blasphemed, priest? I'm not the one who presumes to speak for the Gods." 
"Agamemnon of Mycenae, you have been warned." Chryses' face had the frenzied blankness of an oracle prophesying doom. Briseis had seen this look on Cassandra more than once in the past. "If you don't let Cressida go free, you will bring down the wrath of Apollo's wrath on yourself and on your people."
Some of the knights who'd gathered to watch the confrontation gasped.  "Do what the priest says," one of them was brave enough to shout.
Agamemnon threw his goblet. The dregs of his wine spilled on the ground. A couple drops landed on Briseis' skirt. "The girl will grow old in Mycenae," he said. "Sharing my bed when my dear wife can't be there, and you will never see her again in this life. Now, get out of my sight while I'm still in a generous mood."
Chryses raised his arms in prayer and chanted under his breath. Briseis couldn't take her eyes off him. Would he call upon Apollo to strike Agamemnon dead with one of his arrows or maybe give him the ears of a donkey?
The priest's chanting grew in intensity. "...O Shining-One. O Far-Shooting Child of Latona..." 
"Enough of your fire and brimstone," Agamemnon shouted.
"O God of the Silver Bow, bring down your vengeance upon these sacrilegious Greeks. An arrow for every single tear I shed for my poor Cressida."
"Guards! Guards!" Two of Agamemnon's men grabbed Chryses by his shoulders. "Take him away!"
Chryses looked Agamemnon dead in the eyes. "May my sorrows be visited upon them ten times."
Cressida threw her arms around Chryses neck. "Father," she cried. Tears ran down her cheeks.
"Be brave." Chryses kissed her forehead. "Apollo will have his revenge."
Patroclus stepped up behind Briseis. "I told you we should go?" he whispered to her.
Briseis brushed him off and ran to Cressida. She gave the other girl's hand a reassuring squeeze. It was the least she could do for Cressida after all the needlessly nasty things she'd said about her. Cressida just continued weeping.
Before the guards dragged Chryses off, Agamemnon caught the priest by his cowl and threw him to the ground. "Don't let me catch you in my camp again," he said. "Or, there'll be nothing your precious god will be able to do for you then." He kicked Chryses' in his side.
In all this commotion, Briseis had almost forgotten about Achilles, who now looked on with disgust. Agamemnon's guards parted when he approached Chryses, laying on the ground like a drunken vagabond. Achilles extended a hand to help him up. "I'm sorry," he said.
Chryses gave Achilles an accusatory glare. He pushed away Achilles' hand and rose to his feet on his own.
Patroclus went to wrangle Chryses' mule, whose pack had been looted of its treasures during all the hurly-burly. "Insult to injury," Patroclus grumbled.
Briseis held an inconsolable Cressida as Chryses left the camp. Chryses issued his final curse on the Greeks: "May pestilence consume them."