"No man touches her!"
"Not even the Atreides would dare,"
Podarces assures me,
with a glare at pale Thersites
who grins a pale smile,
and mutters,
"Not after the last time."
Once,
ill-fated Iphigenia,
was led to believe
I was her intended,
before ruthless Agamemnon
led that poor girl to slaughter
to appease the goddess.
Once,
I turned down
an offer from Agamemnon,
overlord of the host,
to wed his choice of Argive princesses
upon a successful return to the lands of Hellas.
Once,
I pledged myself to Deidamia,
who still waits for me
and remains loyal to me
on the island of Skyros
with our son.
More than once,
Patroclus urged me
to take Briseis as my wife,
after the war,
back when life beyond the war
was something we could still contemplate.
But now?
I shake my head.
I wish I still had your counsel, Patroclus.
About Briseis.
What fate would you wish for her?
She cared for you,
and would be here with you,
if I would let her come,
but not yet!
My grief is too great to share.
For now, I must have you for myself.
"No man touches her,"
I repeat,
and remain,
rooted in place,
plucking the lyre.