Cassandra and Apollo

Chapter 16

"He is rigid as stone, goddess. And adamant that he will not fight unless king Agamemnon yields," says the man.

He speaks with the self-possession of a king, but one accustomed to driving his own yoke and planting his own fields. Not exceptionally tall nor particularly muscular, he is barely distinguishable from the throngs of Greek soldiers who carry neither title nor fame. That, however, is the heart of his power. To be unobtrusive, underestimated, that is all by his own design.

Athena knows this, of course, she has followed his eventful life closely. He is not Ajax, who was born to battle. No, this is Odysseus Polymetis, multifaceted like a diamond and every bit as tough.

She notices his smile.

"You have a plan, king of Ithaca?"

He nods.

"If the great goddess would hear it," he replies, not quite humbly enough for her taste, but she allows it. Because it is him.

"I would."

Odysseus walks over to the brazier next to Ajax's armor and weapons. He sits on a small wooden chair and runs his fingers over the shield's fine carved edge.

Ajax, who has said nothing up to this point, stiffens against one of the tent poles. The goddess stills him with a look.

"What are soldiers, beyond their attacks, their spear throws?" says Odysseus, in his usual detached, philosophical tone. "They are armor and tales, nothing more."

"We do not have the man, but the armor and tales are yet at our disposal," says the goddess, following his thread of thought as easily as if it were the weft on her loom.

His lively brown eyes flash with pride.

"Just so, goddess."

Odysseus has not told anyone his plan, least of all Ajax. The mountain feels adrift, lost in the sea of their significant looks and incomplete phrases. But he says nothing, they will explain, they always do, if only because they always need his help.

"Who shall we place in his stead? Ajax?" she asks.

Odysseus shakes his head, "It has to be someone who could pass for him in armor." He smiles good naturedly, clapping Ajax on the back, "Great Ajax can stand for no one but himself, unless you, great Athena, change his form?"

Now it is she who shakes her head. "No, the gods who support Troy would scent my magic on him. They would warn the army."

"Yes, as I thought."

"You are trying to fool the Trojan army with a false Achilles?" Ajax's rugged face cracks with a broad smile, he is getting better at understanding their coded language.

Athena smiles her reply. "Yes, if we can find a suitable replacement."

"I have a suggestion," says the mountain, to everyone's great surprise.

**

"No, absolutely not," he objects, knuckles white on the grip of his spear. "I was clear at the start of the war. Patroclus is my companion, not a soldier."

Achilles douses the campfire and rushes into his tent, thinking to put an end to the conversation. Odysseus and Ajax follow.

"Will you not let him decide?" probes Odysseus. "I believe he will agree to do it; rumor has it he would do anything for you."

Achilles's ocean eyes seem to glow in the dim candlelight of his tent. He stands his spear against the canvas walls.

"Precisely! That is why I will not allow it."