I Promised Patroclus

How did it come to this? I should have known that the gift of an ugly god would become your beauty’s curse. I regret the moment I let you convince me to don my armor.

But there was a fire in your eyes I could not refuse. A passion made your words flutter like restless birds. I was never one to argue with that passion.

And now, here you are. Lying in my arms as you always used to on amber evening like this. Is that a smile I see cracking through your ashen lips? Could it be that you’re happier to see beautiful Persephone than me? Or is it just a remnant of the thrill, all that’s left to you from leading the Myrmidons into the fray?

Henry Fuseli, "Achilles Searching for the Sahde of Patroclus", 1803

I told you to fall back to the safety of our ships. I begged you to let go of that maddening fire within. By Zeus! What possessed me to ever think you would listen? You were always the mirror of my better self; more brave and daring and stupid than I ever were.

It is not Hector who did this to you. It is I. I am the wretch to blame for the white in your cheeks, for the glassy haze in your eyes. Hector was just the hand that dealt the blow when I lowered the shield of my love for you. Perhaps the cruel kiss of iron can make up for that. Perhaps. When my grip on it is steady enough.

The Sea-Nymphs now mourn for you; can you not hear? The crimson surf wails and moans. But I will not let you go alone into that dark and voiceless night. Cries of pain shall not be the last thing you hear. Let there be dance. Let there be song and wine in your name.

Your enemies shall see from across the plain our splendid and terrible games. Thus, they’ll know war to be our sport – and themselves the pray. All good men of Greece shall compete. And the trophies they win shall forever bear the mark of your fame.

I have no heart to light your pyre. Yet, I must give you to the sky, ‘ere the earth lays claim upon you. Hasten; fly, my sweet boy. Climb to Olympus in a blaze. I’m sending twelve royal youths of Troy to carry your sorrows on the way – and soon I’ll also bring you Hector’s head inside that tall-crested helm you so brazenly defied.

Then everything will be alright. No; Not because you’ll be avenged. Vengeance does not bring back the dead. The iron grip of Hades cannot be forced open by the sword. But we’ll be together once more.

For, to kill Hector, will also spell my doom. The gods have ordained it so in the shimmering tapestry of the Fates. Strange that I used to fear this prophecy. Now it seems like the sweetest gift. Take heart. I’m right behind you. I won’t be long; I promise.

Do you think I’ll recognize you still when we’re both dumb and deaf in Pluton’s labyrinthine halls? Will our paths along the trail of dust ever cross? It matters not. I’d rather suffer all the eternal nights of the Underworld with that hope, than spend one more day in the sunlight deprived of it.

Tomorrow, it is for that hope that I’ll take up arms and build a bridge to you with enemy corpses.

It is for that hope that Ilion will fall.