Next to him was a man of truly noble aspect, tall in his chair, with red hair massed in curls around his broad, high forehead, his skin white and delicate. Under surprisingly dark brows his beautiful eyes shone grey and piercing, the most fascinating eyes I had ever seen. When my gaze dropped to his bare chest I saw in pity how scarred he was; his face seemed to be the only part of him had escaped.

On Agamemnon’s right was another red-haired man, a shambling fellow who kept his gaze on the table top. As he raised his cup to his lips I noticed that his hand shook. His neighbour was a most kingly old man, tall and erect, with a silvery white beard and wide blue eyes. Though he was dressed very simply in a white linen robe, his fingers were smothered in rings from knuckles to tips. The giant Ajax was next to him; I had to blink again, hardly able to associate him with the man who had uncovered my father’s body.

But my eyes grew tired of their different faces, all so deceptively noble. The guard drew Chryse forward, twitching away her veil. My stomach fluttered. She was so beautiful in her foreign clothes, Greek stuff given to her from some Greek chest, clothes bearing no resemblance to the long, straight gowns Lyrnessian women wore between neck and ankles. In Lyrnessos we hid ourselves from all save our husbands; Greek women evidently dressed like whores. Scarlet with shame, Chryse covered her bare breasts with her hands until the guard struck them down so that the table of silent men could see how tiny her waist was in the tight girdle, and how perfect her breasts were. Agamemnon ceased to look like Father Zeus, became Pan instead. He turned to Achilles.

‘By the Mother, she’s exquisite!’

Achilles smiled. ‘We’re pleased you like her, sire. She’s yours – a mark of the Second Army’s esteem. Her name’s Chryse.’

‘Come here, Chryse.’ The elegant white hand gestured; she dared not disobey. ‘Come, look at me! There’s no need to be afraid, girl, I won’t hurt you.’ White teeth flashing, he smiled at her, then stroked her arm without seeming to notice that she flinched. ‘Take her to my ship at once.’

She was led away. It was my turn. The guard threw off my veil to display me in my immodest garb. I stood as tall as I could, my hands by my sides, my face expressionless. The shame was theirs, not mine. Staring down the lust in the High King’s eyes, I forced him to glance away. Achilles said nothing. I moved my legs a little to make my manacles clink. Agamemnon raised his brows.

‘Chains? Who ordered that?’

‘I did, sire. I don’t trust her.’

‘Oh?’ There was a world of meaning in that single word. ‘And whose property is she?’

‘Mine. I captured her myself,’ said Achilles.

‘You should have offered me my choice of the two girls,’ said Agamemnon, displeased.

‘I’ve told you, sire, I captured her myself, which makes her mine. Besides which, I don’t trust her. Our Greek world will survive without me, but not without you. I have ample proof that this girl’s dangerous.’

‘Hmph!’ said the High King, not really mollified. Then he sighed. ‘I’ve never seen hair halfway between red and gold, nor eyes so blue.’ He sighed again. ‘More beautiful than Helen.’

The nervous man on the High King’s right, he with the red hair, brought his fist down on the table so hard that the wine cups leaped. ‘Helen has no peer!’ he cried.

‘Yes, brother, we’re aware of that,’ said Agamemnon patiently. ‘Calm yourself.’

Achilles nodded to his Myrmidon officer. ‘Take her away.’

I waited in a chair in his cabin, lids drooping, though I dared not allow myself to sleep. No woman is more defenceless than a sleeping one.

A long time later Achilles came. When the latch lifted I was dozing despite my resolution, and jumped in fright, gripping my hands together. The moment of reckoning had arrived. But Achilles didn’t seem consumed with want; he ignored me to go to the chest and open it. Then he ripped off the collar, the rings, the bracelets, the jewelled belt. Not his kilt.

‘I can never be rid of that rubbish soon enough,’ he said, staring at me.

I stared back, at a loss. How did a rape begin?

The door opened and another man entered, very like Achilles in colouring and features but smaller in size, and with a more tender face. His lips were lovely. Blue, not yellow, his eyes surveyed me with an apprehensive gleam.

‘Patrokles, this is Brise.’

‘Agamemnon was right. She is more beautiful than Helen.’ The glance he gave Achilles was fraught with meaning and filled with pain. ‘I’ll leave you. I only wanted to see if you needed anything.’

‘Wait outside, I won’t be long,’ said Achilles absently.

Already on the way to the door, Patrokles propped, gave Achilles a look no one could have mistaken. Absolute joy and absolute possession.

‘He’s my lover,’ said Achilles when he had gone.

‘That I gathered.’

He lowered himself onto one side of the narrow bed with a sigh of weariness, and indicated my chair. ‘Sit again.’

I sat regarding him steadily for some time while he stared at me with what seemed detachment; he didn’t, I was beginning to suspect, desire me in the least. Why then had he claimed me?

‘I had thought you women of Lyrnessos very sheltered,’ he said at last, ‘but you appear to know the ways of the world.’

‘Some ways. Those which are universal. What we don’t understand are fashions like these.’ I touched my bare breasts. ‘Rape must be rife in Greece.’

‘No more than anywhere else. A thing tends to lose its novelty when it is – universal.’

‘What do you intend to do with me, Prince Achilles?’

‘I have no idea.’

‘My nature isn’t easy.’

‘I know.’ His smile was wry. ‘In fact, your question was a telling one. I really don’t know what to do with you.’ He shot me a yellow look. ‘Do you play the lyre? Can you sing?’

‘Very well.’

He got to his feet. ‘Then I’ll keep you to play and sing to me,’ he said, and barked, ‘Sit down on the floor!’

I sat. He flipped the heavy skirt up around my thighs, then left the room. When he came back he was carrying a hammer and a chisel. The next moment I was free of my chains.

‘You’ve spoiled the floor,’ I said, pointing to the deep scores where the chisel had bitten too hard.

‘This is no more than a shelter on a foredeck,’ he said, climbing off his knees and hauling me to my feet. His hands were firm and dry. ‘Go to sleep,’ he said, and left me.

But before I crawled into the bed I offered up a prayer of thanks to Artemis. The virgin Goddess had heard me; the man who had taken me for his prize was not a man for women. I was safe. Why then was a part of my sadness not on behalf of my beloved father?

In the morning they ran the flagship down into the water, sailors and warriors hurrying about the deck and rowing benches, filling the air with laughter and choice curses. It was plain that they were delighted to be leaving blackened, denuded Andramyttios. Perhaps they could hear the shades of thousands of innocents reproaching them.

Patrokles the tender man threaded his way gracefully through the crowded midships and climbed the few steps to the foredeck, where I stood watching.

‘Are you well this morning, lady?’

‘Thank you, yes.’

I turned away, but he stayed by my side, apparently content with my chilly company.

‘You’ll get used to things in time,’ he said.

I just looked at him. ‘A more stupid remark is hard to think of,’ I said. ‘Could you get used to it if you were forced to live in the household of the man who was responsible for the death of your father and the destruction of your home?’

‘Probably not,’ he answered, flushing. ‘But this is war, and you’re a woman.’

‘War,’ I answered bitterly, ‘is a man’s activity. Women are its victims, just as they’re the victims of men.’