"Achilles!"
The raucous laughter of the Myrmidons echoed through the camp, their rowdy voices calling out in jest as they spotted their commander approaching. Some were still chewing on roasted meat, others drinking from overflowing goblets of wine, their boisterous mood amplified by the late hour.
"What are you doing here?" one of them shouted, his grin wide and toothy. "Shouldn't you be enjoying that princess?"
"I thought we'd be hearing screams of pleasure by now!" another added, his laugh booming above the clatter of their drunken revelry.
The men were fearless, knowing their commander well enough to mock him freely, thinking it all in good fun. They knew Achilles, their king and commander, was capable of laughing off their jests. To them, Achilles had already finished with the spoils of war—the woman, Briseis—perhaps leaving her to wait for his next indulgence.
