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"The man who would make love to Death finds himself entwined with corruption."
~
The underworld is cold, much too cold for Achilles’ taste. Mist swirls about the surface of the River Styx, chilly tentacles that wind about his bloody ankles. The water is dark, and there is no boat in sight. Patroclus is there, however. His hair shines in the light from two torches thrust into the earth of the landing stage. The smile with which he greets Achilles is brighter still.
“Cousin! You come to join me in immortality!”
“I have come, as you knew that I would. Did I not promise that you and I would be companions forever?”
They embrace, firm and strong, and they share kisses, fiercely. But Patroclus’ lips are cold. Achilles does not draw back, but he knows a fear that their reunion is some trick of the gods, angry with him.
Out of the mists on the water a barge appears, bearing a figure in a dark cloak. A hand, all bone, reaches out to them, one finger crooked and beckoning. Reluctantly, Achilles pulls the coins from his purse, and places them on the fragile palm. His cousin does the same, smiling with anticipation of the unknown as he has always done.
They board the barge, and slowly Charon slides his pole into the dark water as they slip from shore. They hear a shrieking, as of ravens, as of women, as of babes in arms. On the far shore, a crowd is waiting.
~
~
The underworld is cold, much too cold for Achilles’ taste. Mist swirls about the surface of the River Styx, chilly tentacles that wind about his bloody ankles. The water is dark, and there is no boat in sight. Patroclus is there, however. His hair shines in the light from two torches thrust into the earth of the landing stage. The smile with which he greets Achilles is brighter still.
“Cousin! You come to join me in immortality!”
“I have come, as you knew that I would. Did I not promise that you and I would be companions forever?”
They embrace, firm and strong, and they share kisses, fiercely. But Patroclus’ lips are cold. Achilles does not draw back, but he knows a fear that their reunion is some trick of the gods, angry with him.
Out of the mists on the water a barge appears, bearing a figure in a dark cloak. A hand, all bone, reaches out to them, one finger crooked and beckoning. Reluctantly, Achilles pulls the coins from his purse, and places them on the fragile palm. His cousin does the same, smiling with anticipation of the unknown as he has always done.
They board the barge, and slowly Charon slides his pole into the dark water as they slip from shore. They hear a shrieking, as of ravens, as of women, as of babes in arms. On the far shore, a crowd is waiting.
~