The Song of Achilles

by Madeline Miller

My father was a king and the son of kings.

Gives a picture of how important his father is in terms of family legacy.

No one sees me fight.’ The words came as if he were used to saying them. ‘Why?’ He looked at me a long moment, as if weighing something. ‘My mother has forbidden it. Because of the prophecy.’ ‘What prophecy?’ I had not heard of this. ‘That I will be the best warrior of my generation.’

‘When I was born. Just before. Eleithyia came, and told it to my mother.’ Eleithyia, goddess of childbirth, rumoured to preside in person over the birth of half-gods.

passed. In the moonlight, I could just make out the shape of his face, sculptor-perfect, across the room. His lips were parted slightly, an arm thrown carelessly above his head. He looked different in sleep, beautiful but cold as moonlight. I found myself wishing he would wake so that I might watch the life return.

Beneath his poise and stillness was another face, full of mischief and faceted like a gem, catching the light.

When he smiled the skin at the corners of his eyes crinkled like a leaf held to flame. He was like a flame himself. He glittered, drew eyes. There was a glamour to him, even on waking, with his hair tousled and his face still muddled with sleep.

I stopped watching for ridicule, the scorpion’s tail hidden in his words. He said what he meant; he was puzzled if you did not. Some people might have mistaken this for simplicity. But is it not a sort of genius to cut always to the heart?

‘Then how do you know that . . .’ I trailed off, as he took up a stance in the centre, his spear in his hand, his sword at his waist. ‘That the prophecy is true? I guess I don’t.’ Divine blood flows differently in each god-born child. Orpheus’ voice made the trees weep, Heracles could kill a man by clapping him on the back. Achilles’ miracle was his speed.