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stop playing clever, odysseus. we all know that you've already recognised him.
I nodded. He made as if to go, then stopped. “You know, it’s funny; I keep thinking I’ve seen you before.”
“I doubt it,” I said quickly. “I don’t recognize you.”
it has never been so unpleasant to see odysseus.
“Who are you?” I asked.
The man laughed. “A good question. I’ve been terribly rude, barging into your room like this. I am one of the great king Agamemnon’s captains. I travel the islands and speak to promising young men, such as yourself”—he inclined his head towards me—“about joining our army against Troy. Have you heard of the war?”
“I have heard of it,” I said.
There were a thousand things I might have said, to reproach him for his naïveté. He had always trusted too easily; he had had so little in his life to fear or suspect. In the days before our friendship, I had almost hated him for this, and some old spark of that flared in me, trying to relight. Anyone else would have known that Thetis acted for her own purposes only. How could he be so foolish? The angry words pricked in my mouth.
But when I tried to speak them, I found I could not. His cheeks were flushed with shame, and the skin beneath his eyes was weary. His trust was a part of him, as much as his hands or his miraculous feet. And despite my hurt, I would not wish to see it gone, to see him as uneasy and fearful as the rest of us, for any price.
Had she really thought I would not know him? I could recognize him by touch alone, by smell; I would know him blind, by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth. I would know him in death, at the end of the world.