Diomedes and Ulysses find Achilles on Scyros
At first light, as arranged, 
Diomedes is coming up from the ship, and with him Agyrtes, 
and the chest full of presents. At length the young women 
assemble to perform their dances and reels for the guests.
 Leading this grand cotillion are the princess Deidamia 
and the one to whom Ulysses was paying special attention
 the evening before at dinner. The music of pan-pipes trills 
and the cymbals of Cybele crash, as the drums beat faster and faster, 
while the girls perform their intricate elegant steps. They raise
 and lower their wands and the ribbons float on the air as is done in Samothrace and Crete in that complicated series
 of geometrical figures they trace in their performance.
Ulysses notes that the girl he has spotted is not very good,
 seems not to know the steps, not even really to care, as if this entire performance is somehow a joke. Achilles 
makes mistakes, and laughs, clumps and lumbers, moves 
in a parody of dancing, a skeptic, an unbeliever,
 a Pentheus come from Thebes to watch the Bacchantes perform (and the women in their frenzy tore him limb from limb).
At last they are done and the girls acknowledge the guests' polite applause and gather around the hall table where presents 
are out on display. Diomedes invites them to choose what they will. They look to the king who is pleased and nods in assent- he cannot suppose that the gifts of Greeks are not always what they may seem. He has, in any event, no cause to suspect Ulysses, famed though he is for his guile. The girls, being girls, are attracted to the little drums and ritual cymbals, or pretty headbands
 set with precious stones.
To the weapons they pay no mind,
 or else they assume these are gifts for Lycomedes himself, but the bold Achilles, Peleus' son, of Aeacus' line, 
is dazzled. His eyes shine at the sheen of the gold on that shield. The wonderful workmanship invites him. The battle scenes 
on the boss and around the rim speak to his spirit. He lifts 
the shield and the spear beside it, hefts them, wields them, wears them 
as the soul wears its flesh. He forgets his mother's instructions
 and Deidamia's hints. He plants his feet like a soldier
 and tries one battle cry that rings out from the stonework.
His eyes are ablaze and his hair is electric, an animal's hackles. Think of a lion cub that some hunter has reared and tamed,
 a regular pussycat, but then one day, when it sees 
the steel of the javelin's tip, something deep in its heart
 rebels. The beast reverts, goes wild, ashamed to have fawned 
and purred and played like a pet. It turns on its keeper and mauls him. The room is hushed. They are all staring. Achilles puts down
 the shield, but he sees in the metal his own reflection- a face
 noble and warlike, but wearing a woman's headband and earrings. He is thrilled and he blushes in shame. He cannot move.
Ulysses already beside him is speaking calmly, one man to another: "We know who you are. But more important, you know. The game is over. The ship is waiting. The moment is here.
 The towering walls of Troy invite you. At every step
 you take in their direction, they tremble. You did as your mother instructed, but now it's over."
Ulysses removes the headband from Achilles' head and looks to Agyrtes, who takes the trumpet from the folds of his cloak and blows it, a piercing martial blast that scatters the terrified girls. But Achilles, strange to believe, grows taller, broader. Amazing! He towers over Ulysses.
 That spear in his huge hand now seems like a mere toy
 as he waits, poised, ready for Hector or anyone else.
There's confusion, even panic. What's happened to Peleus' daughter?
 From the next room Deidamia, hearing that war cry, hurries,
 knowing that all is lost, but hoping somehow to retrieve what she can. Achilles sees her, hears her drawn-out wail of grief, and is undone. He drops the spear and shield
 that clatter onto the flagstones and he turns to face the king, who is utterly mystified. "I apologize, your highness. I am that daughter Thetis entrusted to your safekeeping.
 It is fated -always was- that yours be the house from which
 I should proceed to Troy. Whatever I do there shall surely redound to both our honors, and Chiron's as well,"