The trip across the Mediterranean had been arduous. Aeneas had aimed to travel south and make for Egypt, but days of tempestuous storms and terrible visibility had left them – of all places – west of Greece. They’d continued on westward, rounding the great peninsula that all but bisected the Mediterranean, and briefly stopping in the strange land of the Carthagenians, before finally bringing their ship to its final rest on the western shore of the aforementioned peninsula.
Sunday, May 26, 2019
4.48: Epilogue II: Born To Be Kings
1180 BCE - Western Coast of Italy.
The trip across the Mediterranean had been arduous. Aeneas had aimed to travel south and make for Egypt, but days of tempestuous storms and terrible visibility had left them – of all places – west of Greece. They’d continued on westward, rounding the great peninsula that all but bisected the Mediterranean, and briefly stopping in the strange land of the Carthagenians, before finally bringing their ship to its final rest on the western shore of the aforementioned peninsula.
The trip across the Mediterranean had been arduous. Aeneas had aimed to travel south and make for Egypt, but days of tempestuous storms and terrible visibility had left them – of all places – west of Greece. They’d continued on westward, rounding the great peninsula that all but bisected the Mediterranean, and briefly stopping in the strange land of the Carthagenians, before finally bringing their ship to its final rest on the western shore of the aforementioned peninsula.
4.47: Epilogue I: You Know What Flows There Like Wine
1182 BCE - The King's Palace in Mycenae.
Agamemnon set his travel bags down in the hallway. It had been an unreasonably long voyage back from Troy. A storm had scattered the Greek fleet, and thanks to the 10 years lying on dry sand and baking in the sun, many of the ships had proven unable to handle the strain of tempestuous waters. It seemed as if Poseidon had had the last laugh.
Agamemnon set his travel bags down in the hallway. It had been an unreasonably long voyage back from Troy. A storm had scattered the Greek fleet, and thanks to the 10 years lying on dry sand and baking in the sun, many of the ships had proven unable to handle the strain of tempestuous waters. It seemed as if Poseidon had had the last laugh.
4.46: Forget How To Hate
1183 BCE - Western Shore of Troa.
Odysseus watched as Aeneas’s ship disappeared to their south. He’d given them some of Athena’s maps, and had taught them how to plot a course, but he asked them not to tell him their heading. He wanted Astyanax to grow up without any fear of Greek daggers stalking him in the night. Wherever they went, Odysseus knew they’d be fine. Between Aeneas and Briseis, they had more than enough strength, wit, and resolve to handle whatever the seas threw at them.
Odysseus watched as Aeneas’s ship disappeared to their south. He’d given them some of Athena’s maps, and had taught them how to plot a course, but he asked them not to tell him their heading. He wanted Astyanax to grow up without any fear of Greek daggers stalking him in the night. Wherever they went, Odysseus knew they’d be fine. Between Aeneas and Briseis, they had more than enough strength, wit, and resolve to handle whatever the seas threw at them.
4.45: Everything I Do
1183 BCE - Troy's Southern Gate.
Adresteia and Athena’s battle carried them down the adjoining street, Odysseus chasing after them. Helen, wounded several times over, joined Menelaus at the gate as Agamemnon returned with dozens of men.
Adresteia and Athena’s battle carried them down the adjoining street, Odysseus chasing after them. Helen, wounded several times over, joined Menelaus at the gate as Agamemnon returned with dozens of men.
4.44: The Best of Us Can Find Happiness In Misery
1183 BCE - Troy's Southern Gate.
Agamemnon pushed Kassandra into the arms of two of his soldiers and lunged at Odysseus with his spear. Athena threw her spear at Adresteia, and then charged at her shield first. Diomedes, Ajax, and Teucer charged at Aeneas, and Greek soldiers poured down the street, trying to reach the wailing infant.
4.43: Taking A Stand To Escape What’s Inside Me
1183 BCE - Troy's Southern Gate.
Odysseus waited anxiously with Andromache in a shadowy alley next to the southern gate. He was relieved to see Aeneas – fully clad in Achilles’s golden armor - running down the street toward them with a small pack of refugees from the palace. Andromache waved him over, so he’d know Odysseus wasn’t hostile.
Odysseus waited anxiously with Andromache in a shadowy alley next to the southern gate. He was relieved to see Aeneas – fully clad in Achilles’s golden armor - running down the street toward them with a small pack of refugees from the palace. Andromache waved him over, so he’d know Odysseus wasn’t hostile.
4.42: Are We Having Fun Yet?
1183 BCE - Temple of Athena in Troy.
Kassandra had foreseen multiple terrible fates for everyone in her family. In several futures, Astyanax was thrown from the walls, murdered by Odysseus or one of the other Greeks. In one, a Greek man would use him as a club to beat Kassandra’s father to death. His mother, and Kassandra’s mother, ended up as slaves in most scenarios. Paris sometimes lived to fight another day, but not for long. Aeneas was a survivor, though, and so Aeneas was who Kassandra searched for now. Her only hope of surviving as a free woman was with him.
4.41: Walk All Over You
1183 BCE - Paris's Home in Troy.
By the time they reached Paris’s room, the alarm had sounded – the Achaeans had managed to silence all but one of the bells, which left many of the Trojans wondering if it was a prank, but then the sun rose above the walls and cast its light down on the beach. The Greek fleet had sheltered behind Tenedos in the darkness, and returned once the horse had been carried into the city. It had disgorged what was left of the Achaean army, and they were now marching up to the red gates of Troy – which were standing wide open thanks to Teucer and Ajax the Lesser. While the city turned into a boiling cauldron of chaos and fear, five of the war’s main actor’s squared off, Aphrodite and Paris against Nemesis and Menelaus, with Helen forced to the sideline.
By the time they reached Paris’s room, the alarm had sounded – the Achaeans had managed to silence all but one of the bells, which left many of the Trojans wondering if it was a prank, but then the sun rose above the walls and cast its light down on the beach. The Greek fleet had sheltered behind Tenedos in the darkness, and returned once the horse had been carried into the city. It had disgorged what was left of the Achaean army, and they were now marching up to the red gates of Troy – which were standing wide open thanks to Teucer and Ajax the Lesser. While the city turned into a boiling cauldron of chaos and fear, five of the war’s main actor’s squared off, Aphrodite and Paris against Nemesis and Menelaus, with Helen forced to the sideline.
Saturday, May 25, 2019
4.40: Your Weary Widow
1183 BCE - Hector and Andromache's Home in Troy.
Odysseus followed the instructions Neo had given him, and found Hector's quarters within the royal palace. By the time he reached the door, the alarm was sounding. The city would raise arms, but Agamemnon’s troops would likely be through the gates already. Odysseus didn’t knock – he just smashed through the door shoulder first shouting for Andromache.
Odysseus followed the instructions Neo had given him, and found Hector's quarters within the royal palace. By the time he reached the door, the alarm was sounding. The city would raise arms, but Agamemnon’s troops would likely be through the gates already. Odysseus didn’t knock – he just smashed through the door shoulder first shouting for Andromache.
4.39: Right Between The Eyes
1183 BCE - Troy's Central Agora.
Odysseus had eight men with him quietly sitting in the horse’s body; Menelaus, Diomedes, Acamas, Anticlas, Machaon, Sthenelus, Thersander, and Thoas. Keeping watch from the small space in the horse’s head was the boy, Neoptolemus. Neo was a slave at Dardanus when Diomedes liberated it, and being of Greek descent himself, had sworn himself to Diomedes’s service. He was a young man, at best, but he was brave and formidable – Diomedes had even taken to calling him the bastard son of Achilles. Most importantly, he had a cool head, a sharp mind, and had been inside the city before.
Odysseus had eight men with him quietly sitting in the horse’s body; Menelaus, Diomedes, Acamas, Anticlas, Machaon, Sthenelus, Thersander, and Thoas. Keeping watch from the small space in the horse’s head was the boy, Neoptolemus. Neo was a slave at Dardanus when Diomedes liberated it, and being of Greek descent himself, had sworn himself to Diomedes’s service. He was a young man, at best, but he was brave and formidable – Diomedes had even taken to calling him the bastard son of Achilles. Most importantly, he had a cool head, a sharp mind, and had been inside the city before.
4.38: I Feel Fine
1183 BCE - Troy, Western Gate.
Priam stood upon the wall above the gate with Hecuba – the same place from which they’d watched their first son die. Now they were watching Greek ships sail off into the sunset, and Paris and Aeneas were riding back from the beach.
Priam stood upon the wall above the gate with Hecuba – the same place from which they’d watched their first son die. Now they were watching Greek ships sail off into the sunset, and Paris and Aeneas were riding back from the beach.
4.37: It'd Be Safest If You Ran
1183 BCE - Desecrated Temple of Apollo, Mt. Ida.
While Adresteia flew into Troy in her owl form, Athena finished picking the shrapnel from her legs, willed them to heal, and then travelled to the building that had once been Apollo’s temple on the slopes of Mt. Ida, overlooking Troy itself. Built outside the walls of Troy, surrounded by only a small village to protect the accumulated offerings of Apollo’s worshippers, it had been the logical sacrifice to bring Apollo into the war on the Trojans’ side.
While Adresteia flew into Troy in her owl form, Athena finished picking the shrapnel from her legs, willed them to heal, and then travelled to the building that had once been Apollo’s temple on the slopes of Mt. Ida, overlooking Troy itself. Built outside the walls of Troy, surrounded by only a small village to protect the accumulated offerings of Apollo’s worshippers, it had been the logical sacrifice to bring Apollo into the war on the Trojans’ side.
4.36: I Tried To Sell My Soul Last Night
1183 BCE - Troa.
Athena stepped out of her portal onto the hilltop that overlooked the flood plains before Troy. She transformed into her human likeness, collapsed into the grass, and created a simple knife to begin prying the bits of shrapnel from her legs. The iron had thoroughly burned the surrounding flesh, preventing it from healing, so Athena not only pulled the bits of metal out, she scraped away the blackened meat inside the wounds so that they could heal properly. The task was made all the more difficult by the fact that the iron continued to burn any part of her it touched, including her fingertips.
Athena stepped out of her portal onto the hilltop that overlooked the flood plains before Troy. She transformed into her human likeness, collapsed into the grass, and created a simple knife to begin prying the bits of shrapnel from her legs. The iron had thoroughly burned the surrounding flesh, preventing it from healing, so Athena not only pulled the bits of metal out, she scraped away the blackened meat inside the wounds so that they could heal properly. The task was made all the more difficult by the fact that the iron continued to burn any part of her it touched, including her fingertips.
4.35: If You Don’t Love Me Now
1183 BCE - Hephaestus's citadel, Mt. Mosycholos, Lemnos.
Athena tossed the armored man off of her. It rolled to its feet and stood up. A red light shown from its eyes and swept across her.
“What are you doing?”
4.34: I’ll Be The Watcher Of The Eternal Flame
1183 BCE - Constellar Palace, Mt. Olympus.
Hephaestus began to peel away from the Constellar Palace in his horseless sky chariot, but glanced back to see Hestia standing at the edge of platform gamma, looking down off the precipice. Hephaestus had been willing to leave his aunt behind, putting himself and his wife first, but seeing her there now, alone and not knowing of the treachery that had transpired at the meeting she’d left, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He turned the chariot around and dove towards the platform.
Hephaestus began to peel away from the Constellar Palace in his horseless sky chariot, but glanced back to see Hestia standing at the edge of platform gamma, looking down off the precipice. Hephaestus had been willing to leave his aunt behind, putting himself and his wife first, but seeing her there now, alone and not knowing of the treachery that had transpired at the meeting she’d left, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He turned the chariot around and dove towards the platform.
4.33: It Doesn't Even Matter How Hard You Try
1183 BCE - Constellar Palace, Mt. Olympus.
Recognition came too slowly for Zeus. He exhaled, and the ancient spirit that gave him much of his power flew out of his lungs and into the box. The box itself flickered in his hands – the glamour Athena and Hephaestus had created failed, and Zeus saw that he was, in fact, holding Pandora’s Box, complete with Fortune’s Key slotted firmly into the round lock.
Recognition came too slowly for Zeus. He exhaled, and the ancient spirit that gave him much of his power flew out of his lungs and into the box. The box itself flickered in his hands – the glamour Athena and Hephaestus had created failed, and Zeus saw that he was, in fact, holding Pandora’s Box, complete with Fortune’s Key slotted firmly into the round lock.
Friday, May 24, 2019
4.32: Strike Down The One That Leads Me
1183 BCE - Constellar Palace, Mt. Olympus.
Poseidon agreed to come to the Constellar palace, but he refused to stand before Hera’s throne, as they were currently enemies, so the gods and goddesses gathered on platform Alpha, overlooking Attica. Trellises covered with blooming vines had been placed around the platform to cut the mountain wind and beautify the area. Hestia reached out with her hand and summoned a large, round table for the gods to sit at as Hermes appeared with libations. It was the final touch in the preparations she’d made for the summit.
Poseidon agreed to come to the Constellar palace, but he refused to stand before Hera’s throne, as they were currently enemies, so the gods and goddesses gathered on platform Alpha, overlooking Attica. Trellises covered with blooming vines had been placed around the platform to cut the mountain wind and beautify the area. Hestia reached out with her hand and summoned a large, round table for the gods to sit at as Hermes appeared with libations. It was the final touch in the preparations she’d made for the summit.
4.31: No Colors Anymore
1183 BCE - Troy.
Just as the Greeks had been laying Patroclus to rest, the Trojans had been outside their walls celebrating Hector’s life and sacrifice, enjoying the breeze and the first of what they assumed would be many food shipments. Their men were at ease, relatively speaking, and wholly unprepared for Achilles – a man who was known for pathologically keeping his word – to apparently break their truce, rushing out of the dark on his chariot and driving straight into their feast.
Women screamed and grabbed their children. Many failed to escape his path of destruction, and were caught beneath hooves and wheels. Priam cried for Achilles to stop, trying to reason with him, but Achilles ignored him, his rage beyond reason. The Trojan soldiers tried to stand up to him, eventually killing one of his horses. His chariot overran the dead horse and flipped end over end, crashing into one of Troy’s walls, but Achilles, back in his seemingly impervious armor, burst from the wreckage and summoned his broken spear. He began hacking at men and women alike madly, crushing Trojan children with his shield. Voices in his head screamed at him.
Ten points for the soldiers! the oldest voice, Kasios’s voice cried.
You’re butchering innocent people! cried the voices of Typhon and Ares.
Achilles, this is wrong! pleaded the voice of Patroclus.
And then Achilles came upon a familiar woman, clutching her son.
Andromache! Scamandrius! Achilles heard Hector’s voice, and his muscles suddenly became rigid, as if they had all tensed at once, freezing him in place. Andromache shielded her child, expecting this to finally be the end, but a sharp whistle came from behind Achilles, and a sudden sharp pain penetrated the back of his right leg, where the armor plates met at his ankle. The force holding him released him, and he staggered to face his enemy, his foot growing numb.
Paris stood, bow drawn, with Aphrodite at his side.
“I told you,” Aphrodite said, “My ex-husband could never get the ankles right.”
“Will your poison kill him?” Paris asked.
“If you shoot him enough times, of course,” Aphrodite said as she strolled over to the wreckage of Achilles's chariot and began rummaging about for something, “Now, do what you do best and show this troglodyte the future of warfare is not swords and spears.”
Achilles threw his spear at Paris, but Paris dodged and fired again. Achilles raised his shield, expecting the shot to come at his head, but instead Paris aimed wide and shot Achilles open hand in the unarmored palm. Achilles pulled out the arrow, and tried to recall the spear, but he couldn’t snap his fingers. He felt the poison leech up his arm towards his chest. He tried to stun Paris with his shield, but Paris looked past it – as with the spear, he’d seen the trick before, and had spent hours thinking about what Hector could have done differently.
Achilles tried to rush him, shield raised, but the poison in his leg had reached his thigh – his foot dragged in the dirt. Paris strafed around him, firing again and again. Most of the arrows pinged off the metal plates, but a few stuck in the softer parts that connected them, their steel tips scratching Achilles's skin and spreading Aphrodite’s poison. At last, Paris got directly behind Achilles and fired a shot into his other ankle, sending the mortal god to his knees. Achilles collapsed forward onto his shield, and then rolled onto his back.
"You... you kill me?" Achilles cried in disbelief.
Paris shot him one final time through the throat and walked away. No pithy last words, no looting, no desecration or honors. He turned and walked back through the gates of Troy. Aphrodite snatched the golden cube from the remains of Achilles’s chariot, and followed her champion.
Achilles watched them walk away, sputtering and coughing as the poison reached his heart. He heard the red doors of Troy slam shut, and the locks fall into place. He turned his head as much as he could trying to see… anything worth seeing before he died. He looked at the gates, and their vibrant color seemed to drain away as the Trojan fires dimmed. He looked to the west, hoping to see a beautiful sunset, but then he remembered it was night, and he’d already seen his last sunset at Patroclus’s funeral. The moment was still sharp in his mind’s eye, and tears rolled down his cheeks as he gasped for breath. He reached up with what little strength he had left and deactivated the armor. It clanked and clattered away from his body as Briseis walked up to him awkwardly, her imminent motherhood undeniable behind the fine summer clothes she’d worn to Patroclus’s funeral.
Achilles coughed as he struggled to breathe, “My heart… it's black,” he said deliriously.
“No Achilles, no it’s not,” Briseis knelt down beside him and took his bloody hand, “but it’s done now, Achilles. It’s time to go see Patroclus.”
“He won’t be there,” Achilles said, “No one will.”
“Of course they will,” Briseis said, tears welling in her eyes, “A new day always comes, even if you don’t believe it will. Your end in this world is the beginning of your adventures in the next. And you will be a wiser man in the next world. You will love Patroclus with all of your heart, and nothing else will sway you from that. No war, no king, and no woman.”
“Thank you,” Achilles barely managed to get out as his voice trailed into a gurgle. Briseis put her hand on Achilles’s chest and felt his heart slow to a stop. She leaned over and gently kissed his lips, “You weren’t the men I wanted you to be when we met,” she whispered, “but thank you, both of you, for trying to be.”
The legacy of Kasios, though now weighed down with the memories of Typhon, Ares, Patroclus, Hector, and Achilles, gently wound its way through Briseis’s lungs into her blood stream.
Briseis had a strange feeling for a moment, but it passed quickly. She couldn’t carry Achilles body back to the Greek camp. Soon she would be strong enough, thanks to the power coursing through her veins, but today she was still a mortal. A notion compelled her, though – she shouldn’t leave the weapons of the gods lying in the dirt before the gates of Troy. She picked up the silver ball that contained Achilles’s last suit of armor and tucked it into her traveling bag. Then she picked up his shield, and slung it across her back. Finally, she pulled the ring from his mangled hand and placed it upon her own. She snapped her fingers and brought the spear to her hand without ever sparing a thought as to how she knew to do so.
“Goodbye, Achilles,” she said, “And gods’ speed to you.”
Briseis turned and disappeared into the darkness. She couldn’t save her home – it had long since become someone else’s – and she couldn’t save Troy. With the truce broken, and no more food coming in, it was surely doomed. But there would be chaos towards the end, and amidst the chaos, there would be survivors. There were always survivors – men and women like her who endured when others succumbed to despair or rage. When the time came, those survivors would need a means of escape, and right now, she was the only one who could give them that.
Just as the Greeks had been laying Patroclus to rest, the Trojans had been outside their walls celebrating Hector’s life and sacrifice, enjoying the breeze and the first of what they assumed would be many food shipments. Their men were at ease, relatively speaking, and wholly unprepared for Achilles – a man who was known for pathologically keeping his word – to apparently break their truce, rushing out of the dark on his chariot and driving straight into their feast.
Women screamed and grabbed their children. Many failed to escape his path of destruction, and were caught beneath hooves and wheels. Priam cried for Achilles to stop, trying to reason with him, but Achilles ignored him, his rage beyond reason. The Trojan soldiers tried to stand up to him, eventually killing one of his horses. His chariot overran the dead horse and flipped end over end, crashing into one of Troy’s walls, but Achilles, back in his seemingly impervious armor, burst from the wreckage and summoned his broken spear. He began hacking at men and women alike madly, crushing Trojan children with his shield. Voices in his head screamed at him.
Ten points for the soldiers! the oldest voice, Kasios’s voice cried.
You’re butchering innocent people! cried the voices of Typhon and Ares.
Achilles, this is wrong! pleaded the voice of Patroclus.
And then Achilles came upon a familiar woman, clutching her son.
Andromache! Scamandrius! Achilles heard Hector’s voice, and his muscles suddenly became rigid, as if they had all tensed at once, freezing him in place. Andromache shielded her child, expecting this to finally be the end, but a sharp whistle came from behind Achilles, and a sudden sharp pain penetrated the back of his right leg, where the armor plates met at his ankle. The force holding him released him, and he staggered to face his enemy, his foot growing numb.
Paris stood, bow drawn, with Aphrodite at his side.
“I told you,” Aphrodite said, “My ex-husband could never get the ankles right.”
“Will your poison kill him?” Paris asked.
“If you shoot him enough times, of course,” Aphrodite said as she strolled over to the wreckage of Achilles's chariot and began rummaging about for something, “Now, do what you do best and show this troglodyte the future of warfare is not swords and spears.”
Achilles threw his spear at Paris, but Paris dodged and fired again. Achilles raised his shield, expecting the shot to come at his head, but instead Paris aimed wide and shot Achilles open hand in the unarmored palm. Achilles pulled out the arrow, and tried to recall the spear, but he couldn’t snap his fingers. He felt the poison leech up his arm towards his chest. He tried to stun Paris with his shield, but Paris looked past it – as with the spear, he’d seen the trick before, and had spent hours thinking about what Hector could have done differently.
Achilles tried to rush him, shield raised, but the poison in his leg had reached his thigh – his foot dragged in the dirt. Paris strafed around him, firing again and again. Most of the arrows pinged off the metal plates, but a few stuck in the softer parts that connected them, their steel tips scratching Achilles's skin and spreading Aphrodite’s poison. At last, Paris got directly behind Achilles and fired a shot into his other ankle, sending the mortal god to his knees. Achilles collapsed forward onto his shield, and then rolled onto his back.
"You... you kill me?" Achilles cried in disbelief.
Paris shot him one final time through the throat and walked away. No pithy last words, no looting, no desecration or honors. He turned and walked back through the gates of Troy. Aphrodite snatched the golden cube from the remains of Achilles’s chariot, and followed her champion.
Achilles watched them walk away, sputtering and coughing as the poison reached his heart. He heard the red doors of Troy slam shut, and the locks fall into place. He turned his head as much as he could trying to see… anything worth seeing before he died. He looked at the gates, and their vibrant color seemed to drain away as the Trojan fires dimmed. He looked to the west, hoping to see a beautiful sunset, but then he remembered it was night, and he’d already seen his last sunset at Patroclus’s funeral. The moment was still sharp in his mind’s eye, and tears rolled down his cheeks as he gasped for breath. He reached up with what little strength he had left and deactivated the armor. It clanked and clattered away from his body as Briseis walked up to him awkwardly, her imminent motherhood undeniable behind the fine summer clothes she’d worn to Patroclus’s funeral.
Achilles coughed as he struggled to breathe, “My heart… it's black,” he said deliriously.
“No Achilles, no it’s not,” Briseis knelt down beside him and took his bloody hand, “but it’s done now, Achilles. It’s time to go see Patroclus.”
“He won’t be there,” Achilles said, “No one will.”
“Of course they will,” Briseis said, tears welling in her eyes, “A new day always comes, even if you don’t believe it will. Your end in this world is the beginning of your adventures in the next. And you will be a wiser man in the next world. You will love Patroclus with all of your heart, and nothing else will sway you from that. No war, no king, and no woman.”
“Thank you,” Achilles barely managed to get out as his voice trailed into a gurgle. Briseis put her hand on Achilles’s chest and felt his heart slow to a stop. She leaned over and gently kissed his lips, “You weren’t the men I wanted you to be when we met,” she whispered, “but thank you, both of you, for trying to be.”
The legacy of Kasios, though now weighed down with the memories of Typhon, Ares, Patroclus, Hector, and Achilles, gently wound its way through Briseis’s lungs into her blood stream.
Briseis had a strange feeling for a moment, but it passed quickly. She couldn’t carry Achilles body back to the Greek camp. Soon she would be strong enough, thanks to the power coursing through her veins, but today she was still a mortal. A notion compelled her, though – she shouldn’t leave the weapons of the gods lying in the dirt before the gates of Troy. She picked up the silver ball that contained Achilles’s last suit of armor and tucked it into her traveling bag. Then she picked up his shield, and slung it across her back. Finally, she pulled the ring from his mangled hand and placed it upon her own. She snapped her fingers and brought the spear to her hand without ever sparing a thought as to how she knew to do so.
“Goodbye, Achilles,” she said, “And gods’ speed to you.”
Briseis turned and disappeared into the darkness. She couldn’t save her home – it had long since become someone else’s – and she couldn’t save Troy. With the truce broken, and no more food coming in, it was surely doomed. But there would be chaos towards the end, and amidst the chaos, there would be survivors. There were always survivors – men and women like her who endured when others succumbed to despair or rage. When the time came, those survivors would need a means of escape, and right now, she was the only one who could give them that.
4.30: The Ragged They Kill
1183 BCE - Dry Sea Bed, Western Coast of Troa.
The pyre was built out on the sea floor, near where Patroclus's remains would be buried. Achilles seemed certain that his own end was near, so he requisitioned an urn large enough to fit both of their skeletons. Perhaps to cope with his grief, Achilles became obsessed with overdoing all of the funerary practices.
The pyre was built out on the sea floor, near where Patroclus's remains would be buried. Achilles seemed certain that his own end was near, so he requisitioned an urn large enough to fit both of their skeletons. Perhaps to cope with his grief, Achilles became obsessed with overdoing all of the funerary practices.
4.29: When Are You Comin’ Home, Son?
1183 BCE - Achaean Base Camp.
Briseis had finished the preparations for Patroclus’s burial by the time Achilles returned. Like the other Greek soldiers, Patroclus would be burned, and then his bones would be carefully preserved in an urn to be interred deep beneath the seabed. When the waters returned to Troa’s shore, the men's remains would be six feet below thirty feet of water, beyond the reach of any vandals. Patroclus’s body was wrapped in the finest cloth, and anointed with perfumes and crushed flowers. Briseis remembered Patroclus’s favorite blooms on Troa’s shores, and was sure to include them.
Briseis had finished the preparations for Patroclus’s burial by the time Achilles returned. Like the other Greek soldiers, Patroclus would be burned, and then his bones would be carefully preserved in an urn to be interred deep beneath the seabed. When the waters returned to Troa’s shore, the men's remains would be six feet below thirty feet of water, beyond the reach of any vandals. Patroclus’s body was wrapped in the finest cloth, and anointed with perfumes and crushed flowers. Briseis remembered Patroclus’s favorite blooms on Troa’s shores, and was sure to include them.
4.28: No More Destination, No More Pain
1183 BCE - Troy.
Hector joined Priam, Kassandra, Paris, and Aeneas on the wall directly over the western gate. Andromache had convinced Hector to stay put, but now Achilles was trying to force his hand. What remained of the Achaean army stood out on the field before them. They’d used pieces of their ships to create large jacks, and placed them before the eastern, northern, and southern gates in the middle of the night, locking them shut, and allowing them to bring all of their men to one place – right before the western gate.
Hector joined Priam, Kassandra, Paris, and Aeneas on the wall directly over the western gate. Andromache had convinced Hector to stay put, but now Achilles was trying to force his hand. What remained of the Achaean army stood out on the field before them. They’d used pieces of their ships to create large jacks, and placed them before the eastern, northern, and southern gates in the middle of the night, locking them shut, and allowing them to bring all of their men to one place – right before the western gate.
4.27: Son of Circumstance He Couldn’t Quite Control
1183 BCE - Troy.
Hector stood at the window, holding his son. After many years of trying, Andromache had finally given them a child barely a year ago, a boy they’d named Scamandrius. Scamandrius had never left the walls of Troy. Never seen the countryside or the sea. Food had been rationed since before the boy was born, leaving Andromache unable to produce enough milk to satisfy the child. He’d been hungry from the first day of his life, and had never known what it was to not be hungry.
Hector stood at the window, holding his son. After many years of trying, Andromache had finally given them a child barely a year ago, a boy they’d named Scamandrius. Scamandrius had never left the walls of Troy. Never seen the countryside or the sea. Food had been rationed since before the boy was born, leaving Andromache unable to produce enough milk to satisfy the child. He’d been hungry from the first day of his life, and had never known what it was to not be hungry.
4.26: The Lies I Weave Are Oh So Intricate
1183 BCE - Hephaestus's citadel, Mt. Mosycholos, Lemnos.
Athena stepped out of her portal onto the platform before one of the great doors to Hephaestus’s domain. Apollo was already waiting for her there.
“Anyone home?” Athena asked.
“I haven’t knocked,” Apollo said, “I thought I should wait for you.”
Athena stepped out of her portal onto the platform before one of the great doors to Hephaestus’s domain. Apollo was already waiting for her there.
“Anyone home?” Athena asked.
“I haven’t knocked,” Apollo said, “I thought I should wait for you.”
4.25: Never Gonna Hold The Hand Of Another Guy
1183 BCE - Achaean Base Camp.
Briseis stepped into Achilles’s tent, and found him weeping in his mother’s arms. It was strangely incongruous to see the powerful, mortal god emotionally devastated and seeking comfort in the arms of a much smaller woman. Achilles stopped crying when he saw Briseis.
Briseis stepped into Achilles’s tent, and found him weeping in his mother’s arms. It was strangely incongruous to see the powerful, mortal god emotionally devastated and seeking comfort in the arms of a much smaller woman. Achilles stopped crying when he saw Briseis.
4.24: If He Moves Will He Fall?
1183 BCE - Achaean Base Camp, East Coast of Troan Penninsula.
Patroclus left Agamemnon's tent and ran back to Achilles’ tent. He could see smoke off near the beach, and he met Odysseus coming back from the battle. He was limping and pale.
“Odysseus? What’s wrong?”
Patroclus left Agamemnon's tent and ran back to Achilles’ tent. He could see smoke off near the beach, and he met Odysseus coming back from the battle. He was limping and pale.
“Odysseus? What’s wrong?”
4.23. No Chance For Us
1183 BCE - Achaean Base Camp, east shore of Troan Penninsula.
That night, Athena traveled to Odysseus and appeared to him in the privacy of his tent to discuss matters.
“What the hell?” Odysseus said, “I haven’t heard a word from you for three years!”
That night, Athena traveled to Odysseus and appeared to him in the privacy of his tent to discuss matters.
“What the hell?” Odysseus said, “I haven’t heard a word from you for three years!”
4.22: Remember Me For Centuries
1183 BCE - Troa.
Patroclus had been close enough to the fight to see Ares’ defense of Aphrodite, and hear his pleas for mercy. Diomedes was, until today, among Ares most ardent worshipers. He lived and breathed war, and not only the strategic aspect of it. He’d loved fighting and killing because he was good at it. But despite Diomedes’s devotion, Ares had been willing to turn against him the moment his lover called for help.
Patroclus had been close enough to the fight to see Ares’ defense of Aphrodite, and hear his pleas for mercy. Diomedes was, until today, among Ares most ardent worshipers. He lived and breathed war, and not only the strategic aspect of it. He’d loved fighting and killing because he was good at it. But despite Diomedes’s devotion, Ares had been willing to turn against him the moment his lover called for help.
4.21: What Is It Good For?
1183 BCE - Troa.
Over the years the Greeks suffered substantial losses, while their ships remained trapped in the dried up sea bed, preventing them from summoning reinforcements or sending aging men home to rest. The Trojans, however, fared little better.
Over the years the Greeks suffered substantial losses, while their ships remained trapped in the dried up sea bed, preventing them from summoning reinforcements or sending aging men home to rest. The Trojans, however, fared little better.
Thursday, May 23, 2019
4.20: Say A Prayer But Let The Good Times Roll
1189 BCE - Troa.
Thanks to Briseis’s sacrifice, the Greeks were able to accommodate Nemesis and Apollo’s demands, and freed all of the captives from the temple’s desecration, ending Apollo’s plague. Counter to expectations, the Trojans refused the freed men and women entrance into the beleagured city; Astynome and the others simply wandered east and disappeared. When Kassandra learned details of what had transpired, she pleaded with her father to attack. With Achilles out of the battle, and the Greeks still weak from a year of plague, now was the time to strike! Hector supported her, but as before, Priam refused to listen, as if bewitched by some curse of self-destructive sexism.
The Greeks recovered their strength, and began preparing for an indefinite siege. They carried up a number of their galleys and dismantled them – their army had dwindled, after all, so they would not need all of the ships to return. They used the pieces of the ships to construct palisade walls around their base camp, outlined with trenches and sharpened stakes. Ajax the Greater, a savant in defensive strategy, made optimal use of the landscape to design an efficient defense. Moving forward, the Greeks would not have to expend nearly so many men on defending their stranded ships. They would be able to assault Dardanus again, and this time they would do so using heavy weapons of Odysseus’s design.
Their second battle in Dardania was long and exceptionally bloody. The Trojans fought hard to hold it as Troy’s lifeline to the sea, and with Achilles out of action, demigod Aeneas proved more than a match for the Achaean champions – especially with Apollo and Artemis at his back. Beginning to lose their second wind, the Greeks mobilized more of their army and sent it North to join the force assaulting Dardanus. Kassandra beseeched Hector once again – the Greeks depended upon their spoils of war, and most of these were stored at their basecamp on the shore. If Hector assaulted the Achaean camp while their troops were locked in battle at Dardanus, they could carry off much of their enemy’s supplies and burn the rest. The Greeks would have no choice but to abandon their attack and plea to Poseidon for safe passage home. This time, Hector persuaded Priam to give him leave to attack, but Kassandra gave him one last instruction – to not burn any of the Greek ships. Allow their enemies to escape, rather than force them into further confrontation.
Thanks to Ajax and Menelaus, the Achaeans held fast against the Trojan’s furious attack; it was into the midst of this melee that the mighty war god, Ares, finally appeared on the battlefield. Being the aggressors, the Greeks had expected to have his aid from the very beginning, but Zeus had kept Ares busy with other missions for Mt. Olympus, sending him far to the East and to the North to aid allies in other lands. When at last Ares had answered the call to arms, however, he'd found that it was the Greeks who were now on the back foot, the Trojans attacking furiously.
A supernatural engine of destruction, Ares was more than a match for any man on either side except (possibly) Achilles, and Achilles wasn’t fighting. His decision to support one side or the other would potentially decide the outcome of the war, and that wasn't something he took lightly. Ares looked around at the butchered men as he strode across the battlefield – their comrades and enemies had stopped fighting out of deference to their war god, but they hadn’t stopped looting the bodies of the fallen. Everyone knew Ares as the source of violent hate in men’s hearts, but that was not the case. Ares was a warrior, yes, and he fought for other warriors, but the hate and greed men brought into battle was their own.
When Ares was very young, there had been a callous, aggressive voice in his mind that constantly pressed him to attack, to kill and to murder. It treated violence as a game, kept score of defeated opponents, and pushed Ares to excel in the art of death. For a time, he indulged the voice - it praised him for every victory, and every victory seemed to come easier than the last. Ares embraced the violence because, like most rational beings, he found satisfaction in doing things he was good at. After a century or so, however, even that began to wear thin. He was the undisputed master of violence; combat victories came easily for him, too easily, and the praise from the inner voice became hollow. As the decades had rolled past, Ares had ultimately come to place far more value on difficult victories than easy ones. That had pressed him to contemplate what it meant to be the god of war, and to think beyond the end of his spear.
Aphrodite appeared from the Trojan side of the lines and beseeched her lover, “Beloved Ares, have the Trojans not shown their tenacity and worth today? Fight for Troy, and end this war in the name of the true love between Paris and Helen.”
Hera then appeared from the Greek side, casting aside a rather clever disguise as an ox in the Greek camp, and similarly entreated her son, “My boy, my best son, my favorite son, the Greeks have held the Trojans back, despite being spread thin by their valiant attack on the city to the north, and despite the vile treachery of your older brother. Side with Greece, and defend the sanctity of Menelaus and Helen’s marriage.”
“Vile treachery nothing!” Aphrodite said, “Apollo’s curse was well deserved. The Greeks violated his temple. Murdered innocent women and unarmed men.”
Ares looked back and forth between them. Allowing Hera's Greeks and Aphrodite's Trojans to slaughter each other would be easy. Personally participating in the violence on either side would certainly expedite the war's conclusion, but again, that would be easy. The only real challenge would be bringing the war to close efficiently. No one imagined the god of war would want to minimize bloodshed, but at the end of the day, Ares wanted to go home to his sons knowing that he had attempted what was difficult in lieu of accomplishing what was easy.
“If it is justice you seek, you look to the wrong god," Ares answered, "You both make your case fairly, and I cannot easily choose between my mother and my lover, so I will leave it to the mortals to make their case.”
Agamemnon and Hector approached the war god from their respective sides, “A duel!” Hector proposed, “Let us decide Ares’s favor with a duel between Menelaus and Paris!”
Ares turned to Agamemnon and asked if the Achaeans would accept the offer.
At this point, Agamemnon would have been happy to see the war continue indefinitely - after all, what did he have that was worth going home to? But most of the Achaeans would rage against him if he passed over an opportunity to end the war, and if he offended Ares, he could be reduced to a bloody smear before any other god could intervene. So, he did the only thing he could do and consented.
"Agreed," Agamemnon said, "Menelaus will duel Paris, if Ares will agree to fight for the victor's cause."
Then Odysseus had to jump in with his two cents, “Whoever’s side the god of battle chooses is almost certain to win the war,” the Ithacan king pushed his way past Agamemnon, “So why complicate matters? Let Menelaus and Paris fight, and the victor will accept the opposing army’s surrender.” Agamemnon looked back and scowled at him, but Odysseus pretended to ignore the man's aggravation.
“What would the terms of surrender be?” Ares asked.
Odysseus didn't give Agamemnon a chance to answer, “If Paris dies, then Helen is to be returned to our camp. We will leave, and take the spoils we’ve already claimed as recompense for the war. Troy will provide the offering to Poseidon that our ships may leave these shores.”
That was a generous offer. Hector nodded, “And if Paris wins, your army will surrender its spoils to Poseidon, and leave without further violence.”
Though irritated that Odysseus and Hector had simply shut him out of the negotiation, Agamemnon agreed to the terms, and the two men turned to fetch their champions. Menelaus was already right behind his brother, ready to fight. Paris objected to the arrangement, but Hector talked sense into him.
“Menelaus isn’t a demigod,” Hector said, “And you’re not a child anymore. You are not so far apart from each other in skill as you think. You stand a good chance of defeating him.”
“A good chance, but not a better than even chance,” Paris said.
“No…” Hector admitted, “But the peace terms the Greeks are offering, even in the event of our surrender, are good. If we turn them down, maybe we win the war, maybe we don’t – best case scenario, though, hundreds of these men standing around you right now will die. Accept the duel, though, fight Menelaus bravely, and no matter which of you prevails, hundreds, perhaps thousands will be spared."
“So you’re asking me to sacrifice myself for men whose names I don’t even remember.”
“No, I’m asking you to risk yourself for men whose names I do remember. I can’t force you to fight him little brother, but…”
“No… you’re right. You’re right. It’s the least I can do as a prince of Troy.”
“Okay, remember, Menelaus is great with that shield, so you probably won’t hit him with your bow. I know you love that weapon, and I know Aphrodite gave you those fancy arrowheads, but I don’t want to see you standing there like an idiot shooting when he runs right up on you. Be ready to drop it and go hand-to-hand.”
“Got it,” Paris borrowed a bronze helmet and a round shield from one of their men. He donned the helmet and swung the shield over his back, adjusting it so that he could still reach the arrows in the quiver hanging at his hip. He stepped into the clearing, bow in hand.
Menelaus shook his hand. Part of him thought it was foolish for an archer to go close quarters with a man in armor, but he knew Paris was second only to Teucer when it came to the bow. If Menelaus got careless, he could get dead.
“What are the rules?” Paris asked, looking to Ares who stood on the sidelines like a referee.
“Rules?” Ares said, “You’ve got me confused with someone else. There are no rules in this fight. Strength of arms, strength of mind, and strength of heart will decide this contest.”
Aphrodite started cheering for Paris, and the Trojans joined in. They hadn’t been terribly fond of the young man, but now that he was putting himself out in front of danger to save them, they were starting to change their minds.
Hera likewise riled the Achaeans. Many of the Greek soldiers blamed Menelaus for the war, so they were no fonder of him than the Trojans had been of Paris, but they would rather see Paris butchered in the dirt than their countryman.
Menelaus walked out with two spears - one ordinary spartan spear, and one capped with the very spearhead that Paris had given him years ago. Menelaus had been saving that weapon for a moment like this, an opportunity to return the 'gift'. Menelaus stuck the special spear in the ground, so that he could heft the ordinary weapon over his shoulder, “You seem to have forgotten your spear, Paris!” Menelaus shouted, “You can have my extra!”
Menelaus threw the missile at Paris. It was a good toss for the distance – it was impressive Menelaus could throw that far, but the distance was also great enough that Paris, more agile on his feet with his shield on his back, was able to dodge the thrown weapon.
“Minnie!” Paris shouted back, “Your shaft missed its mark! I suppose that explains all those bruises I found on Helen’s back-side the first night I fucked her!”
Menelaus growled and pulled out his second spear, "You recognize this spearhead Paris? This is the one you gave me. Your spear. I saved it just for you." Instead of raising the weapon over his shoulder he held it out low and charged shield first.
Paris fired one quick shot straight at the center of Menelaus’s shield to test it. The steel-headed arrow punched through the shield and sliced Menelaus’s arm. It slowed Menelaus for a moment, but that lightly maiming the arm behind the shield was the most Paris could hope for. The archer switched to his ordinary arrows and fired as quickly as he could at Menelaus’s feet. It was difficult, aiming at moving legs beneath an advancing shield, but one of the bronze heads sliced Menelaus’s right calf, throwing him off balance as he closed on Paris. Paris dropped and slid, presenting his back to the oncoming spear. The head struck the shield on Paris’s back at an angle and skipped off, some of the gold peeling off the spear head to reveal the iron core.
Paris rolled past Menelaus and continued firing, focusing more on speed than aim at close range. The heavy red cloak on Menelaus’s back functioned like a second layer of armor and a flapping distraction – most of Paris’s shots missed, and those few that didn’t inflicted no more than flesh wounds. If he’d poisoned his arrows, the fight would be over already. Wisdom for another time, if he survived.
Menelaus spun around, releasing his spear and then catching it at the very end of its haft to give himself a surprisingly long reach. Paris jumped back to avoid the golden head of the spear, but the swing caught his bow and tore it from his hands. Fortunately for Paris, gripping the spear by its butt relied on the iron spearhead's momentum to keep it raised – as soon as that momentum was spent, Menelaus lost his grip on it, and it clattered to the ground. The drew their swords and ran at each other.
Menelaus used his shield as offensively as his sword, while Paris kept his on his back. He’d seen Menelaus on the battlefield – the man was capable of some impressive footwork, and Paris wanted to protect himself in case Menelaus got behind him. With one hand free, he drew one of his steel-tipped arrows and brandished it like a knife, head down. Their swords clashed and Paris dodged about trying to find an opening. Menelaus struck downward with the edge of his shield, hoping to crush Paris’s feet. Paris hopped back, drove the arrow he was holding into the top of Menelaus’s shield, and used it like a crank to twist Menelaus’s shield back.
Menelaus struggled to keep his arm up, but took the opening to lung forward, swinging from the side, and striking Paris across the back. The heavy end of the kopis cracked Paris’s helmet and cut into the shield on his back. Paris rolled away in a panic, bleeding from a cut that traveled from his scalp down to his shoulder. Menelaus lunged again and Paris ducked, but the heavy blade caught the high crown of the helmet and twisted it, briefly blinding its wearer Menelaus smashed his shield into him hard enough to toss him through the air, eliciting raucous cheers from the Greeks.
Paris ripped the helmet off and threw it at Menelaus, but the Spartan knocked the improvised weapon aside with his shield. Paris pulled his own, smaller shield off his back just in time to intercept another strike from Menelaus. The kopis cut into the opposite edge of the shield from where it had hit before, and stuck. Paris lunged with his sword, but Menelaus blocked the strike deftly, and kicked the center of Paris’s shield as hard as he could. His sword pulled free, and Paris’s shield came apart into two pieces that clattered to the ground. The Trojans groaned in despair for their champion.
Paris scampered backwards, holding his sword up, shaking.
Menelaus smiled wearily. He’d half expected the Trojan boy to run. Instead, he was prepared to sacrifice himself so that Troy could have an honorable defeat. Menelaus hated the man, but with Paris’s shield and helmet broken, this was simply murder. Menelaus tossed his own shield aside and pulled off his helmet. Both sides of the battleline gasped in shock. Ares applauded.
“What are you doing?” Paris said between heavy breaths.
“When this is over, and the watchers on the walls of Troy tell Helen what happened, I want them to tell her it was a good fight on both our parts.” Menelaus waved Paris toward him with his sword, and Paris obliged, running forward. Their blades clashed repeatedly. Paris was faster, more graceful than Menelaus, but Menelaus was stronger and better skilled. The Spartan wrapped his cloak around his free arm and used it like a light shield. When Paris found he wasn’t strong enough to slice clear through the wrapped fabric with his bronze sword, he thrust with it. That proved a mistake.
The blade punched through the heavy fabric, narrowly missing Menelaus’s ribs, but then became tangled. Menelaus forced the blade to the ground, and stomped on it, snapping the bronze blade where it connected with the tang in the hilt, and leaving Paris with nothing more than the grip in his hand. He tried to attack Menelaus with the weighted pommel, but Menelaus simply punched him, knocking him away. Paris realized he was in reach of Menelaus's dropped spear; he scrambled for it, snatched it up, and charged with it. Menelaus casually dodged the charge and sliced Paris across the back of the legs, dropping him to his knees.
Athena appeared next to Hera, and watched as Menelaus circled about and prepared to execute Paris. She was surprised how hesitant the man seemed to be, but humans could get oddly squeamish about killing once their enemy was defenseless.
“It looks as if we are about to win,” Athena commented.
“Well, we can’t have that," Hera said, "My son has only just arrived on the battlefield. If the war ends now, our plan will go up in smoke.”
Athena nodded towards an archer on the far side of the field, one of Paris’s men, “That man, Pandarus, he’s thinking about saving his idol. Perhaps between the two of us, we can give him a nudge?”
“Hm, very clever,” Hera smiled. They focused on Pandarus’s mind, slipping in the imagery of him being hailed as a great hero by the other Trojans for saving Paris and killing Menelaus. Pandarus raised his bow and fired at Menelaus. His comrades tried to stop him, but only succeeded in throwing off his aim. The bronze-headed arrow struck Menelaus’s belt buckle, punched through two layers of leather and a heavy layer of cloth, but only barely sank into the flesh above Menelaus’s groin. It was painful though, and alarming. As blood poured down Menelaus’s leg he didn’t know how bad the injury was. By the time he collected himself, Paris was gone, spirited back to Helen by Aphrodite, to have his wounds bound.
“The Trojans cheated!” Hera shouted to her son, “What more proof do you need of their unworthiness? Their men disrespect the circle of fair battle, and Paris flees from the field like a frightened child!”
“No!” Hector shouted, “Let us discipline our man for violating the rules, but-”
Ares held up a hand to shush Hector, “I like you Hector, I always have, but my mother’s right. It’s done and I must honor my word. I side with the Achaeans now.” Ares raised a hand and a sand-clock appeared out of thin air, “Out of respect for you, Hector, I give you and your men twenty minutes to retire from the field. Agamemnon can tend to his brother, and you can tend to yours.”
Hector’s troops no longer had the advantage of momentum, and when Ares inevitably joined the fight, Hector knew they’d have no chance at all. The Trojans withdrew to the safety of their city.
Thanks to Briseis’s sacrifice, the Greeks were able to accommodate Nemesis and Apollo’s demands, and freed all of the captives from the temple’s desecration, ending Apollo’s plague. Counter to expectations, the Trojans refused the freed men and women entrance into the beleagured city; Astynome and the others simply wandered east and disappeared. When Kassandra learned details of what had transpired, she pleaded with her father to attack. With Achilles out of the battle, and the Greeks still weak from a year of plague, now was the time to strike! Hector supported her, but as before, Priam refused to listen, as if bewitched by some curse of self-destructive sexism.
The Greeks recovered their strength, and began preparing for an indefinite siege. They carried up a number of their galleys and dismantled them – their army had dwindled, after all, so they would not need all of the ships to return. They used the pieces of the ships to construct palisade walls around their base camp, outlined with trenches and sharpened stakes. Ajax the Greater, a savant in defensive strategy, made optimal use of the landscape to design an efficient defense. Moving forward, the Greeks would not have to expend nearly so many men on defending their stranded ships. They would be able to assault Dardanus again, and this time they would do so using heavy weapons of Odysseus’s design.
Their second battle in Dardania was long and exceptionally bloody. The Trojans fought hard to hold it as Troy’s lifeline to the sea, and with Achilles out of action, demigod Aeneas proved more than a match for the Achaean champions – especially with Apollo and Artemis at his back. Beginning to lose their second wind, the Greeks mobilized more of their army and sent it North to join the force assaulting Dardanus. Kassandra beseeched Hector once again – the Greeks depended upon their spoils of war, and most of these were stored at their basecamp on the shore. If Hector assaulted the Achaean camp while their troops were locked in battle at Dardanus, they could carry off much of their enemy’s supplies and burn the rest. The Greeks would have no choice but to abandon their attack and plea to Poseidon for safe passage home. This time, Hector persuaded Priam to give him leave to attack, but Kassandra gave him one last instruction – to not burn any of the Greek ships. Allow their enemies to escape, rather than force them into further confrontation.
Thanks to Ajax and Menelaus, the Achaeans held fast against the Trojan’s furious attack; it was into the midst of this melee that the mighty war god, Ares, finally appeared on the battlefield. Being the aggressors, the Greeks had expected to have his aid from the very beginning, but Zeus had kept Ares busy with other missions for Mt. Olympus, sending him far to the East and to the North to aid allies in other lands. When at last Ares had answered the call to arms, however, he'd found that it was the Greeks who were now on the back foot, the Trojans attacking furiously.
A supernatural engine of destruction, Ares was more than a match for any man on either side except (possibly) Achilles, and Achilles wasn’t fighting. His decision to support one side or the other would potentially decide the outcome of the war, and that wasn't something he took lightly. Ares looked around at the butchered men as he strode across the battlefield – their comrades and enemies had stopped fighting out of deference to their war god, but they hadn’t stopped looting the bodies of the fallen. Everyone knew Ares as the source of violent hate in men’s hearts, but that was not the case. Ares was a warrior, yes, and he fought for other warriors, but the hate and greed men brought into battle was their own.
When Ares was very young, there had been a callous, aggressive voice in his mind that constantly pressed him to attack, to kill and to murder. It treated violence as a game, kept score of defeated opponents, and pushed Ares to excel in the art of death. For a time, he indulged the voice - it praised him for every victory, and every victory seemed to come easier than the last. Ares embraced the violence because, like most rational beings, he found satisfaction in doing things he was good at. After a century or so, however, even that began to wear thin. He was the undisputed master of violence; combat victories came easily for him, too easily, and the praise from the inner voice became hollow. As the decades had rolled past, Ares had ultimately come to place far more value on difficult victories than easy ones. That had pressed him to contemplate what it meant to be the god of war, and to think beyond the end of his spear.
Aphrodite appeared from the Trojan side of the lines and beseeched her lover, “Beloved Ares, have the Trojans not shown their tenacity and worth today? Fight for Troy, and end this war in the name of the true love between Paris and Helen.”
Hera then appeared from the Greek side, casting aside a rather clever disguise as an ox in the Greek camp, and similarly entreated her son, “My boy, my best son, my favorite son, the Greeks have held the Trojans back, despite being spread thin by their valiant attack on the city to the north, and despite the vile treachery of your older brother. Side with Greece, and defend the sanctity of Menelaus and Helen’s marriage.”
“Vile treachery nothing!” Aphrodite said, “Apollo’s curse was well deserved. The Greeks violated his temple. Murdered innocent women and unarmed men.”
Ares looked back and forth between them. Allowing Hera's Greeks and Aphrodite's Trojans to slaughter each other would be easy. Personally participating in the violence on either side would certainly expedite the war's conclusion, but again, that would be easy. The only real challenge would be bringing the war to close efficiently. No one imagined the god of war would want to minimize bloodshed, but at the end of the day, Ares wanted to go home to his sons knowing that he had attempted what was difficult in lieu of accomplishing what was easy.
“If it is justice you seek, you look to the wrong god," Ares answered, "You both make your case fairly, and I cannot easily choose between my mother and my lover, so I will leave it to the mortals to make their case.”
Agamemnon and Hector approached the war god from their respective sides, “A duel!” Hector proposed, “Let us decide Ares’s favor with a duel between Menelaus and Paris!”
Ares turned to Agamemnon and asked if the Achaeans would accept the offer.
At this point, Agamemnon would have been happy to see the war continue indefinitely - after all, what did he have that was worth going home to? But most of the Achaeans would rage against him if he passed over an opportunity to end the war, and if he offended Ares, he could be reduced to a bloody smear before any other god could intervene. So, he did the only thing he could do and consented.
"Agreed," Agamemnon said, "Menelaus will duel Paris, if Ares will agree to fight for the victor's cause."
Then Odysseus had to jump in with his two cents, “Whoever’s side the god of battle chooses is almost certain to win the war,” the Ithacan king pushed his way past Agamemnon, “So why complicate matters? Let Menelaus and Paris fight, and the victor will accept the opposing army’s surrender.” Agamemnon looked back and scowled at him, but Odysseus pretended to ignore the man's aggravation.
“What would the terms of surrender be?” Ares asked.
Odysseus didn't give Agamemnon a chance to answer, “If Paris dies, then Helen is to be returned to our camp. We will leave, and take the spoils we’ve already claimed as recompense for the war. Troy will provide the offering to Poseidon that our ships may leave these shores.”
That was a generous offer. Hector nodded, “And if Paris wins, your army will surrender its spoils to Poseidon, and leave without further violence.”
Though irritated that Odysseus and Hector had simply shut him out of the negotiation, Agamemnon agreed to the terms, and the two men turned to fetch their champions. Menelaus was already right behind his brother, ready to fight. Paris objected to the arrangement, but Hector talked sense into him.
“Menelaus isn’t a demigod,” Hector said, “And you’re not a child anymore. You are not so far apart from each other in skill as you think. You stand a good chance of defeating him.”
“A good chance, but not a better than even chance,” Paris said.
“No…” Hector admitted, “But the peace terms the Greeks are offering, even in the event of our surrender, are good. If we turn them down, maybe we win the war, maybe we don’t – best case scenario, though, hundreds of these men standing around you right now will die. Accept the duel, though, fight Menelaus bravely, and no matter which of you prevails, hundreds, perhaps thousands will be spared."
“So you’re asking me to sacrifice myself for men whose names I don’t even remember.”
“No, I’m asking you to risk yourself for men whose names I do remember. I can’t force you to fight him little brother, but…”
“No… you’re right. You’re right. It’s the least I can do as a prince of Troy.”
“Okay, remember, Menelaus is great with that shield, so you probably won’t hit him with your bow. I know you love that weapon, and I know Aphrodite gave you those fancy arrowheads, but I don’t want to see you standing there like an idiot shooting when he runs right up on you. Be ready to drop it and go hand-to-hand.”
“Got it,” Paris borrowed a bronze helmet and a round shield from one of their men. He donned the helmet and swung the shield over his back, adjusting it so that he could still reach the arrows in the quiver hanging at his hip. He stepped into the clearing, bow in hand.
Menelaus shook his hand. Part of him thought it was foolish for an archer to go close quarters with a man in armor, but he knew Paris was second only to Teucer when it came to the bow. If Menelaus got careless, he could get dead.
“What are the rules?” Paris asked, looking to Ares who stood on the sidelines like a referee.
“Rules?” Ares said, “You’ve got me confused with someone else. There are no rules in this fight. Strength of arms, strength of mind, and strength of heart will decide this contest.”
Aphrodite started cheering for Paris, and the Trojans joined in. They hadn’t been terribly fond of the young man, but now that he was putting himself out in front of danger to save them, they were starting to change their minds.
Hera likewise riled the Achaeans. Many of the Greek soldiers blamed Menelaus for the war, so they were no fonder of him than the Trojans had been of Paris, but they would rather see Paris butchered in the dirt than their countryman.
Menelaus walked out with two spears - one ordinary spartan spear, and one capped with the very spearhead that Paris had given him years ago. Menelaus had been saving that weapon for a moment like this, an opportunity to return the 'gift'. Menelaus stuck the special spear in the ground, so that he could heft the ordinary weapon over his shoulder, “You seem to have forgotten your spear, Paris!” Menelaus shouted, “You can have my extra!”
Menelaus threw the missile at Paris. It was a good toss for the distance – it was impressive Menelaus could throw that far, but the distance was also great enough that Paris, more agile on his feet with his shield on his back, was able to dodge the thrown weapon.
“Minnie!” Paris shouted back, “Your shaft missed its mark! I suppose that explains all those bruises I found on Helen’s back-side the first night I fucked her!”
Menelaus growled and pulled out his second spear, "You recognize this spearhead Paris? This is the one you gave me. Your spear. I saved it just for you." Instead of raising the weapon over his shoulder he held it out low and charged shield first.
Paris fired one quick shot straight at the center of Menelaus’s shield to test it. The steel-headed arrow punched through the shield and sliced Menelaus’s arm. It slowed Menelaus for a moment, but that lightly maiming the arm behind the shield was the most Paris could hope for. The archer switched to his ordinary arrows and fired as quickly as he could at Menelaus’s feet. It was difficult, aiming at moving legs beneath an advancing shield, but one of the bronze heads sliced Menelaus’s right calf, throwing him off balance as he closed on Paris. Paris dropped and slid, presenting his back to the oncoming spear. The head struck the shield on Paris’s back at an angle and skipped off, some of the gold peeling off the spear head to reveal the iron core.
Paris rolled past Menelaus and continued firing, focusing more on speed than aim at close range. The heavy red cloak on Menelaus’s back functioned like a second layer of armor and a flapping distraction – most of Paris’s shots missed, and those few that didn’t inflicted no more than flesh wounds. If he’d poisoned his arrows, the fight would be over already. Wisdom for another time, if he survived.
Menelaus spun around, releasing his spear and then catching it at the very end of its haft to give himself a surprisingly long reach. Paris jumped back to avoid the golden head of the spear, but the swing caught his bow and tore it from his hands. Fortunately for Paris, gripping the spear by its butt relied on the iron spearhead's momentum to keep it raised – as soon as that momentum was spent, Menelaus lost his grip on it, and it clattered to the ground. The drew their swords and ran at each other.
Menelaus used his shield as offensively as his sword, while Paris kept his on his back. He’d seen Menelaus on the battlefield – the man was capable of some impressive footwork, and Paris wanted to protect himself in case Menelaus got behind him. With one hand free, he drew one of his steel-tipped arrows and brandished it like a knife, head down. Their swords clashed and Paris dodged about trying to find an opening. Menelaus struck downward with the edge of his shield, hoping to crush Paris’s feet. Paris hopped back, drove the arrow he was holding into the top of Menelaus’s shield, and used it like a crank to twist Menelaus’s shield back.
Menelaus struggled to keep his arm up, but took the opening to lung forward, swinging from the side, and striking Paris across the back. The heavy end of the kopis cracked Paris’s helmet and cut into the shield on his back. Paris rolled away in a panic, bleeding from a cut that traveled from his scalp down to his shoulder. Menelaus lunged again and Paris ducked, but the heavy blade caught the high crown of the helmet and twisted it, briefly blinding its wearer Menelaus smashed his shield into him hard enough to toss him through the air, eliciting raucous cheers from the Greeks.
Paris ripped the helmet off and threw it at Menelaus, but the Spartan knocked the improvised weapon aside with his shield. Paris pulled his own, smaller shield off his back just in time to intercept another strike from Menelaus. The kopis cut into the opposite edge of the shield from where it had hit before, and stuck. Paris lunged with his sword, but Menelaus blocked the strike deftly, and kicked the center of Paris’s shield as hard as he could. His sword pulled free, and Paris’s shield came apart into two pieces that clattered to the ground. The Trojans groaned in despair for their champion.
Paris scampered backwards, holding his sword up, shaking.
Menelaus smiled wearily. He’d half expected the Trojan boy to run. Instead, he was prepared to sacrifice himself so that Troy could have an honorable defeat. Menelaus hated the man, but with Paris’s shield and helmet broken, this was simply murder. Menelaus tossed his own shield aside and pulled off his helmet. Both sides of the battleline gasped in shock. Ares applauded.
“What are you doing?” Paris said between heavy breaths.
“When this is over, and the watchers on the walls of Troy tell Helen what happened, I want them to tell her it was a good fight on both our parts.” Menelaus waved Paris toward him with his sword, and Paris obliged, running forward. Their blades clashed repeatedly. Paris was faster, more graceful than Menelaus, but Menelaus was stronger and better skilled. The Spartan wrapped his cloak around his free arm and used it like a light shield. When Paris found he wasn’t strong enough to slice clear through the wrapped fabric with his bronze sword, he thrust with it. That proved a mistake.
The blade punched through the heavy fabric, narrowly missing Menelaus’s ribs, but then became tangled. Menelaus forced the blade to the ground, and stomped on it, snapping the bronze blade where it connected with the tang in the hilt, and leaving Paris with nothing more than the grip in his hand. He tried to attack Menelaus with the weighted pommel, but Menelaus simply punched him, knocking him away. Paris realized he was in reach of Menelaus's dropped spear; he scrambled for it, snatched it up, and charged with it. Menelaus casually dodged the charge and sliced Paris across the back of the legs, dropping him to his knees.
Athena appeared next to Hera, and watched as Menelaus circled about and prepared to execute Paris. She was surprised how hesitant the man seemed to be, but humans could get oddly squeamish about killing once their enemy was defenseless.
“It looks as if we are about to win,” Athena commented.
“Well, we can’t have that," Hera said, "My son has only just arrived on the battlefield. If the war ends now, our plan will go up in smoke.”
Athena nodded towards an archer on the far side of the field, one of Paris’s men, “That man, Pandarus, he’s thinking about saving his idol. Perhaps between the two of us, we can give him a nudge?”
“Hm, very clever,” Hera smiled. They focused on Pandarus’s mind, slipping in the imagery of him being hailed as a great hero by the other Trojans for saving Paris and killing Menelaus. Pandarus raised his bow and fired at Menelaus. His comrades tried to stop him, but only succeeded in throwing off his aim. The bronze-headed arrow struck Menelaus’s belt buckle, punched through two layers of leather and a heavy layer of cloth, but only barely sank into the flesh above Menelaus’s groin. It was painful though, and alarming. As blood poured down Menelaus’s leg he didn’t know how bad the injury was. By the time he collected himself, Paris was gone, spirited back to Helen by Aphrodite, to have his wounds bound.
“The Trojans cheated!” Hera shouted to her son, “What more proof do you need of their unworthiness? Their men disrespect the circle of fair battle, and Paris flees from the field like a frightened child!”
“No!” Hector shouted, “Let us discipline our man for violating the rules, but-”
Ares held up a hand to shush Hector, “I like you Hector, I always have, but my mother’s right. It’s done and I must honor my word. I side with the Achaeans now.” Ares raised a hand and a sand-clock appeared out of thin air, “Out of respect for you, Hector, I give you and your men twenty minutes to retire from the field. Agamemnon can tend to his brother, and you can tend to yours.”
Hector’s troops no longer had the advantage of momentum, and when Ares inevitably joined the fight, Hector knew they’d have no chance at all. The Trojans withdrew to the safety of their city.
4.19: Terrors Don’t Prey On Innocent Victims
1191 BCE - Achaean Base Camp, Western Troa.
As the plague ravaged the Greek forces, Troy breathed a little easier. Thanks to the plague, Aeneas was able to defeat the Achaeans at Dardanus, and secure the Dardanelles for Troy, re-establishing Troy’s trade routes to their northeastern allies and opening the way for reinforcements. To Priam, it seemed like it was only a matter of time before Apollo’s torturous, burning sunlight drove the Greeks into the sea. Kassandra tried to convince her brothers that they should march down to the beach at high noon and burn the Greek’s cover, forcing them out into the light of day. Hector was nearly persuaded, but Priam overruled it – the Greeks’ defeat seemed inevitable, there was no sense in jeopardizing Trojan lives to take down a mortally wounded, cornered animal.
As the plague ravaged the Greek forces, Troy breathed a little easier. Thanks to the plague, Aeneas was able to defeat the Achaeans at Dardanus, and secure the Dardanelles for Troy, re-establishing Troy’s trade routes to their northeastern allies and opening the way for reinforcements. To Priam, it seemed like it was only a matter of time before Apollo’s torturous, burning sunlight drove the Greeks into the sea. Kassandra tried to convince her brothers that they should march down to the beach at high noon and burn the Greek’s cover, forcing them out into the light of day. Hector was nearly persuaded, but Priam overruled it – the Greeks’ defeat seemed inevitable, there was no sense in jeopardizing Trojan lives to take down a mortally wounded, cornered animal.
Tuesday, May 21, 2019
4.18: Take My Tears And That’s Not Nearly All
1191 BCE - Troy.
For the sake of appearances, and because her back injury was starting to wear on her again, Adresteia allowed Apollo – in the guise of a handsome young Trojan man – to carry Helen to the west gate of Troy. To his credit, Paris was indeed outside the walls searching for the woman with a handful of men. The guards lit a lamp above the gate behind a chunk of green glass to signal to Paris that Helen had already been returned, and Apollo carried Helen up to her quarters in the Trojan palace. The night-time curfew had ended as dawn neared, so a large guard force escorted them through the unfriendly streets.
For the sake of appearances, and because her back injury was starting to wear on her again, Adresteia allowed Apollo – in the guise of a handsome young Trojan man – to carry Helen to the west gate of Troy. To his credit, Paris was indeed outside the walls searching for the woman with a handful of men. The guards lit a lamp above the gate behind a chunk of green glass to signal to Paris that Helen had already been returned, and Apollo carried Helen up to her quarters in the Trojan palace. The night-time curfew had ended as dawn neared, so a large guard force escorted them through the unfriendly streets.
4.17: I Wanna Walk But I Run Back To You
1191 BCE - Outside the South Wall of Troy.
“What are you?” Helen asked as the sun set behind Adresteia, “And why do you look like me?”
“I'm a friend,” Adresteia said.
“What are you?” Helen asked as the sun set behind Adresteia, “And why do you look like me?”
“I'm a friend,” Adresteia said.
4.16: An Ounce Of Pain
1191 BCE - Troy
With no specific directives from Athena, Adresteia decided to separate from the Greek army and do things the way she had for decades - independently. It was easy to slip into Troy as a bird. Eagles and owls did draw some attention and apprehension from the superstitious denizens, but no one in the streets was willing to take off running across roof tops to keep an eye on a suspicious owl.
With no specific directives from Athena, Adresteia decided to separate from the Greek army and do things the way she had for decades - independently. It was easy to slip into Troy as a bird. Eagles and owls did draw some attention and apprehension from the superstitious denizens, but no one in the streets was willing to take off running across roof tops to keep an eye on a suspicious owl.
4.15: Dress Me Up And Watch Me Die
1192 BCE - Agamemnon's Tent.
Apollo took Chryses and his daughter back to his temple. Thanks to Agamemnon’s madness, no wealth was promised, nor healing services offered. Odysseus raged over the humiliating display, but Patroclus expressed the opinion that they were all lucky to have escaped the situation alive. Bloody-faced Agamemnon returned to his own temporary camp to find a familiar figure waiting in his tent. A very portly but entirely human-looking man lounged on an out of place couch, dining on sweets.
“Lord Dionysus?” Agamemnon asked, “What brings you here?”
Apollo took Chryses and his daughter back to his temple. Thanks to Agamemnon’s madness, no wealth was promised, nor healing services offered. Odysseus raged over the humiliating display, but Patroclus expressed the opinion that they were all lucky to have escaped the situation alive. Bloody-faced Agamemnon returned to his own temporary camp to find a familiar figure waiting in his tent. A very portly but entirely human-looking man lounged on an out of place couch, dining on sweets.
“Lord Dionysus?” Agamemnon asked, “What brings you here?”
4.14: Don’t You Know That You’re Toxic?
1192 BCE - Greek Occupied Pedasus.
Achilles’s altar to Apollo was well built, but once the fire was going, he decided there was a personal touch missing. He retrieved an arrowhead he’d carried with him for years. It was forged by Hephaestus according to Apollo’s design, made of a rare alloy Apollo had called ‘steel’. Years ago, Artemis had, in a quarrel with Apollo, shot her brother in the back with his own arrow. Menelaus and Paris had pulled it out and cast it aside, but Achilles had searched for and retrieved it later. Steel, and the iron it was made from, were among the few things that could hurt Apollo as easily as they could harm a human, and that was true for Achilles as well. He used the tip of the arrow to draw some of his own god blood, and flicked it onto the fire, triggering a blue fwoosh!
Achilles’s altar to Apollo was well built, but once the fire was going, he decided there was a personal touch missing. He retrieved an arrowhead he’d carried with him for years. It was forged by Hephaestus according to Apollo’s design, made of a rare alloy Apollo had called ‘steel’. Years ago, Artemis had, in a quarrel with Apollo, shot her brother in the back with his own arrow. Menelaus and Paris had pulled it out and cast it aside, but Achilles had searched for and retrieved it later. Steel, and the iron it was made from, were among the few things that could hurt Apollo as easily as they could harm a human, and that was true for Achilles as well. He used the tip of the arrow to draw some of his own god blood, and flicked it onto the fire, triggering a blue fwoosh!
4.13: Heart Breaker, Dream Maker, Love Taker
1192 BCE - Greek Occupied Pedasus.
Agamemnon answered Achilles's summons to Pedasus. He didn’t like being ‘summoned’ but it wasn’t unreasonable for Achilles to remain in the small port city rather than return to the Achaean base camp. Even without ships it had value, and now they had two. Two merchant ships was a far cry from the several hundred galleys they'd arrived in, but it was more than they’d had two days ago.
Agamemnon answered Achilles's summons to Pedasus. He didn’t like being ‘summoned’ but it wasn’t unreasonable for Achilles to remain in the small port city rather than return to the Achaean base camp. Even without ships it had value, and now they had two. Two merchant ships was a far cry from the several hundred galleys they'd arrived in, but it was more than they’d had two days ago.
Monday, May 20, 2019
4.12: A Missing Person Nobody Missed At All
1192 BCE - Festival of Artemis, at Adramytium
Aphrodite had very little time to do what she intended before Achilles arrived, but she did manage it. Aeneas was long gone, and her captivation spell cast, waiting the right moment to be activated. Aphrodite decided to see how things transpired, and assumed the form of an eagle to perch upon one of the ships’ masts.
Aphrodite had very little time to do what she intended before Achilles arrived, but she did manage it. Aeneas was long gone, and her captivation spell cast, waiting the right moment to be activated. Aphrodite decided to see how things transpired, and assumed the form of an eagle to perch upon one of the ships’ masts.
4.11: What A Shame You Came Here With Someone
1192 BCE - Festival of Artemis, at Adramytium
Aeneas rubbed the bridge of his nose. Mynes was the bane of his existence. King Euenus sent his son to handle all of Lyrnessus’s dealings with Troy, and Priam sent Aeneas – not Hector, Paris, or any of his other 48 actual sons – to deal with Lyrnessus. ‘Uncle Priam’ claimed that because Aeneas had grown up on a plantation on the slopes of Mt. Ida, he was better equipped to deal with Troy’s southern allies. Both Aeneas and Mynes knew that sending a cousin's son to negotiate instead of one's own son was a political statement – Troy needed Lyrnessus less than Lyrnessus needed Troy.
Aeneas rubbed the bridge of his nose. Mynes was the bane of his existence. King Euenus sent his son to handle all of Lyrnessus’s dealings with Troy, and Priam sent Aeneas – not Hector, Paris, or any of his other 48 actual sons – to deal with Lyrnessus. ‘Uncle Priam’ claimed that because Aeneas had grown up on a plantation on the slopes of Mt. Ida, he was better equipped to deal with Troy’s southern allies. Both Aeneas and Mynes knew that sending a cousin's son to negotiate instead of one's own son was a political statement – Troy needed Lyrnessus less than Lyrnessus needed Troy.
4.10: Fight Until We See The Sunlight
1192 BCE - Coastline south of Mt. Ida
The Greeks would soon be starving. Poseidon had not only cut off their trade routes when he beached their ships, he’d made fishing an impossibility. Once their rations were spent, they’d be depending on spoils of war to survive, and without their ships to raid up and down the coast, there weren’t many targets within reach. They hit Tenedos first – the poor island was close enough to Troy’s eastern shore that when Poseidon withdrew the sea, it went from being a small city on an island to being a small city on a hill. Once the sun baked the exposed sea floor long enough that troops could walk on it, the Greeks had marched on Tenedos and sacked it thoroughly, taking everything not firmly secured to the earth – including the people.
The Greeks would soon be starving. Poseidon had not only cut off their trade routes when he beached their ships, he’d made fishing an impossibility. Once their rations were spent, they’d be depending on spoils of war to survive, and without their ships to raid up and down the coast, there weren’t many targets within reach. They hit Tenedos first – the poor island was close enough to Troy’s eastern shore that when Poseidon withdrew the sea, it went from being a small city on an island to being a small city on a hill. Once the sun baked the exposed sea floor long enough that troops could walk on it, the Greeks had marched on Tenedos and sacked it thoroughly, taking everything not firmly secured to the earth – including the people.
4.09: Your Mind Is Not Your Own
1193 BCE - Outside the walls of Troy
The delegates left the main road into Troy and walked towards the beach where the majority of their fleet was moored. Agamemnon had promised Odysseus that he would do everything possible to find a peaceful resolution, but it had become clear in the throne room that, with Iphigenia’s death, war had become a foregone conclusion in Agamemnon’s mind. Artemis’s insane demands had driven Agamemnon from hawkish diplomacy to belligerent suicidality, fanning the flames of Athena’s war. The whole thing felt too convenient.
The delegates left the main road into Troy and walked towards the beach where the majority of their fleet was moored. Agamemnon had promised Odysseus that he would do everything possible to find a peaceful resolution, but it had become clear in the throne room that, with Iphigenia’s death, war had become a foregone conclusion in Agamemnon’s mind. Artemis’s insane demands had driven Agamemnon from hawkish diplomacy to belligerent suicidality, fanning the flames of Athena’s war. The whole thing felt too convenient.
4.08: Started Something That You Just Couldn’t Stop
1193 BCE - Troy
The Greeks had demanded that Helen be present for the negotiation. She’d been reluctant to go – the shame she felt every day since abandoning her family would be greatly magnified if she had to look her husband in the eye. The best she could do was to keep her gaze low, fixed to the floor, to avoid his probing looks. She could tell he had a hundred questions, but she had few answers, and left it to Paris’s father, King Priam, to negotiate on her behalf.
The Greeks had demanded that Helen be present for the negotiation. She’d been reluctant to go – the shame she felt every day since abandoning her family would be greatly magnified if she had to look her husband in the eye. The best she could do was to keep her gaze low, fixed to the floor, to avoid his probing looks. She could tell he had a hundred questions, but she had few answers, and left it to Paris’s father, King Priam, to negotiate on her behalf.
4.07: What Made You Say That?
1193 BCE - Aegean Sea, many leagues from home
Odysseus perched up on the mast of their ship as it cruised across the waves. The men had become hale and hearty soon after Iphigenia’s sacrifice, and Odysseus hoped with all his heart that her descendants would remember and appreciate her bravery and selflessness. Adresteia fluttered up to the mast and transformed into her human form to sit next to him, using her powers to hide them from the sailors below. Odysseus flipped his coin to her, “For your thoughts?”
Odysseus perched up on the mast of their ship as it cruised across the waves. The men had become hale and hearty soon after Iphigenia’s sacrifice, and Odysseus hoped with all his heart that her descendants would remember and appreciate her bravery and selflessness. Adresteia fluttered up to the mast and transformed into her human form to sit next to him, using her powers to hide them from the sailors below. Odysseus flipped his coin to her, “For your thoughts?”
4.06: Who Am I To Disagree?
1193 BCE - Aulis, Boetian port and Achaean Expeditionary Force rally point
Odysseus and Calchas studied the ailing man, careful not to breathe his air. His ordinarily olive skin was dark as strong wine, and the whites of his eyes were blood red. According to his camp mates, he’d begun feeling ill about four days prior. Since then, he’d endured fever, muscle pain, vomiting, diarrhea – almost the entire checklist of disease symptoms. About a day ago, he’d seemed to finally recover from the fever, but soon thereafter the discoloration began, accompanied by blood leaking from every orifice. Since then, he’d become so weak that he was unresponsive, and flies had begun to congregate, eager to lay their eggs in his pus-leaking lesions.
Odysseus and Calchas studied the ailing man, careful not to breathe his air. His ordinarily olive skin was dark as strong wine, and the whites of his eyes were blood red. According to his camp mates, he’d begun feeling ill about four days prior. Since then, he’d endured fever, muscle pain, vomiting, diarrhea – almost the entire checklist of disease symptoms. About a day ago, he’d seemed to finally recover from the fever, but soon thereafter the discoloration began, accompanied by blood leaking from every orifice. Since then, he’d become so weak that he was unresponsive, and flies had begun to congregate, eager to lay their eggs in his pus-leaking lesions.
4.05: The War Machine Springs To Life
1193 BCE - Aulis, Boetian port and Achaean Expeditionary Force rally point
With all of Greece’s most elite warriors mustered or inbound, Athena convened her Achaeans to discuss her favorite topic – strategy. Agamemnon, Menelaus, Odysseus, Ajax, Teucer, Diomedes, Achilles, and Patroclus were all in attendance, as were Nestor and Chalcas.
With all of Greece’s most elite warriors mustered or inbound, Athena convened her Achaeans to discuss her favorite topic – strategy. Agamemnon, Menelaus, Odysseus, Ajax, Teucer, Diomedes, Achilles, and Patroclus were all in attendance, as were Nestor and Chalcas.
4.04: What You’re Doin’ Tomorrow’s Going To Come Your Way
1194 BCE - Skyros
Odysseus walked into King Lycomedes’ court with Adresteia perched on his shoulder in owl form. Rumor had it Skyros was the last place anyone had seen Achilles.
“Odysseus!” Lycomedes shouted, “Welcome! No one told me you would be coming to Skyros!”
Odysseus walked into King Lycomedes’ court with Adresteia perched on his shoulder in owl form. Rumor had it Skyros was the last place anyone had seen Achilles.
“Odysseus!” Lycomedes shouted, “Welcome! No one told me you would be coming to Skyros!”
4.03: Kiss Me And Smile For Me
1194 BCE - Ithaca
Adresteia played with her goddaughter while her hosts prepared dinner. The king and of Ithaca chopped fruit and vegetables while his queen prepared a stew. They had slaves, of course – no family in ancient Greece could prosper without them – but Penelope had always treated that aspect of Achaean society as a necessary evil. After Odysseus became Ithaca’s king, they had talked about what he might do with his power, but in the end, pragmatism had overshadowed idealism.
Adresteia played with her goddaughter while her hosts prepared dinner. The king and of Ithaca chopped fruit and vegetables while his queen prepared a stew. They had slaves, of course – no family in ancient Greece could prosper without them – but Penelope had always treated that aspect of Achaean society as a necessary evil. After Odysseus became Ithaca’s king, they had talked about what he might do with his power, but in the end, pragmatism had overshadowed idealism.
4.02: The Innocent Can Never Last
1194 BCE - Ithaca
Penelope glared at the man on her door step, “I told you, Agamemnon, he’s not fit to fight.”
“Balder dash!” Agamemnon stomped his foot, “What’s happened to him? Did Odysseus finally think too hard and sprain something in his brain?”
Penelope glared at the man on her door step, “I told you, Agamemnon, he’s not fit to fight.”
“Balder dash!” Agamemnon stomped his foot, “What’s happened to him? Did Odysseus finally think too hard and sprain something in his brain?”
4.01: Shot Through The Heart
1195 BCE, Laconia
It had been nearly ten years since Paris made the fateful decision to award the Apple of Discord to Aphrodite, and now he would finally be paid his due. Aphrodite had, contrary to what she’d let him believe at the time, had some limitations on how quickly she would make good on her offer, though Paris didn’t know why - he imagined that Aphrodite's power as a goddess was limitless, the hearts of mortals subject to her whims.
It had been nearly ten years since Paris made the fateful decision to award the Apple of Discord to Aphrodite, and now he would finally be paid his due. Aphrodite had, contrary to what she’d let him believe at the time, had some limitations on how quickly she would make good on her offer, though Paris didn’t know why - he imagined that Aphrodite's power as a goddess was limitless, the hearts of mortals subject to her whims.
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