PROLOGUE
I wonder how my name will be remembered. What will men say about me? Will they think of me as a monster who slaughtered Troy simply because I was an angry warrior, or because my mother had given me this gift of near-immortality, or will they know that I fought because it was my duty?
It's strange, but as I lie hear on the cold marble floor of the Trojan temple, with one arrow in my throbbing heel, and one in my gut, my thoughts are not focused on the women being raped, or the men being slaughtered outside. It's not even focused on the fact that there is a certain irony that I was shot by the hand of the weak little boy who started this entire war. Instead, I lay here and think about my entire life. This is how it really happened...
