It was on the golden sands of Pylos that I saw them
lying there,
motionless,
upon the shimmering grains
that ran down to the sapphire depths below.
The breaking waves had not been kind to them,
their snowy crests rising and dipping,
their crowns foaming,
as they embraced Oileus' son,
the wrecker of men,
with their clammy caresses.
It had been a black night when the fates interrupted.
The furious wind screamed at the strong timber,
tearing over the frothy sea,
as it cut the men to the quick
like frozen iron
as they struggled to keep their lives intact.
Even so,
as the angry waves crashed over the bow
that man howled at the sky, screaming his defiance at the powers
he could not fathom;
hating that which was not his to know.
That one could be so foolish
is not easy to comprehend
at such a young age. For it was with his defiance
that he did bring down the wrath of
the gray-eyed goddess who sees all.
With a vengeful stroke did she send
a great wall of water towards the proud man's ship,
crashing over the towering stern,
and drenching the miserable crewmates
that had seen him through so much
when they had sacked mighty-walled Illium.
With that, the swift baggage train was drowned.
It was with pitiful cries that
his kinsmen called out to him,
imploring the help of the mighty hero to swallow his pride
and placate the vengeful goddess.
And as he hardened his heart and looked away,
the angry ocean swallowed them all,
sucking them down into the bottomless deep
and mingling the shining treasure of the hero with their thrashing bodies.
Thus did they gain what they had fought so hard for,
and the flashing cauldrons,
the shining tripods,
bright weapons
and beautiful maidens were dragged down into the darkness
along with the mighty warriors,
as powerless to save themselves as if they had been made of flashing bronze.
Yet still the mighty warrior might have saved himself,
though the cold water clamored to take his soul
and darken his eyes.
He threw himself into the waves and swam,
His mighty arms gliding through earthshaker's the peaks and valleys
with the strength that had served him so well before
as he had hurled great boulders to come crashing down
on the heads of his enemies.
It was ironic then
that it should be a great boulder that his hands reached for
upon reaching the shoreline to escape the angry waves.
Joy flooded his battle-scarred features
as he gripped the rock
that would be his downfall.
Up on top of it he clamored
as his calloused hands
strangled the rocky cliff face and his great arms pulled him up
to safety, his salt-caked hands
painting the jagged rocks
with his wine-red blood.
But such joy was not to last. For Oileus' son,
the man-wrecking warrior,
his hair slick from the salty sea
and his hands crimson from the sharp rock face,
stood up on the cliff
and in the driving rain
he howled out his victory
taunting the gods
proclaiming his prowess to all who could hear as he
screamed out in arrogant defiance,
not caring who would hear.
That was foolish.
For the blue-haired lord who governs the waves
and lords it over the salty waters of the world
heard him, and in his anger
split the rock on which Oileus' son was standing
and cast him down,
far below
into the billowing waves,
still screaming
at the eternal,
refusing to accept his fate.
It was a clear day when I saw him next,
stretched out lazily on the golden sands
that ring the water and mark out the ocean-king's domain.
Flocks of seagulls were his servants then
and tended to their master as well as any humans could.
And as the wine-dark sea stretched over the golden field that was her playground,
lost in her tender clutches
I saw the chalk-white bones
of man-wrecking
Ajax.