Paris on his Judgement
I stared out at the Trojan Plain, infested with Greek soldiers. When I had been a lowly Shepard on Mount Ida, desperate to please the gods but afraid that I was unworthy, a fateful judgement that still tore at my very soul had occurred. I had only ever wanted love. Being abandoned by my birth parents had only reinforced that want. When three goddesses of divine Mount Olympus appeared to me and asked me to proclaim who was fairest, all words had left me. How was I to choose? Ox-eyed lady Hera, Queen of high Olympus, Pallas Athene, wisest of mortal and divine alike, protector of cities, or laughter-loving Aphrodite, whose beauty amazed all who set eyes upon it? I could not, for all were fair in equal measure. And so, they offered me gifts, more than a humble Shepard could ever have dreamed of having as his own. From white-armed lady Hera, kingdoms beyond measure and imagination, from the goddess grey-eyed Athene, wisdom and skill in battle and, from Aphrodite, lady of the doves, the love of the most beautiful woman in the world. I chose Aphrodite. How could I not? A lowly Shepard, abandoned and poor, gaining the love of the most beautiful woman in the world. It was unheard of. I was greedy, that I admit. I wanted what no one else had, something that could only be given by the gods of high Olympus themselves. I was a young boy, foolish and filled with hubris. I had not thought to ask if Helen was married. Or who she was married to, where she was from. I found out I was a Prince of Troy, grand Ilium with its impregnable gates, a city that was a fortress. Slowly I adapted to life at the palace, but I did not forget my reward. Helen. Then one day she came to me. I loved her, her pale olive skin, slender build, perfect face and silken dark hair. But what truly captivated me, and all those who had the great fortune of meeting such a remarkable beauty, was her playful emerald green eyes and bright, kind smile. I took her back to Troy, a place I thought we could be safe and happy. But it was not to be.
Helen was in fact married, to Menelaus, King of the city state Sparta to be exact. Even if Menelaus' claim to the throne was only be Helen's birthright. Sparta was a city state of warriors great and proud. But to truly find the cause of the war itself, you must look not to Sparta, but to coastal Mycenae, sitting at the heart of a sapphire bay. Menelaus was originally from Mycenae, but his brother Agamemnon was the heir. But Agamemnon was no ordinary King. He was a King of Kings, conquering all in his path with a huge army and vast wealth that grew every passing day. For Menelaus was outraged by the blow that the 'Trojan scum' had dealt to his pride by spiriting Helen away. Instantly, Aphrodite was said to have had some part in influencing the feeble wits of women, stealing them from their marriage beds and guiding them on the dark path of unfaithfulness, such as she does to her own husband Hephaestus, God of the Forge, with her brother Ares, who delights in war and its carnage. Menelaus went with hast to this King of Kings and together, Greece declared war upon Troy. Helen became Helen of Troy, the Face That Launched a Thousand Ships. Heroes flocked to Ilium like moths to an open flame. Ajax, son of Telamon, from the island of Salamis, quick-thinking Odysseus, son of Laertes, King of Ithaca, and perhaps the greatest of them all was golden Achilles, son of Peleus, from Phthia. These heroes came to Troy for many the same reasons: an insatiable hunger for the wealth of Ilium or a burning and desperate desire for their names to be remembered throughout the centuries, for bards and poets to sing of them and their deeds even when their bones have turned to nothing more than ash beneath the ground. But they were all here for the same cause. To make us – me – pay for daring to challenge the authority of Greece and Sparta alike.
It was my fault they were here. I was no longer a foolish boy, blind to the needs and safety of others. I had changed, become more aware, more determined to protect those I loved and my people. But it was too late. Nothing would stop the Greeks in their quest for vengeance and destruction. I could challenge Menelaus to a duel and win and they would claim they were here to avenge the Spartan King's death. There would always be an excuse. Ten long years had passed already in this war and I knew that both sides grew ever more weary of the bloodshed with no clear end. Women prayed day and night to ox-eyed Hera to protect their husbands and families, to Pallas Athene to grant the men wisdom in battle and to murderous Ares to bring a much awaited end to the horrors of this war, to staunch the blood that watered the dry Trojan plain where the awful battles commenced. I knew that neither Trojan nor Greek would get any relief until one side defeated the other, called a truce or left. There would be no Trojan defeat whilst my brother god-like Hector, tamer of horses, lived. Nor could there be a Greek victory without Achilles. The war was too heated now for any kind if truce to be called and I knew that not one of us was willing to leave and give up. I heard the sounds of the Trojan army rousing and preparing to defend our walls from another wave of Greek assaults. Would the gods smile in our favour? I had no way of knowing. I tried to remember a time of peace. That had, for most, been before the 'Spartan slut' had taken shelter inside our walls. But for me, a time without Helen was a time when I was lost. I could not live without her. Where she went, I would follow. If the decision to send her home was the selfless one, then I was selfish to the very core of my being, cursed by the gods as my sister Cassandra is. I could not – no, would not live without Helen. If that meant I was known throughout the ages as selfish and weak then so be it. I turned to find Helen standing next to me, the first light of rosy-fingered Eos beginning to grace the sky. The golden globe pulled across the sky by Phoebus Apollo in his chariot of gold making her chestnut hair shine and her olive skin glow. Her emerald eyes sparkled and danced; her hand in mine. Helen of Troy, goddess among women, beloved by Aphrodite and Paris, Prince of Troy and son of Priam, together for now. We turned to face the Trojan plain, each praying to Olympus for a safe tomorrow.