Troy: Reflections on a Falling City
Helen
City of refuge. To here I flee with my love, pursued fugitive, abandoning all I knew for all my heart ever wanted. Behind these bastions, will I be safe? Will I be left in peace to pursue my desire? O woman, how powerless is she! Passed about, pursued, possessed; pawn to politics and passions. I have no will, no choice, no mind. My destiny is not my own; I am a ghost. Treaties are sealed by my possession, wars are instigated by my absence. I am abandoned to a loveless marriage and so I abandon that place which was never mine, that family which never I loved, that home which never accepted me. Here beside my love in this place, walking in the gardens, celebrating our love every night; here is where my heart lies, where my spirit is free. This city will be my new home, my haven. Here will my children play, myself and my love grow old, and the world will spin about us. And yet I fear for my own happiness – the gods have not smiled on me thus far; that I am content bodes ill for the future, and for those I have now caught in my fate – my love, his family, this city. Who will pay the price for my sins? How much will it cost?
Achilles
City of Troy. That name would have passed from memory but for its pivotal place in this struggle. The city to which the queen fled from her husband, an act spawning a war that was already brooding and looming like a storm cloud on the horizon. This is just an excuse to fight. I welcome it. This peace sits uneasily in my breast. I was born for battle, and my name, like that of this city, will be sung of for a thousand generations. A battlesong rises from my lips; this city is marked for destruction. Gods help me, I will raze it to the ground, I will kill every man in its defense. I will burn every temple within its walls and carve my own name in the dust and rubble. My sword will speak for me, and its blade is all the words I need. I am a man of action, a quick breath upon this earth – I know that my time is short; the fire that burns within me is too hot to survive long trapped in this body that barely contains it. It screams for release and I spend all my time trying to relieve it but it will not be sated; not by women, or blood, or death, or gore. Heroes revere me and even the gods stay out of my way; I am wanted by neither above the one, below the other, and alone, always alone. City of Troy – on you will I spend my wrath!
Paris
City of my ancestors. Home and hearth; birthplace and burial ground of my fathers. Here is safety and refuge, here is my childhood, my first steps, my first memories, years of joys and sorrows. My father's house, my people's city; behind these solid walls lies a thousand, thousand years of tradition, honor, and glory. My history, my tradition, my birthright. I am prince here, and here I bring my stolen love. She comes willingly, to escape a trap of a marriage, and here I will give her all she desires, home, love, family, safety, and myself. An innate part of myself belongs to this city, and even as I contemplate leaving it also for the sake of my love, she speaks the words I feel deep in my soul – that I cannot leave for to leave would be to forever rip my own heart in two. Yes I belong to her, but my fate is also inescapably tied to the fate of this city, and I cannot abandon it to the potential destruction I have brought upon it. I can only pray the gods will smile on us in our happiness and preserve us here behind these sheltering walls. I feel a change in the winds though, and though I am lost in ecstasy every night, my mind still dimly fears the consequences of my impetuous actions – but any cost is worth it for this love which possesses my soul.
Odysseus
City of opportunities. Here in this city I will play my games. All the pieces are primed and ready; the great hero who fights for no one but himself I have made to see that he will benefit from battle, the king who has been slighted will spearhead the advance, his brother, power-hungry, will use this to try and expand his influence and control the seas. Each alone, inconsequential, but bound together by my will, they are a formidable force. This will not end quickly, and there will be many chances to test my wits against the enemy, many challenges to overcome, many strategies to be formed and executed. The game is afoot, and I am ready! Bring it on! I will stand in the shadows of kings and laugh at their feeble minds, feeble efforts; their strength is entirely in their arms and their minds are naught but here, here! sits the mind that will bring about the ruin of a great city. I will write the story of this struggle upon the bodies of those who will fall, upon those who will live, upon the heroes who will clash, and the walls that will fall. And I will remember; I will remember it all, every step, every move, every calculated strike, and though my name may not go down in infamy, I shall glory in these small victories, moving rook to capture bishop, cornering queen with knight, until at last we dance the squares to the final checkmate.
Helen
The scent of death lies thick in the air here. Death and blood and pain, all mixed together in an intoxicating cocktail. Sweat and tears mingle in the clash of steel on steel, the ring of blades, the trampling of wide-eyed snorting stallions, the heat of battle. For glory? For eternity? For a name that will die, sinking into the obscurity of ancient ages past? Why this urge to conquer? To possess, so completely, so utterly… For honor? What is honor? What is courage? When does it justify the blood of men, the slaughter of innocents, the souls of the valiant? I am afraid. Two rights clash in my body and in my soul. For love, for myself, I am enslaved to him I love – to one man, one heart, one soul, entwined with mine forever. And yet I am not free – my past follows me, and I, once a stranger in my own home, my own country, having found a family and a place among my enemies, am now hounded by what once was. For my sake, and the slight it brought my husband and my country, wars are fought below the still, silent stones of this cold wall. At night, the winds drift over the sands and bring with them the screams of dying men and the wails of widows and children. I cannot sleep – their grief is upon my shoulders, the blood of their brothers, fathers, husbands is upon my hands, their condemnation upon my soul.
Achilles
Death is my glory, my song, my victory. I bathe in the blood of the fallen, in those I have slain. My rage knows no bounds – it is as boundless, as fierce, as reckless as the waves upon the sea; calm one second, then rising up to dash those upon it into rocks and drown them. It is a fire in my breast, that threatens to consume me alive. My heart feels shredded but my mind has never been so clear. One thought, one focus, one will, one blade, all bent to one purpose; destruction. I was born to kill; to take life. I bow to no man, and serve none but death itself. I command the loyalty of those who fear me, and the respect of those who do not. I fear neither death nor life, but only myself, my own inability to control the rage that burns within me, which transcends thought or reason. The power of the berserker fills me, overwhelms me, overflows from me, controls me. I can control nothing but the swings of my blade, and so I focus on those; I will have perfect control, so that when the rage takes flight and my reason with it, I shall at least have the skill of a god, and the power to channel my own destruction. As I have lived so I will die, in a blaze of glory, spilling blood, my blood being spilt, raging and rampaging upon a battlefield, surrounded by death and glorying in it, friend to no one, hero to all. This will be my eulogy, as I sink down into the annals of history, one name shall echo above all.
Paris
For one woman have I sacrificed my very birthright, my country, my family, and my soul. For a night of pleasure have I brought down death to my city, and do I now watch good men die from behind my high stone walls. I am a coward, a lover, a pawn in this epic struggle. I am helpless; my world crumbles around me. My father is dishonored by my flight from the battlefield, my own honor is in shambles by my cowardice. How can my love respect me? She was a queen – held power and status and honor, a husband who she could be proud of, and left it all for a boy, a boy who cannot shoulder his responsibilities as a prince, who wants nothing more than to run away from the world and make love til daybreak. It is all I am good for. Today I watch my brother die, his body defiled and dishonored; watched my father cry, watched my brothers widow scream and wail for him and knew it was all of it my fault. My fear possesses me and I can do nothing. My world revolves around my stolen love; for her sake may I try to act the part of the warrior but it is not my calling. How can she respect me? How can I respect myself? Still cannot muster the ability to be the man my brother was. I cannot replace him, and now because of my naiveté and selfishness I have robbed my country of a hero, my father of an heir and a son, a princess of her husband, a son of his father, myself of a brother. These crimes rest heavy on me but all I can do is cower before them as this chess game of the gods is played out by wiser and more powerful men than me. I am the instigator, the catalyst, the reason overlaying this struggle, at its heart and yet it has nothing to do with me. As the bodies pile up around me and the funeral pyres burn all night, how can I ever forgive myself? How can she ever forgive me… her countrymen, both past and present fight now, and she must watch them die, without even an honorable man to stand by her side and fight for her. I do not deserve to live.
Odysseus
It is a puzzle, this struggle. I see all the pieces. My wits have been called sharp by some, and if it is so, it is a gift of the gods. On my counsel, I can convince the raging hero to do battle on our side; though he fights for none but himself he will fight on my command. I soothe the ego of kings with words while planning battle strategies. I live for a challenge; I love tests and the best of these comes in the form of life. An epic struggle from one day to the next; one battle to another, I see it in my minds eye, the way to turn the tables, to reverse effects, to manipulate, to change that which is. The way to penetrate and breach indestructible walls; to take make protection a trap, to destroy from within. To do in one day, that which was not possible in thirty years of siege and struggle. I care not for glory or infamy, but for my own betterment, seeking ever more difficult puzzles. I love a simple life, to fade into the background. I am the power behind thrones, the whisper that starts wars, the thread that binds men who otherwise would kill each other together in a common purpose. Men are haunted by the vastness of eternity. We wonder if our actions echo across time, if those who hear our names long after we are gone will wonder who we were, how bravely we fought, how fiercely we loved… These questions are not mine to answer, but they occupy the atmosphere of our time, and they will drive us to our end.
Helen
Troy burns. My adoptive home; the only home I have ever known; the city of my love. And now I must again flee; my love remains, my soul, my spirit screams within me. The blood cries out for vengeance, of my people, both Trojan and Greek, and I have no answer.
Achilles
Troy burns. A reflection of the rage that burns within me. I revel in the flames and death. Here lies my doom, and my deliverance, my name will echo in the annals of history and this war will not be soon forgotten. All will sing the deeds of these heroes who fought here forevermore. Maybe in death I will find rest, in the grave will peace find me and tame the rage within me.
Paris
Troy burns. And I must stand and fight, take up the sword of my fathers and become the man my father could be proud of, the man my brother was, the man I wished I could be. To protect the ones I love, I will stand.
Odysseus
Troy burns. A city plundered like a virgin captive, swept away in by a thief in the night. A clean strategy, well executed; there is no thrill like that of victory; the completion of a puzzle, the successful manipulation of pieces to a final end. And though many will not return, I will tell their stories, I will honor their names. And if they ever tell my story, let them say that I walked with giants. Men rise and fall like the winter wheat, but these names will never die. Let them say I lived in the time of Hector, tamer of horses. Let them say I lived in the time of Achilles.