Hector Leads the Trojans

Anarion Tari Culnama; 2004

Hector stood atop the wall, gazing down upon the thousands of Greek warriors rushing for the city. It appeared to him as a sea of men, stretching across the dusty plains as far as the eye could see. Hector strode quickly down the steps. His army was waiting by the gates for their leader and they immediately jumped to attention when they saw him. Hector spoke to one of his top generals, Glaucous:

"Assemble the men into formations and open the gates on my command."

The order was carried out. Hector made his way to the front of battle lines at least fifteen-men wide and stood, waiting and watchful, before the gates. The shouts of the approaching army drew nigh. Hector judged the distance of the Greeks, and when he felt the time right he cried, "Open the gates!" The Trojan army, led by Hector, poured through the gate and assembled into a wider line, along the wall. The advancing Greeks suddenly stopped. They were a mere seventy-five yards from the Trojan lines.

Hector judged by the chariots in front that both Agamemnon and Menelaus led them, clearly confident of victory.

True, the Trojan army did not match the Greeks for size, but the Trojans could never be underestimated, for they were some of the fiercest fighters the world ever knew.

The chariots of Menelaus and Agamemnon drew nearer, the army remaining behind. With the chariots came a small entourage of soldiers, royal guards and standard-bearers. Hector silently waited until the chariots were so near he could clearly see the faces of the two generals. He went to meet them and stood silently as one of them spoke.

"The terms are as follows:" began Agamemnon. "You will surrender your city and the Queen Helen to us and we will allow all to live—of course, to aid us in war whenever we should choose will be your obligation. If you should prefer to disregard these orders, our attack will follow."

Hector would have spoken had he not heard a horse's hoofs thudding on the sand behind him. He turned and saw his brother, Paris, approaching at a gallop. His face was grave and serious, though a hint of fear and uncertainty was seen in his eyes. Paris spoke:

"To end this war, I will engage in single combat with Menelaus. If he wins, then your terms will be accepted and your queen returned. If I win, you will leave these shores forever and Helen will remain here, for I love her more than you claim to." Menelaus and Agamemnon conversed together quietly for a moment.

"I will kill the boy," whispered Menelaus, "and then you bring your army in and crush them."

"A wise plan," agreed Agamemnon. They turned back to Paris. "We agree to the arrangement," said Menelaus. He was an overpowering man, well built and strong, and had been a warrior for many years. He leapt from his chariot and placed his helmet upon his head. Paris dismounted, handed the reins to Hector, and drew his sword. Menelaus also did so, his short sword glimmering in the mid-afternoon sun. Paris, a young lad of seventeen years, with kind eyes and a boyish yet handsome face, approached Menelaus. The two circled for but a moment before Menelaus bore down upon Paris, his sword flashing. Paris parried his attack, but was driven to the ground by the sheer force behind the slash and quickly rolled out of the way of Menelaus' next blow.

There was fear in Paris' eyes. He had never fought before and knew next to nothing about swordplay. Hector looked on worriedly. He knew, at once, what the outcome would, be but there was nothing he could do.

Paris swung over Menelaus' head, and Menelaus stabbed at him, but narrowly missed. A step to the side had saved Paris' life for the moment. The veteran warrior lunged for Paris yet again and there was nothing the boy could do but get out of the way of the swinging blade. He rolled some ways away and jumped to his feet. By then Menelaus was laughing. He thought it good sport looming over the frightened figure and slashing now and again at him. Paris thought of fair Helen and knew she was watching him from atop the wall with his father. How ignominious it would be to die a coward! This thought added courage to young Paris. He staggered to his feet, once more. Menelaus laughed.

"Do you really believe you have any hope of defeating me?" At this, Paris rushed for Menelaus with fury so great that Menelaus was driven back. Paris was making better strokes than before and Menelaus had to use much more of his skill to keep up.

All at once, Menelaus' stroke to the right knocked Paris' sword from his hand and the youth once again fell to the ground. Menelaus bent over him and his next stroke would have buried itself in Paris' heart, but Paris, having no sword, began punching Menelaus in the face, with frequent, almost non-stop blows. Menelaus spit blood out of his mouth and angrily jumped to his feet. Paris backed away, which having no sword, was what he had to do. Menelaus slashed with his blade and this time, the stroke cut deeply into Paris' leg, which began bleeding profusely. Paris crawled away quickly, his eyes wide with fear. He found his way to Hector, Menelaus in close pursuit, and wrapped his arms around his brother's leg. Menelaus was even more infuriated.

"Get out of my way!" he shouted, raising his sword over his head. "Let me kill the dog!"

"The fight is over," stated Hector plainly.

"Stand aside, Prince Hector! I don't care; I'll kill him at your feet!"

Paris looked pleadingly up at his brother, who, not being able to stand it any longer, swiftly drew his blade and drove it into Menelaus' chest. The warrior fell, his blood pooling on the ground, and the Greeks instantly charged forward. However, before the lines met, Paris scrambled for his sword. Scooping it up from the ground, he made his way back as swiftly as his wound would allow, his leg leaving trails of blood across the sand. Hector helped his brother to mount, and Paris hurriedly rode into the city.

Hector motioned for the archers to release. A rain of arrows poured into the Greek lines from overhead, downing hundreds.

"Stay back," warned Hector. "Do not advance until I say." There was another volley. More Greeks fell, though they now had their shields above their heads. There were more arrows. The lines had nearly met.

"Forward!" cried Hector. The noise of swords and shields clashing resounded across the plains. The Greeks were immediately driven back quite a pace, and many were fleeing back to regroup. The next charge came. Hector dealt marvelous strokes, fighting ten enemies at once; he remained far in front of his comrades, clearing the way through the Greeks. All fell back from the rage of Hector. He splintered a shield and slashed a Greek's head off in one powerful motion. His spinning, slashing, moves were graceful, yet deadly. It was as if he had eyes on all sides of his head and was aware of everyone that was before and behind him. He hurriedly grasped the sword of a fallen Greek and did powerful double strokes, slashing into those on every side. It was undoubtedly the bravery of the Trojan's leader that won the battle that day, giving the Trojans added courage and sending the Greeks fleeing back to their ships in panic.

The End