CHAPTER ONE


Achilles stood at the top of his ship, glaring at the island in the distance. His helmet tucked under his arm pit and his blue eyes narrowed at the quiet beach. Patroklos stood next to him with his sword swinging gently at his side.

'Have they seen us?' he asked Achilles as he turned to face him. Achilles's gaze was still focused on the island and he put on his helmet.

'They have,' he murmured and Patroklos turned to the face the men.

'Can you taste it?' he asked them and the armed men rose to their feet. 'I do not talk of the salt in the air, but the blood of Trojans on the edge of your swords.' He drew his sword and pointed it at them. 'Honour compels us to this land, but glory awaits you. Ready your arms!'

The men raised their swords and shields in the air and cheered loudly. As the ship carried them across the water, they became further and further to the beach of Troy. Patroklos looked closely and noticed something in the sky.

'Arrows!' He yelled to the men and they immediately hid behind their shields. Arrows pierced the skin of their shields but did not pierce the flesh of their human skin.

When the arrows had finished being fired, Achilles stood up to his orignal height and knocked the arrows off his shield with his sword.

'Fear us men of Troy!' He cried with his sword pointed at the Trojans on the beach. As soon as the ship reached the beach, Achilles jumped down and immediately plunged his sword into a Trojan. When he had finished with them, he turned to another Trojan and slit his throat. Patroklos ran up to Achilles and joined him at his side.

'Orders?' asked Patroklos with his sword at the ready.

'Fight your way up to the beach,' demanded Achilles before running up and fighting a group of Trojans. Patroklos and the Myrmidons followed him.

The Myrmidons fought as hard as they could, killing any Trojan in their path. Soon the other Greek ships joined them and helped them force the Trojans up the beach.

As Achilles looked up at the sky, he noticed black objects heading towards them.

'Shield yourselves!' He shouted at the men and the men obeyed. The arrows drove into the shields at full speed. Achilles lowered his shield when the arrows had stopped being fired.

From that moment, more arrows were constantly fired and shielding yourself before a regular thing. Many lives were taken and much blood was lost. This all stopped when the Trojans were forced to retreat to the city. At the glorious sight, the Greeks cheered and praised the Gods for their victory.

'A battle worthy of legend, is it not?' asked Patroklos when he reached Achilles.

'Victory over a beach?' Achilles asked in response and Patroklos allowed himself a quick grin.

'Still, it was a victory. And many more await us. Troy's days are numbered.'

'The longer it takes to save this Spartan queen, the better.'

And so that was the beginning of the end of Troy. On that sad day, her shining shores were ravaged by the savage thunder of a thousand ships; carrying the kings and princes of Greece, led by Agamemnon king of Mycenae like Charon leading the dead across the river Styx into the jaws of Haides.

When Helen saw the defeated Trojans return to the city, the widows weeping for their husbands back, she too collapsed and weeped on the balcony of her chamber. Although her cries were quiet, Andromache, wife of Prince Hector brother of Prince Paris, heard her and approached her.

'Dear Helen,' she began as she knelt down to her. 'What is wrong?'

'I am wrong,' Helen managed through her tears. 'I should never have come to Troy. Innocent men die because I am here. And more lives are soon to be taken.'

Even though Andromache knew it was true, she still denied it and tried to comfort Helen.

'I have heard what the women say about me,' sobbed Helen as her tears were wiped away by Andromache's gentle hand. 'They call me a whore and look at me as if I was nothing. I left my family in Sparta and fled with Paris!'

'Paris is your family,' Andromache said as she helped Helen to her feet. 'He is all the family you need. Do not cry, my dear. There is nothing to worry about.' But Andromache was just as worried as Helen was. She was scared for her husband and feared that one day he would not return from battle.

But who could blame Menelaus for claiming his right to retribution? When he heard that his wife had fled with Paris of Troy, the black grief and the red rage came upon him. Enraged, he called the kings and princes of Greece and promised them riches and treasure.

So was assembled the greatest army the world had ever seen, and together they had set sail for Troy under the leadership of powerful Agamemnon, brother of Menelaus.

The mighty walls of Troy loomed above the Greeks and dashed any hope of a quick and easy war. Those who retreated behind the impregnable walls found refuge and safety. Many of those who were caught outside either found solace in a cruel and sudden death or abject desperation in a lifelong slavery.

The Trojans rallied. They stormed out of their gates in defense of their homes, their families, their king. Fiercer blood runs through the veins of those who defend, and fiercer still runs the blood through the veins of men when they follow a great leader like Hector, the greatest of Priam's sons. He was the one who lead his men in aid of those still beyond the walls.

Although the Trojans fought long and hard, they failed to rescue all of the civilians.

Days passed of bloodshed and brutal war. And yet, why did Priam not return Helen to Menelaus, her husband? So much suffering, so many lives would have been spared. Nothing simple is ever easy. Fear and doubt fester secretly in the hearts of men condemning their lives into the darkness of guilt. So was Priam guilty of a sin. The sin he commited all those years ago when he sent his son away to die in the wilderness.

How could Priam refuse anything his son asked of him? It was with a heavy heart Priam welcomed Helen when Paris brought her to Troy. Guilt so easily forces men to act against their own interests.

When the people of Troy realised that Paris had brought Helen home with him, they took pause to think, to doubt, to wait. They knew it was only a matter of time, that there was a price to pay for a father's love, a father's guilt towards his forgotten son. They did not wait for long.