Chapter 7 – Torment

When I heard sounds of them returning, my first instinct was to hide. After all, didn't I know this beach far better than any of them?

But even if I did hide, what then? What could I possibly do? The Greeks occupied the entire beach; there was no way of getting back to Troy. And besides, if they should find me…

I shuddered.

The first of them could be seen now, running as though all the demons of the Underworld were after them. Quickly, I retreated back into the boat…it seemed like a safe haven compared to thousands of charging soldiers…and gazed with rapt fascination at their faces. The first men who arrived did not seem too much perturbed; but as the back lines arrived, I could smell the blood on their armours and the fear in their faces.

My heart began to beat with joy. If they were running away from the battle in this manner, surely it had to mean that the Trojans had routed them. We had won. We, our small valiant city, had triumphed over the mighty Greeks on the first crucial battle.

The tent flaps were ripped open and a heavy-breathing man walked in. He looked too furious to say anything; then he swung round and glared at me as though I had single-handedly defeated his army. He glared at me for a very long time; then he sneered at me. "You and your miserable city," he spat.

"Why miserable?" I asked, keeping my voice from betraying any joy. "Is it because we have proven ourselves to be better than you thought?"

He positively snarled. "Do not be triumphant so soon. Your precious Trojans were running back into the shelter of your walls like scared rabbits."

"I saw the way your soldiers were running back here," I said. "I think I should describe them as scared rabbits."

Agamemnon crossed over to me swiftly and grabbed hold of my chin. "Do you think I will hesitate to kill you?" he said between clenched teeth. "But no, killing is too good for you. I shall keep you alive. If all else fails, I can always use you as a hostage. I am sure your uncle and cousin would rather lose Troy than have anything harm his darling niece."

I looked at him, hating him, wondering at his stupidity. This was the king who had defeated the countries in Greece? The other kings had to be mentally deficient. "This only proves to me that you know absolutely nothing about the Trojan love for country."

He flung me down like a sack of potatoes and shouted, "Coeus!"

The guard outside, who had assumed his post again, now poked his head in. "Your Majesty?" he said.

Agamemnon looked at me with a nasty smile. "If you had taken the trouble to curb that tongue of yours, I would have allowed you to stay with me. But now…" he turned to Coeus. "Bring her outside. Give her to the men. I'm sure they will like to have a woman to comfort them after today."

A dizzying feeling clutched hold of my head and I had to clench my fists to support myself. He was kicking me out into a pack of wolves who would devour me. This was cruelty, this was wickedness. I summoned up all my strength and spat so venomously into his face that he staggered back. "That's all you'll ever be worth for, you reject of the gods," I shouted at him.

His face turned red with anger and humiliation. It was not a pretty sight for a soldier to see his king being spat at by a mere captive. "Keep her alive," he snarled at Coeus. "We'll get more enjoyment out of torturing her than killing her."

Coeus bowed and grasped hold of my wrist. "Shall I take her out now, your Majesty?"

"Get her out of here!" Agamemnon bellowed.

Coeus said nothing while tugging me out of the boat, but the moment we were outside, he said, "The king of Greece is supremely powerful. It will not do to offend him."

"He is not more powerful than the gods," I replied snappily. There was no room in my heart to be anything but rude to the Greeks. The smell of blood was still in the air, the blood of my countrymen, whom these barbarians had murdered. I saw injuries on the men we passed and gloried in each and every one of those wounds. More men injured meant less men attacking Troy.

As we walked on I caught snippets of conversation. "Now that Menelaus is dead, there should not be any reason to fight Troy!"

"Even if we snatched Helen back from the hands of that young prince, who would claim her?"

"Did you see what a spectacle that foolish prince made of himself? Crawling on the ground and hugging his brother's leg, indeed!"

Paris?

"If Prince Hector had not killed King Menelaus, that young playboy would have been feeding the vultures by now."

"How daft to challenge a king when he can't even swing a sword properly!"

"That is one prince I would not fight for."

"He is not fit even to lick my armour clean!"

Loud, coarse laughter rumbled around the camp.

There was a hard lump in my throat that made swallowing incredibly difficult. So Paris had challenged Menelaus to a duel…silly, silly Paris! I loved my cousin dearly, but love did not blind me to his incompetence where fighting was concerned. And of course, as always, he had clung on to Hector for help as he had done since he was a toddler…

I could feel hot tears burning the back of my eyelids and, hastily, I dried my eyes before any could fall. It was wrong for me to weep, but I ached so for Paris' humiliation that the Greek army was laughing at his cowardice and helplessness. I could feel his shame, his anger at himself for not having stood up to Menelaus as a man.

Tears were coming rapidly and I dashed them away before anyone could see them. Poor Paris, my poor cousin, caught up in a war when he knew nothing about fighting. If only Helen loved him enough to understand and not blame…

I struggled to repress the sobs that were half-choking me and stumbled along, scarcely seeing where I was going. I could only hear the soldiers jeering at Paris, laughing at him, making fun of his position as a prince of Troy. Each insult went like a dagger to my heart, pierced straight through me and brought on an even swifter rush of tears. I wanted to scream at them, tell them that my cousin, who had showered me with love and laughter all my years, was worth more than all of them combined. He may not be able to fight, but he has never uttered a single malicious word about anybody in his entire life…

Coeus stopped and I found myself standing in the middle of a circle of tents with Greek soldiers staring at me from every angle I looked.

"Who may this one be, Coeus?" asked a man and I felt myself shrinking at the lust in his eyes.

"A present from King Agamemnon, friends," Coeus announced loudly. "Do with her as you please, only do not kill her." He smiled as a roar of laughter erupted, and turned to me. "I wish you all the best, my dear lady," he said in an undertone, then strode off.

Hands were suddenly all over my entire body, hands which fondled, pinched, touched, bruised, and despite my resolution to remain brave, I let out a scream of terror as those hands bore me up in the air and began to throw me about. I saw faces half delirious with laughter, heard rough voices shouting, but could take nothing else in. Those faces became a blur of indefinable colours as I felt myself being swirled about. My head began to ache and my eyes hurt. Every part of me was hurting.

"Stop it! You're hurting me!" I shrieked, but it seemed that no one heard…I was in a pit of darkness with vicious animals pouncing on me from all corners…there was no help, and I would not permit myself to call for it. I would not give them that sort of satisfaction. It was so painful…so painful…their hands were rough…their feet even rougher…

My head hit the ground. Sand pricked my eyelids and stuck to my lips…a blow to my ribs caused white flashes to burst before my eyes. There was a heavy weight on my body, I could feel hands moving up my shoulders to rip my clothes off and desperately, I kicked and squirmed my way out from under this heavy weight. My bones were cracking inside me; more blows, each one more painful than the last.

"It is too hot for such sport," I heard someone say.

"Look at her!" I heard another say, with disgust in his voice.

"Oh, leave her here," yet another said, laughing. "She'll never get anywhere."

I felt all hands leaving my body and then there was quiet. Weakly, I turned myself over and opened my eyes, moving them wearily around. I could see no faces, no legs. They had left me alone.

The midday sun was scorching my face, sapping all my strength. It pounded down at me, burning my skin. I felt agonizing beads of perspiration coating my forehead, but lifting my hand was so painful that I dropped it back down. Slowly, trying to avoid as much pain as possible, I turned over sideways and kept my face down in the sand, shielding it from the sun. I had never known the sun to be so hot before.

All afternoon they left me there roasting. My lips were parched and my throat was sore. When I touched my hair, it burned my fingertips. I felt like an animal ready for slaughter. I could not even think; the sweltering heat was wiping my mind blank. All I could feel was that sun, that tremendous sun scalding, blistering me. It was beyond human endurance. Yet I endured.

Night crept up. As I watched the last flicker of the sun disappearing into the horizon, no sunset had ever seemed so beautiful to me before. With it went the heat and came the blessed coolness. I felt myself slowly, very slowly, revitalizing from the pain that the men's little tortures and the sun had brought on.

Then, without warning, a splash of water landed on my face and a voice yelled, "How did you like your stay in the sun?"

Two hands pulled me to my feet and I found myself falling from one chest to another. With whatever strength I had I fought back, but they fought even harder; there were so many of them, and they were so strong. I was near exhaustion, I couldn't even see straight, my whole body was on fire with aches and pains, and there was a roaring sound in my ears. I could only hear a voice shouting, "Give the bitch to me!"

"Who's first?"

"What's this? A virgin's robe!"

I prayed for strength and tussled with them relentlessly, flailing my arms about and thanking the stars whenever I made hard contact. They flung me about like a doll, laughing and jeering, until I was thrown against one man and he took hold of me.

"Hold her!" someone ordered.

I looked round and saw a man holding a burning hot stick-like looking object approaching me. I wanted to scream in terror, but my voice was frozen. Nearer and nearer it came, I could almost feel it burning against my skin, when suddenly…

"ACHILLES!"

I caught a flash of golden hair…yells of fright…then the burning stick plunging straight through the neck of the man who was about to brand me. He fell noisily and Achilles appeared. The man who had been holding me now released me and retreated, his mouth working silently with fear. All their eyes were glazed over.

The next thing I knew I was in Achilles' arms and he was carrying me away. My limbs so heavy I could barely move them, but still I struggled, not wanting to be near anyone. Why could they not throw me into the sea and be finished with me, why did they have to torment me in this manner? What was Achilles going to do with me?