My son is only months old; and already I have compiled his life for him, in my mind. I have seen him stand up, straight and proud as an arrow loosed from the bow. He will have his mother's chestnut hair, my eyes, his uncle's sloping, boyish grin. He will not always be as serious as I am, thank the gods. He will always laugh.

My son will love horses. He will watch them running in the paddock, as I did, every day. He will marvel at their strength, their speed, their peacefulness. Someday he'll catch a wild one out on the beach; a horse that is angry, full of fire, one of Apollo's half-breeds. That horse, my son will tame with love and kindness, taking care never to dominate the spirit he will cherish and respect. All along the coastline they'll run together, up the hills and back down, up Mount Ida; in triumph they'll stand at the top of the ridge, and my son will shout down his name, and his horse's.

My son will love the sea. More dazzling than diamonds is the light playing on the waters, the flash of a mermaid's tail, even an imagined one. He'll fish when he's a boy, and a man, and an old man. Sailing for hours, coursing through the waters like a dolphin. He'll dive into the water for shells and pearls, though he'll have no luck for the latter. The blue of the sea will infect his eyes, make them deep and fathomless, give him wisdom. Give him peace. Whatever ill he does; though he's a virtuous man, I have seen it; he will soothe in the sea. A bride will come to him on a ship; as mine did; he will watch her coming over the waves and love the sea for bringing her.

My son will never go to war.

He will be a maker of things, a shaper of stone and wood and glass. He will give life to lifeless objects; he will bring beauty out of nothingness. My son will undo what I have done with my sword. He will be a balance to my life, my deeds. A selfish wish, but one made in hope.

My son will know his homeland. His people will love him, for he will know that to be a leader of men is to serve. His kindness will walk before him in the street; he will ease suffering where there is suffering, he will bring justice where none prevails. He will be a prince. He will love all equally, be they the rocks or the children or the trees; all he will claim allegiance to. All will be in his care.

It is all I think about, this voyage. Seeing him again. Has he grown ? Will he know his father's face ? It is a hard face, and strange to me sometimes. Too weary, too lined. But his eyes are a child's, and so he does not judge.

My wife once said to me, as he kicked inside her like a stubborn mule, that his strength would surpass mine one day. I was proud, as any father would be; but it planted a seed of fear in my heart. For strength, put to use in the field, or in the potter's kiln, is a great gift. But more often than that, strength is put to use for the domination of men. I have seen it. I have done it.

So I will change the future. This voyage will bring peace to our land, a peace we have not seen for many years. When I sail home, it will be with a new future for my son; a future where the prince of Troy will shed his armor, and teach his son to tame wild horses, and never to seek glory where there is only death.

My son will never go to war.