Achilles stood on his ship's bow, gazing steadily at the heavily armored Myrmidons, who awaited his initial instruction. Only a few yards behind them, the Trojan beach gleamed like a pearl under the sunlight, the sea's white waves cascading upon its broad shoreline. The Greek armada had finally reached its destination and no one was more eager to land than Achilles' crew. They had stationed themselves before the foreign landscape, the remaining 49 ships eagerly anticipating the young king's signal from his royal vessel.
Eudorus approached his lord with trepidation, glancing uncertainly at his broad back. "Should we wait for the others, sire?"
"They brought us here for war, didn't they?" Achilles asked, bemused.
"Yes, my lord. But Agamemnon's orders-" Eudorus faltered, wavering when his king raised an eyebrow.
"Do you fight for me, Eudorus? Or Agamemnon?"
"I fight for you my lord-"
"Then fight for me. And let the servants of Agamemnon fight for him," Achilles said, smiling. This headlong charge would surely upset the power hungry Agamemnon, who always demanded first place among the Achaean fleet. Yet the soldiers from Phtia did most of the winning and most of the fighting and there was nothing the king of Mycenea could do about it. Achilles then frowned, taking note of his younger cousin stomping across the hull on the opposite side of the vessel. He had ordered Patroclus to stay behind and guard the ship, and the boy was not taking kindly to this.
"But I'm ready, you taught me how to fight!" Patroclus had protested, but to no avail. Achilles then grabbed him by the back of his neck and whispered closely, preventing the others from witnessing their argument. "Cousin, I can't fight the Trojans if I'm concerned for you, now guard the ship!"
He was not a Myrmidon yet, and Achilles would not risk his participating in the battle unless he finished his training. It would take a few more years to become a full-fledged soldier and as a result, Patroclus had no choice but to wait. Still, there was something humiliating about keeping watch with the old one-legged cook who mended broken spears, while the rest of the army fought and died in glory.
Achilles sighed. He would have to talk to him later. As of now, there was work to do and a fight to win.
"Myrmidons," he called out, scanning the faces of his soldiers. They straightened at the sound of his voice, and he crossed his arms to address them. "My brothers of the sword. I'd rather fight beside you than any army of thousands. Let no man forget how menacing we are...we are lions!" he roared, and the Myrmidons cheered, their spears thudding on the floorboards beneath them.
He pointed at the horizon ahead. "Do you know what's there, waiting beyond that beach? Immortality. Take it! It's yours!"
Their shouting grew louder and soon, cheers from the other Phtian ships added to the level of din. Within minutes, the oarsmen gave one last mighty row and the tar-caked keel of Achilles' ship beached the white Trojan sand. Achilles put on his helmet and grabbed a coiled rope, hurling himself onto the ground. The Myrmidons followed his lead, climbing down from their vessels, their numbers pouring out in waves across the dunes.
Suddenly, a rain of arrows whistled through the air and four Myrmidons were struck even before they landed. They tumbled into the sea, while the rest of their comrades managed to escape the Trojan line of defense, which took the form of archers scurrying down the beach to face the Achaeans.
Like ants invading a defenseless foothill, the Myrmidons spread across the plains of Troy, their incredible speed making it near impossible for the defenders to pierce through.
A lot could happen in a little less than an hour.
Briseis awoke that morning to the strangest sensation. Something was not quite right. Rays of sunlight from the window momentarily blinded her and she rubbed her eyes. It was early -- she still had two hours before she had to report for priestess duty -- and yet...
Noise.
Loud shouts were heard from outside the temple and she immediately stood up, leaving her small bed to see what the trouble was. The scene that greeted her made her freeze in terror. Trojan archers were scattered in all corners of the beach, unsuccessfully trying to form a fortification against an army of stampeding foreigners.
The Greeks had arrived.
Briseis dressed in haste and left her room, running towards the heart of the temple were the sacrificial altar was situated. How could this be happening? According to Archeptolemus, her uncle's royal seer, the Greeks would be arriving in two weeks time, no earlier than that. By then, she and the rest of the acolytes would already have relocated to a safer place, free to worship the sun god within the safety of Troy's walls.
She stopped when she saw her superior in the middle of the main chamber, hovering over the sacrificial altar. Khryses stood over the remains of a slaughtered calf, sprinkling barley wheat onto its raw hide.
"What...what is happening?!!" The panic in her voice halted the small ceremony and he turned to regard her, his complexion pale and haggard.
"I see you were the first to rise," he said, "you must now wake the others, so that we can commence with this offering. The sooner this is completed, the better."
"A...aren't we supposed to be leaving?" Briseis stared at him as if he had lost his mind. "The Greeks will be arriving any moment now, and if we tarry-
"My child," Khryses said, tiredly." We cannot leave in a situation such as this. Our soldiers are dying out there, and this sacrifice may be essential for a Trojan victory. When Apollo hears this call and accepts this gift, he may very well grant us mercy and turn the tide of favor to the Trojans."
"But...but..." Briseis sputtered. Strong as her faith was, the thought of waiting for the Greeks to arrive and sack the temple while they said their prayers did not sit well with her. Heaven forbid that they should be killed while performing the ritual itself.
As if he had read her mind, Khryses held her shoulders and forced her to look at him. "We will offer our lives if needed, but we cannot leave the men without giving some form of aid...in prayer or medicinal service...now go, and wake my daughter before you approach the rest."
Briseis nodded, and fled to fetch Chryseis. She was too distraught to argue with Khryses but she knew that her commitment not only meant serving the sun god, but obeying his head priest. Her only hope was that Hector had already summoned his Apollonian guard in the main city of Illium, and that they would get to the beach before the Greeks could inflict further damage.
Hundreds of flaming arrows flew into the air, some meeting their mark, some landing harmlessly in the dark seawater, and some getting buried beneath the packed sand. "GO FORWARD!" Eudorus cried, as he lifted his shield to ward of an oncoming arrowhead. The Myrmidons clustered together and pursued their leader, waiting for his signal.
Achilles ran a few yards ahead of them, his feet too swift for the Trojan archers to take aim. He suddenly skidded onto the ground in a kneeling position and a cloud of dust formed around him. He raised his shield with one hand, and with the other he beckoned his soldiers to do the same. Like a pack of wolves, the Myrmidons howled, the first squadron landing to his right, the second to his left, and the rest of the army came together in line behind him. As one, they raised their shields and their bronze weapons formed an impregnable fortress; a large barricade that prevented the onslaught of arrows from getting through.
"ON MY COMMAND!" Achilles shouted, and with this barrier intact, the Myrmidons rose from their kneeling positions and slowly walked forward. Arrows hit their mass of connected shields but were unable to penetrate, and when they marched a few feet away from the Trojans, Eudorus was given the order to break off. They disbanded, cutting into the group of archers before they could even shoot.
In a few minutes, the Myrmidons split into their assigned units, running in different directions, effectively breaking into the Trojan ranks. On the forefront, Achilles sprinted over the white sand, three arrows in his shield. No man alive could outrun him, and showers of arrows proved useless against his speed. He threw his spear and it struck a large Trojan officer squarely in the middle of his forehead, and this man fell, blood oozing from the hole on his brow.
He quickly picked up a spear from the ground and launched it into the stomach of another enemy, simultaneously ramming his shield at the men on his opposing side. A cluster of these soldiers fell at the strength of this impact and Achilles once again struck the bloody spear into the throat of another man, who attempted to cut him down.
Running forward, he leaped into the thick of the battle, this time dropping his spear and using his sword for attack. He thrusted and parried, his blade swinging this way and that, taking life after life faster than anyone else present. A group of Trojans attempted to halt his progress, five men against one, but he was ready for them. He jumped into the air like scorpion about to sting a handful of beetles and spinning around, his sword broke through the skin of the first man's throat, sliced through the legs of the second and third, paralyzing them- and three quick strikes through the collarbones of the remaining contenders immediately stopped the beating of their hearts.
And so the day went on, with Achilles making his way through the beach, its powder white sand now stained with the blood of the dead. On several occasions, he took on more than one Trojan at a time, sometimes crisscrossing his arms in a downward motion, striking their heads or their shoulders. In others, he made use of more aggressive tactics, soaring into the air where he could get an excellent range, then descending to literally strike the hearts of his enemies below. Rarely was he struck back- one small nick here and there, a gash on his armor and a wound on his arm but nothing seemed to faze him. In fact, these battle marks only served to sustain his battle rage, and he continued to wreak havoc on the Trojan army, his sword flashing in the heat of day, killing even before his feet touched the ground.
Soon, when even the shiny hilt of his sword was wet with blood and his armor lay tainted with the remains of thousands of Trojans, he turned towards the temple, located in the upper side of the beach.
Eudorus appeared from the corner of his eye, panting. Achiles was pleased to see his chief warrior alive. Tired, covered in blood, but alive and well, eager to follow his lead. Likewise, it gave him great pleasure to behold the rest of his Myrmidon moving towards the structure that housed Apollo's servants, with most of the Trojans massacred in their wake.
"Breathe, my friend," Achilles said, resting a hand on Eudorus' shoulder. He then turned and raced towards the temple steps.
It happened just as Briseis feared it would. By the middle part of their ceremony, the noise outside grew so loud that the simple task of hearing Khryses' chanting was rendered nearly impossible. Chryseis kept glaring at her from a distance, hissing at her to concentrate but none of this worked in calming her tense disposition. She kept on stealing nervous glances around her, pressing her hands together in an attempt to still their trembling.
All of a sudden, a spear sliced through the air and one of the acolytes fell, clutching his chest in shock. Chryseis screamed and Briseis watched the poor man sink down in slow motion, landing in a pool of his own blood. It was her first time to witness a murder and she had not even made sense of what had just happened when several other spears came raining down upon them. Briseis instinctively ducked, huddling close to the ground, her hands protectively covering her head.
All hell broke loose then, and her fellow priests, who had been performing a solemn act in silence, were now running around in all directions, shouting, looking for a place to hide.
"STAY CALM!" Khryses shouted above the din, "WE HAVE TO HOLD OUR GROUND- PANIC WON'T SOLVE ANYTHING!"
But his followers ignored him, their earlier serenity forgotten in the face of this new threat. More bodies fell and when Briseis tilted her head she saw a crowd of soldiers running towards the temple's entrance.
They were not wearing Trojan armor.
She paled in fear, and arose from her prone position to make a mad dash for the opposite end of the temple, where she knew another exit lay. She would've succeeded had it not been for a priest who was slain right in front of her, the protruding end of a spear sticking out of his chest. Just as he was about to fall, he reached out and grabbed her shoulders, bringing her down with him. She watched in horror as he attempted to speak but blood spurted out of his mouth and onto her face. The man died with her in his arms.
Soldiers filled the temple in droves, and Briseis twisted with all her might, pulling at the arms that held her captive. After much effort, she pried them loose and made a second attempt at escape. From the corner of her eye, she saw a soldier lunge and strike Khryses in the chest and his mouth opened in great pain, his eyes meeting hers from where he stood.
"My...my daughter," he gasped, and the merciless soldier struck him once again.
Before the soldier could notice her skulking about, Briseis fled from the main room, narrowly missing an onslaught of flying spears. Bodies of dead priests and temple maids were already heaped upon the door of the inner room she was headed for and she had to practically jump over them, stilling her heart against the fact that she knew these newly dead victims.
She kept her mind perfectly blank as she ran for cover, her motions dictated entirely by a survival instinct that surfaced when needed. Later, there would be an occasion to weep and mourn the tragedy that had befallen this house of worship, but any show of emotion now would be the death of her.
Against her will, she suddenly remembered Khryses' last words. Where was Chryseis? Her question was answered when she entered the next room. As luck would have it, it was also filled with fighting soldiers.
Her presence was immediately made apparent to a horde of Greek soldiers nearby and they grinned widely, advancing onward. Like wolves preparing to attack a defenseless ewe, they gradually had her surrounded, their swords drawn on both sides.
Her heart beating like a mad thing, Briseis slowly backed up and moved away from them, looking over her shoulder, trying to decide if returning to the main chamber was feasible. But other soldiers had already positioned themselves from behind and there was nothing more she could do. She prayed then, that these men would at least be kind enough to spare her life- she was only eighteen! This could not be happening...but the other temple maids had been slain. What was to prevent the Greeks from killing her on the spot?
At that moment, she saw Chryseis in the far end of the room, struggling with an attacker. "GET YOUR FILTHY HANDS OFF ME!" the head priest's daughter cried, and she pointed an accusing finger at Briseis. "WHY DON'T YOU TAKE HER INSTEAD? SHE'S A PRINCESS I TELL YOU- A PRINCESS!!!" Her captor lost patience with her, and roughly boxed her cheeks. Chryseis lost consciousness and the man picked her up, slinging her over his shoulder as one would a sack of rice.
"Well, well. Look what we have here." The cold voice drew Briseis' attention from her fallen peer.
One of the Greeks reached out and grabbed a fistful of her long hair. She yelped in pain, making them laugh. As one treated a piece of worthless chattel, her tormentor dragged her to his side and she desperately tried to pry his fingers loose, feeling as if her scalp would tear from such brutal force. "Hmm...trying to escape my grasp, are you?" he laughed and without warning, his fist shot up and struck her face. Her head snapped back but she refused to let go of his hands, her head beginning to ache when he tightened his hold on her scalp.
"Please," she panted, tasting fresh blood on her lower lip. Her struggles only served to amuse them further. Another soldier joined the fun, and struck her mid region, so hard that she doubled over, her arms coming down protectively over her stomach.
The man bent and softly whispered. "I don't relish this task, but 'tis my duty to bring down the enemy, be it a man or a woman." He drew his sword from its sheath. "If you're a good girl this won't take very long and you'll soon be able to reunite with your sun god in the afterlife."
He raised his weapon and she closed her eyes, waiting for the deathblow.
...but a minute had passed and nothing happened. Briseis opened her eyes, wondering at the delay. She found her captor staring at her intently, studying her face with new interest.
"What is the matter, Alcimus?" one of them asked. "Do you need help with that?"
He shook his head and tilted her chin up, a strange expression in his eyes. "This girl is quite beautiful- what if we were to include her in the loot instead? She'd make a fine prize."
"For Achilles? I think not," his comrade answered, frowning. "I recall Eudorus saying that the master wanted no part in the whoring. Said he had enough of that in Thessaly and wanted to focus on the war, which is what he really came for."
"We can sell her to Agamemnon then," Alcimus said. "Regardless of who wants her, she can be displayed along with the treasures in the main tent, when the kings divide the plunder among themselves. That way, one of them can buy her if he so wishes."
"Would Achilles allow that?"
"He said we could take anything valuable from here, but that if it was a woman we could include her in the show of wealth at the next assembly."
"Alright then, now silence her and make it quick."
A heavy blow knocked Briseis out cold, and she knew no more.
Standing on top of the temple steps, Achilles scanned the unfolding scene in smirking triumph. Scattered across the area, the Trojans were nursing in their defeat. A great many of them lay dead on the beach, the rest whimpering in the sand, seriously wounded. Those who escaped with their lives scampered away in retreat, unable to hinder the forceful invasion.
Achilles heard his name repeatedly being chanted by the arriving Greeks, men bashing their swords against their shields, cheering him in his victory. He had won a great battle that day and he imagined with great pleasure, Agamemnon's fury at the being so highly praised by the entire Greek army.
Earlier, plenty of troops from Illium had arrived to assist the Trojan archers, but this increase did little for their cause, as they were still no match for the Myrmidon fury that was recently unleashed.
Reinforcements had also arrived for the Achaeans; in the form of 12 squadrons led by Ajax Telamon, the hulking king of Salamis. Despite this additional aid, the Myrmidons did most of the fighting, which explained Achilles current state of satisfaction.
Achilles called out to his men, who huddled at the bottom of the temple. "The sun god is a patron of Troy, our enemy...take whatever treasure you can find. The rest you may donate to the general assembly this evening."
The Myrmidons shouted in glee and ran inside the temple, eager to partake of what they so deserved.
"With your permission, my lord" Eudorus said, coming up behind him.
"Speak," Achilles ordered, removing his helmet, which dripped with the blood of those he had slain. In spite of the recent 'exercise', he was not tired in the least and his breathing was even.
"Apollo sees everything," Eudorus said. "Perhaps it is not wise to offend him."
Achilles nodded, a wicked idea forming in his mind. He was not a religious man, and he took great pains to prove that the only form of glory was the one earned by men who worked hard for it. Glory belonged to soldiers who fought and died; not to an absentee god who did little to help those who worshipped him.
He walked over to the Apollo's towering statue, which stood in front of the temple. With a swing of his sword, he swiftly beheaded the golden idol and Eudorus gasped in horror at the unspeakable act.
Achilles laughed at his first in command's stricken expression, but his attention was diverted by the sound of hoof beats some two hundred yards away from where they were.
Hector's Apollonian guards were galloping across the plains, heading straight for the temple.
Achilles perked at the sight of his supposed archrival. "Warn the men," he said, watching the approaching army. Eudorus made move to re-enter the temple but was halted midway, Achilles' hand motioning towards the spear he held.
"Wait."
Achilles took the weapon from him and narrowed his eyes, hefting the spear- judging the distance. He uncoiled his body and lunged, throwing it into the air. It flew a solid hundred yards before making its mark, striking Tecton, Hector's right hand man. The shaft pierced through the man's breastplate and he was knocked off his horse, skewering into the ground.
Hector, who had not expected such accuracy, gasped as he beheld his comrade, lying in the dust. Tecton's eyes were wide open, uncomprehending in death as his hands clutched at the spear that killed him.
When the Trojans were a good fifty yards away, Hector lifted his own spear and threw it right back...but it missed its target when Achilles tipped his head to the side in the last possible second, a lazy movement meant to convey his amusement at the prince's counterattack. He smiled coldly at Hector and his men, and then disappeared into the temple, pursued by an awed Eudorus.
Sitting in an alcove of the altar room, Achilles ignored the exploding war cries in the outer chambers of the temple. The Trojan army had entered the shrine with caution, only to be ambushed by the Myrmidons in a surprise attack. Like a predator amongst the shadows, he waited for the Trojan prince to enter the room- sure as he was of Hector's surviving the ongoing scuffle.
True enough, his quarry stepped into the room after a few minutes, with a sword warily raised.
"You're very brave or very stupid to come after me alone." Achilles said, emerging from the darkness. "You must be Hector."
Hector squinted, his eyes adjusting to the dim light. When he finally detected the source of the voice, he gestured to the piled corpses carelessly thrown in a corner. Two priests lay dead on the cold stone floor, their throats slit, their robes soaked in blood. "These priests weren't armed!"
"I didn't kill them," Achilles replied, "where's the challenge in that?"
Hector was in no mood for idle talk. He quickly charged but Achilles jumped out of his reach and landed on the statue by the altar. Standing aloft the figure, he looked down at Hector, his stance relaxed and playful. He pointed his sword at him. "Do you know who I am?"
"Fight me!" Hector snapped, not answering his question.
Achilles' grin widened, and he regarded the prince the way a cat toyed with a mouse it had just caught. "Why kill you now, prince of Troy? With no one here to see you fall?" He vaulted off the statue and backed into an archway, leaving Hector no choice but to follow him.
Outside, in the bright light of day, Hector approached his nemesis, ignoring the Myrmidons who arrived to cluster around their king.
"The Trojans are dead, my lord." Eudorus said, and Achilles nodded, watching several Greek armies set up camp by the beach.
"Why did you come here?" Hector asked, unmindful of the fact that he was surrounded.
"They'll be talking about this war for a thousand years," was the reply.
"In a thousand years the dust from our bones will be gone."
"Yes, prince. But our names will remain."
Hector continued to stare at him in an unflattering manner and Achilles sighed in exasperation. "Go home, prince. Drink some wine. Make love to your wife. Tomorrow we'll have our war."
"You speak of war as if it's a game," Hector accused, "but how many wives wait at Troy's gates for husbands they'll never see again?"
"Perhaps your brother can comfort them. I hear he's good at charming other men's wives."
Hector flinched in embarrassment. There was no denying Paris' foolishness, and everyone from the lowest washerwoman to the king of Phtia himself, knew of the adulterer's folly that had been the cause of this war. Achilles made a tusking sound, gesturing for him to leave and Hector slowly backed away, paying no heed to the enemies who watched his departure.
"My lord, you let him go?" Eudorus asked, watching the Trojan prince descend the temple steps, mount his horse and ride off to join the rest of the retreating Trojans.
"It's too early in the day for killing princes."
With those words, Achilles headed for the shrine's roof, where he raised his bloody sword into the sky. In response to this greeting, clamor erupted from all ships spanning the horizon and Achilles' name was heard throughout the deafening noise.
(to be continued...)
Author's notes: Sorry for the violent chapter but the Iliad is far worse, at least. Also, I'll be posting shorter chapters from now on- but I'll be updating more often to make up for it.
Again, please read and review. And feel free to criticize or offer suggestions along the way.
Some extra notes:
Achaeans: The Greeks
Illium/Illios: Troy
Mycenae: Agamemnon's kingdom.
Phtia: Achilles' kingdom. He's actually a prince in the Iliad. In this fic, his father Peleus is already dead, so that makes him king.
The Myrmidons: I compared them to ants during the fight scene because they literally descended from ants in the original myth. There was a plague that nearly wiped out the entire population of Phtia and one of Achilles' ancestors prayed for a solution to the problem. I think it was Zeus who turned a large colony of ants into people...the Myrmidons.
On the other hand, this isn't what happened in Troy and this isn't what happened here, either. I like to keep things realistic; so I just added mild references.
Also, in the film, Achilles only had 50 men...in here, as a king, he has soldiers occupying 50 ships. The way it was in the Iliad.
