Dong
Dong
Dong
Hector stood bare-chested in the morning sun, eyes cast to the horizon and the massive fleet of solid shapes breaking from the shimmering haze thrown back by the sun-stoked waters.
Andromache held their son to her breast in the shade of their room, mindlessly rocking the babe. Astynax continued to wail.
Hector spared no words, not a single reassuring glance, for her his wife and mother of his son; his duty set before him. As he ran for his armor, Andromache came into the sunlight and squinted her hazel eyes at the sea. Hector had told her, had confided to her the grand, impossible scope of this conflict, but this… she cuddled her fussing child closer to her heart and pressed urgent kisses to his fuzzy crown. This sight, still yet far from her family, put the fear of Aries into her. She broke her attention like bread between her warrior husband, Troy's champion, the haunted coast, and the people scurrying like busy, busy ants through the streets below.
Hector would depart to greet the enemy ships filled with enemy soldiers with a blaze of glory upon his head, and it would be magnificent and inspirational to every level of man in witness. Only she, and perhaps little Paris, knew that Hector was not the undefeatable giant who felt no fear and no pain- oh, Hector felt fear, and yes, even pain! He was suseptable to doubt and guilt and regret. He was mortal after all; he bled. Not afraid for himself, in the end, but for his family, his people, his city. Let all the stones of all the walls be crushed to dust, their fine bobbles be melted down to balls of precious metal, only Hector would take this with no outcry or challenge, if he could find his way. His honor and strength were found in his ability to guide others- to serve, it came down to that. If he could not serve others, Hector would cease to have purpose and without purpose, Hector would cease to be.
Let you Greeks bring what might you may against us, Andromache defied the looming sails drawing closer with each moment, Hector will always be a better man than any you send against him, kings or lords or mighty warriors! Let you Greeks have what you can take!
Hector vaulted on to his horse. Proud creature that it was, it gave no quarrel this time, willingly surrendering to the sharp kick of its masters heels. As Hector galloped from the stables and through the palace gates into the city, Hector's bronze helmet shone in the sun.
Paris lightly went to his window, his hands trembling as they held away the sheer curtain he'd dawn sometime in the night. A knock at his door and the voice of the amusing, and motherly, youth who'd been seeing to his consummate care since his arrival in Troy became second to the hollow, menace of the warning bell echoing across the city. Taking a deep, full breath of tangy open air, Paris whispered, "So it begins."
A tear skated down his cheek and shivered on his chin.
Dong
Dong
Men rose from wrinkled beds and the arms of sated, sorrowful wives to fulfill private superstitions and make their offerings to the gods. The men donned their armor solemnly and the wives kissed them goodbye, cursing the ache in their breast and trying not to cry, they watched their husbands or lovers leave them to report to their superiors. The babes and children of these men slept soundly still curled around their dolls, not knowing the precautions being taken around them to secure their peace for on more evening, to save them from the swords and violent ill intentions of the approaching enemy.
Archers were put to the walls, their famed horsemen collected in the cavalry, the infantry was gathered; they had all trained and some had fought before. Undefeated Troy. Impregnable city of gold.
The soldiers stationed on the beach prepared as men forewarned of impending attack are compelled to do, digging in the sand and planting stakes like a farmer would sow his seeds, but these were not vessels for new growth, these were sharpened tools for death. Ditches were carved, archers ordered atop the squat, guard posts half buried by the sand itself, and the most was made of the incline from the beach to the flat plains that led up to the very gates of the city.
"Take up your positions!"
The footprints in the sand darkened as the sun rose overhead.
Dong
Dong
Mothers and sisters collected screaming children, traders grabbed up what good they could bare away in their arms, farmers and shop keepers sought out family and friends unaccounted for and ushering them to places of safety. Startled livestock became shy and stubborn, unmovable in the middle of the riot, needing bribes and a hand firm hand to move them along. Those outside the walls were herded in like sheep by armed soldiers of Troy carrying spears and shields and commanding tones of voice.
Priam left his gilded temple at dawn. Dizzy with hunger, chilled to his bones, and stiff from his spending a moons rotation on his knees in reverence to Apollo, the Great One, king Priam's feverish blue eyes widened and his muscles spasmed. The bells along the wall tolled. Greece was at his gates, Agamemnon at his shores, and the threat of an army larger than has ever been seen filled his view.
Priam clasped his hands together and lifted them above his head, towards the rising sun, chanting, "Hear me, Shining Apollo, be with your children now and in the hour of our greatest triumph!"
At the head of the Greek mass of ships, a single black sail pulled ahead.
TBC...
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