In Ajax's tent, Cassandra is anything but afraid. If anything, Ajax should be afraid of her.
"I've never seen a woman with hair as red as yours, priestess."
"Priestess, princess, whichever you prefer."
"And where exactly are you a princess of?"
"Troy. King Priam is my father."
"Is that why you don't fear me?"
"You could wield Zeus' thunderbolt and I still wouldn't fear you. If you were the ferryman of the dead, I would pray for the day you carry me across the river styx. Death is all I have longed for. My father has no path in life but piety, my mother is dead, my twin brother has brought destruction upon his own people, and the only man in my family who I can truly rely on, might end up dead and burning on a pyre tomorrow. Hector is the only one of my brothers with any sense."
"You must be Casandra then. Word has spread of your curse across the Aegean even into my kingdom. But are you even cursed?"
"I don't know, my prince. Why don't you ask Apollo yourself?"
Ajax raises his hand to slap Cassandra, but she looks him in the eye, and he changes his mind.
"Achilles gave you to me, which means I can do what I want with you. I can even kill you if I want to."
"So what is stopping you?"
"Your beauty will fade if I kill you. And I like looking at you."
"And I know that whether it is me, or my brother in battle, I know you will never kill a member of the Trojan royal family."
Ajax walks out of his tent, and he takes his axe with him. Since he does not want to kill Cassandra, he wants to take his rage out on something, so he swings his axe into the sand and digs a hole. He lets it fill with water from the sea.
Most of the ships have been hauled onto the beach. Hundreds of soldiers finish digging a long trench in the sand. Pikes are anchored and other fortifications constructed to protect the tents and ships from attack.
In the dying light, the Trojans prepare their city for siege. Gray-bearded officers oversee the reinforcement of the main gates. Soldiers haul thousands of arrows atop the city walls.
A massive congregation at the temple of Zeus kneels before the thunder god's statue while Priests burn the bodies of fallen Trojan soldiers on tall pyres. The widows keen.
The beach is lit by thousands of torches. The Hellenes have transformed the serene beach into a well-fortified camp.
In the Trojan great hall, Priam stands by the room's open archway. Beyond the city he sees his beach occupied by the tremendous Greek force. Hector, Paris, and several of Troy's leading generals, aritocrats and priests sit around the long table. One of the generals, Glaucus, pounds the table with his fist.
"If they want a war, we'll give them a war. I'd match the best of Troy against the best of Hellas any day."
Velior, a big-bellied nobleman, shakes his head.
"The best of Hellas outnumber the best of Troy, two to one."
Velior looks at Paris until the prince returns his gaze.
"I suggest diplomacy. The Hellenes came here for one thing. Let's be honest, my friends. Trojans are burning on the pyre right now because of one youthful indiscretion."
Paris looks away from Velior, knowing he has nothing to say back to him.
"Glaucus, you've fought with me for forty years. Can we win this war?"
"Our walls have never been breached. Our archers are the best in the world. And we have Hector. His men would fight the shades of Tartarus if he commanded. Yes, my king. We can win."
Archeptolemus, high priest of Troy, wearing a long white robe embroidered with gold thread, now raises his voice.
"I spoke with two farmers today. They saw an eagle flying with a serpent clutched in its talons. This is a sign from Apollo. We will win a great victory tomorrow. Troy is the eagle. The Hellenes-."
"Bird signs You want to plan our strategy based on bird signs?"
"Hector, show respect. When Archeptolemus prophesied four years of drought, we dug deeper wells. The drought came and we had water to drink. The high priest is a servant of the gods."
"And I'm a servant of Troy. I've always honored the gods, father. You know that. But today I fought with a Hellene who desecrated the statue of Apollo. Apollo didn't strike the man down. The gods won't fight this war for us."
"There won't be a war."
Paris stands up, finally ready to speak and to take the blame for his actions.
"This is not a conflict of nations. It's a dispute between two men. And I don't want to see another Trojan die because of me."
"Paris-."
"No, morning I will challenge Menelaus for the right to Helen. The winner will take her home. The loser will burn before nightfall."
Paris leaves the room. The others sit in stunned silence.
"Does he have a chance?"
Everyone looks at Hector, who meditates before answering.
"I want our army outside the gate in the morning. Agamemnon won't let this war end with a duel."
Priam's gardens are wondrous. Palm trees grow in the courtyard. Flowered vines climb the walls. Aeolian harps chime in the breeze. Priam and Paris sitting on a bench, facing a statue of Aphrodite. The king holds a cloth-wrapped bundle in his lap.
"Father, I, I'm sorry for the pain I've caused you. I-."
"Do you love her?"
Paris looks up at the statue of Aphrodite.
"You're a great king because you love your country so much. Every blade of grass, every grain of sand, every rock in the river. You love all of Troy. That is the way I love Helen."
Priam nods and contemplates the goddess of beauty.
"I've fought many wars in my time. Some were fought for land, some for power, some for glory. I suppose fighting for love makes more sense than all the rest."
Paris says nothing, but his father's words seem to relieve a great burden from his shoulders.
"But I won't be the one fighting."
He hands Paris the bundle. Paris, curious, begins unwrapping the cloth. Finally the object is uncovered: a shining sword, expertly forged, inscribed with the seal of Troy.
"The sword of Troy."
"My father carried this sword, and his father before him, all the way back to the founding of Troy. The history of our people was written with this sword. Carry it with you tomorrow."
Paris holds the sword up and it glows in the moonlight.
"The spirit of Troy is in that sword. As long as a Trojan carries it, our people have a future."
In Hector's chambers, Hector sits on the bed beside Andromache, who nurses their baby boy. Hector looks exhausted. He stares at his son.
"He has no idea what's happening."
"Thank the gods."
"The man who killed Tecton outside Apollo's temple. I've never seen a spear thrown like that. An impossible throw. And I think, that man was Achilles."
"Cassandra,Briseis, and Chryseis were in Apollo's temple this morning."
Hector stares at Andromache.
"Are you sure?"
She nods, swallows hard, and closes her eyes. After a moment Hector, his eyes full of sorrow, runs his hand through her long hair.
"I need to see my brother."
"Don't go."
"I need to speak with him."
"I mean 't go. You've fought enough. Let other men go out there."
"You think I want to fight, my love? I want to see my son grow tall. I want to see the girls chasing after him."
"Just like they chased his father?"
"He's much more handsome than I ever was."
For a moment they sit quietly, watching their son.
"I lost seven brothers in the Spartan Wars. You'd think I'd be good at losing by now. I can't lose you. I won't survive."
Hector stares at her for a moment before pulling her close and kissing her. Everything is in this kiss, their entire past. Andromache finally lets him go and Hector walks out the door. As Hector walks to Paris's room, he spies someone in a dark cloak sneaking through the candle-lit hallway.
"Wait!"
The cloaked figure looks back and then runs. Hector begins chase. The fugitive runs through the archway at the end of the corridor and into the garden. Hector runs into the garden. He's far faster. He seizes his quarry and pulls aside the fugitive's cowl. It's Helen.
"Helen?"
By the light of the moon he examines her face. The stress of recent weeks has taken its toll, but the shadows beneath her eyes make her face more compelling than ever. Embarrassed by the awkwardness of their position, Hector stands and helps Helen to her feet.
"What are you doing out here?"
Helen runs. Hector catches her again after a few strides.
"Let me go!"
"Where?"
Helen struggles against Hector's grip, but it's useless.
"Let me go!"
Helen, still struggling, begins to cry. Hector pulls her to his chest. She cries for real now, violently sobbing, her mouth muffled against Hector's body.
"Shh. It's alright."
"I saw them die. I saw them burn. I saw them burning on the pyres. It's all my fault."
"No."
"It is. You know it is. All those widows. I still hear them screaming."
Helen takes a deep breath, but she manages to control herself.
"They died because I'm here."
Hector does not correct her. She pushes herself out of his grip.
"I'm going down to the ships."
"No, you're not."
"I'll give myself back to Menelaus. He can do what he wants. Kill me, make me his slave. Anything's better than this."
"It's too late for that. You think Agamemnon cares about his brother's marriage? This is about power, not love."
"Paris is going to fight in the morning?"
"Yes."
"Menelaus will kill him. I won't let that happen."
"It's his decision."
"No, no. I can't ask anyone to fight for me. I'm no longer the queen of Sparta."
Hector bows to Helen, and he kisses her hand.
"You're a princess of Troy, and my brother needs you tonight."
Helen stares at Hector in wonder. The words seem to bolster her spirit, and she smiles though her eyes are still wet. She nods and goes back to the palace.
Up and down the beach at dawn, thousands of Hellene warrior prepare for battle. Despite their vast numbers, the men are oddly quiet, each absorbed with his own thoughts.
Achilles sits cross-legged, arms held straight out in front of him, palms up. His bronze sword is balanced on his palms. Patroclus and Eudorus, armored for battle, enter the tent. Achilles does not look away from his blade. Though the sword must be heavy, his arms do not tremble.
"My lord, the army is marching."
"Let them march, we stay."
"But the men-."
Achilles glares at Eudorus, and his words falter.
"The men are ready."
"Agamemnon spat on my honor yesterday. I promised that girl her safety and he stole her from me. He had his men walk right into my tent and take what was given to me. Let him fight the Trojans today."
Eudorus and Patroclus exchange glances. Eudorus bows to Achilles and exits the tent. Patroclus remains behind.
"When I was very small, I saw my father kill a man with his bare hands."
Patroclus doesn't know how to respond to this, so he just listens.
"There's so much blood in a human body. You're ready to fight, Patroclus?"
"I am."
Achilles rests his sword on the ground. He stares at Patroclus for a moment before speaking.
"Are you ready to maime? To kill?"
Patroclus hesitates to answer.
"At night I see their faces. All the men I've killed. I see them standing on the far bank of the River Styx. They're waiting for me."
Patroclus stands absolutely still. He's never heard his cousin speak this way before.
"Some nights I walk among them. When I wake I can still hear their words. They say, 'Welcome, brother.'".
Achilles inspects the knuckles of his fist.
"Never hate the men you fight. All of us are mortals. All of us, wretched things, tumbled crying from our mother's loins. Only the gods are free from sorrows."
"I hate no one, cousin."
"Good. I've taught you how to fight, but I've never taught you why to fight."
"I fight for you."
"And who will you follow when I'm gone?"
Patroclus does not answer.
"Most soldiers battle for kings they've never met. They do what they're told. They die when they're told to die."
"Soldiers obey."
"We don't have much time to walk in the sun, Patroclus. After this life comes the underworld, an eternity telling stories to other shades. Don't tell them you died following some fool's orders."
"What should I tell them?"
"Tell them your name. If your life has been worthy, they'll know the rest."
Patroclus proceeds to leave Achilles' tent, but Achilles stops him.
"The girl I gave you. Did she say anything?"
"She told me her name, and that her father was the high priest of Apollo. She is resting now."
"The only reason Agamemnon didn't take her from you is because he knows I would behead him for taking anything from you. Don't let her out of your sight."
Patroclus nods, and goes to check on Chryseis. Achilles sinks back into his makeshift bed, and chugs down the rest of his wine.
"Come in, my brothers."