HELEN: The Wine Dark Sea

The awestruck Myrmidons followed the conversation closely, shrugged and exchanged puzzled glances. They had the Trojan king within reach of their blades, and yet Achilles was giving Priam the gift of his son's body. They knew they must follow the lead of their warlord, and no one stirred or raised a hand against the elderly ruler.

Priam had brought a royal purple blanket to wrap his son's scarred and battered body so the sight would not mar his mother's dreams, but Apollo had protected the fallen warrior even in death, his body had not decayed. There was no terrible stench of death, and he was as handsome as he'd been in life. Priam wrapped him gently and leaving the gleaming treasure ransom, he mounted the mule cart, cracked the whip and started for home to bury the finest warrior Troy would ever see.

* * *

On Troy's high wall, Cassandra saw her father returning with her brother's body and began to cry to the gods with a pitiful wail. The sounds of her terrible grief spread over the city and brought others running. She called down to them, "Oh men and women of Troy, if ever you have welcomed our Hektor home from battle, come now and greet him one last time."

As the Scaean Gate opened, women rent their hair and clothes and men beat their shields with their swords or spears in a loud, grim rhythm. "Hektor, our beloved," they chanted.

When Andromache joined Cassandra none could bear to hear the new widow's lament when their own grief ran so deep. All of Troy wept with King Priam and Queen Hecuba and the royal family. The city had never seen such terrible grief.

Hector's body was tenderly washed, anointed with oil, and carefully wrapped in a fine linen shroud. Mourning for the fallen hero lasted nine days before his body was laid upon a high funeral pyre. Paris, Helenus and Deiphobus were among the brothers to collect Hektor's bones. The precious remnants of his life were placed in a golden chest embossed with rearing stallions, and it was buried beneath a great stone mound.

Hoping to escape notice, Helen stood back, but Deiphobus caught her eye. He was not as well-built as Hektor, but he was equally handsome as all of King Priam's sons were. He nodded, a brief sign of recognition she welcomed with a sad smile. The cost of the terrible war tore at her conscience both day and night, and his considerate greeting eased her sorrow only briefly. She returned to her bedchamber before anyone else noticed her in the crowd and waited for Paris to come to her as she knew he would.

It was late at night when he came stumbling into their chamber. He flung himself across the end of the bed, as he had so many times, and knowing his dreams would be dark and sad, Helen let him sleep.

* * *

Aethra sat with Andromache long into the night. "You mustn't kill Hektor in your heart," she advised softly. "Keep him with you always as strong and handsome as he was in life. Let him live again in your dreams."

Andromache listened to the elderly queen's comforting words, but they failed to ease her anguish. "My heartbreak will never end, and without Hektor, Troy is sliding toward ruin. Our men will still fight bravely, but without his fierce leadership they'll all fall away. It has all been for naught."

"You are very young," Aethra posed, "and life may give you many joys yet to come. Care for your son and be grateful every day for the love you shared with Hektor. Make it an endless blessing."

"Had I not cared so much, I wouldn't be in such excruciating pain now. I fear we'll all become slaves, and it won't be a life worth living."

Growing weary, Aethra rose and stretched. "You must make it so, child, as I have. It will all be up to you."

* * *

The next morning, the Trojans took up their shields and weapons, and the Greeks responded with a vicious attack. With Achilles to lead them, they fought with a new fury but the gods were still reluctant to let Troy fall. They played their perverse games from the heights of Mount Olympus, and argued as through the warriors on both sides were little toy figures carved of wood rather than men made of flesh and blood.

Helen returned to the tents were the wounded lay and sat with dying men. They were often so weak they mistook her for their mother or sweetheart, and she wh

ispered the loving words they longed to hear. She closed their eyes when they drew their last breath, and choking back her own anguish, she moved on to the next man who called for someone dear. Her days passed quickly, and she kept no count of those lost for the number would have been too sad to contemplate.

* * *

In the days that followed, Achilles, Ajax and Odysseus fought together, each daring the other on. They battled with such wild fervor they routed the Trojans, forced them back against the Scaean Gate. Eager to follow them through, Odysseus pointed the way up the steep slope to Priam's palace at the top of the hill. Ajax shouted rumbling threats and brandished his long sword. Achilles looked up at the high citadel tower and saw Paris pulling back the string on a powerful recurve bow and raised his shield.

Apollo nudged the Trojan prince as he released the poison tipped arrow, and it found its mark in Achilles' heel, just as he had cut down two Trojan fighters. He grabbed at his heel, but the mighty warrior fell with a piercing scream and died before an incredulous Ajax and Odysseus had realized he'd been wounded. Ajax heaved his friend's body to his shoulder and recovered his amazing shield, while Odysseus fought with a wild jabbing spear to protect them all as they retreated to the safety of their own troops.

The Greek warriors formed a circle around Achilles' body, unable to believe their greatest warrior lay dead. Men fell to their knees crying, while others came running, certain the awful news spreading through the camp could not possibly be true. How could their mighty, beloved hero have been felled by a single arrow? Some crept close to touch his body with a gentle farewell caress, and they would carry that sacred moment with them for the rest of their lives.

A stolid Ajax carried Achilles' body through the astonished ranks to his shelter and laid him down to remove his armor. He set his four-horned helmet aside and unbuckled his breastplate. Odysseus came and stood with him. "I never thought I'd be the one to bury him," he said. "Nothing could be sadder, but his fame will live forever."

"We were as foolish as Patroclus and advanced too far," Ajax replied. "In the heat of battle, none of us thought of the risk, and Achilles has paid the price."

Funeral preparations began, with Achilles accorded the highest honors. His Myrmidons built the highest funeral pyre ever built and stood around it thrusting their spears up and down and chanting while the flames consumed the hero's body, "Achilles, Achilles!"

They collected his bones and buried them beside his dear friend Patroclus. Each thought the war had cost them far too much, but none was willing to go home without avenging their champion Achilles' death.

Ajax stepped forward to speak to the gathered assembly of grieving warriors. "I carried Achilles' body to safety to prevent it from being dishonored and desecrated by the vile Trojans. You know me to be a fierce warrior. I saved our ships from Hektor's attack, and therefore, Achilles' armor should be awarded to me. I'll always wear it into battle with pride."

Agamemnon glanced toward Odysseus, who rose to respond. "You are a great warrior it is true, Ajax. No one doubts your courage, or skill, but Achilles' armor should now belong to me." His deep voice rolled over the crowd in a convincing wave. He was more knowledgeable where strategy was concerned, a far finer orator, and used his talents well to compliment Ajax repeatedly, and yet emphasize why he was the man who should now wear the glorious set of armor the god Hephaestus had created for Achilles.

When the matter came to a vote, Odysseus was overwhelmingly chosen and awarded Achilles' armor. Ajax flew into a wild rage and cursed them all for relying on his strength, but denying him his just reward. His fury grew until he could no longer bear it, and he threw himself upon his own sword and died with a curse still on his lips.