by catt dahman
Hector reached for his brother, Deiphobus, to ask for another spear, but as Hector flicked sweat from his eyes, he saw that his brother was not there and that there was no second spear to be thrown.
However, Achilles had another spear ready to let fly. It was then that Hector knew that in his taking a hero’s armor for his own and being prideful, Zeus had abandoned him.
Taking a deep breath, Hector made a vow to himself that he would die in the most brave, honorable way possible, in a way that men would speak about for years and tell their children about.
Hector drew his sword and ran at Achilles, aiming to kill him, but Achilles side stepped his opponent and thrust his spear, knowing that since it was his own armor Hector wore, it had a weak spot; he aimed for it. The spear went into Hector’s neck.
Blood poured as if from a spring, dousing the stolen armor.
“Please let my family have my body for burial, but know this, your body will be devoured by crows and wild dogs,” said Hector as he closed his eyes.
Achilles, eyes still crazed, used his knife to slit open the back of Hector’s heels, behind the tendon, and used the purple scarf given to Hector to thread through and tie to the back of his chariot. As Hector lay dying, his blood seeping into the dust, he groaned a little.
Never averting his eyes from the form of Paris who watched from above, Achilles whipped his chariot around and dragged Hector’s poor body over rocks and hard ground until Hector was dead; but he didn’t stop; he continued to parade the body of the fallen warrior.
On the top of the wall, Andromache fell into her mother–in–law’s arms, weeping and tearing at her own hair even as she cursed both Helen and Paris. Hecuba watched, eyes wet with tears, and silently begged for her son’s body to be returned. Hecuba patted Andromache gently as the older woman cried, “My son, my son….”
Priam clasped Paris to keep him from falling to the ground as he went pale and began shaking. “Give me my son,” Priam railed.
Paris held Helen tightly, and they watched.
Aphrodite, unable to stand seeing this end to the man who had chosen her as fairest of all the goddesses, cast a spell that made Hector’s body refuse decomposition so that all the twelve days that Achilles drove his chariot around, dragging Hector’s body in view of the wall, the body remained fresh, and he was still beautiful, despite death. To see his beauty was both a curse and a gift, as was everything when it came from gods and goddesses.
Chapter 20
Achilles
On the twelfth night, it was time for Helen’s monthly feeding, and on this occasion, she refused Paris’ encouragement to partake of their prisoners and demanded that her husband let her go out alone. He was worried about her safety and begged her to rethink this venture, but in pain, she was more determined and hungrier than usual, wanting nothing more than to rip flesh and gulp blood.
Outside the walls and dressed in ebony silks, Helen ran across the land and into the Greek camp, unseen and unheard. She kept her face and hair covered as she slid between tents and pavilions, listening and trying to decide on her targets.
Meanwhile, King Priam, in despair, begged the gods and goddesses for help; Thetis, Achilles own mother intervened and asked the Achaeans to allow Priam safe passage to meet with Achilles; all Achaeans along the way who saw Priam fell deeply and instantly asleep with the aid of Hermes.
Helen couldn’t get to Achilles to slake her hunger but still listened outside his tent as the King met with the hero. Priam begged for his son’s body. “I am coming to you as a father who has lost his son, and I am asking you, his murderer, to have pity and mercy upon an old man. Who had ever asked this?”
He offered gifts of gold bars, golden cups, embroidered silks, purple-dyed himations, and robes of fine wool and sheepskin.
Thinking of his mother’s pleas and fearing he would displease the gods, Achilles gave Priam the body of Hector and sent him on his way. He had made his point anyway and had done harm in revenge for the death of Patroclus.
Agamemnon returned Briseus to be the bedmate of Achilles and swore that he had never bedded her. He was fascinated by the mercy shown by the great hero.
“My mother asked that I hear him out,” Achilles said.
“Who is she?”
“Thetis. Her father, my grandfather was a sea god, and she is a sea goddess. Supposedly her son would be far greater than his own father and either live a humble and boring life or die young as a great hero.”
Briseus cocked her head and asked, “And who was your father? And since you have not had a plain life, you are destined to die early and dramatically?”
“So it was said. My father was an ordinary man. My mother could have married Zeus or Poseidon either, but had she done that, imagine the chaos had I, or another child of hers, been greater than either one of them? She couldn’t do that, so she married a regular man, Peleus. It was at their wedding that Paris Alexandros was asked to decide the fairest goddess after Eris threw the golden apple.”
“And he chose Aphrodite who gave Paris the most beautiful woman in the world: Helen.”
Achilles nodded, “You see how everything is connected? My mother’s wedding, Paris’ choice, Helen, my birth, this war; they are all connected. When I was tiny, my mother sought to make me immortal but didn’t think she could ask favors, and since she is a powerful goddess anyway, so she designed a plan.”
“What was that?”
“My mother held me by my heels and dipped me into water in a cauldron. The water was from the River Styx and made me who I am,” he said as he laughed. “While she was holding me by the heel and dipping me, my father came in, saw her, and thought she was hurting me as you can well imagine, but she was a water goddess.”
She dropped the baby boy and was so startled and angry because her husband had thought badly of her, so she went back to her familiar waters and left Peleus to raise Achilles who was trained in matters of battle by Chiron, the King of Centaur.
Thetis continuously tried to keep Achilles from the war, so when he was a little older, she dressed him as a female and sent him to the court of Lycomedes, the King of Scyrus. While Achilles or Pyrrhea, as he was called while disguised as a female, was there, he had an affair with Princess Derdamea who gave birth to Neoptolemia or Pyrrhus.
Briseus laughed merrily at that. “And how were you found out?”
“Odysseus, the sly bastard, set up a table of perfumes, baubles, and pretty things, and a sword and other weapons. I wasn’t thinking, and as I heard the call to war against invaders, and before I could stop myself, I reached out and took the sword as it was so beautifully wrought.”
“I like that story,” she said and laughed more.
“Briseus, Agamemnon said he never bedded you.”
“He didn’t.”
“Good, I won’t share my wife,” Achilles said, taking her hand and holding her close. He felt blessed by his mother Thetis that she would bless his marriage to Briseus.
“You have a wife already.”
“She is put aside.”
“As will I one day.”
“Ah, Briseus, I searched for my mate….”
Outside the tent, Helen stood for a few seconds, stunned by all she heard. She now knew a secret that might win the war. And she, also, now knew Achilles had a softer side, but if he had mercy and pity for others, she didn’t.
In a tent at the edge of camp, she found a man and his bedmate, both drowsy with wine and love. The woman didn’t move as she watched Helen lunge at the soldier and sink her fangs deep into his throat and gulp at the liquid greedily.
She was thrilled to drain the blood of this one. This was the man Menestheus who challenged Theseus for the throne of Athens, so Helen bit and ripped at his neck savagely, peeling away skin and making him suffer the keenest of pain.
Not one person loved her for herself. Paris loved her, but she was given to him as a reward; when had Helen ever been allowed free will or any man ever allowed freedom to love her or not? Menestheus, whom s
he drained, gazed at her with lust, and she knew it was the curse of her beauty that made him that way.
In fury, she gnawed and tore at him, ripping away muscles and strips of flesh until the vertebrae showed; she hated him for looking at her that way.
The woman, the bedmate, Helen might have let go, but she considered how every female she knew disliked her and saw her as a rival and an enemy because of her curse of beauty. Thinking of Andromache and Hecuba in particular, Helen pounced on the woman. She was able to cry out once before Helen ripped away her throat, silencing her as blood filled Helen’s mouth and stomach. Now, she was free of pain and hunger and could think.
Her revenge was so very sweet.
Before she left the tent, Helen hacked away at the bodies with her dagger of silver so they would die.
Sometimes the gods interfered with mortals on whims, just to see if an outcome might be more entertaining. Somehow, Helen was influenced to go to the tent of a certain man, Palamedes.
Palamedes was the man who had many years before, put Odysseus’s son on the row he was plowing, making the hero swerve and show that he wasn’t really insane and had to uphold the oath to Menelaus.
Odysseus never forgave the man for tricking him and making him have to sail with the Achaeans. While fighting the Trojans, Palamedes made Odysseus again the fool when the latter couldn’t find grain for their supplies, but Palamedes brought back three times what was asked for.
Palamedes was a smart man, one who had invented new counting methods and advanced math, explained statistics, and had even shown how to better count regiments of soldiers in a faster way.
In anger and for revenge, Odysseus forged a letter that made it seem that King Priam and Palamedes were corresponding and that the Achaean was a traitor to the Greek cause. Odysseus planted the letter and a small amount of gold in Palamedes’ tent to seal the plan and to be found as “evidence” of the treason.
That night, the gods gave Helen just a little push to enter the tent of Palamedes, and because of that small detail, many actions would be altered. As Achilles had pointed out, everything and everyone were linked and the smallest of details could change many lives.
Helen approached him, and he smiled at her, taking in the details of her body through the thin silk, and viewing her face and hair as she unveiled. “Beautiful, beautiful Helen,” he whispered.
“Palamedes, ” she moaned.
Rubbing against him, she urged him to kiss her. As they kissed and groped one another, she slid her head to the side and licked at his neck lustily, making him sigh. In one motion, she whipped her fangs into his carotid artery, puncturing the skin with a little pop; the salty, hot flow filled her mouth and ran down her chin as she gulped at the stream. It was delicious.
Because he was so tasty, she over-fed and felt a little drowsy and slow, but she still managed to hack at him with the dagger. She used a big pot to bash at his head and arms and disguise the wounds she had made, covered him, and then she fled the tent as whispered voices reached her sensitive ears.
It was Agamemnon coming to Palamedes’ tent.
Two men went inside, Agamemnon and Odysseus who pretended to find the secret letter and then showed it to Agamemnon who was shocked; next, he showed the hidden gold. The men whispered that Palamedes was indeed a traitor and should be punished. They grabbed cauldrons and heavy furniture, and while the man was in bed, they beat him over and over until his blood soaked the carpets beneath the bed, the covers, and walls of the tent and until his bones and flesh were mere pulp.
When the two men left, they ordered that anything of value be taken and that the tent and remains be tossed down an old dry well. They took the letter and gold with them to show the other men.
Helen was almost caught when she fled the camp: the tent was on fire, and the fabric and materials blazed intensely.
Chapter 21
The Death of Achilles
Paris was pacing when I returned.
He embraced me, asking me never to leave him worried that way again. I told Paris everything I had seen and heard; he was amazed by what I had learned. Paris, like I, knew knowledge was power.
For twelve days, funeral rites and games were conducted for the burial of Hector; the Achaeans didn’t engage their enemies in battle for those days but allowed the family to mourn. I alone knew what it had cost the King, and Paris knew some parts that I had shared.
Hector was burned in a pyre, and when it cooled, his bones were taken and cleaned thoroughly and then oiled with frankincense and myrrh before they were sealed in a box made of dogwood, decorated with gold etchings, and sealed with a band of silver. Rubies were set on the top.
Flute players kept music going, bards sang of his life and heroism, and animals were sacrificed at the gods’ and goddesses’ altars.
I had mixed feelings. Finally, Paris would be King, and I would be Queen of Troy, but I also mourned the death of one of my only friends in this land, the handsome, always noble and kind, Hector.
Priam and Hecuba held on to one another, and Andromache had to be forced to eat and sleep and leave her husband’s grave to tend to her tiny infant son. Despite the fact that I had slept with her husband, I didn’t dislike Andromache.
I had loved him in a way and shared his bed, but I was in love with Paris Alexandros. I had made love with Hector because he was the greatest warrior in Troy, handsome and amazing and because I was Helen, the most beautiful woman in the world. Would it have not been terrible for two such beautiful people not to make love and produce one perfect child?
But Andromache would have none of me.
“This is your fault,” she hissed at me.
“And because of Helen, we may have an end to this war soon,” Paris said, without explaining.
Standing on the wall, we watched as our Amazon allies fought valiantly. The women were tall, well muscled with beautiful bodies; they were also skillful fighters, and Paris watched them intently. These women were most like him, attractive and strong. They were not blessed by gods or demigods, yet they were as beautiful as I was; I was livid with jealousy.
As I watched, I wondered which one among them was my first true love Theseus’ first true love. She had born him a son, and I had born him a girl. I couldn’t decide whom I wished to win the battles since I didn’t care for the Amazons and wanted them dead or gone.
On the field, Achilles caught my gaze and smiled knowingly at me. Why was he looking at me with such familiarity? It was almost indecent.
It was at that second that each of us recognized the other’s true nature. He was like me in that he was also an arpaktikó̱n, a raptor. He used women and tossed them away as I had used men.
In that instant, yes, we felt love, but it faded quickly and leapt to another in the twinkling of the eye. He spilt blood; I drank blood. People were a source of food, a release of desire.
When we both were dead in the afterlife, I, Helen, would be the wife of Achilles. I shivered with that knowledge.
“Penthesilia is the Queen; see how graceful she is?” Paris asked, “and there is her sister Antiope.”
Antiope was the woman who had given Theseus a son. The Amazons were like me; they drank blood. How I envied them their free lives and how I longed to talk to them and share stories. But how I also hated and feared them.
“Why do they help us?”
“The Queen once harmed someone she loved. She was filled with anguish and guilt and couldn’t go on. Priam, in an act of mercy, explained to her what sacrifices to make and what to do, and he absolved her of her guilt. She owed him a debt.”
I never took my eyes off this battle. That they were females didn’t lesson the Achaean’s attacks with spears and swords, and although they fought hard, the women finally were killed one by one, ten of the twelve.
Those watching were amazed that the women bit at their enemies and slashed with silver-tipped knives. Everyone was impressed and a little repulsed by the blood-thirsty nature of the Amazons even as the Trojans
were glad the Amazons were on our side, but I knew the women gathered more strength as they drank blood on the battlefield.
When only the sisters were left, Achilles and his right-hand man struck, dealing them blows with their swords that all but killed them instantly, leaving only the faintest hints of life left in their eyes and bodies.
They were bloodied and in terrible pain, but still beautiful.
As a vile insult, the two men stripped the Amazons; we saw the men brutally rape Antiope and Penthesilia until they were beyond dead.
When others gagged and retreated, I stood and watched my fellow raptor as he raped the woman’s body many times over the rest of the day.
I didn’t think things could be any worse, but they were.
Achilles left the field and went to be bathed. He returned clean and with his armor fresh and shining again. He came right up to the gate and looked up at us, the royalty. He demanded to be married to Polyxena, one of Priam’s daughters whom he had spoken to at a temple of Apollo a few times. When Achilles was mourning for Patroclus, Polyxena offered various words of comfort and made suggestions to the man that would heal his heart and help him.
Her plain beauty mesmerized Achilles; she was simple with long hair and bright eyes, a sweet, smooth face, and a slender figure. She fascinated him as she spoke calmly and listened to the hero describe his pain. Achilles truly trusted and loved her inasmuch as he could love anyone.
Priam and Hecuba, slack jawed at such an idea, looked at Polyxena in confusion, wondering what had made the man so crazy.
I was shocked to see her cheeks had turned pink with a blush, and her lips parted ever so slightly as her eyes widened. She was normally a plain-looking girl but this day, dressed in a silk of prassino, or green, she was lovely.
Love did that.
“No,” Paris breathed. If it were allowed, he might have to give me up. Would Achilles fight against the kingdom of his bride if he married her? That was unthinkable.
I wanted to slap the silly girl for speaking to Achilles and causing this. What did she know of love and war? “Tell him no,” I begged. She was a virgin and should never have spoken like she did with a strange man.