In My Eyes: The Fall Of Troy

The war had finally come. I could feel the ground beneath my feet tremble with the pounding of thousands of Greek sandals and the drums of the ships that were bringing still more strangers to my shores in the name of war. They came for her - the Spartan queen turned Trojan princess, whom my cousin Paris had charmed away from her husband. The scorned king was determined to bring destruction to my country; to my people; to my family.

Tears filled my eyes, but I would not let them fall while performing the sacred duties of an acolyte. I was the virgin priestess, Briseis - beloved cousin of Paris the Charmer; of Hector the Brave and Tamer Of Horses; cherished niece of the mighty King Priam. I was Briseis, maiden princess of Troy.

The Greeks had stormed Troy's beaches. I could hear the sounds of war and killing grow steadily nearer. Younger acolytes began to weep and even the priests were starting to fear. Still the Greeks came ever closer. The priests finally sent the acolytes to hide themselves. Some tried to flee the temple, but I did not. I thought they were foolish and believed Apollo would save us if we remained faithful; but eventually, even I hid within the temple walls.

The sounds of fighting and the coppery scent of blood finally reached my hiding place. I was about to move when I heard footsteps. I peeked around a column as a golden warrior walked calmly through the carnage. He looked as if he had been sculpted from stone by the gods. He was closely followed by a more cautious, darker figure; my cousin Hector. I felt sure he was sent by Apollo to be our defender. A moment later I heard their voices and their diminishing footsteps. I quietly followed as best I could and peeked around the final corner.

In the bright sun, my cousin stood alone at the top of the temple steps as he confronted the golden warrior who was being backed by his own men. Anger briefly overcame fear in my heart, until Hector was sent away, defeated but alive.

Realising that my rescue was not come, I dashed from my hiding place and ran deeper, deeper into the temple than I had ever been before -- deep into the treasuries and tombs of the priests. I began to weep as I crouched in a deep shadow, but I grew silent as two rough voices echoed through the sacred halls.

Two pillaging soldiers. They were crude and riotous as they came nearer to the place I was hiding. Just as I began to think that I would be spared; that Apollo was shielding me from their violent eyes and that they would pass me by, one of them must have spotted the hem of my long white and blue robes in a patch of light. I held my breath and tried to be completely still as he drew nearer, his sword stained with the blood of soldier, priest and acolyte. I was sure that my life's blood would momentarily be added to it. He began to laugh when he saw me fully. His partner joined him in the joke that I hadn’t heard as I trembled in the shadows.

Instead of sending me to the banks of the river Styx, they pounced on me like a pair of wild cats. They had me bound and thrown over one fellow's shoulder before I could do more than gasp. At the sight of the murdered priests, I found my voice again. I began to scream and fight my bonds, to no avail.

They brought me out of the dark temple and into the bright sunlight. Once I had blinked away the spots in my vision, I saw the full extent of the soldier’s disregard for the gods, for the golden statue of Apollo lay in pieces on the ground. I fought harder and screamed louder.

"Shut up!" one ordered, then backhanded me when I did not obey. The blow busted my lip open and stunned me into silence for I had never been struck before.

The bodies of fallen soldiers, both Greek and Trojan littered our path and the smell of blood was nauseating. I wished they would end me quickly, dispatch me to join them and feared what they had in mind instead.

I was carried down to the beach where thousands of ships rested in the sand like a giant pod of stranded whales. I saw soldiers and slaves unloading them and setting up camps while kings were being served and wounded men were being treated by surgeons.

The two soldiers carried me unceremoniously through all this to the last camp on the beach. It was different. Instead of beautiful tents, they used small drab huts and only a very few slaves, mostly male, were working to unload the two small ships. The soldiers of this camp were different too; all of them had eyes like the clearest blue sky or like a gray-green sea and most of them had gold, red or light brown hair. The tooling and shapes of their armor reminded me of fish. I recognised the craftsmanship from the soldiers who had faced my cousin behind the golden warrior.

A man stopped the two brutes that were carrying me and questioned them. His blue eyes were filled with gentleness -- like Uncle Priam's, and he appeared to take pity on me in my precarious situation. He claimed me from them, setting me gently on my own feet and gripping my arm firmly but gently. “Patroclus!”

A boy, probably younger than Paris, came running from his abandoned task. His unbound dark blond hair blew in the breeze and his storm-gray eyes appraised me, even as my own brown ones evaluated him.

"Take her to your cousin's tent while I go and find him."

The young man led me to the largest of the small huts then gently ordered me to sit down against a support pole near the back. He retied my wrists around it, but was much gentler with me and didn't tie the ropes so tightly. "My cousin will not harm you if you do not provoke him. He is a formidable opponent in war, but gentle when finished with the fight. Even so, not even I would intentionally provoke him so soon after a battle." With that warning, he left and I heard his joyous cry just past the doorway.

Finally, I was alone. The sounds of the camp were muffled through the thick material that the hut was made of and which also repelled most of the midday heat. I began to cry softly; hot tears of anger, mingled with a little fear. I understood without being told -- I was a slave. I arched my back and pressed the back of my head against the pole that I was bound to, trying to calm down. My stubbornness and royal pride were now regaining control over my emotions. I was determined not to let my new "Master" see me cry.