(5)

I had a high fever for three days.  I almost died.
But Hades would not have me yet and being young, I recovered fast.
In my sick bed, I heard things.  The whole city lost heart after the defeat of the Amazons.  They had tried to recover the body of the Amazon Queen in vain, the Salamander River was so muddy that it was not possible to reclaim any naked torso dumped in it without arousing the attention of the nearby Greeks.  So, they held a funeral in her honor and burned her armor instead.
I grieved for her.
It was a terrible death.  Being slain in battle was one thing; being disgraced and raped by her killer was entirely different.  She deserved better, I thought.  It was later that I found out why Achilles acted like that.
“He was trying to claim her as his own, even in death.  He liked her. “Helen explained.
“Then why did he dump her body into the mud?”
“After his copulating with her, it was just a corpse.  And he had to show other Greeks that he was not weak-hearted...”
So, it was not that sad an end for Penthesilea, though I still believed she would prefer me in her bed than my Achilles.
Yes, MY Achilles.
Though I had seen his beastly side, I now knew I was in love with him.
I did not hate him anymore, nor am I jealous.
It was his nature to love all beautiful things in life, or even in death.
His lust for Penthesilea would not diminish my place in his heart.
I also came to understand that even Hector would not hate him.  They had a fair fight, as warriors, as equals.  My brother lost. Had he won, he would have given the slain opponent the same treatment as he had received.
Of course I did not disclose this to anyone as it was not for everyone to cross the line in the midst of slaughter, to love both friends and foes.
Something still troubled me.  Why did my sister foretell me being the instrument of death for my beloved?
I would not do anything to hurt him, even on pains of death.
I learned it soon enough, in a way I never suspected.
One evening I found a letter under my silk pillow.  
It began by calling me “his little lark”.  That was his last address to me. I had told no one about it.  So, it was from him.
He asked me to meet him at dawn near the shrine of Apollo outside the city.
I went as asked and found him there.
We embraced.
“What is it that you call me here, my love?” He asked,
I was startled.
“Wasn’t it you who wanted to meet me here? I had your letter.”
“And I, yours.”
At once, we knew it was a trap!
“Run! Achilles!” I shouted.
But it was too late.
Paris with three other archers had drawn their bows.
“Step aside, Polyxena!” Paris shouted.
In panic, I wanted to protect Achilles and flung myself at his feet, covering his most vulnerable spot.  I thought if I had it covered, Achilles would not be hurt.
But I misjudged.
Paris, seeing my sudden movement was angered and in a rage, let go the notched arrow straight at my back.  I should have been killed.  I was glad to die for him.
But Achilles did not share my thought.  He pushed me aside just in time, and the arrow sank deep into his heel!
I screamed in terror.  
Paris rushed over with drawn dagger to finish off the wounded warrior.  But voices were heard, more Greeks were coming.  Paris dragged me away from the mortally wounded Achilles.  I screamed and kicked but to no avail.  The last thing I saw was Briseis kneeling by the side of the dead Achilles and plunged her dagger into her own heart.
So, it was her who betrayed us.  She was the only one present when we spoke farewell and heard Achilles called my his little lark.  
No, I hated her not.  She had no intention to hurt her love.  
She thought her Achilles was undefeatable and the trap would end in my being slain, if not by the ambushers, then by Achilles when he suspected he was betrayed by me.   But fate played a cruel trick on her, on all of us.  No one, not even the greatest warrior ever alive, could escape from his fate.


(6)

I was lost after his death.
Cassandra was the only one who could comfort me.
“Grieve not, my sister.  The end is near. You are the lucky one.  We will see Troy no more but you alone will never leave.”
Another riddle.
I could not understand what it meant, nor did I again care.
It came soon enough.
Paris was killed, shot.  An archer died through another arrow.
Then the drama on the deserted beach, of the Great ominous wooden horse, the argument and the counter-argument, of another of Cassandra’s futile warning.  The die was cast.  The horse was moved inside our city.
They came back at night, when most of the men were asleep with drunk. A latch on the wooden horse was set down and the sack of the city began.
I woke to the sound of slaughter, no longer frightened, knowing it was meant to be.
When I found the body of Priam, I wept.  But at least it was a quick death and he was advance in age. Better death than suffer the humility of servitude.  He was a king.
Astyanaz , the infant son of my brother Hector, was flung from the tower of Troy onto the rocks. Her mother Andromache as was Hecuba, and Cassandra and many other royal women were taken captives. The sight of Cassandra was most sorrowful.  Her priestess robe was torn and her shoulders and one of her breasts were bare, evidence of her being ravished in the very temple of Apollo.  The man responsible, Ajax the lesser, met a dire end, some said at the wrath of the gods, drowned.  Cassandra walked like lifeless, muttering “the axe is sharp. It falls once.  It will fall again.” I prefer not to know what she refers to.
Neoptolemus approached me. He looked like his father, only younger.  But it was only in appearance, he did not have his father’s noble spirit inside him.
“I claim you.” He pointed at me.
“What for? To ravish what your father had claimed as his own? Do you not have shame?” I confronted him.
He was red with anger and left.
I knew it would not be the end of it,
Hours later, Odyssey came in and looked at it with his sad eyes.
“Polyxena.  Neoptolemus had claimed that his father’s ghost demanded you o be sacrificed at his grave, or the army would never be able to depart.”
I chuckled.  It was all lies.  How could Achilles, who regretted so much the sacrifice of Iphigenia, the daughter of Agamemnon prior the departure of the Greek army ten years ago, demanded another sacrifice?
But I would not refute it.  It was a fitting end for me.
“You will bring about his death.  After that, he will bring about yours.” Cassandra had foretold my fate.  Now I understood its meaning.
I had caused his death in the very act to protect him and now I was to be sacrificed on his tomb.
“You will never leave Troy.” Cassandra had also said.  And once again, she was right.
I bade farewell to my mother and sister, to Helen too and followed Odyssey for the tomb of my beloved Achilles.
Neoptolemus was already waiting, as were a multitude of Greek warriors.
His son was to act as the one who would offer the sacrifice.
I was led to him who turned me to face the crowd.  With one snatch, he disrobed me, baring my upper torso before the eyes of all.  He had intended it to be a humiliation, a vengeance for his having been rejected.  I stood proud and firm.
“My father would be most pleased.” He said, his eyes wandering lustfully over my bared breasts.
I did not give him any satisfaction in reply.
He turned me sideways, so that the left side of me was facing the pile of rocks that was his father’s tomb.  
I saw a sacrificial dagger being put in his hand.  It was a long one, at least nine or ten hands, thicker than my slender neck.  He put the point against my neck, the half that faced the spectators.  
I knew what would follow.  He would plunge it in up to the hilt; the point would transverse my whole neck, coming out from the other side.  Before I black out from the sharp pain, he would withdraw the blade a little but without pulling it all out.  In this way, my blood would only shoot out from the wound on the left side of my neck, drenching the pile of rocks.  When they had had enough drink of my blood, he would finally pull out the instrument of death and let my body collapse at the foot of the make-shift altar. There, he would finally snatch away the clinging robe around my waist, rendering me completely naked.  A pyre would be built nearby and my body would be cremated, its ashes showered upon the tomb.
I was not afraid any more.  I knew not what awaited me after death.  No one ever return from the realm of Hades.  But I hope the gods are merciful to Achilles and me.
I expect him to greet me from the other side of the Styx. May be Briseis would be beside him, her atonement through suicide cleansing her guilt and earn her a place beside him.  I would love that.  Perhaps Penthesilea would be there too, and she would smile and wink to suggest a completion of our bedding.  No matter what, I would enjoy peace in my native land, the land that had been reduced to burn down towers and walls. It did not matter.  In my eyes, its ruins would always be the most treasured site.
I heaved, taking in the fresh night air one more time.
“Are you ready?” The son of Achilles demanded.
I nodded.

(End)