Beautiful War

Epilogue

I was staring out onto the sea. The fog clinging to the sea like a woman would her shawl. This fog had been hovering around us for the last three days. We had barely sailed a mile in this fog, because the sailors could not tell which direction we were going. It had been seven long months since we left the ruins of Troy behind and began our voyage for a new home. Aeneas set a course west, hoping that with a day's advance. We could escape to a new home without the notice of Greek ships also returning home from the sack of Troy. In sailing West, we hoped to find a new home far from Greece. Where the descendants of those who sacked Troy would think we all had died in the fires that consumed every inch of Troy. Not a week after we set sail West, I realized I was with child. Paris had given me one last gift before his death. I felt both happiness and dread. Knowing that I would be raising this child along with six other children by myself. We all were doing our best to be strong, to be stoic. But at night you could hear the weeping of the women and children on board. But we continued to sail on. We only sailed into a port when absolutely necessary. To get more provisions, or make repairs on our remaining ships. We had already lost two ships in brutal storms, losing those who only wished to find a new home. The other ships left in our motley fleet were showing signs of wear, and needed to be repaired.

When we stopped. We stopped on an island called Drepanum. Aeneas' father Anchises was growing distraught. And growing angry with our fate. He began to rail against the gods, rail against Zeus himself. In an instant the sky grew dark and we could hear thunder rolling across the sky. A bolt of lightning came down and struck Anchises, killing him instantly. We spent the next two weeks mourning Anchises. Losing one of the last men who saw the rise of Troy, and her ultimate destruction. After his funerary pyre was nothing more than ash we returned to the sea. That had been almost a month ago. Many of us were growing weary of staying on the boats. I was hoping that my father had not cursed our journey. Aeneas was sure that we would find land. That we would find a new home to allow our children to grow up in peace. But the others thought we would sail off the edge of the world. My never ending thoughts were interrupted by a sailor's voice calling out through the fog.

"Land! I see land," the sailor called. I looked harder and could make out the outline of the land we were sailing near. We did it, we found land. I sent a silent thanks to my father Zeus for allowing us to arrive safely. Even though I had no idea where we were.

"Where do we think we are, mother," Hermione asked from behind me. I turned and saw my eldest daughter walking toward me with Aeneas' son Ascanius. They both had grown closer to one another after the fall of Troy and the long months at sea. Hermione was becoming a grown woman, and she walked with the regality of a queen. A queen that would never be.

"I do not know my sweet girl. I have never been this far west before," I replied. In truth I had never been anywhere except Sparta and Troy. And with this fog, I could not make much of anything of this land we were sailing close to.

"It looks like the land of Hades," Ascanius added. Before poking Hermione in the side. This earned a giggle and her swiping his hand away. A part of me was glad that Hermione was able to find some laughter and solace in this time of grief. She and Athena did their best to cheer up the other children on the ship. Telling stories, making up games to occupy their time. She really would have made a good queen one day. As we sailed closer to land. I wondered what our lives would be like now, with all the ghosts haunting us. Still grieving for the ones we lost.

...

"What should we call our new city? Our new home," Aeneas asked as he entered our home. I tended to the fire at the center of our home. Andromache was wrangling all the children in the home. We shared one home, Aeneas built it for us all to reside in. It was one of the largest homes in our new village. It was Andromache and her two children, Myself and my now seven children. Aeneas and Ascanius, we all were a large family. But we helped one another. We landed on a large beach, everyone grateful that we had landed safely somewhere. Wherever we were. After landing and gathering the supplies we had, we all made our way a few miles inland. Burning the ships we had. Knowing that we would stay here. We traveled until we came to seven hills. We chose one hill to become our new city. It was a village for now, but it would grow. We had now been residing in this village for the last few months. I had given birth to my seven and final child. A son I named Paris for his father. It was a painful and difficult birth, and I was still recovering from the birth. Andromache and Hermione were being most helpful with the other children. The men had built homes from mud brick, and many of the men had married the widow women and they had adopted the orphan children. The women and children were even starting to farm the land, while the men went hunting for local game. It was a peaceful existence, and it allowed us respite from the ghosts that still haunted us. The native people who called themselves Etruscans. They welcomed us and helped us by showing us the best roots and berries that were edible around this village. This was a very different world from the one we had left behind. The world we left behind was burning and nothing would grow there for centuries to come. But here, there was a possibility. Here there was hope for a brighter future.

"What about Illium, the old name for Troy," Andromache asked. Both Aeneas and I shook our heads. We did not wish to have a reminder of what we lost. We wanted to make a bright future ahead of us. Ahead of our children's future.

"What about Rome," Ascanius asked. He was practicing his swordplay with Hermione and Pollux. They all were growing quite good at their sword play. We all stopped and looked at this young man. Aeneas was smiling at his son.

"Rome, the city of the seven hills. A city and name that would last for centuries to come," Aeneas declared with a smile. And Aeneas was right about the city his son was named. Long after we were all dust and our names were only myths. Our bones dust... Rome lives.

The End