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, now a 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. The death of Troy was coming and 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, and Hector the Brave and Tamer Of Horses; cherished niece of the mighty King Priam. I am Briseis, Maiden of Troy, and this is my story.
The Greeks had stormed Troy's beaches. I could hear the sounds of war and killing grow steadily nearer. Younger acolytes began to cry 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 didn't. I was sure that they would be slain or captured and that it was better to stay in the temple. I believed that Apollo would save us if we did. I was wrong.
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. I was taken by his beauty. He looked as if he had been sculpted from stone by the gods. I would later learn that I had seen the half-god warrior known as Achilles. He was closely followed by a more cautious, darker figure; my cousin Hector! A moment later I heard their voices and their diminishing footsteps. I quietly followed as best I could.
I believed that my cousin was surely sent by Apollo himself to save me as he stood alone - confronting the legendary Achilles who was being backed by his famed Myrmidons. Anger overcame fear in my heart. So many men against one?! Achilles sent Hector 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 of Achilles' men were hunting for items of value, pillaging and claiming spoils of the temple treasuries. 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 hiding me from their violent eyes and that they would pass by my hiding place, one of them 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 saw me and began to laugh. His partner joined him and laughed along, though I could think of nothing amusing.
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 struggle or cry out. I began to scream and fight my bonds as they passed the bodies of the dead priests. 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 Achilles' disregard of 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. I had never been struck before. Anger conquered my fear and stilled my tongue. The bodies of fallen soldiers, both Greek and Trojan littered our path and the smell of blood was nauseating. I had a sinking feeling that my life could be nearing the same end.
I was carried down to the beach where thousands of ships rested in the sand like a giant pod of beached whales. I saw soldiers and slaves unloading the ships and setting up camps while kings were being tended to by female slaves 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. These men were Myrmidons.
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 took pity on me in my precarious situation. He took me from them and shouted a name. 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 sized up him. "Take her to your cousin's tent while I go and find him."
The young man, Patroclus, led me to the largest of the small huts then gently ordered me to sit down against a pole near the back. He retied my wrists, 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 battle, 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. His cousin must be on the way.
Now 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 now began to cry softly - hot tears of anger, mingled with a little fear. I was a slave now. I understood that much. 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 and I was determined not to let my new "Master" see me cry.
