The voice of the lone rider galloping madly towards Troy was carried before him by the wind and so, the great gates parted to grant him entrance. He scarcely reigned in his frothing mare, before swinging from the saddle to land upon the hard-packed ground of the entry yard.
" Take me to the King!. I must see the King!."
The gristled captain of the city guard squared his shoulders as he faced the excited man and his eyes began to take on the glint of battle, as he spoke.
" Are the Greeks on the march, then?."
" Nay." The rider's face split into a grin " The Greeks are gone!."
For a moment, there was naught but stunned silence from the soldiers, then the captain's own face creased into a returning smile.
" Come with me." He said.
The two men turned and hurried towards the palace while behind them, the murmurs of those gathered began to spread through out the city.
Thus began the twelfth day...
" The Greeks seek to appease Poseidon, so that he may grant them safe passage across the Aegean sea."
So spoke one of the priests standing beside King Priam upon the now nearly deserted beach.
All that remained behind to give testament of the mighty invading army that had laid blight upon the Trojan coast, was the carelessly-tossed refuse typical of all war camps, the rapidly decomposing bodies of a few slaves that appeared to have been sacrificed and...the horse.
It was huge, almost as tall as the very gates of Troy, and those who stood on the beach could do naught but stare up in wonder at the magnificence that had been wrought from the ruined husks of wooden ships.
Except for one.
The now sole surviving prince of Troy did not spare even a glance towards this monument of Greek ingenuity, for his eyes looked only to the sea. His emotions were as waves within him, first cresting with relief at knowing the threat was ended, then crashing upon the shores of his heart with the tormenting echo of a name.
Achilles... Achilles...
And it was the salt of despair unto his raw wound of longing. Longing that would now forever be left unfulfilled. Paris felt his eyes begin to sting with unshed tears and by supreme effort, he tore his gaze away from the final death of his impossible dream, forcing his attention back to the words that were being spoken.
" We must bring it to the city, as a glorious token of our great victory." The second priest was saying.
" Burn it."
Paris' voice cut across the sand like the lash of a whip. The high priest looked at him with shocked affrontery.
" My prince. It is a gift, from the Gods!."
Paris ignored him, turning his eyes to the King.
" Father, burn it."
Priam returned his son's intense gaze, before looking at the priests' earnest faces and then finally, up at the great horse...
The city was alive with the sounds of unbriddled merry-making, as the Trojans raised their voice in song and twirled in joyous dance around the giant wooden horse that now stood at the very center of the main courtyard.
From the royal balcony, Paris looked down on the scene below with eyes that were dulled by sadness and tinged with a bitter measure of contempt.
" Look at them, frolicking about like careless children. How soon they forget their fallen prince."
The bitterness within him dripped from every word and the delicate hand of Helen came to rest upon his arm, in tender comfort.
" You are their prince now, Paris. And their voices raise this day from relief at finding all was not lost. Let their song soothe your pain, my love."
Her soft entreaty brought a small smile to his face and he turned his head to find her earnest blue eyes looking back at him with concern and adoration. But his smile gave way to renewed sadness as another set of eyes, eyes of a much lighter blue, interposed themselves in his line of vision. And he wondered if the day would ever come, when he could look upon her golden head and not see...him.
With a gentle pat on her arm, Paris rose and making his excuses he left the balcony for the solitude of his chambers, there to await the night in melancholic contemplation...
TBC...