Daunt Books Publishing

Considered the possibility that the question of rights – Polyxena’s right, my right – did not even arise because a duty, the duty to kill our worst enemy, ate up the right.

As we left I turned around; my look fell on my brother Paris. He did not want the blame, but what could he do? Did they not have him in their power for ever because of his blunder with Helen? Weak, Brother, weak. A weakling. Hungry to conform. Just look at yourself in the mirror. With this final look I saw through him completely, and he saw through himself too, but he could not take it. More rashly than anyone he pressed on with that act of madness that was now inevitable. They say that afterward he let them display him, riding astraddle, to the people and the troops, as the conqueror of Achilles. ‘Paris, our hero!’ That could not diminish his self-contempt, which was incurable.

Mustn’t lose my mind, not now’ – my voice.

I did not lose my mind.

Something that was stronger than everything else was tearing at me. Many days I thought of only one thing: one day it must be over.

What must be over?

I remember that suddenly I paused, sat for a long time without moving, struck by the lightning realisation: this is pain.

It was pain, which I had thought I knew. Now I saw that until then it had barely grazed me. You do not distinguish the boulder that buries you beneath it, but only the force of the impact; so my pain at the loss of everything I had called ‘father’ was threatening to crush me with its weight. The fact that I was able to give a name to the pain, the fact that it answered to its name, gave me a breath of air. One day it must be over. Nothing lasts for ever. This was the second breath of relief, although relief is too strong a word for it. There is a kind of pain that stops hurting because it is everything. Air. Earth. Water. Each bite of food. Each breath you draw, every movement. No, it is indescribable. I never spoke about it. No one asked me about it.

When the pain let me go, I began to talk. With the mice, whom I fed. With a snake, who lived in a cavity and twisted herself around my neck when I was sleeping. Then with the ray of light that penetrated the opening where the wicker wand had been removed. The dot of light gave me back the day. Then I talked to the women, something they had never experienced before. They were the scum of Troy; whereas I, immeasurably privileged, had wandered in the palace above them.

I was forced to learn that not everyone can retrace his steps once he has been degraded to the level of an animal.

Well, I had time. I could re-examine the case, word by word, step by step, thought by thought. Ten times, a hundred times I stood before Priam, a hundred times I tried to agree with him, to answer yes at his command. A hundred times I said no again. My life, my voice, my body would produce no other answer. ‘You don’t agree?’ No. ‘But you will keep silent?’ No. No. No. No.

They were right, and it was my portion to say no.

They knew where I was. They had not forgotten me. I would live and be with them. We would not lose each other again until the inevitable happened, the fall of Troy.

And in fact that is how it happened.

Aeneas came, he sat beside me, he stroked the air above my head. I loved him more than my life. He did not live with us like many young men whom the war had damaged in body or soul. They arrived like shadows; our blazing life restored their colour, blood, zest. When I close my eyes I see the picture. Mount Ida in the shifting light. The slopes with their caves. The Scamander, its banks. That was our world, no landscape could be more beautiful. The seasons. The scent of the trees. And our free existence, a new joy for each new day.

We used to tell each other our dreams; many of us were amazed at how much they revealed about us. But more than anything else we talked about those who would come after us. What they would be like. Whether they would still know who we were. Whether they would repair our omissions, rectify our mistakes. We racked our brains trying to think of a way we could leave them a message, but did not know any script to write in.