“Only in my dreams,” Diana replied nervously.
David shook Diana’s hand next. He appeared to be in his early twenties—the closest in age to her. His head was shaved, and he had a tattoo of a cobra head on his neck. Its mouth was open with its fangs showing, and a drop of venom appeared to spill out. As if the snake coiled around his torso, the rest of the snake disappeared down into his t-shirt.
“Hey,” she said.
Then came Solomon. He was the oldest of us. He looked like a college professor, with round spectacles, a tan sweater vest with a white shirt and tie above his Levi’s and boat shoes. I mean, who really wears sweater vests?
“Why don’t we all sit down, so we can talk about this? We’re hoping you know something, because we all just felt a compulsion to be here without really knowing why,” Solomon said.
As we all took seats, Diana said, “Well, I’m here because of a video on the Internet by a bishop named Paul Soratino. I recognized him. From a time before, you know. In the video he asked for warriors. So I called him, and he said that there are demons in the catacombs killing people in Rome. He asked for as many of us as possible to come because as he phrased it, ‘there’s an infestation.’” I looked at Solomon—infestation, I thought. David just looked at his boots and Helen licked her lips nervously.
“That’s—odd,” Helen said. “I’ve never heard of demons congregating in more than ones or twos. Anyone else?” Sol and David sat staring, lost in thought at the news.
“So we’re going to Rome,” stated David finally.
“Well, let’s think about this,” Sol cautioned, refocusing on the conversation. “Could this be some kind of trap? What did you say to Soratino?” He directed his attention to Diana.
“Just that I would come as quickly as I could but that I didn’t know anyone else. He seemed awfully disappointed. I didn’t think about this place until I was packing. And then I thought I would just stop by here on my way. Just to see, you know?”
“Okay, so Soratino doesn’t know about the rest of us. I say we keep it that way. The fewer people who know that there will be more than one warrior going to Rome the better,” Solomon said.
“Why are you suspicious?” Diana asked him.
“To be honest, I don’t have a definite reason. It just doesn’t feel right. So you knew him when he was young?”
“No, I mean, I only met him the one time. I just barely managed to save him from a demon that was attacking him. I told him it was a demon. That was it.”
“Why would he think there were others then?” David asked quietly.
“I didn’t mention others. I died too quickly,” Diana grimaced in response. I guess she didn’t like dying. Can’t say I blame her. “But I did tell him I was a warrior,” she added sheepishly.
“How would a bishop even know that the demons were in the catacombs?” Helen asked looking at me.
“That’s a good question because I wouldn’t think that bishops go into the catacombs much now. I think they’re just tourist destinations at this point,” I said.
Diana eyes looked worried as she added, “He said there was a reporter who had broken some kind of catacomb killing story in the papers over there. I was going to look it up when I got there.”
“Why wouldn’t he just give someone a silver weapon and tell him to go kill it? Why call for warriors?” David wanted to know.
“Good point. Diana, I think it best if you meet with Soratino, get the details, and then meet up with us to discuss what he has to say, so that he doesn’t know about the rest of us. I know I probably sound paranoid, but it’s just a gut feeling here,” Solomon said.
“If it is a trap, she’d be walking into it alone,” David said, looking around at the rest of us. “She’s pretty young to be sent into the lions’ den by herself.”
“Maybe you could go to the Vatican as a tourist to be near her but act like you don’t know her. Perhaps just ‘bump’ into her and follow her around,” Helen suggested.
“That could work,” he agreed nodding.
“I would also suggest we all travel to Rome by different means. For instance, I can fly into Florence and take a train to Rome. Since Diana is going to be our ‘face,’ so to speak, we should all probably stay in a different hotel from her.” The others were all nodding in agreement, and it seemed sensible, but Diana looked like she had a bad taste in her mouth.
“As she’s so young, I could accompany her as a chaperone on her flight,” suggested Helen.
“That’d be great,” Diana said with obvious relief. “I’m meeting my friends Sam and Maggie on the connecting flight out of New York to Rome tomorrow. Sam thought that it would be a good cover to be journalism students, so that we could ask questions, and it wouldn’t seem unusual.”
“Perfect, then I can be the teacher accompanying her students,” Helen smiled.
6 Helen
Looking at Diana, I felt a little sting of envy. Oh not for her looks. She’s cute enough with her short, curly hair, but it was just that she was so young and fresh—full of vitality. I’d turned thirty and felt a decade older. Fortunately, in this life beauty had been regained! I wasn’t quite back to the face that launched a thousand ships but getting there. It’s funny how history remembers some information. Often only bits and bobs survive, and of those, the pieces are usually all twisted about. So many stories about Helen of Troy and the Trojan War survive into modern time—although nothing really accurate. Perhaps the fact that there had been a woman named Helen and a war had been fought during her lifetime was sufficient acknowledgment of existence.
* * * *
1260 BCE
“Helen, your father sends for you.” Sylvia, my companion and friend, called to me from my sitting room. I was still lazing in bed with the sun up. I loved my room, my sanctuary. It was bright and pretty with my bed surrounded by gossamer white hangings. Sylvia and I had painted scenes on the walls around the room depicting the gods…Aphrodite in her temple surrounded by flowers; Diana, the goddess of the hunt, with deer fleeing into a woodland scene away from her bow and arrow; Athena in her wisdom pictured sitting under the olive tree she had bestowed upon Athens; and Zeus sitting upon his throne with his lightning bolt resting at his side not far from his hand.
My father was Tyndareus, King of Sparta, and would want me to set a better example for our people. So I hurriedly got up and dressed in a simple white cotton sheath and went to the hall of judgment where he would be hearing the peoples’ complaints and grievances about each other. But when I entered, there were only a few men present, and those were strangers.
“Ahh, here is my daughter. As I told you, she is a vision to behold and her temperament is sweet and kind. Helen, this is Paris of Troy.”
“Indeed, the most beautiful of all women,” Paris agreed looking at me from head to toe. He was fair, there was no denying it, but obviously a soldier. He was tall and slim, though well muscled, with blonde hair and the gray blue eyes of a stormy sea. I wondered how he would perform in the Olympic games. The men were highly competitive and strove fiercely to win, thus gaining the favor of the gods as well as the women, I remembered with a smile. But, I was uncertain. Though the words were agreeable, there was tension in the air.
“So we are agreed?” Tyndareus asked.
Still looking at me, Paris nodded.
“Daughter, pack your belongings. You sail on the tide with Paris and will be married in Troy.”
“Yes, father,” I agreed and swiftly left the room. What else could I say? I had always known that I would make whatever marriage my father chose for me—probably one that would be politically beneficial for Sparta. It was just that he had always seemed to favor Menelaus. Menelaus was a king in his own right, wealthy and powerful. His brother Agamemnon had just married my sister Clytemnestra and taken her to Mycenae. We both had thought that I would be joining her soon. I wondered if I would ever see her again now.
My father had had many offers of marriage for me and had spu
rned them all up until now. What had Paris offered that had made him accept?
“Sylvia,” I called as I entered my suite, “come help me! I have been ordered to Troy to marry Paris.” I felt a fluttering sensation in my stomach.
“You are to marry Paris? I heard that he was most handsome.”
“But have you heard if he is kind? He was dressed as a simple soldier in the judgment hall. What else have you heard?”
“He is no simple soldier, of that I am sure. He is a prince of Troy.” As we spoke, she called for servants to help us gather my things. As my companion, Sylvia would go with me, but as she was also my friend, I gave her the option.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Helen, of course I am going with you. Maybe there will even be someone for me in Troy.” I was glad of her agreement because I was a little frightened thinking of going on my own. We gathered our belongings swiftly and went to the harbor to find Paris.
“Helen.” He greeted me pleasantly as we boarded the ship, and I took his proffered hand to guide me to the decking. “Aphrodite herself could not have promised me a more attractive wife than if I had bestowed upon her a golden apple in a beauty contest.”
“Beauty stands before you, yes, but is that all you see?” I wondered aloud.
“Beauty shall fade, but it does not mean that my regard shall fade as well,” he said bowing towards me slightly.
I smiled at the thought of his beauty contest, “But then who could possibly be beautiful enough to actually compete with Aphrodite?”
“Well, let’s see.” He put is hand to his chin as if giving this topic the most serious contemplation. “There is, naturally, the wise goddess, Athena.”
“Naturally.”
“And I suppose we could always add the queen of the gods and that goddess of marriage, Hera,” he added with another smile.
“You are making the competitors such that it will be very difficult to choose between them.”
“It is simple really,” he said looking intently into my eyes, “I would choose whosoever promised me you.” My tension eased. He would be kind after all.
Troy was a fabulous city whose vast walls were built in legend by Poseidon and Apollo as their punishment for attempting to overthrow Zeus. By the time we reached there, it no longer mattered to me why my father had agreed to the marriage. I was happy with his choice and considered myself extremely fortunate to have a kind and thoughtful man to marry.
Unfortunately, Menelaus was not so pleased. He thought my father had betrayed him, that I was promised to him instead. In retaliation, he raised a vast army, which sailed to lay siege to Troy. A thousand ships from all over the Mediterranean, which carried at least fifty soldiers each…and each leader willing to fight with Menelaus to win a portion of Troy.
It was not just that Menelaus had lost me, but he had been slighted and felt as all men do. Paris should not have what he, Menelaus, could not have. Of course, no war was fought just over a woman. There were other reasons, but history remembers only what it will, and often that has nothing to do with the actual truth.
In Troy I was united with a new family, gaining a sister, Polyxena, and a new brother, Hector. Hector was a soldier, and as the eldest, he was the leader and their greatest warrior. Sylvia’s wish was granted in that she fell in love with Hector, and they were married. It was Hector that led the mighty battles against Menelaus’ allied troops that lay siege to Troy. Each time Paris went outside the walls to confront the enemy horde with his brother and their men, I was terrified for him.
It was also in Troy that I first learned about the demons. I had been in Troy and married for nigh on ten years when I finally went to a sacred grove to pray to Hera. After so many years, I was barren, and I prayed for a child to present to Paris. While kneeling amongst the trees, I smelled a strong, foul odor. The knowledge came upon me in an instant. It was a demon! I knew in a moment that I would not be able to fight it because I had no silver weapon. The wind was gently blowing from my right, so I quietly eased my way to the left and headed back to the palace. Then I went to locate Sylvia.
“Sylvia, I would like a silver tipped arrow. Do you suppose there are any here, or would we have to dip it ourselves?”
“There are the ceremonial weapons in the audience hall. I think those are all silver.”
“Of course, I was not thinking. Thank you.”
“Wait a moment! Why do you need it?” But I was already running down the passageway as she called to me.
I chose several weapons that day. I took a bow and arrow, as well as a sword and a dagger. They would probably not withstand a true fight, which is why they were ceremonial, I suppose. Then I went back to the grove. When I arrived, I simply stood in the center waiting for the breeze to bring me its position. I would prefer to shoot it with an arrow, but the number of trees would make that difficult because the demon would probably be too close for me to shoot it effectively. Which is precisely what happened.
With no wind blowing, it was the snapping of a twig that alerted me to danger. I turned, and the demon was upon me. I barely had time to bring the arrow around so that it pointed towards the demon. It threw me to the ground with its impact, its momentum carrying it onto the arrow. I felt claws rip down my back as we fell. Then the demon screamed in agony and rolled from me, beginning to shake and smolder. When it exploded into a cloud of vile, black smoke, I knew that it had returned to the Dark, and that I had been extremely lucky. But I was also granted the knowledge that had I died, I would have been reborn to continue the fight.
I crawled to a tree to pull myself up to my feet, gasping for breath at the pain. It was as if with that smell, I had been granted comprehension of a new part of the universe. I was changed forever. I returned to Sylvia so that she could put salve on my back and bind the wounds.
While I had been in the grove, there had been a great battle outside the walls of Troy. It began the events of a more personal tragedy than just a siege lasting ten long years. Ten years of unrelenting, constant battle. The many different allies who were initially eager to assist Menelaus now grew weary and longed for their homes…and one warrior was about to give them their excuse to withdraw from the war.
The greatest warrior that joined Menelaus against Troy was Achilles. Stories of Achilles’ prowess on the battlefield were plentiful. He was said to be the son of the gods, so fortunate and invincible was he in his glorious armor. And his men worshiped him and vowed to follow him anywhere.
However, Agamemnon, he who had married my sister Clytemnestra, brother of Menelaus, angered his comrade-in-arms by taking a slave girl that belonged to Achilles. Achilles had a volatile temper and demanded the return of the girl, or he would no longer take part in the war. There was such a disturbance among the Acheans that in the end, Achilles indeed decided to leave the fight. He would sail home with his men. Other leaders agreed with him and also sought to leave Troy and return to their homes.
But before Achilles could leave tragedy struck. His close friend Patroclus, taking Achilles’ armor and wearing it, entered a battle in which Hector prevailed. At Patroclus’ death, Achilles’ anger was almost unimaginable, and he swore vengeance. In the next battle, Achilles deliberately sought out Hector, fighting with such strength and ferocity that Hector fell. My poor Sylvia was inconsolable and threw herself from the high walls of Troy when she saw his body being hacked apart. Achilles’ own men had to pull him from Hector’s body to stop the desecration.
Polyxena went to Achilles to beg the return of her brother’s body so that burial rites could be performed for Hector. At the sight of gentle Polyxena, Achilles’ anger left him, and he was saddened. He told her that he was tired, he had lost so many close friends through the years of war, and he wanted it to end. He asked her if she would consider forgiving him and uniting so that the fighting would stop. She answered with a yes. To Menelaus’ dismay, the other leaders agreed with Achilles. The siege had ended!
At their marriage ceremony in the audience hall, disa
ster struck in the form of a bizarre accident. It was well known that Paris was still angry over Hector’s death and not pleased by the marriage, but we attended the ceremony with graciousness. However, there was an argument amongst some men. I was not close enough to hear, but shortly the clash of steel could be heard and shouts of betrayal!
In the ensuing chaos, an arrow was shot that landed in Achilles’ heel. It was the very arrow with which I had killed the demon! Strangely, black wisps of smoke wafted from his wound, but I would have sworn he was no demon. It must be the mixture of his blood with whatever remained of the demon that caused the smoke. Those around Achilles marveled in fear and moved back. As Achilles turned to remove the arrow, Paris struck him a fatal blow.
History remembers Paris as a coward for his act of striking Achilles when his back was turned. In fact, history has Paris shooting the arrow. One thing about any battle whether it is with two people or a thousand, there is always confusion. Do you stop swinging your blade if your opponent looks away for a moment? No one does. I do not think that Paris was a coward or that he unfairly took advantage of Achilles, it was the heat of battle. But what I remember does not matter for history has spoken.
An immense battle ensued as the Achaeans were pushed out of the city and once again Troy was under siege. But it did not last long this time. Without Achilles, his men decided to leave the fight, with others agreeing. We woke up one morning, and they were simply gone. But they had left a wooden horse behind as a gift. In our celebration at the ending of the war and departure of our enemies, the horse was dragged inside the walls and left unattended.
The stories about the Trojan War and the building of the Trojan Horse were exaggerated. The Trojan Horse was not huge and did not house an entire army. But there was a horse. It was black as night and decorated with a silver studded harness and saddle; real horse hair had been used for the mane and tail. Stories not withstanding, it was large enough to hold a single man—its creator Odysseus. It only took one man in the dead of night to open the gate from within to let the entire enemy army sack Troy.