PART I
EN PRISE
FOREWORD
I, Helen, lived as if I were in a waking dream. I observed myself as a character in a play, a movie, a show. The drama happened too quickly. Characters and events, symbolic. The terror and horror, stunning. It couldn’t be true. It never happened! Or did it?
CHAPTER 1
THE BLUE AEGEAN
The Sea of Troubles stretches north and south, home to an immense population of islands. Its crystal waters form a blue paradise on the northeast end of a vast sea known as the Mediterranean. Helen’s early childhood was as untouched by sorrow as the sea’s surface, sparkling in the Aegean sun. She didn’t understand the hidden horror: war, death, and loss, layered below, not that deep.
Although you think of Helen as from Sparta, she wasn’t born there. Not even in Greece. It’s just what people say. A myth. But here are two true things. Helen is of Luwian descent, from the East, Asia, brought into the world among rugged mountains, sitting back from the Aegean coast. Second, men fall in love with her, usually hard and fast. She learned that early.
Helen and her friends had lived in innocence, Helen being only twelve. The beauty of the Aegean, stretching to the west, and the mountains, spreading to the east, surrounded them. Their families had never suffered. They had never lost a parent, a sibling, or a friend. Despite raiding the coast for years, Greek warlords somehow overlooked Helen’s kingdom of Luwians.
The Luwian’s status as a Hittite vassal state failed to help. Raiders were bolder, more frequent, less restrained. Although the hated Hittite overlords continued demanding troops and taxes, they did little to protect the Luwians from mayhem and theft. Marauders hit islands and ports, stealing cargo, even ships. The Hittites, ensconced in their capital hundreds of miles east, elected to ignore the attacks. They were dealing with significant threats from Assyrians and Egyptians, among others. A Luwian coalition would avenge itself later by overthrowing the Hittite king, crushing his corrupt administration while murdering many in his ruling elite.
Meanwhile, Greeks were free to raid the Asian coast at will, causing much hate for them and an equal amount for the Hittite king. These Greeks had now targeted Helen’s kingdom. While this violence from Helen’s childhood was massive, it was only a small-scale version of later events: a mere practice, a dress rehearsal. The wars would become grander and grander. She would become Helen of Troy.
When the Greeks landed on the coast, most of the civilians fled up the river valley to the capital city, which sat in a narrow spot in the valley, diverted rivers providing defensive works. While only a day’s march, fierce resistance made it take a month for Greek soldiers to reach it. The Greeks needed several more months to throw out the Luwians from their capital city. The bulk of the population had already left, fleeing up a road to a mountain redoubt hidden among the clouds.
Helen felt safe behind layers of defense, waiting for the Greeks to become sated and return to their ships. She brought her horses with her, a small herd of cripples she had taken pity on, healing them as best as she could. The alternative was a death sentence. People laughed at her herd, but she loved them deeply. She provided vet care to other injured or sick animals, keeping them in cages until she could release them into the wild. No one cared whether she practiced medicine on critters.
Greeks usually fled with their loot, including boatloads of treasure, preferring raiding to sustained campaigns. However, they avidly pursued this attack instead of leaving. The defense hadn’t gone well. Helen now stood on the ramparts with her friends, Clytemnestra, Calliope, and Iris, witnesses to terror. Darkness created cover for the attackers, but flaming arrows created enough light for them to cast shadows, making their presence known. In contrast, the besiegers couldn’t see the projectiles as they came whizzing down. Five hundred archers shooting ten shafts each resulted in heaps of the dead.
Helen and friends saw those heaps in the morning, bodies askew at odd angles, made even stranger by the protruding projectiles. They guessed at how many more suffered from wounds inflicted by the missiles. They remained safe behind the walls. The well-constructed citadel withstood all assaults, but how long could they hold out in their kingdom’s alpine redoubt?
They positioned themselves on the tall inner wall, which offered a view of the road for ten miles as it twisted down the mountain. Ravines and narrow ridges guarded the approaches to the other three sides. Helen’s clan in the western realms of the Luwian homeland resembled each other, casting longer shadows. Clytemnestra and Helen were no exception. While Clytemnestra’s hair fell brown and curled, Helen’s was blonde. At fourteen, Clytemnestra was two years older and a head taller. She often provided leadership to their group.
“Why do they attack us?” Helen asked Clytemnestra. She had answers for most things, this being no exception. Their fathers were captains and among the king’s advisors.
“Helen,” she said to the twelve-year-old. “It’s a dispute between our kings. Theirs have promised their troops large shares of the loot and proceeds. If they win, they become wealthy. They say seven heavenly metals—gold, silver, mercury, lead, and iron. Also, copper and tin, used to make bronze. Some of these are in our mountains, along with abundant timber. Charcoal fuels the smelting. If they have their way, they will turn the entire forest around us into charcoal. They get women, too. To do their labor and bring forth more children. They would turn us all,” she motioned to them, “into baby machines.” Clytemnestra wrapped her hands around her imaginary swollen belly. “There’s a group of six Greek kingdoms attacking us.”
“How many kingdoms in Greece are there?”
As usual, Iris had an answer. She excelled at writing and numbers. Her father’s job was tracking the heavens and plotting stars, favorite activities among the Luwians and Hittites. Her mother seemed a partner, although she mostly kept quiet.
“Dozens, at least thirty across the Aegean, each independent. There are Orchomenos, Thebes, Tiryns, Pylos, and Ilolkos. Never forget Sparta and Mycenae.”
“Independent?” Helen asked. “What does it mean?”
“Each stands by itself, ruled by its king. He is the sole authority within his realm, beholden to no other king. They form coalitions. They agree on rules. But no one can force a king to obey,” Iris explained.
“There might be more,” their shy friend Calliope said. “Some kingdoms are small. Hidden in mountains or on islands along coasts. And don’t forget Crete, with numerous people.” Calliope was ironically quiet despite being named after the muse of poetry. She said little and didn’t speak often. Her beautiful voice was hypnotic when she broke into song.
_____
The Luwian king had sent a letter to the Hittite king in his imperial city, Hattusa. Rugged mountains combined with the sizeable area made it difficult to monitor each of the small Luwian kingdoms. Helen’s father described the letter he had helped write, addressed to the great king in the script for the Luwian language. A scribe wrote it on a clay tablet:
My father: We are desperately in need of Hittite aid to combat the aggressive Greek forces. This has most likely not come to your attention because of the remoteness of our western kingdom on the Aegean’s shore. The Greeks launched a surprise seaborne invasion of our port, capturing many of your children, turning them into forced laborers. The Greeks, outnumbering our troops, have driven back our armed forces into the river valley where they now defend our capital city, a day’s march from the coast. We beseech you to dispatch an armada to attack the Greek forces from the rear and trap them between our forces. Your children are desperately in need of this aid. Your faithful son.
Although the aid had yet to arrive, they remained hopeful.
_____
Helen and her friends stood aghast at the ghostly scene before them, each morning climbing the stairs to the inner wall to view the departed. The war had gone on since early spring—for so long, the players had become indifferent to the dead. Nobody bothered to bury them anymore. The sun rose and fell several times, but no one came to remove them. They lay in front of the wall, motionless. Helen climbed in the darkness, too, when the bodies, lit by the moon and stars, seemed to move as the mist and fog rolled about them. Corpses would rise and dance through the swirling night air, music provided by the rising wind’s song, which harmonized with howling wolves as they crept through the woods to feast on fetid flesh and bones. The corpses repeated this ghostly starlit dance night after night until they had utterly rotted, their leavings consisting of disease and pestilence. The Luwians weren’t much better, flinging corpses off the back wall, where they held their own parties, complete with moonlit ghost dancing.
It was midafternoon, with a fall mountain-blue sky, the mass attack screaming out of the woods toward the east outer wall. Although frightened, Helen and friends climbed the inner battlements to watch, fascinated by the terror seeking them out.
They came charging through what had been the outer defenses, trampling on the remains of their dead comrades. Thousands arrived at once, launched in one spot, bringing ladders to scale the fieldstone outer wall. Attrition had reduced the Luwian troops to a few thousand. A few hundred fought gallantly at the point of attack, knocking down ladders as soon as the Greeks put them up, death descending on the Greeks from spears thrusting down.
All surprised civilians ran to safety within the walls, with defenders closing and barring the gates before the invaders arrived. The alarms called the reserves, who took positions on the inner wall.
The attack pressed on, the Greek coalition sacrificing hundreds. Luwian fighters moved back as more enemies jumped into the fight, but it didn’t take long to encircle them. Surrender would be ridiculous; they were dead already, fish in the nets. No Luwian soldiers survived.
Greek forces opened the outer wall’s gates, letting in hundreds more troops who made for the inner walls. These suicide squads with battering rams fell as missiles took many of them. The ground became slippery with their blood and the boiling liquids dropping on their heads. Curses filled the air as they abused their commanders before turning their wrath on the gods, the curses not saving them or even helping.
By the looks of it, more would become ghost dancers by nightfall. The wounded would transform, enrolling in dance school and joining the haunts at the revenant’s ball, now held on a larger floor. Although happier, the wolves remained unsated, hungering for more.
The giant inner wall stood between Helen and harm. Made from massive stones quarried and hauled during forgotten times, it rose to a daunting height. Seamlessly fitted stones glinted white in the sun. While the invaders hadn’t gotten inside, the kingdom had shrunk to a few thousand square yards.
Helen ventured out from those walls in the next day’s light with a company of friends and a small security detail, carrying plants and healing extracts. They visited men who were crying out, applying potions and poultices to their wounds. There wasn’t enough time for the enemy. Orderlies carted those most likely to survive to safety. Helen had learned something about plants and their uses from older women. They debated how best to help the gravely afflicted. Some plants could send them to oblivion, where their screaming would stop. Some potions could end it all quickly.
_____
This stalemate led to a ceasefire, an undeclared truce. The invaders refused to leave. Instead, they demanded surrender. The Luwians declined, noting the citadel was impregnable, telling the invaders they could never storm the walls.
“We won’t even try. We have what we want.”
“You do?”
“Yes, the mines. They’re operating already. Meanwhile, you’re stuck in your miniature realm. Why don’t you negotiate? The fighting is over. You’ve nothing to gain.”
“We’ll never surrender. The great king is sending an army from Hattusa, the capital. Hittite troops will massacre your forces.”
The Greek king stepped forward, followed by two commanders. They all stopped talking, eyeing each other.
“Is that your last word?”
“Yes.”
“We will see if it is after winter descends. In the meantime, you can live as you wish inside your fortress. But if my men capture any of yours outside these walls.” He paused, pointing at the walls behind them, shaking his head. “There will be no mercy. If you change your mind about speaking, fly a truce flag. We’ll see it.”
The undeclared truce remained in effect. While the Greeks did not intend to continue the attack due to little possible gain, the Luwians embodied desire but lacked the resources to win. They seemed deadlocked forever.
Helen was relieved that no armies were massing outside their walls, creating time, which they occasionally filled with stories. Iris, named after the goddess of rainbows, seemed the best at storytelling. As pretty as the rainbows her name evoked, Iris could brighten their mornings with her tales, imitating the storytellers. Iris sometimes put Helen and her friends in as characters. When they made an appearance, they always responded well, warding off all manner of evil: giant sea creatures, sorcerers, and trolls.
Evenings featured stories from pros sung in rhythmic meters and rhymes, poems recited by bards in competition, singing this night of monsters and storms. One bard sang of the creation of the Aegean with scary shadows dancing off walls, quiet crackling absorbing awareness with sweet cedar smoke hazing the hall.
“The ancient Aegean’s floor shifted with glacial speed, sliding and slipping, the collisions creating kaleidoscopic formations. Fumaroles opened to the earth’s center, spewing fireworks into the firmament, lighting the night sky, igniting forests, falling on seas whose waters boil, cooking the creatures swimming beneath. The gods were in awe of their beauteous work, watching mountains thrust upward, growing like plants in a garden reaching for sunlight. These marched across oceans like elephants, rolling and rocking from side to side, lurching, resting on sea floors where the tops formed islands, the Aegean Archipelagos. Chronos would not leave his mountains alone. Instead, he would age them as if they were people. They would stop uplifting and growing, and begin losing height, eroding some each day over eras and eons. In time, they would flatten, their tracks covered by water.
“The blue Aegean shrank, its water evaporating. Islands near the mainland rejoined the solid earth. More distant islands towering over the seafloor became mountaintops. A mountain chain extended from Greece through Crete to Asia, forming the southern rim of the Aegean basin. Rivers fell over ledges on continental shelves, becoming rainbows as they cascaded down cliffs. Saltwater receded, creating deep pools with salinity so high that nothing could live, and no fish could swim. Asian exotica walked the canyons, following rivers as far as they reached. Lions, tigers, and leopards strode in amazement at the gods’ new creation, stepping from continent to continent along lofty ridges.
“The Aegean continuously recreates, morphing into many forms. Its current face is a temporary manifestation, a pose or disguise. It isn’t tranquil but a source of vibrant energy, discharged over eons; refashioned by time. It, too, will disappear, buried deep in the earth, forgotten by all sentient beings still existing in the indifferent cosmos of distant times.”
Helen looked at her tablemates, her arched eyebrows asking about the winner. They all voted the same. The story of the Aegean carried the day.
Despite the stories being helpful, Helen remained preoccupied while taking strolls along the walls. She kept a sharp lookout for enemy fighters, often catching motion in the distant woods and wondering what it might be. A stag? A wolf? A man with a bow? The days were noticeably shorter, and the air colder as they transitioned to winter. Helen wondered whether speculations about the food were true.
Men, including Helen’s brother, leaped from the walls at night, preferring to depart during storms. There were rumors that Helen’s father wasn’t her brother’s progenitor. Instead, a foreign king had bred Helen’s mother before she met Helen’s father. Helen’s brother said it might be a great king called Priam. Whispers suggested Helen’s father fell for her mother despite this, fancying her greatly, raising Helen’s older half-brother as if he were his own. Now, he had fled into the forest, going north through the mountains.
Tree limbs creaked on some mornings as men dangled, bodies swaying in the wind. There would be no announcement. The body, visible at dawn, swung by the neck. Great wailing would go out when recognized. The effort to terrify the defenders worked. Helen scanned the trees for her brother but never saw him. Perhaps he had made it through the backcountry, over mountain trails, walking through the undisturbed, dense forest. The outback was wild with monstrous beasts: giant bears faster than falling stars and powerful cats as silent as darkness. Helen sent Apollo prayers for her brother’s protection, promising Apollo she would always be faithful in return for her brother’s safety. This mantra became the most prominent part of her daily routine.
The winter set in fiercely. They were down to about a thousand fighters and two thousand women and children, hunger and disease having taken a toll. The hope of rescue provided a reason to endure suffering. Half rations became quarters. Helen’s horses disappeared. Furniture and wood stripped from buildings burned in fires. An abundance of water came bubbling up into fountains and capture basins from a spring running under the citadel. The healthy were too weak to do much of anything except fling dead bodies over the back wall.
