Polyxena: A Story of Troy

by H. Allenger

Overview

Polyxena, daughter of King Priam of Troy, faces death for having rejected the advances of her captor. She relates her thoughts to Aphrodite, the Goddess she holds responsible for having orchestrated her fate. In them, she recounts her time with the Amazons, her capture by Achilles and how the two found romance, and how her attempts at keeping their forbidden love secret becomes known, leading to tragic consequences for both. Her introspection leads her to a surprising conclusion about the life she has lived. All the personages associated with the Trojan myths -Cassandra, Helen, Paris, Priam, and others- are given fresh life in this epic retelling of the classic story.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9798986437026
Publisher:	Book Savvy International
Publication date:	09/12/2022
Sold by:	Barnes & Noble
Format:	eBook
Pages:	478
File size:	4 MB

About the Author

H. Allenger grew up in Montana and graduated from high school in Spokane, WA. He earned his BA in Political Science from Eastern Washington University and his MA from the University of Arkansas through its overseas extension program while stationed at Ramstein Air Base in Germany. After seven years as an officer in the US Army and thirty-one years working for the Seattle School District, he retired fully in 2008 to pursue his true passions, which include archaeology, history, mythology, and writing. He presently resides in Seattle, Washington, and enjoys traveling the world.

Read an Excerpt

Polyxena

A Story of Troy

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By H. Allenger

Universe, Inc.

Copyright © 2012 H. Allenger
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4759-5451-7

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Chapter One

My name is Polyxena. I am the last of five daughters born to Hecuba, second wife of King Priam of Troy. My older sisters are Ilione, wife of the Thracian lord, Polymnestor; the chaste Cassandra; Creusa, wife of Aeneas of the Dardanians, allies of our city in our long war with the Greeks; and the lovely Laodice, married to the Greek Telephus of the Tegeans so he would not involve himself in this costly war. Were it not for Laodice, I would be regarded the most beautiful of King Priam's daughters.

I have many brothers: Hector, Paris, Helenus, Deiphobus, Polites, Troilus, and Polydorus being the more notable among them. Rather I should say I have but one brother, for the others were slain, three by none other than great Achilles himself. Troilus fell earlier in the war, slain by Achilles before his famed falling-out with Agamemnon. Polydorus, the youngest and most beloved of my parents, who was forbidden to participate in the fighting but inadvertently found himself caught up among our warriors during one of the many battles waged back and forth before the city, was struck down by a spear cast by that mighty Greek. And there was Hector, the hope of our city, whose prowess and strength endeared him to all, most especially to my father—oh, how we depended on him!—slain before the city walls in single combat with Achilles, in full view of us. Who can forget the sight of his body dragged behind the wheels of the victor's chariot? Then Paris fell, and later Deiphobus, when our city was taken on that horrible night after we dragged that wooden horse left by the Greeks within our gates, and so also Polites. As far as I know, only treacherous Helenus survives.

Troy has fallen. So many heroes, their daring feats now but memories, are gone, among them my loving father, King Priam, whom I adored more than anyone. Although he was a remote figure to me, as I saw him only infrequently in my early childhood, his glances at me warmed my heart, and his eyes shone whenever they beheld me. While at times I felt he doted too much on Laodice, this did not diminish his admiration for my own accomplishments, and he was not wanting in providing me with the gratitude and affection I eagerly sought from him. He was slain in the courtyard before the altar of Zeus, entreating the god's protection of his subjects, but to no avail. It was Neoptolemus—may he be forever cursed!—son of Achilles, who struck his sword into the defenseless old man, and I remain pitiless in my condemnation over what he has done to me.

We are captives of the Greeks now, confined to the makeshift tents set up for us. My mother is awarded to the cunning Odysseus, the man most responsible for our fall, and I do not know what the fates have in store for her. What hardships she has had to endure. To suffer the death of her beloved husband and nearly all her sons, how is it possible to live after such horrors? And poor Cassandra, always dogged by ill fortune, was raped within the temple of the very god she so devoutly served and is now in the hands of Agamemnon. My dear sister-in-law, Andromache, is claimed by the same Neoptolemus who had slain my father and so adversely touched my own life. Only Helen appears to have come out of all this fairly well, though I am sure she is heartsick over all that has happened.

My misfortune was to have Neoptolemus fall in love with me; for this I am to die at the commemoration rites to his father. A strange destiny has brought me to this point, circumstances contrived by displeased gods and goddesses; I am able, at least in part, to determine my own causality behind these, for it's true that I rejected Neoptolemus's advances, but I never once professed to love him. Somehow he had the expectation that I would willingly belong to him, because his father, Achilles, was attracted to me—as I was to him—and yet, for reasons only you, Divine Aphrodite, can know, this magnetism did not transfer to his son.

To you, Immortal Goddess, I reveal my thoughts. I entreat you to receive them and forgive my omissions of courtesy at the times I felt you neglected me. As I face death, lying awake in my cot, and try my best to compose myself, difficult as it is for me, for I must be honest in saying that I truly fear it, I will commit myself to recall how all this came about. Even as I recollect the events shaping my present condition, I am struck by the strangeness of it all, for rarely can it be said that happenstances so beyond my control were to affect my personal being in such a detrimental way. Indulge me my misapprehensions, for I realize my story represents a personalized view of this horrid war that came upon us. I must relate to you how it all appeared to me as I experienced it and as I understood it so that I might make sense of it all and learn why it has led me to this outcome. Grant me the solace I seek; spare me the horror that comes from the realization of having lived a futile life.

I do not have the time to convey my early childhood to you, which was not that different from the usual upbringing of children, nor do I choose to say much about the shock on everyone's face when Paris first brought vain Helen, the Spartan Queen, to Troy. Yes, I believed her to be vain, but then, who can really blame her? Truly she was a most beautiful woman with her golden hair and unblemished, pale skin, a face so radiant that, when she smiled, everyone's heart melted at the sight. I have heard that, throughout her entire life, men have craved her, that all the royal princes of Greece sought her hand in marriage. With all that attention endlessly heaped upon her, who can hold it against her that she should hold her own charms in such admiration? Even my father, who initially was bent on sending her back after arriving here, soon fell under her spell and became an advocate for her staying with us. And to be fair, Helen befriended me from the start, and I was somewhat gratified that she seemed to favor me above the other women in the palace. I suppose it is true that I actually liked her, in spite of the grief she brought us. Besides, what Hector once told me was true enough: Helen was but a pretext for the vile Agamemnon's true design—to control the cities and the trade of the Aegean. Our city stood as an obstacle to his greed and ambition.

Nor will I cover the time when the mighty Greek host—indeed appearing as a thousand ships, stretching as far as we could see into the western horizon—came upon our shores and the long war began. I will never forget the look of dismay on my father's face as he beheld the fearsome spectacle from the upper walls of the citadel, the inner fortress of our city encompassing the royal palace. Nobody believed that such a force would come here. All the Greek cities were represented there, led by famous names we had long heard about—the crafty Odysseus of Ithaca; recklessly bold Diomedes, the Argive leader; Ajax of awesome strength and size; the famed archer, Teucer—but none of them was more familiar than Achilles, commander of the Myrmidons. We knew that Agamemnon, king of Mycenae, assembled this massive army and was the driving force behind the invasion using his brother's, Menelaus's, aggrieved loss of Helen as his excuse. In spite of this initial shock, soon a general atmosphere of optimism prevailed among our people, and we were confident—our allied support and Troy's impregnable walls bolstering this—that, in the end, we would be triumphant and scatter the remnants of Agamemnon's fleet back across the sea.

But that was nine years ago. The war evolved into a protracted conflict that engaged nearly all the cities of the Hellespont and beyond who befriended us and were our allies. Agamemnon assigned his bold subordinate, Achilles, to subdue most of these centers, and he waged a relentless war against them. When he attacked the city of Lyrnessus, after having killed its ruler and his family, Achilles took Briseis, daughter of the slain king, as his concubine, a move that subsequently was to cause his notorious rift with Agamemnon. His mission thus accomplished, the war now centered primarily around Troy itself and was marked by repeated and bloody battles that ended in stalemates, with neither side gaining the upper hand. I am sad to say that it was during this time that I lost, first, my brother Troilus and, then, our much-beloved Polydorus, both slain by Achilles—how I hated him then! Still, my father retained his optimism and told me that the strain of the ceaseless combat was more telling on our enemy than our own forces.

Then it happened that we had cause to rejoice, an event that gave credence to my father's premonitions. As it was explained to me, when Agamemnon was forced to give up his own concubine because her capture was disfavored by the gods who sent a pestilence upon the Greeks, he took Briseis from Achilles as compensation for his loss; apparently this was the supreme commander's prerogative. The angry Achilles withdrew his Myrmidons from the conflict and sulked in his tent not far from our city. It was during this time that our soldiers, under the valiant leadership of my brother, Hector, nearly drove the enemy from our shores. But fate intervened, and the gods favored the Greeks.

When Hector killed young Patroclus, believing him to be Achilles, as he wore his armor, a youth much favored by Achilles, the pitiless Greek warlord reentered his army in the war. We all remember how he came toward our outer wall in his chariot and challenged Hector to single combat, adorned in magnificent new armor that glistened in the sun. Hector, after a sad farewell to his beloved Andromache and infant son, Astyanax, met his bold adversary before the main gate. Losing heart at first, or perhaps he meant to wear out the Greek, Hector was chased around the city three times before turning to face Achilles. In the ensuing combat, he was slain. To our horror, Achilles stripped him of his armor and tied his ankles with a rope that he then attached to his chariot and dragged him back to his ships. I shall never forget the pain in my father's eyes; he sank back into his royal chair and openly wept. All Troy was in tears. Helen and I held up Andromache to keep her from falling down in her extreme grief.

A few days later, my father sufficiently recovered from his despair and was emboldened to enter the Greek camp at night and personally appeal to Achilles for the body of Hector so that it might receive a proper funeral. I do not know how he persuaded the seemingly coldhearted warlord to accede to his wishes, but Achilles relented and allowed my father to return with the body of his favorite son. The city held a funeral rite befitting so noble a warrior, burning his cleansed body upon a huge pyre adorned with precious belongings after numerous eulogies had been rendered. There was so much lamentation. Everyone in Troy was overcome with sorrow and openly wept. The sense of loss that permeated the scene filled us with dreadful forebodings over who would now be the bulwark of our defenses, a role that we could not conceive of anyone, except Hector, performing.

This, then, is what defined our present situation, which I have but briefly touched upon, when I was called upon to do my part in the war effort. Up to this point, I was merely an observer to the great conflict engulfing our lives and viewed the transpired events with a certain detachment that excluded me from those who are actually participants in these. It is here that my account truly starts, for now I have become actively involved in our deadlocked struggle and seek to assist in bringing it to a victorious conclusion for Troy. As I begin, I am in the seventeenth year of my life but am often told that my erudition extends far beyond these years and that I conduct myself in a manner bespeaking of greater maturity. Older women, and indeed men also, have confidence in my judgment, placing value in what I say, and confide in me things they would normally not relate to someone of my age. I believe this is why I was chosen by my father to carry out an assignment that was to make me a major contributor in the conduct of this war. Here is my story.

Chapter Two

The dismal pall cast over Troy following the funeral of noble Hector was all pervasive. Few people spoke about it, but you could read the consternation in the worried look of their eyes and their grim countenance. My father was so grief stricken. He spent days in utter solitude, confining himself to a smaller chamber within the palace so he did not have to see anyone or speak to anyone. I only saw him one time during these days; he was such a pitiful sight, the strain of his loss edged in every furrow of his brow. He did acknowledge my presence, a twinkle coming to his eyes and a faint smile lasting for but a moment in his otherwise somber demeanor, perhaps somewhat embarrassed that he should reveal himself in such a fashion or wanting, in that brief instant, to spare me his own sorrow; it affected me so deeply that I could not hold back my own tears.

Helen and I tried our best to console the horribly bereaved Andromache, but she was so forlorn and downcast that we feared she might take her own life; I believe that only the presence of her baby, Astyanax, kept her from doing so. At times, she hurled abuses at Helen for having brought such misfortune to Troy, unfairly I thought, for she herself supported her husband's position that Helen was but a pawn in the greater schemes of Agamemnon. Then, after that, Andromache was torn with remorse over her earlier outbursts and begged for Helen to forgive her her callousness. I do believe she was sincere in her apologies; it was such a hard time for her. Helen appeared to understand this and sought to comfort Andromache with gentle hugs and words of condolence, and her efforts seemed to have their effect after a while. She was much better at this than I; her deep concern touched us all. When Helen wept, her lovely face contorted in anguish with flowing tears, everyone seeing this was moved to pity.

During such a time that Helen and I were comforting Andromache, sitting on the couches abundantly placed in our main residential chamber, a courier from the council hall of the palace intruded upon the scene.

"Polyxena," he called out my name, "your father, Lord Priam, requests that you attend his meeting with his advisors."

I could not believe it. I had never even seen the inside of the council hall—I did not think women were allowed there—and now I was asked to be there. I felt my heartbeat pounding within me as I scampered across the inner courtyard separating our living quarters from Troy's power center.

I was amazed to see all the major commanders, ministers, and advisors of King Priam assembled before me as I entered the hall, bigger than any room I had ever seen, very cavernous, with tall, evenly and widely spaced columns holding the high ceiling in place above a broad rectangular floor. Everyone was standing, even though chairs were available along the walls, except for Priam who sat in the royal throne at the opposite end of the entrance door. The dignitaries were gathered in clusters that represented their affiliations, I assumed. They ceased their talking when I walked in and approached my father, and I knew that something of primary importance had been discussed. I sensed that somehow this was going to involve me.

"My daughter," Priam introduced me to his assembly. "She is Polyxena."

I already knew some of the persons in attendance. Of course, my brothers, Deiphobus, Paris, and Helenus, looking very distinguished in their ankle-length formal tunics, were there, standing next to Aeneas who was now the chief commander of Troy, having been appointed to succeed Hector at this position. This noble lord, broad shouldered and strong, with dark eyes and beard, was the son of Anchises, King of Dardania, and was said to be much favored by Apollo. I also recognized the elder, Antenor, another Dardanian and a highly respected advisor, as well as his son, Agenor, known for his bravery and now one of our major battlefield leaders. Next to them stood another elder, boisterous Antimachus, the most staunch advocate for our war, but known to be quite greedy, and the priest, Laocoon, who, like my sister, Cassandra, had the gift of prophecy. Among the allied commanders, I remembered Glaucus of the Lycians, attired in a golden knee-length vest, and Memnon, from distant Assyria, with his long, curly beard and pleated robe. I walked past them, sensing an anticipation in their glances at me, as if scrutinizing my worthiness, until I stood next to my father.

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from Polyxena by H. Allenger Copyright © 2012 by H. Allenger. Excerpted by permission of Universe, Inc.. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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