Mythological Fiction
4 min
Trojan Brothers
Vivian Solum
Poly-A prefix meaning many. Origin: Ancient Greek
Polydorus loved his big brothers' stories. Hector's most of all, who told his smallest brother stories of honor from another age. "One day, when you're older than seven," Hector said, "you'll be favored by the gods, like me."
His other brothers couldn't beat that: not Deiphobus's singing or Paris's poetry.
"Hector is bound by honor as the Crown Prince. But Trojans are passionate people," Paris would say. Paris was King Priam's favorite son, so when he came to Troy with a bride in his arms, with an enemy army trailing after, Priam said: "We will fight for the pride of Troy."
The room fell silent. "Why? Why Helen? She's married to the Greeks," Hector hissed.
"She's divine," Paris answered.
"The Greeks love Helen, and a fight for love always ends in tragedy," Priam insisted.
Paris looked confused. "But I fight for love. For Helen."
"Idiots! The Greeks fight for vengeance. Perverted love! They will see Troy burned!" Hector slammed an arrow into the table, separating him from Priam.
"We are not cowards," Priam whispered. "No son of mine runs from a fight."
Hector stalked off. It was rumored that he was indeed no son of Priam; he was the bastard of the golden god Apollo. Priam would never forgive that.
Polydorus couldn't let the meeting end; not yet.
"May I fight, father?" Polydorus ventured. He was supposed to be a ruler, not a fighter; the youngest son of Troy and its last resort.
Priam guffawed. "You're six? No."
I can fight. It's all I want. Monodorus could be my name, Polydorus thought.
Paris ruffled his hair. "Polydorus is seven. But, I agree."
The Greeks fought for Helen. Nothing was left alive beyond the wall, save for a field of poppy flowers, which Polydorus could see if he stood on tiptoes.
"Flowers are a sign, Hector said. "Only Agamemnon really wants us dead - the rest leave flowers." His big brother broke out smiling and spun Polydorus around until he shrieked. "Be happy little brother!" Everything was happy then. The gods would keep Hector safe.
Soon Agamemnon the red-eyed ex of Helen approached Troy's walls. He bellowed into a warhorn: "Hear me: the descendant of the god Zeus himself. This will be a thousand years' war if you do not give me what is rightfully mine."
"Agamemnon is much uglier than our dear brother Paris," Deiphobus joked over supper. "So he goes to war."
"I'd beat him. I'd make him go home," Polydorus declared.
Deiphobus cackled.
"We'll see, Polydorus."
The king's roar pierced the merriment. "The Greeks cannot have you," Priam thundered from his throne. "We will travel to their city. Burn their gods to the ground. We will fight them for a millennia." Suddenly the supper hall was silent, except for the distant echo of the king Priam once was.
The next day, Hector was gone. The war was darkening: demigods killed and more and more Trojans disappearing into the night.
"Achilles has returned. Our brother insisted on fighting him," Paris explained. "The people threw daisies into the street for luck."
The flowers were still red in the sunrise. Polydorus clambered up the wall, hoping to see his brother. I'll ask him to teach me to fight.
Then the rattle and stench hit him.
A golden-haired youth dragged his big brother's corpse through the poppies. Hector's head bled out in a shaky line, separating Trojans from Greeks. He is just a body now. Warriors shouldn't sob, but the tears kept coming.
The golden boy looked up. "I am Achilles son of Peleus, and this Trojan killed my only love," he screamed, snot clogged in his mouth. "I am Achilles son of Thetis, and this Trojan was my worst enemy. I am Achilles favorite of the Gods and you Trojans will burn for a hundred years!" Achilles spurred his chariot faster, and the Greeks cheered.
A bowstring interrupted. "I am the hero, Paris, son of Priam. For Hector, I do this for honor." Paris's voice quavered, but he didn't cry. "It was Paris of Troy who killed you." The arrow struck in a flash of gold.
There are two bodies now, Polydorus thought, except one is Hector's, and the other is Achilles', the broken golden boy. Agamemnon leered at the skulls. He will fight us for a thousand years, pretending vengeance is love. Polydorus vowed to kill him.
Polydorus's new big brother went to hug him. If Paris looked back, he would've seen the arrow. He was not nearly so handsome with it stuck between his ribs.
That night, they prayed to Apollo for vengeance. He won't answer, Polydorus wanted to scream. Hector was a demigod and his blood is splattered on the ground. He's all gone.
Priam spat in Deiphobus's face halfway through the ceremony. "Man up. Avenge your brother," he commanded.
I will instead, Father, Polydorus thought. He was supposed to be many people: a politician, a prince, a brother, a survivor. But I've always been a warrior. Let me be the start of our conquest.
Polydorus clambered down beyond the Southern Wall and through the blood-border. Asleep in the Greek camp, Agamemnon looked especially like a monster. Polydorus poised his blade over the man's widow's peak and thought, "I am Paris son of Priam and I do this for love."
He tried it out loud. "I am Hector son of Priam and I do this for honor." It sounded squeaky.
He screamed, voice cracking. "I am Polydorus, youngest son of Priam. Know I do this for vengeance you Greek dog!" He tried to bring the blade down as he'd seen Hector do.
Pain stabbed his back. "Trojan boy," a beast whispered behind him, "The gods never hear us. Us, their own family. They listen to blood. Monster, you are penance for my dead brothers."
Polydorus's armor fell in an empty shell around his body. The war will rage for a thousand years. He smiled. But I loved my brothers.
This was an entry for a writing contest held in conjunction with Center for Fiction and The Decameron Project
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