Odysseus: The Return

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Troy was still burning.

A huge storm of fire raged. Blazing shafts plunged from the heavens with a deafening roar. The shades of fallen warriors still screamed their outrage amidst the smoke and flames; restless, anguished souls, teeming now at the gates of Hades. Troy would burn for days and nights, until she had turned to ash.

The glare of the fires guided us back.

Two men from each ship swam to shore, struggling against the strong current. They anchored the vessels to land by tying them to the solid oak stakes they drove into the ground. I ordered them all to wait aboard as I set off towards the city; no one was to go ashore for any reason. I still wonder why I didn’t stay with my men that night, why I went back to the scene of deceit and slaughter. I don’t have an answer.

I could see, from on high, the ships of Agamemnon and the other kings who had chosen to remain. They were anchored at the sterns, their prows facing seaward — so they were on their way as well. Perhaps they’d understood that there were no sacrifices or hecatombs that could make amends for the horrors we’d committed. All that innocent blood spilled.

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