Legacies

She stared at the Aegean like it would vanish at any moment. The sun was just rising, lending the sky a painter’s palette of colors. She breathed the salty air, feeling the air warm with the passing minutes. Her balcony was really like a mouth opening to drink the seawater. The grey stone rail came up to her waist and was perfect to lean on and lose yourself on. The breeze picked up as the sun climbed. She would stand there all day if she could. But then she heard something behind her. Something about the noise was off. They might have been footsteps, but they were too soft, too cautious. She smiled, but dared not turn. Instead, she closed her eyes and let her lungs fill with salted oxygen. There was a break in the sound and the hairs on her neck stood. One final shuffle of sandal on stone, and she reacted. Quickly she spun, with her assailant sailing past her and nearly over the railing. The young woman saved him by grabbing the back of his robe.
         “Let go!” he cried.
         She answered, “Are you so certain you’d like me to do that? It might end up quite badly for you. Although Poseidon always appreciates a sacrifice early in the morning, I’m sure.” The tall gangly young man kicked and flailed for a moment or two, then gave up the futile struggle. When he went limp, she pulled him to safety.
         “You got lucky,” he said. “One of these days, I’ll get you.”
         “I should hope so. You’ve been trying since we were eight.” But she had never and would never laugh at him. Eleven years and he still hadn’t given up. “Now why would you interrupt me in my moments of reverie?” Talan shook his blond hair, as if he had indeed forgotten why he had come to her.
         “His highness is here, my lady. You are needed,” he said.
         “Odysseus? It must be serious.”
         “That is the rumor.” He extended his arm for her and they set off down the hallway.
         The palace that Odysseus had built for her was a modest one; even so, the walk was a bit long. She knew what would be asked of her, so she walked carefully, as if the slightest tremor would evoke the wrath of the gods. It was an odd feeling that crawled around in her gut. There was excitement, yet dread. The opposing forces split her down the middle, but she kept her face straight. It was essential that she prepare for what Odysseus was about to ask her. She had no reason to worry. She never did. Odysseus had put a sword in her hand when she had demanded it (after Talan told her that girls shouldn’t play with swords) and it was proven that the gift had been passed to her. Although, it was true that Odysseus was not her primary tutor, what with living so far away in Ithaca. And he hated leaving his kingdom. It was obvious why.          
         Halfway down the hall, she stopped where she always did, between the golden map of Thessaly and a painting of the Hydra’s defeat at the hands of Heracles. There stood a white statue over six feet in height. The man was lean and lithe. Athletic and aglie, even when still. In his left hand was a sword, slung over his right arm was a circular shield. It had crescent-shaped notches at opposite ends, perfect for peering at an enemy or for cradling a spear. It was the same one she carried.
         She stared up at the chiseled face, unmarred by scars or lines, with wild waves of white hair framing it. That wavy texture matched her own. She knew the statue’s hair should have been golden. She knew the eyes should have been blue…
         “My lady,” Talan whispered, “I’m sorry.” She nodded and let him sweep her away.
         She and Talan met the king in the entrance hall. The man’s beard was longer and greyer than she remembered it, but his eyes still looked as sharp as a hawk’s and he still looked strong as an ox. That craggy face had seen her through many hard times. And despite what she knew was coming, she was glad to see him.
         “Your highness,” she said, curtseying. The king grimaced and pulled her upright.
         “Hallux, my child,” said the king, “your father was as a brother to me and I have known you since you were crawling. None of that ‘highness’ business if you please.”
         “Uncle, then. What urgent need has made you leave Ithaca to seek me?”
         “Your face has always been the cure for an old man’s worries, for one thing, but I fear it is not only missing you that brings me here. Where is Eudorus? He should hear these words as well.”
         Hallux turned to send Talan to fetch their guardian, but her closest friend had already read her mind. Eudorus and Odysseus embraced like family. The two had fought the Great War together, and were like kin to Hallux’s father.
         Eudorus had been her father’s captain, and when Odysseus was absent, watched over Hallux and Talan, and trained them in the ways of Myrmidon combat. Eudorus had told them tales of the glory her father had won, of war and blood and sacrifice. In those days, the Myrmidon battalion had been the most fearsome slight to glimpse on a battlefield. It spelled doom for their enemies. They were later joined by the great Ajax, a man who stood taller than any other, and carried a warhammer that none but him could weild. Now, Hallux had the Myrmidon command, and the son of Ajax, Jaxor was her captain. The only thing that hadn’t changed was their reputation.
         Once all had full cups of wine before them at the round dining table, Odysseus spoke.
         “There has been a stirring across the sea, my friends. There is a prince, one who lost everything, who seeks to reclaim what was taken from him. It is said that he is ready to advance his plans.”
         Hallux’s eyes widened and her heart broke pace. She stole a glance at Eudorus. His eyes were fixed to his wine, but Hallux knew what was going on in his head. Talan reacted first.
         “Where will he strike?” Talan asked.
         The king answered, “It is said he is trying to recruit more in Crete. Then, I’m sure he will take Cythera.”
         “Why? A speck. Hardly worth bothering with,” Talan noted.
         “Because it is a speck. He thinks he will bolster his men’s confidence with a victory. But they will be drunk on it, if he is just recruiting farmers and boys. It will make them sloppy,” Hallux said.
         “You are your father’s daughter,” Odysseus said with a smile. Even Eudorus grinned at her.
         “I am. And that is why I will be killing Paris myself,” she said.
         “You will not."
         “What have you trained me half my life for, if not this battle? Avenging my father is not just my dream, but yours as well. You know, Odysseus. You laid the coins on his eyes and gave his pyre to the flames.”
         "The men I have in his employ say that he is an ungainly creature nowadays, old and broken. He will not even be worth the fight. Leave him to your captain. I understand Hector’s son will be in the fray. You should focus on him.” Hallux saw the distraction and left the bait where it lay.
         “I have no business with the son.”
         “Paris killed Achilles, Hallux. You think I would send you to your death as well? Your captain will handle him.” When she heard the finality in his tone, she walked away.
         She ended up in the training courtyard on the big stone that sat in the center of it. She heard the whisper of sandals on grass.
         “Do not, Talan,” she said. He walked around the stone and sat on the grass in front of her.
         “I know it’s not fair. But he’s only trying to protect you,” he said.
         “Protecting me. The man sends me to war six times when I haven’t yet reached my twentieth year, yet he will not let me kill the one man that it would mean something for me to kill.” She heard footsteps again. Without turning, she asked, “What would you say, Eudorus?”
         He chuckled, “Me? I’m not your father.”
         “Neither is Odysseus, but you’re the closest thing I’ve got,” she said.
         “What do you think your mother would say?” Eudorus asked.
         Hallux knew not what to say to that. She had not known her mother. She had fleeting memories of the woman. A shock of long curly brown hair came to mind, the same color as her own. Hallux did remember how warm her hugs were as well. But that was nothing.
         “I did not ask what my mother would say. I ask what you say,” she replied.
         Eudorus sighed, “You are the daughter I would have wanted for myself, and the daughter Achilles would be proud of, avenged or no. I would only say to do your duty.”

         She had been right. Paris had overrun Cythera in a day, and sailed north until he reached the beaches of Attica. That was where Odysseus’s host met him. Hallux stood at the point where the field dropped off into sand, the breeze pulling her hair. She was there with her captain, Jaxor, his father’s warhammer in hand. Hallux’s next strongest man not lift it. It was hard to believe that Ajax had been even taller than his son. Jaxor dwarfed Hallux by at least two heads, but both father and son had the same flaming red hair. The Myrmidon were banging their spears on their breast plates as they waited for the Trojan host to beach their ships. She heard sandals on grass.
         “Hallux,” Talan said as he approached.
         “Talan, you should be guarding the king. What is it?” she asked.
         “The king bid me tell you that Astyanax is leading the Trojan men.”
         “Astyanax?”
         “The son of Hector.”
         “So the princeling will cover for his coward uncle,” Jaxor sneered. He had no love for the craven.
         Disappointed, Hallux addressed Talan, “Thank you. Please return to the king. See that he stays safe.” The Trojan fleet were not throwing down anchors, but bringing their ships right up to the shore. Hallux donned her helm. “Take the son. Bring me his head if you feeling getting me a present.”
         “My lady knows how I do love to give her gifts,” Jaxor grumbled.

         Hours later, Hallux caught her breath in the middle of the killing field. Time seemed to quicken around her now that the battle was done. The Trojans had retreated, and all the Myrmidon lived. She stared around her, looking at severed limbs, broken bones, and organs that had no business being outside their owners bodies. The same memory always returned at these times.
         She'd been fifteen, and he couldn't have been much older. Her arm had been shaking and red to the bicep. The boy's eyes were wide, still terrified of the sight of her. It was as if the chasm in his forehead hadn't existed. She had stood over him, knowing she had been the one to put it there. He had been the first. Many others followed.
         Her men slowly gathered around, but Jaxor was missing. A pang of fear hit her gut, hot and unpleasant. But she kept her face straight.
         "Half of you help Odysseus gather his wounded. The others will pile our dead and ready them for the funeral flames," she said. They fanned out, and she rose to search for her captain.
         She walked west, past the crowd of men receiving stitches and bandaging. Some cried out at the pain of the needle, but she chided them in her mind, telling them that they were lucky to be standing. Dusk was approaching, with Apollo drawing his chariot to a close. A purple velvet blanket was threatening the sky before her. She climbed to the top of a small hillock to look around. She let out a long breath when she saw the tall form of her captain, framed against the sunset. He seemed completely at peace. His warhammer was in his left hand, and something round and wet was in his right. She chuckled as he approached.
         "My captain. You spoil me," she said, greeting him. Jaxor went to one knee and presented a head.
         "Anything for you, my lady," he replied. The face inside the helm had been struck so violently that it turned nearly all the way around. There was no mistaking though. It was the leader of the Trojan army. Only he would have a helm so lavishly decorated with peacock feathers and horsehair. Hallux asked if Jaxor would extract the head, and he did so in his brutish fashion. He cast the helm aside and held up the head by the neck, fresh blood and parts still oozing from it.
         Hallux stared at the son. He had dark curls framing his face, slick with sweat. His eyes had rolled back in his death and the lines around his mouth were askew from the blow of Jaxor's hammer. But Hallux paused for a moment. She knew the son of Hector was no more than a year older than she. The lines around his mouth should not exist. But then...
         "Jaxor," she said in a flat tone, "did this man have a long scar across his thigh?"
         "How did you know, my lady?" he said.
         With no warning, Hallux's armored hand cracked Jaxor across the jaw. The head flew grotesquely away, spinning as it went. Jaxor fell sideways and came up spitting blood and teeth. Hallux fell to her knees. She didn't know what to do. She only wanted to hurt Jaxor as much as he had wounded her.
         "You have failed me!" she shrieked. He looked as a child did when a mother scolds him for doing a wrong.  "This is Paris! You've slain Paris! He was meant to be mine!" She stood and stalked away, punting Paris's head as she passed it.
         It had to be Paris. Eudorus had told her about the man-to-man fight Paris and Menalaus had had before the Great War had begun. Menalaus, the younger, larger and more fearsome brother of then-king Agamemnon had challenged Paris to single combat in order to reclaim his wife, Helen, and rebuild his pride. Paris had suffered a slice to his leg before crawling back to his brother Hector's feet. Menalaus nearly killed Paris right there, but Hector acted first in his brother's defense, ending Menalaus. Then Agamemnon unleashed Greece on the Trojans.
         To soothe the pain of Jaxor's mistake, Hallux took to caring for the wounded. She sewed cuts, staunched bleeding and set bones, all while lending the simple comfort of a woman's voice. She was sure that was the reason why at least some of the men loved her so. One soldier had lost too much blood. He died in her arms, with her singing him into the afterlife. Grief held her by the throat, but she would not bow to it.
         She moved to the next man without looking at his face, only his body. When she saw he had no mortal wound, she allowed herself a glance, and she was glad she had. He wore the mark of Ithaca, but she was certain she had never seen this face before. She would have remembered those eyes, the way they matched the sky, and that dark wavy hair, the way it shone in the sun. His jaw was square, rough with stubble, and his nose looked as if it had been broken at least once. He seemed much more princely than the man Jaxor had slain.
         Hallux chose not to speak. But he smiled at her, and that stilled her tongue even further. Instead she turned and yelled for a needle and thread. Bending to her work, Hallux kept silent. He did not.
         "I thank you for your help, nurse," he said. That made her laugh.
         "Do I look a nurse to you, truly?" she replied.
         He stammered, "Well, no but that could only mean...are you the commander of the Myrmidon?"
         "I am Hallux, daughter of Achilles. Does that shock you?"
         "Absolutely. I expected Hallux of the Myrmidon to look more man than woman. I did not expect to be attended by the mighty Hallux herself." She knew her reputation, but it rattled her to be called 'the mighty'.
         "I do what is needed."
         "As your father did?"
         "Yes, as did he. People like to tell stories that my father was Agamemnon's most loyal fighter. Well, I'm sure you know."
         "Not enough, no."
         "Then I'll tell you a secret. My father had no allegiance. He fought for two reasons. For glory, or because his friend Odysseus asked him to. For a man so good at war, he did not seem to enjoy it."
         "And you are the same."
         "I do what is needed."
         "Still, you are too..."
         "I know. Too young."
         "No, I'm sure you're no younger than a year from me, but I was going to say too beautiful. I didn't anticipate that." He looked upset. She tied off the stitch and bit the excess.
         "Well," she said, turning, "I am sorry to disappoint you."
         Hallux sat alone in her tent after she had removed her armor. After making sure she was alone, she sat in a corner with her knees up to her chin and cried.
         When the dead had burned and the living had washed, Odysseus hosted a feast for his commanding officers and their guests. To Hallux's right sat Jaxor, to her left, Talan. Hallux barely touched her own meal, choosing instead to marvel at the race Jaxor and Talan seemed to be in to determine who cold finish their food first. As Talan finished his third plate, he asked Hallux if anything was wrong. She kicked herself. The man knew her too well. She knew he meant well, but she could not risk looking weak in the middle of a war, so she left the dining tent. Just outside, as if waiting for her, the handsome soldier appeared.
         "I realized I never introduced myself," he said, bowing. "My name is Aeromaeus, my lady."
         "And you know who I am. Who is your father, Aeromaeus?"
         "Forgive me, but I never knew him. He was killed just after I was born." Her mask of stone disintegrated at those words. He was like her.
         "I am so sorry."
         "There is no need to apologize. I suppose it was not really your fault." His brows knitted for a moment. It was dark outside, but Hallux could see that plainly. Then without explanation, he ran away. Hallux could only stand in stunned silence.
         
         The battle rejoined two days later. She and Jaxor stood together again, staring down their enemy. Talan was with them as well. She turned to him.
         "Is this all I was made for, Talan?" she asked him. "Is this my purpose?"
         "I know not. I do know that it suits you, my lady." She nodded.
         "Return to the king. Keep him safe." He did as she bid. Jaxor turned to her.
         "I will not fail you again, Lady Hallux," he promised.
         She replied, "I know you will not Jaxor."
         As the Trojans charged, Hallux slid on her helm and prepared herself for the dance. She put emotion aside and let instinct lead her.
         
         The battle felt longer that day. Everything, even Hallux's hair hurt. She had sent twenty-nine to the River Styx that day, but again, all of her Myrmidon had lived. She had taken cuts to the forearms where her greaves had fallen off, and a gash to her left thigh, but it was nothing a stitch couldn't fix. She closed the wound on her leg, but she needed two hands for her forearms. She sat and waited for Jaxor, for there was none more delicate with a needle, though he would never allow her to speak that aloud. Aeromaeus came along first, covered in brown muck and blood.
         "Were there sows in the battle today?" she japed. "I thought only pigs got so covered in mud."
         "Bastard tried to drown me in a bloody puddle," he said, spitting. He tried to wipe his face, but every pass his hand took only left more brown stuff in its wake instead of removing it. She giggled. "What's funny? Oh, do you need help?"
         "I was going to let my captain..."
         "I can do it. I owe you a stitch."
         The pain was immense, but Aeromaeus worked quickly. After her cuts were mended, he pressed on them with a damp rag to dull the throbbing. Hallux may even say that he was better than Jaxor.
         "Thank you," she said, trying to rise. But then a hot shooting pain seared her ankle in half, and she sank down again. She was stunned she hadn't noticed it before, but she usually forgot all in battle. She cried out. Aeromaeus fluttered around her, trying to find out what was wrong. "Ankle." She was only able to get out the one word.
         "Allow me to take you to the king's healer," he demanded. She nodded, biting her lip.
         He had just gathered her up in his arms when Jaxor approached.
         "I will care for her," the big man said.
         Aeromaeus asked as he passed Hallux to him, "Then may I accompany you?"
         "Ask my lady," Jaxor said.
         "Jaxor will attend me," Hallux said. "You should see to the other wounded. Your skill with a needle is great."
         "Thank you. I will do as you command," he said, and turned to walk away. He stole a final glance, however, concern written on his entire face. She did not need Aeromaeus or anyone else to see her so weak. She faced Jaxor's chest and bit back tears as her captain walked.
         Talan helped the healer bind Hallux's ankle with a disapproving look marring his happy features. She was telling him not to worry as Odysseus entered. He burst in and demanded to know if Hallux was badly damaged. She assured him that it was not so bad.
         "Well that is good news," the king said, "and I come bearing more. I've had news that the son, Astyanax is his name, has vanished. He must have fled because of our victories, knowing his time is growing near."
         "We must not allow ourselves to be so high on victory, uncle. We will lose ourselves," Hallux warned. Odysseus assented then left to see to his men.
         That evening, Hallux walked to test her ankle. The binding provided more than adequate support, so the only mark of her injury was a slight limp. Eventually though, she did have to rest. She plopped down on the grass right where she was, laying back to look at the stars. It was a peaceful night. The breeze's touches were gentle, the way Aeromeus's had been as he closed her cuts. But she shouldn't think about that. She had a war to win.
         Hallux heard the brush of sandal on grass. She smiled. Talan wasn't being as quiet as usual. Perhaps he thought her an easy target with an injured ankle. The sounds stopped for a long time, as if Talan wondered whether he even wanted to play the game. Perhaps he was stalking her. She waited. The steps started again. When they got close enough, Hallux's hand snapped out, yanking a leg toward her an bringing him down to his back. He landed with an "oof" and Hallux, smiling, climbed atop him to straddle his waist. Only when she looked down, she wasn't sitting on Talan.
         "Aeromaeus!" she said, sliding off. "I thought you were someone else."
         "I'm not certain whether to be happy or sad about that at the moment," he said. She pulled her knees to her chin as he sat up, clapping a hand to his neck. "I find it hard to forget you. Besides, I only wanted to see how you were feeling."
         She thought it was admirable, albeit foolish. She was obviously a woman who could take care of herself, yet he wanted to check on her. Her men fought for her, yes, but they never feared for her safety or health.
         "You would do well to forget me. I could be dead upon the morrow. And I'm fine," she sighed.
         "You could die. Or not, depending on whims."
         "Whose whims?"
         "The gods'. Who else's?" She paused for a moment.
         "Did I hurt you?
         "Not at all. It is hard fathoming that sort of speed though. How does one react so quickly?"
         "One inherits the instinct. Odysseus says I might be faster than my father."
         "Tell me about him," the soldier said.
         For a moment, Hallux wondered why she should. Everyone knew who her father was. Then she remembered Aeromaeus had no father. Perhaps he didn't even have anyone to tell him tales about his father either. Perhaps sharing would comfort him...and her.
         So she told. About his wild hair that waved like hers, about their shared shields and his great victories, about how he avenged his cousin Patroclus. She told him how Eudorus had always said that Hector was the only man ever worthy enough to cross swords with Achilles, and respected both men were. She even managed to prattle about her mother or at least what she had been told of her mother. Her curly brown hair, the color Hallux shared with her, the warm hugs, her blue and white chitons.
         "Eudorus tells me my father rescued her from rape. He was very heroic," she finished.
         "I did not know this about him. Achilles was a great man," Aeromaeus said.
         "And a wise leader. He'd never lost a Myrmidon man." Aeromaeus was silent. Do you not know anything about your father?"
         "Only what I've been told," he replied. "Supposedly he was a great warrior who once slew a giant of a man and saved his city several times. But that wasn't enough. Now I'm not sure what to believe."
         "So you were made for war as well?'"
         "I don't think I was made for anything. I think I'm here, and I decide what to do with me now. I was given gifts, and I use them. I think you should do the same." He left her to herself.

         The Trojans must have been growing weary, but they were indeed persistent. Talan helped her into her armor, as always and sent her to battle with a kiss on the cheek, telling her to take care of her ankle. She barely felt pain now. She told him to stay safe and keep the king, then joined Jaxor. For some reason she felt different about the battle. There was less dread, more anticipation, more excitement. She was hungry, almost. She asked Jaxor for a present.
         That day, the tactics of the Trojans had changed. They kept the battle short and sneaky. While a main host had appeared before the Greek army, another set of Trojans struck hard at the base camps, then all Trojans retreated. When Hallux learned the plot, she sprinted to find Odysseus. She found him inside her own tent. When she saw what was in the king's lap, her knees gave out and her body went limp. The only thing she felt was a stabbing, like ice in her stomach and heart.
         A gangly boy with blond hair lay across the king's legs with a broken head of a spear in the middle of his chest. The king was crying. Hallux had never seen a king cry before. Odysseus had blood all over his robes and hands, and clung to Talan like the boy was his own child. Talan had done his duty. She looked down at her own hands, red splotches covering her everywhere. Her eyes lost focus, then the world went black.
         When she woke, there were faces over her. Odysseus's eyes were still red with salt. Jaxor blew out a sigh of relief.
         "Talan," she said, trying to get upright.
         "Talan is dead," the king said through a blocked nose. "I am so sorry, Hallux, the boy's dead." Odysseus rose and left. She dug her palms into her eyes, trying to force out the image of the pink shade the blood had turned his blond hair. Her breath rattled as she took it in. She told Jaxor to get out. Then she lay on her side with her legs curled into her and wept. She didn't know for how long. The next thing she knew, her tent was swept open and someone entered with a pitcher.
         "You cry," Aeromaeus said. She laughed manically.
         "Do you think I have no heart, soldier?"
         He confessed, "I once did. Please have some water."
         "I want nothing."
         "I'm sorry. But I had to see."
         "See what? Me in a puddle of tears? See 'the mighty' Hallux dissolve into a mere child? See me weak and shaking? See the little girl?"
         And then his mouth was on hers. She had played at kissing with Talan, the same one she would never see again. This was different. There was urgency in every motion he made and fervor she had never experienced before. It was like he was desperate. She would have beat him senseless, but she was too weak from battle and grief. It peeved her.
         But then, she wasn't sure she wanted to stop it either. It was good, to feel wanted for something other than her sword hand or her planning mind. His warmth, his passion, his exuberance, they were all good feelings. She wondered what on earth he was doing to her.
         At last he pulled away and stared her down. His fingers were around her neck, as if it wouldn't support her head. He squeezed for a moment then turned away, seeming almost disgusted with himself. He paced round the tent in a mad fashion.
         He pulled at his hair before blurting, "I knew your mother." Hallux could only listen, being so caught off guard by that statement. "She was a woman of Apollo. A priestess. She was taken hostage by the Greeks during the Great War. My uncle told me they used her brutally. She was even used by the great Achilles. You were the result. But she told it differently, and I never knew who to believe. You were the fruit of love, she said, but how could I truly swallow that? If my uncle was right, then there should be no love in you. Now I know that there is. Now I know who told truth." Hallux was dazed but tried to piece it out.
         "My mother...of Apollo? The god of the Trojans..." she said.
         "Your mother's name was Briseis, a woman of the royal family of Troy. Cousin to Prince Paris...and Prince Hector."
         "No. It is not true, you cannot know this." She put her hands to her temples trying to squeeze in some sense. "Who are you?" she moaned.
         "I was sent for you. But I can't. I cannot. I will not." Realization hit her as hard as she hit Jaxor that first battle. Her body gave out again as she slumped back against the cushions she rested on. He came closer and held her hand to his cheek. More tears escaped her eyes and her head hung over.
         "You bastard," she said. "You bastard, Astyanax."