SHORT STORY - Eaten Alive By Their Own Shadows

When the atrocity took place the world wept archaic tears. Acres of causal sympathy was shed. All the tribes across the Aegean peninsula made sure to express their anger  publicly. Disguising any strategic advantage they privately saw for themselves. Offering the Spartans their arms and armies, their money, their allegiance. They struck a deal and shook their hands upon the coming conflict.

Once again ministering angels were left to mop the brows and wipe away the tears of those left behind. The ones already encased in their shrouds and in their mourning. As vengeance was taken for them, becoming the foremost weapon shaken in the hands of men. And the oracles predicted doom into the emptiness of cavernous spaces.

 

That local delegation, those disingenuous Trojans, had appeared likable enough. Closely resembling the Spartans in their world view and mode of interaction. But then, they'd broken into the palace compound on the evening of their departure. Abducted Queen Helen, taking all her entourage hostage too. Further aggrieving their hosts by the slaughtering of slaves, sacred calves, children and killed King Menelaus's thoroughbred horses as they left. No one would be in quick pursuit of them as they made for a sea bourne getaway. As Sparta, so grievously betrayed, was plunged into mournful outrage.

Menelaus was so consumed by his emotional sophistry, that it never occurred to his imagination, that Helen might have left willingly. That he might have been neglectful and abusive towards his ravishing wife. That this 'abduction' might to some extent have been his fault. As he turned up on his older brother Agamemon's doorstep, to devise together a rescue mission. They compiled a list of those whose skills and fealty they should call upon.

He aught to have understood his siblings nefarious nature better. He'd seen the self serving cruelty of him many times. But now Menelaus was not just forgiving of it, but wished to co-opt his kin's less respectable instincts. The more lee way you gave Agamemnon, the more he greedily would make a grab for places, persons and power to service his own advantage. Menelaus, in the righteousness of his anger knowingly failed to restrain the bullish bear, that was his brother when unleashed. This ego inflated leader always on the make.

In Agamemnon's hands their joint mission, quickly turned from rescue into a campaign for annexing Trojan territory. The seeking of an ocean wide continental supremacy. To turn their quickly hewn confederation of warriors, into an undefeatable power across the vast Aegean Sea. No one foresaw then, that the fighting would go on and on for ten grueling years of increasingly futile conflict. During which, Helen and the hostages had become an entirely secondary consideration. The interminable nature of this war focused minds completely, to the point of blind obsession, on wiping the Trojans entirely off the map and out of existence. To put a final end to their darkly pernicious terrorism, with the Greeks own far from virtuous version of it.

And as these two malign military forces  exchanged ever deeper atrocities against one another, no one could be proud of any victory. For each battle won appeared ever more cyclical and pyrrhic in nature. No one could envisage the end to it. So as they grovelled ever closer to the ground they fought over, they were simultaneously being eaten alive by their own shadows. Whilst the oracles continued to predict doom, into the emptiness of cavernous spaces.

On the day the ignoble Greeks finally stepped onto the streets of Troy, all they could think of exacting was genocidal murder. To pillage and bring to ruin this once fine city. The revenge rapes and the immolation of women and children on pyres. Reducing everything, whether despicable or admirable that was Troy, into blackened glowing embers. To pound its walls into the dust of forgotten history. 

Menelaus, once the rightfully wronged man, had over a decade of blood fueled fighting corrupted his image from the god endorsed abused, into an egregious abuser himself. Any moral high ground he'd once occupied, now crushed under the feet of his own actions and utter debasement. 

Helen emerged imperious out of the bonfire of Illium's royal palace, and without a look of recognition walked straight passed Menelaus. No longer seeing him as even worthy of her respect, let alone affection. Any love had been extinguished under layers of grief, for all those fine men and women who'd died as a consequence of her decision to chose self determination, happiness and joy, over a cruel and dependent servitude.