Warrior, Father, Prince
The metal buckler and chain mail bites into the flesh of my torso. I say nothing to my armorer. He already is aware of the grim business all too well. Even as I do. When did it happen?
When the serene, uncomplicated panaroma of sea, sky and ground was not impeded by the human sea of foriegn invaders. I have gone out upon the walls of our city of Ilion many times and now the black ships of the Achaeans cluster upon our shores, the soliders crowd the beaches, and lay siege to our city. Troy was built to withstand the ages, other neighboring kingdoms and countries owe fealty to the crown, and they have come to fight with us, in light of the threat posed by these assembled warriors from all the greek city-states.
The black ships are docked off the coast of what the bards refer to as the wine dark sea.
I stiffen my spine and my resolve and tug on the metal greaves, and make certain that the chin strap of my helm is tight off and will not constrict my vision in battle.
I turn to leave the chamber and a sensation comes over me, as of someone obesrving my movements in silence. I turn around and note that my wife, Andromache has arrived, patiently waiting on my regard, our son cradled in her arms. I have never loved her as much as I do now.
She is brave. Some of those I consider more foolish than I, think women are weak. But women see more blood then men ever will, unless they are fighting in war, they might accept.
She knows the war will not come to a sudden conclusion; we have been fighting this cursed siege for far too long for that to be an option. She comes forward, the tense set of her shoulders the only sign of her outward uneasiness. We exchange words, she has me kiss our on his forehead, blessing of a father to his son. I am reminded that warriors fight not only for their own glory, or for the sake of a cause, or a kingdom, but also for its people.
I will ensure that the walls of Troy stay strong, that the those who defend stay strong. I pray that the gods of heaven who watch over us, protect us, do not abandon us in the final contest. It is a matter of some concern. I go out to the walls, passing through the heart of the town, I can see, feel and smell the tension in the air, the people are frantic, fearful for their lives and well-being; and I cannot find it in my heart to blame them. I am their prince. This siege will end, and we will triumph in this war, and if the fates are cruel, and we end our time, we will make it such an end as to be remembered for generations to come.