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Odysseus waited at the bottom to steady the ropes as his commandoes slid down as agilely as snakes on a vine. "Walk around to shake out the cramps, and relieve yourselves off the road so we'll not slip in our own puddles as we make our way to the palace."
Once ready, the men followed Odysseus in a swift silent stream to the Scaean Gate, but no men had been left on watch. They raised the heavy bar to open it, and Sinon raced out to wave a torch to signal the Greek fleet waiting off the nearby island of Tenedos. Odysseus raised his sword and the killing began.
* * *
Helen smelled smoke before the flames became visible. The city was built in tiers with the palace at the crest, on the pergamon, the citadel, and as she watched, the fires leaped higher and higher licking their way up the hill. She heard men yelling to each other in the palace, frantically trying to mount a defense, but the Greeks were swarming inside the gates and no matter how valiant the Trojans proved to be, they'd awakened too late. At a severe disadvantage and with no time to don their armor, they were swiftly overwhelmed.
She sat on the end of the bed and put her hands over her ears to silence the cries and screams, but she couldn't smother her own thoughts. If the Greek fleet had returned, the palace would be overrun before dawn and far too many would die. Her fate, whatever it might be, would soon overtake her, but she drew in a deep breath and grew remarkably calm. She'd led an eventful life, been dearly loved, and loved in return. If she died tonight, she would not have missed any of life's joys, and she cherished her many blessings as she waited alone for whatever the fates would bring.
She heard a death scream from a guard in the hallway, her door flew open and crashed against the wall, and Menelaus appeared with a bloody sword in his hand. He tore off his distinctive helmet so he would be easily recognized, but she had expected him, after all. The war had changed him, but she recalled the day they'd met while she'd been playing with stick horses and soldiers in the dirt. Her brothers had been right, he had wanted her, even then.
"Have you come to kill me?" she asked, her expression warm, a reflection of their many shared memories.
He flung his gory sword aside, came toward her and knelt at her feet. He caught the end of a golden curl in his hand and brought it to his lips. "You are as beautiful as you were when I last saw you." Tears filled his eyes and ran down his cheeks.
When he had removed his fierce looking helmet, she saw his hair had become a silvery red and the lines at the corners of his eyes deep. He looked bone-weary, as though he had fought every day in the hated war. She loved him as she always had, but without the fiery passion Paris had kindled within her. She leaned close and kissed his cheek. "I've missed you."
He sat back on his heels. "You tore my heart from my chest when you left me."
She rested her fingertips on his lips. "It was so long ago."
"Yesterday to me."
They could hear screams, shrieks of agony echoing through the palace, and she winced at the sound. "I fear the innocent are dying, and I cannot bear their screams."
He stood, picked up his sword and helmet and offered his hand. "Come with me, my Helen. Fetch your belongings. Troy has fallen, and you'll not be back."
"I'll leave it all as plunder," she replied and went with him willingly. He led her through the palace the way he had come. She glanced neither left nor right, while terror swirled all around them. She clung to his hand, and they raced along the corridors out into the night. He gathered her into his arms and carried her away from the mayhem before setting her again on her feet.
He kissed her, long and hard, and she wrapped her arms around his waist. She relaxed against him, and their years apart fell away before the kiss ended. "I won't betray you again," he promised. "I'll be faithful until the day I die."
"You have much more to forgive," she whispered.
"No, if anything, I loved you too much, and cursed myself for it."
She thought him merely confused. "You are a good man, Menelaus, and the fault is entirely mine."
"Nonsense." He swept her up into his arms and carried her down to his flagship. "Stay here. We'll sail for Sparta at dawn."
She grabbed his sleeve. "Don't go back. Surely you've already killed your share of men tonight."
The reflection of the stars sparkled in her eyes, and he couldn't leave her, not ever again.
* * *
Zeus seethed as flames devoured his beloved Troy, and he grit his teeth rather than fling the lightning bolts tingling in his fingertips and add to the wanton destruction. Hera and Athena were singing and dancing around his golden palace, rejoicing in the ruin they'd brought to Troy, while Aphrodite and Apollo sat silently holding hands. Tears rolled down the Love goddess's cheeks and spilled into her lap.
"Are you happy now," Zeus asked his wife.
Hera ran her hand over his broad back as she danced by. "I'm thrilled clear to my toes," she proclaimed with a bubbling laugh.
The king of gods widened his stance and folded his arms over his chest. "Laugh if you will, my lovelies. You've won today, but our own battle is a long way from over."
Hera froze on tiptoe, and gazed over her shoulder at her mighty husband. "We're immortals, beloved, and the war between us will never end."
Believing Hera, Aphrodite wept all the harder.
* * *
