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Wrath

The best of Trojans against the best of Greeks.

I will not give them the fight they want to see, but I can give them something worth remembering. I do not say a word, afraid he will not fight me when he hears the wrong voice, but I draw my sword and get ready to fight.

To kill.

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The blood gushes over my arms, splashes of it covering what little of my face is visible. The rush of the fight ebbs away now that it is almost over. Just one more push and another life will be taken to the Underworld. It had not been an easy fight. I had been tired, while Hektor, who had not been fighting with the Trojans at the camp, still had the energy to kill, but I still fought, longer than I thought was possible, until one of us fell.

Hektor looks at me with dark, pleading eyes. "Please", he says, blood rushing out of his mouth with every breath. "Please, give my body back to my family." He looks so miserable; I almost feel sorry for him. He is my enemy, he has killed many of my men, he does not deserve mercy, but I can at least give him the one thing he asks for.

"Why would I not?" I whisper, not wanting the people on the wall to hear me. "You have fought well, Hektor, and you died with honour. Your family should be proud." I give a final push to my sword, pushing it deeper into his stomach, in the gap between his armour. I look into his eyes as the lights go out, smiling gently, not because I enjoy seeing him die, but because I want him to know he does not die alone. His body goes limp. I get up and pull my sword out of his body, unsure of what to do now. I decide to close his eyes and move away from the body, so that his family can come get it, like I promised. I do not take his armour, although it would have been expected for me to do. He was a great warrior; he deserves to carry his armour to the grave.

I can hear the wailing coming from the Trojan walls and when I look, I can see the shock on their face even from the distance. One woman tries to throw herself of the wall, fighting back against the ones who hold her back. His widow, perhaps, or his mother. I feel bad for her, since she has done nothing to me or the Greeks to deserve this pain, but Hektor did deserve to die, so there is nothing that I could have done to spare her. I wonder if there is anyone who would react like that if I had been the one to die.

Behind me, the Greek army erupts in cheers. I had not noticed they were there, gathered to watch my battle with Hektor. Automedon is with them, waiting till I give him the signal to come get me, and we will ride victorious back into the camp, where I will be received as a hero.

No.

Not I.

Achilles.

I can hear their chants, the same as before. Achilles, Achilles. I have been fighting in his name, killing in his name, but this victory should be mine. I did all the work, while he just sat back and watched our men get killed. He does not deserve this honour.

"No!" I yell, unsure if they can hear me over all the shouts. "I am not Achilles!" I pull the helmet off my head, revealing my dark hair. The shouts die out and everything goes quiet, so quiet I can hear the gasps coming from the Trojans on the wall. I turn around to face them. "I am Patroklos, son of Menoitios, and I am the one who killed Hektor! Remember my name!"

The Greeks cheer again. They do not care whether it is me of Achilles who killed Hektor, as long as somebody did it. Automedon comes to pick me up with the chariot, but when I get on, he has to support me, so I do not fall down. I am tired, so tired, but I have to keep standing for a little bit longer, while the Greek army sings my praises. They started chanting my name now.

Patroklos, Patroklos.

Best of Greeks.

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