Troy

Troy
by
Adèle Geras

The eagle circled over Troy, and in the city, everyone who looked up and saw it stood openmouthed, and not one of them recognized the Father of the Gods, Zeus himself. I am used to it, he thought. He disguised himself often. Usually, it was true, in order to get a little closer to a human woman who had taken his fancy. That girl down there was a pretty thing, but too young for his taste. He’d become a white bull for Europa; and for Leda (yes, the mother of Helen of Troy herself, though many forgot that Helen was his daughter) he had been a swan: white and powerful, with a dangerous

black beak and yellow eyes. And now he was an eagle, flying over Troy and looking at the war, which had gone on for many years. Too many years, Zeus thought. It is time the whole thing was over. When he caught sight of the Greeks camped on the shore, beside their ships, he found it hard to believe that they’d spent nearly ten years away from their firesides. The fate of the city had been decided long ago, of course. Zeus realized this, but still, he did find himself impatient with how very long the whole thing was taking. When this mood came upon him, it was his custom to come down from Olympus. It made him feel better, for a little time at least.

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