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Authors: Mary Doria Russell

Epitaph

BOOK: Epitaph
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DEDICATION

For Richard Doria:

a story about brothers for my own.

For Louise Hope Dewing Doria:

better late than never.

With thanks to Jeff Jacobson:

welcome to the team.

EPIGRAPH

Beneath history, memory and forgetting.

Beneath memory and forgetting, life.

—
PAUL RICOEUR
                                                   

AUTHOR'S NOTE

The poles of American politics have been stable since the presidential election of 1800. A federalist party proclaiming, “We are a nation of laws” has always been opposed by a “Don't tread on me” party that resists regulation in the name of personal liberty. Since the passage of the 1964 Civil Rights Act, they've been called the Democratic and Republican Parties, respectively. Please note that in the 1880s, those labels were reversed.

All characters and the main elements of this story are based on real people and events.

CONTENTS

Dedication

Epigraph

Author's Note

Sing, Goddess, of Ruinous Wrath!

For the Sake of Helen: Princess, Prize

Since I went away and left my native land

A thousand ships

Ruin is strong and swift

You will never be lovelier than you are now

Handsome, Woman-Crazed Deceiver

Her luscious neck and ravishing breasts, the brilliance of her eyes

A man of many words

Hot thy love, hot thy hate

When Strife First Appears, She Is Small

Troy, a city built on riches

Cattle can be had for the raiding

Know when speech is proper and when silence

Few words, but very clear

Women of Troy

Wretched, headstrong girl!

You are right to blame me!

The peer of murderous mars

Clanless, Lawless, Homeless Men

Beneath the sun and starry skies

This reckless courage will destroy you

Stay your anger and keep clear from fighting

Better for me to die

Portents of Battle

All beguilements and loveliness

Black blood flowed from his wounds

Men steeped in quarrel and contention

His slave girl or his wedded wife

The Ache of Longing Mounted

No joy for us in the sumptuous feast

A virtuous man

Caress with gentle words

I wish I were the wife of a better man

My heart is balanced between two paths

Amid Jutting Cliffs and Steep Ravines

Better than night for a thief

Rumor went blazing among them

Come after me full-tilt and run me down

Thus the Gods Have Spun the Threads

Wouldst thou rob me of my prize?

This one is a fool, and will pay for it one day

The season of spring came on

Bitch that I am—a cause of evil and a curse!

The People of Troy Cried Out in Fear

A seething flood of flame rolled closer

Here we will stand our ground!

Would that this frailty had afflicted someone else!

Ah, if you and I could escape this fray!

Dense the Battle-Haze That Engulfs the Brave

Strife strides across the earth

Drunkard! Dog-faced, quivering, deer-hearted coward!

Respite in war is all too brief

No time for speeches now. 'Tis time to fight!

On they strode, like a consuming fire

Payment for My Brother's Blood

Headlong destruction swings our way

Confusion joins the fight

What atonement for blood spilt upon the earth?

Cut down through their own reckless folly

The Gods Will Deal Death to Those Who Kill

Those left alive after hateful carnage

The bravest is hit. The best will die.

O, my brother! I have been the death of you!

Wretched mortals! They live in grief.

Now There Will Be Killing Until the Score Is Paid

A heart-devouring anger

A brutal, indecent slaughter

Stir up strength to battle on!

I will be called coward and a man of no worth

This Is the Poison of Deep Grief

Come back from the battle and the dread affray

My pride and glory die, but the life that's left me will be long

Who in Future Will Speak Well of You?

Walking in Ruin's Trail

Pile up your riches and your luxury

Say the prayers. Heal the wounds.

On the sad threshold of old age

Now Let Me Win Noble Renown!

Give the bard his share of honor

The stroke of death will not come quickly

For Generations Still Unborn, He Will Live in Song

One generation dies away, another rises up

Overpowered by memories, both men gave way to grief

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Also by Mary Doria Russell

Credits

Copyright

About the Publisher

SING, GODDESS, OF RUINOUS WRATH!

—
THE ILIAD OF HOMER

TO UNDERSTAND THE GUNFIGHT IN TOMBSTONE,
stop—now—and watch a clock for thirty seconds. Listen to it tick while you try to imagine one half of a single minute so terrible it will pursue you all your life and far beyond the grave.

Begin your half minute with righteous confidence though you stand six paces from armed and angry men. They have abused you. They have threatened your life. Your rage and fear are justified. They are in the wrong. You are within the law. About all this, have no doubt.

BOOK: Epitaph
5Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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