The truce was broken. Menelaus had won his fight with Paris and the Greeks were going to return home with Helen. That had been the agreement, and to honor it, both the Greeks and the Trojans had made sacrifices to Zeus, god of oaths. But now a Trojan had attacked the Greeks, and not just any Greek. He had shot Menelaus.
Menelaus staggered back, blood flowing from the wound. Agamemnon caught him as he fell. Menelaus groaned with pain.
"I should never have sent you there alone, dear brother," Agamemnon said. "I should have known the Trojans would break the truce. Zeus will punish them for this, you'll see. Troy will fall. But, brother, you must stay strong. We must return to Greece together in glory. Do not make me bury you here. The grief will make me mad."
"Brother, you worry too much," said Menelaus with a smile. "It's only a small wound. I'll be back on the battlefield in no time, killing that dog who shot me."
Agamemnon was overjoyed to see this, and immediately shouted for a healer.
Meanwhile, the soldiers were again preparing for battle.
Their mighty commander, Agamemnon, went through the ranks, putting fire into his men's hearts. Then, with a great shout of "Death and grief to the men of Troy," he led his men forward.
The Trojans were ready for them, and two armies crashed together, shield on shield, sword on sword, like two torrents of water raging down a mountain. Arrows flew, as the sounds of fighting rocked the ground. Screams of men dying mixed with cries of triumph, and the dead bodies of Greeks and Trojans lay side by side in the dirt.
Apollo stood behind the Trojans, pressing them forward. "They do not have Achilles," he shouted. "Their greatest hero is sulking by the ships. Victory today, Trojans, will be yours."
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