The Anger of Achilles: Homer's Iliad

  The taunt grieved Prothoenor’s comrades, particularly Great Ajax, who made a quick cast from close range at the retreating Polydamas. He bent aside, but Fate had ordered that the spear should catch Antenor’s son Archelochus just above the top-joint of his spine and sever both neck-tendons. Archelochus collapsed, his face striking the ground a little before his knees and legs. Ajax shouted: ‘Confess, my lord Polydamas, that I have not done badly to avenge Prothoenor by killing a fighter who can hardly be sprung from mean stock—in fact, his features suggest that he is either a younger brother or a son of Antenor the Horse-Tamer.’ Ajax, of course, knew who Archelochus was.

  This vexed the Trojans; and when Acamas saw Promachus, son of Alegenor the Boeotian, dragging Archelochus off by the feet, he plunged his spear into him, crying in grisly tones: ‘Enough of taunts, you Greek archers who fancy yourselves as spearmen! We are not alone in suffering cruel losses, and I have now exacted rapid payment for my brother’s death. A soldier may well pray to be survived by some avenging relative!’

  This vexed the Greeks, especially the resourceful Prince Peneleos. He failed to kill Acamas, but attacked Ilioneus, only son of Phorbas, a rich sheep-farmer whom his patron the god Hermes had prospered. The spear shot down into Ilioneus’ eye, gouging out the eye-ball, and emerged at the nape. As Ilioneus flung open his arms, Peneleos beheaded him. ‘Trojans,’ he cried, ‘pray warn Phorbas and his wife to mourn their loss; and when we sail home from here, we will take the wife of Promachus a similar message!’ With that he lifted his spear. Ilioneus’ head, impaled by the blade, made it look like a tall poppy.

  The Trojans blanched, consternation seized them, and they broke.

  Now tell me, gentle MUSES,

  Who on Olympus dwell,

  What Greek first slew a Trojan,

  And stripped the corpse as well,

  After our great EARTH-SHAKER,

  His brother to annoy,

  Had turned the tide of battle

  And brought defeat on Troy.

  Great Ajax was the first: he killed and despoiled Hyrtius, son of Gyrtias, the bold Mysian commander. Next, Nestor’s son Antilochus accounted for Phalces and Mermerus; next, Meriones the Cretan for Morys and Hippotion; then Teucrus, for Prothoön and Periphetes. Finally, Menelaus drove his spear into the side of Prince Hyperenor, son of Panthous, whose intestines gushed out and whose spirit escaped through the same wide breach.

  But swift-footed Little Ajax killed more Trojans than did any of his comrades. He always pressed the hardest on a fleeing enemy.

  Book Fifteen:

  The Greeks Rally

  Driven back over rampart, palisade and fosse with heavy casualties, the Trojans came to where they had left their chariots and halted in confusion; at which very moment Zeus, the Father of men and gods, awoke on the peak of Gargarus. He disengaged himself from Hera’s arms, leaped to his feet and looked towards Troy. There he saw a column of Greek champions, led by Poseidon, driving before them a mob of frightened fugitives, while at the Scamander ford, a group of Trojans crouched around the recumbent figure of Hector. Hector was gasping for breath, vomiting blood, and mumbling in delirium. The boulder that struck him had clearly not been thrown by a nerveless hand.

  Zeus burst out:

  ‘O HERA, with what crooked arts

  You meddle in this fight!

  Prince Hector bleeds beside the ford,

  His men are turned to flight.

  ‘Beware lest now I take revenge,

  My lovely queen, on you,

  Thrashing your exquisite soft skin

  Till it turns black and blue.

  ‘Once, long ago, I trussed you up,

  I trussed you up so neat

  With golden gyves about your wrists,

  And anvils on your feet,

  ‘Hanging you from the cloudy pole,

  For all the world to see;

  The Immortal Gods were mad with rage,

  But could not set you free.

  ‘For I would catch the unruly curs

  And whirl them round my head,

  And hurl them from Olympus’ height,

  To hit the earth, half-dead.

  ‘Yet though you suffered your deserts,

  The sight did not assuage

  Either my grief for HERACLES,

  Or my relentless rage!

  ‘Had you not cajoled the wild winds

  My plans to set astray,

  Driving his ship so far as Cos

  Three hundred miles away?

  ‘I rescued my exhausted son,

  Leading him by the hand

  To Argos where fine horses graze,

  His own delightful land—

  ‘The ugly story I repeat,

  False wife, to rouse your fears

  That this new treasonable trick

  May end in floods of tears!’

  Hera shuddered and swore by Earth, Heaven, and the tumbling waters of Styx—the greatest and most terrible oath used on Olympus—also by Zeus’ own sacred head, and their marriage bed to which she always remained faithful, that Poseidon had not taken the field against the Trojans at her desire. He was acting, she declared, on an impulse of pity for the hard-pressed Greeks, and had he consulted her, she would have advised him to obey his elder brother Zeus implicitly.

  Zeus smiled. ‘If we are now at last of one heart and mind,’ he said, ‘my stubborn brother Poseidon will soon come round to our way of thinking. But please prove your sincerity by sending Iris here from Olympus; I shall make her order Poseidon off the field. Also, while you are about it, send me Phoebus Apollo; he can revive Hector, heal his injury, and return him safe and sound to the fighting line. My plans are these: Hector the Bright-Helmed must cause a panic among the Greeks, and pursue them once more, with slaughter, as far as the row of ships commanded by Achilles, son of Peleus; and Achilles must rouse his noble friend Patroclus to defend them; and Patroclus must kill a number of Trojans and Trojan allies, including my own son King Sarpedon; and Hector must kill Patroclus; and, finally, Achilles must avenge Patroclus by killing Hector. That will be a turning-point in this war: I shall then let Agamemnon’s troops start a new offensive, which can proceed unchecked until Athene shows them how to capture Troy. Meanwhile, I continue implacable in my anger against the Greeks. All Olympus is warned not to assist them before I have fulfilled the promise I made when the Silver-Footed Goddess Thetis caught hold of my knees and implored me to honour her son Achilles; for I confirmed it with my divine nod.’

  Hera flew obediently down the slopes of Ida, heading towards Mount Olympus.

  Safe home the seasoned traveller names

  A foreign town—‘Ah,’ he exclaims,

  ‘That charming spot! I wish I were

  No longer here, but once more there.’

  Then other towns he calls to mind,

  His thoughts run swifter than the wind

  And, though his body does not move,

  Revisit every scene they love.

  In the same way, Hera needed merely to think of Olympus, and there she was: entering the banqueting hall of Zeus’ Palace. Her fellow-Immortals rose in welcome, and offered cups of nectar. She took a cup from Themis the Fair-Cheeked, who had run to meet her, inquiring: ‘Goddess, what makes you look so thoroughly out of sorts? Has Zeus been uttering more of his threats?’

  ‘Do not question me on so painful a subject, Themis!’ replied Hera. ‘You know well enough how vain and stubborn he can be. But now let the divine banquet begin, and I shall announce Zeus’ brutal decisions. It is most improbable that you gods will like them, even such few as are unaffected by this crisis and keep a hearty appetite for food and drink. Nor, I believe, will many mortals like them, either.’

  Hera mounted her throne amid a hush of foreboding, smiled sardonically, drew her dark eye-brows together in an indignant frown, and said: ‘We are fools if we give vent to our rage! None of us can hinder Zeus’ schemes, or dissuade him from them. He cares nothing for us, but sits apart and make
s light of our feelings, convinced of his own absolute pre-eminence. We must therefore resignedly accept whatever sorrow he chooses to cause. Ares, for instance, has suffered a cruel loss: dear Prince Ascalaphus, whom he claims as his son, fell in battle today!’

  Ares slapped his muscular thighs with the flat of both hands, exclaiming bitterly: ‘Fellow-Olympians, do not blame me if I go off at once and avenge Ascalaphus; even though Zeus may see fit to throw a thunderbolt at my head and leave me out-stretched among the corpses on that dusty, blood-soaked shore.’ He shouted orders for his chariot-team to be yoked.

  The quarrel between Zeus and the other Immortals would have flared up again, had not Athene, terrified of what might happen, sprung up suddenly and darted through the door in pursuit of the impetuous Ares. He was already harnessing his horses, Fear and Terror. Athene snatched the helmet from his head, the shield from his shoulder, the spear from his fist and, flinging them away, shrieked: ‘You are mad, Ares, that is a fact! You have deaf ears, an addled brain, and no sense of awe! Surely you heard Hera’s report on her latest interview? Why cause further mischief and make the rest of us suffer for your foolishness? Forgetting about Trojans and Greeks, Zeus will seethe with rage, pursue you back to Olympus, and man-handle each of us in turn—whether innocent or guilty. Show a little restraint! Sit down, and swallow your anger at Ascalaphus’ death; after all, many a tougher champion than he has fallen in this war, and will yet fall. It is no easy matter to preserve the lives of every god’s son or grandson.’ While Athene was subduing Ares, Hera asked Phoebus Apollo and Iris the Golden-Winged to step outside. There she told them: ‘Zeus demands your immediate attendance on Mount Ida; you are to obey his orders without fail, however unpleasant they may be.’

  As soon as she had resumed her seat in the hall, Apollo and Iris flew swiftly to Gargarus, where they found the fragrant golden cloud still arched above Zeus, and awaited his desires.

  Pleased by their promptness in acting on Hera’s message, Zeus turned to Iris. ‘Here is a warning for Prince Poseidon,’ he said. ‘You must be careful to deliver it correctly.

  “Break off the fight, POSEIDON,

  And prove your awe of me

  By soaring into Heaven

  Or plunging into Sea!

  “But if this order irks you,

  Consider well and long

  Whether it can be prudent,

  Although your limbs are strong,

  “To challenge ZEUS your brother,

  Almighty and First-born,

  Whom no god in Olympus

  But you dares treat with scorn!”’

  Iris immediately took off for Troy.

  North Wind, born in the bright air,

  Hail or snow from clouds you tear…

  but the speed of whirling snowflakes or pelting hailstones was nothing compared with that of Iris as she swooped to Poseidon’s feet. ‘Dark-Haired Embracer of the Earth,’ said she. ‘I carry an urgent warning from Zeus the Shield-Bearer.’ Then she repeated her message in Zeus’ exact words.

  ‘Damnation take him!’ Poseidon answered. ‘How presumptuous, to address me so! He forgets that I rank as highly as he does. There were three of us divine brothers: Zeus, myself, and Hades, sons of Rhea by our father Cronus. After Cronus’ removal, we divided his kingdom into four parts—Earth, Sky, Sea and Hell. Earth, with Mount Olympus, was held jointly by all of us, but we drew lots for the remaining three parts. I won the grey Sea; the murky Underworld fell to Hades: which left Zeus the Sky and its clouds. I therefore protest against Zeus’ bullying. He should stay quietly in his own domain and not try to scare me into submission by violent threats of violence. Let us keep these for his sons and daughters, who owe him natural obedience.’

  ‘Poseidon, Embracer of the Earth,’ pleaded Iris, ‘must I really convey this rude, stubborn message to Zeus? Could you not perhaps soften it, like a good fellow? I need hardly remind you that the Furies always support the elder brother in a quarrel about authority.’

  Poseidon gave way. ‘I thank you, Iris,’ he exclaimed. ‘What a pleasure it is when a messenger shows common sense! You must pardon my heat: scoldings from Zeus, to whom Fate has assigned an equal inheritance with me, are not easy to bear. Very well, I shall control my temper and do as he desires. None the less, I can assure you of one thing: that if ever he flouts the combined wishes of myself, Athene the Spoil-Winner, Queen Hera, and the gods Hermes and Hephaestus, by saving Troy from utter destruction, we will never forgive him! Make Zeus understand this!’

  Poseidon then dived out of sight into the sea, deserting the Greeks—how sadly they missed his support!—and Zeus turned to Apollo. ‘Dear Lord of Archers,’ he said, ‘your uncle Poseidon has, I see, been wise enough to leave the naval camp. Had he stayed, my anger would have flared up so fiercely that the old gods, who share my father’s imprisonment deep down below the horizon, would now be witnessing the inevitable sequel. Still, I am glad for both our sakes that he obeyed; his defiance would have forced a pretty hard tussle on me. Here, take my Aegis, shake it at the Greeks, and scare them silly! I entrust glorious Hector to your care: rouse in him such battle-fury that he drives his enemies through their rows of ships and back to the edge of the Hellespont. I will then create a diversion, during which the Greeks can recover their breath.’

  Apollo glided from Gargarus like a falcon, the swiftest bird known, and one hated by doves. He found Prince Hector in better spirits: no sooner had Zeus thought about him than he sat up, recognized his comrades, and began to breathe more easily.

  Apollo addressed Hector: ‘Why so far from the fighting, son of Priam? You look sick and shaken. What happened?’

  Hector answered faintly: ‘Your questions do me honour, gentle god. As I stood killing Greeks close to the uppermost row of ships, a boulder thrown by Great Ajax struck me high on the breast and checked my advance. Everyone feared that I would gasp out my life and visit Hades’ kingdom before the day was over. But who are you, and how did this incident escape your notice?’

  ‘Courage!’ cried Apollo. ‘Zeus the Son of Cronus, from his seat on Mount Ida sends you a powerful ally, one who has long protected the Citadel of Troy and yourself: me, Phoebus Apollo the GoldenBladed! So prepare for a chariot charge against Agamemnon’s fleet. You can count on me to fly ahead, smoothe your course, and spread panic among the Greek leaders.’

  Apollo then gave Hector enormous strength.

  A stallion on pearl-barley fed,

  A nimble horse of noble breed,

  Has burst the halter-rope and fled

  From his full manger at full speed.

  He runs in pride with streaming mane,

  Towards waters that will cool his rage,

  And whinnies at the mares again

  In their accustomed pasturage…

  Hector’s movements were equally vigorous: he re-joined his chariot-fighters and organized a new attack.

  The Greeks were still pursuing the Trojans with swords and spears, bladed at either end of the shaft, when suddenly they became aware that Hector had taken the field again. At once every man’s heart sank to his sandals.

  Peasants chase behind their pack

  On a hart’s or a goat’s track,

  Scrambling up the wooded hill,

  Gay and venturesome until

  At a turning of the path,

  Hark! a bearded lion’s wrath,

  Roused by clamour of the chase,

  Sounds a threat they will not face.

  Hector’s appearance proved no less disconcerting to the Greeks. Thoas, son of Andraemon, an Aetolian hero—famous for his spear-throwing, his deadliness in close combat, and a debating skill which few of Agamemnon’s younger Councillors could surpass—was the first to remark upon it. ‘Alas,’ he cried, ‘I can hardly believe my eyes! We all thought that Hector had been killed by Great Ajax; but look, he has cheated Fate, and is back at the head of his army again! Some god must have revived him, and I fear that, not content with the damage already done, he hopes to
inflict yet more on us. I suspect Zeus himself of working this miracle. Now, take my advice: let the common soldiers retire in good order, while we champions form a barrier and prevent his getting loose among them! Inspired though he seems to be, we may yet fend him off.’

  Thoas’ suggestion was approved. The common soldiers fell back, while Great Ajax, King Idomeneus, Teucrus, and Meges, each supported by a group of chosen comrades, stood fast.

  Hector’s free-striding team led the chariot charge, and in front of him flew Apollo, his shoulders wrapped in cloud, carrying the Aegis, a bright, dreadful, shaggy-fringed shield, which Hephaestus had given Zeus as a means of terrorizing mortals.

  The Greeks closed their ranks and greeted Hector’s chariotry with a roar of defiance. Arrows leaped from bow-strings, and spears from powerful hands. Some found their hoped-for billets in the flesh of Trojans; most of them, however, fell short and struck only barren soil. The exchange of missiles was equal and both sides suffered casualties so long as Apollo held the Aegis steady; but when he shook it, yelling, at the Greeks, they were reduced to impotence.

  Lioness and lion leap

  On a herd of cows by night,

  Or a numerous flock of sheep

  (Where’s that shepherd? Fast asleep),

  Scaring them to frantic flight.

  That is how the Greeks fled at the approach of Apollo and Hector! Pressing on the ruck, Hector killed a Boeotian nobleman named Stichius, also Archesilaus, an intimate friend of King Menestheus the Athenian. Prince Aeneas accounted for Medon, Little Ajax’s bastard brother who, after killing a kinsman of his step-mother Eriopis, had taken refuge at Phylace—far from Locri, the home of his father Oïleus—and now commanded the Methonians. Another of Aeneas’ victims was the Athenian leader Iasus, son of Sphelus and grandson of Bucolus. Polydamas killed Mecisteus; Polites killed Echius; Prince Agenor killed Clonius; and Deiochus, fighting in the front-line, had just turned to run when Paris speared him clean through the lungs beneath the shoulderblade.