Achilles thanked Antilochus for his compliment. ‘I will raise the prize to a whole ingot,’ he said; and, what is more, paid him on the spot.8
***
Lastly, Achilles announced the javelin-throwing contest. His prizes were a long spear and a newly-forged cauldron embossed with flowers.
Two competitors stood up: Agamemnon, and Meriones the Cretan. Achilles therefore said: ‘My lord, son of Atreus! We Greeks honour you as our greatest hero—one who can toss javelins so much farther than any man alive that a contest would be idle. Pray deign to accept the embossed cauldron; but, unless you care to take both prizes, let Meriones have the spear—though I do not insist on this.’
Agamemnon kindly gave Talthybius the cauldron, and left the spear to Meriones.
Book Twenty-four:
The Trojans Bury Hector
These funeral games being over, the various Greek contingents dispersed: every man eager for supper and sleep, except Achilles, who alone went fasting to bed. There he tossed restlessly on his side, on his back, on his face; and great tears blinded him at the thought of strong, bold, gentle, warm-hearted Patroclus, and their adventures together by land and sea.
Rushing wildly out of his hut, he stumbled along the shore and, as soon as Dawn gilded the Thracian coast, once more dragged Hector’s naked corpse three times around the barrow, tied to his chariot-tail; then returned, leaving it prone in the dust; and still could not sleep.
Phoebus Apollo, however, had flung his golden Aegis protectively about the dead hero. Several other Olympians, who shared Apollo’s concern, urged sharp-eyed Hermes, God of Thieves, to rescue the corpse from further spiteful mishandling. An inveterate hatred of Troy set only a small group against this plan: Hera, Poseidon and Pallas Athene. Hera and Athene could not pardon a verdict given many years previously by Hector’s brother Paris, when they visited his sheep-farm with Aphrodite and asked him to judge which of them was the loveliest. Hera’s bribe had been an offer of wide kingship, Athene’s an offer of glorious conquest, but Aphrodite’s an offer of the most beautiful woman alive. Paris awarded Aphrodite the prize, and was thus able to seduce Helen; though he violated the laws of hospitality by doing so. Poseidon supported Hera and Athene: in his view Paris’ behaviour was atrocious—King Priam should have refused Helen and her treasures admittance into Troy.
Twelve days later, Apollo rose in the Council Hall: ‘Stern-hearted and bloody-minded colleagues,’ he cried, ‘did Hector never burn you any sacrifices—the thickly larded thighbones of choice bulls? Why then withhold the corpse from his unhappy relatives—Queen Hecuba, Princess Andromache, little Scamandrius, King Priam—and from his numerous comrades who long to build him a pyre and celebrate the obsequies in style? Why condone Achilles’ unjust and unyielding attitude? He is no more capable of pity or shame than a lion among sheep—a trait which may enrich him, but which also robs him of his good name. Many who suffer worse losses than the son of Peleus—a brother or a son, for example—resolutely dry their tears after the funeral, because the Fates have taught them courage in adversity. Achilles should show the same moderation. He loses a cousin, his friend Patroclus and, not considering that Hector’s fall is vengeance enough, must needs tie the corpse to his chariot-tail and drag it around Patroclus’ barrow! How can such barbarity benefit him, or redound to his honour? Though a gallant fighter, he offends us by so outrageous a treatment of his dead adversary.’
Hera flared at Apollo: ‘Lord of the Silver Bow, what a dishonest speech! Anyone might be deceived into thinking that the two champions were of equal rank! Hector was suckled by an ordinary woman; whereas I myself educated Achilles’ mother, the Goddess Thetis, and gave her in marriage to King Peleus, Heaven’s favourite hero! We all attended that wedding, did we not? Faithless creature, patron of evil! I well remember your own lyre performance at the banquet.’
Zeus called Hera to order. ‘Wife,’ he said, ‘you should avoid such fierce attacks on fellow-Olympians! I admit the difference in birth, yet Hector was our favourite Trojan—or at any rate mine. He never failed to propitiate me with libations, and his sacrifices always smoked at my altar. I thought for a while of allowing Hermes to rescue Hector’s corpse, but dismissed the idea because Silver-Footed Thetis, who has kept watch among the Greek huts night and day, would soon put Achilles on the alert if such an attempt were made. Send her here; I wish King Priam to ransom the corpse for burial, and Thetis can arrange his welcome at the naval camp.’
Iris immediately darted off on Zeus’ errand, diving into the sea’s green depths with a smack, somewhere between Samothrace and rocky Imbros. The waves closed above her, and she plummeted down like the sinker and baited hook of a fisherman’s line.
Thetis sat in her grotto, surrounded by Nereids and lamenting Achilles’ imminent death. ‘Rise, goddess!’ Iris ordered. ‘Zeus the Immortal and All-Wise summons you.’
Thetis replied: ‘So great a god and yet has need of me? Alas, whatever he says, I must obey; but, as you see, I am in no state to visit Olympus.’
She chose a dark robe, the darkest to be had in the entire length and breadth of the sea; and followed Iris’ swift upward leap. They clambered ashore on an island beach, then flew to Olympus, where they found Zeus sitting in Council. Athene politely surrendered her own throne, which stood next to his; and, as Thetis took it, Hera with a pleasant smile brought her a golden goblet of nectar.
She drank, handed back the goblet, and listened to Zeus. ‘I know, dear Thetis,’ he began, ‘what griefs are eating at your heart; but pay attention! For several days a quarrel has raged among us on the subject of Hector’s corpse, held by your son, the Sacker of Cities. My family talked of sending sharp-eyed Hermes to steal it; and I paid Achilles a signal honour when I refused consent—though this was done, rather, for the sake of our ancient friendship. Now hurry to your son’s hut and give him a personal message from me, with which he will doubtless comply. Announce the gods’ displeasure at his denying Prince Hector’s parents the privilege of ransom. I shall send Iris to assure Priam that all is well: he can fearlessly visit Achilles and bring home the corpse—provided, of course, that his offer is handsome enough.’
When Thetis reached Achilles’ compound he was still moaning and groaning in the hut, while his comrades busily slaughtered a prime sheep for breakfast. She sat close by him and caressed his cheeks, sighing: ‘Dear son, this grief will be the death of you! Why not try food and rest? Even sleeping with a slave-girl might be helpful. I cannot bear to watch your gradual decline, especially since I shall soon be left childless. But here is a personal message from Zeus himself. His fellow-gods are angered by your denial of Hector’s corpse to the parents, and he shares their anger; so I trust you will not cross him.’
He answered: ‘If Father Zeus commands me to surrender the corpse, naturally I obey; though the ransom must be enormous.’
During this conversation, Zeus sent Iris to Priam’s palace. ‘Down you go,’ he ordered, ‘and deliver this message:
‘Out, Priam, out to the Greek camp!
Take splendid gifts in hand,
And seek Achilles where he lurks
Beside the salt sea strand!
‘Yet ride alone, poor desolate King,
Save for a herald true
To drive a mule-cart through the night
And guide its team for you.
‘Which cart two purposes shall serve:
To heap those gifts upon,
And fetch away the ransomed corpse
Of Hector, your great son.
‘But fear no deed of violence
When to the camp you go:
HERMES will guide your chariot well,
And guard your life also.
‘Achilles is less infamous
Than you presume; for he
An honest suppliant will treat
With grace and courtesy.’
Iris found Priam lamenting in the royal courtyard, surrounded by a tearful group of sons. He had thrown a tattered cl
oak about him, heaping filth on his head and bowed neck. Daughters and daughters-in-law kept up a loud, steady wail, which the palace walls re-echoed, in lamentation for the many brave princes fallen on the battlefield. Iris’ soft address made Priam shiver, but she reassured him: ‘Courage, Priam, son of Dardanus! My message, from Almighty Zeus, will gladden your heart:
‘Out, Priam, out to the Greek camp!
Take splendid gifts in hand,
And seek Achilles where he lurks
Beside the salt sea strand!
‘Yet ride alone, poor desolate King,
Save for a herald true
To drive a mule-cart through the night
And guide its team for you.
‘Which cart two purposes shall serve:
To heap those gifts upon,
And fetch away the ransomed corpse
Of Hector, your great son.
‘But fear no deed of violence
When to the camp you go:
HERMES will guide your chariot well,
And guard your life also.
‘Achilles is less infamous
Than you presume; for he
An honest suppliant will treat
With grace and courtesy.’
Iris vanished, and Priam at once ordered his sons to harness a cart, and tie on its wickerwork tilt. Then he entered the high-ceilinged treasury, redolent of cedar-wood, and summoned Queen Hecuba. ‘Wife,’ he said, ‘a messenger from Olympus has told me to visit the Greek army and ransom Hector’s corpse. What do you think of that? I feel bound to obey; besides, there is nothing I desire more!’
Hecuba lamented afresh. ‘My lord King,’ she cried, ‘your wisdom has been famous both at home and abroad; but now you are being downright stupid! Visit that camp all alone? Confront the man who has killed so many of our sons? You must have a heart of iron! To beard the savage and ill-tempered Achilles is to court immediate death; he knows neither mercy nor shame. Stay with me, and let us mourn Hector here; for this was the thread that the Fates spun him at birth: to fall in battle and have his corpse dragged about by a madman. Oh, I would gladly use my teeth on Achilles’ tripes, like the scampering hounds which make our son their prey! It would be a fit punishment. Hector met no coward’s end: he died to save the men and women of Troy, scorning shelter or flight.’
‘Croak no more, bird of evil omen!’ Priam commanded. ‘I am resolved to go, and you will not change my mind. If the message had come from a mortal—a soothsayer, say, or an omen-reading priest—or from any other god except Zeus, then I should mistrust and slight it. But, having heard the voice and recognized the face of Iris, Zeus’ courier, I must obey. And what though Achilles should murder me? Once my arms have clasped Hector’s corpse, and my tears have wetted it, I too am ready to die.’
Priam opened several carved chests, and chose a dozen women’s robes—very beautiful they were—a dozen women’s mantles, finely woven but not too voluminous, a dozen blankets, a dozen heavy white cloaks, and a dozen tunics. Next, he weighed gold bullion to the amount of ten full ingots, and brought out a couple of bright, three-legged cauldrons, four ordinary ones, and one magnificent goblet, a memento of the kindness shown him during his progress through Thrace—the old King did not grudge Achilles even this, in his eagerness to ransom Hector’s corpse! Finally he drove the noisy courtiers from the cloisters, shouting: ‘Be off, snivelling rascals! Do you lack fallen kinsmen of your own? Then why disturb us? Is it nothing to you that Zeus, the Son of Cronus, has crushed me with the loss of my noblest son? Ah, you will soon learn its significance when the Greeks renew their attacks, and Hector can no longer defend Troy… But may Death claim me before I see my city sacked and burned!’
He rushed at the courtiers, swinging his staff. They fled, and he turned his anger on the nine surviving royal princes—Helenus, Paris, Agathon, Pammon, Antiphonus, Polites of the Loud War-Cry, Deïphobus, Hippothous, and Dius the Arrogant. ‘Make haste, my sons! I should not have greatly cared had you all been killed in that raid on the Greek camp, if only Hector were still alive. How Heaven has cursed me! Your dead brothers were the best soldiers in my dominions. Mestor, Troilus the Chariot-fighter, and Hector, a very god among men—yes, his aspect was rather divine than human—fallen and gone, and mere dregs left me: liars, light-heeled heroes of the dance-floor, plunderers of poor people’s flocks! Harness my mule-cart, and stow this gear into it, for I am off immediately.’
Priam’s rage startled his sons. They fetched a new, stout, smooth-running mule-cart, to which they bound the wickerwork tilt; and one of them lifted the heavy box-wood yoke, with guide-rings fixed to its massive knob; also twelve yards of webbing. Then they engaged the yoke firmly in a crotch on the pole, dropping its slot over an upright peg; passed the webbing three times around the knob, and hooked it underneath. After this they stowed the ransom into the cart, and harnessed a magnificent pair of mules given Priam by the Mysians. Lastly, they wheeled out the royal chariot and yoked the royal team.
When Priam and his sagacious old herald Idaeus were about to drive away, Queen Hecuba blocked her husband’s path, offering him a golden goblet. ‘Come, my lord,’ she said, ‘since you wilfully disregard my advice, pour this cup of sweet wine on the ground as a libation to Father Zeus, and pray for a safe return! Address him as the Cloud-Gathering God of Ida—Zeus, who gazes down at the whole Troad—and demand an immediate augury: let him send the swift, strong, Black-Winged Eagle, whom he prefers to all other birds, flying on your right side; and thus convince you of his favour. If no eagle appears, I will repeat my warning: do not trust Achilles, however set on your mission you may be!’
‘I shall cheerfully adopt your prudent suggestion,’ Priam answered. ‘Such a prayer would be most proper.’ He dismounted, asked one of the ladies-in-waiting to fetch a basin of water and, when she brought it, rinsed his hands, took Hecuba’s goblet, stood in the centre of the courtyard, and prayed:
‘ZEUS, most glorious and most great,
On Mount Ida holding state:
Grant I may accepted be,
Where we go beside the sea!
But, my Queen to satisfy
That fair IRIS told no lie,
Let your swift, strong messenger
Whom to all fowls you prefer,
Black-Winged Eagle, take his flight
Full in view upon our right,
Heartening me at last to seek
Mercy from that ravening Greek.’
Zeus instantly dispatched a Black-Winged Eagle, the bird of prey whose appearance provides the best and surest augury. His wings were wide as those of the closely fitting, heavily locked entrance gate that guards a rich man’s mansion; and he soared high on the right above the city, heartening everyone who observed him.
Priam drove his team through the echoing archway, and whipped them down the street behind the cart. A horrified crowd of courtiers, all screaming as though he were bound for execution, ran after him. The Scaean Gate flew open, and both vehicles vanished into the gathering night; but Priam’s sons and sons-in-law did not venture to follow.
Zeus saw the teams crossing the plain, and called his son Hermes: ‘Helper God, since you enjoy escorting mortals, and are extremely sympathetic, pray guide the hapless King Priam to the Greek camp. I wish nobody to observe him until he gains Achilles’ hut.’
Hermes quickly tied on the divine gold sandals that carry him over earth and sea as fast as the wind, grasped his magical wand, which he uses sometimes to enchant men and sometimes to wake them from sleep, then darted off. An instant later he reached the Hellespont and, alighting near the Tomb of Ilus, adopted the disguise of an elegant young prince with a downy beard.
Priam and Idaeus had reined in their teams beside the Scamander, and were watering them. The first to notice Hermes was Idaeus. ‘My lord King,’ he muttered, ‘here comes a prowler! Either drive on at once, or else sue for mercy; otherwise he may hack us in pieces.’
At that, Priam’s scalp crawled, and he stood as if paralyzed;
but Hermes took him by the hand and asked quietly: ‘Father, where are you bound? Why risk your life carting valuables past the Greek camp, even after nightfall? Two such old men have little chance of repelling an attack. But trust me to act as your escort. I could never injure anyone who reminds me so much of my own father.’
‘Thank you, lad,’ Priam answered. ‘This is indeed a dangerous mission; yet Heaven has blessed us by sending a kind-hearted traveller across our path. To judge from your looks, you are the wise son of noble parents and will bring us good luck.’
‘That is my desire,’ Hermes said smiling. ‘Now, pray tell me more! Do you intend these treasures for safe-keeping at some neutral court, or have you fled with them because your heroic son, Troy’s greatest soldier, has fallen at last?’
Priam asked in wonder: ‘My lord, whom am I addressing? And why speak so highly of my unfortunate son?’
‘A shrewd question,’ replied Hermes. ‘Well, I often saw Hector fighting gloriously on the plain, in particular when he broke through our defences, killing scores of Greeks in his advance. We Myrmidons were forced to stay idle and watch from a distance, since Achilles had a grudge against King Agamemnon and denied us leave to enter the battle. I am one of his squires, and sailed with him in the same ship. My father Polyctor, the rich old prince whom you so closely resemble, has seven sons; we cast lots for service overseas, and I was chosen, though the youngest of them all. Tonight I am out on reconnaissance, because the Greeks plan a dawn assault on your city. Camp-life irks them, and they are eager to end this war at a blow.’
‘If I can believe your account,’ said Priam, ‘you may perhaps tell me what I dearly wish to know. Does Hector’s corpse still lie in the Myrmidon lines, or has it already been dismembered and fed to the hounds?’