The War Nerd Iliad

by John Dolan

  Then he turns and screams at the sky: “And you, Zeus! What did I ever do to you? Every stop we made on the way here, I laid the fattest meat on your altars, and now you turn on me?” His rage is so great that for a moment, it’s almost god-like. Zeus watches, fascinated, impressed in spite of himself, as Agamemnon, this coward, this contemptible human, screams up at him.

  Then the moment is gone, and Agamemnon is begging again, whining, “Please, Lord Zeus, just let us get away from here with our lives, at least!”

  Zeus smiles. He doesn’t like Agamemnon very much, but the slaughter today was business, nothing personal. He’ll stop when the point has been made. He’s been keeping a careful count of every Greek warrior he incinerated today. It’s enough; he’s made his point. Thetis will be satisfied. He’s shown the Greeks they need Akilles; Agamemnon has been humbled, his job is done.

  So he won’t let the Greeks be wiped out at the ships. For starters, Hera and Athena would make his life a living Hell if he did that.

  So Zeus flicks Agamemnon an eagle, his emblem. The big bird with wings like black doors circles above Agamemnon, and the Greeks know they’ve been spared. Now they’ll fight, and the Trojans will pay.

  Diomedes is the first to go over the wall, sprinting right at a Trojan and ramming a spear right through the man’s armor. Then Ajax lumbers over the wall, through the ditch, to face the Trojans on the plain. What the Trojans can’t see is that Teucer, the Greeks’ best bowman, is hidden behind Ajax’s hulking shoulders and huge shield.

  Ajax and Teucer make a deadly sniper team. Ajax hides the little archer with his bulk, then lifts his shield. Teucer peeks out, picks a target, and fires an arrow, then jumps back under Ajax’s giant shield like a duckling venturing out from its mother’s wing to grab a bug, and squirming back to the shelter of her feathers.

  The Trojans can’t even figure out who’s killing them at first. There’s Ajax, looming in front of them, but he doesn’t use the bow. Who’s firing these lethal darts? Eight times, Teucer steps out to fire an arrow. And eight times, a Trojan drops with an arrow in his neck or chest. Then Teucer aims at Hektor.

  Teucer is a good shot, but Apollo won’t have Hektor killed, especially not with a bow. The bow is Apollo’s weapon; he decides who dies by arrow. So he flicks Teucer’s arrow away from Hektor. It burrows into the chest of Hektor’s chariot-driver instead, and the man falls dead.

  Hektor is angry. That’s the second driver he’s lost today. He jumps off his chariot, grabs a huge rock and waits for Teucer to sneak out from behind Ajax’s shield again. Teucer’s head pops out and Hektor flings his stone. It hits little Teucer right above the collarbone, where the neck joins the chest. The rock breaks Teucer’s arm as well, and he drops his bow. His big brother Ajax grabs Teucer and hands him over the wall.

  With Teucer out of the fight, the Trojans cheer up and charge again.

  This time, the Greeks can’t hold the wall. The Trojans charge across the ditch, dodging the sharpened stakes, and swarm over the wall like ants. The Greeks stumble back to the ships.

  Hektor is everywhere, a terror, a demon. He chases the Greeks, killing the slowest. Now the Greeks are backed right up against the ships, their feet in the surf.

  As soon as they can light torches, the Trojans will toss them into the ships. And with the ships on fire, Hektor will hunt through the smoke like a lion on a moonless night, slaughtering the Greeks as they stumble through the smoke.

  Hera and Athena can’t stand to watch. Hera moans to her daughter, “Look what that Hektor is doing to my Greeks! Oh, I wish that man would hurry up and die!”

  Athena fumes, “Oh, Papa makes me so angry! All the times I went here and there doing his errands! ‘Athena, go to this man, or that man, give him wise counsel!’ or ‘Go kill this man or that man for me, Athena!’ But now, he doesn’t even ask my permission when he kills my favorite warriors! And all because that little flirt Thetis hugged his knees! Well, we’ll see what happens the next time he tries to hug me and call me his sweet gray-eyed darling!”

  Athena paces furiously as Hektor hacks and stabs his way to the Greek ships. She cries out in rage, a sound to make mountains fall, and tells Hera, “Mama, I’m not standing for this! Get my chariot ready! We’ll see how this Hektor feels about meeting me in battle!”

  Athena goes into a storeroom to do her switch routine. She went in dressed like a maiden from a royal house; she comes out in gleaming armor, carrying a spear bigger than the tallest pine. Her mother is already at the reins, and their chariot sweeps down in a long parabola to Troy.

  Zeus sees them coming, a distant sizzle like a golden meteor, and sighs. This’ll be trouble. Better warn them off before he has to hurt them. He flicks a finger, and Iris is before him, kneeling, awaiting orders. She is beautiful enough to distract Zeus for a moment, though time is pressing. Iris is sometimes a young woman with dainty wings sprouting from her milk-white shoulders, but when moved, she dissolves into the rainbow. Now she is in human form … aside from the wings.

  Zeus tells her, “Iris, a task for you, urgent: intercept my wife and daughter—see their chariot burning down to Earth? They’re planning to interfere in this human war again. I’m getting very tired of nobody doing what I tell them. These gods think that because they can’t be killed, they’re untouchable. The idiots forget there are things I can do that are a lot worse than dying.”

  Iris, frightened, begins to evanesce, shimmering into something more like sun through rain than a human shape.

  Zeus says, “No, don’t worry, I’m not talking about you! I’m talking about that wife of mine and her daughter—oh, you know what it’s like for me at home.”

  Iris returns to mortal shape, giggling. They all know about Zeus and Hera and their weird daughter. It’s a running god-joke.

  Zeus winces, goes on, “Anyway, you tell those two that if they go on, I’ll start by breaking their chariot-horses’ legs, so they can’t fly around making more trouble. Got it?”

  Iris nods, pleased. Hera is not popular in the family. It will be a pleasure, conveying this message.

  Zeus goes on: “In fact, wait, that’s not enough. You tell them for me that if they keep this up, I won’t stop with their horses. Once the horses are lamed, I’ll pull their chariot out of the sky and smash it up to kindling, and then I’ll throw the two of them down to Earth, not lightly, but as hard as a mortal would fall. And when they’re lying there groaning in pain, that’s when I’ll throw lightning at them. It’ll take that wife and daughter of mine an eon or two to get over the burn scars. You go tell them that!”

  Iris vanishes, already halfway across the sky, and Zeus grumbles to himself, “Can’t believe it! My little Athena, my gray-eyed darling, acting like this. Can’t say I’m surprised at her mother; everybody knows what she’s like …” He sighs, and has some more nectar. It’s family; what can you do?

  Iris burns into the overworld, and meets the goddess’ chariot just as it’s preparing to dive toward Earth. Iris shimmers in mid-air before the two goddesses: “Hera, Athena, what are you doing? Have you both gone crazy?”

  The two goddesses stop dead, their horses paused in mid-step, the chariot unmoving at the edge of the atmosphere.

  Iris blurts: “Father Zeus says that if you two go on, he’ll break your horses’ legs for you, and take your chariot and break it up into little tiny pieces, and then he’ll throw the pieces down to the ground like kindling-wood …”

  Hera is already looking nervous.

  Iris continues happily, “Oh, and he said, ‘That gray-eyed daughter of mine’—that’s you, Athena—‘is going to learn a lesson about disobeying her father.’”

  Iris allows herself a little giggle. “Oh, I remember he also said, ‘It will take those two an eon to get over the bruises.’” Hera is slumping now, trembling a little. As she turns to speak with Athena, Iris adds, “Oh, and he said something about how disappointed he is in you, Athena.” Iris sighs, “Yes, how he had soooo much trust in you, which y
ou betrayed like this. He’s very angry!”

  Hera mutters to Athena, “Daughter, ah, now, perhaps we should let things take their course …”

  Iris adds, as if she just remembered, “And he also said, ‘I’m not nearly so surprised at my wife’s disobedience, because everyone knows what a harpy she is.’ I think his exact words were, ‘Is that old battle-ax daring to interfere again?’ Oh, he was so angry!”

  Hera gulps and says, “Yes, daughter, I do think, after all, it might be better to go home. Let the humans hack at each other! After all, what is it to us? None of our business! Let your father deal with these people if it’s so important to him!”

  Athena says nothing. Iris has vanished, with one last spiteful laugh. The two goddesses drive their chariot back up to the overworld, more slowly and glumly than they set out. They get out, handing the horses over to the beings that serve the gods, and rejoin the others at the feast. Not even Hera feels like talking.

  They wait in silence until they hear Zeus’ chariot arriving, and the huge clomp of his feet on the glowing floor. Zeus is throwing his weight around today, deploying his full mass—and he weighs as much as a star. The whole overworld shudders at every step. He slams himself into his golden throne with a sound like mountains falling in an earthquake.

  Hera makes a point of getting up and going to a corner to chat with Athena, the two of them keeping their backs to Zeus. Sulking again? He’s had enough of it. He yells: “What is it now, you two? Haven’t you killed enough men? Are you so desperate to go back and kill more Trojans? I tell you both, right now: If you’d tried to interfere today, I’d have slapped both of you out of the sky and thrown lightning at you as you squirmed in the dirt. You can’t die, but believe me, you can be hurt. You have no idea how badly you can hurt.”

  Athena refuses to speak or even look at her father. But Hera can’t resist: “Husband-brother, we know how strong you are! You don’t have to keep reminding us! We’re just sad for all the brave Greek warriors dying down there. I’ve been meaning to ask you, how would it be if we, as my daughter suggested, just offered suggestions to the Greeks, a few thoughts to put in their heads—before you destroy them?”

  Zeus shrugs: “Well, wife, if seeing Greeks get killed bothers you, you won’t want to watch tomorrow’s battle, because I’ll tell you right now, more Greeks will die, many, many more. I’m going to give Hektor my strength until he’s killed so many Greeks that they’ll have to beg poor Thetis’ son Akilles to return. And that won’t happen until Hektor kills Akilles’ friend Patroklas. It’s all arranged, and if you don’t want to watch it you can go to Hell, or one layer further down, to Tartarus, and lie there where there’s not a ray of light or a breath of air. I don’t care where you go, because you’re the biggest bitch I’ve ever met.”

  Hera drops the idea of offering suggestions.

  On the dust fields outside Troy, the killing goes on until the sun goes down. Hektor is everywhere, stabbing, slashing, trampling the wounded under his chariot, until it’s too dark to see. The Trojans curse the gathering darkness, hoping for a few more minutes of killing light, but the Greeks thank the sun for vanishing, wishing it would fall faster into the sea to end their terrible day.

  Hektor takes the Trojans back to a spot near the river where there aren’t too many corpses—just so the smell isn’t too bad. They all get out of their chariots and sit down. Hektor takes up his spear, tall as a pine tree, plants the spear and says, “Trojans, allies, we’ve had a great day! Too bad it had to end. I hoped we’d burn the Greek ships and kill them in the surf today. Yes, we’d salt their corpses down with seawater! But the sun betrayed us and sank too fast, hid our prey from us. Nothing else would have saved them! Now we need to get ready to finish them off! Feed your horses well, tether them gently; they’ll be hard-driven tomorrow. I want big bonfires around the camp to warm us, and remind the Greeks we’re close on them. Let them fear us, let them get no sleep tonight and wake tired!”

  The men cheer wildly. Can they actually win? It’s been so long since victory was even a possibility. They’ve been fighting just to hold off the end a little longer. What if they can win, burn the ships and slaughter the Greeks? They begin to imagine it, and their spear hands clench, wishing dawn would come now.

  Hektor goes on, “All of you, make sure to get a good sleep, but first we feast! Celebrate today’s win! Send your slaves back to town to bring wine, sheep and cattle for the spits. Tell the people inside our walls to have the boys and old men man the walls all night, in case the Greeks try a sneaky night raid.”

  He plants his spear in the ground. “Tomorrow we end this war. We won’t let one single Greek go home unhurt. The few survivors will limp home with an arrow wound or a sword gash that will throb on cold nights to remind him to leave our city alone. The rest will lie here forever.”

  The men are screaming with joy. They’ve been afraid so long. They can hardly bear the joy of visiting terror on the men who have hunted them for nine years.

  Hektor waves them quiet, goes on: “As soon as the sun comes up, I’ll put on my armor and make for their ships, and I have a feeling that Diomedes’ swaggering days will end early tomorrow morning …”

  He rips his spear out of the ground, sending clods of dry earth flying. “I wish I were as sure of eternal life as I am that tomorrow will be a terrible day for the Greeks!”

  The Trojans cheer until their throats are sore. The Greeks guarding the wall hear it and stare out through the murk at a thousand Trojan campfires. There are fifty warriors sitting around each one, waiting for dawn to finish off the Greeks.

  9

  EMBASSY

  AGAMEMNON CALLS THE LEADERS to him. They’re shocked when they see him hunched on his throne, big tears running down his cheeks. He snuffles, “My friends …” Friends? They’ve never been friends. He goes on, oblivious: “Friends, Zeus hates me. Why is he doing this to me? He promised me I’d pillage Troy! And now we’re beaten.”

  He sniffles some more, then says, “We’ll never take this town! I want to go home.”

  There’s a stunned silence.

  Finally Diomedes steps forward and says, “I’ll be blunt. We’re in council, and it’s my right. Remember how you called me a coward before the big fight, Agamemnon? Everyone heard you; don’t deny it! Well, now look at you, blubbering like a baby! Zeus was playing a prank when he made you; you look like a king, but you were born without courage. But we’re not all as cowardly as you. If you want to go home, go! Take your ships and men with you! As for me, I’m staying. Even if everyone else sails off, I stay. Maybe the gods hate you, Agamemnon, but they still like me!”

  The others roar with delight. Somebody needed to say it. Nine long years of putting up with Agamemnon’s miserable tricks, and now he dissolves in tears like a child! They’re ready to toss him in the sea, him and his throne.

  Nestor stands up, gives Diomedes a friendly pat on the back, and says, “Well said, my son! You speak nearly as well as you fight. But I’m older than any of you, and I know a few things. Above all, stick together. No fighting among ourselves!”

  To cool the men down, Nestor scolds Agamemnon: “And you, my lad, you need to start acting like a king! So do what a king should do! No more talk about surrender! Just give your orders for the night. Put a strong guard on the wall. And have your slaves bring us a proper meal, with plenty of wine! And don’t mix it a gallon of water to a pint of wine this time!”

  They all laugh. Agamemnon’s stinginess is a camp legend.

  When they’ve eaten, Nestor stands and says, “I’ll speak freely. It’s too late for pleasantries. This war was your idea, Agamemnon. You have no right to quit. You ruined everything when you took that girl from Akilles. I told you not to! But you did it anyway, because you only care about your spite. So we lost our best fighter. Well, we need him back. You have only one option: offer Akilles anything he wants to come back. Without him, we’re doomed.”

  Agamemnon has recovered, and says, “Yes, y
es, I see it now. The gods love Akilles, that’s why they’re killing us! And that makes him as powerful as a whole army. I was wrong to make him angry. It was stupid.”

  He turns to the group, his shame and tears forgotten: “I’ve been thinking of what to offer him. Here’s my promise, in front of all of you: I’ll give him gold, iron, bronze; and horses. I have twelve horses who’ve won races for me; they’re his if he joins the fight. And slave girls, too. I’ll send over my seven best girls, good workers and beauties—all from Lesbos! I picked them myself when we sacked the island.”

  Silence. It’s not enough. They all know what he needs to offer Akilles.

  Finally Agamemnon says through gritted teeth, “Oh, all right then! I’ll return the girl Briseis! And I swear on all the gods that I’ve never even touched her, let alone bedded her!”

  They all know this is a lie. Slaves love to gossip, so everyone knows what Agamemnon has been doing to the girl. But if it will bring Akilles back, they’ll all pretend to believe it.

  Agamemnon warms up: “And, and, if Zeus lets us take Troy, Akilles can have first pick of the twenty best-looking high-born Trojan women … except Helen, of course. She goes back to my brother. I’ll do better than that! Listen to this: Akilles can have his pick of my daughters! Yes! I have four of them …”

  Odysseus whispers loudly, “Three now, my lord; remember what happened to Iphigenia?”

  Agamemnon laughs, claps himself on the forehead: “Ah, you’re right! I forgot, I had to sacrifice that one on our way here!”