by Homer
Apollo warns Hector not to confront Achilles, but when Achilles cuts down his latest victim, Polydorus, ‘exquisite of foot’ – Hector’s youngest brother and Priam’s favourite – he can bear it no longer and goes for him. Hector, like Aeneas, replies shortly to Achilles’ taunts and throws his spear. Three times Athene blows it away from Achilles and turns it back to Hector’s feet. Three times Achilles’ deadly charge is lost in the mist in which Apollo surrounds Hector. After the fourth, Achilles turns to slaughter lesser men.
One young man is killed as he is reaching out to Achilles’ knees:
With free submission . . . O poor fool, to sue to him . . .
In his hot fury. He was none of these remorseful men,
Gentle and affable, but fierce at all times, and mad then.
As inhuman fire, so Achilles sweeps everywhere with his spear, ‘inaccessible’ (ie refusing pleas for mercy); as oxen crush corn on the threshing floor, so Achilles tramples dead men.
Thus to be magnified,
His most inaccessible hands in human blood he dyed.
Book 21
Achilles chases the Trojans up to the river Xanthus and pollutes the water with blood,
Twelve fair young princes then
He chose of all to take alive, to have them freshly slain
On that most solemn day of wreak, resolv’d on for his friend.
He hands them over like startled fawns, bound, and resumes his killing. A young man – Priam’s young son Lycaon – is unable to escape Achilles. His recent history is recounted in the same way as many previous young victims, serving both to give a sense of reality and potential to the life that is going to be cut short, and as a memorial of that life. But the biography this time is relevant – he has been captured before by Achilles who has accepted ransom for him; he is therefore protected from harm at Achilles’ hands by the sacred obligation of host to protect the guest from harm. Achilles is bemused to see in the river a youth he has consigned either to the sea or to a land far away; Lycaon is terrified. He runs under Achilles’ spear thrust to grab his knees in supplication: the ritual gesture of submission that should be respected. He pleads for respect for his position and for the bond, for pity for his mother (not the same one as Hector’s) whose other son Achilles has just slain, for mercy.
Achilles is without mercy. No longer is he prepared to ransom or spare Trojans, especially not a son of Priam’s.
‘Die, die, my friend. What tears are these? What sad looks spoil thy face?
Patroclus died, that far pass’d thee: nay, seest thou not beside
Myself, ev’n I, a fair young man, and rarely magnified . . .
Death, and as violent a fate, must overtake ev’n me.’
Lycaon stops trying to ward off the inevitable; Achilles kills him and tosses him into the river with a dreadful taunt:
‘Go, feed fat the fish with loss
Of thy left blood; they clean will suck thy green wounds, and this saves
Thy mother tears upon thy bed . . .
. . . perish then, till cruell’st death hath laid
All at the red feet of Revenge for my slain friend . . . ’
This butchery offends the divine river, choked with his corpses; Achilles will move the site of his killing but it will not stop until he or Hector has the mastery.
Achilles, like something more than mortal, sweeps down on more Trojans. The river calls to Apollo and his fellow river to bury him and his arms, his renown lost forever, in their depths; Achilles fights on, carried along by the billowing, debris-filled flood. Hera intervenes by sending Hephaestus to burn up the river. Scamandrus, his waters seething, gives up his supernatural battle with Achilles. Hephaestus is called off by Hera; ‘it was not fit A god should suffer so for men.’
Athene and Ares, still feeling quarrelsome, fight childishly among themselves. Ares [god of war!] is worsted and has to be comforted by Aphrodite. Hera now sets Athene on and smiles to see how Athene pushes the goddess of love in the chest, sending her flying on top of Ares. Poseidon exhorts Apollo to join in the rough and tumble, but Apollo refuses to fight for ‘wretched men that flourish for a time Like leaves’. In the middle of laughing at the gods, we are reminded of the human condition and of why Achilles, like Glaucus in Book 6, risks everything for ‘his renown’.
Artemis calls her brother Apollo a coward, Hera calls her a shameless hussy and boxes her ears, which sends her crying and telling tales to her father, Zeus.
Away from this playground scrapping, the not-so-wretched ‘Rabid Achilles with his lance, still glory being the goad That pricked his fury’, carries on killing Trojans as they flee to Troy. Priam orders the gates to be opened for them and Apollo goes to their aid.
Agenor is sent to hold up Achilles; when he sees him, he debates whether there is any escape route. He concludes that there is none, and that his only chance is to fight, since Achilles is, after all mortal. He challenges him: ‘Thy hope is too great, Peleus’ son . . . fool’ to hope to take Troy before it is destined. He succeeds in hitting him, but is spirited away before a return blow. Apollo in Agenor’s form distracts Achilles, leading him up hill and down dale, while the Trojans get safely into the city.
Book 22
Book 22 brings the combat to the death between the preeminent fighters on the two sides, a resolution set up yet frustrated by the unresolved duels in Books 3 and 7. The combat is between Achilles, of the Greeks the most single-minded and best fighter, caring only for his honour, and Hector, the bulwark of Troy. The events of the Iliad have however complicated and undermined the two heroes’ standing. Hector by his rash, ill-tempered decision has endangered many Trojans; Achilles by standing on his honour and refusing Agamemnon’s reparation has allowed many friends and Patroclus to go to their deaths. A sense of personal tragedy pervades the confrontation. Hector, who cares only for his honour as a hero and protector of his family and Troy, has made a fatal misjudgement, has exposed himself to their censure. Achilles, who cares only for his own personal honour and his own men, has compromised both by his intransigence. Hector, spurred on before by the consciousness of those watching from the walls of Troy, is now shackled by it; Achilles, who declared that he cared nothing for the aims of the war but only for his integrity and heroic name, has become an inhuman, vengeful force.
Gods and Hector’s dependants look down on him, as he decides to stand his ground rather than retreat through the closing gates: he waits like a venom-filled
. . . dragon, when she sees a traveller bent upon
Her breeding den . . . sits him firm, and at his nearest pace
Wraps all her cavern in her folds, and thrusts a horrid face
Out at his entry . . .
But when Achilles comes,
. . . now near
His Mars-like presence terribly came brandishing his spear.
His right arm shook it, his bright arms, like day, came glittering on
Like fire-light, or the light of heav’n shot from the rising sun.
This sight outwrought discourse, cold fear shook Hector from his stand.
No more stay now, all ports were left, he fled in fear the hand
Of that fear-master, who, hawk-like, air’s swiftest passenger,
That holds a timorous dove in chase, and with command doth bear
His fiery onset; the dove hastes, the hawk comes whizzing on,
This way and that he turns and winds, and cuffs the pigeon;
And till he truss it, his great spirit lays hot charge on his wing:
So urg’d Achilles Hector’s flight, so still fear’s point did sting
His troubled spirit; his knees wrought hard; along the wall he flew . . .
The gods beheld them, all much mov’d; and Jove said: ‘O ill sight!
A man I love much I see forc�
�d in most unworthy flight . . . ’
Zeus debates, as when he saw Sarpedon going to his death, whether to intervene. Athene’s reply is the same as Hera’s was then: alter Fate? Do it then, but all the rest of us gods shall not approve. Zeus retracts, Athene flies down. Hector runs as if in a nightmare, not able to outpace his pursuer, Achilles keeping between him and the gates. Three times they circuit the walls, while Achilles prevents Greeks from interfering, lest they detract from his full glory. On the fourth, Zeus sets their ‘two fates of bitter death’ into his golden scales, and Hector’s is the heavier. Apollo forsakes Hector; Athene goes to him, disguised as his brother come to help, and they turn to face Achilles.
Hector tries to reach an agreement that the winner will not defile the loser’s body, but will return it respectfully. Achilles rejects these ‘fair and temperate terms’, saying that no conditions can be laid down between them, any more than between predator and prey. Hector should look to his ‘hunger for slaughter’: Athene will ensure that he pays with his life for the friends he slew.
Achilles casts his spear and misses; Hector seizes on this sign that Achilles is not after all an instrument of the gods and taunts him. He throws his spear, which misses, and turns to his brother ‘Deiphobus’ for a replacement. He sees that he is alone, and knows that the gods have cheated him and summoned him deathwards. There is no way out. But he can at least die nobly. He draws his sword and swoops like an eagle.
Hector is protected by the armour he stripped from Patroclus; only the neck is vulnerable; Achilles strikes and Hector drops in the dust. Achilles vaunts over him, ‘fool’ to think himself safe when he killed Patroclus:
‘ . . . the dogs and fowls in foulest use
Shall tear thee up, thy corse expos’d to all the Greeks abuse.’
He, fainting, said: ‘Let me implore, ev’n by thy knees and soul,
And thy great parents, do not see a cruelty so foul
Inflicted on me: brass and gold receive at any rate,
And quit my person, that the peers and ladies of our state
May tomb it . . . ’
Achilles, implacable, refuses to countenance the humane request of returning his body for burial; rather, ‘rage would let me eat thee raw’. He rehearses his refusal to ransom his body to his parents so they can ‘hold solemnities of death’. Rather he will deface his corpse. Hector’s dying words prophesy Achilles’ imminent death; Achilles replies that he will bear his fate. He strips the armour; the Greeks, rushing to see the naked body of their main enemy, comment on its softness as they repeatedly spear it.
Achilles remembers Patroclus. He sends the young men back to sing of their triumph and the imminent downfall of Troy. He devises a terrible, unworthy treatment for the corpse – dragging it by pierced ankles behind his chariot, to the distress of Hector’s mother and father. In anguish, they lament, Priam desperate to beg the body from Achilles, Hecuba forseeing her life of suffering. But Andromache, who mourned him while he was still alive, does not know of his death; she is preparing a bath for his return when she hears the cries. Seeing how he is being treated, she faints and her wedding coronet falls from her head. When she recovers, she laments for herself and bewails the harsh treatment her fatherless son will experience.
Book 23
Book 23 is about the proper treatment of the dead – about the splendid funeral games, the tomb, the ritual of remembrance and celebration of the dead’s fame. But for Achilles these are not sufficient to come to terms with Patroclus’ death. He has to find some compensation to offer him: Trojan dead, twelve princes as a human sacrifice, Hector’s death, despoliation and degradation, his own going without food, drink, washing and shaving. The Achilles who refused compensation from Agamemnon for the slight to his honour, because possessions, ‘though lost, may come again’, but the soul, ‘once gone, never more To her frail mansion any man can her lost pow’rs restore’, now seeks to offer recompense:
‘Now I pay to thy late overthrow
All my revenges vow’d before. Hector lies slaughter’d here
Dragg’d at my chariot, and our dogs shall all in pieces tear
His hated limbs. Twelve Trojan youths, born of their noblest strains,
I took alive; and yet enrag’d, will empty all their veins
Of vital spirits, sacrific’d before thy heap of fire.’
His fury comes from not being able to find anything sufficient. His sleep is disturbed by the ghost of Patroclus, complaining that he is prevented from taking up his proper place among the dead, asking not for revenge but for speedy burial, and that their ashes should in due course lie together in a single urn. Achilles tries to embrace him, but the spirit slips away and Achilles awakes in sorrow.
Preparations for the funeral are completed. There is a chariot procession and a ritual offering of locks of hair. Achilles cuts the lock which was dedicated for a safe return to the river of his home – Patroclus’ death means he will not now return.
The chief mourners stay to build a huge pyre, and the body is wrapped in the fat of sacrificial animals and laid on it. Achilles kills the twelve young nobles, and the pyre is lit with supernatural fire. A tomb, which will also house Achilles, is made over the urn holding the cremated bones, and the funeral games begin.
Achilles provides prizes from his store – cauldrons, tripods, horses, women and iron – for the best in each of the events. In these funeral games, foreshadowing his own, he will preside over others’ demonstrations of prowess rather than demonstrate his own excellence. The first is the chariot race, to be run around a mark in the ground that may be a grave marker now long forgotten [so fragile, it seems, is the hero’s renown]. Nestor gives his son, Antilochus, advice on how to use his skill to excel, even though his horses are not the best – to such good effect that he is second. Diomedes, the favourite, is helped by the gods to come in first. Achilles judges that the best man came in last, because he was fouled, and proposes to award him second place. Antilochus hotly disputes the justice of this. [Achilles of all people should think before taking someone’s publicly awarded prize away from him!] Achilles smiles and diplomatically awards an extra prize of spoil he himself has taken. But then Menelaus objects that Antilochus beat him by cunning, not by being intrinsically better: he judges that he himself deserves second prize because he is superior in power and greatness. When Antilochus submissively owns his inferiority, Menelaus graciously allows him to keep second prize. The unawarded fifth prize Achilles presents to Nestor, as he is no longer able to compete. Nestor remembers with relish the prizes he won when he was in his prime. So the difficult negotiation of who is best is played out and this time resolved, with prizes not lives at stake. Achilles has been reintegrated into society.
The next contest is boxing. Epeius claims to be the best at boxing, even though he falls short in battle. He proves to be right. In the next competition, wrestling, Odysseus and Greater Ajax are the contestants [as they will to be for the arms of Achilles]. They are locked together for so long that the onlookers get restive, and they make a final attempt to throw each other. Odysseus remembers his craftiness and trips Ajax, but Achilles intervenes to award the prize equally.
The foot race is next, in which, like the chariot race, Achilles would be preeminent if he had entered. Odysseus is lying second to the lesser Ajax when after a prayer to Athene, Ajax slips in some dung. Everyone laughs, but he still comes in second. Antilochus ruefully accepts being beaten by a much older man, reminding everyone of Achilles’ speed. Achilles repays the compliment by an extra prize.
The fifth contest is a gladiatorial duel over the armour of Sarpedon, with a sword to the man who gets in a vital thrust. Achilles awards the contest to Diomedes before serious injury.
The single prize for the discus is a precious five year supply of iron. Ajax comes second for the third time. Meriones steals the archery prize from Teucer by an extra
ordinary shot. The spear throwing is settled without a contest by Achilles, who acknowledges Agamemnon as the best without his having to compete. This compliment completes the games and Achilles’ reconciliation with the commanders.
Book 24
Alone, Achilles weeps for Patroclus, unable to sleep for memories. At dawn, he harnesses the horses and drags Hector’s corpse round Patroclus’ tomb before sleeping, ‘but with Hector’s corse his rage had never done’. The gods take pity on the violated body. Apollo condemns Achilles for being excessive, for lacking both restraining shame and the capacity to endure that is part of man’s lot. He is angering the gods and dishonouring the earth. Thetis, unable to face the gods in sorrow for a mortal, is summoned by Zeus to hear that Hector’s body must be ransomed. She tells Achilles, while Iris goes to Priam to reassure him and offer Hermes as guide. Priam asks his wife, Hecuba, what he should do, as if the message from the gods were immaterial and his earlier intention to beg the body from Achilles had come back to him. This, like many other turning-points in the action, is prompted in parallel both by the gods’ intervention and by the individual’s nature. Hecuba scorns his proposal, saying that Achilles is savage and will neither pity nor respect him. But Priam is determined. He goes with an omen, and Hermes as guide, into the enemy camp.
Trembling, he enters Achilles’ tent and in supplication grasps
. . . fast holding the bent knee
Of Hector’s conqueror, and kiss’d that large man-slaught’ring hand,
That much blood from his sons had drawn.
He speaks to him as a suppliant, reminding him of his father and offering gifts beyond number.
‘Achilles, fear the gods,
