‘My lord King,’ Hermes replied, ‘Hector’s corpse lies in our lines untouched by hounds or carrion-birds, as whole as when he fell twelve days ago. What is more, no maggots have corrupted his flesh! I admit that every morning, at sunrise, my master drags him wildly around Patroclus’ barrow; but, remarkable though it seems, no harm has yet been done! You would be astonished how clean, sound, and fresh as dew he looks—even the many wounds dealt him by my comrades after death are mysteriously healed. The Immortals must have loved Hector well, to take such care of him.’
‘It is certainly prudent,’ Priam put in, much relieved, ‘to offer them the sacrifices they demand. If ever I had pious sons, Hector was one; and, although his doom could no longer be postponed, the kind gods are evidently showing their gratitude… Here is a gold goblet for you! In Heaven’s name guide us to Prince Achilles’ hut.’
‘I am your junior by two generations, my lord,’ Hermes answered bashfully, ‘but you cannot force me to accept presents behind my master’s back—I should feel frightened and ashamed. This goblet is surely part of the ransom? Nevertheless, I will guide you anywhere, by sea or land: as far as. famous Argos, if necessary. And, should we be attacked there, it would mean that the Argives had failed to recognize me, not that I was despised by them.’
With these enigmatic words Hermes mounted the chariot, seizing whip and reins and urging the teams forward. At the camp, he cast a magic spell over the sentries, who were preparing supper; drove across the causeway, sprang down, unbarred the massive gates, and admitted both vehicles.
Achilles’ hut was large. His Myrmidons had laid pine trunks lengthwise above one another, secured them at the corners, and thatched the roof with soft rashes cut in the water-meadows. A palisade of close-set stakes defended the hut; and three men were required to draw or thrust home the enormous baulk of timber which bolted the gate—though Achilles could manage this feat unaided. So, it proved, could Hermes: he drew the bar and brought the chariot in, followed by Idaeus’ cart.
Then he took his leave. ‘Venerable Priam,’ he announced, ‘I am the Immortal God Hermes, whom my Father Zeus sent as your escort! But, because it might annoy certain deities to hear that I have overtly favoured you, let me say farewell… Go into this hut alone, clasp Achilles by the knees, and plead your case in the names of his father King Peleus, his mother Thetis the Fair-Tressed, and his young son Neoptolemus. These may perhaps soften his heart.’
As Hermes flew home to Olympus, Priam left Idaeus in charge of the animals, and boldly entered.
He found Achilles at the table, after supper, brooding apart from his attendants—the brave Myrmidons Automedon and Alcimus, second only to Patroclus in his affections. Neither of these noticed Priam as he ran to clasp Achilles’ knees and kiss the terrible, murderous hands that had destroyed so many of his sons.
It happens occasionally that a homicide has crossed the city frontier and sought refuge at a neighbouring court—how wildly then the courtiers stare to see this unknown suppliant diving for their master’s knees! The Myrmidons felt a similar surprise.
Priam pleaded: ‘Magnificent hero, I implore your mercy in the name of King Peleus! Like me, he is old and unfortunate. I fear that his subjects may be ill-treating him while you are absent, and that he has no means of curbing their disloyalty. Yet sometimes news comes that you are alive and well; he grows cheerful again, thinking: “One day Achilles will return!” Alas, no such hopes can sustain King Priam who, when your army landed, had fifty sons: nineteen by Queen Hecuba, the rest by royal concubines quartered at the Palace. They included the finest soldiers in my dominions, all of whom are now dead—the last to fall being the main buttress of our hopes, the acting commander-in-chief. Yes, Hector died at your spear-point in defence of Troy, and I am here with a load of treasure to ransom his body.
‘Prince Achilles, honour the Immortals and, for the sake of your father Peleus, show me compassion! My plight is far worse than his, and I have done a braver deed than any man ever did: I have caressed the killer of my splendid sons!’
Achilles gently disengaged Priam’s arms, and could not help weeping at this picture of his helpless father. Priam also wept, for Hector; soon loud groans echoed through the hut, because Achilles had once more remembered Patroclus.
Presently, feeling a little better, Achilles rose from his chair and drew the white-headed, white-bearded suppliant upright. ‘Alas, my lord King,’ he cried, ‘how you must have suffered! Only an iron-hearted hero could venture out unescorted into a hostile camp, and there beard the champion who had caused him so much harm. Come, sit down quietly beside me! Let us forget our painful thoughts, if we can… After all, these endless lamentations are futile. I wonder why the gods allow us poor humans to lead wretched lives, yet experience no sorrow themselves?
‘In the Palace of Zeus, Lord of Lightning, stand two tall urns, one filled with curses, one with blessings. Zeus, as a rule, dips into both of these when he orders a human fate; and should he by chance confer nothing but curses on a man, that will mean a life of scorn and want, of roaming friendless over the face of the earth, hated alike by mortals and Immortals. My father Peleus’ nativity was blessed beyond others: he had good fortune, immense treasure, and the Phthian throne. The Olympians even gave him a goddess in marriage. One curse, however, plagued happy Peleus: that of having no male heir, except me alone, a boy destined to die young. Worse, I cannot now comfort him in his decrepitude, but must remain here, kill your sons, and waste your city! Priam, we know that you were once the richest king of this entire coast: from the swarming cities of Lesbos, founded by Macar the Rhodian, northward through Phrygia, and along the Asiatic shore to the Black Sea. Nobody could then surpass you in wealth, or in number of sons. Not until the Olympians sent Agamemnon’s ships against Troy, did you learn what it meant to undergo a siege and watch your forces melt away. Yet show a becoming fortitude! No amount of tears and lamentations will revive Hector—or stave off final ruin.’
‘Foster-son of Zeus,’ Priam complained, ‘how can I sit at my ease while his corpse lies unburied in your lines? Accept the huge ransom I carry with me, and let me pore tenderly on those pale features. May you enjoy these treasures to the full and bring them home in safety! Your conduct has been irreproachable.’
Achilles cast him a stern look. ‘Venerable King,’ he cried, ‘do not bait me! I had decided to return Hector’s corpse, even before you came, after receiving a personal envoy from Zeus: my own mother, the Goddess Thetis, daughter of Nereus the Old Man of the Sea. I am also convinced that some god has led you to me. Without divine aid nobody, however daring and active, could have escaped the sentries’ vigilance or unbarred the gate of my compound. Oh, enough of this! If you provoke my rage, I may not even spare so aged a suppliant as yourself, but offend Zeus by striking you dead.’
Priam being too scared to answer, Achilles sprang like a lion through the doorway, with Automedon and Alcimus at his heels. He asked Idaeus to take a seat in the hut, and the three together unharnessed the teams and emptied the cart of its royal ransom, except a couple of robes and a closely woven tunic. Achilles then told some slave-girls to wash and anoint the corpse—though out of view, lest Priam might be tempted to bitter comments on its filthy condition, and he, for his part, might be tempted to use his sword. So Hector was once more washed and anointed. When the women had clothed him in the tunic and in one of the robes set aside for the purpose, Achilles spread the other robe over the bier and laid him on it. Automedon and Alcimus lent a hand as he lifted the bier into Idaeus’ cart.
This done, Achilles addressed the ghost of Patroclus, groaning aloud: ‘Do not be vexed, brother, if news reaches you in the kingdom of Hades that I have surrendered Hector’s corpse to his old father! He has paid me a royal ransom, of which I shall duly burn your rightful share at the barrow yonder.’
He re-entered his hut and sat on a couch of exquisite workmanship facing the door. ‘Venerable King,’ he said, ‘I have placed your son on a bier, under th
e tilt of your cart, and in a condition which can call for no complaint. You may drive him away at dawn. Now, what of supper? Remember the case of Niobe, a Theban queen whose six sons Phoebus Apollo riddled with arrows from a silver bow, and whose six daughters Artemis the Huntress destroyed in the same fashion: a prompt revenge for Niobe’s boast that she was better than their mother Leto the Golden-Haired, who had borne only two children, as against her twelve. Zeus, at Apollo’s request, turned all Niobe’s subjects to stone, and the fallen bodies therefore lay nine days weltering in their blood. On the tenth day, the Olympians themselves buried them; and then, unable to weep more, the weary Queen broke her fast. People say that somewhere among the lonely crags of Lydian Sipylus, her father Tantalus’ mountain—the supposed haunt of those Naiads who love to dance around Achelöius, God of Fresh Waters—Niobe still broods and weeps, likewise turned to stone. Follow her example, noble father; eat, and gain strength to lament your beloved son as you convey him to Troy. He will there be accorded the many tears that are his due.’
Achilles rose again and sacrificed a pure white sheep. Automedon and Alcimus, after skinning and jointing it, roasted slices of flesh on spits at the fire, and drew them off when done. Automedon then handed around bread in dainty baskets; Achilles served the meat. Priam shared this succulent meal and, when they had eaten and drunk enough, took stock of Achilles for the first time, wondering at his huge, strong frame and radiant good looks. Achilles was equally impressed by Priam’s regal bearing and dignified manner. Soon the old king ventured: ‘Kindly make up a bed for me, foster-son of Zeus, and let us both enjoy sweet sleep. I have not closed my eyes since you killed Hector twelve days ago—a sight that sent me grovelling in stable muck. Nor had I broken my fast until tonight.’
Slave-women bustled from their apartment at Achilles’ orders. Some held torches, others heavy rugs, coverlets, and cloaks for a double bedstead which Automedon and Alcimus erected on the porch. Priam and Idaeus would lie in comfort that night.
Achilles then said, with a certain rancour: ‘My lord King, you would be well advised to spend the night outside the hut. If some councillor came for a midnight conference, as often happens, and were to recognize you, he might inform Agamemnon, who would certainly make trouble about the ransom. But tell me: how many days will Hector’s obsequies last? I undertake not to resume the battle while they are in progress, and the other commanders may also abstain.’
‘A general armistice, my lord,’ answered Priam, ‘would be most welcome. Since Troy is closely besieged, we shrink from any distant excursion, such as the felling of timber for Hector’s pyre must entail. Mourning will last nine days; on the tenth, we burn his corpse and celebrate a funeral feast; on the eleventh, we raise his barrow; on the twelfth, we do battle—if you attack us.’
‘Very well,’ Achilles agreed, clasping him reassuringly by the right hand and wrist. ‘Count on me to keep the Greek army in camp until the twelfth day.’
So Priam and Idaeus lay down, but outside the hut. Achilles, acting on his mother’s advice, took lovely Briseis to bed with him in a recess of the living room.
That night, sound sleep held all other gods and heroes, except Hermes the Helper, who was thinking how to fetch his two charges quietly home. ‘Priam,’ he whispered, appearing stealthily in the compound, ‘are you so simple-minded as to sleep here among enemies? True, Achilles has spared your life in consideration of a huge ransom; but if Agamemnon and his friends got wind of the bargain, they would demand three times as much from your sons for letting you go.’
This alarmed Priam, who woke Idaeus. Hermes helped them to yoke the teams, unbarred the gate, and himself drove Priam’s chariot safely across the causeway, unseen by a soul. He left them at the Scamander ford; flying up to Olympus just as Day dawned.
Priam and Idaeus then made speed towards Troy, lamenting the corpse in the cart.
Cassandra, Priam’s prophetic daughter whose beauty rivalled Aphrodite’s, sighted them first. She had climbed to the Citadel and, recognizing her father, Idaeus, and her brother’s corpse, roused the whole city with a piercing cry. ‘Trojans, awake!’ she shrieked. ‘If ever you cheered Hector when he rode in from battle, gather now at the Scaean Gate and bewail his return stretched on a bier!’
Very soon every single man and woman had obeyed her. Andromache and Hecuba led the rush to Idaeus’ cart where, hemmed in by a grief-stricken throng, they caressed and wept over Hector. This affecting scene might have lasted until nightfall, but for Priam’s loud protest: ‘Stand back, good people! Let the mules pass! I must get my son into the city, and then you shall mourn to your hearts’ content.’
The crowd parted, and Idaeus drove up the narrow lane. At Hector’s house his brothers sadly laid him on a carved bed, and dirge-leaders stood on either side. Andromache embraced her glorious husband’s head, and began:
‘Ah, Hector, fallen young and strong,
Your widow mourns you in this song:
Despaired because our only son,
This little, ill-starred, prattling one
Can never grow to man’s estate
Before old Troy has met her fate.
‘Now Hector’s gone, who guarded us,
Alas for sweet Scamandrius,
And for all children, and all wives,
Who from sheer doom preserve their lives!
Fearful the horrors I foresee
When, captives, we have crossed the sea:
My orphaned boy a menial
In some harsh-tempered prince’s hall,
Crouched trembling at a slavish stent;
Else, earlier, from a battlement
Tossed by some bloody-minded other,
Avenging father, son or brother—
Truly your hand fell never light,
When out you strode, my love, to fight!
‘In every house the Trojans weep,
Your parents’ hearts are wounded deep,
But mine is wounded unto death—
I did not hear your last faint breath
Utter a memorable decree,
Nor saw you stretch your arms for me.’
Women took up the doleful melody, and then Queen Hecuba began a new lament:
‘Hector of all my children
Far closest to this heart,
And loved by the Immortals
Who fetched you to these portals
Laid on a tilted cart.
‘My lesser sons, Achilles
Might sell beyond the sea—
To Samos or to Imbros
Or ever-smoking Lemnos
In sad captivity.
‘Yet with small thought of mercy
He thrust the bronze in you
And dragged you round the barrow
Of one he could not harrow:
His friend whom your hand slew.
’Here now in dewy freshness
You take your ease, as though
To sleep, dear child, reduced by
A gentle arrow loosed by
Him of the Silver Bow.’
Hecuba’s song excited further tears from the women; and lastly Helen ventured on a dirge:
‘Of all the princes in this land
None other so befriended me
As Hector: he could understand
How much I suffered, only he.
‘Paris, my husband, cajoled me
From lovely Greece, ten years ago—
Like twenty years the ten appear,
They glide so miserably slow.
‘Would I were dead! But not a word
Harsh or unkind did Hector say,
Such as from all the rest I heard,
Ay, these that mourn for him today!
‘Priam the Venerable, indeed,
A tender father is to me—
But Hector my ill cause would plead
And gently chide their obloquies.
‘Here, of his generous heart bereft,
Let me make wail and cry Alas,
Having no kin
but Priam left
Who does not shudder as I pass.’
A chorus of groans greeted Helen’s complaint, and then the king was heard shouting: ‘Off with you, Trojans, to the hills, and fell trees for my son’s pyre! No one need fear a Greek ambush; Achilles has pledged us an eleven-day armistice.’
Priam’s subjects accordingly harnessed ox-wagons and mule-carts, flocked to the slopes of Ida, and there spent nine days collecting an enormous store of wood. On the tenth day, they built a tall pyre beneath the walls, and sorrowfully burned Hector’s corpse upon it. High blazed that pyre, and when
DAWN, DAY’s daughter bright,
Drew back the curtain of NIGHT
With her fingers of rosy light,
the entire population scattered wine on the hot embers. Scouts had been posted to give warning of a possible Greek attack, but none came. Hector’s brothers and fellow-commanders gathered his clean white bones, weeping unrestrainedly as they wrapped soft purple tissue about them, and placed them in a golden urn. After digging a shallow grave for the urn, and laying a pavement of flag-stones over it, they heaped his heroic barrow. That done, everybody went off to a memorable banquet at King Priam’s Palace.
So ended the funeral rites of Hector the Horse-Tamer.
Endnotes
Introduction
1 I write this from the island of Majorca which, according to Strabo and Silius Italicus, was first colonized by the Rhodians whom Tlepolemus brought in nine ships to Troy, and who on their return found themselves unable to regain Rhodes. An early Majorcan bull cult and the islanders’ remarkable skill as slingers do indeed suggest Rhodian provenience. Here we like to believe that Tlepolemus did not fall at Troy.
BOOK ONE: The Quarrel
2 Here some Athenian has patriotically interpolated a line: ‘Or Theseus, son of Aegeus, who resembled the Immortals.’
The Anger of Achilles: Homer's Iliad Page 39
