‘It is!’ cried Great Ajax, amid general satisfaction. When the herald placed the lot in his outstretched palm, he flung it down, shouting: ‘Comrades, what joy! That lot was mine; I recognized the mark. Now, although my victory is a foregone conclusion, you should invoke Zeus the Son of Cronus while I re-arm. Ask him to grant me victory—and pray in silence, lest the Trojans overhear you—ah, what am I saying? Pray aloud, by all means, I am not afraid. No man living is strong enough to force me back once I come in close: nor skilful enough, either. I was born on the island of Salamis with my fair share of intelligence, and have been well schooled since then in the profession of arms.’
The Greeks did as Ajax asked, and the prayer which most of them used ran as follows:
‘ZEUS, most glorious and great,
On Mount Ida holding state:
Grant Ajax to achieve renown
By hewing noble Hector down—
Yet if, of your esteem and care,
Prince Hector’s life you deign to spare,
Grant both the champions equal might
And equal glory in this fight!’
Ajax buckled on his armour and, with a savage grin, strode forward brandishing his spear—like Ares when he leads men out to fight at Zeus’ orders.
The Greeks watched their champion delightedly; the Trojans trembled for alarm. Hector’s own heart thumped beneath his ribs, but he could neither retract his challenge at this stage, nor shrink away and disappear, as Paris had done. Ajax advanced, under the protection of his enormous shield—Tychius the Hylean currier’s master-piece: nine layers of bull-hide, sheathed in bronze.
‘Prince Hector!’ cried Ajax in menacing tones. ‘You shall soon learn what sort of champions we Greeks can still put into the field, though Achilles the Lion-Hearted is absent—a fighter who tears his enemies to pieces! Resentment against Agamemnon, our Commander-in-Chief, keeps Achilles brooding in his hut; yet several more of us dare duel with you. Come, make the first cast!’
Hector replied: ‘Ajax, son of Telamon, descendant of Zeus: you should not bait me as if you were a small boy, or an ignorant woman! I have fought many battles; I possess the soldierly arts of manipulating a shield against attacks from either flank, and driving a chariot through the mělée, and treading the dance of war in close combat. Nevertheless, since you are a brave man, I will not take advantage of any awkwardness betrayed by your defence, but rather destroy you, if possible, in a fairer style of fighting.’
He hurled his heavy spear at Ajax’s shield; it pierced the outer layer of bronze and six of the bull-hides underneath, but not the seventh. Ajax’s return cast went right through Hector’s bright round targe, to penetrate his inlaid corslet and tunic—yet he had twisted aside, so that the blade only grazed his flank. Then both simultaneously grasped the butts of their spears, wrenched them out, and attacked each other like ravening lions or formidable wild boars. When Hector lunged, the point turned on the bronze of Ajax’s shield; whereas Ajax’s spear again went right through Hector’s targe, and not only staggered him with the shock of its impact, but wounded him in the neck, drawing blood.
More than that was needed to dismay Hector, who retired a few paces, chose a rugged boulder from the plain, and let fly. The huge shield clanged as Hector’s missile struck its boss. Undeterred, Ajax picked up an even larger boulder, one as big as a mill-stone, and hurled it with such terrific force that his enemy’s targe burst inwards and flung him supine.
Apollo at once pulled Hector to his feet again; and the champions drew their swords. They would soon have begun hacking at each other, had not a pair of heralds intervened, most discreet persons: Talthybius from the Greek side and Idaeus from the Trojan. As they thrust their sacrosanct wands between the combatants, Idaeus spoke:
‘Desist, refrain, sons dear to me,
And to ZEUS throned afar!
Talthybius and I agree
What warriors you both are;
Yet darkness comes to close the fight—
Princes, obey your mother, NIGHT!’
‘Idaeus,’ Ajax replied, ‘you must first ask Hector to call a halt, since the challenge was his. If he consents, I shall cheerfully do the same.’
‘Ajax,’ said Hector, ‘by the grace of Heaven you are not only tall, strong, and the best spearman in the Greek army, but wise; let us therefore break off this fight. Later it can be resumed, until the gods award victory either to you or to me. Meanwhile:
Since darkness comes to close the fight—
We will obey our mother, NIGHT!
However, before parting—you, to win congratulations in the camp, especially from your friends and relatives; I, to comfort my people, especially the women, who will doubtless be at prayer in some temple—before parting, noble Ajax, let us exchange princely gifts and make everyone, whether Greek or Trojan, cry out for wonder: “That so bitter a duel could end in such brotherly affection!”’
Hector gave Ajax his silver-studded sword, complete with scabbard and well-cut baldric; whereupon Ajax gave Hector his bright purple belt. Then they parted and went away.
The Trojans were overcome by joy that their leader had escaped alive from the irresistible fury of Ajax’s attack, not having even hoped that their city would escape capture that day. The Greeks similarly welcomed Ajax, exulting in his success and, when they marched back, escorted him to the hut of King Agamemnon, who at once sacrificed a five-year-old bull in Zeus’ honour. Servants flayed it, jointed the carcase and distributed the meat, which was then carefully sliced for the spits. The slices having been roasted, the banquet was ready. Agamemnon’s guests set to and ate heartily, no one being stinted of his share; but Ajax had won the hero’s portion, consisting of roast beef from the entire length of chine.
As soon as they had eaten and drunk all that they could swallow, old Nestor favoured them with more of his famous advice: ‘King Agamemnon, and you other princes of Greece! Since a great many of our comrades have lost their lives on the Scamandrian Plain, you should ask the Trojans for a truce, beginning at daybreak. You should then arrange ox and mule transport to fetch in the corpses, and bum them just outside the camp. The bones can be collected, and eventually returned to each fallen hero’s children or near kinsfolk. And we should heap an extensive barrow on the plain, by way of honouring the dead—but, at the same time, convert it into a defensive rampart around the camp. Such a rampart would need towers above, a deep fosse in front, and a bridge guarded by stout gates as a sally-port for our own chariots. I consider these necessary precautions against a surprise attack by Trojan chariots and other arms.’
Agamemnon and his Privy Council agreed.
***
A heated Assembly was being held in the outer court of Priam’s Palace. Antenor the Prudent addressed the fierce, confused crowd. ‘Trojans, Dardanians, and honoured Allies,’ he cried, ‘pray give me your attention! I have an important resolution to move. It is that we immediately surrender Queen Helen, with her whole fortune, to Agamemnon and Menelaus. Our cause is an impious one, since Paris violated the sacred laws which forbid an ambassador to rob his hosts. Unless we offer such amends, I neither desire nor expect victory to attend us.’
When Antenor sat down again, Paris rose and exclaimed passionately: ‘Antenor, you used to be a man of common sense, but what you have now said displeases me greatly. Are you joking, or have the gods addled your brains? Let me make this clear once and for all: I do not, and shall never, consent to give up Helen! I am willing only to restore the treasure that I brought away with her, and pay King Menelaus adequate damages from my own purse.’
The next speaker was Priam himself. ‘Trojans, Dardanians, and honoured Allies!’ he said. ‘Pray give me your attention! I move another resolution: that we disperse to our usual suppers, but keep a double watch until dawn, when Idaeus, our herald, shall lay before King Agamemnon and King Menelaus the offer made by my son Prince Paris, who originated our quarrel with them. Let Idaeus also suggest that both armies abstain from further acts of
aggression while the dead are being duly burned. At the end of this truce, if the Greeks reject my son’s offer, the war may go on until one side wins.’
Priam’s resolution was adopted, the Assembly dispersed to their suppers, and at daybreak Idaeus visited the Greek camp. Finding a Privy Council already gathered behind the stern of Agamemnon’s galley, he spoke as follows:
‘King Agamemnon, King Menelaus, and you other princes of Greece! My sovereign lord Priam orders me to present an offer, supported by his leading Trojans, which he hopes will cause satisfaction. It comes from Prince Paris, the originator of our quarrel—speaking for myself, I heartily wish he had died first—and is to this effect. He proposes to restore the treasure that he brought away with Queen Helen, and pay her former husband adequate damages from his own private purse. He will not, however, give up Helen—though the Trojans have urged such an act of self-denial. I am further to request a truce, while our dead are collected and burned. As soon as it ends—unless, of course, you accept Prince Paris’ offer—the war may go on until one side wins.’
After a pause, Diomedes gave his opinion: ‘Since every fool knows that Troy is doomed, I hold that we ought to decline the offer, even if it included—which it does not—the surrender of Queen Helen.’
Diomedes was cheered to the echo, and Agamemnon addressed the herald: ‘You have heard the Greek answer, noble Idaeus, which carries my approval. As for the second matter: I shall not grudge King Priam a truce while his dead, being naturally entitled to purification by fire, are collected and burned. Let Zeus the Thunderer, Husband of Hera, witness my compliance with this request.’
Agamemnon raised his sceptre aloft in sight of all the gods; whereupon Idaeus took his leave. The Trojan Assembly was waiting for an answer, and no sooner had he delivered it, than everyone present hurried off, either to retrieve the dead or to gather fire-wood.
By the time that parties from both armies met peaceably on the battlefield, the sun had climbed out of the slow, deep Ocean Stream and was beaming down. Even under his fierce rays, the Trojans found it difficult to identify some of their despoiled comrades, before washing away the blood. Hot tears fell as the wagons were loaded; but Priam forbade any lament. After silently crowning a huge pyre with corpses and seeing that the flames did their work, the Trojans went home in dejection.
Long before dawn the Greeks, who had been occupied by the same melancholy task, gathered around the ashes of their pyre and began heaping an extensive barrow over them. On Nestor’s advice, they enlarged this into a defensive rampart; adding towers above, and a broad, deep fosse in front, but left a bridge guarded by a pair of strong gates, as a sally-port for their own chariots.
***
In Heaven, as the fascinated gods sat watching Agamemnon’s men hard at work, Poseidon the Earth-Shaker asked Zeus an awkward question: ‘Father Zeus, is there no man left on the wide earth who takes us Immortals into his confidence? You must have noticed that those Greeks started digging without the customary hundred-beast sacrifice? Yet, you can depend on it, this rampart will earn praise as far as Dawn reaches, and make everyone forget a much greater feat: how speedily Phoebus Apollo and I once built the enormous stone walls of Troy for King Laomedon.’
Zeus answered in vexation: ‘What a mean fellow you are, Brother Poseidon! Though a god less powerful than yourself might perhaps feel jealous of these Greek earth-works, surely you know that your own magnificent masonry will continue to earn praise as far as Dawn reaches? Very well: wait until the Greeks have sailed home, and you may wash that rampart away with a strong sea and spread a level beach where it stood, so that no vestige survives.’
By sunset, the rampart was completed. Several Lemnian ships had just arrived from King Euneus, a son of Jason the Argonaut and Queen Hypsipyle, carrying a thousand measures of wine as a free gift to Agamemnon and Menelaus, and many measures more for public sale. This wine found a ready market; the Greeks paid in bronze, iron, hides, cattle and prisoners. Then they slaughtered oxen, ate their suppers, and caroused all night, despite the frequent ominous mutterings of thunder with which Zeus threatened them—though nobody dared drink unless he first honoured Zeus by spilling a cupful of wine on the ground—but finally lay down and relaxed in sleep. The Trojans had also feasted to their hearts’ content.
Book Eight:
An Indecisive Battle
As Dawn spread her saffron light over the earth, Omniscient Zeus, Lord of Thunder, called a divine Assembly on the very summit of rocky Olympus, and spoke as follows:
‘Give ear, all gods and goddesses
Who dwell in Heaven apart,
For I shall freely broach to you
The counsels of this heart,
‘And let no god nor goddess think
Such counsels to gainsay—
Nod your approval, that my word
Accomplished be this day.
‘But if I hear of stealthy aid
To Greeks or Trojans lent,
At my strong hands that god shall earn
Egregious punishment.
‘I surely shall lay hold of him,
To whirl him round and round,
And cast him head-long down to Hell,
The great gulf underground.
‘As far below our teeming earth
As earth below the skies,
With iron gates and brazen floor
That gloomy kingdom lies.
‘Immortals all, I challenge you:
Take now a golden chain
And strive to drag me down from Heaven
With your bright arms astrain.
‘Such puny strength will never stir
So huge a lord as me,
Nay, I will haul you up instead,
And with you, Earth and Sea.
‘Then to this peak the chain I’ll hitch,
Being strong beyond compare,
And leave yourselves, and Earth, and Sea
Suspended in mid-air.’
Zeus’ masterful threat commanded a dead silence, finally broken by Athene the Owl-Eyed: ‘Father Zeus, Ruler of all the Gods,’ she said, ‘though we have no delusions about your enormous strength, that does not prevent us from pitying the wretched Greeks, who will be ruined without our help. We promise to abstain from active intervention, since these are your orders; but let us at least advise our wards how they can avoid utter disaster.’
Zeus smiled at her. ‘Dear child,’ he said, ‘you must not take me too seriously: I am very well disposed towards you.’
***
He then gave instructions for the harnessing of his bronze-shod, fleet-footed horses and, dressed all in gold, mounted the chariot. Crack! went his golden whip; the team leaped forward between earth and sky, their fiery manes streaming behind them. Zeus’ destination was Gargarus on Mount Ida (home of wild beasts), where he owned a private estate and an altar always fragrant with the odour of sacrifice. There he alighted, unharnessed the horses, threw a thick mist around them, and went for a stroll up the mountain, rejoicing in his glory. He chose as his seat a crag which commanded a clear view of Troy and the Greek camp. The Greeks were eating a hasty breakfast and arming themselves for battle; so were the Trojans. But the Trojans, though numerically far inferior, had resolved to defend their women and children and display a courage that matched the occasion. Out they all streamed, chariotry and infantry, through the wide-open gates of Troy.
With a clash of bronze the two armies met, fighting at spear’s length, or shield-boss against shield-boss. A tremendous din arose: shouts of exultation, cries of agony, as men killed or were killed; and blood reddened the earth.
Spears, javelins and arrows took equal toll of both sides that morning; but at high noon Father Zeus, producing his pair of golden scales, laid a fate in each pan (one for the Greeks, the other for the Trojans); then lifted them by their pivot. The Greek fate plummeted down and the Trojan fate soared. Zeus thereupon thundered aloud from Mount Ida and flashed lightning into the invaders’ eyes, which caused them
dismay and fear.
Idomeneus of Crete, Agamemnon the High King, and the two Ajaxes, seasoned soldiers though they were, all lost heart. Only Nestor, Watch-Dog of the Greeks, stood fast, and even he did not do so deliberately; the fact being that an arrow from Prince Paris’ bow had struck one of his four horses on the crown of its head, where the mane starts—a most vulnerable spot. When the arrow entered the horse’s brain, it reared agonizedly and the three other beasts became unmanageable. Nestor leaped to the ground and hacked at the traces with his sword, in an attempt to free the wounded horse. Hector the Bright-Helmed, however, was on his track, and that would have been the end of Nestor, had not Diomedes of the Loud War-Cry observed his predicament. He yelled at Odysseus the Crafty: ‘Son of Laertes and Aphrodite, are you running away? Beware, or someone will plant a spear between your cowardly shoulders! Halt, man, help me protect this venerable prince from a furious Trojan!’
Odysseus, paying no heed, rushed on. Diomedes, thus deserted, drove his chariot close to Nestor’s and said urgently: ‘Son of Neleus, these youngsters are pressing you hard, I see. Your body is old and weary, your charioteer is a weakling, and you have a slow team. Come, mount beside me, and watch the performance of my horses—I won them from the gallant Aeneas—the horses of Tros, admirably trained to swing a chariot around at full speed, whether in pursuit or retirement. Leave your own equipage under the care of our two charioteers, while we counter-attack the Trojans. Hector must learn that my spear is as thirsty for blood as his.’
Nestor accepted the invitation. Leaving his horses in charge of the good-natured Eurymedon, he changed places with Sthenelus, Diomedes’ charioteer, whose reins and whip he took up, and immediately counter-attacked. As soon as they came into range, Diomedes aimed a javelin at Hector; but it flew wide and caught Hector’s charioteer Eniopeus, son of gallant Thebaeus, high on the breast and tumbled him dead over the rails. His horses swerved in alarm.
The Anger of Achilles Page 14
