by Glyn Iliffe
‘Nevertheless, I will not accept it,’ Achilles answered. ‘Ten long years I’ve fought for Agamemnon. I’ve sacked no fewer than twenty-three towns and cities in Priam’s kingdom and the kingdoms of his allies, and for what reward? Every time I’ve brought back the spoils and laid them before him, not withholding anything, only to see this King of Men take the greater share and divide the rest equally, regardless of who stormed the walls or who stayed with him by the ships. Even then, I was content to serve under his command until he took Briseis from me. I won her with my own spear and she won my heart, but he dared to take her from me in front of the whole army. Did he rob you, Odysseus, or you, Ajax? No, just me, and for that I will never forgive him!’
There was a rage now in Achilles, growing as he spoke so that his knuckles were white about the arms of his chair.
‘And as for his gifts, I care nothing for them. I have towns of my own back in Phthia and wealth enough not to miss these meagre offerings he insults me with. Does he think I don’t know this is but a tiny portion of the wealth and slaves he has gleaned? After all, I captured it for him in the first place! No, Odysseus, if Agamemnon wants to save his precious ships from Hector then he must rely on you and the other kings to do it for him. At first light tomorrow, my ships will unfurl their sails and return home, and if you have any sense you will come with me.’
A long silence followed Achilles’s refusal, but as the others stared at the glowing embers of the hearth – unable to look each other in the eye – Eperitus fought a losing battle to contain his own sense of outrage. Eventually, he slammed his fist down on the arm of his chair and spoke.
‘I’ve seen you fight, Achilles, and there’s not a man like you anywhere in Greece or Ilium. Even Ajax, here, couldn’t match you, and yet I look upon him with the greater honour. I look upon the least of the soldiers lying dead on that plain out there with more honour than I do you. Damn it if even Agamemnon hasn’t more honour than you do!’
Achilles leaned forward in his chair and Eperitus felt as if Hades himself were staring at him, but his own anger was too great to feel any fear.
‘Men speak of you and they talk of honour and a name that will live until the end of time,’ he continued, ‘and yet I see a man whose renown has been overmastered by his pride. If the gods will bend their will in the face of humility, then who are you to remain so obstinate? I’ve more reason to hate Agamemnon than you do, but even I can see he knows when to acknowledge he’s in the wrong. Not only has he offered you gifts that will give you glory – even if you don’t need the wealth – but he’s also prepared to give you back the woman you claim to love. Isn’t that enough? He took my woman, too, you know, though you revel in the thought that you’re the only man to have been robbed by Agamemnon. I’d have given anything to have taken her in my arms again, so why don’t you accept this offer and return to the army? Or are you more interested in nursing this grievance of yours than having Briseis back?’
Achilles continued to stare at him, his nostrils flaring slightly as he fought to contain his temper, but Eperitus did not flinch. And then the prince took a deep breath and sat back in his chair, though his eyes did not for a moment leave Eperitus’s.
‘You are my guest, Eperitus. We have shared wine and meat and therefore you are at liberty to speak your mind, and no doubt you also speak with the passion of your heart. But do not claim to hate Agamemnon more than I do, when every time I argue with him you come to his rescue. Do you think I’ve forgotten that time on Tenedos, when I would have killed him but for your intervention? But none of this matters any more, for no words – appeasing or offensive – will change my mind.’
He pointed at Odysseus. ‘Are you the only man who can wish for home, Odysseus? Am I doomed to stay in Ilium, my bones turning to dust beneath some mound that future generations will call the “Tomb of Achilles”, discussing my deeds in awe as their sheep graze on top of me? But it doesn’t have to be so, for my mother foresaw two paths for me, did she not? To live a short and violent life here, earning a name that will echo down the ages; or to enjoy a long and peaceful existence back home, forsaking eternal renown for the love of a family in Phthia. You would have chosen that path, wouldn’t you Odysseus? Then so have I!’
‘What?’ Ajax exclaimed, rising from his chair. ‘Have the gods robbed you of your mind, Achilles? You’re the greatest warrior of our age; how can you talk of giving up your renown? No one hungers for glory more than you do – not even myself – and that’s why I’ve come to love and revere you above all other men. Do you think I don’t worship Tecmessa and dote on Eurysaces? Yet I would rather give up my wife and son than give up my honour, as you are proposing to do. Listen to what you’re saying, cousin, and admit your place is on the battlefield with us, not on some farm in Phthia. Accept the gifts Agamemnon is offering and put aside this stubborn pride, before it’s too late for all of us.’
‘My lord Ajax, there isn’t a man amongst the Greeks I love and respect more than I do you,’ Achilles replied. ‘We are cousins by blood, but we are brothers by our prowess in battle and our desire to win fame. By the same token, you more than anyone should appreciate the humiliation I had to suffer when Agamemnon took Briseis from me, and because of that I will not relent. And mark this, too: if you continue to favour Agamemnon over me and speak on his behalf, then it will not matter that we are cousins or friends, for my love for you can be turned to hatred. I forgive Odysseus and Eperitus, who have always curried favour with Agamemnon, but you I would have expected to support my cause, not his. Now, all of you, leave my hut and take my reply back to the King of Men. Make sure he realizes the depth of the affront he has caused me.’
‘Let’s go,’ Ajax said gruffly as Odysseus and Eperitus rose from their chairs. ‘That an argument over a girl should bring about such an impasse is beyond my understanding. But even though you’re abandoning us by this ruthless arrogance of yours, Achilles, I hope that you will still think of us as your friends.’
‘I have none greater,’ Achilles assured him, taking each of the men by the hand as they followed Patroclus to the doorway.
‘Come with us a moment,’ Odysseus said in a low voice as Patroclus pulled aside the canvas for them.
Patroclus frowned, but after a quick glance at Achilles – who had picked up his lyre once more and was plucking angrily and discordantly at its strings – he followed the Ithacan king outside. A thin moon was casting weak shadows among the tents, and the air was filled with the smell of brine and woodsmoke. Waves crashed against the nearby shore and the sound of voices came from the Myrmidon campfires, while here and there the distant cries of wounded men rose up to offend the peacefulness of the night.
‘What is it?’ Patroclus asked.
‘You need to do something,’ Odysseus replied in a low voice, looking furtively around at the scattered guards. Ajax was waiting just out of earshot, while Eperitus was at Odysseus’s shoulder, curious to know why the king had asked Patroclus to follow them.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Don’t feign indifference, Patroclus,’ Odysseus said. ‘Do you think I wasn’t watching your face in there as Achilles refused every argument we put to him? He’s letting his pride get the better of him and you’re as concerned about it as we are.’
‘Of course I am, but what do you expect me to do? You can see for yourselves how difficult he is to talk to once his mind is set.’
‘I don’t know what you should do, but unless you can convince him to lead the Myrmidons back into battle, then I fear everything we’ve fought for will be lost. We can do nothing to influence him – indeed, our efforts only seem to make him worse – but you’re his closest friend, Patroclus. He’ll listen to you.’
Patroclus gave a derisive snort and cast a jealous glance over at Ajax. Odysseus caught the look and knew what was in the Myrmidon’s mind.
‘Achilles and Ajax share the same passion for glory and they admire each other for it, but even Ajax couldn’t persuade Achilles to g
ive up this feud with Agamemnon. You, on the other hand, have known Achilles longer than anyone else; you share his meals by day and it’s said his bed by night; he loves you more than any other, including Ajax, and because of that you are the only one who can bring him back to the fight. You must do what you can, Patroclus. I have a feeling the fate of the whole army rests with you.’
Chapter Twenty-Four
THE NIGHT RAID
Odysseus delivered the news to the assembled leaders with uncharacteristic bluntness: Achilles had not only flatly refused Agamemnon’s gifts and his offer of reconciliation, but he had also promised to set sail for Greece the next day and had advised all others to do the same. The council fell into a stunned silence, with Agamemnon sinking into his fur-draped throne and glowering at the flames of the hearth. When he finally looked up again, his blue eyes were filled with hopeless despair.
‘Now what do we do?’ he asked, looking around at the expectant faces of the kings and princes who had followed him to Troy. ‘The only thing that stands between Hector and total victory is a ditch and that pile of mud bricks Nestor persuaded us to build only a few days ago.’
‘If it hadn’t been for the wall, our ships would be charred wrecks by now and we would all be dead,’ Diomedes countered, standing and pacing the floor of the tent with his hands locked behind his back. ‘But who knows what tomorrow will bring? I for one don’t believe the gods have abandoned our cause – not yet, at least – and you seem to overlook another fact, my lord Agamemnon: we still have a great and powerful army, and men of renown to lead it. The storm seems to have passed and the sight of the sun tomorrow will give the men heart again.’
‘It will lift Trojan spirits, too!’ Agamemnon exclaimed. ‘I tell you, Hector will brush aside our defences in the morning and put us all to the sword.’
Nestor slapped his hand on his thigh in anger.
‘No!’ he said firmly. ‘You set too much store by Hector, my lord. Have you forgotten that Ajax there fought him to a standstill only three days ago? And Diomedes is right, we still have an army that is more than a match for the Trojans, even if Zeus has tipped the balance in their favour for a short time. All we need is to take the initiative – find out the Trojan dispositions and how they plan to attack us, then focus on their weak points and take the battle to them.’
Menelaus stepped forward. ‘And how do we do that, old friend? Walk into the Trojan camp and ask Hector to tell us all his plans?’
There was a hollow laugh from some of the men on the benches, but Nestor ignored them. He spoke quietly to Antilochus, who sat next to him, then stood and raised his hand for silence.
‘You mock, Menelaus, but that is almost exactly what I suggest we do. All it needs is two or three brave men to slip across the ditch and into the Trojan camp: it’s a dark night and there are plenty of Trojan helmets and shields around to provide them with a disguise. Once they’re among the campfires, it’ll be nothing to snatch a prisoner – some nobleman of rank – and bring him back here for questioning . . .’
‘I’ll do it,’ Diomedes said, standing purposefully and adjusting his scabbard as it hung over his shoulder. ‘And Odysseus and Eperitus will come with me.’
‘I’ll come, too,’ Great Ajax added, rising to his full height so that his head almost touched the canvas roof.
Diomedes shook his head. ‘Three is enough, my friend, and your size will attract too much attention. What do you say, Odysseus? Is a second mission in one evening too much?’
Odysseus and Eperitus rose from the benches, both men pulling their cloaks about themselves in readiness to meet the chill night air outside.
‘You’ll need someone with intelligence if you’re to come back alive,’ Odysseus said. ‘I just hope we don’t meet as much opposition in the Trojan camp as we did in Achilles’s tent.’
The shallow moon had sunk below the horizon, leaving the stars to shine brightly above them as they made their way up to the gates. It was now the third watch of the night, but there was still plenty of time to carry out their mission before the first glow of dawn infused the eastern skies. Before leaving Agamemnon’s tent they had equipped themselves with Trojan armour and weaponry, earning curious looks from the strong guard who watched the gates. More men were on the walls above and several companies of soldiers slept nearby, ready to arm in an instant if the Trojans showed any sign of attacking. But as the gates were opened and the three crossed the narrow causeway to the plain beyond, everything remained still and quiet. Many hundreds of fires still burned, where the Trojans had camped well out of bowshot from the walls, but the only signs of life were the occasional figures of sentinels silhouetted by the bright flames.
They looked about themselves at the dark, indistinct shapes of the dead who lay everywhere. The ditches on either side of the causeway were filled with bodies, some still impaled on the sharpened poles. Here most of the fallen were Trojans, where Hector had flung his spearmen against the defences in a last, desperate effort to win the day as the Greeks retreated behind their walls; but out on the plain most of the fallen were Greek, shot down by Trojan archers or speared by Trojan horsemen as they turned and ran back to the gates. The chaos of those last moments had been something none of them would forget easily: the lashing rain and the thunder erupting from the clouds above; the clawing sense of panic as men retreated back to the open gates; the glittering blasts of lightning illuminating the terrified faces of men fighting for their lives. Now, though, all was tranquil as they stood on the shadowy stretch of land that separated the two armies.
‘There’s a gap in the watch fires over on the right,’ Diomedes said in a low voice. ‘Let’s follow the ditch until we’re opposite, then cut across.’
He set off at a quick jog and the others followed, instinctively running at a slight crouch as their eyes searched the darkness ahead and to their left, where the Trojan campfires flickered on the plain. But before they had gone very far, Eperitus’s keen ears heard soft footsteps and a quick glance revealed the figure of a man coming towards them from across the battlefield.
‘Hide yourselves, quickly!’ he hissed.
He scrambled into the ditch, followed by Diomedes and Odysseus, who threw themselves down on either side of him.
‘What is it?’ Diomedes whispered, raising his head just above the lip of the trench and squinting into the darkness.
Eperitus replied by pointing ahead of them where, after a few moments, all three were able to see a skulking figure emerging from the gloom.
‘Who do you think he is?’ Odysseus asked. ‘A straggler?’
‘He’s a Trojan, whoever he is,’ Eperitus answered. ‘He’s not wearing any armour, but he’s dressed like a Trojan and he’s got a Trojan cap on his head.’
Diomedes smiled grimly. ‘Then he must be a spy, hoping to find a way into our camp. It won’t be the first time, after all, though he must think the gods are with him if he expects to slip over this wall unnoticed.’
‘He’s coming our way,’ Odysseus added. ‘I say we capture him and see what he knows. It might save us having to slip into the Trojan camp and find a prisoner.’
They drew their swords slowly and silently then lay as if dead. As the man came closer they could see his pale eyes in the darkness, wide and fearful. He wore a wolf’s pelt around his shoulders and carried a short spear and a bow. He was stepping carefully, but most of his attention was on the walls and the positions of the sentries.
‘Drop your weapons!’ Diomedes ordered, leaping up and holding the point of his sword beneath the man’s double chin. He spoke in the Trojan tongue, though his accent revealed him as a Greek. Odysseus and Eperitus stood either side of him with their own weapons held ready.
‘Oh, mercy!’ the Trojan squeaked, releasing his spear and bow and raising his trembling hands in the air. ‘Mercy, my lord, mercy!’
‘Tell me what you’re about or I’ll cut your throat,’ Diomedes threatened, pressing the blade a little closer.
The man
seemed to melt before them, sinking as low as Diomedes’s sword would allow and covering his head with his hands, while large tears began cascading down his cheeks. Despite their stolen armour, there was no mistaking the three men for Trojans.
‘Oh, no, no, no, don’t be hasty now. Don’t be hasty! My father will pay a good ransom for me, for sure – I’m worth much more to you alive than dead.’
‘Indeed you are,’ said Odysseus, looking the man up and down as he circled. ‘Now, tell us your name and your mission.’
‘Dolon, sir. I, oh gods . . . I got a little lost and . . .’ Dolon’s voice rose sharply as Diomedes lifted his chin with the point of his sword. ‘I mean, I’ve been sent to scale the walls and spy on the Greek camp. Hector forced me into it. He threatened to kill me if I—’
‘Stop lying,’ said Eperitus irritatedly.
‘Excuse my friends,’ Odysseus continued, raising a hand. ‘They’re a little impatient and easily angered. I wouldn’t provoke them, if I were you.’
He signalled to Diomedes, who reluctantly lowered his sword and stepped back. Dolon edged away, rubbing his neck and swallowing.
‘Of course not, my lord,’ he said, eyeing Diomedes nervously. ‘All I want is my life. I’ll tell you anything I know.’
‘That’s good,’ Odysseus said, smiling and clapping a friendly hand on his shoulder.
To their surprise, the terrified Trojan knew more than the three men had ever expected to learn from any prisoner they might take. Despite his feeble appearance he was a nobleman and a lesser captain in the Trojan army, and had therefore been present at the meeting between Hector and the other leaders that evening. Not only did he reveal the watchword for passing the sentries and give them all the dispositions of the army as they lay camped in their different factions before the Greek walls, but he also gave them a summary of Hector’s plans for the next day’s attack, all the time wringing his hands with a mixture of guilt at betraying his countrymen and shame at his own cowardice.
