by Homer
The River tries to drown Achilles
He spoke, and the famous spearman Achilles leapt from the bank and plunged into the middle of the stream. The River-god Scamander rushed on him in spate. He stirred up all his lovely streams, made them rise and, roaring like a bull, flung up on dry land the many bodies of Achilles’ victims that had choked him, protecting the survivors by hiding them in the large, deep pools along (240) his beautiful course. The waters rose terrifyingly and seethed around Achilles; they beat down on his shield and overwhelmed him. Unable to maintain his footing, he grabbed hold of a full-grown elm. But the tree came out by the roots, brought the whole bank away and fell into the river, which it dammed from side to side, clogging the stream with a tangle of branches. Achilles struggled out of the current and in his terror made a dash to reach the plain as fast as he could.
But the great god had not done with him yet – he meant (250) to bring his exploits to an end and save the Trojans from disaster. He rose over him in a darkening crest of water. The son of Peleus fled, getting a spear-throw’s start by swooping away with the speed of the black eagle, that great hunter which is both the strongest and the fastest thing on wings. That was how he sprinted away, and his bronze armour rang frighteningly on his shoulders. But as he slipped away from under the overhanging wave and made his escape, Scamander surged after him in pursuit, roaring and rumbling. Like a gardener making a channel in order to run water from a dark spring through his garden and its plants; mattock in hand, he clears obstructions (260) from the trench; as the water starts flowing, all the pebbles are swept out of the way, and very soon it runs singing down the slope, outstripping its guide – so the wave was always catching up with Achilles, quick though he was. Gods are stronger than men. Sometimes swift-footed godlike Achilles tried to make a stand against it and find out whether every god that inhabits the broad sky was chasing him. But whenever he stopped, a mighty wave from the sky-fed river came crashing down on his shoulders. Exasperated, he would try to (270) jump clear. But the water, racing madly beneath him, would unbalance him and eat the loose earth away from under any foothold. The son of Peleus groaned aloud, looking up to the broad skies:
‘O Father Zeus, to think that none of the gods promised to have compassion and save me from the River! I should welcome any other fate but this. Not that I blame the other Sky-gods so much as my own mother, whose false predictions deceived me. She said I should fall to Apollo and his flying weapons under the walls of the Trojan warriors. If only Hector could have killed me! He’s the best warrior they have bred in Ilium, and the killer (280) would have been as good as the killed. But now it seems I’ve been destined to die a wretched death, caught in a great river, like a boy in charge of pigs who is swept away by a mountain stream he has tried to cross in winter.’
ATHENE and POSEIDON reassure Achilles
So he spoke, and Poseidon and Athene immediately came and stood beside him. Adopting human form, they took his hands in theirs and uttered reassuring words. Poseidon began and spoke his mind:
‘Achilles, don’t be unduly afraid or alarmed when two such (290) allies as myself and Pallas Athene have come down to help you, and with the approval of Zeus too. Believe me, you are not destined to be overcome by any river. This one will soon subside, as you will see for yourself. And here is some good advice from us, if you will take it. Do not desist from war the great leveller, till you have every Trojan who escapes you penned up inside the famous walls of Ilium. And do not go back to your ships till you have taken Hector’s life. We guarantee you this triumph.’
With these words the two gods departed to rejoin the immortals while Achilles, greatly heartened by the gods’ encourage (300) ment, went on across the plain. It was completely inundated and afloat with the fine armour and bodies of the butchered men. But stepping high, Achilles fought his way on against the current, and Athene so increased his strength that the spreading waters could not hold him back. Not that Scamander was relaxing his efforts either, but in a fresh onset of rage with Achilles he reared up his mighty wave in a curling crest and called aloud to the River Simoïs:
Scamander asks River Simoïs to help
‘Dear brother, let’s unite to overpower this man or he will (310) soon be sacking lord Priam’s great town without a Trojan to stop him. Come quickly to my help! Fill your channels with water from the springs, replenish all your mountain streams, lift up a great breaker and send it down, seething with logs and boulders, so we can stop this savage who is carrying all before him. He thinks himself a match for the gods.
‘But I say his strength and beauty will not save him now, nor that splendid armour. It will lie deep in the slime beneath my flood; and as for him, the sand will be his winding-sheet, with (320) shingle piled high above him. The Greeks will not know where to find his bones, I will bury him so deep in silt. His burial-mound will be ready-made for him and there will be no need to build him another when the Greeks hold his funeral!’
He spoke and, boiling up, rushed upon Achilles with a towering surge, seething with foam, blood and bodies. A dark wave from the sky-fed River hung high above the son of Peleus and was threatening to engulf him, when Hera in her terror for Achilles, whom she thought the great deep-eddying River was about to sweep away, gave a scream of alarm and immediately (330) addressed her son Hephaestus:
HEPHAESTUS to dry River
‘Into action, little club-foot god, my child! It’s you we’ve been counting on to deal with Scamander in this fight. Quick, to the rescue, and bring your flames into action, while I go and rouse the west wind and the bright south to blow up a fierce gale from the sea and spread the blaze till the bodies and armour of the dead Trojans are consumed. You burn the trees on Scamander’ banks and set the very river on fire. Don’t let his gentle entreaties or threats put (340) you off and don’t lessen your fury till you hear a shout from me. Then you can let your inexhaustible fires die down.’
So she spoke, and Hephaestus produced a supernatural conflagration which started on the plain and consumed the bodies of Achilles’ many victims that were scattered there. The shimmering flood was stemmed, and the whole plain was dried up. As the north wind dries up an irrigated orchard in autumn, and the man who tills it is delighted, so the whole plain was dried and the dead consumed. Hephaestus then turned his dazzling (350) flames on the river. The elms, willows and tamarisks caught fire; and the lotus, reeds and galingale that grew in profusion by the lovely stream were burnt. In the very depths of the pools even the eels and fish were tormented by ingenious Hephaestus’ torrid blasts and plunged about this way and that in agony along the lovely stream. The mighty river himself was scalded and spoke out:
‘Hephaestus! You’re more than a match for any god. I can’t cope with this blazing fire of yours. The fight’s off. Let godlike Achilles go straight in and drive the Trojans from their town. (360) Why should I get mixed up in other people’s quarrels?’
He spoke with the fire rising round him, and his lovely stream began to bubble up. As a cauldron is brought rapidly to the boil by a roaring fire and dry logs burning underneath, and melts down the fat of a well-fed pig while the fat spits up all round - so his lovely stream was consumed by fire and its waters boiled. Overcome by the blast delivered by the might of inventive Hephaestus, he lost heart and ceased to flow. He turned in supplication to Hera and spoke winged words:
The River gives up
‘Hera, why has your son picked on my stream for persecution? (370) Compared with all the others who are fighting on the Trojan side, I’ve done little to deserve it. However, if you tell me to, I will stop – but so must Hephaestus. I will do more: I will undertake on oath to make no attempt to save the Trojans from their doom, not even on the day when their whole town is consumed by the devastating fires that will be lit there by the warlike Greeks.’
When the goddess white-armed Hera heard this from Scamander, she immediately spoke to Hephaestus her dear son:
(380) ‘Enough, Hephaestus, glorious child! It is
not right to ill-treat a god like this merely to help mortals.’
So she spoke, and Hephaestus put out the supernatural fire and the river began to flow back again along his lovely course.
The gods fight: ATHENE vs. ARES (5.898)
There was no more fighting between these two after Scamander’s energies had been tamed. Hera, though still resentful, saw to that. But now the feud between the other gods, driven as they were by their loyalties into opposing camps, came to a head in a momentous and painful conflict, and they fell on each other with a thunderous crash which made the great skies trumpet and the broad earth groan again.
Zeus, sitting on Olympus, heard the din. He (390) laughed to himself in delight when he saw the immortals come to grips and hold back no longer. Ares piercer of shields began the fight by making for Athene, bronze spear in hand and shouting abuse as he came:
‘You dog-flea, why have you set the gods at each other’s throats again, you and your mad bravado? What have your obsessions pushed you into this time? Don’t you remember when you encouraged Diomedes to stab me? You made no secret of it. You took his spear in your own hand; you drove it straight at me and cut my fine flesh. Now I’m going to make you pay for what you did to me then.’
With these words he stabbed at Athene’s fringed aegis (400), the terrifying aegis that can withstand even the thunderbolt of Zeus. Here the murderous Ares lunged with his long spear. Athene drew back and with her great hand picked up a rock that was lying on the ground, a big, black, rough boulder which men of an earlier age had set up in the fields to mark a boundary. She threw this and struck wild Ares on the neck, bringing him down. There with a great clatter of armour he fell, covering seven acres, with his hair in the dust. Pallas Athene laughed and, triumphing over him, spoke winged words:
‘You stupid food! It never occurred to you, before you matched (410) yourself with me, to consider how much stronger I was. Think of yourself, then, as paying off the price of your mother Hera’s curses: she has wished you ill ever since you angered her by deserting the Greeks to fight for the proud Trojans.’
With these words Athene turned her brilliant eyes away, and Aphrodite took Ares by the arm and led him from the battlefield. He had scarcely recovered his senses and was groaning all the time. But the goddess white-armed Hera noticed this move on Aphrodite’s part and immediately spoke to Athene with winged words:
‘Look sharp, Atrytone, child of Zeus who drives the storm-cloud! There goes that dog-flea again, leading the butcher Ares (420) through the mayhem and away from the battlefield. After her, quick!’
ATHENE vs. APHRODITE
So she spoke, and Athene, delighted, sped after Aphrodite, closed with her and struck her on the breast with her fist. Then and there Aphrodite gave up and collapsed. She and Ares lay together on the bountiful earth, and Athene triumphing over them spoke winged words:
‘May everyone who helps the Trojans in their fight against (430) the Greeks acquit themselves like these and show as much daring and resolution as Aphrodite, when she ran to Ares’ side and found herself face to face with me in my fury! Then we should soon have finished with this war and sacked the well-built town of Ilium.’
So she spoke, and the goddess white-armed Hera smiled. And now the lord earthshaker Poseidon addressed Apollo:
POSEIDON vs. APOLLO (Laomedon’s story)
‘Phoebus, why are we two standing apart? That is not right when others have already begun. We ought to be ashamed to go back to Olympus and Zeus’ bronze-floored palace without a fight. You begin. You are my junior, and with my greater age and (440) experience, it would not be honourable for me to start.
‘You fool, you must have lost your senses when you decided to help the Trojans. You seem to have forgotten all the hardships you and I endured at Ilium when we were segregated from the gods and sent by Zeus to serve Troy’s haughty lord Laomedon for a year. We were on a fixed wage, and he gave the orders. I built a wall for the Trojans round their town, a broad and splendid one to make the place impregnable; while you, Phoebus, herded the shambling cattle with their crooked horns on the spurs of wooded Mount Ida with its many ridges.
‘But when the joyful seasons brought round the time for settlement (450), impetuous Laomedon refused outright to give us anything and packed us off, threatening to tie our feet and hands together and send us for sale to some distant island. He even talked of lopping our ears off! So home we came in a rage, furious with Laomedon about the offer he had promised and withheld. That’s the man whose people you are now so anxious to oblige, instead of joining us and trying to ensure that these (460) insolent Trojans are utterly wiped out, together with their children and honoured wives.’
The Archer-god lord Apollo replied:
‘Earthshaker, you would credit me with very little sense if I fought you for the sake of mortals, those wretched creatures who, like the leaves, flourish in fiery brilliance for a little while on the bounty of the earth, then in a moment droop and fade away. No, let’s call the battle off before it is too late, and leave these mortals to do their own fighting.’
With these words Apollo turned and went. He thought it an improper thing to come to blows with his uncle. But now his (470) sister Artemis, mistress of animals and lady of the wilds, insulted him with biting words:
HERA attacks ARTEMIS
‘So you are running away, Archer-god, after handing Poseidon a victory – and a pretty cheap one too! What’s the sense, you baby, in carrying a bow you never use? Never let me hear you boast to the immortal gods in our father’s palace, as you used to, that you would stand up to Poseidon.’
So she spoke, and the Archer-god Apollo made no reply. But (480) Hera, honoured wife of Zeus, was infuriated with Artemis and hit back at her:
‘Shameless bitch, how do you now propose, then, to stand up to me? Even though you have got your bow, and Zeus set you as a lioness against females, allowing you to destroy women at your discretion, you would still find me a very dangerous opponent. You would do better to slaughter beasts and wild deer in the mountains than to fight your superiors. But since you have thrown down the challenge, you might like to learn about fighting and discover just how much stronger I am.’
She spoke, and with her left hand seized Artemis by both her (490) wrists, while with her right she removed the bow and arrows from her shoulders. Then she boxed her round the ears with her own weapons, smiling as her victim twisted and turned and the arrows came tumbling out of the quiver. Artemis burst into tears and fled from her like a pigeon that was not destined to be caught, escaping in flight from a hawk into a cleft or hollow in a rock. So the goddess fled in tears, leaving her bow and arrows on the ground.
Hermes, the messenger and slayer of Argus, then spoke to Artemis’ mother Leto:
‘Leto, I am not about to fight you. People who come to blows with the lovers of Zeus who marshals the clouds have a hard (500) time of it. No: you can boast to your heart’s content and tell the gods that your brute strength got the better of me.’
So he spoke, and Leto gathered up the curved bow and arrows that had tumbled here and there in the swirling dust and retired with her daughter’s weapons in her arms. Meanwhile Artemis had reached Zeus’ bronze-floored palace on Olympus, where she sat down on her father’s lap and sobbed, her immortal robe quivering with her agitation. The son of Cronus took his daughter in his arms and asked her with a kindly laugh:
‘My darling child, which of the Sky-gods has treated you like this?’
The huntress with the lovely crown replied: (510)
‘Father, it was your own wife, white-armed Hera, who beat me. This quarrelling among the immortal gods is all her fault.’
While they were talking together in this way, Phoebus Apollo went into sacred Ilium. He was concerned about the walls of the well-built town, in case the Greeks sacked it that very day in defiance of destiny. But the rest of the everlasting gods, some angry, others triumphant, returned to Olympus and sat down (520) with their father, god of the b
lack cloud.
Meanwhile Achilles continued to destroy. Men and their horses fell to him alike. As smoke rises up to the broad sky from a blazing town, when the gods have directed their wrath against it and bring suffering to all and grief to many, so Achilles brought suffering and grief to the Trojans.
Priam opens Ilium’s gates
Old Priam stood on the tower Poseidon had built and saw awe-inspiring Achilles and the panic-stricken Trojans driven before him in confusion, all (530) resistance gone. He gave a cry of alarm, and came down to give urgent orders to the wall’s tried and trusted gatekeepers:
‘Hold the gates open, till our routed forces reach the town. They have Achilles at their heels, and I fear a disaster. Directly they are safely inside the town getting their breath back, close the doors tight. I am appalled at the prospect of that savage leaping inside our defences.’
So he spoke, and the men unfastened the doors and thrust back the bars: safety beckoned through the open gates. Moreover, Apollo rushed out to meet them and avert disaster. They (540) were making straight for the town and the high wall, parched by thirst and covered with dust from their flight across the plain, while close at their heels came Achilles with his spear, intent on glory and still in the grip of the violent madness that had seized him.
Then the Trojans’ town with its high gates would have fallen to the Greeks if Phoebus Apollo had not intervened and inspired Antenor’s godlike son Agenor, a matchless and mighty man of war. The god breathed daring into his heart and, leaning against an oak-tree, stood by him in person, though hidden by a thick mist, to save him from the pitiless demons of death. In consequence (550), when Agenor saw Achilles sacker of towns approaching, he stood his ground, his thoughts in turmoil as he awaited him. In anguish, he reflected on the situation:
