by Homer
Meanwhile lord Achilles, swift-footed son of Peleus, was taken by the Greek leaders to godlike Agamemnon, though it had been hard to persuade him, still enraged as he was for his companion. When they reached Agamemnon’s hut, they told (40) the clear-voiced heralds to stand a great three-legged cauldron over the fire in the hope of inducing Achilles to wash the congealed blood from his body. But he blankly refused and swore a great oath as well:
‘By Zeus highest and best of the gods, never shall I permit any water to come near me till I have cremated Patroclus, made him a grave-mound and shorn my hair, since however long I live I shall never suffer again as I am suffering now.
‘But for the moment, though I hate the thought of food, we (50) have to eat. And at dawn, Agamemnon lord of men, order wood to be collected and everything to be provided that a dead man ought to have with him when he travels under the western gloom, so that Patroclus can be consumed by the unflagging fire as soon as possible and the men return to their duties when he is gone.’
(70) So he spoke, and they heard and complied. They hurriedly prepared the food and ate it, and no one went without a fair share. Their hunger and thirst satisfied, they returned, each to (60) his hut, to sleep. But the son of Peleus, groaning heavily, lay down on the shore of the sounding sea among his many Myrmidons, in an open space where the waves were surging on to the beach. His splendid limbs were exhausted from chasing Hector towards windswept Ilium; but no sooner had he fallen into sleep’s sweet embrace, resolving all his cares, than he was visited by the ghost of poor Patroclus, looking and talking exactly like the man himself, with the same stature, the same lovely eyes and the same clothes as those he used to wear. It stood over his head and said:
Patroclus in Achilles’ dream
‘You are asleep: you have forgotten me, Achilles. You did not neglect me in life; you do in death. Bury me as quickly as possible and let me pass the gates of Hades. I am kept out by the spirits, the images of the dead, who refuse to let me cross the river and join them, but leave me to wander forlornly up and down on this side of Hades’ halls with its wide gates. And give me your hand, I beg you; for once you have passed me through the flames, I shall never come back again from Hades. Never again in life will you and I sit down together out of earshot of our men to scheme our schemes. For I have been swallowed up by the dreadful doom that must (80) have been my lot from birth; and it is your destiny too, godlike Achilles, to perish under the rich Trojans’ walls.
‘Something else now, one more request. Do not let them bury my bones apart from yours, Achilles. Let them lie together, just as you and I grew up together in your house, after my father Menoetius brought me there as a child from Opous because of the disastrous homicide I committed when I killed Amphidamas’ son by accident in a childish quarrel over a game of knucklebones. The charioteer Peleus welcomed me to his palace, (90) brought me up with loving care and appointed me to be your attendant. So let the one container, the golden two-handled vessel your lady mother gave you, hold our bones.’
Swift-footed Achilles replied to him and said:
‘Dearest Patroclus, why did you come and make these requests of me? Of course I will see to everything and do exactly as you command. But come nearer to me now, so that we can hold each other in our arms, if only for a moment, and draw some comfort from our bitter tears.’
With these words he held out his arms, but embraced nothing. (100) Like smoke the spirit vanished underground, gibbering. Achilles was amazed and sprang to his feet. He beat his hands together and in his desolation cried:
‘So it is true! Something of us does survive in Hades’ halls, some spirit and image of a man, but without real existence, since all night long the spirit of poor Patroclus has been standing at my side, weeping and wailing. It told me what to do and looked marvellously like him.’
(110) So he spoke and stirred in them all the desire to weep; and rosy-fingered Dawn found them still in tears around the pitiable dead.
[Day 28] Wood is gathered
Meanwhile Lord Agamemnon sent mules and men from every part of the camp to fetch wood. Noble Meriones, amiable Idomeneus’ attendant, took charge. The men carried woodsmen’s axes in their hands together with well-woven ropes, and the mules walked ahead of them. Uphill and downhill, crossing and zigzagging, they came at last to the spurs of Mount Ida with its many springs. There they set to work with a will, felling the tall (120) oaks with their long-bladed axes, and trees came crashing down. The Greeks split the logs and then roped them to the mules, which furrowed up the ground with their hooves in their eagerness to get down to the plain through the tangled undergrowth. The woodcutters too all carried logs, by orders of Meriones, amiable Idomeneus’ attendant. When they reached the shore, they laid them down in rows at the spot where Achilles planned to build a great grave-mound for Patroclus – and himself.
Having stacked this huge supply of wood all round the site, they sat down and waited there all together. Achilles then gave orders for his war-loving Myrmidons to put on their bronze (130) armour and every charioteer to yoke his horses. They hurried off and got into their armour, and the fighting men and charioteers mounted their chariots. The charioteers led off and after them came a cloud of infantry one could not count. In the middle of the procession Patroclus was carried by his companions, clothing his body with the locks of their hair that they cut off and placed on it. Behind them godlike Achilles supported the head, grieving. He was dispatching his matchless companion to Hades’ halls.
Preparing the pyre (18.336, 21.27)
When they reached the place appointed for them by Achilles, they put Patroclus down and quickly built up a sufficient quantity (140) of wood. But then swift-footed godlike Achilles had an idea. Stepping back from the pyre, he cut from his head an auburn lock he had allowed to grow ever since its dedication to the River Spercheus back at home. Angrily he spoke, looking out over the wine-dark sea:
‘Spercheus, there was no point in my father Peleus praying to you and promising that, on my home-coming from Troy, I should cut off this lock for you and make you a holy offering of fifty rams, sacrificed by your very waters where you have a precinct and smoking altar. That was my old father’s prayer; but you have denied him what he prayed for. So now, since I (150) shall never see the dear land of my fathers again, I will give this lock to the warrior Patroclus to take with him instead.’
With these words he placed the lock in the hands of his beloved companion and stirred in them all the desire to weep. Sunset would have found them still lamenting, if Achilles had not quickly gone up to Agamemnon and said:
‘Agamemnon son of Atreus, you are the man the troops will listen to. Of course they can mourn as much as they wish; but for the moment, dismiss the men from the pyre and tell them to prepare food. We who are the chief mourners will see (160) to everything here, but I should like the Greek commanders to remain.’
When Agamemnon lord of men heard this, he dismissed the troops to their ships; but the mourners stayed where they were and piled up the wood. They made a pyre thirty metres in length and breadth and with sorrowful hearts laid the body on top. At the foot of the pyre they skinned and prepared many fat sheep and shambling cattle with crooked horns. Great-hearted Achilles, taking fat from all of them, covered Patroclus’ body with it from head to foot and then piled up the flayed carcasses round the body.
(170) Then, to accompany the spirit on its journey, he added two-handled jars filled with honey and oil, propping them up against the bier; and impetuously threw four high-necked horses on to the pyre, groaning aloud as he did so. Lord Patroclus had kept nine dogs as pets. Achilles slit the throats of two of these and threw them on the pyre as well. He carried out his murderous plan for the twelve noble sons of great-hearted Trojans and put them to the sword, and then unleashed fire’s pitiless might to devour everything. This done, he gave a groan and called on his beloved companion:
‘Farewell and rejoice, Patroclus, even in the halls of Hades. I am (180) now keeping all the p
romises I made you. Twelve noble sons of great-hearted Trojans will be consumed by the same fire as you. For Hector son of Priam I have other plans – I will not give him to the flames: I will throw him to the dogs to eat.’
So, defiantly, he spoke, but the dogs never did swarm round Hector’s corpse. Day and night Zeus’ daughter Aphrodite kept them off; and she anointed the body with ambrosial oil of roses, so that Achilles should not lacerate it when he dragged Hector up and down. Moreover, Phoebus Apollo caused a dark cloud (190) to sink from the sky and settle on the body, covering the whole area in which it lay, so that the heat of the sun should not wither the skin on his sinews and limbs too soon.
Achilles summons the winds
Patroclus’ pyre then refused to catch. But swift-footed godlike Achilles had an idea. Standing clear of the pyre, he prayed and promised magnificent sacrifices to the two winds, Boreas from the north and Zephyr from the west. He poured many a libation from a golden cup and implored them to come, so that the wood might start to burn and the bodies quickly be cremated. Iris heard his prayers and sped off to convey his message to the winds, who were all (200) feasting together at a banquet in Zephyr’s draughty house. Iris came running up and stood on their stone threshold. When they saw her, they all leapt to their feet and each invited her to come and sit beside him. But she refused their offers and said:
‘I have no time to sit down. I must get back to Ocean’s Streams and the Ethiopians’ land, where they are entertaining the immortals at a sacrificial banquet I am anxious not to miss. But Achilles is praying to you, Boreas and roaring Zephyr, and (210) promising you magnificent sacrifices if you will come and light the pyre under the body of Patroclus, for whom the whole Greek army is mourning.’
With these words Iris left, and the two winds rose with a terrifying roar, driving the clouds before them. In a moment they were out at sea, blowing hard and raising the waves with their shrill blasts. When they came to the fertile land of Troy, they fell upon the funeral pyre, and the fire blazed up with a terrific roar. Howling round the pyre, they helped each other all night long to fan the flames; and all night long swift Achilles, using a two-handled cup with which he drew wine off from a (220) golden mixing-bowl, poured out libations, drenched the earth with wine and called on the spirit of poor Patroclus. As a father weeps when he is burning the bones of a son who has died newly married and left his poor parents inconsolable, so Achilles wept as he burned his companion’s bones, dragging himself around the pyre with many a deep groan.
[Day 29] Patroclus’ bones saved
At the time when the morning star comes up to herald a new day on earth and saffron-robed Dawn spreads over the sea, then the fire sank low, the flames expired and the winds set out for (230) home across the Thracian sea, whipping up its waves and making it roar. Achilles was exhausted. Turning from the pyre he sank to the ground and sweet sleep overwhelmed him. But the other commanders under lord Agamemnon now gathered round him. Woken by their voices and footsteps, he sat up, got to his feet and spoke his mind:
‘Agamemnon and you other leaders of the Greeks forces, first use sparkling wine to put out whatever is still burning. Then we (240) must collect Patroclus’ bones, being careful to distinguish them, though that will not be difficult: he was placed in the centre of the pyre, separate from the rest, who were burnt round the edge of it, horses and men together. Then we must wrap the bones in a fold of fat for protection and put them in a golden vase against the time when I myself shall have vanished to the world below. As for his grave-mound, I ask you not to construct a very large one, but just something moderate. Later you can build a great, tall one, you Greeks that are left in your many-benched ships, when I am gone.’
So he spoke, and they did as Achilles had directed. First they (250) put out with sparkling wine whatever was still burning, and the deep ash fell in. Then, weeping, they collected the white bones of their gentle companion in a golden vessel and wrapped them in a fold of fat, laid the vessel in his hut and covered it with a fine linen cloth. For his grave mound they drew a circle round the pyre and set round it a base of stones. Then they fetched earth and piled it up over it.
Funeral games for Patroclus: chariot-race (5.265, 323)
When the troops had built the monument, they prepared to leave. But Achilles stopped them and made the whole assembly sit down for Patroclus’ funeral games. For these he brought out prizes from the ships – cauldrons and tripods; horses, mules and fine head of cattle; grey iron and well-girdled women.
The first event was a chariot-race, for which he laid out the following splendid prizes: for the winner, a woman skilled in arts and crafts and a tripod with handles holding twenty-two measures; for the runner-up, a mare six years old and not broken in, with a little mule in her womb; for third, a fine cauldron holding four measures, untarnished by the flames and still as bright as ever; for fourth, two talents of gold; and for fifth, a (270) two-handled pan as yet untouched by fire. Achilles stood up and addressed the Greeks:
‘Agamemnon and you other Greek men-at-arms, these are the prizes that await the charioteers in this contest. Of course, if we Greeks were competing in honour of some other man, I would walk off to my hut with the first prize: you don’t need me to tell you how vastly superior my horses are, being immortal and a present from Poseidon to my father Peleus who passed them on to me. But I and my horses will not compete: they have (280) lost so great and glorious a charioteer. How kind Patroclus was to them, always washing them down with clean water and grooming their manes with olive-oil! No wonder they stand there and grieve for him. Their manes trail on the ground and in their sorrow they refuse to move. However, any other Greek in the whole army who believes in his horses and finely built chariot should come forward.’
So spoke Achilles son of Peleus, and the swift charioteers quickly formed a group. The first to spring to his feet was Admetus’ son Eumelus lord of men, who was an excellent horseman (290). Next, mighty Diomedes son of Tydeus, who yoked the horses of the breed of Tros that he had taken earlier from Aeneas on the occasion when Apollo saved Aeneas’ life. Then auburn-haired Olympian-born Menelaus son of Atreus, who yoked a fast pair, Aethe a mare of Agamemnon’s and his own horse Podargus. Aethe had been presented to Agamemnon by Echepolus son of Anchises, on condition that he need not go with him to windswept Ilium but could stay at home in comfort – Zeus had given him great wealth, and he lived in spacious (300) Sicyon. This was the mare that Menelaus yoked – she was champing to be off. The fourth man to harness his lovely-maned horses was Antilochus. He was the glorious son of great-hearted lord Nestor son of Neleus, and his chariot-horses had been bred at home in Pylos. His father Nestor now went up to him and spoke to him with the very best of intentions, though Antilochus knew his business well enough himself:
Nestor advises Antilochus
‘Antilochus, young as you are, Zeus and Poseidon are on your side and they have taught you all the skills of driving horses. So there is no great need for me to teach you any more. But expert as you are at cornering (310) round the turning-post, your horses are very slow, and therefore I expect the worst. Yet even if the other pairs are faster, their drivers do not have the judgement that you do. So you must rely, my dear son, on the judgement you can bring to bear, if you do not wish to say goodbye to the prizes. It is judgement rather than muscle that makes the best wood-cutter. Judgement, again, enables a steersman to keep a straight course over the wine-dark sea when his ship is being buffeted by the wind. And it is by judgement that one charioteer beats another. The man who stupidly leaves too much to his chariot and pair does not (320) take the correct line at the turn; his horses wander, and he does not keep them tucked in. But the intelligent charioteer, though behind a slower pair, always has his eye on the post and turns tightly round it; he knows the right time to use the oxhide reins and give his horses their head; he keeps them firmly in hand and watches the man in front.
‘Now let me tell you something to look out for. It is obvious enough; you cannot mi
ss it. There is a dead tree-stump, an oak or pine, standing nearly two metres high. It has not rotted in the rain and is flanked by two white stones. The track narrows at (330) this point, but the going is good on either side of this monument, which either marks an ancient burial or must have been put up as a turning-post by people of an earlier age. In any case, it is the mark swift-footed godlike Achilles has chosen as the turning-post for this race. As you drive round it, keep your team close to it and lean in your chariot just a little to the left yourself. Call on your outside horse, touch him with the whip and give him rein; but make the inside horse hug the post close enough (340) almost to scrape it with the hub of your wheel. But avoid touching the stone, or you may injure the horses and wreck the chariot, which would delight the rest but not stand to your credit.
‘So use your wits, my dear son, and be on the alert; for if you could overtake them at the turning-post, no one could catch you up or pass you with a sudden burst, not even if he were coming up behind you with Adrestus’ swift horse, the divine Arion who was sired by a god, or the horses of Laomedon, the best that Troy has bred.’
With these words Nestor son of Neleus went back to his seat (350) after he had explained the essential points to his son.
Meriones was the fifth to get his lovely-maned horses ready. And now they all mounted their chariots and threw their lots into a helmet, which Achilles shook. The first lot to jump out was that of Antilochus son of Nestor; then came that of lord Eumelus, followed by that of Atreus’ son the great spearman Menelaus. Meriones drew the fourth starting-place, and the last fell to Diomedes, the best charioteer of them all. They drew up side by side and Achilles pointed out the turning-post, far away (360) on level ground. He had posted godlike Phoenix, his father’s attendant, as the umpire there, to keep an eye on the running and report what happened.
