The Greek Myths

by Robin Waterfield

  The gods take their ease and play with us men, and the mind of Zeus moved into devious channels. He sent Agamemnon a dream—a lucid dream, so vivid that it seemed beyond any doubt, but it was nothing but deceit. It seemed to Agamemnon that Nestor spoke to him and said that the gods had lined up against Troy, and that if Agamemnon mustered his men and struck at once, he would easily capture the city.

  At daybreak, Agamemnon summoned his staff officers to a meeting; Achilles, of course, stayed away. He described the dream to them, and they too were convinced. But Agamemnon was worried about the morale of the troops: the plague had sapped their confidence, and the business with Achilles had done no good either. If they were less than committed, the fall of Troy might not be as certain as the dream seemed to imply.

  This worry was the work of Zeus, his way of robbing Agamemnon of his wits and undermining his powers of judgment. When Agamemnon next opened his mouth, he found himself saying that he would test the men by telling them it was no longer feasible for them to capture Troy, and that they should immediately return home—exactly the opposite of what the dream had advised.

  The war council called an assembly of the Greek soldiers. As thick as bees they came from their tents, and Rumor blazed among them. Agamemnon addressed them, holding the staff, fashioned by Hephaestus, that he had inherited from his father Atreus, who had in his turn been bequeathed it by Pelops. As he had planned, he counseled despair and defeat. If it was just them against the Trojans, he said, their numerical superiority alone would bring them victory; the problem was all the Trojan allies. They couldn’t win; they must break camp and return home immediately.

  Naturally, the thought of returning home after so many years of war found an eager response among the men. Confused cries of joy filled the damp air and the assembly broke up in disarray. The men scattered for their tents, grabbed their belongings and their booty, and began to load the ships for departure. Up on Olympus, Hera was appalled as she looked down onto the swarming shore. Her favorites were on the point of throwing everything away. She sent Athena down to Troy to see what she could do. The two goddesses worked in league, their anger fueled by resentment over their rejection by Trojan Paris.

  Athena found Odysseus dispirited. A cowardly retreat was not at all to his liking. And in his mind he heard the voice of the keen-eyed goddess of war as she told him not to give in to his despair, but to go among the men and try to halt the rush for the ships. Odysseus needed no second prompting; this was just what he wanted to do. He walked around the camp, and every time he came across an officer he appealed to his sense of honor and told him that Agamemnon, for reasons known only to generals, had suggested retreat only to test the men. But every time he came across an ordinary soldier, he beat him across the back and shoulders with his stick and drove him back to the assembly point.

  So the men reassembled, but they were now seething with confusion and discontent, and one of their number, Thersites, a notorious troublemaker, spoke up for them. “It’s all right for you, Agamemnon,” he shouted out. “You’ve gained plenty of plunder from the war.” And then he turned to the men and said: “I think we should leave him here to enjoy his gold and girls, while we go back home. He shows us nothing but contempt, but let’s see how he fights the war without us!”

  His mutinous words were warmly welcomed by the men, but Odysseus was quick to act. He leapt at Thersites with his stick and pummeled him into silence, much to the amusement of the fickle crowd, who a moment before had been willing to give him a hearing. Odysseus then addressed the entire assembly, with Athena at his side guiding his thoughts. He appeased the men by agreeing that they were suffering hardship, but reminded them of the omen of the sparrows, promising them victory, but only in the tenth year of the war. And now it was the tenth year of the war. Nestor, whose advice had long been recognized as sound, backed Odysseus up, and Agamemnon, restored to his senses, ordered the men to eat, and then be ready to fight. Death would be the punishment for anyone preparing to leave.

  The men, with their morale recovered, roared their approval and dispersed in an orderly fashion. But Agamemnon summoned his officers to attend the pre-battle sacrifice, and selected a fatted ox as the victim. He prayed for swift victory, for the destruction of Troy at his hands, little knowing how much more slaughter and sorrow the next months would bring.

  Menelaus and Paris

  The Greek army formed up for battle, and the Trojans came out of the city to meet them on the plain. The Trojans had heard of the disarray in the Greek camp, and were resolved to take advantage of it. For the first time ever in the war they made a full-fledged sortie, instead of merely defending their massive and impregnable walls, built by Poseidon himself. Everyone knew that this could be the decisive battle, and martial cries disguised extreme nervousness.

  When the two armies were almost within bowshot, Paris, heavily armed and resplendent in a helmet adorned with leopardskin, got carried away by the excitement of the moment, and shouted out a challenge. “Whichever of you Greeks thinks he is the best, let him come and face me, one on one!” And Menelaus, mindful of the terrible wrong Paris had done him, eagerly stepped forward into the space between the battle lines.

  Reality is different from fancy, and Paris shrank back in trepidation behind the shelter of the massed Trojan soldiers. His brother Hector, the tamer of horses, berated him as a coward and reminded him sharply that the whole conflict was his fault. “It’s all right for you,” complained Paris. “You have a martial spirit, while my talents come from Aphrodite. But you’re right, and if both armies will agree, I shall fight Menelaus in single combat. In fact, let it be that the whole war is decided in this way. If I win, I keep Helen, and the Greeks must leave. If I lose, Menelaus gets back his treasure and his lady—not that she wants him any more, now that she has me.”

  Hector joyfully agreed: the war would be ended today! No more bloodshed! He advanced into no-man’s land, and shouted out to the Greeks the deal Paris had proposed. Menelaus had no hesitation in accepting the offer. The two sides would seal the bargain with a joint sacrifice, and Priam himself was to witness it and give his blessing to the pact.

  When Helen heard of the agreement, she raced to the battlements to witness the duel. Two great heroes would fight for her in single combat! It was thrilling! She couldn’t even decide who she wanted to win! Priam and Antenor also came up to the fortifications and surveyed the scene. In a fatherly gesture, Priam called Helen over to him and spoke kindly to her, blaming not her but the gods for all their misfortunes.

  As they gazed out over the plain, Helen identified for the old man the heroes of the Greeks: Agamemnon, the proud commander, standing in his chariot with the sun gleaming on his armor; Odysseus, the master strategist, in his plumeless boar’s tusk helmet; Ajax, who was exceptionally tall, and so terrifying to behold in full armor that men likened him to Ares himself; bold Diomedes of Argos, as furious in battle as a force of nature; Idomeneus of Crete, as sinewy as an acrobat for all his graying temples; her former husband Menelaus, with his horsehair plume waving in the breeze. She was puzzled, however, not to see her brothers Castor and Polydeuces, for she did not know that they had died not long after her abduction.

  All the Greek and Trojan leaders convened between the armies for the sacrifice and oathtaking, and Priam and Antenor were taken by chariot from Troy to join them. The victims were slaughtered, libations were offered to the gods, and Agamemnon offered up a mighty prayer for all the gods to witness their oath: that Menelaus and Paris were to fight to the death, with the winner keeping all. And as they poured their libations, all prayed that the brains of anyone who broke the oath would be spilled on the ground as readily as their wine.

  Priam returned to the city, for he could not bear the suspense. Odysseus and Hector marked out the dueling ground, and cast lots to see whether Menelaus or Paris would begin. Fate chose Paris.

  The two champions buckled on their armor and seized their weapons. As soon as they had taken up their posi
tions, Paris hurled his spear. His aim was true, but Menelaus easily deflected the missile with his shield. Now it was Menelaus’ turn and, with a prayer to Zeus on high for revenge, he hefted his spear and threw it. It whistled through the air and struck Paris’ shield straight on. Too violent for the toughened leather of the shield, the spear ripped through and into Paris’ breastplate, where it lodged briefly before he shook it loose.

  Menelaus leapt at his opponent with sword raised. He was looking for a single, brutal, killing blow—but the sword shattered on the rim of Paris’ shield! Disappointed, but not daunted, Menelaus roared and hurled himself at Paris with his bare hands. He took a firm hold of Paris’ helmet and began to drag him back to the Greek lines, choking him at the same time with the chin strap. And he would have succeeded, but Aphrodite saw the predicament of her favorite and caused the chin strap to break.

  Paris had barely struggled to his feet when Menelaus seized a javelin and hurled it at him. The deadly lance sped through the air toward Paris’ chest, and it looked as though the young prince’s end had surely come—but Aphrodite whisked him away, off the battlefield, and set him down, safe and surprised, inside his house in Troy. Then, disguised as a serving-girl, she went up to the battlements and found Helen. “Come, my lady,” she said. “Your husband awaits you in his chamber.”

  Paris found that he was better suited for the bedroom than the battlefield.[65]

  Helen recognized the goddess and spurned her suggestion. “Haven’t you shamed me enough?” she cried. “Menelaus has beaten Paris, and now I belong to him again. What would people say of me if I joined Paris in his bed now?” Though Aphrodite is the goddess of sensual pleasure, she is a goddess, and her will is not to be gainsaid. “Be very careful, Helen,” she warned. “Otherwise, I shall arouse such hatred of you among both the Greeks and the Trojans that your life will be unsafe whoever wins the war.”

  So Aphrodite spirited Helen away from the walls and into Paris’ room. And while the two of them lay in love, Menelaus searched and called in vain for his lost foe. Nevertheless, it was clear that he had won the duel, and that by rights Helen and his stolen treasure should be returned to him. By rights, the war should be over, and on both sides men dared once again to dream of a peaceful future and the resumption of normal life.

  But the gods had other plans. Hera’s hostility toward Troy was not assuaged in the slightest, and when the gods met in council in the lofty hall of Zeus’ palace, she insisted that the war should continue, despite the mortals’ solemn oath. Zeus was indifferent, but agreed to allow the war to carry on, once Hera for her part had agreed that the next time he wanted to see the destruction of a city, she wouldn’t stand in his way. So the gods toy with the lives of men.

  Zeus sent Athena down to the battlefield, to carry out Hera’s plan to see the truce first broken by the Trojans. She flashed down to the plain like a shooting star, and men on both sides wondered what this omen might signify. But Athena disguised herself as Antenor’s son and went in search of Pandarus, for she knew he would obey her. “You will win praise from all Trojans,” she flattered him, “if you were the one to lay Menelaus low. You are a great bowman! Pray to the archer god Apollo, and let fly!”

  Nothing loath, Pandarus had his men conceal him behind their shields, while he bent and strung his horn-tipped bow. Then he notched a trusty arrow, the best of his quiver, and took careful aim over the top of his men’s shields. With a prayer to Apollo, he let fly, and the lethal messenger of death sped through the air. His aim was true, but Athena’s job was done. It was enough that the truce was broken; she did not need Menelaus to die as well. At the last moment, she deflected the arrow so that, although it pierced the king of Sparta’s breastplate, he was not mortally wounded. The blood flowed freely down Menelaus’ thigh, but it was only a flesh wound in his side. Agamemnon summoned Machaon, the son of the healer-god Asclepius, to tend to his brother. The skilled healer of men drew out the barbed arrow, sucked the wound clean, and sprinkled it with a balm prepared for his father by Cheiron, the wise Centaur.

  Diomedes’ Day of Glory

  With the truce broken, both sides began once again to don armor and take their places for battle. Agamemnon reviewed his troops and called on them to be of good heart, for Zeus would not allow oath-breakers to win the war. To each of his senior officers he spoke suitable words of encouragement, or chided them if they had not so far been as prominent in the battle as they could and should have been. And so the two sides advanced across the plain once more toward each other. Grim Ares urged on the Trojan troops, while Athena instilled courage into the Greeks. And their immortal assistants, Fear and Hatred, sowed savagery in men’s hearts.

  The two sides met with the clash of shield on shield. Spears were stabbed through or to one side of the tall shields, and men fell to the ground, blood gushing from wounds. Groans and screams added to the clamor of fighting men. Antilochus, the son of Nestor, brought down Echepolus of Troy, with a spear thrust through the man’s helmet and deep inside his skull. Elephenor tried to drag the body away, to find somewhere safe to strip it of its valuable armor; but in so doing he exposed his side, and Agenor was quick to plunge his spear in the Greek’s guts.

  On and on the slaughter continued, but gradually the tide began to turn, as Hera wanted, in the Greeks’ favor. Here and there the Trojan lines wavered, and the Greeks yelled in triumph. Apollo urged on the Trojans: “Greeks are not made of iron and stone!” he cried. “Cut them with a blade and they will bleed! And see: Achilles, their greatest warrior, is not among them!” Again the battle became finely balanced; and still the carnage continued. But Athena sought out Ares and suggested that they withdraw from the battle, to leave the Greeks and Trojans to get on with it by themselves.

  Now it was the turn of Diomedes to excel, the son of Tydeus who died at Thebes. He hurled himself into the thick of the fighting, and the noble brothers Phegeus and Idaeus bore down on him in their chariot. Phegeus threw his spear, but he just missed Diomedes’ left shoulder. Diomedes’ response was true; Idaeus fell from the chariot and lay still. Phegeus reined in the horses and leapt down to confront his foe, and he too would have died, had not Hephaestus cloaked him in darkness. For their father was his priest, and the lame god did not want both sons to die.

  Diomedes was unstoppable. He was like a lion that descends on defenseless sheep, or like a spring torrent fed by snow-melt, that sweeps all before it. Even when Pandarus wounded him in the shoulder, Diomedes just had the arrow pulled out by a friend and carried on. “Lady Athena,” he cried out in prayer, “hear me now! Let me kill whoever it was who wounded me with his bow, a coward’s weapon, for an archer stands far from the fray.” And Athena heard his prayer and restored his strength. It was as if he had never been wounded, and his lust to soak the earth with Trojan blood redoubled. But Athena warned him not to try to battle any of the gods that appeared on the battlefield, except Aphrodite.

  Man after man fell to the spear or sword of Diomedes as he hacked and thrust his way through the Trojan ranks. Aeneas, son of Anchises and Aphrodite, saw the slaughter, saw that the Trojans were being pushed back, and sought out Pandarus. “We must get that man!” he cried. “Come with me!” Together they leapt into Aeneas’ chariot, with Aeneas at the reins so that Pandarus was free to wield his spear. “I failed with an arrow,” he muttered to himself, “but I shall not fail with my spear. There’ll be no second chance for the son of Tydeus.” It was terrible to behold, the two fierce fighters bearing down on Diomedes. His friends urged caution, but Diomedes would hear no talk of retreat. He had already taken one chariot as booty, and was eager for another, especially since Aeneas’ horses were of the noblest breed. As soon as they were within range, Pandarus let fly with his spear. The brutal bronze head burst through Diomedes’ shield and Pandarus cried out in savage joy, but Diomedes had taken no wound. Now he hurled his spear, and it arced through the air and came down on Pandarus’ face. Right through the nose it flew, severing his tongue completely and
shattering his teeth, before projecting out from the bottom of the archer’s chin.

  Aeneas jumped down from the chariot and stood astride the corpse, keeping at bay all who would attempt to strip the valuable armor from his friend. But Diomedes picked up a massive boulder, greater than any two men of today could raise, and heaved it at Aeneas. It crushed his hip bone, and Aeneas collapsed unconscious to the ground.

  That should have been the end of him, but Aphrodite flew to the scene, cradled her son’s head in her arms, and began gently to bear him aloft and away from the battlefield. But now Diomedes surpassed even himself. Seeing Aeneas being carried off by Aphrodite, he dared to give chase. And just as the goddess was moving out of range, Diomedes bounded high in the air from his chariot and wounded her in the forearm, piercing her precious robe that the Graces had made for her. With a scream, Aphrodite dropped her son—but Apollo caught him before he hit the ground.

  Diomedes injured Aphrodite, forcing her to drop Aeneas and flee the battlefield.[66]

  Aphrodite fled the battlefield with Diomedes’ taunts ringing in her ears: “What have you to do with war, lady? Flee from here!” She found Ares resting and watching the bloodshed close by, for there was nothing he enjoyed more than seeing mortals kill one another; the greater the savagery, the better. In truth, the wound was not that serious, but it was more than the gentle goddess could endure and, with ichor dripping from the gash, she begged her lover to lend her his chariot, so that she could return to Olympus. No more fighting for her! For her revenge, she would employ weapons with which she was more familiar: she was already plotting to seek out Diomedes’ wife and make her fall in love with another man.