“And your Myrmidons?” Clytaemnestra asked, and her breath almost failed her.
“They were the first to rebel,” Achilles replied. “And they called me a lovesick fool too ready with words. I come with these faithful few to protect you against Odysseus, who is on his way here. Let the daughter cling to her mother. I shall shield you with my body, and we shall see whether they dare attack the son of the goddess, the man on whose life the fate of Troy depends.” These last words, quickened by a glimmer of hope, restored at least a degree of composure to Clytaemnestra.
But Iphigenia extricated herself from her mother’s embrace, lifted her head and confronted the queen and the son of Peleus with courage and decision. “Listen to what I have to say,” she said in a clear, unfaltering voice. “You are angry with my father, dear mother, but it is useless, for he cannot change what is appointed to be. The zeal of this stranger deserves all our gratitude and admiration, but he will live to repent it, and you will be slandered by evil tongues. I have thought this over and I am prepared to die. I shall banish all baser stirrings from my spirit. Every eye in the beautiful land of Greece looks to me. It is I who am responsible for the sailing of the fleet, for the fall of Troy, for the honor of Argive women. My name will be covered with glory, for they will call me the liberator of my country. Shall I, a mortal, oppose Artemis, the goddess, if it pleases her to ask my life for my fatherland? No. I shall give it up of my own free will. Sacrifice me, destroy Troy—this will be the monument in my memory, this will be my wedding feast.”
As these proud, ecstatic words broke from Iphigenia’s lips, she faced her mother and the son of Peleus, radiant as a goddess. And Achilles, the beautiful and the brave, dropped to his knee before her and cried: “Daughter of Agamemnon! The gods would, indeed, brim my cup of happiness, if they gave you to me as my bride. I envy Greece, to which you belong, and I envy you Greece, to which you are betrothed. Now that I have seen your loveliness and fearless spirit, I love you, I desire you. Think well! Death is a dreary thing. It is to life and to joy that I want to lead you.”
Iphigenia answered him with a smile. “Through Helen, a woman’s beauty has caused enough war and murder. You shall not die for me, nor kill for my sake. Let me come to the rescue of Greece if I can.”
“Noble heart!” said the son of Peleus. “Do as you will, but I, with these weapons of mine, shall hasten to the altar to prevent your death. You shall not perish for your selflessness. Perhaps you will agree when the cold blade touches your throat.” And he went in the van of the women. But Iphigenia told her mother to stop crying, took the hand of her little brother Orestes in hers, and went to her death in the exultant certainty of saving her country. Clytaemnestra threw herself on the ground and could not bring herself to follow her daughter.
In the meantime, the host of the Achaeans gathered outside the city of Aulis in a fragrant grove consecrated to Artemis. The altar was ready and beside it stood Calchas, priest and soothsayer. A cry of wonder and compassion surged through the ranks when the warriors saw Iphigenia and her faithful handmaids enter the grove and walk toward Agamemnon. He sighed deeply, turned away, and hid his tears in his robe. The girl came up to him and said: “Here I am, dear father. Before the altar of the goddess I do the bidding of the oracle and give my life for the Argive army and for the welfare of my country. I shall rejoice in your happiness, in your victory, and in your safe return. Let no one hold me. I will be quiet and brave and bare my throat to the blade.”
A murmur of astonishment went through the throngs as they saw her matchless courage. And now the herald Talthybius, standing in the center of the circle, called for silence and prayer. Calchas, the seer, drew forth a sharp and shining blade and laid it down before the altar in a basket wrought of gold. In the midst of this solemn hush came Achilles, fully armed, and brandishing his sword. But when he saw the girl, his resolve was shaken. He cast his sword on the ground, sprinkled the altar with holy water, took in his hand the basket and paced around the altar like a priest, saying: “O Artemis, great goddess, accept this sacred voluntary offering, accept the pure blood of a virgin, which Agamemnon and all of Greece consecrates to you. Give our ships a fair voyage, and let our spears bring destruction to Troy.” The Atridae and the entire host listened in silence and bowed their heads. Calchas gripped the blade, uttered a prayer, and fixed his eyes on the girl’s throat. Distinctly all heard the sound of his blow. But a miracle came to pass, for at that very instant the human victim vanished before the eyes of the host, and in her place was a splendid hind, writhing before the altar and drenching it with blood. Artemis had taken pity on Iphigenia.
“Leaders of the united Argive host!” cried Calchas when he found his voice after his first gasp of amazement. “Here you behold the victim the goddess sent us, one more pleasing to her than the maiden whose noble blood she wished to spare. Artemis has restored us to her favor. She will give us a safe voyage and help us conquer Troy. Be of good courage, for on this very day you shall sail out of the bay of Aulis.” So he spoke and watched the sacrificial hind burn in the flames. When the last spark had died, the still air was filled with a rushing sound. All eyes turned toward the harbor, and there they saw the ships rocking on the sea and the waters astir with wind. Shouting with joy the warriors left the sacred grove and made for the camp.
When Agamemnon entered his house, Clytaemnestra was no longer there. His trusted servant had preceded him and roused the fainting queen with the news of Iphigenia’s rescue. A wave of thankfulness swept over her. She lifted her hands to heaven, but instead of speaking words of gratitude she cried aloud in bitter grief: “I am robbed of my child all the same! My husband has killed my happiness. Let us hasten, for I do not wish to see the slayer!” The servant quickly made ready the chariot and called her tirewomen to her. When Agamemnon returned from the sacrificial feast, his wife was far on her way to Mycenae.
THE ARGIVES SET OUT. PHILOCTETES IS ABANDONED
On that very day the Argive fleet set sail and a fair wind launched them swiftly on the high seas. After a brief journey they landed on the small island of Chryse to replenish their water supply. Here the son of Poeas, Philoctetes, Heracles’ friend and comrade-in-arms and heir to his unerring arrows, discovered a crumbling altar which Jason, on his voyage with the Argonauts, had once dedicated to Pallas Athene, the goddess of that island. The hero rejoiced in his find and was about to make offering to the protectress of the Achaeans, when a poisonous adder, such as often guard the sanctuaries of gods, darted toward him and bit him in the foot. He was carried into the ship and the fleet sailed on. But the wound swelled and grew more and more painful. The son of Poeas was in torment, and his comrades could not endure the stench of his rotting flesh and of the poisonous discharge oozing from his foot. His screams of anguish and fear disturbed them in everything they undertook, even in the offerings made to the gods. Finally the sons of Atreus took counsel with crafty Odysseus, for the annoyance of those around the sick hero began to spread through the host. They feared that wounded Philoctetes would bring a plague upon them when they camped at Troy and embitter their days with his endless lamentations. And so these leaders of their people cruelly decided to abandon the brave hero on the barren and uninhabited coast of the island of Lemnos, which they were just passing. But they failed to consider that in losing the man they were also depriving themselves of his unconquerable arrows. Crafty Odysseus was chosen to execute the plan. He took the sleeping hero on his back, rowed him ashore in a small boat, and there laid him down in a cave, leaving with him enough food and clothing to enable him to live for a time. The ship had stopped near the island only long enough for the son of Poeas to be taken ashore. As soon as Odysseus returned, it continued on its course and quickly joined the rest of the fleet.
THE ARGIVES IN MYSIA. TELEPHUS
Safely the Argive fleet reached the coast of Asia Minor. But since the heroes were not familiar with this region, they let the fair wind drive them away from Troy, to Mysia, and there cast anc
hor. All along the shore they encountered armed guards, who in the name of their ruler forbade them to enter these domains before the king had been informed of their coming and told who they were. Now the king of Mysia was himself an Argive. It was Telephus, son of Heracles and Auge, who after curious adventures was reunited with his mother at the court of King Teuthras of Mysia. Later he married Argiope, daughter of Teuthras, and succeeded to the throne after her father’s death.
Without asking who ruled the country they had come to, and without deigning to reply, the Achaeans took up their weapons and fell upon the coast guards. Only a few escaped, and these told King Telephus that unknown enemies had arrived by the thousands, that they had invaded his country, slaughtered the guards, and occupied the shore. The king hurriedly assembled what forces he could and led them against the strangers. He himself was strong and glorious, a son well worthy of his illustrious father, and he had trained his warriors in the manner of the Argives. The Danai, therefore, found themselves faced with resistance they had not looked for, and were soon involved in a long and bloody conflict, in which hero strove with hero. One of the bravest among the Argives was Thersander, grandson of King Oedipus, son of Polynices and comrade-in-arms of Prince Diomedes. Thersander raged through the host of Telephus and finally slew the king’s most cherished friend, who was fighting at his side. This roused Telephus to blind fury, and he began to fight the grandson of Oedipus in single combat. The son of Heracles carried off the victory; pierced by his lance Thersander sank down in the dust. When his friend Diomedes saw this from afar, he groaned with grief, and before Telephus could throw himself on the dead body of his foe to strip him of his armor, Diomedes ran to the spot, slung the corpse over his shoulder, and carried it away, walking with a long, powerful stride. When he passed Ajax and Achilles with this burden on his back, they also were shaken with sorrow and anger. They rallied their men, divided them into two groups, and by a clever ruse turned the tide of the battle, so that the Argives were again at an advantage. Teuthrantius, the half brother of Telephus, fell, struck by a missile Ajax had launched. Telephus, who was just pursuing Odysseus, wanted to come to his aid, but stumbled over a vine, for the shrewd Achaeans had gradually lured the enemy into a vineyard where the terrain was more favorable to the Danai. Achilles seized the moment when Telephus was rising from his fall to pierce his left thigh with his spear. Nevertheless, Telephus rose, drew out the weapon, and, screened by some of his men, escaped death. The struggle, with its ups and downs for both sides, would have gone on indefinitely, had not night fallen and both armies retired from the field in sore need of rest. The Mysians returned to their city, the Argives to the shore where the ships were anchored. Brave men had died on both sides, and many were wounded.
On the following day, the Mysians and the Argives sent envoys to arrange for a truce, to give them time to find and bury the bodies of their dead. Only now did the Achaeans learn, to their utmost surprise, that the king who had defended his lands with such signal bravery was a man of their own people, a son of Heracles, their greatest demigod. And Telephus, in turn, realized that he had stained his hands with the blood of his countrymen. Now there were three princes in the Argive army, Tlepolemus, son of Heracles, and Phidippus and Antiphus, sons of King Thessalus and grandsons of Heracles; this made them kinsmen of Telephus. These three offered to accompany the envoys of Mysia to their brother and cousin and explain to him who the men that had landed on the coast of his country were and why they had come to Asia. King Telephus received his kinsmen with warm cordiality and could not hear enough of their story. He learned that Paris had offended the whole of Greece with his crime, and that Menelaus and his brother Agamemnon had set out with all their allies. “And so, dear brother,” said Tlepolemus, who, being half brother to the king, spoke for the rest, “you who belong to our country, do not withdraw from your people, for whom our father Heracles always fought, even at the ends of the world, so that all of Greece is full of monuments testifying to his love for his country. Heal the wounds which you, an Argive, have dealt Argives, by joining your army to ours and going against the false Trojans as our ally.”
Slowly and painfully Telephus half rose from his couch, for he was suffering from the wound inflicted on him by Achilles, and replied in a friendly manner: “My countrymen, your reproaches are unjust! It is your own fault that you are my enemies instead of friends and kinsmen in whose veins flows the same blood as mine. In asking you who you were and where you came from, the coast guards only did as I had ordered. They did not approach you like savage barbarians, but according to the laws governing Argive peoples. But you, thinking that anything at all was permissible in dealing with barbarians, leaped ashore without giving them the information they courteously asked, and killed my subjects without even listening to their words. And I too”—here he pointed to his thigh—“have received a memento which, I fear, will remind me of yesterday’s encounter as long as I live. But I bear you no grudge for this and think no price too dear for the pleasure of entertaining kinsmen and fellow Argives in my country. As to your request that I join you in your campaign—do not expect me to fight against Priam! Astyoche, my second wife, is his daughter. Aside from this, he is a noble old man, and the rest of his sons are honest and steadfast and have no share in the escapades of frivolous Paris. See, this is my son Eurypylus! How could I grieve by giving aid to destroy his grandfather’s realm? But though I do not wish to hurt Priam, neither do I want to harm my kinsmen. So accept from me the gifts of a host and take all the provisions you require. Then go and fight out your feud, which the gods must decide, for I cannot take the part of one or the other.”
The three princes reported this kindly answer in the camp of the Argives and with great satisfaction told Agamemnon and the other leaders of the host that they had established bonds of friendship with Telephus. The war council immediately decided to send Ajax and Achilles to the king to confirm this cordial relationship and express sympathy for the pain he bore from the wound he had received. They found Telephus in great anguish, and Achilles wept and threw himself across his couch, lamenting that he had unwittingly struck the brave son of Heracles. But the king forgot the smart of his wound in joy at their coming, and only grieved that he had not known of their arrival in time to prepare a royal welcome for his noble guests. Then he solemnly invited the Atridae into the palace, served a lavish feast, and showered them with magnificent gifts. At the request of Achilles, Menelaus and Agamemnon had brought with them Podalirius and Machaon, physicians famed through all the world, to examine and heal the wound of Telephus. This, however, they could not do, for the spear of the son of Thetis was endowed with peculiar powers, and the wounds he struck defied cure. But they could at least alleviate the worst pain with soothing poultices, and the king, eased for the moment, gave the Achaeans much valuable counsel, furnished them with provisions for the entire fleet, and did not permit them to leave until the stormiest part of the winter, which had just begun when they landed, was over. He described to them the exact site of Troy, gave them directions how to go there, and told them that the only good landing place was in the mouth of the river Scamander.
PARIS RETURNS
Although the Trojans did not know that a great fleet had already reached their shores, the city had been in a turmoil ever since the Argive envoys had departed, for everyone feared war. Paris, the while, had returned with his beautiful prize and the ships with which he had set out. King Priam was ill pleased with this unwelcome daughter-in-law and at once summoned his numerous sons to a council of princes. But they were quickly beguiled by the gleam of the treasures their brother was so ready to share with them, and by the loveliness of the maidens Helen had brought in her train. These Paris was very willing to give in marriage to those who were still unwed. Besides, most of the brothers were young and all of them eager to fight, so the upshot of the discussion was that the stranger was to be taken into the palace and not handed over to the Achaeans. Matters were quite different among the common people
! Fearing a siege of their city, they had not hailed the arrival of the prince and the fair woman he had carried off. Many a curse had speeded him on his way, and here and there even a stone was cast as he conducted his stolen bride to his father. But reverence for the old king and reluctance to cross his will restrained the Trojans from opposing this new resident of the palace more resolutely.
Now that the council called by Priam had decided not to drive Helen from the land, the king sent Hecuba to her to the women’s chamber, in order to convince himself that the wife of Menelaus had really come to Troy of her own free will. Helen declared that her ancestry made her just as much kin to the Trojans as to the Danai, for Danaus and Agenor were her own forbears as well as those of the Trojan royal line; that she had, indeed, been carried off against her will, but that, having belonged to Paris for so long a time, she now loved this new husband of hers and wished to remain with him. Furthermore—so she said—she could hardly expect either her first husband or her people to pardon her, so that nothing but disgrace and death were in store for her should they yield her up to the Argives.
As she spoke her face was bathed in tears, and she threw herself at Hecuba’s feet. The queen raised her tenderly and told her that the king and his sons had resolved to protect her from any attack that might threaten.
THE ARGIVES BEFORE TROY
For a while Helen lived at her ease at the court of the king of Troy and then moved with Paris to a palace of her own. The people grew to admire her loveliness and beauty, and when the alien fleet actually was sighted off the coast of Troy, the citizens were less intimidated than when they had feared some vague peril to come.
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