Gods and Heroes of Ancient Greece

by Gustav Schwab

  When Agamemnon had ended, so mighty a roar burst from the throats of the Argives that it sounded like the tide of the sea when the south wind lashes it shoreward and it breaks against towering cliffs. The men leaped up from their places. Each hurried to his ship, and soon the smoke rose from among the huts where the meal was being prepared. Agamemnon sacrificed a bullock to Zeus and called the noblest among the Achaeans to him. When all had eaten, he bade the heralds summon the Argives to battle, and they stormed to the meadow of the Scamander like flocks of cranes or swans which fly along a river. The leaders, foremost among them the son of Atreus, ordered the battalions, and splendid to behold was Agamemnon, the king of kings: his eyes and his brow were like those of the father of gods, his broad breast like that of Poseidon, and his cuirass and lance and shield like those of Ares himself.

  PARIS AND MENELAUS

  The host which at Nestor’s advice had been ordered according to family line stood ready for battle when at last they saw the dust whirled up by the Trojans advancing from behind their walls. The Argives too began to move forward. When the two armies were close enough for the fight to begin, out from the ranks of the Trojans came Paris, girt with the spotted panther’s skin, his bow over his shoulder, his sword at his side. Brandishing two bronze-tipped lances, he challenged the bravest among the Danai to single combat. When Menelaus saw him spring forward from the mass of soldiers, he exulted as a hungry lion who sees a buck or a stag crossing his path. Fully armed he leaped down from his chariot, eager to punish the thief who had robbed his house. But Paris shuddered at the sight of such an opponent. As if he had seen an adder, he paled and drew back, mingling with the throng. When Hector saw him recoil he called to him angrily: “Brother, you are a hero only in stature. At heart you are timid as a girl and nothing but a clever seducer. I wish you had died before wooing Helen! Do you not see that the Argives are laughing at you because you are not man enough to stand up against him whose wife you carried off? You deserve to discover what sort of man you have offended, and I, for my part, should have no pity on you if you lay on the earth, covered with wounds, and soiling your fair locks in the dust.”

  Paris replied: “Hector, you are hard of heart, and your courage is firm as the brazen axe with which the shipbuilder cuts his timber, but you reproach me unjustly. Do not mock my beauty, for beauty too is a gift of the immortals. If you desire to see me fight, bid the Trojans and Danai rest their arms. Then for Helen and all her treasure I will venture single combat with Menelaus, the hero, in the sight of all the people. The victor shall carry her home with him. This shall be sealed by a treaty, and soon you shall plough the earth of Troy in peace, and those others will sail for Argos.”

  At his brother’s words, Hector was filled with glad surprise. He advanced from the ranks and, holding up his spear, stemmed the onrush of the Trojan troops. When the Argives saw him, they vied in aiming at him with darts and arrows and stones. But Agamemnon called to them: “Stop! Do not cast your weapons at him! Hector of the crested helmet desires to speak.” At that the Argives paused and waited. Then Hector, in ringing tones, proclaimed to both hosts the resolve of his brother Paris. His words were followed by a long silence. At last Menelaus spoke.

  “Hear me!” he cried. “Hear me, on whose spirit the burden we bear in common weighs most heavily! At last I dare to hope that you, Trojans and Argives alike, who have suffered so greatly in the war kindled by Paris, will part from one another reconciled. One of us two, whichever Fate chooses, will die. But the rest of you shall go in peace. Let us make offerings and take the oath, and then the combat shall begin.”

  All rejoiced at these words, for they yearned for the end of this war. On both sides the charioteers reined in their horses, the heroes dismounted from the chariots, took off their armor, and laid it on the ground. In great haste Hector sent two heralds to Troy to bring lambs for the offering and to summon King Priam to the battlefield. King Agamemnon also sent a herald, Talthybius, to the fleet to fetch the victims. And Iris, the messenger of the gods, hastened to Troy in the form of Laodice, Priam’s daughter, to tell Helen what had happened. She found her seated at the loom, working a sumptuous robe with scenes of the battle, her eyes lowered and fixed on her weaving. “Come, dear and lovely one!” Iris called to her. “You shall see a curious thing. The Trojans and Argives who only a short time ago confronted one another with rage in their hearts are now silent and calm. Their spears are thrust into the ground, and they are leaning on their shields. War has ended. Only Paris and Menelaus are to fight, and the winner will carry you off as his wife.”

  So spoke the goddess, and Helen’s heart was filled with longing for the husband of her youth, for her home and her friends. Quickly she covered herself with a silver-white veil with which she hid the tears shining on her lashes, and hastened toward the Scaean Gates followed by two of her handmaids, Aethra and Clymene. There, on the rampart, was King Priam with the oldest and wisest among the Trojans: Panthous, Thymoetes, Lam pus, Clytius, Hicetaon, Antenor, and Ucalegon. The two last were the sagest citizens of Troy. Their great age kept them from going to war, but in the council their words were the shrewdest. When from their high outlook they saw Helen coming, they marvelled at her grace, and one whispered softly to the other: “No one, indeed, should blame the Trojans and Argives for their willingness to suffer years of misery for such a woman! Is she not as fair and radiant as an immortal goddess? Still, with all that loveliness of hers, let her return to her home with the Argive fleet so that we and our sons may have no further harm from her.”

  But Priam called Helen fondly to him. “Come, sweet daughter,” he said. “Come, sit here beside me and I will show you your first husband, your friends, and your kinsmen. I do not hold you responsible for this wretched war. The gods have sent it on us. And now tell me, who is that man who shines out among the Danai in stature and majesty? Here and there among the ranks of his army are men taller than he, but not one is like him in kingliness and splendor.”

  Helen answered the king, and her voice was reverent. “My honored father-in-law, when I approach you I am timid and shy. Par better I had died a most bitter death than left my home, my daughter and my friends, and followed your son here. I could weep rivers of tears that I did this! But you asked me a question. Well then: he whose name you wish to know is Agamemnon, the best of kings and a valiant warrior. And he, alas! was once my brother-in-law.”

  “O happy son of Atreus!” exclaimed Priam, gazing at the hero. “O favorite of Fortune, to whose scepter countless Argives bow! I too once headed a great host. Then I was young. It was the time we were fending off hordes of Amazons from Phrygia. But my army did not equal yours in numbers.” Then he turned to Helen again. “And now, sweet daughter,” he asked, “tell me the name of that one over there. He is not as tall as the son of Atreus, but his breast is broader, his shoulders more massive. His arms are lying on the ground. He prowls down the rows of men like a ram around sheep.”

  “That is the son of Laertes,” Helen replied. “It is crafty Odysseus. The rocky island of Ithaca is his home.”

  Here old Antenor joined in their conversation. “You are right, princess,” he said. “I know him well, him and Menelaus, for once they came to my house as envoys. When they stood up, Menelaus was taller than Odysseus, but when they were seated, Odysseus seemed the more majestic. Menelaus spoke little, but every word, though uttered ever so casually, was full of meaning. When Odysseus was about to speak, he fixed his eyes on the ground and held his staff motionless in his hand, so that he looked like one ill at ease, and it was difficult to guess whether he was malicious or stupid. But when once he began, when his mighty voice rang out, his words crowded one another like snowflakes in winter, and no mortal could compare with him in eloquence.”

  In the meantime, Priam had been looking farther afield. “Who is that giant over there?” he cried. “That tall and powerful man who stands out among the rest?”

  “That is Ajax,” Helen answered. “He is a pillar of st
rength to the Argives. And nearby, standing among his Cretans like a god, is Idomeneus. I know him well. Menelaus often was host to him in our palace. And now I recognize one after the other the lusty warriors of my country. Had we the time, I could tell you all their names. The only ones I miss are Castor and Polydeuces, my own brothers, my own flesh and blood. Have they not come, or are they reluctant to appear in battle because they are ashamed of their sister?” And as she thought about this, Helen fell silent. She did not know that her brothers had died long ago.

  While they were talking, the heralds carried through the city offerings of two lambs and, for the libation, a goatskin full of wine grown in that country. Idaeus, a third herald, followed with a gleaming bowl and a golden cup. When they passed through the Scaean Gates, Idaeus approached King Priam and said to him: “Rise, O king! Both the Trojan and Argive princes summon you to the battlefield to take an oath on a solemn agreement. Paris, your son, and Menelaus are resolved to fight for Helen in single combat. He who wins is to carry her off with all her treasure. And after that the Achaeans will return to their country.”

  The king was amazed but commanded that his horses be harnessed. Then he mounted the chariot and Antenor with him. Priam seized the reins, and the horses flew through the gates and out to the field. When the king had reached the two armies, he and his companion dismounted and stood between them. Agamemnon and Odysseus hurried toward him. The heralds led the victims to these four, mixed the wine in the bowl, and sprinkled the two kings with sacred water. The son of Atreus drew the sacrificial knife he always had with him, hanging beside the great scabbard of his sword, cut the hair from the foreheads of the lambs as the rite of sacrifice demanded, and called upon Zeus to witness the covenant. Then he slit the throats of the animals and laid them in the dust. The heralds prayed and poured the wine out of the golden cup, and all the people of Troy and of Greece made loud supplication: “O Zeus and all the deathless gods! Let the brains of the first to break this solemn oath be poured over the earth like this wine, theirs and those of their children!”

  And now Priam said: “I shall return to my citadel in Ilium, for I cannot bear to see my son fight with King Menelaus in mortal combat, of which Zeus alone knows the outcome.” So the old man mounted the chariot with his companion and guided the horses back to Troy.

  Hector and Odysseus now measured the space for the combat and in a brazen helmet shuffled two lots to decide who was to be first to cast the lance at his opponent. Hector shook the helmet, and out fell the lot of Paris. Then both heroes girt on their armor and strode out between the Argive and Trojan hosts, wearing breastplate and helmet, tall lance in hand. Their eyes were bright with angry challenge, and both peoples marvelled at them as they passed. When they confronted each other in the space which had been measured, they raised their spears defiantly. Since it had been so decided by lot, Paris hurled his first. It hit the shield of Menelaus, but the point of the lance bent as it struck the bronze.

  Then Menelaus lifted high his spear and prayed aloud: “Zeus, let me punish him who offended me first, so that on through the generations our descendants shall fear to wrong their hosts.” With this he flung his weapon. It pierced the shield of Paris, penetrated his breastplate, and cut his tunic at the thigh. And now the son of Atreus snatched his sword from the scabbard and aimed it at the helmet of his opponent. But the blade splintered with a shrill sound. “Cruel Zeus, why do you grudge me victory?” cried Menelaus, and he rushed at his foe, took him by the helmet, and, turning, drew him toward the Argive host. He would have dragged Paris along the ground and strangled him in his chin strap, had not Aphrodite seen his agony and broken the strap, so that Menelaus was left holding the empty helmet. This he hurled toward the Argives and prepared to rush at his enemy afresh.

  But Aphrodite had veiled Paris in sheltering mist and taken him back to Troy. Here she set him down in a fragrant chamber, and then, in the guise of an old Spartan woman, she went to Helen who was sitting up in a tower, among other Trojan women. The goddess caught at her robe and said: “Come, Paris is asking for you. He waits in the chamber robed as for a feast. To look at him you would think he were ready for the dance rather than having just come from single combat.”

  When Helen looked up, she saw the goddess vanish in all her divine loveliness. Unnoticed by the other women, she stole from the room and hastened to her palace. There she found her husband, adorned by Aphrodite. He was flung on a couch at his ease. She seated herself opposite him, turned her eyes from his carefree comfort, and upbraided him: “Back from the battle? Rather would I see you dead by the hand of that mighty hero, my first husband! Only a short while ago you boasted that you could subdue him with your arm and spear. Go then, and challenge him once more! No, wait—stay here! It might go worse with you a second time!”

  “Do not vex me with mocking words,” Paris replied. “If Menelaus vanquished me it was with Athene’s help. Another time I shall vanquish him, for the gods have never yet forsaken me.” Then Aphrodite moved the heart of Helen. She looked at her husband with tenderness and held up her lips for his kiss.

  On the battlefield Menelaus was still storming through the host in search of Paris. But neither Trojan nor Argive could show him where he was, and surely they would not have concealed him, for they hated him more than death. At last Agamemnon raised his voice and said: “Listen to my words, Dardanians and Danai! It is clear that Menelaus is the victor. So give us Helen and her treasure and pay us tribute for all time to come.” The Argives greeted this proposal with shouts of approval. The Trojans were silent.

  PANDARUS

  The gods had gathered in a great assembly on Olympus. Hebe went in and out among the tables, pouring nectar, and the immortals drank to one another from golden cups and looked down on Troy. It was then that Zeus and Hera resolved to destroy the city. The father of all gods turned to his daughter Athene and told her to hasten to the battlefield and incite the Trojans to break the treaty they had agreed to, by insulting the Argives who were celebrating their victory.

  So Pallas Athene assumed the form of Laodocus, son of Antenor, and mingled with the Trojans. She sought out the son of Lycaon, haughty Pandarus, whom she regarded as well suited to perform what her father had ordered. Pandarus was an ally of Troy and had come from Lycia, bringing with him many warriors.

  The goddess soon found him standing among his men, and she touched him lightly on the shoulder and said: “Listen to me, wise Pandarus! Now is the time to do a deed which will win you the gratitude and praise of all the Trojans, above all of Paris, who will doubtlessly reward you with priceless gifts. Do you see Menelaus over there, so arrogant, so proud of his victory? Why not launch an arrow at him—if you dare!” So said the goddess in her disguise, and the foolish heart of Pandarus was stirred by her words. Swiftly he took his bow, lifted the lid of his quiver, selected a feathered shaft and fitted it to the string which twanged as the arrow was released. But Athene guided it to Menelaus’ belt, so that, though it pierced the leather and the armor, it only scratched the skin. Even so, blood oozed from the wound, and a shudder shook Menelaus.

  Agamemnon and his friends surrounded him in consternation. “Dear brother,” cried the king, “we have made a treaty that brings death to you, for our tricky foes have disregarded it! They shall atone for this, and I know the day will come when Troy and Priam with all his people will fall. But your wound fills me with bitter grief. If I return without you, if your bones moulder in Trojan earth and the work we set out to do is not accomplished, what disgrace awaits me in my native land! For without you I am not destined to vanquish Troy and carry off Helen. And the Trojans will trample on your grave and speak of you and me with contempt. If only the earth would open to devour me!”

  But Menelaus comforted his brother. “Calm yourself,” he said. “My wound is not fatal. My belt has protected me.”

  “If only it be so!” sighed Agamemnon and quickly dispatched a herald to summon Machaon, versed in the art of healing. He came, drew out t
he arrow, unclasped the belt, opened the armor, and examined the wound. Then he sucked the blood welling from it with his own lips and applied a soothing salve.

  While the physician and the heroes busied themselves about Menelaus, the Trojan troops were already advancing. The Argives too girt on their armor again, and Agamemnon entrusted his horses and chariot to Eurymedon with orders to bring them to him should he see him grow weary from striding through the ranks on foot. Then he went among the rows of his warriors and spurred them to battle, praising the bold and admonishing those who hung back. In this way he came to the Cretans, grouped around their leader Idomeneus who stood among them, raging to fight like an angry boar. When Agamemnon saw this brave array, his heart grew light. “You are one of the very best, Idomeneus,” he called to him. “You excel in everything, in war and at the banquet, when the sparkling wine is blended in great pitchers. While the rest drink their modest measure, your cup is always as full as mine. But now you shall go with me to the fight, as you so often swore you would.”

  “I shall, indeed, be a faithful comrade-in-arms to you!” answered Idomeneus. “Go, and drive others on! I have no need of that. May death and destruction overtake those breakers of treaties, the Trojans!”

  And now Agamemnon had come up with the two Ajaces, in whose wake seethed a tide of foot soldiers. The king called to them as he hurried by: “If only courage such as yours quickened the spirits of all the Argives, Priam’s fortress would soon fall!” Going on farther he saw Nestor engaged in drawing up his men. In the van he placed the warriors with horses and chariots, in the rear many and brave men on foot, and wedged between these two bulwarks, the cowards. And while he was drawing them up in this way, he exhorted them with wise words: “Let no one venture forward too far with his chariot, and let no one retreat. If chariot strikes on chariot, hold out the lance.”