So they fought, but Hector was unaware that on the left of the ships the Danai were close to victory. At the very place where he had first leaped through the gate, where the wall was lowest, he penetrated farther and farther into the ranks of the Achaeans. In vain they tried to check him. Boeotians, Thessalians, Locrians, Athenians—none could force him back. Like oxen teamed at the plough, the two Ajaces strode breast to breast, and the warriors of the son of Telamon were steadfast and stayed close. But the Locrians who could not endure this form of fighting did not follow on the heels of Ajax, son of Oileus. For they had gone against Troy full of confidence, without helmets or shields or lances, armed only with bows and woolen slings. Earlier in the war they had scattered many a Trojan battalion with their missiles. Now too they harried the Trojans, standing in ambush and shooting from a distance, and in this way they threw confusion among them.
The Trojans would surely have been driven from the huts and ships and ingloriously forced back to their city, had not Polydamas addressed stubborn Hector. “Do you spurn counsel, friend, just because you are boldest in battle? Do you not see that the flames of war are closing over your head, that the Trojans are either retreating with the spoils they have won, or fighting in isolated groups near the ships? Go from here and summon the noblest of your people to an assembly to decide whether we should rush into the labyrinth of the ships or retreat unharmed. I myself fear the Argives will pay back their yesterday’s debt, while their most indomitable warrior still waits on his ship.”
Hector agreed and asked his friend to call an assembly. He himself hastened back into battle, and wherever he met a commander, he bade him go to Polydamas. He looked for his brothers Deiphobus and Helenus, Asius, son of Hyrtacus, and Adamas in the foremost ranks and found the first two wounded, the others dead. When his eyes fell on Paris, he shouted at him angrily: “Where are our heroes, you seducer of women? Soon it will be all up with our city, and then you yourself will not escape awful Fate. But now come and fight while the others are gathering for the council.”
“I will follow you with a glad heart,” said Paris soothingly. “You shall not complain of lack of courage on my part.” Together they stormed into the heart of the fight, where the bravest of the Trojans were surging ahead like gusts of wind in sullen weather. Soon Hector was in the van. But the Argives did not recoil from him in terror as before, and mighty Ajax challenged him to combat. The Trojan, however, ignored his taunts and rushed toward the ships.
POSEIDON STRENGTHENS THE ACHAEANS
While arms were clashing outside, old Nestor sat quietly in his hut, sipping his wine and playing the host to wounded Machaon, the physician. But when the battle cry drew close and sounded louder and louder in their ears, he gave the care of his guest over to Hecamede and bade her prepare a warm bath for him. Then he took shield and lance and left the hut. He saw the ominous turn the encounter had taken, and while he was still hesitating whether to fight or seek out Agamemnon and confer with him, the king himself with Odysseus and Diomedes came toward him from the ships. All three were wounded and leaned on their lances. They had only come to watch the further course of the battle without hope of sharing in it themselves. With deep concern they discussed the fate of their army with Nestor.
“We have nothing more to hope for,” said Agamemnon. “Since the trench we dug with such labor and the wall we thought could resist any attack have not served to protect the ships, since our enemies are in our very midst, I must believe that unless we Argives leave of our own accord, Zeus will let us perish here, far from Argos, and that we shall die an inglorious death. So let us drag down the ships which are nearest the shore, launch them, and wait for night. Then, if the people of Troy turn back to their city, we can return and push the rest of the ships down to the water and escape all danger when protecting darkness falls.”
Odysseus listened to this proposal with a scowl. “Son of Atreus,” he answered, “you should be at the head of warriors less valiant than ours! At the peak of battle you bid us launch the ships? The poor Danai would be stricken with dismay, the lust for fight would ebb from their hearts, and they would withdraw themselves from battle!”
“Far be it from me,” said Agamemnon, “to do this against the will of the Argives and without hearing what they have to say. And I shall gladly withdraw my proposal if anyone knows a better way out.”
“The best way of all,” cried the son of Tydeus, “is to return to battle at once and—though we are wounded and cannot fight ourselves—stir the hearts of those who can, as true leaders should!”
Poseidon, protector of the Argives, who had been listening to the heroes, heard these words with approval. In the shape of an old warrior he came up to them, clasped Agamemnon’s right hand, and said: “Shame to Achilles who is rejoicing in the flight of the Argives! But take courage! The gods do not hate you, and soon you will see the dust swirl under the heels of fleeing Trojans.” So said the god and stormed from them straight for the field. As he ran he shouted his battle cry to the Argive host so loudly that it sounded like the voices of ten thousand mortals, and the heart of every hero grew staunch and daring.
When Hera, surveying the struggle from the heights of Olympus, saw Poseidon, her brother, take a hand in the fight in favor of her friends, she too could no longer bear to watch inactively. In the depths of her soul she burned with resentment for Zeus, sitting hostile on the peak of Ida, and pondered how she might trick him and divert his thoughts from the battle. At last she devised a scheme. She hastened to a hidden chamber which her son Hephaestus had built for her in the palace of the immortals. He had fitted the doors with bolts no other god could open. Hera entered this chamber and locked herself in. Then she bathed and anointed her lovely body with perfumed oils, smoothed her shining locks, put on a rich and delicate robe which Athene had made for her, and fastened it over her breast with a brooch of gold. About it she wound her shimmering girdle, clasped in her ears a pair of precious earrings set with jewels, cast a soft, sheer veil about her, and bound slender sandals to her shining feet. Radiantly beautiful she left her chamber and visited Aphrodite, the goddess of love.
“Do not bear me a grudge, my sweet,” she said caressingly, “just because I am helping the Argives and you the Trojans. And do not deny me what I beg of you with all my heart. Lend me your magic girdle of love which beguiles both men and gods. For I am bound for the utmost ends of the earth to see my foster parents, Oceanus and Tethys. They live in constant feud with each other. I want to see whether I cannot reconcile them with gentle words, and for this I shall need your girdle.”
Aphrodite, who did not see through Hera’s ruse, readily complied. “Very well,” she said. “You are the wife of the king of gods. It would not be fitting to refuse your request.” And with that she loosed her embroidered girdle wherein were seduction and enchantments. “Hide it in your bosom,” she counselled, “and you will not return without having accomplished what you desire.”
And now the queen of gods went to far-off Thrace and from there to Lemnos, the dwelling of Sleep, brother of Death, and implored him to lull to sleep the bright eyes of Zeus. But Sleep was afraid. Once before, at Hera’s command, he had numbed the thought of the Thunderer. It was when Heracles was on his way home from ravaged Troy, and Hera, his enemy, wanted to drive him from his course and to the island of Cos. When Zeus awoke and saw that he had been tricked, he hurled the gods about in his palace and would have destroyed Sleep, had he not fled into the arms of Night, who restrains both men and immortals. The god of sleep reminded Hera of this, but she calmed him. “What are you thinking of!” she exclaimed. “You cannot really believe that Zeus’ zeal in behalf of the Trojans is as great as his love for Heracles, his son! Be wise and obey my wish. If you do as I say, the youngest and loveliest of the Graces shall be your wife.” The god of sleep had her seal this promise with an oath on the Styx and then gave her his word to do as she asked.
Hera left him and soared to Mount Ida in all her shimmering beauty. When Zeu
s beheld her, his heart was overcome with fervent love, and he instantly forgot the Trojan War. “How did you come here from Olympus?” he asked her. “Where are your horses and chariot, my love?”
Craftily Hera replied: “I am going to the ends of the earth to reconcile Oceanus and Tethys, my foster parents.”
“Must you always differ with me?” exclaimed Zeus. “You can take this journey another time. Stay with me, and let us delight in each other while we watch this battle of two great peoples.”
When Hera heard this she was dismayed, for she saw that even her beauty and the magic girdle of Aphrodite could not make her husband forget the struggle on the plain below and his resentment for the Achaeans. But she concealed her alarm and twined her white arms around him. “I shall do as you say,” she said docilely, but secretly she beckoned Sleep who had followed her, invisible to all, and was standing behind the king of gods, awaiting her command. And Sleep silently weighed the lids of Zeus. The king of gods did not even answer, but laid his drowsy head in Hera’s lap and was soon slumbering deeply. Now Hera quickly dispatched Sleep as her messenger to Poseidon and had him tell her brother: “This is the time to carry out your purpose and give glory to the Argives, for thanks to my ruse Zeus lies asleep on the summit of Ida.”
Swiftly Poseidon stormed to the front and assuming the shape of an Argive hero called aloud: “Shall we give Hector such easy victory? Shall we let him conquer our ships and win undying fame? I know he is relying on the anger of Achilles, but what a disgrace if we were vanquished just because the son of Peleus is not with us! Take your tallest shields, set on your heads your most flashing helmets, brandish your mightiest lances! Let us go, I myself in the lead! We shall see if Hector can stand against us!” Obedient to the ringing, rousing voice, the warriors rallied. The wounded princes ordered the battalions and distributed the weapons, the best to the strong, the less good to the weaker. Then all pressed forward. First went the Earth-Shaker, and in his right hand was a terrible sword that flashed like lightning. He cleared the way, for all dispersed before him, since no one dared face him in fight. And as he advanced the sea rose and the waves towered behind the ships of the Argives.
But Hector did not allow this to intimidate him. As a forest fire roars through a valley winding between mountains, he tore ahead, and the two hosts clashed in new encounter. First Hector aimed at Ajax the Great, and his lance sped to its mark. But the shield and the sword straps which crossed over the breast protected the son of Telamon, and Hector, vexed by the loss of his weapon, drew back into the ranks of the Trojans. Ajax hurled an enormous stone after him, and he fell in the dust; lance, shield, and helmet flew in all directions, and his bronze armor clanged. The Danai shouted with joy, loosed a hail of spears, and hoped to drag Hector away. But the foremost heroes among the Trojans came to his aid: Aeneas, Polydamas, noble Agenor, Sarpedon of Lycia, and Glaucus, his comrade-in-arms. They held up their shields to fend the missiles from him and lifted him and placed him in a chariot which took him safely back to the city.
When the Achaeans saw Hector fleeing, they drove against the foe with increased force. Ajax was the center of great tumult, for his spear and his lance struck and smote on all sides. Even so Argive heroes fell, and in their fall saddened their friends. Ajax avenged the death of Prothoenor, whom Polydamas had slain, by killing Archelochus, son of Antenor. Promachus of Boeotia, felled by Acamas, the brother of Archelochus, was avenged by Peneleus, who slew Ilioneus. Ajax pierced Hyrtius, Antilochus took the weapons of Mermerus and Phalces, and Meriones did to death Hippotion and Morys. Teucer’s arrow pierced Prothoon and Periphetes. Agamemnon wounded Hyperenor in the groin. But Ajax the Less, the agile fighter from Locris whose great moment had come, made the most havoc among the Trojans who had already retreated from the walls and were beginning to flee through the pointed palisade of the trench.
APOLLO REVIVES HECTOR
The Trojans did not stop until they had reached their chariots. They were bewildered and pale with fear. And now Zeus awoke on the peak of Ida and lifted his head from Hera’s lap. Abruptly he sprang up and at a glance took in the scene below: Trojans fleeing, Argives in hot pursuit. In their ranks he saw his brother Poseidon. He saw Hector on his way to the city, and now the chariot halted; he was taken from it and laid on the ground, and his friends surrounded him. The wounded son of Priam was unconscious. His breath came in gasps and he spat blood, for it was no mean hero who had struck him!
Full of pity the eyes of the father of gods and men rested upon him. Then he turned to Hera, and his face darkened. “Deceiver!” he said to her threateningly. “What have you done? Are you not afraid that you will be the first to suffer for your crime? Have you forgotten how you once hung in mid-air, your feet bound to two anvils, your hands tied with a golden chain, and no dweller on Olympus could draw near to you without being hurled down to earth by me? That was your punishment for inciting the god of the north wind against my son Heracles. Are you so anxious to endure such a penalty a second time?”
For a time Hera said nothing. Then she spoke. “Heaven and earth and the waters of the Styx be my witnesses,” she said, “that it was not I who roused the Earth-Shaker against the Trojans. It must have been his own heart that prodded him to this. As for me, I should rather try to induce him to obey the command of Zeus who rules all heaven.”
The face of Zeus cleared, for Aphrodite’s girdle which Hera had with her was still doing its work. After a pause he spoke, and his voice was gentler. “If you were in agreement with me in the council of immortals,” he said, “Poseidon would be compelled to alter his plans in accordance with our wishes. But now, if you are, indeed, serious in trying to please me, call Iris who shall summon my brother home from battle, and Apollo who shall heal Hector and breathe fresh courage into his soul.”
Hera obeyed. She sped to the halls of Olympus where the immortals were gathered about the board. When she entered, they rose up from their places, and each offered her his cup. She took that of Themis, sipped of the nectar, and told them the bidding of Zeus. Fleet as the wind Iris floated down to the field of battle. Hearing his brother’s command from her lips, Poseidon was ill pleased. “Those are not brotherly words,” he said sulkily. “Nor should he try to break my will, for I am as good as he. It is true that when we cast lots for sovereignty, I was apportioned only the gray sea, Pluto the underworld, and Zeus heaven. But earth and Olympus are common to us all.”
“Shall I repeat your defiant words to the father of gods, just as you have said them?” Iris asked hesitantly.
But the god thought better of it, and leaving the ranks of the Danai, he grumbled: “Very well, then. I shall come with you. But one thing is certain, and Zeus shall hear of it: if he opposes me and the other gods who favor the Argives and refuses to decree the fall of Troy, implacable enmity will flare up between us.” So he said and dipped down into the sea, and immediately the Achaeans missed his presence among them.
To Hector Zeus dispatched Phoebus Apollo. The sun-god found the son of Priam no longer lying on the ground but sitting up, for Zeus had revived him. The sweat of anguish had ceased; his breath came more easily; life had returned to his limbs. When Apollo approached him full of pity, he looked up mournfully and said: “Who are you, best of the immortals, who are come to inquire after me? Have you not heard that Ajax the Great cast a stone at me near the ships and struck me in the breast and stopped me just as I was about to conquer? I thought that this very day I should have to behold black Hades.”
“Be of good courage,” Apollo replied. “Zeus has sent me, his own son Phoebus, to you. I shall shield you at his command, as I did before of my own accord, and brandish in your behalf the golden sword you see in my hands. Mount your chariot again. I myself will go on ahead, clear the way for your horses, and help you put the Argives to flight.”
Scarcely had Hector heard the voice of the god when he leaped up like a horse who has eaten his fill at the manger and breaks his tether impetuously. He swung himself on his cha
riot, and when the Achaeans saw him flying toward them, they stood still and ceased pursuing, like hunters and dogs who have followed a stag into the thick of the forest and suddenly halt at the sight of a shaggy lion which crosses their path. The first to see Hector was Thoas of Aetolia, a man of ready words, who at once told the Argive princes among whom he was fighting what he had beheld. “Woe is me!” he cried out. “What miracle is this! Hector, whom all of us saw struck down by the stone of the son of Telamon, is there, upright in his chariot, hastening into battle joyful and eager. Zeus, the Thunderer, must be giving him aid! If you take my advice, you will order the bulk of our warriors to retreat to the ships, while we, the bravest, fend him off. For though he is raging forward with the lust to kill, he will hesitate to break through our ranks.”
The heroes obeyed his wise counsel. They called on the noblest of their number, and these swiftly gathered about the two Ajaces, Idomeneus, Meriones, and Teucer, but all those behind them withdrew to the ships. The Trojans, meanwhile, advanced in serried ranks. Hector, high in his chariot, was leading them, and he himself, in turn, was led by Apollo sheathed in cloud, holding in his hand the aegis. Standing shoulder to shoulder, the Argives awaited the enemy, and loud shouts sounded from both hosts. And now arrows whirred from the string and spears cut the air. But it was the Trojans who always hit the mark. Their missiles quivered in the flesh of their foes because Phoebus Apollo was with them, and every time he shook his aegis in the faces of the Danai and sent forth a terrible shout from his dark cloud, the hearts of the Argives quaked, and they forgot to defend themselves.
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