The two heroes were now within casting distance. But first Patroclus struck at Thrasydemus, Sarpedon’s brave comrade-in-arms. Sarpedon’s spear missed Patroclus but went into the right flank of Pedasus, the mortal horse, who, as he fell, the breath rattling in his throat, startled the two deathless horses. The harness creaked, the reins tangled and would have torn, had not Automedon, the charioteer, quickly drawn his sword from his hip and cut the thong of the dead horse.
Sarpedon cast a second time and again missed his adversary. But this time Patroclus’ spear struck the Lycian in the belly, and he fell like a mountain pine under the axe, ground his teeth, and clawed at the bloodstained dust with his hand. With the last remnant of his strength he called to Glaucus, his friend, telling him to protect his body with his Lycians. Then he died. Glaucus begged Phoebus Apollo to heal his arm which Teucer had wounded with an arrow at the storming of the walls and which still hurt and disabled him. And the god took pity on him and instantly eased his pain. He strode through the ranks of the Trojans and called on Polydamas, Agenor, and Aeneas to guard the body of Sarpedon. The princes mourned when they learned of his death, for though he was of an alien line, he had been a pillar of strength to their city. But their sorrow did not make them idle. Savagely they stormed against the Danai, Hector in the lead.
Patroclus, meanwhile, roused the courage of the Argives, and they ran at the Trojans, uttering battle cries and fighting for the body of Sarpedon. Then Hector hurled a stone which struck Epeigeus, son of Agacles, and for the first time the Myrmidons recoiled. But Patroclus, grieving bitterly at the death of his friend, dashed to the van, broke the back of Sthenelaus of Troy, and drove the Trojans to retreat. Glaucus was first among them to forge ahead again, and he pierced the breast of Bathycles, the Myrmidon, with his lance. Meriones then struck Laogonus, whose father Onetor was a priest of Idaean Zeus. But when Aeneas cast his spear at Meriones, he missed. While these two were scoffing at each other, Patroclus called to them: “Why waste time with words! War is decided by arms!” And with that he led his men toward the corpse of Sarpedon, but the Trojans fended them off fiercely, so that the body was covered with blood and dust from the head to the soles of the feet.
Zeus, who had been watching the conflict attentively, pondered a little on whether or not Patroclus should die, but for the time being he thought it better to grant him victory. And so the friend of the son of Peleus succeeded in driving Trojans and Lycians alike back toward the city. The Danai stripped Sarpedon of his armor, and Patroclus was just about to hand it over to the Myrmidons when, at the bidding of Zeus, Apollo descended from the mountains, took the body on his shoulders, and bore it away to the shores of the Scamander. Here he washed it in the clear water, anointed it with ambrosia, and gave it to Sleep and Death, the twin brothers. High they rose on their wings and carried it to his native land of Lycia.
But Patroclus, driven by Fate, exhorted his charioteer to greater speed and raced after the Trojans and Lycians, straight to his own destruction. Nine Trojans he slew and stripped of their armor, and he plied his lance with a hand so savage and sure that he would have conquered Troy with all her towers, had not Apollo stood on the highest rampart, intent on saving the Trojans and destroying the hero. Three times the son of Menoetius scaled the wall, and three times Apollo held out toward him the shield in his immortal hand and cried: “Go back!” And knowing this for the command of a god, Patroclus withdrew in haste.
At the Scaean Gates, fleeing Hector stopped his horses and hesitated whether to urge them back into the tumult of battle or bid his people lock the gates and retreat behind the safe walls of their city. While he was still wavering, his fingers slack on the reins, Phoebus in the semblance of Asius, brother of Hecuba, approached him and said: “Hector, why do you shun encounter? If I were as much stronger as I am weaker than you, I should send you to the underworld for your hesitation. But come! If you do not like to hear such words, swing your chariot around and spur the horses toward Patroclus. Who knows but Apollo may send you victory?” So the god, in the form of Asius, whispered in his ear and vanished. Then Hector spoke words of courage to Cebriones, his charioteer, and he headed for the field. Apollo, running on before, wrought confusion in the ranks of the Achaeans. But Hector did not stop to slay a single Argive. He made straight for Patroclus.
When the friend of Achilles saw him coming, he leaped down from his chariot. In his left hand he brandished his spear and with his right he picked up from the ground a jagged stone and threw it at Cebriones. It struck him in the middle of the forehead, and he fell to earth, Patroclus calling after him jeeringly: “By the gods, a nimble man! How easily he plunges into the dust! Perhaps he was versed in the art of diving and was a trader in oysters!” Like a lion he sprang toward the body he was deriding, but Hector fended him off from his half brother. He gripped the head of the slain, while Patroclus clutched the foot. And from both sides Trojans and Danai raged at one another as when the east wind clashes with his brother from the south.
Toward evening the Argives gained the advantage. They took possession of the corpse of Cebriones and stripped it of its armor. And now Patroclus fell on the Trojans with redoubled fury and slew three times nine of them. But at his fourth onslaught, Death lay in ambush, for Phoebus Apollo himself fought in this encounter. Patroclus did not observe him, because he was wrapped in a heavy mist. But Apollo came up from behind and struck his back with the flat of his hand, so that everything blurred before his eyes. Then the god knocked the helmet from his head, and it clattered to the ground and rolled under the hooves of the horses, so that the crest was soiled and draggled with dust and blood. And now he broke the lance in his hand, loosed the shield-strap from his shoulder and the cuirass from his breast, and numbed his heart, so that he stood motionless and staring. Then Euphorbus, son of Panthous, a brave warrior who that day had felled twenty Argives, pierced his back with a lance and returned to the ranks. But Hector running forward thrust his spear into the groin of the wounded hero, and the brazen point went clear through his body. Hector vanquished him as a lion downs the boar at the mountain spring to which both have come to quench their thirst. He seized the lance to wrench it from the flesh of Patroclus and cried jubilantly: “Patroclus! You were going to turn our city to a heap of ruins and carry our wives away on your ships to be slaves in your country! Now I have at least put off the evil day of servitude; as for you—the vultures will feast on your flesh. What does your friend Achilles avail you now?”
Dying Patroclus answered him, but his voice was faint. “Rejoice as much as you wish, Hector,” he said. “Zeus and Apollo have granted you effortless triumph, for it was they who deprived me of my weapons. Had it not been for the gods, my lance would have tamed you and twenty more like you. In the face of the gods, it was Phoebus who struck me down, in the face of men, Euphorbus. You may strip me of my armor. But one thing I predict: not for long will you go proudly on your way, for disaster lurks at your side, and I know by whose hand you will fall.” When he had gasped out these words, the soul left his body and flew to the underworld. But Hector called after him: “Why predict my coming fate, Patroclus? Who knows but that Achilles himself may first be slain by my spear!” And with these words he dug his heel into the earth, pulled the brazen spear from the wound, and cast the dead man back on the ground. Then he turned his lance, dripping with Patroclus’ blood, against Automedon, his charioteer. But the immortal horses bore him out of danger.
Next Euphorbus of Troy and Menelaus, son of Atreus, fought for the body of Patroclus. “You shall atone!” shouted the Trojan. “Atone for having slain Hyperenor, my brother, and widowed his wife!” And he drove his lance at the shield of the son of Atreus. But the iron point bent double. Then Menelaus lifted his lance and thrust it deep into his enemy’s throat, so that the point came out at the nape of his neck and his black locks, adorned with gold and silver, streamed with blood. Down he sank, and his weapons clattered as he fell. Instantly Menelaus stripped him of his armor and would have
borne it away, had not Apollo envied him his spoils. Assuming the shape of Mentes, king of the Cicones, he came to Hector and persuaded him to leave off pursuing the immortal horses of Achilles which Automedon was driving off, as spoils too difficult to attain, and go back to the body of Euphorbus. Hector turned and suddenly saw Menelaus bending over the bleeding corpse and taking the splendid armor. The son of Atreus heard the ringing cry of the Trojan hero and had to admit to himself that he could not withstand Hector dashing toward him with his battalions. Reluctantly he retreated, leaving the body and armor behind, but as he fled he glanced back from time to time, or paused to look for Ajax the Great. He finally found him to the left, where the tumult was thickest, and hurried toward him to ask his help m the struggle for the body of Patroclus. When the two drew near the place where the son of Menoetius had fallen, they saw that Hector had already taken the armor and was drawing the body toward him to hew the head from the shoulders and drag the trunk away as a feast for the dogs. But when he saw Ajax coming under cover of his shield of seven oxhides, he gave up his prey and quickly fled to the ranks of his comrades. There he sprang into his chariot and handed the armor of Patroclus to friends who were to take it to Troy for him, to be preserved as a token of his glory. Meantime Ajax stood guard over the body like a lion over its young, and by his side Menelaus kept watch.
Glaucus of Lycia meanwhile glowered at Hector and reproached him. “What avails your fame,” he said, “if you falter and flee from a hero. Think now how to defend your city single-handed. No Lycian, at all events, will fight beside you from now on. For how can we expect you to aid a lesser man, now that you have let Prince Sarpedon, your comrade-in-arms, to whom you were bound by ties of hospitality, lie unprotected, the prey of the Danai and the dogs! If the Trojans had our courage, we should soon have the body of Patroclus inside the walls of Troy. When the Argives would be ready enough to give us the corpse of Sarpedon, if only to get back the splendid armor.” Glaucus said this not knowing that Apollo had removed the body of Sarpedon from the hands of the Argives.
“You are foolish, Glaucus,” said Hector, “if you think I am afraid of powerful Ajax. Never yet have I shrunk from the fight. But the will of Zeus is mightier than all our power. Watch me now, though, and judge whether I am as timid as you have just said.” With these words he raced after his friends who were carrying toward the city the armor of Achilles which Patroclus had worn. When he reached them, he exchanged his own cuirass for that of Achilles and girt on the immortal armor the gods themselves had given Peleus at his wedding with Thetis, goddess of the sea. When Peleus felt himself growing old, he had given it to his son, but he, alas! was not destined to grow old in it.
The king of men and immortals looked down from the heights and saw Hector girding on the arms of godlike Achilles. Gravely he shook his head and spoke in his heart’s depth: “Unhappy Hector, you do not even dream that Death already stalks at your side. You have slain the cherished friend of the hero before whom all others tremble; you have stripped his body, snatched the helmet from his head, and now you walk adorned with the immortal armor of the son of a goddess. But because you will never return from this encounter, because Andromache, your wife, will never greet you again, nor undo these splendid arms, I shall give you one last and glorious victory.” When Zeus had ended, the cuirass clung closer about Hector, the spirit of Ares flamed within him, and his limbs swelled with strength and power. With a shout he rejoined his allies and led them against the foe.
The struggle for the body of Patroclus broke out afresh. So furiously did Hector rage that Ajax said to Menelaus: “I am now less concerned for dead Patroclus who will be food for the birds and dogs of Troy, than for our own heads. For Hector and his men surge about us like a cloud. Lift your voice and see if the heroes among the Danai will hear your cry.” Menelaus called as loudly as he could, and the first to hear was Ajax of Locris, the swift son of Oileus. He ran to the spot, and after him came Idomeneus with Meriones, his comrade-in-arms, and countless others, so that the corpse was again fenced about with shields of bronze. The Trojans pressed them so hard that the body was almost dragged from their midst. But at last Ajax the Great came to the rescue. As Hippothous, the Pelasgian, an ally of the Trojans, was tying the ankles of the body with a thong to pull it by, the son of Telamon hurled his spear through the round top of his helmet. It cracked, and brains and blood from the wound spattered the point. Hector aimed at Ajax but hit Schedius, the Phocian. Ajax countered and pierced the cuirass of Phorcys, son of Phaenops, who was fighting for the body of Hippothous, and the lance dug into his entrails.
Now the Trojans, and even Hector himself, recoiled, and the Argives would have conquered against the decision of Zeus, had not Apollo, in the guise of Periphas, the aged herald, goaded mighty Aeneas on to battle. Aeneas knew him for a god. He fired his men with ringing shouts and himself sprang forward in the lead. At that the Trojans once more turned their faces to the foe. Aeneas slew Leocritus, friend of Lycomedes. He, in turn, avenged the death of his comrade by killing Apisaon of Paeonia. And now the Argives again held out their lances to ward their adversaries from the body of Patroclus.
In other parts of the field too the fighting went on ever more furiously, until the sweat poured from the struggling warriors. “Rather shall the earth swallow us,” cried the Danai, “than that we leave this body to the Trojans and return to our ships without having won glory!”
“Even if we die to the last man,” the Trojans roared on their side, “let no one hang back!”
While they were fighting, the immortal horses of Achilles stood apart. When they heard that Patroclus, their charioteer, had died at Hector’s hand, they began to weep as men do. In vain did Automedon try to urge them on, now with the goad, now with caressing words, and now with threats. They refused to stir either toward the ships or to the battling Argives. Motionless as a monument on the mound of the dead they stood before the chariot and hung their heads to the ground. Soiled with dust, their manes streamed thick and curling beneath the ring in the yoke, and hot tears dropped from their eyes. Even Zeus, gazing down from above, could not but feel pity for them. “Poor creatures!” he said to himself. “Why did we give you, eternally young and immortal, to mortal Peleus? That you too might suffer sorrow like luckless men? For of all that breathes and moves on earth, there is nothing more wretched than man! And as for Hector, vain is his hope of taming you and yoking you to his chariot. I shall never permit it. Is it not enough that he vaunts his ownership of the armor of Achilles?” And Zeus filled the horses with courage and strength.
At once they shook the dust from their manes and quickly drew the chariot into the throng of Trojans and Achaeans. But Automedon, alone in the chariot, could not guide the horses and hurl his lance at the foe as well. While he was still in this predicament his friend Alcimedon, son of Laerces, caught sight of him and was astonished that he should expose himself in this way without a charioteer. “Who except Patroclus was ever your equal in bridling horses?” Automedon called to him. “If you will take the reins and the goad, I can leave the horses to you and use my strength for fighting.”
When Automedon gave his place to another, Hector observed it and said to Aeneas beside him: “Look over there! The horses of Achilles are rushing into battle with an inexperienced charioteer. Are you willing to tackle those two with me? The spoils are well worth the trouble!” Aeneas nodded assent, and both stormed forward under their shields, with Chromius and Aretus following them.
But Automedon prayed to Zeus, and the Cloud-Gatherer filled his heart with unwonted strength. “Drive close behind me, Alcimedon!” he cried, and then: “Here Ajax! Here Menelaus! Leave the dead to other defenders and keep us, the living, from destruction. Hector is bearing down on us, Hector and Aeneas, the two bravest heroes of Troy!” With this he swung his lance at Aretus, and it pierced his entrails. Caught in full advance, the hero fell backward in the dust. Then Hector hurled his spear at Automedon, but it flew over his head, and stood with quiver
ing shaft fixed in the ground. And now they would have used their swords against each other, had not the two Ajaces come between them and turned the Trojans back to the body of Patroclus.
There the battle raged most hotly. Zeus was now of another mind. Hid in a dark cloud, he sent Athene as his messenger down to earth, where she appeared in the semblance of aged Phoenix and went up to Menelaus. Seeing the old man, he said: “O Phoenix! If only Athene would give me strength today, so that I might avenge my slain friend! For I understand the reproach in your eyes.” The goddess rejoiced that, unknowing, he had sought her aid, poured strength into his shoulders and knees, and in his heart she put defiance and steadfastness. Brandishing his lance he ran to the body, and as Hector’s friend Podes, son of Eetion, turned to flee from him, the spear of Atreus’ son struck him under the belt so that he crashed to earth.
Now Apollo, in the shape of Phaenops, approached Hector and taunted him. “Who among the Danai will fear you, if Menelaus can frighten you away? He slew your most cherished friend, and now he, the least manly of the Argives, will deprive you of the body of Patroclus as well!” These words bowed Hector’s heart with dark grief, and he dashed forward again, shining in his brazen armor. Then Zeus shook his aegis, veiled Mount Ida in cloud, and with lightning and thunder crowned the Trojan’s victory.
Peneleus of Boeotia, whose shoulder Polydamas had grazed with his spear, was the first to turn and flee. Leitus was rendered unfit for the fight by Hector, who pierced his hand at the knuckles. Idomeneus, who had just come from the ships on foot, missed Hector when he hurled his spear, and Hector missed him with his counter cast but shattered the ear and cheek of Coeranus who, fortunately for Idomeneus, had preceded him with Meriones in his chariot. The spear knocked out his teeth and cut his tongue, and the hero fell. Meriones gathered the reins up from the dust and gave them to Idomeneus who quickly swung himself into the chariot and drove the horses back to the ships. When Ajax saw this, he lamented so loudly to Menelaus who fought beside him that Zeus had pity on him, scattered the clouds, and shed full sunlight over the battlefield. “Menelaus,” said Ajax, “try to find Antilochus, son of Nestor. See if he is still alive. He would be a fitting messenger to tell Achilles that Patroclus, his dearest friend, is dead.” With watchful eyes, like an eagle who peers for the hare flat against the earth among bushes, Menelaus went about and soon saw Nestor’s son to the left of the field.
Gods and Heroes of Ancient Greece Page 48
