ACHILLES AND AGAMEMNON RECONCILED
When all the Argives were assembled, Achilles rose and said: “Son of Atreus, I wish Artemis had killed the daughter of Briseus by the ships that day I took her as my share of the spoils of Lyrnessos, rather than that so many Achaeans should have died while I was cherishing my anger. Let the past be forgotten, even if our souls still smart with it. I, at least, have given up my grudge. And now, to battle! We shall see if the Trojans still crave our ships!”
At his words the air rang with the applauding shouts of the Achaeans. Then Agamemnon rose, but he did not come into the middle of the circle like other speakers. “Cease your tumult!” he said. “Who can talk or hear in such an uproar? I shall explain my action to the son of Peleus, and you others listen well and mark my words. The sons of Hellas have often upbraided me for what I did on that day which set such disaster afoot. But the fault was not mine. It was Zeus and the Furies who blinded my reason in that fateful assembly of our people. That I erred was their doing! But all the time Hector was killing hosts of Argives by the ships I was reminded of my fault and grew aware that Zeus had darkened my spirit. Now I am most willing to make amends and offer you, Achilles, whatever you desire. Only fight with us again, and I shall give you all those gifts Odysseus, who came to you as my messenger a short time past, promised in my name. Or, if you prefer, remain here until my slaves have brought them from the ships, so that with your own eyes you may see how I fulfill my pledge.”
“Great Agamemnon,” the hero replied, “whether you give me those gifts or withhold them rests with you. Let us not waste time but think of battle, for much is still undone, and I yearn to be in the forefront of the fight again!”
But wise Odysseus intervened, saying: “Godlike son of Peleus, do not goad the Achaeans toward Troy unfed! Let them refresh themselves with meat and wine, for only this lends strength and force. Agamemnon, meanwhile, may bring his gifts into this circle, so that all the Danai may delight in them. And after that he shall be your host and serve you with sumptuous fare.”
“Joyfully have I heard your words,” answered the son of Atreus. “And you, Achilles, shall choose the noblest youths in our host to bear the gifts from my ship; and Talthybius, the herald, shall fetch forth a boar to sacrifice to Zeus and the sun-god, and seal the bond of friendship between us.”
“Do as you like,” said Achilles. “As for me, neither food nor drink shall touch my lips while my friend lies slaughtered in my house. All that I crave is carnage, blood, and groans of dying men.”
But Odysseus tried to calm him, saying: “Noblest of all Argive heroes! You are far stronger than I, and braver in fighting with the spear. But in counsel I am, perhaps, your better, for I have lived longer and had more experience. So bend your stubborn spirit and heed my words. The Danai need not mourn their dead with the belly! When a man dies, we bury him, and bewail him for one day. But those who have escaped death must sustain their strength with food and drink, to fight more fiercely.”
Thus he spoke and went to Agamemnon’s quarters, taking the sons of Nestor with him, and also Meges, Meriones, Thoas, Melanippus, and Lycomedes. There they collected the promised gifts: seven tripods, twelve horses, twenty cauldrons, seven women of flawless beauty; fair Briseis was the eighth. Odysseus weighed out ten talents of gold and walked on ahead of the youths who followed with the other gifts. When they had entered the circle of the assembly Agamemnon rose in his seat, and Thalthybius, the herald, seized the boar, prepared it for sacrifice, prayed, and cut its throat. He took the slain animal and cast it into the sea as food for the fish, and the waters swirled about it. Then Achilles cried out before all the Achaeans: “Father Zeus, how great is the blindness you often visit on us mortals! Never would the son of Atreus have roused my heart to wild anger, or been so ruthlessly determined to carry off spoils which were mine, had you not willed the death of many Argives. But now let us eat and then prepare for the fight.”
When the hero had spoken, the assembly dispersed. The daughter of Briseus, lovely as Aphrodite, entered the house of her former lord and saw Patroclus with his deep spear-wounds, stretched on a bier. She beat her breast, tore her cheeks, and threw herself weeping over the body. “O Patroclus,” she cried, “you were a tender friend to me in my exile. When I left you here, you were radiant with life, but now that I return, I find you dead! For me, disaster always follows disaster! Before my very eyes my bridegroom was killed with a spear; three brothers of my own blood, brothers dearly cherished, were snatched from my side on the same day. But after Achilles had slain my promised husband and ravaged my city, you were sorry to see me weep. You gave your word that you would urge the son of Peleus to marry me as soon as he had brought me to Phthia, and that we should have our wedding feast among the Myrmidons. Never shall I cease to grieve for you, you of the tender heart.” Thus she spoke, weeping, and the captive women around her sighed with her; but while they sighed for Patroclus, each, in the secret of her heart, wept her own misery.
In the meantime, the princes of the Danai surrounded the son of Peleus, begging him to take food and drink. But he refused them: “If you love me, my friends, do not ask me to eat and drink, for my sad heart will not suffer it. Let me be as I am until the sun sinks into the sea.” With these words he dismissed them, and only the two sons of Atreus, Odysseus, Nestor, Idomeneus, and Phoenix stayed behind. Vainly they tried to cheer the soul of the mourner. He remained silent and aloof, and whenever he spoke at all, it was with a sigh, and the words were for the friend who was dead. “In days gone by,” he said, “ah, how often and with what eager haste you brought the morning meal to my house when the Argive host made ready to go to battle! And now you lie slain before me, and no rich store of food can refresh me. No bitterer thing could have happened, not even the death of my father Peleus or my dear son, Neoptolemus, who—if he still lives—is being reared for me in Scyros. I was glad in the thought that I alone should die here, and that you would return to Phthia, fetch my son home from Scyros, and show him all that was mine. My father Peleus, I think, must have died long ago. If he still lives, he must be bowed by age and grief, for he lives in fear of the messenger who will tell him that I am dead.” This he said with tears, and the princes around him sighed too, for each thought of the loved ones he had left behind.
Full of compassion Zeus gazed down on the mournful men below, and turning to Pallas Athene, said: “My daughter, are you no longer concerned for the noble hero who, while the others have gone to eat the morning meal, remains sunk in his grief and touches neither food nor drink? Go at once and bathe his breast with nectar and ambrosia, lest hunger overtake him in the midst of battle.”
Like a broad-winged falcon the goddess, who long had yearned to help her friend, sped through the air, and while the warriors prepared for the struggle, softly and secretly she anointed the breast of Achilles with ambrosia and nectar. Then she returned to the palace of her all-powerful father.
And now the Achaeans poured out of their ships, helmet close to helmet, cuirass to cuirass, shield to shield and lance to lance. The earth shone with bronze and rang under their tread. While they hastened on, Achilles girt on his armor, and as he did so he gnashed his teeth, and his eyes blazed. First he fitted to his legs the greaves with the ankle pieces; then he covered his breast with the cuirass, slung over his shoulder the sword, and gripped the shield which sent forth a gleam like that of the moon. Next he set on his head the heavy helmet with the tall crest and golden plumes; it glittered like a star. Then he tested his armor to see whether it fitted freely to his limbs. And it seemed like wings impatient to lift him up from earth. From its stand he drew the lance of his father Peleus, the great spear which no other Argive could wield. Automedon and Alcimus yoked his horses, put the bits in their jaws, and stretched the reins to the chariot. Into it sprang Automedon and grasped the polished goad. Gleaming in his armor, Achilles mounted beside him.
“Immortal horses!” he called to the steeds of his father. “When we are sated wi
th battle, bring us home. Do not treat us like Patroclus, whom you left dead in the field!” And as he spoke the gods sent him a terrible omen, for Xanthus, the horse, bowed its head, till his mane, streaming from under the yoke pad, touched the earth. And gifted with speech by Hera, it answered him sadly: “O mighty Achilles! This time we shall bring you back alive and sound, but the day of disaster is near. It was not because we were careless or slow that Patroclus died and Hector won; it was the will of the gods. We can vie with Zephyr, the swiftest of the winds, and never tire. But Fate has appointed that you shall fall by the hand of a god.” Thus spoke the horse and wanted to say still more, but the Furies stifled the voice in its throat.
Achilles was troubled and answered: “Xanthus, why speak to me of death? I do not need your prophecies, for I already know that my fate will overtake me here, far from my father and mother. But even so, I shall not rest until I have slain innumerable Trojans!” And with a shout he drove forward his prancing horses.
THE BATTLE OF GODS AND MEN
On Olympus Zeus had called an assembly of the immortals in which he gave them permission to help both the Trojans and the Argives, as their hearts prompted them. For if Achilles fought the Trojans without the gods taking a part in the battle, he would surely conquer the city of Troy against Fate herself. As soon as the immortals knew that they might do as they wished, they ranged themselves into groups which went opposite ways: Hera, the mother of gods, Pallas Athene, Poseidon, Hermes, and Hephaestus hastened to the Argive ships; Ares set out for the Trojans, and with him were Phoebus and Artemis, Leto, their mother, Aphrodite, and Scamander, the river-god, whom the gods called Xanthus.
As long as the gods had not yet joined the advancing hosts, the Achaeans held high their heads because dread Achilles was again in their midst. And the limbs of the Trojans shook with fear when from afar they saw the son of Peleus who, in his glittering array, resembled the war-god himself. But now the gods had mingled with both armies, and again the outcome was uncertain. Athene was now here, now there, outside the wall at the trench, or by the shore of the sea, and wherever she appeared she sounded her battle cry. On the other side Ares roared encouragement to the Trojans, now from the highest point in their city, now flying through their ranks at the river Simois. Through both hosts alike stormed Eris, the goddess of discord. Zeus, the ruler of battles, thundered terribly down from Olympus, and Poseidon shook the earth from beneath until the peaks of all mountains and the very roots of Ida quaked, and even Pluto, the lord of shades, was startled and leaped from his throne, for he feared that a rift in the earth might discover to men and gods his secret kingdom below. And now the gods confronted one another in actual encounter: Phoebus Apollo launched his arrows against Poseidon; Pallas Athene fought the god of war; Artemis used her bow against Hera; Hermes opposed Leto, and Scamander Hephaestus.
While gods thus advanced against gods, Achilles was intent on one thing alone: on finding Hector in the throng. But Apollo, in the semblance of Lycaon, son of Priam, urged toward him Aeneas, whom he had fired with such courage that he went swiftly forward in his armor of shimmering bronze. Through all that tumult Hera saw him. Quickly she summoned those gods who were her allies, and said: “Poseidon and Athene, I beg you to consider what is to come of this! There is Aeneas, whom Phoebus has roused, storming against the son of Peleus. Either we must thrust him back or one of us must increase the strength of Achilles until he feels that the mightiest of the gods are supporting him. Today he shall be safe from the Trojans. Only for this have we all descended from Olympus! Later he must suffer the Pate decreed at his birth.”
“Think of the outcome, Hera,” Poseidon replied. “I do not think that we should attack the other gods with combined strength. That would be unfair, since we are by far the most powerful. Rather let us sit apart in some high place and watch the struggle. But if Apollo or Ares begin to fight, if they hinder Achilles and keep him from moving freely, then we shall have the right to take part in the conflict, and surely our adversaries will quickly yield to our strength and return to Olympus.” The sea-god did not wait for an answer but shook his locks and led the way to the wall of Heracles which Pallas and the Trojans had built long ago. To that place Poseidon hastened, and the other gods followed him; there they sat, their forms shrouded in impenetrable mist. Opposite them, on the hill called Callicolone, were Ares and Apollo. And so the immortals camped not far from one another, separate, but ready to fight, only pausing a little to reflect.
Meantime the field was filling with warriors and glistened with the bronze of their armor and chariots, and the earth echoed beneath their feet. It was not long, however, before two sprang forward from among the rest: Aeneas, son of Anchises, and Achilles, son of Peleus. Aeneas came first. The plumes swayed from his massive helmet. With his great shield of oxhide he covered his breast, and threateningly he brandished his spear. When the son of Peleus saw him, he too forged ahead impetuously, like an angry lion. The moment they were within hailing distance, he shouted: “How dare you come so far in advance of your men, Aeneas? Do you cherish the hope that after slaying me you will rule Troy? What folly, for never will Priam accord you this honor! Has he not sons enough of his own? And besides, he himself, old as he is, does not dream of giving up the throne. Or perhaps the Trojans have promised you a fine country estate in reward for killing me? If I remember rightly I pursued you once before! Do you recall how, when you were alone with the herds, I chased you down the steep slopes of Ida? You did not even take time to look back over your shoulder as you fled, and never stopped until you reached the city of Lyrnessos. But I, with the aid of Pallas and Zeus, laid it in ruins, and only the mercy of my immortal allies saved you, while I bore off plenty of spoils and captives. But the gods will not rescue you a second time. So I counsel you to draw back and mingle with your men. Have a care! Do not advance against me—not unless you want to be hurt.”
And Aeneas retorted: “Do not think you can frighten me with mere talk, as though I were a child. I too could give you words that cut to the heart. Each of us is acquainted with the glory and lineage of the other: I know that Thetis, goddess of the sea, bore you, but I can boast of being the son of Aphrodite and the grandson of Zeus. Besides, we will surely not part with childish threats. So let us not stand on the battlefield chattering like silly boys. Let us rather try each other with our brazen lances.” So he said and hurled his spear. It struck the strong shield of Achilles, and the air rang with the sound. But it pierced only the first two layers of bronze. The next layer was of gold, and it stopped the lance before it reached the last two layers which were of tin. And now the son of Peleus cast his spear, and it struck the shield of Aeneas at the outermost rim where the bronze and oxhide were thinnest. Aeneas crouched down and held up his shield in terror as the lance sped through the shield and struck behind him in the ground; the son of Aphrodite trembled at the great danger he had escaped. Already Achilles was running at him with the sword, uttering a fierce shout. Aeneas picked up a stone lying in the field, a stone so large that two ordinary men could not have lifted it, but he swung it easily in his hand. Then he would have struck Achilles on the helmet or the shield, and the son of Peleus would have slain Aeneas with the sword in close combat, had not Poseidon been quick to see what was happening. For though the gods who sat on the wall of Heracles were hostile to the Trojans, they were sorry for Aeneas. “It would be a pity,” said Poseidon, “if the son of Anchises descended to Hades, because he relied on Apollo’s words. Besides, I fear Zeus’ wrath, for while it is true that he hates the line of Priam, he does not wish to let it perish completely, and it is through Aeneas that this race of kings shall endure, through his sons and his sons’ sons.”
“Do as you like,” replied Hera. “As for Pallas and myself, we have sworn a solemn oath not to avert misfortune from the Trojans, come what may.”
And now Poseidon flew into battle. Invisible to mortals, he drew the spear from the shield of Aeneas, laid it at the feet of Achilles, and shed a fog bef
ore the hero’s eyes. Then the sea-god lifted the Trojan from the earth and, holding him high, hurled him over chariots and warriors to the edge of the field where the Caucones, allies of Troy, were arraying themselves for the fight. Here Poseidon upbraided the hero he had rescued. “What immortal blinded you, Aeneas,” he said, “that you ventured to strive against the darling of the gods, against the son of Peleus who is so much stronger than you? From now on, withdraw whenever you catch sight of him. Once Fate has overtaken him, you may fight in the foremost ranks.”
Then the god left him and dissolved the mist from before the eyes of Achilles. In great astonishment the son of Peleus saw his lance lying on the ground, and his enemy gone. “Let him escape—with the help of a god,” he said to himself sulkily. “I am used to having him flee from me.” Then he sprang back into the ranks of his men and urged them on. On the other side, Hector was stirring up his warriors, and a fierce encounter followed. When Phoebus Apollo saw Hector making so eagerly for the son of Peleus, he whispered a word of warning in his ear, and Hector heard and drew back into the throng. But Achilles stormed at his enemies, and at the first cast of his spear split the skull of brave Iphition, so that he fell and was mangled by the chariot wheels of the Achaeans. Then he thrust his spear into the temple of Demoleon, son of Antenor. Hippodamas he bored in the back with his lance, just as he was dismounting from his chariot, and one of the sons of Priam he caught in the spine beneath the belt clasp, just as the youth passed him; he screamed with pain and sank to his knees.
When Hector saw his young brother writhing on the ground, his eyes darkened with rage. He could no longer bear to keep aloof from battle and, despite the warning of the god, made straight for Achilles, brandishing his spear like a flash of lightning. Achilles saw him and rejoiced. “This is the man,” he said, “who has grieved me to the core of my heart. Do not let us avoid each other, Hector. Come close, that you may die the sooner.”
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