Gods and Heroes of Ancient Greece

by Gustav Schwab

  “I know how brave you are,” Hector replied unafraid, “and that I am less mighty than you. Still the gods may favor my spear! It may slay you, even though it is launched by a weaker man.” So saying, he cast his spear. But Athene stood behind the son of Peleus and breathed against the weapon; it swerved back to Hector and fell powerless at his feet. And now Achilles stormed to the spot to pierce his opponent with a thrust of his spear. But Apollo shed a thick mist about Hector, and three times the son of Peleus lunged into empty air. When he dashed forward in vain a fourth time, he cried in threatening tones: “Dog, again you have cheated death—surely because you have prayed to your guardian Apollo. But if I too have an ally among the immortals, we shall meet again and you shall not escape death at my hands! Now I shall seek more Trojans and kill all of them.” So he spoke, and his lance hit the neck of Dryops, who tumbled at his feet. Next he wounded Demuchus in the knee and threw down from the chariot Laogonus and Dardanus, sons of Bias, one with the lance, the other with the sword. Although young Tros, son of Alastor, clasped his knees in supplication, asking him to spare his youth, he pierced him through the liver. Then he thrust his lance into one ear of Mulius; the brazen point came out at the other. Echeclus, son of Agenor, he struck in the skull with his sword. Deucalion he gashed in the elbow with the point of his lance and then struck off his head; it rolled into the dust together with the helmet. Rhigmus, the Thracian, his flying lance pierced in the belly, and Areithous his spear threw from the chariot. Thus godlike Achilles raged like a forest-fire whipped on by swift winds. His horses pranced over shields and bodies; the axle dripped with blood, and the drops spattered onto the wheels and the chariot itself.

  ACHILLES FIGHTS THE RIVER-GOD SCAMANDER

  When the fleeing Trojans reached the waters of the swift-flowing Scamander, they separated. One part poured toward the city, to the field where, the day before, Hector had won his victory over the Argives. Over them Hera spread a thick drift of cloud to hinder them from fleeing farther. But the others, crowded close to the margin of the river, threw themselves into the swirling current; the shores roundabout echoed with the sound. There they floundered like locusts which fire has driven into the water, so that the whole river filled with a tangle of horses and men. At that the son of Peleus leaned his lance against a tamarisk on the bank and only with his sword in his hand rushed after them like a god. Soon the water grew red with blood, and under his thrusts groans and gasps rose up from the waves. He raged like an enormous dolphin that hurtles through a bay devouring what fish he can. And even when his hands were numb with killing, he seized twelve youths still alive in the waters, dragged them to shore, almost out of their minds with panic, and handed them over to his warriors. These were to fall in atonement for the death of Patroclus, his friend.

  When the hero again rushed to the river, greedy for new kill, Lycaon, son of Priam, struggled up through the water, and Achilles paused at sight of him. Once, in an assault by night, the son of Peleus had surprised him in his father’s orchard as he was carving a rim for his chariot from the shoots of the wild fig. On that occasion Achilles had taken him by force and sent him to the island of Lemnos, where Euneus, son of Jason, bought him as a slave. And when Eetion, Prince of Imbros, another son of Jason’s, visited his half brother in Lemnos, he ransomed the youth, so delicately fair, for a high price and had him brought to Arisbe, his city. For a time Lycaon lived there, but then he ran secretly away and managed to reach Troy. This was the twelfth day since he had returned from captivity, and now he fell into the hands of Achilles for the second time! When the son of Peleus saw that his knees failed him, that he was floating weakly with the current, he said to himself in amazement: “What miracle is this? Now that this boy I sold as a slave has reappeared, I suppose all the Trojans I slew will crawl forth out of the night of death again. Well then, let him taste the point of this lance, and we shall see whether he can come up even from under the earth!” But before Achilles had time to aim, Lycaon swung himself ashore, clasped his knees with one hand, and touched his spear with the other.

  “Have pity on me, Achilles!” he cried. “For once I was put in your care. At that time I got you one hundred bullocks. Now the ransom will be three times that number. Only for twelve days have I been free from the pain of long captivity, but Zeus must hate me, for he has again delivered me into your hands. Do not kill me! I am the child of Laothoe and not of Hecuba, the mother of Hector, who slew your friend.”

  But Achilles frowned, and his voice was relentless. “Do not speak of ransom, you fool. Before Patroclus died, my heart was ready to spare, but now all shall die, you too! Do not look at me so pitifully. Did not Patroclus die who was infinitely more glorious than you? And I myself—see how tall I am and how strong, and yet I know I shall soon meet my fate at the hands of my foes, one dawn or dusk.” When Lycaon heard him in this way, he let go the spear, spread wide his hands, and received the sword thrust in his neck. Achilles took the body by the foot, tossed it into the water, and cried mockingly: “Now let us see if the river, to which you have made so many vain offerings, will save you.”

  These words roused Scamander, the river-god, who sided with the Trojans, and he pondered on how he could trouble this dread hero and save his charges from those implacable hands. Achilles, meanwhile, leaped at Asteropaeus of Paeonia, son of Pelegon, who was just coming out of the river holding high two spears. And the river-god suffused him with pride and courage. Angrily he surveyed the merciless doing of the son of Peleus and ran to him boldly. “Who are you who dares oppose me?” asked Achilles. “Only the sons of unhappy parents measure their strength against mine!”

  Asteropaeus replied: “Why do you ask my lineage? I am the grandson of the river-god Axius. Pelegon begot me. Eleven days ago I came here with my Paeonians, to aid the Trojans as their ally. Now fight with me, great son of Peleus!”

  Achilles brandished his lance, but the Paeonian cast both spears at once, one with each hand, for he could use his left as deftly as his right. One cracked three metal layers of his adversary’s shield, the other grazed his right arm at the elbow, and the blood spurted from it. And now Achilles hurled his lance, but it missed his opponent and drove into the earth to half its length. Three times Asteropaeus pulled at it with his sinewy hand, but he could not wrench it out of the ground. When he tried a fourth time, Achilles fell on him with his sword and plunged it into his body until the bowels gushed out, and he sank in the throes of death. With jubilant shouts the son of Peleus stripped him of his armor and let the body lie as food for the eels which swarmed near the shore. Then he rushed on the Paeonians who were straying fearfully along the bank. Seven he slew with his sword, and he had not nearly sated his lust to kill when suddenly Scamander, the angry lord of the river, rose up through a swirl of waves in the guise of a hero, and called: “Son of Peleus, you are working evil beyond the measure of man. My waters are clogged with the bodies of the dead and can hardly find a way to the sea. Leave off!”

  “I obey you, because you are a god,” said Achilles. “But my arm shall not cease from slaying Trojans until I have chased them back into their city and tested my strength against Hector’s.” So saying he rushed in pursuit of the Trojans and drove them toward the river. But when they tried to save themselves by leaping into the water, he forgot the river-god’s command and sprang in behind them. Then the river grew swollen with wrath, churned its turbid waters, and flung the dead on the shore with bellow and crash. The torrent clashed against the shield of Achilles. He tottered and grasped an elm-tree, but it fell uprooted and tore away the bank. And now he raced over the field, but the river-god surged after him with wild waves and caught up with him, even though he was so fleet of foot. Whenever he tried to resist, the waves washed over his shoulders and swept the ground from under his feet. Then the hero complained to heaven. “Father Zeus,” he lamented, “will not one of the immortals have pity on me and rescue me from this angry river? My mother deluded me when she said that I should die by the shaft of Ap
ollo. Had Hector only slain me, had the strong but killed the strong! Now it seems I am to die ingloriously, like a boy herding swine who wades through a mountain stream in winter and is swept away by the turbulent waters.”

  As he moaned and wailed, Poseidon and Athene in the semblance of mortals came to him, took him by the hand, and comforted him, saying that it was not his fate to drown in the river. And before the gods left him, Athene filled him with such strength that he bent his knees and bounded out of the water until he again stood on dry land. But Scamander still cherished his anger and reared to taller and taller crests, calling aloud to Simois, his brother. “Come, brother! Let both of us together tame the power of this man, or he will raze Priam’s citadel to the ground this very day! Call the springs from the mountains; urge on the torrents; lift high your waters and sweep great blocks of stone in your tide. Neither his strength nor his armor shall avail him. Deep under the flood let him lie, with mud and slime for his burial mound. I myself shall heap over him shells and pebbles and sand, so that the Argives will not even find his bones.” When he had spoken, Scamander made for Achilles, churning with foam and blood and corpses, and the waves soon towered over the hero’s head, for Simois had joined his waters with those of his brother.

  When Hera saw this, she screamed aloud in fear for her favorite and then called to Hephaestus: “My son, dear lame son! Nothing but your fires can cope with the strength of the river. Rush to the aid of the son of Peleus! I myself will rouse the west and the south winds from the sea and raise up a blast that will fan your flames and utterly consume the Trojans. You, meanwhile, shall set afire the trees on the bank of the river and flame through Scamander himself. Let neither flattery nor threats hold you back, for only fire can halt this destruction.” Obedient to her words Hephaestus, turned to flame, winged his way over the field. First he burned the bodies of the Trojans Achilles had slain. Then the field grew dry, and the waters were stopped. On the banks the elms, the willows, the tamarisks, and the grass began to burn. The eels and other fish grew weak in that fiery breath and gasped for fresh water. Finally the river itself was a river of flame, and out of the depths Scamander, the god, cried humbly: “Blazing god, I do not wish to fight you! For how am I, after all, concerned with the quarrel of the Trojans and Achilles?” So he pleaded, while his waters hissed like fat in a cauldron over the fire. And he turned to the mother of gods and implored her: “Hera, why does your son Hephaestus torment me? Am I more at fault than the other gods who come to the aid of the Trojans? But I shall be still, if you wish it so, only let him too leave me in peace.”

  Then Hera said to her son: “Hold, Hephaestus! No longer shall you beset an immortal god for love of a mortal.” And the god of fire quenched his flame. Scamander returned to his bed, and far away Simois calmed his riotous waters.

  THE BATTLE OF THE GODS

  The other gods were bitterly at odds. Their hearts beat high with hatred, and they had at one another until the whole earth clanged and the air rang as if with the blare of trumpets. Zeus heard on the peak of Olympus, and his heart leaped with delight when he saw the immortals rushing at one another in battle. The first to advance was Ares, the god of war, who made for Athene with his brazen spear, taunting her as he came. “Why, O gadfly,” he called to her, “do you incite gods against gods with stormy insolence? Do you remember how you spurred on the son of Tydeus to pierce me with his lance, how you yourself dealt my immortal body a wound with your shining spear? But now, I think, we shall settle our accounts!” So he said, and struck her awful aegis with his spear. Evading his thrust, she reached for a huge rough stone which lay in the field and hurled it at Ares’ neck. He sank to the ground with a great clashing of armor, covering seven rods in his fall, and his immortal locks were soiled with dust.

  Then Athene laughed and said triumphantly: “O foolish one, when you dared to measure your strength against mine, you did not stop to think that I am the stronger! Now feel the full force of Hera’s curse, for she is angry that you have withdrawn your favor from the Argives and are protecting the haughty Trojans.” Thus she spoke and turned from him her radiant eyes. He was still gasping. His breath slowly returned, and Aphrodite, daughter of Zeus, led him out of battle.

  When Hera saw them approaching she turned to Athene. “Alas, Pallas!” she said. “Do you see how boldly that softhearted goddess of love is leading the ruthless killer out of the turmoil of the battle? Go—pursue them swiftly!” Pallas Athene stormed forward and struck delicate Aphrodite a blow in the breast, so that she fell and dragged wounded Ares down with her.

  “Let all who dare help the Trojans fall like these!” exclaimed Athene. “If all who fight on my side had acted as I have, we should have had peace long ago, and Troy would be nothing but a heap of ruins.” When Hera saw and heard this, a smile touched her lips.

  Then Poseidon, the Earth-Shaker, spoke to Apollo: “Phoebus, why do we hold aloof, now that others have begun to fight? How disgraceful it would be if we two returned to Olympus without having measured our strength! You shall be first to strike, for you are the younger. Why do you hesitate? Have you forgotten how much we two, above all other gods, have already endured for the sake of Troy? How we served proud Laomedon by building the wall, and how he refused to give us our promised reward? Surely this must have slipped your memory, otherwise you would try to destroy the Trojans as I do and not give aid to the people of that crafty king!”

  “Ruler of the sea,” answered Phoebus, “I should be taking leave of my senses if, for the sake of mortals who perish lightly as the leaves of forest trees, I fought you, a god who commands reverence.” So said Apollo and turned away, reluctant to raise his hand against his father’s brother.

  Then Artemis, his sister, mocked him, saying contemptuously: “Are you fleeing battle at the very outset, Far-Darter, and giving easy victory to boastful Poseidon? Then what is the use of the bow you carry over your shoulder? Is it only a child’s toy?”

  But Hera was displeased by her jeers. “Because you carry a quiver full of arrows on your back, do you venture to try your strength against me, shameless one?” she asked. “Better you went to the forest to shoot a boar or a stag, then insolently oppose the high gods. But since you are so defiant, you shall feel my hand.” Thus reproving her, with her left hand she took Artemis by the wrists and with her right snatched her quiver from her shoulder and beat her about the ears with it while she turned this way and that, until the arrows dropped out. Like a timid dove pursued by a falcon, Artemis let lie her shafts and fled weeping. Leto, her mother, would have come to her aid, had not Hermes lurked close by. But when he saw her he withdrew, saying: “Far be it from me to pick a quarrel with you, Leto. For it is dangerous to quarrel with a woman whom the Thunderer has given his love. And so in the circle of immortals you may brag of having defeated me.” Thus he spoke, and instantly Leto gathered up the bow and the arrows where they lay scattered in the dust and hastened after her daughter to Olympus. There Artemis, still in tears, seated herself on her father’s knee, her dainty robe, fragrant with ambrosia, still trembling with the shaking of her limbs. Zeus took her tenderly in his arms and asked: “Who of the gods has dared abuse you, sweet child?”

  “Father,” she replied, “it is your wife who has done this to me, angry Hera, who incites all the gods to battle.” At that Zeus only laughed and patted her cheek.

  But down below, Phoebus Apollo had entered the city of Troy, for he feared that the Danai, defying Fate, would tear down the wall of the city that very day. The other gods hastened back to Olympus, some exulting, others filled with wrath and grief, and seated themselves in a circle around the Thunderer, the father of them all.

  ACHILLES AND HECTOR BEFORE THE GATES

  On a high tower of his city stood old King Priam and looked down on the mighty son of Peleus driving the fleeing Trojans before him, with neither god nor mortal to halt his progress. Lamenting, the king came down from the tower and exhorted the guards at the wall: “Open the gates and hold them so
until all the fugitives have entered the city, for Achilles is pursuing them. As soon as our people are inside, lock the double doors, or the fierce son of Peleus will invade Troy.” And the guards drew back the bolts, the gates flew apart, and a way to safety lay open.

  As the Trojans, covered with dust and parched with thirst, fled from the battlefield and Achilles pursued them with his lance like a madman, Apollo left the open gates of Troy to come to the aid of his wards. He roused the courage of Agenor, brave son of Antenor, and enfolded in cloud, stood at his side at the foot of the beech tree of Zeus. Thus it came about that Agenor was the first of the Trojans to halt, collect his wits, and say to himself, full of shame at his flight: “Who is it that is following you? Cannot his flesh be wounded with a point of iron? Is he not mortal like other men?” He regained his composure, awaited Achilles, held out his shield, and cried to him, brandishing his lance: “Do not think you can raze the city of Troy so quickly! There are still those among us who will fight to defend the citadel for their parents, wives, and children.” With this he cast his spear, and it struck the greaves of the hero at the knee, but rebounded without harming him. And now Achilles threw himself on his assailant, but Apollo carried Agenor off in a veil of mist and, by a ruse, kept Achilles from pursuing him. For the god assumed the shape of Agenor and ran through a field of barley toward the river Scamander. Achilles flew after him, hoping at every step to overtake him. Meantime the Trojans hurried through the open gates and poured into the city which soon filled to overflowing. No one waited for the other; no one turned to see who was saved or who had fallen; each rejoiced in his own rescue, in his safety behind the firmly built walls. They cooled their sweating limbs, quenched their thirst, and rested on the battlements.