And now, though the wood was lit, it would not burn. Then Achilles again turned from the pyre and vowed offerings to the winds, to Zephyr and Boreas, poured wine for them from a cup of gold, and begged them to quicken the sparks to a blaze. Iris brought his message to the winds, and with awful clamor they stormed across the sea and flung themselves on the pyre. All night they roared through the wood and lashed the flame, while Achilles never ceased pouring libations for the soul of his dead friend. When the sky grew saffron with dawn the winds rested, the fire died down, and the embers crumbled to ash. In the midst of charred wood and cinders lay the bones of Patroclus, and at the uttermost edge the bones of animals and men intermingled. At the command of the son of Peleus, the heroes quenched the heat of the ashes with red wine. With many tears they gathered up the white bones of their comrade, covered them with a two-fold layer of fat, and placed them in a golden urn which they carried to the house of Achilles. Then they measured the place, set a foundation of stones where the pyre had been, and heaped earth for the burial mound.
When all was done, the funeral games began. Achilles had the Argives assemble and sit in a wide circle. Then he brought as prizes tripods, cauldrons, mules, strong oxen, and, arrayed in costly robes, women who were trained in crafts, and precious gray iron. First came the chariot races. In these he himself did not take part, for he had lost his beloved charioteer. But up rose Eumelus, son of Admetus, a hero most skilled in the art of driving. Then came Diomedes, who yoked the splendid horses he had taken from Aeneas. Third was Menelaus with his horse Podargus and Agamemnon’s mare Aethe. The fourth to enter the race was Antilochus, Nestor’s young son, to whom his father gave advice concerning the race. Fifth, Meriones yoked his glossy-flanked steeds. Then the five heroes mounted their chariots, and Achilles shook the lots to decide in what order they were to stand. First the lot of Antilochus leaped from the helmet, then that of Eumelus, Menelaus, Meriones, and last that of the son of Tydeus. As umpire Achilles chose gray-haired Phoenix, his father’s comrade-in-arms.
All five together raised their goads, called to their horses, struck their backs with the reins, and stormed across the plain. The dust whirled high under the horses’ hooves, their manes fluttered, and the chariots now rolled on the ground, now leaped through the air. Taut and upright stood the drivers, and their hearts beat high with longing for victory. As the horses approached the end of the course which was near the sea, each seemed fleetness itself as it strained toward the goal. The mares of Eumelus flew in the van; but hot on their flanks blew the breath of Diomedes’ steeds, when suddenly Apollo snatched the goad from the hands of the son of Tydeus, and the speed of his creatures lessened. Athene observed the trick, returned the goad to the hero, and broke the yoke of Eumelus, so that the mares sprang apart and the driver plunged headlong from the chariot and doubled up in pain beside the wheel. Past him sped the son of Tydeus; after him Menelaus; next came Antilochus, urging on his horses with panting cries. And then, where the rains had washed away the soil, Menelaus stopped his horses, but Antilochus boldly drove past him. As the Argives watched, trying to distinguish the horses and cars through moving clouds of dust, Diomedes left the others behind. His chariot, overlaid with shining tin and gold, had arrived at the goal. From the necks and breasts of his horses sweat poured in streams. And the son of Tydeus sprang to the ground and leaned his goad against the yoke. His friend Sthenelus took the prizes—a fair woman and a tripod—and gave them to his comrades to carry away. Then he loosed the horses from the yoke.
After him came Antilochus, and almost at the same moment, Menelaus. Somewhat slower, a spear’s throw behind, Meriones reached the goal, and last of all injured Eumelus with his damaged chariot. But though he came last, Achilles wished to give him the second prize, because he was the most skilled in driving and his misfortune was due to no fault of his own. But Antilochus disputed this heatedly. “The second prize is mine,” he said. “That beautiful mare is my prize! If you are sorry for Eumelus, surely you have enough gold and bronze, horses and women in your house to give him something.” Achilles smiled, awarded the mare to his younger friend, and gave Eumelus the magnificent breastplate he had seized from Asteropaeus. But now Menelaus accused Antilochus of having got in the way of his horses, and he bade him swear by Poseidon if this was untrue. Antilochus did not dare swear a false oath. He admitted his ruse and led the mare he had won over to the son of Atreus. But Menelaus was satisfied to let the youth have his mare and accepted the third prize, a cauldron. The fourth prize, two talents of gold, fell to the share of Meriones, and the fifth, a two-handled bowl, though it was unclaimed, Achilles gave to Nestor as a memorial of the funeral of Patroclus.
Next came the boxing match. The prize for the victor was a mule, that for the vanquished, a two-handled cup. When this was proclaimed, a tall and mighty man arose, Epeius, son of Panopeus. He put his hand on the mule and cried: “This is mine! Let him who will, have the cup! But I give him fair warning: my fist will shatter his body, and his bones will be crushed!” Silence met this grim announcement, but then Euryalus, son of Mecisteus, girded himself and faced his opponent ready for the fight. Then they raised their arms, fists landed on jaws, and sweat flowed from straining limbs. Finally Epeius struck his adversary on the cheek, and he fell to the ground like a fish which a wave has flung on the sandy shore. Epeius helped him up by the hands, and as his friends led him away he spat blood, and his head drooped.
Next Achilles announced the prizes for the wrestling match: for the victor, a great tripod, equal in worth to twelve oxen; for the vanquished, a woman lovely to look at and skilled in handiwork. Then Odysseus and Ajax the Great clasped each other with supple arms, and they were as closely interlocked as timbers joined by a builder. The sweat poured from them, their bones creaked, and their sides and shoulders were marked with bloody weals. The Argives were beginning to mutter with impatience when Ajax lifted Odysseus from the ground, but he crooked his knee and thrust at his opponent, threw him on his back, and fell on his chest. But he could move him only very little, and the two rolled in the dust. “You have both won!” cried Achilles. “I shall give you prizes of equal value.”
For the foot race to follow, a mixing bowl of silver, delicately wrought and so large that it held six measures, was destined for the victor. The second to reach the goal was to have an ox, the third, half a talent of gold. Ajax, the swift Locrian, Odysseus, and Antilochus offered to run. Achilles gave the sign, and Ajax stormed ahead. But close to him as the weaving rod to the breast of a woman came Odysseus. Ajax felt his breath fanning his neck, and all the Danai called encouragement to the fleet runner. When they were almost at the goal, Odysseus prayed to Athene with all the fervor of his heart. And she made his limbs light and let Ajax stumble over the filth left over from the sheep and cattle which had been slaughtered for Patroclus, and he fell and soiled his face.
The Argives roared with laughter when, a moment later, Odysseus seized the mixing bowl and Ajax, gagging and spitting, laid his hand on the ox. Smilingly Antilochus took the third prize and said: “The gods give honor to older men. Ajax is, indeed, only slightly older than I in years, but he is of an older line.”
“It is to your profit that you have spoken words so free from envy,” said Achilles, and added half a talent of gold to the prize of the handsome youth.
And now the son of Peleus brought into the circle the beautiful lance of Sarpedon, which Patroclus had carried off as spoils, and laid it down together with the shield and the helmet. For these, two of the bravest heroes were to fight fully armed and receive the prize jointly. Achilles was to feast both in his house, and the victor was to have a sword, studded with silver, the Thracian sword of Asteropaeus. Three times with flashing eyes Ajax, son of Telamon, and Diomedes ran at each other with their arms. Ajax pierced the shield of the son of Tydeus, but Diomedes aimed at his throat. In grave concern for Ajax, the Argives separated the two, but it was the son of Tydeus who received the sword.
Next came the contest
with the iron discus which Eetion, king of Thebes, whom Achilles slew, had often thrown. Epeius swung it and threw, but with so little skill that the Danai burst out laughing. Then Leonteus threw, and next mighty Ajax, and it flew beyond the mark. But Polypoetes hurled it farther than all others, as a herdsman flings his crook over his grazing kine, and he bore off the prize.
Ten double axes and ten hatchets of bluish iron Achilles set as prizes for the archers. A pigeon was bound to the mast of a ship with a thin cord. Whoever hit the bird was to have the double axes. And whoever missed the bird but hit the cord was to have the smaller hatchets. Teucer and Meriones cast lots for the first shot. Teucer’s lot leaped from the helmet, but because Apollo did not favor him, he missed the bird and cut the cord with his shaft, so that the pigeon soared into the air. As Teucer watched it, vexed and disappointed, Meriones snatched the bow from his hands, fitted his arrow to the string, and shot the pigeon through the wing, in flight, and this he achieved because he had quickly vowed a hecatomb as thank offering to Phoebus. The wounded dove perched on the mast; its neck and wings drooped, and a moment later it fell down dead. The Achaeans shouted with joy and amazement. Meriones took the axes, and Teucer carried off the hatchets.
Lastly a spear and a cauldron carved with tendrils and flowers were brought into the ring as prizes for casting the javelin. First Agamemnon, ruler of many peoples, arose, and after him Meriones. But Achilles said: “Son of Atreus, from watching you in battle, we all know how far you excel all others in casting the lance, so leave the spear to Meriones and take the cauldron without competing for it.” Agamemnon consented. He handed the lance to the Cretan and took the cauldron. This was the end of the games.
PRIAM VISITS ACHILLES
When the participants separated, each man ate and slept. Only Achilles did not sleep, for he spent the night thinking of the friend he had buried. First he lay on his side, then on his back, then on his face. Finally he got up and roamed along the shore. In the early morning he harnessed his horses, bound Hector’s body to his chariot, and dragged him three times around the burial mound of Patroclus. But Apollo held his golden aegis over the corpse and saved it from being disfigured. Achilles left it sprawled on its face in the dust. All the gods on Olympus, except Hera, grieved at the sight, and Zeus sent for Thetis, the mother of Achilles. He ordered her to go to the Argive camp with all possible speed and tell her son that all the gods, even Zeus himself, were consumed with anger because he was holding Hector’s body without ransom.
Thetis obeyed. She entered the house of her son, came close to him, gently caressed his hair, and said: “How long are you going to eat out your heart with sorrow and forget food and sleep? It would be better if you turned to the pleasures of living again, for you will not be on earth for long. Dark Fate already lurks at your side. Listen to what Zeus bade me tell you. He and all the gods are indignant that you have maltreated Hector’s body and are keeping it by the ships. Let it go, my son, let it go for a rich ransom.”
Achilles looked up, fixed his eyes on his mother’s face, and answered: “So be it. What Zeus and the council of the immortals have resolved must be done. Whoever brings me the ransom shall carry away the corpse.”
While Thetis was with her son, Zeus sent fleet-footed Iris, the messenger of the gods, to the city of Priam to announce his decision. When Iris reached Troy, she found nothing but wailing and weeping. In the court of the palace was Priam in the circle of his sons, and their robes were wet with tears. The old man sat stiff and still, wrapped in his mantle; his head and shoulders were strewn with dust. In their chambers his daughters and the wives of his sons loudly lamented the heroes who had been slain. Suddenly and softly the messenger of Zeus came up to the king and spoke to him in a low voice. A shudder ran through his limbs. “Contain yourself, son of Dardanus,” she said. “Do not despair. I bring you good news. Zeus has mercy upon you. He bids you go to Achilles, bearing rich gifts, with which to ransom the corpse of your son. You shall go alone, accompanied by no one except one of the older heralds to guide the wagon with the mules and bring the body back to the city. You need not fear death or dangers of any kind, for Zeus is giving you an escort. Hermes will take you to the son of Peleus and protect you while you are with him. Besides, Achilles is not so blind as to disobey the gods. He will spare the suppliant of his own accord and keep all harm from you.”
Priam had faith in the words of the goddess. He told his sons to yoke the mules to the wagon, while he went to the chamber panelled with fragrant cedar-wood, where he kept his treasures. He summoned Hecuba there and said to her: “Zeus sent me a message. I am to go to Achilles, to his house near the ships, propitiate him with gifts, and so ransom the body of Hector, our beloved son. What do you think of this? I myself am most eager to go to the ships.” So said the old man, but his wife sobbed and replied: “Alas! Priam, where is your good sense, for which you have been famed? You, an old man, go alone to the Argive ships and meet the foe who has killed so many of your brave sons! Do you think that false, bloodthirsty wretch will feel pity at your sight? Rather let us mourn from afar for our son who, from the hour of his birth, was destined to be killed and devoured by dogs.”
“Do not try to hinder me,” Priam said resolutely. “Do not be a bird of ill omen in my house. Though death may await me at the ships, let that madman kill me if only I can hold the body of Hector in my arms and ease my heart with tears.” Then he raised the lids of the chests and selected twelve sumptuous festal robes and a like number of tunics and costly mantles. After this he weighed out ten talents of gold and took four gleaming cauldrons and two tripods. And he added a priceless cup the Thracians had given him when he came to them an an envoy. Nothing was too much to ransom his cherished son! He drove away the Trojans who wanted to hold him back, and said threateningly: “You good-for-nothings! Have you no griefs at home that you come here to add to my sorrow? Is it not enough that Zeus has taken my son from me? You will soon find out what it means! Rather would I go to Hades than see the heap of ruins and ashes your city will become.” And he drove them out of the hall with his scepter.
Then he turned to his sons. “Cowards!” he cried. “Idlers! If only you lay by the ships in Hector’s stead! All the best and bravest are dead. What is left is the scum—the liars, the cheats, the dancers, who wallow in the fat of the land. Now, this very instant, you shall make ready a wagon and lay all these things in baskets, so that I can start on my way.” The sons were taken aback and afraid of their father’s anger. They yoked the mules to the wagon and loaded it with the ransom. Then they harnessed the well-groomed, glossy horses to Priam’s chariot and called the herald who was to go with him. With heavy heart Hecuba handed the king the golden cup for the libation. A slave approached with a basin and pitcher, and when Priam had bathed his hands in clean water, he took the cup, stood in the center of the court, poured the wine, and raised his voice in prayer to Zeus.
“Father Zeus,” he implored, “ruler of Ida, let the son of Peleus show mercy and grace to me. Give me a token, let a bird fly on my right, so that I may go to the Argive ships without fear.” He had barely finished speaking when an eagle with black wings spread wide soared over the city, flying from the right. The Trojans hailed the sign joyfully, and full of confidence the old man mounted the chariot. In front of him went the four-wheeled wagon, heavily loaded, drawn by mules which Idaeus, the herald, drove. As Priam touched his horses with the goad and they began to move, his people followed him with troubled eyes and wailed as though he were going to his death.
When Priam and his herald were outside the city and passing the monument of old King Ilus, they stopped to let the horses and mules drink at the river. It was evening, and twilight hung over the plain. Then Idaeus saw a man standing close by and warned Priam. “Look, master,” he said. “We must be cautious. See the man over there. I fear he is waiting to kill us. We have no arms, and both of us are old. Let us either turn and flee back into the city or clasp his knees and beg him to spare us.” The ki
ng shook with terror, and his hair stood up on his head. And now the man approached; it was not a foe, but Hermes, the messenger of Zeus, the bringer of help to men, whom the father of the gods sends to accompany chosen mortals on their ways. Priam did not recognize him, but the god took the old man’s hand and said:
“Where are you driving your horses and mules at dead of night when other mortals sleep? Are you not afraid of the angry Argives? If one of them saw you taking so many precious wares through the darkness, would it not be dangerous for you? Do not think for an instant, though, that I shall harm you! Quite on the contrary—I shall protect you from others! All the more because you are so very like my own dear father. But tell me, are you fleeing and taking all these choice things to an alien land? Perhaps you are leaving Troy, now that the city has lost the bravest of its defenders, Hector, whom no Argive surpassed in courage?”
Priam breathed more freely and answered: “Now I see that I must be under the protection of a god, for he has sent me a wise and gentle companion who speaks tenderly of the death of my son. Tell me who you are and the name of your parents.”
“Polyctor is my father,” Hermes replied. “I am the youngest of seven sons, a Myrmidon, a comrade of Achilles. That is how I happened to see your son driving the Argives back to their ships while we stood by our angry king and admired Hector from afar.”
“If you are a comrade of dread Achilles,” said Priam, full of anxiety, “then tell me if my son still lies by the ships, or whether the son of Peleus has already hacked him to pieces and thrown him to the dogs.”
Gods and Heroes of Ancient Greece Page 53
