Then down from the slopes of Ida they dragged great logs and stacked them into a pyre. They laid on it the arms of all the slain, many slaughtered victims, gold, and precious metals. The Argive heroes cut strands of hair from their heads, and Briseis, Achilles’ favorite, sheared off one of her lovely locks as a last gift to her lord. Over the wood they poured many flasks of oil, and among the logs they placed bowls of honey, of wine fragrant as nectar, and of sweet-smelling spices. On the top they placed the corpse. Then, fully armed, on foot and on horseback, they circled around the pyre. Finally it was lit, and the flames crackled and licked through the pile. At the command of Zeus, Aeolus sent his swiftest winds. They blew through the stacked wood and lashed the fire so that in a very few hours the wood and the body were wholly consumed and turned to ashes. The Danai quenched the last flickering flames with wine. And there, easily recognizable from everything that had been burned with him, lay the bones of great Achilles. Sighing, his friends collected them, laid them in a coffer of hammered gold and polished silver, and lowered it next to the remains of his friend Patroclus, on the highest point of the shore. Then they heaped the burial mound.
The immortal horses of the son of Peleus sensed that he was dead. They tore the thongs which tethered them, unwilling to share the toils and cares of men now that their master was gone. It was difficult to catch them and to calm their restlessness and alarm.
FUNERAL GAMES FOR ACHILLES
In Troy too they were doing honor to a slain hero. Glaucus, the Lycian, the loyal ally of the Trojans, had fallen in the last struggle with the Argives, and his body which his friends had snatched from the hands of his foes was burned and buried.
The following day Diomedes, son of Tydeus, rose in the Argive assembly and proposed that at once, at this very moment when their enemies were rallying their courage because Achilles was dead, they must attack the city with chariots and foot-soldiers and storm the walls. But Ajax, son of Telamon, opposed him. “It would not be right,” he said, “to offend the goddess of the sea who is mourning her son. Should we not, before all things, have splendid funeral games for glorious Achilles? Yesterday, when Thetis sank back into the waves, she begged me not to leave her son unhonored and declared that she herself would appear at the celebrations. As for the Trojans, even though the son of Peleus has fallen, it is unlikely that they will marshal sufficient courage to resume the fight as long as you, Diomedes, and I, and Agamemnon, son of Atreus, are among the living.”
“I shall agree with you, provided Thetis really comes today,” Diomedes replied. “Her wish must take precedence over the demands of war.”
As the last word left his lips, the waves parted, and the wife of Peleus, frail as the breath of dawn, rose from the sea and advanced toward the Argives. With her came the nymphs, her handmaids, and from the veils which floated about them they drew magnificent prizes and spread them out before the eyes of the Achaeans. Thetis herself bade the heroes begin the games. Then Nestor, son of Neleus, rose, not to fight, for old age had left his limbs stiff and feeble, but to honor the lovely daughter of Nereus with fitting words. He told of her wedding with Peleus: how the gods themselves had attended as guests; how the Hours had come with dainty and rich foods in golden baskets and served them with hands scented with ambrosia. The nymphs had blended the wine in golden bowls while the Graces danced and the Pierides sang. Air and Earth, mortals and immortals, all had shared in bliss and delight.
This was what Nestor related. And then he went on to tell of the great deeds of the son of Peleus who had sprung from this union. His words were balm to sorrowful Thetis; and though the Argives were restive and eager to resume the conflict, still they listened intently and joined in the praise of the hero. Thetis gave Nestor two of her son’s horses. Then she selected as a prize for the foot race twelve stately cows, each with a suckling calf. Her son had captured them while he was fighting on the slopes of Ida and brought them back to the camp as spoils.
And now Teucer, son of Telamon, and Ajax of Locris, the fleet-footed son of Oileus, stripped to the belt. Agamemnon set up the goal, and they darted forward like two hawks. To the right and left of them stood the Argives, watching and shouting applause. Both were close to the goal when a tamarisk shrub blocked the path of Teucer; he stumbled and fell. The Danai shrieked with excitement as Ajax of Locris outstripped him, touched the goal post, and triumphantly led off the cows to his ships. Teucer’s friends took him to his house limping. Physicians washed the blood from his foot and carefully bound it up.
Two other heroes volunteered for the wrestling match, Diomedes and Ajax the Great, son of Telamon. Both wrestled with equal strength, but in the end Ajax locked the son of Tydeus in his sinewy arms and almost throttled him. But Diomedes who was deft as well as muscular slipped slantwise out of that terrible grip, straightened his shoulders, lifted his mighty opponent straight into the air, so that he was forced to relinquish his hold, and with a thrust of his left foot threw him to the ground. The spectators shouted their applause, but Ajax pulled himself together and the struggle began afresh. They raged like two bulls who fight in the mountains and butt each other with heads as hard as iron. This time Ajax took Diomedes by the shoulders and tossed him to earth as if he were a rock, and he rolled a little way. Again acclaim rang through the circle. But Diomedes too picked himself up and prepared for a third bout. Then Nestor stepped between them and said: “Stop wrestling, my children. For there is not one among us who does not know that, since the death of Achilles, you are the bravest of the Argives.” A cry of approval came from the spectators. The wrestlers wiped the sweat from their foreheads, embraced, and kissed each other. Thetis gave them four lovely women whom Achilles had captured in Lesbos, each distinguished for her goodness and skill. The first was versed in the arts of cookery, the second tasted the wine at the board, the third poured water at the close of the meal, and the fourth carried the platters from the table. Only Briseis surpassed them in beauty. Each wrestler chose those he wanted and sent them to his ships.
Then came the boxing match, for which Idomeneus, the hero most skilled in all the intricacies of this form of fighting, volunteered. Because of this, and also because he was one of the older men, no one offered to compete with him, and so Thetis gave him the chariot of Patroclus as a gift, while Phoenix and Nestor tried to persuade some of the younger men to volunteer for this contest. Epeius, son of Panopeus, and Acamas, son of Theseus, were willing to make the attempt. They bound the boxing thongs to their hands and examined them to see if they were flexible. Then they raised their hands, circled each other on their toes, step by step, until suddenly they rushed together like wind-driven clouds, full of thunder and lightning. Through the air rang the smack of the thongs on their cheeks, and blood flowed under the sweat. The son of Theseus fended off his assailant by craftily dodging his blows, and then, when he was least expecting it, struck him over the eyes with his fist, down to the bone, and blood spurted forth. And now Epeius hit him in the temple so that he slumped to the ground. But he rose to his feet again, and the match went on until friends interposed and made it clear to these two grim opponents that this was not a matter of Argive fighting Trojan to the very death. Thetis gave them two beautiful silver mixing bowls which her son had received in Lemnos. And the two young heroes reached for them eagerly, not waiting to stanch their wounds.
Now Ajax of Locris and Teucer, who had already measured their strength in the foot race, also competed for the prize of shooting with the bow. As a target, Agamemnon set up a helmet with a fluttering mane. He whose arrow cut the horsehair was to be the victor. Ajax was first. He launched his arrow from the string and hit the helmet so that the metal rang. Then Teucer let fly his arrow, and the point cut the crest. All acclaimed him loudly, for though his foot was still lame from his earlier bout, he had aimed surely and well. Thetis rewarded him with the armor of Troilus, the princely youth of Troy, whom Achilles had slain in one of the first years of the war.
The shooting match was followed by th
rowing the discus. Many of the heroes tried their strength, but no one could throw the heavy disk as far as Ajax, son of Telamon. He tossed it as lightly as though it were a dry branch. Thetis gave him Memnon’s armor, and he girt it on at once. The Danai were astonished to see that piece for piece it fitted him as though it had been made to measure.
In the jump, Agapenor, brandisher of lances, was victorious, and he received the weapons of Cycnus whom Achilles had defeated. Euryalus won in casting the hunting spear, and his prize was the silver bowl Achilles had carried off from Lyrnessos.
Next came the chariot races. Five heroes harnessed their horses: Menelaus, son of Atreus, Euryalus, Polypoetes, Thoas, and Eumelus. Then each drove his chariot to the starting post. At a given sign they swung their goads, and all five at once sped across the plain; the air grew thick with dust and sand. Soon the horses of Eumelus outstripped all the rest. After him came Thoas, and then Menelaus. The other two had fallen far behind. But the horses of Thoas soon tired; those of Eumelus stumbled in their swift course, and when their driver wanted to drag them to their feet by force, they reared, threw over the chariot, and he tumbled into the sand. The spectators shouted and screamed, and now the horses of the son of Atreus were far in the lead and halted at the goal. Menelaus exulted in his victory, but he was not arrogant in his joy, and Thetis gave him the golden cup her son had once taken from the palace of Eetion.
THE DEATH OF AJAX THE GREAT
So ended the funeral games in honor of godlike Achilles. Odysseus was the only one of all the princes in the Argive host who had not taken part in them, for as he was fending off the Trojans from the body of Achilles, Alcon had dealt him a painful wound from which he had not yet recovered.
And now Thetis offered as a prize the armor and weapons of her son: his glittering shield, on which Hephaestus had worked graceful pictures, and the heavy helmet carved with the image of Zeus standing on the vault of heaven battling with the Titans; also the curved cuirass which had clasped the breast of the son of Peleus, dark and impenetrable; and the massive greaves which he had worn as though they were light as feathers. Close by lay his indomitable sword in its silver scabbard, with a golden knob and handle of ivory. Beside it was the weighty spear, as long as a felled pine, and still red with Hector’s blood.
Behind the weapons stood Thetis, her head covered with a dark veil. Sadly she said to the Danai: “All the prizes offered at the funeral games in honor of my son have been won. Now let the best among the Argives, he who saved the corpse, come forward, for to him I shall give the splendid weapons of Achilles. All of them were gifts from the gods, and the immortals themselves delighted in them.”
It was then that two heroes at once laid claim to the arms, Odysseus, son of Laertes, and Ajax the Great, son of Telamon. Radiant as the evening star Ajax drew the weapons to him and called on Idomeneus, Nestor, and Agamemnon to testify to his valiant defense. But Odysseus called on the very same three, for they were the most wise and just in the entire host. Nestor took the other two aside and said in a troubled voice: “It is most unfortunate for us that the two best warriors we have are vying for the weapons of slain Achilles. Whichever of them is denied will be offended and withdraw from the fight, and all of us will suffer the consequences of his anger. So do as I say, for I am old and experienced. We have here in our camp a number of Trojans who were captured only recently. Let them decide the quarrel between Ajax and Odysseus, for they have no preference and are not biased in favor of either of the heroes.” The others agreed and set up as judges the noblest of the Trojans, even though they were prisoners of war.
Ajax was the first to appear before them. “What demon has blinded you, Odysseus,” he cried, “that you dare to contend with me? You are as much inferior to me as the dog to the lion. Have you forgotten how reluctant you were to leave your home in Ithaca? And you were the one who persuaded us to leave behind in Lemnos Philoctetes, son of Poeas, in his sickness and misery. It is you who are guilty of the death of Palamedes who was stronger and wiser than you! And now you are willing to forget all the services I performed for the Argives, to forget that I saved your life when all the rest had abandoned you, and you were alone in the field and looked about you in vain for an opportunity to flee! When the fight for Achilles’ body started, was I not the one who carried off the corpse together with the armor? You would never have had the strength to carry the weapons, let alone the hero himself! That is why you should yield to me. In any case, I am stronger than you, of a nobler family, and related to the hero for whose arms we are competing.”
So spoke Ajax, and his excitement grew as he talked. But Odysseus replied with a mocking smile: “Why waste so many words, Ajax? You call me weak and cowardly and forget that only wisdom is true strength. It is wisdom that teaches the sailor to ride through a stormy sea, that tames wild beasts, panthers and lions, and compels oxen to serve man. And that is why both in times of need and in the council a man of sense is worth more than a foolish giant who has nothing but bodily strength. That was why Diomedes chose me when he wanted a companion for his expedition to the camp of Rhesus. He did it because I am more crafty and resourceful than anyone else. It was due to my wisdom that the son of Peleus was won for the fight against the Trojans. And if ever the Danai require a new hero for their host, believe me, Ajax, that neither your clumsy size nor the wit of another will secure him; he will come because of my smooth, persuasive words! But in addition to my wisdom the gods also lent me sturdy limbs, and it is not true that I was fleeing when you saved me from the enemy. I was facing them boldly and killing those who attacked, while you stood apart, intent on your own safety.”
In this way they quarrelled for a long time. But finally the Trojans, who had been set up as judges, were impressed with the reasoning of Odysseus and unanimously awarded him the magnificent arms of the son of Peleus.
When Ajax heard the verdict, the blood boiled in his veins. His brain throbbed with anger, and he trembled in every fiber. For a long time he stood motionless and fixed his eyes on the ground. At last his friends succeeded in taking him back to the ships. He walked slowly, and every step expressed stubborn reluctance.
In the meantime dark night rose out of the sea. Ajax sat in his house. He would not touch food. He would not sleep. Finally he girt on his armor and gripped his double-edged sword, considering whether to cut Odysseus to pieces, burn the ships, or rage among all the Argives together. And he surely would have done one of these three things, had not Athene who was concerned for Odysseus, her friend, and hostile to mighty Ajax, sent madness on him as he brooded on the harm he would do. Anguish pricked his heart, and he rushed from his house and among the flocks of sheep which, because he was blinded by the goddess, he took for Argive battalions. The shepherds saw him coming and hid in the bushes on the shores of Xanthus. And he slaughtered the sheep right and left. With his spear he killed two great rams, one after another, and taunted them: “Writhe in the dust, you dogs! Lie as the prey of birds! Never again will you two sons of Atreus confirm an unjust decision. And you,” he continued, “you, who are lurking there in the corner and hiding your head because you have a bad conscience, now the arms of Achilles which you stole from me and which you vaunt will avail you nothing, for what good is the armor of a hero when a coward wears it?” With that he seized another huge wether, dragged him away to his house, bound him to a door-post, and took a goad and began to beat the creature with all his might.
At this moment Athene approached him from behind, touched his head, and bade the madness leave him. Unhappy Ajax found himself goad in hand, staring at the wether, its back torn to shreds. The goad fell from his fingers, his strength left him, and he sank to the ground, divining that he was the victim of a god’s anger. Boundless sorrow filled his spirit. When he rose from the dust he was overcome with such hopeless despair that he could move his feet neither forward nor backward but stood motionless as a tower on the peak of a mountain. Finally he heaved a deep sigh and said: “Alas! Why do the immortals hate me
? Why have they humiliated me for love of crafty Odysseus? Here I stand, a man who has never returned from a fight dishonored; here I stand soiled with the blood of guiltless sheep, an object of ridicule, a target for the taunts of my foes!”
While he was lamenting his disgrace, Tecmessa, the daughter of the king of Phrygia, whom Ajax had taken from her country as spoils of war, and whom he honored and loved as if she were his wife, had been looking for him all over the camp and by the ships. Her little son Eurysaces clung in her arms. She had seen that her master was brooding and sad, but she did not know the reason, for he refused to answer when she questioned him. Soon after he left she was troubled with dark forebodings, and she followed him and saw the sheep scattered dead over the field. She hurried back to the house and there found Ajax ashamed and desperate, calling now for Teucer, his half brother, now for his child Eurysaces, and praying for a death befitting a noble hero. Tecmessa approached him in tears, clasped his knees, and implored him not to leave her alone, a captive among enemies. She reminded him of his old father and mother in Salamis, and held out the child to him, picturing his lot if he were forced to grow up without his father, governed by harsh taskmasters.
Impulsively Ajax stretched out his arms to his son, took him and caressed him, saying: “Child, surpass your father in happiness, but resemble him in all else; then everything will be well with you. My half brother Teucer will rear you and cherish you. But now my shield-bearers shall take you to my parents, Telamon and Eriboea, in Salamis, so that you may delight the last years of their life, until they too descend to Hades.” With that he handed the boy over to his servants and commended Tecmessa too to his half brother. Then he tore himself from her embrace, drew the sword which Hector, his foe, had once given him, and fixed it firmly in the ground. Finally he raised his hands to heaven and prayed: “It is a little thing I ask of you, Father Zeus: when I am dead, send my brother Teucer quickly. Do not let my foes reach me before him and throw my body to the dogs and birds of prey. And I call on you, Furies: as you see me here, the slayer of myself, so let those others fall, done to death by their own, by their dearest kin. Come! Show no mercy! Satisfy your hunger! But you, O sun-god, shining through the heights of the sky, when your chariot circles over Salamis, my native land, slow your journey and bring my old father and my poor mother news of my bitter fate. Farewell, sweet light! Farewell Salamis! Farewell Athens, the home of my ancestors, with your rivers and springs! And farewell, region of Troy, where I have lived so many years. And now, come Death, and may your eyes hold pity for me!” With these words he ran on his sword and fell as if struck by lightning.
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