‘My lord King,’ replied Achilles, ‘whether you keep your promise or not must be your own concern. I have set my heart on immediate battle; and subtle speculations about the divine authorship of our dispute do not interest me. What matters is that I should destroy Trojans, and that my men should remind themselves as they fight: “We have Achilles with us again!”’
Odysseus rose to protest. ‘Your courage is unquestionable,’ he said, ‘but do not take hungry men into the field! Since both Greeks and Trojans will be equally inspired by the gods, this struggle should prove a hard one; and who, however gallant, fights well on an empty belly? A substantial meal remedies such ailments as thirst, hunger, and lassitude; it also prolongs a soldier’s resistance until the armies part at dusk. So, pray allow your comrades to breakfast on meat and wine; in the meantime, Agamemnon can produce his gifts for us to admire. I am sure that they will please you. Further, by way of perfect appeasement, the High King must publicly swear that he has never yet slept with, or otherwise enjoyed, this woman Briseis. Afterwards, you should attend the banquet of reconciliation due to you at his headquarters.’ Addressing Agamemnon, Odysseus added: ‘My lord, although the proposed damages do not detract from your honour, you must try to treat allies more handsomely in future.’
Agamemnon answered: ‘I accept these strictures, son of Laertes, and will take that solemn oath—for which I needed no prompting. Let Achilles and his comrades curb their impatience, while the gifts are fetched and I confirm the oath by sacrifice. Here is a task for you, King Odysseus! Choose a group of young princes, lead them to my treasure-hut, and collect everything I promised Achilles: including the female captives. Talthybius must also secure a boar, which I will dedicate to Zeus and the Sun.’
Achilles demurred. ‘Most noble son of Atreus,’ he said, ‘another occasion—some short respite from war—would suit me better. My heart is too restless now. And how can you suggest breakfast, when so many Greek corpses strew the plain—corpses of your friends whom Zeus helped Hector to kill? I would have the army fight dry-throated and empty-bellied all day, and at nightfall enjoy a huge feast in celebration of vengeance victoriously taken. Myself, I will touch neither food nor drink before then. Ever since Patroclus’ battered body has lain stretched on that bier, his feet towards the hut-door, I can think only of warfare, blood, and the groans of the Trojans I intend to destroy.’
‘My lord Achilles,’ exclaimed Odysseus. ‘I dare not compete as a fighter with our greatest living champion; yet, since I am older, more experienced, and wiser than you, pray listen to me! Harvesters weary when they reap much straw, but little grain; soldiers weary when the issue of a hard-fought battle hangs in Zeus’ balance, and they foresee many wounds, but little plunder. It is absurd that these troops should fast in particular mourning for Patroclus! Hundreds of their comrades are killed daily. A similar honour paid to every fallen soldier would soon exhaust them. No, we survivors should inter the dead, lament briefly, then force ourselves to eat and drink as a means of preserving martial strength. The call to arms has already sounded, and need not be repeated. But any man who, after breakfast, skulks behind in the camp, instead of marching out and playing the hero, must expect no mercy!’
Odysseus duly chose seven noblemen: Nestor’s two sons, Meges son of Phyleus, Thoas, Meriones, Lycomedes son of Creon, and Melanippus, whom he led towards Agamemnon’s treasure-hut. There they collected his gifts: seven tripods, twenty new cauldrons, twelve horses, seven captive craftswomen, and the lovely Briseis.
Having weighed the promised ten talents of gold, Odysseus led his companions back, and they set everything down on the Assembly Ground. Talthybius, the loud-voiced royal herald, held a struggling boar, and Agamemnon, who stood beside him, drew his dagger from where it always hung—next to the sword scabbard—and severed the victim’s fore-lock. Looking up to Heaven, he prayed shrilly:
‘Almighty Father, merciful to men,
You too, sweet Mother EARTH, vigilant SUN,
And black Infernal FURIES who avenge
The breach of solemn oaths: be witness now
That I have neither slept with Briseis
Nor carnally possessed her. She has dwelt
Chastely secluded in my treasure-hut.
If these be lies, I grant you liberty
To plague me as a faithless wretch forsworn!’
His dagger slit the boar’s throat, and Talthybius, catching the carcase by the trotters, swung it into the sea as food for fishes.
Achilles rose again, and spoke: ‘Since this is what you require of me, comrades, I agree that Father Zeus cruelly deranges men’s wits, and that, had he not planned to destroy large numbers of Greeks, the High King would never have angered me by shamelessly demanding my prize of honour. So begone to your breakfasts; we will fight as soon as they are eaten.’
The Assembly broke up at once, Achilles’ Myrmidons carrying the tripods, cauldrons, and talents to his compound. They were followed by Briseis and his seven new slave-women, while grooms took charge of the twelve horses.
Briseis (who was no less attractive than Aphrodite the Golden) flung herself on Patroclus’ corpse and wailed aloud, tearing her breasts and neck and beautiful face. ‘Dear protector!’ she sobbed. ‘When I left this hut you were still alive. Oh, how I am dogged by misfortune! My parents married me in style to a suitable husband; but he and my three brothers died at the capture of Lyrnessus. Now Patroclus’ turn has come! After Achilles had widowed me, he would often say: “Dry your eyes, Briseis, daughter of Mynes; I will persuade him to marry you. We three shall sail off together and celebrate your wedding at Phthia.” My heart aches for him; no kinder man ever lived!’ Briseis’ seven fellow-captives wailed too, though they were brooding on their own troubles, not lamenting Patroclus’ death.
The Royal Councillors pressed Achilles to take some nourishment. He groaned in answer: ‘Can none of you understand that my grief is too great for eating or drinking? I will fast until sunset, whatever it may cost me.’
Defeated by his obduracy, they all walked away, except Agamemnon, Menelaus, Odysseus, Nestor, Idomeneus of Crete, and the venerable Phoenix, who vainly tried to comfort him. He sighed heavily, and addressed Patroclus once more: ‘Dearest friend, who used to prepare such savoury breakfasts, and with such speed, too, those mornings when we had to rise at dawn and battle against the Trojans; but this cruel blow has destroyed my appetite… King Peleus’ death would have affected me far less—poor old father, I can imagine him shedding big tears, longing for my return from what he calls “that foreign war caused by Queen Helen’s fatal beauty”. He must be very frail and miserable now, in daily fear of news that he has outlived me. Not even my son Neoptolemus’ death in Scyros—where I have had him educated—could cause me so much grief as yours, Patroclus! Though doomed to die at Troy myself, I trusted that you would survive and sail home by way of Scyros, fetching the boy, and showing him his inheritance at Phthia—my lofty palace, my servants, my treasures.’
Achilles’ tears were catching: the High King and the five Councillors remembered their distant homes, and wept in sympathy. At last, Zeus took pity on Achilles, saying to Athene: ‘Daughter, why casually abandon your favourite hero? Can he be in disgrace with you? There he sits, broken-hearted and lonesome, and continues to fast when everyone else is feasting comfortably. Fly away, and stave off his pangs of hunger by giving him a little divine food!’
Athene gladly swooped down and, while the Greeks re-armed themselves, let fall on Achilles’ breast a subtle distillation of nectar and ambrosia, which penetrated his skin and made him enormously strong; but she vanished before the parade formed up.
The north wind blows; from realms of sky
Huge clouds of snowflakes earthward fly!
Bright and numerous as snowflakes, the Greeks poured from their ships, the gay sunlight twinkling on polished helmets, shield-bosses, plated corslets, and sharp spear-blades. The glint was clearly visible in Heaven, and the earth around them laughed. Tram
p, tramp, went their feet; and Achilles, with a furious gnashing of teeth, and such intolerable grief for Patroclus that his eyes blazed, buckled on the divine armour.
First the greaves and their silver ankle-pieces—then the corslet, then the baldric, from which hung a great silver-studded broadsword—I forgot to mention this gift—then the famous shield.
By adverse winds across the sea
Borne far out of our course, we stare
Ahead in doubt and misery;
But yonder, see, a distant glare
Of firelight through the gloom, that spills
From some lone farm-house on the hills!
The Greeks gazed at Achilles’ shield no less hopefully. It shone like the full moon. On his head, he placed the new, strong, lucent, bright-crested helmet—Hephaestus had inserted golden plumes among the horsehair—and leaped about to prove that the armour allowed his limbs free play. All was well! The corslet and helmet gave him wings, so to speak; he felt free as a bird. Finally, returning to the hut, he snatched from its stand the huge, heavy, tough lance which he alone could wield. This lethal weapon—the shaft, an ash-tree that grew on Mount Pelion—had been presented to his father Peleus by Cheiron the Centaur.
Automedon and Alcimus yoked Xanthus and Balius on either side of the chariot-pole; adjusted the breast-harness, set bits in their jaws, saw to the reins. Automedon took his whip and mounted. Achilles, who might have been mistaken for Hyperion the Sun Titan, followed. He now sternly admonished the horses: ‘Foals of Podarce, behave better this time than last! Whatever happens, do not abandon me, as you abandoned Patroclus! I expect to be brought safely back.’
A miracle! Queen Hera the White-Armed opened the mouth of Xanthus! He bowed submissively, dipping his mane to the ground, and neighed: ‘Most noble Achilles, Balius and I are your loyal steeds until nightfall. You still have a few days of life, but we will not accept the blame when death strikes. It was no negligence on our part that let the Trojans despoil Patroclus. Phoebus Apollo, Leto’s glorious son, half-killed him in the mělée; Hector struck only the final blow. Understand that, though able to race against our father Zephyr—reputedly the swiftest of the winds—we cannot outstrip Fate. You yourself, Master, are doomed to die, like Patroclus, at the hands of an Immortal—and of a mortal!’
The Furies officiously intervened before Xanthus could finish his speech, and Achilles cried in anger: ‘Xanthus, what ill manners! How dare you prophesy my death? I was already aware of its imminence; nor will this prevent me from first giving the Trojans a proper surfeit of war.’
He drove forward with a yell.
Book Twenty:
God Fights God
As Achilles and his fellow-Greeks armed themselves, so also did Hector’s Trojans in their bivouacs overlooking the naval camp. At the same time, Zeus the Cloud-Gatherer asked Themis, Goddess of Law and Order, to summon all gods of whatever rank or standing to an immediate council on Olympus’ topmost peak. They trooped up by the hundred, among them being every known river-god, with the exception of old Oceanus, and every single forest-nymph, fountain-nymph and meadow-nymph, without exception; then settled down under the polished colonnades which Hephaestus, the ingenious Smith-god, had built at his father Zeus’ desire.
Poseidon the Earth-Shaker had obeyed the summons. ‘Brother of the Lightning Flash,’ he cried, as he emerged from the sea and took his place in the middle of the Assembly, ‘why have you called yet another divine council? Can it be to discuss the new fierce battle that seems imminent at Troy?’
‘Earth-Shaker,’ replied Zeus, ‘there was no need for that question. I have the fortunes of both armies very much at heart, even when they engage in mutual slaughter; so I shall post myself between two crags of Olympus and enjoy a quiet view of the battle… Listen, all gods and goddesses: you are hereby permitted to take the field on either side, just as you please. This is because Achilles the Swift-Footed will soon break the Trojan ranks unless I concede them divine assistance. They have always been terrified of him and, with his ill-temper now exacerbated by the death of Patroclus, I fear he may transgress the writ of Fate, and try to storm Troy.’
Zeus’ words excited such passionate feelings that the Immortals at once formed rival factions. The Greeks secured as their patrons Queen Hera, Pallas Athene, Poseidon, Hermes the Helper (the cleverest strategist and tactician on Olympus), also powerful Hephaestus who hobbled busily about on his shrunken legs. The Trojans secured the indefatigable War-god Ares, Phoebus Apollo, his sister and fellow-archer Artemis, their mother Leto, the Trojan River-god Xanthus, and laughter-loving Aphrodite.
So long as these deities avoided battle, the Greeks could do as they would, since Achilles had clearly been invigorated by his rest; but when they at last appeared, Strife towered up among them, cheering on both, and the odds grew shorter. Beside the fosse, Athene screamed her war-cry, then went along the echoing shore and repeated it; whereupon Ares gave a hideous counter-shout, like the noise of a black, rushing storm, first from the Citadel of Troy where he stood, and then in flight down the banks of the Simöeis and over Callicolone.
This time, not content merely to exhort their champions, the Immortals entered the fray themselves, and a dreadful clamour arose; for Apollo confronted Poseidon; and Athene, Ares; and Artemis, Queen Hera; and Hermes, Leto. Hephaestus was challenged by the god of the great, deep-eddying river which the Olympians call Xanthus, but men Scamander. Zeus thundered terribly from the sky, while his brother Poseidon shook plains and high mountains with a heavy earthquake. The spurs of many-fountained Mount Ida quivered, so did the Citadel of Troy; and the Greek fleet rocked, though on dry land. The third brother, King Hades, sprang from his subterranean throne shouting in alarm, lest the ceiling might collapse and leave his vast, grim, loathsome palace exposed to the gaze alike of mortals and Immortals.
Apollo knew that Achilles’ heart was set upon meeting Hector, whose blood seemed the most suitable sacrifice he could offer Ares. Disguising himself therefore as Prince Lycaon, Priam’s son, he approached Aeneas, and asked in Lycaon’s own voice: ‘What of the boasts you made, son of Anchises, while drinking wine among the Trojan Royal Councillors? You undertook to fight Achilles.’
Aeneas answered: ‘Why urge me to challenge that mad hero? Anyone can see how little I would enjoy the encounter, which would not be our first. Achilles once raided my cattle on Mount Ida, drove me away at the point of his spear, and afterwards sacked the towns of Lyrnessus and Pedasus. Zeus graciously strengthened my legs, and I escaped. I had no alternative, because Athene flew ahead of Achilles, providing light for the slaughter of Trojans and Lelegians. Nobody could stand up to him! Some Olympian is always at hand to parry thrusts; nor does his lance ever miss, but bursts through the strongest armour and drives straight into the flesh. If Zeus would match us two on equal terms, that might be a different tale: although Achilles boasts himself solid bronze, he would find victory harder to achieve.’
‘True, my lord,’ Apollo agreed. ‘Yet, since you are reputedly the son of Aphrodite, why not resort to prayer? Achilles has a less exalted birth than yours. His mother Thetis is a mere Nereid, daughter of the old Sea-god Nereus, whereas Aphrodite’s father is none other than Almighty Zeus. Come, hurl your spear at Achilles, despite his taunts and threats!’
Apollo then breathed high courage into Aeneas, whose armour flashed as he strode forward. Hera, observing him, nudged Athene and Poseidon, saying: ‘Consider well, dear allies, what will happen if we do not intervene! We must either turn him back without delay, or else one of us must reassure Achilles that he has the pick of the Olympians behind him, and that the patrons in whom the Trojans trust are fickle as the wind. Surely we descended from Heaven on purpose to give Achilles a successful day? Later, of course, he is bound to suffer the doom which Fate’s spindle span him at the hour of his birth; but now, unless first emboldened by an immortal voice, he will shrink from any hostile god who opposes him. Remember that, as a rule, mortals avert their eyes in our presence.’
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‘Hera, you are unreasonably fierce!’ replied Poseidon. ‘I am opposed, myself, to pitting gods against gods. Why not let us all quit the field, and sit apart, leaving these Trojans and Greeks to fight it out? Only if Ares or Phoebus Apollo join in the battle, or dare hamper Achilles’ feats of matchless valour, should we take arms ourselves; and then, no doubt, they will both flee to Olympus before our superior strength.’
Poseidon brought Hera to her senses. They went off together and sat on the high rampart between beach and plain which, many years previously, Athene had helped the Trojans to build as a shelter for Heracles while he was rescuing King Laomedon’s daughter Hesione from a sea-beast sent by Poseidon himself to plague Troy. The other gods who favoured the Greeks now joined their seniors, wrapping themselves in cloaks of impenetrable cloud; whereupon Ares, Apollo, and their faction occupied Callicolone’s pleasant bluffs. Every god planned stratagems; but though Zeus, far away on Olympus, wanted to see them fight, they were all averse to active warfare.
Infantry and chariotry covered the wide battlefield; arms glittered brightly, and earth echoed when the two armies, each headed by a resolute champion—Aeneas and Achilles—confronted each other on the plain.
Aeneas’ plume tossed menacingly, he brandished his spear and displayed his deft management of a shield. Achilles rushed to meet him, like a lion:
The tribe advancing on a lion chase,
Knew well what beast had ravaged their hill farms;
He did not stop the vengeful horde to face
But kept an even pace, scornful of arms.
Confusion! At the lion’s tawny side
Some youth had flung a javelin, and aimed true.
Foam flecked his fangs, he opened his jaws wide
Roaring in pride against the insolent crew.
With frequent lashings of his tufted tail