“Speak not falsely, Atride,” answered Sthenelus, as Diomedes bowed respectfully under the king’s reproaches. “We boast ourselves braver than our fathers, for they led many foot-soldiers and horsemen to Thebes and failed to take the city, while we stormed it with but few followers. Do not praise our fathers at our expense.”
“Silence, friend,” interrupted Diomedes. “I do not blame Agamemnon for inciting the Achaians to battle. The fame and gain will be his if the war is ended gloriously, and his the disgrace and ruin should the Achaians be put to flight.”
With these words he sprang from the chariot, so that his bronze harness rattled, and began to arm himself for the fight. Agamemnon passed on. While he was mustering the right wing, the left advanced to the attack. They moved slowly and silently forward, enveloped in a cloud of dust. At last Achaians and Trojans met; shield rang against shield, lance broke lance. Now loud shouts arose, and mingled with the battle cries were heard the groans of the wounded and dying being dragged away by their friends, that they might not be trampled upon or subjected to the cruelties of the enemy. Above the din of battle rose the commands of the chieftains and the cries of the soldiers. Swords hissed through the air, spears whistled, shields rang against one another.
Hector, seeing his companions give way, called to them: “Forward, Trojan horsemen! Come, do not leave the field to the Argives. They are made neither of iron nor stone that our spears should rebound from them, and Achilles, the great hero, no longer fights in their ranks.”
The Trojans took courage at this and renewed the battle. Diores, the Greek, was stretched senseless upon the ground by a heavy stone, and just as his conqueror, the Trojan Peirus, had given him the deathblow with his spear and was about to strip his victim, Thoas the Ætolian rushed upon him with his sword and he fell across the body of Diores. But Thoas was obliged to flee in turn, for the Trojans ran up to carry off Peirus, and he had to seek other booty. It had been a hot day and horse and rider were panting.
The sun stood high in the heavens and the battle continued to rage with the greatest bitterness. Hector and Æneas, Agamemnon, Ulysses, and the other great heroes raged about the broad battlefield like beasts of prey. Diomedes was especially favored by Athena on this great day and laid many warriors in the dust. Among the Trojans, two sons of the rich and pious priest of Vulcan, Dares, spurred forward from the swarm of warriors against him. One of them cast his spear at the hero, but missed the mark, which but served to enrage the warrior. He grimly cast back at the youth and pierced him through the heart. His brother turned and fled and Diomedes quickly seized the handsome steeds and commanded his men to conduct them to the ships.
One could not tell to which side Diomedes belonged, for he was always in the midst of the fight. He was at last espied by Pandarus, the same who had broken the oath by shooting at Menelaus. He approached Diomedes stealthily from behind and shot a sharp arrow into his right shoulder, so that blood stained his coat of mail. “Come, ye Trojans,” he cried, “I have wounded the most formidable of the Achaians.” But the arrow had not penetrated so deeply as he thought. Diomedes sought his charioteer Sthenelus. “Friend,” he said, “come quickly and pluck this arrow from my shoulder.” As it was withdrawn, blood spurted from the wound and the warrior prayed to Athena: “Hear me, goddess, and as thou hast ever been my protector in battle, oh aid me now and let me slay the man who hath wounded me and boasts that I shall not much longer see the light of day.”
The goddess heard him and stanched the blood. “Thou canst return to the fight,” she said. “I have endowed thee with the strength and courage of thy father and will distinguish thee to-day above all other Achaians. Only take care not to oppose the immortal gods in battle, but attack all others courageously. If Jupiter’s daughter Aphrodite should enter the field, thou mayest wound her with thy sharp spear.” The goddess disappeared and Diomedes flew back to the foremost ranks with renewed ardor. Behind him came his followers, ready to strip his victims of their armor and to carry away the captured horses and chariots. Æneas called upon Pandarus and said: “Where are to-day thy bow and never-failing arrows? Here is a chance to distinguish thyself. See, there is a man who has slain many, and none of our warriors can prevail against him.”
“That is Diomedes, son of Tydeus,” interrupted Pandarus; “he must be under the protection of a god. Already my arrow has wounded him so that blood spurted from the place, and in spite of this he is again in the field wielding his deadly lance. I dare not aim at him again, for it is unlucky to contend with the gods. Besides, I came on foot to Ilium and have no horses or chariot.”
“Come, friend, take mine and learn what Trojan horses are. Here, take the whip and reins, while I remain on foot and watch the fight.”
“Do thou guide the steeds thyself, Æneas, for they know thee; else might Diomedes take them captive and slay us too. I will meet him with the point of my sharp spear.”
Together they mounted the handsome chariot and dashed toward Diomedes, who was driving across the field with Sthenelus. “Look!” cried Sthenelus. “There come two heroes making for us. Let me turn back, for they seem bold warriors, and thou art weary with long fighting and thy painful wound.”
“Not so,” said Diomedes angrily. “It is not my custom thus to flee. I will await them here, and if one of them escape, the other shall be my prey. Do thou follow me, and if I should wound them both, seize thou the enemy’s steeds. I know them. They are magnificent horses of the famous breed which Jupiter once gave to King Thoas for his captured son Ganymede. Hasten, for the chariot is already upon us.”
He swung himself to the ground and at the same moment Pandarus’ arrow struck his shield, and though it made him stagger, he shook the shield in Pandarus’ face and cried: “Do not triumph too soon, but rather take care that thou thyself escape death!” Æneas turned his steeds in terror, but he could not save his friend; Diomedes’ spear had struck him down. As Æneas descended to bear away the body, he too was sorely wounded. Sthenelus meanwhile led away the beautiful steeds and they were taken to Diomedes’ tents.
Aphrodite now approached her fainting son and her merciful arms bore him off the field. “It must be a goddess who has rescued him,” said Diomedes to himself. “But it can be none other than Aphrodite, who appears so unwarlike. Good, I will overtake her and attain undying fame.” He hastened after the goddess, swung his spear, and wounded her in the wrist, so that her clear blood stained the earth. The goddess screamed and let the warrior slip from her arms, but he was again rescued by Phœbus Apollo, who covered him with a dark cloud.
Diomedes still pursued the goddess with loud cries. “Retire, daughter of Jupiter, and leave the battlefield to men. It is bad enough that thou causest women to bring such misery upon the nations. Woe to thee shouldst thou come near me in the fight!” The goddess was terrified and fled as fast as she could. Iris came to meet her and conducted her to the edge of the battlefield, where Mars, the god of war, sat gloating over his work. A cloud surrounded him and concealed him from mortal eyes. “Dear brother,” said Aphrodite, “lend me thy horses that I may quickly reach Olympus. Look! A mortal has wounded me.” Iris took the reins and the horses flew swiftly away through the air.
Meanwhile Diomedes was still on the field seeking Æneas, and not until he heard Apollo’s threatening voice, “Take heed, son of Tydeus, and give way, tremble and do not strive with the gods,” did he desist and remember Athena’s warning. Apollo carried Aphrodite’s son to his sacred temple on the heights of Pergamus. There he healed and strengthened him, and the hero soon reappeared among his followers, who were amazed at the miracle. He at once plunged into the fight and slew many brave youths among the Achaians.
Apollo had meanwhile complained to Mars of the defeat of the Trojans and of Diomedes’ insolence in daring to attack the gods. The god of war, who inclined first to one side, then to the other, was persuaded to take part in the battle himself, and this time to support the Trojans. Concealed in a cloud, he strode first before Hector, then before another Trojan, and wherever he went the aim never failed. Diomedes, however, had been endowed by his friend Athena with the power to recognize the gods when they appeared amongst men, so that he was terrified, as he was about to throw himself upon Hector, to see the war god striding before him. He started back, and hastening toward the other Greek warriors cried: “Take care, friends, give way and do not contend with the gods! For Hector hath ever a god at his side. Mars is with him now in the guise of a mortal.” Diomedes, in awe of Mars, retired from the field, although the battle still raged. Hector slew two of the bravest Greek warriors and captured their horses. Ajax of Salamis looked grimly on, but did not dare attack him; he preferred to pursue a weaker man, Amphius of Pæsus.
The battle had begun almost under the walls of Troy, but the Greeks had been forced back nearly to the ships, and they began to lose courage. Juno and Athena now determined to protect their favorites; for had they not promised Menelaus to avenge his wrongs? They signed Hebe to hitch the horses to the splendid chariot. Athena donned her breastplate, put on her golden helmet, and took up her mighty lance and the shield called ægis. It was decorated with golden tassels and in the midst was the head of Medusa, the mere sight of which turned men to stone. Thus armed, she mounted the shining chariot, and Juno, standing beside her, guided the steeds. The gates of heaven, guarded by the Horæ, opened of themselves and the goddesses stormed the heights of Olympus, where the father of the gods was sitting in solitude looking down upon the confusion. “Art thou not angered, Father Jupiter,” spake Juno, “that Mars is destroying the great and noble Achaian people? Wilt thou object if I force him from the field?”
Jupiter answered: “To work! Set Pallas Athena upon him. She will soon discomfit him.”
Overjoyed at the permission, Juno turned the horses and in an instant they had descended to the field before Troy. They paused where the Simois flows into the Scamander and enveloped chariot and steeds in a thick cloud. Then they hastened to the side of Tydeus’ son, and in Stentor’s shape and with his brazen voice Juno cried out: “Shame upon ye, people of Argos, so glorious to look upon and so faint-hearted. When Achilles was among you, the Trojans scarce ventured from the gates, but now that the only man among you is gone, they push you back to the ships.”
Athena approached Diomedes where he stood beside his chariot, cooling the wound which Pandarus had inflicted. He was just beginning to feel the pain of it and could scarcely move his arm. He loosened the leather straps and pressed out the blood. “Shame upon you, son of Tydeus,” said the goddess reproachfully. “Thou art not as thy noble father. He was more eager for the fray and slew countless men of Cadmus’ race before Thebes. Thou knowest that I never leave thy side. Speak, how can fear have dominion over thee?”
“Goddess,” answered the hero, “for I recognize thy voice, neither sloth nor fear restrain me, but I remember thy command. I plunged into the thick of the fight and piled corpse on corpse, until I saw Mars, the terrible, who fights in the front ranks of the Trojans. I gave way before him and warned the others; for who shall fight against the gods?”
The goddess answered: “Diomedes, beloved of my soul, henceforth fear neither Mars nor any of the immortals, for I am beside thee. Turn thy prancing horses upon Mars and wound him boldly at close range, the unstable one.”
She then took Sthenelus’ place in the chariot, wearing the helm of Aides, which rendered her invisible even to Mars. She guided the chariot straight towards him. When Mars saw Diomedes approaching he turned towards him, and leaning over, was about to plunge his spear into his body, but Athena turned it aside, and now Diomedes gave him such a thrust in the side that a mortal would certainly have succumbed. He withdrew the shaft and Mars fled, howling like ten thousand men. Both Achaians and Trojans were terrified at the din and Diomedes was amazed at his own deed and saw with astonishment the god rise up into the sky. There he showed the painful wound to Jupiter and complained loudly of Athena.
But the father of the gods answered grimly: “Spare me thy whining! I despise thee above all the gods. Thou hast always loved quarrels and bickerings and art as stubborn and contentious as thy mother, Juno. But I cannot see my son suffer.” With these words he commanded Pæon, the physician of Olympus, to heal him. He placed a cooling balm upon the wound and Mars was healed, for he was immortal. Then Juno bathed him and clothed him with soft garments. As soon as the murderous Mars had been driven from the field the goddesses returned to the dwellings of the Olympian gods.
The day was declining, but once more the Achaians pressed forward with renewed courage, knowing that Mars was no longer on the field. The Trojans gave way before them, and soon they were near enough to see again the elders and the women upon the city walls. Hector and Æneas did their best to spur the soldiers to resistance, but without avail. Then Helenus, one of Priam’s sons, who had the gift of prophecy, spake unto Hector: “Dear brother, do thou and Æneas try once more to encourage the people. Then go and leave the battle to us. Hasten into the city. Tell our mother quickly to summon the noble women of the city to Athena’s sacred temple and there to lay her most costly garment in the lap of the goddess. Furthermore she shall promise to sacrifice twelve yearling calves upon Athena’s altar, if she will repulse that terrible warrior, Tydeus’ son.”
Hector carried out his brother’s bidding and while he was away the Achaians regained the supremacy. Nestor went busily about admonishing them not to waste any time in collecting booty, but only to kill, kill, kill. Afterward, he said, there would be plenty of time to strip the accoutrements from the slain. Diomedes the insatiable, panting still for fresh conquests, espied a man among the Trojans whom he had never seen before, but who appeared by his rich armor, his stature, and commanding mien to be one of the leaders. When they had approached each other within a spear’s cast, they both reined in their steeds and Diomedes cried out to the enemy: “Who art thou, excellent sir? I have not seen thee before, although thou seemest to be a practised warrior. Art thou some god? Then would I not contend with thee, for such rashness hath ever brought misfortune to a mortal. But if thou art a man like myself, advance, that thou mayest quickly meet thy doom.”
It was Glaucus, Hippolochus’ son, who answered: “Oh son of Tydeus, dost thou ask who I am? The children of men are like the leaves of the forest, blown about by the winds and budding anew when Spring approaches. One flourishes and another fades. My race is a glorious one. It sprang from the Argive land and my ancestors ruled the city of Ephyra. Anolus was the founder of my family; Sisyphus, his son, was that wise king whose son was Glaucus; his son in turn the glorious Bellerophon, endowed by the gods with superhuman beauty and strength. Who has not heard of his heroic deeds? He slew Chimæra, the creature with a lion’s head, a dragon’s tail, and body of a goat—a savage, ravening monster. Next he conquered the king’s hostile neighbors, gaining every battle. The king gave him his beautiful daughter and half of his kingdom. His two sons were Isander and Hippolochus, who is my father. He sent me hither to Troy and admonished me to excel all others and never to disgrace my ancestors.”
Diomedes planted his spear in the sand, crying joyfully: “Then thou art my friend for old times’ sake. My grandfather Œneus entertained the glorious Bellerophon in his house for twenty days, and on his departure they exchanged gifts in token of friendship. Œneus’ gift was a purple girdle and Bellerophon’s a golden goblet, which I have in my possession and often admire. Therefore thou shalt be my guest in Argos and I thine, if I should ever visit Lycia. So let us avoid each other in the battle. There remain enough Trojans for me and enough Achaians for thee to kill. But as a pledge of the agreement let us exchange armor that it may be seen that we are friends of old standing.” They descended from their chariots, shook hands cordially, and took off their armor. Glaucus got the worst of the bargain, for his breastplate and shield were of gold, while those of Diomedes were only of brass. However, he gave them up gladly. They then renewed their vows of friendship and drove rapidly away in opposite directions.
When Hector reached the Scæan gate he was surrounded by Trojan women inquiring for their sons, brothers, and husbands, but he could not stay to comfort them and hastened away to his father’s palace, where he sought out his venerable mother, Hecuba. “Dear son,” she began, “why hast thou deserted the battlefield to come hither? The cruel Achaians are pressing us hard. But tarry until I bring thee good wine, that thou mayest make an offering to the gods and then refresh thyself; for wine giveth strength to a weary man.”
“Not so, mother,” answered Hector. “Befouled as I am, how can I sacrifice to the gods? Not for this did I come hither, but to bring thee a message from Helenus.” Then he repeated his brother’s instructions and Hecuba hastened to obey them.
Hector meanwhile made his way to the handsome palace of Paris, where he found his brother turning over and examining his weapons. Helen sat by the fireside among her maidens, occupied with domestic tasks. “Strange man!” said Hector. “I cannot understand thy conduct. The people are melting away before the walls and this bloody battle is chiefly on thine account. Thou wert always bitter against the slothful and hast ever encouraged others to fight. Come, let us go, before the city is fired by the enemy.”
“Gladly will I follow thee, brother,” answered Paris. “Thy reproaches are just. I have been brooding upon my misfortune, but my wife has just persuaded me to return to the field, and I am ready. Tarry a while until I have put on my armor or else go and I will follow thee.”
“Dear Hector,” spake gracious Helen sadly, “how it grieves me to see you all engaged in this cruel war, for the sake of a contemptible woman like myself. O that I had been destroyed at birth or had been flung into the sea! Or, if the gods have destined me to such misfortune, would at least that I had fallen into the hands of a brave man, who would take the disgrace and reproaches of his family to heart and could wipe out his shame by heroic deeds. But Paris is not a man. Enter and be seated, Hector, for thou has toiled most arduously in my behalf and suffered most for thy brother’s crime.”
“Thy gracious invitation I may not accept,” answered Hector, “for my heart urges me to return to aid the Trojans. I beg thee persuade Paris to overtake me before I leave the city. Now I must go to my own house to see my wife once more and little son; for who knoweth whether I shall ever return?”
He did not find his spouse at home, but on the tower at the Scæan gate, where she was following the fate of the Trojans. As he neared the gate she came to meet him, the modest, sensible Andromache, and behind her came the nurse with the little boy. His loving wife took him tenderly by the hand and wept over him. “Thy courage will surely be thy death,” she said. “Take pity on thy miserable wife and infant son, for the Achaians will surely kill thee, and then I had best sink into the earth; for what would remain for me? I am alone. Hector, thou art father and mother and brother to me, my precious husband. Take pity on me and remain in the tower. Do not make me a widow and thy son an orphan.”
Hector answered: “Dearly beloved, I am troubled also at thy fate, but I could not face the Trojan people if I shunned danger like a coward. True, I foresee the day when sacred Ilium will fall, bringing disaster upon the king and all the people, and thy fate touches me more nearly than that of father, mother, or brothers. Thou mayest be carried away to slavery in Argos to labor for a cruel mistress. Rather would I be in the grave than see thee in misery.”
Sadly the hero stretched out his arms to his boy, but the child hid his face in the nurse’s bosom, terrified at the helmet with its fluttering plumes. Smiling, the father took it off and laid it on the ground, and now the boy went to him willingly. He kissed the child tenderly, and turning his eyes heavenward prayed fervently; “Jupiter and ye other gods, grant that my boy may be a leader among the Trojans like his father and powerful in Ilium, that sometime it may be said: ‘He is much greater than his father.’ May his mother rejoice in him.”
As he placed the child in its mother’s arms, she smiled through her tears. “Poor wife,” he said, caressing her, “do not grieve too much. I shall not be sent to Hades unless it is my fate—no one can escape his destiny, be he high or low. Do thou attend to thine affairs at home and keep thy maidens busily at work. Men are made for war, and I most of all.” He picked up his helmet and hurried away. Andromache went also, but often turned to gaze after her dear husband.
Paris overtook his brother at the gate. “Do not be angry, brother, at my tardiness,” he said. “My good fellow,” answered Hector, “thou art a brave warrior, but often indifferent. I cannot bear the scornful gossip of the people who are enduring so much for thy sake. But we will talk of this another time—perhaps when we shall make a thankoffering for the defeat of the Achaians.” Thus speaking they hastened towards the battlefield.
To the weary Trojans the appearance of the two heroes was as welcome as a long-desired breeze after a calm at sea to a sailor, and they soon made their presence felt. Pierced by Paris’ arrow, the excellent Menestheus fell and Hector slew the valiant Eïoneus. Many another who had believed Hector far away met death at his hands.
Then came his brother Helenus, the seer, and bade him summon a warrior from among the Achaians to come forth and fight with him in single combat. The gods had revealed to him that the day of Hector’s doom was not yet come. Immediately the hero ran to the front, and requesting a truce cried out: “Hear me, ye Trojans and Achaians! Jupiter hath brought to naught our agreement, and our quarrel has not been settled as we hoped. Let us now arrange a second combat. Send your most valiant warrior forth to fight with me. If he slay me, let him take my costly armor, but my body he shall send to Ilium, that my bones may be burned and the ashes preserved. Should the gods grant that I slay him, then I will hang his armor in the temple of Phœbus Apollo. But ye may raise a fitting monument on the shore, so that when his grandchild sails the Hellespont and passes the high promontory he may say: ‘That is the mighty monument to the brave hero whom Hector slew in the final combat.’”
For a while all was quiet in the Greek camp. Each was waiting for the other to offer himself, for it was a hazardous undertaking. At last Menelaus arose, overcome by a rising feeling of shame, and cried angrily to the other princes: “Ha! ye who can boast so well at home and on the battlefield are women, where is your courage now? It would indeed be our everlasting shame if none of the Achaians dared match himself with Hector. Sit still, ye cowards! I will gird myself for the fight. The victory lies in the hands of the immortal gods.”
He began to put on his armor, but the other kings, and even his brother, restrained him. “Stay, my brother,” said Agamemnon; “do not be in a hurry to take up the challenge. Some other valiant Achaian will doubtless come forward.” Menelaus reluctantly obeyed, and now old Nestor began to reproach the faint-hearted warriors. “Your hearts have no courage and your bones no marrow,” he said. “If I were like myself of old, when I slew the hero Ereuthalion, Hector should soon find his man.”
Abashed at Nestor’s well-merited rebuke, nine men arose and came forward. Agamemnon himself was among them and the two Ajaxes; the others were Diomedes, Ulysses, Idomeneus, and his charioteer Meriones, Eurypylus, and Thoas. It was proposed that they draw lots, and it fell to the elder Ajax, who was proud of the honor that had come to him. “I trust that Jupiter will give me the victory, for I am not unskilful and fear not the foeman; but pray for me that Jupiter may give me success,” he said.
Ajax now rushed forward to meet the waiting Hector. Truly he was no mean adversary, being a man of powerful build. His armor was impenetrable and it was this fact alone which now saved him from certain death. His shield was composed of seven layers of cowhide with an iron covering; helmet and breastplate were equally strong. According to the custom of the time, the combat did not begin at once and in silence, but the warriors first paused to taunt and revile each other.
Ajax cried out: “Now thou canst see, Hector, that there are still men among the Achaians who are not afraid to accept thy challenge, even though Achilles is not with us. I am but one of many. Come, let us to work!”
“Thinkest thou to anger me by thy defiance, son of Telamon?” answered Hector. “Do not deceive thyself. I know how to hurl the spear and turn the shield so that no bolt can touch me. My deeds bear witness to my words. Beware, valiant hero, I shall not attack thee with craft, but openly.”
At the same moment he hurled the great spear with all his might, and it pierced six of the leathern layers of Ajax’s shield before its power was spent. Ajax quickly aimed his own at Hector’s breast. Hector’s shield was not strong enough to withstand the blow; however, by a quick turn of his body, he prevented the point from entering his flesh. Both men now withdrew their spears from the shields and threw themselves upon each other. But Hector’s well-aimed blow only blunted the point of his lance and Ajax’s spear slipped on the smooth surface of Hector’s shield, wounding him slightly in the neck. Then Hector turned hastily to pick up a stone, which he hurled with all his might at Ajax’s head, but the hero warded it off with his shield. Ajax then picked up a much larger stone, which he threw, breaking Hector’s shield and wounding his knee. No doubt Hector would have attacked him once more had the Greeks themselves not interfered, sending forward a herald who separated the heroes, saying: “Warriors, it is enough. Ye are good fighters and beloved of Jupiter; that we have all seen. But night is falling and the darkness bids us cease our strife.”
“Very well, friend,” said Ajax. “Bid Hector lay down his arms, for he began the fight. When he is ready to stop, I also am willing.”
Then Hector said calmly: “Ajax, thou hast borne thyself manfully and some god hath lent thee strength and skill. Let us now rest and renew the fight another time, until death shall claim one of us. Go thou to feast with thy people, while I return to Priam’s city. But before we part let us exchange gifts that future generations may say, ‘Behold, they fought a bitter fight, then parted in friendship.’”
Thereupon he presented Ajax with his finely-chased sword with its graceful scabbard and Ajax gave him his purple belt. Thus they parted, each side welcoming his man with cries of triumphant joy. Agamemnon entertained the chieftains in his tent as usual and to-day he set the largest and choicest pieces before Ajax. When the meal was ended Nestor began: “Listen to my advice, chieftains. Let us pause to-morrow long enough to bury our dead. We will burn the bodies that each may gather the ashes of his friends to bear them home to his people. But here we will erect a great monument to mark the place where the brave warriors have fallen. I have also another proposal to make. What think ye if we should hastily construct a deep moat and a bulwark with a great gateway around our camp? Then we should be as safe in our tents as in a walled city.” The counsel of the old man was received with universal approval and Agamemnon determined to set to work at once.
The Trojan princes too were holding council to decide what they should do to force the Achaians to retire. Antenor, the wise, urged the return of Helen, but none would consent, not even Priam and Hector, to force Paris to give up his beloved wife. “I will gladly return the treasure which we took from Menelaus,” he said, “and give him plentifully of mine own, if that will propitiate the Achaians. But never will I give up Helen.”
“For the present let us be on our guard,” answered King Priam, “and to-morrow let Idæus go down and give Paris’ message to the Achaians and ask if they are not inclined to an armistice, until we have burned the dead and paid them funeral honors.”
Early the next morning Idæus went forth on his errand. He entered Agamemnon’s tent and delivered his message. The Greeks welcomed the proposal for a truce, but Paris’ offer was rejected with disdain. “Let no one take Paris’ property,” roared Diomedes. “We no longer fight for Paris’ wealth, nor even for Helen. Even though he should send her back, Troy shall fall, and truly the end is not far off!” Agamemnon and the other chieftains all signified their approval and the herald took the message back to the city.
Meanwhile the greater part of the Achaians were engaged in digging a moat and building a wall about the camp. The outcome showed that this precaution had not been unnecessary, for as soon as the battle was renewed the Achaians began to lose ground. Jupiter forbade the gods to take sides, and driving the celestial steeds himself, he descended from Olympus to Mount Ida, from whence he could observe the battlefield. The slaughter had begun early in the morning and already many Trojans had fallen, and still more Achaians, for the Trojans fought desperately.
A little past noon a threatening storm gathered on Mount Ida and the people recognized the presence of the father of the gods, for he alone had power over the flashing lightning. It was soon apparent whom he favored, for suddenly a terrible thunderbolt with blinding flashes struck the foremost ranks of the Achaians, so that all were panic-stricken and none dared remain on the field against the will of Jupiter. All fled to the ships, pale with terror. Nestor was about to follow, when an arrow from Paris’ bow laid one of his horses low, and if Diomedes had not come to his rescue, he would certainly have fallen a prey to the pursuing Trojans. Filled with renewed courage at the thunderbolts of Jove, which they took for favorable omens, they were like dogs on the track of the frightened flock. Hector called loudly upon his people to attack the wall and gave orders that firebrands be brought from the city to fire the ships. But the Trojans were dubious about attacking the Greeks within their fortifications. They were not well prepared for such an undertaking.
The Greeks now stood behind the wall, huddled close to the ships. The terrible thunderstorm had passed over and the sun shone once more. Agamemnon boarded a ship, where he might be seen and heard by all. The warriors were silent while he cried: “Shame upon you, sons of Argos, who in Lemnos boasted that ye would each fight one hundred Trojans! Now ye flee like frightened deer before a single man. Already Hector threatens to burn the ships. No wonder! It is your cowardice which makes him bold. Oh, father Jupiter, hast thou ever cursed a king as thou hast me? And yet how many fat cattle have I not offered up? On the way hither I did not pass by a single one of thy sacred temples where I did not stop to burn fat haunches in thine honor. Thou hast doubtless determined to destroy us here.”
Full of pity, the father of gods and men looked down upon him and made a sign that he would save the Danæans. He sent an eagle bearing a young deer in its beak, which it dropped as it flew high above the Greek camp, so that it fell palpitating before the altar of Jupiter on the ships. As soon as the Greeks saw this favorable sign, they pressed forward with fresh zeal into the Trojan lines. The heroes were like ravening wolves. Teucer of Salamis, who was skilful with the bow, remained beside his brother Ajax, who covered him with his shield whenever he was in danger. Every arrow hit its mark. Agamemnon looked on with delight, and clapping the youth on the shoulder, he cried: “Well done, my dear fellow! Thus shalt thou bring joy and glory to thy father in his old age. If the gods grant me the victory over Troy thy reward shall not fail—whether it be a tripod, a pair of horses and a chariot, or a beautiful slave girl.”
Soon afterward Hector’s chariot came galloping up. Teucer quickly set an arrow to his bow and aimed at the hero, but the missile went astray and Hector did not see the youth. Teucer shot another arrow, which pierced the charioteer’s breast. Hector sprang down, and just as Teucer was taking aim for the third time, a rock from Hector’s hand struck his breast and he sank on his knees. Ajax covered him with his shield until soldiers came up and carried the wounded youth away to his tent.
Juno and Athena, gazing sadly at the unfortunate outcome of the battle, ventured in their resentment to disobey the command of the father of the gods and go to the rescue of the hard-pressed Achaians. But Jupiter espied them and sent the gold-winged Iris to warn them to turn back or he would strike them with a thunderbolt that would shatter their chariot and teach them not to resist father and husband. Pouting, they obeyed, and in a rage arrived at Olympus and seated themselves in the great hall. Soon afterwards the mountain trembled at the tread of Jupiter, who entered the hall and seated himself on his golden throne with dark looks at his wife and daughter, whose glances were fixed defiantly on the ground.
“Why are ye so sad?” he began mockingly. “Ye did not remain long on the battlefield, meseems. Your lovely limbs trembled ere ever ye saw the fray. Truly ye would never have returned to the glorious home of the gods had my thunderbolt struck you. My power is far beyond that of the other gods. Even should they all come to measure their strength against mine, and if I stood at heaven’s gate and let down a chain to earth and all Olympus hung to the chain, ye could not pull me down. If I but raised my hand ye would all fly up. Even the earth and sea I would draw up, and if I should wind the chain around the peaked top of Olympus, the whole globe would dangle in space.”
Meanwhile night had fallen, which put a stop to further strife. Hector retired to the middle of the field and gave orders that the whole army should remain in camp lighting watchfires everywhere, so that the Greeks might not board their ships unseen and steal away. The old men and boys were to watch the city gates to guard against surprise.
Fear and unrest prevailed in the camp by the ships, and even Agamemnon was no longer confident. He quietly called the chieftains to a council of war. “Friends,” he said, “I perceive that Jupiter is not inclined to fulfil the promise of his omens and no longer desires that I take Troy and lead ye home laden with booty. He has already destroyed many of us and our misery grows greater day by day. Surely he is but making sport of us. Therefore let us launch our ships and return home, saving at least those of us who are left.”
For a while the princes were silent. Then Diomedes sprang up and spake: “Do not be angry, O King, if I disagree with thee. It seems to me thou art faint-hearted, for none of us has given up hope. Truly the gods do not give everything to one man, and Jupiter has made thee a powerful king; but valor, the flower of manly virtues, he has denied thee. If thou art so anxious to return, very good; then go. The way is open and the ships are ready. But the rest of us will remain until we have destroyed Priam’s fortress. And if all others should flee, I would remain with my friend Sthenelus, for it is the gods who have brought us hither.”
All the warriors applauded this, and when Nestor had praised Diomedes’ words, there was no further talk of retreat. The venerable man now counselled that the walls should be carefully guarded and that watchfires should be lighted everywhere. He signed to Agamemnon to invite the friends into his tent, offer them refreshment, learn each one’s opinion, and to follow the best.
Nestor was the first to speak. “Great Atride,” he began, “if thou wilt consider when it was the gods began to compass our ruin, thou wilt admit that our misfortunes began on the day when thou didst unjustly insult and abuse, to our great sorrow, that most valiant man whom even the immortals have honored. We were all displeased and thou knowest how I tried to dissuade thee. I think that even now we had better seek to conciliate the angry man with flattering words and gifts.”
“Honored Nestor,” answered Agamemnon, “I will not deny that I was in the wrong. It is true a single man, if chosen by the gods, is equal in might to an army. But having offended I will gladly make amends and offer him every atonement. I will give him rich gifts and he shall have, besides, the maiden over whom we quarrelled. How glad I would have been to return her as soon as my rage had cooled. If Jupiter will but grant me the good fortune to destroy Priam’s mighty fortress, Achilles’ vessel shall be heaped up with gold and silver and he may select twenty Trojan women for himself, the fairest after Helen. And when we return to Argos I will refuse him none of my daughters, should he wish to become my son-in-law, and will present him with seven of my most populous cities as a wedding gift. Thus will I honor him if he be willing to forget.”
To this Nestor answered: “Son of Atreus, thou dost offer princely gifts which might well propitiate the proudest. Let us send messengers to him. Let them be Ulysses and Ajax and the venerable Phœnix, whom his father Peleus sent hither as his companion and friend. Let the heralds, Hodius and Eurybates, accompany them.”
The encampment of the Myrmidons was on the seashore and they found Achilles in his tent, apart from the others, playing the harp and singing of heroic deeds. His good friend and comrade, Patroclus, sat opposite him listening. Ajax and Ulysses entered first and Achilles immediately put down his harp and came towards them. Patroclus also arose to welcome his old comrades.
“Ye are heartily welcome, old friends,” began Achilles, “for I am not angry with you. Sit on these cushions and, Patroclus, bring a tankard and mix the wine, for we have honored guests here.”
After they had eaten and poured out a libation to the gods, Ulysses took the goblet and drank to Achilles with a hearty handclasp. “Greeting to thee, Pelide,” he began. “It is not food and drink we crave. But we are troubled that thou art not on the battlefield. The Trojans have pushed forward to the ships and nothing stops them. Jupiter has sent fiery tokens to encourage them and the invincible Hector is hard upon us with murder in his eye. Already he has threatened to burn the ships. Even at night he does not retire, but encamps on the open field and the whole plain is illumined by his campfires. No doubt he is now eagerly awaiting daybreak to destroy us, for he fears neither gods nor men.
“Hear what Agamemnon offers thee—gifts so costly that they would suffice to make any man rich and powerful. Ten pounds of gold will he give thee, and seven new tripods, with twenty polished basins, besides twelve magnificent horses and seven Lesbian slave women accompanying Briseïs’ daughter. And when we shall have conquered Priam’s city, thou shalt heap thy ship with gold and bronze and take twenty of Troy’s fairest women for thyself. And when we return to blessed Argos thou shalt be his son-in-law and he will honor thee as his own son. But if thy hatred of Atreus’ son is so great that thou canst not forgive him, then consider the dire need of the Achaian people, who are ready to pay thee honor like a god. Truly thou shalt earn great glory.”
Achilles answered him: “Noble son of Laërtes, let me open my heart to thee frankly. Neither Agamemnon nor any other Greek can move me to fight again for this ungrateful people. The coward and the hero enjoy equal reputation among you. Why should I risk my life for others? As the swallow feeds its young with the morsels which it denies itself, thus I have spent my sweat and blood these many days for the ungrateful Achaian people; have watched through many a restless night, fought brave men, burning their houses and stealing away their women and children. I have destroyed twelve populous cities in Troy by sea and eleven by land and always delivered the spoils up to Agamemnon. He remained quietly at the ships and took my plunder gladly, keeping always the greater part for himself. Although each chieftain received a princely gift, he took mine from me—the lovely woman who was dear to me as a spouse.
“Why did we accompany him hither? Was it not for the sake of beauteous Helen? Do we not love our women even as he? Let him leave me in peace and take counsel with thee, Ulysses, and with the other chieftains. For Hector shall never again meet me in battle. To-morrow I shall launch my ships, make offerings to the gods, and if thou wilt take notice, friend, thou shalt see my ships at dawn, floating upon the Hellespont. If Neptune favors me I may reach my native Phthia on the third day. There I have riches enough, so that I shall not need the gifts of the haughty king. No, should he offer me twenty times as much, and even a city like unto the Egyptian Thebes, which, it is said, has one hundred gates out of each of which issue two hundred men with horses and chariots in time of war, even then he could not persuade me until he had atoned for his insult.
“Let him find another husband, who is nobler and more powerful than I, for his daughter. Should I reach home safely, my father will choose me a noble consort, for there are many beautiful Achaian maidens who are not wanting in rich dowries. I long for Phthia and already I foretaste the joys of reigning over my father’s good subjects and enjoying a life of plentiful ease by the side of a gentle spouse. Life is worth more than all Agamemnon’s treasures, and once lost can never be regained.
“Dost know what fate my goddess mother hath revealed to me? Either I die young upon the battlefield and my name shall be imperishable upon earth, or I shall live to a great age without renown. Let it be as I have said, and if ye would have a word of advice from me, it is this: ‘Sail away before Hector burns your ships, for ye will never conquer Troy.’ Go, friends, and take this message to the Greeks. But, Phœnix, stay and return with me to our native land, if so it pleaseth thee; for I would not compel thee.”