"That is Odysseus, son of Laertes," answered Helen, "bred in the rugged isle of Ithaca. All Greece cannot show his equal in wisdom and eloquence."
"Lady," said Antenor, an elder of high rank. "herein thou hast spoken the very truth. I entertained him of whom thou speakest as my guest when he came hither on an embassy with Menelaus, and I heard them both speaking before the assembly of the Trojans. When they stood up together Menelaus was by far the taller; but when they were seated there was greater dignity in Odysseus. Then as to eloquence, Odysseus bore away the palm from all—though Menelaus spoke both fluently and to the purpose. At first, when Odysseus rose to speak, we wondered to see how ungracefully he stood, leaning heavily on his sceptre, with eyes fixed upon the ground. He seemed a very churl, unskilled in all courtesy and the arts of civil life. But when he lifted up his mighty voice, and his words floated about us like the snowflakes of winter, we knew that we were listening to a divinely gifted man."
At Priam's request Helen named the other chieftains of the Greeks, Ajax and Idomeneus, and the rest; and when the recital was ended she remained gazing wistfully at the dense masses of fighting men who sat waiting on the plain. "I cannot see them," she murmured sadly: "they are not there." "Of whom speakest thou?" asked Priam. "Of Castor and Polydeuces," she answered, "the bold rider, and the stout boxer, my own brothers, born of the same mother with me. Perchance they sailed not in the fleet to Troy, or perchance they have remained behind in the camp, in sorrow for their sister's shame."
Helen on the Walls of Troy. Lord Leighton. By permission of Henry Graves & Co., Ltd.Helen on the Walls of Troy. Lord Leighton. By permission of Henry Graves & Co., Ltd.
Ah! Helen, thy brothers are lying where shame and sorrow can reach them no more, sleeping in their quiet graves, in Lacedæmon, their native land.
While Priam was still conversing with Helen, a herald entered with the startling news that his presence was required in the field, to settle the conditions of the single combat between Paris and Menelaus. Some natural pangs he felt, when he heard of the danger which threatened his son. Nevertheless he set out at once, taking with him the victims required for the sacrifice. When he came to the open space between the two armies he found all things ready for the solemn rite. The chiefs stood waiting in a circle, and in their midst was Agamemnon, who acted as priest. The heralds mingled two portions of pure[3] wine in a bowl, and poured water over the hands of the chieftains. Then Agamemnon drew a sharp knife, which hung at his girdle by his ponderous sword, and cutting off a few hairs from the foreheads of the victims gave them to the heralds to distribute among the princes. When this was done, amidst a general hush he uttered this solemn prayer: "Father Zeus, Lord of Ida, most glorious, most mighty, ye rivers, and thou earth, and ye dread powers beneath, who take vengeance after death on all those who swear a false oath, be ye all the witnesses and guardians of our treaty. If Paris slays Menelaus he shall keep Helen for his wife, with all her goods; but should Paris fall Helen shall go back to Menelaus, her lawful lord. Let the war be decided by the issue of this combat, and Heaven defend the right!" Therewith he cut the throats of the victims, and laid their quivering bodies on the ground. Then the drink-offering was poured, with this awful imprecation on those who should break the treaty: "If any man violate our sworn oath, may his brains be poured out, even as this wine, and may his wife and children be sold into bondage."
[3] In sacrifices pure wine was used; wine for drinking was always mixed with water.
Priam now took his departure from the field, for he could not bear to see his son in deadly combat with Menelaus. When he was gone, Hector and Odysseus measured out the ground for the duel, and shook the lots in a helmet, to see who should be the first to cast his spear; and the lot fell on Paris. Meanwhile Paris was putting on his armour; for he had come lightly equipped as an archer into the field.
The two rivals took their stand on either side, clad in their brazen harness, and armed with sword and spear. And first Paris cast his spear, which struck upon the shield of Menelaus, and did him no harm. Then Menelaus lifted up his spear, and murmured a prayer to Zeus: "Grant me, O King, to take vengeance on him who brought dishonour on my home, where he dwelt as my honoured guest." As he spoke, he flung his good ashen spear, which clove its way through the shield of Paris, and tore his tunic close to his side; but Paris swerved aside and escaped a wound. Before he could recover himself Menelaus was upon him, sword in hand, and struck him with all his force upon the helmet; but once more fortune favoured the Trojan, for the blade was shivered on the ridge of the helmet, and Menelaus grasped a useless hilt. "Curse on thee, treacherous steel!" cried he, and, seizing Paris by the helmet, began to drag him towards the ranks of the Greeks. This time he would have succeeded, and taken his enemy captive, had not the strap which held the helmet given way under the strain, so that the brazen headpiece came away empty in his hand.
Menelaus flung the helmet towards his friends, and picking up his spear turned again upon his cowardly foe, with purpose to slay him. But Paris was nowhere to be seen: an invisible hand had caught him up, and carried him away from the righteous hand of the avenger. For Aphrodite, the soft goddess of love, had been hovering near to protect her favourite. She it was who had caused the helmet strap to break, and now she saved him a second time, and bore him swiftly to his house in Troy. There he was presently visited by the lovely Helen, who, though she scorned him in her heart, was drawn thither by a fatal spell which she could not resist; and in the sunshine of her smiles he soon forgot dishonour and defeat.
All this time Menelaus was raging about the field, like a tiger robbed of his prey, and calling upon the Trojans to surrender the recreant to his vengeance; and they would gladly have done so, if they had known where to find him, for they hated him worse than death. And Agamemnon, amid general applause, demanded the surrender of Helen, according to the terms of the treaty.
The gods were met in full assembly in their golden palace, pledging one another in full cups of nectar, and looking down upon the great drama which was being enacted on the plains of Troy. Then Zeus began to speak, casting a sly glance at his fair consort, Hera: "Menelaus has two stout backers among the gods, Hera, Queen of Argos, and Athene, strong to defend. But they seem to have renounced his cause, for they have suffered Aphrodite to steal away Paris when death stared him in the face. 'Tis well, then, Menelaus has the victory, and naught remains but to give back Helen, and put an end to the war."
At this most unwelcome proposal Athene frowned angrily at her father, but said nothing; Hera, however, could not contain her wrath, and raised her voice in indignant protest: "Out upon thee, son of Cronos, what a word hast thou spoken! Is this to be the end of all my toil and my sweat, when I travelled without ceasing, until my steeds were well-nigh foundered, to gather this host against Troy? Do as thou wilt; but know this, that, if thou doest this thing, not one of us shall praise thee, no, not one."
"What strange passion possesses thee?" answered Zeus, in tones of displeasure, "Why harbourest thou this deadly rancour against Priam and the sons of Priam? Methinks thou couldst find it in thy heart to go down into the city, and feast on the raw flesh of the men of Troy, until thou hadst devoured them all. Howbeit, let there be peace among us; I give thee leave to work thy will upon this king and his people; only remember that I have yielded to thee in this, and when I am minded to destroy some city which is dear to thee stand not thou in my way. For I love the towers of holy Ilios, and they that dwell therein, for they have paid me faithful worship, with meat-offering and with drink-offering, with reverence and with prayer."
"Take Argos," replied the impetuous Hera. "Take Sparta or Mycenæ, the three choicest jewels in my crown; burn, waste, and destroy them, if such be thy pleasure. Only grant me this boon, and let me wreak my fury upon Troy. If thou consentest to this, lay thy command upon thy daughter, Athene, that she may go down among the Greeks and Trojans, and make an end of this detested truce."
Zeus nodded in token of approval, and Athene, who was only waiting for the signal, shot down from Olympus like a falling star, and alighted in the space between the two armies. Arrived there, she put on the form of Laodocus, a noble Trojan youth, and went in search of Pandarus, a famous bowman, and a favourite of the archer-god Apollo. And when she had found him, she spake unto him in this wise: "Bold son of Lycaon, art thou man enough to do a great deed, and win praise and reward from all the Trojans, but especially from Paris? If thou art, take thine arrows and thy bow, and aim a shaft at Menelaus, having first vowed a vow to Apollo that when thou returnest to thy home among the rich pastures of Ida, thou wilt offer him a sacrifice of lambs, the firstlings of the flock."
So spake Athene, tempting him; and he hearkened unto her in his folly, and began to take the cover from his bow. It was a powerful weapon, formed from the horns of a great ibex, which he himself had brought down by a skilful shot long ago. The horns, each sixteen palms in length, were set firmly in a solid bridge, and tipped at each end with gold. Resting the lower end of the bow against his foot, he leaned upon it, and strung it, and laying it down took off the lid of his quiver, and selected an arrow. Then he took up the bow again, and set the arrow on the string. His companions, who had been covering him with their shields while he was making his preparations, now stepped aside, and he, having made his vow to Apollo, lifted up his bow, drew the arrow to his ear, and shot. The bow twanged loud and clear, and the arrow leapt hissing towards the Grecian ranks.
Then ill had it fared with thee, Menelaus, had not Athene been standing at thy side, to guard thee from fatal hurt. And as a mother brushes a fly from the face of her babe, lying in sweet slumber on her lap, so Athene suffered not the arrow to reach any vital part, but guided it to the place where the plates of his corslet met at his side. Through the girdle pierced the shaft, through the brazen corslet, and through the taslet which covered his loins; the point just grazed the surface of his flesh, and the red blood began to flow, staining his thighs, and trickling down to his ankles.
When Agamemnon saw his brother wounded and bleeding, he ran to his side, and taking him by the hand began to deplore the evil issue of their treaty. "Must thy life pay the forfeit for the perjured men of Troy, who have trampled our covenant underfoot? I know indeed that vengeance will overtake them in the end from the hands of Zeus, whose name they have taken in vain; yea, well I know that the day shall come when holy Ilios shall fall, involved with all her people in one common doom. But what will that avail, if I lose thee, my brother? My army will desert me, for they cannot fight without a cause, and thou art the cause which brought them hither. Troy's doom will be wrought by other hands, and I shall go back to Argos, a beaten man, leaving thy bones to rot in a foreign grave."
"Speak not so loud," said Menelaus, when Agamemnon paused at last; "thou wilt cause a panic in the army. There is no ground for alarm; the wound is not deep. Send for Machaon, the skilled leech, that he may draw out the arrow, and stanch the flow of blood."
Then Agamemnon was comforted, and sent Talthybius the herald to bring the leech, who was a son of Asclepius, the most famous physician of those times. After some delay, Machaon came to the place where Menelaus was standing, leaning on his brother's arm, and surrounded by an anxious group of his friends. With firm but gentle hand the leech drew out the arrow, and, removing the prince's armour, exposed the wound to view. Then he applied healing herbs, and bade the patient be of good cheer, for his hurt was but slight.
The truce having been broken by the treacherous act of Pandarus, both sides prepared for an immediate assault. Agamemnon, as soon as he was assured that his brother was in no danger, summoned his chariot, and, bidding the driver keep within call, went on foot up and down the ranks of the Greeks, encouraging those whom he saw pressing forward to the attack with promises of favour and reward, and upbraiding those who hung back with taunts and rebukes. His heart rejoiced when he saw the towering form of Ajax, who was hurrying to battle, followed close by a stout troop of spearsmen, with shield pressing on shield, and bristling spears. Near him was Idomeneus, the grizzled captain of the Cretans, with his comrade, Meriones, at the head of a numerous and well-appointed troop. And after these he came to the men of Nestor, who were receiving instructions from their veteran leader how to bear themselves in the battle. "Keep your ranks," he was saying, "and fight shoulder to shoulder, the horsemen in the van, and the infantry ready to support them behind. And let no one be carried away by his zeal to engage singlehanded with the enemy, for union is strength, and weakness comes of division."
These were the foremost, but there were others, and among them some of the most valiant leaders in the army, whose station was more remote, and who had not yet heard of the breaking of the truce. One of these was Diomede, and when Agamemnon found him standing inactive, he rebuked him harshly, reminding him of his father's prowess, and calling him an unworthy son. The young chieftain deigned no answer to the unmerited reproach, but at once put his men in motion to join the encounter.
The whole army was now advancing, rank pressing on rank, and column on column, like the waves rushing landward along a wide-watered shore. The Greeks came on in silence, broken only by the short, sharp words of command; but the Trojans, whose army was made up of a motley throng of many nations, rushed to the onset with multitudinous cries, like ewes at milking-time in the folds of a wealthy sheep master, when they hear the voices of their lambs. On the Trojan side was Ares, and on the side of the Greeks stern-eyed Athene, with whom were seen Panic and Flight, and insatiable Strife, who is small of stature at the beginning of a fray, but grows and grows as the feud proceeds, until her head presses against the sky as she stalks along the earth.
Then the air was rent with a deafening crash, as the two armies met, and shield was dashed against shield, and brazen armour was dinted by spear and axe and sword. Shouts of triumph arose, and cries of anguish, as the wildmêléeswayed to and fro, and the ground ran with blood. As two torrents descending from copious springs high up in the mountains, and swollen high by winter rains, mingle their waters with a roar at a place where two glens meet—such was the roar which went up to heaven, at the conflict of those mailed hosts.
Among the many victims of that bloody day, some are singled out for especial mention. One of these was Simocisius, a tall and comely youth, so named because he was born on the banks of the Simocis, when his mother went to visit her parents on their farm. Ajax marked him as he came on, and smote him in the breast with his spear; and down he fell, like a tall poplar, which rears its stately height in a meadow by the riverside, until it is hewn down by a wheelwright to make a felly for a chariot; and there it lies seasoning on the banks of the stream. So lay the young Simocisius, and Ajax stripped him of his armour. While he was thus engaged, Antiphus, a son of Priam, flung a javelin at him, but, missing him, struck down Leucus, a comrade of Odysseus, who had laid hold of the corpse to hale it away. Odysseus was exceeding wroth at the fall of his comrade, and stepping forward he flung his spear, and smote Democoon, a natural son of Priam, in the temple. The Trojan champions fell back before him, and the Greeks rushed forward and gained possession of the dead. Apollo, who sat watching the battle from the citadel of Troy, was indignant when he saw the Trojans give ground, and shouted to them in a loud voice, crying: "Up, ye horsemen of Troy, and fly not from these Greeks, for their flesh is not of stone or of iron, to resist the thrust of your spears. Now is your time, while Achilles is absent, chewing the cud of his ire among the ships."
The Trojans rallied at the cry of the god, and the battle was resumed with fresh fury on both sides. It was no child's play, no holiday tilting, which was seen that morning on the Trojan plain, but the dire and dreadful game of war, with Ares and Athene for players, and the blood of heroes for the stakes.
Agamemnon's taunts had sunk deep into the heart of Diomede, and he went into battle with a stern resolve to vindicate his manhood in the eyes of all Greece. A fierce light blazed from his helm and shield as he rushed, like a living engine of destruction, into the thickest of the fight. The first to feel the weight of his arm was a young Trojan named Phegeus, son of Dares, a priest of Hephæstus. Mounted on the same car with his brother Idæus, he drove furiously at Diomede, who was fighting on foot, and aimed a blow at him with his spear; but the weapon went wide of the mark, and the next moment he rolled from his car, pierced through the breast by the spear of Diomede. Idæus sprang to the ground and fled, leaving car and horses as a spoil to his brother's slayer.
While Diomede was disposing of his booty, the Greeks pursued their advantage, and there was not a chieftain of name among them who failed to slay his man. Then fell Scamandrius, a famous Trojan hunter, and the favourite of Artemis, pierced in the back by the spear of Menelaus, and Phericlus, whose father, Tecton, had built the fatal ships which bore Paris and his retinue to Greece, and many more, of whose names there is no record.
Back to the field came Diomede, sweeping all before him like a river in flood, which breaks down dyke and dam, and covers the smiling fields with ruin. So impetuous were his movements as he darted to and fro in pursuit of the flying Trojans, that it was hard to see on which side he fought; but, wherever he passed, his path was strewn with Trojan dead.
At last he received a check from Pandarus, the archer whose treacherous hand had broken the truce an hour or two before. Watching him from a safe distance, Pandarus shot an arrow, which pierced clean through Diomede's right shoulder, staining his corslet with blood. Loud was the joy of Pandarus when he saw the success of his archery: "Turn again," he shouted, "ye horsemen of Troy! Back to the fray, every one! The bravest of the Greeks is wounded unto death."
The boast of Pandarus was premature, for the wound was not severe, though sufficient to disable the hero's arm for the moment. Diomede drew back out of the press, and with the assistance of Sthenelus, his charioteer, drew out the arrow which was galling his shoulder. Then he stood apart and prayed to Athene, the patron goddess of his mighty father, Tydeus. And she heard him, and came and stood before him in all her divine majesty, and said: "Take heart, son of Tydeus, for I am ever near thee, and I have put into thy heart all the valour of thy sire. And I have taken from thine eyes the darkness which before lay upon them, that thou mayest look upon the gods and know them, face to face.[1] If thou seest any of the other gods, avoid them, and presume not to fight against the children of heaven; but if Aphrodite, Jove's froward daughter, comes into the battle, have at her, and strike, and fear nothing."
[1] Compare "Stories from the Æneid," p. 18.
Athene vanished as she spoke, but Diomede felt her influence working powerfully within him, and in an instant the flow of his blood was stanched, and he felt no more pain from his wound. Then like a lion who has been grazed by the shepherd's spear as he leaps into a lonely sheepfold, and is but provoked to new rage by that slight wound, so that he falls upon the helpless flock, and gluts himself with carnage, while the shepherd cowers away in terror—so Diomede returned with new fury to the slaughter, and drove the Trojans in rout before him. Like hammer on anvil, so rained his strokes among the ranks of the foe. With one blow he sent his spear through the breast of a tall Trojan; with the next his keen falchion shore oft the arm and shoulder of another. Leaving these where they lay, he went in pursuit of Abas and Polyidus, the sons of Eurydamas, a famous seer and interpreter of dreams. Often had they listened to their father's lore, and brought their dreams to him to expound unto them. But the worst dream they ever had now came upon them; and when they awoke they were on the banks of the Styx. Yet another Trojan father had cause to mourn that day—Phænops, a man of wealth, who sent two sons, the children of his old age, to the war. But never again did his aged eyes brighten to behold the face of his children, and all his wealth was divided among strangers.
When Æneas observed the havoc which was wrought by the arm of Diomede he went to Pandarus, and said to him: "Where is thy boasted skill in archery, that thou sufferest this man to hew down our ranks, and never liftest thy bow against him? Come, shoot me an arrow at the breast of Diomede, and first utter a prayer to Zeus, that we may know if the gods are indeed against us."
"If that be Diomede," answered Pandarus, "there is something divine in this frenzy of his; methinks he is some god, who has put on the likeness of Diomede. But now, I aimed an arrow at him, and struck him fairly in the right shoulder. I thought that he was already a passenger to Hades, but, lo! he comes forth stronger and more terrible than before. In an evil hour I took my bow from the wall, when I came to fight on the side of Priam; and I hearkened not to my father's words when he bade me fight like the rest with chariot and with horses, whereof he had goodly store. Twice have I drawn my bow this day against the noblest of the Greeks, Menelaus, and Diomede, and struck them fair, and made their blood to flow; but it hath naught availed. If ever I get safely home again, I will offer my head to be severed from my shoulders by the meanest churl, if I do not break this accursed bow of mine in pieces, and burn it with fire."
"This is idle talk," answered Æneas. "We must meet this man face to face and hand to hand if we would stay his fury. Come, mount my car with me, that thou mayest see of what mettle are these steeds of mine, unrivalled in flight or in pursuit. If thou wilt, take the reins, and I will stand by thy side to wield the spear; or if thou preferrest it, I will drive and thou shalt fight."
"Drive thou," replied Pandarus, mounting by the side of Æneas, "so that if there be need of hasty flight, the steeds may not fail us, knowing their master's hand." "Thou sayest well," said Æneas, and, lashing the horses to a gallop, drove rapidly towards the place where Diomede was fighting.
"Back, Diomede!" shouted Sthenelus, in alarm, when he saw them approaching. "I see two mighty men coming against us—Pandarus, son of Lycaon, and Æneas, whose mother is the goddess Aphrodite. Mount the car, and let us retreat."
"How darest thou name retreat to me," answered Diomede sternly, "I scorn thy counsels, and will go to meet these champions even as I am, on foot; both of them shall not return alive. And now mark my words, and do as I shall bid thee: if these twain fall beneath my spear, leave thou the horses which thou art driving, and, having mounted the car of Æneas, drive with all speed to the rear. For these steeds are of blood divine, descended from those which Zeus gave unto Tros as a recompense for the loss of Ganymede his son. If we can capture them it will be a splendid prize."
So saying, he turned to meet the Trojan chieftains, who were now close at hand. Pandarus held his weapon ready poised, and when he came within throwing distance he cast his lance, crying: "Take that, bold son of Tydeus! Perchance I shall have better luck with the spear." The weighty spear, thrown by no feeble hand, pierced through the shield of Diomede, and struck against his breastplate, but there stopped short, without inflicting a wound. "Thou hast no luck to-day, Sir Pandarus," said Diomede, smiling grimly. "Now see how thou likest the taste of Grecian steel," and as he spoke he hurled with all his force, right in the face of Pandarus. The keen point struck him just beneath the eye, and passing downwards clove through his tongue at the root, and came out under his chin; and the false Trojan fell with a crash on the plain, and died as he fell.
Æneas had now but one thought—to save his comrade's body from outrage at the hands of the Greeks; for it was the cruel custom of those days to mutilate the bodies of slaughtered enemies. Valiantly he took his stand, bestriding the fallen Pandarus, holding his shield before him, and armed with two spears. But Diomede picked up a huge stone, and flung it at Æneas; and the jagged missile struck him on the hip, just at the socket of the thigh, bruising the sinews and lacerating the flesh. Æneas sank down on one knee, sick and giddy with the pain of that dreadful blow; and that would have been his last hour had not his goddess mother perceived his evil plight, and come to her son's relief. Swiftly she flew to the place where he lay, and, throwing her white arms about him, bore him from the field, covered by the folds of her robe.
Sthenelus had not forgotten his friend's command, and as soon as he saw the car of Æneas deserted he made fast the reins of his own steeds to the chariot rim, and mounting the Trojan car drove at a gallop towards the rear. Meeting a comrade he gave the captured chariot into his charge, and returned with all speed to the support of Diomede, who was in hot pursuit of the tender goddess and her wounded son. Presently he caught her in the midst of the press, and, thrusting with his spear, wounded her on the hand, in the thick part of the thumb. The ichor[2] flowed forth in a purple stream, and stained her immortal vestments, wrought for her by the Graces; and with a loud shriek she let fall her son, who was picked up and borne to a place of safety by Apollo.
[2] The blood of the gods was so called.
"Hast thou had enough of war, daughter of Zeus?" shouted Diomede as she fled; "go and make war on cowardly women—they are thy proper prey."
The beautiful, tender goddess of love, who was a stranger to wounds and pain, was found by Iris wandering about the battlefield in a distracted state, with livid face and shaking limbs. Iris took her by the hand, and brought her to the place where Ares was sitting, outside the roar and tumult of battle. When she saw her brother, Aphrodite fell on her knees before him, and begged him to lend her his car, and Ares having readily consented, she mounted the golden chariot with Iris, and was driven through the air till she came to Olympus. There she sought her mother Dione, who received her with sweet words of comfort, and asked who had handled her so roughly? "It was that unmannerly Greek, the son of Tydeus," answered Aphrodite pettishly, "for the Greeks have left off butchering the Trojans, and are making war on the gods."
"Take heart, my child," said Dione, "and be not overmuch dismayed, for many of us, the children of heaven, have suffered at the hands of mortals, for whose sake we afflict one another. Ares was bound and held captive by the giant sons of Aloeus, and would have perished in his bonds, had not Hermes stolen him away. Hera was wounded in the breast with an arrow by Hercules; and Hades came groaning to Olympus, hurt in the shoulder by the same presumptuous hand. And thou hast suffered through the spite of Athene, who set on the son of Tydeus to assail thee. Rash fool! He knows not that he who fights with gods is doomed to an early grave. Let him take heed lest the young wife whom he left at home in Argos be made a widow untimely, and rouse her household at dead of night, weeping and wailing for her fallen lord."
Then she laid a healing finger on her daughter's wound, and the hand was made whole, and the bitter pangs were stilled. Athene had been watching the scene, and now she said mockingly to her father: "Be not wroth, dread sire, at what I shall say! Surely Aphrodite hath been seeking to beguile some Grecian dame on behalf of her darling Trojans, and amidst her soft caresses has scratched her slender hand on the pin of the lady's brooch."
Zeus smiled at his daughter's words, and calling Aphrodite to him he took her in his fatherly arms and said: "Not for thee, my child, are wars and fightings; leave these to Ares and Athene, and keep to thine own province of love and marriage."
When Diomede saw his prey snatched from him a second time he was very wroth, and followed close on Apollo, who was bearing Æneas towards the city. Three times he sprang upon the god, and three times Apollo hurled him back; and he was preparing to make a fourth assault, when Apollo rebuked him sternly, and bade him stand off. Remembering the words of Athene, who had warned him not to meddle with any other god save Aphrodite, Diomede drew back, and Æneas was carried in safety to the shelter of the citadel.
Apollo was highly incensed at the presumption of Diomede, and leaving Æneas in good hands he hastened back to the battlefield, and roused Ares to take up the cause of insulted heaven, and chastise the impious man who twice that day had pointed his weapon against the person of a god. Ares readily took up the challenge, and putting on the likeness of a Trojan he flung himself in the path of the panic-stricken fugitives, shouting: "Where are the sons of Priam, and why suffer they the people to be slaughtered like sheep?"
"Hearest thou what he saith?" cried Sarpedon, the giant leader of the Lycians, to Hector, who had been dismayed, like the rest, by the prowess of Diomede. "What art thou doing, thou and thy brethren, that ye leave the brunt of battle to be borne by your allies? Have we not left home and country, our wives and our little ones, to pour out our blood in defence of thy city?—and wilt thou not play thy part, when honour and duty call thee—when the very stones of thy streets cry aloud to thee to be the first in the onset, the last to retreat?"
Stung by Sarpedon's reproaches, Hector leapt from his car, and exerted all his authority to rally the flying Trojans. By his efforts the flight was checked, and the Trojans wheeled their chariots and returned to the charge. The ranks of the Greeks grew white from the clouds of dust thrown up by their chariot wheels as they came on like a whirlwind, with Ares in their van. Presently, to the equal delight and amazement of the Trojans, the princely form of Æneas was seen glittering among the foremost champions; and his step was as light, and his arm as firm, as when the fight began. They would have learnt, if they had asked, that this was the work of Apollo; but they had no time to question him, for by this time the storm of battle was raging with redoubled fury.
Like clouds which lie heavy on the mountain-tops, when all the winds are sleeping, so steadfast stood the Greeks to abide the shock of that charge. And Agamemnon strode up and down the armed files, crying as he passed: "Stand firm, and play the man! Before you lies the path of honour, but behind is shame and defeat."
Long the contest swayed to and fro with doubtful issue, and many a Greek, and many a Trojan, named or unnamed, received the wages of the sword. At last Diomede, whose vision had been purged by Athene, recognised Ares under his disguise; then even he began to lose heart, and cried out to the Greeks: "We must retreat! Ares is fighting against us. Fall back upon the ships, keeping your faces to the foe." And slowly, step by step, disputing every inch of ground, the Greeks began to retire.
Hitherto Hera and Athene had remained inactive spectators of the struggle: but when they saw that the tide of battle had turned they resolved to make a vigorous stand against the victorious career of Ares. With her own hand Hera harnessed the steeds to her royal car, which was the work of no mortal artist, with its brazen wheels and axle of iron. The body of the car was cunningly wrought with bands of gold and silver; the pole was a solid bar of silver, and the yoke was of gold. Meanwhile Athene was arming herself for the conflict. First she put on a coat of mail, not to be pierced by any mortal weapon; on her head she placed a helmet, glittering with symbols of war and death; then she grasped her shield, the immortal ægis, of "ethereal temper, massy, large, and round," on which were pictured Panic and Strife, Defence and Pursuit, and all the dread powers whose realm is the battlefield; and in the midst glared the Gorgon's head, with its awful eyes, which freeze the blood and paralyse the limbs.
Having asked and obtained permission of Zeus, they mounted the car, Hera guiding the fiery coursers of heaven, and Athene standing, spear in hand, at her side. In another moment they drew up before the cloudy portals of Olympus, which are given in charge of the mystic Daughters of Time, to open and to shut. Wide flew the gates, with muttered roar, at the summons of the queen of heaven; and forth they leapt into the void and cavernous vault of air. Far as a man can see into the dim distance, when he stands on some skyey peak and gazes across the purple sea—so wide is the space traversed by the heavenly steeds at a single stride.
When they came to the place where Simoeis and Scamander mingle their waters in one stream, they drew up their car, and dismounted, leaving the steeds in charge of the river-god Simoeis, whose banks put forth ambrosial herbs for them to feed upon. Then, walking delicately, like a pair of doves,[3] but with no tender thoughts in their breasts, they went and joined the ranks of the Greeks, where they stood at bay round Diomede, like boars or lions hard pressed by the hunters. Standing in their midst, Hera took the form and the voice of Stentor, whose shout was as the shout of fifty men. "Shame on you, ye Greeks!" she thundered. "As long as Achilles fought among you, the Trojans never ventured beyond their gates; but now they are fighting at the very confines of your camp."
[3] I have preserved the language of the original, which seems to have a touch of irony.
Diomede had drawn back from the fighting-line, for his arm was lamed by the wound which he had received from Pandarus, which now began to stiffen and grow painful. In this state he was found by Athene, just as he was lifting up his shield strap to wipe away the blood from his shoulder. Laying her hand on the yoke of his car she said: "The son of Tydeus is most unlike his sire, who was little of stature, but mighty of heart. With him I needed the curb to restrain his fiery spirit, which prompted him to fight against any odds. But thy sluggish nature ever wants the goad. Say, art thou weary, or art thou afraid?"
"It is not fear that has made me shrink," answered Diomede. "I am but obeying thy behest, when thou forbadest me to resist any god, save only Aphrodite. And thou seest Ares is lending aid to the Greeks."
"Fear neither Ares, nor any other god," replied Athene. "Mount thou thy car with me, and thou shalt see whether this turncoat, this fickle, furious, bloodthirsty god of war, will brook thy onset when I am by thy side.
Thereupon she thrust down Sthenelus from the chariot, and taking his place beckoned to Diomede to mount with her. Diomede obeyed, and the beechen axle groaned beneath the weight of the hero and the goddess. Athene plied the lash, and drove straight at Ares, who was stooping to strip off the armour of a Greek champion whom he had just slain with his own hand. The goddess had put on the helmet of Hades, which made her invisible to the eyes of Ares; and he, when he saw Diomede coming against him, left off stripping the corpse, and charged with levelled spear. But Athene caught the weapon by the shaft, and turned the point aside. Then Diomede thrust at Ares with his spear, Athene aiding him, and wounded him in the side. And as the roar of ten thousand men in the full fury of battle, so was the roar of Ares when he felt that wound.
Like a heavy thundercloud, which hangs black and threatening when heaven is overcast, and a storm is brewing on a sultry day, such appeared the giant form of Ares as he fled darkling across the sky to Olympus; and when he reached the seat of the gods he sat down near Zeus, his father, and showed him the immortal blood flowing from his wound. "What thinkest thou," he said, speaking in a pitiful voice, "of these deeds of violence? Thou art the author of this wound; for it is thy weak indulgence which makes thy daughter, Athene, so violent and unruly. Nothing but the speed of my feet saved me from worse outrage."
But the injured Ares found scant sympathy from his father. "Come not to me," he said sternly, "with thy whining complaints. Blame thy mother for what thou hast suffered; for to her thou owest the froward temper which makes thee the most hateful to me of all my children. Nevertheless I will not leave thee in pain, for thou art my son, the child of my wedded love. Were it not so, I would have found thee a place in the dungeons where the Titans groan." Then he laid his commands upon Pæan, the god of healing, who sprinkled powerful remedies on the wound, which gave instant relief. Swift as is the action of the fig-juice when it falls with eager droppings[4] into milk, and turns it to curd, so quickly closed the wound under the skilful hands of Pæan. And when he had bathed, Ares sat down, hale and whole, by his father's side.
[4] Used as rennet. "Eager droppings" is from Hamlet.
Having driven Ares from the field, Hera and Athene returned to Olympus, leaving the battle to be decided by human strength and valour. Soon the numbers and prowess of the Greeks began to prevail, and the Trojans were gradually forced back towards their walls. At this critical moment Hector, who hitherto had played but a secondary part in the battle, was suddenly inspired with almost superhuman courage and energy, and by his example the Trojans were saved from a general rout. Having allayed the panic, he left the other leaders to make head against the enemy, and went himself into the city, with the purpose of ordering a general sacrifice and supplication, to avert the anger of Athene.
Both armies were growing weary of the long struggle, and during Hector's absence the work of slaughter ceased for a time by mutual consent. Diomede alone kept the field, and stalked about in the space between the two armies, eyeing the ranks of the Trojans, and seeking for a foeman worthy of his steel. Glaucus, the Lycian captain, marked his defiant attitude, and strode forward undaunted to the encounter. When they were met in the middle of the plain, Diomede accosted him with haughty mien, and said: "Who art thou, bold sir, that hast dared to match thyself with me? Unhappy are the parents whose sons affront my might.[1] If thou be a god, I will not meddle with thee, for I fear to lift my hand again to fight with the sons of heaven. But if thou art of the race of men, that live by bread, come on, and I will give thee to thy doom. But first tell me thy name and thy race."
[1] "And with their darkness durstaffronthis light."—Milton,P.L.i.
"Valiant son of Tydeus," answered Glaucus, "why askest thou my race? As the leaves which clothe the woods in spring, to be scattered by autumn winds, such are the generations of men: one riseth up, and another is passing away. Nevertheless, if thou desirest to know my race, know that I am sprung from the line of Sisyphus, through my grandsire Bellerophon, who came as an exile to Lycia, banished from his native Corinth by a woman's spite. For, while he was dwelling as a guest in the house of Prœtus, King of Corinth, the Queen Anteia poisoned her husband's ears against him, because he had refused to be her partner in crime, and Prœtus believed her lying tale, and sought opportunity to destroy Bellerophon. So he sent him on an embassy to the King of Lycia, the father of Anteia, and gave him a sealed packet to take with him. Bellerophon set sail, and after a fair voyage he landed in Lycia, and went up to the palace of the King. Then for nine days the King made good cheer, and invited the highest in the land to meet his noble guest; and on the tenth day he asked concerning the business which had brought him to Lycia. Bellerophon gave him the packet, and he opened it privately, and found within it a folded tablet, whereon were written these words:Bellerophon is a traitor, and hath sought to bring dishonour on our house: he must die.
"When he had read the message from his son-in-law the King was wroth, and devised means to compass Bellerophon's death. First, he bade him slay the Chimæra, a dreadful monster, with the head of a lion, the body of a goat, and a long coiling tail like a vast serpent. The gods helped Bellerophon to slay this monster, and the King then sent him to fight against the Solymi, a fierce and warlike tribe. But neither they nor the Amazons, with whom also the King bade him fight, could work any mischief on that valiant champion. Yet a fourth time the King tried to take his life, and sent an ambush of picked men to slay him by treachery on his way back to Lycia; and Bellerophon killed them all.
"Being now assured that his guest was the favourite of heaven, the King retained him in his house as an honoured guest, and gave him his daughter to wife; and he received a fair appanage of cornland and vineyard, and three children were born to him, one of whom, Hippolochus, is my father. Thus have I told thee my lineage and my race."
Diomede had listened with deep attention to the Lycian chieftain's story, and when he had heard him to the end he came forward with outstretched hands and cordial words of greeting: "Thou art a friend," he said, "of my father's house, for Œneus, my grandsire, long ago welcomed Bellerophon as his guest, and entertained him for many days. I have still among my treasures a golden cup which Bellerophon gave to his host as a parting gift. Therefore let us remember the ancient tie which connects our families, and avoid each other's spears when we meet in the press of battle. And let us now change armour, that all these may know that we are friends, both we and our fathers."
So for a while that knightly pair stood with hand clasped in hand, and gazed into each other's faces with eyes of kindness, joined for a few brief moments by an ancient tie of amity, but soon to be parted by national feud. Then Glaucus took off his golden armour, and gave it to Diomede, without grudging, though he received in exchange armour of brass.
We must now follow Hector on his errand of piety to the town. As he entered the gates, an anxious crowd of Trojan women pressed round him, with eager questions about brothers, husbands, or sons. He put them gently aside, bidding them pray to the gods, and made his way through the streets until he came to the vast pile of the royal palace, where dwelt Priam and his fifty sons and twelve daughters, with their wives and husbands. Hecuba, his mother, saw him coming, and hastened to meet him, taking with her Laodice, the fairest of her daughters. "What has brought thee hither, my son?" said she, holding his hand, "is it that the Trojans are hard pressed by the Greeks, and thy spirit moved thee to go up to Jove's holy temple and pray? Wait awhile, till I bring thee a cup of wine, that thou mayest pour a drink-offering and then take a comfortable draught, to refresh thee after thy sore toils."
"I will drink no wine, mother," answered Hector, "lest I dull my spirit, and unnerve mine arm. Neither may I pour a drink-offering with hands defiled by blood and the soil of battle. But go thou to the temple of Athene, thou and the venerable mothers of Troy, and take with thee a robe, the largest and the most precious which thou hast, that thou mayest lay it on the knees of the goddess, as an offering meet for her. Do this, and vow a sacrifice of twelve yearling heifers that have never felt the goad, if so be that she will take pity on us and our wives and little ones, and save us from the fury of Diomede. As for me, I go to find Paris, and rouse him to play a man's part among the defenders of Troy."
Having despatched his mother on that bootless errand, Hector went to visit Paris in his luxurious home, which was built on the same hill where stood the palace of Priam. Clad in all his brazen mail, and carrying in his hand a spear eleven cubits long, he crossed the threshold, and passed on to Helen's bower, where Paris was sitting, with his armour strewn around him, fitting new feathers to his arrows. The great warrior stood awhile, gazing in silence at his unworthy brother; then smiling bitterly he said: "I perceive that thou art wroth with thy poor countrymen seeing that thou leavest them to perish, while thou art dallying here. Rouse thee, Paris," he added, changing his tone; "the flames of war, which thou hast kindled, are blazing round our walls. Shake off this unmanly sloth, and play the man for once."
"Hector, I feel the justice of thy reproaches," answered Paris. "But it was sorrow, not anger, that kept me in my chamber. But away with regrets! My turn will come, and I am resolved to go back to the battle, urged thereto both by Helen's entreaties and by thy biting words. Wait while I don my armour—or go thou first, and I will overtake thee."
Hector turned to go, without answering a word; but Helen, who was present with her handmaids, laid her hand upon his arm, and said: "Leave me not thus, dear brother! Kill me not by thine accusing silence! Unhappy that I am, the sport and victim of evil powers, given over to perdition from my birth! And if I needs must sin, could I not at least have sinned for a man, and not have wrecked my life for a caitiff like this, without conscience, without heart? But sit thee down, Hector, and rest awhile, for on thee lies heaviest the burden which has been laid upon thy city for my sake, and for the sake of Paris, an ill-starred pair, whose evil fate shall be a theme of song in days to come."
"Seek not to detain me, Helen," answered Hector gently; "my duty calls me hence, and I must join my faithful comrades, whom I left in the toil and heat of the fray. Thither am I bound, when I have taken one look—it may be for the very last time—at my house, and my wife, and my little child. Look thou that Paris keeps his word, and joins me before I quit the town."
With hasty step Hector left the house, and went to his own home, which was close by. Learning there from a handmaid that Andromache had gone with her child and his nurse to watch the battle from the tower of the citadel, he went back to look for her there. As he ascended the steep path which led to the tower, the quick ear of Andromache recognised his footstep, and she ran to meet him, followed by the nurse, who carried the little Astyanax, a lovely boy, fair as the morning star, the sweet pledge of their wedded love. She clasped her husband's hand, and said, with a look of fond reproach in her tearful eyes: "Rash man, it will be thine undoing, this hardy spirit of thine! At thee every spear is pointed, when thou goest into battle, and soon, very soon, the Greeks will take thy life. Then who shall be my defender, and who shall guard thy child, when thou art gone? I shall be left alone in the world, for all my kith and kin have perished. My father, Eëtion, was slain by Achilles, when he sacked my native city, the stately town of Thebes; and his tomb lies in the shadow of a fair grove of elms, planted there by the nymphs to do him honour. Seven brothers I had, who grew up with me in my home; and they were slain by Achilles in a cattle raid, and one grave received them all. My mother Achilles released for gold, and she went back to her father's house; but she also is no more, slain by the gentle shafts of Artemis.
Hector's Farewell. Friedrich Preller, Jr. By permission of F. Bruckmann, MunichHector's Farewell. Friedrich Preller, Jr. By permission of F. Bruckmann, Munich
"Hector, thou art my father, my mother, my brother, my husband, my life, my all! Leave me not to perish in lonely widowhood with a fatherless child. Call the people within the walls, and fight no more in the open plain. Why wilt thou hazard thy life against such fearful odds?"
"Dear love, it cannot be," answered Hector sadly; "what would my brethren say, if I bade them skulk like cowards behind their walls? No; I must go where honour calls me, though I know that Troy is doomed with all her sons. Yea, the day shall dawn when temple and tower shall go down, and these streets shall run with Trojan blood. Then many a noble dame shall be led away captive, and among them—bitter, bitter thought!—thou shalt go, to eat the hard bread of bondage, and do menial service under a haughty mistress. Methinks I see thee, stooping under thy burden, as thou bearest water from some Grecian spring, while men point the finger at thee, and cry in scorn: 'Hail, Andromache, wife of Hector, Troy's bravest champion!' May death overtake me, and hide me deep in darkness and the grave, before ever I see thee dragged into slavery by ruffian hands."
A long silence followed, broken only by the sobs of Andromache, who was overpowered by the dreadful picture conjured up by her husband's words. At last Hector beckoned to the nurse, who had been standing a little apart, to bring him the child, and stretched out his arms to receive him; but the little one clung crying to his nurse's breast, affrighted by the brazen helmet and its nodding plume. His father and mother exchanged a loving smile, and Hector removed his helmet, and, laying it on the ground, took the boy in his arms, kissed him, and fondled him, and then put up this prayer to heaven: "Father Zeus, and all ye gods, grant that this, my child, may be strong and valiant in fight, even as I am, and win him honour among the Trojans; and may his mother's heart be glad when he comes back from the war laden with the spoils of the foe."
Then he gave the child to his mother, who pressed him to her bosom with a tearful smile. "Now I must leave thee," he said, with a tender gesture: "and mourn not overmuch for me. I shall not die before my day: every man has his appointed time, be he noble or base. Thou hast thy tasks, I mine; let us both play our part bravely, and leave the rest to heaven."
With many a pause and many a backward glance Andromache left him, and went back to her house, with her heart full of sad foreboding. When she was gone, Hector remained standing for awhile, lost in sorrowful thought. He was about to turn away when he heard the clatter of hurrying feet, and Paris came running up, glittering in his new-burnished armour, and tossing his plume, like some wanton, stall-fed steed. For he was a stout fellow, though a coward at heart, and was full of vigour and animal spirits after his long rest. "Who is the laggard now?" cried the gay holiday soldier, with a loud laugh. "Art thou ready to go, or shall I wait for thee awhile?"
"Forget my harsh words," answered Hector mildly. "I was vexed on thy account, when I saw thee hanging back, and heard the Trojans speak evil of thee. Let us forget our quarrels, and fight side by side for hearth and home; perhaps we may yet live to see happier days."
The result of the first day's fighting had been all in favour of the Greeks, but, as many had fallen on both sides, a truce was made by mutual consent for the next day, to enable both armies to bury their dead. By the advice of Nestor the Greeks dug a trench and threw up a rampart for the defence of their camp, and by the zealous labour of that vast multitude the work was finished on the same night.
Zeus had not forgotten his promise to Thetis, and on the morning of the third day he summoned all the gods to council, and thus declared his will: "Hear me, all ye gods and goddesses, and let none dare to cross my purpose. I forbid any among you to take part in the battle to-day, and if any disobey me I will take him and fling him into Tartarus, the black and gloomy pit, as far beneath Hades as heaven is above the earth. Then shall ye learn how much mightier am I than ye all together."
Without waiting for question or reply, the lord of Olympus mounted his car, and swept along his airy road until he came to the mountain-range of Ida, overlooking the Trojan plain. There he halted and took his station on Mount Gargarus, the highest peak of Ida, from which he had a complete view of Troy and the Grecian camp.
Forth sallied the rival hosts, and soon the clash of arms rang through the cool morning air, as Greek grappled with Trojan in deadly conflict. All through the long hours, until noon, the issue remained doubtful; but when the sun stood at the zenith Zeus lifted a pair of golden scales, and weighed the fates of Greeks and Trojans; and the scale which held the fate of the Greeks sank down, heavy with defeat and disaster. Then Zeus thundered with a mighty peal from Ida, and hurled his bolt among the thronging ranks of the Greeks; and they were sore amazed, and pale Fear gat hold of them. Not one among them dared to stand his ground, neither Ajax, nor Idomeneus, nor Agamemnon himself. Only Nestor lagged behind, for he was hindered by the fall of one of his horses, which had been pierced through the brain by Paris with an arrow. Nestor sprang down, and began cutting through the traces with his sword; and while he was thus engaged, Hector came thundering past in hot pursuit of the Greeks, and seeing Nestor's plight turned aside to slay him. Diomede saw the old man's danger, and lashing his horses to a gallop drove instantly to his aid. "Mount, mount," he cried, "with me, and leave to my squires these sorry steeds of thine. Take thou the reins, and we will see if we can check the onset of the Trojans, and arrest Hector's destroying arm."
Nestor was not slow to obey the summons, and mounting by the side of Diomede he drove straight at Hector. Then Diomede flung his spear, and struck down Hector's charioteer, and, pursuing his advantage, he fell fiercely on the broken columns of the Trojans, scattered in wild pursuit of the enemy. Already the Greeks were beginning to rally, when Zeus hurled a second bolt, which crashed down before the feet of the horses of Diomede. "We must fly," said Nestor; "heaven is against us," and wheeling the affrighted steeds he followed the main body of the Greeks, who were now in full retreat towards the ships. That was a bitter moment for the gallant Diomede, when he heard the exulting voice of Hector, calling him coward, minion, woman. But peal after peal came from the frowning peak of Ida, now wrapped in black clouds; and that proud spirit was forced to bow to a higher power.
"On, Trojans, on!" shouted Hector, pushing on at full speed to head the pursuit. "Zeus favours our cause, and the Greeks are doomed. Neither walls, nor moat, nor all their sorry devices, shall stay our fury, but we will burn their ships and cut them off to a man." So on they sped, driving the Greeks before them across the plain, even to the very gates of the camp. Here the leaders turned at bay, and Agamemnon succeeded by desperate efforts in restoring some order in the panic-stricken host. Foremost among the defenders of the camp were Ajax, the greater and the less, Idomeneus and his comrade, Meriones, Diomede, and Teucer the half-brother of the greater Ajax. Teucer especially, who was a famous archer, did splendid service to the Greeks in that dreadful strait. Crouched behind the vast orb of his mighty kinsman's shield he watched his opportunity, and shot down man after man as the Trojans came rushing to the assault.
"Well done, brave bowman!" cried Agamemnon, who was standing near, as the eighth victim to Teucer's skill bit the dust. "Now aim an arrow at yonder mad dog"; and he pointed at Hector, who was leading the attack. Again the bow twanged, but this time he missed his mark, and instead of Hector struck another son of Priam, who was fighting by his brother's side. And as droops the poppyflower in a fair garden plot, heavy with its seed-pod, and drenched with the summer rains, so drooped that comely head, oppressed by the weight of its helmet.
"Nine have I slain," cried Teucer, in triumph. "Now let me see if my tenth arrow will bring down this noble quarry"; and once more he pointed a shaft at Hector's breast. But a second time the arrow went amiss, and pierced through the heart of Hector's charioteer. Cebriones, Hector's brother, succeeded to this dangerous office, thus twice left vacant on one day; while Hector himself sprang to the ground, and picking up a stone hurled it at Teucer, who was just fitting another arrow to his bowstring. The stone struck Teucer on the collar-bone, breaking the bowstring, and paralysing his arm. Ajax sprang forward to cover his injured brother, who was carried, groaning with pain, to the shelter of the ships.
The fall of Teucer struck fresh dismay into the Greeks, who now shrank back behind their defences, Hector following them close, and cutting down the stragglers, like a hound hanging on the flanks of a wild boar. When the last man had passed the barriers the gates were shut, and Hector was left outside, glaring with baffled rage.
Deep was the wrath of Hera when she saw her darling Greeks driven like sheep before the exultant Trojans, and huddled in wild disorder behind their ramparts. As the voice of Hector rang out above the din, like a trumpet sounding the charge, she rocked herself with fury in her seat, and at last, being able to contain herself no longer, she cried to Athene: "I will not endure it! Come what may, I will save my Greeks from perishing by the hands of that mad Trojan."
"It is the hand of Zeus," answered Athene, "that hath brought these foul deeds to pass, in fulfilment of the promise which he made to Thetis, when she clasped his knees, and besought him to honour her son. Graceless, thankless god! Did I not serve him day and night, when I watched like a mother over Heracles, his favourite son, and saved him from a thousand perils? And this is my reward, to be crossed in all my designs, and robbed of my just revenge, by him, my false father, who fools me with his caresses, and calls me his dear, grey-eyed maid! But go thou and harness our steeds, while I put on my armour, and we will try whether Hector will blench or not when he sees my spear flashing among the dykes of war,[1] and the Trojans falling thick and fast, to glut the dogs and vultures with their fat and their flesh."
[1] The armed columns, which keep back thefloodof battle.
Not a minute elapsed before the rebellious goddesses were equipped for battle, and ready to swoop like eagles on the heads of the hated Trojans. But Zeus had been watching their movements, and summoning Iris he sent her with a stern, imperious message to his mutinous wife and child. Prompt at his command, Iris sped on her rainbow wings to Olympus, and met the angry pair as they were issuing from the gates. "Are ye mad?" she said, confronting them with warning looks. "Listen to my message, and get ye back the way ye came. Thus saith the son of Cronos, and his words shall surely come to pass: he will maim the swift steeds which draw your car, and blast you with his lightnings, and shatter your chariot wheels, and for ten long years ye shall not be healed of the wounds from those corrosive fires. Then shall thou learn, thou grey-eyed maid, what it means to fight with thy sire."
Both Hera and Athene knew full well how far they might presume on the indulgence of Zeus, and without another word they turned back to Olympus, unyoked their steeds, and with quaking hearts joined the company of the gods. Soon after, the monarch of Olympus entered, and took his seat on his exalted throne; for he had returned from Ida when his business for the day was ended. Not a word, not a look, did he receive in greeting from his wife and daughter; but he knew their thoughts, and said: "Why sit ye thus dismayed, Hera and Athene? It cannot be that ye are wearied from doing battle with the Trojans, against whom ye have so dire a grudge, for ye were seized with trembling before ever ye had looked into the face of war. And well for you that it was so!—or your warring should have had a fearful end."
Athene remained cowed and silent, but the shrewish Hera, though she too was scared by her husband's anger, could not hold her peace, but muttered a few words of complaint and remonstrance, of which only the words "faithful Greeks" and "unmerited disaster" were audible. But Zeus was in no mood for contradiction, and he cut her short with this peremptory announcement of his purpose: "To-morrow, if thou wilt, thou shalt see thy 'faithful Greeks' plunged yet deeper in 'unmerited disaster.' They shall have no respite from slaughter and defeat until the swift-footed son of Peleus shall once more be roused to arms. Go then, and fill heaven and earth with thy rage and thy fury—go down to Tartarus, if thou choosest, and tell thy wrongs to the demons who dwell in that sunless den."
Night fell at last, bringing relief to the sore-stricken Greeks, and compelling the reluctant Trojans to suspend their attack on the camp. Hector drew off his forces, and pitched his camp by the riverside. This was a sign of great confidence on the part of the Trojans, who hitherto had rarely ventured outside their walls, and had always returned to the city at nightfall. But now the besiegers had become the besieged, and active preparations were made for a campaign in the open field. Orders were sent to the city for supplies of corn and wine and cattle to victual the camp, and the elders of Troy were warned to keep a vigilant watch during the night, to guard against surprise.
When these measures of prudence were completed, Hector, who had been the leading spirit through all this eventful day, summoned the Trojan chieftains to a council of war. High and proud was his glance, as he stood leaning on his tall spear, with its point of tempered bronze and its socket of gold; for he dreamt of nothing less than the total rout and discomfiture of the Greeks. And he found ready hearers in the leaders of the Trojans and their allies, who read in his looks an augury of triumph and victory. "This day," he said, "I thought to have destroyed the Grecian fleet and army, and to have offered thanks to the gods of our country in the Trojan citadel. For this time night has saved them from utter ruin; but the blow is only delayed, not averted, and to-morrow we will set the finish to this glorious work. Let every man now get to his supper with good heart and hope, and look ye to it that numerous fires be lighted in the camp, sufficient to illuminate all the country round, as far as to the fleet. For I fear that these hounds will try to escape under cover of night, and I would not that they should leave us without some token of our loving-kindness—some deep mark in their flesh from Trojan arrow or spear to remember us by when they reach their homes in Greece. If they abide here till to-morrow, the better for us, and the worse for them! Then shall Diomede, the mighty son of Tydeus, pay the price of the lives which he has taken, and to-morrow's sun shall behold him lying stiff and stark, with all his comrades heaped in slaughter around him."
Having listened to the words of their great captain, the leaders dispersed to their several quarters to carry out his orders. And the swift southern night came down, wrapping sea and land in shadow. But soon the realm of darkness was invaded by the flame of a thousand fires. Thick as are the stars which cluster round the moon on a windless summer night, gladdening the shepherd's heart as he keeps his lonely vigil among the hills, so thick shone the fires of the Trojans in the space between the river and the ships. By every fire sat fifty men, and their horses stood near at hand, tethered to the cars, cropping their barley and waiting for the dawn.
So the Trojans held their bivouac, and whiled away the time with drinking, and music, and song. Far other were the feelings of the cowed and beaten Greeks. Many a warrior lay sleepless on his uneasy couch, tossed on a troubled sea of anxiety and dread. Among the leaders there was no thought of rest, and they soon received a hasty summons to attend a council in Agamemnon's quarters. Small comfort had they to receive from the lips of their king, who was utterly broken and cast down, and had nothing to advise but instant flight. A long silence followed his despairing words, and the first to speak was Diomede, whose young and elastic spirit made him a bright exception amid the general despondency of his comrades. Indignantly rejecting the cowardly counsels of Agamemnon, he avowed his intention of remaining and carrying on the war with his single troop, if all the rest of the Greeks deserted their posts. His bold words rekindled the courage of the rest, and they all joined their voices in a fixed resolution to remain and fight out their quarrel to the last.
"'Tis well," said Nestor, who was the next to speak. "Thou art a proper youth, young son of Tydeus, worthy to take the lead in council and in fight. But now listen to an old man's advice. The Trojans are holding their leaguer within sight of our gates, and may make an onfall at any moment; therefore let a watch be set by the moat outside the camp, and let this charge be given to the young men. We, the elders, have a graver matter to consider—how we may end the lamentable feud which has brought division among us, and made us an easy prey to our enemies."
The matter thus obscurely hinted at by Nestor was, of course, the quarrel between Achilles and Agamemnon; and as soon as the watch was set, and left under the charge of Antilochus, Nestor's eldest son, the old King of Pylos reopened the debate with these words: "To thee, mighty son of Atreus, I will address myself, for thou art the vicegerent of Zeus, and holdest the sceptre of righteousness which thou hast received from his hands. Great is thy place, and high the trust imposed in thee—even the lives and fortunes of all this people. Therefore will I speak roundly with thee, concealing nothing which is in my heart. Thou hast erred, great sovereign, thou hast erred grievously, in putting public dishonour on the bravest and most illustrious champion in all thy host. It is thine act which hath brought us to this pass; and it is for thee to make restitution, that he may cease from his sore anger, and incline his heart unto us again."
Far from showing any resentment at Nestor's plain speaking, Agamemnon freely confessed his fault. "I have sinned," he said, "yea, I have sinned grievously, in the great blindness of my heart. But, thanks be to heaven! I am both able and willing to atone for the wrong which I have done. Attend, while I declare unto you the ransom which I will pay unto Achilles to wipe out the stain upon his honour. Vessels of silver will I give him, and vessels of bronze, ten talents of gold, and twelve steeds, all prizewinners, which have won me much wealth by the speed of their feet. Also I will give him seven women, my bondservants, skilled in all manner of needlework, whom I won at the sack of Lesbos; and with them shall go Briseis, who, since I took her from him, has lived in all honour with the ladies of my retinue. And if ever the gods grant us to capture the city of Priam he shall have a shipload of treasure, and twenty Trojan ladies, the noblest and the fairest, as his share of the spoil. Moreover, when we return home from the war, he shall be as a son of my house, and I will give him one of my daughters in marriage, without money and without price,[1] and will add a rich dower besides. And he shall be a prince of my land, and lord of seven fair cities, honoured and obeyed as a god by those that dwell therein. Surely, if he hath a human heart, he cannot turn away from me, his monarch, and his elder, when I come to him with full hands, beseeching him to forgive."
[1] In Homeric times wives were bought by their husbands.
The King's magnificent offer drew warm words of praise from the chiefs, and nothing now remained but to choose those who were to be entrusted with this important embassy. At the suggestion of Nestor it was decided to send Phœnix, an aged noble, who was connected with Achilles by close ties of early affection, Odysseus, and the greater Ajax. After a few words of warning and counsel from Nestor, they were despatched forthwith to the tent of Achilles, and with them went two heralds, to give greater solemnity to their mission.
So together they passed along the level sand, with many a prayer to Poseidon, lord of the sea, that they might easily persuade the mighty heart of Æacides.[2] And when they came to the tents and ships of the Myrmidons, they found Achilles sitting at the door of his tent, and soothing his troubled spirit with song, and the clear music of a harp, which he had taken among the spoil of Eëtion's city. Opposite to him sat Patroclus, the most beloved of his comrades, waiting until Achilles should have finished his lay, whose theme was the deeds of famous men. And they came and stood before him, with Odysseus at their head. When Achilles saw them he gave a cry of surprise, and sprang from his seat, harp in hand; and Patroclus rose up with him. Then, greeting them with a courteous gesture, he said: "Welcome, dear friends! Most welcome are ye of all the Greeks, even in this hour of my displeasure. Be seated. I know why ye have come hither—sore indeed is the need." So saying, he led the way into the tent, and as soon as they were seated he called to Patroclus, saying: "Set forth the largest bowl, and open the oldest cask of wine, to do honour to the dear guests who have come under my roof."