Then followed diverse scenes of happy toil. The first was a fair fallow land of rich tilth, where ploughmen were driving their teams to and fro, drawing long furrows, straight and deep, and pausing now and then to refresh themselves with a cup of wine, which was handed to them by a man who stood ready at the end of the field. Dark rose the curling furrow, as the ploughshare passed, and the sods seemed of rich black soil, though wrought in gold; for therein was displayed the artist's skill.
The next was a harvest of yellow corn, and a row of busy reapers with sharp sickles in their hands. Others stood ready to bind the sheaves, and these again were supplied by a willing troop of boys, who gathered up the swathe as fast as it fell, and handed the ripe bundles to the binders. Near at hand stood the master, rejoicing in his wealth; and under a tree at the border of the field the henchmen were slaughtering an ox, to make savoury meat for him and his guests, while women were preparing a mess of pottage for the reapers.
Likewise he fashioned a vineyard, heavy with great clusters of grapes, and along the rows moved a merry troop of boys and girls, with baskets in their hands, gathering the luscious fruit; and when their baskets were full they brought their burdens home with dancing steps, led by a boy who played the harp and sang the sweet dirge of summer in his shrill, childish voice.
Then came a herd of oxen going to pasture, and lowing as they went along the waving rushes, along the murmuring stream. Four herdsmen followed, and with them were nine dogs. But lo! a noble bull, the leader of the herd, falls suddenly in his tracks, struck down by the claws of two ravening lions. They begin to drag him off, and the herdsmen follow at a distance, cheering on their dogs, which leap and bay wildly, but will not close with those terrible robbers.
The last scene of all was a dance of youths and maidens, the youths clad in close-fitting doublets, and wearing hangers at their sides, and the maidens wearing light garments of linen, and circlets of gold on their heads. Holding one another by the wrist, they first moved in a giddy circle, swift and true as the wheel flies in the potter's hands, and then they parted in two rows, and met again, weaving and unweaving all the mazy figures of a Cretan dance, while two tumblers whirled among them, and a singer gave the time with his voice.
Framing this rich succession of pictures ran the broad stream of Oceanus, rolling his waters round the outer rim of the shield.
Corslet, and greaves, and helmet with crest of gold, were fashioned next, and when the great work was done, Hephæstus brought it and laid it at the feet of Thetis. After due thanks, she took leave of her generous friends, and then sped on her way to the Grecian camp, bearing the costly gift of Hephæstus to her son.
Dawn was beginning to redden the waters of the Hellespont when Thetis reached the tent of Achilles. She found him sitting, lost in a gloomy reverie, by the side of the bed on which the body of Patroclus lay. "Come," said Thetis, touching him lightly on the shoulder, "let the dead bury their dead, and behold the glorious armour which Hephæstus has wrought for thee."
With that she set down the dazzling panoply, fresh from the forge of the god; the ethereal metal rang with a dreadful sound, and from the burnished surface darted angry beams of light, blinding the eyes of the Myrmidons who had drawn near to gaze, so that they fled in terror from the sight. But the eyes of Achilles flashed with an answering fire, and his heart burned with fierce joy, as he handled the work of the immortal armourer. "Mother," he said, when he had scrutinised every piece, "the work is worthy of the artist—I can say no more. And now to battle! Yet one thing I fear—lest the body of my friend be marred by decay before my vow is accomplished and I am free to bury him."
"Let not that care disquiet thee," answered Thetis, "I will find a means to keep off the destroying hordes of the air, that breathe corruption in the limbs of fallen warriors. Though he lie unburied for the space of a whole year, his flesh shall remain pure and clean, as the flesh of a little child. Now go thou and summon the Greeks to the place of assembly, that when thou hast renounced thy feud with Agamemnon, thou mayest gird thee with might and go forth to battle." Then she brought nectar and ambrosia, and embalmed therewith the body of Patroclus, that his flesh might remain sound and whole.
But Achilles strode rapidly along the strand, shouting as he went to call the people to the assembly. And forthwith from every tent the multitude came flocking, and not one remained behind, no, not even those who pursued peaceful crafts, and were not wont to take part in the councils of the armed host. For not one was willing to be absent from that memorable meeting.
As he passed on, he overtook Odysseus and Diomede, who were limping painfully along, leaning on their spears; for they were still sore with their wounds. After a few words of greeting, he left them to follow, and went forward to the place where the chiefs were sitting round the throne of Agamemnon, which was still vacant. It was a level spot, in the centre of a natural hollow, whose sides rose gently, until they were closed by a background of waving woods. And now all the slopes were black with a swarming multitude, armed and unarmed, stout spearmen, and noisy rabble. At last Agamemnon was seen approaching, moving slowly and with pain. He took his seat on the royal throne, and then a dead hush fell on all that vast company, as Achilles rose in his place, and began to speak.
"Great King," he said, "we are met to end the lamentable feud which arose out of our quarrel for the sake of the maid Briseis. Would that she had never been born, or had been stricken with sudden death by the gentle shafts of Artemis, before ever she had put enmity between me and thee! So would many a brave man have been alive and well who now lies sleeping an iron sleep. Yes, for many a year to come the Greeks will speak of the wrath of Achilles, and of him who was the cause. But here it ends: my wrath is now aimed at another mark, and once more I am thy faithful friend and ally. War, war without quarter or mercy—that is all I ask for now. Let us see if the Trojans will hold their camp at our gates when they stand beneath the shadow of my destroying spear."
Right glad were the Greeks to learn that the tremendous passions of Achilles were now enlisted on their side. But their joyful cries were changed to murmurs of resentment when Agamemnon rose to answer; for they saw in him the author of all their disasters. Signs of remorse and confusion appeared in his face; and the first words of his speech were heard with difficulty amidst the tumult. "Friends and comrades in arms," he began, "I beseech you to hear me with patience, while I make confession of my fault. I have sinned, I cannot deny it, through the dread power of Ate,[1] who blinded my heart, and maimed my wits, on the day when I took from Achilles his prize. Ah! she is a fearful goddess, this Ate, a fiend to vex mankind. Soft is her tread, and her path lies on the heads of men: unseen, unheard, she approaches, and enters into the soul of him whom she has marked for ruin. Once she dwelt among the gods in Olympus, but she dared to lay her foul spells on Zeus himself, so that he fell into grievous error; and when he learnt how he had been deceived, he swore a mighty oath that never again should that abhorred witch set foot in the celestial abode. So he caught her by the hair, and flung her down to earth, to plague the tribes of men. And she it was who made me her victim, whereby all this mischief befell. But now I am ready to make all good, and heal the wrong which I have wrought. And all the gifts which I promised yesterday by the mouth of Odysseus are thine, Achilles, without abatement of one jot. Wait awhile, before thou goest into battle, and my squires shall bring them to thy tent."
[1] A personification of moral blindness.
"As for the gifts," replied Achilles, "they are thine to give or to withhold as thou choosest. But of that hereafter; for the present, I have work to do which admits of no delay. No more of talk, but let us away to the field at once."
But here the voice of prudence intervened, checking the fiery impetuosity of Achilles. "Hear me a moment, valiant prince," said Odysseus. "We must not lead the people fasting to battle, for an empty man hath little heart for the fight, which methinks will be neither short nor easy to-day. Let the people first eat their fill, for a man cannot face the foe from dawn till eve without tasting meat. However willing his spirit, his flesh is weak; his limbs are soon overtaken with weariness, his mouth is parched with thirst, and his knees totter as he goes. Therefore, I say, let us eat, and after that to battle. And thou, Achilles, shalt receive the gifts of Agamemnon, and partake of a banquet of honour with the other chieftains in his tent. The King knows what is fitting, and he cannot do less."
Agamemnon willingly assented, and was proceeding to give the order to bring the gifts when Achilles started up again, in eager protest against this delay.
"Illustrious King," he said, "surely there will be time enough to speak of these lesser matters when we have humbled the pride of the Trojans, who are waiting for us on the plain. My friend lies slaughtered, pierced by Hector's spear, and ye talk to me of meat and drink! By my will the whole army should keep a solemn fast, until we have washed out the stain on our honour in a sea of blood, and then, after the great act of vengeance is complete, we will feast and make merry. I at least will suffer no morsel or drop to pass my lips as long as my comrade lies in my tent with his feet to the door, and the women mourning round. No; far other thoughts fill my heart—blood and slaughter, and the groans of dying men."
But these desperate counsels found no favour with the veteran heads of the army, and a deep hum of approval greeted the more sober eloquence of Odysseus, who now rose again to reply. "Mighty son of Peleus," he said, "thou art stronger far than I, and thy spear writes deadlier record on the foemen's ranks; but I have lived longer than thou, and seen more: bear with me, then, while I speak what reason and experience hath taught me. Soon weary grows the hand which toils in war's barren harvest, where the swathe is so thick, and the yield so scanty when the day is done. We cannot keep a fast for every Greek that falls—where would be the end? The warrior's dirge is short, and he is honoured enough if he is mourned for a day. And those who are left must eat, that they may have strength to fight on the morrow. To your tents, then, every one! And when ye have eaten, come quickly, armed for the fight, and await no second summons."
For all his fierce impatience, Achilles was compelled to yield. With great effort he controlled himself while the gifts were brought, and the ceremonies performed, with no circumstance of solemnity omitted, to ratify the covenant of forgiveness and reconciliation between him and Agamemnon. And so the first act in the great drama of his wrath is concluded.
Seven youths of princely rank, attended by a long train of bearers, were despatched to the tent of Achilles, loaded with the costly gifts of atonement from the King. With them went Briseis, thus returned to her former lord. When she saw Patroclus on the bed where he lay, she beat her breast, and, embracing the cold body, burst into a passion of weeping. "Friend of my sorrow!" she cried, "I left thee living, and I find thee dead. Woe, and more woe, is all my portion. When I came hither, an orphaned captive, bereaved of all, thou didst comfort me in my great affliction, promising, when the war was over, to make me Achilles' lawful wife. Thy gentleness and thy knightly courtesy shed balm upon my wounded spirit, and now thou art gone, and my last comfort is gone with thee."
So mourned Briseis, and all the captive ladies wept afresh when they heard her, having cause enough for tears, every one. The sound of their lamentation reached the ears of Achilles where he sat, but he remained unmoved by the tragedy of these lesser spirits, being absorbed in the sense of his own great loss. The tide of his passion had ebbed again, leaving his heart cold and desolate. His men brought him food and drink, but he repulsed them sternly, and would touch nothing. He thought of the happy past—when he and Patroclus had partaken together of many a cheerful meal—and then of the bitter present, when the sight of bread and meat filled him with loathing. He thought of his father Peleus, growing old in his solitary home, waiting in sad expectation to hear of his son's death, and of the young Neoptolemus, his own child, growing up among strangers in the island of Scyros. "Lost, lost, all lost!" he murmured; "I shall never see them again."
But the gods had not forgotten their favourite. Zeus beheld him as he sat thus stricken and forlorn, and sent Athene to inspire him with new comfort and strength. Unseen, she alighted at his side, and fed him, though he knew it not, with heavenly food, filling his heart with more than mortal vigour and courage. Meanwhile the clash of arms rang through the camp as the Greeks marched out, column after column, to battle, thick as autumnal leaves, or hovering snowflakes in winter. The air seemed on fire with the flash of myriads of spears, and the earth shook beneath the thunder of their tread.
Roused by the sound, Achilles sprang to his feet, and buckled on his corslet, and clasped the greaves to his ankles. Then he flung the sword over his shoulder, and thrust his arm through the strap of his shield, which shone like the full-orbed moon, or a beaconlight blazing afar over a stormy sea. Last of all, he lifted his mighty helmet, with its nodding, golden plume, and set it on his head. And now, being arrayed in his harness from head to foot, he raised himself to his towering height, and stretched his fleet limbs, to prove the armour; and it became unto him as wings, making him lighter and nimbler than ever before.
Grasping in his right hand his spear—the mighty Pelian ash, pointed with death—he went forth before the tent, where Automedon stood waiting with his car. "Now hear me, ye children of the wind!" he cried, addressing his steeds, "see that ye play me not false to-day, as when ye left Patroclus dead on the field, and came back with an empty car."
Then there befell a wondrous thing; for the good steed Xanthus, drooping low his head, answered with a human voice, and spake thus unto his master: "Yea, we will carry thee safe back, most dread Achilles, when the fight is o'er. It was by no sloth or tardiness of ours that thy brave comrade met his death; that deed was wrought by the hand of Apollo, using Hector as his instrument—even as thou too shalt be cut off by a human weapon, but by no human power."
So spake the immortal courser, for the first and the last time; for fate suffered it not again. And Achilles answered him, and said: "Waste not thy prophecies on me, good steed! I know my fate—death on the battlefield, far from my home: but ere that hour comes I will send many a Trojan to herald my coming among the dead."
Then, shouting his dread battle-cry, he sprang into his car, and drove headlong to the front.
By high permission of all-ruling Jove the gods were now free to take part in the war, and they all with one accord came down from Olympus to mingle with the fray. Only Zeus remained behind, as supreme arbiter of the final issue. All the rest took sides with the Greeks or Trojans, and five rival pairs confronted each other in the field—Poseidon found a match in Apollo, the great ally of the Trojans—Hera, who loved the Greeks like a mother, was confronted by the archer-goddess Artemis—against Athene stood Ares, whose fickle mind now inclined to the Trojans—Hermes, who favoured the Greeks, was met on the other side by Leto, the mother of Artemis and Apollo—and lastly Hephæstus and Scamander, the opposing powers of fire and water, took the field, the former for the Greeks, the latter for the Trojans.
All nature was in uproar as these tremendous allies entered the scene of conflict. Earth shook, and the mountains reeled to their foundations, and the towers of Troy and the Grecian ships reeled as in an earthquake. Then trembling came upon Hades, the monarch of the dead, and leaping from his throne he cried aloud in fear, lest the earth, rent by Poseidon's trident, should disclose to mortal and immortal eyes the dank and dreary mansions of the dead, which even the gods abhor.
Far in front of the Grecian line was seen the glittering form of Achilles, who scanned the Trojan ranks like a lion who seeks his prey, having but one thought, but one aim—to meet Hector, and slay him. But Hector's hour was not yet come, for Apollo stood near to shield him from his great enemy, and delay the fatal stroke which sooner or later must lay him low. And first the god put it into the heart of Æneas to defy Achilles to battle, and gave him unwonted courage and strength, that he might not flinch in that fearful encounter. Then Æneas heard a voice which whispered within him, and seemed to say: "Art thou not the son of Aphrodite, who is the daughter of supreme Jove? Why fearest thou then this upstart child of Thetis, of far meaner lineage than thine? Go face him, and let him learn that neither are the Trojans forsaken of heaven."
So between the advancing lines they met, both sons of gods, but far different in their fate. At first Achilles had not observed his approach, but stalked, heedless of all lesser foes, before the embattled host of Troy, like a lion bent on ravage, against whom a whole township is gathered, with purpose to slay him and at first he goes on his way, disdaining the menaces of that rabble rout—but then, being pricked by the point of a random spear, he gathers himself, foaming and gnashing his teeth, for the spring, and his mighty spirit groans within him, and he lashes his flanks on both sides with his tail, goading himself to battle—then glaring and roaring he launches his vast weight at the foe, resolved to kill or be killed—so sprang Achilles against Æneas, in wrath at his presumption.
"What wouldst thou of me, Æneas?" he cried, in disdainful mood. "Have the Trojans promised thee a fair estate, if thou take my life? Or hopest thou, perchance, to sit in the seat of Priam, if thou accomplish this great deed? I thought thou hadst had enough of me and my spear. Hast thou forgotten when I chased thee through the glades of Ida, having caught thee alone among the grazing herds? Then didst thou never turn thy head to look back, until thou hadst reached the shelter of a fenced city. And I sacked the city, and led captive the women; but thou didst escape me again, through the special mercy of Zeus. Go back, vain man, and join the press of thy comrades or thou shalt not escape me now.
"Who art thou?" answered Æneas, undaunted, "that thinkest to affright me with boastful words, as if I were a witless boy? Know, proud man, that I am of higher descent than thine, for in my veins flows the royal blood of Dardanus, mingled with the blood of gods. Go to, let us wrangle no more like women in the market-place, but decide the quarrel with our spears."
As he spoke, he cast his spear, which struck with strong impact against the shield of Achilles; and he, when he felt the shock, held the shield away from his body, fearing that the point would pass through and reach his flesh. But immortal armour is not easy to be pierced by mortal weapons, and the spear dropped harmless to the earth. Then Achilles flung in his turn, and the spear tore its way through the upper rim of Æneas' shield: and he, stooping low, heard the rush of the mighty lance, as it flew over his head, and buried itself in the ground behind him. Having thus both missed their cast, they prepared to renew the struggle hand to hand. Achilles drew his sword, and rushed to the encounter with a fierce cry: while Æneas lifted a heavy stone, and stood ready to hurl it as his antagonist drew near.
But that combat, which must have ended fatally for the Trojan, was not destined to be fought out to its end. "Behold," said Poseidon, who was watching the unequal duel, to Hera, who sat near him, "my spirit is troubled because of Æneas, whom his own rashness, and the evil counsels of Apollo, are leading to his doom. But this must not be: he is reserved for a better fate, which shall be accomplished after the towers of Troy have been levelled with the dust. In him shall the line of Dardanus be preserved, and from him shall be born a mighty race, to found a new empire on the ruins of the old."[1]
[1] These lines contain the germ of theÆneid.
"Do as thou wilt," answered Hera. "As for me, I have sworn a great oath that I will never save a Trojan from perishing, no, not in the last fatal hour when Troy shall be consumed with fire."
When Poseidon heard that, he went and stood between the fighting champions; and on the eyes of Achilles he shed a thick darkness, that he might not see what was done. Then he drew the spear from the shield of Æneas, and threw it at Achilles' feet; and catching up the Trojan prince in his hand he bore him aloft over the heads of the Greeks and Trojans, until he reached the utmost verge of the battlefield. There he set him down, and, becoming visible in all his divine majesty, addressed him in these solemn words of warning: "Æneas, what put this mad thought into thy heart, to fight against Achilles, who is both stronger than thou and dearer to the gods? Tempt not thy fate again, but when thou meetest him avoid his spear; and after he is slain, then mayest thou boldly encounter the bravest of the Greeks, for no other hath power to do thee hurt."
When the darkness fell from the eyes of Achilles he looked round about him, and saw his spear lying at his feet, but sought in vain for Æneas. "What wonder is this?" he said to himself; "the spear is returned to me, but mine enemy is vanished. Surely the gods love him also, though I deemed that he boasted idly. Let him go! It will be long before he desires to face me again."
Then, shouting to the Greeks to support him, he fell upon the main body of the Trojans, seeking everywhere for Hector; and finding him not (for Apollo as yet withheld the Trojan patriot from his eyes) he began to deal out indiscriminate slaughter wherever he went. A brave Lycian, the son of a mountain nymph, who rushed to attack him, was his first victim; with one blow of that tremendous spear his head was shattered as with a battering-ram, and he fell beneath the feet of the horses, and the wheels of the car passed over his body.
Among the many who went to swell the list of the slain that day was Polydorus, a favourite son of Priam, who loved him as his youngest born, and who had forbidden him to go into battle. But he, trusting in the speed of his feet, had come to the field the day before, and now appeared in the van of the Trojans, a graceful and agile youth, lovely and pleasant to behold. But as he pursued his gay career a javelin from the hand of Achilles pierced his armour at the waist, and he fell, torn in the midst by a hideous wound.
Hector saw his brother fall, and full of rage and grief sprang forward to avenge his death. When Achilles saw his great enemy at last within his reach he leapt towards him with a loud and exultant cry: "Draw near, and pay the price of my comrade, whom thou hast slain!" "Proud man, I fear thee not," answered Hector, undismayed: "I know that thou art far mightier than I, but nevertheless I defy thee, and trust that heaven will lend keenness to my spear."
But the end was not yet. Apollo intervened to save the gallant Trojan, and bore him away wrapped in a cloud of darkness. Three times Achilles struck, and three times his spear smote idly on the empty air. "Thou dog!" he cried at last, finding his efforts unavailing, "Thou hast avoided me now, but I will destroy thee yet, for I have friends among the gods as well as thou. Till then, let my vengeance fall upon thy countrymen."
And as a fire rages in a forest on a mountainside, licking up the underwood, and thrusting out its red fangs to devour the tall trees, so raged Pelides in the fury of slaughter, and the earth ran red with blood. And as two broad-browed steers move to and fro on a threshing-floor, treading out the corn, so trampled the steeds of Achilles on corpses and shields and broken armour, as he passed on, raining wounds and death on every side.
The Trojan army was now split into two divisions, one of which was flying across the plain towards the city, while Achilles drove the other before him towards the banks of Scamander. Into the stream they flocked, without pausing in their flight, like a cloud of locusts driven by a fire to seek refuge in the nearest water; and Scamander's bed was choked by a huddled multitude of horses and men.
Leaning his spear against a plane-tree, Achilles leapt into the river, sword in hand, and struck right and left, until the waters were crimsoned with blood. And as a shoal of fish flies before the onset of a dolphin, seeking the shallow waters near the shore, so shrank the Trojans from the sword of Achilles, and hid themselves under the arching banks. Then he remembered his promise to Patroclus, and, choosing twelve comely youths from that panic-stricken throng, he drove them before him, and gave them, bound, to his men to be brought alive to the ships. This done, he went back to continue the work of slaughter; and as he reached the river's brink he saw a Trojan, who had just left the water, and was preparing to fly towards the city. "Aha! are we met again?" cried Achilles, recognising in the fugitive a certain Lycaon, one of the numerous family of Priam, whom once before he had taken prisoner, having caught him during a night foray, when the luckless youth was busy cutting the young shoots of the olive, to make a rim for a chariot. On that occasion he had spared his life, and sold him into captivity to the King of Lemnos, from whom he had been ransomed by a friend of Priam, and so found his way back to Troy. For eleven days since his return from Lemnos he had taken his pleasure among his friends, and on the twelfth his fate threw him into the hands of Achilles for the second and last time.
Lycaon had flung away shield and helmet and spear, that he might be lightened in the race for his life. But Achilles was upon him before he was aware, threatening him with uplifted spear. "So thou hast returned from Lemnos?" he said mockingly. "We will now send thee on a longer journey, and we will see if thou come back again this time." The wretched youth flung himself down, and avoiding the spear-point crawled on his knees to Achilles, and clinging to him said: "Have pity on me, great warrior, and have respect for the sacred tie between host and guest; for I was thy guest, illustrious chieftain, and have broken bread under thy roof, on the day when thou madest me captive. Thou hast no cause to hate me, for I was not born of the same mother as Hector, who slew thy friend."
But there was no sign of relenting in the stern face which was bent over him, and he received a foretaste of the pangs of death as he heard the answer of Achilles. "Talk not to me," said he, "of ransom or redemption. As long as Patroclus was alive I was well pleased to make prisoners and release them for a price, but now not one shall escape of all those who fall into my hands, and least of all the sons of Priam. Thou must die, my friend! Why seems it to thee so hard? Patroclus met his fate with the rest, and he was a far better man than thou art. Look upon me; am I not a tall and proper man? Yet the shadow of death is creeping nearer and ever nearer to me, and soon the hour of my doom shall strike, whether at morn, or at noon, or at eventide."
At these words Lycaon's heart froze within him, and leaving hold of the spear he sank down on his knees, stretching out both his hands in mute entreaty. Then Achilles lifted up his sword, and clove him to the waist, and seizing his body by the foot flung it into the river. "Lie there among the fishes!" cried that ruthless man: "They will tend thy wounds, until Scamander bears thee to the deep, where thou shalt find fit burial in some sea monster's maw. Death, death to all your accursed race! Naught shall avail you your silver-eddying stream, to whose deity ye offer sacrifice of bulls and horses, but ye shall pay threefold and fourfold the debt of blood which ye owe me for the lives of the Greeks whom ye have slain."
The river-god heard him, and, waxing exceeding wroth, began to consider how he should stop the murderous career of Achilles. And while he was still debating within himself Achilles was confronted by Asteropæus, a brave Thracian chieftain, and the son of the presiding deity of Axius, a broad and noble stream. This man now barred the way of Achilles, brandishing a spear in each hand. "Whence and what art thou?" cried Achilles, amazed that anyone should dare to oppose him; for he knew not that Scamander had steeled the heart of Asteropæus to do this deed. "Art thou weary of thy life?" he asked again, as the Thracian still came on. "I will tell thee what I am," answered Asteropæus boldly: "I am the son of a deity, even as thou art, and my father was Axius, the fairest river on earth. Now let us fight, great son of Thetis."
With that he flung both spears at once, for he was equally skilled with both hands; and one of the spears struck against the shield of Achilles, but could not penetrate it, while the other grazed his right arm, and drew blood. Then Achilles hurled his spear, which missed Asteropæus, and buried itself to half its length in the river bank. Asteropæus grasped the shaft, and strove with all his might to tear the weapon from the ground. Failing in this, he next tried to break it in the middle, to use as a club; but by this time Achilles was upon him, and with one stroke of his sword clove him almost in twain. "Thou hast found thy match, thou river's brood!" he cried, stripping off the bloodstained armour. "Fool, that comparest thyself with me, whose fathers sprang in a direct line from Jove! He, methinks, is mightier than any river, yea, mightier than Oceanus, the great father of floods, who trembles before the red lightning, and the voice of the thunder, when it crashes through the skies."
So saying he lightly plucked out the embedded spear, and went in pursuit of the men of Asteropæus, who were crouching in terror along the river's banks. Seven of them he slew, and was about to continue the work of carnage when he received a check. From the depths of the stream a mysterious voice arose, in tones of protest and complaint: "Achilles, thine arm is exceeding mighty, and thy prowess more than mortal; for the gods are ever near to aid thee. If Zeus hath given thee leave to slaughter all the Trojans, at least drive them away from my bed and butcher them on the plain. My waters are choked with corpses, and I cannot roll my current any longer towards the holy sea, because my channel is straitened by the multitude of thy miserable victims. Give place, great chieftain, and cumber me no more."
"It shall be as thou sayest, thou god revered," answered Achilles. "But suffer me yet a little while until my task is done." And without further parley he sprang down again into the river bed. Then the god was wroth, and prepared to expel that daring intruder from his domain. He gathered all his waters, which rose up in surging billows, and washed the corpses ashore; and to the living he gave shelter, hiding them away in great hollow eddies. Then, collecting himself in one towering wave, he rushed upon Achilles, buffeting his shield, and eating away the ground under his feet. Achilles grasped an elm, a tall and stately tree, and clung to it for support; but the torrent had undermined its roots, and the next moment it fell, tearing a huge gap in the bank, and damming back the waters with its leafy boughs. Then he leaped from the yellow, swirling torrent, and darted across the plain in head-long flight; for he was sore afraid. But Scamander followed hard at his heels, roaring and arching his crest. In vain Achilles ran and doubled, and doubled and ran; the river pursued him everywhere, until his strength began to fail him; and if he stood still for a moment the waves rose instantly as high as his shoulders, threatening to swallow him up. Then he gave himself up for lost, and with a groan he gazed upward to the broad heaven, and uttered this despairing cry for help: "O all ye gods, is this then to be my end? Am I to perish thus, drowned like some nameless churl, who is swept away while crossing a ford in winter?"
Some friendly power heard his wild appeal, and lent him new strength and courage to continue the struggle. So on he panted across the plain, which by this time was covered with floating corpses, helmets, and shields. But Scamander raged the more furiously when he saw his prey still eluding his clutch, and he called aloud to Simocis, his brother stream, to join in the pursuit. And Simocis answered to his call, and mustered all his waters from every fountainhead and every tributary stream. Then the twin rivers roared together in unison, and came down upon him, battering him with uprooted trees and rolling rocks, which they swept along in their course, "We will quell thee," they shouted, "thou godless man, for all thy beauty and thy strength, and thou and thy gleaming panoply shall be wrapped in a thick shroud of mud, at the bottom of our blackest and deepest pool. Thy dirge shall be sung by our rolling waters, and thy monument none shall behold."
Achilles was now in extremity, and would surely have ended as ignobly as the river-god had said, if another power had not come to his aid. "Where art thou, my son, Hephæstus?" cried Hera, seeing that Achilles could hold out no longer. "Thou art he who should save our champion in this strait, for thou and Scamander are natural enemies. Haste thee to the rescue, armed with thy proper element; and I will summon the blasts of the West and the South to fan thy flames. Let fire fight with water, and spare not, nor cease thy fury until I give thee the signal to desist."
Hephæstus made haste to obey his mother, and forthwith he caused a sheet of fire to sweep across the plain, burning the corpses, and drying up the flood. Then he turned his flames upon the river himself, and all the trees which fringed his banks—elms, and willows, and plane-trees—were soon ablaze. Speedily the fire spread to the rushes and water plants, and at last the very waters began to grow hot, so that the fishes leapt into the air in their agony, and Scamander himself was in dire distress.
"It is enough," he cried, yielding to a superior power. "Torment me no more, Hephæstus! Let Achilles destroy the whole nation of Trojans, if he will—I will not seek to prevent him."
By this time the waters were beginning to boil and bubble, and clouds of steam rose into the air. Seeing that the river was thoroughly quelled, Hera gave the signal, and Hephæstus drew off his forces, and left Scamander in peace.
After his escape from the river, Achilles went in pursuit of the other Trojans, who had fallen back towards the town. Then began a second rout, and a second slaughter, and Priam, who was watching the field from his citadel, soon beheld the whole remnant of the Trojan army flying before Achilles towards the city. With a cry of alarm he hastened down to the gates, and gave directions to the warders to draw bolt and bar, and admit the flying multitude. "But stand ready," he said, "to make all fast, as soon as the people are safe within, for fear lest this terrible man should enter the town."
The warders did as they were bidden, and held the gates ready; and before long the first of the fugitives came panting in, their lips parched with thirst, and their armour powdered with dust.
Still unsated with slaughter, Achilles came on in hot pursuit, and Priam's fears might have been realised if Agenor, a young Trojan noble, had not been inspired by Apollo with sudden courage, which prompted him to cross the destroyer's path. "I will face this man," he said, halting from his flight. "He too is of mortal flesh, and has but one life to lose. I will face him, though Zeus fight on his side."
As a leopard comes forth from his thick covert to meet the hunter, when he hears the baying of the hounds, and, even though sorely wounded, fights on till he is slain, so stood Agenor to meet Achilles, with shield on breast, and spear poised for the throw. "Thou thoughtest to have taken Troy this day," he cried. "Thou fool! This deed is not for thee; thou shall not read to the end the story of her woes, but here, on this spot, I will end thy life of blood."
With that he cast his spear, which struck him on the greave above the knee, but rebounded from the tempered metal; but before Achilles could return the attack Apollo removed Agenor from his reach, and putting on the likeness of Agenor fled away towards the river, luring Achilles after him. The Trojans were thus given time to make good their escape, and the city was soon filled with a frightened and disordered host, thankful to have escaped with bare life. All along the battlements were seen groups of exhausted men, who wiped the sweat from their brows, and drank deep draughts of wine to quench their burning thirst. Only one was left outside: This was Hector, who remained of his own free will, resolved to decide the issue in single combat with Achilles.
Having achieved his purpose, Apollo now resumed his own shape, and halting before Achilles thus addressed him: "Knowest thou not me, Achilles? See, the Trojans are safe from thy fury, gathered within their gates. What wouldst thou have? Is it my life thou seekest? Cease, presumptuous mortal, and remember what thou art!"
"Thou hast foiled me, archer-god," answered Achilles, perceiving that he had been tricked. "Thou hast robbed me of my prey, or many another Trojan would have bitten the dust. I would make thee rue this wrong to mine honour had I but the power." Then, like a fiery courser starting in the race, he sped away towards the city, bent on high designs. Like the red rays of that sultry star whose rising heralds in the fierce heat of summer, the season of drought and fever, such was the bright but fearful gleam which flashed from his armour as he ran.
Priam was the first who saw that ill-omened ray, from the place where he stood, on the wall above the gate. And when he marked the destroyer's approach he groaned aloud, and beat his head, and then, stretching out his hands over the battlements, thus spake unto Hector, beseeching him earnestly, and with tears: "O Hector, my son, my son, remain not there, thus deserted and alone, to abide the coming of that fearful man, seeing that he is mightier far than thou. He hath robbed me of many a noble son, whom he hath killed or sold into captivity in distant isles. Spare me this last and bitterest blow! Fling not thy life away, to bring glory on Pelides, and on us sorrow and loss unspeakable. Alas! will it never cease, the storm of misery which rains without pause on this white, distracted head! No, I see them flocking, the spectres of worse evils yet to come, sorrow on sorrow, and woe on woe—murdered sons and daughters dragged into bondage, a violated home, and little children dashed to the ground in the fury of battle. Last scene of all—an old man slaughtered on his own hearthstone, and the dogs who fed at his table and guarded his door now maddened by sights and sounds of horror, and lapping his blood!"
The old man broke off, overpowered by the dark vision which his fancy had conjured up; and the appeal was taken up by Hecuba, the venerable Queen of Troy. "By this breast which nourished thee," she cried, "by the sacred name of mother, I implore thee to abandon thy rash purpose. Fly from this man, or he will slay thee, and dogs will devour thy flesh in the Grecian camp."
But all the anguished entreaties of his father and mother had no power to shake the resolution of Hector. He could not go back now; he had rejected with scorn the prudent advice which Polydamas had given the night before, and had thereby caused the death of a legion of Trojans. How could he face the taunts of the women whom his rashness had made widows, and the mute reproaches of the children now orphaned by his act? He had openly defied Achilles, and it was too late to recall the challenge. A wild plan crossed his mind, only to be instantly rejected: should he lay aside shield, and helmet, and spear, and go unarmed to Achilles, offering to make an end of this lamentable war at the cost of half the city's goods, and the free restitution of Helen with all her wealth? "No," he said, convinced at once of the desperate folly of such an enterprise: "I should then be guilty of self-murder: he would butcher me without mercy, before I had time to utter a word. This is no time for gentle parley, as between maid and youth sitting in soft dalliance under rock or tree: I must meet him with sword and spear, for victory or death."
Achilles was now close at hand, with the mighty Pelian ash swaying on his right shoulder, and his armour blazing like the light of the rising sun. When Hector saw him advancing, like an incarnate spirit of vengeance, all his heroic resolves forsook him, and seized with sudden terror he turned and fled. And as a falcon swoops down on a hare, and pounces, and pounces again, as his victim leaps and doubles, to escape from the fatal clutch, so Achilles darted after Hector, following all the turns and windings of his flight. Past a low hill they went, whence the Trojan scout had espied the advance of the Greeks not many days before, and past the wild fig-tree, following a beaten road, which led to two fair springs, the double source of eddying Scamander. One of the springs is of hot water, and a cloud of steam hangs over it, like the smoke of a burning fire; but the other is cold as ice. Here were broad washing-pits, lined with stone, in which the wives and daughters were wont to tread the clothes, in the old peaceful days, before ever the Greeks had landed on the shores of Troy. Leaving these behind them, they sped on, and still on, pursuer and pursued. Noble was the quarry, but the hunter was nobler far, and never before had he run in so keen a chase. Like mettled steeds, which strive for the mastery, where the prize is a vessel of gold or of silver, they flew; but here they were running for a far higher stake, even the very life of Troy's bravest son.
Three times they compassed the whole circuit of the walls, and again and again Hector tried to draw his pursuer within range of the spears of the Trojans who lined the battlements; but each time his effort was defeated by Achilles, who barred his way to the city, and drove him back into the open plain.
As one who pursues his enemy in a dream, and cannot catch him, though he seems ever within reach, so was Achilles ever baffled, when he strove to overtake Hector, and Hector, when he strove to escape. All the Greeks stood near in their ranks, watching the chase—and many a time a spear was levelled at Hector, to strike him down; but Achilles beckoned with his hand, and forbade his comrades to come between him and his victim.
For the fourth time they came to the place of the washing-pits, and here by mutual consent they paused to draw breath; for both were sore spent with running, and could not go a step farther. As Achilles stood panting, and leaning on his spear, Athene drew near to him, unseen of all the rest, and said: "He cannot escape us now, though Apollo should grovel in the dust at the feet of Zeus, begging for his life. Remain awhile and recover thy strength, and I will go and persuade him to fight thee face to face."
About an arrow's flight distant, Hector had come to a standstill, and drooped heavily, resting his hands on his knees, half strangled by his efforts to breathe. Suddenly, to his amazement, he saw Deiphobus, his brother, standing by his side, and heard the familiar tones of his voice. "Dear brother," said Deiphobus, "thou art hard beset, and driven to bay by this fierce son of Peleus. But lo! I am here to aid thee, and I will not fail thee in this strait."
"Deiphobus," answered Hector, "thou wert ever dearest to me of all the sons whom Hecuba bore to Priam: but now thou art dear and honoured too, since alone of all my nation thou hast dared to leave the shelter of the walls."
"Ay," answered the pretended Deiphobus, "my mother and my father, and all my friends, strove to hold me back; but my heart yearned towards thee in thy mortal need. But come with me, and together we will try the fortune of war. Go thou first, and I will follow."
Hector accordingly advanced to meet Achilles, who was already moving towards him. "I will fly thee no more," he said, when they were within a spear's cast of each other, "I will either slay thee, or be slain. But let us first make a covenant, and call the gods to witness it: swear thou that, if I fall, thou wilt restore my body and my armour to the Trojans—and I will swear to do the like by thee."
"Talk not to me of covenants, thou villain!" answered Achilles fiercely. "As there is no treaty possible between lions and men, no concord between wolves and lambs, but only fear and hatred, so is there hate unending between me and thee, which naught but death may cancel or abate. Summon up all thy manhood, and prepare to pay the price of my comrades whom thou hast slain."
This said he poised and flung his spear; but Hector stooped low, and the spear flew over his head, and sank deep into the earth. Unobserved by Hector, Athene drew it out, and gave it back to Achilles. "Take now my spear!" shouted the Trojan, "take it to thy heart, thou braggart, that thinkest to dismay me with boastful words!" The weapon flew straight to its mark, and, striking the centre of Achilles' shield, rebounded to a distance, and fell rattling on the ground. Then Hector called anxiously to Deiphobus, bidding him bring another lance. But no answer came, for the real Deiphobus was safe behind the walls, and he who had appeared to Hector was a false Deiphobus, concealing the person of Athene.
"Alas! I have been deceived," said Hector. "My last bolt is shot, and my fate summons me to death. Let me not die inglorious and without a struggle, but in such wise that I shall be named with honour by generations yet unborn."
Then, drawing his sword, he rushed upon Achilles, who came on slowly, towering above the rampart of his shield, nodding his golden plumes and brandishing high his spear, whose point twinkled and flashed like the light of the evening star. Scanning every joint in Hector's armour, at last Achilles spied a point, between the shoulder-blade and the neck, which was undefended; and at this mark he hurled his spear with all his force and pierced him through the neck. But the passage of his voice was left untouched, so that he was still able to speak.
"Thou hast paid thy debt to Patroclus," said Achilles, standing over his fallen enemy, "and now thou shalt pay the usury. Dogs and vultures shall give thee burial, but he shall lie in an honoured tomb."
"By thy life," answered Hector faintly, "by thy father's name, I implore thee, give not my body to be devoured by dogs, but restore it to my friends, who will pay thee a heavy ransom, that I may receive my due in death."
"Thou dog!" replied Achilles, with a furious look, "talk not of thy dues, nor name my father to me! Would that I could find it in my heart to carve and devour thy flesh, as surely as thou shalt not escape the hounds and vultures, no, not if Priam were to offer thy weight in gold, after what thou hast done unto me and mine."
"I knew that I should not persuade thee," said Hector, with his dying breath. "Thou hast a heart of iron. But vengeance shall reach thee in the day when Apollo and Paris shall subdue thee at the gates of Troy."
As he uttered this prophecy a shudder ran through his limbs, and the gallant spirit fled to the land of shadows.
"Die!" said Achilles, as Hector uttered his last sigh. "As for me, I am prepared to meet my fate whensoever heaven wills its accomplishment."
Then he drew out his spear, and laying it aside, began to strip off the armour which Hector had taken from Patroclus. And the Greeks came crowding round, to gaze on the beauty and stature of Hector, and stab the helpless body with their spears. Far other had he seemed to them when he came with fire and sword to burn their ships, and fill their camp with slaughter!
When Achilles had finished stripping the corpse, he stood up and spoke thus to the assembled host: "Princes and counsellors of the Greeks, now that the gods have granted us to slay this mighty champion, who hath done us more harm than all the rest together, shall we not advance in full force against the city, and end the war at one bold stroke? But alas! what am I saying? We have another and a sadder duty to perform. Patroclus lies among the ships, unburied, unwept, and shall I forget him in this hour of triumph? No; not in the hour of death, not in the grave itself, which brings, they say, oblivion to all, shall my love for him grow cold. Therefore follow me, sirs, to the ships, and raise the song of victory. We have gained great glory, we have slain Troy's chief defender, to whom all the Trojans prayed as to a god."
Then, in fulfilment of his horrible menaces, he prepared to take hideous vengeance on his slaughtered enemy. Stooping down he pierced the dead man's feet from heel to ankle, and passed a leathern thong through the holes; then he made fast the thong behind the chariot, and, taking up the armour, he sprang into the driver's place, and lashed his horses to a gallop. So amid a swirling cloud of dust the fallen hero was dragged along, with his dark locks streaming, and that comely head marred and defiled; and Zeus delivered him to injury and outrage at the hands of his enemies in his own native land.
But what were the feelings of the Trojans watching on the walls when they saw their great champion fall, and with what eyes did the aged king and the fond mother behold their Hector, their joy and pride, and chief defence, butchered, mutilated, and dragged through the dust! Through all the city arose a great cry of lamentation, and such horror was written on every face as if the Greeks had carried Troy by storm, and were filling her streets with fire and slaughter. Priam was hardly restrained from going forth at once, with the purpose of entering the Grecian camp, and throwing himself at the feet of Achilles.
But there was another, bound by an even nearer and dearer tie to the slain, who was the last to learn the fearful news. This was Andromache, Hector's wife, who was sitting at her loom in the retirement of her chamber, weaving a piece of flowered tapestry. Presently she left her task, and calling her handmaids bade them prepare the bath for their master against his return from battle. Her face was cheerful and serene, and she smiled as she thought of the happy meeting which seemed so near. But in the midst of these pleasant household cares a dreadful sound reached her ears—a shrill note, as of women shrieking, mingled with the deeper groans of men. "Hark!" she said, turning deadly pale, and dropping the shuttle, which she had been holding in her hand: "What mean these cries?" Then, as she paused again to listen, she heard the voice of Hecuba, raised in loud anguish above the rest. With a woman's quick instinct she divined that the worst had befallen her, and shrieking: "Hector, my Hector, is slain!" she hastened, with ashy cheeks, and tottering knees, to the walls. The crowd fell back at her approach, and every voice was hushed when they saw her bending over the battlements, and gazing with wild eyes across the plain. Then she saw Achilles in full career towards the ships, dragging her husband's body behind his car. At that sight she gave one gasping cry, and reeling back fell swooning into the arms of her kinswomen who were standing ready to aid. Thus for awhile she lay, motionless and lifeless, with her long hair, escaped from its bands, streaming about her. At last she drew a deep, sobbing breath, and opening her eyes looked into the anxious faces bent over her. Then the full consciousness of her loss rushed back upon her in a bitter flood, and breaking from the gentle hands which held her she made as if she would fling herself down from the battlements. She was prevented by kindly force, and led away, moaning and weeping, to her widowed home.
Captive Andromache. Lord Leighton. By permission of the B.P.C., LondonCaptive Andromache. Lord Leighton. By permission of the B.P.C., London
When Achilles reached the camp, he commanded his men to remain under arms, and led the whole company, with horses and with chariots, in solemn procession, three times round the couch on which the dead Patroclus lay. When the strange rite was ended, the couch, which had been brought out for this purpose, was carried back with its burden to the tent, and they unyoked their horses, and prepared to take their supper. Hector's body was flung into a corner, where it lay exposed to the burning sun, and the cold dews of night. Achilles feasted his men bountifully, and then went, attended by a special guard of honour, to partake of a banquet in the royal tent. Being invited to refresh himself with a bath, he stubbornly refused, and swore a great oath that he would never wash the stains of battle from his person until Patroclus had been buried with all the pomp of woe. At the banquet he seemed ill at ease, and as soon as it was ended he prayed his kingly host to have him excused, and went back to the quarters of the Myrmidons.
Night came down, and silence fell on the sleeping camp. Achilles had not sought his bed, but had laid himself down on the sand, in a clear space, where the billows broke at his feet. There sleep soon overtook him, stilling the dull ache of sorrow; for his limbs were very weary, after that tremendous fight, and still more tremendous race. And as he slept the ghost of Patroclus came and stood by his side, like to the living man in stature and in face and in voice, and in the very garments he had on; and thus spake the spectre, in hollow and mournful tones: "Ah! fickle heart, oblivious of the dead, canst thou sleep, Achilles? Has death broken the bond which united us in life? Bury me with all speed, and let me wander no more, a homeless ghost, at the gates of Hades, disowned and rejected by the other spirits who have crossed the dark river. Give me thy hand, sweet friend, I entreat thee! For never again shall I return to earth, when ye have given my body to the flames—never more shall we sit retired from our comrades, as once in life, and take sweet counsel together. My fate hath seized me, and cast me down into the pit which was prepared for me when I was born; and for thee too the bolt is prepared, which shall lay thee low beneath the walls of Troy. And one more charge have I to lay upon thee: let not our bones lie apart, Achilles, but let us be joined in death, even as we were united in life. One home, one love, we shared, and thy father was to me as mine own, from the day when I slew my playmate in a childish brawl, and was brought by Menœtius to the house of Peleus. Therefore, when thy fate hath reached thee, let our ashes be mingled in one urn."
"Wherefore, beloved," answered Achilles in his sleep, "hast thou come hither to remind me of my duty, and seemest to doubt my love? Come nearer, that I may embrace thee! Yet a little while let my heart beat against thine, and ease its heavy burden of sorrow."
With these words he stretched out his eager arms to clasp Patroclus to his breast; but the ghost eluded his grasp, and with one piercing wail melted away like smoke into the darkness. "Alas!" cried Achilles, springing up in amaze, and summoning his comrades, "I perceive that, even in the house of Hades, there is a spirit and a phantom of the dead—but understanding none at all—for all night long the ghost of the hapless Patroclus stood by my side moaning and lamenting, and straitly charging me concerning all that I must do. And the phantom was in aspect as the living man himself."
At earliest dawn a long train of mules was seen ascending the lower slopes of Ida, attended by a numerous company of men, all carrying axes and ropes of withes. The whole troop was under the command of Meriones, the squire of Idomeneus, on whom the task had been laid of providing fuel for the funeral pyre of Patroclus. A large grove of pines was felled, the trunks were divided into logs, and these were bound into bundles and laid on the backs of the mules. Then down the slope they were driven at a quick trot, the men running beside them; and when they reached the camp the mules were unloaded and the logs piled up in an open space pointed out by Achilles. A thousand willing hands aided in the work, and soon a huge stack of pinewood towered in the midst of the ships and tents.
When the pyre was raised, Achilles gave the order to the Myrmidons to gird on their armour and harness the steeds to their cars. The whole army stood waiting, drawn up in silence on either side of the way by which the funeral train was to pass; and presently the procession was seen approaching. First came the chariots, each carrying two men—the driver, and the man-at-arms; behind these followed a numerous troop of infantry, marching slowly in dense array; and in the space between the corpse was borne, covered with locks of hair which the Myrmidons had cut off as a last tribute to the dead.
Achilles walked behind the bier, supporting the head of Patroclus in his hands, and moving heavily, as one that mourns for a brother; and so they passed on, through the long lane of mailed warriors, until they came to the place where the pyre was built.
Then Achilles took a sharp knife, and cut off from his forehead a long lock of hair, and, placing the lock in the dead man's hand, turned round and gazed wistfully across the dark gulf of waters which divided him from his home. "Alas for the hopes of men!" he said, in a voice of distress. "My father Peleus designed this lock for another purpose, as an offering to thee, Spercheus, my native stream, if ever I returned safe from the war. But now thine altar, which stands in thy grove near thy sacred source, shall never smoke for me again. A foreign grave awaits me, far from my home and kindred, and Peleus is absolved from his vow. Therefore to thee, Patroclus, I dedicate this lock."
The Greeks now dispersed to their quarters leaving those who were nearest to the dead, by birth or by station, to perform the last rites. The chief mourners approached the bier, and lifting it with the corpse placed it on the top of the pyre. Many sheep and oxen were slaughtered and flayed, and the body of Patroclus was wrapped from head to foot in the fat taken from the carcasses. Then the carcasses of the victims were heaped up round the bier, with jars of honey and olive-oil. Four horses were next slaughtered, and two favourite hounds of Patroclus, and their bodies added to the rest. Last of all the twelve Trojan captives whom he had taken in battle the day before were led in chains to the spot, butchered by Achilles with his own hands, and flung upon the pyre.
"It is done!" cried Achilles, when this last savage tribute was paid to his friend, "I have accomplished my vow, and the fire may now do its work—but for thee, Hector, no fire shall be lighted, but dogs shall devour thee."
That cruel threat at least was not to be fulfilled. Unseen hands were busy about the fallen Trojan hero, guarding him day and night from the prowling dogs of the camp. Aphrodite embalmed his body with a heavenly essence, which closed all his wounds, and kept his flesh pure and unharmed; and Apollo covered all the place where he lay with a dark cloud, to shield him from the scorching rays of the sun.
Meanwhile torches had been brought to kindle the pyre. But the huge mass smouldered sullenly, and the victims remained unconsumed. Then Achilles took a golden bowl, and pouring a libation to Boreas and Zephyrus, the twin gods of the winds, prayed them to lend their blasts and blow the fire to a blaze. Iris heard his prayer, and went swiftly to call the winds to his aid. She found them seated at table with all their brethren in the house of Zephyrus; and thus spake Iris to that boisterous company: "Why sit ye here feasting and making merry, when there is work for you to do? Hear ye not the prayers of Achilles, who needs your help, that the pyre of Patroclus may burn freely, and consume him to ashes, with all that lies about him."
Prompt at the summons, the winds arose, with clamour and uproarious din, and rushed down the mountainside, chasing the clouds before them. Over the complaining sea they swept, and flew whistling onward till they reached the shores of Troy. There they fell upon the smouldering pyre, and the flames leaped and bellowed in response to the roaring blast. So all night long they lashed the fire to fury, and all night long Achilles paced to and fro before the pyre, pouring libations from a golden bowl on the ground, and calling aloud to the ghost of his ill-starred friend. As mourns a father when he burns the bones of his son, a young bridegroom cut off by death on his wedding-day, so mourned Achilles as the fire devoured his comrade's body—so pitiful were his cries, so faltering his gait.
Towards dawn the fire began to die out, and nothing was left but a vast heap of glowing ashes. Then the winds went back to their home, and earth and ocean sank to rest, beneath the gentle light of the morning star. Soothed by the calm influence of the hour, Achilles fell into a fitful slumber, but was soon aroused by the sound of footsteps and the murmur of voices. Starting up, he saw a goodly company of nobles approaching, with Agamemnon at their head; and with their assistance the ritual ceremonies due to the dead were completed. First, they poured wine on the glowing mass of embers, till the last spark was extinguished; then they collected the ashes of Patroclus, which lay by themselves, surrounded by the charred remains of beasts and men. A costly urn of gold received the few handfuls of dust which were all that remained of him whom they had so cherished and honoured; and the urn was buried in a low mound of earth, which was one day to be raised to a commanding height, as a monument to the great Achilles.
When the last tribute of sorrow had been paid, the rest of the day was devoted to sport and festivity. In heroic times funeral games were an important part of the honours assigned to a fallen warrior; and those of Patroclus were celebrated on a scale of unrivalled magnificence.
The great event of the day was to be the chariot race, and splendid prizes were offered by Achilles, who was the sole patron and prize giver, for the winners. When the gifts were set in order, Achilles rose and invited all who prided themselves in their horsemanship to take part in the friendly contest. "If," he said, "we were keeping this festival in honour of any other Greek, I myself must needs carry off the first prize; for no steeds in all the army can vie with mine, the immortal coursers which were a gift from Poseidon to my father. But this is a day of mourning both to me and to them; for they have lost their gentle charioteer, and now stand, sorrow-stricken, with manes drooping to the ground, in their stalls, deprived of his loving care. Therefore take your places, all ye who would prove the mettle of your horses, and your own mastery of this gallant game."
Four chieftains brought their cars to try their fortune in the race: Eumelus, a prince of Thessaly, a land renowned for its breed of horses; Diomede, who drove the horses which he had taken from Æneas; Menelaus, with a mare of Agamemnon's, named Arthe, and his own horse Podargus; and Antilochus, whose car was drawn by a pair from his father's stables. Nestor, who knew their quality, which was indeed but poor, accompanied his son to the starting-point, and as they were the first to arrive he improved the occasion by proffering a world of good advice, reinforced by many a pithy saw, showing Antilochus how the want of speed may be remedied by cunning and skill. "Art," he said, "is far greater than force. Art drives the axe, though aimed by a weaker arm, deep into the heart of the oak; art controls the motions of tall ships, by means of a very small helm; and art may save thee from reaching the goal last in this race."
In the ancient chariot races the starting-point and the winning-post were always the same, as it was the custom to run a certain distance, and then wheel round a certain point, and return on the homeward track, which was parallel to the other. The turning-point was marked by a pillar, or some other conspicuous object, and here a desperate struggle often took place between the rival cars for the inside place, taxing the skill and courage of the drivers to the utmost. Nestor had been over the course, and gave his son minute directions as to the appearance and position of the turning-post, which was far off on the plain, and invisible from the starting-point. "You will see," he said, "a withered stump of oak or fir, rising to about a fathom above the earth, with a white stone leaning against it on either side. There you must turn; and see that you lose no ground in wheeling round to the homeward track. Give your right horse the reins, and urge him to full speed with voice and lash, but rein in the other, and hold him back; and let the nave of your left wheel just seem to graze the stump. If you can pass another car in turning, there is no fear that he will catch you again. Thou hast my counsel: go, and prosper—be wary, and be wise."
At the last moment a fifth chariot appeared on the scene, driven by Meriones. Lots were cast for the stations, and Antilochus was so fortunate as to obtain the inside place. The cars drew up in a line, Achilles gave the word, and away they went in a cloud of dust, the horses' manes streaming, the drivers shouting, and the cars gliding smoothly, or leaping and plunging at the uneven places.
Soon the cars began to separate by wider and wider intervals, and a keen struggle ensued between the Thracian horses, driven by Eumelus, and the Trojans, driven by Diomede. Eumelus took the lead, but Diomede followed him so close that he felt the hot breath of the pursuing horses on his back. So they ran for about a bowshot; then Diomede dropped his whip, and his horses, wanting the lash, began to fall back. This accident befell him by the malice of Apollo, who owed him a grudge for the havoc which he had wrought among the Trojans. But Athene had not forgotten her favourite, and she contrived that he should recover his whip, and put fresh mettle into his steeds. Nor did she stop there, but, overtaking the car of Eumelus, she broke the yoke which coupled his horses, so that they reared violently in opposite directions, and the pole of the car was dashed to the ground. Thus suddenly arrested at the height of his speed, Eumelus rolled headlong from the car, and sustained woeful damage. The skin was torn from his elbows and nose and mouth, his forehead was severely bruised, and he lay for a while senseless where he fell. This mishap secured an easy victory for Diomede. Avoiding the wreck, he pressed onwards, leaving the whole field far behind, turned the goal successfully, and drove at an easy gallop along the homeward track.
He was followed at a long distance by Menelaus, now second in the race; and the third place was held by Antilochus, whose ambition had been fired by the unlooked-for good fortune of Diomede, so that he hoped by some similar accident to obtain at least the second prize. Cheering on his horses, he went hard in pursuit of Menelaus, who was just then approaching a difficult piece of ground, where the course had been hollowed out by the winter rains. The place was too narrow to allow two cars to pass, and Antilochus determined to secure the lead before Menelaus had time to reach the broad course on the other side of the ravine. Accordingly he plied the lash unsparingly, and overtook Menelaus at the moment when he was about to enter the neck of the dry watercourse. "Keep back!" shouted Menelaus in alarm. "Do not try to pass me here, or you will wreck both our cars."
Antilochus pretended not to hear, and drove on harder than ever, so that Menelaus, who was a timid driver, was compelled to rein in his horses and let him go by.
While the race was being thus run, with varying turns of fortune, the chieftains assembled round Achilles were sitting in their places, waiting for the return of the cars, and discussing the chances of the drivers. Presently Idomeneus, who sat somewhat apart from the rest, in a position which gave him a long view over the course, cried out excitedly: "Diomede is leading! I can see the white mark on the face of one of the horses, which shows that he is one of the Trojan stallions—the red chestnut, with a mark like a half-moon on his forehead. Look out, some of you who have younger eyes than mine, and see if I am right."
"Hold thy peace, old prater!" said Ajax, son of Oileus, roughly. "We can see nothing yet—neither canst thou. Eumelus was leading when we saw him last, and doubtless he is leading still."
"Thou mannerless fellow!" answered Idomeneus hotly. "Foremost in a brawl, and in all else the least of the Greeks! Come, let us lay a wager, and Agamemnon shall hold the stakes; or art thou afraid to back thy saucy tongue?"
Ajax started up in a rage, hurling abuse at the Cretan veteran, and words would have soon led to blows, had not Achilles interposed his authority to put an end to the quarrel. "For shame!" he said, rising from his seat, "I wonder to hear you, two men of name and high station, wrangling like boors. What avails this idle contention? Wait but a moment, and the winner will be here to answer for himself."
Even as he spoke, a loud huzza was heard, and a moment after, the Trojan car, driven by Diomede, turned the last corner, and came racing lightly down the last straight stretch of the course, until it was pulled up before the chair of Achilles. Sthenelus was standing ready to welcome his comrade, and the first prize—a female slave, and a huge cauldron for heating water for the bath—was forthwith delivered to the victor.
After a long interval Antilochus came in, driving at a heavy gallop, and hotly pursued by Menelaus, who was gaining at every stride, and had by this time reduced the wide gap which had separated them to a mere hand's-breadth. His horses were displaying splendid mettle, especially the mare Arthe, who had been given to Agamemnon by a wealthy noble of Sicyon, as the price of his exemption from serving in the war; and if the course had been a bowshot longer he would have passed Antilochus, and taken the second prize. As it was, he came in third, but those who stood near as he was dismounting could see that he was red with indignation, and big with some grievance, real or supposed.
The fourth was Meriones, who was a poor driver, and whose steeds were the weakest; and last of all came Eumelus, with face sorely disfigured, dragging his wrecked car behind him, and driving before him his horses. "The last man is the best!" cried Achilles, moved to pity by his ill-fortune. "How say you, sirs? Shall we not give him the second prize?" The proposal found general approval, excepting, of course, with Antilochus, who loudly protested against such an award. "Thou art no friend of mine, Achilles," he said angrily, "if thou deprive me of the gift which I have fairly earned. Prizes are given to reward the winners, not to console the unlucky. If you wish to be generous, you can make Eumelus happy by bestowing on him some other gift, of equal or greater value, out of the rich store which is laid up in your tent. But this prize is mine, and I will not give her up no, not if I have to fight for her."
So saying, he seized the halter of the mare, who was tethered near, with her foal, to be given to him who won the second place.
The great Achilles smiled indulgently at the defiant attitude of Antilochus, who was very dear to him. "It shall be as you say," he replied. "The prize is yours, and to Eumelus I will give the corslet of Asteropæus, which I won in the battle yesterday." Automedon brought the corslet—a curious piece of work, finely fashioned in brass, with a casting of white metal—and Eumelus' eyes glistened with pleasure as he received it.