Of Gods and Men
Page 4
Then the bright-eyed goddess Athene said to him: ‘Father, master of the bright lightning and the dark clouds, what is this you are saying? Do you intend to take a man who is mortal and long ago doomed by fate, and release him from grim death? Do it then – but we other gods will not all approve you.’
Then Zeus the cloud-gatherer answered her: ‘Do not worry, Tritogeneia, dear child. I do not speak with my heart in full earnest, and my intention to you is kind. Do as your purpose directs, and do not hold back any longer.’
With these words he urged on Athene what she herself already desired, and she went darting down from the peaks of Olympos. And swift Achilleus kept driving Hektor on with his relentless pursuit. As when a dog has started the fawn of a deer from its lair in the mountains, and chases it on through the hollows and the glens: even if it takes to cover and crouches hidden under a bush, the dog smells out its track and runs on unerringly until he finds it. So Hektor could not throw off the swift-footed son of Peleus. Whenever he tried to make a dash for the Dardanian gates, to get under the well-built walls and give the men above a chance of defending him with their weapons, every time Achilleus would be there in time to block his way and head him back out towards the plain, while he himself kept always on the city side as he flew onwards. As a man in a dream is unable to pursue someone trying to escape, and the other cannot run away just as he cannot give chase: so Achilleus could not catch him with his running, nor Hektor get away. And how could Hektor have kept clear of the fates of death, if Apollo had not come close to him for the last and final time, and spurred strength in him and speed to his legs? And godlike Achilleus had been shaking his head at his own people to stop them shooting their bitter arrows at Hektor, in case one of them should win the glory with a hit, and he himself reach Hektor too late. But when they came round to the well-heads for the fourth time, then the Father opened out his golden scales. In the pans he put two fates of death’s long sorrow, one for Achilleus and one for Hektor the tamer of horses, and he took the scales in the middle and lifted them up: and Hektor’s day of doom sank down, away into Hades, and Phoibos Apollo left him. Then the bright-eyed goddess Athene came to the son of Peleus, and stood close by him and spoke winged words to him: ‘Now, glorious Achilleus loved of Zeus, now I think that we two will bring great glory for the Achaians back to the ships – we will kill Hektor, for all his lust for battle. There is no possibility now that he can escape us any longer, even if Apollo the far-worker goes through agonies of grovelling before father Zeus who holds the aegis. So you stand still now and get your breath, while I go and persuade him to fight with you face to face.’
So Athene spoke, and Achilleus was happy at heart, and did as she told him: so he stood there leaning on his bronze-barbed ash spear. She then left him and caught up with godlike Hektor, taking the form and tireless voice of Deïphobos. She came close and spoke winged words to him: ‘Brother, swift Achilleus is pressing you very hard now, chasing you round the city of Priam with all his speed. Come then, let us face him together and beat him off where we stand.’
Then great Hektor of the glinting helmet said to her: ‘Deïphobos, you have always been the brother I loved far the most of all the sons born to Hekabe and Priam. And now my heart is minded to honour you yet more highly, since you have had the courage, when your eyes saw my trouble, to come outside the wall on my account, while all the others stay inside.’
Then the bright-eyed goddess Athene said to him: ‘Brother, our father and honoured mother, and my friends around me, did indeed beseech me one after the other, and implored me again and again to stay where I was inside – such is the terror on them all. But my heart within me was chafed with painful sorrow for you. Now let us charge straight in and fight, and not be sparing with our spears, so we can see whether Achilleus will kill us both and carry away our bloody spoils to the hollow ships, or else be beaten down under your spear.’
So speaking Athene led him forward in her treachery. When the two men had advanced to close range, great Hektor of the glinting helmet was first to speak: ‘Son of Peleus, I shall not run from you any more, as I did when you chased me three times round the great city of Priam, and I did not dare to stop and take your attack. But now my heart prompts me to stand and face you – I shall kill or be killed. But first let us swear here before our gods – they will be the best witnesses to keep watch on our agreement. I swear that I will inflict no outrage on you, if Zeus grants me the endurance and I take away your life: but after I have stripped you of your famous armour, Achilleus, I will give your body back to the Achaians – and you do the same.’
Then swift-footed Achilleus scowled at him and said: ‘Hektor, do not talk to me of agreements, you madman. There are no treaties of trust between lions and men: wolves and lambs share no unity of heart, but are fixed in hatred of each other for all time – so there can be no friendship for you and me, there will be no oaths between us, before one or the other falls and gives his glut of blood to Ares, the fighter with the bull’s-hide shield. Call to mind now all your fighting skills: now is the time above all to show yourself a spearman and a brave warrior. But I tell you there is no escape for you any longer, but soon Pallas Athene will beat you down under my spear. And now you will make me lump payment for the pain of my companions’ deaths, all those you killed when your spear was raging.’
So he spoke, and steadying his long-shadowed spear he let it fly. But glorious Hektor had looked ahead and avoided it. He watched it come and crouched down, and the bronze spear flew over him and fixed in the earth: and unseen by Hektor, shepherd of the people, Pallas Athene pulled up the spear and gave it back to Achilleus. Hektor then spoke to the excellent son of Peleus: ‘You missed! So, godlike Achilleus, it seems you knew nothing from Zeus about my death – and yet you said you did. No, you turn out a mere ranter – all your talk is bluff, to frighten me and make me lose my courage for the fight. Well, I shall not run and let you fix your spear in my back, but you must drive it through my chest as I charge straight for you, if that is what god has granted you. But now you try to avoid this bronze spear of mine – how I hope you take it entire in your flesh! Then the war would go lighter for the Trojans, with you dead, their greatest danger.’
So he spoke, and steadying his long-shadowed spear he let it fly, and did not miss, hitting in the centre of the son of Peleus’ shield: but the spear rebounded far from the shield. Hektor was angered that his swift spear had flown wasted from his hand, and stood there in dismay, as he had no second ash spear. He called in a great shout to Deïphobos of the white shield, and asked him for a long spear. But Deïphobos was not there near him. Then Hektor realised in his heart, and cried out: ‘Oh, for sure now the gods have called me to my death! I thought the hero Deïphobos was with me: but he is inside the wall, and Athene has tricked me. So now vile death is close on me, not far now any longer, and there is no escape. This must long have been the true pleasure of Zeus and Zeus’ son the far-shooter, and yet before now they readily defended me: but now this time my fate has caught me. Even so, let me not die ingloriously, without a fight, without some great deed done that future men will hear of.’
So speaking he drew the sharp sword that hung long and heavy at his side, gathered himself, and swooped like a high-flying eagle which darts down to the plain through the dark clouds to snatch up a baby lamb or a cowering hare. So Hektor swooped to attack, flourishing his sharp sword. And Achilleus charged against him, his heart filled with savage fury. In front of his chest he held the covering of his lovely decorated shield, and the bright four-bossed helmet nodded on his head, with the beautiful golden hairs that Hephaistos had set thick along the crest shimmering round it. Like the Evening Star on its path among the stars in the darkness of the night, the loveliest star set in the sky, such was the light gleaming from the point of the sharp spear Achilleus held quivering in his right hand, as he purposed death for godlike Hektor, looking over his fine body to find the most vulnerable place. All the rest of his body was covered by his b
ronze armour, the fine armour he had stripped from mighty Patroklos when he killed him. But flesh showed where the collar-bones hold the join of neck and shoulders, at the gullet, where a man’s life is most quickly destroyed. Godlike Achilleus drove in there with his spear as Hektor charged him, and the point went right through his soft neck: but the ash spear with its weight of bronze did not cut the windpipe, so that Hektor could still speak and answer Achilleus. He crashed in the dust, and godlike Achilleus triumphed over him: ‘Hektor, doubtless as you killed Patroklos you thought you would be safe, and you had no fear of me, as I was far away. You fool – behind him there was I left to avenge him, a far greater man than he, waiting there by the hollow ships, and I have collapsed your strength. Now the dogs and birds will maul you hideously, while the Achaians will give Patroklos full burial.’
Then with the strength low in him Hektor of the glinting helmet answered: ‘I beseech you by your life and knees and by your parents, do not let the dogs of the Achaian camp eat me by the ships, but take the ransom of bronze and gold in plenty that my father and honoured mother will offer you, and give my body back to my home, so that the Trojans and the wives of the Trojans can give me in death my due rite of burning.’
Then swift-footed Achilleus scowled at him and said: ‘Make me no appeals, you dog, by knees or parents. I wish I could eat you myself, that the fury in my heart would drive me to cut you in pieces and eat your flesh raw, for all that you have done to me. So no man is going to keep the dogs away from your head, not even if they bring here and weigh out ten times or twenty times your ransom, not even if Dardanian Priam offers to pay your own weight in gold. Not even so will your honoured mother lay you on the bier and mourn for you, her own child, but the dogs and birds will share you for their feast and leave nothing.’
Then, dying, Hektor of the glinting helmet said to him: ‘Yes, I can tell it – I know you well, and I had no chance of swaying you: your heart is like iron in your breast. But take care now, or I may bring the gods’ anger on you, on that day when for all your bravery Paris and Phoibos Apollo will destroy you at the Skaian gates.’
THE DEATH OF ACHILLES
Posthomerica, Book III
Quintus Smyrnaeus
Translated by Alan James, 2004
This story was written around a millennium after the Homeric epics. Little is known of its author, Quintus Smyrnaeus (third century AD), other than that he came from Smyrna (modern İzmir), in what is now Turkey. He would probably have been familiar with the ancient Epic Cycle (see Story 2), which included a poem on Achilles’ death called the Aethiopis. Homer had merely foreshadowed the death of Achilles, son of Peleus, allowing later poets to imagine how the episode would have played out. Quintus Smyrnaeus dispensed with Paris and made Apollo solely responsible for Achilles’ death.
Quickly from either side on common ground converged
The tribes of Trojans and of Argives firm in the fray,
Eager for fighting now that the battle was set in motion.
There the son of Peleus destroyed a mighty host
Of his foes. All round the life-giving earth was drenched
With blood, and the waters of Xanthos and Simoeis
Were choked with corpses. Achilles still pursued and slaughtered
All the way to the city, since panic possessed the army.
He would have killed them all and dashed their gates to the ground,
Tearing them from their hinges, or would have smashed the bolts
With a sideward blow and opened a way for the Danaans
Into Priam’s city and would have plundered its wealth,
If anger had not filled the merciless heart of Phoibos
At the sight of those countless throngs of warriors slaughtered.
Down from Olympos he came with the speed of a savage beast;
Over his shoulders his quiver was filled with deadly arrows.
Facing Aiakos’ grandson he stood, while on his back
Loudly rattled his bow in its case and from his eyes
Came constant flashes of fire; the ground shook under his feet.
The great god gave a terrible shout, to deter Achilles
From the battle for fear of the supernatural voice
Of a god and so to save the Trojans from being killed:
“Back off, son of Peleus, away from the Trojans. No longer
May you inflict the evil Fates upon your foes,
Or one of the deities of Olympos may destroy you.”
But Achilles did not quail at the god’s immortal voice;
Already the merciless Fates were hovering over him.
So without respect for the god he shouted back at him;
“Phoibos, why do you rouse me, even against my will,
To fight against gods, in order to save the arrogant Trojans?
Once before you tricked and decoyed me from the fighting,
The first time that you rescued Hektor from death,
The man the Trojans exalted so highly in their city.
Back off now, far away, and join the rest of the gods
At home, or I will strike you, immortal though you are.”
With that he left the deity far behind, pursuing
The Trojans who were still in flight before the city.
While he was chasing them, the heart of Phoibos Apollo
Was filled with anger and to himself he spoke these words:
“Alas, the man has taken leave of his mind. But now
Not even the son of Kronos himself or anyone else
Can tolerate such insane defiance of the gods.”
That said, he made himself invisible with cloud
And from his cloak of mist he shot a baleful shaft,
Which sped and struck Achilles’ ankle. Immediately pain
Penetrated his heart and toppled him, like a tower
That from the force of a subterranean vortex
Collapses on top of the deeply shaken earth;
So fell to the ground the handsome frame of Aiakos’ grandson.
Looking all about him he uttered this deadly curse:
“Who was it shot a dreadful arrow at me by stealth?
Let him have the courage to face me openly,
To have his blood and all his bowels come gushing out
Around my spear, to send him off to sorrowful Hades.
For well I know there is no warrior in the world
Who at close quarters can overcome me with his spear,
Even with an utterly dauntless heart in his breast,
A totally dauntless heart and a body of bronze.
Stealth is the weakling’s way to snare a better man.
Just let him face me, even if he says he’s a god
Who’s angry with the Danaans; I suspect in my heart
It is Apollo concealed in sinister darkness.
So my beloved mother once revealed to me
That by Apollo’s arrows I’d die a miserable death
Close to the Skaian Gate, and they were no idle words.”
That said, with unflinching hands he pulled the fatal arrow
Out of a wound that could not heal. Out gushed the blood,
As he was gripped with pain and his heart was yielding to death.
In anguish he threw the weapon away, when a sudden gust
Of wind came and snatched it up and gave it back to Apollo
On his way to Zeus’s hallowed ground, for it could not be
That a deathless bolt should go missing from a deathless god.
Apollo caught it and quickly gained the height of Olympos,
The general assembly of the immortals, the place where most
They gathered in force to watch the fighting of mortal men.
Some were eager to grant a triumph to the Trojans
And others to the Danaans. Such was their division
As they viewed the killing and dying in the battle.
As soon as Zeus’s wise consort caught sight of him
She reproached him with these words of bitterness:
“Phoibos, what monstrous crime have you committed today,
Forgetful of that marriage which we immortals ourselves
Arranged for godlike Peleus? Amid the dining gods
Your sweet song told how Thetis of the silver feet
Left the depths of the sea to be the bride of Peleus.
As you played the lyre all creatures came together:
The savage beasts and birds, the hills with towering crags,
The rivers and all the deeply shaded forest came.
You’ve forgotten all that and done a heartless thing
In killing a great man, one who you and the other immortals,
Pouring libations of nectar, prayed would be the son
Of Peleus by Thetis. You’ve forgotten that prayer of yours
Just to oblige the race of the tyrant Laomedon,
For whom you kept the cattle. Mortal though he was,
He troubled you who are a god. You’re fool enough
To forget your former labor and oblige the Trojans.
You wretch, is your pitiful mind unable to see
Which man for his wickedness deserves to suffer
And which the gods should hold in honor? For Achilles
Was well disposed to us and belonged to our race.
But I don’t think the Trojans’ labor will be lighter
For the fall of Aiakos’ grandson, because his son
Shall very soon come from Skyros to help the Argives