by John Dolan
Unstoppable boulder meets unbreakable wall, and men die by the dozen.
At first the fights are like wedding dances, two lines facing each other, Greek shields facing Trojan. As long as everyone stays hunched behind his shield, he’s likely to stay alive.
But soon the bravest shove their way through the wall, like young men at a wedding dance. Only this time, the dance ends in a man’s death. Then the man who got the kill has to try to grab the body, a very dangerous moment. As soon as you lean out to take his armor, you’re open to a thrown spear.
Teucer the bowman, Ajax’s little brother, jabs his spear into a Trojan’s head. The spear goes into the skull; the Trojan falls like a tree.
Teucer wants the Trojan’s armor, darts out again, like a quick little fish and tries to grab the corpse by the ankle. But Hektor saw that one coming, and tosses his big spear at the little Greek.
Teucer dodges, but that leaves a gap in the shield wall. Hektor’s spear flies through it, into the chest of poor Amfimakas. He falls on his face, dead before he hits the ground.
Amfimakas was Poseidon’s grandson. Poseidon can feel the boy dying, his spirit falling through the surface—down, unstoppable, into Hades’ world. The earth quakes with the god’s rage, and he seethes across the camp looking for an avenger.
Ideomenus the Cretan is limping away from the fight with a gashed knee. Poseidon rears up in front of him, a blurred, grinding shape, almost human, and growls, “Idomenus, why don’t you fight?”
The Cretan tries to stammer an answer: “We’re all fighting. I’m just hurt.”
Poseidon growls, moves in a huge blur—and Ideomenus is healed. New strength and courage surge through him, from the ground up. He heads back to battle, with the old god running beside him almost like a man.
They meet Ideomenus’ squire, Meriones, and shout to him, “What are you doing here? Meriones is stunned at the sound, the look of his master. That voice was bigger than a man’s. And what’s that thing running along next to Ideomenus? Meriones stammers: “I’m looking for a spear. I lost mine.”
Ideomenus and the shape beside him speak together, in a huge low groan, “Spear? Any spear you want, from Trojans we killed. Come with us!”
Meriones is offended. Is Ideomenus implying he’s dodging the fight? He sputters, “I’ve killed my share of Trojans! You know that!”
The shape beside Ideomenus trembles with rage, and Ideomenus says in a strange voice, “Humans, always talking! Fight! No more talk!”
The man-shape touches Meriones and he feels it too, this rage burning up from the earth. He runs with them to meet the Trojans.
But Poseidon senses that Zeus’ eye is on the battle now. He has to be careful, can’t let big brother see him meddling in the war. He works on his semblance, trying to be one of these little humans. But it doesn’t fool anyone. What the Greeks see, running along with Ideomenus and Meriones, is a monstrous dust-colored blur that shakes the earth.
The Trojans swarm forward, Zeus’ lightning flashing from their spearheads. Against them come Ideomenus and his men, riding a dusty wave raised by Poseidon. Men die as the two brother-gods play them like pebbles in a child’s game.
Ideomenus kills Orthyonus, a big talker from somewhere back in the sticks. He swaggered into Troy and told old Priam he wanted to marry his daughter Kassandra.
Priam said, “What have you brought me for a dowry?”
Orthyonus steps right up to the old man and says, “Oh, I haven’t brought you gold or finery. I’ll make you a better offer than that: I’ll destroy these Greeks who are attacking you!”
He was a big, wild-looking barbarian, and the Trojans needed all the help they could get. So Priam called his daughter over and put her hand in Orthyonus’.
Kassandra was furious, hissing, “Father, don’t be foolish! This man will die the first time he goes up against the Greeks! I can see it as clearly as I see your face!”
But Priam is deaf, and no one ever listens to Kassandra. It’s done; Kassandra belongs to Orthyonus, though she stares at him as she would a corpse.
And now she’s been proved right again. Orthyonus isn’t boasting now, lying in the dust with a big hole in his chest from Ideomenus’ spear.
Back in the city, Kassandra is weaving at the loom. The very instant Orthyonus falls she says to her maids, “He’s dead, my husband. I told them so!” And with a happy smile, she goes back to her weaving. Kassandra likes being right.
Out on the dust plain, Aeneas lunges out and jams his spear right through Afares’ cheekbone. The spear takes Afares from sunlight to darkness, Hades’ world where there’s nothing but fog and silence. But Aeneas’ lunge leaves a gap in the Trojans’ shields. Fast as a snake, Antilokas sticks his spear through the gap at the Trojan Tho-on. It’s only a light jab, but it makes a fine cut in the vein that runs up the side of a man’s throat. Tho-on can’t believe this little nick is killing him; he watches his life blood hiss out of his neck, pulse by pulse.
Antilokas runs forward to strip the dead man’s armor. The Trojans throw every spear they have at him, but old Poseidon is with Antilokas, bending the earth this way and that to save him.
Adamis the Trojan decides to kill Antilokas the one sure way, by running him through. He sprints up and slams his spear two-handed into Antilokas’ shield.
But Poseidon won’t let his favorite die so soon. He lifts up the earth under Adamis so that the spear bends, then breaks in half. Adamis doesn’t understand what’s happened, but he knows he’s helpless now. He tries to run back behind the Trojan shields, but Meriones sticks his spear right into his groin between the navel and the balls. It’s the most painful wound a man can get. Adamis takes a long time to die, screaming and thrashing. The Trojans have thrown all their spears, so they draw their swords—and some of them have those big Thracian swords, powerful blades. Helnas, Kassandra’s twin brother, smashes his sword over Deipyrus’ helmet. The head is broken like a shaken egg. He falls into the dark even as the sun shines on his body.
Menelaos sees him die and runs toward Helnas, who shrugs a bow into his hand, fits an arrow, fires. But good Greek bronze beats Asian arrows; Helnas’ dart bounces off Menelaos’ breastplate like a stick thrown by a child.
Menelaos slams into Helnas, spear-first. The point goes right through his hand, nailing it to the bow. Helnas jerks back, with his hand stuck to it.
The Trojans are bringing out all their outlandish weapons today. Pisander runs at Menelaos waving a two-headed battle axe, but Menelaos just waits with his good Greek spear, then sticks it quick at Pisander’s face.
It breaks like a clay bowl. His eyes pop out and roll in the dust, as the Greeks laugh and cheer, pointing at the eyes, shouting, “You dropped a couple of eggs!”
Menelaos stands with one foot on Pisander’s body gloating: “He got what he deserved, and so will every one of you Trojans! You thought you could steal my wife and my gold? You all laughed at me! Well, better a live cuckold than a corpse!”
Harpalyon runs at Menelaos. He came all the way from the Black Sea to help the Trojans. All that way just to die; Meriones has his bow ready and hits him in the butt-cheek. The arrow punctures Harpalyon’s bladder, and he dies writhing in the dirt, as the Greeks point and laugh, “Oh Trojans, your friend is leaking!” Harpalyon’s father moans as the Greeks mock his son, calling, “Is it blood or piss leaking out of this Trojan worm?”
Paris watches his friend Harpalyon die and decides the Greeks will pay. He sees that Eukenor the Corinthian is laughing at the death throes. He jams a spear right into Eukenor’s jaw, under the ear. The Corinthian falls down dead. But it’s no loss, because Eukenor’s father has the second sight and told his son long ago: “If you go fight at Troy you’ll die in battle; but if you stay home you’ll die of a horrible disease. It’s your choice.” Eukenor said, “I’ll go to Troy.” So Paris has done Eukenor a favor, giving him a quick easy death, and the Greeks don’t waste much time mourning him.
Over where the Greek wall i
s weakest, Hektor is killing every Greek he sees. The Lokrians over on that flank can’t stop him. Those Lokrians fight like Asians, with bows and slings, not with spears like real men. They don’t even have helmets. They can’t stand up to Hektor’s spear, even though the two Ajaxes are fronting for them.
But like all bowmen, the Lokrians are most dangerous when they flee. As they scatter, avoiding Hektor’s spear, they turn and shoot. Their arrows pick off one Trojan after another. The Trojans lose heart. Nothing is as demoralizing as getting shot by a cowardly little archer, listening to him hoot at you from a safe distance as you writhe in pain.
Hektor’s men thought it would be all over once they breached the wall. But all they’ve done is to push the Greeks into one compact mass of shields and spears.
The Trojan attack stalls. Polydamus yells to Hektor, “You may be a great fighter, but that doesn’t make you a good commander! Look around—see how some of our parties aren’t even trying to advance? We’re outnumbered, deep inside the Greek camp. And Akilles isn’t even fighting yet. What’ll happen when we reach his tents?”
Hektor nods. “We need to change strategy. Gather all the chiefs; I’ll hold off the Greeks.”
Polydamus hurries off. Hektor runs to the front, his tired men slouching after him. They find Paris hanging back, and Hektor takes out all his rage on his brother: “Paris, what are you doing—trying to look handsome, play the warrior? Where’s Deiphobus? Our brother Helnas? Where are Asias, Orthyonus, the rest of them?”
Paris leans on his spear and says, “Brother, don’t shout at me. They’re all dead except Helnas and Deiphobus—and they’re both wounded. I’ve been fighting all day. Just tell me and my men where you want us to go.”
Hektor combines Paris’ men with his and leads them straight at Ajax’s ships. Ajax’s men fall back, but Ajax himself comes barreling out from the shield wall, like a bull pushing through a herd of goats.
He cries, “Hektor, you want to burn my ships? You’re welcome to try. Zeus has taken your side today, but I promise Troy will burn before my ships do!”
Hektor roars back, “Ajax, your name means ‘sorry,’ and you’ll be sorrier when I butcher you! Your guts will roll in the dust, and you’ll see your ships burning as you die!”
Hektor’s party and Ajax’s men charge at each other.
14
SLEEP
OLD NESTOR IS DRINKING WINE by his tent when Machaon stumbles in holding his wounded shoulder. Nestor gives him a seat, saying, “Sit down, let my women warm up a bath to wash the blood off.”
Machaon looks pale and weak. Nestor pokes his head around the tent and sees Greeks running through the camp in a panic. He mutters, “What’s happening here?” and goes off to find Agamemnon, who’s standing with Odysseus, and Diomedes. All three are wounded, out of the fight, leaning on their spears as Greek fighters run past, fleeing from Trojans.
Agamemnon sees Nestor coming and calls, “Nestor, why aren’t you fighting?” Then he shakes his head and mutters, “Oh, what does it matter? Hektor will burn the ships today! Akilles hates me so much he won’t even fight!”
Nestor joins the group, saying, “Yes, it looks bad for us! The Trojans have broken through the wall.”
Agamemnon says, “Yes, your wall, Nestor! We all worked to build it, nobles, commoners, slaves! You said it would protect us, but the Trojans charged right through it!”
Nestor has nothing to say.
Agamemnon groans, “Zeus must hate me! We have to take to the ships! There’s no shame in running when it’s your life at stake! Push the ships out to sea!”
Odysseus has had enough. He turns on Agamemnon: “Son of a god-cursed father, what are you gibbering about now?”
Odysseus points toward the shore: “You know what would happen if we started pushing our ships into the water? It’d take all day to get them off properly; they’re moored two or three deep! It’d be chaos!”
Agamemnon moans, “But the gods … they hate me!”
Odysseus yells, “Maybe so, but they don’t hate me or my men!”
He shakes his fist at Agamemnon: “You don’t deserve to lead an army as fine as this! You should command one full of cowards like you! As for us, we Greeks fight from the first wisp of beard till our last gray hairs go down to the grave!”
After a long moment, Agamemnon says, “You insult me, Odysseus, but you’re right. My mind is gone today. I admit it. Someone else will have to lead us.”
Diomedes steps up: “That’d be me. I say we go to the fight, wounded though we are, to cheer our men on. That’s our job.”
And they limp toward the battle, leaning on their spears, with Agamemnon in the lead.
There’s someone or something in their path—a hunched figure rising up from the ground like a termite mound. As they move toward it, they recognize Poseidon. His rough old voice darts into their minds, a jolting series of ideas: “Agamemnon … king … gods not so angry with you. Akilles will be sorry. You’ll fight. Trojans will run.”
Then he stops trying to speak words, and becomes a battle-rage that pushes the earth up around them, flinging them forward.
Hera has been watching her big brother Poseidon. She’s pleased to see him helping the Greeks. She’d like to help too—but there’s her husband and brother, Zeus, watching her, making sure she doesn’t meddle. She stares at him, hating him.
So she decides to lie with him. She goes to a secret room her son Hefestos made for her. He inlaid the doorway with spells and metal threads so that no one else can enter, not even Zeus. She gathers weapons: scented olive oil, a fine veil, earrings, her best gown.
She makes ready for battle, first washing all the dirt from her body, then opening the vial of her special scented olive oil. If you even shake the vial, the scent of that oil fills the universe from Olympos down to Hades, where the dead catch a whiff and groan for their lost bodies.
Hera takes that magic oil and smears it over her soft skin. Then she weaves her hair into plaits.
Now for the earrings, three fine gold dangles to slip through her pierced earlobes. She shakes her head and smiles at the tinkle they make. All her magic is working: the waft of scented oil, the soft weight of her plaited hair, the teasing jingle of her earrings.
Now she puts on the miraculous robe her daughter Athena made. It shimmers with this color or that, any color Hera chooses.
And now the veil—to hide her beauty, but not too well.
Now the sandals to set off her shapely feet.
And she’s ready. First she goes to find Afroditi. Afroditi flinches away; she and Hera are not friends. But today Hera is all smiles. “Dear girl, may I ask a favor of you?”
Afroditi stammers, “Yes, yes! After all, you’re wife-sister of Lord Zeus!”
Hera smiles. It’s good the girl remembers who’s who. Best to tease her a little anyway. So Hera says, ever so gently, “So you’re not peeved with me, dearest? A little peeved at me, perhaps? Because I help the Greeks kill your precious Trojans, mmmm?”
Afroditi shakes her head.
Hera comes closer, murmuring, “You’re sure you’re not angry, girl? I do so hope not!” Afroditi stutters, “No, not at all! You’re our lord’s wife!”
Hera purrs, “That’s right! So you’ll lend me that magic corset of yours, won’t you?”
Afroditi blushes; she didn’t know her secrets were such common knowledge.
Hera goes on, “You know, the magic corset you wear when you want men to, ah, how shall I put it?—to like you?”
Afroditi nods, and quickly reaches behind her waist, undoing the golden corset and handing it over.
Hera smiles and puts the corset on, under her breasts, hooking it at the back.
If you’d been standing there at that moment, you’d have seen a miracle. As soon as Afroditi took off the corset, her heart-stopping beauty vanished. Her face was the same, her shape didn’t change; but somehow she was just a skinny girl, like any other.
And as Hera buckled on the c
orset, the glory that left Afroditi went into her. All her age and harshness melted away. She was no longer the angry wife, but a fine, warm woman in full bloom, whom any man would ache to hold forever.
Afroditi feels the change and flees into her room, so no one will see her without her magic. Hera feels the change too, stretches out her arms, touches herself, brushes her shoulder with her cheek. Then she sighs; she must get to work, no time for play. She doesn’t bother with the pantomime of chariot and horses; she simply wishes herself at her destination, Lemnos, where she has business with Sleep.
Hera likes Lemnos. The Lemnian women once killed every man on the island. It’s one of her favorite stories. Sensible Lemnian women!
She floats to Earth on the island. Sleep saw her coming; he sees everything. He never rests. And the sight of her doesn’t make him happy. He’s her brother, and he has a long memory.
He mutters, “What now, Hera? You must be in a hurry, not to bother with a chariot or horses.”
She shrugs: “I have no time for all that. Sweet brother Sleep, do one thing for me!”
He grunts, “I thought you must want something. What is it?”
She touches his arm: “Just do one little thing for me.”
He laughs grimly: “I did you a favor a while ago. Remember? I sure do.”
Hera strokes his arm, “All I ask you to do is to put my stupid husband to sleep for a little while. I have … things to do … that he wouldn’t approve.”
Sleep chuckles, shakes his head bitterly: “Oh, I knew it’d be about Zeus! The last time I did you a favor he nearly killed me!”
She begs, “I’ll make it worth your while! My boy Hefestos will make you a fine seat, Sleep! You sit and watch, day and night; wouldn’t you like to be comfy?”
“Last time I listened to you, Zeus came after me, wanted to toss me in the ocean! No thank you!”
“Noooo, that was a misunderstanding about Herakles, his son! I admit I had a grudge against the boy, but this time it’s mere humans I want killed! Just a few thousand Trojans! Zeus won’t get upset over humans the way he did about his son!”