The Anger of Achilles: Homer's Iliad

by Robert Graves

  Menelaus had been kept awake by a premonition that his quarrel with the Trojans might prove the ruin of countless Greeks who were making it their own. He rose too, threw a leopard-skin over his broad shoulders, donned a helmet, grasped a spear, and went off to consult his famous and powerful brother. Agamemnon, busy buckling on armour near the stern of his vessel, was delighted to see him.

  ‘Why are you arming, dear brother?’ asked Menelaus. ‘To make somebody find out for you what the Trojan intentions are? If so, I doubt whether any man will dare patrol the battlefield alone this beautiful night, and bring back a trustworthy report.’

  ‘Menelaus, foster-son of Zeus,’ Agamemnon answered, ‘our greatest need is a truly brilliant stratagem for saving the army and fleet, now that Zeus has once more turned against us. Hector’s sacrifices must have given him immense pleasure because, until yesterday, I never saw or heard of such terrible havoc made by a single man in the course of one afternoon; and it is not even as though he were the beloved son of a god or a goddess! Yes, we Greeks will have good reason for generations to remember the lesson he taught us! Now, please run quickly to the far end of the camp and wake Great Ajax and King Idomeneus of Crete, while I visit Nestor. He may be persuaded to inspect the outposts and give some sort of orders. They will obey him, if anyone at all; his own son is commanding them, jointly with Meriones the Cretan.’

  ‘You do not make yourself plain,’ grumbled Menelaus. ‘Am I supposed to stay with Ajax and Idomeneus among the outposts until you arrive, or shall I return and fetch you?’

  Agamemnon considered the question. ‘You had better await me there, for fear we miss each other in this wilderness of huts. But summon each prince by name, and do not be too proud to add his lineage, patronymic, and titles of honour! We must work hard tonight, as usual; such is the destiny that Zeus laid upon us from birth.’

  Menelaus, having got the instructions clear, disappeared, and Agamemnon went towards Nestor’s quarters. The veteran lay sleeping in a luxurious bed between his hut and his ship, with an exquisite suit of armour, a shield, two spears, and a polished helmet placed ready to hand; also the gay baldric which he always wore in battle. No, Nestor did not make old age an excuse for shirking his duties as a commanding officer. Raising himself on an elbow, Nestor challenged Agamemnon: ‘Who are you, prowling through the darkness, when everyone else is asleep? Has a mule broken loose, or have you lost a comrade? Use your voice, man; don’t come creeping up in silence! What do you want?’

  The High King disclosed himself. ‘Nestor, son of Neleus, Glory of the Greeks,’ he said, ‘it is I, Agamemnon, son of Atreus, whom Zeus has condemned to undergo perpetual hard labour so long as his breath lasts and his legs move. I am wandering about because fear for the fate of my troops keeps me wide awake. Yes, I am altogether unnerved. I tossed to and fro in bed; my heart pounded; and now, look how my knees are shaking! But you, too, seem unable to sleep; so would you kindly help me inspect the outposts and reassure myself that the sentries are vigilant, despite yesterday’s exhausting battle? For all we know, the Trojans may plan a night attack from their position just beyond the fosse.’

  Nestor replied: ‘Glorious son of Atreus, Agamemnon the High King, of one thing I am certain: that Almighty Zeus will not allow Prince Hector to consummate his grandiose design. In fact, if Achilles only forgets his grudge, Hector’s anxieties may soon be even worse than yours! Yes, of course, I will accompany you! Let us also rouse Diomedes and Odysseus, and brisk Little Ajax, and Meges, the son of Phyleus. And why not Great Ajax and King Idomeneus as well? Their flotillas lie next to each other at the farthest end of the camp. But, my lord, much as I love and respect King Menelaus, I must frankly say—whether you like it or not—that he deserves a strong reprimand for sleeping so sound and leaving all the work to you. He should make it his duty, in this desperate situation, to run from hut to hut and wake everyone.’

  ‘You are quite right, venerable Nestor,’ Agamemnon agreed. ‘My brother often shirks his responsibilities. Though I cannot call him slow-witted or careless, he always expects me to tell him precisely what he should do. Please, however, reserve your abuse for another occasion; because tonight, as it happened, he rose earlier than I did and paid me a visit. I sent him off to wake those very princes whom you mention. Come out by the camp gates, and we should find them beside the fosse, awaiting my arrival.’

  ‘I am glad to hear it,’ cried Nestor. ‘Such zeal will certainly commend Menelaus to his fellow-Councillors when he offers advice or gives orders.’

  Having put on a tunic and sandals, and a wide, pleated, purple cloak with a soft nap, Nestor took a stout, bronze-bladed spear, and strode along the line of ships. First he stopped at Odysseus’ quarters, shouting his name. Odysseus emerged and cried in a startled voice: ‘Who goes there, prowling through the darkness, this beautiful night? And why am I wanted in such a hurry?’

  Nestor revealed himself. ‘Odysseus, son of Laertes, scion of Zeus himself,’ he said, ‘pray do not be vexed! The emergency is great. Come and help me wake a few other princes—it seems that the High King wishes us to decide at once whether we should hold the camp or evacuate it.’

  Odysseus slipped back, picked up a shield, and followed Nestor but, still drowsy after his two huge meals, did not think of bringing away a sword or a spear. They found Diomedes stretched on a bull’s hide by the entrance to his hut, a bright roll of carpet serving as pillow, and weapons within reach. About him lay his somnolent comrades, every head propped on a shield. The glow of Trojan camp-fires caught the bright blades of spears planted upright and made them twinkle like flashes of lightning. Nestor stirred Diomedes with his toe. ‘Wake, son of Tydeus,’ he cried. ‘Must you snore all night? Have you forgotten that the Trojans are bivouacked on a slope just beyond the fosse?’

  Diomedes leaped to his feet: ‘It is the indefatigable Nestor!’ he exclaimed. ‘My lord, are no younger men at hand to raise the alarm?’

  Nestor replied: ‘A very proper question, King Diomedes! Numerous younger men, including sons of my own, might well perform the task. But this is a crucial hour. We stand as if poised on a razor’s edge: on one side disaster, on the other, victory! Therefore, since you pity my feebleness, or so it appears, be good enough to summon Little Ajax, the son of Phyleus.’

  Diomedes seized a long, tawny lion-skin, which matched Agamemnon’s, and a javelin. Soon he was leading his companions towards the outposts, who proved to be awake and armed:

  Hounds at watch on the dark wold

  Ringed around their master’s fold

  Growl a warning. Do they hear

  Some huge beast approaching near?

  Distant shouts and bayings keep

  All alert who else would sleep.

  The Greek sentries were no less watchful that wicked night, and stood peering into the darkness whenever they heard sounds of activity from the Trojan bivouacs. Nestor, much relieved, gave them welcome encouragement: ‘Dear children,’ he shouted, ‘I commend your sharp look-out! If anyone falls asleep on sentry duty, our enemies will have the laugh on us.’

  Then he led the group now reinforced by Menelaus, Idomeneus and Great Ajax, over the fosse. With them went the two outpost commanders—Idomeneus’ friend Meriones, and Nestor’s son Thrasymedes—both of whom the High King invited to join a council-of-war. They chose a spot free of corpses, near where the Trojans had broken off the battle, sat down, and discussed the crisis.

  ‘My friends,’ Nestor began, ‘which of you dares volunteer for special service? We need someone to visit the enemy lines and either capture a prisoner who can be brought back and interrogated, or at least overhear some fragment of talk that may give us a hint of Prince Hector’s plans. Will he attack from his new position, or will he rest on his laurels and withdraw behind the city walls? Anyone able to supply an answer to this question would win a name for conspicuous heroism—and a valuable prize into the bargain. I suggest that each of us should promise him a black ewe and her lamb—I can think of n
o more distinguished prize in the way of livestock—and also make him free of all private feasts and clan-drinkings.’

  Diomedes sprang to his feet. ‘King Nestor,’ he cried, ‘I will go! But I should feel more at ease if I had a companion. Either he or I would be almost sure to notice something that the other missed; and even if we were equally observant, two heads are better than one in times of peril.’

  Great and Little Ajax both volunteered, as also did Meriones and Nestor’s son Thrasymedes—he was chafing to be sent—and Menelaus, and Odysseus.

  Agamemnon gave this ruling: ‘Diomedes, son of Tydeus, joy of my heart, you are free to choose your companion from these eager candidates.’ Then, fearing that Diomedes would feel obliged to pick Menelaus, he added: ‘And, pray show no polite regard for high rank or lineage, but name whoever will be of most service to you on this dangerous mission.’

  ‘Since you grant me a free choice,’ said Diomedes, ‘I can hardly overlook the claims of Odysseus the Ever-Daring. If he comes, we should have a good chance of returning alive, even though we burn our fingers; because Pallas Athene always protects him, and he is the quickest-witted man alive.’

  Odysseus answered: ‘Son of Tydeus, pray spare me alike compliments and censure; everyone here knows my record. But the stars warn us that there is not a moment to waste! Two watches of the night are already gone, and dawn will soon be upon us.’

  Thrasymedes then lent Diomedes a two-edged sword, a shield—he had left his own behind—and an uncrested skull-cap of bull’s hide, such as youths wear. Meriones lent Odysseus a bow, a quiver, and a sword; also a felt-lined leather casque. This casque, ornamented with a fine ring of boar’s tusks set close together and lashed tightly about it, had been stolen from Phoenix’s father Amyntor, son of Ormenus, by Autolycus, a notorious thief and reputedly Odysseus’ real father, when he burgled the palace at Eleon. Autolycus later gave it to Amphidamas the Argonaut. Amphidamas took the casque home to Scandeia, the port of Cythera, where Molus the Cretan won it as a guest-gift; and from Molus it passed to his son Meriones.

  As Diomedes and Odysseus set out, well armed, Pallas Athene sent them a favourable augury: a heron flying close by on their right hand. Though darkness made the bird invisible, they both heard its shrill cry. Odysseus at once offered a grateful prayer to his patroness Athene:

  ‘Unwearied daughter

  Of ZEUS Shield-Bearer,

  Through toil and danger

  Protecting me,

  Send us victorious,

  Return us glorious!

  To all that war on us

  Let sorrow be!’

  Diomedes also prayed:

  ‘Swift ATHENE, undefiled

  Maiden-goddess, ZEUS his Child,

  Speed me with your kindly aid

  As when my father Tydeus made

  A valiant embassage, alone,

  To Eteocles the Theban’s throne.

  For, having said his threatening say

  With honeyed mouth, and gone his way

  Toward where (beside the Asopus’ brim)

  Six valiant peers awaited him,

  He found you watchful by the path

  And, at your side, his righteous wrath

  Glutted—as low in death he laid

  The murderous Theban ambuscade!

  ‘Protect me now, record my vow:

  A yearling heifer broad of brow

  To be your sacrificial due—

  And I shall gild her horns for you!’

  Athene graciously listened to these prayers, and guided Odysseus and Diomedes, as it might be two lions, across the dark battlefield: between heaps of corpses, over strewn weapons, through blackening pools of blood.

  In the meantime Hector, who had been at pains to keep the Trojans alert, summoned his own officers to a council-of-war, and asked them: ‘Will any one volunteer for an important service? I am offering the finest chariot and team captured tomorrow as a prize of honour to the man who will now go on reconnaissance, and tell me whether the Greeks have posted sentries around their camp. They may well be demoralized and exhausted, and have taken no precautions against surprise, thinking solely of escape.’

  A short silence greeted Hector’s speech. But among those present was a rich, swift-footed, ugly Trojan named Dolon, the son of Eumedes the famous herald, who otherwise had only daughters—five of them. Dolon cried: ‘I am your man, Prince Hector! But first raise that sacred staff and swear to award me the team and splendid bronze chariot of Achilles, son of Peleus. The Greek leaders are certain to be holding a council-of-war beside Agamemnon’s ship, and deciding whether they should abandon the siege; I shall enter the camp, steal up close, listen, and return with the information you need.’

  Hector raised his staff and took the required oath:—‘I call to witness Zeus the loud-thundering Husband of Hera, that no other Trojan but you, Dolon, shall touch those horses, your inalienable property!’

  This vain oath satisfied Dolon. He went off at once, javelin in hand, a ferret-skin cap on his head, a crooked bow slung on one of his shoulders, and a grey wolf-skin cloak thrown over both. But would he ever bring any information back to Hector? It was unlikely.

  Odysseus saw Dolon approaching, outlined against the camp-fires, and whispered to Diomedes: ‘Here comes a Trojan! He may be either a scout or a looter, I cannot say which. Why not let the fellow pass, then pursue and capture him? If he runs faster than we do and tries to circle around towards the city, head him off with your javelin, making sure that he goes in the direction of our camp.’

  Diomedes nodded, and they lay down among the corpses. Dolon hurried by, not suspecting a trap; but when he had gone the length of a mule-furrow—mules, by the way, are far better plough-beasts than oxen—Diomedes and Odysseus rose and rushed after him. Dolon stopped. He thought that they must be messengers horn Hector, countermanding the mission, and allowed them to come within easy spear-cast. Then he realized his error, and ran away at full tilt. The Greek heroes followed in pursuit, like—

  Two well-trained hounds that flush

  A doe from its green lair,

  Or through the woodland rush

  After a doubling hare

  That screams in its despair.

  They headed Dolon off, as agreed, and he was nearing the Greek outposts, when Diomedes, strengthened by Athene, spurted forward to deny anyone else the honour of killing him. ‘Halt, or you die!’ he cried, and flung his javelin over Dolon’s right shoulder, intentionally, so that it quivered in the ground ahead of him. Dolon halted, green with terror; limbs shaking, teeth chattering. Odysseus and Diomedes panted up and seized him by the wrists.

  ‘Spare me!’ blubbered Dolon. ‘My father Eumedes will pay you an enormous ransom as soon as he hears that I am your prisoner. Bronze, gold, and valuable iron cram our house.’

  Odysseus said: ‘Courage, friend! Do not fear the worst. But tell us what you are doing here, alone at dead of night! Looting corpses, or spying? Spying, eh? On your own initiative, or did Hector send you?’

  Dolon faltered: ‘I foolishly listened to Hector… He promised me Achilles’ horses and beautiful bronze chariot if I would discover whether you Greeks were perhaps too demoralized and exhausted to post sentries. He believed that you might have taken no precautions against surprise, and be thinking solely of escape.’

  ‘You had your eye on a fine prize indeed,’ Odysseus remarked with a smile. ‘But Achilles’ horses are difficult for a mere mortal to control; he is a goddess’ son, of course! Now answer me a few more questions. Where did you leave Hector?—had he his arms and chariot handy?—are your bivouacs protected by outposts?—in what order are your allies disposed? And does Hector intend to attack from his new lines, or to rest on his laurels, and withdraw behind the city walls?’

  ‘I will answer your questions truthfully,’ said Dolon. ‘I left Prince Hector and the allied leaders holding a council-of-war in a secluded spot beside the tomb of his ancestor Ilus. As for outposts, no, my lord! Hector has given inst
ructions neither for outposts nor for standing patrols. The Trojans themselves know it is their duty to keep careful watch around their camp-fires—but our allies are all fast asleep, counting on us to guard them against surprise. Since they come from distant lands, they need not feel so anxious for the safety of their women and children.’

  ‘Be more precise!’ Odysseus commanded. ‘Tell me whether these various allies are integrated with the Trojans, or whether they occupy separate lines.’

  ‘I will tell you everything,’ Dolon answered. ‘The Carians and the Paeonian archers are stationed towards the sea; next lie the Lelegians, the Cauconians, and the famous Pelasgians. We Trojans and Dardanians form the centre. On the other flank, towards Thymbre, are stationed the Lycians, the proud Mysians and, beyond them, a force of Phrygian and Maeonian chariotry. But why this questioning? If you are out on a raid, I recommend the Thracian lines as the most vulnerable. The Thracians have just arrived at Troy, under their King Rhesus, son of Eïoneus, and are holding the extreme flank, beyond the Maeonians. Rhesus owns the finest team that ever I saw—tall, whiter than snow, fast as the wind—with a gold and silver chariot; also a suit of golden armour far too magnificent, in my view, for anyone less than a god to wear. Come: take me to your camp, or else tie me up here so securely that escape is impossible, while you satisfy yourselves that I am no liar.’

  Diomedes looked coldly at Dolon. ‘Once in our power,’ he said, ‘you must abandon all hope of liberty. Though welcoming your good news, we cannot accept a ransom. You would soon be back to trouble us: either as a spy or as a fighting man. I shall end this matter without further ado.’