The Anger of Achilles: Homer's Iliad

by Robert Graves

  Dolon tried to clasp Diomedes’ beard in supplication. The sword-blade struck the nape of his neck while he was still stammering an appeal, and his head rolled to the ground.

  Having stripped Dolon of ferret-skin cap, wolf-skin cloak, bow, and javelin, Odysseus gratefully lifted them up to Athene the Spoil-Winner, praying briefly:

  ‘O let this gift your heart rejoice,

  ATHENE, goddess of our choice

  And first in our esteem!

  Now guide us, for the night is black,

  To where the Thracians bivouac

  Around a snow-white team!’

  Odysseus hung the spoils on a tamarisk bush, which they marked with a bundle of reeds and green shoots taken from other bushes, so as not to miss it on their return. Then they went forward again, over fallen weapons and through blackening pools of blood, until they came close to the Thracian lines.

  The weary Thracians had grounded arms and were sleeping in three orderly ranks, each man’s chariot and team standing beside him. Rhesus, whom Odysseus identified by the white horses tied to a chariot’s fore-rail, lay in the middle of the second rank. Nudging Diomedes, Odysseus whispered: ‘Those must be the horses, and that must be Rhesus! Quick! Cut the horses loose, or leave them to me, if you prefer, and kill a few Thracians.’

  Athene gave Diomedes a murderous strength, and he began killing the recumbent Thracians. They groaned hideously in their sleep as his sword flashed down, reddening the earth:

  Ah, what grim slaughter when the lion notes

  An unattended flock of sheep or goats!

  Diomedes dispatched twelve men, one after the other, while Odysseus cleared a path for King Rhesus’ horses (which, being still new to battle, would baulk if led across dead bodies) by seizing each victim’s feet and hauling him out of the way. Diomedes then stole up to Rhesus, who lay breathing heavily, and whom Athene had evidently afflicted with a nightmare about him. Rhesus was the thirteenth Thracian to die. In the meantime Odysseus untied the team, knotted their halters together and, forgetting to borrow the handsome whip from King Rhesus’ chariot, used his bow to control them.

  He whistled gently as a signal, but Diomedes stood wondering whether to drag the chariot away by the pole; whether to seize the golden suit of armour which he saw inside, and hoist it on his shoulders7; or whether perhaps to kill more Thracians. Athene hurriedly appeared: ‘Brave son of Tydeus,’ she warned him, ‘you should start back at once! Some other Olympian might well raise the alarm, and then you would have to run for your life.’

  Obeying the divine voice, Diomedes leaped on one of the horses; Odysseus, already mounted on its team-mate, struck them both with his bow, and off they galloped, neck and neck, towards the naval camp.

  Phoebus Apollo had noticed Athene’s covert support of her favourite. He stepped angrily among the Thracians and woke King Rhesus’ cousin Hippocoön, a member of the Royal Council. Missing the white horses and hearing the death-rattle of his comrades, Hippocoön groaned aloud and called ‘Rhesus, dear Rhesus!’ A fearful clamour and clang then spread through the Thracian lines, as everyone crowded around to gaze horror-stricken at the scene of slaughter.

  Recognizing the tamarisk bush, Odysseus reined in; whereupon Diomedes dismounted, handed him the bloody spoils taken from Dolon, and soon they were flogging the obedient team on again.

  Nestor first became aware of their return. ‘My lords,’ he said, ‘correct me if I am wrong, but do my ears not catch the sound of galloping hooves? May Heaven grant that Odysseus and Diomedes have made a successful raid on the Trojan lines; yet that angry din frightens me—I fear for our two heroes’ lives!’ The words were not out of his mouth, before Odysseus and Diomedes rode up, to be greeted with general acclamation.

  ‘What marvellous horses!’ Nestor cried. ‘They remind me of sunbeams. Tell us, Odysseus, Glory of the Greeks: how in the world did you and Diomedes possess yourselves of such a team? They cannot be stolen from the Trojans: I have fought them for years now, and nobody could accuse me of skulking in the camp but, upon my word, I never saw horses like these among their chariotry, or guessed that they could exist! You must surely have met some generous god who gave them you as a keepsake. Zeus the Cloud-Gatherer and his daughter Athene the Owl-Eyed are, I know, fond of you both.’

  ‘No, no, redoubtable Nestor,’ answered Odysseus. ‘An Olympian who wished to make us a present would have created a far superior breed of horse—one must not under-estimate a god’s powers! In point of fact, they belonged to King Rhesus the Thracian, whom Diomedes has just killed, and twelve of his comrades as well. We had already accounted for a fourteenth enemy soldier: a Trojan, sent by Hector to spy on the camp. Diomedes and I caught him not far from here.’

  Odysseus grinned as he led those white horses over the fosse, followed by the whole Council, and soon tethered them to the manger where Diomedes’ own team stood, champing delicious barley.

  When Odysseus had stowed Dolon’s poor relics in the hold of his vessel—they would later be formally dedicated at the goddess’ altar—he and Diomedes went down to the shore, where they scooped up sea water and rinsed the dried sweat from their shins, necks and thighs. Refreshed, they each took a good warm bath, an olive-oil rub, and afterwards filled their cups from a wine-bowl and shared a substantial meal. Before drinking, however, they poured libations in gratitude to Athene.

  Book Eleven:

  Agamemnon’s Day of Glory

  Dawn rose from where she lay beside her mortal lover, proud Tithonus, bringing the gift of light to gods and men. But, at Almighty Zeus’ orders, a second goddess, namely Strife, also rose; and she went among the Greeks to raise the banner of war. Standing on the deck of Odysseus’ huge black vessel in the middle of the line, Strife could make her voice carry all the way from Great Ajax’s station at one end to Achilles’ at the other; both these heroes having courageously beached their flotillas on a flank. In loud, shrill tones she convinced the Greeks that to stay and fight would be far more glorious than to sail home.

  Agamemnon shouted at his servants: ‘Quick, my armour!’ When they fetched it, he began buckling the silver ankle-clasps of his handsome bronze greaves, and then put on the corslet, given him by King Cinyras of Cyprus. Cinyras, hearing a rumour that the Greeks planned an expedition against Troy, had sent this master-piece of smithcraft as a complimentary gift. It was inlaid with ten courses of lapis lazuli, twelve of gold, and twenty of pure tin; a design of blue serpents arched up towards the neck, three on either side, none of them less brilliant than the rainbow which Zeus provides for the pleasure of humankind. From Agamemnon’s baldric a gold-studded silver sheath hung by golden chains, and held a gold-studded sword. Inlaid on his ample leather shield were ten bronze circles, twenty bosses of pure tin, a central boss of lapis lazuli, and a grim, glaring Gorgon’s head flanked by figures of Dread and Terror. The silver baldric bore a lapis lazuli design: a triple-headed serpent. His helmet had four thicknesses of bronze, a double crest, and a menacing horsehair plume. Sunlight caught the blades of his two sharp spears, and when the flash reached Hera and Athene, high up in Heaven, a thunderclap of salutation welcomed this rich and glorious king.

  The Greek princes ran hither and thither in full armour, greeting dawn with irrepressible war-cries, and each told his charioteer to have a team ready for him between the fosse and the rampart; but they all arrived at the rendezvous long before any charioteer. Zeus now created an ill-omened din, and the dew he let fall was dark as blood, portending widespread carnage.

  The Trojans, still encamped on the slope, clustered about their leaders: Hector the Bright-Helmed, Prince Polydamas, Aeneas (who received almost divine honours from his Dardanians), also Polybus, Agenor, and splendid young Acamas, Antenor’s three sons.

  Among the clouds afar

  We watch in fear

  A single baneful star

  Shine out and disappear.

  Equally ominous were Hector’s advents and disappearances: the Greek sentries could see that lig
htning-bright figure with the round shield come forward for a moment and exhort the front companies; after which he would retire to inspect the rear. Battle was presently joined.

  Gather to the rich man’s field;

  What a harvest it should yield!

  Draw your sickles, labouring men,

  Grasp the stalks of barley, then

  Slashing hard, advance like foes

  Toward each other in two rows!

  Thus also the Greeks and Trojans reaped an equal harvest of death—savage as wolves and scornful of retreat.

  The Goddess Strife enjoyed herself hugely; but the other Olympians stayed in their handsome rooms on Mount Olympus, all except Aphrodite and Apollo, complaining that Zeus insisted on favouring the Trojans. Zeus paid not the slightest attention. He sat proudly apart, and gazed at Troy, the Greek camp, and the Scamandrian Plain, where a constant glitter of bronze told of a brutal struggle in which neither side gained the advantage, though the dead came crashing down by the hundred.

  It was high noon, the hour of silence when

  The woodman, having hewn enough tall trees,

  Makes dinner ready in a mountain glen,

  Fierce hunger urging him to take his ease.

  Yet nobody broke off for dinner on this battlefield, because the Greeks, having at last forced a gap in the Trojan ranks, were encouraging one another to pour through it,

  Agamemnon, who headed the charge, killed Bienor, a Trojan commander. Bienor’s charioteer Oïleus at once dismounted and ran at Agamemnon, whose spear, however, pierced the brim of Oïleus’ heavy bronze helmet, and the brain behind it, which halted that reckless rush. He stripped both corpses, leaving them bare-breasted on the ground; then turned to attack Antiphus, and his bastard-brother Isus, a charioteer. He recognized these as a couple of Priam’s sons, recently captured by Achilles in a raid, while guarding their father’s flocks on Mount Ida. Achilles had brought them bound with withies to the naval camp, and later accepted a ransom from King Priam. Now Agamemnon speared Isus high up on the breast, dealt Antiphus a sword-cut just above the ear which knocked him out of his chariot, and hastily took their valuable armour.

  The lion enters a green lair

  And grips the fawns in hiding there

  Between his fearsome teeth;

  The hind dares not defend her brood

  But bounds in terror through the wood

  And scuds across the heath.

  Nor did the terrified Trojans make any attempt to save the lives of Antiphus and Isus.

  The High King’s next victims were Peisander and Hippolochus; their father Antimachus, a member of Priam’s Council, had been heavily bribed by Prince Paris to oppose Helen’s surrender. Like a beast of prey Agamemnon went at these brothers, whose team had torn the reins from Hippolochus’ grasp and stampeded. ‘Spare us, great son of Atreus!’ cried the unfortunate young men. ‘Our father Antimachus will pay you an enormous ransom when he hears that we are your prisoners. His house is rich in bronze, gold, and valuable iron.’

  Agamemnon answered mercilessly: ‘As sons of Antimachus, the Royal Councillor who urged the assassination of my brother, King Menelaus—he and Odysseus had come to Troy on an embassy—you must die for your father’s iniquities!’ With that, he lunged at Peisander’s corslet and toppled him over the chariot-rail. Seeing Peisander stretched dead, Hippolochus tried to escape. Agamemnon caught him, struck him down, lopped off his head and limbs, and tossed the trunk at the enemy as if he were trundling a stone bowl. He did not add these suits of armour to his large collection, but rushed into the thick of the retreating Trojans.

  Men-at-arms speared men-at-arms; and chariot-fighters, chariot-fighters, in a dense cloud of dust raised by their horses’ hooves. Agamemnon headed the advance, killing Trojans by the score, and urging on his comrades.

  A fire has seized the forest:

  Flames from the brushwood start,

  They strike the leafy thickets

  And tear them wide apart.

  Winds whirl along destruction,

  A hissing, fiery wall,

  Against the forest giants

  That catch and blaze and fall.

  So the proud Trojan noblemen fell before the High King’s red-hot progress, and lay lifeless on the ground—of less use now to their wives than to vultures. Numerous empty chariots went careering across the battlefield.

  Zeus helped Hector to extricate himself unhurt from the murky, murderous, roaring rout, though the indomitable Agamemnon, his hands stained with blood, followed close behind him. They rattled past the tomb of Ilus, son of Dardanus, which rises in the middle of the plain, and the wild fig-tree, another prominent landmark. It was only on reaching Zeus’ oak beside the Scaean Gate that Hector drew rein.

  The lion leaps at dead of night,

  Dispersing a whole herd in flight.

  A single cow, the unlucky one,

  Will never know tomorrow’s sun:

  His sharp white teeth her neckbone snaps,

  And greedily he gulps and laps.

  Unlike this lion, which claimed a single victim, Agamemnon mauled a great many Trojan fugitives, knocking them out of their chariots and leaving them prone or supine in the dust. He was already approaching the sheer walls of Troy when Zeus, Father of Gods and Mankind, grasped a thunderbolt, came purposefully down from Olympus, and seated himself on a spur of well-watered Ida. He told the golden-winged Goddess Iris: ‘Command Prince Hector to rally and encourage the Trojans, but to do nothing violent for a while. As soon, however, as Agamemnon is wounded and quits the field, I shall let Hector drive the Greeks right back to their starting point, and kill without pause until nightfall.’

  Iris flew to the Scaean Gate, where she found Hector standing among his chariotry. ‘Hector, wise son of Priam,’ she said, ‘I have orders from Father Zeus. You are to rally and encourage your men, but to do nothing violent for a while! As soon, however, as King Agamemnon is wounded and quits the field, Zeus will let you drive the Greeks right back to their starting point, and kill without pause until nightfall.’

  After Iris had vanished, Hector sprang fully armed from his chariot and rallied the Trojan ranks, brandishing a couple of spears. They faced about again, but the Greeks brought up reinforcements and pressed their attack.

  You wise and gentle MUSES

  Who on Olympus dwell,

  Here comes a tale of battle

  That you alone can tell!

  What I want to know is which Trojan, or Trojan ally, first challenged Agamemnon at this stage of the battle. Ah, it was bold Iphidamas, the son of Antenor and beautiful Theano, born and bred in the fertile meadows of Thrace. Cisses, his maternal grandfather and guardian, had tried to keep him at home when he came of age, by marriage with a young aunt; but, hearing of the Greek invasion, Iphidamas went straight from the bridal chamber to war, in command of twelve ships; beached them at Percote, and finished his journey on foot.

  The javelin thrown by Agamemnon glanced aside, and Iphidamas’ spear-point caught him below the corslet—only to bend like lead against the silver girdle-clasp. Agamemnon snatched furiously at the spear, then a sword-cut across Iphidamas’ neck sent him to eternal rest.

  Coön, Antenor’s illustrious eldest son, grieved to see his brother Iphidamas lying there, far from his wife, fallen in defence of Troy. That marriage had profited him little, though the bride-price was a hundred cows and he offered Cisses a thousand sheep and goats as well, having more flocks than anyone could count. Agamemnon stripped the corpse; but Coön ran up, weeping, and speared him clean through his upper arm, near the elbow. With a shudder of agony, Agamemnon attacked Coön, who had called his men-at-arms to protect him and was dragging Iphidamas away, feet foremost. Agamemnon thrust at him under the guard of his shield, then drew his sword, and struck. Coön’s severed head tumbled on his brother’s body. Thus died Antenor’s two sons, and their ghosts passed into the possession of Hades.

  While warm blood continued to ooze from his shield-arm, Agamemn
on plied spear and sword busily; sometimes he even threw large stones. But after a time the bleeding ceased and his wound grew painful. Hera’s divine daughters,

  The Eileithiae, whose task it is

  To watch a woman’s pregnancies

  And ward off doom,

  Give cruel notice of the same

  By shooting arrows, tipped with flame,

  Into her womb.

  Feeling that a similar travail had overtaken him, the High King remounted his chariot and headed for camp. The driver lashed at the long-maned horses, which galloped home delightedly, their breasts white with foam, their bellies grey with dust. As they disappeared, Agamemnon’s miserable voice shrilled out: ‘Friends and Councillors! Zeus, in his wisdom has cut short my triumph. I trust you to defend the fleet!’

  Prince Hector, watching Agamemnon’s course, shouted: ‘Trojans, Lycians, and Dardanians! Show your mettle, fight like heroes! The High King has left the field at last, and Zeus Son of Cronus has promised me undying fame. Prepare for a chariot charge! On to victory!’ Hector might have been a huntsman urging hounds to bait a wild boar or a lion; and his soldiers obeyed nobly.

  Here is an accurate list of Hector’s new victims: Asaeus, Autonous, Opites, Dolops son of Clytius, Opheltius, Agelaus, Aesymnus, Orus, and Hipponous, all of princely rank. Afterwards he vented his rage on Greeks of lesser note.

  The stormy west wind scatters

  White mist that the white south

  Piled on the hills above us—

  How furious is his mouth!

  Huge seas come rolling down the bay;

  Tall cliffs are pelted with sea spray.

  Nothing could have staved off an immediate Greek massacre, had Odysseus not cried to Diomedes: ‘What ails us, friend? We two must make a stand! It would be shameful to let Hector destroy our fleet.’