The Armour of Achilles

by Glyn Iliffe

  ‘And she will return to him before sunrise tomorrow?’ he repeated.

  ‘Yes, down by the rocks at the northern end of the bay.’

  Odysseus raised an eyebrow. ‘That should be something to behold. But for now I need to rest this wound and get some sleep. I suggest you two do the same: even if Achilles settles his differences with Agamemnon tomorrow and rejoins the fight as you say he will, Eperitus, it’s going to be another hard day for us all. Goodnight.’

  His companions stood and left, welcoming the thought of sleep and a rest after the toils of the day. But, though Eurybates went straight to his own tent, Eperitus stayed awake a little longer, visiting the Ithacan campfires and testing the morale of the men – which was good, despite their losses – before encouraging them to grab some hard-earned rest. A little while later, he curled up under his blanket and was instantly taken by a deep and dreamless sleep.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  THE ARMOUR OF ACHILLES

  Odysseus placed his hands on Eperitus’s shoulders and shook him gently.

  ‘Come on,’ he whispered. ‘It’s not long until dawn.’

  ‘What of it?’ Eperitus replied, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. ‘Where are we going?’

  But Odysseus was already at the door of his hut, beckoning for him to follow. Eperitus kicked off his blanket and dressed quickly, throwing his cloak about his shoulders and grabbing his sword. The brightest stars were still shining overhead as they stepped out, but a faint light was infusing the skies to the east and turning them a deep blue. With Odysseus leading the way, the two men jogged between the tents and campfires where the hunched forms of sleeping men were snoring heavily, ignorant of the groans of the wounded that still undulated from different parts of the camp like the wailing of lost souls. Soon they reached the beach where the Myrmidon ships were drawn up and found the wooden bier on which Patroclus’s body had been laid. It was empty.

  Odysseus gave Eperitus an inquisitive glance as they paused to look at the discarded shroud and the white cloak that had covered the body. Then he set off again, kicking up gouts of sand as he sprinted past the tall, black prows of the galleys.

  It was not until they passed the last Myrmidon ship and saw the jagged rocks that marked the southernmost edge of the bay, that they spotted Achilles, a dark shape lying close to the water’s edge. Patroclus’s pale, naked body was with him and the prince lay prostrate across his friend’s chest, shaking with tears as the waves washed repeatedly over his outstretched legs. Odysseus ducked down behind a low boulder and signalled for Eperitus to join him.

  As the rock was only a short distance from the shore they could see Achilles clearly, and for a while they crouched in silence listening to his heavy sobs amid the consolatory hushing of the waves. The sky grew gradually lighter and objects that before had been black and indistinct now became colourless shapes in the greyness. A gentle mist had formed over the surface of the sea and was threatening to wash inland when Eperitus seized Odysseus by the shoulder and pointed at a spot close to the shore, where two black rocks jutted upwards like the broken pillars of an ancient gateway.

  ‘Do you see it?’ he whispered.

  Odysseus nodded. There was a movement in the water, a frantic splashing as if someone were drowning. It grew quickly, rising up in a column like an inverted whirlpool that swirled round and round, fast at first but getting steadily slower as it began to take shape. Then, as the first hint of dawn crept into the sky and brought small dashes of colour back to the world, the two men were amazed to see the figure of a young woman forming from the water, her translucent arms reaching up to clutch at the air. And as she caught the light in her fingertips the liquid became flesh, transforming the hands and arms first, followed by the head, breasts and stomach until they were staring at a girl of little more than twenty years old, standing waist-high in the waves.

  Slowly, she lowered her arms and stared at Achilles, who remained oblivious to her presence. Her hair was blond like his and flowed over her shoulders and down her back to run in rivulets over her buttocks; her skin was as white as ivory and her face had all the beauty of unblemished youth, but in her sea-green eyes sat all the knowledge and wisdom of an immortal. She walked ashore, unhindered by the waves because she was part of them, her lower body taking shape from the water as she moved and changing into flesh until she stood naked on the sand, looking down at her son.

  ‘This is not the time for mourning, Achilles,’ she said.

  Achilles snatched up the sword that lay in the sand beside Patroclus’s body and spun round. Seeing his mother, he dropped the weapon and leapt to his feet, throwing his cloak about her nakedness before taking her into his arms. Eperitus almost expected her to dissolve into a shower of spray as the prince embraced her and laid his head on her shoulders, but her flesh was as real as his own and she kissed his head and ran her long fingers through his hair.

  ‘Restrain your grief until you have avenged Patroclus,’ she whispered. ‘When Ajax brought him to you, you swore before all the gods that you would not let his death go unpunished; that you would make Hector pay for it with his own life. Now there can be no turning back, my son. You have chosen the path of doom and so you must make amends with Agamemnon and take up your spear once more. But even though I dipped you into the River Styx as a baby in the vain hope of making you an immortal like myself, you can still suffer the pain of wounds. What is more, the heel by which I held you remains mortal, the one place where the bite of a weapon can end your life. And so I have fulfilled my promise and brought you new armour – made by Hephaistos himself.’

  She swept her arm across the waves that were lapping the beach and suddenly they retreated before her, rolling back to reveal a pile of metal in the damp sand that gleamed and glittered as the sea water drained from its ornately carved surfaces. At the same moment the first molten glimmer of the sun topped the distant mountains to the east and its light touched on the heap of gold, silver and bronze, making it blaze as if consumed by tongues of red fire. Wide-eyed with awe, Odysseus and Eperitus clutched at the rough edges of the boulder and pulled themselves up to get a better view, not noticing as the sharp stone cut at their tightly grasping fingers. Achilles, too, was stunned at the sight. He released his mother and took a step towards the collection of armour. Then he staggered forward – the wet sand sucking at his bare feet – and lifted the golden helmet in both hands, raising it above his head so that the shaggy red mane of its plume dripped salt water on to his chest. His mouth was open and his jaw quivered as if he wanted to speak but, instead, he fell to his knees, laid the helmet down reverently in the sand and lifted up the tin greaves, admiring the life-like curves and the crested waves that had been engraved over every surface.

  After a moment he set them down beside the helmet and took hold of the heavy cuirass, which had been perfectly shaped to mimic his own muscle-bound torso, even down to the circles of his nipples and the chute of his navel. The bronze was so highly burnished that he could see his face reflected clearly in the chest muscles, framed by lightening skies that were traced with pink cloud. The red-rimmed eyes that looked back at him had forgotten their grief and become consumed with desire, and the sight of them forced him to release the breastplate and look away.

  But he did not look far, for his eyes fell upon the large round shield that stood behind the other pieces of armour, its lower lip buried in the sand but otherwise without any visible support. If the helmet, greaves and breastplate were works beyond Achilles’s wildest imaginings, the shield was beyond his comprehension. He stared at it dumbfounded, letting his eyes feast on the intricate designs that adorned it, designs that moved with a life of their own. At its centre, forming the boss, was the disc of the Earth, covered with mountains, forests and rivers depicted in silver; encircling this was the Sea, dotted with islands and populated with giant marine creatures that constantly plunged into the waves before rising up again, spewing water. Bounding Earth and Sea were the heavenly bodies of the Sun,
Moon and Stars. As the golden Sun set into the Sea the silver Moon would rise and the constellations that Zeus had set in the sky would twinkle and gleam, fading only when the Sun rose again.

  The central circle was ringed by four more circles, each one filled with designs that moved in cyclical patterns. The second circle was divided into two halves, on which were depicted two cities: one filled with celebrations and banqueting as a wedding procession moved through its golden streets; the other in turmoil as besieging and defending armies wrought bloody havoc among each other’s ranks. In the first, young women in bridal robes of ivory danced to the music of reed pipe and tortoiseshell lyre; in the second, larger-than-life figures of Athena and Ares fought amid the two armies, slaying with impunity while all around them mortal warriors struggled over the armour of their dead and dying victims.

  The third circle showed, on one side, a large meadow being ploughed by teams of oxen, where the golden soil was being turned black by the plough blades, and on the other a rich estate filled with vineyards and fields full of tall wheat. In the latter, golden vines grew on silver frames and brought forth grapes made from gleaming jet; the whole was surrounded by a fence made of tin and an irrigation ditch that flowed with blue enamel. The fruit was being carried away by teams of young men and girls as they danced to the music of a lyre, while in the fields men were harvesting the wheat with sickles and others were tying them into sheaves, all under the close supervision of a majestic king.

  In one half of the fourth circle was a herd of ten cattle, depicted in gold with horns of tin. They were accompanied by four drovers, also in gold, and nine dogs that barked as the cows were driven down to a river to drink. But as Achilles watched, a pair of lions leapt out from the rushes and brought down the first animal, tearing out its throat and then feasting on its entrails as the drovers and their dogs tried in vain to scare them off. In the other half were great flocks of sheep with ivory fleeces, grazing in a wide valley where a farm and several sheep pens were depicted in silver.

  The fifth circle of the shield showed a vast dance. Young men held the hands of pretty girls as they circled each other in time to the music of a lyre. The maidens wore beautiful silver chitons and flowers in their hair, which Hephaistos had fashioned with minute threads of gold and tin. As for the men, their skin gleamed as if oiled and they wore silver belts with golden daggers. Large crowds of older men and women watched in delight, as if filled with memories of their own youth. Finally, the concentric circles of the shield were bound by the Ocean Stream, which marks the end of all things.

  Achilles plucked it from the sand and looped his arm through its leather straps, finding its weight surprisingly light. As he turned, the shield caught the rising sun and its ever-moving designs were displayed in their full glory to Odysseus and Eperitus.

  ‘In the name of Athena!’ Odysseus gasped, his eyes widening as they took in the impossible detail of the shield’s design.

  Not caring that Achilles and Thetis would know he had been spying on them, he stood and crossed the beach towards the Phthian prince. Achilles was momentarily surprised to see him, but instead of admonishing the Ithacan he ran towards him with the shield on his arm.

  ‘Look at it, Odysseus!’ he declared, turning it this way and that in the sunlight. ‘Can you believe such a thing? Hephaistos made it, and as Zeus is my witness, I swear its equal has never been seen on earth or Olympus.’

  Odysseus nodded his head in agreement but said nothing, too absorbed by the continuous movement of the figures on the shield. And the more he looked the more he sensed that the scenes depicted his own life, as if the shield had been meant not for Achilles at all, but himself. Among the islands that populated the depiction of the Sea, he could clearly make out the shapes of Ithaca and its larger cousin, Samos. And what were the wedding scene and the besieged city meant to represent but his own marriage to Penelope, followed by the attack on Ithaca and the defeat of the Taphian invaders? The king in the third circle could only be himself, presiding over the ten plentiful years that Ithaca had enjoyed under his rule. And as for the cattle in the fourth circle, there was one animal for each year of the war and the tenth – which was being seized by the two lions as he watched – represented the final victory of the Greeks over Troy. The dancers in the fifth circle surely represented the celebrations on his return to Ithaca. And yes, there amongst the crowd was a woman and her son – Penelope and Telemachus – both depicted in gold to pick them out from the other onlookers who were shown in silver.

  But as he looked at the great shield and the pride with which Achilles was displaying it, he realized his fantasies were but foolish imaginings. Surely the armour was beautiful – as beautiful an object of metal as Helen was of flesh – and his heart was filled with desire for it, telling him that here was the outward show of greatness Palamedes had predicted he would never possess. And there was no doubt in his mind that the mere sight of it would spark a similar lust in all fighting men, whether enemies of Achilles or friends, such was the lure of all things that came from the gods, and Odysseus had almost been drawn in by its promise of glory. But he also remembered how he had once tried to make Helen his wife; and as foolish as that thought had been twenty years ago, so he knew it was a foolish desire to want Achilles’s shield now. For though the shield was magnificent, the mere possession of it did not bring a man glory or honour. Such lustre could only come from great deeds, and unless a man could first kill Achilles and take the shield from his dead body it was nothing more than a splendid token.

  He turned to look at Thetis, wondering whether her eyes would reveal that she, too, knew the shield would be a snare to the Greeks. But the sand where she had stood was empty except for the ashen corpse of Patroclus, its waxy flesh disfigured by the marks of combat.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  THE FEUD ENDED

  Odysseus and Eperitus helped Achilles on with his new armour then followed him along the beach as he called out at the top of his voice, summoning the Greeks to assemble. The last of the night had been chased away and powder-blue skies now formed an endless ceiling over the world, but the calm of the heavens was not mirrored for long in the sprawling camp below. From every point, soldiers left their cold breakfasts and herded down to the meeting place on the shore opposite Agamemnon’s tent, where the clamour of their excited voices grew until it drowned out the cawing of the many seagulls and the gentle crashing of the waves upon the sand. Though they were exhausted by their exertions and many of them bore wounds from the battles of the previous days, the Greeks were suddenly filled with confidence at the appearance of Achilles. The fact that he had left Patroclus’s bier could only mean he was ready to put aside his grief and go to war, and the multitude of warriors shared his eagerness for vengeance in Trojan blood. But if the prospect of following the prince into battle had loosened their tongues, the magnificence of his armour set them racing.

  ‘It’s the work of a god,’ Ajax said as he joined Odysseus and Eperitus on one of the benches being set out hastily by Agamemnon’s personal guards. He was accompanied by Teucer and Little Ajax, whose pet snake hung about his shoulders and hissed at the Ithacans. ‘The breastplate and helmet alone are beyond the skill of any man, but that shield!’ He gave a whistle and shook his head disbelievingly.

  ‘Magnificent, isn’t it?’ Odysseus agreed without removing his eyes from the object as it hung on Achilles’s arm. ‘And yet—’

  ‘In the name of Ares!’ Ajax exclaimed, placing his hands on his knees with his elbows out and leaning forward. ‘The designs on the shield – they’re . . . they’re moving! From the top of the beach I thought it was the sunlight playing on the silver and gold, but they’re actually moving. How is that possible?’

  Little Ajax squinted doubtfully at the shield, and then, for the first time since Eperitus had known him, a look of wonder transformed his mean features. He turned to Teucer, who was huddled in close by Great Ajax’s enormous frame, but the archer’s gaze was transfixed by the shield
and he paid no attention to the Locrian king.

  ‘Teucer, I forgive you for waking me while I was with Tecmessa,’ Ajax said, placing a thick arm about the scrawny shoulders of his half-brother. ‘Just to see such a thing was worthwhile, and the more I look at it . . .’

  He paused and frowned, staring hard at the shield with a mixture of surprise and growing recognition. At the same moment the crowds of soldiers standing around the benches where the kings, princes and other leaders were sitting parted. Agamemnon entered through the gap, sceptre in hand and followed by Menelaus and Nestor. The King of Men threw a quick glance towards Achilles – who remained with his back to the assembly, staring out at the rollers as they folded in on the shore – then leaned in towards his companions and spoke in a low voice.

  Eperitus gave Agamemnon a contemptuous sneer and turned to Ajax.

  ‘You were going to say something about Achilles’s shield,’ he prompted.

  Ajax blinked as if waking from a dream. ‘Your eyes are the best in the army, Eperitus,’ he said, taking the Ithacan by the arm and pointing at the shield. ‘Tell me – does one of those islands look like Salamis to you?’

  ‘I wouldn’t know. Salamis is your kingdom, not mine, and I’ve only seen it from the western side.’

  ‘Never mind,’ Ajax said dismissively. ‘But look at that city under siege – it’s Teuthrania, the city I sacked where I took Tecmessa as my captive. And the next scene is of my marriage to Tecmessa – and that’s our son, Eurysaces! Look, all of you: it’s as if the shield was made for me and not Achilles at all!’