The War At Troy

by Lindsay Clarke

  Of all his brothers, Hector was the only one for whom Paris had ever felt unqualified affection. It was Hector’s gaze he had most feared to meet when he ran for his chariot. But a thousand times worse than that was to confront the scorn in Hector’s eyes now. Better to have taken a thousand wounds from Menelaus’ sword than to have to endure that withering glance.

  ‘Forgive me, brother,’ he cried. ‘Not all of us have your strength.’

  ‘You are no brother of mine -- not unless you’re man enough to prove yourself as gallant on the battlefield as you appear to be in bed.’

  From where she stood at the back of the room with her hair tousled and a robe wrapped about her naked body, Helen said, ‘Will you not come in and speak privately, Hector?’

  ‘No, madam, I will not,’ Hector snapped back at her. ‘This city is grieving the loss of many sons right now, some of whose poor bodies are still lying out there on the plain. I have no time to sit and bandy words with you. But this much I will say -- if you have any shame left, you will tell this paramour of yours to come to the council chamber right now and speak for himself as a man among men. And you may tell him also that it will not be enough to restore him in my sight unless he also shows himself ready to take his place beside men who are not afraid to fight - and for a nobler cause than your right to sport together while we die!’

  As Paris hurried along the corridor to the council chamber he could hear voices raised in argument but they all fell silent as he entered. He stood in the doorway for a moment seeing that all the princes and nobles of Troy were assembled there along with their principal allies. Conscious of Hector’s glare and of the cold reserve of his former friend Aeneas, with whom he had exchanged only a few formal sentences since his return from Sparta, he crossed the marble floor to take his place at the left of the throne where Priam sat gravely with his head leaning to one side and his jaw cupped in a gnarled hand. Paris made a brief obeisance before his father, who gestured for him to rise, and then he turned to face the hostile faces round him.

  ‘Forgive my tardiness,’ he said. ‘I have been half out of my mind this day. And no one here can shame me more than I have already shamed myself, so do not spare your words on my account.’

  Above the murmuring in the hall, Priam said, ‘You have heard my son, Antenor. Speak your mind.’

  Antenor stepped forward, holding the speaker’s sceptre. He tilted his gaunt chin, gathering his words before he spoke. His cheeks were flushed, his knuckles white about the sceptre.

  ‘Trojans, Dardanians, loyal allies,’ he began, ‘most of us fought bravely today and together we withstood the first assault of the Argive host. But we know to our cost that there are many who did not return from the plain, and many more too badly injured to fight again. Already our numbers are not what they were, and tomorrow yet more will die. How long, I wonder, can we continue to endure such losses? And for what good cause? For make no mistake, we are fighting not just against men here, but also against gods. Athena is against us. Hera is against us. And even Apollo, who has always been revered in this city, warned us long ago that Troy would fall if one who stands among us now was allowed to live.’

  For a space a pensive silence filled the hall. Then Antenor continued in a lower, more fervent voice. ‘That warning was ignored, and I have more reason than most to rue it. All men here know that my wife and I have no cause to love Paris. We know also that he has broken an oath of friendship, violated the laws of hospitality and the sanctity of marriage, and brought long years of war and hardship on us all. Yet it is not for those reasons alone that I impugn his presence among us. I do it for the good of our city. I do it because it is what the gods require. He should have died many years ago when Apollo demanded it. He might have died honourably today, and would have done so had he not lacked the courage to take the fate that lay in wait for him. So he cowers now behind our walls, and as long as he is allowed to do so, the Argive host will batter our gates and give us no rest until his life is in their hands.’ Antenor drew in his breath and raised his voice for emphasis. ‘Let us give it to them now, therefore. Let us deliver Paris back to the wronged man before whom he fled today. And let him take the Spartan woman with him, along with all their wealth. For his treachery has made traitors of us all. A pact of friendship was broken many years ago and it was he who broke it. A truce was broken today and it was we who broke it. Justice is no longer on our side and those who fight without justice call down the anger of the gods.’ Antenor was trembling as he spoke. He looked across at Priam who was gazing up at the blue ceiling as if his thoughts were elsewhere. ‘But if my lord the king feels it too much to deliver his son into the hands of his enemies, at least let him be forced to part with Helen and her wealth. Let us restore to Menelaus what is rightfully his, and end the long travail of this war.’

  Antenor had not looked at Paris once as he spoke. Now he withdrew from the floor and his friends gathered round him in a murmur of assent. Paris waited a few moments to see whether anyone would rise to speak in his defence, and when no one did so he stepped forward into the silence of the hall.

  ‘My royal father, friends,’ he began, ‘there is some truth in what Antenor has said, and I confess myself guilty of the charges he brings against me. It is true that I was to blame for his young son’s death and I have rued it all my days. It is true that I broke a vow of friendship and that I violated the laws of hospitality while I was in Sparta, and it is true that in doing so I occasioned this long war. None of this do I deny, and if you think my life should be made forfeit for it, you have it in your power to deliver me over to the vengeance of the sons of Atreus.’

  Pausing, he raised his hands at his sides and opened them as if to show himself weaponless and vulnerable. ‘But this much I would say in my own defence. Firstly, this war was coming long before I set eyes on the Lady Helen. My deeds might have been the spark that lit that fire, but the tinder had been lying dry for years. And there are those in this hall who sought this war more eagerly than I.’ Paris glanced briefly at his brothers Deiphobus and Antiphus before continuing. ‘Secondly, as all men know, there are more gods than Athena and Hera, great though they are in their divine power, and what I have done was done in the service of another goddess, one who is quite as powerful as they. King Anchises will tell you that once a man’s life is taken within the embrace of Aphrodite he is no longer free to act as other men do. It is the goddess who acts through him and if her works are sometimes dreadful in their power, they are driven by the living force of love, which is a law unto itself. That law has its own court and its own trials, and in the eyes of that court I am innocent of all crimes except the failure to love well enough. But let no man doubt that the love I have for Helen is so great that I will never betray it. Take my own life if you will. Take all my wealth and hand it over as reparation to the Argives and I will murmur no word of objection. But I will never surrender my wife to any man.’

  For long seconds after Paris had finished speaking, the air of the hall was still tense with the passion in his voice. Then, to his amazement, Deiphobus stepped forward and said, ‘I stand with my brother Paris on this,’ and after a moment, Antiphus was nodding beside him.

  Antenor stood frowning, shaking his head, and then the whole hall was a murmur of uncertain debate until King Priam rose from his throne to speak.

  ‘I have heard the words of my counsellor Antenor,’ he said, ‘and I have heard the words of my sons. Now hear my word on this. We will keep a watch about our walls as usual tonight. Tomorrow the herald Idaeus shall go to the Argive camp and convey the offer of Prince Paris to return to Menelaus all the treasure that was taken from Sparta except the Lady Helen. To that sum shall be added the greater portion of his own wealth in reparation. If the sons of Atreus accept this offer, well and good. If not, we shall fight on and let the gods decide between us.

  And that was how it was left, though no one in the court believed the issue could be resolved this way. Hector left the council filled with g
loom and returned to his apartment in the palace where his wife Andromache anxiously waited. She knew at once from his face that the war must go on, and she railed against Paris for a time until Hector stilled her. ‘He spoke well for himself,’ he said, ‘and he no more wishes to give up the wife he loves than I would wish to surrender you.’

  ‘So he will cling on to her even though you must die for it? Haven’t I suffered enough in this war? My father was killed by Achilles in the attack on Thebe, and all my brothers died with him. Must I now lose my husband too, and my child his father, for the sake of Paris and his Spartan woman?’

  ‘This war was never just about Helen,’ Hector said.

  ‘No,’ Andromache looked back at him with accusation in her eyes, ‘it was always about men’s love of power and their appetite for violence. What do I or Helen or any woman really matter in this mad world except as spoils of war? And there would never have been a war were not so many of you men eager to fight it. I think you are all in love with war, that you take pleasure in its cruelties, that you find a surer proof of your manhood in killing other men than in caring for a woman’s love.’ She looked up and saw the hurt in the eyes of the man she loved. Hopelessly she shook her head. ‘Didn’t you see how our little son shuddered when he saw you in your battle-gear today? You were all such children once, yet none of you will rest till you have turned your sons into men of violence. You are fools, blind fools, all of you. Paris may be a fool for love, but those of you who fight for him and die for him are greater fools by far.’

  ‘So what would you have me do?’ Hector said. ‘Would you have me run for my life as Paris did today?’

  ‘Yes,’ she cried, ‘yes, why not? Your life doesn’t only belong to you. It belongs to me and to our son. Or do you find it easier to die for Paris than to live for us?’

  ‘Nothing of this is easy,’ he said. ‘And if I die it will not be for Paris, but in the effort to keep the Argives from our gates. This war is with us whether I will have it or no, and all the burden of it falls to me. Twice I have tried to prevent it -- first by urging Paris into single combat, and again in the council tonight. But it seems it’s not the will of the gods that things should end that way. So what am I to do?’

  He got up from the couch and paced about the room. ‘My greatest fear is that Agamemnon and his horde will come running through our streets and into our houses and that some Argive man-at-arms will kill my son and drag you off to slavery. I will fight and fight and fight again sooner than let that happen.’ Andromache stared up into the haggard appeal of her husband’s noble face. ‘But must you always fight in the most dangerous place?’ she begged. ‘Must you always be out there in the front line, trading blows with their charioteers and spearmen? Why can’t you watch with us here on the wall, keeping guard over its weakest places so that the Argives can be held at bay?’

  Hector shook his head. ‘Don’t you see what a comfort it would be to the enemy if they could say, “Look how the Trojan hero Hector cowers among the women at the walls”? And how could I expect my comrades to fight bravely if they knew I was keeping myself safe with you? The gods know that I wish only to live at peace with you and watch my son grow up to be a better man than his father. But for that to happen I must live out this fate that falls to me.’ Hector gathered his wife into his arms and tried to smile down at her. ‘I will have more strength for that, my love, if I don’t also have to fight with you.’

  Early the next day the herald Idaeus presented himself before Agamemnon’s council to inform the Argive leaders that Paris was unwilling to return Helen to Menelaus but would pay the greater part of his wealth in compensation. The sons of Atreus merely glanced at one another and shook their heads in refusal.

  Still fired by his deeds on the battlefield, Diomedes spoke up for the rest of the captains. ‘The Trojans wouldn’t make such an offer if they didn’t already fear that their fate was sealed. Why should we be content with what Paris chooses to give us when all Troy is ours for the taking?’

  ‘You have our answer,’ Agamemnon said.

  ‘Very well,’ Idaeus replied, ‘but do not underestimate the strength of our resistance. Meanwhile King Priam observes that many dead lie unburied on the field. He will assent to a day of truce so that both sides may do them honour.’

  Agamemnon readily agreed to this and wagons were sent out to collect the bodies that lay strewn across the plain. All that day the sky was black with the smoke rising from the funeral pyres, and the air men breathed was foul with the smell of burning flesh. But the Argives also took advantage of the temporary armistice to strengthen the fortifications they had built to defend the ships, and when the Trojans saw this, they were confirmed in their belief that there was no hope of saving the city except to drive the invaders back into the sea.

  The next day broke under a gloom of cloud swirling down from Mount Ida. All morning the two sides fought. Both sides sustained heavy losses and neither gained much ground. And then, around noon, the storm-clouds broke in a violent stroke of lightning so close that the instantaneous volley of thunder stunned the ears. The bolt fell among the Argive lines, singeing the air with a stink of sulphur and spreading terror and confusion among both men and horses. For a moment even the Trojans were dazed by the shock. But Hector recovered quickly. ‘Zeus has spoken,’ he shouted. ‘Zeus is with us,’ and urged his forces forward to take advantage of the confusion in the enemy line.

  The Argive centre, which had been closest to the strike, fell back first, and all Agamemnon’s ravings could not rally it. Then Idomeneus pulled back, and soon, the line was buckling all along its length as men panicked and turned round to run. Before old Nestor could turn his chariot to retreat, Paris released an arrow which struck his trace-horse in the head and sent it crashing to the ground. Nestor leapt out of his chariot to cut the horse free and would have been ridden down where he stood had not Diomedes seen Hector’s chariot bearing down upon him and hurled his spear. It struck Hector’s charioteer in the chest and the weight of its long shaft pulled him down among the horses, making them shy. As Hector struggled to gain control of the reins, Diomedes pulled Nestor up into his chariot and carried him off to safety. But the whole line had broken round them. They had no choice but to join the rout with Hector hurling insults at their back. As they fell back towards the palisade, they could hear Agamemnon bellowing and cursing through the rain as he shouted out his orders, calling up archers to break the Trojan advance. Ajax and Teucer, were among the first to respond, taking up a position where Ajax defended his brother with his great ox-hide shield, while Teucer swiftly released his arrows at the oncoming Trojans. Some men fell, and the advance would have shuddered to a halt, but the impetus of those following up behind was so strong that the Argives were driven further back toward their ships.

  Only the palisade and ditch prevented them from being completely overrun. But once they were off the open plain and could take cover behind the rampart, the commanders halted the rout and pushed their men back into a bloody struggle around the ditch and gates. All afternoon men fought and died there, hand to hand, in a slither of mud and rain. The killing stopped only when the light from the overcast sky was so poor that Hector could no longer see along his lines to keep control of the advance and decided to pull his weary men back.

  But the hearts of the Trojans had been lifted by the day’s success. They were strengthened further by Hector’s elated presence among them, promising them victory on the morrow. He gave orders that his army should camp out on the plain, keeping the Argives pinned between the palisade and the ships. So the besiegers became the besieged that night and the watchmen looking out from behind the stockade saw a thousand watch-fires burning across the plain and knew that fifty warriors were gathered around each one of them, and that on the next day the Argive army might find itself trapped between the ditch and the sea.

  The Price of Honour

  Though his ships were beached far to the west of the line, some distance away from where the fig
hting had taken place, Achilles was well aware that the Argive host had barely escaped disaster that day He was not surprised that evening, therefore, when Phoenix came down the strand to where he sat with Patroclus, playing his lyre, and said that Odysseus and Ajax wished to speak with him.

  Achilles got up to greet them. ‘It’s been some time since I had visitors, and the two of you are the ones I’m happiest to see. Come, let’s drink some wine together.’ He permitted himself another wry smile. ‘You must be hungry after your day’s work. Why don’t you stay and eat with us?’

  The guests made themselves comfortable in the thatched lodge of rough-hewn timber that Achilles shared with Patroclus while the wine was mixed and joints of meat were roasted on spits across the fire. Patroclus threw the ritual portions into the blaze as offerings for the gods, and when they had eaten and refilled their cups, Odysseus said, ‘I don’t suppose you need any explanation of our visit.’

  Achilles merely shrugged and sipped at his wine.

  Odysseus sighed. ‘Let me be frank then. We’re in an almighty mess out there. If we hadn’t managed to hold on till the light had gone we’d have been completely overwhelmed today. You must have seen for yourself that Hector’s army controls all the plain between the palisade and the city. He can’t wait for morning to come. And when it does, there’s a good chance he’ll push us right back into the sea.’

  Still Achilles said nothing. Patroclus sat with his palms together at his chin, listening but revealing nothing of his feelings. By the firelight Odysseus could see old Phoenix tugging at his beard. He could also sense Ajax’s agitation at his side. ‘Two nights ago,’ he went on, ‘our glorious leader had a dream that Zeus was promising him a quick victory, which is why he’s been putting everything at risk since then. We took huge losses yesterday and a lot more again this morning. And if that wasn’t bad enough, a thunderbolt fell among our lines this afternoon. It got the Trojans convinced that Zeus is on their side, and we lost so many men in the ensuing rout that Agamemnon is confounded by the same thought. It won’t surprise you to hear that he’s been thrown into another violent fit of gloom. It was all Diomedes and Nestor could do to prevent him ordering us back into our ships -- though it would have been a massacre if he’d done so. Hector was ready for it. His Trojans would have been down on us like a landslide while we ran.’