Once in the town, those who had fled like deer
wiped off their sweat and drank their thirst away,
leaning against the cool stone of the ramparts.
Meanwhile Akhaians with bright shields aslant
came up the plain and nearer. As for Hektor,
fatal destiny pinned him where he stood
before the Skaian Gates, outside the city.
Now Akhilleus heard Apollo calling
back to him:
“Why run so hard, Akhilleus,
mortal as you are, after a god? |
10 |
Can you not comprehend it? I am immortal.
You are so hot to catch me, you no longer
think of finishing off the men you routed.
They are all in the town by now, packed in
while you were being diverted here. And yet
you cannot kill me; I am no man’s quarry.”
Akhilleus bit his lip and said:
“Archer of heaven, deadliest
of immortal gods, you put me off the track,
turning me from the wall this way. A hundred |
20 |
might have sunk their teeth into the dust
before one man took cover in Ilion!
You saved my enemies with ease and stole
my glory, having no punishment to fear.
I’d take it out of you, if I had the power.”
Then toward the town with might and main he ran,
magnificent, like a racing chariot horse
that holds its form at full stretch on the plain.
So light-footed Akhilleus held the pace.
And aging Priam was the first to see him |
30 |
sparkling on the plain, bright as that star
in autumn rising, whose unclouded rays
shine out amid a throng of stars at dusk—
the one they call Oríôn’s dog, most brilliant,
yes, but baleful as a sign: it brings
great fever to frail men. So pure and bright
the bronze gear blazed upon him as he ran.
The old man gave a cry. With both his hands
thrown up on high he struck his head, then shouted,
groaning, appealing to his dear son. Unmoved, |
40 |
Lord Hektor stood in the gateway, resolute
to fight Akhilleus.
Stretching out his hands,
old Priam said, imploring him:
“No, Hektor!
Cut off as you are, alone, dear son,
don’t try to hold your ground against this man,
or soon you’ll meet the shock of doom, borne down
by the son of Pêleus. He is more powerful
by far than you, and pitiles. Ah, were he
but dear to the gods as he is dear to me!
Wild dogs and kites would eat him where he lay |
50 |
within the hour, and ease me of my torment.
Many tall sons he killed, bereaving me,
or sold them to far islands. Even now
I cannot see two sons of mine, Lykáôn
and Polydôros, among the Trojans massed
inside the town. A queen, Laóthoê,
conceived and bore them. If they are alive
amid the Akhaian host, I’ll ransom them
with bronze and gold: both I have, piled at home,
rich treasures that old Altês, the renowned, |
60 |
gave for his daughter’s dowry. If they died,
if they went under to the homes of Death,
sorrow has come to me and to their mother.
But to our townsmen all this pain is brief,
unless you too go down before Akhilleus.
Come inside the wall, child; here you may
fight on to save our Trojan men and women.
Do not resign the glory to Akhilleus,
losing your own dear life! Take pity, too,
on me and my hard fate, while I live still. |
70 |
Upon the threshold of my age, in misery,
the son of Krónos will destroy my life
after the evil days I shall have seen—
my sons brought down, my daughters dragged away,
bedchambers ravaged, and small children hurled
to earth in the atrocity of war,
as my sons’ wives are taken by Akhaians’
ruinous hands. And at the end, I too—
when someone with a sword-cut or a spear
has had my life—I shall be torn apart |
80 |
on my own doorstep by the hounds
I trained as watchdogs, fed from my own table.
These will lap my blood with ravenous hearts
and lie in the entranceway.
Everything done
to a young man killed in war becomes his glory,
once he is riven by the whetted bronze:
dead though he be, it is all fair, whatever
happens then. But when an old man falls,
and dogs disfigure his grey head and cheek
90 |
of all that men in their hard lives endure.”
The old man wrenched at his grey hair and pulled out
hanks of it in both his hands, but moved
Lord Hektor not at all. The young man’s mother
wailed from the tower across, above the portal,
streaming tears, and loosening her robe
with one hand, held her breast out in the other,
saying:
“Hektor, my child, be moved by this,
and pity me, if ever I unbound
a quieting breast for you. Think of these things, |
100 |
dear child; defend yourself against the killer
this side of the wall, not hand to hand.
He has no pity. If he brings you down,
I shall no longer be allowed to mourn you
laid out on your bed, dear branch in flower,
born of me! And neither will your lady,
so endowed with gifts. Far from us both,
dogs will devour you by the Argive ships.”
With tears and cries the two implored their son,
and made their prayers again, but could not shake him. |
110 |
Hektor stood firm, as huge Akhilleus neared.
The way a serpent, fed on poisonous herbs,
coiled at his lair upon a mountainside,
with all his length of hate awaits a man
and eyes him evilly: so Hektor, grim
and narrow-eyed, refused to yield. He leaned
his brilliant shield against a spur of wall
and in his brave heart bitterly reflected:
“Here I am badly caught. If I take cover,
slipping inside the gate and wall, the first |
120 |
to accuse me for it will be Poulýdamas,
he who told me I should lead the Trojans
back to the city on that cursed night
Akhilleus joined the battle. No, I would not,
would not, wiser though it would have been.
Now troops have perished for my foolish pride,
I am ashamed to face townsmen and women.
Someone inferior to me may say:
‘He kept his pride and lost his men, this Hektor!’
So it will go. Better, when that time comes, |
130 |
that I appear as he who killed Akhilleus
man to man, or else that I went down
fighting him to the end before the city.
Suppose, though, that I lay my shield and helm
aside, and prop my spear against the wall,
and go to meet the noble Prince Akhilleus,
promising Helen, promising with her
all treasures that Alexandras brought home
by ship to Troy—the first cause of our quarrel—
that he may give these things to the Atreidai? |
140 |
Then I might add, apart from these, a portion
of all the secret wealth the city owns.
Yes, later I might take our counselors’ oath
to hide no stores, but share and share alike
to halve all wealth our lovely city holds,
all that is here within the walls. Ah, no,
why even put the question to myself?
I must not go before him and receive
no quarter, no respect! Aye, then and there
he’ll kill me, unprotected as I am, |
150 |
my gear laid by, defenseless as a woman.
No chance, now, for charms from oak or stone
in parley with him—charms a girl and boy
might use when they enchant each other talking!
Better we duel, now at once, and see
to whom the Olympian awards the glory.”
These were his shifts of mood. Now close at hand
Akhilleus like the implacable god of war
came on with blowing crest, hefting the dreaded |
160 |
Bronze light played around him, like the glare
of a great fire or the great sun rising,
and Hektor, as he watched, began to tremble.
Then he could hold his ground no more. He ran,
leaving the gate behind him, with Akhilleus
hard on his heels, sure of his own speed.
When that most lightning-like of birds, a hawk
bred on a mountain, swoops upon a dove,
the quarry dips in terror, but the hunter, |
170 |
passionate for prey. Just so, Akhilleus
murderously cleft the air, as Hektor
ran with flashing knees along the wall.
They passed the lookout point, the wild figtree
with wind in all its leaves, then veered away
along the curving wagon road, and came
to where the double fountains well, the source
of eddying Skamánder. One hot spring
flows out, and from the water fumes arise |
180 |
even in summer gushes chill as hail
or snow or crystal ice frozen on water.
Near these fountains are wide washing pools
of smooth-laid stone, where Trojan wives and daughters
laundered their smooth linen in the days
of peace before the Akhaians came. Past these
the two men ran, pursuer and pursued,
and he who fled was noble, he behind
a greater man by far. They ran full speed, |
190 |
or any prize that men compete for: no,
but for the life of Hektor, tamer of horses.
Just as when chariot-teams around a course
go wheeling swiftly, for the prize is great,
a tripod or a woman, in the games
held for a dead man, so three times these two
at full speed made their course round Priam’s town,
as all the gods looked on. And now the father
of gods and men turned to the rest and said:
“How sad that this beloved man is hunted |
200 |
around the wall before my eyes! My heart
is touched for Hektor; he has burned thigh flesh
of oxen for me often, high on Ida,
at other times on the high point of Troy.
Now Prince Akhilleus with devouring stride
is pressing him around the town of Priam.
Come, gods, put your minds on it, consider
whether we may deliver him from death
or see him, noble as he is, brought down
by Pêleus’ son, Akhilleus.” |
210 |
Grey-eyed Athêna
said to him:
“Father of the blinding bolt,
the dark stormcloud, what words are these? The man
is mortal, and his doom fixed, long ago.
Would you release him from his painful death?
Then do so, but not all of us will praise you.”
Zeus who gathers cloud replied:
“Take heart,
my dear and honored child. I am not bent
on my suggestion, and I would indulge you.
Act as your thought inclines, refrain no longer.”
So he encouraged her in her desire, |
220 |
and down she swept from ridges of Olympos.
Great Akhilleus, hard on Hektor’s heels,
kept after him, the way a hound will harry
a deer’s fawn he has startled from its bed
to chase through gorge and open glade, and when
the quarry goes to earth under a bush
he holds the scent and quarters till he finds it;
so with Hektor: he could not shake off |
230 |
under the towers, hoping men would help him,
sending missiles down, Akhilleus loomed
to cut him off and turn him toward the plain,
as he himself ran always near the city.
As in a dream a man chasing another
cannot catch him, nor can he in flight
escape from his pursuer, so Akhilleus
could not by swiftness overtake him,
nor could Hektor pull away. How could he
run so long from death, had not Apollo |
240 |
for the last time, the very last, come near
to give him stamina and speed?
Akhilleus
shook his head at the rest of the Akhaians,
allowing none to shoot or cast at Hektor—
none to forestall him, and to win the honor.
But when, for the fourth time, they reached the springs,
the Father poised his golden scales.
He placed
two shapes of death, death prone and cold, upon them,
one of Akhilleus, one of the horseman, Hektor,
and held the midpoint, pulling upward. Down |
250 |
sank Hektor’s fatal day, the pan went down
toward undergloom, and Phoibos Apollo left him.
Then came Athêna, grey-eyed, to the son
of Pêleus, falling in with him, and near him,
saying swiftly:
“Now at last I think
the two of us, Akhilleus loved by Zeus,
shall bring Akhaians triumph at the ships
by killing Hektor—unappeased
though he was ever in his thirst for war.
There is no way he may escape us now, |
260 |
not though Apollo, lord of distances,
should suffer all indignity for him
before his father Zeus who bears the stormcloud,
rolling back and forth and begging for him.
Now you can halt and take your breath, while I
persuade him into combat face to face.”
These were Athêna’s orders. He complied,
relieved, and leaning hard upon the spearshaft
armed with its head of bronze. She left him there
and overtook Lord Hektor—but she seemed |
270 |
Dêíphobos in form and resonant voice,
appearing at his shoulder, saying swiftly:
“Ai! Dear brother, how he runs, Akhilleus,
harrying you around the town of Priam!
Come, we’ll stand and take him on.”
great Hektor in his shimmering helm replied:
“Dêíphobos, you were the closest to me
in the old days, of all my brothers, sons
of Hékabê and Priam. Now I can say
I honor you still more |
280 |
because you dared this foray for my sake,
seeing me run. The rest stay under cover.”
Again the grey-eyed goddess Athêna spoke:
“Dear brother, how your father and gentle mother
begged and begged me to remain! So did
the soldiers round me, all undone by fear.
But in my heart I ached for you.
Now let us fight him, and fight hard.
No holding back. We’ll see if this Akhilleus
conquers both, to take our armor seaward, |
290 |
or if he can be brought down by your spear.”
This way, by guile, Athêna led him on.
And when at last the two men faced each other,
Hektor was the first to speak. He said:
“I will no longer fear you as before,
son of Pêleus, though I ran from you
round Priam’s town three times and could not face you.
Now my soul would have me stand and fight,
whether I kill you or am killed. So come,
we’ll summon gods here as our witnesses, |
300 |
none higher, arbiters of a pact: I swear
that, terrible as you are,
I’ll not insult your corpse should Zeus allow me
victory in the end, your life as prize.
Once I have your gear, I’ll give your body
back to Akhaians. Grant me, too, this grace.”
But swift Akhilleus frowned at him and said:
“Hektor, I’ll have no talk of pacts with you,
forever unforgiven as you are.
As between men and lions there are none, |
310 |
no concord between wolves and sheep, but all
hold one another hateful through and through,
so there can be no courtesy between us,
no sworn truce, till one of us is down
and glutting with his blood the wargod Arês.
Summon up what skills you have. By god,
you’d better be a spearman and a fighter!
Now there is no way out. Pallas Athêna
will have the upper hand of you. The weapon |
320 |
in full for all the pain my men have borne,
who met death by your spear.”
He twirled and cast
his shaft with its long shadow. Splendid Hektor,
keeping his eye upon the point, eluded it
by ducking at the instant of the cast,
so shaft and bronze shank passed him overhead
and punched into the earth. But unperceived
by Hektor, Pallas Athêna plucked it out
and gave it back to Akhilleus. Hektor said:
“A clean miss. Godlike as you are, |
330 |
you have not yet known doom for me from Zeus.
You thought you had, by heaven. Then you turned
into a word-thrower, hoping to make me lose
my fighting heart and head in fear of you.
You cannot plant your spear between my shoulders
while I am running If you have the gift,
just put it through my chest as I come forward.
Now it’s for you to dodge my own. Would god |
340 |
if you were blotted out, bane that you are.”
With this he twirled his long spearshaft and cast it,
hitting his enemy mid-shield, but off
and away the spear rebounded. Furious
that he had lost it, made his throw for nothing,
Hektor stood bemused. He had no other.
Then he gave a great shout to Dêíphobos
to ask for a long spear. But there was no one
near him, not a soul. Now in his heart
the Trojan realized the truth and said: |
350 |
“This is the end. The gods are calling deathward.
I had thought
a good soldier, Dêíphobos, was with me.
He is inside the walls, Athêna tricked me.
Death is near, and black, not at a distance,
not to be evaded. Long ago
this hour must have been to Zeus’ liking
and to the liking of his archer son.
They have been well disposed before, but now |
360 |
die without delivering a stroke,
or die ingloriously, but in some action
memorable to men in days to come.”
With this he drew the whetted blade that hung
upon his left flank, ponderous and long,
collecting all his might the way an eagle
narrows himself to dive through shady cloud
and strike a lamb or cowering hare: so Hektor
lanced ahead and swung his whetted blade.
Akhilleus with wild fury in his heart |
370 |
pulled in upon his chest his beautiful shield—
his helmet with four burnished metal ridges
nodding above it, and the golden crest
Hêphaistos locked there tossing in the wind.
Conspicuous as the evening star that comes,
amid the first in heaven, at fall of night,
and stands most lovely in the west, so shone
in sunlight the fine-pointed spear
Akhilleus poised in his right hand, with deadly |
380 |
it lay exposed. But nearly all was covered
by the bronze gear he took from slain Patróklos,
showing only, where his collarbones
divided neck and shoulders, the bare throat
where the destruction of a life is quickest.
Here, then, as the Trojan charged, Akhilleus
drove his point straight through the tender neck,
but did not cut the windpipe, leaving Hektor
able to speak and to respond. He fell
aside into the dust. And Prince Akhilleus |
390 |
now exulted:
“Hektor, had you thought
that you could kill Patróklos and be safe?
Nothing to dread from me; I was not there.
All childishness. Though distant then, Patróklos’
comrade in arms was greater far than he—
and it is I who had been left behind
that day beside the deepsea ships who now
have made your knees give way. The dogs and kites
will rip your body. His will lie in honor |
400 |
Hektor, barely whispering, replied:
“I beg you by your soul and by your parents,
do not let the dogs feed on me
in your encampment by the ships. Accept
the bronze and gold my father will provide
as gifts, my father and her ladyship
my mother. Let them have my body back,
so that our men and women may accord me
decency of fire when I am dead.”
Akhilleus the great runner scowled and said: |
410 |
“Beg me no beggary by soul or parents,
whining dog! Would god my passion drove me
to slaughter you and eat you raw, you’ve caused
such agony to me! No man exists
who could defend you from the carrion pack—
not if they spread for me ten times your ransom,
twenty times, and promise more as well;
aye, not if Priam, son of Dárdanos,
tells them to buy you for your weight in gold! |
420 |
laid out and mourned by her who gave you birth.
Dogs and birds will have you, every scrap.”
Then at the point of death Lord Hektor said:
“I see you now for what you are. No chance
to win you over. Iron in your breast
your heart is. Think a bit, though: this may be
a thing the gods in anger hold against you
on that day when Paris and Apollo
destroy you at the Gates, great as you are.”
Even as he spoke, the end came, and death hid him; |
430 |
spirit from body fluttered to undergloom,
bewailing fate that made him leave his youth
and manhood in the world. And as he died
Akhilleus spoke again. He said:
“Die, make an end. I shall accept my own
whenever Zeus and the other gods desire.”
At this he pulled his spearhead from the body,
laying it aside, and stripped
the bloodstained shield and cuirass from his shoulders.
Other Akhaians hastened round to see |
440 |
Hektor’s fine body and his comely face,
and no one came who did not stab the body.
Glancing at one another they would say:
“Now Hektor has turned vulnerable, softer
than when he put the torches to the ships!”
And he who said this would inflict a wound.
When the great master of pursuit, Akhilleus,
had the body stripped, he stood among them,
saying swiftly:
“Friends, my lords and captains
of Argives, now that the gods at last have let me |
450 |
bring to earth this man who wrought
havoc among us—more than all the rest—
come, we’ll offer battle around the city,
to learn the intentions of the Trojans now.
Will they give up their strongpoint at this loss?
Can they fight on, though Hektor’s dead?
why do I ponder, why take up these questions?
Down by the ships Patróklos’ body lies
unwept, unburied. I shall not forget him
while I can keep my feet among the living. |
460 |
If in the dead world they forget the dead,
I say there, too, I shall remember him,
my friend. Men of Akhaia, lift a song!
Down to the ships we go, and take this body,
our glory. We have beaten Hektor down,
to whom as to a god the Trojans prayed.”
Indeed, he had in mind for Hektor’s body
outrage and shame. Behind both feet he pierced
the tendons, heel to ankle. Rawhide cords
he drew through both and lashed them to his chariot, |
470 |
letting the man’s head trail. Stepping aboard,
bearing the great trophy of the arms,
he shook the reins, and whipped the team ahead
into a willing run. A dustcloud rose
above the furrowing body; the dark tresses
flowed behind, and the head so princely once
lay back in dust. Zeus gave him to his enemies
to be defiled in his own fatherland.
So his whole head was blackened. Looking down, |
480 |
and wailed, heartbroken to behold her son.
Piteously his father groaned, and round him
lamentation spread throughout the town,
most like the clamor to be heard if Ilion’s
towers, top to bottom, seethed in flames.
They barely stayed the old man, mad with grief,
from passing through the gates. Then in the mire
he rolled, and begged them all, each man by name:
“Relent, friends. It is hard; but let me go
out of the city to the Akhaian ships. |
490 |
I’ll make my plea to that demonic heart.
He may feel shame before his peers, or pity
my old age. His father, too, is old,
Pêleus, who brought him up to be a scourge
to Trojans, cruel to all, but most to me,
so many of my sons in flower of youth
he cut away. And, though I grieve, I cannot
mourn them all as much as I do one,
for whom my grief will take me to the grave—
and that is Hektor. Why could he not have died |
500 |
where I might hold him? In our weeping, then,
his mother, now so destitute, and I
might have had surfeit and relief of tears.”
These were the words of Priam as he wept,
and all his people groaned. Then in her turn
Hékabê led the women in lamentation:
“Child, I am lost now. Can I bear my life
after the death of suffering your death?
You were my pride in all my nights and days,
pride of the city, pillar of the Trojans |
510 |
and Trojan women. Everyone looked to you
as though you were a god, and rightly so.
You were their greatest glory while you lived.
Now your doom and death have come upon you.”
These were her mournful words. But Hektor’s lady
still knew nothing; no one came to tell her
of Hektor’s stand outside the gates. She wove
upon her loom, deep in the lofty house,
a double purple web with rose design.
Calling her maids in waiting, |
520 |
she ordered a big caldron on a tripod
set on the hearthfire, to provide a bath
for Hektor when he came home from the fight.
Poor wife, how far removed from baths he was
she could not know, as at Akhilleus’ hands
Athêna brought him down.
Then from the tower
she heard a wailing and a distant moan.
Her knees shook, and she let her shuttle fall,
and called out to her maids again:
“Come here.
Two must follow me, to see this action. |
530 |
I heard my husband’s queenly mother cry.
I feel my heart rise, throbbing in my throat.
My knees are like stone under me. Some blow
is coming home to Priam’s sons and daughters.
Ah, could it never reach my ears! I die
of dread that Akhilleus may have cut off Hektor,
blocked my bold husband from the city wall,
to drive him down the plain alone! By now
he may have ended Hektor’s deathly pride. |
540 |
but drove ahead. He would not be outdone
by anyone in courage.”
Saying this, she ran
like a madwoman through the mégaron,
her heart convulsed. Her maids kept at her side.
On reaching the great tower and the soldiers,
Andrómakhê stood gazing from the wall
and saw him being dragged before the city.
Chariot horses at a brutal gallop
pulled the torn body toward the decked ships.
Blackness of night covered her eyes; she fell |
550 |
backward swooning, sighing out her life,
and let her shining headdress fall, her hood
and diadem, her plaited band and veil
that Aphrodítê once had given her,
on that day when, from Eëtíôn’s house,
for a thousand bridal gifts, Lord Hektor led her.
Now, at her side, kinswomen of her lord
supported her among them, dazed and faint
to the point of death. But when she breathed again |
560 |
of sobbing she called out among the women:
“Hektor! Here is my desolation. Both
had this in store from birth—from yours in Troy
in Priam’s palace, mine by wooded Plakos
at Thêbê in the home of Eëtíôn,
my father, who took care of me in childhood,
a man cursed by fate, a fated daughter.
How I could wish I never had been born!
Now under earth’s roof to the house of Death
you go your way and leave me here, bereft, |
570 |
lonely, in anguish without end. The child
we wretches had is still in infancy;
you cannot be a pillar to him, Hektor,
now you are dead, nor he to you. And should
this boy escape the misery of the war,
there will be toil and sorrow for him later,
as when strangers move his boundary stones.
The day that orphans him will leave him lonely,
downcast in everything, cheeks wet with tears,
in hunger going to his father’s friends |
580 |
to tug at one man’s cloak, another’s khiton.
Some will be kindly: one may lift a cup
to wet his lips at least, though not his throat;
but from the board some child with living parents
gives him a push, a slap, with biting words:
‘Outside, you there! Your father is not with us
here at our feast!’ And the boy Astýanax
will run to his forlorn mother. Once he fed
on marrow only and the fat of lamb,
high on his father’s knees. And when sleep came |
590 |
to end his play, he slept in a nurse’s arms,
brimful of happiness, in a soft bed.
But now he’ll know sad days and many of them,
missing his father. ‘Lord of the lower town’
the Trojans call him. They know, you alone,
Lord Hektor, kept their gates and their long walls.
Beside the beaked ships now, far from your kin,
the blowflies’ maggots in a swarm will eat you
naked, after the dogs have had their fill.
Ah, there are folded garments in your chambers, |
600 |
delicate and fine, of women’s weaving.
These, by heaven, I’ll burn to the last thread
in blazing fire! They are no good to you,
they cannot cover you in death. So let them
go, let them be burnt as an offering
from Trojans and their women in your honor.”
Thus she mourned, and the women wailed in answer.