Quintus Smyrnaeus
Translated by Alan James, 2004
This story was written around a millennium after the Homeric epics. Little is known of its author, Quintus Smyrnaeus (third century AD), other than that he came from Smyrna (modern İzmir), in what is now Turkey. He would probably have been familiar with the ancient Epic Cycle (see Story 2), which included a poem on Achilles’ death called the Aethiopis. Homer had merely foreshadowed the death of Achilles, son of Peleus, allowing later poets to imagine how the episode would have played out. Quintus Smyrnaeus dispensed with Paris and made Apollo solely responsible for Achilles’ death.
Quickly from either side on common ground converged
The tribes of Trojans and of Argives firm in the fray,
Eager for fighting now that the battle was set in motion.
There the son of Peleus destroyed a mighty host
Of his foes. All round the life-giving earth was drenched
With blood, and the waters of Xanthos and Simoeis
Were choked with corpses. Achilles still pursued and slaughtered
All the way to the city, since panic possessed the army.
He would have killed them all and dashed their gates to the ground,
Tearing them from their hinges, or would have smashed the bolts
With a sideward blow and opened a way for the Danaans
Into Priam’s city and would have plundered its wealth,
If anger had not filled the merciless heart of Phoibos
At the sight of those countless throngs of warriors slaughtered.
Down from Olympos he came with the speed of a savage beast;
Over his shoulders his quiver was filled with deadly arrows.
Facing Aiakos’ grandson he stood, while on his back
Loudly rattled his bow in its case and from his eyes
Came constant flashes of fire; the ground shook under his feet.
The great god gave a terrible shout, to deter Achilles
From the battle for fear of the supernatural voice
Of a god and so to save the Trojans from being killed:
“Back off, son of Peleus, away from the Trojans. No longer
May you inflict the evil Fates upon your foes,
Or one of the deities of Olympos may destroy you.”
But Achilles did not quail at the god’s immortal voice;
Already the merciless Fates were hovering over him.
So without respect for the god he shouted back at him;
“Phoibos, why do you rouse me, even against my will,
To fight against gods, in order to save the arrogant Trojans?
Once before you tricked and decoyed me from the fighting,
The first time that you rescued Hektor from death,
The man the Trojans exalted so highly in their city.
Back off now, far away, and join the rest of the gods
At home, or I will strike you, immortal though you are.”
With that he left the deity far behind, pursuing
The Trojans who were still in flight before the city.
While he was chasing them, the heart of Phoibos Apollo
Was filled with anger and to himself he spoke these words:
“Alas, the man has taken leave of his mind. But now
Not even the son of Kronos himself or anyone else
Can tolerate such insane defiance of the gods.”
That said, he made himself invisible with cloud
And from his cloak of mist he shot a baleful shaft,
Which sped and struck Achilles’ ankle. Immediately pain
Penetrated his heart and toppled him, like a tower
That from the force of a subterranean vortex
Collapses on top of the deeply shaken earth;
So fell to the ground the handsome frame of Aiakos’ grandson.
Looking all about him he uttered this deadly curse:
“Who was it shot a dreadful arrow at me by stealth?
Let him have the courage to face me openly,
To have his blood and all his bowels come gushing out
Around my spear, to send him off to sorrowful Hades.
For well I know there is no warrior in the world
Who at close quarters can overcome me with his spear,
Even with an utterly dauntless heart in his breast,
A totally dauntless heart and a body of bronze.
Stealth is the weakling’s way to snare a better man.
Just let him face me, even if he says he’s a god
Who’s angry with the Danaans; I suspect in my heart
It is Apollo concealed in sinister darkness.
So my beloved mother once revealed to me
That by Apollo’s arrows I’d die a miserable death
Close to the Skaian Gate, and they were no idle words.”
That said, with unflinching hands he pulled the fatal arrow
Out of a wound that could not heal. Out gushed the blood,
As he was gripped with pain and his heart was yielding to death.
In anguish he threw the weapon away, when a sudden gust
Of wind came and snatched it up and gave it back to Apollo
On his way to Zeus’s hallowed ground, for it could not be
That a deathless bolt should go missing from a deathless god.
Apollo caught it and quickly gained the height of Olympos,
The general assembly of the immortals, the place where most
They gathered in force to watch the fighting of mortal men.
Some were eager to grant a triumph to the Trojans
And others to the Danaans. Such was their division
As they viewed the killing and dying in the battle.
As soon as Zeus’s wise consort caught sight of him
She reproached him with these words of bitterness:
“Phoibos, what monstrous crime have you committed today,
Forgetful of that marriage which we immortals ourselves
Arranged for godlike Peleus? Amid the dining gods
Your sweet song told how Thetis of the silver feet
Left the depths of the sea to be the bride of Peleus.
As you played the lyre all creatures came together:
The savage beasts and birds, the hills with towering crags,
The rivers and all the deeply shaded forest came.
You’ve forgotten all that and done a heartless thing
In killing a great man, one who you and the other immortals,
Pouring libations of nectar, prayed would be the son
Of Peleus by Thetis. You’ve forgotten that prayer of yours
Just to oblige the race of the tyrant Laomedon,
For whom you kept the cattle. Mortal though he was,
He troubled you who are a god. You’re fool enough
To forget your former labor and oblige the Trojans.
You wretch, is your pitiful mind unable to see
Which man for his wickedness deserves to suffer
And which the gods should hold in honor? For Achilles
Was well disposed to us and belonged to our race.
But I don’t think the Trojans’ labor will be lighter
For the fall of Aiakos’ grandson, because his son
Shall very soon come from Skyros to help the Argives
In this harsh and bitter conflict, in his strength
His father’s equal, bringing disaster to many a foe.
You’re not really concerned for the Trojans, but are envious
Of Achilles’ greatness as the best of men.
You fool, how will you face the daughter of Nereus now,
When she comes to the house of Zeus to join the immortals?
She used to honor you and regard you as her son.”
Thus did Hera in her bitterness sharply rebuke
The son of almighty Zeus. He answered her not a word
Because of his respect for his powerful father’s spouse.
He couldn’t so much as look her in the face,
But sat apart from the gods who live forever,
His eyes upon the ground. Resentment against him was strong
From all the Olympian gods who supported the Danaan cause,
While those who were eager to grant a triumph to the Trojans
Held Apollo in honor, exulting in their hearts,
But out of Hera’s sight, since all the heavenly beings
Were awed by her anger.
Meanwhile Achilles remembered still
His fighting spirit. Still in his invincible limbs
The crimson blood was seething with eagerness for the fight.
Not a single Trojan had courage to approach him,
Struck though he was. They stood well back, as from a lion
Rustics in a wood draw back afraid when a hunter
Has struck it; though a shaft has pierced its heart, it remembers
Still its courage; as it rolls its glaring eyes
It utters a terrible roar from its savage jaws.
So anger and his painful wound inflamed the spirit
Of Peleus’ son, though dying from Apollo’s arrow.
In spite of all he sprang and fell upon his foes,
His huge spear poised. He killed the noble Orythaon,
Hektor’s brave comrade, with a blow below the temple.
His helmet failed to stop the long lance as intended.
It shot straight through both metal and bone, to penetrate
The nerves of his brain and so to spill his vital force.
He slew Hipponoos with a spear thrust under the brow
Into the roots of his eye. His eyeball fell from its socket
Onto the ground and his spirit flew away to Hades.
Next he penetrated the jaw of Alkithoos
And severed all of his tongue. He slumped upon the ground
Breathing his last, the spearpoint sticking out of his ear.
All these were slain by the hero as they hurried forth
To face him, while he took the lives of many others
In flight, for still the blood was seething in his heart.
When his limbs grew cold and his spirit ebbed away,
He stopped to lean on his spear. The Trojans continued their flight
In general panic, leaving him to rebuke them thus:
‘You cowardly Trojans, Dardanians, even when I’m dead
You won’t escape my merciless spear; the lot of you
Will pay the price of death to my avenging spirits.”
They shuddered when they heard him speak, as in the mountains
Fawns will tremble at the sound of a roaring lion,
Making their timid escape from the beast. Likewise the army
Of the Trojan horsemen and their foreign allies
Trembled in terror of Achilles’ final threat,
Supposing him unwounded still. But with the weight
Of doom upon his gallant spirit and sturdy frame,
He fell among the dead with the fall of a lofty mountain.
The earth resounded with the mighty crash of armor
At the fall of Peleus’ peerless son. Yet abject terror
Shook the hearts of those who saw their fallen foe.
Just as when a savage beast is killed by herdsmen;
The sight of it fallen beside the fold so fills the flock
With fear that they haven’t even the heart to approach it;
They shudder at the corpse as though it were alive;
Such was the Trojans’ fear for Achilles after his death.
Despite that Paris used strong words to stir the people’s
Spirits, because his heart was happy in the hope
That the Argives would give up the deadly fighting
After the fall of Peleus’ son, who was their strength.
“My friends, if truly and sincerely you support me,
Let us either die today at the hands of the Argives
Or save ourselves and drag away to Ilion
The fallen body of Peleus’ son with the horses of Hektor,
Which since the death of my brother bear me into battle,
Feeling still the grief of losing their true master.
If with their help we drag away the dead Achilles,
Great glory we would win for the horses as well as for Hektor
Himself, if really in Hades mortals retain their minds
Or sense of justice, in view of the harm he did to Troy,
Great will be the joy in the hearts of Trojan women
When they gather round him in the city, like fearsome
Lionesses or leopards furious for their cubs
Around a man experienced and skilled in dangerous hunting.
Thus round the body of slain Achilles the women of Troy
Will rush together to show their overwhelming hatred,
Some enraged for loss of fathers, some for husbands,
Some for children, and others for their honored kinsmen.
But happiest of all will be my father and the elders,
Those kept by age against their will inside the walls,
If we can only drag Achilles into the city
And leave him to be devoured by the birds of the air.”
At these words round the body of Aiakos’ valiant grandson
Quickly gathered those who’d feared him previously,
Glaukos, Aineias, Agenor the brave of heart,
And others who were skilled in the deadly art of war,
Eager to drag him off to Ilion’s holy city.
Achilles, though, was not abandoned by godlike Ajax,
Who swiftly bestrode him and with his long lance drove them all
Away from him. And yet they persisted in their attack,
Fighting Ajax on every side and making assaults
One after the other, like so many long-lipped bees,
Which hover round their hive in countless swarms
To drive away a man; he disregards their attacks
While cutting out their honeycombs, and they are distressed
By both the man and the billowing smoke; and still they make
Their frontal assaults, although he heeds them not the least.
So Ajax disregarded all these rapid attacks.
First of all he killed with a blow above the breast
Maion’s son Agelaos and next the noble Thestor;
Then Okythoos, Agestratos, Aganippos,
Zoros, Nissos, and the famous Erymas,
Who came from Lykia under valiant Glaukos’ command.
His home was steep Melanippion sacred to Athena,
Which faces Massikytos near Cape Chelidon;
Seafaring sailors tremble in awe of that place
Whenever they have to round its jagged rocks.
The killing of that Lykian chilled with horror the heart
Of Hippolochos’ famous son, because he was his friend.
Quickly stabbing Ajax’s shield of many oxhides,
He was not able to penetrate to his fair flesh.
The hides of his shield protected him and under that
The breastplate that was fitted to his tireless body.
Glaukos, however, did not abandon the mortal combat
In his desire to vanquish Aiakos’ grandson Ajax
He was so foolish as to make this boastful challenge:
“Ajax, since men claim that you are far the best
Of all the Argives and they are exceedingly proud of you,
No less than of brave Achilles, now that he is dead
You too will join him in death this very day, I reckon.”
The words he uttered he could not fulfill; he did not know
The greater worth of the man at whom he aimed his spear
The steadfast fighter Ajax scowling at him replied:
“Don’t you know, wretch, how much better than you in battle
Hektor was? And yet he avoided the force of this spear
Of mine, for with his brawn he had a prudent brain.
Your thoughts are clearly of death and darkness, since you dare
To face in combat one who is so much your better.
You cannot claim to be a family friend of mine,
Nor with your persuasive gifts will you divert me
From fighting as you did the mighty son of Tydeus.
You may have eluded that man’s power, but I at least
Will not allow you to escape alive from the battle.
Perhaps you put your trust in others on this field,
Who together with you are flitting like worthless flies
Around the body of peerless Achilles. To them also,
If they attack, I’ll give the dismal doom of death.”
Ajax turned upon the Trojans, like a lion
Among a pack of hounds in a deep and wooded glen.
He quickly dispatched a host who were eager to win some glory,
Trojans and Lykians alike. Those round him trembled with fear,
Just like a shoal of fish in the ocean at the attack
Of a terrible whale or mighty dolphin of the sea.
So shrank the Trojans before the might of Telamon’s son
Attacking them time and again in the battle. Even so
They fought on, so that on every side of Achilles’ body
Numberless men lay dead in the dust like so many boars
Around a lion, for deadly was the fighting between them.
There too the warlike son of Hippolochos was slain
By stouthearted Ajax. Over Achilles he fell on his back,
Just like a mountain shrub beside a solid oak.
Such was the fall of Glaukos upon the son of Peleus
When struck by the spear. For him Anchises’ powerful son
Labored long, and with the help of his warrior friends
Dragged him to the Trojan lines for his grieving comrades
To carry him back to the holy city of Ilion.
Aineias kept fighting over Achilles, till with his spear
The warlike Ajax wounded him above the muscle
Of his right arm. He leapt with rapid motion
Clear of the deadly fray and returned at once to the city.
Men skilled in the art of healing worked upon him,
Cleaning first the blood from his wound and then performing
All else that’s needed to cure the suffering of the wounded.
Ajax fought on, as though with bolts of lightning
Killing in all directions, for great was his distress
And long the grief he felt for the death of his cousin.
Nearby the peerless son of the warrior Laertes
Engaged the enemy, who in terror fled before him.
He killed the swift Peisandros and Areios the son
Of Mainalos, whose home was the famous land of Abydos.
Next Odysseus slew Atymnios, who was borne
To strong Emathion by the fair-tressed nymph Pegasis
Beside the river Granikos. Close to that man
He struck dawn Proteus’ son Oresbios, who lived
Below the vales of lofty Ida, but whose mother,
The famous Panakeia, never welcomed him home,
Slain as he was by the hands of Odysseus, who also took
The lives of many others with his raging spear,
Killing any he met near the body. But then Alkon,
Son of fleet-foot Megaldes, struck him with his spear
Beside the right knee and round his glittering greave
Dark blood came welling. He, though, disregarding the wound,
At once was the death of the eager fighter who wounded him.
Stabbing him with his spear clean through the shield.
With all the force of his powerful arm he pushed him
Backward onto the ground. The armor on him clashed
As he fell in the dust; the breastplate round his body
Was drenched with gore. Odysseus pulled the fatal spear
Out of both his flesh and his shield, and with the spearpoint
Breath left his limbs and life immortal abandoned him.
Though wounded, Odysseus made a rush at Alkon’s comrades
And wouldn’t relax the noisy struggle.
Likewise the other
Danaans, all in a compact mass round great Achilles,
fought keenly on and at their hands a host of men
Were rapidly slaughtered with their spears of polished ashwood.
As when leaves are strewn upon the ground by winds
That press with violent blasts on woods and groves,
When autumn wanes toward the closing of the year,
So they were felled by the spears of the resolute Danaan warriors.
The concern of everyone was for the dead Achilles,
But especially that of warlike Ajax. That was why
He slew so many Trojans like an evil Fate.
Then Paris drew his bow at Ajax, who saw at once
And hurled a deadly rock that hit him on the head
And smashed his double-crested helmet, so that darkness
Engulfed him and he collapsed in the dust, his arrows failing
To achieve his purpose, scattered in all directions
In the dust and the quiver lying empty with them,
His bow escaping from his hands. His comrades seized him
And carried him away to Troy on Hektor’s chariot,
Hardly drawing breath and groaning in his pain.
Nor were his weapons left without their master; they too
Were gathered from the plain and brought back to the prince.
Ajax shouted after him in his vexation:
“You dog, you have evaded the heavy hand of death
Today, but very soon your final hour shall come,
Either at another Argive’s hands or at mine.
Now a different matter weighs on my mind, to rescue
Achilles’ body for the Danaans from this slaughter.”