8
The Trojan War did not end with the death of Hector, but now the Trojans ventured out into the open less and less often, while the Greeks besieged them even more closely than before.
Yet, though all the lesser cities lay waste far and wide, the Trojans still had allies: and the first of these that came to their aid after the death of Hector was the beautiful Penthesilia, Queen of the Amazons.
The Trojans sallied out to battle when they saw her coming, but Achilles drove them back again, and turned against Penthesilia. Their meeting was sharp and brief, for Achilles pierced her with his spear and she fell dying to the ground. As he bent over her to strip off her armour, he realized for the first time that he had slain a lovely girl. Then his heart was stirred with regret at the thought that he might instead have captured her and carried her away to be his slave-wife or even his queen, if Deidamia were dead; and he mourned his unlucky stroke with tears, for indeed the lovely Amazon was divinely fair and like one of the Immortals, since her father was Ares the Warlord.
Then Thersites, the ugliest and vilest of the Greeks, jeered at Achilles:
‘Yah, sorry-souled Achilles! It only needs a pretty face to turn you from a warrior into a womanish traitor worse than Paris himself! As for this dirty Amazon slut,’ she's only good for dogs' meat!’ And with that he began jabbing at the corpse with his spear.
Then Achilles lost his temper completely: ‘Take that, shameless wretch!’ he shouted. ‘No man shall revile Achilles and go unpunished!’ and he struck Thersites such a blow on the side of his head that his teeth were scattered on the ground and he fell upon his face and died.
Having slain a Greek of noble birth (for Thersites, for all his vileness, was cousin to Diomedes), Achilles needed to be cleared of blood-guilt, and sailed away to the island of Lesbos for this purpose.
While he was away, Priam's last ally arrived with an army. This was Prince Memnon of Ethiopia, son of Eos the Dawn-Titan and her mortal husband King Tithonus. The story of these two was very sad: for Eos when she fell in love with Tithonus, the most handsome of mortal men, prayed Zeus to grant that he should never die. Zeus granted this prayer without a moment's thought, and all seemed well. But Eos realized too late that, though Tithonus could never die, he could still grow old. For in time he grew so ancient that he was no more than a little shrunken, chirping creature like a large grasshopper, who could not see nor hear, but merely sit gibbering and chattering to himself, locked far away from sight in a room in the golden palace of Immortal Eos.
Strong Memnon, however, came to Troy with his swarthy followers, and once more the Trojans ventured out of their city, and together they chased the Greeks for the last time down almost to their ships. Night fell just as Ajax was preparing to go out against Memnon; and in the morning Achilles returned from Lesbos and turned the tide of battle, slaying the Ethiopian King and scattering his forces. Then he chased the Trojans helter-skelter across the plain and into Troy, mocking them and boasting that even the Immortals would not be able to withstand him, if he came in arms against them.
But as he stood there in the Scaean Gate, Paris took an arrow from his quiver, set it to his bow, took careful aim and loosed. Away sped the shaft, guided by Apollo who was angry at Achilles's words. It struck him in the heel – the one vulnerable part of his whole body - the heel by which Thetis had held him when she dipped him as a baby in the River Styx.
The arrow was poisoned, and presently Achilles fell to the ground with a great cry, and died.
For a little while friend and foe stood staring, and aghast, for neither could believe that so great a hero could really be dead. Then, with a shout of triumph, the Trojans rushed forward to spoil the body: but mighty Ajax seized it, swung it over his shoulders and raced for the ships with it, never heeding the shower of darts which were sped after him.
Mad with rage and grief the Greeks, headed by Odysseus; drove the Trojans back into Troy, and invested the city more mercilessly than ever. Next day they burnt the body of Achilles on a great pyre, and buried his ashes with those of Patroclus on the sea-coast and heaped a great mound over them which is there to this day. But Thetis snatched away the soul of her son and took him to the Isles of the Blest reserved for the spirits of the Heroes.
Once again, the Greeks did honour to a dead hero by holding games; and at the close of them Agamemnon rashly said that he would give the armour of Achilles to the bravest of the Greeks.
At once quarrels arose as to who could claim that honour. Agamemnon favoured his brother Menelaus, but the general vote placed the contest between Ajax and Odysseus. No one dared to decide which of the two had the best claim, and the argument grew more and more heated.
At last wise old Nestor exclaimed: ‘Friends, we cannot settle this question ourselves – but why should not the Trojans decide it for us? Send spies quickly to Troy: let them listen under the walls and tell us what the Trojans think of our two great heroes – who to me seem absolutely equal in courage!’
Everyone praised the wisdom of Nestor's suggestion, and the spies were sent accordingly. Presently one returned, and said:
‘My lords, as we listened beneath the walls we heard the women of Troy speaking above us. One said: “Ajax is the bravest of the Greeks! Why, he carried the body of Achilles out of the battle, which even Odysseus did not dare to do!” But another answered her: “What nonsense you do talk! Even a woman could have carried him away, if somebody put him on her back: but she could not fight as Odysseus did – she would faint with fear if it came to fighting!”’
Even this was not quite conclusive, but a secret vote among the Greek kings showed that most of them considered Odysseus to be the victor.
Hearing this, Ajax turned without a word and strode blindly to his tent so dazed with grief and fury that presently his mind gave way and a bout of madness descended upon him. In his frenzy he imagined that Agamemnon and Menelaus had cheated him and given the armour to Odysseus just to insult him; and he rose up in the darkness and set out with drawn sword to slay all three of them in their sleep.
Athena, however, was watchful that night, and knowing what Ajax was minded to do, she led him astray in the darkness so that he stumbled among the flocks of sheep and began slaughtering them, thinking they were his enemies. He even took two rams to his tent, tied them to the pole, and scourged them with a great whip, under the impression that he was beating Agamemnon and Menelaus to death.
In the morning he recovered his senses, and was filled with such shame, both at his childish anger and his murderous madness, that he went away to a lonely part of the sea-shore and there flung himself upon his sword.
When the Greeks found what had happened they mourned him sadly, and none was so filled with grief as Odysseus, who vowed immediately to give up the armour to Neoptolemus the son of Achilles as soon as he was old enough to wear it.
Ajax was buried in a stone coffin, amidst the lamentations of the Greeks: as he had not fallen in battle he could not be burnt on a pyre like the other heroes.
When the funeral was over a fresh council was called and Agamemnon spoke angrily to Calchas:
‘The ten years are up!’ he cried. ‘You said it would be ten years before Troy fell – and Troy still stands. Now we have lost Achilles and Ajax: how can we conquer Troy?’
‘You have neglected one of my earliest prophecies,’ answered Calchas, who never failed of a ready reply: ‘Troy cannot be conquered unless you have the arrows of Heracles to use: for by one of them Paris is fated to die. And the son of Achilles must go up against Troy, which cannot fall until he comes against it.’
Then the Greeks cheered, eager to see these prophecies fulfilled and the war ended at last; and they chose Odysseus and Diomedes, who ten years before had been to Scyros for Achilles, and bade them draw out a swift ship and bring back his son Neoptolemus.
Over the waves went the two heroes and came safely to Scyros. They drew the ship to shore and went striding up to the palace of old King Lycomedes. There in the morning light they saw Neoptolemus, still only a boy, yet tall and strong and wondrous like his father, driving his chariot and practising with spear and dart.
The boy welcomed them eagerly, and his eyes flashed with excitement when they told him the reason for their coming:
‘Come to Troy!’ urged Odysseus. ‘We cannot take the city without you, now that your noble father Achilles is dead. All of us will welcome you with many gifts: for a start you shall have your father's golden armour as a gift from me – armour that the Warlord Ares would be proud to wear, since Immortal hands fashioned it. And when the war is won and we return to Greece, Menelaus will give you his lovely daughter Hermione to be your bride.’
Neoptolemus needed no bribes to make him eager to set out for Troy; and set out he did, in spite of the tears and prayers of his mother Deidamia, who feared greatly that she would lose her son as she had lost her husband. But sea-nymph Thetis rejoiced, knowing that her grandson went to win glory, not death at Troy; and she made no attempt to stop him as she had tried to stop Achilles.
Once more the swift ship sped over the blue Aegean: but it did not make straight for Troy. Instead, Odysseus guided it to rugged Lemnos where Philoctetes had been marooned on account of his terrible snake-bite, hid it in a deep bay, and went ashore with only Neoptolemus and a few sailors. On the way Odysseus told his young companion about Philoctetes and how he had been left there ten years before, with only the bow and arrows of Heracles.
‘We can only catch him by guile,’ ended Odysseus, ‘and that is where you come in. If he sees me, he'll shoot: and there is no cure for the Hydra poison. So you must pretend to have quarrelled with the Greek kings, and with me in particular: say I refused to give you your father's armour. Anyhow, pretend that you left the war in a fury and, on your way home to Greece, have come to rescue him and take him with you. Once he is on the ship we can easily get the bow and arrows from him.’
Neoptolemus did not much like this kind of trickery, but he consented to do as Odysseus said, and went off by himself towards the rocky hillside where it seemed probable that Philoctetes would have found a cave in which to live. There he found the wretched man, with tangled hair and beard, dwelling in a cave with two entrances to guard against surprise, and living precariously on such game as he could shoot with his bow – which never left his hand, waking or asleep.
It was easy to make friends with the poor castaway, and very soon he was treating Neoptolemus like a son; and Neoptolemus was feeling more and more ashamed of the part which he was playing.
Presently one of the sailors arrived, pretending to be a merchant newly come from Troy, and warned Philoctetes that he was in danger:
‘Odysseus and Diomedes are coming,’ he cried. ‘They have sworn to carry you off by force!’
Then Philoctetes hesitated no longer: ‘I will company you, son of Achilles!’ he exclaimed. ‘Take me away quickly before Odysseus comes!’
On the way to the shore Philoctetes was seized with a terrible spasm of the pain from his snake-bite. ‘Hold the bow and arrows!’ he gasped to Neoptolemus, ‘and be ready to shoot if Odysseus arrives before my fit has passed… You see how I trust you: no one else has ever held the bow of Heracles except my father Poeas and myself.’
Then Philoctetes rolled on the ground in his agony and at length fainted with the pain.
When he recovered, Odysseus stood above him, and Philoctetes knew that he had been tricked. Sadly and bitterly he limped away to his cave to gather his few possessions, while Odysseus set out for the ship to send back men to bring him.
But when he returned it was to find that Neoptolemus had been overcome by his natural sense of honour and decency.
‘Philoctetes,’ he said, ‘I cannot cheat you like this. Here are the bow and arrows: I beg you not to use them against us, even against Odysseus. What he has done is only for the good of our armies at Troy…’
Odysseus, returning at that moment, frankly confessed the whole scheme and begged Philoctetes to come with them of his own accord to be received with all honour.
‘I did wrong,’ he said. ‘First, when I marooned you here at the command of Agamemnon, and now when I sought to take you by guile.’
Philoctetes was so far moved that he made no attempt to shoot Odysseus, as he could easily have done: but he still refused to accompany him to Troy. Neoptolemus was ready to abide by his promise and take him back to Greece; and Odysseus said sadly:
‘Then I must return to our friends having failed in my task. Troy cannot fall unless you two are with us!’
On a sudden, even as he spoke, Heracles, now an Immortal dwelling in the golden halls of Olympus, came down to Lemnos.
‘Philoctetes!’ he cried in his great voice. ‘Listen, it is I, Heracles, come down from my high seat to tell you the will of Zeus. You must not return yet to Greece, but hasten to Troy with the son of Achilles. There you will be cured of your sickness and win glory as great as that of any hero. For you are now the chosen champion of that great army: seek out Paris, cause of all this evil, and strike him down with these arrows that once were mine. With them I destroyed Troy: and now for a second time Troy must fall before them.’
‘It is the voice I have so often longed to hear,’ whispered Philoctetes, ‘the face even as I once knew it, but now divine. Indeed I shall not disobey.’
‘Nor I,’ echoed Neoptolemus.
‘Then make haste!’ cried Heracles. ‘The wind is fair, and Troy is ripe to fall!’
Then Heracles went back to Olympus where the Immortals dwell. But Philoctetes, Neoptolemus and Odysseus clasped hands in token of friendship, and set sail for Troy where Machaon, son of the Immortal Physician, Asclepius, waited to cure the ten-year-old snake-bite so that Philoctetes could once more take his place among the warrior kings of Greece.