These funeral games being over, the various Greek contingents dispersed: every man eager for supper and sleep, except Achilles, who alone went fasting to bed. There he tossed restlessly on his side, on his back, on his face; and great tears blinded him at the thought of strong, bold, gentle, warm-hearted Patroclus, and their adventures together by land and sea.
Rushing wildly out of his hut, he stumbled along the shore and, as soon as Dawn gilded the Thracian coast, once more dragged Hector’s naked corpse three times around the barrow, tied to his chariot-tail; then returned, leaving it prone in the dust; and still could not sleep.
Phoebus Apollo, however, had flung his golden Aegis protectively about the dead hero. Several other Olympians, who shared Apollo’s concern, urged sharp-eyed Hermes, God of Thieves, to rescue the corpse from further spiteful mishandling. An inveterate hatred of Troy set only a small group against this plan: Hera, Poseidon and Pallas Athene. Hera and Athene could not pardon a verdict given many years previously by Hector’s brother Paris, when they visited his sheep-farm with Aphrodite and asked him to judge which of them was the loveliest. Hera’s bribe had been an offer of wide kingship, Athene’s an offer of glorious conquest, but Aphrodite’s an offer of the most beautiful woman alive. Paris awarded Aphrodite the prize, and was thus able to seduce Helen; though he violated the laws of hospitality by doing so. Poseidon supported Hera and Athene: in his view Paris’ behaviour was atrocious—King Priam should have refused Helen and her treasures admittance into Troy.
Twelve days later, Apollo rose in the Council Hall: ‘Stern-hearted and bloody-minded colleagues,’ he cried, ‘did Hector never burn you any sacrifices—the thickly larded thighbones of choice bulls? Why then withhold the corpse from his unhappy relatives—Queen Hecuba, Princess Andromache, little Scamandrius, King Priam—and from his numerous comrades who long to build him a pyre and celebrate the obsequies in style? Why condone Achilles’ unjust and unyielding attitude? He is no more capable of pity or shame than a lion among sheep—a trait which may enrich him, but which also robs him of his good name. Many who suffer worse losses than the son of Peleus—a brother or a son, for example—resolutely dry their tears after the funeral, because the Fates have taught them courage in adversity. Achilles should show the same moderation. He loses a cousin, his friend Patroclus and, not considering that Hector’s fall is vengeance enough, must needs tie the corpse to his chariot-tail and drag it around Patroclus’ barrow! How can such barbarity benefit him, or redound to his honour? Though a gallant fighter, he offends us by so outrageous a treatment of his dead adversary.’
Hera flared at Apollo: ‘Lord of the Silver Bow, what a dishonest speech! Anyone might be deceived into thinking that the two champions were of equal rank! Hector was suckled by an ordinary woman; whereas I myself educated Achilles’ mother, the Goddess Thetis, and gave her in marriage to King Peleus, Heaven’s favourite hero! We all attended that wedding, did we not? Faithless creature, patron of evil! I well remember your own lyre performance at the banquet.’
Zeus called Hera to order. ‘Wife,’ he said, ‘you should avoid such fierce attacks on fellow-Olympians! I admit the difference in birth, yet Hector was our favourite Trojan—or at any rate mine. He never failed to propitiate me with libations, and his sacrifices always smoked at my altar. I thought for a while of allowing Hermes to rescue Hector’s corpse, but dismissed the idea because Silver-Footed Thetis, who has kept watch among the Greek huts night and day, would soon put Achilles on the alert if such an attempt were made. Send her here; I wish King Priam to ransom the corpse for burial, and Thetis can arrange his welcome at the naval camp.’
Iris immediately darted off on Zeus’ errand, diving into the sea’s green depths with a smack, somewhere between Samothrace and rocky Imbros. The waves closed above her, and she plummeted down like the sinker and baited hook of a fisherman’s line.
Thetis sat in her grotto, surrounded by Nereids and lamenting Achilles’ imminent death. ‘Rise, goddess!’ Iris ordered. ‘Zeus the Immortal and All-Wise summons you.’
Thetis replied: ‘So great a god and yet has need of me? Alas, whatever he says, I must obey; but, as you see, I am in no state to visit Olympus.’
She chose a dark robe, the darkest to be had in the entire length and breadth of the sea; and followed Iris’ swift upward leap. They clambered ashore on an island beach, then flew to Olympus, where they found Zeus sitting in Council. Athene politely surrendered her own throne, which stood next to his; and, as Thetis took it, Hera with a pleasant smile brought her a golden goblet of nectar.
She drank, handed back the goblet, and listened to Zeus. ‘I know, dear Thetis,’ he began, ‘what griefs are eating at your heart; but pay attention! For several days a quarrel has raged among us on the subject of Hector’s corpse, held by your son, the Sacker of Cities. My family talked of sending sharp-eyed Hermes to steal it; and I paid Achilles a signal honour when I refused consent—though this was done, rather, for the sake of our ancient friendship. Now hurry to your son’s hut and give him a personal message from me, with which he will doubtless comply. Announce the gods’ displeasure at his denying Prince Hector’s parents the privilege of ransom. I shall send Iris to assure Priam that all is well: he can fearlessly visit Achilles and bring home the corpse—provided, of course, that his offer is handsome enough.’
When Thetis reached Achilles’ compound he was still moaning and groaning in the hut, while his comrades busily slaughtered a prime sheep for breakfast. She sat close by him and caressed his cheeks, sighing: ‘Dear son, this grief will be the death of you! Why not try food and rest? Even sleeping with a slave-girl might be helpful. I cannot bear to watch your gradual decline, especially since I shall soon be left childless. But here is a personal message from Zeus himself. His fellow-gods are angered by your denial of Hector’s corpse to the parents, and he shares their anger; so I trust you will not cross him.’
He answered: ‘If Father Zeus commands me to surrender the corpse, naturally I obey; though the ransom must be enormous.’
During this conversation, Zeus sent Iris to Priam’s palace. ‘Down you go,’ he ordered, ‘and deliver this message:
‘Out, Priam, out to the Greek camp!
Take splendid gifts in hand,
And seek Achilles where he lurks
Beside the salt sea strand!
‘Yet ride alone, poor desolate King,
Save for a herald true
To drive a mule-cart through the night
And guide its team for you.
‘Which cart two purposes shall serve:
To heap those gifts upon,
And fetch away the ransomed corpse
Of Hector, your great son.
‘But fear no deed of violence
When to the camp you go:
HERMES will guide your chariot well,
And guard your life also.
‘Achilles is less infamous
Than you presume; for he
An honest suppliant will treat
With grace and courtesy.’
Iris found Priam lamenting in the royal courtyard, surrounded by a tearful group of sons. He had thrown a tattered cloak about him, heaping filth on his head and bowed neck. Daughters and daughters-in-law kept up a loud, steady wail, which the palace walls re-echoed, in lamentation for the many brave princes fallen on the battlefield. Iris’ soft address made Priam shiver, but she reassured him: ‘Courage, Priam, son of Dardanus! My message, from Almighty Zeus, will gladden your heart:
‘Out, Priam, out to the Greek camp!
Take splendid gifts in hand,
And seek Achilles where he lurks
Beside the salt sea strand!
‘Yet ride alone, poor desolate King,
Save for a herald true
To drive a mule-cart through the night
And guide its team for you.
‘Which cart two purposes shall serve:
To heap those gifts upon,
And fetch away the ransomed corpse
Of Hector, your great son.
‘But fear no deed of violence
When to the camp you go:
HERMES will guide your chariot well,
And guard your life also.
‘Achilles is less infamous
Than you presume; for he
An honest suppliant will treat
With grace and courtesy.’
Iris vanished, and Priam at once ordered his sons to harness a cart, and tie on its wickerwork tilt. Then he entered the high-ceilinged treasury, redolent of cedar-wood, and summoned Queen Hecuba. ‘Wife,’ he said, ‘a messenger from Olympus has told me to visit the Greek army and ransom Hector’s corpse. What do you think of that? I feel bound to obey; besides, there is nothing I desire more!’
Hecuba lamented afresh. ‘My lord King,’ she cried, ‘your wisdom has been famous both at home and abroad; but now you are being downright stupid! Visit that camp all alone? Confront the man who has killed so many of our sons? You must have a heart of iron! To beard the savage and ill-tempered Achilles is to court immediate death; he knows neither mercy nor shame. Stay with me, and let us mourn Hector here; for this was the thread that the Fates spun him at birth: to fall in battle and have his corpse dragged about by a madman. Oh, I would gladly use my teeth on Achilles’ tripes, like the scampering hounds which make our son their prey! It would be a fit punishment. Hector met no coward’s end: he died to save the men and women of Troy, scorning shelter or flight.’
‘Croak no more, bird of evil omen!’ Priam commanded. ‘I am resolved to go, and you will not change my mind. If the message had come from a mortal—a soothsayer, say, or an omen-reading priest—or from any other god except Zeus, then I should mistrust and slight it. But, having heard the voice and recognized the face of Iris, Zeus’ courier, I must obey. And what though Achilles should murder me? Once my arms have clasped Hector’s corpse, and my tears have wetted it, I too am ready to die.’
Priam opened several carved chests, and chose a dozen women’s robes—very beautiful they were—a dozen women’s mantles, finely woven but not too voluminous, a dozen blankets, a dozen heavy white cloaks, and a dozen tunics. Next, he weighed gold bullion to the amount of ten full ingots, and brought out a couple of bright, three-legged cauldrons, four ordinary ones, and one magnificent goblet, a memento of the kindness shown him during his progress through Thrace—the old King did not grudge Achilles even this, in his eagerness to ransom Hector’s corpse! Finally he drove the noisy courtiers from the cloisters, shouting: ‘Be off, snivelling rascals! Do you lack fallen kinsmen of your own? Then why disturb us? Is it nothing to you that Zeus, the Son of Cronus, has crushed me with the loss of my noblest son? Ah, you will soon learn its significance when the Greeks renew their attacks, and Hector can no longer defend Troy… But may Death claim me before I see my city sacked and burned!’
He rushed at the courtiers, swinging his staff. They fled, and he turned his anger on the nine surviving royal princes—Helenus, Paris, Agathon, Pammon, Antiphonus, Polites of the Loud War-Cry, Deïphobus, Hippothous, and Dius the Arrogant. ‘Make haste, my sons! I should not have greatly cared had you all been killed in that raid on the Greek camp, if only Hector were still alive. How Heaven has cursed me! Your dead brothers were the best soldiers in my dominions. Mestor, Troilus the Chariot-fighter, and Hector, a very god among men—yes, his aspect was rather divine than human—fallen and gone, and mere dregs left me: liars, light-heeled heroes of the dance-floor, plunderers of poor people’s flocks! Harness my mule-cart, and stow this gear into it, for I am off immediately.’
Priam’s rage startled his sons. They fetched a new, stout, smooth-running mule-cart, to which they bound the wickerwork tilt; and one of them lifted the heavy box-wood yoke, with guide-rings fixed to its massive knob; also twelve yards of webbing. Then they engaged the yoke firmly in a crotch on the pole, dropping its slot over an upright peg; passed the webbing three times around the knob, and hooked it underneath. After this they stowed the ransom into the cart, and harnessed a magnificent pair of mules given Priam by the Mysians. Lastly, they wheeled out the royal chariot and yoked the royal team.
When Priam and his sagacious old herald Idaeus were about to drive away, Queen Hecuba blocked her husband’s path, offering him a golden goblet. ‘Come, my lord,’ she said, ‘since you wilfully disregard my advice, pour this cup of sweet wine on the ground as a libation to Father Zeus, and pray for a safe return! Address him as the Cloud-Gathering God of Ida—Zeus, who gazes down at the whole Troad—and demand an immediate augury: let him send the swift, strong, Black-Winged Eagle, whom he prefers to all other birds, flying on your right side; and thus convince you of his favour. If no eagle appears, I will repeat my warning: do not trust Achilles, however set on your mission you may be!’
‘I shall cheerfully adopt your prudent suggestion,’ Priam answered. ‘Such a prayer would be most proper.’ He dismounted, asked one of the ladies-in-waiting to fetch a basin of water and, when she brought it, rinsed his hands, took Hecuba’s goblet, stood in the centre of the courtyard, and prayed:
‘ZEUS, most glorious and most great,
On Mount Ida holding state:
Grant I may accepted be,
Where we go beside the sea!
But, my Queen to satisfy
That fair IRIS told no lie,
Let your swift, strong messenger
Whom to all fowls you prefer,
Black-Winged Eagle, take his flight
Full in view upon our right,
Heartening me at last to seek
Mercy from that ravening Greek.’
Zeus instantly dispatched a Black-Winged Eagle, the bird of prey whose appearance provides the best and surest augury. His wings were wide as those of the closely fitting, heavily locked entrance gate that guards a rich man’s mansion; and he soared high on the right above the city, heartening everyone who observed him.
Priam drove his team through the echoing archway, and whipped them down the street behind the cart. A horrified crowd of courtiers, all screaming as though he were bound for execution, ran after him. The Scaean Gate flew open, and both vehicles vanished into the gathering night; but Priam’s sons and sons-in-law did not venture to follow.
Zeus saw the teams crossing the plain, and called his son Hermes: ‘Helper God, since you enjoy escorting mortals, and are extremely sympathetic, pray guide the hapless King Priam to the Greek camp. I wish nobody to observe him until he gains Achilles’ hut.’
Hermes quickly tied on the divine gold sandals that carry him over earth and sea as fast as the wind, grasped his magical wand, which he uses sometimes to enchant men and sometimes to wake them from sleep, then darted off. An instant later he reached the Hellespont and, alighting near the Tomb of Ilus, adopted the disguise of an elegant young prince with a downy beard.
Priam and Idaeus had reined in their teams beside the Scamander, and were watering them. The first to notice Hermes was Idaeus. ‘My lord King,’ he muttered, ‘here comes a prowler! Either drive on at once, or else sue for mercy; otherwise he may hack us in pieces.’
At that, Priam’s scalp crawled, and he stood as if paralyzed; but Hermes took him by the hand and asked quietly: ‘Father, where are you bound? Why risk your life carting valuables past the Greek camp, even after nightfall? Two such old men have little chance of repelling an attack. But trust me to act as your escort. I could never injure anyone who reminds me so much of my own father.’
‘Thank you, lad,’ Priam answered. ‘This is indeed a dangerous mission; yet Heaven has blessed us by sending a kind-hearted traveller across our path. To judge from your looks, you are the wise son of noble parents and will bring us good luck.’
‘That is my desire,’ Hermes said smiling. ‘Now, pray tell me more! Do you intend these treasures for safe-keeping at some neutral court, or have you fled with them because your heroic son, Troy’s greatest soldier, has fallen at last?’
Priam asked in wonder: ‘My lord, whom am I addressing? And why speak so highly of my unfortunate son?’
‘A shrewd question,’ replied Hermes. ‘Well, I often saw Hector fighting gloriously on the plain, in particular when he broke through our defences, killing scores of Greeks in his advance. We Myrmidons were forced to stay idle and watch from a distance, since Achilles had a grudge against King Agamemnon and denied us leave to enter the battle. I am one of his squires, and sailed with him in the same ship. My father Polyctor, the rich old prince whom you so closely resemble, has seven sons; we cast lots for service overseas, and I was chosen, though the youngest of them all. Tonight I am out on reconnaissance, because the Greeks plan a dawn assault on your city. Camp-life irks them, and they are eager to end this war at a blow.’
‘If I can believe your account,’ said Priam, ‘you may perhaps tell me what I dearly wish to know. Does Hector’s corpse still lie in the Myrmidon lines, or has it already been dismembered and fed to the hounds?’
‘My lord King,’ Hermes replied, ‘Hector’s corpse lies in our lines untouched by hounds or carrion-birds, as whole as when he fell twelve days ago. What is more, no maggots have corrupted his flesh! I admit that every morning, at sunrise, my master drags him wildly around Patroclus’ barrow; but, remarkable though it seems, no harm has yet been done! You would be astonished how clean, sound, and fresh as dew he looks—even the many wounds dealt him by my comrades after death are mysteriously healed. The Immortals must have loved Hector well, to take such care of him.’
‘It is certainly prudent,’ Priam put in, much relieved, ‘to offer them the sacrifices they demand. If ever I had pious sons, Hector was one; and, although his doom could no longer be postponed, the kind gods are evidently showing their gratitude… Here is a gold goblet for you! In Heaven’s name guide us to Prince Achilles’ hut.’
‘I am your junior by two generations, my lord,’ Hermes answered bashfully, ‘but you cannot force me to accept presents behind my master’s back—I should feel frightened and ashamed. This goblet is surely part of the ransom? Nevertheless, I will guide you anywhere, by sea or land: as far as. famous Argos, if necessary. And, should we be attacked there, it would mean that the Argives had failed to recognize me, not that I was despised by them.’
With these enigmatic words Hermes mounted the chariot, seizing whip and reins and urging the teams forward. At the camp, he cast a magic spell over the sentries, who were preparing supper; drove across the causeway, sprang down, unbarred the massive gates, and admitted both vehicles.
Achilles’ hut was large. His Myrmidons had laid pine trunks lengthwise above one another, secured them at the corners, and thatched the roof with soft rashes cut in the water-meadows. A palisade of close-set stakes defended the hut; and three men were required to draw or thrust home the enormous baulk of timber which bolted the gate—though Achilles could manage this feat unaided. So, it proved, could Hermes: he drew the bar and brought the chariot in, followed by Idaeus’ cart.
Then he took his leave. ‘Venerable Priam,’ he announced, ‘I am the Immortal God Hermes, whom my Father Zeus sent as your escort! But, because it might annoy certain deities to hear that I have overtly favoured you, let me say farewell… Go into this hut alone, clasp Achilles by the knees, and plead your case in the names of his father King Peleus, his mother Thetis the Fair-Tressed, and his young son Neoptolemus. These may perhaps soften his heart.’
As Hermes flew home to Olympus, Priam left Idaeus in charge of the animals, and boldly entered.
He found Achilles at the table, after supper, brooding apart from his attendants—the brave Myrmidons Automedon and Alcimus, second only to Patroclus in his affections. Neither of these noticed Priam as he ran to clasp Achilles’ knees and kiss the terrible, murderous hands that had destroyed so many of his sons.
It happens occasionally that a homicide has crossed the city frontier and sought refuge at a neighbouring court—how wildly then the courtiers stare to see this unknown suppliant diving for their master’s knees! The Myrmidons felt a similar surprise.
Priam pleaded: ‘Magnificent hero, I implore your mercy in the name of King Peleus! Like me, he is old and unfortunate. I fear that his subjects may be ill-treating him while you are absent, and that he has no means of curbing their disloyalty. Yet sometimes news comes that you are alive and well; he grows cheerful again, thinking: “One day Achilles will return!” Alas, no such hopes can sustain King Priam who, when your army landed, had fifty sons: nineteen by Queen Hecuba, the rest by royal concubines quartered at the Palace. They included the finest soldiers in my dominions, all of whom are now dead—the last to fall being the main buttress of our hopes, the acting commander-in-chief. Yes, Hector died at your spear-point in defence of Troy, and I am here with a load of treasure to ransom his body.
‘Prince Achilles, honour the Immortals and, for the sake of your father Peleus, show me compassion! My plight is far worse than his, and I have done a braver deed than any man ever did: I have caressed the killer of my splendid sons!’
Achilles gently disengaged Priam’s arms, and could not help weeping at this picture of his helpless father. Priam also wept, for Hector; soon loud groans echoed through the hut, because Achilles had once more remembered Patroclus.
Presently, feeling a little better, Achilles rose from his chair and drew the white-headed, white-bearded suppliant upright. ‘Alas, my lord King,’ he cried, ‘how you must have suffered! Only an iron-hearted hero could venture out unescorted into a hostile camp, and there beard the champion who had caused him so much harm. Come, sit down quietly beside me! Let us forget our painful thoughts, if we can… After all, these endless lamentations are futile. I wonder why the gods allow us poor humans to lead wretched lives, yet experience no sorrow themselves?
‘In the Palace of Zeus, Lord of Lightning, stand two tall urns, one filled with curses, one with blessings. Zeus, as a rule, dips into both of these when he orders a human fate; and should he by chance confer nothing but curses on a man, that will mean a life of scorn and want, of roaming friendless over the face of the earth, hated alike by mortals and Immortals. My father Peleus’ nativity was blessed beyond others: he had good fortune, immense treasure, and the Phthian throne. The Olympians even gave him a goddess in marriage. One curse, however, plagued happy Peleus: that of having no male heir, except me alone, a boy destined to die young. Worse, I cannot now comfort him in his decrepitude, but must remain here, kill your sons, and waste your city! Priam, we know that you were once the richest king of this entire coast: from the swarming cities of Lesbos, founded by Macar the Rhodian, northward through Phrygia, and along the Asiatic shore to the Black Sea. Nobody could then surpass you in wealth, or in number of sons. Not until the Olympians sent Agamemnon’s ships against Troy, did you learn what it meant to undergo a siege and watch your forces melt away. Yet show a becoming fortitude! No amount of tears and lamentations will revive Hector—or stave off final ruin.’
‘Foster-son of Zeus,’ Priam complained, ‘how can I sit at my ease while his corpse lies unburied in your lines? Accept the huge ransom I carry with me, and let me pore tenderly on those pale features. May you enjoy these treasures to the full and bring them home in safety! Your conduct has been irreproachable.’
Achilles cast him a stern look. ‘Venerable King,’ he cried, ‘do not bait me! I had decided to return Hector’s corpse, even before you came, after receiving a personal envoy from Zeus: my own mother, the Goddess Thetis, daughter of Nereus the Old Man of the Sea. I am also convinced that some god has led you to me. Without divine aid nobody, however daring and active, could have escaped the sentries’ vigilance or unbarred the gate of my compound. Oh, enough of this! If you provoke my rage, I may not even spare so aged a suppliant as yourself, but offend Zeus by striking you dead.’
Priam being too scared to answer, Achilles sprang like a lion through the doorway, with Automedon and Alcimus at his heels. He asked Idaeus to take a seat in the hut, and the three together unharnessed the teams and emptied the cart of its royal ransom, except a couple of robes and a closely woven tunic. Achilles then told some slave-girls to wash and anoint the corpse—though out of view, lest Priam might be tempted to bitter comments on its filthy condition, and he, for his part, might be tempted to use his sword. So Hector was once more washed and anointed. When the women had clothed him in the tunic and in one of the robes set aside for the purpose, Achilles spread the other robe over the bier and laid him on it. Automedon and Alcimus lent a hand as he lifted the bier into Idaeus’ cart.
This done, Achilles addressed the ghost of Patroclus, groaning aloud: ‘Do not be vexed, brother, if news reaches you in the kingdom of Hades that I have surrendered Hector’s corpse to his old father! He has paid me a royal ransom, of which I shall duly burn your rightful share at the barrow yonder.’
He re-entered his hut and sat on a couch of exquisite workmanship facing the door. ‘Venerable King,’ he said, ‘I have placed your son on a bier, under the tilt of your cart, and in a condition which can call for no complaint. You may drive him away at dawn. Now, what of supper? Remember the case of Niobe, a Theban queen whose six sons Phoebus Apollo riddled with arrows from a silver bow, and whose six daughters Artemis the Huntress destroyed in the same fashion: a prompt revenge for Niobe’s boast that she was better than their mother Leto the Golden-Haired, who had borne only two children, as against her twelve. Zeus, at Apollo’s request, turned all Niobe’s subjects to stone, and the fallen bodies therefore lay nine days weltering in their blood. On the tenth day, the Olympians themselves buried them; and then, unable to weep more, the weary Queen broke her fast. People say that somewhere among the lonely crags of Lydian Sipylus, her father Tantalus’ mountain—the supposed haunt of those Naiads who love to dance around Achelöius, God of Fresh Waters—Niobe still broods and weeps, likewise turned to stone. Follow her example, noble father; eat, and gain strength to lament your beloved son as you convey him to Troy. He will there be accorded the many tears that are his due.’
Achilles rose again and sacrificed a pure white sheep. Automedon and Alcimus, after skinning and jointing it, roasted slices of flesh on spits at the fire, and drew them off when done. Automedon then handed around bread in dainty baskets; Achilles served the meat. Priam shared this succulent meal and, when they had eaten and drunk enough, took stock of Achilles for the first time, wondering at his huge, strong frame and radiant good looks. Achilles was equally impressed by Priam’s regal bearing and dignified manner. Soon the old king ventured: ‘Kindly make up a bed for me, foster-son of Zeus, and let us both enjoy sweet sleep. I have not closed my eyes since you killed Hector twelve days ago—a sight that sent me grovelling in stable muck. Nor had I broken my fast until tonight.’
Slave-women bustled from their apartment at Achilles’ orders. Some held torches, others heavy rugs, coverlets, and cloaks for a double bedstead which Automedon and Alcimus erected on the porch. Priam and Idaeus would lie in comfort that night.
Achilles then said, with a certain rancour: ‘My lord King, you would be well advised to spend the night outside the hut. If some councillor came for a midnight conference, as often happens, and were to recognize you, he might inform Agamemnon, who would certainly make trouble about the ransom. But tell me: how many days will Hector’s obsequies last? I undertake not to resume the battle while they are in progress, and the other commanders may also abstain.’
‘A general armistice, my lord,’ answered Priam, ‘would be most welcome. Since Troy is closely besieged, we shrink from any distant excursion, such as the felling of timber for Hector’s pyre must entail. Mourning will last nine days; on the tenth, we burn his corpse and celebrate a funeral feast; on the eleventh, we raise his barrow; on the twelfth, we do battle—if you attack us.’
‘Very well,’ Achilles agreed, clasping him reassuringly by the right hand and wrist. ‘Count on me to keep the Greek army in camp until the twelfth day.’
So Priam and Idaeus lay down, but outside the hut. Achilles, acting on his mother’s advice, took lovely Briseis to bed with him in a recess of the living room.
That night, sound sleep held all other gods and heroes, except Hermes the Helper, who was thinking how to fetch his two charges quietly home. ‘Priam,’ he whispered, appearing stealthily in the compound, ‘are you so simple-minded as to sleep here among enemies? True, Achilles has spared your life in consideration of a huge ransom; but if Agamemnon and his friends got wind of the bargain, they would demand three times as much from your sons for letting you go.’
This alarmed Priam, who woke Idaeus. Hermes helped them to yoke the teams, unbarred the gate, and himself drove Priam’s chariot safely across the causeway, unseen by a soul. He left them at the Scamander ford; flying up to Olympus just as Day dawned.
Priam and Idaeus then made speed towards Troy, lamenting the corpse in the cart.
Cassandra, Priam’s prophetic daughter whose beauty rivalled Aphrodite’s, sighted them first. She had climbed to the Citadel and, recognizing her father, Idaeus, and her brother’s corpse, roused the whole city with a piercing cry. ‘Trojans, awake!’ she shrieked. ‘If ever you cheered Hector when he rode in from battle, gather now at the Scaean Gate and bewail his return stretched on a bier!’
Very soon every single man and woman had obeyed her. Andromache and Hecuba led the rush to Idaeus’ cart where, hemmed in by a grief-stricken throng, they caressed and wept over Hector. This affecting scene might have lasted until nightfall, but for Priam’s loud protest: ‘Stand back, good people! Let the mules pass! I must get my son into the city, and then you shall mourn to your hearts’ content.’
The crowd parted, and Idaeus drove up the narrow lane. At Hector’s house his brothers sadly laid him on a carved bed, and dirge-leaders stood on either side. Andromache embraced her glorious husband’s head, and began:
‘Ah, Hector, fallen young and strong,
Your widow mourns you in this song:
Despaired because our only son,
This little, ill-starred, prattling one
Can never grow to man’s estate
Before old Troy has met her fate.
‘Now Hector’s gone, who guarded us,
Alas for sweet Scamandrius,
And for all children, and all wives,
Who from sheer doom preserve their lives!
Fearful the horrors I foresee
When, captives, we have crossed the sea:
My orphaned boy a menial
In some harsh-tempered prince’s hall,
Crouched trembling at a slavish stent;
Else, earlier, from a battlement
Tossed by some bloody-minded other,
Avenging father, son or brother—
Truly your hand fell never light,
When out you strode, my love, to fight!
‘In every house the Trojans weep,
Your parents’ hearts are wounded deep,
But mine is wounded unto death—
I did not hear your last faint breath
Utter a memorable decree,
Nor saw you stretch your arms for me.’
Women took up the doleful melody, and then Queen Hecuba began a new lament:
‘Hector of all my children
Far closest to this heart,
And loved by the Immortals
Who fetched you to these portals
Laid on a tilted cart.
‘My lesser sons, Achilles
Might sell beyond the sea—
To Samos or to Imbros
Or ever-smoking Lemnos
In sad captivity.
‘Yet with small thought of mercy
He thrust the bronze in you
And dragged you round the barrow
Of one he could not harrow:
His friend whom your hand slew.
’Here now in dewy freshness
You take your ease, as though
To sleep, dear child, reduced by
A gentle arrow loosed by
Him of the Silver Bow.’
Hecuba’s song excited further tears from the women; and lastly Helen ventured on a dirge:
‘Of all the princes in this land
None other so befriended me
As Hector: he could understand
How much I suffered, only he.
‘Paris, my husband, cajoled me
From lovely Greece, ten years ago—
Like twenty years the ten appear,
They glide so miserably slow.
‘Would I were dead! But not a word
Harsh or unkind did Hector say,
Such as from all the rest I heard,
Ay, these that mourn for him today!
‘Priam the Venerable, indeed,
A tender father is to me—
But Hector my ill cause would plead
And gently chide their obloquies.
‘Here, of his generous heart bereft,
Let me make wail and cry Alas,
Having no kin but Priam left
Who does not shudder as I pass.’
A chorus of groans greeted Helen’s complaint, and then the king was heard shouting: ‘Off with you, Trojans, to the hills, and fell trees for my son’s pyre! No one need fear a Greek ambush; Achilles has pledged us an eleven-day armistice.’
Priam’s subjects accordingly harnessed ox-wagons and mule-carts, flocked to the slopes of Ida, and there spent nine days collecting an enormous store of wood. On the tenth day, they built a tall pyre beneath the walls, and sorrowfully burned Hector’s corpse upon it. High blazed that pyre, and when
DAWN, DAY’s daughter bright,
Drew back the curtain of NIGHT
With her fingers of rosy light,
the entire population scattered wine on the hot embers. Scouts had been posted to give warning of a possible Greek attack, but none came. Hector’s brothers and fellow-commanders gathered his clean white bones, weeping unrestrainedly as they wrapped soft purple tissue about them, and placed them in a golden urn. After digging a shallow grave for the urn, and laying a pavement of flag-stones over it, they heaped his heroic barrow. That done, everybody went off to a memorable banquet at King Priam’s Palace.
So ended the funeral rites of Hector the Horse-Tamer.