Part 12

Yet even now the issue seemed doubtful; for just as the bearers reached the barriers of the camp Hector and Æneas led a vigorous charge, scattering the Greeks as a hawk scatters a noisy mob of starlings or daws.

The News is brought to Achilles

I

"Why tarries Patroclus so long?" asked Achilles of himself, as he sat waiting by his tent. "Alas! I fear that he hath disobeyed me, and lost his life by his rashness. Did not my mother tell me that the noblest of the Greeks should fall in battle with the Trojans while I lived?" His alarm increased when he saw straggling parties of the Greeks entering the camp, with every sign of panic and defeat. Presently the roar of the struggle drew nearer and nearer, and he had just determined to rush to the ramparts, and learn the worst, when Antilochus came running up, and in broken accents panted out his dreadful message.

As when a thunderbolt descends, laying low some giant of the forest, so fell the mighty Pelides, laid prostrate beneath that stunning blow. Then that proud head, which had never bowed to mortal man, was defiled with dust, and those heroic limbs, the very mould of manly strength and beauty, grovelled and writhed on the ground. He tore his hair, cast ashes on his head, and moaned like a wounded beast in his agony. And all the handmaids whom he had taken in war gathered round him, wailing and beating their breasts; for sorrow was their portion, and their tears were ever ready to flow. By his side knelt Antilochus, holding his hands, in fear lest he should do violence to his life.

Then Achilles shook off the grasp of Antilochus, and started to his feet with a fearful cry, glaring wildly, like one about to do some desperate act. But just at this moment a sound of female voices came floating over the placid sea, and Thetis glided into his presence, with all her band of Ocean nymphs attending. Achilles flung himself down again when he saw her, with a fresh burst of grief; and kneeling by him she embraced him tenderly, and weeping cried: "O child of my sorrow, what new cause of mourning hath reached thee now? Hath not Zeus fulfilled his promise, and avenged thine honour?"

"What avails his promise, or the fulfilment thereof?" answered Achilles, groaning bitterly. "What care I for honour, if I must pay for it with the life of my best beloved? He lies in his blood, and Hector, his slayer, has taken the glorious armour which the gods gave to Peleus when they made thee his unwilling bride. 'Twas a woeful match, for thee and for me, and soon thou shall reap the bitter fruit, for Hector must die by my hand, to appease the ghost of Patroclus, and thou hast told me that, when Hector falls, my own end is not far off." A mournful silence followed, broken only by the sobs of Thetis, who knew her son had pronounced his own doom. Then Achilles burst out again, in louder and angrier tones: "But let me die, when that task is done! What has life been to me?--a burden to myself, and a curse to others! Here have I lain, like a useless trunk, encumbering the sod, and left my comrades to perish, and given him, the very light of mine eyes, to be a prey to the spoiler. Accursed, and thrice accursed, be the spirit of strife, which trickles, sweeter than honey, into the hearts of men, and rises up again, in words more bitter than gall!--even as Agamemnon provoked me to fierce anger, which now comes back upon me, with thrice envenomed sting. But past is past--we will speak no more of that. My fate calls me to vengeance--and after that the grave. Then away, soft visitings of love and gentle sorrow! And thou, fond heart, become a stone! I will strew with havoc the path which leads me to mine enemy, and the streets of Troy shall be filled with lamentation, and women wailing for their dead."

"I know that I cannot shake thy purpose," answered Thetis sadly, "and it shall be as thou hast said. But unarmed thou canst not go into battle. Remain here therefore until my return, and by to-morrow's dawn I will bring thee such armour as never mortal wore."

II

While these events were passing, the struggle over the slain Patroclus raged fiercer than ever. Slowly the Greeks were driven back to the very gates of their camp, and at the eleventh hour that pitiful prize which had cost so much blood would have fallen into the hands of the Trojans, had not Hera intervened and sent Iris to summon Achilles to the rescue.

"Rouse thee, son of Peleus!" said Iris, appearing at his side. "Hector hath sworn to set the head of Patroclus on the battlements of Troy, and he will accomplish his threat if thou sittest idle here."

"How can I go unarmed to the field?" answered Achilles. "I know of none whose armour I might wear, save only Ajax, and he is fighting at the front."

"No more words," replied Iris. "Do as thou art bidden, and heaven will find a way." Then Achilles arose, and went to the ramparts; and Athene drew near him, and threw her tasselled ægis over his shoulders, and on his head she caused a golden cloud to descend, which shot forth rays of angry light. As in a beleaguered city, where a thousand watch-fires are lighted, and all day long the pillars of smoke ascend, but in the darkness the red blaze is seen afar, a signal of distress to distant allies--so shone that unearthly fire on the head of Achilles, as he stood on the brink of the moat. Then he lifted up his voice, and shouted; and the sound was as the sound of a trumpet summoning to arms.

When they saw the dreadful light, and heard the brazen voice of Pelides, the Trojans were astonished, and halted in the midst of their wild assault; and while they wavered the Greeks fell upon them, and drove them back in disorder. The tide had turned at last, and the long day of battle, so full of strange revolutions of fortune, came to an end.

Slowly and reverently the body of Patroclus was laid upon a bier, and carried to the tent of Achilles. But a few short hours before he had gone forth, with horses and with chariots, to battle, in the pride of youth and strength; and now he lay cold in death, gored with hideous wounds by Trojan spears. And all night long Achilles and his comrades mourned for their slaughtered hero, the gentlest and the best of all their band. Like a lion who leaves his whelps in their dark forest lair, and returns to find his bed empty, and his young ones gone; roaring with rage and grief he tracks the footsteps of the robber along many a mountain path, and all the forest is filled with the sound of his wrath: such was Pelides in his sorrow, and such the voice of his mourning. "Vain, alas! was the promise which I made to thy father Menœtius, that I would bring thee back safe to thy home in Locris, loaded with the spoils of Troy. Thy blood is red on the Trojan sod, where mine too shall flow before many days are passed. Now hear my vow, Patroclus, and take comfort, even in death I will not pay the last rites to thy corpse until I have brought Hector's body hither, with the armour which he has taken, and slain twelve Trojan captives as a sacrifice to thy shade. Till then thou shalt lie as thou art, and the women of Troy, whom we won with the might of our hands, shall mourn thee night and day."

Then they washed the body, and anointed it with fragrant oil, and laid it, wrapped in fine linen, on a bed to wait for burial.

III

The Trojans still kept the field, though with far other feelings than when they lit their camp-fires, only the night before. Before ever they thought of supper the chiefs met in council, and stood about in anxious groups, waiting until some recognised leader should advise them in their present strait. Then Polydamas, who was esteemed the wisest head among them, came forward and commanded silence; and all listened attentive to hear what he should say. "Friends," he began, "ye had best take heed what ye do; as for me, I have but one thing to advise--back to the city, and let not to-morrow's dawn find us here! We have all had our hopes, and I among the rest; but all those hopes are fled now that Achilles has arisen again; and if we abide his coming we shall learn too late what it means to face him in the open field. Here, where we stand, dogs and vultures will hold their foul revel, and batten on our flesh, at the going-down of the sun. Therefore, I say again, back to the city, and put a stout bulwark of stone and oak between yourselves and this terrible man. To-morrow we will man the walls, and laugh at his fury if he seeks to assail us there. Yea, his steeds shall weary with drawing his car, and he himself shall sicken of the vain attempt, for he knows well that Troy is not destined to fall by his hands."

So ran the counsels of prudence; but another spirit was there also--the spirit of rash confidence and unauthorised ambition--and it found passionate utterance in the voice of Hector, who was the next to speak. "I like not thy words, Polydamas," said he, with an angry look; "I like not the cowardly counsel which bids us skulk behind our walls. Who is not sick of our long confinement in that pinfold there? We have drained our treasury, and scattered abroad the wealth for which Troy was once famed throughout the world, wherever human speech is heard. But now that we have been vouchsafed the glorious promise of carrying the war into the enemy's camp, and driving these hounds of war out of our land--now, I say, unlock no more the thoughts of thy base soul, to damp our courage, and quench the bright flame of hope which has been kindled in our breasts. Now hear what I advise: to-night we will hold our camp here, and keep watch in turn; and to-morrow at first peep of day we will put on our armour and march against the Grecian stronghold. Achilles is arisen, sayest thou? The worse for him: I will not fly before him, but will meet him face to face, and slay him, or be slain."

The fiery eloquence of Hector carried his hearers with him, and they resolved with one accord to remain where they were, and abide the issue.

The Shield of Achilles

Mindful of her promise, Thetis, when she left Achilles, went straightway to Olympus and entered the dwelling of Hephæstus. It was a wondrous structure, all of brass, which the lame god had planned and fashioned by his own skill and labour. She found him in his forge, blowing up the fire with his bellows; for he was hard at work, setting the finish to twenty brazen vessels, for use in his house. Each vessel ran on golden wheels, and moved to and fro of its own accord, coming and going at the master's bidding. With him sat Charis, his wife, watching her husband at his toil; and when she saw Thetis enter she came forward to greet her, and placed a chair, inlaid with silver, for her to sit on. Then she called to Hephæstus, who was stooping over his forge, and said: "Leave thy work, and come and welcome this honoured guest."

"Welcome indeed she is, and honoured too," said the hospitable god, limping across the stithy with outstretched hands. "Did she not save me from my shrewish mother, who was ashamed of her crippled son, and sought to put me out of the way, when I was but a child? Then it would have gone hard with me if Thetis had not received me into her home, the deep cavern, round which Oceanus wraps his watery coils, foaming and thundering everlastingly. There I dwelt in peace for nine long years, and many a pretty jewel I wrought for my preservers--brooches, and bracelets and necklaces. And none of the gods knew where I was, save only kind Thetis and Eurynome, daughter of Oceanus. Therefore thrice welcome, sweet lady of the sea! I owe thee my life, and shall be rejoiced if I can pay part of the debt. Take her, dear Charis, to the guest-chamber, while I put away the implements of my trade."

Thetis left the forge with her hostess, and when they were gone Hephæstus gathered up his tools, and turned the bellows away from the fire. The tools he placed in a vast silver chest, and then taking a sponge he cleansed his face and hands, his brawny neck, and hairy chest. Then he put on a clean tunic, and went to join Charis and her guest. His huge heavy frame was ill supported on a pair of thin, crooked legs; but his own inventive genius had enabled him to supply this defect, for on either side of him walked a wonderful creature, wrought by himself in gold, with the form and face of a maiden, a human voice, and human wit. Leaning on these strange supporters, he entered the guest-chamber, and sat down by the side of Thetis. "What need," he asked, "has brought thee to my poor house--an angel's visit, indeed, to me, both rare and dear?"

Encouraged by the cordial tone of the good-natured god, Thetis poured out afresh all the tale of her woes, beginning from the time when, sorely against her will, she became the bride of Peleus. He was now an old man, broken and infirm, and she a goddess, radiant in her immortal bloom, was still chained to the human wreck, and Achilles, her son, still in the prime of his splendid manhood, was a perpetual source of trouble and grief. "Few indeed," she went on, "and evil, are the days of his life. First foully insulted by his sovereign, and now broken-hearted at the loss of his dearest friend! Help me to do what I can to comfort him in this bitter hour; lend me thy skill, and make him a suit of armour such as never mortal man hath worn before."

"If that be all," answered Hephæstus cheerfully, "thy prayer is granted as soon as uttered. Arms he shall have, which shall make him the wonder of the world when he goes forth to battle."

Then leaving Thetis in charge of his wife he went back to his forge, and having stripped to the waist addressed himself to his work. Round the furnace in the centre of the stithy were twenty pairs of bellows, each serving a separate smelting oven. These he now turned to the fire, and commanded them to blow, for they were endowed with a consciousness of their own, and obeyed the master's will, now sending forth a tremendous blast, which made the fire roar with fury, and the flames leap upward to the roof, now breathing low, like some huge monster in his softer mood. Into the smelting ovens he cast bronze and tin, silver and gold; and when his metal was ready he placed a ponderous anvil on the anvil block, and took in one hand a mighty hammer, while in the other he grasped the tongs.

And first a shield he fashioned, vast and strong,[1] with threefold rim, and baldric of silver. The shield was of five folds; and on it he wrought many a pictured scene with wondrous skill.

[1] This line is from Cowper's version.

There were imaged earth and sea, the unwearied sun, and the moon in her waxing and her waning, and the heavens with all their starry crown--Pleiades, and Hyades, and Orion's might, and the Bear, whom men likewise call the Wain, who turns on the same spot, and watches Orion, and alone has no share in the baths of Ocean.

And there was fashioned many a scene from human life, peace and war, pastime and industry. The first was a city, and along the streets a bridal procession was passing, with blazing torches, and the loud hymeneal song, and the whirl of dancers, and the music of flute and harp; and the women stood at their thresholds, admiring that gay company. But in the market-place was heard the voice of loud dispute; for the elders were met in their session, to decide a quarrel concerning the blood-price of a murdered man. The slayer brought witnesses to prove that he had paid the whole amount; but the plaintiff denied that he had received a doit. Outside the circle stood the clamorous mob, eager partisans of either side, and held in check by the heralds with their rods of office, and in the midst sat the elders in solemn conclave on their seats of polished stone, rising up in turn to give sentence. And he whose judgment was held wisest was to receive a reward of two talents of gold.

A second city there was, hard beset by stress of war. For about it lay two armies encamped, whose counsels were divided: in one the leaders were for taking the city by storm, while in the other they would have made a treaty, by which the citizens were to buy off the attack with half their goods. But while the besiegers were disputing, the citizens left their walls to be defended by the old men and the weaker sort, and sallied out in full force to lay an ambush for a convoy which was on its way to the enemy's camp. So forth they marched, with Ares and Athene at their head, distinguished by their towering stature and golden armour. And when they came to the chosen place of ambush, by the riverside, where was a watering-place for flocks and herds, they crouched down among the bushes, leaving two scouts to warn them of the convoy's approach. Soon they heard the lowing of cattle, and the bleating of sheep, and the sound of the herdsmen's pipes, as they came on, dreaming of no harm; then forth rushed the armed troop, and cut down the herdsmen, and began to drive off the beasts.

The cries of the herdsmen, and the bellowing of the affrighted beasts, reached the ears of the besiegers, as they sat in council, and seizing their arms they mounted their horses, and hurried to the rescue. Then began a furious struggle, in which all the demons of war--Strife, and Confusion, and deadly Fate--held high carnival, and drank deep of human blood.[2]

[2] It should be observed that the poet gives the whole succession of incidents which are merely hinted at by the artist, who is confined to one moment in the story.

Then followed diverse scenes of happy toil. The first was a fair fallow land of rich tilth, where ploughmen were driving their teams to and fro, drawing long furrows, straight and deep, and pausing now and then to refresh themselves with a cup of wine, which was handed to them by a man who stood ready at the end of the field. Dark rose the curling furrow, as the ploughshare passed, and the sods seemed of rich black soil, though wrought in gold; for therein was displayed the artist's skill.

The next was a harvest of yellow corn, and a row of busy reapers with sharp sickles in their hands. Others stood ready to bind the sheaves, and these again were supplied by a willing troop of boys, who gathered up the swathe as fast as it fell, and handed the ripe bundles to the binders. Near at hand stood the master, rejoicing in his wealth; and under a tree at the border of the field the henchmen were slaughtering an ox, to make savoury meat for him and his guests, while women were preparing a mess of pottage for the reapers.

Likewise he fashioned a vineyard, heavy with great clusters of grapes, and along the rows moved a merry troop of boys and girls, with baskets in their hands, gathering the luscious fruit; and when their baskets were full they brought their burdens home with dancing steps, led by a boy who played the harp and sang the sweet dirge of summer in his shrill, childish voice.

Then came a herd of oxen going to pasture, and lowing as they went along the waving rushes, along the murmuring stream. Four herdsmen followed, and with them were nine dogs. But lo! a noble bull, the leader of the herd, falls suddenly in his tracks, struck down by the claws of two ravening lions. They begin to drag him off, and the herdsmen follow at a distance, cheering on their dogs, which leap and bay wildly, but will not close with those terrible robbers.

The last scene of all was a dance of youths and maidens, the youths clad in close-fitting doublets, and wearing hangers at their sides, and the maidens wearing light garments of linen, and circlets of gold on their heads. Holding one another by the wrist, they first moved in a giddy circle, swift and true as the wheel flies in the potter's hands, and then they parted in two rows, and met again, weaving and unweaving all the mazy figures of a Cretan dance, while two tumblers whirled among them, and a singer gave the time with his voice.

Framing this rich succession of pictures ran the broad stream of Oceanus, rolling his waters round the outer rim of the shield.

Corslet, and greaves, and helmet with crest of gold, were fashioned next, and when the great work was done, Hephæstus brought it and laid it at the feet of Thetis. After due thanks, she took leave of her generous friends, and then sped on her way to the Grecian camp, bearing the costly gift of Hephæstus to her son.

The Reconciliation

I

Dawn was beginning to redden the waters of the Hellespont when Thetis reached the tent of Achilles. She found him sitting, lost in a gloomy reverie, by the side of the bed on which the body of Patroclus lay. "Come," said Thetis, touching him lightly on the shoulder, "let the dead bury their dead, and behold the glorious armour which Hephæstus has wrought for thee."

With that she set down the dazzling panoply, fresh from the forge of the god; the ethereal metal rang with a dreadful sound, and from the burnished surface darted angry beams of light, blinding the eyes of the Myrmidons who had drawn near to gaze, so that they fled in terror from the sight. But the eyes of Achilles flashed with an answering fire, and his heart burned with fierce joy, as he handled the work of the immortal armourer. "Mother," he said, when he had scrutinised every piece, "the work is worthy of the artist--I can say no more. And now to battle! Yet one thing I fear--lest the body of my friend be marred by decay before my vow is accomplished and I am free to bury him."

"Let not that care disquiet thee," answered Thetis, "I will find a means to keep off the destroying hordes of the air, that breathe corruption in the limbs of fallen warriors. Though he lie unburied for the space of a whole year, his flesh shall remain pure and clean, as the flesh of a little child. Now go thou and summon the Greeks to the place of assembly, that when thou hast renounced thy feud with Agamemnon, thou mayest gird thee with might and go forth to battle." Then she brought nectar and ambrosia, and embalmed therewith the body of Patroclus, that his flesh might remain sound and whole.

But Achilles strode rapidly along the strand, shouting as he went to call the people to the assembly. And forthwith from every tent the multitude came flocking, and not one remained behind, no, not even those who pursued peaceful crafts, and were not wont to take part in the councils of the armed host. For not one was willing to be absent from that memorable meeting.

As he passed on, he overtook Odysseus and Diomede, who were limping painfully along, leaning on their spears; for they were still sore with their wounds. After a few words of greeting, he left them to follow, and went forward to the place where the chiefs were sitting round the throne of Agamemnon, which was still vacant. It was a level spot, in the centre of a natural hollow, whose sides rose gently, until they were closed by a background of waving woods. And now all the slopes were black with a swarming multitude, armed and unarmed, stout spearmen, and noisy rabble. At last Agamemnon was seen approaching, moving slowly and with pain. He took his seat on the royal throne, and then a dead hush fell on all that vast company, as Achilles rose in his place, and began to speak.