Part 7

Chapter 74,311 wordsPublic domain

Deep was the disappointment of the three envoys, as they followed the wild eloquence of that fierce and implacable man. For a long time not a word was spoken, for it seemed vain to argue against such passion and pride. At last the venerable Phœnix rose feebly from his place, and in a voice broken with sobs and tears began a discourse of immense length, full of tender personal reminiscence and old-world legend. This old man had a curious history. Born to wealth and power, he became an exile in his youth, having been cursed by his father, whom he had bitterly provoked in the course of a family feud. In consequence of the curse he remained a childless man, and, finding a new home in the land of Peleus, he lavished more than a father's tenderness on Achilles, Peleus' infant son.

These incidents from his own life, which he dwelt on with the fond garrulity of an old nurse, furnished a copious theme to Phœnix in the first part of his harangue. "I little thought," he said, "when I set thee on my knee, a little, helpless babe, and fed thee with choice morsels of meat, and held the cup to thy lips, and thou wouldst spill the wine over my gown in thy childish weakness--I little thought to see thee grow up to be so pitiless and inflexible, more hard to move than the gods themselves, whom we approach with prayer and sacrifice, and with bended knees. Beware of the vengeance which waits upon a stubborn and unforgiving heart. Swift and strong is the dread goddess Ate, who prompts man to give and take offence; but Penitence is an old and wrinkled goddess, who goes halting behind her, to heal the mischief; and if he who is wronged will not listen to her voice he himself becomes the offender, and the whole guilt of the quarrel rests on his head. Hearken thou, therefore, to her gentle pleading, and receive the bountiful gifts of Agamemnon, or the day will come when thou wilt take thy sword perforce, and fight the battles of the Greeks without reward."

Achilles listened with manifest impatience to the rambling appeals of Phœnix; and when at length the old man had finished, he replied briefly: "I seek no reward but the favour of Zeus, which I have, and shall not cease to have as long as the breath of life is in me. Vex me no more with thy vain repinings; my purpose is fixed, and it is for thee to choose whether thou wilt be friends with Agamemnon or with me. If thou art on my side remain here for the night, and to-morrow we will consider whether we will go or stay."

The conference was brought to a close by a few words from Ajax, whose frank and soldierly heart was hot with indignation at the vindictive temper of Achilles. Turning to Odysseus, he said: "Noble son of Laertes, let us be going. Words are wasted on this fierce and froward man. Surely he has a heart of stone, which no kindly thought, no gentle memory of ancient comradeship, can soften. All the homage of his countrymen, all the loving-kindness of his friends, are as dirt beneath his feet. Many a man hath accepted a price for the blood of a son or brother slain, and suffered the slayer to remain unharmed in the land; but thou, Achilles, hast scorned the most princely offers for the sake of one captive maid. O yet at last be moved! Bring not scorn upon us, thy guests, thy friends, but give us a gentle answer to take back to our countrymen in their dire need."

These manly and moving words had some effect on Achilles, half maddened as he was by wounded pride. Yet still he would not yield, though his answer showed that he had not been in earnest when he spoke of abandoning the war. "Thou hast spoken well, Ajax," he said, "and there is much reason in what thou sayest. But my heart boils with rage when I think of the contumely which was heaped upon me before the eyes of all Greece, as though I were some beggared and nameless outcast; and I will not put on mine armour again, until I see the smoke arising from the Grecian ships, and Hector drawing near to my galleys with sword and fire. Then, methinks, his career of victory will end."

After this final declaration of his purpose by Achilles, Ajax and Odysseus took their leave, and returned to the assembled chieftains, who still sat anxiously awaiting the result of the mission. Phœnix remained behind, having resolved to cast in his lot with Achilles.

The Night Raid on the Trojan Camp

Uneasy lay the head of Agamemnon the King that night, and, thick as lightnings which herald the storm, thronging cares shot through his brain, forbidding all repose. As often as he opened his eyes he saw the red gleam of the Trojan watchfires; and the hum of the armed multitude, mingled with the strains of flute and pipe, filled his ears. After an hour of weary tossing he left his couch, and wandered out into the camp, until he came to the quarters of Menelaus, and, finding him also afoot, he sent him to call up Ajax and Idomeneus, and went himself to summon Nestor, intending to hold a midnight council, and devise some plan of relief in this hour of general depression and dismay.

On the way he was joined by Diomede and Odysseus, and when they all met it was resolved to pay a visit to the sentinels and see if they were faithful to their trust. When they came to the place where the pickets were stationed, outside the barriers, they found the whole troop keeping watch and ward with sleepless vigilance, like dogs in charge of a sheep-fold when they hear a lion prowling without. Every man was on the alert, with his face towards the Trojan leaguer, as if expecting an instant attack. Nestor's long experience of war now enabled him to make a suggestion which led to one of the most famous adventures in the whole course of the war. "Is there one among you bold enough," he said, "to go and spy out the movements of the Trojans in their camp, and bring back a report of what they design against us? 'Twould be a noble enterprise, and would bring both fame and profit to him who should accomplish it."

There was a short pause, and then Diomede declared himself willing to undertake this perilous adventure, "But will not one of you go with me?" he asked. "Two heads are better than one, and I may find myself in a strait in which I should need a comrade's help and advice."

Six of the leaders at once offered to accompany Diomede, and among these were Menelaus, Odysseus, and Antilochus, the captain of the outpost, who was especially eager to go. "Choose him whom thou thinkest best fitted for the task, without respect to rank or birth," said Agamemnon, in fear lest he should name Menelaus for his companion. "Well, then," answered Diomede, "I choose Odysseus, the hardiest and the shrewdest spirit among us all, and the darling of Athene. With him at my side I will go through fire and water without scathe."

"A truce to thy praises," said Odysseus, "and let us away, for the night is far spent, and the day is at hand."

Lightly armed and equipped, the stout-hearted pair passed out of the light of the watchfires, and set their faces towards the Trojan camp. Just as they were starting they heard the cry of a heron flying on the right, and Odysseus was glad, for he knew it was a sign sent by Athene, promising success to their journey. Murmuring a prayer, they stepped forward boldly, like two lions bound on a midnight foray, and crossed the battlefield of yesterday, over corpses and broken armour and pools of blood. Suddenly Odysseus came to a halt, and laying his hand on Diomede's arm whispered: "I hear a footstep as of one coming this way, whether to spy out our camp, or to plunder the dead, I know not. Let us allow him to go by us, and then spring upon him as he passes."

Crouching down among the heaps of slain, they waited until the man had passed in the direction of the ships, and then leapt from their ambush and gave chase. When he heard them he hesitated a moment, doubting whether they were friends or foes; then, recognising them as Greeks, he bounded away at full speed, Odysseus and Diomede following hard behind, like two hounds on the track of a doe or hare. But the fellow was a fleet runner, and would have been fairly driven into the hands of the Greek sentinels, if Diomede had not raised his spear, and sent it whizzing close to the ear of the fugitive, crying as he did so: "Halt! whoever thou art, or my next cast shall bring thee down."

Then the wretch was afraid, and stood still, in obedience to the summons, with knees knocking together and chattering teeth; and the two Greeks ran up, panting for breath, and seized him by the arms. Weeping with terror he began to beg for his life. "Make me your prisoner," he faltered, "and I will pay you a heavy ransom, for my father's house is full of silver and gold, and vessels of iron,[1] choicely wrought, and he will pay you a heavy price when he hears that I am alive."

[1] Iron was scarce and highly prized among the Homeric Greeks.

"Have no fears for thy life," said Odysseus; "only answer me truly, and thou art safe. Why art thou wandering here in the dead of night? Art thou on an adventure of thine own, or did Hector send thee to spy out the Grecian camp?"

"It was Hector who beguiled me to commit this folly," answered the captive, whose name was Dolon; "for he bribed me with a great bribe, promising to give me the steeds of Peleus' haughty son, if I would go down to the fleet, and bring back information whether you were preparing to fly from our shores in the night."

"Thou art ambitious, I see," replied Odysseus, smiling. "Bold must be thy heart, and firm thy hand, if thou wouldst drive the steeds of Æacides, which are of no mortal breed. But tell me now, and answer me truly, where is Hector stationed in the Trojan camp, and in what order have the others pitched their tents?"

"Hector and the chiefs," answered Dolon, still shaking with mortal dread, "have their quarters by the tomb of Ilus, and round them lie the native Trojans, keeping good watch. The allies are encamped about them, in no fixed order, and they are all asleep. On the very outskirts of the camp lie the Thracians, and Rhesus their king; and if ye are minded to make an onfall on their leaguer ye may do it in safety, and win a rare prize. For Rhesus hath a pair of milk-white coursers, unmatched in strength and speed, and a car richly adorned with silver and gold. Likewise he hath a suit of golden armour, fit for the gods to wear. And all this ye may win without a blow. Now leave me in the custody of your comrades, or bind me fast here, that ye may know when ye return whether I have spoken the truth."

But that night was to afford a second instance of broken faith, hardly less infamous than the first. Having tempted this poor caitiff to betray his comrades by promising him his life, they now gave him the traitor's wage. "Thou must die, Dolon," said Diomede coldly, "for all thy good news. Thou art a foe, delivered into our hands, and thou shalt never spy upon us or fight with us again." Dolon clung to him with cries of anguished entreaty, pleading for his life; but Diomede, with one downward stroke of his sword, swept off his head, which rolled, with lips still moving, in the dust. Then stripping off his armour, he hung it in a tamarisk tree, and, having marked the place, went forward with Odysseus in the direction of the Thracian camp.

When they came to the quarters of Rhesus, they found him lying in the midst of his men, with his famous steeds standing near, tethered to their car. All the troop was sleeping heavily, for they were newly arrived at Troy, and had travelled far and fast the day before. "There he is," whispered Odysseus, "and these are his steeds, a glorious pair! Now to work! Slay me a score of these sluggards while I loose the steeds."

Thereupon Diomede drew his sword, and struck right and left like a headsman, until he had slain some dozen of the sleeping Thracians; and, as he proceeded, Odysseus dragged the slaughtered men out of the way, to make a path for the horses, which were young, and unused to such sights. Diomede's last victim was the giant Rhesus, who was breathing heavily, and dreaming of his home; but a Grecian blade cut short his dreams, and his fleet coursers now found a new master. While Diomede was thus busy, Odysseus untethered the steeds, and coupling them together by their harness drove them out of the camp, striking them with a bow which he carried; for he had forgotten to take up the whip. Diomede still lingered, meditating some final act of daring, to crown the night's adventure. Beneath him lay the corpse of Rhesus, and his golden armour, and he was hesitating whether to take these, or slay a few more Thracians, when Odysseus gave a low whistle, warning him that it was time to be going. The next moment he heard the sound of hurrying footsteps, and, perceiving that the alarm had been given, he joined Odysseus, and mounting one of the horses seized the other by the bridle, and rode at a rapid trot towards the sea. Odysseus ran by his side, holding on by the harness, for he was no rider,[2] but a swift and enduring runner.

[2] Riding was little practised among the Homeric heroes.

They had no sooner departed than a wild commotion arose behind them in the awakened Thracian camp, but increasing their pace they soon reached the spot where they had left the unhappy Dolon, and, having paused for a moment to take up his armour, they hurried forward, and before long they were within hail of the Grecian outposts, where the whole company of the leaders was still assembled, anxiously awaiting their return.

Nestor was the first to hear the sound of the horses' feet, and thinking that the Trojans were attacking he ran to raise the alarm. But he was soon reassured when he heard the voice of Diomede, followed a moment later by the arrival of the hardy adventurers with their splendid booty. Joyful were the greetings on both sides, and when the story of that great exploit had been briefly told they all dispersed to their quarters, to snatch a few hours of sleep before the toils of the coming day.

The Brave Deeds of Agamemnon: Reverses of the Greeks

In the still hours of the dawn the Greeks were startled from their slumbers by a loud and fearful cry, which came from no mortal lips, but from Eris, the dread goddess of strife, who had been sent down by Zeus to give the signal for battle. The first to obey that awful summons was Agamemnon; for this was to be his great day, and his heart was aflame with the lust of slaughter. Springing from his couch he began to don his armour. First he put on his greaves, which were made of pliant white metal, with ankle pieces of silver. Then he took up his corslet, with a glance of pride, for it was of choice and costly workmanship, cunningly fashioned of thin strips or courses of metal. Ten courses were of blue steel, and ten of gold, and twenty of tin; and round about the corslet wound three serpents, wrought in divers colours, like the rainbow, with their heads meeting where the corslet narrowed at the neck. His sword glittered with golden ornaments, and the scabbard was of silver, and the baldric of gold. On his shield, which had ten circles of brass, were twenty bosses of white tin, and in the centre a boss of blue steel; and it bore an image of the Gorgon's head and the dreadful faces of Rout and Panic. Attached to it was a silver strap, bearing the device of a serpent with three heads.

Glittering in this gorgeous panoply, brandishing two spears, and raising his battle cry, Agamemnon rushed to the gates of the camp, and placed himself at the head of his bravest champions, who were mustering there with the flower of the Greek army, prepared for the expected attack. They had not long to wait; hardly had they set their ranks in order, when the Trojans appeared on the summit of the slope which ran down to the shore. And like a star which appears and disappears on a stormy night, when the sky is covered with scudding clouds, so glittered the mailed form of Hector, as he ranged in and out among the advancing columns, marshalling his men to the fight.

Then like two lines of reapers working together on opposite sides of a deep field of wheat or barley, so met Greeks and Trojans on the plain before the camp, and war's dread harvest began. None of the gods were present, save only Eris, whose savage heart was glad when she smelt the smell of blood. And Zeus sat apart on a lonely peak, looking down upon Troy and the Grecian fleet and the two warring nations in the space between.

The Brave Deeds of Agamemnon: Reverses of the Greeks

Until the hour of noon the battle was waged with equal fortune on both sides. But just at the time when a woodman in some mountain glen breaks off his labour to prepare his midday meal, having wearied his hands with holding the axe, the Greeks made a vigorous charge, and broke through the Trojan line. Agamemnon fought in advance of all the rest, and recognising among the enemy two sons of Priam, who had formerly been taken captive by Achilles and let go for a ransom, he slew them both, and stripped off their armour. And as a lion slays two hapless fawns, while their dam, who is feeding near, flies sweating with terror from the onslaught of the mighty beast, so the Trojans saw their young princes slain, but were helpless to aid them, being themselves hard pressed by the victorious Greeks.

Like a famished lion who has broken into a sheep-fold, and ravages the flock, so fell Agamemnon on the huddled masses of the Trojans, striking about him with sword and spear. Presently he had an opportunity of gratifying his private revenge; for right before him, impeded by the press, he saw the two sons of Antimachus, a Trojan who was bribed with gold by Paris to oppose the restoration of Helen. There they stood helpless, both together in one car, holding out their hands in supplication, and begging him to spare their lives. "There is no mercy for such as you," cried Agamemnon fiercely. "Did not your father, in the hearing of all the people, advise the murder of my brother, Menelaus, when he came on an embassy to Troy? Die, and pay for your father's treachery." With that he thrust down one of them with his spear, and the other, who turned to fly, he slew with his sword, lopping off head and arms, and spurning the trunk with his foot, so that it rolled like a log along the ground. Then, raising his battle cry, he plunged into the thick of the fight, where the main body of the Trojans were flying before the Greeks, horse and foot mingled together in headlong rout. And as a fire sweeps through the dry brushwood, borne onward by the wind, and leaving a black waste behind, so thick and fast fell the Trojans before Agamemnon; and many an empty car went rattling over the field, borne hither and thither by its affrighted steeds, whose master was lying where he fell, until the vultures assembled to the banquet at eventide.

Across the plain they sped, past the tomb of Ilus and the wild fig-tree, making straight for the city, and as they came to the gates they turned at bay, and waited for those who were still flying before Agamemnon and the Greeks.

"Now haste thee, swift Iris!" said Zeus to the maiden messenger of heaven, "and bear this message to Hector. As long as he sees Agamemnon foremost in the slaughter, let him hold back, and leave the others to stem the tide of war; but when Agamemnon receives a wound, as he shall do soon, then let Hector take the lead again, and drive the Greeks back upon their ships."

Hector duly received the message, as he was rallying his men to defend their gates; and in obedience to the command of Zeus he retired from the front, and waited for the promised relief. He had not long to wait. Presently Agamemnon was assailed by Iphidamas, a son of Antenor, one of the chief men of Troy, who charged at him, spear in hand, and thrusting with all his force struck him full on the breastplate. But the spear point was turned on the tempered metal, and Agamemnon, seizing the shaft, dragged the weapon from his hands, and smote down the tall champion with a blow of his sword. But as he was stooping to strip the armour from the corpse, Coön, the brother of Iphidamas, crept up to his side, and drove his spear clean through Agamemnon's forearm.

Though grievously hurt Agamemnon turned on his assailant, and cut him down; and having thus avenged himself he still fought on, dealing havoc among the Trojans with his spear and his sword, and with heavy stones. But presently his blood ceased to flow, and his arm grew stiff, as the wound began to close. Being now in dreadful pain, he could fight no longer, and summoning his chariot he left the field, and drove at full speed back to the camp.

"Forward, men of Troy!" shouted Hector, rushing to the front. "Agamemnon is sorely wounded, and Zeus has promised us the victory." And as a hunter cheers on his hounds against a lion or wild boar, so Hector encouraged his Trojans, by word and by action, to assail the Greeks; and like a black squall which leaps suddenly on the Ægæan, he himself led the assault, strong in the support of Zeus, and confident of victory.