The War That Killed Achilles (27 page)

 

 

Relentlessly, swift Achilles kept driving Hektor panicked before him,
as when a dog in the mountains pursues a deer's fawn
that he has started from its bed through glens and dells,
and though, cowering in fright, it eludes him beneath a thicket,
the dog runs on, tracking it steadily, until he finds it—
so Hektor could not elude Achilles of the swift feet.
Each time he made to dash toward the Dardanian Gates,
under the well-built tower,
in the hope that men from above might defend him with thrown
missiles,
each time did Achilles, outstripping him, turn him back
toward the plain and he himself sped ever by the city.
As in a dream a man is not able to pursue one who eludes him,
nor is the other able to escape, nor he to pursue,
so Achilles for all the swiftness of his feet was not able to lay hold of
him, nor he escape.
How then could Hektor have eluded his fated death
had not Apollo for the last and final time joined closely with him,
to rouse his spirit and make swift his knees?
And shining Achilles was shaking his head at his men,
nor allowed them to let fly their sharp spears at Hektor,
lest whoever was making the throw claim glory, and himself come
second.
But when for the fourth time they came to the springs,
then Zeus the father leveled his golden scales
and placed in them two portions of death that brings enduring grief,
that of Achilles and that of Hektor breaker of horses;
he lifted them, holding by the middle, and the measured day of Hektor
sank,
headed to Hades, and Phoibos Apollo abandoned him.

 

 

Then the gray-eyed goddess Athene came up to the son of Peleus
and standing near addressed him in winged words:
“Now I hope, illustrious Achilles, beloved of Zeus,
to carry honor for us two back to the Achaean ships,
after breaking Hektor, insatiate though he may be for battle;
he can no longer get clear of us,
not if Apollo the far-shooter should suffer countless trials for his sake,
groveling before Father Zeus of the aegis.
But you now stop and catch your breath, while I
make my way to Hektor and convince him to fight man to man.”
Thus spoke Athene, and Achilles obeyed and rejoiced in his heart
and stood leaning on his bronze-flanged ash spear.
She left him and came up to shining Hektor
in the likeness of Deïphobos, in form and steady voice.
Standing close, she spoke winged words:
“My brother, swift Achilles presses you hard,
pursuing you around the city of Priam in the swiftness of his feet.
But come, let us stand firm and defend ourselves, holding fast.”
Then great Hektor of the shimmering helm addressed him in turn:
“Deïphobos, even before you were far dearest to me
of my brothers, those sons whom Hekabe and Priam bore.
Now I am minded to honor you even more in my heart—
you who dared for my sake, when you saw me with your eyes,
to quit the walls where the others remain inside.”
Then the gray-eyed goddess Athene spoke to him:
“My brother, our father and lady mother implored me greatly,
entreating in turn, and the companions about them,
to remain there—for so great is the dread of all;
yet my inner spirit was harrowed with impotent grief.
But now let us two press straight forward and go to battle,
and let there be no restraint of our spears, so that we shall see if
Achilles,
killing us both, will bear our bloodied arms
to his hollow ships, or if he will be broken by your spear.”
Thus spoke Athene, and with cunning led him on.
But when, as they advanced, they were close to one another,
great Hektor of the shimmering helm spoke first:
“No longer, son of Peleus, shall I flee from you, as before
I fled three times around the great city of Priam nor could then endure
to withstand your charge. But now my spirit stirs me
to hold firm before you. I will take you, or be taken.
But come, let us swear an oath upon our gods, for they
will be the best witnesses and protectors of agreements.
I will not, outrageous though you are, dishonor you if Zeus grants me
to be the survivor and to take of you your life.
But when I have stripped you of your splendid armor, Achilles,
I will give your body back to the Achaeans; and do you the same.”
Then, looking at him from beneath his brows, Achilles of the swift feet
spoke:
“Hektor, you who have done unforgettable deeds—not to me propose
your agreements.
As there are no pacts of faith between lions and men,
nor do wolves and lambs have spirit in kind,
but they plot evil unremittingly for one another,
so it is not possible that you and I be friends, nor for us two
will there be oaths; before that time one of us falling
will sate with his blood the shield-bearing warrior god.
Recollect your every skill. Now the need is very great
to be a spearman and brave warrior.
There will be no further escape for you, but soon Pallas Athene
will break you by my spear. Now you will pay in one sum
for all the sorrows of my companions, those whom you killed, raging
with your spear.”
He spoke, and, weighing his long-shadowed spear, he let it fly.
But, holding it in his sight as it came at him, shining Hektor avoided it,
for as he watched, he crouched and the bronze spear flew over
and stuck in the earth; but Pallas Athene snatched it up
and gave it back to Achilles, escaping the notice of Hektor, shepherd of
the people.
And Hektor addressed illustrious Achilles:
“You missed! In no way, then, godlike Achilles,
was it from Zeus you knew my fate—you only thought you did,
and you turn out to a glib talker, a manipulator of words
—fearing you, you thought I would forget my courage and defenses.
But you will not fix your spear in my back as I flee,
but drive it through my breast as I come at you,
if god grants this to you. Now you in turn dodge my spear,
bronze-pointed; would that you carried the whole of it in your flesh.
Then would this war be lighter to bear for the Trojans,
with you dead. For you are their greatest evil.”
He spoke, and weighing his long-shadowing spear, he let it fly
and hurled at the middle of the son of Peleus' shield, nor did he miss;
but the spear glanced off the shield, for a long way. And Hektor was
angry
that his swift cast flew from his hand in vain,
and he stood dejected, nor did he have any other ash-shafted spear.
Raising his great voice, he called Deïphobos of the pale shield
and asked him for his long spear—but Deïphobos was not near him.
And Hektor understood within his heart and spoke aloud:
“This is it. The gods summon me deathward.
I thought the warrior Deïphobos was by me,
but he is inside the walls, and Athene has tricked me.
Hateful death is very near me; it is no longer far away,
nor is there escape. And for some long time this has been pleasing
to Zeus and to Zeus' son who shoots from afar, who before this
protected me willingly enough. Yet now destiny has caught me.
Then let me not die without a struggle and ingloriously,
but while doing some great thing for even men to come to hear of.”
So speaking, he drew his sharp sword
that hung down by his side, huge and strong-made,
and, collecting himself, he swooped like a high-flying eagle,
an eagle that plunges through lowering clouds toward the plain
to snatch a soft lamb or a cowering hare;
so Hektor swooped brandishing his sharp sword.
But Achilles charged, his spirit filled with
savage passion. Before his breast he held his covering shield,
beautiful and intricately wrought, and nodded with his shining
four-horned helmet; splendid horsehair flowed about it,
of gold, which Hephaistos had set thickly around the helmet crest.
As a star moves among other stars in the milky murk of night,
Hesperus the Evening Star, which stands forth as the most beautiful in
heaven,
so the light shone from the well-pointed spearhead that Achilles
was shaking in his right hand, bent upon evil for Hektor,
surveying his handsome flesh, where it might best give way.
So far the brazen armor protected his flesh,
the beautiful armor that he stripped after slaying the life of
Patroklos—
but at that point where the collarbone holds the neck from the
shoulders, there showed
his gullet, where death of the soul comes swiftest;
and at this point shining Achilles drove with his spear as Hektor
strove against him,
and the spearhead went utterly through the soft neck.
Heavy with bronze as it was, the ash spear did not sever the windpipe,
so that he could speak, making an exchange of words.
He fell in the dust. And shining Achilles vaunted:
“Hektor, you surely thought when you stripped Patroklos
that you were safe, and you thought nothing of me as I was absent—
pitiable fool. For standing by, his far greater avenger,
I remained behind by the hollowed ships—
I who have broken the strength of your knees. You the dogs and birds
will rip apart shamefully; Patroklos the Achaeans will honor with
funeral rites.”
Then with little strength Hektor of the shimmering helm addressed
him:
“By your soul, by your knees, by your parents,
do not let the dogs devour me by the ships of the Achaeans,
but take the bronze and abundance of gold,
the gifts my father and lady mother will give you;
give my body back to go home, so that
the Trojans and the Trojan wives will give my dead body its portion of
the fire.”
Then, looking at him from under his brows, Achilles of the swift feet
answered:
“Do not, you dog, supplicate me by knees or parents.
Would that my passion and spirit would drive me
to devour your hacked-off flesh raw, such things you have done;
so there is no one who can keep the dogs from your head,
not if they haul here and weigh out ten times and twenty times the
ransom and promise more,
not if Dardanian Priam seeks to pay your weight in gold,
not in any way will your lady mother
mourn you laid out upon your bier, the child she bore;
but the dogs and the birds will devour you wholly.”
Then, dying, Hektor of the shimmering helm addressed him:
“Knowing you well, I divine my fate; nor will I persuade you.
Surely the soul in your breast is iron.
Yet now take care, lest I become the cause of the god's wrath
against you,
on that day when Paris and Phoibos Apollo
destroy you, great warrior though you are, at the Skaian Gates.”
Then the closure of death enveloped him as he was speaking,
and his soul flew from his limbs and started for Hades,
lamenting her fate, abandoning manhood and all its young vigor.
Shining Achilles addressed him, dead though he was:
“Lie dead. I will take death at that time when
Zeus and the other deathless gods wish to accomplish it.”
He spoke and pulled his bronze spear from the dead body,
and, laying it aside, he stripped the bloodied armor from Hektor's
shoulders.
But the other sons of the Achaeans ran up around him
and admired Hektor's physique and beauty,
nor was there a man who stood by him without inflicting a wound.
And thus each would speak, looking at his neighbor:
“Well, well; he is softer to handle, to be sure,
this Hektor, than when he torched our ships with blazing fire.”
Thus they would speak, and stabbed him as they stood by.
But when shining Achilles of the swift feet had stripped him of arms,
he stood amid the Achaeans and pronounced winged words:
“O friends, leaders, and counselors of the Achaeans;
since the gods gave me this man to break,
who committed evil deeds, more than all the other Trojans together,
come, let us go under arms and scout around the city
so that we may learn the disposition of the Trojans, what they have in
mind,
whether they will abandon their high city now this man is dead,
or desire to remain, although Hektor is no longer with them
—but why does my spirit recite these things?
There lies by the ships a dead man, unmourned, unburied
—Patroklos. I shall not forget him as long as I am
among the living and my own knees have power in them.
And if men forget the dead in Hades,
I will remember my beloved companion even there.
But come now, Achaean men, singing a victory song,
let us return to our hollowed ship and bring him along.
We have achieved great glory; we have slain shining Hektor,
whom the Trojans worshipped throughout their city as a god.”
He spoke, and conceived a shocking deed for shining Hektor:
behind both feet he pierced the tendon
between heel and ankle and fastened there ox-hide straps,
and bound him to his chariot and let the head drag along.
Lifting his glorious armor, Achilles mounted his chariot
and whipped the horses to begin, and they two, not unwilling, took off.
A cloud of dust rose as Hektor was dragged, his blue-black hair
fanning around him, his head lolling wholly in the dust
that before was handsome; so Zeus gave him to his enemies
to be defiled in the land of his own fathers.
His head was wholly befouled by dust; and now his mother
ripped her hair and flung her shining veil
far away, shrieking her grief aloud as she looked on her child.
His beloved father cried out pitiably, and around them the people
were gripped by wailing and crying throughout the city
—it was as if the whole of
lofty Ilion, from its topmost point, were consumed with fire.
With difficulty the people restrained old Priam in his grief
as he strove to go forth from the Dardanian Gates.
Thrashing in the muck, he entreated all,
calling off each man by name:
“Hold off friend, for all your care for me, and let me
leave the city to go to the ships of the Achaeans.
I will entreat this reckless man of violent deeds,
if somehow he may respect my age and pity
my years. Even his father is of such years,
Peleus, who bore him and raised him to be a destruction
to the Trojans; and beyond all men he has inflicted hardship on me.
For so many of my flourishing sons he killed;
I did not mourn as much for all of them, for all my grief,
as for this one, bitter grief for whom will carry me down to the house
of Hades—
Hektor. Would that he died in my arms.
We would have glutted ourselves with crying and weeping,
his mother, she, ill-fated woman, who bore him, and I.”
Thus he spoke lamenting, and thereupon the people mourned.
And Hekabe led the Trojan women in the close-pressed lament:
“My child, I am nothing. Why should I live now, grievously suffering,
when you are dead? You who were night and day my
triumph through the city, a blessing to all,
to the Trojans and the Trojan women throughout the community,
who used to receive you like a god.
For you were to them, indeed, their glory,
while you lived; and now death and fate have overtaken you.”
Thus she spoke, crying. But Hektor's wife knew nothing.
For no trusty messenger had come to her
announcing that her husband remained outside the walls,
and she was weaving at her loom in the corner of her high-roofed
house
a double-folded cloak of crimson and working intricate figures in it.
She called through the house to her attendants with the lovely hair,
to set a great tripod over the fire, so that
there would be a warm bath for Hektor when he returned home from
battle—
poor wretch, she did not know that far from all baths
gray-eyed Athene broke him at the hands of Achilles.
Then she heard the keening and groaning from the tower,
and her limbs shook, and the shuttle fell to the ground,
and she called back to her maids with the beautiful hair:
“Come, both of you follow me; I will see what trouble has happened.
I hear the voice of Hektor's worthy mother,
the heart in my own breast leaps to my mouth, my limbs beneath me
are rigid; something evil is come near the sons of Priam.
May my word be far from all hearing, but terribly
I fear that shining Achilles has cut my bold Hektor