BULFINCH’S MYTHOLOGY

THE AGE OF FABLE

OR STORIES OF GODS AND HEROES

by Thomas Bulfinch

[1855]

CHAPTER XXVII

THE TROJAN WAR

MINERVA was the goddess of wisdom, but on one occasion she did a
very foolish thing; she entered into competition with Juno and Venus
for the prize of beauty. It happened thus: At the nuptials of Peleus
and Thetis all the gods were invited with the exception of Eris, or
Discord. Enraged at her exclusion, the goddess threw a golden apple
among the guests, with the inscription, “For the fairest.” Thereupon
Juno, Venus, and Minerva each claimed the apple. Jupiter, not
willing to decide in so delicate a matter, sent the goddesses to Mount
Ida, where the beautiful shepherd Paris was tending his flocks, and to
him was committed the decision. The goddesses accordingly appeared
before him. Juno promised him power and riches, Minerva glory and
renown in war, and Venus the fairest of women for his wife, each
attempting to bias his decision in her own favour. Paris decided in
favour of Venus and gave her the golden apple, thus making the two
other goddesses his enemies. Under the protection of Venus, Paris
sailed to Greece, and was hospitably received by Menelaus, king of
Sparta. Now Helen, the wife of Menelaus, was the very woman whom Venus
had destined for Paris, the fairest of her sex. She had been sought as
a bride by numerous suitors, and before her decision was made known,
they all, at the suggestion of Ulysses, one of their number, took an
oath that they would defend her from all injury and avenge her cause
if necessary. She chose Menelaus, and was living with him happily when
Paris became their guest. Paris, aided by Venus, persuaded her to
elope with him, and carried her to Troy, whence arose the famous
Trojan war, the theme of the greatest poems of antiquity, those of
Homer and Virgil.

Menelaus called upon his brother chieftains of Greece to fulfil
their pledge, and join him in his efforts to recover his wife. They
generally came forward, but Ulysses, who had married Penelope, and was
very happy in his wife and child, had no disposition to embark in such
a troublesome affair. He therefore hung back and Palamedes was sent to
urge him. When Palamedes arrived at Ithaca Ulysses pretended to be
mad. He yoked an ass and an ox together to the plough and began to sow
salt. Palamedes, to try him, placed the infant Telemachus before the
plough, whereupon the father turned the plough aside, showing
plainly that he was no madman, and after that could no longer refuse
to fulfil his promise. Being now himself gained for the undertaking,
he lent his aid to bring in other reluctant chiefs, especially
Achilles. This hero was the son of that Thetis at whose marriage the
apple of Discord had been thrown among the goddesses. Thetis was
herself one of the immortals, a sea-nymph, and knowing that her son
was fated to perish before Troy if he went on the expedition, she
endeavoured to prevent his going. She sent him away to the court of
King Lycomedes, and induced him to conceal himself in the disguise
of a maiden among the daughters of the king. Ulysses, hearing he was
there, went disguised as a merchant to the palace and offered for sale
female ornaments, among which he had placed some arms. While the
king’s daughters were engrossed with the other contents of the
merchant’s pack, Achilles handled the weapons and thereby betrayed
himself to the keen eye of Ulysses, who found no great difficulty in
persuading him to disregard his mother’s prudent counsels and join his
countrymen in the war.

Priam was king of Troy, and Paris, the shepherd and seducer of
Helen, was his son. Paris had been brought up in obscurity, because
there were certain ominous forebodings connected with him from his
infancy that he would be the ruin of the state. These forebodings
seemed at length likely to be realized, for the Grecian armament now
in preparation was the greatest that had ever been fitted out.
Agamemnon, king of Mycenae, and brother of the injured Menelaus, was
chosen commander-in-chief. Achilles was their most illustrious
warrior. After him ranked Ajax, gigantic in size and of great courage,
but dull of intellect; Diomede, second only to Achilles in all the
qualities of a hero; Ulysses, famous for his sagacity; and Nestor, the
oldest of the Grecian chiefs, and one to whom they all looked up for
counsel. But Troy was no feeble enemy. Priam, the king, was now old,
but he had been a wise prince and had strengthened his state by good
government at home and numerous alliances with his neighbours. But the
principal stay and support of his throne was his own Hector, one of
the noblest characters painted by heathen antiquity. He felt, from the
first, a presentiment of the fall of his country, but still persevered
in his heroic resistance, yet by no means justified the wrong which
brought this danger upon her. He was united in marriage with
Andromache, and as a husband and father his character was not less
admirable than as a warrior. The principal leaders on the side of
the Trojans, besides Hector, were Aeneas and Deiphobus, Glaucus and
Sarpedon.

After two years of preparation the Greek fleet and army assembled in
the port of Aulis in Boeotia. Here Agamemnon in hunting killed a
stag which was sacred to Diana, and the goddess in return visited
the army with pestilence, and produced a calm which prevented the
ships from leaving the port. Calchas, the soothsayer, thereupon
announced that the wrath of the virgin goddess could only be
appeased by the sacrifice of a virgin on her altar, and that none
other but the daughter of the offender would be acceptable. Agamemnon,
however reluctant, yielded his consent, and the maiden Iphigenia was
sent for under the pretence that she was to be married to Achilles.
When she was about to be sacrificed the goddess relented and
snatched her away, leaving a hind in her place, and Iphigenia,
enveloped in a cloud, was carried to Tauris, where Diana made her
priestess of her temple.

Tennyson, in his “Dream of Fair Women,” makes Iphigenia thus
describe her feelings at the moment of sacrifice:

“I was cut off from hope in that sad place,
Which yet to name my spirit loathes and fears;
My father held his hand upon his face;
I, blinded by my tears,

“Still strove to speak; my voice was thick with sighs,
As in a dream. Dimly I could descry
The stern black-bearded kings, with wolfish eyes,
Waiting to see me die.

“The tall masts quivered as they lay afloat,
The temples and the people and the shore;
One drew a shark knife through my tender throat
Slowly,- and- nothing more.”

The wind now proving fair the fleet made sail and brought the forces
to the coast of Troy. The Trojans came to oppose their landing, and at
the first onset Protesilaus fell by the hand of Hector. Protesilaus
had left at home his wife, Laodamia, who was most tenderly attached to
him. When the news of his death reached her she implored the gods to
be allowed to converse with him only three hours. The request was
granted. Mercury led Protesilaus back to the upper world, and when
he died a second time Laodamia died with him. There was a story that
the nymphs planted elm trees round his grave which grew very well till
they were high enough to command a view of Troy, and then withered
away, while fresh branches sprang from the roots.

Wordsworth has taken the story of Protesilaus and Laodamia for the
subject of a poem. It seems the oracle had declared that victory
should be the lot of that party from which should fall the first
victim to the war. The poet represents Protesilaus, on his brief
return to earth, as relating to Laodamia the story of his fate:

“‘The wished-for wind was given; I then revolved
The oracle, upon the silent sea;
And if no worthier led the way, resolved
That of a thousand vessels mine should be
The foremost prow impressing to the strand,-
Mine the first blood that tinged the Trojan sand.

“‘Yet bitter, ofttimes bitter was the pang
When of thy loss I thought, beloved wife!
On thee too fondly did my memory hang,
And on the joys we shared in mortal life,
The paths which we had trod,- these fountains, flowers;
My new planned cities and unfinished towers.

“‘But should suspense permit the foe to cry,
“Behold they tremble! haughty their array,
Yet of their number no one dares to die?”
In soul I swept the indignity away:
Old frailties then recurred: but lofty thought
In act embodied my deliverance wrought.’

. . . . . . .

“…upon the side
Of Hellespont (such faith was entertained)
A knot of spiry trees for ages grew
From out the tomb of him for whom she died;
And ever when such stature they had gained
That Ilium’s walls were subject to their view,
The trees’ tall summits withered at the sight,
A constant interchange of growth and blight!”

“THE ILIAD”.

The war continued without decisive results for nine years. Then an
event occurred which seemed likely to be fatal to the cause of the
Greeks, and that was a quarrel between Achilles and Agamemnon. It is
at this point that the great poem of Homer, “The Iliad,” begins. The
Greeks, though unsuccessful against Troy, had taken the neighbouring
and allied cities, and in the division of the spoil a female
captive, by name Chryseis, daughter of Chryses, priest of Apollo,
had fallen to the share of Agamemnon. Chryses came bearing the
sacred emblems of his office, and begged the release of his
daughter. Agamemnon refused. Thereupon Chryses implored Apollo to
afflict the Greeks till they should be forced to yield their prey.
Apollo granted the prayer of his priest, and sent pestilence into
the Grecian camp. Then a council was called to deliberate how to allay
the wrath of the gods and avert the plague. Achilles boldly charged
their misfortunes upon Agamemnon as caused by his withholding
Chryseis. Agamemnon, enraged, consented to relinquish his captive, but
demanded that Achilles should yield to him in her stead Briseis, a
maiden who had fallen to Achilles’ share in the division of the spoil.
Achilles submitted, but forthwith declared that he would take no
further part in the war. He withdrew his forces from the general
camp and openly avowed his intention of returning home to Greece.

The gods and goddesses interested themselves as much in this
famous war as the parties themselves. It was well known to them that
fate had decreed that Troy should fall, at last, if her enemies should
persevere and not voluntarily abandon the enterprise. Yet there was
room enough left for chance to excite by turns the hopes and fears
of the powers above who took part with either side. Juno and
Minerva, in consequence of the slight put upon their charms by
Paris, were hostile to the Trojans; Venus for the opposite cause
favoured them. Venus enlisted her admirer Mars on the same side, but
Neptune favoured the Greeks. Apollo was neutral, sometimes taking
one side, sometimes the other, and Jove himself, though he loved the
good King Priam, yet exercised a degree of impartiality; not, however,
without exceptions.

Thetis, the mother of Achilles, warmly resented the injury done to
her son. She repaired immediately to Jove’s palace and besought him to
make the Greeks repent of their injustice to Achilles by granting
success to the Trojan arms. Jupiter consented, and in the battle which
ensued the Trojans were completely successful. The Greeks were
driven from the field and took refuge in their ships.

Then Agamemnon called a council of his wisest and bravest chiefs.
Nestor advised that an embassy should be sent to Achilles to
persuade him to return to the field; that Agamemnon should yield the
maiden, the cause of the dispute, with ample gifts to atone for the
wrong he had done. Agamemnon consented, and Ulysses, Ajax and
Phoenix were sent to carry to Achilles the penitent message. They
performed that duty, but Achilles was deaf to their entreaties. He
positively refused to return to the field, and persisted in his
resolution to embark for Greece without delay.

The Greeks had constructed a rampart around their ships, and now
instead of besieging Troy they were in a manner besieged themselves,
within their rampart. The next day after the unsuccessful embassy to
Achilles, a battle was fought, and the Trojans, favoured by Jove, were
successful, and succeeded in forcing a passage through the Grecian
rampart, and were about to set fire to the ships. Neptune, seeing
the Greeks so pressed, came to their rescue. He appeared in the form
of Calchas the prophet, encouraged the warriors with his shouts, and
appealed to each individually till he raised their ardour to such a
pitch that they forced the Trojans to give way. Ajax performed
prodigies of valour, and at length encountered Hector. Ajax shouted
defiance, to which Hector replied, and hurled his lance at the huge
warrior. It was well aimed and struck Ajax, where the belts that
bore his sword and shield crossed each other on the breast. The double
guard prevented its penetrating and it fell harmless. Then Ajax,
seizing a huge stone, one of those that served to prop the ships,
hurled it at Hector. It struck him in the neck and stretched him on
the plain. His followers instantly seized him and bore him off,
stunned an wounded.

While Neptune was thus aiding the Greeks and driving back the
Trojans, Jupiter saw nothing of what was going on, for his attention
had been drawn from the field by the wiles of Juno. That goddess had
arrayed herself in all her charms, and to crown all had borrowed of
Venus her girdle, called “Cestus,” which had the effect to heighten
the wearer’s charms to such a degree that they were quite
irresistible. So prepared, Juno went to Join her husband, who sat on
Olympus watching the battle. When he beheld her she looked so charming
that the fondness of his early love revived, and, forgetting the
contending armies and all other affairs of state, he thought only of
her and let the battle go as it would.

But this absorption did not continue long, and when, upon turning
his eyes downward, he beheld Hector stretched on the plain almost
lifeless from pain and bruises, he dismissed Juno in a rage,
commanding her to send Iris and Apollo to him. When Iris came he
sent her with a stern message to Neptune, ordering him instantly to
quit the field. Apollo was despatched to heal Hector’s bruises and
to inspirit his heart. These orders were obeyed with such speed
that, while the battle still raged, Hector returned to the field and
Neptune betook himself to his own dominions.

An arrow from Paris’s bow wounded Machaon, son of Aesculapius, who
inherited his father’s art of healing, and was therefore of great
value to the Greeks as their surgeon, besides being one of their
bravest warriors. Nestor took Machaon in his chariot and conveyed
him from the field. As they passed the ships of Achilles, that hero,
looking out over the field, saw the chariot of Nestor and recognized
the old chief, but could not discern who the wounded chief was. So
calling Patroclus, his companion and dearest friend, he sent him to
Nestor’s tent to inquire.

Patroclus, arriving at Nestor’s tent, saw Machaon wounded, and
having told the cause of his coming would have hastened away, but
Nestor detained him, to tell him the extent of the Grecian calamities.
He reminded him also how, at the time of departing for Troy,
Achilles and himself had been charged by their respective fathers with
different advice: Achilles to aspire to the highest pitch of glory,
Patroclus, as the elder, to keep watch over his friend, and to guide
his inexperience. “Now,” said Nestor, “is the time for such influence.
If the gods so please, thou mayest win him back to the common cause;
but if not let him at least send his soldiers to the field, and come
thou, Patroclus, clad in his armour, and perhaps the very sight of
it may drive back the Trojans.”

Patroclus was strongly moved with this address, and hastened back to
Achilles, revolving in his mind all he had seen and heard. He told the
prince the sad condition of affairs at the camp of their late
associates: Diomede, Ulysses, Agamemnon, Machaon, all wounded, the
rampart broken down, the enemy among the ships preparing to burn them,
and thus to cut off all means of return to Greece. While they spoke
the flames burst forth from one of the ships. Achilles, at the
sight, relented so far as to grant Patroclus his request to lead the
Myrmidons (for so were Achilles’ soldiers called) to the field, and to
lend him his armour, that he might thereby strike more terror into the
minds of the Trojans. Without delay the soldiers were marshalled,
Patroclus put on the radiant armour and mounted the chariot of
Achilles, and led forth the men ardent for battle. But before he went,
Achilles strictly charged him that he should be content with repelling
the foe. “Seek not,” said he, “to press the Trojans without me, lest
thou add still more to the disgrace already mine.” Then exhorting
the troops to do their best he dismissed them full of ardour to the
fight.

Patroclus and his Myrmidons at once plunged into the contest where
it raged hottest; at the sight of which the joyful Grecians shouted
and the ships re-echoed the acclaim. The Trojans, at the sight of
the well-known armour, struck with terror, looked everywhere for
refuge. First those who had got possession of the ship and set it on
fire left and allowed the Grecians to retake it and extinguish the
flames. Then the rest of the Trojans fled in dismay. Ajax, Menelaus,
and the two sons of Nestor performed prodigies of valour. Hector was
forced to turn his horses’ heads and retire from the enclosure,
leaving his men entangled in the fosse to escape as they could.
Patroclus drove them before him, slaying many, none daring to make a
stand against him.

At last Sarpedon, son of Jove, ventured to oppose himself in fight
to Patroclus. Jupiter looked down upon him and would have snatched him
from the fate which awaited him, but Juno hinted that if he did so
it would induce all others of the inhabitants of heaven to interpose
in like manner whenever any of their offspring were endangered; to
which reason Jove yielded. Sarpedon threw his spear, but missed
Patroclus, but Patroclus threw his with better success. It pierced
Sarpedon’s breast and he fell, and, calling to his friends to save his
body from the foe, expired. Then a furious contest arose for the
possession of the corpse. The Greeks succeeded and stripped Sarpedon
of his armour; but Jove would not allow the remains of his son to be
dishonoured, and by his command Apollo snatched from the midst of
the combatants the body of Sarpedon and committed it to the care of
the twin brothers Death and Sleep, by whom it was transported to
Lycia, the native land of Sarpedon, where it received due funeral
rites.

Thus far Patroclus had succeeded to his utmost wish in repelling the
Trojans and relieving his countrymen, but now came a change of
fortune. Hector, borne in his chariot, confronted him. Patroclus threw
a vast stone at Hector, which missed its aim, but smote Cebriones, the
charioteer, and knocked him from the car. Hector leaped from the
chariot to rescue his friend, and Patroclus also descended to complete
his victory. Thus the two heroes met face to face. At this decisive
moment the poet, as if reluctant to give Hector the glory, records
that Phoebus took part against Patroclus. He struck the helmet from
his head and the lance from his hand. At the same moment an obscure
Trojan wounded him in the back, and Hector, pressing forward,
pierced him with his spear. He fell mortally wounded.

Then arose a tremendous conflict for the body of Patroclus, but
his armour was at once taken possession of by Hector, who retiring a
short distance divested himself of his own armour and put on that of
Achilles, then returned to the fight. Ajax and Menelaus defended the
body, and Hector and his bravest warriors struggled to capture it. The
battle raged with equal fortunes, when Jove enveloped the whole face
of heaven with a dark cloud. The lightning flashed, the thunder
roared, and Ajax, looking round for some one whom he might despatch to
Achilles to tell him of the death of his friend, and of the imminent
danger that his remains would fall into the hands of the enemy,
could see no suitable messenger. It was then that he exclaimed in
those famous lines so often quoted,

“Father of heaven and earth! deliver thou
Achaia’s host from darkness; clear the skies;
Give day; and, since thy sovereign will is such,
Destruction with it; but, O, give us day.”
Cowper.

Or, as rendered by Pope,

“…Lord of earth and air!
O king! O father! hear my humble prayer!
Dispel this cloud, the light of heaven restore;
Give me to see and Ajax asks no more;
If Greece must perish we thy will obey,
But let us perish in the face of day.”

Jupiter heard the prayer and dispersed the clouds. Then Ajax sent
Antilochus to Achilles with the intelligence of Patroclus’s death, and
of the conflict raging for his remains. The Greeks at last succeeded
in bearing off the body to the ships, closely pursued by Hector and
Aeneas and the rest of the Trojans.

Achilles heard the fate of his friend with such distress that
Antilochus feared for a while that he would destroy himself. His
groans reached the ears of his mother, Thetis, far down in the deeps
of ocean where she abode, and she hastened to him to inquire the
cause. She found him overwhelmed with self-reproach that he had
indulged his resentment so far, and suffered his friend to fall a
victim to it. But his only consolation was the hope of revenge. He
would fly instantly in search of Hector. But his mother reminded him
that he was now without armour, and promised him, if he would but wait
till the morrow, she would procure for him a suit of armour from
Vulcan more than equal to that he had lost. He consented, and Thetis
immediately repaired to Vulcan’s palace. She found him busy at his
forge making tripods for his own use, so artfully constructed that
they moved forward of their own accord when wanted, and retired
again when dismissed. On hearing the request of Thetis, Vulcan
immediately laid aside his work and hastened to comply with her
wishes. He fabricated a splendid suit of armour for Achilles, first
a shield adorned with elaborate devices, then a helmet crested with
gold, then a corselet and greaves of impenetrable temper, all
perfectly adapted to his form, and of consummate workmanship. It was
all done in one night, and Thetis, receiving it, descended with it
to earth and laid it down at Achilles’ feet at the dawn of day.

The first glow of pleasure that Achilles had felt since the death of
Patroclus was at the sight of this splendid armour. And now, arrayed
in it, he went forth into the camp, calling all the chiefs to council.
When they were all assembled he addressed them. Renouncing his
displeasure against Agamemnon and bitterly lamenting the miseries that
had resulted from it, he called on them to proceed at once to the
field. Agamemnon made a suitable reply, laying all the blame on Ate,
the goddess of discord; and thereupon complete reconcilement took
place between the heroes.

Then Achilles went forth to battle inspired with a rage and thirst
for vengeance that made him irresistible. The bravest warriors fled
before him or fell by his lance. Hector, cautioned by Apollo, kept
aloof; but the god, assuming the form of one of Priam’s sons,
Lycaon, urged Aeneas to encounter the terrible warrior. Aeneas, though
he felt himself unequal, did not decline the combat. He hurled his
spear with all his force against the shield, the work of Vulcan. It
was formed of five metal plates; two were of brass, two of tin, and
one of gold. The spear pierced two thicknesses, but was stopped in the
third. Achilles threw his with better success. It pierced through
the shield of Aeneas, but glanced near his shoulder and made no wound.
Then Aeneas seized a stone, such as two men of modern times could
hardly lift, and was about to throw it, and Achilles, with sword
drawn, was about to rush upon him, when Neptune, who looked out upon
the contest, moved with pity for Aeneas, who he saw would surely
fall a victim if not speedily rescued, spread a cloud between the
combatants, and lifting Aeneas from the ground, bore him over the
heads of warriors and steeds to the rear of the battle. Achilles, when
the mist cleared away, looked round in vain for his adversary, and
acknowledging the prodigy, turned his arms against other champions.
But none dared stand before him, and Priam looking down from the
city walls beheld his whole army in full flight towards the city. He
gave command to open wide the gates to receive the fugitives, and to
shut them as soon as the Trojans should have passed, lest the enemy
should enter likewise. But Achilles was so close in pursuit that
that would have been impossible if Apollo had not, in the form of
Agenor, Priam’s son, encountered Achilles for a while, then turned
to fly, and taken the way apart from the city. Achilles pursued and
had chased his supposed victim far from the walls, when Apollo
disclosed himself, and Achilles, perceiving how he had been deluded,
gave up the chase.

But when the rest had escaped into the town Hector stood without
determined to await the combat. His old father called to him from
the walls and begged him to retire nor tempt the encounter. His
mother, Hecuba, also besought him to the same effect, but all in vain.
“How can I,” said he to himself, “by whose command the people went
to this day’s contest, where so many have fallen, seek safety for
myself against a single foe? But what if I offer him to yield up Helen
and all her treasures and ample of our own beside? Ah, no! it is too
late. He would not even hear me through, but slay me while I spoke.”
While he thus ruminated, Achilles approached, terrible as Mars, his
armour flashing lightning as he moved. At that sight Hector’s heart
failed him and he fled. Achilles swiftly pursued. They ran, still
keeping near the walls, till they had thrice encircled the city. As
often as Hector approached the walls Achilles intercepted him and
forced him to keep out in a wider circle. But Apollo sustained
Hector’s strength and would not let him sink in weariness. Then
Pallas, assuming the form of Deiphobus, Hector’s bravest brother,
appeared suddenly at his side. Hector saw him with delight, and thus
strengthened stopped his flight and turned to meet Achilles. Hector
threw his spear, which struck the shield of Achilles and bounded back.
He. turned to receive another from the hand of Deiphobus, but
Deiphobus was gone. Then Hector understood his doom and said, “Alas!
it is plain this is my hour to die! I thought Deiphobus at hand, but
Pallas deceived me, and he is still in Troy. But I will not fall
inglorious.” So saying he drew his falchion from his side and rushed
at once to combat. Achilles, secure behind his shield, waited the
approach of Hector. When he came within reach of his spear, Achilles
choosing with his eye a vulnerable part where the armour leaves the
neck uncovered, aimed his spear at that part and Hector fell,
death-wounded, and feebly said, “Spare my body! Let my parents
ransom it, and let me receive funeral rites from the sons and
daughters of Troy.” To which Achilles replied, “Dog, name not ransom
nor pity to me, on whom you have brought such dire distress. No! trust
me, nought shall save thy carcass from the dogs. Though twenty ransoms
and thy weight in gold were offered, I would refuse it all.”

So saying he stripped the body of its armour, and fastening cords to
the feet tied them behind his chariot, leaving the body to trail along
the ground. Then mounting the chariot he lashed the steeds and so
dragged the body to and fro before the city. What words can tell the
grief of King Priam and Queen Hecuba at this sight! His people could
scarce restrain the old king from rushing forth. He threw himself in
the dust and besought them each by name to give him way. Hecuba’s
distress was not less violent. The citizens stood round them
weeping. The sound of the mourning reached the ears of Andromache, the
wife of Hector, as she sat among her maidens at work, and anticipating
evil she went forth to the wall. When she saw the sight there
presented, she would have thrown herself headlong from the wall, but
fainted and fell into the arms of her maidens. Recovering, she
bewailed her fate, picturing to herself her country ruined, herself
a captive, and her son dependent for his bread on the charity of
strangers.

When Achilles and the Greeks had taken their revenge on the killer
of Patroclus they busied themselves in paying due funeral rites to
their friend. A pile was erected, and the body burned with due
solemnity; and then ensued games of strength and skill, chariot races,
wrestling, boxing and archery. Then the chiefs sat down to the funeral
banquet and after that retired to rest. But Achilles neither partook
of the feast nor of sleep. The recollection of his lost friend kept
him awake, remembering their companionship in toil and dangers, in
battle or on the perilous deep. Before the earliest dawn he left his
tent, and joining to his chariot his swift steeds, he fastened
Hector’s body to be dragged behind. Twice he dragged him round the
tomb of Patroclus, leaving him at length stretched in the dust. But
Apollo would not permit the body to be torn or disfigured with all
this abuse, but preserved it free from all taint or defilement.

While Achilles indulged his wrath in thus disgracing brave Hector,
Jupiter in pity summoned Thetis to his presence. He told her to go
to her son and prevail on him to restore the body of Hector to his
friends. Then Jupiter sent Iris to King Priam to encourage him to go
to Achilles and beg the body of his son. Iris delivered her message,
and Priam immediately prepared to obey. He opened his treasuries and
took out rich garments and cloths, with ten talents in gold and two
splendid tripods and a golden cup of matchless workmanship. Then he
called to his sons and bade them draw forth his litter and place in it
the various articles designed for a ransom to Achilles. When all was
ready, the old king with a single companion as aged as himself, the
herald Idaeus, drove forth from the gates, parting there with
Hecuba, his queen, and all his friends, who lamented him as going to
certain death.

But Jupiter, beholding with compassion the venerable king, sent
Mercury to be his guide and protector. Mercury, assuming the form of a
young warrior, presented himself to the aged couple, and while at
the sight of him they hesitated whether to fly or yield, the god
approached, and grasping Priam’s hand offered to be their guide to
Achilles’ tent. Priam gladly accepted his offered service, and he,
mounting the carriage, assumed the reins and soon conveyed them to the
tent of Achilles. Mercury’s wand put to sleep all the guards, and
without hindrance he introduced Priam into the tent where Achilles
sat, attended by two of his warriors. The old king threw himself at
the feet of Achilles, and kissed those terrible hands which had
destroyed so many of his sons. “Think, O Achilles,” he said, “of thy
own father, full of days like me, and trembling on the gloomy verge of
life. Perhaps even now some neighbour chief oppresses him and there is
none at hand to succour him in his distress. Yet doubtless knowing
that Achilles lives he still rejoices, hoping that one day he shall
see thy face again. But no comfort cheers me, whose bravest sons, so
late the flower of Ilium, all have fallen. Yet one I had, one more
than all the rest the strength of my age, whom, fighting for his
country, thou hast slain. I come to redeem his body, bringing
inestimable ransom with me. Achilles! reverence the gods! recollect
thy father! for his sake show compassion to me!” These words moved
Achilles, and he wept remembering by turns his absent father and his
lost friend. Moved with pity of Priam’s silver locks and beard, he
raised him from the earth, and thus spake: “Priam, I know that thou
hast reached this place conducted by some god, for without aid
divine no mortal even in his prime of youth had dared the attempt. I
grant thy request, moved thereto by the evident will of Jove.” So
saying he arose, and went forth with his two friends, and unloaded
of its charge the litter, leaving two mantles and a robe for the
covering of the body, which they placed on the litter, and spread
the garments over it, that not unveiled it should be borne back to
Troy. Then Achilles dismissed the old king with his attendants, having
first pledged himself to allow a truce of twelve days for the
funeral solemnities.

As the litter approached the city and was descried from the walls,
the people poured forth to gaze once more on the face of their hero.
Foremost of all, the mother and the wife of Hector came, and at the
sight of the lifeless body renewed their lamentations. The people
all wept with them, and to the going down of the sun there was no
pause or abatement of their grief.

The next day preparations were made for the funeral solemnities. For
nine days the people brought wood and built the pile, and on the tenth
they placed the body on the summit and applied the torch; while all
Troy thronging forth encompassed the pile. When it had completely
burned, they quenched the cinders with wine, collected the bones and
placed them in a golden urn, which they buried in the earth, and
reared a pile of stones over the spot.

“Such honours Ilium to her hero paid,
And peaceful slept the mighty Hector’s shade.”
Pope.