Homer
c.800 BC
THE ILIAD
translated by Samuel Butler
BOOK XXIV
THE assembly now broke up and the people went their ways
each to his own ship. There they made ready their supper, and then bethought
them of the blessed boon of sleep; but Achilles still wept for thinking of his
dear comrade, and sleep, before whom all things bow, could take no hold upon
him. This way and that did he turn as he yearned after the might and manfulness
of Patroclus; he thought of all they had done together, and all they had gone
through both on the field of battle and on the waves of the weary sea. As he
dwelt on these things he wept bitterly and lay now on his side, now on his back,
and now face downwards, till at last he rose and went out as one distraught to
wander upon the seashore. Then, when he saw dawn breaking over beach and sea, he
yoked his horses to his chariot, and bound the body of Hector behind it that he
might drag it about. Thrice did he drag it round the tomb of the son of
Menoetius, and then went back into his tent, leaving the body on the ground full
length and with its face downwards. But Apollo would not suffer it to be
disfigured, for he pitied the man, dead though he now was; therefore he shielded
him with his golden aegis continually, that he might take no hurt while Achilles
was dragging him.
Thus shamefully did Achilles in his fury dishonour Hector;
but the blessed gods looked down in pity from heaven, and urged Mercury, slayer
of Argus, to steal the body. All were of this mind save only Juno, Neptune, and
Jove’s grey-eyed daughter, who persisted in the hate which they had ever borne
towards Ilius with Priam and his people; for they forgave not the wrong done
them by Alexandrus in disdaining the goddesses who came to him when he was in
his sheepyards, and preferring her who had offered him a wanton to his ruin.
When, therefore, the morning of the twelfth day had now
come, Phoebus Apollo spoke among the immortals saying, “You gods ought to be
ashamed of yourselves; you are cruel and hard-hearted. Did not Hector burn you
thigh-bones of heifers and of unblemished goats? And now dare you not rescue
even his dead body, for his wife to look upon, with his mother and child, his
father Priam, and his people, who would forthwith commit him to the flames, and
give him his due funeral rites? So, then, you would all be on the side of mad
Achilles, who knows neither right nor ruth? He is like some savage lion that in
the pride of his great strength and daring springs upon men’s flocks and gorges
on them. Even so has Achilles flung aside all pity, and all that conscience
which at once so greatly banes yet greatly boons him that will heed it. man may
lose one far dearer than Achilles has lost–a son, it may be, or a brother born
from his own mother’s womb; yet when he has mourned him and wept over him he
will let him bide, for it takes much sorrow to kill a man; whereas Achilles, now
that he has slain noble Hector, drags him behind his chariot round the tomb of
his comrade. It were better of him, and for him, that he should not do so, for
brave though he be we gods may take it ill that he should vent his fury upon
dead clay.”
Juno spoke up in a rage. “This were well,” she cried, “O
lord of the silver bow, if you would give like honour to Hector and to Achilles;
but Hector was mortal and suckled at a woman’s breast, whereas Achilles is the
offspring of a goddess whom I myself reared and brought up. I married her to
Peleus, who is above measure dear to the immortals; you gods came all of you to
her wedding; you feasted along with them yourself and brought your lyre–false,
and fond of low company, that you have ever been.”
Then said Jove, “Juno, be not so bitter. Their honour shall
not be equal, but of all that dwell in Ilius, Hector was dearest to the gods, as
also to myself, for his offerings never failed me. Never was my altar stinted of
its dues, nor of the drink-offerings and savour of sacrifice which we claim of
right. I shall therefore permit the body of mighty Hector to be stolen; and yet
this may hardly be without Achilles coming to know it, for his mother keeps
night and day beside him. Let some one of you, therefore, send Thetis to me, and
I will impart my counsel to her, namely that Achilles is to accept a ransom from
Priam, and give up the body.”
On this Iris fleet as the wind went forth to carry his
message. Down she plunged into the dark sea midway between Samos and rocky
Imbrus; the waters hissed as they closed over her, and she sank into the bottom
as the lead at the end of an ox-horn, that is sped to carry death to fishes. She
found Thetis sitting in a great cave with the other sea-goddesses gathered round
her; there she sat in the midst of them weeping for her noble son who was to
fall far from his own land, on the rich plains of Troy. Iris went up to her and
said, “Rise Thetis; Jove, whose counsels fail not, bids you come to him.” And
Thetis answered, “Why does the mighty god so bid me? I am in great grief, and
shrink from going in and out among the immortals. Still, I will go, and the word
that he may speak shall not be spoken in vain.”
The goddess took her dark veil, than which there can be no
robe more sombre, and went forth with fleet Iris leading the way before her. The
waves of the sea opened them a path, and when they reached the shore they flew
up into the heavens, where they found the all-seeing son of Saturn with the
blessed gods that live for ever assembled near him. Minerva gave up her seat to
her, and she sat down by the side of father Jove. Juno then placed a fair golden
cup in her hand, and spoke to her in words of comfort, whereon Thetis drank and
gave her back the cup; and the sire of gods and men was the first to speak.
“So, goddess,” said he, “for all your sorrow, and the grief
that I well know reigns ever in your heart, you have come hither to Olympus, and
I will tell you why I have sent for you. This nine days past the immortals have
been quarrelling about Achilles waster of cities and the body of Hector. The
gods would have Mercury slayer of Argus steal the body, but in furtherance of
our peace and amity henceforward, I will concede such honour to your son as I
will now tell you. Go, then, to the host and lay these commands upon him; say
that the gods are angry with him, and that I am myself more angry than them all,
in that he keeps Hector at the ships and will not give him up. He may thus fear
me and let the body go. At the same time I will send Iris to great Priam to bid
him go to the ships of the Achaeans, and ransom his son, taking with him such
gifts for Achilles as may give him satisfaction.”
Silver-footed Thetis did as the god had told her, and
forthwith down she darted from the topmost summits of Olympus. She went to her
son’s tents where she found him grieving bitterly, while his trusty comrades
round him were busy preparing their morning meal, for which they had killed a
great woolly sheep. His mother sat down beside him and caressed him with her
hand saying, “My son, how long will you keep on thus grieving and making moan?
You are gnawing at your own heart, and think neither of food nor of woman’s
embraces; and yet these too were well, for you have no long time to live, and
death with the strong hand of fate are already close beside you. Now, therefore,
heed what I say, for I come as a messenger from Jove; he says that the gods are
angry with you, and himself more angry than them all, in that you keep Hector at
the ships and will not give him up. Therefore let him go, and accept a ransom
for his body.”
And Achilles answered, “So be it. If Olympian Jove of his
own motion thus commands me, let him that brings the ransom bear the body away.”
Thus did mother and son talk together at the ships in long
discourse with one another. Meanwhile the son of Saturn sent Iris to the strong
city of Ilius. “Go,” said he, “fleet Iris, from the mansions of Olympus, and
tell King Priam in Ilius, that he is to go to the ships of the Achaeans and free
the body of his dear son. He is to take such gifts with him as shall give
satisfaction to Achilles, and he is to go alone, with no other Trojan, save only
some honoured servant who may drive his mules and waggon, and bring back the
body of him whom noble Achilles has slain. Let him have no thought nor fear of
death in his heart, for we will send the slayer of Argus to escort him, and
bring him within the tent of Achilles. Achilles will not kill him nor let
another do so, for he will take heed to his ways and sin not, and he will
entreat a suppliant with all honourable courtesy.”
On this Iris, fleet as the wind, sped forth to deliver her
message. She went to Priam’s house, and found weeping and lamentation therein.
His sons were seated round their father in the outer courtyard, and their
raiment was wet with tears: the old man sat in the midst of them with his mantle
wrapped close about his body, and his head and neck all covered with the filth
which he had clutched as he lay grovelling in the mire. His daughters and his
sons’ wives went wailing about the house, as they thought of the many and brave
men who lay dead, slain by the Argives. The messenger of Jove stood by Priam and
spoke softly to him, but fear fell upon him as she did so. “Take heart,” she
said, “Priam offspring of Dardanus, take heart and fear not. I bring no evil
tidings, but am minded well towards you. I come as a messenger from Jove, who
though he be not near, takes thought for you and pities you. The lord of Olympus
bids you go and ransom noble Hector, and take with you such gifts as shall give
satisfaction to Achilles. You are to go alone, with no Trojan, save only some
honoured servant who may drive your mules and waggon, and bring back to the city
the body of him whom noble Achilles has slain. You are to have no thought, nor
fear of death, for Jove will send the slayer of Argus to escort you. When he has
brought you within Achilles’ tent, Achilles will not kill you nor let another do
so, for he will take heed to his ways and sin not, and he will entreat a
suppliant with all honourable courtesy.”
Iris went her way when she had thus spoken, and Priam told
his sons to get a mule-waggon ready, and to make the body of the waggon fast
upon the top of its bed. Then he went down into his fragrant store-room,
high-vaulted, and made of cedar-wood, where his many treasures were kept, and he
called Hecuba his wife. “Wife,” said he, “a messenger has come to me from
Olympus, and has told me to go to the ships of the Achaeans to ransom my dear
son, taking with me such gifts as shall give satisfaction to Achilles. What
think you of this matter? for my own part I am greatly moved to pass through the
camps of the Achaeans and go to their ships.”
His wife cried aloud as she heard him, and said, “Alas,
what has become of that judgement for which you have been ever famous both among
strangers and your own people? How can you venture alone to the ships of the
Achaeans, and look into the face of him who has slain so many of your brave
sons? You must have iron courage, for if the cruel savage sees you and lays hold
on you, he will know neither respect nor pity. Let us then weep Hector from afar
here in our own house, for when I gave him birth the threads of overruling fate
were spun for him that dogs should eat his flesh far from his parents, in the
house of that terrible man on whose liver I would fain fasten and devour it.
Thus would I avenge my son, who showed no cowardice when Achilles slew him, and
thought neither of flight nor of avoiding battle as he stood in defence of
Trojan men and Trojan women.”
Then Priam said, “I would go, do not therefore stay me nor
be as a bird of ill omen in my house, for you will not move me. Had it been some
mortal man who had sent me some prophet or priest who divines from sacrifice–I
should have deemed him false and have given him no heed; but now I have heard
the goddess and seen her face to face, therefore I will go and her saying shall
not be in vain. If it be my fate to die at the ships of the Achaeans even so
would I have it; let Achilles slay me, if I may but first have taken my son in
my arms and mourned him to my heart’s comforting.”
So saying he lifted the lids of his chests, and took out
twelve goodly vestments. He took also twelve cloaks of single fold, twelve rugs,
twelve fair mantles, and an equal number of shirts. He weighed out ten talents
of gold, and brought moreover two burnished tripods, four cauldrons, and a very
beautiful cup which the Thracians had given him when he had gone to them on an
embassy; it was very precious, but he grudged not even this, so eager was he to
ransom the body of his son. Then he chased all the Trojans from the court and
rebuked them with words of anger. “Out,” he cried, “shame and disgrace to me
that you are. Have you no grief in your own homes that you are come to plague me
here? Is it a small thing, think you, that the son of Saturn has sent this
sorrow upon me, to lose the bravest of my sons? Nay, you shall prove it in
person, for now he is gone the Achaeans will have easier work in killing you. As
for me, let me go down within the house of Hades, ere mine eyes behold the
sacking and wasting of the city.”
He drove the men away with his staff, and they went forth
as the old man sped them. Then he called to his sons, upbraiding Helenus, Paris,
noble Agathon, Pammon, Antiphonus, Polites of the loud battle-cry, Deiphobus,
Hippothous, and Dius. These nine did the old man call near him. “Come to me at
once,” he cried, “worthless sons who do me shame; would that you had all been
killed at the ships rather than Hector. Miserable man that I am, I have had the
bravest sons in all Troy–noble Nestor, Troilus the dauntless charioteer, and
Hector who was a god among men, so that one would have thought he was son to an
immortal–yet there is not one of them left. Mars has slain them and those of
whom I am ashamed are alone left me. Liars, and light of foot, heroes of the
dance, robbers of lambs and kids from your own people, why do you not get a
waggon ready for me at once, and put all these things upon it that I may set out
on my way?”
Thus did he speak, and they feared the rebuke of their
father. They brought out a strong mule-waggon, newly made, and set the body of
the waggon fast on its bed. They took the mule-yoke from the peg on which it
hung, a yoke of boxwood with a knob on the top of it and rings for the reins to
go through. Then they brought a yoke-band eleven cubits long, to bind the yoke
to the pole; they bound it on at the far end of the pole, and put the ring over
the upright pin making it fast with three turns of the band on either side the
knob, and bending the thong of the yoke beneath it. This done, they brought from
the store-chamber the rich ransom that was to purchase the body of Hector, and
they set it all orderly on the waggon; then they yoked the strong harness-mules
which the Mysians had on a time given as a goodly present to Priam; but for
Priam himself they yoked horses which the old king had bred, and kept for own
use.
Thus heedfully did Priam and his servant see to the yolking
of their cars at the palace. Then Hecuba came to them all sorrowful, with a
golden goblet of wine in her right hand, that they might make a drink-offering
before they set out. She stood in front of the horses and said, “Take this, make
a drink-offering to father Jove, and since you are minded to go to the ships in
spite of me, pray that you may come safely back from the hands of your enemies.
Pray to the son of Saturn lord of the whirlwind, who sits on Ida and looks down
over all Troy, pray him to send his swift messenger on your right hand, the bird
of omen which is strongest and most dear to him of all birds, that you may see
it with your own eyes and trust it as you go forth to the ships of the Danaans.
If all-seeing Jove will not send you this messenger, however set upon it you may
be, I would not have you go to the ships of the Argives.”
And Priam answered, “Wife, I will do as you desire me; it
is well to lift hands in prayer to Jove, if so be he may have mercy upon me.”
With this the old man bade the serving-woman pour pure
water over his hands, and the woman came, bearing the water in a bowl. He washed
his hands and took the cup from his wife; then he made the drink-offering and
prayed, standing in the middle of the courtyard and turning his eyes to heaven.
“Father Jove,” he said, “that rulest from Ida, most glorious and most great,
grant that I may be received kindly and compassionately in the tents of
Achilles; and send your swift messenger upon my right hand, the bird of omen
which is strongest and most dear to you of all birds, that I may see it with my
own eyes and trust it as I go forth to the ships of the Danaans.”
So did he pray, and Jove the lord of counsel heard his
prayer. Forthwith he sent an eagle, the most unerring portent of all birds that
fly, the dusky hunter that men also call the Black Eagle. His wings were spread
abroad on either side as wide as the well-made and well-bolted door of a rich
man’s chamber. He came to them flying over the city upon their right hands, and
when they saw him they were glad and their hearts took comfort within them. The
old man made haste to mount his chariot, and drove out through the inner gateway
and under the echoing gatehouse of the outer court. Before him went the mules
drawing the four-wheeled waggon, and driven by wise Idaeus; behind these were
the horses, which the old man lashed with his whip and drove swiftly through the
city, while his friends followed after, wailing and lamenting for him as though
he were on his road to death. As soon as they had come down from the city and
had reached the plain, his sons and sons-in-law who had followed him went back
to Ilius.
But Priam and Idaeus as they showed out upon the plain did
not escape the ken of all-seeing Jove, who looked down upon the old man and
pitied him; then he spoke to his son Mercury and said, “Mercury, for it is you
who are the most disposed to escort men on their way, and to hear those whom you
will hear, go, and so conduct Priam to the ships of the Achaeans that no other
of the Danaans shall see him nor take note of him until he reach the son of
Peleus.”
Thus he spoke and Mercury, guide and guardian, slayer of
Argus, did as he was told. Forthwith he bound on his glittering golden sandals
with which he could fly like the wind over land and sea; he took the wand with
which he seals men’s eyes in sleep, or wakes them just as he pleases, and flew
holding it in his hand till he came to Troy and to the Hellespont. To look at,
he was like a young man of noble birth in the hey-day of his youth and beauty
with the down just coming upon his face.
Now when Priam and Idaeus had driven past the great tomb of
Ilius, they stayed their mules and horses that they might drink in the river,
for the shades of night were falling, when, therefore, Idaeus saw Mercury
standing near them he said to Priam, “Take heed, descendant of Dardanus; here is
matter which demands consideration. I see a man who I think will presently fall
upon us; let us fly with our horses, or at least embrace his knees and implore
him to take compassion upon us?”
When he heard this the old man’s heart failed him, and he
was in great fear; he stayed where he was as one dazed, and the hair stood on
end over his whole body; but the bringer of good luck came up to him and took
him by the hand, saying, “Whither, father, are you thus driving your mules and
horses in the dead of night when other men are asleep? Are you not afraid of the
fierce Achaeans who are hard by you, so cruel and relentless? Should some one of
them see you bearing so much treasure through the darkness of the flying night,
what would not your state then be? You are no longer young, and he who is with
you is too old to protect you from those who would attack you. For myself, I
will do you no harm, and I will defend you from any one else, for you remind me
of my own father.”
And Priam answered, “It is indeed as you say, my dear son;
nevertheless some god has held his hand over me, in that he has sent such a
wayfarer as yourself to meet me so opportunely; you are so comely in mien and
figure, and your judgement is so excellent that you must come of blessed
parents.”
Then said the slayer of Argus, guide and guardian, “Sir,
all that you have said is right; but tell me and tell me true, are you taking
this rich treasure to send it to a foreign people where it may be safe, or are
you all leaving strong Ilius in dismay now that your son has fallen who was the
bravest man among you and was never lacking in battle with the Achaeans?”
And Priam said, “Who are you, my friend, and who are your
parents, that you speak so truly about the fate of my unhappy son?”
The slayer of Argus, guide and guardian, answered him,
“Sir, you would prove me, that you question me about noble Hector. Many a time
have I set eyes upon him in battle when he was driving the Argives to their
ships and putting them to the sword. We stood still and marvelled, for Achilles
in his anger with the son of Atreus suffered us not to fight. I am his squire,
and came with him in the same ship. I am a Myrmidon, and my father’s name is
Polyctor: he is a rich man and about as old as you are; he has six sons besides
myself, and I am the seventh. We cast lots, and it fell upon me to sail hither
with Achilles. I am now come from the ships on to the plain, for with daybreak
the Achaeans will set battle in array about the city. They chafe at doing
nothing, and are so eager that their princes cannot hold them back.”
Then answered Priam, “If you are indeed the squire of
Achilles son of Peleus, tell me now the whole truth. Is my son still at the
ships, or has Achilles hewn him limb from limb, and given him to his hounds?”
“Sir,” replied the slayer of Argus, guide and guardian,
“neither hounds nor vultures have yet devoured him; he is still just lying at
the tents by the ship of Achilles, and though it is now twelve days that he has
lain there, his flesh is not wasted nor have the worms eaten him although they
feed on warriors. At daybreak Achilles drags him cruelly round the sepulchre of
his dear comrade, but it does him no hurt. You should come yourself and see how
he lies fresh as dew, with the blood all washed away, and his wounds every one
of them closed though many pierced him with their spears. Such care have the
blessed gods taken of your brave son, for he was dear to them beyond all
measure.”
The old man was comforted as he heard him and said, “My
son, see what a good thing it is to have made due offerings to the immortals;
for as sure as that he was born my son never forgot the gods that hold Olympus,
and now they requite it to him even in death. Accept therefore at my hands this
goodly chalice; guard me and with heaven’s help guide me till I come to the tent
of the son of Peleus.”
Then answered the slayer of Argus, guide and guardian,
“Sir, you are tempting me and playing upon my youth, but you shall not move me,
for you are offering me presents without the knowledge of Achilles whom I fear
and hold it great guilt to defraud, lest some evil presently befall me; but as
your guide I would go with you even to Argos itself, and would guard you so
carefully whether by sea or land, that no one should attack you through making
light of him who was with you.”
The bringer of good luck then sprang on to the chariot, and
seizing the whip and reins he breathed fresh spirit into the mules and horses.
When they reached the trench and the wall that was before the ships, those who
were on guard had just been getting their suppers, and the slayer of Argus threw
them all into a deep sleep. Then he drew back the bolts to open the gates, and
took Priam inside with the treasure he had upon his waggon. Ere long they came
to the lofty dwelling of the son of Peleus for which the Myrmidons had cut pine
and which they had built for their king; when they had built it they thatched it
with coarse tussock-grass which they had mown out on the plain, and all round it
they made a large courtyard, which was fenced with stakes set close together.
The gate was barred with a single bolt of pine which it took three men to force
into its place, and three to draw back so as to open the gate, but Achilles
could draw it by himself. Mercury opened the gate for the old man, and brought
in the treasure that he was taking with him for the son of Peleus. Then he
sprang from the chariot on to the ground and said, “Sir, it is I, immortal
Mercury, that am come with you, for my father sent me to escort you. I will now
leave you, and will not enter into the presence of Achilles, for it might anger
him that a god should befriend mortal men thus openly. Go you within, and
embrace the knees of the son of Peleus: beseech him by his father, his lovely
mother, and his son; thus you may move him.”
With these words Mercury went back to high Olympus. Priam
sprang from his chariot to the ground, leaving Idaeus where he was, in charge of
the mules and horses. The old man went straight into the house where Achilles,
loved of the gods, was sitting. There he found him with his men seated at a
distance from him: only two, the hero Automedon, and Alcimus of the race of
Mars, were busy in attendance about his person, for he had but just done eating
and drinking, and the table was still there. King Priam entered without their
seeing him, and going right up to Achilles he clasped his knees and kissed the
dread murderous hands that had slain so many of his sons.
As when some cruel spite has befallen a man that he should
have killed some one in his own country, and must fly to a great man’s
protection in a land of strangers, and all marvel who see him, even so did
Achilles marvel as he beheld Priam. The others looked one to another and
marvelled also, but Priam besought Achilles saying, “Think of your father, O
Achilles like unto the gods, who is such even as I am, on the sad threshold of
old age. It may be that those who dwell near him harass him, and there is none
to keep war and ruin from him. Yet when he hears of you being still alive, he is
glad, and his days are full of hope that he shall see his dear son come home to
him from Troy; but I, wretched man that I am, had the bravest in all Troy for my
sons, and there is not one of them left. I had fifty sons when the Achaeans came
here; nineteen of them were from a single womb, and the others were borne to me
by the women of my household. The greater part of them has fierce Mars laid low,
and Hector, him who was alone left, him who was the guardian of the city and
ourselves, him have you lately slain; therefore I am now come to the ships of
the Achaeans to ransom his body from you with a great ransom. Fear, O Achilles,
the wrath of heaven; think on your own father and have compassion upon me, who
am the more pitiable, for I have steeled myself as no man yet has ever steeled
himself before me, and have raised to my lips the hand of him who slew my son.”
Thus spoke Priam, and the heart of Achilles yearned as he
bethought him of his father. He took the old man’s hand and moved him gently
away. The two wept bitterly–Priam, as he lay at Achilles’ feet, weeping for
Hector, and Achilles now for his father and now for Patroclous, till the house
was filled with their lamentation. But when Achilles was now sated with grief
and had unburthened the bitterness of his sorrow, he left his seat and raised
the old man by the hand, in pity for his white hair and beard; then he said,
“Unhappy man, you have indeed been greatly daring; how could you venture to come
alone to the ships of the Achaeans, and enter the presence of him who has slain
so many of your brave sons? You must have iron courage: sit now upon this seat,
and for all our grief we will hide our sorrows in our hearts, for weeping will
not avail us. The immortals know no care, yet the lot they spin for man is full
of sorrow; on the floor of Jove’s palace there stand two urns, the one filled
with evil gifts, and the other with good ones. He for whom Jove the lord of
thunder mixes the gifts he sends, will meet now with good and now with evil
fortune; but he to whom Jove sends none but evil gifts will be pointed at by the
finger of scorn, the hand of famine will pursue him to the ends of the world,
and he will go up and down the face of the earth, respected neither by gods nor
men. Even so did it befall Peleus; the gods endowed him with all good things
from his birth upwards, for he reigned over the Myrmidons excelling all men in
prosperity and wealth, and mortal though he was they gave him a goddess for his
bride. But even on him too did heaven send misfortune, for there is no race of
royal children born to him in his house, save one son who is doomed to die all
untimely; nor may I take care of him now that he is growing old, for I must stay
here at Troy to be the bane of you and your children. And you too, O Priam, I
have heard that you were aforetime happy. They say that in wealth and plenitude
of offspring you surpassed all that is in Lesbos, the realm of Makar to the
northward, Phrygia that is more inland, and those that dwell upon the great
Hellespont; but from the day when the dwellers in heaven sent this evil upon
you, war and slaughter have been about your city continually. Bear up against
it, and let there be some intervals in your sorrow. Mourn as you may for your
brave son, you will take nothing by it. You cannot raise him from the dead, ere
you do so yet another sorrow shall befall you.”
And Priam answered, “O king, bid me not be seated, while
Hector is still lying uncared for in your tents, but accept the great ransom
which I have brought you, and give him to me at once that I may look upon him.
May you prosper with the ransom and reach your own land in safety, seeing that
you have suffered me to live and to look upon the light of the sun.”
Achilles looked at him sternly and said, “Vex me, sir, no
longer; I am of myself minded to give up the body of Hector. My mother, daughter
of the old man of the sea, came to me from Jove to bid me deliver it to you.
Moreover I know well, O Priam, and you cannot hide it, that some god has brought
you to the ships of the Achaeans, for else, no man however strong and in his
prime would dare to come to our host; he could neither pass our guard unseen,
nor draw the bolt of my gates thus easily; therefore, provoke me no further,
lest I sin against the word of Jove, and suffer you not, suppliant though you
are, within my tents.”
The old man feared him and obeyed. Then the son of Peleus
sprang like a lion through the door of his house, not alone, but with him went
his two squires Automedon and Alcimus who were closer to him than any others of
his comrades now that Patroclus was no more. These unyoked the horses and mules,
and bade Priam’s herald and attendant be seated within the house. They lifted
the ransom for Hector’s body from the waggon. but they left two mantles and a
goodly shirt, that Achilles might wrap the body in them when he gave it to be
taken home. Then he called to his servants and ordered them to wash the body and
anoint it, but he first took it to a place where Priam should not see it, lest
if he did so, he should break out in the bitterness of his grief, and enrage
Achilles, who might then kill him and sin against the word of Jove. When the
servants had washed the body and anointed it, and had wrapped it in a fair shirt
and mantle, Achilles himself lifted it on to a bier, and he and his men then
laid it on the waggon. He cried aloud as he did so and called on the name of his
dear comrade, “Be not angry with me, Patroclus,” he said, “if you hear even in
the house of Hades that I have given Hector to his father for a ransom. It has
been no unworthy one, and I will share it equitably with you.”
Achilles then went back into the tent and took his place on
the richly inlaid seat from which he had risen, by the wall that was at right
angles to the one against which Priam was sitting. “Sir,” he said, “your son is
now laid upon his bier and is ransomed according to desire; you shall look upon
him when you him away at daybreak; for the present let us prepare our supper.
Even lovely Niobe had to think about eating, though her twelve children–six
daughters and six lusty sons–had been all slain in her house. Apollo killed the
sons with arrows from his silver bow, to punish Niobe, and Diana slew the
daughters, because Niobe had vaunted herself against Leto; she said Leto had
borne two children only, whereas she had herself borne many–whereon the two
killed the many. Nine days did they lie weltering, and there was none to bury
them, for the son of Saturn turned the people into stone; but on the tenth day
the gods in heaven themselves buried them, and Niobe then took food, being worn
out with weeping. They say that somewhere among the rocks on the mountain
pastures of Sipylus, where the nymphs live that haunt the river Achelous, there,
they say, she lives in stone and still nurses the sorrows sent upon her by the
hand of heaven. Therefore, noble sir, let us two now take food; you can weep for
your dear son hereafter as you are bearing him back to Ilius–and many a tear
will he cost you.”
With this Achilles sprang from his seat and killed a sheep
of silvery whiteness, which his followers skinned and made ready all in due
order. They cut the meat carefully up into smaller pieces, spitted them, and
drew them off again when they were well roasted. Automedon brought bread in fair
baskets and served it round the table, while Achilles dealt out the meat, and
they laid their hands on the good things that were before them. As soon as they
had had enough to eat and drink, Priam, descendant of Dardanus, marvelled at the
strength and beauty of Achilles for he was as a god to see, and Achilles
marvelled at Priam as he listened to him and looked upon his noble presence.
When they had gazed their fill Priam spoke first. “And now, O king,” he said,
“take me to my couch that we may lie down and enjoy the blessed boon of sleep.
Never once have my eyes been closed from the day your hands took the life of my
son; I have grovelled without ceasing in the mire of my stable-yard, making moan
and brooding over my countless sorrows. Now, moreover, I have eaten bread and
drunk wine; hitherto I have tasted nothing.”
As he spoke Achilles told his men and the women-servants to
set beds in the room that was in the gatehouse, and make them with good red
rugs, and spread coverlets on the top of them with woollen cloaks for Priam and
Idaeus to wear. So the maids went out carrying a torch and got the two beds
ready in all haste. Then Achilles said laughingly to Priam, “Dear sir, you shall
lie outside, lest some counsellor of those who in due course keep coming to
advise with me should see you here in the darkness of the flying night, and tell
it to Agamemnon. This might cause delay in the delivery of the body. And now
tell me and tell me true, for how many days would you celebrate the funeral
rites of noble Hector? Tell me, that I may hold aloof from war and restrain the
host.”
And Priam answered, “Since, then, you suffer me to bury my
noble son with all due rites, do thus, Achilles, and I shall be grateful. You
know how we are pent up within our city; it is far for us to fetch wood from the
mountain, and the people live in fear. Nine days, therefore, will we mourn
Hector in my house; on the tenth day we will bury him and there shall be a
public feast in his honour; on the eleventh we will build a mound over his
ashes, and on the twelfth, if there be need, we will fight.”
And Achilles answered, “All, King Priam, shall be as you
have said. I will stay our fighting for as long a time as you have named.”
As he spoke he laid his hand on the old man’s right wrist,
in token that he should have no fear; thus then did Priam and his attendant
sleep there in the forecourt, full of thought, while Achilles lay in an inner
room of the house, with fair Briseis by his side.
And now both gods and mortals were fast asleep through the
livelong night, but upon Mercury alone, the bringer of good luck, sleep could
take no hold for he was thinking all the time how to get King Priam away from
the ships without his being seen by the strong force of sentinels. He hovered
therefore over Priam’s head and said, “Sir, now that Achilles has spared your
life, you seem to have no fear about sleeping in the thick of your foes. You
have paid a great ransom, and have received the body of your son; were you still
alive and a prisoner the sons whom you have left at home would have to give
three times as much to free you; and so it would be if Agamemnon and the other
Achaeans were to know of your being here.”
When he heard this the old man was afraid and roused his
servant. Mercury then yoked their horses and mules, and drove them quickly
through the host so that no man perceived them. When they came to the ford of
eddying Xanthus, begotten of immortal Jove, Mercury went back to high Olympus,
and dawn in robe of saffron began to break over all the land. Priam and Idaeus
then drove on toward the city lamenting and making moan, and the mules drew the
body of Hector. No one neither man nor woman saw them, till Cassandra, fair as
golden Venus standing on Pergamus, caught sight of her dear father in his
chariot, and his servant that was the city’s herald with him. Then she saw him
that was lying upon the bier, drawn by the mules, and with a loud cry she went
about the city saying, “Come hither Trojans, men and women, and look on Hector;
if ever you rejoiced to see him coming from battle when he was alive, look now
on him that was the glory of our city and all our people.”
At this there was not man nor woman left in the city, so
great a sorrow had possessed them. Hard by the gates they met Priam as he was
bringing in the body. Hector’s wife and his mother were the first to mourn him:
they flew towards the waggon and laid their hands upon his head, while the crowd
stood weeping round them. They would have stayed before the gates, weeping and
lamenting the livelong day to the going down of the sun, had not Priam spoken to
them from the chariot and said, “Make way for the mules to pass you. Afterwards
when I have taken the body home you shall have your fill of weeping.”
On this the people stood asunder, and made a way for the
waggon. When they had borne the body within the house they laid it upon a bed
and seated minstrels round it to lead the dirge, whereon the women joined in the
sad music of their lament. Foremost among them all Andromache led their wailing
as she clasped the head of mighty Hector in her embrace. “Husband,” she cried,
“you have died young, and leave me in your house a widow; he of whom we are the
ill-starred parents is still a mere child, and I fear he may not reach manhood.
Ere he can do so our city will be razed and overthrown, for you who watched over
it are no more–you who were its saviour, the guardian of our wives and
children. Our women will be carried away captives to the ships, and I among
them; while you, my child, who will be with me will be put to some unseemly
tasks, working for a cruel master. Or, may be, some Achaean will hurl you (O
miserable death) from our walls, to avenge some brother, son, or father whom
Hector slew; many of them have indeed bitten the dust at his hands, for your
father’s hand in battle was no light one. Therefore do the people mourn him. You
have left, O Hector, sorrow unutterable to your parents, and my own grief is
greatest of all, for you did not stretch forth your arms and embrace me as you
lay dying, nor say to me any words that might have lived with me in my tears
night and day for evermore.”
Bitterly did she weep the while, and the women joined in
her lament. Hecuba in her turn took up the strains of woe. “Hector,” she cried,
“dearest to me of all my children. So long as you were alive the gods loved you
well, and even in death they have not been utterly unmindful of you; for when
Achilles took any other of my sons, he would sell him beyond the seas, to Samos
Imbrus or rugged Lemnos; and when he had slain you too with his sword, many a
time did he drag you round the sepulchre of his comrade–though this could not
give him life–yet here you lie all fresh as dew, and comely as one whom Apollo
has slain with his painless shafts.”
Thus did she too speak through her tears with bitter moan,
and then Helen for a third time took up the strain of lamentation. “Hector,”
said she, “dearest of all my brothers-in-law–for I am wife to Alexandrus who
brought me hither to Troy–would that I had died ere he did so–twenty years are
come and gone since I left my home and came from over the sea, but I have never
heard one word of insult or unkindness from you. When another would chide with
me, as it might be one of your brothers or sisters or of your brothers’ wives,
or my mother-in-law–for Priam was as kind to me as though he were my own
father–you would rebuke and check them with words of gentleness and goodwill.
Therefore my tears flow both for you and for my unhappy self, for there is no
one else in Troy who is kind to me, but all shrink and shudder as they go by
me.”
She wept as she spoke and the vast crowd that was gathered
round her joined in her lament. Then King Priam spoke to them saying, “Bring
wood, O Trojans, to the city, and fear no cunning ambush of the Argives, for
Achilles when he dismissed me from the ships gave me his word that they should
not attack us until the morning of the twelfth day.”
Forthwith they yoked their oxen and mules and gathered
together before the city. Nine days long did they bring in great heaps of wood,
and on the morning of the tenth day with many tears they took brave Hector
forth, laid his dead body upon the summit of the pile, and set the fire thereto.
Then when the child of morning, rosy-fingered dawn, appeared on the eleventh
day, the people again assembled, round the pyre of mighty Hector. When they were
got together, they first quenched the fire with wine wherever it was burning,
and then his brothers and comrades with many a bitter tear gathered his white
bones, wrapped them in soft robes of purple, and laid them in a golden urn,
which they placed in a grave and covered over with large stones set close
together. Then they built a barrow hurriedly over it keeping guard on every side
lest the Achaeans should attack them before they had finished. When they had
heaped up the barrow they went back again into the city, and being well
assembled they held high feast in the house of Priam their king.
Thus, then, did they celebrate the funeral of Hector tamer
of horses.
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