The War That Killed Achilles (26 page)

The traits that define Apollo—bringer and averter of destruction, healing powers, aloofness and withdrawal, youthful beauty, skill in the lyre—have a striking counterpart in the
Iliad:
these are the traits that also define Achilles, the most beautiful hero at Troy, whose wrath has wrought plaguelike destruction, who was taught healing arts by Cheiron, and who is discovered by the Embassy in his tent “delighting his heart in a lyre.”
³⁸
That their actions as well as attributes are parallel is made clear in the opening lines of the
Iliad,
which foretell how both god and man direct their divine wrath at the same person, Agamemnon.
³⁹
A tradition survives of an alternative proem for the
Iliad
that made this yet more explicit:

These striking similarities are of profound, tragic importance. In myth, “the gods often have a mortal double who could almost be mistaken for the god except for the fact that he is subject to death, and indeed is killed by the god himself.”
⁴¹
That Apollo will be Achilles' slayer, as he was the slayer of Patroklos, has long been known to Achilles. His mother has told him “ ‘that underneath the battlements of the armoured Trojans / I should be destroyed by the flying shafts of Apollo' ”; another trait Achilles shares with Apollo, to a limited degree, through his divine mother, is the gift of prophecy.
⁴²

Now, as Achilles gives chase to Apollo, the plain of Troy belongs to these two, the hero and the dark angel who shadows him so closely.
⁴³
Once the fleeing Trojans are safely battened inside the city walls, Apollo abruptly reveals his disguise in mocking triumph: “ ‘Why, son of Peleus, do you chase me, with those swift feet?' ”

“ ‘You have thwarted me,' ” Achilles retorts, “ ‘most malevolent of all the gods,' ” and as Apollo vanishes to Olympos, Achilles turns back to the walls of Troy. Suddenly the plain has emptied of the clamorous throngs. The Achaeans draw near Troy's battlements, but as a silent and inconsequential presence. The great panorama of battle has telescoped down to a small, hard point, and there are only two persons visible on the plain—indeed, only two in the entire cosmos: Achilles and somewhere, not yet quite in focus, alone and very small, Hektor.

The narrative point of view shifts starkly to Hektor and the inner turmoil of his soul. As Achilles approaches the Skaian Gates, murderous and invincible, it dawns on the Trojan hero, as it has never before, that there is an alternative to standing his ground. His nerve breaks; “trembling took hold of Hektor,” and, with the most swift-footed of all heroes in pursuit, he runs.

There can be few passages in all of literature that evoke with such fierce veracity the complexity of a soldier's courage. Like Achilles', Hektor's character has been undone. “I have learned to be valiant,” Hektor told Andromache, during their interlude together that now seems a very long time ago. At length, aided, deceitfully, by Athene, Hektor draws once more on this learned, unnatural knowledge and recollects himself.

“Courage is a moral quality,” wrote Lord Moran in 1945, in his classic examination of the same, drawing upon his memory of behavior he had witnessed—and medically treated—in the trenches of an earlier war; “it is not a chance gift of nature like an aptitude for games. It is a cold choice between two alternatives.”
⁴⁴
Hektor's choice and its tragic consequences occupy the entirety of Book Twenty-two—all of which follows here. And when at the last he determines to stand firm, the engagement commences between two noble men who both, when the
Iliad
opened, had wanted only to live.

The Death of Hektor

So those who had fled terrorized like fawns into the city
dried off their sweat and drank and slaked their thirst,
slumped on the splendid ramparts. The Achaeans, however,
drew near the walls with shields inclined against their shoulders;
and there ruinous fate bound Hektor to stand firm,
before the Skaian Gates of Ilion.

 

 

Now Phoibos Apollo hailed Peleion:
“Why, son of Peleus, do you chase me, with those swift feet,
you a mortal, I an undying god? You must not yet
know that I am divine, you rage after me so strenuously.
Is it of no concern, this business with the Trojans, whom you scattered
in fear—
who are by now cowering in the city, while you slope off here?
You will never kill me; I am not marked by fate.”
Then greatly stirred, swift-footed Achilles answered him:
“You have thwarted me, most malevolent of all the gods, you who
strike from afar,
turning me here away from the city walls; otherwise many would
have bitten the dirt before they arrived at Ilion.
Saving them, you have robbed me of great glory,
lightly, without fear of retribution;
I would pay you back, if that power were in me.”
So speaking, he made toward the city, intent on great things,
straining like a prizewinning horse who with his chariot
runs effortlessly, stretching over the flat—
so swiftly did Achilles move his feet and knees.
Old Priam first beheld him with his eyes
as, shining like a star, Achilles streaked across the plain,
the star that comes at summer's end, its clear gleaming
in the milky murk of night displayed among the multitude of stars
—the star they give the name Orion's Dog;
most radiant it is, but it makes an evil portent
and brings great feverish heat on pitiful mortal men—
just so did his bronze breastplate shine about Achilles running.
The old man cried out and hammered his head
with his hands; crying mightily, he called,
imploring his beloved son; for he before the gates
continued to stand firm, intent on combat with Achilles.
To him the old man called piteously, reaching out his hands:
“Hektor, for my sake, do not wait for this man
on your own, without allies, lest you push your fate,
broken by Peleion; he is so much stronger
and is pitiless; would that he were as dear to the gods
as he is to me—in short order would the dogs and vultures devour him
prostrated, and bitter pain would leave my heart.
This is the man who has bereaved me of many sons, brave sons,
killing them, or selling them to the outlying islands.
Even now there are two, Lykaon and Polydoros,
whom I cannot see in the city of the cowering Trojans,
sons whom Altes' daughter Laothoë bore me, a queen among women.
If they are alive somewhere among the army, then
I will ransom them for bronze or gold; all this is inside—
old, illustrious Altes endowed his daughter richly.
But if they have already died and are in the house of Hades,
this is grief to my heart, grief to their mother, we who bore them;
but to the rest of the people, it will be grief less lasting
than if you also should die, broken by Achilles.
Come inside the walls, my child, that you may save the
Trojan men and Trojan women; do not make a gift of glory to
the son of Peleus, who will rob you of your very life.
And on me—wretched and still sentient—have pity,
born to ill fate, whom on the threshold of old age father Zeus son of
Kronos
will blight in unendurable fate, when I have seen
the destruction of my sons, the abduction of my daughters,
my chambers ravaged, and innocent children
hurled to the ground in the terror of battle;
my daughters-in-law abducted by the wicked hands of Achaean men,
and I myself, last of all, at my very gates, my dogs
will rip raw, when some man with sharp bronze
stabbing or casting will strip the spirit from my limbs—
the dogs I raised in my halls and fed at my table as guardians of my
gates,
these, maddened by the drinking of my blood,
will sprawl in my doorway. All is decorous for the young man
slain in war, torn by sharp bronze,
laid out dead; whatever shows, everything is seemly when he dies.
But when the dogs defile the white head and white beard
and the private parts of a dead old man—
this is most pitiable for wretched mortals.”
So the old man spoke, and pulled his white hair with his hands,
tearing it from his head. But he did not persuade the heart of Hektor.
Now in turn his mother wailed, raining tears,
loosening her robe, with a hand she exposed her breast
and raining tears addressed him with winged words:
“Hektor, my child, be moved by this and have pity on me,
if ever I used to give you my breast to soothe you
—remember those times, dear child, defend yourself against this
deadly man
from inside the walls; don't stand as champion against him,
my stubborn one. If he cuts you down, I will surely never
mourn you on your deathbed, dear budding branch, whom I bore,
nor will your worthy wife. But a long way from us
by the ships of the Achaeans the running dogs will eat you.”
Thus both of them weeping addressed their dear son,
repeatedly beseeching. But they did not persuade the heart of Hektor,
but he awaited Achilles, who was looming huge as he drew near.
As a snake by its hole in the mountains waits for a man,
having tasted evil poisons, and an unendurable gall comes upon it,
and it shoots a stinging glance, coiled by its hole,
so Hektor keeping his spirit unquelled did not retreat
and leaned his shining shield against the jutting tower;
agitated, he spoke to his great-hearted spirit:
“O me, if I enter the gates and walls
Poulydamas will be the first to reproach me,
who bade me lead the Trojans to the city,
that baneful night when Achilles the godlike rose,
but I was not persuaded. It would have been far better if I had.
Now since I have destroyed my people by my recklessness,
I dread the Trojan men and the Trojan women with their trailing
robes,
lest some other man more worthless than me say:
‘Hektor, trusting in his strength, destroyed his people'—
thus they will speak. It would be far better, then, for me
to confront Achilles, either to kill him and return home
or to die with honor at his hands, before my city
—but what if I put aside my studded shield
and my strong helmet, leaned my spear against the walls,
and, going out alone, approached noble Achilles
and pledged to him Helen and the possessions with her?
All those things—as much as Alexandros carried away to Troy
in his hollow ships, which was the beginning of our quarrel—
to give to the sons of Atreus to lead away; and in addition
to divide everything else with the Achaeans, whatever this city holds,
and after that to make a formal oath with the Trojan council
not to hide anything, but to divide it all, equally,
whatever wealth this dear city guards within—
but why does my spirit recite these things?
I could set forth to meet him and he not pity me,
nor even respect me, but kill me naked as I was,
as if I were a woman, since I would have put off my armor.
It is not now possible from rock or oak, in the country way,
to chatter to him those things that a young girl and youth
chatter to each other, a girl and youth—
no, it is better to engage with him as quickly as possible;
we shall see to whom the Olympians give glory.”
Thus his thoughts churned as he waited, and Achilles drew near
equal to the War God, the helmet-shaking warrior,
brandishing his Pelian ash spear above his right shoulder,
terrifying. The bronze glinted around him like the flare
of blazing fire or of the sun rising.
And as he watched him, trembling took hold of Hektor; and he could
no longer endure
there to stand his ground but left the gates behind, and, terrified,
he ran.
The son of Peleus charged for him, trusting in the swiftness of his feet;
as a mountain hawk, lightest of all things on wings,
easily swoops after a terror-stricken dove,
which, away from under, flees, but crying sharply near
he swoops continuously and his spirit drives him to take her,
so Achilles flew straight for him, ravenous, and Hektor fled
under the walls of Troy, working his swift knees.
Past the watch place and the wild fig tree twisted by wind,
always away from the walls, along the wagon path they ran,
and reached the two fair-flowing streams, where the two springs
gush forth from the whirling waters of Skamandros.
One flows with warm water, enveloped with steam smoke
that comes from it as if from a burning fire.
The other even in summer runs as cold as hail,
or snow water, or ice that forms from water.
Near to these there are the broad washing hollows
of fine stone, where their lustrous clothes
the Trojan wives and their beautiful daughters washed
in those days before, in peacetime, before there came the sons of the
Achaeans.
By this place they ran, one fleeing, the other behind pursuing.
Outstanding was he who fled ahead—but far better he who
pursued him
swiftly, since it was not for a sacral animal nor for an ox hide
they contended, prizes in the races of men—
but they ran for the life of Hektor breaker of horses.
As when prizewinning horses with their uncloven hooves
tear around the turning post—a great prize awaits,
a tripod, or a woman, in those games held when a man has died—
so three times around the city of Priam they whirled
in the swiftness of their feet, and all the gods looked on.
To them the father of men and gods spoke the first word:
“Alas, it is a dear man whom my eyes see
pursued around the wall; my heart grieves
for Hektor, who has burned many thigh cuts of sacral oxen to me,
both on the summit of Ida of the many glens and at other times
on the heights of his citadel. But now godlike Achilles
pursues him in the swiftness of his feet around the city of Priam.
But come, you gods, consider and take council
whether we shall save him from death or,
noble though he is, at the hands of Peleion Achilles break him.”
Then the gray-eyed goddess Athene answered him:
“O father of the bright thunderbolt and black clouds, what have you
said?
This man who is mortal, consigned long ago to fate—
you want to take him back and free him from the harsh sorrow of
death?
Do so; but not all the other gods will approve.”
In answer, Zeus who gathers the clouds addressed her:
“Take heart, Tritogeneia, dear child. I did not now
speak in earnest; I am willing to be solicitous of you.
Act in whatever way your mind intends, nor hold back any longer.”
So speaking, he urged Athene, who had been eager even before;
and she went, slipping down from the peaks of Olympos.