The Iliad, Page 53

  to make a stand--and they turned white, none had nerve

  to charge forth now and fight it out for the corpse.

  So they labored to haul Patroclus from the war,

  back to the beaked ships as fighting flared behind them

  wild as a flash fire, sprung out of nowhere, storming down

  on a teeming city, houses caving in to the big blaze

  as gale-winds whip it into a roaring conflagration.

  So rose the relentless din of horse and fighting men

  breaking against them now as they struggled back to shore.

  Dead set as mules who put their backs in the labor ...

  dragging down from the cliffs along a stony trail

  some roof-beam or a heavy ship timber, slogging on

  till they nearly burst their hearts with sweat and labor--

  so they strained to carry off the corpse. Right behind them

  the two Aeantes held the Trojans off as a wooded rocky ridge

  stretched out across an entire plain holds back a flood,

  fighting off the killer-tides of the mounting rivers,

  beating them all back to swamp the lowland flats--

  none of their pounding waves can make a breakthrough.

  So the two Aeantes kept on beating the Trojans off

  but on they came, assaulting the rear, two in the lead,

  Aeneas the son of Anchises flanking glorious Hector.

  Flying before them now like clouds of crows or starlings

  screaming murder, seeing a falcon dive in for the kill,

  the hawk that wings grim death at smaller birds--

  so pursued by Aeneas and Hector Argive fighters

  raced, screaming death-cries, lust for battle lost

  and masses of fine armor littered both sides of the trench

  as the Argives fled in fear, no halt in the fighting, not now--

  BOOK EIGHTEEN

  The Shield of Achilles

  So the men fought on like a mass of whirling fire

  as swift Antilochus raced the message toward Achilles.

  Sheltered under his curving, beaked ships he found him,

  foreboding, deep down, all that had come to pass.

  Agonizing now he probed his own great heart:

  "Why, why? Our long-haired Achaeans routed again,

  driven in terror off the plain to crowd the ships, but why?

  Dear gods, don't bring to pass the grief that haunts my heart--

  the prophecy that mother revealed to me one time ...

  she said the best of the Myrmidons--while I lived--

  would fall at Trojan hands and leave the light of day.

  And now he's dead, I know it. Menoetius' gallant son,

  my headstrong friend! And I told Patroclus clearly,

  'Once you have beaten off the lethal fire, quick,

  come back to the ships--you must not battle Hector!' "

  As such fears went churning through his mind

  the warlord Nestor's son drew near him now,

  streaming warm tears, to give the dreaded message:

  "Ah son of royal Peleus, what you must hear from me!

  What painful news--would to god it had never happened!

  Patroclus has fallen. They're fighting over his corpse.

  He's stripped, naked--Hector with that flashing helmet,

  Hector has your arms!"

  So the captain reported.

  A black cloud of grief came shrouding over Achilles.

  Both hands clawing the ground for soot and filth,

  he poured it over his head, fouled his handsome face

  and black ashes settled onto his fresh clean war-shirt.

  Overpowered in all his power, sprawled in the dust,

  Achilles lay there, fallen ...

  tearing his hair, defiling it with his own hands.

  And the women he and Patroclus carried off as captives

  caught the grief in their hearts and keened and wailed,

  out of the tents they ran to ring the great Achilles,

  all of them beat their breasts with clenched fists,

  sank to the ground, each woman's knees gave way.

  Antilochus kneeling near, weeping uncontrollably,

  clutched Achilles' hands as he wept his proud heart out--

  for fear he would slash his throat with an iron blade.

  Achilles suddenly loosed a terrible, wrenching cry

  and his noble mother heard him, seated near her father,

  the Old Man of the Sea in the salt green depths,

  and she cried out in turn. And immortal sea-nymphs

  gathered round their sister, all the Nereids dwelling

  down the sounding depths, they all came rushing now--

  Glitter, blossoming Spray and the swells' Embrace,

  Fair-Isle and shadowy Cavern, Mist and Spindrift,

  ocean nymphs of the glances pooling deep and dark,

  Race-with-the-Waves and Headlands' Hope and Safe Haven,

  Glimmer of Honey, Suave-and-Soothing, Whirlpool, Brilliance,

  Bounty and First Light and Speeder of Ships and buoyant Power,

  Welcome Home and Bather of Meadows and Master's Lovely

  Consort,

  Gift of the Sea, Eyes of the World and the famous milk-white Calm

  and Truth and Never-Wrong and the queen who rules the tides

  in beauty

  and in rushed Glory and Healer of Men and the one who rescues

  kings

  and Sparkler, Down-from-the-Cliffs, sleek-haired Strands of Sand

  and all the rest of the Nereids dwelling down the depths.

  The silver cave was shimmering full of sea-nymphs,

  all in one mounting chorus beating their breasts

  as Thetis launched the dirge: "Hear me, sisters,

  daughters of Nereus, so you all will know it well--

  listen to all the sorrows welling in my heart!

  I am agony--

  mother of grief and greatness--O my child!

  Yes, I gave birth to a flawless, mighty son ...

  the splendor of heroes, and he shot up like a young branch,

  like a fine tree I reared him--the orchard's crowning glory--

  but only to send him off in the beaked ships to Troy

  to battle Trojans! Never again will I embrace him

  striding home through the doors of Peleus' house.

  And long as I have him with me, still alive,

  looking into the sunlight, he is racked with anguish.

  And I, I go to his side--nothing I do can help him.

  Nothing. But go I shall, to see my darling boy,

  to hear what grief has come to break his heart

  while he holds back from battle."

  So Thetis cried

  as she left the cave and her sisters swam up with her,

  all in a tide of tears, and billowing round them now

  the ground swell heaved open. And once they reached

  the fertile land of Troy they all streamed ashore,

  row on row in a long cortege, the sea-nymphs

  filing up where the Myrmidon ships lay hauled,

  clustered closely round the great runner Achilles ...

  As he groaned from the depths his mother rose before him

  and sobbing a sharp cry, cradled her son's head in her hands

  and her words were all compassion, winging pity: "My child--

  why in tears? What sorrow has touched your heart?

  Tell me, please. Don't harbor it deep inside you.

  Zeus has accomplished everything you wanted,

  just as you raised your hands and prayed that day.

  All the sons of Achaea are pinned against the ships

  and all for want of you--they suffer shattering losses."

  And groaning deeply the matchless runner answered,

  "O dear mother, true! All those burning desires

  Olympian Zeus has broug
ht to pass for me--

  but what joy to me now? My dear comrade's dead--

  Patrocius--the man I loved beyond all other comrades,

  loved as my own life-I've lost him--Hector's killed him,

  stripped the gigantic armor off his back, a marvel to behold--

  my burnished gear! Radiant gifts the gods presented Peleus

  that day they drove you into a mortal's marriage bed ...

  I wish you'd lingered deep with the deathless sea-nymphs,

  lived at ease, and Peleus carried home a mortal bride.

  But now, as it is, sorrows, unending sorrows must surge

  within your heart as well--for your own son's death.

  Never again will you embrace him striding home.

  My spirit rebels--I've lost the will to live,

  to take my stand in the world of men--unless,

  before all else, Hector's battered down by my spear

  and gasps away his life, the blood-price for Patroclus,

  Menoetius' gallant son he's killed and stripped!"

  But Thetis answered, warning through her tears,

  "You're doomed to a short life, my son, from all you say!

  For hard on the heels of Hector's death your death

  must come at once--"

  "Then let me die at once"--

  Achilles burst out, despairing--"since it was not my fate

  to save my dearest comrade from his death! Look,

  a world away from his fatherland he's perished,

  lacking me, my fighting strength, to defend him.

  But now, since I shall not return to my fatherland ...

  nor did I bring one ray of hope to my Patroclus,

  nor to the rest of all my steadfast comrades,

  countless ranks struck down by mighty Hector--

  No, no, here I sit by the ships ...

  a useless, dead weight on the good green earth--

  I. no man my equal among the bronze-armed Achaeans,

  not in battle, only in wars of words that others win.

  If only strife could die from the lives of gods and men

  and anger that drives the sanest man to flare in outrage--

  bitter gall, sweeter than dripping streams of honey,

  that swarms in people's chests and blinds like smoke--

  just like the anger Agamemnon king of men

  has roused within me now ...

  Enough.

  Let bygones be bygones. Done is done.

  Despite my anguish I will beat it down,

  the fury mounting inside me, down by force.

  But now I'll go and meet that murderer head-on,

  that Hector who destroyed the dearest life I know.

  For my own death, I'll meet it freely--whenever Zeus

  and the other deathless gods would like to bring it on!

  Not even Heracles fled his death, for all his power,

  favorite son as he was to Father Zeus the King.

  Fate crushed him, and Hera's savage anger.

  And I too, if the same fate waits for me ...

  I'll lie in peace, once I've gone down to death.

  But now, for the moment, let me seize great glory!--

  and drive some woman of Troy or deep-breasted Dardan

  to claw with both hands at her tender cheeks and wipe away

  her burning tears as the sobs come choking from her throat--

  they'll learn that I refrained from war a good long time!

  Don't try to hold me back from the fighting, mother,

  love me as you do. You can't persuade me now."

  The goddess of the glistening feet replied,

  "Yes, my son, you're right. No coward's work,

  to save your exhausted friends from headlong death.

  But your own handsome war-gear lies in Trojan hands,

  bronze and burnished--and Hector in that flashing helmet,

  Hector glories in your armor, strapped across his back.

  Not that he will glory in it long, I tell you:

  his own destruction hovers near him now. Wait--

  don't fling yourself in the grind of battle yet,

  not till you see me coming back with your own eyes.

  Tomorrow I will return to you with the rising sun,

  bearing splendid arms from Hephaestus, god of fire!"

  With that vow she turned away from her son

  and faced and urged her sisters of the deep,

  "Now down you go in the Ocean's folding gulfs

  to visit father's halls--the Old Man of the Sea--

  and tell him all. I am on my way to Olympus heights,

  to the famous Smith Hephaestus--I pray he'll give my son

  some fabulous armor full of the god's great fire!"

  And under a foaming wave her sisters dove

  as glistening-footed Thetis soared toward Olympus

  to win her dear son an immortal set of arms.

  And now,

  as her feet swept her toward Olympus, ranks of Achaeans,

  fleeing man-killing Hector with grim, unearthly cries,

  reached the ships and the Hellespont's long shore.

  As for Patroclus, there seemed no hope that Achaeans

  could drag the corpse of Achilles' comrade out of range.

  Again the Trojan troops and teams overtook the body

  with Hector son of Priam storming fierce as fire.

  Three times illustrious Hector shouted for support,

  seized his feet from behind, wild to drag him off,

  three times the Aeantes, armored in battle-fury

  fought him off the corpse. But Hector held firm,

  staking all on his massive fighting strength--

  again and again he'd hurl himself at the melee,

  again and again stand fast with piercing cries

  but he never gave ground backward, not one inch.

  The helmed Aeantes could no more frighten Hector,

  the proud son of Priam, back from Patroclus' corpse

  than shepherds out in the field can scare a tawny lion

  off his kill when the hunger drives the beast claw-mad.

  And now Hector would have hauled the body away

  and won undying glory ...

  if wind-swift Iris had not swept from Olympus

  bearing her message--Peleus' son must arm--

  but all unknown to Zeus and the other gods

  since Hera spurred her on. Halting near

  she gave Achilles a flight of marching orders:

  "To arms--son of Peleus! Most terrifying man alive!

  Defend Patroclus! It's all for him, this merciless battle

  pitched before the ships. They're mauling each other now,

  Achaeans struggling to save the corpse from harm,

  Trojans charging to haul it back to windy Troy.

  Flashing Hector's far in the lead, wild to drag it off,

  furious to lop the head from its soft, tender neck

  and stake it high on the city's palisade.

  Up with you--

  no more lying low! Writhe with shame at the thought

  Patroclus may be sport for the dogs of Troy!

  Yours, the shame will be yours

  if your comrade's corpse goes down to the dead defiled!"

  But the swift runner replied, "Immortal Iris--

  what god has sped you here to tell me this?"

  Quick as the wind the rushing Iris answered,

  "Hera winged me on, the illustrious wife of Zeus.

  But the son of Cronus throned on high knows nothing,

  nor does any other immortal housed on Olympus

  shrouded deep in snow."

  Achilles broke in quickly--

  "How can I go to war? The Trojans have my gear.

  And my dear mother told me I must not arm for battle,

  not till I see her coming back with my own eyes--

  she vowed to bring me burnished arms from the god of fire.
r />   I know of no other armor. Whose gear could I wear?

  None but Telamonian Ajax' giant shield.

  But he's at the front, I'm sure, engaging Trojans,

  slashing his spear to save Patroclus' body."

  Quick as the wind the goddess had a plan:

  "We know--we too--they hold your famous armor.

  Still, just as you are, go out to the broad trench

  and show yourself to the Trojans. Struck with fear

  at the sight of you, they might hold off from attack

  and Achaea's fighting sons get second wind,

  exhausted as they are ...

  Breathing room in war is all too brief."

  And Iris racing the wind went veering off

  as Achilles, Zeus's favorite fighter, rose up now

  and over his powerful shoulder Pallas slung the shield,

  the tremendous storm-shield with all its tassels flaring--

  and crowning his head the goddess swept a golden cloud

  and from it she lit a fire to blaze across the field.

  As smoke goes towering up the sky from out a town

  cut off on a distant island under siege ...

  enemies battling round it, defenders all day long

  trading desperate blows from their own city walls

  but soon as the sun goes down the signal fires flash,

  rows of beacons blazing into the air to alert their neighbors--

  if only they'll come in ships to save them from disaster--

  so now from Achilles' head the blaze shot up the sky.

  He strode from the rampart, took his stand at the trench

  but he would not mix with the milling Argive ranks.

  He stood in awe of his mother's strict command.

  So there he rose and loosed an enormous cry

  and off in the distance Pallas shrieked out too

  and drove unearthly panic through the Trojans.

  Piercing loud as the trumpet's battle cry that blasts

  from murderous raiding armies ringed around some city--

  so piercing now the cry that broke from Aeacides.

  And Trojans hearing the brazen voice of Aeacides,

  all their spirits quaked--even sleek-maned horses,

  sensing death in the wind, slewed their chariots round

  and charioteers were struck dumb when they saw that fire,

  relentless, terrible, burst from proud-hearted Achilles' head,

  blazing as fiery-eyed Athena fueled the flames. Three times

  the brilliant Achilles gave his great war cry over the trench,

  three times the Trojans and famous allies whirled in panic--

  and twelve of their finest fighters died then and there,

  crushed by chariots, impaled on their own spears.

  And now the exultant Argives seized the chance

  to drag Patroclus' body quickly out of range

  and laid him on a litter ...

  Standing round him, loving comrades mourned,

  and the swift runner Achilles joined them, grieving,

  weeping warm tears when he saw his steadfast comrade

  lying dead on the bier, mauled by tearing bronze,

  the man he sent to war with team and chariot