  All Olympus was now interested in the combat of mortals since the godlike Achilles had taken up arms again. Many of the divinities promised him victory, but Jupiter was resolved that he should not yet destroy the splendid city of the Trojans, for fate had not decreed that it should fall by his hand. Therefore he commanded the other gods to stay the zeal of the Pelide should he rage too terribly. The Trojans were already armed and in the field and the swarms of Achaians flew to meet them like a heap of dry leaves driven before the wind. Achilles looked everywhere for Hector, but without discovering him. Instead, he espied two other chieftains, Æneas and Lykaon. Æneas determined to face the hero. He commended his soul to his divine mother and pushed forward shouting fierce threats. Achilles ran toward him without hesitation and then stopping suddenly he called out: “How canst thou venture so far from thy men, Æneas? What is it impels thee to fight with me? Dost think perchance that if thou shouldst conquer me thou shalt become ruler of the Trojans? Priam has still plenty of sons! Did I not meet thee on Mount Ida, where father Jupiter himself was scarce able to save thee? Thou didst run like a deer, not daring to look behind thee. Thou hadst better fly now, if life is dear to thee, and take care not to get in my way a second time.” “Son of Peleus,” answered Æneas, “do not hope to frighten me with words like a child. My race is as exalted as thine own, for I was fathered by Anchises of Dardanus’ family and Aphrodite is my mother. My family is old and powerful. But why do we gossip like women? Come, let us see whether it be Aphrodite or Thetis who shall mourn for her son to-day.” He was the first to cast his spear, and Achilles held his shield before him at arm’s length, so that should it pierce the metal, it might not touch his body. But the swift-flying weapon glanced off harmlessly. Immediately he hurled his own powerful lance, but Æneas threw himself on the ground and covered himself. The mighty lance crashed through the edge of his shield and buried itself in the ground just behind the crouching man. He arose quickly, seized a great stone, and threw it at the head of Achilles, who was rushing upon him with drawn sword in a blind rage, forgetting to shield himself, so that had Vulcan’s helmet not been so strong, helmet and skull would doubtless have been crushed. Æneas was about to exult over his fall, but Achilles only staggered back a step and a god warned Æneas to escape. He therefore drew Achilles’ heavy spear from his shield, and throwing it down, fled into the crowd of Trojans. When Achilles came to, he found himself on the ground, supporting himself on one arm, and alone. He was astonished and said to himself: “What miracle is this? Here lies my spear and my adversary is nowhere to be seen. But indeed Æneas must be beloved of the gods, for no one has ever vanquished me thus. But he did not venture to kill me in my swoon and is, no doubt, happy to have himself escaped. And now I must away to measure myself with other Trojans.” He first returned to his Myrmidons and cheered them with loud cries of “Forward, man to man! Let none hold back! I cannot alone conquer the whole Trojan army, even Mars himself could not do that. But my lance shall never rest.” Among the Trojans the gallant Hector was going about encouraging his bands. “Do not fear, ye valiant Trojans, because the enemy has gained a single man to-day. Grim Achilles has certainly uttered great threats, but words are not deeds. Behold, I go forward to encounter him unafraid, though his hand were a bolt of lightning and his breast of bronze.” Achilles had already broken into the ranks of the Trojans and slain a man here and there. He was like a hungry wolf hasting from one victim to another. His lance was constantly in flight. He pierced the noble Demoleon, then laid his charioteer Hippodamos in the dust, then drawing his spear from the body, he hurled it after Polydorus, Priam’s youngest son, whom his father had begged not to enter the fight. But the youth, considered the best runner in the army, was passionate and fiery and would not be restrained. Just as he was flying past, Achilles’ terrible spear struck him. He fell, groaning and holding his wounded side. Thus his brother Hector espied him and in a passion of grief he advanced upon Achilles, swinging his lance like flashing lightning. Seeing him coming thus, Achilles cried: “Ah! there is he who killed my friend! Come, Hector, come, that thou mayest meet thy doom!” He had scarcely spoken when Hector stood before him and answered unabashed: “Do not hope to intimidate me with words, O Achilles! Even if thou art stronger than I, it rests with the gods to decide whether I shall not rob thee of thy life.” He threw the lance with all his might, but it glanced off Achilles’ hard-polished shield. He turned about, frightened, and fled like the wind before the hero’s hissing spear. “Ah! truly Phoebus must be with thee,” cried Achilles. “Destruction was hard upon thee and thou hast escaped. But the next time I meet thee I shall send thee down to Hades.” He glanced about angrily for other adversaries. See, now his chariot pursues a band of Trojans who prefer to flee all together rather than meet this single man. He pressed forward to one side, cutting them off from the rest of the army and driving them all into the river. There they paddled about like swimming poodles until Achilles, leaving his lance on the bank, sprang after them to stab those whom he could reach with his sword. Finally he drove twelve youths into the reeds and there bound their hands behind their backs with his armor straps. He then led them out and gave them into the hands of his charioteer to take back to the Myrmidons. They were destined for a cruel sacrifice to Patroclus. Achilles turned again to the river and there he recognized with astonishment, among those who were trying in vain to clamber up the steep banks, a youth, son of Priam, named Lykaon, whom he had taken at the beginning of the war and sold for one hundred oxen into Lemnos. Some years later a rich Phrygian had purchased him, from whom he had but lately escaped, having returned only eleven days before to the house of his venerable father. “Ha! there is Lykaon!” cried Achilles in surprise. “How comes he here? This time he shall taste the tip of my spear and we shall see if he return from the underworld to cause me trouble again.” He went to fetch his spear and Lykaon swam as hard as he could to throw himself at his feet and beg for mercy. “Fool!” thundered the terrible voice of the hero, “what do I want with ransom money? Before Patroclus fell I was inclined to show mercy and carried away many captives, but now not one who falls into my hands shall survive—least of all one of Priam’s sons. Die then, my friend! Thou criest out in vain. Patroclus, too, had to die, who was far mightier than thou. And seest thou not how great and powerful I am? My father was a noble king, a goddess is my mother, and yet my death and doom are drawing near and sooner or later I shall fall by the spear or arrow.” The poor youth’s heart and knees trembled. He spread out his arms, shut his eyes, and thus received the death stroke. Then Achilles seized him by the feet and flung him far out into the river. “There! Swim among the fish,” he cried. “Many a one shall feed on Lykaon. Thus I shall pursue ye all, until ye have atoned for Patroclus’ death and the woe of the Achaians.” But the river god who heard this blasphemy was angered. AsteropÆus, son of Pelegon, was still standing in the water and Scamander breathed courage into him. He was practised in casting with both hands and Achilles saw him advancing with two raised spears. He shouted to him: “Who art thou, rash man? Unhappy are the parents of those who contend with me!” “What wouldst thou know of me, great Pelide?” he answered. “I came from distant PÆonia with a gallant army but eleven days ago. Now let us fight, valiant Achilles.” With these words he let fly both lances at once upon the hero. One of them rebounded harmlessly from the shield, the other brushed his left elbow and buried itself in the sand. And now Achilles swung his bloody staff, but missed aim also, and his lance struck the sandy bank on the other side of the river. Angrily he sprang into the water with drawn sword, and striding powerfully through the waves, he approached the unlucky AsteropÆus, who was trying in vain to secure Achilles’ lance. Before he could do so the hero felled him, and he sank down unconscious. “Ah,” he cried joyously, “thou couldst scarcely contend with a man of Jupiter’s divine race, although thy ancestor was a river god.” Achilles drew his spear out of the earth and left the dying man gasping at the water’s edge. He threw himself next upon a troop of PÆonians and drove them into the stream. Those who would not go of their own accord he thrust down into a watery grave. Then from the depths of the stream he heard the voice of the river god: “O Achilles, thou art superhuman in thy fury and the gods are always with thee. But I warn thee, that if Jupiter hath given the Trojans into thy hand this day, murder where thou wilt, but do not pollute my waters, for my stream is already glutted with the dead, and even now I can scarce flow down into the holy sea. Therefore forbear!” Achilles heard the warning unmoved and replied: “It shall be as thou sayest, divine Scamander, but I shall never stop destroying the Trojans until I have fought the last decisive battle with Hector.” But when he chanced upon a fresh troop of the enemy, who were astray near the river, he forgot the river god’s decree, and when they all jumped into the stream to gain the opposite shore he plunged in after them. Then the invisible god arose in his might, determined to destroy him. He sent wave after wave breaking over him and drew him deeper and deeper down. Struggle as he might he could make no headway against the mighty stream on whose waves he rose and fell, almost losing his balance and being carried away. The bodies of the slain bore against him and he could scarcely hold them back with his shield. He struggled to the shore, but the angry god stirred up a foaming surf which threw him back again. Almost exhausted he struggled forward once more and grasped a young elm whose branches hung over the stream; but just as he was about to swing himself up by it the roots gave way, so that it lay across the river like a bridge. Upon this the hero reached the bank, although he vainly hoped to escape the river god thus. Furiously Scamander followed him across the fallow fields with breaking waves. He also called to his aid the other streams who generally dash their waters from the mountain heights to destroy the farmer’s fields only in springtime. To the SimoÏs, which joins him just before he flows into the sea, he cried: “Come, brother, and help me stem the power of this terrible man, else he will batter down the walls of Priam’s fortress to-day; for none can withstand him. Arise, friend, let thy floods loose; roll down rocks and stones with thundering waves upon him, that we may tame him. For I ween that neither his strength nor beauty nor his resplendent weapons shall save him. They shall be buried deep in mud, and him will I cover with sand and heap a monument of shells and pebbles over him so high that none shall ever find his bones.” The hero was almost overcome and in his despair cried aloud: “Father Jupiter, not a single one of the gods will take pity on me, and I thought ye all loved me! But none has deceived me more than my divine mother, who promised me the glorious death of a hero before Troy. And now, alas, an ignoble end awaits me, and I shall be drowned as ignominiously as any swineherd in a mud puddle.” Then from afar a solemn and consoling voice arose. “Be comforted, Peleus’ son, thou shalt not die in the waters. Keep up the struggle until the Trojans have fled the field. But when Hector is vanquished thou shalt return.” This promise filled his heart with courage, for it was the voice of Poseidon, to whom all streams are subject. And now the waters quickly subsided and were drawn into the broad gulf of the sea. Then a south wind arose which sucked up the moisture from the ground and bore it away. The valiant hero soon stood upon firm ground again and hurried away as fast as he could to plunge into the fray. Fired by his example, his people followed him like a consuming flame fanned by the wind. All who could do so fled to the walls, most of them toward the gate. The venerable Priam sat upon the top of the wall, looking mournfully down upon the sad plight of his people. When the crush at the gate became intolerable he descended and called to the guards: “Friends, open the doors and let the men in, for they can no longer withstand the terrible Pelide. When all are inside, shut the gate and put up the bars, that the enemy may not enter also.” In the confusion of flight, where none wished to be lost, Achilles and his band would doubtless have pushed in with them had not Apollo distracted his attention by the sight of Agenor. This bold youth stood concealed behind a beech tree turning over a thousand projects in his anxious mind. “What shall I do?” he said to himself. “I am too far behind to follow the others—he would take me in the back like a coward. If I try to creep along the wall and escape by way of the thickets of Ida, the bushes may hide me; then I could steal up to the gate at night and whisper to them softly to let me in. But what if he should discover me there? Then I should be lost indeed; for who is as strong as he? But his body is not invulnerable and he is a mortal like the others. Therefore I will try my skill with him, that I may save my life with honor.” Meanwhile Achilles came running up and espied the man hidden behind the tree. Agenor stepped boldly forth and cried: “Madman, dost thou hope to destroy the fortress to-day? Nevermore! There are still plenty of brave men in the city, and all are fighting for parents, wives, and children. On the contrary, thy own sad fate may be upon thee to-day, thou ungovernable monster.” With these words his flashing sword descended upon Achilles, and not without effect. He struck his shin, and only the impenetrable greaves fashioned by Vulcan prevented the leg from being shattered. Like a wounded boar Achilles pounced upon the youth, who fled through wheatfields and thickets along the river, leading his grim pursuer far away from the city; for he did not give up the chase until the youth was lost to sight. And this never would have occurred had the blow on his leg not sapped his strength. But Apollo had arranged it thus, so that for this time the Trojans should escape; for when he returned breathless he found them safe behind their walls. |
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