  The Achaians, their shields slung over their shoulders, were awaiting Achilles close under the walls of Troy. All the Trojans were within the city except Hector, who had remained outside, resolved to meet Achilles once more in combat; for he believed that he owed it to his fatherland and to his own honor, either to free his people from this dread enemy or to give up his own life for them. His old father looked gloomily down from the wall and signalled for him to come inside, but in vain. Achilles returned from his pursuit of Agenor, his lance on his shoulder. At the sight old Priam beat his breast in consternation and he trembled, seeing his son without and alone. “Dear son,” he entreated, “do not face that cruel man, for he is stronger than thou. Alas, would that the gods hated him as I do and he would soon be food for the dogs! How many of my sons he has already murdered or sold to distant isles! And now, my Hector, thou on whom the Trojan people put their hopes, wilt thou also go to meet him? Come, take pity on me! Already hath Jupiter heaped endless misfortunes upon mine old age, and should he rob me of thee now, I already foresee the enemy breaking into our fortress, carrying off our women, murdering our children, and plundering our treasures. Woe is me! for I shall become food for mine own dogs in the courtyard. Alas, that would be the most lamentable of all destinies!” But Hector could not be persuaded and remained steadfast at the gate, awaiting Achilles. “Woe is me if I should hide now behind walls and gates!” he said. “Then Polydamas could chide me with reason for sacrificing so many good friends to-day. I would not follow his advice and retire into the city, but presumed to contend with Achilles alone, and alas, I have not saved a single man from his fury and, I openly avow, have myself avoided him in fear, for he is truly terrible in his might. But now I must challenge fate boldly, that the women of Troy may not denounce me for leading the people to destruction and then fleeing like a coward. But how would it be if I should lay helmet and shield on the ground beside my lance and thus go to meet the hero and offer him a peaceful settlement? Offer him Helen and all their treasure, together with half of all the goods which the houses of the Trojan princes contain? But no! I cannot approach him a suppliant. It would be base and unworthy and he would strike me down unarmed like a weak woman. No! I will fight like a man. Be my fate what it may, I will conquer or die with honor.” Achilles came up looking like Mars himself. When Hector saw him he trembled, and fled like a dove pursued by a hawk. Hector turned first to the left, then to the right, striving to tire out his pursuer; but in vain. Now they ran past the watch tower, now past the fig tree, and now by the hot springs, where were the stone basins of the washerwomen. His pursuer drove him clear round the great city, yea, even three times round the walls, and as often as Hector tried to slip through an open portal, Achilles would drive him out again into the open fields, keeping near the walls himself. But when they passed the place where the Achaians were resting on their spears awaiting the outcome, Achilles forbade anyone to cast a spear at Hector and rob him of the honor of the victory. As they neared the hot springs for the fourth time, a man ran forward as though to offer Hector aid. It was Athena in the form of Hector’s brother DeÏphobus, who called to him: “Brother, I saw thy danger and am come forth to help thee. Stop and await him boldly.” “Beloved DeÏphobus, how didst thou dare—” “My soul was wrung and I could no longer look upon the grief of my father and mother.” “So be it, I will fight,” said Hector, and made ready to meet the foe. “I will no longer flee before thee, O Pelide,” he cried to Achilles. “My heart bids me encounter thee, whether I conquer or fall. But let us first make a compact and swear to it before the all-seeing gods. Should Jupiter give me the victory, I will not misuse thee. Thy armor will I take and leave thy body to the Achaians, that they may give it burial. And thou shalt do the same to me.” But with a furious look Achilles roared his answer. “No compacts, hated Hector! Does the lion make a compact with the cattle, or the wolf with the lambs? One of us must lie stretched upon the ground, that Mars may be satiated with his blood. I hope that thou mayest not escape me, and thus atone at once for all the woe thou hast inflicted on my people.” Thus speaking, he sent his terrible spear flying through the air. But Hector, quickly sinking on one knee, avoided it and the iron missile passed over him. Fresh courage filled him, and springing up joyfully he cried: “Wide of the mark, godlike Achilles! Thou art a good talker and crafty, hoping I should lose strength and courage. Now protect thyself, for my spear shall not strike thee lightly!” He hurled his lance with tremendous force and did not miss the mark, for the point struck the boss of the shield with a loud crash and would have pierced both shield and breast had the shield not been forged by Vulcan himself. But the lance rebounded like a ball thrown against a wall and Hector stood confounded, for he had but one spear. He quickly looked about for DeÏphobus and called loudly for another spear, but there was no answer and his brother was nowhere to be seen. Then he was filled with foreboding. “Woe is me!” he cried. “Some cunning god in DeÏphobus’ shape hath deceived me, and now, when I hoped he would save me, he has disappeared.” In desperation he seized his sword, rushing forward like a soaring eagle swooping down upon its prey. But Achilles had already picked up Hector’s spear, and, as they charged each other, the long spear reached its goal sooner than the short sword. Taken in the neck above his breastplate, the hope of Troy sank into the dust, while the cruel victor and all the Achaians loudly rejoiced. “Ha!” cried Achilles as he drew forth his spear, “only yesterday thou wert so proudly triumphant, as thou didst invade our ships in Patroclus’ stolen harness, and to-day thou liest powerless before the walls of thy proud fortress. Surely thou didst little dream that the slain hero had left a powerful avenger. We shall pay him all the honors of a hero, while thou shalt make a shameful end among the dogs and birds of prey.” Breathing painfully, Hector tried to speak. “I conjure thee by thy life and by thy parents, let me not be torn by DamÆan dogs, but accept the bronze and valuable gold which my father and mother shall offer thee. Send my body to Ilios, that the men and women of Troy may pay me the last honors of the funeral pyre.” But Achilles shouted: “Silence and die, contemptible one!” Dying, Hector answered: “Indeed I knew I should not move thee, for thou hast an iron heart. But think of me when the gods avenge me and thou sinkest into the dust felled by the shots of Phoebus Apollo.” And Death, the brother of Sleep, bore the hero’s soul down to Hades. Many warriors from the Greek army came up and looked with admiration upon the splendid form of the hero. And to one another they said: “It is wonderful how much gentler he is to look on now than there at our ships when he was leading the assault.” Achilles arose among the people and spoke. “Friends, now that the gods have permitted me to subdue the man who has done us greater injury than any other, let us discover whether the Trojans will dare withstand us, without the support of their great hero. But what am I saying? My friend lies still unburied. Therefore let us chant the hymn of victory and take Hector with us as an expiatory offering for my friend.” First the procession passed by the ScÆan gate, that the Trojans standing there upon the walls might see it. There sat old Priam and his spouse Hecuba, without any warning of the outcome of the combat. What a horrible sight for the venerable father and loving mother! Their bravest son, the pride and hope of Troy, dragged at the wheels of the victor’s chariot! All Troy set up a despairing lament, as though the city were already in ruins and a prey to devouring flames. His mother, almost beside herself with grief, wrung her hands, and shrieking, pulled the veil from her head and tore her gray hair. And his father was scarcely to be restrained from going down to cut his son loose or die across his mutilated body. He called on those by name who stood about it; begged, implored, wept, and threw himself on the ground, strewing dust on his gray head. And all those who saw it wept with him. Hector’s faithful wife, Andromache, was the last to learn the sad tidings, for she had been busy in her home attending to household duties among her women. And now, as twilight fell, she sent one of her maids to heat water in a tripod for the hero’s bath when he should return. From a distance arose a sound of loud lamentation and wailing of women. The wife trembled and sad foreboding filled her heart. “Follow me,” she cried to two of the maids. “My knees are trembling, for I fear the noble Achilles has cut off the valiant Hector from the city, for he is always before all others and fears no one.” She rushed out, the servants following after her. There was nobody to be seen in the street; the cries came from the walls. The unhappy woman hastened thither. One look revealed the tragedy, and she sank down in a swoon. She lay for long as one dead, and at length, when consciousness returned, she began in a low, broken voice: “Hector! Alas, the unhappy people! Oh, that I had never been born! Now must thou go down to Hades and I remain here a widow, miserable and deserted. And thy young son—trouble and sorrow menace his future now that thou art gone—for others will seek to take his patrimony—and his childhood shall pass without a friend. For an orphaned child has no playmates; and when the other boys take their share of their fathers’ feast, none calls the orphan boy to divide with him. The child casts down his eyes ashamed and weeps silently. Then, hungry, he goes about among his father’s friends, pulls one by the coat, another by the cloak; and if one of them is kindly inclined, he will perhaps hold the goblet to his lips. But, alas, he does not give him his fill. The other boys, insolent and greedy, do not suffer him at their feasts, but push him away, crying: ‘Thy father doth not sit at our feasts.’ Then the child goes away and cries in his mother’s arms. O ye gods, my Astyanax! How gayly his father used to rock him on his knees! And now, robbed of a tender father, he shall suffer much—our Astyanax, as the Trojans call him.” Thus mourned Andromache, and round about her wept and lamented the women of Troy. |
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