that the earth ever knew. So light of foot were they, that when they
bounded over the land, they might run upon the topmost ears of ripened
corn, and break them not; and when they bounded over the sea, not even
Poseidon's steeds could glide so lightly upon the crests of the waves.
Some say they were the steeds of Boreas given to my grandfather Tros, by
his sire Erichthonius; others, that they were the price which Zeus paid
for godlike Ganymedes, most beautiful of men. These steeds, my father
promised to give to Heracles if he would save Hesione.
"'Then the heralds led my fair sister to the shore, and chained her to
the rock, there to wait for the coming of the monster. But Heracles
stood near her, fearless in his strength. Soon the waves began to rise;
the waters were disturbed, and the great beast, with hoarse bellowings,
lifted his head above the breakers, and rushed forward to seize his fair
prey. Then the hero sprang to meet him. With blow upon blow from his
mighty club, he felled the monster; the waters of the sea were reddened
with blood; Hesione was saved, and Troy was freed from the dreadful
curse.
"'"Behold thy daughter!" said Heracles, leading her gently back to the
Scaean gate, and giving her to her father. "I have saved her from the
jaws of death, and delivered your country from the dread scourge. Give
me now my hire.'
"'Shame fills my heart as I tell this story, for thanklessness was the
bane of my father's life. Ungrateful to the hero who had risked so much
and done so much that our homes and our country might be saved from
ruin, he turned coldly away from Heracles; then he shut the great gates
in his face, and barred him out of the city, and taunted him from the
walls, saying, "I owe thee no hire! Begone from our coasts, ere I
scourge thee hence!"
"'Full of wrath, the hero turned away. "I go, but I will come again,"
he said.
"'Then peace and plenty blessed once more the land of Ilios, and men
forgot the perils from which they had been delivered. But ere long,
great Heracles returned, as he had promised; and with him came a mighty
fleet of white-sailed ships and many warriors. Neither gates nor strong
walls could stand against him. Into the city he marched, and straight to
my father's palace. All fled before him, and the strongest warriors
quailed beneath his glance. Here, in this very court, he slew my father
and my brothers with his terrible arrows. I myself would have fallen
before his wrath, had not my sister, fair Hesione, pleaded for my life.
"'"I spare his life," said Heracles, in answer to her prayers, "for he
is but a lad. Yet he must be my slave until you have paid a price for
him, and thus redeemed him."
"'Then Hesione took the golden veil from her head, and gave it to the
hero as my purchase price. And thenceforward I was called Priam, or the
purchased; for the name which my mother gave me was Podarkes, or the
fleet-footed.
"After this, Heracles and his heroes went on board their ships and
sailed back across the sea, leaving me alone in my father's halls. For
they took fair Hesione with them, and carried her to Salamis, to be the
wife of Telamon, the sire of mighty Ajax. There, through these long
years she has lived in sorrow, far removed from home and friends and the
scenes of her happy childhood. And now that the hero Telamon, to whom
she was wedded, lives no longer, I ween that her life is indeed a
cheerless one.'
"When Priam had finished his tale, he drew his seat still nearer mine,
and looked into my face with anxious, beseeching eyes. Then he said, 'I
have long wished to send a ship across the sea to bring my sister back
to Troy. A dark-prowed vessel, built for speed and safety, lies now at
anchor in the harbor, and a picked crew is ready to embark at any
moment. And here is my son Paris, handsome and brave, who is anxious to
make voyage to Salamis, to seek unhappy Hesione. Yet our seamen, having
never ventured far from home, know nothing of the dangers of the deep,
nor do they feel sure that they can find their way to Hellas. And so we
have a favor to ask of you; and that is, that when your ship sails
to-morrow, ours may follow in its wake across the sea.'
"I was glad when Priam spoke these words, for, in truth, I was loath to
part with Paris; and I arranged at once that he should bear me company
in my own swift ship, while his vessel with its crew followed not far
behind.
"And so with favoring winds being blessed, we made a quick voyage back
to Lacedaemon, bringing with us the bones of my beloved countrymen.
What followed is too sad for lengthy mention, and is in part already
known to you. Need I tell you how I opened my halls to Paris, and left
no act of courtesy undone that I might make him happy? Need I tell you
how he was welcomed by fair Helen, and how the summer days fled by on
golden wings; and how in the delights of Lacedaemon he forgot his errand
to Salamis, and cared only to remain with me, my honored guest and
trusted friend? One day a message came to me from my old friend
Idomeneus. He had planned a hunt among the mountains and wooded vales
of Crete, and he invited me to join him in the sport. I had not seen
Idomeneus since the time that we together, in friendly contention,
sought the hand of Helen. I could not do otherwise than accept his
invitation, for he had sent his own ship to carry me over to Crete. So
I bade farewell to Helen, saying, 'Let not our noble guest lack
entertainment while I am gone; and may the golden hours glide happily
until I come again.' And to Paris I said, 'Tarry another moon in
Lacedaemon; and when I return from Crete, I will go with you to Salamis,
and aid you in your search for Hesione.' Then I went on board the
waiting ship, and prospering breezes carried us without delays to Crete.
"Idomeneus received me joyfully, and entertained me most royally in his
palace; and for nine days we feasted in his halls, and made all things
ready for the hunt. But, lo! on the evening of the last day, a vision
came to me. Gold-winged Iris, the fleet-footed messenger of the gods,
stood before me. 'Hasten back to Lacedaemon,' she cried, 'for thou art
robbed of thy dearest treasure!' And even while she spoke, one of my
own ships came sailing into the harbor, bringing trusted heralds whom
the elders of Lacedaemon had sent to me. They told me the fatal news.
'No sooner were you well on your way,' they said, 'than Paris began to
put his ship in readiness to depart. Helen prayed him to tarry until
your return, but he would not hearken. "I will stay no longer," he said.
"My seamen rest upon their oars; the sails of my ship are spread; the
breeze will soon spring up that will carry me to my own fair home across
the sea. But you, beauteous Helen, shall go with me; for the deathless
gods have spoken it. Aphrodite, long ago, promised that the most
beautiful woman in the world should be my wife. And who is that most
beautiful woman if it is not yourself? Come! fly over the sea, and be my
queen. It is the will of the gods."'
"It was thus that the perfidious Trojan wrought the ruin of all that was
dear to me. At first, Helen refused. But Paris is a handsome prince,
and day after day he renewed his suit. Then on the sixth day she
yielded. In the darkness of the night they went on board his waiting
vessel, carrying with them the gold and jewels of my treasure-house; and
in the morning, when the sun arose on Lacedaemon, they were far out at
sea.
"You know the rest: how in wrath and great sorrow I hurried home from
Crete; how I first counselled with my own elders, and then with my
brother Agamemnon of Mycenae. And now, O noble Nestor, we have come to
Pylos, seeking thy advice. On these two things my mind is set: Helen
must be mine again, and Paris must suffer the punishment due to
traitors."
When Menelaus had ended, sage Nestor answered with many words of
counsel. "Keep the thought of vengeance ever before you," he said.
"Yet act not rashly. The power of Troy is very great; and, in case of
war, all the tribes of Asia will make common cause with Ilios. But an
insult to Lacedaemon is an insult to all Hellas, and every loyal Hellene
will hasten to avenge it. More than this, the chiefs of almost every
state have already sworn to aid you. We have but to call upon them, and
remind them of their oaths, and all the mightiest warriors of our land
will take up arms against the power of Troy."
Then Palamedes spoke in like manner, and his words had great weight with
Menelaus; for among all the heroes there were few who equalled him in
wisdom. He it was who first built beacon fires on the headlands, and
lighthouses to warn venturous seamen of the hidden dangers in their way;
he it was who first invented scales for weighing, and who taught men how
to measure grain and wine by certain standards; he it was who first made
dice, and who showed what beauty and mystery lie hidden in the letters
which Cadmus brought from Phoenicia to Hellas. And he was wise in
statecraft and the knowledge of human nature.
"Nestor has spoken well," he said, addressing Menelaus, "and it behooves
us to follow his advice. Now do you and Agamemnon return at once to
Argos and Lacedaemon, and call upon the fighting men along the eastern
coast to join you in the war. In the mean while, Nestor and myself will
do the same, here on the western coast and among the islands of the
sea."
"By the way," said Nestor, "there is Odysseus, king of Ithaca,--the
rarest and bravest of men. Did he but know of this affair, he would be
a host within himself, to lead us to sure victory."
"That is true," said Palamedes, "and we must seek his aid first. My
ship lies now at anchor, just off the beach; and if noble Nestor will be
my comrade, we will sail to-morrow to Ithaca, and make sure of his
valued aid."
"Most surely I will go with you," said old Nestor. "And I will never
rest nor give up the fight, until Helen is returned to Menelaus, and
Paris has received his due reward."
_*ADVENTURE XVIII.*_
*AN UNWILLING HERO.*
In the shade of the orchard trees, at the foot of Mount Neritus, there
was gathered, one afternoon, a happy family party. The chief figure in
the group was white-haired Laertes, in his gardener's garb, picking some
ripe fruit from the overloaded branches. At his right stood Anticleia,
as queenly beautiful as when her hero-husband had won her in the halls
of old Autolycus. At his left was Penelope, her sweet face beaming with
smiles; while on the ground beside her sat Odysseus, gently dandling in
his arms the babe Telemachus, and laughing at the budding wisdom of the
child.
"Some men wander the wide world over, seeking for empty glory," said he,
turning towards Penelope. "But I would rather have my pleasant home,
and live amid its never-failing delights, than share the honors even of
great Heracles."
At this moment, Phemius the bard was seen coming in haste from the
palace. "What news, Phemius?" asked Odysseus. "Hast thou finished that
new song of thine? And dost thou hasten thus to sing it to us before
some part of it shall go out of thy mind?"
"Nay, master," answered the bard, speaking in anxious tones. "I have
come to tell you that there are guests waiting in the hall. Famous men
they are,--even Nestor, king of Pylos, and shrewd Palamedes of Euboea.
And they bring wonderful news,--news of that which will, perchance, fill
our land with sadness."
"Tell me what it is," said Odysseus.
Then the bard told the story of Paris and Helen, as he had learned it
briefly from Palamedes; and he explained the errand of the hero-guests
which they had thoughtlessly imparted to him. Odysseus looked at his
smiling babe, and at his fair wife, and his loved mother, and his
honored father; and his brow darkened as he shook his head, and said,
"Why should I risk so much, and, joining in this war, leave all that is
dear to me on earth, simply for the sake of Menelaus and his misguided
Helen?"
Then, after a moment's thought, he added, "I will not go. Tell Nestor
and Palamedes that I am mad, and cannot go."
All at once a great change seemed to come over him. He put the babe into
its nurse's arms; and then with long strides, and in the aimless manner
of a maniac, he made his way across the orchard, and along the footpath
by the beach to the white palace near the shore. When his old friends,
Nestor and Palamedes, saw him, they hastened towards him, expecting to
receive his greeting; but with unmeaning words, and a vacant stare, he
passed by them without a word of recognition. "He is mad," said the
frightened servants, as they fled before him.
"Yes, he is mad, and knows not where he is nor what he does," said
Phemius, hastily rejoining the guests. "When I went out to find him
just now, he was wandering among the fruit trees, picking the green
fruit, and roaring like a wild beast. The gods have taken his reason
from him."
"How sad that so great a mind should be thus clouded!" answered Nestor,
with a sigh. "And at this time it is doubly sad for us and for all who
love him, for we had counted on great things from shrewd Odysseus.
Surely some unfriendly god has done this thing with intent to harm all
Hellas."
"Do not judge hastily," whispered Palamedes. "We shall find out from
whence this madness comes."
[Illustration: PALAMEDES TESTS THE MADNESS OF ODYSSEUS.]
Soon Odysseus rushed from his chamber, looking wildly about him, as if
the very Furies were at his heels. He was dressed in his richest
garments, and on his shoulder he carried a bag of salt. Without
speaking to any one, he made his way to the stables, where, with his own
hands, he harnessed a mule and a cow, and yoked them side by side to a
plough. Then he drove his strange team down to the beach, and began to
plough long, deep furrows in the sand. By and by he opened the bag of
salt, and strewed the white grains here and there, as though he were
sowing seed. This strange work he continued until the daylight faded
into darkness, and all the people were fain to seek rest under their
home-roofs. Then he drove his team back to the stables, unyoked the
beasts and fed them, and hurried silently to his chamber.
The next morning, as soon as the dawn appeared, he was seen ploughing
the sandy beach as before.
"I will see whether there be any reason in his madness," said Palamedes
to Nestor.
It chanced at that moment, that Eurycleia the nurse was passing by with
little Telemachus in her arms. Without another word, Palamedes lifted
the babe, and laid it smiling in the last furrow that Odysseus had made,
so that on his next round the team would trample upon it. As Odysseus
drew near, urging forward the mule and the cow, with many cries and
maniacal gestures, he saw the helpless babe. The sight of its danger
made him forget himself and his assumed madness; he turned his team
aside, and running forward seized Telemachus, and, kissing his laughing
lips, handed him, with every show of gentleness, to the good nurse.
"Ha, Odysseus!" cried Palamedes. "Thou canst not deceive us. Thou art
no more mad than I am. Cease now that boyish play, and come and talk
with us as becometh a hero."
Then Odysseus, seeing that he had been fairly outwitted by one as shrewd
as himself, knew that further pretence of madness would avail him
nothing. For a single moment his brow was clouded with anger, and he
whispered hoarsely to Palamedes, "You shall have your reward for
this!"[1] Then, leaving his plough and his ill-matched team upon the
beach, he took his two guests kindly by the hand, and led them into his
palace. A great feast was spread upon the tables, and the morning was
spent in eating and merry-making, and not a word was said concerning the
great business which had brought the kings to Ithaca.
[1] See Note 13 at the end of this volume.
Later in the day, however, Nestor told Odysseus the story of the perfidy
of Paris. Then Palamedes followed with a speech so clear, so forcible,
that the hearts of all who heard it were stirred to their very depths;
and Odysseus, rising from his seat, renewed the vow which he had made
when Menelaus won fair Helen for his bride. And from that time to the
very end, there was not a man among all the Hellenes, who threw himself
more earnestly into the work than did Odysseus.
For seven days Nestor and Palamedes tarried at Ithaca, talking with
Odysseus, and making plans for the war against Troy. On the eighth day,
the three heroes embarked for the mainland; and for months they
journeyed from country to country, and from city to city, reminding the
princes of their vows, and stirring all Hellas into a flame. Soon the
watch-fires were kindled on every mountain-top; and every warrior in the
land made haste to see that his arms were in order, and every seaman to
put his ship to rights. And Ares, the mighty god of battle, brandished
his sword above the sea; dread comets blazed red in mid-heaven;
glittering stars fell to the earth, or shot gleaming athwart the sky.
Sounds of warlike preparation were heard, not only in the dwellings of
men, but even in the halls of Zeus, upon the airy summit of Olympus.
_*ADVENTURE XIX.*_
*HEROES IN STRANGE GARB.*
There dwelt at Mycenae a wise soothsayer, named Calchas,--a man versed
in all the lore of earth and sky, and holding some sort of communion
with the immortals. He could lift the veil of the future, and see what
to other men lay hidden in the darkness; and next to the Pythian oracle
at Delphi, or the talking oak of Dodona, he was held in high repute as
knowing the counsels of the gods. When all the great chiefs sat one day
in Agamemnon's hall, and talked of their warriors and their ships and
their arms, and boasted of their readiness to sail at once for Ilios,
the old soothsayer came and stood before them. His white locks streamed
in flowing waves about his shoulders; his gray eyes gleamed with a
strange, wild light; he moved his long arms to and fro above his head,
and pointed with his thin fingers first towards the sky, and then
towards the sea.
"Hearken ye to the seer," said Menelaus; "he has had a vision, and
perchance he can tell us how we shall fare in this great business which
we have undertaken."
Then Calchas spoke and said, "Verily I know not any thing of this
matter, save by the gift of soothsaying which the far-darting Apollo has
bestowed upon me. Yet when I inquired of him, this answer did he give:
'Let the long-haired Hellenes make war upon Troy. They shall not
prevail against that city unless Achilles, the dear son of Thetis, lead
them.' Send now for him, and enlist him in your cause; for otherwise
you shall fail, and the Trojans shall boast of your ruin!"
Having said these words, the seer strode from the hall, leaving the hero
chiefs alone. For a time they sat in silence, each pondering the matter
in his own mind. Then Agamemnon spoke, and his words were full of anger
and unbelief. "Never yet," said he, "did Calchas prophesy any thing but
ill. He sees naught but evil; and when we feel most sure of success,
then it is the joy of his heart to foretell failure. Now, after the
gods have thus far favored us, and when all things are in readiness for
the gathering together of our forces, this woful soothsayer comes to
tell us that without Achilles we shall fail. For my part, I care little
for his words, and am willing to run all risks."
"Say not so," quickly answered Odysseus. "The old man speaks as Apollo
gives him utterance; and no man shall dare put his judgment in the
scales against the foreknowledge of the gods. Let us seek Achilles at
once, and persuade him to join us in our league against Ilios."
"But who shall find him?" asked Menelaus. "Two months ago, I was in
Iolcos by the sea, whither I had gone to see old Peleus. I found that
that aged king dwelt no longer in the ancient city, but had removed into
his own country of Phthia, and there abode among his Myrmidons. Into
Phthia, therefore, I went, hoping to find Achilles also there. But old
Peleus wept when I asked about his son. 'In truth, I know not where the
young man is,' he said, in answer to my questions. 'For when the news
was noised about, that the chiefs of Hellas were planning war upon Troy,
then silver-footed Thetis carried her son into some distant, unknown
land, and hid him there. For the Fates have declared the doom of
Achilles, that his days on earth shall be few but glorious; and his
mother feared, that, should he join in the great war, he would meet an
untimely death. Thus, then, it is that I am bereft already of my only
son; for I know not whether I shall ever again behold him.' In this
manner Peleus, the lord of horses, bewailed the absence of his son. And
though in every city I sought news concerning the whereabouts of the
young hero, I could learn nothing whatever. Even Patroclus, his bosom
friend and comrade, wept for him as for one dead. I do not believe that
he can be found in Hellas."
Then Nestor the wise arose and spoke. "It does not become us," he said,
"to doubt or dispute the words of Calchas the seer. Therefore we must
find Achilles, and win him to our cause; or, laying aside all thought of
war, we must humbly surrender to Paris the noblest treasure of our
country, even beauteous Helen."
"Achilles can be found," said Odysseus. "I myself will seek him, and
the moon shall not wane thrice ere I shall have found him. Let the best
ship in Argos be put in readiness at once; and let a crew of the most
skilful oarsmen be chosen, and a good store of food be put into the
hold. I will embark to-morrow, and you shall see me no more until I
bring good news of Thetis's godlike son."
So then Odysseus set sail on a long, uncertain voyage to the islands of
the sea, in search of the hidden hero. Vainly did he visit Cythera, the
lofty isle where Aphrodite first rose in all her beauty from the salt
sea-foam; he touched at Melos, rich in corn and wine; he skirted Paros,
known to all the world for its figs and its spotless marble; he stopped
for a month at sacred Delos, the birthplace of Apollo; he explored
well-watered Ophiussa, where serpents curse the ground, and grapes grow
purple on the climbing vines; he sought long time in Andros among the
groves and in the temple sacred to ruddy-faced Dionysus: yet in none of
these lands heard he any news of the godlike son of Peleus. Weary of
their long and fruitless voyage, the comrades of Odysseus murmured
sorely, and besought him to return to Mycenae, and give up the search.
But he turned a deaf ear to their pleadings, and sailed away to Scyros,
where old Lycomedes reigned. For the bright-eyed goddess Athene had
whispered to him in a dream, and told him that in the court of Lycomedes
he would find the hero for whom he sought.
In a narrow inlet, hidden by trees and tall reeds, the ship was moored,
while shrewd Odysseus went alone and unheralded to the palace of the
king. He had laid aside his warrior's gear, and was now attired in the
guise of a wandering peddler, and loaded with a heavy pack of precious
wares. And lo! as he neared the high-built halls of Lycomedes, he came
to a spacious garden just outside of the courtyard, and hard by the
lofty gate. A green hedge ran round it on four sides, while within grew
many tall trees laden with fruits and blossoms,--pear trees,
pomegranates, apple trees, and olives. So well cared for were these
trees, that they yielded fruit in every season of the year, nor ever
failed, even in winter time. Beyond these, all manner of garden beds
were planted, where flowers bloomed in never-ending freshness,--the dewy
lotus, the crocus flower, the pale hyacinth, violets, asphodels, and
fair lilies. And in their midst, two springs of never-failing water
gushed: one of them watered the garden and the fields beyond; the other
ran close by the threshold of the palace, and bubbled up in the
market-square, where all the people came to fill their vessels.[1]
[1] See Note 14 at the end of this volume.