beside the shore, and he spoke in hurried, anxious accents.
"Behold," said he, "a great tumult has arisen in the camp; for Calchas
has given out among the men that you refuse to do what Artemis has
bidden, and that hence these delays and troubles have arisen. And the
rude soldiers are crying out against you, and declaring that the maiden
must die. When I would have stayed their anger, they took up stones to
stone me,--my own Myrmidons among the rest. And now they are making
ready to move upon your tent, threatening to sacrifice you also with
your daughter. But I will fight for you to the utmost, and the maiden
shall not die."
As he was speaking, Calchas entered, and, grasping the wrist of the
pleading maiden, lifted her to her feet. She looked up, and saw his
stony face and hard cold eyes; and turning again to Agamemnon, she said,
"O father, the ships shall sail, for I will die for thee."
Then Achilles said to her, "Fair maiden, thou art by far the noblest and
most lovely of thy sex. Fain would I save thee from this fate, even
though every man in Hellas be against me. Fly with me quickly to my
long-oared galley, and I will carry thee safely away from this accursed
place."
"Not so," answered Iphigenia: "I will give up my life for my father and
this land of the Hellenes, and no man shall suffer for me."
And the pitiless priest led her through the throng of rude soldiers, to
the grove of Artemis, wherein an altar had been built. But Achilles and
Agamemnon covered their faces with their mantles, and staid inside the
tent. Then Talthybius the herald stood up, and bade the warriors keep
silence; and Calchas put a garland of sweet-smelling flowers about the
victim's head.
"Let no man touch me," said the maiden, "for I offer my neck to the
sword with right good will, that so my father may live and prosper."
In silence and great awe, the warriors stood around, while Calchas drew
a sharp knife from its scabbard. But, lo! as he struck, the maiden was
not there; and in her stead, a noble deer lay dying on the altar. Then
the old soothsayer cried out in triumphant tones, "See now, ye men of
Hellas, how the gods have provided for you a sacrifice, and saved the
innocent daughter of the king!" And all the people shouted with joy;
and in that self-same hour, a strong breeze came down the Euripus, and
filled the idle sails of the waiting ships.
"To Troy! to Troy!" cried the Hellenes; and every man hastened aboard
his vessel.
How it was that fair Iphigenia escaped the knife; by whom she was saved,
or whither she went,--no one knew. Some say that Artemis carried her
away to the land of the Taurians, where she had a temple and an altar;
and that, long years afterward, her brother Orestes found her there, and
bore her back to her girlhood's home, even to Mycenae. But whether this
be true or not, I know that there have been maidens as noble, as loving,
as innocent as she, who have given up their lives in order to make this
world a purer and happier place in which to live; and these are not
dead, but live in the grateful memories of those whom they loved and
saved.
_*ADVENTURE XXI*_*.*
*THE LONG SIEGE.*
The great fleet sailed once more across the sea, piloted now by
Telephus, the king of Mysia; and the ships of Achilles and those of
Philoctetes of Meliboea led all the rest. When they had put a little
more than half the distance behind them, they came to the isle of
Chryse, where were a fair temple and altars built in honor of Athene.
Here many of the heroes landed; and while some were busied in refilling
the water-casks from the springs of fresh water near the shore, others
went up to the temple and offered gifts and heartfelt thanks to Pallas
Athene. But as Philoctetes, the cunning archer, stood near one of the
altars, a water-snake came out of the rocks and bit him on the foot.
Terrible, indeed, was the wound, and great were the hero's sufferings;
day and night he groaned and cried aloud by reason of the bitter pain;
and there was no physician that could heal him of the grievous hurt. In
a few days, a noisome stench began to issue from the wound, and the
hero's complainings waxed so loud and piteous that the warriors stopped
their ears, so that they might not hear them. Then the chiefs took
counsel as to what it were best to do with him; and, although some
advised that he be cast into the sea, it was thought best to follow a
milder course, and leave him alone on the isle of Lemnos. Hence, while
the hero slept, Odysseus and his men carried him on shore; and they laid
his great bow, even the bow of Heracles, by his side upon the sand, and
put a cask of water and a basket of food within easy reach of his hand.
Then they sailed away, and left him alone in his great distress and
sorrow.
At length the shores of Ilios were reached, and the high towers of Troy
were seen. Then the sails of the vessels were furled and laid away in
the roomy holds, the masts were lowered with speed, and the oarsmen
seated themselves upon the benches and rowed the ships forward until
they stood in one line, stretching more than a league along the shore.
But as they drew nearer the sea-beach, the heroes saw all the plain
before them covered with armed men and horses and chariots drawn up to
hinder their landing. And they paused, uncertain what to do; for
Calchas the soothsayer had declared that he who should first step foot
upon the shores of Ilios should meet a sudden death.
"Who among all the heroes will dare be the first to die for Hellas?" was
the anxious question heard on every vessel. Not a man was there who was
not willing and ready to be the second one to step on shore; but who
would be the first? The Trojan host now began to shoot their arrows
toward the ships, and to taunt the Hellenes with cowardice. Yet even
Achilles and Ajax Telamon, the mightiest of the heroes, fell back and
would not take the fearful risk of beginning the fight. Then
Protesilaus, who had led forty black ships from Phylace and the shore of
Antrona, seeing that some one must die for the cause, leaped boldly out
of the ship upon the shelving beach. At once a hundred arrows whistled
through the air, and glanced from his sevenfold shield of ox-hide; and a
heavy spear, thrown by Hector, the mightiest of the Trojans, pierced his
fair armor, and laid him bleeding and dead upon the sand. Quickly the
warriors leaped ashore; face to face and hand to hand they fought with
the Trojan host; and, led by Achilles and by Diomede of the loud
war-cry, they drove their foes across the plain and even through the
city gates.
But Protesilaus lay dead upon the beach; and few of the heroes
remembered that to him they owed their victory. And when his
newly-wedded wife, fair Laodamia, heard in far Phylace that he had
fallen first in the fight, she dight herself in mourning and went to
pray at the shrine of mighty Zeus. And the prayer which she offered was
that she might see her husband once again, and holding his hand, might
talk with him if it were only for the space of three hours. Then Hermes
led the war-loving hero back to the upper world; and he sat in his
bridal chamber, and spoke sweet words of comfort to Laodamia. But when
the short hours were past, and the messenger came to lead Protesilaus
back to the land of shades, his wife prayed that she might return with
him. And men say that this prayer, also, was heard, and that arm in arm
the two went forth together to their shadowy home in Hades.
Time would fail me to tell you how the Greeks encamped upon the plain of
Troy, and how for more than nine long years they laid siege to that
great city. Neither can I speak of the ruinous wrath of Achilles which
brought so much woe upon the Hellenes; for of that you will read in the
oldest and grandest poem that the world has ever known,--the Iliad of
Homer. And there, also, you will read of the death of Patroclus; and of
the vengeance which Achilles wrought, even by the slaying of godlike
Hector; and of the mighty deeds of Diomede and of Ajax and of Agamemnon
on the plains of Troy; and of the shrewd counsels and crafty schemes of
Odysseus, who, though in strength surpassing other men, learned to trust
rather to his skill in words than to his mastery of arms.
The time at length drew near when that which had been spoken concerning
the doom of Achilles was to be fulfilled. For, when he saw that he,
more than all the Hellenes, was held in dread by the Trojans, his heart
was puffed up with unseemly pride, and he boasted of his deeds, and
spoke of himself as greater even than Phoebus Apollo. Then the
archer-god was greatly angered, and no longer covered him with his great
shield of protection, but left him to his doom. Hence, on a day, when
he stood before the Scaean gate, and taunted the Trojans on the walls, a
mighty spear smote him, and pierced his heart. Some say that the weapon
was thrown by Paris, the perfidious one who had caused this bloody war;
and others say that far-darting Apollo in his wrath launched the fatal
bolt. The body of Achilles incased in his glorious armor lay all day
long in the dust, while Hellenes and Trojans fought around it, and
neither could gain the mastery, or carry away the ghastly prize. At
length a great storm burst upon the combatants: the thunder rolled, the
lightning flashed, the rain and hail fell in blinding torrents; and the
Trojans withdrew behind their walls. Then the Hellenes lifted the body
of Achilles, and carried it to their ships; and, stripping it of his
matchless armor, they laid it on a couch, and standing around it, they
bewailed his untimely death. And his mother, silver-footed Thetis, came
across the waves with all the sea-nymphs in her train; and, while she
wept over the body of her child, the nymphs arrayed it in shining robes
which they themselves had woven in their coral caves. Then, after many
days and nights of bitter lamentation, the Hellenes built a great
funeral pile upon the beach; and they laid the hero thereon, and set
fire to it, and the flames leaped high over the sea, and Achilles was no
more. Then Thetis took the hero's glorious armor, and set it up as a
prize to that one who should excel in feats of strength and skill in a
grand trial to be made beside the ships. Only two of all the host stood
up for the trial,--Ajax Telamon and Odysseus; for no other man dared
contend with either of these. Mighty indeed was the contest; but in the
end Odysseus prevailed, and the matchless armor was awarded him. Then,
when Ajax knew that he had been beaten in the suit,--and beaten not more
by honest strength and skill than by crafty guile,--he fell prone upon
the earth, and his great mind lost its balance. And when he arose to
his feet, he knew no longer his friends and comrades, nor did he
remember any thing. But like a roaring wild beast, he rushed from the
tents into the fields and pasture lands; and, seeing a flock of sheep
browsing among the herbage, he fell upon them with his sword, and
slaughtered great numbers of them, fancying that they were foemen
seeking his life. Nor did any man dare say any thing to him, or try in
any way to check him, or turn him aside from his mad freaks. When he
grew tired, at length, of slaughtering the helpless beasts, he went down
into a green dell, and fell upon his own sword. A great stream of blood
gushed from the wound, and dyed the earth, and from it sprang a purple
flower bearing upon its edges both the initials of his name and a sign
of woe, the letters [Greek: ai].
Then Odysseus bewailed his comrade's unhappy death. "Would that I had
never prevailed, and won that prize!" he cried. "So goodly a head hath
the earth closed over for the sake of these arms, even that of Ajax, who
in beauty and in feats of war was of a mould far above all other men,
save only peerless Achilles. What a tower of strength wert thou! Long
indeed shall it be ere Hellas shall see another like thee!"[1]
[1] See Note 16 at the end of this volume.
After this the Hellenes began to despair; for many of their noblest
heroes had perished. Who now should lead them on to victory? Surely
not Patroclus, nor Achilles, nor Ajax. Bitter murmurings were heard
among the ships, and the men declared that ere another moon should pass,
they would embark and sail back to their loved homes, nor ask the leave
of Agamemnon.
At the foot of Mount Ida there stood a temple of Apollo, built by the
Trojans while yet sweet Peace was smiling on the land. To that temple
Helenus the wise soothsayer, one of Priam's sons, was wont to go,
stealing out from the city in the darkness of midnight, and returning
ere the gray dawn of morning appeared. He went there that he might
learn from Apollo the secrets of the future, and he fondly hoped that
his going was unknown to the foes of Troy. But shrewd Odysseus found
him out; and one night, with a band of men, he lay in wait for the
prophet-prince, and took him captive.
"This is a rich treasure that we have taken," said Odysseus, "and it
shall repay us for all our losses."
Helenus was straightway taken to the camp. Around him gathered the
heroes,--Agamemnon, Nestor, Menelaus, and all the rest,--demanding that
he should uncover the secrets of the future.
"When and how shall the Hellenes overcome your city of Troy?" said
Odysseus. "Tell us this, and tell us truly, or death in its fearfullest
form shall come upon thee swiftly."
Then the trembling seer revealed to his enemies that which he had
learned at Apollo's shrine. He told them that within the present year
the Hellenes would certainly prevail if only they did three things,
without which Troy could never be taken. First, the Palladion, the
monster image of Athene, must be removed from the temple in the city,
and set up in the camp by the seashore. Second, young Pyrrhus the son
of Achilles must be brought from his island-home of Scyros to take the
place of his father at the head of the Myrmidon host. And third,
Philoctetes, who had been so deeply wronged by the chiefs, and left to
perish on the desert shores of Lemnos, must be found and brought to
Troy, and healed of his grievous wound.
"These are great tasks and heavy," said Odysseus. "Nevertheless I will
undertake to see them performed."
Then he ordered a swift ship to be made ready; and with old Phoinix as
companion, and a score of trusted fighting-men, he went on board, and
sailed at once for Scyros the quondam home of great Achilles. Ten days
afterward he returned, bringing with him the lad Pyrrhus, so like his
glorious father in face and figure that the Myrmidons hailed him at once
as their chief and king.
"Thus have I done one of the three tasks," said Odysseus. "I shall
perform the other two, mayhap as easily, and then the high walls of Troy
shall fall before us."
Three days later the swift ship of Odysseus again put to sea; and young
Pyrrhus was the hero's comrade. It was but a short voyage to Lemnos;
and, when they reached that island, they moored their vessel in the
sheltering cove close by the spot where, nine years before, the
suffering Philoctetes had been left. Odysseus concealed himself, and
sent the young prince on shore with some of the warriors who had come
with them; for he rightly guessed that Philoctetes had not forgotten the
wrong which he had suffered at his hands.
Pyrrhus found the hero living alone in a wretched cave with no friend
but the mighty bow of Heracles, and suffering still great torments from
the horrid wound in his foot. Yet the prince could not prevail upon him
to sail to Troy; for he said that he would rather endure the distress,
the hunger, and the loneliness which were his in Lemnos, than meet again
those false friends who had left him there to die. Then Odysseus came
forth from his hiding-place, with a company of men, to seize the hero
and carry him by force on board the vessel. But this the young prince
would not permit; and Philoctetes, when he saw them, fled into the
innermost parts of his cave, and would not come forth. When Odysseus
found that neither threats nor entreaties would prevail upon the hero,
he went back to his ship, and made ready to return to Troy. Then it was
that a vision appeared to Philoctetes,--a vision of mighty Heracles
clothed in bright raiment, and a great glory shining in his face.
"Go thou to the land of Ilios," said the vision. "There thou shalt first
be healed of thy grievous sickness; and afterwards thou shalt do great
deeds, and shalt aid in taking the city; and the first prize of valor
shall be awarded to thee among all the heroes. For it is the will of
the immortals that Troy shall be taken, and that my bow shall mightily
aid in its overthrow."
Then Philoctetes went forth from his hiding-place, and was taken on
board the vessel. And as the sails were spread, and the breezes wafted
them towards the Trojan shore, he bade a tearful farewell to Lemnos,
where he had spent so many years of loneliness and sorrow:--
"Farewell to thee, O home that didst befriend me when others failed!
Farewell, ye nymphs that haunt the meadows and the shore, or dwell
beside the gushing mountain springs. Farewell, O cave that oft hast
been my shelter from the winter's frosty winds and the sweltering rays
of the summer's sun. I leave you now; and thou, O sea-girt Lemnos, I
may never more behold! And grant, ye gods, that favoring winds may
blow, and carry me safely wheresoe'er the Fates would have me go!"
As soon as the heroes reached the Trojan shore, and the ship was drawn
to its place high on the beach, Philoctetes was carried to the tents,
and given in charge of Machaon, Asclepius' noble son. And as he lay
upon a cot in the tent of the kind physician, a sweet odor, like that of
blossoming orchards and the bloom of clover, filled the air around him,
and he slept; and men said that the spirit of Asclepius had fanned him
into slumber. Then Machaon, with matchless skill, cut out the poisoned
flesh from his foot, and cleansed it, and bound it up with soft linen.
And when the hero awoke, the pain had left him; and the wound from which
he had suffered such untold torments began at once to heal.
It chanced one day as Philoctetes was sitting outside of his tent, that
a party of Trojans led by Paris made a sally from the city gates, and
came scouring across the plain, intent on doing mischief to the
Hellenes. As the daring warriors drew near the tents, Philoctetes
fitted an arrow to the great bow of Heracles, and took aim at their
fair-faced leader. The deadly dart pierced the shoulder of Paris, and
he fell headlong from his chariot; and there he would have met his
death, had not his comrades quickly rallied, and carried him, faint with
pain, back to the city and his father's halls. Terrible were the
tortures which the hero suffered, for the arrow was one of those which
Heracles had poisoned by dipping in the blood of the hydra. The venom
sped through his burning veins; his strength failed him; the torments of
a thousand deaths seemed to be upon him. Then he forgot fair Helen, for
whose sake was all this war and bloodshed; and he bethought him of
gentle OEnone, whom, in the innocent days of youth, he had wooed and won
in the pleasant dales of Ida. And he cried aloud, "Bring to me OEnone,
her whom I have so grievously wronged! She alone can heal me of my
hurt!"
Then swift messengers were sent to the woody slopes of Ida, to find, if
it might be, the long-deserted, long-forgotten wife. "Come quickly and
save thy erring but repentant husband,"--such was the message,--"behold,
he suffers from a grievous wound! But thou art skilled in the healing
art above all who dwell in Ilios; and he prays that, forgiving all
wrong, thou wilt hasten to help him."
When OEnone heard the message, she remembered the cruel wrongs which she
had endured so long at the hands of faithless Paris; and without a word
in answer, she turned away and went about her daily tasks in her humble
cottage home. Then the messengers returned to Troy, and told the prince
that OEnone would not come to help him. And Paris, with a groan of pain
and a sigh of despair, turned his face to the wall, and died.
Then OEnone, too late, repented that she had turned a deaf ear to her
husband's last request. And in haste she clad herself in her wedding
robes, and came to the sad halls of the prince, not knowing that death
had taken him. Fair and beautiful as in the days of her youth, she
stood before his lifeless form. She took his cold hands in her warm
palm, and said, "I have come, O Paris! Waken, and speak to me! Dost
thou not remember me,--OEnone, whom thou didst woo in the flowery dells
of Ida? I am still the same, and never have I wronged thee. Speak to
me, O Paris!" Then she knelt beside him, and saw the gaping wound which
the arrow of Philoctetes had made; and she knew that life had fled, and
that the hero never more would waken or speak to her. And the gentle
heart of OEnone was broken with the anguish which came upon her; and
when the men of Troy laid Paris upon the funeral pile, and the smoke and
flame arose towards heaven, the fair, perfidious prince was not alone,
for OEnone shared his blazing couch.
While Troy was in mourning for the unhappy death of Paris, Odysseus and
Diomede were planning the means by which to obtain the sacred image of
Athene--the Palladion of Troy. In the guise of a ragged beggar,
Odysseus found his way into the city, and to the door of the temple
where the great image stood.
"Ah, Odysseus! I know thee despite thy rags!" was whispered into his
ear, as a fair hand offered him a pittance. He looked up, and saw the
peerless Helen before him, as beautiful as when, a score of years
before, the princes of Hellas had sued for her hand at the court of old
Tyndareus.
"Be not afraid," she said, "I will not betray you."
And then she told him how unhappy she had been in Troy, and how she
longed to return to her countrymen and to her much-wronged husband
Menelaus. And she promised to aid him in whatever way she could, to
carry off the treasured Palladion, and to open the way for the overthrow
of Troy. Odysseus, shrewdest of men, talked not long with the princess,
but soon returned to the camp. Three nights later, he and Diomede made
their way by stealth into the city, and carried away the priceless
Palladion.
And now the three tasks which Helenus had spoken of, had been performed.
What more remained ere the doomed city should be overthrown? The chiefs
must needs again consult with shrewd Odysseus; and the plan which he
proposed was carried out. A wooden horse, of wondrous size, was made;
and in it the doughtiest heroes of the host, with young Pyrrhus as their
leader, hid themselves. Then the rest of the Hellenes embarked, with
all their goods, aboard their ships, and sailed away beyond the wooded
shores of Tenedos. But the monster horse, with its hidden load of
heroes, stood alone upon the beach.
When the Trojans, looking from their high towers, beheld their enemies
depart, they were filled with joy; and, opening wide their gates, they
poured out of the city, and crowded across the plain, anxious to see the
wonderful horse,--the only relic which their foes had left upon their
shores. While they were gazing upon it, and hazarding many a guess at
its purpose and use, a prisoner was brought before the chiefs. It was
Sinon, a young Hellene, who had been found lurking among the rocks by
the shore. Trembling with pretended fear, he told the Trojans a sad,
false story, of wrongs which he said he had suffered at the hands of
Odysseus.
"But what meaneth this monster image of a horse? Tell us that," said the
Trojan chiefs.
Then Sinon told them how the Hellenes had suffered great punishment at
the hands of Athene, because they had stolen the sacred Palladion of
Troy, and how it was on this account that they had at last given up the
siege of Troy, and had sailed away for their homes in distant Hellas.
And he told them, too, of the words of Calchas the soothsayer; that they
should leave on the shores of Ilios an image which should serve the same
purpose to those who honored it, as the sacred Palladion had served
within the walls of Troy; and that if the Trojans should revere this
figure, and set it up within their walls, it would prove a tower of
strength to them, insuring eternal greatness to Troy, and utter
destruction to Hellas.