Deep was the wrath of Hera when she saw her darling Greeks driven like
sheep before the exultant Trojans, and huddled in wild disorder behind
their ramparts. As the voice of Hector rang out above the din, like a
trumpet sounding the charge, she rocked herself with fury in her seat,
and at last, being able to contain herself no longer, she cried to
Athene: "I will not endure it! Come what may, I will save my Greeks
from perishing by the hands of that mad Trojan."
"It is the hand of Zeus," answered Athene, "that hath brought these
foul deeds to pass, in fulfilment of the promise which he made to
Thetis, when she clasped his knees, and besought him to honour her son.
Graceless, thankless god! Did I not serve him day and night, when I
watched like a mother over Heracles, his favourite son, and saved him
from a thousand perils? And this is my reward, to be crossed in all my
designs, and robbed of my just revenge, by him, my false father, who
fools me with his caresses, and calls me his dear, grey-eyed maid! But
go thou and harness our steeds, while I put on my armour, and we will
try whether Hector will blench or not when he sees my spear flashing
among the dykes of war,[1] and the Trojans falling thick and fast, to
glut the dogs and vultures with their fat and their flesh."
[1] The armed columns, which keep back the _flood_ of battle.
Not a minute elapsed before the rebellious goddesses were equipped for
battle, and ready to swoop like eagles on the heads of the hated
Trojans. But Zeus had been watching their movements, and summoning
Iris he sent her with a stern, imperious message to his mutinous wife
and child. Prompt at his command, Iris sped on her rainbow wings to
Olympus, and met the angry pair as they were issuing from the gates.
"Are ye mad?" she said, confronting them with warning looks. "Listen
to my message, and get ye back the way ye came. Thus saith the son of
Cronos, and his words shall surely come to pass: he will maim the swift
steeds which draw your car, and blast you with his lightnings, and
shatter your chariot wheels, and for ten long years ye shall not be
healed of the wounds from those corrosive fires. Then shall thou
learn, thou grey-eyed maid, what it means to fight with thy sire."
Both Hera and Athene knew full well how far they might presume on the
indulgence of Zeus, and without another word they turned back to
Olympus, unyoked their steeds, and with quaking hearts joined the
company of the gods. Soon after, the monarch of Olympus entered, and
took his seat on his exalted throne; for he had returned from Ida when
his business for the day was ended. Not a word, not a look, did he
receive in greeting from his wife and daughter; but he knew their
thoughts, and said: "Why sit ye thus dismayed, Hera and Athene? It
cannot be that ye are wearied from doing battle with the Trojans,
against whom ye have so dire a grudge, for ye were seized with
trembling before ever ye had looked into the face of war. And well for
you that it was so!--or your warring should have had a fearful end."
Athene remained cowed and silent, but the shrewish Hera, though she too
was scared by her husband's anger, could not hold her peace, but
muttered a few words of complaint and remonstrance, of which only the
words "faithful Greeks" and "unmerited disaster" were audible. But
Zeus was in no mood for contradiction, and he cut her short with this
peremptory announcement of his purpose: "To-morrow, if thou wilt, thou
shalt see thy 'faithful Greeks' plunged yet deeper in 'unmerited
disaster.' They shall have no respite from slaughter and defeat until
the swift-footed son of Peleus shall once more be roused to arms. Go
then, and fill heaven and earth with thy rage and thy fury--go down to
Tartarus, if thou choosest, and tell thy wrongs to the demons who dwell
in that sunless den."