HOW PATROCLUS FOUGHT AND DIED
While round the dark ships of Greece the fierce fight raged, Achilles,
from afar, listened unmoved to the din of battle, and watched with
stony eyes the men of Greece as they fell and died on the reddened
ground.
To him came Patroclus.
‘Why dost thou weep, Patroclus?’ asked Achilles. ‘Like a fond little
maid art thou that runs by her mother’s side, plucking at her gown,
hindering her as she walks, and with tearful eyes looking up at her
until the mother lifts her in her arms. Like her, Patroclus, dost thou
softly weep.’
Then Patroclus, heavily groaning, made answer:
‘Among the ships lie the bravest and best of the men of Greece,
sore wounded or dead. Pitiless art thou, Achilles, pitiless and
unforgiving. Yet if thou dost still hold back from the battle,
give me, I pray thee, thine armour, and send me forth in thy stead.
Perchance the Trojans may take me for the mighty Achilles, and even now
the victory be ours.’
Then said Achilles, and heavy was his heart within him:
‘These Greeks took from me my well-won prize, Patroclus. Yet let the
past be past; no man may keep his anger for ever. I have said that
until the men of Troy come to burn my own ships I will hold me back
from the battle. But take you my armour; lead my men in the fight, and
drive from the ships the men of Troy. But to others leave it to chase
them across the plain.’
Even as Achilles spoke, the strength of mighty Ajax had come to an
end, and with furious rush did the Trojans board the ships. In their
hands they bore blazing torches, and up to the sky rushed the fiercely
roaring flames.
Then cried Achilles, smiting his thighs:
‘Haste thee, Patroclus! They burn the ships! Arm thyself speedily, and
I will call my men!’
Corslet and shield and helmet did Patroclus swiftly don, and girded on
the silver-studded sword and took two strong lances in his hand.
In the chariot of Achilles he mounted, and Automedon, best and bravest
of charioteers, took the reins.
Swift as the wild west wind were Bayard and Piebald, the two horses of
Achilles, and in the side harness was Pedasus, a horse only less swift
than they.
Gladly did the men of Achilles meet his call to arms, for fierce as
wolves were they.
‘Many times hast thou blamed me,’ cried Achilles, ‘because in my wrath
I kept ye back from battle. Here for ye now is a mighty fight, such as
ye love.’
To battle they went, and while Patroclus led them forth, Achilles in
his tent offered up an offering to Zeus.
Like wasps that pour forth from their nests by the wayside to sting
the boys who have stoned them, so now did the Greeks swarm from their
ships.
Before the sword of Patroclus fell a mighty warrior, and when the men
of Troy saw the shining armour of Achilles in his own chariot their
hearts sank within them.
Out of the ships were they driven, the fire was quenched, and back to
the trench rolled the tide of battle. In the trench writhed many a
horse and many a man in dying agonies. But clear across it leaped the
horses of Achilles, and close to the walls of Troy did Patroclus drive
brave Hector before him.
His chariot then he turned, and headed off the fleeing Trojans, driving
them down to the ships. Before the furious rush of his swift steeds,
other horses were borne off their feet, other chariots cast in ruins
on the ground, and men crushed to death under his wheels. Chief after
chief did Patroclus slay. A mighty destroyer was he that day.
One only of the chiefs of Troy kept his courage before the destroyer
who wore the shining arms of Achilles.
‘Shame on ye!’ cried Sarpedon to his men, ‘whither do ye flee? I
myself will fight this man who deals death and destruction to the
Trojan host.’
From their chariots leaped Sarpedon and Patroclus.
With the first cast of his spear Patroclus missed Sarpedon, but slew
his charioteer. Then did Sarpedon cast, and his spear whizzed past
Patroclus, and smote the good horse Pedasus. With a dreadful scream
Pedasus fell, kicking and struggling, in the dust. This way and that
did the other two horses plunge and rear, until the yoke creaked and
the reins became entangled. But the charioteer leaped down, with his
sword slashed clear the traces from Pedasus, and the horses righted
themselves.
Once again did Sarpedon cast his spear, and the point flew over the
left shoulder of Patroclus. But Patroclus missed not. Through the heart
of Sarpedon sped the fiercely hurled spear, and like a slim tree before
the axe of the woodcutter he fell, his dying hands clutching at the
bloody dust.
Furious was the combat then over the body of Sarpedon. One brave
warrior after another did Patroclus lay dead.
And more terrible still was the fight because in the ranks of the men
of Troy there fought now, in all-devouring wrath, the god Apollo.
Nine men, good warriors all, did Patroclus slay; then, waxing bolder,
he tried to climb the very walls of Troy.
Three times did Apollo thrust him back, and when, a fourth time, he
attacked, the god cried aloud to him in anger, warning him not to dare
so much.
Against Patroclus did Hector then drive his war-horses, but Patroclus,
leaping from his chariot, hurled at Hector a jagged stone. In the eyes
it smote the charioteer of Hector, and the slain man dropped to the
ground.
‘How nimble a man is this!’ jeered Patroclus. ‘How lightly he diveth!
Were this the sea, how good an oyster-seeker would this fellow be!’
[Illustration: The point of the spear flew over the left shoulder of
Patroclus (page 107)]
Then from his chariot leaped Hector and met Patroclus, and the noise
of the battle was as the noise of a mighty gale in the forest when
great trees fall crashing to the ground.
When the sun went down, victory was with the Greeks. Three mighty
charges did Patroclus make, and each time he slew nine men. But when, a
fourth time, he charged, Apollo met him. In thick mist he met him, and
Patroclus knew not that he fought with a god. With a fierce downstroke
from behind, Apollo smote his broad shoulders, and from off his head
the helmet of Achilles fell with a clang, rattling under the hoofs of
the horses. Before the smiting of the god, Patroclus stood stricken,
stupid and amazed. Shattered in his hands was the spear of Achilles,
and his mighty shield clanged on the ground.
Ere he could know who was the smiter, a Trojan ally drove a spear
between his shoulders, and Patroclus, sore wounded, fell back.
Marking his dismay, Hector pressed forward, and clean through his body
drove his bronze spear. With a crash Patroclus fell.
‘Thou that didst boast that thou wouldst sack my town, here shall
vultures devour thee!’ cried Hector.
And in a faint voice Patroclus made answer:
‘Not to thee do I owe my doom, great Hector. Twenty such as thou would
I have fought and conquered, but the gods have slain me. Yet verily I
tell thee that thou thyself hast not long to live. Even now doth Death
stand beside thee!’
As he spoke, the shadow of Death fell upon Patroclus. No more in his
ears roared the din of battle; still and silent for ever he lay.