Achilles in Battle—The Fight on the River
All Olympus was now interested in the combat of mortals since the
godlike Achilles had taken up arms again. Many of the divinities
promised him victory, but Jupiter was resolved that he should not yet
destroy the splendid city of the Trojans, for fate had not decreed that
it should fall by his hand. Therefore he commanded the other gods to
stay the zeal of the Pelide should he rage too terribly. The Trojans
were already armed and in the field and the swarms of Achaians flew to
meet them like a heap of dry leaves driven before the wind. Achilles
looked everywhere for Hector, but without discovering him. Instead, he
espied two other chieftains, Æneas and Lykaon.
Æneas determined to face the hero. He commended his soul to his divine
mother and pushed forward shouting fierce threats. Achilles ran toward
him without hesitation and then stopping suddenly he called out: “How
canst thou venture so far from thy men, Æneas? What is it impels thee to
fight with me? Dost think perchance that if thou shouldst conquer me
thou shalt become ruler of the Trojans? Priam has still plenty of sons!
Did I not meet thee on Mount Ida, where father Jupiter himself was
scarce able to save thee? Thou didst run like a deer, not daring to look
behind thee. Thou hadst better fly now, if life is dear to thee, and
take care not to get in my way a second time.”
“Son of Peleus,” answered Æneas, “do not hope to frighten me with words
like a child. My race is as exalted as thine own, for I was fathered by
Anchises of Dardanus’ family and Aphrodite is my mother. My family is
old and powerful. But why do we gossip like women? Come, let us see
whether it be Aphrodite or Thetis who shall mourn for her son to-day.”
He was the first to cast his spear, and Achilles held his shield before
him at arm’s length, so that should it pierce the metal, it might not
touch his body. But the swift-flying weapon glanced off harmlessly.
Immediately he hurled his own powerful lance, but Æneas threw himself on
the ground and covered himself. The mighty lance crashed through the
edge of his shield and buried itself in the ground just behind the
crouching man. He arose quickly, seized a great stone, and threw it at
the head of Achilles, who was rushing upon him with drawn sword in a
blind rage, forgetting to shield himself, so that had Vulcan’s helmet
not been so strong, helmet and skull would doubtless have been crushed.
Æneas was about to exult over his fall, but Achilles only staggered back
a step and a god warned Æneas to escape. He therefore drew Achilles’
heavy spear from his shield, and throwing it down, fled into the crowd
of Trojans.
When Achilles came to, he found himself on the ground, supporting
himself on one arm, and alone. He was astonished and said to himself:
“What miracle is this? Here lies my spear and my adversary is nowhere to
be seen. But indeed Æneas must be beloved of the gods, for no one has
ever vanquished me thus. But he did not venture to kill me in my swoon
and is, no doubt, happy to have himself escaped. And now I must away to
measure myself with other Trojans.” He first returned to his Myrmidons
and cheered them with loud cries of “Forward, man to man! Let none hold
back! I cannot alone conquer the whole Trojan army, even Mars himself
could not do that. But my lance shall never rest.”
Among the Trojans the gallant Hector was going about encouraging his
bands. “Do not fear, ye valiant Trojans, because the enemy has gained a
single man to-day. Grim Achilles has certainly uttered great threats,
but words are not deeds. Behold, I go forward to encounter him unafraid,
though his hand were a bolt of lightning and his breast of bronze.”
Achilles had already broken into the ranks of the Trojans and slain a
man here and there. He was like a hungry wolf hasting from one victim to
another. His lance was constantly in flight. He pierced the noble
Demoleon, then laid his charioteer Hippodamos in the dust, then drawing
his spear from the body, he hurled it after Polydorus, Priam’s youngest
son, whom his father had begged not to enter the fight. But the youth,
considered the best runner in the army, was passionate and fiery and
would not be restrained. Just as he was flying past, Achilles’ terrible
spear struck him. He fell, groaning and holding his wounded side. Thus
his brother Hector espied him and in a passion of grief he advanced upon
Achilles, swinging his lance like flashing lightning.
Seeing him coming thus, Achilles cried: “Ah! there is he who killed my
friend! Come, Hector, come, that thou mayest meet thy doom!” He had
scarcely spoken when Hector stood before him and answered unabashed: “Do
not hope to intimidate me with words, O Achilles! Even if thou art
stronger than I, it rests with the gods to decide whether I shall not
rob thee of thy life.”
He threw the lance with all his might, but it glanced off Achilles’
hard-polished shield. He turned about, frightened, and fled like the
wind before the hero’s hissing spear. “Ah! truly Phœbus must be with
thee,” cried Achilles. “Destruction was hard upon thee and thou hast
escaped. But the next time I meet thee I shall send thee down to Hades.”
He glanced about angrily for other adversaries.
See, now his chariot pursues a band of Trojans who prefer to flee all
together rather than meet this single man. He pressed forward to one
side, cutting them off from the rest of the army and driving them all
into the river. There they paddled about like swimming poodles until
Achilles, leaving his lance on the bank, sprang after them to stab those
whom he could reach with his sword. Finally he drove twelve youths into
the reeds and there bound their hands behind their backs with his armor
straps. He then led them out and gave them into the hands of his
charioteer to take back to the Myrmidons. They were destined for a cruel
sacrifice to Patroclus.
Achilles turned again to the river and there he recognized with
astonishment, among those who were trying in vain to clamber up the
steep banks, a youth, son of Priam, named Lykaon, whom he had taken at
the beginning of the war and sold for one hundred oxen into Lemnos. Some
years later a rich Phrygian had purchased him, from whom he had but
lately escaped, having returned only eleven days before to the house of
his venerable father. “Ha! there is Lykaon!” cried Achilles in surprise.
“How comes he here? This time he shall taste the tip of my spear and we
shall see if he return from the underworld to cause me trouble again.”
He went to fetch his spear and Lykaon swam as hard as he could to throw
himself at his feet and beg for mercy.
“Fool!” thundered the terrible voice of the hero, “what do I want with
ransom money? Before Patroclus fell I was inclined to show mercy and
carried away many captives, but now not one who falls into my hands
shall survive—least of all one of Priam’s sons. Die then, my friend!
Thou criest out in vain. Patroclus, too, had to die, who was far
mightier than thou. And seest thou not how great and powerful I am? My
father was a noble king, a goddess is my mother, and yet my death and
doom are drawing near and sooner or later I shall fall by the spear or
arrow.”
The poor youth’s heart and knees trembled. He spread out his arms, shut
his eyes, and thus received the death stroke. Then Achilles seized him
by the feet and flung him far out into the river. “There! Swim among the
fish,” he cried. “Many a one shall feed on Lykaon. Thus I shall pursue
ye all, until ye have atoned for Patroclus’ death and the woe of the
Achaians.”
But the river god who heard this blasphemy was angered. Asteropæus, son
of Pelegon, was still standing in the water and Scamander breathed
courage into him. He was practised in casting with both hands and
Achilles saw him advancing with two raised spears. He shouted to him:
“Who art thou, rash man? Unhappy are the parents of those who contend
with me!”
“What wouldst thou know of me, great Pelide?” he answered. “I came from
distant Pæonia with a gallant army but eleven days ago. Now let us
fight, valiant Achilles.”
With these words he let fly both lances at once upon the hero. One of
them rebounded harmlessly from the shield, the other brushed his left
elbow and buried itself in the sand. And now Achilles swung his bloody
staff, but missed aim also, and his lance struck the sandy bank on the
other side of the river. Angrily he sprang into the water with drawn
sword, and striding powerfully through the waves, he approached the
unlucky Asteropæus, who was trying in vain to secure Achilles’ lance.
Before he could do so the hero felled him, and he sank down unconscious.
“Ah,” he cried joyously, “thou couldst scarcely contend with a man of
Jupiter’s divine race, although thy ancestor was a river god.”
Achilles drew his spear out of the earth and left the dying man gasping
at the water’s edge. He threw himself next upon a troop of Pæonians and
drove them into the stream. Those who would not go of their own accord
he thrust down into a watery grave. Then from the depths of the stream
he heard the voice of the river god: “O Achilles, thou art superhuman in
thy fury and the gods are always with thee. But I warn thee, that if
Jupiter hath given the Trojans into thy hand this day, murder where thou
wilt, but do not pollute my waters, for my stream is already glutted
with the dead, and even now I can scarce flow down into the holy sea.
Therefore forbear!”
Achilles heard the warning unmoved and replied: “It shall be as thou
sayest, divine Scamander, but I shall never stop destroying the Trojans
until I have fought the last decisive battle with Hector.”
But when he chanced upon a fresh troop of the enemy, who were astray
near the river, he forgot the river god’s decree, and when they all
jumped into the stream to gain the opposite shore he plunged in after
them. Then the invisible god arose in his might, determined to destroy
him. He sent wave after wave breaking over him and drew him deeper and
deeper down. Struggle as he might he could make no headway against the
mighty stream on whose waves he rose and fell, almost losing his balance
and being carried away. The bodies of the slain bore against him and he
could scarcely hold them back with his shield. He struggled to the
shore, but the angry god stirred up a foaming surf which threw him back
again.
Almost exhausted he struggled forward once more and grasped a young elm
whose branches hung over the stream; but just as he was about to swing
himself up by it the roots gave way, so that it lay across the river
like a bridge. Upon this the hero reached the bank, although he vainly
hoped to escape the river god thus. Furiously Scamander followed him
across the fallow fields with breaking waves. He also called to his aid
the other streams who generally dash their waters from the mountain
heights to destroy the farmer’s fields only in springtime. To the
Simoïs, which joins him just before he flows into the sea, he cried:
“Come, brother, and help me stem the power of this terrible man, else he
will batter down the walls of Priam’s fortress to-day; for none can
withstand him. Arise, friend, let thy floods loose; roll down rocks and
stones with thundering waves upon him, that we may tame him. For I ween
that neither his strength nor beauty nor his resplendent weapons shall
save him. They shall be buried deep in mud, and him will I cover with
sand and heap a monument of shells and pebbles over him so high that
none shall ever find his bones.”
The hero was almost overcome and in his despair cried aloud: “Father
Jupiter, not a single one of the gods will take pity on me, and I
thought ye all loved me! But none has deceived me more than my divine
mother, who promised me the glorious death of a hero before Troy. And
now, alas, an ignoble end awaits me, and I shall be drowned as
ignominiously as any swineherd in a mud puddle.”
Then from afar a solemn and consoling voice arose. “Be comforted,
Peleus’ son, thou shalt not die in the waters. Keep up the struggle
until the Trojans have fled the field. But when Hector is vanquished
thou shalt return.”
This promise filled his heart with courage, for it was the voice of
Poseidon, to whom all streams are subject. And now the waters quickly
subsided and were drawn into the broad gulf of the sea. Then a south
wind arose which sucked up the moisture from the ground and bore it
away. The valiant hero soon stood upon firm ground again and hurried
away as fast as he could to plunge into the fray. Fired by his example,
his people followed him like a consuming flame fanned by the wind. All
who could do so fled to the walls, most of them toward the gate. The
venerable Priam sat upon the top of the wall, looking mournfully down
upon the sad plight of his people. When the crush at the gate became
intolerable he descended and called to the guards: “Friends, open the
doors and let the men in, for they can no longer withstand the terrible
Pelide. When all are inside, shut the gate and put up the bars, that the
enemy may not enter also.”
In the confusion of flight, where none wished to be lost, Achilles and
his band would doubtless have pushed in with them had not Apollo
distracted his attention by the sight of Agenor. This bold youth stood
concealed behind a beech tree turning over a thousand projects in his
anxious mind. “What shall I do?” he said to himself. “I am too far
behind to follow the others—he would take me in the back like a coward.
If I try to creep along the wall and escape by way of the thickets of
Ida, the bushes may hide me; then I could steal up to the gate at night
and whisper to them softly to let me in. But what if he should discover
me there? Then I should be lost indeed; for who is as strong as he? But
his body is not invulnerable and he is a mortal like the others.
Therefore I will try my skill with him, that I may save my life with
honor.”
Meanwhile Achilles came running up and espied the man hidden behind the
tree. Agenor stepped boldly forth and cried: “Madman, dost thou hope to
destroy the fortress to-day? Nevermore! There are still plenty of brave
men in the city, and all are fighting for parents, wives, and children.
On the contrary, thy own sad fate may be upon thee to-day, thou
ungovernable monster.”
With these words his flashing sword descended upon Achilles, and not
without effect. He struck his shin, and only the impenetrable greaves
fashioned by Vulcan prevented the leg from being shattered. Like a
wounded boar Achilles pounced upon the youth, who fled through
wheatfields and thickets along the river, leading his grim pursuer far
away from the city; for he did not give up the chase until the youth was
lost to sight. And this never would have occurred had the blow on his
leg not sapped his strength. But Apollo had arranged it thus, so that
for this time the Trojans should escape; for when he returned breathless
he found them safe behind their walls.