Hector and Achilles—Hector’s Death
The Achaians, their shields slung over their shoulders, were awaiting
Achilles close under the walls of Troy. All the Trojans were within the
city except Hector, who had remained outside, resolved to meet Achilles
once more in combat; for he believed that he owed it to his fatherland
and to his own honor, either to free his people from this dread enemy or
to give up his own life for them. His old father looked gloomily down
from the wall and signalled for him to come inside, but in vain.
Achilles returned from his pursuit of Agenor, his lance on his shoulder.
At the sight old Priam beat his breast in consternation and he trembled,
seeing his son without and alone. “Dear son,” he entreated, “do not face
that cruel man, for he is stronger than thou. Alas, would that the gods
hated him as I do and he would soon be food for the dogs! How many of my
sons he has already murdered or sold to distant isles! And now, my
Hector, thou on whom the Trojan people put their hopes, wilt thou also
go to meet him? Come, take pity on me! Already hath Jupiter heaped
endless misfortunes upon mine old age, and should he rob me of thee now,
I already foresee the enemy breaking into our fortress, carrying off our
women, murdering our children, and plundering our treasures. Woe is me!
for I shall become food for mine own dogs in the courtyard. Alas, that
would be the most lamentable of all destinies!”
But Hector could not be persuaded and remained steadfast at the gate,
awaiting Achilles. “Woe is me if I should hide now behind walls and
gates!” he said. “Then Polydamas could chide me with reason for
sacrificing so many good friends to-day. I would not follow his advice
and retire into the city, but presumed to contend with Achilles alone,
and alas, I have not saved a single man from his fury and, I openly
avow, have myself avoided him in fear, for he is truly terrible in his
might. But now I must challenge fate boldly, that the women of Troy may
not denounce me for leading the people to destruction and then fleeing
like a coward. But how would it be if I should lay helmet and shield on
the ground beside my lance and thus go to meet the hero and offer him a
peaceful settlement? Offer him Helen and all their treasure, together
with half of all the goods which the houses of the Trojan princes
contain? But no! I cannot approach him a suppliant. It would be base and
unworthy and he would strike me down unarmed like a weak woman. No! I
will fight like a man. Be my fate what it may, I will conquer or die
with honor.”
Achilles came up looking like Mars himself. When Hector saw him he
trembled, and fled like a dove pursued by a hawk. Hector turned first to
the left, then to the right, striving to tire out his pursuer; but in
vain. Now they ran past the watch tower, now past the fig tree, and now
by the hot springs, where were the stone basins of the washerwomen. His
pursuer drove him clear round the great city, yea, even three times
round the walls, and as often as Hector tried to slip through an open
portal, Achilles would drive him out again into the open fields, keeping
near the walls himself. But when they passed the place where the
Achaians were resting on their spears awaiting the outcome, Achilles
forbade anyone to cast a spear at Hector and rob him of the honor of the
victory.
As they neared the hot springs for the fourth time, a man ran forward as
though to offer Hector aid. It was Athena in the form of Hector’s
brother Deïphobus, who called to him: “Brother, I saw thy danger and am
come forth to help thee. Stop and await him boldly.”
“Beloved Deïphobus, how didst thou dare—”
“My soul was wrung and I could no longer look upon the grief of my
father and mother.”
“So be it, I will fight,” said Hector, and made ready to meet the foe.
“I will no longer flee before thee, O Pelide,” he cried to Achilles. “My
heart bids me encounter thee, whether I conquer or fall. But let us
first make a compact and swear to it before the all-seeing gods. Should
Jupiter give me the victory, I will not misuse thee. Thy armor will I
take and leave thy body to the Achaians, that they may give it burial.
And thou shalt do the same to me.”
But with a furious look Achilles roared his answer. “No compacts, hated
Hector! Does the lion make a compact with the cattle, or the wolf with
the lambs? One of us must lie stretched upon the ground, that Mars may
be satiated with his blood. I hope that thou mayest not escape me, and
thus atone at once for all the woe thou hast inflicted on my people.”
Thus speaking, he sent his terrible spear flying through the air. But
Hector, quickly sinking on one knee, avoided it and the iron missile
passed over him. Fresh courage filled him, and springing up joyfully he
cried: “Wide of the mark, godlike Achilles! Thou art a good talker and
crafty, hoping I should lose strength and courage. Now protect thyself,
for my spear shall not strike thee lightly!”
He hurled his lance with tremendous force and did not miss the mark, for
the point struck the boss of the shield with a loud crash and would have
pierced both shield and breast had the shield not been forged by Vulcan
himself. But the lance rebounded like a ball thrown against a wall and
Hector stood confounded, for he had but one spear. He quickly looked
about for Deïphobus and called loudly for another spear, but there was
no answer and his brother was nowhere to be seen. Then he was filled
with foreboding. “Woe is me!” he cried. “Some cunning god in Deïphobus’
shape hath deceived me, and now, when I hoped he would save me, he has
disappeared.” In desperation he seized his sword, rushing forward like a
soaring eagle swooping down upon its prey. But Achilles had already
picked up Hector’s spear, and, as they charged each other, the long
spear reached its goal sooner than the short sword. Taken in the neck
above his breastplate, the hope of Troy sank into the dust, while the
cruel victor and all the Achaians loudly rejoiced.
“Ha!” cried Achilles as he drew forth his spear, “only yesterday thou
wert so proudly triumphant, as thou didst invade our ships in Patroclus’
stolen harness, and to-day thou liest powerless before the walls of thy
proud fortress. Surely thou didst little dream that the slain hero had
left a powerful avenger. We shall pay him all the honors of a hero,
while thou shalt make a shameful end among the dogs and birds of prey.”
Breathing painfully, Hector tried to speak. “I conjure thee by thy life
and by thy parents, let me not be torn by Damæan dogs, but accept the
bronze and valuable gold which my father and mother shall offer thee.
Send my body to Ilios, that the men and women of Troy may pay me the
last honors of the funeral pyre.” But Achilles shouted: “Silence and
die, contemptible one!”
Dying, Hector answered: “Indeed I knew I should not move thee, for thou
hast an iron heart. But think of me when the gods avenge me and thou
sinkest into the dust felled by the shots of Phœbus Apollo.” And Death,
the brother of Sleep, bore the hero’s soul down to Hades. Many warriors
from the Greek army came up and looked with admiration upon the splendid
form of the hero. And to one another they said: “It is wonderful how
much gentler he is to look on now than there at our ships when he was
leading the assault.”
Achilles arose among the people and spoke. “Friends, now that the gods
have permitted me to subdue the man who has done us greater injury than
any other, let us discover whether the Trojans will dare withstand us,
without the support of their great hero. But what am I saying? My friend
lies still unburied. Therefore let us chant the hymn of victory and take
Hector with us as an expiatory offering for my friend.”
First the procession passed by the Scæan gate, that the Trojans standing
there upon the walls might see it. There sat old Priam and his spouse
Hecuba, without any warning of the outcome of the combat. What a
horrible sight for the venerable father and loving mother! Their bravest
son, the pride and hope of Troy, dragged at the wheels of the victor’s
chariot! All Troy set up a despairing lament, as though the city were
already in ruins and a prey to devouring flames. His mother, almost
beside herself with grief, wrung her hands, and shrieking, pulled the
veil from her head and tore her gray hair. And his father was scarcely
to be restrained from going down to cut his son loose or die across his
mutilated body. He called on those by name who stood about it; begged,
implored, wept, and threw himself on the ground, strewing dust on his
gray head. And all those who saw it wept with him.
Hector’s faithful wife, Andromache, was the last to learn the sad
tidings, for she had been busy in her home attending to household duties
among her women. And now, as twilight fell, she sent one of her maids to
heat water in a tripod for the hero’s bath when he should return. From a
distance arose a sound of loud lamentation and wailing of women. The
wife trembled and sad foreboding filled her heart. “Follow me,” she
cried to two of the maids. “My knees are trembling, for I fear the noble
Achilles has cut off the valiant Hector from the city, for he is always
before all others and fears no one.”
She rushed out, the servants following after her. There was nobody to be
seen in the street; the cries came from the walls. The unhappy woman
hastened thither. One look revealed the tragedy, and she sank down in a
swoon. She lay for long as one dead, and at length, when consciousness
returned, she began in a low, broken voice: “Hector! Alas, the unhappy
people! Oh, that I had never been born! Now must thou go down to Hades
and I remain here a widow, miserable and deserted. And thy young
son—trouble and sorrow menace his future now that thou art gone—for
others will seek to take his patrimony—and his childhood shall pass
without a friend. For an orphaned child has no playmates; and when the
other boys take their share of their fathers’ feast, none calls the
orphan boy to divide with him. The child casts down his eyes ashamed and
weeps silently. Then, hungry, he goes about among his father’s friends,
pulls one by the coat, another by the cloak; and if one of them is
kindly inclined, he will perhaps hold the goblet to his lips. But, alas,
he does not give him his fill. The other boys, insolent and greedy, do
not suffer him at their feasts, but push him away, crying: ‘Thy father
doth not sit at our feasts.’ Then the child goes away and cries in his
mother’s arms. O ye gods, my Astyanax! How gayly his father used to rock
him on his knees! And now, robbed of a tender father, he shall suffer
much—our Astyanax, as the Trojans call him.”
Thus mourned Andromache, and round about her wept and lamented the women
of Troy.