Stories from the Iliad

by H. L. Havell

Second Battle: Repulse of the Greeks

I

The result of the first day's fighting had been all in favour of the Greeks, but, as many had fallen on both sides, a truce was made by mutual consent for the next day, to enable both armies to bury their dead. By the advice of Nestor the Greeks dug a trench and threw up a rampart for the defence of their camp, and by the zealous labour of that vast multitude the work was finished on the same night.

Zeus had not forgotten his promise to Thetis, and on the morning of the third day he summoned all the gods to council, and thus declared his will: "Hear me, all ye gods and goddesses, and let none dare to cross my purpose. I forbid any among you to take part in the battle to-day, and if any disobey me I will take him and fling him into Tartarus, the black and gloomy pit, as far beneath Hades as heaven is above the earth. Then shall ye learn how much mightier am I than ye all together."

Without waiting for question or reply, the lord of Olympus mounted his car, and swept along his airy road until he came to the mountain-range of Ida, overlooking the Trojan plain. There he halted and took his station on Mount Gargarus, the highest peak of Ida, from which he had a complete view of Troy and the Grecian camp.

Forth sallied the rival hosts, and soon the clash of arms rang through the cool morning air, as Greek grappled with Trojan in deadly conflict. All through the long hours, until noon, the issue remained doubtful; but when the sun stood at the zenith Zeus lifted a pair of golden scales, and weighed the fates of Greeks and Trojans; and the scale which held the fate of the Greeks sank down, heavy with defeat and disaster. Then Zeus thundered with a mighty peal from Ida, and hurled his bolt among the thronging ranks of the Greeks; and they were sore amazed, and pale Fear gat hold of them. Not one among them dared to stand his ground, neither Ajax, nor Idomeneus, nor Agamemnon himself. Only Nestor lagged behind, for he was hindered by the fall of one of his horses, which had been pierced through the brain by Paris with an arrow. Nestor sprang down, and began cutting through the traces with his sword; and while he was thus engaged, Hector came thundering past in hot pursuit of the Greeks, and seeing Nestor's plight turned aside to slay him. Diomede saw the old man's danger, and lashing his horses to a gallop drove instantly to his aid. "Mount, mount," he cried, "with me, and leave to my squires these sorry steeds of thine. Take thou the reins, and we will see if we can check the onset of the Trojans, and arrest Hector's destroying arm."

Nestor was not slow to obey the summons, and mounting by the side of Diomede he drove straight at Hector. Then Diomede flung his spear, and struck down Hector's charioteer, and, pursuing his advantage, he fell fiercely on the broken columns of the Trojans, scattered in wild pursuit of the enemy. Already the Greeks were beginning to rally, when Zeus hurled a second bolt, which crashed down before the feet of the horses of Diomede. "We must fly," said Nestor; "heaven is against us," and wheeling the affrighted steeds he followed the main body of the Greeks, who were now in full retreat towards the ships. That was a bitter moment for the gallant Diomede, when he heard the exulting voice of Hector, calling him coward, minion, woman. But peal after peal came from the frowning peak of Ida, now wrapped in black clouds; and that proud spirit was forced to bow to a higher power.

"On, Trojans, on!" shouted Hector, pushing on at full speed to head the pursuit. "Zeus favours our cause, and the Greeks are doomed. Neither walls, nor moat, nor all their sorry devices, shall stay our fury, but we will burn their ships and cut them off to a man." So on they sped, driving the Greeks before them across the plain, even to the very gates of the camp. Here the leaders turned at bay, and Agamemnon succeeded by desperate efforts in restoring some order in the panic-stricken host. Foremost among the defenders of the camp were Ajax, the greater and the less, Idomeneus and his comrade, Meriones, Diomede, and Teucer the half-brother of the greater Ajax. Teucer especially, who was a famous archer, did splendid service to the Greeks in that dreadful strait. Crouched behind the vast orb of his mighty kinsman's shield he watched his opportunity, and shot down man after man as the Trojans came rushing to the assault.

"Well done, brave bowman!" cried Agamemnon, who was standing near, as the eighth victim to Teucer's skill bit the dust. "Now aim an arrow at yonder mad dog"; and he pointed at Hector, who was leading the attack. Again the bow twanged, but this time he missed his mark, and instead of Hector struck another son of Priam, who was fighting by his brother's side. And as droops the poppyflower in a fair garden plot, heavy with its seed-pod, and drenched with the summer rains, so drooped that comely head, oppressed by the weight of its helmet.

"Nine have I slain," cried Teucer, in triumph. "Now let me see if my tenth arrow will bring down this noble quarry"; and once more he pointed a shaft at Hector's breast. But a second time the arrow went amiss, and pierced through the heart of Hector's charioteer. Cebriones, Hector's brother, succeeded to this dangerous office, thus twice left vacant on one day; while Hector himself sprang to the ground, and picking up a stone hurled it at Teucer, who was just fitting another arrow to his bowstring. The stone struck Teucer on the collar-bone, breaking the bowstring, and paralysing his arm. Ajax sprang forward to cover his injured brother, who was carried, groaning with pain, to the shelter of the ships.

The fall of Teucer struck fresh dismay into the Greeks, who now shrank back behind their defences, Hector following them close, and cutting down the stragglers, like a hound hanging on the flanks of a wild boar. When the last man had passed the barriers the gates were shut, and Hector was left outside, glaring with baffled rage.

II

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."