The busy day was over, and night sank down on the Grecian camp, bringing to all, save one tormented spirit, the blessed gift of sleep. With silence and solitude the pangs of sorrow awakened with new keenness in the heart of Achilles, and he lay tossing and turning on his uneasy pillow, seeking rest, and finding none. A thousand memories of his friendship with Patroclus—gallant adventures, hairbreadth escapes, moving accidents by flood and field—coursed through his mind, bringing home to him the immensity of his loss. After some hours of sleepless misery he sprang to his feet, and throwing on his clothes went down to the sea, and roamed distracted along the sand. With the first glimmer of daylight he yoked his horses to the car, and drove round and round the tomb of Patroclus, dragging after him the body of Hector. Having made the circuit of the tomb three times, he unyoked his horses, and retired once more to his tent, leaving his lifeless victim face downwards in the dust.
Twelve days passed; and every day the same outrage was repeated. All the gods, except Poseidon, Hera, and Athene, whose hatred of all things Trojan was inveterate, were indignant at his senseless barbarity, and they began to urge Hermes to steal Hector's body, and restore it to his friends. But nothing was done until, on the twelfth day, Apollo rose up and reproached the gods, who were met in full assembly, for their cruel indifference. "Is there no pity," he said, "is there no justice, left in heaven, that ye suffer this inhuman son of Peleus to wreak his brutal fury on the body of a man of stainless life, constant all his days in sacrifice and prayer? All your favour is lavished on Achilles, who has the heart of a ravening lion, nourished in havoc and carnage. Death lies about the paths of mortals, taking their nearest and their dearest; yet sorrow must sleep at last, for patience is the best gift which the gods have given to men. But this man is more cruel in his love than in his hate, and because he has lost a friend his rancour burns on like an unquenchable fire."
"Thou forgettest," answered Hera, "that Achilles is the son of a goddess, and shares the privileges of divine descent. His father also was a favourite of heaven, and thou thyself, Phœbus, didst lend the music of thy harp to grace his nuptials; but now, it seemeth, thou takest delight in baser company."
"Fair consort," said Zeus, "be not thus implacable. Granted that Achilles stands higher in honour, yet Hector hath also his claim on our regard, for none was ever more pious than he. Therefore, that we may end this miserable coil at once, let Iris go and summon hither his mother Thetis, that we may contrive some way of restoring Hector to his people."
Iris hastened to obey the command, and, stooping from Olympus to the surface of the sea, dropped like a leaden plummet into the purple depths, until she reached the grotto where Thetis dwelt. She found her sitting among the Nereids, mourning the lot of her matchless son, whose death was near at hand. "What wants the monarch of heaven from me?" she asked, when she heard the summons from Zeus. "I am ill prepared to attend the happy session of the gods, for grief has clouded my mind and marred my face." Nevertheless she rose to go, and putting on a veil of funereal blackness followed Iris, who brought her speedily to the assembly of the gods.
"We thank thee, Thetis," said Zeus, beckoning her to a seat next to his throne, "that thou hast answered so promptly to our call. We know thy sorrows, and have respect for thee and thy son; and for this cause have we sent for thee. For nine days there has been strife among us, concerning the body of Hector, which Achilles still keeps in his possession. Some there were who would have had Hermes steal it away, but this I would not suffer, out of regard to thy son's honour. But go thou to the camp, and tell him that we are sore displeased with him, because in his madness he keeps the corpse of his enemy and will not ransom it. And I will send Iris with a charge to Priam, that he may go with acceptable gifts to the tent of Achilles, and redeem the body for burial."
II
Still nursing his wound, still torn by the demons of rage and grief, Achilles sat moodily in his tent, while his comrades were busy about him, preparing the morning meal. Suddenly he felt a gentle touch on his shoulder, and looking up he saw his mother's face bent over him, with looks of sympathy and love. "My son," she said, in a low sweet voice, "how long wilt thou devour thy heart in bootless anguish, refusing meat and drink, and spurning the tender offices of human affection? O darken not the little remnant that remains to thee of life, but take what good thou canst, and at least live as a man. I have come with a message to thee from Zeus, who bids thee to give up Hector's body, and receive the ransom which his friends will offer thee."
"Be it so," answered Achilles. "Let them bring the price, and I will give back the body." Overjoyed by his ready consent, Thetis bade him farewell, and returned to her ocean home.
Meanwhile the ever-active Iris was gone on another errand, carrying the commands of Zeus to Priam. Swiftly she passed through the streets of Troy, and entered the house of woe, where the voice of sorrow had never ceased since the day when Hector had fallen by the hands of Achilles. Priam himself was lying prostrate on the ground in the courtyard, with his white locks defied with dust and ashes. Round him were gathered his sons, trying in vain to rouse him from his stupor; and at the windows were seen from time to time the white faces of women, when any of his daughters paused in their household tasks to glance at the sorrow-stricken group outside.