“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.”