With these words he swung himself on to the chariot and placed himself between the two old men, taking the whip and reins from the herald. The horses trotted along boldly and confidently through the fields and soon brought the travellers to the walls of the camp. From a distance they saw the servants busied with the remains of the evening meal, but the god waved his staff and they all sank into a deep slumber. Then he unbarred the gates, drove inside and in the direction of the enclosure in which the tents and ships of the Myrmidons stood. There he took leave of Priam and disappeared; but before he went he pointed out Achilles’ tent and encouraged the trembling old man. “Go boldly in,” said he, “and embrace his knees. The sight of thee will certainly move him, for his soul is filled with melancholy. Adjure him by his father and by his divine mother, whom he loves tenderly. Thou wilt certainly touch his heart if thou speak of her.”
Much comforted the king got down, leaving the chariots and the presents outside in the care of his old companion. His heart beat faster as he crossed the threshold of the tent, but after a moment of indecision he entered. He found Achilles still sitting at the table where he had supped. Beside him stood his two favorite companions, the excellent driver Automedon and the skilful spearsman Alkimos. The great hero was leaning on his elbows, sunk deep in moody thought, and was not aware of the entrance of the old man until he had fallen at his feet, clasped his knees, and kissed his hands—those horrible hands which had murdered so many of his sons. Achilles was amazed, for he had been taken completely by surprise. For a moment they gazed into each other’s faces, Achilles puzzled and agitated, Priam imploring and anxious. At length a flood of tears relieved the oppressed heart of the venerable man and in a trembling voice he uttered these beseeching words:
“Remember thy father, godlike Achilles, who languishes at home, old and helpless like myself. Ah, perhaps his neighbors are even now oppressing him and there is none to protect him. But he knows that he has a good and faithful son, even though far away, who will make an end of all his troubles when he returns. The old man is full of hope and every day he cherishes sweet thoughts of thee. But woe is me! I was the happiest of fathers. I had raised fifty sons, nineteen of them born of one mother. They were my pride and joy. Then ye came to invest my city and the unhappy war took one of them after the other until but few were left. But among them all, the best one still remained—he who had protected me and all of us thus far; but now he also is no more. Alas, I can no longer beg for his life, but we long to see the dead once more and pay him the honors due my son. At home sisters, wife, and mother mourn for him, and see, here lies his unhappy father at thy feet. Give him back to me. I have brought thee rich gifts. Fear the gods! Bethink thee and imagine thy old father kneeling thus to a younger man. But I suffer as no mortal ere has done before me and press my lips to the hand which slew my children.”
The heart of the invincible hero could not withstand these words and tears. He was deeply moved. The picture of his own gray-haired father rose before him and a sad longing for his embrace filled his heart. He wept aloud and bent gently down to raise the old man up, but Priam still clasped his knees tightly. Thus they both sobbed, each conscious of his own fate through the sorrow of the other. At last, when they had wept for some time, Achilles spoke. “In truth, unhappy man, thou hast been much afflicted. And yet thou hast dared to come alone and by night to the Achaian ships and to the man who has slain thy bravest sons. Thy heart is certainly strong and courageous. But come, forget thy sorrow and let me see no more of thy tears. Arise and sit here and let us calm ourselves. The gods have decreed that miserable mankind should live in sorrow, while they know naught of trouble. For many they have mixed the sad lots with the happy ones, but some receive only ill fortune, so that his whole life is a miserable failure and he is favored neither by gods nor men. Alas! neither is my father fortunate. Although the gods have bestowed worldly goods and power upon him, and although a goddess became his spouse, it is ordained that there shall be no heir to his kingdom; for alas! he shall never look upon me again, though his heart longs for me. I am not fated to return home a peaceful ruler, to enjoy a happy old age. Thus has fate robbed thee, also, of thy good son. But he is dead; therefore lament no more. Thou canst not bring him back to life. Who can do aught against the all-powerful gods?”
“Bid me not sit,” sobbed the old man. “I will lie here until thou hast given me back my only beloved son, that my tears may fall upon him. But take the gifts and enjoy them in peace when thou returnest to thy native land, because thou sendest me away filled with gratitude and love.”
At these words Achilles frowned and said: “Do not agitate me further, old man! Arise, for I have already determined to give thee back thy son. Do not insult me with fears and mistrust!”
Silently the old man obeyed this earnest behest and rising seated himself. Meanwhile the hero, mighty as a lion, arose and went out, followed by his two friends. Before the tent they unyoked the horses and conducted the herald inside. They then took the valuable gifts out of the hamper, except two soft garments, in which they were to wrap the body of Hector. Then, unseen by the father, Achilles caused two female slaves to wash the body and to cleanse, arrange, and anoint the hair. Next the servants wrapped the body in the fine robes and Achilles himself lifted it onto the chariot and laid it on a bier prepared for it. Then he stood still a moment and said: “Do not be angry with me, Patroclus, if thou shouldst learn, perchance, in Hades’ dwelling, that I have returned Hector’s body to his unhappy father. Look, he brings me a not unworthy ransom and a share of it shall be consecrated to thee.”
He reëntered the tent and seated himself opposite his two guests. “Now thou canst rest content, old man,” he said. “Thy son is ransomed and lies on thy chariot wrapped in fine garments. Now let us partake of food and comfort our hearts. Even Niobe did not forget to eat, although her heart was torn by bitter sorrow when Artemis had slain her six blooming daughters in one day and Apollo her six splendid sons. So let us feast. Thou canst mourn for thy son at home, for he is doubtless worthy of thy tears.”
With these words Achilles got up quickly, fetched a sheep and killed it. His companions cut up the meat and roasted it carefully on spits. Then they sat down at table, Automedon passed bread in a basket, but Achilles himself served the meat, and they all ate and drank their fill. The old man admired and wondered at the splendid proportions of the great hero, his godlike mien, and his bold and fiery glance. But Achilles too was amazed at heart when he noted the awe-inspiring, majestic demeanor and the dignified countenance of the king and heard his words of wisdom. When they had finished eating, Priam said: “Now, godlike host, take me to a place, I beg thee, where we may refresh ourselves with slumber; for I have not closed my eyes since my son sank down among the dead, and this is the first food and drink that have passed my lips.”
Achilles commanded his comrades to prepare a couch for Priam and his companion in the porch. The maids brought soft cushions and warm blankets, arranged them all, and lighted the strangers out with their torches. Achilles accompanied the king to the door and pressed his hand at parting. A few hours’ sleep sufficed for the old man. Then he arose to awaken Achilles, for he was anxious to start before daybreak.