Priam Ransoms Hector’s Body: Hector’s Funeral

The assembly now broke up and the people went their ways each to his own ship. There they made ready their supper, and then bethought them of the blessed boon of sleep; but Achilles still wept for thinking of his dear comrade, and sleep, before whom all things bow, could take no hold upon him. This way and that did he turn as he yearned after the might and manfulness of Patroclus; he thought of all they had done together, and all they had gone through both on the field of battle and on the waves of the weary sea. As he dwelt on these things he wept bitterly and lay now on his side, now on his back, and now face downwards, till at last he rose and went out as one distraught to wander upon the sea-shore. Then, when he saw dawn breaking over beach and sea, he yoked his horses to his chariot, and bound the body of Hector behind it that he might drag it about. Thrice did he drag it round the tomb of the son of Menoetius, and then went back into his tent, leaving the body on the ground full length and with its face downwards. But Apollo would not suffer it to be disfigured, for he pitied the man, dead though he now was; therefore he shielded him with his golden aegis continually, that he might take no hurt while Achilles was dragging him.

The assembly broke up, and everyone went back to their own ship. There they prepared supper and then turned their thoughts to the blessing of sleep. But Achilles still wept as he thought of his dear friend, and sleep, which overcomes all things, could not hold him. He tossed and turned, longing for the strength and courage of Patroclus. He remembered all they had done together and all they had endured, both in battle and on the restless sea. As he dwelt on these memories, he wept bitterly. He lay on his side, then on his back, then face down. At last he rose and went out to wander along the shore like a man out of his mind. Then, when he saw dawn breaking over the beach and sea, he harnessed his horses to his chariot. He tied Hector’s body behind the chariot so he could drag it along. Three times he dragged the body around the tomb of the son of Menoetius. Then he returned to his tent, leaving the body stretched out on the ground, face down. But Apollo would not let the body be disfigured, because he pitied Hector, even though Hector was dead. So Apollo kept shielding the body with his golden aegis, so it would suffer no damage while Achilles dragged it.

Thus shamefully did Achilles in his fury dishonour Hector; but the blessed gods looked down in pity from heaven, and urged Mercury, slayer of Argus, to steal the body. All were of this mind save only Juno, Neptune, and Jove’s grey-eyed daughter, who persisted in the hate which they had ever borne towards Ilius with Priam and his people; for they forgave not the wrong done them by Alexandrus in disdaining the goddesses who came to him when he was in his sheepyards, and preferring her who had offered him a wanton to his ruin.

In his fury, Achilles shamefully dishonoured Hector in this way. But the blessed gods looked down from heaven with pity and urged Mercury, slayer of Argus, to steal Hector’s body. All agreed except Juno, Neptune, and Jove’s grey-eyed daughter. These three still hated Ilius, Priam, and his people, as they always had. For they had never forgiven Alexandrus for insulting the goddesses who visited him in his sheepyards. He had rejected them in favour of the goddess who offered him a promiscuous woman, leading to his ruin.

When, therefore, the morning of the twelfth day had now come, Phoebus Apollo spoke among the immortals saying, “You gods ought to be ashamed of yourselves; you are cruel and hard-hearted. Did not Hector burn you thigh-bones of heifers and of unblemished goats? And now dare you not rescue even his dead body, for his wife to look upon, with his mother and child, his father Priam, and his people, who would forthwith commit him to the flames, and give him his due funeral rites? So, then, you would all be on the side of mad Achilles, who knows neither right nor ruth? He is like some savage lion that in the pride of his great strength and daring springs upon men’s flocks and gorges on them. Even so has Achilles flung aside all pity, and all that conscience which at once so greatly banes yet greatly boons him that will heed it. A man may lose one far dearer than Achilles has lost—a son, it may be, or a brother born from his own mother’s womb; yet when he has mourned him and wept over him he will let him bide, for it takes much sorrow to kill a man; whereas Achilles, now that he has slain noble Hector, drags him behind his chariot round the tomb of his comrade. It were better of him, and for him, that he should not do so, for brave though he be we gods may take it ill that he should vent his fury upon dead clay.”

When the morning of the twelfth day came, Phoebus Apollo spoke among the immortals, saying, “You gods should be ashamed of yourselves. You are cruel and heartless. Didn’t Hector burn the thigh bones of heifers and flawless goats as offerings to you? And now you dare not even rescue his dead body so his wife, mother, child, father Priam, and people can see him? They would immediately burn his body and give him the funeral rites he deserves. “So you would all side with mad Achilles, who knows neither justice nor mercy? He is like a savage lion, whose pride in his great strength and courage drives him to attack men’s flocks. The lion gorges himself on them. Just so, Achilles has cast aside all pity and all conscience. Conscience brings both great pain and great benefit to anyone who listens to it. A man may lose someone far dearer than the person Achilles has lost. He may lose a son, or a brother born of his own mother. Yet after mourning and weeping, he will leave the dead in peace, for it takes much sorrow to kill a man. “But Achilles, now that he has killed noble Hector, drags Hector’s body behind his chariot around his comrade’s tomb. Achilles would act better, and be better off, if he stopped. Brave though he is, we gods may resent his taking out his fury on lifeless clay.”

Juno spoke up in a rage. “This were well,” she cried, “O lord of the silver bow, if you would give like honour to Hector and to Achilles; but Hector was mortal and suckled at a woman’s breast, whereas Achilles is the offspring of a goddess whom I myself reared and brought up. I married her to Peleus, who is above measure dear to the immortals; you gods came all of you to her wedding; you feasted along with them yourself and brought your lyre—false, and fond of low company, that you have ever been.”

Juno spoke up in a rage. “That would be fine,” she cried, “lord of the silver bow, if you gave Hector and Achilles equal honor. But Hector was mortal and nursed at a woman’s breast. Achilles, on the other hand, is the son of a goddess whom I raised myself. I married her to Peleus, who is loved beyond measure by the immortals. All you gods came to her wedding. You yourself feasted with the couple and brought your lyre. You have always been false and fond of low company.”

Then said Jove, “Juno, be not so bitter. Their honour shall not be equal, but of all that dwell in Ilius, Hector was dearest to the gods, as also to myself, for his offerings never failed me. Never was my altar stinted of its dues, nor of the drink-offerings and savour of sacrifice which we claim of right. I shall therefore permit the body of mighty Hector to be stolen; and yet this may hardly be without Achilles coming to know it, for his mother keeps night and day beside him. Let some one of you, therefore, send Thetis to me, and I will impart my counsel to her, namely that Achilles is to accept a ransom from Priam, and give up the body.”

Then Jove said, “Juno, do not be so bitter. Their honour will not be equal. But of all who live in Ilius, Hector was dearest to the gods, and to me as well. For he never failed to bring me offerings. My altar never lacked its due, or the drink-offerings and scent of sacrifice we claim by right. So I will allow mighty Hector’s body to be stolen. Yet stealing the body may hardly be possible without Achilles finding out, because his mother stays beside him night and day. So let one of you send Thetis to me, and I will tell her my plan. Achilles is to accept a ransom from Priam and give up the body.”

On this Iris fleet as the wind went forth to carry his message. Down she plunged into the dark sea midway between Samos and rocky Imbrus; the waters hissed as they closed over her, and she sank into the bottom as the lead at the end of an ox-horn, that is sped to carry death to fishes. She found Thetis sitting in a great cave with the other sea-goddesses gathered round her; there she sat in the midst of them weeping for her noble son who was to fall far from his own land, on the rich plains of Troy. Iris went up to her and said, “Rise Thetis; Jove, whose counsels fail not, bids you come to him.” And Thetis answered, “Why does the mighty god so bid me? I am in great grief, and shrink from going in and out among the immortals. Still, I will go, and the word that he may speak shall not be spoken in vain.”

At this, Iris set off as swiftly as the wind to carry his message. She plunged into the dark sea midway between Samos and rocky Imbrus. The waters hissed as they closed over her. She sank to the bottom like a lead weight attached to an ox-horn lure, sent down to kill fish. She found Thetis sitting in a great cave, with the other sea-goddesses gathered around her. Thetis sat among them, weeping for her noble son. He was destined to die far from his homeland, on the rich plains of Troy. Iris approached her and said, “Rise, Thetis. Jove, whose plans never fail, calls you to him.” And Thetis answered, “Why does the mighty god call me? I am grieving deeply and dread moving among the immortals. Still, I will go, and whatever he says will not be said in vain.”

The goddess took her dark veil, than which there can be no robe more sombre, and went forth with fleet Iris leading the way before her. The waves of the sea opened them a path, and when they reached the shore they flew up into the heavens, where they found the all-seeing son of Saturn with the blessed gods that live for ever assembled near him. Minerva gave up her seat to her, and she sat down by the side of father Jove. Juno then placed a fair golden cup in her hand, and spoke to her in words of comfort, whereon Thetis drank and gave her back the cup; and the sire of gods and men was the first to speak.

The goddess took her dark veil, darker than any other robe could be. She set out with swift Iris leading the way. The sea’s waves opened a path for them. When the two goddesses reached the shore, they flew up into the heavens. There they found the all-seeing son of Saturn, with the blessed gods who live forever gathered around him. Minerva gave up her seat to Thetis, who sat down beside father Jove. Juno then placed a beautiful golden cup in Thetis’s hand and spoke comforting words to her. Thetis drank and handed the cup back to Juno. Then the father of gods and men was the first to speak.

“So, goddess,” said he, “for all your sorrow, and the grief that I well know reigns ever in your heart, you have come hither to Olympus, and I will tell you why I have sent for you. This nine days past the immortals have been quarrelling about Achilles waster of cities and the body of Hector. The gods would have Mercury slayer of Argus steal the body, but in furtherance of our peace and amity henceforward, I will concede such honour to your son as I will now tell you. Go, then, to the host and lay these commands upon him; say that the gods are angry with him, and that I am myself more angry than them all, in that he keeps Hector at the ships and will not give him up. He may thus fear me and let the body go. At the same time I will send Iris to great Priam to bid him go to the ships of the Achaeans, and ransom his son, taking with him such gifts for Achilles as may give him satisfaction.”

“So, goddess,” he said, “despite all your sorrow, you have come here to Olympus. I know well the grief that is always in your heart. Now I will tell you why I sent for you. For nine days the immortals have been arguing about Achilles, destroyer of cities, and Hector’s body. The gods want Mercury, slayer of Argus, to steal the body. But to help keep peace and friendship among us from now on, I will grant your son an honor. I will now tell you what that honor will be. Go, then, to the army and give him these commands. Tell him the gods are angry with him, and I am angrier than all the others. He keeps Hector’s body at the ships and refuses to give it back. Hearing this, he may fear me and release the body. At the same time, I will send Iris to great Priam. She will tell him to go to the ships of the Achaeans and ransom his son. He must bring gifts for Achilles that may satisfy him.”

Silver-footed Thetis did as the god had told her, and forthwith down she darted from the topmost summits of Olympus. She went to her son’s tents where she found him grieving bitterly, while his trusty comrades round him were busy preparing their morning meal, for which they had killed a great woolly sheep. His mother sat down beside him and caressed him with her hand saying, “My son, how long will you keep on thus grieving and making moan? You are gnawing at your own heart, and think neither of food nor of woman’s embraces; and yet these too were well, for you have no long time to live, and death with the strong hand of fate are already close beside you. Now, therefore, heed what I say, for I come as a messenger from Jove; he says that the gods are angry with you, and himself more angry than them all, in that you keep Hector at the ships and will not give him up. Therefore let him go, and accept a ransom for his body.”

Silver-footed Thetis did as the god had told her and immediately sped down from the highest peaks of Olympus. She went to her son’s tents and found him grieving bitterly. Around him, his trusted companions were preparing their morning meal, for which they had killed a large, woolly sheep. His mother sat beside him and gently stroked him with her hand. She said, “My son, how long will you keep grieving and moaning like this? You are eating away at your own heart, thinking neither of food nor of a woman’s embrace. Yet both would do you good, for you have little time left to live. Death and the strong hand of fate are already close beside you. So listen to what I say, for I come with a message from Jove. He says the gods are angry with you, and he himself is angrier than all the others. Their anger is because you keep Hector at the ships and refuse to give him up. So give him up and accept a ransom for his body.”

And Achilles answered, “So be it. If Olympian Jove of his own motion thus commands me, let him that brings the ransom bear the body away.”

And Achilles answered, “So be it. If Olympian Jove commands me to do this of his own accord, let whoever brings the ransom take the body.”

Thus did mother and son talk together at the ships in long discourse with one another. Meanwhile the son of Saturn sent Iris to the strong city of Ilius. “Go,” said he, “fleet Iris, from the mansions of Olympus, and tell King Priam in Ilius, that he is to go to the ships of the Achaeans and free the body of his dear son. He is to take such gifts with him as shall give satisfaction to Achilles, and he is to go alone, with no other Trojan, save only some honoured servant who may drive his mules and waggon, and bring back the body of him whom noble Achilles has slain. Let him have no thought nor fear of death in his heart, for we will send the slayer of Argus to escort him, and bring him within the tent of Achilles. Achilles will not kill him nor let another do so, for he will take heed to his ways and sin not, and he will entreat a suppliant with all honourable courtesy.”

Mother and son talked at length together beside the ships. Meanwhile, the son of Saturn sent Iris to the fortified city of Ilius. “Go,” he said, “swift Iris, from the halls of Olympus. Tell King Priam in Ilius to go to the Achaeans’ ships and secure the release of his dear son’s body. He must take gifts that will satisfy Achilles. He must go alone, with no other Trojan except an honored servant to drive his mules and wagon. The servant may bring back the body of the son whom noble Achilles has killed. Let Priam have no thought or fear of death in his heart. For we will send the slayer of Argus to escort him and bring him into Achilles’ tent. Achilles will not kill Priam or let anyone else kill him. For Achilles will take care to do no wrong and will treat a man seeking his mercy with every honor and courtesy.”

On this Iris, fleet as the wind, sped forth to deliver her message. She went to Priam’s house, and found weeping and lamentation therein. His sons were seated round their father in the outer courtyard, and their raiment was wet with tears: the old man sat in the midst of them with his mantle wrapped close about his body, and his head and neck all covered with the filth which he had clutched as he lay grovelling in the mire. His daughters and his sons’ wives went wailing about the house, as they thought of the many and brave men who lay dead, slain by the Argives. The messenger of Jove stood by Priam and spoke softly to him, but fear fell upon him as she did so. “Take heart,” she said, “Priam offspring of Dardanus, take heart and fear not. I bring no evil tidings, but am minded well towards you. I come as a messenger from Jove, who though he be not near, takes thought for you and pities you. The lord of Olympus bids you go and ransom noble Hector, and take with you such gifts as shall give satisfaction to Achilles. You are to go alone, with no Trojan, save only some honoured servant who may drive your mules and waggon, and bring back to the city the body of him whom noble Achilles has slain. You are to have no thought, nor fear of death, for Jove will send the slayer of Argus to escort you. When he has brought you within Achilles’ tent, Achilles will not kill you nor let another do so, for he will take heed to his ways and sin not, and he will entreat a suppliant with all honourable courtesy.”

At this, Iris sped away, swift as the wind, to deliver her message. She went to Priam’s house and found everyone weeping and mourning. His sons sat around their father in the outer courtyard, their clothes wet with tears. The old man sat among them, his cloak wrapped tightly around his body. His head and neck were covered with the filth he had clutched while lying face down in the mud. His daughters and his sons’ wives walked through the house, wailing. They mourned the many brave men who lay dead, killed by the Argives. The messenger of Jove stood beside Priam and spoke softly to him, but he was overcome with fear. “Take heart,” she said, “Priam, descendant of Dardanus, take heart and do not be afraid. I bring no bad news, and I wish you well. I come as a messenger from Jove. Though he is far away, he thinks of you and pities you. The lord of Olympus commands you to go and ransom noble Hector. Take gifts with you that will satisfy Achilles. You must go alone, with no Trojan except an honored servant to drive your mules and wagon. The servant can bring back to the city the body of the man noble Achilles has killed. You must not think about death or fear it, for Jove will send the slayer of Argus to escort you. Once your escort has brought you into Achilles’ tent, Achilles will not kill you or let anyone else kill you. He will be careful to do no wrong and will treat you, as someone seeking his mercy, with every honor.”

Iris went her way when she had thus spoken, and Priam told his sons to get a mule-waggon ready, and to make the body of the waggon fast upon the top of its bed. Then he went down into his fragrant store-room, high-vaulted, and made of cedar-wood, where his many treasures were kept, and he called Hecuba his wife. “Wife,” said he, “a messenger has come to me from Olympus, and has told me to go to the ships of the Achaeans to ransom my dear son, taking with me such gifts as shall give satisfaction to Achilles. What think you of this matter? for my own part I am greatly moved to pass through the camps of the Achaeans and go to their ships.”

After speaking, Iris left, and Priam told his sons to prepare a mule wagon. He told them to secure the wagon’s body to its bed. Then he went down into his fragrant cedar storeroom, with its high, vaulted ceiling, where he kept his many treasures. He called his wife Hecuba. “Wife,” he said, “a messenger has come to me from Olympus. The messenger told me to go to the ships of the Achaeans to ransom my dear son. I must take gifts that will satisfy Achilles. What do you think of this plan? For my part, I feel a strong urge to pass through the camps of the Achaeans and reach their ships.”

His wife cried aloud as she heard him, and said, “Alas, what has become of that judgement for which you have been ever famous both among strangers and your own people? How can you venture alone to the ships of the Achaeans, and look into the face of him who has slain so many of your brave sons? You must have iron courage, for if the cruel savage sees you and lays hold on you, he will know neither respect nor pity. Let us then weep Hector from afar here in our own house, for when I gave him birth the threads of overruling fate were spun for him that dogs should eat his flesh far from his parents, in the house of that terrible man on whose liver I would fain fasten and devour it. Thus would I avenge my son, who showed no cowardice when Achilles slew him, and thought neither of flight nor of avoiding battle as he stood in defence of Trojan men and Trojan women.”

His wife cried out when she heard him and said, “Oh, what has happened to your judgment? You have always been famous for it, both among strangers and your own people. How can you dare go alone to the ships of the Achaeans? How can you face the man who has killed so many of your brave sons? You must have nerves of iron. For if that cruel savage sees you and seizes you, he will show you neither respect nor pity. Let us mourn Hector from afar, here in our own home. For when I gave birth to him, fate spun the threads of his life. His fate was for dogs to eat his flesh far from his parents, at that terrible man’s home. I wish I could sink my teeth into that man’s liver and devour it. That would avenge my son, who showed no cowardice when Achilles killed him. He never thought of fleeing or avoiding battle as he stood defending Trojan men and Trojan women.”

Then Priam said, “I would go, do not therefore stay me nor be as a bird of ill omen in my house, for you will not move me. Had it been some mortal man who had sent me some prophet or priest who divines from sacrifice—I should have deemed him false and have given him no heed; but now I have heard the goddess and seen her face to face, therefore I will go and her saying shall not be in vain. If it be my fate to die at the ships of the Achaeans even so would I have it; let Achilles slay me, if I may but first have taken my son in my arms and mourned him to my heart’s comforting.”

Then Priam said, “I want to go, so do not stop me or be a bird of ill omen in my house. You will not change my mind. If the command had come from a mortal, some prophet or priest who reads signs in sacrifices, I would have thought him a liar. I would have paid him no attention. But now I have heard the goddess and seen her face to face. So I will go, and her words will not be wasted. If my fate is to die at the ships of the Achaeans, I would accept even that. Let Achilles kill me, if only I can first hold my son in my arms and mourn him until my heart finds comfort.”

So saying he lifted the lids of his chests, and took out twelve goodly vestments. He took also twelve cloaks of single fold, twelve rugs, twelve fair mantles, and an equal number of shirts. He weighed out ten talents of gold, and brought moreover two burnished tripods, four cauldrons, and a very beautiful cup which the Thracians had given him when he had gone to them on an embassy; it was very precious, but he grudged not even this, so eager was he to ransom the body of his son. Then he chased all the Trojans from the court and rebuked them with words of anger. “Out,” he cried, “shame and disgrace to me that you are. Have you no grief in your own homes that you are come to plague me here? Is it a small thing, think you, that the son of Saturn has sent this sorrow upon me, to lose the bravest of my sons? Nay, you shall prove it in person, for now he is gone the Achaeans will have easier work in killing you. As for me, let me go down within the house of Hades, ere mine eyes behold the sacking and wasting of the city.”

With these words, he opened his chests and took out twelve fine robes. He also took twelve single-layer cloaks, twelve rugs, twelve beautiful mantles, and twelve shirts. He weighed out ten talents of gold and brought two polished tripods, four cauldrons, and a very beautiful cup. The Thracians had given him the cup when he visited them as an envoy. The cup was very precious, but he willingly gave up even this, so eager was he to ransom his son’s body. Then he drove all the Trojans from the courtyard and scolded them angrily. “Get out,” he cried. “You are a shame and disgrace to me. Have you no grief in your own homes, that you come here to torment me? Do you think losing my bravest son is a small sorrow for the son of Saturn to send me? No, you will feel that loss yourselves. Now that my son is gone, the Achaeans will find it easier to kill you. As for me, let me go down to the house of Hades before I see the city plundered and destroyed.”

He drove the men away with his staff, and they went forth as the old man sped them. Then he called to his sons, upbraiding Helenus, Paris, noble Agathon, Pammon, Antiphonus, Polites of the loud battle-cry, Deiphobus, Hippothous, and Dius. These nine did the old man call near him. “Come to me at once,” he cried, “worthless sons who do me shame; would that you had all been killed at the ships rather than Hector. Miserable man that I am, I have had the bravest sons in all Troy—noble Nestor, Troilus the dauntless charioteer, and Hector who was a god among men, so that one would have thought he was son to an immortal—yet there is not one of them left. Mars has slain them and those of whom I am ashamed are alone left me. Liars, and light of foot, heroes of the dance, robbers of lambs and kids from your own people, why do you not get a waggon ready for me at once, and put all these things upon it that I may set out on my way?”

He drove the men away with his staff, and they left as the old man hurried them along. Then he called to his sons, scolding Helenus, Paris, noble Agathon, Pammon, Antiphonus, Polites with his loud battle cry, Deiphobus, Hippothous, and Dius. The old man called these nine to his side. “Come here at once,” he cried, “you worthless sons who bring me shame. I wish you had all been killed at the ships instead of Hector. What a miserable man I am! I had the bravest sons in all Troy: noble Nestor, Troilus the fearless charioteer, and Hector, a god among men. Hector was so godlike that you would have thought he was the son of an immortal. Yet not one of them is left. Mars has killed them, and only the sons I am ashamed of remain. Liars, quick on your feet, heroes on the dance floor, stealing lambs and young goats from your own people! Why don’t you get a wagon ready for me at once? Load all these things onto the wagon so I can set out on my journey!”

Thus did he speak, and they feared the rebuke of their father. They brought out a strong mule-waggon, newly made, and set the body of the waggon fast on its bed. They took the mule-yoke from the peg on which it hung, a yoke of boxwood with a knob on the top of it and rings for the reins to go through. Then they brought a yoke-band eleven cubits long, to bind the yoke to the pole; they bound it on at the far end of the pole, and put the ring over the upright pin making it fast with three turns of the band on either side the knob, and bending the thong of the yoke beneath it. This done, they brought from the store-chamber the rich ransom that was to purchase the body of Hector, and they set it all orderly on the waggon; then they yoked the strong harness-mules which the Mysians had on a time given as a goodly present to Priam; but for Priam himself they yoked horses which the old king had bred, and kept for his own use.

So he spoke, and they feared their father’s rebuke. They brought out a strong, newly made mule wagon and secured its body to its base. They took the mule yoke from its peg. The yoke was made of boxwood, with a knob on top and rings for the reins to pass through. Then they brought a strap eleven cubits long to bind the yoke to the pole. They fastened the yoke at the far end of the pole and slipped the ring over the upright pin. They secured it with three turns of the strap on either side of the knob. They also bent the yoke’s thong beneath it. With the yoke secured, they brought the rich ransom from the storeroom to buy back Hector’s body. They arranged all the ransom neatly on the wagon. Then they harnessed the strong mules that the Mysians had once given Priam as a fine gift. But for Priam himself, they harnessed horses the old king had bred and kept for his own use.

Thus heedfully did Priam and his servant see to the yolking of their cars at the palace. Then Hecuba came to them all sorrowful, with a golden goblet of wine in her right hand, that they might make a drink-offering before they set out. She stood in front of the horses and said, “Take this, make a drink-offering to father Jove, and since you are minded to go to the ships in spite of me, pray that you may come safely back from the hands of your enemies. Pray to the son of Saturn lord of the whirlwind, who sits on Ida and looks down over all Troy, pray him to send his swift messenger on your right hand, the bird of omen which is strongest and most dear to him of all birds, that you may see it with your own eyes and trust it as you go forth to the ships of the Danaans. If all-seeing Jove will not send you this messenger, however set upon it you may be, I would not have you go to the ships of the Argives.”

So Priam and his servant carefully harnessed the horses to their chariots at the palace. Then Hecuba came to them, full of sorrow, holding a golden goblet of wine in her right hand. The wine was for a drink-offering before they set out. She stood in front of the horses and said, “Take this wine and make a drink-offering to father Jove. Since you intend to go to the ships against my wishes, pray for a safe return from your enemies’ hands. Pray to the son of Saturn, lord of the whirlwind, who sits on Ida and looks down over all Troy. Ask him to send his swift messenger on your right, the bird of omen strongest and dearest to him of all birds. Then you can see the bird with your own eyes and trust its omen as you approach the Danaans’ ships. But if all-seeing Jove will not send you this messenger, I would not have you go to the Argives’ ships. That is my wish, however determined you may be to go.”

And Priam answered, “Wife, I will do as you desire me; it is well to lift hands in prayer to Jove, if so be he may have mercy upon me.”

And Priam answered, “Wife, I will do as you ask. It is good to raise my hands in prayer to Jove, in case he may have mercy on me.”

With this the old man bade the serving-woman pour pure water over his hands, and the woman came, bearing the water in a bowl. He washed his hands and took the cup from his wife; then he made the drink-offering and prayed, standing in the middle of the courtyard and turning his eyes to heaven. “Father Jove,” he said, “that rulest from Ida, most glorious and most great, grant that I may be received kindly and compassionately in the tents of Achilles; and send your swift messenger upon my right hand, the bird of omen which is strongest and most dear to you of all birds, that I may see it with my own eyes and trust it as I go forth to the ships of the Danaans.”

With these words, the old man told the serving-woman to pour pure water over his hands. She came with the water in a bowl. He washed his hands and took the cup from his wife. Then he poured out the drink-offering and prayed, standing in the middle of the courtyard and looking up to heaven. “Father Jove,” he said, “you rule from Ida, greatest and most glorious. Grant that I may be welcomed with kindness and compassion in the tents of Achilles. And send your swift messenger on my right, the bird of omen strongest and dearest to you of all birds. Let me see the bird with my own eyes and trust its sign as I go to the Danaans’ ships.”

So did he pray, and Jove the lord of counsel heard his prayer. Forthwith he sent an eagle, the most unerring portent of all birds that fly, the dusky hunter that men also call the Black Eagle. His wings were spread abroad on either side as wide as the well-made and well-bolted door of a rich man’s chamber. He came to them flying over the city upon their right hands, and when they saw him they were glad and their hearts took comfort within them. The old man made haste to mount his chariot, and drove out through the inner gateway and under the echoing gatehouse of the outer court. Before him went the mules drawing the four-wheeled waggon, and driven by wise Idaeus; behind these were the horses, which the old man lashed with his whip and drove swiftly through the city, while his friends followed after, wailing and lamenting for him as though he were on his road to death. As soon as they had come down from the city and had reached the plain, his sons and sons-in-law who had followed him went back to Ilius.

So he prayed, and Jove, the lord of counsel, heard his prayer. At once Jove sent an eagle, the most reliable sign among all birds that fly. It was the dark hunter that people also call the Black Eagle. Its outstretched wings were as wide as the well-built, securely bolted door of a rich man’s bedroom. The eagle flew over the city on their right. When they saw the eagle, they rejoiced and took heart. The old man hurried into his chariot. He drove through the inner gateway and beneath the echoing gatehouse of the outer court. Ahead of him, the mules pulled the four-wheeled wagon, driven by wise Idaeus. Behind the mules came the horses, which the old man whipped as he drove swiftly through the city. His friends followed, weeping and mourning for him as though he were going to his death. Once they had left the city and reached the plain, his sons and sons-in-law who had followed him returned to Ilius.

But Priam and Idaeus as they showed out upon the plain did not escape the ken of all-seeing Jove, who looked down upon the old man and pitied him; then he spoke to his son Mercury and said, “Mercury, for it is you who are the most disposed to escort men on their way, and to hear those whom you will hear, go, and so conduct Priam to the ships of the Achaeans that no other of the Danaans shall see him nor take note of him until he reach the son of Peleus.”

But as Priam and Idaeus appeared on the plain, all-seeing Jove noticed them. He looked down at the old man and pitied him. Then he spoke to his son Mercury and said, “Mercury, you are the most willing to guide men on their journeys and hear those you choose to hear. So go and lead Priam to the ships of the Achaeans. Make sure no other Danaan sees or notices him until he reaches the son of Peleus.”

Thus he spoke and Mercury, guide and guardian, slayer of Argus, did as he was told. Forthwith he bound on his glittering golden sandals with which he could fly like the wind over land and sea; he took the wand with which he seals men’s eyes in sleep, or wakes them just as he pleases, and flew holding it in his hand till he came to Troy and to the Hellespont. To look at, he was like a young man of noble birth in the hey-day of his youth and beauty with the down just coming upon his face.

So he spoke, and Mercury, the guide and guardian who had slain Argus, did as he was told. He immediately strapped on his gleaming golden sandals, which let him fly like the wind over land and sea. He took his wand, with which he puts people to sleep or wakes them whenever he pleases. Holding the wand, he flew until he reached Troy and the Hellespont. He looked like a young man of noble birth, in the full bloom of youth and beauty. Soft hair was just beginning to grow on his face.

Now when Priam and Idaeus had driven past the great tomb of Ilius, they stayed their mules and horses that they might drink in the river, for the shades of night were falling, when, therefore, Idaeus saw Mercury standing near them he said to Priam, “Take heed, descendant of Dardanus; here is matter which demands consideration. I see a man who I think will presently fall upon us; let us fly with our horses, or at least embrace his knees and implore him to take compassion upon us?”

After Priam and Idaeus had driven past the great tomb of Ilius, they stopped their mules and horses. Night was falling, and they stopped so the animals could drink in the river. When Idaeus saw Mercury standing nearby, he said to Priam, “Be careful, descendant of Dardanus. We need to think about this. I see a man who I think is about to attack us. Should we flee with our horses, or at least clasp his knees and beg him to have pity on us?”

When he heard this the old man’s heart failed him, and he was in great fear; he stayed where he was as one dazed, and the hair stood on end over his whole body; but the bringer of good luck came up to him and took him by the hand, saying, “Whither, father, are you thus driving your mules and horses in the dead of night when other men are asleep? Are you not afraid of the fierce Achaeans who are hard by you, so cruel and relentless? Should some one of them see you bearing so much treasure through the darkness of the flying night, what would not your state then be? You are no longer young, and he who is with you is too old to protect you from those who would attack you. For myself, I will do you no harm, and I will defend you from any one else, for you remind me of my own father.”

When the old man heard this, his courage failed him, and he was terrified. He stood still, dazed, with the hair all over his body standing on end. But the bringer of good luck approached, took him by the hand, and said, “Father, where are you driving your mules and horses in the dead of night, while other men sleep? Aren’t you afraid of the fierce Achaeans nearby, who are so cruel and ruthless? What would happen to you if one of them saw you carrying so much treasure through the swiftly passing night? You are no longer young. Your companion is also too old to protect you from anyone who might attack you. As for me, I will do you no harm. And I will defend you against anyone else, because you remind me of my own father.”

And Priam answered, “It is indeed as you say, my dear son; nevertheless some god has held his hand over me, in that he has sent such a wayfarer as yourself to meet me so opportunely; you are so comely in mien and figure, and your judgement is so excellent that you must come of blessed parents.”

And Priam answered, “You are right, my dear son. Still, some god has protected me by sending a traveler like you to meet me at just the right moment. You are so handsome in appearance and build, and your judgment is so sound, that your parents must be blessed.”

Then said the slayer of Argus, guide and guardian, “Sir, all that you have said is right; but tell me and tell me true, are you taking this rich treasure to send it to a foreign people where it may be safe, or are you all leaving strong Ilius in dismay now that your son has fallen who was the bravest man among you and was never lacking in battle with the Achaeans?”

Then the slayer of Argus, guide and guardian, said, “Sir, everything you have said is right. But tell me the truth. Are you taking this rich treasure to a foreign people so it may be safe? Or are you all fleeing strong Ilius in fear now that your son has fallen? He was the bravest man among you and never failed to fight the Achaeans.”

And Priam said, “Who are you, my friend, and who are your parents, that you speak so truly about the fate of my unhappy son?”

And Priam said, “Who are you, my friend, and who are your parents? You speak so truthfully about my poor son’s fate.”

The slayer of Argus, guide and guardian, answered him, “Sir, you would prove me, that you question me about noble Hector. Many a time have I set eyes upon him in battle when he was driving the Argives to their ships and putting them to the sword. We stood still and marvelled, for Achilles in his anger with the son of Atreus suffered us not to fight. I am his squire, and came with him in the same ship. I am a Myrmidon, and my father’s name is Polyctor: he is a rich man and about as old as you are; he has six sons besides myself, and I am the seventh. We cast lots, and it fell upon me to sail hither with Achilles. I am now come from the ships on to the plain, for with daybreak the Achaeans will set battle in array about the city. They chafe at doing nothing, and are so eager that their princes cannot hold them back.”

The slayer of Argus, guide and guardian, answered him, “Sir, you must be testing me by asking about noble Hector. I have often seen him in battle, driving the Argives toward their ships and cutting them down with his sword. We stood watching in amazement because Achilles would not let us fight. He was angry with the son of Atreus. I am his squire, and I came with him on the same ship. I am a Myrmidon, and my father’s name is Polyctor. He is rich and about as old as you are. He has six other sons, and I am the seventh. We drew lots, and I was chosen to sail here with Achilles. I have just come from the ships onto the plain. At dawn, the Achaeans will form their battle lines around the city. They are impatient with doing nothing and so eager to fight that their princes cannot hold them back.”

Then answered Priam, “If you are indeed the squire of Achilles son of Peleus, tell me now the whole truth. Is my son still at the ships, or has Achilles hewn him limb from limb, and given him to his hounds?”

Then Priam answered, “If you really are the attendant of Achilles, son of Peleus, tell me the whole truth now. Is my son still at the ships? Or has Achilles cut him limb from limb and fed him to his dogs?”

“Sir,” replied the slayer of Argus, guide and guardian, “neither hounds nor vultures have yet devoured him; he is still just lying at the tents by the ship of Achilles, and though it is now twelve days that he has lain there, his flesh is not wasted nor have the worms eaten him although they feed on warriors. At daybreak Achilles drags him cruelly round the sepulchre of his dear comrade, but it does him no hurt. You should come yourself and see how he lies fresh as dew, with the blood all washed away, and his wounds every one of them closed though many pierced him with their spears. Such care have the blessed gods taken of your brave son, for he was dear to them beyond all measure.”

“Sir,” replied the slayer of Argus, guide and guardian, “neither dogs nor vultures have devoured him yet. He still lies by the tents beside Achilles’ ship. Although he has lain there for twelve days now, his flesh has not decayed. Nor have worms eaten him, although worms feed on fallen warriors. At dawn Achilles cruelly drags him around the tomb of his dear friend, but this does his body no harm. You should come and see for yourself how he lies as fresh as dew, with all the blood washed away. Every wound has closed, though many warriors pierced him with their spears. Such is the care the blessed gods have given your brave son, for he was dear to them beyond measure.”

The old man was comforted as he heard him and said, “My son, see what a good thing it is to have made due offerings to the immortals; for as sure as that he was born my son never forgot the gods that hold Olympus, and now they requite it to him even in death. Accept therefore at my hands this goodly chalice; guard me and with heaven’s help guide me till I come to the tent of the son of Peleus.”

The old man felt comforted by what he heard and said, “My son, see how good it is to give the immortals their proper offerings. For as surely as my son was born, he never forgot the gods who dwell on Olympus. And now the gods reward him even in death. So please accept this fine chalice from me. Protect me and, with heaven’s help, guide me to the tent of the son of Peleus.”

Then answered the slayer of Argus, guide and guardian, “Sir, you are tempting me and playing upon my youth, but you shall not move me, for you are offering me presents without the knowledge of Achilles whom I fear and hold it great guilt to defraud, lest some evil presently befall me; but as your guide I would go with you even to Argos itself, and would guard you so carefully whether by sea or land, that no one should attack you through making light of him who was with you.”

Then the slayer of Argus, guide and guardian, answered, “Sir, you are tempting me and taking advantage of my youth, but you will not persuade me. You are offering me gifts without Achilles knowing. I fear Achilles and would consider cheating him a grave wrong, afraid that some harm might soon come to me. But as your guide, I would go with you even to Argos itself. I would guard you so carefully, by sea or land, that no one would dare attack you out of disrespect for your companion.”

The bringer of good luck then sprang on to the chariot, and seizing the whip and reins he breathed fresh spirit into the mules and horses. When they reached the trench and the wall that was before the ships, those who were on guard had just been getting their suppers, and the slayer of Argus threw them all into a deep sleep. Then he drew back the bolts to open the gates, and took Priam inside with the treasure he had upon his waggon. Ere long they came to the lofty dwelling of the son of Peleus for which the Myrmidons had cut pine and which they had built for their king; when they had built it they thatched it with coarse tussock-grass which they had mown out on the plain, and all round it they made a large courtyard, which was fenced with stakes set close together. The gate was barred with a single bolt of pine which it took three men to force into its place, and three to draw back so as to open the gate, but Achilles could draw it by himself. Mercury opened the gate for the old man, and brought in the treasure that he was taking with him for the son of Peleus. Then he sprang from the chariot on to the ground and said, “Sir, it is I, immortal Mercury, that am come with you, for my father sent me to escort you. I will now leave you, and will not enter into the presence of Achilles, for it might anger him that a god should befriend mortal men thus openly. Go you within, and embrace the knees of the son of Peleus: beseech him by his father, his lovely mother, and his son; thus you may move him.”

The bringer of good luck then jumped onto the chariot and seized the whip and reins. He breathed fresh energy into the mules and horses. When they reached the trench and the wall in front of the ships, the guards were just getting their supper. The slayer of Argus sent them all into a deep sleep. Then he pulled back the bolts, opened the gates, and led Priam inside with the treasure on his wagon. Soon they reached the tall dwelling of the son of Peleus. The Myrmidons had cut pine trees and built the dwelling for their king. Then they had thatched the roof with coarse tussock-grass mown on the plain. Around the dwelling they had made a large courtyard, fenced with closely spaced stakes. A single pine bolt barred the gate. Three men were needed to push the bolt into place, and three to pull it back and open the gate. But Achilles could pull it back alone. Mercury opened the gate for the old man. He brought in the treasure Priam was carrying for the son of Peleus. Then Mercury jumped from the chariot to the ground and said, “Sir, I am the immortal Mercury. My father sent me to escort you, and I have come with you. I will leave you now and will not go before Achilles. He might be angry that a god should help mortal men so openly. Go inside and clasp the knees of the son of Peleus. Beg him in the name of his father, his lovely mother, and his son. In this way, you may move him.”

With these words Mercury went back to high Olympus. Priam sprang from his chariot to the ground, leaving Idaeus where he was, in charge of the mules and horses. The old man went straight into the house where Achilles, loved of the gods, was sitting. There he found him with his men seated at a distance from him: only two, the hero Automedon, and Alcimus of the race of Mars, were busy in attendance about his person, for he had but just done eating and drinking, and the table was still there. King Priam entered without their seeing him, and going right up to Achilles he clasped his knees and kissed the dread murderous hands that had slain so many of his sons.

With these words, Mercury returned to high Olympus. Priam jumped from his chariot to the ground, leaving Idaeus in charge of the mules and horses. The old man went straight into the house where Achilles, beloved by the gods, was sitting. He found Achilles there, with his men seated some distance away. Only two men were attending to Achilles: the hero Automedon and Alcimus, a descendant of Mars. Achilles had just finished eating and drinking, and the table was still there. King Priam entered without anyone seeing him and went straight up to Achilles. He clasped Achilles’ knees and kissed those terrible, murderous hands that had killed so many of his sons.

As when some cruel spite has befallen a man that he should have killed some one in his own country, and must fly to a great man’s protection in a land of strangers, and all marvel who see him, even so did Achilles marvel as he beheld Priam. The others looked one to another and marvelled also, but Priam besought Achilles saying, “Think of your father, O Achilles like unto the gods, who is such even as I am, on the sad threshold of old age. It may be that those who dwell near him harass him, and there is none to keep war and ruin from him. Yet when he hears of you being still alive, he is glad, and his days are full of hope that he shall see his dear son come home to him from Troy; but I, wretched man that I am, had the bravest in all Troy for my sons, and there is not one of them left. I had fifty sons when the Achaeans came here; nineteen of them were from a single womb, and the others were borne to me by the women of my household. The greater part of them has fierce Mars laid low, and Hector, him who was alone left, him who was the guardian of the city and ourselves, him have you lately slain; therefore I am now come to the ships of the Achaeans to ransom his body from you with a great ransom. Fear, O Achilles, the wrath of heaven; think on your own father and have compassion upon me, who am the more pitiable, for I have steeled myself as no man yet has ever steeled himself before me, and have raised to my lips the hand of him who slew my son.”

When cruel fate leads a man to kill someone in his own country, he must flee to a foreign land. There he seeks a powerful man’s protection, and all who see him are amazed. Just so, Achilles was amazed when he saw Priam. The others looked at one another in amazement too, but Priam pleaded with Achilles, saying, “Think of your father, godlike Achilles. He is like me, at the sorrowful edge of old age. Perhaps his neighbors harass him, and no one is there to protect him from war and ruin. Yet when he hears that you are still alive, he is glad. His days are full of hope that he will see his dear son return home from Troy. But I am a wretched man. My sons were the bravest in all Troy, and not one is left. I had fifty sons when the Achaeans came here. Nineteen had the same mother, and the women of my household bore the others. Fierce Mars has struck down most of them. Hector alone remained, the defender of the city and of us all, and you have recently killed him. So now I have come to the Achaeans’ ships to offer you a great ransom for his body. Achilles, fear the anger of heaven. Think of your own father and have pity on me, for I deserve even more pity. I have forced myself to do what no man before me has ever endured. I have lifted to my lips the hand of the man who killed my son.”

Thus spoke Priam, and the heart of Achilles yearned as he bethought him of his father. He took the old man’s hand and moved him gently away. The two wept bitterly—Priam, as he lay at Achilles’ feet, weeping for Hector, and Achilles now for his father and now for Patroclus, till the house was filled with their lamentation. But when Achilles was now sated with grief and had unburthened the bitterness of his sorrow, he left his seat and raised the old man by the hand, in pity for his white hair and beard; then he said, “Unhappy man, you have indeed been greatly daring; how could you venture to come alone to the ships of the Achaeans, and enter the presence of him who has slain so many of your brave sons? You must have iron courage: sit now upon this seat, and for all our grief we will hide our sorrows in our hearts, for weeping will not avail us. The immortals know no care, yet the lot they spin for man is full of sorrow; on the floor of Jove’s palace there stand two urns, the one filled with evil gifts, and the other with good ones. He for whom Jove the lord of thunder mixes the gifts he sends, will meet now with good and now with evil fortune; but he to whom Jove sends none but evil gifts will be pointed at by the finger of scorn, the hand of famine will pursue him to the ends of the world, and he will go up and down the face of the earth, respected neither by gods nor men. Even so did it befall Peleus; the gods endowed him with all good things from his birth upwards, for he reigned over the Myrmidons excelling all men in prosperity and wealth, and mortal though he was they gave him a goddess for his bride. But even on him too did heaven send misfortune, for there is no race of royal children born to him in his house, save one son who is doomed to die all untimely; nor may I take care of him now that he is growing old, for I must stay here at Troy to be the bane of you and your children. And you too, O Priam, I have heard that you were aforetime happy. They say that in wealth and plenitude of offspring you surpassed all that is in Lesbos, the realm of Makar to the northward, Phrygia that is more inland, and those that dwell upon the great Hellespont; but from the day when the dwellers in heaven sent this evil upon you, war and slaughter have been about your city continually. Bear up against it, and let there be some intervals in your sorrow. Mourn as you may for your brave son, you will take nothing by it. You cannot raise him from the dead, ere you do so yet another sorrow shall befall you.”

Priam spoke, and Achilles’ heart ached as he thought of his father. He took the old man’s hand and gently moved him away. Both men wept bitterly. Priam lay at Achilles’ feet, weeping for Hector. Achilles wept first for his father, then for Patroclus, until their cries of grief filled the house. But when Achilles had wept enough and released the bitterness of his sorrow, he rose from his seat. He took the old man’s hand and helped him up, moved to pity by his white hair and beard. Then he said, “Unhappy man, you have shown great daring. How could you come alone to the ships of the Achaeans? How could you face the man who has killed so many of your brave sons? You must have courage like iron. Sit here now. Despite all our grief, let us keep our sorrows in our hearts, for weeping will do us no good. “The immortal gods have no worries, yet the fate they spin for humans is full of sorrow. Two urns stand on the floor of Jove’s palace. One holds gifts of suffering, the other gifts of happiness. When Jove, lord of thunder, sends someone a mixture of these gifts, that person experiences both good and bad fortune. But anyone who receives only suffering from Jove will be singled out for scorn. Hunger will pursue him to the ends of the world. He will wander the earth, respected by neither gods nor people. “Such was the fate of Peleus. The gods gave him every good thing from birth onward. He ruled over the Myrmidons and surpassed all men in prosperity and wealth. Though he was mortal, the gods gave him a goddess as his bride. But heaven sent misfortune even to him. His house has no line of royal children, only one son, doomed to die before his time. Nor can I care for my father now that he is growing old. I must stay here at Troy to bring ruin to you and your children. “And you too, Priam, were once happy, so I have heard. They say your wealth and number of children surpassed those of everyone in Lesbos, Makar’s kingdom to the north. You also surpassed everyone in inland Phrygia and everyone living along the great Hellespont. But ever since the gods in heaven sent this suffering upon you, war and slaughter have constantly surrounded your city. Endure your suffering, and allow yourself some rest from sorrow. However much you mourn your brave son, your mourning will gain you nothing. You cannot bring him back from the dead. Before you could do so, yet another sorrow would befall you.”

And Priam answered, “O king, bid me not be seated, while Hector is still lying uncared for in your tents, but accept the great ransom which I have brought you, and give him to me at once that I may look upon him. May you prosper with the ransom and reach your own land in safety, seeing that you have suffered me to live and to look upon the light of the sun.”

And Priam answered, “O king, do not ask me to sit while Hector still lies uncared for in your tents. Instead, accept the great ransom I have brought you. Give him to me at once so I can look at him. May you prosper with the ransom and return safely to your own land, since you have let me live and see the sunlight.”

Achilles looked at him sternly and said, “Vex me, sir, no longer; I am of myself minded to give up the body of Hector. My mother, daughter of the old man of the sea, came to me from Jove to bid me deliver it to you. Moreover I know well, O Priam, and you cannot hide it, that some god has brought you to the ships of the Achaeans, for else, no man however strong and in his prime would dare to come to our host; he could neither pass our guard unseen, nor draw the bolt of my gates thus easily; therefore, provoke me no further, lest I sin against the word of Jove, and suffer you not, suppliant though you are, within my tents.”

Achilles looked at him sternly and said, “Do not anger me any further, sir. I already intend to give up Hector’s body. My mother, daughter of the old man of the sea, came with orders from Jove to return Hector’s body to you. Besides, Priam, I know very well that some god brought you to the ships of the Achaeans. You cannot hide that from me. Otherwise, no man, however strong and in his prime, would dare to come to our camp. He could neither get past our guards unseen nor slide back the bolt of my gates so easily. So do not provoke me further. Otherwise, I may disobey Jove’s command and refuse to spare you in my tents, though you have come begging for mercy.”

The old man feared him and obeyed. Then the son of Peleus sprang like a lion through the door of his house, not alone, but with him went his two squires Automedon and Alcimus who were closer to him than any others of his comrades now that Patroclus was no more. These unyoked the horses and mules, and bade Priam’s herald and attendant be seated within the house. They lifted the ransom for Hector’s body from the waggon, but they left two mantles and a goodly shirt, that Achilles might wrap the body in them when he gave it to be taken home. Then he called to his servants and ordered them to wash the body and anoint it, but he first took it to a place where Priam should not see it, lest if he did so, he should break out in the bitterness of his grief, and enrage Achilles, who might then kill him and sin against the word of Jove. When the servants had washed the body and anointed it, and had wrapped it in a fair shirt and mantle, Achilles himself lifted it on to a bier, and he and his men then laid it on the waggon. He cried aloud as he did so and called on the name of his dear comrade, “Be not angry with me, Patroclus,” he said, “if you hear even in the house of Hades that I have given Hector to his father for a ransom. It has been no unworthy one, and I will share it equitably with you.”

The old man feared him and obeyed. Then the son of Peleus sprang like a lion through the door of his house. He was not alone. His two attendants, Automedon and Alcimus, went with him. Now that Patroclus was dead, they were closer to Achilles than any of his other comrades. The two men unhitched the horses and mules and told Priam’s herald and attendant to sit inside the house. They unloaded the ransom for Hector’s body from the wagon, but left two cloaks and a fine shirt. Achilles would wrap the body in these clothes when he sent it home. Then Achilles called his servants and ordered them to wash the body and rub it with oil. But first he took the body somewhere Priam could not see it. He feared that seeing Hector might make Priam burst out in bitter grief and anger Achilles. Achilles might then kill Priam and violate the command of Jove. The servants washed the body, rubbed it with oil, and wrapped it in a fine shirt and cloak. Achilles himself then lifted the body onto a bier, and he and his men placed it on the wagon. As he did so, Achilles cried out, calling on his dear comrade by name. “Do not be angry with me, Patroclus,” he said, “if you hear even in the house of Hades that I have returned Hector to his father for a ransom. The ransom was a worthy one, and I will share it fairly with you.”

Achilles then went back into the tent and took his place on the richly inlaid seat from which he had risen, by the wall that was at right angles to the one against which Priam was sitting. “Sir,” he said, “your son is now laid upon his bier and is ransomed according to desire; you shall look upon him when you take him away at daybreak; for the present let us prepare our supper. Even lovely Niobe had to think about eating, though her twelve children—six daughters and six lusty sons—had been all slain in her house. Apollo killed the sons with arrows from his silver bow, to punish Niobe, and Diana slew the daughters, because Niobe had vaunted herself against Leto; she said Leto had borne two children only, whereas she had herself borne many—whereon the two killed the many. Nine days did they lie weltering, and there was none to bury them, for the son of Saturn turned the people into stone; but on the tenth day the gods in heaven themselves buried them, and Niobe then took food, being worn out with weeping. They say that somewhere among the rocks on the mountain pastures of Sipylus, where the nymphs live that haunt the river Achelous, there, they say, she lives in stone and still nurses the sorrows sent upon her by the hand of heaven. Therefore, noble sir, let us two now take food; you can weep for your dear son hereafter as you are bearing him back to Ilius—and many a tear will he cost you.”

Achilles then returned to the tent and sat down again on his richly inlaid seat. It stood by the wall at right angles to the wall behind Priam. “Sir,” he said, “your son now lies on his bier, and the ransom has been accepted as you wished. You will see him when you take him away at daybreak. For now, let us prepare our supper. “Even beautiful Niobe had to think about eating, though all twelve of her children had been killed in her house. She had six daughters and six strong sons. Apollo killed the sons with arrows from his silver bow to punish Niobe, and Diana killed the daughters. They did this because Niobe had boasted that she was greater than Leto. Niobe said Leto had borne only two children, while she herself had borne many. So the two killed the many. For nine days the children lay in their blood, with no one to bury them. This was because the son of Saturn had turned the people to stone. But on the tenth day, the gods in heaven buried the children themselves. Then Niobe ate, exhausted from weeping. They say she lives as stone somewhere among the rocks in the mountain pastures of Sipylus. The nymphs who frequent the river Achelous live there. There, they say, Niobe still dwells on the sorrows heaven has brought upon her. “So, noble sir, let us both eat now. You can weep for your dear son later, as you carry him back to Ilius. He will cost you many tears.”

With this Achilles sprang from his seat and killed a sheep of silvery whiteness, which his followers skinned and made ready all in due order. They cut the meat carefully up into smaller pieces, spitted them, and drew them off again when they were well roasted. Automedon brought bread in fair baskets and served it round the table, while Achilles dealt out the meat, and they laid their hands on the good things that were before them. As soon as they had had enough to eat and drink, Priam, descendant of Dardanus, marvelled at the strength and beauty of Achilles for he was as a god to see, and Achilles marvelled at Priam as he listened to him and looked upon his noble presence. When they had gazed their fill Priam spoke first. “And now, O king,” he said, “take me to my couch that we may lie down and enjoy the blessed boon of sleep. Never once have my eyes been closed from the day your hands took the life of my son; I have grovelled without ceasing in the mire of my stable-yard, making moan and brooding over my countless sorrows. Now, moreover, I have eaten bread and drunk wine; hitherto I have tasted nothing.”

With these words, Achilles sprang from his seat and killed a sheep with a silvery-white fleece. His followers skinned the sheep and prepared it, doing everything in the proper order. They carefully cut the meat into smaller pieces and put them on spits. When the meat was well roasted, they took it off the spits. Automedon brought bread in fine baskets and passed it around the table, while Achilles served the meat. Everyone began eating the good food before them. Once they had eaten and drunk their fill, Priam, descendant of Dardanus, marveled at Achilles’ strength and beauty. Achilles looked like a god. Achilles, in turn, marveled at Priam as he listened to him and admired his noble appearance. When they had looked at each other long enough, Priam spoke first. “And now, king,” he said, “show me to my bed so that we may rest and enjoy the blessing of sleep. I have not closed my eyes once since the day you killed my son. I have lain in the mud of my stable yard without stopping, moaning and dwelling on my countless sorrows. Now, at last, I have eaten bread and drunk wine. Until now, I had tasted nothing.”

As he spoke Achilles told his men and the women servants to set beds in the room that was in the gatehouse, and make them with good red rugs, and spread coverlets on the top of them with woollen cloaks for Priam and Idaeus to wear. So the maids went out carrying a torch and got the two beds ready in all haste. Then Achilles said laughingly to Priam, “Dear sir, you shall lie outside, lest some counsellor of those who in due course keep coming to advise with me should see you here in the darkness of the flying night, and tell it to Agamemnon. This might cause delay in the delivery of the body. And now tell me and tell me true, for how many days would you celebrate the funeral rites of noble Hector? Tell me, that I may hold aloof from war and restrain the host.”

As he spoke, Achilles told his men and the women servants to prepare beds in the gatehouse room. They were to use fine red rugs, lay bedcovers on top, and provide woolen cloaks for Priam and Idaeus to wear. So the maids went out with a torch and hurried to prepare the two beds. Then Achilles said with a laugh to Priam, “Dear sir, you must sleep outside. Otherwise, some adviser who comes to consult with me might see you here in the darkness of the passing night. He might then tell Agamemnon, and that might delay the return of the body. Now tell me honestly, how many days would you spend holding funeral rites for noble Hector? Tell me so I can stay out of battle and hold back the army.”

And Priam answered, “Since, then, you suffer me to bury my noble son with all due rites, do thus, Achilles, and I shall be grateful. You know how we are pent up within our city; it is far for us to fetch wood from the mountain, and the people live in fear. Nine days, therefore, will we mourn Hector in my house; on the tenth day we will bury him and there shall be a public feast in his honour; on the eleventh we will build a mound over his ashes, and on the twelfth, if there be need, we will fight.”

And Priam answered, “Since you allow me to bury my noble son with all the proper rites, Achilles, grant my request. I will be grateful. You know how we are trapped inside our city. We must travel far to gather wood from the mountain, and our people live in fear. So we will mourn Hector in my house for nine days. On the tenth day, we will bury him and hold a public feast in his honor. On the eleventh day, we will build a mound over his ashes. On the twelfth day, if necessary, we will fight.”

And Achilles answered, “All, King Priam, shall be as you have said. I will stay our fighting for as long a time as you have named.”

And Achilles answered, “King Priam, everything will be as you have said. I will stop our fighting for as long as you have asked.”

As he spoke he laid his hand on the old man’s right wrist, in token that he should have no fear; thus then did Priam and his attendant sleep there in the forecourt, full of thought, while Achilles lay in an inner room of the house, with fair Briseis by his side.

As he spoke, he placed his hand on the old man’s right wrist to show he need not fear. So Priam and his attendant slept there in the forecourt, their minds full of thoughts. Meanwhile, Achilles lay in an inner room of the house, with beautiful Briseis beside him.

And now both gods and mortals were fast asleep through the livelong night, but upon Mercury alone, the bringer of good luck, sleep could take no hold for he was thinking all the time how to get King Priam away from the ships without his being seen by the strong force of sentinels. He hovered therefore over Priam’s head and said, “Sir, now that Achilles has spared your life, you seem to have no fear about sleeping in the thick of your foes. You have paid a great ransom, and have received the body of your son; were you still alive and a prisoner the sons whom you have left at home would have to give three times as much to free you; and so it would be if Agamemnon and the other Achaeans were to know of your being here.”

Now gods and mortals alike slept soundly through the long night. But Mercury alone, the bringer of good luck, could not sleep. He kept thinking about how to get King Priam away from the ships without the many guards seeing him. So he hovered over Priam’s head and said, “Sir, now that Achilles has spared your life, you seem unafraid to sleep surrounded by your enemies. You have paid a great ransom and received your son’s body. If you were taken prisoner alive, the sons you left at home would have to pay three times as much to free you. That would happen if Agamemnon and the other Achaeans knew you were here.”

When he heard this the old man was afraid and roused his servant. Mercury then yoked their horses and mules, and drove them quickly through the host so that no man perceived them. When they came to the ford of eddying Xanthus, begotten of immortal Jove, Mercury went back to high Olympus, and dawn in robe of saffron began to break over all the land. Priam and Idaeus then drove on toward the city lamenting and making moan, and the mules drew the body of Hector. No one neither man nor woman saw them, till Cassandra, fair as golden Venus standing on Pergamus, caught sight of her dear father in his chariot, and his servant that was the city’s herald with him. Then she saw him that was lying upon the bier, drawn by the mules, and with a loud cry she went about the city saying, “Come hither Trojans, men and women, and look on Hector; if ever you rejoiced to see him coming from battle when he was alive, look now on him that was the glory of our city and all our people.”

When the old man heard this, he was afraid and woke his servant. Mercury then harnessed their horses and mules. He drove them quickly through the army so that no one noticed them. They reached the ford of the swirling Xanthus, the river born of immortal Jove. Mercury then returned to high Olympus, and dawn in a saffron robe began to spread over all the land. Priam and Idaeus drove on toward the city, weeping and mourning, while the mules pulled Hector’s body. No one, man or woman, saw them until Cassandra spotted them from Pergamus. As beautiful as golden Venus, she saw her dear father in his chariot. His servant, the city’s herald, was beside him. Then she saw Hector lying on the bier, which the mules were pulling. With a loud cry, she went through the city, calling, “Come here, Trojan men and women, and look at Hector. If you ever rejoiced to see him returning from battle alive, look at him now. He was the glory of our city and all our people.”

At this there was not man nor woman left in the city, so great a sorrow had possessed them. Hard by the gates they met Priam as he was bringing in the body. Hector’s wife and his mother were the first to mourn him: they flew towards the waggon and laid their hands upon his head, while the crowd stood weeping round them. They would have stayed before the gates, weeping and lamenting the livelong day to the going down of the sun, had not Priam spoken to them from the chariot and said, “Make way for the mules to pass you. Afterwards when I have taken the body home you shall have your fill of weeping.”

At this, not a man or woman remained in the city, so great was their sorrow. Near the gates, they met Priam as he brought Hector’s body into the city. Hector’s wife and mother were the first to mourn him. They rushed toward the wagon and laid their hands on his head, while the crowd stood weeping around them. The mourners would have stayed before the gates, weeping and wailing all day until sunset, if Priam had not spoken. From his chariot, he said, “Make way for the mules to pass. After I have taken the body home, you can weep as much as you like.”

On this the people stood asunder, and made a way for the waggon. When they had borne the body within the house they laid it upon a bed and seated minstrels round it to lead the dirge, whereon the women joined in the sad music of their lament. Foremost among them all Andromache led their wailing as she clasped the head of mighty Hector in her embrace. “Husband,” she cried, “you have died young, and leave me in your house a widow; he of whom we are the ill-starred parents is still a mere child, and I fear he may not reach manhood. Ere he can do so our city will be razed and overthrown, for you who watched over it are no more—you who were its saviour, the guardian of our wives and children. Our women will be carried away captives to the ships, and I among them; while you, my child, who will be with me will be put to some unseemly tasks, working for a cruel master. Or, may be, some Achaean will hurl you (O miserable death) from our walls, to avenge some brother, son, or father whom Hector slew; many of them have indeed bitten the dust at his hands, for your father’s hand in battle was no light one. Therefore do the people mourn him. You have left, O Hector, sorrow unutterable to your parents, and my own grief is greatest of all, for you did not stretch forth your arms and embrace me as you lay dying, nor say to me any words that might have lived with me in my tears night and day for evermore.”

At this, the people moved apart and cleared a path for the wagon. Once Hector’s body was carried into the house, it was laid on a bed. Singers sat around the body to lead the funeral song, and the women joined in their sorrowful lament. Andromache led all the women in mourning, holding mighty Hector’s head in her arms. “Husband,” she cried, “you have died young and left me a widow in your house. Our child, whose parents are so unfortunate, is still very young. I fear he may never reach manhood. Before he can, our city will be destroyed and torn down, because you, its protector, are gone. You were its savior, the guardian of our wives and children. Our women will be taken captive to the ships, and I will be among them. And you, my child, will be with me, forced to do degrading work for a cruel master. Or perhaps some Achaean will throw you from our walls. What a terrible death that would be. He would do it to avenge a brother, son, or father whom Hector killed. Many of them have indeed died at his hands, for your father struck hard in battle. That is why the people mourn him. Hector, you have left your parents with grief beyond words, and my own grief is greatest of all. As you lay dying, you did not reach out your arms to embrace me. Nor did you say any words that might have stayed with me as I wept, night and day, forever.”

Bitterly did she weep the while, and the women joined in her lament. Hecuba in her turn took up the strains of woe. “Hector,” she cried, “dearest to me of all my children. So long as you were alive the gods loved you well, and even in death they have not been utterly unmindful of you; for when Achilles took any other of my sons, he would sell him beyond the seas, to Samos Imbrus or rugged Lemnos; and when he had slain you too with his sword, many a time did he drag you round the sepulchre of his comrade—though this could not give him life—yet here you lie all fresh as dew, and comely as one whom Apollo has slain with his painless shafts.”

She wept bitterly, and the women joined in her mourning. Then Hecuba began her own lament. “Hector,” she cried, “dearest of all my children. As long as you lived, the gods loved you dearly. Even in death, they have not forgotten you entirely. For whenever Achilles captured any of my other sons, he sold them overseas to Samos, Imbrus, or rugged Lemnos. And after he killed you too with his sword, he dragged you many times around his companion’s tomb. Yet dragging you could not bring his companion back to life. Still, here you lie, fresh as dew and beautiful as someone Apollo has killed with his painless arrows.”

Thus did she too speak through her tears with bitter moan, and then Helen for a third time took up the strain of lamentation. “Hector,” said she, “dearest of all my brothers-in-law—for I am wife to Alexandrus who brought me hither to Troy—would that I had died ere he did so—twenty years are come and gone since I left my home and came from over the sea, but I have never heard one word of insult or unkindness from you. When another would chide with me, as it might be one of your brothers or sisters or of your brothers’ wives, or my mother-in-law—for Priam was as kind to me as though he were my own father—you would rebuke and check them with words of gentleness and goodwill. Therefore my tears flow both for you and for my unhappy self, for there is no one else in Troy who is kind to me, but all shrink and shudder as they go by me.”

She too spoke through her tears, moaning bitterly. Then Helen was the third to take up the lament. “Hector,” she said, “dearest of all my brothers-in-law, I am the wife of Alexandrus, who brought me here to Troy. I wish I had died before he brought me here. Twenty years have passed since I left my home and came across the sea. But I have never heard a single insulting or unkind word from you. Sometimes one of your brothers or sisters, your brothers’ wives, or my mother-in-law would scold me. Priam, though, was as kind to me as if he were my own father. You would stop whoever was scolding me, correcting them with gentle, kindly words. So I weep both for you and for my own unhappy fate. There is no one else in Troy who is kind to me. Instead, all shrink away and shudder as they pass me.”

She wept as she spoke and the vast crowd that was gathered round her joined in her lament. Then King Priam spoke to them saying, “Bring wood, O Trojans, to the city, and fear no cunning ambush of the Argives, for Achilles when he dismissed me from the ships gave me his word that they should not attack us until the morning of the twelfth day.”

She wept as she spoke, and the huge crowd gathered around her joined in her grief. Then King Priam said to them, “Trojans, bring wood into the city, and do not fear a surprise attack by the Argives. When Achilles sent me away from the ships, he gave me his word. He promised that the Argives would not attack us until the morning of the twelfth day.”

Forthwith they yoked their oxen and mules and gathered together before the city. Nine days long did they bring in great heaps of wood, and on the morning of the tenth day with many tears they took brave Hector forth, laid his dead body upon the summit of the pile, and set the fire thereto. Then when the child of morning, rosy-fingered dawn, appeared on the eleventh day, the people again assembled, round the pyre of mighty Hector. When they were got together, they first quenched the fire with wine wherever it was burning, and then his brothers and comrades with many a bitter tear gathered his white bones, wrapped them in soft robes of purple, and laid them in a golden urn, which they placed in a grave and covered over with large stones set close together. Then they built a barrow hurriedly over it keeping guard on every side lest the Achaeans should attack them before they had finished. When they had heaped up the barrow they went back again into the city, and being well assembled they held high feast in the house of Priam their king.

At once they yoked their oxen and mules and gathered outside the city. For nine days they brought in great heaps of wood. On the morning of the tenth day, they carried brave Hector out, weeping bitterly. They laid his dead body on top of the woodpile and set it on fire. When rosy-fingered dawn, the child of morning, appeared on the eleventh day, the people gathered again around mighty Hector’s pyre. First they put out the fire with wine wherever it still burned. Then Hector’s brothers and comrades gathered his white bones, shedding many bitter tears. They wrapped the bones in soft purple robes and laid them in a golden urn. They placed the urn in a grave and covered it with large stones fitted closely together. Then they hurried to build a burial mound over the grave, keeping watch on every side. They feared the Achaeans might attack before the work was finished. Once the mound was complete, they returned to the city. They gathered for a grand feast in the house of Priam, their king.

Thus, then, did they celebrate the funeral of Hector tamer of horses.

And so they held the funeral of Hector, tamer of horses.