Priam ransoms the body of Hector—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.



      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.



      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.”



      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.”



      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.”



      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.”



      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.



      “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.”



      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.”



      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.”



      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.”



      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.”



      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.”



      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.”



      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.”



      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.”



      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?”



      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.



      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.”



      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.”



      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.”



      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.



      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.”



      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.



      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?”



      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.”



      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.”



      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?”



      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?”



      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.”



      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?”



      “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.”



      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.”



      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.”



      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.”



      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.



      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.”



      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.”



      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.”



      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.”



      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.”



      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.”



      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.”



      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.”



      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 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.”



      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.



      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.”



      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.”



      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.”



      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.”



      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.”



      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 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.”



      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.



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

      horses.