The death of Hector.



      Thus the Trojans in the city, scared like fawns, wiped the sweat

      from off them and drank to quench their thirst, leaning against

      the goodly battlements, while the Achaeans with their shields

      laid upon their shoulders drew close up to the walls. But stern

      fate bade Hector stay where he was before Ilius and the Scaean

      gates. Then Phoebus Apollo spoke to the son of Peleus saying,

      “Why, son of Peleus, do you, who are but man, give chase to me

      who am immortal? Have you not yet found out that it is a god whom

      you pursue so furiously? You did not harass the Trojans whom you

      had routed, and now they are within their walls, while you have

      been decoyed hither away from them. Me you cannot kill, for death

      can take no hold upon me.”



      Achilles was greatly angered and said, “You have baulked me,

      Far-Darter, most malicious of all gods, and have drawn me away

      from the wall, where many another man would have bitten the dust

      ere he got within Ilius; you have robbed me of great glory and

      have saved the Trojans at no risk to yourself, for you have

      nothing to fear, but I would indeed have my revenge if it were in

      my power to do so.”



      On this, with fell intent he made towards the city, and as the

      winning horse in a chariot race strains every nerve when he is

      flying over the plain, even so fast and furiously did the limbs

      of Achilles bear him onwards. King Priam was first to note him as

      he scoured the plain, all radiant as the star which men call

      Orion’s Hound, and whose beams blaze forth in time of harvest

      more brilliantly than those of any other that shines by night;

      brightest of them all though he be, he yet bodes ill for mortals,

      for he brings fire and fever in his train—even so did Achilles’

      armour gleam on his breast as he sped onwards. Priam raised a cry

      and beat his head with his hands as he lifted them up and shouted

      out to his dear son, imploring him to return; but Hector still

      stayed before the gates, for his heart was set upon doing battle

      with Achilles. The old man reached out his arms towards him and

      bade him for pity’s sake come within the walls. “Hector,” he

      cried, “my son, stay not to face this man alone and unsupported,

      or you will meet death at the hands of the son of Peleus, for he

      is mightier than you. Monster that he is; would indeed that the

      gods loved him no better than I do, for so, dogs and vultures

      would soon devour him as he lay stretched on earth, and a load of

      grief would be lifted from my heart, for many a brave son has he

      reft from me, either by killing them or selling them away in the

      islands that are beyond the sea: even now I miss two sons from

      among the Trojans who have thronged within the city, Lycaon and

      Polydorus, whom Laothoe peeress among women bore me. Should they

      be still alive and in the hands of the Achaeans, we will ransom

      them with gold and bronze, of which we have store, for the old

      man Altes endowed his daughter richly; but if they are already

      dead and in the house of Hades, sorrow will it be to us two who

      were their parents; albeit the grief of others will be more

      short-lived unless you too perish at the hands of Achilles. Come,

      then, my son, within the city, to be the guardian of Trojan men

      and Trojan women, or you will both lose your own life and afford

      a mighty triumph to the son of Peleus. Have pity also on your

      unhappy father while life yet remains to him—on me, whom the son

      of Saturn will destroy by a terrible doom on the threshold of old

      age, after I have seen my sons slain and my daughters haled away

      as captives, my bridal chambers pillaged, little children dashed

      to earth amid the rage of battle, and my sons’ wives dragged away

      by the cruel hands of the Achaeans; in the end fierce hounds will

      tear me in pieces at my own gates after some one has beaten the

      life out of my body with sword or spear-hounds that I myself

      reared and fed at my own table to guard my gates, but who will

      yet lap my blood and then lie all distraught at my doors. When a

      young man falls by the sword in battle, he may lie where he is

      and there is nothing unseemly; let what will be seen, all is

      honourable in death, but when an old man is slain there is

      nothing in this world more pitiable than that dogs should defile

      his grey hair and beard and all that men hide for shame.”



      The old man tore his grey hair as he spoke, but he moved not the

      heart of Hector. His mother hard by wept and moaned aloud as she

      bared her bosom and pointed to the breast which had suckled him.

      “Hector,” she cried, weeping bitterly the while, “Hector, my son,

      spurn not this breast, but have pity upon me too: if I have ever

      given you comfort from my own bosom, think on it now, dear son,

      and come within the wall to protect us from this man; stand not

      without to meet him. Should the wretch kill you, neither I nor

      your richly dowered wife shall ever weep, dear offshoot of

      myself, over the bed on which you lie, for dogs will devour you

      at the ships of the Achaeans.”



      Thus did the two with many tears implore their son, but they

      moved not the heart of Hector, and he stood his ground awaiting

      huge Achilles as he drew nearer towards him. As a serpent in its

      den upon the mountains, full fed with deadly poisons, waits for

      the approach of man—he is filled with fury and his eyes glare

      terribly as he goes writhing round his den—even so Hector leaned

      his shield against a tower that jutted out from the wall and

      stood where he was, undaunted.



      “Alas,” said he to himself in the heaviness of his heart, “if I

      go within the gates, Polydamas will be the first to heap reproach

      upon me, for it was he that urged me to lead the Trojans back to

      the city on that awful night when Achilles again came forth

      against us. I would not listen, but it would have been indeed

      better if I had done so. Now that my folly has destroyed the

      host, I dare not look Trojan men and Trojan women in the face,

      lest a worse man should say, ‘Hector has ruined us by his

      self-confidence.’ Surely it would be better for me to return

      after having fought Achilles and slain him, or to die gloriously

      here before the city. What, again, if I were to lay down my

      shield and helmet, lean my spear against the wall and go straight

      up to noble Achilles? What if I were to promise to give up Helen,

      who was the fountainhead of all this war, and all the treasure

      that Alexandrus brought with him in his ships to Troy, aye, and

      to let the Achaeans divide the half of everything that the city

      contains among themselves? I might make the Trojans, by the

      mouths of their princes, take a solemn oath that they would hide

      nothing, but would divide into two shares all that is within the

      city—but why argue with myself in this way? Were I to go up to

      him he would show me no kind of mercy; he would kill me then and

      there as easily as though I were a woman, when I had off my

      armour. There is no parleying with him from some rock or oak tree

      as young men and maidens prattle with one another. Better fight

      him at once, and learn to which of us Jove will vouchsafe

      victory.”



      Thus did he stand and ponder, but Achilles came up to him as it

      were Mars himself, plumed lord of battle. From his right shoulder

      he brandished his terrible spear of Pelian ash, and the bronze

      gleamed around him like flashing fire or the rays of the rising

      sun. Fear fell upon Hector as he beheld him, and he dared not

      stay longer where he was but fled in dismay from before the

      gates, while Achilles darted after him at his utmost speed. As a

      mountain falcon, swiftest of all birds, swoops down upon some

      cowering dove—the dove flies before him but the falcon with a

      shrill scream follows close after, resolved to have her—even so

      did Achilles make straight for Hector with all his might, while

      Hector fled under the Trojan wall as fast as his limbs could take

      him.



      On they flew along the waggon-road that ran hard by under the

      wall, past the look-out station, and past the weather-beaten wild

      fig-tree, till they came to two fair springs which feed the river

      Scamander. One of these two springs is warm, and steam rises from

      it as smoke from a burning fire, but the other even in summer is

      as cold as hail or snow, or the ice that forms on water. Here,

      hard by the springs, are the goodly washing-troughs of stone,

      where in the time of peace before the coming of the Achaeans the

      wives and fair daughters of the Trojans used to wash their

      clothes. Past these did they fly, the one in front and the other

      giving chase behind him: good was the man that fled, but better

      far was he that followed after, and swiftly indeed did they run,

      for the prize was no mere beast for sacrifice or bullock’s hide,

      as it might be for a common foot-race, but they ran for the life

      of Hector. As horses in a chariot race speed round the

      turning-posts when they are running for some great prize—a tripod

      or woman—at the games in honour of some dead hero, so did these

      two run full speed three times round the city of Priam. All the

      gods watched them, and the sire of gods and men was the first to

      speak.



      “Alas,” said he, “my eyes behold a man who is dear to me being

      pursued round the walls of Troy; my heart is full of pity for

      Hector, who has burned the thigh-bones of many a heifer in my

      honour, one while on the crests of many-valleyed Ida, and again

      on the citadel of Troy; and now I see noble Achilles in full

      pursuit of him round the city of Priam. What say you? Consider

      among yourselves and decide whether we shall now save him or let

      him fall, valiant though he be, before Achilles, son of Peleus.”



      Then Minerva said, “Father, wielder of the lightning, lord of

      cloud and storm, what mean you? Would you pluck this mortal whose

      doom has long been decreed out of the jaws of death? Do as you

      will, but we others shall not be of a mind with you.”



      And Jove answered, “My child, Trito-born, take heart. I did not

      speak in full earnest, and I will let you have your way. Do

      without let or hindrance as you are minded.”



      Thus did he urge Minerva who was already eager, and down she

      darted from the topmost summits of Olympus.



      Achilles was still in full pursuit of Hector, as a hound chasing

      a fawn which he has started from its covert on the mountains, and

      hunts through glade and thicket. The fawn may try to elude him by

      crouching under cover of a bush, but he will scent her out and

      follow her up until he gets her—even so there was no escape for

      Hector from the fleet son of Peleus. Whenever he made a set to

      get near the Dardanian gates and under the walls, that his people

      might help him by showering down weapons from above, Achilles

      would gain on him and head him back towards the plain, keeping

      himself always on the city side. As a man in a dream who fails to

      lay hands upon another whom he is pursuing—the one cannot escape

      nor the other overtake—even so neither could Achilles come up

      with Hector, nor Hector break away from Achilles; nevertheless he

      might even yet have escaped death had not the time come when

      Apollo, who thus far had sustained his strength and nerved his

      running, was now no longer to stay by him. Achilles made signs to

      the Achaean host, and shook his head to show that no man was to

      aim a dart at Hector, lest another might win the glory of having

      hit him and he might himself come in second. Then, at last, as

      they were nearing the fountains for the fourth time, the father

      of all balanced his golden scales and placed a doom in each of

      them, one for Achilles and the other for Hector. As he held the

      scales by the middle, the doom of Hector fell down deep into the

      house of Hades—and then Phoebus Apollo left him. Thereon Minerva

      went close up to the son of Peleus and said, “Noble Achilles,

      favoured of heaven, we two shall surely take back to the ships a

      triumph for the Achaeans by slaying Hector, for all his lust of

      battle. Do what Apollo may as he lies grovelling before his

      father, aegis-bearing Jove, Hector cannot escape us longer. Stay

      here and take breath, while I go up to him and persuade him to

      make a stand and fight you.”



      Thus spoke Minerva. Achilles obeyed her gladly, and stood still,

      leaning on his bronze-pointed ashen spear, while Minerva left him

      and went after Hector in the form and with the voice of

      Deiphobus. She came close up to him and said, “Dear brother, I

      see you are hard pressed by Achilles who is chasing you at full

      speed round the city of Priam, let us await his onset and stand

      on our defence.”



      And Hector answered, “Deiphobus, you have always been dearest to

      me of all my brothers, children of Hecuba and Priam, but

      henceforth I shall rate you yet more highly, inasmuch as you have

      ventured outside the wall for my sake when all the others remain

      inside.”



      Then Minerva said, “Dear brother, my father and mother went down

      on their knees and implored me, as did all my comrades, to remain

      inside, so great a fear has fallen upon them all; but I was in an

      agony of grief when I beheld you; now, therefore, let us two make

      a stand and fight, and let there be no keeping our spears in

      reserve, that we may learn whether Achilles shall kill us and

      bear off our spoils to the ships, or whether he shall fall before

      you.”



      Thus did Minerva inveigle him by her cunning, and when the two

      were now close to one another great Hector was first to speak. “I

      will no longer fly you, son of Peleus,” said he, “as I have been

      doing hitherto. Three times have I fled round the mighty city of

      Priam, without daring to withstand you, but now, let me either

      slay or be slain, for I am in the mind to face you. Let us, then,

      give pledges to one another by our gods, who are the fittest

      witnesses and guardians of all covenants; let it be agreed

      between us that if Jove vouchsafes me the longer stay and I take

      your life, I am not to treat your dead body in any unseemly

      fashion, but when I have stripped you of your armour, I am to

      give up your body to the Achaeans. And do you likewise.”



      Achilles glared at him and answered, “Fool, prate not to me about

      covenants. There can be no covenants between men and lions,

      wolves and lambs can never be of one mind, but hate each other

      out and out all through. Therefore there can be no understanding

      between you and me, nor may there be any covenants between us,

      till one or other shall fall and glut grim Mars with his life’s

      blood. Put forth all your strength; you have need now to prove

      yourself indeed a bold soldier and man of war. You have no more

      chance, and Pallas Minerva will forthwith vanquish you by my

      spear: you shall now pay me in full for the grief you have caused

      me on account of my comrades whom you have killed in battle.”



      He poised his spear as he spoke and hurled it. Hector saw it

      coming and avoided it; he watched it and crouched down so that it

      flew over his head and stuck in the ground beyond; Minerva then

      snatched it up and gave it back to Achilles without Hector’s

      seeing her; Hector thereon said to the son of Peleus, “You have

      missed your aim, Achilles, peer of the gods, and Jove has not yet

      revealed to you the hour of my doom, though you made sure that he

      had done so. You were a false-tongued liar when you deemed that I

      should forget my valour and quail before you. You shall not drive

      your spear into the back of a runaway—drive it, should heaven so

      grant you power, drive it into me as I make straight towards you;

      and now for your own part avoid my spear if you can—would that

      you might receive the whole of it into your body; if you were

      once dead the Trojans would find the war an easier matter, for it

      is you who have harmed them most.”



      He poised his spear as he spoke and hurled it. His aim was true

      for he hit the middle of Achilles’ shield, but the spear

      rebounded from it, and did not pierce it. Hector was angry when

      he saw that the weapon had sped from his hand in vain, and stood

      there in dismay for he had no second spear. With a loud cry he

      called Deiphobus and asked him for one, but there was no man;

      then he saw the truth and said to himself, “Alas! the gods have

      lured me on to my destruction. I deemed that the hero Deiphobus

      was by my side, but he is within the wall, and Minerva has

      inveigled me; death is now indeed exceedingly near at hand and

      there is no way out of it—for so Jove and his son Apollo the

      far-darter have willed it, though heretofore they have been ever

      ready to protect me. My doom has come upon me; let me not then

      die ingloriously and without a struggle, but let me first do some

      great thing that shall be told among men hereafter.”



      As he spoke he drew the keen blade that hung so great and strong

      by his side, and gathering himself together be sprang on Achilles

      like a soaring eagle which swoops down from the clouds on to some

      lamb or timid hare—even so did Hector brandish his sword and

      spring upon Achilles. Achilles mad with rage darted towards him,

      with his wondrous shield before his breast, and his gleaming

      helmet, made with four layers of metal, nodding fiercely forward.

      The thick tresses of gold with which Vulcan had crested the

      helmet floated round it, and as the evening star that shines

      brighter than all others through the stillness of night, even

      such was the gleam of the spear which Achilles poised in his

      right hand, fraught with the death of noble Hector. He eyed his

      fair flesh over and over to see where he could best wound it, but

      all was protected by the goodly armour of which Hector had

      spoiled Patroclus after he had slain him, save only the throat

      where the collar-bones divide the neck from the shoulders, and

      this is a most deadly place: here then did Achilles strike him as

      he was coming on towards him, and the point of his spear went

      right through the fleshy part of the neck, but it did not sever

      his windpipe so that he could still speak. Hector fell headlong,

      and Achilles vaunted over him saying, “Hector, you deemed that

      you should come off scatheless when you were spoiling Patroclus,

      and recked not of myself who was not with him. Fool that you

      were: for I, his comrade, mightier far than he, was still left

      behind him at the ships, and now I have laid you low. The

      Achaeans shall give him all due funeral rites, while dogs and

      vultures shall work their will upon yourself.”



      Then Hector said, as the life ebbed out of him, “I pray you by

      your life and knees, and by your parents, let not dogs devour me

      at the ships of the Achaeans, but accept the rich treasure of

      gold and bronze which my father and mother will offer you, and

      send my body home, that the Trojans and their wives may give me

      my dues of fire when I am dead.”



      Achilles glared at him and answered, “Dog, talk not to me neither

      of knees nor parents; would that I could be as sure of being able

      to cut your flesh into pieces and eat it raw, for the ill you

      have done me, as I am that nothing shall save you from the

      dogs—it shall not be, though they bring ten or twenty-fold ransom

      and weigh it out for me on the spot, with promise of yet more

      hereafter. Though Priam son of Dardanus should bid them offer me

      your weight in gold, even so your mother shall never lay you out

      and make lament over the son she bore, but dogs and vultures

      shall eat you utterly up.”



      Hector with his dying breath then said, “I know you what you are,

      and was sure that I should not move you, for your heart is hard

      as iron; look to it that I bring not heaven’s anger upon you on

      the day when Paris and Phoebus Apollo, valiant though you be,

      shall slay you at the Scaean gates.”



      When he had thus said the shrouds of death enfolded him, whereon

      his soul went out of him and flew down to the house of Hades,

      lamenting its sad fate that it should enjoy youth and strength no

      longer. But Achilles said, speaking to the dead body, “Die; for

      my part I will accept my fate whensoever Jove and the other gods

      see fit to send it.”



      As he spoke he drew his spear from the body and set it on one

      side; then he stripped the blood-stained armour from Hector’s

      shoulders while the other Achaeans came running up to view his

      wondrous strength and beauty; and no one came near him without

      giving him a fresh wound. Then would one turn to his neighbour

      and say, “It is easier to handle Hector now than when he was

      flinging fire on to our ships”—and as he spoke he would thrust

      his spear into him anew.



      When Achilles had done spoiling Hector of his armour, he stood

      among the Argives and said, “My friends, princes and counsellors

      of the Argives, now that heaven has vouchsafed us to overcome

      this man, who has done us more hurt than all the others together,

      consider whether we should not attack the city in force, and

      discover in what mind the Trojans may be. We should thus learn

      whether they will desert their city now that Hector has fallen,

      or will still hold out even though he is no longer living. But

      why argue with myself in this way, while Patroclus is still lying

      at the ships unburied, and unmourned—he whom I can never forget

      so long as I am alive and my strength fails not? Though men

      forget their dead when once they are within the house of Hades,

      yet not even there will I forget the comrade whom I have lost.

      Now, therefore, Achaean youths, let us raise the song of victory

      and go back to the ships taking this man along with us; for we

      have achieved a mighty triumph and have slain noble Hector to

      whom the Trojans prayed throughout their city as though he were a

      god.”



      On this he treated the body of Hector with contumely: he pierced

      the sinews at the back of both his feet from heel to ancle and

      passed thongs of ox-hide through the slits he had made: thus he

      made the body fast to his chariot, letting the head trail upon

      the ground. Then when he had put the goodly armour on the chariot

      and had himself mounted, he lashed his horses on and they flew

      forward nothing loth. The dust rose from Hector as he was being

      dragged along, his dark hair flew all abroad, and his head once

      so comely was laid low on earth, for Jove had now delivered him

      into the hands of his foes to do him outrage in his own land.



      Thus was the head of Hector being dishonoured in the dust. His

      mother tore her hair, and flung her veil from her with a loud cry

      as she looked upon her son. His father made piteous moan, and

      throughout the city the people fell to weeping and wailing. It

      was as though the whole of frowning Ilius was being smirched with

      fire. Hardly could the people hold Priam back in his hot haste to

      rush without the gates of the city. He grovelled in the mire and

      besought them, calling each one of them by his name. “Let be, my

      friends,” he cried, “and for all your sorrow, suffer me to go

      single-handed to the ships of the Achaeans. Let me beseech this

      cruel and terrible man, if maybe he will respect the feeling of

      his fellow-men, and have compassion on my old age. His own father

      is even such another as myself—Peleus, who bred him and reared

      him to be the bane of us Trojans, and of myself more than of all

      others. Many a son of mine has he slain in the flower of his

      youth, and yet, grieve for these as I may, I do so for

      one—Hector—more than for them all, and the bitterness of my

      sorrow will bring me down to the house of Hades. Would that he

      had died in my arms, for so both his ill-starred mother who bore

      him, and myself, should have had the comfort of weeping and

      mourning over him.”



      Thus did he speak with many tears, and all the people of the city

      joined in his lament. Hecuba then raised the cry of wailing among

      the Trojans. “Alas, my son,” she cried, “what have I left to live

      for now that you are no more? Night and day did I glory in you

      throughout the city, for you were a tower of strength to all in

      Troy, and both men and women alike hailed you as a god. So long

      as you lived you were their pride, but now death and destruction

      have fallen upon you.”



      Hector’s wife had as yet heard nothing, for no one had come to

      tell her that her husband had remained without the gates. She was

      at her loom in an inner part of the house, weaving a double

      purple web, and embroidering it with many flowers. She told her

      maids to set a large tripod on the fire, so as to have a warm

      bath ready for Hector when he came out of battle; poor woman, she

      knew not that he was now beyond the reach of baths, and that

      Minerva had laid him low by the hands of Achilles. She heard the

      cry coming as from the wall, and trembled in every limb; the

      shuttle fell from her hands, and again she spoke to her

      waiting-women. “Two of you,” she said, “come with me that I may

      learn what it is that has befallen; I heard the voice of my

      husband’s honoured mother; my own heart beats as though it would

      come into my mouth and my limbs refuse to carry me; some great

      misfortune for Priam’s children must be at hand. May I never live

      to hear it, but I greatly fear that Achilles has cut off the

      retreat of brave Hector and has chased him on to the plain where

      he was single-handed; I fear he may have put an end to the

      reckless daring which possessed my husband, who would never

      remain with the body of his men, but would dash on far in front,

      foremost of them all in valour.”



      Her heart beat fast, and as she spoke she flew from the house

      like a maniac, with her waiting-women following after. When she

      reached the battlements and the crowd of people, she stood

      looking out upon the wall, and saw Hector being borne away in

      front of the city—the horses dragging him without heed or care

      over the ground towards the ships of the Achaeans. Her eyes were

      then shrouded as with the darkness of night and she fell fainting

      backwards. She tore the attiring from her head and flung it from

      her, the frontlet and net with its plaited band, and the veil

      which golden Venus had given her on the day when Hector took her

      with him from the house of Eetion, after having given countless

      gifts of wooing for her sake. Her husband’s sisters and the wives

      of his brothers crowded round her and supported her, for she was

      fain to die in her distraction; when she again presently breathed

      and came to herself, she sobbed and made lament among the Trojans

      saying, “Woe is me, O Hector; woe, indeed, that to share a common

      lot we were born, you at Troy in the house of Priam, and I at

      Thebes under the wooded mountain of Placus in the house of Eetion

      who brought me up when I was a child—ill-starred sire of an

      ill-starred daughter—would that he had never begotten me. You are

      now going into the house of Hades under the secret places of the

      earth, and you leave me a sorrowing widow in your house. The

      child, of whom you and I are the unhappy parents, is as yet a

      mere infant. Now that you are gone, O Hector, you can do nothing

      for him nor he for you. Even though he escape the horrors of this

      woeful war with the Achaeans, yet shall his life henceforth be

      one of labour and sorrow, for others will seize his lands. The

      day that robs a child of his parents severs him from his own

      kind; his head is bowed, his cheeks are wet with tears, and he

      will go about destitute among the friends of his father, plucking

      one by the cloak and another by the shirt. Some one or other of

      these may so far pity him as to hold the cup for a moment towards

      him and let him moisten his lips, but he must not drink enough to

      wet the roof of his mouth; then one whose parents are alive will

      drive him from the table with blows and angry words. ‘Out with

      you,’ he will say, ‘you have no father here,’ and the child will

      go crying back to his widowed mother—he, Astyanax, who erewhile

      would sit upon his father’s knees, and have none but the

      daintiest and choicest morsels set before him. When he had played

      till he was tired and went to sleep, he would lie in a bed, in

      the arms of his nurse, on a soft couch, knowing neither want nor

      care, whereas now that he has lost his father his lot will be

      full of hardship—he, whom the Trojans name Astyanax, because you,

      O Hector, were the only defence of their gates and battlements.

      The wriggling writhing worms will now eat you at the ships, far

      from your parents, when the dogs have glutted themselves upon

      you. You will lie naked, although in your house you have fine and

      goodly raiment made by hands of women. This will I now burn; it

      is of no use to you, for you can never again wear it, and thus

      you will have respect shown you by the Trojans both men and

      women.”



      In such wise did she cry aloud amid her tears, and the women

      joined in her lament.