The Iliad and the Odyssey (Classics of World Literature) (17 page)

That of the two men, like two gods, were the commanded force –

Otroeus, and great Migdonus – who on Sangarius’ sands

Set down their tents, with whom myself, for my assistant bands,

Was number’d as a man in chief; the cause of war was then

Th’ Amazon dames, that in their facts affected to be men.

In all, there was a mighty pow’r, which yet did never rise

To equal these Achaian youths, that have the sable eyes.’

Then (seeing Ulysses next) he said: ‘Lov’d daughter, what is he,

That lower than great Atreus’ son seems by the head to me?

Yet in his shoulders and big breast presents a broader show;

His armour lies upon the earth; he up and down doth go,

To see his soldiers keep their ranks, and ready have their arms,

If, in this truce, they should be tried by any false alarms:

Much like a well-grown bell-wether or feltred ram he shows,

That walks before a wealthy flock of fair white-fleeced ewes.’

High Jove and Leda’s fairest seed to Priam thus replies:

‘This is the old Laertes’ son, Ulysses, call’d the wise;

Who, though unfruitful Ithaca was made his nursing seat,

Yet knows he every sort of sleight, and is in counsels great.

The wise Antenor answer’d her: ‘Tis true, renowned dame;

For some times past wise Ithacus to Troy a legate came,

With Menelaus, for your cause: to whom I gave receipt

As guests, and welcom’d to my house, with all the love I might.

I learn’d the wisdoms of their souls, and humours of their blood:

For when the Trojan council met, and these together stood,

By height of his broad shoulders had Atrides eminence;

Yet set, Ulysses did exceed, and bred more reverence.

And when their counsels and their words they wove in one, the speech

Of Atreus’ son was passing loud, small, fast, yet did not reach

To much, being naturally born Laconical: nor would

His humour lie for anything, or was (like th’ other) old;

But when the prudent Ithacus did to his counsels rise,

He stood a little still, and fix’d upon the earth his eyes,

His sceptre moving neither way, but held it formally,

Like one that vainly doth affect. Of wrathful quality,

And frantic (rashly judging him) you would have said he was;

But when out of his ample breast he gave his great voice pass,

And words that flew about our ears like drifts of winter’s snow,

None thenceforth might contend with him, though nought admir’d for show.’

The third man aged Priam mark’d, was Ajax Telamon:

Of whom he ask’d: ‘What lord is that so large of limb and bone,

So rais’d in height, that to his breast I see there reacheth none?

To him the goddess of her sex, the large-veil’d Helen, said:

‘That lord is Ajax Telamon, a bulwark in their aid.

On th’ other side stands Idomen, in Crete of most command,

And round about his royal sides his Cretan captains stand.

Oft hath the warlike Spartan king giv’n hospitable due

To him within our Lacene court, and all his retinue.

And now the other Achive dukes I generally discern;

All which I know, and all their names could make thee quickly learn.

Two princes of the people yet I nowhere can behold:

Castor, the skilful knight on horse, and Pollux, uncontroll’d

For all stand-fights, and force of hand; both at a burthen bred,

My natural brothers: either here they have not followed

From lovely Sparta, or arriv’d within the sea-borne fleet,

In fear of infamy for me in broad field shame to meet.’

Nor so, for holy Tellus’ womb inclos’d those worthy men,

In Sparta their beloved soil. The voiceful heralds then

The firm agreement of the gods through all the city ring:

Two lambs, and spirit-refreshing wine (the fruit of earth) they bring,

Within a goat-skin bottle clos’d; Idaeus also brought

A massy glittering bowl, and cups, that all of gold were wrought;

Which bearing to the king, they cried: ‘Son of Laomedon,

Rise, for the well-rode peers of Troy and brass-arm’d Greeks in one

Send to thee to descend the field, that they firm vows may make;

For Paris and the Spartan king must fight for Helen’s sake,

With long arm’d lances; and the man that proves victorious,

The woman, and the wealth she brought, shall follow to his house;

The rest knit friendship, and firm leagues; we safe in Troy shall dwell;

In Argos and Achaia they, that do in dames excel.’

He said, and Priam’s aged joints with chilled fear did shake;

Yet instantly he had his men his chariot ready make.

Which soon they did, and he ascends: he takes the reins, and guide

Antenor calls, who instantly mounts to his royal side,

And through the Scaean ports to field, the swift-foot horse they drive.

And when at them of Troy and Greece the aged lords arrive,

From horse, on Troy’s well-feeding soil, ’twixt both the hosts they go.

When straight up rose the king of men, up rose Ulysses too;

The heralds in their richest coats repeat (as was the guise)

The true vows of the gods (term’d theirs, since made before their eyes);

Then in a cup of gold they mix the wine that each side brings,

And next pour water on the hands of both the kings of kings.

Which done, Atrides drew his knife, that evermore he put

Within the large sheath of his sword, with which away he cut

The wool from both fronts of the lambs, which (as a rite in use

Of execration to their heads, that brake the plighted truce)

The heralds of both hosts did give the peers of both. And then

With hands and voice advanc’d to heav’n, thus pray’d the king of men:

‘O Jove, that Ida dost protect, and hast the titles won,

Most glorious, most invincible; and thou all-seeing Sun,

All-hearing, all-recomforting; floods, earth, and pow’rs beneath,

That all the perjuries of men chastise ev’n after death,

Be witnesses, and see perform’d the hearty vows we make;

If Alexander shall the life of Menelaus take,

He shall from henceforth Helena, with all her wealth, retain;

And we will to our household gods hoist sail, and home again.

If by my honour’d brother’s hand be Alexander slain,

The Trojans then shall his forc’d queen with all her wealth restore,

And pay convenient fine to us and ours for evermore.

If Priam and his sons deny to pay this, thus agreed,

When Alexander shall be slain, for that perfidious deed,

And for the fine, will I fight here till dearly they repay,

By death and ruin, the amends that falsehood keeps away.

This said, the throats of both the lambs cut with his royal knife,

He laid them panting on the earth, till (quite depriv’d of life)

The steel had robb’d them of their strength. Then golden cups they crown’d,

With wine out of a cistern drawn; which pour’d upon the ground,

They fell upon their humble knees to all the deities,

And thus pray’d one of both the hosts, that might do sacrifice:

‘O Jupiter, most high, most great, and all the deathless pow’rs,

Who first shall dare to violate the late sworn oaths of ours,

So let the bloods and brains of them, and all they shall produce,

Flow on the stain’d face of the earth, as now this sacred juice:

And let their wives with bastardies brand all their future race.’

Thus pray’d they: but with wish’d effects their pray’rs Jove did not grace.

When Priam said: ‘Lords of both hosts, I can no longer stay

To see my lov’d son try his life; and so must take my way

To wind-exposed Ilion: Jove yet and heav’n’s high states

Know only, which of these must now pay tribute to the Fates.’

Thus putting in his coach the lambs, he mounts and reins his horse,

Antenor to him, and to Troy both take their speedy course.

Then Hector, Priam’s martial son, stepp’d forth, and met the ground,

With wise Ulysses, where the blows of combat must resound.

Which done, into a helm they put two lots, to let them know

Which of the combatants should first his brass-pil’d javelin throw.

When all the people standing by, with hands held up to heav’n,

Pray’d Jove, the conquest might not be by force or fortune giv’n,

But that the man, who was in right the author of most wrong,

Might feel his justice, and no more these tedious wars prolong,

But sinking to the house of death, leave them (as long before)

Link’d fast in leagues of amity, that might dissolve no more.

Then Hector shook the helm that held the equal dooms of chance,

Look’d back, and drew; and Paris first had lot to hurl his lance.

The soldiers all sat down enrank’d, each by his arms and horse,

That then lay down, and cool’d their hoofs. And now th’ allotted course

Bids fair-hair’d Helen’s husband arm: who first makes fast his greaves

With silver buckles to his legs, then on his breast receives

The curets that Lycaon wore (his brother), but made fit

For his fair body; next his sword he took, and fasten’d it

(All damask’d) underneath his arm; his shield then grave and great

His shoulders wore, and on his head his glorious helm he set

Topp’d with a plume of horse’s hair, that horribly did dance,

And seem’d to threaten as he mov’d. At last he takes his lance,

Exceeding big, and full of weight, which he with ease could use.

In like sort, Sparta’s warlike king himself with arms indues.

Thus arm’d at either army both, they both stood bravely in,

Possessing both hosts with amaze: they came so chin to chin,

And with such horrible aspects, each other did salute.

A fair large field was made for them: where wraths – for hugeness – mute,

And mutual, made them mutually at either shake their darts

Before they threw: then Paris first with his long javelin parts;

It smote Atrides’ orby targe, but ran not through the brass:

For in it (arming well the shield) the head reflected was.

Then did the second combatant apply him to his spear;

Where ere he threw, he thus besought almighty Jupiter:

‘O Jove! Vouchsafe me now revenge, and that my enemy,

For doing wrong so undeserv’d, may pay deservedly

The pains he forfeited; and let these hands inflict those pains,

By conquering, ay, by conquering dead, him on whom life complains:

That any now, or any one of all the brood of men

To live hereafter, may with fear from all offence abstain,

Much more from all such foul offence to him that was his host,

And entertain’d him, as the man whom he affected most.’

This said, he shook, and threw his lance; which struck through Paris’ shield,

And with the strength he gave to it, it made the curets yield,

His coat of mail, his breast, and all, and drove his entrails in,

In that low region, where the guts in three small parts begin:

Yet he, in bowing of his breast, prevented sable death.

This taint he follow’d with his sword, drawn from a silver sheath:

Which lifting high, he struck his helm, full where his plume did stand,

On which it piecemeal brake, and fell from his unhappy hand.

At which he sighing stood, and star’d upon the ample sky;

And said: ‘O Jove, there is no god giv’n more illiberally

To those that serve thee than thyself; why have I pray’d in vain?

I hop’d my hand should have reveng’d the wrongs I still sustain

On him that did them, and still dares their foul defence pursue;

And now my lance hath miss’d his end, my sword in shivers flew,

And he ’scapes all. With this again he rush’d upon his guest,

And caught him by the horse-hair plume that dangled on his crest,

With thought to drag him to the Greeks: which he had surely done,

And so besides the victory had wondrous glory won,

Because the needle-painted lace, with which his helm was tied

Beneath his chin, and so about his dainty throat implied,

Had strangled him; but that in time, the Cyprian seed of Jove

Did break the string, with which was lin’d that which the needle wove,

And was the tough thong of a steer; and so the victor’s palm

Was (for so full a man at arms) only an empty helm

That then he swung about his head, and cast among his friends,

Who scrambled, and took ’t up with shouts. Again then he intends

To force the life-blood of his foe, and ran on him amain,

With shaken javelin; when the queen, that lovers loves, again

Attended, and now ravish’d him from that encounter quite,

With ease, and wondrous suddenly; for she (a goddess) might.

She hid him in a cloud of gold, and never made him known,

Till in his chamber, fresh and sweet, she gently set him down,

And went for Helen, whom she found in Scaea’s utmost height,

To which whole swarms of city dames had climb’d to see the sight.

To give her errand good success, she took on her the shape

Of beldame Graea, who was brought by Helen in her rape,

From Lacedaemon, and had trust in all her secrets still,

Being old; and had (of all her maids) the main bent of her will;

And spun for her her finest wool: like her, love’s empress came,

Pull’d Helen by the heavenly veil, and softly said: ‘Madame,

My lord calls for you, you must needs make all your kind haste home;

He’s in your chamber, stays, and longs, sits by your bed; pray come,

’Tis richly made, and sweet, but he more sweet, and looks so clear,

So fresh, and movingly attir’d, that (seeing) you would swear