Homer

Homer (c. 800 BCE–c. 701 BCE)

The Greek poet Homer is credited with the epic stories of 'The Iliad' and 'The Odyssey,' and the impact of his tales continues to reverberate through Western culture.

Who Was Homer?

The Greek poet Homer was born sometime between the 12th and 8th centuries BC, possibly somewhere on the coast of Asia Minor. He is famous for the epic poems The Iliad and The Odyssey, which have had an enormous effect on Western culture, but very little is known about their alleged author.

The Mystery of Homer

Homer is a mystery. The Greek epic poet credited with the enduring epic tales of The Iliad and The Odyssey is an enigma insofar as actual facts of his life go. Some scholars believe him to be one man; others think these iconic stories were created by a group. A variation on the group idea stems from the fact that storytelling was an oral tradition and Homer compiled the stories, then recited them to memory.

Homer’s style, whoever he was, falls more in the category of minstrel poet or balladeer, as opposed to a cultivated poet who is the product of a fervent literary moment, such as a Virgil or a Shakespeare. The stories have repetitive elements, almost like a chorus or refrain, which suggests a musical element. However, Homer’s works are designated as epic rather than lyric poetry, which was originally recited with a lyre in hand, much in the same vein as spoken-word performances.

All this speculation about who he was has inevitably led to what is known as the Homeric Question—whether he actually existed at all. This is often considered to be the greatest literary mystery.

When Was Homer Born?

Much speculation surrounds when Homer was born because of the dearth of real information about him. Guesses at his birth date range from 750 BC all the way back to 1200 BC, the latter because The Iliad encompasses the story of the Trojan War, so some scholars have thought it fit to put the poet and chronicler nearer to the time of that actual event. But others believe the poetic style of his work indicates a much later period. Greek historian Herodotus (c. 484–425 BC), often called the father of history, placed Homer several centuries before himself, around 850 BC.

Part of the problem is that Homer lived before a chronological dating system was in place. The Olympic Games of classical Greece marked an epoch, with 776 BC as a starting point by which to measure out four-year periods for the event. In short, it is difficult to give someone a birth date when he was born before there was a calendar.

Where Was Homer Born?

Once again, the exact location of Homer’s birth cannot be pinpointed, although that doesn't stop scholars from trying. It has been identified as Ionia, Smyrna or, at any rate, on the coast of Asia Minor or the island of Chios. But seven cities lay claim to Homer as their native son.

There is some basis for some of these claims, however. The dialect that The Iliad and The Odyssey are written in is considered Asiatic Greek, specifically Ionic. That fact, paired with frequent mentions of local phenomena such as strong winds blowing from the northwest from the direction of Thrace, suggests, scholars feel, a familiarity with that region that could only mean Homer came from there.

The dialect helps narrow down his lifespan by coinciding it with the development and usage of language in general, but The Iliad and The Odyssey were so popular that this particular dialect became the norm for much of Greek literature going forward.

What Was Homer Like?

Virtually every biographical aspect ascribed to Homer is derived entirely from his poems. Homer is thought to have been blind, based solely on a character in The Odyssey, a blind poet/minstrel called Demodokos. A long disquisition on how Demodokos was welcomed into a gathering and regaled the audience with music and epic tales of conflict and heroes to much praise has been interpreted as Homer’s hint as to what his own life was like. As a result, many busts and statues have been carved of Homer with thick curly hair and beard and sightless eyes.

“Homer and Sophocles saw clearly, felt keenly, and refrained from much,” wrote Lane Cooper in The Greek Genius and Its Influence: Select Essays and Extracts in 1917, ascribing an emotional life to the writer. But he wasn't the first, nor was he the last. Countless attempts to recreate the life and personality of the author from the content of his epic poems have occupied writers for centuries.

'The Iliad' and 'The Odyssey'

Homer's two epic poems have become archetypal road maps in world mythology. The stories provide an important insight into early human society, and illustrate, in some aspects, how little has changed. Even if The Iliad itself seems unfamiliar, the story of the siege of Troy, the Trojan War and Paris’ kidnapping of Helen, the world’s most beautiful woman, are all familiar characters or scenarios. Some scholars insist that Homer was personally familiar with the plain of Troy, due to the geographical accuracy in the poem.

The Odyssey picks up after the fall of Troy. Further controversy about authorship springs from the differing styles of the two long narrative poems, indicating they were composed a century apart, while other historians claim only decades –the more formal structure of The Iliad is attributed to a poet at the height of his powers, whereas the more colloquial, novelistic approach in The Odyssey is attributed to an elderly Homer.

Homer enriched his descriptive story with the liberal use of simile and metaphor, which has inspired a long path of writers behind him. His structuring device was to start in the middle–in medias res– and then fill in the missing information via remembrances.

The two narrative poems pop up throughout modern literature: Homer’s The Odyssey has parallels in James Joyce’s Ulysses, and his tale of Achilles in The Iliad is echoed in J.R.R. Tolkien's The Fall of Gondolin. Even the Coen Brothers’ film O Brother, Where Art Thou? makes use of The Odyssey.

Other works have been attributed to Homer over the centuries, most notably the Homeric Hymns, but in the end, only the two epic works remain enduringly his.

Legacy

"Plato tells us that in his time many believed that Homer was the educator of all Greece. Since then, Homer’s influence has spread far beyond the frontiers of Hellas [Greece]….” wrote Werner Jaeger in Paideia: The Ideals of Greek Culture. He was right. The Iliad and The Odyssey have provided not only seeds but fertilizer for almost all the other arts and sciences in Western culture. For the Greeks, Homer was a godfather of their national culture, chronicling its mythology and collective memory in rich rhythmic tales that have permeated the collective imagination.

Homer’s real life may remain a mystery, but the very real impact of his works continues to illuminate our world today.

Selected excerpts from HOMER:

1. The Iliad BkXV:565-652 Hector reaches the ships

So he [Great Telemonian Ajax] spoke, and though the Argives were already eager to drive back the enemy, they responded to his words, and ringed the ships with a wall of bronze countering the Trojans urged on by Zeus. Now Menelaus of the loud war-cry spurred on Antilochus: ‘You are the youngest, quickest and boldest of us, Antilochus why not make a foray and wound some Trojan?’

Having roused the man, Menelaus swiftly retreated, while Antilochus ran out from the front rank, and quickly glancing round threw his bright spear, the Trojans shrinking back from his throw. Nor did his weapon fly in vain, striking proud Melanippus, Hicetaon’s son, on the chest by the nipple, as he joined the fight. He fell with a thud, and darkness shrouded his sight. Like a hound leaping at a wounded fawn, caught by a hunter’s careful shot as it fled from its lair, loosing its limbs, so stalwart Antilochus sprang at you, Melanippus, to strip away your armour. But noble Hector saw it all, and charged through the ranks to the attack. Antilochus turned and ran, his swift feet carrying him as speedily as a wild creature fresh from causing harm, killing a dog, or a herdsman beside his cattle, then fleeing before a vengeful crowd can gather. And as that son of Nestor fled before Hector, the Trojans raised a deafening cry and sent a hail of missiles after him, until he reached the ranks of his comrades where he once more turned to take his stand.

Now the Trojans, like ravening lions, charged towards the ships, fulfilling the will of Zeus, who roused their courage and spurred them on, as he shook the hearts of the Greeks and robbed them of all glory: that he gave to Hector of the gleaming helm, son of Priam, so he might shroud the beaked ships in un-resting towers of flame, and answer fully Thetis’ fateful prayer. Zeus the Counsellor waited then for the glare of burning timbers, determined that from that instant he would grant glory once more to the Greeks, and see that the Trojans were driven from the ships.

With this intent he spurred the already eager Hector on, and Hector of the gleaming helm* raged like Ares, god of the spear, or like a mountain fire working its destruction among the close-packed trees. With foaming lips, eyes blazing beneath lowering brows, he fought, and the very helm on his head shook on his temples, for the power of divine Zeus was his shield, and granted him the honour and the glory, alone among the host of warriors. Though brief was the life remaining to him, for even now Pallas Athene was hastening that fatal day when he would fall to Peleus’ mighty son.

Now he had one thought only, to shatter the Greek line, testing it wherever he saw the best-armed warriors tightly clustered. Yet eager as he was he could not break through, for the Greeks stood firm as a wall, like a vast sheer cliff facing the grey sea unshaken by howling gales and towering breakers. So the Greeks held steady and would not flee.

At the last, gleaming with fire, Hector [of the gleaming helm*] burst among them and laid about him, as under cloud a powerful wind-swollen wave breaks over a speeding ship, drenching it in foam, while the gusts roar in the canvas, and the crew shudder with fear, driven along a hair’s breadth from destruction, so Hector launched himself at the Achaeans striking panic in their hearts.

He fell on them with savage intent, like a lion attacking a vast herd grazing in some water-meadow, their herdsman, unskilled in driving a cattle-killer from a sleek heifer’s carcase, pacing at front or rear, keeping close to them, so leaving the lion to strike in the centre and take a heifer, scattering the rest in terror. So the Greeks fled to a man, before Hector and Father Zeus, when Hector killed Periphetes of Mycenae, beloved son of Copreus, that Copreus whom King Eurystheus sent with a message to mighty Heracles. The son was better than his father in every way, as runner and warrior, and one of the best minds of Mycenae, and his death gave the greater glory to Hector. As he fled, he tripped over the rim of his own long shield that reached to his feet, a defence against javelins, and stumbling fell backwards, his helmet clanging loudly at his temples as he landed. Hector seeing this, swiftly approached and drove a spear through his chest, killing him in the midst of his comrades, beyond their help despite their horror, given their deep dread of noble Hector.

2. The Iliad BkXV:653-746 Ajax stands firm

Now the Greeks fell back on the ships, retreating behind the outermost row, those that been drawn highest up the shore, but still the Trojans came on. Then the Argives were forced back even further, but re-grouped beside the huts, held together by shame and fear, calling ceaselessly to one another. Gerenian Nestor, Warden of Achaea, exhorted them the loudest, imploring each man, in his parents’ names, to stand firm: ‘My friends, be men, and fear to be shamed before the others. Think of your wives and children, your parents, living or dead, and remember all you own. For the sake of those far off, I beg you, stand here, and do not flee.’

With this he filled their hearts with courage, and Athene cleared the fog of war from their eyes, and flooded them with light from both sides, that of the ships and that of the battle lines. And all saw Hector, of the loud war-cry, and all his men, those at the rear as well as those who fought by the swift ships.

Proud Ajax could not bear to stand with the rest of the Achaeans, but strode up and down over the decks of the ships, wielding a long-pike in his hands, a pole jointed with metal rings, twelve feet long. As a skilled horseman with a picked team of four, who rides them on a highway from the plain to the big city, and sure of himself leaps from horse to horse as they gallop on, to the wonder of many, so Ajax ranged with long strides from ship to swift ship across the decks, his shouts rising skywards as he called to the Greeks with tremendous cries to defend their ships and huts.

Hector [of the gleaming helm"*] too could not rest among the ranks of mail-clad Trojans. Like a tawny eagle swooping at a flock of birds feeding by a river, wild geese, cranes or long-necked swans, he rushed straight at some dark-prowed ship while Zeus’ mighty hand pushed him on from behind, and spurred the Trojans to follow.

So once more, the ships saw bitter conflict. You would have thought both sides still fresh and unwearied, so fiercely did they fight. And as they fought these were their thoughts. The Achaeans felt they could not escape, and would be killed, while the Trojans hoped, deep within, to fire the ships and slay the Greeks. Such were their respective expectations as they clashed.

Hector, at last, grasped the stern of a sea-going ship, a fine vessel a swift one on the deep, that had brought Protesilaus to Troy, yet failed to bear him home again. Round it the Greeks and Trojans slaughtered one another in close combat, no longer fighting from afar with arrows and javelins, but hand to hand, united in their purpose, with keen battle-axes and hatchets, with long swords and double-edged spears. Many a lovely blade, its hilt bound with dark thongs, fell from their hands, or slipped from their shoulders as they fought, and the earth was black with blood.

But once Hector had gripped the ship’s stern he would not loose his hold, but clung to the stern post, shouting to the Trojans: ‘Bring fire, and give the war-cry all together, now Zeus grants us a victory that pays for all. Now we take these ships that sailed here in defiance of the gods, to cause us suffering. The Elders’ cowardice contributed, holding the army back when I was eager to fight here at their sterns. But if Zeus, the far-echoer, dulled our senses then, it is he himself who commands now and drives us on.’

With this his men pressed the Argives harder. Even Ajax himself, thinking he would die beneath a hail of missiles, yielded and gave way a little, retreating from the after-deck of the shapely vessel some way along the seven-foot high connecting bridge amidships. There he stood, alert, with his pike fending off any Trojan who approached the ship with a blazing brand, and urging the Greeks on ceaselessly with mighty shouts: ‘Friends, Argive warriors, you slaves of Ares, be men, and think on furious courage. There is no other help for us, no stronger wall to ward off disaster, no city with its ramparts to hide inside, no other army to turn the flow of battle. Here on the plains of Troy are we, our backs to the sea facing the mail-clad Trojans, far from our native land. So in the strength of our own hands is our salvation, and there can be no surrender in this fight.’

With this cry, he thrust his spiked pole furiously time and time again at the foe, and there Ajax waited for any Trojan who longing to delight Hector his inspiration, ran at the hollow ships with blazing brand. Ajax would wound each man with a thrust of his long pike, and disabled twelve men in this way in the close encounter by the ships.

The Iliad BkXVIII:1-77 Thetis responds to Achilles’ sorrow

So the fighting raged, while swift-footed Antilochus brought the news to Achilles. He found him in front of the high-sterned ships, agonising over the war, communing anxiously with his proud heart: ‘What woe is this? Why are the long-haired Greeks in flight? Why are they being driven back once more from the plain to the ships? Is this another sorrow sent by the gods, one that my mother prophesied? Did she not say that while I still lived the best of the Myrmidons would forgo the light of day at Trojan hands? Is Patroclus dead, in his rashness: despite my warning, to return to the ships once the fire was out, and not to battle Hector?’

He was lost like this in reflection, when Antilochus, bathed in scalding tears, brought the bitter news: ‘Alas, warlike son of Peleus, sad are the tidings you must hear. Would it were not so, but Patroclus has fallen, and they fight over his corpse, his naked corpse, for Hector of the gleaming helm has your armour.’

At these words, a black cloud of grief shrouded Achilles. Grasping handfuls of dark sand and ash, he poured them over his head and handsome face, soiling his scented tunic. Then he flung himself in the dust, and lying there outstretched, a fallen giant, tore and fouled his hair. The slave girls he and Patroclus had seized as prizes, shrieked with alarm, and ran to warlike Achilles, beating their breasts and sinking to the ground beside him. Antilochus, weeping and groaning, grasped Achilles’ hand, fearing he might take his knife and cut his own throat, so heart-felt was his noble grief.

Such a dreadful a groan did Achilles give voice to that his divine mother Thetis heard him, deep beneath the sea where she sat beside her ancient Father. She cried out, and all the divinities, the Nereids of the depths, gathered to her. Glauce, Thaleia and Cymodoce were there; Nesaea, Speio, Thoe and ox-eyed Halie; Cymothoe, Actaeë and Limnoreia; Melite, Iaera, Amphithoe, and Agave; Doto, Proto, Pherusa and Dynamene; Dexamene, Amphinome, and Callianeira; Doris, Panope and far-famed Galetea; Nemertes, Apseudes and Callianassa; Clymene, Ianeira, and Ianassa; Maera, Oreithyia, long-haired Amatheia; all the daughters of the deep.

The bright sea-cave was filled with nymphs, beating their breasts, and Thetis led the lament: ‘Sisters, listen all, so you may hear and know the sadness in my heart. How wretched I am, who to my sorrow bore the best of men! I brought a mighty and peerless son into this world, greatest of warriors. I nursed him like a shoot in a fertile orchard, and like a sapling swiftly he grew. I sent him to Ilium with the beaked ships, to fight the Trojans, but I shall never welcome him home once more to the house of Peleus. And even now, while he lives and knows the light of day, he suffers, beyond my help, though I go to him. And go I will, to see my dear child again, and hear what grief has come to one who refrains from battle.’

So saying, she left the cave with the weeping nymphs. They parted the waves till they came to the fertile land of Troy. One after another, they trod the shore, where the Myrmidon ships were beached in lines around swift Achilles. His divine mother reached his side, while he lay groaning there, and with a piercing cry took his head in her hands, and spoke to him winged words of sympathy: ‘My child, why these tears? What sadness overcomes you? Speak, don’t hide it from me. Surely, Zeus has fulfilled what you prayed for, now the whole Achaean army crouch at their ships sterns, suffering cruelly, and in sore need of you?’

The Iliad BkXVIII:78-147 Thetis promises Achilles fresh armour

Swift-footed Achilles sighed deeply: ‘Mother, it is true that Zeus has brought all this about, but what is that to me now Patroclus my dear friend is dead, he whom I honoured more than all, honoured as my own self? I have lost him, and Hector who killed him has stripped him of my armour, the fine, the great, the wondrous armour the gods gave Peleus as a glorious wedding gift that day you wed your mortal spouse. How I wished you had stayed among the immortal sea-nymphs, and Peleus had taken a human bride. Now you too will know the immeasurable grief of losing a son, of never again welcoming him home alive. For my heart compels me not to linger among men once Hector is dead at the point of my spear, and has paid the price for despoiling Patroclus.’

And Thetis, weeping, replied: ‘My child, your own death will swiftly be upon you if Hector dies, for your own doom must inexorably follow.’

Then swift-footed Achilles answered, passionately: ‘Let it follow instantly, since I could not save my friend from death. He needed my help to stave off ruin, and now far from his own land has he fallen. May discord be banished from among gods and men, all that enrages a man despite his wisdom, that insidious anger that rises in the breast like smoke, sweeter to it than trickling honey, for I shall not now return home, and I have failed to protect Patroclus and all those others whom noble Hector killed, idling here by my ships, a useless burden on the earth, I who am without peer in warfare among the bronze-clad Greeks, however superior the rest may be in council. Agamemnon, king of men, stirred just such a rage in my heart. But all is past and done, despite the pain, and we must curb the wrath in our hearts. So I will go now and find Hector, the man who killed my dearest friend, and accept death whenever Zeus and the other gods decide that I must die. Not even great Heracles escaped his doom, dear as he was to Zeus, the son of Cronos, Hera’s dread anger fated to overcome him. I too, if a like fate has been spun for me, will lie quiet when I am dead. But for now, let me win fame and glory too, and make many a deep-breasted Trojan woman moan without cease, wiping the tears from her tender cheeks with both her hands, to teach her how long I have been absent from the war. Though you love me, don’t try to keep me from battle, I will never be persuaded.’

‘What you say is right, my son,’ silver-footed Thetis replied, ‘it is right to save your hard-pressed friends from utter ruin. But the Trojans have your lovely armour, your shining bronze. Hector of the gleaming helm wears it and exults. Though not for long, I say, since his own death is upon him. So refrain from battle, until you see me here again. I will return tomorrow with the sun, and bring you glorious armour from Lord Hephaestus.’

With that she turned to speak to her sister Nereids: ‘Plunge beneath the broad surface of the deep, and go to our father’s house, to the Old Man of the Sea. Tell him everything, while I go to lofty Olympus, to Hephaestus, the master-craftsman, hoping that he will deign to give my son fresh shining armour.’

At this, they dived beneath the waves, while she, Thetis, the silver-footed goddess, set out for Olympus to win glorious armour for her beloved son.

The Iliad BkXX:353-418 Achilles attacks the Trojans

So saying, Achilles ran along the line calling to all the Greeks: ‘Noble Achaeans: don’t stand here waiting for the enemy, rouse yourselves for battle, and each pick out your foe. Strong I may be, but they are in such numbers it is hard even for me to fight them all. Not even Ares, immortal as he is, or Athene, could wrestle with the jaws of such a monster. But what a man can do with swift foot, and strong arms, I will attempt. I’ll not be idle, rather I’ll pierce straight through their ranks, and pity the Trojans who come near my spear.’

So he roused them, urging them on, while great Hector was shouting to the Trojans, that he would advance and tackle Achilles: ‘Brave Trojans have no fear of this son of Peleus. I too could fight a war of words, even with the gods, yet it is harder to fight them with the spear, since they are mightier still. Achilles will not make good his boast. Part indeed he may fulfil, but a part he will leave undone. I will go out against him, though his hands blaze fire, yes, though his hands blaze fire and his fury is molten iron.’

With this, he drove them forward, and the Trojans faced the Greeks and raised their spears high, and the war cries rose as their forces clashed together in confusion. Now Phoebus Apollo spoke to Hector: ‘Don’t try to fight Achilles face to face, Hector, stay in the ranks and await him in the din of battle, or he’ll strike you with a cast of his spear or, close up, with his sword.’ Hector retreated into the crowd of warriors, filled with fear at the sound of the god’s voice.

But Achilles, his heart filled with courage, gave his dreadful war-cry and sprang among the Trojans. First he killed a general, Iphition, mighty son of Otrynteus and a Naiad, who, beneath snowy Tmolus in the fertile land of Hyde, bore him to that sacker of cities. Noble Achilles struck the man, who charged straight towards him, striking him smack on the head with a cast of his spear, splitting his skull in two. He fell with a thud, and noble Achilles triumphed: ‘Lie there, son of Otrynteus, most redoubtable of men. Though you were born by the Gygaean Lake, where your father holds the land, by Hyllus teeming with fish, and the swirling eddies of Hermus, here is the place where you must die.’

As Achilles exulted, darkness veiled Iphition’s eyes, and the Greek chariot-wheels cut his corpse to pieces, there in the front line, as Achilles sent Demoleon, Antenor’s son, a strong man in defence, to join him, striking him in the temple, through the bronze-cheeked helmet, which failed to stop the spear, whose point drove through to smash the bone, crushing the brain inside. So he killed Demoleon in his fury, then Hippodamas as he leapt from his chariot to flee, thrust through the back with the point of his spear. Hippodamas breathed his last with a bellow like a bull the young men drag round Poseidon’s altar, to delight the Earth-Shaker, Lord of Helice. So Hippodamas roared as his proud spirit fled his bones.

Then Achilles went after godlike Polydorus, Priam’s son. His father had forbidden him to fight, being his youngest son and dearest to him. He was the fastest runner of them all, but foolishly displaying his turn of speed, running about near the front lines, he lost his life to swift-footed Achilles, who caught him with a cast of his spear, as he shot by, in the back where the corselet overlapped and the golden clasps of his belt were fastened. The spear point emerged beside the navel, and he slumped to his knees with a groan, clutching his guts in his hands, as darkness enveloped him.

The Iliad BkXX:419-454 Apollo rescues Hector

Hector saw this, and his eyes misted over, and unable to endure the waiting he ran like fire to challenge Achilles, brandishing his keen spear. Achilles sprang towards him, saying exultantly to himself: ‘Here’s the man who wounded me most, who killed my dearest friend. Now here’s an end to dodging one another down the lines.’ With a fierce gaze he called to Hector: ‘Come on, and find the toils of death the sooner.’

But Hector of the gleaming helm answered, fearlessly: ‘Son of Peleus, I am no child frightened with words, I know how to speak myself, both truths and taunts. I know you are a greater warrior than I, yet it lies in the gods’ hands whether I, though the lesser man, will kill you with my spear, which has proved sharp enough before now.’

So saying, he balanced his spear and hurled it, but Athene with her merest breath deflected it from great Achilles, so that it returned to noble Hector and landed at his feet. Then Achilles in his eagerness to kill him, leapt forward with a dreadful cry. But Apollo shrouded Hector in dense mist, and snatched him away, as a god can easily do. Three times fleet-footed Achilles ran in vain at the empty mist with his bronze spear. As he flailed about him, like a demon, for the fourth time, he cursed Hector with winged words: ‘Once more, you cur, you cheat death, by a hair’s breadth. Phoebus Apollo saves you once more, the god you must surely pray to before you dodge the spears. But I promise to make an end of you when we meet again, if some god will but aid me too. For now I’ll kill whoever I can catch.’

The Iliad BkXX:455-503 Achilles rages among the Trojans

With this, Achilles pierced Dryops in the neck with a thrust of his spear, and Dryops fell at his feet. Leaving him, he disabled Demuchus, Philetor’s son, with a blow from his spear in the knee, then struck him with his long-sword and robbed him of life. Then he hurled the sons of Bias, Laogonus and Dardanus, from their chariot, one with a spear-cast the other with his sword in close combat. Tros, Alastor’s son, ran to clasp his knees, begging, in his folly, to be spared, to be captured alive, for Achilles to take pity on a youth of his own age, and not kill him! He should have known Achilles’ harshness, no soft heart or tender mind had he, fierce in his fury. As Tros in his eagerness tried to clasp the warrior’s knees, Achilles pierced his liver with the sword, and spilled it, the dark blood drenching his body, darkness enfolding him as he breathed his last. Then Achilles struck Mulius with his spear, the spear-blade passing through his head from ear to ear. Next he killed Echeclus, son of Agenor, striking him on the head with the sword, his blood heating the blade, dark death and remorseless fate veiling his eyes. Then he pierced Deucalion’s arm with the bronze spear-point, where the sinews meet the elbow joint, and Deucalion trailing the spear waited on death. Achilles struck his head from his neck, sending the helmeted head flying. The marrow welled from the vertebrae, and the corpse fell to the ground. Achilles ran after Rhigmus, the peerless son of Peiros, from fertile Thrace. He struck him in the centre of his belly with his spear, transfixing him, and he fell from his chariot. Then Achilles toppled Areïthous, Rhigmus’ squire, striking him in the back with his spear, as the charioteer wheeled the panic-stricken horses.

Achilles ranged everywhere with his spear, like a conflagration racing through the deeply-wooded gullies on a parched mountain-side, its whirling flames driven by the wind through the close-packed trees, and with the force of a god he beat down those he killed till the black earth ran with blood. Proud Achilles’ horses trampled dead men and shields alike as grain is swiftly trampled under the feet of the broad-browed bellowing oxen a farmer yokes to tread white barley on a stone threshing floor. The axle and the chariot rim were black with blood thrown up by the hooves and the wheels as the son of Peleus pressed on to glory, his all-conquering arms spattered with gore.

The Iliad: BkXXI:298-382 Hephaestus blasts the River with fire

The gods, their message delivered, returned to join the other immortals, while Achilles, inspired by Poseidon’s words, advanced over the plain. The whole area was flooded, and the corpses and fine armour of a host of young men slain in battle were awash there. Leaping along through the water, he worked his way up-stream, Athene granting him such strength that the spreading river failed to halt him. Not that Xanthus’ power was less, for his wrath against Peleus’ son increased, and towering up in a surging crest, he called across to Simoïs: ‘Dear brother, let us unite to stop this man or he’ll waste great Priam’s city, and the Trojans will lose the war. Speed to my aid, fill your streams with water from your source, and raise a torrent, send down a mighty wave, with a clashing of logs and rocks, so we can thwart this savage who thinks himself equal to the gods and carries all before him. I say strength and beauty will help him not, nor his fine armour that will lie deep drowned in the mud. I will roll him in sand and pile a mountain of pebbles over his flesh. So deep the silt I’ll cover him with, no Greek will know where his bones are buried. He’ll not need a funeral mound when the Greeks perform their rites: here now is his tomb all prepared.’

So saying, he towered on high, and rushed at Achilles in a surge of rage, seething with foam and blood and corpses. And over the son of Peleus hung a great wave of the heaven-fed river, threatening to overwhelm him. Now Hera cried out, gripped by terror lest the broad deep-swirling stream should sweep Achilles away. Quickly she called to her dear son Hephaestus: ‘Up, my child, on your crooked feet! You we thought to match in this fight against whirling Xanthus. Be swift to save, and rouse your flames. I will hasten to stir the winds from the sea, a fierce Westerly gale and a sharp Southerly, to spread the fierce conflagration till the Trojan dead and their amour are utterly consumed. You must scorch the trees along Xanthus’ banks, and wall his course with flames. Don’t let him deter you with threats or tender speeches, nor must you mitigate your force, until I call you off with a cry: then, quench your restless fires.’

Hephaestus answered her with a wondrous blaze, that began by burning the host of dead that strewed the plain, the victims of Achilles, until the plain was dry and the streams abated, as a Northerly wind dries a newly-wet orchard at fruit-harvest, to the delight of him who must pick the crop. Soon the whole plain was bone dry, and the corpses consumed. Then Hephaestus turned his bright flame on the river itself. The elms, willows and tamarisks burned, the rushes and sedge and lotus leaves that grew densely along the winding streams, and the eels and fish thrashed about in the swirling pools, tormented by artful Hephaestus’ fiery blast. The mighty River himself was scalded, and cried out to the god: ‘Hephaestus, you’re a match for any immortal. I’ll not fight you while you’re wreathed in flame. Cease this battle, and let noble Achilles drive the Trojans from their city. What business of mine are war and conflict?’

So he spoke, his silver waters boiling and seething, fringed with fire. Like the melted lard of a fat hog, in a cauldron set on a fierce flame of dry kindling, that bubbles and seethes throughout, so his flood boiled and steamed. Lacking the will to flow onward, he sank back, troubled by artful Hephaestus’ fiery blast. He cried out to Hera, for mercy, in winged words: ‘Why does your son torment my stream above all others, Hera? Surely I am less guilty in your eyes than all the others who aid the Trojans? I will desist at your command, if he will also refrain. Moreover, I’ll swear this oath, never to try and save the Trojans from their day of doom, not even if all Troy is ablaze, wreathed in consuming fire, at the hands of the warlike Greeks.’

When the goddess, white-armed Hera, heard his cry, she called quickly to her dear son: ‘Enough, Hephaestus, my noble child. We must not harm an immortal for the sake of a mere man.’ Hephaestus responded to her words, and quenched his mighty conflagration, and the current began to flow again along its lovely channels.

The Iliad BkXXII:131-187 Achilles chases Hector round the walls

While he stood there thinking, Achilles, peer of Ares, approached, the plumes of his helmet nodding, brandishing the mighty spear of Pelian ash in his right hand, high above his shoulder, his bronze armour blazing like fire or the rising sun. Now Hector was gripped by fear and, trembling at the sight of him, afraid to stand his ground by the gate, set off running. Achilles, confident in his own speed, pursued him. Like a hawk, swiftest of birds, swooping on a timorous dove in the mountains, darting towards her with fierce cries as she flees, eager to seize her, so Achilles ran and Hector fled as fast as he could in terror, below the Trojan wall. Passing the lookout point, and the wind-swept wild fig tree, along the cart-track they ran leaving the wall behind, and came to two lovely springs where the waters rise to feed the eddying Scamander. One flows warm, and steam rises above it as smoke from a fire, while even in summer the other is ice-water, cold as freezing snow or hail. Nearby are the fine wide troughs of stone where the wives and daughters of the Trojans once washed their gleaming clothes in peace-time, before the advent of the Greeks. By the troughs they ran, one fleeing, one pursuing, a fine runner in front but a better one chasing him down behind, and this was no race for the prize of a bull’s hide or a sacrificial ox, a prize such as they give for running, they ran instead for the life of horse-taming Hector.

As thoroughbreds sweep round the turning-post, and compete for the prize of a fine tripod or a woman, to honour some dead warrior, so these two warriors ran swiftly three times round the city of Troy, while the gods looked on. And the Father of gods and men took it on himself to speak: ‘Well, now, here’s a sight! A man who is dear to me, chased round the walls, Hector whom my heart sorrows for, who has burned the thighs of countless oxen on many-ridged Ida’s heights for me, or on the summit of the citadel. Now noble Achilles, that great runner, hunts him round Priam’s city. Take counsel, immortals, decide! Shall we save him from death, or good man though he is, shall he die at the hands of Achilles, Peleus’ son?’

It was bright-eyed Athene who replied: ‘Father, Lord of the Lightning and the Storm, what is this? Would you save a mortal from sad death, to which he was doomed long ago? Do so, but don’t expect the rest of us to agree.’

Zeus, the Cloud-Gatherer, answered: ‘Easy, Tritogeneia, my dear child, I was not in earnest, and I shall indulge you. Do as you will, and delay no longer.’ With this encouragement, the eager Athene darted down from the summit of Olympus.