The War That Killed Achilles (29 page)

Like Patroklos' burial rites, athletic games performed at funerals and religious occasions are attested in the historical record.
¹²
Boxing and weight lifting were among the contests staged at Hittite religious festivals, for example, although they played only a minor role within the wider pageantry of processions, sacrifice, and ceremonies.
¹³
On the other hand, athletic games and other competitions were central features of funeral and religious ritual of the Greek Iron Age;
¹⁴
this is, after all, the era of the first Olympic Games, whose traditional foundation date is 776 B.C. Just how such contests were seen to honor the dead is not clearly understood, but it appears that they held no deeper ritual significance than the tribute paid by the spectacle and effort of an outstanding performance—an eminently Greek notion. The benefits to the grieving community, on the other hand, are clear. Ritualized, pseudo-military performances of this kind, accompanied by cheers of encouragement and uplifting “award ceremonies” undoubtedly served to reestablish a sense of normalcy and even optimism.
¹⁵

The long set piece, which accounts for most of Book Twenty-three, describing the funeral games held for Patroklos provides us with the only glimpse of the Achaean heroes off duty and “at ease.” The individual competitions are humorous, boisterous, and sometimes dangerous, as in the close-combat contest between Diomedes and Aias, which for a chilling moment looks as if it might end in one of their deaths. Pride of place is given to the first and most thrilling competition, the chariot race, for which five heroes stand; as it will turn out, the actions of the spectators are to be as significant as those of the competitors in terms of the light they shed both on Achilles' character and on the anger of heroes.

Of the five contenders, Eumelos, son of Admetos, has the lowest profile, having been mentioned only twice before in the epic, a long while back, in Book Two—once as a leader of an important contingent from Thessaly and once, significantly, as the owner of the “best by far” of mares, “swift-moving like birds, alike in / texture of coat, in age, both backs drawn level like a plumb-line.” Shadowy though Eumelos is in the
Iliad,
his family has strong associations with other stories in myth, and he was undoubtedly known to Homer's audience.
¹⁶
At any rate, his reintroduction here, thousands of lines after his first fleeting mention, is eloquent evidence of the tight integration of the epic's wide-ranging material.

Diomedes is second to step up, running horses he won in his encounter with Aineias; as often with Diomedes, a whiff of the consummate horse raider accompanies his actions. Menelaos is third, leading “Aithe, Agamemnon's mare, and his own Podargos,” a deft summation of his characteristic reliance on his more powerful brother. Fourth is Antilochos, who endures a lengthy stream of advice from his long-winded father, Nestor, which, condensed to its essentials, amounts to “ ‘dear son, drive thoughtfully and be watchful.' ” Fifth is Meriones, who despite the fact that he is never fully characterized has a high profile in the epic; with Idomeneus, the lord of Crete, to whom he is henchman, Meriones appears to be an old Minoan relic caught into Mycenaean tradition.
¹⁷

The race begins, and the horses stride away from the ships toward the turning point, a dry stump with two white stones against it, described by Nestor as either “ ‘the grave-mark of someone who died long ago, / or was set as a racing goal by men who lived before our time.' ” Is it a grave mark, or is it a goalpost? Given the context—a race by the very grave of Patroklos—the ambiguity is pointed, an ominous reminder that despite what heroes are led to believe, memory of the dead does not always endure.

Soon Eumelos leads—until a broken yoke sends him spinning from his chariot. Entirely heedless of his father's labored advice, Antilochos drives a reckless race, crying out to his horses to overtake Menelaos' mare, “ ‘for fear Aithe who is female / may shower you in mockery.' ” His hard-driving tactics frighten careful Menelaos, who loses his nerve and pulls his team aside. “ ‘Damn you,' ” cries the fair-haired son of Atreus. “ ‘We Achaeans lied when we said you had good sense.' ”

Sitting in the stands, the Achaean assembly strains impatiently to see who is leading as the horses emerge from the dust on the home stretch. A heated argument breaks out between Aias, the son of Oïleus, and Idomeneus:

Éris
—strife—between heroes, it will be recalled, was a favorite theme of epic. Looked at coldly, stripped of the dignity of their noble epic contexts, these quarrels are almost always petty. In the
Cypria,
“Achilles quarrels with Agamemnon because he received a late invitation” to a feast; in the
Aethiopis,
“a quarrel arises between Odysseus and Aias over the armor of Achilles”; the
Odyssey
tells of a quarrel between Achilles and Odysseus at a festival, not to mention the
Iliad
's own dramatic action arising from the “quarrel” between Achilles and Agamemnon.

Now, at the funeral games, incipient quarrels proliferate. Not only do Aias and Idomeneus quarrel in the stands, but Menelaos is angry with Antilochos for his reckless driving, and, in an extended, telling scene, Achilles momentarily incurs the anger of Antilochos, who finished in second place, by suggesting that an adjustment of prizes be made to compensate Eumelos for the bad luck of his broken chariot yoke; because of this accident, “the best man” came in last, as Achilles points out, and he proposes awarding Eumelos an honorary second prize. At this suggestion, Antilochos stands to argue:

The proposed redistribution of prizes and Antilochos' indignant response pointedly mirror the themes of the catastrophic quarrel between Achilles and Agamemnon at the beginning of the
Iliad.
As pointed is the contrast between Agamemnon's handling of outspoken challenge to his judgment and authority, and that of Achilles now:

This, the only occasion in the
Iliad
when furious Achilles smiles, serves as a bittersweet reminder of the difference real leadership could have made to the events of the
Iliad.
Agamemnon's panicked prize-grabbing in Book One and even Nestor's rambling “authority” pale beside Achilles' instinctive and absolute command of himself and the dangers of this occasion. As the host of the games in Patroklos' honor, Achilles does not compete, and yet by his graceful assurance he dominates them completely. This is seen most starkly in his handling of Agamemnon himself, who makes a single, brief appearance in the games, as a contender against Meriones in the last of the competitions, for spear throwing. “ ‘Son of Atreus,' ” says Achilles, addressing him before the contest is even begun:

Coolly forestalling the possibility that the son of Atreus might lose the competition and instigate yet another face-saving quarrel, Achilles tactfully intervenes. “He spoke, nor did Agamemnon lord of men disobey him.” A masterpiece of diplomacy, Achilles' short speech reveals the great leader the Achaeans never had.
¹⁹

The funeral games for Patroklos serve as a kind of epilogue to the
Iliad
's Achaean story. The heroes, striving mightily in the peaceable competitions, remain comically true to their heroic, on-the-field-of-battle characters, and these affectionate and knowing portraits represent the last time in this epic that most will be seen. With the conclusion of the games, “the people scattered to go away,” and Achilles remains, as it were, onstage alone.

Weeping again, Achilles recalls Patroklos “and all the actions he had seen to the end with him, and the hardships / he had suffered; the wars of men; hard crossing of the big waters.” Patroklos' great deeds are never translated into epic song—
kléa andrōn
—but survive as a close friend's private reminiscences. After each sleepless night, Achilles arises at dawn and grimly repeats the one activity he believes will dissipate his grief: “when he had yoked running horses under the chariot / he would fasten Hektor behind the chariot, so as to drag him, / and draw him three times around the tomb of Menoitios' fallen / son.”

Patroklos' was not the only unburied corpse. Hektor's mauled body has lain facedown in the dust since the day he died, and Achilles shows no sign of relenting on his vow that he will never be given burial. The plaintive plea of Patroklos' ghost to “ ‘give me my rite of burning,' ” without which it cannot pass into the next world, served as an oblique reminder that Achilles' actions maltreat Hektor's
psychḗ,
as well as his body.

Among the watching gods, a plan to send Hermes to steal the body from Achilles is rejected by the powerful alliance of Hera and Athene, “who kept still / their hatred for sacred Ilion as in the beginning, . . . because of the delusion of Paris / who insulted the goddesses when they came to him in his courtyard / and favoured her who supplied the lust that led to disaster.” These few lines are the
Iliad
's only overt reference to the so-called Judgment of Paris, which anointed Aphrodite as the most beautiful of the goddesses over Hera and Athene; Paris' reward (and bribe) for his judgment was the most beautiful woman in the world, Helen, later of Troy.
²⁰
This judgment, of course, was the cause of the Trojan War. On earth, the wrath of Achilles has ended and new quarrels have been defused, but on Olympos the gods cannot relinquish old grudges. This evocation of the original, now distant but still ongoing divine “quarrel” comes at a critical moment, as attention shifts away from Patroklos' funeral and the Achaeans to the unresolved matter of Hektor's corpse, to Trojan grief, and the fate of Troy.

In a passion, Apollo berates the gods for their disregard of Hektor, who when alive had pleased them with his sacrifices, and even more for their support of “ ‘ cursed Achilles,' ” who has “ ‘destroyed pity,' ” who has no shame, and who “ ‘does dishonour to the dumb earth in his fury.' ” Between Apollo's outrage and Hera's cold hatred, Zeus mildly intervenes with a plan; he will summon Thetis, “ ‘so that I can say a close word to her, and see that Achilles / is given gifts by Priam and gives back the body of Hektor.” The implementation of the plan summarily outlined by Zeus determines the dramatic action of the remainder of the
Iliad.

Through Iris the messenger, Zeus' directives are relayed first to Thetis, who, wrapped in a baleful dark cloak, than which “there is no darker garment,” obeys his summons. “ ‘You have come to Olympos, divine Thetis, for all your sorrow, / with an unforgotten grief in your heart,' ” Zeus greets her, gently. “ ‘I myself know this.' ” The gods are angered with Achilles, yet, as Zeus declares to her, “ ‘I still put upon Achilles the honour that he has, guarding / your reverence and your love for me into time afterwards. ' ” Zeus is ever mindful of his debt to Thetis, yet the moment has arrived at which he must retire his pledge to bring honor to her son. Achilles has had his honor. It is time to move on.

Zeus' directive is quickly telegraphed to all interested parties. Without demur, Thetis flashes from Olympos to join Achilles and declare Zeus' plan. “ ‘So be it,' ” Achilles responds abruptly, also without demur. Iris is dispatched to Priam by Zeus, to “ ‘tell him / to ransom his dear son, going down to the ships of the Achaeans / and bringing gifts to Achilles which might soften his anger.' ” As Achilles has shown himself to be wholly resistant to appeasement by gifts, Zeus' strategy seems an odd one. It is a strategy, however, tempered by keen knowledge of the hero. As Zeus tells Iris, Achilles “ ‘is no witless man nor unwatchful, nor is he wicked, / but will in all kindness spare one who comes to him as a suppliant.' ” Zeus' plan, then, accords with Achilles' essential character, the character he displayed before Patroklos' death. In turn, Priam's first instinctive impulse following the death of his son had been to go to the ships of the Achaeans and there “entreat this reckless man of violent deeds.” Zeus' directives, then, do not so much supply the script that Achilles and Priam must enact as provide both stricken men with the means to transcend their grief according to their own almost forgotten natures.