Hektor in Andromaha

Besedilo

Hektor in Andromaha

The dreadful clash of Trojans and Achaeans was left to itself, and the fighting surged this way and that across the plain, as they aimed their bronze-tipped spears at one another between the streams of Simois and Xanthus.

Ajax son of Telamon, the bulwark of the Achaeans, was the first to break the Trojan line and bring his comrades light, striking down the finest warrior among the Thracians, Acamas son of Eussorus, a man both tall and brave.

First he struck the crest of his horsehair helmet, driving the spear into his forehead; the bronze point pierced the bone, and darkness covered his eyes. Then Diomedes, mighty in the war cry, killed Axylus son of Teuthras, who lived in well-built Arisbe, rich in possessions and beloved by men.

For his house stood beside the road, and he welcomed everyone. Yet none of those he had welcomed stood before him then to ward off bitter death. Diomedes took the lives of both the man himself and his attendant Calesius, who was driving his horses that day; together they went beneath the earth.

Euryalus slew Dresus and Opheltius, then went after Aesepus and Pedasus, whom the river-nymph Abarbarea had borne to noble Bucolion. Bucolion was the eldest son of illustrious Laomedon, though his mother had borne him in secret. While tending his sheep he had lain with the nymph in love, and she conceived and bore him twin sons.

The son of Mecisteus drained the strength from their splendid limbs and stripped the armor from their shoulders. Polypoetes, steadfast in battle, killed Astyalus; Odysseus slew Pidytes of Percote with his bronze spear, and Teucer killed noble Aretaon.

Antilochus son of Nestor slew Ablerus with his shining spear, and Agamemnon, lord of men, killed Elatus, who lived in steep Pedasus beside the banks of fair-flowing Satnioeis. The warrior Leitus caught Phylacus as he fled, and Eurypylus slew Melanthius.

Then Menelaus, mighty in the war cry, took Adrestus alive. His horses, fleeing in panic across the plain, had caught on a tamarisk branch and broken the curved chariot at the end of the pole. They ran on toward the city, where the others were fleeing in terror, while he himself tumbled from the chariot beside the wheel, face down in the dust. Menelaus son of Atreus stood over him, holding his long-shadowed spear.

Adrestus clasped his knees and pleaded: “Take me alive, son of Atreus, and accept a worthy ransom. My wealthy father has treasures stored in his house—bronze and gold and iron wrought with toil. From these he would gladly give you a boundless ransom if he learned that I was alive beside the Achaean ships.”

So he spoke, and moved the heart within Menelaus’ breast. He was just about to hand him to his attendant to lead down to the swift Achaean ships, when Agamemnon came running toward him and shouted in rebuke: “My dear Menelaus, why are you so tender toward these men? Have the Trojans treated you so well at home? Let not one of them escape sheer destruction at our hands—not even the boy a mother carries in her womb. Let not even him escape! Let all of Ilium perish together, without mourning, without a trace.”

With these words the warrior turned his brother’s heart, urging what he thought right. Menelaus thrust the warrior Adrestus away, and lord Agamemnon stabbed him in the flank. He fell backward, and the son of Atreus planted his foot on his chest and pulled out the ash-wood spear.

Nestor raised his voice and called to the Argives: “Friends, Danaan warriors, servants of Ares! Let no man linger now, reaching for spoils so he can carry the greatest load back to the ships. Let us kill the men first! Afterward, at your leisure, you can strip the dead who lie across the plain.”

His words roused the courage and spirit of every man. Then the Trojans, overcome by weakness before the war-loving Achaeans, would have been driven back into Ilium, had Helenus son of Priam, by far the best of the interpreters of birds, not come up to Aeneas and Hector and said: “Aeneas and Hector, on you above all rests the burden of the Trojans and Lycians, for you are our best in every undertaking, both in fighting and in counsel. Stand here and range through the ranks, holding the men before the gates, before they flee into their women’s arms and become a joy to the enemy.

“Once you have rallied all the companies, we shall stand our ground here and fight the Danaans, exhausted though we are, for necessity presses us. But you, Hector, go into the city and speak to your mother and mine. Tell her to gather the elder women and go to the temple of gray-eyed Athena on the city’s height. Let her unlock the doors of the holy house, and take the robe she thinks the loveliest and largest in her hall, the one she herself prizes most, and lay it on the knees of fair-haired Athena. Let her promise to sacrifice twelve yearling heifers in the temple, untouched by the goad, if the goddess will have pity on the city, the Trojan wives and their little children, and keep the son of Tydeus away from holy Ilium—that savage spearman, that mighty maker of rout. I tell you, he has proved the strongest of the Achaeans.

“Never did we fear even Achilles, leader of men, as we fear this man, though they say Achilles was born of a goddess. This one rages beyond all bounds, and no one can match his fury.” So he spoke, and Hector did not disregard his brother.

At once he leapt from his chariot to the ground in his armor, and brandishing his sharp spears he went everywhere through the army, urging them to fight and stirring the dreadful battle. They wheeled about and stood against the Achaeans, and the Argives gave ground and ceased their slaughter. They thought some immortal had come down from starry heaven to aid the Trojans, so suddenly had they turned.

Hector raised his voice and called to the Trojans: “Great-hearted Trojans and far-famed allies, be men, my friends, and remember your fierce courage, while I go to Ilium and tell the elders of the council and our wives to pray to the gods and promise sacrifices of a hundred beasts.”

With that, Hector of the flashing helmet departed. The black hide edging the outer rim of his bossed shield struck his ankles and his neck as he walked. Meanwhile Glaucus son of Hippolochus and the son of Tydeus met in the space between the armies, eager to fight.

As they drew near one another, Diomedes, mighty in the war cry, spoke first: “Who are you, brave man, among mortal men? I have never seen you before in battle, where men win glory. But now your daring has carried you far beyond all others, since you have stood to face my long-shadowed spear. Unhappy are the parents whose sons confront my strength.

“But if you are one of the immortals come down from heaven, I will not fight the heavenly gods. Not even mighty Lycurgus son of Dryas lived long after he challenged the gods of heaven. Once he drove the nurses of frenzied Dionysus down over holy Nysa, and all of them flung their sacred wands to the ground as murderous Lycurgus struck them with his ox-goad. Dionysus fled in terror and plunged beneath the sea’s waves, where Thetis took him trembling into her bosom, so great was his fear at the man’s threats.

“Then the gods who live at ease grew angry with Lycurgus, and the son of Cronus struck him blind. Nor did he live long afterward, for all the immortal gods hated him. No, I would not willingly fight the blessed gods.

“But if you are one of the mortals who eat the fruits of the earth, come nearer, so that you may reach the bounds of death the sooner.” Then the splendid son of Hippolochus answered him: “Great-hearted son of Tydeus, why do you ask about my lineage?

“As are the generations of leaves, so are those of men. The wind scatters some leaves on the ground, while the flourishing woodland puts forth others when spring comes round. So one generation of men springs up, and another passes away.

“But if you wish to learn this too, and know my lineage well—many men know it—there is a city, Ephyre, deep in horse-pasturing Argos. There lived Sisyphus, the craftiest of men, Sisyphus son of Aeolus. He fathered Glaucus, and Glaucus fathered noble Bellerophon, to whom the gods gave beauty and lovely manly strength. But Proetus plotted evil against him and drove him from the Argive land, for Proetus was far stronger: Zeus had subjected the Argives to his scepter.

“Now Proetus’ wife, lovely Anteia, was seized with longing to lie with Bellerophon in secret love, but she could not persuade the brave and upright man. So she lied to King Proetus, saying: ‘May you die, Proetus, unless you kill Bellerophon! He tried to force me to lie with him against my will.’

“At her words the king was filled with anger. He shrank from killing him, for his heart recoiled from such a deed, but sent him to Lycia, giving him deadly signs: on a folded tablet he inscribed many marks that carried death, and ordered him to show them to his father-in-law, so that he might perish.

“So Bellerophon went to Lycia under the faultless guidance of the gods. When he reached Lycia and the flowing Xanthus, the king of that broad land received him warmly. For nine days he entertained him and sacrificed nine oxen.

“But when the tenth rose-fingered Dawn appeared, he questioned him and asked to see whatever token he had brought from his son-in-law Proetus. Once he had received that deadly message, he first ordered Bellerophon to kill the raging Chimera. She was of divine stock, not human: a lion in front, a serpent behind, and a goat in the middle, breathing out the dreadful force of blazing fire. Yet he killed her, guided by signs from the gods.

“Next he fought the glorious Solymi; this, he said, was the fiercest battle with men he ever entered. Third, he slew the Amazons, the equals of men in battle. As he was returning, the king wove another cunning plot: he chose the best warriors in broad Lycia and set them in ambush. Not one came home again, for noble Bellerophon killed them all.

“But when the king understood that he was the valiant offspring of a god, he kept him there and gave him his daughter, and half of all his royal honor. The Lycians marked out for him an estate surpassing all others, fine orchard land and plowland, for him to possess.

“His wife bore brave Bellerophon three children: Isander, Hippolochus, and Laodameia. Zeus the counselor lay with Laodameia, and she bore godlike Sarpedon, armed in bronze.

“But when Bellerophon too became hateful to all the gods, he wandered alone across the Aleian plain, eating his heart out and shunning the paths of men. Ares, insatiable in war, killed his son Isander as he fought the glorious Solymi, and Artemis of the golden reins killed his daughter in anger.

“Hippolochus fathered me, and from him I claim descent. He sent me to Troy, charging me again and again to be always the best, to surpass all others, and never disgrace the blood of my fathers, who were far the noblest men in Ephyre and broad Lycia.

“Such is the lineage and blood I claim.” So he spoke, and Diomedes, mighty in the war cry, rejoiced. He planted his spear in the earth that feeds so many, and spoke gently to the shepherd of the people: “Then you are indeed my guest-friend by an ancient bond between our fathers! Noble Oeneus once entertained blameless Bellerophon in his halls, keeping him there for twenty days. They exchanged fine gifts of friendship: Oeneus gave a belt bright with crimson, and Bellerophon a golden, two-handled cup, which I left in my house when I came here.

“I have no memory of Tydeus, for he left me while I was still a little child, when the Achaean army perished at Thebes. So now I am your dear host in the heart of Argos, and you are mine in Lycia, whenever I visit your land.

“Let us avoid each other’s spears, even in the press of battle. There are plenty of Trojans and renowned allies for me to kill, whichever a god puts in my path and my feet can overtake; and plenty of Achaeans for you to slay, as you are able.

“But let us exchange armor, so that these men too may know we are proud to be guest-friends through our fathers.” With these words they both leapt down from their chariots, clasped each other’s hands, and pledged their faith. But then Zeus son of Cronus robbed Glaucus of his wits, for he exchanged armor with Diomedes son of Tydeus—gold for bronze, the worth of a hundred oxen for the worth of nine.

When Hector reached the Scaean Gates and the oak tree, the Trojan wives and daughters ran around him, asking about their sons, brothers, kinsmen, and husbands. He told them all in turn to pray to the gods; sorrow hung over many of them.

Then he came to Priam’s beautiful palace, built with colonnades of polished stone. Within it were fifty chambers of dressed stone, built side by side, where Priam’s sons slept beside their wedded wives. Across the courtyard, opposite these, were twelve roofed chambers of dressed stone, built side by side for his daughters, where Priam’s sons-in-law slept beside their honored wives. There his gentle mother came to meet him, leading Laodice, the loveliest of her daughters. She clasped his hand and spoke to him by name: “My child, why have you left the fierce fighting and come here?

“Surely the accursed sons of the Achaeans are pressing us hard as they fight around the city, and your heart has moved you to come here and lift your hands to Zeus from the city’s height. But wait while I bring you honey-sweet wine, so that you may first pour an offering to Father Zeus and the other immortals, and then refresh yourself with a drink.

“Wine greatly restores a weary man’s strength, and you are weary from defending your kinsmen.” Great Hector of the flashing helmet answered her: “Do not bring me heart-cheering wine, honored mother, lest you loosen the strength of my limbs and make me forget my courage. I shrink from pouring gleaming wine to Zeus with unwashed hands; nor can a man pray to the dark-clouded son of Cronus when he is spattered with blood and gore.

“But gather the elder women and go with incense to the temple of Athena, bringer of spoils. Take the robe that is loveliest and largest in your hall, the one you yourself prize most, and lay it on the knees of fair-haired Athena. Promise to sacrifice twelve yearling heifers in her temple, untouched by the goad, if she will pity the city, the Trojan wives and their little children, and keep the son of Tydeus away from holy Ilium—that savage spearman, that mighty maker of rout.

“Go, then, to the temple of Athena, bringer of spoils, while I seek out Paris and summon him, if he will listen to what I say. Would that the earth would open beneath him here and now! The Olympian has nurtured him to be a great affliction to the Trojans, to great-hearted Priam, and to his children.

“If only I could see him go down to the house of Hades, I think my heart might forget its joyless misery.” So he spoke, and his mother went to the hall and called her attendants, who gathered the elder women throughout the city.

She herself went down to her fragrant storeroom, where she kept her embroidered robes, the handiwork of Sidonian women whom godlike Alexandrus himself had brought from Sidon, sailing over the broad sea on the voyage when he brought home Helen, daughter of a noble father. Hecuba chose one of these and carried it as a gift to Athena, the largest and loveliest in its embroidery. It shone like a star, and had lain beneath all the others.

She set out, and many elder women hurried after her. When they reached Athena’s temple on the city’s height, fair-cheeked Theano opened the doors for them—Theano, daughter of Cisseus and wife of horse-taming Antenor, whom the Trojans had appointed Athena’s priestess.

With a sacred cry they all lifted their hands to Athena, and fair-cheeked Theano took the robe and laid it on the knees of fair-haired Athena. Then she prayed, entreating the daughter of great Zeus: “Lady Athena, guardian of our city, glorious among goddesses, break the spear of Diomedes, and grant that he himself fall headlong before the Scaean Gates. Then we shall sacrifice twelve yearling heifers in your temple at once, untouched by the goad, if you will pity the city, the Trojan wives and their little children.”

So she prayed, but Pallas Athena refused her. While the women prayed to the daughter of great Zeus, Hector went to the beautiful house of Alexandrus. He had built it himself with the help of the finest craftsmen then in fertile Troy, who had made him a bedchamber, hall, and courtyard near the houses of Priam and Hector on the city’s height.

Hector, dear to Zeus, entered there, holding an eleven-cubit spear. The bronze point gleamed before him, and a golden band encircled the shaft. He found Paris in his chamber tending his beautiful armor, his shield and breastplate, and handling his curved bow. Argive Helen sat among the serving women, directing her attendants in their splendid handiwork.

At the sight of him Hector rebuked him harshly: “Strange man, it is not right to nurse this anger in your heart. Our people are dying as they fight around the city and its steep walls, and it is because of you that the battle cries and warfare blaze around this town. You yourself would quarrel with any other man you saw hanging back from the hateful fighting.

“Get up, before the city burns in hostile fire!” Godlike Alexandrus answered him: “Hector, your rebuke is just, not unjust, and so I will tell you; listen and understand. It was not so much from anger or resentment against the Trojans that I sat here in my chamber: I wished to give myself over to grief.

“But just now my wife urged me with gentle words to go to battle, and I too think that will be best. Victory passes from one man to another. Come, wait while I put on my armor of war. Or go ahead, and I will follow; I think I shall catch you.”

So he spoke, but Hector of the flashing helmet gave no answer. Then Helen addressed him gently: “Brother of mine—brother to a shameless, scheming creature who brings only horror! Would that on the day my mother first bore me, a cruel whirlwind had swept me away to a mountain or into the waves of the roaring sea, where the water would have carried me off before these things came to pass.

“But since the gods ordained these evils, I wish at least that I had been the wife of a better man, one who understood the indignation of others and their many reproaches. This man has no steadiness of mind now, nor will he ever have it; and I think he will reap the fruit of that.

“But come in now, brother, and sit on this chair, for it is your heart above all that the burden weighs upon, because of shameless me and the madness of Alexandrus. Zeus has laid an evil fate upon us, so that in days to come we shall be a song for generations yet unborn.”

Great Hector of the flashing helmet answered her: “Do not ask me to sit, Helen, kind though you are. You will not persuade me. My heart is already urgent to defend the Trojans, who sorely miss me while I am away.

“But rouse this man, and let him hurry himself, so that he may catch me while I am still within the city. For I am going home to see my household, my dear wife, and my little son.

“I do not know whether I shall ever return to them again, or whether the gods will bring me down now at the hands of the Achaeans.” With that, Hector of the flashing helmet departed. Soon he reached his well-appointed house, but did not find white-armed Andromache in the hall. She had gone with her child and a finely robed attendant to the tower, where she stood weeping and lamenting.

When Hector did not find his noble wife within, he went and stood on the threshold and spoke to the serving women: “Come, women, tell me truly: where has white-armed Andromache gone from the house?

“Has she gone to one of my sisters, or to the finely robed wives of my brothers? Or has she gone to Athena’s temple, where the other lovely-haired Trojan women are appeasing the dread goddess?” His busy housekeeper answered him: “Hector, since you insist that we tell you the truth, she has not gone to one of your sisters or to the finely robed wives of your brothers, nor to Athena’s temple, where the other lovely-haired Trojan women are appeasing the dread goddess. She has gone to the great tower of Ilium, because she heard that the Trojans were hard pressed and the Achaeans were winning a great victory.

“She hurried to the wall like a woman possessed, and the nurse went with her, carrying the child.” So the housekeeper spoke, and Hector rushed from the house, retracing his way along the well-built streets.

When, after crossing the great city, he reached the Scaean Gates, through which he meant to go out onto the plain, his richly dowered wife came running to meet him: Andromache, daughter of great-hearted Eetion. Eetion had lived beneath wooded Placus, in Thebe under Placus, ruling the Cilicians; his daughter was married to bronze-armored Hector.

She came to meet him, and with her came an attendant carrying the child at her breast, a tender little infant, Hector’s beloved son, beautiful as a star. Hector called him Scamandrius, but everyone else called him Astyanax, lord of the city, for Hector alone defended Ilium.

He gazed at his child and smiled in silence. Andromache stood close beside him, weeping, and clasped his hand and spoke to him by name: “My poor husband, your courage will destroy you. You have no pity for your little child or for unfortunate me, who shall soon be your widow. Before long the Achaeans will rush upon you together and kill you. If I lose you, it would be better for me to go beneath the earth, for when you have met your fate there will be no comfort left for me, only sorrow. I have no father now, no honored mother.

“For godlike Achilles killed my father when he sacked the prosperous city of the Cilicians, high-gated Thebe. He slew Eetion, but did not strip his armor, for his heart recoiled from that. Instead he burned him in his richly worked armor and raised a mound above him; and around it the mountain nymphs, daughters of aegis-bearing Zeus, planted elms.

“I had seven brothers in our halls, and all of them went down to Hades on a single day. Swift-footed, godlike Achilles killed them all among their shambling cattle and white sheep.

“And my mother, who was queen beneath wooded Placus—he brought her here with the rest of his spoils, then freed her for a boundless ransom; but Artemis, who showers arrows, struck her down in her father’s halls.

“Hector, you are my father and my honored mother, my brother, and my strong young husband. Have pity now, and stay here on the tower. Do not make your child an orphan and your wife a widow. Station the army beside the wild fig tree, where the city is easiest to scale and the wall lies most open to attack.

“Three times their best men have come and tried that place—the two Ajaxes and renowned Idomeneus, the sons of Atreus and the valiant son of Tydeus. Perhaps someone well versed in prophecy has told them of it, or perhaps their own hearts urge and guide them there.”

Great Hector of the flashing helmet answered her: “All this troubles me too, my wife. But I would feel terrible shame before the Trojans and the Trojan women in their trailing robes if, like a coward, I shrank away from battle. Nor does my heart allow it, for I have learned always to be brave and to fight among the foremost Trojans, winning great glory for my father and myself.

“For I know this well in my mind and heart: the day will come when holy Ilium shall perish, and Priam, and the people of Priam of the good ash spear. Yet the coming grief of the Trojans does not trouble me so much—not even that of Hecuba herself, nor of lord Priam, nor of my brothers, many and brave, who will fall in the dust beneath their enemies’ hands—as yours, when some bronze-armored Achaean leads you away in tears and takes your day of freedom. In Argos you may weave at another woman’s loom, or carry water from Messeis or Hypereia, bitterly unwilling, with harsh necessity upon you. And someone, seeing you shed tears, will say: ‘That is the wife of Hector, who was the finest fighter among the horse-taming Trojans when they fought around Ilium.’

“So someone will speak, and your pain will be fresh again for lack of such a husband to ward off the day of slavery. But may the heaped earth cover me in death before I hear your cries or see you dragged away.”

With these words glorious Hector reached out for his son. But the child shrank back crying against the breast of his well-girdled nurse, frightened by the sight of his dear father, terrified by the bronze and the horsehair crest he saw nodding dreadfully from the helmet’s crown.

His dear father and honored mother laughed aloud. At once glorious Hector took the helmet from his head and set it on the ground, all shining. Then he kissed his beloved son and bounced him in his arms, and prayed to Zeus and the other gods: “Zeus and all you other gods, grant that this child of mine may become, as I am, foremost among the Trojans, as strong and brave, and rule Ilium in might. And one day, as he returns from battle, may someone say: ‘He is far better than his father.’ May he bring home the bloodstained armor of an enemy he has killed, and gladden his mother’s heart.”

With that he placed the child in his dear wife’s arms. She took him to her fragrant breast, smiling through her tears. Her