Leaning his bossed shield and heavy ash spear against the projecting tower outside the main gate of Troy, the man in the resplendent armor stood his ground resolved to fight it out. The glittering armor was not his. It belonged to a far better man. But that day he had stripped it off the corpse of a boy. The boy was Patroclus. The armor however belonged to Achilles, the greatest of the Greek warriors, who was now in a frenzy, an orgy of destruction, out to avenge the death of his beloved friend Patroclus. The man dressed in the armor of Achilles, but who was not Achilles, scanned the horizon awaiting the arrival of the owner of that armor. He knew that he was the only man who could save his city, the high-walled city of Troy. This man standing outside the gate was King Priam’s favorite son, the defender of Troy, the noble Hector.
“How did it come to this?” pondered Hector to himself as he reflected on the past ten years.
It had indeed been ten years since the noble Hector and his narcissistic younger brother Paris had cleft their way through the wine-dark sea in a bronze-prowed ship to lofty Sparta. Awaiting them was its king, the fair-haired Menelaus, and his beautiful queen Helen. It was there that the outrageous affront to xenia was committed. It was there that the bounty of Aphrodite was finally delivered to the vain Paris in recompense for his awarding of the Golden Apple. With the splendid host King Menelaus away, and under the spell of the Goddess of Love and Beauty, Helen fell passionately in love with the young, handsome and dashing prince of Troy, was seduced by him, and eloped with him back to Troy with great deal of treasure besides.
Helen was the face that launched a thousand ships, Greek ships, as Menelaus’s brother, the great king Agamemnon, assembled a huge force bent on bringing her back. All the great Greek warrior princes joined in the expedition. Foremost was the cunning Odysseus, the wise Nestor, the mighty Ajax, and the peerless Achilles who was the greatest of the Greek warriors.
Beaching their ships on the curving shore of Troy, the Greeks leapt from their wide-beamed vessels to storm the city. The Trojans were pushed back inside their city walls, and that is how it had been for the past ten years. The Greeks not powerful enough to take the high-walled city of Troy and the Trojans not strong enough to drive the invaders from their native land.
But now a chance. A quarrel had broken out between the greatest of the Greek kings and his best warrior. Agamemnon had insulted Achilles’s honor, and seething with indignation Achilles had withdrawn from the battle. The scales of war now tilted in favor of the Trojans. Led by the noble Hector, the Trojans had driven the Greeks off the plain of Troy and back behind the fortifications of the camp that surrounded their beached ships. Hector himself had broken through the fortifications and grabbing the prow of one of the ships had shouted for fire. Only the appearance of Patroclus, dressed in the armor of Achilles, had saved the Greeks. The Trojans thinking that Achilles had re-entered the fray panicked and fled. But the boy Patroclus pushed too far. His true identity was revealed when knocked senseless by the archer god Apollo, Patroclus was stabbed by Euphorbus and then finished off by Hector who stripped him of his famed armor.
The news of the death of his beloved companion at the hands of Hector, the defender of Troy, roused Achilles to unrelenting fury. Now back in the battle, almost single-handedly he was slaughtering countless Trojans and driving the rest back towards their city.
As he stood there reflecting, Hector became deeply troubled. From the city walls above, his father, the aged Priam, King of Troy, begged his son to seek the safety of the city and not to throw his precious life away in some heroic gesture that would also seal the fate of Troy. His mother, Hecuba, weeping profusely implored her dear son to join the rest of the routed Trojan army inside the city walls. A routed Trojan army! One man had been responsible for this rout. Achilles. Now this same Achilles was heading his way bent on only one course of action, to avenge his dear friend Patroclus by slaughtering god-like Hector.
“What am I to do?” asked Hector to himself. “As Troy’s greatest warrior, I have to be seen fighting in the front ranks where men face death and win glory. If I should skulk in safety behind the city walls, I would feel nothing but shame in the face of the Trojan men and the Trojan women in their trailing dresses. Yet not believing in the justice of our cause, if I were to take off my armor and approach the matchless Achilles and promise him to return Helen and all of her property, I fear he will show me no pity, no respect. I know he would like to cut me up and eat me raw for my part in the killing of Patroclus. No. It would be better to clash in strife as quickly as possible and let us see which one of us the Olympian Zeus has marked out for glory.”
Suddenly there was an audible gasp from the city walls. Hector snapped out of his trance and looked back down the plain. Heading towards him at great pace was the swift-footed Achilles, son of the Argonaut Peleus, son of the goddess Thetis. Achilles raging in fury sped across the plain, coming ever closer, shining like the star that lights the night sky at the end of summer. They call it the dog star. Although it might be the brightest of the stars, it brings with it the fever which heralds death to wretched mortals. Death was now heading towards Troy and Hector. Grimly Hector prepared for battle. The resolve of the Defender of Troy was not shaken.
On and on came Achilles. Hector picked up his sturdy shield and long spear and waited. Then something happened. Something incredible happened. Something happened which caused shock, disbelief, and horror in the eyes of those watching high up on the city walls of Troy. It would be an action that would resonate down the ages. Hector, man-slaying Hector, the glorious Hector, the Defender of Troy shuddered. Hector’s courage deserted him. Hector did not stand his ground. Hector fled in terror!
The great Achilles, counting on his speed, was after him. Like a shrieking mountain hawk swooping down relentlessly on some timid dove, or a keen-scented hound pursuing a startled fawn, so Achilles kept up his hot pursuit of the terrified Hector. Under the very walls of Troy, Hector running as fast as his legs could carry him was always just out of reach. A fine man was in front, but an even greater man was at his heels. The pace was furious, but this was no ordinary foot race for the prize of a leather shield or for some sacrificial animal. They were competing for the lifeblood of Hector. Three times did they circle the walls of Troy. On the fourth lap, the Olympian gods finally conspired to bring an end to the contest. Disguised as Hector’s brother Deiphobus, Pallas Athene, the goddess of wisdom, bade Hector to cease his flight and turn to face Achilles together. Believing now that he had the advantage of two spears versus one, the noble Hector hurled his long-ash spear with all his might at the pursuing Achilles. The spear found its mark but bounced harmlessly off the center of Achilles’s seven-layered shield. Turning to grab the second spear from Deiphobus, Hector was horrified to see that his brother was no longer there. Indeed he realized that he had never been there. He had been tricked and now abandoned by the gods. Drawing his long, heavy sword from its scabbard Hector cried out, “So now my destiny confronts me. Let me at least sell my life dearly and not without the glory of some great deed for future generations to admire.” In the meantime, Achilles still armed with his long, stout spear was looking for a weakness in Hector’s armor. He saw the flesh where the windpipe was exposed and as Hector came on, Achilles thrust his spear into Hector’s throat bringing him down with a mighty crash. Still able to speak, Hector begged Achilles to ransom his body so that he might be buried with honor. But Achilles, implacable and still seething with anger, promised only mutilation at the mouths of wild dogs and birds. Hector disdainfully foretold the death of Achilles at the hands of Paris and the archer god Apollo at the Scaen Gate. Achilles laughed. “ As for my death,” he said, “I will welcome it whenever Zeus wishes it to be. Now, Die!”
As he lay on the ground gasping out his last breaths, with wavering eyes did Hector look to the high heavens for release, but he only saw daylight.
It was then that the dying Hector uttered a deep resonating sound.
“What was it, Hector, that you saw in your final moments as the gods rolled away the mist from your mortal vision which caused you to utter such a cry?
Was it a cry of glory?
Did you see your past? Did you see god-like Hector in all his majesty sweeping away the Greek armies from the walls of Troy and pursuing them gloriously across the plain back onto their high-decked ships?
Did you see the all-powerful Hector slaughtering his enemy by the hundreds and piling up their bodies in the deep ditches in front of their well-fortified camp?
Did you hear the triumphant roar of the victorious army as you drove the Greeks back and back towards the breaking waves pounding on the sandy shore?
Did you hear the shouts of adulation of the jubilant townspeople cheering from the strong city walls, glorifying your name?
Did you hear yourself calling for fire as you grabbed the prow of a bronze-beaked ship in the Greek camp confident that you were about to bring destruction to the whole Greek army?
But perhaps it wasn’t a cry of glory. Perhaps it was a sigh of regret.
Did you regret priding yourself in the stripping of the armor of Achilles and boasting over the victim, although it was worn by but a boy, Patroclus, in whose killing you merely had a third share?
Or perhaps it was neither a cry of glory nor a sigh of regret. Perhaps it was a mournful groan.
Did you groan at your folly to stand outside the Scaen Gate and fight Achilles in full view of the townspeople knowing that death at his hands would condemn the city of Troy to destruction?
Or perhaps you shuddered at the shame of your flight of terror in the face of awe-inspiring Achilles as he furiously pursed you three times around the high walls of Troy?
Or perhaps the gods showed you the future, the state of things to come. Was it that you groaned when you saw the fate of your city? The Horse towering high in the heart of Troy disgorging its cargo of armed men. The gates flung open to reveal close-packed ranks of men bristling with weapons, hot for battle, bursting into the city. The defenders hopelessly plunging into the thick of the fight in a fury of despair. A city lost in flames. Grand houses stormed by fire crashing in ruins. High towers toppled. Everywhere grief. Everywhere horror. Everywhere death in a thousand shapes. An ancient city that had ruled for countless generations brought to its knees.
Or perhaps you groaned when you saw the fate of your father, the aged Priam. He had lived long enough not only to lose all his sons, but to witness the death of his last son, Polites, collapsing before him and vomiting out his lifeblood before his father’s eyes. The father was then dragged mercilessly to the sacred altar in the heart of the palace, slipping and slithering in the blood of Polites, and then like a sacrificial victim held down by his hair in one hand as his vicious assailant buried his sword hilt-deep into his flank with the other. His body was then savagely torn to pieces by his own dogs, the very dogs he once fed at his table, who hungrily lapped up their master’s blood. Such was the fate of Priam, the last King of Troy.
Perhaps you groaned when you saw your high-born wife Andromache being dragged off into wretched slavery, destined to work at the loom or to carry water from some foreign spring. Perhaps you groaned at the disdainful taunts of, “Look! There goes the wife of the not-so-mighty Hector who was brought low by the spear of a far better man outside the walls of Troy.” All that is left for Andromache is a life of unyielding grief as a slave to some unworthy master.
Perhaps you groaned when you saw the fate of your son Astyanax. He will never be pre-eminent among the Trojans, a mighty ruler of Ilium. He will not bring joy to his mother’s heart returning bloodstained from some victorious battle. Instead you see him as a baby being hurled over the walls of Troy to be dashed to pieces on the jagged rocks below.
Hector, did you truly believe that you were the better man? Did you truly believe that you could withstand the fury of Achilles, son of Peleus?
What was it that you really saw in your vision, Hector? Your folly? Your flight of shame? Your inglorious death? The destruction of your city? The slaughter of your family?
You, Hector, and your pride are the cause of all this. You have brought this tragedy upon yourself and your people!”
Once more did Hector scan the heavens hoping not to see the light which brought him remembrance of his folly, and this time the gods did take pity on him. With a final groan the limbs of Hector were dissolved in cold and his life left him, and pitifully did his soul slide down to inglorious Hades and the land of the fleeting shades to await the coming of the rest of his doomed people.