An Iliad. Alessandro Baricco
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into the world, I, your unhappy mother? Your life will be short enough. If only you could spend it without tears and without sorrow.’
Achilles asked, ‘Can you save me, Mother? Can you do it?’
But his mother said only, ‘Listen to me: stay here, near the ships, and don’t go into battle. Hold on to your anger against the Achaeans and don’t yield to your desire for war. I tell you: one day they will offer you shining gifts, and they’ll give you three times as many, for the insult you received.’ Then she disappeared, and Achilles sat there, alone. His soul was filled with rage for the injustice he had suffered, and his heart was consumed by yearning for the cry of battle and the tumult of war.
I saw my city again when the ship, commanded by Odysseus, entered the harbour. The sails were lowered, the ship approached the mooring under oars. The crew threw the anchors over and tied the stern ropes. First they unloaded the animals for sacrifice to Apollo. Then Odysseus took me by the hand and led me to land. He guided me to the altar of Apollo, where my father was waiting for me. He let me go, and my father took me in his arms, overcome with joy.
Odysseus and his men spent the night beside their ship. At dawn they raised the sails to the wind and departed. I saw the ship speed lightly as the waves foamed around the prow. I saw it disappear over the horizon. Can you imagine what my life was then? Every so often I dream of dust, weapons, riches and young heroes. It is always the same place, on the shore of the sea. There is the smell of blood and of men. I live there, and the king of kings throws to the winds his life and his people, for me: for my beauty and my charms. When I wake there is my father at my side. He caresses me and says, It’s over, my daughter. It’s all over.
They all knew me. I was the ugliest man who went to the siege of Troy: bow-legged, lame, shoulders humped and curving in over my chest; a pointed head covered by a scraggly fuzz. I was famous because I liked to insult the kings, all the kings: the Achaeans listened to me and laughed. And so the kings of the Achaeans hated me. I want to tell you what I know, so that you, too, will understand what I understood: war is an obsession of old men, who send the young to fight.
Agamemnon was in his tent and he was sleeping. Suddenly he seemed to hear the voice of Nestor, who was the oldest of us all, our most beloved and respected sage. The voice said, ‘Agamemnon, son of Atreus, here you are sleeping, you who command an entire army and should have so many things to do.’ Agamemnon didn’t open his eyes. He thought he was dreaming. Then the voice drew closer and said, ‘Listen to me, I have a message for you from Zeus, who is watching you from far away, and feels sorrow and pity for you. He orders you to arm the Achaeans at once, because today you will be able to take Troy by force. The gods, all of them, will be on your side, and your enemies will be doomed. Don’t forget this when sweet sleep abandons you, and you wake. Don’t forget this message from Zeus.’
Then the voice vanished. Agamemnon opened his eyes. He didn’t see the old man Nestor, who slipped silently out of the tent. He thought he had been dreaming, and that in his dream he had seen himself the victor. Then he rose and put on a new tunic, beautiful and soft, and over it a sweeping cloak. He put on his best sandals, and over his shoulder slung the silver-studded sword. Finally he seized the sceptre of his fathers and, holding it tight in his fist, set out for the ships of the Achaeans, while Aurora announced the light of day to Zeus and all the immortals. He ordered the heralds, with their clear voices, to call the Achaeans to an assembly, and when they had all gathered he summoned first the noble princes of the council. He told them his dream. Then he said, ‘Today we’ll arm the Achaeans and attack. But first I want to test the army, as is my right. I’ll tell the soldiers that I have decided to give up the war and return home. You will try to persuade them to stay and continue the fight. I want to see what happens.’
The noble princes were silent, uncertain what to think. Then Nestor the old man rose, Nestor himself, and he said, ‘Friends, leaders and rulers of the Achaeans, if any one of us should recount such a dream, we wouldn’t listen to that man, thinking that he was lying. But he who dreamed it claims to be the best among the Achaeans. Therefore I say: let us go and arm our men.’ Then he rose and left the council. The others saw him going, and, as if following their shepherd, they all rose, in turn, and went to assemble their men.
As dense swarms of bees emerge from the hollow of a rock and cluster over the spring flowers and disperse, flying from place to place, so the ranks of men came out of their tents and ships and lined up along the shore for the assembly. The earth rumbled under their feet, and everywhere chaos reigned. Nine heralds, shouting, tried to subdue the clamour so that all might hear the voice of the kings who were to speak. In the end they managed to make us sit, and the tumult ceased.
Then Agamemnon rose. He held in his hand the sceptre that Hephaestus had made long ago. Hephaestus had given it to Zeus, the son of Cronus, and Zeus gave it to Hermes, the swift messenger. Hermes gave it to Pelops, tamer of horses, and Pelops to Atreus, shepherd of peoples. Atreus, dying, left it to Thyestes, rich in flocks, and from Thyestes Agamemnon received it, so that he might rule over all Argos and the many islands. It was the sceptre of his power. He held it tight and said, ‘Danaans, heroes, followers of Ares, cruel Zeus has condemned me to a brutal fate. First he promised, he vowed, that I would go home only after destroying Ilium with its beautiful walls, and now he wants me to return to Argos without glory, and having sent so many of my men to their death. What a disgrace: a vast, shining armada battles a paltry force, and yet the end is still not in sight. We are ten times as many as the Trojans. But they have brave allies, who have come from other cities, and this, finally, will keep me from taking Troy the magnificent. Nine years have passed. For nine years our wives and our children have been at home waiting for us. The wood of our ships has rotted, and all the ropes are frayed. Hear me: let us flee on our ships and return home. We are never going to take the city of Troy.’
Thus he spoke, and his words struck us to the heart. The immense assembly was shaken like a sea in a hurricane, like a field of grain tossed by a stormy wind. And I saw the people charge towards the ships, shouting with joy and raising a huge cloud of dust. They spurred one another to seize the ships and haul them down to the divine sea. They cleaned the keel channels, and, as they pulled the blocks out from under the hulls, their cries of yearning rose to the sky.
Then I saw Odysseus. Wily Odysseus. He hadn’t moved. He hadn’t gone to the ships. Anguish consumed his heart. Suddenly he threw off his cloak and hurried towards Agamemnon. He tore the sceptre from his hand and without a word headed for the ships. And to the princes of the council he called out, ‘Stop. Don’t you remember what Agamemnon said to us? He is testing them, but afterwards he will punish them. Stop, and they, seeing you, will stop!’ And with the sceptre he beat any soldier he encountered, saying, ‘Stay here, you fool! Don’t run away, you coward and deserter. Look at your leaders and learn from them.’ In the end he managed to stop them. From the ships and the tents they turned back, like the sea when it roars up onto the shore and then recedes, making all Ocean echo.
It was then that I decided to have my say. There, in front of them all, that day, I spoke. ‘Hey you, Agamemnon, what more do you want? What are you complaining about? Your tent is full of bronze, and full of beautiful women, too: the ones you choose when we give them to you after stealing them from their homes. Maybe you want more gold, brought by the Trojan fathers to ransom their sons, whom we take prisoner on the battlefield? Or is it a new woman you want, a woman to take to your bed, all for yourself? No, it’s not right for a king to lead the sons of the Danaans to disaster. My friends, don’t be cowards. Let’s go home and leave him here in Troy to enjoy his spoils, then he’ll see if we were useful or not. He has dishonoured Achilles, a warrior a thousand times as great as he. He has taken away Achilles’ share of the spoils and now keeps it for himself. As for anger – if Achilles were really burning with rage, you, Agamemnon, would not be here insulting us again.’
The Achaeans stood and listened to me. Many of them were enraged with Agamemnon because of what had happened with Achilles. So they listened to me. Agamemnon said nothing. But Odysseus, well, he came