The Trojan War (12 page)

“Ah, this is to be a secret from Zeus then,” said Hera.

“A heavy secret. Heavy enough to crush us both … if we are not prudent. I have observed, sister, that your husband has broken his oath of neutrality in this war between Trojan and Greek, and has now tipped the balance in favor of the Trojans … though their numbers be fewer and their heroes less splendid. So I, who abhor dishonest dealing, have resolved to abandon my own posture of impartiality—by which, you know, I have truly abided, alone among the gods—and to cast my influence on the side of the Greeks, whom, I know, you favor also.”

“That is well known,” said Hera. “At the moment it’s not helping them much, but I haven’t played out my string yet.”

“Precisely,” said Poseidon. “And now I give you a new melody to play on that string. A most seductive one.”

“Speak plainly, sir. I do not like this deep-sea riddling.”

“Plain as plain, gentle Hera. I mean to intervene actively in the battle, for there is no time to waste. The Trojans have crossed the fosse, are about to burst through the rampart, and drive the Greeks into the sea, thus ending the war. I mean to visit that beach myself, and tip the battle the other way. But Zeus must not see me do this. Else he will hurl his thunderbolt, nail me to the indifferent earth with a shaft of light, then send his Titans to drag me to Hades and chain me to the roots of a mountain, in awful blackness, in choking dryness, there to abide for that endless, sleepless night called eternity.”

“And you dare to defy him like this? Knowing the penalties? Truly, this is a change of heart, brother of the deep.”

“It is that, high sister. And the success of my venture depends, as I said, on his remaining ignorant of what I am doing.”

“How will he remain ignorant? He sits on his peak on Olympus, or a more private one on Mt. Ida, and studies the battle below with keen and vigilant eye. If you even approach the Dardanian plain he will see you.”

“Then we must get him off that peak, sister. We must close that keen and vigilant eye. And of all the creatures on earth, of air, or in the sea, mortal or immortal, you are the one to do this. For you are the most beautiful, the most sumptuous, the most regal, the most intoxicatingly seductive personage in all creation. You must woo him off his mountain, hold him tight, and beguile him with such delights that he will forget the battle below. This will give me time to help the Greeks.”

“I never realized you thought me so attractive,” said Hera. “We have known each other since one generation past the beginning of time, and never have you looked upon me with ardent eye, or spoken such words.”

“The modesty of a younger brother. I knew you were destined for our elder brother, who was to be king of the gods and deserved the best.”

“Well, it’s a dangerous, dangerous game,” said Hera. “Old Zeus is a male, true. And, like all males, vulnerable to a low blow. Nevertheless, he is very wise, very cynical, very mistrustful, very difficult to deceive for any length of time. However, I find you oddly persuasive this hot afternoon, and I will try to do as you ask.”

“Trying is not enough; you must succeed,” said Poseidon. “Don’t forget, you were the first to espouse the Greek cause, and have kept it alive these nine years, you and Athena, against all the stubborn resistance of your husband.”

“That is true. I hate Paris, loathe the Trojans, dote on the Greeks. And, suddenly, dote on you, dear Poseidon. So I shall return to Olympus and do what you want done.”

“It is just before the noonday meal,” said Poseidon. “Would it not be better to approach him after he has dined? Like all males he has difficulty managing more than one appetite at a time. This gives us an hour or more.”

“Gives us an hour or more for what?”

“For rehearsal, sweet sister.”

“You are full of ideas today, my wet lord. One of them better than the next …”

P
OSEIDON WAS SLEEPY AFTER
Hera left, and would have much preferred to nap the afternoon away in the flowery grove on Patmos. But he knew that the Trojans were pressing hard, and that he must act immediately. He mounted his chariot and hastened to Troy.

Down on the field the Trojans had crossed the fosse and were storming the rampart, which they were trying to knock down with battering rams. A squad of them lifted a log and rushed toward the wall at a dead run, smashing it against the wooden palisade. The timbers groaned and shuddered, but still stood. The Greeks were thrusting down with their long lances from the top of the rampart. At each battering-ram charge the Trojans were losing men. Then Zeus sent a sign. He swerved an eagle in its path so that it crossed the sky to the right of Hector, and dipping closer to the beach than eagles ever fly. And Hector knew that the god of air and mountain had sent the eagle as a sign.

Filled with joyous strength at this signal of divine favor, the Trojan leader now did something no man had ever done before. He ran to a wrecked chariot; with a mighty heave pulled off one of its wheels. Then, as Greek and Trojan watched him in disbelief, he lofted the enormous copper-spoked brass wheel, and whirled as if he were hurling a discus. The wheel flew on a flat trajectory like a discus well-thrown, and struck the rampart beyond the fosse, knocking a huge hole in it. Hector uttered a loud war-cry and charged toward the gap in the wall followed by his men. They crossed the fosse, climbed up the other side through a cloud of darts and arrows, then rushed toward the breached wall, still following Hector who was several paces ahead, his brass helmet flashing light.

It was then that Poseidon came to the beach. All in gold he came, in a golden chariot, wearing golden armor, carrying a golden lance.

“Too soon, too soon,” he said to himself. “Hera will not have had time to woo brother Zeus from his vigil. If I appear like this he will see me and hurl his thunderbolt. Yet, if I delay, the Trojans will overrun the Greek camp. I must act now—but in disguise—and let us hope that Hera on her part does not delay; or that her husband is not immune to her wiles. For Zeus sees quickly through disguises.”

Poseidon then put on the form of Calchas, the Greek soothsayer, and appeared on the other side of the rampart among the Hellenes. He stationed himself near great Ajax, and faced Hector, who, with the eagle-rage still upon him, face and body glowing like a demi-god, was charging the center of the Greek line, held by Great Ajax, Little Ajax, and Teucer.

Hera had not been wasting time. She knew how desperate the situation was. But, for all her haste, she made careful preparation. She knew that after a thousand years of marriage Zeus found her charms something less than irresistible. His changeableness in these matters had become a fact of nature, and indeed had produced a large variety of demi-gods and heroes. But Hera was ferocious in her moods too, had a volcanic temper, and time had never made her accept the ways of Zeus. So they had bickered down the ages with increasing rancor and, for the last few centuries, had seldom been together. Therefore, she fully understood how difficult was the assignment given her by Poseidon. She visited Aphrodite, and said:

“We have quarreled, cousin, but I think it is time to forgive each other. I will forgive you for having so shamelessly suborned Paris’ judgment and forced him to award you the golden apple as the most beautiful of us all. It is done now, and cannot be undone. It will not change. But I will forgive
you
if you will forgive
me
for all I have done and said against you, and for my ardent espousal of the Greek cause—which also will not change.”

Now Aphrodite had a passive easygoing nature, especially in the summer. She was quick-tempered and vengeful like all the gods, but did not have the patience for feuds. Besides, she feared Hera.

“Queen Hera,” she said, “you could not have uttered words to give me more pleasure. Long have I wearied of this quarrel between us. I apologize for any harm I may have done you and, with a full heart, forgive you for any injury you may have done me.

The two goddesses embraced, but not too closely.

“Since we’re friends again,” said Hera. “I am emboldened to ask you a favor.”

“Ask away. I am sure the answer will be yes.”

“Will you lend me your girdle—that magic garment which arouses desire in any man or god you fancy?”

“Girdle? I wear no girdle. Look at me.”

She pirouetted before Hera.

“Do I look like I’m wearing a girdle, O queen? And what would I do with such a thing after my charms work on this man or god? It would just get in the way.”

Hera frowned. “Come now,” she said. “Don’t trifle with me. Everyone has heard about your magic girdle.”

“That which everyone knows is most likely to be wrong,” said Aphrodite. “I deny that any such girdle exists. What you refer to is simply the essence of those attributes which make me Goddess of Love and Beauty. Do not forget that I can make myself irresistible, as you say, not only to any man I fancy, or any god—but that my favor, extended to any other female creature, makes
her
irresistible to any god or man
she
fancies.”

“Are you going to help me? Yes or no?”

“Yes, yes, yes … Let me prepare you for love, and no man or god will resist you, no matter what his inclinations are. Once I have scented you with the distilled attar of those flowers in whose amorous cups bees linger longest; once I have kneaded into your flesh my secret ointment which makes any hag as sleek and supple as a sixteen-year-old girl, then you can approach what god or man you will, and know that in two winks of an eye he will be grovelling before you.”

“Sounds promising,” said Hera. “I place myself in your hands.”

Poseidon had not dared to exert his full efforts in helping the Greeks until Hera had been given time enough to distract Zeus. What he did was stand as close as possible to the center of the Greek line where Great Ajax held the field, aided by his brother, Teucer, and Little Ajax. There, disguised as Calchas the soothsayer, Poseidon flung his arms heavenward and pretended to raise his voice in prophecy, crying:

“Great Ajax, Little Ajax, Teucer the archer: stand fast, stand fast. Resist the Trojans, and you will finally prevail. For a great god is coming to aid you, a great god I cannot name seeks your victory. He cannot come yet, but he will come and cover you with his mantle, and you will be invincible. So stand fast, stand fast.”

The three warriors, heartened beyond their own knowledge by the keen gull-cry of the pretended Calchas, fought more savagely than ever and held back the Greek advance.

Hera flew to Mt. Ida, to its tallest peak, Gargarus, where Zeus sat watching the battle unfold.

“Greetings, dear lord and husband,” she cried. “Forgive me for breaking upon your solitude, but I am departing on a long journey and did not wish to leave without saying good-bye.”

“Where are you going?” said Zeus without turning around.

“Off to the bitter margin of the earth where our uncle, Oceanus, and his wife, Tethys, reside. Lately it has come to my notice that they live in terrible loneliness with each other, keeping a cold distance between them because of some ancient quarrel, never exchanging a kind word, never dining together, nor warming each other with a caress. I go to reconcile them so they can live together again as man and wife.”

“Who do you think you are, Aphrodite?” said Zeus. “Lovers’ quarrels, reconciliations. She takes care of all that.”

Hera came very close to him.

“But I am moved by pity for my Aunt Tethys,” she murmured. And in her voice was the song of birds. “I know what it means to be denied a husband’s caress. To long for him with all my heart and soul and to be denied, denied …”

Zeus turned, then. Hera was very close to him. She gave off a powerful fragrance of sunshine and crushed grass.

“Besides,” she whispered. “Aphrodite has lent me her bag of tricks. Has tutored me in certain arts that are bound to reconcile that stupid feuding man and wife.”

By this time Zeus was completely enraptured by the sight of his wife, who looked as beautiful to him as she had when the world was very new and they had hid from their parents, old Cronus and Rhea, wrapping themselves in a cloud and loving each other with such hunger that the cloud had burst and the valley of Olympus was flooded. And Cronus and Rhea had been forced to give permission for the brother and sister to wed. He stood up and clasped her in his arms.

“Before you trundle off to the ends of the earth,” he said, “there are a husband and wife here who have some arrears to make up.”

“Right here?” she whispered. “Here on the highest peak of Ida? But all the Pantheon will see us. I am proud, proud to be loving you again my lord, but such revels as I plan are better done in privacy.”

“Privacy we shall have,” said Zeus. “Without moving from this spot.”

Thereupon he caused the rock to grow anemones and roses and hyacinths and sweet grasses to a height of three feet, making a soft bed. And he pulled down a fleecy cloud to cover them like a quilt, quite concealing them from view, shielding them from the sun with a delicious moistness, bathing them with the lightest of dews.

And the folk who lived in the village at the foot of the mountain felt the solid rock shake, saw their slopes tremble, heard the giant sounds of Zeus’ pleasure. And they fled their village thinking their mountain had turned volcanic and was about to erupt.

As Hera lay down with Zeus she released a dove which she had been carrying on her wrist like a falcon—a swift-darting, blue and gray bird specially trained to bear messages and keep secrets. It darted to earth, and found Poseidon where he stood on the Trojan beach disguised as Calchas. The bird cooed to him, relating Hera’s message that he could help the Greeks as much as he liked because Zeus would be too busy for the rest of the afternoon to notice what was happening on earth.

B
ELLOWING AND DANCING IN
his exultance, the Lord of the Deep cast off the guise of old Calchas like a tall tree twisting in the wind shedding leaves. He made himself invisible, all except his golden trident, and when he wielded the great three-tined staff it was like the sun-fighting clouds sending spears of light through the cover. Invisibly he approached Great Ajax and Little Ajax and Teucer and goaded them with his trident. A great salt wave of health broke upon their blood, filling them with the surging strength that the god of the sea can bestow. They led their men forward in a mighty rolling charge that smashed against the Trojan line like the ocean sending its white-plumed breakers to pound a foundering ship. And the Trojans, who had been so triumphantly victorious just a few moments before, now began to retreat.