In my previous post I looked at Hector’s farewell to his wife and child in Book 6. Book 22 recounts the hero’s death. Hector has killed Patroclus, Achilles beloved comrade, and Achilles’ rage is terrifying. He is determined to have revenge, and in Book 22 he faces Hector in single combat.
When Hector misses Achilles with his javelin, he is left unarmed and completely isolated outside the gates of Troy. He understands now that he is about to die. All that is left for him is the hope that he will die in a manner worthy of remembrance:
‘But let me not die without a fight, without true glory, without some deed that men unborn may hear.’
In ancient Greek thought there was a strong link between heroism and poetry. Heroes are remembered for their great deeds and glorious deaths through epics like the Iliad, and this is the only way for a mortal man to achieve immortality.
However, it is interesting that the actual depictions of death are extremely graphic and often grotesque. Homer’s narrative emphasises the cost of war, and his portrayals of death are at odds with his characters’ visions of a glorious end in battle. In the below passage Achilles promises to humiliate Hector’s corpse by refusing him a burial.
Then Hector of the gleaming helm replied, in a feeble voice: ‘At your feet I beg, by your parents, by your own life, don’t let the dogs devour my flesh by the hollow ships. Accept the ransom my royal father and mother will offer, stores of gold and bronze, and let them carry my body home, so the Trojans and their wives may grant me in death my portion of fire.’
But fleet-footed Achilles glared at him in answer: ‘Don’t speak of my parents, dog. I wish the fury and the pain in me could drive me to carve and eat you raw for what you did, as surely as this is true: no living man will keep the dogs from gnawing at your skull, not if men weighed out twenty, thirty times your worth in ransom, and promised even more, not though Dardanian Priam bid them give your weight in gold, not even then will your royal mother lay you on a bier to grieve for you, the son she bore, rather shall dogs, and carrion birds, devour you utterly.’
Achilles’ reply is shockingly brutal and unyielding. The desire to eat Hector raw is that of a savage. In addition, burial rights were sacred to the Greeks and to deny them is tantamount to sacrilege.
Despite the intimacy of the scene, in which the final words of the dying man create a terrible bond between the slain and his slayer, both heroes are being watched by many audiences: the Greeks held back by Achilles, the Trojans watching anxiously from the city walls, the gods from above like spectators at the games, and of course the readers of the poem and the poet himself. Hector’s death is not a private matter; his death seals the fate of many men, and so the whole world watches as he falls to the ground and begs for a final act of mercy.
Achilles fulfils his refusal of Hector’s last request. He drills holes in the heels of Hector’s body and binds him to the chariot. He then drives around the walls of the city in triumph, dragging the corpse behind him for all of Troy to see. It is a dreadful image, and Homer emphasises the contrast between what Hector was in life, and what he is now in death.
Dragged behind, Hector’s corpse raised a cloud of dust, while his outspread hair flowed, black, on either side. That head, once so fine, trailed in the dirt, now Zeus allowed his enemies to mutilate his corpse on his own native soil.
Meanwhile, in Troy the grief is absolute and unrestrained. First we see Hector’s aged mother and father weeping for their son. In a striking image, their grief is said to be no less than if the city were in flames. Hector’s death and the fall of Troy are one and the same: he has failed as protector of Troy and at his death we see what is to come.
Seeing her son’s hair fouled with dust, Hecabe, his mother, gave a great cry, plucked the gleaming veil from her head and tore her hair. His father Priam groaned in anguish, and a wave of grief spread round them through the city, no less than if all of lofty Ilium were on fire.
However it is Andromache’s reaction that is the most pitiful. She is pictured at home, oblivious to what has happened and tragically anticipating her husband’s return. The preparation of the hot bath is doubly ironic because not only will Hector never enjoy his homecoming bath, Andromache will not even be able to wash her husband’s body, the duty of a wife, while it is dishonoured by Achilles.
But Andromache, Hector’s wife, as yet knew nothing, no one had even told her that her husband had stayed outside the walls. She was at work in an inner room of the lofty palace, weaving a double-width purple tapestry, with a multicoloured pattern of flowers. In all ignorance she had asked her ladies-in-waiting to set a great cauldron on the fire so that Hector would have hot water for a bath, when he returned, never dreaming that far from all thought of baths, he had been brought low by Achilles and bright-eyed Athene. But now the cries and groans from the wall reached her, she trembled and the shuttle fell from her hand.
She called to her ladies-in-waiting: ‘Two of you come with me. I must know what is happening. That was my husband’s noble mother I heard, my heart is in my mouth and my legs are numb. Some evil afflicts the House of Priam. May such news stay far from me, but I fear to my sorrow lest great Achilles has cut brave Hector off from the city, and quenched the fatal courage that possessed him, for he would never stay safely in the ranks, but must always charge ahead, yielding to none in daring.’
She then runs to the walls, repeating her actions in Book 6 where Hector finds her at the city gate fearing for his safety. Only this time Hector is not there to reassure her, rather she sees his body dragged through the dust.
Griffin, J. Homer on Life and Death (1980)
Richardson, N. The Iliad: A Commentary: Volume VI (1993)
Taplin, O. Homeric Soundings (1992)
Translations by Kline, A.S. (2009).