Achilles (Mythological character); Epic poetry, Greek -- Translations into English; Trojan War
Thus pondered he in his place; but the other came near amazed, fain to
touch his knees, for his soul longed exceedingly to flee from evil
death and black destruction. Then goodly Achilles lifted his long spear
with intent to smite him, but he stooped and ran under it and caught
his knees; and the spear went over his back and stood in the ground,
hungering for flesh of men. Then Lykaon besought him, with one hand
holding his knees, while with the other he held the sharp spear and
loosed it not, and spake to him winged words: “I cry thee mercy,
Achilles; have thou regard and pity for me: to thee, O fosterling of
Zeus, am I in the bonds of suppliantship. For at thy table first I
tasted meal of Demeter on the day when thou didst take me captive in
the well-ordered orchard, and didst sell me away from my father and my
friends unto goodly Lemnos, and I fetched thee the price of a hundred
oxen. And now have I been ransomed for thrice that, and this is my
twelfth morn since I came to Ilios after much pain. Now once again hath
ruinous fate delivered me unto thy hands; surely I must be hated of
father Zeus, that he hath given me a second time unto thee; and to
short life my mother bare me, Laothoe, old Altes’ daughter—Altes who
ruleth among the war-loving Leleges, holding steep Pedasos on the
Satnioeis. His daughter Priam had to wife, with many others, and of her
were we two born, and thou wilt butcher both. Him among the foremost of
the foot-soldiers didst thou lay low, even godlike Polydoros, when thou
smotest him with they sharp spear: and now will it go hard with me
here, for no hope have I to escape thy hands, since God hath delivered
me thereunto. Yet one thing will I tell thee, and do thou lay it to
heart: slay me not, since I am not of the same mother as Hector, who
slew thy comrade the gentle and brave.”
Thus spake to him the noble son of Priam, beseeching him with words,
but he heard a voice implacable: “Fond fool, proffer me no ransom, nor
these words. Until Patroklos met his fated day, then was it welcomer to
my soul to spare the men of Troy, and many I took alive and sold beyond
the sea: but now there is none shall escape death, whomsoever before
Ilios God shall deliver into my hands—yes, even among all Trojans, but
chiefest among Priam’s sons. Ay, friend, thou too must die: why
lamentest thou? Patroklos is dead, who was better far than thou. Seest
thou not also what manner of man am I for might and goodliness? and a
good man was my father, and a goddess mother bare me. Yet over me too
hang death and forceful fate. There cometh morn or eve or some noonday
when my life too some man shall take in battle, whether with spear he
smite or arrow from the string.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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