VII
THE LAST FIGHT OF ODYSSEUS, LAERTES' SON
Now the host of Pharaoh marched forth from On, to do battle with the
Nine-bow barbarians. And before the host marched, the Captains came to
the Wanderer, according to the command of Pharaoh, and placing their
hands in his, swore to do his bidding on the march and in the battle.
They brought him the great black bow of Eurytus, and his keen sword of
bronze, Euryalus' gift, and many a sheaf of arrows, and his heart
rejoiced when he saw the goodly weapon. He took the bow and tried it,
and as he drew the string, once again and for the last time it sang
shrilly of death to be. The Captains heard the Song of the Bow, though
what it said the Wanderer knew alone, for to their ears it came but as
a faint, keen cry, like the cry of one who drowns in the water far
from the kindly earth. But they marvelled much at the wonder, and said
one to another that this man was no mortal, but a God come from the
Under-world.
Then the Wanderer mounted the chariot of bronze that had been made
ready for him, and gave the word to march.
All night the host marched swiftly, and at day-break they camped
beneath the shelter of a long, low hill. But at the sunrise the
Wanderer left the host, climbed the hill with certain of the Captains,
and looked forth. Before him was a great pass in the mountains, ten
furlongs or more in length, and through it ran the road. The sides of
the mountain sloped down to the road, and were strewn with rocks split
by the sun, polished by the sand, and covered over with bush that grew
sparsely, like the hair on the limbs of a man. To the left of the
mountains lay the river Sihor, but none might pass between the
mountain and the river. The Wanderer descended from the hill, and
while the soldiers ate, drove swiftly in his chariot to the further
end of the pass and looked forth again. Here the river curved to the
left, leaving a wide plain, and on the plain he saw the host of the
Nine-bow barbarians, the mightiest host that ever his eyes had looked
upon. They were encamped by nations, and of each nation there was
twenty thousand men, and beyond the glittering camp of the barbarians
he saw the curved ships of the Achæans. They were drawn up on the
beach of the great river, as many a year ago he had seen them drawn up
on the shore that is by Ilios. He looked upon plain and pass, on
mountain and river, and measured the number of the foe. Then his heart
was filled with the lust of battle, and his warlike cunning awoke. For
of all leaders he was the most skilled in the craft of battle, and he
desired that this, his last war, should be the greatest war of all.
Turning his horses' heads, he galloped back to the host of Pharaoh and
mustered them in battle array. It was but a little number as against
the number of the barbarians--twelve thousand spearmen, nine thousand
archers, two thousand horsemen, and three hundred chariots. The
Wanderer passed up and down their ranks, bidding them be of good
courage, for this day they should sweep the barbarians from the land.
As he spoke a hawk flew down from the right, and fell on a heron, and
slew it in mid-air. The host shouted, for the hawk is the Holy Bird of
Ra, and the Wanderer, too, rejoiced in the omen. "Look, men," he
cried; "the Bird of Ra has slain the wandering thief from the waters.
And so shall ye smite the spoilers from the sea."
Then he held counsel with Captains, and certain trusty men were sent
out to the camp of the barbarians. And they were charged to give an
ill report of the host of Pharaoh, and to say that such of it as
remained awaited the barbarian onset behind the shelter of the hill on
the further side of the pass.
Then the Wanderer summoned the Captains of the archers, and bade them
hide all their force among the rocks and thorns on either side of the
mountain pass, and there to wait till he drew the hosts of the foe
into the pass. And with the archers he sent a part of the spearmen,
but the chariots he hid beneath the shelter of the hill on the hither
side of the pass.
Now, when the ambush was set, and all were gone save the horsemen
only, his spies came in and told him that the host of the barbarians
marched from their camp, but that the Achæans marched not, but stopped
by the river to guard the camp and ships. Then the Wanderer bade the
horsemen ride through the pass and stand in the plain beyond, and
there await the foe. But when the hosts of the barbarians charged
them, they must reel before the charge, and at length fly headlong
down the pass as though in fear. And he himself would lead the flight
in his chariot, and where he led there they should follow.
So the horsemen rode through the pass and formed their squadrons on
the plain beyond. Now the foe drew nigh, and a glorious sight it was
to see the midday sun sparkling on their countless spears. Of horsemen
they had no great number, but there were many chariots and swordsmen,
and spearmen, and slingers beyond count. They came on by nations, and
in the centre of the host of each nation sat the king of the nation in
a glorious chariot, with girls and eunuchs, holding fans to fan him
with and awnings of silk to hide him from the sun.
Now the Wanderer hung back behind the squadrons of horsemen as though
in fear. But presently he sent messengers bidding the Captains of the
squadrons to charge the first nation, and fight for a while but
feebly, and then when they saw him turn his horses and gallop through
the pass, to follow after him as though in doubt, but in such fashion
as to draw the foe upon their heels.
This the Captains of the mercenaries did. Once they charged and were
beaten back, then they charged again, but the men made as though they
feared the onset. Now the foe came hard after them, and the Wanderer
turned his chariot and fled through the pass, followed slowly by the
horsemen. And when the hosts of the barbarians saw them turn, they set
up a mighty shout of laughter that rent the skies, and charged after
them.
But the Wanderer looked back and laughed also. Now he was through the
pass followed by the horsemen, and after them swept the hosts of the
barbarians, like a river that has burst its banks. Still the Wanderer
held his hand till the whole pass was choked with the thousands of the
foe, ay, until the half of the first of the nations had passed into
the narrow plain that lay between the hill and the mouth of the pass.
Then, driving apace up the hill, he stood in his chariot and gave the
signal. Lifting his golden shield on high he flashed it thrice, and
all the horsemen shouted aloud. At the first flash, behold, from
behind every rock and bush of the mountain sides arose the helms of
armed men. At the second flash there came a rattling sound of shaken
quivers, and at the third flash of the golden shield, the air was
darkened with the flight of arrows. As the sea-birds on a lonely isle
awake at the cry of the sailor, and wheel by thousands from their
lofty cliffs, so at the third flash of the Wanderer's shield the
arrows of his hidden host rushed downward on the foe, rattling like
hail upon the harness. For awhile they kept their ranks, and pressed
on over the bodies of those that fell. But soon the horses in the
chariots, maddened with wounds, plunged this way and that, breaking
their companies and trampling the soldiers down. Now some strove to
fly forward, and some were fain to fly back, and many an empty chariot
was dragged this way and that, but ever the pitiless rain of shafts
poured down, and men fell by thousands beneath the gale of death. Now
the mighty host of the Nine-bows rolled back, thinned and shattered,
towards the plain, and now the Wanderer cried the word of onset to the
horsemen and to the chariots that drew from behind the shelter of the
hill, and following after him they charged down upon those barbarians
who had passed the ambush, singing the song of Pentaur as they
charged. Among those nigh the mouth of the pass was the king of the
nation of the Libu, a great man, black and terrible to see. The
Wanderer drew his bow, the arrow rushed forth and pierced the king,
and he fell dead in his chariot. Then those of his host who passed the
ambush turned to fly, but the chariot of the Wanderer dashed into
them, and after the chariot came the horsemen, and after the horsemen
the chariots of Pharaoh.
Now all who were left of the broken host rolled back, mad with fear,
while the spearmen of Pharaoh galled them as hunters gall a flying
bull, and the horsemen of Pharaoh trampled them beneath their feet.
Red slaughter raged all down the pass, helms, banners, arrow-points
shone and fell in the stream of the tide of war, but at length the
stony way was clear save for the dead alone. Beyond the pass the plain
was black with flying men, and the fragments of the broken nations
were mixed together as clay and sand are mixed of the potter. Where
now were the hosts of the Nine-bow barbarians? Where now were their
glory and their pride?
The Wanderer gathered his footmen and his chariots and set them in
array again but the horsemen he sent out to smite the flying nations
and wait his coming by the camp; for there were mustering those who
were left of the nations, perchance twenty thousand men, and before
their ships were ranged the dense ranks of the Achæans, shield to
shield, every man in his place.
The Wanderer led his host slowly across the sandy plain, till at
length he halted it two bow-shots from the camp of the barbarians. The
camp was shaped like a bow, and the river Sihor formed its string, and
round it was a deep ditch and beyond the ditch a wall of clay.
Moreover, within the camp and nearer to the shore there was a second
ditch and wall, and behind it were the beaks of the ships and the host
of Aquaiusha, even of his own dear people the Achæans. There were the
old blazons, and the spears that had fought below Troy town. There
were the two lions of Mycenæ, the Centaur of the son of Polypaetas,
son of Pirithous; there were the Swan of Lacedæmon, and the Bull of
the Kings of Crete, the Rose of Rhodes, the Serpent of Athens, and
many another knightly bearing of old friends and kindred dear. And now
they were the blazons of foemen, and the Wanderer warred for a strange
king, and for his own hand, beneath the wings of the Hawk of the
Legion of Ra.
The Wanderer sent heralds forward, calling to those barbarians who
swarmed behind the wall to surrender to the host of Pharaoh, but this,
being entrenched by the river Sihor, they would in nowise do. For they
were mad because of their slaughtered thousands, and moreover they
knew that it is better to die than to live as slaves. This they saw
also, that their host was still as strong as the host of Pharaoh,
which was without the wall, and weary with the heat and stress of
battle and the toil of marching through the desert sands. Now the
Captains of the host of Pharaoh came to the Wanderer, praying him that
he would do no more battle on that day, because the men were weary,
and the horses neighed for food and water.
But he answered them: "I swore to Pharaoh that I would utterly smite
the people of the Nine-bows and drive them down to death, so that the
coasts of Khem may be free of them. Here I may not camp the host,
without food or pasture for the horses, and if I go back, the foe will
gather heart and come on, and with them the fleet of the Achæans, and
no more shall we lure them into ambush, for therein they have learned
a lesson. Nay, get you to your companies. I will go up against the
camp."
Then they bowed and went, for having seen his deeds and his skill and
craft in war, they held him the first of Captains, and dared not say
him nay.
So the Wanderer divided his host into three parts, set it in order of
battle, and moved up against the camp. But he himself went with the
centre part against the gate of the camp, for here there was an
earthen way for chariots, if but the great gates might be passed. And
at a word the threefold host rushed on to the charge. But those within
the walls shot them with spears and arrows, so that many were slain,
and they were rolled back from the wall as a wave is rolled from the
cliff. Again the Wanderer bade them charge on the right and left,
bearing the dead before them as shields, and hurling corpses into the
ditch to fill it. But he himself hung back awhile with the middle
army, watching how the battle went, and waiting till the foe at the
gate should be drawn away.
Now the mercenaries of Pharaoh forced a passage on the right and
thither went many of the barbarians who watched the gate, that they
might drive them back.
Then the Wanderer bade men take out the poles of chariots and follow
him and beat down the gates with the poles. This with much toil and
loss they did, for the archers poured their arrows on the assailants
of the gate. Now at length the gates were down, and the Wanderer
rushed through them with his chariot. But even as he passed the
mercenaries of Pharaoh were driven out from the camp on the right, and
those who led the left attack fled also. The soldiers who should have
followed the Wanderer saw and wavered a little moment, and while they
wavered the companies of the barbarians poured into the gateway and
held it so that none might pass. Now the Wanderer was left alone
within the camp, and back he might not go. But fear came not nigh him,
nay, the joy of battle filled his mighty heart. He cast his shield
upon the brazen floor of the chariot, and cried aloud to the
charioteer, as he loosened the long grey shafts in his quiver.
"Drive on, thou charioteer! Drive on! The jackals leave the lion in
the toils. Drive on! Drive on! and win a glorious death, for thus
should Odysseus die."
So the charioteer, praying to his Gods, lashed the horses with his
scourge, and they sprang forward madly among the foe. And as they
rushed, the great bow rang and sang the swallow string--rung the bow
and sung the string, and the lean shaft drank the blood of a leader of
men. Again the string sang, again the shaft sped forth, and a
barbarian king fell from his chariot as a diver plunges into the sea,
and his teeth bit the sand.
"Dive deep, thou sea-thief!" cried the Wanderer, "thou mayest find
treasures there! Drive on, thou charioteer, so should lions die while
jackals watch."
Now the barbarians looked on the Wanderer and were amazed. For ever
his chariot rushed to and fro, across the mustering ground of the
camp, and ever his grey shafts carried death before them, and ever the
foemen's arrows fell blunted from his golden harness. They looked on
him amazed, they cried aloud that this was the God of War come down to
do battle for Khem, that it was Sutek the Splendid, that it was Baal
in his strength; they fled amain before his glory and his might. For
the Wanderer raged among them like great Rameses Miamun among the
tribes of the Khita; like Monthu, the Lord of Battles, and lo! they
fled before him, their knees gave way, their hearts were turned to
water, he drove them as a herdsman drives the yearling calves.
But now at length a stone from a sling smote the charioteer who
directed the chariot, and sunk in between his eyes, so that he fell
down dead from the chariot. Then the reins flew wide, and the horses
rushed this way and that, having no master. And now a spear pierced
the heart of the horse on the right, so that he fell, and the pole of
the chariot snapped in two. Then the barbarians took heart and turned,
and some of them set on to seize the body of the charioteer, and spoil
his arms. But the Wanderer leaped down and bestrode the corpse with
shield up and spear aloft.
Now among the press of the barbarians there was a stir, as of one
thrusting his way through them to the front. And above the plumes of
their helmets and the tossing of their shields the Wanderer saw the
golden head, unhelmeted, of a man, taller than the tallest there from
the shoulders upwards. Unhelmeted he came and unshielded, with no body
armour. His flesh was very fair and white, and on it were figures
pricked in blue, figures of men and horses, snakes and sea-beasts. The
skin of a white bear was buckled above his shoulder with a golden
clasp, fashioned in the semblance of a boar. His eyes were blue,
fierce and shining, and in his hand he held for a weapon the trunk of
a young pine-tree, in which was hafted a weighty axe-head of rough
unpolished stone.
"Give way!" he cried. "Give place, ye dusky dwarfs, and let a man see
this champion!"
So the barbarians made a circle about the Wanderer and the giant, and
stood silently to watch a great fight.
"Who art thou?" said the mighty man disdainfully, "and whence? Where
is thy city, and thy parents who begat thee?"
"Now I will avow that men call me Odysseus, Sacker of Cities, Laertes'
son, a Prince of the Achæans," said the Wanderer. "And who art thou, I
pray thee, and where is thy native place, for city, I wot, thou hast
none?"
Then the mighty man, swinging his great stone axe in a rhythmic
motion, began to chant a rude lay, and this was the manner of the
singing--
"Laestrygons men
And Cimmerians call us
Born of the land
Of the sunless winter,
Born of the land
Of the nightless summer:
Cityless, we,
Beneath dark pine boughs,
By the sea abiding
Sail o'er the swan's bath.
/Wolf/ am I hight,
The son of Signy,
Son of the were-wolf.
Southwards I sailed,
Sailed with the amber,
Sailed with the foam-wealth.
Among strange peoples,
Winning me wave-flame,[*]
Winning me war-fame,
Winning me women.
Soon shall I slay thee,
Sacker of Cities!"
[*] Gold.
With that, and with a cry, he rushed on the Wanderer, his great axe
swung aloft, to fell him at a blow.
But while the giant had been singing, the Wanderer had shifted his
place a little, so that the red blaze of the setting sun was in his
face. And as the mighty man came on, the Wanderer lifted up his golden
shield and caught the sunlight on it, and flashed it full in the
giant's eyes, so that he was dazzled, and could not see to strike.
Then the Wanderer smote at his naked right arm, and struck it on the
joint of the elbow; with all his force he smote, and the short sword
of Euryalus bit deep, and the arm fell, with the axe in the hand-grip.
But so terrible was the stroke that bronze might not abide it, and the
blade was shattered from the ivory handle.
"Didst thou feel aught, thou Man-eater?" cried Odysseus, jeering, for
he knew from the song of the giant that he was face to face with a
wanderer from an evil race, that of old had smitten his ships and
devoured his men--the Laestrygons of the land of the Midnight Sun, the
Man-eaters.
But the giant caught up his club of pine-tree in his left hand, the
severed right arm still clinging to it. And he gnawed on the handle of
the stone axe with his teeth, and bit the very stone, and his lips
foamed, for a fury came upon him. Roaring aloud, suddenly he smote at
the Wanderer's head, and beat down his shield, and crushed his golden
helm so that he fell on one knee, and all was darkness around him. But
his hands lit on a great stone, for the place where they fought was
the holy place of an ancient temple, old and ruined before King Mena's
day. He grasped the stone with both hands; it was the basalt head of a
fallen statue of a God or a man, of a king long nameless, or of a
forgotten God. With a mighty strain the Wanderer lifted it as he rose,
it was a weight of a chariot's burden, and poising it, he hurled it
straight at the breast of the Laestrygon, who had drawn back, whirling
his axe, before he smote another blow. But ere ever the stroke fell,
the huge stone struck him full and broke in his breast bone, and he
staggered long, and fell like a tree, and the black blood came up
through his bearded lips, and his life left him.
Then the multitude of the barbarians that stood gazing at the fray
drew yet further back in fear, and the Wanderer laughed like a God at
that old score paid, and at the last great stroke of the hands of the
City-sacker, Odysseus.
