LOVERS’ LEGENDS
That night, however, his friend’s ghost came to him in a dream: “You cared well for me in life, Achilles, but not in death. Bury me quickly, for your fate awaits you. And one more request, grant it please: Do not place my bones apart from yours, let them lie together in a single urn, as 140 we grew up in your father’s house.” “Why tell me what I already know? I’ll do it all,” answered Achilles, “but, oh, come closer, let’s throw our arms about each other, just for one moment…” Achilles reached out, but Patroclus slipped through his fingers like fog, and he sprang awake in the empty room. “Hard on the heels of Hector’s death, your own must come at once,” Achilles’ own mother had warned him. He had always gone fearless into battle, for he knew Thetis had held him by his heel and dipped him, still an infant, in the 150 dark waters of the Styx, had made his skin invulnerable to weapons. Now, however, he waited for death, and wondered how it would get the better of him. The Trojans, too, were sunk in gloom. Hector, their best man by far, was dead, and they thirsted for revenge. Paris, his brother, seized his bow, took command with winging words, called out firm orders. The gates of Troy again flung open, again the hordes of fighters poured out onto the dusty plain. The Greeks too rose as one man, and the wild joy of war gripped Achilles. He plowed, unstoppable, through the 160 enemy host, and the hearts of the Trojan heroes broke to see their companions writhing in the dust. Achilles reached the city’s very gates, but there Apollo stopped him cold. Long had the god thirsted for his beloved Troilus’ blood
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