The Hectorean

As I stood among the burnt ruins of once grand Troy, head uncovered

and bowed in grief, weeping most for Hector, the noble, the pious,

the doomed, who fell beneath vain Achilles’s gloating gaze,

a hand forced its way through the sand, clutching the air. It pawed

at its grave, apparently trying to get out. My feet froze in fear.

What could this mean? Nobody had been buried here

since the great Trojan War. No city, no civilization had tried to resettle

the place; an eerie sacredness distanced this place from man.

I glanced again at the hand and saw that an arm had broken free.

It was bloodied and torn, yet strong and brawny, the arm of a warrior.

Slowly, strenuously, the corpse flung away dirt. Out he burst, ready to fight.

I knew him at once – who could not recognize such a man? – as Hector.

His gaping wounds streaked across his bulging muscles,

and I could not bring myself to look at his ankles.

He wore a new suit of armor – Achilles had stolen his –

with plumed helmet, embossed breastplate and greaves,

and a magnificent shield. His right hand gripped a thick spear.

How this could be I did not know, for the burial rites which the gods

require had been performed fully, and his body burned. Yet here he was;

the Fates must have happily restored him to accomplish some task.

He twisted his head and glimpsed the remains of that ancient city.

With one dolorous cry, Hector fell to his knees, spread his arms wide,

with a pain beyond description. “Ah, immortal gods, why?

Why have you brought me here, back from the dead?

Have I indeed enraged you so much that I must suffer this dreadful sight?”

His mighty head sunk. As his words tumbled out of his mouth,

he turned and saw me standing there agape. “Hail!” his deep voice

rumbled. “Who was your father, and how did my beloved city fall?”

“Ilium fell well-nigh ten centuries ago. Rome is the power of the world

now. Yet be glad, for we Romans are sprung from Aeneas, your kinsman,

and we are currently fighting those wretched Greeks. My name is Tiberius.

My ship was wrecked along these coasts; we were to be deployed to Greece

to help Titus Quinctius Flamininus fight there. But now, come with me!

We shall bathe Macedonia in red rivers.” Hector nodded. “Indeed, I shall.

Yet will we not need a vessel?” I beckoned to the beach.

“Perhaps the planks from our shattered ships will have washed up on

shore. Let us use those.” When we ambled down to the beach,

indeed there were planks strewn about. Having gathered all that we saw,

I wove pieces of half-unraveled rope over and under the planks and

succeeded in making a rough raft. Having departed, Neptune guided us

to sandy shores, carried our raft to firm ground. We staggered ashore,

hopeful that we had landed in Greece.

Having trekked farther inland, Hector spotted an army. “Look,” he pointed.

“Are they friend or foe?” I peered at the teeming throng of busy men.

“’Tis the army I was sent to join,” I assured him. We walked a few steps

farther when suddenly we were surrounded by infantry. “Halt!”

We stopped in our tracks. “Macedonian spies!” one man spat. “Filthy rats!”

“We are not spies,” I returned in Latin. “I am Tiberius. I came from the

reinforcement fleet that was sent to join you. We were shipwrecked off the

coast of Asia on the way. I met this man, and together we journeyed here

to offer what help we could.” The soldiers grunted incredulously.

They would have stripped Hector of his armor and enchained us both, but

suddenly a band of Macedonians rode up. With a shout the Romans

steadied their spears. Hector ran up with the rest, although I, weaponless,

stayed behind. The mighty man tore across the land to meet the

Macedonians in battle. So fleet of foot was he that he had slain

at least ten men before the Roman cavalry had even come within the range

of their spears. I saw them rein in their horses, watched the god-like

warrior lay his enemies prostrate on the ground. Many of the band he had

defeated before the Romans joined in. Now the Roman cavalrymen stood

in awe of the bloody, triumphant Trojan. But several of the Macedonians

had escaped, and within minutes enemy cavalry was charging.

Hector drove them back again and again, but their number was

overwhelming. “We need reinforcements!” one of the soldiers cried out.

A few men were sent running to call for backup.

The Romans were speedily losing ground. Hector, a warrior second among

mortals only to Achilles, was surrounded by corpses of horses and men.

Just in time cavalrymen thundered in, loudly cursing the Macedonians.

By their speech, I determined that they were Greek. Together Hector and

the Romans were able to hold back the flood of enemy troops. Hector killed

more than any other, skewering countless on his thick spear.

The fight got fiercer as mercenaries and heavy infantrymen plunged into

the fight against us. Step by step Hector and the Romans were forced back.

That legendary warrior slashed at their weapons but was unable to keep

them at bay. However, from behind a legion marched up and pressed

against the enemy. I thought that the Romans were going to win, but then I

saw from my hiding place a Macedonian phalanx forming slowly at the top

of the ridge. Once more the hard-pressed Romans were thrust back and

lost ground. The situation seemed hopeless, but out of the corner of my eye

I glanced. Elephants! The beasts lumbered to the battle, trumpeting their

entrance. For a split second all but the most veteran Macedonians froze,

giving Hector just the opportunity he needed. Sword singing in the air,

he laid low man after man. Against Hector and two legions and elephants,

the Macedonians could not win. “Follow me!” Hector cried, and with about

20 maniples he ran around the Macedonian right flank. They attacked the

left rear ferociously, causing panic among the enemy. Macedonians started

to flee. “Follow me!” Hector cried, and he led a great band of Romans

in pursuit of those fleeing, and a trail of dead men marked his path.

He trudged back triumphantly, a true hero. Flamininus himself, having

realized that the entire Macedonian army had been defeated, greeted

Hector with reverence. “All of Rome thanks you,” he said. Hector nodded

gravely. “The gods decreed that Greece must fall and sent me to help, and

now my task is done.” All the valley resounded with cheers as the men

clapped and slapped each other’s backs. Hector smiled sadly and turned to

me. “I thank you for your help.” I shook my head, intended to insist that he

had been of much more assistance to us, but he motioned for me to be

quiet, and repeated, “Now my task is done.” I did not understand –

or I did not want to understand? – but a gentle breeze arose

and silently Hector faded away. Head bowed, I knew that he had returned

to the Elysian fields.

Bibliography

Brice, Lee L. Warfare in the Roman Republic: From the Etruscan Wars to the Battle of Actium. ABC-CLIO, LLC, 2014.

The Iliad. Translated by Robert Fagles. Penguin Classics, 1990.