Miles away from the walls of Ilion, Akhilles paced in front of the ships. A feeling of unease had overcome him— a feeling that grew worse as noble Nestor's son Antilochos made way for him, shedding warm tears.
He told him the agonizing truth.
"Bad news, my lord prince! Son of warlike Peleus, you must hear this dreadful news—something I wish weren't so. I have very bad news for you, I am sorry to say. Pátroklosis lies dead, they are fighting for his body, only the body, for the armor is lost—Hektōr has it!"
Antilochus finished speaking.
A black cloud of grief swallowed up Akhilles.
The world around him fell silent. Muted as if his ears had been stolen from him.
The world around him turned grey. Blurred as if his eyes had been plucked from him.
The world around him disappeared. Intangible as if his fingers and toes had been cut from him.
The world around him became acrid. Pungent as if his nose and tongue shriveled within him.
And then all at once, everything overtook him at once. His hands gripped the skin of Gaea, sweeping dirt and soot up with both hands as he poured it over his head, covering his handsome face with dirt, covering his sweet-smelling tunic with black ash. His fingers tangled within his hair as he tore at it, disfiguring himself as he fell to the ground. He lay sprawling—his mighty warrior's massive body collapsed and stretched out in the dust. A guttural scream clawed its way from his throat and the women slaves that he and Pátroklosis had taken captive as battle trophies wailed in grief, ran out to where he lay, beating their breasts and almost fainted on the spot.
Across from them, Antilochus lamented, eyes full of tears, as he held Akhilles by the hand.
Yet he paid them no mind as Demented Penthos hath his stand in thy heart; at a touch thy breast heaves and sobs.
Akhilles' noble heart moaned aloud. Antilochus feared he might hurt himself or slit his throat with his own sword.
He cried out once more, quite terribly, aloud, and his Mother heard as she sat the depths of the sea at the side of her aged father, and she cried shrill in turn, and the goddesses—her sisters— around her gathered all the divine daughters of Nêreus deep in the sea— Glauce, Thaleia, Cymodoce, Nesaea, Speio, Thoe, ox-eyed Halië, Cymothoë, Actaia, Limnoreia, Melite, Iaera, Amphithoe, Agave, Doto, Proto, Pherousa, Dynamene, Dexamene, Amphinome, Callianeira, Doris, Panope, lovely Galatea, Nemertes, Apseudes, Callianassa. Also there were Clymene, Ianeira, Ianassa, Maera, Orithyia, Amatheia with her lovely hair, and others, Nêreus' daughters living in the ocean depths gathered about her, all who along the depth of the sea were daughters of Nêreus.
'Hear me Nêreides, my sisters; so you may all know well all the sorrows that are in my heart, when you hear of them from me. Ah me, my sorrow, the bitterness in this best child-bearing, since I gave birth to a son who was without fault and powerful conspicuous among heroes. I sent him away with the curved ships to the land of Ilion to fight with the Trojans; but I shall never again receive him. Yet while I see him live and he looks on the sunlight, he has sorrows, and though I go to him I can do nothing to help him. Yet I shall go, to look on my dear son, and to listen to the sorrow that has come to him as he stays back from the fighting.'
So she spoke, and left the cave, and the others together went with her in tears, and about them the wave of the water was broken. Now these, when they came to the generous Troad, followed each other out on the sea-shore, where close together the ships of the Myrmidones were hauled up about swift Akhilleus.
