Patroklos leaves Achilles in book 11 to go investigate the wounded Achaeans and does not return until book 16. When he appears, he is described as weeping. And we hear two similes to describe how he weeps, one from the narrative and another from Achilles himself.

Homer, Iliad 16.1-11

“That’s how they were fighting around the well-benched ship.
Then Patroklos stood right next to Achilles, shepherd of the host,
Letting warm tears fall down his face as a dark-watered spring would,
One that pours murky water down a steep rock face.
When Achilles saw him, he pitied him
And spoke to him, addressing him with winged words.
“Patroklos, why are you crying just like a girl,
A young one, who rushes after her mother asking to be picked him,
Always grabbed her clothes and holding her back as she rushes—
She looks at her mother while crying so she will pick her up.
Patroklos, you’re shedding a tender tear like her.”

῝Ως οἳ μὲν περὶ νηὸς ἐϋσσέλμοιο μάχοντο·
Πάτροκλος δ’ ᾿Αχιλῆϊ παρίστατο ποιμένι λαῶν
δάκρυα θερμὰ χέων ὥς τε κρήνη μελάνυδρος,
ἥ τε κατ’ αἰγίλιπος πέτρης δνοφερὸν χέει ὕδωρ.
τὸν δὲ ἰδὼν ᾤκτιρε ποδάρκης δῖος ᾿Αχιλλεύς,
καί μιν φωνήσας ἔπεα πτερόεντα προσηύδα·
τίπτε δεδάκρυσαι Πατρόκλεες, ἠΰτε κούρη
νηπίη, ἥ θ’ ἅμα μητρὶ θέουσ’ ἀνελέσθαι ἀνώγει
εἱανοῦ ἁπτομένη, καί τ’ ἐσσυμένην κατερύκει,
δακρυόεσσα δέ μιν ποτιδέρκεται, ὄφρ’ ἀνέληται·
τῇ ἴκελος Πάτροκλε τέρεν κατὰ δάκρυον εἴβεις.

The first simile is a repetition of sorts (and may be formulaic): Agamemnon is said to be crying like a stream before he speaks at the beginning of book 9 (14-15). The second part is somewhat more remarkable: from my experience, readers often infer the kinds of misogynistic statements that are typical in Homer (e.g. “Achaean women, not Achaean men, since you are cowards!…”) and in our own time (“fight like a girl”). One could be forgiven for assuming a kind of emasculation intended here on Achilles’ part.

The language outside the simile, however, may countermand such a reading. The narrator tells us that Achilles is pitying Patroklos (ᾤκτιρε) and the ‘winged words’ speech introduction often includes speech-acts that try to do things (although the fill intention of this speech is unclear). The content of the speech may have surprised ancient audiences as well: a scholion reports that Aristarchus preferred θάμβησεν (“felt wonder at”) instead of pitied. The scholia also question whether or not it is strange for Achilles to mock Patroklos for crying when Achilles himself was lamenting over losing a concubine (ἄτοπός ἐστιν αὐτὸς μὲν ἕνεκα παλλακίδος κλάων (cf. Α 348—57), τὸν δὲ Πάτροκλον κόρην καλῶν ἐπὶ τοιούτοις δεινοῖς δακρύοντα, Schol. bT ad Hom. Il. 16.7 ex).

But how does our reception of this scene change if we don’t focus on the routine misogyny? One crucial thing the structure of the speech does for us–in addition to providing us a framework that shows this is not straight invective–is provide the contrast between how the narrator asks us to view Patroklos and how Achilles does. The narrator provides a repeated somewhat bland comparison to a fountain. But Achilles enlivens and personalizes the comparison. We cannot forget that in this simile, Achilles makes himself the mother.

In her extended reading of this simile, Deborah Beck (2023, 91-98) notes that the action described by the simile leaves readers “uncertain as to what happens at the end” (95) and notes the relative scarcity of similes in speeches. She shows well how complex the relationship between the action of the simile and the narrative of the story can be, mixing up our experiences and those of the characters with notes of responsibility and threatened loss. The unresolved end of the simile–whether the mother ever picks up the child–feeds into the dual resolutions of the encounter. Initially, Achilles heeds Patroklos, he accedes to his request. But this action itself leads to the latter’s death and the end to any future together.

One of my favorite takes on this comes from Celsiana Warwick’s article “The Material Warrior: Gender and “Kleos” in the Iliad”. Warwick combines this with Achilles’ description of himself in book 9 as a mother bird trying to bring food to her chicks. In that simile, Achilles compares the whole army to the chicks looking to him for food. Warwick writes:

The image of the mother ignoring the needs of her child represents the way in which Achilles at this point in the poem is ignoring the needs of the Achaeans, whom he described as his children at 9.323–7. Achilles’ use of this simile here should thus not be regarded as incidental, but rather as part of his larger pattern of maternal identification. In Book 9 the mother bird is self-sacrificing, directing all of her attention towards her chicks. In the second simile, a change has taken place in Achilles’ conception of himself as a mother; now he has turned his back on the child and moves away from her. The scene, although domestic and familiar rather than destructive or threatening, highlights Achilles’ refusal in Book 16 to take up his protective role. It foreshadows the destructive consequences of this refusal, especially when juxtaposed with the simile of the mother of the chicks. The gender dynamics of this image are also intriguing; although the comparison of Patroclus to a foolish girl appears to be negative, Achilles does not seem to impugn his own masculinity by associating himself with the mother.

By situating this image along with other comparisons to women in Homer–e.g. Heroic pain compared to women in childbirth, or heroes compared to animal mothers and offspring–Warwick argues that maternity is associated with protection in Homer, implying, perhaps, an obligation to shelter others that yields a greater level of pain and suffering when warriors fail to do so. Consider the existential pain felt by Thetis in response to her inability to save her son or the emphasis Andromache puts on imagining her son’s (impossible) futures. The language of each simile, moreover, strengthens these connections: As Casey Dué demonstrates, Achilles’ similes resonate with women’s laments in the epic tradition. In a way, they are proleptic, priming an audience that already knows the events of the story to see Achilles’ actions in a certain way. The associations may be broader than this too–Cathy Gaca has suggested that the simile recalls the image of a mother and child fleeing a warrior during the sack of a city.

This associative framework is especially effective for exploring Achilles’ actions because he fails in his role as a protector. Warwick adds, “It is particularly appropriate for Achilles to compare himself to a mother because maternity, unlike paternity or non-parental divine protection, is closely linked in Homeric poetry with the mortal vulnerability of human offspring.” Achilles becomes a “murderous mother” who is a direct cause of Patroklos’ death.

This simile and Achilles’ own self-characterization increases the pathos of his story. This is echoed and reinforced–as Emily Austin argues well in her article (Grief as ποθή )–when Achilles’ grief over Patroklos’ death is compared to a mother lion’s sorrow over the loss of her cubs. In addition to these powerful connections between women and the life cycle, these images also underscore the impact that heroic violence has on familial relationships. The Achaeans at Troy do not have their families with them (with some exceptions): the consequences of war fall most heavily on women and children. This simile can both humanize Achilles and vilify him. The greater we understand his feelings of love and responsibility for Patroklos, the more horrifying it is when we understand that Achilles himself ultimately prayed for his own people to die.

We also have to attend to the impact on Patroklos: if Achilles is trying to do something with this speech, what is it? Jonathan Ready suggests that Achilles is letting Patroklos know that he is there and, like a mother, will eventually take care of her child. I like this reading, but I wonder if there isn’t a clash between Achilles’ belief that he can comfort Patroklos and the image itself which remains unresolved. The child in the simile goes on, tugging, wanting to be picked up, but never fully heard. We must imagine, I think, that Achilles sees these actions as being completed outside the simile when he listens to Patroklos and responds. As Rachel Lesser suggests, Patroklos is not fully heard. Patroklos’ “appeal represents a challenge to [Achilles’] will” (175). Achilles is troubled and upset by his friend being upset; but he is also conflicted by what he asks. Like a frustrated, harried mother who finally picks up the persistent child, Achilles concedes to Patroklos, but with demands and limits that will make neither of them happy.

I think this passage provides a great sample of how hard it can be to interpret Homer and how many different ideas need to be balanced at once. The scholars I have mentioned weigh cultural ideas about gender and relationships against what actually happens in the Homeric poems and generate a series of responses that point to the sensitivity and open-endedness of the simile. Achilles frames himself and Patroklos as a matter of expressing their relationship to one another, his view of the situation, and, perhaps more deeply, a troubled sense of responsibility. The lack of resolution in the simile and the striking image itself draws the audience’s attention to the moment, encouraging us to think through the image and make sense of it on our own.

 

A short bibliography on this simile

Austin, Emily. “Grief as ποθή : understanding the anger of Achilles.” New England Classical Journal, vol. 42, no. 3, 2015, pp. 147-163.

Beck, Deborah. The Stories of Similes in Greek and Roman Epic. Cambridge, 2023.

Dué, Casey. “Achilles, mother bird: similes and traditionality in Homeric poetry.” The Classical Bulletin, vol. 81, no. 1, 2005, pp. 3-18.

Gaca, Kathy. 2008. “Reinterpreting the Homeric Simile of Iliad 16.7–11: The Girl and Her Mother in Ancient Greek Warfare.” AJP 129: 145–71.

Ledbetter, Grace. 1993. “Achilles’ Self-Address: Iliad 16.7–19.” AJP 114: 481–91.

Lesser, Rachel. 2022. Desire in the Iliad. Oxford.

Mills, Sophie. 2000. “Achilles, Patroclus and Parental Care in Some Homeric Similes.” G&R 47: 3–18.

Pratt, Louise. 2007. “The Parental Ethos of the Iliad.” Hesperia Supplements 41: 25–40.

Ransom, Christopher. 2011. “Aspects of Effeminacy and Masculinity in the Iliad.” Antichthon 45: 35–57.

Ready, Jonathan. 2011. Character, Narrator, and Simile in the Iliad. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Warwick, Celsiana. “The maternal warrior: gender and « kleos » in the « Iliad ».” American Journal of Philology, vol. 140, no. 1, 2019, pp. 1-28. Doi: 10.1353/ajp.2019.0001

Patroklos’ death is one of the most significant moments in the Iliad: it advances the plot by redirecting Achilles’ rage toward Hektor and it also engages in some critical themes. The details of how he dies have caused consternation over the years: Apollo strips him of his armor, Euphorbus wounds him, and then Hektor moves in for the kill. All of this happens after Patroklos has pushed too far, ignoring Achilles’ advice from the beginning of the book and dismissing repeated warnings from Apollo. In doing so, Patroklos engages in what later authors might call hubris in two ways: he oversteps his bounds, arrogating to himself honor and glory destined for Achilles, and he does so despite somewhat direct intervention from the gods. 

One of the more important questions in thinking through the end of book 16 is how this depiction of Patroklos’ death informs our reading of Hektor and Achilles. In addition, Patroklos’ demise furnishes further material for thinking through determination and agency in epic: Zeus has previously prophesied Patroklos’ death, thereby making it fated; and, yet, the epic also takes pains to show that Patroklos is in part liable for his own suffering. This is all part of the famous ‘double determination’ that characterizes the pairing of human decisions and behavior within the larger arc of the narrative tradition and divine fate.

Three more topics jump out at me when I look at the final exchange of Patroklos’ life: (1) the Homeric narrator’s direct address to the hero; (2) the ensuing controversies about his actual death; and (3) his brief prophetic power and Hektor’s response.

Homer, Iliad 16. 843-863

“O Patroklos you horseman, then you addressed him, succumbing to weakness:
Now already you are boasting a lot—for Zeus, the son of Kronos
Gave victory to you along with Apollo, and they overcame me
With ease. They are the ones who stripped the armor from my shoulders.
If twenty who are the likes of you had opposed me
They all would have died here, overcome by my spear.
But ruinous fate killed me a long with Leto’s son
And, from men, Euphorbus. You are the third to kill me.
I will tell you something else and keep it in your thoughts.
You’re not going to be here very long yourself, but death
And its overwhelming fate already are standing near you:
To die at the hands of Achilles, Aeacus’ blameless grandson.’
So he spoke and death’s end covered him as he spoke.

His soul went flying from his limbs and went to Hades
Lamenting their fate, because they left behind manliness and youth.
As he died, glorious Hektor addressed him:
“Patroklos, why are you prophesying my death to me?
Who knows if Achilles, the child of nice-haired Thetis
May die, struck first by my spear?”
So Hektor spoke and he drew his bronze spear from the wound
Pressing down with his foot as he pushed him away.”

Τὸν δ’ ὀλιγοδρανέων προσέφης Πατρόκλεες ἱππεῦ·
ἤδη νῦν ῞Εκτορ μεγάλ’ εὔχεο· σοὶ γὰρ ἔδωκε
νίκην Ζεὺς Κρονίδης καὶ ᾿Απόλλων, οἵ με δάμασσαν
ῥηιδίως· αὐτοὶ γὰρ ἀπ’ ὤμων τεύχε’ ἕλοντο.
τοιοῦτοι δ’ εἴ πέρ μοι ἐείκοσιν ἀντεβόλησαν,
πάντές κ’ αὐτόθ’ ὄλοντο ἐμῷ ὑπὸ δουρὶ δαμέντες.
ἀλλά με μοῖρ’ ὀλοὴ καὶ Λητοῦς ἔκτανεν υἱός,
ἀνδρῶν δ’ Εὔφορβος· σὺ δέ με τρίτος ἐξεναρίζεις.
ἄλλο δέ τοι ἐρέω, σὺ δ’ ἐνὶ φρεσὶ βάλλεο σῇσιν·
οὔ θην οὐδ’ αὐτὸς δηρὸν βέῃ, ἀλλά τοι ἤδη
ἄγχι παρέστηκεν θάνατος καὶ μοῖρα κραταιὴ
χερσὶ δαμέντ’ ᾿Αχιλῆος ἀμύμονος Αἰακίδαο.
῝Ως ἄρα μιν εἰπόντα τέλος θανάτοιο κάλυψε·
ψυχὴ δ’ ἐκ ῥεθέων πταμένη ῎Αϊδος δὲ βεβήκει
ὃν πότμον γοόωσα λιποῦσ’ ἀνδροτῆτα καὶ ἥβην.
τὸν καὶ τεθνηῶτα προσηύδα φαίδιμος ῞Εκτωρ·
Πατρόκλεις τί νύ μοι μαντεύεαι αἰπὺν ὄλεθρον;
τίς δ’ οἶδ’ εἴ κ’ ᾿Αχιλεὺς Θέτιδος πάϊς ἠϋκόμοιο
φθήῃ ἐμῷ ὑπὸ δουρὶ τυπεὶς ἀπὸ θυμὸν ὀλέσσαι;
῝Ως ἄρα φωνήσας δόρυ χάλκεον ἐξ ὠτειλῆς
εἴρυσε λὰξ προσβάς, τὸν δ’ ὕπτιον ὦσ’ ἀπὸ δουρός.

Apostrophe in Homer

Whenever I read Homer with people, they will invariably ask why the Homeric narrator uses direct address to a few select characters. The appeal to Patroklos as if in conversation is not a result of a translator’s choice: in the Greek, epic uses the vocative form for Patroklos’ name (i.e., the case ending for a direct address) and 2nd person verbs for the action (the singular “you” forms). Among literary devices, direct-address to a character/person not present  is called apostrophe. (It shares the name with the punctuation mark because both the sign and the action are “turning away”, which is the meaning of the Greek word.) As early as Ps. Plutarch’s On Homer, we have the identification of the trope as apostrophe and the idea articulated that it “moves with pathos and  makes an impact on the audience.” (ὅπερ ἰδίως ἀποστροφὴ καλεῖται. τῷ δὲ παθητικῷ  κινεῖ καὶ ἄγει τὸν ἀκροώμενον, 620-621 ) 

Several characters in Homer receive this treatment, but only two receive it repeatedly: Patroklos in the Iliad and Eumaios in the Odyssey. The general argument I have always shared for this is that the act creates a sense of identification or sympathy with the the character addressed in Homer, setting them and their experiences aside from the rest of the narrative as something special. From a narratological perspective, Irene J. F. De Jong has classed apostrophe as a kind of metalepsis, that is a device that breaks down the narrative, that draws the audience and narrator together to see the actions in a different way. The effect is both to single the apostrophized character out for special attention and to bring the audiences closer to the experience, to immerse them in it, as Rutger Allan suggests.

The repeated effect in book 16 may draw the audience closer to Patroklos and his decision making, while also increasing the emotional effect of his death and preparing us for Achilles’ extreme response. In addition, I think it contrasts with the treatment of Hektor who seems to inspire so much sympathy among modern audiences. What is the impact of the expressed narrative sympathy for Patroklos on our response to Hektor’s characterization?

He is not even third! Hektor’s Contribution to Patroklos’ Death

I think that one of the under-emphasized themes of books 16 and on is the diminishment of Hektor. While he is posed as late as book 9 as a man-slaying menace, threatening the whole of the Achaean fleet, he is wounded in book 14, resuscitated in book 15, and only allowed to make his critical contribution to the plot after his ally Sarpedon has died, and after Patroklos has pushed the Trojans almost back into the city itself.

Patroklos notes that Hektor was only third in line to kill him. The D scholia preserve some additional commentary on Hektor’s achievement:

“We need to look at how the count isn’t four including Fate, Apollo, Euphorbos, and Hektor, when Patroklos says “you are killing me third!”. People are saying that he is not counting Fate because she is common for all mortals. Some claim that Patroklos just indicated this when he listed it as he does….these really means he’s last [πολλοστός]”

Hektor’s killing of Patroklos triggers the plot sequence that ends Hektor’s life but it also reshapes our view of his character. Steven Lowenstam argues that Patroclus’ death can be shown to reveal ambivalence about excellence in warfare. I think the scene definitely undermines conventional notions of heroism and that it does so by showing Patroklos’ excess and emphasizing Hektor’s limitations.

As William Allan shows, Patroklos’ death anticipates Hektor’s fall in important ways, but it also apparently informs our understanding of the relationship between the Iliad and the lost Aithiopis.  Achilles’ eventual death thanks to Paris and Apollo is predicted later in the Iliad. Some authors have argued that it is prefigured in Euphorbus as a doublet for Paris. According to our ancient sources, Achilles’ death actually occurred in the lost Aithiopis. Allan’s discussion about the correlations between these death scenes is nuanced: He suggests that we don’t need to imagine the Iliad or the Aithiopis copying each other: the scenes could be based on conventional patterns, or (and this is my take) they could both be echoing earlier versions of their own narrative traditions (see Jonathan Burgess’ article on this too.)

One of the important motifs Allan focuses on is Euphorbus’ role in the death: while some have seen him as a doublet of other figures, Allan argues that the Homeric narrative gives him an actual backstory: Menelaos killed his brother Hyperenor in book 14 and Hektor is often paired with Polydamas, whose relationship with Hektor I have suggested is a good index for Homeric politics. Hektor’s killing of Patroklos is in a way diminished by his ranking as third in the killers (after Apollo and Euphorbus). The cumulative effect of book 16, one might say, is to emphasize human folly and overreaching. Both Patroklos and Hektor go farther than they are supposed to.

The Prophecy

A traditional motif from early Greek culture is the idea that souls about to die gain some power of prophecy because o their proximity to the divide between mortal and immortal realms

Schol. T in Hom. Il. 16.851

“This is the belief expressed by the poet: souls that are about to make a transition have something of prophetic power. For once they have come closer to divine nature, they get some foreknowledge of what is to come.”

δόγμα ἐστὶ τοῦτο τῷ ποιητῇ ὥστε ἀπαλλασσομένας τὰς ψυχὰς ἔχειν τι μαντικώτερον· πλησίον γὰρ ἤδη τῆς θείας φύσεως γινομένη ἡ ψυχὴ προγινώσκει τι τῶν μελλόντων.

When Hektor dies, he too will provide a prophecy to his killer and will be rejected in a similar way. Hektor’s response here repeats the Trojan refrain that who knows whether they will live or die. Hektor very well suspects what his fate is, as he makes clear in book 6. His articulation of the idea that he may have a puncher’s chance of beating Achilles is different at this moment than when he dismisses his advisors or rallies the Trojans earlier. Here, Hektor is talking to a man as he dies and we have no evidence that anyone else is listening. Hektor’s denial here can be seen either as a taunt for the departing Patroklos or a desperate continuation of his previous attempts to persuade others that their cause is not doomed.

While I think the context is ambiguous–Hektor can be seen as cruelly boastful or in desperate denial–I do think that the characterization is disambiguated by subsequent actions: Hektor foolishly takes up Patroklos’ armor in book 17; he fails to rescue Sarpedon’s body for Glaukos; he refuses to tale his army back to the city as Polydamas advises in book 18; and he is hemmed in by Achilles until he is forced to face him in book 22. At that moment, Hektor expresses his regret. In a way, his narrative arc is a shadow cast by Patroklos’ death: they both fight beyond their fate and die by divine fiat outside the walls of Troy.

Patroklos’ dying taunt of Hektor and Hektor’s subsequent dismissal of his prophecy unite them in a kind of pathos that relativizes and undermines any claims of glory. Patroklos’ ‘great deeds’ transgress and surpass his friends advice and he dies with only the promise of glory to come. Hektor is denied the accomplishment himself. And all that is left in this wake is a heroic rage that does little to elevate the human condition.

A short Bibliography on the end of Iliad 16

n.b this is not an exhaustive bibliography. If you’d like anything else included, please let me know.

Allan, Rutger. “Metaleptic apostrophe in Homer: emotion and immersion.” Emotions and narrative in ancient literature and beyond: studies in honour of Irene de Jong. Eds. De Bakker, Mathieu, Van den Berg, Baukje and Klooster, Jacqueline. Mnemosyne. Supplements; 451. Leiden ; Boston (Mass.): Brill, 2022. 78-93. Doi: 10.1163/9789004506053_006

Allan, William. “Arms and the man: Euphorbus, Hector, and the death of Patroclus.” Classical Quarterly, N. S., vol. 55, no. 1, 2005, pp. 1-16. Doi: 10.1093/cq/bmi001

Block, E.. “The narrator speaks. Apostrophe in Homer and Vergil.” TAPA, vol. CXII, 1982, pp. 7-22.

Burgess, Jonathan Seth. “Beyond neo-analysis: problems with the vengeance theory.” American Journal of Philology, vol. 118, no. 1, 1997, pp. 1-19. Doi: 10.1353/ajp.1997.0011

Christopoulos, Menelaos. “Patroclus and Elpenor: dead and unburied.” Ο επάνω και ο κάτω κόσμος στο ομηρικό και αρχαϊκό έπος: από τα πρακτικά του ΙΓ’ Διεθνούς Συνεδρίου για την « Οδύσσεια » : Ιθάκη, 25-29 Αυγούστου 2017. Eds. Christopoulos, Menelaos and Païzi-Apostolopoulou, Machi. Ithaki: Kentro Odysseiakon Spoudon, 2020. 163-174.

De Jong, Irene J. F.. “Metalepsis in ancient Greek literature.” Narratology and interpretation: the content of narrative form in ancient literature. Eds. Grethlein, Jonas and Rengakos, Antonios. Trends in Classics. Supplementary Volumes; 4. Berlin ; New York: De Gruyter, 2009. 87-115.

Karakantza, Efimia D.. “Who is liable for blame ? : Patroclus’ death in book 16 of the « Iliad ».” Έγκλημα και τιμωρία στην ομηρική και αρχαϊκή ποίηση : από τα πρακτικά του ΙΒ’ διεθνούς συνεδρίου για την Οδύσσεια, Ιθάκη, 3-7 Σεπτεμβρίου 2013. Eds. Christopoulos, Menelaos and Païzi-Apostolopoulou, Machi. Ithaki: Kentro Odysseiakon Spoudon, 2014. 117-136.

Lowenstam, Steven. “Patroclus’ death in the Iliad and the inheritance of an Indo-European myth.” Archaeological News, vol. VI, 1977, pp. 72-76.

Parry, A.. “Language and characterization in Homer.” Harvard Studies in Classical Philology, vol. LXXVI, 1972, pp. 1-22.

One of the most memorable scenes in the Iliad is when Zeus cries tears of blood once he accepts that his son Sarpedon is going to die. Sarpedon’s death is not necessarily crucial to the plot: Hektor could very easily kill Patroklos and thus redirect Achilles’ rage without Sarpedon’s presence at all. But this scene retains important thematic connections to the epic’s concern for heroism, human mortality, and widening the space between the worlds of gods and human beings.

Readers have identified internal and external tensions to this scene. Internally, Zeus predicted just in the last book that Sarpedon would die. Externally, there are scholarly traditions that see different kinds of inconsistency. One scholion suggests that “the poet” includes this passage to raise the profile of Sarpedon’s death (Schol. bT ad Il. 16.431-461) while another reports that Zenodotus questioned the entire conversation of Zeus and Hera (Schol. A) because it isn’t clear where or how this conversation is happening. A close reading of the scene can help us see its connections to larger epic and cosmic themes.

Iliad 16.431-438

“As the son of crooked-minded Kronos was watching them, he felt pity
And he addressed Hera, his sister and wife:
“Shit. Look, it is fate for the man most dear to me, Sarpedon,
To be overcome by Patroklos, son of Menoitios.
My hearts is split in two as I rush through my thoughts:
Either I will snatch him up still alive from the lamentable battle
And set him down in the rich deme of Lykia,
Or I will overcome him already at the hands of Patroklos.”

Note the movement from the statement of fate that seems impersonal (in Greek, μοῖρ’ ὑπὸ Πατρόκλοιο Μενοιτιάδαο δαμῆναι) to the active statement I will with the somewhat interesting use of a temporal adverb pointing to now with a future verb (ἦ ἤδη ὑπὸ χερσὶ Μενοιτιάδαο δαμάσσω). Zeus expresses the very confusing overlap between his submission to fate and his status as an agency of it.

But any sensed contradiction here is understandable if we look at the metaphysical world the Iliad constructs itself: as Zeus says to Thetis in book 1, once he consents to a proposition, once he ‘nods’ to it, it moves from the unreal to a future fact. Part of Zeus’ power resides in the belief that his word in some way makes the cosmos what it is by guaranteeing its boundaries. Yet, here, as with Achilles in the epic, Zeus finds that the decisions he made to serve some larger plot have painful implications. There is a correlation of kinds between Zeus’ loss of Sarpedon and Achilles’ loss of Patroklos. The difference is that Zeus understands the promise he has made.

Schol. T ad Hom. Il. 16.433-8a1

“Don’t criticize the poet for this: for it is right to show the gods’ sympathy for men and that he speaks the following to her. In addition, Zeus’ mourning is didactic: the poet shows that even the gods submit to what is fated. It is therefore correct for human beings to bear fate nobly”

οὐ μεμπτέον τὸν ποιητήν· ἢ γὰρ ἀφιέναι δεῖ τὴν συγγένειαν τῶν θεῶν τὴν πρὸς ἀνθρώπους ἢ τὰ ἑπόμενα αὐτῇ λέγειν. ἅμα δὲ καὶ παιδευτικὴ ἡ τοῦ Διὸς ὀλόφυρσις, διδάσκοντος τοῦ ποιητοῦ ὅτι καὶ θεοὶ τῇ εἱμαρμένῃ ἐμμένουσι· δεῖ οὖν καὶ τοὺς ἀνθρώπους τὰς εἱμαρμένας φέρειν γενναίως. 

This exchange in the middle of book 16 has two additional ‘metaphysical’ or cosmic concerns. First, it establishes that mortality is an immutable fact of human life. Sarpedon is a good figure to explore this because he is in a way a refraction of Achilles as the hero son of a god who likely received cult worship. Indeed, his death scene is an important piece of repeated iconography in early Greek art and within the Iliad he is a figure who has spoken directly to the connection between being a noble/heroic figure and risking one’s life as a matter of obligation. In addition, Sarpedon’s death comes at a time when the death of Patroklos is anticipated, a death that in multiple ways serves within the Iliad as a surrogate death for Achilles.

The second cosmic effect of Zeus in this book is to emphasize the honors of the dead. As I discuss in an earlier post, the Theogony and the broader epic tradition positions Zeus’ stability in the universe as a feature of his ability to guarantee the social/religious positions of the gods. In a similar way, the Iliad may be seen to offer not just an etiology for human death, but also an explanation for how the dead should be honored and what kind of extra-mortality is available to the best. This is no minor issue for the Iliad which has offered and complicated kleos (immortal glory/fame) as compensation for an early death and which later shows how important it is to bury the dead and present them with the rituals that are necessary for the creation and perpetuation of kleos: funerary lament and, to get meta-poetic with it, perhaps epic itself.

Iliad 16. 439-461

“Then queen, ox-eyed Hera answered him
Most shameful son of Kronos, what kind of a thing have you said.
Do you really want to rescue from discordant death
When it was long ago fated for this man because he is mortal?
Do it. But the rest of the gods will not praise you for it.
I’ll tell you something else, and keep this in your thoughts:
If you send Sarpedon alive to his own home,
Think about how one of the other gods won’t want
To send their dear son free of the oppressive conflict.
For around the great city of Priam there are many sons
Of the immortals fighting, and you will incite rage in those gods.
But if this is ear to you, and your heart does mourn,
Let him stay in the oppressive battle indeed
To be overcome by the hands of Patroklos, Menoitios’ son.
Then when his soul and and his life leaves him,
Have death and sweet sleep take him until
They arrive at the land of broad Lykia.
There, his relatives and friends will bury him
With a tomb and a marker. This is the honor due to the dead.

“So she spoke, and the father of men and gods did not disobey her.
He was shedding bloody teardrops to the ground,
Honoring his dear son, the one Patroklos was about to destroy
Far off from his fatherland in fertile Troy.”

In this speech, Hera occupies something of a gendered position: in archaic Greek culture, women are represented as having special associations with death and burials, both in the act of caring for bodies and in the performance of laments (as we see at the end of the Iliad). There is a symbolic/thematic connection between a gendered ability to give life and knowledge about life’s end that is likely connected to Greek mythology. Here, in one of the rare places that Hera provides advice Zeus heeds, it is directly related to clarifying human mortality and establishing ritual practices to honor it.

Later on in the same book, Zeus repeats part of Hera’s speech to confirm what Sarpedon will receive the rites due to the dead:

Iliad 16.666-676

“And then cloud-gathering Zeus addressed Apollo:
‘Come now, dear Phoebus, cleanse the dark blood
From the wounds, once you get to Sarpedon, and then
Bring him out and wash him much in the river’s flows
And anoint him with ambrosia and put ambrosial clothes around him.
Send him to be carried by those quick heralds,
The twins sleep and death, and have them swiftly
Place him in the rich land of wide Lykia.
There, his relatives and friends will bury him
With a tomb and a marker. This is the honor due to the dead.”

The final phrase in Zeus’ speech “This is the honor due to the dead” (τὸ γὰρ γέρας ἐστὶ θανόντων) occurs again at line 23.9 when Achilles inaugurates Patroklos’ burial before the games in his honor and its substance is central to the debate at the beginning of book 24 about returning Hektor’s body to his family.

Zeus’ suffering for his son creates common ground between gods and mortals over the death’s inevitability for human beings. It foreshadows, or echoes, Thetis’ sorrow for Achilles’ death even as it brings humans and gods together into a cosmos ordered by the fact that Zeus keeps his word. All humans die, but in the universe stabilized by Zeus some rights remain untouchable even in death.

The death of Sarpedon both anticipates future deaths (Patroklos, Hektor and Achilles outside the epic) and also affirms the importance of burial rites for human beings and inscribes them as part of the same system of honors that stabilize the cosmic order. Implicit in this is burial as a universal human right: the Iliad both provides a framework for establishing such an extra-political belief and also anticipates the sense of umbrage that attends other mythical traditions like the failure to bury the dead of the Seven Against Thebes.

A short Bibliography on Sarpedon book 16

n.b this is not an exhaustive bibliography. If you’d like anything else included, please let me know.

Allen, Nick J.. “Dyaus and Bhīṣma, Zeus and Sarpedon: towards a history of the Indo-European sky god.” Gaia, vol. 8, 2004, pp. 29-36.

Barker, Elton T. E.. “The « Iliad »’s big swoon: a case of innovation within the epic tradition ?.” Trends in Classics, vol. 3, no. 1, 2011, pp. 1-17.

Barker, Elton T. E., and Joel P. Christensen. 2019. Homer’s Thebes: Epic Rivalries and the Appropriation of Mythical Pasts. Hellenic Studies Series 84. Washington, DC: Center for Hellenic Studies. 

Delattre, Charles. “Entre mortalité et immortalité: l’exemple de Sarpédon dans l’« Iliade ».” Revue de Philologie, de Littérature et d’Histoire Anciennes, 3e sér., vol. 80, no. 2, 2006, pp. 259-271.

Gartziou-Tatti, Ariadni. 2023. “Boreas, Hypnos, Thanatos, and the deaths of Sarpedon in the Iliad.” In “Γέρα: Studies in honor of Professor Menelaos Christopoulos,” ed. Athina Papachrysostomou, Andreas P. Antonopoulos, Alexandros-Fotios Mitsis, Fay Papadimitriou, and Panagiota Taktikou, special issue, Classics@ 25. https://nrs.harvard.edu/URN-3:HLNC.ESSAY:103900170.

Higbie, Carolyn. “Greeks and the forging of Homeric pasts.” Attitudes towards the past in antiquity : creating identities: proceedings of an international conference held at Stockholm University, 15-17 May 2009. Eds. Alroth, Brita and Scheffer, Charlotte. Acta Universitatis Stockholmiensis. Stockholm Studies in Classical Archaeology; 14. Stockholm: Stockholm University, 2014. 9-19.

Lateiner, Donald. “Pouring bloody drops (Iliad 16.459): the grief of Zeus.” Colby Quarterly, vol. 38, no. 1, 2002, pp. 42-61.

Marks, J. 2016. “Herding Cats: Zeus, the Other Gods, and the Plot of the Iliad.” In The Gods of Greek hexameter poetry: from the archaic age to late antiquity and beyond, ed. J. J. Clauss, M. Cuypers and A. Kahane, 60–75. Stuttgart.

Nagy, Gregory. “On the death of Sarpedon.” Approaches to Homer. Eds. Rubino, C. A. and Shelmerdine, Cynthia W.. Austin, TX: Univ. of Texas Pr., 1983. 189-217.

Pucci, Pietro. “Banter and banquets for heroic death.” Post-structuralist classics. Ed. Benjamin, Andrew. Warwick stud. in philos. & liter. – . London: Routledge, 1988; New York: 1988. 132-159.

Spivey, Nigel. The Sarpedon krater: the life and afterlife of a Greek vase. Landmark Library. London: Head of Zeus, 2018.

Tsingarida, Athéna. “The death of Sarpedon: workshops and pictorial experiments.” Hermeneutik der Bilder: Beiträge zur Ikonographie und Interpretation griechischer Vasenmalerei. Eds. Schmidt, Stefan and Oakley, John Howard. Beihefte zum Corpus Vasorum Antiquorum; 4. München: Beck, 2009. 135-142.

I always dislike when people ask which books of the Iliad are must-reads. Unsurprisingly, I think they all are pretty necessary. But I do have to concede that there are some that can be skipped without losing too much of the sense of the whole, and there are others that are absolutely crucial. Iliad 16 is pretty near indispensable to the plot of the poem (as anticipated in Zeus’ speech in book 15), but it also has critical engagements with the epic’s themes and connections with larger narrative traditions. It just may be one of the top 4 books of the Iliad, depending on your interests.

Book 16 has three major components, but splits more easily into two parts. The first part is the meeting between Patroklos and Achilles and the preparation for the latter to lead the Myrmidons into war in the former’s place; the second part is the aristeia of Patroklos that includes some wholesale slaughter along with the death of Sarpedon, and ends with Patroklos’ own fall. I think the book could also be seen in three movements: the preparation, the rallying of the Greeks and death of Sarpedon, and the excess, ending in Patroklos death at Hektor’s hands. The plot of this book engages critically with the major themes I have noted to follow in reading the Iliad: (1) Politics, (2) Heroism; (3) Gods and Humans; (4) Family & Friends; (5) Narrative Traditions, but the central themes I emphasize in reading and teaching book 16 are heroism, Family & Friends, Gods and Humans and Narrative Traditions.

Book 16 is also the second longest book of the Iliad (book 5 is slightly longer at 909 lines): given its detail and how important it is not just to this epic but to other narrative traditions, there’s no way to talk about everything. In my posts on book 16, I think I will stick to a simple scheme: the beginning (Patroklos speaks to Achilles), the middle (Patroklos kills Sarpedon) and the end (Hektor kills Patroklos). Book 16 is remarkable for many reasons, but one of them is how it picks up the action from book 11, when Nestor spoke to Patroklos and encouraged him to convince Achilles to return to war or take his place in turn. As I wrote about in discussing book 13, the narrative is still in the epic’s longest day and for all we know Achilles has been watching the action since he sent Patroklos to investigate.

When Patroklos arrives, Achilles addresses him with a simile that has caught some attention over time.

Homer, Iliad 16.2-19

“So they were fighting about the well-benched ship,
Then Patroklos stood next to Achilles, the shepherd of the host,
Pouring out warm tears like some dark-watered spring
That drains its murky water down a steep cliff.
When swift-footed Achilles saw him, he pitied him,
And addressed him, speaking out winged words:
“Why do you weep, Patroklos, like some little girl
Who is racing alongside her mother asking her to carry her
As she pulls on her clothing and holds her back as she hurries—
She looks at her with tears until she picks her up.
You look like her, Patroklos, as you shed your tears.
Is there something you need to tell the Myrmidons or me?
Have you alone heard some message from Phthia?
People say Menoitios, Actor’s son, lives still and
Peleus, the son of Aeacus, lives among the Myrmidons.
We would truly grieve together if these two were dead.
Or are you upset over the Argives, that they are perishing
Among the ships, because of their own arrogance?
Tell me, don’t keep it secret, so we can both know.”

Πάτροκλος δ’ ᾿Αχιλῆϊ παρίστατο ποιμένι λαῶν
δάκρυα θερμὰ χέων ὥς τε κρήνη μελάνυδρος,
ἥ τε κατ’ αἰγίλιπος πέτρης δνοφερὸν χέει ὕδωρ.
τὸν δὲ ἰδὼν ᾤκτιρε ποδάρκης δῖος ᾿Αχιλλεύς,
καί μιν φωνήσας ἔπεα πτερόεντα προσηύδα·
τίπτε δεδάκρυσαι Πατρόκλεες, ἠΰτε κούρη
νηπίη, ἥ θ’ ἅμα μητρὶ θέουσ’ ἀνελέσθαι ἀνώγει
εἱανοῦ ἁπτομένη, καί τ’ ἐσσυμένην κατερύκει,
δακρυόεσσα δέ μιν ποτιδέρκεται, ὄφρ’ ἀνέληται·
τῇ ἴκελος Πάτροκλε τέρεν κατὰ δάκρυον εἴβεις.
ἠέ τι Μυρμιδόνεσσι πιφαύσκεαι, ἢ ἐμοὶ αὐτῷ,
ἦέ τιν’ ἀγγελίην Φθίης ἐξέκλυες οἶος;
ζώειν μὰν ἔτι φασὶ Μενοίτιον ῎Ακτορος υἱόν,
ζώει δ’ Αἰακίδης Πηλεὺς μετὰ Μυρμιδόνεσσι;
τῶν κε μάλ’ ἀμφοτέρων ἀκαχοίμεθα τεθνηώτων.
ἦε σύ γ’ ᾿Αργείων ὀλοφύρεαι, ὡς ὀλέκονται
νηυσὶν ἔπι γλαφυρῇσιν ὑπερβασίης ἕνεκα σφῆς;

ἐξαύδα, μὴ κεῦθε νόῳ, ἵνα εἴδομεν ἄμφω.

There have been multiple interpretations of this simile. Kathy L. Gaca argued in a 2008 article that this evokes the experience of a mother and daughter pair in war, fleeing capture and abuse at the hands of enemy warriors. Others, like David Porter, have been cautious about how much the image should be particularized to such a moment: suggesting that the simile may also look ahead and back to other conflicts and parts of this poem. Like Gaca, I can’t help but hear the echoes of a city under siege and Agamemnon’s earlier threats; yet, I think we can’t be sure what audiences would have thought about.

Here, too, we can think of the tension in the relationship imagined. Achilles frames Patroklos as someone who desperately needs him just as he also implicitly acknowledges that he needs Patroklos too. There’s something thematically crucial in the mother’s headlong rush, in her interest to get something done, regardless of the child’s needs at that moment. This is something Celsiana Warwick highlights well in her discussion where she argues that “ the Iliad uses maternal imagery in martial contexts to highlight the conflict between the Homeric hero’s obligation to protect his comrades and his imperative to win timē and kleos, “honor and glory.” Maternity in Homeric poetry is strongly associated with protection, and maternal imagery is primarily applied to warriors engaging in the defense of their comrades” (2019, 1). This reading resists modern gender distinctions and instead looks at a pattern in epic that is charged at this particular moment where Achilles’ own concern for his honor results in the failure of his role as a protector. As Warwick writes, “The image of the mother ignoring the needs of her child represents the way in which Achilles at this point in the poem is ignoring the needs of the Achaeans, whom he described as his children at 9.323–7” (9).

As Rachel Lesser summarizes (174-176), this simile also demonstrates that Achilles is actually concerned by Patroklos. As anyone who has lived with a toddler knows, you can put off the tugging and the crying, but ultimately a child needs care. A good parent, while focused elsewhere, learns to balance self and other and responds as they can. The problem is that sometimes there’s no balance of response that will serve all needs. Achilles answers Patroklos’ call and sends him to war with the Myrmidons, but not without a warning not to overstep and take the honor that is truly owed to Achilles.

Addendum: ‘Patrochilles’

One thing to address here is the status of the relationship between Achilles and Patroklos. My standard answer in teaching the Iliad is to acknowledge that some early audiences received their relationship as romantic/sexual, clear from references in fragments of Aeschylus and later authors like Plato and Aeschines. The epic, however, is not explicit about the status of their relationship and this can be understood in two ways. First, the genre of heroic epic is generally reticent about sexual activity apart from the fact of its occurrence. When sexuality is detailed, it is usually a problem. Second, I suspect that Homeric epic was in part responding to differing sexual customs among their audiences. While pederastic relationships (that is, between an older male and an adolescent) seem to be acceptable in certain contexts in ancient Greece, there were variable sexual customs in different places and times and Homeric poetry endeavors to represent a composite picture of a heroic past that most Greek city-states could see themselves in.

So, I think the core message is, yes, the relationship between Achilles and Patroklos was meant to be profound and significant, but how to ‘code’ it was left to audience interpretation as a feature of Homeric caginess. In recent years, there has been both a scholarly reappraisal of their relationship and a greater interest in modern audiences to frame their relationship as sexual. Recent discussions framing their relationship as on the spectrum from “homosocial” to “homosexual” brings nuance to the discussions and important background material to considering their relationship (see especially the work of Celsiana Warwick and Rachel Lesser). Scholarly frameworks, however, say little about the reception of Patroklos and Achilles as a couple (e.g. ‘Patrochilles’) by modern audiences. Such a reception, which seems largely positive and affirming, is to me a testament of the protean power of Homeric poetry. The echoes of a conjugal relationship between the pair are undeniable, as Celsiana Warwick demonstrates in her article. But the subtlety and the nuance of the relationship is such that it is affective for audiences invested in a broad spectrum of sexual mores.

A short Bibliography on Patroklos and Achilles in book 16

n.b this is not an exhaustive bibliography. If you’d like anything else included, please let me know.

Allan, William. “Arms and the man: Euphorbus, Hector, and the death of Patroclus.” Classical Quarterly, N. S., vol. 55, no. 1, 2005, pp. 1-16. Doi: 10.1093/cq/bmi00

Anderson, Warren D. “Achilles and the Dark Night of the Soul.” The Classical Journal 51, no. 6 (1956): 265–68. http://www.jstor.org/stable/3292885.

Burgess, Jonathan. “Beyond Neo-Analysis: Problems with the Vengeance Theory.” The American Journal of Philology 118, no. 1 (1997): 1–19. http://www.jstor.org/stable/1562096.

Clark, Mark Edward, and William D. E. Coulson. “Memnon and Sarpedon.” Museum Helveticum 35, no. 2 (1978): 65–73. http://www.jstor.org/stable/24815318.

Fantuzzi, M. 2012. Achilles in Love. Oxford.

Gaca, Kathy L. “Reinterpreting the Homeric Simile of ‘Iliad’ 16.7-11: The Girl and Her Mother in Ancient Greek Warfare.” The American Journal of Philology 129, no. 2 (2008): 145–71. http://www.jstor.org/stable/27566700.

Karakantza, Efimia D.. “Who is liable for blame ? : Patroclus’ death in book 16 of the « Iliad ».” Έγκλημα και τιμωρία στην ομηρική και αρχαϊκή ποίηση : από τα πρακτικά του ΙΒ’ διεθνούς συνεδρίου για την Οδύσσεια, Ιθάκη, 3-7 Σεπτεμβρίου 2013. Eds. Christopoulos, Menelaos and Païzi-Apostolopoulou, Machi. Ithaki: Kentro Odysseiakon Spoudon, 2014. 117-136.

Kesteren, Morgan van. “ERASTES-EROMENOS RELATIONSHIPS IN TWO ANCIENT EPICS.” CrossCurrents 69, no. 4 (2019): 351–64. https://www.jstor.org/stable/26851797.

Ledbetter, Grace M. “Achilles’ Self-Address: Iliad 16.7-19.” The American Journal of Philology 114, no. 4 (1993): 481–91. https://doi.org/10.2307/295421.

Lesser, Rachel. 2022. Desire in the Iliad. Oxford.

Paton, W. R. “The Armour of Achilles.” The Classical Review 26, no. 1 (1912): 1–4. http://www.jstor.org/stable/694771.

Porter, D. (2010). The Simile at Iliad 16.7–11 Once Again: Multiple Meanings. Classical World 103(4), 447-454. https://doi.org/10.1353/clw.2010.0016.

Ready, Jonathan. 2011. Character, Narrator, and Simile in the Iliad. Cambridge.

Scott, John A. “Paris and Hector in Tradition and in Homer.” Classical Philology 8, no. 2 (1913): 160–71. http://www.jstor.org/stable/262449.

Scodel, Ruth. “The Word of Achilles.” Classical Philology 84, no. 2 (1989): 91–99. http://www.jstor.org/stable/270264.

Sears, M. (2010). Warrior Ants: Elite Troops in the Iliad. Classical World 103(2), 139-155. https://doi.org/10.1353/clw.0.0182.

Warwick, C. (2019). The Maternal Warrior: Gender and Kleos in the Iliad. American Journal of Philology 140(1), 1-28. https://doi.org/10.1353/ajp.2019.0001.

Warwick, C. (2019). We Two Alone: Conjugal Bonds and Homoerotic Subtext in the Iliad. Helios 46(2), 115-139. https://doi.org/10.1353/hel.2019.0007.