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This appears in a pre-2010 issue
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Achilles’ Decision
William Avett
Achilles gazed upward at the white granite cliffs that towered above him. A narrow path wound back and forth up the precipitous slope to a small temple set high amongst the crags.
Looking down he saw the azure blue Aegean Sea far below, his vessel a small brown spec at anchor in Korinthos Bay. There his men awaited him, awaited his decision on whether to join Agamemnon in his foolhardy plan to sack Troy and return the beautiful Helen to his brother Menelaus.
Achilles knew that only the gods could guide him in this difficult decision, and so he turned with resolve and continued his weary trek up the long path to the glimmering shrine of the Oracle of Delphi.
As he climbed each step, others who also sought the wisdom of the ancient sage move aside and bowed low as he passed. All Greeks knew of Achilles, the greatest hero of the land, perhaps even in the entire world, and they neglected no opportunity to show their respect.
And as he climbed a growing crowd followed behind, for the reason of Achilles’ visit now circulated amongst his fellow pilgrims. They wondered what wisdom the oracle would dispense to the great hero, for if Achilles decided to forgo the voyage to Troy, Agamemnon’s war with the Trojans might well end in defeat for all of Greece.
Then at last Achilles trod the first step before the great temple, and casting aside his weapons, he strode through the marble vestibule and into the dim interior. About him stood the silent statues of the gods of old, some of which even he knew naught, and to each he gave a nod of respect as he walked past to approach the small, wizened man who waited regally at the end of the hall.
There sat the Oracle of Delphi in robes of white, while nearby stood his four attendants, women selected for beauty that even the gods might envy. About them flickered torches that lined the walls, and before the oracle rested a great copper vessel filled with a fluid in which different things seemed to float and bob, first to appear and then to disappear beneath the placid surface.
“Approach, Achilles,” commanded the old man in a high reedy voice.
“You know of me?” he asked, taken aback.
“All Greece knows of the Great Achilles, and the purpose of your visit,” laughed the oracle. “For this I do not need the gods to tell me.”
“Then you know that I am torn as whether to join Agamemnon in his foolhardy plan, or leave him to his folly.”
“Ah, you have indeed given the decision some thought, I see.”
“Can you help me?” prompted Achilles.
“Perhaps. You bring an offering?”
Achilles threw down a sack of gold, a few yellow disks spilled onto the floor, shining brightly in the flickering torchlight.
“Very well, Achilles,” said the oracle, the glint of gold reflected in his eyes. “I will seek the wisdom of the gods for you. But beware, for the advice of gods can sometimes cloud a decision, rather than clear it.”
“Proceed,” replied Achilles.
So the old man stretched forth his hand to the great copper vessel and dipped his index finger ever so lightly into the liquid surface. His eyes glazed over, staring forward, as if he saw far into the distance along different paths of what might and might not be.
All was silence within the chamber, no one moved, and the four attendants seemed like statues, only their breathing betraying the flesh and blood of their mortality. Presently the old man groaned and pitched forward, but the women caught him, and pulled him back into his chair. One held a cup of wine to his lips, from which he greedily drank.
In a few minutes the old man had recovered, and now looked down upon Achilles with almost pity. And, when he spoke, a note of sadness carried in his voice.
“The gods have shown me the paths,” he said.
“Yes?”
“If you do not join Agamemnon in his venture, it will surely fail, and the influence of Troy will grow ever greater, perhaps even to one day challenge Greece herself.
“However, if you do accompany him, the other heroes will flock to his call, and the largest force the world has ever seen will fall upon the Trojans. Red shall run upon the sands year after year, but in the end Agamemnon shall be victorious.”
“Then I shall join him,” shouted Achilles with enthusiasm.
“Wait,” said the Oracle of Delphi, “there is more. If you throw your lot with Agamemnon, glory will surely be yours, but defeat as well.”
“I have heard of Hector,” considered Achilles. “So, he will best me.”
“No, he will not,” stated the oracle firmly. “You are the greatest hero in the world, and none can defeat you. Only by chance will you fall, but fall you shall.”
“Then I should not go.”
“As you wish,” replied the oracle. “But know, that if you choose this war your name shall never be forgotten, while if you stay, you will live a long life and fruitful life, but your name shall be forever lost in the annals of time.”
“So I must choose between glory and obscurity?”
“Alas, so have your paths been ordained. I am sorry,” replied the old man.
Achilles nodded, realizing that his time was up. He turned and left the building, pausing again to don his weapons. Stopping at a turn in the path, he looked back one last time at the temple, shining in the late afternoon sun, and decided.
Achilles would not shirk his duty or his fate. Agamemnon would win his war, and the greatest hero of the realm would fight by his side, no matter the task, and no matter the consequences.
Achilles trudged down from the hills, secure in the knowledge that glory and death awaited him.
