We Need a Volunteer for Operation: Certain Death
Following the directions given to them by Telephos, the Achæans finally found their way to Ilion. Because of all the delays and convolutions in the journey of the Argive fleet, several years had passed since Paris and Helen had run off together. Ever since the Achæan ambassadors had demanded the return of Helen [see Chapter Seven] the Trojans had prepared themselves for a siege, so the appearance of a hostile fleet on the horizon was not a surprise. In fact, far from instilling a sense of dread in the inhabitants of Ilion the arrival of the Achæans was a bit of a relief. It seemed better to have an actual foe to fight than to be worrying about some vague future threat. Hoping to resolve the conflict quickly and decisively the Trojans mustered their strength and went down to the coast to oppose the Achæan landing.
The Achæans, on the other hand, were in a bit of a quandary now that their objective was in sight. As mentioned earlier the sea-nymph Thetis had spent a lot of time investigating all the oracles concerning the fate of her mortal son Achilleus, and one of the prophecies she had discovered was that the first man to land at Troy would also be the first to be killed at Troy. Knowing that Achilleus was usually the first in any conflict, Thetis warned her impulsive son about the dangers of being the first to reach the Troad. Despite his general valor on the battlefield Achilleus was terrible at lying, keeping secrets, or dissembling in general, so by the time the fleet reached Troy, virtually every man among the Achæans knew about the prophecy of death. The Achæan heroes were all brave men, all willing to risk death in pursuit of the capture of Troy, but there is a big difference between risking death and charging towards certain death. So the fleet just held position, bobbing just offshore while the Trojans started to form up along the beach.
It quickly became apparent that someone was going to have to take the initiative, and soon. Giving the Trojans too much time to fortify themselves would turn the landing into a slaughter. Finally taking the initiative Protesilaos of Phylake, who had brought forty ships to the war, ordered his men to row towards shore. As soon as he was near enough, Protesilaos leapt overboard with a great war-cry and charged towards the waiting Trojans.
Watching the Phylakean ships advance towards the shore gave the Trojans time to position their best warriors to meet Protesilaos' charge. Despite their preparations they were still taken aback by the ferocity of the screaming warrior advancing towards them out of the surf. Those Trojans who were faint of heart scurried to get out of his way, leaving Protesilaos to face off with Hektor, the mightiest of Priam's sons.
In this first engagement between heroes of the opposing sides, the two warriors circled each other warily, each not knowing what to expect. Once again deciding to take the initiative Protesilaos launched his spear at Hektor. A little more caution would have served him well, because his hasty throw went wide of Hektor, landing harmlessly in the soil of the Troad. Taking advantage of his opponent's carelessness, Hektor quickly closed the distance between the two of them and speared Protesilaos through the chest while he was drawing his sword.
After defeating Protesilaos, Hektor charged forward into the advancing horde of Achæans, serving many others in the same manner. Wherever Hektor fought, the Achæans were driven back, but everywhere else the Trojans lost ground. Eventually swamped by superior numbers, the Trojans were forced to retreat behind the walls of their city.
As soon as they had gained control of the plain before Ilion, the Argives hauled their ships out of the water and placed them on mountings so the keels would not rot. Then they set about erecting an earthen wall to stand against a possible Trojan counterattack. Meanwhile the Trojans, acutely aware of their numerical disadvantage, dispatched messengers to their various allies calling for help.
When news of the first clash between the Achæans and the Trojans reached Phylake, Protesilaos' widow, Laodameia, became despondent with grief over the death of her husband. She wasn't even afforded the catharsis of a funeral since her husband's body was buried near Troy. In order to properly honor her late husband's memory, Laodameia constructed an effigy of him out of wax. This effort became a labor of love for her, and she made certain that every aspect of her waxen man resembled her husband as nearly as she could recall. When she was finished, Laodameia had constructed a life-sized replica of her husband that was anatomically accurate in every way.
After the effigy was completed, however, it seemed an awful waste to simply have this work of art simply serve as a stand-in for her husband at a funeral service. Laodameia decided to test her creation to see if it would be serviceable for other, more pleasant husbandly functions. After a night of experimentation, Laodameia concluded that her creation was most serviceable indeed and decided to keep it in her bedchamber for future servicings.
Although nothing could truly replace her dead husband, Laodameia was fairly pleased with the waxen substitute. He never argued with her, he always looked well groomed and handsome, and despite a lack of bedroom technique he was always ready for action. It was not long before tongues started wagging in Phylake about Laodameia and her peculiar hobby. Such activities were considered unseemly, as well as an insult to her newly dead husband. Laodameia's father, Akastos, considered it his duty to safeguard the family's reputation and decided to confront his daughter about these rumors. Entering her bedchamber shortly after the household had retired for the evening, Akastos was shocked and angered to see with his own eyes that the rumors were true, and even understated! Completely outraged by her bizarre sexual paraffin-alia, Akastos demanded that his daughter get rid of the wax effigy and return to her mourning rites immediately. Laodameia refused, saying that her creation reminded her too much of Protesilaos for her to bear parting with it, and it was the one thing she had left that gave her any pleasure in life.
Unwilling to tolerate Laodameia's insolence and her outrageous behavior, Akastos took matters into his own hands. In the courtyard of the palace he had dry wood and oil assembled. When everything was made ready he stormed into Laodameia's bedchamber and carried off the wax man over his daughter's shrieks of protest. When he reached the courtyard he placed the effigy on top of the pyre and lit it.
Laodameia had followed her father to the courtyard yelling insults at him all the way. When she saw her new surrogate husband being consumed by the fire her grief returned to her even more strongly. With a final cry of despair, Laodameia hurled herself on top of the waxen effigy and was consumed by the flames.