When he heard these brave tidings of his son, Achilles rejoiced in spirit, and strode with lofty gait along the plain of asphodel.

So one by one the spirits came up, and inquired of Odysseus of their dear ones at home.  Only the soul of Ajax, son of Telamon, stood sullenly aloof; for between him and Odysseus there was an old quarrel.  After the death of Achilles a dispute arose among the surviving chieftains for the possession of his armour.  It was decided to refer the matter to the Trojan captives in the camp, and they were asked who of all the Greeks had done them most harm.  They answered in favour of Odysseus, who accordingly received the armour.  Thereupon Ajax fell into a frenzy of rage, and slew himself.  When Odysseus saw him, and marked his unforgiving mood, he was filled with remorse and pity, and strove to soften his resentment with gentle words.  “Ah! son of Telamon,” he said, “canst thou not forgive me, even here?  Sorely the Argives mourned thee, and heavy was the loss brought on them by thy rash act.  Thou wast a very tower of strength to the host, and we wept for thee as for a second Achilles.  Draw near, great prince, subdue thy haughty spirit, and speak to me as thou wast wont to speak before the will of heaven set enmity between us.”

Thus earnestly Odysseus pleaded, but there was no reply, and the angry spirit passed away into the gloom of Erebus.[1]

[Footnote 1:  Compare the silence of Dido, “Stories from the AEneid,” p. 123.]

II

Odysseus still lingered, hoping yet to have speech with other souls of heroes who had once rivalled him in valour and wisdom while they dwelt in the flesh.  But he was destined to see another and more awful vision.  Suddenly the pall of darkness which shrouded the secrets of the nether abyss was lifted, and the whole realm of Hades was exposed to view.  There he saw the place of torment, where great malefactors atone for their crime, and Minos, the infernal judge, sitting at the gates, passing sentence, and giving judgment among the shades.  Within appeared the gigantic form of Tityos, stretched at full length along the ground, and two vultures sat ever at his side, tearing his liver.  This was his punishment for violence offered to Leto, the mother of Apollo and Artemis.  Not far from him appeared Tantalus, plunged up to the neck in a cool stream; the water lapped against his chin, but he had not power to drink it, though he was tormented with a burning thirst.  As often as he stooped to drink, the water was swallowed up, and the earth lay dry as the desert sand at his feet.  And nodding boughs of trees drooped, heavy with delicious fruit, over his head; but when he put forth his hand to pluck the fruit, a furious gust of wind swept it away far beyond his reach.  And yet another famous criminal he saw, Sisyphus, the most cunning and most covetous of the sons of men.  He was toiling painfully up a steep mountain’s side, heaving a weighty stone before him, and straining with hands and feet to push it to the summit.  But every time he approached the top, the stone slipped through his hands, and thundered and smoked down the mountain’s side till it reached the plain.