They prepared the meal and ate until all were satisfied. The others went to their shelters to sleep, but the son of Peleus lay on the shore among his Myrmidons, groaning heavily in an open place where waves washed in. Sleep took him at last, loosing the cares of his heart, for his glorious limbs were tired from chasing Hector around windy Ilios.
Then the ghost of unhappy Patroclus came to him, like the man himself in stature, eyes, and voice, and wearing the same clothes. It stood over Achilles' head and said he slept and had forgotten his friend — loved while living, neglected now in death.
Bury me quickly, the ghost said, that I may pass the gates of Hades. The other shades keep me off and will not let me cross the river or join them, and I wander in vain about the wide-gated house. Give me your hand — I will not come back from Hades once you have given me my due of fire.
One prayer more: do not lay my bones apart from yours, Achilles, but together, as we grew up in your house when Menoetius brought me from Opus after I killed a child in folly over dice, and Peleus received me and named me your attendant. Let one chest hold our bones, the golden two-handled one your lady mother gave you.
Achilles answered that he would do all as bidden of his own will. Draw closer, he said, and let us throw our arms around each other and take our fill of sorrow. He reached out, but clasped nothing. The spirit vanished under the earth like smoke, gibbering as it went.
Achilles sprang up, struck his hands together, and cried in wonder that there was something in the house of Hades — a soul and image, but no mind at all. All night the ghost of unhappy Patroclus had stood over him weeping and charging him.