“HOMER”

Scholarly study of the Iliad and the Odyssey has been shaped by recurring versions of the Homeric Question: Who composed the two epics, and how? Were the two epics composed by a single poet whose comprehensive vision organized the whole, or are they the product of generations of poets working within an oral tradition? Does “Homer” denote an individual, or rather a tradition of bards and a form of poetry that attained prominence throughout Greece? Though the debate has been vituperative and long-lived (its modern formulation dates from F. R. Wolf ‘s Prolegomena to Homer of 1795), it has flourished especially in the absence of historical evidence that definitively locates Homer or his poems within a specific time or place. Though there is a profuse and fascinating body of ancient lore about “Homer” and his career, the accounts are multiple and competitive; few cities could resist claiming Homer as their own. Within this vacuum of historical certainty and profusion of lore, scholars and readers have often found a “Homer” who snugly conforms to their interpretation of the poems themselves.

Within contemporary Homeric studies, the researches of Milman Parry and Albert B. Lord have transformed our understanding of the composition of the Iliad and the Odyssey. Parry confirmed and furthered his initial, text-based studies of Homeric composition (of the late 1920s) by his field research (19331935) among the performing oral poets of Yugoslavia. Parry’s immersion in the performance culture of practicing bards permitted him to develop a comparative account of Homeric composition-in-performance; recording and analyzing the performances of actual bards allowed him to see how these working singers used the given components of their traditionrepeated epithets, type-scenes, narrative patternsto improvise a new poem, uniquely fitted to the immediate conditions of its performance and the demands of its particular audience. Parry’s work was continued and extended by his student Albert Lord, whose researches in a great variety of performing song cultures broadened and deepened the comparative context within which the Homeric poems might be studied and appreciated. The research of Parry and Lord has offered a model for the composition of the Iliad and the Odyssey that can account for the entirety of each poem in its present form (there is no need to differentiate between “early” and “late” strata, between interpolation and originalall are equally part of the performance tradition). But their work also decisively challenges the idea that there was a single poet to whose genius each poem (or both poems) can be attributed; in place of a poet of genius, it is an ingenious tradition that emerges.

If we set aside the quest for the one true Homer, we might speak instead of historical stages in the transmission of the Iliad and the Odyssey, in which the poems moved from a relatively fluid state to an increasingly fixed, textualized form. In this model (brilliantly and controversially developed by Gregory Nagy), the first stage spanned from the early second millennium to the middle of the eighth century B.C.E.a period of oral transmission and composition-in-performance wholly without written texts. A final stage of Homeric transmission can be dated to about 150 B.C.E., when the scholar Aristarchus of Samothrace, the head of the great library of Alexandria, completed his edition of the Homeric poems, at which point something like a fixed “library edition” of Homer appeared; such an edition no longer presupposes performance. In the 700 years between these two poles, the poems moved from a state of relative fluidity to one of increasing fixity; so, too, the role of the singer moved from one who composed in performance to one who re-performed a poem that was increasingly fixed and that finally, in a late stage, was simply learned by rote and available in written, if not yet authoritative, form.

THE WORLD OF THE ILIAD

1575-1200 B.C.E. The Mycenaean period takes its name from Mycenae, a city on mainland Greece that was excavated by Heinrich Schliemann in 1876 (other great palace-centers have been excavated in Thebes, Tiryns, and Pylos). While the Iliad preserves some fossilized memories of Mycenaean culture, the poem is not a reliable historical account of the Mycenaean realm; four and a half centuries separate the formation of our Iliad and the legendary past that is the poem’s setting.

1200-1100 The Mycenaean palace kingdoms decline and collapse for reasons that remain elusive to contemporary historians; according to recent research, the kingdoms may have fallen from strains within Mycenaean society itself, rather than from invaders. The Fall of Troy is traditionally dated to 1184.

1100776 This period, between the Mycenaean collapse and the first Olympic Games, is traditionally regarded as the “Dark Age” of Greece. Though some areasnotably Lefkandi on the island of Euboearecover and prosper, most Mycenaean centers are abandoned or greatly diminished in population; trade routes are destroyed, and material culture reverts to a pre-Mycenaean level. Linear B, the Mycenaean script, is lost; the heroic poetry that will become our Iliad and Odyssey is transmitted orally.

776-179 In the early eighth century, the Greeks adopt a modified Phoenician alphabet. During this period the city-state emerges and prospers, and a sense of Panhellenic identity takes hold across the separate Greek states. The existence of the alphabet means the Homeric poems can be written down, but they are still composed and transmitted orally.

180-144 Aristarchus of Samothrace, while head of the library of Alexandria, produces recensions of the text of the Iliad and the Odyssey, as well as commentaries upon those texts. Aristarchus uses a variety of symbols to query the genuineness of particular verses and the transmitted order of verses; his goal is to remove corruption and interpolation from the texts. His versions of the Iliad and the Odyssey, which build upon and modify the work of his teacher Aristophanes of Byzantium, will be considered by some to be the first critical editions of Homer.

30-19 The Roman poet Virgil writes the Aeneid, with Homer as a model for emulation and transformation

450 With the decline of the Roman Empire, interest in Greek texts and

C.E. in Homer becomes dormant in the West until learning resurges in the Middle Ages.

7th century Homeric figures begin to appear in the Arabic tales of Sinbad.

1488 The first printed edition of the Greek text of Homer appears.

1598 George Chapman publishes English translations of the Iliad and

1615 the Odyssey.

1715 Alexander Pope publishes translations of the Iliad and the

1726 Odyssey.

1788 J. B. G. d’Ansse de Villoison publishes ancient scholarship on the Venetus A manuscript of Homer that remains our richest source for the working methods of ancient Homeric scholars.

1795 Friedrich August Wolf publishes Prolegomena to Homer, which inaugurates modern textual scholarship of Homer.

1870 Heinrich Schliemann, a retired German businessman with a passion for the Homeric epics, begins excavations at Troy (Hisarlik) .

1933-Based 1935 on observations of contemporary verse composition-inperformance in the Balkans, American scholars Milman Parry and Albert B. Lord present comparative evidence that the Homeric poems were transmitted for many generations by oral bards.

INTRODUCTION

And as when gusts

Come many and fast on a day when shrill winds are blowing

And raising the thick dust on roads up into a swirling

Huge cloud, so now they clashed in one fierce throng,

Each man eager to use his sharp bronze on another.

And the man-wasting battle bristled with lengthy, flesh-rending

Spears, and eyes were blinded by the blazing of bronze

From gleaming helmets, new-burnished breastplates, and flashing,

Resplendent shields, as chaotically on the men came.

(Homer Iliad XIII.379-387)

Among the wildly various ancient biographies of Homerwhich divergently account for the poet’s homecity and date of birth, his poetic works, his blindness or sightedness, his deaththe anecdotal compendium entitled The Contest of Homer and Hesiod (the bulk of which dates from the beginning of the fourth century B.C.E.) presents an itinerant Homer who wanders from town to town performing his verse. At the funeral games of a Euboean king named Amphidamas, so the story goes, Homer is lured by the promise of a great prize into a contest with the poet Hesiod, who composes in the same verse form as Homer (the dactylic hexameter), but who singsin his Works and Daysnot of the hero’s battles, but of the farmer’s life. At every turn of the ensuing competition in the composition and performance of poetry, Homer decisively bests Hesiod; he is the people’s favorite. As a final test of the poets, King Panedes, the arbiter of the contest, asks each to sing his finest passage: Hesiod sings of the farmer’s year (Works and Days 383-392), while Homer singsin the passage cited aboveof the dazzle of “man-wasting battle,” which gleams so bright as to blind the combatants. Upon the completion of Hesiod’s and Homer’s recitations, the people once again acclaim Homer, but the decisive word belongs to King Panedes (Contest of Homer and Hesiod 205-210): Full of wonder, the Greeks praised Homer also in this case, and asked that he should be granted victory, because his verses were even better than expected. But the king crowned Hesiod, saying that it was just that the poet who recommended agriculture and peace, rather than the one who described wars and slaughter, should win.

Homer is the favorite of the Greeks, Hesiod of the king; Homer’s verses provoke “wonder,” Hesiod’s provoke considerations of what is “just.” King Panedes opts to reward the just, rather than the popular and wondrous. The judgment of King Panedes surely registers the ruler’s maxim that if political order is to be maintained, his subjects are better encouraged to hone their farming skills, rather than their acuity in spear-throwing and hand-to-hand combat. But the king’s votein favor of political concord rather than wonderperhaps also intimates the unsettling force and appeal of a Homeric poetry that makes vivid not that which is seasonably predictable or politically stable, but that which compels for its very combustibility, for its evocation of desires that might elude the restraints of political order.

In the Iliad generallyand in the very verses that the Homer of the Contest singsthe wondrous is often a spectacle of violent, chaotic death. Such carnage is scarcely bearable (as the Iliadic passage that Homer sings again exemplifies), especially as it is also a topic of wonder, for the risk and venture of violent death seem also to contain the possibility of a self-making apart from the necessities and regularities of politics and the cultivable fields. Homer’s audiencein the Contestwonders at a song that is violent, even transgressive, but that also seems to promise a completion, a fulfillment, greater than what the farmer’s lifeor the life of the king’s subjectcan offer. Held in wonder by a poetry that depicts a life apart from, even at odds with, the civilizing, pacifying labor of the fields, Homer’s auditors might, indeed, make for restless royal subjects. King Panedes’ crowning of Hesiod is neither poetically undiscerning nor politically disinterested (though Homer’s advocates might take consolation in the knowledge that Panedes’ name was to become proverbial for a powerful man who makes a foolish decision).

In a bravura conclusion to his (losing) performance, Homer imagines a spectator of the very scene he has just narrated: Such an onlooker would be very “hard-hearted” who could look “on that slaughter with joy instead of lament” (XIII.388-389). This is no simple endorsement of the hero’s life: The battlefield is a potential site of self-creation through martial strife, but it is also an arena of carnage, within which the combatants themselves can be blinded. Homer’s imagined observer of the battle provokes reflection about the “wonder” experienced by his audiencewhich now includes us as well: The wonder that we experience in listening to Homer would not be possibleor would be possible only for the most hard-hearted of usif we were “actually” there; it is only when the chaos of battle is shaped and formed by the poet’s art that the unbearable becomes a source of pleasure, a wonder. The king would tell us that our unsettled and unsettling desireswhich, in Homer, are most manifest on the battlefieldcan be assuaged within the political order, by the satisfactions of the ordered, productive life, as exemplified by Hesiod’s farmer. The Iliad, I would suggest, regards such claims with an astringent skepticism; the wonder that the poet provokes arises from his making into a unity, into a source of pleasure, that which is, in life, fractured, contested, and sometimes unbearable. Our wonder comes from the glimpse of a singularity, a unity of power, a full articulation of desire greater than that permitted in lifeor, to put it in somewhat different terms, from a full vision of the unbearable that is consubstantial with death.

Homers

Some say, “there never was such a person as Homer.” “No such person as

Homer! On the contrary,” say others, “there were scores.”

Thomas De Quincey, “Homer and the Homeridae” (1841)

No Homer or many Homers: Both possibilities arise from the difficultyeven the impossibilityof locating a single historical Homer. The texts of the Iliad (and the Odyssey) that we now read (and translate) have been transmitted to us with none of the signs by which we now recognize an author: There is no self-referential mention of a “Homer” within the epics themselves; there is no single or uncontested account of the occasion and means of first production and transmission; there is no sign or seal that might indicate an “autograph copy” or descent from a singularly privileged source. The ancients themselves attest a discrepant multitude of Homers, born in different cities, traveling to different lands in different eras, even singing different poems (the Iliad and the Odyssey were not unanimously deemed to be the two sole works of Homer alone until the fourth century B.C.E.that is, not until after the two poems had been transmitted for some 300 years in a form roughly akin to what we have today and among a multitude of other titles also attributed to Homer) . Even Homer’s name is a topic of variant and disputatious accounts: One of the ancient lives of Homer, for example, accounts Homer’s “real” name to have been Melesigenes and his hometown to have been Cyme, where the local word for “blind” is homeros: “Hence, the name Homer gradually replaced Melesigenes on account of his misfortune” (Vita Herodotea 162-165)-blindness being one of the few near constants in early accounts of Homer. Melesigenes reappears in another biography of Homer, this time as a citizen of Smyrna, who is sent as a hostage to the rival city of Chios; in this version (recorded by Proclus in the fifth century C.E.), the pun that produces the name plays on the Greek word for “hostage,” which is (also) homeros: “When he was given as a hostage [homereian] to the Chians, he was called Homer” (Proclus, p. 99). And thus in the ancient lives of Homer do etymologies and biographies multiply.

Contemporary scholars have offered an etymology of the Greek Homeros that derives the name from an Indo-European (thus pre-Greek) verbal root (*ar-) that means “to fit” or “to join,” in the manner that a carpenter (a “joiner,” in older English) fits together beamsand especially the beams of a chariot (as discussed in Nagy, The Best of the Achaeans; see “For Further Reading”). The name “Homer”comprised of the elements “together” (Greek homo-) and “to fit”means, then, “he who fits [the song] together.” From this perspective, the name “Homer” is generic for the poet’s labor, whichlike the carpenter’sis a joining together, a crafting, of multiple parts into a single unity, into a single confluence. The English word “harmony” (after the Greek goddess Harmonie) derives from the same root as “Homer”; and the goal of both carpenter and poet is “art,” which likewise derives (via Latin ars) from the very stem (*ar-) that generates the name “Homer.” Indeed, we might finally understand “Homer” to denote the paradigmatic, mythical poet; “Homer” names not an individual singer, but the very idea of the poet.

The traditional semantics that underlie the name of Homer are activated in the poet’s description, toward the end of book IV of the Iliad, of the death of Simoeisius. This hero, a son of the Trojan river-god, is cut down in battle by the Achaean Ajax; upon Simoeisius’ death, the poet offers a startling and haunting simile (IV.557-562):

… [Simoeisius] fell

To earth in the dust like a smooth black poplar whose branchy top Falls in the low grassland of a mighty marsh To the gleaming ax of some chariot-maker, who leaves it To dry by the banks of a river that he may bend him A rim for a beautiful chariot.

Simoeisius, struck down and killed by Ajax’ spear, is compared to a felled tree, which will itself be hewed and worked into a chariot-wheel. The unifying craft of the “chariot-maker”a Greek word derived, again, from the same root as “Homer”transforms the body of the slain hero into a work of great art. Though Simoeisius is killed in the prime of his youth and upon his very first appearance on the battlefield, his name and fate are now pressed into memory. The simile upon Simoeisius’ death presents a visual icon of the poet’s work: the transformation of the hero’s death into verbal art, the immortalizion of the name in poetry (I will return to this theme below). We might also be reminded of the final lines of Homer’s recitation in the Contest, for the death of Simoeisius, brutally cut down in his youth, before he might repay his parents’ care, is a sight that we could scarcely, if at all, bear, were we its literal onlookers, but that the poet’s art transforms into an objecta wheel and a chariotof splendor and beauty (if also an object that remains, for all its potentially dazzling, even blinding wonder, a vehicle of war) .

The multiple Homers of the ancient biographical tradition and the Homer whose name is paradigmatic for the poet and his labor converge upon one fundamental point: Homer belongs to no single city (nor even to one single historical generation), but to many; his art is not local, butas the etymology of the name Homer intimatessynthetic and, finally, synoptic. Within the Iliad (and the Odyssey), there are few traces of story-traditions of purely local interest; rather, the Iliad’s hero-songs, while they provoke intense interest within the widely dispersed cities of Greece, overarch and elude the particularities of local space and time. In this crucial regard, the Homeric poems are Panhellenic; and, as such, the poems, which reach something close to their definitive form in the late eighth and early seventh centuries B.C.E., participate inand are themselves shaped bytheir larger historical moment. For the Greek historical experience of this period is marked by a new and intensified communication among the emergent Greek cities themselves; by the foundation of the Olympic Games, which were open to competitors from throughout the Greek-speaking regions; by the establishment of the great cult site of Apollo at Delphi, whose oracle was open to all and was consulted in matters of dispute between cites; and by the gradual proliferation of the alphabet, itself a technology that might foster further communication within and beyond the walls of a single city. The Iliad and the Odyssey, in their synthesistheir crafty “joining”of a set of heroic myths and themes that eludes local or simply aetiological meanings, are themselves preeminent, catalytic signs of this same burgeoning Panhellenism. (See Nagy, The Best of the Achaeans and Snodgrass, Archaic Greece, for discussions of the centrality of Panhellenism.) The artful chariot of the simile that follows upon the death of Simoeisius might itself be an emblem of Panhellenism: The storythe fameof the hero, even of a hero as poignantly short-lived as Simoeisius, is not fixed to a single spot, like a felled tree, but rather, through the craft of the poet-joiner, is set in motion, capable of travel to the bordersand beyondof a newly expansive Greek culture. And so, too, “Homer,” the poet’s paradigmatic name, remains open to new etymologies, which will take him far from his placeor placesof origin. The contemporary poet Derek Walcott in his Omeros, an epic that relocates the characters and themes of the Iliad to the Caribbean island of St. Lucia, offers one of the loveliest of etymologies for the name of Homer: And 0 was the conch-shell’s invocation, mer was both mother and sea in our Antillean patois,

os, a grey bone, and the white surf as it crashes

and spreads its sibilant collar on a lace shore.

Omeros was the crunch of dry leaves, and the washes

that echoed from a cave-mouth when the tide has ebbed.

Walcott’s etymological play with the name of Homer revivifies the poet by rehearing and rearticulating the syllables of his name within the local languagethe “patois”of St. Lucia, though those syllables are themselves long-lived descendants (first by way of Latin, then of French) of the Greek of Homer. As Walcott’s mer washes Homer ashore upon St. Lucia, ancient meanings are recovered and renewed, even as they are given contemporary form. And in that sense, the chariot of Simoeisius remains in motion, as the Iliadthe first work within the Western literary canonbecomes not only Panhellenic but pancultural, inasmuch as its meanings remain recoverable for present and future poets and readers. This is the ongoing work of the many Homers, as well as of the poetry for which the name “Homer” is synecdoche: the recovery of the meaningancient and otherof the word.

Poetic Tradition and Its Critique

This book is about Homer. He is our Singer of Tales. Yet, in a larger sense, he represents all singers of tales from time immemorial and unrecorded to the present. Our book is about these other singers as well. Each of them, even the most mediocre, is as much a part of the tradition of oral epic singing as is Homer, its most talented representative.

A. B. Lord, “Forward” to The Singer of Tales (1960)

No Homer or many Homers? In contemporary Homeric studies, the work of Milman Parry and Albert Lord provides an answer: There is no one Homer because there were generations of Homers who had continuously sung heroic songs for perhaps a thousand years prior to the time when the Iliad was first stabilizedaround the final quarter of the eighth century B.C.E.in a version close to the written form that we now have. Parry’s textual studies in the late 1920s began with the familiar repetition of noun-epithet phrasesfor example, “grey-eyed Athene”and proceeded to demonstrate that those repetitions were not random, but systematic. Moreover, such systems of repetitionof formulae, of phrases, of lines, of typical scenes, of episodesare characteristic of oral poetries in general; the oral poet, as he performs, works with the given and repeated building-blocks, small and large, of his tradition. Parry then confirmed and expanded his text-based studies by fieldwork, conducted with his student and collaborator Lord, among the performing oral poetsthe guslarsof Yugoslavia in between 1933 and 1935. Among these still active singers, Parry and Lord recordedon paper and on an extraordinary half-ton of aluminum sound discstheir heroic songs, newly performed for the occasion, newly composed without a written text. Each performing bard invokes, reenacts, and distills those performances that have come before, even as he creates a unique and present song, shaped by the particulars of the moment and the occasionparticularly by his keen awareness of his audience and their responses. The bard improvises among the elements of his tradition in the sense that he might reassemble or modify the fixed elements of that tradition in especially skillful, often surprising ways. But before the bard can display such heights of skill, he must first master the language of his tradition, as well as its characteristic scenes and story-patterns. So, too, in contemplating the Iliad, we should speak first of the genius of the tradition that produced it, thenif we wishof the virtuosity of a poet.

Attention to the traditional language of the bard is crucial not only for the insight that it offers into the workings and transmission of the poetic tradition, but for the access it provides to the poet’s generative themes. The formulae, imagery, and type-scenes that recur in Homeric poetry are themselves articulations of the conceptual and thematic well-springs of the bard’s song. Repetitionand variation in repetitionis itself a sign of thematic centrality; these are the themes and ideas that the epic has preserved and has, over generations of transmission, distilled to a remarkable degree of concentration. One such recurring image in the Iliad is that of the “spring bloom” of the hero, an image both of the hero’s exultant battle-strength and of his memorial representation in the bard’s song. The Iliad’s account of the Trojan warrior Gorgythion presents an especially vivid example of the concentrating power of the poet’s traditional language, as the “spring bloom” becomes a synopsis of the warrior’s death and his recompense. Gorgythion makes his entrance upon the battlefield only to be immediately struck down by an arrow from the bow of Teucerwho was, at any rate, aiming for Hector. We hear of Gorgythion’s lineagehe is a son of Priam; then we hear of his death and its poetic transfiguration (VIII.344-345 and 347-350): … [Teucer] lodged his arrow deep in the breast Of peerless Gorgythion …

… And now to one side

Gorgythion drooped his head and heavy helmet:

He let it fall over like the bloom of a garden poppy

Heavy with seed and the rains of spring.

Gorgythion steps upon the battlefield only so as to be killed, and of his death the poet makes a simile. The violence of an arrow wound to the neck is elided by an image of unexpected and unsettling beauty: The warrior’s severed head is like the bloom of a poppy that has tumbled over because it is overfull of its own life-force. The gore of the battlefield is displaced by an image that precisely articulates the exchange that governs the career of the traditional hero: life for artand especially, youthful life for epic poetry, for the immortality of the name that is preserved by the poet. It is the defining claim of the epic bardindeed, the very premise of his traditional genrethat he will preserve the hero’s name and deeds through the medium of epic song, transmitting that name to succeeding generations of singers. But the bard does not immortalize the hero’s deeds from any point within his life-course, but only from the period of youth that is “spring-bloom,” which Homeric Greek calls hebe. Though hebe can denote the first physical signs of the male transition from youth to maturity, hebe is, for the hero, less a specific chronological period of life than it is an attained state of near-divine intensity in which individual superiority, an integrity of body and of action, is visible to all: Hebe is that brief moment when the warrior has “the flower of youth, when the might / Of a man is strongest” (XIII.559-560). And it is precisely this superiority, this force in bloom, that the Homeric hero most possesses at the very moment of his death: The moment of fullest self-creation and self-display is also the moment of death, and it is that same perfection of the hero in an irrepeatable instant of spectacular, self-consuming force that the bard immortalizes. The simile on Gorgythion’s death is a concentrated image and enactment of the “Beautiful Death” and of the logic of heroic commemoration : Life is exchanged for art; life is perfected in an instant that exhausts mortal life’s possibility, but that receives recompense in the immortalizing verses of the bard. (See Loraux, The Experiences of Tiresias and Vernant, Mortals and Immortals, for discussions of the “Beautiful Death.”) Both Patroclus and Hector die under the sign of hebe; it is, for each, the last word: “His soul flew forth from his body … bewailing her lot as one too soon bereft of youth and manly vigor [hebe]” (XVI. 992-994 and XXII. 424-427). Moreover, it is the deaths of Patroclus and Hector (preceded by that of Sarpedon) that structure the final third of the Iliad and that make necessary the death of Achilles, which is beyond the end of the Iliad but insistently foreshadowed within it. The early death of Achilles is thematic from the Iliad’s very first book, where Achilles himself laments to his mother Thetis that she bore him “only to live for a few short years” (I.411). If it is a general description of the epic hero of Homeric tradition that he is to die young for the sake of future fame, Achillesimmediately upon his insulted withdrawal from the Achaean camp and upon suffering the abduction of Briseisinvokes that definition, but now self-consciously, as an explicit conundrum of life and topic for thought. In a sense, his mother’s prophecy only makes explicit for Achilles the early death that is the generic requirement of the hero’s life; but Achilles, in his rage and disorientation consequent upon the loss of Briseis, now has impulse to think aboutand kick againstthe fatality that would govern his life. In this thematization of the very stakes of the traditional hero’s life (and death), the poet of the Iliad reveals the fullest possibilities of his art, which is a preeminently critical art, capable of testing, from the very beginning of the poem, its own generative premises.

This critical exploration of the hero’s death-bound fateof the exchange of youthful life for artculminates in the passage from book IX that is often called “the choice of Achilles.” At this juncture of the plot, Achilles’ rage has deepened; the insult of book I has precipitated a general questioning of just what it is that would satisfy heroic desire, if not the gifts, women, and kingships of the worldwhich Achilles has just declared to be worth no more than “sand and dust” (IX.443). Achilles now elaborates upon his mother’s prophecy (IX.471-478): My goddess mother, Thetis Of the silver feet, tells me I bear two fates

With me on my way to the grave. If I stay here

And fight about Troy, I’ll never return to my home,

But men will remember my glory forever. On the other hand,

If I go back to the precious land of my fathers,

No glory at all will be mine, but life, long life,

Will be, and no early death shall ever come on me.

One of the most extraordinary aspects of this speech (as G. Nagy has shown in his Best of the Achaeans) is the specificity with which Achilles invokes the epic tradition itself The phrase “glory forever” translates a formulaic phrase of Indo-European provenanceaphthiton kleosthat names the very genre of traditional heroic poetry itself, and that we might translate more literally as “unwithering fame.” If the flower in spring bloom, fulland overfullof its own seed, is a traditional poetic icon of the hero’s apotheosis, the bard’s work is to make that culminating moment of full bloom and of deaththe moment of hebeinto verse that is itself “unwithering.” The underlying metaphor from naturethe flower that can only, of its own, witheris transfigured by the cultural work of poetry, such that the evanescence of the bloom is forever captured within the tradition of aphthiton kleos, “unwithering fame.” Achilles, in contemplating his two choices, explicitly invokes by proper name the epic tradition within which he is himself the central figure; and, in positing an alternative (the long life without glory), he speaks as if he might launch himself out of the very logic and generic requirements of that tradition. Such a rejection will turn out to be, in practice, impossible, but the questions now posed about the recompense offered by the heroic exchange and by the epic’s insistent and necessary conjunction of beauty and death remain in motion: If the immortalization promised by epic poetry is insufficient, if the culture’s highest achievement is so explicitly bound to death, is this then a cultural order worthy of defense, or within which life itself might flourish? While the Iliadic heroesAchilles preeminent among themare doers of ferocious deeds of strength and fortitude upon the battlefield, they also show themselves to be heroes of extraordinarily articulate consciousness; indeed, perhaps the single brake against the blinding ferocity of the battlefield resides in that very consciousness, which the Iliad will likewise immortalize in the culminating, contesting, renunciant figure of Achilles.

Homer and the Polis

Finally, and most importantly for our purposes, it seems that Homer lived in a time in which the right of the hero no longer ruled in Greece, and the people’s freedom began to be honored …

Giambattista Vico, “On the Discovery of the True Homer” (1744)

Though the Iliad does not valorize simply the strength and physical feats of its heroes, the poem does encourage its listeners to imagine the passage from the era of the heroes to that of “present men” as an irreversible loss of vitality, as a fall from exemplarity (XII.481485):

And Hector picked up a stone in front of the gate

And carried it with him, a broad-based, pointed boulder

That not even two of this generation’s strongest

Could manage to heave on a wagon. Yet Hector easily

Held it …

Compared to the mighty Hector or to any of the other famous heroes arrayed at Troy, the audience of the poet’s present, even as it understands itself to be descended from the heroes, is acutely reminded that its descent is a diminution: The ancestors were creators and adventurers; men “such as mortals are now” are but imitators, weak of force and spirit. The era of the heroes is one of origins, of first inventions, of self-creation through adventure, of an ever-regenerative vitalism; the present age is one of insubstantial imitation, of repetition unto exhaustion. And yet, when we turn to the historical record itself, the claims of the epic’s mythical history are reversedor, at least, sharply contested: The culture of the late eighth and seventh centuries B.C.E., the period in which the form and content of the Iliad stabilized, is one of remarkable demographic and geographic expansion, as well as of intellectual, artistic, and political experiment and consolidation.

In the last third of the eighth century, the Greeks took effective control, to their west, of the near coast of Sicily and of the region around the Bay of Naples; to the east (where our literary and archaeological evidence is comparatively meager), colonial settlements were founded along what is now the coast of Turkey and north from the Bosphorus as far as the Danube and the Crimea; in North Africa, the colony of Cyrene was founded around 630 B.C.E., which is also the approximate date for the foundation of Naucratis in the Nile Delta. Within the span of roughly one century, Greeks had come to inhabit the primary points of connection and exchange within the Mediterranean world then known to them as well as those points that connected them to the cultures across their borders. Among these colonies and emporiato the west, east, and southa newly flourishing mercantile class plied trade routes along which they offered oil, wine, and luxury goods in return for grain, metals, and slaves. Conjointly with these overseas ventures, a free peasantry was created and strengthened within the city and its territorya development fostered by the opening of markets abroad and by the spread of chattel slavery. Juridical and economic institutions consonant with the peasantry’s interests followedprimarily, the emergence of private alienable property in land and enforceable contracts.

Upon this material foundation, a novel form of political life emerged, characterized by a new inclusivity and relying upon a rotation of political offices among full citizens. The textbook name for these developments is “the rise of the polis”the coming-to-be and flourishing of the Greek city-state. The great scholar J.-P Vernant has taught us (in his Origins of Greek Thought; and see, too, M. Detienne’s Masters of Truth) to understand the political phenomenon of the polis primarily in terms of a transformed relation to speech and its authority. In the palace-kingdoms of the Mycenaean period (c.1450-1200 B.C.E.), rule was held by a divine kinga sovereign who embodied each of the functional classes (priestly, military, and economic) of the society that he ruled and who, in encompassing those different classes, transcended them; the king was thus the principle of social unity, harmoniously conjoiningin his one, divine bodythe disparate classes of his society among themselves, as well as within the natural and cosmic realms. As the king orders his society, so too he is himself the juncture of mediation between that society and the transcendent orders. Both nature and the gods respond to the rule of the good king; the king’s subjects reap the rewards of their ruler’s access to the beneficent regularities of nature and to the favors of the divine. Some remnant of this conception of kingship is evoked in the Odyssey in its praise of a king who, “with fear of the gods in his heart … upholds justice”; for this king, “the black earth bears barley and wheat, the trees are laden with fruit, the flocks bring forth their young unceasingly, the sea yields fish… and the people prosper” (Odyssey 19.109-114). Within this order, the speech of the king, sacralized by the king’s own proximity to god, is an absolute instrument of power. The commanding word of the king can bear only one, immutable meaning, insusceptible to mortal dispute or human complication. In the word of the divine king, sign and signified are one; the power of the king’s word is absolute.

The history of the polis, by contrast, can be understood as one of the demystification of speech. As the prerogative of authoritative speech is loosed from the sovereign king, the shape of power is no longer a triangle at the apex of which is god and king, with successive classes (first priests, then warriors) ranged within descending cross-segments, each beneath the other, each further from the divine source of power, and with the great majority (primarily of agricultural laborers) ever subjugated at the triangle’s base; rather, in the polis the shape of power is the circle, at the center of which is the agora, the place of public meeting and adjudication. It is to that center that the members of the community (women and slaves excepted, as usual) convene so as to advocate and mediate their particular claims. Disparate social interests and classes are no longer harmonized in the body of the king, but within a politics of mutual accommodation. Thus, sovereign power came to be the business of each who ventured to the center, where decisions were openly arrived at by public debate among equals; each contestant within the agora might experience victory and defeat, but those remain opposite sides of the same relation; neither dominance nor submission is permanent; rather, both are reversible within the deliberative contests of the day to come. In this model, the speech that commands is no longer the ritual word pronounced by the divine king, but an account shaped by a human demand for persuasion and ratified into truth (at least for the day) by the collective assent of the community.

The Future of Achilles

Chaque époque reve la suivante. [Each era dreams the next.]

Michelet. “Avenir! Avenir!

In the first line of the Iliad”Sing, 0 Goddess”we learn that speech of divine origin belongs not, or not exclusively, to the king, but to the poet, who begins his monumental work by invoking his goddess, the Muse, whose voice will now merge with his own. In the song that immediately follows upon the invocation, the poet presents the spectacle of kings acting badlyand acting especially badly is Agamemnon, the king who assembled the vast Achaean coalition at Troy and who bears responsibility for the success or failure of the expedition. Within the first few moments of the poem, Agamemnon has insulted a priest of Apollo (by refusing to accept ransom for his daughter) and, in consequence, has brought upon his army a deadly pestilence. In an inversion of the model of the good king, the divine and natural orders punish the impious deeds of Agamemnon, and for the king’s outrages, his subjects pay with their lives. At the instigation of Hera, Achilles steps into this breach that Agamemnon has opened within the mutually responsive order of divine and human. Achilles, like Agamemnon, is a “king,” as are all the principal Achaean heroes, each of whom leads a contingent of warriors from his home territory. Among these many kings, Agamemnon is primus inter pares”first among equals.” The basis of that preeminence is his superior storehouse of gifts for giving and his greater number of ships. Yet, while a rather crude calculation of material goods serves to confer Agamemnon’s superior position, his decisions are yet made in consultation with his fellow kingsin a public assembly (as in book I), or in the more restrictive council of peers (as in the beginning of book IX)and he can be influenced by, even rebuked by, those other kings. Agamemnon’s job is to hear and carry out the will of the group; his authority is, in that sense, representative: As a “good king,” his actions should embody and unite the will of the collective, but higher than the king is the principle of community itself. Agamemnon’s preference for Chryseis to Clytemnestra (I.129-130) is not without a certain poignancy (kingly power, it seems, circumscribes the fulfillment of the king’s personal desire), but it can also risk the unity and well-being of the collectivity that he leads.

When Achilles first steps forward, then, he would recall Agamemnon to his proper role as the unifying principle and agent of the martial camp. And Agamemnon does, if grudgingly, assent to the return of the priest’s daughter, “if that is the thing to do. / I prefer the men safe and well, not sick and dying” (I.133-134). Thus he acknowledges that the good of the camp supersedes his own preference for the priest’s daughter. But Agamemnon then goes one sentence too far: “But you must prepare a prize for me at once. For me to be the only Argive here Without some gift of honor would hardly be right!” (I.135-137). As Achilles swiftly points out, there are no undistributed prizes tucked away in storage nor can prizes once distributed be recalled and reapportioned. The dispute now centers upon evaluations of honor: Within the martial camp, “prizes”the tripods, cauldrons, hunks of metal, and livestock that fill the capacious tents of the Achaeansare visible signs of a warrior’s social standing; and among those prizes, women captured in raids or city-sackings are the topmost signs of a warrior’s status among his comrades. Agamemnon’s threat to take Briseis from Achilles as a recompense for his loss of Chryseis registers the dilemmatic fact that, within the social economy of the warriors’ camp, honor is a finite resource and the totality of the system is zero-sum. In other words, as one man’s social standing increases, another’s diminishes. In the case of Agamemnon, because he is the king (who is, ideally, representative), a diminution of personal honor is also a threat to the order of the group as a whole; hence, his immediate demand for a compensatory prize upon his acquiescence to the return of Chryseis registers, in addition to personal pique, an assertion of his kingly position. But Achilles immediately and angrily understands that Agamemnon’s desire for another token of honor is inevitably a threat to him, as the leading warrior within the camp. The restoration of Agamemnon’s honor, if it is to be immediate (as Agamemnon desires), requires a concordant attack upon Achilles’ honor and social identity. Though it was Achilles who first spoke forth in defense of the Achaean camp, it is Achilles who will suffer a diminution in social prestige on account of Agamemnon’s retaliatory abduction of Briseis; indeed, in Achilles’ understanding of what has befallen him that diminution of public standing is absolute, as he will say in book IX, recalling Agamemnon’s behavior, he “insulted Me … as though I were some despised And dishonored outsider” (IX. 750-752). It is characteristic of Achilles, here and throughout the Iliad, that he is unable to draw limiting distinctions: He is either the greatest of warriors within the camp or he is a disgraced outsider, reduced to the status of a wandering refugee.

The astounding, breakneck speed with which Agamemnon and Achilles take mutual offense, their escalating volleys of insult and contempt, reflect a competitive dynamic within which martial honor is a finite good, but the very volatility of the opening fight also suggests an underlying and ultimately irreconcilable difference between the two men. Agamemnon’s claims to authority derive, as previously noted, from his great store of “gifts” (which are never freely given, but always serve to bind recipient to donor), as well as from the number of his ships and, perhaps, from the political centrality of the city of Mycenae, of which Agamemnon seems to have hereditary rule (see the description of his scepter at II.119-12 8) . The inherited status of Agamemnon’s rule might be especially suggested by the weakness of his abilities: He is neither the best warrior nor the best leader of men (as will be vividly dramatized for a second time by the episode of the dream, at the opening of book II); thus, in the absence of any apparent qualifications, Agamemnon seems likely to have attained his rule simply by being his father’s eldest son. Achilles, on the other hand, is the greatest warrior of the Achaean campa claim that no one within (or outside) the camp contests. His superiority as a warrior is three times attributed to the gods in Book I (1.204, 1.329. and I.341),and especially to his goddess mother Thetis, who belongs to the Titanic generation that preceded the Olympians. Thus, while Agamemnon’s claims are those of (hereditary) position, Achilles’ are those of (inborn) prowess; the former has political authority, the latter martial power (we might compare the relation of Hrothgar to Beowulf, Richard II to Bolingbroke, or King Arthur to Lancelot). The conflict between Agamemnon and Achilles, considered at its most general and as it is consistently dramatized over the course of the Iliad, is between the necessities of cultural order and the excitations and imperatives of natural ability and desire.

The judgment of King Panedes (in the Contest of Homer and Hesiod) is, again, telling: A peaceablesometimes even a justpolitical order requires subjects who work within the rhythms and boundaries that are established and emblematized by the seasonal regularity of nature; in contrast, the Iliad, with Achilles at its center, provokes within an audience a “wonder” at the spectacle of a particular, irregular, violent, and mortal nature that asserts its own individual claims to justice. Such claims can well devastate the community (as Achilles’ withdrawal in book I will devastate the Achaean camp, no less than Apollo’s plague did) and so surely fail any test of a justice for which the criterion is a collective equilibrium overseen by the king. Yet, as devastating as Achilles’ assertion of his nature will come to be, his rage is initially provoked by a political order that is itself no longer sustaining the life of the community. The rule of the weak king is itself, as has been noted above, a breach of the politico-religious order. Achilles’ subsequent assertion of his own primacy, of a nature no longer reconciled to the king’s rule, though itself of questionable or unsustainable justice, might well be necessary, if the preference is, in extremis, for change rather than death, or, as Achilles says in his first words of the poem, if the Achaeans are to be neither “baffled” in their intent nor killed (1.69). The deadening ossification of traditional social form that leadsas in the case of Agamemnon’s hereditary ruleto the divorce of ability from position provokes a response necessarily unjust from the vantage of collective equilibrium, but no less necessary for that. Just as the ruler’s reason is evident in Panedes’ preference for Hesiod’s verses, so too there is reason in the people’s vote for the Iliad.

The thematic division between Agamemnon and Achilles over the respective claims of political standing and natural prowess sets the Iliad in motion. The quarrel between king and warrior, in its immediate combustibility and headlong acceleration nearly to the point of regicide, is dramatized as a fissure within the Achaean camp that is, from the start, ready to crackand, crucially, a schism after which the former unities will be irrecoverable. In his description of the staff that confers the right of public speech within the Achaean camp, the poet presents an image of a prior mediation between the claims of the natural and the cultural; it is one mark of the Iliad-poet’s genius to present that image of unity just as it is being irrevocably destroyed (I.273-278): … [the staff] which no longer has bud Or leaf since it left its stump in the mountains, nor ever

Grows green again and blooms since the sharp bronze stripped it

Of foliage and bark, but which now the sons of Achaeans

Bear in their hands, they who are judges among us

And uphold the laws of [Zeus] …

The icon of the staff presents a foundation story, an aetiology, of political authority within the Achaean camp. The wood of the living, sprouting tree is cut and transformed by human craft into the staff, the possession of which confers the right to authoritative speechwhich is to say, to judgment. An ideal relation between the natural and political orders is maintained by the single, balanced staff: The tempering of nature by human skilland in the service of human endsbecomes the means of political judgment. A foundation for that judgment is preserved through an origin in nature, even as nature is shaped by human craft, becoming itself a work of craft. This idealized concord between nature and culturea human mediation of an underlying oppositionis permanently sundered in the break between Achilles and Agamemnon. When Achilles simultaneously swears his departure from the Achaean camp and casts down and shatters “the staff with its studs of bright gold” (I.287), the break is irreparable.

The action of the Iliad takes place, in a sense, within the disordered space that is created by the casting down of the staff, by the dramatized breakup of an older order of society, with its particular relation between individual and political regime. While the Iliad is, at once, a monumental song of praise to the “unwithering fame” of the heroes at Troyitself a perdurable “proof” of the immortality of the heroes’ namesthe poem also dramatizes a heroic order that is no longer able to quell the strife that is intrinsic to it. Social contradictions that were previously mediated by the representative rule of the king come nowunder the rule of the weak kingto the fore and to the point of permanent rupture. The Iliad, then, even as it sings the immortality of its heroes, suggests an end to their imagined era and to the political order that is located there. Indeed, one of the great feats of the Iliad is to pose a critiquecentered upon the withdrawals and speeches of Achillesof the heroic order and the possibilities that it offers for mortal happiness. From this point of view, the essential work of the Iliad is one of negationagain, the epic is unjust with respect to the old, but potentially beneficent with respect to the future. The old heroic orderfor all its blinding beauties and exaltations, for all its aspirant motion toward the realm of the aestheticis also revealed as unable to quell strife and its attendant violence, as conducive to no just stability and, finally, as a desolation to its own greatest heroes (as the complaints and career of Achilles will dramatize) . To the extent that it thematizes the obsolescence of the old heroic order, the Iliad reveals an orientation toward the future; the poem cannot invent the forms that will govern the future, but it can present to the future a kind of tabula rasa, upon which the poet’s audience might reinscribe new meanings out of the wreckage of the old, upon which the heroes might be reassembled and once again directed toward human ends.

If the warrior order is permanently unmade over the course of the Iliad, it is upon the Shield of Achilles (XVIII.540-681) that the poet depicts a collective way of life closer to the historical experience and communal ethos of his late eighth-or seventh-century audience. The Shield is forged by Hephaestus, the god of craft, at the request of Thetis, Achilles’ mother. This new and immortal shield replaces Achilles’ prior shield, which he had given to his beloved Patroclus, who lost italong with his lifein combat with Hector, the Trojan prince and defender. In a distillation of pure fury following the death of Patroclus, Achilles has resolved to return to battle to avenge the death of Patroclus, with the full knowledge that his return will necessitate his death at Troy. When the Dawn-goddess delivers the gift of the Shield down from Olympus to Achilles’ camp, his companions, upon seeing the images worked upon the Shield, are struck with fear and avert their gaze (XIX.16-18). They cannot look upon the “splendor” of the Shield, for in the depiction of the way of life therewhich is that of the poet’s own audiencethe heroes see their own obsolescence. Achilles, however, gazes long upon the brilliance of the Shield with a combination of adrenal anger and deep pleasure; his eyes gleam back in response, as if themselves afire. The vision that he sees upon the Shieldof a world without heroes, of a world without the relentless martial strife of the Iliad itselfis the source of a renewed, visceral anger for Achilles because it is a world whose possibilities are not meant for him. Yet the vision is also a source of pleasure to him because it is of a world that his own great paroxysm of killing rage in the final quarter of the poem will usher in. In his pleasure at the sight of the Shield, Achilles can, as it were, acknowledge his own role in the foundation of the world to come, even if his role is preeminently one of extraordinary negation: Achilles is the hero whose discontent fully lays bare the failures of the heroic order from the point of view of mortal happiness, while his surpassing strength permits him to make that discontent murderously actual, as he devastates much of the heroic order itself in the final books of the poem. His perfection is such that he is both the culmination and the destruction of the traditional form.

Among the images upon the Shield, it is the depiction of the wedding procession and, in the passage immediately following, of a communal process of adjudication in a case of murder that are foundational for the city-state (XVIII.554-560 and 560-574); both images appear on the second ring of the Shield, in the city at peace. In the wedding procession, the “high-blazing” torches illumine a scene of music and revelry; the sight provokes wonder. The promise of the weddingwhich we do not see concluded, but always in motionis one of social unity, the joining together and mutual strengthening of families within the city. In the Iliad itself, such unity is always in pieces, defended in speech even as it is sundered in action. The Achaean cause at Troy is, of course, the recovery of Helen, whose wedding to Menelaus is overturned by her flight, whether compelled or voluntary, to Troy. The martial expedition to Troy presents itself as a defense of the conjugal union and, by extension, of the social work that the wedding accomplishesprimarily, the joining together of families and the establishment of a new social unit that might, in turn, offer guest-friendship to others and to outsiders, thus creating further links of social exchange and comity. And yet, as Achilles complains with great and piercing sarcasm in book IX, the larger social principle epitomized by the defense of Helen and her marriage has been granted no general applicability, but seems to apply only to Agamemnon and Menelaus (IX.381-388): “But why should Argives battle the Trojans? And why Has this miserable son of Atreus gathered and led

This great army here? Wasn’t it all for lovely

Blonde Helen? Can it be that of all mortal men, only

The sons of Atreus love their wives? Not so,

For any real man of good sense both loves and cares for

His own, as I loved her with all of my heart,

Though she was won by my spear.”

As it holds for Helen, so tooasserts Achillesmust it hold for Briseis: If the defense of Helen, the daughter of Zeus and the fairest of women, registers a principle that is true for any “man of good sense,” that same principle must also be applicable to Briseis, however much her status as captive places her among the lowest ranks of the Achaean camp. Briseis is, as Achilles remorselessly puts it, “won by [his] spear,” yet she has come, asserts Achilles, to be one who is beloved, “with all of my heart”to be, as it were, Achilles’ Helen, and so worthy of the same defense. By his own assertion, Achilles’ love is transformational: Briseis, who began her captivity in the Achaean camp as a “prize,” a sign of the social prestige of Achilles, has become a beloved, no less worthy of defense than Helen, the most illustrious of wives. Indeed, Achilles’ defense of Briseis might be a greater defense of the principle of the “man of good sense,” in that Achilles fights for the beloved of lowest status rather than of highest. (Achilles’ sarcasm surely redoubles in his attribution of this principle befitting men of “good sense” to the sons of Atreus; for we have already seen, in Agamemnon’s preference for Chryseis in book I, the extent of his regard for Clytemnestra, while Helen, though not “won by [the] spear” is won by the gift and is accordingly valued by Menelaus.) For Achilles, the abduction of Briseis by Agamemnon is equivalent to the abduction of Helen by Paris; but while Paris shanghaied Helen by stealth (though perhaps with Helen’s aid), Agamemnon abducted an unwilling Briseis in public in the very center of the warriors’ camp. Moreover, not a single one of Achilles’ comrades arose in his defense. The Achaeans thus become, to Achilles in his rage, not men “of good sense,” but “worthless” (1.270; literally, “nobodies” in the Greek), no longer deserving of Achilles’ protection, no longer entitled to any claims of mutual obligation, which include those of communal defense.

This collective failure to acknowledge Achilles’ own claims for Briseis (the refusal to grant that Briseis is as worthy of defense as Helen) is Achilles’ initial rationale for his otherwise traitorous desertion of the Achaeans. The Achaeans themselves might well respond that Achilles has not, in fact, married Briseis; her social status is not that of wife, but of concubine. Yet, it bears repeating that, from Achilles’ point of view, his own love for Briseis is transformational: The wedding is lacking, but the intensity of his emotion stands and comes to supersede collectively conferred attributions of status. Because Achilles’ words arethroughout the Iliadinvested with such extraordinary immediacy and because he claims for his words an absolute truth, there is a world-making quality about his speechesif of a world that would be made to Achilles’ desire. The manifesto with which Achilles begins his great speech of rejection in book IX is diagnostic: “The gates of Hades are not more hateful to me Than a man who hides one thing in his heart and says Something else” (Iliad IX.3 51-353 ) ; as abhorred as death is to life, so the false word is to the true. The truth that Achilles tells is not alwaysperhaps not even oftenthe truth that his community acknowledges, but it does concord with his own intertwining of principle and emotion; indeed, the very emotiveness of Achilles’ speech becomes itself revelatory of the principlesthe truthclaims, the valuesthat have been lost or covered over in the ceaseless hurly-burly of social exchange and accommodation to power.

Achilles’ dilemma, as well as a primary source of the Iliad’s thematic force, is that the claims of emotional truthclaims of love or of the values that might underlie all the necessary social transactionsare not those that the Achaean camp (or any political community) has much capacity to acknowledge or formalize. Indeed, to the Achaeans, Achilles has become as unapproachable and as incomprehensible as a wild beast. So protests Ajax, in a passionate burst of frustration at Achilles’ refusal of Agamemnon’s eventual proffers of reconciliation and, most cuttingly, of the appeals of his comrades: ” Achilles has filled his proud heart With savage, inhuman hatred. He has become A cruel and ruthless man, who cannot remember The love of his friends and how we idolized him … and all Because of one girl’ ” (Iliad IX.728-731 and 738-739). Ajax’ words are as poignant as they are, finally, uncomprehending of his former comrade: Ajax appeals to the paramount value of the warrior camp, the “love”in Homeric Greek, the philotesof his comrades; it is this love, this masculine camaraderie, that shouldon Ajax’ accountpersist and that should still obligate, even in the face of Agamemnon’s outrageousness. For it is philotes that not only joins comrade to comrade within the camp, but that, finally, makes the warrior’s life worth living. Philotes is an active principle of social unity that is both necessary and good.

And Achilles was himself once motivatedprior to his casting down of the staffby that same ideal of a collective philotes to which Ajax now appeals (indeed, of the three speeches of the book IX mission to Achilles, it is Ajax’ alone that affects Achilles and that elicits the ultimately fatal concession from Achilles that he will remain at Troy beyond the following morning). For Achilles, with his absolutist turn of mind, the principle, once disgraced, is no longer salvageable: The Achaeans remain “nobodies” ; he himself has become an “outsider” (IX.752). Likewise, Briseis is not, for Achilles, “just one girl” (as Ajax proclaims her). That is, she is not interchangeable with any other sign of male honor (in this regard, Ajax thinks no differently than Agamemnon). Around Briseiswho is, as I’ve argued above, proclaimed by Achilles to be a beloved, worthy of the same defense as Helenan alternative pole to that of the warrior’s life (and the warrior’s “beautiful death”) takes imagined form. For Achilles, the return to Phthia, the counter-heroic choice of the long and inglorious life, is conceived in book IX in terms of a marriage and though Achilles speaks of a marriage that his father Peleus will arrange, his own thoughts return repeatedly to Briseis (see again, IX.381-388, cited above). Briseis herself, in one of the most startling and poignant of Homeric speeches, refers to a promised wedding to Achilles in Phthia (XIX.333-339); returning to book I, we see that Achilles forsakes his initial plan simply to return to Phthia (I.193-195) once Agamemnon threatens the abduction of Briseis (I.210-211)he remains at Troy, then, for her. A marriage with Briseis crystallizes in imagination the life that might await if Achilles were to abandon Troy, if he were to opt for the counter-heroic life. As not “just one girl,” but as one who is, by Achilles’ account, “fitted to the heart,” Briseisif she were to wed Achillesaugurs the possibility that the social exchanges of the heroic order might yet be working beneficently, that the heroic order itself might be responsive to the desires of its members, perhaps even remediative of the misfortunes of those who, like Briseis, have suffered because of it.

But the wedding of Achilles and Briseis is, of course, a fantasy, persistently articulated even as it is dramatized as impossible. Likewise fantasy is the “choice of Achilles,” as he himself formulates it in the central passage from book IX (lines 471-478, discussed above): As the consummate traditional hero, Achilles must eventually find himself back upon the path of “unwithering fame.” Yet, the persistent desire to marry Briseis and lead an unheroic life, coupled with the very joylessness (indeed, the extraordinary murderousness) of Achilles’ eventual return to battle, suggests a certain vastation of the Homeric hero and of the warrior community he inhabits. Though the formthe necessary plotof the hero remains, that form has been emptied of choice-worthy content, from the vantage both of individual desire and of communal well-being. Though the possibility of Achilles’ returning to Phthia was never a “real” choice within the generic requirements of the epic, the opposite pole of immortal fame surely becomes no more choice-worthy for being compulsory. It is, again, a defining quality of the Iliad-poet’s art to thematize criticallynot simply to transmitthe premises of his tradition, and foremost the heroic exchange of life for poetry. As the neces sities of the traditional form are dramatized as at increasing odds with the projects of human desire, the inevitable death of the hero comes to seem bound less to the exaltations of art than to the desolations of the spirit. For Achilles, first the loss of Briseis, then the sacrifice of Patroclus: In each case, what is destroyed is the possibility of a love that might be sustained, that might make the heroic world once again meaningful. Such losses might well be reason for abandoning the heroic world.

Just as the wedding procession on the Shield is captured in mid-motion, if joyously directed toward completion, so too the following scene of adjudication is depicted in mid-trial, the outcome of the contention left pointedly unresolved. It is the value of a life that is now debated:

The men, though, had gone

To the place of assembly, where two of their number were striving

To settle a case concerning a murdered man’s blood-price.

The defendant declared his cause to the people and vowed

He was willing to pay the whole price, but the other refused

To accept it, and each was eager to have a judge’s

Decision in his behalf The people were cheering

Both men, some favoring one and some the other,

But heralds held all of them back from where in the sacred

Circle the elders sat on the polished stones,

Each taking the great-lunged herald’s staff when it came

To him in his turn. With this each elder would come

To the fore and give his opinion. And in the center

Two talents of gold were lying, the fee to be given

To him who uttered the straightest and truest judgment. (XVIII. 560-574)

The murderer is claiming that if the judge were to rule in his favor, he would pay a blood-price to the relatives of the deceased; comparative Near-Eastern texts suggest that in instances where blood-price is a possibility, the murderer is claiming that there were mitigating circumstances. On the other side, the relatives of the murdered man are refusing to accept any blood-price; they are claiming that the murder was aggravated and that they are entitled to blood revenge. In the proposal of the defendant, the payment of the blood-price would serve to save his own life, as well as to maintain the peace of the city as a whole; the kin of the murdered man, in opposition, are claiming that the life of the dead man can be recompensed only by the shedding of the murderer’s bloodthe honor of the family is preeminent. For the community, the intransigence of the kin raises the destabilizing possibility of the vendetta, in which the collective peace is overmatched by the private, self-perpetuating feuds of particular extended families. The community thus has a pressing, constitutive interest that the kin of the murdered man should accept the blood-price; that is, the kin should accept a form of symbolic substitutiona price-for the person lost. The good that is thus purchasedand the final measure of valueis the unity of the community. The adjudication of murder is, of course, a limit case, but it also crystallizes a version of the social contract, in which each member of the communitylike the kin of the murdered manis asked to accept recompense, denominated in the coin of the community, for the loss of those immediate personal desireswhether for vengeance or for other forms of self-assertionthat are potentially disruptive.

The very inclusion upon the Shield of the trial-scene attests to the historical presence of an institutionthe courtthat is foundational for the emergent city-state: A place of adjudication is now present, in which conflicting claims might be heard and deliberated upon. Contention need not always end in irremediable, bloody division. In a sense, the staff that was cast down and shattered by Achilles in book I has been re-crafted and is now carried by the civic elders, as each in his turn takes hold of the staff and rises to speak to an approving or disapproving citizenry, who stand arrayed as an audience in an outer circle that surrounds the inner. This image of adjudication concords with the historical shift that I outlined above from the authority of the king to that of the collective citizenry. The speaker’s staff has been reassembled out of the pieces of its shattered predecessor, butin the re-crafting-it has been given new, humanized content, emblematic of a polity that now locates authoritative speech within a communal center rather than upon a single, divinized apex. It is the circle within which the speakers meet that is now “sacred.”

We might again, then, propose that the action of the Iliad finds dramatic form between the shattered speaker’s staff of book I and the reconstituted staff upon the Shield of book XVIII: Achilles’ initial casting down of a prior icon of the collective mediation of nature and cultureof the individual and his communitycreates the chaotic, charged space (a battlefield real and metaphoric) within which the poem explores the values ascribed to a mortal life: the exchange values (the blood-prices) set by the community, the absolute values set by the self. Upon the Shield itself, the outcome of the trial remains untold: We never learn if the rage of the aggrieved kin of the murdered man is assuaged by acceptance of the blood-price, if the collective good of the community is, thus, acknowledged and the pacifying potential of the court realized. This incompletion perhaps reflects the very newness in the early archaic period of the court as an institutionits still uncertain powers, its potential rather than its fulfillment as yet. But the incompletion of the scene surely also registers the extraordinary emotional and psychological difficulty of subordinating the imperatives of individ ual principle and desire to the claims of the collectivity. The very intransigence of the desire for revenge, the persistence of the mourner’s grief that cannot be assuaged by any blood-price, the crude tyranny of the (necessary) social fiction that one person’s life can be recompensed by the substitution of another’sall attest to the difficulty and psychic cost of the subordination of individual aspiration and grief to the collective weal. Human social life is, of course, constituted by ceaseless negotiations of individual passions and communal goods; exchange values are ever determined to better or worse ends. These exchanges can be more or less coercive, more or less devaluing, more or less responsive to the notion that human lives are, finally, neither interchangeable nor mute.

Yet it is in this ceaseless negotiation of value, whether to the better or to the worse end, that a community maintains its equilibrium. The decisive and tragic break arises when one refuses to enter any longer into such exchanges, when such constant rearticulations of value are only a murder of spiritor are, as Achilles says, as hateful as the gates of Hades (IX.351-353).This is a point about politics but also a point about consciousness. Upon the Shield, the depiction of the scene of adjudication is a wondrous sign of a potentially more humane system of social exchanges, where the collective peace is negotiated by means that offer greater freedom to human speech and reason; the passing of the heroic order makes such a humanized political realm possible. But the incompletion of the adjudication scene might also suggest that even such humane communal advances might not be finally adequate to the consciousness of the individual. The question of the blood-price will always persist, as will those who, to their grief and to our fascination, find the price impossible to set and the loss of value unconscionable: For I put a much Higher value on life than on all the treasures men say

Were contained in the rich and populous city of Troy

Before we sons of the Achaeans came, or,

For that matter, all the wealth laid up behind

The marble threshold of the archer god Phoebus Apollo

In rocky Pytho. For raiding can get a man cattle

And splendid fat sheep, and barter can get him tripods

And sorrel horses. But once his soul goes out

Through the barrier of his teeth, neither raiding nor barter

Can make it return. (IX.461-471 )

Achilles asserts that his own life is beyond value, greater than all the abductable prizes of the world, greater even than the promised compensation of epic poetry. Achilles’ assertion of a life beyond value is, from one vantage, a great arrogance and a great delusion: Human beings are social animals and society is comprised not of the sum of individuals, but of the exchanges that transpire between them. The fascination of non-participation can itself be blinding to the values that might be found and made among the speeches and loves of others. But Achilles, for all his arrogance, might remind us that speech is also the private means of constructing an ego, of exploring a consciousness, of determining the values that might underlie the network of signs.

We are ourselves, in the West, the distant heirs of the court and city-state that is prefigured on the Shield of Achilles. And this remains a descent worth reclaiming, if it might still inspirit efforts to expand the circle of political speech beyond that which is depicted upon the Shield. But Achilles, in his assertion of the life beyond value and of the uncompensated absoluteness of death, reminds us of the prices and limits of culture itself. And in that sense, Achilles is also akin to the poet, for it is one of the characteristic works of poetry to recover, impossibly, the values that precede signs and the ways in which individual consciousness is ultimately irremediable, untamable by culture and all its signifying systems.

Bruce M. King earned his B.A., M.A., and Ph.D. from the University of Chicago, and has taught classics and humanities at Columbia University, Reed College, and the University of Chicago. Recently a fellow at the Center for Hellenic Studies, King focuses on archaic and classical Greek literature and philosophy. He is currently a Blegen Research Fellow at Vassar College.

A NOTE ON THE TRANSLATOR

Ennis Rees was born in Newport News, Virginia, in 1925. He graduated from William and Mary and took his M.A. and Ph.D. degrees at Harvard. Before joining the faculty of the University of South Carolina, where he is a Professor of English, he taught at Duke and Princeton. His study, The Tragedies of George Chapman: Renaissance Ethics in Action, was published in 1954 by the Harvard University Press, and his verse translation of the Odyssey by Random House in 1960. This was followed by the Iliad in 1963. Both poems are reprinted in the Library of Liberal Arts published by Bobbs-Merrill. Among the record albums Mr. Rees has made for Spoken Arts are two of selections from his Homer. His Fables from Aesop was published by the Oxford University Press in 1966. A book of his poems was published by the University of South Carolina Press in 1964 and his Selected Poems in 1973. He has written a number of books of verse especially for children, including Riddles, Riddles Everywhere, The Songs of Paul Bunyan and Tony Beaver, Tiny Tall Tales, Brer Rabbit and His Tricks, The Little Greek Alphabet Book, and Potato Talk. He and his wife live in Columbia and have three children.

BOOK I

The Quarrel

Sing, 0 Goddess, the ruinous wrath of Achilles,

Son of Peleus, the terrible curse that brought

Unnumbered woes upon the Achaeans and hurled

To Hades so many heroic souls, leaving

Their bodies the prey of dogs and carrion birds.

The will of Zeus was done from the moment they quarreled,

Agamemnon, son of Atreus, and godlike Achilles.1

Which of the gods caused two such men to contend?

The son of Zeus and Leto. Deeply incensed

With King Agamemnon for failing to honor Chrysesa

His priest, Apollo sent a plague on the soldiers,

And many people were dying. Chryses had come

To the swift Achaean ships to ransom his daughter,

And the ransom he bore was boundless. In suppliant hands

On a staff of gold he held the sacred fillet

Of far-darting Apollo, and he made his plea to all

The Achaeans, especially to the two sons of Atreus,2

Marshalers of many:

“O Atreus’ sons and you other

Well-greaved Achaeans, may the gods who live on Olympus

Allow you to sack the city of Priam and reach

Your homes in safety. But reverence the son of Zeus,

Apollo who strikes from afartake this ransom

And return my precious daughter.”

All the other Achaeans

Supported the priest and shouted to reverence him

And accept the splendid ransom. But Atreus’ son

Agamemnon was far from pleased. Roughly he sent him

Away with these harsh words:

“Don’t let me find you,

Old man, by the hollow ships, neither loitering now

Nor coming back later, or you will find small protection

In the sacred staff and fillet. The girl I will not

Let go! Before that she’ll grow old in Argos, far from

Her own native land, working at the loom and sharing

My bed. Now go, old man! and you’ll go much safer

If you don’t provoke me.”

At this the old priest was afraid

And did as the King bade him do. Without a word

He walked off along the shore of the loud-booming sea,

But when he had gone some distance he fervently prayed

To his lord Apollo, whom lovely-haired Leto bore:

“Hear me, 0 god of the silver bow, you

That bestride in your power Chryse and sacred Cilla

And mightily rule in TenedosO Smintheus, if ever

I built a temple that pleased you, or made burnt-offering

To you of rich thigh-pieces from bulls or goats,

Fulfill this prayer of mine by using your arrows

To make the Danaansb pay for the tears I have shed.“3

Thus he prayed, and Phoebus Apollo heard him.

Down from the peaks of Olympus he came with a heart

Full of wrath and his bow and closed quiver about his shoulders.

The arrows rattled on the back of the angry god

As he moved, and like night he arrived. Then he sat down

Some distance away from the ships and shot the first arrow,

And the silver bow’s twang was awesome and chilling indeed.

At first he shot at the mules and flashing-swift dogs,

But then he aimed his bitter shafts at the men

Themselves, and struck! And pyres of the dead were everywhere

Constantly burning.

For nine days the deadly shafts

Of the god sped through the army, but on the tenth day

The white-armed goddess Hera put into the heart

Of Achilles to call the men to the place of assembly,

For it distressed her to see the Danaans dying.

When they were assembled and seated, fleet-footed Achilles

Stood up in their midst, and spoke:

“Now, 0 son

Of Atreus, it seems that we shall be baffled and driven

Back home, if indeed we escape with our lives from the war

And pestilence too that plague the Achaeans. But come,

Let us consult some prophet or priest, or some reader

Of dreamsfor even a dream is from Zeussomeone

Who may be able to tell us why Phoebus Apollo

Rages so fiercely. If it be because of a hecatombc

Or vow unperformed, perhaps the god will accept

The savor of sacrificed lambs and goats without blemish

And change his mind about plaguing us all this way.”

When he had spoken and sat down again, up stood

Calchas, son of Thestor, he who was far

The best reader of ominous birds, who knew what was

And had been and things that were to be, and who had

By means of the keen prophetic vision given

To him by Apollo guided the Achaean ships

To Ilium. Now, with all good intentions, he addressed

The assembly:

“Zeus-loved Achilles, you bid me explain

The wrath of far-smiting Apollo. Therefore I will.

But first you must make up your mind and swear to defend me,

Swear that you’ll be both willing and quick with word

And hand. For I fear I am going to anger a man

Who rules with might over all the Argives, and from whom

The Achaeans take orders. A king, you know, is always

More lordly when angry at a low-ranking man. Even

If he swallows his wrath at the time, in his heart he nurses it

Still, till he has his revenge. So decide whether you

Will protect me.”

Then swift Achilles answered him thus:

“Be bold, and tell us what you can of the god’s mind and will,

For by Zeus-loved Apollo I swear to you that so long

As I live on earth and have my sight, no one

Shall hurt you here by the hollow ships, no one

In the Danaan host, though you mean Agamemnon himself,

Who claims to be far the best of all the Achaeans.”

At this the peerless prophet took heart, and spoke:

“It’s not for a hecatomb or broken vow that he blames us,

But because Agamemnon insulted his priest by not

Accepting the ransom and giving the man his daughter.

Thus the far-smiting god has given us woes,

And will continue to give them. He will not remove

This loathsome plague till we return to her father

His wide-eyed daughternor can we accept any ransom

And we must carry to Chryse a holy hecatomb.

Only then can we hope to change the mind of Apollo.”

When he had spoken and sat down again, the son

Of Atreus, the wide-ruling wager of war Agamemnon,

Stood up in a rage among them. His black heart boiled

With wrath and his eyes were like fire when it blazes. Fixing

Calchas with an evil scowl, he railed at him thus:

“Prophet of misery! you’ve still got your first good thing

To foretell for me. Unhappy events you always

Enjoy predicting, but never yet have you prophesied

Anything pleasant, much less brought it to pass.

And now in the midst of this Danaan meeting you go on

Spouting your oracles, telling the men it’s because

Of me that the far-darting god is inflicting these woes

Upon them, because I refused the royal ransom

For the darling daughter of Chryses, since I much prefer

To have her at home with me. I would rather have her,

In fact, than Clytemnestra, my wife. For this girl is quite

Her equal, just as tall and good looking, just as

Smart and clever with her hands. Even so, I want

To give the girl back, if that is the thing to do.

I prefer the men safe and well, not sick and dying.

But you must prepare a prize for me at once.

For me to be the only Argive here

Without some gift of honor would hardly be right!

As you can see, my prize is going elsewhere.”

Then Achilles, noble and strong, answered him thus:

“Renowned son of Atreus, most covetous of men, how

Can the gallant Achaeans give you a prize? If there

Is some large public treasure, we’ve yet to learn where it is,

And the plunder we took from the cities we sacked has already

Been divided. Nor can we rightly take these things back

From the people. But you, give up the girl as the god

Demands. We Achaeans will recompense you three

And four times over, if Zeus ever wills that we sack

The well-walled city of Troy.”

And lordly Agamemnon

Spoke in reply: “Though you be, 0 godlike Achilles,

A man of great valor, don’t try to outwit me like that,

For I’ll not be persuaded or gotten the best of by you!

Do you tell me to give the girl back so that you can keep

What you’ve got while I sit here with nothing? If the gallant

Achaeans give me a prize to my liking, and equal

To the one I am losing, all rightbut if they do not,

Then I myself will come and take your gift

Of honor, or that of Ajax, or I’ll seize and bear off

The prize of Odysseus. Wrathful indeed will be

The man to whom I make that visit! But this

We can think about later. Right now let us launch a black ship

On the sacred sea, get enough rowers together,

And put on board a hecatomb along with the girl,

The lovely Chryseis herself And let one of our leaders

Take charge, either Ajax, or Idomeneus, or godly Odysseus,

Or, son of Peleus, you yourself, most dreaded

Of men, that so you may offer gifts and appease

The far-working god.”

Then swift Achilles, scowling

At him, replied: “You greedy-minded shamelessness

Incarnate! how can any decent Achaean want to

Take orders from you, to go where you tell him to go

Or battle his best with hostile men? I didn’t

Come here to fight because of the Trojan spearmen.4

They’ve never done me any harm, never rustled my cattle

Or horses, or plundered in fertile Phthia a harvest

Of mine, for between here and there lie a great many things

Shadowy mountains and crashing sea. But we

Came here with you, the incredibly shameless, in an effort

To gratify you! to get satisfaction for Menelaus

And you! covetous cur that you are. All this

You turn your back on and choose to forget, and now

You threaten to take my prize of prestige, the gift

I got from the sons of Achaeans and for which I labored

So much. Whenever we warriors sack a populous

Trojan city, my share of the booty is never

Equal to yours. True, I get more, much more,

Than my share of chaotic battle, but when it comes

To dividing the loot, your portion is always far larger

Than mine. Worn out with fighting, I go back to my ships

And with me take some pitiful little prize

Allotted to melittle, but mine. Now, though,

I’ll go back to Phthia, for I would much rather take all

My beaked ships and go home than stay on here in disgrace

To heap up wealth for you!”

And the king of men

Agamemnon answered him thus: “Go on and run,

If you feel the urge so strongly. I do not beg you

To stay on my account. I’ve others here

Who honor and respect me, including the best of all counselors,

Zeus himself. Of all the god-nurtured leaders,

You are most hateful to me, for strife is always

Dear to your heart, and battles and fighting. And if

You’re so full of valor, that’s the gift of a god.

So take your ships and your men and go lord it over

The Myrmidons at home. I have no regard for you,

Nor do I care how angry you are. But see now

How you like this. Since Phoebus Apollo is taking

Chryseis from me, I’m returning her with a ship

And men of minebut I myself will come

To your lodge and take your prize, the lovely Briseis,5

That once and for all you may know how greatly I

Exceed you in power and excellence, and another man

Will think twice before calling himself my equal and right

In my presence comparing himself with me!”

He spoke,

And the pain from his words went deep in the son of Peleus,

Rending the heart in his shaggy breast two ways

As to what he should do, whether to draw the sharp sword

By his thigh, break up the meeting, and kill the son

Of Atreus, or swallow his rage and control his temper,

While he was thus divided in mind and heart,

With that huge sword of his half drawn from the scabbard,

Pallas Athena came down from the sky, sent

By white-armed Hera, the goddess whose heart held equal

Love and concern for both of the angry men.

Standing behind him, she caught the son of Peleus

By a handful of tawny hair and made herself visible

To him alone, nor could any of the others see her.

Astonished, Achilles turned, and as he looked

In the blazing blue eyes of the goddess he knew her at once

For Pallas Athena, and his words came winged with surprise:

“Why, 0 daughter of aegis-bearing Zeus, do you come again

Now? Can it be that you wanted to witness the hubrisd

And gross overreaching of Atreus’ son Agamemnon?

Well let me say this, and believe me I mean what I say.

That arrogant pride of his may shortly cost him

His life!”

And the bright-eyed goddess Athena replied:

“I came down from the sky to help you control

Your wrath, if only you will obey, and the goddess

White-armed Hera sent me, for her heart holds equal

Love and concern for both of you. So come,

No fighting, and don’t draw your sword. Wound him with words

Instead, and tell him just how it will be. And now

I say this to you, and I too mean what I say.

On account of this arrogant insult, splendid gifts

Worth three times as much as what you may lose will one day

Be given to you. So hold yourself back, and obey us.”

Then Achilles, swift of foot, answered her thus:

“No man, O goddess, can ignore the word of two

Such powers, no matter how wrathful his heart may be.

To obey is surely better. The gods hear all

The prayers of him who heeds them.”

He spoke, and restrained

His mighty hand on the silver hilt. Then obeying

The word of Athena he thrust the long blade back into

The scabbard. And the goddess left for Olympus and the palace

Of aegis-bearing Zeus, to mingle with the other gods there.

And again Achilles, wrathful as ever, spoke violent

Words to the son of Atreus: “You drunken sot!

With the greedy eyes of a dog and the heart of a deer!

You never have courage enough to arm yourself

For battle along with the rest of us, or go

With the best Achaeans on a crafty ambush. You’d rather

Die than do either! You much prefer to go

Through this huge camp and seize for yourself the gift

Of anyone here who disagrees with you, you wretched

Devourer of what we win! And truly, the men

You rule are also worthless, or this, 0 son

Of Atreus, would be the last of your arrogant insults.

But I’ll make something clear right now, and swear a great oath.

I swear by this staff I holdwhich no longer has bud

Or leaf since it left its stump in the mountains, nor ever

Grows green again and blooms since the sharp bronze stripped it

Of foliage and bark, but which now the sons of Achaeans

Bear in their hands, they who are judges among us

And uphold the laws of Godby this staff I swear

A great oath that surely someday a desperate need

For Achilles shall come upon all the sons of Achaeans,

Nor will you be able to help them at all, no matter

How grieved you are, when man-killing Hector is cutting them

Down by the dozen. Then, I say, you’ll rend

Your heart with wrath and remorse for failing to honor

The best Achaean of all!”

So saying, Achilles

Dashed to the ground the staff with its studs of bright gold,

And sat down, while opposite him the son of Atreus

Went on venting his rage. Then among them up stood

Nestor, the silver-tongued speaker of Pylos, from whose

Lips the words flowed sweeter than honey. Since he

First saw the light, two generations of mortal

Men had come and gone in sacred Pylos,

And now among the third he was the King.

In an effort to help, he addressed the assembly:

“For shame!

Surely now great grief comes on the land

Of Achaea. But think how glad it would make King Priam

And all of his sons along with the other Trojans

To learn of this wrangling between youyou that among

The Danaans stand first in counsel and warfare. But listen

To me. Both of you are younger than I,

And in other days I have campaigned with mightier

Men than you, nor did they ever belittle

Or disregard me. Never since have I seen such warriors,

Nor ever again shall I see such heroes as Peirithous

Was and Dryas, marshaler of men, and Caeneus

And Exadius and Polyphemus, godlike in his might, and that equal

Of the immortal gods, Theseus, son of Aegeus.

Of all men reared on earth, these were the strongest.

The strongest, I say, and with the strongest they fought

With the monstrous mountain Centaurs, and the slaughter they there

Performed was terrible indeed.6 I came a long way

From distant Pylos and mingled with those very men,

For I came at their summons. And in the war I did

My personal share of the fighting. There are today

No mortals alive on earth who would be fit

To fight with those men. Still, they listened to me

And took my advice. And you too would do better to hearken

And heed. You, Agamemnon, are a man of great power,

But don’t try taking that girl away. Leave her

Alone, the prize of him to whom the Achaeans

Gave her. And you, 0 son of Peleus, do not

Presume to pit your might in strife against

A sceptered King, who derives his power from Zeus

And therefore has no common glory. You

Are the son of a goddess and valiant indeed, yet he

Is the mightier man, since he rules over more people.

Check your rage, Atridesin fact, I beg you

To extinguish this wrath of yours against Achilles,

Who in the moil of horrible war is the mightiest

Mainstay we Achaeans have.”

And ruling Agamemnon

Replied: “All that you say, 0 aged one,

Is just and wise enough, but this man wants

To be higher than anyone else. He wants to rule

Over allto be King, I tell you, and give orders to all.

Well I know one, at least, who won’t take orders

From him! So the immortal gods made him

A mighty spearmandoes that give him the right

To go around spouting insults?”

Then the gifted Achilles

Interrupted, saying: “Indeed, for if I yielded

To you in all things, no matter what you commanded,

I would be called a coward and good for nothing.

So boss the others about, but give no more orders

To me! I’m through with doing what you say. And here

Is something else that you will do well to remember.

I will not fight with you or anyone else

For the girl, since you do but take what you gave. But of all

That I’ll have left by that swift black ship of mine,

I warn you not to take away anything else!

Go on and try, if you like, so that all may learn

I mean businessand see how soon your black blood covers

My spear!”

When the violent words had all been spoken,

The two men arose and broke up the meeting beside

The Achaean ships. Achilles strode off to his shelters

And well-balanced ships along with Patroclus and all

The rest of his comrades. But the son of Atreus ordered

Others to drag a swift ship down into the sea

And he picked out twenty oarsmen. Then they drove on board

For the god the hecatomb of cattle and brought Chryseis

Of the lovely cheeks and put her aboard. And Odysseus,

Resourceful as ever, mounted the deck and took charge.

When all were embarked and sailing the foamy sea-lanes,

Atreus’ son commanded the army to wash,

And they purified themselves in the salt sea-water and offered

To Apollo appeasing hecatombs of bulls and goats

By the shore of the unresting sea. And the plentiful smoke

Curled up in the sky and eddying with it the savor.

While the men were busy with offerings throughout the camp,

Agamemnon proceeded to fulfill his threat to Achilles.

He called his heralds and nimble squires, Talthybius

And Eurybates, and spoke to them thus: “Go to the lodge

Of Peleus’ son Achilles, take the hand

Of the beautiful-cheeked Briseis, and bring her to me.

And if he refuses to give her, I myself will go

With more men and take her, which will be far more painful for

him.”

With this harsh order he sent them away on their mission,

And they, reluctant, walked off along the beach

Of the desolate sea till they came to the shelters and ships

Of the Myrmidons.e They found Achilles sitting by his lodge

And black ship, nor was he glad to see them. Frozen

With fear and embarrassment, they stood in awe of the Prince,

Unable to speak a word or ask a question.

But he knew very well what they wanted, and spoke to them, saying:

“Come here, good heralds, and welcome. You bear the words

Of God and men, and my quarrel is not with you,

But Agamemnon, who sent you here for the girl Briseis.

So come, god-sprung Patroclus, bring out the girl

And give her to these men to take back with them. And in

That day when I shall be desperately needed to save

The Achaeans from shameful destruction these two shall witness

For me before blissful gods and mortal men

And the stupid King himself. For surely his rage

Will be the ruin of him yet. If he wants his Achaeans to fight

With both success and survivors, he had better try looking

Before as well as behind!”

He spoke, and Patroclus

Obeyed his dear friend. He led from the lodge Briseis,

Lovely of face, and gave her to go with the men.

And back they went down the line of Achaean ships

And with them the unwilling girl. Now Achilles, weeping,

Withdrew from his comrades, and sitting down by himself

On the beach by the silvery surf he looked out over

The wine-dark sea, stretched out his arms, and fervently

Prayed to his own dear mother:

“Since, 0 Mother,

You bore me, though only to live for a few short years,

Surely Olympian Zeus should have given me honor,

But now that high-thundering god has given me quite

The reverse. For truly the son of Atreus, imperial

Agamemnon, has grossly insulted me. He has robbed me

Of my gift of honor and now he keeps her himself!”

Thus in tears he spoke, and far down in the sea,

Sitting by her ancient father, his goddess mother

Heard him.7 And quickly she left the gray sea like a mist

And sank down in front of her weeping son, gently

Caressed him, called him by name, and said:

“My child,

Why are you crying? What sorrow has entered your heart?

Keep it in no longer. Speak out, and share it with me.”

Then moaning, swift-footed Achilles spoke to her thus:

“You know. Why should I tell it to one who already

Knows all about it? We went out to Thebe, the sacred

City of Eëtion, destroyed and plundered it all,

And brought the booty back here. This the sons

Of Achaeans divided fairly among them, and they chose

For the son of Atreus the fair-cheeked daughter of Chryses.

But he, as a priest of far-smiting Apollo, came

To the speedy ships of the gallant bronze-clad Achaeans

To ransom his daughter, and the ransom he bore was boundless.

In suppliant hands on a staff of gold he carried

The fillets of far-darting Apollo, and he pleaded with all

The Achaeans, especially with the two sons of Atreus,

Marshalers of many:

“O sons of Atreus and you other

Well-greaved Achaeans, may the gods who live on Olympus

Allow you to sack the city of Priam and reach

Your homes in safety. But reverence the son of Zeus,

Apollo who strikes from afartake this ransom

And return my precious daughter.’

“All the other Achaeans

Supported the priest and shouted to reverence him

And accept the splendid ransom. But Atreus’ son

Agamemnon was far from pleased. Roughly he sent him

Away, threatening him harshly. And back he went,

A very angry old man, and Apollo, who loves him dearly,

Sent a shaft of sickness against the Argives.

His arrows flew through the wide Achaean camp,

And more and more people were dying. Then a prophet whom we

Could depend on told us the mind and will of the god

Who smites from afar, and I was the first to suggest

That we try to appease him. At this a great rage gripped

Agamemnon, and he uttered a threat that has now been fulfilled.

For already the quick-eyed Achaeans are taking one girl

To Chryse aboard a swift ship along with gifts

For the god, and heralds have come to my lodge and taken

The other, Briseis, my gift from the sons of Achaeans.

But if you really have power, protect your own son.

If you ever did or said anything that gladdened

The heart of Zeus, go now to Olympus and plead

With him. Many times in the halls of my father I have heard you

Glory in telling how you were the only immortal

To help lord Zeus of the dark and lowering sky

And rescue him from shame when other Olympians

Hera, Poseidon, and Pallas Athenaplotted

To bind him fast. Then, 0 goddess, you came

And untied him, but first with all speed you summoned to lofty

Olympus him of the hundred hands, known as

Briareus to the gods, but Aegaeon to all mankind,

A monster even more powerful than his father Poseidon.

He crouched by the side of Cronos’ son, exulting

In his reputation, and the blessed gods were afraid

Of him and made no attempt to bind Zeus again.

Go sit by his side and remind him of this, and embrace

His knees in earnest prayer for him to support

The Trojans, but as for their foes, the Achaeans, may he trap them

Between the sterns of their ships and litter the beach

With dead and dying men, that all may share

The reward of their King, and that Atreus’ son, imperial

Agamemnon, may know how blind he was to give

No honor at all to the bravest and best of Achaeans! “

Then Thetis, weeping, replied: “My child, my child,

Why did I raise you to all this misery? I only

Wish that you might have stayed by your ships and escaped

All grief and tears, for the life allotted to you

Is short, not long at all. And now not only

Will you die young, but you have to suffer as well,

And more than anyone else. Hence, back home

In our halls, I bore you to a fate most miserable. But I

Will go in person to snowy Olympus and tell

This grievance of yours to Zeus, the lover of lightning,

In hope of his help. Meanwhile, you remain

By the swift seagoing ships, and go on in your wrath

Against the Achaeans and your utter refusal to fight.

For yesterday Zeus departed for the stream of Oceanusf

To attend a feast of the excellent Ethiopians, and all

The other gods went with him. In twelve days he

Will be back on Olympus, and then to the brazen-floored palace

Of Zeus I will go, and embrace his knees in prayer.

I believe I shall win him over.”

With this she left him

There on the beach, resentful and brooding on account of

The fair-gowned woman they had forcefully, spitefully

Taken from him. But Odysseus came to Chryse

With the holy hecatomb. Once they were in the deep harbor

They furled the sail and stowed it within the black ship

And lowered the mast by the forestays till quickly they brought it

To rest in the crutch. Then with oars they went on and backed her

Into the moorings, threw the anchor-stones from the bow,

Tied her up from the stern, and stepped out themselves

On the shore of the sea. And out of the ship they led

Far-smiting Apollo’s hecatomb, and also out

Of the seagoing ship stepped the beautiful daughter of Chryses.

Then able Odysseus led her to the altar

And into the arms of her dear father, saying:

“O Chryses,

Agamemnon, king of men, sent me to bring you

Your daughter, and to offer to Phoebus in behalf of the Danaans

A sacred hecatomb, that we may appease the god

Who has brought upon the Argives great wailing and sorrow.”

With these words he placed her in the arms of her father, and he

With much rejoicing embraced his dear child. For the god

They quickly stood the holy hecatomb in order

About the well-built altar, washed their hands,

And took up the grains of barley. Then Chryses raised

His arms and prayed aloud this prayer for them:

“Hear me, 0 god of the silver bow, you

That bestride in your power Chryse and sacred Cilla

And mightily rule in Tenedoshear as you heard me

Before when I prayed. You honored me then, and woefully

Smote the Achaean host. Grant me now

Another prayer and dispel the deadly disease

That plagues the Danaans.”

Thus he earnestly prayed

And Phoebus Apollo heard him. Then, when all

Had prayed, they sprinkled the grains of barley, drew back

The heads of the victims, cut their throats, flayed them,

And sliced out the thigh-pieces. These they wrapped in thick layers

Of fat and on them laid still more raw meat.

All this the old priest burned on the flaming wood,

And over the meat he sprinkled the sparkling wine,

While around him the young men held their forks of five tines.

Now when the thigh-pieces were wholly consumed and all

Had tasted of the vital parts, they cut up the rest,

Spitted and roasted it well, and drew it all

From the spits. Having eaten and drunk as much as they wanted,

The young men filled the bowls brimful of wine,

And then the goblets, first pouring libation drops

In the goblets of all. Then, for the rest of the day,

They sang to the god in melodious propitiation,

The sons of Achaeans hymning far-working Apollo

With a beautiful paean of praise, and he heard their singing

With a heart full of joy.

When the sun went down and darkness

Came on, they lay down to sleep by the hawsers at the stern

Of the ship, but as soon as Dawn of the rosy fingers

Arrived they put out to sea for the huge Achaean

Camp. Apollo sent a fast-following wind,

And when they had set up the mast and spread the white sail,

The sheet soon bellied before that wind, and the dark waves

Moaned and hissed about the bow, as the ship

Cut swiftly through them ever closer to her destination.

When they came to the huge encampment, they dragged the black ship

Well up on the beach, forced the large props beneath her,

And scattered for shelters and ships of their own.

Meanwhile,

Fast Achilles, the god-sprung son of Peleus,

Remained as wrathful as ever beside his swift ships

Without once going to the man-enhancing place

Of assembly or into the fighting. He stayed where he was,

Eating his heart out with longing for the battle and war-cry.

When the twelfth dawn came, the gods everlasting returned

To Olympus, all together with Zeus in the lead.

Nor did Thetis forget the plea of her son. In the early

Morning she rose from the waves, into the great sky,

And up to Olympus, where she found far-seeing Zeus,

Sitting apart from the others on the highest peak

Of the craggy mountain. She sank down before him and took hold

Of his knees with her left hand while with her right she held

His chin, and spoke in supplication to her lord God,

The son of Cronos:

“O Father Zeus, if ever

Among the immortals any word or deed of mine

Was helpful to you, grant this prayer for me:

Honor my son, who is doomed beyond all others

To an early death. But now the commander-in-chief

Agamemnon has insulted him grossly by taking and keeping

His prize of prestigean act of arrogant pride!

You at least, 0 lord of all wisdom, Olympian Zeus,

Give him honor and glory. Increase the might

Of the Trojans and give them the upper hand until

The Achaeans honor my son and glorify him

With repayment.”

She spoke, but Zeus the cloud-gatherer sat

A long time without one word of reply, while Thetis

Kept on as before, clinging close to his knees, and again

She put her plea: “Tell me now that you’ll do this

For me, and promise with a nod of your head, or else,

Since you have nothing to fear, go on and say no.

Then I will be sure how much among all the immortals

I am respected the least.”

Then greatly disturbed,

Cloud-gathering Zeus replied: “Sorry stuff

When you do anything to cause trouble between Hera and me

And start her to nagging and making me lose my temper.

Already she is constantly making reproaches

In the presence of the other immortals and accusing me

Of helping the Trojans in battle. But now you’d better

Go, before Hera gets suspicious, and I

Will think these things over and bring them to pass. Therefore

I will nod my head to you, that you may be certain,

For of all immortal pledges a nod from me

Is the surest. No word of mine to which I bow

My head may be recalled, or false, or unaccomplished.”

So spoke the son of Cronos, and the King’s ambrosial

Locks fell forward as he nodded, bowing

His iron-dark brows, and huge Olympus quaked.

When these two had made their plans, they parted. The goddess

Sprang from gleaming Olympus into the depths

Of the sea, and Zeus went to his palace. When they saw

The face of their Father, the other gods rose from their seats,

Nor was there one who dared to wait in his chair,

But all stood up before him. Thus there he sat down

On his throne. Then Hera took one look and knew

That he and a goddess had had their heads together

He and silver-shod Thetis, daughter of the briny

Old man of the sea. So at once she spoke these words,

Taunting and sharp, to Zeus, the son of Cronos:

“Now which of the gods, my trickster, has again been plotting

With you? You always enjoy keeping things from me,

Pondering matters in secret and pronouncing upon them,

And you never willingly tell me what you’re planning.”

Then the Father of gods and men answered her thus:

“Hera, don’t ever hope to know all my thoughts.

Many of them you would find very hard and unpleasant,

Even though you are my wife. What it is right

For you to hear, no god or man shall know

Before you. But what I plan apart from the gods

About all such matters you are not to ask or inquire!”

To which the heifer-eyed queenly Hera: “Most dreadful

Son of Cronos, what kind of talk is that!

Truly too often in time gone by I have failed

To ask or inquire, while you went on at your leisure

Plotting whatever you pleased. Now, though, I

Am awfully afraid that the briny old sea-ancient’s daughter,

Thetis of the silver feet, has taken you in.

For right early this morning she sat with you and embraced

Your knees. And to her, I think, you nodded your head

In a solemn promise to honor Achilles and to slaughter

Many Achaeans beside their ships.”

Then Zeus,

God of the storm clouds, replied: “Mysterious goddess!

You think altogether too much! Nor does anything I do

Escape you. But let me assure you there is nothing at all

You can do, except put even more distance between us,

And that will make your existence colder than ever,

Believe me! If what you say is so, then that

Must be my will. So quietly take your seat

And do as I tell you, or all the gods on Olympus

Will not be able to help you when I come up

And lay hold of you with my irresistible hands!”

He spoke, and heifer-eyed queenly Hera sat down,

Quietly controlling her temper. But all the heavenly

Gods in the palace of Zeus were troubled. Hephaestus,

The famous artificer, was the first to speak, hoping

To please his mother, Hera of the lovely white arms:

“Truly we’ll have a sorry, unbearable life here

If you two are going to quarrel on account of mortals

And cause a disturbance among us. There can be no joy

In the splendid feast when such bad things prevail.

So I hereby advise my mother, wise though she is

To try to please our dear Father Zeus, that he

May not rebuke her again and create more chaos

Here at our feast. Why what if the mighty Olympian,

Hurler of lightning, the mightiest god by far,

Should take a notion to strike us all from our seats!

But meekly ask his pardon, and soon the Olympian

Will be gracious to us again.”

With this he sprang up

And placing the two-handled cup in his dear mother’s hand

He spoke to her thus: “Bear up, my mother, and swallow

Your grief, or dear though you are to me I may

Have to watch you beaten and be completely unable,

In spite of my sorrow, to help or console you. For it

Is hard indeed to oppose the Olympian. Once

Before, when I was anxious to help you, he snatched me

Up by the foot and flung me headlong down

From the heavenly threshold. All day long I fell

And sank with the setting sunwhat little was left

Of mein Lemnos, where the Sintian people were quick

To come to my aid and take care of me after my fall.“8

At this the goddess, white-armed Hera, smiled,

And smiling received the cup from her son. Then

He went on from left to right, dipping sweet nectar

From the mixing bowl and pouring for all the others.

And unquenchable laughter broke out mid the blessed gods

As they watched Hephaestus puffing his way through the palace.

Thus all day long till the sun went down they feasted,

Nor was there any lack of delight in the banquet

Before them, nor in the gorgeous lyre that Apollo

Played, nor yet in the dulcet Muses, who

Entertained them all with sweet antiphonal song.

But when the bright sun was gone, they all went home

And to bed, for famous Hephaestus, the great ambidextrous

God, had built with all of his knowledge and art

A palace for each of them. But Olympian Zeus,

Lord of the lightning, went up to bed where he always

Lay when delicious sleep was approaching. He lay down

And slept, and beside him Hera of the golden throne.

BOOK II

Trial of the Army and the Catalogue of Ships

All other gods and mortal wearers of helmets

Plumed with horsehair slept soundly all through the night,

But sweet sleep could not hold Zeus, for in his heart

He was pondering how he might honor Achilles and destroy

Beside the swift ships many other Achaeans. Then

He thought of a plan he preferred, to send a false Dreamg

To Atreus’ son Agamemnon. So he addressed him

With these winged words:

“Go quickly, baneful Dream,

To the swift Achaean ships, and when you reach

The lodge of Atreus’ son Agamemnon tell him

Exactly what I tell you. Tell him to hurry

And arm the long-haired Achaeans, since now he may take

The city of Troy and fill the wide streets with his soldiers.

The immortals who live on Olympus no longer take sides,

For with her pleading Hera has bent them all

To her way of thinking, and now disaster is hanging

Over the Trojans.”

He spoke, the Dream listened, then left

And quickly arrived at the swift Achaean ships.

He found Agamemnon, son of Atreus, asleep

In his lodge, deep in ambrosial slumber. The Dream

Stood over his head in the form of Neleus’ son Nestor,

Whom Agamemnon respected above all the other

Leading elders. Then, in the likeness of him,

The Dream from heaven spoke thus:

“You’re asleep, 0 son

Of fiery Atreus, breaker of horses. But to sleep

All night is not good for a man in charge of an army

And laden with so many cares. Quick, then, pay attention

To me, for I have a message from Zeus, who far

Away still has immense concern and pity

For you. He says that you must go with all speed

And arm the long-haired Achaeans, since now you may take

The city of Troy and fill the wide streets with your soldiers.

The immortals who live on Olympus no longer take sides,

For with her pleading Hera has bent them all

To her way of thinking, and now by the will of Zeus

Disaster is hanging over the Trojans. Keep this

In your mind, and when honey-hearted sleep releases you

Fight forgetfulness off.”

So saying, the Dream

Departed and left him pondering there on things

That were not to be. For he really thought he would take

The city of Priam on that very day, childish

Fool that he was! completely ignorant of the plan

And purpose of Zeus, who throughout the terrible battles

Ahead was yet to bring plenty of pain and groaning

On Trojans and Danaans both. Then the King awoke

With the heavenly voice still sounding around him and sat up

In bed. Quickly he dressed in a handsome new tunic,

Threw on his great cloak and beneath his shining feet

Bound beautiful sandals. Then slinging about his shoulders

His sword with the studs of bright silver, he grasped the immortal

Scepter of his fathers and strode out down the line

Of ships of the bronze-clad Achaeans.

Just as the light

Of sacred Dawn appeared to Zeus and the other

Immortals on lofty Olympus, Agamemnon ordered

The heralds to employ their powerful voices and call

The long-haired Achaeans to the place of assembly. So they gave

The call, and the men were quick to gather.

But first

The commander-in-chief called a meeting of the great-souled elders

To sit by the ship of Nestor, the Pylos-born King.

And when they were gathered he spoke and unfolded the definite

Plan he had formed: “Your attention, friends. To me

In my sleep a heavenly Dream came through the immortal

Night, most closely resembling godly Nestor

In appearance and stature and build, and standing over

My head he spoke to me thus:

“You’re asleep, 0 son

Of fiery Atreus, breaker of horses. But to sleep

All night is not good for a man in charge of an army

And laden with so many cares. Quick, then, pay attention

To me, for I have a message from Zeus, who far

Away still has immense concern and pity

For you. He says that you must go with all speed

And arm the long-haired Achaeans, since now you may take

The city of Troy and fill the wide streets with your soldiers.

The immortals who live on Olympus no longer take sides,

For with her pleading Hera has bent them all

To her way of thinking, and now by the will of Zeus

Disaster is hanging over the Trojans. Hold this

In your heart.’

“Then he flew off, and sweet sleep released me.

So come, let us prepare as best we can

The sons of Achaeans for battle. But first it is right

That I should try them with words and bid them flee1

With their many-oared ships, though on every side I want all

Of you to try to restrain them with words.”

With this

He sat down, and among them up stood Nestor, the King

Of sandy Pylos. He, with all good intentions,

Addressed the elders: “My friends, captains and counselors

Of the Argives, had any of the other Achaeans

Told us this dream, we might have considered it false

And thus ignored it completely. But the man who saw it

Is he who claims first place and greatest worth

By far among the Achaeans. So come, let us do

All we can to arm and muster the men.”

He spoke,

And left the council, leading the way, and the other

Sceptered kings got up and followed, obeying

The people’s shepherd. The men, meanwhile, were flocking

To the place of assembly. Like thronging bees that pour

From a hollow rock in swarm after swarm, flying

In every direction to cluster on the flowers of spring,

So the numerous companies of men came from the ships

And shelters along the broad beach, troop on troop of them

Headed for the place of assembly. And Rumor, the servant

Of Zeus, went blazing among them urging them on.

They met, and their gathering place was filled with confusion.

As the army sat down they made the earth groan beneath them,

And a mighty din went up. Nine shouting heralds

Tried to restrain them, to make them be quiet and listen

To the god-fed kings. At last they got them all seated

And still and quiet in their places. Then King Agamemnon

Stood up among them, holding the scepter which Hephaestus

Had made with much labor. Hephaestus gave it to Zeus,

The lordly son of Cronos. Zeus gave it to Hermes,

The speedy slayer of Argus. Lord Hermes gave it

To Pelops, lasher of horses, and Pelops gave it

To Atreus, shepherd of the people. Atreus, dying,

Left it to wealthy Thyestes, owner of many

Flocks, and Thyestes left it to King Agamemnon

To bear throughout his rule over many islands

And all of Argos. He leaned on it now, as he spoke

Among the Argives:

“My friends, Danaan heroes

And comrades of Ares, great Zeus, the son of Cronos,

Has bound me now in woeful blindness of spirit, 2

Heartless god that he is! For long ago

He made me a promise and vowed with a nod of his head

That I should sack the well-walled city of Ilium

Before I went home, but now a vile deceit

Appears in his plans, and he bids me go back in disgrace

To Argos, having lost a great many men. Such,

I suppose, is the pleasure of Zeus, almighty God,

Who has toppled the towers of numerous cities and who

Shall continue to topple, since his is the greatest power.

But this is a shameful thing, and shall be so

Even to our children’s children, for so large an Achaean

Army to fight a futile war with men

Far fewer than they and still no end in sight!

For if both Achaeans and Trojans should take a notion

To number themselves, and swear a truce with solemn

Oaths and offerings, and if all the householders in Troy

Were then assembled and we Achaeans split up

In groups of ten with a single Trojan per group

To pour our wine, then many a squadron of ten

Would lack a Trojan to pour. By even so many,

I think, do we, the sons of Achaeans, outnumber

The natives of Troy. But they have allies from numerous

Cities, spear-brandishing men who greatly frustrate

My earnest desire to sack the fairlying fortress

Of Ilium. Nine years of mighty Zeus have already

Gone by. Our ships’ timbers have rotted and the ropes

Broken, and, I dare say, our wives and young children

Sit home in our halls waiting for us. Yet that

Which we came here to do remains completely undone.

But come, all of you do as I say Let us flee

With our ships to the precious land of our fathers. For we

Can no longer hope to plunder the wide streets of Troy.”

These words caused great commotion throughout the army

In all who were not at the council. And the meeting was moved

Like the rolling high waves of the broad Icarian sea

When down from the lowering clouds of Father Zeus

Wind from the East or South rushes to raise them.

And as tall grain in a field waves wildly under

A blast of the hard West Wind and the ears bow down

Before it, so all their great gathering stirred. Then,

With a mighty yell, they broke for the ships in a cloud

Of dust that rose high overhead. They called to each other

To lay hold of the ships and drag them into the bright sea,

And as they cleared the launching-ways and took

The props from under the ships, the huge uproar

Of those home-hungry men went up to heaven itself.

Then indeed the Argives might have returned in spite of

What fate had ordained, if the goddess Hera had not

Had a word with Athena, saying:

“O invincible child

Of Zeus who bears the aegis, alas! Is it thus

That the Argive forces are really going to flee

Over the sea’s broad back to the precious land of their fathers?

Flee and leave to Priam and the other Trojans

Their insolent boast, no other than Argive Helen

Herself, for whom so many Achaeans died

Before Troy far from their own dear country? But go now

Throughout the mob of bronze-clad Achaeans and quiet them

One and all with your gentle words, and do not

Allow them to launch those curving ships of theirs.”

She spoke, and the blue-eyed goddess Athena did not

Disobey. Down she went darting from the peaks of Olympus

And quickly came to the swift Achaean ships.

There, standing beside his benched black ship,

She found Odysseus, making no effort at all

To lay hands on the vessel, for grief abounding had come

On his heart and soul. Bright-eyed Athena stood close

And spoke to him thus:

“O god-sprung son of Laertes,

Resourceful Odysseus, do all of you really intend

To scramble aboard your many-oared ships and flee

Over the sea’s broad back to the precious land of your fathers?

Flee and leave to Priam and the other Trojans

Their insolent boast, no other than Argive Helen

Herself, for whom so many Achaeans died

Before Troy far from their own dear country? But now

Hold back no longer. Go through the Achaean host

And quiet them all with your gentle words, and do not

Allow them to launch those curving ships of theirs.”

She spoke, and he knew the voice of the goddess, and set out

At a run, throwing off his cloak, which Eurybates, his Ithacan

Herald and attendant, picked up for him. But he

Went straight to Atreus’ son Agamemnon and received

From him the rod of authority, the immortal scepter

Of the great King’s royal line, and with this in his hand

He went down the line of ships where the bronze-clad Achaeans

Were thronging.

Whenever he met a chieftain or any

Outstanding man, he would come up beside him and try

To calm him with these gentle words: “You’re not yourself, sir,

Nor would it become me to threaten you like a coward.

But take your seat, and see that your people are seated,

For you have no idea what Atreus’ son

Is thinking. He’s only testing us now, but soon

He is likely to smite the sons of Achaeans. Did not

All of us hear what he said at the council? Take care

That he doesn’t get angry and punish the sons of Achaeans.

Haughty indeed is the spirit of god-nurtured kings.

The honor they have is from Zeus, and Zeus, the lord

Of all wisdom, dearly loves them.”

But whenever he saw

Some man of the people, yelling and screaming for all

He was worth, he would strike him a blow with the scepter and call him

To order thus: “You’re out of your senses, man!

Sit down and be still, and pay some attention to the words

Of your betters, you weak, unwarlike fellow, of no

Account in battle or council either! We cannot

By any means all be kings here. A host of kings

Is no good at all. So let there be one king only,

One lord and ruler, who has his scepter and right

Of decree from the almighty son of devious Cronos

And so is true king of his people.”

Thus king-like himself

He went through the crowd, and the soldiers left their shelters

And ships and hurried back to the place of assembly

With a huge uproar like the rush of surf on a beach

When a wave of the loud-crashing sea breaks and thunders

On a long stretch of shore.

Then all the others sat down

And kept quiet. Babbling Thersites3 alone continued

To raise a racket, he whose mind was full

Of vulgar, disordered words which he used in railing

At kings, not with any good purpose or reason,

But simply to get a laugh from the Argive soldiers.

Of all the men who came to Ilium, he was

By far the ugliest. Bowlegged and lame in one foot,

His shoulders drooped so round that they almost met

In front, and on his head, which came at the top

To a rather sharp point, grew a thin and mangy stubble.

Most hateful was he to Achilles and to Odysseus,

For they were the two he usually railed at. But now

He screamed his insults at the man most out of favor,

King Agamemnon, toward whom the indignant Achaeans

Felt wrath and resentment. At him, then, he yelled his abuse:

“Atrides, now what again are you griping about?

And what new demands are you making? Your shelters are bulging

With bronze, and whenever we sack a city you always

Get the choicest booty, including whole bevies

Of beautiful women. Can it be that you still want gold,

The ransom some horse-taming Trojan brings out of Troy

To pay for his captured son whom I or some other

Achaean bound and led away? Or would you

Prefer a ripe young lady to sleep with and keep

Shut up somewhere for yourself? Truly, it hardly

Becomes their commander to burden with so many troubles

The sons of Achaeans. 0 you effeminate fools

And cowards! women, not men, of Achaea! let us

Go home with our ships and leave this fellow to rot

With his precious prizes here in the land of Troy,

That he may know once and for all whether we will help him

Or not. And now he has grossly insulted Achilles,

A much better man than himself, by taking and keeping

His prize of prestigean act of arrogant pride!

But surely the heart of Achilles is not even angry,

Nor does he care one bit, or this, 0 son

Of Atreus, would be the last of your arrogant insults!”

Even so Thersites railed at King Agamemnon,

Commander-in-chief of the army But at once the worthy

Odysseus went up to the fellow and scowling fiercely

Gave him this harsh reprimand: “Vile Thersites,

Of words both vulgar and endless, a clear-voiced speaker

You are, but don’t try to argue all by yourself

With kings. For I think that no more incapable man

Than you came here with the sons of Atreus under

The high walls of Troy. I would not advise you, then,

To take in vain the names of kings in casting

Insults upon them, nor to always be looking for a chance

To go home. None of us here really knows what is going

To happen, whether the sons of Achaeans shall go back

In triumph or not. Still you insist on abusing

Our commander-in-chief Agamemnon, cutting him deeply

With words on account of the many gifts the Danaan

Heroes see fit to give him. But I’ll tell you this,

And believe me I mean what I say. If I find you this way

Again, making a fool of yourself, then

May the head of Odysseus remain on his shoulders no more,

Nor may I be called any longer Telemachus’ father,

If I don’t take and strip you, ripping away

The cloak and tunic that hide your wretched body,

And send you bawling to the speedy ships, beaten

From the place of assembly with hard, disgraceful blows!”

He spoke, and with the scepter struck the man’s back

And shoulders. Thersites cringed and started to cry,

While a bloody welt swelled up on his back beneath

The golden scepter. Then he sat down, afraid

And in pain, and on his face as he wiped his tears

Was a foolish, forced expression. The Achaeans, vexed

Though they were, laughed at him loud and long, and thus

Would one of them say, with a glance at the man next to him:

“Good enough! truly Odysseus has done a great many

Fine things, both as the author of countless good plans

And as a leader in battle. But of all the deeds

He has done among the Argives, this is the best

By farto squelch this slanderous slinger of insults

And hush his haranguing! Surely his insolent spirit

Will never again be stupid enough to make him

Rail at and criticize kings.”

So spoke the crowd.

Then city-sacking Odysseus stood up among them

With the scepter still in his hand and beside him, disguised

As a herald, bright-eyed Athena called to the men

For silence, that near and far alike might hear

And take to heart the words of Odysseus, who now,

In an effort to help, addressed the assembly: “O son

Of Atreus, now surely the Achaeans are determined to make

Their King the most despised of all mortal men,

For they refuse to honor the promise they gave you

On the voyage from horse-grazing Argos, that you should not

Return until you had sacked the well-walled city

Of Ilium. Now they whine to each other and wail

For home like little children or widowed women.

And truly there’s toil enough here to send any man home

Worn out and discouraged. A man will grow impatient

When kept from his wife for only one month, when the storms

Of winter and swollen seas prevent his benched ship

From traveling. But we have been here for nine long years.

Hence, I cannot blame the Achaeans for fretting

Beside their beaked ships. Yet what a disgraceful thing

It would be to stay so long and still go home

Empty-handed! Bear up, my friends, and try to hold out

Awhile longer, that we may learn whether Calchas prophesies

Truly or not. For this we well remember,

And all of you whom the fates of death have not

Yet claimed are witnesses still to what happened at Aulis.h

Why now it seems but a day or so ago

That the ships were gathering there, loaded with evils

For Priam and all the Trojans, and around a spring

Of bright water that flowed from the foot of a beautiful plane tree

We soldiers were offering on holy altars whole hecatombs

To the immortals. Then all at once a great omen

Appeareda snake with markings blood-red on his back,

A terrible serpent that Zeus himself sent forth

In the light, glided from under an altar and shot

For the plane tree. Now up on the highest branch, huddled

Beneath the leaves, were the tender, tiny fledglings

Of a mother sparrow, eight of them, and the mother

Made nine. These babies, pitifully cheeping, the snake

Devoured, while the mother fluttered around them screaming

For her precious young. Then coiling himself, the snake

Caught her by the wing as she wheeled and screamed in the air.

But when the beast had swallowed them all, the babies

Along with the mother, God, who brought him to light,

Fixed him where all could see, for the son of Cronos

Turned him to stone right there, and all of us

Stood gaping at what had happened. Then, when that awesome

Portent had thus interrupted the offering of hecatombs

To the immortals, Calchas addressed us and tried

To explain the omen, saying:

” Why, 0 long-haired

Achaeans, are you now so quiet? All-knowing Zeus

Has shown a great sign to us, an omen late

In appearance and later still in fulfillment, but a glorious

Omen famous forever. Just as this snake

Swallowed the baby sparrows along with their mother,

Eight of them in all and nine counting her,

Even for so many years we shall fight in the land

Of Troy, but at last in the tenth year we shall take

The wide-wayed city.’

“These were the words of Calchas,

And now all that he foretold is surely

Being brought to pass. So come, you well-greaved Achaeans,

All of you remain here until we take

The great city of Priam.”

At this the Argives raised

A great shout, and about the ships the sound of the shouting

Achaeans loudly resounded as their voices went up

In praise of what sacred Odysseus had said. And then

Horse-driving Gerenian Nestor spoke to them thus:

“Incredible! you act like so many squabbling little boys

With no real interest at all in works of war.

What is to become of all our oaths and promises?

Very well, the counsels and plans that we made together

With trusted libations of unmixed wine and faithful

Clasping of handslet us throw all that in the fire!

For now we do nothing but talk, which does us no good

At all, regardless of how long we wrangle. Therefore,

Son of Atreus, do as you’ve always done:

Hold your purpose firm and unyielding, and lead

The Argives through the heavy fighting ahead. And if

There are one or two plotting traitors among usmen

Who want to see Argos again before we have learned

Whether aegis-great Zeus has promised us truly or not

Let them die now and plot to no end! For I

Say this, that on the day when the Argives boarded

Their swift-sailing ships to bear death and doom to the Trojans,

Cronos’ almighty son gave his word and nod

To us: his lightning flashed on our right, and the signs

He showed were good ones. So let there be no rush

To go home, not until every man here has slept

With the wife of some Trojan and been repaid in full

For the struggles and groans endured on Helen’s account.

If, however, there be one terribly eager

To set out for home, let him lay hold of his sturdy

Black ship, that here and now with an army for audience

He may meet his death and his doom. But you,

O King, plan wisely yourself and pay some heed

To another. Do not disregard what now I am going

To say. Split up your men, Agamemnon, divide them

By tribes and by clans, that clan may succor clan

And tribe bear aid to tribe. If this you do,

And if the Achaeans obey your commands, you will soon

Know the brave from the cowards, which is which among your captains

And in the rank and file, for each company then

Will be on its own in the fight for honor and glory.

And then you will know whether it is divine decree

That prevents you from sacking the city, or the cowardly hearts

Of your men and their ignorance in battle.”

And King Agamemnon

Answered him thus: “Once again, old sire, you outspeak

The other sons of Achaeans. 0 Father Zeus,

Athena, and Apollo, if I had but ten

So truly wise! then the towers of King Priam’s city

Would soon be toppled and all laid waste and leveled

Beneath our hands. But Cronos’ son Zeus, who bears

The aegis, involves me in futile wranglings and quarrels.

Achilles and I fought over a girl with violent

Words, and I was the one who got angry first.

But if the day ever comes when we two see

Eye to eye, then the Trojans’ ruin will be delayed

No longer, not for so much as a moment! But for now,

Go eat your meal before we join battle. Sharpen

Your spears and adjust your shields, feed well your fast horses

And thoroughly check your chariots, that throughout the day

We may measure our might in hateful war. Nor will there

Be any let-up at all till night comes on

And parts the furious fighters. The baldric of many

A man-guarding shield shall be wet with sweat on the breast

Of its wearer, and about the spear the warrior’s hand

Shall grow weary, and the horse of many a driver shall sweat

In streams as he pulls and strains at the polished car.

But whomever I see disposed to loiter beside

The beaked ships apart from the battle, that man shall have

No hope at all of escaping the dogs and the birds!”

He spoke, and the Argives roared like a mighty wave

That the South Wind drives to break on a craggy high coast,

A jutting cliff forever pounded by waves

No matter what wind is blowing. And the men got up

And moved out in a hurry, lit fires in their shelters and ate.

Each of them made an offering to one or another

Of the everliving gods and prayed to come out alive

From the toil and moil of Ares. The commander-in-chief

Agamemnon slew a sleek bull of five years to the high

And powerful son of Cronos and sent for the leading

Senior chiefs of all the Achaeans to join him

Nestor first and King Idomeneus, then both

Ajaxes and Tydeus’ son Diomedes, with Odysseus,

Godlike in wisdom, the sixth to be called. Menelaus,

Good at the war-cry, needed no call. He knew

The cares his brother bore and came on his own.

They stood round the bull and took up the grains of barley,

And King Agamemnon spoke thus in prayer among them:

“Most great and glorious Zeus, sky-dwelling god

Of the lowering storm clouds, may the sun not set till I

With streaming and furious fire have burned the doors

Of Priam’s great hall and reduced his palace to a heap

Of charred and sooty beams, nor may darkness come on

Till I have torn with bronze the tunic on the breast

Of Hector, and may his comrades round about him

Fall in the dust and bite the earth by the score!”

Such was his prayer, though Zeus was not ready to grant it.

He accepted the offering but caused an increase of toil

That no man in the world would envy

When the leaders there

Had prayed, they sprinkled the grains of barley, drew back

The heads of the victims, cut their throats, flayed them,

And sliced out the thigh-pieces. These they wrapped in thick layers

Of fat and on them laid still more raw meat.

All this they burned on split and leafless logs,

And piercing with spits heart, liver, and lungs they held them

Over the fire of Hephaestus. Now when the thigh-pieces

Were burned and all had tasted of the vital parts,

They cut up the rest, spitted and roasted it well,

And drew it all from the spits. Then, the work done

And the meal ready, they feasted on the plentiful meat

Abundantly portioned to each. When they had eaten

And drunk as much as they wished, horse-driving Gerenian

Nestor was the first to speak:

“Most famous son

Of Atreus, Agamemnon, king of men, let us

No longer stay here nor put off the work which God

Has laid on our hands. Come then, have the heralds of the bronze-clad

Achaeans go out and give the cry all down

The long lines of ships and call the army together,

And let us go in a body throughout the great camp

Of Achaeans, that we may the sooner stir up in the men

The spirit of blade-keen, furious Ares.”

He spoke,

And his words the commander-in-chief Agamemnon did not

Disregard. At once he ordered the heralds to employ

Their powerful voices and call the long-haired Achaeans

To the place of assembly. So they gave the call, and the troops

Were quick to gather. The god-nurtured kings in the council

Of Atreus’ son went swiftly marshaling the men,

And among them bright-eyed Athena bearing the priceless

Aegis, immortal and ageless forever, from which

Fluttered a hundred golden tassels, each of them

Perfectly plaited and worth a hundred oxen.

With this she flashed through the host of Achaeans, urging

Them on, and in the heart of every man there

She stirred up strength to fight without flagging throughout

The battle. And at once they felt war to be sweeter than any

Return to their dear native land.

As a great fire flames

On the peaks of a mountain, consuming a boundless forest

And giving a glare one sees from miles away,

So as they came the flash and gleam from their dazzling

And countless bronze went up through the sky to heaven.

And as the many flocks of winged fowl,

Wild geese or cranes or long-necked swans in the Asian

Meadow by the streams of Caystriusi fly wheeling about

Exulting in strength of wing and settle always

Onward with clangor and honk, one in front of

Another, making the meadow resound, so out

From the shelters and ships and onto the plain of Scamander

Their many companies poured, and beneath the beat

Of the feet of the men and the horses the earth tremendously

Echoed. And they took their stand in the flowery field

Of Scamander, numerous as the leaves and flowers of spring.

And as the buzzing flies that swarm through the shed

Of a herdsman when spring has come and fresh milk drenches

The pails, even so many were the long-haired Achaeans

Mustering there on the plain for battle against

The people of Troy, all eager to tear them apart.

And as when goatherds easily single out

Their wide-roaming flocks when they have come in a pasture

Together, so now the leaders on every side

Marshaled their men for battle, and King Agamemnon

Among them, his head and eyes like those of Zeus,

The lover of lightning, his waist like the waist of Ares,

His breast like the breast of Poseidon. As a bull stands out

In a herd above all the other cattle, the obvious

Leader of the grazing beeves, so that day Zeus

Made Atreus’ son stand out, the one preeminent

Man in the forces, the first mid many warriors.

Tell me now, 0 Muses,4 you that have homes

On Olympusfor you are goddesses and in command

Of all knowledge, while all we hear is rumor and we

Know nothing at allsay who were the Danaan lords

And leaders. But as for the rest of the army, I could not

Possibly count or name them, not if I had

Ten tongues in as many mouths, an unbreakable voice

And a heart of bronze, unless you Olympian Muses,

Daughters of Zeus of the aegis, chose to help me

Remember all those who came to Ilium. Here, then,

Are the ships’ commanders and how many ships there were.

Peneleos and Leitus led the Boeotians, along with

Arcesilaus, Clonius, and Prothoënor. Their homes

Were in Hyria and stony Aulis, in Schoenus and Scolus

And hilly Eteonus, in broad-lawned Mycalessus, Thespeia,

And Graea, and some were from Harma, Eilesium, and Erythrae,

While others held Eleon and Hyle, Peteon, Ocalea,

The well-walled fortress Medeon, Copae, Eutresis,

And dove-haunted Thisbe, Coroneia and grassy Haliartus,

And others held Plataea and the well-built fortress

Of Lower Thebes, Glisas and holy Onchestus

With its splendid grove of Poseidon, Arne of grapes

Rich-clustering, Mideia, sacred Nisa, and Anthedon

The border town. Of these there were fifty ships,

And on each came a hundred and twenty young men of Boeotia.

And those who lived in Aspledon and Orchomenus of the Minyae

Were led by sons of Ares, Ascalaphus and Ialmenus,

Whom the gentle and honored maiden Astyoche bore,

Having gone upstairs in the palace of Azeus’ son Actor

And secretly slept with the mighty War-god. With these

The hollow ships drawn up there were thirty in all.

Schedius and Epistrophus, sons of great-hearted Iphitus

And Naubolus’ grandsons, captained the Phocians, who held

Cyparissus and rocky Pytho, sacred Crisa,

Daulis, and Panopeus, Hyampolis and Anemoreia,

While others lived by the lovely river Cephisus

And in Lilaea by the springs of Cephisus. Of these

There were forty black ships. And now their leaders were busy

Marshaling the Phocian ranks and preparing the men

For battle hard on the Boeotians’ left.

The leader

Of the Locrian forces was the fleet-footed son of Olleus,

The lesser Ajax, by no means so much man

As Telamonian Ajax, but the lesser by far. He was slight

Of build and the corselet he wore was of linen, but with

The spear he surpassed all Hellenes and Achaeans. His followers

Lived in Cynus, Calliarus, and Opus, in Bessa

And Scarphe and delightful Augeiae, Tarphe and Thronium

And about the waters of Boagrius. With Ajax came forty

Black ships of the Locrians, who live just over the straits

From holy Euboea.

The fury-breathing Abantes

Came from Euboea itself, where they held Eretria,

Chalcis, and vineyard-rich Histiaea, Cerinthus

By the sea and the steep fortress of Dios, and some

Had homes in Carystus and others lived in Styra.

Leader of all was the chief Elephenor, that scion

Of Ares, son of Chalcodon, and commander of the doughty

Abantes, those spirited eager spearmen with hair long

In back, fast men on their feet and quick to thrust

Their good ashen spears through the corselets and breasts of their foes.

They came with their chief Elephenor in forty black ships.

And there were men from the strong citadel of Athens

In the realm of great-hearted Erechtheus, whom long ago

The bountiful earth had borne and Zeus’s daughter

Athena reared. She established him in Athens

In her own resplendent shrine, and there, as the years

Roll on, the young Athenians pray for his grace

And favor with sacrificed bulls and rams. Their leader

Was Peteos’ son Menestheus, than whom no man

On earth was better when it came to the marshaling of chariots

And shield-bearing men. Nestor alone could rival him

There, since he had been at it for so much longer.

And Menestheus came with a company of fifty black ships.

Ajax led twelve ships from Salamis, and had them

Drawn up on the beach where the forces from Athens were stationed.

Those who held Argos and high-walled Tiryns were there

And men from Hermione and Asine, towns that embrace

A deep bay, and others from Troezen, viny Epidaurus,

And Eďonae, with young Achaeans from Aegina and Mases

All led by battle-roaring Diomedes and Sthenelus,

The dear son of renowned Capaneus. And with them as third

In command came godlike Euryalus, King Mecisteus’ son

And Talaus’ grandson. But battle-roaring Diomedes

Was in charge of them all. And of these there were eighty black ships.

Troops were there from the strong citadel of Mycenae,

Wealthy Corinth, and staunch Cleonae, men

From Orneia, lovely Araethyrea, and Sicyon, where Adrastus

Used to be king, and others who held Hyperesia,

Pellene and high Gonoessa, and who lived around Aegium,

Large Helice, and all up and down Aegialus. Of these

With a hundred ships the commander was King Agamemnon,

Son of Atreus. His men were by far the best

And most numerous of all. And as he armed himself

In the gleaming bronze, he stood out among them, the most

World-famous of kings and the most distinguished of warriors,

For he outranked all others, and the unit he led

Was largest by far.

And there were those with homes

In the rolling country of fair Lacedaemon, in Pharis,

Sparta, and dove-haunted Messe, and those who lived

In Bryseiae and charming Augeiae, and others who held

Amyclae, Laas, and Helus, a citadel close by

The sea, while others lived about Oetylus. All these

Were led by King Agamemnon’s brother, Menelaus

Of the loud war-cry, with sixty ships, but his forces

Were marshaled and armed as a separate division. And he,

Menelaus the King, went among them, sure of himself

And zealous, stirring up fight in his men, for above

All others he longed to exact full payment for the many

Struggles and groans he had suffered on Helen’s account.

Next came natives of Pylos, delightful Arene,

And Thryum, where Alpheius is forded, men with homes

In firm-founded Aepy and Cyparisseis, Pteleos,

Amphigeneia, Helus, and Dorium, where the Muses

Met Thamyris the Thracian5 as he came from Oechalia and the

house

Of Oechalian Eurytus and put an end to his singing.

For he had made the extravagant claim that he

In a singing-match with even the Muses themselves,

Daughters of Zeus of the aegis, would be the winner,

And they in their wrath took from him the gift of song

And made him forget the art of harping. All these

Were led by horse-driving Gerenian Nestor. And ninety

Black ships were drawn up in line on his section of beach.

And there were the men of Arcadia, from below the mountain

Of steep Cyllene by Aepytus’ tomb. Some of these

Hand-to-hand fighters had homes in Pheneos and pastoral

Orchomenus, in Rhipe, Stratia, and windy Enispe,

While others lived in Tegea and fair Mantineia,

Stymphalus and Parrhasia. Lord Agapenor, son

Of Ancaeus, was leader of these with sixty ships,

On each of which came many Arcadian warriors,

Skillful in battle. The commander-in-chief himself,

Agamemnon, son of Atreus, had given them

The well-decked ships wherein to cleave and cross over

The wine-dark sea, for with nautical matters they had

No concern.

And there were troops from Buprasium and all

Of beautiful Elis that lies between Hyrmine,

The border town Myrsinus, Alesium, and the looming

Olenian Rock. Four men had charge of these,

And with each came ten swift ships full of Epeans.

Two of the companies were led by Amphimachus and Thalpius,

One the son of Cteatus, the other of Eurytus,

And both of the blood of Actor. A third was led

By the son of Amarynceus, the mighty Diores,

And chief of the fourth contingent was godlike Polyxeinus,

King Agasthenes’ son and grandson of Augeas.

Those from Dulichium and the hallowed Echinean Islands

Across the water from Elis were all commanded

By Meges, peer of the War-god and son of the horseman

Phyleus, a god-loved man who quarreled with his father

And went over to live in Dulichium. With Meges came forty

Black ships.

Odysseus commanded the proud Cephallenians,

Holders of Ithaca and Mount Neriton, trembling

With leaves, natives of Crocyleia and rugged Aegilips,

Of Zacynthus and Samos and the mainland across from these islands.

Odysseus, godlike in wisdom, led all of these

And with him came twelve vermilion-cheeked ships.

And Thoas,

Son of Andraemon, led the Aetolians, soldiers

From Pleuron, Olenus, Pylene, rocky Calydon,

And Chalcis close by the sea. For the sons of Oeneus

Were no longer alive, nor was great-hearted Oeneus himself,

And dead was blond Meleager, to whom the Aetolian

Kingship had come. So with Thoas came forty black ships.

The soldiers from Crete were captained by spear-famed Idomeneus

And came from their homes in Knossos and the well-walled town

Of Gortyn, from the populous cities of Lyctus, Miletus,

Phaestus, Rhytium, and chalk-white gleaming Lycastus,

And the others came from in and around the hundred

Cities of Crete. The entire contingent was led

By the famous spearman Idomeneus along with Meriones,

Peer of the slaughtering god of battle. With these

Followed eighty black ships.

And Tlepolemus, the tall and valiant

Son of Heracles, had come with nine full ships

Of the spirited Rhodians, dwellers in three different parts

Of the island of Rhodes, in Lindos, Ialysus, and chalk-white

Gleaming Cameirus. Spear-famous Tlepolemus led them,

He whom mighty Heracles sired and whose mother

Was Astyocheia, whom Heracles brought from Ephyre

And the river Selleis after laying waste many cities

Of Zeus-fed warrior kings. But Tlepolemus was no sooner

Grown in the fortified palace than he killed his father’s s

Dear uncle, a scion of Ares, the aging Licymnius.

Then with all speed he built ships, gathered a great host

Of people, and fled overseas, for he was threatened

By the other sons and grandsons of mighty Heracles.

At last in his painful wandering the exile came

To Rhodes, and there in three sections by tribes his people

Settled. And they were loved by Zeus, the ruler

Of gods and men, and prodigious indeed were the riches

Cronos’ son poured on them.

Nireus too

Was there with three trim ships from the island of Syme,

Nireus the son of Aglaia and Charopus the King,

Nireus the handsomest man in the Danaan forces

At Troy excepting only the peerless son

Of Peleus. But he was a weakling, and those who came with him

Were few.

And there were natives of Nisyrus and Crapathus,

Of Casus, the Calydnian Islands, and Eurypylus’ city

Of Cosall under Pheidippus and Antiphus, the two sons

Of King Thessalus, whom Heracles sired. And drawn up in the line

With them were thirty hollow ships.

And now for those

From Pelasgian Argos, men from Alope, Alos,

And Trachis, and those who held Phthia and Hellas, land

Of glamorous womenthey were called Myrmidons, Hellenes,

And Achaeans, and fifty full ships of them came with Achilles

As captain. But now they gave no thought to the din

And horror of war, since they had no one to lead them

Into the ranks. For the brave, swift-footed Achilles

Lay by his ships in a fit of wrath and resentment

Because of a girl, Briseis of the beautiful hair,

Whom he had won at Lyrnessus when he with much toil

Leveled that city and wasted the walls of Thebe

And struck spear-raging Mynes down, and Epistrophus

Equally fierce, sons of King Euenus,

The son of Selepus. Sorely grieving for her,

Achilles lay idle. But soon he would rise again.

And there were troops from Phylace and flowery Pyrasus

Where Demeter has a grove and temple, from Iton,

Mother of flocks, Antron close by the sea,

And grassy Pteleos. These had been led by warlike

Protesilaus6 while he was alive, but now

The black earth held him, and his wife was left in Phylace,

Her two cheeks torn in mourning, her husband’s house

Half finished. For he had been far the first Achaean

Ashore, but as he leaped from his ship he fell

To a doughty Dardanian. Still, though they longed for their leader,

His men were not without a commander. Podarces,

Scion of Ares, marshaled them now, he

The son of Iphiclus, Phylacus’ son and the owner

Of many flocks. Podarces was the younger brother

Of magnanimous Protesilaus, who was not only older

But also the better man, warlike and valiant.

So the troops did not lack a commander, though they longed for the

gifted

Man they had lost. And with him came forty black ships.

Those who lived by the Boebeian lake in Pherae

And in Boebe, Glaphyrae, and well-settled Iolcus came

In eleven ships under Admetus’ dear son

Eumelus, whom queenly Alcestis, the loveliest daughter

Of Pelias, bore to her lord.

The men from Methone

And Thaumacia, from Meliboea and craggy Olizon were led

In seven ships by the skillful bowman Philoctetes,

And fifty oarsmen had come in each ship, all

Fierce men with the bow. But Philoctetes lay in pain

On the island of sacred Lemnos, where the sons of Achaeans

Had left him in anguish from a vicious water-snake’s bite.

He lay in agony there, nor was it long

Before the Argives beside their ships had cause

To remember King Philoctetes. Still, though they longed

For their leader, his men were not without a commander.

Now they were marshaled by Medon, the bastard son

Whom Rhene bore to Oileus, taker of towns.

Those who held Tricca and Ithome of the terraced crags

And Oechalia, the city of Oechalian Eurytus, followed

Two sons of Asclepius, the able physicians Podaleirius

And Machaon. And drawn up with them were thirty hollow ships.

And the men from Ormenius and the spring Hypereia, from Asterium

And the gleaming towers of Titanus were led by Eurypylus,

The brilliant son of Euaemon. And forty black ships

Followed him.

Those with homes in Argissa, Gyrtone, and Orthe,

In Elone and the gleaming town Oloösson had

As their leader the furious fighter Polypoetes, son

Of Peirithous, who was sired by immortal Zeus himself

Glorious Hippodameia bore him to Peirithous

On the very day he got his revenge on the shaggy

Centaurs and drove them from Pelion to the Aethices.

But Polypoetes was not their only leader.

He had as his helper Leonteus, scion of Ares

And son of high-hearted Coronus, son of Caenus.

And with them came forty black ships.

And Gouneus led

From Cyphus two and twenty vessels, and with him

Came the Enienes and the battle-staunch Peraebi,

Who had built their homes round wintry Dodona and lived

On the land about the beautiful stream Titaressus, which pours

Its clear water into the Peneius, but flows on through

The darker water of silvery-swirling Peneius

Like so much unmingling oil, for the stream Titaressus

Is a branch of dread Styx, the river of awesome oath.

Prothous, son of Tenthredon, led the Magnetes,

Who lived about the Peneius and Pelion, trembling

With leaves. Fast Prothous captained them all. And with him

Were forty black ships.7

These were the Danaan lords

And leaders. But tell me, 0 Muse, who was by far

The best man and which horses were best in the army that followed

The sons of Atreus.

The finest horses by far

Were the mares of Pheres’ son Admetus, that his son

Eumelus drove, horses swift as birds,

Of the same color and age, and so equal in height

That a line would be quite level across their backs.

Both of these mares had been reared in Pereia by silver-bowed

Phoebus Apollo, and into battle they carried

The panic of Ares. Much the best of the warriors

Was Telamonian Ajax, but only so long

As Achilles continued his wrath. For Achilles was strongest

By far, as were the horses that drew him, the matchless

Son of Peleus. But now he lay mid his beaked

Seagoing ships, withdrawn and full of wrath

For the people’s shepherd, Atreus’ son Agamemnon,

While along the beach the men of angry Achilles

Amused themselves with the discus, javelin, and bow.

Their horses stood each by his car, munching clover

And marsh-grown parsley, but the officers’ chariots stood

In their shelters well covered up. And these men longed

For their leader, dear to Ares, and they wandered throughout

The camp and did no fighting.

But the others marched on

Like a great fire sweeping the plain, and beneath their feet

The earth groaned as it does when raging Zeus hurls lightning

And lashes the land about Typhoeus in the mountains

Of Arima, where they say Typhoeus is sleeping. So now

The earth loudly resounded beneath the beat of their feet

As they went on the double across the groaning plain.

Then a messenger came to the Trojans, wind-footed swift Iris,

With a fearful message from Zeus who bears the aegis.

Young men and old alike were gathered in the court

Of King Priam holding assembly when swift-footed Iris

Approached them and spoke. She took the voice of Priam’s

Son Polites, who sat on watch for the Trojans

On top of the tomb of old Aesyetes, relying

On speed of foot to bear word whenever the Achaeans

Made a move from the ships. In the likeness of him, fleet Iris

Spoke thus to Priam:

“Old sire, you always dote

On endless words come peace or war, but this

Is war unyielding and total! Surely I’ve been

In a good many battles, but never yet have I seen

So large and splendid an army. And here they come,

Marching across the plain against the city

Like the numberless leaves of the forest or sands of the sea.

Now you most of all, Hector, I urge to do

As I say Since in this great city of Priam there are many

Allies who come from all over and speak different tongues,

Let each of their captains marshal the men of his city

And lead them forth to battle.”

She spoke, and Hector

Knew the voice of the goddess. Quickly he broke up

The meeting, and the men rushed to arms. All the gates were thrown

open

And with a tremendous din the army poured out,

Both infantry and horse.

In front of the city well out

In the open plain is a high mound that men call Thorn Hill,

But immortals call it the tomb of dancing Myrine.

Here both Trojans and allies ordered their ranks.

Bright-helmeted Hector led the Trojans,8 he

The son of King Priam, and the companies of spear-raging warriors

Marshaled with him were by far the largest and best.

The Dardanians were led by Anchises’ brave son Aeneas,9

Whom under Anchises sweet Aphrodite conceived

When the goddess and mortal man made love and slept

Mid the ridges of Ida. Not alone in command, Aeneas

Had help from Antenor’s two sons, the very versatile

Fighters Acamas and Archelochus.

And there were those

Who lived in Zeleia below the last foothill of Ida,

A thriving clan of Trojans that drink Aesepus’

Dark water. These were captained by the splendid son

Of Lycaon, Pandarus, whose skill with the bow was a gift

From Apollo himself.

And those who held Adrasteia

And the land of Apaesus, and the troops from Pityeia and towering

Mount Tereia were led by Adrastus and Amphius,

With corselet of linen, two sons of Percotian Merops,

The world’s most skillful prophet, who would not allow

His sons to enter the man-wasting war. But they

Would pay no attention, for doom and dark death were leading

Them on.

And the men who lived round Percote and Practius

And those who held Sestos and Abydos and sacred Arisbe

Were all commanded by Asius, Hyrtacus’ son,

A chieftain of warriorsAsius Hyrtacides, whom his glossy

Huge horses had drawn from Arisbe and the river SelleĎs.

Hippothous led the spear-fierce Pelasgian tribes

From the fertile soil of Larissa, he and that offshoot

Of Ares, his brother Pylaeus, both sons of Pelasgian

Lethus, son of Teutamus.

Leading the Thracians

From all along the swift Hellespont were Acamas and heroic

Peirous.

And the spear-hurling Cicones had as their chief

Euphemus, son of Zeus-nurtured Troezenus and grandson

Of Ceas.

But Pyraechmes led men of bent bows, the Paeonians

From distant Amydon and the wide-rippling Axius River

Axius, the loveliest river that flows on the face

Of the earth.

From the Eneti country, home of wild mules,

Came the Paphlagonians with Pylaemenes of the shaggy heart

As leader. These held Cytorus, lived about Sesamon,

And had fine homes by the river Parthenius, and in Cromna,

Aegialus, and high Erythini.

Odius and Epistrophus

Captained the Halizones from distant Alybe, the source

And home of silver.

Leading the Mysians came Chromis

And Ennomus the augur, who for all his reading of ominous

Birds could not avoid dark doom. He fell

At the hands of Aeacus’ grandson, the swift Achilles,

When he in the bed of the river cut down Trojans

And allies alike.

Phorcys and godlike Ascanius

Commanded the Phrygians, hungry for battle, and led them

To Troy from distant Ascania.

And the men of Maeonia

Had two leaders, Mesthles and Antiphus, sons

Of Talaemenes, born of the lake Gygaea. They led

The Maeonians, men from the foot of Mount Tmolus.

Nastes commanded the Carians, barbarous of speech,j

Men from Miletus and leafy Mount Phthires,

From about the streams of Maeander and the craggy steeps

Of Mycale. These also had two leaders, Amphimachus

And NastesNastes and Amphimachus, the illustrious sons

Of Nomionbut Nastes, childish fool that he was,

Went into battle decked out in gold like a girl,

But gold could not help him escape a horrible death

At the hands of Aeacus’ grandson, the swift Achilles,

In the bed of the river, and Achilles, fierce and fiery,

Took care of all his gold.

And the Lycian chiefs

Were Sarpedon and peerless Glaucus, who led their men

From distant Lycia, where the Xanthus eddies and flows.

BOOK III

The Duel of Paris and Menelaus

When each battalion had been drawn up with its captain,

The Trojans advanced with clamor and clang like the noise

Of birds, the clangor of cranes that rises toward heaven

When they flee the storms of winter and floods of beating

Rain and fly with loud cries toward the stream of Oceanus

To offer in battle at dawn terrible slaughter

And death to men of the Pygmies. The Achaeans, however,

Came on with no cries at all, but breathing might

And full of resolve to aid and defend one another.

As when the South Wind covers the peaks of a mountain

With a mist no shepherd loves but that thieves prefer

To night, since through it a man can see but a stone’s throw

Ahead, so now from beneath their feet a thick

Dust-cloud arose as swiftly they went on the double

Across the plain.

When the two advancing armies

Drew near each other, out from the Trojan ranks

Stepped godlike Paris, also called Alexander,k

With a leopard skin on his shoulders along with his sword

And bent bow. Then shaking two bronze-headed spears he challenged

The best of the Argives to come out and meet him in grim

And single combat.

And no sooner did King Menelaus,

The favorite of Ares, catch sight of him there, coming out

Of the crowd and swaggering along with great strides, than he

Was as glad as a starving lion that happens upon

The large carcass of an antlered stag or wild goat and greedily

Gulps away, despite the frantic efforts

Of darting dogs and lusty young hunters. So now

Menelaus rejoiced when first his eyes fell on Prince

Alexander, for he thought that vengeance on the sinner was finally

His. And at once he leaped in full armor from his car

To the ground.

But when Prince Alexander saw who it was

Who appeared to accept his challenge, his spirit collapsed

And back he shrank mid a crowd of comrades, seeking

To save his life. Like a man who comes on a snake

In a mountain ravine and springs back pale and trembling

And gives the snake plenty of room, so Prince Alexander

Feared Atreus’ son, and cringing shrank back in the ranks

Of lordly Trojans.

But Hector saw and tried

To shame him with words of reproach: “Despicable Paris,

Handsome, deceitful, and crazy for women, would you

Had never been born, or had died unmarried! Indeed,

I really wish that you had, since such would have been

Much better than what you are nowan object of scorn

Looked down on by others. Surely the long-haired Achaeans

Will laugh loud and long, saying that a Prince is our champion

Because he’s good looking, though he be both woefully gutless

And weak. Aren’t you the one who rounded up

Your trusty cronies and took off in your seagoing ships

Across the deep to mingle with strangers and bring back

From a distant country a comely, voluptuous woman,

The daughter-in-law of a nation of spear-wielding warriors,

But a cause of terrible harm to your father and city

And all the peoplearen’t you the strong man who took her,

A joy to your foes and an utter disgrace to yourself?

And can it be that now you refuse to stand up

To the fighting Menelaus? You would soon find out what kind

Of fighter he is whose glamorous wife you have.

When you’re lying down there in the dust you won’t be helped

By that lyre of yours nor the gifts Aphrodite gave you,

Your handsome face and pretty hair. But truly

The Trojans are just as afraid, or you would already

Have paid for all the evil you’ve donepaid

By donning that tunic of stone which rocks from their hands

Would have furnished!”

And godlike Alexander replied: “Hector,

You chide me no more than is right and not a bit more

Than you should. Yours is a tireless heart, and unyielding,

Like an ax that serves the blow of a skillful shipwright

As he sends it down through a log to shape a ship’s timber.

So the heart in your breast bears all before it, but do not

Reproach me for the winsome gifts of golden Aphrodite.

The gods give wonderful gifts no man can choose

For himself, and such are not to be scorned or discarded.

But now, if you really insist on my doing battle

With Ares-loved Menelaus, have all other Trojans

And men of Achaea sit down, and put us together

Out there in the middle to fight for Helen and all

Her treasures. And whoever is stronger and wins, let him take

Both wealth and woman and carry them home, while you others

Swear oaths of faith and friendship and solemnize all

With sacrifice, that you may remain in the fertile land

Of Troy, and they return to their thoroughbred horses

And beautiful women in Achaea and grassy Argos.”

Then Hector rejoiced, and stepping out between

The two armies he gripped his spear by the middle and held

The Trojan line back till all were seated. Meanwhile,

The long-haired Achaeans kept trying to strike him with arrows

And stones, but now the king of men Agamemnon

Raised his voice in command:

“Enough, Argives!

No more shooting, you men of Achaea! for it seems

That bright-helmeted Hector has something to say.”

He spoke,

And they ceased their shooting and hurling and quickly grew quiet.

Then Hector spoke between the two armies: “From me,

O Trojans and well-greaved Achaeans, hear the proposal

Of Paris, who began this miserable war. He says

For all other Trojans and men of Achaea to lay

Their excellent arms on the bountiful earth, and that he,

Out here in the middle, will fight with fierce Menelaus

For Helen and all her treasures. And whoever is stronger

And wins, let him take both wealth and woman and carry them

Home, while we others swear oaths of faith and friendship

And solemnize all with sacrifice.”

So Hector, and no one

Answered a word till among them out spoke Menelaus

Of the fierce battle-scream: “Hear also me, as one

Whose heart has borne more pain than any of yours.

Now I think that Trojans and Argives should part,

Since you have already suffered sorrows enough

Because of my quarrel, which Alexander began.

For one of us two, death and doom are allotted.

So let one of us die, and you others part

With all speed. But first bring two lambs, a white ram and black ewe

For Earth and the Sun, and we’ll bring another for Zeus.

And some of you go for the powerful Priam, that he too

May swear and sacrifice, for he has haughty, unscrupulous

Sons, and we do not want any proud overreacher

To spoil the oaths we swear in God’s name. The hearts

Of young men are often unstable, but whenever an old man

Is present, he thinks of the future as well as the past,

And so both parties benefit greatly.”

He spoke,

And both sides rejoiced, hoping to cease their miserable

Fighting. They reined their chariots back in the ranks,

Stepped down, and took off their armor, which they laid on the

ground

Beside them with not much space between. And Hector

Sent two heralds to bring the lambs from the city

As fast as they could and to summon King Priam, while ruling

Agamemnon dispatched Talthybius to the hollow ships

With orders to bring a lamb, and he did not ignore

His royal commander.

Meanwhile Iris arrived

With a message for white-armed Helen, and she came in the likeness

Of her sister-in-law Laodice, the loveliest daughter

Of Priam and the wife of lord Helicaon, son

Of Antenor. Helen she found in the hall, weaving

A web of double width and of iridescent

Purple. And in it she wove not a few of the battles

That the horse-breaking Trojans and bronze-clad Achaeans had suffered

At the hands of Ares on her account.1 Standing

Close by her side, nimble Iris spoke to her, saying:

“Come, my dear, that you may see an incredible

Thing that the horse-breaking Trojans and bronze-clad Achaeans

Have done. They who but lately were eager to clash

On the plain and tearfully tear each other to pieces

Have now called off the battle and are sitting quietly

Out there, leaning back on their shields, with their long spears fixed

In the ground beside them. But Paris and fierce Menelaus

Are to use their long spears to fight each other for you,

And you will be called the dear wife of whichever one wins.”

These words of the goddess aroused in the heart of Helen

An irresistible yearning for her former husband,

Her city, and parents. Quickly she veiled herself

In shining white linen, and softly crying hurriedly

Left her chamber, not by herself but attended

By two of her handmaids, Aethra, daughter of Pittheus,

And heifer-eyed Clymene. And quickly they came in sight

Of the Scaean Gates.

There in the council of Priam

Sat the elders of Priam’s people, Panthous and Thymoetes,

Clytius, Lampus, and Hicetaon, scion of Ares,

And two other men of wisdom, Ucalegon and Antenor.

Too old for battle, these elders were excellent speakers,

And now they sat on the wall like forest cicadas

That sit on a tree and sing with their lily voices.

Even so, the leaders of Troy sat on the turreted

Wall, and when they saw Helen approaching spoke softly

One to another in these words winged with wonder:

“Surely no one could blame either side for suffering

So much and so long for such a woman, for she

In appearance is terribly like an immortal goddess!

But still, though lovely she is, let her go home

With the ships and not be left here as a curse to both us

And our children.”

So they, but Priam spoke to her, saying:

“Come here, dear child, and sit before me, that you

May see your former husband, your kinsfolk and friends.

I certainly don’t blame you. The gods alone

Are to blame for hurling upon me this tearful war

With Achaeans. But tell me the name of yonder huge

Achaean, that chieftain so valiant and tall. To be sure

There are others at least a head taller than he, but never

Have I laid eyes on a man so truly handsome

And regal. That man has the look of a ruler, of one

Who is King indeed.”

And glamorous Helen replied:

“You I regard with respect and reverence, you

My own dear father-in-laW But now I wish

It had been my good fortune to die when I came here

With your son, deserting my marriage chamber and daughter

So precious, my blood relations and circle of charming

Friends. But that wasn’t to be. Instead, I weep out

My life little by little. Now though, I will answer

Your question. Yonder Achaean is Atreus’ son, 2

Great Agamemnon, a high-ranking King and mighty

Spearman. And as sure as ever there was such a man

He was once the brother-in-law of bitch-hearted me.”

She spoke, and the old man marveled, saying: “O happy

Son of Atreus, born lucky, god-blessed man,

How very many young men of Achaea are under

Your rule! I journeyed once to the viny land

Of Phrygia where I saw huge hosts of Phrygian warriors

With their glancing-swift horses, the armies of Otreus and royal

Mygdon, encamped along the banks of the river Sangarius.

And I was an ally of theirs and numbered among them

That day when the man-matching Amazons came. But not even

They were so numerous as are the quick-eyed Achaeans.”

Next the old man noticed Odysseus, and said:

“Come, dear child, tell me who that man is too.

He’s a good head shorter than Atreus’ son Agamemnon

But broader through shoulders and chest. His armor lies

On the bountiful earth while he goes up and down

Through the ranks like the leading ram in a herd. To me

That’s what he is like, a wooly ram that paces

His way through a truly large flock of silvery-white sheep.”

And Zeus-born Helen answered again: “That

Is the son of Laertes, resourceful Odysseus, who was raised

In rocky Ithaca. He’s a cunning and clever man,

Both wily and wise.”

Then the grave Antenor answered

Her thus: “What you say, my lady, is true indeed.

For some time ago the brilliant Odysseus was here

With Ares’ own Menelaus to confer about you,

And I was their host.l I welcomed them in my halls

And got to know what they look like and how they think.

Whenever they mixed in a meeting with Trojans, Menelaus

Stood head and shoulders above Odysseus, but when

They were seated Odysseus was the more majestic. And when

They stood before all to weave the words of wise counsel,

Menelaus’ words were few, but fluently uttered,

Clear, and to the point. Though the younger man,

He was surely no rambler or bungler with words. But whenever

Resourceful Odysseus got up, he would stand looking down,

His eyes fixed hard on the ground, nor would he gesture

At all with the staff he held. He would hold it rigid,

Like a man who wasn’t all there. You would, in fact,

Have thought him a sullen and foolish fellow. But when

He spoke, that great voice of his poured out of his chest

In words like the snowflakes of winter, and then no other

Mortal could in debate contend with Odysseus.

Nor did we care any longer how he looked.”

Then the old man, noticing Ajax, asked: “And who

Is that other manly Achaean, the one so tall

And knightly, whose head and broad shoulders tower above

The Argives?”

And exquisite Helen of the flowing gowns:

“That’s the enormous Ajax, a very fortress

Of Achaean valor. And over there Idomeneus

Stands like a god mid the men and captains of Crete.

Many times, on journeys from Crete, he stayed at our house,

And my warrior lord, Menelaus, welcomed him warmly.

And now I see many other quick-eyed Achaeans

Whom I know well enough and could name, but two of their

martial

Commanders I cannot see, horse-mastering Castor

And Pollux, good in a fist-fight, my own blood brothers,

For all of us had the same mother. Either they didn’t come

With the men from dear Lacedaemon, or else they came

All the way in their seagoing ships but are now too ashamed

To mingle with others in battle on account of the vile

And insulting things the soldiers say about me.”

Thus Helen, but they already lay in the close

Embrace of the life-giving earth back home in Lacedaemon,

Their own dear country.

Meanwhile, the heralds were bringing

Through town the holy offerings whereby to swear

The faithful oaths of a trucetwo lambs and a goatskin

Bottle of heart-warming wine, fruit of the soil.

And the herald Idaeus, bearing a gleaming bowl

And golden cups, came up and aroused old Priam,

Saying:

“Come, 0 son of Laomedon, the chiefs

Of the horse-breaking Trojans and bronze-clad Achaeans want you

Down on the plain to join with them in sacrifice

And in swearing the faithful oaths of a truce. Prince Paris,

Though, and fierce Menelaus are to take their long spears

And fight a duel for the woman, and to the winner

Will go both woman and wealth, while the rest of us

Swear oaths of faith and friendship and solemnize all

With sacrifice, that we may remain in the fertile land

Of Troy, and they return to their thoroughbred horses

And beautiful women in Achaea and grassy Argos.”

At this the old King shuddered, but told his companions

To yoke the horses, which quickly they did. Then Priam

Mounted the ornate car and drew back on the reins

While Antenor got up beside him, and off they drove

The fast horses through the Scaean Gates and on to the plain.

When they reached the waiting armies, they stepped from the car

To the bountiful earth and strode out to a spot midway

Between the Trojan and Achaean hosts. At once

The king of men Agamemnon and resourceful Odysseus

Arose, and the stately heralds brought out the offerings

For the holy oaths of peace, mixed wine in the bowl,

And over the hands of the kings poured water. And the son

Of Atreus drew the knife that always hung

Beside his great scabbard and from the heads of the lambs

He cut hair, which the heralds gave out to the chieftains of the Trojans

And Achaeans alike. Then there in the midst of all

Agamemnon lifted his arms and prayed aloud:

“O Father Zeus, ruling from Ida, most great

And glorious lord, and you, all-hearing, all-seeing

Sun, and you, 0 Earth and Rivers, and you

Infernal powers that punish the shades of men

Who here swear falsely, I pray to all of you now

To witness and then watch over these faithful oaths.

If Menelaus goes down before Alexander,

Let him keep Helen and all her treasures, and we

Will depart in our seagoing vessels. But if Menelaus

Of the tawny hair shall slay Alexander, then let

The Trojans return both Helen and all of her wealth

And make to the Argives whatever further repayment

Seems adequate and right, some ample repayment that men

Yet to be will remember. However, if Priam and the sons

Of Priam should refuse this repayment, then I will fight on

To win it and remain in this land till I see the end

Of our war.”

He spoke, and drawing the ruthless bronze

Across the throats of the lambs he laid them down

On the ground, jerking and gasping for breath, the bronze

Having taken their strength. Then from the bowl they took wine

In the cups and poured it out in libation with prayers

To the gods everlasting. And thus would some Achaean

Or one of the Trojans pray:

“Most great and glorious

Zeus and you other immortal gods, may the brains

Of those who first violate these oaths be poured out

On earth as now this wine is poured, theirs

And their children’s too, and may others possess their wives.”

So they prayed, but Zeus was not yet ready

To give them the peace they desired. Then ancient Priam,

Descended of Dardanus, spoke thus among them: “Hear me,

You Trojans and well-greaved Achaeans. I am now going back

To windy Ilium, since I’m certain I could not endure

The sight of my own dear son in battle with fierce

Menelaus. But Zeus, I think, and the other immortals

Already know which one is to die and meet

His end in the duel.”

So spoke the sacred King.

Then, having put the lambs in his chariot, he mounted

The ornate car and drew back on the reins while Antenor

Got up beside him. And back to Troy they went.

But Hector, son of Priam, and godly Odysseus

Marked off a space for the duel, then shook a couple

Of pebbles in a bronze and leather helmet to see

Which man would be first to hurl his bronze spear. And the people,

Praying, lifted their hands to the gods, and thus

Would some Achaean or one of the Trojans say:

“O Father Zeus, ruling from Ida, most great

And glorious lord, grant that he who brought

These troubles upon uswhichever one of these two

May die and go down to the house of Hades, but to us

Grant peace and faithful oaths of friendship.”

So they,

And the huge bright-helmeted Hector, turning his own eyes

Away, shook the lots, and quickly the pebble of Paris

Leaped out of the helmet. Then the soldiers sat down in rows

Close to their inlaid armor and high-stepping horses,

While handsome Paris, lord of the lovely blonde Helen,

Put on his beautiful armor.3 First he covered

His shins with greaves, fair greaves with ankle-clasps of silver.

Next, about his chest he put the breastplate

Of his brother Lycaon and adjusted the straps of it well,

And from his shoulders he slung his bronze sword with the studs

Of bright silver along with his large and solid shield.

Then on his noble head he put a strong helmet

With horsehair plume defiantly waving above him,

And in his hand he took a doughty spear

That fitted his grip to perfection. And the grim Menelaus

Likewise donned his equipment.

Having armed themselves

On either side of the throng, they stalked out into

The space between the two armies, and as they glared

At each other with terrible fierceness, amazement fell

On horse-taming Trojans and well-greaved Achaeans alike.

And they came to a halt not far apart in the marked-off

Space and stood there angrily shaking their spears

At each other. First Paris hurled his long-shadowing spear

And struck the round shield of Atreus’ son. But instead

Of the bronze tearing on through, the point was turned

By the sturdy buckler. Then Atreus’ son Menelaus

Got ready to throw, praying thus to Father Zeus:

“Lord God, help me to punish Prince Alexander,

Him who wronged me in the beginning. Slay him

By means of me, that many a man as yet

Unborn may shudder to wrong a host who has offered

Him friendship.”

With this he drew back his long-shadowing spear

And hurled it, and he struck the round shield of Priam’s son.

The great spear tore through the gleaming shield and on

Through the beautiful breastplate and tunic too, but Paris

Twisted in time to avoid dark death as the spear

Went by at his side. Then Atreus’ son whipped out

His sword with the studs of bright silver, and raising it high

Overhead he brought it down hard on the metal horn

Of his enemy’s helmet. But on it his bright sword shattered

Into three or four pieces and flew from his hand. Menelaus

Groaned, and glancing up at broad heaven he cried:

“O Father Zeus, no other god is more ruthless

Than you! Here I thought I had surely got

Full payment from foul Alexander, but now my sword

Is broken and gone and I’ve thrown my spear and missed.”

So saying, he sprang upon him and grabbed his helmet

By the horsehair crest. Then flinging him down and whirling him

Round, he started to drag Paris off toward the line

Of well-greaved Achaeans, and the tightly-drawn strap of his helmet,

The thong of richly wrought ox-hide, began to crease

His soft throat and choke him. And now Menelaus would surely

Have dragged him off and won unspeakable glory,

If Zeus’s daughter, fair Aphrodite, had not been

Sharply watching. She broke the strap, though cut

From the hide of a slaughtered ox, and the powerful hand

Of the hero shot forward with an empty helmet. Spinning,

He tossed it among the well-greaved Achaeans, and his loyal

Friends retrieved it. And he charged his foe once again,

Eager to pierce him through with a sharp bronze spear.

But then Aphrodite whirled Paris away with the ease

Of deity working, enclosed him in cloud, and set him

Down in his own high-vaulted and perfumed bedroom.

Then she went to get Helen, whom she found on the lofty

Turreted wall in a crowd of Trojan women.

Taking the likeness of a very old woman, a worker

In wool and a long-time favorite of Helen’s who had carded

Fine fleece for her before she left Lacedaemon,

Bright Aphrodite took hold of her nectar-sweet gown,

Pulled it gently, and spoke:

“Let’s go. Paris

Says to come home. For he is there in the bedroom,

Stretched out on the inlaid bed, a man well dressed

And radiantly handsome. So far from thinking him one

Just back from a duel, you’d think he was on his way

To a dance, or already there and resting.”

These words

Stirred Helen’s heart, but when she noticed the graceful

Neck, delectable breasts, and sparkling eyes

Of the goddess, she answered her in amazement, saying:

“Mysterious deity! why are you trying to trick me?

Now that King Menelaus has gotten the best

Of royal Paris and is ready to take despicable

Me back home again, now doubtless you want

To lead me further on to some populous city

Of Phrygia or pleasant Maeonia where lives another

Masculine favorite of yours. So now you come here

With your slyness. But you, go sit by his side yourself.

Forget you’re a goddess and never again go back

To Olympus, but stay and make yourself utterly wretched

Caring for him till he makes you his wifeor slave!

But I won’t be shameless enough to return to his bed.

All the women in Troy would blame me, and my misery

Is already boundless.”

Then fair Aphrodite got angry

And spoke to her thus: “Don’t provoke me, you obstinate wretch,

Or I might become spiteful and leave you, and come to despise you

As much as I now exceedingly love you. I might even

Create in Trojans and Danaans both a hatred

So grievous that you would die in the conflict between them,

A terrible fate!”

She spoke, and Zeus-born Helen

Was afraid. Quietly she gathered her shining white gown

About her and left unnoticed by the Trojan women.

She followed where the goddess led.

Now when they reached

Alexander’s richly wrought home, the handmaids turned

To their chores, but their lovely mistress went straight to the highceilinged

Bedroom, where Aphrodite, adorer of smiles,

Got a seat for her and set it before Alexander.

Then Helen, the daughter of aegis-bearing Zeus, sat down,

And looking off to one side she began to rebuke

Her husband:

“So, you are back from the battle. Would you

Had died there, slain by that powerful man, my former

Lord! And you are the one who used to brag

About how much stronger you were than fierce Menelaus,

Stronger with your hands and better than he with your spear.

Well go ahead and call him back out to fight you

Again. But no, I wouldn’t really advise you

To be so mad as to fight with tawny Menelaus,

Lest you find yourself down and his sharp spear clean through you!”

And Paris replied: “This, my dear, is no time

For nagging. Menelaus, with the help of Athena, has won

This bout, that’s true, but another time I’ll conquer

Him. For we have gods on our side too!

But come, let’s enjoy ourselves in bed, making love

With each other, for never before have I felt so full

Of desirenot even when I first took you from fair

Lacedaemon, and sailing away in my seagoing ships

Made love with you in bed on the island of Cranaë.

But now even more I love you and feel myself

In the grip of sweet desire.”

So saying, he drew her

To him, and she unresisting joined him in bed.

But while those two lay making love at home

On the inlaid corded bed, Menelaus raged

Through the ranks like some wild beast, searching all over

For Prince Alexander. Nor could the Trojans nor any

Of their famous allies point out to fierce Menelaus

Where handsome Alexander was, and no man there

Would have hid him for reasons of friendship, since dark death itself

Was not more hateful than he to all of those warriors.

Then the king of men Agamemnon spoke out among them:

“Hear me, 0 Trojans, Dardanians, allies. It appears

Without question that victory has gone to the favorite of Ares,

King Menelaus. So relinquish Argive Helen

And all that goes with her by way of treasure, and make

Some ample repayment that men yet to be will remember.”

So spoke Atrides, and all the Achaeans applauded.

BOOK IV

Agamemnon’s Inspection of the Army

Meanwhile, the gods were enthroned on the golden floor

In council with Zeus. Graceful Hebem poured nectar

For them, and as they looked out on the city of Troy

They drank to each other from goblets of gold. But Zeus

At once began trying to irritate Hera, sarcastically

Saying:

“Menelaus has two divine helpers, a couple

Of goddesses, Argive Hera and mighty Athena,

The defender of many But both of them sit up here

Enjoying themselves, while light-o’-love Aphrodite,

That hustling, giggling goddess, goes constantly

To the side of her favorite and makes the fates keep their distance.

Just now she saved him again, when he thought sure

He was done for. Even so, the victory has gone to the favorite

Of Ares, King Menelaus, and now we must make

A decision, whether again to renew evil war

And the blood-chilling din of battle, or to bring the armies

Together in friendship. If we all agree on peace,

King Priam’s city survives as a town still fit

To live in, and fierce Menelaus takes Argive Helen

Home.”

At first his words got murmurs only

From Athena and Hera, who sat by each other contriving

Disasters for Trojans. Then Athena kept quiet and said nothing,

Though seized by savage anger at Father Zeus.

But the breast of Hera could not contain her rage,

And she railed at him thus:

“Most dreadful son of Cronos,

What kind of talk is that! Just how do you plan

To ruin all I’ve done and utterly waste the sweating

Toil I suffered when I exhausted my horses

In gathering those Achaeans to ruin both Priam

And all of his sons? Do as you like, but don’t

Suppose for one moment that all of us like what you do!”

Then angry indeed, cloud-gathering Zeus replied:

“Strange, implacable goddess! how many horrible

Wrongs can Priam and his sons have done you to make you

So frantically fierce in your rage to destroy and level

Their mighty stronghold?1 Perhaps if you went within

The gates and high walls and ate old Priam raw

Along with his sons and all the rest of the Trojans,

Your wrath might find some relief. Well do as you please

About Troy, but don’t bring this point up again to cause

More quarreling between us. And here’s something else you’ll do well

To remember. When it comes my turn to be eager for the ruin

Of some city where favorites of yours are living, don’t make

A move to stand in the path of my anger! Give me

My way, since now of my own accord I am giving

You yours, though still with an unwilling heart. For under

The sun and starry sky there is no earthly city

I care for more than holy Troy, nor any

Mortals whom I regard with more pleasure than Priam

And the people of Priam, him of the good ashen spear.

Never yet has my altar in Troy been bare of an ample

Feast, libations of wine and savory burnt-offerings,

The gifts we claim as our due.”

Then the heifer-eyed Queen

Of the gods replied: “The cities I care for most

Are threeArgos, Sparta, and wide-wayed Mycenae.n

But whenever you come to hate them, destroy away

At your pleasure. I’ll not stand up for them, nor will I

Resent or begrudge what you do. And what good would it do

If I did get resentful and tried to prevent their destruction,

Since you are so very much stronger? But surely the work

I do should also amount to something. I too

Am divine and from the same stock as yourself. For I

In two respects am the most honored daughter of Cronos,

Crooked in counsel, in that I am the eldest and also

Your wife, you being King of all the immortals.

But now let us yield to each other, me to you

And you to me, and the other immortal gods

Will do as we do. And now tell Athena to enter

The noisy throng of Achaeans and Trojans and find

Some way of making the Trojans break their oaths

Of truce by an act of violence against the triumphant,

Exulting Achaeans.”

So she, and the Father of gods

And men by no means ignored her.2 At once he spoke

To Athena with these winged words: “Hurry on into

The gathered hosts of Achaeans and Trojans and find

Some way of making the Trojans break their oaths

Of truce by an act of violence against the triumphant,

Exulting Achaeans.”

So saying, he started Athena,

Who needed no urging, and down she went darting from the peaks

Of Olympus. Like a shooting star that the son of crooked

Cronos sends with a long trail of fire as a sign

To sailors at sea or a huge encampment of soldiers,

So Pallas Athena shot down to earth right into

The midst of innumerable men, and all who saw

Were astonished, both horse-breaking Trojans and bronze-clad

Achaeans.

Then one would glance at the man next to him, and say:

“Surely again, now, horrible war and the screaming

Chaos of battle are coming upon us, either that,

Or peace is ours by decree of Zeus, who has

All wars in his keeping and decides when men will fight.”

Thus Achaeans and Trojans spoke to each other. Athena,

Meanwhile, entered the Trojan host as a man,

The powerful spearman Laodocus, son of Antenor,

To find the princely Pandarus if she could.

And she found that son of Lycaon, the matchless and mighty

Pandarus, standing amid the stalwart ranks

Of shield-bearing men who had followed him there from the streams

Of Aesepus. She approached and spoke with these winged words:

“Shrewd son of Lycaon, listen to me. I dare you

To shoot a quick arrow at yonder fierce Menelaus!

Think what fame and favor you’d win from the whole

Trojan army, but especially from Prince Paris. When it came

To the giving of splendid gifts, he would surely be far

More generous to you than to anyone else, if now

He should see Menelaus, the warlike son of Atreus,

Brought down by an arrow of yours and then laid out

On a grievous funeral pyre. So come, let fly

At yonder illustrious King and promise Apollo,

Your light-born Lycian god, the famous archer,

That when you return to your own hometown of sacred

Zeleia you will offer to him a glorious hecatomb

Of first-born, excellent lambs.”

So spoke Athena,

And persuaded the mind of a mindless fool. He quickly

Unwrapped his burnished bow, made from the horns

Of a leaping wild antelope that he himself had shot

From a place of ambush as the beast stepped down from a rock,

Striking it full in the chest and sending it back

In a heap on the slab. Its horns grew sixteen hands high,

And these a craftsman had worked and fitted together,

Burnished well, and tipped with curving gold.

Resting one end on the ground, he strung the great weapon

And laid it carefully down, while his valiant companions

Held up their shields before him so that the warlike

Sons of Achaeans would not interfere with the shooting

Of fierce Menelaus, Atreus’ battling son.

Next he lifted the lid of his quiver and drew out

A feathered arrow fraught with dark pains, a new one

That had never been shot. Deftly he fitted this bitter

Shaft to the ox-hide string and promised Apollo,

His light-born Lycian god, the famous archer,

That when he returned to his own hometown of sacred

Zeleia he would offer to him a glorious hecatomb

Of first-born, excellent lambs. And he drew the notched arrow

And ox-hide string all the way back to his chest

Till the iron head touched the bow and the bow itself

Was bent in a circle. Then he shot with a clanging twang

Of the mighty weapon as the resonant string sang out

And the sharp-headed shaft went winging its way, eager

To fly mid the enemy ranks.

But ah, Menelaus,

The blissful immortal gods did not forget you,

And especially mindful was Zeus’s daughter Athena,

The bringer of booty, who stood before you and quickly

Deflected the sharp-pointed shaft. She brushed it away

From the flesh of the King as a mother brushes a fly

From her baby sweetly sleeping, and the goddess herself

Guided it where his golden belt buckles joined

And the halves of his breastplate met. So the keen arrow struck

Where the richly wrought belt was buckled and cut right through

And on through the beautiful breastplate and heavily armored

Kilt, which he wore for just such protection and which did

The most to help him, yet even through this the arrow

Pierced, wounding him slightly, and the cloud-black blood

Ran out from the shallow cut.

As when some Maeonian

Or Carian woman stains with crimson dye

A horse’s ivory cheek-piece, that later lies

In store and though many a horseman covets it keenly

Remains where it is to enhance the horse of a king

And thrill his driver, so now, Menelaus, your thighs

Were stained with the flowing blood, your handsome huge thighs,

Your calves, and ankles beneath.

When he saw the dark blood

Running down from the wound, the commander-in-chief

Agamemnon

Shuddered, as also shuddered Ares’ own

Menelaus. But when he saw that the arrowhead’s barbs

And binding of sinew were still outside the flesh,

The spirit returned to his breast. But King Agamemnon,

Loudly moaning and holding Menelaus’s hand,

Spoke thus among his men, who all around him

Re-echoed his moans:

“O my dear brother, it seems

I’ve accomplished only your death in swearing this solemn

Oath and setting you out before the Achaeans

To fight the Trojans alone, since now they have managed

To shoot you and so have insulted our sacred swearing!

Even so, an oath is an oath, and by no means taken

In vain with the blood of lambs, holy libations

Of unmixed wine, and the faithful clasping of hands.

For even though the Olympian fulfills it not

At the moment, still he fulfills it sooner or later.

And then the price of atonement is heavy indeed,

For then men pay with their heads, their wives, and their children.

And this my heart and soul are utterly sure of

That sooner or later the day of destruction shall come

For holy Troy and Priam and all the people

Of Priam of the good ashen spear. Then high-throned Zeus,

The sky-dwelling son of Cronos, shall rise in wrath

At this treacherous deed and shake his dark and terrible

Aegis over the Trojans. Don’t think all this

Won’t happen. But 0 Menelaus, what awful misery

Will surely be mine if you die and fulfill your destiny

Now! For then the Achaeans will immediately want

To go home, back to thirsty Argos, where I

Should return in utter disgrace, and leave to Priam

And the other Trojans their insolent boast, no other

Than Argive Helen herself. And here in the dirt

Of Troy your bones shall rot while the task undertaken

By you remains unfinished. Then some Trojan,

Proud and triumphant, will dance on the tomb of great

Menelaus, and shout:

” May such be the way Agamemnon

Always wreaks his wrath, as now he came here

With a host of Achaeans only to leave in defeat

And go back to his own precious country with empty ships

And no superb Menelaus!’

“But on the day

When any man shall so vaunt, may the wide earth then

Engulf me!”

But tawny Menelaus reassured him, saying:

“Don’t worry, and whatever you do don’t alarm the army.

The head of the shaft is fixed in nothing vital.

It was all but stopped by my flashing belt and leather

Protector and the armored kilt beneath them, the one

Well plated by workers in bronze.”

And King Agamemnon

Answered him thus: “May it be as you say, my dear

Menelaus. But a surgeon shall search the wound and treat it

With proper ointments to take away the dark pains.”

Then he spoke thus to the high-born herald Talthybius:

“Go, Talthybius, as fast as you can, and fetch

Machaon, son of the peerless physician Asclepius,

To see warlike Menelaus, whom some skillful archer,

Some Trojan or Lycian bowman, has struck with an arrow,

Covering himself with glory, but us with nothing

But sorrow.”

This order the herald was quick to obey,

And he ran through the ranks looking this way and that for the

martial

Machaon, whom he found on his feet mid the stalwart ranks

Of shield-bearing soldiers who had followed him there from the

grassy

Fields of Tricca, land of fine horses. He approached him

And spoke with these winged words:

“Come, 0 son

Of Asclepius. Great Agamemnon calls you to see

The warlike King Menelaus, whom some skillful archer,

Some Trojan or Lycian bowman, has struck with an arrow,

Covering himself with glory, but us with nothing

But sorrow.”

These words startled Machaon, and the two of them

Hurried through the huge crowd of Achaeans. When they reached

The spot where tawny Menelaus lay wounded, surrounded

By all the chieftains, the divinely able Machaon

Stepped into their midst and quickly extracted the arrow

From where the belt was buckled, breaking back

The keen barbs as he drew out the head. He loosened the flashing

Belt and leather protector and the armored kilt

Beneath them, the one well plated by workers in bronze,

And examined the wound which the bitter arrow had made.

Then he sucked out the blood and ably applied

Soothing ointments which once the affable Cheiron had given

His father.

But while they were busy with King Menelaus

Of the great battle-scream, the shield-bearing Trojan forces

Began to advance, and again the Achaean warriors

Put on their armor and did their best to recover

Some stomach for fighting.

You would not then have found

The great Agamemnon napping,3 or cringing with fear

And reluctance to fight, but still exceedingly eager

For the man-enhancing battle. He left his horses

And bronze-bright car in the care of his squire Eurymedon,

Ptolemy’s son, Peiraeus’s grandson, who held

In check his snorting charges. But first he gave him

Strict orders to have the chariot near in case

His legs should grow tired as he toured and re-ordered the ranks.

Then off through the host he strode, and whenever he saw

Any swiftly-drawn Danaans up and eager for action

He would stop and encourage them thus:

“Argives, don’t relax

Your impetuous valor one whit, for Father Zeus

Will be no helper of liars! Vultures shall surely

Devour the tender flesh of those who first

Went back on their word and violently broke the truce,

And when we have plundered their city, their beloved wives

And little children shall go with us in our ships!”

But whenever he saw any hesitant men, shrinking

From horrible war, he would stop and fiercely rebuke them:

“Disgraceful Argives! brave with the bow alone,

Have you no shame? Why are you standing here

In a daze, like fawns that exhaust themselves by running

Across a wide plain and then just stand there, stupid

And still, too lacking in spirit to move? So here

You stand in a trance instead of preparing to fight!

Can it be that you’re waiting for Trojans to threaten your ships

Where their sterns are drawn up on the beach of the foaming sea,

That then you may know whether Zeus will stretch out his hand

And save you?”

Thus, as he ranged through the crowded ranks

Issuing orders, he came to where the Cretans

Were arming themselves about their excellent leader

Idomeneus, who stood formidable as any wild boar

Mid the foremost champions, while Meriones speeded the arming

Of ranks in the rear. The commander-in-chief Agamemnon

Rejoiced at their zeal, and spoke at once to their leader

With these friendly words:

“Idomeneus, you I respect

Above all other swiftly-drawn Danaans, in war

And works of peace, and at the royal feast

When a bowl of the elders’ flaming wine is mixed

For the Argive chiefs. Then the other long-haired Achaeans

Drink their allotted share, but your cup stands

Ever full, like mine, that you may drink whenever

You have a mind to. But on into battle, fully

The man you’ve always claimed to be!”

And Idomeneus,

Leader of Cretans, replied: “Atrides, surely

To you I will be a loyal comrade, as in

The beginning I gave my promise and pledge I would be.

But urge on the rest of the long-haired Achaeans, that quickly

We may join battle now that the Trojans have broken

Their oath. Death and mourning shall surely be theirs

Who first went back on their word and promise of peace!”

He spoke, and Atreus’ son, now greatly pleased,

Strode on through the host till he came to where the two Ajaxes

Stood armed, with an ominous cloud of infantrymen

Behind them. As when from some high crag a goatherd

Sees a far cloud blowing in from over the deep

Before the roaring West Wind, a cloud that brings

The huge hurricane and seems to him blacker than pitch

As he shudders and drives his herd in a cave, so now

The crowded ranks of god-fed, lusty young fighters

Moved with the two Ajaxes into the fury

Of wardark battalions, and everywhere bristling

With shields and spears. As he looked at them, the heart

Of King Agamemnon grew gladder still, and the words

He spoke to their leaders came winged with hearty praise:

“I give no orders to you, my brave Ajaxes,

Commanders of Argives clad in bronze. It would hardly

Be right to do so. For you yourselves do all

That is needed to fire up your men and fill them with fight.

0 Father Zeus, Athena, and Apollo, if only

I found such spirit in the hearts of all my men!

Then the towers of King Priam’s city would soon be toppled

And all laid waste and leveled beneath our hands.”

With this he left them there and went on to others.

And he came to where Nestor, the eloquent speaker from Pylos,

Was haranguing his men and marshaling them under their leaders

The powerful Pelagon, Alastor, and Chromius, lordly

Haemon and the people’s shepherd Bias. First came

His charioteers, and to the rear, as a wall

Of defense, he had stationed crack troops of infantrymen.

And between these contingents he had driven the weaklings and cowards,

That they might be forced to fight in spite of themselves.

At the moment he was instructing his charioteers,

Bidding them hold their horses in check and not

To go rushing ahead in the mob, old Nestor saying:

“May no man here allow his own good opinion

Of his horsemanship and manly prowess to send him charging

Out front apart from the others to fight the Trojans

Alone, nor will any giving of ground make a one

Of you any stronger! Wait till we all get close,

Then engage the car of a foe and swiftly thrust home

With your spear. These tactics are much the best. Such

Was the disciplined spirit that enabled the heroes of old

To lay waste walls and cities!”

Thus the old one

Drew on his knowledge of battles fought long ago

To advise and inspire his men. Agamemnon rejoiced

As he watched him in action, and to him spoke these winged words:

“Old sire, I only wish that your limbs and bodily

Vigor might still keep pace with your wonderful spirit!

But evil old age that comes to all lies heavy

Upon you. Would that you might change years with one

Of our lusty young spearmen!”

To which replied horse-driving

Gerenian Nestor: “Son of Atreus, I too

Am tempted to wish that I were the man I was

On the day I cut down huge Ereuthalion. But the gods

Never grant men all things at once. As then I was young,

So now old age is upon me. Even so, I shall stay

With my charioteers, rightly fulfilling the office

Of age by giving them orders and good advice.

I’ll leave the wielding of spears to younger men

Who trust the might of their brawn.”

He spoke, and Atrides

Moved on as confidence grew within him. Then

He saw Peteos’ son, horse-lashing Menestheus, standing

Mid the Athenians, masters at raising the war-cry,

And not far away resourceful Odysseus, standing

Mid the strong Cephallenians. None of them made any move

To advance, since Achaean battalions and horse-breaking Trojans

Had just begun to get under way and no one

There with Odysseus had heard the war-cry. So they stood

Where they were and waited for some other thick wall of

Achaeans

To charge on the Trojans and start the battle. This calmness

Of theirs made a poor impression on King Agamemnon,

And now his words came winged with bitter harshness:

“O son of royal Peteos, nurtured of Zeus,

And you the champion of treacherous tricks who first

Looks out for himself, why are you cringing back here,

Fearful and waiting for others? It would seem that you two

Should fight in the very front rank and throw yourselves

In the midst of blazing battle. For surely you’re always

The first to respond when I send out a call to the feast

And we Achaeans prepare a fine meal for the chiefs.

I’ve noticed that then you sit and eat roast meat

With a wonderful zest and drink uncounted cups

Of honey-sweet wine. But now you would gladly loiter

Back here and look on though ten great Achaean battalions

Fought with the ruthless bronze in front of you!”

Then, with an angry scowl, resourceful Odysseus

Replied: “Son of Atreus, what words are these that just

Got by the barrier of your teeth! What

Do you mean by saying that we don’t do our part

In waging keen war with the horse-taming Trojans? You’ll see,

If you bother to look, the father of Prince Telemachus

Mixing it up with the front-rank fighters of Troy.

The words you speak are nothing but so much wind!”

When he saw how angry Odysseus was, great

Agamemnon smiled and took back all he had said:

“O god-sprung son of Laertes, resourceful Odysseus,

I did not mean to overly criticize you

Or give you commands, for I know your heart is full

Of gentle wisdom, since surely you and I

Think very much alike. So come now, all this

We’ll make up to each other later, and if any hard words

Have been spoken, may the gods themselves see to it that nothing

Ever comes of them.”

With this he left them there

And went on to others, till he found the son of Tydeus,

Bold Diomedes, standing among the horses

And sturdy chariots, and by him stood Capaneus’ son

Sthenelus. The sight of Diomedes also just standing

Angered Agamemnon again, and the words he spoke

Came winged with reproach:

“Confound it! You son of the fiery

Horse-taming Tydeus, why are you cringing back here

Staring at the other brave companies, true bulwarks of battle?

Surely Tydeus never did any cringing,

But fought in the blaze of war well out in front

Of his friends, as all who saw him toiling in battle

Will tell you. He, they say, was the best of warriors.

I never met him myself, nor even so much as

Saw him, though it’s true he came to Mycenae once

As a guest, not a foeand with him came Prince Polyneices.4

They were looking for strong reinforcements, since they at that time

Were laying siege to the holy walls of Thebes.

They made their plea for famous allies, and the men

Of Mycenae were going to give them what they required

When Zeus changed their minds by causing unfavorable signs

To appear. They left and went on their way till they came

To the grassy meadows of the reedy river Asopus.

From there the Achaeans sent Tydeus forth on a mission

To Thebes. Upon his arrival he found the many

Descendants of Cadmus feasting together in the palace

Of Prince Eteocles. Your father was a stranger there

And all alone mid many Cadmeans, but the gallant

Horseman Tydeus was so far from being afraid

That he challenged them all to athletic games, and there,

With the gracious help of Athena, he beat them all

A defeat which did not set well with the horse-racing Cadmeans.

So as he returned from their city they laid an ambush

Of fifty strong men commanded by Maeon, son

Of Haemon, and Autophonus’ son, battle-staunch Polyphontes.

But they all came to grief and a shameful end at the hands

Of Tydeus, who slew them allall but Maeon.

Him he sent home, obeying signs from the gods.

Even such was Aetolian Tydeus. But the son he sired

Is not like his father in battle, though more than his equal

When it comes to the making of speeches in the place of assembly!”

Strong Diomedes said nothing at all in reply,

Respecting reproof from the honored King. But Sthenelus,

Son of illustrious Capaneus, answered him thus:

“Atrides, don’t lie! You know very well what the truth is.

We claim to be much better men than our fathers,

For we were the ones who succeeded in taking Thebes

Of the seven gates, and we did it with fewer men

And against a more strongly fortified city. We put

Our trust in the heavenly portents and the help of Zeus,

Whereas our fathers died on account of their own

Presumption and folly! So don’t compare our merits

With theirs.“5

At this the strong Diomedes, glaring

At Sthenelus, said: “Quiet, my friend, and do

As I say. I surely don’t blame our commander-in-chief

Agamemnon for stirring up fight in the well-greaved Achaeans,

For he is the one who stands to win the most glory

If we Achaeans destroy the Trojans and sacred

Ilium falls, just as he stands to suffer

The most if we go down in defeat. Come, man,

Concentrate now on nothing but furious fighting!”

So saying, he leaped in full armor from his car to the ground,

And the startling ringing and clashing of bronze on the breast

Of the agile chief was enough to give pause and trembling

To any man however brave.

As when a great surf

Of the sea pounds and resounds on an echoing beach,

Wave after wave coming in with the driving West Wind,

Waves that gather and swell far out on the deep

To break at last and thunder on the shore, curling

And rising around the big rocks and abundantly spewing

Their briny foam, so now the Danaans moved

Rank after rank into battle, and the captains did

All the shouting, commanding their disciplined men, who might

Have been dumb for all the talking they did, as fearing

Their leaders they went ahead by the thousands in their inlaid

Flashing armor. But as for the Trojans, they sounded

Like a vast flock of ewes that stand and wait in the yard

Of a wealthy man to give their white milk and incessantly

Bleat as they hear the cries of their lambs. Even such

Was the clamor that rose throughout the Trojans’ great host,

For they shouted their orders in no one language, but men

From many lands cried out in a jangling of tongues.

These were impelled by Ares, the Achaeans by bright-eyed

Athena, and all were driven by Panic and Rout

And raging Hatred, implacable comrade and sister

Of murdering Ares. She comes to little at first,

But continues to rise till though her feet tread earth

Her head knocks very heaven. It was she who now

Spread dire discord among them as she went throughout

Both armies augmenting the groans of men.

For now

The two forces met with a fearful din of spears

And bossed shields clashing in a fierce and furious melee

Of bronze-breasted fighters. And there the screams of the dying

Were mingled with cries of triumph as blood flowed over

The earth. As when two winter torrents flow down

From great mountain springs to mingle their turbulent floods

Where the two streams meet and thunder on down a deep gorge,

And the shepherd far off in the mountains hears the roar,

So now as the two armies clashed in the fury of battle

A terrible roar of toil and shouting arose.

Then Antilochus first took care of one of the Trojans,

A valiant man fully armed mid the foremost fighters,

Echepolus, son of Thalysius. Him he caught

With his spear on the horn of his helmet crested with horsehair

And drove the bronze point through the bone of his forehead.

Darkness enveloped his eyes, and he fell as a tower

Falls in the raging conflict. Then lord Elephenor,

Chalcodon’s son and chief of the doughty Abantes,

Seized his feet as he fell and started to drag him

From under the hurtling spears, eager to strip off

His armor. But soon indeed his effort ended.

For as he was dragging the body, a Trojan chief,

High-hearted Agenor, saw him and drove the bronze point

Of his spear in his enemy’s side, which as he stooped

Was uncovered by shield. His limbs relaxed as spirit

Left him, and over his body Achaeans and Trojans

Savagely battled each other. Like so many wolves

They sprang, and man staggered man as they fought for the corpse.

Then Telamonian Ajax killed the son

Of Anthemion, the manly youth Simoeisius,o born

By the banks of Simoeis on a day when his mother was journeying

Down from Mount Ida, where she had gone with her parents

To take a look at their flocks, which is why they called him

Simoeisius. But for his upbringing he never repaid

His dear parents, since now his life was cut short by the spear

Of spirited Ajax. As the youth came on in front

Of the others he got the bronze in his chest beside

The right nipple. On through his shoulder it went, and he fell

To earth in the dust like a smooth black poplar whose branchy top

Falls in the low grassland of a mighty marsh

To the gleaming ax of some chariot-maker, who leaves it

To dry by the banks of a river that he may bend him

A rim for a beautiful chariot. Even such was the fall

Of Anthemion’s son Simoeisius, brought down by Zeus-born

Ajax, who now became the target of Antiphus,

Son of Priam. He, his breastplate flashing,

Hurled his sharp spear through the crowd, and missing Ajax

Struck in the groin Odysseus’ good friend Leucus

As he was dragging the body away to one side

He lost his grip and fell face down on the corpse.

The killing of Leucus greatly enraged Odysseus.

Clad in flaming bronze, he plunged through his own

Front ranks and coming up close to the enemy line

Glared fiercely about him and hurled his bright spear, and before him

The Trojans fell back. And not in vain he threw,

For he hit King Priam’s bastard son Democoön,

Who had come from Abydos, leaving his string of swift horses.

Enraged at the death of his comrade, Odysseus sent

The keen bronze point of his spear in at one temple

And out at the other, and darkness enveloped his eyes

As he fell with a thud and his armor clanged about him.

Then the foremost Trojan fighters and glorious Hector

Gave ground, and the yelling Argives dragged off the bodies

And charged much further on.

Now Apollo, indignant,

Looked down from Pergamus,p stronghold of Troy, and shouted

Thus to the Trojans: “Hold fast! you horse-taming Trojans.

In lust for battle don’t be outdone by the Argives.

Their bodies aren’t made of stone or iron, nor can they

Resist the flesh-cleaving bronze. And besides, Achilles

Is no longer fighting. The son of fair-haired Thetis

Is back at the ships coddling his soul-searing wrath!”

So spoke the dread god from the fortified hill of Troy.

But Athena Tritogeneia, the glorious daughter

Of Zeus, was at work among the Achaeans, constantly

Urging them on and increasing their courage wherever

She saw them yielding.

Then Amarynceus’ son,

The Epean Diores, was caught in the toils of fate.

For the Thracian leader Peiros, Imbrasus son

From Aenus, struck him a blow with a cruel and jagged

Stone on the right leg over the ankle, tearing

The sinews and utterly crushing the bones. And he fell

On his back in the dust, stretching out both of his hands

To his dear comrades and gasping his life away.

Then Peiros, who threw the stone, ran in with his spear

And ripped him across the navel, and all his guts

Gushed out on the ground as darkness came over his eyes.

But as that ally of Troy sprang back from the corpse,

Aetolian Thoas threw his spear and caught him

In the chest just over the nipple, lodging the bronze

In his lung. Then he ran up and pulled the great spear

From his chest, and drawing his sword slashed open his belly

In turn, leaving him lifeless. But Thoas got

No bronze from the corpse at his feet, for around him the comrades

Of Peiros, Thracian fighters who wear their hair tufted

On top, stood firm with long spears in their hands, and though

He was huge and mighty and fearful, they made him reel

And fall back before them. Thus the two captains lay stretched

In the dust together, Peiros, the leader of Thracians,

And Diores of bronze-clad Epeans, and about their bodies

Numerous others were slain.

It was hardly a battle

For any man to make light of, though he entered it fresh

And hand in hand with Athena whirled through it all

Unwounded by flying spear or thrust of keen blade,

Protected by her from the hail of hurtling bronze.

That day a tremendous mass of Achaeans and Trojans

Alike were stretched side by side face down in the dust.

BOOK V

The Valiant Deeds of Diomedes

Now Pallas Athena gave courage and manly prowess

To Tydeus’ son Diomedes, that he might distinguish

Himself mid all the Argives and win great glory.

She caused his helmet and shield to blaze with tireless

Flame, like that bright star of late summer that rises

From bathing in the stream of Oceanus and outshines all

The others. Such was the fire she made flame out

From this man’s head and shoulders, and she sent him into

The thickest part of the battle.1

Among the Trojans

Lived one by the name of Dares, a wealthy and worthy

Priest of Hephaestus, and he had two warrior sons,

Phegeus and Idaeus, skillful in battle. Now these

Drove out from the rest of the host to meet Diomedes,

Who charged along on foot. As soon as they

Were well within range of the oncoming chief, Phegeus

Flung his long-shadowing spear, and the point of it narrowly

Missed the left shoulder of Tydeus’s son, who came on

With the bronze as before. And not in vain did his spear

Fly from his hand. For he landed it square in the chest

Of Phegeus between the nipples and knocked him from the chariot.

And Idaeus sprang back, leaving the ornate car,

But did not dare bestride the corpse of his brother.

In fact, he himself would not have evaded black fate

If Hephaestus had not been his guard and wrapped him in night

To save him, that his old priest their father might not

Be utterly wretched with grief. Then the stout-hearted son

Of Tydeus drove off their horses and gave them to comrades

Of his to lead back to the hollow ships.

When the Trojans

Saw the two sons of Dares, one running away,

The other dead by his car, their hearts recoiled.

And bright-eyed Athena, taking the hand of rash Ares,

Spoke to him thus: “Ares, Ares, ruiner

Of men, you bloodstained stormer of walls, may we not

Leave the Achaeans and Trojans to fight this out

For themselves? Father Zeus will grant glory to whichever side

He wishes, but let us avoid his wrath by removing

Ourselves right now.”

So saying, she led the fierce War-god

From battle and made him sit down on the sandy bank

Of Scamander. Then the Trojans were routed by the Danaan fighters,

And each of their captains killed his man. First,

The king of men Agamemnon tumbled great Odius,

Chief of the Halizones, out of his chariot.

He had been first to wheel in retreat, but just

As he turned, Agamemnon planted a spear in his back

Between the shoulders and drove it out through his chest.

And he fell to the ground with a thud and a clashing of armor.

And Idomeneus slew the son of Maeonian Borus,

The warrior Phaestus from fertile Tarne. Idomeneus,

Famed as a spearman, thrust his long lance clean through

His right shoulder just as he mounted his car. Phaestus

Fell to the ground, as hateful darkness seized him,

And the squires of Idomeneus stripped the corpse of its armor.

Then Atreus’ son Menelaus with his sharp spear

Took care of Scamandrius, Strophius’ son, the skillful

Hunter whom Artemis herself had taught to hit

All the wild creatures that feed in the mountain forest.

But arrow-scattering Artemis was no good at all

To her protégé now, nor was his exceptional skill

At long-distance shooting. For Atreus’ son Menelaus

Struck him in the back as he fled, and drove his spear in

Between the shoulders and out through his chest. And

Scamandrius

Fell on his face, as on him his armor rang.

And Meriones killed the son of Tecton and grandson

Of Harmon, the builder Phereclus, who could make all manner

Of intricate things with his hands. It was he who had built

For Paris those shapely ships, the beginning of ills,

That became a curse to all Trojans including himself,

Who had no idea what the immortal gods had decreed.

When Meriones, giving chase, caught up with him,

He lunged with his spear, and the point went in the right buttock,

Under the bone, and into the bladder beneath.

Then Phereclus fell to his knees with a scream, and death

Came over him there.

Then Meges slew Pedaeus,

Antenor’s bastard son, whom, to please

Her husband, his godly wife Theano had reared

Like one of her own. Phyleus’ son Meges, renowned

As a spearman, drew near and hurled his sharp lance through the nape

Of this man’s neck. The point cut off his tongue

At the root and lodged between his teeth, and Pedaeus

Fell in the dust and bit the cold bronze.

And Eurypylus,

Son of Euaemon, killed the splendid Hypsenor,

Son of high-hearted Dolopion, who was made priest

Of the river Scamander and honored like a god by the people

Of Troy. As Hypsenor fled before him, Eurypylus,

Glorious son of Euaemon, slashed with his sword

And lopped his heavy arm off. Streaming blood

It fell to the ground, and purple death came down

On the eyes of Hypsenor as powerful fate embraced him.

So they toiled in the huge confusion of battle.

But as for Diomedes, you could not have told which side

He was on, Achaean or Trojan. For across the plain

He raged like a swollen winter torrent that swiftly

Sweeps the embankments away, tight dikes and the walls

Of fruitful vineyards, as the rain of Zeus drives it on,

And many a man’s fine work goes down in destruction

Before it. So now the thick Trojan battalions were routed

By Tydeus’ son, nor could they for all their great numbers

Stand up to him.

But the son of Lycaon, Prince Pandarus,

No sooner caught sight of him raging across the plain

With the Trojan battalions running in rout than he bent

His curved bow, took careful aim, and sent a sharp shaft

Through the right shoulder-guard of his armor, spattering blood

On his breastplate. Then the glorious son of Lycaon loudly,

Triumphantly shouted:

“About! you spirited Trojans,

You charioteers. The best Achaean they’ve got

Is badly hit, nor will he last long with that

Grim shaft in his shoulder, if God’s own son Apollo

Truly blessed my setting forth from Lycia!”

So Pandarus boasted, but strong Diomedes was not

Undone by the flying arrow. Falling back

To his horses and car, he spoke to Sthenelus thus:

“Quick! good son of Capaneus. Get down from that car

And pull this keen shaft from my shoulder.”

And Sthenelus leaped

To the ground beside him and pulled the swift arrow point-first

Through his shoulder, and blood spurted up through the weave of his

tunic.

Then battle-roaring Diomedes prayed: “Hear me,

O unwearied child of Zeus who bears the aegis.

If ever you cared for my father and stood by his side

In the blaze of battle, care now, Athena, no less

For me. Bring within range of my spear the wretch

Who shot me before I saw him and now loudly brags

That I haven’t much longer to live in the sun’s bright light.”

Hearing his earnest prayer, Pallas Athena

Quickly renewed his vigor, and once again

He felt light on his feet and strong. Then standing beside him

She spoke these winged words: “You’re ready now,

Diomedes, and eager to battle the Trojans, for I

Have filled your heart with the untrembling might of your father,

The great shield-wielding warrior, Tydeus the horseman.

And I have removed the mist with which your eyes

Were darkened, that now with ease you may distinguish

The god from the man. Do not, then, fight with any

Immortal power that may come here to try you,

Save only Zeus’s daughter, fair Aphrodite.

If she should enter the battle, give her a thrust

With your keen-cutting bronze!”

So saying, blue-eyed Athena

Went her way, and Tydeus’ son returned

To the fight mid the foremost champions. And though before

His heart had been eager for battle with Trojans, now

He was seized with fury three times as great, like that

Which comes on a lion some shepherd has wounded but failed

To kill while guarding his fleecy sheep on an outlying

Farm: he hurts the beast just enough to enrage him

As he leaps over the wall of the yard, then hides

Amid the buildings instead of pursuing him further,

While the frantic sheep are driven pell-mell about

And huddled together in clumps and the furious lion

Takes the high fence at a bound and is back in the fields.

Even such was the rage of strong Diomedes as now

He clashed with the Trojans.

He first took on Astynous

And the people’s shepherd Hypeiron. Hurling his spear

He struck the one just over the nipple. Then bringing

His huge sword down on the collarbone of the other

He sheared his shoulder clean off from the neck and back.

Their bodies he left where they fell and rushed in pursuit

Of Abas and Polyidus, sons of Eurydamas,

An aged reader of dreams. But those two never

Again brought dreams for their old sire to interpret,

For strong Diomedes slew them. Then he charged

The cherished sons of Phaenops, Xanthus and Thoön.

Their father was old and feeble, and he begot

No other son to leave his property to.

There Diomedes cut both of them down, taking

Their sweet lives away and leaving their father with nothing

But grief and pain. For never again did he welcome them

Home from battle, and their kinsmen divided his wealth.

Next he encountered two sons of Dardanian Priam,

Echemmon and Chromius, riding in a chariot together.

As a lion springs in among cattle and breaks the neck

Of an ox or heifer grazing in a glade of the forest,

So Tydeus’ son knocked both of these from their chariot,

Which they were loath to leave, and stripping off

Their armor he gave the horses to comrades of his

To drive to the ships.

But Aeneas saw him ruining

The ranks and made his way through the fight mid a tumult

Of hurtling spears to find the princely Pandarus

If he could. When he found that matchless and mighty

Son of Lycaon, he went up to him and said:

“Pandarus, where now are your bow and winged arrows

For which you’re so famous? We have no archer to equal you

Here, nor is there any in Lycia who claims

To be better. So come, lift up your hands and pray

To Zeus, then take a shaft and let it fly

At yonder man, whoever he is, that has brought

Not a few of our best men down and done much harm

To the Trojans. I fear he may be some wrathful god,

Angry with Trojans because of neglected offerings.

The wrath of a god is hard for mortals to bear.”

Then the glorious son of Lycaon answered him thus:

“Aeneas, wise counselor of bronze-clad Trojans, to me

He looks very like Diomedes, for I know his shield

And crested helmet, and those are his horses too.

Still, I don’t really know: he may be a god!

And even if he’s the man I think he is,

The fiery son of Tydeus, he doesn’t rage

Through the ranks that way without the help of a god.

Surely some cloud-wrapped immortal stood by him today

And deflected the flying shaft with which I hit him.

For hit him I did, upon the right shoulder, with a shaft

That went right through the plate of his armor. I thought

At the time I had sent him to Hades for sure, but I

Was wrongtruly he must be some wrathful god!

And here I am with neither horses nor car,

Though at home in the care of my father Lycaon are eleven

Lovely new chariots covered with robes, and standing

By each, a pair of fine horses munch wheat and white barley.

Back in the palace, before I left for the war,

The aged spearman, my father Lycaon, told me

Again and again to take a car and horses,

That I might mount and so lead the Trojan fighters

In mighty battles. But I like a fool wouldn’t listen.

I wanted to spare the horses, afraid that here

In a crowd so large, there wouldn’t be fodder enough,

And they had always had more than enough to eat.

So I came on foot to Ilium, relying on my bow,

Which hasn’t, however, been very much help. For today

I have shot at two Kings, Diomedes and Menelaus, and on both

I scored hits and drew blood. But all I really accomplished

Was to make them fight more fiercely than ever. So that

Was a sad day for me when I took my bent bow from its peg

And set out with my men for beautiful Ilium, bringing

Much joy to the brilliant Hector. But if I ever

Get back and lay eyes once again on my own native land,

My dear wife, and lofty huge palace, then any man

Who wishes may cut my head clean off if I,

With my own hands, don’t break this bow in two

And throw it all in the blazing fire. For it

To me is worthless as wind!”

Then Aeneas, leader

Of Trojans, answered him thus: “Don’t talk that way.

But surely it’s true that things won’t really improve

Till we take horses and car and confront the man

With other weapons. So come, get up in my chariot,

That you may see what the horses of Tros are like.2

They’re equally fast pursuing or fleeing, and should Zeus

Again grant victory to Tydeus’ son Diomedes

They’ll get the two of us safely back to the city.

Come then, you take the lash and glossy reins

And I’ll be the one to dismount and do the fighting,

Or you can do that and I will handle the horses.”

And the glorious son of Lycaon replied: “You manage

The reins yourself, Aeneas, and drive your own horses.

In case we do have to flee Diomedes they’ll surely

Run better before the curved car with someone they know

At the reins. I wouldn’t want them to panic and balk

And refuse to take us out of the battle for lack of

Your voice to urge them. For then the son of spirited

Tydeus would charge and kill us both and drive off

Your solid-hoofed horses. No, you drive your own chariot

And pair, and I’ll take him on with a sharp-pointed spear.”

So saying, they mounted the ornate car and fiercely

Drove the swift horses against Diomedes. And Sthenelus,

Son of Capaneus, saw them and quickly spoke

To the son of Tydeus these words winged with warning:

“Diomedes, dear friend, here come two mighty men

Of measureless strength bearing down at a gallop upon us

And eager to fight you! One is the skillful bowman

Pandarus, who says he’s the son of Lycaon, and with him

Rides Aeneas, who claims Anchises for father

And Aphrodite for mother. But come, let us

Fall back in the chariot. I beg you to stop this raging

Mid front-line fighters before you too fall a victim.”

Then strong Diomedes, darkly scowling, replied:

“Don’t talk to me of retreating, since you haven’t, I think,

A chance to persuade me. It’s not in my blood to skulk

And run from a fightmy spirit remains unshaken!

I haven’t the slightest desire to get in that chariot,

But just as I am, on foot, I’ll go to meet them:

Pallas Athena will not allow me to quail!

And as for those two, one of them may get away,

But their swift horses will never take both of them back!

And another thing I’ll say for you to remember.

If fertile-minded Athena grants me the glory

Of slaying them both, hold our swift horses here,

Drawing the reins back taut and making them fast

To the chariot’s handrail. Then put all you’ve got in a dash

For Aeneas’s horses and drive them away from the Trojans

And into the host of well-greaved Achaeans. For they

Are descended from those very horses that far-seeing Zeus

Gave Tros by way of repayment for carrying off

His dear son Ganymede, since of all horses on whom

The dawn broke and the bright sun shone, they were the best.

Later when King Laomedon owned the breed,

His royal kinsman Anchises stole a strain

By putting his mares to them without permission.

And by those mares six colts were foaled in his stables,

Four of which he kept himself and reared

At the manger, but the other two he gave Aeneas,

The same two masters of rout he’s driving now!

Could we but capture those two, great indeed

Would be our glory.”

While they were talking thus,

Their attackers came up at a gallop, and Pandarus

Loudly called out: “You fiery, stout-hearted son

Of lordly Tydeus, I see you survived that bitter

Swift arrow of mine. Well now I intend to try

My luck with a spear!”

So saying, he drew back and hurled

His long-shadowing lance and struck Diomedes’ shield.

All the way through it the bronze point tore, but stopped

At his breastplate. Then Pandarus, son of Lycaon, shouted

In triumph: “Right through the belly! Nor can you last long

After thatbut to me you have given tremendous glory!”

And strong Diomedes, fearless as ever, replied:

“No hit at all! You missed me completely. But the two

Of you will not, I think, get out of this fight

Till one or the other has fallen and glutted with blood

The battling Ares, him of the tough hide shield!”

With this he let fly, and Athena guided his spear.

The stubborn bronze went in between the man’s nose

And eye, then tore through his teeth, cut off his tongue

At the root, and came out at the base of his chin. He crashed

From the car, as his armor all bright and flashing rang

About him and the nimble horses shied. And there

His strength was undone, and the spirit of Pandarus left him.

But Aeneas leaped down with shield and long spear, afraid

The Achaeans might drag off the body, which now he bestrode

With the confident spirit and strength of a lion. Yelling

His terrible war-cry, he gripped his spear and round shield,

Ready to kill whoever might come against him.

But Diomedes picked up a huge stone, one

That no two men of today could even lift

But that he picked up with one hand and easily threw.

The rugged boulder struck the hip of Aeneas

Where the thigh-bone turns in its socket, which men call the cup,

Ripping the skin and tendons away and crushing

The cup completely. The hero then dropped to one knee,

Supporting himself with one great hand on the ground

Till darkness enveloped his eyes.

And now Aeneas,

King of men, would surely have died, if the daughter

Of Zeus had not been sharply watching, Aphrodite

His mother, who lay with his father Anchises while he

Was out with the cattle. She threw her white arms about

Her dear son and drew over him for protection a fold

Of her radiant gown, lest one of the swiftly-drawn Danaans

Rob him of life by hurling a spear through his chest.

Now while she was bearing her darling son from the battle,

Sthenelus did not forget the careful instructions

That Diomedes of the great war-cry had given

To him. He held their solid-hoofed horses apart

From the crashing waves of conflict, drawing the reins back

Taut and making them fast to the chariot’s handrail.

Then he dashed for Aeneas’s mane-tossing horses

And drove them away from the Trojans and into the host

Of well-greaved Achaeans, where he gave them to his dear friend

Deďpylus, the man he respected and cared for most

Among men his age, since the two of them thought alike.

Bidding him drive the horses to the hollow ships,

He leaped in his chariot, seized the glossy reins,

And galloped their hard-hoofed horses in search of Diomedes.

He, meanwhile, had gone with the ruthless bronze

In hot pursuit of Cyprian Aphrodite,

Knowing that she was a cowardly goddess and not

One of those like Athena, or Enyo, sacker of cities,

Who turn the tide of mortal conflict. Chasing her

Through the huge crowd, the son of spirited Tydeus

Caught up with her and lunged with his spear, slightly

Wounding her tender hand. The keen bronze pierced

Her ambrosial gown, woven for her by the Graces

Themselves, and went into her flesh at the lower part

Of her palm. And out flowed the goddess’s immortal blood,

The ichor that flows in such divine beings as she,

For they eat no bread and drink no flaming wine:

Hence they are bloodless and called immortals. She screamed

And dropped her son, whom Phoebus Apollo took

In his arms and wrapped in a cloud of darkness, lest one

Of the swiftly-drawn Danaans rob him of life by hurling

A spear through his chest. Then battle-roaring Diomedes

Shouted in triumph:

“Keep your distance, 0 daughter

Of Zeus, from war and the blaze of battle! Aren’t you

Content with seducing feeble women? If you

Insist on frequenting the fight, believe me you’ll learn

To shudder at the very name of war, no matter

How far from battle you may be when you hear it!”

At this, Aphrodite withdrew, deeply distraught

And frantic with pain, her fair skin stained with blood.

But wind-footed Iris guided her out of the tumult

To where, on the left of the fighting, the impetuous Ares

Sat, his sharp spear propped on a cloud and his pair

Of swift horses at hand. And she fell on her knees and begged

For her dear brother’s horses with halters of gold:

“Help me,

Sweet brother, and give me your horses, that I may get home

To those on Olympus, for I am in terrible pain

Where the son of Tydeus struck mea mortal man,

Who now would fight Father Zeus himself! “

She pleaded,

And Ares gave her the horses with halters of gold.

She got in the chariot, her heart still greatly distressed,

And Iris, mounting beside her, caught up the reins

And lashed the horses, who not unwilling took off

At a gallop. Quickly they came to steep Olympus,

Home of the gods, and there wind-footed swift Iris

Stopped and unharnessed the horses, then threw down before them

Ambrosial fodder. But fair Aphrodite sank down

At the knees of her mother Dione, who put her arms

Around her daughter and tenderly stroked her, saying:

“Who of the heavenly gods, dear child, has badly

Mistreated you now, as though you had done something wrong

Where everybody could see?”

To which Aphrodite,

Adorer of smiles, replied: “High-hearted Diomedes,

The son of Tydeushe struck me! and all because

I was bearing from battle my own dear son Aeneas,

By far the most precious of mortals to me. For that

Dreadful war is no longer between just Achaeans and Trojans.

O no, now the Danaans fight with immortals too!”

And the gracious goddess Dione answered her thus:

“Bear up, my child, and endure your suffering bravely.

Many of us with homes on Olympus have also

Suffered from men in the course of our mutual efforts

To hurt one another. So Ares suffered greatly

When those young giants, Otus and strong Ephialtes,q

The sons of Aloeus, bound him in painful, unbreakable

Chains and kept him tied up for thirteen months

In a great bronze jar. And bloodthirsty Ares would surely

Have died there if the lovely Eëriboea, stepmother

To the sons of Aloeus, had not brought word to Hermes,

Who managed by stealth to free the War-god, though he

By this time was all but undone by his torturing chains.

And Hera certainly suffered when the brutal Heracles,

Whom some thought the son of Amphitryon, pierced her right breast

With a three-barbed arrow. For a while her pain was unquenchable!

And even huge Hades has suffered no less than the others,

He too from a bitter arrow, when the same irreverent

Heracleswho was really the son of aegis-great Zeus

Shot him there mid the dead at his own grim gate

And left him in anguish. Full of misery and darting

Pains, he journeyed up here to lofty Olympus,

For the shaft had gone deep in his solid shoulder, and his might

Was ebbing away. But Paeëon, our skillful physician,

Applied some pain-killing ointments and healed his wound,

For Hades, of course, has nothing mortal about him

A rash and violent man that Heracles, one

Who cared so little what evil he wrought that he

Didn’t scruple to vex the Olympian gods with his arrows!

And now, my child, the bright-eyed goddess Athena

Has enabled this man to injure youfool

That the son of Tydeus most certainly is, since he

Doesn’t know in his heart that one who contends with immortals

Lives a very short life, nor does he return from the sad

Conflagration of war to gather his little children

About his knees and hear them call him father.

So Tydeus’ son had better be careful, no matter

How mighty he is, or some immortal more able

Than you may enter the fight against him! Let him

Beware, if he doesn’t want his own gallant wife,

Adrastus’ thoughtful daughter Aegialeia,

To waken her household with wails for her dear but missing

Husband, the best of Achaeans, horse-taming Diomedes!“3

So saying, she wiped the ichor from the goddess’s hand

With both of hers. The wound was healed, and the pains

So burdensome left her. Now Athena and Hera, who sat

Looking on, took the occasion to irritate Zeus,

The son of Cronos, and the bright-eyed goddess Athena

Spoke up among them with these sarcastic words:

“Father Zeus, I hope what I say won’t make you too angry,

But surely your Cyprian daughter has been persuading

Some other Achaean woman to run off with one

Of her darling Trojans. I guess it was while caressing

That very same fair-gowned female that she scratched her dainty

Handno doubt on the lady’s golden brooch-pin.”

These words got a smile from the Father of gods and men,

And calling golden Aphrodite he spoke to her thus:

“Warfare, my child, is not your concern. So mind

Your own affairs and the sweet love-making of marriage,

And leave all these things to Athena and rushing Ares.”

Such was their talk, but meanwhile Diomedes, screaming

His war-cry, charged on the stricken Aeneas, knowing

Quite well that Apollo himself was holding his arms

Above him. Still, he had no awe, not even

Of that great god, but was just as eager as ever

To kill Aeneas and strip off his splendid armor.

Thrice he charged him, raging to kill, and thrice

Apollo beat back his bright shield. But when like a demon

He charged a fourth time, then with a terrible cry

Far-working Apollo spoke to him thus:

“Think!

O son of Tydeus, thinkand shrink! Don’t try

To equal the gods in spirit and valor, for the race

Of immortal gods is by no means the same as that

Of earth-treading men!”

At this, Diomedes fell back

A little, avoiding the wrath of far-darting Apollo,

Who then took Aeneas up out of the crowd and into

His temple on sacred Pergamus, stronghold of Troy.

There, in that great holy of holies, Leto

And the archer Artemis healed his wound and restored

His strength completely. Meanwhile, Apollo of the silver

Bow fashioned a phantom in Aeneas’s likeness,

Armor and all, and over this ghostly deception

The Trojans and valiant Achaeans struck out at the breasts

Of each other, belaboring the circular bull’s-hide bucklers

And the lighter fluttering shields. Then Phoebus Apollo

Spoke thus to the violent War-god:

“Ares, Ares,

Ruiner of men, you bloodstained stormer of walls,

Won’t you go into the battle and withdraw this man

Diomedes, who now would fight Father Zeus himself?

He’s already wounded Cyprian Aphrodite

On the lower part of her palm and charged down on me

Like a demon!”

So saying, Apollo sat down on the top

Of Troy’s fortified hill, and the murderous Ares

Entered the ranks of the Trojans and urged them on

In the form of swift Acamas, leader of Thracians, calling out

Thus to the god-fed sons of Priam: “O sons

Of a god-gifted King, how long will you let the Achaeans

Go on slaying your men, till they actually storm

The sturdy gates of your city? There lies a man

Whom we honored like godly Hector himselfAeneas,

The son of great-hearted Anchises. But come, let us save

Our noble comrade from out the roaring tumult!”

At this they all became bolder, and Sarpedon harshly

Rebuked godly Hector, saying: “Hector, where now

Is the courage that used to be yours? And you said you could hold

This city alone, with no other help than that

Of your brothers and brothers-in-law, that you didn’t need

Any troops or allies. Well where are your brothers now?

Cringing and cowering like dogs round a lion! And we

Are the ones who do the fighting, we, the allies

Among you. Even such am I, from far-off Lycia

By the eddying waters of Xanthus, where I left my dear wife

And baby boy, and the countless possessions that many

A covetous fellow would like to have for his own.

Still I encourage the Lycians, and always I’m willing

To take on my man, though here there is nothing of mine

That Achaeans might drive or carry away. But you

Just stand around, not even urging your men

To buckle down and defend their own wives. Look out,

My friend, or you and yours will soon be caught

Like so many fish in an all-ensnaring net

And become the prey and booty of those who hate you,

Who very soon now will sack your teeming city!

All this should be your concern both night and day,

And you above all should plead with the leaders of these

Your world-famous allies to hold their ground without flinching.

Then no one would ever harshly rebuke you this way.”

Sarpedon’s taunt bit deep in the heart of Hector.

At once he leaped fully armed from his car to the ground,

And brandishing two sharp spears he ranged through the ranks

Arousing new spirit in the routed men. They spun

And faced the Achaeans, a solid wall of steadfast

Argive resistance. And even as the winnowing wind

Whitens with chaff all those on the strong threshing-floors

When golden-haired Demeter separates grain from chaff

And the chaff piles up in heaps of white, so now

The Achaeans grew white in the swirling dust that went up

From the beating feet of the horses and men, clouding

The all-bronze sky as they clashed in battle again

And the drivers wheeled in their cars.

Then the Trojan warriors

Struck out straight ahead with all of their might, and Ares,

Everywhere raging, enveloped the battle in darkness

To help the Trojans. Thus he fulfilled the command

Of Apollo, Phoebus of the golden sword, who seeing

Athena leave the battle bade him repair

The Trojan morale, for it was she who had made

The Achaeans so mighty And Apollo himself sent down

From his opulent temple the people’s shepherd Aeneas,

Filling his heart with strength. So Aeneas rejoined

His comrades, and they rejoiced to see him returning

Alive and well and as splendidly valiant as ever,

Though then they were far too busy to ask any questions,

One and all embroiled in the battle stirred up

By him of the silver bow with the eager help

Of man-maiming Ares and raging, implacable Hatred.

And the two Ajaxes, Odysseus, and strong Diomedes

Sparked the fight of the Danaans, though they of themselves

Refused to give way before the Trojans’ violent

Assaults. They held their own like the motionless clouds

That on a still day Zeus stands on the mountain peaks

When the North Wind sleeps along with all other hard blasts

That scatter the shadowy clouds with their shrill blowing.

So the Danaan troops steadfastly resisted the Trojans

With no retreating. And King Agamemnon strode up

And down in the melee bawling these words of command:

“Be men, my friends, and stout of heart! Fear nothing

In this great clash but dishonor before each other.

Of men who shun dishonor, more are saved

Than slain, but flight is a poor defense and wins

No glory of any kind!”

He spoke, and mightily

Hurling his spear he struck a front-line fighter,

A comrade of noble Aeneas, Pergasus’ son

Deďcoön, whom the Trojans regarded as highly as the royal

Sons of Priam, since he was always quick

To fight his man in the foremost rank of battle.

The spear of King Agamemnon struck his shield,

And the keen bronze cut its way through, went on through his belt

And deep in his belly Deďcoön thudded to earth,

And on him his armor rang.

Then Aeneas slew

Two Danaan champions, Crethon and Orsilochus, the sons

Of Diocles, a man of very great substance who lived in

Well-fortified Pherae and claimed descent from the river

Alpheius, whose wide stream rolls through the Pylian country.

The first Orsilochus, King over thousands, was sired

By this River, and he begot magnanimous Diocles,

Whose sons were the twins Crethon and the second Orsilochus,

Trained and versatile warriors. In the prime of young manhood

Both of them went with the black Argive ships to Ilium,

Known for its horses, seeking to win satisfaction

For Atreus’ sons Menelaus and King Agamemnon,

But now enshrouding death put an end to their lives.

Like them two lions grow up on the peaks of a mountain,

Reared by their dam in the bush of a tangled forest,

Cubs that mature to be killers of cattle and wooly

Plump sheep, farm-wrecking marauders till they themselves

Fall victims to men’s piercing bronze. Even so these two

Lost their lives at the hands of Aeneas and crashed to the ground

Like lofty pines.

Warlike King Menelaus

Pitied their fall, and through the front-line fighters

He rushed, armored in gleaming bronze and shaking

His lance. For Ares himself had aroused his spirit,

That he too might fall at the hands of Aeneas. But Antilochus,

Son of great-hearted Nestor, saw him, and deeply

Afraid that the people’s shepherd might come to grief

And so destroy all they had toiled for, he rushed

Through the front-line fighters to join him. When Antilochus

reached

Menelaus, he and Aeneas were squaring off

With their whetted spears, spoiling to battle each other.

But Aeneas, though fast on his feet, when staunchly confronted

By two such attackers, did not attempt to hold out.

So together they dragged off their dead, rich Diocles’ sons,

And laid the unfortunate pair in the arms of Achaeans.

Then turning back, they fought once again at the front.

Together they took on Pylaemenes, peer of Ares

And chief of the bold Paphlagonian troops. Menelaus,

Renowned as a spearman, caught the man standing still

And in at the collarbone hurled his lance, while Antilochus

Threw at his driver and squire, the valiant Mydon,

Atymnius’ son, and struck him hard with a stone

On the point of his elbow just as he turned the solid-hoofed

Horses. The ivory-decked reins fell in the dust,

And Antilochus sprang and drove his sword through the temple

Of Mydon, who gasping lurched from the well-made car

And pitched headfirst to the ground in a place of deep sand.

He went in past head and shoulders and stuck where he was

Till his horses trampled him down and into the dust.

Then Antilochus whipped them away, an Achaean prize.

Across the ranks this action caught Hector’s attention,

And fiercely he charged down upon them with a terrible scream

And whole battalions of Trojans behind him, all

Led on by Ares and powerful Enyo, mistress

Of misery and the shameless turmoil of battle. Wielding

A monstrous spear, grim Ares charged with Hector,

Now pulling ahead, now dropping behind.

When he saw

The ferocious War-god, Diomedes’ blood ran cold,

And even that great battle-roarer felt suddenly helpless,

As that man feels who crossing wide country stops

In dismay at a river rushing seaward, takes

One look at the seething white water, and quickly steps back

Quite hopeless. So now Diomedes gave ground, shouting thus

To the men around him:

“Look there! my friends. It’s very

Clear why we’ve always marveled at the great Hector’s valor

And skill with a spear, for always beside him a god goes,

Warding off death, as Ares yonder runs

By his side in the form of a mortal man. But all of

You now, fall back! keeping your faces turned

Toward the Trojans. Don’t be so mad in your rage as to fight

Against gods!”

But the Trojans by now were upon them, and Hector

Cut down a couple of trained and aggressive fighters,

Menesthes and Anchialus, both in one car. But the huge

Telamonian Ajax pitied their fall, and coming up

Close to their bodies he hurled his spear into Amphius,

Selagus’ son, a wealthy chief from Paesus,

A man of many rich harvests. But fate had made him

An ally of Priam and the sons of Priam. And now

Telamonian Ajax hurled his long-shadowing lance

Through the belt of this leader and lodged it deep in his belly.

He fell with a thud, and the fiery Ajax rushed in

To strip off the armor, his great shield catching many

Of the gleaming sharp spears that the Trojans rained upon him.

Bracing one foot on the body, he pulled out his spear,

But the Trojan bronze was flying so thick that he

Was unable to strip the fine armor off the man’s shoulders,

And he feared the stubborn defense of the spirited warriors,

Who many and brave closed in with their lances. Though Ajax

Was tall and burly and lordly, they made him reel back

And retreat.

Thus they labored in the terrible struggle,

And now irresistible fate sent Heracles’ son

Tlepolemus, valiant and huge, against Sarpedon,

Son of Zeus. And when they had come within range

Of each otherthe son and grandson of sky-clouding Zeus

Tlepolemus shouted:

“Sarpedon, counselor of Lycians,

What is it that drives so unwarlike a man as yourself

To skulk about in a battle? They’re liars indeed

Who say you’re the son of aegis-great Zeus, since you

Are no man at all compared with his genuine sons

Of the good old days! You take, for instance, bold Heracles,

My own staunch lion-hearted father. He came here to Troy

One time for the mares of Laomedon, with only six ships

And a force much smaller than ours to say the least.

Even so, he leveled the city of Troy and plundered

Her streets.4 But you have the heart of a coward, and daily

Your people diminish. And now, believe me, your coming

From Lycia will never be any defense for the Trojans,

No matter how mighty you are, for I myself

Will conquer you once and for all and send you down

Through the gates of Hades!”

And Sarpedon, leader of Lycians,

Answered him thus: “Tlepolemus, truly your father

Did sack this holy city, but only because

Of the folly of haughty Laomedon, who insulted Heracles

In return for well-doing and refused to give him the mares

For which he had journeyed so far. But you, I think,

Shall meet your death and dark fate right here at my hands.

Sprawling beneath my spear, you shall give glory

To me, and your miserable soul to horse-famous Hades!”

Sarpedon had no sooner spoken than Tlepolemus drew back

His spear, and both the long lances shot at one time

From their hands. Sarpedon’s caught him full in the neck

And the hard point passed clean through, as the blackness of night

Came down, eclipsing his eyes. And the lance of Tlepolemus

Pierced the left thigh of Sarpedon, and the point tore madly

Through, grazing the bone. But still his Father

Kept death at a distance.

Then the noble comrades of godlike

Sarpedon bore him away from the fighting, heavily

Trailing the long ashen spear from his thigh, for such

Was their haste and toil as they labored in battle to help him

That no man thought to draw out the lance and get him

Up on his feet.

On their side the well-greaved Achaeans

Carried Tlepolemus out of the fighting, and the spirit

Of brilliant, enduring Odysseus was filled with rage

At the sight. In heart and soul he pondered whether he

Should pursue Sarpedon, son of loud-thundering Zeus,

Or go on killing his Lycian subjects. But since

It was not the lot of gallant Odysseus to kill

With keen bronze the god-sprung King, Athena turned

His attention to Lycians more lowly. And there his bronze

Took fatal hold of Coeranus, Alastor, and Chromius,

Alcandrus and Halius, Noëmon and Prytanis. Nor would

The worthy Odysseus have ceased very soon his killing

Of Lycians if great bright-helmeted Hector had not

Been quick to notice the slaughter. Fully armed

In flaming bronze, he rushed through the foremost ranks,

His strong hands loaded with panic for Danaan troops.

Sarpedon, son of Zeus, was more than glad

At his coming, and pitifully spoke to him thus:

“O Hector,

Don’t allow me to lie here and become a prey

Of the Danaans. Do what you can to keep them off

Since it isn’t likely I’ll ever return to delight

My dear wife and baby boy in my own native land,

At least let me die in your city instead of out here

On the plain!”

Bright-helmeted Hector made no reply

But flashed on by him, determined to thrust back the Argives

And kill as many as possible. But the loyal comrades

Of godlike Sarpedon laid him beneath a beautiful

Oak tree, sacred to Zeus who bears the aegis,

And powerful Pelagon, a good friend of his, pushed

The ashen spear from his thigh. Then all grew misty

And consciousness left him. But soon he revived, as the North Wind

Breathed upon him and brought to life again

The spirit he had so painfully gasped away

Now before the onset of Ares and bronze-clad Hector

The Argives neither turned and made a break for the ships

Nor could they hold out in the fight, but kept backing back,

Once they had heard that Ares was helping the Trojans.

Then who was the first and who was the last to be slain

And stripped by Priam’s son Hector and brazen Ares?

Prince Teuthras was first, and then horse-lashing Orestes,

The Aetolian spearman Trechus, Oenomaus, and Helenus,

Son of Oenops, and rich bright-belted Oresbius,

Who back at his home in Hyle by Lake Cephisis

Had carefully watched his wealth, while close around him

Lived other Boeotians on land exceedingly rich.

When the white-armed goddess Hera noticed this slaughter

Of Argives in the furious struggle, at once she spoke

To Athena with these winged words: “O invincible child

Of Zeus who bears the aegis,5 surely our promise

To King Menelaus, that Troy’s thick walls should fall

To him before he went home, will amount to nothing

If we let murderous Ares go on raging

This way But come, let the two of us also make up

Our minds to show our spirit and valor!”

She spoke,

And the blue-eyed goddess Athena was equally willing.

So honored Hera, daughter of mighty Cronos,

Began to harness the horses with bridles of gold.

And Hebe, without hesitation, knocked the wheels

Of eight bronze spokes about the iron axle, projecting

On either side of the car. These wheels are of gold

Everlasting, with bronze outer rims, a wonder to see,

Their silver hubs on either side revolving.

The body is plaited with straps of gold and silver,

And running around above it is a double railing.

Now on the end of the chariot’s silver shaft

Queen Hera bound the beautiful yoke of gold

And to it attached the golden breast-bands. Then eager

For war and the cries of battle, she led the fleet horses

Beneath the fair yoke.

And Athena, daughter of aegis-great

Zeus, on the floor of her Father’s palace, shed

The soft robe that she herself had made and embroidered,

Put on instead the tunic of stormy Zeus,

And armed herself for tearful war. About

Her shoulders she slung the terrible tasseled aegis

Encircled with Fear, inwrought with Hatred and Force

And the chilling War-charge, and crowned with the head of that

horrible

Monster the Gorgon, most dread and awful emblem

Of aegis-great Zeus. And about her temples she put

Her golden helmet, four-horned and double-crested,

And richly engraved with figures of fighting men

From a hundred cities. Then she, the child of an almighty

Father, mounted the flaming car, gripping

The heavy huge spear with which she conquers whole armies

That have enraged her.

Hera gave the horses a flick

With the lash, and the gates of heaven groaned on their hinges,

The self-opening gates which are kept by the Seasons, who have

In their keeping Olympus and all the wide sky, and who open

Or close the thick clouds as they see fit. On

Through the gates they drove their impatient horses, and found

Great Zeus sitting aloof from the other gods

On the highest peak of many-ridged Mount Olympus.

Then the white-armed goddess Hera pulled up the horses

And questioned Cronos’ son thus, the lord most exalted:

“O Father Zeus, aren’t you indignant at Ares

For this wanton violence of his, killing so many

Splendid Achaeans for no good reason at all?

I grieve for them greatly, but Cyprian Aphrodite

And silver-bowed Phoebus Apollo just loll around

Amusing themselves, having set this maniac on,

This raging monster completely oblivious of rules!

But Father Zeus, will you be angry at me

If I beat all the fight out of Ares and chase him from battle?”

And Zeus of the gathering storm made this reply:

“No, be off But send spoil-driving Athena

Against him. She’s had the most practice at making him twinge!”

He spoke, and the white-armed goddess Hera was glad

To obey She lashed the horses, and they not at all

Unwilling, flew on between earth and the starry sky

As far as a man can see who sits on a crag

And looks out over the wine-blue water and into

The hazy distance, so far at every bound

Gallop the gods’ high-whinnying horses. But when

They reached the rivers of Troy, where the Simoeis joins

The Scamander, the white-armed goddess Hera pulled up

And unharnessed the horses and hid them both in thick mist,

While Simoeis caused to grow up ambrosia for them

To graze on. Then the goddesses made for the battle, quick stepping

Like two running doves, so eager were they to aid

The fighting men of Argos.

When they reached the spot

Where most of the leaders were milling around horse-breaking

Strong Diomedes, pacing about like so many

Ravenous lions or wild inexhaustible boars,

The white-armed goddess Hera shouted thus,

Assuming the form of stout-hearted Stentor, whose great

Brazen voice has all the volume of fifty men shouting:

“For shame, you miserable Argives, men only outwardly

Brave! While valiant Achilles took part in the fighting,

The men of Troy would not so much as come out

The Dardanian Gates, so deathly afraid were they

Of his heavy spear, but now far out from the city

They fight well-nigh at the hollow ships!”

Her words

Encouraged them all. And the goddess Athena, her blue eyes

Blazing, sprang to the side of King Diomedes.

She found him beside his horses and car, cooling

The shoulder wound he had got from Pandarus’ arrow,

For beneath the wide strap of his circular shield, the sweat

Was making it sting, and his throbbing arm was all

But worn out. So now he was lifting the baldric and wiping

Away the dark and clotted blood. Then laying

A hand on the yoke of his horses, the goddess spoke thus:

“Not much like Tydeus is the son he begot! For Tydeus

Was little in build, but very large in battle.

Why even when I would not let him fight and show off

His prowessthat time he went on a mission to Thebes,

Alone mid many Cadmeans, and I explicitly

Told him to peacefully feast in their hallseven then

His old unquenchable spirit inspired him to challenge

And easily beat in every event the young athletes

Of Thebes, with me ever present and helping of course.

And surely no less I stand by you and protect you,

And urge you to battle the Trojans with all the spirit

You have. But now you’re either exhausted from too many

Charges, or heartless terror has hold of you.

In that case, you are no son of Tydeus, the flame-hearted

Son of Oeneus!”

Then strong Diomedes replied:

“I know you, goddess, the daughter of aegis-great Zeus.

Hence I’ll speak to you gladly and cover up nothing.

No heartless terror has hold of me, nor shrinking

Of any kind. I’m merely mindful of orders

From you, not to contend with any immortal

Save only Zeus’s daughter Aphrodite. You said

If she should enter the battle to give her a thrust

With my keen-cutting bronze! That’s why I’ve now retreated

And ordered the other Argives to congregate here.

For that is Ares out there, I’m very sure,

Dominating the fighting!”

And blue-eyed Athena:

“Tydeus’ son Diomedes, delight of my heart,

Forget what I said and put your faith in my presence.

Have no fear of Ares or any immortal,

But drive at him now with your solid-hoofed horses. Close in

And strike him hard. You need not have awe of Ares,

That raving double-dealer, that curse made only

For evil! Why lately he talked with Hera and me

And promised us both he would fight the Trojans and help

The Argives. But now he’s forgotten all that and falsely

Supports the Trojans!”

So saying, she reached out her hand

And jerked Sthenelus from the car to the ground. He quickly

Got out of the way as the eager goddess and brave

Diomedes stepped up in the car, and beneath the weight

Of that grim goddess and the prince of fighters the axle

Of oak creaked loudly. Then Pallas Athena caught up

The lash and the reins and galloped the solid-hoofed horses

At Ares, who spattered with blood was busy stripping

The bronze from gigantic Periphas, best of Aetolians

And glorious son of Ochesius.

Athena put on

Her helmet of darkness, that brawny Ares might not

Be able to see her. But now he saw Diomedes,

And ruinous Ares left the gigantic Periphas

Lying where he had undone him and fiercely charged

Diomedes, breaker of horses. When they closed with each other,

Ares lunged over yoke and reins to plant

His bronze spear in the foe, but the bright-eyed goddess Athena

Deflected the spear with her hand and flipped it away

From the car. Then strong Diomedes drove his spear

At the War-god, and Pallas Athena caused it to pierce

His armored kilt and tear the white flesh of his belly.

There he made his blow tell, and drew out the spear.

Then brazen Ares bellowed as loud as nine

Or ten thousand men who scream as they clash in battle.

And Achaeans and Trojans all trembled with fear, so terribly

Bellowed the bloodthirsty War-god. And as a tornado

Turns in the darkening sky when late on a hot

Summer day a gusty wind comes up, so now

To Tydeus’ son Diomedes brazen Ares

Appeared, as upward he went through the clouds on his way

To broad heaven.

Quickly he came to steep Olympus,

Home of the gods, and bitter at heart he sat down

By Zeus, displaying the immortal blood that poured

From his wound, and wailing out these words winged with resentment:

“O Father Zeus, aren’t you indignant at all that

Wanton violence? Whenever we gods try helping

Men, we always end by hurting each other.

And now we are all at odds with you, for you

Are the Father of that insane and cursed virgin

Who cares for nothing but evil! All other gods

On Olympus obey and bow down to you, every one

Of us. But at her you never lash out with word

Or deed. Instead, you set her on, and just

Because the pestilent wretch is a child of yours.

Now she’s encouraged proud Diomedes to take out

His rage on immortal gods. He’s already wounded

Cyprian Aphrodite on the lower part

Of her palm and charged down on me like a demon! If I

Weren’t fast on my feet, I’d have been there no telling how long,

All tangled up in the heaps of gory corpses.

Either that, or the blows I’d have got from his bronze would have

left me

A weakling forever!”

Then fiercely scowling, Zeus

Of the gathering storm spoke thus: “Don’t whine at me,

You renegade! To me you’re the most despicable god

On Olympus, since always you’re eager for strife and fighting

And war. You have the same overbearing spirit,

Hard and unyielding, as your mother Hera, and her

I can scarcely control with words alone. She,

I dare say, is the cause of your present pain. But I

Can’t let you suffer this way any longer, for you too

Are my child, offspring of my wife. But had you been born

To some other immortal and become the plague you are now,

Long since you’d have found yourself lower than the battered sons

Of Uranus!“r

He spoke, and told Paeëon to help him.

So the gods’ physician applied some pain-killing ointments

And healed the wound, for Ares, of course, has nothing

Mortal about him. As fast as juice of the fig

Curdles the thin white milk a man mixes and stirs,

Even so quickly Paeëon closed up the wound

Of impetuous Ares. And Hebe bathed him, and dressed him

In pleasing and comfortable clothes. Then Ares sat down

By Cronos’ son Zeus, his same old vainglorious self

Now Argive Hera and Athena, defender of many,

Returned to the palace of almighty Zeus, having forced

Man-murdering Ares to stop his slaughter of mortals.

BOOK VI

Hector and Andromache

Thus the Achaeans and Trojans were left to themselves

In the awesome confusion of war, and the tumult surged

Now here, now there on the plain as the warriors hurled

At each other their bronze-headed spears, between the waters

Of Simoeis and the holy river Scamander.

Telamonian Ajax, bulwark of Achaeans, was first

To break the Trojan ranks and bring new light

To his comrades. This he did by downing the chief

Of Thracians, the tall brave Acamas, Eussorus’ son.

His spear went in at the horn of his helmet, thickly

Crested with horsehair, and pierced the bone of his forehead,

And darkness enveloped his eyes.

Then Diomedes,

Roaring his chilling war-cry, killed Teuthras’ son Axylus,

A rich and lovable man from splendid Arisbe,

Where he lived in a house by the road and welcomed all comers.

But now not one of his many friends was there

To meet his assailant and keep off dismal destruction.

Instead, Diomedes robbed him of life, along with

His squire Calesius, then at the reins of his car.

Together they entered the subterranean halls.

Dresus and Opheltius fell to the bronze of Euryalus,

Who then went on in pursuit of Aesepus and Pedasus.

These were the sons of the Naiad nymph Abarbarea

And peerless Bucolion, haughty Laomedon’s first-born

Son, the child of a dark and secret affair.

While out with his sheep, Bucolion lay with the nymph,

Who conceived and bore twin sons. These now fell

To Mecisteus’ son Euryalus, who undid the might

Of their marvelous limbs and stripped their shoulders of armor.

And battle-staunch Polypoetes brought Astyalus

Down, while Odysseus felled Percotian Pidytes,

And Teucer the brave Aretaon. And Ablerus died

On the gleaming spear of Nestor’s son Antilochus,

And the king of men Agamemnon accounted for Elatus,

Whose home was in hilly Pedasus near the banks

Of the rolling river Satnioeis. And battling Leďtus

Laid fleeing Phylacus low, and Eurypylus killed

Melanthius.

Meanwhile, battle-roaring Menelaus

Took Adrastus alive. For his two horses, panicking

Over the plain, ran foul of a tamarisk bush,

Broke off the shaft at the curving car, and continued

Their bolt for the city as part of the general stampede.

But their master spun from the car and fell on his face

In the dust by one of the wheels. And there above him

Stood King Menelaus, his long spear casting a shadow.

Then clutching the knees of his captor,1 Adrastus pleaded:

“Alive! 0 son of Atreus, take me alive!

And an ample ransom is yours. Stored in the mansion

Of my rich father are many treasures, bronze

And gold and highly wrought iron. Of these my father

Would gladly give you a ransom past counting, if he

Should hear that I am alive at the ships of Achaea.”

Thus he tried to persuade Menelaus, and he

Was just on the point of letting his squire lead

The man off to the swift Argive ships, when King Agamemnon

Ran up with this loud rebuke: “Soft Menelaus!

What do you care for the Trojans? Did they do you

Any favors that time they stayed in your home? Let none

Of them escape unholy destruction from us

Not even the baby in his mother’s belly! No,

Not even him, but let all Trojans utterly

Perish, unmourned, unburied, and leaving no trace!”

These words made sense to his brother, so fierce Menelaus,

With a thrust of his hand, shoved the hero Adrastus away,

And powerful King Agamemnon jabbed a spear

In his side and flopped him down on his back, then planted

A heel on his chest and jerked the ashen spear out.

Now Nestor yelled to the Argive soldiers: “My friends,

Danaan heroes and comrades of Ares, let no man

Drop behind, greedy to pounce on the spoils

And go to the ships with the heaviest load of loot!

But keep on killing men. Then at your ease

You can strip the armor from a whole plain full of corpses!”

At this they fought even harder. And now the fiery

Achaeans would surely have driven the terrified Trojans

Back up into Troy, if Priam’s son Helenus, much

Their best reader of ominous birds, had not found Aeneas

And Hector and said to them; “You two are the best men

We have, and always bear the brunt of the fighting

And do far more than your share of the thinking, which is why

I plead with you now to make a stand right here!

Go through the ranks and rally the men and keep them

Away from the gates, or believe me they won’t stop running

Till they give their pursuers the pleasure of seeing them drop

In the arms of their women. But once you have rallied the army,

I’m sure we’ll be able to hold out here against

The Danaan forces. No matter how worn-out and weary

We are, we have to hold out and we will! But Hector,

You go to the city and speak to our mother. Tell her

To gather the noble women and go to the temple

Of bright-eyed Athena high on the fortified hill.

And let her take with her the finest, most flowing robe

In the palace, the one she prefers to all others. Then,

When the holy doors have been opened by means of the key,

Let her lay the robe on the knees of fair-haired Athena

And promise to sacrifice there in her temple twelve yearling

Heifers untouched by the goad, if only the goddess

Will pity our town, our wives and little children,

And keep Diomedes away from holy Troy,

Tydeus’ son Diomedes, that brutal spearman

And powerful master of rout who has, I think,

Shown clearly that he is the strongest Achaean of all.

We were never so much afraid of Achilles himself,

Though he is a leader of fighting men and the son,

They say, of a goddess. But this Diomedes raves

With a furious vengeance! When it comes to brute force, he has

No real competition.”

He spoke, and Hector was glad

To accept the advice of his brother, the gifted seer.

At once he leaped fully armed from his car to the ground,

And brandishing two sharp spears he ranged through the ranks

Arousing new spirit in the horrible rout. They spun

And faced the Achaeans, who soon fell back before them

And ceased their killing. They thought some immortal had come

From the starry sky and enabled the fighting Trojans

Thus to rally. Then Hector called out to the host:

“You gallant Trojans and famous allies, be men,

My friends, and show the stuff you’re made of, while I

Go into Ilium and bid Our wives and counseling

Elders pray to the gods and promise them hecatombs.”

So saying, bright-helmeted Hector left for the city,

And the black hide rim of his center-bossed shield knocked neck

And ankles as swiftly he strode.

Now Glaucus, son

Of Hippolochus, and Tydeus’ son Diomedes rode out

In the middle between the two armies, both men eager

To fight. When they came within range Diomedes, loud

At the war-cry, shouted first: “Who are you, big man,

Who among mortals? Never before have I seen you

In man-enhancing battle, but now you dare

To come out so far beyond all the others and await

My long-shadowing spear, though they are unhappy indeed

Whose children oppose me! But if you are some immortal

Come down from the sky, I will not fight you, nor

Any other heavenly god. Not even the son

Of Dryas, brawny Lycurgus,2 lived long after strife

With celestialshe who drove the Maenad nurses

Of mad Dionysus running down holy Mount Nysa.

He took an ox-goad to them, and beneath his flailing

They dropped their ivy wands, and Dionysus himself

Fled and plunged in the sea, where he with the waves

Far above him cringed in the bosom of Thetis, trembling

With dread at the threatening screams of Lycurgus. For this

The leisurely gods all hated that man, and Zeus

Struck him blind, nor did he live long after that, so fiercely

Despised was he by all the immortals. I, then,

Have no desire to fight with the blessed gods.

But if you’re a man, sustained by fruit of the earth,

Keep coming on, that you may be caught all the sooner

In the terrible toils of death!”

Then Hippolochus’ son,

Great Glaucus, answered him thus: “Magnanimous Diomedes,

Why do you ask who I am? The frail generations

Of men have scarcely more lineage than leaves. Wind blows

The leaves to earth in the fall, but springtime comes

And the forest blooms: so one generation of men

Gives way to another.3 But if you really would hear

Who I am, listen and learn what many know

Already. In the heart of horse-pasturing Argos is the city

Ephyre, where Sisyphus ruled, Sisyphus, son

Of Aeolus and the slyest of men. He begot

The first Glaucus, whose son was the flawless Bellerophon. Him

The gods made handsome and showered with masculine charm.

But Proetus the King plotted evil against him, and since

His might was much greater, drove him from the Argive country.

For Zeus had brought all Argos under the scepter

Of Proetus, whose wrath began this way Anteia,

His beautiful wife, lusted madly to lie with Bellerophon4

In secret love, but she could in no way seduce

That princely, prudent young man. Hence, she made up

A lie and told it thus to her husband the King:

If you don’t want to die, 0 Proetus, kill Bellerophon.

Though I wouldn’t let him, he did his best to seduce me.’

At this the King was seized with rage, but since

His soul recoiled from murdering a guest, he sent him

To Lycia instead, where Anteia’s father was King.

And grievous credentials he gave the young man to take with him,

A folded tablet wherein lord Proetus had written

Many pernicious and fatal signs, which he bade

Bellerophon show to the Lycian Kingwho would then

Contrive his death.

“So he, with the gods’ unfailing

Protection, journeyed to Lycia, and when he reached

That wide land and the flowing Xanthus, the King made him welcome

And heartily entertained him for all of nine days

With as many sacrificed oxen. But when, on the tenth

Dim morning, rose-fingered Dawn appeared, the King

At last got around to asking about the credentials

His guest may have brought from Proetus his son-in-law

Then, having seen the murderous signs, he began

By bidding Bellerophon kill the ferocious Chimaera,

A female demoniac monster of strictly inhuman

Descent, with the head of a lion, the tail of a serpent,

And the body of a monstrous goat, and blasting forth flame

At every terrible breath. But putting his faith

In the portents of heaven, Bellerophon killed her. Next

He fought the redoubtable Solymi, who according to him

Were the roughest fighters he ever encountered. And thirdly

He slew the man-matching Amazons. But around him, as he

Returned, the King wove another thick plot. He sent

The best troops in all Lycia to lay an ambush for him,

But not one man returned to his home, for all

Were destroyed by flawless Bellerophon. Then, when at last

The King knew that his guest was of godly descent, he prevailed

Upon him to stay in Lycia, gave him his daughter

In marriage, and equally shared all royal honor

With him. And the Lycians laid out an estate for him

Greater than any other, acres of orchard

And plowland for him to enjoy.

“And the Princess bore

To honored Bellerophon three children in all: Isander,

Hippolochus, and Laodameia, who lay with Zeus

The contriver and became the mother of godlike Sarpedon,

Our bronze-clad leader of Lycians. But when Bellerophon,

Even he, found all the gods in hatred

Against him, he roamed alone the Aleian Plain,

Consuming his soul and avoiding all human tracks.5

His son Isander was killed by war-hungry Ares

While fighting the powerful Solymi, and Artemis, she

Of the golden reins, wrathfully slew his daughter.

That left Hippolochus, who fathered me, and from him

I claim to be sprung. He sent me to Troy with many

Stern reminders to always be bravest and best

Above all others, and not to disgrace the house

Of my fathers, by far the noblest in Ephyre

Or the ample land of Lycia. Such is my lineage

And the blood I claim to be of.”

This speech delighted

Diomedes, the great battle-roarer. Planting his spear

In the bountiful earth, he spoke these friendly words

To the people’s shepherd Glaucus: “Surely our families

Have an old tradition of friendship. For once my grandfather

Oeneus entertained yours, the flawless Bellerophon,

And kept him a guest in his palace for twenty days.

And they gave each other exquisite gifts of friendship.

Oeneus gave a brilliant red war-belt, and Bellerophon

A golden two-handled cup, which I left at home

When I came here. But I don’t remember my father Tydeus,

Since I was too small when he set out for Thebes,

Where he died with the other fighting Achaeans. So now

You have a good friend in the middle of Argos, and I one

In Lycia, if ever I visit your people’s country.

Let us, then, strictly avoid the spears of each other,

No matter how thick the melee. For me there are plenty

Of Trojans and famous allies to slay, whomever

God grants and I overtake, and for you there are all

The Achaeans you can manage to kill. Therefore, my friend,

Let us exchange our armor, that both sides may know

Of the old family friendship we claim from the time our grandfathers

Feasted together.”

Having so spoken, they leaped

From their chariots, shook hands, and swore their faith to each other.

But Cronos’ son Zeus took the wits from Glaucus completely,

For to Tydeus’ son Diomedes he gave golden armor

For bronze, or a hundred oxen for nine.6

When Hector

Got to the Scaean Gatess and the oak tree, the daughters

And wives of the Trojans came flocking about him, anxiously

Asking of sons and brothers, friends and husbands.

But Hector bade them go pray to the gods, to each

Of the gods in turn, for mourning hung over many.

On he strode to the gorgeous palace of Priam

With gleaming stone colonnades. Within the court

Were fifty adjoining chambers of polished stone,

Wherein the sons of Priam slept with the wives

They had courted and won. And for his daughters, across

From these were twelve more chambers adjoining and built

Of well-polished stone, wherein the sons-in-law

Of Priam slept with their honored, desirable wives.

Now Hector’s mother, the gracious Hecuba, came out

To meet him, and with her Laodice, her loveliest daughter.

She took her son by the hand and spoke to him thus:

“My child, why have you left the hard fighting and come here

To us? Surely the sons of the cursed Achaeans

Have worn you out in this battle around our city

And you have decided to lift your hands to Zeus

In earnest prayer from high on top of the citadel.

But wait till I bring you honey-sweet wine, that first

You may pour a libation to Zeus and the other immortals

And refresh yourself too, if you will. Wine greatly increases

The strength of a weary man, as you now are weary

From defending your friends.”

But the tall bright-helmeted Hector

Answered her thus: “Bring me no heart-soothing wine,

Good mother. It might unnerve me and make me forget

My spirit and strength. And besides, with hands unwashed

I stand in awe of pouring to Zeus a libation

Of flaming wine, nor should a man ever pray

To the stormy son of Cronos when all bespattered

With blood and gore. But gather the noble women

And go to the temple of victory-bringing Athena.

Go with offerings to burn on her altar and the finest,

Most flowing robe you have in the palace, the one

You prefer to all others. Lay this on the knees of Athena,

The lovely-haired goddess, and promise to sacrifice there

In her temple twelve yearling heifers untouched by the goad,

If only she will pity our town, our wives

And little children, and keep Diomedes away

From holy Troy, Tydeus’ son Diomedes,

That brutal spearman and powerful master of rout.

Go, then, to the shrine of the spoil-driving goddess Athena,

And I will go to call Paris, if the man will listen

To me. Would earth might open and swallow him now,

For he was reared by the mighty Olympian to bring

Great pain to magnanimous Priam, to the sons of Priam,

And to all the other Trojans. The sight of Paris

Headed for Hades might make me think my heart

Had forgotten its misery.”

He spoke and Hecuba went

To the hall and told her handmaids to go through the city

And gather the noble women. But she herself

Went down to the fragrant chamber wherein she kept

Her richly wrought robes, made and embroidered by women

Of Sidon whom royal Paris brought in his ships

To Troy on the same sea-voyage from which he returned

With high-born Helen.t Now Hecuba took the most flowing

And richly embroidered of all and carried it with her,

A gift for Athena. It lay beneath all the others,

But now like a star it glittered. Then off she went,

And many were the noble women who hurried along

In her train.

When they reached Athena’s temple on top

Of the fortified hill, the doors were opened for them

By Theano, lovely of face, the daughter of Cisseus

And wife of Antenor. For she was Athena’s priestess,

Made such by will of the Trojans. Then all of them raised

The sacred cry and lifted their hands to Athena,

And lovely Theano laid the robe on the knees

Of the fair-haired goddess and made their vows in prayer

To almighty Zeus’s daughter:

“O saver of cities,

Great Athena, of goddesses most resplendent,

Splinter the spear of fierce Diomedes and grant

That he himself may fall face down in the dust

Well out from the Scaean Gates, and we will sacrifice

Here and now in your temple twelve yearling heifers

Untouched by the goad, praying for you to take pity

On Troy and the Trojans’ wives and little children.”

Thus she prayed to Zeus’s unheeding daughter,

Pallas Athena deaf to their plea. But Hector,

Meanwhile, went to the house of handsome Paris,

The beautiful palace that he himself had built

With the most skillful craftsmen in the fertile land of Troy.

These had made him a bedroom, a hall, and a courtyard

High in the citadel close to the mansions of Priam

And Hector, the valiant god-cherished Hector, who swinging

A sixteen-foot spear now entered the house of his brother,

And always before him the spearhead of bronze shone brightly

And the ring of gold that held it. Paris he found

In the bedroom, shuffling his gorgeous armor, handling

His breastplate, shield, and bent bow, while Helen of Argos

Sat in the midst of her maids instructing them all

In their marvelous handwork. Then Hector spoke to him roughly,

Shaming him thus:

“Unaccountable man! your sulking

This way is not very pretty, believe me! Your people

Are fighting and dying about the steep wall of the city,

And it is solely on your unhappy account

That the roaring battle blazes. Why you yourself

Would quarrel with any shirker you saw holding back

From the horrible fighting. But up! Or the city itself

Will soon be fiercely blazing!”

And Prince Alexander

Replied: “Hector, you chide me no more than is right,

And not a bit more than you should. But do calm down

And listen to me. It’s not on account of resentment

Against the Trojans that I sit here in my chamber,

Not really. It’s just that I felt like indulging my sorrow.

Already my wife, in her own winsome way, has endeavored

To change my mind and talk me back out on the field.

And I myself have decided to go: a man

Can’t always lose. But have a seat. I’m putting

My armor on now. Or go ahead if you wish

And I will follow. I think I’ll be able to catch up

With you.”

Since now bright-helmeted Hector said nothing,

Helen spoke to him sweetly: “Believe me, dear brother,

Cold and troublesome bitch that I am, I heartily

Wish that some malevolent storm had whirled me

Away on the very same day my mother bore me,

Far away to some wild mountain or into

The waves of the loud-booming sea, where I might have died

Before any of this ever happened. But since the gods

Ordained these horrors, I also wish I had been

The wife of a better man, one who was sensitive

To insult and blame from his fellows. The heart of my husband

Is wavering and weak, nor will it ever be firm

A fault, I think, for which he will pay! But now,

My brother, come here and sit down in this chair, for you

Above all others have burdened your spirit with toil

Because of bitch-hearted me and the willful blindness

Of Paris, whom Zeus decreed a miserable doom for,

That men in days to come might have a song.”

Then tall bright-helmeted Hector: “You’re kind

To ask me to sit, Helen, but don’t. I cannot accept.

Already my spirit is spoiling to fight for the Trojans,

Who always miss me keenly when I am not

On the field. But try to hurry this husband of yours,

And may he himself make haste and catch up with me

Before I leave the city Meanwhile, I want

To go home and briefly look in on my servants and family,

The wife I love and my baby son, whom I

May never, for all I know, come back to again,

Since any time the gods may hurl me down

Beneath the hands of Achaeans.”

So saying, Hector

Left them, his helmet flashing, and quickly arrived

At his comfortable home. But there he did not find

His white-armed wife Andromache. She, with the baby

And one of her pretty-robed women, had gone to stand

On the wall, and there she was now, weeping and frantically

Anxious. When Hector saw that his excellent wife

Was out, he stopped on the threshold and spoke to the maids:

“Tell me truly, women. Where did Andromache go

When she left the house? Is she visiting one of my elegant

Sisters or sisters-in-law, or has she gone

To the shrine of Athena, where the other fair-braided women

Of Troy are making their vows to the awesome goddess?”

Then the busy housekeeper answered him thus: “Hector,

To tell the truth you so urgently ask for, your wife

Has not gone to see any one of your elegant sisters

Or sisters-in-law, nor has she gone to the shrine

Of Athena, where the other fair-braided women of Troy

Are making their vows to the awesome goddess. She heard

The Trojans were yielding to the powerful men of Achaea

And ran from the house toward the great city wall like a woman

Half out of her senses, and the nurse took the baby and followed.”

The housekeeper spoke, and Hector rushed from the palace

And back through the well-laid streets the way he had come,

Striding down through the great city But just as he got

To the Scaean Gates, through which he intended to pass

On his way to the plain, his wife came running to meet him,

His gifted wife Andromache, daughter of hearty

Eëtion, who lived at the foot of wooded Mount Placus

In Hypoplacian Thebe and ruled the men

Of Cilicia. His daughter it was whom Hector had married,

And now she met her helmeted husband, and with her

The nurse came holding the child, great Hector’s dear son,

A laughing baby fair as any bright star.

His father called him Scamandrius,u but others Astyanax,

Or Lord of the City, with reference to his tall father

On whom alone the safety of all depended.

Hector smiled at the sight of his son, but Andromache

Fairly grew to his arm, and weeping spoke thus:

“Ah, Hector, possessed by a demon, your might as a fighter

Will be the death of you yet. Nor do you pity

Your baby boy and my unfortunate self,

So soon to be your widow, for any time now

The Achaeans will gang up and kill you, I know But I

Would be better off in my grave, were I to lose you,

For once you have met your fate, never again

Can there be any warmth in my life, nor anything else

But pain. I have no father, no lady mother.

My father was killed by fierce Achilles when he

So utterly sacked the Cilicians’ teeming city,

High-gated Thebe. He killed Eëtion, yes,

But even his spirit recoiled at stripping that King

Of his armor. So him he burned in his richly wrought bronze

And heaped a high barrow above him, and all about it

The mountain nymphs, daughters of Zeus of the aegis,

Planted elm trees. And the seven brothers I had

At home went down to Hades the very same day,

For right in the midst of their shuffling cattle and silvery

White sheep, quick-footed Achilles killed them all.

But here he brought my mother the Queen, torn

From below our wooded Mount Placus along with the rest

Of the spoils. Then having extorted a ransom past counting,

He let her go to her father’s house where she died

A victim of arrow-scattering Artemis. So you,

My Hector, are father and mother to me, and brother

And manly husband. Have pity, then, and stay

Right here on the wall, or truly your son will soon

Be an orphan, your wife a miserable widow. And order

The army to make a stand at the fig tree, where the city

Is best assaulted and the wall most easily scaled.7

Three times already their bravest men have charged there,

Led by the two Ajaxes, world-famous Idomeneus,

Atreus’ sons, and strong Diomedesall

Kept trying to get at us there, as if some knowing

Seer had told them our weakness, or they themselves

Had guessed it.”

Then great bright-helmeted Hector replied:

“I too, my dear, have all these things on my mind.

But how could I face the men of Troy, or their wives

Of the trailing gowns, if I were to skulk like a coward8

And stay away from the battle? Nor does my own spirit

Urge me to do so, since I have learned to be valiant

Always and fight mid the foremost champions of Troy,

To win and uphold the King my father’s glory

As well as my own. For this one thing in heart

And soul I know: the day of ruin shall surely

Come for holy Troy, for Priam and all

The people of Priam, who wielded the good ashen spear.

But when I think of the suffering the Trojans will have to

Endure, of Hecuba’s grief and that of King Priam,

And of my many brave brothers who shall on that day

Go down in the dust, slain by those who hate them,

I am not troubled so deeply as at the thought

Of your grief when some bronze-clad Achaean leads you off

Weeping and puts an end to your freedom. Then

In Argos you’ll weave at the loom of somebody else

And carry water for her from the spring Messeďs

Or Hypereia, unwillingly always, but forced

To do as you’re told. Then someone, seeing your tears,

Will say: Look there at the wife of Hector, the best

In battle of all the horse-taming Trojans in the war

We fought about Ilium!’ So then will someone remark.

And stabbing new grief will surely be yours to think

Of losing that man who could have held off the day

Of your bondage. But I’d much rather be dead, with earth

Heaped high above me, than hear your screams as warriors

Drag you away to a life of slavery! “

So saying,

Resplendent Hector reached out to take his son,

But the baby cried and clung to the fair-belted nurse,

Afraid of the way his own father looked, with all

That bronze and the horsehair crest dreadfully waving

On top of his helmet. This made them both laugh, his father

And lady mother, and quickly resplendent Hector

Took off his helmet and laid the dazzling thing down.

Then he took the baby and kissed him, bounced him a bit

In his arms, and prayed this prayer to all of the gods:

“O Zeus and you other immortals, grant that my son

May be, like myself, outstanding among the Trojans,

As strong as I and as brave, and a mighty ruler

Of Ilium. And may it be said of him someday, as home

He comes from battle, There goes a much better man

Than his father.’ Let him be bearing the bloodstained bronze

Of an enemy slain, and may he rejoice the heart

Of his mother.”

He prayed, and placed the child in the arms

Of his wife, and she held him close in her fragrant bosom,

Laughing and crying at once. Seeing her so,

Her husband felt deep compassion, and gently caressed her,

Saying: “Poor haunted one, do not be overly

Anxious. No man in the world can hurl me to Hades

Before my appointed time comes. And no man, valiant

Or vile, can escape his fate ordained, once he’s been

Born. So go to the house and keep yourself busy

With the loom and spindle, and see that your maids are busy.

War is for men, my dear, for all men here

In Ilium, but most of all for me.”

So saying,

Resplendent Hector picked up his helmet with the horsehair

Plume, and his dear wife started for home, shedding

Big tears and often looking behind her. But soon

She arrived at the comfortable home of man-killing Hector

And found her numerous maids inside. Her coming

Made all of them join her in wailing lament for Hector.

So there in his house they mourned for Hector still living,

For none of them thought he would ever return, once

He fell into the violent hands of Achaeans.

Now Paris

Did not linger long in his palace, but trusting his swiftness

Of foot he donned his elaborate bronze and set out.

As when a horse at the manger eats his fill

Of barley, breaks his halter, and thunders away

On the plain, eager to splash in the rippling river

He throws back his head, and his mane streams over his shoulders

As he exults in his splendor and gallops full speed

For the grazing grounds of maresso Priam’s son Paris

Strode down from the citadel heights, laughing aloud

To himself and bright as the sun in his glittering armor.

Rapidly walking, he quickly caught up with his brother,

Brave Hector, just on the point of turning away

From where he had talked with his wife. Then handsome Paris

Spoke first:

“Surely, old fellow, I’ve held you back,

And you so anxious to get there. I took too long,

I know, and wasn’t as fast as you told me to be.”

And Hector, his helmet flashing, made this reply:

“My playful brother, no right-thinking man would belittle

Your prowess in battle. You’re brave enough when you want

To be, but only too often you let yourself go

And don’t seem to care. That attitude pains me deeply,

Nor does it help when I hear the Trojan fighters

Insulting you right and left, the men who suffer

Hard battle on your account. But come, let us go.

We’ll make all this up to each other yet, if only

Zeus grants us the power to rid our Trojan land

Of the well-greaved Achaeans. Then we shall mix in our halls

The bowl of deliverance to the heavenly gods everlasting.”

BOOK VII

The Duel of Hector and Ajax

So saying, resplendent Hector rushed out through the gates

And with him his brother Paris, both of them eager

At heart for fighting and war. As a godsent wind

Is welcome to longing seamen, exhausted from beating

The deep with their oars of polished pine, their limbs

Already leaden, so now to the longing Trojans

These two appeared.

Then Paris cut down Menesthius,

King Areďthous’ son, whose home was in Arne,

Where he had been born to Areďthous surnamed the Maceman

And heifer-eyed Phylomedusa. And Hector’s sharp spear

Loosened the limbs of Eďoneus, striking the man

On the neck right under the rim of his strong bronze helmet.

And Glaucus, leader of Lycians and son of Hippolochus,

Hurled his spear through the furious moil at Iphinous,

Dexius’ son, and caught him deep in the shoulder

Just as he sprang on the car behind his fast horses.

He fell to the ground, his strength completely destroyed.

But when the goddess Athena noticed this slaughter

Of Argives there in the thick of the struggle, her blue eyes

Blazed, and down she went darting from the peaks of Olympus

To holy Troy. Then Apollo on Pergamus looked down

And saw her, and eager for Trojans to win he sprang down

To meet her. The deities met at the oak tree, and the son

Of Zeus, lord Apollo, spoke first:

“Why, 0 daughter

Of almighty God, does your great spirit impel you

Once more in such hot haste from Olympus? Is it

To throw your power on the Danaan side and give

The victory to them? since surely you have no compassion

At all for dying Trojans. But if you will let yourself

Listen to me, all will turn out for the best.

Let us now put an end to this day’s fiery battle.

Later the war will go on till you deathless goddesses

Get the dear wish of your hearts and Ilium falls

For your favorites to plunder and waste.

And the blue-eyed goddess

Athena answered him thus: “Far-worker, so be it.

With this very thought in mind I came down here

From Olympus to the midst of Achaeans and Trojans. But tell me,

How do you intend to stop these fighting men?”

And Zeus’s son, lord Apollo, replied: “Let us rouse

The bold heart of horse-breaking Hector on the very good chance

That he will then challenge the Danaan chiefs for a man

To meet him in the awesome grim fire of single combat.

That challenge the bronze-greaved Achaeans will be too proud

To ignore. They’ll send out a man to fight noble Hector.”

He spoke, and the bright-eyed goddess Athena approved.

And Helenus, dear son of Priam, knew in his heart

This favored plan of the plotting gods. So he came up

To Hector and said: “O son of Priam, Hector

Divinely wise, consider these words from your brother.

Make all other Trojans sit down and all the Achaeans,

Then challenge the best man they’ve got to come out and fight

With you in the awesome grim fire of single combat.

As yet it isn’t your fate to overtake doom

And die. This I heard from the gods everlasting.”

At these words Hector rejoiced, and going into

The midst of the battle he gripped his spear by the middle

And held the Trojan line back till all were seated.

And King Agamemnon seated the well-greaved Achaeans.

Athena and bright-bowed Apollo in the likeness of vultures

Sat high on the oak of aegis-great Zeus, their Father,

Delightedly watching the men sitting close in their ranks,

The battalions bristling with spears and helmets and shields.

And as the West Wind rises and darkens the deep

With ripples, so stirred on the plain the seated ranks

Of Achaeans and Trojans. Then Hector walked out between

The two armies, and spoke:

“Your attention, O Trojans and well-greaved

Achaeans, that I may say what now my heart urges.

Zeus who looks down from on high has not seen fit

To fulfill the oaths we so earnestly swore. He cruelly

Postpones the final decision till either you Argives

Conquer the high walls of Troy or fall in defeat

By your seagoing ships. But you that are champions and chieftains

Among the united Achaeans, whichever one

Whose heart now urges him on to fight with Prince Hector,

Let him come out of the crowd and be your champion.

And these conditions I hereby proclaim with Zeus

As our witness. If your man slays me with the long sharp point

Of his bronze, let him strip off my armor and carry it back

To the hollow ships, but let him give up my body

To be taken home, that the men and women of Troy

May duly burn it. And if Apollo gives me

The glory of slaying the man you send out, I’ll strip off

His armor, carry it into the city, and hang it

Up on the temple of lord far-smiting Apollo,

But I will release his corpse to be taken back

To the well-decked ships, that you, the long-haired Achaeans,

May give him all due funeral rites and build a high barrow

For him beside the wide Hellespont. Then one of these days

Somebody, as he goes by in his many-oared ship

On the wine-blue sea, will point toward shore and say:

There rises the barrow of one who died long ago,

A champion whom glorious Hector battled and slew.’

Thus indeed somebody will say, and so men’s memory

Of me and my glory will not be destroyed.“1

He spoke,

And an awful hush fell on the Achaeans, one

And all ashamed to refuse, but afraid to accept.

At last Menelaus stood up and spoke, harshly

Rebuking the men and inwardly groaning: “Well now,

You braggarts, women, not men, of Achaea! surely

We’ll have a disgrace on our heads to end all disgraces

If now no Danaan goes to meet Hector! May all

Of you rot and go back to mud, you that just sit here

Utterly gutless and infamous! I’ll arm and go

Against him myself. The immortal gods on high

Hold all the strings of victory.”

So saying, he started

To don his fine armor. And now, Menelaus, life

For you would have ended out there at the hands of Hector,

A mightier man by far, had not the kings

Of Achaea leaped to their feet and held you back.

And great Agamemnon himself seized the right hand

Of his brother, and said:

“You’re mad! Zeus-fed Menelaus.

This folly of yours is completely uncalled for. Swallow

Your pride and back down. Why should you want to fight

A match with one so much better than you? Nor are you

Alone in dreading Priam’s son Hector. Why this

Is one chief whom even Achilles shudders to meet

In the hero-enhancing battle, and he is far stronger

Than you. So go sit down with your people and friends.

The Achaeans shall find someone else to be their champion

Today. Fearless though Hector may be and greedy

For battle, he will I assure you be glad to sit down,

That is if he ever escapes the awesome grim fire

Of this hard fight he has asked for.”

So spoke Agamemnon,

And changed the mind of his brother. Menelaus obeyed,

For he knew the truth when he heard it, and happy squires

Were quick to remove the bronze from his shoulders. Then Nestor

Arose and spoke to the Argives:

“What a disgrace!

Now indeed great grief has come on Achaea. Think how

The knightly old Peleus would groan, that worthy counselor

Of Myrmidons, that eloquent speaker, who questioned me once

In his palace and asked with great pleasure concerning the birth

And lineage of all the Argives. If he should hear

That now those very same men, one and all, were cringing

At Hector, surely he’d lift his arms many times

In fervent pleas to the immortal gods that his soul

Might leave his limbs and enter the house of Hades.

0 Father Zeus, Athena, and Apollo, if only

I were as young as when2 the Pylians met

The Arcadians, fierce with their spears, by the rapid waters

Of Celadon and fought with them in front of the walls

Of Pheia about the streams of Iardanus. Then out strode

Their godlike champion, huge Ereuthalion, wearing

The armor of King Areďthous, brave Areďthous

Surnamed the Maceman and so referred to by others,

Both men and their fair-belted wives. For he did not fight

With bow or long spear, but broke up the ranks with an iron

Battle-mace. And it was by cunning, not might, that Lycurgus

Killed him, in a narrow pass where there wasn’t room

To swing his iron mace with the usual speed. Before

He was ready, Lycurgus was on him, and thrusting his spear

Through the Maceman’s belly he hurled him backwards to earth.

And Lycurgus stripped off the armor which the fallen man

Had been given by brazen Ares, and he himself wore it

Thereafter amid the turmoil of battle. But when

Lycurgus grew old in his halls, he gave the armor

To Ereuthalion, his comrade and squire. And he

Had it on that day when he challenged our bravest and best.

But all of them shook with terror, nor would anyone go

Against him. But my perdurable spirit gave me

The daring to fight him, though I was the youngest man there.

So fight him I did, and Athena gave me the glory.

He was the hugest and mightiest man that I

Ever slew, and seemed to sprawl all over the field.

If only I were that young again and as sure

Of my brawn, then soon enough bright-helmeted Hector

Would have a fight on his hands. But you the chieftains

Of all the Achaeans, not one of you has spirit enough

To go against Hector and meet him in single combat!”

The old man’s rebuke brought nine men in all to their feet.

Far the first to arise was the king of men Agamemnon,

Followed by strong Diomedes, son of Tydeus,

And both Ajaxes, furious valor incarnate,

And after these Idomeneus and Idomeneus’ comrade

Meriones, peer of the slaughtering god of battles,

And after these Eurypylus, splendid son

Of Euaemon, Andraemon’s son Thoas, and keen Odysseus.

All were willing to fight great Hector. But now

Horse-driving Gerenian Nestor addressed them again:

“You’ll have to cast lots to see who the chosen will be.

For he shall profit the well-greaved Achaeans and greatly

Enhance his own soul as well, if indeed he survives

The awesome grim fire of single combat.”

He spoke,

And each of them put his mark on a pebble and dropped

The lot in the helmet of Atreus’ son Agamemnon.

Meanwhile the army all prayed, lifting their hands

To the gods. And thus would one say, looking up to broad heaven:

“O Father Zeus, let it be Ajax, please,

Or Tydeus’ son Diomedes, or the great commander

Himself, Agamemnon, lord of golden Mycenae.”

So prayed the men, and when horse-driving Gerenian

Nestor shook the helmet, out leaped the lot

They wanted most, that of the greater Ajax.

This a herald took round through the host from left

To right and showed it to all the Achaean chieftains.

None of them knew it, and each of them said so. But when

He reached the man who had marked it and dropped it in,

Then glorious Ajax held out his hand and the herald

Gave him the lot. One look at the mark and Ajax

Knew it was his. Then heartily glad, he dropped

The pebble and said:

“My friends, the lot is surely

Mine, and glad I am that it is, for I

Believe I shall conquer excellent Hector. But come,

While I am donning my war-gear, spend the time praying

To Cronos’ son Zeus, silently now to yourselves,

So that the Trojans won’t know what you’re doingor pray

Aloud if you like, since we are afraid of no one!

Not by force shall any man beat and rout me,

Nor for that matter by skill, since surely not

For nothing was I in Salamis born and brought up.”

He spoke, and again the Achaeans prayed to Lord Zeus,

The son of Cronos. And thus, looking up to broad heaven,

Would one of them say: “O Father Zeus, most great,

Most glorious lord, give victory to Ajax and splendid

Renown, but if you also love Hector, if

You care for him too, grant equal power and glory

To both.”

While they were praying, Ajax put on

His glittering bronze. Then fully armed, he charged

To the fight as fiercely as monstrous Ares enters

A battle of armies that Zeus has made clash in the fury

Of heart-eating hatred. So now gigantic Ajax,

Bulwark of Achaeans, charged out with the grimmest of smiles

On his face, and shaking his lance that cast the long shadow

He rushed to meet his opponent. And the Argives thrilled

With joy at the sight, but there was no Trojan whose legs

Did not tremble, and Hector’s own heart began to leap

In his breast. But he who had issued that confident challenge

Had no hope at all of running, or losing himself

In the crowd behind him. So on Ajax came, bearing

His shield like a tower, his seven layers of bull’s-hide

Fronted with bronze, made with much labor for him

By Tychius, best of workers in leather. At home

In Hyle he had made that flashing shield, using

The hides of seven great bulls and hammering on

An eighth strong layer of bronze. This shield Telamonian

Ajax held before him as he came up close

To Hector and threatened him thus:

“Now, Hector, you’ll know

Face to face what sort of Danaan leaders there are

Besides lion-hearted, man-mauling Achilles. He lies

Mid his beaked seagoing ships withdrawn in his wrath

Against our commander-in-chief Agamemnon. But still

There is no lack of men to stand up against you. Many

Were eager to do so. But go ahead and begin!”

Then tall bright-helmeted Hector answered him thus:

“Zeus-sprung Telamonian Ajax, I know that you captain

Your company, but do not treat me like some puny boy

Or some unwarlike woman. My knowledge of fighting

And slaughter is great, and I am skillful indeed

At wielding to left and to right my seasoned hide shield,

At handling tough hide as only a good warrior can.

And I am expert at darting in deep among

The fast horses and cars, and surely in hand-to-hand fighting

You’ll find me agile as any at dancing the dance

Of fiery Ares. But I have no wish to strike

Such a man as yourself without a fair warning. All out

In the open, then, I’ll cut you down if I can!”

With this he poised his long-shadowing spear and hurled it,

Striking Ajax’s dread seven-hide shield on the single

Layer of bronze, the eighth and outermost thickness.

On through six layers of leather the stubborn bronze cut,

But stopped in the seventh. Then kingly Ajax hurled

His long-shadowing spear and struck the round shield of Hector.

The great spear cut through the gleaming buckler and on

Through the beautiful breastplate and tunic too, but Hector

Twisted in time to avoid black death as the spear

Went by at his side. Then both at once drew out

Their long spears and fell on each other like ravenous lions

Or wild inexhaustible boars. And Hector lunged

With his spear, hitting the center of Ajax’s shield,

But instead of piercing it through, the point turned back

On the bronze. And Ajax ended the charge with one

Of his own, but his spear pierced clean through Hector’s shield

And went on to cut a considerable gash in his neck,

From which the dark blood gushed. Even so, bright-helmeted

Hector did not give up in the fight, but stepping

Back he seized with his powerful hand a nearby

Stone, black, jagged, and huge, and bounced it hard

Off the boss of Ajax’s dread seven-hide shield with a clang

Of the bronze. But Ajax, lifting a much larger stone,

Swung it and hurled it with measureless might, and the boulder,

Big as a millstone, crumpled the buckler of Hector

And stretched him out on the ground with the shield crushed in

On his chest. But Apollo raised him at once. And now

The two would have closed and cut at each other with swords,

If two wise heralds, word-bearers for God and men,

Had not put a stop to the fight. They came from each side,

From the Trojans, Idaeus, from the bronze-clad Achaeans,

Talthybius,

And held their staves between the two fighters. Then

The herald Idaeus, a man of ample discretion,

Spoke to them thus:

“No more, brave sons. Let the match

Be over. Zeus of the gathering storm loves both

Of you, and all of us know what splendid spearmen

You are. Moreover, night is already upon us,

And men do well to heed the demands of darkness.”

To which Telamonian Ajax replied: “Idaeus,

Tell Hector to say these things, for he was the one

Who so proudly challenged all our best men. Let us first

Hear from him. Whatever he says is all right with me.”

And tall bright-helmeted Hector spoke to him thus:

“Ajax, since God gave you stature and strength and shrewdness

As well, and since you are far the best spearman among

The Achaeans, let us call off this blazing hot battle

And fight no more today. Another day

We’ll go at each other till God says who wins and gives

The victory to whichever side he chooses. Now night

Is already upon us, and men do well to heed

The demands of darkness. Then all the Achaeans will surely

Rejoice at their ships, your comrades and kin most of all,

And the Trojan men and their wives of the trailing gowns

Will surely be glad on my account throughout

King Priam’s great city, and they will enter the presence

Of the holy gods to offer thanksgiving for me.

But now let us each give the other some glorious gift,

That Achaeans and Trojans alike may say: They fought

A fierce match in heart-eating hatred, but then made up

With each other and parted friends.’ “

He spoke, and stepping

Forward he gave him his sword with the studs of silver

Along with the scabbard and well-cut baldric, and Ajax

Gave his brilliant red war-belt. So they turned back,3

One to the host of Achaeans, the other to the thankful

Trojans, happy indeed at the sight of Hector

Returning alive and whole, surviving the fury

Of Ajax and his invincible hands. Back

To the city they escorted their leader, scarcely believing

That he was still safe. The well-greaved Achaeans, meanwhile,

Exulting in Ajax’s victory, conducted their hero

To King Agamemnon.

When they arrived at the lodges

Of Atreus’ son, the commander-in-chief Agamemnon

Slaughtered a bull of five years to almighty Zeus.

This offering they flayed and dressed and skillfully butchered,

Cutting the carcass into small pieces, which meat

They spitted and roasted well, and drew it all

From the spits. When they had done what was needed and the meal

Was ready, they feasted, nor was there a man who lacked

A fair portion. And Atreus’ son, wide-ruling Agamemnon,

Honored Ajax with cuts from the choice long chine.

When they had eaten and drunk as much as they wanted,

The old one stood up and wove wise counsel for them,

The ancient Nestor, whose wisdom had won out before.

Now he, in an effort to help, spoke out among them:

“Atreus’ son and you other Achaean leaders,

A woeful number of long-haired Achaeans lie dead

On the plain. Slashing Ares has darkened the earth

With their blood all about fair-flowing Scamander, and their souls

Have descended to Hades. Hence, at dawn tomorrow,

Let a truce be called, and we will go with our oxen

And mules and cart the corpses back here, that we

May burn them not far from the ships and see that the bones

Of the dead are kept to be given their children at home

By those of us who return to the land of our fathers.4

Then over the pyre let us build a huge barrow, a single

Tomb for all, heaping it up from the plain

And quickly extending it out into turreted walls,

Lofty ramparts for us and our ships. And let us

Build strong-locking gates through which to drive chariots, and all

Along outside we must dig a deep ditch as another

Defense against troops and chariots of the lordly Trojans

If ever they storm us here at the camp.”

He spoke,

And the kings all agreed. Meanwhile, the Trojans were gathered

High on the fortified hill of Troy in an awesomely

Turbulent throng before the doors of King Priam.

And first to get their attention was grave Antenor,

Saying: “Hear me, you Trojans, Dardanians, allies,

Hear what my heart commands me to speak. Come now,

Let us give Helen of Argos and all the wealth

That goes with her back to the sons of Atreus, trusting

They’ll take her and go. For now we fight after breaking

The oaths we so faithfully swore. Hence, I have

No hope that anything good will happen to us

So long as we do not return her.”

Antenor no sooner

Sat down than up rose the handsome Prince Paris, lord

Of lovely blonde Helen, and the words of his answer came winged

With displeasure: “Antenor, that speech was not to my liking.

You certainly know how to give better counsel than that.

But if you are really in earnest, then surely the gods

Have addled your brains. But now I will speak my mind

To this meeting of horse-taming Trojans and make myself perfectly

Clear: my wife I will not give up! But the treasure

I brought home from Argos, all that I would like to give back,

And to it I’ll add some costly things of my own.”

When he had spoken and taken his seat, Dardanian

Priam, godlike in wisdom, stood up among them.

Then, with benevolent purpose, he spoke to them all:

“Hear me, you Trojans, Dardanians, allies, hear

What my heart commands me to speak. Go take your supper

Throughout the city as usual, still mounting guard

And every man sharply alert. But tomorrow at dawn

Let Idaeus go down to the hollow ships and announce

To Atreus’ sons, Agamemnon and Menelaus, the decision

Of royal Paris, who started this quarrel between us.

And furthermore let him inquire, in accord with good sense,

Whether they are willing to stop high-screaming war

Till we have burned our dead. Then the fight shall continue

Till God says who wins and gives the victory to whichever

Side he chooses.”

He spoke, and they gladly obeyed him,

Taking their supper by companies throughout the host,

And at dawn Idaeus went down to the hollow ships,

Where he found the Danaan comrades of Ares assembled

Around the stern of King Agamemnon’s ship.

And the mighty-lunged herald strode into their midst and spoke:

“Atrides, and all other princes of peoples Achaean,

Priam and all of his high-ranking leaders have sent me

To tell youif it pleases you, sirs, to hear my message

The decision of royal Paris, who started this quarrel

Between us. The shiploads of treasure he brought home to Troy

Would he had died first!all that he wants to give back

And says he will add some costly things of his own.

But the wedded wife of illustrious King Menelaus

He will not give up, though the other Trojans urge him

To do so. And further they bade me inquire whether you

Are willing to stop high-screaming war till we

Have burned our dead. Then the fight shall continue till God says

Who wins and gives the victory to whichever side

He chooses.”

At this a long hush fell over them all.

But at last battle-roaring Diomedes spoke out among them:

“Let no man now accept such treasure from Paris,

Nor take Helen back. The merest baby can see

That the Trojans are already caught in the net of destruction!”

He spoke, and the sons of Achaeans all shouted approval

Of what Diomedes, master of horses, had said.

Then King Agamemnon spoke thus to the Trojan herald:

“Idaeus, you’ve already heard the Achaeans’ decision

And how they answer your speech, and their good pleasure

Is also mine. But concerning the dead, of course

I will not refuse your request to burn the bodies:

No man should begrudge dead bodies the swift consolation

Of fire. So to this burial truce of ours

Let Zeus be witness, Hera’s loud-thundering lord.”

So saying, he lifted his scepter to all of the gods,

And Idaeus went back to sacred Ilium. There

The men of Troy and Dardania too had met

In one body to wait for Idaeus, who came and stood

In their midst and told them his message. Then quickly they got

themselves

Ready, some to bring in the dead, others

To go after wood. And across the plain the Argives

Hurried from the well-timbered ships, some to bring in

The dead, others to go after wood.

Now the Sun

Was just striking the fields, as he rose from the gliding deep stream

Of Oceanus and into the sky, when the two parties met

On the plain. And hard indeed it was to know

Their own dead. But they with water washed blood and gore

Away and lifted the bodies into the wagons,

Shedding hot tears as they workedbut quietly, since Priam

Would not permit any wailing. Silently, then,

But grieving inside, they piled the corpses high

On the pyre, and having burned them in flaming fire

Returned to holy Troy. And across from them

The well-greaved Achaeans, heart-stricken, piled corpses high

On the pyre, and having burned them in flaming fire

Returned to the hollow ships.

The next day, just

Before light, as darkness began to give way to dawn,

A picked working force of Achaeans met at the pyre

And over it built a huge barrow, a single tomb

For all, heaping it up from the plain and extending

It out into turreted walls, lofty ramparts

For them and their ships. And then they built strong-locking gates

Through which to drive chariots. And all along outside

They dug a trench both wide and deep, and in it

They planted sharp stakes.

While thus the long-haired Achaeans

Were toiling, the gods were sitting with lightning-lord Zeus

And marveling at the great effort of bronze-clad Achaeans.

Earthshaking Poseidon spoke first: “O Father Zeus,

What mortal now on the boundless earth will still

Declare to the gods his mind and purpose? Don’t

You see that the long-haired Achaeans have built a wall

In front of their ships with a trench all along outside it,

But to the gods have offered no glorious hecatombs?

Surely word of that wall will spread as far

As young Dawn scatters her light, and all will forget

The wall that I and Phoebus Apollo labored

To build for the warrior Laomedon, King of Troy.”

Then greatly vexed, cloud-gathering Zeus replied:

“Ah me, you mighty embracer and shaker of earth,

What have you said! Some other god far weaker

Than you in hand and spirit might possibly fear

This notion of theirs. But youwhy it’s your renown

That shall spread as far as young Dawn scatters her light.

So come, when the long-haired Achaeans have gone with their ships

To their own dear country, break up the wall with your waves

And sweep it all far out in the brine. Leave nothing

Behind on that wide beach but the covering sand.

Thus you may surely demolish the Achaeans’ great wall.”

While they were talking, the Achaeans worked on, and the sun

Went down on the finished ramparts. Then the weary men

Slew oxen and ate by their lodges. And many ships

With cargoes of wine were drawn up there from Lemnos,

Ships dispatched by Jason’s son Euneus,

Borne by Hypsipyle to Jason, the people’s shepherd.

For Atreus’ sons, Agamemnon and Menelaus, Euneus

Had sent as a gift a thousand measures of wine.

And the other long-haired Achaeans bought wine from the ships

In exchange for bronze and gleaming iron, for hides,

Live cattle, and slaves, and they made a rich feast for themselves.

Through most of the night the long-haired Achaeans caroused,

As did the Trojans and their allies in the city.

And all through the night contriving Zeus planned evil

For them, awesomely crashing his thunder. And each of them

Turned a pale olive with fear and from their cups

Poured wine on the ground, nor was there a man who dared

To drink without a libation to almighty Zeus,

The son of Cronos. At last they went to bed,

And each of them received the gift of sleep.

BOOK VIII

The Weakening Achaeans

As crocus-clad Dawn was scattering light over earth,

Zeus who exults in the thunder gathered the gods

On the highest peak of craggy Olympus and spoke

To them thus, with all the immortals keenly attentive:

“Hear me, you gods and goddesses too, that I

May say what now my spirit desires. Let none

Of you deities, male or female, cross me in this

I command, but all of you gladly obey me, that I

May quickly conclude these works of war. Whichever

Of you I see apart from the others, trying

To give your support to Trojans or Danaans either,

Him I shall smite and disgrace, and back he shall come

To Olympus, or I shall seize and hurl him down deep

In the gloomy abyss of Tartarus, the deepest pit

In all the earth, far down to the iron gates

And threshold of bronze, as deep below Hades as sky

Is high above earth!v Then he will know how far

My power surpasses the power of all other gods.

But come, divinities, try for yourselves, that all

Of you may know. Hang a golden chain from the sky

And all of you gods and goddesses too take hold

Of that chain and pull. Even so, you would not be able

To drag great Zeus, the powerful wisdom most high,

From heaven to earth, no matter how hard you pulled.

But if I should take a good notion to pull on that chain,

Then up would come all of you along with the earth

And sea, whereupon I would make the chain fast to a crag

Of Olympus and leave you all hanging high in the air!

That’s how much stronger I am than you gods and all

mortals.“1

He spoke, and the others sat utterly silent, in awe

At his words, for he had spoken with masterful force.

But finally blue-eyed Athena answered him thus:

“Our Father, son of Cronos, ruling high

Above all other rulers, we know very well

How strong and unyielding you are. Even so, we feel sorry

For the Danaan spearmen, who now shall die and come

To a miserable end. Of course we’ll do as you say

And stay out of the fighting, but still we will help the Argives

With good advice, that all may not perish because of

Your wrath.”

Then Zeus, god of gales, smiled at his daughter

And said: “Why so grim, my Tritogeneia?

Dear child, I was not altogether in earnest in what

I said, and surely I want to be gentle with you.”

So saying, he harnessed his brazen-hoofed horses, fast-flying

Steeds with manes of streaming gold. And the garments

He wore were of gold, as was the well-wrought whip

He held in his hand as he mounted the car and lashed

The horses ahead. And they, not at all unwilling,

Flew on between earth and the starry sky. He went

To well-watered Mount Ida, mother of wilderness creatures,

To Gargarus peak, where he has a grove and temple

And altar fragrant with incense. There the Father

Of men and gods pulled up and unharnessed his horses

And hid them both in thick mist, but he himself

Sat mid the beetling crags looking out on the city

Of Troy and the long dark line of Achaean ships.

And now the long-haired Achaeans ate quickly and put on

Their armor, and opposite them the men of Troy

Dressed for battle throughout the city. Fewer

They were than the Argives, but in their pressing need

All the more eager to fight for their children and wives.

Then all the gates were thrown open, and with a tremendous

Din the army poured out, both infantry and horse.

And now the two forces met with a knocking of spears

And bossed shields clashing in a fierce and furious uproar

Of bronze-breasted fighters. And there the screams of the dying

Were mingled with cries of triumph, and blood flowed over

The earth.

Now all morning long, as the sacred daylight

Grew brighter, the missiles of both sides struck home, and the

warriors

Fell. But when the Sun-god bestrode mid-heaven,

The Father lifted his golden scales and in them

Placed two lots of grievous and leveling death,

One for the horse-taming Trojans, for the bronze-clad Achaeans

The other. Then he took hold of the middle and lifted

The scales, and the fatal day for Achaeans sank down

And their fates rested on all-feeding earth, while those

Of the Trojans were raised toward heaven’s expanse. And now

Zeus uttered a great crash of thunder and hurled a huge bolt

Of lightning down into the host of Achaeans. At this

They were stricken with awe, and olive-pale panic gripped all of them

Hard.

Then neither Idomeneus nor Agamemnon

Had heart enough to hold his ground, nor did

Those comrades of Ares, the two Ajaxes. Only

Gerenian Nestor, Achaea’s old sentinel, stayed

Where he was, not at all that he wanted to, but a trace-horse

Of his was badly wounded. Handsome Prince Paris,

Lord of lovely blonde Helen, had driven an arrow

Deep in the horse’s brain, striking him right

Where the mane begins on top of the head, the deadliest

Spot of all. In agony, lunging and leaping

And rearing high with the bronze, the horse had entangled

The team, and the old one had leaped from the car with his sword

And was hacking away at the traces. But now the fast horses

Of Hector came on through the rout with a very bold man

Behind them, brave Hector himself. And now the old one’s

Life would have ended if battle-roaring Diomedes

Had not been sharply alert. He saw the trouble

And shouted with all of his might to Odysseus for help:

“Zeus-sprung son of Laertes, resourceful Odysseus,

Where are you going so fast with your back to the battle

Mid all the rest of the cowards? Watch out as you run,

Or someone will plant a spear in your back. But stop

And hold your ground, that we may thrust this wild man

Away from old Nestor!”

Diomedes yelled, but the worthy

Long-suffering Odysseus paid him no heed as he

Shot past toward the hollow ships. Thus all alone

Diomedes confronted the foremost fighters, taking

His stand in front of the horses of Neleus’ son Nestor

And speaking thus to the old one in these winged words:

“Old sire, surely young warriors strain your endurance.

Your strength is not what it was now that old age

Lies heavy upon you, your squire is a puny fellow,

And surely your horses are out of the running. So come,

Get up in my chariot here, that you may see

What the horses of Tros are like. They’re equally fast

Pursuing or fleeing, these mighty masters of rout

I lately took from Aeneas. Let both of our squires

Look after your horses, while we go galloping on

Against the horse-taming Trojans, that Hector too

May learn how madly this spear of mine leaps from my hand!”

Such were his words, and horse-driving Gerenian Nestor

Agreed. So the squires, brave Sthenelus and gentle Eurymedon,

Took charge of the horses, and the old King mounted the car

With Diomedes.2 Then Nestor took hold of the glossy reins

And lashed the horses ahead, and on they went

At a gallop directly for Hector, whose chariot came

Straight at them. In close, Diomedes threw, missed Hector,

But struck his squire on the breast by the nipple, Eniopeus,

Holding the reins, the son of high-hearted Thebaeus.

He plunged from the chariot, causing the quick-footed horses

To shy, and there his spirit and strength were undone.

And the heart of Hector was crowded with terrible pain

For his charioteer. Even so, he left him stretched out

Where he fell, and went off, greatly grieved for his comrade, in search

Of another bold driver. Nor were his horses for long

Without such a master, for quickly he came on the brave

Archeptolemus, Iphitus’ son, and making him mount

Behind the fast horses he put the reins in his hands.

Then ruinous, irreparable damage would soon have been done

To the Trojans, and they would all have been penned up in Troy

Like so many lambs, if the Father of gods and men

Had not been sharply watching. He thundered with a terrible

Crashing and hurled a dazzling white lightning-bolt,

Hurled it to earth before Diomedes’ team,

Where it burst in an awesome flare of fuming sulphur,

Terrifying the horses and making them balk and back up

The car. And the heart of Nestor was also afraid

As he dropped the reins and spoke thus to Diomedes:

“Come now,

Turn your solid-hoofed horses and flee. Don’t

You see that power from God is not yours today?

Zeus has given that glory to Hector there,

But another day great Cronos’ son will give it

To us, if he pleases. No man can thwart God’s will

In any way. No matter how mighty the man,

God is stronger by far.”

Then Diomedes,

The fierce battle-roarer, answered him thus: “Surely,

Old sire, all that you say is true enough.

But terrible pain torments my soul when I think

How Hector will someday say in a gathering of Trojans:

Diomedes, driven before me, fled to the ships.’

So someday he’ll boastbut first let the wide earth open

For me!”

To which horse-driving Gerenian Nestor:

“Ah now, you son of flame-hearted Tydeus, what

Are you saying! Hector may call you coward and weakling,

But who of the Trojans or their Dardanian allies

Will ever believe him? Certainly not the wives

Of the spirited, shield-bearing fighters of Troy, women

Whose lusty young husbands you have hurled in the dust.”

So saying, he turned the solid-hoofed horses and joined

The general rout, and now the Trojans and Hector,

Awesomely screaming, rained their groan-fraught missiles

Upon them, and tall bright-helmeted Hector loudly

Shouted in triumph:

“You above all, Diomedes,

The swiftly-drawn Danaans honored with a special seat

At the feast, choice cuts, and an ever-full cup. But now

They will surely despise you as a man more woman than warrior!

Run, you pampered doll! You’ll never scale

Our city walls through any yielding of mine,

Nor carry our women away in your ships. I’ll make you

A feeble ghost long before that ever happens!”

He spoke, and Tydeus’ son was torn two ways,

Whether to wheel his horses and meet him head on,

Or not. Three times he hovered in heart and soul

On the point of turning, and three times Zeus the planner

Thundered from the range of Ida, giving a sign

To the Trojans that he was on their side and victory was theirs.

Then Hector loudly encouraged his fighting comrades:

“You Trojans and Lycians and dueling Dardanians, now,

My friends, be men, and filled with furious boldness!

I know that Zeus has willingly nodded assent

And given the victory and very great glory to me,

But death and defeat to the Danaans, fools that they are

To have built those miserable walls, weak and scarcely

Worth noticing. Those ramparts will never withstand our onslaught,

Believe me, and lightly our horses shall leap the dug ditch.

But when at last I stand mid the hollow ships,

Make sure that we are provided with blazing fire,

That I may burn the ships and slay the men

Beside them, that I may slaughter, I say, the Argives,

All of them choking and falling around in the smoke!”

So saying, he shouted these words to his horses: “Xanthus,

And you Podargus, and Aethon, and glossy Lampus,

Now is your time to repay me for all the good care

You’ve had at the hands of Andromache, great-hearted Eëtion’s

Daughter, who fed you so often on sweet-hearted wheat

And poured good wine in your water for you to drink

Whenever your spirits badefed you, in fact,

Before she did me, and I am her own loving husband.

So gallop ahead in pursuit, that we may take

Nestor’s shield, that solid gold buckler, gold arm-rods and all,

Famous from earth to heaven, and that we may strip

Horse-breaking Diomedes’ richly wrought breastplate off,

A piece laboriously fashioned by Hephaestus himself.

If we could only account for those two, then

I might hope to drive the Achaeans away in their ships

This very night!”

His vaunting aroused the resentment

Of queenly Hera, who made all lofty Olympus

Quake as she stirred on her throne. Then she spoke thus

To the great god Poseidon: “Ah me, you far-reaching shaker

Of shores, not even the heart in your breast has pity

For the Danaans dying. Yet they honor you with many

Delightful gifts at Helice and at Aegae.

Grant, then, the victory to them. For if all of us

Who support the Danaans willed to hurl back the Trojans

And hold back loud-thundering Zeus, then surely he’d sit

In a miserable mood down there all alone on Mount Ida!”

Greatly disturbed, earth-shaking Poseidon replied:

“Heedless, word-slinging Hera, what are you saying!

Surely I would not be willing to join with the others

And fight against Cronos’ son Zeus, since he is so very much

Stronger than we are.”

While thus the two of them talked,

Priam’s son Hector, now that Zeus gave him glory,

Penned up the Achaeans, shield-bearing warriors, horses

And all, in the space from the deep-ditched wall to the ships

Drawn up on the beach. And now would Hector have put

The torch to their shapely vessels, if queenly Hera

Had not inspired Agamemnon to try with all speed

To rally the jostling Achaeans. Bearing his great

Crimson cloak over one thick arm, he went past lodges

And ships to the huge black hull of Odysseus’ vessel,

Which stood drawn up in the middle within shouting distance

Of both ends of the line, where Ajax, Telamon’s son,

And Achilles had their lodges, for such was their trust

In manly valor and the strength of their hands that they

Had drawn up their ships at the furthermost ends. From the deck

Agamemnon shouted as loud as he could, calling out

Thus to the Danaans:

“For shame, you miserable Argives,

Men only outwardly brave, where now are your brags

That we are the men most valiant, the hollow vaunts

You made in Lemnosw while gorging yourselves with meat

Of high-horned cattle and guzzling great bowls brimful

Of wine, each of you boasting that you would stand up

In battle to a hundred, no two hundred, Trojans! But now

We’re no match for even one Hector, who very soon

Will put his bright torch to our ships. O Father Zeus,

Was there ever another of high-ruling kings whose soul,

Like mine, you blinded with folly and whose great glory

You seized? Still I am sure that I passed in my ship

No exquisite altar of yours on my lamentable

Way here without a burnt-offering to you of the fat

And thighs of bulls, so eager was I to sack

The thick-walled city of Troy. But please grant this

I ask of you now, O Zeus, and let us at least

Escape with our lives. Do not allow the Trojans

Thus to destroy us all.”

He prayed, and the Father

Had pity on the weeping King and, nodding, gave him

A sign that his people should live and not he destroyed.

At that very moment he sent an eagle, surest

Of winged omens, his talons clutching a fawn,

The young of a swift-running doe. And beside the exquisite

Altar of Zeus he let the fawn fall, right where

The Achaeans sacrificed offerings to the almighty Father,

Source of all omens. Then they, when they saw that the bird

Was from Zeus, sprang once again at the Trojans and quickly

Regained their lust for battle.

But no man there

Of the Danaans, though they were many, could claim he beat

Diomedes across the trench in his swiftly-drawn car

To clash in close fighting. For Tydeus’ son was far

The first to bring down a helmeted Trojan warrior,

Phradmon’s son Agelaus. He was just reining

His horses around getting ready to run, but as

He wheeled, Diomedes planted a spear in his back

Midway of the shoulders and drove it on out through his chest.

He pitched from the car, and on him his armor rang.

Behind Diomedes came Atreus’ sons, Agamemnon

And Menelaus, and both Ajaxes, furious valor

Incarnate, Idomeneus next and Idomeneus’ comrade

Meriones, peer of the slaughtering god of battles,

And after these Eurypylus, splendid son

Of Euaemon, and Teucer came ninth, stringing his supple

Bent bow, and took his position behind the huge shield

Of Ajax, son of Telamon. And Ajax would move

His shield to one side while Teucer looked for a target

In the enemy throng, shot, and brought his man down

No longer alive. Then Teucer would quickly take cover

With Ajax again, like a child that runs to his mother,

And Ajax would hide him completely behind his bright shield.

Who then was first of the Trojans that matchless Teucer

Laid low? Orsilochus first, Ormenus next,

Then Ophelestes and Daetor, Chromius and Prince Lycophontes,

Polyaemon’s son Amopaon and Melanippus.

All these in quick succession Teucer stretched out

On the all-feeding earth. And the king of men Agamemnon

Rejoiced to see him wrecking the Trojan battalions

With that mighty bow of his, and coming up to him

He said:

“Beloved Telamonian Teucer, captain

Of many, keep up the good shooting and surely you’ll be

A light to the Danaans and to your father Telamon,

Who brought you up from a baby, and though you were

A bastard son cherished you dearly and gave you

The best of care at home in his palace. Now

Give him great glory through you, far away though he is.

And this I will promise to you and surely perform:

If aegis-great Zeus and Athena grant me the sacking

Of firm-founded Ilium, I will hand over to you,

First after myself, some splendid prize of prestige,

A tripod, perhaps, or a chariot and pair, or a woman

To share your bed.”

Then matchless Teucer replied:

“Most famous Atrides, why urge me on when I

Am already so eager? Believe me, I fight as long as

I’m able, and ever since we turned them toward Ilium,

Ever since then I have crouched here and brought men down

With my bow. Eight of my long-barbed arrows are fixed

In the flesh of fast and lusty young fighters, though yonder

Mad dog I cannot hit.”

But he was determined

To bring Hector down, and so let another shaft fly

From the string directly at him. Again, however,

He missed, but lodged his arrow deep in the breast

Of peerless Gorgythion, Priam’s brave son, borne

By a wife from Aesyme, the beautiful Castianeira,

A woman made like a goddess. And now to one side

Gorgythion drooped his head and heavy helmet:

He let it fall over like the bloom of a garden poppy

Heavy with seed and the rains of spring.

But Teucer,

Determined to bring Hector down, let another shaft fly

From the string directly at him. Again, however,

He missed, for Apollo himself deflected the arrow.

But Hector’s bold driver Archeptolemus, eagerly charging,

Received the shaft in his breast by the nipple and plunged

From the chariot, causing the quick-footed horses to shy,

And there his spirit and strength were undone. And the heart

Of Hector was crowded with terrible pain at the death

Of his driver. But he, though greatly grieved for his friend,

Bade his brother Cebriones, close at hand,

To take the reins of the horses, and Cebriones heard him

And did what he said. But Hector himself, wildly screaming,

Leaped from his gleaming car to the ground, and seizing

A hand-filling stone rushed straight at Teucer, determined

To strike him. Now Teucer had taken a bitter shaft

From the quiver and laid it upon the bowstring, and had just

Drawn it back to his shoulder when charging bright-helmeted

Hector

Came down hard with the stone on that most mortal spot

Where the collarbone separates neck and chest. There

He dealt him a furious blow with the jagged stone,

Breaking the bowstring and numbing his hand to the wrist.

And Teucer, dropping the bow, fell to his knees.

But Ajax saw his brother fall and ran

And stood over him, using his shield as a cover.

Then two loyal comrades, Echius’ son Mecisteus

And noble Alastor, lifted their friend and carried him,

Heavily groaning, back to the hollow ships.

Now again the Olympian roused the Trojans to rally,

And fiercely they hurled the Achaeans straight back to their own

Deep trench. And Hector, reveling in martial prowess,

Led the hard charge. As a quick-footed hound pursues

A wild boar or a lion, snapping at him from behind

At buttock or flank and warily watching for the beast

To turn, so Hector pressed hard on the long-haired Achaeans,

Constantly killing the hindmost as all of them fled

In the general rout. But when they had scrambled through trench

And sharp stakes and many had died at the hands of the Trojans,

They came to a halt beside their ships, and calling

For help to one another each of them lifted

His arms in loud and fervent prayer to all

Of the gods. But Hector kept wheeling his mane-tossing horses

This way and that, and surely his eyes were as fierce

As those of the Gorgon or man-maiming Ares himself.

Watching them die, the white-armed goddess Hera

Pitied her favorites and spoke at once to Athena

In these words winged with compassion: “Ah me, you daughter

Of Zeus of the aegis, shall we two lack all concern

For Danaans dying in this late hour of pain?

Now they’ll surely fulfill a miserable fate

And fatally fall before the charge of one man,

Priam’s son Hector, who rages beyond their control

And who has already done many quite horrible things.”

And the bright-eyed goddess Athena answered her, saying:

“I heartily wish the spirit and strength of this man

Would be destroyed there in the land of his fathers

Beneath the hands of the Argives! But my own Father

Also rages with evil intent, that cruel

And constant old sinner who thwarts my deepest desires.

Now he doesn’t remember how I on many

Occasions rescued his son when he was worn out

By the labors Eurystheus had him perform.x All Heracles

Had to do was cry out to heaven, and Zeus

Would send me down to help and defend him. But if

My heart had only foreseen all this the time

Eurytheus sent him to gate-guarding Hades to bring

Out of Erebus the loathed Death-god’s hound,y then never

Would he have recrossed the high-banked waters of Styx.

Surely Zeus hates me now, but he has fulfilled

The wishes of Thetis, who kissed his knees and took hold of

His chin with her hand, pleading with him to honor

Town-taking Achilles. But just as surely the day

Will come when again he will call me his blue-eyed darling.

So harness our solid-hoofed horses while I go into

The palace of aegis-bearing Zeus and put on my armor,

That I may find out how glad bright-helmeted Hector

Will be when he sees me appear in the fighting ranks

Of battle. Truly the muscle and fat of many

A Trojan will glut the dogs and carrion birds

Beside the Achaean ships!”

So she spoke,

And the white-armed Queen of the gods was equally willing.

So honored Hera, daughter of mighty Cronos,

Harnessed the gold-bridled horses. And Athena, daughter

Of Zeus, on the floor of her Father’s palace, shed

The soft robe that she herself had made and embroidered,

Put on instead the tunic of stormy Zeus,

And armed herself for tearful war. Then she,

God’s daughter, mounted the flaming car, gripping

The heavy huge spear with which she conquers whole armies

That have enraged her. Hera gave the horses a flick

With the lash, and the gates of heaven groaned on their hinges,

The self-opening gates which are kept by the Seasons, who have

In their keeping Olympus and all the wide sky, and who open

And close the thick clouds as they see fit. So on

Through the gates they drove their now impatient horses.

But Father Zeus caught sight of them from Ida

And terrible rage welled up within him. At once

He sent golden-winged Iris to bear the two goddesses word:

“Fly swiftly, quick Iris, and turn those two back. Don’t let them

Encounter me face to face, for the sequel of such

A conflict would not be very pleasant. And this

I declare, and truly I’ll do what I say. I’ll cripple

Their horses and knock both goddesses out of their chariot,

Which car I will smash into pieces. Nor will they recover

For ten circling years from the wounds my lightning will give them.

Then she of the blazing blue eyes will know what it is

To fight her own Father. With Hera I’m not so indignant

And angry, since I am quite used to her opposition

In everything I say do.”

So spoke the Father,

And storm-footed Iris swiftly flew off with the message,

Leaving the range of Ida for lofty Olympus.

There at the marvelous gates of the deep-creviced mountain

She met the two goddesses, stopped them, and thus delivered

The message of Zeus:

“Where to in such a hurry?

How can the hearts within you so foolishly rage?

Cronos’ son Zeus will not allow you to help

The Argives. Now he threatens you thus, and surely

He’ll do what he says. He says he will cripple your horses

And knock the two of you out of your chariot, which car

He will smash into pieces. Nor will you recover for ten

Circling years from the wounds his lightning will give you. Then you,

Blue-eyes, will know what it is to fight your own Father.

With Hera he’s not so indignant and angry, since he

Is quite used to her opposition in everything

He says do. But you are most brazen, Athena, bitch-hearted

And shameless, if you really dare to raise your great spear

Against Zeus.”

Having so spoken, quick-footed Iris

Flew off. And Hera turned to Athena, saying:

“O child of aegis-great Zeus, no longer will I

Allow us to go against God in battle for the sake

Of mere mortals. Let mortals live and die as they will,

And now let Zeus ponder those plans of his and judge

Between Trojans and Danaans wholly as he sees fit.”

With this she turned back her solid-hoofed horses. And the Seasons

Unyoked the mane-tossing steeds, tied them at mangers

Filled with ambrosia, and tilted the car against

The gleaming wall by the gates. Then the goddesses, hurt

And resentful, took their places on golden thrones

Mid the other immortal powers.

Father Zeus, meanwhile,

Mounted his well-running car and hurried his horses

From Ida to Mount Olympus, where he entered the session

Of gods. Poseidon, famed shaker of shores, unharnessed

His brother’s horses, put his car on its stand, and covered it

All with a cloth. And far-seeing Zeus sat down

On his golden throne, while beneath his feet huge Olympus

Quaked. Only Athena and Hera sat apart

From the Father, and only they said nothing at all

By way of greeting or question. But the heart of Zeus

Knew very well what the goddesses thought, and he spoke

To them thus:

“Why so unhappy, Athena and Hera?

Surely you haven’t exhausted yourselves in battle,

Where men win glory, ruining the Trojans whom you

So dreadfully hate. No matter what I undertake,

All the gods on Olympus could never dissuade me,

For such is my spirit and such my invincible hands.

But trembling seized the glorious limbs of you two

Before you had even so much as a glimpse of the fighting

And horrors of war. But let me remind you of what

Would surely have happened if the two of you hadn’t turned back.

I would have blasted you both with a charge of lightning

So great that you would have had no chariot left

In which to come back to Olympus, where the immortal gods

Abide.”

At first his words got murmurs only

From Athena and Hera, who sat by each other contriving

Disasters for Trojans. Then Athena kept quiet and said nothing,

Though seized by savage anger at Father Zeus.

But the breast of Hera could not contain her rage,

And she railed at him thus:

“Most dreadful son of Cronos,

What kind of talk is that! We know very well

How almighty strong you are. Even so, we feel sorry

For the Danaan spearmen, who now shall die and come

To a miserable end. Of course we’ll do as you say

And stay out of the fighting, but still we will help the Argives

With good advice, that all may not perish because of

Your wrath.”

Then Zeus of the gathering gale replied:

“Tomorrow at dawn, O heifer-eyed mighty Hera,

You’ll see, if you deign to behold, the truly mighty

Son of Cronos wrecking still further the ample

Ranks of Argive spearmen. For massive Hector

Shall not stop fighting till swift Achilles himself

Arises beside his ships, and that will not be

Till all are fiercely contending in deadly close quarters

At the sterns of the ships about the corpse of Patroclus.3

Such is heaven’s decree. And I don’t care

At all how angry you get, nor how far away

You go in your sulking. Go to the bottom of earth

And sea for all I care, down where Iapetus

And Cronos sit in the depths of gloomy Tartarus,

Unrelieved by light from the Sun-god Hyperion

And unrefreshed by any breeze that blows.z

Go on, if you wish, and see how much I’m disturbed

By your miserable wrath and resentment. For nothing that lives

Is more bitch-hearted than you!”

So spoke great Zeus,

But white-armed Hera had nothing to say in reply.

Then the smoldering sun dropped into the stream of Oceanus

And drew black night across the grain-giving earth.

Unhappy indeed were the Trojans to see the light sink,

But to the frantic Achaeans the darkness was welcome,

The night thrice earnestly prayed for.

Then glorious Hector

Called the Trojans together and led them apart

From the ships, assembling them all by the swirling river

In an open space clear of corpses. Down they stepped

From their cars to the ground to hear what god-loved Prince

Hector

Wanted to tell them. He held a sixteen-foot spear

In his hand, while over his head the bronze point blazed

And the ring of gold that held it. And now he leaned

On the spear and spoke these words to the Trojans:

“Your attention,

Trojans, Dardanians, allies. Just now I thought

That we would destroy the ships and all the Achaeans

Before going back to windy Ilium. But darkness

Fell too soon. That most of all has now

Saved the Argives along with their ships on the surf-beaten shore.

So let us give in to black night and make preparations

For supper. Loose from the cars your mane-tossing horses

And throw some fodder before them. Then go with all speed

To the city for oxen and splendid fat sheep. Get sweet-hearted

Wine and bread from your houses, and gather much wood,

That all through the night till early dawn we may

Have fires sufficient to light up heaven itself.

That way we’ll prevent the long-haired Achaeans from making

A try by night to run for home in their ships

Over the sea’s broad back. Let them not at their leisure

Board the ships, nor leave without a battle.

See to it that many a man takes home a shaft

To remember us by, an arrow or keen-headed spear

Lodged in his back as he makes a leap for the deck

Of his ship. So others may live in terror of bringing

Sad war on the horse-breaking Trojans. And let our heralds,

Beloved of Zeus, call out through the city for all

The young lads and gray-templed elders to spend this night

On the god-built walls, and tell our wives to kindle

Great fires at home in their halls, that careful watch

May be kept to prevent a raid on the city while we

Are out here. So be it, my great-hearted friends, as I have

Just said. But enough of good counsel for now. Tomorrow

At dawn I’ll have more to say to you, the horse-breaking

Trojans. And now I hopefully pray to Zeus

And the other gods that we may drive from our land

Those fate-driven dogs, who came in their death-borne black hulls

Long ago. And we too must keep a close watch tonight,

Guarding ourselves, but just before dawn let us put on

Our armor and throw our whole strength into keen-bladed war

At the hollow ships. Then I’ll find out whether Tydeus’

Son, the strong Diomedes, will force me back

From the ships to the wall, or whether I’ll bring him down

With the bronze and bear off his bloodstained armor. Tomorrow

He’ll know how able his valor is to withstand

The chilling onrush of my spear. He’ll lie, I dare say,

Mid the fallen foremost fighters, undone by a thrust

Of the bronze, and many a comrade of his will lie

Stretched out around him at sunrise tomorrow. I only

Wish that I were as sure of being immortal

And ageless throughout all days to come, like Athena

And Phoebus Apollo, as I am certain that daylight

Tomorrow will bring disaster on all of the Argives!”

So Hector harangued them, and all of them shouted approval.

Then they unharnessed their sweating horses and tethered

Them with the reins, each man beside his own car.

And with all speed they led from the city oxen

And splendid fat sheep, brought sweet-hearted wine and bread

From their houses, and gathered great heaps of wood. Then

To the gods they offered complete hecatombs, and the breezes

Wafted the savor up from the plain into heaven,

But from that fragrance the blissful gods abstained.

They would not partake at all, so hateful to them

Were sacred Ilium, Priam, and the people of Priam,

Great King of the good ashen spear.

So the confident Trojans

Waited all night in their companies, and many indeed

Were the watchfires burning. As when the stars shine out

Round the gleaming moon on a fair, still night when all

The high peaks and headlands and forest glades are easy

To see, so open then is the sky, so clear

The infinite air, and the shepherd’s heart is made glad

By the countless stars overheadeven so many

That night seemed the fires of the Trojans bivouacked before Troy

Between the ships and the river Xanthus. The plain

Was lit with a thousand fires, and in the light

Of each blaze sat fifty men, while by their chariots

Stood their fine horses, munching a mixture of wheat

And white barley and waiting for Dawn of the beautiful throne.

BOOK IX

Agamemnon’s Offers to Achilles

While thus the Trojans kept watch, the Achaeans were gripped

With awesome Panic, companion of freezing Fear,

And all their leaders were filled with unbearable grief.

As the fish-full sea is stirred by a storm when hard winds

Quickly arise and blow from the North and West

Directly from Thrace, raising dark foam-crested billows

And strewing the beaches with seaweed, so now the hearts

Of Achaeans were stirred.

But Atreus’ son Agamemnon,

Deeply despairing, went up and down through the host

Commanding the clear-voiced heralds to call each man

By name to the place of assembly, to call without shouting,

And he himself worked with the heralds. At last they sat

In assembly, troubled and grieving, and King Agamemnon

Stood up to speak, weeping like a spring whose dark streams

Trickle down the rocky face of a cliff. Even so,

And heavily sighing, he addressed the Argives thus:

“My friends, captains and counselors of the Argives,

Almighty Zeus, the son of crooked Cronos,

Has bound me now in woeful blindness of spirit,

Heartless god that he is! For long ago

He made me a promise and vowed with a nod of his head

That I should sack the well-walled city of Ilium

Before I went home, but now a vile deceit

Appears in his plans, and he bids me go back in disgrace

To Argos, having lost a great many men. Such,

I suppose, is the pleasure of Zeus, almighty God,

Who has toppled the towers of numerous cities and who

Shall continue to topple, since his is the greatest power.1

So come, all of you do as I say. Let us flee

With our ships to the precious land of our fathers. For we

Can no longer hope to plunder the wide streets of Troy.”

He spoke, and the grieving sons of Achaeans sat

A long time in silence, till finally strong Diomedes,

He of the fierce battle-scream, spoke out among them:

“Son of Atreus, with you and your folly, O King,

I’ll be the first to contend in the privileged place

Of assembly, here where speech is respected. Do not, then,

Be angry at me and my words. You, after all,

Amid the Danaans slandered my valor first,

Saying that I was weak and unwarlike.aa Nor is there

A single Argive, young or old, who isn’t

Aware that you spoke so to me. But you are the one

Whom the son of Cronos, crooked in counsel, uncertainly

Endowed: he gave you the scepter, yes, and with it

The highest honor, but courage he did not grant you,

And courage is far the most kingly virtue of all.

Strange man, do you really believe that the sons of Achaeans

Have hearts as weak and unwarlike as you imply?

But if your own heart is anxious to go, go on!

You know the way, and the whole huge fleet that followed you

Here from Mycenae still stands drawn up by the sea.

But the other long-haired Achaeans will stay till Ilium

Falls. And if they also should flee in their ships

To the precious land of their fathers, we two, Sthenelus

And I, will surely fight on till Troy is ours,

For we came here with the blessing of almighty God.”

He spoke, and all the sons of Achaeans shouted

Approval, applauding the words of brave Diomedes,

Breaker of horses. Then knightly old Nestor stood up

And spoke out among them: “Son of Tydeus, you

Are the strongest of men in battle and surely the best

Of all our young men in council. No Achaean would scorn

The speech you just made or contradict what you said.

Even so, there is more that badly needs saying. It’s true

That you’re still a young man, quite young enough to be

My youngest son. Still your words of reproof

To the kings of Argos were prudent and utterly right.

But now let an older man speak and complete your good counsel.

Nor is there a man who will scorn what I say, not even

King Agamemnon. Friendless, lawless, and homeless

Is he who enjoys the horror of blood-chilling strife

Among his own people. But now let us yield to black night

And make preparations for supper. Let sentinels take

Their positions beyond the wall along the deep ditch.

This I say to the young men only. Then you,

Agamemnon, make the first move, since you are highest

In royal rank, and give a feast for the chieftains,

As is but fitting and right. Your lodges are full

Of wine brought daily to you in Achaean ships

From Thrace across the wide water, and you, as ruler

Of many, have means to receive us as only a great king

Can. Then you may take his advice who speaks

Most wisely in our discussion. And surely all

The Achaeans are sorely in need of advice, of practical

Good advice, now that our foes are lighting

Their many fires so close to the ships. Who

Among us rejoices in that? Believe me, this night

Will determine the ruin or salvation of all our great army!”

He spoke, and they, quite attentive, did as he said.

The armor-clad sentries went out on the double, commanded

By Nestor’s son Thrasymedes, shepherd of the people,

Ascalaphus and Ialmenus, sons of Ares, and Meriones,

Aphareus, Deďpyrus, and able Lycomedes, son

Of Creon. These captains of the guard were seven in all,

And with each of them marched a hundred young warriors armed

With long spears. They all went out and took their posts

Midway between trench and wall, and there they lit fires

And each prepared his own supper.

But King Agamemnon

Led the whole body of chieftains to a royal feast

In his lodge, where all their hearts could wish for was theirs.

They fell to feasting and enjoyed the good things before them.

But when they had eaten and drunk as much as they wanted,

The old one stood up and wove wise counsel for them,

The ancient Nestor, whose wisdom had won out before.

Now he, in an effort to help, spoke out among them:

“Renowned Atrides, king of men Agamemnon,

From beginning to end my remarks are especially for you.

For you are King over many, and Zeus himself

Has given the scepter to you and entrusted you

With the laws, that you might rule wisely and well. Hence you

Above all should speak your counsel and listen to that

Of others, listen and also abide by the good

Advice you get. You, of course, will finally

Have to decide on anything we may suggest.

So now I will speak what seems to me best, nor will

Another find any better suggestion than this

I have had in my mind for some time, since the day when you,

O Zeus-sprung mighty chief, took the girl Briseis

From the lodge of angry Achilles and went your own

Heedless way completely against our will. I myself

Did all I could to change your mind, but you

Gave in to your pride and insulted our mightiest man,

Whom even the gods do not fail to honor. You took

And kept his prize of prestige. But still it is not

Too late for us to consider how we may make up

For all that and how we may win his good will again

With friendly gifts and gentle words of entreaty.”

And thus the commander-in-chief Agamemnon replied:

“Old sire, you speak of my folly with perfect truth.

I acted blindly,2 and I don’t for a moment deny it.

A man whom Zeus loves in his heart and honors, as surely

He honors this man, while beating the rest of us down,

Is worth any number of regular uninspired armies.

But since I did give in to my miserable pride,

And since I did act with such folly and lack of foresight,

I now would like very much to make amends

And give the man gifts of limitless value. Here

In the midst of you all I will name the glorious tokens:

Seven tripods untouched by the fire, ten talents

Of gold and twenty bright cauldrons, along with twelve

Strong prize-taking horses, swift winners of many a race.

By no means lacking in treasure or precious gold

Would be that man whose wealth was as great as the prizes

These solid-hoofed horses have won me. And I will give him

Seven fair women of Lesbos, skillful weavers

Of matchless work, women I personally chose

From the spoil when he himself took well-fortified Lesbos,

The loveliest women the world has to offer. I’ll give him

These seven, and with them the daughter of Briseus, the girl

I took away. And I will swear a great oath

That never once have I slept or made love with her,

As men and women so naturally do. All

Of these things shall be his at once, and if the immortals

Grant us the sack of Priam’s great city, let him

Be present when we Achaeans are dividing the spoil,

That he may fill his ship full of gold and bronze,

And let him choose twenty women, the fairest in Troy

After Argive Helen herself. And if we return

To Achaean Argos, rich udder of earth, he

Shall be my own son-in-law, nor will I treat

My beloved and richly reared son Orestes any better.

I have at home in my solid-built palace three daughters:

Chrysothemis, Laodice, and Iphianassa. Of these

He may take the bride of his choice to the house of Peleus,

And I will not only forego all wedding gifts

From him, but will myself give a dowry far larger

Than any man yet has sent with a daughter. And I

Will give seven populous cities to him: Cardamyle,

Enope, grassy Hire, and hallowed Pherae,

Antheia, deep in meadows, lovely Aepeia,

And Pedasus, rich in vineyards. They’re all near the sea

On the lower coast of sandy Pylos, and those

Who live there are wealthy in cattle and sheep, men

Who will honor him like a god and give him fine gifts,

And under his scepter they’ll do as he says and prosper

Immensely. All of these gifts are his, if only

He’ll stop being angry. And let him stopHades,

You know, is hard and implacable, and so he’s the god

All mortals hate most! Let him give in to me,

For I am higher in royal rank, and besides

I’m an older man.”

Then the horseman, Gerenian Nestor,

Answered him thus: “Most famous son of Atreus,

King of men Agamemnon, no man would despise

These gifts of yours to kingly Achilles. So come,

Let us choose men and send them at once to the lodge

Of Peleus’ great son. Or rather, let those I select

Be willing to go. First, then, I single out Phoenix,

Dear to Zeus, and with him the powerful Ajax

And brilliant Odysseus, and let these three be attended

By two of our heralds, Odius and Eurybates. But first

Bring water for the washing of hands, and call for holy

Silence, that we may pray to Cronos’ son Zeus

For mercy in this our trouble.”

He spoke, and his words

Were pleasing to all. Quickly the heralds poured water

Over their hands, and the young men filled the bowls

Brimful of wine, and then the goblets, first pouring

Libation drops in the goblets of all. But when

They had made libations and drunk as much as they wished,

They left the lodge of Atreus’ son Agamemnon.

And the horseman, Gerenian Nestor, with an earnest glance

At each, but especially at Odysseus, urgently

Ordered them all to do their best in persuading

The peerless son of Peleus.

So off they went

Along the beach of the surf-booming sea, with many

A prayer to Poseidon, god who holds and shakes

The earth, that they might easily change the great heart

Of Aeacus’ grandson Achilles. Now when they came

To the lodges and ships of the Myrmidons, there they found him

Soothing his soul with a resonant lyre, exquisitely

Wrought and carved, with a bridge of solid silver,

Part of the loot he had taken when he himself sacked

Eëtion’s city.3 With this he was pleasantly passing

The time, as to it he sang of warriors’ fame,

Alone but for Patroclus, who sat across

From his friend quietly awaiting the end of his song.

But now the envoys approached with shrewd Odysseus

Leading the way, and stood in the great man’s presence.

And he, astonished, leaped up with the lyre in his hand,

And also Patroclus, seeing the men, got up

From his seat. Then swift Achilles greeted them, saying:

“Welcome, my friends, for such you truly are.

Very great is our need of each other. Even in anger

You are to me the dearest of all the Achaeans.”

So saying, noble Achilles led them in

And gave them all chairs with coverings of purple, and at once

He spoke thus to Patroclus: “Set out a larger bowl,

You son of Menoetius, and mix us a livelier drink.

Then fill a cup for each of these men, for these

Are my dearest friends who sit here under my roof.”

At this Patroclus got busy. He moved a great block

Out into the firelight, and on it he laid the chines

Of a sheep and fat goat along with that of a huge,

Well-larded hog. And the driver Automedon held them

While noble Achilles carved. Expertly he cut up

The meat and put it on spits, and godlike Patroclus

Built up the fire. Then, when the flame had died down,

He spread the hot coals and laid the meat above them,

Resting the spits in holders and sprinkling the cuts

With holy salt. And when he had roasted the meat

And heaped it on platters, Patroclus put beautiful baskets

Of bread on the table, while Achilles gave helpings of meat.

Then he sat down by the wall across from Odysseus

And told his comrade Patroclus to sacrifice meat

To the gods, and Patroclus threw the gods’ share in the fire.

And they all helped themselves to the good things before them, eating

And drinking as much as they wanted. Then Ajax nodded

To Phoenix. But Odysseus caught the signal, and filling

A cup with wine he pledged Achilles thus:

“Here’s to you, Achilles. We have no lack of fine food,

Either in the lodge of Atreus’ son Agamemnon

Or here in yours. This has indeed been a wonderful

Meal. But we are not really concerned with food,

However delicious, for now, O god-nourished Prince,

Our eyes can see nothing but total destruction, and we

Are afraid. Unless you come back in all of your might,

We can as easily lose the benched ships as save them.

Not far from the ships and wall the confident Trojans

And their far-famous allies have made their camp

And kindled innumerable fires throughout the battalions.

They no longer think that we can keep them from falling

Upon our black ships. Great Zeus encourages them

With lightning-bolts on the right, and Hector exulting

In martial prowess rages like mad, trusting

In Zeus, but quite regardless of all other gods

To say nothing of men. Irresistible madness has made him

Her own. He prays for the speedy arrival of sacred

Young Dawn, and swears he will hew the high horns from the sterns

Of our ships and burn the hulls with ravenous fire,

Killing Achaeans reeling around in the smoke.

Such is the terrible fear in my heart, that the gods

May make his threats good and our fate be to die in the land

Of Troy so far from rich Argos where thoroughbreds graze.

But up, if now at last you are willing to enter

The horrible din of battling Trojans and save

The hard-pressed Achaeans. Otherwise, you too will suffer,

Nor is there any real help for evil done.

But come, before it’s too late, and think how you

May help the Danaans and ward the evil day off.

Surely, old friend, your father Peleus was talking

To you the day he sent you from Phthia and home

To King Agamemnon, saying:

“My son, if it be

Their wish, Athena and Hera will make you strong,

But you will have to restrain your own proud spirit.

Good will is always best. And should you find yourself

Caught in a ruinous quarrel, be reconciled quickly,

That Argives young and old may respect you still more.‘4

“Even so the old one bade you, but you have forgotten.

Still, though, it isn’t too late for you to renounce

Your heart-eating wrath. And if you will, Agamemnon

Offers these adequate gifts, which I will enumerate

Now, if you will but listen. Here then are the tokens

That in his lodge Agamemnon promised to give you:

Seven tripods untouched by the fire, ten talents

Of gold and twenty bright cauldrons, along with twelve

Strong prize-taking horses, swift winners of many a race.

By no means lacking in treasure or precious gold

Would be that man whose wealth was as great as the prizes

These solid-hoofed horses have won him. And he will give you

Seven fair women of Lesbos, skillful weavers

Of matchless work, women he personally chose

From the spoil when you yourself took well-fortified Lesbos,

The loveliest women the world has to offer. He’ll give you

These seven, and with them the daughter of Briseus, the girl

He took away. And he will swear a great oath

That never once has he slept or made love with her,

As men and women so naturally do. All

Of these things shall be yours at once, and if the immortals

Grant us the sack of Priam’s great city, then you

Be present when we Achaeans are dividing the spoil,

That you may fill your ships full of gold and bronze,

And you may choose twenty women, the fairest in Troy

After Argive Helen herself. And if we return

To Achaean Argos, rich udder of earth, you

Shall be his own son-in-law, nor will he treat

His beloved and richly reared son Orestes any better.

He has at home in his solid-built palace three daughters:

Chrysothemis, Laodice, and Iphianassa. Of these

You may take the bride of your choice to the house of Peleus,

And he will not only forego all wedding gifts

From you, but will himself give a dowry far larger

Than any man yet has sent with a daughter. And he

Will give seven populous cities to you: Cardamyle,

Enope, grassy Hire, and hallowed Pherae,

Antheia, deep in meadows, lovely Aepeia,

And Pedasus, rich in vineyards. They’re all near the sea

On the lower coast of sandy Pylos, and those

Who live there are wealthy in cattle and sheep, men

Who will honor you like a god and give you fine gifts,

And under your scepter they’ll do as you say and prosper

Immensely. All of these gifts are yours, if only

You’ll stop being angry.5 But if your heart is still full

Of hatred for Atreus’ son, for him and his gifts,

Then at least have pity on the other united Achaeans

Now on the verge of total defeat. They will surely

Hold you in highest honor and glorify you

Like a god. For now you may take great Hector himself,

Since he in his self-destroying rage would come

Right up to you. He no longer thinks that our ships

Brought any man here to equal his prowess in war.”

Then Achilles, swift of foot, answered him thus:

“O god-sprung son of Laertes, resourceful Odysseus,

Regardless of persons, I have to say what I think

And what shall indeed come to pass. Don’t sit here with me,

Coaxing and wheedling, first one and then the other.

For the gates of Hades are not more hateful to me

Than a man who hides one thing in his heart and says

Something else. I, then, will say what seems to me best.6

Atreus’ son Agamemnon will not, I think,

Persuade me, nor the other Danaans either, since now

I know there were never to be any thanks at all

For my ceaseless efforts against the foe. He

Who lolls in his lodge has equal reward with him

Who fights on the field, coward and hero are honored

Alike, and death comes just as surely to the soldier

Who labors much as it does to the unmanly sluggard.

And what do I have to show for the pains my heart suffered,

Forever risking my life in battle? You’ve seen

A bird that brings in her bill whatever food

She can find to sustain her unfledged babies, while she

Herself most miserably goes without. Even so,

I’ve watched through many a sleepless night and fought

My way through many a bloody day, and all

For the sake of a woman. I’ve sailed in my ships to twelve

Well-garrisoned cities and plundered them all, and eleven

Others, I say, I’ve stormed and taken by land

Throughout the fertile Troad. Much marvelous booty

I took from them all, treasure I brought and gave

To Atreus’ son Agamemnon. And he, having stayed

In camp beside his swift ships, would take what I won

And dole out a little, but most he would keep for himself.

Some he gave as prizes to princes and kings,

And they still have them untouched. But from meand only

From mehe has taken and kept the bride I adored.

“Well let him sleep with her now and enjoy himself.

But why should Argives battle the Trojans? And why

Has this miserable son of Atreus gathered and led

This great army here? Wasn’t it all for lovely

Blonde Helen? Can it be that of all mortal men, only

The sons of Atreus love their wives? Not so,

For any real man of good sense both loves and cares for

His own, as I loved her with all of my heart,

Though she was won by my spear. So now that he’s played

Me false and taken my prize from my arms, let him

Not try me again. I know him too well, and now

He shall not persuade me.

“But you, Odysseus, let him

Make plans with you and the other chieftains to keep

The ruinous fire away from the ships. Surely

He’s done a great deal without assistance from me.

He’s built a wall and dug a ditch all around it,

A deep wide ditch bristling with sharp-pointed stakes.

Still, though, he hasn’t been able to cope with the strength

Of man-killing Hector, who had no stomach for fighting

Out from the wall so long as I was in battle

Among the Achaeans. Then he would venture only

So far as the Scaean Gates and the oak tree. There

He awaited me once in single combat, and there

He just barely escaped my charge with his life. But now

That I am no longer inclined to battle great Hector,

Tomorrow I’ll make an offering to Zeus and all

Of the gods, then launch my ships on the sea and load them

Down with treasure. Tomorrow at daybreak, then,

If you care to look out on the fish-full Hellespont water,

You’ll see my ships pulling out from shore and in them

Men eager to row. Then, if the mighty Earthshaker

Grants me good sailing, I’ll reach the rich soil of Phthia

On the third day out. Treasures uncounted I left there

To make my unfortunate way to this land, and still

More treasure I’ll take home from here, gold, red bronze,

And fair-belted women, along with a plentiful store

Of gray ironall wealth allotted to me. Even so,

My prize has been taken from me by the arrogant lord

Who gave it, King Agamemnon, son of Atreus.

So go and tell him all I’ve told you, and say it

Out loud in assembly before all the other Achaeans,

That they may also be angry, and warned. For he

In his utter meanness of spirit may even now

Be planning to cheat someone else of the Danaan fighters.

Yet he lacks the courage to so much as look at me

Face to face, greedy and shameless dog that he is!

I’ll take no counsel with him, nor will I assist him

In fighting. For he has been utterly unfair to me,

Grievously sinning against me. Not again will I let him

Trick me with words. Of that he has done quite enough.

So let him be damned as he himself wishes, for Zeus

The contriver has robbed him of all good sense.

“I hate

And despise his proffered gifts, nor do I value

The man himself worth a straw. Not if he gave me

Ten times all he has now, or twenty times,

And added to that every bit of the wealth that enters

Orchomenus or Egyptian Thebesand in that city

Of a hundred gates, through each of which two hundred men

With horses and cars sally forth, more treasure is stored

In the houses of men than anywhere else in the world

Not if he gave me gifts as numberless quite

As sand and dust, still Agamemnon could not

Prevail any more on my soul till he himself

Has personally paid for all of the insult and pain

That gnaws at my heart.

“Nor will I take as my bride

Any daughter of Atreus’ son Agamemnon, not

If she rivaled in beauty golden Aphrodite herself,

Or bright-eyed Athena in skill at handwork. Still

I would not marry any daughter of his. Let

The man choose some other Achaean, someone more

Like himself and more kingly than I. For if the gods keep me

And see me home safely, Peleus himself, I dare say,

Will find me a suitable wife. There is no shortage

Of Achaean girls throughout both Hellas and Phthia,

Daughters of chieftains in charge of protecting the cities.

From these I can have the beloved wife of my choice.

At home my proud heart very often desired to woo

And win some excellent wife, and enjoy life

With the wealth old Peleus won me. For I put a much

Higher value on life than on all the treasures men say

Were contained in the rich and populous city of Troy

Before we sons of Achaeans came, or,

For that matter, all the wealth laid up behind

The marble threshold of the archer god Phoebus Apollo

In rocky Pytho. For raiding can get a man cattle

And splendid fat sheep, and barter can get him tripods

And sorrel horses. But once his soul goes out

Through the barrier of his teeth, neither raiding nor barter

Can make it return. My goddess mother, Thetis

Of the silver feet, tells me I bear two fates

With me on my way to the grave. If I stay here

And fight about Troy, I’ll never return to my home,

But men will remember my glory forever. On the other hand,

If I go back to the precious land of my fathers,

No glory at all will be mine, but life, long life,

Will be, and no early death shall ever come on me.

“Yes, and I would advise you others also

To set sail for home, since now you no longer have hopes

Of taking steep Ilium. For loud-thundering Zeus holds out

A mighty arm above her and greatly inspirits

Her people. So go and perform the honored office

Of senior chiefs by giving my answer to all

The kings of Achaea, that they may devise some better

Plan than this to save the Achaean army

And hollow ships, for now their appeal to me

Has done them no good, because of the wrath I still have.

Phoenix, though, can spend the night here with us,

That he may go in the morning with me and the ships

Back to my own dear country, that is if he wants to.

I’ll surely not force him to go.”

Such was his answer,

And all of them sat in silence, stunned by the force

Of his bitter refusal. At last, old Phoenix, driver

Of horses, spoke out among them, the tears streaming down

His face, so deeply he feared for the ships of Achaea:

“Resplendent Achilles, if you really mean to return,

And are so wrathful at heart that you have no wish

At all to keep the fierce fire away from the ships,

How could I stay here without you, dear child? The knightly

Old Peleus made me your guardian,7 then sent us both

From Phthia to King Agamemnon, you a mere child

With no experience then of horrible war

Or of speaking in council where men win distinction. So Peleus

Sent me along to be your instructor in all

Of these things, that you might be an effective speaker

As well as a man of action. Hence, dear child,

I have no wish at all to stay here without you,

Not even if God himself should promise to strip me

Of age and make me as strong as I was on the day

I first left Hellas, land of glamorous women.

I fled from a quarrel with Ormenus’ son, my father

Amyntor, who hated me on account of a fair-haired

Mistress whom he adored, thereby disgracing

His wife, my mother. So she was always begging me

Close at my knees to lie with the girl myself

And make her despise the old man. But I had no sooner

Done what my mother wished, than my father knew

What had happened and fearfully cursed me, calling out

On the dreaded Furiesab for them to prevent my ever

Having a son of my own to take on my lap.

And the underworld powers, Hades and awesome Persephone,

Made his curse good, whereat I decided to use

My keen bronze and kill the old man, but some immortal

Restrained my rage, reminding me of public

Opinion and what the Achaeans would say of a man

Who killed his own father. But then my heart was too restless

To stay any longer at home with my hostile sire,

Though friends and kinsfolk did all they could to keep me

There in the palace. Daily they slaughtered many

Fine sheep and shuffling sleek cattle, and many fat swine

They singed and stretched out above the flame of Hephaestus,

Feasting and drinking much wine from the old man’s jars.

All night long for nine nights they camped about me,

Taking turns at standing watch and feeding

The fires, one out in the front colonnade of the well-walled

Courtyard, the other up in the portico, right

In front of my bedroom door. But during the tenth

Dark night, I burst through the tightly closed doors of my chamber

And easily leaped the wall of the courtyard, nor was I

Seen by any of the guards or women servants.

Then I fled far away through the open fields

Of Hellas to fertile Phthia, mother of flocks,

And the house of King Peleus. And warmly he took me in

And loved me quite as a wealthy father loves

His only son and heir. He made me rich

And the ruler of many subjects, and I went to live

On the furthest border of Phthia as lord over all

The Dolopians.

“Since that time, O godlike Achilles,

I’ve loved you deeply and done all I could to make you

What you are. For you would go in to meals

With no one else but me, nor would you eat

Even then until I had taken you up on my lap

And cut you your fill of juicy meat and held

The wine to your lips. Many indeed were the times

When you, like the difficult baby you were, spluttered

The wine right back all over my tunic. Thus

I worked very hard for you and put up with a lot,

Since I knew very well that the gods were never to give me

A son of my own. So you, O godlike Achilles,

I tried to raise as my son, that someday you

Might save me from ruin and a sad, unseemly end.

“Therefore, Achilles, master your pride. Relentlessness

Doesn’t become you. Even the gods can yield,8

And theirs is surely superior majesty, honor,

And power. Yet they are appeased by offerings burned

On their altars, by humble prayers, reverent libations,

And the savory smoke that goes up to them when some

Poor supplicant sinner has foolishly broken their laws.

For Prayers are the daughters of almighty Zeus, and they always

Come limping along behind Sin, sad creatures with wrinkled

Skin and downcast eyes. Sin, however,

Is lusty and swift, and so outdistances them,

Arriving first all over the world and doing

Her damage to men, while Prayers come halting after

And try to heal the wounds of Sin. Now he

Who reveres these daughters of Zeus when they approach,

That man they greatly bless, and when he prays

They heed him. But if a man stubbornly turns from them

In refusal and sends them away, they go and pray

To Cronos’ son Zeus that Sin may follow that man

Till he too falls and pays the full price for his pride.

So you, Achilles, be careful to reverence these daughters

Of God, who continue to bend the wills of all

Right-thinking men. For if Atreus’ son were still

In his furious rage instead of offering you gifts

With promises of still more, I surely would not

Advise you to throw off your wrath and help the Argives,

No matter how desperate they were. But now he offers you

Many fine gifts with a pledge of more hereafter,

And besides he sends these envoys, choosing the most

Outstanding men in the whole Achaean army

And those whom you hold dearest of all the Argives.

Do not, then, scorn their coming to you and what

They have said, though before they came here no man could blame

Your wrath and resentment.

“We’ve all heard similar stories

About the old heroes,9 men who allowed fierce anger

To come upon them, but yielded to gifts and entreaty.

I’m thinking now of something that happened a long time

Ago, a crucial event of no recent occurrence,

And I will tell you, since we are all friends, how it was.

The Curetes once were fighting the staunch Aetolians

Around the walls of their city, beautiful Calydon,

And men on both sides were dying, the Aetolians bravely

Defending their town, the Curetes striving to sack it.

For on the Aetolians golden-throned Artemis had sent

A great evil, she being angry at Oeneus their King

For neglecting to offer her harvest first-fruits from his orchard.

All the other gods reveled on whole hecatombs from him,

While she alone, great Zeus’s own daughter, got no

Sacrifice at all. He either forgot her completely,

Or thought he had done what he had not: great blindness of soul

Was surely upon him. So the goddess of flying arrows,

Deeply offended, sent against Oeneus a huge

And ferocious wild boar that flashed his white tusks and tore up

The King’s great orchard, doing much damage, as fiercely

He rooted up many a large apple tree and laid it

Out on the groundroots, sweet blossoms, and all.

But Oeneus’ son Meleager killed the great boar,

Though not without gathering hunters and hounds from many

Strong cities. No meager force of mortals could ever

Have cut the beast down, so truly enormous he was,

And many were the men he heaped on the sad funeral pyre.

Then Artemis caused a savage and noisy quarrel

Over the spoils, a fight between the Curetes

And great-souled Aetolians, both sides eager to take

The huge head and shaggy hide as trophies.

“Now just

So long as Prince Meleager, dear to the War-god,

Fought for his people, the Curetes steadily lost,

Unable to hold their own outside the walls

Of the city, though many the men they had brought there. But then

Wrath seized Meleager, wrath that swells the hearts

Of others too, no matter how wise they may be.

Meleager quarreled with his own dear mother Althaea,

Daughter of Thestius, King of the brave Curetes,

And sullenly lay at home beside his young wife,

The fair Cleopatra, child of Euenus’ daughter,

Trim-ankled Marpessa, and Idas, the strongest man

Of his time, Idas who drew his powerful bow

Against lord Phoebus Apollo himself, when fighting

The god for the trim-ankled maid Marpessa. Later,

At home, he and Marpessa called their daughter

Halcyone, thinking of how like the halcyon bird

Her mother had mournfully cried when the far-working god

Snatched her awaytheir daughter whom all others called

Cleopatra.

“And now by her side Meleager lay,

Indulging his wrath and resentment because of the curses

His mother called down upon him out of fierce grief

For her brother Meleager had slain. She fell on her knees

And beat with her hands on the all-feeding earth, streaking

Her bosom with tears and praying to the infernal powers,

To Hades and awesome Persephone, begging them both

To kill her son. And the Fury that stalks through the mist,

She of the ruthless heart, heard her from Erebus.

“Soon the Curetes were raising a din at the gates

And storming the walls with a battering, thunderous noise.

Then the Aetolian elders besought Meleager

To come out and ward off the foe. They sent as envoys

To him the godly high priests of the city and promised

To give him a splendid reward. He could take, they said,

His choice of fifty acres from the richest part

Of the fair Calydonian plain, half to be

In vineyard land, half in land for plowing.

And often his knightly old father begged him to help.

He stood outside the high-roofed room of his son

And shook the well-bolted doors, fervently pleading.

His sisters and queenly mother kept after him too,

But to them his refusal was firmer than ever. Even

His friends, those who were dearest and truest of all,

Even they could not change his mind. But when the Curetes

Were scaling the walls, firing the city, and raining

Their missiles down hard on the room of Prince Meleager,

At last his fair-belted wife came to him in tears

And vividly pictured for him the horrors that people

Suffer when enemies take their town, reminding

Him of the men all slaughtered, of the city reduced

To ashes, of children and fair-belted women dragged off

By the foe. Her lurid account stirred Meleager’s

Soul to the point where he went out and donned

His flashing armor.10 Thus he did what his own heart

Wanted and kept the Aetolians safe from the evil

Day. But they thereafter gave him none

Of the many and gracious gifts they had earlier offered.

He saved the people, but late, and so got nothing

For what he did.

“But you, my friend, don’t let

This happen to you. Think otherwise, and don’t allow

Some demon to harden your heart as his was. To save

The ships already burning will surely be

Much harder. Come then, while gifts and honor are yours

For the mere accepting, and then you’ll live as a god

Among the Achaeans. But if, too late for gifts,

You enter the man-ruining war, you may indeed

Drive our enemies back, but the honor we offer you now

Will be no longer the same.”

Then swift Achilles

Answered: “Phoenix, my god-sprung good old father,

What do I care for this honor you offer? I’m honored

Enough, I think, by Zeus himself, and the favor

He shows me will keep me here by the curving ships

So long as there’s breath in my body and strength in my limbs.

And here’s something else I’ll say for you to remember.

Don’t try to confuse me with grieving and weeping, hoping

That I’ll do the pleasure of Atreus’ son Agamemnon.

It hardly becomes you to care for that man at all,

Lest my love for you be changed into hatred. It would be

Much better, I think, for you to oppose whoever

Hurts me. Take half of my kingdom, Phoenix, and half

Of my royal prestige, but the message I’ve given these others

To bear shall surely remain unchanged. Meanwhile,

Stay here with me and sleep on an excellent bed.

Then tomorrow at dawn we’ll make up our minds whether we

Should go back to our own or stay where we are.“11

So saying,

He nodded his brow at Patroclus to start making up

A well-covered bed for Phoenix, that all of the others

Might quickly decide to leave. But Ajax, the godlike

Son of Telamon, spoke out among them, saying:

“God-sprung son of Laertes, resourceful Odysseus,

Let us go now, since surely our mission has failed

And we are obliged to tell the results, however

Unpleasant, to the Danaan chiefs, who must be sitting up

Waiting for us. Achilles has filled his proud heart

With savage, inhuman hatred. He has become

A cruel and ruthless man, who cannot remember

The love of his friends and how we idolized him

Like nobody else among the black ships. Incredibly

Pitiless man! Why others accept recompense

From one who has murdered a brother or even a son,

And the killer who pays the blood-price in full stays on

In his land, while the kinsman’s revengeful proud spirit is checked

By the wealth he receives. But to you, Achilles, the gods

Have given a heart both evil and changeless, and all

Because of one girl. And here we have offered you seven

Of the loveliest girls there are, and a great deal more

Besides. So come, be gracious and remember that we

Are your guests. And here beneath your roof we have come

Representing all of the Danaans, and still we would like

Very much to remain your nearest and dearest friends

Among the whole host of Achaeans.”

And swift Achilles

Answered him thus: “O god-sprung ruler of many,

Telamonian Ajax, I almost agree with all

That you say, but my heart swells with bitter rage

Whenever I think how Atreus’ son insulted

Me mid the Argives, as though I were some despised

And dishonored outsider. So go and deliver my message,

For I will not fight again in any man’s bloody

War till wise-hearted Priam’s son, great Hector,

Reaches the Myrmidon lodges and ships, killing

Argives all the way, and puts his torch to the hulls.

But Hector, however hungry for war he may be,

Will stop his advance, I think, when he reaches my lodge

And looming black vessel!“12

He spoke, and each of them took

A two-handled cup, poured a libation, and left,

Walking back down the long line of ships with Odysseus striding

Ahead. But Patroclus at once instructed his men

And the women servants to make up a well-covered bed

For Phoenix and quickly they did as he said, spreading

The frame with fleeces and blanket and smooth linen sheet.

On this the old one lay down and waited for bright Dawn

To come. But Achilles slept in one corner of the spacious,

Strongly built lodge and with him a woman, one

Whom he had brought from Lesbos, the pretty Diomeda,

Daughter of Phorbas. And Patroclus lay down on a bed

In the opposite corner with fair-gowned Iphis beside him,

A girl given him by kingly Achilles when he

Laid Scyrus waste, Enyeus’ steep citadel.

Now when the envoys got back and entered the lodge

Of Atreus’ son, the kings of Achaea stood up

All around them, raising their cups of gold and asking them

Questions. But surely most urgent of all was the king

Of men Agamemnon, asking: “Come now, most worthy

Odysseus, great glory of all the Achaeans, tell me

If he is willing to ward off fierce fire from the ships,

Or did he refuse you because his great heart still seethes

With bitter resentment?”

And noble, long-suffering Odysseus:

“Most famous Atrides, commander-in-chief Agamemnon,

Achilles has no intentions at all of quenching

His wrath and resentment. Now, in fact, he is filled

With more rage than ever, and says he will have no part

Of you or your gifts. And you he advises to meet

With the Argives and make some plan for saving the ships

And Achaea’s army. As for himself, he threatens

To launch at dawn his well-benched, graceful ships.

And he says he would counsel the other Achaeans also

To set sail for home, since now you no longer have hopes

Of taking steep Ilium. For loud-thundering Zeus holds out

A mighty arm above her and greatly inspirits

Her people. These were his very words, and here

Are the men who went with me, Ajax and two wise heralds,

To confirm what I say. But the old man Phoenix will spend the night

There. Achilles urged him to stay, that tomorrow

The old one may go with him and his ships back to

His own dear country, that is if he wants to. He says

He’ll not force him to go.”

Thus bluntly Odysseus reported,

And the grieving kings of Achaea sat a long time,

Stunned and silent, till finally strong Diomedes,

He of the great battle-scream, spoke out among them:

“Most famous Atrides, commander-in-chief Agamemnon,

Would you had never pleaded at all with Peleus’

Peerless son, or offered him all those gifts.

He’s haughty enough with no help from us, but now

You have made him more haughty than ever. Hence we’ve no choice

But to leave him alone, to go or stay as he wishes.

He’ll not fight again till the heart in his breast says fight,

Or until some god sets him on. But come, let all of us

Do as I say and go to our beds, now that

We’ve taken our fill of the meat and wine men need

To keep up their strength and courage. But you, O King,

As soon as fair Dawn of the rosy fingers appears,

Marshal your soldiers and horses in front of the ships

And urge them to battle. Then fight in the front rank yourself.”

The kings all had praise for these words from brave Diomedes,

Breaker of horses. They poured their libations and went

To their lodges, where each received the sweet gift of sleep.

BOOK X

The Night Adventure

Beside their ships all other kings of Achaea

Slumbered throughout the night, fast in the soft bonds

Of sleep, but no sweet sleep held the people’s shepherd,

Atreus’ son Agamemnon, so worried was he

By the many problems of war.1 As when the husband

Of lovely-haired Hera splits the sky with his lightning,

Foretelling some storm of rain unspeakably heavy,

Or hail, or snow that covers the plowlands, or else

Foretelling the start of ravenous wide-gaping war,

Even so, from deep in his breast, groans tore the trembling

And fearful heart of King Agamemnon. Whenever

He looked toward the Trojan plain, he marveled at all

The many fires that burned before Troy, and at

The sound of flutes and pipes and the hubbub of men.

But then, when he looked toward the ships and troops of Achaea,

He pulled his hair out by the roots in fervent pleas

To high-dwelling Zeus, and greatly his proud heart groaned.

At last he thought of a plan he preferred, to go first

Of all to Neleus’ son Nestor and work out some scheme

With him for warding off ruin from the Danaan army.

So he got up and put on his tunic, and on

His shining feet bound beautiful sandals, then threw

Round his shoulders the tawny-red skin of a lion, a fiery

Huge pelt that reached all the way to his feet. So clad,

He picked up his spear and went out.

And King Menelaus

Likewise lay wakeful, fearful and trembling lest ruin

Should come on the Argives who for his sake had crossed

The wide water, their hearts resolved on making fierce war.

About his broad shoulders he slung the spotted skin

Of a leopard, put on his helmet of bronze, and took up

A spear in his powerful hand. Then he went out

To rouse his brother, the mighty commander-in-chief

Of all the Argives, honored by them like a god.

He found him covering his shoulders with exquisite armor

Close by the stern of his ship, and glad indeed

Was King Agamemnon to see him. But the first to speak

Was he of the great battle-scream, Menelaus, saying:

“Why, my brother, why are you arming now?

Are you going to wake up some comrade of yours to spy

On the Trojans? I very much fear you’ll find nobody

Willing to undertake that, to go out alone

Through the dead of night and spy on hostile warriors.

Such work requires an extremely brave-hearted man!”

And powerful King Agamemnon answered him thus:

“You and I both, my god-nurtured brother, have need

Of advice sufficiently shrewd to deliver the Argives

And save the ships, now that Zeus has changed

His mind and looks with far greater favor on offerings

From Hector than he does on any from us. For I

Have never seen, nor heard another man tell of,

A warrior doing in only one day so much

Sheer damage as god-loved Hector alone has done

To the sons of Achaeans, he that was born of neither

Goddess nor god. Still the huge devastation

That man has wrought on the Argives will live in the minds

Of Achaeans for many generations to come. But go now

And run with all speed down the line of ships and call to us

Ajax and kingly Idomeneus. Meanwhile, I’ll go

And rouse Nestor to see if he will be willing to go out

And speak to the stalwart company of sentries and put them

More on the alert. They’ll pay more attention to him

Than to anyone else, for his own son Thrasymedes

Captains the guard with Idomeneus’ squire Meriones.

We put those two in command of the whole detachment.”

And battle-roaring Menelaus answered by asking:

“But what do you have in mind for me to do then,

After I give them your message? Shall I wait for you there

With them, or fully give them your word and run back

To rejoin you?”

Then the king of men Agamemnon replied:

“Stay there, or as we go we might possibly miss

Each other, for paths through the camp are many. But call out

Loudly wherever you go and wake up the men,

Being careful to call each man by the lineage and name

Of his father. Don’t be too proud to labor and give

Each man his due of respect. We too must toil

Especially we. For from the time we were born

Zeus laid out for us a heavy allotment of sorrow.”

He spoke, and dispatched his brother with these explicit

Instructions. But he himself went off after Nestor,

The people’s shepherd, and found him lying outside

His lodge on a comfortable bed by the stern of his ship

With richly wrought armor beside himhis shield, two spears,

And a gleaming helmet. And there lay the glinting war-belt

With which the old one girded himself whenever,

Unyielding to painful old age, he put on his armor

And led his troops into man-eating battle. Now

He lifted his head, and raising himself on an elbow

Questioned Atrides thus:

“Who goes there alone

By the ships, roaming the camp through the darkness of night

While other people are sleeping? What are you looking for,

Mansome mule of yours, or one of your friends?

Don’t come any closer until you declare who you are

And what it is you’re after!”

Then great Agamemnon

Answered: “Neleus’ son Nestor, pride of all

The Achaeans, surely you know Agamemnon, son

Of Atreus, me whom Zeus gives painful labor

Beyond all others, constant suffering and toil

So long as I’m able to breathe and move my limbs.

I’m up and abroad because sweet sleep refuses

To come on my lids, so worried am I about

The war and woes of Achaeans. I’m terrified now

At the danger we face, nor can I make up my mind

What to do, as sadly I waver. My heart pounds so hard

It almost leaps from my breast, and my powerful legs

Tremble and knock beneath me. But if you are willing

To help, since you too are sleepless, come, let us go

To the sentries and see that they have not forgotten their guard

And yielded to drowsy fatigue. We can brook no sleeping

Out there. The enemy camps hard by, and for all

We know they are planning a night attack right now!”

Then horse-handling Gerenian Nestor replied:

“Most famous Atrides, commander-in-chief Agamemnon,

Zeus the contriver will surely not fulfill for Hector

All that he hopes for. In fact, if Achilles changes

His mind and rids himself of miserable rage,

I dare say Hector will find himself caught in toils

More grievous than ours. Of course I’ll go with you, but let us

Get others up tooDiomedes, famed as a spearman,

Odysseus and Ajax the swift, and sturdy Meges,

Son of Phyleus. And it would be well for someone

To go for the godlike Ajax, Telamon’s son,

And King Idomeneus, whose ships are furthest away

And not at all close. But much as I love and respect

Menelaus, and though you’ll probably be angry with me,

I will not conceal what I think about his sleeping

And leaving this labor to you. He should be up

And working among the leaders, urging them on

To do their best. For the need is desperate that now

Has come on us all!”

And the king of men Agamemnon

Answered him thus: “Old sire, some other time

I’ll tell you myself to chide him. He’s often remiss

And idle, not that he’s lazy or fearful or foolish,

But simply because he’s always looking to me

And waiting to follow my lead. But tonight he was up

Before even I was, and came to me. Hence

I’ve already sent him for those you just mentioned. So come,

Let us go. We shall find them outside the gates of the camp

Among the sentries, for there I told them to gather.”

And knightly Gerenian Nestor answered him, saying:

“If Menelaus keeps that up, no man of the Argives

Will ever resent his urging him on, or refuse

To obey his orders.”

So saying, he put on his tunic

And on his shining feet bound beautiful sandals,

And around him he buckled a large crimson cloak, downy soft

And of double thickness. Then he took up a sturdy

Bronze-pointed spear and strode off down through the ships

Of the bronze-clad Achaeans.

Now first to be wakened by him

Was Odysseus, godlike in wisdom. The old one’s voice

Rang in his ears and out from his lodge he came,

Answering thus: “Why do you roam our encampment

Of ships through the dead of night by yourselves? What urgent

Need is upon you?”

And knightly old Nestor replied:

“Zeus-born son of Laertes, resourceful Odysseus,

Don’t blame us for this. You know what unspeakable grief

Overwhelms the Achaeans. But come on with us, that we

May wake someone else, whoever can help us most

In deciding this night on whether to fight as before

Or board our ships and flee.”

At this the shrewd

Odysseus went back in his lodge, slung round his shoulders

A richly wrought shield, and followed his friends. Soon

They came to Tydeus’ son Diomedes. They found him

Outside his lodge lying beside his war-gear,

While all around him his comrades were sleeping, their heads

On their shields and the butt-end spikes of their spears driven into

The ground. Thus the bronze points reflected the firelight

And shone far out through the night like the lightning-flashes

Of Father Zeus. The heroic Diomedes was also

Asleep, with his head resting on a lustrous soft rug

And the hide of a field-ranging ox beneath him.

The knightly

Old Nestor approached, and rousing the chief with a touch

Of his foot, berated him thus to his face: “Wake up,

You son of Tydeus. Are you going to lie there snoring

All night? Or haven’t you heard that the Trojans are camped

Just up the plain from us and the ships. Believe me,

The space between us is far too small for comfort!”

At this, Diomedes sprang up from his sleep and answered

In these winged words: “You’re a hard one, old sire, and never

Rest from your toiling. But are there no younger sons

Of Achaeans who might be up and rousing the kings

Throughout our sleeping host? Truly, old sire,

There is no keeping up with you!”

And knightly old Nestor

Replied: “You speak as you should, my friend. I have

Matchless sons myself, and there are many others, any one

Of whom could go and rouse the chieftains. But now

Without doubt a desperate need overwhelms the Achaeans,

Whose fate uncertainly stands on a razor’s edge,

Balanced between a chance to go on living

And sheer, most miserable ruin! But go, if you really

Feel sorry for me, and rouse up Ajax the swift

And Phyleus’ son Meges, for indeed you are younger than I am.”

So brave Diomedes threw round his shoulders the skin

Of a lion, a fiery huge pelt that reached all the way

To his feet, then seized his spear and took off. Having roused

The two leaders, he brought them back where the others were

waiting.

Now when they came to the sentries outside the walls,

They caught no chief of the guard asleep at his post,

But all were armed and alert. As dogs keep restless

Watch about a yard full of sheep, sleepless

Indeed when they hear some ferocious wild beast come crashing

His way through the wooded hills with baying hounds

And shouting men at his back, so no sweet sleep

Came on the lids of the sentries as they kept watch

Throughout that evil night. They kept their faces

Turned toward the plain, awake to the slightest sound

Of advancing Trojans.

Seeing them so, old Nestor

Was glad, and spoke these words winged with encouragement:

“Continue, dear sons, thus sharply on the alert,

Unless you would like to make our enemies happy.”

So saying, he quickly strode out through the trench, followed

By all the Argive chieftains who had been called

To the council and by Meriones and Nestor’s staunch son

Thrasymedes, whom they had invited to join in their planning.

They left the deep trench and sat down together on ground

That was open and clear of corpses, the very spot

Huge Hector had been when night came upon him and he

Had turned back from his slaughter of Argives. There they sat

Discussing their plight till Nestor addressed them, saying:

“My friends, is there no one here with sufficient faith

In his own bold spirit to go mid the arrogant Trojans,

Thus to catch and cut down some straggler of theirs?

Or he might even hear what the Trojans are planning, whether they

Want to stay where they are so close to the ships, or would rather

Go back to the city again now that they’ve won

Their victory. If any man found out all this and returned

To us unharmed, his fame would be great among men

All over the sky-covered world. For each of the kings

Who captain the ships will give to him, as a mark

Of matchless distinction, a solid black ewe and suckling

Lamb, and he will always be honored at feasts

And royal banquets.”

He spoke, but no one else

Said a word till battle-roaring Diomedes spoke

To them thus: “Nestor, my heart and proud spirit urge me

To enter the camp of the hostile, hovering Trojans.

However, if some other man would go with me, there would be

More comfort and confident strength. When two go together,

One at least can look forward and see the advantage,

Whereas if a man by himself discerns anything,

Still he is likely to hesitate sadly and make

Disastrous mistakes.”

So spoke Diomedes, and many

Volunteered to go with him. The two Ajaxes, comrades

Of Ares, said they would go, as did Meriones

And Nestor’s son Thrasymedes. Spear-famed Menelaus,

Son of Atreus, also was willing, and Odysseus,

He of the patient but ever-adventuring heart,

Was eager to slip in among the huge host of Trojans.

Then the king of men Agamemnon spoke to them thus:

“My dear Diomedes, choose whom you will to go with you,

But choose the best of these who so eagerly offer

Themselves. Don’t let your respect for person and rank

Influence your choice so that you leave the better man

Here and go with one not so good. Now is

No time to consider one’s lineage or more royal station.”

This he spoke out of fear, terrified lest

His tawny-haired brother Menelaus be chosen. Then again

Diomedes spoke out among them: “If you really want me

To choose a companion myself, how could I forget

Godlike Odysseus, whose heart and manly spirit

Are eager and ready beyond the daring of others

When it comes to dangerous toil of any kind

And Pallas Athena adores him. If he will go with me,

The two of us might go through flaming fire

And come back alive, for no one else can think

So quickly and well.”

To which long-suffering Odysseus:

“Diomedes, don’t overly praise or blame me. You’re talking

To Argives, and they know well what I am. But come,

Let us start, for now it is late and dawn is already

Near. See, the stars have moved on in their courses

And the night is more than two-thirds gone. All

We have left is the waning third watch.”

He spoke, and both men

Received their dread weapons. Battle-staunch Thrasymedes

Gave a two-edged sword to Tydeus’ sonsince his own

He had left at the shipand with it a shield. Then he put

On his head a helmet of bull’s-hide, hornless and crestless,

A leather casque of the sort often worn by lusty

Young fighters. Meanwhile, Meriones gave Odysseus

A bow, quiver, and sword, and set on his head

A helmet of hide, reinforced inside with tightly

Stretched thongs and a lining of felt, while around it outside

Were skillfully fixed the white teeth of a tusk-flashing boar.

This helmet Autolycusac stole in Eleon, he

Having broken into the thick-walled wealthy palace

Of Ormenus’ son Amyntor, the father of Phoenix.

And Autolycus gave it to strong Amphidamas, King

Of Cythera, who took it into Scandeia, his harbor

At home, and King Amphidamas gave the toothed helmet

As a guest-gift to Molus, and Molus passed it on

To his son Meriones to take with him and wear.

And now it protected the head of brilliant Odysseus.

When the two had received their dread weapons, they left the

kings

And went on their way. And Pallas Athena sent an omen

For them, a heron hard by on the right, and though

The night was too dark for the bird to be seen, they heard

Its cry, and Odysseus, glad at the bird-sign, offered

This prayer to Athena: “Hear me, O child of aegis-great

Zeus, you that stand by me in all of my labors

And constantly watch over me, love me now

As never before, and grant that we may return

To the ships, having covered ourselves with glory by some

Great work of war to fill the Trojans with sorrow.”

Then battle-roaring Diomedes prayed his prayer

To Athena, saying: “Now, O unwearied child

Of Zeus, hear also me, and go with me now

As once you went with glorious Tydeus my father

Into the city of Thebes, where he had been sent

By the bronze-clad Achaeans with a message of honeyed words

For the Theban descendants of Cadmus. But on his way back,

He and you, fair goddess, did fearfully bloody work

Against that ambush of Thebans, for you were eager

To stand by his side.ad So now be equally willing,

I pray, to go by my side and guard me. And I

Will offer to you a sleek yearling heifer, broad-browed

And unbroken, never yet in any man’s yoke. Such a beast,

With horns wrapped in gold, will I sacrifice to you.”

Such were their prayers, and Pallas Athena heard them.

Then, having prayed to great Zeus’s daughter, they paced

Along through the blackness of night like two mighty lions,

Picking their way through the carnage and gore, through the bloodstained

Corpses and weapons of war.

Nor did Hector allow

The lordly Trojans much sleep. He called a meeting

Of all the leaders, those who were captains and counselors

Of the Trojans, and when they had gathered he spoke

To them and unfolded the plan he had made, saying:

“Who now will take on and do, for a very great gift,

This work I want done? Truly that man’s reward

Shall be ample and sure. For I will give him a chariot

Drawn by the best two neck-arching horses we capture

Tomorrow among the swift ships of Achaea. These

Shall be his in addition to all the glory he’ll win,

Whoever is daring enough to go in close

To the fast-faring ships and find out whether they have

The usual guard, or whether our beaten foes

Are far too terribly weary to watch through the night

And already are planning to flee.”

For a time his words

Got no response. But among the Trojans there

Was a man called Dolon,ae the son of a sacred herald,

Eumedes, and rich in bronze and gold. Now Dolon

Was not at all handsome, but he was an excellent runner,

And the only brother to sisters five in all.

These are the words he spoke in the midst of the gathering:

“Hector, my heart and proud spirit impel me to go

In close to the fast-faring ships and learn all I can.

But first I would like you to take this staff, lift it up

And swear to me that you really will make me a present

Of Achilles’ ornate bronze-bright car and the horses

That draw that matchless man. And I will not

Be useless to you as a scout, nor will I disappoint you.

For I will go straight through the enemy camp to the vessel

Of King Agamemnon, where, I dare say, the leaders

Will be in council, deciding on whether to fight

Or board their ships and flee.”

He spoke, and Hector,

Receiving the speaker’s staff, swore to Dolon

This oath: “Now may Hera’s bolt-crashing lord, great Zeus

Himself, be my witness that no other Trojan shall mount

Behind those horses. You alone, I say, shall glory

In them from tomorrow on.”

Even such was his oath,

Empty and vain, but enough to get Dolon started.

Quickly he slung his curved bow round his shoulders along with

The pelt of a great gray wolf Then he put on his head

A ferret-skin cap,2 seized a sharp spear, and left

His own camp for the enemy ships, but from those ships

He was never to come with any tidings for Hector.

Once out beyond the huge crowd of horses and men,

He ran swiftly on, but Zeus-sprung Odysseus saw him

Approaching and spoke these words to the friend at his side:

“There, Diomedes, some Trojan is coming from camp,

Either to spy on our ships or to strip a few corpses

I do not know which. Let’s let him get by us a little

And then we’ll rush out and seize him. And if he outruns us,

Be sure to give chase, threatening him with your spear,

And drive him in toward the ships, away from his camp.

Thus he’ll not escape us and break for the city.”

At once they lay down mid the corpses just off the place

Where Dolon would pass, and he unsuspecting ran swiftly

By them. But when he had gone about the length

Of a mule-plowed furrowand mules are better than oxen

At drawing the jointed plow through deep new ground

Then the two gave chase, and he, when he heard their footsteps

Pounding behind him, stopped still in his tracks, hoping

With all of his heart that they were friends whom Hector

Had sent from the Trojans to call him back from his mission.

But when they got a spear-cast away and closer,

He knew they were hostile and set out again, this time

At top speed, with his enemies swiftly, fiercely pursuing.

And as when a brace of razor-fanged good hunting hounds

Race through the woods, pressing hard on a doe or hare

That flees and screams before them, so now Diomedes

And city-sacking Odysseus cut Dolon off

From the Trojan host and pursued him relentlessly hard.

But when, as he sped toward the ships, he had come almost

To the sentries, Athena gave Tydeus’ son a new

Burst of strength, that none of the other bronze-clad Achaeans

Might strike Dolon down and boast to have dealt the first blow.

So powerful lord Diomedes, poising his spear,

Drew close to him, and shouted:

“Halt! or I

Will bring you down with my spear, nor will you live long,

I think, once I get hold of you!”

So saying,

He hurled his spear, but purposely missed, throwing

The gleaming shaft sufficiently high for the point

To pass above his right shoulder and fix itself

In the ground. The terrified Dolon froze in his tracks

And turned a pale olive with fear, and there he stood

With gibbering tongue and chattering teeth till both

Of his mighty pursuers came panting up and caught

His hands. Then starting to weep he spoke to them thus:

“Alive, take me alive! and I will ransom

Myself, for at home I have great stores of bronze

And gold and highly wrought iron. Of these my father

Would gladly give you a ransom past counting, if he

Should hear that I am alive at the Argive ships.”

And shrewd Odysseus answered: “Cheer up, and don’t even

Think about dying. But answer my questions, and tell me

The truth. Where were you going, headed away

From your camp and toward the ships, running along

Through the darkness of night when other mortals are sleeping?

Did you intend to strip a few corpses, or did Hector

Send you down to the hollow ships as a spy?

Or could it be that you came at your own heart’s urging?”

Then Dolon, with legs that shook beneath him, replied:

“Hector beguiled me with foolhardy hopes. He promised

To give me the solid-hoofed horses and bronze-bright car

Of proud Achilles, son of Peleus, if I

Would go as he bade, close to the enemy, through

The blackness of quick-coming night and spy on the ships,

To see if they have the usual guard, or whether

Our beaten foes are far too terribly weary

To watch through the night and already are planning to flee.”

Then smiling at him, resourceful Odysseus answered:

“Surely your heart was set on a very great prize,

The horses of fire-souled Achilles. But no mere mortal

Can well control those horses. Only Achilles

Can, for he is the son of an immortal mother.

But come, answer my questions, and tell me the truth.

Where, when you left camp, was the army’s commander

Hector? Where is his war-gear lying, and where

Are his horses? How are all the sentries disposed,

And where are the companies sleeping? And what are the Trojans

Planning among themselvesto stay where they are,

So close to the ships, or to go back into the city

Now that they’ve won their victory?”

Then Dolon, son

Of Eumedes, spoke to him thus: “Believe me, I’ll answer

Your questions truly. Hector, with all his advisers,

Is holding a council of war out by the tomb

Of sacred Ilus, away from all the confusion.

And as for the sentries you ask about, my lord,

No special detail has been posted to guard and protect

The camp. But by each fire of the sleeping Trojans,

Those who must are up and alert, and they

Call others to guard when the watches change. But all

Our many and far-called allies are asleep, for they leave

Guard-duty to Trojans, since none of their children or wives

Is here and in danger.”

And wily Odysseus replied:

“How, then, do the allies sleep, right in among

The horse-breaking Trojans or somewhere apart? Tell me

Exactly, since I want to know in full detail.”

And Eumedes’ son answered him thus: “Again

I will tell you the truth. There toward the sea he the Carians

And crook-bowed Paeonian archers, and near them the Leleges,

Caucones, and the valiant Pelasgians, whereas the Lycians

And hard-charging Mysians, the horse-borne Phrygian fighters

And chariot-armed Maeonians lie on the ground

Allotted to them over there toward Thymbra.

But why do you ask me all these details? If you’re

Really eager to raid the Trojan host, there

On the very verge of the camp, apart from the others,

Sleep the Thracians, newly arrived, and among them

Their King, Rhesus,3 son of Eďoneus. His

Are the biggest and best-looking horses that I’ve ever seen,

Whiter than snow and swift as the wind. And his chariot

Gleams with inlaid silver and gold, and he brought

With him huge pieces of golden armor, a truly

Incredible sight. No mortal man should ever

Wear such stuff, fit only for immortal gods.

But take me now to the fast-faring ships, or tie me

Up tight and leave me here. Then go and see

For yourselves whether I have spoken the truth or not.”

But scowling at him, fierce Diomedes replied:

“Now that you, Dolon, are in our hands, don’t set

Your heart on escape, though the information you’ve brought us

Is good. For if we let you go now, you’ll surely

Come back to our swift ships, either to spy

On us or fight man to man. But if at my hands

You lose your life now, you’ll never be any trouble

To Argives again!”

He spoke, and Dolon reached up

To take hold of his beard and plead,af but huge Diomedes

Lashed out with his sword and brought it down on the neck

Of the Trojan, severing both of the sinews, and right

In the midst of a word his head rolled down in the dust.

Then they took off his ferret-skin cap and the gray wolf-skin

And stripped him of supple curved bow and long spear, and royal

Odysseus took these in his hand, held them up high

To booty-bringing Athena, and prayed to her, saying:

“Rejoice, O goddess, in these, for you are the first,

Of all the Olympian immortals, to whom we will offer.

Now guide us on to the horses and sleeping soldiers

Of Thrace.”

So saying, Odysseus hung up the spoils

On a tamarisk bush and marked it well with handfuls

Of reeds and leafy tamarisk branches, that they

Might not miss the place as they returned through the darkness

Of fast-falling night. Then on they went through the bloodstained

Corpses and war-gear, till soon they reached the contingent

Of Thracian fighters. All were sleeping, overcome

By fatigue, and their excellent armor lay by them there

On the ground, neatly stacked in three rows, and each man’s yoke

Of horses stood beside him. Rhesus the King

Slept in the midst, and close beside him stood

His fast horses, tied by the reins to the front handrail

Of his chariot. Him Odysseus was first to see,

And pointing him out to strong Diomedes, he said:

“There, Diomedes, that’s the man, and there

Are the horses that Dolon, whom we just killed, referred to.

But come, give all you’ve got! It isn’t like you

To stand there armed and idle. Untie the horses

Or start killing men, and I will take care of the horses.”

He spoke, and into the heart of King Diomedes

Bright-eyed Athena breathed might, and he laid about him,

Killing men right and left, and from them came grim sounds

Of groaning as they were struck with the sword, and the ground

Ran red with their blood. Like a lion that comes on an unguarded

Flock of sheep or goats and springs in among them

With heart set on slaughter, so now the son of Tydeus

Slashed about mid the Thracian troops till twelve

Of them lay dead. And those whom Tydeus’ son smote

With the sword, Odysseus, coming behind, would seize

By the foot and drag aside, endeavoring to clear

The way for the silver-maned horses, that as yet were unused to

War and might easily panic at treading on corpses.

Rhesus the King was the thirteenth man whom Tydeus’ son

Robbed of honey-sweet life. He lay there dreaming

And breathing hard, for his dream had taken the form

Of stern Diomedes, grandson of Oeneus, such being

The will of Athena.

Meanwhile, steady Odysseus

Untied the solid-hoofed horses and used the reins

To bind them together, then drove them clear of the crowd,

Using his bow for a whip, for he had not thought

To take the bright lash from its place in the colorful car.

Once clear, he whistled to let Diomedes know.

But that grim King was lingering amid the carnage,

Pondering what deed would be most dog-daring to do,

Whether he should take the chariot, wherein the inlaid

Armor lay, and draw it off by the shaft,

Or pick it up high and carry it off that way,

Or whether it might be still more audacious to go on

And kill more Thracians. But while he debated thus

With himself, the goddess Athena stood by him and said:

“You great-hearted son of Tydeus, concentrate now

On getting back to the hollow ships, or you may

Go there pursued by the wrathful Trojans, whom another

God may very soon arouse!”

She spoke,

And he knew the goddess’s voice. Then quickly he left

And leaped on one of the horses that now Odysseus

Whipped with his bow, and off they went at a gallop

Toward the fast-faring ships of Achaea.

Now Apollo, armed

With the silver bow, was not unaware of Athena’s

Attention to Tydeus’ son Diomedes, and the god,

In rage against her, entered the huge Trojan camp

And awakened a prominent Thracian, the counselor Hippocoön,

A valiant kinsman of Rhesus. He sprang up from sleep,

And seeing the empty place where the King’s fast horses

Had stood and the dying men still gasping and choking

Amid the hideous carnage, he groaned and called

His dear royal kinsman by name. And the Trojans rushed up

With unspeakable noise and confusion, and there they stood staring

At the gruesome sight, the terrible work that the two spies

Had done before they went back to the hollow ships.

Now when the two Argives came to the spot where they

Had killed Hector’s spy, Zeus-loved Odysseus pulled up

The galloping horses, and Tydeus’ son leaped down

And handed up to his friend the bloody spoils

Of Dolon, then mounted once more. And Odysseus whipped

The horses, and off they flew at a gallop again

Toward the hollow ships of Achaea, willingly bearing

The two eager men. And Nestor, the first to hear hoof-beats,

Spoke to his comrades, saying:

“My friends, captains

And counselors of the Argives, I may be mistaken,

But still my heart would swear that I hear the hoof-beats

Of galloping horses. If only Odysseus and brave

Diomedes have already driven away from the Trojans

Some solid-hoofed chargers! But I am terribly fearful

That now our two best men have got themselves

Into perilous trouble with a pack of war-screaming Trojans.”

The old one was still speaking when up rode the two men in

question.

They leaped to the ground, and joyfully all of the others

Welcomed them warmly with hand-clasps and words of praise.

Horse-driving Gerenian Nestor questioned them first:

“Come now, O much-praised Odysseus, great glory of all

The Achaeans, tell me how you two took these horses.

Did they really come from among the great throng of Trojans,

Or did you get them from some god you met? Believe me,

They’re wonderfully like two rays of brilliant sunlight!

Old Warrior though I am, I constantly mix

With the Trojans in battle, nor do I loiter at all

By the hollow ships. Even so, I’ve yet to see

Or even so much as imagine such horses as these!

I do think they came to you from a god you met.

After all, you’re both beloved by stormy Zeus

And the daughter of that strong aegis-great God, the maidenly

Blue-eyed Athena.”

To which resourceful Odysseus:

“Neleus’ son Nestor, great glory of all the Achaeans,

A god that willed it might easily give still better

Horses than these, for the gods are far abler than men.

But these, old friend, about which you ask, are horses

Just in from Thrace, and brave Diomedes killed

Their master the King and twelve of his greatest warriors.

All told, we accounted for fourteen men, including

A scout we killed near the ships, a man sent out

By Hector and the other insolent Trojans to spy

On our camp.”

So saying, Odysseus drove the fine horses

On through the trench, and he, exultantly laughing,

Came on behind, and with him followed the other

Rejoicing Achaeans. When they reached the strongly-built lodge

Of Diomedes, they used the well-cut reins to tie

The horses beside Diomedes’ own swift steeds

That stood at the manger munching the honey-sweet grain.

But Odysseus stowed in the stern of the ship the bloody

Equipment of Dolon, till they could make ready a gift

For Athena. Then both of them waded out into the sea

And washed all the sweat from their shins and necks and thighs.

And when the surf had cleansed their skin and greatly

Refreshed their spirits, they stepped into well-polished baths.

Then, having bathed and rubbed themselves richly with oil,

They sat down to supper, and dipping sweet wine from a full

Mixing-bowl, they poured to Athena their sacred libations.

BOOK XI

The Valiant Deeds of Agamemnon

As Dawn arose from beside her lord Tithonus

That she might bring light to gods and mortal men,

Zeus sent the harsh goddess Strife down to the swift ships

Of the battered Achaeans, holding in both of her hands

The banner of war. She took a strategic stand

High on the huge black hull of Odysseus’ vessel,

Which stood drawn up in the middle within shouting distance

Of both ends of the line, where Ajax, Telamon’s son,

And Achilles had their lodges, for such was their trust

In manly valor and the strength of their hands that they

Had drawn up their ships at the furthermost ends. From here

Strife shouted a loud and terrible war-scream, which stirred

The hearts of all the Achaeans to struggle and fight

Without ceasing.1 And at once they felt war to be sweeter than any

Return to their dear native land.

And King Agamemnon

Shouted commands for the Argives to dress for battle,

And he himself put on the gleaming bronze.

First he covered his shins with greaves, fair greaves

With ankle-clasps of silver. Next, about his chest,

He put the breastplate given to him by Cinyras,

King of Cyprus. For he had heard the wide-spread

News that Achaeans were soon to set sail for Troy,

And so had graciously sent the breastplate for King

Agamemnon to wear and enjoy. Inlaid upon it

Were ten dark bands of blue lapis, twelve of gold,

And twenty of shining tin, and three blue-lapis

Serpents arched up toward the neck on either side,

Like the rainbows that Cronos’ son hangs in the clouds as signs

For mortal men. And about his shoulders he slung

His sword, flashing with studs and straps of gold

And sheathed in a silver scabbard. Then he took up

His warlike, richly wrought shield, man-covering and splendid

To see. For inlaid upon it were ten bright circles

Of bronze and twenty bosses of shining tin

Surrounding a central boss of blue lapis. And set

In the lapis, the awesome head of the Gorgon glared grimly

Forth, flanked by the figures of Panic and Rout.

From this great shield hung a baldric of glittering silver

Whereon a blue-lapis, three-headed serpent writhed.

And on his head he put a helmet, four-horned

And double-crested, with plume of horsehair defiantly

Waving above him. He also took up two sturdy

Spears, keenly pointed with bronze, and far up into

The sky the bright bronze flashed. And now, to honor

The King of golden Mycenae, Athena and Hera

Thundered.

Then each of the charioteers ordered

His driver to draw his team up in an orderly line

At the trench, but they themselves in full armor went swiftly

Forward on foot, and their wild, unquenchable cry

Went up in the dawn. Thus they formed their line

At the trench, and behind them at some little distance their drivers

Followed. And Cronos’ son roused in their hearts an evil

Lust for the din and confusion of war, and down

From the upper air he sent dark dew-drops of blood,

For he was about to hurl down to Hades many

Heroic heads.

And up the plain from them,

The Trojans fell in about great Hector and peerless

Polydamas, Aeneas, whom Trojans honored quite

Like a god, and the three brave sons of AntenorPolybus,

Noble Agenor, and the youthful Acamas, handsome

As any immortal. And Hector, round shield on his arm,

Stood out mid the foremost fighters. Like a baleful star

That brilliantly gleams through a break in the overcast sky,

Only to vanish soon behind the dark clouds,

So Hector would now appear in the front rank of champions,

Then amid the last lines, giving them orders.

And all in brilliant bronze, he flashed like the lightning

Of Father Zeus of the aegis.

And as when reapers

Start from opposite sides of a wealthy man’s field

Of wheat or barley and work in toward each other

Cutting their swathes, so that thick and fast fall the handfuls

Of grain, so now Achaeans and Trojans charged

And cut each other down, nor did either side think

Of ruinous retreat, equally matched as they were

And ferocious as so many wolves. And Hatred, fierce goddess

Of groans, rejoiced as she watched them, for she alone

Of the gods was with them there in the slaughter. The others

Were quietly relaxing at home on Olympus, where each

Has a beautiful mansion built mid the mountain crags.

And most of them were incensed with Cronos’ son Zeus,

God of the lowering sky, because he willed

To give the victory to Trojans. But the Father, unperturbed,

Sat aloof from the others, glorying in his power

As he looked down on the city of Troy and the ships

Of Achaea, on the lightning-like flashes of bronze, and on

The killers and killed.

Now while it was morning and sacred

Daylight grew brighter, the missiles of both sides struck home,

And the warriors fell. But at that hour when a woodcutter

Takes his meal in the shady glen of a mountain,

When his arms are tired from felling tall trees and desire

For food and sweet wine comes over his weary spirit,

Right then the valorous Danaans, hailing each other

Throughout the ranks, broke the Trojan battalions.

And first Agamemnon charged through and cut down the fighter

Bienor, marshaler of men, and after Bienor

His comrade horse-lashing Oďleus. That warrior sprang

From his car and faced Agamemnon, but as he rushed straight

At the King, Agamemnon’s keen spear caught him full in the forehead,

Nor was the point stopped by his bronze-heavy helmet. Straight

through

Both bronze and bone it tore and spattered his brains

About the helmet’s inside. Thus he overcame the furious

Charge of Oďleus.

Then the king of men Agamemnon

Stripped these two of their tunics and left them lying

With their bare chests white in the sun, and on he went

To kill two children of Priam, Isus and Antiphus,

One a bastard and one a legitimate son,

Both riding now in the same bright car, with Isus

The bastard handling the reins and illustrious Antiphus

Standing beside him. Once, as these two were watching

Their sheep on the lower slopes of Mount Ida, Achilles

Had captured them both and bound them fast with pliant

Branches of willow, and then set them free for a ransom.

But now the son of Atreus, wide-ruling Agamemnon,

Speared Isus full in the chest above the nipple

And toppled Antiphus out of the car with a fierce

Sword-blow by the ear. Then quickly he stripped them both

Of their beautiful armor, and recognized both, for he

Had seen them before, when Achilles, fast on his feet,

Brought them from Ida. And as a lion comes

On the bed of a swift-running doe and easily crushes

The tender life from her fawns, tearing at them

With strong teeth, and the mother, though near, can do nothing to

help them,

Since she too is seized with terrible trembling and swiftly

Goes bounding away through the dense brushwood of the forest,

Running and sweating before the much-dreaded force

Of the powerful beast: even so, not one of the Trojans

Was able to save these two, Isus and Antiphus,

Since they themselves were fleeing before the Argives.

Next he killed Peisander and the resolute Hippolochus.

They were the sons of cunning Antimachus, whose lust

For splendid gifts of Paris’s gold made him

Most fervent of all in opposing the movement to give

Helen back to tawny-haired Menelaus. Now powerful

Agamemnon caught his two sons in one car, which both

Were vainly trying to manage, for the glossy reins

Had slipped from their hands, and their two-horse team was panicking

Over the plain. Like a lion Agamemnon rushed them,

And they, while still in the chariot, pleaded thus:

“Alive, O son of Atreus, take us alive!

And an ample ransom is yours. Stored in the mansion

Of wealthy Antimachus are many treasures, bronze

And gold and highly wrought iron. Of these our father

Would gladly give you a ransom past counting, if he

Should hear that we are alive at the ships of Achaea.”

Such were their tearful, pitiful words, but not

At all pleasing were those they heard in reply: “If you

Are really the sons of cunning Antimachus, the man

Who once in a Trojan assembly, when King Menelaus

And godlike Odysseus had come to Troy on a mission,

Suggested they kill Menelaus right there, rather than

Let him go back among the Achaeans, now surely

You both shall pay in full for the infamous act

Of your father!“ag

Then jabbing his spear in the chest of Peisander,

He hurled him down on his back in the dirt. But Hippolochus

Leaped from the car, and the King killed him on foot.

Then lopping off arms and head, he rolled him away

Like a log through the jostling ranks.

Leaving these two

Where they lay, he rushed with other well-greaved Achaeans

To where the Trojan battalions were now in full

Retreat. And as they helplessly fled, footmen

Killed footmen and horsemen killed horsemen, and dust rose up

From the plain as their chargers thundered along and Argives

Killed with the bronze. And powerful Agamemnon, constantly

Killing, rushed on in pursuit, calling out to his men.

As dense brushwood in a forest collapses at once

Before the onslaught of furious fire that a whirling

Wind spreads quickly throughout the timber, so now

Fell Trojan heads before the fierce charge of King

Agamemnon, and many were the neck-arching horses that rattled

Their riderless cars through the blood-wet lanes of battle,

Leaving their masterful drivers stretched out on the ground,

Far dearer now to vultures than to their wives.

Zeus drew Hector out of that cloud of missiles

And dust, away from the blood and killing and turmoil,

But powerful Agamemnon kept on in pursuit, screaming

His cry to the Danaans. And the Trojan host fled fast

On the open plain, thundering past the wild fig tree,

Frantically trying to reach the city, with the screaming

Son of Atreus always pursuing and constantly

Fouling his huge, invincible hands with carnage

And gore. But when they reached the Scaean Gates

And the oak tree, the Trojans halted to wait for their comrades

Who still remained on the open plain, where they

Were driven in rout like cattle attacked by a lion

The beast comes on them in the dead of night and scatters

Them all, but one of them he marks for certain

Death, and seizing her neck in his powerful jaws

He snaps it, then gulps her entrails and laps his fill

Of her blood. So King Agamemnon scattered the Trojans,

Constantly killing the hindmost as they fled.

Thus, as he raged with his spear around and before him,

Many a Trojan fell from his car face down

In the dust or flat on his back beneath the hands

Of Atrides. But when he had almost reached the steep wall

Of the city, then at last the Father of men and gods,

With thunderbolt firmly in hand, came down from the sky

And sat on the heights of well-watered Ida. And now

He dispatched with a message golden-winged Iris, saying:

“Fly swiftly, quick Iris, and speak these words to Hector.

So long as he sees the commander-in-chief Agamemnon

Raging amid the foremost and mowing men down

By the dozen, so long let him give ground with orders

For all the others to keep the enemy busy,

Fiercely resisting. But when Agamemnon, wounded

By spear or arrow, leaps on his car, then I

Will grant Hector might to cut men down till he comes

To the well-timbered ships, steadily killing till the sun

Goes down and powerful darkness arrives.”

He spoke,

And wind-footed Iris did not disobey, but swiftly

Flew down from the range of Ida to sacred Ilium.

She found wise Priam’s noble son Hector standing

Mid horses and cars in his own well-jointed chariot,

And swift-footed Iris stood by him, and said:

“Hector,

Son of Priam and peer of Zeus in counsel,

Zeus, our Father, has sent me to you with these words.

So long as you see the commander-in-chief Agamemnon

Raging amid the foremost and mowing men down

By the dozen, so long you are to give ground with orders

For all the others to keep the enemy busy,

Fiercely resisting. But when Agamemnon, wounded

By Spear or arrow, leaps on his car, then Zeus

Will grant you might to cut men down till you come

To the well-timbered ships, steadily killing till the sun

Goes down and powerful darkness arrives.”

When Iris

Had spoken the message, she flew swiftly off. But Hector,

Fully armed, leaped from his car to the ground,

And brandishing two sharp spears he ranged through the ranks

Arousing new spirit in the routed men. They spun

And faced the Achaeans, who now re-formed their ranks

To oppose them. Thus the armies clashed, and still

Agamemnon rushed forward in front of them all, eager

To fight the first man.

Now tell me, O Muses, you

That have homes on Olympus, who first came against Agamemnon,

Whether one of the Trojans or one of their famous allies.

It was Antenor’s son Iphidamas, a man

Both brawny and brave. He had been raised in fertile

Thrace, mother of flocks, at the home of his grandfather

Cisseus, sire of his pretty mother Theano.

And when he grew up a splendid young man, Cisseus

Attempted to keep him there by giving him one

Of his daughters to marry. But he was no sooner a bridegroom

Than word reached him of Achaeans at Troy, and off

He went with a company of twelve beaked ships. These graceful

Vessels he left at Percote and came on by land

To Troy, where now he faced in single combat

Atreus’ son Agamemnon. And as they charged

Each other, the spear of Atrides glanced off to one side,

But Iphidamas, putting his trust in the might of his beefy

Arm, landed his hard-lunging thrust on the war-belt

Just beneath the King’s breastplate. Still he failed

To pierce the all-glinting belt, for the point of his spear

No sooner struck the silver than it was bent back

Like lead. Then the wide-ruling lord Agamemnon, fierce

As a lion enraged, seized the spear of Iphidamas

And jerked it out of his hand, then loosed his limbs

With a sword-blow deep in the neck. Even so, Iphidamas

Fell and slept the bronze sleep, a hapless young man,

Aiding his people far away from his bride,

The girl for whom he had given so much but never

Enjoyed at all. And truly he had given much:

A hundred head of fine cattle with a promise of one thousand

Sheep and goats to come, for such were herded

For him in tremendous numbers. Now Agamemnon

Stripped him and strode off toward the Achaean ranks

Bearing his exquisite armor.

But when the outstanding

Warrior Coon, eldest son of Antenor,

Saw his dear brother fall, great sorrow dimmed

His eyes, and coming up from the side, unseen

By King Agamemnon, he jabbed the point of his gleaming

Spear clean through the commander’s forearm, just

Below the elbow. At this the high King shuddered,

But so far from quitting the fight, he gripped his spear

Of wind-toughened wood and fiercely sprang upon Coon.

Now Coon had seized the foot of his father’s son

Iphidamas, and frantically he was dragging his brother

Away and calling for help to all the bravest.

But as he was dragging him into the throng, Agamemnon

Unstrung the man with a thrust of smooth-shafted bronze

Beneath his bossed shield. Then standing beside him he lopped off

His head right over the corpse of Iphidamas. There then,

At the hands of royal Atrides, the sons of Antenor

Filled up their measure of fate and journeyed down

To the house of Hades.

Now just so long as the blood

Welled warm from his wound, Agamemnon raged through the enemy

Ranks, hacking and thrusting and throwing huge rocks.

But when the blood stopped and the wound got dry, keen pangs

Of anguish came on the mighty Atrides. Like the searing

Arrows of pain that shoot through a woman in labor,

The piercing pangs sent on by the Eileithyiae,

The labor-inducing daughters of Hera, who have

Such pain in their keeping, even such were the sharp and bitter

Pangs that racked Agamemnon now.2 Heavyhearted,

He leaped on his car and bade his driver make

For the hollow ships, but as he left he yelled

A far-carrying cry, and shouted these words to the Danaans:

“O friends, captains and counselors of the Argives,

Ward off from our seagoing ships the grievous turmoil

Of battle, for Zeus in his wisdom has not allowed me

To fight throughout this day against the Trojans.”

His driver lashed the mane-tossing horses, and they,

Not at all unwilling, galloped away toward the ships.

With breasts foam-flecked and bellies sprinkled with dust,

They bore from battle the weary and wounded King.

When Hector saw Agamemnon leaving, he shouted

As loud as he could to the Trojans and their Lycian allies:

“You Trojans and Lycians and dueling Dardanians, now,

My friends, be men, and filled with furious boldness!

Their best man is gone, and Cronos’ son Zeus has given

Great glory to me. But drive your solid-hoofed horses

Straight and hard at the powerful Danaan host,

That you may win the higher glory yet!”

These words encouraged and strengthened all of his men.

For with all the heart of a hunter who sets his snarling,

Gleaming-toothed hounds on a savage wild boar or a lion,

Priam’s son Hector, the peer of man-maiming Ares,

Urged on the spirited Trojans. And he himself,

Greatly courageous, charged out from the foremost rank

And fell on the fight like a high-howling gale that rushes

Down from the heights and lashes the violet sea.

Then who was the first and who was the last to be slain

And stripped by Priam’s son Hector, now that Zeus

Gave victory to him? Asaeus was first, then Autonous,

Opites, Opheltius, and Dolops, son of Clytius,

Agelaus, Aesymnus, Orus, and the resolute Hipponous.

These were the Danaan leaders he slew. Then

He fell on the rank and file with all the force

Of a hurricane gale that blows from the West, clearing

The sky of white clouds which the rapid South Wind has collected,

A baffling blow that drives on many a swollen,

Rolling billow and fills the air with droplets

Of sprayeven so very numerous now

Were the Argive heads laid low by raging Hector.

And now irreparable ruin would have wrecked the Achaeans

And they in full flight would have flung themselves on the ships,

If Odysseus had not called out to strong Diomedes:

“O Tydeus’ son, what causes us thus to forget

Our furious valor? But come, my friend, and make

A stand by my side, for it would surely disgrace us

If now bright-helmeted Hector captured the ships!”

And mighty Diomedes replied: “Of course I will stand

And resist, but I don’t think we’ll do a great deal of good,

Since cloud-gathering Zeus has obviously willed to give

The victory to Trojans.”

So saying, he knocked Thymbraeus

Out of his chariot, striking him with his spear

Beneath the left nipple, and Odysseus took care of that

Great chieftain’s driver, the godlike Molion. These

They left where they fell, having put an end to their fighting.

And now they turned and fought their way through the ranks,

Wreaking much ruin all around them, quite like a couple

Of vicious wild boars that whirl on the hounds behind them.

So now they turned on the Trojans again and fiercely

Cut them down, thus giving their fellow Achaeans

Some chance to catch their breath in their flight before Hector.

The first car taken by strong Diomedes held

Two lords in their land, the sons of Percotian Merops,

The world’s most skillful prophet, who would not allow

His sons to enter the man-wasting war. But they

Would pay no attention, for doom and dark death were leading

Them on. Now Tydeus’ son, famed as a spearman, robbed them

Of spirit and life and stripped off their marvelous war-gear,

While Odysseus slaughtered and stripped Hippodamas and

Hypeirochus.

Then Cronos’ son Zeus, as he looked down from Ida,

Evened the killing between the straining forces.

King Diomedes thrust his spear in the hip

Of Paeon’s heroic son, the raging Agastrophus,

On whom great blindness of soul had surely come,

For he had no horses nearby behind which to flee.

He had left them far back with his squire and plunged on ahead

Mid the foremost fighters till now he lost his dear life.

But across the ranks keen Hector saw what had happened,

And fiercely he charged down upon them with a terrible scream

And whole battalions of Trojans behind him. Diomedes,

The great battle-roarer, shuddered to see him coming,

And immediately spoke to Odysseus close by:

“Much trouble,

Odysseus, is rolling our way in the person of yonder

Huge Hector! But come, let us stand where we are and beat

The man back.”

With this he poised his long-shadowing spear

And hurled it, and so far from missing his mark, he struck

Hector hard on top of his triple-thick helmet, where bronze

Turned bronze aside, leaving his handsome head whole,

The spear-point foiled by the crested, glittering helmet,

A gift from Phoebus Apollo. Quickly Hector

Reeled back a long way in the crowd, then dropped to one knee,

Supporting himself with one great hand on the ground

Till darkness enveloped his eyes. But while Diomedes

Went after his spear far through the foremost fighters

To where it had fallen to earth, Hector revived,

And springing up on his car drove further back

In the battling throng, thus escaping black fate.

And strong Diomedes charged up with his spear, and shouted

After him thus:

“Again, you dog, you’ve managed

To get away with your life, though this time just barely!

Once more you have Phoebus Apollo to thank, to whom

You must be careful to pray before you come

Within even the sound of hurtling spears. Well,

Believe me, I’ll finish you yetthe next time we meet,

If only some god will also look out for me.

Right now I’ll take my rage out on your friends, whomever

I happen to come on!”

He shouted, and went back to strip

The man he last slew, spear-famous Agastrophus, son

Of Paeon. But Paris, the lord of lovely blonde Helen,

Drew his bow against Diomedes, half hid

As he aimed by the pillar on the man-made barrow of Ilus,

The descendant of Dardanus and ancient elder. Diomedes

The King was busily stripping the all-glinting breastplate

From mighty Agastrophus, taking the shield from his shoulders

And removing his heavy helmet, when Paris drew back

The string and shot. Nor did the arrow fly

From his hand in vain, for it cleanly pierced the sole

Of Diomedes’ right foot, and pinned him fast to the ground.

Then gleefully laughing, Paris sprang out from the pillar

And boastingly yelled:

“Aha! you’re hit! That surely

Was no idle shot. I only wish I had sunk

A shaft in the pit of your belly and stopped you for good!

Then the Trojans could all have relaxed a bit, since now

They tremble before you like bleating goats at a lion.”

And strong Diomedes, fearless as ever, replied:

“You foul-fighting cowardly bowman and gaper at girls,

With your pretty hair fresh out of curlers! if only you’d come out

In armor and fight like a man, you’d see how worthless

To you that bow and fistful of arrows would be!

Now there you are bragging at scratching the sole of my foot.

I think no more of it than if some woman or silly

Child had slapped me, for the dart of a no-good weakling

Is puny and dull. But the man I so much as touch

With the weapon I wield knows very well, as he dies,

How keen it is! His fatherless children grieve,

And the cheeks of his wife are torn in her weeping and wailing,

While he but reddens the earth with his blood, and rots,

With far fewer women than vultures flocking around him!”

He spoke, and spear-famed Odysseus came up and stood

Before him, while Diomedes sat down and painfully

Pulled from his foot the swift-flying arrow. Heavyhearted,

He leaped on his car and bade his driver make

For the hollow ships.

Now that renowned spearman Odysseus

Faced the foe all alone, since no other Argive

Had courage enough to stay by his side. Deeply troubled,

He spoke to his own great heart:3 “Ah miserable me,

What is to become of me now! To run in fear

Of that mob would be a great evil, but to stay here and let them

Catch me alone would be even worse, now that Zeus

Has utterly routed all of the other Danaans.

But why do I argue thus with myself? I know

All too well that those who run from a fight are cowards

And that whoever does best in a battle must firmly

Stand his ground, whether he be the one who is struck

Or whether he strike another.”

While he so pondered

In mind and heart, the companies of shield-bearing Trojans

Hemmed him in, surrounding their own destruction.

And just as hounds and lusty young hunters close in

On a boar, and then withstand his blood-chilling charge

From the depths of his thicket-lair, noisily whetting

His tushes and gnashing his crooked jaws, so now

The Trojans rushed in on Zeus-loved Odysseus. And first

He stabbed flawless Deďopites, lunging at him

With his well-sharpened spear and coming down with it deep

Into the man’s shoulder. Then he killed Thoön and Ennomus.

And as Chersidamas sprang from his car, he thrust

His spear beneath his bossed shield and into his navel,

Stretching him out in the dust, where he clawed the dirt

With his hand. Leaving these where they fell, he jabbed

His bronze into Charops, Hippasus’ son and full brother

Of wealthy Socus, a godlike man, who now

Rushed in to defend his own. He came right up

To Odysseus, took his stand, and spoke to him thus:

“Much-praised Odysseus, insatiably wily and eager

For toilsome action, today you’ll either kill two

Of Hippasus’ sons and boast how you cut down and stripped

Such a pair, or else beneath my spear you yourself

Shall give up the ghost and die!”

So saying, he plunged

His ponderous spear clean through the shining round shield

Of Odysseus, and on through his richly wrought breastplate it tore

To rip all the flesh away from the great fighter’s side,

Though Pallas Athena did not allow it to puncture

His entrails. Odysseus knew the wound was not mortal,

But now he gave ground, and spoke these words to Socus:

“You wretch, surely sheer ruin is rushing upon you!

You’ve ended this action of mine against the Trojans,

But here and now, believe me, you’ll be overtaken

By death and dark fate. Sprawling beneath my spear,

You shall give glory to me, and your miserable soul

To horse-famous Hades!”

He spoke, and just as Socus

Turned to run, he planted a spear in his back

Between the shoulders and drove it out through his chest.

He fell to the ground with a thud, and worthy Odysseus

Exulted over him, saying: “Ah Socus, son

Of flame-hearted Hippasus, breaker of horses, death

After all was too quick for you, nor could you writhe out

From beneath it. Poor wretch, your father and lady mother

Shall never close those corpse’s eyes of yours,

But carrion birds shall pick the flesh from your bones,

Flocking and flapping about you. Whereas, if I die,

The noble Achaeans will surely bury me

With all due funeral rites.“4

So saying, he pulled

From his flesh and bossed shield keen Socus’s ponderous spear,

And the blood gushed out, whereat his heart grew sick.

But when the spirited Trojans saw the blood

Of Odysseus, a cry went up throughout the throng,

And all together they rushed him. And now he gave ground

And called to his comrades for help. Three times he called

As loud as he could, and three times warlike Menelaus

Heard him. Then at once he spoke thus to Ajax nearby:

“O god-sprung Ajax, Telamon’s son and ruler

Of many, just then there rang in my ears the cry

Of steadfast Odysseus. He sounded as though the Trojans

Had cut him off alone in the huge confusion

And so were getting the best of him. But come,

Let us make our way through the toiling tangle of men,

For surely we had better help him. I fear that he

All alone, great warrior though he is, may suffer

Some harm from the Trojans. The Danaans then would miss

The man greatly.”

With this he led the way, and godlike

Ajax followed. Then soon they found Zeus-loved Odysseus,

And Trojans fiercely beset him on every side

Like so many tawny jackals that dart in about

A high-horned stag in the mountains, one that some hunter

Has struck with an arrowswiftly he bounds away,

So long as the blood flows warm and his knees remain nimble,

But when at last the deeply lodged arrow subdues him,

The ravenous jackals tear him apart in a shadowy

Glen of the mountains, till God sends against them a murderous,

Plundering lion that scatters the jackals and tears

At the prey himself So now the Trojans, many

And strong, charged fiercely in on Odysseus, wily

And wise. And he, lunging desperately out with his spear,

Kept off the ruthless day of his doom, till Ajax

Came up, bearing his shield like a tower, and stood

By his side, thus quickly scattering Trojans in every

Direction. And warlike King Menelaus led Odysseus

Out through the crowd, supporting him by the arm,

Till a squire drove up Menelaus’s horses and car.

But Ajax sprang at the Trojans and soon accounted for

Doryclus, bastard son of King Priam, then felled

With rapid spear-thrusts Pandocus and Lysander,

Pyrasus and Pylartes. And as when a river

In winter flood, swollen by rain from Zeus,

Rushes down from mountains to plain, bearing on

In its course to the sea innumerable dead oaks and pines

Along with tons of mud and debris, so now

Resplendent Ajax stormed recklessly over the plain,

Demolishing horses and men.

Hector, meanwhile,

Knew nothing of this, for he was fighting on the far

Left fringe of battle by the banks of the river Scamander,

Where most thickly men’s heads were falling and the cries

Of warring men went up in one constant roar

About the great Nestor and martial Idomeneus. With these

Hector was dallying somewhat roughly and wrecking

Their youthful battalions. But the noble Achaeans would still

Not at all have given way, if Paris, the lord

Of lovely-haired Helen, had not put an end to the valiant

Deeds of the leader and surgeon Machaon, sinking

A three-barbed arrow deep in the chieftain’s right shoulder.

Then the fury-breathing Achaeans were greatly afraid,

Lest Trojans should cut him down in the fickle turns

Of battle. And quickly Idomeneus spoke to King Nestor:

“Neleus’ son Nestor, great glory of all the Achaeans,

Up on your chariot, quick! and with you take wounded

Machaon. Then drive your solid-hoofed horses as fast as

You can to the ships. For one good physician is worth

A battalion when it comes to cutting out arrows and spreading on

Healing ointments.”

He spoke, and the aged horseman,

Gerenian Nestor, did as he said. At once

He mounted his car, and Machaon stepped up beside him.

Then Nestor lashed the horses, and off at a gallop

They flew to the hollow ships, willing to go

And eager to get there.

Now Cebriones, driving for Hector,

Noticed the Trojans retreating, and spoke to his brother,

Saying: “Hector, while we two are dallying here

On the fringe of hateful battle, other Trojans

Are there being routed and ruined, both horses and men.

And the cause of all that chaos is Ajax, son

Of Telamon. I know him surely by that wide shield

About his shoulders. But come, let us drive our horses

And car over there, where most of all both horsemen

And footmen, clashing in evil strife, are cutting

Each other down and filling the air with their loud,

Unquenchable cries.”

So saying, he raised the lash

And brought it down on the mane-tossing horses, that swiftly

Took off at the very first sound of the whistling whip

And rapidly drew the light car through fighting Achaeans

And Trojans, trampling on corpses and shields. And the axle

Below and handrails above were all splashed and bespattered

With blood from the hooves of the horses and metal rims

Of the wheels. And Hector, hotly eager to crash

Through the man-mingling throng and break the Trojan retreat,

Brought evil confusion into the Danaan ranks,

And little indeed was the rest he gave his great lance.

Hacking and thrusting and throwing huge rocks, he raged

Through the enemy host, but avoided a clash with huge

Telamonian Ajax.

Finally, Father Zeus,

Looking down from on high, made Ajax afraid. He stood

Bewildered, then swung his sevenfold bull’s-hide shield

On his back and turned to retreat, like a wild beast at bay

Anxiously glancing at all those about him and slowly,

Step by step, giving waylike a tawny lion

That dogs and farmhands, watching all night to protect

Their fat oxen, drive from a cattle-yard. The flesh-hungry lion

Charges right in, only to be driven back

By a rain of spears and blazing torches, hurled

At him by brawny bold arms. Still eager, he has to

Retreat, and slinks off at dawn disappointed. So Ajax,

Sullen at heart, gave way to the Trojans, greatly

Reluctant, since much he feared for the ships of Achaea.

He went, in fact, like a balky and stubborn ass

That gets the better of boys and enters a field

Of tall grain, where staunchly he eats his fill regardless

Of countless cudgels the puny boys break on his back

Before, at last, they drive him forth. Even so,

The spirited Trojans and their far-called, many allies

Hung on the heels of Telamonian Ajax, constantly

Smiting his shield with their spears. And he would resummon

His furious valor, wheel, and beat back the ranks

Of horse-breaking Trojans, then turn again and resume

His deliberate retreat. Thus he contended, and barred

Them all from the ships, making himself a bulwark

Between the Achaeans and Trojans. And some of the spears

That brawny bold arms hurled at him rushed eagerly on

To embed themselves in the great shield of Ajax, but many

Failed and fell short and fixed themselves in the earth,

Unable to gain their glut of the warrior’s flesh.

But now Eurypylus, glorious son of Euaemon,

Saw how Ajax labored beneath a skyful

Of spears, and coming up he took a stand

By his side and hurled his own bright lance, striking

A chieftain, Phausius’ son Apisaon, in the liver

Under the midriff, thus suddenly causing his knees

To buckle. Quickly Eurypylus leaped upon him

And started to strip his shoulders of armor, but handsome

Prince Paris saw what he was doing and sank an arrow

Into the right thigh of Eurypylus. The shaft broke off

In the wound, and his leg dragged heavy with pain, as he,

Avoiding death, shrank back to take cover with men

Of his company, but shouting thus to the Danaan host:

“Turn! my friends, you that lead and counsel

The Argives. Then hold your ground, that you may ward off

The ruthless day from our spear-belabored Ajax!

He has small chance, I think, of escaping alive

From out the screaming tumult. So come now, face

The Trojans and make a stand about great Ajax,

Son of Telamon.”

So spoke the stricken Eurypylus,

And those about him crouched low, with shields sloping back

To their shoulders and spears held high and ready. Ajax

Came to them, turned, and staunchly faced the foe.

The deadly fighting raged on like a roaring conflagration.

But meanwhile the sweat-lathered mares of Neleus’ breed

Drew Nestor off the field, and with him Machaon,

The people’s shepherd. And foot-flashing, noble Achilles

Saw them leave, for he was watching the grievous

Toil and tearful rout of battle from high

On the stern of his sea-monster ship.

At once he called down

To his comrade Patroclus, who heard, and looking like Ares

Came out of the lodgethus marking the start of evil

For him.5 Then the valiant son of Menoetius spoke first:

“Why do you call me, Achilles? What is it you want?”

And swift Achilles replied: “Great son of Menoetius,

You so dear to my heart, now I believe

The Achaeans will really abase themselves at my knees,

Praying for me to help them, for truly their need

Is desperate and not to be borne. But go now, my god-loved

Patroclus, and find out from Nestor what man he brings wounded

From battle. From behind he looks just like Machaon, son

Of Asclepius, but the eager horses shot by me so fast

I didn’t see the man’s face.”

He spoke, and Patroclus

Obeyed his dear friend. Off he went at a run

Past the lodges and ships of Achaeans.

When Nestor arrived

At his lodge with the wounded Machaon, they both stepped down

On the all-feeding earth, and the old one’s squire Eurymedon

Unhitched the horses, while the warriors stood on the beach

In the breeze to dry the sweat from their tunics. Then

They went into the lodge and sat down on reclining chairs,

And skilled Hecamede, she of the beautiful braids,

Mixed them a drink. Old Nestor had gotten the girl,

Daughter of hearty Arsinous, when Tenedos fell

To Achilles. The Achaeans had picked her for him as reward

For his always superior counsel. First she drew up

A table before them, a polished and beautiful piece

With feet of blue lapis, and on it she set a bronze saucer

Whereon was an onion to go with their drink, and beside it

She put yellow honey and meal of sacred white barley.

By these she placed an exquisite cup that the old one

Had brought from home. Studded with rivets of gold,

It had two handles on either side, about which

Two pairs of golden doves were sipping, while below

Were circular bases at bottom and top of the stem.

And though it was no small thing to raise that full cup

From the table, old Nestor could lift it with ease. Now in it

The girl like a goddess mixed them a drink, with honey

And Pramnian wine, on which with a grater of bronze

She grated some goat’s-milk cheese and lastly sprinkled

White barley. Then, when the mixing was done, she asked them

To drink. And having quenched their burning thirst,

They fell to amusing each other with stories, when suddenly

There in the door stood the godlike man Patroclus.

At sight of him the old one quickly got up

From his gleaming chair, led him in by the hand, and told him

To sit. But Patroclus firmly refused to, saying:

“I cannot, O god-fed ancient, nor will you persuade me.

Respected and feared is the man who sent me to learn

Who it is you bring here wounded. But since I now see

For myself that it is my lord Machaon, I’ll take

The word back to Achilles. You know very well, O godlike

Ancient sir, how irritable he is,

A man who might quickly blame even one who is blameless.”

Then horse-driving Gerenian Nestor spoke thus:

“Why this concern on the part of Achilles for wounded

Sons of Achaeans? He has no idea what grief

The whole army is in. For now our bravest men,

Stricken by arrows or spear-thrusts, lie at the ships.

Strong Diomedes, Tydeus’ son, has been hit,

And both spear-famous Odysseus and King Agamemnon

Have suffered disabling spear-wounds. And now Machaon,

Whom, I’ve just brought from the field, has also been hit

By a painful bolt from the bowstring. But Achilles, great man

That he is, neither cares for nor pities the Danaan people.

Can it be that he’ll wait till our swift ships here on the beach

Go up in smoke and we ourselves die by the dozen?

For I no longer have limbs so supple and strong

As surely I did in the old days. If only I were

As young and my strength as unyielding as once6 when trouble

Arose between the Epeans and us concerning

The rustling of cattle, when I by way of reprisal

Was taking cattle in Elis and slew Itymoneus,

Valorous son of Hypeirochus. While he fought

Mid the foremost, defending his cattle, a spear from my hand

Laid him low, and the rustics around him all fled for their lives.

Great indeed was the booty we rounded up there on the plain:

Some fifty herds of cattle with as many sheepflocks,

As many droves of swine and as many herds

Of wide-roaming goats, along with a hundred and fifty

Sorrel horses, all mares, and many of them

With colts at the teat. All these we drove by night

To Neleian Pylos and into the city, and Neleus

Rejoiced at the great success such an untried stripling

As I had had on the raid. And at dawn the heralds

Proclaimed loud and clear for all those to gather who then

From sacred Elis had anything coming to them.

And the Pylian leaders all came and divided the spoils,

For to many of us in Pylos the Epeans owed wealth,

Since we were at that time both few and downtrodden. The brutish

And powerful Heracles had come in the years before

And cruelly oppressed us, killing our bravest and best.

Twelve were the sons of Neleus the blameless, but of these

Only I was still alive. Hence the Epeans,

Bronze-clad and presumptuous of heart, were wickedly plotting

And working evil against us. But now old Neleus

Selected a whole herd of cattle along with a huge flock

Of sheep, three hundred in all and their shepherds with them.

For great was the debt owed him in sacred Elis

Especially for four fine horses, prizewinning steeds

That had gone to the games with a car to race for the tripod.

But King Augeas had kept them there and sent back

Their vexed and horseless driver with words of insult

For Neleus. Both act and insult had angered the old one

Greatly, and now he chose reprisal past telling.

And what was left he gave to the people, that none

Might go without a just share.

“Thus we divided

The spoils, and then throughout the city made offerings

To the gods. But on the third day the Epeans gathered

Their forces of many men and solid-hoofed horses,

And among them the two Molionesah put on their armor,

Though they as yet were little more than boys

With no great knowledge of furious fighting. Quickly

They came and laid siege to the citadel Thryoessa,

An outlying hilltop town on the river Alpheius

Down near the coast of sandy Pylos. This town

They were eager to pillage and plunder, and about the hill

They filled the plain with their men. But Athena shot down

From Olympus by night and alerted our forces for battle,

And those she gathered in sandy Pylos were not

Loath to fight. They were indeed eager, and I among them,

But Neleus had hidden my horses, since he thought I

Had not yet acquired much prowess in serious warfare.

Even so, with the help of Athena, I on foot

Proved first in the fight, even among the horsemen.

“Our forces formed where the river Minyeius flows into

The sea at Arene. There the Pylian horsemen

Awaited bright Dawn while many companies of infantry

Poured in behind them. Pushing on in full armor, we reached

By noon the next day the hallowed stream of Alpheius.

There we sacrificed splendid victims to Zeus,

The exalted and mighty, a bull apiece to Poseidon

And Alpheius, god of the river, but a herd-fattened heifer

To blue-eyed Athena. Then we ate supper in companies

Throughout the host and lay down on the banks of the river

To sleep, each man still clad in his war-gear.

“Meanwhile,

The great-souled Epeans, encircling the city, stood ready

And eager to sack it. But now intervened a mighty

Work of the War-god, for when the bright Sun arose

Over earth, we made our prayers to Zeus and Athena

And moved to attack. And in the great clash of Epeans

And Pylians, I was the first to kill a man

And take his solid-hoofed horsesthe spearman Mulius.

He was the son-in-law of Augeas, the husband

Of his eldest daughter, tawny-tressed Agamede,

Whose knowledge of herbs and potions was truly world-wide.

With a cast of my bronze-headed spear I broke his charge

And toppled him down in the dust, then leaped on his chariot

And fought mid the foremost champions. But when the haughty

Epeans saw the man fall, their captain of horse

And bravest in battle, they scattered on every side,

As I swept down like a black hurricane and overtook

Fifty chariots, and two men from each took the dirt

In their teeth, all spear-victims of mine! And now

I’d have wrecked the careers of the two Moliones, supposedly

Sons of Actor, had not their real father, Poseidon,

The wide-ruling shaker of shores, saved them from battle

By hiding them both in a thick cloud of mist. Then Zeus

Gave great power to the Pylian fighters, and far across

The wide plain we pursued the Epeans, constantly killing

Their men and collecting the armor, till at last we came

To the fertile wheat fields of Buprasium, the Olenian Rock,

And a place called Alesium Hill. There Athena turned back

Our forces, and leaving I slew the last man. The Pylians

Drove their fast horses from Buprasium back to Pylos,

And all gave thanks and great glory to Zeus among gods

And to Nestor bravest of men.

“That was the kind

Of warrior I was, just as sure as I ever was one!

But Achilles would like to enjoy his valor alone,

Though surely the man will later most terribly grieve

For his own people destroyed. Ah, my boy,

How well I remember the charge Menoetius laid on you

The day he sent you from Phthia to King Agamemnon.

We two were there with you, I and worthy Odysseus,

And there in the house we heard his instructions to you.

For we had come to the fairlying palace of Peleus

Recruiting soldiers throughout many-feeding Achaea.

Inside with Achilles we found your father Menoetius,

And you, while out in the courtyard the knightly old Peleus

Was burning to bolt-hurling Zeus the fat thigh-slabs

Of a bull, and from a gold cup in his hand he was pouring

Libations of sparkling wine to go with the sacred

And flaming meat. Menoetius and you were busily

Carving the beef when we two appeared in the porch.

The surprised Achilles sprang up, led us in by the hand,

And told us to sit, then set before us refreshment

Befitting strangers. And when we had greatly enjoyed

The food and drink he served us, I spoke out first,

Inviting Achilles and you to come with us.

And since you were both quite willing to do so, your fathers

Gave much instruction to you. Old Peleus urged

His son Achilles to always be bravest and best,

But Menoetius, son of Actor, counseled you thus:

“My son, Achilles is nobler in birth than you are

And far more gifted with martial prowess, but you

Are the elder, and so should instruct, counsel, and guide him.

And he will do well to heed the advice you give him.‘ai

“Thus your old father gave you a chargebut one

That you have forgotten. Even now, though, go speak

To the fiery Achilles and see if he’ll listen. Who knows

But that with God’s help your persuasion may still prevail?

The advice of a friend is frequently most effective.

But if his heart is set on escaping some dire word

From Zeus, revealed to him by his goddess mother,

Let him send you at the head of the Myrmidon host,7

That you may be a light of hope to the Danaans.

And let him give you his splendid armor to wear

Into war, that the Trojans may take you for him and quickly

Withdraw from the fighting. Then the battling, war-worn sons

Of Achaeans may have a chance to catch their breath

Such chances in battle are fewand you that are fresh

May easily drive, with little more than your war-screams,

The exhausted Trojans away from the ships and the shelters

And back toward the city.”

He spoke, and his words stirred the heart

In the breast of Patroclus, who left now to run down the long

line

Of ships to Achilles, Aeacus’ grandson. But when

He came at a run to the ships of godlike Odysseus,

Where he and his men had their place of assembly and judgment

And where they had built the gods’ altars, there he was met

By Eurypylus, Zeus-sprung son of Euaemon, pierced

In the thigh by an arrow and painfully limping from battle.

The sweat streamed down from his head and shoulders, and from

His deep wound the dark blood oozed, but still his mind

Remained clear. Seeing him so, the gallant Patroclus

Felt pity for him, and his words came winged with foreboding:

“O miserable leaders and lords of the Danaan people,

Were you, then, doomed to fall so far from home

And loved ones, here where the swift dogs of Troy may gulp

Their glut of your glistening fat? But come, tell me this,

O god-nurtured hero Eurypylus. Have the Achaeans

A chance to somehow hold back monstrous Hector, or will they

Now die beneath his great spear?”

Then the stricken Eurypylus:

“No longer, O Zeus-sprung Patroclus, will there be any

Defense of Achaeans, who soon will be frantically climbing

Aboard the black ships. For surely all those who have been

Our bravest lie at the ships disabled by Trojan

Arrows or spear-thrusts, while the enemy’s strength continues

To grow. But me at least you can help. Lead me

Now to my black ship, cut the keen bronze

From my thigh, and wash the dark blood away with warm water.

Then put some soothing salve on the wound, some healing

Excellent thing men say you learned from Achilles,

Who had it from Cheiron, most civil and righteous of Centaurs.

For of our physicians, Machaon and Podaleirius,

One I believe lies mid the lodges wounded

And in need of a skillful surgeon himself, while the other

Is out on the plain withstanding the Trojans’ hard charge.”

And the stalwart son of Menoetius answered him thus:

“How can these things be? But what shall we do, Eurypylus?

I’m on my way to fiery Achilles with word

From Gerenian Nestor, Achaea’s old sentinel. Still,

I will not desert you so nearly exhausted.”

So saying,

He put his arm round the great leader’s waist and helped him

Back to his lodge, where his squire at sight of them

Piled oxhides thick on the earthen floor. On these

Patroclus stretched the man out, and with a knife

Removed the keen-cutting bronze from his thigh, and washed

The dark blood away with warm water. And when he had crushed

A root in his hands he applied it well to the wound

A pungent, pain-killing root that ended his pangs.

Then the bleeding stopped and the wound began to dry.

BOOK XII

The Storming of the Wall

While valiant Patroclus was tending the stricken Eurypylus

There in the shelter, the Argives and Trojans were clashing

In furious melee, nor were die Danaan ditch

And the wide wall behind it long destined to keep off the foe.

They had built the wall and trenched all along it to keep

In safety their swift-sailing ships and enormous spoils,

But they had neglected to sacrifice glorious hecatombs

To the immortals. Hence it was built without

The good will of the gods, and so could not long endure.

So long as life lasted in Hector and wrath in Achilles,

And royal Priam’s city remained unsacked,

The Achaeans’ great wall stood firm. But when all the best

Of the Trojans were dead and many of the Argives too

Though some of their bravest survivedand the city of Priam

Was sacked in the tenth long year, and the Argives had left

In their ships for their own dear country, then Poseidon

In counsel with lord Apollo decided to wreck

The great wall by bringing against it the united force

Of all the rivers that flow from the range of Ida

Seawardthe waters of Rhesus, Caresus, Heptaporus,

Rhodius, Granicus, Aesepus, along with the streams

Of sacred Scamander and Simoeis, by whose banks

Many a bulls-hide shield and helmet had splashed

In the mud along with many a half-divine mortal

Of that renowned generationall of these rivers

Apollo made to flow out at one mouth and drove

For nine days their churning torrent against the great wall,

While Zeus continued to rain, that he might all the sooner

Flood the wall with salt sea. And Poseidon, creator

Of earthquakes, holding his trident, directed the onrush

Of waters and washed out to sea the log and stone

Foundations laid by the laboring Achaeans, then smoothly

Leveled all beside the strong Hellespont stream.

When the wall was demolished, again he covered the wide beach

With sand and turned the rivers back into the channels

Where they before had poured their bright-flowing streams.1

These things Poseidon and Apollo were someday to do.

But now a roaring battle blazed at the well-built

Wall, and the wooden beams of the towers resounded

Beneath the missiles, as the Argives were cowed by the lash

Of Zeus and penned up and held by the hollow ships.

There they huddled in terror of Hector, that mighty

Master of rout, who raged like a howling gale.

As a wild boar or lion, exulting in strength, wheels

On hounds and hunters, who form a wall against him

And rain their javelins down, while onward his stout heart

Comes, unafraid and persistent until his own courage

Kills himagain and again he wheels about

And tries the line of spearmen, and wherever he charges

The line gives wayso Hector raged through the throng

Urging his comrades to cross the Achaean trench.

But the quick-hoofed horses balked there, frightened and shrilly

Neighing on the very lip of the trench, for it

Was too wide to leap or easily drive across,

Since the banks overhung on either side, and along

The top toward the wall the sons of Achaeans had planted

A row of sharp stakes, close-set and tall, to keep off

The foe. No horse could easily drag a car,

However well-rolling, through those defenses. The footmen,

Though, were eager to try them, and Polydamas came up

To daring Hector and spoke to him and the others:2

“O leaders of Trojans and Trojan allies, any

Attempt to drive our fast horses across this deep ditch

Would surely be senseless. The crossing would be indeed hard,

For the ditch is bristling with sharp-pointed stakes and not far

Beyond them looms the Achaean wall. That space

Over there is so narrow that horsemen could wage no war

Without great hurt to themselves. But if high-crashing Zeus

Is really determined to aid the Trojans and ruin

Our foes in his wrath, then I too of course would like

Nothing more than that the Achaeans, unsung and nameless,

Might perish here far from Argos. But if they should rally

And drive us back from the ships and into the ditch,

Then not one of us would ever get out alive,

Not even a man to tell our story in Troy.

But come, let all of us do as I say. Let us leave

Our horses here at the trench with our squires, while we

In full armor cross over on foot with Hector before us.

Then the Achaeans will not be able to stem

Our advance, if they are truly bound fast in the fatal

Bonds of destruction.”

Such was the prudent advice

Of Polydamas, a plan well pleasing to Hector, who clad

In his bronze leaped down at once from his car to the ground.

And the other Trojans, seeing Prince Hector afoot,

Broke their chariot ranks and likewise leaped down.

Then each of them ordered his driver to hold back the horses

Quietly there at the trench, but they themselves

Split up and formed five ordered battalions, marshaled

Behind their chieftains.

The largest and bravest battalion

Fell in behind Hector and peerless Polydamas, all men

Most eager to breach the wall and fight their way

To the hollow ships, and with them Cebriones went

As third in command, for Hector had left with his car

A less able man. The second battalion was led

By Paris along with Agenor and Alcathous,

And the third by two sons of Priam, Helenus and godlike

Deďphobus, with the warrior Asius third in command

Asius, Hyrtacus’ son, whom his glossy huge horses

Had drawn from Arisbe where flows the river Selleďs.

And leading the fourth battalion was the valorous son

Of Anchises, Aeneas himself, and with him served

Two versatile fighting men, Antenor’s sons Acamas

And Archelochus. And Troy’s renowned allies were led

By Sarpedon, who chose as his captains Glaucus and battle-fierce

Asteropaeus, whom next to himself he deemed

The best men, for he was the finest soldier among them.

When all had been marshaled with shield touching bull’s-hide shield,

They ferociously made for the Danaan troops, nor did

They feel that they could be kept from hurling themselves

Upon the black ships.

Then all the Trojans and all

Their far-famed allies adopted the plan of peerless

Polydamasall but Asius, Hyrtacus’ son.

That leader of men had no intention of leaving

His horses there with his rein-holding squire. But still

In his chariot he approached the swift ships, childish

Fool that he was! for never would he escape

The dire fates and go back from the ships to windy Troy

Triumphant, exulting in horses and car. Instead,

Cursed fate enshrouded the man by the spear of lordly

Idomeneus, son of Deucalion. On he drove

Toward the long left flank of the ships, heading his horses

And car for a bridge over which the Achaeans were accustomed

To drive as they returned from the plain. Asius

Got across and found that the doors were not shut

Nor the long bar yet in its place. The Achaeans were holding

Them open, hoping to save some comrade of theirs

Who might still be fleeing from battle and trying to make

The ships. Right over the bridge he drove with his screaming

Squadron behind him, nor did they feel that Achaeans

Could keep them from hurling themselves upon the black ships

Fools one and all! For there at the gates they found

Two men of superlative prowess, spirited sons

Of spear-hurling Lapithae, Peirithous’ son Polypoetes

The strong and Leonteus, the peer of man-maiming Ares.

These two were planted in front of the gaping high gate

As firmly fixed in their stance as a couple of oaks

In the mountains, high-crested giants with ground-gripping roots

Great and long, abiding both wind and rain throughout

Innumerable days. So now these two, with faith

In their powerful arms, awaited, firm and unflinching,

The fierce onslaught of mighty Asius. And on

He came with his followers straight for the well-built gate,

All of them screaming their terrible war-cries and raising

Their hard leather shields about their leadersKing Asius,

Iamenus and Orestes, and Adamas, Asius’ son,

And Thoön and Oenomaus. The Lapithae inside the wall

Had been urging the well-greaved Achaeans to fight in defense

Of the ships, but when they saw troops charging down on the wall

And the panicking Danaans fleeing with screams of terror,

These two rushed out in front of the gate like a pair

Of wild boars in the mountains, ferocious beasts that await

The clamorous onset of men and dogs, charging out

To either side, crushing and rooting up saplings

And vines with a gnashing and clashing and grinding of tusks,

Till finally spears deprive them of spirit. Even so

The bright bronze grated and clanged on the breasts of these two

As they were struck hard glancing blows while facing the foe

And keenly contending, trusting their strength and the army

Of comrades above them. For men on the well-built ramparts

Kept hurling down stones in defense of their lives, their shelters,

And fast-faring ships. And the stones came down like flakes

Of snow when a blizzard wind buffets the lowering clouds

And drifts the snow deep on the all-feeding earth, the huge stones

Hurtling through air from the powerful hands of Achaeans

And Trojans too, and harsh was the grating and clanging

As rocks big as millstones struck helmets and studded shields.

Then Asius, Hyrtacus’ son, smote his thighs

And spoke thus, painfully groaning in great consternation:

“So you, Father Zeus, have also become an utterly

Lie-loving god! For surely you led roe to think

The Achaeans would be no match for our mighty strength

And invincible hands. But they are like quick-waisted wasps

Or bees that build their nest in a hollow close by

A rocky path, and that stay and fight against hunters

In stubborn defense of their young. So now these men,

Though only two, will not give ground at the gate

Nor cease their slaying till they themselves be slain!”

He spoke, but his words left the mind of Zeus unchanged,

For still he willed to give the glory to Hector.

Meanwhile, others at other gates were battling,

And hard indeed it would be for me, even though

I were a god, to tell the tale of what happened,

For all along the great wall the god-inspired fire

Of stones kept up, as the sore-beset Argives were forced

To defend their ships. And all the gods who supported

The struggling Danaans deeply grieved in their hearts.

And the two Lapithae fought on in the blazing battle.

Strong Polypoetes, Peirithous’ son, let fly

His spear and struck the bronze-cheeked helmet of Damasus.

On through the bronze and bone beneath went the point

And spattered the helmet inside with the warrior’s brains,

Thus stopping Damasus’ furious charge. Then

Polypoetes went on to account for Pylon and Ormenus.

Meanwhile Leonteus, scion of Ares, aimed

His spear at Hippomachus, son of Antimachus, hurled it

And brought the man down, striking him full on the war-belt.

Next he drew his sharp sword from its sheath and sprang

Through the crowd to kill in close fight Antiphates, thrusting him

Back on the ground, after which Leonteus went on

To Iamenus, Menon, Orestes, all of whom

He stretched out on the bountiful earth.

While the Lapithae stripped

From the dead their glittering armor, the young men who followed

Polydamas and Hector, they who formed the largest

And bravest battalion and were most eager to breach

The wall and put their fire to the ships, these

Still stood in conflict and doubt at the brink of the trench.

For as they were going to cross, an ominous bird

Had appeared to them, a high-haunting eagle that flew

By the host on the left with a blood-crimson snake in his talons,

A monstrous serpent alive and writhing, with plenty

Of fight left in him. Doubling up he struck

At his captor’s breast and neck till the burning pangs

Forced the eagle to let the snake go, and it fell in the midst

Of the troops at the trench. Then with a scream the eagle

Flew down the wind and away, while the Trojans shuddered

At sight of the writhing snake, a glistening omen

From Zeus of the aegis. Then again Polydamas came up

To bold Hector and offered advice:

“Hector, somehow

You always rebuke me when I in assembly say

What I think, no matter how good my counsel may be,

Since never never should any man of the people

Contradict you in council or on the field,

Or do anything but uphold and increase your command.

But now once again I intend to speak my mind,

As it seems to me I should. Let us, then, not

Advance to fight for the Danaan ships. For now

I know what will happen to us, if this is a truly

Ominous bird, this high-haunting eagle that came

Just as we were eager to cross, flying by on the left

With a blood-crimson snake in his talons, a monstrous, writhing

Serpent that he let fall before he could reach

His own nest and ravenous young. Thus it shall happen

To us, though we do by our great strength break through

The Achaean gates and wall and force the foe back

Even so we ourselves shall return from the ships, retracing

Our steps in no very orderly fashion, and leaving

Innumerable Trojans behind, killed by the bronze

Of Achaeans defending their ships. Such would any

Good soothsayer say who knew the truth about omens

And so had the people’s trust.”

With an angry scowl

Bright-helmeted Hector replied: “Polydamas, truly

This last speech of yours I do not find very pleasing.

You certainly know how to give better counsel than that.

But if you are really in earnest, then surely the gods

Have addled your brains, since now you bid us forget

The message of mightily-thundering Zeus, who made me

A promise which he confirmed with a nod of his head.aj

But you would have us obey these long-winged birds,

About which I could not care less, regardless of whether

They fly to the right toward morning and sunrise, or

To the left toward the murky gloom of twilight. Let us

Obey the counsels of almighty God, of Zeus

Who is King over all, mortals and immortals too.

One omen only is bestto fight for one’s homeland!

But why are you so afraid of blazing battle

And warfare? For even if all the rest of us fell

At the ships of the Argives, still there would be no danger

Of death for you, since you have no battle-staunch heart

Or warlike spirit at all. However, if now

You hold back from the fiery struggle or try to persuade

Any other Trojan to do so, quickly you’ll die

Beneath the force of my spear!”

So saying, brave Hector

Led the advance and all his men followed, screaming

Their unearthly war-cries. And bolt-hurling Zeus stirred up

From the mountains of Ida a blasting hard wind that bore

The dust in billows straight at the ships. Thus

He confused the Achaeans still more, and guaranteed glory

To Trojans and Hector. Trusting in such signs from Zeus

And in their own might, they did their best to break

The Achaean’s great wall. They tore down towers and breastworks

And pried up beams that buttressed the battlementsall

In their efforts to breach the Achaean wall. But not

Even now did the Danaans give way before them, but quickly

They closed the gaps with barriers made of bull’s-hide

And threw from behind them at those who came at the wall.

The two Ajaxes ranged all along the ramparts

Arousing the strength of Achaeans and urging them on.

They harshly berated whomever they saw disposed

To give up and retreat, but others they cheered with words

Of encouragement, saying: “O friends, you Argive princes,

Officers, commoners, all are by no means equal

In war, but now there is plenty of work for all,

As surely you already know. Therefore let no man

Turn toward the ships away from the cries of the foe,

But keep facing forward and urging each other on,

That Olympian Zeus, lord and lover of lightning,

May give us the power to stem this assault and drive

Our foes back to the city.”

So shouted the two Ajaxes,

Arousing Achaean resistance. And as snowflakes fall thick

On a winter day when all-planning Zeus displays

His missiles to men, as he lulls every wind and continues

To snow until he has covered the high mountain peaks

And jutting lofty headlands, the clover fields

And fertile plowlands of men, and all the harbors

And shores of the gray sea are white, as the heavy snowstorm

From Zeus wraps all but the beating waves: even so

The stones from both sides flew thick, many falling on Trojans,

Many upon the Achaeans, and as they hurled

At each other, the screaming and thudding resounded all up

And down the great wall.

But not even now would the Trojans

And glorious Hector have broken through gate and long bar

If Zeus the contriver had not sent his son Sarpedon

Against the Argive troops, like a lion against

Fat cattle. Quickly he swung his round shield to the front

His gorgeous buckler of beaten bronze that a smith

Had hammered out and backed with many a bull’s-hide,

All fastened together with stitches of golden wire

Running around the circumference. With this before him

And brandishing two long lances, he charged like a lion

Of the mountains, a meat-starved beast whose ferocious spirit

Sends him right into the close-barred fold for a try

At the sheep. And though he lands amid shepherds with spears

And dogs watching over the sheep, still he is loath

To leave the pens before he has made his attack,

And either he springs on the flock and seizes a victim,

Or he himself is struck mid the foremost defenders

By a spear from someone’s quick hand. Even so the spirit

Of godlike Sarpedon made him feel eager to charge

Full speed at the wall and break his way through the battlements.

Hence he spoke thus to Glaucus, son of Hippolochus:

“Glaucus, why is it that we above all are honored

With royal seats, choice cuts, and ever-full cups

In Lycia, and gazed on by all as though we were gods?3

And why do we hold and enjoy that huge estate

On the banks of Xanthus, those acres of excellent orchard

And fertile wheat-bearing fields? Surely it best

Becomes us to fight mid the foremost and throw ourselves

In the blaze of battle, that many a bronze-breasted Lycian

May say:

“Surely the lords of Lycia are no

Inglorious men, our Kings, who feast on fat sheep

And drink the choice mellow wine. But they are truly

Powerful warriors, men who always fight

Up front with the foremost champions of Lycia.’

“Ah,

My friend, if we had only to turn from this battle

To make ourselves deathless and ageless forever, neither

Would I myself fight mid the foremost, nor would I urge you

To take part in the man-enhancing struggle. But now,

Since countless fates of inescapable death surround us

Here and always, let us go forward and fight,

That we may give glory to someone, or win it ourselves.”

He spoke, and Glaucus did not turn heedless away,

But both of them charged straight onward, heading the great host

Of Lycians. At sight of them coming, Menestheus, son

Of Peteos, shuddered, for they were directing all

Their destruction at his high part of the wall. Hoping

To see some chief who might save his comrades from ruin,

Menestheus looked up and down the Achaean wall,

And not far off he saw the two Ajaxes,

Hungry for battle, and standing there with them, just back

From his lodge, was Teucer. But it was impossible now

For him to make himself heard, so great was the din

That went up to heaven of hard-beaten shields and helmets,

Crested with horsehair, and battered gates, for all

The doors had been closed and now the foe fought before them

To crash their way through and enter. Quickly Menestheus

Dispatched the herald Thoötes:

“Go, my noble

Thoötes, run call Telamonian Ajax, or rather

Call both Ajaxes, for that would be far best of all

In our present desperate condition. Here, bearing down

On us hard, come the fierce Lycian leaders, men who have always

Proved themselves mighty in battle. But if there too

The toil and tumult of war have arisen, at least

Let the brave Telamonian Ajax come, and with him

Teucer, the expert bowman.”

So he spoke,

And the listening herald did not disobey him, but went

At a run by the wall of the bronze-clad Achaeans till soon

He approached the two Ajaxes and thus delivered

His message: “O leaders of bronze-breasted Argives, Menestheus,

Fostered of Zeus, appeals for your helpthough it be

But briefly givento stem a terrible onslaught.

Both of you now would surely be far best of all

In our present desperate condition. There, bearing down

On them hard, come the fierce Lycian leaders, men who have always

Proved themselves mighty in battle. But if here too

The toil and tumult of war have arisen, at least

Let the brave Telamonian Ajax come, and with him

Teucer, the expert bowman.”

Thoötes spoke thus,

And huge Telamonian Ajax did not ignore him.

At once he spoke winged words to the son of Oďleus:

“Ajax, you and strong Lycomedes stand

Your ground firmly and urge the Danaans here to fight fiercely.

I will go and face the foe with Menestheus,

And come back here as soon as I’ve done what I can.”

With this Telamonian Ajax went on his way,

And with him his half-brother Teucer, both of them sons

Of one father, and with them Pandion carried the curved bow

Of Teucer. Rushing along within the wall,

They came to the bastion of great-souled Menestheus. To men

Under pressure they came, for the enemy now were swarming

Upon the battlements, warriors like a black whirlwind,

The powerful Lycian counselors and kings. They clashed

Head on in the tumult, and the screams of battle rose high.

Ajax, Telamon’s son, was first to kill

His man, the intrepid Epicles, a friend of Sarpedon,

Striking him down with a craggy huge rock that lay

On top of the wall within the battlements. Not

Without great effort could a man of our generation,

No matter how young or strong, so much as lift it

With both of his hands, but Ajax raised it up high

And hurled it down, smashing the four-horned helmet

And crushing the skull of Epicles, who pitched from the wall

Like a diver, as spirit took leave of his bones. And Teucer

Struck Glaucus, the stalwart son of Hippolochus, wounding

His uncovered arm with an arrow as hotly he rushed up

The ramparts and Teucer shot from the top. His shaft

Took the fight out of Glaucus, and furtively he leaped down

From the wall, that no Achaean might see he was wounded

And make a brag over him. But Sarpedon soon knew,

And great was his grief at the absence of Glaucus, though still

He fought hard as ever. With a well-aimed thrust he embedded

His spear in Alcmaon, son of Thestor, and when

He withdrew it Alcmaon came with it, falling face down

With a ringing of ornate bronze. Then Sarpedon laid hold

Of the breastwork with both of his powerful hands, and pulled,

And a long length of battlement fell. He thus bared the top

Of the Argive wall and made a passage for many.

But now both Ajax and Teucer came at him at once.

Teucer glanced a shaft hard off the gleaming baldric

That crossed his chest and held his man-guarding shield,

As Zeus kept death from his son Sarpedon, that he

Might not fall by the sterns of the ships. And Ajax sprang

At him and lunged with his spear, but the point did not pierce

His shield, though he made him reel in his charge. And now

He fell back a bit from the top, but not altogether,

Since still his heart had hopes of glory. Turning,

He called to his godlike people:

“O Lycians, where now

Is your furious war-charge? No matter how strong I may be,

I can’t very well break through the wall all alone

And beat a path to the ships. After me, then,

And the more of you the better!”

He shouted, and they,

In fear of rebuke, pressed forward on either side

Of their brave King and giver of counsel, and the Argives

Opposite them reinforced their battalions behind

The great wall. And now a still hotter struggle ensued.

For the powerful Lycians could not break their way through

The Danaan wall and beat a path to the ships,

Nor could the Danaan spearmen thrust them back

From the wall once they had won a position upon it.

But as two men with measuring-rods in hand

Contend with each other from either side of a fence

Where their two fields come together, and bitterly fight

In a narrow space for a just allotment of land,

So now the battlements held them apart as over

The top they smote the bull’s-hide bucklers in front of

Their chests, the circular shields and fluttering targets.

And many were cut by thrusts of the ruthless bronze,

Not only when anyone turned his back in the fight,

But many were wounded clean through the shield itself.

All down the line the towers and battlements glistened

With flowing blood from men of both sides, Achaeans

And Trojans alike. But still the Achaeans staunchly

Held their ground. As a careful widow that wearily

Spins for a living balances weight and wool

In either pan of the scales, making them equal,

That she may earn some paltry support for her children,

So equally now their raging battle was drawn,

Till Zeus gave the higher glory to Priam’s son Hector,

The first man to plunge inside the Achaeans’ wide wall,

First shouting thus to the horde of Trojans behind him:

“On, you horse-taming Trojans, smash the wall

Of the Argives and hurl on the ships your god-blazing fire!”

Thus he urged all of them on, and they giving ear

Charged in one body straight at the wall and started

To climb the ramparts with sharp-pointed spears in their hands.

And Hector picked up a stone in front of the gate

And carried it with him, a broad-based, pointed boulder

That not even two of this generation’s strongest

Could manage to heave on a wagon. Yet Hector easily

Held it alone, since now crooked Cronos’ son Zeus

Made the stone light for him. As a shepherd lightly

Picks up with one hand and carries the fleece of a ram,

Scarcely aware of the weight, so Hector easily

Lifted the boulder and bore it straight on at the thick

And tight-fitting doors of the gate, high double-doors

With two crossbars inside well locked by a bolt

In the middle. Charging in close, he took a firm stance

And hurled the stone at the doors, planting his feet

Well apart to insure the force of his blow. And the stone

Crashed into the middle, broke off the hinges, and fell

Inside, as the great gate groaned and the bars gave way

And the doors flew apart beneath the force of the boulder.

Then glorious Hector sprang in, his stern face dark

As fast-falling night. But his bronze shone ghastly about him,

And in his hands he held two spears, nor could

Anyone but a god have held the man back, when once

He had plunged through the gate with his eyes so fiercely flaming.

Whirling about in the crowd, he called the Trojans

To scale the wall, and again they heeded his urging.

Quickly many climbed over the top while others

Poured in through the strongly wrought gate. And the Danaans fled

In fear mid the hollow ships, and the screams were unceasing.

BOOK XIII

Fighting Among the Ships

Now when Zeus had sent Hector and many Trojans charging

Down on the ships, he left the two armies there

In the toil and tears of unceasing struggle, while he

Averted his shining eyes and looked far out

On the lands of the horse-handling Thracians, the close-fighting

Mysians,

The august Hippemolgi, drinkers of mares’ milk, and the Abii,

Justest of men. The Father no longer turned

His shining eyes toward Troy, for he had no hint

In his heart that any immortal would dare come down

To strengthen either the Trojan or Danaan forces.1

But lordly Poseidon, shaker of shores, was not

For a moment unwatchful from where on the highest peak

Of well-wooded Samothraceak he sat rapt at the sight

Of raging battle, for from his position there

He could clearly see all Ida, the city of Priam,

And the ships of Achaeans. There he sat, after he

Had emerged from the sea, and he had compassion on all

The Achaeans now overcome by the Trojans, but against

Almighty Zeus he seethed with bitter resentment.

Soon he strode swiftly down the precipitous slope,

And the towering mountains and the trees of the forest trembled

Beneath the immortal feet of Poseidon. Quickly

He took three mighty strides, and with the fourth

He reached his goal at Aegae, where built in the depths

Of the sea he has his famous home, a palace

Golden and gleaming, enduring forever. Once there

He hitched to his car his brazen-hoofed horses, fast-flying

Steeds with manes of streaming gold. And the garments

He wore were of gold, as was the well-wrought whip

He held in his hand as he mounted the car and drove out

Over the waves. And the beasts that live in the seaal

Came up from the depths on all sides and gambolled beneath him,

Acknowledging him as their King, and the sea itself,

Rejoicing, parted and made way before him. And the chariot’s

Axle was dry, as swiftly his far-bounding horses

Bore Poseidon toward the Achaean ships.

Midway between Tenedos and craggy Imbros

There is a huge cave in the depths of the sea, and here

The mighty creator of earthquakes pulled up and unharnessed

His horses and threw down before them ambrosial fodder

To munch on. Then he put hobbles of gold on their feet,

Hobbles that could not be broken or shaken loose,

That his pair might stay where they were until their master

Returned. Then off he went to the camp of Achaeans.

There the massed Trojans, like flame or hurricane wind,

Were rushing on with Priam’s son Hector, roaring

And screaming their war-cries, and hoping that they would soon take

The Achaean ships and kill all the bravest beside them.

But now Poseidon, embracer and shaker of earth,

Emerged from the brine, determined to urge on the Argives.

Taking the form and tireless voice of Calchas,

He spoke first of all to the two Ajaxes, who were

Already eager for action:

“If you two will only

Be mindful of might and not at all of chill fear,

You’ll save the Achaean army. Nowhere else

In the fight do I dread the powerful Trojans. Though many

Have scaled the great wall, the well-greaved Achaeans will hold them

All back. Only here am I really afraid of what

Might happen to us, here where yonder madman

Leads on like furious fire, Hector, who falsely

Claims Zeus as his father. But may some god inspire

You both to firmly stand your ground here and to bid

The others do likewise. Thus you may drive him back

From the fast-faring ships, no matter how eager he is,

And even though the mighty Olympian himself

Is urging him on.”

So saying, the kingly embracer

And shaker of shores touched both of them with his staff

And filled them with valorous heart, and their arms and legs

He made feel rested and light. Then he took off

Like a swift-winged hawk that rising hangs high in the sky

Above a tall thrust of rock before swooping over

The plain in pursuit of some other bird. Even so

Earthshaking Poseidon darted away. Quick Ajax,

Son of Oďleus, was first aware of the god,

And now he spoke thus to Ajax, son of Telamon:

“Ajax, one of the gods from Olympus, appearing

To us in the form of our prophet, tells us to fight

By the ships. For that was surely not Calchas, our seer

And reader of bird-signs. I glimpsed his feet and legs

As he left, and knew him at once for a god, since even

The gods are sometimes easily known. And now

The heart in my breast feels more than ever eager

For struggle and conflict, and now my feet below

And hands above are madly desirous of battle!”

Then Ajax, son of Telamon, answered him thus:

“Even so my own invincible hands are restlessly

Gripping my spear, my spirit is hot, and the feet

Beneath me are more than ready to charge. Right now

I would like nothing better than meeting in single combat

Priam’s son Hector, the always eager to fight.”

While the two Ajaxes were talking thus to each other,

Exulting in battle-joy that a god had put

In their hearts, earth-girdling Poseidon was in the rear

Arousing disheartened Achaeans, who there mid the swift-sailing

Ships were attempting to get back their courage. Their limbs

Were leaden from hours of fearful toil, and now

Their hearts were filled with terror at sight of the horde

Of Trojans that had already scaled the great wall.

As they saw these advancing, they wept in cringing despair,

But the mighty creator of earthquakes went easily in

Among them and set them on to form once again

Their stalwart battalions. He came first of all to Teucer

And Leďtus, with whom were the warriors Peneleos, Thoas,

And Deďpyrus, as well as Meriones and Antilochus, those masterful

Raisers of war-cry. To them he spoke these winged words:

“For shame, you Argives, acting like so many babies!

Your prowess, I thought, would save our ships from the Trojans.

But if now you cringe from miserable war, then surely

The day of defeat has dawned for the Argives. Who

Would believe it! this wonder before my eyes, this terrible

Thing I never imagined could happenthe Trojans

Charging our vessels! Why they have always been

Like timorous, panicky deer that fearfully wander

The woodland till they, unresisting and weak, fall prey

To jackals and panthers and wolves. So until now

The Trojans have had no slightest desire to stand

And face the spirit and might of Achaeans, not even

For one brief moment. But here they are now, far

From the city, waging their war at the hollow ships,

And this all because of our leader’s ignoble deed

And a pusillanimous people, who since they are striving

With him had rather die mid the fast-faring ships

Than fight to protect them. But even though the warlike

Son of Atreus, powerful King Agamemnon,

Is to blame for it all, he having insulted

The quick-footed son of Peleus, still we ourselves

Cannot afford to be shirkers in battle. Let us,

In fact, quickly make up for his evil. The hearts

Of heroes are able to heal. Nor can you excuse

Any longer your lack of furious valor, you

The Achaeans’ bravest and best. I wouldn’t quarrel

With some wretched fellow who couldn’t do any better,

But my heart seethes with blame at sight of you here.

O you slackers, soon you shall see what greater pain

Cowardice causes! But come, let each one of you

Fill his heart with shame and blame for himself,

For now the battle has grown to be truly tremendous.

Screaming Hector, mighty as ever, has smashed

His way through gate and long bars and carries his war

Right in toward the ships!”

So saying, earth-girdling Poseidon

Stirred the Achaeans to rally their powerful ranks

About the two Ajaxes, nor could host-urging Athena

Nor Ares himself have come among them and failed

To honor their might. For there picked men of the bravest

Awaited the charge of the Trojans and noble Hector,

Forming against them a spear-bristling wall. So close

The Achaeans stood to each other that shield pressed on shield,

Helmet on helmet, and man on man, so close

That the horsehair plumes on the bright-horned helmets

brushed

Each other with every nod of a head, and spears

Were crossed as brave hands brandished them forward. All minds

Were fixed on the battle, for which they were ready and eager.

Unswervingly on came the Trojans, massed and mighty

With Hector before them, great Hector plunging ahead

Like a ruthless, death-bearing boulder that bounds down the slope

Of a mountain when a wintry, rain-swollen river washes it

Loose with a flooding of water and sends it headlong

Bouncing and flyinghigh in the air it leaps

Through the echoing forest, crashing its way through all

Before it until it reaches the level plain,

Where at last it loses its force and rolls to a stop.2

So for a while Prince Hector ferociously threatened

To kill his way through to the sea past shelters and ships

Of Achaeans, but when that warrior came to collide

With the serried battalions, there his onslaught was halted.

The sons of Achaeans met him with thrusting swords

And double-barbed spears and made him reel and fall back,

Screaming thus to the army of fighters behind him:

“You Trojans and Lycians and dueling Dardanians, hold

With me here! This wall of Achaeans will not keep me back

For long. They’ll yield before my spear, believe me,

If truly the greatest of gods drives me on, the bolt-crashing

Husband of Hera!”

So Hector encouraged the Trojans,

And out strode his brother Deďphobus, holding his round shield

Before him and quickly advancing. But at him Meriones

Aimed a bright spear, nor did he miss his mark.

He struck the round shield, but instead of piercing the bulls-hide

The long shaft broke at the socket, as Deďphobus quickly

Held from him the bull’s-hide buckler, fearing the spear

Of fiery Meriones, who now shrank back in a crowd

Of his friends, frustrated and angry at breaking his spear

And failing to fell his man. Off he went

Past shelters and ships of Achaeans to fetch a long lance

He had left in his lodge.

But the others fought on with loud,

Unquenchable cries. And Teucer, Telamon’s son,

Was first to bring a man down, the spearman Imbrius,

Son of many-horsed Mentor. Before the sons

Of Achaeans came, Imbrius lived in Pedaeum

And had as his wife a bastard daughter of Priam,

Medesicasta. But when the Danaans came

In their swiftly maneuverable ships, he went back to Troy,

Where he was great mid the Trojans, and lived in the house

Of Priam, who honored him equally with his own children.

This was he whom Teucer jabbed under the ear

With a thrust of his lengthy javelin, then drew the point out.

And Imbrius fell like an ash that grows on top

Of a far-seen towering mountain till someone’s bronze

Brings it down and its fresh green foliage strikes earth. Even so

He fell, and about him rang his elaborate armor.

Then Teucer rushed eagerly forward to strip the man

Of his war-gear, but Hector met his advance with a cast

Of his glittering spear. But Teucer, looking straight at him,

Just managed to dodge the hurtling bronze, which embedded

Itself in the chest of charging Amphimachus, son

Of Actorian Cteatus. And Amphimachus crashed to the ground

With a clanging of brazen war-gear. Then Hector rushed out

To tear from the fallen Achaean his head-hugging helmet,

But Telamonian Ajax lunged with his spear

At the charging Hector, failing however to find

His flesh behind so much grim bronze. But he struck

The boss of his shield such a powerful blow that Hector

Reeled back from the corpses, and Achaeans bore both of

them off

The Athenian chieftains, Stichius and noble Menestheus,

Carried Amphimachus into the host of Achaeans,

While both Ajaxes, raging with furious fight,

Bore off the Trojan Imbrius. Just as two lions

Seize a goat from a pack of razor-fanged hounds

And carry it off through dense underbrush, holding it

High in their jaws, so now the two helmeted Ajaxes

Held Imbrius high and stripped off his bronze. Then Ajax,

Son of Oďleus, angry and grieved for Amphimachus,

Hacked the head from Imbrius’ tender neck

And sent it spinning away like a ball, to drop

In the dust at the feet of Hector.

The heart of Poseidon

Seethed with rage when his grandson Amphimachus fell

In the awesome encounter, and off he went by the shelters

And ships to stir up Achaeans and make still more trouble

For Trojans. And then he met spear-famous Idomeneus.

He had been with a comrade whose knee the keen bronze

Had recently wounded. His men had carried him in,

And Idomeneus, now that he had instructed the surgeons,

Was on his way to his lodge before going back

To the battle, for which he still was eager. Taking

The voice of Andraemon’s son Thoas, King of Aetolians

In Pleuron and sheer Calydon and honored by them

Like a god, lordly earth-shaking Poseidon spoke

To him thus:

“Idomeneus, counselor of Cretans, where now

Are the threats that sons of Achaeans used to hurl

At the Trojans?”

To which Idomeneus, leader of Cretans:

“So far as I know, 0 Thoas, no one of us

Is to blame. All of us here are experienced fighters,

And not a man of us shrinks from evil war

Because he is gripped by cowardly fear. I am forced

To believe that it must be the pleasure of Cronos’ son Zeus,

The high and the mighty, that we Achaeans should die here

Far from Argos, forever unsung and unknown.

But Thoas, you have consistently been a staunchly

Foe-fighting man and a splendid urger of others

Whenever you’ve seen men about to retreat. So do not

Give up now, but call your encouragement out

To every man you can.”

And Poseidon, shaker

Of shores, replied: “Idomeneus, never may he

Who willingly shrinks from this fight today return home

From Troy, but here may that man become the delight

Of ravenous dogs. But go, get your gear and come on.

Now we must hurry and do what we can together.

For there is a prowess in union even of weaklings,

And we two have what it takes to fight with the bravest.”

So saying, the great god rejoined the toiling men,

And Idomeneus went to his well-built lodge, put on

His exquisite armor, caught up a couple of spears,

And headed back for the field like a bolt of lightning

That Cronos’ son Zeus takes up in his hand and hurls

From gleaming Olympus, a far-seen bolt that dazzles

Across the sky as a fiery sign to mortals.

So flashed the bronze about the breast of Idomeneus

As he ran. But while he was still near his lodge,

He met his able comrade and squire Meriones

On his way to fetch a bronze-headed spear,3

And stalwart Idomeneus spoke to him, saying:

“Meriones,

Son of Molus, fast on your feet and the dearest

Of all my comrades, why do you come here now,

Leaving the fierce and fiery struggle? Can you

Be wounded, weak and in pain from the point of some arrow?

Or do you come after me with a message? No need,

Since I, at least, am already eagerto fight,

Not sit in my lodge!”

And Meriones, getting his drift:

“Idomeneus, counseling lord of bronze-armored Cretans,

I am on my way for a spear, if perhaps

You have one left in your lodge. Just now I shattered

The one I had on the shield of haughty Deďphobus.”

To which Idomeneus, King of the Cretans, replied:

“If spears are your wish, whether one or twenty, you’ll find them

Propped in my lodge against the bright entrance wall,

Spears I have taken from Trojans I’ve slain, since I

Do not care for fighting the foe at a distance. Hence

I have spears and bossed shields, helmets and flashing breastplates.”

Then gravely Meriones answered: “I too am supplied

With plenty of Trojan spoils, but they are all stored

In my lodge and black ship and none of them now are near.

For believe me, I too am not remiss in courage,

And when the battle-strife breaks out I always

Take my stand mid the very foremost men

In the hero-enhancing battle. Some other Achaean

Might very well be unaware of my prowess,

But surely, I think, you know me much better than that.”

And then Idomeneus, King of the Cretans, replied:

“What need is there for you to speak of these things?

I do indeed know how valiant a man you are,

As would be seen if now all the bravest of us

Were counted off by the ships for an ambush, wherein

A man’s valor is soonest discerned and the cowards set off

From the brave. For the coward’s face changes color, nor can

His spirit sustain him. He cannot keep still, but crouching

He nervously shifts his weight from foot to foot,

And his heart pounds hard as he broods on the imminent fates

Of death, and his teeth continue to chatter. But the brave man

Keeps his color, nor is he overly fearful

When once he has taken his place in the warriors’ ambush.

That man’s only prayer is quickly to clash

In the awesome flames of fight. Not, I say,

At the picking of such a party would any man scorn

Your courage or the might of your hands. And should you in toil

Of war be hit by arrow or spear, it would not

Be from behind, but as you were charging ahead

To dally a bit with the foremost you would receive

The bitter shaft in belly or breast. Come then,

Let us no longer loiter here nor talk

Any more like two little boys, or someone may lose

All patience with us. Go on to my lodge and get

A strong spear for yourself.”

He spoke, and Meriones, peer

Of the hurtling War-god, quickly took from the lodge

A bronze-pointed spear, and immensely eager for battle

Followed Idomeneus. As murdering Ares enters

A battle with Rout, his mighty and fearless son

Before whom even the bravest retreatthese two

Put on their armor and go out from Thrace to join

The Ephyri or the great-hearted Phlegyes, both of whose pleas

They never grant, but always give the glory

To one side or the othereven like that pair of gods

Did Meriones and Idomeneus, leaders of men, go forth

Into battle helmeted well in blazing bronze.

And now Meriones spoke to Idomeneus, saying:

“Son of Deucalion, where are you most inclined

To enter the battle? On the right of the host,

Straight up the center, or shall we go in on the left,

Where surely, I think, the long-haired Achaeans are failing

Most in the fight?”

And again Idomeneus, King

Of the Cretans, replied: “The ships in the center have others

To guard them, the two Aj axes and Teucer, the best

Of our bowmen and also good in hand-to-hand combat.

They will give Priam’s son Hector more than his fill

Of fighting, no matter how eager and mighty he is!

Hard indeed he will find it, rage as he will,

To master the spirit and dauntless strength of those men

And then set fire to the ships, unless great Zeus

Himself should hurl a blazing firebrand down

Among the swift vessels. For huge Telamonian Ajax

Will never yield to any mere mortal who eats

The grain of Demeter and can be quelled by cleaving

Bronze or a heavy rock. Not even before

Rank-smashing Achilles would Telamon’s son give way,

At least in hand-to-hand fighting, for no man can vie

With Achilles when it comes to swiftness of foot. But let us

Do as you have suggested and head for the host

On the left, that we may find out right away whether we

Shall win glory ourselves or give it now to another.”

He spoke, and Meriones, peer of the rapid War-god,

Led the way toward the left of the battle, where Idomeneus

Wanted to enter.

As soon as the Trojans sighted

Idomeneus, surging in like a flame, him

And his squire armored in ornate bronze, they shouted

One to another through the great melee and all charged

At him together, and now by the sterns of the ships

Loud strife and clashing arose. And as when gusts

Come many and fast on a day when shrill winds are blowing

And raising the thick dust on roads up into a swirling

Huge cloud, so now they clashed in one fierce throng,

Each man eager to use his sharp bronze on another.

And the man-wasting battle bristled with lengthy, flesh-rending

Spears, and eyes were blinded by the blazing of bronze

From gleaming helmets, new-burnished breastplates, and flashing,

Resplendent shields, as chaotically on the men came.

Hard-hearted indeed would that man have been who could

Have looked on that slaughter with joy instead of lament.

Thus two mighty sons of Cronos pitted their power

Against each other, creating horrible pain

For heroic mortals. Zeus wanted Hector and his side

To winjust enough to give glory to foot-swift Achilles,

For Zeus had no wish at all that the host of Achaeans

Should die there at Troy. He wanted only to glorify

Thetis along with her brave-hearted son. But Poseidon

Stole furtively forth from the gray salt-sea, and going

Among the Argives urged them on, for he

Was deeply indignant at Zeus and filled with resentment

Because he was helping the Trojans conquer the Argives.

Both gods came of one stock and lineage, though Zeus

Was the elder and richer in wisdom. Hence Poseidon

Would openly not aid the Argives, but furtively went

Through the host in the form of a man, seeking thus to arouse them.

Then each god took an end of strong strife’s rope

In that all-leveling and evil war, and between

Both armies they tugged on the taut, unbreakable bond

Till the knees of many a warrior loosened in death.

Now Idomeneus, although his hair was graying,

Called to the Danaan troops, and charging right into

The horde of Trojans he turned their advance to retreat.

For he killed one of their proudest allies, Othryoneus

Of Cabesus, a relative stranger in Troy,

Who had but recently followed the rumor of war

And come. This man had asked in marriage the loveliest

Daughter of Priam, Cassandra herself But instead

Of rich gifts of wooing, he had promised to do a great deed

To drive the stubborn sons of Achaeans away

From the land of Troy. And the ancient Priam promised

To give him the girl, confirming his word with a nod

Of his head. Then trusting in this, Othryoneus fought

For the Trojans. But now Idomeneus aimed his bright spear

At him and caught him full in the belly as he

Came swaggering on, uselessly clad in a breastplate

Of bronze. He thudded to earth, and thus Idomeneus

Vauntingly mocked him:

“Othryoneus, my most hearty

Congratulations on your engagement to marry

Dardanian Priam’s daughterthat is if you really

Deliver all that you promised the man. We too,

You know, would promise as much as he did and keep

Our word exactly. We would, in fact, be delighted

To give you the loveliest daughter of King Agamemnon,

Bringing her here from Argos for you to make her

Your wifeif only you’d join up with us and sack

The populous city of Troy. But say, come now

With us to the seagoing ships that we may make terms

And arrange for the wedding. You’ll find us no churls when it comes

To the price for a bride.”

So taunting his victim, warlike

Idomeneus started to drag him off by the foot

Through the terrible struggle, but Asius came to help

His comrade Othryoneus. He came on foot in front of

His chariot, which his driver kept so close behind him

That always the horses’ breath was hot on his shoulders.

Asius came very eager to cut down Idomeneus,

Who, however, was too quick for him and hurled

His spear in at the throat just under the chin and drove

The bronze clean through, so that Asius fell as an oak

Or poplar or lofty pine falls when men in the mountains

Cut them down with keen axes to furnish timber

For ships. So now, in front of his horses and car,

The groaning Asius lay stretched out, clutching

At the bloody dust. And his driver, stricken with panic,

Lost his wits completely, nor did he dare

To turn back the horses and so escape the hands

Of the Argives. Then battle-staunch Antilochus, son

Of magnanimous Nestor, aimed at him with his spear

And hurled it hard through his middle, missing the useless

Breastplate of bronze and fixing it full in his belly.

Gasping he fell from the sturdy car, and Antilochus

Drove the horses away from the Trojans and into

The hands of well-greaved Achaeans.

Then Deďphobus,

Bitterly grieving for Asius dead, came up

Very close to Idomeneus and hurled his glittering spear.

But Idomeneus, looking straight at him, avoided the hurtling

Bronze, for he hid himself behind his round shield,

His buckler well wrought with bull’s-hide and flashing bronze

And fitted with two arm-rods. Behind it he crouched

While the spear flew over, stridently grazing the rim.

But not in vain did Deďphobus let the lance fly

From his powerful hand, for he struck Hippasus’ son,

The people’s shepherd Hypsenor, in the liver

Under the midriff, and immediately unstrung his knees.

And Deďphobus fiercely exulted, loudly boasting:

“Not unavenged, I think, good Asius lies.

Now he’ll be glad on his way to the house of Hades,

The strongest gate-guarder of all, for I have provided

A traveling companion for him!”

Such was his vaunt,

Which grieved the Argives and most of all aroused

The spirit of flame-hearted Antilochus. And he, in spite of

His sorrow, did not neglect his dear friend, but ran

And stood over him, using his shield as a cover.

Then two loyal comrades, Echius’ son Mecisteus

And noble Alastor, lifted Hypsenor and carried him,

Heavily groaning, back to the hollow ships.

But Idomeneus mightily raged with no pause at all,

Constantly eager to shroud some Trojan in blackness

Of night, or to go down himself in keeping off death

From the men of Achaea. The next man he killed was strong

Aesyetes’ god-nurtured son, heroic Alcathous.

He was a son-in-law of Anchises, married

To that lord’s eldest daughter, Hippodameia,

Whose father and lady mother at home in their hall

Had doted on her their darling, for she surpassed

All other girls her age in beauty, skill,

And good sense, and so the best man in the wide realm of Troy

Had made her his wifethe man whom lordly Poseidon

Now destroyed beneath the spear of Idomeneus.

For the god bewitched his bright eyes and so paralyzed

His powerful legs that Alcathous found it impossible

Either to run to the rear or dodge to one side.

But he was standing still as a pillar or high

Leafy tree when the raging Idomeneus thrust his spear

Deep into his chest, cleaving his coat of bronze

That had till then kept death away from his body,

But which now gave a dull clang as through it the spear cut.

And Alcathous thudded to earth with the spear fixed

In his heart, that beating yet caused the butt-end to quiver

Till finally hulking Ares stilled its fury.

And Idomeneus fiercely exulted, loudly boasting:

“I say, Deiphobus, you that saw fit to brag so,

Shall we now call it quitsthree dead men

For oneor would you, mad sir, care to come on

And face me alone, that you may discover what manner

Of Zeus-sprung King has come here? For our line is

From Zeus, who first begot Minos to be the ruler

Of Crete, and Minos begot the flawless Deucalion,

Who then begot me, the King of many men

In broad Crete. And now my ships have brought me here

As a curse to you and your father King Priam, and to all

Of the other Trojans.”

Now Deďphobus could not decide

What to do, whether to go back and get some comrade

Of his, some great-souled Trojan to help him, or whether

To try it alone. But pondering gave him the answer

Namely, to go for Aeneas. Him he found standing

In back of the battle, for Aeneas was always angry

At royal Priam4 because he paid him no honor

Among the people, great man though he certainly was.

Now Deďphobus came up close and his words came winged

With telling entreaty:

“Aeneas, counselor of Trojans,

Now there is great need of you to help in the fight

For your brother-in-law Alcathous. If you care

At all for your sister’s husband, come with me now

To rescue his corpse. He, after all, was the one

Who brought you up at home from the time you were little,

And he, I say, has fallen to spear-famed Idomeneus!”

These words stirred the heart in the breast of Aeneas, ,

Who hungry for battle went at once for Idomeneus.

He, however, did not flee in his fear

Like some pampered boy, but stood his ground like a boar

Hard-pressed in the mountains, one that trusts in his strength

And awaits the clamoring throng that comes against him

At bay in a lonely place. He bristles his back

Up high and fire flames from his eyes as he whets

His tushes and impatiently waits for his chance at the dogs

And men. So now Idomeneus stood and faced

Cry-answering Aeneas, but he did bellow back to his comrades

For help, looking to Ascalaphus, Aphareus, and Deďpyrus,

As well as Meriones and Antilochus, masters of war-cry.

To these he spoke winged words, urging them thus:

“Come here, my friends, and help one standing alone,

For deeply I fear the swiftly-charging Aeneas,

Now coming at me. Great is his power to kill men

In battle, and his is the flower of youth, when the might

Of a man is strongest. Were we of equal age

And in our present mood, then the outcome would be

More uncertain, and either of us might win a great victory.”

He spoke, and they with one accord closed in

And stood by Idomeneus, close together and sloping

Their shields to their shoulders. And Aeneas on his side called

To his comrades, looking for help to Deďphobus, Paris,

And noble Agenor, who like him were leaders

Of Trojans. And after them came the troops, as sheep

Follow after the ram from pasture to where they drink,

And their shepherd rejoices to see them. Even so, the heart

Of Aeneas was glad when he saw the host behind him.

Then over Alcathous’ corpse they clashed with long spears,

And the bronze on their breasts rang grimly as through the crowd

They aimed at each other. And more than all the rest

Two fiercely battling peers of the War-god, Aeneas

And Idomeneus, lusted to cleave each other’s flesh

With the ruthless bronze. Aeneas made the first cast,

But Idomeneus, looking straight at him, avoided the spear,

The hurtling bronze of Aeneas that vainly flew

From his powerful hand and quivering stuck in the ground.

Then Idomeneus threw and pierced the gut of Oenomaus,

Cutting a gash in his armor, through which his entrails

Oozed. He fell in the dust and clawed the ground.

And Idomeneus wrenched his long-shadowing spear from the corpse,

But so belabored was he by missiles he could not

Remain to strip from his victim’s shoulders the exquisite

Armor. For he was no longer fast in a charge,

Neither able quickly to follow a cast of his own

Nor nimbly avoid another’s. And since his speed

Was no longer such as to take him safely from battle,

He mixed in hand-to-hand fighting and kept off death

At close quarters. Now, as step by step he withdrew,

Deiphobus hurled his bright spear at him, for always,

Remembering his taunts, he hated Idomeneus. Again,

However, he missed, but sent his huge shaft through the shoulder

Of Ares’ son Ascalaphus, bringing him down

In the dust, where dying he clutched at the ground. But as yet

Huge-hulking, bellowing Ares was not aware

That his son had gone down in the mighty struggle. For he sat

On the highest peak of Olympus beneath golden clouds,

Where he along with the other immortal gods

Was kept from the war by the will of almighty Zeus.

Now over Ascalaphus fighting men rushed together,

And Deďphobus tore the bright helmet off the still head.

But Meriones, peer of swift Ares, sprang at Deďphobus,

Stabbing the Trojan’s upper arm with his spear,

And the plumed bronze fell from his hand and clanged on the

ground.

Then again Meriones sprang, swooping in like a vulture,

Jerked the huge spear from the arm of Deďphobus, and quickly

Shrank back mid a crowd of comrades. And Polites took

His brother Deiphobus round the waist with both arms

And got him out of the horrible conflict, back

To where his fast horses stood waiting for him with their driver

And ornate car. These bore him off to the city,

Faint with pain and heavily groaning, and the dark blood

Dripped from his new-wounded arm.

But the others fought on

With loud, unquenchable cries. Then Aeneas, leaping

At Aphareus, son of Caletor, plunged his sharp spear

Deep into his throat, and the man’s head fell to one side

As he crumpled up beneath his helmet and shield,

And heartbreaking death engulfed him. And Nestor’s son

Antilochus, watching his chance sprang out at Thoon

Just as he turned and slashed his back with a spear,

Completely cutting the vein that runs up the back

To the neck. This he severed, and Thoön fell

On his back in the dust, stretching up both of his hands

To his dear friends. But Antilochus leaped upon him

And started to strip his shoulders of armor, cautiously

Looking from side to side. For he was soon

Surrounded by Trojans fiercely thrusting their spears

At his all-glinting shield. They failed, however, to pierce

The huge piece, nor did they so much as scratch his flesh

With the ruthless bronze they wielded. For Poseidon, shaker

Of shores, completely protected the son of King Nestor,

Even though he was belabored with many keen missiles.

Nor did Antilochus try to flee from the foe,

But ranged among them constantly wielding his spear

And eager to cast at some Trojan, or to charge in close

And clash hand to hand. But as he drew back to throw

Through the melee, Adamas, son of Asius, seeing

Him so, charged in from nearby and plunged his sharp bronze

At Antilochus’ shield. Poseidon, however, god

With the blue-black hair, destroyed the force of the spear-point,

Begrudging that bronze the life of Nestor’s brave son.

Half of the shaft stuck there in the shield like a fire-hardened

Stake, while the rest of it lay on the ground. And Adamas,

Shunning destruction, shrank back mid a crowd of comrades.

But Meriones came at him hotly and hurled his spear in

Between his privates and navel, where Ares is cruelest

To suffering mortals. Deeply he planted it there,

And Adamas leaned toward the shaft, writhing about it

Like a stubborn bull that herdsmen rope in the hills

And drag away resisting. So Adamas twisted

And writhed for a while, but not very longjust

Till the warring Meriones came and wrenched the spear

From his gut. Then darkness enveloped his eyes.

And Helenus,

Son of Priam, swinging a huge Thracian sword,

Came down on Deďpyrus’ temple, splitting his helmet

And ripping it off to the ground, where it rolled mid the feet

Of the fighters till some Achaean retrieved it. And the pit-black

Darkness of death came down on Deďpyrus, quickly

Eclipsing his eyes.

Then Atreus’ son Menelaus

Was gripped with grief for his fellow Achaean, so he,

The great battle-roarer, boldly stalked out, threatening

Heroic Prince Helenus, Atrides drawing his spear back

Even as Helenus bent the horns of his bow.

Thus both at one instant let fly, the one with an arrow

Swift from the bowstring, the other with keen-pointed spear.

And the son of Priam landed his shaft on the breast

Of King Menelaus, but the painful point glanced off

The bronze of his breastplate. As the black-skinned beans or chickpeas

Along a large threshing floor leap from the flat

Wide winnowing-fan, tossed up by a rapidly shoveling

Winnower before a gusty shrill wind, so now

The keen arrow glanced from the bronze of famed Menelaus

And sped on its way But he, the great battle-roarer,

Threw and struck Prince Helenus full on the hand

Wherein he was holding his polished weapon, and the bronze point

Tore through his flesh and into the bow. Then Helenus,

Shunning destruction, shrank back mid a crowd of comrades,

Dangling his hand and dragging the ashen shaft.

And great-souled Agenor drew the spear from his hand

And wrapped the wound with a strip of twisted sheep’s wool,

Making a sling of the fine-woven stuff, which the squire

Of the people’s shepherd Agenor carried for him.

Now Peisander charged straight at illustrious King Menelaus,

But an evil fate was leading him on to his death

His death at your hands, Menelaus, there in the awesome

Heat of battle. But as they came close to each other,

Atreus’ son Menelaus missed, his spear

Turning off to one side. Peisander, however, struck

With his bronze on the other’s wide shield, which stopped the point

From piercing clean through, and the shaft broke off at the socket.

Even so, Peisander rejoiced and still had high hopes

Of winning. But Atreus’ son whipped out his sword

With the studs of silver and sprang at Peisander, who brought

From behind his shield a splendid bronze battle-ax

Set on a lengthy handle of well-polished olive.

At once they came at each other. And Peisander hacked

Menelaus on the horn of his helmet, a little below

The horsehair plume, but Atrides caught his opponent

Squarely between the eyes, crunching the bones in

Loudly and dropping both bloody eyes in the dust

At his feet. Doubling up, Peisander fell, and Menelaus

Planted a foot on his chest and stripped him of armor,

Exultantly saying:

“Surely in just this condition

Will all you insufferable Trojans leave the ships

Of the swiftly-drawn Danaans, you that are always so hungry

For the horrible screams of battle. Nor have you any

Shortage at all of other most shameful disgraces

Such, for instance, as that you heaped on me,

You men like so many filthy bitches! you

That had no fear in your hearts of the harsh wrath of Zeus,

Hospitality’s high-thundering god, who some day will sack

Completely your steep citadel. For you abducted

My wife, who had I am sure welcomed you warmly,

And taking much treasure to boot you wantonly sailed

Away. And now you would like nothing better than throwing

Your terrible fire on the seagoing ships of heroic

Achaeans, whom surely you’d like to destroy one and all.

But you will be stopped, believe me, no matter how spoiling

For blood you may be0 Father Zeus, they say

You vastly surpass all men and gods in wisdom,

Yet from you all of these horrors come!

Even now you are favoring proud and evil men,

Trojans who always presume and whose spirit is blindly

Wanton and wicked, nor do they ever get half

Enough of evil, all-leveling war. Men get

Their fill of all things, of sleep and love, sweet song

And flawless dancing, and most men like these things

Much better than war. Only Trojans are always

Thirsty for blood!”

So saying, Menelaus the blameless

Stripped the corpse of its bloody armor and gave it

To comrades of his, and he himself went back

And mixed with the front-line champions. At once Harpalion,

King Pylaemenes’ son, charged down upon him,

He who followed his dear sire to Troy to fight

In the war but never returned to the land of his fathers.

Closing in quickly, he plunged his spear at the center

Of King Menelaus’s shield, but did not succeed

In driving the bronze clean through. Back he shrank

Mid a crowd of comrades, shunning destruction and nervously

Glancing about him, lest someone should get to his flesh

With the bronze. But as Harpalion headed for cover,

Meriones shot at him a bronze-pointed arrow

And struck him on the right buttock. The point passed under

The bone and into his bladder, and Harpalion sank

In the arms of his friends, where soon he breathed forth his life

And lay stretched out in the dust like a worm, while his blood

Ran darkly forth, soaking the ground. The brave

Paphlagonians did all they could. Then putting him

In a chariot, some of them took him to sacred Ilium,

Grieving, and among them went his weeping father.

Nor for his dead son was any blood-price ever paid.am

But the death of this man infuriated Prince Paris,

For Harpalion had once been his host among the numerous

Paphlagonians. Hence, in anger for him,

He shot a bronze-headed shaft. Now there from his home

In Corinth was a son of the seer Polyidus, a certain

Euchenor, both wealthy and good. This man had boarded

His ship with very full knowledge of his deadly fate,

For often his noble old sire Polyidus had told him

That he must either die of a horrible illness

At home, or among the ships of Achaea be killed

By the Trojans. Therefore, he went to the war, avoiding

The onerous fine he would else have had to pay

And also escaping the pain of hateful disease.

Now Paris struck him just under the jawbone and ear,

And at once the spirit took leave of his limbs, and he

Was seized by abhorrent darkness.

So here the fight raged

Like blazing fire. But Zeus-loved Hector had not

Been informed and had no idea that there on the left

Of the ships the Argives were rapidly killing his men.

The Argives, in fact, very nearly won a great victory,

So huge was the might of Poseidon, embracer and shaker

Of earth, who kept inspiring the Argives and adding

His strength to theirs. Hector, then, still fought

At the point where first he had crashed in the gate and sprung

Within the wide wall, smashing the close-drawn ranks

Of shield-bearing Danaans, there where the ships of Ajax

And Protesilaus were hauled up high on the beach

Of the briny gray sea. At this point the wall was lower

Than anywhere else, and here the melee of men

And Danaan horses was most chaotic of all.

And the warriors here, the Boeotians and long-robed Ionians,

The Locrians, Phthians, and splendid Epeans, had all

They could do to stem noble Hector’s attack on the ships,

Nor were they able to thrust him back from themselves,

As onward the great Prince came like flaming fire.

Here too were picked Athenians led by their chieftain

Peteos’ son Menestheus, followed by Pheidas,

Stichius, and able Bias. The Epeans were headed

By Phyleus’ son Meges, Amphion, and Dracius, while the

Phthians

Fought behind Medon and unretreating Podarces.

This Medon was King Oďleus’ bastard and thereby

A brother of Ajax, but since he had killed a kinsman

Of his stepmother Eriopis, wife of Oďleus,

He lived far from home in Phylace. And Podarces, the other

Brave leader, was Iphiclus’ son and the grandson of Phylacus.

These two in full armor fought in front of the spirited

Phthians, who with the Boeotians fought in defense

Of the ships. But the lawful son of Oileus, Ajax

The swift, would not for an instant leave the side

Of Ajax, son of Telamon. Quite like a pair

Of wine-red oxen that strain with equal heart

To draw the strong plow through fallow earth, as the sweat

Streams up from about the base of their horns and they

Toil on down the furrow, held no further apart

Than the polished yoke holds them, till they have cut through to

the edge

Of the field, so now the two Ajaxes stood and fought

By each other’s side. Behind Telamonian Ajax

Came many a brave band of comrades, who always took

His shield whenever his sweat-drenched limbs grew weary.

But after the great-hearted son of Oďleus came none

Of his Locrian troops, for none of them relished close combat,

Since they had no bronze-plated helmets, plumed thickly with

horsehair,

Nor any round shields or ashen spears, but trusting

In bows and slings of well-twisted sheep’s wool, they followed

Oďleus’ son to Ilium. Rapidly shooting

With these, they broke the Trojan battalions. So those

Up front, clad in their richly wrought armor, fought

With the Trojans and brazen-helmeted Hector, while these,

The Locrian bowmen, shot from behind unnoticed,

But with their arrows they took all fight from the Trojans

And threw them into confusion.

The Trojans then

Would miserably have retreated, leaving the ships

And making for windy Troy, had Polydamas not

Again come up to brave Hector, and said: “Hector,

Surely you find it hard to accept the advice

Of another. Because God gave you preeminent prowess

In war, you want to believe that you’re also supreme

In wisdom and counsel, but you cannot possibly take

All things on yourself. For to one man God gives prowess

In war, to another in dancing, or playing the lyre

And singing. And in another man far-seeing Zeus

Puts an excellent mind, much to the profit of many,

Whom his quick thinking frequently saves from ruin,

As surely he knows better than anyone else.

Hence I will speak and say what seems to me best.

Around you burns a ring of blazing war,

But the spirited Trojans who got past the wall are some

Of them standing apart though fully armed, while others

Are scattered among the ships where always outnumbered

They’re fighting. But come, fall back and call in all

Our best men. Then we can think of all possible plans

And together decide what to do, whether to fall

On the many-oared ships, if God should will that we win,

Or else to withdraw from the ships without further harm

To ourselves. Frankly I fear the Achaeans may yet

Pay us back for what we did to them yesterday, for they

Have one at the ships who never gets battle enough,

And who, I think, will not much longer keep

So completely out of the fighting.”

Polydamas spoke,

And Hector, pleased with such counsel, leaped down and replied

In these winged words: “Polydamas, keep here with you

All our best men, while I go yonder and face

The fighting. I’ll come back as soon as I’ve given my orders.“5

So saying, he left, his bronze as glittering bright

As a snowy mountain, and shouting instructions he ran

Through the army of Trojans and Trojan allies. And they

All made for the genial Polydamas, Panthous’ son,

When they heard the orders of Hector. But he sped on

Through the foremost champions, seeking Deďphobus and mighty

Prince Helenus, and Adamas, son of Asius, and Asius,

Son of Hyrtacus, hoping that he might find them.

But he found none of them both alive and unwounded,

For two were stretched out by the sterns of Achaean ships,

Felled by Argive hands, and the others were back

In the city, wounded by spears at close range and long.

One, though, he soon discovered there on the left

Of the tearful struggle, Prince Paris, the lord of lovely

Blonde Helen, cheering his comrades and urging them on

In the fight. Coming up to him, Hector spoke these harsh words:

“Foul Paris! most handsome, girl-crazy seducer, where,

If you will, are Deďphobus and mighty Prince Helenus, and

Adamas,

Son of Asius, and Asius, son of Hyrtacus?

And where, I say, is Othryoneus? Now steep Troy

Is utterly lost, and now total ruin is utterly

Certain for you! “

Then the handsome Paris replied:

“Hector, now you are blaming an innocent man.

At some other time I may have left a battle,

But not today. My mother bore even me

Not wholly a coward. For ever since you sent

Your men into battle against the ships, we

Have held our ground here and ceaselessly dallied our bit

With the Danaan forces. Our friends, of whom you inquire,

Are dead, except Deďphobus and mighty Prince Helenus,

And both of them have withdrawn with arm-wounds received

From long spears. Cronos’ son Zeus kept death from those two.

But on! Lead us wherever your heart and soul

Say go, and we will eagerly come on behind you,

Nor shall we, I think, be any way lacking in valor

So long as our strength holds out. Once that is gone,

No man can fight, no matter how eager he is.”

So saying, Prince Paris persuaded the mind of his brother,

And they made straight for the place where the din of battle

Was greatest, about Cebriones and peerless Polydamas,

And Phalces, Orthaeus, godlike Polyphetes, and Palmys,

And Hippotion’s sons Ascanius and Morys, who had come

The morning before from fertile Ascania, sent

As relief for their fellows, and now Zeus impelled them to fight.

And on they came with the force of perilous winds

That rush down hard on the sea before the thunder

Of Father Zeus and stir up the brine with incredible

Roaring, raising up numerous foaming waves

In the swell of the surging and loud-crashing sea, high-curled

And white, billow on billow one after the other.

So the Trojans, massed in formation, rank

Upon rank and blazing with bronze, followed their chieftains.

Priam’s son Hector led all the rest, he

The equal of man-ruining Ares. Before him he held

His round shield, thick with hides and heavy bronze plate

Hammered on it, and about his temples his bronze helmet swayed.

Striding out here and there, he tried the Achaeans’ battalions,

Seeing if anywhere one of them would give way

Before his shield-covered charge. But he was unable

To quell the Achaean spirit, and Ajax, coming

Ahead with long strides, was first to challenge him, saying:

“Madman! come closer. Why are you trying so vainly

To frighten the Argives? Believe me, we are not at all

Unskillful in battle, and only by Zeus’s rough scourge

Have we been so whipped. You, I suppose, would still like

To plunder our ships, but know that we too have hands

That are quick to defend what is ours. In fact, we have

A much better chance to take and plunder your populous

City And as for yourself, I say the day nears

When you in full flight shall pray to Father Zeus

And the other immortals to make your mane-tossing horses

Faster than falcons, as on toward the city they bear you

Beating up dust from the plain.”

As he spoke, a bird

Flew by on the right, a high-flying eagle, whereat

The Achaeans cried out, made brave by the ominous bird-sign.

But shining Hector replied: “Ajax, you word-bunghng,

Bellowing fool! what now have you said! I only

Wish that I all my life were as surely the son

Of aegis-great Zeus and queenly Hera and so

Were honored as Athena and Apollo are, as surely

Today holds evil for everyone of the Argives!

And with them you too will be killed, if you have the courage

To stand and await my long spear, which soon shall bite deep

Through your lily-white skin. And you with your fat and your flesh

Shall glut the dogs and carrion birds of Troy

When you have gone down among the ships of Achaea!“an

He spoke, and led the charge, and after him came

His men with an unbelievable roar, which the host

Behind them took up. And the Argives opposite them

Replied with their screams of battle, nor did they forget

Their courage and war-skill, but stood and awaited the charge

Of the bravest Trojans. And the two armies’ cries went up

Through the air to the ray-bright, splendid aether of Zeus.ao

BOOK XIV

The Tricking of Zeus

The cries of battle were not unheard by Nestor,

Though at his wine,1 and his words to Asclepius’ son

Came winged with concern: “Think, my noble Machaon,

What we had best do. By the ships the cries of lusty

Young fighters grow constantly louder. But you, now, sit

Where you are and drink the bright wine, until Hecamede,

She of the beautiful braids, heats a warm bath

For you and washes the clotted blood from your wound.

I will go out at once to where I can see

How the fighting progresses.”

So saying, he took the thick shield

Of his horse-breaking son Thrasymedes. All gleaming with bronze,

It lay in the lodge, for the son had taken the shield

Of his father. And now, picking up a strong spear, sharp-pointed

With bronze, the old one stepped out of the lodge and immediately

Saw a disgraceful sight, the great wall breached

And the Argives in chaotic flight before the high-hearted

Trojans. And as the huge sea stirs darkly, heaving

With silent swell foretelling the onset of swift

Shrill winds, while the waves roll on in no certain direction

Till some steady gale from Zeus comes down and determines

Their course, even so the old King pondered, his mind

Divided two ways, whether he should charge into the mass

Of swiftly-drawn Danaans, or go for Atreus’ son

Agamemnon, high King of the host. And as he pondered,

One way seemed better, to go for the son of Atreus.

Meanwhile, the others were fighting and killing each other,

And loudly the stubborn bronze rang about their bodies

As they smote each other with swords and two-pointed spears.

But Nestor now was met by the god-fostered kings

As they made their way up through the ships, those whom the bronze

Had woundedTydeus’ son Diomedes, Odysseus,

And Atreus’ son Agamemnon. Far from the fighting

Their ships were drawn up on the beach in the very first row

Beside the gray sea, and the wall had been built beyond those

Drawn furthest up on the plain. For the beach, though wide,

Could not begin to hold all the vessels, and the warriors,

Cramped for space, had drawn the ships up in rows

That covered the whole wide shore between the two headlands.

The kings, therefore, together and using their spears

For support, were headed inland to get a good view

Of the screaming struggle, and their mood was one of depression.

But when they saw old Nestor, their spirits sank lower

Still, and lord Agamemnon spoke to him thus:

“O Neleus’ son Nestor, great glory of all the Achaeans,

Why have you left the man-wasting war and come here?

I fear huge Hector may yet live up to his word,

The threats he laid upon us when once he spoke

Among the Trojans, saying that he would never

Return from the ships to Ilium till he had sent them

All up in flames and slaughtered us as well.

Such were his words, and now they are coming true.

O shame! for surely the other well-greaved Achaeans

Have filled their hearts with resentment against me, just

As Achilles did, and now they are all refusing

To fight by the drawn-up ships.”

And Gerenian Nestor:

“Yes truly, these things have now come to pass, and now

Disaster is on us, nor could great Zeus himself,

He who thunders on high, make anything else

Occur. For the wide wall is down, the unbreachable bulwark

We trusted as sure protection for both the ships

And ourselves, and now amid the swift ships the battle

Goes ceaselessly on, nor can you tell, no matter

How hard you look, from which side the Achaeans are being

Driven in rout, so completely confused is the slaughter

As up to the sky the battle-roar rises. But come,

Let us consider what we had best doif thinking

Can help at all now. But this much is certain, that none

Of you here should enter the battle, since no wounded man

Is any good in a fight.”

Then again Agamemnon,

King of men, replied: “Nestor, since they

Are fighting now beside the sterns of the ships,

And the well-made wall and trench have failed, on which

The Danaans labored so hard in the hope they would be

An impassable bulwark protecting the ships and ourselves,

I’m forced to believe that it must be the pleasure of Zeus,

The high and the mighty, that we Achaeans should die here

Far from Argos, forever unsung and unknown.

This I felt when he was helping the Danaans

Heartily, and now I know it is so, for he

Is glorifying our foes like blissful gods

And binding the strength of our mighty hands completely.

But come, let everyone do as I order. Take

All the ships drawn up in the first row hard by the sea

And drag them well out on the sparkling brine and moor them

With anchor-stones until divine night shall arrive

If indeed the Trojans will cease their attack for her sake

And then we may drag down all the rest of the ships.

For surely one cannot be blamed for shunning sheer ruin,

Though it be by night. Far better to flee and escape

Than stay and be taken.“2

Then, with a scowl of disgust,

Resourceful Odysseus replied: “O son of Atreus,

What words are these that pass the guard of your teeth!

Accursed and ruinous man that you are, would you

Were heading some army of miserable cowards and not

The commander of us, to whom great Zeus has given

The task, from youth to old age, to fight and wind up

Each horrible war till each of us withers away

Can it be that you’re really so eager to leave untaken

The wide streets of Troy, for which we have suffered so much?

Be silent, then, lest another Achaean should hear

These words that no man possessed by his senses should ever

Give voice to, much less a sceptered King, the ruler

Of many, these Argive hosts who look to you

For their orders. But obviously you have no sense at all

To have given this order in the midst of a screaming battle,

To have us drag down to the sea our well-decked ships,

And so give the Trojans, who even now are the victors,

An even more wonderful chance of wiping us out

Completely! For once the ships are drawn down to the sea,

The Achaeans will surely no longer hold out in the battle,

But constantly looking behind them, they’ll soon have no heart

For fighting. Then, O leader of hosts, your plan

Will destroy us all!”

And again the commander-in-chief

Agamemnon replied: “Odysseus, truly your words

Of harsh reproach hurt me deeply, but I am not bidding

The sons of Achaeans to drag their ships down to the sea

Against their will. So now I would like to hear

From young or oldsome better counsel than mine.

Right now such counsel would be more than welcome to me.”

Among them then spoke battle-roaring Diomedes,

Saying: “That man is nearby, nor will you have to

Look for him long, provided you all are willing

To listen and not be resentful and angry toward me

Because I’m the youngest man here. I too declare

That I am the son of a noble, valiant father,

Tydeus, whom now in Thebes the heaped earth covers.

For Portheus sired three marvelous sonsAgrius,

Melas, and thirdly my own father’s father, Oeneus

The horseman, who lived, as did the others, in Pleuron

And steep Calydon and outdid them all in prowess.

He stayed on there, but my father his son went wandering

And settled in Argos, for such, I believe, was the will

Of Zeus and the other immortals. And there he married

A daughter of King Adrastus and lived as a wealthy

Man, in a splendid house with more than enough

Rich wheat fields, many fine orchards of fruit trees, and plenty

Of sheep and cattle. And with his spear my father

Excelled all other Achaeans. But surely you must have

Heard all these things, and so you know I speak truly.

Hence you cannot despise any worth-while counsel

Of mine on grounds that I am the son of a coward

And weakling. So come, let us go as we must to the battle,

Wounded men though we are. There we can hold

Ourselves back from the fiery fighting and out of range

Of the missiles, and that way receive no second wound,

But there we can urge on the others and send into battle

Those who indulge their spiteful spirits and stand

Apart from the melee.”

He spoke, and they listened closely,

Then obeyed him, setting out with the king

Of men Agamemnon leading the way.

Now Poseidon,

The famous shaker of shores, had not missed any

Of this, and taking the form of an aged man

He went along with the chiefs, gripped the right hand

Of Atreus’ son Agamemnon, and spoke winged words:

“Atrides, surely now the ruthless heart

Of Achilles rejoices within him as he looks out

On the slaughter and rout of Achaeans, utterly stupid

Fool that he is. But may God yet cast him down,

And may he die in his folly! With you, though, 0 King,

The happy gods are not altogether angry

Even yet you shall see the wide plain dim with dust

As the captains and counselors of the Trojans beat

A retreat to the city from these your shelters and ships.”

So saying, Poseidon, speeding off over the plain,

Gave out a great shout as loud as the cries of nine

Or ten thousand men embroiled in the War-god’s chaos

Of battle. Even such was the shout that the lordly Earthshaker

Gave out from his breast, inspiring the heart of every

Achaean with truly great power to fight and wage war

Without ceasing.

Now Hera, she of the golden throne,

From high on a peak of Olympus saw how Poseidon

Busied himself in the man-enhancing battle,

And joyfully knew him at once for her and her husband’s

Own brother. But also she saw Zeus, where he sat

On the highest peak of well-watered Ida, and hatred

Welled up in her heart. And then she considered, the heifer-eyed

Queenly Hera, how she might best trick the wits

Of aegis-great Zeus.3 And this is the plan she preferred

To make herself sweetly seductive and go to Mount Ida,

Tempting him thus to lie with her and make love,

That she might steep his lids and cunning mind

In soothing and subtle sleep. So off she went

To the bedroom her dear son Hephaestus had fashioned for her,

Hanging thick doors from the door-posts and fitting them well

With a secret lock that no other god could open.

Having entered and closed the bright doors, she began by taking

Ambrosia and cleansing her exquisite body, then rubbed herself

Richly with oil, ambrosial, soft, and fragrant,

Which when it is used in Zeus’s brazen-floored palace

Sweetens both heaven and earth with its fragrance. With this

She rubbed her desirable body, then combed her hair

And plaited bright beautiful braids, ambrosial, which she

Let fall from her fair immortal head. Next

She put on a gown perfumed with ambrosia, one made

And richly embroidered for her by Athena herself.

This she pinned about her breasts with beautiful

Brooches of gold, and fastened around her waist

A belt, from which a hundred tassels fluttered,

And in her pierced lobes she put a fine pair of earrings,

Glowing and graceful three-drop clusters. And high

On her head she fixed a veil, as shimmering white

As sunlight, and on her shining feet bound beautiful

Sandals. Now when she had thus prepared her body

With all this enchantment, she left the bedroom and called

Aphrodite, getting her well apart from the other

Immortals, and saying:

“Will you now listen to me,

Dear child, and do me a favor? Or will you refuse

What I ask because, while you help the Trojans, I help

The Danaans, for which your heart is resentful, I know?”

To which Aphrodite, daughter of Zeus: “Hera,

Honored goddess and daughter of mighty Cronos,

Say what you have in mind, and if it can

Be done and done by me then my heart says do it.”

And slyly Queen Hera replied: “Give to me now, then,

Love and desire,4 the powers with which you subdue

All immortal gods as well as all death-destined men.

For I am on my way to the very ends

Of the all-feeding earth to visit Oceanus, source

Of all the immortals, and Tethys our mother, both of whom

Nurtured and cherished me at home in their halls,

Having taken me from Rheaap when all-seeing Zeus

Thrust Cronos down beneath earth and the unresting sea.

I am going to visit them both and put an end

To their incessant quarreling, for truly now

It has been a long time since they went to bed and made love,

Since each avoids the other and both hearts seethe

With bitter resentment. If I with words could change

The way those two feel and get them to go back to bed

And make love with each other, they would surely adore me

And honor me highly forever.”

Again Aphrodite,

Adorer of smiles, replied: “I cannot, of course,

Refuse you, nor would it be right for me to, since you

Sleep close in the arms of Zeus, our greatest and best.”

So saying, she loosed from about her breasts an artfully

Handworked sash whereon were depicted all sorts

Of erotic allurementslove and desire and words

So seductively sweet they would turn the head of anyone,

Even the wise. Laying this in her hands, she said:

“Take now this sash and tuck it deep in your bosom.

Richly embroidered upon it is all lovers need,

And with it, believe me, you won’t come back unsuccessful,

No matter what your heart may desire.”

So spoke

Aphrodite, and heifer-eyed queenly Hera smiled,

And smiling she tucked the sash in the fold of her bosom.

Then Aphrodite, daughter of Zeus, went home,

But Hera went darting down from high on a peak

Of Olympus, touched at Pieria and lovely Emathia,

Then sped across the topmost snowy peaks

Of the horse-handling Thracians, nor once grazed the ground with

her feet.

At Athos she left the land and swiftly skimmed

The billowing sea till she came to Lemnos, the city

Of godlike King Thoas. There she found Sleep, brother

Of Death, clung fast to his hand, and spoke to him thus:

“O Sleep, lord of all gods as well as all men,

If ever you paid any heed to my words, please do

What I ask of you now, and I will always be

Extremely grateful to you. Lull to sleep the shining,

Brow-shaded eyes of Zeus, as soon as I’ve lain

With him and made love, and I will give you fine gifts,

Including a gorgeous throne of immortal gold,

Which my son Hephaestus, the lame ambidextrous god,

Shall skillfully fashion for you, with a foot-rest below

On which you may rest your shining feet when you dine.”

And soothing Sleep replied: “Hera, great goddess,

Daughter of powerful Cronos, any other of the gods

Everlasting I might put to sleep with no compunctions

At all, even the stream of the river Oceanus,

Whom the gods are all from, but Cronos’ son Zeus

I will not come near, nor will I lull him to sleep

Unless he himself says do so. For I have already

Learned my lesson from a task you once gave me when Heracles,

Zeus’s high-hearted son, set sail from Ilium

After he’d sacked and leveled the Trojans’ city.

Then I beguiled the wits of Zeus of the aegis

And drifted my sweetness around him, since you were determined

To do his son harm, having stirred up blasts of dangerous

Winds that swept huge Heracles off across

The open sea to the populous island of Cos,

Far away from his friends. And Zeus awoke in a rage

And hurled the gods all about his great house, looking

For me above all, and he would have flung me clean

Out of sight, from heaven into the deep sea, if Night

Had not saved me, she who masters both gods and men.

To her I came asking help, and Zeus, in spite of

His fury, stopped his pursuit, for he had awe

Of doing whatever swift Night disliked. And now

You want me to do this other impossible thing.“5

To which the heifer-eyed queenly Hera: “Sleep,

Why let your mind dwell on such miserable things? Do you

Imagine that all-seeing Zeus will ever support

The Trojans with anything like the fury he felt

On account of Heracles, his own son? But come now,

Do as I ask, and I’ll give to you in marriage

One of the fresh young Graces, Pasithea, her

Whom you’ve always yearned for.”

She spoke, and Sleep, now happy,

Answered her thus: “Come, then, and swear to me

By the fateful water of Styx, taking hold with one hand

Of the bountiful earth and of the bright sea with the other,

That all of the gods below with Cronos may witness

This promise of yoursaq to give me one of the fresh

Young Graces, Pasithea, her whom I’ve always longed for.”

Such were his words, and the white-armed goddess Hera

Did not disregard him, but swore the oath he demanded,

Invoking by name each one of the gods called Titans

That lurk in the depths below Tartarus. Then, having ended

Her oath, she and Sleep, enclosed in thick mist, sped over

The cities of Lemnos and Imbros and swiftly flew

On their way. At Lectum they first left the sea, then came

To well-watered Mount Ida, mother of wilderness creatures,

As they flew on above the dry land with the tree-tops

Trembling beneath them. And now, before Zeus saw him,

Sleep flew up into a tall pine tree, the tallest

That grew on Mount Ida, shooting up through the mist

Into the clear aether above. There he perched,

Well hidden amid thick branches of pine, in the form

Of a mountain songbird, one that the gods call chalcis,

But men cymindis.

Hera, though, swiftly approached

The heights of Gargarus, peak of lofty Ida,

And cloud-gathering Zeus laid eyes upon her. He no sooner

Did so than love encompassed his keen-plotting heart,

As on that day when first they went to bed

And made love together, without their dear parents’ knowledge.ar

So now he stood up before her and spoke to her, saying:

“Hera, what is it you so much desire, that thus

You have come down here from Olympus? And where are the horses

And car you usually drive?”

And cunningly Hera

Replied: “I am on my way to the very ends

Of the all-feeding earth to visit Oceanus, source

Of all the immortals, and Tethys our mother, both of whom

Nurtured and cherished me at home in their halls.

I am going to visit them both and put an end

To their incessant quarreling, for truly now

It has been a long time since they went to bed and made love,

Since each avoids the other and both hearts seethe

With bitter resentment. And my horses stand at the foot

Of well-watered Ida, horses to draw me over

Both solid land and the sea. But now I have come

Down here from Olympus, since you might get angry with me

If I without a word should leave for the house

Of deep-flowing Oceanus.”

And Zeus, collector of clouds,

Replied: “Hera, later on you may go therebut come,

Let the two of us now lie down right here and enjoy

Ourselves making love. For never before did desire

For either goddess or woman so overwhelm

The heart in my breastnot even when I loved the wife

Of Ixion, who bore me Peirithous, peer of the gods

In counsel, nor when I loved the trim-ankled Danaë ,

Acrisius’ daughter, who gave birth to Perseus, the most

Distinguished of men, nor when I loved the daughter

Of far-famed Phoenix, who bore me Minos and godlike

Rhadamanthus, nor when I loved Semele, or Alcmene in Thebes,

Alcmene who bore me a son, strong-hearted Heracles,

While Semele bore Dionysus, delighter of mortals,

Nor when I loved Queen Demeter, with the beautiful braids,

Or glorious Leto, or hitherto yourself

As now I love you and feel more strongly than ever

The grip of delicious desire.”

Then, still trying

To trick him, Queen Hera spoke thus: “Most dreadful son

Of Cronos, what are you saying! What would happen

If now we did as you wish and lay down up here

Making love on the heights of Mount Ida, where all is wide open

To view, and one of the gods everlasting should see us

Asleep and go tell the tale to all of the other

Immortals? Then, believe me, I could not get up

And go back to your house, I’d be so ashamed and embarrassed.

But if you really would like to, if that’s what your heart

Now desires, why you have a bedroom, you know, one fashioned

For you by your own dear son Hephaestus, who hung

Thick doors from the door-posts. Let us go there and lie down,

Since bed is what you desire.”

Then Zeus of the gathering

Clouds spoke thus: “Hera, have no fear

That anyone, god or man, shall see what we do,

For I shall conceal us well with a thick golden cloud.

Through it not even the Sun could see us, though his

By far is the brightest light of all.”

So saying,

Cronos’ son Zeus caught his wife in his arms, and under them

Sacred earth made tender new grass grow up,

And dewy clover, crocus, and hyacinth, thick

And softly luxuriant, holding them up off the ground.

There they lay down, completely concealed by a fair

Golden cloud, from which fell drops of glistening dew.

Then peacefully slumbered the Father on Gargarus peak,

By love and sleep overcome, still holding his wife

In his arms. But sweet Sleep flew off to the ships of the Argives

To tell the embracer and shaker of earth. Coming up

To him close, he spoke winged words: “With all of your heart,

Poseidon, add your strength to the Danaans’ and give them

Glory, if only briefly, while Zeus yet sleeps,

For Hera has subtly seduced him to lie with her

And make love, and I have drifted soft slumber about him.”

He spoke, and took off for the famous nations of men,

But he stirred Poseidon to give still more help to the Danaans.

Quickly he sprang mid the foremost and loudly shouted:

“Argives, can it be that you’re really willing to yield

The victory again to Priam’s son Hector, to have him

Capture the fleet and cover himself with glory?

He himself boasts that thus it shall be, since Achilles

Remains mid the hollow ships with a heart full of bitter

Resentment. But Achilles we won’t miss too much, if only

We do our best to support one another. So come,

Let everyone do as I say. Let us put on the largest

And best shields we have in the host and cover our heads

With all-gleaming helmets and take in our hands the longest

Spearsand charge! I myself will go in the lead,

Nor will Priam’s son Hector be able to hold his ground long,

Believe me, no matter how great his fury. Whoever

Considers himself a battle-staunch fighter, but has

A small shield on his shoulder, let him give it to someone weaker

And arm himself with one of the larger shields.”

He spoke, and all of them gladly agreed. And the kings,

Though wounded, marshaled the men, even Tydeus’ son

Diomedes, Odysseus, and Atreus’ son Agamemnon.

These went through the army and made the men exchange war-gear,

And the good men donned the good armor, while the worse fighters

put on

The worse. Having covered their bodies in blazing-bright bronze,

They charged ahead with mighty shore-shaking Poseidon

In the lead, and in his strong hand he held

An awesome long sworda blade like a flash of lightning

Which no man may so much as touch in horrible war,

A dreadful weapon which all men shrink from in terror.

And opposite them resplendent Hector marshaled

The forces of Troy. And truly the tension of terrible

Hatred was drawn to the point of breaking, by Poseidon,

God of the blue-black hair, and glorious Hector,

Who lent his strength to the Trojans, while the great god aided

The Argives. As the two armies clashed with a mighty hubbub

Of war-cries, the surf surged up to the shelters and ships

Of the Argives. But neither the crashing thunder of billows

That break on the beach, driven in from the deep by hard-blowing

Blasts of North Wind, nor the roar of raging fire

When it leaps to wither the forest in the deep ravines

Of a mountain, nor the shriek of the wind in the high-foliaged oaks

When it howls in its fury the loudest, is so very loud

As the chilling screams of battle that came from Achaeans

And Trojans alike as now they charged at each other.

Resplendent Hector led off by hurling a spear

At Ajax, Telamon’s son, who then was turned

Full toward him, nor did he miss his man, but struck him

Where the two baldricsone of his shield and one

Of his silver-nailed swordwere stretched across his chest, ,

And they protected his tender flesh. And Hector

Was angry because the swift shaft had flown in vain

From his hand, and back he shrank in a crowd of his comrades,

Seeking to save his life. But as he withdrew,

Great Ajax, Telamon’s son, struck him hard

With a stone, one of the many used to prop

The swift ships, but rolling now among the feet

Of the fighters. Lifting it high in the air, he struck

Hector hard on the chest, above the shield-rim and close by

The neck, and the blow spun Hector around like a top

And caused him to stagger in circles. And as when a huge oak

Falls, uprooted by lightning from Zeus our Father

An awesome, sulphureous bolt that takes the courage

From anyone standing nearby and watchingeven so

Great Hector crashed to the dusty earth.6 His second spear

Dropped from his hand, and quickly he crumpled up

Beneath his helmet and shield, as about his body

The elaborate bronze rang loudly.

Then sons of Achaeans,

Hurling their spears and fiercely screaming their war-cries,

Ran up with the hope of dragging him off, but not

One man of them managed to wound the commander-in-chief

Of the Trojans with either a thrust or a cast, for the bravest

Surrounded their leader and guarded him wellPolydamas,

Aeneas, and noble Agenor, Sarpedon, King

Of the Lycians, and blameless Glaucus, and there not one

Of the others was oblivious of him and his plight, but all

Held out their round shields before him. And his friends took him up

In their arms and carried him out of the toilsome fight

Till they came where his swift horses waited, standing with driver

And ornate car at the rear of the battle and tumult.

These drew him, heavily groaning, back toward the city.

But when they came to the ford of swirling Xanthus,

The fair-flowing river whose Father is immortal Zeus,

The comrades of Hector lifted him from the chariot,

Stretched him out on the ground, and over him splashed

Cool water. At this he came to and looked up, and kneeling

He vomited clots of dark blood. Then back he sank

To the ground, and darkness like that of black night enveloped

His eyes, for still the blow was too much for his spirit.

Now when the Argives saw Hector withdrawing, they charged

The Trojans with even more zest and keenly recalled

Their prowess in battle. Then far the first to draw blood

Was Ajax, son of Oďleus, who wounded Satnius,

Springing at him with his sharp-headed spear, even Enops’

Son, whom a flawless Naiad nymph conceived

To Enops while he was tending his herd by the banks

Of Satnioeis. Springing at him, the spear-famous son

Of Oďleus wounded him deep in the side, and Satnius

Writhed to the ground, as about him the Trojans and Danaans

Clashed in strenuous struggle. To help him then

Came fiercely spear-wielding Polydamas, Panthous’ son,

And casting he struck the right shoulder of Prothoënor,

Son of Areďlycus, and all the way through his shoulder

The heavy spear tore its way, and down in the dust

Prothoenor fell, in agony gripping a handful

Of dirt. And Polydamas cruelly exulted, boasting

As loud as he could:

“Aha! once more, I believe,

A spear has not leaped in vain from the powerful hand

Of Panthous’ son. For one of the Argives has kindly

Received it deep in his flesh, and now, I think,

He can lean on it for a staff, as down he hobbles

To Hades’ house!”

He shouted, boasting, and deeply

Disturbed the Argives, especially the fiery heart

Of great Telamonian Ajax, who was nearest the man

When he fell. Quickly he hurled his bright spear as the boaster

Drew back, but Polydamas dodged to one side and thus

Avoided dark death. The spear was received, however,

By Archelochus, son of Antenor, for the gods had decreed

He should die. Him the spear struck at the place where head

And neck come together, on the top vertebra of the spine,

And severed both sinews. Far sooner then his head

And mouth and nose reached earth as he fell than did

His shins and knees. And Ajax called out in turn

To peerless Polydamas:

“Consider, Polydamas, and tell me

Frankly if this was not a worthy one

To be slain in requital for Prothoënor. He seemed

No coward to me, nor at all ignobly descended,

But more like a brother of strong horse-breaking Antenor,

Or maybe even a son. Surely the family

Resemblance is striking indeed!”

He spoke, well aware

Who it was he had killed, and grief gripped the hearts of the Trojans.

Then Acamas came and bestrode his brother Archelochus,

And felled with a thrust of his spear Boeotian Promachus,

Who had hold of the feet and was trying to drag

From beneath him Archelochus’ corpse. And over him Acamas

Loudly, terribly vaunted:

“You Argive cowardly

Bowmen, insatiate lovers of talking big,

Not for Trojans alone shall there be labor

And sorrow, but you too shall just as wretchedly die!

See how your Promachus sleeps, overcome by my spear,

That my brother’s blood-price may not long remain unpaid.

This is why a man prays for a kinsman at home to survive him,

For one to avenge his death and ward off disgrace.”

Thus he called, and his boasting pained the Argives,

Especially the spirit of fiery Peneleos. He rushed upon

Acamas, who, however, did not hold fast .

Against Prince Peneleos’ onslaught. Peneleos’ thrust

Struck Ilioneus, the only son his mother bore Phorbas,

Rich in flocks, the man whom Hermes loved most

Of all the Trojans and so gave great wealth to him.

The spear went in beneath Ilioneus’ brow

At the base of his eye, forced the eyeball out, passed on

Through the socket and out at the nape of his neck, and Ilioneus

Sank to the ground, stretching out both of his hands.

But Peneleos drew his sharp sword and brought it down hard

On the dying man’s neck, and the helmeted head, with the great spear

Still through the eye, dropped to the ground. And Peneleos

Held it up high like the head of a poppy, showing it

Thus to the Trojans and, boasting, exultantly shouted:

“I say, 0 Trojans, go tell the dear father and mother

Of lordly Ilioneus to wail for him in their halls,

In payment for Promachus’ life, Alegenor’s son,

Whose wife will never rejoice in her loved husband’s

Coming, when we young men of Achaea go home

In our ships at last from this your land of Troy.”

At these words trembling took hold of the knees of all Trojans,

And each of them frantically glanced about in search of

Some way to escape dire death.

Now tell me, 0 Muses,

You that have homes on Olympus, which Achaean

Was the first to carry off bloody armor as spoils

When once the famed shaker of earth had turned the course

Of battle. The first was surely Ajax, son

Of Telamon. He struck down Hyrtius, son of Gyrtius

And chief of the brave-hearted Mysians. Antilochus stripped

The bronze from Phalces and Mermerus, Meriones cut down

Morys and Hippotion, and Teucer accounted for Prothoon

And Periphetes. Then Atreus’ son Menelaus

Thrust his spear deep in the side of the people’s lord

Hyperenor, and the cleaving bronze made way for the entrails

To ooze through. His life throbbed out at the spear-stabbed wound,

And darkness came down on his eyes. But Ajax the runner,

Swift son of Oďleus, caught and killed most of all,

For no other could equal his speed in pursuit, when Zeus

Put panic in soldiers and turned them to headlong retreat.

BOOK XV

The Achaeans Desperate

When the Trojans had scrambled through trench and sharp

stakes, and many

Had died at the hands of the Danaans, terrified still

They came to a halt beside their chariots, their faces

A ghastly pale olive with fear. And Zeus woke up

Where he lay beside golden-throned Hera, high on a peak

Of Mount Ida. At once he sprang up and saw what was happening,

Trojans chaotically fleeing and Argives pursuing,

With lord Poseidon among them. And then he saw Hector

Stretched on the plain with his comrades sitting around him,

Great Hector gasping for breath, half conscious, and vomiting

Blood, for it was by no means the feeblest Achaean

Of all who had dealt him the blow. Seeing him thus,

The Father of gods and men felt compassion for him,

And sternly scowling at Hera he spoke to her, saying:

“Hera, impossible goddess! surely your own

Evil tricks have put noble Hector out of the action

And driven the host in retreat. Truly I do not

Know but that you shall yet be the first to reap

The fruits of your miserable malice and plottingwhen I

Put stripes on you with a whip! Can it be that you’ve really

Forgotten when I hung you high with an anvil suspended

From each of your ankles and a band of unbreakable gold

About your wrists? And you hung far up in the air

Among the clouds, and the gods throughout high Olympus,

Though greatly indignant, were none of them able to get

Close to you and release you. And any of them I got hold of

I seized and hurled from my threshold, so that when he reached earth

He just lay there too weak to move. Even so, my heart

Still hurt for godlike Heracles, whom you, in league

With the blasting North Wind, had sent in accord with your evil

Contriving far over the barren and unresting sea

To the populous island of Cos. Him I brought back

From there, safe to horse-pasturing Argos, though only

After his toils had been many and painful. Of this

I remind you once more to put an end to your wiles

And make you see how little real good it does you

To come here apart from the other immortals and subtly

Seduce me to lie with you and make love.“1 1

At this

The heifer-eyed queenly Hera shuddered, and answered

In these winged words: “Now then, to this let earth

Be my witness and broad heaven above and the tumbledown waters

Of subterranean Styxwhich to the gods

Is the oath most great and terrible-and your own divine head

And the marriage bed of us both, by which I would never

Swear falsely, that it is by no will of mine that Poseidon,

Creator of earthquakes, does damage to Trojans and Hector

And nothing but good for their foes.2 I think that he saw

The Achaeans worn out and despairing beside their vessels

And pitied them so much that his own soul urged him and told him

To help. But to you, 0 god of the gathering storm,

I say I myself would counsel Poseidon to go

Wherever you told him to go.”

She spoke, and the Father

Of gods and men smiled, and answered in these winged words:

“If truly, 0 heifer-eyed queenly Hera, our thoughts

Hereafter agree, as you sit among the immortals,

Then surely Poseidon will bend his mind to ours,

Regardless of how disinclined he may be. So if

You are frank and sincere in what you have said, go now

To the family of gods and send Iris here along with

Bow-famous Apollo, that she may go mid the host

Of bronze-clad Achaeans and bid lord Poseidon drop out

Of the fight and go home. And Phoebus Apollo must rouse up

Hector to action again, breathing strength back into

His body and making him quickly forget the pains

That are now unnerving his spirit. Then let Apollo

Put cowardly panic in all the Achaeans and hurl them

Back in headlong retreat on the many-oared ships

Of Peleus’ son Achilles, who then will rouse up

His comrade Patroclus. Him resplendent Hector

Will kill with his spear in full view of Troy, but only

After Patroclus has slain many other young men,

Including my own noble son Sarpedon. And Achilles

The kingly, raging in wrath for Patroclus, shall end

The life of Hector, from which time I’ll cause a constant

Retreat of the Trojans away from the ships till at last

The Achaeans shall take steep Troy with the help of a plan

From Athena. Until then, though, I will not cease my anger,

Nor will I allow any other immortal to help

The Danaans, not till Achilles has had his desire

Fulfilled, as I at first promised and bowed my head

In assent on the day the goddess Thetis embraced

My knees, pleading with me to honor her son,

Achilles, taker of towns.” 3

He spoke, and the white-armed

Goddess Hera did not disobey him, but went

From the mountains of Ida to the heights of lofty Olympus.

And quick as the thoughts of a much-traveled man who often

Wishes himself here or there, remembering richly

And thinking, “I wish I were this place, or that”: even

So swiftly Queen Hera eagerly flew till she came

To steep Olympus and found the immortal gods

Together in Zeus’s palace. At sight of her there

They all sprang up and pledged her with cups of welcome.

But she passed all of them by save pretty Themis,as

Whose cup she accepted, for Themis was first to run up

And greet her, speaking to her these winged words:

“Hera, why do you come here like one distraught?

Surely the son of Cronos has frightened you badly,

And he your own husband!”

Then Hera, the white-armed goddess,

Replied: “Do not ask me to go into that, divine Themis.

You yourself know what kind of spirit he has,

How haughty, harsh, and unyielding. But go take your place

And begin for the gods the abundant feast in these halls,

And then you shall certainly hear, along with all

Of the other immortals, what evil things Zeus declares

He will do. My news will not, I believe, make everyone

Equally glad, whether mortals or gods, if indeed

There is anyone now who can dine in anything like

A good mood!”

So saying, Queen Hera sat down, and wrath

Arose in all of the gods throughout the great hall

Of Zeus. And Hera laughed with her lips, but the frown

Froze hard on her forehead above the dark brows, as vexed

With them all she spoke out among them: “Fools! how childish

And thoughtless we were to vent our rage against Zeus.

Yet truly we’re still just as eager to go up to him

And thwart his will, either by words or by force.

But he sits apart and gives no one here so much as

A second thought, so sure he is that his power

And strength are supreme among the immortals. Therefore,

Take with patience whatever bad things he sends you.

Already, I think, keen pain has been fashioned for Ares,

Since his own son, to him the dearest of men,

Has fallen in battle, Ascalaphus, he whom huge Ares

Claims as his own.“at

So she, and Ares slapped

His brawny big thighs with the flat of his hands, and angrily

Spoke out, crying: “Do not now blame me,

O you that have homes on Olympus, if I go down

To the ships of Achaea and take revenge on the Trojans

For killing my son, even though my fate be to fall

A victim of Zeus’s bright bolt, and to lie mid the dead

Stretched out in the blood and the dust.”

He spoke, and at once

Gave orders to Panic and Rout to harness his horses,

While he put on his all-shining armor. Then greater,

More miserable wrath and resentment would surely have been

Stirred up between Zeus and the other immortals, if Athena

Had not been seized with fear for them all. Leaving

The chair she sat in, she shot through the door and removed

The helmet from Ares’ head and the shield from his shoulders.

Then taking the bronze-headed spear from his powerful hand,

She stood it aside and thus rebuked the impulsive,

Furious War-god:

“You stupid, maniacal fool!

Yes you will be utterly ruined. Surely you have ears

To hear with, but now all your sense and self-control

Have left you. Didn’t you hear what the white-armed goddess

Hera just said, she who has newly returned

From Olympian Zeus? And now do you really wish

To bring all these woes on yourself, and so, grieving still,

Be forced back up to Olympus, having sowed the seeds

Of many great evils for all the rest of us here?

So saying, she made

Impetuous Ares sit down again in his chair.

Then Hera requested Apollo and Iris, the immortal

Gods’ messenger, to go with her from the hall, and once

Outside she came to the point in these winged words:

“Zeus says for you both to go with all speed to Mount Ida.

When you have arrived and looked on his face, carry out

Whatever he then may urge and command you to do.”

Having thus delivered her message, Queen Hera returned

To her throne, but Apollo and Iris took off at once

And flew on their way When they came to well-watered Ida,

Mother of wilderness creatures, they found far-thundering

Zeus, where he sat on the summit of Gargarus peak,

While about him wreathed a cloud of fragrant mist.

Then the two of them stood in the presence of Zeus, collector

Of clouds, and he was by no means displeased to see them,

For they had promptly obeyed the words of his wife.

And first to Iris he spoke in these winged words:

“Fly swiftly, quick Iris, and carry this message in full

To lord Poseidon, and see that you do not speak falsely.

Tell him to leave the battle at once, and either

Rejoin the family of gods, or shroud himself deep

In his own sacred sea. And if he will pay no attention

To these words of mine, but chooses instead to ignore them,

Let him consider in mind and heart whether he

Will be able to stand against an attack by me,

Regardless of how great his strength. For I declare myself

Much his better in might, and the elder besides,

Though he thinks nothing of calling himself the equal

Of Zeus, whom all of the other immortals regard

With an awesome deep dread.”

He spoke, and wing-footed Iris

Did not disobey, but swiftly flew down from the range

Of Ida to sacred Ilium. And as when snow

Or freezing hail falls fast from the clouds, driven on

By hard blasts of the sky-born North Wind, even so swiftly

Quick Iris flew eagerly down, and coming up close

To the world-renowned shaker of shores, she spoke to him thus:

“O blue-haired embracer of earth, I come here to you

With a message from Zeus, who bears the aegis. He says

For you to leave the battle at once, and either

Rejoin the family of gods, or shroud yourself deep

In your own sacred sea. And if you will pay no attention

To these words of his, but choose instead to ignore them,

He threatens to come here at once and pit his might

Against yours in an all-out fight. But he warns you to keep yourself

Well out of reach of his hands, for he declares himself

Much your better in might, and the elder besides,

Though you think nothing of calling yourself the equal

Of Zeus, whom all of the other immortals regard

With an awesome deep dread.”

Then fiercely indignant, the world-renowned

Shaker of shores spoke thus: “Outrageous, outrageous!

Truly a haughty and arrogant message, no matter

How strong he may be, if he really thinks he can force one

Equal in honor with him to do as he wishes.

For we are the sons of Cronos and RheaZeus,

Myself, and the third is Hades, King of the nether

Dead. And the world is divided three ways among us,

And each has his own domain. When the lots were shaken,

I won the gray sea as my home and realm forever,

And Hades won the deep nether gloom, while Zeus

Was allotted broad heaven, the clouds and clear upper air,

But the earth and lofty Olympus are common to all.

Therefore I refuse to do as Zeus says I should.

Let him abide in peace in his third of the world,

No matter how strong he may be. And let him stop trying

To scare me with threats of superior might, as though

He thought me some cowardly weakling. For him it would be

Far better to hurl his blustering threats at his own

Sons and daughters, those he sired himself, who have

No choice in the matter, but have to do as he bids.”

To which wind-footed swift Iris replied: “Can it be,

O blue-haired embracer of earth, that you really wish me

To go back to Zeus with this answer so hostile and harsh?

But since the great are never rigid, will you

At all change your mind? The Furies, you know, always

Favor the elder.”

And again earth-shaking Poseidon:

“Divine Iris, your point is well taken, and surely it is

A fine thing when a messenger speaks with such understanding.

But still most bitter resentment comes over my heart

And soul whenever Zeus hurls harsh words at another

His peer in every respect and to whom has fallen

An equal share. For now, though, I yield, in spite of

My deep indignation. But let me add this, a threat

Straight out of my wrathif ever apart from me

And the spoil-driving goddess Athena, and Hera, Hermes,

And lord Hephaestus, Zeus shall decide to spare

Steep Troy and not lay it waste, nor give the Argives

Great power, then truly the rancorous breach between us

Will not be subject to healing!“4

So saying, the Earthshaker

Left the Achaean ranks and shrouded himself

In the sea, and sorely those warring heroes missed him.

Then Zeus, who gathers the clouds, spoke thus to Apollo:

“Go now, dear Phoebus, straight to bright-helmeted Hector,

For now the embracer and shaker of earth has entered

His sacred sea, avoiding our ruinous wrath.

Had he not, others too would have heard of our feud, even

Those nether gods in the gloomy world about Cronos.

But this way is better far for me, as well as

Himself, that he should have yielded to my strong hands

In spite of his bitter resentment, since not without sweat

Would the issue have been decided. But you take up

The tasseled aegis and shake it wildly above

The warring Achaeans to stir up panic among them.

And then, far-smiter, take care of glorious Hector

And waken huge might in him until the Achaeans

Shall come in their flight to the ships and the Hellespont stream.

From that time on I myself will decide what things

Must be said and done to give the Achaeans new wind

And respite from war.”

He spoke, and Apollo did not fail

To heed the words of his Father, but darted down

From the mountains of Ida with all the speed of a falcon,

Killer of doves and swiftest of birds. He found

Prince Hector, son of wise-hearted Priam, no longer

Sprawled out on the ground, but now sitting up, since from

The moment Zeus willed to revive him he had begun

To regain his great heart and to know his comrades about him,

And so his gasping and sweating had finally ceased.

Far-working Apollo came up to him close and spoke thus:

“Hector, son of Priam, why are you sitting

Apart here, weak and unable to rise? Can it be

That some great pain has recently overwhelmed you?”

Bright-helmeted Hector weakly answered him, saying:

“Which of the gods, 0 mightiest one, are you?

Aren’t you aware that back at the sterns of the ships,

As I was killing his comrades, fierce-screaming Ajax

Struck me hard on the chest with a stone and took

All the fight from my furious spirit? Indeed, I thought

That surely I’d see the dead and Hades’ house

This very day, when once I had breathed my last.”

Then lordly far-working Apollo replied: “Be strong,

For strong indeed is the helper whom Zeus has sent down

From Ida to stand by your side and assist you, even I,

Phoebus Apollo, god of the golden sword,

Who have always protected both you and your steep citadel.

But up now, and order your numerous charioteers

To drive their fast horses straight for the hollow ships,

And I will go in the lead and level the way

For the horses and cars, and also I’ll turn back in flight

The fighting Achaeans.”

So saying, Apollo inspired

The Trojan commander-in-chief with powerful strength.

As when a horse at the manger eats his fill

Of barley, breaks his halter, and thunders away

On the plain, eager to splash in the rippling river

He throws back his head, and his mane streams over his shoulders

As he exults in his splendor and gallops full speed

For the grazing ground of maresso Hector, once

He had heard the god’s voice, ran hard through the Trojan ranks

Urging on his charioteers. And as when farmhands

And dogs pursue a horned stag or wild goat and lose

Their quarry among the sheer rocks or in the dark woods,

And suddenly then a bearded lion, aroused

By their cries, appears in their path, and they quickly forget

Their ardor and, turning, take to their heels, so now

The Danaans thronged in pursuit of the Trojans, constantly

Thrusting at them with swords and two-pointed spears,

But once they saw Hector ranging the ranks they were all

Unmanned by terror, and their hearts sank down to their heels.

Then Thoas, son of Andraemon, spoke out among them.

He was by far the most gifted of all the Aetolians,

Skillful in hurling the lance and just as good

In hand-to-hand combat, nor were there many Achaeans

Who could defeat him when in the place of assembly

The young men strove in debate. Now he, in an effort

To help, spoke to them, saying:

“Amazing! this is

A truly great marvel my eyes beholdhuge Hector,

Risen again, somehow escaping the fates.

Surely we all were hoping that Hector had died

At the hands of Ajax, son of Telamon. Now, though,

Some god has saved and delivered the man, who has

Already relaxed the limbs of many a Danaan,

Nor has he, I think, ended his slaughter yet,

Since he would not be out there as the eager champion

Of Troy if bolt-crashing Zeus had not so willed it.

But come, let everyone do as I say. Let most

Of the army go back to the ships, but we who claim

To be bravest and best, let us make a stand against him

And hold him off with our outheld, thrusting spears.

No matter how hot his fury, I do not believe

He has the courage to charge headlong into

Such a band of Danaans.”

With this, having listened closely,

They gladly agreed. Then those who rallied round Ajax

And King Idomeneus and Teucer, Meriones, and Meges,

Peer of the War-god, braced themselves for the clash,

Calling out to the other champions to come and face

The oncoming Hector and army of Trojans, while behind them

Most of the men made their way back to the ships.

And the Trojans came on in close-ordered ranks with Hector

Rapidly striding before, while ahead of him

Went Phoebus Apollo, his shoulders wreathed in mist,

Bearing the awesome tasseled aegis, gleaming

And grim, that Hephaestus the smith had given to Zeus

To awaken panic in warriors. Apollo bore this

In his hands as he went at the head of the host.

And the Argives

Stood still in close-ordered ranks, awaiting the clash,

And the piercing war-scream went up from both sides, as arrows

Leaped from the bowstrings and many a spear, hurled hard

By some brawny arm, sank home in the flesh of a fast-fighting

Youthful warrior, while many another stuck up

In the ground midway, nor ever reached the white flesh

For which it so lusted. Now just as long as Apollo

Held the aegis motionless in his hands,

The shafts of both sides hit their marks and fighters kept falling.

But when he glared straight in the horse-loving Danaans’ faces

And shook the dread aegis, while shouting fiercely at them,

Then their hearts quailed in their breasts, and quickly they lost

Their impetuous valor. Like a herd of cattle or large flock

Of sheep stampeded at night in the murky darkness

By two wild beasts that suddenly spring out at them

And find no herdsman nearby, so now the Achaeans

Lost their nerve and fled, for Apollo filled them

With panic, that he might give glory to Hector and the Trojans.

Then, as the Argives scattered, the Trojans cut them down

Singly. Hector killed Stichius and Arcesilaus,

The first a trusted companion of great-souled Menestheus,

The other a captain of bronze-clad Boeotians. And Aeneas

Boldly cut down and stripped both Medon and Iasus.

This Medon was King Oďleus’ bastard and thereby

The brother of Ajax, but since he had killed a kinsman

Of his stepmother Eriopis, wife of Oďleus,

He lived far from home in Phylace. And Iasus served

As a captain among the Athenians, he the son

Of Sphelus and grandson of Bucolus. And Polydamas killed

Mecisteus, while in the first charge Polites laid Echius

Low, and noble Agenor accounted for Clonius.

Meanwhile, Paris struck down Deďochus, trying

To flee mid the foremost fighters, hitting him hard

At the base of the shoulder and driving the bronze clean through.

Now while they were stripping the war-gear from these, the

Achaeans

Were scrambling this way and that through the trench and sharp

stakes,

Forced to take cover behind their wide wall. Then Hector

Called out to the Trojans: “Let the bloody spoils be

And charge on the ships! Anyone I see holding back

Over here, away from the vessels, I’ll kill on the spot,

Nor shall his kin, neither men nor women, give him

His due funeral fire later on, but dogs shall rip up

His body in front of our city!”

So saying, he brought

The lash down on his horses and sent a great shout ringing all

Up and down the ranks of the Trojans, and they, returning

His cry, drove onward with him in the midst of incredible

Clamor. Going before them, Phoebus Apollo

Easily bridged the deep trench by kicking the banks down

Into the middle, thus building a causeway across,

A way long and wide, as wide, in fact, as a strong man

Testing his strength can hurl a javelin. Over this

They streamed, rank after rank, with Apollo still

Before them, sternly bearing the awesome aegis.

And he with great ease knocked down a long length of the Argive

Wall, as when a small boy at play by the sea

Scatters the mansion of sand that he with much pleasure

Has built, gleefully knocking it down with his hands

And his feet. With equal ease, 0 powerful Phoebus,

You undid the Achaeans’ hard toil and filled them with panic.5

Then the Danaans halted beside their ships, and calling

For help to one another each of them lifted

His arms in loud and fervent prayer to all

Of the gods. But surely Gerenian Nestor prayed hardest,

He the Achaeans’ old sentinel, lifting his hands

To the starry sky and praying:

“O Father Zeus,

If ever a man of us back in wheat-wealthy Argos

Burned to you fat pieces of thigh from bull

Or ram while making a prayer for his safe return

Which then you promised, nodding your head in assent,

Remember those offerings now and ward off from us,

O Olympian, the ruthless day of our doom, nor allow

The Achaeans thus to be overwhelmed by the Trojans.”

Such was his prayer, and Zeus the contriver, hearing

The words of Neleus’ aged son, mightily

Thundered. But when the Trojans heard the loud clap

Of aegis-great Zeus, they felt more warlike than ever

And charged harder still on the Argives. As when a huge wave

Of the far-journeyed sea, driven on by the force of the wind,

Best raiser of waves, washes over the side of a ship,

So now the war-screaming Trojans poured over the ruins

Of the rampart, driving their chariots up to the sterns

Of the ships, where they fought in close combat with two-pointed

spears

Still in their cars, though now the Achaeans had climbed

High up on the decks of the drawn-up black ships, and from there

They were fighting with long-jointed, bronze-headed pikes that lay

At hand on the ships to be used in battles at sea.

Now Patroclus, so long as Achaeans and Trojans fought

Round the wall away from the ships, sat in the lodge

Of kindly Eurypylus, cheering him up with talk

And applying ointments to his severe wound to deaden

The piercing dark pangs. But when he saw troops pouring in

Through the wall and the panicking Danaans fleeing with screams

Of terror, he groaned aloud and slapped his thighs

With the flat of his hands,6 sadly, anxiously saying:

“Eurypylus, I cannot stay with you here any longer,

Great though your need surely is. For now a huge fight

Is upon us. Let your squire, then, take care of you here, while I

Run back to Achilles and urge him to enter the battle.

Who knows but that with God’s help my persuasion may work?

The advice of a friend is frequently most effective.”

While he was still speaking, he started out for Achilles.

Meanwhile, the other Achaeans staunchly fought back

At the charging soldiers, but though the Trojans were fewer,

They could not drive them back from the vessels, nor could

The Trojans break through the Danaan ranks and get in

Among the shelters and ships. The line of battle

Was drawn so even it made one think of the line

A skillful carpenter, taught in his craft by Athena

Herself, uses to cut a ship’s timber straight.

So evenly then the two warring sides were strained.

Others were fighting round various ships, but Hector

Singled out flashing-bright Ajax, and these two fought

For one ship, nor could huge Hector drive Ajax back

And set the ship on fire, nor could Ajax thrust

Hector back, since a god drove him on. But Ajax threw

His spear and pierced the chest of Caletor, Clytius’

Son, as he was coming with fire for the ship,

And Caletor thudded to earth, dropping the torch

From his hand. Then Hector, seeing his cousin prone

In the dust before the black ship, called out to the Trojans

And Lycians:

“You Trojans and Lycians and dueling Dardanians,

Whatever you do, yield no ground now in this

Our time of great need, but rescue Clytius’ son

Before the Achaeans strip off his armor, now that

He lies in the dust before the long line of ships.”

So saying, he hurled his bright spear at Ajax, and missed,

But Lycophron, son of Mastor, a comrade-in-arms

Who lived with Ajax, since he in sacred Cythera

Had murdered a manhim the piercing bronze

Of Hector struck on the head just over the ear

As he stood on the deck with Ajax, and down in the dust

He toppled from high on the stern of the ship, and his limbs

Relaxed in death. Shuddering, Ajax called thus

To his brother:

“Teucer, old friend, truly now

We have lost a trusted companion, Mastor’s brave son,

Whom since the day he came to us from Cythera

We’ve honored at home in our halls as much as we have

Our own parents. Now huge-hearted Hector has killed him.

Where, then,

Are those quick-killing arrows of yours and the bow you received

From Phoebus Apollo?”

He called, and Teucer, hearing,

Took his bent bow and quiver of arrows and hurried

To take his stand beside Ajax, and at once he began

To shower his shafts on the Trojans. The first man he hit

Was Cleitus, Peisenor’s glorious son and the squire

Of Polydamas, lordly son of Panthous. Cleitus

Was busily reining his horses, trying to drive them

Where Trojan battalions were in the most trouble, thereby

Winning the thanks of Hector and all the Trojans.

But swiftly indeed he met with disaster, an evil

That no one, however zealous, could then have kept from him.

For the groan-fraught arrow pierced the back of his neck,

And Cleitus pitched from the chariot, causing the horses

To shy and run off, rattling the empty car.

But their master, princely Polydamas, quickly saw

What had happened and was first to get hold of the horses. He

turned them

Over to Astynous, son of Protiaon, giving him

Careful instructions to hold them nearby, while keeping

A sharp eye on him at the front. Then he went and rejoined

The first rank of champions.

Now Teucer took another shaft out,

This one to shoot at bronze-helmeted Hector, and he

Right then would have ended the fight by the ships of Achaea,

If only his bolt had gone true and ended the life

Of Hector raging in battle. But Teucer was not

Unobserved by the keen mind of Zeus, who protected Hector

And took that glory from Teucer. For just as he drew

His flawless bow against Hector, Zeus broke the strong-twisted

String, and the bronze-weighted arrow flipped off to one side

As the big bow dropped from his hand. Shuddering, Teucer

Spoke thus to his brother:

“Now confound it all! surely

Some god is utterly thwarting our efforts in battle,

For now he has knocked the bow from my hand, having broken

A new-twisted string that I myself tightly bound on

This morning, that it might bear well the many shafts

I then intended to shoot.”

And Telamon’s son,

Great Ajax, replied: “So be it, brother. You let

Your bow and thick-flying arrows lie where they are,

Since now some god, begrudging success to the Danaans,

Has undone their strength. But take a long spear in your hand

And a shield on your shoulder, and while you are battling the foe

Do all you can to encourage the rest of our men.

The Trojans may have the upper hand now, but let us

Remember our furious prowess and not allow them

To capture without a hard struggle our well-oared vessels.”

At this, Teucer ran and put the bow in his lodge.

Then around his shoulders he hung a hide shield of four layers,

And on his noble head he put a strong helmet

With horsehair plume defiantly waving above him,

And then, picking up a strong spear sharp-pointed with bronze,

He ran at full speed and resumed his stand beside Ajax.

When Hector saw that the arrows of Teucer had failed,

He called to the Trojans and Lycians, loudly shouting:

“You Trojans and Lycians and dueling Dardanians, now,

My friends, be men, and filled with furious boldness

Here at the hollow ships! For truly my eyes

Have just seen how Zeus brought to nothing the arrows of one

Who ranks very high. Quite easy it is to tell

Whose side Zeus is on, since he gives glory to some

And fails to help others, in fact takes their might away,

And now he takes strength from the Argives and helps us instead.

Charge, then, in close ranks at the ships, and if any of you

Stops an arrow or spear and so overtakes

His death and doom today, why then let him die!

To die in defense of one’s country is not ignoble.

And that man’s wife and children, as well as his house

And allotment of land, will then be safe and free

From all harmif only the Argives have gone in their ships

To their own dear native land!”

Hector’s words made them fight

Even harder. And Ajax, opposite him, called

To his comrades, shouting: “For shame! you Argives. Now

It is certain that either we ourselves die, or else

Save our lives by driving this imminent evil back

From the ships. Or do you suppose that once these vessels

Are taken by yonder bright-helmeted Hector you all

Will then be able to walk your way back to the precious

Land of your fathers? Do you not hear how Hector,

Raging to burn the ships, urges on his whole army?

Believe me, it’s not a dance he’s inviting them to,

But a battle! Nor have we any way wiser or better

Than thisto try our might against theirs in hand-to-hand

Combat. Far better to find out at once whether we here

Are destined to live or die than to have our lives uselessly

Squeezed drop by drop from our bodies against these black ships

By men worse than we in this most miserable struggle!”

With this he inspired the Argives also to fight

Even harder. Then Hector killed Perimedes’ son Schedius,

Leader of Phocians, and Ajax cut down an infantry

Captain, Laodamas, splendid son of Antenor.

Polydamas laid low and stripped Cyllenian Otus,

A friend of Phyleus’ son Meges and a chief of the proud

Epeans. And Meges, seeing, lunged at Polydamas,

Who, however, caused him to miss by writhing

Out from beneath him, for Apollo did not see fit

For Panthous’ son Polydamas to be overcome

In that front rank of champions. But Meges’ spear

Sank deep in the chest of Croesmus, who no sooner crashed

To the ground than Meges was on him stripping his shoulders

Of armor. But at once the great spearman Dolops leaped

Upon him, Dolops the bravest offspring of Lampus,

Son of Laomedon. He it was, a man

Well schooled in furious fighting, who charged in close

And stabbed his spear clean through the center of Meges’ shield,

But his thickly wrought breastplate saved him, the curved one of

bronze

That he always wore. For his father Phyleus had brought it

Home from Ephyre, where flows the river Selleďs

And where Euphetes, King of his people, had made him

A present of it, that he might wear it in battle,

A guard against furious foemen. And now it kept death

From the body of Meges his son, who countered by thrusting

His keen-cutting spear at Dolops’ helmeted head.

Striking the socket on top of his bronze-plated headgear,

He shore off the horsehair plume, which fell in the dust,

Still bright with its dye of fresh scarlet. But Dolops, yet hoping

To win, stood his ground and fought on, oblivious

Of fierce Menelaus who now came up from behind

And hurled his spear. And the bronze went in at the shoulder

Of Dolops and madly tore on through his breast. Reeling,

He pitched face down in the dust, and both Menelaus

And Meges hurried to strip from his shoulders his war-gear

Plated with bronze.

But Hector called out to his kinsmen,

A shout intended for them one and all, but first

He rebuked Hicetaon’s son, the strong Melanippus.

He, while the foe was still far away, had lived

In Percote and fed his lumbering cattle there.

But when the graceful ships of the Danaans came,

He went back to Troy, where he lived a high-ranking man

In the house of Priam, who treated him quite as well

As he did his own children. Now Hector called him by name

And chided him thus:

“Are we then to give up this way,

Melanippus? Has your heart no feeling at all for your kinsman

There in the dust? Don’t you see what they’re doing with the brazen

War-gear of Dolops? But on! For the long-distance fighting

Is over. Now we must clash hand to hand in a fight

To the finisheither we kill them, or they take our city

And utterly wipe out her people!”

So saying, he led

And the other, godlike, followed. Meanwhile, the great

Telamonian Ajax spurred on the Argives, shouting:

“Be men, my friends, and stout of heart! Fear nothing

In this great struggle but dishonor before each other.

Of men who shun dishonor, more are saved

Than slain, but flight is a poor defense and wins

No glory of any kind!”

He spoke, and though

The men were already eager to fight for their lives,

They took his words to heart and fenced in the ships

With a wall of bright bronze. And Zeus continued to strengthen

The Trojan attack. Then King Menelaus, the loud

Battle-roarer, thus exhorted Antilochus:

“No other

Man we have, Antilochus, is younger than you,

Nor more fleet-footed than you, nor as valiant as you

In battle. Go on, thencharge out there and lay

Some Trojan man low!”

So saying, he quickly drew back

Himself, but stirred up Antilochus, son of Nestor.

He quickly sprang out in front of the foremost fighters,

Glared fiercely about him, and hurled his bright spear, and before

him

The Trojans fell back. And not in vain he threw,

But struck Hicetaon’s son, the proud Melanippus,

Just as he entered the battle, full on the breast

By the nipple, sending him thunderously down and covering

His eyes with darkness. Antilochus, then, leaped upon him,

Quick as a hound that springs on a wounded fawn,

One some hunter has happened to hit, relaxing

His limbs in death, as swiftly he sprang from his bed.

Even so nimbly on you, Melanippus, leaped Antilochus,

Staunch in battle, eager to strip off your armor.

Brave Hector, however, was not unaware of the action,

And swiftly he charged through the fighting to meet Antilochus,

Who, though fast as a fighter, would not await him,

But fled like a frightened wild beast, one that has killed

A hound or a herdsman tending his cattle, and flees

Before a great crowd of angry men can gather.

So now retreated Antilochus, son of Nestor,

Followed by inhuman screams and a shower of groan-fraught

Missiles. Nor did he turn and stand till he reached

The company of comrades.

Now the Trojans, like so many ravenous

Lions, charged at the ships, fulfilling the promise

Of Zeus, who continued to heighten their power and weaken

The hearts of the Argives, depriving them of sweet glory,

While keenly inciting the Trojans. For Zeus had decreed

In his heart to give the glory to Hector, that he

At last might hurl on the beaked black ships his god-blazing,

Tireless fire, thereby fulfilling completely

The brazen request of Thetis. So Zeus the planner

Was waiting to see the glare from a flaming ship,

For then henceforth he would cause a Trojan retreat

From the ships and give the Danaans glorious victory.7

With all this in mind, he was driving on at the hollow

Ships bold Priam’s son Hector, a man already

Quite eager. But now he raged like spear-wielding Ares,

Fierce as a fire on the mountains, burning the brush

And trees of a thickly grown forest. Foam formed round his mouth,

His eyes blazed madly beneath his lowering brows,

And the shining helmet about his temples shook awesomely

As he fought. For Zeus of the bright upper air was himself

His protector, pledged to glorify him alone

Mid so many other warriors. For he would not live long,

Since Pallas Athenaau was rapidly bringing closer

The day of his doom, when he would go down forever

Beneath the huge strength of Peleus’ son Achilles.

Now, though, bold Hector was eager to break the Achaean

Ranks, charging fiercely at them wherever he saw

The most men and the most splendid armor. But he, in spite of

His ardor, could not break through, for they held close together,

Tight and firm as a wall, solid and strong

As a huge beetling cliff close by the gray sea, a bulwark

Of stone that takes unshaken the many hard blasts

Of screaming wind and the blows from the swollen big waves

That boom against it. So the Danaans, unretreating,

Stood fast against the Trojans.

Then Hector, shining like fire

All over, sprang at the line of men and fell on them

Hard, like a towering, wind-swollen wave that under

The clouds rolls swiftly along to crash on a ship,

And the decks for a while disappear under foaming sea-water,

While the dread blast roars in the sail and the hearts of the sailors

Quake in their terror at thus escaping death

By so very little. Even so the hearts of Achaeans

Went all to pieces with fear. For Hector fell

On their ranks like a hugely ferocious lion that springs

Mid a great herd of cattle grazing their fill in a lowlying

Meadowthe herdsman with them is one who has never

Learned how to deal with a fierce wild beast that has just

Undone a sleek heifer. He goes with the herd, but either

Up front or behind, while the lion leaps in at the middle,

Kills a fine cow, and stampedes all of the others.

So now the Achaeans were thoroughly routed by Hector

And Father Zeus, miraculously, for Hector killed

But one manPeriphetes, Copreus’ dear son from Mycenae,

A man far better than Copreus his father, he

Who had frequently gone with orders from cruel King Eurystheus

To powerful Heracles. Surely his son Periphetes

Was better in every way, in fleetness of foot,

In fighting, and also in brains, for he was one

Of the keenest men in Mycenae. And he it was

Who enabled Hector to win and cover himself

With glory, for turning he tripped on the rim of his foot-reaching

Shield, his wall against spears, but now it served only

To trip him and send him down on his back, while about

His temples his helmet horribly rang. This attracted

The notice of Hector, who ran and standing above him

Transfixed his breast with a spear, right in among

His horrified comrades, who did him no good at all,

For they too were frozen with terrible fear of great Hector.

Soon the Achaeans fell back, taking cover behind

The first line of ships, but the Trojans poured in upon them

And forced them to give still further ground, but they stopped

At the first line of shelters, where all remained in a body,

Instead of scattering throughout the camp, for they constantly

Yelled at each other, and shame held them fast, and fear.

But most of all Gerenian Nestor, old sentinel

Of Achaea, besought each man by his parents, pleading:

“Be men, my friends, and don’t be disgraced in the eyes

Of others. Remember, each of you, children and wife

And possessions, and your parents living or dead. For the sake

Of those who are absent, I beg you to make a strong stand

And not to turn tail and flee!”

So saying, he strengthened

The spirit and might of all, and Athena cleared

From before them a murky thick cloud of amazing darkness,

So that daylight shone brightly, as well from the side of evil,

All-leveling battle as from that where the other ships lay.

Then all saw war-screaming Hector along with his men,

Both those who stood in the rear, inactive, and those

Who fought by the swift-running ships.

But now it no longer

Seemed good to the soul of magnanimous Ajax to stay

At the shelters where huddled the rest of the sons of Achaeans.

He much preferred to stride up and down the decks

Of the ships, wielding a long battle-pike for fighting

At sea, jointed with rings and thirty-three feet

In length. And like a trick-rider who harnesses four

Fine horses, carefully picked, and gallops toward

A great city, over a plain down a well-traveled road

Where many people, both men and women, marvel

At his performance as he continues to leap

From horse to horse while onward they fly, so Ajax,

Now, kept leaping from deck to deck of the ships,

And always his voice went up to the sky, as he

With terrible shouts cried out to the Danaans to defend

Their shelters and ships. Nor was Hector content to stay

Mid the throng of bronze-breasted Trojans, but as a flashing

Gold eagle plunges ferociously down on a flock

Of wild birds that feed by the bank of a riverwhether geese

Or cranes or long-necked swansso Hector charged straight

For a dark-prowed ship, and the huge hand of Zeus thrust him on

From behind, as that god also aroused the rest

Of Hector’s fierce army.

So again a shrill battle took place

Beside the ships, a fight so slashingly fought

That you would have said they faced each other fresh

And unwearied. But the two struggling sides did not think alike.

The Achaeans knew they were trapped and felt doom was sure,

While the Trojans hoped in their hearts to burn the ships

And destroy the Achaean army. Then Hector grasped

The stern-horn of a brine-skimming, beautiful seagoing ship,

That had brought brave Protesilaus to Troy, though it never

Carried him home to his own dear country again.

Now around his ship the Achaeans and Trojans were cutting

Each other down in close combat, since they no longer

Threw lances or shot whizzing arrows. But standing up close

In stubborn oneness of spirit they hacked at each other

With keen battle-axes and hatchets, and slashed away

With huge swords and two-pointed spears. And many indeed

Were the splendid dark-hilted blades that littered the ground,

Some falling from warriors’ hands, some cut from their shoulders,

As fiercely they fought, flooding the black earth with blood.

Now Hector, once he had seized the ship by the stern,

Would not let go the high horn he gripped, and thus

He called to the Trojans: “Bring fire, and with it your voices

All raised at once in the war-cry. For Zeus now gives us

A day worth all the restto take the ships

That came here to Troy against the will of the gods

And brought us innumerable woes, woes we suffered

On account of the cowardly elders, who when I was eager

To fight at the ships, held me and all the rest back.

But if far-seeing Zeus then blunted our wits,

Now of himself he urges and orders us on!”

At this they sprang at the Argives harder than ever.

But Ajax no longer remained where he was, for missiles

Rained down all around him. Expecting death any moment,

He little by little retreated on the seven-foot bridge

Amidships, leaving the deck of the well-balanced vessel.

There he stood watch, and kept from the ship any Trojan

Who tried to burn it with unwearied fire, and always

His awesome voice called out to the Danaan troops:

“O friends, heroic comrades of Ares, be men,

Dear friends, and remember your strength in the war-charge. Can it be

That we think we have reinforcements behind us, or some

Stronger wall to keep off destruction? Believe me, there is

No walled town nearby, wherein we might find reinforcements

And so, defending ourselves, succeed in reversing

The fortunes of war. No indeed! we are here on the plain

Of bronze-breasted Trojans, with nothing behind us but water!

Survival lies in the strength of our hands, not

In compassion shown toward the Trojans.”

He shouted, and all

The while kept thrusting madly away at the foe

With his keen-cutting spear. Whoever would charge at the hollow

Ships with a blazing torch in his hand, striving

To win praise from Hector, urging them on, for that man

Ajax waited and wounded him soon with a thrust

Of his lengthy sea-pike. That bronze he embedded in twelve

Trojan warriors, wounding them there in front of the ships.

BOOK XVI

The Death of Patroclus

While they were warring around the benched ships, Patroclus

Came up to Achilles, Prince of his people, and standing

Beside him shed hot tears, weeping like a spring

Whose dark streams trickle down the rocky face of a cliff.1

And noble Achilles, a warrior fast on his feet,

Had compassion on him, and spoke in these winged words:

“Why are you weeping, Patroclus, like some little girl

That runs along by her mother and begs to be

Taken up, clutching her dress, holding her back,

And looking tearfully up at her till at last

She is taken up? Like that little girl, Patroclus,

You shed these big tears. Have you something to say to the Myrmidons,

Or to me myself? Have you alone heard some late news

From Phthia? Surely men say that Menoetius, son

Of Actor, still lives, as does King Peleus,av Aeacus’

Son, at home among his Myrmidons. Were either

Of those two dead, then indeed we would greatly grieve.

Or is your sorrow for Argives, now being slaughtered

Beside the dark hulls on account of their own overreaching?

Keep it in no longer. Speak out, and share it with me.”

Then heavily sighing, the horseman Patroclus replied:

“O Peleus’ son Achilles, far strongest of all

The Achaeans, do not mock or blame me for this,

So awesome now is the terrible pain in which

The Achaeans are toiling. For now our bravest men,

Stricken by arrows or spear-thrusts, lie at the ships.

Strong Diomedes, Tydeus’ son, has been hit,

And both spear-famous Odysseus and King Agamemnon

Have suffered disabling spear-wounds, and Eurypylus too

Is out with an arrow deep in his thigh, and about these

Our surgeons of many drugs are busy, trying

To help them. But what, Achilles, can anyone do

With you? May wrath like that you cherish never

Lay hold of me, O man perversely courageous!

What profit will men yet to be have from you, if now

You refuse to keep from the Argives shameful destruction?

O creature without compassion, surely you are

No son of Thetis and knightly Peleus. Only

The gray salt-sea and the beetling cliffs of stone

Could have brought into being a creature so harsh and unfeeling!

But if your heart is set on escaping some dire word

From Zeus, revealed to you by your goddess mother,2

Then send me forth now at the head of the Myrmidon host,

That I may be a light of hope to the Danaans.

And let me strap on my shoulders that armor of yours,

That the zealous Trojans may take me for you and quickly

Withdraw from the fighting. Then the battling, war-worn sons

Of Achaeans may have a chance to catch their breath

Such chances in battle are fewand we who are fresh

May easily drive, with little more than our war-screams,

The exhausted Trojans away from the ships and the shelters

And back toward the city.”

Such was his plea, poor childish

Fool that he was, for it was his own hard death

And doom for which he pleaded.

Then greatly disturbed,

Quick-charging Achilles spoke thus: “Ah, my Zeus-sprung

Patroclus, what are you saying! I don’t give a straw

For anyone’s fateful foretellingnone that I know of,

That isnor has my goddess mother brought to me

Any such word from Zeus.3 What fills my heart

And soul with so much bitter resentment is simply

That one whose equal I am should want to rob me

And take my prize of prestige for no better reason

Than this, that he has more power. This indeed bitterly

Rankles, after all I have done and suffered for him!

That girl the sons of Achaeans picked out as a prize

For me, since I had sacked a walled town and made her

Mine with my spear. Then Atreus’ son Agamemnon,

Our great and lordly commander, snatches her back

From my arms as though I were some lowly, contemptible tramp.

“Well, what’s done is done. I will not, it seems,

Be filled with fierce anger forever, though I said I would not

Change my mind till the fighters were screaming about my own

vessels.4

So now put my famous armor about your shoulders

And lead into battle the fight-loving Myrmidons, if truly

A dark cloud of Trojans has settled about the black ships,

Leaving the Argives little space and nothing

Behind them by way of support but the surf-beaten shore

Of the sea. I suppose the whole town of Troy has poured out

Against them, fearless as can be, since now they no longer

See the shining front of my helmet glaring

Nearby. If only King Agamemnon treated

Me well, very soon those Trojans would run for their city

And fill all the gullies with corpses on their way,

Whereas now they have brought their attack right into our camp.

For the spear of Tydeus’ son Diomedes rages

No longer to keep off death from the Danaans, nor as yet

Have I heard the voice of Atreus’ son Agamemnon,

Bawling orders from his hated head. But the shouts

Of slaughtering Hector crash round about me, as he

Continues to urge on the Trojans, who fill the plain

With their own mighty cries, as they horribly scourge the Achaeans.

“Go, then, Patroclus, fall on them hard and save

The ships from destruction, lest the Trojans really burn them

And their blazing fire rob all of us of our precious,

Longed-for return. But pay close attention to this

Most important part of my counsel, that you may win

For me great honor and glory from all of the Danaans,

Making them bring back to me that exquisite girl

And give in addition splendid gifts. When you

Have driven the Trojans away from the ships, come back.

And if Hera’s loud-crashing lord should give you a chance

To win great glory, even so do not fight without me

The war-loving Trojans, since that would do my reputation

No good! Do not, I tell you, get carried away

In the heat of conflict and slaughter and so lead the men

Toward the city. For one of the gods everlasting may decide

To descend from Olympus and fight against youApollo,

For instance, who works from afar and dearly loves

All Trojans. Come back, then, when once you have saved the vessels,

And let the others go fighting across the plain.

O Father Zeus, Athena, and Apollo, how very

Deeply I wish the death of every Trojan

Who lives in the world, and of every Argive too,

That just myself and Patroclus might live and alone

Succeed in reducing this tower-crowned, sacred city

To rubble and dust!“5

While thus they spoke to each other,

Ajax, belabored with missiles, no longer stood firm.

For the will of Zeus and the lordly bronze-hurling Trojans

Were too much for him. The flashing helmet he wore

About his temples constantly rang with the terrible

Blows that steadily fell on the well-wrought plates

Of bronze, and his strong left shoulder grew numb from always

Firmly holding his sun-glinting shield. Nor were they

Able to knock it aside, no matter how hard

They threw. But now he was painfully panting, and the sweat

Streamed down all over his body, since he had not even

A moment to catch his breath, and danger on danger

Shot in from every side.

O tell me now, Muses,

You that have homes on Olympus, how fire first fell

On the Argive ships.

Bold Hector charged in at Ajax,

And swinging his huge sword hard he shore off the point

Of the long ashen spear, so that now Telamonian Ajax

Stood foolishly shaking a pointless pike, while well

Away to one side the bronze point bounced and lay still.

Then Ajax shuddered from deep in his breast, as his great heart

Knew the work of immortal gods and had

To admit that high-crashing Zeus was willing a victory

For Trojans and rendering vain whatever he tried

To do in the fight. So at last brave Ajax fell back

From the fierce fall of missiles, and the Trojans threw untiring fire

On the graceful ship. At once unquenchable flame

Streamed over the hull.

As the hungry fire swirled round the stern

Of the ship, Achilles slapped his huge thighsaw and spoke

To Patroclus, saying: “Up now, Zeus-sprung Patroclus,

Commander of horsemen. Now for certain I see

At the ships the rush of high-roaring fire. Don’t allow them

Thus to destroy the vessels and cut off our only

Escape. On with that armor, then, faster! while I

Go muster the men.”

Such were his words, and Patroclus

Put on the glittering bronze.6 First he covered

His shins with greaves, fair greaves with ankle-clasps of silver.

Next, about his chest he carefully strapped

The richly wrought breastplate of Aeacus’ grandson Achilles,

A gorgeous piece that sparkled and shone like the stars.

And from his shoulders he slung the bronze sword with the bright

studs

Of silver along with the shield both wide and thick.

Then on his noble head he put a strong helmet

With horsehair plume defiantly waving above him,

And last he took up two long sturdy spears that fitted

His grip to perfection. But the spear of peerless Achilles

He left where it was, a huge spear, heavy and long.

No Achaean fighter could wield it but mighty Achilles

Himself, this strong spear of ash that Cheiron the Centaur

Had given to Peleus, Achilles’ dear father. It came

From the peak of Mount Pelion, and was meant to bring death to

the foe.

Then Patroclus ordered Automedon quickly to harness

The horses. For next to rank-smashing Achilles, he cared for

Automedon most, and he of all drivers was surest

To stay close at hand, awaiting his call in the melee.

So Automedon yoked Achilles’ fast horses, Xanthus

And Balius, swift as the blasting gales. For the West Wind

Had sired them on the stormy filly Podarge, as she grazed

In a field by the stream of Oceanus. And in the side-traces

He put the perfect horse Pedasus, that Achilles had won

When he took Eëtion’s city, and Pedasus, though

But a mortal steed, kept up with the immortal pair.

Meanwhile, Achilles strode mid the shelters, giving all

Of his Myrmidons orders to arm, after which they rushed out

Like so many flesh-rending wolves, great beasts unspeakably

Savagewolves that have killed a huge horned stag

In the mountains and gorged themselves on his flesh till the jaws

Of all are dripping with blood, and off the pack runs

To lap with their slender lean tongues from a spring of dark water,

Belching up scarlet gore and still quite ferocious,

Though now their bellies are bulging. Even so the Myrmidon

Captains and counselors rushed to form round Patroclus,

The noble dear friend of their leader. And Achilles himself,

Resembling the War-god, stood in the midst of all,

Urging on charioteers and shield-bearing soldiers.

God-loved Achilles led fifty swift ships to Troy,

And on the benches in each came fifty men,

His comrades. And he had appointed five trusted commanders,

While he himself ruled mightily over all.

The first battalion was led by Menesthius, him

Of the bright-glinting breastplate, the son of Spercheius, god

Of the Zeus-fed river. His mother, a daughter of Peleus,

The fair Polydora, had lain with untiring Spercheius

And borne him Menesthius, who, however, took

The surname of Borus, Perieres’ son, who gave

Gifts of wooing past counting and publicly married the girl.

The next battalion was led by warlike Eudorus,

A god’s child born of a maiden, Phylas’ daughter

Polymele, the exquisite dancer. Powerful Hermes,

Slayer of Argus, saw her dancing in the chorus

Of Artemis, goddess of golden shafts and the echoing

Shouts of the chase. Soon he went up to her room

And secretly lay with her, and she bore to Hermes

The helper a splendid son, Eudorus, swift

Of foot and quick as a fighter. But when at last

The goddess of childbirth, labor-inducing Eileithyia,

Had brought him forth to the light and he had seen

The rays of the sun, then the strong and fiery Echecles,

Son of Actor, took Polymele home

As his wife, having given innumerable gifts of wooing,

And Eudorus was left with his grandfather Phylas, who raised him

And tenderly loved him, quite as if he had been

His own son. And the third battalion was led by Peisander,

Maemalus’ son, a warlike man expert

As a spearman, surpassed in such fighting by no other Myrmidon

Save Patroclus, the comrade of Peleus’ great son.

And the knightly old Phoenix captained the fourth contingent,

And Alcimedon the fifth, he the faultless son

Of Laerces. When at last Achilles had martialed them all

With their leaders, battalion by separate battalion, he laid

This stern charge upon them, saying:

“Myrmidons, let no man

Forget the many harsh threats that you here with me

Beside the swift ships throughout all the time of my wrath

Have hurled at the Trojans, each one of you chiding me thus:

O hard son of Peleus, surely, O pitiless one,

Your mother nursed you on gall, not milk, since now

You hold your unwilling comrades here at the ships.

But come, let us all return home in our seagoing vessels,

If thus disabling is this evil wrath that has so

Encompassed your heart.’ So you would often gather

And babble such stuff at me. Well now you have

Before you a truly great chance for warlike deeds,

Of which you have been so exceedingly avid. Go then,

With hearts full of valor, and show the Trojans your prowess.”

So saying, he put still more courage in all of the men,

And the ranks as they listened drew even closer together.

Like the close-fitting stones a man lays in building the wall

Of a lofty house, a wall to keep out the wind,

So now their helmets and brightly bossed shields were together,

The Myrmidons standing so close that shield pressed on shield,

Helmet on helmet, and man on man, so close

That the horsehair plumes on the bright-horned helmets brushed

Each other with every nod of a head. And out

Before all, arrayed in full armor, were two fierce warriors,

Patroclus and Automedon, both equally eager to fight

In the Myrmidon van.

But Achilles went into his lodge

And lifted the lid of a beautiful inlaid chest

That his mother Thetis, silvery-footed, had put

On his ship for him to carry along, having filled it

Full with tunics and wind-warding cloaks and fleecy

Warm blankets. There too he kept a fair-beaten cup,

From which no other man drank the bright wine, nor would

Achilles pour libations from it to any god

Other than Zeus the Father. Taking this cup

From the chest, he cleansed it with sulphur and rinsed it well

In pure running water, then washed his hands and ladled

A cup of the sparkling wine. Nor was he unnoticed

By Zeus, strong lover of thunder and lightning, as he

Stood out in the forecourt’s center and poured forth the wine,

Looking to heaven, and praying:

“Lord Zeus, Dodonaean,

Pelasgian, you that dwell in the distance, ruling wintry

Dodona, where your prophets the Selloi live, priests

Who go with feet unwashed and who sleep on the ground

Hear as you heard me before when I prayed. You honored me

Then, and woefully smote the Achaean host.

Grant me now another prayer, for though

I myself will stay at the ships, I am sending my friend

Into battle along with the Myrmidon troops. With him,

O far-seeing Zeus, send glory. Make strong and courageous

The heart in his breast, that Hector too may know

Whether my dear comrade can fight his own battles, or whether

His hands invincibly rage only when I too

Enter the toil and tumult of Ares. But when

He has driven the chaotic fighting away from the ships,

I pray let him come back to these swift ships and me,

Completely unharmed and with all of his armor intact,

And with him bring back his close-fighting Myrmidon comrades.“7

Such was his prayer, and Zeus the contriver heard him,

And the Father granted him part, and part he denied.

That Patroclus should beat the battling men from the ships

He granted, but refused to grant his safe return

From the fight.

Now Achilles, when he had poured the libation

And made his prayer to Father Zeus, re-entered

His lodge and put the cup back in the chest. Then

He came out and stood in front of the door, for still

His heart was eager to witness the awesome clash

Of Achaeans and Trojans.

Meanwhile, the bronze-armored men

Marched on with noble Patroclus, till fiercely they charged

And hurled themselves on the Trojans. Like wasps that nest

At the wayside and are forever tormented by boys,

Who stir them up and make them a menace to many,

So that when some traveler, going by, unwittingly

Stirs them again, out they swarm in their fury

Of heart to fight in defense of their young, so now

With heart and spirit like theirs the Myrmidons fell

On the Trojans, and unquenchable cries went up. But the voice

Of valiant Patroclus was heard over all, shouting:

“Myrmidon comrades of Peleus’ son Achilles,

Be men, my friends, and remember your powerful prowess,

That you may win honor for Peleus’ son, your Prince,

Who by the ships is far the best of the Argives,

As you are his able and excellent close-fighting comrades.

Strike hard, I say, that Atreus’ son, imperial

Agamemnon, may know how blind he was to give

No honor at all to the bravest and best of Achaeans!”

These words inspired them with courage, and as they fell

All at once on the Trojan troops, the ships re-echoed

Their terrible war-cries. And when the Trojans caught sight

Of stalwart Patroclus, of him and his comrade Automedon,

Both blazing in war-gear of bronze, the heart of each man

Was disturbed, and all their battalions were shaken, for now

They thought that Achilles the quick had renounced his wrath

At the ships and chosen to help once again. So each

Of the Trojans frantically glanced about in search of

Some way to escape dire death.

Then Patroclus was first

To hurl a bright lance straight at the mass of men

That moiled round the stern of the ship of Protesilaus.

His victim was bold Pyraechmes, the chief who had led

The horse-drawn Paeonians out of Amydon, where flows

The wide-rippling Axius. He struck his right shoulder, knocking him

Back in the dust with a groan, and about him his comrades

Were routed, for when he killed their superlative leader

Patroclus roused panic in all the fighting Paeonians.

Thus he beat them back from the ships and extinguished

The roaring flames, then left the half-burnt vessel

Behind as the war-screaming Danaans poured through the gaps

Between ships with fierce-yelling Trojans retreating before them.

As when lightning-gathering Zeus rifts a dark cloud

That enshrouds the crest of a towering mountain, revealing

All peaks, high headlands, and even ravines, as the light

Breaks through from the infinite aether, even such was the moment

Of respite enjoyed by the Danaans when they had extinguished

The ravenous fire. But still the battle went on,

For the Trojans had not yet been turned to headlong retreat

From the ships by the battle-lusty Achaeans, but always

They tried to resist them, and only fell back when they had to.

Then man accounted for man in the scattered fight

As the battle chieftains paired off. First brave Patroclus

Drove his sharp bronze clean through Areďlycus’ thigh,

Just as he turned, and the spear broke the bone and hurled him

Face down on the earth. And fierce Menelaus thrust

His spear deep into the breast of Thoas, where his flesh

Was uncovered by shield, and relaxed his limbs in death.

And Phyleus’ son Meges kept his eyes fixed on Amphiclus

Ferociously charging, and proved too quick for him

With a stab in the leg’s thickest part, where sinew and muscle

Were ripped and cut round the point of the spear, so that darkness

Eclipsed his bright eyes. Then one of the sons of Nestor,

Antilochus, jabbed his keen bronze at Atymnius and drove

The spear through his side, pitching him prone. But Maris,

His brother, rushed in a rage at Antilochus and stood

In front of the corpse. Prince Thrasymedes, however,

Another of Nestor’s sons, was too quick for him,

And well before Maris could thrust, Thrasymedes pierced

His shoulder and shore the arm muscles away and completely

Shattered the bone, felling the man with a crash

And covering his eyes with darkness. Thus brothers overcame

Brothers, who now descended to Erebus, two brave

Lycian friends of Sarpedon and spear-throwing sons of Amisodarus,

Who raised the raging Chimaera, the ruin of so many.

And Ajax, son of Oileus, charged Cleobulus

Caught still alive in a tangle of warring men,

And there he undid his strength by a blow on the neck

With his dark-hilted sword, whereat the whole blade was left smoking

With blood, as purple death came down on his eyes

And powerful fate embraced him. Then Peneleos and Lycon,

Each missing the other with spear-casts, charged together

With swords. And Lycon came down very hard on the horn

Of the other’s plumed helmet and broke his blade off at the hilt,

But Peneleos sank his sword deep in his enemy’s neck

Just under the ear, and all but cut off his head,

It hanging by nothing but skin, and the limbs of Lycon

Were loosed. And Meriones swiftly caught up with Acamas

And thrust his bronze into that leader’s right shoulder

At the moment he mounted his car, hurling him hard

To the ground, where everything went black. Then Idomeneus

Drove his ruthless bronze straight through the mouth

Of Erymas and on beneath the man’s brain, splitting

Apart the white bones and knocking his teeth out. Both eyes

Filled with blood, and gaping he spurted and sprayed more blood

Through nostrils and mouth, till death’s black cloud enclosed him.

Thus each of these Danaan leaders killed his man.

As ravenous wolves spring out on terrified lambs

Or kids, when the flocks, through the fault of some careless shepherd,

Are scattered about in the mountains, so now the Danaans

Sprang on the Trojans, who no longer thought of their furious

War-charge, but only of screaming retreat.

And Ajax

The great was constantly eager to hurl his spear

At huge bronze-helmeted Hector, but he, in his knowledge

Of fighting, kept his broad shoulders well covered with shield

Of enduring bull’s-hide and always stayed on the alert

For whistling arrows and whizzing spears. He knew,

Of course, that the tide of battle was turning, but still

He stood fast in an effort to save his faithful comrades.

And as when Zeus overcasts the earth with storm

And clouds go forth from Olympus throughout the bright sky,

Even so the terrified screams of battle and rout

Arose from the Argive ships, nor was it with any

Small semblance of order that those harried Trojans retreated.

And Hector himself, with full armor on, now abandoned

The troops he had led, drawn away behind his fast horses,

While other less fortunate Trojans struggled to get

Through the deep-dug ditch. There many a pair of galloping,

Car-drawing horses broke off the shaft at the base

And left the car of their master.

And Patroclus was hot

In pursuit, calling savagely out to the Danaans and intending

The Trojans no good, who now in the screaming terror

Of rout retraced their tracks on the plain, their broken

Battalions stampeding beneath a huge cover of dust

That spread out under the clouds as the hard-hoofed horses

Ran at full speed away from the shelters and ships

And back toward the city of Troy. And Patroclus, yelling

His war-scream, directed his horses wherever he saw

The thickest rout of retreating men, and they

Kept going down beneath his chariot’s axles,

Pitching headlong from cars that overturned

With clatter and clang. And the deathless swift horses of Peleus,

Those glossy gifts of the gods, bore brave Patroclus

Over the ditch at a bound, hurtling on

After Hector, whom always Patroclus was eager to strike,

But his horses too were swift and kept him ahead.

As when on an autumn day Zeus darkens the earth

With storm clouds and sends the gale-driven rain beating down,

He being in wrath against men for crooked decrees

They have made in the heat of assembly, driving out justice

And giving no thought to the vengeance of gods, and all

Their rivers flood over in spate, washing great gullies

In every hillside, as down from the mountains they roar

To the dark-blue sea, wrecking the farmers’ tilled fields:

Even so awesome and deafening now was the roar

Of Trojan horses galloping on toward the city.

But when Patroclus had headed off the retreat,

He turned the leading battalions back toward the ships,

Nor would he allow them, in spite of their frenzy, to get

Within the town walls. And there in the space between ships

And the river and high wall of Troy, he rode in among them

And killed right and left, thus taking his vengeance for many

Dead comrades. The first to fall was Pronous, pierced

With a cast of Patroclus’ bright spear, hitting deep in the chest

At a spot uncovered by shield, and his limbs relaxed

In death as he crashed to the ground. Next he charged down

On Enops’ son Thestor, who huddled and cringed in his chariot,

Terrified out of his wits and no longer holding

The reins. Patroclus approached and jabbed his spear

Through this man’s right jaw and on through his teeth. Then

gripping

The shaft he hoisted him over the rail and out of

The car, as a man out on a projection of rock,

Angling with line and glittering hook, hauls in

A huge fish from the sea. Even so Patroclus heaved Thestor,

Impaled on the glittering bronze, up out of the car

And flopped him down on his face, and life took leave

Of him as he fell. Then, as Erylaus ran at him,

He struck him full on the head with a stone, splitting

His skull within the deep helmet and dropping him prone

In the dust, where heartbreaking death engulfed him. And then,

One after the other, he fought with Erymas, Amphoterus,

And Epaltes, Damastor’s son Tlepolemus, Echius,

Pyris, and Ipheus, Euippus, and Argeas’ son

Polymelus, and each of them he stretched out in death

On the bountiful earth.

But when Sarpedon saw

His godlike comrades, Lycians with unbelted tunics,

Being thus overwhelmed by Patroclus, son of Menoetius,

He shouted these words of reproach: “For shame, O Lycians,

Disgraceful! and where are you off to, running so swiftly?

Now I myself will confront this man and find out

Who he is who proves so vastly too much for you all,

Having loosed the knees of many excellent warriors

And done the Trojans much damage.”

So saying, he sprang

Fully armed from his car to the ground. And Patroclus, opposite

Him, saw and did likewise. And now, like a pair

Of crook-clawed, bent-beaked vultures that fight with harsh screams

High up on a rock, these two charged screaming together.

And Zeus, the son of devious Cronos, saw them

And felt compassion, and thus he spoke to Hera,

His sister and wife:

“Ah, miserable me! since the man

I love most, Sarpedon my son, is fated to die

At the hands of Patroclus, son of Menoetius. And now

As I ponder I cannot decide whether I shall snatch him

Up yet alive and set him down far away

From weeping war in the rich land of Lycia, or whether

Now I shall let him go down at the hands of Patroclus.”

And heifer-eyed regal Hera answered him thus:

“Most dreadful son of Cronos, what are you saying!

Can it be that you really wish to deliver a mortal,

One long fore-destined by fate, from dolorous death?

Well do as you like, but don’t suppose for one moment

That all of us like what you do! And here’s something else

You’ll do well to remember. If you do send Sarpedon alive

To his home, don’t be surprised when some other god

Wishes to take his own dear son away

From the horrible conflict. For fighting around the great city

Of Priam are many sons of the gods, and you

Will surely stir up fierce resentment among the immortals.8

But if the man is really so dear to your heart,

And if you are really so deeply grieved at his fate,

Why go ahead and allow him to fall and die

At the hands of Patroclus down there in the bloody encounter.

Then, when his years are over and his soul gone forever,

Send Death and care-lulling Sleep, that they may bear him

Away to the wide land of Lycia. There his brothers

And kinsfolk will give him the dead’s due rites, a proper

Entombment, with mound and memorial pillar.”

She spoke,

Nor was she ignored by the Father of men and gods.

Yet he wept a shower of bloody tears on earth

In honor of his dear son, whom Patroclus was soon

To kill in the fertile land of the Trojans, far away

From his own dear country.

Now as they came within range,

Patroclus threw and hit Thrasymelus, the able

Squire of Sarpedon, the spear going deep in his gut

And loosing his limbs forever. But Sarpedon’s bright spear

Missed its mark and struck the right shoulder of the trace-horse

Pedasus,

Who frantically whinnied as down in the dust he thudded.

Choking, he gasped out his life, and his spirit took flight.

But the other two horses shied apart, creaking

The yoke and tangling the reins, while the trace-horse lay dead

In the dust. Then spear-famed Automedon found what to do.

Whipping out his long sword from beside his big thigh, he leaped

To the ground and quickly cut the horse loose, and the other two

Came together and pulled at the yoke once more,

As again the two warriors charged in heart-eating hatred.

But again Sarpedon’s bright spear missed its mark, and the

point

Hurtled over Patroclus’ left shoulder without even grazing

The flesh. Then Patroclus in turn came on with the bronze,

And not at all vainly did that spear fly from his hand,

For it struck where the midriff encloses the quick-throbbing heart.

And Sarpedon fell as an oak or poplar or lofty pine

Falls when men in the mountains cut them down

With keen axes to furnish timber for ships. So now,

In front of his horses and car, Sarpedon lay groaning,

Stretched out on the earth and clutching at the bloody dust.

And as when a lion brings down a glossy red bull,

Springing into the midst of the shuffling cattle, and the fiery bull

Struggles and bellows as he dies in the jaws of his foe,

Even so did the leader of shield-bearing Lycians gasp out

Defiance in death at the hands of Patroclus, calling out

Thus in his throes on the name of his cherished comrade:

“Good Glaucus, great fighting man among men, now truly

Your skill with the spear and boldness in battle are needed!

Now, if indeed you are eager to fight, let war,

Evil war be the chief desire of your heart. But first

Go up and down through the Lycian host and urge

All the leaders to fight for Sarpedon, and then put your own

Bright bronze into action, fighting in my defense.

For if now the Achaeans strip me of armor out here

In front of the drawn-up ships, I shall be a disgrace

To you and a hanging down of the head for as long a

You live. So come, hold your ground like a man, and urge on

All of the others.”

As thus he spoke, dark death.

Came over his eyes and nostrils alike. Then Patroclus,

Planting a foot on his chest, jerked the spear from his flesh,

And the midriff followed the spearhead, so that he drew out

Together his keen-cutting bronze and the warrior’s soul.

Meanwhile, the Myrmidons held Sarpedon’s hard-snorting

Horses, who panicked and reared, now that their car

Was left empty.

When he heard the cry of Sarpedon, the heart

Of Glaucus was filled with unspeakable grief, since he

Was unable to succor his friend. He caught and gripped

His arm hard, for his wound still throbbed with pain, the wound

That Teucer, keeping off death from his comrades, had made

With an arrow as Glaucus charged the high wall. Then praying,

He made this plea to Apollo, who strikes from afar:

“O listen, my lord, to me, you that roam

Through the rich land of Lycia or else here in Troy, and can

Everywhere well hear a mortal in pain, such a mortal

As now Glaucus is. For I am sorely afflicted

With this grievous wound, and the sharp pangs shoot through my arm,

Nor will it stop bleeding. My shoulder above it is heavy

And aching, and I am no longer able to grip

My spear firmly or go out and fight with the foe. And now

The bravest of men is dead, Sarpedon himself,

The son of Zeus, who would not protect his own child.

But you, my lord, heal this terrible wound

Lull the pain and give me strength, that I

May encourage my Lycian comrades to fight for Sarpedon

And that I myself may battle about the body

Of him now fallen and dead.”

Thus he prayed,

And Phoebus Apollo heard him. At once he relieved

His sharp pain, staunched the flow of dark blood that ran

From the horrible wound, and put in his heart new courage.

And Glaucus knew what had happened and deeply rejoiced

That the great god Apollo had answered his prayer so promptly.

First he ranged up and down throughout all the Lycians,

Exhorting the leaders to fight for their fallen chief,

And then he strode rapidly into the Trojan troops

To Panthous’ son Polydamas and noble Agenor,

And on to Aeneas and bronze-armored Hector, by whom

He stood and spoke, and his words came winged with entreaty:

“Hector, now surely you altogether neglect

Your allies, men who are fighting and dying on your

Account, far from their friends and the land of their fathers.

Even so, you don’t care to help them. Now low lies Sarpedon,

High leader of shield-bearing Lycians, he that ruled Lycia

With justice and strength. Him brazen Ares has dashed

In the dust beneath the spear of Patroclus. But come,

My friends, go with me, and share my fear of the shame

That will be if the Myrmidons strip off his armor and do

Vile things to his corpse, they being in terrible wrath

For Danaans dead, men whom we killed with our spears

Here at the ships.”

At these words the Trojans were seized

With grief overwhelming, unbearable sorrow, for Sarpedon

Had long been a pillar of strength to their city, though he

Was no native of Troy. For with him came many men,

And of them all he was the greatest in battle.

So the Trojans charged straight at the Danaans, eager for slaughter,

And Hector led the attack, in wrath for Sarpedon.

But shaggy-hearted Patroclus urged on the Achaeans,

Savagely shouting thus to the two Ajaxes,

Who scarcely needed his urging:

“Be fierce, you two,

In fighting the foe! Be the men you’ve always been

Among fighters, or even more deadly. Low lies Sarpedon,

The first man to breach the Achaean wall. Let us charge, then,

And strip his shoulders of armor and do vile things

To his corpse, and let us cut down with the ruthless bronze

Any man of his comrades who makes an attempt to defend him.”

He spoke, but they were already eager for action.

And when both sides had ordered and strengthened their forces,

Trojans and Lycians opposing Achaeans and Myrmidons,

They clashed with-awesome screams and strident ringing

Of armor to fight for the body of him now fallen.

And to make the battle-toil even more baneful, Zeus spread

Murderous darkness all over the bloody encounter.

At first the Trojans thrust back the quick-eyed Achaeans,

For down went a man by no means the worst of the Myrmidons,

Namely the son of spirited Agacles, shining

Epeigeus, who once had ruled over pleasant Budeum,

Till having killed a noble near kinsman of his

He came as a suppliant straight to king Peleus and Thetis

Of the silver feet, and they had sent him to Troy

Along with rank-smashing Achilles, that he too might fight

The Trojans. Now just as he laid his hands on the corpse,

Resplendent Hector came down on his head with a stone,

Splitting his skull within the thick helmet and dropping him

Prone in the dust as heartbreaking death engulfed him.

Then grief for his slaughtered comrade came over Patroclus,

And he charged through the front rank of warriors fast as a hawk

In flight, when the swift bird drives before him the jackdaws

And starlings. Even so straight, O Patroclus, commander

Of horsemen, you charged on the Lycians and Trojans, wrathful

At heart on account of your comrade slain. And he struck

Ithaemenes’ dearly loved son Sthenelaus hard

On the neck with a stone, tearing the tendons away.

Then the front-fighting champions and glorious Hector fell back.

They fell back as far as a lengthy javelin flies

When a man in a contest or life-wrecking battle tests

His might in a distance throw. So far and no farther

The Trojans retrested before the charging Achaeans.

Glaucus, brave leader of shield-bearing Lycians, was first

To whirl round, and whirling he brought down magnanimous Bathycles,

Chalcon’s dear son, whose home was in Hellas, where thriving

He had been one of the wealthiest Myrmidon lords.

Turning suddenly on him as he was about to catch up,

Strong Glaucus pierced his chest with a spear and sent him

Crashing to earth. And heavy grief came over

The hearts of Achaeans at the fall of so splendid a man,

But the Trojans rejoicing, with courage renewed, quickly rallied

About the dead Myrmidon.

Nor did the Achaeans give up,

But still came on straight at the foe. Then Meriones

Killed a helmeted Trojan, Onetor’s bold son

Laogonus, a priest of Idaean Zeus, one honored

Like a god by the people. Him Meriones pierced

Beneath the jaw and ear, and quickly his spirit took leave

Of his limbs and abhorrent darkness seized him. Aeneas

Now hurled his bronze at Meriones, hoping to hit him

As on he came under cover of shield. But Meriones,

Looking straight at him, avoided the bronze by ducking

Forward, and Aeneas’ long lance, flying vainly forth

From his powerful hand, embedded itself in the ground

Behind its intended victim, where the butt-end quivered

Till finally hulking Ares stilled its fury.

Aeneas, then, shouted in anger: “Meriones, surely

You are an agile dancer, but if my spear

Had found its mark your dancing days would have ended,

I think, forever!”

To which spear-famous Meriones:

“Very hard it would be, Aeneas, strong though you are,

To quench the life of every man who confronts you.

You too, I suppose, are mortal. Hence if I cast

And vitally wound you with my keen bronze, very quickly,

In spite of your strength and the faith you have in your hands,

You would give glory to me and your miserable soul

To horse-famous Hades!”

He vaunted, but valiant Patroclus

Rebuked him, saying: “Meriones, why would a brave

Fighting man like yourself make such a speech? Good friend,

Our insults will never drive any of those Trojans back

From the body. Their own bloody corpses will litter the ground

Far sooner. Victory in battle still lies in the might

Of our hands, while words are for men in council. Hence

As a soldier it does not become you to multiply words,

But only and always to fight!”

So saying, he led

And the other, godlike, followed. And as when a thudding

And crashing goes up from mountain ravines where woodsmen

Are felling tall trees, and the din is heard in the distance,

So now about them a loud noise arose from the much trampled

Earth, a clanging of bronze and hammered hide shields,

As they smote each other with swords and two-pointed spears.

Nor could the best eyes in the world have still recognized

Sarpedon, so thick was the covering of missiles, blood

And dust that lay on his body from head to foot.

And warriors thronged round the corpse as numerous quite

As flies that drone through a dairy when spring has come

And fresh milk drenches the foaming full vessels and pails.

Even so, they swarmed round the corpse.

Meanwhile, Zeus

Never once turned his eyes away from the horrible struggle,

But kept looking down on the fighters, pondering much

In his heart concerning the death of Patroclus, whether there

In the battle Prince Hector should hew him down with the bronze

And strip his shoulders of armor, or whether for still

More men he should cause to increase the terrible toil

Of war. And as he pondered, one way seemed better,

To let the brave friend of Achilles once again drive

Toward the city the Trojan troops and bronze-armored Hector,

And thus take many more lives.

So first he made Hector

Afraid and, panicking, he leaped up on his car

And wheeled round to run, calling out on the rest of the Trojans

To follow and flee, for Hector saw clearly which way

Zeus’ sacred balance was tipping. And the mighty Lycians

No longer stood fast, but all of them ran in retreat,

Having seen their King lying dead with a spear in his heart,

Dead in a huge heap of dead, for many had fallen

Upon him as Zeus strained taut the horrible strife.

Then from Sarpedon’s shoulders the Achaeans stripped off

The glittering bronze, which valiant Patroclus gave

To his comrades to carry back to the hollow ships.

And now to Apollo cloud-gathering Zeus spoke thus:

“Up if you will, loved Phoebus, and go lift Sarpedon

From under that hailing of spears and wipe from his body

The cloud-black blood. Then carry him far away

And wash him well in the silvery rills of a river,

Anoint his flesh with ambrosia, and clothe him all

In the fragrant garments of gods. Having done as I ask you,

Give him to Sleep and Death, the swift twin brothers,

To carry, that they may quickly set him down

In the fertile wide land of Lycia. There his brothers

And kinsfolk will give him the dead’s due rites, a proper

Entombment, with mound and memorial pillar.“9

He spoke,

And Apollo did not disregard the voice of his Father,

But down he came from the mountains of Ida and entered

The grim confusion of fighting. Quickly he lifted

Sarpedon from under the hailing of spears, and when

He had carried him far away from ruinous war,

He washed him well in the silvery rills of a river,

Anointed his flesh with ambrosia, and clothed him all

In the fragrant garments of gods. Having done these things,

He gave him to Sleep and Death, the swift twin brothers,

To carry, and very quickly they set him down

In the fertile wide land of Lycia.

Then Patroclus, calling

Commands to the horses and to Automedon, drove

In pursuit of the Trojans and Lycians, blind foolhardy child

That he was! For had he obeyed the careful orders

Of Peleus’ son Achilles, he surely would then

Have escaped the miserable doom of murky death.

But always God’s will is stronger by far than man’s.

Great Zeus can make the bravest fighter retreat.

And easily keep him from winning, especially when

He inspires another to fight like fury against him.

And now it was surely Zeus who filled with blind force

The spirit of gallant Patroclus.

Then who was the first

And who was the last you slew and stripped, O Patroclus,

That day when the gods invited you deathwards? Adrastus

Was first, then Autonous and Echeclus, and Megas’ son Perimus,

Epistor, and Melanippus, followed by Elasus, Mulius,

And Pylartes. From these he took life away, and all

The others decided to flee.

Then indeed would the sons

Of Achaeans, led on by raging Patroclus, have taken

Tall-gated Troy, for all around him Patroclus

Killed with his spear. But Phoebus Apollo stood firm

On the well-built wall, intending destruction for him,

But only good for the Trojans. Three times Patroclus

Sprang up on an angle of that lofty wall, and three times

Apollo battered him back10 by dint of blows

From his own deathless hands, striking hard against the bright

shield.

But when like a demon he charged a fourth time, then

With a terrible cry Apollo spoke these winged words:

“Fall back! Zeus-descended Patroclus. It is not fated

That by your spear this town of the gifted Trojans

Shall be laid waste, nor even by that of Achilles,

A man far better than you!”

Before the dread voice

Patroclus fell back a long way, avoiding the wrath

Of far-darting Apollo.

Meanwhile, Hector was holding

His solid-hoofed horses in check at the Scaean Gates,

Unable to make up his mind whether he should drive

Once again out into the hubbub of battle, or whether

Now he should order the Trojan troops to gather

Within the thick wall. As he pondered, divided, Apollo

Came up to him there in the guise of a man young and strong,

Even Asius, horse-breaking Hector’s uncle, own brother

Of Hecuba and son of Dymas, whose home was in Phrygia

Close by the river Sangarius. Looking exactly

Like him, Apollo, son of Zeus, spoke thus

To the Trojan chieftain:

“Why is it, Hector, that you

Are no longer fighting? Such idleness hardly becomes you!

Were I as much stronger as I am weaker than you,

You would soon regret this drawing away from the battle.

But come, drive out at Patroclus these strong-hoofed horses

Of yours, and see if Apollo will grant you the glory

Of bringing that great fighter down.”

So saying, the god

Re-entered the tumult of toiling mortals. And Hector,

Resplendent, gave orders to fiery Cebriones to lash

The team into battle. Meanwhile, Apollo, back

In the turmoil of slaughter, spread mid the slashing Argives

Evil confusion and gave the glory to Trojans

And Hector. But Hector, ignoring all other Danaans,

Did not attempt to kill any of them, but drove

His strong-hoofed horses straight and fast at Patroclus,

Who opposite him leaped down from his car to the ground

With a spear in his left hand, while with his right he caught up

A hand-fitting stone, jagged and sparkling. Then,

With no long awe of Hector, he hurled it with all

Of his weight in the throw, nor did he hurl in vain,

For the sharp stone hit Hector’s driver Cebriones, bastard

Son of world-famous Priam, hit him squarely

Between the eyes as he held the reins of the horses,

Bashing the bone in, bringing both of his brows together

And dropping his eyes in the dust below his feet.

And like a diver he pitched from the well-made car

As life took leave of his bones forever. Then,

O horseman Patroclus, you shouted these mocking words:

“Aha! what a fine acrobat that warrior is!

What a really superb somersault! Truly, if he

Were out on the fish-full sea, he could bring up bushels

Of oysters, no matter how rough the water, leaping in

From the deck of his ship as now he turns flips from his

chariot

Here on the plain. I had no idea they had

Such performers in Troy!“11

With this he charged at the fallen

Cebriones with a spring like that of a wounded lion,

A beast undone by his own fierce heart, that gets

A spear in the chest while raiding a cattle-pen.

Even so on Cebriones, O Patroclus, you sprang

In your fury. And opposite him huge Hector leaped down

From his car to the ground, and the pair squared off to fight

For the corpse, quite like a couple of lions that high

Mid the peaks of a mountain contend for a slaughtered stag,

Both equally hungry and savage of heart. So now

For Cebriones those two masters of combat, Patroclus,

Son of Menoetius, and all-shining Hector, were eager

To gash each other’s flesh with the pitiless bronze.

But Hector had hold of the corpse by the head and would not

Let go, and Patroclus held fast to one foot, while around them

The others, Trojans and Danaans, pitted their powers

In battle. And as the East Wind and the South compete

With each other at tossing the trees in a thick-wooded glen

Of the mountains, a forest of beech and ash and smooth-barked

Cornel trees, the long boughs of which strike against one another

With a fearful noise of knocking and breaking branches,

So now the Achaeans and Trojans clashed man to man

And struck deadly blows left and right, nor would either side think

Of disastrous retreat. All around Cebriones’ body

Keen-pointed spears stuck up in the earth, and the ground

Fairly bristled with feathered arrows that eagerly sprang

From the bowstrings. And many huge stones bashed into the shields

As the warriors battled about him. But Cebriones lay

In the swirling dust, forgetful of chariot-skill,

Though mighty even in death.

Now as long as the Sun

Climbed up toward mid-heaven, the missiles of both sides struck

home,

And the warriors fell. But when he turned toward the time

When oxen are loosed from the yoke,ax then the Achaeans,

In a manner surpassing their lot and power, proved stronger.

Dragging Cebriones from under the missiles

And away from the screaming Trojans, they stripped his shoulders

Of armor, but Patroclus returned for more fierce fighting.

Ferociously now he charged on the Trojans. Three times

This peer of the fast-fighting War-god sprang at the foe,

Yelling his blood-chilling cry, and three times he slaughtered

Nine men. But when like a demon he charged a fourth time,

Then at last, O Patroclus, the end of your life came in sight.ay

For there in the mighty struggle Apollo came at you,

An awesome grim god indeed! And he was unseen

By Patroclus as on through the turmoil he came in a thick

Cloud of mist. Then standing behind him, Apollo struck

His back and broad shoulders hard with the flat of his hand,

Whirling the eyes of Patroclus. Off came his high-crested

Helmet and rolled with a clang mid the horses’ feet,

And the plumes were smirched with blood and dust. Never

Before had this been allowed, to foul with dust

That horsehair-crested helmet, for always before

It guarded the head and handsome brow of the son

Of a goddess, Achilles himself But now Zeus allowed it

To come into Hector’s possession, that he might wear it

The little while he yet had to live on earth.

And in Patroclus’ hands the long-shadowing, bronze-pointed

Spear, though huge and heavy and strong, was broken

To pieces, and from his shoulders the tasseled shield

With its baldric fell in the dust, as lord Apollo,

Son of Zeus, stripped off his breastplate. Then,

His mind dazed and his splendid body unable to move,

He stood in a stupor, till a young Dardanian struck him

Between the shoulders with a short spear-cast from behind,

Even Panthous’ son Euphorbus, he who surpassed

All fighters his age as a spearman, horseman, and runner,

And who had already hurled twenty warriors down

From their cars at this his first time with a chariot, fighting

In actual combat. He it was, O knightly

Patroclus, who first got his bronze in your flesh. But when

You remained on your feet, he jerked the ash spear from your

body

And lost himself in the throng. For Euphorbus had no

Intention of facing Patroclus in that fiery fight,

Completely unarmed though he was.

Now Patroclus, stunned

And weak from the blow of Apollo and wound of the spear,

Fell back mid a crowd of his comrades, avoiding sure death.

But Hector, aware that great-souled Patroclus was wounded

And drawing back, charged down on him through the ranks

And drove his bronze-headed spear clean through his lower

Belly and back, and Patroclus fell with a dull,

Disheartening thud, filling the host of Achaeans

With horror and grief As a lion at last gets the best

Of a weariless boar, when the two most savagely fight

Mid the peaks of a mountain for one small pool of water

Which both are thirsty to drink fromthe wheezing, obstreperous

Boar fights hard, but the lion is stronger and wins

So now from Menoetius’ brave son, after he had himself

Slain many, Priam’s son Hector took the life,

Standing right by him and thrusting him through with his spear.

Then he spoke these words, harsh and winged with vaunting:

“Patroclus, you thought, I suppose, that you would level

Our city, then take all freedom away from the women

Of Troy and carry them back in your ships to your own

Dear country, poor infantile fool that you are! In defense

Of those women Hector’s fast horses go galloping forth

To the fight, where I surpass with the spear all other

War-loving Trojans, I that keep from my people

The hard day of doom. As for you, vultures shall pick

Your bones right here. Ah miserable wretch! not even

Achilles, for all his great prowess, could help you, he

That remained in the camp, but gave you careful instruction,

I’m sure, saying, as forth you sallied: Do not

Come back to these hollow ships, O Patroclus, commander

Of horsemen, until you have torn the tunic on murderous

Hector’s breast and soaked it red with his blood!’

Ah yes, I can hear him saying it now, and you

Were the miserable fool he persuaded!”

Then very feebly,

O dying Patroclus, you answered him thus: “For this time,

Hector, make your high vaunt, for Cronos’ son Zeus

And Apollo have given you victory, though they themselves

Are the ones who broke me and stripped my shoulders of armor.

Not twenty Hectors could ever have done it, but all

Would surely have died on this plain beneath my long spear.

Pernicious fate in the form of Apollo slew me,

And a man named Euphorbuswhile Hector came third in my

slaying.12

And here’s something else that you will do well to remember:

Namely, that you yourself are not very long

For this life, since death and powerful fate are standing

Beside you even now, and they will surely

See to it that you go down in death at the hands

Of mighty Achilles, Aeacus’ matchless grandson.”

As thus he spoke, the final end arrived,

And his soul flew forth from his body and journeyed to Hades,

Bewailing her lot as one too soon bereft

Of youth and manly vigor. And now to the corpse

Of his foe, all-shining Hector spoke thus:

“Patroclus,

Why do you prophesy my sheer ruin? Who knows

But that Achilles, though son of fair-haired Thetis,

May first lose his life to me and become a spear-victim

Of mine?”

So saying, he put one foot on the corpse

And wrenched the bronze head from the wound, shoving the body

Back from the spear. And at once he took off with the weapon

In pursuit of Automedon, godlike squire of Achilles

The swift, for Hector was eager to bring him down too.

But the horses Automedon drove kept him ahead,

The deathless swift horses of Peleus, bright gifts of the gods.

BOOK XVII

The Valiant Deeds of Menelaus

Now King Menelaus, beloved of Ares, saw

That in the hot struggle Trojans had slain Patroclus,

And armored in flaming bronze he charged through the front rank

Of fighters and took his stand, bestriding the corpse

Of his comrade, as over her first-born calf a cow stands

Plaintively lowing. So now tawny-haired Menelaus

Stood over Patroclus, holding his spear and round shield

At the ready, raging to kill whoever might come

Against him.

And Panthous’ son Euphorbus, he

Of the tough ashen spear, was also well aware

That peerless Patroclus had fallen, and coming up close

He spoke these words to Ares-loved Menelaus:

“Atrides, nurtured of Zeus, commander of armies,

Fall back and leave the body and leave, I say,

The bloody war-gear. For none before me of the Trojans

And their far-famous allies got a spear in Patroclus

In this huge battle. Therefore, allow me to finish

My triumph and win great renown in the city of Troy,

Or I with one throw will deprive you of honey-sweet life!”

Then deeply angered, tawny Menelaus replied:

“Great God almighty! how poor a thing arrogance is!

Of course no leopard or lion or even ferocious

Wild boar, most mighty and savage of beasts, has anything

Like the fierce spirit of Panthous’ sons, men

Of the tough ashen spear. Maybe so, but the strong Hyperenor,az

Panthous’ horse-breaking son, got very little

From his short life, once he had made light of my prowess

And stood up against me, thinking that I was the weakest

Of Danaan warriors. It was not, I say, on feet

Of his own that he went back to gladden the heart

Of his darling wife and delight his excellent parents.

Nor will I fail to undo your strength, Euphorbus,

If now you stay and confront me. But I myself warn you

Not to do so, but lose yourself in the crowd

Before you suffer disaster. Once it occurs,

It will be too late for you not to play the fool!”

He spoke, but words brought only this from Euphorbus:

“Now indeed, O god-fed King Menelaus, you shall pay

Every jot of the price for my brother, about whose death

It seems you’re still bragging. And truly you are the blackguard

Who widowed his bride, withdrawn in her new bridal chamber,

And heaped indescribable anguish and grief on his parents.

But now I’ve a chance to soften their sorrow, if only

I bring your head and bloody armor and toss them

Proudly in Panthous’ hands and in those of his wife,

The beautiful Phrontis. But on with the fight! It will not

Take long to decide it and see whose strength will be first

To give in.”

So saying, he stabbed the round shield. But instead

Of the bronze tearing on through, the point was turned

By the sturdy buckler. Then Atreus’ son Menelaus

Lunged with his spear, praying to Father Zeus.

And as Euphorbus fell back, he plunged his bronze in

At the pit of his throat, with faith in his beefy hand

And all of his weight behind it, and the point passed clean

Through Euphorbus’ soft neck, sending him crashing to earth

With a ringing of armor about him. Warm blood now ran through

His hair, which had been like the hair of the Graces, braided

And bound with silver and gold and gathered in

As a wasp is. And like a lusty young olive tree

That a man tries to grow in a lonely place, where water

Plentifully burbles, a slender flourishing sapling

That sways with all of the breezes that blow and puts out

Lovely white blossoms, till all at once a hurricane

Comes and tearing it up from its trench lays it out

Undone on the earth, even such was Euphorbus, he

Of the tough ashen spear, whom Atreus’ son Menelaus

Stretched out in death and started to strip of his armor.

And as when a mountain-bred lion with trust in his brawn

Springs on the choicest heifer in all of a grazing

Herd and snaps her neck in his powerful jaws,

Then gulps her entrails and laps his fill of her blood,

While at a safe distance around him the hounds and herdsmen

Raise a great racket but lack the courage to come

Any nearer, since olive-pale fear grips all of them hard,

So now not one of the Trojans dared go and face

Renowned Menelaus. Hence quite simply would he

Have carried away the glorious gear of Euphorbus,

If Phoebus Apollo had not begrudged him the spoils,

And so, in the form of Mentes, a leader among

The Cicones, stirred up huge Hector against him, approaching

That peer of the fast-fighting War-god and speaking to him

In these winged words:

“Hector, you race after what

You can never attain, the horses of fire-souled Achilles.

Besides, no mere mortal can well control those horses.

Only Achilles can, for he is the son

Of an immortal mother. Meanwhile, warlike Menelaus

Stands over Patroclus and has already cut down

The best of the Trojans, Panthous’ son Euphorbus,

Whose furious war-charge has now been ended forever!”

So saying, the god re-entered the tumult of mortals.

But Hector’s heart was packed with darkest torment,

As he looked across the ranks and quickly spotted

King Menelaus stripping the glorious war-gear

From dead Euphorbus, stretched out on the ground with blood

Still running down from the horrible spear-wound. Then Hector

Strode out through the foremost fighters, armored in flaming

Bronze and screaming his awesome war-cry, a man

Like the flame of Hephaestus, not easily quenched. Nor did

Menelaus fail to hear that heart-piercing cry,

And now deeply troubled he spoke to his own great heart:

“Ah miserable me! if I should leave behind me

This exquisite bronze and Patroclus too, who lies here

Fallen in my behalf, then surely every

Danaan fighter who sees me will show his contempt.

But if, upholding my honor, I stand all alone

To do battle with Hector and other Trojans, I’m afraid

They’ll surround me, their many against my one, for now

Bright-helmeted Hector is leading all of the Trojans

This way. Why, then, do I argue thus with myself?

Any man at all who insists on fighting another

Whom God himself sponsors, quickly brings on his head

A great wave of woe. Therefore, no Danaan fighter

Who sees me fall back before Hector will blame me one bit,

Since surely Hector’s strength comes directly from God.

Even so, if only I might find powerful Ajax,

Good at the shrill battle-scream, we two could turn

And regain our stomach for fighting, even though we did it

In God’s despite, still hoping and trying to win

For Peleus’ son Achilles the corpse of his friend.

So something, at least, would be saved.“1

While he so pondered

In mind and heart, the Trojan troops came on

With Hector leading. And now Menelaus retreated,

Leaving the corpse and turning from side to side,

Like a bearded lion that dogs and angry men

Drive from a cattle-pen, hurling their spears and shouting

Till his heart so valiant before soon freezes with fear,

And reluctantly he goes forth, leaving the farmyard.

So now from Patroclus went tawny Menelaus. But when

He reached the mass of his men, he turned and stood,

Looking all over for great Telamonian Ajax.

Quickly he saw him on the far left flank of the battle,

Cheering his men and urging them on in the fight,

For Phoebus Apollo had filled them with panic. Menelaus

Took off at a run and soon he came up to him, saying:

“Ajax, good friend, come with me, and let the two of us

Hurry to fight for the dead Patroclus, that we

May at least carry back his corpse to Achilleshis naked

Corpse, for already bright-helmeted Hector has taken

The armor!”

These words deeply stirred huge flame-hearted Ajax,

Who rapidly strode away through the front rank of champions

With tawny Menelaus beside him. Now Hector had finished

The stripping of dead Patroclus and was at that moment

Dragging the corpse to where he could cut off the head

With his keen-bladed bronze and give the trunk to the lean dogs

Of Troy. But when Ajax approached him, bearing his shield

Like a tower, Hector fell back, merged with his men,

And leaped on his chariot. First, though, he gave the exquisite

Armor to comrades of his, that they might carry it

Into the city to be his most glorious trophy.

Meanwhile, Ajax stood over Patroclus, covering

Him with his huge broad shield, bestriding him there

Like a lioness over her cubs, one that hunters

Have met as through the forest she leads her litter,

And that, in the pride of her power, lowers her brows

Till her eyes are mere slits as she awaits their attack.

Even so, great Ajax bestrode heroic Patroclus,

And by him stood Atreus’ son Menelaus, who,

Though the War-god’s favorite, was seething with still-growing sorrow.

Then Glaucus, Hippolochus’ son and leader of Lycians,

Scowled darkly at Hector and harshly berated him thus:

“Hector, your looks are surely impressive enough,

But a fight finds you wanting. It seems that your great reputation

Belongs to one who is really a cowardly turntail!

Just ask yourself how you intend to save your city

And home with no other help than that provided

By native-born Trojans. For at least not one of the Lycians

Will fight any longer to save your town from the Danaans,

Since now we know there were never to be any thanks

At all for our ceaseless efforts against the foe.

For how, O stone-hearted one, how in the heat

Of battle would you ever help any ordinary soldier

When here you have left Sarpedon, your guest and your friend,

To be the Argives’ victim and spoil? And Sarpedon

Was one to whom you owed much, both your whole city

And you, though now you lack the courage to keep

The dogs from his body. Therefore, if the Lycians will listen

To me, we’ll all go home and leave your city

To certain and utter destruction. But if only there were

In the Trojans that dauntless, unshakable valor that should

Possess men who labor and fight in defense of their country,

Then we right quickly would drag Patroclus to Ilium.

And if we should do so, haling his body from battle

And into King Priam’s great city, the Argives would soon

Return the splendid war-gear of Sarpedon, and then

We would bring into Ilium his body too. For the man

About whom we fight was the friend of a very great soldier,

By far the best of all Argives here with the ships

And the leader of truly superior close-fighting troops.

But you most lamentably lacked what it takes to stand

Face to face with huge-hearted Ajax and look him straight

In the eyes and do battle with him in the fiery midst

Of war-screaming men, for he is much stronger than you! “2

Then scowling at him, bright-helmeted Hector replied:

“Glaucus, why would such a man as you are say anything

So uncalled for? Truly, good friend, I thought you

The wisest of all who live in rich-landed Lycia.

But now I would not give a straw for your understanding,

Since you have accused me of running from monstrous Ajax.

Believe me, I’m not one who shudders at bloody battle

Nor at thundering horses. But always God’s will is stronger

By far than man’s. Aegis-great Zeus can make

The bravest fighter retreat and easily keep him

From winning, especially when he inspires another

To fight like fury against him. So come, my friend,

Go by my side and observe my prowess in battle.

Just see throughout this whole day if ever I act

Like the coward you call me, or if instead I don’t stop

Many Danaans, eager for war though they be, from fighting

To win dead Patroclus.”

So saying, he sent a great cry

Ringing out to the Trojans, shouting: “You Trojans and Lycians

And dueling Dardanians, now, my friends, be men,

And filled with furious boldness! while I put on

The bright armor of matchless Achilles, the splendid war-gear

I took from stalwart Patroclus once I had slain him.”

So saying, Hector, his bronze helmet flashing, left

The fiery conflict, and rapidly running he soon

Caught up with his comrades, who had not yet got very far

Toward town with Achilles’ famous and exquisite armor.

Then standing apart from the tearful struggle, he changed

His war-gear, giving his own to the fight-loving Trojans

To carry to sacred Ilium, and putting on

The immortal bronze of Peleus’ son Achilles,

Armor the heavenly gods had given his father

And that he, when old, had given his son, who never

Lived to be old in the armor he had from his father.3

Now when from far off cloud-gathering Zeus saw Hector

Donning the war-gear of Peleus’ godlike son,

He shook his head and spoke to his own heart thus:

“Ah wretched mortal! you have no thoughts at all

Of death, though death draws very near you. Instead,

You are donning the immortal armor of a most valiant man,

Before whom you’re not the only one who trembles,

You that have killed his brave and lovable friend

And ignobly taken his war-gear. For a while, however,

I’ll give you great martial force, in return for which

You must forfeit your sweet homecoming from battle. Never

Will your Andromache take from the hands of her husband

The glorious armor of Peleus’ son Achilles.”

He spoke, then bowing his iron-dark brows he made

The armor fit well on the body of Hector, into whom

Now came the spirit of Ares, the grim god of slaughter,

And his limbs were renewed from within with spirit and vigor.

Then he went back to his famous allies, roaring

His powerful war-cry, and all of them saw him there

Resplendently clad in the bronze of huge-hearted Achilles.

Going up and down among them, he cheered and encouraged

Each man he couldMesthles and Glaucus and Medon,

Thersilochus, Asteropaeus, Deisenor, and Phorcys,

Hippothous, Chromius, and Ennomus, reader of bird-signs

All these he encouraged, speaking to them winged words:

“Listen, you unnumbered nations of neighboring allies.

I did not call you men here from your native cities

Merely to swell the army of Troy, but that

You might willingly save the Trojans’ children and wives

From these warmongering Achaeans. For this reason only

I’ve all but exhausted the goods of my people that you

Might have food and presents and a daily renewal of spirit.

Therefore let every last man of you here charge straight

At the enemy, heedless of whether you live or die

For such is the game of battle. And whoever forces

Ajax to yield and drags Patroclus, dead

Though he is, into the midst of horse-breaking Trojans,

With that man I’ll split the spoils half and half, and his glory

Shall be as mine is!”

He ended, and all of them rushed

Headlong on the Danaans, holding their spears up high

And eagerly hopeful of dragging the corpse of Patroclus

From beneath the great Ajax, poor childish fools that they were!

For truly over that corpse he was to take

The lives of many in that attack. But now

Even Ajax spoke thus to battle-roaring Atrides:

“O god-fed good Menelaus, I no longer think

That even we two can back out off this fight by ourselves.

Nor am I by any means so much concerned for the corpse

Of Patroclus, that soon shall glut the dogs and birds

Of the Trojans, as now I am for the safety of my head

And yours. For yonder comes glowering Hector, a terribly

Dark cloud of war enshrouding us all, and we two

Especially are sure to dieunless, my friend,

You can call to the other Danaan chiefs and make

Someone hear!”

He spoke, and battle-roaring Menelaus

Did not ignore him, but shouted a far-piercing cry

To the chiefs: “O friends, captains and counselors

Of the Argives, you that drink the community wine

With Atreus’ sons Menelaus and King Agamemnon

And issue orders to your respective commands

All you that receive your rank and honor from Zeus

I cannot now easily pick you separately out,

So hotly blazes the huge strife of battle.

But now let each of you come on the double, with no

Special summons from me, and with you bring fierce indignation

Lest the poor corpse of Patroclus soon become

The delight of Trojan dogs.”

Then the son of Oďleus,

Ajax the racer, heard every word, and he

Was the first to come running through the hot fighting, and

Idomeneus

Followed and Idomeneus’ comrade Meriones, that peer

Of the slaughtering War-god. But as for the others who came

To support those Achaeans, who has the mind to recall them

And name all the names?

Then the Trojans, with Hector leading,

Charged all together. And as when a gigantic wave

Roars in at the mouth of some Zeus-fed river, opposing

The flow, and the headlands resound on either side

As the salt-sea booms against them, so now with a din

As great the clamoring Trojans came on. But now

The Achaeans stood round the corpse of Patroclus, firm

And unflinching, united in purpose and walled about

With bronze shields. And Cronos’ son Zeus shed a heavy mantle

Of mist down over their bright-flashing helmets, for Patroclus,

While he was alive and the friend of Achilles, had never

Been disliked by Zeus, and now he hated to see

His body become the delight of his enemies’ dogS.4

Hence Zeus aroused his comrades in defense.

But at first the Trojans dislodged the quick-eyed Achaeans,

Who left the corpse and shrank back in fear, but not

One man did the eager Trojans lay low with their spears,

For they turned their efforts to dragging the corpse away.

The Achaeans, however, did not stay back very long,

For Ajax rallied them quicklyAjax, who

In form and fighting surpassed all the Danaan chiefs

But the peerless son of Peleus. Straight through the front rank

Of fighters he burst with the furious might of a foaming

Wild boar that wheels at bay in some glade of the mountains

And easily scatters the hounds and lusty young hunters.

Thus great Telamon’s son, the illustrious Ajax,

Charged mid the Trojan battalions and scattered them quickly,

Though they had taken their stand round Patroclus, fiercely

Determined to drag him into their city and so

Win the glory themselves.

Already Hippothous, splendid

Son of Pelasgian Lethus, was dragging the corpse

Through the melee, having bound his baldric about one ankle

In his eager effort to please the Trojans and Hector.

But swiftly indeed he met with disaster, an evil

That no one, however zealous, could then have kept from him.

For Ajax came darting in through the crowd and plunged

A spear through his bronze-cheeked helmet, and the headpiece crested

With horsehair was split round the point, and Hippothous’ bloodmingled

Brains spurted out from the wound and ran down along

The socket and shaft of the weapon. Right there his strength

Was dissolved, and letting the foot of great-souled Patroclus

Fall to the ground, he fell very quickly himself,

Face down on the corpse, far away from loamy Larissa.

And for his careful upbringing he never repaid

His dear parents, since now his life was cut short by the spear

Of spirited Ajax.

Then Hector met his advance

With a cast of his own bright spear. But Ajax, looking

Straight at him, just managed to dodge the hurtling bronze,

Which flew on to lodge in Schedius, magnanimous Iphitus’

Son and best by far of the Phocians, one

Who lived in a mansion as lord over many at Panopeus,

World-renowned. Hector’s spear hit him squarely just under

The collarbone, tore on through, and came out at the base

Of his shoulder. And royal Schedius clanged to the ground

With a clashing of brazen war-gear. Then Ajax in turn

Killed flame-hearted Phorcys, son of Phaenops, striking him

Full in the gut as he boldly bestrode Hippothous.

The bronze cut a gash in his armor, through which his entrails

Oozed, and Phorcys, falling full length in the dust,

Clawed at the earth. Then glorious Hector and the foremost

Trojan fighters gave ground, and the yelling Argives

Dragged off the bodies of Phorcys and Hippothous and stripped

Their shoulders of armor.

And now the fiery Achaeans

Would surely have driven the weary, terrified Trojans

Back up into Troy, and so by dint of sheer force

And power have won more glory than Zeus intended,

If Phoebus Apollo himself had not roused Aeneas,

Appearing to him in the form of his old father’s herald,

Periphas, Epytus’ son, a kindly man

Who had served long and well in the house of Anchises. Looking

Exactly like him, Apollo, son of Zeus,

Came up to Aeneas and spoke:

“How in the world,

Aeneas, would you ever defend steep Troy if God

Were against you? as indeed I have seen others do, putting

Their faith in their own manly prowess and that of their fellows

And holding their realm in defiance of Zeus himself.

But here Zeus clearly wills the victory for us

Far more than he does for the Danaans, yet you are much

Too afraid to do any real fighting!”

He spoke, and Aeneas

Looked on his face and knew him at once for Apollo,

The god who strikes from afar, and lifting his voice

He shouted to Hector and all of the others, saying:

“O leaders of Trojans and Trojan allies, what

A disgrace it will be if now these fiery Achaeans

Drive the terrified Trojans back up into Troy!

But truly a god just stood by my side and assured me

That all-knowing Zeus is still on our side in the battle.

So let us charge straight for the Danaans and make all the trouble

We can for them as they struggle to get to the ships

With the body of dead Patroclus.”

With this he sprang

Far out in front of the first-line champions and stood,

And the Trojans rallied and turned to face the Achaeans.

Then with a thrust of his spear Aeneas brought down

Leocritus, son of Arisbas and excellent comrade

Of Lycomedes. And as he fell Lycomedes,

Dear to the War-god, felt pity for him, and coming

In close he hurled his bright spear and struck Apisaon,

Hippasus’ son and the people’s lord, in the liver

Under the midriff, thus suddenly causing his knees

To buckleApisaon from fertile Paeonia, who next to

Asteropaeus surpassed all the rest of his people

In fighting. And as he fell this Asteropaeus,

Dear to the War-god, felt pity for him and fiercely

Charged in to battle the Danaans. He, however,

Charged in vain, for he met a wall of bronze shields

Bristling with spears, long lances held by the chieftains

Who stood round the corpse of Patroclus. For Ajax was busy

Among them shouting orders, instructing them strictly

To hold their ground, with none either falling back

Or boldly fighting in front of the other Achaeans,

But all, he said, should stand fast by the body and fight

Hand to hand.

Such were the commands of gigantic Ajax,

And quickly the earth was empurpled with blood as the dead

Fell thick and fast, the Trojan dead and the dead

Of their proud allies, and the dead of the Danaans too,

For they fought no bloodless encounter, though of them far fewer

Were falling, since always they tried in the melee to keep death

Away from each other.

Thus war’s holocaust blazed on,

Nor would you have thought either sun or moon were shining,

So thick was the dark cloud of mist that enshrouded the struggle

Of all the great fighters who fought round Menoetius’ dead son.

But the other Trojans and well-greaved Achaeans fought

In relative comfort beneath a clear sky, from which

The piercing rays of the sun shone down upon them,

And no cloud could be seen above either the plain or the mountains.

These fought at intervals, resting from time to time

And standing apart far enough to avoid the groan-fraught

Shafts of the foe. Those leaders around the body,

However, were greatly distressed by the fog and the fighting

And suffered much from the weight of their pitiless bronze.

Two chiefs were not there, Antilochus and Thrasymedes,

For they did not know that flawless Patroclus was dead.

They thought he was still alive and fighting the Trojans

Up front. Meanwhile, they fought in another part

Of the field, looking out to avoid both death and panic

Among their companions, as Nestor had told them to do

When he sent them away from the black-hulled vessels and forth

Into battle.

So all day long their hard hatred raged,

And the knees and legs and face of each man, the arms

And the eyes, incessantly streamed with the sweat of their toil,

As the two armies fought round swift Achilles’ dead friend.

And as when a man gives a large bull’s-hide to his people

For stretching, one already drenched in fat, and they

Stand apart in a circle and pull away at the sides

Till its own moisture goes and the fat sinks in, many men

Tugging with all of their might to stretch it as taut

As they can, so now all around they were tugging away

At the corpse, with neither side making much gain, though still

Their hearts were full of hope, the Trojans eager

To drag the body to Troy, the Achaeans pulling

Toward the hollow ships. And around the corpse the struggle

Grew savagely wild, as on the strong champions fought,

Nor could even host-urging Ares nor Pallas Athena

Have seen them so and made light of their efforts, no matter

How spiteful those deities were.

Even such was the toil

Of evil war that Zeus strained taut that day

Over dead Patroclus. Nor as yet did godlike Achilles

Have any knowledge at all of Patroclus’ death,

For the fighting went on beneath the Trojan wall

Far away from the swift-running ships. Hence Achilles had

No idea what had happened, but thought his friend would surely

Return alive after he had pressed eagerly on

To the very gates of Troy. He knew that Patroclus

Would not sack the city without him, nor with him either,ba

For often his goddess mother had told him in private

What almighty Zeus was planning. Now, however,

She did not let him know of the monstrous thing that had

happened,

That now his most precious friend had been destroyed.

Meanwhile, round the dead body the fighters continued

To clash, constantly killing with sharp-pointed spears.

And thus would one of the bronze-clad Achaeans shout:

“O friends, it would scarcely be to our credit for us

To go back to the hollow ships without the body.

Far better for us if at once the black earth would engulf us

All, if now we’re to give these horse-taming Trojans

The glory of dragging Patroclus to their city!”

And likewise one of the spirited Trojans would yell:

“O friends, though all of us here be destined to die

By this body, yet let not a man of us shrink one foot

From the fighting!”

Thus they would cry to encourage and strengthen

Each other as on they fought. And the iron din

Went up through empty air to the burnished bronze sky.

But apart from the battle Achilles’ horses were weeping,

And had been so since first they learned that their fighter

Had gone down dead in the dust at the murderous hands

Of Hector. Surely Automedon, stalwart son

Of Diores, had done all he could to move them, laying on

Many hard blows with his flying swift lash and alternately

Coaxing and cursing for all he was worth. But the pair

Refused to go back to the ships and the broad Hellespont,

Nor would they go into battle among the Achaeans.

Instead, they stood with the ornate car, still

As a pillar of stone on the grave of some dead man or woman,

Bowing their heads to the ground.5 And their hot tears

Fell on the earth as they mourned for Patroclus, and both

Their luxuriant manes were dirtied with dust as they streamed

From under the yoke-pad on either side of the yoke.

And as they wept, Zeus saw and felt compassion.

Shaking his head he spoke to his own heart thus:

“Poor wretches! why did we give you to Peleus the King,

A mortal, while you are immortal and ageless? Was it

That you too might suffer the woes of unhappy men?

For of all the creatures that breathe and move on earth,

I know there is none more utterly wretched than man.

At any rate Priam’s son Hector shall never mount up

In your colorful car, since that I will not allow.

Is it not quite enough that he wears Achilles’ armor

And makes his vain boast about it? But now I’ll put

New strength in your hearts and legs that you may carry

Automedon safely from war to the hollow ships.

For I shall give more glory still to the Trojans,

Urging them on until they have driven the Argives

Back to the well-timbered ships, steadily killing

Till the sun goes down and powerful darkness arrives.”

So saying, he breathed noble ardor into the horses,

And shaking the dust from their manes they took off at a gallop

And drew the swift car mid the moil of Achaeans and Trojans.

And Automedon fought behind them, though greatly grieved

For his friend Patroclus, swooping in with the car

Like a vulture that falls on a large flock of geese. Rapidly

He would dash in through the huge chaos of battle,

Then rapidly flee. But fast though he went in the sacred

Car, it was more than one man could do to handle

Both spear and horses at once, so Automedon slew

Not a single man as in and out he charged.

But at last a comrade noticed his actions, Alcimedon,

Son of Laerces and grandson of Haemon, and standing

Behind the chariot he spoke to him thus:

“What god,

Automedon, has so deluded your excellent mind

That now you fight in this manner amid the Trojans

Up front and completely alone? For your fighter and friend

Is dead, and the armor he wore is now on the shoulders

Of Hector, who glories in wearing the famous bronze

Of Achilles.”

And Automedon, son of Diores: “What man,

Alcimedon, equals you at holding and driving

Immortal horses? No one but Patroclus, godlike

In skill, was as good, and now death’s doom has engulfed him.

Come then, you take the lash and glossy reins

And I’ll be the one to dismount and do the fighting.”

He spoke, and Alcimedon sprang on the battle-swift car

And caught up the lash and reins as Automedon leaped

To the ground. Then shining Hector noticed them there

And quickly spoke thus to Aeneas nearby: “0 counselor

Of bronze-breasted Trojans, yonder I see the two horses

Of Aeacus’ grandson Achilles appearing in battle

With two really puny charioteers. If you

Are willing, I’m sure we can capture that fine pair of chargers,

Since those two weaklings with them will never stand up

To us and fight man to man.”

Such were his words,

And Anchises’ brave son agreed. Then they charged straight ahead,

Their shoulders protected by shields of bull’s-hide, well-tanned

And tough and covered with plenty of hammered-on bronze.

And with them went godlike Aretus and Chromius too,

And all of them went full of hope to kill the two men

And drive off the neck-arching horsespoor infantile fools

That they were! For not without shedding blood of their own

Were they to get back from Automedon. He now made his prayer

To Father Zeus, and within him his dark-seething heart

Was infused with spirit and power. Then he spoke thus

To his trusted companion Alcimedon:

“Come now, good friend,

And don’t hold those horses too far away, but let me

Feel their hot breath on my back as I fight. For truly

I don’t think that Priam’s son Hector will run out of fury

Until, having killed both of us, he springs up behind

Achilles’ mane-tossing horses and routs the ranks

Of the Argive warriors, unless he himself should fall

Mid the foremost.”

So saying, he called to the two Ajaxes

And King Menelaus: “You Ajaxes both, leaders

Of Argives, and you, Menelaus, come now! Leave the corpse

With those who are bravest to hold their ground and keep off

The enemy ranks, and keep off from us, the yet living,

The pitiless day of our doom. For now charging down

On us hard through the tear-fraught toil come Aeneas and Hector,

The bravest of Trojans. The outcome lies in the lap

Of the gods. So here goes my cast, and may Zeus determine

The issue of all.”

With this, he drew back his long-shadowing

Spear and hurling it struck the round shield of Aretus,

And the keen bronze cut its way through, went on through his belt

And deep in his belly. And as when a powerful man

Comes down hard with a keen-cutting ax on the head

Of a field-ranging ox just back of the horns and cuts

Clean through the bone, causing the beast to lurch forward

And fall, so now Aretus sprang forward, then fell

On his back, and the quivering, razor-keen spear in his guts

Unstrung his limbs. Then Hector hurled his bright spear

At Automedon, who looking straight at him avoided the bronze

By ducking forward, and Hector’s long lance embedded

Itself in the ground behind its intended victim,

Where the butt-end quivered till finally hulking Ares

Stilled its fury. And now the two would have closed

And cut at each other with swords, if the two Ajaxes

Had not intervened, for when they answered the call

Of their comrade and came through the melee, fear seized Aeneas

And Hector and godlike Chromius, and back they fell,

Leaving dead Aretus stretched out on the earth. And Automedon,

Peer of the fast-fighting War-god, stripped off the armor

And made his boast, exulting:

“Surely I’ve got

Some small satisfaction now for the death of Patroclus,

Though this man I’ve killed cannot be compared with him.”

So saying, he picked up the bloody war-gear, and placing it

In the chariot he mounted, his feet and hands

Smeared with blood, like a lion fresh from devouring a bull.

And again the hard struggle, tearful and grim, was strained

Inhumanly taut above the corpse of Patroclus,

And Pallas Athena came down from the sky and augmented

The strife. For loud-thundering Zeus, whose purpose was

changing,

Had sent her to urge on the Danaans. As when Zeus arches

An ominous rainbow across the sky as a portent

Of war or chilling storm that makes men on earth

Stop work and bothers the flocks, so now Athena,

Shrouding herself in a lurid cloud, entered

The Danaan host and incited the heart of each man.

The first she encouraged was strong Menelaus, he being

Nearby. Assuming the form and weariless voice

Of Phoenix, she spoke to him thus:

“To you, for sure,

Menelaus, head-hanging shame will come, if the faithful

Friend of haughty Achilles be ripped by swift dogs

Beneath the Trojan wall. So hold your ground

With all of your might and urge on all of the others!”

Then King Menelaus, he of the shrill battle-scream,

Replied: “Phoenix, old sire, my ancient-born friend,

If only Athena would give me strength and keep off

The raining missiles, I surely would like nothing better

Than this defense of Patroclus’ body, for deeply

His death has pierced my very heart. But Hector

Rages like furious fire and doesn’t let up

At all with his deadly havocking bronze. Obviously

Zeus has decided to give the glory to him.”

At this the blue eyes of Athena blazed with delight,

Since in his appeal he had mentioned her first of all gods.

And she put strength in his shoulders and legs and infused

His heart with the daring persistency of a fly,

That always comes back for more no matter how often

It be brushed away from one’s skin, so dauntless is it

In stinging and so very fond of man’s blood. With such

Bold daring as that she filled his dark-seething heart,

And standing over Patroclus he hurled his bright spear.

Now among the Trojans was one both wealthy and brave,

Podes, son of Eëtion, and he was the favorite

Of Hector, a man with whom he had shared very many

Fine dinners. Him tawny-haired Menelaus pierced

With his bronze through war-belt and belly, just as he started

To flee, and brought him down with a thunderous crash.

And Atreus’ son Menelaus quickly dragged

The dead body away from the Trojans and into the ranks

Of his own good comrades.

Then Phoebus Apollo came up

To Hector and urged him on, in the form of Phaenops,

Asius’ son from Abydos, whom Hector preferred

Over all of his guests from abroad. Looking exactly

Like him, far-working Apollo spoke thus: “How can you,

Hector, expect any man of Achaea to fear you

At all after thisthis blenching before Menelaus

Who often has proved a puny spearman indeed?

But now with no one to help him he’s drawn a dead body

Away from the Trojans for goodthe body of your

Noble favorite, a champion surpassing championsyes Podes,

Son of Eëtion!”

He spoke, and a black cloud of grief

Descended on Hector, who rapidly strode through the front rank

Of fighters, clad in his high-burnished bronze. And Zeus

Took up the terrible tasseled aegis and shook it

All awesomely gleaming, and over Mount Ida he gathered

The storm clouds and filled the sky with thunder and lightning,

Thus signaling victory for Trojans, rout for Achaeans.

The first to begin the retreat was Boeotian Peneleos.

For as he stood fast, ever facing the foe, he received

A wound on top of his shoulder, as Polydamas’ spear-point

Cut through to the bone, for he it was that had cast

From not far away. And Hector in man-to-man combat

Put Leitus, son of Alectryon, out of the action

By jabbing his bronze in the brave Boeotian’s wrist,

And Leitus, anxiously looking around him, shrank

From the fighting, since now he no longer felt sure of his grip

On the spear as he sought to battle the Trojans. But as Hector

Went after Leitus, Idomeneus threw and struck him

A blow on the breastplate close by the nipple, causing

A scream to go up from the Trojans as that long spear-shaft

Broke in the socket. Then Hector hurled his bright bronze

At Idomeneus, son of Deucalion, standing now

In a car, and just barely missed him. He struck, though, Coeranus,

Meriones’ comrade and driver who came with him

From the fortified city of Lyctus. For Idomeneus had come

From the well-balanced ships on foot, and would surely have fallen

A glorious triumph for Trojans if Coeranus had not

Come up very fast with the flying-hoofed horses. He came

To Idomeneus then as a light of deliverance and kept

From him the ruthless day of his death, though he

Himself lost life at the hands of murderous Hector.

His spear went in beneath bold Coeranus’ ear

And jaw, uprooting his teeth and splitting his tongue.

Coeranus pitched from the car and let the reins fall

To the ground. But quickly Meriones gathered them up,

Handed them to Idomeneus, and spoke to him, saying:

“The lash now! and use it well until you get back

To the swift-running ships. You yourself know very well

That we no longer have any chance in this fight.”

He spoke, and Idomeneus lashed the mane-tossing horses

Back to the hollow ships, for fear had fallen

Upon him.

Nor did Menelaus and huge-hearted Ajax

Fail to see that Zeus was giving the victory

To Trojans, and great Telamonian Ajax spoke thus:

“Now confound it all! any man, however foolish,

Can see whose side Zeus is on. For the Trojans let no missile

Fly that doesn’t strike home, no matter who hurls it,

Whether brave captain or cowardZeus guides them all

To their marks, while all of our shafts fall vainly to earth.

But come, let us think for ourselves and find the best way

To rescue this body and please our dear friends by returning

Ourselves, for our comrades behind us must be in great fear

As they look out at us and lose all hope that the fury

Of slaughtering Hector and his invincible hands

Will be stopped before he falls on the black-hulled vessels.

If only some comrade of ours would carry word

With all speed to Peleus’ son Achilles, who,

I believe, has not even heard the horrible news

That his dearest friend is dead. But I can see

No Achaean fit for the mission, so thick is the dark

Cloud of mist enshrouding us all, both men and horses.

O Father Zeus, deliver the sons of Achaeans

From this great darkness. Clear the air and enable

Our eyes to see. If kill us you must, then kill us,

O lord, in the light.”

Such was his plea, and the Father,

Pitying him as he wept, quickly dispersed

The dark cloud of mist, and the sun shone brightly on all

As the whole battlefield was clearly revealed. Then Ajax

Said this to battle-roaring Menelaus:

“Look about now,

God-fed Menelaus, and see if Antilochus, son

Of magnanimous Nestor, is still alive. If so,

Instruct him to run with all speed to fiery Achilles

With word that his most precious friend has been destroyed.”

Menelaus did not ignore him, but went like a lion

Leaving a cattle-yard, one exhausted from harassing

Dogs and farmhands, who watch all night to protect

Their fat oxen and drive him away. The flesh-hungry lion

Charges right in, only to be driven back

By a rain of spears and blazing torches, hurled

At him by brawny bold arms, Still hungry, he has to

Retreat, and slinks off at dawn disappointed. So now

Menelaus, unwilling at heart, went away from Patroclus,

Greatly reluctant, since much he feared that Achaeans

In painful rout would leave the body a prey

For the foeman. Hence he exhorted both Ajaxes

And Meriones, fervently saying:

“Both of you Ajaxes,

Leaders of Argives, and you, Meriones, remember

How lovable luckless Patroclus was, for he

Knew how to be kind to all those about him, before

Death’s doom engulfed him.”

So saying, tawny Menelaus

Took off, searching the plain like an eagle, the bird

That men say possesses the sharpest eyesight of all

Winged creatures that fly under heaven, that sees from on high

Even the fleet-footed hare as he huddles beneath

Some leafy busheven on him the fierce eagle

Falls and catching him kills him at once. So now,

O King Menelaus, your bright eyes roamed through the moil

Of your numerous troops in search of old Nestor’s son

Still alive. Soon then he saw him far on the left,

Cheering his men and urging them on in the fight.

Approaching him there, tawny Menelaus spoke thus:

“God-nurtured Antilochus, come here to me, that you

May learn what horrible thing has happened, something

I deeply wish never had. You see, I’m sure,

How God is rolling a great wave of woe on the Argives

And giving the victory to Trojans. And now the best

Of Achaeans is dead, Patroclus himself, and the Danaans

Terribly miss him. But you now, run with all speed

To the ships and tell Achilles what I have told you.

If he loses no time, he may yet bring to his ship

The still whole corpse of his friendthe naked corpse,

Since huge bright-helmeted Hector is already wearing

His armor.”

At this, Antilochus paled with horror.bb

He stood for a while quite speechless, his eyes full of tears

And his sobs all choked up within him. He did not, however,

Neglect Menelaus’ command, but set out on the run,

Having given his bronze to his matchless driver Laodocus,

Who close beside him was wheeling his solid-hoofed horses.

Then weeping he ran from the field of fighting to tell

The cruel word to Achilles. Nor was your spirit disposed,

O King Menelaus, to stay and assist the battered

Friends of Antilochus, men of Pylos who missed him

Greatly. Instead, Menelaus sent Prince Thrasymedes

To help them and hurried to stand once again by the corpse

Of Patroclus. There with the two Ajaxes he spoke

To them, saying:

“I’ve sent out a man to the fast-faring ships

On his way to fleet-footed Achilles, not that I have

The slightest idea that Achilles will come and do battle,

No matter how great his hatred for royal Hector.

For how can he fight the Trojans without any armor?

But come, let us think for ourselves and find the best way

To get out of here with the body and get ourselves out

Alive from this perilous moil of war-screaming Trojans.”

And great Telamonian Ajax replied: “All

That you say is quite right, most illustrious King Menelaus.

So quickly now, you and Meriones stoop and shoulder

The body and bear it out of the fighting, while we two

Behind you, alike in soul as we are in name,

Fight off the Trojans and royal Hector, even we,

The two Ajaxes, who many a time have stood

By each other and fought in the face of mad-slashing Ares.”

At this the two powerful warriors stooped and quickly

Shouldered the body, whereat the throng of Trojans

Behind them shouted in protest. And straight upon them

The fierce Trojans charged, like hounds that dart in front of

Young hunters straight on a stricken wild boar, lusting

To rip him apart till the great beast, trusting in brawn,

Wheels and confronts them, sending them back on their haunches

And off in all directions. Even so the Trojans

Came on in a pack, repeatedly thrusting with swords

And two-pointed spears, but whenever the Ajaxes turned

And stood against them, their faces paled with fear

And no man dared to charge in and fight for the dead.

As the two chiefs labored to bear the body quickly

From battle and to the hollow-hulled vessels, a war-charge

Wild as blazing fire was hurled against them,

An onset hot as a huge conflagration that suddenly

Comes on a city and, fiercely flaming, collapses

The homes as a high wind keeps it roaring. Even so

After them the Trojans came on with a constant hubbub

Of horses and spearmen. And as when two mules pull hard

On either side of a log or a long ship-timber

To drag it down a rugged trail from the mountains

And, straining, both are well nigh overcome with the pain

And sweat of their toil, so now Menelaus and mighty

Meriones labored to bear the body quickly

From battle. And always behind them the two Ajaxes

Held off the foe as a ridge does flooding waters

Some wooded ridge that happens to lie across

A whole plain and so holds back the cruel streams

Of powerful rivers, turning their currents to wander

The plain and remaining unbroken no matter how mighty

The force of the flood. Even so, the two Ajaxes

Held off the onrush of Trojans, who, however,

Kept coming, led by Aeneas, son of Anchises,

And bronze-blazing Hector. And as a cloud of starlings

Or jackdaws scream for their lives and flee when they see

A hawk falling toward them with certain death for small birds,

So now before Hector and slashing Aeneas the nimble

Achaeans fled screaming in fear for their lives, having lost

All stomach for fighting. And many fine pieces of armor

Fell in and about the trench as the Danaans fled,

And there was no respite at all from horrible war.6

BOOK XVIII

The Shield of Achilles

While thus on the plain war’s holocaust blazed, Antilochus,

Fast on his feet, arrived with his news for Achilles.

He found him in front of his high-horned vessels, anxiously

Brooding on what had now come to pass, deeply troubled

And speaking thus to his own great-hearted self:

“Ah miserable me! how is it that now once more

The Achaeans are driven in panic across the plain

And back to the ships? O let it not be that the gods

Have wrought for my soul that ghastly evil foretold

To me once by my mother, who said that while I yet lived

The Myrmidon’s bravest and best would leave the light

Of the sun beneath the hands of the Trojans! Truly,

Gallant Patroclus must now be dead.1 O foolhardy

Comrade of mine! Surely I gave him strict orders

To come back here to the ships as soon as the fierce fire

Was out, and not to pit his powers against

Those of Hector.”

As thus he worried in mind and heart,

Antilochus, shedding hot tears, came up and reported

The miserable message: “What pain is mine, 0 son

Of wise-hearted Peleus, that I have to tell you such horrible

News, of a thing I wish deeply had never occurred.

Patroclus has fallen, and round his corpse they are fighting

His naked corpse, for huge bright-helmeted Hector

Is already wearing your armor!”

At this a black cloud

Of grief enveloped Achilles, and taking a dark

Double-handful of soot he poured it over his head,

Defiling his handsome face and fragrant tunic

With filthy black ashes. Then he dropped down full length

In the dust, mighty even in grief, and with his

Own hands he befouled and tore at his hair. And the women

Whom he and Patroclus had taken as booty shrieked

In anguish of heart and ran out of doors to sink

Round the form of their flame-hearted master and beat their breasts

With their hands, while Antilochus, weeping and moaning, held

The hands of heart-grieved Achilles, for fear that he might

Draw a blade and cut his own throat.2

Then awesome indeed

Were the groans and shrieks of Achilles, and though she sat deep

In the sea beside her old sire, his goddess mother

Heard him. At once she took up the wail, and the goddesses

Crowded around her, all of the daughters of Nereus

That live with their father deep in the salt-water sea.

Glauce was there and Thaleia and with them Cymodoce,

Speio, Nesaea, Thoë, and heifer-eyed Halia,

Limnoreia, Cymothoë, and Actaea,

Iaera, Amphithoë, Melite, and Agaue,

Doto and Proto, Dynamene and Pherousa,

Dexamene, Callianeira, and Amphinome,

Doris, Panope, and world-renowned Galatea,

Nemertes and Apseudes and Callianassa,

And Clymene with Ianeira and Ianassa,

Maera, Orithyia, and fair-braided Amathea,

And all the other daughters of Nereus that live

In the depths of the sea. With these was the silvery cave crowded,

And all of them beat their breasts in lament, as Thetis,

Who led their wailing, cried out among them, saying:

“Hear me, 0 Nereids, sisters of mine, that all

Of you may know what pain there is in my heart.

Ah wretched me! the miserable mother of valor

And woe, for I bore a matchless heroic son

To be the best of all warriors. When I had tenderly

Reared him, as one would a seedling he plants in a rich

Orchard plot, and watched him shoot up like a sturdy young tree,

I sent him off with the big-beaked ships to Troy,

That he might do battle with Trojans. But never again

Shall I welcome him home to the house of Peleus. Yet

He must suffer so long as he lives in the light of the sun,

Nor can I help him at all by going to him.

Go I will, though, that I may see my dear child

And hear what grief has come on him while he has held back

From battle and bloodshed.”

So saying, she left the cave,

And the weeping nymphs went with her, cleaving the waves

Of the sea till they came to the loamy rich land of the Trojans.

Then one by one they came up on the beach where thickly

The Myrmidon ships were drawn up around fast Achilles.

And his divine mother came to where he lay groaning,

Uttered a shrill cry of grief herself, and taking

His head in her hands spoke these words winged with compassion:

“My child, why are you crying? What sorrow has entered

Your heart? Speak out to me now and hide it no longer.

Surely you’ve got what you wanted from Zeus, since you prayed

With uplifted hands that all of the sons of Achaeans

Should be huddled up at the sterns of their ships and suffer

Disgraceful defeat because of their great need for you.”

Then heavily sighing, fast-footed Achilles replied:

“My mother, it’s true the Olympian has answered my prayers,

But what good to me is all that when my dearest friend

Is dead, Patroclus, the man I loved and respected

Above all other comrades, as much indeed

As I do my own self? Now I have lost him, and Hector,

Who killed him, has stripped off that beautiful armor, huge

And incredibly bright, a present the gods gave Peleus

The same day they gave you to him in marriage. Would you

Had stayed where you were mid the deathless nymphs of the sea

And that Peleus had taken a mortal woman for bride.

But now you too will have measureless grief, you

For the death of your son, whom never again will you

Welcome home. For my heart bids me no longer to live

Among men, unless first of all I am able to take

Hector’s life with my spear in requital for that of Patroclus,

Whom he made his booty and spoil.”

Then again tearful Thetis

Spoke to her son: “If you, my child, do

As you say, then surely you too will soon die, for soon

After Hector’s death your own will certainly come.”

Then greatly moved, fast-footed Achilles replied:

“Then soon let me die! since I was not there to help

My friend when he died.3 He fell very far from the land

Of his fathers, and needed me with him to keep off destruction.

So now, since I shall never return to my own

Precious country, and since I was no help at all to Patroclus,

Nor to my many other friends whom Hector

Has slaughtered, with me sitting here by the ships just so much

Useless weight to burden the earth, me,

Who am unsurpassed as a fighter, though not as a talker,

By any man now alive mid the bronze-clad Achaeans

0 how I wish all strife would die among gods

And men and with it anger, that causes the wisest

To sulk and storm, resentment that is more delicious

Than trickling honey and spreads like smoke in the hearts

Of mortals, as mine most surely did when King

Agamemnon provoked me. Well, what’s done is done.

Now we must conquer the anger within usbecause

We must. And I will enter the battle in search of

Hector, the man who killed my most precious friend,

And as for my own fate, certainly I’ll accept that

Whenever Zeus wills to fulfill it, Zeus and the other

Immortal gods. For not even powerful Heracles

Kept death away, though he was surely the favorite

Of Cronos’ son Zeus the almighty. Even he succumbed

To fate and the grim resentment of Hera. And so

I too shall lie still in death, if a similar fate

Has been fashioned for me. But now I intend to win

Splendid fame, and now because of me will many

Of Troy’s women and many deep-breasted Dardanians

Wipe with both hands the tears from their tender cheeks

As sob follows grief-laden sob, for I will have made them

Know what it means for me to be present in battle.4

Don’t try, then, to keep me from fighting because of your love

For me. You will not succeed!”

Then the goddess Thetis,

She of the silvery feet, spoke thus: “Surely,

My child, it is no evil thing to help your comrades

Survive the bloody dangers of war. But now

Your fine armor is held by the Trojans, your gleaming bronze war-gear.

Bronze-loving Hector, in fact, exultantly wears it

About his own shoulders, though he’ll not enjoy it long,

Since now his own death is near. So hold yourself back

From the turmoil of Ares until you see me returning,

And in the morning I will return with exquisite

Armor from lord Hephaestus himself.”

With this

She turned from her son and spoke to her sea-born sisters:

“All of you, now, plunge into the sea’s broad bosom

And go to the halls of our father, the briny old man

Of the sea, and make your report to him of all this.

I must be off to the famous craftsman Hephaestus

On lofty Olympus to see if he’ll make for my son

Some marvelous, all-shining armor.”

She spoke, and her sisters

The sea nymphs quickly vanished amid the salt waves,

But the goddess Thetis, she of the silvery feet,

Went up to Olympus, that she might bring glorious armor

For her precious son.

While her feet were taking her there,

The screaming Achaeans fled before man-killing Hector

And came to the ships and the Hellespont. Nor could the well-greaved

Achaeans draw forth Patroclus, the friend of Achilles,

From under the raining missiles, for again the men

And horses of Troy came up to the body, led by

Priam’s son Hector with fury like that of fire.

Three times resplendent Hector seized the corpse

By the feet and loudly called out to the Trojans, so eager

Was he to drag it away, and all three times

The two Ajaxes, fired with unquenchable courage, beat him

Back from the body. But Hector remained unshaken

In his resolution, and either he charged at them

Through the tumult, or stood his ground and called to his men,

But he never once yielded so much as a foot. For the Ajaxes

Had no more success in frightening Hector

Away from the corpse than field-dwelling shepherds who try

To drive from a carcass a tawny and starving lion.

And now would Hector have hauled off the body and won

Unspeakable glory had not wind-footed swift Iris

Sped down from Olympus with word for Achilles to arm

For the battle. She came in obedience to Hera, without

The knowledge of Zeus and the other immortals, and standing

Close to Achilles she spoke to him these winged words:

“On your feet! son of Peleus, most dreaded of men. Go rescue

Patroclus, on whose account a grim battle is raging

In front of the ships. There men are slaughtering men,

The Achaeans defending the corpse of your friend, while the Trojans

Charge in to drag it away to windy Ilium.

Blazing Hector is fiercest of all in his efforts

To haul off the corpse, and his urge is to hack off the head

From the tender neck and fix it high up on a stake

Of the wall. On your feet, then, and lie here no longer! Let shame

Fill your heart, lest soon the poor corpse of Patroclus become

The delight of Trojan dogsyour shame and disgrace,

If that corpse should come to your hands at all mutilated

By Trojans!”

Then quick Achilles answered her thus:

“Divine Iris, which of the gods sent you here with this message?”

And again wind-footed swift Iris: “Hera sent me,

The illustrious wife of high-throned Zeus, who has

No knowledge at all of my coming down, nor does

Any other immortal that dwells on snowy Olympus.”

To which Achilles replied: “But how should I go

Into battle when they out there are holding my armor?

And my dear mother forbade me to arm myself

Till she gets back from Hephaestus with splendid war-gear

For me. I’m aware of no man’s armor that I

Could use, except the big shield of Telamonian Ajax,

And he, I’m sure, is using that piece himself

Mid the foremost fighters, where he rages hotly, wielding

His spear in defense of dead Patroclus.”

And again

Wind-footed swift Iris: “We know very well who has

Your armor. But go to the trench as you are and show

Yourself to the Trojans that they may be so appalled

By the sight that they will stop fighting. Then the war-worn son

Of Achaeans may have a chance to catch their breath.

Such chances in battle are few.”

When thus she had spoken,

Fast-footed Iris took off. Then Zeus-loved Achilles

Got up, and about his great shoulders Athena flung

The bright-tasseled aegis,5 and round his head the fair goddess

Drifted a golden mist, from which she made blaze

A high-flaming fire. And as when smoke billows up

From a distant island-city beleaguered by foes,

And the soldiers defend it throughout the day from the walls

Of their town till at last the sun sets and the signal fires, many

And large, send their glare high up in the sky, that men

On neighboring islands may see and come in their ships

To ward off destruction, so now from the head of Achilles

The blaze went up toward heaven.

Striding out from the wall,

He took his stand by the trench, though he did not join

The Achaean troops, since he had respect for his mother’s

Strict command. He stood there and shouted, while out

On the plain Athena joined her voice with his, and he caused

Unspeakable chaos among the Trojans. His voice

Rang out as piercingly clear as the scream of a trumpet

When soul-wrecking foes are attacking a city. And when

They heard Achilles’ brazen voice, the hearts

Of the Trojans were stunned with surprise, and even the mane-tossing

Horses sensed fear in the air and turned back their cars

In panic. And their drivers were terrified when they saw

The unwearying fire blaze up with such awesome glare

Above the head of great-souled Achilles, for the bright-eyed

Goddess Athena made the flames rise. Three times

Across the trench great Achilles mightily shouted,

And three times the Trojans and their world-famous allies

Were thrown into chaos. And there twelve men of their bravest

Were killed by the cars and spears of their own fellow soldiers.

Meanwhile, the thankful Achaeans dragged Patroclus

From under the missiles and lifted him onto a litter,

While round him followed his dear mourning friends, and with them

Went fast Achilles, shedding hot tears, as now

He looked down on his faithful friend, torn by the mangling

Bronze and borne on a litter. He had sent him with horses

And car into battle, but never again did he welcome him

Back from the fighting.

Then heifer-eyed queenly Hera

Sent the unwearying Sun on his way to the stream

Of Oceanus. So at last the Sun, though reluctant,

Went down, and the brave Achaeans had rest from the cruel

Strife of that all-leveling and evil war.

And opposite them the Trojans, drawn back from the harsh

Encounter, unyoked from the cars their fast-running horses

And met in assembly before even thinking of supper.

And they stood all during the meeting, since no one there

Cared to sit, so anxious were they at the coming forth

Of Achilles, who had for so long stayed out of the fighting.

Then thoughtful Polydamas,bc Panthous’ son, spoke first,

For he alone looked before as well as behind.

He was a comrade of Hectorboth had been born

On the selfsame nightand he was as gifted in speech

As Hector in battle. Now, in an effort to help,

He spoke to them thus:

“Consider closely, my friends.

My own advice, since we are so far from the wall,

Is that all of us now should go back to the city, instead of

Awaiting bright Dawn out here on the plain by the ships.

So long as Achilles held back because of his wrath

Against King Agamemnon, the Achaeans were easier men

To fight, and I too was glad to spend the night out

By the shapely ships in the hope that we might soon take them.

But now I am deeply afraid of quick-charging Achilles,

A man of so mighty a spirit that he will be

Unwilling to fight in the midst of the plain, where both

The Achaeans and Trojans have suffered the War-god’s fury

Now he will aim his attack at the city itself

And at our wives! Let us, then, go back there ourselves,

For believe me, I know what will happen. Right now divine night

Has delayed fast-footed Achilles. But if in the morning

He puts on some armor and comes out to find us still here,

I tell you a great many men shall get well acquainted

With him. That man who escapes to holy Troy

Will be very glad that he did, but the dogs and the vultures

Shall feast on innumerable Trojansmay I never hear

How many! If, however, we do as I say,

Even though we dislike to, we’ll concentrate our forces

In the meeting place of the city, which is well protected

By walls with their strong, smooth-timbered gates, high

And well-barred. Then, at the first sign of Dawn, we’ll arm

And take our stand on the walls, so that if Achilles

Wishes to leave the ships and fight against us

For the city, so much the worse for him! He’ll go back

Again to the ships, having worn out his neck-arching horses

With galloping back and forth in front of the walls.

He won’t have the courage to break his way in and pillage

The town. Before that, he will himself be devoured

By the flashing-swift dogs of Troy!”

Then scowling at him,

Bright-helmeted Hector replied: “Polydamas, this counsel

Of yours, that we should go back and be penned up again

In the city, is most distasteful to me. Can it be

That you haven’t had quite enough of being shut up

In those walls? There was a time when men were accustomed

To tell of King Priam’s city, so famous it was

For its stores of bronze and gold. But now its exquisite

Treasures are gone from the homes, and countless fine things

Have been sold into Phrygia and into lovely Maeonia,

Since great Zeus became angry with us. And now

When at last that almighty god, the son of devious

Cronos, has given me victory beside the ships

And enabled me thus to coop the Achaeans up close

By the sea, you, like a fool, advise the host

To retreat. I command you to cease such folly, nor will

So much as one man pay attention to you.

I’ll see to that! But come, let all of us now

Do as I say. Go take your supper by companies

Throughout the host, and don’t neglect to stand watch

And all of you stay alert. And if any Trojan

Is overly worried about his possessions, let him

Collect them and turn them over for public consumption.

Better for our own people to profit from them

Than for the Achaeans to. But at the first sign

Of Dawn, let us launch a keen-slashing attack on the ships.

And if Achilles is really there to fight us,

It will indeed be so much the worse for him!

I surely will not run from him nor away from the horrors

Of battle, but face to face I’ll oppose him and see

Who wins the great victory, he or I. The War-god

Is partial to none, and often he who would kill

Is the one who gets killed!”

Thus Hector rebuked him, and all

Of the Trojans cheered, poor childish fools that they were!

For Pallas Athena deprived them of sense. They lauded

Hector and his bad advice, but not one man

Had praise for Polydamas, although his counsel was wise.6

Then throughout the host they took their evening meal.

All night the Achaeans raised the wail for Patroclus.

And among them Achilles led the mournful chant,

Laying his man-killing hands on the breast of his friend

And incessantly moaning, with grief as wrathful as that

Of a tawny lioness, one whose cubs some hunter

Of deer has stolen from out a deep wood, and the lioness

Comes back too late and is stricken with furious grief,

And her bitter anguish keeps her trailing the man

Through many a gorge in a frantic effort to find him.

So now Achilles, heavily groaning, spoke

To the Myrmidons:

“Ah misery! how vain were the words I uttered

That day when at home in the palace I tried to console

The noble Menoetius, saying to him that when

We had sacked the city of Troy I would bring back to him

At Opus his splendid son Patroclus and with him

His share of the spoil.bd But Zeus does not bring to fulfillment

All of the promises mortals make, and now

Both Patroclus and I are doomed to stain with our blood

The same Trojan soil, since I shall never go back

To be welcomed at home by the knightly old Peleus, nor

By Thetis, my mother, for here the black earth shall hold me.

But now, Patroclus, since I shall go under this ground

After you, I will bring to this place before your body

Is burned both the armor and head of Hector, the killer

Of great-hearted you! And in front of your pyre I’ll cut

The throats of twelve splendid sons of the Trojans, venting

My wrath because of your killing.be Until that time,

You shall lie here beside my beaked ships, and around you

Day and night shall captive women of Troy

Along with deep-breasted Dardanians cry out in mourning

With shedding of tears, all of the women Patroclus

And I took by force, toiling hard with our spears, when together

We plundered rich cities of mortal men.”

So saying,

Royal Achilles told his comrades to set

A great three-legged cauldron over the fire, that they

With all speed might wash the blood and gore from Patroclus.

They set the bath cauldron over the coals and poured in

Water for washing and beneath it heaped wood. Then,

As the flames leaped round the cauldron’s belly, the water

Grew warm. And when it boiled in the gleaming bronze,

They washed the corpse and anointed it richly with oil,

Filling the wounds with ointment aged for nine years.

Then they laid him out on a bed and covered him over

From head to foot with a thin linen shroud, over which

They draped a lovely white robe. So all night long

About swift Achilles the Myrmidons wailed in their grief

For Patroclus.

Meanwhile, Zeus spoke these words to Hera,

His sister and wife: “I see you have had your own way,

O heifer-eyed regal Hera, this time by arousing

Swift-footed Achilles. Truly the long-haired Achaeans

Must be your very own children!”

To which Queen Hera

Replied: “Most dreadful son of Cronos, what

Are you talking about! Why even a mortal, who lacks

The resources we have, will do what he can for a friend.

So how was I, who claim to be best of goddesses

On at least two accounts, in that I am the eldest

And also your wife, you being King of all

The immortalshow, I say, was I not to weave

What evil I could for my hated foes the Trojans?”

While thus they were talking, Thetis of the silver feet

Arrived at the house of Hephaestus, a mansion built

By the great limping god himself It was wrought of immortal

Bronze and shone out among the deities’ houses

Bright as a star. At the moment Hephaestus was busily

Turning from bellows to bellows, sweating with toil

As he labored to finish a score of three-legged tables

To stand round the sides of his firm-founded hall. On each

Of the legs he had put a gold wheel, that those magic tables

Might cause all to marvel by going with no other help

To the gathering of gods and by likewise returning to his house.

The tables were almost finished, but still he had not

Attached the elaborate handles, which now he was forging

With rivets hammered to fit them. While he worked hard

On these with great skill, the bright-footed goddess approached,

And lovely Charis, bf she of the shimmering veil

Whom the famous lame god had married, saw her and came

To the door. Then warmly taking her hand, she said:

“My lovely-gowned Thetis, to what do we owe this visit?

You are indeed an honored and welcome guest,

Though your visits here have not been frequent. But follow me

Further, that I may set some refreshment before you.”

With this, divine Charis led her in and seated

Her in a beautiful chair, all richly wrought

And studded with silver, with a rest below for the feet.

And she called to the famous craftsman her husband, saying:

“Hephaestus, come in here. Thetis has something to ask you.”

Upon which the great ambidextrous deity called:

“Surely, then, a reverenced and powerful goddess

Is in our home, the very one who saved me

From anguish that time I had fallen so far on account of

My bitch-hearted mother who wished to get rid of me

Because of my lameness.bg Then I would surely have suffered

Much more than I did, if Thetis had not been so kind

Thetis and Eurynome, daughter of circling Oceanus.

I stayed with them for nine years and made a great many

Intricate things, brooches and spiral bracelets,

Cupped earrings and necklaces, all highly wrought by me

Within their high-vaulted cave, while around us flowed

The endless stream of Oceanus, seething with foam.

No man or immortal knew where I was, except

Of course Thetis and Eurynome, since they had taken me in.

And now divine Thetis, she of the beautiful braids,

Has come to our house on a visit. Hence I must do all

I can to repay her for rescuing me. Serve her

Something refreshing and fine, while I put my bellows

And tools away.”

So saying, he roused his huge bulk

From the anvil, puffing and limping, though his thin legs

Were nimble enough. He set the bellows away

From the fire, and gathering up his tools he put them

Away in a silver chest. With a sponge he wiped

His face and hands, his powerful neck and shaggy

Chest, then put on a tunic, took a strong staff,

And limped toward the door. Quickly, girls of gold,

Exactly resembling living maids, hurried

To help their masterthey all have minds of their own,

Speech and strength, and the gods everlasting have given them

Marvelous skill with their hands. When these had assisted

Their master through the door, he limped up to Thetis,

Sat down in a gleaming chair, took her hand warmly,

And calling her name, spoke thus:

“My lovely-gowned Thetis,

To what do we owe this visit? You are indeed

An honored and welcome guest, but your visits here

Have not been frequent. So say what you have in mind,

And if it can be done and done by me

Then my heart says do it.”

And Thetis, weeping, replied:

“O Hephaestus, is there any goddess who lives on Olympus

To whom Zeus has given so many sorrows as he has

To me? He made me alone, of all the sea nymphs,

Endure the bed of a mortal, of Peleus, son

Of Aeacus, sorely against my will.bh This Peleus

Lies in his palace, worn out with sad old age,

But now I have other troubles. For Zeus gave me

A son to bear and to raise, one who would be

The bravest and best of all warriors. When I had tenderly

Reared him, as one would a seedling he plants in a rich

Orchard plot, and watched him shoot up like a sturdy young tree,

I sent him off with the big-beaked ships to Troy,

That he might do battle with Trojans. But never again

Shall I welcome him home to the house of Peleus. Yet

He must suffer so long as he lives in the light of the sun,

Nor can I help him at all by going to him.

Lord Agamemnon snatched from his arms the girl

That the sons of Achaeans picked out for him as a prize.

Then while he was wasting his heart in grief for her,

The Trojans penned the Achaeans up close to the sterns

Of their ships and held them there. So the Argive elders

Pleaded with him for his aid, offering him many

Splendid gifts. And though he refused to defend them

From ruin himself, he did lend Patroclus his armor

And sent him forth into battle with many Myrmidons.

All that day they fought round the Scaean Gates

And could on that selfsame day have taken the town,

If Apollo had not slain Patroclus up front mid the champions,

Killing him there after he had done much damage

To Trojans, though Hector received the credit and glory.

Now, then, I’ve come to your knees to see if you’ll give

My soon-to-die son new armora shield and a helmet,

Bright greaves with ankle-clasps, and a breastplate too.

For the armor he had was lost with his faithful friend

When he was cut down by the Trojans. And now my son

Lies on the ground grieving his sorrowful heart out.”

Then the great ambidextrous god answered her thus:

“Take heart, and try not to worry. I only wish

That I were as able to save him from hateful death,

When the dread hour of doom comes on him, as I am able

To make a bright set of armor for him, a set

So exceedingly fine that all who see it will marvel.”

With this, he left her there and went back to his bellows,

Which now he turned toward the fire and told to blow.

And the bellowsall twenty of themblew on the crucibles,

Sending forth blasts of wind wherever the toiling god

Wished them to make the fire hotter in order to further

His work. And on the fire he put stubborn bronze,

And tin, and precious silver and gold. Then he set

His huge anvil up on the block and took up in one hand

A massive hammer, and fire-seizing tongs in the other.

First he fashioned a shield both wide and thick,

Skillfully forging it all. About it he hammered

A triple-thick rim, to which he attached a baldric

Of silver. The rest of the shield was five layers thick,

And on it he wrought, with cunning skill, many

Elaborate things.

He made lovely images there

Of earth and heaven,7 of sea and weariless sun,

Of the moon at full and of all constellations that shine

In the skythe Pleiads, the Hyads, and mighty Orion,

And the Great Bear, by some called the Wain, which circles

In its place, its eyes on Orion the Hunter, and never

Sinks in the baths of Oceanus.

On it he wrought

Two beautiful cities8 and filled them with people. In one

There were weddings and banquets, and by the light of high-blazing

Torches, parties were leading the brides from their homes

And through the streets, as the loud bridal song arose.

Young men were whirling about in the dance to the music

Of flutes and lyres, and women stood at their doors

To watch the procession and marvel. The men, though, had gone

To the place of assembly, where two of their number were striving

To settle a case concerning a murdered man’s blood-price.

The defendant declared his cause to the people and vowed

He was willing to pay the whole price, but the other refused

To accept it, and each was eager to have a judge’s

Decision in his behalf. The people were cheering

Both men, some favoring one and some the other,

But heralds held all of them back from where in the sacred

Circle the elders sat on the polished stones,

Each taking the great-lunged herald’s staff when it came

To him in his turn. With this each elder would come

To the fore and give his opinion. And in the center

Two talents of gold were lying, the fee to be given

To him who uttered the straightest and truest judgment.

But the other city was shown besieged by two

Shining hosts of bronze-armored men. And they were divided

Between two plans, either to sack and pillage

The lovely town, or to lift the siege in return

For half its possessions. Those within, however,

Would not go along with this proposal at all,

And instead they were arming and getting an ambush ready.

Leaving their wives and small children, together with all

The old men, to guard the wall, the others went forth

Behind Ares and Pallas Athena, both wrought of gold

And wearing gold armor, tall and beautiful figures,

Quite as the gods should be, that clearly stood out

Above the men they were leading. When these arrived

At the place where it pleased them to lay their ambush, down

In the bed of a river where all kinds of cattle watered,

They posted two guards apart from the rest to keep

A sharp lookout for sheep and shuffling cattle, and then

They sat down to wait in their flashing bronze. Very soon

The herds came, attended by two happy herdsmen, gaily

Playing their pipes and suspecting no treacherous ambush.

But those in hiding sprang out, killed the two herdsmen,

And quickly cut off the many beeves and beautiful

Flocks of silvery white sheep. Now the city’s besiegers,

Gathered in council, heard the bawling of cattle,

And leaping up quickly behind their high-stepping horses

They rapidly drove to where the attack had occurred.

And there, by the banks of the river, they fought a pitched battle,

Gashing each other with bronze-headed spears. Hatred

And Chaos took part in the struggle, as did the spirit

Of ruinous Death, who was shown laying violent hands

On one man wounded but still alive, on another

Unwounded as yet, while a third who was dead already

She dragged through the gore by the feet, and the cloak on her

shoulders

Was crimson with warriors’ blood. Thus they all mingled

And fought like living men, and each side was hauling

Its dead away from the foe.

Thereon he set

A wide field of rich fallow land, thrice-plowed and soft.

Here many plowmen were wheeling their teams and cutting

Long furrows. And each time they came to the edge of the field,

A man would step out and place in their hands a cup

Of honey-sweet wine. Then the plowmen would turn and head

Down the furrow, eager to reach the field’s edge again.

And behind them the earth, though made of gold, grew black,

Exactly as real earth does when it’s plowed. Such

Was the marvelous art of Hephaestus.

And there on the shield

He depicted the huge estate of a king, whereon

His workers were reaping,9 wielding their sharp reaping hooks.

All along the swath the handfuls of grain were falling,

And boys would gather them up in their arms and carry them

Over to binders, who tied them up into sheaves.

Among them the king, his royal staff in hand,

Stood quietly rejoicing, while off from them in the shade

Of an oak his heralds were roasting an ox they had slaughtered,

Preparing a meal for the reapers, and women were sprinkling

The meat with abundant white barley.

And on it he made

A fair golden vineyard, where heavy dark clusters of grapes

Were supported by silver poles. About it he ran

A trench of blue lapis and outside of that a tin fence.

Only one path led into the vineyard, and by it

The pickers came and went whenever they gathered

The grapes. Along it girls and young men were gaily

Bearing the honey-sweet fruit in full wicker baskets,

And with them a boy, strumming his lyre, sang sweetly

In his fine voice a dirge for the death of Linus,

While all the others kept time to the music, dancing

And chanting together.

There he also made a herd

Of straight-horned cattle, fashioning them of gold

And tin. With lowing they hurried from farmyard to pasture,

A field by the quivering reeds of a clamorous river.

Four herdsmen of gold were walking beside the cattle,

And with the men nine flashing-swift dogs were shown.

But up at the front of the herd two awesome lions

Had seized a loud-lowing bull and dragged him, terribly

Bellowing, off to one side, while the dogs and young men

Came running. The lions, however, ripped open the hide

Of the bull and gulped his entrails, lapping their fill

Of dark blood, as the herdsmen vainly attempted to scare them

By urging on the quick dogs. These shrank from sinking

Their teeth in the lions, but stood up close, barking

And springing away.

And the great ambidextrous god

Wrought on the shield a wide and beautiful valley,

Wherein was a meadow for silvery white sheep with sheepfolds,

Shelters, and pens.

And on it the famous lame god

Made with great skill a dancing-floor10 like the one

In wide Knossos which Daedalus built a long time ago

For her of the beautiful braids, the fair Ariadne.

There on the floor young men and bull-bringing maidens

Were holding each other’s wrists and dancing, the girls

In sheer linen gowns, the men in close-woven tunics

To which a faint gloss had been given with soft olive oil.

And on their heads the girls wore lovely garlands,

While all the men had golden daggers hanging

From belts of silver. First they would spin in the dance,

Their skillful feet whirling around like the wheel of a potter

Who squats to give it a turn and see how it runs.

Then they would form in long lines and dance toward each other.

And all around the exquisite dancers a large

And delighted crowd was standing, as in and out

Among them a pair of performers gaily turned cartwheels.

At last, all about the rim of the massive shield

He put the powerful stream of the river Oceanus.11

Next, having finished the shield both wide and thick,

He forged Achilles a breastplate brighter than flame,

Then beat out a weighty helmet, close-fitting, crested

With gold, and beautifully wrought, and finally fashioned him

Greaves of flexible tin.

Now when the great

Ambidextrous god had made all the armor, he took it

And laid it before the feet of Achilles’ mother.

And she like a hawk swooped down from snowy Olympus,

Bearing the flashing armor Hephaestus had made.

BOOK XIX

The Reconciliation

As crocus-clad Dawn arose from Oceanus’ stream,

That she might bring light to gods and mortal men,

Thetis arrived at the ships with the gifts from Hephaestus.

There she found her dear son embracing Patroclus

And wailing, while round him his comrades stood weeping. At once

The bright goddess stood by his side among them, took

His hand warmly in hers, and spoke to him thus:

“My child,

In spite of our grief, we must allow this man

To lie as he is, since now he is dead forever

By will of the gods. But take from Hephaestus this glorious

War-gear, more exquisite armor than any man yet

Has worn on his shoulders.”

So saying, the goddess set down

The armor in front of Achilles, and all of the pieces

Rang in their intricate splendor. Then trembling seized all

Of the Myrmidons, nor did they dare to so much as look

At the armor, but shrank back in terror. But when Achilles

Saw the armor, his wrath increased, and his eyes

Glared out from beneath his lids with the awesome fury

Of flame. He picked up the gear and deeply rejoiced

In the glorious gifts of Hephaestus, and when he had sated

His soul with gazing upon their elaborate art,

He spoke to his mother in these winged words:

“My mother,

This armor Hephaestus has given is fit indeed

To be the work of an immortal god, nor could any

Mortal achieve it. Now, then, I’ll arm for the fight,

Though I am extremely uneasy that while I’m away

Flies will light on the bronze-dealt wounds of Patroclus

And breed worms in them, thus defiling his corpse.

No life is left in him now, and all of his flesh

Will rot.”

Then silver-shod Thetis replied: “My child,

Don’t let such things distress you. I’ll do my best

To keep from his corpse the pestilent swarms of flies

That feed on the flesh of men slain in battle. Though he

Should lie where he is throughout a whole year, his flesh

Would be sound as ever, if not indeed sounder. But you

Go call to the place of assembly the men of Achaea

And there renounce your wrath against Agamemnon,

The people’s shepherd. Then arm yourself with all speed

For the battle, and fill your heart with dauntless courage.”

Thus she spoke, and her words inspired Achilles

With truly invincible valor, and into the nostrils

Of dead Patroclus the goddess instilled ambrosia

And ruby nectar, that his firm flesh might still

Continue to be so.

Meanwhile, noble Achilles

Strode off along the shore of the sea, terribly

Shouting, and soon he aroused the Achaean warriors.

Even they who had always stayed at the ships

The helmsmen who wielded the steering-oars, and the stewards

Who dealt out the rationseven these came to the place

Of assembly, since now Achilles, who had for so long

Stayed out of the painful fighting, had come forth again.

Those two squires of Ares, battle-staunch Diomedes

And brilliant Odysseus, limped in and sat down at the front,

Each using his spear for support, since both were still feeling

Their recent wounds. Last of all came King Agamemnon,

He too still favoring his wound, the gash that Coon,

Son of Antenor, had made with his bronze-pointed spear.

When all the Achaeans had gathered, swift-footed Achilles

Arose and spoke thus:

“My lord Agamemnon, was this, then,

Better for us, for you and for me, that we

With hearts full of sorrow raged in soul-eating hate

On account of a girl? 0 how I wish that Artemis

There by the ships had killed her with one of her arrows

That day when I leveled Lyrnessus and took her as booty.

Then would far fewer Achaeans have bitten the dust

Of this unspeakable earth beneath the hands

Of their foes, while I wouldn’t fight because of resentment.

Our quarrel did much good for the Trojans and Hector,

But long indeed the Achaeans will think of our strife

With miserable sorrow. Well, what’s done is done.

Now we must conquer the anger within usbecause

We must. Now I at least shall put an end

To my wrath. It would hardly become me to go on this way

Forever.1 But come, Atrides, quickly command

The long-haired Achaeans to get themselves ready for battle,

That I may engage the Trojans and see if they wish

To spend this night out here by the ships. Believe me,

Many a Trojan will be very glad to sit down

And rest anywhere, that is if he escapes

The fury of war and my spear!”

Thus he spoke,

And the well-greaved Achaeans roared their applause, so glad

Were they that the great-souled son of Peleus had now

Renounced his wrath. Then the king of men Agamemnon

Spoke among them, not coming out in the center,

But standing before his seat:

“Surely, O friends,

Danaan heroes, comrades of Ares, surely

You should pay attention to him who stands up to speak,

And not interrupt him. The world’s most gifted speaker

Could never make himself heard above the hubbub

Of an army, no matter how strong his voice might be!

Now I wish to speak to Achilles, but I want every man

Of you other Argives to pay close attention and know

What I say. Very often you men of Achaea have had

Your say and spoken against me, though really I am not

To blame.2 But Zeus and powerful Fate are, and the Fury

That stalks through the mist. For that day here in the place

Of assembly they hurled on my soul harsh blindness and caused me

To take from Achilles the prize that is rightfully his.

But what could I do, since God himself brings all things

To pass? That day God worked through his eldest daughter,

Sweet Follya ruinous power that blinds the judgments

Of all. Soft are her feet, for she never goes

On the ground, but always she treads the air just over

Men’s heads, ensnaring first one, then another, and making

Them err through foolish infatuation. Why once

She blinded Zeus himself, though people say he

Is the greatest of gods and men. But even him

Wily Hera beguiled, using well her female cunning,

On that day when Alcmene was due to give birth

In tower-crowned Thebes to the powerful Heracles. That day

Zeus made this pronouncement to all of the gathered gods:

” Pay attention to me, all gods and goddesses too,

That I may say what my heart commands me to speak.

This day shall the goddess of childbirth, the labor-inducing

Eileithyia, bring forth to the light a man who shall rule

Over all of his neighbors, one of those men descended

From me by blood.’

“But queenly Hera craftily

Answered him thus: Your failure to do what you say,

O Olympian, will prove you a liar in this. But come,

Swear to me now an unbreakable oath that he

Who this day shall fall between the feet of a woman,

Born a child of your blood, shall really rule

Over all of his neighbors.’

“So Hera, but Zeus was oblivious

Of what she intended, and there he swore a great oath

Even Zeus, completely deluded by Folly. Then Hera

Sprang down from the peak of Olympus and quickly arrived

In Achaean Argos where, as she well knew,

The noble wife of Sthenelus, son of Perseus,

Had carried a son in her womb for some seven months.

This child Hera brought quickly forth to the light

Before his due time, but she held back Alcmene’s son

By restraining the goddess of childbirth.bi Then Hera herself

Went with the news to Cronos’ son Zeus, and said:

” O Father Zeus, lord of the dazzling bolt,

I come to inform you that on this day there has

Already been born that excellent man who shall

Be King of the ArgivesEurystheus, son of Sthenelus,

The son of your own son Perseus. Hence he is worthy

To be the Argives’ ruler.’

“At this, sharp pain

Struck deep in the heart of Zeus, and grabbing a handful

Of Folly’s bright-braided hair, he swore an unbreakable

Oath in his fury of soul that never again

Would she, the deluder of all, be allowed on Olympus

Or anywhere near the star-studded heaven. So swearing,

He whirled her about by the hair and flung her down

From the starry sky, so that soon she arrived mid the works

Of men. But still Zeus would groan whenever he saw

His beloved son Heracles toiling beneath some foul labor

That King Eurystheus laid on him. So also I,

When huge bright-helmeted Hector was cutting the Argives

To pieces beside the sterns of their ships, could not

Forget Folly, who blinded me from the first. But since

I surely was blinded, and robbed of all sense by Zeus,

I am eager to make amends and to give in requital

Gifts beyond counting. So get yourself ready for battle,

And rouse all the rest of the army As for the gifts,

I promise you all that lord Odysseus offered

The other night when he came to your lodge. Or,

If you’d rather, stay out of the battle for just a while longer,

Straining to fight though you are, and my men shall bring

These gifts from my ship, that you may see for yourself

What glorious things they are.”

Then fast Achilles:

“Renowned Atrides, king of men Agamemnon,

The gifts are yours to give or withhold,3 as is right

And you see fit. But now, with no further delay,

Let us call up our lust for battle. It hardly becomes us

To talk time away when there is great work to be done.

Now when once again Achilles is seen by many

Up front with his bronze-headed spear depleting the ranks

Of Troy, let each of you think who is back in the battle

And fight with your man in the mood such thinking inspires!”

To which resourceful Odysseus answered, saying:

“Not quite so fast, O godlike Achilles, great warrior

Though you are. Don’t send the sons of Achaeans

Into battle with Trojans before they have eaten,

For once the ranks clash and the War-god breathes his fury

Into both sides, the fight will not soon be over.

So order the men to breakfast beside the swift ships

On food and wine, the source of their courage and strength.

Not one of us here could fight all day long till sunset

With nothing to eat. No matter how ardent for battle

He were, his legs would be leaden before he knew it,

As thirst and hunger caught up with him, and soon

His knees would grow weak. But he who has his fill

Of food and wine fights all day long, sustained

By the strength of his heart, and beneath him his legs hold out

Until all are ready to quit. So come, Achilles,

Break up the meeting and bid the men go fix a meal.

Regarding the gifts, let King Agamemnon have them

Brought here to the place of assembly, that all the Achaeans

May see them and your own spirit be warmed with delight.

And let him stand up mid the Argives and swear an oath

To you that he has never gone to bed

With the girl and made love with her, as men and women,

0 Prince, so naturally do. And let your own heart

Be forgiving and gracious. Then let him make further amends

With a lavish feast in his lodge, that you may lack nothing

You have coming to you. And you, Agamemnon, hereafter

Be juster toward others. A king loses nothing who makes

Amends to one he has first unjustly offended.”

To him the commander-in-chief Agamemnon replied:

“Your words, O son of Laertes, have filled me with gladness,

For justly you have explained as well as expounded,

And nothing has been left out. The oath you describe

I am ready and anxious to take, nor shall I be false

Before God in so doing. But let Achilles stay here

For a while, hot though he be for battle, and all

Of you others stay too, till the gifts are brought from my lodge

And we swear our oaths of faith with due sacrifice.

And as for you, Odysseus, these are your orders:

Pick out a number of men, the best young princes

Among the Achaeans, and bring from my ship all the gifts

That we promised Achilles the other night, and bring

The women as well. And let Talthybius get

A boar ready, that here in the midst of this huge gathered host

We may make our due sacrifice to Zeus and the Sun.”

Fast-fighting Achilles, however, answered him, saying:

“Most famous Atrides, king of men Agamemnon,

It would be much better for you to take care of these things

At some other time, when perhaps there shall come a lull

In the fighting and when my own spirit is somewhat appeased.4

But now the mangled dead still lie where Hector

Left them when Zeus gave glory to him, and you

And Odysseus bid us eat breakfast! My orders now

To all the Achaeans would be to fight hard all day

On empty and starving stomachs, and then, when the sun

Goes down and we have avenged our disgrace, to make

A huge meal for ourselves. Until that time no food

Or drink shall pass down my throat, at least, since my

Dear friend lies torn in my lodge, his feet toward the door,

While round him our comrades are mourning. Hence I have no interest

At all in food and drink, but only in slaughter

And blood and the agonized groans of mangled men.”

Then Odysseus, always resourceful, answered him thus:

“O Achilles, son of Peleus, strongest by far

Of all the Achaeans, surely you’re stronger than I

And more than a little better at hurling the spear,

But I in counsel may very well far surpass you,

Since I am older and have experienced more.

So listen to me and let your heart heed what I say.

Men soon get enough of hard fighting, especially when Zeus,

The dispenser of victory, tips his balance against them.

Then with their bronze they reap far more straw than grain,

And soon they’re exhausted. Nor can we consider mourning

The dead by denying our bellies, since day after day

So many men die that, believe me, there’d be no more eating

At all! So we have no choice but to bury the dead,

Hardening our hearts and weeping for one day only.

For all those still left alive from the hateful tumult

Of battle must make themselves eat and drink, that we

May go on in armor of unyielding bronze to fight

The foe without undue pause and harder than ever.

Now let no man in this army hold back for want

Of ordersthese are your orders, and woe to him

Who loiters here at the ships! All together, let us

March out and charge with savagely slashing Ares

Upon the horse-breaking Trojans.”

So saying, Odysseus

Went off with the sons of King Nestor, Phyleus’ son Meges,

Thoas, Meriones, Creon’s son Lycomedes,

And Melanippus, and quickly they strode to the lodge

Of Atreus’ son Agamemnon, where each man followed

Instructions. They brought from the shelters the seven tripods

Atrides had promised, twelve horses, and twenty bright cauldrons,

And forth they led seven women, flawless at work

With their hands, and lovely Briseis made eight. Then Odysseus

Weighed out ten talents of gold and led the way back

With the young Achaeans loaded down with the gifts.

These they set in the place of assembly, and up rose

Agamemnon, while the god-voiced herald Talthybius stood

By the army’s commander-in-chief holding a boar

With both hands. And the son of Atreus drew the knife

That always hung beside his great scabbard and from

The head of the boar he cut the first bristles. Then lifting

His hands in prayer to Father Zeus, with all

The Argives silently sitting, heeding their King

In good order, he looked up at heaven’s expanse and prayed:

“May Zeus be my witness first, the highest and best

Of gods, then Earth and Sun and the Furies that punish

Men in the nether world for swearing falsely,

That never yet have I laid a hand on Briseis,

Neither to take her to bed nor for anything else.

She has lived in my lodge the whole time quite unmolested.

And if this oath be false in any way,

May the gods everlasting inflict me with countless sorrows,

All that they give to a man who sins against them

By swearing falsely.”

He prayed, then cut the boar’s throat

With the unfeeling bronze, whereupon Talthybius whirled

With the carcass and flung it into the great gray gulf

Of the sea, thus providing a feast for the fish. Then Achilles

Stood up and spoke mid the war-loving Argives, saying:

“O Father Zeus, how total is that cruel blindness

You cast upon men! Agamemnon would never have filled

My heart with rage, nor ruthlessly taken the girl

In spite of my wrath, if you, O Zeus, had not

Already decreed that many Achaeans should die.

But now let all of you go to your meal, that we

May soon clash with the Trojans.”

With this, he quickly broke up

The assembly, and all of the others dispersed to their ships.

But the spirited Myrmidons busied themselves with the gifts

And brought them all to the ship of godlike Achilles.

There they stowed them away in his shelters, leaving

The women there and proudly driving the horses

Off to his herd.

But when Briseis, gorgeous

As sweet Aphrodite the golden, saw Patroclus

Gashed and torn with the mangling bronze, she flung

Herself on him and shrieked in her grief, and with her hands

She tore at her breasts and soft neck and beautiful face.

Wailing, this woman lovely as goddesses cried:

“Patroclus, most precious to my wretched heart, I left you

Alive when I went from this lodge, but now, 0 leader

Of many, I come back to find you lying here dead.

Thus misery continues to follow misery for me.

The husband to whom my father and queenly mother

Gave me I saw lying dead before our city,

Gashed with the mangling bronze, and my three precious brothers,

All sons of the mother who bore me, were likewise all

Overtaken by their day of doom. But you, when Achilles

Killed my husband and leveled King Mynes’ city,

You wouldn’t allow me to grieve, but comforted me

With the promise that you would have great Achilles make me

His lawful wife, and have him take me to Phthia

In one of his ships and joyfully celebrate there

With a wedding feast mid the Myrmidons. Hence I weep

For your death without ceasing, for you the forever gentle.“5

Thus she spoke, constantly sobbing, and all

Of the other women added their tears to hers,

Outwardly mourning Patroclus, but also lamenting

Their own miserable plight. And around Achilles

The Achaean elders gathered, pleading with him

To eat. But he refused, groaning and saying:

“I plead with you, my friends, if only someone

Will listen, not to urge food and drink on me,

Since I am so full of heart-rending grief I’ll go

As I am till sundown, no matter how empty I get.”

At this the other chiefs left him there, but the two sons

Of Atreus stayed, as did Idomeneus, Nestor,

And the knightly old Phoenix, all trying further to comfort

Their grieving friend. But his heart would not be appeased

At all, till he had hurled himself straight into

The blood-dripping jaws of war. Remembering Patroclus,

He heaved a deep sigh and said:

“Ah how very well,

O my unlucky, most precious friend, how very well

You would set forth a fine meal for us in this lodge

And with what dispatch, whenever the Argives were hastening

To hurl a tear-fraught attack on the horse-taming Trojans!

But now you lie here, gashed and torn, and I, so much

Do I miss you, have no wish at all to eat or to drink,

Though there is plenty right here at hand. Nothing

That I could suffer could be more painful than this,

Not even news of my father’s death, who now

In Phthia is probably shedding bitter tears for lack

Of the son he lost, while I am here in a land

Of strangers, fighting on horrible Helen’s account

With men of Troynor even news that my own son

Was dead could hurt me more, he who is being

Brought up for me in Scyros, my own Neoptolemus,

If indeed that godlike boy is still alive. 6

Always before, I hoped in my heart that I

Alone would die far away from horse-pasturing Argos

Here in the land of Troy, but that you, Patroclus,

Would go back to Phthia and take my son with you,bj sailing

From Scyros in a fast black ship, then showing him all things

At homemy treasures, my slaves, and my great high-roofed house.

For Peleus by now is probably dead and gone,

Or barely alive, worn out with hateful old age

And his miserable waiting for news that I am dead.”

Thus he spoke in his weeping, and all of the elders

Still present added their groans, each one of them thinking

Of those he had left at home. And as they wept,

Cronos’ son Zeus both saw and pitied their grief,

And at once he spoke these winged words to Pallas Athena:

“My child, you’ve now completely forsaken your own

Favorite fighter. Have you no more concern for Achilles

At all? He sits down there in front of his high-horned

Vessels, weeping for his dead friend. The others

Have gone to their meal, but he will touch nothing to eat

Or to drink. But go, distill into his breast

Delightful ambrosia and nectar, to stave off the pangs

Of hunger later on.”

So saying, he prompted

Athena, a goddess who needed no urging, and she

Like a wide-winged, high-screaming hawk shot down from heaven

Through the bright air. And while the Achaeans were hurriedly

Arming for battle throughout the camp, she instilled

Delightful ambrosia and nectar into the breast

Of Achilles, that grim pangs of hunger might not undo

His strong limbs. Then she returned to the thick-walled house

Of her almighty Father, just as the Argives came pouring

Out from the ships. As when from Zeus the snowflakes

Come fluttering down thick and fast, driven on by hard blasts

Of the sky-born North Wind, so now from the ships came flashing

Bright helmets, bossed shields, bronze-gleaming breastplates, and

spears

Of tough ash. And the brightness of all went up to the sky,

As earth all around seemed to laugh, so radiant was she

Beneath all that flashing of bronze, and the ground resounded

Like thunder beneath the feet of the marching army.

In the midst of all this, great Achilles put on his war-gear.

He gnashed his teeth, and his eyes glared fierce as fire,

For into his heart unbearable grief had pierced.

Thus in his hatred of Trojans, he put on the gifts

Of the god, the armor Hephaestus had forged for him

With toil and painstaking art. First he covered

His shins with greaves, fair greaves with ankle-clasps of silver.

Next, about his chest he put the breastplate,

And from his shoulders he slung the bronze sword with the studs

Of bright silver, and then with one hand he caught up the shield

Both wide and thick, and from it there came a gleam

Like that of the moon. And as when sailors at sea,

Borne by a storm far over the fish-full deep

Far away from their loved ones, glimpse the gleam of a fire

From some lonely hut in the mountains, so now from the beautifully

Intricate shield of Achilles the brightness went far

Through the air. Then lifting the weighty helmet he set it

Upon his head, where it sparkled and shone like a star,

And the golden plumes that Hephaestus had fixed in the crest

Of horsehair danced gaily above it. And royal Achilles

Tried himself in the armor to see if it fitted

Him well and allowed his splendid limbs to move freely,

And he, the people’s shepherd, felt light as a bird,

As if that armor were wings to lift him aloft.

Then from its stand he took the spear of his father,

A huge spear, heavy and long. No Achaean fighter

Could wield it but mighty Achilles himself, this strong spear

Of ash that Cheiron the Centaur had given to Peleus,

Achilles’ dear father. It came from the peak of Mount Pelion,

And was meant to bring death to the foe.bk

Automedon and Alcimus

Busily harnessed the horses, putting about them

The beautiful breast-bands, forcing the bits back into

Their jaws, and drawing the reins behind to the sturdy

Rail. Then Automedon seized the bright hand-fitting lash

And mounted the car, and behind him Achilles stepped up,

Fully armed and as dazzling as blazing Hyperion. Then harshly

He called to his father’s horses:

“Xanthus and Balius,

World-famous foals of Podarge, this time take care

To bring your rider back safe to the Danaan host

When the fighting is over, instead of leaving him dead

On the plain as you left Patroclus.”

From under the yoke

The horse Xanthus answered, he of the bright-glancing feet.

He bowed his head so that all of his mane, streaming

From under the yoke-pad, swept the ground, and Hera,

The white-armed goddess, gave him a voice:

“This time,

0 gigantic Achilles, we’ll bring you back safe enough,

Though surely your day of doom is already near.

Nor shall we be the cause of your death. That will be

Brought about by a very great god and powerful Fate.

It was through no sloth nor slowness of ours that Trojans

Were able to strip the gear from Patroclus’ shoulders,

But one of the strongest gods of all, the son

Of lovely-haired Leto, slew him among the front fighters

And gave the glory to Hector. We two can run

As fast as the blasting West Wind, which people say

Is the fleetest of winds, but you are already fated

To die, overwhelmed by the force of a god and a mortal.“bl

When thus he had spoken, the Furies deprived him of speech,

And Achilles, deeply disturbed, replied: “Xanthus,

What need have you to prophesy death for me?

I am already aware that it is my fate

To die here, far from my much-loved father and mother.

Even so, I’ll not relax till I’ve given the Trojans

Their fill of bloody war.”

So saying, he yelled

And drove those solid-hoofed horses up mid the foremost.

BOOK XX

The Gods at War

Thus beside the beaked ships and all around you,

O war-starved Achilles, Achaeans armed for the fight,

And up the plain from them the Trojans did likewise.

But powerful Zeus, from the many-ridged peak of Olympus,

Bade Themis call the gods to a meeting,1 and quickly

She went to them all and summoned them to the assembly

At Zeus’s palace. Not one river-god was absent

Except Oceanus, nor any nymph, of all those

Who haunt the lovely groves, the springs where rivers

Rise, and the grassy fields. Once there at the house

Of the cloud-gathering god, all the immortals took seats

Within the rows of bright columns which skillful Hephaestus

Had made for Zeus their Father.

Nor did earth-shaking

Poseidon ignore Themis’ call, but emerged from the brine

To join them. And now he sat in their midst and inquired

About Zeus’s purpose: “Why, 0 lord of the lightning,

Have you called this meeting of gods? Are you worried about

The Achaeans and Trojans, between whom battle is almost

Ready to blaze?”

Then Zeus of the gathering gale

Answered him thus: “You’re right, great shaker of shores,

I have indeed called this gathering of the immortals

Because of my deep concern for those warriors, doomed

Though they are. I myself, of course, will stay on a ridge

Of Olympus, from which I may watch the war as I please.

But all of you other immortals go down and help

The Achaeans and Trojans, aiding whichever side

You prefer. For if fast-fighting Achilles attacks

The unaided Trojans, they won’t be able to hold out

A moment. They’ve never been able to so much as see him

Without fear and trembling, and now that flaming rage

For the death of his friend is eating his heart, I’m afraid

He will outstrip his fate by leveling the walls of the city.”

These words of Cronos’ son Zeus awoke stubborn war,

And the gods went down to join their differing favorites.

Hera and Pallas Athena went to the ships

Of the Argives, and with them Poseidon and luck-bringing

Hermes,

The wiliest god of all. And with these went Hephaestus,

Exulting in might, for though he limped, his thin legs

Were nimble enough. But huge bright-helmeted Ares

And Apollo with hair unshorn went down to the Trojans,

Along with arrow-showering Artemis, Leto,

The river-god Xanthus, and Aphrodite, adorer

Of smiles.

So long as the gods were not there, the Achaeans

Won glorious victory, since now Achilles, who had

For so long stayed out of the painful fighting, had come forth

Again, and there was no Trojan whose legs did not tremble

At sight of quick-footed Achilles, flaming in arms

Like the man-maiming War-god himself But when the Olympians

Entered the tumult, host-harrying Hatred arose

With a vengeance. Athena screamed her great war-cry, now

From beside the deep trench outside the wall, now

From the surf-beaten shore of the sea, and opposite her

Dread Ares, ominous as a dark whirlwind, screamed

From the citadel heights, and again as he charged down the slope

Of Callicolone beside the banks of Simoeis.

Thus the happy gods greatly augmented the clash

Of battle and made bitter strife break out everywhere

Between the two armies fighting in horrible uproar.

Then from on high the Father of gods and men

Awesomely thundered, while down below Poseidon

Caused the limitless earth to rumble and quake

From plain to sheer mountain peaks. Well-watered Ida

Was shaken from bottom to top, as were the city

Of Troy and ships of Achaea. Hades, god

Of ghosts in the world under ground, was filled with panic

And sprang from his throne with a scream, lest Poseidon, shaker

Of earth, should split the ground open above him and thus

Reveal to men and immortals the ghastly abodes

Of death, the moldering horrors that even the gods

Would look on with loathing.

Such was the mighty uproar

When god clashed with god in strife. For against lord Poseidon

Stood Phoebus Apollo, god of the winged shafts,

And opposite Ares stood bright-eyed Athena. Opposing

Hera was Phoebus’ sister, the archer Artemis,

Goddess of golden shafts and the echoing shouts

Of the chase, while coming forth against Leto was powerful

Luck-bringing Hermes, and there opposing Hephaestus

Came the god of the great deep-swirling river,

Called Xanthus by the immortals, Scamander by men.

So gods advanced to meet gods.2 But Achilles had interest

In none but Priam’s son Hector, with whose blood

He most lusted to glut the battling Ares, him

Of the tough hide shield. Host-urging Apollo, however,

Inspired great strength in Aeneas and sent him to face

The raging son of Peleus. Assuming the form

And voice of Priam’s son Lycaon, Apollo,

Son of Zeus, spoke thus to the counselor of Trojans:

“Aeneas, where now are the brags you made to the princes

Of Troy when you, over wine, declared yourself ready

To fight man to man with Peleus’ son Achilles?”

To which Aeneas: “Lycaon, why would you tell me

This way to fight face to face, against my will,

With haughty Achilles? Not that it would be

My first encounter with him, since once already

He put me to flight with his spear, driving me down

From Mount Ida where he had come for our cattle the time

He sacked and laid waste Lyrnessus and Pedasus both.

That time Zeus saved me by giving me strength and putting

Great speed in my legs. Else I would surely have died

At the hands of Achilles and those of Athena, who went

Before him bearing the light of victory and bidding him

Kill with his bronze-headed spear both Trojans and Leleges.bm

May no man, then, fight face to face with Achilles,

For always beside him a god goes, warding off death.

And even unaided his spear flies very straight,

Nor does it stop save deep in the flesh of some mortal.

Still, were God to give us an equal chance

In man-to-man combat, he would not easily beat me,

Not though he claims to be made of solid bronze!”

Then lord Apollo, son of Zeus, replied:

“Heroic Aeneas, why don’t you also invoke

The gods everlasting? After all, men say Aphrodite,

Daughter of Zeus, is your mother, while surely Achilles

Was born of a lesser goddess. Remember, your mother

Is Zeus’s own daughter, his the sea-ancient’s child.

But on! Charge with your unyielding bronze straight at him,

And don’t be turned aside by any insults

Or threats from him.”

So saying, he breathed great power

Into Aeneas, and he, the people’s shepherd,

Strode out through the front line of fighters, his bronze helmet flashing.

Nor was the son of Anchises unnoticed by Hera

As out he went through the moil of men to face

The son of Peleus. Calling her friends about her,

The goddess spoke thus:

“Poseidon, Athena, you two

Consider what we should do now. Here comes Aeneas,

Flaming in bronze, set on by Phoebus Apollo

To face Achilles in fight. But come, let us

Turn him back at once, or else let one of us stand

By the side of Achilles and give him great power too.

Nor should we allow his spirit to fail at all,

That he may know beyond doubt that we who love him

Are the best of immortals, while those who have hitherto warded

Defeat from the Trojans are deities worthless as wind.

Here we have come from Olympus to mix in this melee

And keep Achilles safe all this day long,

Though afterward he shall suffer whatever Fate spun

For him with the thread of his life on the day his mother

Bore him. But if he fails to learn all this

From heaven itself, he may be unduly afraid

When some god confronts him in battle. For hard indeed

Are the gods to look upon when they appear

In their own true forms.”

And Poseidon, creator of earthquakes,

Replied: “Hera, don’t rage beyond what is wise.

It hardly becomes you. I myself would not wish

To hurl gods together in hate, and anyway we

Are much too strong for those others. Rather, let us

Go apart from the battle to where we can sit down and watch,

And war shall be for mortals. However, if Ares

Or Phoebus Apollo should start anything, or should they

Hold back Achilles and keep him from fighting, then quickly

Fierce war shall come from us too. And very soon then,

I believe, those others shall leave the battle and join

The gods on Olympus, defeated by our forceful hands!”

So saying, Poseidon, god with the blue-black hair,

Led the way straight to the mighty bulwark of earth

That the Trojans and Pallas Athena had heaped up high

For godlike Heracles, that he might retreat behind it

Whenever the huge sea-monster, sent by Poseidon

To lay waste the land of the Trojans, drove him back

From the beach to the plain. There the gods with Poseidon

Sat down and wreathed their shoulders with cloud that could not

Be dispelled, while opposite them the gods backing Trojans

Sat down on the brow of Callicolone round you,

O daring Apollo, and Ares, taker of towns.

Thus both parties sat in council, both uneager

To enter the sorrowful conflict, though high-throned Zeus

Had bidden them to.

Meanwhile, the whole plain was aflame

With bronze-flashing men and horses, and earth resounded

And rang beneath the tumultuous beat of their feet

As they charged toward each other. But now their two greatest

champions

Came out in the space between the two armies, spoiling

To battle each other, Aeneas, son of Anchises,

And noble Achilles. First came Aeneas, defiantly

Tossing his heavy-helmeted head, gripping

His gallant shield close in front of his chest, and brandishing

Fiercely his bronze-headed spear. Against him Achilles,

Son of Peleus, came charging on like a lion,

A ravenous beast that all the men of a village

Have come out anxious to kill. At first he pays them

No heed, but goes his way till one of the fast

And lusty young spearmen sinks a lance in his flesh.

Then with a jaw-splitting roar he gathers himself

To charge, and foam forms all round his fangs, while in him

His great heart groans. Lashing his ribs and flanks

With his tail, he works himself up for the fight, then charges

Straight on in his fiery-eyed fury, careless of whether

He kill or be killed there in the front line of spearmen.

So now Achilles was driven on by his fury

And warrior’s pride to go out and face great Aeneas.

And when they had come sufficiently near each other,

Fast-footed royal Achilles spoke to him thus:

“Tell me, Aeneas, why have you come out so far

From the ranks to stand and confront me? Can it be

That your heart is ambitious and fills you with hope of soon

Replacing King Priam as lord of the horse-taming Trojans?

What folly! for even if you should kill and strip me,

Priam would not give the kingship to you. King Priam

Has sons of his own, and his mind is sound, not silly!

Or have the Trojans laid out an estate for you

Greater than any other, acres of orchard

And plowland for you to enjoyif you should happen

To kill me, that is. Not easy, I think, you’ll find

That assignment. For surely I now recall a day

Some time ago when I routed you with my spear.

Don’t you remember, Aeneas, when you were alone

And I made you leave your cattle and hurtle headlong

Down the slopes of Mount Ida? Not so much as one little look

Did you cast behind you that day as you ran. From there

You fled to Lyrnessus, which I attacked with the help

Of Athena and Father Zeus and sacked it completely,

Leading the women off no longer free.

Zeus and the other gods saved you that time, but not

This day, I believe, will they save you again, as you

Undoubtedly think they will. So I myself warn you

Not to confront me, but lose yourself in the crowd

Before you suffer disaster. Once it occurs,

It will be too late for you not to play the fool!”

And Aeneas answered him, saying: “Son of Peleus,

Don’t think to scare me with words, as if I were some

Little boy, since I am at least the equal of you

When it comes to hurling insults. We both know who

Each other is with regard to parents and lineage,

For though neither one of us ever laid eyes on the other’s

Dear parents, we’ve both heard the stories which mortal men

Have passed down from days gone by. Men say you’re the son

Of matchless Peleus and that your mother is Thetis,

She of the beautiful braids, a child of the brine.

But I claim descent from courageous Anchises, my father,

And Aphrodite herself!3 And of these two couples,

One or the other shall this day mourn a dear son,

For I don’t think we two shall part and leave this struggle

With nothing exchanged but infantile prattle. But if

You really would hear who I am, listen and learn

What many know already First of all

Cloud-gathering Zeus begot Dardanus, who founded Dardania

Before sacred Ilium ever went up in the plain

As a city for mortals, who lived at that time on the slopes

Of well-watered Ida. And Dardanus too had a son,

King Erichthonius, one who lived to become

The richest man in the world. He had a herd

Of three thousand horses that grazed in the lowlying meadows,

Spirited mares with fine little colts beside them.

With these as they grazed the North Wind fell deeply in love,

And changing himself to a glossy-maned black stallion

He sired twelve colts on them. These, when they galloped

The grain-giving earth, could cross in their sport a field

Of ripe barley without so much as disturbing a kernel,

And when they cavorted across the broad back of the brine,

They would skim the high waves that break on the gray salt-sea.

Erichthonius, then, begot Tros, King of the Trojans,

And Tros had three matchless sonsAssaracus, Ilus,

And godlike Ganymede,bn the best-looking boy ever born,

So handsome the gods caught him up to Olympus, that he

Might live with them there and be the cupbearer of Zeus.

And Ilus in turn begot peerless Laomedon, father

Of Priam, Tithonus, Clytius, Lampus, and Hicetaon,

Scion of Ares. And Assaracus’ son was Capys,

Who sired Anchises, who next begot me, and Priam

Begot Prince Hector. Such is my lineage, Achilles,

And the blood I claim to be of.

“But as for prowess

In battle, Zeus gives it or takes it away as he,

The almighty, sees fit. So come, let us no longer

Stand here in the midst of battle prating like two

Little boys. There is surely no lack of insults for either

Of us to mouth, vile things so many they’d sink

A ship of two hundred oars. For the tongue of man

Is a glib and versatile organ, and from it come many

And various words, whose range of expression is wide

In every direction. And the sort of words a man says

Is the sort he hears in return. But what makes the two of us

Wrangle and nag like a couple of spiteful women,

Who having aroused in each other heart-eating hatred

Go out in the street and spit harsh words back and forth,

As many false as true, since hateful rage

Does the talking? For since I am eager for combat, you’ll not

Turn me back with mere words before we have battled with bronze

Man to man. Come then, let us at once have a taste

Of each other’s spear-points!”

He spoke, and drove his huge lance

Into Achilles’ dread and marvelous shield,

Which loudly cried out about the bronze point of the weapon.

Achilles, gripped with quick terror, shoved the shield out

With his powerful hand, away from his flesh, for he thought

The long-shadowing spear of great-hearted Aeneas would easily

Pierce itchildish fool that he was not to know

In his mind and heart that the glorious gifts of the gods

Will not easily break or give way before the onslaught

Of mortals. Nor did the huge lance of fiery Aeneas

Tear through the shield, for the gold, the god’s gift, held it back.

Though he drove it clean through the first two layers, there remained

Three other folds, for the great limping god had hammered

Together five layers in all, two bronze, two tin,

And between them a gold one, in which the ashen spear stopped.

Then great Achilles let fly his long-shadowing spear

And struck the round shield of Aeneas not far from the rim

Where the bronze and backing of bull’s-hide were thinnest. And the

shield

Gave out a strident shriek as through it tore

The shaft of Pelian ash. Then Aeneas was gripped

With panic, and cringing he held the shield up, away

From his flesh, as the spear shot over his back and stilled

Its force in the ground, though it split apart two circles

Of the Trojan’s man-guarding shield. Having thus escaped

The long lance, Aeneas stood up, and the sight of that shaft

So close to his flesh filled his bright eyes with measureless

Panic and pain. But Achilles whipped out his keen blade

And charged down upon him, ferociously screaming his war-cry,

And mighty Aeneas picked up a huge stone, one

That no two men of today could even lift

But that he picked up with one hand and easily threw.

Then Aeneas would surely have struck with the stone the helmet

Or life-saving shield of charging Achilles, who then

Would have closed with him and taken his life with the sword,

If Poseidon had not been keeping sharp watch. At once

He spoke thus mid the gods everlasting:

“Truly my grief

Is great for high-souled Aeneas, who soon indeed

Shall go down to Hades’ halls, killed by Achilles

For heeding the word of far-working Apollochildish

Fool that he was! For Apollo will not keep sad death

From him for a moment. But why should that innocent man

Suffer woes that belong to others, he who has always

Given such pleasing gifts to the sky-ruling gods?

So come, let us save him from death, for Zeus himself

Will be angry if now Achilles cuts the man down.

It is surely already decreed that Aeneas shall outlive

The war, so that Dardanus’ seed may not die and his line

Disappear, since Zeus adored Dardanus more than he did

Any other child he had by a mortal woman.

For now Cronos’ son has come to despise the house

Of Priam, and surely the mighty Aeneas shall soon rule

The Trojans, and after him the sons of his sons,

Great princes yet to be born.“4

Then heifer-eyed Hera,

Queen of the gods, replied: “O shaker of shores,

You must decide for yourself concerning Aeneas,

Whether you wish to save him or let him be killed,

Despite his great prowess, by Peleus’ son Achilles.

For we two, Pallas Athena and I, have sworn

Very numerous oaths in the presence of all the immortals

That we would never keep from the Trojans the hard day

Of doom, not even when Troy shall burn with furious

Fire lit by the warlike sons of Achaeans.”

When Poseidon heard this, he went alone through the fight

Mid a tumult of hurtling spears till he came to Aeneas

And famous Achilles. Quickly he covered the eyes

Of Peleus’ son with mist, then drew from the shield

Of Aeneas the sharp ashen spear. This he laid down

At the feet of Achilles, but Aeneas he swept from the ground

And sent him vaulting high over the heads of numerous

Heroes and horses till finally he came down

Far out on the edge of the charge-churned chaos of battle

Just where the Caucones were arming themselves for the fray.

There earthquake-making Poseidon drew close to his side,

And his words came winged with warning:

“Aeneas, what god

Commands you to fight in such blind rage with the high-hearted

Son of Peleus, who is both stronger than you

And dearer to the immortals? Rather, give ground

Whenever you meet him, or you before your time

Will enter the house of Hades. But after Achilles

Collides with his own dark fate and dies, then summon

Your courage to fight their greatest champions, for none

Of the other Achaeans will ever be able to kill you.”

So saying, he left him there, having told him all.

Then at once he dispelled the marvelous mist from the eyes

Of Achilles, who stared hard about him, and much amazed

Spoke thus to his own great heart:

“A miracle, surely!

This wonder my eyes behold. Here lies my spear

On the ground, yet he at whom I so eagerly hurled it

Is nowhere in sight. Truly it seems that Aeneas

Is dear indeed to the immortal gods, though I

Thought his claims were idle and empty. Well, let him go.

He’s so glad to be still alive he’ll hardly have heart

To try me again. But now I will call to the Danaans,

Lovers of fight, then go forth myself and test

The mettle of other Trojans.”

With this, he ran

Down the ranks calling out to each man: “No longer, 0 noble

Achaeans, stand off from the Trojans, but come, let man

Attack man, and all of you fight like fury! Very hard

It is for me, no matter how mighty, to deal

With so many foes and fight with them all. Even Ares,

Immortal god though he is, could never hurl back

A charge so galloping fierce as this of the Trojans,

Nor could Athenanot that I intend

To be idle, so long as I’ve hands and feet and the strength

To use them in battle. Straight through their front rank I will charge,

Nor do I believe any Trojan will greatly rejoice

To find himself close to my spear.”

Thus he encouraged

The Danaan troops, while glorious Hector called out

To the Trojans, saying that he would go face Achilles:

“You high-hearted Trojans, don’t let Peleus’ son scare you.

With words I too could battle even the gods,

Though with a spear it would be much harder, since they

Are far stronger than we. But Achilles will be doing well

To fulfill half of his boast. The rest he will leave

Undone. Against him now I will go, though his hands

Are like flameI say though his hands are like flame, and his heart

Like gleaming iron!”

So saying, he urged them on,

And the Trojans faced the Achaeans and raised their spears

To charge. Then both armies clashed in furious fight

And shrill war-cries went up. But Phoebus Apollo

Came close to Hector and said: “Hector, don’t think

For a moment of singly facing Achilles, but wait

For him in the ranks in the midst of roaring conflict,

Or surely he’ll cut you down with his spear, or close

And use his sword.”

He spoke, and Hector, terrified,

Shrank back among his men, having heard the voice

Of a god.

But Achilles, his heart clad in valor, charged

Mid the Trojans, screaming his awesome war-cry,5 and first

He cut down Iphition, the excellent son of Otrynteus

And leader of many men. A Naiad nymph

Had borne him to King Otrynteus, taker of towns,

At the foot of Mount Tmolus in the opulent land

Of Hyda. Him, as he charged straight on, Prince Achilles

Caught with his spear full on the head and split

His skull in two. He fell with a thunderous crash,

And over his corpse Achilles exulted, crying:

“How very low you lie now, 0 son of Otrynteus,

Most terrifying of men. Right here is the place

Of your death, though you were born on the huge estate

Of your fathers by Lake Gygaea near fish-teeming Hyllus

And eddying Hermus.”

Such was his boast, but shadow

Eclipsed the eyes of Iphition, and quickly the rims

Of Achaean chariots cut him to shreds, right

Where he fell in the front of the war-clash, and fiercely Achilles

Went on to slaughter Demoleon, son of Antenor.

That excellent bulwark in battle Achilles stabbed

In the temple, easily piercing his bronze-cheeked helmet.

On through the bronze and bone beneath tore the point

And spattered the helmet inside with the warrior’s brains,

Thus stopping Demoleon’s furious charge. Then,

As Hippodamas sprang from his car and fled before him,

He thrust his spear deep into his back. And as

He gasped out his life he roared like a bull that young men

Drag bellowing in as an offering for Helice’s lord

Poseidon, for bull’s blood pleases the Earthshaker most.

Even so Hippodamas bellowed as his proud spirit

Took leave of his bones. Then Achilles charged on with his spear

In pursuit of Prince Polydorus, son of Priam.

His father had strictly forbidden his entering the battle,

For he was the youngest and dearest of all his sons,

And the fastest of all as a runner. But now, showing off

His fleetness of foot like a child, he dashed here and there

Through the front-fighting ranks till he was deprived of his life.

For him Achilles, fast on his feet as any,

Struck with a cast of his spear in the small of the back

As he darted by, squarely striking him where

The gold clasps of his war-belt joined and the halves of his breastplate

Met. The spear-point tore its way through and emerged

By the navel, and round him a cloud of blackness closed in,

As he sank to the ground clutching his guts with both hands.

But when Prince Hector saw Polydorus his brother

Clutching his guts and sinking to earth, his own eyes

Dimmed with tears, nor could he bear any longer

To range apart, but out he strode to encounter

Achilles, brandishing his keen spear that flashed

Like a flame. When Achilles saw him, he poised his own weapon,

Then challenged him thus:

“Now near is the man who most

Of all men has caused my heart pain, the man who murdered

My cherished comrade, and now no longer shall we two

Shrink from each other down lanes of hard-fighting men.”

He spoke, then savagely scowling at Hector, said:

“Come nearer, that all the sooner you may be bound

In the bonds of destruction!”

But Hector, his bronze helmet flashing,

Boldly answered him thus: “O son of Peleus,

Don’t think to scare me with words, as if I were some

Little boy, since I am at least the equal of you

When it comes to hurling insults. Also, I know

Very well how able you are with a spear, and that I

Am not nearly so strong. Yet truly the outcome of this fight

Lies in the lap of the gods eternal, who may

Allow me, though weaker, to take your life with a spear-cast,

Since my weapon too has proved killing-keen before!”

So saying, he drew back his spear and threw, but Athena,

Breathing lightly, blew it back from Achilles

So that it returned to Prince Hector and fell on the ground

At his feet. Then savagely Peleus’ son sprang at him,

Screaming his terrible war-cry and eager to kill.

But Apollo caught Hector up, with all the ease

Of a god, and wrapped him in cloud.6 Three times fast Achilles

Charged and thrust his spear into the mist, but when

The fourth time he rushed like a demon upon him, he cried

A chilling and awesome cry and spoke to Hector

In these winged words:

“Again, you dog, you’ve managed

To get away with your life, though this time just barely!

Once more you have Phoebus Apollo to thank, to whom

You must be careful to pray before you come

Within even the sound of hurtling spears. Well,

Believe me, I’ll finish you yetthe next time we meet,

If only some god will also look out for me.

Right now I’ll take my rage out on your friends, whomever

I happen to come on!”

So saying, he thrust his spear

Through the neck of Dryops, who fell at his feet. Leaving

Him there, Achilles went on to put out of action

Demuchus, Philetor’s son, a big man and brave,

First wounding his knee with a spear-cast, then ending his life

With a slash of his lengthy sword. Next he charged down

On Laogonus and Dardanus, sons of Bias, and knocked them

Both from their chariot, taking one’s life with a cast

Of his spear and killing the other in close with his sword.

Then Alastor’s son Troshe reached for the knees of Achilles,

Pleading with him to take him alive, to pity

A man the same age as himself and not cut him off

So young, fool that he was not to know that with him

There would be no heeding, that there was nothing sweet-tempered

Or mild in Achilles, but only ferocious heart

Tros tried to hug the man’s knees, jabbering a prayer

To be spared, but Achilles thrust his sword in at the liver,

Which slipped from the wound as the dark blood quickly welled out

And slithered down to drip from his chest. Soon all

Became dark and he fainted. And on went Achilles to stab

His bronze spear-point from ear to ear through Mulius’ skull,

And then to strike Echeclus full on the head

With his dark-hilted sword, whereat the whole blade was left smoking

With blood, as purple death came down on his eyes

And powerful fate embraced him. Next, he jabbed

His bronze-pointed spear through the arm of Deucalion, right

Where the tendons join at the elbow, and he stood there

With his arm too heavy to lift, awaiting the death

Coming on, and Achilles, whipping his sword through the neck

Of the warrior, swept his helmeted head far away,

Causing marrow to spurt from his spine and his corpse to lie

Stretched out on the ground. On he charged in pursuit

Of Peires’ flawless son Rhigmus, a warrior there

From fertile Thrace. Him he pierced deep in the belly,

And down he pitched from his car. And as Areďthous,

Driving for Rhigmus, wheeled the horses around,

Achilles thrust his keen lance through his back and hurled him

To earth. At once the horses panicked and ran.

As when through the deep ravines of a drought-stricken mountain

A god-sustained blaze wildly sweeps, and the thick forest burns

As the driving wind wreathes all in whirling flame,

So now Achilles raged everywhere with his spear,

Charging on like a demon, constantly pressing hard

On the foe and cutting them down in such numbers that the black

earth

Ran with Trojan blood. And like a pair

Of broad-browed, loud-lowing bulls that some farmer yokes

To tread out white barley strewn on his firm threshing-floor,

And quickly their hooves do the husking, even so the solid-hoofed

Horses of great-souled Achilles trampled on corpses

And shields. And the axle below and handrails above

Were all splashed and bespattered with blood from the battering

hooves

Of the horses and metal rims of the wheels, as onward

Achilles pressed in pursuit of glory, soiling

His unconquered hands with the filth of horrible slaughter.

BOOK XXI

The Struggle of Achilles and the River

Now when they came to the ford of swirling Xanthus,

The fair-flowing river that immortal Zeus begot,

There Achilles divided the Trojan forces, and part

He drove across the plain toward the city, routing them

Over the same stretch of land where Achaeans had fled

The day before when resplendent Hector was raging,

And Hera, to make their way hard, now drifted dense fog

In front of them. But the other half were trapped

In the silvery swirls of the deep-running river. Into it

They plunged with tremendous confusion and noise, as man

After man hit the stream with a splash and the banks re-echoed

The din. Frantically shouting, they thrashed and swam

This way and that, spun about in the powerful whirlpools.

And as when locusts sense the onrush of fire

And fly for a stream to escape the quick-coming flames

Of a weariless blaze, then huddle low in the water,

So now in front of Achilles the clamorous course

Of deep-swirling Xanthus was cluttered with men and horses.

Zeus-sprung Achilles, leaning his spear against

Some tamarisks on the bank, leaped like a demon

Into the water armed only with his sharp sword

And the stern resolution to kill. And he laid about him,

Killing men right and left, and from them came grim sounds

Of groaning as they were struck with the sword, and the water

Ran red with their blood. And as small fish flee darting

Before a hungry huge dolphin, cramming the coves

Of some excellent harbor, lest they be devoured by the glutton,

Even so the Trojans cowered beneath the steep banks

Of the terrible river. At last Achilles, his arms

Worn weary with killing, chose twelve young Trojans alive

From out the river as blood-price for dead Patroclus,

Son of Menoetius.bo These he led up the bank,

Fear-dazed like so many fawns, and tied their hands fast

Behind them with their own well-cut leather belts, which they wore

About their soft woven tunics, and turned them over

To comrades of his for them to lead away

To the hollow ships. Then back he sprang, eager

As ever to cut men asunder.

There on the bank

He met a son of Dardanian Priam, youthful

Lycaon, anxious to flee from the river. This man

He had captured before, at night in his father’s orchard,

Where able Achilles, an evil unlooked for, had come

Upon him while he was cutting young branches of fig

To be the handrails of a chariot. That time he had sent him

By ship to well-settled Lemnos and gotten a price

For him from the son of Jason. From there he was ransomed

By a former guest of his, Eëtion of Imbros,

Who paid a much greater price and sent him to splendid

Arisbe. Escaping from those protecting him there,

Lycaon returned to the house of his fathers in Troy,

Where he for eleven days enjoyed himself

With his friends, all glad that he had come back from Lemnos.

But on the twelfth day, God brought him again to the hands

Of Achilles, who this time was surely to send him, unwilling

As ever, down to Hades’ halls. Now fast-footed,

Noble Achilles knew him at once, for Lycaon

Had gotten so hot and tired struggling his way

From the river and up the bank that he had thrown all

Of his bronze to the ground, and now he appeared without helmet

Or shield or spear. Astounded to see him, Achilles

Spoke thus to his own great heart:

“Who would believe it!

This wonder before my eyes. Truly the spirited

Trojans whom I have destroyed will now arise

From the deep nether gloom, if one is to judge by the flight

Of this man, who though he was sold in sacred Lemnos

Has somehow escaped the ruthless day there, nor has

The gray brine held him back, the fathomless sea that discourages

Many anxious to cross it. But now he shall taste

The point of my spear, that I may discover for sure

Whether he will also return from below, or whether

The life-giving earth will hold him as fast as she does

Many other strong fellows.”

Thus thinking, he stood where he was

While Lycaon approached him, crazy with fear and frantic

To catch at his knees, his one thought to avoid harsh death

And final black doom. Achilles raised his long spear,

Hot for the kill, but Lycaon ducked and ran under

The cast to clutch his foe’s knees, and the spear shot over

His back and into the ground, its yearning for man’s meat

Thwarted. Lycaon then pleaded, with one hand clasping

Achilles’ knees, with the other his sharp-pointed spear.1

Holding on for his life, he spoke these fear-winged words:

“Achilles, here at your knees, I beg you to have

Some regard and pity for me. To you, O Zeus-nurtured

One, I should be a sacred pleader, since you

Were the first with whom I broke Demeter’s bread

On the day you captured me in the well-planted orchard

Of Priam and sent me far from my father and friends

To be sold in sacred Lemnos, where I was bought

For the worth of a hundred oxen. But I was ransomed

For three times that much, and this is but the twelfth day

Since I arrived back in Troy after many hardships.

And now once more deadly fate has put me in your hands!

Father Zeus must surely despise me to give me to you

Again, and surely my mother Laothoë did not

Bear me to live very long, she the daughter

Of ancient Altes, King of the war-loving Leleges,

Holding steep Pedasus on the Satnioeis River.

His daughter was one of King Priam’s numerous wives,

And she bore me and another, and you will have butchered

Us both. For him you’ve already brought down mid the front rank

Of foot-fighting soldiers, my brother, godlike Polydorus,

Whom you transfixed with your keen-bladed spear. And now

Right here evil death shall be mine, for I don’t think I’m likely

To get away from your hands now that some demon

Has brought me near you. But let me say one other thing

For you to considerspare me, since I was not born

From the same womb as Hector, who slaughtered your friend, the strong

And the gentle.”

So spoke to him splendid Lycaon, begging

For life, but not at all kind was the voice he heard say:

“You fool! offer no ransom, nor argument either,

To me. For until the day Patroclus caught up with

His fate and was killed, I preferred to spare the Trojans,

And many indeed were they whom I took alive

And sold into slavery, but now there is not even one

Who shall escape death, not a single one whom God

Brings into my hands before the walls of Ilium

No Trojan at all, I say, shall escape, much less

The sons of Priam! And you, my friend, you also

Die, but why all this fuming and fuss about it?

Patroclus too died, a man far better than you!

And do you not see what sort of warrior I am,

How handsome, how huge? My father’s a man of great worth,

My mother a goddess, yet death and powerful fate

Hang over me too. One morning or evening or noon

Will surely come when some man shall kill me in battle,

Either by hurling his spear or shooting a shaft

From the bowstring.“2

At this Lycaon’s knees shook and he went

To pieces inside. Releasing the spear, he kneeled

Reaching out with both hands. But Achilles drew his sharp

sword

And brought it down on his collarbone close by the neck,

And the two-edged blade disappeared in his flesh, stretching him

Out on the earth, where he lay with his dark blood drenching

The ground. Seizing him then by the foot, Achilles

Slung him to drift in the river, shouting these words

Winged with vaunting:

“Float there with the fish that shall clean the blood

From your wound quite without feeling for you, nor shall

Your mother lay you out on a bed and mourn.

But swirling Scamander shall roll you into the broad gulf

Of the brine, and many a wave-hidden fish shall dart up

Beneath the dark ripple to eat the fat of Lycaon.3

So may all of you die, till we reach the city

Of holy Troy, you in retreat, and I

Killing men from behind. Not even this beautiful river,

Strong swirling with silver eddies, shall be any help

To you, despite the long time you have sacrificed bulls

To the River-god Xanthus and hurled while still alive

Fine solid-hoofed horses into his swirling pools.

Even so, all of you Trojans shall meet a harsh fate

And die, so paying the price for killing Patroclus

And making suffer those other Achaeans whom you

By the fast-running ships cut down while I was inactive.”

At this the River-god Xanthus became very angry

At heart and pondered hard in his mind how he

Might cut short Achilles’ war-work and keep the Trojans

From ruin. Meanwhile, Achilles gripped his long-shadowing

Spear and rushed upon Asteropaeus, son

Of Pelegon, hot for the kill. This Pelegon claimed

As his father the wide-flowing Axius River, stream

Of deep swirls, who mingled in love with fair Periboea,

The eldest daughter of King Acessamenus, to sire

The father of Asteropaeus, upon whom Achilles

Now charged. And Pelegon’s son strode through the water

To face him, holding two spears, and Xanthus, wrathful

For all the young men whom Achilles had ruthlessly killed

In his stream, breathed courage into his heart. Now when

They came within range Achilles, fast on his feet,

Shouted first:

“Who are you and where are you from, that you dare

To confront me? Unhappy indeed are those whose children

Oppose me!”

To which the glorious son of Pelegon:

“Haughty Achilles, why do you ask who I am?

I come from fertile Paeonia, far away,

Leading my warriors armed with long spears, and this

Is now the eleventh day I’ve been here. I trace

My line from the wide-rippling Axius River, by far

The loveliest river on earth and the father of spear-famous

Pelegon, who, men say, sired me. But now,

O splendid Achilles, do battle!”

Such was his challenge,

And shining Achilles drew back his Pelian ash,

But Asteropaeus let fly both spears at once,

Since he was quite ambidextrous. One struck the marvelous

Shield, but the layer of gold, the god’s gift, held it back,

While the other grazed Achilles’ right forearm, causing

The cloud-black blood to gush out. But the spearhead went on

To bury itself in the ground, still lusting for man’s meat.

Then Achilles in turn hurled his straight-flying ash

At Asteropaeus, eager to kill him, but missed

And struck the high bank so hard that the spear sank in

Full half its length. But Achilles drew his sharp sword

From beside his thigh and rushed toward his foe, who was vainly

Striving to pull the ash of Achilles free

From the bank. Three times he strained with his powerful arm,

And three times he did no more than make the shaft quiver.

The fourth time he tried to bend and break it, but now

Achilles charged in and slashed him across the navel,

Thus spilling his guts on the ground and wrapping his eyes

In darkness. Gasping, he died, and Achilles sprang onto

His chest and stripped off his armor, exultantly crying:

“Lie here where you fell! Very hard it is for the son

Of a river to vie with a child of Cronos’ son.4

For though you claim as your grandsire the wide-flowing Axius,

I trace descent from almighty Zeus himself!

My father Peleus is King of innumerable Myrmidons,

And his father, Aeacus, he was begotten by Zeus.

And just as Zeus is mightier far than all

Of the sea-mingling rivers, so also his seed is stronger

Than that of a stream. Right here, in fact, is a truly

Tremendous river, and what help has he been to you?

For no one can fight with Cronos’ son Zeus. With him

Not even powerful Achelous strives, nor even

The still more enormously mighty deep-circling Oceanus,

Stream from whom all seas and rivers rise,

All springs and bottomless wells. But even Oceanus

Dreads the bright bolt of great Zeus, and feels deep terror

Whenever it crashes above him!”

So saying, he jerked

His spear from the bank and left dead Asteropaeus

Prone in the sand, with the dark water lapping his corpse

And the eels and the fish nibbling and ripping the fat

From his kidneys. Achilles then went in pursuit of the well-horsed

Paeonians, who, having seen their best spearman succumb

In hard fight to the hands and sword of Peleus’ son,

Huddled in panic along the swirling river.

There he slaughtered Thersilochus, Mnesus and Mydon,

Astypylus, Thrasius, Aenius, and Ophelestes.

Nor would swift Achilles have paused in his killing had not

The angry river called out to him in the voice

Of a man, uttering it from out a deep whirlpool:

“O Achilles, inhuman you are in strength and brutality

Of performance, for always the gods themselves

Assist you. But if Zeus has willed that you are to kill

All the Trojans, then drive them out of my waters and do

Your foul work on the plain. Already my exquisite stream

Is jammed with dead men, and so choked with your ruinous killing

That I can no longer pour my wealth of water

Into the bright sea. So now, great commander of men,

Desist! You truly appall me!”

To which the fast runner

Achilles replied: “So be it, 0 god-fed Scamander.

The insolent Trojans, however, I’ll not stop killing

Till I have penned them up in their city and fought

A contest with Hector, to see just who will kill whom.”

With this, he charged at the foe like a demon, but now

The deep-swirling river spoke thus to Apollo: “For shame!

O silver-bowed one. You have not obeyed the strict charge

Of Zeus your Father, who told you to stand by the Trojans

And give them aid till the sun goes down and darkens

The fertile fields.”

So Xanthus spoke, but Achilles

Sprang from the bank into the midst of his current,

And quickly the river rushed on him with surging flood,

And filling his stream with churning water he cleaned

His course of the dead men killed by Achilles, roaring

Fierce as a bull as up on the banks he cast

The innumerable corpses, while saving survivors beneath

His fair waters, hiding them well in the huge swirling pools.

Then grimly the foaming wave curled over Achilles,

And striking his shield the current kept shoving him back

And sweeping his feet from beneath him. Desperate, he caught

Overhead a tall and sturdy elm that grew

From the bank, but it fell across the lovely stream,

Completely uprooted, and with its thick branches and roots

It dammed the river still further. Achilles, then, gripped

With panic, sprang out of the swirl and started to run

At top speed across the wide plain. But instead of desisting,

The great River-god rolled on in pursuit with a huge

Churning wave of dark and ominous crest, that he

Might cut short Achilles’ war-work and keep the Trojans

From ruin. But Peleus’ son got a lead as long as

A spear-cast, fleeing with all the speed of a hunting

Black eagle, the strongest and fastest of birds, and as

He shrank from beneath the high wave and fled across land

The bronze on his breast rang loud, and on came the river

Behind him, awesomely roaring. And as when a stream

Flows down from a spring of dark water, led mid plants

And garden-plots by a man with a mattock, who clears

All obstructions away from before it, so that as it burbles

And murmurs along down the slope it sweeps all the pebbles

Away and soon gets ahead of him who guides it,

So now the wave of the surging river outstripped

Achilles, fast though he was, for the gods are far stronger

Than men. And every time great Achilles would try

To stand and confront the wave, that he might learn

If all the sky-keeping gods had teamed up against him,

The towering wave of the heaven-fed river would crash

On his shoulders, and though he tried desperately to force

His way up through the flood, the strong undertow of the river

Kept tiring his legs and cutting the ground from beneath him.

At last, looking up at broad heaven, the son of Peleus

Cried out in complaint:

“O Father Zeus, why is it

That none of the gods will pity my plight and save me

From this dread river?5 Any other fate would be better

Than thisnot that I blame you heavenly gods

So much as I do my own mother, who stupefied me

With false words, saying that I should die by the wall

Of the bronze-breasted Trojans, a victim of swift-flying shafts

From the bow of Phoebus Apollo. If only Hector,

The best man bred here, had slain me! Then killer and killed

Would both have been equally noble. But now I seem

To have been allotted a fate most dismal, trapped

In this tremendous river and swept away

Like some poor pig-herding boy who fails to make it

Across a rain-swollen torrent.”

In answer Poseidon

And Pallas Athena immediately came to his side

In the form of men, and clasping his hands in theirs

Spoke reassuring words, the Earthshaker first:

“Son of Peleus, be not unduly afraid or anxious,

Since you have such Zeus-approved helpers as Pallas Athena

And I. It is not your lot to be overcome

By a river. Far from it, for soon he’ll fall back, as you

Shall see for yourself. But we will give you good counsel,

If you will but listen. Let not your hands refrain

From evil, all-levehng war till you have penned up

The Trojan survivors within the famed walls of their city.

Then, when you have taken the life of Prince Hector,

Go back to the ships. Thus we grant the glory to you.”

With this, they went back to the gods, while Achilles, afire

With the word of immortals, charged over the plain, which by now

Was flooded with water, and the splendidly armored corpses

Of many young warriors floated there. But Achilles

Raised his knees high as he charged straight against the onrush

Of water, nor could the wide-flooding river restrain him,

So great was the strength Athena put in him. Not

That Scamander gave up, for he became fiercer than ever

Against Achilles, and rearing his mighty surge

To a foam-capped, curling crest, he shouted thus

To Simoeis, god of the stream that joined his:

“Dear brother,

Let us combine our forces and quench the might

Of this man, or soon he’ll sack King Priam’s great city,

Nor will the Trojans be able to hold out against him.

Come quickly to help me. Flood all your streams with water

From all of your springs and rouse all your torrents, then raise

A huge billow, churning with tree-trunks and boulders, that we

May stop this monstrous savage who now conquers all

And thinks himself equal to gods. For I do not believe

His strength will help him at all, nor his good looks,

Nor even that marvelous armor, which I shall wrap

In slime deep under water, and he himself

I’ll cover with tons of sand and silt, until

No Achaean shall know where to look for his bones. Right here

I’ll heap up his barrow myself, nor shall he have need

Of another when fellow Achaeans give him a funeral!”

So saying, he sent his towering wave, churning

With foam and blood and corpses, raging down

On Achilles.6 And the ominous billow curled high above him,

Just at the point of fatally crashing upon him.

But Hera, afraid that the powerful deep-swirling river

Would sweep Achilles away, spoke out at once

To her own dear son Hephaestus:

“Up, my child.

For surely we thought that you, the great limping god,

Were matched in fight with deep-eddying Xanthus. Go fast

As you can to bear aid, and wreathe the whole plain in your flames.

Meanwhile, I’ll hurry and send from the sea hard blasts

Of West Wind and the bright-flowing South, that they may constantly

Fan your fierce fire and burn up the many dead Trojans,

War-gear and all. But you attack Xanthus directly

Burn all the trees on his banks, and boil all his water,

And don’t be turned aside by any soft words

Or threats from him. Cease not in your fury one whit

Till you hear me shout. Then hold back your untiring flame.”

She spoke, and Hephaestus prepared his god-blazing fire.

First it flared on the plain and burned all the dead,

The numerous corpses strewn there by Achilles, and soon

The bright water was gone and all the plain dry. And as when

In autumn the West Wind soon dries a new-watered orchard,

Much to the gardener’s joy, so now the whole plain

Was dried and the dead completely consumed. Then straight

On the river himself he turned his all-glaring fire.

Consumed were the tamarisks, elms, and willows, along with

The clover, rushes, and marsh grass that grew by the stream

So abundantly. Greatly tormented were eels and fish

In the eddies, and all along the fair water they leaped

And tumbled this way and that, badly hurt by the blast

Of resourceful Hephaestus. The powerful river himself

Was on fire, and thus he called out to the great artificer:

“Hephaestus, what god can successfully quarrel with you?

I will not contend with one so awesomely wrapped

In blazing fire. Cease the fight now, and as

For the Trojans, Achilles can empty their city of people,

For all I care. For what has a river to do

With strife, or assisting in strife?”

On fire all the time

He was talking, his lovely stream was boiling and steaming.

And like a cauldron of glistening hog’s lard that bubbles

And spurts when sere logs are kindled beneath it and all

Is melted and brought to a boil, even so the fair stream

Of Xanthus flamed and his water seethed, nor did he

Desire to flood the plain further, but halted, greatly

Distressed by the blast of cunning Hephaestus. Then

The River-god earnestly prayed these winged words

To Queen Hera:

“O Hera, why should your son afflict me

More than he does all others? You surely do not

Blame me so much as you do all those other helpers

Of Trojans. I will cease if you say so, O goddess,

But make Hephaestus also refrain. And further,

I’ll swear an oath that I will never keep

From the Trojans the hard day of doom, not even when Troy

Shall burn with furious fire lit by the warlike

Sons of Achaeans.”

At this the white-armed Hera

Spoke at once to her own dear son: “Hephaestus,

My so splendid child, withdraw. It is hardly right

To hurt an immortal this way on account of mere men.”

She spoke, and the water returned to the bed of the river

And rolled as before, a strong and beautiful stream.

When the fury of Xanthus was quelled, the fight with Hephaestus

Was over, for Hera, though angry, ended their struggle.

But now strife fell on the other immortals, hatred

Both heavy and hard, for the spirit within them was blown

In conflicting directions. As fiercely they clashed with a deafening

Roar, the wide earth re-echoed their din and the huge vault

Of heaven resounded as if with the blasting of trumpets.

And Zeus, from where he sat high up on Olympus,

Heard the clashing and laughed to himself, delighted

To see the immortals at odds with each other.7 Nor did they

Hold back any longer, once shield-piercing Ares had charged

On Athena, jabbing his spear and yelling these words

Of insult:

“Why you, you bitch’s flea, does your

Proud spirit make you so savage that you dare bring

The very immortals together in hatred and strife?

Have you forgotten that time you helped Diomedes

Wound me, seizing his spear in full sight of all

And driving it into my unblemished flesh?bp Now,

I think, you’ll pay the whole price for that and all

You have done!”

So saying, he stabbed her fluttering aegis,

The awesome aegis against which not even the bolt

Of great Zeus can prevail. But blood-streaming Ares thrust

His lengthy spear hard on it, and Pallas Athena

Fell back and seized from the ground with her powerful hand

A nearby stone, black, jagged, and huge, that men

Long ago had put there to mark the line of a field.

This rugged rock she brought down hard on the neck

Of charging Ares and unstrung his limbs at once.

His armor rang as he fell, and there he lay

With his locks in the dust, the War-god sprawled out over what

seemed

More than an acre. Then Athena laughed loud, and over him

Spoke these proud words, winged with triumph and vaunting:

“You infantile fool! how long will it take you to learn

The proper respect for my always superior strength?

At this rate, you’ll pay the full price demanded by Hera

Your mother, who in her anger at you for deserting

The Argives and helping the insolent Trojans has called out

The Furies against you.”

When she had thus spoken, she turned

Her bright eyes away. But the daughter of Zeus, Aphrodite,

Took Ares’ hand and tried to revive him, as he

Lay moaning and groaning, so weak he could scarcely move.

Then Hera noticed her effort and quickly spoke

To Athena these winged words:

“For shame! O invincible

Daughter of aegis-great Zeus. There once again

That bitch’s flea Aphrodite is leading Ares,

Maimer of men, out of the blazing chaos

Of battle. But after her, quick!”

At this, Athena

Exultantly sped in pursuit, and charging upon her

She struck Aphrodite a terrible blow on the breasts

With her powerful hand. Then her heart and limbs gave way

On the spot, so that both she and Ares lay helplessly stretched

On the all-feeding earth and, vaunting, Athena spoke over them

These winged words:

“So may all helpers of Trojans

End up when they fight against bronze-breasted Argives. Let

Their courage and stamina be like those of soft

Aphrodite, when she came here against me to help Ares.

If all Trojan allies were such as she, then long

Before now this war would have ended and we would have plundered

The populous city of Troy!”

At this the goddess

White-armed Hera smiled, but earth-shaking Poseidon

Spoke thus to Apollo: “O Phoebus, why do we two

Stand off from each other? It hardly becomes us, now that

The others have started. Surely it would be disgraceful

For us to go back to the brazen-floored palace of Zeus

On Olympus without so much as striking a blow.

Begin then, since you are the younger. It would not be fair

For me to, since I am both older and more experienced.

Fool, how little real sense you have! For you

Don’t seem to remember the horrors that we two endured

When Zeus sent only us of the gods to labor

A year for haughty Laomedon here at Troy,

To take our orders and get our firm-promised pay

From him. I built round their city a wall, wide

And most imposing, a barrier not to be broken,

While you, O Phoebus, herded their lumbering fat cattle

Through all the valleys and woods of many-ridged Ida.

But when the gay seasons ended the year, then loathsome

Laomedon roughly sent us away with threats

As our only reward. He threatened, in fact, to tie

Our hands and our feet and sell us in far-distant islands

As slaves. Oh yes, and he made us believe he was going

To slice off our ears with a sword! So back to Olympus

We went, boiling inside because of the pay

He had promised and then refused. And now it is

To his people that you give your grace, instead of assisting

Us in bringing the arrogant Trojans to abject

Ruin, and with them their children and honored wives.”

Then the far-working lord Apollo answered him, saying:

“Earthshaker, you’d hardly consider me sane if I

Should do battle with you for the sake of ephemeral mortals,

Poor wretches that flame with life for a little while

Like flourishing leaves that draw their food from the earth,

Then wither and die forever. Let us, then, cease

This nonsense at once, and leave the fighting to men.“bq

So saying, he turned away, for he was ashamed

To trade blows with his uncle. But now his sister Artemis,

Wild Queen of savage beasts and the untamed forest,

Fiercely railed at him thus: “Look how the great archer

Runs! yielding the victory all to Poseidon

And giving him glory for nothing. Fool, why carry

A bow worthless as wind? Now never again

Let me hear you boast as of old mid immortal gods

In the halls of our Father that you would fight face to face

With Poseidon.”

So she, but far-striking Apollo had nothing

To say in reply. The revered wife of Zeus, however,

Made this wrathful speech, thus chiding with words of insult

The goddess of fast-flying shafts:

“You brazen bitch,

I’ll teach you to stand against me! Believe me, I’m no

Easy mark in a fight, regardless of that bow of yours

And the lioness-like disposition Zeus gave you to use

Against women, whom he allows you to slay as you will.

Truly you’d be a great deal better off in the mountains

Killing wild deer and other such wilderness creatures

Than here to fight against those who are stronger than you.

However, learn if you wish what fighting is

And how much mightier I am than you, since now

You insist on matching your strength against mine!”

So saying,

Queen Hera seized both of Artemis’ wrists with her left hand

And snatching the bow off her back with her right, she boxed

The ears of her writhing foe, spilling her arrows

All over and all the while smiling. Then Artemis, weeping,

Fled from her like a dove that flies from a hawk

And hides in some cave or hollow rock, since she

Is not fated so to be caught. Even thus, tearful Artemis

Fled from Queen Hera, leaving her bow and arrows.

Then to Artemis’ mother Leto the messenger Hermes,

Slayer of Argus, spoke thus:

“Leto, I have

No idea of fighting you. No easy thing

It is to trade blows with the wives of cloud-driving Zeus.

You’re welcome to go and boast mid the immortal gods

That you overcame me with that great power of yours.”

Such were his words, and Leto picked up the curved bow

And the arrows that lay all around in the swirling dust

And retired, but Artemis came to the brazen-floored palace

Of Zeus on Olympus and all but collapsed at the knees

Of her Father, her fragrant gown quivering with sobs, and he,

The son of Cronos, hugged his daughter, and laughing

Softly, inquired:

“Who of the heavenly gods,

Dear child, has badly mistreated you now, as though

You had done something wrong where everybody could see?”

To which the fair-garlanded Queen of the echoing chase:

“Your own wife it was that beat me, Fatheryes,

I mean white-armed Hera, the cause of all this hatred

And strife among the immortals.”

While these two spoke thus

With each other, Apollo entered high-hallowed Troy,

Concerned for the walls of the firm-founded city, lest that

Very day the Danaans go beyond fate and plunder

It all. But the other immortals returned to Olympus,

Some in wrath and some in great exultation,

And sat with their Father, lord of the lowering sky.

Meanwhile, Achilles continued his slaughter of men

And solid-hoofed horses. And as when the angry gods

Cause toil and suffering for men by setting fire

To their city, from which the smoke billows up to dim

The wide sky, so now Achilles brought labor and woe

On the Trojans.

At this point, ancient Priam mounted

The god-built wall and saw how gigantic Achilles

Drove all the Trojans before him in headlong, helpless

Rout. Groaning, he climbed back down to the ground,

Calling out down the wall to the glorious gate-keeping guards:

“Hold the gates wide with your hands, till the fleeing troops

Can get inside, for here they come with Achilles

Close behind them, and many, I fear, will not make it.

But shut the double doors tight as soon as the men

Are inside, for I am aghast at the thought of that murdering

Monster within these walls!”

At this they shot back

The bars and swung the gates wide, thus giving the Trojans

A light of deliverance. Apollo, moreover, charged out

To meet the stampede, that he might keep ruin away

From the Trojans, who came on fast for the looming wall

Of the city, all of their throats dry and gritty with thirst

And their bodies grimy with dust from the plain. And always

Behind them Achilles came on with his spear, his heart

In the grip of savage rage and the lust to win glory

Then indeed would the sons of Achaeans have taken Ilium,

Town of the towering gates, if Phoebus Apollo

Had not inspired noble Agenor, the blameless and stalwart

Son of Antenor. Into his heart Apollo

Infused great courage, then stood beside him in person,

Shrouded in mist and leaning against an oak tree,

That he might keep Death’s heavy hands away from the man.

Thus, when Agenor looked out at town-taking Achilles,

He stopped and stood still, awaiting his charge, while in him

His heart darkly seethed with many wild thoughts. Deeply troubled,

He spoke to his own great spirit:

“Ah misery! if now

I run with the rest in rout before mighty Achilles,

He’ll surely catch up with me and butcher me there

For a coward. But what if I leave the troops to be driven

By Peleus’ son, while I make rapid tracks

Away from the wall across the Ileian Plain

And continue till I am concealed mid the woods and valleys

Of Ida? Then in the evening, when I have bathed

In the river and washed off the sweat, I could go back to Troy.

But why do I argue thus with myself? Achilles

Would certainly see me going from city to plain

And soon overtake me with his great fleetness of foot.

Nor would it be possible then to escape dark death

And the fates, for he above all men is awesomely strong.

What else then remains but for me to go out and face him

In front of the city? No one thinks him immortal.

He has but one life, and that may be fatally reached

By the keen-cutting bronze. What glory he has is a gift

From Cronos’ son Zeus.”

So saying, he gathered his courage

To face the oncoming Achilles, and his brave heart

Was on edge for the clashing of combat. As when a leopard

Leaves a dense thicket to spring on a hunter, and goes

With no fear of the baying hounds, and still goes on

In her fury though he be quicker and pierce her through

With his spearstill she advances to grapple with him

Before death: so now proud Antenor’s son, goodly

Agenor, refused to retreat till he had clashed

With Achilles, and holding his round shield before him and hefting

His spear, he shouted:

“I know, O splendid Achilles,

That you in your heart have hope of sacking the city

Of god-gifted Trojans this dayfool that you are!

For many and hard are the battles yet to be fought

Over Troy. She still has plenty of battle-bold warriors

Inside her walls, men who stand between you

And their own dear parents, wives, and sons, and who guard

Great Ilium. You, though, shall meet your doom on this spot,

No matter how awesome and bold you are in a fight!”

So saying, he hurled the sharp spear with his powerful arm,

Nor did it miss, but struck the shin of Achilles

Under the knee, where his greave of new-hammered tin

Shrilly grated and rang, as back bounced the point of keen bronze,

Unable to pierce the glorious gift of Hephaestus.

Then Peleus’ son charged hard at godlike Agenor,

But Phoebus Apollo would not allow him to win

Any glory there, and snatching Agenor away

He hid him in mist and sent him out of the battle

To go back uninjured. Then, far-working Apollo

Deceitfully kept Peleus’ son from the Trojans. He took

The form of Agenor exactly and stood in the path

Of charging Achilles, who hotly pursued him across

The wheat-bearing plain, turning him toward deep-swirling

Scamander. But crafty Apollo remained just a little

Ahead, beguiling Achilles with hope of soon

Overtaking his foe. Meanwhile, the rest of the Trojans,

Madly stampeding, rushed with unspeakable joy

Through the gates of the city and swarmed through the town.

Nor did

They dare this time await one another outside

The walls to find out who managed to get away

And who failed to make it. But frantically all of them poured

Through the gates, whoever had legs still able to run.

BOOK XXII

The Death of Hector

So throughout the city they rested like panic-worn fawns,

Exhausted from heat and running, slaking their thirst

And cooling off as they leaned on the marvelous battlements.

Meanwhile, the Achaeans, leaving their shields on their shoulders,

Drew near the wall, and Hector, bound fast in the bonds

Of treacherous fate, stood waiting outside the city

In front of the Scaean Gates. Then Phoebus Apollo

Revealed himself to Achilles, spitefully saying:

“What, O son of Peleus, can you possibly think

You’re achieving, you a mere mortal hotly pursuing

Me, an immortal god? You rage so madly

That still you have not perceived that I’m an immortal.

But have you no interest in further slaughter of Trojans,

Whom you were routing in panic, but who have now

Poured into the city while you were sprinting out here?

You’ll never kill me, since I am not fated to die.”

Then greatly enraged, fleet-footed Achilles replied:

“You’ve duped me, O far-working god, most ruthless of all

The immortalsduped me by leading me here, away

From the wall. Else many a Trojan now in the city

Would surely lie out on the plain with a bloody mouthful

Of dirt. You’ve robbed me of truly great glory and cheaply

Saved those you favor, since you have no fear of revenge

To come. O would that I had the power to wreak

Vengeance on you as I saw fit!”

So saying, Achilles

Was off for the city, still thinking great deeds, and he ran

With the speed of a prizewinning horse in a chariot-race,

A powerful stallion that stretches himself full length

As lightly he gallops across the wide plain. So Achilles

Churned hard his quick feet and knees.

The ancient Priam

Was first to see him as on he came toward the city,

Brilliantly flashing bright as the star that rises

In autumn to outshine all of the myriad others

That burn in the blackness of nightthe star men call

The Dog of Orion, most brilliant of all, but wrought

As a sign of bad days, for he is the bringer of much

Deadly fever upon wretched mortals. So now the bronze flashed

On the chest of charging Achilles. And the old one groaned

A great groan and violently beat his gray head with his hands,

As he screamed a plea to his precious son still standing

Before the high gates, determined and anxious to clash

With Achilles. To him old Priam, reaching out both

Of his arms, called pitifully:

“Hector, I beg you, dear child,

Don’t stand there alone and wait for the charge of that man,

Or death at his hands may soon be yours, since he

Is far stronger than youand a savage! If only the gods

Loved him no better than I do! Then quickly the dogs

And vultures would feast on his unburied corpse, thus lifting

Some measure of terrible grief from my heart. For he

Has deprived me of many brave sons, either slaughtering them

Or selling them off as slaves to distant islands.

Right now I miss two more of my sons, Lycaon

And Polydorus, nowhere to be seen mid the Trojans

Gathered within the city, even those two boys

The Princess Laothoë bore me. If they still live

In the Argive camp, we’ll do all we can to ransom

Those two with bronze and gold, since there is plenty

At home that ancient Altes, a King of high fame,

Sent with his daughter Laothoë. But if already

They’re dead and in Hades’ halls, great grief shall come

On the hearts of their mother and me, from whom their lives sprang.

The rest of the Trojans will not grieve so longunless

You also go down at the hands of Achilles! Come then,

My son, put walls between you and him, that you

May yet save the men and women of Troy, instead

Of giving great glory to Peleus’ son and losing

Your own sweet life. Moreover, have pity on miserable

Me, wretched but still quite able to feel!

Think of the grinding fate Father Zeus is preparing

For me, to kill me in feeble old age, after I

Have seen countless horrorsmy sons in the throes of death,

My daughters and daughters-in-law dragged off by loathsome

Achaean hands, their marriage chambers wrecked

And despoiled, and their babies dashed to the ground in the heat

Of horrible war. Myself last of all, with the life

Ripped out of my limbs by slash or thrust of sharp bronze,

Shall hungry dogs tear furthermy own table hounds

Brought up in my halls to guard the gate of my palace.

Gone mad from lapping their master’s blood, they’ll loll

In my courts. A young man cut down in battle may

Very well lie exposed, though the mangling bronze has done

Its worst on his body. Dead and naked though such

A young warrior lie, nothing is seen that is not

Noble and fair. But when savage dogs defile

The gray head and beard and the privy parts of an old man

Fallensurely nothing more foul than this can come upon

Wretched mortals!“1

So saying, old Priam tore

Gray hairs from his head, but he could not persuade the heart

Of his son. And then, beside the old King, Hector’s mother,

Wailing and shedding hot tears, undid the front

Of her gown and, holding out one of her breasts, spoke these words

Winged with entreaty:

“Hector, my child, have

Some regard for this, and pity your mother, if ever

I quieted your crying by giving you suck at this breast.

Remember all this, my precious child, and fight

Yonder savage from inside the walls. Do not be so heartless

As now to stand there and face him. For if he should kill you,

I’ll never be able, my darling, to whom I gave life,

To so much as mourn your dead body laid out on a bed,

Nor shall your rich-gifted wife, but far over there

By the Argive ships fast dogs shall devour you completely!”

Thus the two wept and called out to their much-loved son,

Beseeching him over and over, but they could do nothing

To change Hector’s heart as there he stood and awaited

The clash with gigantic Achilles. And as a bright snake

Of the mountains, swollen and fierce from its diet of deadly

Poisons, waits in his lair for a man, balefully

Glaring forth and coiling about within,

So Hector, his courage unquenched, would not give ground,

But leaned his bright shield against the wall’s jutting tower

And, deeply troubled, spoke thus to his own great spirit:

“Ah misery! if now I take cover within the gates

And the walls, Polydamas surely will be the first

To reproach me, since he is the one who urged me to lead

The Trojans back into Troy during the dread

Accursed night when great Achilles came forth. But I

Wouldn’t listen, much to the sorrow of many, and now

That I’ve all but destroyed the troops through my own stubborn pride,

I can’t face the men and gown-trailing women of Troy,

Lest some low fellow should say: Great Hector put all

Of his trust in his own brute strength and destroyed the whole

army!‘2

So they will surely remark, but it were far better

For me to face and slay Achilles and so

Return home in triumph, or now to die bravely myself

In front of the city. But what if I lay my bossed shield

And thick helmet down and, leaning my spear on the wall,

Go out unarmed to meet the matchless Achilles

And promise him that we’ll give to Atreus’ sons

To carry away both Helen and all the shiploads

Of treasure Prince Paris brought home to Troythus starting

The warand say that I’ll have the elders of Troy

Swear a strong oath for the Trojans that we will divide

With the Argives all of the treasure that this lovely city

Contains? But why do I argue these things with myself?

Let me not be so foolish as thus to approach him

Only to have him completely refuse to pity

Or hear me at all, but kill me instead, unarmed

As some helpless woman, my bronze lying back by the wall.

This, I fear, is hardly the time for a lengthy

Chat with Achilles by oak-tree or rock, such as

A boy and his girl might have with each otherboy

And his girl indeed!3 Much rather, let us now clash

With no further delay, that we may find out to whom

The Olympian wills the high glory.”

As thus he debated,

Achilles, peer of the plume-waving War-god, loomed up

Before him hefting his spear of Pelian ash,

That awesome bronze-bladed shaft, above his right shoulder,

While all about him his marvelous armor was flashing

Like leaping flames or the rising sun. Then Hector

Took but one look before trembling seized him all over,

Nor did he dare hold his ground, but leaving the gates

Behind him, he fled in fear with the son of Peleus,

Putting his faith in his speed as a runner, hot

In pursuit. As a hawk of the mountains, fastest of fowls,

Darts with shrill screams in pursuit of a trembling dove,

Hungry to kill her, so now Achilles sped on

In his furious wrath, and Hector before him ran swiftly

Beneath the wall of the Trojans. Past the place

Of lookout and the wind-swayed wild fig tree they ran, always

Out from the wall along the wagon-made road,

And came to the two fair-burbling fountains, where those

Two springs jet up that feed deep-swirling Scamander.

Hot water flows from the one, and over its stream

Steam rises like smoke from a blazing fire, while even

In summer the other runs cold as hail or chill snow

Or hard-frozen ice itself And there by those fountains

Are handsome wide washing-troughs where the wives and fair

daughters

Of Trojans had washed glossy clothes in the days of peace

Before the Achaeans came.

By these they dashed,

One fleeing, the other pursuing. A good man led

The race, but the one in pursuit was far the stronger

And came swiftly on, for now it was not for any

Mere hide or sacrificed bull that they strove, such as men

Most usually race for, but now it was for the life

Of horse-breaking Hector. And as when hard-hoofed, prizewinning

Stallions wheel fast around the turn-posts, and some

Fine prize is put up, a tripod perhaps, or a woman,

In games for a warrior dead, so now these two

Swiftly circled the city of Priam three times, while all

The gods gazed down on their race. Then the Father of men

And immortals was first to speak out among them, saying:

“Look now, truly a much-cherished man I see

Being chased about the high walls, and my heart grieves greatly

For Hector, who often has burned for me the thigh-pieces

Of oxen high on the crags of many-ridged Ida

And on the citadel heights. But now great Achilles

Is chasing him swiftly about Priam’s city. Come then,

You gods, think and decide whether we shall save him

From death, or slay him at last, brave man though he is,

At the hands of raging Achilles, Peleus’ son.”

Then the goddess Athena, her blue eyes blazing, answered him

Thus: “O Father, lord of the dazzling bolt

And darkly ominous cloud, what are you saying!

Can it be that you really wish to deliver a mortal,

One long fore-destined by fate, from dolorous death?

Well do as you like, but don’t suppose for one moment

That all of us like what you do!”

Then Zeus, god of gales,

Replied: “Why so grim, my Tritogeneia?

Dear child, I was not altogether in earnest in what

I said, and surely I want to be gentle with you.

Do as you please, and restrain yourself no longer.”

So saying, he started Athena, who needed no urging,

And down she went darting from high on the peaks of Olympus.

But fast Achilles, ceaselessly running, pressed hard

Upon Hector. And as when a hound in the mountains jumps

The fawn of a deer and chases him hotly through glade

And winding gorge, relentlessly tracking him down

Whenever he cowers in hiding beneath a dense thicket,

So Hector now could not escape Achilles.

As often as he endeavored to make a dash

For the lofty Dardanian Gates, hoping his fellows

Above on the wall might cover his effort with showers

Of shafts till he gained the protection of well-built bastions,

Achilles would cut him off and turn him back

Toward the plain, while he himself continued to run

On the city-side of the course. And as in a dream

A man is unable to chase one who wishes to flee,

And both, though struggling to run, remain rooted fast,

So that neither gains on the other, so now Achilles

Could not overtake Hector, nor could swift Hector

Escape. But how did the Trojan manage to keep

Away for so long from the fierce fates of death? Only

With help from Apollo, who came for the last and final

Time to inspire him with strength and quicken his knees.

And Achilles signaled his men with shakes of his head

Not to hurl their bitter missiles at Hector, lest someone

Else might win the glory of bringing him down,

And he himself come second. But when for the fourth

Time around they reached the fair fountains, Father Zeus

Lifted his golden scales and set on the pans

Two fates of forever-sad death, one for Achilles

And one for horse-breaking Hector. Then by the middle

He took the balance and raised it, and down all the way

To Hades’ house sank the death-day of Hector, whereat

Apollo left him.br But bright-eyed Athena came up

To Achilles and spoke to him these winged words:

“Now, finally,

Zeus-loved resplendent Achilles, I’ve hope that we two

Will cut Hector down, no matter how hungry for battle

He is, and bear to the ships great glory for all

The Achaeans. For now he cannot escape us, not even

If far-working Phoebus suffers tremendously for him

And grovels in his behalf before Father Zeus

Of the aegis. So take your stand and get back your breath,

While I go persuade your quarry to fight with you

Man to man.”

So spoke Athena, and Peleus’ son, gladly

Obeying, stood where he was, leaning upon

His bronze-bladed shaft of ash. Athena left him

And came up to shining Hector, assuming the form

And weariless voice of his brother Deďphobus. Standing

Beside him, she spoke to him these words winged with beguilement:

“Dear brother, surely fleet-footed Achilles has sadly

Abused you, chasing you thus around Priam’s city.

But come, let us now stand against him and beat back his charge

Together.”

To which great Hector, his bronze helmet flashing:

“Deiphobus, you’ve always been my favorite brother

By far, of all the sons that were born to Priam

And Hecuba. Now, though, I’m sure I shall hold you dearer

Than ever, since you have dared to come out and help me,

While all the others stay back of the lofty walls.”

To him then the goddess bright-eyed Athena replied:

“Dear brother, believe me, our father and queenly mother

And all of the comrades about me earnestly pleaded

With me to stay where I was, so fearfully do

They all tremble before Achilles. But my heart was deeply

Pained by piercing sorrow for you. So now

Let us charge straight at him and fight, nor let there be

Any sparing of spears, that we may know at once

Whether Peleus’ son is going to cut us both down

And carry our bloodstained armor back to the ships,

Or whether he shall go down beneath the bronze point

Of your spear.”

With these guileful words Athena induced him

To fight, and when they got within range of each other,

Huge Hector, his bronze helmet flashing, spoke first to Achilles:

“No longer, O Peleus’ son, will I flee before you,

As I have done three times around the great city

Of Priam, without the heart to stand up to your charge.

For now my spirit says fight with you face to face,

Whether I kill or be killed. Come then, let us

Invoke our gods to sanction this pact between us,

For they will witness and guard our covenant best.

If Zeus allows me to outlast you and rob you

Of life, I’ll do to your corpse no foul defilement.

But when I have stripped off your armor, Achilles,

I’ll give your dead body back to the host of Achaeans

And you do the same for me.”

Then savagely scowling

At him, fast-footed Achilles replied: “Hector,

You madman, don’t stand there babbling to me of covenants.

There are no faithful oaths between lions and men,

Nor do wolves and lambs have any oneness of heart,

But they are always at fatal odds with each other.4

So too it is not to be thought that we can ever

Be friends, nor shall there be any peace between us

Till one or the other has fallen and glutted with blood

The battling Ares, him of the tough hide shield!

Recall every jot of your warrior’s prowess, for now

Is the time to show your courage and skill as a spearman.

Escape for you there is none, but Pallas Athena

Shall soon bring you down with this long lance of mine.

And now you shall pay all at once for the grief I endured

For my comrades, whom you in your raging killed with the spear.”

So saying, he poised his long-shadowing spear and hurled it,

But shining Hector, looking straight at him, escaped,

For he saw it coming and crouched, so that the bronze point

Flew over his head and embedded itself in the earth.

But Pallas Athena snatched it up, without

Hector’s knowledge, and gave it back to Achilles. And Hector,

His people’s commander, spoke thus to the great son of Peleus:

“You missed, O godlike Achilles. It seems that Zeus

Has not yet informed you concerning the day of my doom,

Though surely you thought that he had. You thought by your glibness

And cunning of speech to fill me with terror of you

And completely deprive me of courage and strength. But you’ll not

Plant your spear in my back as I flee, but as I

Charge down straight upon you, drive it clean through my chest

If God has granted you that. Look out now and avoid,

If you can, my keen-cutting bronze. Here’s hoping you take

The whole shaft into your hard flesh! Surely this war

Would be lighter for Trojans, if you, their greatest scourge,

Were dead.”

Then poising his shade-making spear, he cast,

Nor did he miss, but struck full upon the shield

Of Achilles, from which a long way it rebounded, enraging

Hector, since his swift shaft had flown from his hand

In vain. And now, since he had no second ash spear,

He stood in deep consternation, then shouted to him

Of the dazzling white shield, Deďphobus, asking a long spear

Of him. But he was nowhere around, and Hector,

Aware now of just what had happened, spoke thus:

“So be it.

Surely the gods have summoned me deathward. For I

Thought sure that the hero Deďphobus stood right behind me,

Whereas he is safe on the other side of the wall,

And Athena has tricked me. Now evil death is at hand

For me, not far off at all, nor is there any

Way out. Such, I believe, has always been

Zeus’s pleasure, and that of his far-shooting son Apollo,

Who have in the past been willing and eager to help me.

Now, though, my doom is surely upon me. But let me

Not die without a huge effort, nor let me dishonorably

Die, but in the brave doing of some great deed

Let me go, that men yet to be may hear of what happened.”

So saying, he drew the keen blade that hung by his side,

A sword both heavy and long. Then bracing himself

He charged at Achilles, plunging upon him like some

Huge high-flying eagle that dives through dark clouds to seize

On the plain a tender lamb or cowering hare.

Even so, Hector plunged, his sharp sword held high. And Achilles,

Seething with savage wrath, met the advance

With one of his own, protecting his chest with his intricate,

Exquisite shield and tossing his head, so that all

The gold plumes that Hephaestus had thickly set in the crest

Of that four-horned helmet shook with a gorgeous glitter.

And from the bronze point of the spear that Achilles balanced

In his right hand there went forth a gleam like that

Which glints amid stars in the blackness of night from Hesperus,

Fairest of all the stars set in wide heaven.

Hefting that powerful spear, he scanned the form

Of his foe to find the spot where a spear was most likely

To pierce the firm flesh of Hector. He saw that his armor

Of bronze covered him all the way, the beautiful

Gear he had stripped from mighty Patroclus when he

Cut him down.5 But there where the collarbones separate neck

And shoulders, there at his throat, most fatal of targets,

Appeared a spot unprotected by bronze. So there,

As on him he charged, great Achilles drove in his spear,

And the point went through his soft neck and stuck out behind.

Even so, the ashen shaft, heavy with cleaving bronze,

Failed to sever the windpipe. Hence Hector could still say words

And answer his foe. Dying, he sprawled in the dust,

And shining Achilles exulted above him, vaunting:

“Hector, I dare say you thought while stripping Patroclus

That you would be safe, nor did you have one thought of me,

Since I was not there and since you are a very great fool!

Behind at the hollow ships that man had a helper,

One mightier far than himself to avenge himme,

The man who unstrung those knees of yours. Now dogs

And birds will ravin on your shredded corpse, defiling

You utterly. Meanwhile, Achaeans shall hold for Patroclus

A high and fitting funeral.”

Then Hector, his bronze helmet

Gleaming, his small strength rapidly draining, answered:

“I beg you, Achilles, by your own knees and parents

And life, do not allow me thus to be eaten

By dogs at the ships of Achaeans. Instead, accept

What you want of our plentiful bronze and gold, a ransom

My father and queenly mother will gladly give you,

If only you’ll give back my body, that Trojans and wives

Of Trojans may give me my due of funeral fire.”

Then blackly scowling at him, fast-footed Achilles

Replied: “Do not beg me by knees or by parents,

You dog! I only wish I were savagely wrathful

Enough to hack up your corpse and eat it raw

In view of what you have donebut no man alive

Shall keep the dogs from your head, not even if here

They should bring and weigh out a ransom ten or twenty times

What you are worth and promise still more, not even

If Priam, descended of Dardanus, should tell them to pay

Your weight in goldnot even then should your

Queenly mother lay you on a bed and mourn you, the son

Whom she herself bore, but dogs and birds shall devour you,

Bones and all!“6

Then noble bright-helmeted Hector,

Rapidly dying, replied: “I know you, Achilles,

All too well, and clearly foresee what you’ll do,

Nor was there a chance of my changing your mind. The heart

In your breast is solid iron. But think what you’re doing,

Or one day I may bring the gods’ wrath on you, when Paris

And Phoebus Apollo destroy you there, great valor

And all, at the Scaean Gates.“bs

As thus he spoke,

The final moment arrived, and his soul flew forth

From his body and quickly journeyed to Hades, bewailing

Her lot as one too soon bereft of youth

And manly vigor. And now to the corpse of his foe,

God-gifted Achilles spoke thus:

“Dieand as

For my own fate, I’ll accept that whenever Zeus wills

To fulfill it, Zeus and the other immortal gods.”

He spoke, and drawing the bronze from Hector’s throat,

He laid it aside and started to strip from his shoulders

The armor, sticky with blood. And the other sons

Of Achaeans ran up all around and gazed at the wondrously

Handsome body of Hector, nor did a man

Approach him without inflicting a wound in his flesh,

And many a one, with a glance at his neighbor, would say:

“Aha! fierce Hector is not even nearly so hard

To handle now as when he hurled blazing fire

On the ships!”

So saying, a man would step in and stab

Hector’s body. At last, having stripped him of bronze, swift Achilles

Stood up among the Achaeans and spoke to them, saying:

“O friends, captains and counselors of the Argives,

Now that the gods have enabled us thus to destroy

This man, who has done more damage than all of the others

Together, come, let us make a tour with our weapons

Around Priam’s city and see what the Trojans intend

To do next, whether they will desert their high town, now that

Their champion is dead, or whether they’ve made up their minds

To stay on without Hector’s help. But what kind of talk

Is this? Back at the ships lies a dead man unwept

And unburied, Patroclus, whom I will never forget

So long as my knees are quick and I am one

Of the living. And though all phantoms else in Hades’

House forget their dead, even there will I

Remember my precious comrade. But come, you sons

Of Achaeans, singing our song of triumph, let us

Go back to the hollow ships, bearing this body

Today we have won tremendous renown, for we

Have slain royal Hector, whom Trojans have always lauded

Throughout the city as if the man were a god.”

So saying, he set about foully defiling the body

Of noble Hector. Piercing behind the tendons

Of both of his feet between heel and ankle, he pulled through

And tied leather thongs, and bound them fast to his chariot,

Leaving the head to drag. Then lifting the famous

Armor aboard, he mounted the car himself

And lashed the team on, and they unreluctant took off

At a gallop. And dust billowed up on either side

Of the dragging Hector, as his black hair trailed out

In the dirt and the once so handsome head was defiled

With foul dust.7 For Zeus had now committed the man

To the hands of his foes to suffer disgrace and defilement

There in the land of his fathers.

Thus was his head

All filthied with dust, and his mother, seeing him so,

Tore at her hair and, screaming, flung wildly off

Her shimmering veil. And his dear father pitifully groaned,

While the people around them and those throughout the city

Took up the mournful wail. Nor could they have grieved

Any more had all looming Troy been wreathed in flames

From walls to the citadel heights. And the people had all

They could do to keep old Priam, grief-frenzied, from rushing

Out through the lofty Dardanian Gates. He begged them

All, groveling in dung of horses, and calling

Each man by his name, crying:

“Release me, my friends,

And though you don’t want to, allow me to go from the city

Alone to the ships of Achaeans. I’ll pray to this unfeeling

Monster, this worker of horrors, to have some regard

For my age and for himself in the eyes of his fellows.

He too, you know, has a father, Peleus, a man

Like myself, who sired and reared him to be a great scourge

To the Trojans, to me most of all, so many have been

My sons cut off by him in the flower of youth.

Yet not for them all do I mourn so much, great

Though my grief surely is, as I now mourn for one only,

Keen sorrow for whom will bring me down at last

To Hades’ dark housesorrow, I say, for Hector.

Ah that he might have died in my arms. Then his mother

And I might at least have found some relief in weeping

And wailing, she who bore him illfated, and I

His father.”

So spoke old Priam, sobbing, and with him

His grieving people joined in. And Hector’s mother,

Old Hecuba, led in their vehement keening the women

Of Troy, crying: “My child, how wretched I am!

Why should I go on alive in this terrible anguish

Of mine, now that you’re gone forever? You

My constant glory both night and day in the city

And ever a blessing to all of the men and women

Of Troy, who greeted you quite as they would a god,

While you were alive. But now death and fate have finally

Caught up with you.”

Thus Hecuba wailed through her tears.

But Hector’s wife knew nothing of what had occurred,

Since no one had gone to tell her that her dear husband

Remained outside the gates. She was weaving a web

In an inner room of the high-roofed house, a scarlet

Web of double width through which she artfully

Sprinkled a pattern of flowers.bt And now she called

Through the house to her girls with the beautiful braids to set

A large three-legged cauldron over the fire, that there

Should be a hot bath for Hector when he returned

From the fightingpoor innocent one, who had no idea

That far from all baths strong fire-eyed Athena had cut

Hector down by the hand of Achilles.8 But then she heard

The shrieks and groans from the wall, and shaking all over

She dropped the shuttle to earth and spoke once again

To her fair-braided handmaids:

“Two of you, come go with me,

That I may see what has happened. For that was the voice

Of my husband’s reverenced mother, and my heart leaps

To my mouth and my knees are frozen beneath me. Surely

Some horror is close at hand for the children of Priam.

O far from my ears may such news always be,

But I am terribly fearful that great Achilles

Has cut brave Hector off from the city and driven him

Out on the plain, and most likely ended by now

The fatal pride that has for so long possessed him.

For Hector would never lag back in the throng of fighters,

But always insisted on charging well out in front

And never allowed any man to outdo him in daring.”

So saying, Andromache rushed from the hall like a woman

Gone mad, her heart wildly pounding, and with her went two

Of her handmaids. But when she had joined the crowd on the wall,

She stopped and looked toward the plain, and there she saw Hector

Ruthlessly dragged by fast horses away from the city

And toward the hollow ships of Achaea. Then darkness

Night-black came over her eyes and enclosed her, as backward

She fell, flinging far off her shining headdress,

Her fair coronet, her snood and woven fillet,

And with them the veil that Aphrodite the golden

Had given to her on the day that Hector, he

Of the flashing helmet, had led her forth as his bride

From Eëtion’s house, having given innumerable gifts

To her father. Now round her crowded her husband’s sisters

And sisters-in-law and in her dead faint they held her

And tried to revive her. When she came to and her spirit

Returned to her breast, she lifted her voice in lament

Mid the women of Troy, sobbing:

“Ah Hector, what misery

Is mine! To one fate, it seems, we were born, you

Here in Troy in Priam’s house, I at the foot

Of wooded Mount Placus in Thebe in the house of Eëtion,

Who raised me, the unlucky father of one whose fate

Is even more cruel. I heartily wish he had never

Sired me. Now you are going to Hades’ house

In the hidden depths of the earth, leaving me here

In bitter anguish, a widow in your spacious halls,

And your son is still just a baby, the son we two

So unluckily had. For now you can be no help to him,

Hector, nor he any pleasure to you. And though

He survives this tear-fraught war with Achaeans, he’ll always

Have plenty of labor and woe to endure, for others

Will take all his land. A fatherless son is cut off

From the friends of his childhood. He goes about with his head

Hanging down and his cheeks wet with tears, and when in his need

He comes where the friends of his father are feasting and plucks

At one’s cloak or another’s tunic, someone out of pity

Holds out his cup for a moment, just long enough

To wet the child’s lips but leave his palate still dry.

And up comes a boy whose parents are still alive

And beats him away from the feast with his fists, jeering:

Get out of here fast! You’ve no father feasting with us.’

Then, crying, back to his widowed mother the little one

Runsour little Astyanax, who always before

On his father’s lap ate only rich mutton and marrow,

And who, when he was through playing and sleepy, would lie

On a bed in the arms of his nurse, a lovely soft bed,

Where he would sleep well with his little heart full of good cheer.

Now, though, with no father, he’ll suffer innumerable evils

My precious Astyanax, Lord of the City, so called

By the Trojans because you alone, my husband, protected

Their gates and high walls. But now by beaked ships, far away

From your parents, slick-wriggling worms shall devour you, the dogs

Having eaten their fill, all feasting on your naked body

Though in your halls you’ve plenty of handsome fine clothes,

Which now I shall burn to ashes, since you’ll never lie

In any of them, and such at least I can do

In your honor for all of the men and women of Troy.”

So she through her tears, and the women all added their wails.

BOOK XXIII

The Funeral Games for Patroclus

While the Trojans were grieving throughout the town, the Achaeans

Returned to their ships and the Hellespont stream, where each man

Went off to his vessel. Achilles, however, would not

Allow the Myrmidons thus to be scattered, but spoke out

Among his war-loving comrades, saying:

“O Myrmidons,

Men of fast horses and my faithful friends, let us

Not loose from the cars our solid-hoofed horses, but let us

Still mounted close in round Patroclus and mourn him, for such

Is the due of the dead. Then when we have found some relief

In our grievous lamenting, we will unyoke our horses

And eat supper here all together.”

At this, they all

As one man began a dirge for the dead, led

By Achilles. And thrice round the corpse of Patroclus they drove

Their mane-tossing horses, the men ever mourning, as Thetis

Aroused in their hearts the desire to lament. And their tears

Streamed down the warriors’ bronze to sprinkle the sands

Beneath them, so mighty a master of rout was he

Whom they mourned. And Peleus’ son led the sorrowful chant,

Laying his man-killing hands on the breast of his friend

And incessantly moaning these words, a funeral vaunt:

“Rejoice, O Patroclus, even in Hades’ house,

For I am already fulfilling all that I promised

To youthat I would drag Hector here and give him

Raw to the dogs, and soon at your pyre I’ll cut

The throats of twelve splendid sons of the Trojans, venting

My wrath because of your killing.”

He spoke, and further

Foully defiled Prince Hector, flopping him over

Face down in the dust before the bier of Patroclus.

And all took off their glittering bronze and loosed

Their high-whinnying horses. Then the countless army sat down

By the ship of Aeacus’ grandson Achilles, and he

Provided for them a sumptuous funeral feast.

Many sleek bellowing bulls, lurching, succumbed

To the iron as they were slaughtered, along with great numbers

Of sheep and bleating goats, and numerous swine,

Well-fattened and flashing their tushes, were stretched to singe

Above the flame of Hephaestus. And all round the corpse

Many cupfuls of blood were poured out in sacred libation.

But now the chief, fast-footed Achilles, the other

Great leaders conducted to King Agamemnon, though they

Had all they could do to get him away, so grieved

Was he in his heart because of his friend. And when

They arrived at the lodge of Atrides, they quickly ordered

The high-voiced heralds to set a large three-legged cauldron

Over the fire, in case they were able to get

Peleus’ son to wash from his flesh the horrible gore.1

But he unbendingly said that he would not, and swore

This oath in his fervor:

“Now truly, by Zeus, the highest

And best of all gods, no water shall rightly come near

My head until I have shorn off my hair in grief

And laid Patroclus high on his pyre and after

His burning heaped up a barrow above him, for no

Second sorrow shall ever strike through to my heart like this,

So long as I live on earth. For now, though, let us

Complete this sorrowful meal, but in the morning,

O king of men Agamemnon, order the soldiers

To bring in wood and to make all fit preparations,

That our dead comrade may journey as such a man should

Down to the dark kingdom of gloom, quickly consumed

From our sight by the weariless fire. Then once again

The troops can turn to their tasks.”

He spoke, and the chiefs,

Having heeded, obeyed him, and quickly they got the meal ready

And ate, each man with an equal share of the food.

And when they had eaten and drunk as much as they wished,

The others went off to their lodges to sleep, but Achilles

Went out and, heavily groaning, threw himself down

Mid the Myrmidon host on the beach of the crashing sea

In an open spot near which the billows were breaking.

And when sleep took him, deliciously drifted about him,

Dissolving the cares of his heartfor his splendid limbs

Were exhausted from chasing Prince Hector around windy Ilium—

Then appeared to him there the unhappy ghost

Of Patroclus, exactly resembling the man himself

In stature and dress and voice and beautiful eyes,

And he stood at Achilles’ head and spoke to him, saying:

“You sleep, Achilles, forgetful of mewhich you

Never were so long as I lived. Now that I’m dead,

You neglect me! But bury me soon as you can, that I

May get within Hades’ gates.2 So far the spirits

Have kept me away, mere shadows of men outworn

That will not allow me to join them beyond the river.

Vainly I wander about unable to enter

The wide-gated mansion of Hades. But give me your hand,

I sadly beseech you, for once you have given my corpse

To the fire, I’ll never again come back from Hades.

Never again in this life shall we two sit down

Apart from our dear companions and make plans together,

For that loathsome fate toward which I have always journeyed

Has now engulfed me forever. Yes, and you too,

O godlike Achilles, are doomed to fall and die

Before the wall of opulent Troy. And one

Other thing I will say and ask you to do, if you

Will but listen. Do not have my bones lie apart from your own,

Achilles, but let them lie always together, as we

Grew up together in your house, from the time I came there

With Menoetius when I was just a small boy, fleeing

From Opus to your place because I had miserably killed

A playmate of mine, Amphidamas’ son, not meaning

To kill him, but angry and fighting because of a dice game.

Then knightly Peleus received me into his home,

Lovingly reared me, and made me your squire. Hence

Let one urn contain the bones of us both, that golden

Two-handled urn which your goddess mother gave you.”

Achilles, then, fast in the war-charge, answered him thus:

“Why, O more than a brother to me, have you

Come here to give these instructions? Of course I will heed you

And do all you say. But now come closer to me,

That though it be for no more than a moment, we two

May embrace each other and find some relief from our sorrow

In grievous lamenting.”

So saying, he reached out his arms,

But found nothing there. For the ghost, insubstantial as smoke,

Was gone beneath earth, gibbering bat-like. At once

Achilles sprang up, amazed, and striking his hands

Together, spoke these mournful words:

“Ah now, even

In Hades’ house the soul is something, though only

An image utterly empty of any real life.

For here all night long the ghost of unhappy Patroclus

Has stood over me, weeping and moaning and telling me

What I should do in every detail, and the phantom

Looked wonderfully like my dear friend.”

He spoke, and aroused

In them all the desire for further lamenting, and Dawn

Of the rosy fingers spilled her sweet light upon them

While they were still grieving about the piteous corpse.

Then quickly King Agamemnon dispatched both men

And mules from all of the lodges to go after wood,

And in charge of them went a man of high prowess, Meriones,

Squire of manly Idomeneus. Off they went

With their tree-felling axes and strong-braided ropes, while the mules

Jogged on ahead. Then uphill and downhill, about

And around they went till they came to the forested foothills

Of well-watered Ida. There they began at once

To fell with their keen-bladed bronze the high-foliaged oaks,

And with thunderous crashing the trees kept falling. The Achaeans

Then split up the timber and bound it behind the mules,

That cut up the ground with their hooves as they strained for the

plain

Through the dense underbrush. And all the woodcutters bore logs,

As they were ordered to do by Meriones, squire

Of kindly Idomeneus. Back on the beach, they cast

Them down, man after man, on the spot where Achilles

Planned a huge mound for Patroclus as well as himself.

When the countless logs had all been thrown down, there

The Achaeans sat down together. But quickly Achilles

Ordered the war-loving Myrmidons to gird on their bronze

And to yoke their horses to shining cars. And they all

Got up and did as he bade, arming themselves

And mounting their chariots, footmen and riders alike.

In front went the horse-drawn fighters, and following them

Came a huge cloud of infantry, mid whom his comrades bore

Dead Patroclus, whose corpse they had covered with locks of their hair

Which they had shorn off and dropped on him. Behind walked royal

Achilles, holding the head of his friend and constantly

Mourning, for matchless indeed was the man whom he

Was escorting toward Hades.

When all had arrived at the place

Achilles had chosen, they set down the dead and quickly

Stacked up for him a high pile of wood. But now

Goddess-born swift Achilles remembered another thing

He must do, and standing apart from the pyre he cut off

A tawny lock of his hair, the lock he had let

Grow long for the river Spercheius. Then deeply moved,

He spoke, looking out on the wine-blue sea:

“Spercheius,

In vain did my father Peleus vow to you

That when I came back to my own dear country, I’d cut off

This lock in your honor and offer a holy hecatomb,

Slaughtering there in addition fifty fine rams,

All consecrated to you and your fair springs

Where you have your grove and temple and altar fragrant

With incense. So promised old Peleus, but you have not granted

His wish. Now, then, since I will never go home

To my dear native land again, I will give to the hero

Patroclus this lock of my hair to go with him in death.”

So saying, he placed the hair in the hands of his precious

Comrade, arousing in all of them the desire

For further lamenting. And now the sun would have set

On the weeping Achaeans had not Achilles come up

Beside Agamemnon and said: “Atrides, of course

The Achaeans may mourn as much as they wish, but since

They have most respect for your orders, for now dismiss

The army from round the pyre and bid them make ready

Their meal, while we, the close friends of the dead, remain

And take care of these things. And with us let all of the leaders

Also remain.”

When the ruler of men Agamemnon

Heard this request, he dismissed the troops at once

To return to their shapely ships, while the dead’s dearest friends

Remained and stacked up a pyre of wood a hundred feet

Square at the base. Then sorrowing still they laid

Dead Patroclus up on the peak of the pyre, before which

They flayed and dressed a great many fine sheep and sleek

Long-horned cattle. From these Achilles gathered the fat

And enfolded the dead therein from head to foot

And heaped the flayed bodies about him. Against the bier

He leaned large two-handled jars of honey and oil

And, loudly lamenting, drove four fast neck-arching horses

Up on the pyre. The lord Patroclus had kept

Nine table dogs, of which Achilles now cut

The throats of two and flung them up on the pyre.

And killing with bronze twelve valiant sons of the Trojans

An evil act he had planned in his heart3he lit

The pyre so that the iron fury of flame

Might feed on their corpses. Then groaning, he called by name

On his precious friend:

“Hail, O Patroclus, even

In Hades’ hallshail and farewell! Already

I’m doing for you those things I promised. For twelve

Brave sons of the great-hearted Trojans are being devoured

By the flames along with you, but Priam’s son Hector

I’ll not give to fire to feed on. Him I will leave

To the dogs!”

Such was his threat, but no dogs dealt

With Prince Hector, for Aphrodite, the daughter of Zeus,

Warded them off day and night, anointing his body

With magic, immortal oil of roses, to keep

His flesh from tearing when savage Achilles dragged him.

And down on his corpse Apollo drew a dark cloud

From sky to plain, obscuring the place where the dead man

Lay, that not too soon the heat of the sun

Might shrivel his flesh around his bones and sinews.

The pyre of dead Patroclus, however, would not

Begin burning. But quick-footed royal Achilles knew

What to do. He stood apart from the pyre and prayed

To two winds, the North and the West, promising exquisite

Gifts and liberally pouring libations of wine

From a golden cup. He besought them to come, that quickly

The wood might be kindled and all of the corpses flame.

His prayer came first to the ears of Iris, who sped

To the winds with his plea. They were all met at a feast

In the house of the stormy West Wind, and when Iris came running

And stopped on the threshold of stone, they all sprang up

At the first sight of her and each invited her over

To him. But she would not sit, and spoke to them thus:

“I may not sit down, for I must return to Oceanus’

Stream and the Ethiopians’ land, where they

Are offering whole hecatombs to the immortals,

A sacred feast in which I would share. But Achilles

Prays to the winds, to you O North and to you

O blustering West, offering fine gifts and begging

For you to come, that you may quickly make burn

The pyre of Patroclus, for whom the Achaeans all mourn.”

So saying, she left them, and those two roared off with incredible

Noise, driving the clouds in masses before them.

Soon they blew on the sea, raising the waves

Into billows beneath their shrill whistling, and so came in haste

To the loamy land of Troy and fell on the pyre,

Causing the god-blazing flame to roar with huge fury.

All night they howled as one gale about the flames

Of the pyre, while throughout the night quick Achilles dipped wine

From a gold mixing-bowl and drenched the earth all around,

Pouring it from a two-handled cup and ceaselessly

Calling upon the spirit of hapless Patroclus.

Just as a father mourns for his son while burning

His bones, a bridegroom whose death has brought misery on both

Of his unlucky parents, so now Achilles mourned

As he burned the bones of his friend, wearily dragging

Himself around the high pyre, incessantly moaning.

But at the time when the Morning Star arises,

Foretelling the coming of light on earththe star

After which comes crocus-clad Dawn, spreading over the sea

Then the flames died down, the fire flickered out, and the winds

Returned to their home across the Thracian deep,

Causing the waves to roar and run high. And Achilles,

Turning away from the smoldering pyre, sank down

Exhausted, and at once sweet sleep was upon him. But now

All those with King Agamemnon approached in a group,

And when the noise of their voices and footsteps awoke him,

He sat upright and spoke to them, saying:

“Atrides,

And you other leaders of our united Achaeans,

First go quench the smoldering pyre with sparkling

Wine, wherever the fury of flame has been,

And then let us gather the bones of Patroclus, son

Of Menoetius, carefully singling them out from the rest,

Which shouldn’t be hard, since he lay in the midst of the pyre,

While all of the others, both horses and men, were burned

Apart from him on the edges. Then let us enfold

The bones in a double layer of fat and put them

Away in a golden urn, until I myself

Am hidden in Hades. But not at this time do I bid you

Heap up with much toil a huge barrow, but one that is fitting.

Then later, when I am no more, you men who survive me

Amid the many-oared ships build it up broad

And high.”

He spoke, and they did as swift Peleus’ son bade.

First they put out the pyre with sparkling wine,

Wherever the flame had been and the ashes lay deep,

And weeping they wrapped the white bones of their lovable friend

In a double layer of fat and put them away

In a golden urn, which they veiled with cloth of sheer linen

And placed in his lodge. Then they laid out the barrow’s circle

Around the huge pyre and heaped up inside it a mound

Of dark earth.

Having built him this barrow, they started to leave,

But Achilles restrained them and seated the troops in a large

Open space where the funeral games were to be.4 And from

His ships he brought out the prizescauldrons and tripods

And horses and mules, sleek powerful oxen, gray iron,

And women gorgeously sashed.

For the charioteers

He set forth splendid prizesfor him who should run

In first place, a woman flawless in exquisite handwork

Along with a three-legged, handle-eared cauldron holding

Some twenty-two measures. And for the second he put up

An unbroken mare of six years, big with a mule foal

Soon to be born. For the third he offered a basin

Untouched by fire, a lovely glittering piece

That held four measures, and for the fourth he set out

Two talents of gold, and a two-handled urn untouched

By fire for the fifth.

Then he stood up and spoke

Mid the Argives, saying: “Atreus’ son, and you other

Bright-greaved Achaeans, these prizes are waiting here

For winning drivers to claim them. Now if we Achaeans

Were holding these games in honor of some other man,

Surely I would take the first prize off to my lodge,

For you know how far my horses surpass all others

In speed, they being immortal, a gift from Poseidon

To Peleus my father, who gave them to me. This time,

However, I and my solid-hoofed horses will not

Compete, so valiant and famous a charioteer

Have they lost, a driver most kind, who so many times

Made both of their flowing manes glossy with soft olive oil

After washing them with bright water. For him they stand

Immobile in mourning, their hearts full of sorrow, their manes

Trailing out on the ground, nor will they move. But you others

Throughout the army, get ready to race, whoever

Among you has faith in his horses and well-jointed car.”

At this from Peleus’ son, the fast drivers assembled.

Far the first to spring up was Admetus’ dear son

Eumelus, commander of many, and able indeed

As a horseman. Next to arise was the son of Tydeus,

Strong Diomedes, who yoked to his car the horses

Of Tros, the same he had taken away from Aeneas

The time Apollo saved Aeneas himself.bu

After him Atrides got up, the tawny Menelaus,

Descended from Zeus, and yoked his fast horsesAethe,

Agamemnon’s mare, and his own horse Podargus. Echepolus,

The son of Anchises of Sicyon, had given the mare

To King Agamemnon instead of following him

To wind-swept Troy, since he much preferred to remain

At home in broad-lawned Sicyon, delightfully living

On great stores of Zeus-bestowed wealth. That mare Menelaus

Led under the yoke, a horse champing eager to run.

And fourth Antilochus harnessed his mane-tossing horses,

He the fine son of high-hearted King Nestor, son

Of Neleus, and his horses of Pylian breed. Then his father

Came up and told him what he should do, a wise man

Advising one who had knowledge himself:

“Antilochus,

Young as you are, Zeus and Poseidon have loved you

And carefully taught you all that there is to teach

About driving horses. Hence I’ve no need to instruct you.

Already you know very well how to wheel your chariot

Close round the turn-post. Your horses, however, are slowest

Of all in the race, which makes me fear a sorry

Outcome for you. The others are faster, true,

But their drivers are not any smarter than you, my boy,

No smarter at all. So recall every trick you have learned,

If you don’t want those prizes to slip quickly by you. It’s skill,

You know, not strength, that makes a superior woodman,

And skill alone enables a helmsman to keep

A straight course on the wine-dark sea when his ship is beaten

By winds. And believe me, it’s skill that makes the difference

In charioteers! One driver will put too much faith

In his horses and car and allow them to wheel round the turn-post

Carelessly wide, not trying to keep them close in

With the reins. But the smart driver, although his horses are slower,

Knows how to stretch them out in a run from the first

And keeps his eyes on the man ahead of him

And on the turn-post, about which he wheels close in.

Now listen to this. Out there stands a stump some six feet

In height, a dry stump of oak or pine that the rain

Has not rotted, and by it on either side, set firmly

Against it right where the track turns, are two white stones,

And around it is plenty of smooth ground for driving. Perhaps

It’s an old monument to one who died long ago,

Or perhaps it was used as a turn-post in races held

By men in those days. At any rate, swift Prince Achilles

Has made it his turn-post now. When you reach it, wheel

Round it close, leaning a bit to the left as you stand

In your strong-braided car, and give your right horse the whip

And a shout and plenty of rein. But hold your left horse

Close in, so close that one might suppose you had grazed

The stone with the hub of your finely wrought wheelbut of course

Be wary of really grazing the stone, lest you injure

The horses and wreck your car, which the others would doubtless

Enjoy much more than yourself. I tell you, dear son,

Think fast and stay on your guard, for if at the turn

You pass all the others, no driver here will be able

To catch you, much less spurt ahead of you, coming back,

Not though he drove the mighty Arion, fast horse

Of Adrastus, and bred of heavenly stock, or the steeds

Of Laomedon, far the best ever bred here at Troy.”

So saying, Neleus’ son Nestor went back and sat down

In his place, having told his son just what he should do.

The fifth man to ready his mane-tossing team was Meriones.

Then they all mounted their cars and tossed their lots

In a helmet held by Achilles. He shook them, and out leaped

The lot of Antilochus, son of Nestor, who thus

Got the inside lane, and the lot of lordly Eumelus

Was next to come out. Then out leaped that of Atrides,

Spear-famed Menelaus, followed by that of Meriones.

Last of all to get a lane for his horses

Was Tydeus’ son Diomedes, much the best man

In the race. Then they lined up to start, and Achilles

Showed them the turn-post far off on the level plain,

And by it he set as a judge his father’s man,

The godlike Phoenix, to keep a keen eye on the running

And to tell exactly what happened.

Then all as one man

Brought their whips down on the horses and rattled the reins

On their backs, excitedly urging them off, and quickly

They came to a gallop and sped from the drawn-up ships

Across the smooth plain. From beneath their breasts the dust

Rose up in thick swirling clouds, and their manes streamed back

On the wind. And the chariots ran on the all-feeding earth,

Frequently bouncing high in the air, as the drivers

Stood in the cars, the heart of each man throbbing wildly

To win, and each of them shouted to urge his pair on,

As they flew through the dust on the plain.

It was not, however,

Till they were galloping down the last stretch of the course,

Having rounded the turn-post and headed back toward the sea,

That the field strung out and all of the horses showed

What speed they were capable of, stretching themselves

To the utmost. Then quickly the hoof-flashing mares of Eumelus

Pulled out ahead, and following close behind them

Came Diomedes’ great stallions, horses of Tros

Nor far back at all, for they ever seemed just on the verge

Of mounting Eumelus’s car, and constantly blew

Their hot breath upon his back and broad shoulders, since all

But over him stretched their heads as they flew. And now

Diomedes would surely have passed him or ended the race

Neck and neck, had Phoebus Apollo, still angry at him,

Not struck from his hand the glittering whip. Diomedes

Wept with frustration as he saw the mares of Eumelus

Spurt even more swiftly ahead, while his stallions, missing

The whip, slowed down and fell back. Athena, however,

Was not unaware of what Apollo had done

To cheat the son of Tydeus, and swiftly she went

In pursuit of the people’s shepherd and, handing him back

His whip, put new strength into his horses. Then on

She sped to Eumelus, son of Admetus, and snapped

The yoke of his horses, causing the mares to swerve

Apart and the shaft to plow up the plain. Eumelus

Himself was thrown from the car down into the dirt

Right next to a wheel, thus stripping the skin from his elbows,

Mouth, and nose, bruising his forehead, filling

His eyes with tears, and stifling his powerful voice.

But strong Diomedes swept round the wreck with his solid-hoofed

Horses and shot out far ahead of the rest,

For Athena endowed his stallions with power and granted

The glory to him. And next came Atreus’ son,

Tawny-haired Menelaus, but now Antilochus yelled

To his father’s horses:

“Faster! you two. Stretch

Till you burst! With that pair out in first place, the horses

Of Tydeus’ flame-hearted son, I do not bid you

Compete, for Athena has given them speed and granted

Glory to him at the reins. But do overtake

Menelaus’s horses, and don’t let them beat you, lest Aethe,

A mare, disgrace you both! But why are you lagging,

Brave steeds? I’ll tell you now what’s what, and believe me

I mean it! No loving care will ever be yours

Again from King Nestor, if now you’re so sorry as not

To win a good prize, and he will not hesitate, either,

To cut you both down with keen bronze! But faster! I say,

And catch them, and I will take care of the rest. I’ll slip by

Them there where the track is narrow. Believe me, I will!”

These urgent words from their master frightened the pair

And caused them to quicken their pace for a time, till soon

Antilochus spotted a low narrow place up ahead

Where the road had been partly washed out by rushing water

From hard winter rains. Menelaus held the track there,

Thinking none would dare try to pass at that place. But

Antilochus

Swung off the track and drove his sohd-hoofed horses

Up beside those of Atrides, at which Menelaus,

Terrified, shouted:

“Antilochus, rein in your team!

You’re driving like some stupid fool! The track here is narrow,

But soon it widens again. So pass me there,

Or surely you’ll foul my car and miserably wreck

Us both!”

He yelled, but Antilochus drove even faster,

Bringing his whip down hard, as if he had failed

To hear. And far as a discus flies when a young man,

Testing his brawn, swings it hard from the shoulder,

So far they ran side by side. Then the team of Atrides

Fell back, reined by their master, who greatly feared

That the solid-hoofed horses were going to clash on the track

And upset the strong-braided cars, thus painfully pitching

The drivers, so eager to win, head over heels

In the dust. But tawny-haired Menelaus yelled

This rebuke at Antilochus drawing away:

“Go on,

Damn you! Surely no other mortal has fewer scruples

Than you. I know now how wrong we Achaeans were

To think you had any judgment. Nor shall you carry

That prize away without first swearing an oath

That you drove a clean race!”

So saying he called to his pair:

“Don’t stop or hold back now, no matter how hurt

Your spirits may be. But after those horses, quick!

Their legs will give out before yours, for both of them carry

More years.”

These urgent words from their master inspired

The pair to quicken their pace, and soon they drew near

The team of Antilochus.

Meanwhile, the Argives were sitting

Where they had assembled, watching sharp for the horses

To come through the dust hanging over the plain. And the first

To see them was royal Idomeneus, leader of Cretans,

For he sat outside the assembly, highest of all

On a place of lookout. Hearing Diomedes’ voice,

He knew it at once, despite the great distance between them,

And also he recognized one of his horses, a bay

With a white full moon on his forehead. Rising, he spoke

To the Argives, saying:

“My friends, captains and counselors

Of the Achaeans, am I the only man here

Who sees the horses, or do you see them as well?

Some other pair, it seems, are now in the lead,

And some other driver. The mares of Eumelus, that led

Clear up to the turn, have now come to grief somewhere

On the plain. I’m sure I saw them still in first place

When they rounded the turn-post, but now I can find them nowhere

At all, though I’ve scanned the whole Trojan plain. Do you think

Eumelus perhaps dropped the reins, or was unable

To hold his pair on the track as he rounded the turn-post?

He must, I suppose, have failed to make it, and there

At the turn been hurled to earth, as his mares in panic

Swerved from the track and tore his car all to pieces.

But all of you get up and look, for I’m no longer

Sure what I see, but I think the man now leading

Is of the Aetolian race and a King mid the Argives,

In fact the son of horse-breaking Tydeus, strong

Diomedes himself!”

Then Ajax, son of Oďleus,

Shamefully spoke in rebuke: “Idomeneus, why

Do you always blabber so much? Those high-stepping mares

Are still far off on that great stretch of plain, and you

Are neither the youngest nor most keen-sighted man

Mid the Argives. Always, however, you blabber the loudest!

Such noise scarcely becomes you, especially here

With your betters. The very same mares are still in the lead,

And that is Eumelus himself, firmly keeping his stance

In the car and holding the reins!”

Then Idomeneus, King

Of the Cretans, angrily answered: “Ajax, you

Are indeed our best when it comes to stupid abuse,

But otherwise you are surely the worst of the Argives

Because of your gross and stubborn mind! But come,

Let us wager a tripod or cauldron, and let Agamemnon

Be judge between us and say which team is in front,

That you by losing may learn!”

Oďleus’ son Ajax

Sprang up at this to answer with hateful hard words,

And surely the quarrel would not have stopped there had not

Achilles himself stood up and said: “Enough,

Ajax, and no more, Idomeneus, no more bitter words,

So utterly evil and ugly. They hardly become you.

You’d blame severely another who acted this way,

So sit in your places and watch for the horses. Soon now

They’ll be here, all of them straining to win. Then each

Man of you may clearly see for himself whose horses

Are first and whose second.”

As thus the Prince spoke, Diomedes

Drew near, frequently lashing his horses with strokes

Brought down hard from the shoulder, and swiftly his light-leaping

stallions

Came on at a gallop. Their driver was constantly showered

With dust, and his chariot, covered with gold and tin,

Ran on behind the rapid-hoofed horses so fast

That only the slightest trace of the wheel rims was left

In the powdery dust, as onward his horses flew

Then reining up in the midst of the place of assembly,

With sweat streaming off to the ground from the necks and chests

Of his pair, Diomedes leaped down from his all-shining car

And leaned his whip against the tough yoke. Nor did

The strong Sthenelus, Diomedes’ dear friend, at all

Hesitate to claim the first prize for his comrade, but quickly

He gave to his spirited fellows the woman to lead

Away and the handle-eared tripod to carry.

Next

To drive in was Antilochus, grandson of Neleus, he

Who had passed Menelaus, not by superior speed,

But by a low trick. Even so, Menelaus held

His fast horses close to the rear of Antilochus’ car.

They ran, in fact, no farther behind than a swift horse

Is from the wheel of a car in which he draws

His master over the plain at a gallop, brushing

The metal rim with the tip of his tail, so close

Is he to the wheel as he speeds across the wide flat.

That close Menelaus came in behind Prince Antilochus,

Though at first he had been as far back as one

Hurls the discus. Rapidly he was catching his man,

Running him down as the splendid strength of Aethe,

King Agamemnon’s mane-tossing mare, increased.

Had the course been longer, he without doubt would have passed him,

Nor would there have been any chance of a neck-and-neck finish.

Meriones drove in fourth, the noble squire

Of Idomeneus, fully a spear-cast behind Menelaus,

Since his fair-maned pair were truly the slowest of all

In the race, and he the least able driver.

Last

Came Eumelus, son of Admetus, painfully dragging

His exquisite car and driving his horses before him.

Seeing him so, quick-footed noble Achilles

Stood up mid the Argives and spoke, and his words came winged

With compassion:

“See how in last place the ablest driver

Of all drives in his solid-hoofed horses. But come,

Let us give him a prize, as we should. Let him take the second,

Since now the first has gone to the son of Tydeus.”

To this all the others agreed, and Achilles would then

Have given Eumelus the mare, with full approval

From all the spectators, had not Antilochus, son

Of magnanimous Nestor, stood up and challenged the justice

Of Peleus’ son Achilles, saying: “Achilles,

Angry indeed will I be with you if now

You do as you say, for thus you will cheat me of what

Is rightfully mine, simply because you respect

The skill of Eumelus in spite of the fact that his horses

And car came to grief. Well he should have prayed to the gods

Everlasting, who then would have kept him from coming in last.

If you, however, pity him so, and care

So much for him, why you have great store of gold and bronze

At your lodge, along with hard-hoofed horses, women,

And cattle. Later, take some of that and give him

An even more splendid prize, or do it right now,

That all the Achaeans may warmly applaud you. But I

Will not yield the mare. I’ll fight in hand-to-hand combat,

In fact, with anyone here who wishes to claim her.”

At this, fast-footed princely Achilles smiled,

Hugely delighting in his dear comrade Antilochus.

Then he replied in these winged words: “Antilochus,

If you wish me to give Eumelus some other prize

From my lodge, for you I’ll do even that. I’ll give him

The breastplate I took from Asteropaeus, a breastplate

Of bronze with a brilliant casting of circular tin

Laid on all around it. He’ll value it highly, I know.”

So saying, he bade his close comrade Automedon bring it

Out from the lodge, and he went and brought it and placed it

At once in the hands of Eumelus, who joyfully took it.

But then Menelaus got up, his heart fairly seething

With rage at Antilochus. Into his hand a herald

Placed the orator’s staff and called for silence

Among the Argives. Then godlike Atrides spoke thus:

“Antilochus, you that once had good sense, what

Have you done! You’ve hindered my horses and made me look

Like a fool, forcing your own much inferior team

To the front by a foul. But you captains and counselors

Of the Argives, come now, and judge without favor between us,

Impartially please, or surely someone later on

Will say: Menelaus defeated Antilochus only

By lies. Even so, he got the mare, for though

His horses were slower by far, he himself was greater

In rank and power.’ But no, I myself will judge,

Confident quite that none of the Danaans shall

Have cause to rebuke me, since what I decide shall surely

Be perfectly just. Zeus-nurtured Antilochus, come

Over here and stand, as is our custom, in front of

Your horses and car, holding the slender whip

You use when you drive. Then lay a hand on your horses

And swear by Poseidon, who hugs and shakes the whole earth,

That you committed no willing foul to get

My car behind you.”

To which the shrewd Antilochus:

“Bear with me now, my lord Menelaus, for I

Am much younger than you. As an older and better man,

You know very well what sort of rash overreaching

A young man is liable to, for though he thinks faster

His judgment is often too little and light. May your heart

Have patience with me, then, and I myself will give you

The mare that I won. Yes, and if you should ask

In addition some finer thing from my lodge, I’d want

To give it at once, that I may not spend all my days

Cast out of your heart, and feel myself a sinner

Before the powers divine.”

So spoke the son

Of magnanimous Nestor, and leading the mare he gave her

To King Menelaus, whose heart was warmed like the heart

Of ripening grain when the ears are sparkling with dew

And the fields are all bristling. Even so, Menelaus, your heart

Was made glad. Then his words to Antilochus flew on the wings

Of forgiveness.

“Antilochus, now I myself feel no more

Anger against you, since you as a rule are not

At all foolish or flighty. But don’t try another such trick

On your betters. And truly, no other Achaean could thus

So soon have appeased me. You, though, have suffered much

And toiled a great deal for my sake, you and your brother

Along with your excellent father. Hence I will heed

Your request for forgiveness. And as for the mare, though surely

She’s rightfully mine, I give her to you, that all

Gathered here may know that my heart is never unyielding

And haughty.”

Such were his words, and giving the mare

To Antilochus’ comrade Noëmon, he took for himself

The third prize, the all-shining basin. And Meriones took

The two talents of gold, since he was fourth to come in.

But the two-handled urn, the fifth prize, remained unclaimed.

So Achilles gave it to Nestor, bearing it through

The assembly of Argives. Standing beside him, he said:

“This, ancient sir, is for you. Lay it away

With your treasures to be a reminder of these funeral rites

For Patroclus, whom never again you’ll see mid the Argives.

This urn I give you quite freely, for now your days

Of boxing and wrestling are over, nor will you compete

Again in the javelin-throw or foot-race. The weight

Of years lies heavy upon you.”

So saying, he placed

The urn in his hands, and Nestor receiving it spoke,

His words flying forth on the wings of joyful thanks:

“Yes indeed, child, all that you say is true, and fittingly

Put. My feet and limbs, young friend, are no longer

Steady and strong, nor do my fists any more

Lash lightly out from the shoulder. If only I were

Young again and as sure of my brawn as I was on that day

At Buprasium when the Epeans were holding last rites

For King Amarynceus and his sons put prizes up

For games in his honor. That day no man was my peer,

Neither mid the Epeans, nor mid my own people the Pylians,

Nor mid the great-souled Aetolians. In boxing I won

Over Enops’ son Clytomedes, and in wrestling over

Ancaeus of Pleuron, who pitted his strength against me.

Iphiclus, fast though he was, I beat in the foot-race,

And in the javelin-throw I defeated Phyleus

And Polydorus. I lost but one event,

The chariot-race in which the two sons of Actorbv

Outstripped me, since they were two against one, fiercely

Begrudging me victory and forcing their horses ahead,

For the best prize of all was still in the lists. They were twins,

And one of them drove with sure hand, a very sure hand,

While the other laid on the lash. Even such was the man

I once was, but now I leave these endeavors to men

Who are younger, since now I must yield to irksome old age,

But go, and finish these funeral rites and games

For your comrade too. This gift I gladly receive,

And my heart rejoices that always you think of me

As a friend, nor do you neglect to honor me duly

Among the Achaeans. May the gods in return give you

Abundant grace to fulfill each desire of your heart.”

Thus he spoke, and Peleus’ son, having listened

To old Nestor’s thanks, went back through the crowd of Achaeans

And brought out rewards for the painful and difficult boxing.

First he led out and tied in the place of assembly

A work-hardy mule of six years, one well broken in

No easy task with a muleand for him who should lose

He set out a two-handled cup. Then standing there

Mid the Argives, Achilles spoke thus:

“Atrides, and all

You other hard-greaved Achaeans, we now invite

The best pair of boxers here to square off and throw punches

Like fury for these two prizes. Let him whom Apollo

Gives strength to outlast the other, as witnessed by all

The Achaeans, go off to his lodge with the work-hardy mule,

While he who loses shall take the two-handled cup.”

He spoke, and at once a huge man, courageous and skilled

As a boxer, stood up, one Panopeus’ son Epeus,

And laying a hand on the work-hardy mule, he vaunted:

“Now let him come out and fight, whoever covets

This two-handled cup. For the mule, I think, will not

Be won by any Achaean who first of all has to

Beat me with his fists, since I claim to be the best boxer

Here. So I’m not so good in battleone can’t be

Expert in every endeavor! But this I say now,

And believe me I’ll do what I saynamely, crush

Every bone in my crazy opponent’s carcass and pound

His flesh to a pulp! So let his nearest and dearest

Of kin stand by in a body, that they may carry

Him off unconscious when I have finished with him.”

Such was his challenge, and all for a time sat utterly

Silent. At last one man stood up to face him,

A godlike man, Euryalus, son of the son

Of Talaus, Mecisteus the King, who had journeyed to Thebes

For the funeral and games that followed great Oedipus’ downfall,

And in those games had defeated all the Cadmeans.

Quickly, Euryalus’ spear-famous kinsman, Tydeus’

Son Diomedes, girded his cousin’s loins

With a cloth and bound his knuckles with thongs well cut

From the hide of a range-roaming ox, warmly encouraging

Him with words, for greatly he wished him to win.

When the two had been girded, they strode to the midst of the place

Of assembly and, squaring off, began to throw powerful

Punches, awesomely grinding their teeth and streaming

All over with sweat. Then able Epeus brought one

Up from the ground, as it were, as Euryalus peered

For an opening, and caught him crashingly under the jaw.

Nor did he remain after that in an upright position

For long, since there on the spot his splendid limbs

Were unstrung. And as when a fish darts up from beneath

The North Wind’s ripple and leaps up out of the water

And onto the sea-weedy sand of a shallow, then quickly

Is hidden again beneath a dark wave, so now

Euryalus arched through the air and flopped on his back,

So great was the force of the blow. But gallant Epeus

Took him and set him once more on his feet, and his cherished

Companions crowded about him and helped him off

Through the place of assembly, his feet dragging trails in the dust

As he went, dangling his head to one side and spitting out

Clots of blood. And they set him downstill

None too sure where he wasin the midst of his fellows, while they

Went out and claimed the two-handled cup.

Then Achilles,

Before all the Danaans, put up rewards for the painful

And toilsome wrestling, the third event in the games

For the winner, a truly tremendous three-legged cauldron

To straddle the fire, one valued as worth twelve oxen

Among the Achaeans, and for the loser he brought out

Among them a woman of many skills, whom they valued

As worth four oxen. Then Peleus’ son arose

Mid the Argives and said:

“Up now, whichever two men

Among you intend to compete in this contest.”

He spoke,

And up got huge Telamonian Ajax and with him

Resourceful Odysseus, skilled at tricks and contriving.5

Then, having girded themselves, the two men strode out

To the midst of the place of assembly and immediately locked

Their powerful arms, reminding one of the sloping

Beams some famous builder connects at the roof

Of a high-gabled house to keep out the blustering winds.

And their backs fairly creaked as they gripped each other hard

With their hands and grappled for all they were worth, streaming

With sweat and raising many a blood-livid welt

On each other’s ribs and shoulders, as both of them strained

Every muscle to win the fair-fashioned tripod. Odysseus,

However, could no more win a fall over Ajax

Than Ajax could over him, so firm was his stance.

But when they had grappled so long that the strong-greaved Achaeans

Began to get bored and restless, gigantic Ajax,

Telamon’s son, grunted thus to Odysseus:

“O god-sprung

Son of Laertes, resourceful Odysseus, either you

Lift me or let me lift you, and the outcome we’ll leave

To Zeus.”

So saying, he lifted Odysseus, but that

Wily man was alertly on guard, and kicking the bend

Of Ajax’s knee with his heel, he caused his legs

To buckle at once, so that backward he fell with Odysseus

Riding his chest. Next it was much-bearing, noble

Odysseus’ turn to lift, and though he could raise him

From earth a few inches only, he crooked his knee

Behind that of Ajax and down the two went again,

Side by side in the man-clinging dust. And now

The two men would have sprung up again to try a third fall,

If Achilles had not stood up and restrained them, saying:

“Struggle no further, nor wear yourselves out with agonized

Effort. Both of you win. Take equal prizes

And go, that other Achaeans may also compete.”

To this they willingly listened, then did as he said,

Wiping the dust from their bodies and putting their tunics

Back on.

Next came the foot-race, for which Achilles

Set out still more prizes. For first place he put up

A mixing-bowl of silver, richly engraved.

It held six measures and had no equal in beauty

On all the earth, for the gifted Sidonians, master

Craftsmen, had made it with all of their art, and Phoenicians

Had brought it across the misty sea to the harbor

Of Thoas, to whom they had given the bowl as a gift.

And later, in ransoming Priam’s son Lycaon,

Euneus, son of Jason, had given the bowl

To Patroclus. This exquisite piece Achilles put up

As a prize in honor of his dear comrade, a trophy

For him who should prove to be fleetest of foot in the race.

For the second he offered a well-fattened ox, enormous

And sleek, and half a talent of gold for the last.

Then standing up, he spoke mid the Argives, saying:

“Up now, whoever would like to compete in this race.”

At this, swift Ajax arose, the fast-running son

Of Oďleus, as did resourceful Odysseus. Third

To get up was Antilochus, Nestor’s son, for in this event,

Too, he was the best of the younger Achaeans.

They lined up to start, and Achilles showed them the turn-post.

Then off they shot, running hard, with Ajax quickly

Taking the lead. But able Odysseus was close

On his heels, as close as the weaving-rod comes to the breast

Of a brightly-sashed woman when deftly she passes the woof

Through the warp and holds the rod close to her bosom. That close

Ran Odysseus, and always his feet pounded fast in the footsteps

Of Ajax before the fine dust had a chance to arise,

And the breath of royal Odysseus beat hot on the back

Of that fast runner’s head, as all the Achaeans shouted

To urge Ajax on in his all-out effort to win.

But when they began their sprint down the course’s last stretch,

Odysseus prayed quick in his heart to blue-eyed Athena:

“O goddess, hear me, and come put more speed in my feet!”

Such was his prayer, and Pallas Athena, hearing,

Lightened his legs and feet and arms. Then just

As they started their final spurt for the rare mixing-bowl,

Ajax slipped up as he ranundone by Athena

And fell where the ground was covered with dung from the bellowing

Bulls that fast Achilles had slaughtered in honor

Of gentle Patroclus, and Ajax’s mouth and nose

Were chock-full of noisome bull-dung. Then nobly enduring

Odysseus picked up the mixing-bowl, he

Having run in first place, and excellent Ajax laid claim

To the ox. As he stood there holding the beast by one horn

And spitting out dung, he spoke mid the Argives, saying:

“Ugh! but wouldn’t you know it! Athena made me

Slip up as I ran, though always she goes like a mother

Right by the side of Odysseus and helps him always.”

At this the Achaeans laughed with high glee at Ajax.

Then Antilochus, last to come in but grinning gaily,

Took up the half-talent of gold and said: “I’ll say

Something now that all of you already know, that even

In games the immortals favor the older men.

For though Ajax is only a little bit older than I,

Odysseus there is one from an earlier age,

A very ancient, but, as all say, his

Is a flourishing green old age. Hard indeed would it be

For any Achaean to race with him and win,

With the single exception of swift Achilles himself.”

He spoke, giving glory to Peleus’ son, the fleet-footed,

And Achilles answered him thus: “Antilochus, not

Without due recognition shall these words of praise have been spoken

By you. No indeed, for now I will add to your prize

Another half-talent of gold.”

So saying, he gave it

To him, and Antilochus took it with thanks. Then Achilles

Brought out to the contest ring a long-shadowing spear,

And with it a helmet and shield, the war-gear Patroclus

Had stripped from Sarpedon, and standing he spoke mid the Argives,

Saying: “Now to compete for these prizes, we call

For the best two warriors here to put on their armor,

Take up their bright and flesh-cleaving bronze, and try

Each other’s mettle before the whole army. Whichever

Shall first get through to the other’s firm flesh and pierce

Through armor and blood to the very vitals, to him

I will give this fine Thracian sword, silver-studded, the blade

I took from Asteropaeus. The gear of Sarpedon

Let both men equally share, and I shall give

A good dinner to both in my lodge.”

Such were his words,

And huge Telamonian Ajax arose and with him

Strong Diomedes, Tydeus’ son. Having armed

Themselves on opposite sides of the crowd, they strode

To the center, awesomely glaring, as gripping suspense

Held all the Achaeans. Then fiercely they charged, clashing

In combat three times. And Ajax pierced the round shield

Of his able opponent, but failed to draw blood on account of

The breastplate behind it. Meanwhile, Tydeus’ son

Kept trying to reach the neck of Ajax by thrusting

Above his great shield with the glittering point of his spear.

At this the Achaeans were filled with fear for Ajax

And quickly stopped the encounter, bidding them each

Take equal prizes. The mighty sword, however,

Achilles presented to fierce Diomedes, bringing

It to him along with its scabbard and finely cut baldric.

Next Peleus’ son put up a huge discus of pig iron,

Which mighty Eëtion used to heave, before

Fast Achilles killed him and took it away in his ships

Along with his other belongings. Rising, he spoke

Mid the Argives, saying: “Come forth, whoever of you

Would like to compete for this prize. Though his fields lie out

Very far, the winner will have all the iron he can use

For five circling years at least. No lack of iron

Will send his shepherd or plowman into the city.

He’ll have all he needs right there.”

He spoke, and up got

Battle-staunch Polypoetes along with his stalwart comrade,

The godlike Leonteus, and Ajax, son of Telamon,

And high-born Epeus. They took their places to throw

And princely Epeus threw first. Gripping the iron,

He spun and wobbled it off a short way, an effort

At which the Achaeans shouted with laughter. Next

Leonteus, scion of Ares, threw, and thirdly

Great Telamonian Ajax sent the weight spinning

From out his brawny huge hand past the marks of both

Other men. But then battle-staunch Polypoetes gripped

The thick discus and got it off with tremendous force,

And as far as a herdsman can fling his short throwing-staff,

Whirling it lightly away above grazing cattle,

Even so far beyond all the other marks

Polypoetes threw the large weight, and the army went wild

With applause. Then the comrades of strong Polypoetes got up

And took the fine prize of their King to the hollow ships.

For the archers, next, Achilles put up as prizes

Gleaming blue iron, this time in the form of twenty

Good axes, ten double-bladed, ten single, and tying

A trembling dove by the foot with thin cord to the top

Of the mast from a blue-prowed ship, he set it up

Far off in the sand and bade the men shoot, saying:

“Whoever hits yonder timorous dove let him take

The ten double axes off to his lodge, but whoever

Hits the cord instead of the bird is the loser!

The single axes are his.”

At this, strong Teucer

Arose and Idomeneus’ able squire Meriones.

Then lots were tossed in a helmet of brass and Teucer’s

Was first to leap out. Quickly, with marvelous vigor

He got off a shaft, but neglected to promise Apollo

A glorious hecatomb offering of first-born lambs.

So he missed the bird, since Apollo begrudged him a win,

But hit the cord by the foot of his target, and clean

In two the keen arrow cut the thin string. At once

The dove darted skyward, the cord dangled down, and loud

Was the cry that went up from the troops. But Meriones instantly

Snatched the bow from Teucerhe already had

An arrow, since he had been holding one while Teucer

Was aimingand quickly vowing a glorious hecatomb

Offering of first-born lambs to Apollo, who hits

From afar, he spotted the timorous dove high up

Beneath the clouds, and there, as she circled, he hit her

Beneath the wing, full in the side, and the arrow

Went all the way through and, falling, stuck in the ground

At Meriones’ feet. But the dove sank down on top

Of the mast from the blue-prowed ship, dangling her head

And drooping her twitching wings, as swiftly life flew

From her body, and she toppled down from the mast a long way

To the ground. And the gazing Achaeans were gripped with amazement.

Meriones, then, took all ten double axes,

While losing Teucer carried the ten single-bladed

Off to the hollow ships.

Finally, Peleus’

Son brought out and set in the contest ring

A long-shadowing spear and a basin untouched by fire,

Of an ox’s worth and engraved with flowers. And up got

The javelin-throwersAtreus’ son, the high King,

Great Agamemnon, along with Meriones, worthy

Squire of Idomeneus. Thus, then, the swift Prince Achilles

Spoke out among them, saying:

“Atrides, we all

Know well how far you surpass all others, how far

You’re the strongest and how far the best in the javelin-throw

So the basin is yours without a contest.6 Take it

And go to the hollow ships. But the spear, if you will,

Let us present to the hero Meriones. Such,

At least, I would like.”

He spoke, and commander-in-chief

Agamemnon did not disagree. In person he gave

The bronze-headed spear to Meriones, then handed the basin,

A truly exquisite piece, to his herald Talthybius.

BOOK XXIV

Priam and Achilles

So ended the games, and now the spectators dispersed,

Each man to his vessel, but whereas the rest looked forward

To supper and then to their fill of delectable sleep,

Achilles continued his weeping, ever recalling

His precious companion, nor could all-conquering sleep

Overcome him, as restless he turned from side to side

On his bed, sorely missing the manhood and noble heart

Of his friend and thinking of all that he had achieved

With him and of all they had been through together, the wars

Of men and the punishing waves.

Thus night after night

He would spill his big tears, now lying upon his side,

Then on his back, and presently prone on his face,

Only to get up at last and roam up and down,

Distraught, on the shore of the sea. Nor did he fail

To notice the coming of Dawn, as she spread her light

Over billows and beach, for then he would yoke to his car

His fast-running horses, and binding Hector behind,

He would drag him three times around dead Patroclus’s barrow.

Then he would sit in his lodge, while Hector lay stretched

On the ground outside, face down in the dust. Apollo,

However, protected his flesh from defilement, for he

Pitied him even in death, and wrapping him up

In the golden aegis, he kept Achilles from tearing

His corpse as he dragged him.

Achilles, then, madly raging,

Foully dishonored the body of noble Hector,1

But meanwhile the blessed gods, who saw what he did,

Had compassion on Hector and prompted Hermes, the keen-eyed

Killer of Argus, to go steal the corpse. And all

Of the gods thought he should, save Hera, Poseidon, and maidenly

Bright-eyed Athena, each of whom kept up the hatred

Which they had felt from the first against holy Troy,

King Priam, and Priam’s people, because of the sin

Of Prince Paris, the man who deeply insulted Athena

And Hera, when they had come to his courtyard, by favoring

Sweet Aphrodite, the goddess who furthered his blind

And disastrous lust.bw But when the twelfth morning came

Since Hector had lain a corpse, Phoebus Apollo

Spoke thus among the immortals:

“You’re ruthlessly cruel,

You gods, and workers of evil! Has Hector, then,

Never burned thigh-pieces for you of bulls and goats

Without flaw? And have you so little concern to save

His mere corpse, for his wife and mother and little boy

To look upon, along with his father Priam

And Priam’s people, who soon would burn his dead body

And build him a barrow with all due funeral rites?

Oh yes, you’d rather help monstrous Achilles, whose thought

Is outrageous, whose will too rigid to bend. His heart

Is obsessed with savage revenge, a heart as unfeeling

And brutal as that of a lordly lion urged on

By his spirit and might to spring on the flock of some shepherd

And try for a feast. Like him, Achilles is void

Of all pity, nor has his heart any shame, which can help

As well as harm mortal men. A man, after all,

May lose one dearer to him than this man was,

A brother, sprung from the same womb as he, or even

A son. But when he has wept and fittingly mourned

For him, he ends his grieving, for surely the fates

Have given to men a tough and patient spirit.2

Achilles, though, having taken the life of great Hector,

Binds him in back of his car and drags him daily

About his dear comrade’s barrow. Truly, he’ll win

Nothing good by so doing. Let him, indeed, beware,

Before we grow really angry at him, brave man

Though he surely is, for now in his stupid fury

He sinfully fouls and defiles insensible clay!”

Angered by this, white-armed Hera replied:

“Something may come of your words, O silver-bowed one,

Providing you gods honor Hector no more than Achilles.

For Hector, you know, is mortal, and to him a mere woman

Gave suck, but Achilles was born of an immortal goddess,

Whom I myself lovingly reared and gave to a man

In marriage, to Peleus, who was very dear to the gods.

And all of you shining immortals were there at her wedding,

Including you, Apollo, you friend of blackguards,

Treacherous alwaysbut there you sat in our midst

With your lyre in hand!”

Then Zeus, the gale-gathering god,

Spoke thus in answer: “Do not be so utterly angry,

Hera, against the immortals. Those two shall never

Be honored the same. Even so, of all the mortals

In Troy, Hector was dearest indeed to the gods.

So, at least, I regarded the man, for never once

Did he fail to please me with gifts. Never once was my altar

By him left bare of the ample feastdrink-offering

And savor of burning meatthat we consider

Our due. But let us forget the proposal to steal

Brave Hector’s body. It surely could not be done

Without Achilles’ knowing, since night and day

His mother closely attends him. But I wish some immortal

Would go tell Thetis to come here to me, that I

May advise her in time to get her great son to accept

King Priam’s gifts of ransom and give Hector back.”

He spoke, and gale-footed Iris hurried to carry

His message. Midway between Samos and craggy Imbros

She dived into the dark sea, and the billows boomed

As they closed above her. Then down she shot, like a sinker

Of lead attached to the horn-guarded hook that plummets

Below bearing death to the ravenous fish. And there

In a high-vaulted cave she found Thetis, and all around her

A throng of other sea-goddesses sat, while she

In their midst was bewailing the fate of her matchless son,

Who as she knew was destined to fall and die

In the rich land of Troy, far from his own dear country.

Standing beside her, quick-footed Iris spoke thus:

“Up now, O Thetis. Zeus of the unfailing counsels

Calls you to come.”

To which the silver-shod goddess:

“Why should that almighty god send summons to me?

I’m ashamed to go mid the gods everlasting, since I

Am now one boundless chaos of grief. Go,

However, I will. Nor shall his counsel, whatever

It is, be useless to me.”

So saying, the goddess,

Radiantly fair, took a sea-blue veil, the darkest

Thing she possessed, and started the journey to Zeus,

With wind-footed Iris leading the way, and about them

The billows parted as out they stepped on the beach.

Then off they sped to Olympus. There they found Cronos’ son,

Far-seeing Zeus, and gathered around him sat all

Of the other undying gods. Then Thetis sat down

Beside Father ZeusAthena yielded her chair

And Hera, placing a gorgeous gold cup in her hand,

Welcomed her warmly. When Thetis had drunk and returned

The bright cup, the Father of gods and men was the first

To speak:

“You came, divine Thetis, up here to Olympus

In spite of the comfortless grief I know you are full of

Let me, then, tell you why I called you to come.

For the last nine days the immortal gods have wrangled

About Hector’s corpse and Achilles, taker of towns.

They’ve even suggested that keen-sighted Hermes, killer

Of Argus, steal noble Hector’s body. But I

Would much rather resolve their strife in a way that will honor

Achilles and keep for me in later days

Your worship and love. Go, then, with all speed to the camp

And tell your son what I say. Tell him the gods

Are angry with him, I most of all, because

In his madness of heart he still keeps noble Hector

Beside the beaked ships, refusing to give him back.

His awe of me may then overcome him and lead him

To yield the body. Meanwhile, I’ll dispatch Iris

To great-hearted Priam to bid him go to the ships

Of Achaea with ransom for his dear son, gifts

That will soften the heart of Achilles.”

Such were his words,

And the goddess silver-shod Thetis did not disobey him,

But down she went darting from high on the peaks of Olympus

And came to the lodge of her grieving son. She found him there,

Riddled with groans, while round him his comrades were busy

Preparing the morning meal, having already slaughtered

A huge shaggy ram. Then sitting close by his side,

His goddess mother gently caressed him, called him

By name, and said:

“My child, how long will you go on

Eating your heart out with grieving and weeping, forgetful

Of food and bed alike. Even that would be

A good thing, for you to make love with some woman, since you,

Dear child, have not much longer to live. Already

Death and powerful fate are standing beside you.

But hear, now, this message from Zeus. He says that the gods

Are angry with you, he most of all, because

In your madness of heart you still keep noble Hector

Beside the beaked ships, refusing to give him back.

But come, give up the body, and take in return

A ransom paid for the dead.”

To which swift Achilles:

“So be it. Whoever brings ransom here, let him

Bear off the body, if truly such is the purpose

And will of the great Olympian himself.”

Thus,

Mid many ships, mother and son spoke words

Both winged and numerous, each to the other. Meanwhile,

Zeus dispatched Iris to sacred Ilium, saying:

“Up now, swift Iris, and go. Leave your seat

On Olympus and bear these tidings to great-hearted Priam

In Troy, saying that he must go to the ships

Of the Argives to ransom his precious son, taking gifts

With him to soften the heart of Achilles. And tell him

To go by himself, save only perhaps one herald,

Some older man, to drive the well-running mule wagon

And bring back to town the body of him cut down

By Achilles. But let him not dwell on death, nor have

Any fear, for he shall be led by the greatest of guides,

Even Hermes, slayer of Argus, and he will take him

Right into the lodge of Achilles, who will not only

Not kill him himselfhe’ll hold back all of the others.

For he is not really stupid or thoughtless, nor is he

An utterly godless sinner. No, he’ll treat

A suppliant father with care and every kindness.”

He spoke, and gale-footed Iris hurried to carry

His word. Arriving at Priam’s house, she was greeted

By clamorous keening. There in the courtyard his sons

Were seated about their old father, moistening their garments

With tears, while he in their midst sat tightly wrapped

In his shroud-like cloak of mourning, his ancient head

And neck filthily fouled with dung, which he

Had smeared on himself with his hands as he rolled in grief

On the dung-laden ground. And throughout the palace his daughters

And daughters-in-law were wailing with sorrow, recalling

The many brave heroes undone at the hands of the Argives.

Coming up close, the bright agent of Zeus addressed him,

And though she spoke softly, his body trembled all over:

“Be brave, O Priam, descended of Dardanus, and banish

All fear. I have not come to you now with a message

Of evil, but one you’ll be glad to hear. I come

Directly from Zeus, who though far away still has

Great care and compassion for you. He, the Olympian

Himself, bids you go ransom your precious son,

Taking gifts with you to soften the heart of Achilles.

And you must go by yourself, save only perhaps

One herald, some older man, to drive the well-running

Mule wagon and bring back to town the body of him

Cut down by Achilles. But don’t dwell on death, nor have

Any fear, for you shall be led by the greatest of guides,

Even Hermes, slayer of Argus, and he will take you

Right into the lodge of Achilles, who will not only

Not kill you himselfhe’ll hold back all of the others.

For he is not really stupid or thoughtless, nor is he

An utterly godless sinner. No, he’ll treat

A suppliant father with care and every kindness.”

So saying, fleet-footed Iris took off, whereupon

Old Priam ordered his sons to harness mules

To a well-running wagon and bind the wicker body

On top. He himself went down to his high-vaulted chamber,

Fragrant with cedar and full of bright treasures, and calling

To him his wife Hecuba, gently he spoke to her, saying:

“My sorely afflicted lady, a messenger straight

From Zeus and Olympus has just come to me, bidding me

Go to the ships of Achaea with adequate ransom

For our dear son, splendid gifts to soften the heart

Of Achilles. But tell me, how do you feel about this?

As for myself, I’m more than anxious to go

To the ships, deep into the widely spread camp of the Argives.”

At this his wife cried out, shrilly protesting:

“O misery! where now is that wisdom for which you have always

Been famous, both here at home and abroad? Why

Would you wish to go unattended into the fiercely

Glaring presence of him who has murdered your sons

So many and brave? Surely your heart is of iron!

For once he gets you before him and sees who you are,

He’ll have neither care nor compassion for you, believe me.

So now, my husband, let us lament for our son

Right here in the palace. For such is surely the lot

That powerful Fate spun out for him on the day

When I myself bore him, that he should glut the lean guts

Of flashing-swift dogs far from his loving parents,

A corpse by the lodge of a violent monster, whose liver

I’d joyfully eat, if only somehow I could sink

My teeth into it!bx Only then would I feel that he’d paid

For the life of my son, who died doing nothing unmanly,

But standing out in defense of the men and deep-breasted

Women of Troy, with no thought at all of running

Or taking cover.”

Then answering her, old Priam

The godlike said: “Don’t try to restrain me when I

Am so anxious to go, nor be a bird of ill omen

Here in the palace. Believe me, you’ll not change my mind!

For had any earth-dwelling creature bidden me do this,

Whether some priest or seer or teller of omens,

We might have considered it false and thus ignored it

Completely. But now that I’ve heard in person the voice

Of the goddess and looked on her face, I’ll go, nor shall

Her words have been spoken in vain. And if my fate be

To lie a corpse by the ships of the bronze-clad Achaeans,

Such is my preference. Achilles may quickly kill me

With my dear son held close in my arms, once I

Have quenched my desire for tearful grief and lamenting.”

Thus he resolved, and lifting the ornate lids

Of the chests, he took twelve exquisite robes, twelve cloaks

Of single fold, and a dozen each of blankets,

White mantles, and tunics. Then he weighed and bore out

Ten talents of gold, which he followed with two gleaming tripods,

Four bowls, and a marvelous goblet, a gift from the men

Of Thrace when he had gone there on a mission, a truly

Rare treasure, but not even this would the old man spare

In his palace, so deeply desirous was he to ransom

His precious son.

The next thing he did was to drive

All loitering Trojans out of his portico, chiding

Them thus with hard words: “Get out, you disgraceful wretches!

Can it be that you have so little sorrow at home

That you have to come pestering me here? Do you think it nothing,

This grief that Cronos’ son Zeus has brought upon me,

This loss of my most valiant and princely son?

But you too shall know very well what I mean, for all

Of you now will fall a much easier prey to Achaeans

With no Hector here to protect you. As for myself,

Before I see this city sacked and her people destroyed,

May I go down and enter Hades’ dark halls.”

So saying, he rushed at them with his staff, and all of them

Rapidly scattered before the furious old one.

Then he called out to his sons, rebuking them harshly

To Helenus, Paris, and Agathon, nobly gifted,

To Antiphonus, Pammon, and battle-roaring Polites,

As well as Deďphobus, Hippothous, and haughty Dius.

To these nine their old father shouted harsh orders, crying:

“Hurry up, my no-account sons, my groveling disgraces!

O how I wish that you’d all been killed at the ships

And that Hector was still alive! How utterly luckless

Can one old man be? For I sired excellent sons,

The best by far in the whole wide country of Troy.

But now, I tell you, not one of them is alive,

Not Mestor the godlike, not horse-prizing Troilus, and now

Not Hector, who lived a god among men, for always

He seemed far more like the son of some immortal

Than he did of any mere man. All of them Ares

Has slaughtered, leaving me nothing but you poor excuses

For men, a bunch of flattering knaves, champions

Nowhere but on the dance floor, and stealers of lambs

And kids from your own Trojan people! Well why the delay?

Get busy right now! Make ready a wagon, and put

All these things aboard it, that we may get started at once.”

He spoke, and they, gripped with fear at the words of their father,

Hauled out a newly built, beautiful wagon, strong

And smooth-running, and on it they bound the light wicker body.

Then down from its peg they lifted the mule-yoke, a box-wood

Yoke with a knob at the center and well fitted out

With rings for the chains to pass through, and with it they brought

The yoke-band some fifteen feet long. Snugly they set

The yoke at the right-angled end of the car’s polished shaft

And flipped the yoke-ring over the peg in the pole.

Next with the yoke-band they lashed the knob fast to the upturned

End of the shaft, with three quick turns to the left

And three to the right, and fastened the straps, deftly

Tucking the ends in. Then they brought from the chamber

The treasures of Priam, the boundless ransom for Hector,

Which they heaped high on the gleaming wagon, and yoked

To it the sohd-hoofed mules, strong toilers in harness,

A glorious pair that once the people of Mysia

Had given to Priam. For Priam himself they yoked

His own horses, a team reserved for his use and reared

By himself at the smooth wooden manger.

Now while the old King

And his herald were waiting beneath the high roof for all

To be ready, both of them anxiously planning ahead

In silence, old Hecuba, grieving, came with a cup

Of honey-sweet wine in her wrinkled right hand, that they

Might pour a libation before setting out. She stopped

In front of the horses and said:

“Take now this cup

And pour a libation to Zeus the Father, earnestly

Praying for your safe return from the midst of our foes,

Since now your heart is determined to go, in spite of

My wish that you wouldn’t. Then pray to Zeus once again,

To Cronos’ son, god of the lowering gale, who scans

At a glance the whole country of Troy, and ask him to send

His most favorably ominous bird, his own swift bearer

Of omen, the dearest of birds to him, and the strongest

Of wing. And let him fly by on the right, that you

May go on to the ships of the swiftly-drawn Danaans, trusting

In that mighty sign. But if far-seeing Zeus

Refuses to send you his own most favorable bird,

Then I would by no means advise you to go to the ships

Of the Argives, no matter how strong and deep your resolve.”

To which old Priam the godlike: “My dear, I’ll not

Disregard this urging of yours, for always it is

A good thing to lift up our hands to Zeus, praying

That he will have mercy.”

So spoke the old King, and asked

The handmaid in attendance to rinse his hands with fresh water,

And soon she came up with basin and pitcher. Then,

Having washed his hands, he took the cup from his wife,

And walking out to the midst of the court, he poured

The libation of wine, looking toward heaven and praying:

“O Father Zeus, ruling from Ida, most great

And glorious lord, grant that I come to the lodge

Of Achilles as one to be pitied and cared for. And send

Your most favorably ominous bird, your own swift bearer

Of omen, the dearest of birds to you, and the strongest

Of wing. And let him fly by on the right, that I

May go on to the ships of the swiftly-drawn Danaans, trusting

In that mighty sign.”

Such was his prayer, and Zeus

The contriver heard him. At once he sent out an eagle,

The surest of all winged omens, the deadly dark hunter

That men call the grape-colored one. From tip to tip

His wings were as wide as the double well-bolted doors

Of some wealthy man’s high-vaulted chamber, and by he flew

On the right, swooping low through the city. All were made glad

By the sight, and the hearts of all were warmly encouraged.

Then quickly the old one mounted his car and drove

Through the gate and loud colonnade. In front the mules

Drew the four-wheeled wagon, with prudent Idaeus driving,

While rapidly on came old Priam, constantly laying

The lash on and urging his pair through the city. And following

Him came all of his kinsmen and friends, wailing loudly

For him as for one who went to his death. But when

They got out of the city and came to the plain, his sons

And sons-in-law turned back to town with the rest, while the herald

And Priam went on toward the ships, nor were they unnoticed

By far-seeing Zeus.3 Feeling pity at sight of old Priam,

He spoke at once to his dear son Hermes, saying:

“Since you, swift Hermes, who listen to whom you like,

Take most delight in going as guide to a man,

Go down and conduct King Priam to the hollow ships

Of Achaea, and let no Danaan see him at all

Till he comes to Achilles himself.”

He spoke, and swift Hermes,

Slayer of Argus, obeyed him, putting on his bright sandals

Of magic immortal gold, which bear him always

Swift as the wind over boundless earth and sea.

And he took the wand with which he can lull to sleep

Or wake from the deepest slumber whomever he wishes.

With this in his hand the mighty slayer of Argus

Flew down, and quickly he came to the Hellespont stream

And the Trojan plain. Then he went on afoot in the form

Of a princely young man with the first fine down on his lip,

At that age when youth is most charming.

Meanwhile, the old King

And his herald had driven past Ilus’ huge barrow and stopped

For the horses and mules to drink from the river. Darkness

Had fallen on earth when the herald looked up and there

Close at hand saw Hermes, whereat he spoke thus to King Priam:

“Look out! Dardanian. Now is the time for quick thinking.

Here comes a man, and soon, I fear, we shall both

Be ripped all to pieces. But come, let us leap in the chariot

Now and run for our lives, or else hug his knees

And beg him for mercy!”

At this the old King was so frightened

He lost all power to think. He stood in a daze,

Struck dumb, and the hair fairly rose on his gnarled old limbs.

But Hermes the helper came up and taking his hand

Inquired: “Where, O father, can you he driving

These horses and mules through the fragrant and immortal night

While other people are sleeping? Have you no fear

At all of the fury-breathing Achaeans, hostile

And ruthless men that they are, and so close at hand?

If one of them saw you conveying such huge store of wealth

Through the fast-fallen blackness of night, what would you do then?

You’re not young yourself, and he who goes with you is old,

Nor could you defend yourselves against any man

Who chose to attack you. But so far from doing you damage

Myself, I will go against any who tries to. For you

Remind me a lot of my own beloved old father.”

To which ancient Priam the godlike: “Things are, dear child,

Just as you say. But surely some god has stretched out

His hand in protection above me, since now he has sent

A man such as you, so splendid in face and physique,

So gifted with keen understanding, and truly a bearer

Of blessings to me. Your parents are happy indeed

To have such a son.”

And again the messenger Hermes,

Slayer of Argus, spoke: “What you say, old sire,

Is well and happily put. But come, tell me frankly.

Are you taking this treasure to some foreign folk

For safe keeping, or have you all started to leave holy Troy

In fear, now that your greatest and noblest is dead,

Your own valiant son who never let up for so much

As a moment in waging fierce war against the Achaeans?”

And the old one, Priam the godlike, replied: “Who are you,

Brave friend, and who are your parents, you that have spoken

So fairly and well of the fate of my unlucky son?”

And the messenger Hermes, slayer of Argus, said:

“You’re trying me now, old sire, to see what I know

Of great Hector. I’ve seen him a good many times in the fury

Of hero-enhancing battle, including the time

He drove the Argives to the ships and cut many down

With sharp bronze. And we just stood there and marveled, forbidden

To fight by Achilles, who seethed with furious wrath

Against Agamemnon. I am Achilles’ squire,

And the same sturdy ship brought both of us here. I’m a Myrmidon,

Son of Polyctor, a rich man and old, very much

Like yourself, and I am the youngest of his seven sons.

On me the lot fell to come here and fight, and now

I have left the ships and come to the plain, for at dawn

The quick-eyed Achaeans will once again attack Troy.

They’re restless indeed sitting idle, nor can the kings

Of Achaea restrain them, so hot are they for the fight.”

And godlike old Priam replied: “If you really are

A squire of Peleus’ son Achilles, come now,

And tell me truly all that you know as to whether

My son is yet at the ships or whether by now

Achilles has hacked him apart and thrown his flesh

To the dogs.”

Then the escort Hermes, slayer of Argus:

“Old sire, not yet have dogs and birds devoured him,

But he still lies mid the lodges beside the ship

Of Achilles, just as he has from the first. And though

This makes the twelfth day he has lain there, his flesh has not even

Begun to decay, nor do any worms consume him,

Worms such as feast on the bodies of battle-slain men.

It’s true that Achilles each day at the coming of bright

Divine Dawn unfeelingly drags him about the barrow

Of his beloved friend, but he does his body no damage

At all. If you were to go and see him yourself,

You’d surely marvel at how he lies, washed clean

Of blood and fresh as the dew, altogether unmarred

And unstained. For the numerous wounds he received from the mob

That thrust their bronze in his flesh have all closed up

Completely. Even such is the care the happy gods take

Of your son, though only a corpse, for he was quite dear

To their hearts.”

At this the old one, rejoicing, said:

“My child, what a fine thing it is to give the immortals

Such gifts as are rightfully due them. For never once

Did my sonif ever I had such a sonneglect

In our halls the gods who live on Olympus, which is why

They’ve remembered him now, though his fate was to die as he did.

But come, accept this choice goblet from me and be

My protector, that I by the grace of the gods everlasting

May come to the lodge of Peleus’ son Achilles.”

And once again the god who slew Argus answered:

“You’re testing me now, old sire, but young though I am

I’ll certainly not allow you to bribe me with gifts

Behind the back of Achilles. Were I to accept

What will soon be his own, my heart should be filled with terror

And dread at the prospect of what might become of me

Hereafter. But go as your guide I most surely will,

Even all the way to world-famous Argos, if such

Is your wish, very carefully guiding and guarding you always,

Whether on land or aboard a swift ship. Nor would

Any man attack you for want of respect for your escort!”

So saying, help-bringing Hermes sprang up behind

The car-drawing horses, caught up the whip and the reins

And breathed fresh spirit into the horses and mules.

When they came to the trench and the wall round the ships, the guards

Had just begun fixing supper, but Hermes quickly

Put them to sleep and, thrusting the bars back, opened

The gates. Then into the camp he drove the old King,

And with them they brought the wagon of glorious gifts

For Achilles. Soon they arrived at his lodge, the lofty

Shelter the Myrmidon men had built for their chief,

Hewing out beams of pine and roofing it over

With reed-shaggy thatch from the fields. And they had built round it

For him a spacious courtyard high fenced with stakes

Closely set, with a gate strongly locked by means of one bar

Across it. This huge beam of pine it took three Achaeans

To move back and forth, though Achilles could handle the thing

By himself. Once there, luck-bringing Hermes opened

The gate for old Priam and drove him inside, and with them

They brought the marvelous gifts for the swift son of Peleus.

Then stepping down, Hermes spoke thus to the King:

“Old sire, I that have come to you thus am a god

EverlastingHermes, sent by the Father to act

As your guide. But now I’ll go back without letting Achilles

See me, for it would be wrong for an immortal god

To be so openly welcomed by mortal men.

But you yourself go in and, embracing the knees

Of Peleus’ son, make your plea in the name of his father,

Lovely-haired mother, and son, that you may stir

The depths of his soul.”

So saying, Hermes took off

For the heights of Olympus, and Priam sprang down from the car

To the ground and, leaving Idaeus in charge of the horses

And mules, strode straight for the lodge where Zeus-loved Achilles

Sat. And inside he found him, apart from all comrades

But two, the hero Automedon, and Alcimus, scion

Of Ares, who busily waited upon him, since he

Had just finished eating and drinking, and still the table

Had not been removed. Great Priam came in unnoticed

By any, till coming up close to Achilles he threw

His arms round his knees and kissed his dread hands, the

murderous

Hands that had killed so many of his precious sons.

And as when thick darkness of soul comes down on a man

And killing another he flees from his own dear country

And comes to some foreign land and the house of a man

Of bountiful wealth, and wonder grips all who see him

A suppliant there, so now Achilles was seized

With exceeding amazement at sight of sacred Priam,

And those who were with him marveled and looked at each other.4

Then Priam made his plea, beseeching him thus:

“Remember, Achilles, O godlike mortal, remember

Peleus your father, a man of like years as myself,

Far gone on the path of painful old age. Very likely

His neighbors are grinding him down, nor is there one there

To keep from him ruin and destruction. However, so long

As he hears you’re alive, his heart can daily be glad

In the hope that he shall yet see his dear son returning

From Troy. But I am without good fortune completely,

Since though I begot the best sons in the whole wide country

Of Troy, yet now not even one is left!

When the sons of Achaeans arrived, I had fifty sons

Of my own, nineteen from the womb of one mother, the rest

Borne to me by women of mine in the palace. But though

They were many, furious Ares has unstrung the knees

Of all, and the only one left me, who all by himself

Protected the city and people, fell to your spear

Some days ago as he was defending his country

Hector my son, and now I have come to the ships

Of Achaea to pay you a ransom for him, and I bring

With me a load of treasure past counting. Have awe

Of the gods, O Achilles, and pity on me, remembering

Your dear father. I am indeed even more

To be pitied than he, for I have endured what no other

Earth-dwelling mortal hasto reach out my hand

To the face of him who slaughtered my precious sons!”

Such was his plea, and he stirred in Achilles a yearning

To weep for Peleus his father, and taking the hand

Of old Priam he gently pushed him away. Then the two of them

Thought of their losses, and Priam sobbed sorely for man-killing

Hector, the old King huddling in front of Achilles,

Whose weeping was now for his father and now for Patroclus,

And throughout the lodge arose the sound of their grief.

But when great Achilles had found some relief in lamenting,

And longing for such had gone out of his body and soul,

He suddenly sprang from his chair, and filled with pity

For Priam’s gray head and gray beard, he raised the old King

By the hand and spoke to him these winged words:

“Wretched sire,

Many indeed are the horrors your soul has endured.

But how could you ever have come here alone to the ships

Of the Argives to look in the eyes of the man who has killed

Your many brave sons? Surely your heart is of iron!

But come, sit down in a chair, and we’ll both let our grief,

Great though it is, lie quiet in our hearts. Cold crying

Accomplishes little. For thus have the sorrowless gods

Spun the web of existence for miserable mortalswith pain

Woven in throughout! There stand by the threshold of Zeus

Two urns, one full of evils, the other of blessings.

To whomever Zeus, the lover of lightning, gives

A portion from each, that man experiences

Both evil and good, but to whomever Zeus gives nothing

But of the grievous, that man is reviled by gods

And men and hounded by horrible hunger all over

The sacred earth. Take Peleus my father for instance.

No man ever had more glorious god-bestowed gifts

Than he from the time of his birth, for he surpassed all

In wealth and good fortune, was King of the Myrmidon people,

And though but a mortal himself, the gods gave a goddess

To him for a wife. But even on him the immortals

Brought evil enough, since there in his halls no plentiful

Offspring of princes was born, but only one son,

And he undoubtedly doomed to die young. Nor can I

So much as look after him as he ages, since far,

Very far from home I live in the country of Troy,

A plague to you and your children. And you, old sire,

We hear were once happy, for you, because of your wealth

And your sons, were the first of mortals in all the great space

That lies between Lesbos, south in the sea, where Macar

Was King long ago, and Phrygia off to the north

And the free-flowing Hellespont. Since, though, the heavenly gods

Brought on you this baneful war, your city has been

Surrounded by havoc and dying men. But you

Must bear up, nor can you afford to grieve without ceasing.

You’ll not thereby do anything good for your son.

Before you bring him back to life, you’ll suffer a fate

Little less unhappy yourself!”

To which the old Priam:

“By no means ask me to sit, O god-nourished man,

So long as Hector lies mid the lodges uncared for.

Release him to me at once, that I may see him

Myself, and take the great ransom we bring to you

For his body. May you enjoy it all and come

Even yet to the land of your fathers, since you now have spared me

To live on for a while beholding the light of the sun.”

Then scowling at him, quick-footed Achilles spoke sternly:

“Do nothing else to provoke me, old man! I myself,

With no help from you, have already agreed to give

Hector back, for Zeus has sent word to me by the mother

Who bore me, the briny old sea-ancient’s daughter. And don’t think

I haven’t known all along about youthat you

Were guided here by some god to the swift-sailing ships

Of Achaeans. For certainly no mere mortal, no matter

How young and strong, would ever dare enter this camp.

He could not get by the guards, nor could he easily

Push back the bar of my gate. So say nothing else,

Old man, to make me feel any worse, or I

May forget to spare even you mid the lodges, and so break

The strict law of Zeus.”

At this the old king was gripped

By a wordless terror and watched as Achilles sprang

Through the door of the lodge like a lion, not by himself,

But accompanied by the two squires, the hero Automedon

Followed by Alcimus, two that Achilles honored

Beyond all his comrades, save only the dead Patroclus.

These then unharnessed the horses and led

The herald inside, the old King’s aged town crier,

And gave him a seat, and from the wagon they took

The boundless ransom for Hector. They left, however,

Two cloaks and a well-woven tunic, that these Achilles

Might use to wrap up the dead and so give him back

To be borne to his home. Then Achilles called for handmaids

To wash and anoint the dead body, bidding them do it

Where Priam could not see his son, for Achilles feared

That his guest might not be able to hold back his wrath,

And so he might lose his own temper and kill the old man,

Thus sinning against Zeus’s law. When the handmaids had washed

The body and rubbed it with oil and put about it

A tunic and beautiful cloak, Achilles himself

Lifted it onto a bier and helped his companions

Lift it onto the wagon.5 Then groaning, he called

On his precious friend by name:

“Do not be angry

At me, O Patroclus, if even in Hades’ halls

You hear that I’ve given Prince Hector back to his father,

For not unbefitting at all was the ransom he gave me,

And you may be sure of getting your due share of that.”

So spoke great Achilles, then went back inside and sat down

In his richly wrought chair by the opposite wall from old Priam,

To whom he spoke thus: “Your son, old sire, has now

Been released to you as you have requested and lies

On a bier, and you yourself shall see him tomorrow

At daybreak while carrying him awaybut let us

Not neglect supper, for even the lovely-haired Niobe

Ate, though her twelve children all died in her palace,

Six daughters and six lusty sons. Shaft-showering Artemis

Brought down the daughters, while Phoebus Apollo put arrows

Through all of the sons with his silver bow, both of them

Wrathful with her for comparing herself with their own mother

Leto, Niobe saying that Leto had only

Two children while she herself had borne many. So they,

Though only two, destroyed all twelve of hers.

And there for nine days they lay in their blood unburied,

For Cronos’ son Zeus turned all of the people to stones.

On the tenth, however, the heavenly gods held the funeral,

And Niobe, weary of weeping, remembered to eat.

And now somewhere mid the crags in the desolate hills

Of Sipylus, where, men say, the nymphs go to bed

When they tire of dancing about the stream Achelous,

Niobe stands and, though solid stone, broods

On her godsent disasters.by So come, my royal old sire,

And let us likewise remember to eat, and later,

Back in your city, you may lament your dear son

With innumerable tears.”

So saying, Achilles sprang up

And slaughtered a silvery white sheep, which his comrades flay-ed

And made ready in every detail, skillfully cutting

The carcass into small pieces, which meat they spitted

And roasted well, and drew it all from the spits.

Then Automedon served them the bread, setting it forth

In exquisite baskets, while swift Achilles apportioned

The meat, and they reached out and ate of the good things before

them.

But when they had eaten and drunk as much as they wanted,

Priam, descended of Dardanus, sat there and marveled

At mighty Achilles, thinking how huge and handsome

He was, a man in the image of gods everlasting,

And likewise Achilles marveled at Priam, looking

Upon his fine face and listening to what he said.

When both had looked on each other enough, old Priam

The godlike spoke thus:

“Show me my bed, now, Achilles,

O nobleman nurtured of Zeus, that we may enjoy

A night of sweet sleep. For never once have my lids

Come together in sleep since my son lost his life at your hands,

But always I’ve mourned, miserably brooding on

My innumerable sorrows and groveling in dung on the ground

Of my high-walled courtyard. Now, though, I’ve tasted some food

And drunk flaming wine. Till now, I had tasted nothing.”

He spoke, and Achilles ordered his comrades and handmaids

To place two beds in the portico and cover them

With fine purple robes, light spreads, and fleecy warm blankets,

And the girls went out with torches and made the beds.

Then Achilles, fast on his feet, spoke to King Priam,

Somewhat bitterly saying:

“My dear aged friend,

You’ll have to sleep outside, since one of the counselors

Of the Achaeans may come to consult me, as often

They do, and as they should. But if one of these

Were to catch sight of you through the fast-flying blackness of night,

He might very well go straight to King Agamemnon,

Commander-in-chief of the army, and so there would be

A delay in my giving back the body. But come,

Tell me frankly. How long would you like for the funeral rites

Of Prince Hector, that I myself may hold back from battle

And keep back the others also?”

And the godlike old King:

“If you really want me to give noble Hector his full

Funeral rites, this, O Achilles, is what you could do

To help me. You know how we’re penned in the city and also

How far the terrified Trojans must go for wood

From the mountains. Let us, then, mourn for him in our halls

For nine days, then burn him and hold the funeral feast

On the tenth, and on the eleventh build a barrow

For him. Then on the twelfth we’ll fight again,

If we must.”

To which fleet-footed, noble Achilles:

“So be it, my ancient Priam, just as you wish.

I’ll hold back the battle for all the time you request.”

So saying, he clasped the old King’s right wrist, in a gesture

Of friendly assurance. Then there in the porch of the lodge

The old ones retired, the herald and Priam, their hearts

Ever thoughtful. But Achilles slept in one corner of the spacious,

Strongly built lodge, and beside him lay Briseis,

Lovely of face.

Now all other gods and mortal

Wearers of horsehair-plumed helmets slept soundly all night,

Overcome by soft sleep, but not on help-bringing Hermes

Could sleep get a grip, as he pondered within his mind

How he could get King Priam away from the ships

Unseen by the powerful guards at the gate. Standing close

By the head of his bed, he spoke to him, saying:

“Old sire,

To sleep this way in the midst of your foes, it must be

You have no idea of possible harm, now that

Achilles has spared you. True, you have ransomed your son,

And great was the ransom you paid. Just think what the sons

You left in the city would have to pay for your life

Three times as much at leastif Atreus’ son

Agamemnon should find that you’re here and the other Achaeans

Get word!”

At this the old King was afraid and awakened

His herald. And Hermes harnessed the horses and mules

For them and drove the two old ones quietly out

Through the slumbering camp, nor did anyone know of their going.

When they came to the ford of the fair-flowing river, the swirling

Xanthus, that immortal Zeus begot, then Hermes

Left for Olympus, just as crocus-clad Dawn

Was scattering light over earth. And the King and his herald

With moaning and wailing drove the two horses on

Toward the town, and the mules came on with the dead. Nor were

They noticed by any, no man or brightly-sashed woman,

Until Cassandra, lovely as golden Aphrodite,

Having gone to the heights of Pergamus, stronghold of Troy,

Saw her dear father coming on in the car with his herald,

The aged town crier, beside him. And then she saw

What they brought on the bier in the mule-drawn wagon.

Screaming,

She roused the whole town, crying to all in her grief:

“Come, you men and women of Troy, you

That took such delight in welcoming Hector back

From battle alive, since he was the whole city’s joy

And pride. Come, I say, and look at him now!”

She called, and soon not one man or woman was left

In the town, for unbearable grief seized all, and close

By the gates they met Priam bringing the corpse of his son.

Hector’s dear wife and royal mother rushed up

To the wheel-spinning wagon, and touching the head of the dead

They wailed and tore at their hair, while the people crowded

Around them and wept. And now all day long till sunset

They would have stayed outside the gates, lamenting

And weeping for Hector, had not the old King, still

In the chariot, spoken thus to his people:

“Make way

For the mules to pass through. Later, when I’ve brought him home,

You may weep to your heart’s content.”

He spoke, and the crowd

Opened up, making way for the wagon. Once at the palace

They laid Hector out on a corded bed and seated

Beside him singers to lead in the dirge, and they chanted

The funeral song with the women responding in chorus.

Then white-armed Andromache led their lament, holding

The head of man-killing Hector close in her arms,

And wailing:

“My husband, early indeed you have left us,

Me a widow in your spacious halls, your son

Still a baby, the son we two so unluckily had,

Who now, I think will never live to be grown,

Since long before that this city shall topple in ruins.

For you, my husband, are dead, you that protected

The town and kept from harm its excellent wives

And little children. These, I fear, shall soon

Be riding the hollow ships, and I among them

And you, my child, must go with me to where you shall toil

For some monstrous master, or have some Achaean seize

Your small arm and hurl you down from the wall to a miserable

Death, being bitter at Hector for killing his brother,

Perhaps, or his father, or else his son, since many,

Many Achaeans have bitten the dusty huge earth

At the hands of brave Hector, for your father was not at all gentle

In horrible warso now the people are mourning

For you, Hector, throughout the city, and grief beyond words

You have brought on your parents, but I far more than all others

Have nothing left but miserable sorrow. For you

As you died neither stretched out your arms to me from the bed,

Nor did you say any word of sweet love that I

Might have kept in my heart through long days and nights of weeping.”

Thus she spoke in her wailing, and all of the women

Responded, moaning and weeping. Then Hecuba took up

The dirge and led the vehement keening, crying:

“Hector, the dearest by far to my heart of all

My children, you when alive were also dear

To the gods, and so they have cared for you now, though your fate

Was to die as you did. Whenever swift-footed Achilles

Took other children of mine, he sold them as slaves

Beyond the barren and unresting sea, into Samos,

Imbros, and Lemnos, lost in the haze. But when

With his tapering bronze he had taken your life, he dragged you

Daily about his comrade Patroclus’s barrow

Patroclus, whom you, my son, slewthough even this

Did not resurrect his friend. But now you lie

Fresh as the dew in our palace, like one merely sleeping,

Or one whom silver-bowed Phoebus Apollo has slain

With his gentle shafts.”

Even so she spoke in her wailing,

And roused the passionate keening. Then Helen was third

To lead the lament, crying: “O Hector, dearest

By far to my heart of all my husband’s brothers,

My husband is Paris the godlike, who brought me to Troy

Would I had died first! Now this is the twentieth year

Since I left my own country, but never once have I heard

From you an evil word or an ugly. In fact,

When the others reproached me here in the palace, some brother

Of yours, a sister, or a well-dressed sister-in-law,

Or even your motheryour father was kind to me always,

A father to me as wellat such times you

Would turn them away and restrain them with your gentle spirit

And courteous words. Hence now I weep for you

And my own luckless self, grieving at heart, for now

No longer is anyone left in wide Troy that is gentle

Or loving to me. All shudder whenever I pass.”

Such was her wailing lament, and the numberless crowd

Re-echoed her moans. Then the old King Priam spoke

Mid his people, saying: “Bring wood, you men of Troy,

Into the city, and have no dread in your hearts

Of a treacherous Argive ambush, for Achilles truly

Assured me when he sent me forth from the hollow black ships

That he would do us no harm till the twelfth morning came.”

Such were his words, and they harnessed their oxen and mules

To wagons and rapidly gathered in front of the city.

Then for nine days they carted in wood, a supply

Unspeakably great, but when the tenth man-lighting morning

Arrived, they carried brave Hector forth, and laying

Him down on top of the pyre threw flame upon it.

But as soon as young rose-fingered Dawn appeared the next day,

The people gathered about Hector’s pyre, and when

They had quenched with sparkling wine whatever still burned,

His grieving brothers and friends, weeping big tears

All the while, collected Hector’s white bones. These they placed

In a golden box, which they wrapped in soft purple robes

And laid away in a hollowed-out grave. This they closed

With huge stones laid side by side and over it, rapidly

Working, they heaped his high barrow, setting guards round about

To prevent a surprise attack from the well-greaved Achaeans.

When the barrow was done, they returned to the palace of Priam,

The Zeus-nurtured King, where they feasted a glorious feast.

Even so they buried Prince Hector, tamer of horses.

ENDNOTES

Book I: The Quarrel

1 (p. 1) Sing, 0 Goddess … godlike Achilles: The first seven lines of the Iliad are called the proem. The performing poet calls upon the immortal Muse to inspire his own voice. The Muses are the daughters of Zeus and Mnemosune, goddess of Memoryan especially evocative genealogy for a poet performing within an oral tradition. The bard’s topic is the “wrath of Achilles” and its devastating effect upon Achilles’ comrades. The Greek word menis, which is conventionally translated as “wrath” (as in line 1 of the Iliad), elsewhere in Homer always denotes a specifically divine wrath (for example, V.499, and see Muellner’s Anger of Achilles; find this and other titles in “For Further Reading”). Achilles’ wrath is thus associated with the avenging anger of the gods that is consequent upon a transgression of the proper, divinely sanctioned order of both society and the cosmos. The macabre promise to sing of the heroes’ bodies made prey for the beasts (in line 5) is literally unfulfilled within the Iliad, but the dehumanization that is implicit in the image is literalized in the murderous fury and vicarious cannibalism of Achilles’ eventual return to battle in books XX-XXII (see, for example, XXII.404414, and Segal’s Theme of the Mutilation of the Corpse in the “Iliad”) .

2 (p. 1) the two sons of Atreus: Agamemnon and Menelaus are Atreus’ sons. Agamemnon, the older, rules over Mycenae; he is the commanderking of kingsof the entire Achaean army. Agamemnon is married to Clytemnestra (who will murder him upon his eventual return home). Menaelaus’ domain is Sparta (often called Lacedaemon). His wife is Helen (the half-sister of Clytemnestra), whose flight to Troy, whether willing or unwilling, precipitates the Trojan War.

3 (p. 2) “Chryse … Cilla … Tenedos … the tears I have shed”: Greek prayers often invoke the places where the god’s presence is especially potent; and the one praying often reminds the divinity of what deeds he or she has previously performed for the god. Apollo is especially associated with pestilence; see, for example, the opening of Sophocles’ Oedipus Tyrannus.

4 . (p. 5) “I didn’t come… because of the Trojan spearmen”: Achilles’ rhetoric contains some truth. All the heroes but Achilles are bound to Agamemnon by the Oath of Tyndareus. At the wedding contest of Helen, Tyndareus, the nominal father of Helen (her actual father is Zeus), bound all the suitors by oath to honor his choice of a husband for Helen (Tyndareus eventually chooses Menelaus, who brought the most gifts); Tyndareus further obliged Helen’s suitors to defend her marriage should it be violated. The Achaean army at Troy is, thus, comprised of her former suitors. Achilles, however, did not participate in the marriage contest for Helen, because he was too young (see Hesiod’s Catalogue of Women frag. 204.87-89); as the youngest of all the Achaean heroes, he has come to Troy, as he says, to “gratify” the sons of Atreusand, we might suspect, for the adventure itself.

5 (p. 5) Briseis: As with the name Chryseis, the name Briseis is a patronymic: “daughter of Chryses,” “daughter of Brises”the parallelism between the names underscores the status of each as a “prize” within the Achaean camp of warriors. Both Chryseis and Briseis were captured during Achaean raids on other cities in the region of Troy; each was then “redistributed” by the collectivity of the camp, the former to Agamemnon, the latter to Achilles (we might assume that Chryseis was judged best in appearance and in domestic talents, while Briseis was deemed second best). Within the heroic economy, women are the paramount signs of a warrior’s honor; the loss of Briseis is, thus, a public diminution of Achilles’ status within the camp, of his very social being. In book IX, Achilles will assert that Briseis was more than a sign of honorindeed, that he loved her. Briseis herself will speak of her own hopes for a marriage with Achilles at XIX.325-340.

6 (p. 6) “the monstrous mountain Centaurs, and the slaughter they there / Performed was terrible indeed”: Nestor recalls the battle of the Lapiths and the Centaurs. Perithous, king of the Lapiths, invited the Centaurs (a breed of creatures half-man, half-horse) to the wedding of his daughter Hippodameia. The drunken Centaurs attempted to rape the bride; the ensuing battle is depicted on the frieze of the Athenian Parthenon, where the victory of the Lapiths is presented as a victory of civilization over barbarism, akin to (for the Athenian viewer) the Greek victory over the Persians in the wars of 490 and 480 B.C.E.

7 (p. 11) his goddess mother / Heard him: Thetis is a sea-nymph, the daughter of Nereusthe Old Man of the Seaand the wife of Peleus. From Pindar (Isthmian Ode 8.26-57), we learn that Thetis was desired by both Zeus and Poseidon, but Themisa prophetic goddessrevealed that Thetis was destined to bear a son greater than the father. Thetis is then married off to the mortal Peleus, and their child is Achilles, who will be greatest of mortals, but who will not become a threat to Zeus. Thetis, by “marrying down” (to a mortal) effectively preserves Zeus’ order from a son who would overthrow him. Thetis’ shaming marriage to a mortal thus explains her hold over Zeus as well as the tormented “semi-divine” status of Achilles (see Slatkin’s Power of Thetis for a full exploration of the mythic background and thematic centrality of Thetis within the Iliad).

8 (p. 17) “after my fall”: Hephaestus’ lameness is perhaps explained at XV.20-26: Zeus, enraged with Hera for driving his son Heracles to Cos in a threatening storm, had hung her from Olympus with anvils tied to her feet; Zeus then threatened to hurl from Olympus anyone who came to Hera’s aid. The ancient commentators attributed Hephaestus’ lameness to just such an attemptpunished as threatened by Zeusto aid Hera. There is, though, a second account of Hephaestus’ laming at XVIII.448-452, where Hephaestus is thrown from Olympus by Hera, who wished to conceal having given birth to a lame child; in this account, he is rescued by Thetis.

Book II: Trial of the Army and the Catalogue of Ships

1 (p. 21) “try them with words and bid them flee”: Agamemnon abruptly decides to test the troopsa plan not instructed by the Dream and a near-disaster. When Agamemnon has told the Achaean troops to take flight, the other commanders are to then endeavor to check their flight. But only Odysseusand only with the assistance of Athenais able to turn the troops back to Troy. Agamemnon persists in his role as a bad king (he is utterly dependant upon the efforts of Odysseus, as indispensable enforcer), even as we see the overwhelming desire of the troopsif left to themselvesfor a homecoming.

2 (p. 22) “great Zeus… has bound me now in woeful blindness of spirit”: It is characteristic of Agamemnon to blame his errors upon the “blindness of spirit”in Greek, atethat Zeus sends (see also IX. 20 and XIX.105). Here, Agamemnon, as part of his deceptive testing of the troops, castigates Zeus for the ate he sends, even as he is himself being deceived by Dream: a fine example of Homeric irony.

3 (p. 25) Thersites: The name Thersites is derived from the Greek for “boldness” or “rashness.” He is the only Homeric character to lack both a patronymic and a homeland, which might indicate that he is a common soldier, here giving voice to the resentment of the people; his ugliness might also be taken as a sign of his lower-class status: The peasants are revolting, as the old joke goes. His base appearance, however, might also place him within a tradition of blame poetry, in which ugly speakers raise a laugh at the expense of the kings; their speech reveals the harmthe “ugliness”that the kings have done to the community. In Greek poetry, this tradition is represented by the work of Archilochus and Hipponax.

4 (p. 32) Tell me now, 0 Muses … : With this new invocation of the Muses, the poet embarks on the Catalog of the Achaeans, in which he sings of the leaders, homelands, and ships of the twenty-nine contingents that comprise the Achaean army. The Catalog has been the subject of much scholarly dispute as to whether it reflects the geographical and political world of the Mycenaean palace-kingdoms (the mid to late thirteenth century B.C.E.) or of the Early Iron Age (c.1025-950 B.C.E.) or of the eighth and even seventh centuries B.C.E. While the Catalog surely does transmit some Mycenaean elements (though largely from sites where there was continuity of habitation from the Mycenaean period to the Archaic period), it is also marked by the inclusion of later historical settlements, as well as by the omission of earlier, Mycenaean elements that would have been anachronistic or incomprehensible to an audience of the early Archaic period. Though daunting to the modern reader, the Catalog’s compendium of geographical, political, and mythical loredelivered with great poetic virtuositywas of great fascination for its contemporary audiences.

5 (p. 35) Thamyris the Thracian: The Homeric bard includes a digression of especial poetic relevance: Thamyris boasts that his own singing would surpass even that of the Muses in a contest, whereupon they “damage” him and take away his memory. An analogy between hero and bard is, perhaps, suggested: Just as the hero, in his battlefield accomplishments, becomes like to a god, and thus tempts their deadly anger, so too, the poet sings himself into a condition like to the immortal Muses, at which point he might likewise tempt their jealous vengeance.

6 (p. 37) warlike Protesilaus: As in the case of the entry for Philoctetes immediately below (lines 811-820), the bard gives an account of a well-known figure who set out on the expedition to Troy, but who is now not fighting: Protesilaus was the first Achaean killed at Troy; Philoctetes and his bow will have to be brought to Troy from Lemnos before the city can be conquered. The entries for Protesilaus and Philoctetes might be compared to that for Achilles (lines 779-787), who is now also absent from the fighting.

7 (p. 39) … forty black ships: The Achaean Catalog is now complete; the grand total is: 44 leaders, 1,186 ships, and 60,000 troops (assuming an average shipload of 50); these numbers are from the commentary of G. S. Kirk. The poet would surely object to the historian Thucydides’ slighting assessment of the troop strength at Troy (History of the Peloponnesian War, 1.1112).

8 (p. 41) Bright-helmeted Hector led the Trojans: With Hector, the principal Trojan defender, the poet begins the Catalog of Trojans, which consists of twenty-six leaders and sixteen contingents. For the roughly tripartite political division of the Trojan force, see the note below.

9 (p. 41) Anchises’ brave son Aeneas: This is the very Aeneas who will escape from Troy to found Rome. Aeneas is the son of Aphrodite and Anchises, whose liaison dangereuse is recounted with much charm and wit in the Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite, which also foretells Aeneas’ escape from the ruins of Troy so that he might re-found Troy in the west (a prophecy that the Iliad-poet also knows, XX.334-341). The genealogy of the entire Trojan royal house is recited by Aeneas himself at XX.233-268. Both Aeneas and Hector are descendants of Dardanus (Aeneas through the line of Assaracus, Hector through that of Ilos), but while Hector is the supreme commander, with especial charge over the contingents from Troy and its environs, Aeneas commands the Dardanians, who inhabit the foothills of Ida that lie outside the Troy region proper; the third group at Troy is the allies, who come from farther afield: from the Northern Troad, extending to the Hellespont and the Propontis; and from the south, especially from Maeonia (about Sardis) and Caria.

Book III: The Duel of Paris and Menelaus

1 (p. 46) Helen she found in the hall, weaving… on her account: The poet introduces Helen with an image of extraordinary metapoetic implication. The web that Helen weaves is the color of “purple” (Greek porphureos), which is elsewhere in the Iliad associated with blood and with death; the “battles” (Greek aethla) that she weaves into her cloth might also be translated as “sufferings” or “contests” (and the latter might include the contests of her suitors). Helen weaves her own epic.

2 (p. 47) “Yonder Achaean is Atreusson”: Beginning with the scholar-critics of Alexandria in the late third century B.C.E., Helen’s identification and description of the Achaean leaders has been known as the Teichoskopia, the “Viewing from the Walls.” The scene has often been charged with anachronism, as it would seem that, nine years into the war, Priam would have little need of the information that Helen provides. True enough, but it is preferable to regard the Teichoskopia as one of a series of episodes in books III through VIII that serve to fill in the background of the Trojan War and some of the events of the prior nine years. The single combat of Paris and Menelauswhich will soon be narratedwould also “better” belong to the first year of the War; but, again, the poet narrates “past” events so that his audience might better understand the present disposition of his characters and his plot. Other examples of the past-in-the-present include: Paris’ recollection of his first night with Helen, which concludes book III (and where we might also ponder the difference, for Helen, between past and present); Agamemnon’s mustering and inspection of the troops in book IV, as well as the depiction of Trojan oath-breaking in that same book; the Battle of Champions between Ajax and Hector in book VIII, which might, again, resolve the dispute, followed by the rejected offer of ransom and the building of the Achaean Wall.

3 (p. 51) Put on his beautiful armor: This is the first of four arming-scenes in the Iliad: Agamemnon also arms at XI.18-47, Patroclus at XVI. 156167, and Achilles at XIX.414-43 9. In each instance, the armor, weaponry, and order of dress are the same: greaves, corslet, sword, shield, helmet, spear; this is an example of the oral poet’s use of a type-scene (as are scenes of sacrifice and of hospitality). Greaves cover the area between the knee and ankle. As a light-armed archer, Paris has no “breastplate” (corslet) of his own and so must borrow one from his brother Lycaon; single-combat is not Paris’ métier.

Book IV: Agamemnon’s Inspection of the Army

1 (p. 57) “how many horrible Wrongs … level Their mighty stronghold?”: Zeus’ question has some force, as it is only Paris who has offended Hera (and Athena)though perhaps the entire city of Troy is implicated in the defense of Helen. At the Judgment of Paris, Paris was asked to choose the fairest from among the trio of Hera, Athena, and Aphrodite; he chose Aphrodite, thus gaining the prize of Helen, but also the fierce enmity of the rejected goddesses. Homer, however, does not explicitly recount the Judgment of Paris until XXIV.34-38, at which point the fall of the city is imminent. The poet’s immediate emphasis is upon the implacable, savage wrath of Hera: In place of the divine meal of ambrosia, she would eat Priam and his sons rawa violation, in the realm of humans, of a fundamental boundary between men and beasts; gods and beasts are equally unconstrained by the culture-defining taboos of the Greeks (the gods are, for instance, incestuous).

2 (p. 58) the Father of gods … by no means ignored her: Hera does succeed in gaining Zeus’ assent to her plan to break up the truce that has still heldshakilyfrom the end of book III. Greeks and Trojans will not be reconciled; moreover, the Trojans will now be re-characterized as oath-breakers.

3 (p. 62) You would not then have found / The great Agamemnon napping … : After the debacles of leadership that marked books I and II, Agamemnon reasserts himself in an episode that the ancient critics called the epipolesis, the “Tour of Inspection.” Agamemnon inspects the troops and offers speeches of praise and of blame; this will be the last major episode before the long-delayed outbreak of full combat between Achaeans and Trojans.

4 (p. 66) Prince Polyneices: Polyneices is the brother of Eteocles; both are sons of Oedipus, and both have been cursed by their father. The curse is active in the dispute of the two brothers over the rule of Thebes. Polyneices looks for aid to his father-in-law, Adrastus, and assembles five other heroes (and their followers) to march against Thebes: These are the Seven against Thebes; their attack upon the city will fail (see the following note). The story of the failed mission was recounted in an oral tradition know as the Thebais, of which only the barest scraps of fragments survive, as well as in a Thebaid by the Latin poet Statius (91/92 C.E.). Aeschylus’ Seven Against Thebes of 467 B.C.E. also tells of the attack upon Thebes; it focuses upon Eteocles and the defense of the city.

5 (p. 67) “So don’t compare our merits / With theirs”: Sthenelus speaks intemperately but truthfully: Tydeus’ generation did fail to capture Thebes, and their failure was a direct consequence of their “reckless folly” and contravention of divine signs. Indeed, Tydeus’ death is especially distinguished for its transgressive cannibalism: Tydeuswhile writhing in his death throesattempted to eat the brains of the mortally wounded Theban defender Melanippus. Athena, who had intended to confer immortality upon Tydeus, changes her mind upon seeing Tydeus’ final act of bloodthirst. Sthenelus’ allusive account of Tydeus’ bestiality thus tops Agamemnon’s prior account of Tydeus’ deeds and, more generally, casts a skeptical light upon the oft-repeated claim that fathers are better than sons.

Book V: The Valiant Deeds of Diomedes

1 (p. 72) … she sent him into / The thickest part of the battle: Diomedes’ aristeiahis “excellent deeds” on the battlefieldbegins with Athena’s kindling of his war-strength. In the absence of Achilles, Diomedes emerges as the single greatest offensive warrior of the Achaeans (Ajax is the greatest defender). Book V narrates his ever-increasing martial successes, which lead him into a state “like to a god” or even “like something more than a god.” During this period of heightened physical prowess, Diomedes even wounds Aphrodite and Ares, thus putting himself in great danger of suffering divine vengeance; his martial exultation becomes such that he threatens to overstep the boundary between mortal and divine, to “fight Father Zeus himself,” as Aphrodite will later claim (V.400). The aristeia of Diomedes provides an interpretative template for the battlefield glories and dangers of the other heroes, including both Patroclus (in book XVI) and Achilles (at the start of book XXII, Achilles is also likenedominouslyto the brightest of late summer stars, which is the dog-star Orion).

2 (p. 77) “… what the horses of Tros are like”: The horses of Tros are of a divine breed, initially a gift of Zeus to Tros (in recompense for Zeus’ abduction of his son Ganymede). The horses are particularly valuable booty; as such, they especially command the actions of Diomedes (assisted by Sthenelus) in the following narrative.

3 (p. 83) “… horse-taming Diomedes”: Dione’s threat that Diomedes will die for his attack upon Aphrodite is not fulfilled, though it does illustrate the danger into which his aristeia has inevitably led him: death-provoking contention with the gods themselves (the preceding example of Heracles, who is not killed by the gods, but himself immortalized, is a strictly one-time exception). Diomedes, upon his safe return home after the fall of Troy, will discover that his wife Aegialeia has been unfaithfulperhaps this is Aphrodite’s belated revenge. Diomedes sails from his native Argos and ends his days in northern Apulia, among the Daunians.

4 (p. 89) “… he leveled the city of Troy and plundered / Her streets”: Laomedon (the father of Priam) had promised Heracles a reward of his partly divine horses (from the same breed as those that Diomedes earlier won from Aeneas; see also note 2 above), as Heracles had saved his daughter Hesione from a sea-monster. Laomedon reneged on the deal, and Heracles sacked the city; this is the first Sack of Troy. (The poet tells of a marker of Heracles’ battle with the sea-monster at XX.161167.) 5 (p. 90) “… Zeus who bears the aegis”: The Homeric aegis is a kind of shield, perhaps covered in goatskin (its etymology connects it to the Greek for “goat”: aig-) , perhaps suspended from the shoulders. In classical art, Athena’s aegis is a shawl-like skin wrapped around the shoulders. In addition to its protective function, the aegis, when shaken, can put an army to flight or produce storms.

Book VI: Hector and Andromache

1 (p. 97) clutching the knees of his captor: Grasping the knees of the victor while begging for mercy (while also promising a ransom) is the regular gesture of battlefield supplication in the Iliad; it is never successful (though we will hear of Achilles’ positive response to supplications in the pastfor example, at XI. 115-118). Other examples of supplication include the appeals of Dolon (X.42 7431), of the sons of Antimachus (XI.145-150), of Lycaon (XXI.95-121), and, finally, of Hector (XXII. 3 95-401). The following threat of Agamemnon to kill even the unborn children of Troy foreshadows the general fate of the city and casts a particularly grievous shadow upon the upcoming scene between Hector and Andromache.

2 (p. 99) “But if you are some immortal… I will not fight you… Not even … brawny Lycurgus”: Diomedes, who in the prior book fought with three godsAphrodite, Apollo, and Aresnow claims that he would not fight with an immortal. A lesson learned or words of consummate self-satisfaction? Diomedes’ negative paradigm is Lycurgus, a Thracian king who attempted to resist the spread of Dionysus (who is both “mad” and “maddening”) and his cult; he is punished by the Olympians with blindness and early death (the exemplum of Lycurgus is otherwise mentioned at line 955 of Sophocles’ Antigone, and compare the deeds and punishment of Pentheus in Euripides’ Bacchae) . The nurses of Dionysus received the baby god from his father, Zeus, and nurtured him on Mount Nusa in Thrace.

3 (p. 99) “… so one generation of men / Gives way to another”: The comparison of human generations to leaves is one of the most famous and most imitated of Iliadic similessee, for example, Mimnermus 2.1-2, Simonides 19, and Aristophanes’ Birds 685; see also the Iliad XXL.526-528, where the simile is recast by Apollo from a divine perspective. Human life is as evanescent (and as unredeemed) as that of the leaf that falls in season; nature cares nothing for the life of the individual, only for the survival of the species. Yet Glaucus proceeds to recite the names and exploits of his ancestors (“listen and hear what many know / Already”) ; some mortals do, it seems, through their adventures, gain a place within the collective memory, thus rescuing their name from the anonymity and sameness of the leavesa rescue of meaning all the more valuable for its very uncertainty.

4 (p. 100) “Anteia … lusted madly to lie with Bellerophon”: The tale of the Queen who longs for her husband’s guest-friend and who, upon being rebuffed, makes false and potentially deadly accusations to her husband is a folktale found in many culturesit is often referred to as the Potiphar’s-wife theme, after the story of the false accusation of Joseph (see the Bible, beginning at Genesis 39:7 ff.). The most familiar version in Greek is found in Euripides’ Hippolytus (where Hippolytus is Phaedra’s stepson); see also the story of Peleus and the wife of Acastus (Apollodrus 3.13.3 and Pindar Nemean 4.54-58). In the Homeric version, the reluctance of Proetus to kill Bellerophon probably reflects a family connection between Proetus and Glaucus, the father of Bellerophona guest-host relation that, if violated, would provoke a blood-curse or a vendetta or both. Proetus instead sends Bellerophon on the series of death-defying adventures that become the basis of his fame: a vindication of his name against the false charges of Anteia and an immortalization of his name through heroic deeds.

5 (p. 101) “… he roamed alone the Aleian Plain, / Consuming his soul and avoiding all human tracks”: The end of Bellerophon is mysterious and haunting. The poet avoids recounting the most famous (and notorious) of Bellerophon’s exploits, which is his attempt to storm Olympus on the back of Pegasus, the immortal winged horse; the gods hurl him from his mount. Rather, the poet emphasizes the final wandering unto death of Bellerophon, who ends his life, apart from men and gods, upon the Plain of Wandering (“Aleian” is a pun on the Greek word for “to wander”). All the heroic deeds and rewards seem insufficient for Bellerophon, whose centripetal wandering leads him onto a plain that might well be an image of his own consciousness. During the Renaissance, Bellerophon became a defining type of the melancholic, the man born under the sign of Saturn; see [Aristotle] Problem 30, as reread by Marsilio Ficino in the late fifteenth century.

6 (p. 102) … golden armor / For bronze, or a hundred oxen for nine: The unequal exchange of armor affects a jolt in ethos and tone following the joyous chivalry of the pact that Diomedes and Glaucus just agreed upon. Ancient and modern critics have expended enormous ingenuity upon explaining the shift in tone; perhaps we should simply acknowledge a (somewhat mystifying) Homeric joke.

7 (p. 107) “… where the city / Is best assaulted and the wall most easily scaled”: Andromache pleads that Hector remain close to the city wall. Andromache’s claim that there is a weak spot in the Trojan defense may reflect a tradition that the Wall of Troy was built in its entirety by Apollo and Poseidon except for one section, which was built by the mortal Aeacus and which is, in consequence, vulnerable to attack (Pindar Olympian 8.31-46; see also VII.491494, where Poseidon recollects his part in building the Trojan Wall).

8 (p. 107) “But how could I face the men of Troy, or their wives … if I were to skulk like a coward”: In response to Andromache’s plea that he remain near to the Trojan Wall and mindful of wife and child, Hector invokes his sense of aidosof reverence, of respect, of shame. In Homeric Greek, aidos is a responsiveness to the ethical judgments of others within the community; it is a social emotion provoked by the perception of one’s place in the social structure and of the obligations that accompany that place. Hector’s sense of aidos before the entirety of his community does not permit him to rank the claims of wife and son above those of his community. In being preeminently responsive to the claims of his community, Hector must set aside the claims of those who are most his own. (For an illuminating reading of this extraordinarily moving passage, see Redfield, Nature and Culture in the “Iliad,” pp. 113-127.) Book VII: The Duel of Hector and Ajax 1 (p. 113) “… and my glory will not be destroyed”: Hector imagines funeral rites for the defeated man that include the heaping of a great barrow over his grave. The tumulus will itself be a mighty memorial sign to those who pass by of the name of Hectora visual analog to the “glory forever” provided by epic poetry itself, which Achilles invokes at IX.475.

2 (p. 114) “… if only / I were as young as when …”: This is the second of four autobiographical recitations by Nestor: Earlier, at I.303317, he told of his comradeship with the Lapiths; at XI.653853, he will tell of his youthful exploits in the battles between Pylians and Epeians; and at XXIII.726743, he will recall his victories at the funeral games of Amarynceus. In this instanceas also in the example from book XINestor asserts the excellence of his prior deeds as a foundation upon which to base his exhortation to the present generation of heroeshere, to the front-fighters of the Achaeans; in book XI (where Nestor’s intervention will be decisive), to Patroclus and, he hopes, Achilles.

3 (p. 119) So they turned back … : With this exchange of pledges of friendship and gifts, Hector and Ajax bring their strife to an end. The elaborate courtesies of the heroic code are enacted for a final time in the Iliad; there will be no further peaceable resolutions in the fighting to come.

4 (p. 119) “… land of our fathers”: With the establishment of a truce and the collection of the bones of the dead, the “First Great Day of Battle” comes to an end, as does the first narrative movement of the Iliad: The past, including prior attempts at resolution, has been re-represented; the principal heroes have been richly characterized; the dispositions of the Achaean and Trojan armies have been dramatized. With the building of the Achaean wall and the refusals of Paris to return Helen and of the Achaeans to accept ransom that immediately follow, the hostilities of the narrative present are set to be rejoined, as is the plan of Zeus (first announced in book I) to honor Achilles by turning the tide of battle against the Achaeans.

Book VIII: The weakening Achaeans

1 (p. 124) “That’s how much stronger I am than you gods and all mortals”: With this vivid assertion of his own preeminence, Zeus clears the mortal battlefield of the Olympians. Zeus can nowthrough the martial successes of Hectorfulfill his promise to Thetis to bring the Achaeans to grief in the absence of Achilles. (For the futility of resistance by the other gods to Zeus, see also the exchange between Hera and Poseidon at VIII. 224240, as well as Zeus’ threatening speech to Hera at VIII.534-553, with note 3 below.) 2 (p. 127) … the old King mounted the car /With Diomedes: The epic tradition also knows a version of the rescue of Nestor in which the old man is saved by his son Antilochus, who sacrifices his own life for his father’s. The poet Pindar (Pythian 6.28ff.) makes of that telling a paradigm of filial piety.

3 (p. 137) “For massive Hector… about the corpse of Patroclus”: Zeus, having dramatically quelled any rebellion against his rule by Hera and Athena, now foretells the fulfillment of his promise of book I to honor Achilles: Hector and the Trojans will continue to have martial success until the death of Patroclus, after which Achilles will rejoin his comrades. As well, we now see that Zeus’ honoring of Achilles will bring enormous grief to Achilles himselfthe loss of Patroclus.

Book IX: Agamemnon’s Offers to Achilles

1 (p. 140) “… since his is the greatest power”: Agamemnon urges flight upon the Achaeans with the same words he used in book II, when he was under the influence of the deceptive Dream sent by Zeus (II.1941, and IX.1828); here, his words are in earnest (and Zeus is now responsible for his plight), but his counsel of retreat is met not with a rush to the ships (as in book II), but with Achaean resistance and refusal. The reuse of speech-blocks and type-scenes is a technique of the oral poet; here, that technique is in the service of a (rather ironic) characterization of a persistently despondent Agamemnon, as well as of an intensification of the dramatic urgency of the present moment: The deliberations that follow are of the utmost consequence, wholly lacking the dream and comic elements of the “retreat” of book II.

2 (p. 143) “I acted blindly”: Agamemnon claims he was struck with a moral blindness or an infatuation of mind that diminished his capacity for reasoned actionwhat the Greeks call ate, and which always leads to disaster. In book XIX (lines 104167), Agamemnon will offer a lengthy account of ate (“Sweet Folly”). Earlier, in book I (lines 478485), Achilles had asked Thetis to appeal to Zeus for a Trojan victory so that Agamemnon “might know his ate” (“that Atreus’ son … may know how blind he was”). Achilles’ appeal to Zeus is now reaching fulfillment.

3 (p. 145) … there they found him Soothing his soul with a resonant lyre… Part of the loot he had taken when he himself sacked Eëtion’s city: Achilles is reintroduced into the narrative with an extraordinarily suggestive image. He now sits apart, playing the role of the bard, singing of “warriors’ fame”; he is no longer the doer of martial deeds but is the commemorator of those deeds. The lyre is itself an object and instrument of beauty, even as it was captured in bloody warfare; so, too, Homeric poetry makes a beauteous song out of carnage.

4 (pp. 146-147) “… your father Peleus was talking To you… be reconciled quickly That Argives young and old may respect you still more”’: The parting of father and son in Phthia is also recalled in book XI (lines 881-884) by Nestor, who recollects the same occasion, though with a somewhat different version of Peleus’ words; Nestor will also include the parting words of Menoetius (Patroclus’ father) to Patroclus. At XVIII. 368373, Achilles will recall his own final words to Menoetius. In the present passage (and in the book XI passage), Peleus’ knowledge of his son’s quick temper is evident.

5 (p. 148) “All of these gifts are yours, if only / You’ll stop being angry”: Up to this point, Odysseus has faithfully reported Agamemnon’s offer of gifts, but he now omits Agamemnon’s conclusion, which contained an implicit comparison of Achilles to Hades and a command to Achilles to recognize Agamemnon’s greater rank and age (IX.179-183). Instead, Odysseus first appeals to Achilles’ sense of pity for his comrades, then to his desire for glory by offering up Hector, who now fights in the front-ranks. Achilles, however, will fully (and furiously) understand that an acceptance of Agamemnon’s gifts (and especially an acceptance of Agamemnon’s offer to make him his son-in-law!) amounts to a recognition of Agamemnon’s greater authority; to accept the king’s gifts is to acknowledge the (greater) social position that they concretize.

6 (p. 148) “I, then, will say what seems to me best”: In book I, Athena stopped Achilles from killing Agamemnon with the promise of receiving “three times as much as what you may lose” (line 248). Achilles has now been offered much more than that (and Agamemnon has acknowledged his ate, note 2 above). All expectation is that Achilles will accept the gifts and return to his comrades, yet Achilles refuses. It is at this point that the Iliad ventures into previously unexplored thematic terrain; and Achilles, in the emotionally roiling, bitterly sarcastic, and relentlessly reevaluating speech that now follows, is the primary explorer of that new terrainno longer a hero (only) of deeds, but of consciousness. (See the introduction for further discussion of some aspects of Achilles’ great speech.) 7 (p. 151) “The knightly / Old Peleus made me your guardian …”: In the first part of his response to Achilles’ refusal of Agamemnon’s gifts and to his threat to depart at sunrise, Phoenix recounts his own youthful autobiography and how he came to be Achilles’ tutor (a role that the poetic tradition more often attributes to the kindly centaur Cheiron) and surrogate father. As a young man, Phoenix, too, was embroiled in a potentially deadly dispute over a mistressin this case, his father’s. Amyntor will curse his son with sterility, driving Phoenix to flee his homeland rather than become a parricide. In Phthia, Phoenix, now an exile, receives an act of extraordinary grace: Peleus not only offers him refuge (which is obligatory in the case of exiles), but a kingdom and the nurturance of a son. Peleus, in effect, rectifies the curse that Amyntor had placed upon Phoenix: Peleus loved Phoenix as a “father loves / His only son and heir”; in return for this act of generosity beyond expectation, Phoenix will love Achilles as his own son. (Peleus’ Phthia seems to be a notable place of refuge; the homicides Epeigeus and Patroclus also find refuge theresee XVI.651659, and XXIII. 98104).

8 (p. 153) “Even the gods can yield…” : The second part of Phoenix’ speech features the allegory of the Prayers. Following inevitably, if at a slower pace, upon instances of “Sin,” which here translates the Greek ate (an impaired mental state that leads to moral error and further folly; see above, note 2), the Prayers offer a chance of healing, of brooking disaster before it fully erupts. If the Prayers are rejected, they themselves (as Phoenix presents it) pray to Zeus for vengeance, which takes the form of further and decisive ate. Though others in the Iliad speak of ate (most prominently, Agamemnon at lines 19.104-167), Achilles himself will never explain his own actions in terms of ate.

9 (p. 154) “We’ve all heard similar stories / About the old heroes…”: In the third and final part of his speech, Phoenix recounts the old story of Meleager, a traditional tale that would have been part of the repertoire of the performing bard. Meleager’s successful killing of the Calydonian Boar is succeeded by two tales of strife: Fighting breaks out between Curetes and Aetolians (Meleager’s people) over the spoils of the Boar, and anger erupts between Meleager and his mother Althaea over Meleager’s killing of Althaea’s brother, perhaps also in a dispute over the spoils of the Calydonian Boar. Althaea calls upon the Fury to avenge her brother, and Meleagerin angerwithdraws from the battle against the Aetolians to retire with his wife, Cleopatra. In other versions of the Meleager tradition, Althaea takes hold of a magical firebrand that represents Meleager’s life and casts it into the fire; as the firebrand diminishes, so too does Meleager’s strength (see Bacchylides 5.94-154, Ovid’s Metamorphoses 8.273-525,and Apollodorus 1.8.1-3).The other tellings of Meleager’s story also relate his death in battle at the hands of Apollo, a death similar to that of Achilles (see Hesiod’s Catalog of Women, frag. 25.11-13 and 280)a not insignificant part of the story, though not told by Phoenix.

10 (p. 156) “Her lurid account stirred Meleager’s Soul … he went out and donned His flashing armor”: Meleager is supplicated first by priests and elders, then by father, mother, and sisters, then by comrades, and finally by his wife, Cleopatra. The order of supplication enacts a traditional scale of ascending affection: fellow citizens, parents and siblings, spouse; into this order, Phoenix inserts the “friends”the martial companionsbetween family and spouse. In terms of the embassy to Achilles, we might understand Odysseus to represent the army, Phoenix the father, and Ajax the companions. Crucial to an interpretation of the Meleager paradigm is to note that the name of Meleager’s wife is Cleopatra, which simply reverses the two elements that are also found in the name of Patroclus (in Greek, Kleo-patre and Patro-kleos). In the Iliad, it is Patroclus’ plea (in book XVI) that will finally move Achilles, though even then Achilles will sendmuch to his own grievous lossPatroclus to fight in his place. Finally, the name of Patroclusso much in play at the climax of Meleager’s storyis itself a “speaking name,” signifying “the fame of the ancestors” (from Greek kleos “poetic fame” and patre “father/ancestor”). Patroclus thus has the exemplary heroic name, as it signifies epic poetry itself, which transmits the fame of the prior generations. Patroclusas comrade and as conceptthus stands at the summit of Achilles’ “scale of affection”though both meanings cannot finally coexist, and each will experience revaluation.

11 (p. 157) “… whether we / Should go back to our own or stay where we are”: Though Achilles warns Phoenix that his supplication on behalf of Agamemnon risks a permanent alienation of his love, he now makes a first concession: They will consider in the morning whether to stay or to go; compare IX.489-491, where Achilles had asserted that he would definitely sail home on the coming morning.

12 (p. 158) “But Hector… Will stop his advance… when he reaches my lodge / And looming black vessel”: Achilles now makes a second and crucial concession: He will not sail in the morning, and he will fight when Hector brings fire to his ships. Though Ajax’ just preceding speech was the shortest of the three, its appeal to the “love of friends” proves to be the most effective. The degree to which Ajax’ appeal to the love and respect of the martial collective both succeeds (Achilles will not now return home) and fails (but Achilles will not yet honor the supplications of his friends and return to battle) presents some concluding measure (in book IX) of the volatile state of Achilles’ mind. (See the introduction for further discussion of Ajax’ speech.) Book X: The Night Adventure 1 (p. 160) … no sweet sleep held… Agamemnon, so worried was he / By the many problems of war: Book X begins with a sleepless Agamemnon calling a council, as he did in book II; the result, however, will not be a full-scale mobilization of the troops, but the dispatch of Diomedes and Odysseus under cover of night to spy upon the Trojans. Beginning with the first ancient commentators and continuing to present-day scholar-critics, book X has often been judged to be an interpolation within the overall design of the Iliad. Nothing in book X advances the overall plot of the poem; it has also been ejected from the monumental Iliad for its folkloristic qualities, for its depiction of Odysseus and Diomedes as murderous liars, for its nighttime setting, and for its culmination in an Achaean victory (which is inconsistent with the full activation in book VIII of Zeus’ plan to bring honor to Achilles by aiding Hector and the Trojans). Book X has also been scorned for numerous atypical linguistic features (words and phrases found in the Odyssey but not otherwise in the Iliad), as well as anomalies of religious practice (gilding the horns of sacrificial cattle, X.329) and of heroic headgear (Diomedes’ leather helmet, Odysseus’ boar-tusk cap, X.288-295).Critics who have retained book X have found respite from the solemnities of book IX in its grim humor and, when humor fails (as in the killing of Dolon and of the sleeping Rhesus and his men), have praised the book for its depiction of the brutality that lurks just beneath the heroic code, ready to erupt under cover of nightand, perhaps most tellingly, in the absence of Achilles. Finally, we might note that the treacherous deceit of Diomedes and Odysseus foreshadows the Fall of Troy itself, which will succumb not to the daytime force of the Achaeans but to nighttime tricks.

2 (p. 169) Then he put on his head / A ferret-skin cap: While Diomedes wears the helmet of a bull and Odysseus that of a boar, Dolon wears the helmet of a ferret (or weasel) and the skins of a wolf. While the clothing and caps are disguises (the heroes have shed their conventional attire), they seem also to communicate something essential about the characters of those who put them on.

3 (p. 171) “… the Thracians, newly arrived, and among them / Their King, Rhesus”: Dolon, in his terror, discloses more than he was asked; and, at Dolon’s revelation of the exceptional horses and chariot of Rhesus, Diomedes and Odysseus set aside their original intent of reconnaissance so that they might capture such rich booty. The epic tradition knew of at least two other versions of the Rhesus story: In one, an oracle foretells that Rhesus and his horses will be invincible if they should drink of the waters of the Scamandrus (see Virgil’s Aeneid 1.472-473);in another, Rhesus’ actual deeds are so extraordinary that Hera grows alarmedin both versions, Diomedes and Odysseus are dispatched to kill Rhesus.

Book XI: The Valiant Deeds of Agamemnon

1 (p. 176) Strife shouted a loud and terrible war-scream, which stirred … the Achaeans … to fight / Without ceasing: With the new dawn and the war-cry of Strife, Zeus further enacts his intention to bring honor to Achilles through a defeat of the Achaeans (see VIII.536-544, and note 3 to book VIII above). The Great Day of Battle now begins; the battle itself is in two primary movementsbooks XIXII and XIIIXVand though each movement begins with an Achaean success, each ends with a resounding Achaean defeat. The day itself does not come to a close until book XVIII (lines 254257), where Achilles’ supernatural shriek at the trench (many translators and commentators use the term “ditch”) echoes the opening cry of Strife. Achilles’ cry will be so disordering that Hera will compel the Sun to set early.

2 (p. 183) … such were the sharp and bitter / Pangs that racked Agamemnon now: With a startling simile that compares the pain of Agamemnon’s wound to that of a woman in labor, Agamemnon’s brutal aristeia comes to an abrupt end; the great king will now be led off like a woman to her accouchement (Achilles is surely somewhere laughing). Agamemnon’s aristeia is followed by that of Hector, just as Zeus had earlier promised (XI.212-216); and indeed, the pace of Zeus’ plan now accelerates: In short order, Diomedes, Odysseus (neither any longer protected by Athena, as they were in book X), Machaon, and Eurypylus are wounded, and finally, Ajax is forced to retreat (see XI.621639, where Ajax is compared first to a lion, thenuniquely and rather touchinglyto a donkey being cudgeled by boys).

3 (p. 187) Deeply troubled, / He spoke to his own great heart: Odysseus’ monologue is the first in the Iliad, though two more will follow in this book and ten more in books XVII-XXII (among the most striking are those of Menelaus at XVII.104-123, Agenor at XM.629-647, and Hector at XXII.117-149). The lone warrior debates with himself the contrary possibilities of fight and retreat. Odysseus’ speech moves beyond the now familiar motives of worldly honor and posthumous glory (and the converses of blame and shame) to a consideration of the moral obligations of the “brave” (or “excellent”) man as opposed to the coward. Under duress from the wound that he will soon receive from Socus, the pragmatic Odysseus”insatiably wily”will reemerge in retreat.

4 (p. 188) “But carrion birds shall pick the flesh from your bones … Whereas … The noble Achaeans will surely bury me / With all due funeral rites”: The threat that the heroes’ bodies will be made prey for wild beasts was first expressed in the Iliad’s proem. Odysseus now makes explicit an opposition that thematically structures the poem: Funeral rites, which serve both to close a wound within the community and to memorialize the name of the dead, are contrasted to a horrific “anti-funeral,” in which the body, treated as mere meat (or as mere nature), is consumed by wild beastsand so made to vanish without trace.

5 (p. 192) … thus marking the start of evil / For him: This is a crucial turning point: Achilles has been observing the Achaean rout from the stern of his ship, and he now sends forth Patroclus to gather further information. Patroclus’ embassy to the Achaeans sets in motion the series of events that will lead to Patroclus’ death and to Achilles’ return to battle. The referent of “him” is double: The “start of evil” is surely for Patroclus, but it is for Achilles as well. Achilles’ call to Patroclus is motivated by a wound to Machaon, wholike Achilleslearned the healing art from Cheiron. Book XI will conclude with Patroclus, who in turn learned his medical skills from Achilles, tending to the wounded Eurypylus (XI.904-913).

6 (p. 194) “If only I were / As young and my strength as unyielding as once…”: Nestor now uncorks a loquacious reminiscence of his own youth. His tale is one of heroic coming-of-age through cattle-raiding; indeed, it has been convincingly argued that the defining initiatory adventure for an Indo-European hero is the cattle-raid, in which the boy must display the bravery and the stealth that the adult male hero requires. Nestor’s adventure takes place in the context of ongoing strife between the Pylians and the Epeans, in which the latter have had by far the greater success; Nestor’s eleven older brothers have been killed in the previous battles. Nestor’s coming-of-agein which, crucially, he must also overcome the opposition of Neleus, his fatheris both a personal achievement and the revivification of his community. Upon emerging from his disguise among the foot-soldiers with his triumphant leap upon a chariot and now wielding a deadly spear, Nestor is the new ruler of Pylos, surpassing and supplanting his fatherand saving his own people by so doing. Nestor offers his tale as a goad to action for Achilles (via Patroclus), but an audience might also sense that the past was a simpler (if already oedipalized) time.

7 (p. 197) “Let him send you at the head of the Myrmidon host”: Nestor now formulates the fatal plan that Patroclus should fight in Achilles’ stead and in Achilles’ armor, and Patroclus, greatly moved, sets off to return to Achilles’ shelter. His progress, however, is immediately halted by the wounded Eurypylus, who provokes Patroclus’ pity (XI.904913). Patroclus will not return to Achilles until book XVI.

Book XII: The Storming of the Wall

1 (p. 200) Where they before had poured their bright-flowing streams: Book XII begins with an extraordinary reflection upon the destruction of the Achaean Wall, which was proposed and constructed in book VII (lines 367-374 and 472-481), where its destruction was also foretold by Zeus (in response to Poseidon’s complaints, VII.482-494). In the proem to book XII, that destruction is now narrated, butuniquely in the Iliadfrom the point of view of the poet’s historical audience, for whom the epic heroes are half-divines (see line 24), a term used only here in the Iliad and a word appropriate to civic cult-practicethat is, to an audience for whom the heroes are now recipients of cult-offerings rather than, or in addition to, the subjects of epic verse. Moreover, the poet’s insistence upon the complete disappearance of any sign of the Achaeans from the beach of the Hellespont might itself be understood as responsive to an audience that now wonders about the historical remains of Troy: Where’s the evidence? The poet’s boldly self-confident answer is to destroy any traces of the Wall; all an audience needs in order to know the story of Troy is the bard’s own song. (A quip of Aristotle’s well captures the bard’s world-creating-and -destroying-power: “The poet who invented it destroyed it,” frag. 162.

2 (p. 200) … Polydamas came up / To daring Hector and spoke to him and the others: Polydamas has the role of counselor to Hector; this is the first of four speeches of advice; see also XII.223245, XIII.835860, and XVIII.284-317. All four of Polydamas’ speeches are guided by a concern for the collective safetyand not with individual honor or glory; contrast, for example, Odysseus’ speech at XI.458-468 (see book XI, note 3 above) or Sarpedon’s upcoming speech at XII.330-351. Hector’s subsequent rejections of Polydamas’ advice (XII.223268 and, especially, in book XVIII) underline his increasing recklessness, driven by the fatal delusion that Zeus’ favor will last.

3 (p. 206) “Glaucus, why is it that we above all are honored… as though we were gods?”: Sarpedon’s speech on the motives of the hero is among the finest in the Iliad. In the first part of his speech, Sarpedon speaks of heroism as a social obligation: The hero receives special honorsland grants, prominent places at the communal feastfrom his community, for which he must ultimately show himself worthy by fighting in defense of his community; or, as in the case of the Lycian Sarpedon at Troy, the hero must fight elsewhere so as to show himself deserving of the rewards he receives at home; a role that begins in the community’s need for defense thus generates a necessity for martial aggression. In the second part of his speech (beginning with “Ah, my friend …”), Sarpedon shifts to individual motives: The hero’s heightened sense of death (Sarpedon speaks as if the Death-spirits are right behind his back)his knowledge that he will not be “deathless and ageless forever”leads him to venture knowingly into battle, where he might gain the compensatory immortality that epic poetry promises. (See Redfield, Nature and Culture in the “Iliad,” pp. 99-101 and Schein, The Mortal Hero, pp. 70-72, for two exemplary readings of Sarpedon’s speech.) Book XIII: Fighting Among the Ships 1 (p. 212) … that any immortal would dare come down / To strengthen either the Trojan or Danaan forces: Following the headlong narrative rush that culminated with Hector’s bursting through the gate to the Achaean camp, the opening of book XIII directs Zeus’ gazeand the audience’s attentionto regions far to the north of Troy: The milk-drinking Hippemolgi are nomadic Scythians (like Herodotus’ Massagetae in his Histories 1.216), while the utopic Abii, whose name signifies “without violence” in Greek, inhabit the nether northern regions. Zeus’ averted gaze permits the intervention of Poseidon into the battle and a (temporary) revival of Achaean fortunes. The careless ease of Zeuseven as he risks, but never loses, his ruleis not untypical.

2 (p. 216) Like a ruthless, death-bearing boulder that bounds down the slope… and rolls to a stop: The boulder to which Hector is now compared recalls that with which Hector burst open the gate of the Achaean defenses at the end of book XII (lines 481-497). But the simile of the boulder also suggests the increasing degree to which Hector, caught up in his own momentum, in his own certainty of Zeus’ favor, becomes less the agent of his own choices than the object borne along by the now uncontrollable rush of events that he himself has set in motion.

3 (p. 218) He met … Meriones / On his way to fetch a bronze-headed spear: Idomeneus and Meriones come upon each other in a situation of potential mutual embarrassment, for each discovers the other well behind the fighting line. With relieved good humor, each asserts his own valor and accepts the correspondent claims of the other. With their spears restored, they return to the battlefield.

4 (p. 224) … standing In back of the battle, for Aeneas was always angry At royal Priam: Aeneas’ absence from the battle is explained in terms of rivalry between the two branches of the Trojan royal houseone represented by Priam and Hector, the other by Anchises and Aeneas (see note 9 to book II above). The cause of the dispute is an offense to “honor” that goes unexplained, but Aeneas’ anger is expressed by a (verbal) form that derives from the word for Achilles’ anger (menis); and like Achilles after Patroclus’ death, Aeneas ends his withdrawal for the sake of one who is dear to him.

5 (p. 232) “… I’ll come back as soon as I’ve given my orders”: Polydamas concludes his third speech of advice to Hector with a first Trojan premonition of the return of Achilles. Hector does not acknowledge that point, but he does (for the first and only time) heed Polydamas’ advice to call a council of the Trojan leaders. A council, however, is not possible, as it turns out that the principal Trojan fighters are wounded or dead. Polydamas’ advice is good, but circumstance has rendered it inapplicable; caution is no longer permitted Hector.

Book XIV: The Tricking of Zeus

1 (p. 236) The cries of battle were not unheard by Nestor, / Though at his wine: This opening scene of Nestor at his wine, accompanied by Machaon and attended by Hecamede, picks up immediately upon the scene where we last saw Nestor (in book XI, immediately before the dispatch of Patroclus). The ancient commentators express some shock at the amount of time that Nestor has been drinking while his fellow Achaeans have been fightingever since XI. 720, some three books earlier. But at issue is less Nestor’s heroic tippling than Homer’s narration of simultaneous actions as consecutive. A scene that the poet puts aside is picked up where it was left off, while the intervening actions are conceived of as concurrent with that scene. The battlefield action framed by Nestor’s bout of drinking is simultaneous with itthat is, the drinking of book XIV is temporally continuous with the drinking of book XI (no intervening time has elapsed), and the scenes in Nestor’s shelter are simultaneous with the fighting of books XII and XIII.

2 (p. 238) “Far better to flee and escape / Than stay and be taken”: Agamemnon proposes, now for the third time, a retreat to the ships and a sailing from Troythough a launching of the ships while under attack risks a total disaster, as Odysseus will point out. When Agamemnon falsely and foolishly proposed a retreat in book II (131-138), it was Odysseus who succeeded in regrouping the army; following Agamemnon’s call for retreat in book IX (lines 18-26), it was Diomedes who rallied the leaders with a speech. In the present instance, both Diomedes and Odysseus will intervene to prevent an Achaean retreat.

3 (p. 240) And then she considered, the heifer-eyed Queenly Hem, how she might best trick the wits Of aegis-great Zeus: Hera, delighting from afar in Poseidon’s aid to the Achaeans, resolves that Zeus should remain indolent for as long as possible; she will seduce her husband. The ensuing “Deception of Zeus” is an episode of darkly glittering humor that burlesques the tradition of the hierogamia, or Sacred Marriage. The holy union of Zeus and Hera was imagined to take place upon a mountaintop and to produce the divine, fertilizing dew upon which the seasonal success of the crops was dependent; this divine marriage was reenacted and celebrated at various festival-rites throughout the Greek world from as early as the Mycenaean period (see lines 394399 for an eruption of fecund nature at the climax of the hierogamia of Zeus and Hera). In the Homeric parody, neither Zeus nor Hera retain muchor anyof their cultic aura and awe. Hera, driven by hatred, perverts her role as protector of the domestic hearth: She must seduce her own husband; her conjugal “duty” is itself a trick. Zeus’ role as husband of Hera (and guardian of guest-friendship) is surely vitiated by his catalog of prior seductions (lines 360-370), while his recitation of past amourseach an occasion of strife with Heraseems calculated to repel rather than attract (though Hera, if her seduction is to succeed, must swallow any of the gall that Zeus’ recitation of former lovers surely induces).

4 (p. 241) And slyly Queen Hera replied: “Give me now, then, / Love and desire…”: Hera’s seduction of Zeus requires an initial deception of Aphrodite; if Hera is to succeed, she will need the love-charms that Aphrodite can provide. The less-than-astute goddess of love is easily duped by Hera’s tale that she is on a mission to restore conjugal relations between the squabbling Oceanus and Tethys (who are here conceived of as primeval, cosmogonic parents), for domestic harmony is, after all, Hera’s divine concern. But, of course, the outcome of Hera’s seduction will be an increase in strife between her and Zeus, a further sharpening of Olympian divisions. Oceanus and Tethyswhose union might bode a cosmic harmonywill not be reconciled.

5 (p. 243) “And now /You want me to do this other impossible thing”: Sleep initially refuses Hera’s request with a recollection of a prior occasion on which he had aided Hera’s plans by charming Zeus to sleep. While Zeus was held under Sleep’s dominion, Hera caused Heraclesas he departed from Troy, following the first Sack of the city (V.715-716, and see note 4 on book V above)to be swept away to the island of Cos (Zeus himself will give further details at XV. 28-32);on Cos, Heracles will have to fight several Giants (Pindar’s Nemean 4.25-27 and Isthmian 6.31-33), who are also among the opponents of Zeus’ rule. The entire narrative of the “Deception of Zeus” is shot through with allusions to prior cosmic strife (note Zeus’ response upon waking up from Sleep’s first spell)and will itself precipitate an intensification of Olympian discord.

6 (p. 247) And as when a huge oak / Falls… Hector crashed to the dusty earth: The battle of Hector and Ajax has been forestalled from the end of book XIII (lines 956-960). The simile of the felled oaktoughest of treesleads an audience to think that Hector has been slain. Hector, however, though badly stunned, is carried off the field and revived, if with difficulty, by his comrades. In Hector’s absenceand as Zeus slumbers contentedly onthe Trojan rout begins (and is soon accelerated by the gruesome, panic-inducing slaughter of Ilioneus, at XIV.561-573). The battle will not be reversed until Hector’s return to battle in book XV (beginning at line 301); the Greeks will respond to Hector as to a man miraculously restored to life (beginning at line 327).

Book XV: The Achaeans Desperate

1 (p. 252) “… how little real good it does you / To … Seduce me to lie with you and make love”: Zeus, roused from his post-coital slumber, quickly realizes the implication of Hera’s perfidy; she no longer simply resists his will (as she did in books I, II, and VIII) but actively plots against it. In response, Zeus invokes the very same rebellion that Sleep had earlier cited in his initial refusal of Hera’s plans: the stormy transport of Heracles to Cos (XIV.281-290, with note 5 to book XIV above); but the emphasis now falls not upon Sleep’s fear of punishment, but upon Zeus’ extravagant prior punishment of Hera: his hand-to-foot binding of her by a golden chain. Though Zeus’ response to Hera retains some of the comic energy of the “Deception of Zeus,” his description of lashing and binding Hera likely references an underlying myth of cosmic strife between sky-god and earth-goddess. The “anvils” (Greek akmones) attached to Hera’s ankles are themselves meteorites, signs of Zeus’ punishing thunderbolt.

2 (p. 252) “… it is by no will of mine that Poseidon … does damage to Trojans and Hector / And nothing but good for their foes”: Hera once again swears by the Styx (as she did in her persuasion of Sleep), but her words carefully sidestep essentials: Poseidon had intervened on the Achaeans’ behalf of his own accord; she says nothing of her own actions to aid Poseidon. Perjury is avoided, and so is the truth.

3 (p. 253) “… Thetis… pleading with me to honor her son, / Achilles, taker of towns”: In response to Hera’s oath, Zeus foretells his overarching plan in the greatest detail yetnow including the death of Sarpedon, his own son. No longer immobilized by Hera’s trick, Zeus reasserts his own authority as he prophecies the progress of his plan to honor Thetis. Zeus’ speech, however, is unexpectedly conciliatory: He will not beat Hera or hang her from her ankles but will instead seek to incorporate her into his plans: She is to be the agent of Poseidon’s acquiescence to Zeus’ plan; the goal is now an Olympian unanimity in Zeus’ will. Zeus’ inclusion of the death of Sarpedon in his unfolding of events is itself a sacrifice to the cause of Olympian conciliation. All the immortals, Zeus included, must lose someone or something dear to them; thus, we next see that Ares must reconcile himself (under Athena’s harsh tutelage) to the loss of his son Ascalaphus (XV.148-166).

4 (p. 257) “… then truly the rancorous breach between us / Will not be subject to healing!”: Poseidon is reconciled to Zeus’ rule with more difficulty than was Ares. He acquiesces only after a second reminder from Iris that Zeus is the eldernow given threatening force by an invocation of the Furies, enforcers of familial order and respect. Poseidon’s sticking point of contention is the threat that Zeus poses to the balance of divine power. Though younger than Zeus, Poseidon stakes his claim on his brotherly equality with Zeus, as well as with Hades. According to the story of the drawing of lots, each of the three brothers received as their own the respective realms of the Sea, the Heavens, and the Underworld (with earth and Olympus as shared territory). Poseidon claims that he would stay in his realm if only Zeus would remain in his, but Iris’ reiteration of the link between primogeniture and power finally prevails, and Poseidon abruptly retires into the seain much less grandiose fashion than that with which he emerged at the start of book XIII (lines 49-50).

5 (p. 261) … 0 powerful Phoebus / You undid the Achaeans’ hard toil and filled them with panic: The Achaeans’ hard labor in the building of their wall and the Trojans’ grueling campaign against that wall and its defenders in book XII stand in marked contrast to the ease with which Apollo now breaches the walllike a boy gleefully knocking down his sand castles. The present passage surely recalls the proem of book XII (see endnote 1 to book XII above).

6 (p. 262) Patroclus … groaned aloud and slapped his thighs / With the flat of his hands… : Slapping the thighs expresses extreme and pressing grief. Earlier in the poem, Asius (XII.170), then Ares, in grief for his son Ascalaphus (XV. 129-130), used this gesture; this linked series will culminate at XVI. 149, when Achilles slaps his thighs at the sight of fire on the Achaean ships. The present scene of Patroclus tending to Eurypylus rejoins that at the end of book XI (lines 902-920), where Patroclus’ return to Achilles was interrupted by his pity for the wounded Eurypylus; his concern for the entirety of the Achaeans now sets him back in motion.

7 (pp. 267-268) Zeus… was waiting to see the glare from a flaming ship, / For then … he would… give the Danaans glorious victory: The poet prefaces the great and fearful victory of Hector with a recapitulation of Zeus’ plan: Even as the poet anticipates Hector’s coming triumph, he also reminds his audience that Hector’s glory (coupled with Zeus’ favor) will be temporary, subordinate to Zeus’ overarching plan to honor forever Thetis and her son.

Book XVI: The Death of Patroclus

1 (p. 272) …Patroclus Came up to Achilles… weeping like a spring Whose dark streams trickle down the rocky face of a cliff: Patroclus’ interrupted return to Achilles is now complete (see endnote 6 to book XV above). The comparison of Patroclus’ tears to a spring of dark water recalls the tears of Agamemnon that began book IX (lines 15-16); and as in book IX, a supplication of Achilles now follows, which itself evokes two examples from Phoenix’ book IX speech: First, as Meleager was supplicated by Cleopatra, so Achilles is now supplicated by the one dearest to him, Patroclus (see endnote 10 to book IX above); second, Patroclus’ plea to Achilles might well be construed as analogous to the intervention of the Prayers, who (in Phoenix’ allegory), if scorned, pray to Zeus for a renewed and decisive ate (see endnote 8 to book IX above). But we should also keep in mind that Achilles, in book IX, seemsin his concentrating wrathto contemplate understandings and actions that, though shaped by the old stories and allegories, are no longer wholly in agreement with, or guided by, those same stories.

2 (p. 273) “But if your heart is set on escaping some dire word / From Zeus, revealed to you by your goddess mother…”: Patroclus, in his concluding appeal to Achilles, takes up the very words of Nestor’s exhortation to Patroclus in book XI, which follows upon the old man’s account of his youthful exploits (lines 877-884): Is Achilles inhibited by some prophecy? If so, then let Patroclus go forth in Achilles’ armor. In place of Nestor’s account of boyhood cattle-raids, Patroclus charges Achilles with pitilessness: His parents are not Thetis and Peleus (whom he has just claimed to love), but the sea and the cliffs, so bereft is he of mortal care. Responsiveness to others, which Patroclus has exemplified in his healing and tendance of Eurypylus in books XI and XV (lines 904-913 and 447451, with notes above), is now also the ground of Patroclus’ indictment of Achilles and of his fatal appeal that he himself be permitted to return to the fight.

3 (p. 273) “… nor has my goddess mother brought to me / Any such word from Zeus”: This is an interpretative crux: Some readers, ancient and modern, have charged Achilles with a lack of full candor in his denial of any prophetic word from his mother, for at IX.471-478the “Choice of Achilles,” itself one of the most famous of Iliadic passagesAchilles spoke of Thetis’ prophecy of alternate fates: a long life without renown in Phthia or a youthful death at Troy recompensed by “glory forever”; other readers, however, have stressed the human motivations of Homer’s characters: They do not seek, and are not influenced by, prophetic advice, for such would diminish their mortal responsibility; prophecies are directly referred to only when their recollection is too late (see XVIII.8-12: “Olet it not be …”) ; full revelation of Zeus’ plan for Achilles does not take place until XVIII.109-111 , when Achilles, “greatly moved,” acknowledges his coming death.

4 (pp. 273-274) “I will not, it seems, Be filled with fierce anger forever, though I said I would not Change my mind till the fighters were screaming about my own vessels”: Another interpretative crux: Achilles acknowledges that he cannot remain ceaselessly wrathful, and yet he still does not return to battle but rather assents to Patroclus’ plan (which originated with Nestor) to send Patroclus forth in his stead. One interpretation proposes that Achilles is simply holding himself to his word, as he announced it to Ajax and the Embassy at IX. 747-7 59 (and see endnote 12 to book IX): He will not fight until the fire reaches his ships, which has not yet happened; Achilles, then, suffers for his own ethic of honesty. A second interpretation holds that Achilles, even while acknowledging that his wrath cannot be perpetual, clings relentlessly to his hatred of Agamemnon, who treated him as “some lowly contemptible tramp”; the price paid for Achilles’ intransigence, his “tragic error,” is the death of Patroclus. A final interpretative possibility is that Achilles recognizes that the moment to put aside his wrath has arrived, even as he honors Patroclus’ request to aid the Achaeans; Achilles relinquishes his wrath by means of an act of friendship.

5 (pp. 274-275) “… Deeply I wish… That just myself and Patroclus might live and alone Succeed in reducing this… sacred city To rubble and dust”: To Patroclus’ earlier question about what profit Achilles might be to men to come (XVI.35-36), Achilles responds with a demonic prayer for the destruction of all Achaeans and Trojans except for himself and Patroclus. And to Patroclus’ appeal to the love or comradeship of the army (Greek philotes), Achilles responds that the only love that now bindsthe only love worthy of existenceis that between himself and Patroclus. In Achilles’ prayer, the unconsciouswhere love and death intertwine, which knows neither yes nor noerupts.

6 (p. 276) … and Patroclus / Put on the glittering bronze: For arming scenes, see endnote 3 to book III above. The assemblage of Patroclus’ borrowed regalia highlights elements that likely derive from the folktale motif of three magical gifts: invincible armor, a spear that always returns to its hero, and immortal horses. Achilles’ armor will have to be knocked from Patroclus before he can be killed (XVI.913-931), while Achilles’ mighty ash spear proves too weighty for Patroclus to lift, foretelling Patroclus’ doomed effort to take over Achilles’ role. To Achilles’ immortal horses, Automedon adds, as a trace-horse, the mortal Pedasus, who will be killed by Sarpedon: The mix of mortal with immortal horses surely also bodes ill, even as it also suggests something of Patroclus’ own unstable admixture of elements.

7 (p. 279) “I pray let him come back to these swift ships and me … And with him bring back his close-fighting Myrmidon comrades”: In his solemn prayer, Achilles reminds Zeus of his positive response to Achilles’ prayer from book I: The Achaeans have, indeed, been smote (Achilles’ present prayer to Zeus follows the model set by Chryses’ second prayer to Apollo in book I, following Apollo’s striking of the Achaeans with plague [see lines 531-537]). By invoking Zeus’ prior favorable response, Achilles hopes again to influence Zeus, to bring Zeus into accord with his own desire. But Zeus’ plan no longer aligns with Achilles’ desire, nor with the possibilities of the traditional hero’s life. Achilles prays that Patroclus might gain, in the fighting, both glory and a safe returnthe two poles of Achilles’ “choice” in book IX and two elements that cannot both structure a hero’s life. In another sense, Achilles prays to Zeus to affirm Achilles’ own prior double injunction to Patroclus upon sending him forth to battle (XVI. 104-107): “to win great glory,” but not to “get carried away / In the heat of conflict and slaughter”; as we will soon see, the two commands cannot coexist.

8 (p. 284) “… and you / Will surely stir up fierce resentment among the immortals”: The death of sons and the grief of fathers has been a recurrent source of pathos in the Iliad’s account of fallen warriors; that theme is now enacted on the divine level. In response to Zeus’ sorrow and vacillation about the death of Sarpedon (which Zeus himself foretold at XV.71-74; see also V.733-738 and XII.434-435, where Sarpedon is, in each instance, saved for his present fate), Hera invokes the finality of human mortality, and, crucially, she holds Zeus to the divine compromise that was enunciated in book XV: All the gods must lose something beloved; Zeus, as ruler of the gods, must make a paradigmatic sacrifice of his own beloved son. If Zeus should fail to uphold the order of the cosmos, itself predicated upon an irreversible human mortality, chaos would ensue: All the gods would take to the battlefield.

9 (p. 290) “… the dead’s due rites, a proper / Entombment, with mound and memorial pillar”: Sarpedon’s body was earlier described as unrecognizable, covered by weapons, blood, and dust (XVI.728-730);the befouling of Sarpedon’s body anticipates the mutilation with which Patroclus’ corpse will be threatened as well as the actual savagery inflicted upon Hector’s corpse. Sarpedon’s corpse is, however, rescued by Apollo and by Sleep and Death, under orders from Zeus. The terrifying violence of the battlefield, in which warriors are not only killed but their corpses mutilated, gives way to divine cleansing and to a mysterious transport as gentle (and welcome) as sleep. The “mound and memorial pillar” that Zeus promises foresee the establishment of a heroic tomb in Lycia, at which cult honors will be dedicated to Sarpedon; later literary and epigraphical evidence does, indeed, attest to local honors in Lycia for Sarpedon (and for Glaucus).

10 (p. 291) Three times Patroclus Sprang up … and three times Apollo battered him back … : Patroclus’ triple attack upon the Wall of Troy, countered by Apollo’s triple defense, is a narrative pattern that we first saw at V.482-496, in Diomedes’ attack upon Apollo; we will see the same pattern again, at XX.497-498, where Apollo has already swept Hector away. In each instance, the hero is said to be “like a demon”or, “like something more than a man”upon his fourth charge. To make the fourth charge is, then, to surpass a mortal limit, to bring oneself into direct conflict with the godwho is, in all three cases, Apollo. In book V, Diomedes retreats following Apollo’s warning at the fourth charge (thus barely saving his life); here, in book XVI, Patroclus too retreats after the fourth charge, but only temporarily, for the pattern will soon repeat itself at lines 910-914, where Apollo proceeds to contrive Patroclus’ death. Achilleswhose permanent condition is “like something more than a man”will also be killed through Apollo’s machinations (though outside the Iliad itself).

11 (p. 292) “I had no idea they had / Such performers in Troy”: If Patroclus’ pityhis healing capacityhas been the leading element of his prior characterization, his cruel taunt over the body of Cebriones, as well as the escalating blood-frenzy of his killings, dramatizes that Patroclus is no less susceptible than his comrades to the berserker aspects of the warrior. Achilles’ parting advice to Patroclusto “come back” once the Trojans have been driven from the ships (XVI. 101-102)proves fatally impossible, for the trajectory of the warrior in his aristeia moves inevitably toward a furious transgressive violence that wreaks death even as it pollutes the warrior himself. The warrior who is “like something more than a man” is also like something less than humandefiling and finally defiled: This is the state that epic poetry itself must purify.

12 (p. 295) “… while Hector came third in my slaying”: In his death throes, Patroclus knows exactly who his slayers were, which he could not have known at the climax of battle itself, for Apollo was invisible, while Euphorbus struck from behind, then disappeared into the ranks. The nearness of death makes Patroclus prophetic, and the accuracy of his account of his own death vouchsafes his prophecy that Hector will die at Achilles’ hands. Hector’s victory precipitates Hector’s death.

Book XVII: The Valiant Deeds of Menelaus

1 (p. 300) “So something, at least, would be saved”: On the form of the warrior’s monologue, see Odysseus’ speech at XI.459-468, with endnote 3 to book XI above. Menelaus begins with an acknowledgment of his own responsibility for Patroclus’ deathbeneath which might also lurk a deeper sense of his own responsibility for the war as well as his own ineffectiveness in prosecuting it. He further acknowledges the blame that others would cast upon him for now abandoning Patroclus, but thenextraordinarily, and in marked contrast to the other monologists cited abovehe withdraws, seeking the help of Ajax. The general pattern of withdrawal and call for aid will recur throughout book XVII, as will the use of rebuke as a goad to action.

2 (p. 301) “… for he is much stronger than you”: Sarpedon’s dying words were an appeal to Glaucus, his comrade from Lycia, to recover his armor (XVI.561-572); following Sarpedon’s death (and after being healed by Apollo), Glaucus rallied the Trojan forces. In this speech of rebuke, Glaucus’ grief for his lost comrade leads to angry abuse of Hector and to the threat to return home with the remaining Lycians. Glaucus’ conviction of the cowardice and ingratitude of Hector and the Trojans, freely developed amid thoughts of the lost beloved, bears comparison to Achilles’ response to Odysseus in book IX.

3 (p. 302) … armor he had from his father: The armor of Achilles was a gift from his father, Peleus, who himself received the panoply (full suit of armor) from the gods. Hector, like Patroclus before him, secures his own doom by donning the immortal armor (as Zeus’ immediately following prophecy reiterates). The gifts of the gods are, it seems, intended only for their original recipients (and their descendants); but the divine arms also prove irresistible for those who would “be” Achilles, whether first for Patroclus in his beneficent desire to save the Achaeans and now for Hector, who is driven by a densely compacted set of emotions and motives: resentment at Glaucus’ chastening rebuke, the desire to claim (and extend) divine favor, desperate need to save Troy, and heroic vainglory.

4 (p. 304) Zeus … hated to see / His body become the delight of his enemies’ dogs: With this evocation of Zeus’ care for Patroclus as well as of the dread fate that threatens the unprotected body, the battle for Patroclus’ corpse recommences in earnest; it will not be settled until XVIII.238, by Achilles’ intervention. The extraordinary length of the battle for Patroclus’ corpse, in its brutality and animal similes, well dramatizes the tendency of Homer’s warriors to become the beastpreeminently, the dog or jackalthat they themselves most fear (the extraordinary simile of the Myrmidons and the wolves at XVI. 184192 anticipates this theme); as well, an audience remains in prolonged anticipation of Achilles’ response to his comrade’s death (Achilles’ ignorance of Patroclus’ death at lines XVII.474485).

5 (p. 309) … still As a pillar of stone on the grave of some dead man or woman, Bowing their heads to the ground: At the very center of book XVII stand Achilles’ immortal horses, as immobile as a grave stele in their mourning for Patroclus (which foreshadows their inevitable mourning for Achilles) . Zeus then proceeds to read (as it were) that central stele in his following reflections upon the “wretched” condition of humans, so keenly aware of their own mortality. Zeus’ pity, however, is more for the horses than for the humans, for the immortal horses have permitted themselves to grieve for mortals.

6 (p. 317) And there was no respite at all from the horrible war: With the sending-forth of Antilochus to Achilles and with this final chaotic scene of fighting, the absence of Achilles is drawing to a close, as is the battle narrative that has dominated the previous ten books, with the exception of book IX. The impasse evident in the fighting over Patroclus’ corpse is set to be broken by the vengeful return of Achilles.

Book XVIII: The Shield of Achilles

1 (p. 318) Truly, / Gallant Patroclus must now be dead: We have not seen Achilles since his prayer to Zeus for Patroclus’ safe return (XVI. 2 74291, with endnote 7 to book XVI above). In the monologue that opens book XVIII, Achilles fears what an audience has long known: Patroclus is dead. The evident rout of the Achaeans signals to Achilles that Patroclus must have perished. As well, Achilles now recalls Thetis’ prophetic words that Patroclus would die at Troy before Achillesa clarification of the prophecy as reported at XVII.480-483, where it was understood to mean that Achilles and Patroclus would not take Troy together (and where Achilles seemed to understand that he himself would die first). The full recollection and clarification of Thetis’ prophecynamely, that Patroclus will die firstonly comes when it is devastatingly too late. The confusion and late memory that surrounds Thetis’ prophecy serves to ensure that Achilles’ motivations are only humanlimited by partial knowledge and expectant hopes.

2 (p. 319) … Antilochus … held / The hands of heart-grieved Achilles, for fear that he might / Draw a blade and cut his own throat: Gestures of mourning and intimations of Achilles’ own death now merge. The befouling of head and of clothes while rolling in the dust is a sign of mourning, even as it is also suggestive of the warrior’s death. The lamentation of the Nereid chorus that follows, as well as the particular lament of Thetis at lines 5967: (“Here me, 0 Nereids …”), also suggests that it is Achilles who is now mourned as much as Patroclus. Thetis’ cradling of Achilles’ head upon her arrival at the ships is also a gesture of mourning ; she holds Achilles as if he were already a corpse.

3 (p. 320) “Then soon let me die! since I was not there to help / My friend when he died”: With these terse lines, among the most moving in the poem, Achilles accepts his own death; the meaning of Thetis’ prophecy is now crystalline, as is Achilles’ acceptance of it. He will return to battle not for gifts or kingships but to avenge the loss of his beloved. As Achilles acknowledges in his prior exchange with Thetis, Zeus has granted Achilles’ prayers, but only with the sacrifice of the one companion whose love bound Achilles to the mortal world. Apart from Patroclusand now forever separated from PatroclusAchilles is, as he goes on to assert, “just so much / Useless weight to burden the earth” (lines 116-117).

4 (p. 321 ) “… for I will have made them / Know what it means for me to be present in battle”: Achilles speaks of the coming mourning of the Trojan widows even as he himself lies prostrate, surrounded by the grieving Nereids. Achilles reasserts his place as warriorand his image foreshadows the Fall of Troybut in his grief for Patroclus he seems also to identify himself with the inconsolable widow. Our perspective oscillates rapidly between the heroic battle for glory and the devastation that the battle wreaks.

5 (p. 321) Then Zeus-loved Achilles Got up, and about his shoulders Athena flung The bright-tasseled aegis … : As he rises from his prostrate position of mourning, Achilles’ withdrawal comes to an awe-filled end. This is Achilles’ apotheosis, the momentary culmination of his desire for immortality Athena herself arms the naked Achilles with the divine aegis, and the goddess wreathes his head with a golden cloud, which is otherwise only associated with divinities; the fire that burns from Achilles’ head is elsewhere used by Zeus to subdue the Titans. The triple-scream of Achilles (XVIII. 2 5 4-2 5 8) is itself a deadly force, killing twelve Trojans and throwing their army into rout (thus freeing Patroclus’ corpse); and the scream is a response to the loss of the beloved Patroclusan intensification of the mourning cries upon the beach. The force that Achilles’ scream unlooses is so daemonic that the cosmos itself is disrupted : Hera, fearful of utter chaos, pushes the Sun down earlyand, at last, the Great Day of Battle comes to a stunning conclusion.

6 (p. 326) They lauded Hector and his bad advice, but not one man Had praise for Polydamas, although his counsel was wise: The poet unambiguously signals Hector’s error. Exulting in the victories of the day and still confident of Zeus’ favor, Hector vaunts that he can now defeat even Achillesif Achilles really has even returned. Borne along by Hector’s hopes, the Trojans assent to his counsel to remain on the Trojan plain rather than to retreat behind the safety of the city-wall. And so the Trojans are destroyed by Achilles on the following day.

7 (p. 331) He made lovely images there / Of earth and heaven … : For Achilles, Hephaestus forges a great round shield upon the model of those that the other heroes have carried: a shield of multiple layers stretched over a lighter frame, fronted by decorated bronze. But the divinely wrought Shield of Achilles quickly leaves its precedents behind so as to become a dazzling display of the poet’s own artnow deployed not in the representation of the heroic order, but of a non-heroic world, which we have previously glimpsed only in the similes. On the Shield of Achilles, the disparate abundance of similes scattered throughout the poem is shaped into a coherent and ordered whole. Hephaestus begins his work with the central ring of the Shield, which depicts the heavenly bodies. These are the fixed signs, whose regular, observable progress through the heavens orders the rhythms and regularities of human life and the seasons of the agricultural year.

8 (p. 331) On it he wrought / Two beautiful cities … : The second ring of the Shield (from the center) depicts a city at peace and a city at war. The emphasis falls upon cultural and political practice and mediation: The wedding and adjudication scenes present the possibility of political unity through, first, the making of kinship, then through the possibility of political adjudication of communal strife. In the city at war, we also see the possibility of collective action in the debates of the council and in the planning and execution of the ambush. For further interpretative suggestions on this ring of the Shield, see the introduction.

9 (p. 333) And there on the shield He depicted the huge estate of a king, whereon His workers were reaping … : On the third and central ring of the concentric design, Hephaestus depicts the farmer’s year: ploughing, reaping, vintage, and fallow seasons. While the first ring presented the world of nature and the second the world of human culture (as kinship and as politics), the middle ring displays man’s potentially productive relation with the natural worlda relation wholly excluded from the main narrative of the Iliad.

10 (p. 334) And on it the famous lame god / Made with great skill a dancing-floor: On the fourth and penultimate ring, Hephaestus returns to the depiction of the cultural world, but now as art. The dance is pure motion; the community depicted is a joyous one. It is the genius of the Iliad-poet to remind us that if the cultural work depicted on the second ringthe wedding and the courtis what we need to live with each other in something close to peace (in private and in public), we yet also need artful communion and release; while the second ring depicts the culture that we need, the fourth ring depicts the culture that we want.

11 (p. 334) … all about the rim of the massive shield / He put the powerful stream of the river Oceanus: The final, encircling ring of the Shield repeats the pure motion of the fourth ring, though now in the realm of nature, and presents a contrast to the first ring, which depicted nature in its fixity and regularity.

Book XIX: The Reconciliation

1 (p. 337) “Now I … shall put an end To my wrath. It would hardly become me to go on this way Forever”: Achilles’ language and sentiment is quite close to that at XVI.7274 (and see endnote 4 to book XVI) . In the earlier passage, the recognition that anger cannot be fierce forever led to the sending forth of Patroclus. With Patroclus now dead, and with Achilles suffering for that death, Achilles himself will venture forth. Though Achilles’ speech is one of reconciliation with Agamemnon and with the Achaean camp (he does not speak of Patroclus or of the motive of revenge in this speech), his imperiousness remains: It was Achilles who called the Assembly, and it is Achilles who now gives a battle-order to Agamemnon.

2 (p. 337) “Very often you men of Achaea have had Your say and spoken against me, though really I am not To blame”: Agamemnon, in response to Achilles’ expression of remorse to the assembled Achaeans, pronounces himself blameless: Zeus, Fate, the Fury, and, most especially, Ate (“Sweet Folly”) gained control of him; Agamemnon has blamed Ate before, in his false account of Zeus in book II and in his sincere and desperate proposal to flee Troy in book IX (see II.131-132 and IX.132, with endnotes to each passage). In hindsight, a foolish and disastrous act, otherwise inexplicable, is blamed upon an impulse from without. Agamemnon proceeds to offer a lengthy etiology of Ateand why she wanders among mortalsin his retelling of the birth and bondage of Heracles. Throughout his account, Agamemnon draws a parallel, doubtless displeasing to Achilles, between himself and Zeus, but ignores the parallel suggested by the story of Heracles and Eurystheusthe man of better nature enslaved to the man of kingly power.

3 (p. 339) “Renowned … Agamemnon, / The gifts are yours to give or withhold”: Though Ate is to blame, Agamemnon does offer gifts to Achilles; the social practice of compensationthe acceptance of juridical responsibilityneeds still to be enacted. Achilles, however, no less than in book IX, is unmoved by the old stories and will not accept Agamemnon’s gifts. No less than before, Achilles’ acceptance of Agamemnon’s compensatory gifts would legitimate Agamemnon’s authority, as well as the underlying economy of heroic honor. The desire for revenge drives Achilles’ return to the Achaean camp, but he remains resistant to the social forms and obligations that construct and govern that camp.

4 (p. 340) “It would be much better… to take care of these things / At some other time … when my own spirit is somewhat appeased”: Odysseus has diplomatically proposed a transfer of gifts and a swearing of oaths; he has also vigorously and at surprising length asserted the necessity of the feast so as to refresh and fortify the troops for the coming battle; Agamemnon approves. Achilles again defers the gifts and, now, the oaths (when the gifts are brought to his shelter, he makes no acknowledgment of them); as for the feast, whose practical necessity is so passionately described by Odysseus, Achilles will not join in that either. To Odysseus’ appeals to the life-sustaining necessity of food, Achilles, now death-bound, is impervious. The feast, for Achilles, is neither an occasion of collective commensality nor even of biological sustenance; what does sustain is the desire for revenge.

5 (p. 343) “Hence I weep / For your death without ceasing, for you the forever gentle”: Briseis, the object of the initial dispute between Achilles and Agamemnon, previously a mute sign of the honor of male heroes, now speaks. The history that she recounts is one of escalating loss, including that of her husband. But Patroclus, “forever gentle” in his healing role, had assuaged Briseis’ grief with the promise of a wedding in Phthia to Achilles, where she might have recovered a social place and a social world. With the death of Patroclus and, soon, that of Achilles, Briseis’ displacement and griefher suffering of the depredations of warbecomes, again, her fixed fate.

6 (p. 344) … my own Neoptolemus, / If indeed that godlike boy is still alive: Achilles makes the extraordinary assertion that the death of Patroclus is more grievous to him than that of father or of son. The prior limit of imaginable grief, the loss of male kin, is here surpassed by the loss of the companion in love. To eat would, in Achilles’ formulation, be a betrayal of that love, for it would be a tacit admission that life goes on in the absence of the beloved.

Book XX: The Gods at War

1 (p. 347) But powerful Zeus … BadeThemis call the gods to a meeting … : At the end of book XIX, Achilles had armed in his new panoply, had mounted his chariot, and was setting off to lead the Achaeans (who have by now had their feast) into battle. His aristeia is now interrupted by a council of the gods, at which Zeus revokes the prohibition that he had established at the divine council that began book VIII: The gods are now free to enter the melee. Zeus’ reasons are twofold: Without the gods on the field, Achilles will too soon, earlier than is fated, take Troy; and Zeus, who now watches from the Olympian heights, anticipates a spectacularly entertaining contest: the comedic struggles of the gods; the piteous, tragic struggles of the mortals. We might also suggest that the disordering presence of the gods upon the battlefieldat XX.67-73, Hades itself might burst openis especially appropriate to the return of Achilles: As the overthrowing son that Zeus avoided by marrying Thetis to Peleus (see endnote 7 to book I above), Achilles, in his return to battle, with its cosmic and potentially chaos-inducing response, evokes the cosmos-overturning battle that Zeus has forever precludedand that Zeus now manages, as if the artist-director of a private spectacle.

2 (p. 349) So gods advanced to meet gods: With the gods now paired off against each other, like boxers awaiting the bell, the poet suddenly returns our attention to Achilles. The narrative of the Theomachy, “The Battle of the Gods,” will not resume until XXI.431 (where it will take a rather more comic turn). Achilles’ aristeiathe hero himself is searching relentlessly for Hectoris now rejoined, but only to be interrupted again: Rather than the usual series of successful duels, Achilles is now involved in a lengthy and inconclusive battle with Aeneas (on whom, see endnote 9 to book II and endnote 4 to book XIII above).

3 (p. 352) “But I claim descent from courageous Anchises, my father, And Aphrodite herself”: Achilles has just taunted Aeneas for his lack of favor within the Trojan ruling house (“Priam would not give the kingship to you. King Priam Has sons of his own,” lines 205-206). Aeneas, following his complaints about needless verbosity, responds to Achilles with an extended discourse on genealogical themes. He first matches his descent from Aphrodite against Achilles’ descent from Thetis (both heroes are “half-divines”), then offers a full recitation of the Trojan genealogical line. Aeneas’ recitation, coming at a point in the poem where images of Troy’s impending destruction have been cumulating (most impressively in the similes on the fire that shoots from Achilles’ head upon his appearance at the trench, XVIII.232-239), serves as a memorial of the entire Trojan line, which is soon to be utterly destroyedwith the exception of Aeneas himself (see note immediately below).

4 (p. 355) “… Aeneas shall soon rule The Trojans, and after him the sons of his sons, Great princes yet to be born”: Poseidon’s prophecy of Aeneas’ coming rule over the Trojans reverses the lack of honor in which his line is now held. Though the line that descends from Ilus through Priam and his sons will be destroyed for Paris’ abduction of Helen, the descendants of Aphrodite through the blameless line of Anchises and Aeneas will be saved (see, too, the Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite 196-197, which likewise prophecies the survival of Aeneas’ line) . The contrast between the fates of Achilles and Aeneas, both goddess-born, is instructive: Achilles dies as a youthful hero and will be immortalized in the honorthe poetic famethat the bard bestows; Aeneas, in contrast, will survive Troy’s fall so as to be immortalized in the city-founding and cultural work of his own descendants; the former is immortalized in the timelessness of art, the latter in the ongoing works of history. (Virgil’s version of Poseidon’s prophecy is: hic domus Aeneae cunctis dominabitur oris / et nati natorum et qui nascentur ab illis (“There the house of Aeneas will reign over all lands, even his children’s children and those who will be born of them”) , Aeneid 3.97-98).

5 (p. 357) … Achilles … charged / Mid the Trojans, screaming his awesome war-cry: Achilles’ aristeia, much interrupted, now begins in earnest with a massacre ; the mounting carnage is vividly evoked by the image of the chariot wheel that lacerates the corpse beneath (an image reiterated in greater detail in the final lines of this book). Achilles’ killing of the especially youthful, especially beloved Polydorus, son of Priam, draws Hector back to the forefront of the battle.

6 (p. 359) ButApollo caught Hector up, with all the ease / Of a god, and wrapped him in cloud: Achilles is, once again, thwarted by divine intervention; even Achilles’ power, it seems, is limited by the fated time for the Fall of Troy. On the immediately following triple attack, see endnote 10 to book XVI. While the fourth attack has, in our prior examples, placed the hero in fatal danger, Achilles will emerge from Apollo’s mist baffled, but with his killing energy redoubled; “like a demon,” he will slaughter the Trojans until, as is prophesiedbut deferredwithin the Iliad, Apollo (and Paris) will kill him before the gates of Troy.

Book XXI: The Struggle of Achilles and the River

1 . (p. 363) Lycaon then pleaded, with one hand clasping / Achilles’ knees, with the other his sharp-pointed spear: For prior scenes of supplication, see endnote 1 to book VI above. Achilles’ encounter with Lycaon is the culmination of supplication scenes involving “minor” characters; as well, it prepares the audience for the plea of Hector in book XXII. Lycaon, moreover, has a prior claim upon Achilles’ religious scruples: While Lycaon was Achilles’ captive (as both Achilles and Lycaon recount, Achilles didin the time before the death of Patroclusrespect the pleas of suppliants), he received hospitality (“Demeter’s bread”) from him; the breaking of bread between captor and captive creates a bond of guest-friendship between the two; this aspect of Lycaon’s story perhaps anticipates the shared meal in book XXIV between Achilles and Priam (who is Lycaon’s father).

2 (p. 364) “One morning or evening or noon Will surely come when some man shall kill me in battle, Either by hurling his spear or shooting a shaft / From the bowstring”: Achilles acknowledges Lycaon’s claims as suppliant and guest-friend by calling Lycaon “friend” (line 132, Greek philos) . Yet, in Achilles’ present logic, all are preeminently “friend”or “dear”to death. Claims of religious scruple, as also claims of rank and statusAchilles, after all, is a goddess’ sonare rendered meaningless by the brute fact of death itself: As Patroclus has died, so must Hector; as Hector, so Achilles; as Achilles, so all mortals. Achilles, in his demonic presence upon the battlefield, has himself become death for the Trojans, the agent of their fate as mortals.

3 (p. 364) “… and many a wave-hidden fish shall dart up / Beneath the dark ripple to eat the fat of Lycaon”: Though the haunting threat that the hero’s body will be devoured by dogs and birds is never literally fulfilled in the Iliad, Achilles does feed the body of Lycaon (and of Asteropaeus, soon to follow) to the eels and the fishes. If death in the river perhaps holds some possibility of purification that might lessen the horror of consumption by the fishes, that possibility is quickly eliminated by the complaint of Xanthus, the river-god, that his waters have been polluted by the slaughter that Achilles has wreaked within it.

4 (p. 366) “Very hard it is for the son / Of a river to vie with a child of Cronosson”: Achilles, vaunting over the corpse of the ambidextrous Asteropaeus, now responds to his opponent’s initial boast of being born of a river goddess: Achilles is a son of Zeus, with whom no mere son of a river can contend; even Oceanus, the source of all the world’s rivers, is no match for Zeus’ lightning. Achilles’ attempt to assert Zeus’ paternity is, perhaps, motivated by the success of Aeneas’ claims of superior descent from Aphrodite, which were acknowledged by Poseidon’s rescue. By invoking his grandfather Aeacus’ descent from Zeus, Achilles would play a genealogical trump card, though he can do so only by ignoring his mother’s association with the element of water and by invoking his grandfather rather than his father.

5 (p. 368) “0 Father Zeus, why is it / That none of the gods will pity my plight and save me / From this dread river?”: Achilles’ boast of genealogical superiority to any river has been put to the test by the enraged Scamander and has been proven false. The river has overwhelmed him, seemingly sweeping away even the possibility of a hero’s death before Troy; what awaits is an ignoble death no better than that of “some poor pig-herding boy”so much for Achilles’ genealogical boasts! Likewise, Achilles’ prayer to Zeus, of whose paternity he just boasted, will not be answered; rather, Poseidon and Athena, in mortal form, will offer Achilles encouragement. The defeat of Achilles’ claims to be the son of Zeus again evokes the underlying mythology of Zeus’ avoidance of union with Thetis (on which see endnote 1 to book XX and endnote 7 to book I); if Achilles were the son of Zeus, he would be the ruler of the cosmos. The battle with the river, in all its disordering and polluting force, evokes the possibility of Achilles’ descent from Zeus, only so as to reject it decisively.

6 (p. 369) … he sent his towering wave, churning / With foam and blood and corpses, raging down / On Achilles: The process begun by Achilles’ slaughter-drive of half the Trojans into the river and by his feeding of Lycaon and Asteropaeus to the fishes reaches a pitch of pollution, which then provokes yet more pollution. Only the fire of Hephaestuswhich now engages in an elemental battle with the water of the rivercan finally succeed in purifying the Scamandrus’ streams; the higher purifying element burns the corpses and restores the prior beauty of the river (XXI.427-428).

7 (p. 371) And Zeus, from where he sat high up on Olympus, / Heard the clashing and laughed to himself, delighted / To see the immortals at odds with each other: With the laughter of Zeus, the Theomachy, which was interrupted at XX.84, where the gods were paired off and champing for action, resumes. The bouts that follow, with the exception of that between Apollo and Poseidon, prove well worthy of Zeus’ laughter. The knockabout antics of the gods offer a brief respite from the defilement of Achilles’ battle with the river and the upcoming duel with Hector. The essential frivolity of the Homeric gods is contrasted to the heroizing efforts of the mortals (a point acknowledged at the conclusion of the one non-comic encounter, between Poseidon and Apollo, where the brevity of human life becomes the reason for the gods’ withdrawal). Finally, the comic battles present a last defeat of the pro-Trojan gods (Ares, Aphrodite, Artemis, Hermes) prior to the Fall of Troy. Only Apollo retains his dignity; he departs to protect the fleeing Trojans, but even his role is limited to assuring that Achilles does not sack Troy before its appointed time (XXI.586-589).

Book XXII: The Death of Hector

1 (p. 380) “… surely nothing more foul than this can come upon / Wretched mortals”: Priam concludes his appeal to Hector with a vivid description of the very worst death that can befall a Homeric man: to be devoured by his own dogs before his own house, exposed and disgraced among his own people; the proper orders of both house and community are betrayed and overturned. The warrior’s role, which finds its origin in the necessity of the community’s defense, is also associated with a savagery that reduces humans to predatory dogs and that destroys the constituent values of civilization itself. In his appeal to Hector to return within the walls of Troy rather than to face Achilles, Priam threatens Hector with the guilt of killing a parent; so tooin the following speechdoes Hecuba, who, in exposing her breast to her son, makes her appeal in the most literal of ways.

2 (p. 381) ” Great Hector put all / Of his trust in his own brute strength and destroyed the whole army’ “: In the first portion of his soliloquy, Hector recalls his error in rejecting the advice of Polydamas at XVIII.353-355 (on which see endnote 6 to book XVIII): The Trojans did remain on the Trojan plain, where they were then destroyed on the following day by Achilles. Hector’s sense of shame before his community causes him now to remain outside the wall. His words also recall his dialogue with Andromache at VI.486-487 (on which, see endnote 8 to book VI). Hector had rejected Andromache’s plea that he remain within the wall by invoking his sense of aidesof reverence and shame before the community. He now invokes that same sense of aidosbefore Polydamas, before the women of Troy, before the nameless inferior manto explain his inability to return within the walls of Troy; as Andromache had foreseen, Hector’s own strength will be his downfall.

3 (p. 381) “… such as / A boy and his girl might have with each otherboy / And his girl indeed”: As Hector feels himself isolated from the community, the preeminent source of his strength and identity, he falls into fantasy: first, of somehow arranging a settlement between Trojans and Achaeans, thenmost startlinglyof approaching Achilles as a virgin girl approaches a boy in a scene of courtship. Having lost his social identity as warrior of Troy, he imagines himself to be “some hopeless woman.”

4 (p. 386) “There are no faithful oaths between lions and men … But they are always at fatal odds with each other”: To Hector’s proposal that each pledge to the other that he will return the vanquished man’s corpse, Achilles responds that oaths are not possible between beings of different species; Achilles will treat Hector as the wild animal treats his prey. Hesiod, in his Works and Days (275-279), provides one commentary upon Achilles’ claims: “Cast these things into your heart / And listen now to justice; forget about force. This law the son of Cronos set out for people: Fish and beasts and winged birds eat each other, since they have no justice. / To men he gave justice; it is best by far.”

5 (p. 387) … the beautiful / Gear he had stripped from mighty Patroclus when he / Cut him down: When Achilles looks at Hector, he sees his own armor (which Hector had put on at XVII. 2 2 5-231, and see endnote 3 to book XVII). He is, thus, reminded of Patroclus, even as he puts the spear to an image of his former self. Virgil recalls and transforms this scene at the close of the Aeneid, when Aeneas kills Turnus upon catching sight of the belt that Turnus had stripped from Pallas (Aeneid 12.940-952).

6 (pp. 387-388) “I only wish I were savagely wrathful / Enough to hack up your corpse and eat it raw … but dogs and birds shall devour you, Bones and all”: This is perhaps the most horrific speech in the Iliad, though one for which we have been well prepared; see Achilles’ preceding image of the lion at XXII. 301, his treatment of the bodies of Lycaon (XXI. 151-156) and Asteropaeus (XXI.234-238), as well as Zeus’ ascription to Hera of the desire to eat “old Priam raw Along with … all the rest of the Trojans” at IV.40-41 ; finally, Hecuba will express a desire to eat Achilles’ liver at XXIV.250-251. In Achilles’ present speech to Hector, he addresses Hector as “dog”; but note that in a preceding simile, the poet has compared Achilles to a dog (XXII.213-216, “as when a hound …”) . The relation between predator and prey is continuous and reversible: As the warrior marshals from within himself the predatory energies that his role requires, he becomes himself a beastand always potential prey to another.

7 (p. 389) … and the once so handsome head was defiled / With foul dust: The evocation of Hector’s prior godlike beauty and status in Troy is immediately followed by Achilles’ defiling of Hector’s body. For Achilles, it is as if killing Hector is not enough to satisfy his desire for vengeance, but he must again and again enact the conquest of Hector by continually despoiling his body (which the gods will protect). The resolution of this impassethe release of Hectoris, then, central to the final book of the poem.

8 (p. 390) … far from all baths strong fire-eyed Athena had cut / Hector down by the hand of Achilles: Andromache was last seen in the final scene of book VI, where Hector had instructed her to return to her loom and to her supervision of the household maids, while he returned to the battle (lines 541-544). These are precisely the activities in which Andromache is now engaged, with the further detailof excruciating pathosthat she has ordered the water for Hector’s bath to be heated. With the casting off of the headdress that she had received at her wedding and with her imagining of the fate of Astyanax, the full desolation of her future is vividly anticipated.

Book XXIII: The Funeral Games for Patroclus

1 (p. 394) … wash from his flesh the horrible gore: The inconsolable, irresolvable quality of Achilles’ grief, even after the slaying of Hector, is suggested by his unwillingness to wash the gore of the battle from his body. Achilles insists, as it were, upon his own impurity, his own distance from the purifying activities of his comrades. Likewise, he remains apart from the feast and its commensalities, even as he now arranges a sacrifice and feast for the other Achaeans. And, finally, he continues in his despoliation of Hector’s body, futilely seeking resolution through the repetition of his own violence and anger.

2 (p. 395) “But bury me soon as you can, that I / May get within Hades’ gates”: In the opening of his speech, Patroclus’ ghost states the ancient belief that cremation or burial permitted the ghost to enter Hades; once the body was buried, the ghost could no longer depart Hades. Throughout the speech, Patroclus’ ghost recalls, if enigmatically, details that evoke the quality of his former life with Achilles: In life, the two “sat apart” from their comrades, where they made private plans; in death, Patroclus’ ghost now asks that that separate unity be maintained: The ashen remains of the two should be mingled in a single urn. Patroclus’ ghost concludes his speech with a recollection of his own boyhood arrival in Phthia, as a fugitive from the slaying of a playmate over a game a dice (an ironic commentary on “gentle Patroclus”?). Once in Phthia, Patrocluslike Phoenix before him (see IX.500-508, with endnote 7 to book IX)received far more from Peleus than the conventions of asylum required: While Phoenix received a surrogate son to love, Patroclus receives a friend who will be beloved.

3 (p. 398) And killing with bronze twelve valiant sons of the Trojans/ An evil act he had planned in his heart … : Achilles’ premeditated sacrifice of the twelve Trojans (prepared for at XVIII.382-384 and XXI.29-30) is an act of exceptional violence, going far beyond anything that Patroclus’ ghost instructed and further dramatizing the irremediable quality of Achilles’ mourning: The blood-price of Patroclus is paid by the lives of twelve others, yet still Achilles remains without peace, lacking any relation to the world that is not articulated through violence; even after the sacrifice of the twelve Trojans, Achilles continues his boast that he will feed Hector to the dogs.

4 (p. 400) But Achilles restrained them and seated the troops in a large / Open space where the funeral games were to be: Following the cremation of Patroclus’ body and the heaping up of the grave-barrow, Achilles brings forth the prizes for the funeral games, which will occupy the remainder of book XXIII. The events will be the chariot-race (lines 336-751by far the longest of the events), boxing (752-812), wrestling (813-861), running (862-928), warrior’s duel (929-959), putting the shot (960-987), archery (988-1024), and spear-throwing (1025-1043). The events are themselves imitations of aspects of combat; at the games, the contestants deploy the skills and strengths that also serve them on the battlefield, but the victor is restrained by the rules of the contest, while the loser is not victimized, is not made the victor’s prize. In the context of the funeral of Patroclus, the games are an opportunity for a wounded and grieving community to reassert, within a controlled arena, some of its constituent strengths and potential unities. Achilles himself, however, remains remote, a detached, godlike convener of the contests and an arbiter of disputes. The sustaining passion of Achilles remains the dragging and defiling of Hector’s body, an action in excess of any mortal rules, yet not beyond mortal capacity.

5 (p. 412) And up got huge Telamonian Ajax and with him / Resourceful Odysseus, skilled at tricks and contriving: The wrestling contest of Ajax and Odysseus perhaps foreshadows the contest of the same two heroes, at the post-Iliadic funeral games of Achilles, for the hero’s armsa contest that will be won by Odysseus by treachery and one that will lead to Ajax’ suicide. Here, Achilles, with the mediating, strife-dispelling tact that he displays throughout the games precludes such a disaster by declaring both heroes to be the victor (so, too, does the poet of the Iliad forestall Odysseus’ coming victories over a heroism of strength by one of craft).

6 (p. 417) “Atrides, we all / Know well how far you surpass all others … so the basin is yours without a contest”: If Agamemnon were to lose the spear-throwing contest, the ability of games to disguise and regulate the harder violence and inequities of the social order would be sorely taxed; it is best not to put Agamemnon’s prowess to the actual test, but instead to simply acknowledge his preeminence. Thus, in the realm of games, does Achilles avoid an outbreak of the resentments and angers that ignited the strife of book I.

Book XXIV. Priam and Achilles

1 (p. 418) Achilles, then, madly raging, / Foully dishonored the body of noble Hector … : For Achilles, nothing has changed. Though he convened and adjudicated the rituals of the games with extraordinary grace, those rituals have accomplished nothing for him: He remains restless and disconsolate in his grief and longing for Patroclus; he continues futilely to wreak his inexhaustible vengeance upon Hector’s corpse. We move, then, from the realm of social practice (the games) to divine intervention.

2 (p. 419) “… But when he has wept and fittingly mourned For him, he ends his grieving, for surely the fates Have given to men a tough and patient spirit”: Apollo, in his complaint to the other gods about the savage mourning of Achilles (he is like a “lordly lion”), describes Achilles as having destroyed pity and shame (Greek aidos, on which see endnote 8 to book VI); he is responsive to his community neither as one recognizing a shared mortal lot nor as one guided by that community’s norms. Moreover, Achilles’ mourningclaims Apolloexceeds that appropriate for blood-kin, and even the loss of blood-kin is one that mortals, with their “tough” spirits, are able to bring to an end. Apollo’s claim about blood-kin is earlier contradicted by Achilles’ claim that Patroclus’ death is more painful than that of father or son (XIX.371-374, with endnote 6 to book XIX). Finally, the truth of Apollo’s claim about the tough, enduring spirit of mortals remains at issue in the following encounter of Achilles and Priam and, especially, in Achilles’ retelling of the story of Niobe.

3 (p. 427) And Priam went on toward the ships, nor were they unnoticed / By far-seeing Zeus: Priam’s nighttime journey to visit Achilles contains many elements of a katabasis, or Journey to the Underworld. Even before setting out, Priam has been bewailed as a dead man by Hecuba and by his kin and household. His crossing of the Trojan plain to the shelter of Achilles is guided by Hermes, who is traditionally a psychopompos, a conductor of the souls of the dead to Hades. Together, Priam and Hermes pass by a tomb (that of Ilos) and cross over a river. Night, Hermes, the crossings of tomb and of riverthese are four mythical boundaries of Hades. The elaborate and emphatically heavy door of Achilles’ shelter is also suggestive of the entrance to Hades’ palace. Achilles, then, who has slain so many of Priam’s sons, plays the role of King of the Dead (or, perhaps, that of Minos, rich judge of the Underworld).

4 (p. 431 ) … so now Achilles was seized / With exceeding amazement at the sight of sacred Priam, / And those who were with him marveled and looked at each other: This is the Iliad’s final and most magnificent scene of supplication: The familiar gesture of grasping the knees is here followed by Priam’s kissing of the man-slaying hands of Achilles; in the crossing of a taboo boundary, there is, perhaps, some new possibility of healing. In the simile that follows, Priam is the murderer, while Achilles is the wealthy man who might offer refuge; for a moment each takes on the role of the other (of refugee and of king, of father and of son)an occasion of wonder, which opens each to the experience of the other’s grief; it remains uncertain whether, as Apollo claims, mortals, with their tough hearts, can put their grief away, but between Achilles and Priam grief can now be shared. So, too, can a meal now be shared, as well as the telling of stories, within which Achilles and Priam might locate and make sense of their common humanity.

5 (p. 434) … Achilles himself / Lifted it onto a bier and helped his companions / Lift it onto the wagon: Having shared in Priam’s grief for Hector, Achilles now supervises the washing of Hector’s body and, with his own hands, places the body upon the wagon that will carry it to the bier; this is the traditional task of the mother of the dead. Thus, Achilles inaugurates and participates in the burial of Hector, with which the Iliad is complete.

INSPIRED BY THE ILIAD AND THE ODYSSEY

The Iliad and the Odyssey established the underpinnings of all subsequent serious Greek poetry and drama. Important Greek poets who followedfrom Aeschylus to Sophocles to Theocritusborrowed techniques used in the two poems, including elevated language and a distinguished hero in a situation of extremity. The Latin critic Longinus pointed out the Iliad and the Odyssey’s influence on, among others, Plato and Herodotus, and the works’ strong impact on ancient Greece was well documented. In addition to poets, dramatists, philosophers, and historians, the overall culture reflected veneration for “Homer”; the Greeks printed his imagined face on coins, held celebration days in his honor, and often repeated his verse aloud.

Virgil’s Aeneid (c.29-19 B.C.E.), the great Latin poem of the classical age, is in many ways a sequel to the Iliad. Virgil modeled the poem on the Greek narrative in an effort to link ancient Greece with the later flowering of Rome. The Aeneid follows the journey of the Trojan hero Aeneas as he flees the smoldering remains of Troy and realizes that his destiny is to found a grand new city in the West. The first six books, patterned after the Odyssey, trace his journey to what is modern-day Italy. Borrowing heavily from the Iliad, the subsequent six books detail the war between the Trojans and the native Latins, who are wary of the influx of foreigners. The Trojans eventually win the war, and Aeneas marries the daughter of a local ruler and establishes the city of Lavinium; his descendants go on to found Rome.

After the Roman Empire collapsed in the late fifth century C.E., Homeric studies became practically dormant for hundreds of years. In the fourteenth century, Italian poets Giovanni Boccaccio and Francesco Petrarca (Petrarch) commissioned Latin translations of the Iliad and the Odyssey that helped spread the reputation of the epics during the Renaissance. Though in The House of Fame (c.1374-1385) Chaucer cites the two poems as a key influence, their impact was slight in England before the sixteenth century, when the study of Greek became more common in schools. George Chapman’s famed English translation of the Iliad appeared in 1598. Shakespeare drew from Chapman’s Iliad for the play Troilus and Cressida, a tragic love story set in Troy.

The English language’s closest match to the Iliad and the Odyssey is John Milton’s Paradise Lost (1667); the preeminent epic poem in English, it reflects Milton’s profound understanding of the spirit of the great Greek epics. Paradise Lost tells the biblical tale of Adam and Eve’s fall from grace, with special emphasis on the role of a magnificently characterized Satan. Besides following the style of the Iliad, Milton modeled the opening scene and several other parts of his poem directly on it.

In the eighteenth century, Alexander Pope achieved wealth and renown for his translation of the Iliad, the first parts of which appeared in 1715. Owing partly to Chapman and Pope, and the decline of medievalism, the Iliad and the Odyssey were among the most widely read works in England in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Their influence at the time manifested itself most clearly in an abundance of mock epics that parodied the traditional form’s lofty themes and diction. Among these the best remembered today is Pope’s poem The Rape of the Lock (1714).

John Keats wrote two sonnets about the Greek epics: “On First Looking into Chapman’s Homer” (1816) and “To Homer” ( 1818) . In the latter poem, Keats writes of the bard:

So thou wast blind;but then the veil was rent,

For Jove uncurtain’d heaven to let thee live,

And Neptune made for thee a spumy tent,

And Pan made sing for thee his forest-hive.

Lord Byron wrote the epic Don Juan (1819-1824) in the Homeric style, and several other poets also invoked it, including William Wordsworth, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, and Ralph Waldo Emerson. Among nineteenth-century poets, Alfred, Lord Tennyson, most famous for “The Charge of the Light Brigade” (1854), shows the strongest Homeric influence in style and subject. But in general the nineteenth century was a time of invention in the world of poetry, and most authors steered clear of the epic form.

Several twentieth-century poets and prose stylists reimagined the two great epic Greek works with radical new perspectives. Rupert Brooke’s poem “Menelaus and Helen” (1911) cynically sees the couple growing senile in Troy years after the war has ended. Arguably the most innovative stylistic adaptation is James Joyce’s Ulysses (1922), which mirrors Homeric epic in structure and scope yet takes place in modern Dublin on a single day: June 16, 1904. The title poem in W.H. Auden’s The Shield of Achilles (1955) is a sober work that debunks the supposed majesty of war, instead exposing its gruesome inhumanity. Omeros (1990), an epic poem by Caribbean-born Derek Walcott, winner of the 1992 Nobel Prize in Literature, movingly applies the Homeric template to the lives of fisherman and villagers on the island of Saint Lucia.

The twentieth century’s invention on behalf of narrativethe cinemahas made abundant use of the two great Greek epics. Recently, Brad Pitt starred as Achilles in director Wolfgang Petersen’s blockbuster Troy (2004), which was loosely based on the Iliad. Generally, however, film has favored the Odyssey over its counterpart; the creative adaptation of Joel and Ethan Cohen’s 0 Brother, Where Art Thou? (2000) is a notable example.

COMMENTS & QUESTIONS

In this section, we aim to provide the reader with an array of perspectives on the text, as well as questions that challenge those perspectives. The commentary has been culled from sources as diverse as comments contemporaneous with the work, literary criticism of later generations, and appreciations written throughout the work’s history. Following the commentary, a series of questions seeks to filter Homer’s Iliad through a variety of points of view and bring about a richer understanding of this enduring work.

Comments

PLATO

Homer intended Achilles to be the bravest of the men who went to Troy, Nestor the wisest, and Odysseus the wiliest.

from Lesser Hippias (c.399 B.C.E.), translated by Benjamin Jowett (1871)

ARISTOTLE

Besides this, Epic poetry must divide into the same species as Tragedy; it must be either simple or complex, a story of character or one of suffering. Its parts, too, with the exception of Song and Spectacle, must be the same, as it requires Peripeties, Discoveries, and scenes of suffering just like Tragedy. Lastly, the Thought and Diction in it must be good in their way. All these elements appear in Homer first; and he has made due use of them. His two poems are each examples of construction, the Iliad simple and a story of suffering, the Odyssey complex (there is Discovery throughout it) and a story of character. And they are more than this, since in Diction and Thought too they surpass all other poems.

from the Poetics (c.350 B.C.E.), translated by Ingram Bywater (1920)

QUINTILIAN

I shall, I think, be right in following the principle laid down by Aratus in the line, “With Jove let us begin,” and in beginning with Homer. He is like his own conception of Ocean, which he describes as the source of every stream and river; for he has given us a model and an inspiration for every department of eloquence. It will be generally admitted that no one has ever surpassed him in the sublimity with which he invests great themes or the propriety with which he handles small. He is at once luxuriant and concise, sprightly and serious, remarkable at once for his fullness and his brevity, and supreme not merely for poetic, but for oratorical power as well. For, to say nothing of his eloquence, which he shows in praise, exhortation and consolation, do not the ninth book containing the embassy to Achilles, the first describing the quarrel between the chiefs, or the speeches delivered by the counsellors in the second, display all the rules of art to be followed in forensic or deliberative oratory? As regards the emotions, there can be no one so ill-educated as to deny that the poet was the master of all, tender and vehement alike. Again, in the few lines with which he introduces both of his epics, has he not, I will not say observed, but actually established the law which should govern the composition of the exordium? For, by his invocation of the goddesses believed to preside over poetry he wins the goodwill of his audience, by his statement of the greatness of his themes he excites their attention and renders them receptive by the briefness of his summary. Who can narrate more briefly than the hero who brings the news of Patroclus’ death, or more vividly than he who describes the battle between the Curetes and the Aetolians? Then consider his similes, his amplifications, his illustrations, digressions, indications of fact, inferences, and all the other methods of proof and refutation which he employs. They are so numerous that the majority of writers on the principles of rhetoric have gone to his works for examples of all these things. And as for perorations, what can ever be equal to the prayers which Priam addresses to Achilles when he comes to beg for the body of his son? Again, does he not transcend the limits of human genius in his choice of words, his reflexions, figures, and the arrangement of his whole work, with the result that it requires a powerful mind, I will not say to imitate, for that is impossible, but even to appreciate his excellences? But he has in truth outdistanced all that have come after him in every department of eloquence; above all, he has outstripped all other writers of epic, the contrast in their case being especially striking owing to the similarity of the material with which they deal.

from Institutio Oratoria (c.96 A.C.E.), translated by H. E. Butler ( 1920)

LONGINUS

Was Herodotus alone a devoted imitator of Homer? No, Stesichorus even before his time, and Archilochus, and above all Plato, who from the great Homeric source drew to himself innumerable tributary streams. And perhaps we should have found it necessary to prove this, point by point, had not Ammonius and his followers selected and recorded the particulars.

This proceeding is not plagiarism; it is like taking an impression from beautiful forms or figures or other works of art. And it seems to me that there would not have been so fine a bloom of perfection on Plato’s philosophical doctrines, and that he would not in many cases have found his way to poetical subject-matter and modes of expression, unless he had with all his heart and mind struggled with Homer for the primacy, entering the lists like a young champion matched against the man whom all admire, and showing perhaps too much love of contention and breaking a lance with him as it were, but deriving some profit from the contest none the less. For, as Hesiod says, “This strife is good for mortals.” And in truth that struggle for the crown of glory is noble and best deserves the victory in which even to be worsted by one’s predecessors brings no discredit.

from On the Sublime (approximately first century C.E.), translated by W. Rhys Roberts ( 1899)

ALEXANDER POPE

Homer is universally allowed to have had the greatest invention of any writer whatever. The praise of judgment Virgil has justly contested with him, and others may have their pretensions as to particular excellences; but his invention remains yet unrivalled. Nor is it a wonder if he has ever been acknowledged the greatest of poets, who most excelled in that which is the very foundation of poetry. It is the invention that, in different degrees, distinguishes all great geniuses….

Our author’s work is a wild paradise, where, if we cannot see all the beauties so distinctly as in an ordered garden, it is only because the number of them is infinitely greater. It is like a copious nursery, which contains the seeds and first productions of every kind, out of which those who followed him have but selected some particular plants, each according to his fancy, to cultivate and beautify. If some things are too luxuriant it is owing to the richness of the soil; and if others are not arrived to perfection or maturity, it is only because they are overrun and oppressed by those of a stronger nature.

It is to the strength of this amazing invention we are to attribute that unequalled fire and rapture which is so forcible in Homer, that no man of a true poetical spirit is master of himself while he reads him. What he writes is of the most animated nature imaginable; every thing moves, every thing lives, and is put in action. If a council be called, or a battle fought, you are not coldly informed of what was said or done as from a third person; the reader is hurried out of himself by the force of the poet’s imagination, and turns in one place to a hearer, in another to a spectator….

We come now to the characters of his persons; and here we shall find no author has ever drawn so many, with so visible and surprising a variety, or given us such lively and affecting impressions of them. Every one has something so singularly his own, that no painter could have distinguished them more by their features, than the poet has by their manners. Nothing can be more exact than the distinctions he has observed in the different degrees of virtues and vices. The single quality of courage is wonderfully diversified in the several characters of the Iliad….

If we descend from hence to the expression, we see the bright imagination of Homer shining out in the most enlivened forms of it. We acknowledge him the father of poetical diction; the first who taught that “language of the gods” to men. His expression is like the colouring of some great masters, which discovers itself to be laid on boldly, and executed with rapidity. It is, indeed, the strongest and most glowing imaginable, and touched with the greatest spirit. Aristotle had reason to say, he was the only poet who had found out “living words”; there are in him more daring figures and metaphors than in any good author whatever. An arrow is “impatient” to be on the wing, a weapon “thirsts” to drink the blood of an enemy, and the like, yet his expression is never too big for the sense, but justly great in proportion to it. It is the sentiment that swells and fills out the diction, which rises with it, and forms itself about it, for in the same degree that a thought is warmer, an expression will be brighter, as that is more strong, this will become more perspicuous ; like glass in the furnace, which grows to a greater magnitude, and refines to a greater clearness, only as the breath within is more powerful, and the heat more intense.

from the preface to his translation of the Iliad ( 1715)

SAMUEL RICHARDSON

I admire you for what you say of the fierce, fighting Iliad. Scholars, judicious scholars, dared they to speak out, against a prejudice of thousands of years in its favour, I am persuaded would find it possible for Homer to nod, at least. I am afraid this poem, noble as it truly is, has done infinite mischief for a series of ages; since to it, and its copy the Eneid, is owing, in a great measure, the savage spirit that has actuated, from the earliest ages to this time, the fighting fellows, that, worse than lions or tigers, have ravaged the earth, and made it a field of blood.

from a letter to Lady Bradshaigh ( 1749)

PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

I have [been] reading little else but Homer. I am now in the 23rd book; you can imagine the wonders of poetry which I have enjoyed in the five preceding books. Indeed this part of the Iliad, the Patrocleiad, seems to me to surpass all other portions of the Iliad, as that production considered as a whole surpasses any other single production of the human mind. Familiarity with Homer increases our admiration and astonishmentI can never believe that the Odyssey is a work of the same author.

from a letter to Thomas Jefferson Hogg (July 6, 1817)

HENRY DAVID THOREAU

But in Homer and Chaucer there is more of the innocence and serenity of youth than in the more modern and moral poets. The Iliad is not Sabbath but morning reading, and men cling to this old song, because they still have moments of unbaptized and uncommitted life, which give them an appetite for more. To the innocent there are neither cherubim nor angels. At rare intervals we rise above the necessity of virtue into an unchangeable morning light, in which we have only to live right on and breathe the ambrosial air. The Iliad represents no creed nor opinion, and we read it with a rare sense of freedom and irresponsibility, as if we trod on native ground, and were autochthones of the soil.

from AWeek on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers (1849)

MATTHEW ARNOLD

I think there never yet has been a perfect literature or a perfect art because the energetic nations spoil them by their illusions and their want of tasteand the nations who lose their illusions lose also their energy and creative power. Certainly Goethe had all the negative recommendations for a perfect artist but he wanted the positiveShakespeare had the positive and wanted the negative. The Iliad and what I know of Raphael’s works seem to me to be in a juster measure and a happier vein than anything else.

from a letter to Arthur Hugh Clough (September 6, 1853)

GEORGE MEREDITH

So you like Ballads. Well, the Iliad, greatest of poems, is a great Ballad. So you choose well.

from a letter to Mlle. Hilda de Longueuil (April 30, 1887)

EDWARD THOMAS

I am interested in nothing and would for ever sit still and seek nothing if I had to be continually nailing my mind to something with my nice docility. And yet unawares I am lured into interest as when I found myself today near crying as I read the Iliad to Merfyn.

from a note found among his wife’s letters (October 9 . 1907)

G. K. CHESTERTON

One vital mistake is made about this matter by Mr. Carnegie and his kind. They persistently say, and they actually seem to think, that wars arise out of hatred. There may have been wars that arose out of hatred, but at this instant I cannot recollect a single one. In this, as in many other matters, the truest tale in the world is the Iliad or Siege of Troy. Wars never begin in hatred; they either arise out of the honourable affection a man has for his own possessions; or else out of the black and furtive affection he has for someone else’s possessions. But it is always affection; it is never hate. The Greeks and Trojans did not hate each other in the least; there is scarcely one spark of hatred in the whole of the Iliad, save that great flare that comes out of the hero’s love for Patroclus. The two armies are strewing the plain with corpses and dyeing the very sea with blood from love and not from detestation. It all arises because Paris has conceived an evil affection for Helen, while Menelaus cannot cease to love her. In other words, both hosts are fighting, not because fighting is not nasty, but because they have something nice to fight about….

If one may love a tree one may love a forest; if a forest, one may love a valley; if a valley, a whole country or a whole character of civilisation. One may love it rightly, like Menelaus, or wrongly, like Paris. But it is always desire and not repugnance.

from the Illustrated London News (January 14, 1911)

HENRY BRADLEY

I have got through 13 books of the Iliad, bored a good deal with reading how X wounded Y, how Y killed X, and what a lot of blood ran out of X + Y. But the Hector and Andromache passage is not surpassed, if it is equalled, by anything even in the Odyssey; and I stick to my old heresy that the much despised Doloneia is a brilliant piece of work, though it does look like a patch of different colour from the coat.

from a letter to Robert Bridges (March 16, 1912)

HAROLD LASKI

The Iliad, after all, is great drama; the scene for instance where Priam goes to ask Achilles for the body of Hector, and is refused, would wring the heart of a stone.

from a letter to Oliver Wendell Holmes (August 29, 1923)

Questions

1. Let’s say that Agamemnon can stand for institutional power, although the man is a moral pipsqueak. And Achilles, we could say, stands for individual genius; no one doubts that he is a great warrior. Surrounding them is their community, which has its own kind of authority and power. If you were a soldier on the field of Troy, to which of these three would you lend your support? But remember that sometimes we support a weak ruler for the sake of public order, or to unite a community toward an important goal, such as winning a war. Remember also that sometimes charismatic geniuses, people we admire and even love, make ruinous mistakes. And remember that majority opinion can be wrong, as when almost everybody everywhere thought that the institution of slavery was perfectly acceptable.

2. What would you say is the function of Thersites, Odysseus, or Diomedes within the Iliad as a whole?

3. Which would you choose: a long life celebrated by no one but your immediate circle, or a short life of dramatic accomplishment and unwithering fame?

4. Does the Iliad in your eyes have any relevance to events occurring now?

FOR FURTHER READING

General Reference, Historical Works, and Collections of Essays

Cairns, D. L. Oxford Readings in Homer’s “Iliad.” Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 2001.

Fowler, R. The Cambridge Companion to Homer. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004.

Kirk, G. S., general editor. The “Iliad:” A Commentary. 6 vols. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985-1993. These volumes have been near at hand in the preparation of the endnotes for this edition.

Morris, I., and B. Powell. A New Companion to Homer. Leiden and New York: Brill, 1997.

Snodgrass, A. Archaic Greece: The Age of Experiment. Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1981.

Vernant, J.-P. The Origins of Greek Thought. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1982.

See also www.stoa.org/chs for recent state-of-the-art work in Homeric studies.

Introductions to the Iliad

Edwards, M. Homer: Poet of the “Iliad.” Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1987.

Owen, E. T. 1946. The Story of the “Iliad.” Ann Arbor, MI: University of Michigan Press, 1966.

Schein, S. L. The Mortal Hero: An Introduction to Homer’s “Iliad.” Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1984.

Books on the Iliad: The Traditional Background

Foley, J. M. Homer’s Traditional Art. University Park, PA: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1999.

Graziosi, B. Inventing Homer: The Early Reception of Epic. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002.

Lord, A. B. 1960. The Singer of Tales. Second edition, with an introduction by the editors, S. Mitchell and G. Nagy. Cambridge, MA, and London: Harvard University Press, 2000.

Muellner, L. C. The Anger of Achilles: Męnis in Greek Epic. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1996.

Nagler, M. N. Spontaneity and Tradition: A Study in the Oral Art of Homer. Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1974.

Nagy, G. 1979. The Best of the Achaeans: Concepts of the Hero in Archaic Greek Poetry. Revised edition. Baltimore and London: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1999.

. Greek Mythology and Poetics. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1990.

. Pindar’s Homer: The Lyric Possession of an Epic Past. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1990.

Parry, M. The Making of Homeric Verse: The Collected Papers of Milman Parry. Edited by A. Parry. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1971.

Slatkin, L. M. The Power of Thetis: Allusion and Interpretation in the “Iliad.” Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1991.

Books on the Iliad: Historical and Anthropological Views

Detienne, M. The Masters of Truth in Archaic Greece. Translated by J. Lloyd. New York: Zone Books (distributed by MIT Press), 1996.

Dodds, E. R. The Greeks and the Irrational. 1951. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2004.

Finley, M. I. 1954. The World of Odysseus. Revised second edition. London: Chatto and Windus, 1977.

Haubold, J. Homer’s People: Epic Poetry and Social Formation. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000.

Loraux, N. The Experiences of Tiresias: The Feminine and the Greek Man. Translated by P. Wissing. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1995.

Redfield, J. M. 1975. Nature and Culture in the “Iliad”: The Tragedy of Hector. Expanded edition. Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1994.

Seaford, R. Reciprocity and Ritual: Homer and Tragedy in the Developing City-State. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 1994.

Shay, J. Achilles in Vietnam: Combat Trauma and the Undoing of Character. New York: Atheneum, 1994.

Tatum, J. The Mourner’s Song: War and Remembrance from the “Iliad” to Vietnam. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2003.

Vernant, J.-E Mortals and Immortals: Collected Essays. Edited by F. I. Zeitlin. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1991.

Wilson, D. F. Ransom, Revenge, and Heroic Identity in the “Iliad.” Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press, 2002.

Books on the Iliad: Literary and Artistic Perspectives

Basset, S. E. The Poetry of Homer. Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1938.

Ford, A. Homer: The Poetry of the Past. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1992.

Friis Johansen, K. The “Iliad” in Early Greek Art. Copenhagen: Munksgaard, 1967.

King, K. C. Achilles: Paradigms of the War Hero from Homer to the Middle Ages. Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1987.

Lynn-George, M. Epos: Word, Narrative, and the “Iliad.” Atlantic Highlands, NJ: Humanities Press International, 1988.

Segal, C. The Theme of the Mutilation of the Corpse in the “Iliad.” Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill, 1971.

Snodgrass, A. Homer and the Artists: Text and Picture in Early Greek Art. Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press, 1998.

Stanley, K. The Shield of Homer: Narrative Structure in the “Iliad.” Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1993.

Taplin, O. Homeric Soundings: The Shaping of the “Iliad.” Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1992.

Weil, S. Simone Weil’s “The Iliad”; or, The Poem of Force. Edited and translated by J. P Holoka. New York: P Lang, 2003.

Whitman, C. H. Homer and the Heroic Tradition. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1958.

INDEX

The following index shows syllabic accent for most of the proper names in this book and gives selected page numbers for their occurrence.

Aban’tes

Abarba’rea

A’bas

A’bii

Able’rus

Aby’dos

A’camas

Acessa’menus

Achae’a

Achae’ans

Achelo’us

Achil’les

Acri’sius

Actae’a

Ac’tor

Acto’rian

A’damas

Adme’tus

Adrastei’a

Adras’tus

Ae’acus

Ae’gae

Aegae’on

Ae’geus

Aegialei’a

Aegi’alus

Ae’gilips

Aegi’na

Ae’gium

Aene’as

Ae’nius

Ae’nus

Ae’olus

Aepei’a

Ae’py

Ae’pytus

Aese’pus

Aesye’tes

Aesy’me

Aesym’nus

Ae’the

Aethi’ces

Ae’thon

Ae’thra

Aeto’lian

A’gacles

Agame’de

Agamem’non

Agape’nor

Agas’thenes

Agas’trophus

A’gathon

Agau’e

Agela’us

Age’nor

Aglai’a

A’grius

A’jaxes

A’jax, Son ofOďleus

A’jax, Son of Telamon

Alas’tor

Alcan’drus

Alca’thous

Alces’tis

Alci’medon

Al’cimus

Alcma’on

Alcme’ne

Alec’tryon

Alege’nor

Alei’an Plain

Ale’sium

Alexan’der

Alo’eus

A’lope

A’los

Alphei’us

Al’tes

Althae’a

A’lybe

Amaryn’ceus

Amathe’a

A’mazons

Amiso’darus

Amopa’on

Amphi’clus

Amphi’damas

Amphigenei’a

Amphi’machus

Amphi’nome

Amphi’on

Amphi’thoë

Amphit’ryon

Amphi’us

Ampho’terus

Amy’ clae

A’mydon

Amyn’tor

Ancae’us

Anchi’alus

Anchi’ses

Andrae’mon

Andro’mache

Anemorei’a

Antei’a

Ante’nor

Anthe’don

Anthei’a

Anthe’mion

Anti’lochus

Anti’machus

Anti’phates

Anti’phonus

An’tiphus

An’tron

Apae’sus

A’phareus

Aphrodi’te

Apisa’on

Apol’lo

Apseu’des

Araethy’rea

Arca’dia

Arca’dians

Arcesila’us

Arche’lochus

Archepto’lemus

Areď‘lycus

Areď‘thous

Are’ne

A’res

Areta’on

Are’tus

Ar’geas

Argis’sa

Ar’gives

Ar’gos

Ar’gus

Ariad’ne

A’rima

Ari’on

Aris’bas

Aris’be

Ar’ne

Arsi’nous

Ar’temis

Asae’us

Asca’laphus Asca’nia

Asca’nius

Ascle’pius

A’sine

A’sius

Aso’pus

Asple’don

Assa’racus

Aste’rium

Asteropae’us

Asty’alus

Asty’anax

Asty’nous

Asty’oche

Astyochei’a

Asty’pylus

Athe’na

Athe’nians

A’thens

A’thos

A’treus

Atri’des

Atym’nius

Auge’as

Augei’ae

Au’lis

Auto’lycus

Auto’medon

Auto’nous

Auto’phonus

Ax’ius

Axy’lus

A’zeus

Ba’lius

Ba’thycles

Bele’rophon

Bes’sa

Bi’as

Bie’nor

Boag’rius

Boebei’an Lake

Boe’be

Boeo’tian

Bo’rus

Bria’reus

Brise’is

Bri’seus

Brysei’ae

Buco’lion

Bu’colus

Bude’um

Bupra’sium

Cabe’sus

Cadme’ans

Cad’mus

Cae’neus

Cal’chas

Cale’sius

Cale’tor

Callianas’sa

Callianei’ra

Calli’arus

Callicolo’ne

Calyd’nian

Ca’lydon

Camei’rus

Ca’paneus

Ca’pys

Carda’myle

Care’sus

Ca’rian

Carys’tus

Cassan’dra

Castianei’ra

Cas’tor

Ca’sus

Cauco’nes

Ca˙s’trius

Ce’as

Cebri’ones

Ce’ladon

Cen’taurs

Cephalle’nian

Cephi’sis

Cephi’sus

Cerin’thus

Chal’cis

Chalco’don

Chal’con

Cha’ris

Cha’rops

Cha’ropus

Chei’ron

Chersi’damas

Chimae’ra

Chro’mis

Chro’mius

Chry’se

Chryse’is

Chry’ses

Chryso’themis

Cico’nes

Cili’cia

Cili’cians

Cil’la

Ci’nyras

Cis’seus

Clei’tus

Cleobu’lus

Cleo’nae

Cleopa’tra

Clo’nius

Cly’mene

Clytemnes’tra

Cly’tius

Clytome’des

Coe’ranus

Co’on

Co’pae

Co’preus

Co’rinth

Coronei’a

Coro’nus

Cos

Cra’naë

Cra’pathus

Cre’on

Cre’tans

Crete

Cre’thon

Cri’sa

Crocylei’a

Croes’mus

Crom’na

Cro’nos

Cte’atus

Cure’tes

Cylle’ne

Cylle’nian

Cymo’doce

Cymo’thoë

Cy’nus

Cyparisse’ďs

Cyparis’sus

Cy’phus

Cy’prian

Cy’prus

Cythe’ra

Cyto’rus

Dae’dalus

Dae’tor

Damas’tor

Da’masus

Da’naans

Da’naë

Darda’nia

Darda’nian

Dar’danus

Da’res

Dau’lis

Dawn

Deď‘coön

Deď‘ochus

Deďopi’tes

Deď‘phobus

Deď‘pylus

Deď‘pyrus

Deise’nor

Deme’ter

Demo’coön

Demo’leon

Demu’chus

Deuca’lion

Dexa’mene

Dex’ius

Dio’cles

Diome’da

Diome’des

Dio’ne

Diony’sus

Dio’res

Di’os

Di’us

Dodo’na

Dodonae’an

Do’lon

Dolo’pian

Dolo’pion

Do’lops

Do’ris

Do’rium

Dory’clus

Do’to

Dra’cius

Dre’sus

Dry’as

Dry’ops

Duli’chium

Dy’mas

Dyna’mene

Eche’cles

Eche’clus

Echem’mon

Echepo’lus

Echine’an Islands

E’chius

Eëriboe’a

Eë‘tion

Egyp’tian

Eileithy’ia

Eileithy’iae

Eile’sium

Eď’ onae

Eď’ oneus

E’lasus

E’latus

E’leon

Elephe’nor

E’lis

Elo’ne

Ema’thia

E’neti

Enie’ nes

Eni’opeus

Enis’pe

En’nomus

E’nope

E’nops

Eny’eus

Eny’o

Epal’tes

Epe’ans

Epei’geus

Epe’us

Ephial’tes

E’phyre

E’phyri

Epi’cles

Epidau’rus

Epis’tor

Epis’trophus

E’pytus

E’rebus

Erech’theus

Ere’tria

Ereutha’lion

Erichtho’nius

Erio’pis

Eryla’us

E’rymas

Erythi’ni

Ery’thrae

Ete’ocles

Eteo’nus

Eteo’nus

Ethio’pians

Euae’mon

Euboe’a

Euche’nor

Eudo’rus

Eue’nus

Euip’pus

Eume’des

Eume’lus

Eune’us

Euphe’mus

Euphe’tes

Euphor’bus

Eury’alus

Eury’bates

Eury’damas

Eury’medon

Eury’nome

Eury’pylus

Eurys’theus.

Eu’rytus

Eusso’rus

Eutre’sis

Exa’dius

Fu’ries

Galate’a

Ga’nymede

Gar’garus

Gere’nian

Gla’phyrae

Glau’ce

Glau’cus

Gli’sas

Gonoes’sa

Gor’gon

Gorgy’thion

Gor’tyn

Gou’neus

Gra’ces

Grae’a

Grani’cus

Gygae’a

Gyr’tius

Gyrto’ne

Ha’des

Hae’mon

Halcy’one

Ha’lia

Haliar’tus

Ha’lius

Halizo’nes

Har’ma

Har’mon

Harpalion He’be

Hecame’de

Hec’tor

He’cuba

He’len

He’lenus

Helica’on

He’lice

Hel’las

Hel’lenes

Hel’lespont

He’lus

Hephaes’tus

Hepta’porus

He’ra

He’racles ,

Her’mes

Hermi’one

Her’mus

Hes’perus

Hiceta’on

Hip’pasus

Hippemol’gi

Hippo’coön

Hippo’damas

Hippodamei’a

Hippo’damus

Hippo’lochus

Hippo’machus

Hippo’nous

Hippo’thous

Hippo’tion

Hi’re

Histiae’a

Hy’ads

Hyam’polis

Hy’da

Hy’le

Hyl’lus

Hypei’rochus

Hypei’ron

Hyperei’a

Hypere’nor

Hypere’sia

Hype’rion

Hypopla’cian

Hypse’nor

Hypsi’pyle

Hy’ria

Hyrmi’ne

Hyrta’cides

Hyr’tacus Hyr’tius

Iae’ra

Ial’menus

Ialy’sus

Ia’menus

Ianas’sa

Ianei’ra

Ia’petus

Iar’danus

I’asus

Ica’rian Sea

I’da

Idae’an

Idae’us

I’das

Ido’meneus

Ilei’an Plain

Ih’oneus

I’lium

I’lus

Im’brasus

Im’brius

Im’bros

Iol’cus

Io’nians

I’pheus

Iphianas’sa

Iphi’clus

Iphi’damas

Iphi’nous

I’phis

Iphi’tion

I’phitus

I’ris

Isan’der

I’sus

I’thaca

Ithae’menes

Itho’me

I’ton

Ity’moneus

Ixi’on

Ja’son

Knos’sos

La’as

Lacedae’mon

Laer’ces

Laer’tes

Lam’pus

Lao’damas

Laodamei’a

Lao’dice

Lao’docus

Lao’gonus

Lao’medon

Lao’thoë

La’pithae

Laris’sa

Lec’tum

Le’ďtus

Le’leges

Lem’nos

Leo’critus

Leon’teus

Les’bos

Le’thus

Le’to

Leu’cus

Licym’nius

Lilai’a

Limnorei’a

Lin’dos

Li’nus

Lo’crian

Lyca’on

Lycas’tus

Ly’cia

Ly’cians

Lycome’des

Ly’con

Lycophon’tes

Ly’cophron

Lyc’tus

Lycur’gus

Lyrnes’sus

Lysan’der

Ma’car

Mace’man

Macha’on

Maean’der

Mae’malus

Mae’on

Maeo’nia

Maeo’nian

Mae’ra

Magne’tes

Mantinei’a

Ma’ris

Marpes’sa

Ma’ses

Mas’tor

Mecis’teus

Me’deon

Medesicas’ta

Me’don

Me’gas

Me’ges

Melanip’pus

Melan’thius

Me’las

Melea’ger

Meliboe’a

Me’lite

Menela’us

Menes’thes

Menes’theus

Menes’thius

Menoe’tius

Me’non

Men’tes

Men’tor

Meri’ones

Mer’merus

Me’rops

Mes’se

Messe’ďs

Mes’thles

Mes’tor

Metho’ne

Midei’a

Mile’tus

Mi’nos

Min’yae

Minyei’us

Mne’sus

Moli’on

Moli’ones

Mo’lus

Mo’rys

Mu’lius

Mu’ses

My’cale

Mycales’sus

Myce’nae

My’don

Myg’don

My’nes

Myri’ne

Myr’midons

Myr’sinus

My’sia

My’sians

Nai’ad

Nas’tes

Nau’bolus

Nelei’an

Ne’leus

Nemer’tes

Neopto’lemus

Ne’reids

Ne’reus

Ne’riton

Nesae’a

Nes’tor

Ni’obe

Ni’reus

Ni’sa

Nisy’rus

Noë‘mon

Nomi’on

Ny’sa

Oca’lea

Oce’anus

Oche’sius

O’dius

Odys’seus

Oecha’lia

Oe’dipus

Oe’neus

Oeno’maus

Oe’nops

Oe’tylus

Oď‘leus

Ole’nian Rock

O’lenus

Oli’zon

Oloös’son

Olym’pian

Olym’pus 1

Onches’tus

One’tor

Opheles’tes

Ophel’tius

Opi’tes

O’pus

Orcho’menus

Ores’bius

Ores’tes

Ori’on

Orithy’ia

Orme’nius

Or’menus

Ornei’a

Orsi’lochus

Orthae’us

Or’the

O’rus

Othry’oneus

O’treus

Otryn’teus

O’tus

Paeë’ on

Pae’on

Paeo’nia

Paeo’nian,

Pae’sus

Pal’las

Pal’mys

Pam’mon

Pan’darus

Pandi’on

Pan’docus

Pa’nope

Pa’nopeus

Pan’thous

Paphlago’nian

Pa’ris

Parrha’sia

Parthe’nius

Pasi’thea

Patro’clus

Pedae’um

Pedae’us

Pe’dasus

Peirae’us

Pei’res

Peiri’thous

Pei’ros

Pei’rous

Peisan’der

Peise’nor

Pe’lagon

Pelas’gian

Pe’legon

Pe’leus

Pe’lian

Pe’lias

Pe’lion

Pelle’ne

Pe’lops

Penei’us

Pene’leos

Perae’bi

Perco’te

Perco’tian

Perei’a

Per’gamus

Per’gasus

Periboe’a

Perie’res

Perime’des

Pe’rimus

Pe’riphas

Periphe’tes

Perse’phone

Per’seus

Pe’teon

Pe’teos

Phae’nops

Phaes’tus

Phal’ces

Pha’ris

Phau’sius

Phe’geus

Phei’a

Phei’das

Pheidip’pus

Phe’neos

Phe’rae

Phere’clus

Phe’res

Pherou’sa

Philocte’tes

Phile’tor

Phleg’yes

Pho’cian

Phoe’bus

Phoeni’cians

Phoe’nix

Phor’bas

Phor’cys

Phrad’mon

Phron’tis

Phry’gia

Phry’gian

Phthi’a

Phthi’ans

Phthi’res

Phy’lace

Phy’lacus

Phy’las

Phy’leus

Phylomedu’sa

Pidy’tes

Pie’ria

Pit’theus

Pityei’a

Pla’cus

Platae’a

Plei’ads

Pleu’ron

Podalei’rius

Podar’ces

Podar’ge

Podar’gus

Po’des

Poli’tes

Pol’lux

Polyae’mon

Po’lybus

Polyc’tor

Poly’damas

Polydo’ra

Polydo’rus

Polyi’dus

Polyme’le

Polyme’lus

Polynei’ces

Polyphe’mus

Polyphe’tes

Polyphon’tes

Polypoe’tes

Polyxei’nus

Por’theus

Posei’don

Pram’nian

Pri’am

Proe’tus

Pro’machus

Pro’nous

Protesila’us

Prothoë‘nor

Pro’thoön

Pro’thous

Protia’on

Pro’to

Pry’tanis

Pte’leos

Pto’lemy

Pyg’mies

Pylae’menes

Pylae’us

Pylar’tes

Pyle’ne

Py’lian

Py’lon

Py’los

Pyraech’mes

Py’rasus

Py’ris

Py’tho

Rhadaman’thus

Rhe’a

Rhe’sus

Rhe’ne

Rhig’mus

Rhi’pe

Rhodes

Rho’dian

Rho’dius

Rhy’tium

Sa’lamis

Sa’mos

Sa’mothrace

Sanga’rius

Sarpe’don

Satni’oeis

Sat’nius

Scae’an Gates

Scaman’der

Scaman’drius

Scandei’a

Scar’phe

Schedius

Schoe’nus

Sco’lus

Scy’ros

Scy’rus

Se’lagus

Sele’pus

Selle’ďs

Sel’loi

Se’mele

Se’samon

Ses’tos

Sic’yon

Si’don

Sido’nian

Si’moeis

Simoei’sius

Sin’tian

Si’pylus

Si’syphus

Smin’theus

So’cus

So’lymi

Spar’ta

Spei’o

Sperchei’us

Sphe’lus

Sten’tor

Sthenela’us

Sthe’nelus

Sti’chius

Stra’tia

Stro’phius

Stympha’lus

Sty’ra

Styx

Sy’me

Talae’menes

Ta’laus

Talthy’bius

Tar’ne

Tar’phe

Tar’tarus

Tec’ton

Te’gea

Te’lamon

Telamo’nian

Tele’machus

Te’nedos

Tenthre’don

Terei’a

Te’thys

Teu’cer

Teu’tamus

Teu’thras

Thalei’a

Thal’pius

Thaly’sius

Tha’myris

Thauma’cia

Thea’no

Thebae’us

The’be

Thebes

The’mis

Thersi’lochus

Thersi’tes

The’seus

Thespe’ia

Thes’salus

Thes’tius

Thes’tor

The’tis

This’be

Tho’as

Tho’ë

Tho’ön

Thoö‘tes

Thrace

Thra’cian

Thra’sius

Thrasyme’des

Thrasyme’lus

Thro’nium

Thryoes’sa

Thry’um

Thyes’tes

Thym’bra

Thymbrae’us

Thymoe’tes

Ti’ryns

Ti’tans

Ti’tanus

Titares’sus

Titho’nus

Tlepo’lemus

Tmo’lus

Tra’chis

Tre’chus

Tric’ca

Tritogenei’a

Tro’ad

Troe’zen

Troeze’nus

Tro’ilus

Tro’jan

Tros

Troy

Ty’chius

Ty’deus

Typho’eus

Uca’legon

U’ranus

Xan’thus

Zacyn’thus

Zelei’a

Zeus

a

Chryses, the priest of Apollo, has a daughter named Chryseis; their city is Chryse.

Priam is the king of Troy, which the Achaeans have now besieged for almost ten years.

b

Danaans (and Argives) are Achaeans.

c

Literally, a sacrifice of 100 oxen, but often refers to any large animal sacrifice.

d

Insolent violence that lessens the honor, the social standing, of another.

e

Achaean contingent under Achilles’ command.

f

The stream that runs around the flat disk of Earth.

g

Homeric dreams regularly divide into the true and the false.

h

Agamemnon initially assembled the entire Achaean fleet at Aulis, in northern Boeotia.

i

The Ca˙strius (later, Kaustros) flows into the sea at Ephesus.

j

The Greek barbaros indicates that the Carians do not speak Greek.

k

Though both names belong to the poetic tradition, Paris is more frequent.

l

Antenor remembers a first diplomatic mission to recover Helen.

m

Hebe is the goddess of youth and the Olympian wine steward.

n

Hera’s cult was prominent in these three Peloponnesian cities.

o

Simoeisius is named after the Trojan river upon whose banks he was born.

p

Pergamus is the highest point, the acropolis, of Troy.

q

The giants would attack the gods by heaping Mount Ossa on Olympus, and then Mount

Pelion on Ossa.

r

Zeus refers to Cronos and the other Titans, who are imprisoned in Tartarus, the deepest

level of the Underworld.

s

The Scaean Gates of Troy face the battlefield and are a regular observation point.

t

Paris and Helen seem to have sailed to Troy by way of Phoenicia.

u

Hector named his son after the principal river of Troy, the Scamander.

v

The four levels of the Homeric cosmos, in descending order, are Aether, Sky, Hades, and Tartarus. Olympus is between Aether and Sky; Earth is between Sky and Hades.

w

On the way to Troy, the Achaeans stopped at Lemnos, where they abandoned Philoctetes

(the hero of Sophocles’ eponymous tragedy).

x

Heracles was enslaved to Eurystheus as punishment for killing his own wife and children.

y

Cerberus is the multiheaded “hound” that guards the entrance to Hades.

z

Zeus invokes the dread fates of his prior opponents, who now languish in the lowest depths.

aa

Agamemnon’s abuse of Diomedes is described beginning at IV.433.

ab

The Furiesor Erinyesare guardians of oaths and curses; they are especially sensitive

to the disrespect of parents.

ac

Autolycus (“Wolfman”) is Odysseus’ thievish maternal grandfather; see Odyssey 19.

ad

For Tydeus’ exploits, see IV.450 and V893.

ae

The name Dolon means “Sneaky” or “Tricky.”

af

On supplication, see endnote 1 to book VI.

ag

The mission of Menelaus and Odysseus to Troy has been previously mentioned at

III. 226-229.

ah

The Moliones are elsewhere represented as “Siamese twins”; they reappear in another

of Nestor’s reminiscences (“the two sons of Actor”), at XXIII.738.

ai

Nestor now recalls, at greater length, the parting scene in Phthia that Odysseus had also recalled at IX.284-292. (See also endnote 4 to book IX).

aj

Hector is thinking of Zeus’ promise, as relayed by Iris at XI. 212-216.

ak

From Troy, the peak of Samothrace is visible to the northwest, beyond “craggy Imbros.”

al

The gambolling beasts of the sea are dolphins.

am

“In peace, sons bury fathers; in war fathers bury sons” (Herodotus’ Histories 1.87).

Euchenor’s choice of fates resembles that of Achilles: home or Troy.

an

Compare the end of the single combat at VII.334 (also see endnote 3 to book VII); the

contest of Hector and Ajax is rejoined at XIV.454.

ao

Though the cries of the armies ascend to the aether, Zeus’ attention remains averted.

ap

Rhea is Hera’s (and Zeus’) mother; Hera is kept safe in remote Oceanus while Zeus is

battling Cronos.

aq

Hera must swear by powers greater and older than herself.

ar

According to Callimachus (frag. 48), the secret and incestuous liaison of Zeus and Hera

lasted three centuries.

as

A principal role of the goddess Themis is to preside over divine assemblies.

at

Ascalaphus was killed by Deďphobus at XIII. 5 9 5-5 9 7. For Zeus will leave the Achaeans and high-hearted Trojans At once and come straight here to Olympus to punish Us all, and he, believe me, will lay violent hands On each of us here, on the innocent and guilty alike. Therefore I bid you forget this wrath for your son. For many more powerful men than he in force And might of hand have long before this been slain, And many others will die hereafter. The offspring Of mortals can hardly all be kept safe, regardless Of what their lineage may be.”

au

Athena is the patron goddess of the Achaean victory.

av

Menoetius and Peleus are the fathers, respectively, of Patroclus and Achilles; see

IX.284-292 and XI.878-884 for the fathers’ parting words in Phthia.

aw

For the gesture of thigh-slapping, see endnote 6 to book XV.

ax

Oxen are unyoked when the day is two-thirds done; the sun’s descent bodes Patroclus’

final hour.

ay

See XVI.806-809, with endnote 10, for the triple charge.

az

Menelaus killed Hyperenor at XIV.592-596.

ba

Achilles had thought that he and Patroclus would not sack Troy together; see XVIII.12-13

(with endnote) and XIX.371-374.

bb

Antilochus’ ignorance of Patroclus’ death is explained at XVII.446-447; Antilochus is

fighting in a distant part of the battle.

bc

See endnote 2 to book XII, about Polydamas.

bd

On the parting scene in Phthia, see endnote 4 to book IX.

be

The threat to cut the throats of twelve Trojans is further anticipated at XXI. 29-37 and fulfilled at XXIII. 207-210.

bf

“Grace” is Hephaestus’ consort.

bg

Compare the account of Hephaestus’ laming at I.689695 with endnote 8 to book I.

bh

See endnote 7 to book I for an account of Thetis’ marriage.

bi

Hera hastens the birth of Eurystheus and retards the birth of Heracles. Eurystheus, the

weaker man, thus becomes the beneficiary of Zeus’ preceding oath, rather than Heracles,

the stronger manand Zeus’ intended king.

bj

See endnote 1 to book XVIII.

bk

See XYI. 167-1 72 for the ash spear of Cheiron.

bl

Prior to Xanthus’ prophecy Achilles had known only that he would die after Hector.

bm

At XX.200-225, in their upcoming battle, Achilles will taunt Aeneas with the memory

of this same incident.

bn

These are the three lines of Trojan descent: the descendants of Assaracus are Anchises

and Aeneas; the descendants of Ilus are Priam and Hector; Ganymede, Zeus’ “cupbearer,”

will have no descendants.

bo

Achilles had vowed the sacrifice of the twelve Trojans at XVIII.382-384; he fulfills the

promise at XXIII.207-210.

bp

See V.950-952 for the wounding of Ares by Diomedes.

bq

See VI.155-159 (with endnote 3) for a use of the same image, but from the perspec

tive of mortals.

br

Zeus also weighed the fates of Achaeans and Trojans at VIII.72-79, where his plan to

honor Thetis begins to be fulfilled; in both instances, a prior plan becomes irrevocable.

bs

See XIX.462-474 and XXI.136-141 for earlier prophecies of Achilles’ death.

bt

Compare the scene of Helen at her web at III.141-145 (with endnote 1).

bu

For the horses of Tros, see V246-249, with endnote 2.

bv

The two sons of Actor are the Moliones, who appeared in Nestor’s autobiographical account

of his youthful exploits, at XI. 796-803.

bw

This is the Iliad’s only explicit retelling of the Judgment of Paris.

bx

Compare Achilles’ vaunt over Hector’s body at XXII.404-414, and see endnote 6.

by

In her inconsolable grief, Niobe is petrified; she becomes the rock formation of Mount

Sypylus, whose running waters are her ceaseless tears.