Iliad

“Sons of Atreus, and you other well-greaved Achaeans, may the gods who have their homes on Olympus grant that you sack the city of Priam and come safely home. But free my dear child for me and accept this ransom, in reverence for the son of Zeus, far-shooting Apollo.” Then all the other Achaeans shouted their assent, to respect the priest and accept the splendid ransom. But this did not please the heart of Agamemnon son of Atreus. He sent him away harshly and laid a stern command on him: “Don’t let me find you by the hollow ships, old man, either lingering now or coming back again later, or the staff and the god’s bands may be no help to you then. Her I will not free. Old age will come upon her first, in our house in Argos, far from her homeland, as she goes to and fro at the loom and comes to my bed. Now go, and don’t provoke me, if you want to get home the safer.”

So he spoke, and the old man was afraid and obeyed his word. He went in silence along the shore of the loud-roaring sea. Then, when he had gone off by himself, the old man prayed long to lord Apollo, whom lovely-haired Leto bore: “Hear me, god of the silver bow, you who stand guard over Chryse and holy Cilla and rule Tenedos in might, Smintheus! If ever I roofed a pleasing temple for you, or if ever I burned for you the fat thigh-pieces of bulls and goats, then fulfill this wish for me: let the Danaans pay for my tears with your arrows.”note

So he spoke in prayer, and Phoebus Apollo heard him. Down from the peaks of Olympus he came, angry at heart, with his bow on his shoulders and his quiver closed at both ends. The arrows rattled on the shoulders of the angry god as he moved, and he came on like the night. Then he sat down apart from the ships and let fly an arrow, and terrible was the twang of the silver bow. First he went after the mules and the swift dogs, but then he aimed his sharp shaft at the men themselves and shot, and the pyres of the dead burned on and on, crowded thick. For nine days the god’s shafts ranged through the army, and on the tenth Achilles called the people to assembly, for the goddess, white-armed Hera, had put it in his mind: she was troubled for the Danaans, because she saw them dying.

When they had gathered and were all assembled, swift-footed Achilles stood up among them and spoke: “Son of Atreus, now I think we’ll be driven back and sail home again—if we even escape death—if war and plague together are going to crush the Achaeans. But come, let us ask some seer or priest, or even an interpreter of dreams, for a dream too comes from Zeus, who could tell us why Phoebus Apollo is so angry: whether he faults us for some vow or hecatomb, and whether he might somehow accept the savor of lambs and full-grown goats and be willing to keep destruction away from us.”note

So he spoke and sat down, and among them rose Calchas son of Thestor, by far the best of the bird-interpreters, who knew what is, what will be, and what was before, and who had guided the ships of the Achaeans to Ilium by the seercraft that Phoebus Apollo had given him. With good intent he addressed them and spoke: “Achilles, dear to Zeus, you bid me explain the wrath of Apollo, the far-shooting lord. Well, I will speak. But you, consider well, and swear to me that you will readily defend me with words and hands. For I think I will anger a man who rules with great power over all the Argives, and whom the Achaeans obey.

A king is the stronger when he is angry with a lesser man. Even if he swallows his anger that same day, he still keeps a grudge in his breast afterward, until he has satisfied it. So think whether you will keep me safe.” Then swift-footed Achilles answered him: “Take heart, and speak out whatever prophecy you know. For by Apollo, dear to Zeus, to whom you pray, Calchas, when you reveal prophecies to the Danaans, no one, while I live and look upon the earth, will lay heavy hands on you by the hollow ships—not one of all the Danaans, not even if you mean Agamemnon, who now claims to be by far the best of the Achaeans.” And then the blameless seer took heart and spoke:

“It isn’t for a vow that he faults us, nor for a hecatomb, but because of the priest whom Agamemnon dishonored: he did not free his daughter and did not accept the ransom. For that reason the far-shooter has given sorrows, and will give more still. Nor will he drive this shameful destruction from the Danaans until we give back the bright-eyed girl to her dear father, unbought and unransomed, and take a sacred hecatomb to Chryse. Then we might appease and persuade him.” So he spoke and sat down, and among them rose the warrior son of Atreus, wide-ruling Agamemnon, in deep distress. His dark heart was filled to the brim with fury, and his eyes were like blazing fire. First of all he addressed Calchas, with menace in his look:

“Prophet of evil, never yet have you told me anything pleasant. It’s always dear to your heart to prophesy evil, and you’ve never yet spoken a good word or brought one to pass. And now you stand among the Danaans and declare in your prophecies that this is why the far-shooter is bringing sorrows on them: because I would not accept the splendid ransom for the girl Chryseis, since I very much want to keep her at home. In fact I prefer her to Clytemnestra, my wedded wife, since she is no way inferior to her, not in figure or in stature, not in mind or in handiwork. But even so I am willing to give her back, if that is better. I want the people safe, not perishing. But get a prize ready for me at once, so that I am not the only one of the Argives without a prize, since that is not fitting. For you can all see this—that my prize is going elsewhere.”

Then swift-footed godlike Achilles answered him: “Most glorious son of Atreus, greediest of all men, how can the great-hearted Achaeans give you a prize? We know of no great common store laid up anywhere. What we plundered from the cities has been divided, and it isn’t fitting to make the men gather it all back again. No—you give her up to the god now, and we Achaeans will repay you three and four times over, if Zeus ever grants us to sack the well-walled city of Troy.” Then lord Agamemnon answered him: “Don’t try to trick me like this, great as you are, godlike Achilles, since you won’t get past me, and you won’t persuade me. Do you want to keep your own prize while I just sit here doing without one, and is that why you tell me to give her back?

Well, if the great-hearted Achaeans will give me a prize, suiting it to my heart so that it will be of equal worth—well and good. But if they will not give one, then I will go and take one myself—your prize, or Ajax’s, or I’ll take Odysseus’ and carry it off; and the man I come to will be angry. But we will think about these things again later. Now come, let us drag a black ship down to the shining sea, gather a fitting crew of rowers in it, put a hecatomb aboard, and set fair-cheeked Chryseis herself on board. And let one man of counsel be in command—Ajax or Idomeneus or godlike Odysseus, or you, son of Peleus, most formidable of all men—so that you may perform the sacred rites and appease the god who works from afar for us.” Then, glaring at him from under his brows, swift-footed Achilles said:

“Ah, you who are clothed in shamelessness, you with your mind on profit, how can any of the Achaeans willingly obey your orders, either to go on a march or to fight men with all his might? I didn’t come here to fight because of the Trojan spearmen, since they have done me no wrong. They never drove off my cattle or my horses, and never in Phthia, rich in soil and nurse of men, did they ravage my crops, since there is a great deal between us—shadowy mountains and the echoing sea. No—it was you, you utterly shameless man, that we followed here, to please you, trying to win honor from the Trojans for Menelaus and for you, dog-face. None of this do you regard or care about. And now you threaten that you yourself will take my prize away from me, the prize I toiled hard for, which the sons of the Achaeans gave me.

Of all the kings whom Zeus nurtures, you are the most hateful to me, for strife is always dear to you, and wars and battles. If you are very strong, it was a god, I suppose, who gave you that. Go home with your ships and your companions and lord it over the Myrmidons. I don’t care about you, and I take no notice of your anger. But this is my threat to you: since Phoebus Apollo is taking Chryseis from me, I will send her off with my ship and my companions, but I will take fair-cheeked Briseis, your prize, going to your hut myself, so that you may know well how much greater I am than you, and so that others too may shrink from calling themselves my equal and setting themselves up against me to my face.”note

So he spoke. Anguish came upon the son of Peleus, and the heart in his shaggy chest was torn two ways: whether to draw the sharp sword from beside his thigh, scatter the others, and kill the son of Atreus, or to check his anger and restrain his spirit. While he was turning this over in his mind and heart and was drawing his great sword from its sheath, Athena came down from the sky, for the goddess, white-armed Hera, had sent her, since she loved and cared for both men alike in her heart. She stood behind him and seized the son of Peleus by his fair hair, appearing to him alone; none of the others saw her. Achilles was astonished and turned around, and at once he recognized Pallas Athena; her eyes shone terribly. And he addressed her and spoke winged words:

“Why have you come this time, child of Zeus who bears the aegis? Is it to see the arrogance of Agamemnon son of Atreus? But I tell you plainly, and I think it will be brought to pass: by his own overbearing acts he may soon lose his life.” Then gray-eyed Athena spoke to him in turn: “I came from the sky to stop your fury, if you will obey. The goddess, white-armed Hera, sent me, since she loves and cares for you both alike in her heart. Come, then, leave off this strife, and don’t draw your sword with your hand. Reproach him with words instead, telling him how it will be. For I tell you plainly, and this will be brought to pass: one day three times as many splendid gifts will be yours because of this arrogance. Hold back, and obey us.”note

Then swift-footed Achilles answered her: “I must keep to the word of you two, goddess, however angry I am in my heart, for that is better. Whoever obeys the gods, they listen readily to him.” He spoke, and held his heavy hand on the silver hilt, and thrust the great sword back into its sheath, and did not disobey Athena’s word. And she had gone to Olympus, to the house of Zeus who bears the aegis, to join the other gods. But the son of Peleus spoke again to the son of Atreus with harsh words, and did not yet leave off his anger: “Heavy with wine, with the eyes of a dog and the heart of a deer, never have you had the courage in your heart to arm for battle with the army or to go out on an ambush with the best of the Achaeans: that looks to you like doom.

It’s far better, isn’t it, to go through the broad army of the Achaeans taking away the gifts of anyone who speaks against you—a king who devours his people, since you rule over nobodies. Otherwise, son of Atreus, this outrage would be your last. But I tell you plainly, and I will swear a great oath on it: by this scepter, which will never put out leaves and shoots, now that it has once left its stump in the mountains, nor will it grow green again, for the bronze has stripped it all around of leaves and bark; and now the sons of the Achaeans who give judgment carry it in their hands, those who uphold the laws on behalf of Zeus—this will be a great oath for you:

“Ah, a great grief is surely coming upon the land of Achaea! How Priam and the sons of Priam would rejoice, and how glad at heart the other Trojans would be, if they heard all this about you two quarreling, you who are first among the Danaans in counsel and first in fighting. Come, listen to me. You are both younger than I am. Before now I have kept company with better men than you, and they never made light of me. I have never seen such men since, nor shall I see them, as Pirithous and Dryas, shepherd of the people, and Caeneus and Exadius and godlike Polyphemus, and Theseus son of Aegeus, like the immortals. Those were the mightiest men ever raised on the earth. Mightiest they were, and they fought with the mightiest, the beasts that lived in the mountains, and destroyed them terribly.note

“I would surely be called a coward and a nobody if I gave way to you in every matter, whatever you say. Lay these orders on others, but don’t give orders to me, for I don’t intend to obey you any longer. And I’ll tell you something else, and you take it to heart: I will not fight with my hands for the girl’s sake, not with you or with anyone else, since you who gave her are taking her away. But of the other things I have beside my swift black ship, you will not take one or carry it off against my will. Come on, then, try it, so that these men too may know: at once your dark blood will gush out around my spear.”

So the two of them, after fighting it out with hostile words, stood up and broke up the assembly beside the ships of the Achaeans. The son of Peleus went off to his huts and his well-balanced ships with the son of Menoetius and his companions. The son of Atreus had a swift ship drawn down to the sea, chose twenty oarsmen for it, put a hecatomb aboard for the god, and brought fair-cheeked Chryseis and seated her in it; and resourceful Odysseus went aboard as its leader. So they embarked and sailed over the watery ways. The son of Atreus ordered the troops to purify themselves. They purified themselves and threw the defilement into the sea, and they offered Apollo perfect hecatombs of bulls and goats along the shore of the barren sea; and the savor rose to heaven, curling around the smoke.note

So they busied themselves with this throughout the camp. But Agamemnon did not let go of the quarrel with which he had first threatened Achilles. He spoke to Talthybius and Eurybates, who were his heralds and ready attendants: “Go to the hut of Achilles, son of Peleus. Take fair-cheeked Briseis by the hand and bring her here. If he won’t give her up, then I’ll come with more men and take her myself—and that will go all the harder with him.” So saying, he sent them off, and laid a stern command on them. The two went unwillingly along the shore of the barren sea and came to the huts and ships of the Myrmidons. They found him sitting beside his hut and his black ship; and Achilles was not glad to see them.

The two of them stood there in fear and awe of the king, and did not speak to him or ask him anything. But he understood in his heart, and called out: “Welcome, heralds, messengers of Zeus and of men. Come closer. It’s not you I blame, but Agamemnon, who sent you both for the girl Briseis. Come, Patroclus, sprung from Zeus, bring the girl out and give her to them to take. But let these two themselves be witnesses before the blessed gods and before mortal men, and before that harsh king, if ever there is need of me again to ward off shameful destruction from the rest. For he truly rages with a destructive mind, and has no idea how to look both ahead and behind, so that the Achaeans might fight in safety beside the ships.”

So he spoke, and Patroclus obeyed his dear companion. He brought fair-cheeked Briseis out of the hut and gave her to them to take, and the two went back along the ships of the Achaeans; and the woman went with them unwillingly. But Achilles burst into tears and at once sat down apart from his companions, withdrawn, on the shore of the gray sea, gazing out over the boundless deep. Again and again he prayed to his dear mother, stretching out his hands: “Mother, since you bore me to live only a short while, Olympian Zeus who thunders on high ought at least to have granted me honor. But now he hasn’t honored me even a little. For the son of Atreus, wide-ruling Agamemnon, has dishonored me: he has taken my prize and keeps it, having seized it himself.”

So he spoke, shedding tears, and his queenly mother heard him as she sat in the depths of the sea beside her aged father. Swiftly she rose up from the gray sea like a mist, sat down before him as he wept, stroked him with her hand, and spoke to him, calling him by name: “My child, why are you crying? What grief has come to your heart? Speak out, don’t hide it in your mind, so that we both may know.” Then, groaning heavily, swift-footed Achilles said to her: “You know. Why should I tell all this to you, when you know it already? We went to Thebe, the holy city of Eëtion, and sacked it, and brought everything here. The sons of the Achaeans divided it fairly among themselves, and for the son of Atreus they picked out fair-cheeked Chryseis.note

Then Chryses, priest of far-shooting Apollo, came to the swift ships of the bronze-clad Achaeans to free his daughter, bringing a boundless ransom and holding in his hands the sacred bands of far-shooting Apollo on a golden staff. He begged all the Achaeans, but most of all the two sons of Atreus, marshals of the people. Then all the other Achaeans shouted their assent, to respect the priest and accept the splendid ransom. But this did not please the heart of Agamemnon son of Atreus. He sent him away harshly and laid a stern command on him. The old man went back in anger; and Apollo heard him when he prayed, since he was very dear to him, and let fly an evil arrow against the Argives. The men died one after another, and the god’s shafts ranged everywhere through the wide camp of the Achaeans. Then a seer who knew well declared to us the oracles of the far-shooter.

“Oh, my child, why did I raise you, after bearing you to misery? If only you could sit beside the ships without tears and without harm, since your portion of life is short, not long at all. But now you are both swift-doomed and wretched beyond all men; so it was to an evil fate that I bore you in our halls. Still, I will go myself to snowy Olympus to tell this to Zeus who delights in thunder, in the hope that he may be persuaded. But for now, sit by your swift-sailing ships, nurse your wrath against the Achaeans, and hold back from the fighting altogether. For yesterday Zeus went to Ocean, to the blameless Ethiopians, for a feast, and all the gods went with him. On the twelfth day he will come back to Olympus, and then I will go to the bronze-floored house of Zeus and clasp his knees, and I think he will be persuaded.”note

So she spoke and went away, and left him there, angry at heart over the well-girdled woman whom they had taken by force against his will. Meanwhile Odysseus came to Chryse, bringing the holy hecatomb. When they had come inside the deep harbor, they furled the sails and stowed them in the black ship, lowered the mast by the forestays and quickly brought it down into its crutch, and rowed the ship forward to its mooring. They threw out the anchor-stones and made fast the stern-cables. Then they themselves stepped out onto the surf-beaten shore, and brought out the hecatomb for far-shooting Apollo; and Chryseis stepped out of the seafaring ship.

“Hear me, god of the silver bow, you who stand guard over Chryse and holy Cilla and rule Tenedos in might! Once before you heard me when I prayed: you honored me and struck the army of the Achaeans hard. Now too fulfill this wish for me: ward off shameful destruction from the Danaans now.” So he spoke in prayer, and Phoebus Apollo heard him. And when they had prayed and scattered the barley grains, first they drew back the victims’ heads, slaughtered them and flayed them. They cut out the thigh-bones and wrapped them in fat, making a double layer, and laid raw meat on top. The old man burned them on split wood and poured gleaming wine over them, while young men beside him held five-pronged forks in their hands.

When the thigh-bones were burned up and they had tasted the innards, they cut up the rest and spitted it, roasted it carefully, and drew it all off the spits. And when they had finished the work and prepared the meal, they feasted, and no one’s heart went without its fair share of the feast. And when they had put from them the desire for drink and food, the young men filled the mixing bowls to the brim with drink and served it out to all, first pouring a few drops into each cup. All day long the young men of the Achaeans sought to appease the god with song, singing a beautiful paean, hymning the one who works from afar; and his heart was glad as he listened.

When the sun went down and darkness came on, they lay down to sleep beside the ship’s stern-cables. When early-born Dawn appeared, rosy-fingered, they put out to sea for the wide camp of the Achaeans, and Apollo who works from afar sent them a following wind. They set up the mast and spread the white sails. The wind filled the middle of the sail, and the dark-gleaming wave roared loudly around the stem as the ship went on; and she ran over the waves, making her way. When they reached the wide camp of the Achaeans, they hauled the black ship up onto the land, high on the sand, and set long props beneath it; and they themselves scattered among their huts and ships.

But he sat by his swift-sailing ships and nursed his wrath, the son of Peleus sprung from Zeus, swift-footed Achilles. He never went to the assembly, where men win glory, nor ever to the war, but wasted away his own heart, staying where he was, and longed for the battle cry and the war. But when the twelfth dawn after that came, then the gods who live forever went to Olympus all together, with Zeus leading. And Thetis did not forget her son’s requests: she rose up from the wave of the sea, and early in the morning went up to great heaven and Olympus. She found the far-seeing son of Cronus sitting apart from the others on the topmost peak of many-ridged Olympus. She sat down before him, clasped his knees with her left hand, took hold of him under the chin with her right, and in supplication spoke to Zeus, son of Cronus, the lord:

“Father Zeus, if ever among the immortals I helped you by word or deed, fulfill this wish for me: honor my son, who is doomed to die sooner than any other. But now Agamemnon, lord of men, has dishonored him: he has taken his prize and keeps it, having seized it himself. But you at least, honor him, Olympian Zeus of wise counsel. Give strength to the Trojans until the Achaeans honor my son and raise him high in honor.” So she spoke; but Zeus the cloud-gatherer said nothing to her, and sat a long time in silence. But Thetis held on as she had clasped his knees, clinging close, and asked him a second time: “Promise me truly and nod your assent, or else refuse—you have nothing to fear—so that I may know well how far I am the least honored goddess of all.”

Then, deeply troubled, Zeus the cloud-gatherer said to her: “A ruinous business, this, now that you’ll drive me to quarrel with Hera, when she provokes me with taunting words. Even as it is she is always scolding me among the immortal gods, and says I help the Trojans in battle. But go back now, so that Hera doesn’t notice anything. I’ll see to these things and bring them about. Here, I’ll nod my head to you, so that you may be sure of it. For this, coming from me, is the greatest pledge among the immortals: nothing of mine can be taken back, or is false, or goes unfulfilled, once I have nodded my head to it.”

He spoke, and the son of Cronus nodded with his dark brows; the lord’s ambrosial locks flowed forward from his immortal head, and he made great Olympus shake. When the two had made their plan, they parted. She leapt into the deep sea from shining Olympus, and Zeus went to his own house. All the gods rose together from their seats to meet their father: not one dared to wait for him to come, but they all stood to face him. So he sat down there on his throne. Nor did Hera fail to see, when she looked at him, that silver-footed Thetis, daughter of the old man of the sea, had been making plans with him. At once she addressed Zeus, son of Cronus, with cutting words:

“Which of the gods has been making plans with you this time, you schemer? You always like to be away from me, settling things you’ve thought up in secret, and you’ve never yet brought yourself to tell me willingly a single word of what you have in mind.” Then the father of men and gods answered her: “Hera, don’t hope to know all my thoughts: they’ll be hard for you, even though you are my wife. Whatever is fit for you to hear, no one, god or man, will know it before you. But whatever I choose to think out apart from the gods, don’t you question me about each thing or pry into it.”

Then ox-eyed queenly Hera answered him: “Most dread son of Cronus, what a thing to say! Up to now I’ve hardly questioned you or pried at all; you plan whatever you please quite undisturbed. But now I’m terribly afraid in my heart that silver-footed Thetis, daughter of the old man of the sea, has talked you round. For early this morning she sat beside you and clasped your knees. I think you nodded to her in solemn truth that you would honor Achilles and destroy many beside the ships of the Achaeans.” Then Zeus the cloud-gatherer answered her:

“Strange woman, you’re always suspecting, and I can never escape you. Yet you’ll accomplish nothing by it; you’ll only be further from my heart, and that will go all the harder with you. If this is as you say, then it must be what I want. Now sit down in silence and do as I tell you, or all the gods there are on Olympus won’t be able to help you when I come at you and lay my invincible hands on you.” So he spoke, and ox-eyed queenly Hera was afraid. She sat down in silence, bending her heart to his will; and throughout the house of Zeus the heavenly gods were troubled. Then Hephaestus, the renowned craftsman, began to speak among them, doing a kindness to his dear mother, white-armed Hera:

“This will be a ruinous business and past bearing, if you two quarrel like this over mortals and set the gods brawling. There’ll be no pleasure in the fine feast, when the worse wins out. I advise my mother, though she knows it herself, to do a kindness to our dear father Zeus, so that father doesn’t scold again and throw our feast into confusion. For if the Olympian, lord of lightning, wanted to hurl us from our seats—he is far the strongest. So speak to him with soft words, and then the Olympian will be gracious to us at once.” So he spoke, and springing up he put a double cup into his dear mother’s hand, and said to her:

“Bear up, mother, and endure it, grieved as you are, so that I don’t see you beaten before my eyes, dear as you are to me. Then I couldn’t help you, for all my sorrow, since the Olympian is hard to stand against. Once before, when I was eager to defend you, he caught me by the foot and hurled me from the heavenly threshold. All day long I was carried along, and as the sun went down I fell on Lemnos, with little life left in me. There the Sintian men took care of me at once after my fall.” So he spoke, and the goddess, white-armed Hera, smiled, and smiling she took the cup from her son’s hand. Then he poured sweet nectar for all the other gods from left to right, drawing it from the mixing bowl; and unquenchable laughter rose among the blessed gods as they watched Hephaestus bustling through the halls.note

So then all day long until the sun went down they feasted, and no one’s heart went without its fair share of the feast, nor of the beautiful lyre that Apollo held, nor of the Muses, who sang in turn with lovely voices. But when the bright light of the sun had set, they went off to lie down, each to his own home, where the famous lame god Hephaestus had built a house for each of them with his skillful mind. And Zeus the Olympian, lord of lightning, went to his own bed, where he always lay whenever sweet sleep came over him. There he went up and slept, and beside him Hera of the golden throne.

Now the other gods and the men who fight from chariots slept all night long, but sweet sleep did not hold Zeus. He was pondering in his mind how he might honor Achilles and destroy many beside the ships of the Achaeans. And this seemed to his heart the best plan: to send a baneful Dream to Agamemnon, son of Atreus. He called to it and spoke winged words: “Off with you, baneful Dream, go to the swift ships of the Achaeans. When you come to the hut of Agamemnon, son of Atreus, tell him everything exactly as I command. Bid him arm the long-haired Achaeans in full force, for now he may take the wide-streeted city of the Trojans. The immortals who have their homes on Olympus are no longer divided in mind: Hera has bent them all by her pleading, and sorrows are fastened upon the Trojans.”note

So he spoke, and the Dream went off once it had heard his word. Quickly it came to the swift ships of the Achaeans and went to Agamemnon, son of Atreus. It found him sleeping in his hut, with ambrosial sleep poured around him. It stood above his head in the likeness of Neleus’ son Nestor, whom Agamemnon honored most of all the elders. In his likeness the divine Dream addressed him:

“You’re sleeping, son of Atreus, that fierce-hearted tamer of horses! A man who sits in counsel, to whom the people have been entrusted and who has so much on his mind, should not sleep the whole night through. Now listen to me, quickly: I am a messenger to you from Zeus, who, far away as he is, cares greatly for you and pities you. He bids you arm the long-haired Achaeans in full force, for now you may take the wide-streeted city of the Trojans. The immortals who have their homes on Olympus are no longer divided in mind: Hera has bent them all by her pleading, and sorrows are fastened upon the Trojans by Zeus. Keep this in your mind, and don’t let forgetfulness take hold of you when honey-sweet sleep releases you.”

With these words it went away and left him there, turning over in his heart things that were never to come true. For he thought he would take Priam’s city that very day—the fool! He did not know what Zeus was planning: Zeus was yet to lay pains and groans on Trojans and Danaans alike through fierce battles. He woke from sleep, with the divine voice still poured around him. He sat up and put on a soft tunic, fine and new-made, and threw a great cloak around him; under his shining feet he bound fine sandals, and over his shoulders he slung his silver-studded sword. He took up the scepter of his fathers, imperishable forever, and with it went among the ships of the bronze-clad Achaeans.

The goddess Dawn went up to high Olympus to announce the light to Zeus and the other immortals, and Agamemnon ordered the clear-voiced heralds to summon the long-haired Achaeans to assembly. The heralds made the call, and the men gathered very quickly. But first he seated a council of the great-hearted elders beside the ship of Nestor, the king born in Pylos. When he had called them together, he laid out a shrewd plan: “Listen, friends. A divine Dream came to me in my sleep through the ambrosial night. In looks and stature and build it was most like godlike Nestor. It stood above my head and spoke these words to me:

‘You’re sleeping, son of Atreus, that fierce-hearted tamer of horses! A man who sits in counsel, to whom the people have been entrusted and who has so much on his mind, should not sleep the whole night through. Now listen to me, quickly: I am a messenger to you from Zeus, who, far away as he is, cares greatly for you and pities you. He bids you arm the long-haired Achaeans in full force, for now you may take the wide-streeted city of the Trojans. The immortals who have their homes on Olympus are no longer divided in mind: Hera has bent them all by her pleading, and sorrows are fastened upon the Trojans by Zeus. Keep this in your mind.’ With these words it flew off and was gone, and sweet sleep released me.

So he spoke, and led the way out of the council, and the other sceptered kings rose up and obeyed the shepherd of the people; and the troops came hurrying. As swarms of thronging bees come out of a hollow rock, fresh ones always coming on, and fly in clusters to the flowers of spring, some flying in crowds this way and some that way, so their many throngs marched in companies from the ships and huts along the deep shore to the assembly. Among them Rumor blazed, Zeus’ messenger, urging them on, and they gathered. The assembly was in turmoil, and the earth groaned beneath the troops as they sat down, and there was uproar. Nine heralds were shouting to hold them back, to see if they would ever stop their clamor and listen to the kings nurtured by Zeus.

This, I suppose, must be the pleasure of almighty Zeus, who has brought down the crowns of many cities and will bring down more, for his power is the greatest. And it is a shameful thing, even for generations to come to hear of, that so fine and so great an army of Achaeans should fight a fruitless war like this, all in vain, battling against fewer men, with no end yet in sight. Suppose we were willing, Achaeans and Trojans both, to swear binding oaths and both be counted—the Trojans gathering all who have hearths in the city, and we Achaeans arranged in groups of ten—and each group of ours chose one Trojan man to pour its wine: many tens would go without a wine-pourer.

So he spoke, and stirred the hearts in the breasts of all throughout the crowd who had not heard the council. The assembly heaved like the long waves of the sea, the Icarian sea, which the East Wind and the South Wind raise, rushing down from the clouds of father Zeus. And as when the West Wind comes and stirs a deep field of grain, sweeping violently down on it, and the field bows down with its ears, so the whole assembly was stirred. With a shout they rushed toward the ships, and from under their feet the dust rose and hung in the air. They urged one another to lay hold of the ships and drag them into the bright sea, and they cleared out the launching-channels; their clamor reached the sky as they strained for home, and they began pulling the props from under the ships. Then the Argives would have had a homecoming beyond what fate allowed, had Hera not spoken to Athena:note

“For shame, child of aegis-bearing Zeus, Unwearied One! Is this really how the Argives will flee home to their dear native land over the broad back of the sea, and leave Argive Helen behind for Priam and the Trojans to boast of—Helen, for whose sake many Achaeans have died in Troy, far from their dear native land? Go now among the army of the bronze-clad Achaeans. With your gentle words hold back each man, and don’t let them drag their curved ships into the sea.” So she spoke, and the goddess, gray-eyed Athena, did not disobey. She went darting down from the peaks of Olympus and quickly came to the swift ships of the Achaeans. There she found Odysseus, equal to Zeus in counsel, standing still. He had not laid a hand on his black, well-benched ship, for grief had come upon his heart and spirit. Standing close by, gray-eyed Athena spoke to him:

“Son of Laertes, sprung from Zeus, Odysseus of many wiles, is this really how you will flee home to your dear native land, tumbling into your many-oared ships, and leave Argive Helen behind for Priam and the Trojans to boast of—Helen, for whose sake many Achaeans have died in Troy, far from their dear native land? Go now among the army of the Achaeans and hang back no longer. With your gentle words hold back each man, and don’t let them drag their curved ships into the sea.” So she spoke, and he knew the voice of the goddess as she spoke. He set off at a run and threw off his cloak; the herald Eurybates of Ithaca, who attended him, picked it up. He himself went straight up to Agamemnon, son of Atreus, and took from him the scepter of his fathers, imperishable forever; with it he went among the ships of the bronze-clad Achaeans.

Whenever he came upon a king or a man of note, he would stand beside him and hold him back with gentle words: “Sir, it isn’t right for you to be frightened like a coward. Sit down yourself, and make the rest of the people sit. You don’t yet clearly know what the son of Atreus has in mind. Now he is testing us, but soon he will come down hard on the sons of the Achaeans. Not all of us heard what he said in the council. I’m afraid that in his anger he may do some harm to the sons of the Achaeans. Proud is the spirit of kings nurtured by Zeus; their honor comes from Zeus, and Zeus the counselor loves them.” But whenever he saw a man of the common people and found him shouting, he would strike him with the scepter and rebuke him with words:

“You there, sit still and listen to what others say, who are better than you. You’re unwarlike and feeble, never counted for anything in war or in council. We Achaeans can’t all be kings here. Rule by many is no good thing: let there be one ruler, one king, to whom the son of crooked-counseling Cronus has given the scepter and the laws, so that he may take counsel for his people.” So he went through the army, taking command, and they came rushing back to the assembly from the ships and huts with a roar, as when a wave of the loud-roaring sea thunders on a long beach and the open sea resounds.

The others sat down and were kept in their places; only Thersites, unbridled of tongue, still kept up his jabbering. His head was full of words, many and disorderly, for wrangling with the kings—recklessly, with no sense of decency, saying anything he thought would make the Argives laugh. He was the ugliest man who came to Ilium: bow-legged and lame in one foot, his two shoulders hunched and drawn together over his chest; above them his head came to a point, with a sparse stubble of hair sprouting on it. Achilles and Odysseus hated him most of all, for he was always railing at them; but now, shrieking shrilly, he was heaping abuse on godlike Agamemnon. The Achaeans were furiously angry with him and indignant in their hearts. But he, bawling loudly, railed at Agamemnon with words:

“Son of Atreus, what are you complaining about now, what more do you want? Your huts are full of bronze, and there are many women in your huts, the choicest, whom we Achaeans give to you first of all whenever we take a city. Or do you want gold as well, which some horse-taming Trojan will bring out of Ilium as ransom for his son, after I, or some other Achaean, have tied him up and led him away? Or a young woman to lie with in love, to keep apart for yourself? It isn’t right for one who is their leader to bring the sons of the Achaeans into misery.

“Thersites, you reckless talker, clear-voiced speaker though you are, stop, and don’t try to quarrel with kings all on your own. I say there is no meaner mortal than you among all who came to Ilium with the sons of Atreus. So you shouldn’t go around with kings’ names in your mouth, hurling insults at them and watching for your chance to go home. We don’t yet clearly know how these things will turn out, whether we sons of the Achaeans will go home well or badly. And so now you sit here abusing Agamemnon, son of Atreus, shepherd of the people, because the Danaan warriors give him a great deal; you speak only to mock.

The others, troubled though they were, laughed heartily at him, and one would say like this, glancing at his neighbor: “Well, well! Odysseus has done countless good deeds, leading the way in good counsel and marshaling men for battle, but this is by far the best thing he has done among the Argives, putting a stop to this foul-mouthed slanderer’s ranting in the assembly. His proud spirit surely won’t stir him again to rail at the kings with insulting words.” So the crowd spoke. Then up stood Odysseus, sacker of cities, holding the scepter, and beside him gray-eyed Athena, in the likeness of a herald, ordered the troops to be silent, so that the foremost and the hindmost of the sons of the Achaeans alike might hear his speech and consider his counsel. With good intent he addressed them and spoke:

“Son of Atreus, my lord, the Achaeans now want to make you the most despised of all mortal men. They will not keep the promise they made you while they were still on their way here from horse-pasturing Argos, that you would sack well-walled Ilium before you went home. Like young children or widowed women, they wail to one another about going home. There is hardship enough here, of course, to make a man weary and want to go home. A man who stays away from his wife for just one month chafes beside his many-benched ship when winter storms and the heaving sea pen him in. But for us this is the ninth year come round that we’ve been waiting here. So I don’t blame the Achaeans for chafing beside the curved ships. But all the same, it’s shameful to stay so long and go home empty-handed.

‘Why have you fallen silent, long-haired Achaeans? Zeus the counselor has shown us this great portent, late in coming and late in fulfillment, whose glory will never perish. This serpent devoured the sparrow’s young and the mother herself, eight of them, and the mother who bore them made nine. Just so we shall fight there for as many years, and in the tenth we shall take the city of wide streets.’ That is what he said, and now it is all coming true. So come, all of you, well-greaved Achaeans, stay here until we take the great city of Priam.” So he spoke, and the Argives gave a great shout, and all around them the ships echoed terribly with the shouting of the Achaeans as they praised the words of godlike Odysseus. Then Gerenian Nestor, the horseman, spoke among them too:

“For shame! You’re holding assembly like little children who care nothing for the work of war. What will become of our compacts and our oaths? Into the fire, then, with the counsels and plans of men, the libations of unmixed wine and the handclasps we trusted in! We wrangle uselessly with words and can find no remedy, though we’ve been here a long time. Son of Atreus, keep your purpose unshaken as before and lead the Argives through the fierce battles. Let these one or two waste away, the ones who make plans apart from the Achaeans, though nothing will come of them, to go back to Argos before they have even learned whether the promise of Zeus who bears the aegis is a lie or not.

But Zeus, son of Cronus, who bears the aegis, has given me troubles and keeps casting me into fruitless quarrels and strife. Achilles and I fought over a girl with hostile words, and I was the first to grow angry. But if ever we are of one mind, the Trojans will have no more respite from evil, not even a little. Now go to your meal, so that we may join battle. Let each man sharpen his spear well and set his shield in order well. Let him feed his swift-footed horses well, look his chariot over well and take thought for war, so that all day long we may contend in hateful war.

They rose and hurried off, scattering among the ships. They lit fires among the huts and took their meal. Each man sacrificed to one or another of the gods who live forever, praying to escape death and the turmoil of Ares. But Agamemnon, lord of men, sacrificed a fat five-year-old ox to the mighty son of Cronus. He summoned the elders, the best of all the Achaeans: first of all Nestor and lord Idomeneus, then the two Ajaxes and the son of Tydeus, and sixth Odysseus, the equal of Zeus in counsel. Menelaus, good at the war cry, came of his own accord, for he knew in his heart how hard his brother was laboring. They stood around the ox and took up the barley grains, and lord Agamemnon prayed among them:

“Zeus, most glorious and greatest, lord of the dark clouds, dwelling in the upper air, let the sun not set and darkness come on before I have hurled the smoke-blackened hall of Priam headlong to the ground and burned its doors with blazing fire. Let me tear Hector’s tunic around his chest and slash it to shreds with bronze, and may many of his comrades around him fall headlong in the dust and bite the earth.” So he spoke, but the son of Cronus would not yet grant him fulfillment. He accepted the offerings, but he heaped up grievous toil. When they had prayed and scattered the barley grains, first they drew back the victim’s head, slaughtered it and flayed it. They cut out the thigh-bones and wrapped them in fat, making a double layer, and laid raw meat on top. These they burned on split wood stripped of leaves, and they spitted the innards and held them over the fire of Hephaestus.

When the thigh-bones were burned up and they had tasted the innards, they cut up the rest and spitted it, roasted it carefully, and drew it all off the spits. And when they had finished the work and prepared the meal, they feasted, and no one’s heart went without its fair share of the feast. And when they had put from them the desire for drink and food, Gerenian Nestor, the horseman, began to speak among them: “Most glorious son of Atreus, Agamemnon, lord of men, let us not sit here talking any longer, or put off any longer the work the god is putting into our hands. Come, let the heralds of the bronze-clad Achaeans call out to the troops and gather them by the ships. Let us go together, just as we are, through the broad camp of the Achaeans, so that we may rouse sharp Ares all the sooner.”

So he spoke, and Agamemnon, lord of men, did not disobey. At once he ordered the clear-voiced heralds to call the long-haired Achaeans to war. The heralds made the call, and the men gathered very quickly. The kings nurtured by Zeus rushed about with the son of Atreus, marshaling them, and among them went gray-eyed Athena, holding the precious aegis, ageless and immortal. From it hang a hundred tassels of solid gold, every one of them finely woven, and each worth a hundred oxen. With it she sped flashing through the host of the Achaeans, urging them forward, and in each man’s heart she roused the strength to fight and do battle without ceasing. At once war became sweeter to them than going home in their hollow ships to their dear native land.

As a destructive fire blazes over a vast forest on the peaks of a mountain, and its glare is seen from far off, so as they marched the dazzling gleam of their marvelous bronze rose through the upper air to heaven. And as the many flocks of winged birds, geese or cranes or long-necked swans, fly this way and that over the Asian meadow by the streams of the Cayster, exulting in their wings, and settle with loud cries, each ahead of the next, while the meadow resounds, so their many tribes poured from the ships and huts onto the plain of the Scamander. Beneath them the earth rang terribly under the feet of men and horses. They stood in the flowering meadow of the Scamander, countless, as many as the leaves and flowers that come in their season.

As the many swarms of teeming flies that buzz around a sheepfold in springtime, when milk drenches the pails, so many were the long-haired Achaeans who stood on the plain facing the Trojans, eager to tear them apart. And as goatherds easily sort out their wide flocks of goats when they have mingled at pasture, so the leaders marshaled them here and there to go into battle. Among them was lord Agamemnon, in his eyes and head like Zeus who delights in thunder, in his waist like Ares, and in his chest like Poseidon. As a bull stands out far above all the rest in a herd, for he is conspicuous among the gathered cattle, so Zeus made the son of Atreus that day, conspicuous among many and preeminent among the warriors.

The Boeotians were led by Peneleos and Leitus, Arcesilaus, Prothoenor and Clonius. They were the men who lived in Hyria and rocky Aulis, Schoenus, Scolus and Eteonus with its many ridges, Thespeia, Graea and spacious Mycalessus; those who lived around Harma, Eilesium and Erythrae; those who held Eleon, Hyle and Peteon, Ocalea and Medeon, a well-built citadel, Copae, Eutresis and Thisbe of the many doves; those who held Coroneia and grassy Haliartus; those who held Plataea and those who lived in Glisas; those who held Hypothebae, a well-built citadel, and holy Onchestus, the shining grove of Poseidon; those who held Arne rich in vines, and Mideia, sacred Nisa and Anthedon at the land’s edge. Fifty ships of theirs came, and in each went a hundred and twenty young men of the Boeotians.

Those who lived in Aspledon and Minyan Orchomenus were led by Ascalaphus and Ialmenus, sons of Ares. Astyoche bore them in the house of Actor, son of Azeus. She was a revered maiden who went up to the upper chamber to mighty Ares, and he lay with her in secret. With them thirty hollow ships came on in line. The Phocians were led by Schedius and Epistrophus, sons of great-hearted Iphitus, son of Naubolus. They were the men who held Cyparissus and rocky Pytho, sacred Crisa, Daulis and Panopeus; those who lived around Anemoreia and Hyampolis; those who dwelt beside the divine river Cephisus; and those who held Lilaea by the springs of the Cephisus. With them followed forty black ships. Their leaders busied themselves setting the ranks of the Phocians in order, and they armed themselves on the left, close beside the Boeotians.

The Locrians were led by swift Ajax, son of Oïleus, the lesser Ajax, not nearly so big as Telamonian Ajax, but much smaller. He was small and wore a linen corslet, but with the spear he excelled all the Hellenes and Achaeans. His men lived in Cynus, Opoeis and Calliarus, Bessa, Scarphe and lovely Augeiae, Tarphe and Thronium around the streams of the Boagrius. With him followed forty black ships of the Locrians who live across from holy Euboea. Those who held Euboea, the Abantes breathing fury, who held Chalcis, Eretria and Histiaea rich in vines, Cerinthus by the sea and the steep citadel of Dium, those who held Carystus and those who lived in Styra, were led by Elephenor, offshoot of Ares, son of Chalcodon, commander of the great-hearted Abantes.

With him followed the swift Abantes, their hair long at the back, spearmen eager to tear the corslets on their enemies’ chests with outstretched ash spears. With him followed forty black ships. Those who held Athens, the well-built citadel, the land of great-hearted Erechtheus, were led by Menestheus, son of Peteos. Athena, daughter of Zeus, once reared Erechtheus, though the grain-giving earth bore him, and she settled him in Athens in her own rich temple. There the young men of the Athenians win his favor with bulls and rams as the years come round. No man on earth was ever Menestheus’ equal at marshaling horses and shield-bearing men. Nestor alone could rival him, for he was older. With him followed fifty black ships.

Ajax brought twelve ships from Salamis, and he brought them and stationed them where the battalions of the Athenians stood. Those who held Argos and walled Tiryns, Hermione and Asine, which lie along a deep gulf, Troezen, Eiones and Epidaurus rich in vines, and the young men of the Achaeans who held Aegina and Mases, were led by Diomedes, good at the war cry, and Sthenelus, dear son of glorious Capaneus. With them came a third, Euryalus, a godlike man, son of lord Mecisteus, son of Talaus. But over them all Diomedes, good at the war cry, was the leader. With them followed eighty black ships.

Those who held Mycenae, the well-built citadel, and wealthy Corinth and well-built Cleonae, who lived in Orneiae and lovely Araethyrea and Sicyon, where Adrastus was king in the beginning, and those who held Hyperesia and steep Gonoessa and Pellene, and lived around Aegium and all along Aegialus and around broad Helice: a hundred ships of these were led by lord Agamemnon, son of Atreus. With him followed by far the most and the best troops. He himself put on his gleaming bronze, exulting, and stood out among all the warriors, because he was the best and led by far the most troops.

Those who held hollow Lacedaemon with its many ravines, Pharis and Sparta and Messe of the many doves, who lived in Bryseae and lovely Augeae, who held Amyclae and Helos, a citadel by the sea, and who held Laas and dwelt around Oetylus, were led by his brother, Menelaus, good at the war cry, with sixty ships. They armed themselves apart. He himself went among them, trusting in his own eagerness, urging them on to war. More than any of them he longed in his heart to take vengeance for the struggles and the groans over Helen.

Those who dwelt in Pylos and lovely Arene, and Thryon, the ford of the Alpheus, and well-built Aepy, and who lived in Cyparisseis and Amphigeneia, and Pteleos and Helos and Dorion—where the Muses met Thamyris the Thracian and put an end to his singing, as he was coming from Oechalia, from the house of Eurytus of Oechalia. He had boasted and vowed that he would win even if the Muses themselves were to sing against him, the daughters of Zeus who bears the aegis. In their anger they maimed him, took away his wondrous song and made him forget his lyre-playing. These in turn were led by Gerenian Nestor, the horseman, and with him ninety hollow ships were drawn up in line.

Those who held Arcadia beneath the steep mountain of Cyllene, beside the tomb of Aepytus, where men fight hand to hand; who dwelt in Pheneus and Orchomenus rich in flocks, Rhipe and Stratie and windy Enispe; who held Tegea and lovely Mantinea, held Stymphalus and dwelt in Parrhasia, were led by the son of Ancaeus, lord Agapenor, with sixty ships. In each ship went many Arcadian men skilled in war. For Agamemnon, lord of men, the son of Atreus, had himself given them well-benched ships to cross the wine-dark sea, since the work of the sea was no concern of theirs.

Those who lived in Buprasium and bright Elis, all the land that Hyrmine and Myrsinus at the borders and the Olenian rock and Alesium enclose between them, had in their turn four leaders. Ten swift ships followed each man, and many Epeians went aboard. Two of these divisions were led by Amphimachus and Thalpius, of the line of Actor, one the son of Cteatus, the other of Eurytus. The third was commanded by mighty Diores, son of Amarynceus, and the fourth by godlike Polyxenus, son of lord Agasthenes, son of Augeas.

Those from Dulichium and the holy Echinae, islands that lie across the sea opposite Elis, were led in turn by Meges, a match for Ares, son of Phyleus. The horseman Phyleus, dear to Zeus, had fathered him—Phyleus, who once went off to settle in Dulichium, angry with his father. With him forty black ships followed. Odysseus led the great-hearted Cephallenians, who held Ithaca and Neritum with its quivering leaves, who dwelt in Crocyleia and rugged Aegilips, who held Zacynthus and dwelt around Samos, and who held the mainland and dwelt along the facing shore. These were led by Odysseus, a match for Zeus in counsel, and with him followed twelve ships with cheeks painted red.

The Aetolians were led by Thoas son of Andraemon, those who dwelt in Pleuron and Olenus and Pylene, in Chalcis by the sea and rocky Calydon. For the sons of great-hearted Oeneus were no longer living, nor was he himself, and fair-haired Meleager was dead, and so full charge had been given to Thoas to rule the Aetolians. With him forty black ships followed. The Cretans were led by Idomeneus, famed for his spear: those who held Cnossos and walled Gortyn, Lyctus and Miletus and chalk-white Lycastus, Phaestus and Rhytium, well-peopled cities, and others who dwelt about Crete of the hundred cities. These were led by Idomeneus, famed for his spear, and by Meriones, a match for Enyalius the man-slayer, and with them eighty black ships followed.

Tlepolemus son of Heracles, a fine man and tall, brought nine ships of the proud Rhodians from Rhodes. They dwelt about Rhodes in three divisions, in Lindos and Ialysus and chalk-white Cameirus. These were led by Tlepolemus, famed for his spear, whom Astyocheia bore to mighty Heracles. He had brought her from Ephyra, from the river Selleïs, after sacking many cities of vigorous men cherished by Zeus. When Tlepolemus had grown up in the well-built hall, he straightaway killed his own father’s dear uncle, Licymnius, offshoot of Ares, who was already growing old. Quickly he built ships, gathered a large host and set off over the sea in flight, for the other sons and grandsons of mighty Heracles were threatening him.

Now, in turn, all those who dwelt in Pelasgian Argos, who lived in Alos and Alope and Trachis, and who held Phthia and Hellas, land of beautiful women—they were called Myrmidons and Hellenes and Achaeans—of their fifty ships the commander was Achilles. But these men gave no thought to grim-sounding war, for there was no one to lead them into the ranks. Swift-footed godlike Achilles lay among the ships, angry over the girl, lovely-haired Briseis, whom he had won out of Lyrnessus after much toil, when he sacked Lyrnessus and the walls of Thebe and struck down Mynes and Epistrophus, spearmen both, sons of lord Evenus, son of Selepius. For her sake he lay grieving, but soon he was to rise up.

Those who held Phylace and flowery Pyrasus, the sanctuary of Demeter, and Iton, mother of flocks, Antron by the sea and grassy Pteleos, were led in turn by warlike Protesilaus while he lived, but by then the black earth already held him. His wife had been left behind in Phylace with both her cheeks torn in grief, and his house half-finished. A Dardanian man had killed him as he leapt from his ship, by far the first of the Achaeans. Yet these men were not leaderless either, though they longed for their leader. Podarces, offshoot of Ares, marshaled them, son of Iphiclus, son of Phylacus rich in flocks, the full brother of great-hearted Protesilaus, younger by birth. The elder, and the better man too, was the hero Protesilaus, warlike. So the men did not lack a leader, though they longed for the one they had lost, brave as he was. With Podarces forty black ships followed.

Those who dwelt in Pherae beside Lake Boebeïs, in Boebe and Glaphyrae and well-built Iolcus, were led with eleven ships by Admetus’ dear son Eumelus, whom Alcestis, noblest of women, bore to Admetus, the most beautiful of the daughters of Pelias. Those who dwelt in Methone and Thaumacia and held Meliboea and rugged Olizon were led by Philoctetes, well skilled with the bow, with seven ships. In each of them fifty oarsmen had gone aboard, well skilled with the bow for fighting hard.

But he lay on an island suffering harsh pains, on holy Lemnos, where the sons of the Achaeans had left him, tormented by the evil wound of a deadly water-snake. There he lay grieving, but soon the Argives beside the ships were to remember lord Philoctetes. Yet these men were not leaderless either, though they longed for their leader. Medon marshaled them, the illegitimate son of Oïleus, whom Rhene bore to Oïleus, sacker of cities. Those who held Tricca and craggy Ithome, and who held Oechalia, the city of Eurytus of Oechalia, were led in turn by the two sons of Asclepius, the good healers Podalirius and Machaon. With them thirty hollow ships were drawn up in line.

Those who held Ormenius and the spring Hypereia, and who held Asterius and the white peaks of Titanus, were led by Eurypylus, the splendid son of Euaemon, and with him forty black ships followed. Those who held Argissa and dwelt in Gyrtone, Orthe and Elone and the white city of Oloosson, were led in turn by Polypoetes, steadfast in war, son of Pirithous, whom immortal Zeus fathered. Glorious Hippodameia bore Polypoetes to Pirithous on the day he took vengeance on the shaggy beast-men, drove them from Pelion and pushed them off to the land of the Aethices. He was not alone: with him was Leonteus, offshoot of Ares, son of high-hearted Coronus, son of Caeneus. With them forty black ships followed.

Guneus brought twenty-two ships from Cyphus. With him followed the Enienes and the Perrhaebians, steadfast in war, who had made their homes around Dodona of the harsh winters, and who worked the fields around lovely Titaressus. It sends its fair-flowing water into the Peneius, but does not mingle with the silver-eddying Peneius; it flows along on top of it like olive oil, for it is a branch of the Styx, the water of the dread oath. The Magnetes were led by Prothous son of Tenthredon, those who lived around the Peneius and Pelion with its quivering leaves. These were led by swift Prothous, and with him forty black ships followed. These, then, were the leaders and lords of the Danaans. Now tell me, Muse, who was by far the best of them, of the men themselves and of the horses that went with the sons of Atreus.

The best horses by far were those of the grandson of Pheres, which Eumelus drove. They were swift-footed as birds, alike in coat, alike in age, their backs as even as if set by a level. Apollo of the silver bow had reared them in Pereia, both mares, carrying the panic of Ares with them. Of the men, the best by far was Telamonian Ajax, while Achilles kept up his wrath; for Achilles was much the strongest, and so were the horses that carried the flawless son of Peleus. But he lay among his curved seafaring ships, nursing his wrath against Agamemnon, shepherd of the people, the son of Atreus. His men along the surf-line of the sea amused themselves throwing discuses and javelins and shooting with bows. Their horses, each beside its own chariot, stood munching lotus and marsh-grown parsley, and the lords’ chariots lay well covered in the huts. The men, longing for their leader dear to Ares, roamed here and there through the camp and did not fight.

So they marched on, as if the whole land were being devoured by fire, and the earth groaned beneath them, as it does for Zeus who delights in thunder when in his anger he lashes the ground around Typhoeus in the land of the Arimi, where they say Typhoeus has his bed. So the earth groaned greatly beneath their feet as they went, and very swiftly they crossed the plain. To the Trojans came a messenger, wind-swift Iris, from Zeus who bears the aegis, with painful news. They were holding assembly at Priam’s doors, all gathered together, young and old alike. Standing near, swift-footed Iris spoke. She had made her voice like that of Polites, son of Priam, who used to sit as the Trojans’ lookout, trusting in his speed, on top of the tomb of old Aesyetes, waiting for the moment the Achaeans would set out from their ships. In his likeness swift-footed Iris spoke to him:note

“Old man, endless talk is always dear to you, as it once was in peacetime; but war has risen that there’s no escaping. I have gone into a great many battles of men, but never yet have I seen an army like this one, or so large. They are all too like leaves or grains of sand as they advance across the plain to fight against the city. Hector, it’s to you above all that I give this charge—do as I say. There are many allies in the great city of Priam, and one man’s tongue differs from another’s, for they come from widely scattered peoples. Let each man give the signals to those he commands, and lead them out once he has marshaled his own countrymen.” So she spoke, and Hector did not fail to recognize the goddess’s word. At once he broke up the assembly, and they rushed to arms. All the gates were opened, and out poured the army, foot soldiers and horsemen, and a great din arose.

There is a steep mound in front of the city, out on the plain, standing apart, with open ground around it on every side. Men call it Batieia, but the immortals call it the tomb of nimble Myrine. There the Trojans and their allies were now marshaled into their divisions. The Trojans were led by great Hector of the flashing helmet, son of Priam, and with him by far the most numerous and the best of the fighting men were arming, eager with their spears. The Dardanians in turn were led by the noble son of Anchises, Aeneas, whom bright Aphrodite bore to Anchises on the slopes of Ida, a goddess lying with a mortal. He was not alone: with him were the two sons of Antenor, Archelochus and Acamas, well skilled in every kind of fighting.

Those who dwelt in Zeleia, under the lowest foot of Ida, wealthy men who drink the dark water of the Aesepus—Trojans—were led in turn by the splendid son of Lycaon, Pandarus, to whom Apollo himself had given his bow. Those who held Adrasteia and the land of Apaesus, and held Pityeia and the steep mountain of Tereia, were led by Adrastus and Amphius of the linen corslet, the two sons of Merops of Percote. He knew the art of prophecy beyond all men, and would not let his sons go to war, the destroyer of men. But they would not obey him at all, for the dooms of black death were leading them on.

Those who dwelt around Percote and Practius, and held Sestos and Abydos and bright Arisbe, were led in turn by Asius son of Hyrtacus, a leader of men—Asius son of Hyrtacus, whom great fiery horses had carried from Arisbe, from the river Selleïs. Hippothous led the tribes of the Pelasgian spearmen who lived in fertile Larisa. These were led by Hippothous and Pylaeus, offshoot of Ares, the two sons of Pelasgian Lethus, son of Teutamus. Acamas and the hero Peiroös led the Thracians, all whom the strong-flowing Hellespont shuts in. Euphemus was commander of the Ciconian spearmen, son of Troezenus, the Zeus-cherished son of Ceas. Pyraechmes led the Paeonians with their curved bows from far away, from Amydon, from the broad-flowing Axius—the Axius, whose water is the fairest that spreads over the earth.

The Paphlagonians were led by Pylaemenes, shaggy of heart, from the land of the Eneti, where the breed of wild mules comes from. They held Cytorus and dwelt around Sesamus, and lived in famous homes about the river Parthenius, and in Cromna and Aegialus and lofty Erythini. The Halizones were led by Odius and Epistrophus from far away, from Alybe, where silver has its birth. The Mysians were led by Chromis and by Ennomus the augur. But his birds did not save him from black doom: he was brought down at the hands of the swift-footed grandson of Aeacus in the river, where Achilles cut down Trojans and others too. Phorcys and godlike Ascanius led the Phrygians from far away, from Ascania, and they were eager to fight in the press of battle.

The Maeonians in turn were led by Mesthles and Antiphus, the two sons of Talaemenes, whose mother was the Gygaean lake. They led the Maeonians, born beneath Tmolus. Nastes in turn led the Carians, men of foreign speech, who held Miletus and the mountain of Phthires with its leaves past counting, and the streams of the Maeander and the steep peaks of Mycale. These were led by Amphimachus and Nastes—Nastes and Amphimachus, the splendid children of Nomion. He went to war wearing gold, like a girl, the fool, but it did nothing to ward off grim destruction from him. He was brought down at the hands of the swift-footed grandson of Aeacus in the river, and war-minded Achilles carried off the gold. Sarpedon and flawless Glaucus led the Lycians from far away, from Lycia, from the eddying Xanthus.

Now when each contingent had been marshaled with its leaders, the Trojans came on with clamor and cries, like birds. So the clamor of cranes rises before the face of heaven when they have fled the winter and its endless rain, and fly clamoring toward the streams of Ocean, bringing slaughter and doom to the Pygmy men; and at early dawn they bring on a grim fight. But the Achaeans came on in silence, breathing fury, eager in their hearts to defend one another. As when the South Wind spreads a mist over the mountain peaks, no friend to shepherds but better than night for a thief, and a man can see only as far as he can throw a stone, so the dust rose in a thick cloud under their feet as they went; and very swiftly they made their way across the plain.note

When they had come close, advancing on each other, godlike Alexander stepped out as champion for the Trojans. He had a leopard skin on his shoulders, his curved bow and a sword, and he brandished two spears tipped with bronze, challenging all the best of the Argives to fight him face to face in grim combat. When Menelaus, dear to Ares, caught sight of him striding with long steps out in front of the throng, he was glad. A lion is glad in the same way when he comes upon a great body, finding a horned stag or a wild goat when he is starving: he devours it greedily, even though swift hounds and lusty young men are trying to drive him off. So Menelaus was glad when his eyes saw godlike Alexander, for he thought he would take vengeance on the wrongdoer. At once he leapt to the ground from his chariot in his armor.note

But when godlike Alexander caught sight of him appearing among the front fighters, his heart was struck with dismay, and he drew back into the crowd of his comrades, shunning death. As when a man sees a snake in the glens of a mountain and starts back, and trembling seizes his limbs, and he retreats, and pallor takes hold of his cheeks, so godlike Alexander shrank back into the throng of the proud Trojans, afraid of the son of Atreus. Hector saw him and rebuked him with shaming words: “Evil Paris, so fine to look at, mad for women, seducer! I wish you had never been born, or had died unmarried. Yes, I’d wish for that, and it would be far better than for you to be a disgrace like this, and looked at askance by others.

How the long-haired Achaeans must be laughing! They thought you a champion, a man of the front ranks, because you have a handsome look—but there is no strength in your heart, and no courage. Was this what you were like when you sailed over the sea in seafaring ships, gathered your trusty comrades, mixed with foreigners, and brought back a beautiful woman from a distant land, the daughter-in-law of spearmen? She is a great bane to your father, to your city and all the people, a joy to our enemies and a shame to yourself. Won’t you stand up to Menelaus, dear to Ares? You’d learn what kind of man he is whose lovely wife you have. Your lyre wouldn’t help you then, nor the gifts of Aphrodite, your hair and your looks, when you were rolling in the dust. But the Trojans are great cowards; otherwise you’d be wearing a tunic of stone by now for all the harm you’ve done.”note

Then godlike Alexander spoke to him in turn: “Hector, you rebuke me fairly and not beyond what’s fair. Your heart is always unyielding, like an axe that goes through a beam in the hands of a man who skillfully cuts out a ship’s timber, and it multiplies the force of his stroke; so fearless is the mind in your chest. But don’t throw in my face the lovely gifts of golden Aphrodite. The glorious gifts of the gods are not to be tossed aside, whatever they themselves may give; no one could get them just by wanting them. But now, if you want me to fight and do battle, make the rest of the Trojans and all the Achaeans sit down, and set me and Menelaus, dear to Ares, in the middle to fight over Helen and all her possessions.

Whichever of us wins and proves the stronger, let him take all the possessions fairly, and the woman, and lead them home; and may the rest of you, having sworn friendship and binding oaths, live on in fertile Troy, while they go back to horse-pasturing Argos and Achaea, land of beautiful women.” So he spoke, and Hector was very glad to hear his words. He went out into the middle and held back the Trojan battalions, gripping his spear by the middle, and they all sat down. But the long-haired Achaeans kept aiming at him with their bows, trying to hit him with arrows, and throwing stones. Then Agamemnon, lord of men, shouted loudly: “Hold off, Argives! Stop throwing, young men of the Achaeans! Hector of the flashing helmet is making it plain he has something to say.”

So he spoke, and they held off from fighting and quickly fell silent. And Hector spoke between the two armies: “Hear me, Trojans and well-greaved Achaeans, hear the word of Alexander, on whose account this strife has arisen. He bids the rest of the Trojans and all the Achaeans lay their fine armor down on the bountiful earth, while he himself and Menelaus, dear to Ares, fight alone in the middle over Helen and all her possessions. Whichever of them wins and proves the stronger, let him take all the possessions fairly, and the woman, and lead them home; and let the rest of us swear friendship and binding oaths.” So he spoke, and they all fell hushed and silent. Then Menelaus, good at the war cry, spoke among them:

“Hear me now as well, for pain has come most of all to my heart. I think the Argives and Trojans should be parted now at last, since you have suffered many evils because of my quarrel, and because Alexander began it. Whichever of us two death and fate are prepared for, let him die; and the rest of you be parted as quickly as you can. Bring two lambs, a white male and a black female, for Earth and Sun; and we will bring another for Zeus. And bring the mighty Priam, so that he may seal the oaths himself, since his sons are arrogant and not to be trusted—so that no one may wreck the oaths of Zeus by some transgression. Young men’s minds are always flighty; but where an old man takes part, he looks both before and after, so that things turn out far the best for both sides.”

So he spoke, and both Achaeans and Trojans were glad, hoping to be done with miserable war. They drew up their horses in the ranks and stepped out themselves, and took off their armor and laid it on the ground, close together, with little ground between. Hector sent two heralds to the city in haste to bring the lambs and summon Priam; and lord Agamemnon sent Talthybius off to go to the hollow ships, and told him to bring a lamb; and he did not disobey godlike Agamemnon. Meanwhile Iris came as a messenger to white-armed Helen, in the likeness of her sister-in-law, the wife of Antenor’s son—Laodice, the most beautiful of Priam’s daughters, whom lord Helicaon, son of Antenor, had married.

She found her in the hall, weaving a great purple cloth of double width and working into it the many contests of the horse-taming Trojans and bronze-clad Achaeans, which they were suffering for her sake at the hands of Ares. Swift-footed Iris stood close by and said: “Come here, dear bride, so you can see the wonderful doings of the horse-taming Trojans and bronze-clad Achaeans. Just now they were bringing tearful war against each other on the plain, eager for deadly battle; now they sit in silence, the fighting has stopped, and they lean on their shields with their long spears planted beside them. But Alexander and Menelaus, dear to Ares, are going to fight over you with long spears, and you will be called the dear wife of the one who wins.”

With these words the goddess put sweet longing into her heart for her former husband, her city and her parents. At once she covered herself in shining linen and hurried out of her chamber, shedding soft tears. She was not alone: two handmaids went with her, Aethra, daughter of Pittheus, and ox-eyed Clymene; and quickly they came to where the Scaean Gates stood. There Priam and Panthous and Thymoetes, Lampus and Clytius and Hicetaon, offshoot of Ares, and Ucalegon and Antenor, both men of good sense, sat as elders of the people at the Scaean Gates. Old age had ended their fighting, but they were fine speakers, like cicadas that sit on a tree in the woods and send out their lily-soft voice; such were the leaders of the Trojans who sat on the tower. When they saw Helen coming up onto the tower, they spoke winged words softly to one another:note

“It’s no cause for blame that the Trojans and well-greaved Achaeans should suffer pains for so long over such a woman; she is terribly like the immortal goddesses to look at. But even so, beautiful as she is, let her go home in the ships, and not be left here as a bane to us and to our children after us.” So they spoke, and Priam called out to Helen: “Come here, dear child, and sit in front of me, so you can see your former husband, your kinsmen and your friends. You are not to blame in my eyes; it is the gods who are to blame, who stirred up against me this tearful war with the Achaeans. And you can name this huge man for me too, tell me who this Achaean is, so noble and tall.

There are others taller by a head, it’s true, but I have never seen with my eyes a man so handsome, or so majestic; he looks like a king.” Then Helen, radiant among women, answered him: “Dear father-in-law, you are a man I revere and stand in awe of. If only evil death had pleased me when I followed your son here, leaving my bridal chamber and my kin, my darling daughter and the lovely companions of my own age. But that did not happen, and so I waste away in weeping. But I’ll tell you what you ask and want to know: that is the son of Atreus, wide-ruling Agamemnon, both a good king and a strong spearman. And he was my brother-in-law—shameless creature that I am—if that life was ever real.”

So she spoke, and the old man gazed at him in wonder and said: “Blessed son of Atreus, child of destiny, favored by fortune! So many young men of the Achaeans are under your command. Once before I went to Phrygia, rich in vines, and there I saw great numbers of Phrygian men with their quick horses, the peoples of Otreus and godlike Mygdon, who were encamped then along the banks of the Sangarius. I too was counted among them as an ally on the day the Amazons came, a match for men. But not even they were as many as the bright-eyed Achaeans.” Next the old man saw Odysseus and asked:

“Come, dear child, tell me about this one too, who he is. He’s shorter by a head than Agamemnon son of Atreus, but broader in the shoulders and chest to look at. His armor lies on the bountiful earth, but he himself goes ranging through the ranks of men like a bellwether. I’d liken him to a thick-fleeced ram moving through a great flock of white sheep.” Then Helen, born of Zeus, answered him: “And that is the son of Laertes, resourceful Odysseus, who was raised in the land of Ithaca, rugged as it is, and knows every kind of trick and shrewd plan.” Then Antenor, a man of good sense, answered her face to face:

“Lady, that is very true, what you’ve said. Once before, godlike Odysseus came here too, on an embassy about you, with Menelaus, dear to Ares. I received them as guests and made them welcome in my halls, and came to know the build and the shrewd plans of both. When they mixed with the assembled Trojans, standing, Menelaus overtopped him with his broad shoulders; but when both were seated, Odysseus was the more majestic. And when they began to weave their words and plans before everyone, Menelaus spoke fluently—few words, but very clear, since he was not a man of many words, nor one who rambled off the point; and he was the younger too.note

Then long-robed Helen, radiant among women, answered him: “That is huge Ajax, the bulwark of the Achaeans. And over on the other side Idomeneus stands among the Cretans like a god, with the leaders of the Cretans gathered around him. Menelaus, dear to Ares, often entertained him as a guest in our house whenever he came over from Crete. Now I can see all the other bright-eyed Achaeans, whom I would know well and could tell you their names. But two marshals of the people I cannot see, Castor the horse-tamer and Polydeuces, good with his fists: my own brothers, whom one mother bore along with me.note

Either they did not come with the army from lovely Lacedaemon, or they did come here in their seafaring ships but now refuse to enter the battle of men, because they dread the shame and the many reproaches that are mine.” So she spoke. But the life-giving earth already held them fast, back there in Lacedaemon, in their own dear native land. Meanwhile the heralds were carrying through the city the offerings for the binding oaths sworn by the gods: two lambs, and wine that cheers the heart, the fruit of the field, in a goatskin bag. The herald Idaeus carried a shining mixing bowl and golden cups. He came and stood beside the old man and urged him with these words:

“Rise, son of Laomedon. The best of the horse-taming Trojans and of the bronze-clad Achaeans are calling you to come down to the plain, so that you can make binding oaths. Alexander and Menelaus, dear to Ares, are going to fight with long spears over the woman, and the woman and the possessions are to go with whoever wins. The rest of us, having sworn friendship and binding oaths, would go on living in fertile Troy, while they go back to horse-pasturing Argos and Achaea, land of beautiful women.” So he spoke, and the old man shuddered. He told his companions to yoke the horses, and they quickly obeyed. Priam mounted and pulled back the reins, and Antenor mounted the beautiful chariot beside him. And the two of them drove the swift horses through the Scaean Gates out onto the plain.note

When they reached the Trojans and the Achaeans, they stepped down from the chariot onto the nourishing earth and walked out into the space between the Trojans and the Achaeans. At once Agamemnon, lord of men, rose to his feet, and resourceful Odysseus rose too. The noble heralds brought together the offerings for the binding oaths sworn by the gods, mixed wine in the mixing bowl, and poured water over the kings’ hands. The son of Atreus drew with his hand the knife that always hung beside the great sheath of his sword, and cut hair from the heads of the lambs, and the heralds of the Trojans and the Achaeans then handed it out to the chiefs. And the son of Atreus raised his hands and prayed aloud on their behalf:

“Father Zeus, ruling from Ida, most glorious, greatest; and you, Sun, who see all things and hear all things; and you rivers, and you earth; and you two below who punish dead men, whoever has sworn a false oath: be our witnesses, and guard these binding oaths. If Alexander kills Menelaus, then let him keep Helen and all her possessions himself, and we will sail home in our seafaring ships. But if fair-haired Menelaus kills Alexander, then the Trojans must give back Helen and all the possessions, and pay the Argives the honor-price that is fitting, one that will be remembered even among men yet to come.note

“Zeus, most glorious, greatest, and you other immortal gods: whichever side is first to do harm in breach of these oaths, may their brains pour out on the ground like this wine, theirs and their children’s, and may their wives be taken by other men.” So they spoke, but the son of Cronus was not yet bringing it to pass for them. Then Priam, descendant of Dardanus, spoke among them: “Hear me, Trojans and well-greaved Achaeans. I am going back to windy Ilium, since I cannot bear to watch with my own eyes my dear son fighting Menelaus, dear to Ares. Zeus surely knows, and the other immortal gods, for which of the two the end of death is fated.”

He spoke, and the godlike man put the lambs into the chariot, then mounted it himself and pulled back the reins, and Antenor mounted the beautiful chariot beside him. So the two of them went back again toward Ilium. Then Hector, son of Priam, and godlike Odysseus first measured out the ground, and next they took lots and shook them in a bronze-plated helmet, to decide which of the two should be first to throw his bronze spear. And the people prayed and lifted their hands to the gods, and this is what one or another of the Achaeans and Trojans would say: “Father Zeus, ruling from Ida, most glorious, greatest: whichever of the two brought this trouble on both sides, grant that he perish and go down into the house of Hades, and that for us there may be friendship and binding oaths.”

So they spoke, and great Hector of the flashing helmet shook the lots, looking away behind him, and the lot of Paris quickly leapt out. Then the men sat down in their ranks, where each had his high-stepping horses and his intricate armor laid. And godlike Alexander, husband of lovely-haired Helen, put on his beautiful armor about his shoulders. First he fastened the greaves around his shins, beautiful ones, fitted with silver ankle-pieces. Next he put on around his chest the corslet of his brother Lycaon, and fitted it to himself. Around his shoulders he slung his bronze sword with its silver studs, and then his great, heavy shield. On his mighty head he set a well-made helmet with a horsehair crest, and the plume nodded terribly above it. And he took up a valiant spear that fitted his grip. In the same way warlike Menelaus put on his armor.

When they had armed themselves on either side of the throng, they walked out into the space between the Trojans and the Achaeans, glaring terribly, and amazement held all who watched, horse-taming Trojans and well-greaved Achaeans alike. They took their stand close to each other on the measured ground, brandishing their spears, each furious at the other. Alexander threw first. He hurled his long-shadowed spear and struck the shield of the son of Atreus, round on every side. But the bronze did not break through: its point was bent back in the strong shield. Then the son of Atreus, Menelaus, rushed in second with his bronze, praying to father Zeus:

“Lord Zeus, grant that I may take vengeance on the man who wronged me first, godlike Alexander, and bring him down under my hands, so that even among men born later anyone may shudder to do wrong to a host who has offered him friendship.” He spoke, and poised his long-shadowed spear and threw it, and struck the shield of the son of Priam, round on every side. Through the shining shield went the heavy spear, and through the elaborately worked corslet it forced its way, and straight on beside his flank the spear sheared through his tunic; but he swerved aside and escaped black doom. Then the son of Atreus drew his silver-studded sword, raised it high, and struck the ridge of his helmet; but the sword shattered around it into three and four pieces and fell from his hand. And the son of Atreus groaned aloud, looking up to the wide sky:

“Father Zeus, no other god is more destructive than you! I truly thought I would make Alexander pay for his wickedness. Now my sword is broken in my hands, and my spear flew from my grip for nothing, and I never hit him.” He spoke, and leaping forward seized him by the helmet with its thick horsehair crest, swung him around, and began dragging him toward the well-greaved Achaeans. The richly embroidered strap under his soft throat was choking him, the one stretched tight beneath his chin to fasten his helmet. And now he would have dragged him off and won unspeakable glory, had not Aphrodite, daughter of Zeus, been quick to notice. She broke the strap, made from the hide of an ox slain by force, and the empty helmet came away in his strong hand.

Then the warrior whirled it around and flung it among the well-greaved Achaeans, and his trusty companions picked it up. And he sprang back at him again, eager to kill him with his bronze spear. But Aphrodite snatched him away, very easily, as a god can, hid him in thick mist, and set him down in his fragrant, incense-scented bedroom. Then she went herself to call Helen. She found her on the high tower, with the Trojan women crowding around her. With her hand she took hold of her nectar-scented robe and tugged it, and spoke to her in the likeness of an aged woman, a wool-worker, who used to card fine wool for her when she lived in Lacedaemon, and who loved her best of all. In her likeness bright Aphrodite spoke to her:

“Come here. Alexander is calling you to come home. There he is in the bedroom, on the inlaid bed, gleaming with beauty and fine clothes. You’d never say he had come from fighting a man. You’d think he was on his way to a dance, or had just stopped dancing and sat down.” So she spoke, and stirred the heart in Helen’s breast. And when she noticed the goddess’s beautiful neck, her lovely breasts and her flashing eyes, she was amazed, and spoke to her, calling her by name:

“Strange one, why do you want to deceive me like this? Will you take me further on still, to some well-peopled city of Phrygia or lovely Maeonia, if you have some favorite among mortal men there too? Is it because Menelaus has now beaten godlike Alexander and wants to take me home, hateful as I am, that you have now come and stood here with treachery in your mind? Go and sit beside him yourself. Give up the road of the gods; never again turn your feet back to Olympus. Spend your days fretting over him and looking after him, until he makes you his wife—or else his slave. I will not go there to share his bed; that would deserve blame. The Trojan women would all reproach me afterward, and I have endless griefs in my heart.”note

Then bright Aphrodite spoke to her in anger: “Don’t provoke me, wretched woman, or I may grow angry and abandon you, and come to hate you as much as I now love you beyond measure, and contrive grim hatred between both sides, Trojans and Danaans; and then you would perish by an evil fate.” So she spoke, and Helen, born of Zeus, was afraid. She went, wrapping herself in her shining white robe, in silence, unnoticed by all the Trojan women; and the goddess led the way. When they reached Alexander’s beautiful house, the handmaids quickly turned to their work, while she, radiant among women, went up into the high-roofed bedroom.

Then laughter-loving Aphrodite took a chair, and the goddess carried it and set it down facing Alexander. There Helen sat, daughter of Zeus who holds the aegis, turning her eyes away, and she reproached her husband: “You’ve come back from the war. I wish you had died there, brought down by the strong man who was once my husband. Before this you used to boast that you were better than Menelaus, dear to Ares, in strength and hands and spear. Well, go now and challenge Menelaus, dear to Ares, to fight you face to face again. No—I tell you to stop, and not to fight fair-haired Menelaus head-on and do battle with him recklessly, or you may soon be brought down by his spear.”

Then Paris answered her: “Wife, don’t wound my heart with harsh reproaches. This time Menelaus has won, with Athena’s help; another time I will beat him, for we have gods on our side too. But come, let us go to bed and turn to love. Never before has desire so wrapped my mind, not even when I first carried you off from lovely Lacedaemon and sailed away in seafaring ships, and on the island of Cranae lay with you in love and bed, as I love you now, and sweet longing takes hold of me.” He spoke, and led the way to the bed, and his wife followed.

So the two of them lay down on the corded bed. But the son of Atreus was ranging through the throng like a wild beast, looking to see if he could catch sight of godlike Alexander anywhere. Yet none of the Trojans or their famous allies could show Alexander to Menelaus, dear to Ares, at that moment. Not that they would have hidden him out of friendship, if anyone had seen him, for he was as hateful to them all as black doom. Then Agamemnon, lord of men, spoke among them: “Hear me, Trojans, Dardanians and allies. Victory clearly belongs to Menelaus, dear to Ares. So give back Argive Helen and the possessions with her, and pay the honor-price that is fitting, one that will be remembered even among men yet to come.” So the son of Atreus spoke, and the other Achaeans shouted their approval.

Now the gods sat beside Zeus, holding assembly on the golden floor, and among them queenly Hebe poured out nectar like wine. They pledged one another with golden cups as they looked out at the city of the Trojans. At once the son of Cronus set about provoking Hera with taunting words, speaking slyly: “Menelaus has two goddesses to help him, Hera of Argos and Athena of Alalcomenae. But they sit apart and take their pleasure in watching, while laughter-loving Aphrodite is always at that other man’s side and wards off doom from him. Just now she saved him, when he thought he was going to die.note

But the victory, at any rate, belongs to Menelaus, dear to Ares. So let us consider how these things are to turn out: whether we should stir up evil war and dread battle once more, or set friendship between the two sides. And if somehow this should be welcome and pleasing to all, then the city of lord Priam might go on being lived in, and Menelaus might take Argive Helen home again.” So he spoke, and Athena and Hera muttered at it. They sat close together, plotting evil for the Trojans. Athena kept silent and said nothing, sullen at Zeus her father, though a savage anger had hold of her. But Hera’s breast could not contain her anger, and she spoke out:

“Most dread son of Cronus, what sort of thing is this you’ve said? How can you want to make my labor vain and fruitless, and the sweat I sweated in my toil, when my horses wore themselves out as I gathered the army to bring evil on Priam and his sons? Do it, then. But not all of us other gods approve.” Then, deeply angered, Zeus the cloud-gatherer spoke to her: “Strange goddess, what great wrongs can Priam and Priam’s sons be doing you, that you are so relentlessly bent on sacking the well-built citadel of Ilium? If you could go in through the gates and the long walls and eat Priam raw, and Priam’s sons and the other Trojans, then perhaps you might cure your anger. Do as you like. Only don’t let this quarrel become a great source of strife between the two of us hereafter.

And I’ll tell you something else, and you lay it to heart: whenever I in my turn am eager to sack a city where men dear to you were born, don’t try to thwart my anger, but let me be. For I too have granted you this willingly, though with an unwilling heart. Of all the cities of men on earth that lie beneath the sun and the starry sky, holy Ilium was the one most honored in my heart, and Priam, and the people of Priam with the fine ash spear. For my altar never lacked its fair share of the feast, the libation and the savor of burnt fat; that is the prize of honor we gods have been allotted.” Then ox-eyed queenly Hera answered him:

“For my part, there are three cities far dearer to me than any: Argos and Sparta and Mycenae of the broad streets. Sack them whenever they become hateful to your heart. I won’t stand up for them against you, or begrudge you. For even if I do grudge it and refuse to let you sack them, I’ll get nowhere by grudging, since you are far the stronger. Still, my labor too should not be made fruitless. I too am a god, and my birth comes from the same source as yours: crooked-counseling Cronus fathered me as his eldest, first in rank on both counts—by birth, and because I am called your wife, while you are lord among all the immortals.

With these words he urged on Athena, who was eager already, and she went darting down from the peaks of Olympus. Like a star that the son of crooked-counseling Cronus sends as a portent for sailors or for a broad army of men, a bright one, throwing off a shower of sparks—like that Pallas Athena darted down to earth and leapt into their midst. Amazement held those who looked on, the horse-taming Trojans and the well-greaved Achaeans, and one would glance at his neighbor and say: “Surely there will be evil war and dread battle once more—or else Zeus is setting friendship between the two sides, Zeus, who has been made the steward of war for men.”

So one or another of the Achaeans and Trojans would say. But she, in the likeness of a man—Laodocus son of Antenor, a mighty spearman—slipped into the throng of the Trojans, searching for godlike Pandarus, to see if she might find him somewhere. She found the son of Lycaon, peerless and mighty, standing there, and around him were the strong ranks of shield-bearing men who had followed him from the streams of Aesepus. Standing close, she spoke winged words: “Would you listen to me now, fiery-hearted son of Lycaon? Then you would dare to let fly a swift arrow at Menelaus, and win gratitude and glory among all the Trojans, and most of all from Prince Alexander.note

From him above all you would carry off splendid gifts, if he sees Menelaus, the warlike son of Atreus, laid low by your arrow and mounted on the grievous pyre. Come, shoot an arrow at glorious Menelaus, and vow to Lycian-born Apollo, famed for his bow, to offer a splendid hecatomb of firstborn lambs when you return home to the city of holy Zeleia.” So Athena spoke, and she persuaded his mind, fool that he was. At once he uncovered his polished bow, made from the horns of a wild ibex that he himself had once shot in the chest: he had waited in ambush, and as it came out from a rock he hit it under the breastbone, and it fell back upon the rock. Its horns grew sixteen palms long from its head; a craftsman who worked in horn had shaped them and fitted them together, smoothed the whole thing well, and set a golden hook at the tip.

He strung it, bracing it against the ground, and laid it carefully down; and his noble comrades held their shields in front of him, so that the warlike sons of the Achaeans would not spring up before Menelaus, the warlike son of Atreus, was hit. Then he pulled the lid off his quiver and took out an arrow, feathered and never shot, the source of black pains. Quickly he fitted the bitter arrow to the string, and vowed to Lycian-born Apollo, famed for his bow, to offer a splendid hecatomb of firstborn lambs when he returned home to the city of holy Zeleia. He drew, gripping the notched end and the ox-gut string together, and brought the string to his breast and the iron head to the bow. And when he had bent the great bow into a circle, the bow twanged, the string sang out loud, and the sharp-pointed arrow leapt forth, eager to fly into the throng.

But the blessed immortal gods did not forget you, Menelaus, and first of all the daughter of Zeus, the bringer of spoil, who stood before you and warded off the sharp arrow. She turned it aside from his skin as when a mother keeps a fly away from her child as he lies in sweet sleep, and she herself guided it to where the golden buckles of the belt held fast and the corslet, doubled over, met it. The bitter arrow struck the fastened belt. It drove through the intricately worked belt, and forced its way on through the richly worked corslet and the guard he wore as a defense for his skin, a barrier against missiles, which protected him best of all; but it went on through even that. The arrow grazed the very surface of the man’s skin, and at once blood, dark as a cloud, flowed from the wound.

As when a woman of Maeonia or Caria stains ivory with crimson dye, to make a cheekpiece for horses; it lies in a storeroom, and many horsemen long to wear it, but it lies there as a treasure for a king, both an ornament for the horse and a glory for its driver—so, Menelaus, your shapely thighs were stained with blood, and your shins, and the fine ankles beneath. Then Agamemnon, lord of men, shuddered when he saw the dark blood flowing down from the wound, and Menelaus himself, dear to Ares, shuddered too. But when he saw that the binding and the barbs were still outside, his spirit gathered back again in his breast.

Groaning heavily, lord Agamemnon spoke among them, holding Menelaus by the hand, and his comrades groaned with him: “Dear brother, it was your death, it seems, I was making when I cut the oaths, setting you out alone before the Achaeans to fight the Trojans—since the Trojans have shot you and trampled on the sworn oaths. Yet there is no way an oath is made void, or the blood of lambs, or the unmixed libations and the handshakes we trusted. For even if the Olympian does not bring it to fulfillment at once, he will fulfill it in full, late though it be, and they pay a heavy price, with their own heads, and their wives and children.

For I know this well in my mind and in my heart: there will come a day when holy Ilium is destroyed, and Priam, and the people of Priam with the fine ash spear, and Zeus son of Cronus, enthroned on high, who dwells in the upper air, will himself shake his dark aegis over them all, in anger at this deceit. These things will not go unfulfilled. But I will have terrible grief for you, Menelaus, if you die and fill out the measure of your life. And I would come back to thirsty Argos in utter disgrace, for the Achaeans will at once remember their native land, and we would leave Argive Helen behind for Priam and the Trojans to boast of. Your bones will rot in the soil as you lie in Troy, with the work left unfinished. And one of the arrogant Trojans will say something like this, leaping on the barrow of glorious Menelaus:

‘If only Agamemnon would fulfill his anger like this in every case, as now he has led an army of Achaeans here for nothing, and has gone off home to his own native land with empty ships, leaving noble Menelaus behind.’ So someone will say one day—and then may the wide earth gape open for me.” Then fair-haired Menelaus spoke to him, encouraging him: “Take heart, and don’t frighten the army of the Achaeans yet. The sharp arrow didn’t lodge in a deadly spot. Before it got there, the gleaming belt stopped it, and beneath it the waistband and the guard that the bronzesmiths made.” Then lord Agamemnon answered him: “If only it may be so, dear Menelaus! A healer will examine the wound and put drugs on it that may stop the black pains.” He spoke, and said to Talthybius, the godlike herald:

“Talthybius, call Machaon here as quickly as you can, the son of Asclepius the peerless healer, so that he may see Menelaus, the warlike son of Atreus, whom someone skilled in archery has hit with an arrow, one of the Trojans or the Lycians—glory for him, grief for us.” So he spoke, and the herald heard and did not disobey him, but went off through the army of the bronze-clad Achaeans, looking all around for the warrior Machaon. He caught sight of him standing there, and around him were the strong ranks of shield-bearing men who had followed him from Tricca, pasture of horses. Standing close, he spoke winged words: “Up, son of Asclepius! Lord Agamemnon is calling you, so that you may see Menelaus, the warlike leader of the Achaeans, whom someone skilled in archery has hit with an arrow, one of the Trojans or the Lycians—glory for him, grief for us.”note

So he spoke, and stirred the heart in his breast, and they went off through the throng across the broad army of the Achaeans. And when they came to where fair-haired Menelaus had been hit, with all the best men gathered around him in a circle, the godlike man came and stood in their midst, and at once drew the arrow from the fastened belt; and as it was drawn out, the sharp barbs bent back. He loosened the gleaming belt, and beneath it the waistband and the guard that the bronzesmiths made. And when he saw the wound where the bitter arrow had struck, he sucked out the blood and skillfully sprinkled on soothing drugs, which Chiron had once given his father out of friendship.note

While they were busy tending Menelaus, good at the war cry, the ranks of the shield-bearing Trojans came on; and the Achaeans put on their armor again and turned their minds to battle. Then you would not have seen godlike Agamemnon drowsing, or cowering, or unwilling to fight, but hurrying eagerly to the battle where men win glory. He left his horses and his chariot, ornamented with bronze; his attendant Eurymedon, son of Ptolemaeus son of Peiraeus, held them, snorting, off to the side, and Agamemnon charged him again and again to keep them close at hand for whenever weariness should take hold of his limbs as he marshaled so many men. He himself went on foot among the ranks of men, and whenever he saw any of the Danaans with swift horses hurrying on, he would stand beside them and urge them on all the more with words:

“Argives, don’t slacken your fierce courage now! Father Zeus will be no helper to liars. Those who were the first to do harm in breach of the oaths—their tender flesh the vultures will devour, while we carry off their dear wives and little children in our ships, once we take the citadel.” But any he saw shrinking back from hateful war he would berate fiercely with angry words: “Argives, you arrow-fighters, you disgraces, have you no shame? Why do you stand like this, dazed, like fawns that have tired themselves out running across a wide plain and stand still, with no courage left in their hearts? Just so you stand there dazed, and do not fight.

Or are you waiting for the Trojans to come close to where our well-sterned ships are drawn up on the shore of the gray sea, to see whether the son of Cronus will hold his hand over you?” So he went among the ranks of men, marshaling them, and making his way through the throng of men he came to the Cretans. They were arming around fiery-hearted Idomeneus: Idomeneus among the foremost fighters, like a boar in his strength, while Meriones was urging on the rearmost battalions for him. When he saw them, Agamemnon, lord of men, was glad, and at once addressed Idomeneus with gentle words: “Idomeneus, I honor you beyond the Danaans with swift horses, in war and in every other kind of work, and at the feast, when the best men of the Argives mix the gleaming wine of the elders in the mixing bowl.

For even if the other long-haired Achaeans drink their allotted portion, your cup always stands full, as mine does, to drink whenever your heart bids you. So rouse yourself for war, the man you’ve always claimed to be.” Then Idomeneus, leader of the Cretans, answered him in turn: “Son of Atreus, I will indeed be your trusty comrade, just as I promised at first and confirmed with my nod. But urge on the other long-haired Achaeans, so that we may fight as soon as possible, since the Trojans have made havoc of the oaths. For them, in turn, there will be death and sorrows hereafter, since they were the first to do harm in breach of the oaths.”

So he spoke, and the son of Atreus passed on, glad at heart. He came to the two Ajaxes, going through the press of men. The two were arming, and a cloud of foot soldiers followed with them. As when a goatherd from a lookout sees a cloud coming over the sea under the blast of the West Wind: to him, far off as he is, it looks blacker than pitch as it moves over the sea, and it brings a great storm with it; he shudders at the sight and drives his flocks into a cave. So with the two Ajaxes the dense battalions of young men nurtured by Zeus moved into hateful war, dark, bristling with shields and spears. Lord Agamemnon was glad when he saw them, and he called out to them and spoke winged words:note

“Ajaxes, leaders of the bronze-clad Argives, I give you two no orders, since it isn’t right to urge you on. You yourselves are driving the army hard to fight with all their strength. Father Zeus, Athena and Apollo, if only all of them had such spirit in their breasts! Then the city of lord Priam would soon bow its head, captured and sacked at our hands.” So saying, he left them there and went on to others. There he found Nestor, the clear-voiced speaker of the Pylians, marshaling his comrades and urging them to fight under tall Pelagon, Alastor and Chromius, lord Haemon, and Bias, shepherd of the people. He placed the horsemen in front with their horses and chariots, and behind them he set the foot soldiers, many and brave, to be a bulwark in the war. The cowards he drove into the middle, so that even a man who didn’t want to would have no choice but to fight.

First he gave his orders to the horsemen. He told them to keep their horses in hand and not get tangled in the throng: “Let no one, trusting in his horsemanship and his manhood, be eager to fight the Trojans alone, out ahead of the rest; and let no one fall back either, for that way you’ll be weaker. Whoever comes from his own chariot within reach of an enemy’s, let him thrust with the spear, since that is far the better way. This is how the men of earlier times sacked cities and walls, with this mind and this spirit in their breasts.” So the old man urged them on, long skilled in war. Lord Agamemnon was glad when he saw him, and he called out to him and spoke winged words:

“Old man, if only your knees could keep pace with the spirit in your breast, and your strength stay firm! But age, which comes to all alike, wears you down. If only some other man had it, and you were one of the young!” Then Gerenian Nestor, the horseman, answered him: “Son of Atreus, I too would very much like to be the man I was when I killed godlike Ereuthalion. But the gods never give men everything at once. If I was young then, now old age is upon me. Even so I’ll be among the horsemen and direct them with counsel and words, for that is the prize of the old. The younger men will ply the spears, men born after me who trust in their strength.”note

So he spoke, and the son of Atreus passed on, glad at heart. He found Menestheus, son of Peteos, driver of horses, standing still, and around him the Athenians, masters of the war cry. Close by stood resourceful Odysseus, and beside him, all around, stood the ranks of the Cephallenians, no weaklings. Their troops had not yet heard the battle cry, for the battalions of the horse-taming Trojans and of the Achaeans had only just begun to stir and move against each other; so they stood waiting for some other column of Achaeans to advance, charge the Trojans and begin the fighting. When he saw them, Agamemnon, lord of men, rebuked them, and he called out to them and spoke winged words:

“Son of Peteos, the king nurtured by Zeus, and you, master of wicked tricks, crafty-minded one: why do you stand apart cowering, waiting for others? It’s fitting for you two to stand among the foremost and meet the blazing battle head-on. You’re the first to hear my invitation to the feast whenever we Achaeans prepare a feast for the elders. There you’re happy enough to eat roast meat and drink cups of honey-sweet wine for as long as you like. But now you’d be happy to look on even if ten columns of Achaeans were fighting in front of you with the pitiless bronze.” Then, with an angry glance from under his brows, resourceful Odysseus said to him:

“Son of Atreus, what kind of word has escaped the fence of your teeth? How can you say we hang back from war, whenever we Achaeans rouse keen Ares against the horse-taming Trojans? You’ll see, if you want to and if it matters to you, the dear father of Telemachus mixing with the front-line fighters of the horse-taming Trojans. What you’re saying is empty wind.” Lord Agamemnon smiled and spoke to him, seeing that he was angry, and took back his words: “Son of Laertes, sprung from Zeus, Odysseus of many wiles, I don’t rebuke you beyond measure, and I give you no orders; for I know that the spirit in your breast is kindly disposed: you think as I do. Come, we’ll make this right later, if anything harsh has been said now. May the gods make it all come to nothing.”

So saying, he left them there and went on to others. He found the son of Tydeus, high-hearted Diomedes, standing among his horses and his well-joined chariots, and beside him stood Sthenelus, son of Capaneus. When he saw him, lord Agamemnon rebuked him, and he called out to him and spoke winged words: “Ah, son of fierce-hearted Tydeus, the horse-tamer, why are you cowering? Why are you peering at the gaps between the battle lines? Tydeus never liked to cower like this; he liked to fight the enemy far out ahead of his dear comrades. So say those who saw him at work; I never met him or saw him myself, but they say he was beyond all others.

Once he came to Mycenae, not in war but as a guest, with godlike Polynices, gathering an army. They were marching then against the sacred walls of Thebes, and they begged hard to be given famous allies. The people were willing to give them and agreed to what they asked, but Zeus turned them aside by showing unfavorable signs. So the two went off, and when they were well on their way and had reached the Asopus, deep in reeds and lush with grass, the Achaeans sent Tydeus ahead from there with a message. He went, and found many Cadmeans feasting in the house of mighty Eteocles. There, though he was a stranger, Tydeus the charioteer felt no fear, alone among so many Cadmeans. He challenged them to contests and won every one of them easily, so strong a helper was Athena to him.note

“Son of Atreus, don’t tell lies when you know how to speak the plain truth. We claim to be far better than our fathers. We actually took the seat of seven-gated Thebes, though we led a smaller army against a stronger wall, trusting in the portents of the gods and the help of Zeus; but they perished through their own reckless folly. So don’t you ever put our fathers in the same honor as us.” Then, with an angry glance from under his brows, mighty Diomedes said to him: “Friend, sit quiet and do as I say. I don’t blame Agamemnon, shepherd of the people, for urging the well-greaved Achaeans to fight. The glory will go with him if the Achaeans cut down the Trojans and take holy Ilium, and the great grief will be his if the Achaeans are cut down. Come, then, let the two of us also set our minds on furious valor.”note

He spoke, and leapt from his chariot to the ground in his armor, and the bronze on the king’s chest rang terribly as he moved: fear would have gripped even a man of steady heart. As when on a loud-echoing shore the waves of the sea rise one after another, driven by the West Wind: out at sea a wave first lifts its crest, and then, breaking on the land, it roars loudly, and around the headlands it swells and arches to a peak and spits out the salt foam. So then the battalions of the Danaans moved one after another, without pause, into war. Each of the leaders gave orders to his own men; the rest went in silence, and you would not have said that so great an army followed with voices in their breasts, silent as they were in fear of their commanders. On all of them shone the intricate armor they wore as they marched in their ranks.

And the Trojans: as ewes in the fold of a rich man stand in their thousands to be milked of their white milk, bleating without end as they hear the voices of their lambs, so the clamor of the Trojans rose throughout the broad army. For they did not all have the same speech or a single language; their tongues were mixed, and the men had been called from many lands. These were roused by Ares, those by gray-eyed Athena, and by Terror and Rout and Strife, insatiably eager, sister and companion of man-slaying Ares. She at first lifts her crest only a little, but then she plants her head in the sky while she walks upon the earth. It was she who then too cast strife that falls alike on all into their midst, going through the throng and swelling the groans of men.

When they had come together and met in one place, they clashed their shields of hide together, and their spears, and the fury of bronze-corsleted men; the bossed shields pressed against one another, and a great din arose. Then there rose together the groans and the boasts of men killing and being killed, and the earth ran with blood. As when two winter torrents, running down the mountains, hurl their mighty waters together where the valleys meet, from great springs inside a hollow ravine, and far off in the mountains a shepherd hears their thunder, so from the armies as they mingled rose shouting and struggle.

Antilochus was the first to kill a helmeted Trojan, a fine warrior among the front-line fighters, Echepolus son of Thalysius. He struck him first on the ridge of his helmet with its horsehair plume, and drove it into his forehead, and the bronze spear point passed through into the bone. Darkness covered his eyes, and he crashed down like a tower in the fierce combat. As he fell, lord Elephenor caught him by the feet, the son of Chalcodon, leader of the great-hearted Abantes, and dragged him out from under the missiles, eager to strip his armor as fast as he could. But his effort was short-lived. Great-hearted Agenor saw him dragging the body, and where his side showed beside his shield as he stooped, he stabbed him with his bronze-tipped spear and loosened his limbs. So his spirit left him, and over him a grim struggle broke out between Trojans and Achaeans. They sprang at each other like wolves, and man grappled with man.

Then Telamonian Ajax struck the son of Anthemion, Simoeisius, an unmarried youth in his prime, whom his mother had once borne beside the banks of the Simoeis as she came down from Ida, where she had gone with her parents to see to the flocks. That is why they called him Simoeisius. But he never repaid his dear parents for his rearing; his life was brief, cut down by the spear of great-hearted Ajax. As he came on, Ajax struck him first in the chest beside the right nipple, and the bronze spear went straight through and out at the shoulder. He fell to the ground in the dust like a poplar that has grown up in the low-lying land of a great marsh, smooth, with its branches growing at the very top: a chariot-maker has cut it down with the gleaming iron to bend it into a wheel rim for a beautiful chariot, and it lies drying by the banks of a river.

Then fate shackled Diores son of Amarynceus. He was struck by a jagged stone on the right shin, by the ankle; the one who threw it was the leader of the Thracian men, Peirous son of Imbrasus, who had come from Aenus. The ruthless stone crushed both tendons and the bones completely. He fell on his back in the dust, stretching out both hands to his dear comrades, gasping out his life. Then the man who had struck him, Peirous, ran up and stabbed him with his spear beside the navel, and all his bowels poured out on the ground, and darkness covered his eyes. As Peirous sprang back, Thoas the Aetolian struck him with his spear in the chest above the nipple, and the bronze stuck fast in his lung. Thoas came up close, pulled the heavy spear out of his chest, drew his sharp sword, and with it struck him in the middle of the belly and took away his life.

But he did not strip his armor, for the dead man’s comrades stood around him, Thracians with their hair in topknots, holding long spears in their hands; and big and strong and splendid as he was, they thrust him away from them, and he gave ground, staggering. So the two lay stretched in the dust side by side, one the leader of the Thracians, the other of the bronze-clad Epeians; and many others too were killed around them. Then no man who came into that fighting could have made light of it any longer—a man still unhit and unwounded by the sharp bronze who went whirling through the thick of it, with Pallas Athena leading him by the hand and warding off the rush of missiles. For on that day many Trojans and Achaeans lay stretched face down in the dust side by side.

Then Pallas Athena gave Diomedes, son of Tydeus, fury and daring, so that he would stand out among all the Argives and win noble glory. She kindled a tireless fire from his helmet and shield, like the star of late summer that shines brightest of all once it has bathed in Ocean. Such was the fire she kindled from his head and shoulders, and she drove him into the middle of the fighting, where the most men were in turmoil. Among the Trojans there was a certain Dares, a rich and blameless man, a priest of Hephaestus. He had two sons, Phegeus and Idaeus, both well skilled in every kind of fighting. These two broke away from the rest and charged at Diomedes. They attacked from their chariot, while he came at them on foot from the ground.note

When they had come close, advancing on each other, Phegeus was the first to hurl his long-shadowed spear. Its point passed over the left shoulder of the son of Tydeus and did not hit him. Then the son of Tydeus rushed in with the bronze, and the weapon did not fly from his hand in vain. It struck Phegeus in the chest between the nipples and knocked him from the horses. Idaeus leapt down and left the beautiful chariot, and he did not dare to stand over his slain brother. Nor would he himself have escaped black doom, but Hephaestus guarded him and saved him by covering him in night, so that the old man would not be utterly stricken with grief. The son of great-hearted Tydeus drove off the horses and gave them to his comrades to take down to the hollow ships.

Idomeneus killed Phaestus, son of Borus the Maeonian, who had come from fertile Tarne. Idomeneus, famed for his spear, stabbed him with his long spear in the right shoulder as he was mounting his chariot. He toppled from the chariot, and hateful darkness seized him. Idomeneus’ attendants stripped him of his armor. And Scamandrius, son of Strophius, skilled in the hunt, fell to Menelaus son of Atreus and his sharp spear. He was a fine hunter, for Artemis herself had taught him to shoot every wild thing that the forest nurtures on the mountains. But Artemis, who showers arrows, was no help to him then, nor was the long-range shooting in which he had excelled before. Menelaus son of Atreus, famed for his spear, stabbed him in the back with his spear as he fled ahead of him, between the shoulders, and drove it on through his chest. He fell headlong, and his armor clanged upon him.

Meriones killed Phereclus, son of Harmonides the builder, who knew how to make every kind of intricate thing with his hands, for Pallas Athena loved him above all others. It was he who built for Alexander the balanced ships that began the trouble. Those ships became a bane to all the Trojans and to Phereclus himself, since he knew nothing of the oracles of the gods. Meriones caught up with him in the chase and struck him in the right buttock. The point passed clean through, under the bone and into the bladder. He dropped to his knees with a cry, and death enfolded him. And Meges killed Pedaeus, Antenor’s son. He was born out of wedlock, but noble Theano had raised him with care, just like her own children, to please her husband.

The son of Phyleus, famed for his spear, came close and struck him at the back of the head with his sharp spear. The bronze cut straight through, under the tongue and out between the teeth. He fell in the dust and bit down on the cold bronze with his teeth. And Eurypylus son of Euaemon went after godlike Hypsenor, son of high-spirited Dolopion, who had been made priest of Scamander and was honored like a god by the people. As Hypsenor fled ahead of him, Eurypylus, Euaemon’s splendid son, darted after him and struck his shoulder with his sword in mid-chase, shearing off the heavy arm. The bloody arm fell to the plain, and dark death and mighty fate closed down over his eyes.

So they toiled in the fierce combat. But as for the son of Tydeus, you could not have told which side he was on, whether he was mingling with the Trojans or with the Achaeans. For he raged across the plain like a river in flood, a winter torrent that runs fast and scatters the dikes. The close-built dikes cannot hold it back, and the walls of the flourishing vineyards cannot check it as it comes suddenly, when the rain of Zeus pours heavily down, and many fine works of young men collapse beneath it. So the close ranks of the Trojans were thrown into confusion under the son of Tydeus, and many as they were, they could not stand against him.

When the splendid son of Lycaon saw him raging across the plain, driving the ranks in confusion before him, he quickly bent his curved bow at the son of Tydeus. He hit him as he charged, striking the plate of the corslet at the right shoulder. The bitter arrow flew through and held straight on its way, and the corslet was spattered with blood. Over him the splendid son of Lycaon gave a loud shout: “Rise up, great-hearted Trojans, drivers of horses! The best of the Achaeans is hit, and I don’t think he’ll hold out long against the mighty shaft, if it was really the lord, the son of Zeus, who sped me on my way from Lycia.” So he spoke, boasting. But the swift shaft did not bring Diomedes down. He drew back, stood in front of his horses and chariot, and spoke to Sthenelus, son of Capaneus:

“Up, my friend, son of Capaneus, get down from the chariot and pull this bitter arrow out of my shoulder.” So he spoke, and Sthenelus leapt from the chariot to the ground, stood beside him, and drew the swift shaft clean out through the shoulder. The blood spurted up through the pliant tunic. Then Diomedes, good at the war cry, prayed: “Hear me, child of Zeus who bears the aegis, Unwearied One! If ever you stood beside my father with kindness in your heart amid the fury of war, now be kind to me in turn, Athena. Grant that I kill this man, and that he come within my spear’s cast—the one who hit me first and is boasting over it, and says I won’t see the bright light of the sun much longer.”

So he spoke in prayer, and Pallas Athena heard him. She made his limbs light, his feet and his arms above them, and standing close by she spoke winged words: “Fight the Trojans with confidence now, Diomedes. I have put your father’s fury in your chest, fearless, the kind that Tydeus the horseman, wielder of the shield, used to have. And I have taken from your eyes the mist that was on them before, so that you can clearly tell god from man. So now, if any god comes here to test you, don’t fight face to face with the other immortal gods. But if Zeus’ daughter Aphrodite enters the battle, wound her with the sharp bronze.”

When she had spoken, gray-eyed Athena went away. The son of Tydeus went back and mingled with the front-line fighters. His heart had been eager to fight the Trojans before, but now a fury three times as great took hold of him. He was like a lion that a shepherd, out in the fields guarding his woolly sheep, has grazed as it leapt over the fold but has not overpowered. He has only roused its strength, and after that he no longer fights it off but slips in among the farm buildings, and the abandoned sheep panic. They lie heaped on one another in crowds, while the lion, still raging, leaps out of the high-walled fold. So, raging, mighty Diomedes mingled with the Trojans.

Then he killed Astynous and Hypeiron, shepherd of the people. He hit the one above the nipple with his bronze-tipped spear. The other he struck with his great sword on the collarbone beside the shoulder, and severed the shoulder from the neck and back. He left them and went after Abas and Polyidus, sons of Eurydamas, the old reader of dreams. But when they set out, the old man read no dreams for them, and mighty Diomedes killed them and stripped their armor. He went on after Xanthus and Thoon, the two sons of Phaenops, both born late in his life. Phaenops was worn down by grievous old age and had fathered no other son to leave his possessions to. There Diomedes killed them and took the dear life from them both, and he left their father lamentation and bitter grief, since he would not welcome them home alive from the battle. Distant kinsmen divided his property.

Then he caught two sons of Priam, descendant of Dardanus, Echemmon and Chromius, riding in a single chariot. As a lion leaps among cattle and breaks the neck of a heifer or a cow grazing in a thicket, so the son of Tydeus knocked them both from their chariot, roughly, against their will, and then stripped their armor. The horses he gave to his comrades to drive to the ships. Aeneas saw him wrecking the ranks of men, and set off through the battle and the din of spears, looking for godlike Pandarus in the hope of finding him somewhere. He found Lycaon’s son, blameless and strong, stood in front of him, and spoke to him face to face:

“Pandarus, where are your bow and your winged arrows, and your fame? No man here can rival you in archery, and no one in Lycia claims to be better than you. Come, lift your hands to Zeus and let fly an arrow at this man, whoever he is, who is overpowering us and has already done the Trojans so much harm, since he has loosed the knees of many fine men—unless he is some god angry with the Trojans, in wrath over sacrifices. A god’s wrath weighs heavy.” Then the splendid son of Lycaon spoke to him in turn:

“Aeneas, counselor of the bronze-clad Trojans, in every respect I’d say he is the warlike son of Tydeus. I recognize him by his shield and his helmet with its socketed crest, and by the look of his horses. But I don’t know for certain whether he is a god. If he is the man I say he is, the warlike son of Tydeus, then he isn’t raging like this without a god’s help. One of the immortals is standing beside him, his shoulders wrapped in cloud, and turned my swift shaft aside just as it reached him. I’ve already shot at him, and I hit him in the right shoulder, straight through the plate of his corslet. I thought I would send him down to Hades, but even so I didn’t bring him down. There must be some god who is angry.

“Don’t talk like that. Nothing will change until the two of us go up against this man with horses and chariot and try him in arms. Come, get into my chariot, so you can see what Trojan horses are like, how well they know the plain, and how swiftly they can pursue this way and that, or flee. They’ll get us both safely back to the city, too, if Zeus once again grants glory to Diomedes son of Tydeus. So come now, take the whip and the shining reins, and I’ll get down from the chariot to fight. Or else you take him on, and I’ll see to the horses.” Then the splendid son of Lycaon spoke to him in turn:

“Aeneas, keep the reins yourself, and your own horses. They’ll pull the curved chariot better under the driver they’re used to, if we have to flee from the son of Tydeus again. I’m afraid they might take fright and balk, and refuse to carry us out of the battle because they miss your voice. Then the son of great-hearted Tydeus would charge at us, kill us both, and drive off the single-hoofed horses. No, you drive your own chariot and your own horses, and I’ll take him on with my sharp spear as he comes at us.” So they spoke, and they mounted the intricately worked chariot and eagerly drove the swift horses against the son of Tydeus. Sthenelus, splendid son of Capaneus, saw them and at once spoke winged words to the son of Tydeus:

“Diomedes son of Tydeus, dear to my heart, I see two mighty men eager to fight you, with boundless strength. One is Pandarus, skilled with the bow, who claims to be Lycaon’s son. The other is Aeneas, who claims to be the son of blameless Anchises, and his mother is Aphrodite. Come, let’s fall back to the chariot, and please don’t rage like this among the front-line fighters, or you may lose your life.” Mighty Diomedes scowled at him and said: “Don’t talk to me of flight. I don’t think you’ll persuade me. It’s not in my blood to fight while shirking or to cower. My strength is still steady. I’m not inclined to mount the chariot; just as I am, I’ll go to meet them. Pallas Athena won’t let me tremble.

As for these two, their swift horses won’t carry both of them back away from us again, even if one does escape. And I’ll tell you something else, and you take it to heart. If Athena of many counsels grants me the glory of killing them both, then hold these swift horses of ours right here, with the reins pulled taut from the chariot rail, and remember to rush at Aeneas’ horses and drive them away from the Trojans to the well-greaved Achaeans. They come from the breed that far-seeing Zeus gave Tros in payment for his son Ganymede, because they are the best of all horses beneath the dawn and the sun. Anchises, lord of men, stole from that breed by putting his mares to them without Laomedon’s knowledge, and from them a brood of six was born in his halls.note

“You’re hit clean through the flank, and I don’t think you’ll hold out much longer. You’ve given me a great triumph.” But mighty Diomedes, not at all afraid, said to him: “You missed—you didn’t hit. But I don’t think the two of you will stop until one of you has fallen and glutted Ares, the warrior with the oxhide shield, with his blood.” So saying, he let fly, and Athena guided the shaft onto the nose beside the eye, and it went through the white teeth. The unyielding bronze cut off the tongue at its root, and the point came out at the base of the chin. He toppled from the chariot, and his armor clanged upon him, gleaming and glittering. The swift-footed horses shied aside, and there his life and his strength were undone.

Aeneas leapt down with his shield and his long spear, afraid that the Achaeans might somehow drag the body away from him. He strode around it like a lion trusting in its strength, and held his spear and his shield, balanced on every side, in front of it, eager to kill whoever came to face him, and shouting terribly. But the son of Tydeus picked up a stone in his hand, a huge thing that two men could not carry, men such as mortals are now; but he swung it easily, even alone.

So she was carrying her dear son quietly out of the battle. But the son of Capaneus did not forget the instructions that Diomedes, good at the war cry, had given him. He held back his own single-hoofed horses away from the din, pulling the reins tight from the chariot rail, then rushed at the fine-maned horses of Aeneas and drove them from the Trojans into the ranks of the well-greaved Achaeans. He gave them to Deïpylus, his dear companion, whom he honored above all the men of his age because they thought alike, to drive to the hollow ships. Then the warrior mounted his own chariot, took up the shining reins, and at once drove his strong-hoofed horses eagerly after the son of Tydeus. Diomedes, meanwhile, was going after Cypris with the pitiless bronze, knowing that she was a feeble goddess, not one of the goddesses who rule over men’s warfare, neither Athena nor Enyo, sacker of cities.note

“Keep out of war and slaughter, daughter of Zeus! Isn’t it enough for you to lead weak women astray? If you go roaming into war, I think you’ll shudder at the very word, even if you only hear it somewhere far away.” So he spoke, and she went off, dazed and in terrible pain. Wind-footed Iris took her and led her out of the throng, weighed down with her pains, her lovely skin darkening. Then she found furious Ares sitting to the left of the battle, his spear and his swift horses resting in a mist. She fell to her knees and begged her dear brother again and again for his horses with their golden headbands: “Dear brother, help me, and give me your horses, so that I can reach Olympus, where the immortals have their home.

I’m in terrible pain from a wound a mortal man gave me, the son of Tydeus, who now would fight even with father Zeus.” So she spoke, and Ares gave her his horses with their golden headbands. She climbed into the chariot, grieving at heart, and Iris climbed in beside her, took the reins in her hands, and whipped the horses on, and the pair flew off willingly. Quickly they reached the seat of the gods, steep Olympus. There wind-footed, swift Iris halted the horses, unyoked them from the chariot, and set ambrosial fodder before them. And bright Aphrodite fell at the knees of Dione, her mother. Dione took her daughter in her arms, stroked her with her hand, and spoke to her, calling her by name:note

“Which of the heavenly gods has done this to you, my dear child, so wantonly, as if you’d been caught doing something wrong in plain sight?” Then laughter-loving Aphrodite answered her: “The son of Tydeus wounded me, high-spirited Diomedes, because I was carrying my dear son out of the battle, Aeneas, who is by far the dearest of all to me. This is no longer a terrible battle between Trojans and Achaeans: now the Danaans are fighting even the immortals.” Then Dione, noble among goddesses, answered her: “Bear it, my child, and endure, hurt as you are. Many of us who have our homes on Olympus have had to bear suffering at the hands of men, while bringing cruel pains on one another.

Ares had to bear it, when Otus and mighty Ephialtes, the sons of Aloeus, tied him up in strong chains; he lay chained in a bronze jar for thirteen months. And Ares, who never has enough of war, would have perished there, had not their stepmother, the lovely Eëriboea, brought word to Hermes; and Hermes stole Ares away, already worn out, for the cruel chains were overpowering him. Hera had to bear it, when the mighty son of Amphitryon struck her in the right breast with a three-barbed arrow; then pain past healing took hold of her too. And among them monstrous Hades had to bear a swift arrow, when the same man, the son of Zeus who bears the aegis, shot him at Pylos among the dead and gave him over to pain. He went to the house of Zeus and to high Olympus, grieving at heart, pierced through with pain, for the arrow had been driven into his massive shoulder and it tormented his spirit.note

She spoke, and with both her hands wiped the ichor from Aphrodite’s hand: the hand was healed and the heavy pains eased. But Athena and Hera, watching, began teasing Zeus, son of Cronus, with mocking words. The goddess, gray-eyed Athena, was the first to speak: “Father Zeus, will you be angry with me for what I’m going to say? Cypris must have been coaxing some Achaean woman to run off with the Trojans, whom she loves so madly now, and while she was stroking one of these well-robed Achaean women, she scratched her slender hand on a golden brooch.” So she spoke, and the father of men and gods smiled, and he called golden Aphrodite to him and said:

“My child, the works of war are not for you. You see to the lovely works of marriage; all this will be the business of swift Ares and Athena.” So they talked together in this way. Meanwhile Diomedes, good at the war cry, sprang at Aeneas, though he knew that Apollo himself was holding his hands over him. But he had no awe even for the great god, and kept trying to kill Aeneas and strip off his famous armor. Three times he sprang at him, eager to kill him, and three times Apollo beat back his shining shield. But when he rushed on him the fourth time, like a god, Apollo who works from afar gave a terrible shout and spoke to him:

“Think, son of Tydeus, and draw back! Don’t try to think yourself the equal of the gods; the race of immortal gods and the race of men who walk the earth will never be alike.” So he spoke, and the son of Tydeus drew back a little, to avoid the wrath of far-shooting Apollo. And Apollo set Aeneas apart from the throng in holy Pergamus, where his temple stood. There in the great inner sanctuary Leto and Artemis, the archer, healed him and made him glorious. Meanwhile Apollo of the silver bow made a phantom that looked like Aeneas himself, with armor just like his, and around the phantom Trojans and godlike Achaeans hacked at the oxhide shields on each other’s chests, the round shields and the light, fluttering bucklers. Then Phoebus Apollo spoke to furious Ares:

“Ares, Ares, bane of mortals, blood-stained stormer of walls, won’t you go and pull this man out of the fight, the son of Tydeus, who now would fight even with father Zeus? First he came close and wounded Cypris on the hand at the wrist, and then he rushed at me myself, like a god.” So he spoke, and he himself sat down on the heights of Pergamus, while deadly Ares went among the Trojan ranks and urged them on, in the likeness of Acamas, the swift leader of the Thracians. He called on the sons of Priam, cherished by Zeus: “Sons of Priam, king cherished by Zeus, how much longer will you let the Achaeans slaughter your people? Until they’re fighting around our well-built gates? A man lies fallen whom we honored as much as godlike Hector: Aeneas, son of great-hearted Anchises. Come, let’s save our good comrade from the din of battle.”

So he spoke, and stirred the fury and spirit of every man. Then Sarpedon sharply rebuked godlike Hector: “Hector, where has the fury gone that you used to have? You said, I believe, that you could hold the city without the army or the allies, alone with your brothers-in-law and your brothers. But I can’t see a single one of them now, or catch sight of one; they cower like dogs around a lion, while we, who are only allies here, do the fighting. I too am an ally, and I’ve come from very far away: Lycia is far off, by the eddying Xanthus, where I left my dear wife and my infant son, and great possessions, the kind a man in need longs for.note

Even so I urge the Lycians on, and I’m eager myself to fight my man, though I have nothing here of the kind the Achaeans could carry off or drive away. But you just stand there, and don’t even tell the rest of the army to hold their ground and defend their wives. Take care that you’re not caught, as if in the meshes of a net that catches everything, and become prey and plunder for your enemies; they’ll soon sack your well-built city. All this should be your concern night and day: you should be begging the leaders of your far-famed allies to hold firm without flinching, and so put an end to harsh reproach.”

So Sarpedon spoke, and his words stung Hector to the heart. At once he leapt from his chariot to the ground in his armor and, brandishing his sharp spears, went everywhere through the army, urging them to fight, and roused the terrible battle. The Trojans rallied and stood facing the Achaeans, and the Argives held their ground in a mass and did not run. As the wind carries chaff across the holy threshing floors when men are winnowing, when fair-haired Demeter separates the grain from the chaff in the rush of the winds, and the heaps of chaff grow white—so then the Achaeans grew white on top with the dust that the horses’ hooves kicked up through them into the bronze sky, as they met again in battle and the charioteers wheeled them round.

On the other side the two Ajaxes, Odysseus and Diomedes urged the Danaans to fight, and the Danaans themselves had no fear of the Trojans’ violence or their charges, but stood firm like clouds that the son of Cronus sets on the mountain peaks in windless weather, motionless, while the fury of the North Wind sleeps, and of the other blustering winds that scatter the shadowy clouds with their shrill blasts when they blow—so the Danaans waited for the Trojans steadfastly and did not run. And the son of Atreus ranged through the throng, giving many orders:

“My friends, be men, take courage into your hearts, and feel shame before one another in the fierce combat. When men feel shame, more are saved than killed; but when men run, no glory comes of it and no defense.” He spoke, and quickly hurled his spear, and hit a man in the front line, Deïcoon son of Pergasus, a comrade of great-hearted Aeneas, whom the Trojans honored as much as the sons of Priam, since he was quick to fight among the foremost. Lord Agamemnon struck him on the shield with his spear; the shield did not stop the spear, the bronze went right through it, and he drove it through the belt into the lower belly. He fell with a thud, and his armor clattered upon him.

Then Aeneas in his turn killed two of the best men of the Danaans, the sons of Diocles, Crethon and Orsilochus. Their father lived in well-built Phere, a man rich in livelihood, and his lineage went back to the river Alpheus, which flows broad through the land of the Pylians. The river fathered Ortilochus, lord over many men; Ortilochus fathered great-hearted Diocles; and to Diocles were born twin sons, Crethon and Orsilochus, skilled in every kind of fighting. When they reached manhood they followed the Argives on the black ships to Ilium of the fine horses, to win honor for Agamemnon and Menelaus, the sons of Atreus; but there the end that is death covered them.

The two of them were holding their hands and sharp spears out toward each other, eager to fight, while Antilochus took his stand close beside the shepherd of the people. Aeneas did not stand his ground, swift fighter though he was, when he saw two men standing side by side. So they dragged the dead men back to the Achaean army, laid the two unfortunates in the arms of their comrades, and themselves turned and fought among the foremost. Then they killed Pylaemenes, the equal of Ares, leader of the great-hearted Paphlagonian shieldmen. Menelaus son of Atreus, famed for his spear, stabbed him with his spear as he stood, hitting him at the collarbone; and Antilochus struck Mydon, his charioteer and attendant, the brave son of Atymnius, as he was wheeling the single-hoofed horses round, hitting him with a stone square on the elbow; and the reins, white with ivory, fell from his hands to the ground in the dust.

Antilochus sprang at him and struck him on the temple with his sword, and he, gasping, toppled headfirst from the well-made chariot into the dust, onto his head and shoulders. He stood stuck there a long time, for he had landed in deep sand, until the horses kicked him and knocked him flat in the dust. Antilochus whipped them and drove them off to the Achaean army. Hector caught sight of them across the ranks and rushed at them, shouting, and the strong battalions of the Trojans followed with him. Ares and queenly Enyo led them: she brought with her shameless Uproar of battle, while Ares wielded a monstrous spear in his hands and ranged now in front of Hector, now behind.

When he saw him, Diomedes, good at the war cry, shuddered. As when a man crossing a wide plain, at a loss, stops at a swift-flowing river that runs down to the sea, and seeing it seething with foam, runs back—so then the son of Tydeus drew back, and said to the army: “My friends, how we marvel at godlike Hector for being such a spearman and so bold a warrior! But there’s always one of the gods beside him to ward off destruction, and now Ares is there beside him in the likeness of a mortal man. So keep your faces toward the Trojans and give way backward, and don’t be eager to fight the gods with force.”

So he spoke, and the Trojans came very close to them. Then Hector killed two men skilled in battle, riding in a single chariot, Menesthes and Anchialus. Great Telamonian Ajax pitied them as they fell. He came up and stood very near, hurled his shining spear, and struck Amphius, son of Selagus, who lived in Paesus, rich in possessions and rich in grain; but fate had led him to come as an ally to Priam and his sons. Telamonian Ajax struck him at the belt, and the long-shadowed spear stuck fast in the lower belly, and he fell with a thud. Shining Ajax ran up to strip his armor, but the Trojans poured their spears on him, sharp and gleaming, and his shield caught many.

“Sarpedon, counselor of the Lycians, what need is there for you to cower here, a man with no knowledge of battle? They lie when they say you are the offspring of aegis-bearing Zeus, since you fall far short of the men who were born of Zeus in the days of earlier men. What a man they say mighty Heracles was, my father, bold and staunch, with the heart of a lion! He came here once for the horses of Laomedon, with only six ships and fewer men, and sacked the city of Ilium and widowed its streets. But yours is a coward’s heart, and your men are dying off. I don’t think you’ll be any defense to the Trojans by coming from Lycia, not even if you are very strong. No, beaten down by me, you will pass through the gates of Hades.” Then Sarpedon, leader of the Lycians, spoke to him in turn:note

“Tlepolemus, that man did destroy holy Ilium, but through the folly of a man, proud Laomedon, who answered his good service with harsh words and did not give him the horses he had come so far to get. But for you, I tell you, slaughter and black doom will come here from my hand; beaten down by my spear, you will give glory to me, and your life to Hades of the famous horses.” So Sarpedon spoke, and Tlepolemus raised his ash spear, and their long spears darted from their hands at the same moment. Sarpedon struck him in the middle of the neck, and the painful point went clean through, and dark night covered his eyes. But Tlepolemus had struck Sarpedon’s left thigh with his long spear, and the point sped through, raging, grazing the bone; but his father still kept destruction from him.

His noble companions carried godlike Sarpedon out of the fighting, and the long spear weighed him down as it dragged. No one thought, no one noticed, to pull the ash spear from his thigh so that he could stand on his feet, in their haste; such was the toil they had as they tended him. On the other side the well-greaved Achaeans carried Tlepolemus out of the fighting. Godlike Odysseus, with his enduring heart, saw it, and the heart within him raged. Then he pondered in his mind and in his heart whether to pursue the son of loud-thundering Zeus further, or to take the lives of more of the Lycians. But it was not fated for great-hearted Odysseus to kill the mighty son of Zeus with the sharp bronze, and so Athena turned his heart toward the mass of the Lycians.

There he killed Coeranus, Alastor and Chromius, Alcandrus, Halius, Noëmon and Prytanis. And godlike Odysseus would have killed still more of the Lycians, had great Hector of the flashing helmet not been quick to notice. He strode through the front ranks, armed in gleaming bronze, bringing terror to the Danaans. Sarpedon, son of Zeus, was glad as he came near, and spoke a piteous word: “Son of Priam, don’t leave me lying here as prey for the Danaans—come to my defense! After that, let my life leave me in your city, since it seems I was never to return home to my own native land and gladden my dear wife and my infant son.”

So he spoke, but Hector of the flashing helmet said nothing to him. He rushed past, eager to drive back the Argives as quickly as he could and take the lives of many. Then his noble companions set godlike Sarpedon down under the beautiful oak of aegis-bearing Zeus, and mighty Pelagon, his dear companion, pushed the ash spear out through his thigh. His life left him, and a mist poured down over his eyes. But he breathed again, and the breath of the North Wind, blowing on him, brought back the spirit he had so grievously gasped away. Before Ares and bronze-armored Hector the Argives neither turned to flee to the black ships nor pushed forward to fight; they kept giving ground, once they learned that Ares was among the Trojans.

Then who was the first, and who the last, that Hector son of Priam and bronze Ares killed and stripped? Godlike Teuthras, and then Orestes, driver of horses, Trechus, the Aetolian spearman, and Oenomaus, Helenus son of Oenops, and Oresbius of the gleaming belt, who lived in Hyle, intent on his wealth, on the shore of the Cephisian lake, and near him lived other Boeotians who held a very rich land. Now when the goddess white-armed Hera saw them destroying the Argives in the fierce combat, at once she spoke winged words to Athena: “Ah, child of aegis-bearing Zeus, Unwearied One, it was an empty promise we made to Menelaus, that he would sack well-walled Ilium and return home, if we let murderous Ares rage like this. Come, let the two of us turn our minds to furious fighting too.”

So she spoke, and the goddess gray-eyed Athena did not disobey. Hera, the venerable goddess, daughter of great Cronus, went and made ready the horses with their frontlets of gold, while Hebe quickly fitted the curved wheels to the chariot, eight-spoked and of bronze, at either end of the iron axle. Their rims are of imperishable gold, and on them are fitted tires of bronze, a marvel to see; the hubs that spin on either side are of silver; the body is strung with straps of gold and silver, and two rails run around it. From it ran out a pole of silver, and at its end she bound the fine golden yoke and fastened to it the fine golden breast-straps; and Hera led the swift-footed horses under the yoke, eager for strife and the battle cry.

But Athena, daughter of aegis-bearing Zeus, let her soft robe slip down onto her father’s floor, the embroidered robe she had made and worked with her own hands, and putting on the tunic of Zeus the cloud-gatherer she armed herself for tearful war. Around her shoulders she flung the tasseled aegis, a terror, ringed all about with Rout. On it is Strife, on it Valor, on it chilling Onslaught, and on it the head of the Gorgon, that dread monster, terrible and grim, the portent of aegis-bearing Zeus.

“Father Zeus, aren’t you indignant at Ares for these violent deeds—how many Achaeans he has destroyed, and what men, recklessly, with no regard for order, to my grief? Meanwhile the Cyprian and Apollo of the silver bow sit at their ease, enjoying it, having let loose this madman, who knows no law at all. Father Zeus, will you be angry with me at all if I strike Ares hard and chase him out of the battle?” Then Zeus the cloud-gatherer answered her: “Go on, then, set Athena, bringer of spoil, on him; she more than anyone is used to bringing him into cruel pain.” So he spoke, and the goddess white-armed Hera did not disobey. She whipped the horses, and the pair flew, not unwillingly, between the earth and the starry heaven.

As far as a man can see with his eyes into the haze, sitting on a lookout and gazing over the wine-dark sea, so far do the high-neighing horses of the gods leap at a bound. But when they reached Troy and its two flowing rivers, where the Simoeis and the Scamander join their streams, there the goddess white-armed Hera halted the horses, unyoked them from the chariot, and poured a thick mist around them; and the Simoeis made ambrosia spring up for them to graze. The two goddesses went on their way, in their steps like timid doves, eager to defend the Argive men. When they came to where the most and the best stood packed around mighty Diomedes, tamer of horses, like flesh-eating lions or wild boars, whose strength is not feeble, there the goddess white-armed Hera stood and shouted, taking the likeness of great-hearted Stentor of the bronze voice, who could shout as loud as fifty other men:

“Shame, Argives, you sorry disgraces, admirable only in looks! As long as godlike Achilles went into battle, the Trojans never once came out in front of the Dardanian gates, so much they dreaded his mighty spear. But now they are fighting far from the city, at the hollow ships.” With these words she roused the strength and spirit of every man. And the goddess gray-eyed Athena sped to the son of Tydeus. She found the lord beside his horses and chariot, cooling the wound Pandarus had dealt him with his arrow. The sweat was wearing him down under the broad strap of his round shield; it wore him down, and his arm was weary, and he was lifting the strap and wiping away the dark blood. The goddess took hold of the horses’ yoke and said:

“Tydeus fathered a son not much like himself. Tydeus was small in build, but he was a fighter. Even when I would not let him fight or make a show of himself—when he went alone, apart from the Achaeans, as a messenger to Thebes, among the many Cadmeans—I told him to feast at his ease in the halls. But he, with that strong spirit of his, as always, challenged the young men of the Cadmeans and beat them all easily: such a helper I was to him. Now you, I stand beside you and guard you, and I gladly urge you to fight the Trojans. But either weariness from all your charging has sunk into your limbs, or else some spiritless fear holds you back. Then you are no offspring of Tydeus, the fiery-hearted son of Oeneus.”

Then mighty Diomedes answered her: “I know you, goddess, daughter of aegis-bearing Zeus, so I’ll speak my word to you freely and hide nothing. No spiritless fear holds me, and no hesitation either; I still remember the orders you gave me. You would not let me fight face to face with the other blessed gods; but if Aphrodite, daughter of Zeus, came into the battle, her I was to wound with the sharp bronze. That’s why I am giving ground myself now, and have told the other Argives, all of them, to gather here: I can see that Ares is lording it over the battle.”

Then the goddess gray-eyed Athena answered him: “Diomedes, son of Tydeus, dear to my heart, don’t you fear Ares for that, or any other of the immortals; such a helper I am to you. Come, drive your single-hoofed horses at Ares first; strike him at close quarters, and have no awe of furious Ares, this madman, a born evil, a turncoat, who only lately was telling me and Hera, swearing to it, that he would fight the Trojans and help the Argives; and now he keeps company with the Trojans and has forgotten the others.”

With these words she pushed Sthenelus from the chariot to the ground, pulling him back with her hand, and he leaped down at once. She stepped into the chariot beside godlike Diomedes, a goddess eager for battle, and the oaken axle groaned loud under the weight, for it carried a dread goddess and the best of men. Pallas Athena took the whip and the reins, and at once drove the single-hoofed horses at Ares first. He was stripping huge Periphas, by far the best of the Aetolians, the splendid son of Ochesius; bloodstained Ares was stripping him. But Athena put on the cap of Hades, so that mighty Ares would not see her. When Ares, bane of mortals, saw godlike Diomedes, he left huge Periphas lying there where he had first killed him and taken his life, and went straight for Diomedes, tamer of horses.note

When they had come close, advancing on each other, Ares lunged first over the yoke and the horses’ reins with his bronze spear, eager to take his life. But the goddess gray-eyed Athena caught it in her hand and thrust it up and away from the chariot, to fly off in vain. Next Diomedes, good at the war cry, lunged with his bronze spear, and Pallas Athena drove it home into the lowest part of the belly, where he was girded with his war-belt. There he struck and wounded him, tore through his fair skin, and drew the spear out again. And bronze Ares bellowed, as loud as nine thousand or ten thousand men shout in war when they join in the strife of Ares. Trembling seized Achaeans and Trojans alike in their fear, so loud did Ares bellow, insatiable of war.

As a darkness shows out of the clouds when, after heat, a gusty wind springs up, so bronze Ares appeared to Diomedes son of Tydeus as he went up with the clouds into the broad heaven. Swiftly he came to the seat of the gods, steep Olympus, and sat down beside Zeus son of Cronus, grieving at heart. He showed him the immortal blood flowing down from the wound and, lamenting, spoke winged words: “Father Zeus, aren’t you indignant to see these violent deeds? We gods are forever suffering the most horrible things through one another’s will, when we do favors for men. We are all at odds with you, because you fathered that senseless girl, that destructive one, whose mind is always on wicked deeds.

All the other gods there are on Olympus obey you, and each of us is subject to you; but her you never check, by word or deed—you let her loose, since you yourself fathered this destructive child. Now she has let loose the son of Tydeus, arrogant Diomedes, to rage against the immortal gods. First he came close and wounded the Cyprian on the hand at the wrist, and then he rushed at me myself, like a god. But my swift feet carried me off; otherwise I would have long suffered agonies there among the grim heaps of the dead, or lived on, strengthless, from the blows of the bronze.” Then Zeus the cloud-gatherer, looking at him darkly, said:

“Don’t sit here beside me whining, you turncoat. To me you’re the most hateful of all the gods who hold Olympus, for strife is always dear to you, and wars and battles. You have your mother’s temper, uncontrollable, unyielding—Hera’s; I can barely keep her down with my words. So I think it’s at her prompting that you’re suffering this. Still, I won’t put up with you being in pain any longer, for you are my offspring, and it was to me your mother bore you. But if you’d been born this destructive from any other god, you’d long ago have been lower than the sons of Heaven.”

So he spoke, and ordered Paeon to heal him. Paeon spread pain-killing herbs on him and cured him, for he was in no way made mortal. As when fig juice, briskly stirred in, curdles white milk, liquid as it is, and it thickens very fast for the one who stirs, so swiftly did he heal furious Ares. Hebe bathed him and dressed him in lovely clothes, and he sat down beside Zeus son of Cronus, exulting in his glory. And the two goddesses went back to the house of great Zeus, Argive Hera and Athena of Alalcomenae, having stopped Ares, bane of mortals, from his slaughter of men.

So the dread battle of Trojans and Achaeans was left to itself, and the fighting surged this way and that across the plain as they aimed their bronze-tipped spears at one another between the streams of Simoeis and Xanthus. Telamonian Ajax, bulwark of the Achaeans, was the first to break a Trojan battalion and bring light to his comrades. He struck the man who was best among the Thracians, Acamas son of Eussorus, a brave man and a tall one. He was first to hit him, on the ridge of his helmet thick with horsehair, and drove the spear into his forehead. The bronze point pierced in through the bone, and darkness covered his eyes.note

Diomedes, good at the war cry, killed Axylus son of Teuthras, who lived in well-built Arisbe. He was rich in livelihood and a friend to people, for he made everyone welcome in his house beside the road. But none of them came out to meet him then and keep grim destruction from him. Diomedes took the life of both, Axylus himself and his attendant Calesius, who was driving his horses that day, and the two of them went down beneath the earth. Euryalus killed and stripped Dresus and Opheltius. Then he went after Aesepus and Pedasus, whom the water-nymph Abarbarea once bore to blameless Bucolion.

Bucolion was the son of proud Laomedon, his eldest born, but his mother bore him in secret. While he was tending his sheep he lay with the nymph in love and in bed, and she conceived and bore twin boys. Now the son of Mecisteus loosened their strength and their shining limbs, and stripped the armor from their shoulders. Polypoetes, steadfast in battle, killed Astyalus. Odysseus killed and stripped Pidytes of Percote with his bronze spear, and Teucer killed godlike Aretaon. Antilochus son of Nestor killed Ablerus with his shining spear, and Agamemnon, lord of men, killed Elatus, who lived in steep Pedasus by the banks of fair-flowing Satnioeis. The warrior Leitus caught Phylacus as he fled, and Eurypylus killed and stripped Melanthius.

Then Menelaus, good at the war cry, took Adrestus alive. His horses, bolting in terror across the plain, caught on a tamarisk branch and broke the curved chariot at the end of the pole. They ran on by themselves toward the city, where the others too were fleeing in terror, while he was rolled out of the chariot beside the wheel, face down in the dust. Over him stood Menelaus son of Atreus, holding his long-shadowed spear. Then Adrestus clasped him by the knees and begged him: “Take me alive, son of Atreus, and accept a worthy ransom. Many treasures lie stored in my rich father’s house—bronze and gold and iron worked with great labor. From these my father would gladly give you ransom past counting, if he learned that I was alive by the ships of the Achaeans.”

So he spoke, and he was swaying the heart in Menelaus’ breast. Menelaus was just about to hand him to his attendant to take down to the swift ships of the Achaeans, when Agamemnon came running to meet him and shouted at him: “Soft-hearted Menelaus, why do you care so much for these men? Did the Trojans do such fine things for you in your house? Let not one of them escape sheer destruction at our hands—not even the boy a mother carries in her womb, not even he—but let all the people of Ilium perish together, unmourned and leaving no trace.”

With these words the warrior turned his brother’s mind, for what he urged was right. Menelaus pushed the warrior Adrestus away from him with his hand, and lord Agamemnon stabbed him in the flank. He toppled backward, and the son of Atreus set his heel on his chest and pulled out the ash spear. Nestor called to the Argives, shouting loud: “Friends, Danaan warriors, servants of Ares, let no one now throw himself on the spoils and hang back, so as to reach the ships carrying the most. Let us kill men. Afterward you can strip the dead along the plain at your leisure.”

So he spoke, and roused the strength and spirit of every man. Then once again the Trojans would have been driven back up into Ilium by the war-loving Achaeans, beaten by their own cowardice, had not Priam’s son Helenus, far the best of the augurs, come up beside Aeneas and Hector and spoken to them: “Aeneas and Hector, the toil of war rests on you above all, of Trojans and Lycians alike, because you are the best in every venture, in fighting and in counsel. Stand your ground here, and go everywhere among the troops and hold them in front of the gates, before they turn and flee and fall into their women’s arms, and become a joy to the enemy.

Once you two have roused all the battalions, we will stay here and fight the Danaans, hard-pressed as we are, for necessity drives us. But you, Hector, go to the city, and then tell our mother, yours and mine. Let her gather the old women at the temple of gray-eyed Athena on the citadel, open the doors of the holy house with the key, and take the robe that seems to her the loveliest and largest in the hall, the one she herself loves best by far, and lay it on the knees of lovely-haired Athena. And let her promise to sacrifice to her in the temple twelve yearling heifers that have never felt the goad, if she will take pity on the city and the wives of the Trojans and their little children, and hold the son of Tydeus back from holy Ilium, that savage spearman, that mighty maker of rout—the man I say has proved the strongest of the Achaeans.

“High-hearted Trojans, and allies famed far and wide, be men, my friends, and remember your furious valor, while I go to Ilium and tell the elders of the council and our wives to pray to the gods and promise them hecatombs.” So he spoke, and Hector of the flashing helmet went away; and as he went the black hide struck against his ankles and his neck, the rim that ran around the outer edge of his bossed shield. Then Glaucus son of Hippolochus and the son of Tydeus came together into the space between the two armies, eager to fight. And when they had come close, advancing on each other, Diomedes, good at the war cry, was the first to speak:note

“Who are you, my good friend, among mortal men? I have never seen you before in the battle where men win glory. But now you have stepped far out in front of everyone in your daring, since you have stood up to my long-shadowed spear. It is the sons of unhappy fathers who meet my fury. But if you are one of the immortals come down from the sky, I would not fight with the gods of heaven. No—not even the son of Dryas, mighty Lycurgus, lived long, once he took on the gods of heaven. He chased the nurses of frenzied Dionysus down the holy slopes of Nysa, and they all at once let their sacred wands fall to the ground as man-slaying Lycurgus struck them with an ox-goad. Dionysus fled in terror and plunged beneath the wave of the sea, and Thetis took him, frightened, to her bosom, for strong trembling had seized him at the man’s shout.

But if you want to learn this too, and know my lineage well—and many men know it—there is a city, Ephyre, in a corner of horse-pasturing Argos. There lived Sisyphus, the craftiest of men, Sisyphus son of Aeolus. He fathered a son, Glaucus, and Glaucus fathered blameless Bellerophon. To him the gods granted beauty and lovely manliness. But Proetus plotted evil against him in his heart, and since he was far mightier he drove him out of the land of the Argives, for Zeus had brought them under his scepter. Proetus’ wife, the noble Anteia, was mad with desire to lie with him in secret love, but she could not persuade wise-hearted Bellerophon, for his thoughts were honorable. So she went to King Proetus and lied to him:

‘Die, Proetus, or else kill Bellerophon, who wanted to lie with me in love against my will.’ So she spoke, and anger seized the king at what he heard. He shrank from killing him, for in his heart he feared to do that; but he sent him to Lycia, and gave him baneful signs, scratching many deadly things in a folded tablet, and told him to show it to his father-in-law, so that he would perish. So Bellerophon went to Lycia under the blameless escort of the gods. And when he reached Lycia and the flowing Xanthus, the lord of broad Lycia honored him with a ready heart: for nine days he entertained him and sacrificed nine oxen.note

But when the tenth rosy-fingered Dawn appeared, he questioned him and asked to see the sign he was bringing from his son-in-law Proetus. And when he had received his son-in-law’s evil sign, first he ordered him to kill the invincible Chimaera. She was of divine stock, not human: a lion in front, a serpent behind, a goat in the middle, breathing out the terrible fury of blazing fire. Bellerophon killed her, trusting in the portents of the gods. Next he fought the glorious Solymi—the hardest battle with men, he said, that he ever entered. Third, he killed the Amazons, women a match for men.

So he spoke, and Diomedes, good at the war cry, was glad. He planted his spear in the bountiful earth and spoke with gentle words to the shepherd of the people: “Why, then you are my guest-friend from my father’s house, from long ago! Godlike Oeneus once entertained blameless Bellerophon in his halls and kept him there twenty days, and they gave each other fine gifts of friendship. Oeneus gave a war-belt bright with crimson, and Bellerophon a golden two-handled cup, which I left in my house when I set out. Tydeus I do not remember, since he left me when I was still small, when the army of the Achaeans perished at Thebes.note

So now I am your dear guest-friend in the heart of Argos, and you are mine in Lycia, whenever I come to that land. Let us keep clear of each other’s spears, even in the thick of the fighting. There are plenty of Trojans and famous allies for me to kill, whomever a god grants me and my feet overtake, and plenty of Achaeans for you to kill, whomever you can. And let us exchange armor with each other, so that these men too may know that we claim to be guest-friends from our fathers’ time.” So they spoke, and leaping down from their chariots they clasped each other’s hands and pledged their faith. But then Zeus son of Cronus took away Glaucus’ wits, for he exchanged armor with Diomedes son of Tydeus, gold for bronze, the worth of a hundred oxen for the worth of nine.

When Hector reached the Scaean Gates and the oak tree, the wives and daughters of the Trojans came running around him, asking after their sons and brothers, their kinsmen and husbands. He told them all, one after another, to pray to the gods; but sorrows hung over many. Then he came to the beautiful house of Priam, built with polished colonnades. In it were fifty chambers of polished stone, built close to one another, where Priam’s sons slept beside their wedded wives; and on the other side, facing them within the courtyard, were his daughters’ twelve roofed chambers of polished stone, built close to one another, where Priam’s sons-in-law slept beside their modest wives. There his mother, generous with gifts, came to meet him, bringing in Laodice, the most beautiful of her daughters. She clung to his hand and spoke to him, calling him by name:

“My child, why have you left the bold fighting and come here? Surely the sons of the Achaeans, curse their name, are pressing you hard as they fight around the city, and your heart has sent you here to climb to the city’s height and lift your hands to Zeus. But wait while I bring you honey-sweet wine, so that you can pour an offering to Zeus the father and the other immortals first, and then you’ll be refreshed yourself, if you drink. Wine greatly increases a weary man’s strength, and you are weary from defending your kinsmen.” Then great Hector of the flashing helmet answered her: “Don’t bring me honey-hearted wine, my queenly mother, or you’ll drain my limbs of strength and I’ll forget my courage. And I shrink from pouring gleaming wine to Zeus with unwashed hands. There’s no way a man spattered with blood and gore can pray to the son of Cronus of the dark clouds.

But you go to the temple of Athena, bringer of spoil, with offerings, once you’ve gathered the old women. Take the robe that is loveliest and largest in the hall, the one you yourself love best by far, and lay it on the knees of lovely-haired Athena. Promise to sacrifice to her in the temple twelve yearling heifers that have never felt the goad, if she will take pity on the city and the wives of the Trojans and their little children, if she will hold the son of Tydeus back from holy Ilium, that savage spearman, that mighty maker of rout. So you go to the temple of Athena, bringer of spoil, and I’ll go after Paris to call him, if he’s willing to listen when I speak. If only the earth would gape open for him on the spot! The Olympian raised him to be a great bane to the Trojans and to great-hearted Priam and his sons.

When they reached Athena’s temple on the city’s height, fair-cheeked Theano opened the doors for them, daughter of Cisseus and wife of horse-taming Antenor, for the Trojans had made her Athena’s priestess. With a loud ritual cry all the women lifted their hands to Athena, and fair-cheeked Theano took the robe and laid it on the knees of lovely-haired Athena, and she prayed, calling on the daughter of great Zeus: “Queenly Athena, protector of the city, noblest of goddesses, break the spear of Diomedes now, and grant that he himself fall headlong before the Scaean Gates, so that right away we may sacrifice to you in your temple twelve yearling heifers that have never felt the goad, if you will take pity on the city and the wives of the Trojans and their little children.”

So she spoke in prayer, but Pallas Athena shook her head in refusal. So they prayed to the daughter of great Zeus, while Hector went to the house of Alexander, a fine house that he himself had built with the men who were then the best craftsmen in fertile Troy; they had made him a bedchamber, a hall and a courtyard close to those of Priam and Hector on the city’s height. There Hector, dear to Zeus, went in, holding in his hand a spear eleven cubits long; at its tip the bronze point of the spear gleamed, and a ring of gold ran around it.

“Hector, since you have rebuked me fairly and not beyond what’s fair, I’ll tell you; take it in and listen to me. It wasn’t so much out of anger or resentment against the Trojans that I sat in my chamber; I wanted to give myself up to grief. But just now my wife, coaxing me with soft words, urged me toward the war, and it seems to me too that it will be better so. Victory shifts from man to man. So come, wait now while I put on my armor of war; or go, and I’ll come after you. I think I’ll catch you up.” So he spoke, but Hector of the flashing helmet said nothing in reply. Then Helen spoke to him with gentle words:

“Brother-in-law of mine—of me, a dog, a schemer of evil, a horror—how I wish that on the day my mother first bore me some evil blast of wind had come and swept me away to a mountain or into the waves of the loud-roaring sea, where the wave would have carried me off before these things happened. But since the gods have ordained these evils this way, I wish I had been the wife of a better man, one who felt people’s indignation and their many reproaches. But this man’s mind isn’t steady now, and it never will be hereafter; and so I think he’ll reap what comes of it. But come in now and sit on this chair, brother-in-law, since toil has gripped your heart more than anyone’s for the sake of me, a dog, and for Alexander’s blindness. On us Zeus has set an evil fate, so that hereafter we may be a theme of song for men yet to be.”

Then great Hector of the flashing helmet answered her: “Don’t ask me to sit, Helen, kind as you are; you won’t persuade me. My heart is already eager to bring help to the Trojans, who miss me sorely when I’m away. But you rouse this man, and let him hurry himself, so that he catches up with me while I’m still inside the city. For I’m going home too, to see my household, my dear wife and my infant son. I don’t know if I’ll ever come back to them again, or if the gods will now bring me down at the hands of the Achaeans.”

So speaking, Hector of the flashing helmet went away, and he soon reached his well-appointed house, but he did not find white-armed Andromache in the hall; she had gone with her child and a well-robed handmaid and was standing on the tower, weeping and wailing. When Hector did not find his excellent wife inside, he went and stood on the threshold and spoke among the serving women: “Come, women, tell me truthfully: where has white-armed Andromache gone from the hall? Has she gone to one of my sisters, or to my brothers’ well-robed wives, or to Athena’s temple, where the other lovely-haired Trojan women are appeasing the dread goddess?”

Then the busy housekeeper answered him: “Hector, since you insist that we tell the truth, she hasn’t gone to any of your sisters or your brothers’ well-robed wives, nor to Athena’s temple, where the other lovely-haired Trojan women are appeasing the dread goddess. She has gone to the great tower of Ilium, because she heard that the Trojans were hard pressed and the Achaeans’ strength was great. She is hurrying to the wall like a woman gone mad, and the nurse is carrying the child with her.” So the housekeeper spoke, and Hector hurried from the house back the same way he had come, along the well-built streets.

“You strange man, your own strength will destroy you, and you have no pity for your infant child, or for me, ill-fated, who will soon be your widow; for soon the Achaeans will all rush at you together and kill you. And if I lose you, it would be better for me to go down beneath the earth. There will be no other comfort for me once you meet your fate, only sorrows. I have no father now, and no queenly mother. My father was killed by godlike Achilles, who sacked the well-peopled city of the Cilicians, Thebe of the high gates. He killed Eëtion, but he didn’t strip him of his armor, for his heart shrank in awe from that; instead he burned him in his richly worked armor and heaped up a mound over him, and the mountain nymphs, daughters of Zeus who bears the aegis, planted elm trees around it.

For I know this well in my mind and in my heart: there will come a day when holy Ilium is destroyed, and Priam, and the people of Priam with the fine ash spear. But the pain to come for the Trojans doesn’t trouble me so much—not Hecuba’s own, nor lord Priam’s, nor my brothers’, who may fall in the dust, many and brave, at the hands of their enemies—as yours, when some bronze-clad Achaean leads you away in tears and robs you of your day of freedom. And in Argos you may weave at the loom at another woman’s bidding, and carry water from Messeïs or Hypereia, much against your will, and harsh necessity will weigh on you. And someday someone may say, seeing you shed tears:note

‘This is the wife of Hector, who was the best in battle of the horse-taming Trojans when they fought around Ilium.’ So someone will say someday; and for you there will be fresh pain, for lack of such a man to ward off the day of slavery. But may I be dead, and the heaped-up earth cover me, before I hear your screams as you are dragged away.” So speaking, glorious Hector reached out for his son; but the child shrank back crying against the bosom of his well-girdled nurse, frightened by the sight of his dear father, terrified of the bronze and the horsehair crest he saw nodding terribly from the top of the helmet.

His dear father and queenly mother burst out laughing. At once glorious Hector took the helmet from his head and set it down on the ground, all gleaming; then he kissed his dear son and tossed him in his arms, and spoke in prayer to Zeus and the other gods: “Zeus and you other gods, grant that this boy, my son, may become as I am, outstanding among the Trojans, as good in strength, and rule Ilium in power. And someday may someone say, ‘He is far better than his father,’ as he comes back from war; and may he carry home the bloody spoils of an enemy he has killed, and may his mother’s heart rejoice.”

So speaking, he placed his son in his dear wife’s arms, and she took him to her fragrant bosom, laughing through her tears. Her husband saw it and was moved to pity, and he stroked her with his hand and spoke to her, calling her by name: “Dearest, don’t grieve too much in your heart for me. No man will send me down to Hades beyond what is fated; and no man, I tell you, has ever escaped his fate, coward or brave, once he has been born. So go home and see to your own work, the loom and the distaff, and tell your handmaids to set about their work. War will be the concern of men, of all the men who were born in Ilium, and of me most of all.”

So speaking, glorious Hector took up his helmet with its horsehair crest, and his dear wife went home, turning back again and again, shedding big tears. She soon reached the well-appointed house of man-slaying Hector, and found many handmaids inside, and stirred up lamentation in them all. So they mourned for Hector in his own house while he was still alive; for they thought he would never again come back from the war, escaping the fury and the hands of the Achaeans. Nor did Paris linger in his lofty house; once he had put on his glorious armor, intricately worked with bronze, he rushed through the city, trusting in his swift feet.

As when a stalled horse, fed full of barley at the manger, breaks his tether and gallops pounding over the plain, used to bathing in the fair-flowing river, exulting; he holds his head high, and his mane streams about his shoulders, and trusting in his splendor, his knees carry him lightly to the haunts and pastures of the horses: so Paris, son of Priam, strode down from the height of Pergamus, gleaming in his armor like the shining sun, laughing for joy, and his swift feet carried him on. And quickly then he came upon godlike Hector, his brother, just as he was about to turn from the place where he had been talking with his wife. Godlike Alexander spoke to him first:

“Brother, I’m really holding you back with my dawdling when you’re in a hurry, aren’t I? I didn’t come in good time, as you told me.” Then Hector of the flashing helmet answered him: “You strange man, no fair-minded man would belittle your work in battle, since you are valiant. But you hang back willingly and won’t fight; and my heart grieves within me when I hear the Trojans say shameful things about you, the Trojans who bear so much toil because of you. But let’s go. We’ll make all this good later, if Zeus ever grants that we set up the mixing bowl of freedom in our halls to the heavenly gods who live forever, once we’ve driven the well-greaved Achaeans out of Troy.”

So he spoke, and glorious Hector rushed out through the gates, and with him went his brother Alexander; and in their hearts both were eager to make war and to fight. As when a god gives sailors who long for it a fair wind, when they have grown weary driving over the sea with polished oars of pine, and their limbs are undone with toil, so did these two appear to the Trojans who longed for them. Then each of them killed a man: Alexander killed Menesthius, son of lord Areïthous, who lived in Arne, whom Areïthous the Mace-man and ox-eyed Phylomedusa bore; and Hector struck Eioneus with his sharp spear in the neck beneath the rim of his bronze helmet, and his limbs were loosed. And Glaucus son of Hippolochus, leader of the Lycian men, struck Iphinous son of Dexius with his spear in the shoulder amid the fierce fighting, as he was leaping onto his swift horses; and he fell from his chariot to the ground, and his limbs were loosed.

But when the goddess, gray-eyed Athena, saw them killing the Argives in the fierce fighting, she went darting down from the peaks of Olympus to holy Ilium. Apollo rose up to meet her, having looked down from Pergamus, for he wanted victory for the Trojans, and the two of them met each other by the oak tree. Lord Apollo, son of Zeus, spoke to her first: “Why have you come again so eagerly from Olympus, daughter of great Zeus? What great passion has driven you on? Is it to give the Danaans victory that turns the tide of battle? For you have no pity at all for the Trojans as they perish.

But if you would listen to me, it would be far better. Let us stop the war and the fighting now, for today. Later they will fight again, until they reach the end set for Ilium, since this is what pleases the hearts of you immortal goddesses: to sack this city utterly.” Then the goddess, gray-eyed Athena, spoke to him in turn: “So be it, you who work from afar. I came down from Olympus among the Trojans and Achaeans with just this in mind myself. But come, how do you mean to stop the men’s fighting?” Then lord Apollo, son of Zeus, spoke to her in turn: “Let us rouse the mighty fury of horse-taming Hector, in the hope that he will challenge one of the Danaans to face him alone, man to man, in grim combat. Then the bronze-greaved Achaeans, indignant, may rouse up one man alone to fight against godlike Hector.”

So he spoke, and the goddess, gray-eyed Athena, did not disobey. And Helenus, Priam’s dear son, understood in his heart the plan the gods had agreed on in their counsel. He went and stood beside Hector and spoke to him: “Hector, son of Priam, equal to Zeus in counsel, will you listen to me now? I am your brother. Make the other Trojans sit down, and all the Achaeans, and challenge whoever is best of the Achaeans to face you man to man in grim combat. For it is not yet your fate to die and meet your end. So I heard the voice of the gods who live forever.”note

So he spoke, and Hector in turn rejoiced greatly when he heard his words. He went into the middle and held back the Trojan ranks, gripping his spear by the middle, and they all sat down. Agamemnon made the well-greaved Achaeans sit; and Athena and Apollo of the silver bow sat down in the likeness of vultures on the tall oak of father Zeus who bears the aegis, delighting in the men. The ranks of the men sat close-packed, bristling with shields and helmets and spears. As the ripple of the West Wind spreads over the sea when it first rises, and the sea darkens beneath it, so sat the ranks of Achaeans and Trojans on the plain. And Hector spoke among them both:

“Hear me, Trojans and well-greaved Achaeans, so that I may say what the heart in my chest bids me. The oaths were not brought to fulfillment by the son of Cronus, throned on high; instead he plans evil for both sides, until either you take Troy of the fine towers or are yourselves beaten beside your seafaring ships. Among you are the best of all the Achaeans. Let whichever of them his heart bids fight me come here out of them all to be the champion against godlike Hector. And this is what I say—let Zeus be our witness: if that man takes me with the long-edged bronze, let him strip my armor and carry it to the hollow ships, but give my body back to be taken home, so that the Trojans and the Trojans’ wives may give me my share of fire when I am dead.note

“Ah me, you braggarts, you women of Achaea—Achaean men no longer! This will surely be a disgrace, dreadful beyond dreadful, if no one of the Danaans goes out now to face Hector. Well, may you all turn to water and earth, sitting here, every one of you, heartless and utterly without glory! I myself will arm against this man; but the outcome of victory is held on high among the immortal gods.” So he spoke, and put on his fine armor. Then, Menelaus, the end of your life would have shown itself at Hector’s hands, since he was far stronger, had not the kings of the Achaeans sprung up and taken hold of you; and the son of Atreus himself, wide-ruling Agamemnon, took him by the right hand, and spoke and called him by name:

“You’re out of your mind, Menelaus, nurtured by Zeus, and you’ve no need of this folly. Hold back, though it pains you, and don’t, out of rivalry, try to fight a man better than you, Hector son of Priam, whom others too shudder at. Even Achilles shrank from meeting this man in battle where men win glory, and he is far better than you. No, go now and sit down among your company of comrades; the Achaeans will raise up another champion against this man. Even if he is fearless and can’t get his fill of the din of battle, I say he’ll be glad to bend his knees in rest, if he escapes from the hostile war and grim combat.”

So the warrior spoke and won over his brother’s mind with right advice, and he obeyed. Then his attendants gladly took the armor from his shoulders. And Nestor stood up among the Argives and spoke: “Alas, truly a great grief is coming upon the land of Achaea. Loudly would old Peleus the horseman groan, the fine counselor and speaker of the Myrmidons, who once questioned me in his house and rejoiced greatly as he asked about the lineage and birth of all the Argives. If he were to hear that they all cower before Hector now, again and again he would lift his hands to the immortals, praying that his spirit might leave his limbs and go down into the house of Hades.

If only, father Zeus and Athena and Apollo, I were young as I was when the Pylians and the Arcadians, famed for the spear, gathered and fought beside the swift-flowing Celadon, under the walls of Pheia, around the streams of the Iardanus. Their champion stood out before them, Ereuthalion, a man equal to the gods, wearing on his shoulders the armor of lord Areïthous—godlike Areïthous, whom men and fair-belted women called by the name of the Mace-man, because he did not fight with bows or the long spear, but broke the battalions with an iron mace. Lycurgus killed him by trickery, not by strength at all, in a narrow road, where his iron mace could not save him from destruction: Lycurgus got in first and pierced him through the middle with his spear, and he was thrown on his back on the ground. And Lycurgus stripped him of the armor that bronze Ares had given him.note

“Now shake the lots, one after another, to see who wins the draw. For he will help the well-greaved Achaeans, and he will also help his own heart, if he escapes from the hostile war and grim combat.” So he spoke, and they each marked a lot and threw it into the helmet of Agamemnon son of Atreus. The people prayed and lifted their hands to the gods; and this is what one would say, looking up into the wide sky: “Father Zeus, let it fall to Ajax, or to the son of Tydeus, or to the king of Mycenae rich in gold himself.”

So they spoke, and Gerenian Nestor, the horseman, shook the helmet, and out of it leaped the very lot they wanted, the lot of Ajax. The herald carried it through the crowd in every direction and showed it from left to right to all the best of the Achaeans; and not recognizing it, each of them disowned it. But when, carrying it through the crowd in every direction, he reached the man who had scratched his mark on it and thrown it into the helmet, glorious Ajax, Ajax held out his hand, and the herald stood beside him and dropped it in; and he saw the mark on the lot and knew it, and rejoiced in his heart. He threw it on the ground beside his foot and said: “Friends, the lot is mine, and I’m glad of it in my heart myself, since I think I’ll beat godlike Hector.

But come, while I put on my battle armor, you pray to lord Zeus, son of Cronus—silently, to yourselves, so the Trojans don’t learn of it, or even openly, since we fear no one anyway. For no one will drive me back by force, his will against mine, nor by skill either, since I don’t think I was born and raised in Salamis such a novice as that.” So he spoke, and they prayed to lord Zeus, son of Cronus; and this is what one would say, looking up into the wide sky: “Father Zeus, ruling from Ida, most glorious, greatest, grant victory to Ajax, and let him win shining glory; but if you love Hector too and care for him, give equal strength and glory to them both.”

So they spoke, and Ajax armed himself in gleaming bronze. And when he had put all the armor on around his body, he rushed forward; as huge Ares goes when he enters the war among men whom the son of Cronus has brought together to fight in the fury of heart-devouring strife, so huge Ajax rose up, the bulwark of the Achaeans, smiling with his grim face; below, his feet strode with long steps, as he brandished his long-shadowed spear. The Argives rejoiced as they watched him, but a dreadful trembling crept over the limbs of every Trojan, and the heart pounded in Hector’s own chest. But he could no longer shrink back in any way, or slip back into the crowd of his men, since he had issued the challenge to battle.

Then great Hector of the flashing helmet spoke to him in turn: “Telamonian Ajax, sprung from Zeus, lord of the people, don’t test me as if I were some feeble boy, or a woman who knows nothing of the work of war. I know battles well, and the killing of men. I know how to swing my dry ox-hide shield to the right, and I know how to swing it to the left: that’s what fighting with a tough shield means to me. I know how to charge into the press of swift horses; I know how, in close standing fight, to dance to grim Ares. But I don’t want to strike you, a man such as you are, by watching for a chance in secret, but openly, if I can hit you.”

He spoke, and drawing back his long-shadowed spear he hurled it, and struck Ajax’s terrible seven-ox-hide shield on its outermost bronze, the eighth layer, which lay over the rest. Through six folds the tireless bronze went cutting, but in the seventh hide it was stopped. Then in his turn Ajax, sprung from Zeus, hurled his long-shadowed spear and struck the son of Priam on his shield, balanced on every side. Through the shining shield went the heavy spear, and it forced its way on through the richly worked corslet; straight on, beside his flank, the spear sheared through his tunic, but he swerved aside and escaped black doom. Then the two of them, both together pulling the long spears out with their hands, fell on each other like flesh-eating lions or wild boars, whose strength is no feeble thing.

“Ajax, since a god has given you stature and strength and good sense, and with the spear you are the strongest of the Achaeans, let us stop our fighting and combat now, for today. Later we’ll fight again, until a god decides between us and gives victory to one side or the other. Night is already coming on; it is good to heed the night as well. So you can gladden all the Achaeans beside the ships, and most of all your own kinsmen and companions; and I, throughout the great city of lord Priam, will gladden the Trojans and the Trojan women with their trailing robes, who will go into the sacred gathering-place of the gods to pray for me. But come, let us give each other glorious gifts, so that someone among the Achaeans and Trojans may say this:

‘They fought in heart-devouring strife, and then they parted again, joined in friendship.’” So he spoke, and he gave him a silver-studded sword, bringing it with its scabbard and well-cut baldric; and Ajax gave him a belt bright with crimson. Then the two parted, one going to the host of the Achaeans, the other to the throng of the Trojans. And the Trojans rejoiced when they saw him coming toward them alive and unharmed, escaped from the fury of Ajax and his invincible hands; and they led him to the city, though they had no longer hoped that he was safe. Ajax, on the other side, the well-greaved Achaeans led to godlike Agamemnon, rejoicing in his victory.

When they came to the huts of the son of Atreus, Agamemnon, lord of men, sacrificed a bull for them, a male five years old, to the mighty son of Cronus. They flayed it and dressed it and cut it all into joints; skillfully they chopped it into pieces and pierced them on spits, roasted them carefully, and drew them all off. Then, when they had finished the work and prepared the meal, they feasted, and no one’s heart lacked a fair share of the feast. And the warrior son of Atreus, wide-ruling Agamemnon, honored Ajax with the long chine. But when they had put from themselves the desire for drink and food, the old man was the first of all to begin weaving a plan for them—Nestor, whose counsel had shown itself the best before as well. With good intent he addressed the assembly and spoke among them:

“Son of Atreus, and you other chiefs of all the Achaeans: many long-haired Achaeans are dead, whose dark blood fierce Ares has now spilled around the fair-flowing Scamander, and their spirits have gone down to Hades. So you must stop the Achaeans’ fighting at dawn, and we ourselves will gather and bring the dead here on carts, with oxen and mules. Then we will burn them a little way off from the ships, so that each man may carry their bones home to their children when we return again to our native land. And around the pyre let us heap up a single mound, raising it from the plain, for all alike; and next to it let us quickly build high towers, a protection for the ships and for ourselves.

When he had spoken he sat down, and among them rose godlike Alexander, husband of lovely-haired Helen, who answered him and spoke winged words: “Antenor, what you say no longer pleases me. You know how to think of a better speech than this. But if you really are saying this in earnest, then the gods themselves have destroyed your wits. Now I will speak out among the horse-taming Trojans: I refuse outright—the woman I will not give back. But the possessions I brought from Argos to our house—all of them I am willing to give, and to add more from my own house.”

When he had spoken he sat down, and among them rose Priam, descendant of Dardanus, a counselor equal to the gods, who with good intent addressed the assembly and spoke among them: “Hear me, Trojans and Dardanians and allies, so that I may say what the heart in my chest bids me. For now, take your supper throughout the city as before, and remember to keep watch, and let each man stay awake. And at dawn let Idaeus go to the hollow ships to tell the sons of Atreus, Agamemnon and Menelaus, the word of Alexander, on whose account this quarrel has arisen. And let him also put this shrewd proposal to them: whether they are willing to stop the harsh-sounding war until we have burned the dead. Later we’ll fight again, until a god decides between us and gives victory to one side or the other.”

So he spoke, and they listened closely and obeyed. Then they took their supper throughout the army, company by company; and at dawn Idaeus went to the hollow ships. He found the Danaans, attendants of Ares, in assembly beside the stern of Agamemnon’s ship; and standing in their midst the loud-voiced herald spoke: “Son of Atreus, and you other chiefs of all the Achaeans, Priam and the other noble Trojans bade me tell you—in the hope that it may prove welcome and pleasing to you—the word of Alexander, on whose account this quarrel has arisen. The possessions that Alexander brought to Troy in his hollow ships—how I wish he had perished first!—all of them he is willing to give, and to add more from his own house. But the wedded wife of glorious Menelaus he says he will not give, though the Trojans, for their part, urge him to.

And they bade me put this proposal to you too: whether you are willing to stop the harsh-sounding war until we have burned the dead. Later we’ll fight again, until a god decides between us and gives victory to one side or the other.” So he spoke, and they all fell hushed in silence. At last Diomedes, good at the war cry, spoke out among them: “Let no one accept Alexander’s possessions now, nor Helen either. It’s plain even to a complete fool that the cords of destruction are already fastened on the Trojans.” So he spoke, and all the sons of the Achaeans shouted aloud, admiring the words of horse-taming Diomedes. And then lord Agamemnon spoke to Idaeus:

“Idaeus, you hear for yourself the word of the Achaeans, how they answer you; and so it pleases me as well. But as for the dead, I don’t begrudge you burning them: when men have died, no one should stint the dead of the swift comfort of fire. As for the oaths, let Zeus be witness, loud-thundering husband of Hera.” So saying, he raised his staff to all the gods, and Idaeus went back to holy Ilium. The Trojans and Dardanians sat in assembly, all gathered together, waiting for Idaeus to come; and he came and delivered his message, standing in their midst. And they made ready very quickly to do both things, some to bring in the dead, others to fetch wood; and the Argives on their side hurried from their well-benched ships, some to bring in the dead, others to fetch wood.

Then the sun, just rising into the sky from gently gliding, deep-flowing Ocean, was first striking the fields, and the two sides met each other. There it was hard to recognize each man; but they washed the clotted blood away with water and, shedding hot tears, lifted them onto the wagons. Great Priam would not let his people wail aloud; so in silence they heaped the dead on the pyre, grieving at heart, and when they had burned them in the fire they went back to holy Ilium. In the same way, on the other side, the well-greaved Achaeans heaped the dead on the pyre, grieving at heart, and when they had burned them in the fire they went back to the hollow ships.

When it was not yet dawn, but still the half-light of night, a picked band of the Achaean host roused itself around the pyre, and about it they made a single mound, raising it from the plain, for all alike; and next to it they built a wall and high towers, a protection for the ships and for themselves. In them they made well-fitted gates, so that there might be a road through them for driving chariots; and outside, along the wall, they dug a ditch, deep, wide and great, and planted stakes in it. So the long-haired Achaeans labored; and the gods, seated beside Zeus, lord of the lightning, gazed at the great work of the bronze-clad Achaeans. Among them Poseidon the Earth-shaker began to speak:

“Father Zeus, is there anyone left among mortals on the boundless earth who will still tell the immortals his mind and his plans? Don’t you see that the long-haired Achaeans have built a wall to protect their ships and driven a ditch around it, and have not given the gods glorious hecatombs? Its fame will reach as far as the dawn spreads, and men will forget the wall that Phoebus Apollo and I toiled to build for the hero Laomedon.” Then, deeply troubled, Zeus the cloud-gatherer spoke to him: “Ah, Earth-shaker of wide strength, what a thing you’ve said! Some other god might fear this device, one far feebler than you in his hands and his strength; but your fame, surely, will reach as far as the dawn spreads.note

Come now: when the long-haired Achaeans have gone off with their ships to their own native land, break up the wall and sweep it all into the sea, and cover the great beach over again with sand, so that the great wall of the Achaeans may be wiped out for you.” So they spoke to each other; and the sun set, and the Achaeans’ work was finished, and they slaughtered cattle throughout the huts and took their supper. And ships came in from Lemnos, many of them, bringing wine; Euneus son of Jason had sent them, whom Hypsipyle bore to Jason, shepherd of the people.note

Separately, for the sons of Atreus, Agamemnon and Menelaus, the son of Jason gave a thousand measures of wine to be carried off. From these ships the long-haired Achaeans bought their wine, some with bronze, some with gleaming iron, some with hides, some with the cattle themselves, and some with slaves; and they set out a rich feast. Then all night long the long-haired Achaeans feasted, and the Trojans and their allies in the city; and all night long Zeus the counselor devised evils against them, thundering terribly, and pale fear took hold of them. They poured the wine from their cups onto the ground, and no one dared to drink until he had poured a libation to the mighty son of Cronus. Then they lay down to rest and took the gift of sleep.

Saffron-robed Dawn was spreading over all the earth, and Zeus, who delights in thunder, held an assembly of the gods on the topmost peak of many-ridged Olympus. He spoke to them himself, and all the gods listened: “Hear me, all you gods and all you goddesses, so that I may say what the heart in my chest bids me. Let no goddess, then, and no god either, try to cut my word short. All of you together, agree to it, so that I can bring these things to their end as quickly as possible. If I see anyone going off on his own, apart from the gods, wanting to help either the Trojans or the Danaans, he will be struck down and come back to Olympus in disgrace. Or I will seize him and hurl him into murky Tartarus, very far away, where the deepest pit lies beneath the earth. Its gates are iron and its threshold bronze, and it lies as far below Hades as heaven is above the earth. Then he will know how far I am the strongest of all the gods.note

Come, try it, gods, so that you all may know. Hang a golden rope from heaven and take hold of it, all you gods and all you goddesses. Even so, you could not drag Zeus, the highest counselor, down from heaven to the plain, however hard you strained. But if I wished in earnest to pull, I would haul you up, earth and sea and all. Then I would tie the rope around a peak of Olympus, and everything would hang there in midair. That is how far I am above the gods, and above men.”

So he spoke, and they all fell hushed and silent, amazed at his words, for he had spoken with great force. At last the goddess, gray-eyed Athena, spoke among them: “Our father, son of Cronus, highest of rulers, we too know well that your strength cannot be resisted. Even so, we grieve for the Danaan spearmen, who will meet an evil fate and perish. We will keep out of the war, as you command. But we will give the Argives advice that will help them, so that they do not all perish because of your anger.” Then, smiling at her, Zeus the cloud-gatherer said: “Take heart, Tritogeneia, dear child. I do not speak with my whole heart in it, and I want to be kind to you.”note

So saying, he yoked to his chariot his bronze-hoofed horses, swift-flying, with flowing manes of gold. He clothed himself in gold, took up his well-made golden whip, mounted his chariot, and lashed the horses to start them; and they flew, not unwilling, between the earth and the starry heaven. He came to Ida of many springs, mother of wild beasts, to Gargarus, where he has a sacred precinct and a fragrant altar. There the father of men and gods halted his horses, loosed them from the chariot, and poured thick mist around them. He himself sat on the peaks, exulting in his glory, looking out over the city of the Trojans and the ships of the Achaeans.note

The long-haired Achaeans took their meal in haste among the huts, and straight after it they armed themselves. On the other side the Trojans armed throughout the city. They were fewer, but even so they were eager to fight in the battle, under hard necessity, for their children and their wives. All the gates were opened and the army rushed out, men on foot and men in chariots, and a great din arose. When they came together and met in one place, they dashed together their shields of hide and their spears and the fury of bronze-corsleted men. The bossed shields pressed against one another, and a great din arose. Then the groans and the boasts of men rose up together, of those who killed and those who were killed, and the earth ran with blood.

As long as it was morning and the holy day was growing, the missiles of both sides struck home and men fell. But when the Sun had bestridden the middle of heaven, then the father held up his golden scales. In them he set two dooms of death that lays men low, one for the horse-taming Trojans and one for the bronze-clad Achaeans. He took the scales by the middle and lifted them, and the fated day of the Achaeans sank down. The dooms of the Achaeans settled on the nourishing earth, and those of the Trojans rose up toward broad heaven. Then he himself thundered loudly from Ida and sent a blazing flash among the army of the Achaeans. When they saw it they were stunned, and pale fear took hold of them all.

Then neither Idomeneus nor Agamemnon had the heart to stand his ground, nor did the two Ajaxes stand, attendants of Ares. Only Gerenian Nestor stayed, the Achaeans’ guardian, and not by choice: one of his horses was disabled. Godlike Alexander, husband of lovely-haired Helen, had shot it with an arrow on the very top of the head, where a horse’s mane first grows from the skull and a wound is most deadly. It reared up in agony as the arrow sank into its brain, and writhing around the bronze it threw the other horses into confusion. While the old man was lunging with his sword to cut away the trace-horse’s harness, Hector’s swift horses came through the rout, carrying a bold charioteer, Hector himself. And now the old man would have lost his life there, had not Diomedes, good at the war cry, been quick to notice. He gave a terrible shout, urging on Odysseus:

“Son of Laertes, sprung from Zeus, Odysseus of many wiles, where are you running, turning your back like a coward in the crowd? Watch out that no one plants a spear in your back as you run. Stay, so we can drive this savage man off the old one.” So he spoke, but much-enduring godlike Odysseus did not hear him and darted past toward the hollow ships of the Achaeans. The son of Tydeus, alone as he was, threw himself among the front-fighters and took his stand in front of the horses of the old son of Neleus. He called to him and spoke winged words: “Old sir, these young fighters are really wearing you down. Your strength is spent, hard old age weighs on you, your attendant is a weakling, and your horses are slow.

Come, get up into my chariot, so you can see what the horses of Tros’ breed are like: how well they know the plain, how fast they can chase this way and that, or run away. I took them once from Aeneas—they are masters of rout. Let our attendants look after your horses, while we two drive these against the horse-taming Trojans, so that Hector too may find out whether my spear also rages in my hands.” So he spoke, and Gerenian Nestor, the horseman, did not disobey. The two attendants, mighty Sthenelus and brave Eurymedon, then took charge of Nestor’s horses, and the two men mounted Diomedes’ chariot. Nestor took the shining reins in his hands and lashed the horses, and soon they were close to Hector.

As Hector came charging straight at them, the son of Tydeus threw his spear. He missed Hector, but hit his attendant, the charioteer Eniopeus, son of high-hearted Thebaeus, in the chest beside the nipple, as he held the horses’ reins. He toppled from the chariot, and his swift-footed horses shied back; and there his life and strength were undone. Terrible grief for his charioteer clouded Hector’s mind, but grieving though he was for his comrade, he left him lying there and went in search of a bold charioteer. The horses did not lack a driver for long, for he quickly found Archeptolemus, the bold son of Iphitus, set him up behind the swift-footed horses, and put the reins into his hands.

Then there would have been havoc and deeds past mending, and the Trojans would have been penned inside Ilium like lambs, had not the father of men and gods been quick to notice. He thundered terribly and let fly a dazzling thunderbolt, hurling it to the ground in front of Diomedes’ horses. A terrible flame of burning sulfur shot up, and the two horses cowered in terror against the chariot. The shining reins slipped from Nestor’s hands, and he was afraid in his heart and said to Diomedes:

“Son of Tydeus, come, turn the single-hoofed horses to flight. Can’t you see that no help from Zeus is with you? Today Zeus, son of Cronus, grants glory to this man; another time he will give it to us too, if he wishes. No man can thwart the mind of Zeus, however mighty he is, since Zeus is far stronger.” Then Diomedes, good at the war cry, answered him: “Yes, old sir, all you’ve said is right. But this bitter pain comes over my heart and spirit: one day Hector will say, speaking among the Trojans, ‘The son of Tydeus ran from me all the way to the ships.’ That is how he’ll boast one day—and then may the wide earth gape for me.”

Then Gerenian Nestor, the horseman, answered him: “Ah, son of fiery Tydeus, what a thing to say! Even if Hector calls you a coward and a weakling, the Trojans and the Dardanians won’t believe him, nor will the wives of the great-hearted Trojan shield-men, whose husbands in their prime you have flung in the dust.” So saying, he turned the single-hoofed horses to flight, back through the rout; and the Trojans and Hector, with an unearthly din, poured their grievous missiles after them. Then great Hector of the flashing helmet gave a long shout after Diomedes:

“Son of Tydeus, the Danaans with their swift horses used to honor you above others, with the best seat, with meat and with brimming cups. Now they’ll despise you: it seems you’re no better than a woman. Off with you, you cowardly doll! I won’t give way and let you climb our towers, or carry off our women in your ships. Before that, I’ll deal you your doom.” So he spoke, and the son of Tydeus was torn in two: should he turn his horses and fight him face to face? Three times he pondered it in his mind and in his heart, and three times Zeus the counselor thundered from the mountains of Ida, giving the Trojans a sign that victory in the battle had swung their way. And Hector gave a long shout and called to the Trojans:

“Trojans and Lycians and Dardanians, fighters at close quarters, be men, my friends, and remember your furious valor! I know that the son of Cronus has nodded his willing assent to victory and great glory for me, and disaster for the Danaans. Fools! They built these walls, feeble things, not worth a thought, and they won’t hold back our fury. Our horses will easily leap the ditch they dug. But when I reach the hollow ships, let someone remember to bring destroying fire, so that I can set the ships ablaze and kill the Argives themselves beside the ships, bewildered by the smoke.” So saying, he called to his horses and spoke to them:

“Xanthus, and you, Podargus, and Aethon and noble Lampus, now repay me for all the care that Andromache, daughter of great-hearted Eëtion, lavished on you. She set honey-sweet wheat before you and mixed wine for you to drink whenever your heart desired, before she served me—and I am proud to be her husband in his prime. Come, follow hard and hurry, so that we can take Nestor’s shield, whose fame now reaches heaven, that it is all of gold, both its rods and the shield itself; and from the shoulders of horse-taming Diomedes the richly worked corslet that Hephaestus labored to make. If we could take these two, I would hope to make the Achaeans board their swift ships this very night.”

So he spoke, boasting, and queenly Hera was indignant. She shook on her throne and made high Olympus quake, and she spoke to Poseidon, the great god, face to face: “Ah, mighty Earth-shaker, doesn’t even your heart grieve within you for the Danaans as they perish? Yet they bring you gifts at Helice and Aegae, many and lovely. You ought to want victory for them. For if all of us who help the Danaans were willing to drive the Trojans back and hold off far-seeing Zeus, he could sit there and sulk all alone on Ida.” Then the lord Earth-shaker, deeply troubled, said to her: “Hera, reckless in speech, what kind of thing is this you’ve said? I wouldn’t want the rest of us to fight with Zeus, son of Cronus, since he is far stronger.”note

So they talked with each other. Meanwhile all the space that the ditch shut off, from the ships to the wall, was packed with horses and shield-bearing men, crowded together; and the man who crowded them in was Hector, son of Priam, equal of swift Ares, now that Zeus had given him glory. And he would have burned the balanced ships with blazing fire, had not queenly Hera put it into Agamemnon’s mind to bestir himself and quickly rouse the Achaeans. He set off along the huts and ships of the Achaeans, holding a great purple cloak in his strong hand, and stood by Odysseus’ huge-hulled black ship, which lay in the middle, so that a shout from there could be heard at either end: at the huts of Ajax son of Telamon and at those of Achilles, who had drawn up their balanced ships at the far ends, trusting in their courage and the strength of their hands. He gave a piercing shout, calling to the Danaans:

“Shame, Argives, vile disgraces, admirable only in looks! What has become of our boasts, when we said we were the best? You made them in Lemnos, you empty braggarts, as you ate plenty of the meat of straight-horned cattle and drank bowls brimming with wine: each of you would stand up in battle against a hundred, two hundred Trojans! Now we aren’t a match for one of them, Hector, who will soon burn the ships with blazing fire. Father Zeus, have you ever before blinded any of the mighty kings with such ruin as this, and robbed him of great glory? Yet I swear I never passed by your beautiful altar in my many-oared ship on my ill-fated way here, but on every one I burned the fat and thighs of cattle, longing to sack well-walled Troy.

Then none of the Danaans, many as they were, could boast that he had driven his swift horses ahead of the son of Tydeus, out across the ditch, and fought face to face. Far ahead of all, Diomedes killed a helmeted Trojan, Agelaus son of Phradmon. Agelaus had turned his horses to flight, and as he wheeled around, Diomedes planted his spear in his back between the shoulders and drove it out through his chest. He toppled from the chariot, and his armor clattered around him. After him came the sons of Atreus, Agamemnon and Menelaus; after them the two Ajaxes, clothed in furious valor; after them Idomeneus and Idomeneus’ companion Meriones, a match for Enyalius the man-slayer; after them Eurypylus, the splendid son of Euaemon. Teucer came ninth, stretching his back-bent bow, and took his stand under the shield of Ajax son of Telamon.

Then Ajax would lift his shield aside, and the warrior would peer around; and when he had shot someone in the crowd with an arrow, that man would fall on the spot and lose his life, while Teucer would go back, like a child to its mother, and duck behind Ajax, and Ajax would hide him with his shining shield. Which of the Trojans did flawless Teucer kill first? Orsilochus first, then Ormenus and Ophelestes, Daetor and Chromius and godlike Lycophontes, Amopaon son of Polyaemon, and Melanippus: all of them, one after another, he brought down to the nourishing earth. Agamemnon, lord of men, was glad at the sight of him destroying the ranks of the Trojans with his mighty bow, and he went and stood beside him and spoke to him:

“Teucer, dear heart, son of Telamon, commander of men, keep shooting like that, and you may become a light of hope to the Danaans and to your father Telamon, who reared you when you were small and took you into his own house, illegitimate though you were. Far off as he is, raise him to glory. And I’ll tell you this, and it will surely come to pass: if Zeus who bears the aegis and Athena grant me to sack the well-built citadel of Ilium, I’ll put a prize of honor in your hands first after my own: a tripod, or two horses with their chariot, or a woman to go up into your bed with you.” Then flawless Teucer answered him:

“Most glorious son of Atreus, why are you urging me on when I’m eager already? I’m not letting up, not as long as I have any strength in me. Ever since we pushed them back toward Ilium I’ve been lying in wait with my bow and killing men. Eight long-barbed arrows I’ve let fly already, and every one has lodged in the flesh of young men quick in battle. But this one I can’t hit, this mad dog.” He spoke, and let fly another arrow from the string straight at Hector, his heart set on hitting him. He missed him, but with the arrow he struck flawless Gorgythion, a fine son of Priam, in the chest. His mother had borne him, a wife brought from Aesyme, lovely Castianeira, like the goddesses in form. As a poppy in a garden droops its head to one side, heavy with its seed and the showers of spring, so his head sank to one side, weighed down by his helmet.

Teucer let fly another arrow from the string straight at Hector, his heart set on hitting him. But this time too he missed, for Apollo turned it aside. Instead he struck Archeptolemus, Hector’s bold charioteer, as he charged into battle, in the chest beside the nipple. He toppled from the chariot, and his swift-footed horses shied back; and there his life and strength were undone. Terrible grief for his charioteer clouded Hector’s mind, but grieving though he was for his comrade, he left him lying there and ordered his brother Cebriones, who was close by, to take the horses’ reins, and he heard and did not disobey. Hector himself leapt to the ground from his gleaming chariot with a terrible shout. He grabbed a rock in his hand and went straight for Teucer, his heart urging him to strike him.

Once more the Olympian roused fury in the Trojans, and they drove the Achaeans straight back to the deep ditch. Hector went among the foremost, exulting in his strength. As when a hound, chasing a wild boar or a lion on swift feet, snaps at it from behind, at hips and haunches, and watches for it as it wheels, so Hector pressed on the long-haired Achaeans, always killing the hindmost, and they fled. But when in their flight they had crossed the stakes and the ditch, and many had gone down under the hands of the Trojans, they halted by the ships and stood their ground, calling to one another, and each man lifted his hands to all the gods and prayed aloud. And Hector wheeled his fine-maned horses this way and that, with the eyes of the Gorgon or of Ares, bane of mortals.

Seeing them, the goddess white-armed Hera pitied them, and at once she spoke winged words to Athena: “Ah, child of Zeus who bears the aegis, are we two no longer going to care about the Danaans as they perish, even at this last hour? They’ll fill out an evil fate and perish under the onrush of one man, Hector son of Priam, who rages past all bearing and has already done great harm.” Then the goddess gray-eyed Athena answered her: “How I’d like to see this man lose his fury and his spirit, destroyed at the hands of the Argives in his native land! But my father rages, and his mind is not good. He’s cruel, always perverse, a thwarter of my efforts. He doesn’t remember at all how many times I saved his son when he was worn down by the labors Eurystheus set him. He would cry out to heaven, and Zeus would send me down from heaven to defend him.note

If I had known this in my shrewd mind when Eurystheus sent him to the house of Hades the gatekeeper, to bring from Erebus the hound of hateful Hades, he would never have escaped the steep streams of the water of Styx. But now Zeus hates me, and he has carried out the wishes of Thetis, who kissed his knees and took his chin in her hand, begging him to honor Achilles, sacker of cities. Well, the day will come when he calls me his dear gray-eyed girl again. But you, now, harness our single-hoofed horses for us, while I go into the house of Zeus who bears the aegis and arm myself for war. Then I’ll see whether Priam’s son, Hector of the flashing helmet, will be glad when we two appear along the lanes of battle, or whether some Trojan too will glut the dogs and birds with his fat and flesh, fallen by the ships of the Achaeans.”

So she spoke, and the goddess white-armed Hera did not disobey. She went about harnessing the horses with their golden headbands: Hera, the honored goddess, daughter of great Cronus. Meanwhile Athena, daughter of Zeus who bears the aegis, let fall on her father’s floor her soft robe, richly worked, which she had made and labored over with her own hands. She put on the tunic of Zeus the cloud-gatherer and armed herself for tearful war. She stepped into the blazing chariot and took up her spear, heavy, huge and stout, with which she beats down the ranks of warriors when she is angry with them, she of the mighty father. Hera quickly touched the horses with the whip, and of their own accord the gates of heaven groaned open, the gates kept by the Seasons, to whom great heaven and Olympus are entrusted, to roll back the thick cloud or to set it in place. Through these they drove the horses on with the goad.

But when Father Zeus saw them from Ida, he was terribly angry, and he sent golden-winged Iris off with a message: “Go, swift Iris, on your way. Turn them back, and don’t let them come face to face with me, for it would go badly if we met in war. For this I’ll tell you, and it will surely come to pass: I’ll lame their swift horses under the chariot, hurl them out of the car, and smash the chariot, and not in ten circling years will they heal the wounds the thunderbolt deals them. Then the gray-eyed one will know what it means to fight her own father. With Hera I’m not so indignant or so angry, for she has always been in the habit of thwarting whatever I say.”

So he spoke, and storm-footed Iris rushed off with the message. She went from the mountains of Ida to high Olympus, and meeting them at the outer gates of many-folded Olympus, she held them back and gave them the word of Zeus: “Where are you two rushing? Why is the heart in your breasts raging? The son of Cronus won’t allow you to help the Argives. For this is what the son of Cronus has threatened, and he will make it good: he’ll lame your swift horses under the chariot, hurl you out of the car, and smash the chariot, and not in ten circling years will you heal the wounds the thunderbolt deals you. Then you, gray-eyed one, will know what it means to fight your own father.

With Hera he isn’t so indignant or so angry, for she has always been in the habit of thwarting whatever he says. But you are the most dreadful of all, you shameless dog, if you really dare to raise your huge spear against Zeus.” When she had said this, swift-footed Iris went away, and Hera spoke to Athena: “Ah, child of Zeus who bears the aegis, I won’t let the two of us fight against Zeus any longer for the sake of mortals. Let one of them die and another live, as chance falls. Let Zeus follow his own thoughts in his heart and judge between Trojans and Danaans, as is fitting.”

With these words she turned back the single-hoofed horses. The Seasons unyoked the fine-maned horses for them and tethered them at their ambrosial mangers, and leaned the chariot against the gleaming walls of the entrance. The goddesses themselves sat down on golden chairs among the other gods, their hearts sorely troubled. Father Zeus drove his well-wheeled chariot and horses from Ida to Olympus and came to the seats of the gods. For him the glorious Earth-shaker unyoked the horses, set the chariot on its stand, and spread a cloth over it. Wide-seeing Zeus himself sat down on his golden throne, and great Olympus shook beneath his feet. Only Athena and Hera sat apart from Zeus, and they did not speak to him or ask him anything. But he knew it in his mind, and spoke:

“Why are you so downcast, Athena and Hera? You surely haven’t worn yourselves out in the battle where men win glory, destroying the Trojans you’ve conceived such terrible spite against. Whatever happens, such is my fury and such are my invincible hands that all the gods on Olympus could not turn me back. But trembling seized your shining limbs before you ever saw the war and the grim work of war. For this I’ll tell you, and it would surely have come to pass: struck by the thunderbolt, you would never have come back in your chariot to Olympus, where the seat of the immortals is.”

So he spoke, and Athena and Hera muttered under their breath. They sat close together, plotting evil for the Trojans. Athena kept silent and said nothing, sullen toward Father Zeus, though savage anger gripped her. But Hera’s breast could not contain her anger, and she spoke out: “Most dread son of Cronus, what a thing to say! We know well enough ourselves that your strength is not feeble. But all the same we grieve for the Danaan spearmen, who will fill out an evil fate and perish. Still, we’ll keep out of the war, since you order it. But we’ll offer the Argives advice that will help them, so they don’t all perish because of your anger.” Then Zeus the cloud-gatherer answered her:

“At dawn, if you like, ox-eyed queenly Hera, you’ll see the mighty son of Cronus destroying even more of the great host of Argive spearmen. For mighty Hector won’t stop fighting until the swift-footed son of Peleus is roused beside the ships, on the day when they’ll be fighting at the sterns in the direst straits over the dead Patroclus. That is how it is decreed. As for you, I don’t care about your anger, not even if you go to the lowest limits of earth and sea, where Iapetus and Cronus sit and have no joy in the rays of Hyperion the Sun or in the winds, and deep Tartarus lies all around them. Not even if you wander all the way there do I care about your sulking, since there is nothing more shameless than you.”note

So he spoke, and white-armed Hera made no reply. The bright light of the sun sank into Ocean, drawing black night over the grain-giving earth. For the Trojans the light went down against their will, but for the Achaeans the dark night came welcome, thrice prayed for. Then glorious Hector held an assembly of the Trojans, leading them away from the ships beside the eddying river, to an open space where the ground showed clear of corpses. They stepped down from their chariots to the ground and listened to the speech that Hector, dear to Zeus, delivered. In his hand he held a spear eleven cubits long. Before him gleamed its bronze point, and a golden ring ran round it. Leaning on it, he spoke to the Trojans:

“Hear me, Trojans, Dardanians and allies! I thought just now that I would destroy the ships and all the Achaeans and return to windy Ilium. But darkness came first, and that more than anything has saved the Argives and their ships on the seashore. So now let’s yield to black night and make ready our supper. Unyoke the fine-maned horses from the chariots and throw fodder down beside them. Bring cattle and fat sheep from the city, quickly, and fetch honey-sweet wine and bread from your houses, and gather plenty of wood. Then all night long, until early-born Dawn, we’ll burn many fires, and their glare will reach the sky, in case the long-haired Achaeans try to flee even by night over the broad back of the sea.

So Hector spoke, and the Trojans roared their approval. They unyoked the sweating horses from under the yoke and tethered them with straps, each man by his own chariot. They brought cattle and fat sheep from the city, quickly, and fetched honey-sweet wine and bread from their houses, and gathered plenty of wood. [They offered perfect hecatombs to the immortals,] and the winds carried the savor from the plain up into the sky, [sweet savor; but the blessed gods took no share of it,] [nor did they wish to, for holy Ilium was utterly hateful to them,] [and Priam, and the people of Priam of the good ash spear.]note

So the Trojans kept their watch. But the Achaeans were gripped by a wondrous panic, the companion of chilling fear, and all their best men were stricken with grief past bearing. As when two winds stir up the fish-filled sea, the North Wind and the West Wind, which blow from Thrace and come on suddenly, and at once the dark wave rears up in a crest and flings much seaweed out along the shore, so the spirit in the breasts of the Achaeans was torn. The son of Atreus, his heart stricken with great grief, went about ordering the clear-voiced heralds to summon every man to the assembly by name, but not to shout, and he himself was busy among the foremost. They sat in the assembly, dejected. Then Agamemnon stood up, shedding tears like a spring of dark water that pours its murky stream down a rock too sheer for goats. So, groaning heavily, he spoke words among the Argives:

“My friends, leaders and rulers of the Argives, Zeus son of Cronus has bound me fast in heavy ruin. He is cruel. Once he promised me, and nodded his assent, that I would sack well-walled Ilium and return home. But now he has devised an evil deception, and bids me go back to Argos in disgrace, after I have lost so many men. That, it seems, must be the pleasure of almighty Zeus, who has brought down the heights of many cities and will bring down more yet, for his power is the greatest. Come, then, let us all do as I say: let us flee with our ships to our dear native land. We will never take Troy of the wide streets now.”

So he spoke, and they all fell hushed and silent. For a long time the sons of the Achaeans sat speechless in their dejection, but at last Diomedes, good at the war cry, spoke among them: “Son of Atreus, it’s you I’ll fight first, for your folly, as is my right, my lord, in the assembly; so don’t be angry. You were the first to reproach my courage among the Danaans, calling me unwarlike and a coward, and all this the Argives know, both young and old. But the son of crooked-counseling Cronus gave you only half: with the scepter he granted you honor above all men, but courage he did not give you, and that is the greatest power of all. Strange man, do you really believe the sons of the Achaeans are as unwarlike and cowardly as you say?

If your own heart is so set on going home, then go. The road is open to you, and your ships stand close to the sea, the great many that followed you from Mycenae. But the rest of the long-haired Achaeans will stay until we sack Troy. And if they want to go as well, let them flee with their ships to their dear native land. The two of us, Sthenelus and I, will fight on until we reach the end of Ilium, for we came here with a god’s help.” So he spoke, and all the sons of the Achaeans shouted aloud, admiring the words of horse-taming Diomedes. Then Nestor the horseman rose and spoke among them:

“Son of Tydeus, in war you are mighty beyond others, and in counsel you are the best of all your age-mates. No one among all the Achaeans will find fault with what you say, or speak against it; but you have not reached the end of the matter. True, you are young; you might even be my son, the youngest of my children. Yet you speak sensibly to the kings of the Argives, for what you said was fitting. But come, let me, who can claim to be older than you, speak out and go through it all. No one will slight my words, not even lord Agamemnon. Clanless, lawless, hearthless is the man who loves the chilling horror of war among his own people.