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Homer


 

 

Homer

Greek poet

flourished 9th or 8th century bc?, Ionia? [now in Turkey]

Main
presumed author of the Iliad and the Odyssey.

Although these two great epic poems of ancient Greece have always been attributed to the shadowy figure of Homer, little is known of him beyond the fact that his was the name attached in antiquity by the Greeks themselves to the poems. That there was an epic poet called Homer and that he played the primary part in shaping the Iliad and the Odyssey—so much may be said to be probable. If this assumption is accepted, then Homer must assuredly be one of the greatest of the world’s literary artists.

He is also one of the most influential authors in the widest sense, for the two epics provided the basis of Greek education and culture throughout the classical age and formed the backbone of humane education down to the time of the Roman Empire and the spread of Christianity. Indirectly through the medium of Virgil’s Aeneid (which was loosely molded after the patterns of the Iliad and the Odyssey), directly through their revival under Byzantine culture from the late 8th century ad onward, and subsequently through their passage into Italy with the Greek scholars who fled westward from the Ottomans, the Homeric epics had a profound impact on the Renaissance culture of Italy. Since then the proliferation of translations has helped to make them the most important poems of the classical European tradition.

It was probably through their impact on classical Greek culture itself that the Iliad and the Odyssey most subtly affected Western standards and ideas. The Greeks regarded the great epics as something more than works of literature; they knew much of them by heart, and they valued them not only as a symbol of Hellenic unity and heroism but also as an ancient source of moral and even practical instruction.

Early references
Implicit references to Homer and quotations from the poems date to the middle of the 7th century bc. Archilochus, Alcman, Tyrtaeus, and Callinus in the 7th century and Sappho and others in the early 6th adapted Homeric phraseology and metre to their own purposes and rhythms. At the same time scenes from the epics became popular in works of art. The pseudo-Homeric “Hymn to Apollo of Delos,” probably of late 7th-century composition, claimed to be the work of “a blind man who dwells in rugged Chios,” a reference to a tradition about Homer himself. The idea that Homer had descendants known as “Homeridae,” and that they had taken over the preservation and propagation of his poetry, goes back at least to the early 6th century bc. Indeed, it was not long before a kind of Homeric scholarship began: Theagenes of Rhegium in southern Italy toward the end of the same century wrote the first of many allegorizing interpretations. By the 5th century biographical fictions were well under way; the Pre-Socratic philosopher Heracleitus of Ephesus made use of a trivial legend of Homer’s death—that it was caused by chagrin at not being able to solve some boys’ riddle about catching lice—and the concept of a contest of quotations between Homer and Hesiod (after Homer the most ancient of Greek poets) may have been initiated in the Sophistic tradition. The historian Herodotus assigned the formulation of Greek theology to Homer and Hesiod and claimed that they could have lived no more than 400 years before his own time, the 5th century bc. This should be contrasted with the superficial assumption, popular in many circles throughout antiquity, that Homer must have lived not much later than the Trojan War about which he sang.

The general belief that Homer was a native of Ionia (the central part of the western seaboard of Asia Minor) seems a reasonable conjecture for the poems themselves are in predominantly Ionic dialect. Although Smyrna and Chios early began competing for the honour (the poet Pindar, early in the 5th century bc, associated Homer with both), and others joined in, no authenticated local memory survived anywhere of someone who, oral poet or not, must have been remarkable in his time. The absence of hard facts puzzled but did not deter the Greeks; the fictions that had begun even before the 5th century bc were developed in the Alexandrian era in the 3rd and 2nd centuries bc (when false scholarship as well as true abounded) into fantastic pseudobiographies, and these were further refined by derivative scholars under the Roman Empire. The longest to have survived purports to be by Herodotus himself; but it is quite devoid of objective truth.


Modern inferences
Modern scholars agree with the ancient sources only about Homer’s general place of activity. The most concrete piece of ancient evidence is that his descendants, the Homeridae, lived on the Ionic island of Chios. Yet an east Aegean environment is suggested for the main author of the Iliad by certain local references in the poem; that is, to the peak of Samothrace just appearing over the intervening mass of Imbros when seen from the plain of Troy, to the birds at the mouth of the Cayster near Ephesus, to storms off Icaria and northwest winds from Thrace. East Aegean colouring is fainter in the Odyssey, which is set primarily in western Greece; but the poem’s vagueness over the position of Ithaca, for example, is not incompatible with the idea of a poet in Ionia elaborating materials derived from the farther side of the Greek world.

Admittedly, there is some doubt over whether the Iliad and the Odyssey were even composed by the same main author. Such doubts began in antiquity itself and depended mainly on the difference of genre (the Iliad being martial and heroic, the Odyssey picaresque and often fantastic), but they may be reinforced by subtle differences of vocabulary even apart from those imposed by different subjects. Aristotle’s conception of the Odyssey as a work of Homer’s old age is not impossible; but if the Iliad is the earlier of the two (as seems likely from its simpler structure and the greater frequency of relatively late linguistic forms in the Odyssey), then the Odyssey could have been created after its image, and as a conscious supplement, once the example of monumental composition had been given. In any case the similarities of the two poems are partly due to the coherence of the heroic poetical tradition that lay behind both.

The internal evidence of the poems is of some use in determining when Homer lived. Certain elements of the poetic language, which was an artificial amalgam never exactly reproduced in speech, indicate that the epics were not only post-Mycenaean in composition but also substantially later than the foundation of the first Ionian settlements in Asia Minor of about 1000 bc. The running together of adjacent short vowels and the disappearance of the semivowel digamma (a letter formerly existing in the Greek alphabet) are the most significant indications of this. At the other end of the time scale the development in the poems of a true definite article, for instance, represents an earlier phase than is exemplified in the poetry of the middle and late 7th century. Both stylistically and metrically, the Homeric poems appear to be earlier than the Hesiodic poems, which many scholars place not long after 700 bc. A different and perhaps more precise criterion is provided by datable objects and practices mentioned in the poems. Nothing, except for one or two probably Athenian additions, seems from this standpoint to be later than about 700; on the other hand, the role assigned in the Odyssey to the Phoenicians as traders, together with one or two other phenomena, suggests a date of composition—for the relevant contexts at least—of sometime after 900. A few passages in the Iliad may imply a new form of fighting in close formation, dependent on the development of special armour for foot soldiers (hoplites) after about 750, and references to the Gorgon mask as a decorative motif point in the same direction. It is true that the poems contain many traditional and archaic elements, and their language and material background are a compound of different constituents originating at different dates. It seems, nonetheless, plausible to conclude that the period of composition of the large-scale epics (as distinct from their much shorter predecessors) was the 9th or 8th century, with several features pointing more clearly to the 8th. The Odyssey may belong near the end of this century, the Iliad closer to its middle. It may be no coincidence that cults of Homeric heroes tended to spring up toward the end of the 8th century, and that scenes from the epic begin to appear on pots at just about the same time.


Homer as an oral poet
But even if his name is known and his date and region can be inferred, Homer remains primarily a projection of the great poems themselves. Their qualities are significant of his taste and his view of the world, but they also reveal something more specific about his technique and the kind of poet he was. It has been one of the most important discoveries of Homeric scholarship, associated particularly with the name of an American scholar, Milman Parry, that the Homeric tradition was an oral one—that this was a kind of poetry made and passed down by word of mouth and without the intervention of writing. Indeed Homer’s own term for a poet is aoidos, “singer.” The Odyssey describes two such poets in some detail: Phemius, the court singer in the palace of Odysseus in Ithaca, and Demodocus, who lived in the town of the semi-mythical Phaeacians and sang both for the nobles in Alcinous’ palace and for the assembled public at the games held for Odysseus. On this occasion he sings of the illicit love affair of Ares and Aphrodite in a version that lasts for exactly 100 Homeric verses. This and the other songs assigned to these singers—for example, that of the Trojan Horse, summarized in the Odyssey—suggest that ordinary aoidoi in the heroic tradition worked with relatively short poems that could be given completely on a single occasion. That is what one would expect, and it is confirmed by the habits of singers and audiences at other periods and in other parts of the world (the tradition of the poet-singers of Muslim Serbia has provided the most fruitful comparison so far). Whatever the favoured occasion for heroic song—whether the aristocratic feast, the religious festival, or popular gatherings in tavern or marketplace—a natural limitation on the length of a poem is imposed by the audience’s available time and interest as well as by the singer’s own physique and the scope of his repertoire. Such relatively short songs must have provided the backbone of the tradition inherited by Homer, and his portraits of Demodocus and Phemius are likely to be accurate in this respect. What Homer himself seems to have done is to introduce the concept of a quite different style of poetry, in the shape of a monumental poem that required more than a single hour or evening to sing and could achieve new and far more complex effects, in literary and psychological terms, than those attainable in the more anecdotal and episodic songs of his predecessors.


Homer as an oral poet » Poetic techniques
It can be asked how one can be so confident in classing Homer himself as an oral singer, for if he differed from Phemius or Demodocus in terms of length, he may also have differed radically in his poetic techniques. The very nature of his verse may provide a substantial part of the answer. The style of the poems is “formulaic”; that is, they rely heavily on the use not only of stock epithets and repeated verses or groups of verses—which can also be found to a much lesser extent in a literate imitator like Virgil—but also on a multitude of fixed phrases that are employed time and time again to express a similar idea in a similar part of the verse. The clearest and simplest instance is the so-called noun-epithet formulas. These constitute a veritable system, in which every major god or hero possesses a variety of epithets from which the choice is made solely according to how much of the verse, and which part of it, the singer desires to use up. Odysseus is called divine Odysseus, many-counseled Odysseus, or much-enduring divine Odysseus simply in accordance with the amount of material to be fitted into the remainder of the hexameter (six-foot) verse. A ship is described as black, hollow, or symmetrical not to distinguish this particular ship from others but solely in relation to the qualities and demands of the rhythmical context. The whole noun-epithet system is both extensive and economical—it covers a great variety of subjects with very little exact reduplication or unnecessary overlap. It would seem that so refined and complex a system could not be the invention of a single poet but must have been gradually evolved in a long-standing tradition that needed both the extension and the economy for functional reasons—that depended on these fixed phrase units because of its oral nature, in which memory, practice, and a kind of improvising replace the deliberate, self-correcting, word-by-word progress of the pen-and-paper composer. Admittedly, the rest of Homer’s vocabulary is not as markedly formulaic as its noun-epithet aspect (or, another popular example, as its expressions for beginning and ending a speech). Many expressions, many portions of sentences are individually invented for the occasion, or at least so it seems. Even so, there is a strongly formulaic and ready-made component in the artificial language that was used by Homer, including its less conspicuous aspects such as the arrangement of particles, conjunctions, and pronouns.

It looks, therefore, as though Homer must have trained as an ordinary aoidos, who began (like most of the present-day Yugoslav guslari) by building up a repertoire of normal-length songs acquired from already established singers. The greatest heroic adventures of the past must already have been prominent in any repertoire, especially the Panhellenic adventures of the Seven Against Thebes, the Argonauts, and the Achaean attack on Troy. Some aspects of the Trojan War might already have been expanded into songs of unusual length, though one that was still manageable on a single occasion. Yet the process was presumably carried much further in the making of the monumental Iliad, consisting of more than 16,000 verses, which would take four or five long evenings, and perhaps more, to perform. This breakthrough into the monumental, which made exceptional and almost unreasonable demands of audiences, presupposes a singer of quite exceptional capacity and reputation—one who could impose the new and admittedly difficult form upon his listeners by the sheer unfamiliar genius of his song. The 8th century bc was in other respects, too, an era of cultural innovation, not least in the direction of monumentality, and huge temples (like the early temple of Hera in Samos) and colossal funerary vases (like the mixing bowls and amphorae in the so-called Geometric style from the Dipylon cemetery in Athens) may have found a literary analogue in the idea of a vast poetical treatment of the Trojan War. But in an important sense Homer was building upon a tendency of all known oral heroic poetry toward elaboration and expansion. The singer does not acquire a song from another singer by simple memorization. He adjusts what he hears to his existing store of phrases, typical scenes, and themes, and he tends to replace what is unfamiliar to him with something he already knows, or to expand it by adding familiar material that it happens to lack. Every singer in a living oral tradition tends to develop what he acquires. There is an element of improvisation, as well as of memory, in his appropriation of fresh material; and judging by the practice of singers studied from the middle of the 19th century onward in Russia, Serbia, Cyprus, and Crete the inclination to adjust, elaborate, and improve comes naturally to all oral poets.


Homer as an oral poet » Cumulative poetic structure
Homer must have decided to elaborate his materials not only in quality but also in length and complexity. All oral poetry is cumulative in essence; the verse is built up by adding phrase upon phrase, the individual description by adding verse upon verse. The whole plot of a song consists of the progressive accumulation of minor motifs and major themes, from simple ideas (such as “the hero sets off on a journey” or “addresses his enemy”) through typical scenes (such as assemblies of men or gods) to developed but standardized thematic complexes (such as episodes of recognition or reconciliation). Homer seems to have carried this cumulative tendency into new regions of poetry and narrative; in this as in other respects (for example, in his poetical language) he was applying his own individual vision to the fertile raw material of an extensive and well-known tradition.

The result is much more complex than with an ordinary traditional poem. Understanding the origin and essential qualities of the Iliad or the Odyssey entails trying to sort out not only the separate components of the pre-Homeric tradition but also Homer’s own probable contributions, whether distinguishable by their dependence on the monumental idea or by their apparent novelty vis-à-vis the tradition as a whole or by other means. Dialectal and linguistic components must be identified as far as possible—survivals of the Mycenaean language, for example, or words used exclusively in the Aeolian cities of the west coast of Asia Minor, or Athenian dialect forms introduced into the poems after the time of Homer; so must specific references to armour, clothing, houses, burial customs, political geography, and so on, that are likely to be assignable to the Late Bronze Age, the Early Iron Age, or the period of Homer’s own activity—at the very least to be taken as relatively early or late within the whole range of the poetic tradition down to Homer. These are the tasks of modern Homeric scholarship. Yet such different forms and ideas in Homer are not conveniently separated into distinct sections of the text, which can therefore be assigned to early or late phases of composition. On the contrary, they may coexist in a single (artificial) linguistic form or a single descriptive phrase. Any member of the tradition, not least Homer himself, may, moreover, have chosen to archaize on one occasion, to innovate on another. One result is that the epics are dubious authorities for the assessment of historical events like the attack on Troy or the status of workers, just as they are ambiguous sources for early Greek grammar or theology. Another is that they are not bound to a single worldview or period or mode of perception; rather, they unite judgments and experiences never seen together in “real” life into a whole that is literary but nevertheless revealing of the underlying structure of human existence.


Stabilizing the text
An important and difficult question, which affects the accuracy of modern Homeric texts, is that of the date when the epics became “fixed”—which means given authoritative written form, since oral transmission is always to some extent fluid. An alphabetic writing system reached Greece in the 9th or early 8th century bc; before that was a gap of 200 or 300 years, following the collapse of Mycenaean culture and the disappearance of Linear B writing (with each sign generally representing a syllable), during which Greece seems to have been nonliterate. During that interval, certainly, much of the epic tradition was formed. The earliest alphabetic inscriptions to have survived, a few of them containing brief scraps of hexameter verse, date from about 730 bc. Therefore, if Homer created the Iliad at some time after 750 bc, he could conceivably have used writing to help him. Some scholars think that he did. Others believe that he may have remained nonliterate (since literacy is not normally associated with oral creativity) but dictated the poem to a literate assistant. Still others believe that the poems may have been preserved orally and not too inaccurately at least until the middle years of the following, the 7th, century, when “literature” in the strict sense appeared in the poetry of Archilochus. There are objections to all three theories, but this much can be generally agreed: that the use of writing was in any case ancillary, that Homer behaved in important ways like a traditional oral poet. Some scholars are convinced that certain of the more subtle effects and cross-references of Homer’s poetry would be impossible without the ability to consult a written text. That is doubtful; certainly the capacities even of ordinary oral poets in this direction are constantly surprising to habitual literates.

At least it may be accepted that partial texts of the epics were probably being used by the Homeridae and by professional reciters known as rhapsodes (who were no longer creative and had abandoned the use of the lyre) by the latter part of the 7th century bc. The first complete version may well have been that established as a standard for rhapsodic competitions at the great quadrennial festival at Athens, the Panathenaea, at some time during the 6th century bc. Even that did not permanently fix the text, and from then on the history of the epics was one of periodical distortion followed by progressively more effective acts of stabilization. The widespread dissemination of the poems consequent upon the growth of the Athenian book trade in the 5th century and the proliferation of libraries after the 4th was followed by the critical work of the Alexandrian scholar Aristarchus of Samothrace in the 2nd century bc, and much later by the propagation of accurate minuscule texts (notably the famous manuscript known as Venetus A of the Iliad), incorporating the best results of Greco-Roman scholarship, in the Byzantine world of the Middle Ages. Rare portions of either poem may have been added after, but not long after, the main act of composition; the night expedition that results in the capture of the Trojan spy Dolon and that fills the 10th book of the Iliad, some of the underworld scenes in the 11th book of the Odyssey, and much of the ending of the Odyssey after line 296 of the 23rd book (regarded by Aristarchus as its original conclusion) are the most probable candidates on the grounds of structure, language, and style.

Even apart from the possibilities of medium-scale elaboration, the Iliad and the Odyssey exemplify certain of the minor inconsistencies of all oral poetry, and occasionally the composer’s amalgamation of traditional material into a large-scale structure shows through. Yet the overriding impression is one of powerful unity.


Stabilizing the text » The Iliad
The Iliad is not merely a distillation of the whole protracted war against Troy but simultaneously an exploration of the heroic ideal in all its self-contradictoriness—its insane and grasping pride, its magnificent but animal strength, its ultimate if obtuse humanity. The poem is, in truth, the story of the wrath of Achilles, the greatest warrior on the Greek side, that is announced in its very first words; yet for thousands of verses on end Achilles is an unseen presence as he broods among his Myrmidons, waiting for Zeus’s promise to be fulfilled—the promise that the Trojans will set fire to the Achaean ships and force King Agamemnon to beg him to return to the fight. Much of the poetry between the first book, in which the quarrel flares up, and the 16th, in which Achilles makes the crucial concession of allowing his friend Patroclus to fight on his behalf, consists of long scenes of battle, in which individual encounters alternate with mass movements of the opposing armies. The battle poetry is based on typical and frequently recurring elements and motifs, but it is also subtly varied by highly individualized episodes and set pieces: the catalog of troop contingents, the formal duels between Paris and Menelaus and Ajax and Hector, Helen’s identifying of the Achaean princes, Agamemnon inspecting his troops, the triumph of Diomedes, Hector’s famous meeting back in Troy with his wife Andromache, the building of the Achaean wall, the unsuccessful embassy to Achilles, the night expedition, Hera’s seduction of Zeus and Poseidon’s subsequent invigoration of the Achaeans. Patroclus’ death two-thirds of the way through the poem brings Achilles back into the fight, although not before the recovery of Patroclus’ body, the making of new divine armour for Achilles, and his formal reconciliation with Agamemnon. In book 22 he kills the deluded Hector; next he restores his heroic status by means of the funeral games for Patroclus; and in the concluding book Achilles is compelled by the gods to restore civilized values and his own magnanimity by surrendering Hector’s body to King Priam.


Stabilizing the text » The Odyssey
The Odyssey tends to be blander in expression and sometimes more diffuse in the progress of its action, but it presents an even more complex and harmonious structure than the Iliad. The main elements are the situation in Ithaca, where Penelope, Odysseus’ wife, and their young son, Telemachus, are powerless before her arrogant suitors as they despair of Odysseus’ return from the siege of Troy; Telemachus’ secret journey to the Peloponnese for news of his father, and his encounters there with Nestor, Menelaus, and Helen; Odysseus’ dangerous passage, opposed by the sea-god Poseidon himself, from Calypso’s island to that of the Phaeacians, and his narrative there (from book 9 to book 12) of his fantastic adventures after leaving Troy, including his escape from the cave of the Cyclops, Polyphemus; his arrival back in Ithaca, solitary and by night, at the poem’s halfway point, followed by his meeting with his protector-goddess Athena, his elaborate disguises, his self-revelation to the faithful swineherd Eumaeus and then to Telemachus, their complicated plan for disposing of the suitors, and its gory fulfillment. Finally comes the recognition by his faithful Penelope, his recounting to her of his adventures, his meeting with his aged father, Laertes, and the restitution, with Athena’s help, of stability in his island kingdom of Ithaca. (See also Greek literature: Epic narrative.)

Homer’s influence seems to have been strongest in some of the most conspicuous formal components of the poems. The participation of the gods can both dignify human events and make them seem trivial—or tragic; it must for long have been part of the heroic tradition, but the frequency and the richness of the divine assemblies in the Iliad, or the peculiarly personal and ambivalent relationship between Odysseus and Athena in the Odyssey, probably reflect the taste and capacity of the main composer. The many-sidedness of battle, the equivocal realism of death in a hundred forms, must have been developed among Homer’s predecessors but can never before have been deployed with such massive and complex effect. In the extended similes the strain of heroic action is relieved by the illuminating intrusion of a quite different and often peaceful contemporary world, in images developed often almost longingly beyond the immediate point of comparison. These similes, in their placing and their detail at least, surely depend on the main composer. And yet, beyond such general intuitions as these, the attempt to isolate his special contributions often becomes self-defeating. The Iliad and the Odyssey owe their unique status precisely to the creative and therefore unanalyzable confluence of tradition and design, the crystalline fixity of a formulaic style and the mobile spontaneity of a brilliant personal vision. “Homer” implies, above all, this fusion.

The result is an impressive amalgam of literary power and refinement. The Iliad and the Odyssey, however, owe their preeminence not so much to their antiquity and to their place in Greek culture as a whole but to their timeless success in expressing on a massive scale so much of the triumph and the frustration of human life. Although all literature must be engaged with that to some degree, epic poems are not where one most expects to find it. But these poems rise above the immediate concerns of heroic battle or the struggle against gods and nature or against monstrous forces, and they do so with the help of a poetical language of great simplicity and subtlety, a rugged and surprisingly variable narrative technique, and a nucleus of remarkable tales set around the Trojan War and its aftermath. Their greatest power lies, perhaps, in their dramatic quality because much of each poem consists of conversation and speeches, in which rhetoric is kept firmly under control and the individual characters emerge as they confront each other and the gods with advice, inquiry, request, resignation, and passion. Achilles, Hector, Menelaus, Ajax, Odysseus, and the others acquire a kind of heroic glow that even Greek tragedy later found hard to emulate. That is the result, in part, of the very archaism of these age-old tales, which the special techniques of monumental composition never attempted to conceal; but it also depends on something that overlaps that archaism, namely a sheer mythic quality imparting to these tales something of the universal validity to which all great literature aspires and which Homer achieved consistently and with an apparent ease that must be deceptive.


Additional Reading » Greek text
Greek texts are published in Martin L. West (ed.), Homeri Ilias, 2 vol., with an introduction in Latin (1998–2000); Peter von der Mühll (ed.), Odyssea, 3rd. ed. (1962, reissued 2005); and Helmut van Thiel (ed.), Homeri Ilias (1996), and Homeri Odyssea (1991).

Additional Reading » Translations
The Elizabethan translation by George Chapman, made famous by John Keats in the sonnet, “On First Looking into Chapman’s Homer” (1816), is available in a modern edition ed. by Allardyce Nicoll, Chapman’s Homer, 2 vol. (1956, reissued 1998–2000). Also available are Alexander Pope’s classic translations (The Iliad [1715–20]; The Odyssey, with William Broome and Elijah Fenton [1725–26]): The Iliad of Homer, ed. by Steven Shankman (1996); and The Odyssey of Homer, ed. by Maynard Mack, 2 vol. (1967, reissued 1993).

The standard close modern translations are Richmond Lattimore (trans.), The Iliad of Homer (1951, reissued 1997), and The Odyssey of Homer (1967, reissued 1991); and Walter Shewring (trans.), The Odyssey (1980, reissued 1998). Martin Hamilton, The Iliad (1987), is a reliable prose translation. The prose translations (with Greek texts) in The Loeb Classical Library series are A.T. Murray (trans.), The Iliad, 2 vol., rev. by William F. Wyatt (1999), and The Odyssey, 2 vol., rev. by George E. Dimock (1995).

Modern verse translations include the loose but powerful versions by Robert Fitzgerald (trans.), The Iliad (1974, reissued 2004), and The Odyssey (1961, reissued 2001). Other well-regarded verse translations include Allen Mandelbaum (trans.), The Odyssey of Homer (1990, reissued 2003); Robert Fagles (trans.), The Iliad, with introduction and notes by Bernard Knox (1990, reissued 2004), and The Odyssey of Homer (1999); and Stanley Lombardo (trans.), Iliad (1997), and Odyssey (2000), both also available in a single-volume abridged edition, The Essential Homer (2000).

Additional Reading » Commentaries
Important commentaries include G.S. Kirk et al. (eds.), The Iliad: A Commentary, 6 vol. (1985–93); M.M. Willcock (ed.), The Iliad of Homer, Books I–XII (1978), and The Iliad of Homer, Books XIII–XXIV (1984); Alfred Heubeck et al., A Commentary on Homer’s Odyssey, 3 vol. (1988–92); and R.D. Dawe, The Odyssey: Translation and Analysis (1993).

Additional Reading » Critical studies
Works treating Homer and the epics critically include W.A. Camps, An Introduction to Homer (1980); Jasper Griffin, Homer (1980), and Homer on Life and Death (1980); Howard Clarke, Homer’s Readers: A Historical Introduction to the Iliad and the Odyssey (1981); Norman Austin, Archery at the Dark of the Moon: Poetic Problems in Homer’s Odyssey (1975); James M. Redfield, Nature and Culture in the Iliad: The Tragedy of Hector (1975); M.I. Finley, The World of Odysseus, 2nd rev. ed. (1977); G.S. Kirk, The Songs of Homer (1962, reprinted 1977), also available in an abridged edition, Homer and the Epic (1965, reissued 1985); Albert B. Lord, The Singer of Tales (1960, reissued 1978); T.B.L. Webster, From Mycenae to Homer (1958, reprinted 1977); and Milman Parry, The Making of Homeric Verse, ed. by Adam Parry (1971, reissued 1987).

More-recent critical studies are Mark W. Edwards, Homer: Poet of the Iliad (1987); Bruce Louden, The Odyssey: Structure, Narration, and Meaning (1999), and The Iliad: Structure, Myth, and Meaning (2006); Carol Dougherty, The Raft of Odysseus: The Ethnographic Imagination of Homer’s Odyssey (2001); Elizabeth Minchin, Homer and the Resources of Memory: Some Applications of Cognitive Theory to the Iliad and the Odyssey (2001); James Morrison, A Companion to Homer’s Odyssey (2003); and Irene J.F. de Jong, Narrators and Focalizers: The Presentation of the Story in the Iliad, 2nd ed. (2004).

Essay collections include Seth L. Schein (ed.), Reading the Odyssey (1996); G.M. Wright and P.V. Jones (trans.), Homer: German Scholarship in Translation (1997); Ian McAuslan and Peter Walcot (eds.), Homer (1998); and Douglas L. Cairns (ed.), Oxford Readings in Homer’s Iliad (2001).

Geoffrey S. Kirk

 

see also:

John Flaxman
The Odyssey of Homer (illustrations)
***
see also:

Greek and Roman Myths in Art

 ***
 see also EXPLORATION (in Russian):

Homer  "Iliad "and "Odyssey"

 

 


ILIAD
 

Type of work: Poem
Author: Homer (c. ninth century B.C.)
Type of plot: Heroic epic
Time of plot: Trojan War
Locale: Troy
First transcribed: Sixth century B.C.

 

Set during a three-day period in the Trojan War, the Iliad tells the story of the wrath of Achilles against King Agamemnon. The battle episodes reveal the true characters of the warriors, their strengths and their weaknesses. These figures emerge as human beings not of one era, but of all eras and for all time.

 

Principal Characters

Achilles (ý-ki'lez), the son of Peleus and the Nereid Thetis, prince of the Myrmidons, and mightiest of the Achaian warriors at the siege of Troy. At his birth his mother had dipped him in the Styx so that all parts of his body are invulnerable to hurt except the heel by which she held him. A young man of great beauty, strength, courage, and skill in battle, he nevertheless possesses two tragic flaws, an imperious will and a strong sense of vanity. Enraged because King Agamemnon orders him to surrender the maid Briseis, whom Achilles had taken as his own prize of war, he quarrels bitterly with the commander of the Greek forces and withdraws from the battlefield. When the Trojan host attacks, driving the Greeks back toward their ships, Achilles remains sulking in his tent. So great is his wrath that he refuses to heed all entreaties that he come to the aid of the hard-pressed Greeks. When the Trojans begin to burn the Greek ships he allows his friend Patroclus, dressed in the armor of Achilles, to lead the warlike Myrmidons against the attackers. Patroclus is killed by Hector, the Trojan leader, under the walls of the city. Seeing in the death of his friend the enormity of his own inaction, Achilles puts on a new suit of armor made for him by Hephaestus and engages the Trojans in fierce combat. Merciless in his anger and grief, he kills Hector and on successive days drags the body of the vanquished hero behind his chariot, while King Priam, Hector's father, looks on from the walls of the city. When the sorrowing king visits the tent of Achilles at night and begs for the body of his son, Achilles relents and permits Priam to conduct funeral rites for Hector for a period of twelve days. In a later battle before the walls of Troy an arrow shot by Paris, King Priam's son, strikes Achilles in the heel and causes his death.
Hector (hek'ter), the son of King Priam and Queen Hecuba. As the commander of the Trojan forces he is the greatest and most human of the heroes, an ideal figure in every respect: a skilled horseman, a brave soldier, an able leader, a man devoted to his family and his city, and the master of his emotions under every circumstance. His courage in battle, his courtesy in conference, his submission to the gods, and his sad fate at the hands of revengeful Achilles provide an admirable contrast to the actions of the blustering, cunning, cruel, rapacious Greeks.
Andromache (an-drom'a-ke), the devoted wife of Hector and the mother of Astyanax. After the fall of Troy, she was taken into captivity by Neoptolemus, the son of Achilles. Still later, according to the Aeneid, she married Helenus, the brother of Hector, and ruled with him in Pyrrhus.
Astyanax (as-ti'a-naks), the young son of Hector and Andromache. During the sack of Troy Neoptolemus killed the child by hurling him over the city wall.
Agamemnon (ag'a-mem'non), king of Mycenae and the older brother of King Menelaus, husband of the lovely Helen whose infidelity brought about the Trojan War. Courageous and cunning, but often rash and arrogant, as in his treatment of Achilles, he is the commander of the Greeks in the war. He stands as a symbol of the capable leader, without the heroic qualities of the more dramatic warriors who fight under his command. He is killed by his wife Clytemnestra after his return from Troy.
Menelaus (me'na-la'as), king of Sparta and husband of beautiful but faithless Helen, seduced and abducted by Paris, prince of Troy, in fulfillment of a promise made by Aphrodite. He stands more as a symbol than as a man, a victim of the gods and an outraged husband who avenges with brave deeds the wrong done to his honor. At the end of the war he takes Helen back to Sparta with him, and in the Odyssey she is shown presiding over his royal palace.
Helen (he'tan), the wife of King Menelaus of Sparta and for nineteen years after her abduction the consort of Paris. Being confined within the walls of Troy, in the company of doting elders, she plays a minor part in the story; and because she is the victim of Aphrodite's promise to Paris, she does not suffer greatly for her actions. Her attempts at reconciliation unwittingly aid the Greek cause in the capture of Troy.
Paris (pa'ns), the son of King Priam and Queen Hecuba. Called to judge a dispute between Aphrodite, Hera, and Athena, he awarded the prize, the golden apple of discord, to Aphrodite, who in turn promised him the most beautiful woman in the world as his wife. Although his love for Helen, the bride he stole from her husband, has become proud devotion to a principle, Paris nevertheless places himself in jeopardy as a champion of the Trojan cause and offers to meet King Menelaus, the injured husband, in single combat. Aphrodite, fearful for the safety of her favorite, watches over him and saves him from harm. An arrow from his bow strikes Achilles in the heel and kills the Achaian warrior. One story says that Paris was slain by a poisoned arrow from the bow of Philoctetes.
Priam (pri'Sm), king of Troy and the beneficent father of a large family. While not a ruler of Agamemnon's stature, he is a man of shrewdness and quiet strength who suffers much at the hands of fate and the rivalry of the gods. Although he does not condone the abduction of Helen by Paris, he is fair in his judgment of both because he knows that they are victims of Aphrodite's whims. His devotion to his son Hector and his pity for all who suffer in the war elevate him to noble stature.
Hecuba (he'ku-Üý), the wife of King Priam. Her fate is tragic. She witnesses the death of her sons, the enslavement of her daughter Cassandra, who is carried into captivity by Agamemnon, and the sacrifice of her daughter Polyxena to appease the shade of Achilles.
Calchas (kal'kas), the seer and prophet of the Greeks. After many animals and men have been slain by the arrows of Apollo, Calchas declares that the destruction is a divine visitation because of Agamemnon's rape of Chryseis, the daughter of Chryses, a priest of Apollo. He counsels that the maid be returned to her father without ransom.
Chryseis (kri'sl-ss), a maiden seized by the Greeks during the plundering of Chrysa and given to Agamemnon as a prize of war. Forced by the intervention of Apollo to send the girl back to Chryses, her father, Agamemnon announces that he will in turn take any other maid he desires. His choice is Briseis, the slave of Achilles. Agamemnon's demand leads to a quarrel between the two Greeks.
Briseis (bri'sl-as), a captive slave taken by Achilles as a prize of war. Agamemnon's announcement that he intends to take the girl into his own tent leads to a quarrel between the two men. Forced to surrender Briseis, Achilles and his followers retire from the battlefield and refuse to engage in the fierce fighting that follows. Agamemnon returns the girl to Achilles shortly before the sulking warrior undergoes a change of mood and returns to the fighting in order to avenge the death of his friend Patroclus.
Patroclus (pa-tro'kJas), the noble squire and loyal friend of Achilles. His death at the hands of Hector is mercilessly and horribly revenged when Achilles and Hector meet in hand-to-hand combat and the Greek warrior kills his Trojan rival. Reasonable in argument and courageous in the face of great odds, Patroclus distinguishes himself in battle and is sublime in his willingness to die for a cause and a friend.
Odysseus (o-dis'us), the crafty, middle-aged warrior who with Diomedes scouts the Trojan camp, captures a Trojan spy, Dolon, and kills Rhesus, a Thracian ally of the Trojans. Although a minor figure in the story, he serves as a foil to haughty Agamemnon and sulking Achilles. He and Nestor are the counselors who interpret rightly the will of the gods.
Diomedes (di'o-me'dez), a valiant Argive warrior who dashes so often and fearlessly between the Greek and Trojan lines that it is difficult to tell on which side he is fighting. He is the companion of Odysseus on a night-scouting expedition in the Trojan camp, and he is the slayer of Pandarus. In hand-to-hand fighting he attacks Aeneas so fiercely that the gods wrap the Trojan in a veil of mist to protect him from Diomedes' onslaught.
Dolon (do'lan), a Trojan spy captured and put to death by Odysseus and Diomedes.
Nestor (nes'ter), the hoary-headed king of Pylos and a wise counselor of the Greeks. Though the oldest of the Greek leaders, he survives the ten years of war and returns to his own land, where Telemachus, the son of Odysseus, visits him.
Machaon (òý-êà'ýï), the son of Asclepius, the famous physician of the ancient world. He is the chief surgeon in the Greek forces. He heals Menelaus after the king of Sparta has been wounded by an arrow from the bow of Pandarus.
Ajax (a'jaks), the son of Telamon of Salamis and half brother of Teucer. A warrior of great physical size and strength, he uses his mighty spear to hold off the Trojans attempting to burn the Greek ships after breaching the rampart around the vessels. According to a later story he goes mad when Agamemnon, acting on the advice of Athena, awards the armor of dead Achilles to Odysseus.
Teucer (too' ser), the half brother of Aj ax and a mighty bowman. He helps Ajax defend the Greek ships from the attacking Greeks. During one of the Trojan onslaughts he kills the charioteer of Hector.
Glaucus (glo'kss), a Lycian ally of the Trojans. Meeting him in battle, Diomedes recognizes the Lycian as a guest-friend by inheritance. To seal a covenant between them, they exchange armor, Glaucus giving up his gold armor, worth a hundred oxen, for the brass armor of Diomedes, worth only nine oxen.
Sarpedon (sar-pe'dan), leader of the Lycian allies fighting with the Trojans. He is killed by Patroclus.
Aeneas (e-ne'ss), the son of Anchises and Aphrodite. A warrior descended from a younger branch of the royal house of Troy, he commands the Trojan forces after the death of Hector. Earlier, while trying to protect the fallen body of his friend Pandarus, Aeneas is struck down by Diomedes, who would have slain him if the gods had not hidden the Trojan in a misty cloud. The wounds of Aeneas are miraculously healed in the temple of Apollo and he returns to the battle.
Pandarus (pan'da-res), a Lycian ally of the Trojans and a skilled archer. After Paris has been spirited away from his contest with Menelaus, Pandarus aims at the king of Sparta and would have pierced him with an arrow if Athena had not turned the shaft aside. Diomedes kills Pandarus.
Cassandra (ka-san'drs). the daughter of King Priam and Queen Hecuba. Gifted with second sight, she is never to have her prophecies believed because she has rejected the advances of Apollo. She becomes Agamemnon's captive after the fa)! of Troy.
Heienus (he'la-nss), the son of King Priam and Queen Hecuba. Like his sister Cassandra, he possesses the gift of second sight. He eventually marries Andromache, the wife of his brother Hector.
Dei'phobus (de-i'fs-bas), the son of King Priam and Queen Hecuba. He becomes the husband of Helen after the death of Paris and is killed during the sack of Troy.
Antenor (an-te'nar), the Trojan elder who advises that Helen be returned to the Greeks in order to avoid bloodshed.
Polydamus (po- È- da'mas), a shrewd, clear-headed leader of the Trojans.
Aphrodite (a-fro-di'te), the goddess of Love. Because Paris had awarded her the fated golden apple and Aeneas is her son, she aids the Trojans during the war.
Apollo (ý-po'lo), the god of Poetry, Music, and Prophecy, as well as the protector of flocks and the patron of bowmen. He fights on the side of the Trojans.
Athena (ý-˸-ïý), also called Pallas Athena, the goddess of Wisdom. She aids the Achaians.
Poseidon (po-sl'dan), the god of the Sea and Earthquakes. The enemy of the Trojans, he aids the Achaians.
Ares (a'rez), the god of War. Because of Aphrodite, he fights on the side of the Trojans.
Hera (Ûã'ý), the consort of Zeus and the enemy of the Trojans.
Zeus (zoos), the supreme deity. He remains for the most part neutral during the war.
Thetis (the'tis), aNereid, the mother of Achilles, whom she aids in his quarrel with Agamemnon.
Hephaestus (he-fes'tss), the artificer of the gods. At the request of Thetis he makes the suit of armor which Achilles is wearing when he slays Hector.

 

The Story

The Greeks were camped outside the walls of Troy, in the tenth year of their siege on that city. Agamemnon, king of the Achaians, wanted the maid, Briseis, for his own, but she was possessed by Achilles, the son of Zeus. When Achilles was forced to give up the maid, he withdrew angrily from the battle and returned to his ship. But he won from Zeus the promise that the wrong which he was enduring would be revenged on Agamemnon.
That evening Zeus sent a messenger to the Greek king to convey to him in a dream an order to rise and marshal his Achaian forces against the walls of Troy. When the king awoke, he called all his warriors to him and ordered them to prepare for battle. All night long the men armed themselves in battle array, making ready their horses and their ships. The gods appeared on earth in the disguise of warriors, some siding with the Greeks, some hastening to warn the Trojans. With the army mustered, Agamemnon began the march from the camp to the walls of the city, while all the country around was set on fire. Only Achilles and his men remained behind, determined not to fight on the side of Agamemnon.
The Trojan army came from the gates of the city ready to combat the Greeks. Then Paris, son of King Priam and Helen's lover, stood out from the ranks and suggested that he and Menelaus settle the battle in a fight between them, the winner to take Helen and all her possessions, and friendship to be declared between the warring nations. Menelaus agreed to these words of his rival, and before the warriors of both sides, and under the eyes of Helen, who had been summoned to witness the scene from the walls of Troy, he and Paris began to battle. Menelaus was the mightier warrior. As he was about to pierce his enemy, the goddess Aphrodite, who loved Paris, swooped down from the air and carried him off to his chamber. She summoned Helen there to minister to her wounded lord. Then the victory was declared for Menelaus.
In the heavens the gods who favored the Trojans were much disturbed by this decision. Athena appeared on earth to Trojan Pandarus and told him to seek out Menelaus and kill him. He shot an arrow at the unsuspecting king, but the goddess watching over Menelaus deflected the arrow so that it only wounded him. When Agamemnon saw that treacherous deed, he revoked his vows of peace and exhorted the Greeks once more to battle. Many Trojans and many Greeks lost their lives that day, because of the foolhardiness of Pandarus.
Meanwhile Hector, son of King Priam, had returned to the city to bid farewell to Andromache, his wife, and to his child, for he feared he might not return from that day's battle. He rebuked Paris for remaining in his chambers with Helen when his countrymen were dying because of his misdeeds. While Paris made ready for battle, Hector said good-bye to Andromache, prophesying that Troy would be defeated, himself killed, and Andromache taken captive. Then Paris joined him and they went together into the battle.
When evening came, the Greeks and the Trojans retired to their camps. Agamemnon instructed his men to build a huge bulwark around the camp and in front of the ships, for fear the enemy would press their attack too close. Zeus then remembered his promise to Achilles to avenge the wrong done to him by Agamemnon. He summoned all the gods and forbade them to take part in the war. The victory was to go to the Trojans.
The next day Hector and the Trojans swept through the fields slaughtering the Greeks. Hera, the wife of Zeus, and many of the other goddesses were not content to watch the defeat of their mortal friends. But when they attempted to intervene, Zeus sent down his messengers to warn them to desist.
Fearing his armies would be destroyed before Achilles would relent, Agamemnon sent Odysseus to Achilles and begged the hero to accept gifts and be pacified. But Achilles, still wrathful, threatened to sail for home at the break of day. Agamemnon was troubled by the proud refusal of Achilles. That night he stole to the camp of the wise man, Nestor, to ask his help in a plan to defeat the Trojans. Nestor told him to awaken all the great warriors and summon them to a council. It was decided that two warriors should steal into the Trojan camp to determine its strength and numbers. Diomedes and Odysseus volunteered. As they crept toward the camp, they captured and killed a Trojan spy; then they stole into the camp of the enemy, spied upon it, and as they left, took with them one of the king's horses.
The next day the Trojans pressed hard upon the Greeks and slaughtered many. Both Diomedes and Odysseus were wounded and many warriors killed. Achilles watched the battle from his ship but made no move to take part in it. He sent his friend Patroclus to Nestor to learn how many had been wounded. The old man sent back a despairing answer, pleading that Achilles give up his anger and help his fellow Greeks. At last the Trojans broke through the walls of the enemy, and Hector was foremost in an attack upon the ships.
Meanwhile many of the gods plotted to aid the Greeks. Hera lulled Zeus to sleep, and Poseidon urged Agamemnon to resist the onrush of the Trojans. In the battle that day Hector was wounded by Aias, but as the Greeks were about to seize him and bear his body away the bravest of the Trojans surrounded their hero and covered him with their shields until he could be carried to safety.
When Zeus awakened and saw what had happened, his wrath was terrible, and he ordered Apollo to restore Hector to health. Once again the walls were breached and the Trojans stormed toward the ships, eager to fire them. Zeus inspired the Trojans with courage and weakened the Greeks with fear. But he determined that after the ships were set afire he would no longer aid the Trojans but would allow the Greeks to have the final victory.
Patroclus went to his friend Achilles and again pleaded with him to return to the fight. Achilles, still angry, refused. Then Patroclus begged that he be allowed to wear the armor of Achilles so that the Greeks would believe their hero fought with them, and Achilles consented. Patroclus charged into the fight and fought bravely at the gates of the city. But there Hector mortally wounded Patroclus and stripped from his body the armor of Achilles.
All that day the battle raged over the body of Patroclus. Then a messenger carried to Achilles word of his friend's death. His sorrow was terrible, but he could not go unarmed into the fray to rescue the body of Patroclus.
The next morning his goddess mother, Thetis, brought him a new suit of armor from the forge of Hepaestus. Then Achilles decked himself in the glittering armor which the lame god of fire had prepared for him and strode forth to the beach. There he and Agamemnon were reconciled before the assembly of the Greeks, and he went out to battle with them. The whole plain was filled with men and horses in fierce battle. Achilles in his vengeance pushed back the enemy to the banks of the River Xan-thus, and there were so many Trojan bodies choking the river that at length the god of the river spoke to Achilles, ordering him to cease throwing their bodies into his waters. Proud Achilles mocked him and sprang into the river to fight with the god. Feeling himself overpowered, he struggled out upon the banks, but still the wrathful god pursued him. Achilles then called on his mother to help him, and Thetis, with the aid of Hepaestus, quickly subdued the angry river-god.
As Achilles drew near the walls of Troy, Hector girded on his armor. Amid the wailing of all the Trojan women, he came from the gates to meet the Greek warrior. He fled three times around the city walls before he turned to face Achilles' fatal spear. Then Achilles bound Hector's body to his chariot and dragged it to the ships, a prey for dogs and vultures.
In the Trojan city there was great grief for the dead hero. The aged King Priam resolved to drive a chariot into the camp of Achilles and beg that the body of his son Hector be returned to him. The gods, too, asked Achilles to curb his wrath and restore the Trojan warrior to his own people, and so Achilles received King Priam with respect, granted his request, and agreed to a twelve-day truce that both sides might properly bury and mourn their dead. Achilles mourned for Patroclus as the body of his friend was laid upon the blazing funeral pyre. The body of mighty Hector was also burned and his bones were buried beneath a great mound in the stricken city.

 

Critical Evaluation

The earliest extant work of European literature, Homer's epic poem, the Iliad, is also one of the most enduring creations of Western culture. Of the author, or possibly authors, we know nothing for certain. Tradition says that Homer was a Greek of Asia Minor. Herodotus surmised that Homer lived in the ninth century B.C., which seems reasonable in the light of modern scholarship and archaeology. The poet drew on a large body of legend about the siege of Troy, material with which his audience was familiar, and which had been part of a bardic tradition. Homer himself may not have transcribed the two epics attributed to him, but it is probable that he gave the poems their present shape.
The Iliad was originally intended to be recited or chanted, rather than read. Its poetic style is vivid, taut, simple, direct, full of repeated epithets and elaborate visual similes. The treatment is serious and dignified throughout, and the total effect is one of grandeur. With Homer we are clearly in the presence of a great poet.
His greatness also reveals itself in the action of the Iliad, where, within the scope of a few weeks in the tenth year of the siege of Troy, Homer gives the impression of covering the whole scope of the war by a few deft incidents. The appearance of Helen on the walls of Troy forcibly reminds the reader that she was the cause of the war. The catalogue of ships and warriors calls to mind the first arrival of the Greek army at Troy. The duel between Paris and Menelaus would properly have come in the first years of the war, but its placement in the poem suggests the breakdown of diplomacy which leads to the bloodbath of fighting. And Hector's forebodings of his own death and of the fall of Troy as he talks to his wife, not to mention his dying forecast of Achilles' death, all point to the future of the war and its conclusion. Homer thus gives the rather narrow scope of the poem's immediate action much greater breadth.
However, the Iliad is not a mere chronicle of events in the Trojan War. It deals with one specific, and crucial, set of sequences of the war: the quarrel of Achilles with his commander, Agamemnon; Achilles' withdrawal from the war; the fighting in his absence; Agamemnon's futile attempt to conciliate Achilles; the Trojan victories; Patro-clus' intervention and death at Hector's hands; Achilles' re-entry to the war to avenge his friend's murder; the death of Hector; and Priam's ransom of Hector's body from Achilles.
This sequence is important in its effect on the war as a whole for two reasons. Without Achilles, their ablest fighter, the Greeks are demoralized even though they have many other powerful warriors. It is plain that Achilles will die before Troy is taken, so the Greeks will have to capture Troy by other means than force in his absence. The second reason is that the climax of the poem, the killing of Hector, prefigures the fall of Troy, for as long as Hector remained alive the Greeks were unable to make much headway against the Trojans.
Achilles is the precursor of the tragic hero according to Aristotle's definition. Young, handsome, noble, courageous, eloquent, generous, and of unsurpassed prowess, his tragic flaw lies in the savage intensity of his emotions. He knows he will die young. In fact, he has chosen to die at Troy, and thereby win a lasting reputation, rather than grow old peacefully. It is precisely his pride, his supreme skill in warfare, and his lust for future glory that make him so ferocious when he is crossed. He has a hard time restraining himself from killing Agamemnon, and a harder time bearing Agamemnon's insult. He puts pride before loyalty when his Greek comrades are being overrun. And only when the war touches him personally, after he has allowed his friend Patroclus to enter the combat and be slain, does he come to terms with Agamemnon. Then his rage against the Trojans and Hector consumes him, and he is merciless in his vengeance, slaughtering Trojans by scores, gloating over Hector's corpse and abusing it, and sacrificing twelve Trojan nobles on Patroclus' funeral pyre. His humanity is restored in the end when, at Zeus's command, he allows old King Priam to ransom Hector's body. Trembling with emotion, he feels pity for the old man and reaches out his hand to him. It is the most moving moment in the epic.
If Achilles lives by a rigid code of personal honor and fights to win a lasting reputation. he has nothing to lose by dying. Life is worthless to him except insofar as it allows him to prove his own value. Yet, paradoxically, this very ethic makes his life more intense and tragic than it might have been. Hector, by contrast, is fighting on the defensive for a city he knows is doomed, and his responsibilities as a leader tend to burden him. He has others to think about, even though he foresees their fate, and all of this hinders his becoming a truly effective warrior like Achilles. Whereas Achilles' life seems tragic, Hector's life is one of pathos of a man fighting heroically against overwhelming odds.
The gods play a prominent part in the Iliad, and they are thoroughly humanized, having human shapes, sexes, and passions. Although they have superhuman powers, they behave in an all-too-human fashion—feasting, battling, fornicating, cheating, protecting their favorites from harm. Just as the Greek army is a loose confederation under Agamemnon, so the gods are subject to Zeus. What is interesting is the way superhuman and human forces interact. Divinity penetrates human action through oracles, dreams, visions, inspiration; it shows itself in inspired warfare where a hero seems invincible, and in miraculous interventions where a wounded hero is spirited away and healed. However, the gods are not omnipotent. Zeus can merely delay the death of a man, but in the end must bow to Fate. Further, men have free will; they are not mere puppets. Achilles has deliberately chosen his destiny. Men, finally, have more dignity than the gods because they choose their actions in the face of death, while the gods have no such necessity, being immortal. It is death that gives human decisions their meaning, for death is final and irrevocable. The Iliad is a powerful statement of what it means to be human in the middle of vast and senseless bloodshed.

 

 

 





The Iliad
 

Translation by Ian Johnston, Malaspina University-College, Nanaimo, BC.

(Note that the line numbers in square brackets refer to the Greek text)



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Book One

The Quarrel by the Ships

[The invocation to the Muse; Agamemnon insults Apollo; Apollo sends the plague onto the army; the quarrel between Achilles and Agamemnon; Calchas indicates what must be done to appease Apollo; Agamemnon takes Briseis from Achilles; Achilles prays to Thetis for revenge; Achilles meets Thetis; Chryseis is returned to her father; Thetis visits Zeus; the gods converse about the matter on Olympus; the banquet of the gods]

Sing, Goddess, sing of the rage of Achilles, son of Peleus—
that murderous anger which condemned Achaeans
to countless agonies and threw many warrior souls
deep into Hades, leaving their dead bodies
carrion food for dogs and birds—
all in fulfilment of the will of Zeus.

Start at the point where Agamemnon, son of Atreus,
that king of men, quarrelled with noble Achilles.
Which of the gods incited these two men to fight?

That god was Apollo, son of Zeus and Leto. 10
Angry with Agamemnon, he cast plague down [10]
onto the troops—deadly infectious evil.
For Agamemnon had dishonoured the god’s priest,
Chryses, who’d come to the ships to find his daughter,
Chryseis, bringing with him a huge ransom.
In his hand he held up on a golden staff
the scarf sacred to archer god Apollo.
He begged Achaeans, above all the army’s leaders,
the two sons of Atreus:

“Menelaus, Agamemnon, sons of Atreus, 20
all you well-armed Achaeans, may the gods
on Olympus grant you wipe out Priam’s city,
and then return home safe and sound.
Release my dear child to me. Take this ransom. [20]
Honour Apollo, far-shooting son of Zeus.”

All the Achaeans roared out their support:

“Respect the priest. Take the generous ransom.”

Displeased, Agamemnon dismissed Chryses roughly:

“Old man,
don’t let me catch you by our hollow ships,
sneaking back here today or later on. 30
Who cares about Apollo’s scarf and staff?
I’ll not release the girl to you, no, not before
she’s grown old with me in Argos, far from home, [30]
working the loom, sharing my bed. Go away.
If you want to get home safely, don’t anger me.”

The old man, afraid, obeyed his words, walked off in silence,
along the shore by the tumbling, crashing surf.
Some distance off, he prayed to lord Apollo,
Leto’s fair-haired child:

“God with the silver bow,
protector of Chryse, sacred Cilla, 40
mighty lord of Tenedos, Sminthean Apollo,
hear my prayer:* If I’ve ever pleased you
with a holy shrine, or burned bones for you— [40]
bulls and goats well wrapped in fat—
grant me my prayer. Force the Danaans
to pay full price for my tears with your arrows.”

So Chryses prayed. Phoebus Apollo heard him.
He came down from Olympus top enraged,
carrying on his shoulders bow and covered quiver,
his arrows rattling in anger against his arm. 50
So the god swooped down, descending like the night.
He sat some distance from the ships, shot off an arrow—
the silver bow reverberating ominously.

First, the god massacred mules and swift-running dogs, [50]
then loosed sharp arrows in among the troops themselves.
Thick fires burned the corpses ceaselessly.

For nine days Apollo rained death down upon the troops.
On the tenth, Achilles summoned an assembly.
White-armed Hera put that thought into his mind,
concerned for the Danaans, seeing them die. 60
The men gathered. The meeting came to order.
Swift-footed Achilles rose to speak:

“Son of Atreus,
I fear we’re being beaten back, forced home,
if we aren’t all going to be destroyed right here, [60]
with war and plague killing off Achaeans.
Come now, let’s ask some prophet, priest,
interpreter of dreams—for dreams, too, come from Zeus—
a man who might say why Apollo is so angry,
whether he faults our prayers and offerings,
whether somehow he’ll welcome sacrificial smoke 70
from perfect lambs and goats, then rouse himself
and release us from this plague.”

Achilles spoke and took his seat.
Then Calchas, Thestor’s son, stood up before them all,
the most astute interpreter of birds, who understood
present, future, past. His skill in prophecy, [70]
Apollo’s gift, had led Achaean ships to Troy.
He addressed the troops, thinking of their common good:

“Achilles, friend of Zeus, you ask me to explain
Apollo’s anger, the god who shoots from far.
And I will speak. But first you listen to me. 80
Swear an oath that you will freely help me
in word and deed. I think I may provoke
someone who wields great power over Argives,
a man who is obeyed by everyone.
An angry king overpowers lesser men. [80]
Even if that day his anger is suppressed,
resentment lingers in his chest, until one day
he acts on it. So speak. Will you protect me?”

In response to Calchas, swift-footed Achilles said:

“Take courage. State what your powers tell you. 90
By Apollo, whom Zeus loves, to whom you, Calchas,
pray in prophesy to the Danaans, I swear this—
while I live to look upon the light of day,
no Achaean will raise violent hands against you,
no, not even if you name Agamemnon, [90]
who claims he’s by far the best Achaean.”

Encouraged, the wise prophet then declared:

“Apollo does not fault us for prayers or offerings,
but for his priest, disgraced by Agamemnon,
who did not free his daughter and take ransom. 100
That’s why the archer god has brought disaster,
and will bring still more. He won’t remove
this wretched plague from the Danaans,
until we hand back bright-eyed Chryseis,
give her to her beloved father, freely,
without ransom, and offer holy sacrifice
at Chryse. If we will carry out all that,
we may change Apollo’s mind, appease him.” [100]

So he spoke and sat back down. Then, Atreus’ son,
wide-ruling, mighty Agamemnon, stood up before them, 110
incensed, spirit filled with huge black rage.
Eyes blazing fire, he rounded first on Calchas:

“Prophet of evil, when have you ever said
good things to me? You love to predict the worst,
always the worst! You never show good news.
Now, in prophecy to the Danaans,
you say archer Apollo brings us pain [110]
because I was unwilling to accept
fine ransom for Chryses’ daughter, Chryseis.
But I have a great desire to take her home. 120
In fact, I want her more than Clytaemnestra,
the wife I married. Chryseis is just as good
in her shape, physique, intelligence, or work.
Still, I’m prepared to give her back, if that’s best.
I want the people safe, not all killed off.
But then you’ll owe me another prize.
I won’t be the only Argive left without a gift.
That would be entirely unfair to me.
You all can see my spoils are going elsewhere.” [120]

At that point, swift-footed Achilles answered the king: 130

“Noble son of Atreus, most acquisitive of men,
how can brave Achaeans give you a prize now?
There are none left for us to pass around.
We’ve divided up what we allotted,
loot from captured towns we devastated.
For men to make a common pile again
would be most unfair. Send the girl back now,
as the god demands. Should Zeus ever grant
we pillage Troy, a city rich in goods,
we’ll give you three or four times as much.” 140

Mighty Agamemnon then said in reply: [130]

“Achilles, you’re a fine man, like a god.
But don’t conceal what’s in your heart.
You’ll not trick me or win me with your words.
You intend to keep your prizes for yourself,
while the army takes my trophy from me.
That’s why you tell me to give Chryseis back.
Let Achaeans give me another prize,
equal in value, something I’ll enjoy.
If not, then I’ll take a prize myself by force, 150
something from you or Ajax or Odysseus.
The man I visit is going to be enraged.
But let’s postpone discussion of all this. [140]
Let’s drag a black ship to the sacred sea,
select a crew, load oxen on for sacrifice,
and Chryseis, that fair-complexioned girl.
Let’s have as leader some wise counsellor—
Idomeneus, Ajax, godlike Odysseus,
or you, Peleus’s son, most eminent of all,
so with a sacrifice we may appease 160
the god who shoots from far away.”

Scowling grimly, swift-footed Achilles interposed:

“You insatiable creature, quite shameless.
How can any Achaean obey you willingly— [150]
join a raiding party or keep fighting
with full force against an enemy?
I didn’t come to battle over here
because of Trojans. I have no fight with them.
They never stole my bulls or horses
or razed my crops in fertile Phthia, 170
where heroes grow. Many shady mountains
and the roaring sea stand there between us.
But you, great shameless man, we came with you,
to please you, to win honour from the Trojans—
for you, dog face, and for Menelaus.
You don’t consider this, don’t think at all. [160]
You threaten now to confiscate the prize
I worked so hard for, gift from Achaea’s sons.
When we Achaeans loot some well-built Trojan town,
my prizes never match the ones you get. 180
The major share of war’s fury rests on me.
But when we hand around the battle spoils,
you get much larger trophies. Worn out in war,
I reach my ships with something fine but small.
So I’ll return home now to Phthia.
It’s far better to sail back in my curved ships. [170]
I don’t fancy staying here unvalued,
to pile up riches, treasures just for you.”

To that, Agamemnon, king of men, shot back:

“Fly off home then, if that’s your heart’s desire. 190
I’ll not beg you to stay on my account.
I have others around to honour me,
especially all-wise Zeus himself.
Of all the kings Zeus cherishes, it’s you
I hate the most. You love constant strife—
war and combat. So what if you’re strong?
Some god gave you that. So scurry off home.
Take ships and friends. Go rule your Myrmidons. [180]
I don’t like you or care about your rage.
But I’ll make this threat: I’ll take your prize, 200
fair-cheeked Briseis. I’ll fetch her in person.
You’ll see just how much I’m the better man.
And others will hate to speak to me as peers,
in public claiming full equality with me.”

As Agamemnon spoke, Peleus’ son, Achilles,
was overwhelmed with anguish, heart torn two ways,
debating in his shaggy chest what he should do:
Should he draw out the sharp sword on his thigh, [190]
incite the crowd, kill Atreus’ son, or suppress his rage,
control his fury? As he argued in his mind and heart, 210
he slid his huge sword part way from its sheath.
At that moment, Athena came down from heaven.
White-armed Hera sent her. She cherished both men,
cared for them equally. Athena stood behind Achilles,
grabbed him by his golden hair, invisible to all
except Achilles. In astonishment he turned.
At once he recognized Pallas Athena,
the dreadful glitter in her eyes. Achilles spoke— [200]
his words had wings.

“Child of aegis-bearing Zeus,
why have you come now?* Do you wish to see 220
how overbearing Agamemnon is?
I’ll tell you where all this is going to lead—
that arrogance will soon cost him his life.”

Glittery-eyed Athena then spoke in reply:

“I came down from heaven to curb your passion,
if you obey. White-armed Hera sent me.
She loves you both alike, cares equally.
Give up this quarrel. Don’t draw your sword. [210]
Fight him with words, so he becomes disgraced.
For I say to you, and this will happen, 230
because of Agamemnon’s arrogance
some day gifts three times greater than this girl
will be set down before you. Control yourself.
Obey.”

Swift-footed Achilles answered Athena:

“Goddess, men should follow your instructions,
though angry in their hearts. It’s better so.
The person who’s obedient to the gods,
the gods attend to all the more.”

Obeying Athena’s words,
Achilles relaxed his huge fist on the silver hilt
and pushed the massive sword back in its scabbard. 240 [220]
Athena then returned to heaven, home of Zeus,
who bears the aegis, and the other gods.

Achilles turned again on Agamemnon, Atreus’ son,
with harsh abuse, his anger still unabated:

“You drunken sot, dog-eyed, deer-timid coward,
you’re never strong enough within yourself
to arm for war alongside other comrades,
or venture with Achaea’s bravest on a raid.
To you that smells too much like death.
No. You’d much prefer to stroll around 250
throughout the wide Achaean army,
to grab gifts from a man who speaks against you. [230]
A king who gorges on his own people!
You lord it over worthless men. If not,
son of Atreus, this would be your last offence.
I’ll tell you, swear a great oath on this point,
by this sceptre, which will never sprout
leaves and shoots again, since first ripped away
from its mountain stump, nor bloom any more,
now that bronze has sliced off leaf and bark. 260
This sceptre Achaea’s sons take in hand
whenever they do justice in Zeus’ name.
An oath on this has power. On this I swear—
the time will come when Achaea’s sons
all miss Achilles, a time when, in distress, [240]
you’ll lack my help, a time when Hector,
that man killer, destroys many warriors.
Then grief will tear your hearts apart,
because you shamed Achaea’s finest man.”

So the son of Peleus spoke, throwing to the ground 270
the sceptre with the golden studs. Then he sat down,
directly facing furious Agamemnon.

Then Nestor stood up, clear, sweet orator from Pylos.
Sweeter than honey the words flowed from his tongue.
In his own lifetime two generations of mortal men [250]
had come and passed away, all those born and raised
with him so long ago in sacred Pylos.
Now he ruled a third generation of his people.
Concerned about their common good, he said:

“Alas, this is great sorrow for Achaeans. 280
Priam and Priam’s children will be glad,
the hearts of other Trojans swell with joy,
should they find out about such quarrelling,
a fight between you two, among Danaans
the very best for counsel or combat.
But listen. You are both younger men than I.
And I’ve been colleague of better men than you, [260]
men who never showed me any disrespect,
men whose like I have not seen again,
and never will—like Peirithous, Dryas, 290
a shepherd to his people, Caeneus,
Exadios, god-like Polyphemus,
Theseus, son of Aegeus, all god-like men—
the mightiest earthborn men, the strongest.
And the enemies they fought against were strong,
the most powerful of mountain centaurs.
But they destroyed those creatures totally.
Associate of theirs, I came from Pylos,
a long way from that land, summoned personally. [270]
I fought on my own behalf, by myself. 300
No man alive on earth could now fight them.
Yet they heard me and followed my advice.
So listen, both of you. That’s what’s best now.
Agamemnon, you’re an excellent man,
but do not take Briseis from Achilles.
Let that pass. Achaea’s sons gave her to him first.
And you, Peleus’ son, don’t seek to fight the king,
not as your enemy. The sceptre-bearing king,
whose powerful authority comes from Zeus,
never shares honours equally. Achilles, 310
you may be stronger, since your mother was divine, [280]
but he’s more powerful, for he rules more men.
But you, son of Atreus, check your anger.
Set aside, I urge you, your rage against Achilles,
who provides, in the middle of war’s evils,
a powerful defence for all Achaeans.”

Mighty Agamemnon then replied to Nestor:

“Old man, everything you say is true enough.
But this man wants to put the rest to shame,
rule all of us, lord it over everyone. 320
But some, I think, will not obey him.
So what if the gods, who live forever, [290]
made him a spearman? Is that some reason
we should let him say such shameful things?”

Achilles, interrupting Agamemnon, shouted:

“I’d be called a coward, a nobody,
if I held back from any action
because of something you might say.
Order other men about. Don’t tell me
what I should do. I’ll not obey you any more. 330
But I will tell you this—remember it well—
I’ll not raise my hand to fight about that girl,
no, not against you or any other man.
You Achaeans gave her to me, and now,
you seize her back again. But you’ll not take
another thing from my swift black ship— [300]
you’ll get nothing else with my consent.
If you’d like to see what happens, just try.
My spear will quickly drip with your dark blood.”

Thus the pair of them continued arguing. 340
Then they stood up, dissolving the assembly by the ships.
Peleus’s son went back to his well-balanced ships and huts,
along with Patroclus, Menoetius’ son, and friends.

Agamemnon dragged a swift ship down the shore,
chose twenty sailors, loaded on the oxen,
offerings for the god, and led on fair-cheeked Chryseis. [310]
Shrewd Odysseus shipped on as leader. All aboard,
they set off, carving a pathway through the sea.

Atreus’ son ordered troops to cleanse themselves.
The men bathed in the sea, washed off impurities. 350
They then made sacrificial offerings to Apollo—
hundreds of perfect bulls and goats—beside the restless sea.
Savoury smells curled up amid the smoke high into heaven.

The men thus occupied, Agamemnon did not forget
the challenge he’d made earlier to Achilles.
He called his heralds, Talthybius and Eurybates: [320]

“Go to Achilles’ tent, Peleus’s son,
take fair-complexioned Briseis by the hand.
Bring her to me. If he won’t surrender her,
I’ll come myself in force and take her. 360
For him that will be a worse disaster.”

With these firm orders, he dismissed the men, who moved off,
heavy hearted, along the shore of the restless sea.
They reached the huts and ships of the Myrmidons.
There they found Achilles seated by his hut
and his black ship. As he saw them approach,
Achilles felt no joy. The two heralds, afraid, [330]
just stood in silence, out of deference to the king.
In his heart Achilles sensed their purpose. He called them.

“Cheer up, heralds, messengers for gods and men. 370
Come here. I don’t blame you, but Agamemnon.
He sends you both here for the girl Briseis.
Come, Patroclus, born from Zeus, fetch the girl.
Give her to these two to take away.
Let them both witness, before blessed gods,
mortal men, and that unfeeling king, [340]
if ever there’s a need for me again
to defend others from a shameful death.
That man’s wits are foolish, disastrously so—
he’s not thinking about past or future, 380
how Achaeans may fight safely by their ships.”

Patroclus did as his dear comrade had requested.
He led out fair-cheeked Briseis from the hut
and gave her up to be led off. The heralds went back,
returning to Achaean ships, Briseis with them,
but against her will.

Achilles then, in tears,
withdrew from his companions, sat by the shore,
staring at the wide gray seas. Stretching out his hands, [350]
he cried aloud, praying repeatedly to Thetis,
his beloved mother.*

“Mother, since you gave me life— 390
if only for a while—Olympian Zeus,
high thunderer, should give me due honour.
But he doesn’t grant me even slight respect.
For wide-ruling Agamemnon, Atreus’ son,
has shamed me, has taken away my prize,
appropriated it for his own use.”

As he said this, he wept.

His noble mother heard him from deep within the sea,
where she sat by her old father. Quickly she rose up,
moving above grey waters, like an ocean mist,
and settled down before him, as he wept. She stroked him, 400 [360]
then said:

“My child, why these tears? What sorrows
weigh down your heart? Tell me, so we’ll both know.
Don’t hide from me what’s on your mind.”

With a deep groan, swift-footed Achilles then replied.

“You know. Why should I tell you what you know?
We came to Thebe, Eëtion’s sacred city,
sacked it, taking everything the city had.
Achaea’s sons apportioned it all fairly
amongst themselves. Agamemnon’s share
was fair-skinned Chryseis. Then Chryses arrived 410 [370]
at the swift ships of bronze-armed Achaeans.
Archer god Apollo’s priest sought out his daughter.
He brought with him an enormous ransom,
carried in his hands the sacred golden staff
with the shawl of archer god Apollo.
He begged Achaeans, above all Atreus’ two sons,
the people’s leaders. All Achaeans called on them
to respect the priest, accept the splendid ransom.
But that didn’t please Agamemnon in his heart.
He sent him roughly off with harsh abusive orders 420
The old man went away again, enraged. [380]
He prayed to Apollo, who loved him well.
The god heard him and sent his deadly arrows
against the Argives. The troops kept dying,
one by one, as the god rained arrows down
throughout the wide Achaean army.
The prophet Calchas, understanding all,
told us Apollo’s will. At once I was the first
to recommend we all appease the god.
But anger got control of Agamemnon. 430
He stood up on the spot and made that threat
which he’s just carried out. So quick-eyed Achaeans
are sending Chryseis in fast ships back to Chryse, [390]
transporting gifts for lord Apollo, and heralds came
to take away Briseis from my huts,
the girl who is my gift from Achaea’s sons.
So now, if you can, protect your son.
Go to Mount Olympus, implore Zeus,
if ever you in word or deed have pleased him.
For often I have heard you boast in father’s house 440
that you alone of all the deathless gods
saved Zeus of the dark clouds from disgraceful ruin,
when other Olympians came to tie him up,
Hera, Pallas Athena, and Poseidon. [400]
But you, goddess, came and set him free,
by quickly calling up to high Olympus
that hundred-handed monster gods call Briareos,
and men all name Aigaion, a creature
whose strength was greater than his father’s.*
He sat down beside the son of Cronos, 450
exulting in his glory. The sacred gods, afraid,
stopped tying up Zeus. So sit down right by Zeus,
clasp his knee, remind him of all that,
so he’ll want to help the Trojans somehow,
corner Achaeans by the sea, by their ships’ prows,
have them destroyed, so they all enjoy their king, [410]
so the son of Atreus, wide-ruling Agamemnon,
himself may see his foolishness, dishonouring
Achilles, the best of the Achaeans.”

Thetis, shedding tears, answered her son, Achilles: 460

“Oh my child, why did I rear you,
since I brought you up to so much pain?
Would you were safely by your ships dry-eyed.
Your life is fated to be short—you’ll not live long.
Now, faced with a quick doom, you’re in distress,
more so than any other man. At home,
I gave you life marked by an evil fate.
But I’ll tell these things to thunder-loving Zeus.
I’ll go myself to snow-topped Mount Olympus, [420]
to see if he will undertake all this. 470
Meanwhile, you should sit by your swift ships,
angry at Achaeans. Take no part in war.
For yesterday Zeus went to Oceanus,
to banquet with the worthy Ethiopians.
The gods all journeyed with him. In twelve days,
when he returns and comes home to Olympus,
I’ll go to Zeus’ bronze-floored house, clasp his knee.
I think I’ll get him to consent.”

Thetis spoke.
Then she went away, leaving Achilles there,
angry at heart for lovely girdled Briseis, 480
taken from him by force against his will.

Odysseus sailed to Chryse, bringing with him
the sacrificial animals as sacred offerings.
When they had sailed into deep anchorage,
they took in the sails and stowed them in the ship.
With forestays they soon set the mast down in its notch,
then rowed the ship in to its mooring place.
They threw out anchor stones, lashed stern cables,
and clambered out into the ocean surf.
They brought off the offerings to archer god Apollo. 490
Then Chryseis disembarked from the ocean ship.
Resourceful Odysseus led her to the altar, [440]
placed her in her beloved father’s hands, then said:

“Chryses, I have been sent by Agamemnon,
ruler of men, to bring your daughter to you,
and then, on behalf of the Danaans,
to make an offering to lord Apollo—
all these sacrificial beasts—to placate the god,
who now inflicts such dismal evil on us.”

After saying this, he handed the girl over. 500
Chryses gave his daughter a joyful welcome back.
And then around the well-built altar, they arranged
the splendid sacrifice. They washed their hands,
and picked up the barley grain for sprinkling.
Raising his arms, Chryses prayed out loud on their behalf: [450]

“Hear me, god of the silver bow, protector
of Chryse, mighty lord of holy Cilla,
sacred Tenedos. You heard me earlier,
when I prayed to you. Just as you honoured me,
striking hard against Achaeans then, so now, 510
grant me what I pray for—remove disaster,
this wretched evil, from the Danaans.”

So Chryses spoke. Phoebus Apollo heard him.
Once they had prayed and scattered barley grain,
they pulled back the heads of sacrificial beasts,
slit their throats, flayed them, sliced the thigh bones out,
and hid them in twin layers of fat, with raw meat on top. [460]
Old Chryses burned them on split wood, poured wine on them.
Young men beside him held out five-pronged forks.
Once the thighs were well burned, they sampled entrails, 520
then sliced up all the rest, skewered the meat on spits,
roasted it carefully, and drew off every piece.
That work complete, they then prepared a meal and ate.
No heart was left unsatisfied. All feasted equally.
And when the men had had their fill of food and drink,
young boys filled the mixing bowl with wine up to the brim, [470]
and served it, pouring libations into every cup.
Then all day long young Achaean lads played music,
singing to the god a lovely hymn of praise,
honouring in dance and song the god who shoots from far. 530
Hearing them, Apollo felt joy fill his heart. At sunset,
as dusk came on, by the ship’s stern they went to sleep.
But when early born, rose-fingered Dawn appeared,
they set off, once more back to the wide Achaean camp.
Far-shooting Apollo sent them favourable winds.
They raised the mast and then the sails. The wind blew, [480]
filling out the body of the sail—on both sides of the prow
the purple waves hissed loudly as the ship sped on its way,
its motion carving a path through the ocean swell.
When they reached the broad Achaean army, 540
they hauled the black ship high up on the sand,
pushed long props tight beneath it, then dispersed,
each man returning to his own huts and ships.

Meanwhile, Achilles, divinely born son of Peleus,
sat down in anger alongside his swift ships. Not once
did he attend assembly where men win glory [490]
or go out to fight. But he pined away at heart,
remaining idle by his ships, yearning
for the hue and cry and clash of battle.

Twelve days later, the company of gods came back 550
together to Olympus, with Zeus in the lead.
Thetis did not forget the promise to her son.
She rose up through the ocean waves at daybreak,
then moved high up to great Olympus. She found Zeus,
wide-seeing son of Cronos, some distance from the rest,
seated on the highest peak of many-ridged Olympus.
She sat down right in front of him. With her left hand, [500]
she clutched his knees, with her right she cupped his chin,
in supplication to lord Zeus, son of Cronos:

“Father Zeus, if, among the deathless gods, 560
I’ve ever served you well in word or deed,
then grant my prayer will be fulfilled.
Bring honour to my son, who, of all men
will be fate’s quickest victim. For just now,
Agamemnon, king of men, has shamed him.
He seized his prize, robbing him in person,
and kept it for himself. But honour him,
Zeus, all-wise Olympian. Give the Trojans
the upper hand, until Achaeans respect my son,
until they multiply his honours.” 570 [510]

Thetis finished. Cloud gatherer Zeus did not respond.
He sat a long time silent. Thetis held his knees,
clinging close, repeating her request once more:

“Promise me truly, nod your head, or deny me—
since there’s nothing here for you to fear—
so I’ll clearly see how among the gods
I enjoy the least respect of all.”

Cloud gatherer Zeus, greatly troubled, said:

“A nasty business.
What you say will set Hera against me.
She provokes me so with her abuse. Even now, 580
in the assembly of immortal gods,
she’s always insulting me, accusing me [520]
of favouring the Trojans in the war.
But go away for now, in case Hera catches on.
I’ll take care of this, make sure it comes to pass.
Come, to convince you, I’ll nod my head.
Among gods that’s the strongest pledge I make.
Once I nod my assent, nothing I say
can be revoked, denied, or unfulfilled.”

Zeus, son of Cronos, nodded his dark brows. 590
The divine hair on the king of gods fell forward,
down over his immortal head, shaking Olympus [530]
to its very base. The conference over, the two parted.
Thetis plunged from bright Olympus back into the sea.

Zeus went inside his house. Their father present,
all the gods at once stood up from their seats.
No one dared stay put as he came in—all rose together.
Zeus seated himself upon his throne. Looking at him,
Hera sensed he’d made some deal with Thetis,
silver-footed daughter of the Old Man of the Sea. 600
At once she spoke up accusingly:

“Which god has been scheming with you, you crafty one? [540]
You always love to work on things in secret,
without involving me. You never want
to tell me openly what you intend.”

The father of gods and men replied:

“Hera,
don’t hope to understand my every plan.
Even for my own wife that’s dangerous.
What’s appropriate for you to hear about,
no one, god or man, will know before you. 610
But when I wish to hide my thoughts from gods,
don’t you go digging after them,
or pestering me for every detail.” [550]

Ox-eyed queen Hera then replied to Zeus:

“Most dread son of Cronos, what are you saying?
I have not been overzealous before now,
in questioning you or seeking answers.
Surely you’re quite at liberty to plan
anything you wish. But now, in my mind,
I’ve got this dreadful fear that Thetis, 620
silver-footed daughter of the Old Man of the Sea,
has won you over, for this morning early,
she sat down beside you, held your knees.
I think you surely nodded your agreement
to honour Achilles, killing many soldiers,
slaughtering them by the Achaean ships.”

Zeus, the cloud gatherer, spoke out in response: [560]

“My dear lady, you’re always fancying things.
Your attention picks up every detail.
But you can’t do anything about it, 630
except push yourself still further from my heart,
making matters so much worse for you.
If things are as they are, then that’s the way
I want them. So sit down quietly.
Do as I say. If not, then all the gods
here on Olympus won’t be any help,
when I reach out to set my hands on you,
for they’re invincible.”

Zeus finished speaking.
Ox-eyed queen Hera was afraid—so she sat down,
silently suppressing what her heart desired. 640
In Zeus’ home the Olympian gods began to quarrel. [570]
Then that famous artisan, Hephaestus, concerned
about his mother, white-armed Hera, spoke to them:

“A troublesome matter this will prove—
unendurable—if you two start fighting
over mortal men like this, inciting gods to quarrel. .
If we start bickering, we can’t enjoy the meal,
our excellent banquet. So I’m urging mother,
though she’s more than willing, to humour Zeus,
our dear father, so he won’t get angry once again, 650
disturb the feast for us. For if Zeus,
the Olympian lord of lightning, was of a mind [580]
to hurl us from our seats, his strength’s too great.
But if you talk to him with soothing words,
at once Olympian Zeus will treat us well.”

Hephaestus spoke, then stood up, passed a double goblet
across to his dear mother, saying:

“Stay calm, mother, even though you are upset.
If not, then, as beloved as you are,
I may see you beaten up before my eyes, 660
with me incapable of helping out,
though the sight would make me most unhappy.
It’s hard to take a stand opposing Zeus.
Once, when I was eager to assist you, [590]
Zeus seized me by the feet and threw me out,
down from heaven’s heights. The entire day
I fell and then, right at sunset, dropped
on Lemnos, almost dead. After that fall,
men of Sintes helped me to recover.”

As he spoke, the white-armed goddess Hera smiled. 670
She reached for her son’s goblet. He poured the drink,
going from right to left, for all the other gods,
drawing off sweet nectar from the mixing bowl.
Then their laughter broke out irrepressibly,
as the sacred gods saw Hephaestus bustling around, [600]
concerned about the feast. All that day they dined,
until sunset. No one’s heart went unsatisfied.
All feasted equally. They heard exquisite music,
from Apollo’s lyre and the Muses’ beautiful song
and counter-song. When the sun’s bright light had set, 680
the gods all went to their own homes. Hephaestus,
the famous lame god, with his resourceful skill,
had made each god a place to live. Olympian Zeus,
god of lightning, went home to his own bed,
where he usually reclined whenever sweet sleep [610]
came over him. He went inside and lay down there,
with Hera of the golden throne stretched out beside him.

Notes

*Smithean is a special epithet given to Apollo. It seems to mean something like “killer of field mice.” Chryse is a small coastal town near Troy, where Chryses, the father if Chryses, is a priest of Apollo.

*The aegis is a special divine shield, the sight of which has the power to terrify men and make them run away. Later in the poem Apollo uses it to terrify the Achaean soldiers.

*Achilles’ mother, Thetis, is a minor sea goddess who married the mortal Peleus.

*The reference here is to an attempt by the Olympian gods to topple Zeus. Thetis brought the enormously powerful monster Briareos, one of the children of Gaia and Ouranos, to Zeus’ aid

 

 

 


Book Two

Agamemnon's Dream and The Catalogue of Ships

[Zeus sends a false dream to Agamemnon; Agamemnon reports the dream to his advisors and outlines a test of the army; Agamemnon urges his troops to go home; Odysseus restores order; Thersites insults Agamemnon; Odysseus deals with Thersites, reminds the men of Calchas' original prophecy; Nestor suggests a display of the troops; the Catalogue of Ships (list of the Achaean, Trojan, and allied forces)]

Gods and warriors slept through the entire night.
But sweet Sleep did not visit Zeus, tossing and turning
over in his mind some way to honour Achilles,
by slaughtering many soldiers by the Achaean ships.
In Zeus’ heart the best idea seemed to be
to send out a wicked Dream to Agamemnon.
Calling the Dream, Zeus said these winged words to him:

“Evil Dream, fly quickly to Achaea’s men,
by their swift ships. Go to Agamemnon’s hut, 10 [10]
Atreus’ son. Report my words precisely.
Bid him quickly arm long-haired Achaean troops,
for now they’ll capture Troy, city of wide streets.
Immortal gods who dwell on Mount Olympus
no longer disagree about all this.
Hera’s entreaties have persuaded them.
Trojans can expect more sorrows, more disasters.”

Zeus spoke. With these instructions, Dream set off,
quickly reaching Achaea’s fast ships and Atreus’s son.
He found Agamemnon resting in his hut,
wrapped up in the sweet divinity of Sleep. 20
Dream stood above his head, looking just like Nestor, [20]
son of Neleus, of all the more senior men
the one Agamemnon held in special honour.
In that shape, divine Dream spoke to Agamemnon:

“You are sleeping, son of fiery Atreus,
tamer of horses. But a prudent man,
one to whom people have given their trust,
who has so many things to think about,
shouldn’t sleep all night. So pay attention.
Hear what I have to say. I come to you 30
as Zeus’ messenger, with his orders.
He’s far off, but pities and cares for you.
He bids you quickly arm long-haired Achaeans,
for now you can take Troy, city of wide streets.
The immortal gods who dwell on Mount Olympus [30]
no longer disagree about all this.
Hera’s entreaties have persuaded them.
Trojans can expect from Zeus more sorrows,
more disasters. Remember what I’ve said.
Don’t let forgetfulness seize your mind, 40
when honey Sleep has loosed his sweet grip on you.”

This said, Dream went off, leaving the king imagining things
which would not come to pass. He thought he’d take Troy,
Priam’s city, that very day. Fool! He had no clue
of what Zeus really meant, his plan to load on them,
Trojans and Danaans both, still more suffering,
more cries of sorrow, through war’s brutality. [40]

Agamemnon roused himself from sleep, the divine voice
all round him still. He sat up, pulled on a supple tunic,
new and finely made. On top he threw a large cloak. 50
He laced up lovely sandals over his sleek feet
and slung a silver-studded sword around both shoulders.
He took with him the royal staff of his ancestors,
eternal and imperishable. Gripping this,
he approached the ships of the bronze-armed Achaeans.

When goddess Dawn rose high up on Olympus,
bringing light to Zeus and the immortals,
Agamemnon bid the loud-voiced heralds summon [50]
all the long-haired Achaeans to assembly.
Such a call went out. Men answered on the run. 60
But first, Agamemnon convened a meeting
of all his great-hearted senior counsellors.
They met by Nestor’s ships, king born on Pylos.
To the assembled group Agamemnon then sketched out
a plan he had conceived—a devious one.

“My friends, listen.
A divine Dream has just come to me,
through the sacred night, as I lay asleep,
in form, size, and voice just like worthy Nestor.
He stood above my head and spoke these words:

‘You are sleeping, son of fiery Atreus, 70 [60]
tamer of horses. But a prudent man,
one to whom people have given their trust,
who has so many things to think about,
shouldn’t sleep all night. So pay attention.
Hear what I have to say. I come to you
as Zeus’ messenger, with his orders.
He’s far off, but pities and cares for you.
He bids you quickly arm long-haired Achaeans,
for now you can take Troy, city of wide streets.
Immortal gods who dwell on Mount Olympus 80
no longer disagree about all this.
Hera’s entreaties have persuaded them.
The Trojans can expect from Zeus more sorrows, [70]
more disasters. Remember what I’ve said.’

With that, Dream flew off, sweet Sleep released me.
Come, then, let’s get long-haired Achaeans
somehow armed for battle. But first,
it’s only right I test the men, ordering them
to go home in their ships with many oars.
You hold them back with your commands, 90
each one working from his own position.”

Agamemnon finished speaking and sat back down.
Nestor stood up before them, king of sandy Pylos.
With a wise sense of their common cause, he addressed them:

“My friends, chiefs and leaders of the Argives,
if any other Achaean had told us such a dream, [80]
we would declare it quite false, dismiss it.
But now the man who has a claim to be
the greatest of Achaeans has witnessed it.
So come, let’s find a way to arm Achaea’s sons.” 100

So Nestor spoke. Then he began to make his way back,
leaving the council meeting. The others stood up,
all sceptre-bearing kings, following Nestor’s lead,
his people’s shepherd. Troops came streaming out to them.
Just as dense clouds of bees pour out in endless swarms
from hollow rocks, in clusters flying to spring flowers,
charging off in all directions, so from ships and huts [90]
the many clans rushed out to meet, group after group.
Among the troops Rumour blazed, Zeus’ messenger,
igniting them. The assembly was in uproar. 110
Beneath the men, as they sat amid the din, earth groaned.
Nine heralds shouted out instructions, attempting
to control the noise, so men could hear their leaders,
god’s chosen ones. Gradually men settled down,
kept quiet in their places. The noise subsided.
King Agamemnon stood up, hands gripping his staff, [100]
one fashioned by Hephaestus’ careful craftsmanship.
That god had given it to lord Zeus, son of Cronos.
Later Zeus had presented it to Hermes,
the guide, killer of Argus. Hermes, in his turn, 120
gave it to king Pelops, the chariot racer,
who passed the staff to Atreus, the people’s leader.
This man, as he lay dying, left it for Thyestes,
who owned many flocks. Thyestes, in his turn,
passed it onto Agamemnon, who held it
as ruler of all Argos and many islands.
With this staff as his support, Agamemnon spoke:

“You Danaan warriors, comrades, [110]
companions of Ares, god of war,
Zeus, son of Cronos, has entangled me 130
in some really serious foolishness.
Perverse Zeus! He promised me, he agreed—
I’d have devastated well-built Troy
before going home. Now he plans a cruel trick,
tells me to return to Argos dishonoured,
after I’ve lost so many warriors.
This is apparently what high Zeus desires,
he who has smashed so many city heights,
and will destroy still more, such is his power,
the greatest power of all. This is a great disgrace, 140
which people will learn about in years to come—
how an Achaean force of such quality and size [120]
vainly sailed off to fight a lesser force,
and failed to get what they set out to take.
For if we Achaeans and the Trojans wished,
in good faith, to draw up a treaty,
to tally up the numbers on both sides,
with Trojans counting each inhabitant of Troy,
and if we Achaeans set ourselves in groups of ten,
then chose, for every group, a Trojan man 150
to pour our wine, then of our groups of ten
many would lack a man to act as steward.
That, I tell you, indicates just how much
Achaea’s sons outnumber Trojans,
those who live in Troy. But all their allies, [130]
warrior spearmen from many cities,
are a huge problem for me. They thwart my wish
to smash down those sturdy walls of Troy.
Nine of great Zeus’ years have rolled on past.
Ships’ planks have rotted, their ropes have frayed. 160
Back home our wives and children wait for us.
The work for which we came remains undone.
So come, let’s all agree to what I say.
Let’s go back to our own dear country in our ships. [140]
For we’ll not capture Troy with its broad streets.”

So Agamemnon spoke. Among the soldiers,
all those with no idea of what he’d planned,
men’s feelings quickened. The assembly was aroused.
Just like huge ocean waves on the Icarian Sea,
when East Wind and South Wind rush down together 170
from Father Zeus’ clouds to whip up the sea,
the whole assembly rippled, like a large grain field,
undulating under the fury of the storm,
as West Wind roars in with force, all ears of corn
ducking down under the power of the gusts—
that’s how the shouting men stampeded to their ships. [150]
From underneath their feet a dust cloud rose.
They yelled orders to each other to grab the ships,
drag them to the sacred sea, clear out channels
for launching boats, knock out props from underneath, 180
frantic to get home. Heaven echoed with the din.
At that point, the Argives might well have gone back—
contravening what Fate had proposed for them—
if Hera had not spoken to Athena:

“Alas, unconquerable child of Zeus,
who bears the aegis, the Argives will flee,
go back home to their dear native land,
cross the wide sea, abandoning Helen,
an Argive woman, leaving in triumph
Priam and his Trojans. On her account, 190 [160]
many Achaeans have perished here in Troy,
far from the homes they love. So now, come on,
go down to the bronze-clad Achaean troops,
use your persuasive power to stop the men
hauling their curved ships down into the sea.”

So Hera spoke. Bright-eyed goddess Athena obeyed.
She sped off, raced down from Mount Olympus’ crest,
quickly reached Achaea’s swift ships, rushing to the spot
Odysseus, a man as wise as Zeus, was standing.
He’d laid no hand on his fast, black, well-decked ship. 200 [170]
His stout heart was filled with pain. Standing close to him,
bright-eyed Athena spoke to him:

“Odysseus,
divinely bred, Laertes’ resourceful son,
so you are going to fly back home,
sail off to your own dear country.
You’ll leap into your ships with many oars,
and leave in triumph Priam and the Trojans,
abandoning Argive Helen, for whose sake
so many Achaeans have died here in Troy,
far from the homes they love. But come now, 210
move around among Achaean soldiers.
Don’t hesitate. Persuade each man to stop [180]
dragging the curved ships down into the sea.”

So Athena spoke. Odysseus knew her from her voice,
as she talked. Then he ran, shrugging off his cloak—
Eurybates, the herald, later picked it up,
a man from Ithaca, aide to Odysseus.
Odysseus went straight to Agamemnon, Atreus’ son,
took from him his imperishable ancestral staff.
Grasping this, he ran to the bronze-clad Achaeans’ ships. 220
When he came across some king or prominent leader,
he’d confront him, telling him to hold his ground:

“Friend, it’s not suitable for you to panic, [190]
as if you’re worthless. Take your seat instead.
Get other soldiers to remain in place.
You’ve no clear sense of Agamemnon’s plan.
Right now he’s testing all the army.
Soon enough he’ll punish Achaea’s sons.
Didn’t we all hear what he said in council?
In his rage he may harm Achaean troops— 230
passions run high in kings whom Zeus supports.
Their honour comes from Zeus the Counsellor,
who loves them.”

By contrast, when Odysseus
came across some common soldier yelling out,
he’d beat him with the staff, admonishing him:

“My friend, take your place in silence. Stay put. [200]
Listen to what others say, your betters,
you puny coward, useless in war or council.
Achaeans can’t all rule here as kings.
No good comes from having many leaders. 240
Let there be one in charge, one ruler,
who gets from crooked-minded Cronos’ son
sceptre and laws, so he may rule his people.”

Odysseus moved throughout the army, calming things.
From ships and huts, soldiers rushed to reassemble,
echoing like waves of the roaring sea crashing on shore,
as Ocean thunders on. Men sat calmly in their places. [210]
But a single man kept on yelling out abuse—
scurrilous Thersites, expert in various insults,
vulgar terms for inappropriate attacks on kings, 250
whatever he thought would make the Argives laugh.
Of all the men who came to Troy, he was the ugliest—
bow legged, one crippled foot, rounded shoulders
curving in toward his chest. On top, his pointed head
sprouted thin, scraggly tufts of hair. Achilles hated him, [220]
as did Odysseus, too, both subject to his taunts.
But now Agamemnon was the target of his gibes.
The Achaeans, despising Thersites in their hearts,
were furious at him. But he kept shouting out,
aiming noisy insults right at Agamemnon: 260

“Son of Atreus, what’s your problem now?
What do you lack? Your huts are stuffed with bronze,
plenty of choice women, too—all presents
we Achaeans give you as our leader,
whenever we ransack some city.
Or are you in need of still more gold,
a ransom fetched by some horse-taming Trojan [230]
for his son tied up and delivered here
by me or by some other Achaean?
Or do you want a young girl to stash away, 270
so you’re the only one who gets to screw her?
It’s just not fair that you, our leader,
have botched things up so badly for us,
Achaea’s sons. But you men, you soldiers,
cowardly comrades, disgraceful people,
you’re Achaean women, not warriors.
Let’s sail home in our ships, leave this man,
our king, in Troy here to enjoy his loot.
That way he might come to recognize
whether or not we’re of some use to him. 280
Now Agamemnon has even shamed Achilles,
a much finer warrior than himself,
stealing a prize, keeping it for his own use. [240]
Then there’s Achilles, no heart’s anger there,
who lets it all just happen. If he didn’t,
this bullying of yours, son of Atreus,
would be your last.”

Thersites yelled out these insults
right at Agamemnon, the people’s shepherd,
abusing him. Noble Odysseus stood up quickly,
confronting Thersites. Scowling, he lashed out sternly: 290

“Shut up, chatterbox. You’re a champion talker.
But don’t try to have it out with kings,
all by yourself. Let me tell you something—
of all those who came to Troy with Atreus’ sons,
you’re the most disgraceful. So shut your mouth. [250]
No more words from you abusing our kings,
seeking to sneak back home. How this war will end,
we’ve no idea—whether Achaea’s sons
will go back home successful or will fail.
You sit here, railing at Agamemnon, 300
Atreus’ son, leader of his people,
because Danaan heroes have given him
so many gifts—but that’s a cheap insult.
So I’ll tell you how things are going to be.
If I find you being so foolish any more,
then let Odysseus’ head no longer stay
upon his shoulders, let him no longer
be called the father of Telemachus, [260]
if I don’t grab you, rip off all your clothes,
cloak and tunic, down to your cock and balls, 310
and beat you back to the fast ships in tears,
whipping you in shame from our assembly.”

Saying this, Odysseus lashed out with the sceptre,
hitting Thersites hard across his back and shoulders.
He doubled up in pain, shedding many tears.
In the middle of Thersites’ back sprang up
bloody welts beneath the golden sceptre.
He sat down, afraid and hurt, peering around,
like an idiot, and rubbing away his tears.
The soldiers, though discontent, laughed uproariously, 320 [270]
saying to one another:

“Comrades,
before now Odysseus has done good things
thinking up fine plans and leading us in war.
But that’s the best thing he’s done by far
to help the Argives, shutting up that rabble-rouser.
Thersites’ bold spirit won’t urge him on
to trash our kings again with his abuse.”

That’s how the soldiers talked together. Then Odysseus,
destroyer of cities, rose up, grasping the sceptre.
At his side, bright-eyed Athena, looking like a herald, 330
silenced troops, so Achaeans close by and far away [280]
could hear him and follow his advice. Odysseus,
bearing in mind their common good, spoke out:

“Son of Atreus,
now the Achaeans wish to disgrace you,
their king, shame you before all mortal men.
They’re refusing now to keep their promise,
the one they all swore to while sailing here,
still on their way from horse-breeding Argos,
that oath that they’d return after we’d destroyed
Troy’s strong walls. Like widows or small children, 340
they’re whining to each other to go home. [290]
But going back demoralized is bad.
A man who spends one month aboard his ship,
away from his wife, becomes downhearted
when winter gusts and stormy seas confine him.
This is now the ninth revolving year
we’ve been waiting here, on this very spot.
So I don’t think that badly of Achaeans
in their frustration here by their curved ships.
Still, it’s shameful to go home with nothing. 350
My friends, be patient, give us all more time,
until Calchas’ prophecy comes true or not. [300]
We all have kept in mind what he foretold.
You all are witnesses, the ones whom Fate
has not yet visited to carry off in death.
Not long ago, when our Achaean ships
gathered at Aulis, bringing disaster
for Priam and his Trojans, we sacrificed
on holy altars placed around a spring
hundreds of perfect creatures to the gods, 360
the immortals—underneath that tree,
a lovely plane tree, where bright water flowed.
And then a great omen appeared, a snake,
blood-red along its back, a dreadful sight,
a thing sent out by Zeus into the daylight.*
Out from under the altar that snake slithered, [310]
darting for the plane tree, where there lay
tiny, new-born sparrows, eight fledglings,
huddled under foliage at the very top.
The ninth one was the mother of the batch. 370
The serpent ate the infants, who screamed with fear.
The mother fluttered around here and there,
lamenting her dear chicks. The coiled serpent
snatched the crying mother by the wing.
Once the beast had gobbled up the sparrow
and her chicks, the god who’d made the snake appear
did something to it there for all to see.
Crooked Cronos’ son changed that snake to stone!
We stood there astounded at what we’d seen— [320]
a horror desecrating the gods’ sacrifice. 380
Calchas at once spoke out in prophecy:

‘Long-haired Achaeans, why stand there so mute?
Counsellor Zeus has made manifest to us
a tremendous omen. It has come late,
and will take many years to be fulfilled,
but its fame will never die. Just as that snake
swallowed the sparrow’s brood, eight in all,
with the mother who bore them the ninth one killed,
so that’s how long we’ll fight them over there.
In the tenth year we’ll take Troy, wide streets and all.’ 390

That’s what Calchas said. Now it’s coming true. [330]
So come on, all you well-armed Achaeans,
let’s stay, until we seize Priam’s great city.”

At this speech Argives gave out an enormous cheer.
The ships on all sides resounded ominously,
as Achaeans roared out their endorsement of his words.
Then Nestor, the Geranian horseman, cried out:

“Alas! In our assembly you’re all infants,
silly children, with no sense of war’s events.
What will happen to our agreements, 400
the oaths we made? Let fire consume [340]
our strategies, men’s plans, our treaties,
ratified with wine and handshakes, those things
we used to trust. For now we fight ourselves,
arguing like this. We can’t find any remedy,
though we’ve been sitting here for years.
Son of Atreus, you must maintain with force
your previous plan to lead the Argive troops
directly to the harsh demands of war.
And let those one or two be damned, 410
the men who don’t think like Achaeans,
the few of them who yearn to go back home—
something they’ll find impossible to do—
before we learn the truth or falsehood
of what was promised by aegis-bearing Zeus.
For I assure you mighty Zeus nodded assent [350]
on that very day the Argives put to sea,
bearing Troy’s destructive fate in their swift ships.
On our right hand, Zeus hurled down lightning bolts,
signs manifesting his good will to us. 420
So let no man run off to get back home—
not before he’s had sex with some Trojan’s wife,
payment for Helen’s miseries, her cries of pain.
If any man is really keen to get back home,
let him just set hand to his well-benched ship,
he’ll come face to face, in plain view of all,
with death, his fate. You, my lord, think carefully—
think about what someone else suggests. [360]
Don’t simply throw out what I say to you.
Agamemnon, set men in groups by tribes and clans, 430
so clans encourage clans, tribes bolster tribes.
If you do that, if Achaeans all obey,
you’ll then recognize who’s good and bad
among your leaders and your men. Ranged like that,
the two groups will stand against each other.
You’ll then know whether failure to take Troy
stems from divine will or craven soldiers
or ineptitude in managing the war.”

Mighty Agamemnon then answered Nestor:

“Old man, in our assembly once again 440 [370]
you win out over all Achaea’s sons.
O Father Zeus, Athena, and Apollo—
if I only had ten such counsellors
among Achaeans, king Priam’s city
would soon fall, be taken, sacked at our hands.
But aegis-bearing Zeus, son of Cronos,
keeps showering me with grievous troubles.
He throws me into pointless bitter fights.
So Achilles and I fought for that girl,
yelling at each other. The first fault was mine. 450
But if we two agreed, were of one mind,
then Troy’s fate would be sealed without delay, [380]
without a moment’s pause. But let’s go off to eat,
so we can resume the fight. Every one of you,
get your spears and shields prepared for action.
Feed your swift-footed horses properly.
Inspect the chariots with a careful eye,
so we can stand all day and battle Ares,
hateful god of war. We’ll get no respite,
not even for a moment, except at dusk, 460
when nightfall separates the frenzied soldiers.
Chest straps on our protective body shields
will be soaked through with sweat. Around our spears
hands will grow numb. Horses, too, will sweat, [390]
under the strain of hauling polished chariots.
But if I see a man coming out to fight
reluctantly, hanging back by our curved ships,
he’ll not escape being food for dogs and birds.”

Argives answered Agamemnon with a mighty roar,
like waves by a steep cliff crashing on the rock face, 470
lashed by South Wind’s blasts, always foaming on the rock,
whipped on by every wind gusting here and there.
The men leapt up, moved off, scattering to ships,
set fires by their huts, and each man ate his dinner.
Every man then sacrificed to the immortal gods, [400]
praying to escape death and war’s killing zone.
Agamemnon, king of men, sacrificed an ox,
a fat one, five years old, to Zeus, exalted son of Cronos.
He summoned the best senior men of all Achaeans—
first, Nestor and Idomeneus, then both Ajaxes, 480
then Diomedes, Tydeus’ son. Seventh came Odysseus.
Warrior Menelaus arrived without a summons,
knowing in his heart all Agamemnon’s worries.
They stood by the ox, with barley grains for sprinkling. [410]
Then Agamemnon prayed on their behalf:

“Most powerful Zeus,
exalted lord of thunder clouds, Zeus,
who dwells in heaven, grant my prayer—
May the sun not go down, nor darkness come,
before I have cast down Priam’s palace,
covered it with dust, destroyed its doors 490
in all-consuming fire, and with my bronze sword
sliced to shreds the tunic on Hector’s chest.
May many of his comrades lie beside him,
face down on the ground, teeth grinding dirt.”

So he prayed. But Cronos’ son did not grant his wish.
Zeus took the offering but increased their suffering. [420]

Once the men had prayed, scattering barley grain,
they pulled back the beast’s head, slit its throat, flayed it,
sliced thigh bones out and hid them in twin layers of fat,
with raw meat on top. They cooked these on split wood, 500
then placed the innards on spits in Hephaestus’ fire.
When the wrapped-up thigh bones were completely cooked,
and they’d tasted samples of the inner organs,
they chopped up the rest, arranged the meat on spits,
cooked it carefully, then drew it from the fire.
This work finished, the men prepared a meal and ate. [430]
Each soldier’s appetite was fully satisfied—
all dined equally. When every man had eaten
as much food and drink as anyone could wish,
Geranian horseman Nestor was the first to speak. 510

“Lord Agamemnon, son of Atreus,
king of men, let’s end our discussions now
and not postpone work given by the gods.
Come, let heralds of bronze-clad Achaeans
summon all the soldiers to assembly.
Let’s move together across the wide front,
rouse Achaea’s men with blood-lust for war.” [440]

Agamemnon, king of men, agreed with Nestor.
He ordered clear-voiced heralds immediately
to sound the battle call to long-haired Achaeans. 520
The call went out. Troops assembled on the run.
Around Agamemnon, kings nurtured by the gods
rushed to establish order. With them strode Athena,
her eyes glittering, holding up the aegis
her priceless, ageless, eternal aegis,
its hundred golden tassels quivering,
each finely woven, valued at a hundred oxen.
With this, she sped on through Achaean ranks,
like lightning, firing soldiers’ hearts for war. [450]
As she passed, she roused in men that hot desire 530
to fight, to kill. At once she made each man feel war
far sweeter than returning home, finer than sailing
in the hollow ships back to his dear native land.
Just as an all-consuming fire burns through huge forests
on a mountain top, and men far off can see its light,
so, as soldiers marched out, their glittering bronze
blazed through the sky to heaven, an amazing sight.

As many birds in flight—geese, cranes, and long-necked swans— [460]
in an Asian meadow by the flowing river Caystrios,
fly here and there, proud of their strong wings, and call, 540
as they settle, the meadow resounding with the noise,
so the many groups of soldiers moved out then
from ships and huts onto Scamander’s plain.
Under men’s and horses’ feet the earth rang ominously.
Then they stood there, in that flowered meadow,
by the Scamander, an immense array,
as numerous as leaves and flowers in springtime.
Like flies swarming around shepherds’ pens in spring, [470]
when pails fill up with milk, so the Achaeans,
a huge long-haired host, marched out onto that plain 550
against the Trojans, eager to destroy them.
Just as goatherds sort out with ease the wandering beasts,
all mixed up in the pasture, so through all the army,
the leaders organized the troops for battle.
Among them powerful Agamemnon roamed,
eyes and head like Zeus, who loves the thunder,
waist like Ares, god of war, chest like Poseidon.
Just as in cattle herds the bull stands out above the rest, [480]
by far the most conspicuous amid the cows,
so on that day Zeus made Agamemnon stand 560
pre-eminent among the troops, first of heroes.

Now, you Muses living on Olympus, tell me—
for you are goddesses and know everything,
while we hear only stories, knowing nothing certain—
tell me the leaders of Danaans, the rulers.
It would be impossible for me to tell
the story of or name those in the common mass,
not even with ten tongues, ten mouths, an untiring voice,
a heart of bronze, unless the Olympian Muses, [490]
daughters of aegis-bearing Zeus, could sing of the men, 570
all those who came to Troy. But I shall list the leaders,
commanders of the ships, and all the ships in full.

Peneleus, Leitus, and Arcesilaus
led the Boeotians, with Clonius and Prothoenor.
Their men came from Hyria, rocky Aulis,
Schoenus, Scolus, mountainous Eteonus,
Thespeia, Graia, spacious Mycalassus,
men holding Harma, Eilesium, Erythrae;
men holding Eleon, Hyle, Peteon, [500]
Ocalea, the well-built fortress Medeon, 580
Copae, Eutresis, Thisbe, city full of doves;
men from Coronea, grassy Haliartus;
men from Plataea, Glisas, those who held
fortified Lower Thebe and sacred Onchestus,
with Poseidon’s splendid grove; men from Arne,
land rich in grapes, Midea, sacred Nisa,
and distant Anthedon. Fifty ships came with these men,
each with one hundred and twenty young Boeotians. [510]

Men from Aspledon and Minyan Orchomenus
were led by Ascalaphus and Ialmenus, 590
Ares’ sons. Astyoche bore them in Actor’s house,
Azeus’ son, to mighty Ares. She, a modest virgin,
went upstairs, where the god lay with her in secret.
These men brought with them a fleet of thirty ships.

Schedius and Epistrophus, sons of Iphitus,
the son of great-hearted Naubolus,
commanded Phoceans—men from Cyparissus,
rocky Pytho, holy Crisa, Daulis, and Panopeus; [520]
men from Anemorea and Hyampolis;
from around the sacred river Cephisus, 600
from Lilaea, beside Cephissus’ springs.
Forty black ships these two leaders brought with them.
Moving around, as soldiers armed themselves,
they set Phocean ranks by the Boeotians, on their left.

The Locrians were led by swift Ajax, son of Oileus,
the lesser Ajax, not the greater Ajax,
son of Telamon, but a much smaller man.
Though he was short and wore cloth armour,
among all Hellenes and Achaeans he excelled [530]
in fighting with his spear. Locrians came from Cynus, 610
Opous, Calliarus, Bessa, Scarphe,
lovely Aegeiae, Tarphe, Thronion,
and from around the river Boagrius.
Ajax brought forty black ships of Locrians
living across from sacred Euboea.

Elephenor, offspring of Ares, son of Chalcodon,
great-hearted leader, commanded the Abantes,
who live to breathe war’s fury, soldiers from Euboea,
Chalcis, Eretria, wine-rich Histiaea, Cerinthus by the sea,
men from the steep fortress Dium, Carystus, and Styra. 620
These swift Abantes came with Elephenor, [540]
their hair grown long behind, warrior spearmen,
filled with fierce desire to tear apart their enemies,
to pierce armed bodies with their long ash spears.
Forty black ships came with Elephenor.

Soldiers came from that well-built fortress Athens,
land of proud Erechtheus, whom Athena raised,
after he was born out of the harvest land.
She placed him in Athens, at her own rich shrine.
To him Athenian youth make sacrificial offerings, 630
with bulls and rams as each year comes around. [550]
Menestheus, son of Peteos, led these men.
In tactics no one alive on earth could match him
for deploying chariots or shield-bearing men.
Nestor, from a previous age, was his only rival.
Menestheus brought with him fifty black ships.

From Salamis Ajax commanded twelve ships.
He organized his men in their positions,
so they stood adjacent to Athenian ranks.

Warriors from Argos, fortified Tiryns, Hermione, 640
Asine, both with deep bays, Troezene, Eionae, [560]
vine-rich Epidaurus, Achaean youth from Aegina, Mases—
all these were led by mighty fighter Diomedes,
skilled in war cries, and by Sthenelus, dear son
of famous Capaneus. There was a third leader,
god-like Euryalus, Mecisteus’ son, son of lord Talaus.
But warlike Diomedes was the main commander.
These men brought with them eighty black ships.

Troops from the strong fortress Mycenae, rich Corinth,
well-built Cleonae, Orneae, lovely Araethyrea, 650 [570]
Sicyon, whose first king was Adrestus,
with men from Hyperesia, lofty Gonoessa,
Pellene, from Aegium, men from coastal regions
and wide Helice—of these men Agamemnon,
son of Atreus, led one hundred ships.
The most troops came with him, the finest men by far.
In their midst, Agamemnon put on a proud display,
dressed in gleaming armour, prominent among all heroes.
He was the best of all, because he had most men. [580]

Men from Lacedaemon, land of ravines, Pharis, 660
Sparta, Messe, where doves congregate,
men living in Bryseae, beautiful Augeiae,
Amyclae, coastal Helos, men from Laäs,
from around Oetylus—all these in sixty ships
were led by powerful, warlike Menelaus,
Agamemnon’s brother. Among these warriors,
as they armed themselves some distance off,
Menelaus strode—confident, courageous—
rousing his troops for war, his heart passionate
to avenge Helen’s struggles, her cries of pain. 670 [590]

Men came from Pylos, lovely Arene, Thryum,
by Alpheus ford, well-built Aipy, Cyparisseis,
Amphigenea, Pteleum, Helos, Dorium,
where the Muses met the Thracian Thamyris,
and stopped his singing. He was coming back
from Oechalia, from the court of Eurytus the king.
He’d boasted his singing would surpass the Muses,
daughters of aegis-bearing Zeus, should they compete.
In their anger the Muses mutilated Thamyris,
taking away his godlike power of song, 680
and making him forget his skill in playing the lyre. [600]
Geranian horseman Nestor led these men
in a flotilla of ninety hollow ships.

Men from Arcadia, from below steep mount Cyllene,
near Aepytus’ tomb, where men excel in combat
hand to hand, troops from Pheneus, Orchomenus,
rich in flocks, Rhipe, Stratie, windy Enispe,
Tegea, lovely Mantinea, Stymphelus,
Parrhasia—mighty Agapenor led these men,
Ancaeus’ son, in sixty ships. Many Arcadians 690
came in every ship, skilled fighters. Agamemnon, [610]
king of men, had himself provided well-decked ships
for them to sail across the wine-dark ocean,
for these men lacked expertise in matters of the sea.

Soldiers from Bouprasium, fair Elis, those parts
bounded by Hyrmine, coastal Myrsinus,
the rock of Olene, and Alesium—these troops
had four commanders, each with ten swift ships.
The many Epeians on board were commanded
by Amphimachus, son of Cteatus, and Thalpius, 700 [620]
son of Eurytus, descended both from Actor.
Third leader was Diores, son of Amarynces.
Fourth was Polyxeinus, son of Agasthenes, Augeas’ son.

Men from Doulichium, sacred Echinean islands,
living across the sea from Elis, were commanded
by warlike Meges, son of Phyleus, the horseman,
loved of Zeus. Phyleus, angry with his father,
moved to Doulichium. Meges brought with him
forty black ships in his flotilla.

Odysseus led on [630]
the Cephallenians, soldiers from Ithaca, 710
well wooded Neritum, Crocylea,
rugged Aegilips, from Zacynthus, Samos,
both those inhabiting the mainland
and those from cities on the facing shore.
Odysseus, as wise as Zeus, led these troops,
who came with him in twelve black ships.

Thoas, son of Andraemon, led the Aetolians,
men from Pleuron, Olenus, Pylene,
coastal Chalchis, and rocky Calydon. [640]
Proud king Oeneus had no living sons, 720
and he himself was dead, as was fair-haired Meleager.
Thus, Thoas ruled alone. He brought forty black ships.

Famous spearman Idomeneus led the Cretans
from Cnossus, fortified Gortyn, Lyctus, Miletus,
chalky Lycastus, Phaestus, Rhytium,
both populous towns, with other warriors
from Crete’s one hundred cities. Idomeneus,
famous for fighting with a spear, led these troops, [650]
along with Meriones, as skilled at killing men
as Ares, god of war. They brought eighty black ships. 730

Tlepolemus, son of Hercules, a huge brave man,
led nine ships of courageous troops, men from Rhodes,
split into three divisions—from Lindus, Ialysus,
and chalky Cameirus—all led by Tlepolemus,
famous spearman, born to Astyocheia
and mighty Hercules, who’d taken her from Ephyra,
by the river Selleis, after razing many towns [660]
full of vital warriors. Once he’d grown up
in their well-furnished home, Tlepolemus killed
his father’s uncle, Licymnius, a well-loved old man, 740
a great fighter, too. At once Tlepolemus built a fleet,
assembled many men, and fled away. Other sons
and grandsons of great Hercules had threatened him.
He suffered badly, until he came to Rhodes,
whose people live in three groups split by tribes.
Zeus, who governs gods and men, loved them,
and so the son of Cronos blessed them with great wealth. [670]

Nireus brought three well-balanced ships from Syme.
The son of Aglaea and lord Charopus,
the handsomest of all Danaans who sailed to Troy, 750
after Achilles, who had no equal. But he was weak,
because he had few troops.

Men from Nisyrus,
Crapathus, Casus, Cos, Eurypylus’ city,
the Calydnian islands had Pheidippus and Antiphus,
sons of lord Thessalus, Hercules’ son, as leaders.
With them came thirty hollow ships. [680]

All the troops from Pelasgian Argos, Alos,
men living in Alope, Trachis, from Phthia,
and Hellas, where lovely women live, men called
Myrmidons, Hellenes, Achaeans—these troops 760
Achilles led in fifty ships. But their minds weren’t set
on the grim clash of war. They had no one to lead them.
Godlike Achilles, swift of foot, sat by his ships,
still angry over fair-complexioned Briseis, seized
from Lyrnessus after heavy fighting. [690]
Achilles had laid waste Lyrnessus and Thebe’s walls,
overthrown the spearmen Mynes and Epistrophus,
sons of lord Euenus, son of king Selepius.
Because of her, Achilles sat still grieving.
But soon enough he’d rouse himself again. 770

Troops from Phylace, flowering Pyrasus,
shrine of Demeter, Iton, where flocks breed,
Antrum by the sea, and grassy Pteleum—
brave Protesilaus had led these men, while still alive.
Now the black earth held him. In Phylace, [700]
he left behind a wife to tear her cheeks in grief,
home half complete. Some Dardanian killed him,
as he jumped on Trojan soil, the first on shore,
far ahead of all Achaeans. His soldiers lamented
the loss of their chief, but didn’t lack a leader. 780
Warlike Podarces, son of Iphicles, led them—
the man owned many flocks and was a young blood brother
to Protesilaus. But that great-hearted warlike soldier
was an older, better man. So these troops had a leader,
though they missed the noble one they’d lost.
Podarces brought forty black ships along with him. [710]

Troops from Pherae by Lake Boebea, from Boebeïs,
Glaphyrae, well-built Iolcus—these came
in eleven ships, commanded by Eumelus,
Admetus’ well-loved son, born to him by Alcestis, 790
loveliest of Pelias’ daughters.

Troops from Methone, Thaumacia, Meliboea,
and rugged Olizon, were led by Philoctetes,
the skilled archer, in seven ships, each with fifty men,
expert archers. But Philoctetes stayed behind on Lemnos, [720]
the sacred island, in horrific pain, abandoned.
Achaea’s sons had left him there in agony,
wounded by a snake bite. He lay there in torment.
But soon the Argives by their ships would have reason
to remember him.* These soldiers missed their chief, 800
but were now led by Medon, Oïleus’ bastard son,
whom Rhene bore to Oïleus, destroyer of cities.
So Medon was the one who set their ranks in order.

Men from Tricca, rocky Ithome, Oechalia,
city of Eurytus, the Oechalian, [730]
were commanded by two sons of Asclepius,
skilled healers, Podaleirus and Machaon.
They brought thirty hollow ships with them.
Troops from Ormenius, from the fount of Hyperea,
from Asterius, from Titanus with its white hilltops— 810
these men were commanded by Eurypylus,
fine son of Euaemon, in forty black ships.
Men from Argissa, Gyrtone, Orthe, Elone,
the white city Oloösson—these troops were led
by Polypoetes, a steadfast soldier, [740]
son of Perithous, himself son to immortal Zeus.
That famous lady Hippodameia bore
Polypoetes to Perithous on that very day
he took revenge out on those hairy monsters,
and beat them from mount Pelion towards the Aithices. 820
But Polypoetes was not the sole commander.
With him was Leonteus, a warlike man,
son of proud-hearted Coronus, Caeneus’ son.
With them they brought forty black ships.

Gouneus brought twenty-two ships from Cyphus.
With him sailed the Enienes and Peraebians,
reliable fighting men from cold Dodona, [750]
who work by the lovely river Titaressus,
which empties its beautiful, flowing waters
into the Peneus. These do not intermingle 830
with the silver stream of the Peneus,
but flow along on top of them, like oil.
For the Titaressus is a branch of the river Styx,
dread waters by which the most solemn oaths are sealed.

Prothous, son of Tenthredon, led the Magnetes,
from the region round Peneus and mount Pelion,
where leaves are always trembling in the wind.
With him swift Prothous brought forty black ships.

These men were leaders, rulers of the Danaans. [760]
Muse, tell me this—Which of them were the very best 840
of those who came over with the sons of Atreus?

The best horses were those of Admetus, son of Pheres.
Eumelus drove them. As fast as birds, they matched
each other in colour, age, and height along the back.
Bred by Apollo of the silver bow in Perea,
both mares, they carried terror with them.
Of the men, by far the best was Ajax, son of Telamon,
but only while Achilles didn’t join in battle.
For Achilles was the better man by far.
The horses carrying Peleus’ son, man without equal, 850 [770]
were much better, too. But he stayed behind,
by his curved seaworthy ships, still enraged
at Agamemnon, Atreus’ son, the people’s shepherd.
His soldiers amused themselves beside the breaking sea
by throwing spears and discus or with archery.
Their horses stood near their chariots, browsing on lotus
and parsley from the marsh. Their masters’ chariots,
fully covered, remained stationed in the huts.
Missing their warlike leader, these troops strolled
here and there throughout the camp and did not fight. 860

The soldiers, like a fire consuming all the land, [780]
moved on out. Earth groaned under them, just as it does
when Zeus, who loves thunder, in his anger lashes
the land around Typhoeus, among the Arimi,
where people say Typhoeus has his lair.
That’s how the earth groaned loudly under marching feet.*

Then wind-swift Iris came to Troy as messenger
from aegis-bearing Zeus carrying grim news.
Trojans had summoned an assembly by Priam’s palace gates.
There all had gathered, young and old. Standing by Priam, 870
swift-footed Iris spoke, sounding like Polites, Priam’s son. [790]
He’d been stationed as a scout—fully confident
of his skill at running—at old Aesyetes’ tomb,
right at the top, waiting for the moment
Achaeans moved out from their ships.
Looking just like Polites, swift-footed Iris said:

“Priam, old man, you always love to talk
about irrelevant things, as you did earlier
in peacetime. But now this war continues
relentlessly. I’ve gone to battle many times. 880
I’ve never seen an army like this one, so many men,
as numerous as leaves or grains of sand, [800]
coming across the plain to assault our city.
Hector, I call on you, on you above all, to follow
my instructions—the numerous allies here
in Priam’s great city all speak different languages
from far-scattered regions. So let each man
issue orders to the ones he leads,
let him now organize his countrymen,
then lead them out to battle.” 890

Iris spoke. Hector understood her words.
Immediately he ended the assembly.
Men rushed to arm themselves. They opened up the gates.
Troops streamed out, infantry and horses. A huge din arose. [810]
In the plain, some distance off, a high hill stood by itself,
right before the city. People call it Batieia,
but the gods know it as the tomb of agile Myrine.
Here the Trojans and their allies marshaled forces.

Hector of the flashing helmet, Priam’s son,
led out the Trojans. With him marched in arms 900
the largest contingent, the finest men by far,
eager to get working with their spears.

Aeneas, Anchises’ worthy son, led the Dardanians.*
Goddess Aphrodite had borne him to Anchises. [820]
She had lain with him on the slopes of Ida.
But Aeneas was not their sole commander.
With him were Antenor’s two sons, Archelochus
and Acamas, extremely skilled in every form of war.

Men from Zeleia, on mount Ida’s lowest slope,
wealthy Trojans, men who drink dark waters 910
of the river Aesepus were led by Pandarus,
Lycaon’s worthy son, whom Apollo had taught archery.

Soldiers from Adresteia, Apaesus, Pityeia,
steep Mount Tereia were commanded by Adrestus [830]
and Amphius in cloth armour, Merops’ sons from Percote,
who knew more of prophecy than anyone.
He gave his children orders to stay away from war,
which eats men up. They did not obey him.
Deadly black fates had called them on to battle.

Troops from Percote, Practius, Sestos, Abydos, 920
holy Arisbe—these troops were led by Asius,
son of Hyrtacus, an important ruler.
Arius’s huge, tawny horses brought him
from Arisbe, from the river Selleïs.

Hippothous led tribes of spearmen from Pelasgia, [840]
fertile Larisa, along with Pylaeus, offshoots of Ares,
sons of Pelasgian Lethus, Teutamus’s son.

Acamas and warlike Peirous led the Thracians,
those men bounded by the Hellespont’s strong flow.

Euphemus, son of god-nurtured Troezenus, 930
son of Ceos, led Ciconian spearmen.

Pyraechmes led archers from Paeonia,
from far off Amydon, by the Axius,
a broad flowing river, whose moving waters [850]
are the loveliest on earth.

Pylaemenes,
a brave soldier, commanded Paphlagonians
from Enetae, where herds of mules run wild,
men from Cytorus, from around Sesamus,
those with fine homes by the stream Parthenius,
from Cromna, Aegialus, high Erithini. 940
Odius and Epistrophus led the Halizoni
from distant Alybe, where men mine silver.
Chromis and prophet Ennomus led the Mysians.
But Ennomus’ great skill in prophecy
did not allow him to evade his deadly fate.
Swift Achilles, descendant of Aeacus, killed him [860]
in the river where he slaughtered other Trojans.
Phorcys and noble Ascanius led up Phrygians
from far-off Ascania, men keen for war.

Mesthles and Antiphus commanded the Maeonians. 950
Sons of Talaemenes, born to Gygaea,
a water nymph, they led Maeonians
from around the foot of Mount Tmolus.

Nastes led the Carians, men with a strange language,
from Miletus, Phthires, with its wooded mountain,
Maeander’s waters and high peaks of Mount Mycale.
Nastes and Amphimachus, noble sons of Nomion [870]
were their leaders. Nastes went to war carrying gold,
like a girl. What a fool! His gold did not spare him
a wretched death. He died in the river, 960
at the hand of swift Achilles, descended from Aeacus.
Fiery Achilles carried off his gold.

Sarpedon and noble Glaucus commanded Lycians,
from distant Lycia, by the swirling river Xanthus.

NOTES

*Aulis was the place where the Achaean forces assembled before setting out against Troy ten years before.

*The Achaean forces abandoned Philoctetes on Lemnos, because they could not stand his cries of agony or the smell of his wound. However, later in the narrative of the war (although not in the Iliad) Philoctetes’ bow becomes an essential weapon in the capture of Troy.

*Typhoeus was a primordial monster who attempted to overthrow the Olympian gods. Zeus buried him alive under Mount Etna in Sicily.

* For some of the locations of the cities around Troy consult the following map: Map of the Troad.

 

 

 


Book Three

Paris, Menelaus, and Helen

[The armies move together; Paris volunteers to fight Menelaus in single combat; both sides prepare make a truce; Iris visits Helen; Helen goes to the Scaean Gate, looks at the Achaean troops with Priam; Priam leaves Troy to visit the armies and administer the treaty oath; Agamemnon utters the prayer for the treaty; Paris and Menelaus fight in single combat; Aphrodite rescues Paris; Paris and Helen meet in Troy; Agamemnon demands compensation from the Trojans]

Once troops had formed in ranks under their own leaders,
Trojans marched out, clamouring like birds, like cranes
screeching overhead, when winter’s harsh storms drive them off,
screaming as they move over the flowing Ocean,
bearing death and destruction to the Pygmies,
launching their savage attack on them at dawn.*
Achaeans came on in silence, breathing ferocity,
determined to stand by each other in the fight.
Just as South Wind spreads mist around the mountain peak, [10]
something shepherds hate, but thieves prefer to night, 10
for one can see only a stone’s throw up ahead,
so, as men marched, dense dust clouds rose from underfoot.
They advanced at full speed out across the plain.
The two armies moved in close towards each other.
Then godlike Paris stepped out, as Trojan champion,
on his shoulders a leopard skin. He had bow and sword.
Brandishing two bronze-tipped spears, he challenged
the best men in the whole Achaean force to fight—
a single combat, to the death. War-loving Menelaus [20]
noticed Alexander striding there, his troops 20
bunched up in ranks behind him, and he rejoiced,
like a famished lion finding a large carcass—
antlered stag or wild goat—and devouring it at once,
though fierce young hunters and swift dogs attack.*
So Menelaus was pleased to see Paris there,
right before his eyes. Menelaus had in mind
taking revenge on the man who’d injured him.
At once Menelaus jumped from his chariot,
down to the ground, his weapons in his fists.
When godlike Alexander saw Menelaus there, 30 [30]
among the fighters at the front, his heart sank.
He moved back into the ranks, among his comrades,
avoiding death. Just as a man stumbles on a snake
in some mountainous ravine and gives way, jumping back,
his limbs trembling, his cheeks pale, so godlike Paris,
afraid of Atreus’ son, slid back into proud Trojan ranks.
Seeing this, Hector went at Alexander, insulting him:

“Despicable Paris, handsomest of men,
but woman-mad seducer. How I wish
you never had been born or died unmarried. 40 [40]
That’s what I’d prefer, so much better
than to live in shame, hated by others.
Now long-haired Achaeans are mocking us,
saying we’ve put forward as a champion
one who looks good, but lacks a strong brave mind.
Was this what you were like back on that day
you gathered up your faithful comrades,
sailed sea-worthy ships across the ocean,
went out among a foreign people,
and carried back from that far-off land 50
a lovely woman linked by marriage
to warrior spearmen, thus bringing on
great suffering for your father and your city, [50]
all your people—joy to your enemies
and to yourself disgrace? And can you now
not face Menelaus? If so, you’d learn
the kind of man he is whose wife you took.
You’d get no help then from your lyre, long hair,
good looks—Aphrodite’s gifts—once face down,
lying in the dirt. Trojans must be timid men. 60
If not, for all the evil things you’ve done
by now you’d wear a garment made of stones.”

To Hector godlike Alexander then replied: [60]

“Hector, you’re right in what you say against me.
Those complaints of yours are not unjustified.
Your heart is tireless, like a wood-chopping axe
wielded by a craftsman cutting timber for a ship.
The axe makes his force stronger. Your mind’s like that—
the spirit in your chest is fearless. But don’t blame me
for golden Aphrodite’s lovely gifts. 70
Men can’t reject fine presents from the gods,
those gifts they personally bestow on us,
though no man would take them of his own free will.
You want me now to go to battle.
Get others to sit down—Trojans and Achaeans.
Put me and war-loving Menelaus
in their midst to fight it out for Helen, [70]
all her property. The one who triumphs,
comes off victorious, the better man,
let him take all the goods and lead her home, 80
as his wife. Let others swear a solemn oath,
as friends, either to live on in fertile Troy
or to return to horse-breeding Argos,
land of the lovely women of Achaea.”

So Paris spoke. Hearing those words, Hector felt great joy.
He went to the middle ground, between the armies,
halted Trojan troops, grasping the centre of his spear shaft.
The men sat. But long-haired Achaeans kept on shooting,
attempting to hit Hector with rocks and arrows. [80]
Then Agamemnon, king of men, roared out at them: 90

“Argives, Achaean lads, stop hurling things.
Hector of the flashing helmet wants to talk to us.”

Once Agamemnon spoke, the men stopped fighting
quickly falling silent. Hector then addressed both sides:

“You Trojans, you well-armed Achaeans,
listen now to what Paris has to say,
the man whose actions brought about our fight.
He bids the other Trojans, all Achaeans,
set their weapons on the fertile ground.
He and war-loving Menelaus here 100 [90]
will fight it out alone between the armies
for Helen and for all her property.
Whichever one comes out victorious,
the stronger man, let him seize all the goods,
and take the woman as his wife back home.
Let others swear a solemn oath as friends.”

So Hector spoke. The soldiers all grew silent.
Then Menelaus, loud in war, answered Hector:

“Listen now to me. More than anyone,
my heart has suffered pain. So now I think 110
Argives and Trojans should part company,
since you have suffered many hardships,
thanks to the fight between myself and Paris, [100]
a fight that he began. Whichever one of us
death takes, our fate, let that man perish.
You others quickly go your separate ways.
So bring two lambs here—white male, black female—
for earth and sun. We’ll bring one more for Zeus.
Lead out great Priam to administer the oath
in person, for his sons are over-proud, 120
untrustworthy. No man should transgress
by violence oaths sworn in Zeus’ name.
Young men’s minds are fickle. An older man
who joins them thinks of past and future,
so with both groups things happen for the best.” [110]

Achaeans and Trojans were elated, full of hope
that wretched war would end. They pulled the chariots back
into the ranks, climbed out, disarmed, and placed their weapons
next to each other on the ground, with little room
between both groups. Hector sent two heralds to the city, 130
to fetch the lambs with speed and summon Priam.
Agamemnon sent Talthybius to the hollow ships,
instructing him to bring a sacrificial lamb.
Talthybius obeyed god-like Agamemnon’s orders. [120]

Then Iris came as messenger to white-armed Helen
taking on the image of her sister-in-law,
wife of Antenor’s son, fine Helicaon.
Her name was Laodice, of all Priam’s daughters
the most beautiful. She found Helen in her room,
weaving a large cloth, a double purple cloak, 140
creating pictures of the many battle scenes
between horse-taming Trojans and bronze-clad Achaeans,
wars they suffered for her sake at the hands of Ares.
Standing near by, swift-footed Iris said:

“Come here, dear girl, [130]
Look at the amazing things going on.
Horse-taming Trojans and bronze-clad Achaeans,
men who earlier were fighting one another
in wretched war out there on the plain,
both keen for war’s destruction, are sitting still.
Alexander and war-loving Menelaus 150
are going to fight for you with their long spears.
The man who triumphs will call you his dear wife.”

With these words the goddess set in Helen’s heart
sweet longing for her former husband, city, parents. [140]
Covering herself with a white shawl, she left the house,
shedding tears. She did not go alone, but took with her
two attendants, Aethrae, daughter of Pittheus,
and ox-eyed Clymene. They soon reached the Scaean Gates.
Oucalegaon and Antenor, both prudent men,
elder statesmen, sat at the Scaean Gates, 160
with Priam and his entourage—Panthous, Thymoetes,
Lampus, Clytius, and brave Hicataeon. Old men now,
their fighting days were finished, but they all spoke well.
They sat there, on the tower, these Trojan elders, [150]
like cicadas perched up on a forest branch, chirping
soft, delicate sounds. Seeing Helen approach the tower,
they commented softly to each other—their words had wings:

“There’s nothing shameful about the fact
that Trojans and well-armed Achaeans
have endured great suffering a long time 170
over such a woman—just like a goddess,
immortal, awe-inspiring. She’s beautiful.
But nonetheless let her go back with the ships
Let her not stay here, a blight on us, our children.” [160]

So they talked. Priam then called out to Helen.

“Come here, dear child. Sit down in front of me,
so you can see your first husband, your friends,
your relatives. As far as I’m concerned,
it’s not your fault. For I blame the gods.
They drove me to wage this wretched war 180
against Achaeans. Tell me, who’s that large man,
over there, that impressive, strong Achaean?
Others may be taller by a head than him,
but I’ve never seen with my own eyes,
such a striking man, so noble, so like a king.” [170]

Then Helen, goddess among women, said to Priam:

“My dear father-in-law, whom I respect and honour,
how I wish I’d chosen an evil death
when I came here with your son, leaving behind
my married home, companions, darling child, 190
and friends my age. But things didn’t work that way.
So I weep all the time. But to answer you,
that man is wide-ruling Agamemnon,
son of Atreus, a good king, fine fighter,
and once he was my brother-in-law,
if that life was ever real. I’m such a whore.” [180]

Priam gazed in wonder at Agamemnon, saying:

“Son of Atreus, blessed by the gods, fortune’s child,
divinely favoured, many long-haired Achaeans
serve under you. Once I went to Phrygia, 200
that vine-rich land, where I saw Phrygian troops
with all their horses, thousands of them,
soldiers of Otreus, godlike Mygdon,
camped by the banks of the Sangarius river.
I was their ally, part of their army,
the day the Amazons, men’s peers in war,
came on against them. But those forces then
were fewer than these bright-eyed Achaeans.” [190]

The old man then spied Odysseus and asked:

“Dear child, come tell me who this man is, 210
shorter by a head than Agamemnon,
son of Atreus. But he looks broader
in his shoulders and his chest. His armour’s stacked
there on the fertile earth, but he strides on,
marching through men’s ranks just like a ram
moving through large white multitudes of sheep.
Yes, a woolly ram, that’s what he seems to me.”

Helen, child of Zeus, then answered Priam:

“That man is Laertes’ son, crafty Odysseus, [200]
raised in rocky Ithaca. He’s well versed 220
in all sorts of tricks, deceptive strategies.”

At that point, wise Antenor said to Helen:

“Lady, what you say is true. Once lord Odysseus
came here with war-loving Menelaus,
as an ambassador in your affairs.
I received them both in my residence
and entertained them. I got to know them—
from their appearance and their wise advice.
When they mingled with us Trojans
in our meeting and Menelaus rose, 230 [210]
his broad shoulders were higher than the other’s.
But once they sat, Odysseus seemed more regal.
When the time came for them to speak to us,
setting out their thoughts quite formally,
Menelaus spoke with fluency—few words,
but very clear—no chatter, no digressions—
although he was the younger of the two.
But when wise Odysseus got up to speak,
he just stood, eyes downcast, staring at the ground.
He didn’t move the sceptre to and fro, 240
but gripped it tightly, like some ignoramus—
a bumpkin or someone idiotic.
But when that great voice issued from his chest, [220]
with words like winter snowflakes, no man alive
could match Odysseus. We were no longer
disconcerted at witnessing his style.”

Priam, the old man, saw a third figure, Ajax, and asked:

“Who is that other man? He’s over there—
that huge, burly Achaean—his head and shoulders
tower over the Achaeans.” 250

Then Helen
long-robed goddess among women, answered:

“That’s massive Ajax, Achaea’s bulwark.
Across from him stands Idomeneus,
surrounded by his Cretans, like a god. [230]
Around him there stand the Cretan leaders.
Often war-loving Menelaus welcomed him
in our house, whenever he arrived from Crete.
Now I see all the bright-eyed Achaeans
whom I know well, whose names I could recite.
But I can’t see two of the men’s leaders, 260
Castor, tamer of horses, and Pollux,
the fine boxer—they are both my brothers,
whom my mother bore along with me.
Either they did not come with the contingent
from lovely Lacedaemon, or they sailed here
in their seaworthy ships, but have no wish [240]
to join men’s battles, fearing the disgrace,
the many slurs, which are justly mine.”

Helen spoke. But the life-nourishing earth
already held her brothers in Lacedaemon, 270
in their own dear native land.

Through Troy,
heralds brought offerings to seal the binding oaths,
two lambs and in a goatskin sack some sparkling wine,
fruit of the earth. Idaios, the herald, brought in
the gleaming mixing bowl and golden cups.
Standing close by Priam, he encouraged him.

“Son of Laomedon, the leading officers [250]
among horse-taming Trojans and bronze-clad Achaeans
are calling you to come down to the plain,
to administer their binding promises. 280
Paris and war-loving Menelaus
are going to fight it out with their long spears
over the woman. The man who wins,
who comes off the victor, gets the woman
and her property. The others will all swear
an oath of friendship, a binding one—
we will live in fertile Troy, they in Argos,
where horses breed, and in Achaea,
land of lovely women.”

Idaios finished.
The old man trembled, then ordered his attendants 290
to prepare his chariot. They obeyed at once. [260]
Priam climbed in and pulled back on the reins.
Antenor climbed in the fine chariot beside him.
The two men led swift horses through the Scaean Gate,
out to the plain. Once they reached the Trojans and Achaeans,
they climbed out of the chariot onto fertile ground,
in the space between the Trojan and Achaean troops.
At once, Agamemnon and crafty Odysseus
stood up to greet them. Noble heralds fetched the offerings,
to ratify their solemn oaths pledged to the gods. 300
They prepared wine in the mixing bowl, then poured water
over the kings’ hands. Atreus’ son drew out the dagger [270]
which always hung beside his sword’s huge scabbard,
then sliced hairs off lambs’ heads. Attendants passed these hairs
among the leaders of the Trojans and Achaeans.
Raising his hands, Agamemnon then intoned
a mighty prayer on their behalf:

“Father Zeus,
ruling from Mount Ida, most glorious,
most powerful, and you, too, god of the sun,
who sees everything, hears everything, 310
you rivers, earth, you gods below the earth,
who punish the dead when men swear false oaths,
you gods are witnesses. Keep this oath firm. [280]
If Alexander slays Menelaus,
let him keep Helen, all her property.
Let us return in our sea-worthy ships.
But if fair-haired Menelaus kills Alexander,
then let the Trojans hand back Helen,
with all her property, and compensate
Achaeans with something suitable, 320
which future ages will remember.
If Alexander’s killed and Priam
and Priam’s children are unwilling
to reimburse me, then I’ll remain here,
fight on until I’m fully satisfied, [290]
until I end this war appropriately.”

So Agamemnon prayed. With his bronze dagger,
he slit the lambs’ throats, placed them on the ground,
gasping in their death throes as their life ebbed out,
their spirit sliced away by Agamemnon’s knife. 330
Next from the mixing bowl, they drew off wine in cups,
poured out libations to the deathless gods.
Then Trojans and Achaeans all spoke out this prayer:

“Most powerful, mighty Zeus, and you others,
you immortal gods, may you make sure
the men who first violate these oaths
will have their brains spill out onto the ground,
just like this wine, they and their children. [300]
May their wives be carried off by other men.”

So they prayed. But the son of Cronos didn’t grant their wish. 340
Then Priam, descendant of Dardanus, addressed them all:

“Hear me, you Trojans, you well-armed Achaeans.
I am returning now to windy Troy.
I have no wish to see with my own eyes
my dear son fight war-loving Menelaus.
Zeus and other immortal gods know well
which of them is fated to end up dead.”

So Priam spoke. He placed the lambs in his chariot. [310]
The god-like man climbed in, held back the reins.
Antenor climbed in the fine chariot by Priam. 350
Then both men set off, moving back toward Troy.

Then Hector, Priam’s son, and lord Odysseus
first measured out the ground, took lots, and shook them up
in a bronze helmet, to see who’d throw his bronze spear first.
Then every Trojan and Achaean held up his hands,
praying to the gods:

“Father Zeus, ruling from Mount Ida, [320]
mighty, all-powerful, of these two men,
let the one who brought this war to both sides
be killed and then go down to Hades’ house.
And grant our oath of friendship will hold firm.” 360

So they prayed. Hector of the flashing helmet
turned his eyes to one side and shook out the lots.
Alexander’s token fell out immediately.
The troops sat down in their respective places,
by their high-stepping horses and their inlaid armour.
Paris, husband to Helen with the lovely hair,
hoisted his fine armour on his shoulders. On his shins, [330]
he clipped leg armour fitted with silver ankle clasps.
Then he put around his chest the body armour
belonging to his brother Lycaon. It fit him well. 370
On his shoulder he looped his bronze, silver-studded sword,
his huge strong shield. On his handsome head he put
a fine helmet with nodding horse-hair plumes on top,
full of menace. Then he picked out a brave spear
which fit his grip. Menelaus prepared himself as well.
When the two men, standing on each side with their troops, [340]
had armed themselves, they strode out to the open space
between the Trojans and Achaeans, staring ferociously.
As horse-taming Trojans and well-armed Achaeans
gazed at the two men, they were overcome with wonder. 380
The two men approached each other over measured ground,
brandishing their spears in mutual fury.
Alexander was the first to hurl his spear.
It struck Menelaus’ shield, a perfect circle,
but the bronze did not break through, the point deflected
by the powerful shield. Then Menelaus, Atreus’ son,
threw in his turn. First he made this prayer to Zeus: [350]

“Lord Zeus, grant I may be revenged on this man,
who first committed crimes against me,
lord Alexander. Let him die at my hands, 390
so generations of men yet to come
will dread doing wrong to anyone
who welcomes them into his home as friends.”

Menelaus then drew back his long-shadowed spear,
and hurled it. It hit the son of Priam’s shield,
a perfect circle. The heavy spear pierced through it,
went straight through the fine body armour, through the shirt
which covered Alexander’s naked flesh.
But Paris twisted to the side, evading a black fate. [360]
Pulling out his silver-studded sword, the son of Atreus 400
raised it and struck the crest of Paris’ helmet.
But the sword shattered into three or four pieces,
falling from his hand. The son of Atreus, in vexation,
looked up into wide heaven, crying out:

“Father Zeus,
what god brings us more trouble than you do?
I thought I was paying Alexander
for his wickedness, but now my sword
has shattered in my fist, while from my hand
my spear has flown in vain. I haven’t hit him.”

As Menelaus said these words, he sprang forward, 410
grabbing the horse hair crest on Paris’ helmet,
twisting him around. He began dragging Paris off,
back in the direction of well-armed Achaeans. [370]
The fine leather strap stretched round Paris’ soft neck,
right below his chin, was strangling him to death.
At that point Menelaus would have hauled back Paris
and won unending fame, if Aphrodite, Zeus’ daughter,
had not had sharp eyes. Her force broke the ox-hide strap,
leaving Menelaus clutching in his massive hands
an empty helmet. Whipping it around, Menelaus 420
hurled the helmet in among well-armed Achaeans.
His loyal companions retrieved it. He charged back,
with his bronze spear, intent on killing Alexander.
But Aphrodite had snatched Paris up—for a god [380]
an easy feat—concealed him in a heavy mist,
and placed him in his own sweetly scented bedroom.

Then Aphrodite went to summon Helen.
She found her on the high tower, in a crowd
among the Trojan women. She clutched Helen
by her perfumed dress, twitched it, then addressed her, 430
in the form of an old woman, a wool carder,
someone who used to live in Lacedaemon,
producing fine wool, a woman Helen really liked.
In this shape, divine Aphrodite spoke to Helen:

“Alexander is asking you to come back home. [390]
He’s in the bedroom, on the carved-out bed,
his beauty and his garments glistening.
You wouldn’t think he’s just come from some fight.
He looks as if he’s going to a dance,
or if he’s sitting down right after dancing.” 440

Aphrodite spoke, stirring emotion in Helen’s heart.
Noticing the goddess’ lovely neck, enticing breasts,
her glittering eyes, Helen was astonished.

“Goddess, why do you wish to deceive me so?
Are you going to take me still further off, [400]
to some well-populated city somewhere
in Phrygia or beautiful Maeonia,
because you’re in love with some mortal man
and Menelaus has just beaten Paris
and wants to take me, a despised woman, 450
back home with him? Is that why you’re here,
you and that devious trickery of yours?
Why don’t you go with Paris by yourself,
stop walking around here like a goddess,
stop guiding your feet toward Olympus,
and lead a miserable life with him,
caring for him, until he makes you his wife [410]
or slave. I won’t go to him in there—
that would be shameful, serving him in bed.
Every Trojan woman would revile me afterwards. 460
Besides, my heart is hurt enough already.”

Divine Aphrodite, angry at Helen, answered her:

“Don’t provoke me, you obstinate girl.
I might lose my temper, abandon you,
and hate you just as much as I have loved you.
I could make Trojans and Danaans hate you, too.
Then you’d suffer death in misery.”

Aphrodite spoke. Helen, born from Zeus, was too afraid.
She covered herself in her soft white linen shawl,
went off in silence, unnoticed by all the Trojan women. 470
With goddess Aphrodite in the lead, [420]
they came to Alexander’s lovely house.
There the attendants quickly set about their work.
Helen, goddess among women, went to her room upstairs,
where laughter-loving goddess Aphrodite
picked up a chair and carried it for Helen.
She placed it facing Paris. Helen, child of Zeus,
who bears the aegis, sat down. With eyes averted,
she began to criticize her husband:

“You’ve come back from the fight. How I wish 480
you’d died there, killed by that strong warrior
who was my husband once. You used to boast
you were stronger than warlike Menelaus, [430]
more strength in your hands, more power in your spear.
So go now, challenge war-loving Menelaus
to fight again in single combat.
I’d suggest you stay away. Don’t fight it out
man to man with fair-haired Menelaus,
without further thought. You might well die,
come to a quick end on his spear.” 490

Replying to Helen, Paris said:

Wife,
don’t mock my courage with your insults.
Yes, Menelaus has just defeated me,
but with Athena’s help. Next time I’ll beat him. [440]
For we have gods on our side, too. But come,
let’s enjoy our love together on the bed.
Never has desire so filled my mind as now,
not even when I first took you away
from lovely Lacedaemon, sailing off
in our sea-worthy ships, or when I lay with you 500
in our lover’s bed on the isle of Cranae.
That’s how sweet passion has seized hold of me,
how much I want you now.”

Paris finished speaking.
He led the way to bed. His wife went, too.
The two lay down together on the bed.

Atreus’ son paced through the crowd, like a wild beast,
searching for some glimpse of godlike Alexander. [450]
But no Trojan nor any of their famous allies
could reveal Alexander to warlike Menelaus.
If they’d seen him, they had no desire to hide him. 510
For they all hated Paris, as they hated gloomy death.
Agamemnon, king of men, addressed them:

“Listen to me, Trojans, Dardanians, allies—
victory clearly falls to war-loving Menelaus.
So give back Argive Helen and her property,
compensate us with a suitable amount,
something future ages will all talk about.” [460]

As he finished speaking, the other Achaeans cheered.

Notes

*The Pygmies in Greek mythology were a race of small people who were constantly at war with the cranes who migrated to their territory (they should not be confused with the actual African pygmies about whom the Greeks had no sure knowledge).

*Alexander is another name for Paris, prince of Troy.

 

 

 


Book Four

The Armies Clash

[The Council of the Gods on Olympus; Zeus sends Athena to break the truce; Athena persuades Pandarus to fire an arrow at Menelaus; Menelaus is wounded; Machaon tends to Menelaus; Agamemnon tours the battlefield rallying his troops; the battle starts again]

[Last revised on July 13, 2008]

[Note that the line numbers in square brackets refer to the Greek texts]

The gods all sat assembled in the golden courtyard,
with Zeus there, too. Gracious Hebe went among them,
pouring nectar. They toasted each other in golden cups,
as they looked out on Troy. Then Zeus, son of Cronos,
wishing to irk Hera with a sarcastic speech,
addressed them in deviously provoking words:

“Menelaus has two goddesses
assisting him, Hera of Argos
and Athena of Alalcomene.
But they sit far away, looking on, 10
enjoying themselves, while Aphrodite,
who loves laughter, helps Paris all the time, [10]
protecting him from death. Now, for instance,
she’s just rescued him from certain death.
For war-loving Menelaus was the victor,
no doubt of that. But why don’t we discuss
how this warfare is going to finish up—
whether we should re-ignite harsh combat,
this horrific strife, or make both sides friends.
If this second option pleases all of us, 20
if we find it sweet, then king Priam’s city
remains inhabited, and Menelaus
takes Argive Helen home with him.”

Athena and Hera sat together muttering, [20]
plotting trouble for the Trojans. Angry at Zeus,
her father, Athena sat there silently,
so enraged she didn’t say a word. But Hera,
unable to contain her anger, burst out:

“Most fearful son of Cronos, what are you saying?
How can you wish to undermine my efforts, 30
prevent them from achieving anything?
What about the sweat which dripped from me,
as I worked so hard, wearing my horses out,
gathering men to wipe out Priam and his children.
Go ahead then. But all we other gods
do not approve of what you’re doing.”

Then cloud-gatherer Zeus, irritated, said to her: [30]

“Dear wife, what sort of crimes have Priam
or Priam’s children committed against you,
that you should be so vehemently keen 40
to destroy that well-built city Ilion?
If you went through its gates or its huge walls,
you’d gorge on Priam and his children,
other Trojans, too, swallow their flesh raw.
That’s what you’d do to slake your anger.
Do as you wish. We shouldn’t make this matter
something you and I later squabble over,
a source of major disagreements.
But I’ll tell you this—keep it in mind.
Whenever I get the urge to wipe out 50 [40]
some city whose inhabitants you love,
don’t try to thwart me. Let me have my way.
I’ll give in to you freely, though unwillingly.
For of all towns inhabited by earth’s peoples,
under the sun, beneath the heavenly stars,
sacred Ilion, with Priam and his people,
expert spearmen, stands dearest in my heart.
My altar there has always shared their feasts,
with libations and sacrificial smoke,
offerings we get as honours due to us “ 60

Ox-eyed Hera then said in reply to Zeus: [50]

“The three cities I love the best by far
are Argos, Sparta, and Mycenae,
city of wide streets. Destroy them utterly,
if you ever hate them in your heart.
I won’t deny you or get in your way.
If I tried disagreeing with such destruction,
my hostile stance would be quite useless.
For you are far more powerful than me.
But my own work must not be wasted, 70
worth nothing. I’m a god, the same race as you—
I’m crooked-minded Cronos’ eldest daughter.
Another thing—in addition to my birth—
I’m called your wife, and you rule all immortals. [60]
In this matter, then, let’s both support
each other’s wishes—you mine, I yours.
Other gods will follow our example.
Instruct Athena to go immediately
where Trojans and Achaeans carry on
their bitter conflict. There she should try 80
to get the Trojans to break their oaths first,
by harming the glorious Achaeans.”

Hera spoke. The father of gods and men agreed.
He spoke up to Athena—his words had wings.

“Go quickly to the Trojan and Achaean troops. [70]
Try to get the Trojans to break their oaths first,
by injuring the glorious Achaeans.”

Zeus’ words stirred up Athena’s earlier desires.
She darted from Olympus summit, sped off,
like a comet sent by crooked-minded Cronos’ son, 90
a beacon for sailors and the wide race of men,
showering sparks behind her as she flew.
That’s how Pallas Athena shot to earth, then dropped
right down into the middle of the soldiers.
Horse-taming Trojans looked on in amazement,
well-armed Achaeans, too. As they saw her, [80]
each man said to the person next to him:

“There’s going to be more war, more wretched combat,
or else great Zeus, who serves up war to men,
will make the troops on both sides friends.” 100

That’s what troops muttered, both Trojan and Achaean.
Athena went down into the Trojan crowd,
looking like Laodocus, Antenor’s son,
a strong spearman, seeking godlike Pandarus.
She met Pandarus, Lycaon’s powerful son,
a fine man, standing there with his sturdy soldiers, [90]
shield-bearing troops who’d come from the river Aesopus.
Standing near him, Athenna spoke. Her words had wings:

“Fiery hearted son of Lycaon,
why not do as I suggest? Prepare yourself 110
to shoot a swift arrow at Menelaus.
You’d earn thanks and glory from all Trojans,
most of all from prince Alexander.
He’d be the very first to bring fine gifts,
if he could see warlike Menelaus,
son of Atreus, mounted on his bier,
his bitter funeral pyre, killed by your arrow.
So come, then, shoot an arrow at him—
at splendid Menelaus. Promise Apollo, [100]
illustrious archer born in Lycia, 120
you’ll make fine sacrifice, some new-born lambs,
once you get back to your city, holy Zeleia.”

Athena spoke and thus swayed his foolish wits.
Pandarus took up his bow of polished horn,
made from a nimble wild goat he himself once shot
under the chest, as it leapt down from a rock.
He’d waited in an ambush and hit it in the front.
The goat fell down onto the rocks, landing on its back.
Horns on its head were sixteen palm widths long.
A man skilled in shaping horn had worked on them, 130 [110]
to fit the horns together to create a bow.
He’d polished it all over, adding gold caps
snugly fitted on the tips. Pandarus stooped down,
strung the bow, then set it on the ground.
His brave companions held their shields before him,
just in case Achaea’s warlike sons attacked them,
before he could shoot Menelaus, Atreus’ warrior son.
Then, removing the cover from his quiver,
Pandarus took out an arrow, a fresh-winged courier
bearing dark agony. Next he quickly set 140
the keen arrow on the string, swearing an oath
to the archer god, Lycian-born Apollo,
that he would make splendid sacrifice, first-born lambs, [120]
when he got back to his city, holy Zaleia.
Gripping the arrow notch, the ox-gut bowstring,
he pulled back, drawing the string right to his nipple,
iron arrow head against the bow. Once he’d bent
that great bow into a circle, the bow twanged,
the string sang out, the sharp-pointed arrow flew away,
eager to bury itself in crowds of men. 150

But, Menelaus, the immortal sacred gods
did not forget you.* Athena, Zeus’ daughter,
goddess of war’s spoils, was first to stand before you,
to ward off the piercing arrow—she brushed it from your skin,
just as a mother brushes a fly off her child [130]
while he lies sweetly sleeping. Athena led the arrow
to the spot where the gold buckles on the belt
rest on the joint in the double body armour.
The keen arrow dug into the leather strap,
passed right through the finely decorated belt, 160
through the richly embossed armour, the body mail,
his most powerful guard, worn to protect his flesh,
by blocking spears and arrows. The arrow pierced it,
going through that mail, and grazed the skin of Menelaus.
Dark blood at once came flowing from the wound. [140]
Just as when some woman of Meonia or Caria
stains white ivory with purple dye, making a cheek piece
for a horse, and leaves it in her room—an object
many riders covet for themselves, a king’s treasure
with double value—horse’s ornament and rider’s glory— 170
that’s how, Menelaus, your strong thighs, shins and ankles
were stained with your own blood below the wound.

When Agamemnon saw dark blood flowing from the wound,
that king of men shuddered. And Menelaus,
who loved war, shuddered, too. But when he saw [150]
barbs of the arrow head, its binding, still outside,
not underneath the skin, his spirits rose, and courage
flowed back into his chest. Mighty Agamemnon,
taking Menelaus by the hand, with a bitter groan,
spoke to his companions, all grieving with him: 180

“Dear brother, that oath I swore to was your death—
letting you step forward to fight Trojans,
as Achaea’s champion. For now the Trojans
have shot you, walking roughshod on their oaths,
that treaty they swore to in good faith. But still,
the oath, lambs’ blood, unmixed libations,
handshakes, things in which we placed our trust—
all these will not go in vain. For if Zeus,
the Olympian, does not fulfil them now, [160]
later on he will. Trojans will pay much— 190
with their heads, their wives, their children.
I know in my mind and heart that day will come
when holy Troy, Priam, and his people,
fine spearmen, will be annihilated,
when high-ruling Zeus, son of Cronos,
who dwells in the sky, angry at their lies,
will shake his dark aegis against them all.
These things will be fulfilled. But, Menelaus,
I’ll be in dreadful pain on your account,
if you die, if Fate now ends your life, 200 [170]
if I return to arid Argos totally disgraced.
For Achaeans immediately will think of home,
leaving Priam and his Trojans here in triumph,
abandoning Helen, an Argive woman.
Your bones will lie rotting here in Trojan soil,
recalling the work we failed to finish.
Then some arrogant Trojan, leaping up
onto the tomb of famous Menelaus,
will shout:

‘May Agamemnon’s anger
always end like this. His Achaean army 210
he brought here in vain. He returned home,
back to his native land in empty ships, [180]
abandoning courageous Menelaus.’

That’s what he’ll say. Before that day
I hope the broad earth will lie over me!”

Then Menelaus, to cheer up Agamemnon, said:

“Take courage. Don’t upset Achaeans.
This sharp arrow is not a fatal hit.
My gleaming belt protected me on top,
as did my body chain mail underneath, 220
forged in bronze.”

Mighty Agamemnon answered:

“My dear Menelaus, I hope that’s true.
But a healer must inspect your wound, [190]
apply his medicine to relieve black pain.”

Agamemnon ordered Talthybius, his godlike herald:

“Talthybius, as quickly as you can,
get Machaon here, son of Asclepius,
healer without equal, to look over
warlike Menelaus, son of Atreus,
shot by someone’s arrow, a skilled archer, 230
Trojan or Lycian—to his glory and our grief.”

Once he heard the order, Talthybius obeyed.
He set off among bronze-clad Achaeans,
seeking heroic Machaon. He saw him there, [200]
standing among the ranks of his strong warriors,
shield-bearing men who’d come with him from Tricca,
land where horses breed. Standing close to him,
Talthybius spoke. His words had wings.

“Son of Asclepius, rouse yourself.
For mighty Agamemnon calls for you 240
to look at warrior Menelaus, Achaea’s leader,
shot by someone’s arrow, a skilled archer,
Trojan or Lycian—to his glory and our grief.”

At Talthybius’ words Machaon’s spirits
were stirred up in his chest. They set off together,
through the wide Achaean army’s crowded ranks.
They came where wounded fair-haired Menelaus lay. [210]
Around him all the noblest men had gathered in a circle.
Machaon, godlike man, strode into the middle,
drew the arrow from the belt without delay, 250
twisting back the sharp barbs as he pulled the arrow out.
He undid the finely decorated belt and armour,
then, under that, the chain mail forged in bronze.
Next, he inspected the wound the keen arrow made,
sucked out the blood, then skilfully applied his potions,
soothing medicines which Cheiron gave his father.*

While the Achaeans were looking after Menelaus, [220]
lord of the loud war shout, Trojan ranks advanced,
shields ready, once more armed with all their weapons,
fully charged with passionate desire for battle. 260
Then you’d not have seen lord Agamemnon sleeping,
hiding, or not keen to fight. Quite the reverse,
he was moving out to combat, to man-ennobling war.
He left his horses and ornate bronze chariot
with his aide Eurymedon, son of Ptolemaeus,
son of Peiraeus, who held the panting horses at a distance.
For Agamemnon had ordered him repeatedly
to keep the horses ready for the time his limbs [230]
grew tired from moving through so many soldiers.
He went around on foot, inspecting warrior ranks. 270
When he saw Danaans coming up with horses,
he’d approach them, shouting words of encouragement:

“Argives, don’t lose your warlike spirit.
Father Zeus will never help those liars.
By attacking us, these Trojans were the first
to violate their oaths. Vultures will gnaw away
their tender flesh, while we lead off their wives
and their dear delicate children to our ships,
when we’ve destroyed their city.”

But when Agamemnon saw soldiers holding back 280 [240]
from hateful war, he’d lash out at them in anger:

“You cowards, worthless Argives, aren’t you ashamed?
What are you doing just standing here,
like dazed fawns exhausted after running
over a large plain, now motionless,
hearts drained of spirit—that’s how you stand,
in a trance, not marching up to battle.
Are you waiting for Trojans to come closer,
up to the fine sterns of our ships beached here,
on the grey sea shore, so you can see 290
if the hand of Cronos’ son will shield you?”

In this way, Agamemnon moved around the army, [250]
exerting his authority throughout the ranks.
Going past crowds of men, he met the troops from Crete,
as they armed themselves around Idomeneus,
their fiery-hearted leader at the front,
fierce as a wild boar. In the rear, Meriones
roused the ranks for action. Looking at these two,
Agamemnon, king of men, rejoiced. He spoke out,
talking straight to Idomeneus in a friendly tone: 300

“Idomeneus, above all Danaans,
with their swift horses, I value you in war,
in all other things, and at banquets,
when Achaea’s finest prepare gleaming wine,
the kind reserved for kings, in mixing bowls.
Other long-haired Achaeans drink their portion, [260]
the amount allotted to them, but your cup
always stands full of wine, as does mine,
so you can drink any time your heart desires.
Set off to battle, then—show you’re a man, 310
the fine man you claimed to be before.”

Idomeneus, Cretan leader, answered Agamemnon:

“Son of Atreus, indeed I’ll prove myself
a loyal comrade to you, as I promised
that first time long ago. But you should rouse
other long-haired Achaean men to action,
so we may fight at once, without delay.
Since Trojans have broken their sworn promises,
death and sorrow will come to them at last, [270]
for they attacked us first, breaking their oaths.” 320

At these words, the son of Atreus felt joy fill his heart.
Then he moved off. As he continued on his way,
he met both men called Ajax, arming themselves
among the hordes of troops, with crowds of men on foot.
Just as a goatherd high on a lookout sees a cloud
coming down across the sea, driven by West Wind’s force—
something which at a distance seems pitch black
as it moves across the sea, driving a huge storm,
and, shuddering at the sight, he takes his flocks
into a cave—that’s how the dense ranks of young men, 330
gods’ favourites, marched around both Ajaxes, [280]
ready for war, all dressed in black, with shields and spears.
Seeing them, powerful Agamemnon felt great joy—
he shouted out to them in words with wings:

“You two Ajaxes,
leaders of the Argives armed in bronze,
for you I have no orders. It’s not right
for me to urge you forward—both of you
are rousing men to fight with all their force.
By Father Zeus, Athena, and Apollo,
I wish such spirit would fill each man’s chest. 340
Then king Priam’s city would soon fall, [290]
we’d capture it, destroy it utterly.”

With these words, he left them there, going on to others.
He met Nestor, clear-voiced orator from Pylos,
setting his troops in order, urging them to fight
under huge Pelagon, Alastor, Chromius,
Haemon, and mighty Bias, his people’s shepherd.
Nestor set horses, chariots, and charioteers in front.
In the rear, he placed his many brave foot soldiers,
a battle wall. In the middle he placed his poorer troops, 350
to force them to keep fighting on against their will. [300]
First, he told the charioteers to control their horses,
to avoid confusing the entire battle line:

“In your eagerness to engage the Trojans,
don’t any of you charge ahead of others,
trusting in your strength and horsemanship.
And don’t lag behind. That will hurt our charge.
Any man whose chariot confronts an enemy’s
should thrust with his spear at him from there.
That’s the most effective tactic, the way 360
men wiped out city strongholds long ago—
their chests full of that style and spirit.”

Thus that old man, skilled in war’s traditions, roused his men. [310]
Seeing him, mighty Agamemnon was elated.
He spoke to Nestor. His words had wings.

“Old man,
how I wish the power in those knees of yours
could match the spirit in your chest, your strength
remain unbowed. But old age, our common enemy,
has worn you down. If only that had happened
to some other man and left you in place, 370
among the ranks of younger warriors.”

To these words Geranian horseman Nestor said:

“Son of Atreus, yes, indeed, I wish
I were the man I used to be back then,
when I cut down lord Ereuthalion.
But gods don’t give men everything at once. [320]
Then I was young. Now old age follows me.
But I’ll be with my horsemen, advising them,
giving them their orders, an old man’s right.
Fighting with spears is for the younger men 380
born after me, men who rely on strength.”

Nestor spoke. Filled with joy, Atreus’ son moved on.
Next, he came upon Menestheus, Peteos’ son,
a charioteer, standing still among Athenians,
famous for their battle cries. Close by them,
resourceful Odysseus stood among his troops,
Cephallenian soldiers, powerful fighting men. [330]
These men had not yet heard the call to battle.
For the armies of horse-taming Trojans
and Achaeans had only just begun to march 390
against each other. So Odysseus’ soldiers
stood waiting for the rest of the Achaeans
to charge against the Trojans and begin the fight.
Seeing this, Agamemnon, king of men, spoke out,
rebuking them. His words had wings.

“Son of Peteos, god-given king, and you,
Odysseus, skilled in sly deception,
crafty minded, why are you holding back,
standing apart? Are you waiting for the rest? [340]
By rights you two should be with those in front, 400
sharing the heat of battle. At banquets,
when we Achaeans feast our senior men,
you hear me call your name out first.
Then you like to have roast meat and cups of wine,
honey sweet, to your heart’s content.
But now you’d be quite happy looking on
if ten Achaean groups were fighting here
with ruthless bronze before your very eyes.”

Resourceful Odysseus, scowling grimly, then replied:

“Son of Atreus, how can you say such things? 410 [350]
How can you claim I’m hanging back from battle
each time we Achaeans rouse ourselves for war
against horse-taming Trojans? If you want,
if it’s of interest to you, then you’ll see
Telemachus’ dear father battling
horse-taming Trojans at the very front.
What you’ve been saying is clearly nonsense.”

Mighty Agamemnon saw the anger in Odysseus.
He smiled at him and took back what he’d just said:

“Odysseus, you resourceful man, 420
divinely born son of Laertes,
I’m not finding serious fault with you.
I’m issuing no orders to you.
I know that spirit in your loyal chest [360]
is well disposed. We both are of one mind.
If I’ve said something bad we’ll make it good.
May the gods bring all of this to nothing.”

With these words, Agamemnon left Odysseus there,
moving on to other men. He met Diomedes,
Tydeus’ high-spirited son, standing by his horses 430
and his well-made chariot. Beside him stood Sthenelus,
son of Capaneus. Seeing them, Agamemnon
spoke out in rebuke. His words had wings.

“Alas, Diomedes,
son of fiery-hearted, horse-taming Tydeus, [370]
why are you hiding, just watching battle lanes?
Tydeus was not a man to shirk like this.
He fought his enemies in front of his companions.
That’s what they say, those who saw him work.
I never saw him for myself. People claim
he ranked above the rest. Once he came to Mycenae 440
as a peaceful guest with godlike Polyneices,
mustering men to assault the sacred walls of Thebes.
They begged us to give them worthy comrades.
Mycenaeans, willing to comply, agreed. [380]
But then Zeus later changed their minds,
revealing an unlucky omen to them.
So Tydeus and Polyneices left.
On their way, they reached the river Asopus,
its lush grassy meadows full of reeds.
Sent by Achaeans as envoy to Thebes, 450
Tydeus went there. He found Cadmeans
feasting in large numbers in the palace,
home of great Eteocles.* Though a stranger,
all by himself in that Cadmean crowd,
chariot fighter Tydeus was not afraid.
He challenged them in various contests.
Athena helped, so he won them all with ease. [390]
Horse-breaking Cadmeans were upset with him.
They organized a strong ambush against him
as he returned—fifty young men, with two leaders, 460
that godlike hero Maeon, Haemon’s son,
and warlike Polyphontes, son of Autophonus.
But these men came to fatal shameful ends.
For Tydeus killed them, all but one.
He let Maeon go home, sent him away,
in obedience to an omen from the gods.
That’s the man Aetolian Tydeus was.
But his son is a lesser man than he,
though better when it comes to talking.” [400]

Mighty Diomedes did not reply to Agamemnon’s words, 470
shamed at the rebuke from a king whom he respected.
But Sthenelus, son of famous Capaneus, answered:

“Son of Atreus, don’t spread lies. You know the truth.
We claim we’re far better than our fathers.
We captured Thebes, city of seven gates,
leading smaller forces over stronger walls,
trusting signs sent by the gods and Zeus’ aid.
The others died through their own foolishness.
So don’t give our fathers honours high as mine.”

Powerful Diomedes, frowning, spoke to Sthenelus: 480 [410]

“My friend. Stay quiet. Follow my advice.
For I’m not hurt that Agamemnon,
the army’s shepherd, urges armed Achaeans
on to battle. For he will get the glory,
if Achaeans annihilate the Trojans
and capture sacred Ilion. And he’ll get
great sorrow, if Achaeans are wiped out.
But come, let’s get our two minds working
to rouse our spirits for this coming fight.”

Diomedes spoke. Then with his weapons he jumped 490
from his chariot down to the ground. Around his chest
the bronze rang fearfully, as he moved into action, [420]
a sound to make even brave warriors afraid.

Just as thundering ocean surf crashes on the sand,
wave after wave, driven by the West Wind’s power,
one wave rising at sea, then booming down on shore,
arching in crests and crashing down among the rocks,
spewing salt foam, so then Danaan ranks,
row after row, moved out, spirits firmly set on war.
Each leader issued his own orders to his men. 500
The rest marched on in silence. You’d never think
such a huge army could move out with its voice [430]
buried in those chests, in silent fear of their commanders.
As they marched, the polished armour on them glittered.

As for the Trojans, they were like thousands of ewes
standing in a rich man’s farm, bleating constantly,
waiting for someone to come and collect white milk,
as they hear lambs call. Just like that, the din rose up
throughout the widespread Trojan force. They shared no words—
they had no common language, but mixtures of tongues, 510
with men from many lands. Ares urged the Trojans on,
while bright-eyed Athena kept rousing the Achaeans.
With them came Terror, Fear, and tireless Strife, [440]
sister and companion of man-destroying Ares—
at first small in stature, she later grows enormous,
head reaching heaven, as she strides across the earth.
Strife went through crowds of soldiers, casting hatred
on both sides equally, multiplying human miseries.

When the two armies came to one common ground,
they smashed into each other—shields, spears, fierce angry men 520
encased in bronze. Studded shields bashed one another.
A huge din arose—human cries of grief and triumph, [450]
those killing and those killed. Earth flowed with blood.
Just as streams swollen with melting snows pour out,
flow downhill into a pool, and meet some torrent
from a great spring in a hollow gully there,
and the shepherd in the distant hills hears the roar—
so the shouts and turmoil resounded then from warriors,
as they collided.

Antilochus was the first to kill a man—
a well-armed Trojan warrior, Echepolus, 530
son of Thalysius, a courageous man,
who fought in the front ranks. He hit his helmet crest,
topped with horsehair plumes, spearing his forehead. [460]
The bronze point smashed straight through the frontal bone.
Darkness hid his eyes and he collapsed, like a tower,
falling down into that frenzied battle. As he fell,
powerful Elephenor, son of Chalcodon,
courageous leader of the Abantes, seized his feet,
and started pulling him beyond the range of weapons,
eager to strip him of his armour quickly. 540
But Elephenor’s attempt did not go on for long.
Great-hearted Agenor saw him drag the dead man.
He stabbed Elephenor with his bronze spear,
right in his exposed side, where his shield left him
vulnerable as he bent down. His limbs gave way,
as his spirit left him. Over his dead body, [470]
Trojans and Achaeans kept fighting grimly on,
attacking like wolves, man whirling against man.

Then Ajax, son of Telamon, hit Simoeisius,
Anthemion’s son, a fine young warrior. 550
He was born on the banks of the river Simoeis,
while his mother was coming down Mount Ida,
accompanying her parents to watch their flocks.
That’s why the people called him Simoeisius.
But he did not repay his fond parents for raising him.
His life was cut short on great Ajax’s deadly spear.
As he was moving forward with the men in front, [480]
Ajax struck him in the chest, by the right nipple.
The bronze spear went clean through his shoulder.
He collapsed in the dust, like a poplar tree, 560
one growing in a large well-watered meadow,
from whose smooth trunk the branches grow up to the top,
until a chariot builder’s bright axe topples it,
bends the wood, to make wheel rims for a splendid chariot,
letting the wood season by the riverbank.
That’s how godlike Ajax chopped down Simoeisius,
son of Anthemion.

Then Antiphus, Priam’s son,
with his shining helmet, hurled his sharp spear at Ajax [490]
through a crowd of men. He missed Ajax, but hit Leucus,
a brave companion of Odysseus, in the groin, 570
as he was dragging Simoeisius away.
His hands let go. He fell down on the corpse.
Enraged at Leucus’ slaughter, Odysseus strode up,
through the front ranks, armed in gleaming bronze. Going in close,
he took his stand. Looking round, he hurled his glittering spear.
As he threw, Trojans moved back, but the spear found a mark.
It hit Democoön, Priam’s bastard son, who’d come
from Abydos, where he bred horses for their speed. [500]
Angry for his friend, Odysseus speared him in the temple.
The sharp bronze pressed on through the other side, 580
coming out his forehead. Darkness fell on his eyes,
and he collapsed with a crash. The armour on him echoed.

Trojans in the front ranks, among them noble Hector,
backed away. Raising a huge shout, the Argives
hauled off the corpses and charged ahead much further.

Looking down from Pergamus, Apollo grew annoyed.
He called out to the Trojans, shouting:

“Charge ahead, you horse-taming Trojans.
Don’t make Argives happy. Their skin’s not made [510]
of stone or iron. Once you strike at them 590
it can’t stop flesh-ripping bronze. And Achilles,
son of lovely Thetis, isn’t in this fight.
He’s sitting by his ships, nursing his anger.”

So the fearsome god spoke out from the city.
Athena Tritogeneia, mighty Zeus’ daughter,
rushed among Achaeans, urging companies on,
if she saw men holding back, hesitant to fight.*

Death then came to Diores, son of Amarynceus.
He was hit by a jagged rock on his right shin,
beside the ankle. It was thrown by Peirous, 600
son of Imbrasus, captain of the Thracians, [520]
who’d come from Aenus. The cruel rock crushed both tendons
and the bone. He fell onto his back down in the dust.
There he reached out with both hands for his companions.
His spirit left his body with each gasp he took.
Peirous, who’d thrown the rock, ran up and speared his gut.
His bowels spilled out onto the ground. Darkness hid his eyes.

As Peirous moved off, Thoas, an Aetolian, hit him,
his spear striking him above the nipple. The bronze spear point
bit into his lungs. Thoas moved in to close quarters, 610
pulled the heavy spear out from his chest, drew his sharp sword, [530]
then drove it straight into the middle of his belly,
destroying Peirous’ life. But Thoas couldn’t strip
the armour off. For Peirous’ companions,
Thracian men whose hair is piled atop their heads,
rallied round, holding out long spears, forcing Thoas
away from them. Thoas was big, strong, and brave,
but he fell back, shaken. And so those two warriors
lay stretched out in the dirt beside each other—
one Thracian chief, one captain of bronze-clad Epeians. 620
And many other men lay dead around them.

At that point, no man who joined in the battle there
could take it lightly, not even one who strolled unhurt [540]
through the middle of the fight, untouched by that sharp bronze,
with Pallas Athena escorting him by hand,
shielding him from flying weapons. For on that day,
many Trojans and Achaeans lay there side by side,
stretched out together, face down in the dust.

Notes

*At this point the narrator unexpectedly addresses one of the characters in the story with the word “you.” While this feature of the style is not particularly common, it does occur from time to time.

*Cheiron (or Chiron) in Greek mythology was a centaur (a creature with the torso, arms, and head of human being and the body and legs of a horse). He was famous for his intelligence and knowledge of medicine.

*The Cadmeans are the citizens of Thebes, taking their name from Cadmus, the founder of the city.

*Tritogeneia is a common epithet for Athena. Its precise meaning is unclear (“Trito born”).

 

 

 


Book Five

Diomedes Goes to Battle

[Athena inspires Diomedes with special powers; Athena takes Ares from the battle; Achaean leaders kill many Trojans; Diomedes' special glory on the field; Pandarus hits Diomedes with an arrow; Athena restores Diomedes, who continues his battle frenzy; Aeneas and Pandarus move out against Diomedes; Diomedes kills Pandarus, wounds Aeneas; Aphrodite saves Aeneas; Sthenelus captures Aeneas' horses; Diomedes attacks and wounds Aphrodite, who returns to Olympus; Diomedes threatens Apollo; Apollo heals Aeneas; Sarpedon complains to Hector; the battle continues; Sarpedon kills Tlepolemus, but is wounded; Athena and Hera go down to the battlefield; Athena and Diomedes attack and wound Ares; Ares returns to Olympus

Then Pallas Athena gave Diomedes, son of Tydeus,
strength and courage, so among all Argives,
he’d stand out and win heroic glory.
She made his helmet blaze with tireless flames,
his shield as well—like a late star in summer
which shines especially bright, newly risen from its bath
in Ocean’s streams. Around his head and shoulders
the goddess put a fiery glow, then drove him forward,
right into the middle of the strife, the killing zone,
where most warriors fight.

Among the Trojans 10
was a rich and honourable man called Dares,
priest of Hephaestus. He had two sons—Phegeus [10]
and Idaios—both very skilled in all aspects of war.
Moving forward in their chariot to the front,
these two charged Diomedes, who was on foot,
staying on the ground. When they were at close range,
Phegeus was the first to hurl his long-shadowed spear.
The spear point flew by Diomedes’ left shoulder—
it missed him. Tydeus’ son then threw his spear.
The weapon did not leave his hand and miss the target. 20
It hit Phegeus right between the nipples
and knocked him from his splendid chariot.
Idaios jumped out and ran off from his horses. [20]
He didn’t dare protect his slaughtered brother’s corpse.
Even so, he wouldn’t have escaped black doom,
but Hephaestus saved him with a dark cloud cover,
so his aged father wouldn’t waste away with grief.
Tydeus’ son, great Diomedes, drove the horses off,
then gave them to his comrades to take back to the ships.
When great-hearted Trojans saw those two sons of Dares— 30
one shunning battle, one dead beside his chariot—
all their hearts were stirred.

Then Athena, eyes glittering,
took her brother, headstrong Ares, by the hand, [30]
and said to him:

“Ares, Ares, insatiable man-killer,
destroyer of cities, why don’t we leave
Trojans and Achaeans to fight it out?
Father Zeus will make one group victorious.
Let’s withdraw, avoiding Zeus’ anger.”

With these words, she led headstrong Ares from the battle,
then sat him down by Scamander river bank. 40

Danaans then began to push the Trojans back.
Each leader killed his enemy. First, Agamemnon,
king of men, threw huge Odius, chief of the Halizoni,
from his chariot. His spear first struck him in the back, [40]
between the shoulder blades, as he turned to flee.
It drove clean through his chest. Odius pitched forward
with a thud, his armour rattling round him as he fell.
Idomeneus slaughtered Phaestus, son of Borus,
a Meonian, who’d come from fertile Tarne.
With his long spear, skilful Idomeneus struck him 50
in his right shoulder, as he climbed in his chariot.
Dreadful darkness came and gathered Phaestus in.
Those attending Idomeneus stripped the armour.
Then with his sharp spear Menelaus, son of Atreus,
killed Scamandrius, son of Strophius, a huntsman. [50]
Artemis herself had taught him how to shoot
every animal raised in the mountain forests.
But archer Artemis was no help to him then,
no more than was his expertise in archery,
at which he’d been pre-eminent in former times. 60
For fine spearman Menelaus, son of Atreus,
caught him as he ran away in front of him,
hitting him in the back between his shoulder blades,
forcing the spear right through Scamandrius’ chest.
He fell head first. His armour rattled round him.

Meriones then killed Phereclus, son of Tecton,
Harmon’s son, whose hands could make fine objects of all sorts. [60]
Pallas Athena had a special love for him.
He was the one who’d made well-balanced ships
for Paris at the start of all the trouble, 70
bringing disaster on the Trojans and on Paris, too,
for he was ignorant of what gods had decreed.
Meriones went after Phereclus as he ran off,
hurled his spear straight into his right buttock.
The spear point pushed on through, below the bone,
piercing his bladder. He fell down on his knees,
screaming. Then death carried him into its shadows.

Then Meges killed Pedaeus, Antenor’s bastard son.
Theano had raised him with all care, loving him [70]
as one of her own children, to please her husband. 80
That famous spearman Meges, son of Phyleus,
coming up close, drove a sharp spear in his neck,
into the nape behind his head. The bronze point,
slicing under his tongue, smashed through his teeth.
He fell into the dust, jaws locked on the cold bronze.

Eurypylus, Euaemon’s son, killed lord Hypsenor,
son of proud Dolopion, Scamander’s priest,
a man honoured by his people as a god.
Eurypylus, Euaemon’s splendid son, caught him
as he ran off in front of him. Goingg quickly after him, 90 [80]
Eurypylus struck at Hypsenor’s shoulder—
his sharp sword sliced off Hypsenor’s brawny arm.
The bloody limb fell on the ground. Then death’s black night,
all-powerful fate, moved in and stole away his sight.

Thus these men kept toiling in the battle frenzy.
As for Diomedes, you couldn’t tell where he belonged,
whether among the Trojans or Achaeans.
For he rushed across the plain like a swollen river,
like a swift winter torrent bursting dikes—
no dam put in its wway can hold it back, 100
no barrier of fruitful vineyards check its current, [90]
as all at once it floods when storms from Zeus roar down.
It knocks aside all fine things built by farmers,
hard-working men. That’s how the son of Tydeus
drove the dense ranks of Trojans into mass confusion.
For all their numbers they could not contain him.

Lycaon’s fine son saw Diomedes moving fast
along the plain, pushing Trojan ranks in front of him,
in complete disorder. He quickly bent his bow,
taking aim at Diomedes. He shot an arrow 110
and hit him on his sculpted body armour,
in the right shoulder. The sharp arrow went in there,
kept going, and splattered blood down on the curving metal. [100]
At this Lycaon’s noble son gave out a noisy shout:

“Come on, you brave horse-lashing Trojans.
For the finest of Achaeans has been hurt.
I don’t think he’ll long survive my arrow’s force,
if Apollo, son of Zeus, really was the one
who put it in my heart to leave Lycia.”

That’s what Lycaon’s son cried out, boasting aloud. 120
But his sharp arrow hadn’t killed Diomedes,
who moved back to stand beside his chariot and horses.
He called to Sthenelus, son of Capaneus.

“My friend, son of Capaneus, come on,
get down from the chariot, so you can pull [110]
this sharp arrow from my shoulder for me.”

Diomedes spoke. Sthenelus jumped down on the ground.
Standing beside him, he pulled out the sharp arrow
stuck in his shoulder. Blood seeped through the woven shirt.
Diomedes, expert in war cries, then spoke this prayer: 130

“Hear me, Athena, unwearied daughter
of aegis-bearing Zeus. If you’ve ever
loved my father, stood by his side
in murderous combat, be my friend now.
Grant that I kill this man, that I come
a spear’s throw from the one who hit me
unexpectedly and now boasts about it,
saying I won’t see daylight for much longer.” [120]

As Diomedes prayed, Pallas Athena heard.
She put fresh strength into his legs and upper arms. 140
Standing close by, she spoke. Her words had wings.

“Take courage, Diomedes, in this fight with Trojans.
I’ve put your father’s strength into your chest,
that shield-bearing horseman’s fearless power.
And I’ve removed the filter from your eyes
which covered them before, so now,
you’ll easily distinguish gods from men.
If a god comes here and stands against you,
don’t offer to fight any deathless one, [130]
except for Aphrodite, Zeus’ daughter. 150
If she fights, cut her with your sharp bronze.”

Bright-eyed Athena left. Diomedes charged off,
joining at once those soldiers fighting in the front,
his spirit on fire to battle Trojans, seized by frenzy
three times greater than before. He was like a lion
slightly hurt by a shepherd guarding his sheep flock
out in the wilds, when it jumps the wall into the pen.
But he’s not killed it. The wound rouses the beast’s strength.
The shepherd can’t keep the charging lion from his sheep,
who, left unguarded, panic. Huddled in a mass, 160 [140]
they crowd in on one another. So the lion,
in his hot rage, leaps over the wide sheep-fold wall.
That’s how strong Diomedes went to fight the Trojans
in his angry fury.

First he killed Astynous,
and then Hypeiron, a shepherd of his people.
His bronze spear hit one right above the nipple.
His huge sword struck the other on the collar,
by the shoulder, slicing through the shoulder bone,
severing it from Hypeiron’s neck and back.
He left them there, to chase Abas and Polyidus, 170
sons of old Eurydamas, interpreter of dreams. [150]
The old man didn’t visit them to explain their dreams,
for mighty Diomedes slaughtered both of them.
Then Diomedes went after Xanthus and Thoön,
two sons of Phaenops, both of whom he loved.
Worn down by sad old age, he’d have no other child,
no person to inherit all his property.
Diomedes killed them, took the life they loved,
leaving bitter grief and anguish for their father,
who wouldn’t welcome them back home from war alive. 180
His next of kin thus divided up his assets.
Diomedes then challenged two sons of Priam,
son of Dardanus, both in a single chariot— [160]
Echemmon and Chromius. Just as a lion
leaps onto cattle and snaps necks on the cows,
some heifer grazing in the bushes, so Tydeus’s son
knocked them out of their chariot viciously,
against their will. Then he stripped their armour.
His companions took the horses to the ships.

Aeneas saw Diomedes cutting his way 190
through ranks of soldiers. He charged on through the fight,
the clash of spears, looking for Pandarus.
He met Lycaon’s son, a fine and powerful man.
Standing close by, Aeneas said to him:

“Pandarus, [170]
where’s your bow, your feathered arrows,
your reputation as a splendid archer?
No man can match your expertise in that.
No one in Lycia can claim to be your better.
Come, raise your hands in prayer to Zeus,
then shoot an arrow at that man, whose force 200
now dominates the field, hurting Trojans badly,
hacking limbs from many fine young men,
unless, of course, it is some angry god,
displeased with Trojans’ sacrificial gifts.
It’s hard to stand against a raging god.”

To Aeneas Lycaon’s fine son then replied:

“Aeneas, counsellor to bronze-armed Trojans, [180]
from all I see, I think that man must be
the warlike son of Tydeus. I know him
by his shield, the visor on his helmet, 210
and by looking at his horses. I’m not sure
he’s not a god. But if he’s the man
I think he is, the fierce son of Tydeus,
he could not be charging at us in this way
without help from some god beside him,
an immortal with a covering cloud
around his shoulders, the god who pushed aside
that sharp arrow which struck Diomedes.
For I’ve already shot an arrow at him,
hit his shoulder through that moulded armour. 220
I thought I’d shipped him straight to Hades. [190]
But I didn’t kill him. The man must be
some angry god. But we’ve no horses here,
no chariot for me to chase him in.
In storage in Lycaon’s house somewhere
there are eleven chariots, new ones, too.
They’re beautiful and made just recently,
but covered up with drapes. Beside each one
stand pairs of horses, munching wheat and barley.
When I was coming here, old soldier Lycaon, 230
in his well-built home, gave me much advice.
He told me to take chariots and horses
when I lead Trojans into the hot heart of war. [200]
But I didn’t follow his advice. If I had,
things would have been much better for me.
But I worried about the horses—they’d lack forage
with so many men all crammed together,
and they were used to eating very well.
I left them and came to Troy to fight on foot,
relying on my expertise in archery. 240
But that skill is apparently of little use.
For already I’ve hit two of their best men,
Tydeus’ son and the son of Atreus.
I’ve drawn blood from both of them, it’s true,
but that just made them much more dangerous.
It was a evil time, that day I took [210]
my curved bow off its peg to lead my Lycians
to lovely Troy, a favour for prince Hector.
If I get home and see with my own eyes
my native land, my wife, my large and lofty home, 250
let someone chop my head off on the spot,
if I don’t smash this bow with my own hands
and throw the pieces in the blazing fire.
For me it’s been completely useless.”

Aeneas, leader of the Trojans, then replied:

“Don’t talk like that. Things won’t change at all
until the two of us go out to challenge
Diomedes with a chariot and horses,
until we confront him with our weapons. [220]
Come, get in my chariot. Then you’ll see 260
how good these horses are from Tros’ stock,
skilled in rapid movement on the plain,
in all directions, in pursuit or in retreat.
This pair will take us safely to the city,
should Zeus give victory to Diomedes.
Let’s go. Take the whip and glistening reins.
I’ll leave you the horses, so I can fight.
Or if you fight him, I’ll control the horses.”

Lycaon’s fine son then said in reply:

“Aeneas, you should take the reins yourself, 270 [230]
guide your own horses—for they will pull
your curving chariot that much better
with a driver they’re accustomed to,
if we must flee Tydeus’ son this time.
If they miss your voice, they may shy or panic,
or refuse to charge straight into battle.
Then the son of great-hearted Tydeus
in his attack may kill us both, and lead
these swift horses off. You drive the chariot,
guide your horses. I’ll do battle with him— 280
my spear will give him a sharp welcome.”

They finished talking, climbed up together, and set off,
riding out in a fine chariot, both keen to kill,
driving the swift horses against Tydeus’ son. [240]
Seeing them coming, Sthenelus, Capaneus’ brave son,
at once spoke up to Diomedes—his words had wings.

“Diomedes, son of Tydeus, my heart’s
true friend, I see two men approaching,
eager to attack you, two powerful men,
an outstanding team. One’s Pandarus, 290
the skilful archer, who boasts he’s Lycaon’s son.
The other is Aeneas, proud Anchises’ son,
that’s his claim. His mother’s Aphrodite.
So come, let’s retire with the horses,
in case our quick charge through front lines
ends up costing you your precious life.” [250]

Strong Diomedes, with a scowl, answered Sthenelus:

“Don’t talk of moving back. For I know well
you won’t persuade me. By birth it’s not in me
to shirk war or seek refuge. My spirit’s strong. 300
Nor am I keen to climb up in the chariot.
I’ll go to fight them as I am, on foot.
Pallas Athena does not allow me
to withdraw in fear. Their horses may be fast,
but they’ll not carry them both back again,
away from us, even if one escapes.
But I will tell you this—keep it in mind—
if Athena, that clever schemer, gives me [260]
great glory and I do kill them both,
then you must hold our swift horses here, 310
tying these reins up to the chariot rail.
Remember to run down Aeneas’ team,
then drive those horses from the Trojans
to well-armed Achaeans. For those horses
come from the stock that wide-seeing Zeus
gave Tros, payment for Ganymede, his son.*
They’re the finest horses under the sun,
beneath the light of day. Anchises,
king of men, got some of that line by stealth,
putting his mares into Laomedon’s herd 320
without his knowledge. Six of those horses [270]
became the breeding stock on his estate.
He kept four of them in his own stable
and gave Aeneas two, horses so fierce,
they scatter men before them. If we can,
we’ll catch these two, win ourselves great glory.”

As they talked to each other of their strategy,
the fast horses quickly brought the two men closer.
Lycaon’s worthy son spoke first, shouting out:

“Great spirited, warlike son of Tydeus, 330
that noble man, I see that my sharp arrow,
a bitter shaft, did not destroy you.
So now I’ll try to hit you with my spear.”

He spoke, balanced his long-shadowed spear, and threw it. [280]
The spear hit the son of Tydeus on his shield.
The bronze point pierced it, but stopped at the body armour.
Seeing that, Lycaon’s fine son let out a mighty cheer:

“You’re hit, right in the ribs. You won’t last long.
I think you’ve given me a glorious triumph.”

Unperturbed, powerful Diomedes said to him: 340

“You’re wrong. You haven’t hit me. In my view,
this matter won’t end for the two of you,
until one of you falls dead, and his blood
satisfies in full hard warlike Ares.”

That said, he threw his spear. Athena guided it [290]
straight to Pandarus’ nose, directly by the eyes.
It smashed through his white teeth. The tireless bronze
sliced through his tongue at its root, coming out his chin,
right at the tip. Pandarus fell from the chariot,
his brightly shining armour rattling round him. 350
The swiftly running horses swerved aside.
Then and there his life-force, his spirit, left him.
Aeneas then leapt down with his long spear and shield,
fearing Achaeans would somehow haul away the corpse.
He made a stand by Pandarus, like a lion,
confident of its strength. He held his spear in front,
his round shield, too, with fearful shouts, fiercely eager [300]
to kill anyone who came up to confront him.
The son of Tydeus picked up a stone, a massive rock
which no two men now alive could lift. He threw it 360
all by himself with ease. It hit Aeneas’ hip,
where thigh meets pelvis, what people call the hip joint.
The boulder smashed the socket and both tendons round it.
The rough edges on the rock scraped off his skin.
Falling to his knees, warlike Aeneas stayed down,
supporting himself with his strong hand on the ground.
Black night came down and covered both his eyes. [310]
Aeneas, king of men, would have perished there,
if Aphrodite, Zeus’ daughter, hadn’t seen him right away.
She was his mother—she’d conceived him with Anchises, 370
while he was tending cattle. Wrapping her white arms
around the son she loved, she hid him in the folds
of her bright gown, to ward off any spears,
should some Danaan driving with swift horses
hurl a spear into his chest and take his life.
She then began to carry her dear son from the fight.

Meanwhile, Sthenelus, son of Capaneus,
did not forget what Diomedes, skilled in war cries, [320]
told him. He pulled his sure-footed horses to one side,
beyond the fight, tying the reins onto the rail, 380
and then went after those fine-maned horses of Aeneas.
He drove the animals away from Trojan lines
towards well-armed Achaeans. There he gave them
to his dear companion Deïpylus, whom he esteemed
above all others the same age as himself,
since they both thought alike. He instructed him
to take them to the hollow ships. Then brave Sthenelus
climbed back into his chariot, grabbed the shining reins,
and raced the strong horses back, keen to rejoin Diomedes.

But Diomedes with his ruthless bronze had gone 390 [330]
to run down Aphrodite—knowing she was not a god
who could do much in battle, not one of those
who control men’s wars. She was no Athena,
no goddess Strife, who destroys whole cities.
He chased her through the crowded battle zone.
When he met her, great-hearted Tydeus’ son
charged, lunging with his sharp spear at Aphrodite.
His weapon wounded her slim wrist, piercing the skin
above her hand, right through her godlike robe,
a garment the Graces had made for her themselves.* 400
Immortal divine fluid then flowed out, ichor,
which circulates only in the blessed gods. [340]
They don’t eat food or drink down gleaming wine.
Hence, they lack blood, and men call them immortal.
Aphrodite screamed wildly and let go of her son.
But Phoebus Apollo caught him in his hands,
then shielded him with a dark cloud, just in case
some fast-riding Danaan threw a spear into his chest
and took away his life. Then Diomedes,
expert in war cries, shouted loudly:

“Daughter of Zeus, 410
leave war and fights alone. Isn’t it enough
for you to fool around with feeble women?
If you start loitering on the battlefield, [350]
I think the war will make you shake with terror,
even though you learn about it from a distance.”

Diomedes spoke. Aphrodite left in agony,
distressed and fearful. Wind-swift Iris came to her,
led her off, out of the crowd, moaning in pain,
her fair skin stained and wounded. She came across
fierce Ares, seated on the left flank of the fight, 420
his spear and his fast horses resting on a cloud.
Falling on her knees, she implored her dear brother,
pleading hard for his golden-bridled horses:

“Dear brother, save me. Give me your horses,
so I may go back up to Mount Olympus,
the immortals’ home. My wound pains me a lot. [360]
A mortal man inflicted this wound on me,
Tydeus’ son, who’d now fight Father Zeus himself.”

At this, Ares gave her his golden-bridled horses.
She climbed up in the chariot, her fond heart suffering. 430
Getting in beside her, Iris picked up the reins,
then lashed the horses forward. They flew on willingly.
At once they reached the gods’ home, steep Olympus.
There wind-swift Iris stopped the horses, untied them
from the chariot, and gave them heavenly fodder.
Aphrodite threw herself into her mother’s lap, [370]
divine Dione, who took her daughter in her arms,
caressed her with her hand, then said:

“My dear child,
which of the heavenly gods has done this,
acted so brazenly against you, as if 440
you’d done something evil in broad daylight?”

Laughter-loving Aphrodite answered her:

“Proud Diomedes, son of Tydeus,
wounded me, for I was carrying off
Aeneas, my dear son, away from battle.
Of all men, he’s the one I love the most.
Now grim war is not just Trojans and Achaeans,
for Danaans fight against immortals, too.” [380]

Dione, queen among the goddesses, replied:

“Be brave, my child, hold on, though you’re in pain. 450
Many of us living on Olympus
have been hurt by men in our attempts
to bring harsh troubles on each other.
Ares suffered, too, when mighty Otus
and Ephialtes, children of Aloëus,
tied him up in powerful manacles,
then kept him prisoner in a brass jar
for thirteen months. Ares would’ve died there,
with all his war-lust, if their step-mother,
fair Eëriboea, had not told Hermes. 460
He stole Ares secretly. Ares was exhausted. [390]
That harsh imprisonment was breaking him.
Hera suffered, as well, when Hercules,
the powerful son of Amphitryon,
hit her right breast with a three-barbed arrow.
She was wracked by pain beyond all cure.
With them huge Hades also suffered
from a sharp arrow, when this same man,
this Hercules, a son of aegis-bearing Zeus,
shot him in Pylos, among the corpses there, 470
inflicting pain. Hades went straight to Zeus
at home on Olympus—his heart enraged,
in agony, the arrow buried deep
in his strong shoulder. He was incensed. [400]
Paeëon healed him with pain-killing herbs
smeared on the wound, for Hades was immortal.
What a wretch he was, that Hercules,
a trouble maker. He didn’t hesitate
to commit bad acts with that bow of his
against the gods who dwell on Mount Olympus. 480
But Athena, the bright-eyed goddess,
prompted Tydeus’ son to go at you.
Still, he’s a fool for not remembering
the man who fights wars against immortals
does not live long. His children have no chance
to prattle to their father at his knee,
once he comes home from war’s grim butchery.
Diomedes is surely powerful— [410]
but he should take care. A greater power than you
may come against him. Then Aegialeia, 490
wise daughter of Adrestus, brave wife
of horse-taming Diomedes, with cries of sorrow
will rouse all her dear household from their sleep,
lamenting the husband whom she married,
the best of the Achaeans.”

As she said this,
with her hand Dione cleaned away the ichor
on Aphrodite’s wrist, healing the hand,
curing Aphrodite of her pain. Looking on,
Athena and Hera teased Zeus, son of Cronos: [420]

“Father Zeus, you won’t get angry with me 500
for what I say, will you? Aphrodite,
trying to coax some new Achaean woman
into running off with one of those Trojans
she loves so much, must have been caressing
some well-dressed Achaean lady and scratched
her delicate hand on a golden brooch.”

When they spoke, the father of gods and men smiled,
called for golden Aphrodite, and then said to her:

“My child, this warfare is not your business.
You should concern yourself with your own work— 510
love, especially erotic love in marriage.
Swift Ares and Athena will take care of this.” [430]

As the gods talked the matter over with each other,
Diomedes, expert at war cries, sought out Aeneas.
Though he knew Apollo himself was shielding him,
he had no fear at all of that great god, pushing on
to kill Aeneas, then strip his fine armour from him.
Three times he charged forward, in a frenzy for the kill.
Three times Apollo pushed back his shining shield.
But when for the fourth time he came on like a god, 520
Apollo, the far shooter, in a terrifying voice, cried out:

“Take care, son of Tydeus. Go back. [440]
Don’t think you’re equal to the gods.
The race of men who walk upon the ground
can never match the race of deathless gods.”

At these words, the son of Tydeus drew back somewhat,
avoiding the anger of Apollo, the far shooter.
Apollo put Aeneas some distance from the fight,
on sacred Pergamus, where his temple stood.
There, in the large shrine, Leto and Artemis, 530
the archer goddess, healed Aeneas, restoring him
to his former power and magnificence.
Apollo of the silver bow then made an image, [450]
a copy of Aeneas, with matching armour,
around which Trojans and brave Achaeans fought,
hacking away at ox-hide covering their chests,
at the round shields or smaller shields with fringes.
Phoebus Apollo then called to foolhardy Ares:

“Ares, Ares, you bloodstained man-killer,
can’t you return to Diomedes 540
and remove him from the battle? Right now,
he’d stand and fight with Father Zeus himself.
First, he wounded Aphrodite on the wrist,
fighting at close quarters. Then he flung himself,
like some god, at me.”

After saying this,
Apollo took a seat high up on Pergamus. [460]
Murderous Ares went in among the Trojan ranks,
inspiring the troops. In the shape of Acamas,
Thracian leader, he yelled at Priam’s royal sons:

“You sons of Priam, that god-nurtured king, 550
why are you still allowing the Achaeans
to keep slaughtering your troops? Are you waiting
until they fight by the well-built city gates?
There lies great-hearted Anchises’ son,
Aeneas, whom we honour as we do prince Hector.
Come, let’s save our brave comrade from the battle roar.”

Ares’ words gave each man courage and blood-zest for war. [470]
Then Sarpedon spoke to Hector, bitterly complaining:

“Hector, where’s that courage you used to have?
You kept claiming you could guard the city 560
on your own, without your people or your allies,
using your own family and relatives.
Looking round now, I can’t see them here,
any of them. They’ve all taken refuge,
like dogs around a lion. Those of us
who’ve come as allies, we do all the fighting.
I marched here as an ally, travelling far,
for Lycia is a long, long way from here,
by the swirling river Xanthus, where I left
my dear wife, my infant son, much property, 570 [480]
something poor men covet. But for all that,
I urge my Lycian troops to action,
I stand and fight all comers on my own,
when I’ve nothing for the enemy to take.
But you stand around, without urging men
to fight back or defend their wives. Watch out.
You may become a prize yourself—a trophy
for your enemies. You’ll be like a fish
snared in the meshes of a fatal net.
They’ll quickly smash your well-built city. 580
You should be thinking of this day and night, [490]
imploring leaders of your famous allies
to hold on staunchly, thus preventing them
from mounting any serious complaints.”

Sarpedon’s speech stung Hector’s heart. Fully armed,
he quickly jumped down from his chariot to the ground.
Waving two sharp spears, he roamed through all the army,
rousing men to fight, steeling hearts for dreadful war.
Troops rallied once more and turned to face Achaeans.
Argives, too, stood firm. The men did not withdraw. 590
As on the sacred threshing floor wind blows the chaff,
while men stand winnowing the crop, when Demeter, [500]
with her golden hair, separates the grain from chaff
in the rushing breeze, and piles of chaff grow whiter,
so then Achaean troops grew white, covered with dust
stirred up by horses’ hooves. It coloured the sky bronze.
So the chariots came on to battle once again,
wheeled round by drivers’ strong ferocious hands.
Headstrong Ares assisted Trojans in the battle,
concealing them in darkness, roaming everywhere, 600
carrying out his orders from Phoebus Apollo,
god with the golden sword, who’d told him to arouse
the Trojans’ spirits when he saw Pallas Athena [510]
leave the fighting, for she was helping the Danaans.

Apollo then sent Aeneas from his costly shrine,
putting fighting strength into this warrior’s heart,
his people’s shepherd. Aeneas rejoined his friends,
who were overjoyed to see him safe and sound—alive—
approaching with brave spirits. They didn’t question him.
They had too much other work at hand to do. 610
For Apollo, god with the silver bow, and Ares,
the man killer, along with insatiable Strife,
had stirred things up there on the battlefield.

Then the two Ajaxes, Odysseus, and Diomedes
roused Danaans, urging them to battle. [520]
They did not fear the Trojans’ powerful attack
and stood their ground like clouds set in place by Zeus,
son of Cronos, above a range of mountain peaks
on a windless day, quite motionless, while the force
of North Wind and other raging blasts is sound asleep. 620
When these storm winds blow, they scatter shadowy clouds.
That’s the way Danaans held their positions then,
without flinching, without fear. The son of Atreus
moved through the troops and gave out many orders.

“My friends, be men. Let courage fill your hearts.
In the heat of battle remember honour, [530]
each man’s reputation. When men recall
their honour, more troops are saved than slaughtered.
Those who run away lose life and fame.”

Agamemnon spoke, then quickly hurled his spear. 630
He hit a good fighting man, comrade to Aeneas,
great-hearted Deïcoön, son of Pergasus,
whom Trojans honoured as they did king Priam’s sons,
for he was quick to take his place among the best,
the men who do their fighting at the very front.
Mighty Agamemnon’s spear struck against his shield,
but the shield could not hold out—the bronze went through,
piercing Deïcoön’s belt and sinking in his gut.
He fell with a thud, his armour rattling round him. [540]

Then Aeneas killed two of the best Danaans, 640
Crethon and Orsilochus, whose father lived
in well-built Phere, a man of property,
descended from the river Alpheus, whose broad streams
flow through Pylian land. The river bore Orsilochus,
king of many men, and Orsilochus fathered
great-hearted Diocles, to whom were born twin sons,
Crethon and Orsilochus, experts in all aspects of war.
These two, once grown, came with Argives in black ships [550]
to Troy, city rich in horses, to win honour
for Agamemnon and Menelaus, sons of Atreus. 650
Death’s final moment took them in. As two lions,
cared for by their mother in a deep thick forest
on a mountain peak, steal stout sheep and cattle
and plunder people’s farmsteads, until they perish,
killed by sharp bronze in the hands of men, so these two died,
cut down by Aeneas. They fell like lofty pines. [560]

War-loving Menelaus felt pity for these two,
seeing them die. He made his way through the men’s front ranks,
armed in glittering bronze, brandishing his spear.
Ares stirred his battle spirit, planning his death 660
at Aeneas’ hand. But then Antilochus,
son of great-hearted Nestor, saw Menelaus.
He hurried through the foremost ranks, in his concern
for this shepherd of the people, that if he came to grief,
all their efforts would be completely futile.
Menelaus and Aeneas, now faced each other,
with eager hands and spears, ready to begin the fight.
But when Antilochus stood by Menelaus, [570]
Aeneas, though a swift fighter, started to withdraw,
seeing these two men standing their ground together. 670
So Menelaus and Antilochus dragged the corpses
of Crethon and Orsilochus to Achaean troops,
placed the two dead heroes in the hands of friends,
then turned back to fight with those in the front ranks.

Antilochus and Menelaus then killed Pylaemenes,
a man like Ares, leader of the Paphlagonians,
great-hearted, shield-bearing men. The son of Atreus,
famous spearman Menelaus, struck him,
as he stood up in his chariot, hitting him
right on his collar bone. Antilochus hit Mydon, 680 [580]
Atymnius’ noble son, the attendant driver,
as he was wheeling his sure-footed horses round.
He struck him with a rock square on the elbow.
The reins, decorated with rich ivory,
fell from his hands down onto the dusty ground.
Antilochus sprang out and with his sword struck Mydon
on the temple. Gasping with pain, Mydon pitched over,
and tumbled from the well-made chariot headfirst,
his head and shoulders disappearing in the dirt.
For some time he stayed stuck, buried in deep sand, 690
until his horses kicked him flat, level with the dust,
stamping him into the ground, as Antilochus
whipped them on, leading them back to Achaean troops.

Hector saw this from the lines. He ran against them, [590]
shouting wildly, with strong Trojan soldiers in support.
Leading these men came Ares along with fearful Strife,
bringing war’s pitiless and murderous confusion.
Ares worked with a huge spear in his hands, moving round,
sometimes behind Hector, sometimes in front of him.

When Diomedes, skilled in war cries, noticed Ares, 700
he shuddered—just a man crossing a large plain
stops at a raging river rushing to the sea,
looks helplessly at swirling foam, and moves away—
so Tydeus’ son backed off then, saying to his men: [600]

“My friends, we’re so amazed prince Hector
is such a spearman, so courageous, warlike.
But he’s always got some god beside him,
to ward off destruction. Right now, it’s Ares
he’s has with him, looking like a mortal man.
Stay turned towards the Trojans, but fall back. 710
Don’t try to fight it out with gods.”

Diomedes spoke. Trojans then approached much closer.
Hector killed two men, keen warriors—Menesthes
and Anchialus—both riding in a single chariot. [610]
Seeing them fall, great Telamonian Ajax felt pity.
He approached, stood firm, then threw his shining spear.
The spear struck Amphion, son of Selagus,
who owned much property in Paesus, with many crops.
Fate led him to become allied with Priam and his sons.
Ajax, son of Telamon, hit Amphion in the belt. 720
The long-shadowed spear struck hard, low in his gut.
He collapsed with a crash. Noble Ajax ran up
to strip the armour off, but Trojans showered him
with bright, sharp spears. His shield took many hits. [620]
Pushing his heel into the corpse he pulled out his bronze spear,
but the hail of weapons stopped him stripping off
Amphion’s fine armour from his shoulders.
He feared the fierce brave Trojans standing by the corpse,
for many spearmen crowded him and forced him back.
And Ajax, for all his massive size and strength, 730
for all his courage, had to withdraw, shaken.

As these men toiled in frantic battle, powerful fate
drove strong, brave Tlepolemus, son of Hercules,
against godlike Sarpedon. These two men approached, [630]
facing each other at close quarters, son and grandson
of cloud-gathering Zeus. Tlepolemus called out first:

“Sarpedon, counsellor to the Lycians,
what forces you to cower down right here,
quite ignorant in battle? Those who say
you’re aegis-bearing Zeus’ son are liars. 740
You’re far inferior to those men born of Zeus
in times long past. Consider mighty Hercules,
my father. He was quite different, they say—
steadfast, brave, his spirit like a lion.
He came here once for Laomedon’s horses. [640]
With fewer men and only six ships, he sacked
the Trojan city and emptied all its streets.*
But you’ve a paltry spirit, your troops
are withering away. And it’s impossible
you’ll help the Trojans by coming here 750
from Lycia, even if you’re powerful.
I’ll kill you, and you’ll pass through Hades’ gate.”

Sarpedon, Lycian leader, then said in reply:

“Yes, Tlepolemus, Hercules did destroy
sacred Ilion, but through the foolishness
of the city’s king, high-born Laomedon,
who tricked the man who’d worked so well for him. [650]
He didn’t offer Hercules the horses
he’d come so far to get. As for you,
I’ll now see to your death, that fatal blackness. 760
You’ll give me great glory, and your life
you’ll give to famous horseman Hades.”

Sarpedon spoke. Tlepolemus raised his ash spear high.
Then two long spears flew from their hands together.
Sarpedon’s spear hit Tlepolemus right in the neck.
The cruel point kept going. Dark night covered up his eyes.
Tlepolemus’ long spear struck Sarpedon in his left thigh. [660]
Its bloodthirsty point pierced him, aiming for the bone.
On this occasion, Father Zeus held off his fate.
His brave companions carried off godlike Sarpedon, 770
pulled down by the long spear’s weight, as it dragged behind.
No one thought to pull the ash spear from his leg,
so he could walk. They were in such a rush to shift him.

On the opposing side, well-armed Achaeans
carried Tlepolemus away from battle.
Godlike Odysseus noticed them, his spirit steady,
but his fond heart was burning, as he turned over [670]
in his mind, whether to chase after that son of Zeus,
loud thunderer, or stay to kill more Lycians.
But Fate did not decree that brave Odysseus 780
should kill Zeus’ mighty son with his sharp bronze.
Athena turned his heart against that Lycian crowd.
So he killed Coeranus, Alastor, Chromius,
Alcandrus, Halius, Noëmon, and Prytanis.
Lord Odysseus would have killed still more Lycians,
if Hector of the flashing helmet had not seen him, [680]
then gone through the ranks in front, armed in shining bronze,
terrifying Danaans. Sarpedon, son of Zeus,
was glad to see him coming. He implored Hector:

“Son of Priam, don’t let me lie here, 790
a trophy for Danaans. Rescue me.
Let me remain forever in your city,
since it seems I’ll not be going home
to cheer up my dear wife and infant son.”

Hector of the flashing helmet made no reply.
He charged on, eager to force the Argives quickly back, [690]
to massacre large numbers of their soldiers.
God-like Sarpedon’s noble comrades placed him
by a fine oak tree, sacred to aegis-bearing Zeus.
Pelagon, his strong, well-loved attendant, then pushed 800
the ash spear straight out through his thigh. Sarpedon fainted.
A mist fell, clouding his eyes, but soon he breathed again.
North Wind’s breeze revived him, blowing air into his heart,
as his spirit panted, gasping his life away.

Argives weren’t driven back to their black ships by Ares
or by bronze-armed Hector. Nor did they wheel about [700]
to battle Trojans face to face. They kept moving back,
once they realized Ares was with the Trojans.

Among the Argives, who were the first and last men killed
by Hector, son of Priam, and brazen Ares? 810
They were godlike Teuthras, Orestes the charioteer,
Trechus, an Aetolian spearman, Oenomaus,
Helenus, son of Oenops, and Oresbius,
with his glittering belt, a man who lived in Hyle
and kept himself preoccupied with wealth
along the shores of lake Cephisia. Beside him
lived even more Boeotians, owners of rich lands. [710]

White-armed goddess Hera saw Argives being slaughtered
in the thick of battle. She spoke out to Athena.

“Alas, Athena, child of aegis-bearing Zeus, 820
tireless one, we’ve made an empty promise
to Menelaus, that he’d wipe out Troy,
that well-built city, before going home,
if we let murderous Ares rage on like this.
Come, let’s both recall our fighting power.”

Athena, the bright-eyed goddess, agreed with Hera’s words. [720]
So that revered goddess Hera, daughter of great Cronos,
went to prepare her horses with their golden bridles.
Then Hebe quickly checked the chariot’s curved wheels,
bronze with eight spokes each, on axles made of iron, 830
wheel rims made out of imperishable gold,
edged with tires of close-fitted bronze, an amazing sight.
Silver axle boxes revolve on either side.
The body of the chariot has gold and silver strips.
Two rails run round it. The pole is made of silver.
On its end Hebe tied the cross-piece, lovely gold, [730]
then fixed the golden collar straps. Hera, keen for war,
led her swift-footed horses out into their yoke.
Then Athena, daughter of aegis-bearing Zeus,
threw on her father’s porch the embroidered gown 840
which she had made herself with her own hands.
She then put on the robe of cloud-gatherer Zeus
and armed herself with weapons for that wretched war.
She slung across her shoulders the fearsome tasseled aegis,
its borders woven with Fear, Strife, Force, terrorizing Panic, [740]
with the chilling, horrifying and monstrous Gorgon’s head—
the horrifying emblem of aegis-bearing Zeus.
On her head she placed a double-ridged gold helmet,
men from a hundred cities etched upon its four-part crest.
She set foot in her blazing chariot, grasping 850
her huge, strong, heavy spear, with which she kills men,
heroes who annoy her, goddess with a mighty father.
Hera quickly lashed the horses with her whip.
The gates of heaven scraped open on their own.
The Seasons supervise them, for they’re in charge
of great heavenly Olympus, opening up [750]
the dense packed clouds or closing them again.
Through these gates the goddesses led out their horses,
Hera lashing them ahead. They met the son of Cronos,
sitting some distance from the other gods, 860
on the highest crest of many-ridged Olympus.
Hera, white-armed goddess, reined in the horses,
then spoke to Zeus, most high son of Cronos:

“Father Zeus, aren’t you angry with Ares
for killing off those warriors? He’s wiped out
so many Achaean men, good ones, too,
and so rashly. It’s not right. It pains me.
Meanwhile, Aphrodite and Apollo, [760]
with his silver bow, are enjoying themselves,
happy about this madman they’ve unleashed, 870
who has no sense of what’s appropriate.
Father Zeus, would I annoy you very much
if I hurt Ares and chased him from this fight?”

Cloud gatherer Zeus smiled and then said in reply:

“All right, then, do that. But set Athena,
goddess of the battle spoils, against him.
For she’s the one who’s most accustomed
to inflicting nasty pains on Ares.”

White-armed goddess Hera agreed with what Zeus said.
She whipped the horses on. They flew off willingly, 880
mid-way between the starry heaven and earth.
As far as a man on a height can see in the distant haze [770]
as he looks out across the wine-dark sea, that’s how far
gods’ snorting horses vault in just one stride.
When they came to Troy’s two flowing rivers,
where the Simoeis and the Scamander meet,
white-armed goddess Hera stopped the horses,
loosed them from the chariot and hid them in thick cloud.
Simoeis produced ambrosia for them to eat.
The goddesses moved stealthily, like wild pigeons, 890
eager to assist the Argive troops. They reached that place
where most of the bravest men were fighting, in a crowd [780]
by mighty Diomedes, tamer of horses,
like lions who eat raw meat or wild boars whose strength
is not easily exhausted. In that place Hera,
white-armed goddess, stood up, looking just like Stentor,
a great-hearted, loud-throated man, whose voice could shout
with the strength of fifty men. Hera cried out:

“Shame on you, you Argive warriors.
You’re a disgrace, good only for display. 900
When lord Achilles used to go to battle,
the Trojans didn’t dare to venture out
beyond the Dardanian gates. They feared
his mighty spear. But now they’re fighting [790]
well outside the city, by our hollow ships.”

With these words, she roused each man’s heart and spirit.
Bright-eyed Athena quickly moved to Diomedes.
She found that king beside his chariot and horses,
recovering from the wound from Pandarus’ arrow.
The sweat under the wide strap of his round shield 910
was bothering him. The chafing made his arms grow tired.
He was lifting up the strap, wiping off dark blood.
Setting her hand on the chariot yoke, the goddess said:

“Tydeus had a son not much like his father. [800]
He may have been short, but he was a fighter.
When I would not allow him into battle
or to display himself, that time he came
to Thebes alone, far from his Achaeans,
in the middle of all those Cadmeans,
I told him to be quiet at the palace feast. 920
But he possessed a powerful spirit
always active in him. So he challenged
Cadmean young men and beat them easily.
That’s how much I helped him. Now I stand here,
beside you, taking care of you, your friend.
And I’m telling you to fight the Trojans. [810]
But you’re either weary after so much action,
your limbs worn out, or fear has made you timid.
If so, then you’re no son of Tydeus,
the son of warlike Oeneus.” 930

In answer to Athena, mighty Diomedes said:

“I recognize you, goddess daughter
of aegis-bearing Zeus. I’ll speak to you
quite openly, concealing nothing. It’s not
that fear has made me hesitant or anxious.
But I’m remembering your own instructions,
what you laid down. You told me not to fight
face to face with any immortal god,
unless Zeus’ daughter Aphrodite [820]
should come to battle. With my sharp bronze, 940
I was to wound her. I’ve pulled myself back,
and told the other Argives to stay here
since I see Ares dominates the fight.”

Bright-eyed goddess Athena answered him:

“Diomedes, son of Tydeus,
you fill my heart with joy. Don’t fear Ares
or any other immortal deity.
For I’ll give you all the help you need.
But come, first let your sure-footed horses
charge at Ares. Hit him up close. Have no fear 950
of headstrong Ares, that madman, born evil, [830]
that fickle god. Just now he gave his word
to me and Hera too that he would fight
the Trojans and assist the Argives. But now,
he’s forgotten that and helps the Trojans.”

Saying this, Athena grabbed Sthenelus’ hand
and hauled him from the chariot to the ground.
He jumped up at once. The goddess climbed up eagerly
beside lord Diomedes in the chariot.
The oaken axle groaned aloud, weighed down, 960
bearing the fearful goddess and the finest man.
Pallas Athena took up the reins and whip. [840]
First, she led the sure-footed horses against Ares.
He was removing armour from huge Periphas,
Ochesius’ fine son, by far the best of the Aetolians.
Blood-stained Ares was stripping him of all his weapons.
Then Athena put Hades’ helmet on her head,
so she was invisible to mighty Ares.
But man-killing Ares did see Diomedes.
He let the body of huge Periphas lie there, 970
where he’d first killed him and ripped out his spirit.
He strode straight up to horse-taming Diomedes.
When the two came to close quarters and faced each other, [850]
Ares thrust his bronze spear first, over the yoke
and horses’ reins, eager to take Diomedes’ life.
Athena, bright-eyed goddess, hands gripping the reins,
shoved the spear aside, so its thrust was harmless,
above the chariot. Diomedes, skilled in war cries,
then made the second thrust with his bronze spear.
Pallas Athena guided the weapon right to Ares’ gut, 980
the lower part where his waist band went around him.
Diomedes wounded Ares, piercing his fair skin,
then pulled back on his spear. Brazen Ares roared
as loud as the screams of nine or ten thousand men [860]
when they clash in war. Fear seized Achaeans—Trojans, too.
They shuddered. That’s how strong that cry sounded
as it came from Ares, insatiable for war.
Just as a dark mist moves upward from the clouds,
when in hot weather a strong wind arises,
so brazen Ares looked to Tydeus’ son, Diomedes, 990
as the god at once soared up into the clouds,
ascending to wide heaven. Ares, in a rush,
went to the gods’ home, steep Olympus, sat by Zeus,
distressed at heart. He showed Zeus where he’d been wounded, [870]
dripping with immortal blood, then made his complaint.
His words had wings.

“Father Zeus,
aren’t you incensed at this barbarity?
We gods are always suffering dreadfully
at each other’s hands, when we bring men help.
We all lay the blame for this on you. 1000
For you gave birth to that insane young girl,
your destructive daughter, always busy
with some nastiness. All the other gods,
all those on Mount Olympus, do what you say.
And each of us is subject to your will.
But you never punish her in word or deed.
You do nothing, because you gave birth to her
yourself, to Athena, your vicious daughter.* [880]
Just now she urged proud Diomedes,
son of Tydeus, to charge insanely 1010
against deathless gods. First he attacked
Aphrodite and struck her on the wrist.
Then he charged me, even me, like a god.
But my quick feet took me away. If not,
I’d be in lasting pain with the fearful dead,
or have barely lived, wounded by bronze spears.”

Scowling at him, cloud-gatherer Zeus replied:

“You hypocrite, don’t sit there whining at me.
Among the gods who live on Mount Olympus, [890]
you’re the one I hate the most. For you love war, 1020
constant strife and battle. Your mother, Hera,
has an implacable, unyielding spirit.
It’s hard for me to control how she reacts
to what I say. You’re suffering because of her,
through her conniving, that’s what I think.
But I’ll leave you in pain no longer.
You’re my child—your mother and I made you.
But if you’d been born from any other god,
by now you’d be lower than the sons
of Ouranos—you’re so destructive.” 1030

Zeus spoke. He instructed Paeëon to heal Ares.
Paeëon cured him by spreading pain-killing herbs, [900]
for Ares wasn’t born to die. Just as fig juice
added quickly to white milk clots it at once,
as it’s stirred, that’s how fast headstrong Ares healed.
Hebe washed him and clothed him in fine garments.
He sat beside Zeus, son of Cronos, enjoying his splendour.

Athena of Alalcomenae and Argive Hera
returned once more to mighty Zeus’ house,
now they’d stopped man-killing Ares’ slaughter.

Notes

*Ganymede, a young prince of Troy, was so beautiful that Zeus fell in love with him and abducted him to be his cupbearer and erotic companion on Olympus.

*The Graces in Greek mythology were three goddesses of charm and beauty. In some accounts they are daughters of Zeus.

*Hercules killed a sea monster threatening Troy after Laomedon, the king of Troy and father of Priam, agreed to give him the horses Zeus had presented to Laomedon in exchange for Ganymede if he was successful. However, Laomedon reneged on their agreement. Hercules returned some time later with an army, captured Troy, and killed Laomedon and all his sons except Priam.

*Athena was reported to have sprung full grown from the head of Zeus; hence, the idea here that Zeus gave birth to her.

 

 

 


Book Six

Hector and Andromache

[The battle continues; Menelaus captures Adrestus; Agamemnon refuses ransom; Helenus gives advice to Hector; Glaucus and Diomedes prepare to fight; Glaucus tells the story of Bellerophon; Glaucus and Diomedes exchange armour in friendship; Hector goes to Troy, talks with his mother; Hector talks to Paris and Helen; Hector goes home, talks to his housekeeper; Hector meets Andromache and Astyanax; Hector prays for his son's future; Paris rejoins Hector at the gates]

Now the grim war between Trojans and Achaeans
was left to run its course. The battle raged,
this way and that, across the entire plain,
as warriors hurled bronze-tipped spears at one another,
between the Simoeis and Xanthus rivers.

Ajax, son of Telamon, Achaea’s tower of strength,
was the first to break through ranks of Trojans,
punching out some breathing room for his companions.
He hit Acamas, son of Eussorus, a strong brave soldier,
best of the Thracians. Ajax’s spear struck him first 10
on the peak of his horse-plumed helmet. The sharp bronze
drove right into his forehead—dead in the centre— [10]
straight through bone into the brain. Darkness fell on his eyes.

Diomedes, expert in war cries, killed Axylus,
son of Teuthras, a rich man, from well-built Arisbe.
People really loved him, for he lived beside a road
and welcomed all passers-by into his home.
But not one of those men he’d entertained now stood
in front of him, protecting him from wretched death.
Diomedes took the lives of two men—Axylus 20
and his attendant charioteer, Calesius.
So both men went down into the underworld.

Euryalus killed Dresus and Opheltius, [20]
then charged after Aesepus and Pedasus,
whom the naiad nymph Abarbarea bore
to noble Boucolion, son of high-born Laomedon,
his eldest son. His mother bore Pedasus in secre
Bucolion had had sex with the nymph
while tending to his flock. She became pregnant,
then gave birth to two twin sons. Euryalus, 30
son of Mecistus, slaughtered both of them,
destroying their strength and splendid bodies.
Then he stripped the armour from their shoulders.

Next, fierce warrior Polypoetes killed Astyalus.
With his bronze spear Odysseus killed Pidytes from Percote. [30]
Teucer slaughtered lord Aretaon, and Antilochus,
Nestor’s son, with his glittering spear killed Ableros.
Agamemnon, king of men, killed Elatus,
who lived in lofty Pedasus, beside the banks
of the fair-flowing river Satnioeis. 40
Heroic Leitus knocked down Phylacus, as he was fleeing.
And Eurypylus then slaughtered Melanthus.

Menelaus, skilled in war cries, took Adrestus still alive.
His horses had panicked and bolted off across the plain.
They charged into a tamarisk bush and snapped the pole
on the curved chariot, right at the very end. [40]
The horses then ran off towards the city, where others,
panic stricken, were headed, too. Adrestus
rolled out of the chariot beside the wheel,
face down in the dirt. Menelaus, son of Atreus, 50
stood there over him, holding his long-shadowed spear.
Adrestus clutched Menelaus by the knees and begged:

“Take me alive, son of Atreus—you’ll get
good ransom. My father is a wealthy man,
owns lots of things—bronze, silver, well-worked iron.
So he’ll give you a splendid ransom,
if he learns I’m by Achaean ships, alive.” [50]

Adrestus pleaded. Menelaus’ heart in his chest was moved.
He was about to hand Adrestus to his attendant,
to take back captive to the fast Achaean ships. 60
But then Agamemnon came running up to him,
sharply criticizing Menelaus:

“Menelaus, you soft-hearted man,
why are you sparing men’s lives like this?
In your own home, Trojans treated you
exceptionally well, did they not?
So don’t let any one of them evade
a terrible destruction at our hands—
not even the young child still carried
in his mother’s belly. Let no one escape. 70
Let everyone in Troy be slaughtered,
without pity, without leaving any trace.” [60]

With these words, by this appeal to justice,
he changed his brother’s mind. So Menelaus
shoved heroic Adrestus away from him.
Mighty Agamemnon then speared him in the side.
Adrestus fell onto his back. The son of Atreus
placed his heel on his chest and pulled the ash spear out.

Then Nestor addressed the Argives, shouting:

“My friends,
Danaan heroes, comrades of Ares, 80
let no one lag behind to pick up loot,
seeking to reach our ships with all you can.
Let’s kill the enemy instead. Later,
with the corpses on the plain, you’ll have time [70]
to strip off bodies of the slaughtered men.”

With this Nestor stirred each man’s strength and spirit.
Then Achaeans, filled with love of war, would once more
have beaten Trojans, broken by cowardice,
back in flight to Troy, if Helenus, a son of Priam,
by far the best at reading omens, had not spoken out. 90
Standing by Hector and Aeneas, Helenus said:

“Aeneas, Hector, among Trojans and Lycians,
the main weight falls particularly on you,
for you are, in all attacks, the best at fighting,
at strategy. Make a stand right here. [80]
Rally the men before the city gates.
Move around through the entire army,
before men run and fall into their women’s arms.
How that would make our enemies rejoice!
Then, once you’ve restored the spirits 100
in all our ranks, we’ll stand right here
and fight Danaans, no matter how hard pressed.
For then we’ll have no other option.
And you, Hector, go into the city.
Speak to our mother, yours and mine.
Tell her to assemble the old women
at the temple of bright-eyed Athena,
on the city heights. She should take the key,
open the doors of the sacred building,
then place in the lap of the goddess there, 110 [90]
fair-haired Athena, the garment she thinks
loveliest, the greatest in the palace,
the one she likes far above the others.
Tell her to promise Athena she’ll give
twelve heifers in a temple sacrifice,
yearlings, as yet untouched by any goad,
if she will pity Troy, pity the wives
and Trojan children, if she will keep
Tydeus’ son away from sacred Ilion,
that fierce spearman, that mighty warrior, 120
who makes men afraid—in my opinion,
the most powerful of all Achaeans.
We didn’t fear Achilles, chief of men,
like this, although they say a goddess [100]
was his mother. But this man’s fighting rage
has no equal. We can’t match his power.”

Helenus spoke. Hector was convinced by his advice.
At once he jumped down from his chariot to the ground,
clutching his weapons. Brandishing two sharp spears,
he moved through all the army, urging men to fight, 130
rousing their spirits for the harsh brutality of war.
So men wheeled around and faced Achaean soldiers.
Argives then drew back and stopped the slaughter,
thinking that one of the immortal gods had come,
descending from star-lit heaven to help the Trojans,
enabling them to turn themselves around and fight.
Hector issued orders to the Trojans, shouting: [110]

“You proud Trojans, wide-renowned allies,
friends, be men, summon up your fighting strength,
while I go to Troy in person, to instruct 140
the old men of the council and our wives
to pray to the gods and promise sacrifice.”

With these words, Hector of the shining helmet moved away.
As he went, black leather running round the outer edge
on his studded shield struck his neck and ankles.

Then Glaucus, son of Hippolochus, and Diomedes
moved out together between the armies, keen to fight. [120]
When they’d come to close quarters, facing one another,
Diomedes, expert in war cries, was the first to speak:

“Who are you, my dear man, among mortal men? 150
For I’ve never clapped eyes on you before
in those fights where men win glory.
But now you’ve stepped out well beyond the ranks,
showing more courage here than anyone,
standing up to my long-shadowed spear.
Men who face me end up with grieving parents.
If you’re one of the immortal gods
come down from heaven, I won’t fight you.
Even mighty Lycurgus, son of Dryas, [130]
did not live long, once he started battling 160
heavenly gods. He was the one who chased
attendants of the frenzied Dionysus,
forcing them to run by sacred Nysa.
They all threw their holy wands onto the ground,
as murderous Lycurgus with his ox whip
kept beating them. Even Dionysus,
terrified, jumped in the ocean waves.
Thetis embraced him, as he shook with fear,
intimidated by Lycurgus’ threats.
He angered the gods, who live without a care, 170
so the son of Cronos blinded him.
He didn’t live much longer, not once he’d made
all the deathless gods displeased with him. [140]
So I don’t want to battle sacred gods.
But if you’re a mortal man, someone
who eats earth’s fruit, come closer to me,
so you can meet your death more quickly.”

Glaucus, fine son of Hippolochus, replied:

“Son of Tydeus, great-hearted Diomedes,
why ask me about my ancestry? 180
Generations of men are like the leaves.
In winter, winds blow them down to earth,
but then, when spring season comes again,
the budding wood grows more. And so with men—
one generation grows, another dies away.
But if you wish to learn about my family, [150]
so you’re familiar with my lineage,
well, many people know the details.
There is a city in a part of Argos,
land where horses breed—it’s called Ephyra. 190
There Sisyphus lived, craftiest man ever born,
Sisyphus, Aeolus’ son. He had a son,
Glaucus, father of handsome Bellerophon.
The gods made Bellerophon so beautiful
and gave him the best qualities of men.
But Proetus, in his heart, plotted against him,
driving him from Argos, being much stronger,
for Zeus had given royal power to Proetus.
Now, Proetus’ wife, lady Anteia, [160]
desperate to have sex with Bellerophon, 200
wanted him to lie with her in secret.
But fiery Bellerophon refused,
for he possessed an honourable heart.
So Anteia made up lies, telling Proetus,
the king,

‘You’ll be murdered, Proetus,
unless you assassinate Bellerophon,
who wants to have sex with me against my will.’

Proetus was overcome with anger
at what he’d heard, but was reluctant
to kill Bellerophon—in his heart 210
he shrank from such an evil act.
He sent Bellerophon to Lycia,
with a lethal message, coded symbols
written on a folded tablet. These told
many lies about Bellerophon.*
Proetus told him to give the message
to his father-in-law, so he’d be killed. [170]
Bellerophon went off to Lycia,
under safe conduct from the gods.
In Lycia he reached the river Xanthus, 220
and was honoured fully by the Lycian king,
with nine days of welcome entertainment,
nine sacrificial oxen. The tenth day,
when rose-fingered early Dawn appeared,
the Lycian king questioned Bellerophon,
asking to see the message he had brought
from Proetus, his son-in-law.
Once he’d received the evil message
from his son-in-law, he told Bellerophon,
first of all, to kill the Chimera, 230
an invincible inhuman monster, [180]
but divine in origin. Its front part was a lion,
its rear a snake’s tail, and in between a goat.
She breathed deadly rage in searing fire.
But Bellerophon killed the Chimera,
putting his trust in omens from the gods.
Next, he battled the Solymi, the worst fight,
they say, he ever had with mortal beings.
Then, third, he massacred the Amazons,
women who rival men. The king planned 240
one more devious evil trick against him,
as he was returning from the Amazons.
He set Lycia’s best men in ambush.
But not a single one of them came back—
worthy Bellerophon had killed them all. [190]
Then the king knew he must be divinely born.
So he kept him with him there in Lycia,
gave him his daughter’s hand in marriage,
and half the honours in the entire kingdom.
The Lycians then gave him an estate 250
far better than the rest, rich in vineyards,
wheat-growing farmland, for him to keep.
The king’s daughter bore him three children—
Isander, Hippolochus, and Laodamia.
Counsellor Zeus then had sex with the girl.
She bore great Sarpedon, bronze-armed warrior.
But then Bellerophon angered all the gods. [200]
He wandered out alone on the Aleian plain—
depressed in spirit, roaming there and shunning all.
Ares, insatiable in war, killed his son Isander, 260
while he was fighting the famous Solymi.
Artemis, goddess with the golden reins,
in anger killed the daughter of Bellerophon.
My father was Hippolochus. I claim
my descent from him. He sent me to Troy,
telling me repeatedly to strive always
to be the best, to outdo other warriors,
so I do not shame my father’s family,
the finest men by far in Ephyra,
in spacious Lycia. That’s my lineage, 270 [210]
the blood ancestry I claim as mine.”

Glaucus spoke. Diomedes, skilled at war cries, rejoiced.
He jabbed his spear into the life-giving earth,
and then spoke to that shepherd of his people as a friend:

“In that case, you’re an old friend of my father.
For Oeneus once entertained Bellerophon,
that worthy man, for twenty days at home.
The two of them exchanged fine presents.
Oeneus gave a shining purple belt,
Bellerophon a gold two-handled cup, 280 [220]
which I left in my house when I came here.
I have no memory of Tydeus,
for he died while far away from me,
killed at Thebes with the Achaean army.
Now I’ll be your kind host in middle Argos,
you’ll be mine in Lycia, when I visit you.
Let’s make sure we avoid each other’s spears,
even in the thick of all the fighting.
For there are many famous Trojans and allies
for me to kill, any warrior the gods provide, 290
whom I can run after and catch on foot.
For you there are many Argives to destroy,
all you can manage. So let’s trade armour. [230]
Then those warriors here will all recognize
that we acknowledge our father’s bonds as friends.”

With these words, the two men jumped out of their chariots,
clasped hands and pledged their mutual friendship.
Then Zeus, son of Cronos, stole Glaucus’ wits,
for he gave Tydeus’ son his golden armour,
worth one hundred oxen, exchanging that 300
for armour made of bronze, worth only nine.

Meanwhile, Hector reached the Scaean Gates and oak tree.
The Trojans’ wives and daughters ran up round him,
asking after children, brothers, relatives, and husbands.
Addressing each of them in turn, he ordered them [240]
to pray to all the gods. For many were to face great grief.
He came to Priam’s splendid palace, with porticos
of well-ground stone. It had fifty private bed rooms,
all of polished rock, built close to one another,
where Priam’s sons slept with the wives they married. 310
On the opposite side, within the courtyard,
were twelve roofed rooms, all made of polished stone,
for Priam’s daughters, built near one another,
where Priam’s sons-in-law slept with their married wives. [250]
It was here Hector’s gracious mother, Hecuba,
met him, as she was going to the palace,
with Laodice, loveliest of all her daughters.
Taking his hand, she spoke to Hector:

“My child,
why have you left hard battle to come here?
The sons of Achaea—may gods curse them!— 320
press us hard, eager to fight around our city.
Your spirit has led you here to lift your hands
in prayers to Zeus from our city heights.
But wait. I can fetch some sweet wine for you,
so you can start by pouring a libation
to Father Zeus and other deathless gods.
Then you may enjoy some, too, if you’ll drink. [260]
Wine restores strength well in a weary man,
and you’ve grown tired guarding your own family.”

Great Hector of the shining helmet then replied: 330

“My dear mother, don’t bring me some sweet wine,
for you’ll weaken me. I’ll lose my battle strength.
And I’m ashamed to offer up to Zeus
libations of bright wine with unwashed hands.
It’s not at all appropriate for a man
spattered with blood and dirt to offer prayers
to the son of Cronos, lord of the black clouds.
But you must go to Athena’s temple,
goddess of battle spoils, with burnt offerings.
First assemble the old women all together, 340 [270]
then place in Athena’s lap, that fair-haired goddess,
the garment which you think is loveliest,
the very finest you keep here at home,
the one you like far better than the rest.
You must promise you will give Athena
twelve heifers in a temple sacrifice,
yearlings, as yet untouched by any goad,
if she will pity Troy, pity the wives
and Trojan children, if she will keep
Tydeus’ son away from sacred Ilion, 350
that fierce spearman, that mighty warrior,
who makes men so afraid. You must leave now—
go straight to the temple of Athena,
goddess of battle spoils. I’ll find Paris
and call him back, if he will to listen to me. [280]
If only the earth would open under him,
swallow him up! Olympian Zeus raised him
as trouble for the Trojans, for brave Priam,
for his children. If I could see Paris die,
heading down to Hades, then I could say 360
my heart’s sorrows were over and forgotten.”

Hector spoke. His mother went into the house,
calling her attendants, who brought together
the matrons from the city. Then she went down
into the sweet-smelling room which stored their gowns,
fine embroidered work of women from Sidonia,
which godlike Paris brought with him from Sidon, [290]
when he sailed across the broad sea, on that voyage
where he carried high-born Helen off. Hecuba took out
one of the gowns, the finest embroidery, the largest. 370
Glittering like a star, it lay at the bottom of the chest.
Taking that as Athena’s gift, she walked away.
The old ladies followed her. At Athena’s temple
fair-cheeked Theano, daughter of Cisseus,
wife of horse-taming Antenor, let them in.
Trojans had appointed her Athena’s priestess. [300]
All the women raised their hands, praying to Athena,
while Theano took that lovely robe and placed it
in Athena’s lap, the goddess with the lovely hair,
then spoke out this prayer to great Zeus’ daughter: 380

“Blessed Athena, sacred goddess,
defender of our city, break the spear
of Diomedes. Let him fall face down
before the Scaean Gates. If so, right now
we’ll sacrifice twelve heifers in your temple,
beasts untouched by any goad, if you’ll pity
our city, Trojans’ wives and children.” [310]

The women prayed. But Pallas Athena refused their prayer.

As they made their plea to great Zeus’ daughter,
Hector went to the fine house of Alexander. 390
He’d built it himself with fertile Troy’s best craftsmen.
They’d made a bedroom, living quarters, and a yard
close to Priam and to Hector, on the city height.
Hector, loved by Zeus, went in the house, holding his spear,
sixteen feet long, bronze point glittering in front of him, [320]
a gold band running round it. He met Alexander,
busy in his room with his fine weapons—shield
and body armour—polishing his curving bow.
Argive Helen sat there, too, with her attendant ladies,
directing servants in their famous handicrafts. 400
Seeing Paris, Hector spoke some sharp words to him:

“Paris, you’re a worthless man.
It’s quite wrong of you to nurse that anger
in your heart, while men are being destroyed,
fighting right by the city, its steep walls.
It’s because of you the sounds of warfare
catch fire round our city. You would fight
any man you saw avoiding battle, [330]
fleeing war’s brutality. So up with you,
or soon our city will go up in smoke, 410
with fire consuming everything.”

Godlike Alexander then replied:

“Hector, your rebuke is not unfair—
it’s reasonable. So I’ll speak plainly.
Listen and remember what I’m saying.
I’m not sitting in my bedroom here
out of spite or anger with the Trojans.
I want to grieve. Just now my wife urged me,
using gentle words, to rouse myself to fight.
And personally I think that would be best.
Winning shifts from one man to another. 420
Now, wait here, while I put on my armour. [340]
Or go, and I’ll come later, catch up with you.”

Hector of the shining helmet did not answer.
So Helen spoke to Hector with these soothing words:

“O Hector, you’re my brother, and me,
I’m a horrible, conniving bitch.
I wish that on that day my mother bore me
some evil wind had come, carried me away,
and swept me off, up into the mountains,
or to the waves of the tumbling, crashing sea. 430
Then I would’ve died before this happened.
But since gods have ordained these evil things,
I wish I’d been wife to a better man, [350]
someone sensitive to others’ insults,
with feeling for his many shameful acts.
This husband of mine has no sense now
and won’t acquire any in the future.
I expect he’ll get from that what he deserves.
But come in, sit on this chair, my brother,
since this trouble really weighs upon your mind— 440
all because I was a bitch—because of that
and Paris’ folly, Zeus gives us an evil fate,
so we may be subjects for men’s songs
in human generations yet to come.”

Great Hector of the shining helmet answered Helen:

“Don’t ask me to sit down, Helen. You’re kind, [360]
but you won’t persuade me. For my heart’s on fire
to help Trojans, who really miss me when I’m gone.
But you must rouse Paris, and he should hurry,
so he can catch me here in the city. 450
I’m going home, to visit my dear wife
and infant son, for I’ve no idea
if I’ll be coming back to them again,
or if the gods will kill me at Achaean hands.”

Saying this, Hector of the shining helmet went away.
Soon afterwards he reached his well-built house. [370]
He didn’t find white-armed Andromache at home,
for she’d left with the infant child, going to the walls
with a finely dressed attendant, in tears, lamenting.
When Hector didn’t meet his fair wife in the house, 460
he went and, standing in the doorway, asked his servant:

“Woman, tell me the truth. Where’s Andromache?
At one of my sisters? With a well-dressed wife
of one of my brothers? Or is she at Athena’s temple,
where the other fine-haired Trojan women
are praying to that fearful goddess?” [380]

His busy housekeeper then answered him:

“Hector, you asked me to tell you the truth.
She didn’t go to one of your sisters,
or one of your brothers’ well-dressed wives, 470
nor did she go to Athena’s temple,
where other fine-haired Trojan women
are praying to that fearful goddess.
No. She went to Ilion’s great tower,
for she’d heard the Trojans were hard pressed,
the power of Achaeans was so great.
So she’s hurrying off up to the walls,
like someone in a fit. A nurse went, too,
carrying the child.”

Once the housekeeper spoke, [390]
Hector left the house by the same route he’d come, 480
through the well-built streets, across the mighty city,
and reached the Scaean Gates, beyond which he’d go
out onto the plain. There his wife ran up to meet him,
Andromache, daughter of great-hearted Eëtion,
who’d included a large dowry with her.
Eëtion had lived below forested Mount Placus,
in Thebe, king of the Cilician people. She’d become
married wife to Hector of the shining helmet.
Now she met him there. With her came the nurse,
holding at her breast their happy infant child, 490 [400]
well-loved son of Hector, like a beautiful star.
Hector had named him Scamandrius, but others
called him Astyanax, lord of the city,
because Hector was Troy’s only guardian.
Hector looked at his son in silence, with a smile.
Andromache stood close to him, weeping.
Taking Hector by the hand, she spoke to him.

“My dear husband, your warlike spirit
will be your death. You’ve no compassion
for your infant child, for me, your sad wife, 500
who before long will be your widow.
For soon the Achaeans will attack you,
all together, and cut you down. As for me, [410]
it would be better, if I’m to lose you,
to be buried in the ground. For then I’ll have
no other comfort, once you meet your death,
except my sorrow. I have no father,
no dear mother. For lord Achilles killed
my father, when he wiped out Thebe,
city with high gates, slaying Eëtion. 510
But he didn’t strip his corpse—his heart
felt too much shame for that. So he burned him
in his finely decorated armour
and raised a burial mound above the ashes.
Mountain nymphs, daughters of aegis-bearing Zeus, [420]
planted elm trees all around his body.
I had seven brothers in my home.
All went down to Hades in a single day,
for swift-footed lord Achilles killed them all,
while they were guarding their shambling oxen 520
and their white shining sheep. As for my mother,
who ruled wooded Thebe-under-Placus,
he brought her here with all his other spoils.
Then he released her for a massive ransom.
But archer goddess Artemis then killed her
in her father’s house. So, Hector, you are now
my father, noble mother, brother, [430]
and my protecting husband. So pity me.
Stay here in this tower. Don’t orphan your child
and make me a widow. Place men by the fig tree, 530
for there the city is most vulnerable,
the wall most easily scaled. Three times
their best men have come there to attack,
led by the two Ajaxes, the sons of Atreus,
famous Idomeneus, and Diomedes,
Tydeus’ courageous son, incited to it
by someone well versed in prophecy
or by their own hearts’ inclination.”

Great Hector of the shining helmet answered her:

“Wife, [440]
all this concerns me, too. But I’d be disgraced, 540
dreadfully shamed among Trojan men
and Trojan women in their trailing gowns,
if I should, like a coward, slink away from war.
My heart will never prompt me to do that,
for I have learned always to be brave,
to fight alongside Trojans at the front,
striving to win fame for father and myself.
My heart and mind know well the day is coming
when sacred Ilion will be destroyed,
along with Priam of the fine ash spear 550
and Priam’s people. But what pains me most
about these future sorrows is not so much [450]
the Trojans, Hecuba, or king Priam,
or even my many noble brothers,
who’ll fall down in the dust, slaughtered
by their enemies. My pain focuses on you,
when one of those bronze-clad Achaeans
leads you off in tears, ends your days of freedom.
If then you come to Argos as a slave,
working the loom for some other woman, 560
fetching water from Hypereia or Messeis,
against your will, forced by powerful Fate,
then someone seeing you as you weep
may well say:

‘That woman is Hector’s wife.
He was the finest warrior in battle [460]
of all horse-taming Trojans in that war
when they fought for Troy.’

Someone will say that,
and it will bring still more grief to you,
to be without a man like that to save you
from days of servitude. May I lie dead, 570
hidden deep under a burial mound,
before I hear about your screaming,
as you are dragged away.”

With these words,
glorious Hector stretched his hands out for his son.
The boy immediately shrank back against the breast
of the finely girdled nurse, crying out in terror
to see his own dear father, scared at the sight of bronze,
the horse-hair plume nodding fearfully from his helmet top. [470]
The child’s loving father laughed, his noble mother, too.
Glorious Hector pulled the glittering helmet off 580
and set it on the ground. Then he kissed his dear son
and held him in his arms. He prayed aloud to Zeus
and the rest of the immortals.

“Zeus, all you other gods,
grant that this child, my son, may become,
like me, pre-eminent among the Trojans,
as strong and brave as me. Grant that he may rule
Troy with strength. May people someday say,
as he returns from war, ‘This man is far better
than his father.’ May he carry back
bloody spoils from his slaughtered enemy, 590 [480]
making his mother’s heart rejoice.”

He placed his son in the hands of his dear wife.
She embraced the child on her sweet breast, smiling
through her tears. Observing her, Hector felt compassion.
He took her hand, then spoke to her.

“My dearest wife,
don’t let your heart be sad on my account.
No man will throw me down to Hades
before my destined time. I tell you this—
no one escapes his fate, not the coward,
nor the brave man, from the moment of his birth. 600
So you should go into the house, keep busy [490]
with your proper work, with your loom and wool,
telling your servants to set about their tasks.
War will be every man’s concern, especially mine,
of all those who live in Troy.”

Having said these words,
glorious Hector took his plumed helmet in his hands.
His beloved wife went home, often looking back,
as she went, crying bitterly. She quickly reached
the spacious home of Hector, killer of men.
Inside she met her many servants and bid them all lament. 610
So they mourned for Hector in his own house, [500]
though he was still alive—they thought he’d not come back,
he’d not escape the battle fury of Achaean hands.

Paris did not wait for long in his high-roofed home.
Once he’d pulled on his famous armour, ornate bronze,
he hurried off on foot quickly through the city.
Just as some stalled stallion, well fed in the barn,
breaks his restraints, then gallops at top speed
across the plain, off to bathe in a fair-flowing river,
something he does habitually, proud of his strength, 620
holding his head high, mane streaming on his shoulders, [510]
legs carrying him swiftly to the grazing mares—
that’s how Paris, son of Priam, hurried then,
rushing down from the heights of Pergamus,
gleaming like a ray of sunshine in his armour,
laughing with joy as his feet carried him so fast.
He soon met his brother Hector, turning away
from where he’d had his conversation with his wife.
Godlike Paris was the first to speak:

“My dear brother, you’re in a hurry. 630
I’m holding you back with my delay,
not coming as quickly as you asked.”

Hector of the shining helmet answered Paris: [520]

“Brother, no one could justly criticize
your work in battle, for you fight bravely.
But you deliberately hold yourself back
and do not wish to fight. It pains my heart,
when I hear shameful things about you
from Trojans, who are suffering much distress
because of you. But let’s be on our way. 640
We’ll sort all this out later, if Zeus ever grants
we arrange in place inside our homes
bowls of wine to celebrate our freedom,
in thanks to the eternal, heavenly gods,
once we have driven away from Troy
all these well-armed Achaeans.”

Notes

*This passage has been much discussed because it is the only reference in the entire poem to something that sounds very much like writing.

 

 

 


Book Seven

Hector and Ajax

[Hector and Paris leave Troy, rejoin the fighting; Athena and Apollo plan to halt the battle; Helenus suggests Hector issue a challenge for single combat; Hector issues his challenge; no one responds; Nestor shames the Achaeans; Achaeans draw lots to see who will fight Hector; Ajax's lot falls out; Ajax's shield is described; Ajax and Hector fight; heralds intervene to stop them; Nestor suggests collecting the dead and building a defensive wall and ditch; in Troy Antenor suggests the return of Helen; Paris refuses but offers to return all the goods he took away; Idaios goes to the Argives to suggest a truce to bury the dead, repeats Paris' offer; the Achaeans refuse the offer; the armies collect and cremate the dead; the Achaeans build the wall; Poseidon objects to Zeus; both sides feast after the funeral rites]

After glorious Hector had talked with Paris,
he and his brother hurried through the gates,
both of them with hearts on fire to fight in battle.
Just as some god sends a breeze to sailors in distress,
when they work themselves too hard rowing out at sea,
bodies broken with fatigue at their polished oars—
that’s how these two looked to the long-suffering Trojans.

Paris then killed Menesthius, king Areithous’ son.
He lived in Arne, born from Areithous,
a mace fighter, and ox-eyed Phylomedusa. 10 [10]
Hector hit Eioneus with his sharp spear
in the neck, just under his bronze helmet rim.
His legs collapsed. Glaucus, son of Hippolochus,
leader of Lycians, amid the battle din,
struck Iphinous, son of Dexius, in the shoulder,
just as he was jumping in behind fast horses.
He fell out of his chariot down on the ground.
Then his limbs went limp and lifeless.

When goddess Athena with her glittering eyes
saw Argives being slaughtered in the battle frenzy, 20
she rushed down from Olympus heights to sacred Ilion. [20]
Apollo, keeping watch from Pergamus,
came to confront her.* He wanted victory
for Trojans. The two met one another by the oak tree.
Lord Apollo, son of Zeus, addressed Athena first:

“Daughter of great-hearted Zeus, why has your spirit
pushed you so eagerly down from Olympus?
You want to change the tide of battle,
giving victory to the Danaans.
You don’t pity Trojans as they’re butchered. 30
But it would be much better if you’d follow
what I say—let’s put an end to battle
and the killing, for today. They’ll fight again,
later on, until they reach their goal in Troy, [30]
since the demolition of that city
is what you goddesses desire in your hearts.”

Bright-eyed Athena then said to Apollo:

“God who works from far away, I agree—
that’s what I myself intended, coming
from Olympus down to mingle here 40
with Trojans and Achaeans. How will you get
these troops to end this present battle?”

Lord Apollo, son of Zeus, answered Athena:

“Let’s rouse the powerful fighting spirit
of horse-taming Hector, so he challenges
one of the Danaans to fight him alone,
in a grim single combat, one on one. [40]
Bronze-armed Achaeans, in admiration,
may incite someone to fight lord Hector.”

Apollo spoke, and bright-eyed Athena then agreed. 50
Helenus, Priam’s much-loved son, in his heart
well understood the scheme the gods had planned.
So he went to Hector, stood by him, and said:

“Hector, son of Priam, wise as Zeus,
why not be persuaded by what I suggest,
since I’m your brother? Let other Trojans
and Achaeans sit. You should challenge
the best of the Achaeans to fight you, [50]
a personal single combat, a grim fight.
I’ve heard the voices of eternal gods— 60
now is not your fated time to die.”

Helenus spoke. Hector was elated with the plan.
He went into the middle of the Trojan ranks
gripping the centre of his spear and pushed men back.
The men sat down. Agamemnon, on his side,
got well-armed Achaeans to stop fighting, too.
Athena, with Apollo of the silver bow,
perched in the lofty oak tree sacred to Zeus,
who bears the aegis, looking like two vultures, [60]
set to enjoy the unfolding human action. 70
Ranks of men were closely packed, bristling with shields,
with spears and helmets. As West Wind, when it starts to blow,
ruffles the sea, and waters under it grow black—
that’s what ranks of Trojans and Achaeans looked like
out there on the plain. Hector then addressed both armies:

“Listen to me, you Trojans, you well-armed Achaeans,
so I may speak what my heart prompts.
High-ruling son of Cronos has quashed our pact,
intending to bring both of us bad things,
until you capture well-built Troy or else 80 [70]
are conquered beside your seaworthy ships.
Achaea’s finest men are here among you.
Let the one whose heart now drives him
to fight with me step out as champion,
your representative against lord Hector.
That’s what I propose—let Zeus be my witness.
If your man kills me with his sharpened bronze,
let him strip my armour, take it away,
off to your hollow ships, but give my body
back to my house, so Trojans and their wives 90
may give me ritual burning once I’m dead. [80]
If I kill your champion, if Apollo
grants me that triumph, I’ll strip his armour,
take it to sacred Ilion and hang it
in the temple of Apollo, the far shooter.
I’ll give up the body to be taken back
to well-decked ships, so long-haired Achaeans
can bury him and build his funeral mound
on the banks of the broad Hellespont.
Then people born in years to come who sail 100
their ships with many oars on the wine-dark sea
will say,

‘This is the funeral mound of some man
who died long ago, the best of warriors,
killed by glorious Hector.’

That’s what they’ll say. [90]
And then my glory will never fade away.”

Hector finished. The Achaeans all grew silent,
ashamed to duck the challenge, afraid to answer it.
At last Menelaus, sick at heart, stood up to speak,
reproaching them with bitter words of shame:

“Alas, you boasters, you’re Achaean women, 110
not men. This shame will mean total disgrace,
unless some Danaan now stands up to Hector.
All of you sitting here, without heart,
disgraced like this, may all of you dissolve,
disintegrate to earth and water. [100]
I’ll personally take up arms myself.
I’ll fight Hector. The rope that’s tied
to victory comes from heaven above,
from the hands of the immortal gods.”

This said, Menelaus pulled his fine armour on. 120
And then, Menelaus, they would’ve seen you die
at Hector’s hands—he was by far the stronger man—
if wide-ruling Agamemnon, son of Atreus,
king of the Achaeans, had not hurried up,
grabbed you by your right hand, and said these words:

“Lord Menelaus, have you lost your mind?
There’s no need for you to act so foolishly. [110]
Be patient, even though you’re disappointed.
Don’t volunteer from mere love of battle
to fight someone better than yourself, 130
for Hector, son of Priam, is a man
whom other men avoid. Even Achilles,
a far better man than you, was hesitant
to meet Hector in fights where men win fame.
So go now, sit down with your companions.
Achaeans will send out another man
as champion against Hector. Though he’s fearless,
with boundless appetite for battle,
I think he’ll be content to take a rest,
if he survives this combat, this grim fight.” 140

Agamemnon’s prudent speech changed his brother’s mind. [120]
Menelaus was convinced, and his attendants
gladly pulled the armour off his shoulders.
Then Nestor, standing up before the Argives, said:

“Alas, what great sorrow for Achaea!
Old horseman Peleus would cry with grief,
noble counsellor of the Myrmidons.
When I was in his house, he loved to talk with me,
asking questions about men’s families,
the ancestry of all Achaeans. If he knew 150
these warriors were all afraid of Hector,
he’d keep lifting up his dear hands in prayer [130]
to the immortal gods that his spirit
leave his body and go down to Hades’ home.
By father Zeus, Athena, and Apollo,
would I were as young as when the Pylian
and Arcadian spearmen gathered to fight
by the walls of Pheia, beside the banks
of the fast-flowing river Celadon.
Ereuthalion then stepped forward 160
as their champion, a godlike soldier,
wearing on his shoulders the armour
of king Areithous—that noble Areithous,
whom men and well-dressed women gave
the name of Mace-man, because he fought,
not with long spear or bow, but with an iron mace. [140]
With that he smashed down ranks of warriors.
Lycurgus killed him, not in a fair fight,
but by a trick, in a narrow place,
where the iron mace could not protect him 170
from destruction. Lycurgus anticipated
Areithous’ blow and struck him first,
a spear thrust in the belly. He fell down,
dropping to the ground upon his back.
Lycurgus then stripped off the armour
which brazen Ares had given Areithous.
Lycurgus himself wore it in later fights.
And then, when he’d grown old in his own home,
he gave the armour to Ereuthalion,
his loyal attendant, who wore it as his own. 180 [150]
That’s the armour he had on at that time,
when he challenged all our finest men.
They held back, afraid, not daring to accept.
But my spirit, full of fighting confidence,
incited me to take him on in battle.
By birth I was the youngest of them all.
I fought him, and Athena gave me glory.
I killed their biggest and most powerful man,
left his huge body sprawling on the ground.
Would I were that young now, my strength as firm. 190
Hector of the shining helmet would soon have
a man to fight. But now you warriors here,
although the finest of Achaean men,
aren’t keen at all to face up to Hector.” [160]

Old man Nestor shamed them. Nine men in all stood up.
First to rise, well before the rest, was Agamemnon,
king of men. Strong Diomedes, son of Tydeus,
jumped up after him. Next came the two Ajaxes,
men clothed in an impetuous ferocity.
Then Idomeneus, his comrade Meriones, 200
and Eurypylus, Eumaeon’s fine son, then Thoas,
son of Andraemon, then lord Odysseus.
They were all willing volunteers to fight with Hector.
Geranian horseman Nestor spoke out once again: [170]

“To choose, you must cast lots. Shake them well.
The chosen man will greatly benefit
well-armed Achaeans and his own heart, too—
if he comes away from this grim fight,
this dangerous combat.”

Nestor spoke. The nine men
marked their lots and threw them in Agamemnon’s helmet. 210
Troops held up their hands, praying to the gods, saying,
as they gazed up at wide heaven:

“Father Zeus,
let the choice fall on Ajax, or Tydeus’ son,
or on Mycenae’s king, rich in gold.” [180]

Geranian horseman Nestor shook the helmet.
From it fell out the very lot men were hoping for,
the one for Ajax. A herald carried round the lot,
showing it to all the best Achaeans in the throng,
moving from left to right. But no one took it.
Each man declined. But when, in passing through the crowd, 220
the herald came to the one who’d scratched his mark
upon the lot and thrown it in the helmet,
noble Ajax held out his hand. Approaching Ajax,
the herald dropped the token in his palm.
Ajax looked at the mark and saw that it was his.
His heart was happy. Throwing the lot down on the ground [190]
beside his feet, he said:

“Friends, this marker here
belongs to me. And I’m happy in my heart,
for I think I’ll overcome lord Hector.
But come, while I put on my battle armour, 230
you should pray to lord Zeus, son of Cronos,
but silently, so Trojans don’t find out—
or do it aloud, since we fear no one.
No man is going to force me to move off
through his power or will, if I don’t consent,
or through his fighting skill. For I was born
and raised in Salamis, so I’m no novice.”

Ajax spoke. Men prayed to lord Zeus, son of Cronos. [200]
Gazing up to heaven, they uttered words like these:

“Father Zeus, ruling from Mount Ida, 240
most glorious one, most powerful—
grant Ajax victory, the winner’s triumph.
But if you love Hector and look out for him,
grant them both equal strength, equal glory.”

So men prayed. Ajax armed himself in glittering bronze.
When all his armour was in place around his body,
he moved forward, like some gigantic Ares
when he sets off to battle among warriors
whom Zeus, son of Cronos, has stirred up for war, [210]
to fight with that war frenzy which consumes men’s hearts. 250
That’s how huge Ajax, bulwark of Achaeans,
came up then, a grim smile on his face, moving his feet
with giant strides. He clutched a long-shadowed spear.
When Argives looked at him, they felt great joy,
while the limbs of all the Trojans shook with fear.
Even in Hector’s chest the heart beat rapidly.
But there was nothing he could do to pull back now,
retreat into the ranks. For he had made the challenge,
made it eagerly. Ajax approached bearing his shield.
It was like a tower made of bronze, with seven layers, 260
each one of ox-hide, a weapon made by Tychius, [220]
the best of leather workers, who lived in Hyle.
He’d made the glittering shield for Ajax from the hides
of seven well-fed bulls. On top of these, he’d set
an eighth layer made of bronze. Telamonian Ajax
carried this shield in front of him. He came up,
stood quite close to Hector, then spoke out grimly:

“Hector, now you’ll come to recognize,
one against one, just what the finest men
are like among Danaans, not counting 270
Achilles, breaker of men, with his lion’s heart.
He now lies by his curved sea-worthy ships,
angry at Agamemnon, his people’s shepherd. [230]
But there are lots of us who’ll stand against you.
So come on then. Let’s start this fight.”

Great Hector of the shining helmet then replied:

“Noble Ajax, son of Telamon,
leader of your people. Don’t play with me,
as if I were a witless child or woman
who knows nothing of what war requires. 280
For I understand well how to fight,
how to kill men. I know how to shift
my tanned leather shield to right or left,
to me a crucial skill in fighting battles.
I know how to charge into the frenzy [240]
of fast chariots, and I know how to dance
to Ares’ tune in the grim killing zone.
I don’t want to hit you with a sneaky shot,
not a man like you, but in open combat,
if I can manage it.”

Once Hector spoke, 290
he balanced his long-shadowed spear and hurled it.
He hit Ajax’s fearful seven-layered shield
on the outer covering of bronze, its eighth layer.
The tireless spear tore its way through six layers.
But it stopped at the seventh. Then noble Ajax,
in his turn, threw his long-shadowed spear at Hector.
His spear hit the even circle of Hector’s shield, [250]
broke through the glittering shield, and forced its way
through the breast plate and tunic covering his ribs.
Hector twisted to one side, evading a black fate. 300
The two men then both pulled the long spears from their shields
and charged each other, like flesh-eating lions
or savage boars, whose strength is inexhaustible.
With his spear Hector struck the centre of Ajax’s shield,
but the bronze did not break through—its point bent aside.
Then Ajax charged ahead and speared Hector’s shield, [260]
breaking clean through and striking Hector as he lunged.
Its motion slashed at Hector’s neck. Dark blood seeped out.
But Hector of the shining helmet didn’t stop the fight.
He stepped back, picked up in his powerful hand a rock 310
lying there on the plain, a huge black jagged stone.
With this he hit Ajax’s seven-layered shield
on its central boss, making the bronze ring out.
Then Ajax, in his turn, seized a much bigger stone,
swung it round and threw it with tremendous force.
The rock, like a millstone, hit Hector’s shield and smashed it. [270]
Strength drained from Hector’s limbs. He was thrown on his back,
with his shield pressing him on top, weighing him down.
At once Apollo raised him up. Now they would’ve fought
hand to hand with swords, if heralds, those messengers 320
of gods and men, had not stepped in, one from Trojans,
one from bronze-clad Achaeans—two trusted men,
Talthybius and Idaios. They held out their staffs,
symbols of their herald’s office, between the two.
Then herald Idaios, a wise prudent man, spoke out:

“You dear lads, fight no more. End this combat.
Cloud-gatherer Zeus cares for you both. [280]
You’re both fine fighters. We all know that.
But night already is approaching.
And it’s good to be persuaded by the night.” 330

Telamonian Ajax then said in reply:

“Idaios, tell Hector here to give the word.
For he was keen to challenge our best men.
Let him speak first. I’ll gladly follow what he says.”

Great Hector of the shining helmet answered Ajax:

“Ajax, god has given you size, power,
judgment, and you’re the strongest with the spear,
among Achaeans. For today let’s end [290]
our battle combat. We’ll fight once again,
later on, until god decides between us, 340
awarding one of us the victory.
For night already is approaching,
and it’s good to be persuaded by the night.
So you can bring joy to all Achaeans
by their ships, especially your clansmen,
your companions. And I can bring joy
to the mighty city of king Priam,
to Trojans and women in their trailing gowns.
They’ll gather in holy processions now,
giving thanks on my behalf in prayer. 350
But come, let’s exchange noteworthy presents
with each other, so Trojans and Achaeans
may say, ‘These men fought in murderous war [300]
but were reconciled and parted friends.’”

This said, Hector gave Ajax a silver-studded sword,
along with a scabbard and a well-cut sword belt.
Ajax gave Hector a shining purple belt.
Then they parted, Ajax going to Achaean troops,
Hector rejoining Trojans, who were overjoyed
to see him return alive, safe and sound, 360
surviving Ajax’s fury, his unconquerable hands.
They’d given up all hope for Hector’s safety.
Now they took him back with them into the city. [310]

Well-armed Achaeans, for their part, led Ajax,
elated by his victory, to lord Agamemnon.
When they all came inside the son of Atreus’ hut,
Agamemnon, king of men, sacrificed an ox,
a male five years old, to the exalted son of Cronos.
They flayed the beast, prepared and carved it up,
chopping it skilfully into tiny pieces. 370
They skewered these on spits, cooked them carefully,
and drew them off. This done, they prepared a meal and ate.
No one went unsatisfied. All feasted equally. [320]
Wide-ruling Agamemnon, heroic son of Atreus,
acknowledged Ajax with the whole back cut of meat.
When everyone had had his fill of food and drink,
old Nestor spoke up first, outlining for them
a plan he had. Earlier his advice had seemed the best.
Keeping in mind their common good, he said:

“Son of Atreus, you other Argive leaders, 380
many long-haired Achaeans have been killed.
Fierce Ares has scattered their dark blood
beside the fair-flowing Scamander river.
Their souls have departed down to Hades. [330]
So tomorrow you should call a halt.
Stop Achaeans fighting. We should all assemble,
then carry off the bodies of the dead
with mules and oxen. Then we’ll burn them
a short distance from our ships, so each of us,
when we return, may carry back the bones. 390
Let’s set up one single common funeral mound
close by the fire and angled on the plain.
Then with all speed from that mound we’ll build
some high walls with turrets, to guard us and our ships.
In those walls we’ll construct tight-fitting gates,
so there’s a path to drive our chariots through. [340]
Outside we’ll dig a deep trench close beside it,
to enclose the walls and hold out chariots—
soldiers, too, if those impetuous Trojans
should ever drive us back in battle.” 400

So Nestor spoke. All the kings approved his plan.

Meanwhile the Trojans were meeting on the city heights,
by Priam’s palace doors—they were confused and fearful.
Antenor, a wise counselor, was the first to speak:

“Listen to me, you Trojans, Dardan allies,
so I may say what the heart in my chest prompts.
Come now, let’s give back Argive Helen [350]
and her possessions to the sons of Atreus
for them to keep. We’ve broken the truce
and are fighting once again, so I don’t see 410
how things will work out very well for us,
unless we carry out what I propose.”

Antenor spoke, then sat down. Before them all,
lord Alexander, husband of fair-haired Helen,
stood up to reply. His words had wings:

“Antenor,
I’m not pleased with what you’ve said.
You know very well how to think up
some alternative, some better plan.
But if you truly mean what you’ve just said,
the gods themselves have muddled up your wits. 420 [360]
Now I’ll speak to horse-taming Trojans.
I flatly refuse. I won’t give up my wife.
But I will surrender all the goods
I carried back from Argos to our home.
I’m willing to give up all of it,
even to add to it things of my own.”

Paris spoke, then sat back down. Priam stood up,
descendant of Dardanus, wise as the gods.
Thinking of their common cause, he spoke out:

“Listen to me, Trojans, Dardan allies, 430
so I may state what the heart in my chest prompts.
You should prepare your dinner and then eat, [370]
here in the city, as before. But remember—
keep sentries posted. Each man should stay awake.
Tomorrow morning Idaios should go
to the hollow ships, to tell the sons of Atreus,
both Agamemnon and Menelaus,
what Alexander has just now proposed,
the very man whose cause launched this dispute.
Idaios should propose this wise suggestion— 440
if they’ll consent to postpone grim warfare,
so we can burn our dead, we’ll fight later,
until god adjudicates between us
and awards one side the victory.”

They heard what Priam said and readily agreed.
Throughout the army, in the ranks, they ate their dinner. [380]

At dawn Idaios went out to the hollow ships.
There he found Danaans, companions of Ares,
assembled by the stern of Agamemnon’s ship.
The loud-voiced herald, standing in their midst, spoke out: 450

“Son of Atreus, other Achaean leaders,
Priam and other noble Trojans asked me
to tell you what Alexander has proposed,
if that meets with your approval, an offer
you will want to hear. That man began our strife.
All the property which Paris brought here
in his hollow ships to Troy—how I wish [390]
he’d died before that day!—he’ll hand over
and add more goods from his own home.
But he says he’ll not return that noble lady, 460
wife of Menelaus, though the Trojans wish
he’d do that. There’s more. My orders tell me
to speak to you to see if you are willing
to put a stop to the harsh clash of war,
until such time as we have burned our dead.
We will fight later, until god chooses
between us, makes one of us the victors.”

Idaios spoke. They all remained silent, speechless.
At last Diomedes, skilled at war shouts, cried out:

“Let no man now accept Alexander’s stuff, 470 [400]
nor Helen. For it’s quite clear, even to a fool,
the Trojans are tied down to lethal fate.”

Diomedes spoke. All Achaea’s sons roared out,
approving what horse-taming Diomedes said.
Mighty Agamemnon then addressed Idaios:

“Idaios, you yourself have heard our answer,
what Achaeans think of what you offer.
And I agree with them. But I don’t object
to burning corpses, for when men die,
one should not deny the bodies of the dead 480
a swift propitiation in the flames. [410]
So let Zeus, Hera’s loud-thundering husband,
stand as witness here to our pledged word.”

Saying this, Agamemnon held up his sceptre,
invoking all the gods. Idaios then returned,
going back to sacred Ilion. There the Trojans
and Dardanians were seated in a meeting,
a general assembly, awaiting his return.
He came, stood in their midst, and delivered his report.
Then they quickly organized two working parties— 490
some to gather bodies, others to get firewood.

Argives also moved swiftly from their well-decked ships.
Some hurried to bring in the dead, others to find wood. [420]
Just as the sun began to shine down on the fields,
rising from the gently flowing Ocean depths,
climbing in the sky, the two groups met each other.
At that point it was hard to recognize each dead man.
They washed blood off with water and piled them onto carts,
shedding hot tears. Great Priam did not permit
his Trojans to lament. So they heaped the corpses 500
on the pyre in silence, hearts full of anguish.
Once they’d burned the bodies, they went back to sacred Troy.
Opposite them, in the same way, well-armed Achaeans [430]
heaped their dead up on a pyre, sick at heart, burned them,
and then returned back to their hollow ships.

Next day, just before dawn, still at night, in half light,
a chosen group of Achaeans was awake around the pyre.
Beside it, on an angle, they made a common grave,
back from the plain. From that mound they built a wall,
with high towers, to defend them and their ships. 510
Inside the rampart they set close-fitting gates,
to make a passage so chariots could pass through.
Outside the wall they dug a big ditch, wide and deep, [440]
close to the rampart, setting stakes down in the trench.

As long-haired Achaeans worked, gods sitting beside Zeus,
lord of lightning, gazed down on the huge construction,
the project undertaken by bronze-armed Achaeans.
Earthshaker Poseidon was the first to speak:

“Father Zeus, will any mortal man
on boundless earth, after this event, 520
inform gods of his plans, of his intentions?
Don’t you see that long-haired Achaeans
have built a new wall to protect their ships,
dug a ditch around it, and yet have made
no splendid sacrifice to us, the gods? [450]
The fame of this wall will reach everywhere,
as far as light of dawn. People will forget
that wall which Phoebus Apollo and myself
worked hard to build for heroic Laomedon.”*

Cloud-gatherer Zeus, quite irked, answered Poseidon: 530

“Such talk from you, mighty Earthshaker, is silly.
Another god might well fear this design,
some god with a far less powerful hand,
a weaker spirit than your own. Your fame
will reach as far as the shining light of dawn.
Come now, when the long-haired Achaeans leave,
sailing their ships to their dear native land, [460]
you can smash their wall, take it out to sea,
bury the great shore under sand, and so erase
that great Achaean wall completely.” 540

As the gods discussed these things amongst themselves,
the sun went down and Achaeans finished working.
They slaughtered oxen by their huts and ate their dinner.
Many ships had come, bringing wine from Lemnos,
sent by Jason’s son Euneus—born to Jason,
his people’s shepherd, from Hypsipyle.
Euneus had donated wine, a thousand measures,
to go to Agamemnon and Menelaus. [470]
From these ships long-haired Achaeans bought their wine.
Some bartered with bronze, some with shiny iron, 550
others with hides, live oxen, or with slaves.
And then the men prepared a sumptuous banquet.
Long-haired Achaeans feasted all night long,
as did Trojans and their allies in the city,
while throughout the night, Counsellor Zeus,
thundering ominously, plotted bad things for them.
Pale fear gripped men. They kept pouring wine from goblets
onto the ground. No one dared to drink before he made [480]
an offering to Zeus, almighty son of Cronos.
Then they went to bed, to receive the gift of sleep.

Notes

*Pergamus is the name for the citadel of Troy, a high point of the city.

*As a punishment for rebelling against Zeus, Apollo and Poseidon were condemned to serving a mortal man for wages. They built the walls of Troy for Laomedon, king of Troy.

 

 

 


Book Eight

The Trojans Have Success

[At a council on Olympus, Zeus decides to favour the Trojans, leaves for Ida, and holds up the golden scales; Diomedes comes to Nestor's help; Diomedes confronts Hector; Zeus stops Diomedes with a lightning bolt; Hera tries to get Poseidon to plot against Zeus; Agamemnon's speech to rally the troops; Zeus sends an omen to encourage the Argives; the Argives rally; Teucer's success against the Trojans; Hector wounds Teucer, drives him from the battle; Hera and Athena set out to help the Achaeans; Zeus sends Iris to stop them; Hector's speech to his troops the night before the big battle; Trojans sacrifice to the gods]

As Dawn first spread her yellow robe across the earth,
thunder-loving Zeus summoned an assembly of the gods
on the highest crest of many-ridged Olympus.
Zeus himself addressed them. The other deities,
those ranked below him, listened carefully.

“Hear me, all you gods and goddesses,
I’ll speak what the spirit in my chest prompts.
And let no female god, no male one either,
seek to thwart my plan. Let’s get agreement
from all of you to end this matter quickly. 10 [10]
If I see any of you breaking ranks of gods,
keen to assist the Trojans or Danaans,
that god I’ll beat up ignominiously
and send back to Olympus. Or I’ll seize him
and pitch him into black Tartarus, way down,
into the deepest pit below the earth,
where the gates are iron, the threshold bronze,
as far below Hades as heaven lies
above the earth. Then he’ll acknowledge
just how strong I am, the strongest of all gods. 20
Come on, try it—then everyone will know.
Take a golden cord, hang it from heaven.
Let gods and goddesses, all together, [20]
grab hold of one end of it and pull.
You’d not drag Zeus, the highest counsellor,
down from heaven to the ground, never,
no matter how hard you tried to do it.
But when I wished to pull in earnest,
I’d yank up earth itself, the sea as well.
I’d loop that cord round some Olympian peak 30
and hang it in mid-air—the whole of it.
I’m that much stronger than the gods and men.”

Zeus finished. All the gods were speechless, shocked
at what Zeus had said, at the power of his tone.
At last Athena, the bright-eyed goddess, spoke up: [30]

“Son of Cronos, you’re the father of us all,
highest ruling force. We well know your strength.
It’s invincible. Still, we’re sorry for the troops,
Danaan spearmen dying, suffering dreadful fates.
But we’ll stand apart from battle, as you wish, 40
although we’ll give the Argives our advice,
help them, to prevent destruction of them all,
just to answer your displeasure.”

Cloud-gatherer Zeus, smiling at Athena, said:

“My dear child Tritogeneia, have no fears.
I wasn’t speaking all that seriously.
I want to treat you in a friendly way.” [40]

Zeus harnessed his two horses, swift-flying animals,
with hooves of bronze and flowing golden manes.
He encased his body all in gold, took up his whip, 50
a gold one, finely crafted, climbed in his chariot,
then lashed the horses onward. They flew off eagerly.
Midway between the earth and starry heaven,
Zeus reached Mount Ida with its many springs,
mother of wild beasts. He reached Gargaros,
site of his grove and temple, fragrant with sacrifice.
There, the father of gods and men reined in his horses,
untied them from the chariot, and hid them in thick cloud. [50]
Then he sat on the mountain peak, proud and splendid,
gazing down on the Trojan city, the Achaean ships. 60

Long-haired Achaeans gulped a quick meal by their huts.
Then they armed themselves. On the other side, in town,
Trojans, too, prepared for war, fewer in number,
but keen to fight on in the killing zone, a grim necessity,
for wives and children. They threw open all the gates.
The army streamed out, foot soldiers and charioteers,
making a huge din. As the two groups moved out [60]
to the same spot, they crashed together, smashing shields
and spears, the battle frenzy of bronze-armed warriors.
Embossed shields collided one against the other, 70
a tremendous noise. Screams of pain and triumph
came from soldiers—those killing, those being killed—
and the earth was saturated with their blood.

In early morning, as that sacred day grew stronger,
weapons hurled by both sides grimly took their toll—
men kept on dying. But when the sun was at its height,
Father Zeus set up his golden balance, placed on it
two fatal destinies, one for horse-taming Trojans, [70]
one for bronze-armed Achaeans. Gripping the scales,
he raised them by the centre. One scale sank down, 80
the one which held the Achaeans’ fate that day—
it moved down towards the all-sustaining earth,
while the Trojans’ fate rose up toward wide heaven.
From Mount Ida, Zeus sent out a loud thunder clap
and hurled a lighting bolt down on Achaean troops.
Men looked and were astounded. Pale fear gripped them all.
At that, Idomeneus did not dare to stand his ground,
nor did Agamemnon, nor the two men named Ajax,
companions of the war god Ares. Only Nestor, [80]
the Geranian, guardian of Achaeans, 90
kept his place, but not because he wanted to.
One of his horses had been hurt, hit by an arrow
on its head, right on top, that spot where on a horse
hairs start to grow out from the skull, a deadly place.
The arrow had been loosed by Alexander,
lovely Helen’s mate. The beast reared up in agony,
as the arrow pierced its brain. Skewered by the shaft,
the beast’s convulsions confused the other horses.
While old Nestor with his sword was hacking feverishly
to cut the traces holding the animal in place, 100
Hector’s fast horses came through the fighting men, [90]
bearing Hector with them and their bold charioteer.
Nestor would have died right there, if Diomedes,
skilled in war cries, hadn’t seen him right away.
He let out a loud shout to Odysseus, urging him
to come to Nestor’s help.

“Noble Odysseus, Laertes’ son,
you resourceful man, why move away,
turning your back on all these flying weapons,
like a coward? Watch someone doesn’t spear you
right in the back as you run off. Come on, 110
let’s save old man Nestor from wild Hector.”

Diomedes’ words missed godlike, firm Odysseus,
who moved off to the Achaeans’ hollow ships.
Diomedes, though left alone, charged straight ahead,
back into the fight. He made a stand right there, [100]
in front of old Nestor’s chariot, calling out to Nestor,
son of Neleus—his words had wings.

“Old man, in this fight
these young men are pressing you too hard.
Your strength is waning. Old age weighs you down.
Your attendant’s weak, your horses slow. 120
So come on, climb up into my chariot.
You’ll see how these Trojan horses do,
experts in moving to and fro across the plain,
in pursuit or flight. I took them from Aeneas.
These horses would fill any man with terror.
So turn your team over to subordinates.
With my two let’s charge against the Trojans. [110]
Let Hector see how my hand wields a spear.”

Geranian horseman Nestor followed this suggestion.
At once, the two strong officers, Sthelenus 130
and noble Eurymedon, took Nestor’s horses.
The two men climbed up in Diomedes’ chariot.
Nestor grabbed the shining reins and lashed the horses.
They closed in on Hector quickly. Then he, in turn,
eager to fight, charged them impetuously.
The son of Tydeus threw his spear at Hector.
He missed, but struck Hector’s companion charioteer,
Eniopeus, son of proud Thebaios, in the chest, [120]
right by the nipple, as Eniopeus held the reins.
He tumbled from the chariot. The swift horses swerved. 140
Then strength and spirit left him as he lay there.
Savage grief seized Hector for his charioteer,
but he left him lying there, for all the pain he felt
for his companion. He went to find a substitute,
a second driver full of courage. Before long,
those horses had another charioteer,
for Hector soon ran into Archeptolemos,
son of Iphitus, and placed him in the chariot
behind swift horses, then handed him the reins.

At that point irrevocable disaster might have struck 150 [130]
the people all penned up in Troy like sheep,
if the father of gods and men hadn’t kept sharp watch.
Sounding a dreadful thunder clap, he loosed his lightning,
a dazzling fiery bolt which hit the ground
immediately in front of Diomedes’ horses.
A dreadful flash came from the blazing sulphur.
In terror, both horses reared up in their harnesses.
Nestor let the shining reins drop from his hands.
Feeling fear inside his chest, he cried:

“Son of Tydeus,
wheel your sure-footed horses round. Go back. 160
Don’t you see Zeus is not protecting you? [140]
Today the son of Cronos grants Hector glory.
Tomorrow he’ll give victory to us,
if that’s his will. No man stops Zeus’ plans,
no one, not even the mightiest warrior.
Zeus’ force is more powerful by far.”

Diomedes, expert in war cries, then replied:

“Everything you say, old man, is true enough.
But this brings fearful pain into my heart and chest.
For Hector then will speak out in Troy. 170
He’ll say,

‘The son of Tydeus, in fear of me,
scurried off, back to his ships.’

That’s what he’ll boast.
Then let the wide earth open up for me.” [150]

Geranian horseman Nestor answered Diomedes:

“Son of fiery-hearted Tydeus, why talk like that?
Even if he slanders you and calls you coward,
he’ll not convince the Trojans or Dardanians,
or Trojan wives, married partners of brave men
you’ve thrown into the dirt, still in their prime.”

With these words he turned the sure-footed horses back, 180
fleeing through the battle zone. Hector and the Trojans,
with a shout, threw volleys of lethal weapons at them.
Hector with his glittering helmet then yelled out:

“Son of Tydeus, [160]
fast-riding Danaans at their banquets
have awarded you a place of honour,
with lots of meat, a wine cup always full.
Now they’re ashamed of you. You’ve turned out
no better than a woman. Run off then,
you coward girl. I’ll not back away,
let you climb our walls, or take our women. 190
Before that happens, I’ll send you to your death.”

At Hector’s words, the son of Tydeus was torn two ways,
debating whether to wheel the horses round and fight,
face Hector man to man. Three times he thought it through [170]
in his mind and heart, and three times Counsellor Zeus
pealed thunder from Mount Ida, signalling to Trojans
that victory now would shift to them. Then Hector,
with a great shout, cried out to his Trojan warriors:

“You Trojans, Lycians, and Dardanians—
soldiers who fight in the killing zone— 200
my friends, be men. Summon your warlike spirit.
I see the son of Cronos grants us victory,
great glory, a disaster for Danaans.
What fools they were to build this feeble wall,
a puny hazard—it will not check me,
my warlike spirit. As for the trench they dug,
my horses will jump over that with ease.
When I reach their hollow ships, don’t forget the fire, [180]
which wipes out everything I’ll burn their fleet,
slaughter them, those Argives by their ships, 210
as they suffocate, choking on the smoke.”

And Hector urged his horses on, saying these words:

“Xanthus, and you Podargus, Aithus,
noble Lampus! Now’s the time to pay me back
for all my care, all the sweet grain you’ve had
from Andromache, great Eëtion’s daughter,
for the wine she’s mixed for you to drink,
whenever you desired. She took care of you,
even before me, her own fine husband. [190]
Come on then, go after them with speed, 220
so we may capture Nestor’s shield, whose fame
extends right up to heaven—it’s all gold—
the shield itself, cross braces, too.
From horse-taming Diomedes’ shoulders
we’ll strip the decorated body armour,
a work created by Hephaestus.
I think if we could capture these two things,
Achaeans would climb aboard their ships tonight.”

So Hector bragged. That made queen Hera angry.
She shook with fury, sitting on her throne, 230
making high Olympus tremble. Then she spoke out
to great god Poseidon:

“Alas, great Earthshaker, [200]
don’t you feel any anguish in your heart,
as Danaans are destroyed? After all,
they bring you presents, many pleasing gifts,
to Helice and Aegae. Don’t you want them to win?
Now, if all those of us who protect Danaans
were to agree to drive the Trojans back,
we’d leave wide-seeing Zeus up there by himself,
sulking where he sits alone on Ida” 240

Mighty Earthshaker Poseidon, very angry,
answered Hera:

“Hera, you fearless talker,
What are you saying? That’s not what I want,
the rest of us to war on Zeus, son of Cronos. [210]
For he is much more powerful than us.”

As the two gods talked together in this way,
horses and shield-bearing troops were jammed together,
crammed into the space encircled by the ditch,
from ships to wall, pinned down there by Hector, Priam’s son,
like swift Ares, now that Zeus was giving him the glory. 250
And then he would’ve burned those well-balanced ships
with searing fire on the spot, if queen Hera
had not set a plan in Agamemnon’s mind
to rouse Achaeans with all speed on his own.
He strode through Achaean huts and ships, [220]
holding a huge purple cloak in his large fists.
He took up a position by Odysseus’ ship,
a black vessel, broad in the beam, whose place,
in the middle of the row, allowed his voice
to reach both ends of the line, from the huts of Ajax, 260
son of Telamon, to those belonging to Achilles,
for these two men had placed their balanced ships
at either end, relying on their courage and strong hands.*
Agamemnon, from that spot, then shouted out,
making himself heard to all Danaans:

“You Argives! What a shameful bunch of men!
Splendid to look at, but a sour disgrace!
What’s happened to our sworn oaths, when we claimed
we were the best, the bravest? Idle boasters!
In Lemnos, as you stuffed yourselves with meat 270 [230]
from straight-horned cattle and drank bowls of wine,
foaming to the brim, you talked of how you’d stand,
each and every one of you, firm in battle
against a hundred or two hundred Trojans.
Now we’re matched by Hector, just one man,
who’ll quickly set our ships alight with fire.
Father Zeus, have you ever so deluded
a high-minded king and stolen his glory?
While sailing well-decked ships to this disaster,
I say I never overlooked your lovely altars. 280
On every one I burned fat and thighs of oxen— [240]
I was so keen to conquer Troy, its well-made walls.
But Zeus, grant me now at least this prayer—
let us get out of here alive, in safety.
Don’t let Trojans kill Achaeans off like this.”

As Agamemnon spoke, tears streaming down his face
Father Zeus pitied him and nodded his assent—
the army would be saved and not demolished.
At once Zeus sent the surest of all bird omens,
an eagle, gripping in its talons a young fawn, 290
child of some swift deer. The eagle released the fawn,
dropping it right beside that splendid altar [250]
where Achaeans sacrificed to all-knowing Zeus.
Seeing that Zeus had sent the bird, men resumed the fight,
attacking Trojans eagerly, their battle spirits roused.

Then none of those many Danaans there could claim
he was quicker with his horses than Diomedes,
driving them ahead and charging through the ditch,
to confront their enemies face to face and fight.
Well ahead of all the rest, Diomedes killed his man, 300
a well-armed Trojan, Agelaus, son of Phradmon.
He’d turned his team around to get away.
But once he showed his back, Diomedes speared him
between his shoulder blades, driving through his chest.
He fell from the chariot, armour rattling round him. [260]
After Diomedes, the sons of Atreus came charging in,
Agamemnon and Menelaus, and after them
both Ajaxes, encased in war’s ferocity,
followed by Idomeneus and his attendant,
Meriones, the equal of man-killing Ares. 310
Then came Eurypylus, brave son of Euaemon.
Ninth came Teucer, stretching his curved bow.
He stood beneath the shield of Ajax, son of Telamon.
As Ajax cautiously pulled his shield aside,
Teucer would peer out quickly, shoot off an arrow,
hit someone in the crowd, dropping that soldier
right where he stood, ending his life—then he’d duck back, [270]
crouching down by Ajax, like a child beside its mother.
Ajax would then conceal him with his shining shield.
Who were the first Trojans skilful Teucer killed? 320
Orsilochus died first, then Ormenus, Ophelestes,
Daitor, Chromius, godlike Lycophontes,
Amopaon, son of Polyaimon, and Melanippus—
all these Teucer dropped one by one on fertile earth.
Watching him cause havoc with his bow in Trojan ranks,
Agamemnon, king of men, was overjoyed.
He went up, stood beside him, then spoke out: [280]

“Teucer, son of Telamon, master of your people,
my dear comrade, keep on shooting as you’re doing.
You’ll be a saving light to the Danaans, 330
and to your father Telamon, who raised you,
took care of you, a bastard, in his own home.
Though he’s far off, cover him with glory now.
For I’ll tell you something—and this will happen—
if Athena and aegis-bearing Zeus permit me
to devastate that well-built city Ilion,
you’ll be the first to take the prize of honour,
after me, of course—a tripod, two horses, [290]
their chariot as well, or some woman
to climb up into your bed with you.” 340

Skilful Teucer then replied to Agamemnon:

“Mighty son of Atreus, why urge me on?
I’m eager to continue shooting.
Since we first drove them back to Ilion,
I’ve not stopped fighting as hard as I know how,
cutting men down with my bow and killing them.
I’ve shot off eight long-barbed arrows. Each one
has sunk itself deep inside a soldier’s flesh,
some strong, swift warrior. But this man,
Hector, I can’t hit. He’s like some crazy dog.” 350

With that, Teucer launched another arrow from his bowstring, [300]
directly facing Hector, eager to hit him.
The arrow missed, but struck handsome Gorgythion,
son of Priam, in the chest, a man whose mother,
lovely Castianeira, divinely beautiful,
went from Aisyme to become a wife to Priam.
Just as the head on a garden poppy leans aslant,
loaded down with heavy seed and spring rain showers,
so Gorgythion’s head sagged under his helmet’s weight.
Teucer loosed yet another arrow from his bowstring, 360
straight at Hector, his spirit still keen to hit him. [310]
Again he missed, for Apollo deflected it.
But the arrow did hit Archeptolemos,
Hector’s bold driver, as he was coming to the fight.
It struck him in the chest, right by the nipple.
He fell from the chariot. The fast horses swerved.
Then and there his strength and spirit abandoned him.
In his heart Hector felt sharp pain for his charioteer,
but he left him there, though grieving for his comrade.
He called out to his brother Cebriones, 370
who was near by, to take up the chariot reins.
Cebriones heard him and willingly agreed.
Hector jumped down from his glittering chariot [320]
with a fearful yell. Picking up a boulder
lying on the ground, he went straight at Teucer,
his heart aroused to hit him with it. At that moment,
Teucer had just taken a sharp arrow from his quiver,
set it on the bowstring, and was drawing back the bow,
once again desperately eager to hit Hector.
But Hector struck him with that jagged rock 380
right on the shoulder, where collar bones divide
neck from chest, an especially vulnerable spot.
The rock broke the bowstring and numbed his hands and wrists.
Teucer fell forward on his knees and stayed there,
letting his bow fall from his hand. Seeing his brother down,
Ajax quickly hurried up and straddled Teucer, [330]
covering him with his shield. Two loyal attendants,
Mecisteus, son of Echios, and noble Alastor,
hoisted Teucer up—he was groaning heavily—
then took him with them back to the hollow ships. 390

Once more Olympian Zeus put force into the Trojans.
They drove Achaeans back, right back to their deep trench,
Hector at the front, proudly showing off his strength.
Just as some hunting dog in a swift-footed chase
gets a grip on a wild boar or lion from the back,
on the flank or rump, and watches that beast’s every move, [340]
that’s how Hector harried the long-haired Achaeans,
always killing off the stragglers as they fled.
By the time Achaeans had rushed through the stakes,
as they crossed the ditch, many had died at Trojan hands. 400
At last they halted by the ships and stayed there,
calling out to one another. Raising their hands,
each man prayed fervently to all the gods.
Hector drove his fine-maned horses back and forth,
his eyes glaring like a Gorgon or man-killing Ares.

Seeing all this, white-armed Hera pitied the Achaeans. [350]
She quickly spoke these winged words to Athena:

“Alas, child of aegis-bearing Zeus,
Achaeans are being massacred. It’s their last stand.
Aren’t we concerned about them any more, 410
as their evil fate accomplishes its purpose?
They’re being destroyed by one man’s charging frenzy.
Hector, son of Priam, is on a rampage.
He can’t be stopped. He’s already done great harm.”

Bright-eyed goddess Athena answered Hera:

“I wish Hector somehow would lose his strength
and die, killed in his own native land
at Argive hands. But my father, too,
is in a rage, destruction on his mind. [360]
What a wretch he is, always in the way, 420
wrecking my plans. He does not remember
how many times I saved Hercules, his son,
worn down by work he got from Eurystheus.
If I’d had the foresight to anticipate
what Zeus is doing now when Eurystheus
sent Hercules down to the house of Hades,
the Gate Keeper, to fetch back from Erebus
Hades’ dreadful hound, he’d never have escaped
the deep rushing waters of the river Styx.
Now Zeus dislikes me. He’s carrying out 430
what Thetis wants. She kissed his knee, cupped his chin, [370]
begged him to grant due honour to Achilles,
destroyer of cities. But the day will come
when Zeus calls me dear bright eyes once more.
Now harness your sure-footed horses for us,
while I go to aegis-bearing Zeus’ home
and arm myself with weapons for this battle,
so I may see whether this son of Priam,
this Hector of the shining helmet, is pleased
when we two show up in the battle lanes, 440
or whether some Trojan will make a meal
for dogs and birds with flesh and body fat,
as he falls there beside Achaean ships.” [380]

Athena finished. White-armed Hera agreed with her.
Then Hera, honoured goddess, great Cronos’ daughter,
went off and started harnessing her horses
with their golden headpieces. Meanwhile, Athena,
daughter of aegis-bearing Zeus, threw her dress
down on the floor of her father’s house, a soft robe,
richly embroidered, which she’d made with her own hands. 450
She pulled on the tunic of cloud-gatherer Zeus
and armed herself with weapons for destructive war.
Then she stepped up into the flaming chariot,
grasping the huge thick strong spear she used to break [390]
heroic warrior ranks which had provoked her,
making the daughter of a mighty father angry.
Hera immediately whipped the horses forward.
With a groan, the gates of heaven opened on their own,
those gates which the Seasons, custodians of Olympus
and great heaven, too, look after, pushing open 460
the heavy cloud, then pushing it shut once more.
Through these gates the goddesses lashed on their horses.

Father Zeus noticed them from Ida. In a huge rage,
he sent down gold-winged Iris with a message for them.

“Off with you, swift Iris. Turn them back again.
Don’t permit them to come into my presence.
For if we come to blows, then we’ll have trouble. [400]
But I do say this—and it will surely happen—
I’ll cripple their fast horses in their traces,
throw them from the chariot, smash it in pieces. 470
Ten revolving years won’t be sufficient
to cure the wounds my lightning will inflict,
so the bright-eyed goddess knows what it means
to fight against her father. As for Hera,
I’m not so angry or upset with her,
for no matter what I say, she undermines it.”

Zeus spoke. Then Iris, swift as a storm, rushed off,
taking his message. She came down from Mount Ida [410]
and made for high Olympus. She met the goddesses
at the outer gate of many-ridged Olympus. 480
She stopped them and reported Zeus’ message:

“Where are you rushing off? Have you lost your wits?
The son of Cronos has forbidden anyone
to assist the Argives. And he’s made this threat—
which he intends to carry out—he’ll maim
your swift horses in their traces, throw you both
out of the chariot, smash it in pieces.
Ten revolving years won’t be sufficient
to cure the wounds his lightning will inflict,
so that you’ll understand, bright-eyed goddess, 490
what it means to fight against your father. [420]
With Hera’s he’s not so angry or upset.
For no matter what he says, she undermines it.
But as for you, you shameless schemer,
are you daring to fight Zeus with one large spear?”

Having said this, swift-footed Iris went away.
Hera then said to Athena:

“What a mess,
child of aegis-bearing Zeus! I’m not keen,
not now, that two of us should take on Zeus
for the sake of mortal men. Let some die 500
and others live, as chance will work it out.
Let Zeus judge between Trojans and Achaeans, [430]
as his heart desires. That’s how it should be.”

With these words, she turned her sure-footed horses back.
The Seasons unyoked the horses with the lovely manes,
led them to their heavenly stalls, and leaned the chariot
against the courtyard’s luminescent inner wall.
The goddesses then sat down on their golden thrones,
among the other gods, with anger in their hearts.
Father Zeus drove his fine-wheeled chariot and horses 510
from Ida to Olympus, to the place where gods
were all assembled. The famous Earthshaker,
Poseidon, loosed his horses from their harness for him, [440]
put the chariot on its stand, and covered it with cloth.
Then wide-seeing Zeus himself sat on his golden throne.
Underneath his feet great Olympus trembled.
Athena and Hera were sitting by themselves,
away from Zeus, not saying anything to him
or asking questions. Knowing what was in their hearts,
Zeus spoke:

“Why are you so irritated, 520
Hera and Athena? Surely you’re not tired
from those fights where men win glory,
exhausted after killing off the Trojans,
for whom you feel such deadly hatred
Be that as it may, such is my power,
the strength in my own hands, it’s impossible [450]
for all the Olympian gods combined
to turn me from my purposes. As for you,
you both were trembling in your shining limbs
even before you looked on any fight 530
or witnessed first-hand war’s destructiveness.
But I’ll tell you what would’ve taken place—
neither of you would’ve come back to Olympus,
the immortals’ home, riding in your chariot.
My lightning would have blasted both of you.”

Zeus finished speaking. Hera and Athena muttered,
sitting together, plotting trouble for the Trojans.
Athena sat in silence, not saying anything,
angry with her father, consumed with rage. [460]
But Hera couldn’t hold the fury in her chest. She said: 540

“Dread son of Cronos, what are you saying?
We know well enough how strong you are—
invincible. But nonetheless, we pity
Danaan spearmen who are being destroyed,
suffering a dreadful fate. But we’ll hold back,
refrain from fighting, if that’s your order.
We’ll provide useful advice to Argives,
so they don’t all die from your displeasure.”

In response to Hera, cloud-gatherer Zeus then said:

“Ox-eyed queen Hera, if you’re so inclined, 550 [470]
tomorrow morning you can witness
the exalted son of Cronos, as he kills
many Achaean spearmen in their army.
For warlike Hector won’t stop fighting,
until beside the ships he stirs to action
swift Achilles, son of Peleus, on that day
they fight with bloody desperation
by the ships’ sterns—they’ll be battling over
the body of Patroclus. That’s been decreed.
I don’t care at all if this annoys you. 560
Even if you descend to the lowest place
beneath the earth and sea, where Iapetus
and Cronos live, where they get no pleasure
in any sunlight from Hyperion, [480]
or any breeze, in the depths of Tartarus—
even if you went as far away as that
in your wandering, I’d still pay no attention
to your displeasure. For you’ve no rival
when it comes to behaving like a bitch.”*

Zeus spoke. White-armed Hera didn’t answer him. 570

Now the sun’s bright light sank down into the ocean,
dragging black night over fertile crop lands.
The end of daylight made the Trojans sorrowful,
but Achaeans welcomed the arrival of black night,
something they’d been praying for constantly.

Then glorious Hector assembled all the Trojans
some distance from the ships, by the swirling river, [490]
in open ground where there were no corpses in plain view.
Jumping from their chariots to the ground, warriors
listened for what Hector, loved by Zeus, would say. 580
In his hand, he gripped a spear eighteen feet long,
its bronze point glittering there in front of them,
a golden ring around it. Leaning on this spear,
Hector then addressed his Trojans:

“Listen to me,
you Trojans, Dardanians, you allies.
Just now I stated we’d go back to Troy today,
once we’d destroyed the ships and slaughtered
all Achaeans. But darkness intervened. [500]
That’s the only thing that spared the Argives
and saved their ships beached onshore. Come then, 590
let’s do what black night demands—prepare a meal.
So from your chariots take out of harness
those horses with their lovely manes, feed them,
then quickly bring here from the city
cattle and stout sheep. Bring sweet wine as well,
and bread from your own homes. Get lots of wood,
so all night long, until first light of dawn,
we can burn many fires, lighting up the sky.
Some time in the night, long-haired Achaeans [510]
may make their move to get away by sea. 600
We must not let them embark easily,
without a fight. Let some of them be hit,
take something home they need to nurse with care—
an arrow wound, a slash from some sharp spear
as they jump in their ships—so someone else
will think twice about bringing wretched war
upon horse-taming Trojans. Let the call go out
from heralds, whom Zeus loves, through all the city,
for growing boys and grey-haired men to camp
up on the city’s walls, built by the gods. 610
Let each grown woman get ready a large fire [520]
in her home. Let all keep a sharp lookout,
to stop a group from entering our city
while the army is elsewhere. Do all this,
you great-hearted Trojans, just as I’ve said.
That’s all I have to tell you at this time.
I’ve more orders for horse-taming Trojans
for tomorrow. I hope and pray to Zeus,
to other gods as well, I’ll drive away
these death-infected dogs, conducted here 620
in their black ships by mortal fates. Right now,
let’s watch out for ourselves tonight. At dawn,
let’s arm ourselves with weapons and re-ignite [530]
this bitter warfare by the hollow ships.
Then I’ll know if mighty Diomedes,
son of Tydeus, will repel me from the ships,
or whether with my bronze I’ll slaughter him
and take away the spoils all stained with blood.
Tomorrow he’ll understand how good he is,
whether he can stand against my spear, 630
as it comes after him. I think he’ll fall.
He’ll be among the first men speared to death,
with many of his comrades round him,
at tomorrow’s sunrise. I wish I were as sure
I were immortal, ageless for all time,
that I’d be worshiped as Athena is, [540]
and Apollo, too, as I am that this day
will bring destruction to the Argives.”

Hector finished speaking. Trojans gave a shout.
They untied their sweaty horses from their yokes, 640
tethered them with straps, each by its chariot.
From the city they soon brought cattle and stout sheep,
sweet wine and bread from home. They gathered piles of wood
and made perfect sacrificial offerings to the gods.
From the plain, the wind carried the sweet-smelling smoke
right up to heaven. But the blessed gods weren’t willing [550]
to accept it, for sacred Ilion, and Priam,
and Priam’s people, rich in sheep, did not please them.
So all night long men sat there in the battle lanes,
with high expectations, burning many fires. 650
Just as those times when the stars shine bright in heaven,
clustered around the glowing moon, with no wind at all,
and every peak and jutting headland, every forest glade
is clearly visible, when every star shines out,
and the shepherd’s heart rejoices—that’s the way
the many Trojan fires looked, as they burned there
in front of Ilion, between the river Xanthus [560]
and the ships, a thousand fires burning on the plain.
By each sat fifty men in the glow of firelight.
Horses munched on wheat and barley, standing there 660
by their chariots, awaiting the regal splendour of the dawn.

Notes

*The ends of the line of ships would be the most exposed to enemy attacks. Hence, these places indicate the warrior prowess of Achilles and Ajax.

*Zeus overthrew his father Cronos and the immortal Titans (including Iapetus) and imprisoned them deep in the earth.

 

 

 


Book Nine

Peace Offerings to Achilles

The Argives in despair; Agamemnon proposes they go home; Diomedes responds, rebuking Agamemnon; Nestor proposes a reconciliation with Achilles; Agamemnon agrees, outlines his offer; Phoenix, Odysseus, and Ajax go to Achilles with the offer; he welcomes them with a meal; Odysseus outlines Agamemnon's offer; Achilles refuses; Phoenix urges Achilles to accept, tells the story of Meleager; Achilles refuses Phoenix; Ajax speaks last; Achilles makes a slight concession; the envoys return with Achilles' answer; Achaeans retire for the night.

Meanwhile, as the Trojans maintained their careful watch,
Panic, chilling Fear’s dread comrade, gripped Achaeans,
their best men suffering unendurable anguish.
Just like those times two winds blow in from Thrace—
North Wind and West Wind suddenly spring up
and lash the fish-filled seas—black waves at once rise up,
then fling seaweed in piles along the shoreline—
so spirits in Achaean chests were now cast down.
Atreus’ son, heart overwhelmed with painful sorrow,
went to give out orders for clear-voiced heralds 10 [10]
to summon all the warriors to assembly,
calling them one by one, not with a general shout.
He himself, with his heralds, carried out the task.
The counsellors sat heart sick. Agamemnon stood,
his face shedding tears like a black water spring
whose dark stream flows down a sheer rock precipice.
With a sigh, Agamemnon addressed the Argives:

“My friends, leaders, Argive counsellors,
Zeus, son of Cronos, has snared me badly
in grievous folly. Deceptive god, 20
he promised me—he nodded his assent—
that I’d lay waste to well-built Ilion, [20]
before I went back home. Now he tricks me
He’s devised a cruel deceit for me,
telling me to return to Argos in disgrace,
after the deaths of so many warriors.
That’s what now delights all-powerful Zeus,
who has hurled down so many lofty towns,
and who’ll still demolish many more—
such is his power, irresistible. 30
But come, let’s all follow what I propose—
let’s sail back to our dear native land.
For we’re never going to capture Troy.”

He finished. All those there stayed silent, stunned.
Achaea’s sons just sat there, speechless with grief. [30]
At last Diomedes, skilled in battle cries, spoke out:

“Son of Atreus, I’ll be the first to challenge
your foolishness, as is my right, my lord,
in our assembly. So don’t be angry.
First of all, you slighted my bravery 40
in front of all Danaans, when you claimed
I was no soldier, an unwarlike man.
Achaeans, young and old, all know this.
The son of crooked-minded Cronos gave you
a two-edged gift—he gave you honour
to govern all men with your sceptre,
but he didn’t give the strongest power,
courage. My misguided king, do you think [40]
Achaea’s sons are really fearful cowards,
as you state? If your heart wishes to go home, 50
then go. The road lies there in front of you.
The many ships which sailed here with you
from Mycenae stand ready by the sea.
But the rest of the long-haired Achaeans
will stay here, until we demolish Troy.
If they flee back to their dear native land
in their ships, too, then Sthenelus and I
will fight on to our goal, to take Ilion.
For the gods were with us when we came.”

With a roar, all Achaea’s sons endorsed his words, 60 [50]
pleased with the speech made by horse-taming Diomedes.
Then horseman Nestor, standing up before them, said:

“Son of Tydeus, you’re excellent in battle
and the best Achaean of your age in council.
No Achaean will fault what you’ve just said
or oppose it. But your speech is incomplete.
You are still young—you might well be my son,
my youngest born. Still, you spoke sensibly,
in what you said to the Achaean king.
For you spoke justly and kept to the point. 70
But come, I can claim to be your senior, [60]
so I shall explain this matter fully.
Let no one take issue now with what I say,
not even mighty Agamemnon.
Any man who’s keen on civil war
is an evil outlaw, without a heart,
without a home. So for the time being,
now that night has come, let’s do what we must.
Let’s get dinner ready, something to eat.
And let’s have sentries camp beside that trench 80
we dug outside the wall. I’m saying young men
should do this. Then, issue your instructions,
son of Atreus, for you are chief king here.
Prepare a meal for senior counsellors—
that’s the right and proper thing to do. [70]
You’ve got lots of wine stockpiled in your huts,
which Achaea’s sons bring here every day
over the wide sea from Thrace—you’ve got
all you need to show such hospitality,
for you are ruler over many men. 90
Once many people have assembled there,
you should follow whoever offers you
the best advice. All we Achaeans need
good practical advice, especially now,
when enemies are burning many fires
right beside our ships. Who finds that pleasant?
This night saves our army or destroys it.”

Nestor spoke. Those present listened carefully,
then followed what he’d said. Armed sentinels went out, [80]
led by Thrasymedes, Nestor’s son, his people’s shepherd, 100
with Ascalaphus and Ialmenus, strong fighters,
and Meriones, Aphareus, and Deïpyrus,
along with noble Lycomedes, Creion’s son.
These seven were captains of the sentinels.
A hundred young men, all armed with their long spears,
went with each of them. They marched off and took positions
half way between the ditch and wall. Then the men lit fires
and prepared their meals. Atreus’ son led his advisors
to his hut and gave all of them a generous meal. [90]
They ate the food prepared and set before them, 110
and each man ate and drank to his full heart’s content.
Old Nestor, whose previous advice had seemed the best,
was the first to begin explaining what he thought.
Keeping in mind their common good, he spoke out:

“Mighty son of Atreus, Agamemnon,
king of men, I’ll begin and end my speech
with you, for you are lord of many men.
Zeus gave you sceptre and laws to rule them.
Thus, you, above all, should speak and listen, [100]
then act upon what other men may say, 120
if their spirit prompts them to speak well.
You’ll get the credit for what they begin.
So I’ll say what seems to me the best advice.
No one else has set out a better scheme
than the one which I’ve been mulling over
a long time now, ever since you, my lord,
made Achilles angry by taking back
that young girl Briseis from his hut,
against my judgment. Repeatedly,
I urged you not to do it. But then you, 130
surrendering to your arrogant spirit,
shamed our strongest man, honoured by the gods. [110]
You still have that prize you took. So now let’s think
how we may make amends, win him back with gifts
and gracious speeches, and be friends once more.”

Agamemnon, king of men, then answered Nestor:

“Old man, you expose my folly justly.
I was deluded. I don’t deny that.
The man whom Zeus loves in his heart is worth
whole armies. And this man Zeus now honours 140
by destroying an army of Achaeans.
Since my delusion made me follow
my mistaken feelings, I’m now willing
to make amends, to give in recompense [120]
immense treasures. I’ll list these rich gifts
in presence of you all—seven tripods
which fire has not yet touched, ten gold talents,
twenty shining cauldrons, twelve strong horse
whose speed has triumphed and earned them prizes.
A man who has as much as I have won 150
from racing these sure-footed animals
would not be poor, or lack possessions,
or need precious gold. And then I’ll give him
seven women of Lesbos, skilled in crafts,
whom I chose for myself when he captured
well-built Lesbos. They surpass all women [130]
for their beauty. These I shall present to him.
With them the one I seized from him, Briseis,
daughter of Briseus. I’ll solemnly swear
I never once went up into her bed 160
or had sex with her, as is men’s custom,
where men and women are concerned.
All these things he will receive immediately.
If gods grant we destroy Priam’s great city,
when we Achaeans allocate the spoils,
let him come and load his ship with gold,
with bronze, as much as he desires. He may choose
twenty Trojan women for himself,
the loveliest after Argive Helen. [140]
If we get back to the rich land of Argos, 170
he can then become my son-in-law.
I’ll honour him just as I do Orestes,
my son, whom I dearly love. He’s being raised
in great prosperity. In my well-built home,
I have three daughters—Chrysothemis,
Iphianessa and Laodice.
He can take whichever one he chooses
back home as his wife to Peleus’ house
and pay no bridal gift. I’ll give much more
to bring about our reconciliation, 180
a dowry bigger than any man so far
has ever handed over with his daughter.
I’ll give him seven populous cities,
Cardamyle, Enope, grassy Hire, [150]
holy Pherae, fertile Antheia,
lovely Aepea, and vine-rich Pedasus,
all near the sea, beside sandy Pylos.
People living in these places own a lot,
many sheep and cattle. They will honour him
and give him gifts, as if he were a god. 190
Under his laws and sceptre they’ll do well.
I shall give all this if he will abate
his anger. Let him concede. Only Hades
is totally relentless and unyielding.
That’s why of all the gods, he’s the one
men hate the most. And let him acknowledge
my authority, for I’m the greater king. [160]
In age I can claim to be his senior.”

Geranian horseman Nestor then said in reply:

“Mighty son of Atreus, Agamemnon, 200
king of men, the gifts you’re offering
to lord Achilles can’t be criticized.
But come, let’s send out hand-picked men
to go with all speed to Achilles’ hut,
Peleus’ son. And may those I select
agree to do it. First, let Phoenix,
whom Zeus loves, be leader, then great Ajax,
and lord Odysseus. Let herald Odius
accompany them, along with Eurybates. [170]
Bring some water for our hands. Let’s observe 210
a holy silence, so we may pray to Zeus,
son of Cronos, to take pity on us.”

Nestor spoke. All present approved of what he’d said.
Attendants then poured water on their hands.
Young men filled mixing bowls with wine up to the brim
and passed them round. With every cup they made libations.
Once they’d made offerings and drunk their fill of wine,
they left the hut of Agamemnon, son of Atreus.
Geranian horseman Nestor, looking at each man,
especially at Odysseus, kept encouraging them 220 [180]
to persuade Achilles, Peleus’ excellent son.

Along the shore of the tumbling, crashing sea,
the envoys made their way, offering up their prayers
to world-circling Earthshaker Poseidon to help them
more easily convince the great heart of Achilles.
They came to the ships and huts of the Myrmidons.
There they found Achilles. He was easing his spirit
with a tuneful finely decorated lyre.
It had a silver cross-piece. He’d seized it as a prize
when he’d destroyed the city of Eëtion. 230
With the lyre he was bringing pleasure to his heart,
singing about the celebrated deeds of men.
Patroclus, his sole companion, sat there facing him, [190]
waiting in silence until Achilles finished singing.
The envoys approached, lord Odysseus in the lead.
They stood in front of him. In astonishment,
Achilles got up off his chair and stood up quickly,
still holding the lyre. Patroclus did the same,
standing up as soon as he saw the embassy.
Swift-footed Achilles greeted them and said:

“Welcome. 240
My dear friends have come. I must be needed.
Among Achaeans you’re the men I love the most,
even in my anger.”

With these words,
lord Achilles conducted them inside his hut [200]
and seated them on chairs covered with purple rugs.
Moving up close to Patroclus, Achilles said:

“Son of Menoetius, set out for us
a larger wine bowl, and mix stronger wine.
Prepare a cup for everyone. These men,
my closest friends, are under my own roof.” 250

Achilles spoke. Patroclus obeyed his dear companion.
Then in the firelight he set down a large chopping block,
placed on it slabs of mutton, goat, and the chine
of a plump hog, swimming in fat. Achilles carved,
while Automedon held the meat. He sliced up
small pieces, then got them ready on the spits. [210]
The son of Menoetius, godlike man, stoked the fire,
a huge one. Once the blaze died down and flames subsided,
Patroclus spread the glowing embers, laid the spits
lengthwise on top, setting them in place on stones 260
and sprinkling on the sacred salt. When the meat was cooked,
he laid it out on platters. Patroclus took the bread,
then passed it in fine baskets round the table.
Achilles served the meat and sat down by the wall,
directly opposite godlike Odysseus.
Achilles told Patroclus, his companion,
to sacrifice to all the gods. Patroclus threw the offerings [220]
into the fire. Then each man helped himself,
eating the food prepared and set before him.
They all ate and drank to their full heart’s content. 270
Then Ajax gave a nod to Phoenix. Seeing that,
lord Odysseus filled up his cup with wine
and proposed a toast:

“Good health, Achilles.
We have not had to go without our share
of feasts, either in Agamemnon’s hut,
Atreus’ son, or here, for you’ve prepared
a richly satisfying meal. But now
our business is not pleasant banqueting.
For we are staring at a great disaster.
And, my lord, we are afraid, in a quandary, 280
whether we can save our well-decked ships, [230]
or whether they will be destroyed, unless
you put on your warlike power once again.
For haughty Trojans and their famous allies
have camped close to the ships and barricade
and lit many fires throughout their army.
They claim nothing can prevent them now
from attacking our black ships. And Zeus,
son of Cronos, has sent them his signal,
on their right a lightning flash. Hector, 290
exulting hugely in his power,
in a terrifying manic frenzy,
puts his faith in Zeus, fears neither man nor god.
A killing passion now possesses him.
He prays for holy dawn to come quickly, [240]
vowing he’ll hack apart the high sterns
of our ships, burn them in destructive fire,
and by those very ships kill the Achaeans
driven out in desperation by the smoke.
I have a dreadful fear deep in my heart 300
that the gods will make good all his boasting,
seal our fate, to perish here in Troy,
far away from Argos, where horses breed.
So rouse yourself, late though it may be,
if you’ve a mind to save Achaeans
from their suffering at this Trojan onslaught.
If not, you’ll suffer future agonies.
You won’t find any cure for such despair. [250]
Before that happens, you should think about
how to help Argives at this evil hour. 310
My friend, that day your father, Peleus,
sent you off, away from Phthia,
to join Agamemnon, didn’t he say this,

‘My son, Athena and Hera will give you
power, if they so wish, but you must check
that overbearing spirit in your chest.
It’s better to show good will, to give up
malicious quarrelling. Then Achaeans,
young and old, will respect you all the more’?

That’s what your old father said, advice 320
which you’ve forgotten. So even now
you should stop, cease this heart-corroding rage. [260]
For if you will mitigate your anger,
Agamemnon will give you worthy gifts.
If you will hear the list, then I’ll repeat
what Agamemnon has promised to you.
All gifts are in his huts—seven tripods
which fire has not yet touched, ten gold talents,
twenty shining cauldrons, twelve strong horses
whose speed has triumphed, earned them prizes— 330
a man who’s won as much as Agamemnon
from racing these sure-footed animals
would not be poor or lack possessions
or precious gold. Then he will add to this
seven women of Lesbos, skilled in crafts, [270]
whom he chose for himself when you captured
well-built Lesbos. They surpass all women
for their beauty. These he will present to you,
with them the one he seized from you, Briseis,
daughter of Briseus. He’ll solemnly swear 340
he never once went up into her bed
or had sex with her, as is men’s custom,
where men and women are concerned.
All these things you will receive immediately.
If gods grant that we destroy Priam’s great city,
when we Achaeans allocate the spoils,
you may come and load your ship with gold,
with bronze, as much as you desire. You may choose [280]
twenty Trojan women for yourself,
the loveliest after Argive Helen. 350
If we get back to the rich land of Argos,
you can then become his son-in-law.
He’ll honour you just as he does Orestes,
his son, whom he dearly loves. He’s being raised
in great prosperity. In his well-built home
he has three daughters—Chrysothemis,
Iphianessa, and Laodice.
You can take whichever one you choose
back home as your wife to Peleus’ house
and pay no bridal gift. He’ll give much more 360 [290]
to bring about your reconciliation,
a dowry bigger than any man so far
has ever handed over with his daughter.
He’ll give you seven populous cities,
Cardamyle, Enope, grassy Hire,
holy Pherae, fertile Antheia,
lovely Aepea, and vine-rich Pedasus,
all near the sea, beside sandy Pylos.
People living in these places possess
many sheep and cattle and will honour you 370
and give you gifts, as if you were a god.
Under your laws and sceptre they’ll do well.
He will give all this, if you will abate
your anger. But if your heart still resents [300]
Atreus’ son and his gifts, then take pity
on all Achaeans, our exhausted soldiers.
They will pay you honours like a god.
Among them you’ll earn enormous glory,
for now you might kill Hector, who may well
approach you—he’s so obsessed with slaughter, 380
he thinks there’s not a warrior his equal
among Danaans brought here in our ships.”

Swift-footed Achilles then answered Odysseus:

“Divinely born son of Laertes,
resourceful Odysseus. I must be blunt
about what I think, where all this will lead, [310]
so you do not sit there and, one by one,
try to entice me with sweet promises.
I hate like the gates of Hell any man
who says one thing while thinking something else 390
which stays hidden in his mind. So I’ll declare
what, in my view, it’s best for me to say—
I don’t believe that Agamemnon,
Atreus’ son, or any other Argive
will persuade me, for no thanks are given
to the man who always fights without rest
against the enemy. Whether one fights
or stays behind, the shares are still the same
Coward and brave man both get equal honour.
Death treats idle and active men alike. 400 [320]
I’ve won nothing for all I’ve suffered,
battling on, pain in my heart, with my life
always under threat. Just as a bird
takes scraps of food, whatever she can find,
to her fledglings, but herself eats little,
so have I lain without sleep many nights,
persevered through bloody days of fighting,
in battling men in wars about their wives.
With ships, I’ve seized twelve towns and killed their men.
On land, in the area of fertile Troy, 410
I claim eleven more. From all these
I took fine treasure, lots of it, brought it [330]
to Agamemnon, Atreus’ son—I gave it
all to him. He stayed back, at the swift ships.
He shared very little of what he got,
keeping most of it for his own use.
He gave prizes to the best of men, the kings,
and they hung on to them. From me alone
he stole away a prize, a woman I love.
Let him have his pleasure in bed with her. 420
Why must Argives fight against the Trojans?
Why did Atreus’ son collect an army
and lead it here if not for fair-haired Helen?
Are Atreus’ sons the only mortal men [340]
who love their wives? Every good and prudent man
loves his wife and cares for her, as my heart
loved that girl, though captured with my spear.
Since he’s taken my prize out of my hands
and cheated me, let him not try to take
another thing from me. I know him too well. 430
He’ll never persuade me to agree.
But, Odysseus, let him rely on you
and other kings as well to save his ships
from fiery destruction. He has done much
without me already. He’s built a wall,
constructed a large wide ditch around it, [350]
and fixed stakes inside. But for all these things,
he’s not been able to check the power
of man-killing Hector. When I fought
beside Achaeans, Hector wasn’t eager 440
to push the battle far from his own walls.
He came out only to the Scaean Gates
and to the oak tree. Once he met me there
alone. He barely got away from my attack.
But now I don’t want to fight lord Hector.
Tomorrow I’ll make holy sacrifice
to Zeus, to all the gods, and load my ships,
once I’ve dragged them down into the sea.
You’ll see, if you wish, if you’re interested,
tomorrow my ships will be sailing off, 450
on the fish-filled Hellespont, men rowing [360]
with great eagerness. And if Poseidon,
famous Earthshaker, gives us fair sailing,
in three days I’ll reach fertile Phthia.
There I own many things I left behind
when I made this disastrous trip to Troy.
I’ll take back from here more gold, red bronze,
fair women, and grey iron—all I captured.
But mighty Agamemnon, Atreus’ son,
in his arrogance, seized back from me 460
the prize which he awarded. Tell him that.
Repeat in public everything I say,
so other Achaeans will grow angry, [370]
if he, still clothed in shamelessness, hopes
at any time to deceive some Argive.
Cur that he is, he doesn’t dare confront me
face to face. I’ll discuss no plans with him,
no actions. He cheated me, betrayed me.
His words will cheat no more. To hell with him!
Let him march to his death by his own road, 470
for Counsellor Zeus has stolen his wits.
I hate his gifts. And he’s not worth a damn.
Not even if he gave me ten times, no,
twenty times more than all he owns right now,
or will possess in future, not even [380]
all the wealth amassed in Orchomenus,
or Egyptian Thebes, where huge treasures sit
piled up in houses—that city of gates,
one hundred of them, through each can ride
two hundred men, horses and chariots 480
all together—not even if he gave me
gifts as numerous as grains of sand
beside the sea or particles of dust,
not for all that would Agamemnon win
my heart, not until he satisfies me
in full for all my heartfelt bitter pain.
I’ll never take as wife any daughter
of Agamemnon, son of Atreus,
not even if her beauty rivals that
of golden Aphrodite, or her skill 490
in crafts equals bright-eyed Athena’s. [390]
I will not marry her. Let him select
another Achaean, someone like himself,
a more prestigious king than me. For me,
if the gods keep me safe and I get home,
Peleus himself will find me a wife.
There are plenty of Achaean women
in Hellas and in Phthia—daughters of lords,
men who govern cities. From them I’ll choose
the one I want to make my cherished wife. 500
My heart has often felt a strong desire
to take a woman there as my own wife,
someone suitable for marriage, to enjoy
the riches which old Peleus has acquired. [400]
Life is worth more to me than all the wealth
they say was stored in well-built Ilion
some time ago, when they were still at peace,
before the sons of Achaea came here,
more than all the treasures of the archer,
Phoebus Apollo, stacked on the stone floor 510
in rocky Pytho. Men can steal cattle,
fat sheep, get tripods, herds of sorrel horses.
But no man gets his life back, not by theft
or plunder, once it has flown out from him,
passed beyond the barrier of his teeth.
My goddess mother, silver-footed Thetis, [410]
has said two fates may bring about my death.
If I remain here, continuing the fight
against the Trojans’ city, that means
I won’t be going home, but my glory 520
will never die. But if I go back home,
my fame will die, although my life will last
a long time—death will not end it quickly.
And so I encourage all the rest of you
to sail back home. You’ll not attain your goal,
steep Ilion, because far-seeing Zeus
shields that city with his hand. Its people [420]
have confidence in that. Thus, you should go.
Report this message to Achaean leaders—
that’s the privilege of senior men— 530
their minds must come up with some better plan
to save the Achaean fleet and army
beside the hollow ships. The one they’ve got
won’t work, since anger still keeps me away.
Let Phoenix stay here with me, sleep here,
so tomorrow he may join our voyage
to his dear native land, if that’s his wish.
For I will not take him back by force.”

Achilles spoke. Astounded by his speech, they all sat there, [430]
in silence, stunned by the sheer force of his refusal. 540
After a pause, old horseman Phoenix spoke:

“Glorious Achilles, if your mind
is really set on going back, if you
are totally unwilling to protect
our swift ships from destructive fire,
because that anger has consumed your heart,
how can I remain here, dear lad, alone,
away from you? Old horseman Peleus
sent me with you, on that day he shipped you
from Phthia to join Agamemnon. 550
You were young, knowing nothing about war, [440]
which levels men, or about public debates,
where men acquire distinction. So Peleus
sent me to teach you all these things,
so you could speak and carry out great actions.
Given all this, dear lad, how can I wish
to be alone and separated from you?
No, not even if god himself promised
to cast off my old age, to make me young,
the man I was when I first left Hellas, 560
land of beautiful women, running off
from my angry father, Amyntor,
Ormenus’ son. He was incensed with me
about his fair-haired mistress. He loved her,
thus dishonouring his wife, my mother, [450]
who begged me constantly—on her knees—
to have sex with that mistress, so she’d hate
my father. I obeyed, did what she asked.
My father soon found out what I had done—
he cursed me many times repeatedly, 570
praying to dread Furies that no dear son
born from me would ever sit upon his knees.
The gods made sure his curses took effect,
underworld Zeus and dread Persephone.
I planned to murder him with my sharp bronze.
Some god checked my anger, putting in my heart
what men would say, their great contempt— [460]
how among all Achaeans I’d be called
the man who’d slaughtered his own father.
My heart no longer felt the slightest wish 580
to stay in my father’s house with him so angry.
My friends and relatives who lived around me
begged me repeatedly to stay right there.
And then they butchered many well-fed sheep,
shuffling cattle with crumpled horns, and laid out
many hogs, swimming in fat, to be singed
in Hephaestus’ flames. They drank many jugs
of the old man’s wine. For nine nights,
they kept watch over me throughout the night, [470]
taking turns as guards. Fires always burned, 590
one underneath the enclosed portico,
another in the hallway right outside
my bedroom doors. Ten nights later, as night fell,
I broke through the tight-closed bedroom doors,
went out, and jumped with ease across the wall
around the outer court, without being seen
by men and women checking up on me.
I ran away through all of spacious Hellas,
then came a suppliant to fertile Phthia,
where flocks are bred, to king Peleus. 600
He received me hospitably, loved me, [480]
as a father dearly loves his only son,
heir to all his goods. He made me wealthy,
assigning me to govern many people.
I lived in the borderlands of Phthia,
reigning as king over the Dolopes.
And I was the one, godlike Achilles,
who raised you up to be the man you are.
You would refuse to attend a banquet
with anyone or eat in your own home, 610
unless I set you on my knees, fed you,
cut the meat, and held the wine cup for you.
Often you soaked the tunic on my chest, [490]
slobbering your wine, a helpless baby.
I’ve gone through a lot for you, worked hard,
bearing in mind that gods had taken care
I’d never have some children of my own.
Godlike Achilles, I made you my son,
so that if I ever met disaster,
you’d protect me. So, Achilles, subdue 620
your giant passion. It’s not right for you
to have an unyielding heart. Gods themselves
are flexible, and they have more honour
than we possess, more power, too. Men pray
when they go wrong or make mistakes, [500]
propitiating gods with offerings,
gentle prayers, libations, and sacrifice.
Prayers are the daughters of almighty Zeus.
Lame, wrinkled, cross-eyed, they try to follow
behind Folly, who, because she’s strong and quick, 630
runs far in front of them, appearing
all over the world, bringing harm to men.
Far behind, Prayers carry on their healing.
If a man honours these daughters of Zeus
as they come near, they will help him greatly,
paying attention to him as he prays.
If someone spurns them, rudely rejecting them, [510]
they go to Zeus, son of Cronos, begging
for Folly to pursue that man, who then
harms himself and suffers punishment. 640
For that reason, Achilles, you should give
Zeus’ daughters your respect. They have changed
the minds of other men, even great ones.
If Agamemnon were not bringing gifts—
and naming more to come—but persisting,
inflexibly angry, I wouldn’t tell you
to cast aside your rage and help the Argives,
no matter how painful their distress.
But he’s giving plenty now, more later.
He has sent out his greatest warriors, 650 [520]
selected from the whole Achaean army,
your finest friends among the Argives.
Don’t show contempt for what they have to say
or insult their coming here. Up to now,
your resentment has been justified.
But we learn this from previous actions
of heroic men—when furious anger
came over some of them, they were swayed
by gifts and by persuasive speeches.
I recall an old tale from long ago. 660
Since you are all my friends, I’ll tell it.
The Curetes and staunch Aetolians
were fighting and killing one another, [530]
around Calydon, with the Aetolians
defending Calydon and the Curetes
eager to destroy the place in war.
Golden-throned Artemis had driven them to fight,
in her rage that Oeneus hadn’t given her
a harvest-offering, first fruits of his orchard.
Other gods had received their sacrifices, 670
but he’d failed to offer anything to her,
a daughter of great Zeus. He forgot, or else
grew careless, a lapse within his foolish heart.
The archer goddess, in her rage, incited
a savage white-tusked wild boar against him.
This beast from the gods reached Oeneus’ orchard [540]
and was causing serious damage there,
knocking tall plants to the ground, entire trees,
including roots and flowering apples.
Meleager, Oeneus’ son, killed the beast. 680
First he gathered huntsmen and hunting dogs
from many cities, for a small group
could not subdue such an enormous boar.
It had killed many men and sent them off
to their funeral pyres in agony.
Artemis began a war about this beast,
that battle between the Curetes
and the Aetolians, courageous men
fighting for the boar’s head and bristly hide.
So long as war-loving Meleager 690 [550]
was in the fight, the Curetes did not do well.
For all their numbers, they could not hold
their ground outside the city walls.
But then anger swept through Meleager,
just as it forcibly swells up in chests
of other men, including wise ones, too.
His heart was angry with his dear mother,
Althea. So he stayed home with his wife,
Cleopatra, the attractive daughter
of the lady with the lovely ankles, 700
Maripessa, daughter of Euenus
and Ides, strongest of all men then alive.
He was the one who took his bow to make
a stand against a god, Phoebus Apollo, [560]
fighting for the girl with lovely ankles.
Cleopatra’s father and noble mother
at home called her by the name Alcyone.
Her mother shared the same fate as that bird,
the mournful halcyon, for she cried
when Apollo, the far shooter, seized her. 710
Beside this Cleopatra Meleager lay,
brooding on the rage that pained his heart,
infuriated by his mother’s curses.
In her grief over her brothers’ killing,
she prayed to the gods, beating fertile earth
with her hands over and over, kneeling down,
her breasts wet from crying, begging Hades
and fearful Persephone to kill her son.* [570]
The night-walking Furies, with their stone hearts,
listened to her prayers from Erebus. 720
Then around the gates of Calydon
the battle din grew loud, war’s turmoil.
The gates were being demolished. The old men
of the Aetolians begged Meleager
to come to their assistance. They sent
their gods’ most important holy priests.
They promised him great gifts, telling him
he could take for himself, from anywhere
on the richest plain of lovely Calydon
fifty acres of the finest farm land, 730
half for a vineyard and half for farming, [580]
open fields for ploughing. Oeneus,
the old horseman, kept imploring him,
standing at the threshold of his high room,
beating on the firmly bolted doors,
begging his son. His sisters and his mother
often entreated him. But he refused.
His companions, those most faithful to him,
his closest friends of all, added their prayers.
But they could not overcome those passions 740
in his chest, not until his own room
was under fierce attack, once the Curetes
had scaled the tower and begun to burn
that great city. Then his lovely wife,
in her grief, implored Meleager, [590]
telling him the evils which can overtake
men whose town is violently seized—
how men are butchered and the city burned,
with women and children seized by strangers.
Once he’d heard of these disasters, his heart stirred. 750
He went outside, put his shining armour
around his body—and thus averted
a disastrous day for the Aetolians,
by following his heart. But the Aetolians
did not give him the many splendid gifts,
although he’d saved them from catastrophe.
My friend, don’t think like Meleager. [600]
Don’t let some god make you choose that way.
Once the ships catch fire, it will be harder
to defend them. So accept the gifts. 760
Achaeans are honouring you like a god.
If you return to man-killing battle
without the gifts, you’ll never get such honour,
even though you may push the conflict back.”

Swift-footed Achilles then said in reply:

“Phoenix, dear old father, noble lord,
I don’t need such honours, for I possess
honour in the will of Zeus. That will keep
me here beside my own hollow ships,
so long as there is breath within my body, 770 [610]
strength in my limbs. But I’ll say this to you—
bear it in mind—do not confuse my heart
with these laments, these speeches of distress,
all serving that heroic son of Atreus.
You should not love him, in case I hate you,
who are now my friend. You would be noble
to join with me, and so injure the man
who injures me. Be equal king with me.
Take half my honours. These men report back.
You stay here. Sleep in your soft bed. At dawn, 780
we shall consider whether to go back
to our own land, or whether to remain.”

Achilles spoke. His eyebrows gave a silent signal [620]
to Patroclus to set a firm bed out for Phoenix,
so the others would quickly think of leaving.
But Ajax, godlike son of Telamon, spoke up:

“Noble son of Laertes, resourceful Odysseus,
let’s be off. I don’t think we’ll bring this talk
to a successful end, not on this trip.
We must report this news, though it’s not good, 790
to the Danaans waiting to receive it.
For Achilles has turned his great spirit
into something savage in his chest.
He’s cruel and doesn’t care for friendship [630]
of his comrades, how we honoured him
above all others there beside the ships.
He has no pity. Any man accepts
reparations for a murdered son or brother.
The man who killed them pays a large amount
to stay there in his own community. 800
The other man’s angry heart and spirit
are checked, once he takes the compensation.
But with you, gods have put inside your chest
unchanging evil passions, and all this
over a single girl. Now we are offering
seven of the best we have and much more.
You should turn your passion into kindness,
the hospitality of your own house. [640]
For we are guests here under your own roof,
chosen from the Argive host. We believe 810
that we, of all Achaeans, are the ones
most dear to you, your closest friends,
far more so than all the others.”

Swift-footed Achilles then said in reply:

“Ajax, noble son of Telamon, your people’s leader,
everything you say matches what I feel.
But my heart chokes with rage when I recall
how that son of Atreus behaved towards me
with contempt, as if he were dishonouring
some vagrant. But you’d better go, take back 820
this message—I shall not concern myself
with bloody war until lord Hector, [650]
murderous son of Priam, comes against
the huts and sea ships of the Myrmidons,
killing Achaean soldiers as he goes,
until he starts to burn our ships with fire.
I think that Hector will be held in check
around my hut, around my own black ship,
for all his eagerness to battle on.”

So Achilles spoke. The men each took a goblet 830
with two handles, gave offerings, and went back to the ships,
with Odysseus in the lead. Patroclus ordered
his companions and the women slaves to set up
a sturdy bed without delay for Phoenix.
They obeyed his orders and prepared a bed, [660]
with sheepskin fleece and rug and fine linen sheets.
The old man lay down, to stay till morning.
Achilles slept in a corner of the well-built hut.
Beside him lay a woman he’d seized from Lesbos,
fair Diomede, one of Phorbas’ daughters. 840
Patroclus slept opposite Achilles. Beside him
lay lovely Iphis, whom Achilles gave him
after capturing steep Scyros, Enyeus’ city.

The others reached the huts of Atreus’ son.
Achaea’s sons stood up and welcomed them with toasts [670]
in golden cups, one after another, asking questions.
The first to speak was Agamemnon, king of men:

“So come, tell me, famous Odysseus,
great glory of Achaeans, does he wish
to protect our ships from all-destroying fire, 850
or does he refuse, his mighty spirit
still gripped with anger.”

Lord Odysseus,
who had endured much, replied:

“King of men,
mighty Agamemnon, son of Atreus,
that man’s unwilling to let go his rage.
He’s full of anger, more so now than ever.
He despises you, your gifts, and tells you
to sort out for yourself with the Argives [680]
how you may save Achaean ships and men.
As for him, he made this threat—at first light 860
of dawn, he’ll drag his trim balanced ships
down to the sea. He said he would encourage
others to sail home, for you’ll not attain
your goal of lofty Ilion, since Zeus,
whose gaze ranges far and wide, holds his hand
over Troy, whose people now have confidence.
That’s what he said. The others who went with me
will confirm this for you—Ajax and two heralds,
both prudent men. Old Phoenix stayed there, [690]
to go to sleep, as Achilles told him, 870
so that he may go away with him
in his ships back to their dear native land,
if he wants, for he won’t take him by force.”

Odysseus spoke. They all were silent and disheartened,
especially by the force with which Achilles had refused.
Achaea’s sons sat a long time speechless, troubled.
At last, Diomedes, skilled in war cries, spoke:

“Mighty Agamemnon, king of men,
you should not have begged noble Peleus’ son,
offering countless gifts. At the best of times, 880
he’s a proud man Now you’ve encouraged him [700]
to be prouder still. Let’s leave him alone,
whether he goes or stays. For he’ll fight
when the spirit in his chest moves him,
or when god drives him to it. But come on,
let’s all follow what I now propose.
We’ve had our fill of food and wine. So now,
you should get some sleep, for strength and stamina.
When fair rosy-fingered Dawn appears,
you should range your army—men and horses— 890
before the ships, then rouse their spirits,
with you fighting at the front in person.”

All the kings applauded horse-taming Diomedes. [710]
They poured libations. Then each man went to his hut,
where he lay down and stretched out to take the gift of sleep.

Notes

*Meleager’s mother wanted him dead because he had killed her brothers in the quarrel over the wild boar.

 

 

 


Book Ten

A Night Raid

[Agamemnon's worries about the state of his army; he and Menelaus set off to summon the chief leaders; at the meeting Nestor suggests someone spy out the Trojan position; Diomedes volunteers but asks for a second man; Diomedes selects Odysseus to go with him; Hector calls for a volunteer to spy out the Achaean ships, promises Achilles’ horses and chariot; Dolon volunteers and set off; Odysseus and Diomedes catch and interrogate Dolon; Diomedes kills Dolon; Odysseus and Diomedes attack the Thracian camp, kill many men, and take the horses of king Rhesus; Odysseus and Diomedes return in triumph to the ships]

By their ships, Achaea’s most important leaders
slept through the night, overpowered by soft sleep,
all except Agamemnon, son of Atreus. Sweet slumber
did not embrace this shepherd of his people,
for his mind was disturbed with many worries.
Just as when Zeus, husband of fair-haired Hera,
flashes lightning to announce a massive rain storm,
an immense downpour of hail or snow, when fields
are sprinkled white, or to foretell some bitter warfare,
the gaping jaws of battle—in just that way then 10
the groans reverberated in Agamemnon’s chest,
deep in his heart, making his whole body tremble. [10]
Every time he looked out on the Trojan plain
he was overcome at the sight of countless fires
burning in front of Ilion, at the sound of flutes,
pipes, the loud noise all those soldiers made. Looking back
at the Achaean army and the ships, he tugged
many tufts of hair out of his scalp, roots and all,
praying to high Zeus above, his brave heart groaning.
To him the best plan seemed to be to go to Nestor, 20
son of Neleus, before seeing anybody else,
to check if he could come up with some good advice,
some plan to save all the Danaans. So he got up, [20]
slipped a tunic on over his chest, laced up
fine sandals over his sleek feet, and then put on
a tawny lion’s skin, large and fiery red,
extending to his feet. Then he got his spear.

Menelaus, too, was troubled with anxieties.
No sleep sat on his eyelids either. He was afraid
Argives would be hurt, those who on his account 30
had crossed wide seas to Troy, planning to make war.
He covered his broad back with a spotted leopard skin,
picked up his bronze helmet, set it on his head, [30]
then picked a spear up in his powerful fist.
Next he went to rouse his brother, commander
of the Argives, who worshiped him just like a god.
Menelaus found him putting his fine armour on
by his ship’s stern. Agamemnon welcomed him,
as he approached. Menelaus, skilled in war cries,
spoke first:

“Brother, you’re arming yourself. Why? 40
Are you going to encourage some companion
to scout the Trojans out? I really doubt
that anyone will do that for you,
set off to spy against a hostile force
under the cover of immortal night. [40]
Such work would require a courageous heart.”

Mighty Agamemnon answered Menelaus:

“You and I, lord Menelaus, need advice,
some shrewd plan to protect or save the Argives,
together with their ships. Zeus’ mind has changed. 50
His heart prefers Hector’s sacrifices
more than ours. For I’ve never witnessed yet,
nor heard anyone report, how one man
made so much havoc in a single day,
as Hector, Zeus’ friend, has brought upon us,
Achaea’s sons, all by himself. He’s not a god, [50]
nor even a god’s son. But he’s damaged
Argives in a major way, with actions
they’ll remember for many years to come.
That’s how badly Hector’s harmed Achaeans. 60
But, come, why don’t you run quickly by the ships
to summon Ajax and Idomeneus.
I’ll go for godlike Nestor, to rouse him,
see if he wants to check our watchmen
and tell that strong contingent what to do.
They’ll attend to him ahead of anyone,
because his son is captain of the sentries,
along with Meriones, an officer
of Idomeneus. We entrusted them,
above all others, with this special work.” 70

Menelaus, expert at war cries, then replied: [60]

“How do you want me to carry out
your orders? Shall I stay there with them,
wait for you to come, or hurry back to you,
once I’ve told them your instructions?”

Agamemnon, king of men, answered Menelaus:

“Stay there, in case we somehow miss each other
as we go, for there are many pathway
through the camp. But make sure you call out
each place you pass, telling troops to stay awake. 80
Call each soldier by his father’s name,
complimenting all of them. Don’t make a show
of your own proud heart. We must work hard, too— [70]
that’s what Zeus charged us with when we were born,
a heavy burden of responsibility.”

Agamemnon spoke, sending his brother off
with detailed orders. Then he set out to find Nestor,
shepherd of his people. He came across him
beside his hut and his black ship, on a soft bed.
His fine armour lay there with him—shield, two spears, 90
his glittering helmet, and that shining belt
which the old man strapped around him every time
he armed himself to lead his troops in battles
which destroy men’s lives. Nestor made no concessions
to the infirmities of age. Sitting up there,
head resting on his arm, he spoke to Agamemnon, [80]
questioning him:

“Why are you alone like this,
wandering among the ships throughout the camp
in the pitch dark night, while others sleep?
What are you looking for? A mule? Some comrade? 100
Tell me. Don’t approach in silence. What do you need?”

Agamemnon, king of men, replied:

“O Nestor,
son of Neleus, great glory of Achaeans.
You should recognize me—Agamemnon,
son of Atreus, the one whom Zeus
always loads with miserable fortune,
more so than other men, so long as breath
stays in my chest and movement in my limbs. [90]
I’m wandering like this because sweet sleep
won’t sit upon my eyelids. Instead, this war, 110
this danger to Achaeans, has me worried.
I’m dreadfully afraid for the Danaans.
My spirit isn’t resolute. It wavers.
My heart’s about to burst outside my chest.
My fine limbs tremble. If you want some action,
since sleep hasn’t come to you here either,
go with me. We’ll walk down to the sentries
and check if they’re exhausted and asleep,
worn out, forgetting to maintain a watch.
Hostile troops are camped close by. We don’t know 120 [100]
if somehow they may be keen to fight at night.”

Geranian horseman Nestor then said in reply:

“Glorious son of Atreus, king of men,
Agamemnon—Counsellor Zeus won’t fulfil
all the things that Hector has in mind,
all his present hopes. In my opinion,
Hector will be struggling with more troubles
than you face, if Achilles changes his fond heart
from its hard anger. Yes, I’ll come with you.
And let’s get other leaders stirring also— 130
Tydeus’ son, famous for his spear,
Odysseus, swift Ajax, and Phyleus’ brave son. [110]
Someone should go summon two more men,
godlike Ajax and lord Idomeneus.
Their ships aren’t near here—they’re a long way off.
But I have some harsh words for Menelaus,
although he’s a friend and I respect him.
I won’t hide that, even if I anger you.
For he’s still sleeping, leaving you alone
to do the work. Right now he should be active, 140
working on all the finest men, begging them
to help us. The need confronting us is urgent.”

Agamemnon, king of men, replied to Nestor:

“Old man, at other times I’d urge you on [120]
to criticize him, for often he holds back,
reluctant to carry out the heavy tasks,
not because he’s lazy or soft in the head,
but because he’s looking for my signal,
waiting for me to make a move. But this time,
he was up and roaming well ahead of me. 150
He came to see me. I sent him off
to summon those very men you mention.
Let’s go. We’ll find them right before the gates,
where I ordered them to meet the sentries.”

Geranian horseman Nestor then replied:

“If that’s the case, none of the Argives
will say bad things of him or disobey,
when he stirs them on or issues orders.” [130]

With these words, Nestor put a tunic on his chest,
laced lovely sandals over his sleek feet. Around him 160
he buckled on a purple cloak in a double fold,
one thickly lined with wool. Selecting a strong spear
with a sharp bronze point, he set off on his way
down to the bronze-clad Achaeans’ ships. The first person
Geranian horseman Nestor roused from sleep
was Odysseus, equal to the gods for wise advice.
Nestor called out to him. His voice entered
Odysseus’ mind at once. He came out of his hut, [140]
then questioned Nestor:

“What are you doing here,
going around alone like this among the ships, 170
in the immortal night? Is there something urgent?”

Geranian horseman Nestor answered Odysseus:

“Divinely bred son of Laertes,
resourceful Odysseus, don’t be angry.
Achaeans are experiencing much suffering.
But come now, so we may rouse another man
someone who should be there when we discuss
our plans, whether we should flee or battle on.”

Nestor finished speaking. Resourceful Odysseus
went into his hut, then slung across his shoulder 180
his finely decorated shield and set off with them,
to find noble Diomedes, son of Tydeus. [150]
They came across him with his weapons outside his hut.
His comrades were asleep around him, their shields
under their heads, spears driven upright in the ground
by the butt spike. Their bronze spear points glittered
like Father Zeus’ lightning. Diomedes slept
with the hide of a field ox spread out under him
and a bright rug underneath his head. Approaching him,
Geranian horseman Nestor shoved him with his foot, 190
waking him up. Nestor then said teasingly:

“Wake up, son of Tydeus. Why sleep
all night long? Aren’t you aware that Trojans
are encamped here on the edges of the plain, 160]
near the ships, only a short distance off?”

Nestor spoke. Diomedes woke up quickly,
then answered him—his words had wings:

“Old man,
you’re a hard one. You never stop working.
What about Achaea’s other sons,
the younger ones? Can’t each of them go round 200
waking up the kings? You old man,
we can’t do anything to check you.”

Geranian horseman Nestor answered Diomedes:

“My friend, everything you say is true enough
I have excellent sons and many soldiers. [170]
Any of them could go round with orders.
But Achaeans here are in their greatest need.
For now things stand upon a razor’s edge—
miserable destruction for Achaeans
or their salvation. You’re a younger man, 210
so if you feel compassion for me,
set off and wake up Meges and swift Ajax.”

Nestor spoke. Diomedes threw a lion’s skin
around his shoulders, a huge red pelt which reached his feet.
Then Diomedes grabbed a spear and went away.
He woke those warriors and brought them back with him.
When they joined up with the company of sentries, [180]
they did not find the captains of the watchmen sleeping.
They were all sitting with their weapons, wide awake.
Just as dogs maintain a tired watch over their sheep 220
in some farm yard, when they hear a savage beast,
who’s just moved down from wooded hills, men and dogs
raising a din around it, so those dogs get no rest,
that’s how sweet sleep had left those sentries’ eyelids,
as they kept guard that wretched night, always turning
towards the plain, in case they heard the Trojans coming.
Old man Nestor was pleased to see them. He called out, [190]
speaking winged words of encouragement.

“That’s the way, dear friends, to keep good watch.
Don’t let sleep seize on any one of you, 230
so we don’t bring pleasure to our enemies.”

With these words, Nestor hurried through the ditch. Argive kings,
those who’d been called to council, accompanied him.
Meriones went, as did Thrasymedes, too,
Nestor’s noble son, who’d been asked to join the group.
They went through the scooped-out ditch. Then in an open spot
they sat down where there seemed to be no corpses,
no bodies of the slain. It was where fearful Hector [200]
turned back from killing Argives, once night hid everything.
Sitting down there, they talked to one another. 240
Then Geranian horseman Nestor began to speak.

“My friends, is there some man confident enough
of his own daring spirit to venture out
among stout-hearted Trojans, to see
if he can trap an enemy soldier,
some straggler, or catch wind of some report
of what the Trojans say among themselves,
whether they are keen to stay beside the ships,
away from home, or to go back to the city,
now that they have beaten the Achaeans? 250 [210]
A man who could find out these things,
return to us unharmed, would be famous
among all men living under heaven,
and get rich gifts, as well. For our best men,
those commanding every ship, will give him
a black sheep with suckling lamb. Compared to that,
there’s no possession finer. At banquets
and our drinking parties, he’ll be always there.”

Nestor spoke. The others were quiet, saying nothing.
Then Diomedes, expert in war cries, spoke up: 260

“Nestor, my heart and my proud spirit prompt me [220]
to infiltrate the hostile Trojans’ camp,
which stands close by. But another man
should come with me. Things would go much better.
We’d have more confidence. When two set out,
one may see something good before the other.
A man alone might notice it, but his mind
is less perceptive, less resourceful, than two.”

Diomedes spoke. Many men wished to volunteer.
The two Ajaxes, attendants of the war god Ares, 270
were willing, Meriones, too. And Nestor’s son
was really eager. Famous spearman Menelaus, [230]
son of Atreus, was ready, and brave Odysseus
was keen to steal into the Trojan army,
for the spirit in his chest was always daring.
Then, Agamemnon, king of men, spoke up:

“Diomedes, son of Tydeus,
you delight my heart. But you must choose
the other man. Take the one you want,
the best of those in view. Many are keen. 280
Don’t reject the better man, following
a sense of duty in your mind, taking
someone less worthy as your comrade,
thinking only of his birth. Don’t do that,
even if the second is the greater king.”

Agamemnon spoke, afraid for fair-haired Menelaus. [240]
Diomedes, skilled in war cries, spoke to them again:

“If you bid me choose a comrade for myself,
how could I reject godlike Odysseus,
his heart and daring spirit always keen 290
for every challenge? Pallas Athena loves him.
With Odysseus at my side, we’d both return,
even from blazing fire. For he knows,
better than other men, how to use his mind.”

Odysseus, that long-suffering, godlike man, replied:

“Son of Tydeus, don’t over-praise me,
or censure me. You’re speaking to the Argives, [250]
who know everything about me. Let’s go.
Night is passing quickly. Dawn approaches.
The stars have shifted forward. Most of the night 300
has passed, two thirds of it, with one third left.”

This said, the two men pulled on fearful armour.
Warlike Thrasymedes gave a two-edged sword
to the son of Tydeus, for he’d left his own
beside the ships, and a shield as well. On his head he put
a helmet made of leather, without crest or plume,
what people call a skull-cap. It protected heads
of brave young men. Meriones gave Odysseus [260]
bow, quiver, and a sword. On his head Odysseus set
a hide cap, on the inside skilfully reinforced 310
with leather thongs. Outside, wild boars’ white teeth
were placed here and there, strategically and well.
In between these layers was a piece of felt.
This cap had once been stolen by Autolycus,
from Amyntor, Ormenus’ son. He’d broken in
his well-built home in Eleon. Some time later,
Autolycus gave it to Amphidamas of Cythera,
to take back home to Scandeia. Amphidamas
then gave the cap to Molus, as a present
for his hospitality. Molus later gave it 320
to his son Meriones. And now it sat there, [270]
covering Odysseus’ head.*

The two men,
having put their fearful armour on, set off,
leaving behind there all the most important chiefs.
On their right, close to the path, Pallas Athena
sent them a heron. In the darkness of the night
they didn’t see it with their eyes, but they heard its cry.
Odysseus was pleased with this omen of the bird.
He prayed then to Athena:

“Child of aegis-bearing Zeus,
untiring goddess, hear me. You’ve always stood 330
beside me in all sorts of troubles.
I don’t move without you watching me.
But now especially be my friend, Athena. [280]
Grant that we two come back to the ships
covered in glory, after doing something great,
something the Trojans will regret.”

Then noble Diomedes, skilled in war cries, prayed:

“Child of Zeus, invincible goddess, hear me.
Stand by me as you did my father,
lord Tydeus, at Thebes, that time he went 340
as messenger, sent there by Achaeans.
He’d left bronze-clad Achaeans at the Asopus,
taking peace proposals to Cadmeans.
On his way back, he did some fearful things,
with keen support from you, divine goddess. [290]
Be willing now to stand by me like that,
protect me, and I’ll sacrifice to you
an unbroken yearling ox with a broad head
which no man yet has put beneath the yoke.
I’ll make that sacrifice to you, and more— 350
on that beast I’ll plate both horns with gold.”

So they prayed, and Pallas Athena heard them.
Their prayers to the daughter of great Zeus complete,
they continued on their way, like two lions,
in the darkness of night, through the slaughter,
through corpses, armour, through black pools of blood.

For his part,
Hector did not let his proud Trojans go to sleep.
He called their finest men together, all the ones [300]
who commanded Trojans troops, with all their rulers.
To those assembled, he laid out a shrewd idea: 360

“Is there someone who’ll undertake for me
an exploit, who’ll do it for a worthy gift?
I guarantee he’ll get a fine reward.
I’ll give a chariot and two strong-necked horses,
the finest ones there are by those fast ships
of the Achaeans, to any man who dares,
who’s fit to seize the glory for himself,
by approaching close to those swift ships,
to find out whether they’re being guarded, [310]
as before, or whether those men, beaten 370
at our hands, plan among themselves to flee,
and no longer wish to keep alert at night,
exhausted by their desperate efforts.”

Hector finished. They all sat there in silence,
saying nothing. Now, among the Trojans
was a man called Dolon, son of Eumedes,
a sacred herald, a man rich in gold and bronze.
Dolon wasn’t much to look at, but he ran fast.
He was the only male child, with five sisters.
At that point he spoke up to Hector and the Trojans: 380

“Hector, my heart and my proud spirit prompt me
to volunteer to sneak up to those fast ships [320]
and find out what I can. Come, raise your sceptre,
swear to me that you’ll give me those horses
and that chariot decorated all in bronze
which carry the fine son of Peleus.
I’ll not be a useless scout or disappoint you.
I’ll go straight through the army, till I reach
Agamemnon’s ship, where their best men
must be in council talking of their plans, 390
whether to flee or to continue fighting.”

Dolon spoke. Holding up his sceptre, Hector swore

“Let Zeus himself, Hera’s loud-thundering husband,
be my witness, that no other Trojan
will be carried by those horses. I affirm [330]
that you will glory in them all your life.”

Hector spoke. He’d sworn an empty oath, but Dolon
was encouraged. At once, he slung across his shoulder
his curved bow, then threw a grey wolf skin on it.
On his head he set a cap of marten skin, 400
grabbed a sharp spear, and set off, going from the camp
towards the ships. He would not be coming back,
bringing Hector information from the ships.
But when he left the crowd of men and horses,
he went eagerly along the path. As he moved,
noble Odysseus saw him and said to Diomedes: [340]

“Diomedes, someone’s coming from the camp.
I don’t know if he’s going to scout our ships
or strip some dead man’s corpse. Let’s let him
at first get past us on the plain, just a bit. 410
Then we can go after him and catch him fast.
If his feet outrun ours, we’ll keep following him
and chase him from his camp towards our ships.
Keep brandishing your spear behind him,
so he doesn’t make it to the city.”

After these words, the two men lay down beside the road,
among the corpses. Dolon ran past them quickly, [350]
quite unaware. When he’d gone about as far
as mules plough in a single day—and in deep fields
they outwork oxen pulling double-jointed ploughs— 420
the two men ran after him. When he heard their noise,
Dolon stopped, hoping in his heart they were comrades
coming from the Trojans to get him to turn back,
Hector having changed the orders. But when they came
within the distance of a spear throw or even less,
he saw that they were enemies and started running,
to get away as quickly as his legs could carry him.
They set off chasing him with speed. Just as when two dogs, [360]
skilled hunting hounds with sharp fangs, harass some doe
or hare relentlessly across a wooded country, 430
the prey screaming as it runs, that’s how Tydeus’ son
and Odysseus, destroyer of cities, pursued him,
keeping Dolon from his people with their constant chase.
When Dolon was about to run into the sentries
in his flight towards the ships, at that point
Athena put fighting power into Tydeus’ son,
so no bronze-clad Achaean could make the boast
that he’d hit Dolon first and that Diomedes
had come up later. Springing forward with his spear,
powerful Diomedes yelled:

“Stop! 440 [370]
Or I’ll hit you with my spear. I don’t think
you’ll long escape complete destruction at my hands.”

Diomedes shouted this, then threw the spear,
deliberately missing Dolon. The polished spear point
sailed over his right shoulder, then stuck in the ground.
Dolon just stood there terrified, stammering, pale with fear—
his teeth were chattering in his mouth. The two men ran up,
panting, and grabbed his hands. Dolon began to cry and beg:

“Take me alive, and I’ll ransom myself.
At home there is bronze, gold, well-wrought iron. 450
My father will give lots of it to you—
an immense ransom—if he once finds out [380]
I’m at Achaean ships and still alive.”

Crafty Odysseus smiled at him and said:

“Don’t worry. Don’t let death weigh down your heart.
Come now, tell me—and be sure to speak the truth.
Why are you going like this to the ships alone,
away from your army in the dead of night,
when other warriors are fast asleep?
Are you going to strip some dead man’s body, 460
or has Hector sent you out as a spy,
to learn something about the hollow ships?
Or did your own spirit prompt you to this?”

Dolon answered Odysseus, his limbs trembling. [390]

“Hector led my mind astray with foolish hopes,
lots of them. He promised he’d give me
the sure-footed horses of Achilles,
Peleus’ excellent son, and his chariot
with its bronze decoration. He told me
to venture out into the swift dark night, 470
get close to hostile troops, and then find out
if they were guarding their swift ships as before,
or whether, now we have defeated them,
they were planning flight among themselves,
unwilling to keep up watch at night,
exhausted by their desperate efforts.”

Shrewd Odysseus, still smiling, then continued: [400]

“Your heart has been ambitious for big gifts.
Those horses of warrior Achilles,
descendant of Aeacus, are hard to manage 480
or control for any mortal person,
except Achilles, son of an immortal mother.
Tell me, now, and be sure to speak the truth.
When you came here, where did you leave Hector,
shepherd to his people? Where’s his armour?
Where are his horses? How are the sentries
of the other Trojans set? Where are they sleeping?
Tell me what they talk of amongst themselves,
whether they’re keen to stay beside the ships,
quite far from home, or whether they’ll return 490 [410]
to the city, with Achaeans beaten.”

Dolon, son of Eumedes, answered Odysseus:

“I’ll answer you in this quite truthfully.
Right now Hector is with his advisors,
holding a council meeting by the tomb
of godlike Ilus, some distance from the noise.
As for the guards you asked about, noble sir,
there’s nothing special to protect the troops,
or keep lookout. By all Trojan watch fires,
as necessity requires, there are men 500
who stay awake, calling to each other,
to keep up their guard. But the allied force, [420]
which comes from many lands, is sleeping.
They leave it to Trojans to stay on watch,
for their wives and children aren’t close by.”

Crafty Odysseus, with a smile, then asked Dolon:

“Now, those allies—are they intermingled
with horse-taming Trojans where they sleep
or separate from them? Tell me. I need to know.”

Dolon, son of Eumedes, answered Odysseus: 510

“I can reveal the truth of this as well.
By the sea lie Carians, Paeonians,
with their curved bows, Lelegians, Caucones,
god-like Pelasgians. Around Thymbre
are positioned Lycians, Mysians, [430]
impetuous fighters, and the Phrygians,
who fight on horseback, and from Maeonia
there are charioteers. But why ask me details
of these matters? If you’re keen to infiltrate
the Trojan army, over there are Thracians, 520
fresh troops, new arrivals, furthest distant
from the rest, among them their king Rhesus,
son of Eioneus. His horses are the best,
the finest and largest ones I’ve ever seen,
whiter than snow, as fast as the winds.
His chariot is finely built—with gold
and silver. He came here with his armour—
an amazing sight—huge and made of gold.
It’s not appropriate for mortal men [440]
to wear such armour, only deathless gods. 530
But take me now to your fast ships, or else
tie me up, leave me here in painful fetters,
so you can go and check my story out,
see whether I have told the truth or not.”

Mighty Diomedes scowled at Dolon and said:

“Don’t fill your heart with thoughts you’ll get away,
Dolon, even though your news is good.
You’ve fallen in our hands. Now, if we
released you or set you free for ransom,
you’d come back to the swift Achaean ships, 540 [450]
either to spy or fight us openly.
But if my hands subdue you and you die,
you’ll pose no problems for the Argives later.”

As Diomedes finished, Dolon was intending
to cup his chin with his strong hand in supplication.
But with his sword Diomedes jumped at him,
slashed him across the middle of his neck, slicing
through both tendons. Dolon’s head rolled in the dust,
as he was speaking. They stripped the cap of marten skin,
then took the wolf hide, long spear, and his curved bow. 550
Lord Odysseus held these objects high above him [460]
for Athena, goddess of battle spoils, and prayed:

“Goddess, these are for you, to bring you joy.
We invoke you first of all immortal gods
living on Olympus. Send us on again
to where Thracians sleep and to those horses.”

So Odysseus prayed. He lifted the loot up high,
placed it on a tamarisk bush, then set there
a clear marker, grabbing up reeds and branches
of tamarisk in full bloom, so they wouldn’t miss 560
finding the spoils in the dark night, when they returned.
The two proceeded on through weapons and black blood.
They quickly reached the camp of Thracian soldiers. [470]
The men were sleeping, worn out by their hard work.
Their lovely armour lay on the ground beside them,
properly arranged in triple rows. Beside each man
stood his yoked horses. In the middle Rhesus slept,
close by him his swift horses, tethered with their straps
to the chariot’s top rail. Odysseus saw him first.
He pointed him out to Diomedes.

“There’s our man, 570
Diomedes. And these are the horses
which Dolon told us of, the man we killed.
Come now, let’s see that mighty strength of yours.
It’s not right for you to stand there idly [480]
with your weapons. So loose those horses.
Or else kill the men, while I take care of them.”

Odysseus spoke. Athena with her glittering eyes
breathed fighting power into Diomedes.
Moving around everywhere, he began the killing.
Agonizing groans came from those his sword then butchered. 580
The earth grew soggy with their blood. Just as a lion
comes across an unguarded flock of sheep or goats
and leaps on them, heart thirsting for the kill,
so Tydeus’ son went at those Thracian soldiers,
until he’d slaughtered twelve. Whenever Diomedes
stood over some man he’d just killed with his sword,
crafty Odysseus, from behind, would grab his feet [490]
and drag the body clear. For his mind was planning
how he might steal the fine-maned horses easily,
if he didn’t frighten them by forcing them to step 590
on dead men’s bodies, for they were not used to that.
Tydeus’ son came across the king, the thirteenth man
whose sweet life he had taken. Rhesus lay there,
in his last gasp. A bad dream had stood beside his head
that night, a device sent by Athena—and that dream
was the son of Tydeus. Meanwhile, bold Odysseus
untied the sure-footed horses, roped them together,
and drove them from the camp, prodding with his bow,
for he’d forgotten to pick up the shining whip [500]
from the ornate chariot. Then he gave a whistle, 600
to signal noble Diomedes. But he just stayed there,
wondering how he could do something really bold.
Should he take away the chariot, which contained
the king’s finely decorated armour, pull it
by the pole, or lift it up above his head
and carry it like that? Or should he take the lives
of still more Thracians? While Diomedes turned over
these matters in his mind, Athena came, stood by him,
then said to noble Diomedes:

“Think of going back,
to the hollow ships, son of great-hearted Tydeus, 610
in case you get driven there in quick retreat, [510]
if some other god wakes up the Trojans.”

She spoke. He recognized the goddess by her voice.
He quickly climbed up on one of the horses.
Odysseus smacked them with his bow. They raced ahead,
in a rush to reach the swift Achaean ships.

But Apollo of the silver bow had not been
unvigilant, once he’d perceived Athena
taking care of Tydeus’ son. Angry with her,
he went down into that huge crowd of Trojans 620
and woke up Hippocoön, a Thracian counsellor,
one of noble Rhesus’ family. Roused from sleep
he saw that where the horses stood was empty, [520]
the fearful carnage with men gasping in their death throes.
He screamed in grief, crying out for his companion,
calling him by name. Trojans created a commotion,
totally confused, as they rushed in all at once,
to gaze astonished at the terrible destruction
those two men did before returning to the hollow ships.

When the pair came to where they’d slaughtered Hector’s spy, 630
Odysseus, dear to Zeus, pulled their swift horses up.
The son of Tydeus jumped down onto the ground,
handed over to Odysseus their bloodstained spoils,
then got back on his horse. They whipped the horses on, [530]
racing willingly towards the hollow ships
with eager hearts. Nestor was the first to hear them.
He spoke up:

“Friends, Argive leaders and counsellors—
my spirit prompts me to speak. But will I say
something true or false? A sound beats in my ear,
fast-moving horses’ hooves. Perhaps, as we speak, 640
Odysseus and mighty Diomedes are driving
sure-footed horses back from Trojans. But I fear,
in my anxious heart, that Achaea’s best
are in trouble from pursing Trojan forces.”

Before Nestor could finish, the two men arrived. [540]
They dismounted and were welcomed joyfully.
Men shook their hands, with warm congratulations.
Geranian horseman Nestor was the first with questions:

“Renowned Odysseus, great glory of Achaeans,
tell me how you two obtained these horses. 650
Did you sneak into that crowd of Trojans?
Or did you meet some god who gave them to you?
They’re astonishing, like rays of the sun.
I’m always going in among the Trojans,
and I claim I don’t malinger by the ships,
although I’m an old man for a warrior.
But I’ve never seen, never imagined [550]
horses like these. I think some god met you
and gave them to you. For cloud-gathering Zeus
loves both of you, as does bright-eyed Athena, 660
daughter of aegis-bearing Zeus.”

Odysseus grinned at Nestor and answered him:

“O Nestor, son of Neleus, great glory
of Achaeans, if a god wanted to,
he’d easily give even better horses,
for gods are much more powerful than us.
But these horses which you ask about,
old man, are from Thrace, new arrivals.
Brave Diomedes killed their master,
along with all twelve of his companions, 670 [560]
their finest men. There was a thirteenth killed,
a spy we captured near the ships, sent there
by Hector and the other haughty Trojans,
to scout around our camp.”*

Odysseus finished. Then he laughed with triumph,
driving the sure-footed horses past the ditch.
Other Achaeans came after him, rejoicing.
When they reached Diomedes’ well-constructed hut,
they tethered the horses with cut straps in the stall
where Diomedes’ own swift horses stood, munching 680
their sweet grain. Odysseus put the bloodstained loot
from Dolon into his ship’s stern, until they’d made [570]
an offering to Athena. Then the two men waded
into the sea, washed off their legs and necks and thighs,
removing all the sweat. Once the surf had taken
layers of sweat from off their skin and their hearts
had been refreshed, they stepped in shining tubs and bathed.
They washed, rubbing lots of smooth oil on themselves,
then sat down to eat. From the brimming wine bowl
they drew off sweet wine and poured libations to Athena.

Notes

*Autolycus, the one who originally stole the cap, was Odysseus’ maternal grandfather, so in a roundabout manner, the cap has come back to the family.