BOOK TEN

Night in the Camp: A Foray

 

They slept then, all the rest, along the shipways,
captains of Akhaia, overcome
nightlong by slumber; but their high commander,
Agamémnon, lay beyond sweet sleep
and cast about in tumult of the mind.
As when the lord of fair-haired Hêra flashes,
bringing on giant storms of rain or hail
or wintry blizzard, sifting on grey fields—
or the wide jaws of drear and bitter war—

so thick and fast the groans of Agamémnon

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came from his heart’s core, and his very entrails
shook with groaning. Ai! When he looked out
in wonder and dismay upon the plain
where fires burned, a myriad, before Troy,
and heard flute sounds and pipes, nocturnal hum
of men encamped there; when he looked again
at his Akhaians and their ships, before
high Zeus he tore his hair out by the roots
and groaned, groaned from the well of his great heart.

But this expedient came into his mind:

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to visit Nestor, first of all, and see
what plan if any could be formed with him—
some well-wrought plan that might avoid the worst
for the Danáäns. And, rising,
he pulled his tunic on over his ribs
and tied his smooth feet into good rawhide sandals,
took a great tawny lionskin for mantle,
dangling to his heels, and gripped a spear.

Now Meneláos, like his brother, shaken,

lay unsleeping, open-eyed, foreboding

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anguish for the Argives, who had come
for his sake many a long sea mile to Troy
to wage the daring war. He rose and cloaked
his broad back with a spotted leopardskin,
picked up a bronze-rimmed helmet for his head,
and took a long spear in his fist, to go
arouse his brother, lord of all the Argives,
whom as a god the common folk revered.
He found him buckling on his handsome baldric

close to the ship stern, and he turned in joy

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to see Meneláos come. Then Meneláos,
lord of the warcry, said:

“Why under arms,

dear brother? Will you call for a volunteer
to look the Trojans over? Hardly one
will take that duty on, I fear: alone
to circle and scout the dangerous enemy
in the starry night. It will take nerve to do it.”

Agamémnon answered:

“You and I

must have some plan of action, Meneláos,
and a good one, too—some plan to keep the troops

and ships from ruin. Zeus’ mood has changed;

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he cares for Hektor’s offerings more than ours.

In my lifetime I have not seen or heard

of one man doing in a day’s action

what Hektor did to the Akhaian army—

one man, son of neither god nor goddess,

in one day’s action—but for years to come

that havoc will be felt among the Argives.

Go now, wake Idómeneus and Aías.

Go on the run along the ships, and I

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will turn out Nestor, if he’ll come to join us
at the first sentry post and give commands.
He is the one they should most willingly
obey: his own son heads a company
with Idómeneus’ lieutenant, Meríonês.
We put the sentries mainly in their charge.”

Said Meneláos in reply:

“But how

do you intend this order? Am I to stay

with those two, waiting till you come,

or track you on the run, after I tell them?”

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The Lord Marshal Agamémnon answered:

“Stay in their company. We might not meet,
coming and going: there are many paths
through the encampment. When you go, speak out,
tell them to rouse themselves, but courteously,
giving each man his patronymic and
his rank; and do not feel it is beneath you.
We must do service, too. That is the way
the Lord Zeus burdened us when we were born.”

With these words, making clear what he commanded,

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he sent his brother off, while he himself
went on toward Nestor. Close to his hut and ship
he found him in a bed of fleece. Nearby
his glinting arms were lying: a round shield,
two lances, and a helmet burnished bright.
There lay his many-faceted kilt or loin-guard,
girded on when the old man armed for war
to take his soldiers forward, undeterred
by doleful age.

He heaved up on his elbow,

lifting his head, and peering in the dark,

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he asked: “Who are you, going about alone
amid the host by night when others sleep?
Looking for some stray mule or some companion?
Speak: don’t stand there silent; what do you want?”

Then the Lord Marshal Agamémnon answered:

“Nestor, son of Nêleus, pride of Akhaians,

know me for Agamémnon, son of Atreus,

plunged by Zeus into the worst trouble

a man could know, for as long as I draw breath,

as long as my own legs will carry me.

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I roam this way because no sleep will come

to settle on my eyes; the war stays with me

and what the army suffers. How I fear

for our Akhaians! Quietude of heart

I have none: fever of dread is in my brain,

my heart leaps from my ribs, my knees give way.

If you will act—and even you are sleepless—

let us inspect the sentries and make sure

they are not drugged by weariness,

not lying asleep, their duty all forgotten.

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Hard enemies are encamped nearby. We cannot
say for sure they’ll not attack by night.”

Earl Nestor of Gerênia answered:

“Lord”

Marshal of the army, Agamémnon,

Zeus the Profound will not achieve for Hektor

all that the man imagines now, or hopes for.

I think he, too, will have his difficulties,

and more, if ever Akhilleus drops his anger.

But I will come with you, and gladly. Why not

awaken others to join us—Diomêdês,

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who is a wonder with a spear, Odysseus, and
Aías, the fast one, and the son of Phyleus?
Someone might go as well and waken Aías,
the tall one, and Idómeneus—their ships

are not so near, any of them. Moreover,

dear and respected as your brother is,

I have hard words for him. You may resent it;

I will not hide it: see the way he sleeps

and leaves the toil and worry to you alone!

He should be up and asking help of all

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our noblest, now the inexorable need
has come upon us.”

The Lord Marshal said:

“Sir, I should say, accuse him another time.

He often does go easy and holds off,

not out of laziness or lightness of mind

but following my lead, deferring to me.

This time, though, he was the first to rise,

and came to me. I sent him off to summon

the very men you name. Let us go on,

we’ll come across them at the sentry post

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outside the gates. All were to gather there.”

Earl Nestor of Gerênia replied:

“No Argive then can take it ill; no one
will disregard him when he calls to action.”

With this he pulled his tunic to his waist,

tied his smooth feet into good rawhide sandals,

and gathered round him with a brooch

his great red double mantle, lined with fleece.

He picked a tough spear capped with whetted bronze

and made his way along the Akhaian ships.

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Coming first on Odysseus, peer of Zeus
in stratagems, he gave a call to wake him.
Clear in the sleeper’s shrouded mind it rang
and he burst startled from his hut to ask:

“Why are you out wandering through the army,
you alone, in the starry night? What brings you?”

Earl Nestor of Gerênia replied:

“Son of Laërtês and the gods of old,

Odysseus, master mariner and soldier,

do not be vexed at this. The Akhaians’ peril

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warrants it. Now, come along with us,
and we shall find another man to waken—
someone fit to advise retreat or war.”

The great tactician stepped inside and picked

a painted shield to hang from his broad shoulders,

then he went after them. The next in line

was Diomêdês, and outside his hut

they found him with his gear of war. Around him

his men were sleeping, pillowed on their shields,

with spears driven upright, butt-spikes in the ground:

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point after point of bronze reflecting light
into the distance, like a glare of lightning
flung by Father Zeus. But the hero slept,
a bull’s hide spread beneath him, and a bright
unfolded rug beneath his head. Beside him
Nestor of Cerênia took his stand
and jogged him with his foot, then lectured him:

“Up; get up, Diomêdês! Will you snore

the whole night through? Do you not know the Trojans

have taken up positions near the ships

where the beach rises—only a stone’s throw off?”

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At this the hero, starting up from sleep,
gave back a rough reply:

“Hard as a knife

is what you are, old man. By night and day
you never rest. Are there no younger men
who might go round about to wake the captains
one by one? Can no one hold you down?”

Then Nestor said:

“No doubt of it, dear lad,

there’s reason in what you say. I have indeed

able young sons and soldiers, many of them,

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any of whom could go and bear the summons.
Terrible pressure is upon us, though;
the issue teeters on a razor’s edge
for all Akhaians—whether we live or perish.

Go and rouse Mégês, rouse Aías the runner,
if as a younger man you’d spare my age.”

Diomêdês took for full-length cape the skin

of a great tawny lion, picked a spear,

and ran to rouse the others and conduct them.

Filing out among the sentries, then,

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they found that not one captain was asleep;

each man sat up, all wakeful, under arms.

As shepherd dogs keep bristling watch, their ears

pricked up at the approach of a wild beast

roaming down hills through woodland, toward the fold;

they hear an outcry, far away, of men

and watchdogs, and their rest is at an end:

so for these sentries rest had been dispelled

as they kept watch on that bad night, forever

facing the plain, peering when they could catch

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a sound of Trojans moving. And old Nestor,
in his relief at seeing them, said heartily:

“That is the way to keep your watch, dear lads,
sleep must not capture one of you, or all
may well give cause for gloating to the enemy.”

He crossed the moat then, and the peers who came

to attend the council followed him,

as did Meríonês and Nestor’s son,

whom they had asked to join them. Once across,

they sat down in the clear, an open space

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not littered with dead bodies—the same place
where Hektor in his power had turned back
from slaughtering Argives, when the night came down
and shrouded all. Here, then, they sat and talked,
and first to speak was Nestor.

“Friends,” he said,

“is there no man who trusts his own brave heart

enough to make a foray on the Trojans,

killing some isolated guard, perhaps,

or picking up information—overhearing

plans they exchange among themselves? Have they

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a mind to stay afield, here by the ships,

or to re-enter Troy, since they defeated us?

A man might learn these things and get away

unhurt to join us; and his feat would be

renowned among all people under heaven.

A handsome prize will be awarded him:

every commander of a ship division

gives him a black ewe, with a suckling lamb—

no token of honor like it. Afterward
he can attend all feasts and drinking parties.”

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Now at this challenge everyone grew still,
but Diomêdês in their midst spoke out:

“Nestor, pride and excitement urge me on

to make a foray into the enemy camp

so close at hand here. If some other soldier

goes along, it will be better, though—

more warmth to it. Two men can make a team:

one will catch on quicker than the other

when there’s a chance of bringing something off,

while one man’s eyes and wit may move more slowly.”

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Volunteers aplenty desired to go
with Diomêdês: Aías the Tall; Short Aías;
Meríonês, and the eager son of Nestor;
the spearman, Meneláos. Then Odysseus,
that rugged man, wished, too, to pierce the lines,
bold for adventure, as he always was.
Now the Lord Marshal Agamémnon said:

“Diomêdês, my own right arm, you name

your own companion; take the one you want,

the best of those whose hands are up. You have

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plenty to choose from. No damned bashfulness
that might incline you to pass by the strongest
and take a lesser man, through deference
to birth or to rank higher than your own.”
He said this, fearing for his red-haired brother,
Meneláos. But Diomêdês said:

“If this is a command, and I may choose,
could I pass by that kingly man, Odysseus?

Shrewd as he is, and cool and brave, beyond

all others in rough work. Pallas Athêna

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loves that man. If he were at my side
we’d go through fire and come back,
the two of us. No man knows war as he does.”

Rejoined the Lord Odysseus:

“Diomêdês,

no good flattering me, or carping, either—
not before men who know me through and through.
We should be on our way. How the night passes!
Dawn is near: high stars have all gone down.
Two thirds of night are gone; one third is left us.”

Then both men buckled on grim gear of war.

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Diomêdês was given by Thrasymêdês

a two-edged sword—for his own was at the ship—

and a shield, too. Upon his head he pulled

a bull’s-hide helmet with no ridge or plume,

a so-called “cut down” made to guard the skulls

of rugged men-at-arms. Meríonês

handed Odysseus his bow and quiver,

gave him a two-edged sword, and fitted on

a helmet that was first a cap of hide
with bands of leather crisscrossed, and on these

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a boar’s white teeth were thickly set, disposed

with cunning on all sides. A felt lining

padded the cap. This helm Autólykos

brought in the old days out of Eleôn,

where he had made a breach in the palace wall

of Amyntor, the son of Órmenos.

He gave it to Amphídamas the Kýthêran,

Skandeia-bound; Amphídamas in return

for hospitality gave it to Mólos,

and Mólos handed it on to his own son,

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Meríonês, to wear in battle. Now
it capped Odysseus’ head.

Grimly accoutered,

the two moved out into the darkness, leaving
all their peers behind. Off to the right
along their path, Pallas Athêna sent
a heron gliding down the night. They could not
see it passing, but they heard its cry;
and heartened by that fisher bird, Odysseus
prayed:

“O child of Zeus who bears the stormcloud,

hear me. In hard hours ever at my side

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you follow every move I make: tonight
befriend me most, Athêna.
Before we two retire on the ships
let us bring off some feat to gall the Trojans.”

In his turn Diomêdês, lord of the warcry,
prayed:

“O tireless one, hear me as well:

be with me, as with Tydeus once, my father,
when he advanced as messenger to Thebes
ahead of all Akhaians—left the Akhaians

on the Asôpos river under arms.

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His words to the Kadmeians were like honey,
but terrible were the actions he devised
as he withdrew, bright goddess, with your blessing.
Now in the same way bless me, guard me now.
For my part I shall offer at your altar
a virgin heifer, a yearling, never yoked,
her horns all sheathed in gold.”

These were their prayers,

and Pallas Athêna, Zeus’ daughter, heard them.

Falling silent after invoking her,

they made their way like lions through black night

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toward kills and carnage, braving spears and blood.

Neither were Trojan leaders permitted sleep
by Hektor, but he called them all together,
all who were lords and captains of the Trojans,
to put his plan before them:

“Who volunteers

to undertake this mission and see it through

for a great prize? He will have satisfaction!

A chariot and two mettlesome fine horses,

best of those beside the Akhaian ships,

for the man who dares to win fame for himself

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by a night patrol along the ships, to learn
if they are guarded as before. It may be
the Akhaians were so battered by our charge
that now they talk of sailing, and are so weary
that now they have no will for a night watch.”

The listening Trojans all grew mute and still.

Among them there was one by the name of Dolôn;

rich in gold, and rich in bronze, this man

was heir to the great herald, Eumêdês,

and a good runner, puny though he seemed,

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an only son, with five sisters. He spoke
before the Trojans in response to Hektor:

“Hektor, pride and excitement urge me on

to make this night patrol close to the ships

for information. Only, lift up your staff

and swear that my reward will be that team

and brazen car that bear the son of Pêleus.

For my part, I take oath not to be blind

on this patrol, or let you down. I’ll make it

straight through all the camp until I reach the ship

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of Agamémnon. There the Akhaian captains
must be debating battle or retreat.”

Hektor complied, held up his staff, and swore:

“May Zeus in thunder, consort of Hêra, witness
this: no other Trojan rides that car
behind that team. I say that you will do so.
It is to be your glory.”

So he swore

an oath to incite the man—and swore in vain.

At once the runner slung his curving bow

over his shoulders, and for cloak the skin

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of a grey wolf. He took a cap of weasel,
picked up a javelin, and headed down
for the line of ships, leaving the Trojan camp—
but he would not return with news for Hektor.
When he had left the troops and tethered horses,
trotting eagerly on the seaward path,
Odysseus caught sight of the man coming
and whispered to Diomêdês:

“Who is this,

now headed toward us from the camp? A scout,

on night patrol along the ships, or bent

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on rifling some dead body—I can’t say.
Let him just pass into open ground a little
and we can catch him from behind. If he outruns us,
once we are in between him and his base,
attack with a spear-throw, force him on the ships:
not to let him cut back to the town.”

The two conversed in whispers, then lay still,

flattened among dead bodies off the path,

while the unwary man came running by.

But when he had passed them fifty yards or so—

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a field’s width, say, a team of mules could plow,

being faster at this work than oxen, dragging

a bolted plowshare in a furrow—both

ran after him. And at the sound of feet

he stood stock-still, for in his heart he hoped

that at a nod from Hektor fellow Trojans

were on their way to fetch him back. Now only

a spear-throw distant from him, maybe less,

he recognized the Akhaian enemies

and took to his heels. The two veered after him.

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As when two hounds, well-trained in tricks of game,

hang on behind a young buck or a hare

through wooded land, and the quarry races on

emitting shrieks of dread—so Diomêdês

and Odysseus, raider of cities, chased their man

after they cut him off from his own army.

Seaward he fled, and now when he seemed headed

straight into the sentries’ arms, Athêna

set Diomêdês raging not to give
some other lucky Akhaian the first shot

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by being slow to catch up. Poising his lance,
Diomêdês managed a great burst of speed
and called out:

“Halt!—or else my spear goes through you!

Plunging death is coming at my hands!
You cannot get away!”

In fact, he threw,

but missed deliberately: the spearhead passed

above the man’s right shoulder and stuck fast

before him in the ground. In panic fear

the runner tripped and stopped, a chattering noise

came from his mouth, and he turned faint and pale.

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The two men, panting, soon came up with him
to pin his arms. But now in tears he begged them:

“Take me alive! I can arrange a ransom!
Iron and bronze and gold I have at home,
and Father will not count the cost if only
he knows me safe amid the Akhaian ships!”

The shrewd captain, Odysseus, answered him:

“Courage, you need not feel your death so near.

Tell me this, though, and plainly: what has brought you

out of your camp and this way toward the ships

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alone by night, when others take their rest?
Would you despoil some corpse among the dead,
or were you sent by Hektor to find out
our dispositions at the ships?—or did you
wish to find out, yourself?”

Dolôn replied,

his legs shaking under him:

“Carried away,

I was, against my own good sense, by Hektor.

He said Akhilleus’ team would be my prize,

his chariot, too, all trimmed with bronze. He told me

to go through the black night, now swiftly passing,

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and to approach our enemies—to learn
if guards are posted at the ships as usual
or if the Akhaians, punished at our hands,
are in accord to sail and, being far gone
in weariness, have no will for a night watch.”

At this the great tactician smiled. He said:

“By heaven, quite a reward was in your grasp—

the car and horses owned by the great fighter,

Aíakos’ grandson. That is a fractious team

for mortal men to master! Not for Akhilleus,

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but he was born of an immortal mother.
Tell me this now, give me a plain answer:
Where is Hektor?
Where did you leave him when you took this path?
His arms, where are they lying? Where are his horses?
How have the other Trojans planned their watches
and hours for sleep?”

Dolôn again made answer:

“Hektor is with his staff, holding a council

beside the funeral mound of the patriarch

Ilos, far from the battlefield. No watches

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in your sense, sir, are being stood, no sentries
chosen to guard the camp. At every fire
the necessary number are awake
and keep one another vigilant. Detachments
of allies, though, are everywhere asleep
and leave the sentry duty to the Trojans.
Allies have no families near at hand.”

The great tactician, Odysseus, said to him:

“And how are they encamped? Mixed in with Trojans

or separately? Tell me about each one;

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I must know this.”

Dolôn replied:

“I’ll tell you.

Nearest the sea are Karians and Paiônês
with Lelegês, Kaukônês, and Pelasgians.
Up the Skamánder are the Lykians, Mysians,
Phrygian horsemen, and Mêionians—

but why do you question me on these details?

If you are bent on raiding a Trojan company,

yonder are Thracians just arrived, far out

on the left wing, apart from everyone.

Their king is Rhêsos Eïónidês,

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his horses the most royal I have seen,

whiter than snow and swift as the seawind.

His chariot is a masterwork in gold

and silver, and the armor, huge and golden,

brought by him here is marvelous to see,

like no war-gear of men but of immortals . . .

You’ll take me to the ships now, will you not?

Or will you leave me here, bound hand and foot,

while you go forward, testing what I told you
for accuracy and advantage to yourselves?”

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Diomêdês frowned and looked at him and said:

“As I see it, you need not hold this thought
of slipping through our hands, now you are in them,
accurate though your facts may be. Suppose
we let you go, or let you go for ransom?
Later, by god, you’ll come down on the ships
to spy again, or to make open war!
Resign your life now at my hands.
You make no further trouble for the Argives.”

Even as he spoke, the man leaned forward, reaching

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to touch his chin, beseeching; but he brought
his sword-blade in a flash down on the nape
and severed the two tendons. In the dust
the head of the still crying man was muffled.
Now they pulled off his cap of weasel skin,
his grey wolf jacket, javelin, and bow,
and Lord Odysseus held these trophies high
to Athêna, Hope of Soldiers. He appealed to her:

“Joy in this armor, goddess, first on Olympos,

first of immortals in our invocation!

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Give us more luck, send us against that Thracian

bivouac and horses!”

And at this

he rid himself of Dolôn’s gear by lifting it

into a tamarisk tree. He bundled it

and made it easier to see by breaking

tamarisk shoots and twigs from underneath,

so he and Diomêdês could not miss it

on their way back in the night now swiftly passing.

Onward they pressed now, braving spears and blood,

and came soon to the bivouac of Thracians

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at the camp’s edge. Here weary troops were sleeping,
armor beside them canted on the ground
in three well-ordered rows. The chariot teams
were tethered, each one, near their charioteer,
and in the center Rhêsos slept. Beside him
snowy horses were tethered by the reins
that ran from the chariot rail. Odysseus first
distinguished him and whispered, pointing him out
to Diomêdês:

“There is the man; there are

the horses Dolôn whom we killed described.

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Come put your back in it, your heart: why stand here
in arms for nothing? Go untie the horses,
or let me do it while you kill the men.”

Grey-eyed Athêna filled Diomêdês’ heart

with fury. Whirling left and right he struck,

and pitiable sounds came from the bodies

cleft by the sword’s edge. Earth ran red with blood.

As on a flock of goats or sheep, unshepherded

and undefended, a baleful lion falls,

the son of Tydeus fell upon those Thracians

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until he had killed twelve. And at his shoulder
Odysseus, adept at war, moved up
to drag out by the heels each man he killed,
thinking by this to save the beautiful horses
from shying at the bodies when they passed—
being unused to dead men yet.

At last

when Diomêdês reached the Thracian king,
he took a thirteenth precious life away

as the man gasped in sleep, nightmare upon him.

Meanwhile patient Odysseus freed the horses,

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hitching them together by the reins,

and drove them off. He used his bow to whack them,

missing the whip fixed in the painted chariot

ready to his hand. With a low whistle

he made Diomêdês look—but Diomêdês

waited, pondering what next to try

in the way of outrage. Would he lift the pole

and pilfer the king’s chariot with his weapons,

or take the life of still more Thracian men?

His heart distended at the thought, when near him

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out of the night air turning, Athêna stood
and said:

“No, put your mind on getting back

to your own camp, son of great-hearted Tydeus,
unless you choose to run for it, supposing
some other god may wake the Trojans now.”

Diomêdês respected the goddess’ voice
and turned to mount the chariot. Odysseus
used his bow for whip, and off they went
to the ships of the Akhaians.

No blind watch

was kept by Apollo of the silver bow,

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who saw Athêna following Diomêdês.

Irritated by her, he joined a company

of Trojans, and aroused Hippokoôn,

a noble cousin of Rhêsos. Out of sleep

the man awoke and saw the empty ground

where once fast teams had stood; he saw the soldiers

massacred and soaking in their blood,

and cried aloud at this, calling his friends.

Soon there were other cries, and a wild din

of troops who ran up, staring at the horrors

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done in that sortie from the ships.

Now those

who did that work had reached, on their return,
the spot where they had killed Hektor’s observer.
Noble Odysseus here reined in the team
while Diomêdês vaulted down to sweep
the bloody trophies into Odysseus’ hands
and then remounted—and he whipped the horses
into a willing run.

Of all Akhaians

Nestor first heard the beat of distant hooves

and said:

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“Friends, lords, and captains of the Argives,

do I imagine it or is it real?
A drumming of distant hooves is in my ears.
May it turn out, already, to be Odysseus
and rugged Diomêdês—back again,
with no time lost and driving Trojan horses!
I have been fearful that they might be hurt
in the Trojan outcry!”

He had not yet finished

all he was going to say, when up they came

and set foot on the quiet ground. Their friends

with warm handgrips and greeting gave them welcome;

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Nestor, lord of Gerênia, put the question:

“Tell me, Odysseus, great in all men’s eyes,

how did you take these horses? How slip by

into the Trojan camp? Or did some god

come down to meet you and bestow them on you,

horses like the white flames of the sun!

I join the fighting every day with Trojans,

never, I think, malingering at the ships,

old soldier that I am; but teams like these

I never saw or heard of. Well, some god

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who crossed your path bestowed them, I suppose.
I know both men are dear to the cloud-herder
Zeus, and to his daughter, grey-eyed Athêna.”

Odysseus, the resourceful man, replied:

“O Nestor, son of Nêleus, light of Akhaians,
a god might easily give still better horses,
gods being so much stronger than ourselves.
But these you ask about were new arrivals,

Thracians, excellency. Diomêdês killed

their master and a dozen fellow officers.

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A thirteenth man, a scout, abaft the ships
we executed: Hektor and his peers
had sent him forward to observe the army”

Down through the moat he drove the horses now

and laughed a rumbling laugh. Along with him

the others crossed, exulting. When they reached

Diomêdês’ quarters, they tied up the horses

by their own well-cut reins before the trough

where the master’s chariot horses fed on grain.

Astern upon his ship, Odysseus hung

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the bloodstained gear of Dolôn

pending a proper offering to Athêna.

Wading into the sea, the men themselves

splashed at their coats of sweat—shins, nape, and thighs—

until the surf had washed it from their skin

and they were cool again. Then out they came

to take warm baths in polished tubs. Being bathed

and rubbed with olive oil, the two sat down

to take refreshment. From a full winebowl
they dipped sweet wine and poured it to Athêna.

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