When Zeus had brought great Hektor and his Trojans
into the beachhead by the ships, he left them
to cruel toil of battle, and to grief,
while he himself with shining eyes turned north,
gazing on the far lands of Thracian horsemen,
Mysoi, hand-to-hand fighters, Hippêmolgoi,
who live on mare’s milk, nomads, Ábioi,
most peaceable and just of men. And Zeus
now kept his shining eyes away from Troy,
confident that no other god would come |
10 |
to take a hand for Trojans or Danáäns.
But the strong god who makes the mainland shake
had not been blind.
Enthralled, watching the battle,
he sat on woody Samos’ highest ridge
off Thrace, whence Ida could be seen entire
and Priam’s town and the Akhaian ships.
He had climbed up from the salt sea, and now
he pitied Akhaians beaten down by Trojans.
Rancor within him deepened against Zeus.
Then from the stony mountain down he went |
20 |
with mighty strides; a tremor shook the crags
and forest under Poseidon’s immortal feet.
Three giant steps, then four, and he was home
at Aigai, where his golden chambers glimmer
in the green depth and never wash away.
Here he entered; into his chariot shafts
he backed his racing team with golden manes,
put on his golden mantle, took his whip
of pliant gold, stepped up into his car,
and rolled out on the waves. Great fish beneath him |
30 |
gamboled from every quarter of the deep,
aware their lord rode overhead; in laughter
whitecaps parted, and the team full tilt
airily drew unwetted the axle-tree;
with leap on leap they bore him toward the beachhead.
There is a cavern deep in the deep sea
midway between the rocky isle of Imbros
and Ténedos: here he who shakes the islands
drove his horses down, unharnessed them,
tossed them heavenly fodder, looped their hocks |
40 |
with golden hobbles none could break or slip—
that they should abide here their lord’s return;
and off he went to the Akhaian army.
Now like a storm or prairie fire, swarming
steadily after Hektor son of Priam,
the Trojans roared as one man—on the verge,
they thought, of capturing the Akhaian ships
and dealing death to the best men around them.
But now from the deep water,
girdler of earth and shaker of earth, Poseidon |
50 |
came to arouse new spirit in the Argives.
Kalkhas he seemed, with his unwearied voice,
addressing first those two, fiery as he,
the men named Aías:
to save the Akhaian army! Joy of action
is what you must remember, and have done
with clammy dread. Elsewhere I do not fear
the free spear-arms of Trojans, though they’ve crossed
our big rampart in force. They can be held,
all of them, by Akhaians! Only here, |
60 |
in this one place, I am most afraid
it will go badly for us. Here this madman,
Hektor, like a conflagration leads them,
bragging he is a child of almighty Zeus.
I wish you were inspired by some god
to hold the line hard, clamped hard here, you two,
rallying others: you could block and turn
his whirlwind rush away from the long ships,
even if the Olympian sets him on.”
The god who girdles earth, even as he spoke, |
70 |
struck both men with his staff, instilling fury,
making them springy, light of foot and hand.
Then upward like a hawk he soared—a hawk
that, wafted from a rockpoint sheer and towering
shoots to strike a bird over the plain:
so arrowy in flight Poseidon left them.
The son of Oïleus knew his nature first
and turned to say to the son of Télamôn:
“That was one of the gods who hold Olympos,
here in the seer’s shape telling us to fight |
80 |
abaft the ships. It was not Kalkhas, not
the reader of birdflight; from his stride, his legs
as he went off, I knew him for a god.
The gods are easily spotted! As for me,
I feel more passion to do battle now;
I tingle from the very soles of my feet
to my finger tips!”
And Telamônian Aías
answered:
“So it is with me:
my hands itch to let the spearshaft fly!
90 |
a springing freshness in my legs. I long
to meet this implacable Hektor face to face!”
So they assured each other, in that joy
of battle which the god inspired; and he
meanwhile put heart in the Akhaian soldiers
rearward, taking a respite among the ships.
Dead on their feet from toil of war, these men
were losing heart; now they could see the Trojans
massing as they crossed the rampart. Watching,
in silence the Akhaians’ eyes grew wet; |
100 |
they saw no way to escape the evil hour.
But he who makes the islands tremble, passing
lightly among them, stiffened the backbone
of all those rugged companies. Teukros first
and Lêitos he commanded as he came,
then Pênéleos and Thoas, Dêípyros,
and last Meríonês and Antílokhos,
clarion in battle. Urgently and swiftly
he cried to them:
“Shame, Argives, shame, young men!
By fighting you can save our ships, |
110 |
but if you shirk the battle, then we face
defeat this day at the Trojans’ hands.
By heaven, what a thing to see! I never
dreamed the war would come to this: our beachhead
raided by Trojans! Until now those men
were timorous as greenwood deer, light fare
for jackals, leopards, wolves—wandering deer
with no fight in them and no joy in battle.
Trojans in other days would never meet
Akhaian power on the attack—not they! |
120 |
Far from the city now, they press the combat
to the very ships—by our commander’s fault
and by our soldiers’ fault in giving in.
At odds with him, our men will not hold fast
beyond the ships, but die around them!
Call it
proved and true beyond a doubt
that Agamémnon, Lord of the Great Plains,
caused this by contempt shown to Akhilleus.
Are we to break off battle, then? How can we?
Rather, find a remedy; good men’s hearts |
130 |
respond to remedies! You must no longer
hang back, but attack, for honor’s sake,
as every one of you is a first-rate soldier.
Would I now quarrel with one who shunned the war
if he were a man unfit for it? No. With you,
I am full of anger. Soldiers, you’ll bring on
worse things yet by your halfheartedness.
Let each man get a fresh grip on his pride
and look to his standing. The great contest begins,
Hektor begins his drive along the ships |
140 |
in force: he has broken the gate-bar and the gate.”
In terms like these Poseidon stirred the Akhaians,
and round the two named Aías they made stand,
hard companies the wargod would not scorn,
nor would Athêna, Hope of Soldiers. Gathering,
picked men faced the Trojan charge, faced Hektor,
spear by spear and shield by shield in line
with shield rims overlapping, serried helms,
and men in ranks packed hard—their horsehair plumes
brushed one another when the shining crests |
150 |
would dip or turn: so dense they stood together,
as from bold hands the spearshafts, closing up,
were pointed, quivering. And the men looked ahead,
braced for battle.
Trojans massed and running
charged them now, with Hektor in the lead
in furious impetus, like a rolling boulder
a river high with storm has torn away
from a jutting bank by washing out what held it;
then the brute stone upon the flood
goes tossed and tumbling, and the brush gives way, |
160 |
crashing before it. It must roll unchecked
as far as level ground, then roll no more,
however great its force had been. So Hektor
threatened at first to sweep clear to the sea
through huts and ships of the Akhaians, killing
along the way—but when he reached the line
of packed defenders he stopped dead in his tracks.
His adversaries lunging out with swords
and double-bladed spears beat him away,
so that he stepped back, shaken. Then he cried: |
170 |
“Trojans, Lykians, Dardans, fight hard here!
They cannot hold me, not for long,
by making bastion, closed in line together!
No, I can see them break before the spear,
if it is sure I have the first of gods
behind me, Hêra’s consort, lord of thunder!”
Shouting, he cheered them on to the attack,
and Priam’s son, Dêíphobos, inflamed
by a great hope, moved out ahead, his round shield
forward as he trod, catlike, compact |
180 |
behind it. Then Meríonês took aim
and cast his shining spear. A direct hit
on the round shield of bull’s hide—but no breakthrough;
the long haft snapped off at the blade. Dêíphobos
had held his shield before him at arm’s length
to counter that hard blow. And now Meríonês
retired amid his company, full of rage
to see spearhead and victory broken off.
Rearward he went, along the huts and ships,
to get a long spear left inside his hut. |
190 |
The rest fought on, with long-drawn battlecries,
and Telamônian Teukros drew first blood
by killing a son of Mentor, herder of horses,
Imbrios the pikeman. He had lived
at Pêdaios before the Akhaians came
and had a young wife, Mêdesikástê, born
of a slave to Priam. When the rolling ships
of the Danáäns beached, he journeyed back
to Ilion, stood high, and lived near Priam,
who ranked him with his own sons. Teukros gashed |
200 |
Imbrios under the ear with his long weapon,
then withdrew it. Down the Trojan went,
as on a hilltop, visible far and wide,
an ash hewn by an ax puts down its verdure
shimmering on the ground. So he went down,
and round him clanged his harness wrought in bronze.
Teukros rushed in to strip him; as he did so,
Hektor aimed a thrust with his bright spear,
but the alert man swerved before the point,
escaping by a hair’s breadth. Hektor hit |
210 |
a son of Ktéatos Aktoridês,
Amphímakhos, with a spear-thrust in the chest
just as he joined the fight. He thudded down
and his armor clanged upon him. Hektor lunged
to pull away the brave man’s fitted helm,
and Aías reached for Hektor with his spear—
but nowhere shone his bare flesh, all concealed
by his grim armor. Aías hit his shield-boss
hard and forced him backward, making Hektor
yield the dead. Akhaians drew them off. |
220 |
Stikhíos and Menéstheus, in command
of the Athenians, bore Amphímakhos
amid the Akhaians. As for Imbrios,
one Aías and the other, fast and bold,
took him as lions carry off a goat
under the noses of a biting pack
into a forest undergrowth: aloft,
clear of the ground, they lug him in their jaws.
Just so, with tossing plumes like manes, these two
lugged Imbrios, and stripped him of his gear. |
230 |
Then from his tender neck Aías Oïliadês,
in anger for Amphímakhos, lopped his head
and bowled it through the mêlée till it tumbled
in dust at Hektor’s feet.
Poseidon, too,
grew hot over Amphímakhos, his grandson.
Passing amid the huts and ships, he kindled
fire in Danáäns and devised Trojans’ woe.
Idómeneus now crossed his path, just come
from a fellow-captain slashed behind the knee,
who had been helped by others from the battle. |
240 |
Idómeneus had commended him to the surgeons
and made his way now to his hut; he longed
once more to join the fighting. The Earthshaker
addressed him in the form and voice of Thoas,
Andraimôn’s son, who ruled all Pleurôn, all
that steep land, Kálydôn of Aitolians,
where country folk revered him as a god.
As Thoas, now Poseidon said:
“Idómeneus,
marshal and mind of Kretans, what has become
of those Akhaian threats against the Trojans?” |
250 |
The Kretan captain in reply said:
“Thoas,
the blame cannot be pinned on any man,
so far as I know, up to now. Our people
understand war, none is unmanned by fear,
not one has lagged or slipped away from carnage.
Only it must be somehow to the pleasure
of arrogant Zeus, that here ingloriously
far from Argos the Akhaians perish!
Ah, Thoas!
before this you have shown courage in danger, |
260 |
and when you see a man go slack, you brace him.
No quitting now! Let every soldier hear it!”
Poseidon answered him:
“Idómeneus,
let that man never voyage home from Troy
but be a carcass for the dogs to play with
who would give up the fight this day! Come on,
and bring your gear; no time to lose; we must
hit hard and hit together, both of us,
if we are going to make our presence felt.
When feeble men join forces, then their courage |
270 |
counts for something. Ours should count for more,
since we can fight with any.”
So the god
took part with men once more in toil of combat.
When he had reached his hut, Idómeneus
bound on his handsome armor, took two spears,
and ran out like a lightning bolt, picked up
by Zeus to handle nickering on Olympos
when he would make a sign to men—the jagged
dance of it blinding bright. So as he ran
bronze flashed about his breast. |
280 |
Meríonês,
his valiant aide, came up, still near the hut,
on his way to get a bladed spear to carry,
and mighty Idómeneus said:
“Meríonês,
Mólos’ dear son, good runner, best of friends,
how is it that you left the battle?
Have you been hit? Some arrow grinding in you?
Or were you bringing word to me? No sitting
still in huts for me: I long to fight!”
The cool man said:
“Idómeneus, counselor
of battle-craft to Kretans under arms, |
290 |
I came to see if any spear is left here
I can use. I shattered mine just now
against Dêíphobos’ shield.”
Idómeneus answered:
“Spears? All you desire,
twenty-one spears, you’ll find inside, arrayed
against the bright wall of the entranceway—
all Trojan; I win weapons from the dead.
I do not hold with fighting at long range,
therefore I have the spears, and shields as well,
and helms as well, and bright-faced cuirasses.” |
300 |
Meríonês the cool man in reply
said:
“In my quarters, at my ship, I too
have plenty of Trojan gear; not near at hand, though.
I say I am not—not, I say—a man
to pass up any attack. I take my place
in the front rank for action and for honor
whenever battle’s joined. There may be others
who have not seen me fight, but I believe
you know me.”
And the captain of Kretans answered:
“Know you, and how you stand. Why need you say it? |
310 |
Suppose amid the ships we picked our best
for a surprise attack: that is the place
where fighting qualities in truth come out,
and you can tell a brave man from a coward.
This one’s face goes greener by the minute;
he is so shaky he cannot control himself
but fidgets first on one foot, then the other,
his teeth chattering, his heart inside him pounding
against his ribs at shapes of death foreseen.
As for the brave man, his face never changes, |
320 |
and no great fear is in him, when he moves
into position for an ambuscade;
his prayer is all for combat, hand to hand,
and sharp, and soon. Well, no man then
would look down on your heart and fighting skill!
And were you hit by a missile or a thrust
in the toil of war, the blow would never come
from behind on nape or back, but in the chest
or belly as you waded in
to give and take at the battle line. |
330 |
But no more talk or dawdling here like children!
Someone might sneer and make an issue of it.
Go to my hut and choose a battle spear.”
Meríonês, peer of Arês, in a flash
picked from the hut a bladed spear and ran
after Idómeneus, athirst for battle.
Imagine Arês, bane of men, when he
goes into combat with Rout close behind,
his cold and powerful son,
who turns the toughest warrior in his tracks. |
340 |
From Thrace these two take arms against Ephyroi
or gallant Phlegyai; but not for them
to heed both sides: they honor one with glory.
Just so, Meríonês and Idómeneus,
helmed in fiery bronze, captains of men,
made their way to battle. But Meríonês
asked his friend:
“Son of Deukáliôn, where
do you say we join the combat? On the right,
or in the center, or on the left? I find
the Akhaians there, if anywhere, shorthanded |
350 |
in this attack.”
And the Kretan captain said:
“The middle ships have their defenders:
Aías Telamônios, Aías Oïliadês,
Teukros, our best hand with a bow—and brave
at close quarters. They will give Hektor
more than he can handle in this battle,
hot as he is for war. He’s powerful, yes,
but he will find it uphill work to conquer
these sharp fighters, formidable hands,
and set our ships aflame—unless Lord Zeus |
360 |
should toss a firebrand aboard himself.
No mortal nourished on Dêmêtêr’s meal,
none vulnerable to bronze or stones will make
great Telamônian Aías yield. He would not
in a stand-up fight give ground to dire Akhilleus—
whom in a running fight no man can touch.
This way for us, then, to the army’s left:
to see how soon we’ll give some fellow glory
or win it from him.”
Swift as the god of war,
Meríonês was off, and led the way |
370 |
to that part of the line his friend required.
When the Akhaians saw Idómeneus
in fresh strength, like a flame, with his companion,
richly armed, all gave a shout and grouped
about him: and a great fight, hand to hand,
arose at the ship sterns. Gusts of crying wind
on days when dust lies thickest on the lanes
will wrestle and raise a dustcloud high: so spread
this mêlée as men came together, sworn
with whittled bronze to kill and strip each other. |
380 |
Bristling spines of long flesh-tearing spears
went home in the deadly press; and a man’s eyes
failed before the flash of brazen helmets,
cuirasses like mirrors, and bright shields
in sunlight clashing. Only a man of iron
could have looked on lighthearted at that fight
and suffered nothing.
At cross-purposes,
the sons of Krónos in their power brought on
bitter losses and death for brave men. Zeus
on the one hand willed for Hektor and the Trojans |
390 |
victory, to vindicate Akhilleus;
at the same time, he willed no annihilation
of the Akhaians before Troy, but only
honor to Thetis and her lion-like son.
Poseidon for his part now roused the Argives,
moving among them, after he emerged
in secret from the grey sea; being grieved
by Argive losses at the Trojans’ hands,
he felt bitter indignation against Zeus.
Both gods were of the same stock, had one father, |
400 |
but Zeus had been first-born and knew far more.
In giving aid, Poseidon therefore would not
give it openly: always under cover,
in a man’s likeness, he inspired the ranks.
These gods had interlocked and drawn
an ultimate hard line of strife and war
between the armies; none
could loosen or break that line
that had undone the knees of many men.
Idómeneus belied his grizzled head |
410 |
and, calling on Danáäns, with a bound
scattered the Trojans, for he killed Othrýoneus
of Kabêsos, a guest of Troy. This man
had come, on hearing lately of the war,
and bid for Kassandra, the most beautiful
of Priam’s daughters. Though he had brought no gifts,
he promised a great feat: to drive from Troy
the army of Akhaians, willy-nilly.
Then old Priam had agreed to give her,
nodding his head on it; so the man fought |
420 |
confident in these promises. Idómeneus
aimed at him with long spear flashing bright
and caught him in mid-stride. His plate of bronze
could not deflect the point driven in his belly,
and down he crashed. The other taunted him:
“Othrýoneus, I’ll sing your praise
above all others, if you do your part
for Priam! He had promised you his daughter.
Well, we could promise, and fulfill it, too,
to give you Agamémnon’s loveliest daughter |
430 |
brought out of Argos for you as your bride—
if you would join to plunder Troy.
Come, and we’ll make the marriage bond
aboard the long ships. There’s no parsimony
in us when it comes to bridal gifts.”
With this,
he dragged him by one foot out of the combat.
Ásïos, now dismounted, moved up fast
to fight over the body, while his driver
held the horses panting at his shoulders.
Putting his heart into the cast, he tried |
440 |
to hit Idómeneus; but the Akhaian whipped
his missile in ahead and struck his throat
under the chin, running him through with bronze.
Tall Ásïos fell the way an oak or poplar
falls, or a towering pine, that shipbuilders
in mountain places with fresh-whetted axes
fell to make ship’s timber. So, full length,
he lay before his team and chariot,
wheezing, clutching at the bloody dust.
His stunned driver had lost what wits he had |
450 |
and did not dare to break from his enemies
by wheeling his team around. Antílokhos
put a spear into him. The bronze he wore
could not deflect the point driven in his belly,
and with a gasp he pitched down from the car.
His team was taken by Antílokhos,
greathearted Nestor’s son, amid the Akhaians.
Enraged at Ásïos’ fall, Dêíphobos
went for Idómeneus with a hard spear-cast,
but he foresaw the blow and dodged the point |
460 |
by disappearing under his round shield
of bull’s hide, fitted on two struts or bars,
and plated with concentric rings of bronze.
Under this he packed himself, as over it
the bronze-shod spear passed; and his shield rang out
under the glancing blow. But not for nothing
thrown by Dêíphobos’ brawny hand,
the spear hit a commander, Hypsênor
son of Híppasos, in the liver under
the diaphragm, and brought him tumbling down. |
470 |
Dêíphobos gave a great shout and exulted:
“Ásïos is down, but there’s revenge!
On his journey to Death’s iron gate
he will be glad I gave him company.”
This went home to the Argives, most of all
Antílokhos, whose heart was stirred,
but in his grief he still bethought himself
for his companion. On the run he reached him,
straddled him and held his shield above him.
Two other friends, Mêkisteus, Ekhios’ son, |
480 |
and brave Alástôr, bent to lift and carry him
groaning deeply to the sheltering ships.
Idómeneus’ passion for battle never waned:
he strove to shroud some Trojan in hell’s night
or else himself to fall, as he fought off
the black hour for Akhaians.
Now he met
Alkáthoös, Aisyêtês’ noble son,
Ankhísês’ son-in-law. This man had married
Hippodameia, eldest of the daughters,
dearest to her father and gentle mother |
490 |
in their great hall. In beauty, skill, and wit,
she had excelled all girls of her own age.
For this reason, too, the man who won her
had been the noblest suitor in all Troy.
Now it was he that by Idómeneus’ hand
Poseidon overcame. The god entranced
his shining eyes and hobbled his fine legs,
so that he could not turn back or maneuver,
but like a pillar or a full-grown tree
he stood without a tremor. Square in the chest |
500 |
Idómeneus caught him, sundering the cuirass
that until now had saved his flesh from harm.
And now at last he cried aloud, the rending
spear between his ribs, and down he crashed,
his heart, being driven through, in its last throes
making the spearbutt quake. The mighty wargod
then extinguished all his force.
Idómeneus yelled and exulted savagely:
“Ah, then, Dêíphobos, shall we call it quits
when three are downed for one? You counted first! |
510 |
Bright soul, come forward now, yourself, and face me!
Learn what I am! I come in the line of Zeus,
who fathered Mínos, lord of the Kretan seas,
and he in turn fathered Deukáliôn
who fathered me, commander of many fighters
in the wide land of Krete. Then here to Troy
my ships brought me to plague you and your father
and all the Trojans.”
Challenged so, Dêíphobos
weighed the choice before him: should he pair
with some brave Trojan—going back to get him— |
520 |
or take Idómeneus on alone? It seemed
more promising to him to join Aineías,
whom he discovered in the battle’s rear,
standing apart, resentful against Priam,
as Priam slighted him among his peers.
Dêíphobos reached his side and said to him swiftly:
“Counselor of Trojans, you must come
defend your kinsman, if his death affects you.
Follow me, to protect Alkáthoös,
your sister’s husband, who made you his ward |
530 |
when you were still a small child in his house.
The great spearman, Idómeneus, brought him down.”
The appeal aroused Aineías. Craving battle,
he charged Idómeneus; and he, no child
to be overtaken by a qualm of fear,
steadily waited, like a mountain boar
who knows his power, facing a noisy hunt
in a lonely place: his backbone bristles rise;
both eyes are fiery; gnashing his tusks
he waits in fury to drive back dogs and men. |
540 |
Idómeneus, great spearman, so awaited
without a backward step Aineías’ onset.
But to his friends he called out, looking back
at Aphareus, Askálaphos, Dêípyros,
and those two masters of the battlecry,
Meríonês and Antílokhos; he sent
an urgent cry to alert them:
“This way, friends!
Give me a hand here, I am alone!
I have a nasty fear of the great runner,
Aineías, now upon me: he has power |
550 |
to kill, and has the bloom
of youth that is the greatest strength of all.
If we were matched in age as in our spirit
in single fight, then quickly he or I
should bear away the glory.”
As he spoke,
with one mind all the others closed around him,
taking position, shields hard on their shoulders.
Aineías, too, on his side turned and called
Dêíphobos and Paris and Agênor,
fellow-captains of Trojans. Troops moved up |
560 |
behind him now, as a flock out of a pasture
follows a ram to drink—and the shepherd’s heart
rejoices: so did Aineías’ heart rejoice
to see the men-at-arms follow his lead.
Both masses came together, hand to hand,
around Alkáthoös, long polished spearshafts
crossing, and the bronze on the men’s ribs
rang like anvils from the blows they aimed
at one another. Most of all, those peers
of Arês, Aineías and Idómeneus, |
570 |
strove with heartless bronze to rend each other.
Aineías made the first throw, but his adversary
saw the aim and twisted to elude it,
so that Aineías’ point went home in earth
and stuck with quivering shaft, the force he gave it
with his great arm spent on the air. Idómeneus
for his part thrust and hit Oinómaos
mid-belly, breaking through his cuirass-joint,
and the bronze lancehead spilt his guts like water.
Dropping in dust, the Trojan clawed the ground. |
580 |
Idómeneus pulled his long spear out, but could not
strip the Trojan’s shoulders of his gear,
being driven back by spear-throws. And then, too,
he was no longer certain of his footwork
in lunging or recovery, but fought
defensively against the evil hour,
his legs no longer nimble in retreat.
Now as he gave way step by step, Dêíphobos,
implacable against him, made a throw
but missed again; he hit Askálaphos, |
590 |
a son of the god Arês, running him through
the shoulder with his heavy spear. He fell
in dust and clawed the ground. And roaring Arês
heard no news as yet that his own son
died in that mêlée—no, for he was sitting
on high Olympos under golden clouds,
restrained by the will of Zeus, as were the other
immortal gods, all shut away from war.
But hand to hand around Askálaphos
the fight went on: Dêíphobos took the dead man’s |
600 |
helm, but Meríonês, fast as the wargod,
leaped and speared the Trojan’s outstretched arm.
The crested helm fell with a hollow clang,
and with a falcon’s pounce Meríonês
regained his spear and jerked it from Dêíphobos’
upper arm at the shoulder joint, then back
he turned to merge into his company.
A brother of the wounded man, Polítês,
putting an arm around his waist, withdrew him
out of the battle-din to where his team |
610 |
stood waiting in the rear, with car and driver.
Away to Troy they bore Dêíphobos,
who groaned in his distress, while blood ran down
his arm from the open wound.
And still the others
fought as the long-drawn battlecry arose.
Lunging at Aphareus, son of Kalêtôr,
Aineías hit his throat as he turned toward him
and cut it with his sharp spearpoint: the head
fell to one side as shield and helm sank down
and death, destroyer of ardor, flooded him. |
620 |
Antílokhos’ sharp eye on Thoôn saw him
turn away, and in one leap he slashed
the vein that running up the back comes out
along the neck; he sheared it from the body,
so that the man fell backward in the dust
with arms out to his friends. Antílokhos
closed to take the harness from his shoulders
watchfully, as the Trojans from all sides
moved up and struck at his broad glittering shield.
But none with his coldhearted bronze could scratch |
630 |
Antílokhos’ tender skin—because Poseidon
protected him amid those many blows.
And never out of range of them he turned
and turned upon his enemies: the spearshaft
swerving, never still, with his intent
to throw it and bring someone down
or to close in and kill.
Now Ásïos’ son
Adámas caught him as he aimed and struck him,
stepping in close, driving his point mid-shield,
but felt the spearshaft broken by Poseidon, |
640 |
who grudged him this man’s life. One half the spear
hung like a fire-hardened stake impaled
in the shield of Antílokhos, while on the ground
the other half lay. Then Adámas backed
into his throng of friends, away from death,
but as he drew away, Meríonês
went after him and hit him with a spear-throw
low between genitals and navel, there
where pain of war grieves mortal wretches most.
The spear transfixed him. Doubled up on it, |
650 |
as a wild bullock in the hills will writhe
and twitch when herdsmen fetter and drag him down,
so did the stricken man—but not for long
before Meríonês bent near and pulled out
spearhead from flesh. Then night closed on his eyes.
Now with his Thracian broadsword Hélenos
cut at Dêípyros’ head and broke his helm off:
buffeted to the ground and underfoot
it rolled till an Akhaian fighter caught it,
but black night closed on Dêípyros’ eyes. |
660 |
Grief at his death took great-lunged Meneláos,
and menacing with hefted spear he bore
down on Lord Hélenos, while Hélenos
drew arrowhead to handgrip. All at once
one made his cast, the other man let fly,
and Priam’s son hit Meneláos’ breast
upon his armor’s rondure—but the barbed
shaft went skittering.
On a threshing floor
one sees how dark-skinned beans or chickpeas leap
from a broad shovel under a sharp wind |
670 |
at the toss of the winnower: just so
from shining Meneláos’ cuirass now
the bitter arrow bounced up and away.
Meanwhile the son of Atreus, clarion
in battle, struck the hand that held the bow:
he drove his brazen spearhead through the knuckles
into the bowstave. Hélenos recoiled
amid his countrymen, eluding death,
his dangling left hand dragging the ashwood spear.
Greathearted Agênor drew the spearhead out |
680 |
and bound his hand in sheepswool from a sling
an aide supplied him. Then came Peísandros
in a rush at the great figure of Meneláos—
impelled by fatal destiny to fall
before you in the mêlée, Meneláos—
and when the range narrowed between these two
Meneláos missed: the spear was turned aside:
but Peísandros got home his stroke upon
Meneláos’ shield. Only, he could not
690 |
held fast; the shaft below the spearhead broke,
yet even so in joy he hoped for victory.
By the silver-studded hilt Meneláos drew
his longsword as he leapt on Peísandros—
who now brought out from underneath his shield
a double ax on a long polished helve.
In one great shock both men attacked at once,
axhead on helmet ridge below the crest
came hewing down, but the sword stroke
above the nose on the oncoming brow |
700 |
went home; it cracked the bone, and both his eyes
were spilt in blood into the dust at his feet
as he bent over and fell. Meneláos followed
to spurn the man’s chest with his foot and strip
his gear away. And glorying over him
he said:
“Here is the way back from the ships!
This way you’ll leave our beachhead,
Trojans who have not yet enough of war.
You don’t lack vileness otherwise, or crime
committed against me, you yellow dogs; |
710 |
you knew no fear of Zeus in his high thunder,
lord of guests—no forethought of his anger
harshly rising! He will yet destroy
your craggy city for you. My true queen
you carried off by sea with loads of treasure
after a friendly welcome at her hands.
This time you lust to pitch devouring fire
into our deepsea ships, and kill Akhaians.
You will be stopped somehow, though savage war
is what you crave!” |
720 |
Then in a lower tone
he said:
“O Father Zeus, incomparable
they say you are among all gods and men
for wisdom; yet this battle comes from you.
How strange that you should favor the offenders—
favor the Trojans in their insolence
ever insatiable for war! All things
have surfeit—even sleep, and love, and song,
and noble dancing—things a man may wish
to take his fill of, and far more than war.
But Trojans will not get their fill of fighting.” |
730 |
Meneláos as he spoke had ripped away
and given his men the dead man’s bloodstained arms.
Now once more, yet again, he entered combat.
Here in a surge against him came
Harpáliôn, King Pylaiménês’ son,
who journeyed with his father to make war
at Troy—never thereafter to come home.
At close quarters this fighter hit the shield
of Meneláos, but he could not drive the bronze
onward and through it. Backward in recoil |
740 |
he shrank amid his people, shunning death,
with wary glances all around
for anyone whose weapon might have nicked him.
After him, though, Meríonês
let fly a bronze-shod arrow, and it punched
through his right buttock, past the pelvic bone,
into his bladder. On the spot he sank
down on his haunches, panting out his life
amid the hands of fellow-soldiers: then
he lengthened out like an earthworm |
750 |
as dark blood flowing from him stained the ground.
Falling to work around him, Paphlagonians
lifted him in a car and drove him back
to Troy in sorrow. And his father, weeping,
walked behind; there was no retribution
for the dead son. But the death angered Paris,
because among the Paphlagonians
the man had been his guest and his great friend.
In anger now he let an arrow fly.
There was a young Akhaian named Eukhênor, |
760 |
noble and rich, having his house at Korinth,
a son of the visionary, Polyïdos.
When he took ship he knew his destiny,
for Polyïdos had foretold it often:
he was to die of illness in his mégaron
or else go down to death at Trojan hands
amid the Akhaian ships. Two things at once
he had therefore avoided: the heavy fine
men paid who stayed at home, and the long pain
of biding mortal illness. Paris’ arrow |
770 |
pierced him below jaw and ear, and quickly
life ebbed from his body, the cold night
enwrapped him.
And the rest fought on like fire’s
body leaping. Hektor had not learned
that Trojans on their left flank near the ships
were being cut to pieces; victory there
was almost in Akhaian hands, Poseidon
urged them on so, and so lent them strength.
But Hektor held that ground where first he broke
through gate and wall and deep ranks of Danáäns— |
780 |
there where the ships of Aías and Prôtesílaos
were drawn up on the grey sea beach, and landward
the parapet had been constructed lowest.
Here in chariots or on foot
the Akhaians fought most bitterly: Boiotians,
Ionians in long khitons, men of Lokris,
men of Phthía, illustrious Epeioi
fought off Hektor from the ships, but could not
throw him back as he came on like flame.
Athenians, picked men, were here, their chief |
790 |
Péteôs’ son, Menéstheus, and his aides,
Pheidas and Strikhíos, rugged Bías. Next
the Epeian leaders, Mégês, son of Phyleus,
Amphíon and Drakíos; of Phthía then,
Medôn and staunch Podárkês. Aye, this Medôn,
noble Oïleus’ bastard son and Aías’
brother, lived in Phýlakê
far from his fatherland, as he had killed
a kinsman of Oïleus’ second lady,
Eriôpis. As for the Lord Podárkês, |
800 |
he was a son of Íphiklos Phylákidês.
These, then, in arms before the men of Phthía,
fought for the ships at the Boiotians’ side.
But Aías, Oïleus’ quick son, would never,
not for a moment, leave Telamônian Aías.
These two men worked together, like dark oxen
pulling with equal heart a bolted plow
in fallow land. You know how, round the base
of each curved horn, the sweat pours out, and how
one smooth-worn yoke will hold the oxen close, |
810 |
cutting a furrow to the field’s edge? So
these toiling heroes clove to one another.
Surely the Telamônian had retainers—
many and courageous countrymen—
who took his shield when weariness came on him
and sweat ran down his knees. No Lokrians
backed up the other Aías, Oïleus’ son:
they could not have sustained close-order combat,
having no helms of bronze with horsehair crests,
no round shields and no spears of ash. In fact, |
820 |
when they took ship together for Ilion,
they put their faith in bows and braided sheepswool
slings, with which they broke the Trojan lines
by pelting volleys.
Now the men in armor
fought with Trojans in the front lines, fought
with Hektor, hand to hand, but in the rear
the bowmen shot, being safely out of range—
and Trojans lost their appetite for battle
as arrows drove them in retreat.
At this,
they might have left the ships and the encampment |
830 |
wretchedly to return to windy Troy,
had not Poulýdamas moved close to Hektor,
saying:
“You are a hard man to persuade.
Zeus gave you mastery in arms; therefore
you think to excel in strategy as well.
And yet you cannot have all gifts at once.
Heaven gives one man skill in arms, another
skill in dancing, and a third man skill
at gittern harp and song; but the Lord Zeus
who views the wide world has instilled clear thought |
840 |
in yet another. By his aid men flourish,
and there are many he can save; he knows
better than any what his gift is worth.
Let me tell you the best thing as I see it,
now everywhere around you in a ring
the battle rages.
Ever since the Trojans
crossed the wall, some have hung back, though armed,
while others do the fighting—and these few,
outnumbered, are dispersed along the ships.
Give way, call all our captains back, we’ll test |
850 |
their plans of action, every one. Shall we
attack the deepsea ships, can we assume
god wills to grant the day to us? And could we
retire from the ships without a slaughter?
As for me, I fear
the Akhaians may still pay the debt they owe
for yesterday, as long as the man we know,
famished for battle, lingers on the beachhead:
I doubt he’ll keep from fighting any longer.”
This wariness won Hektor’s nod. At once |
860 |
down from his chariot he swung to earth,
with all his weapons, and commanded swiftly:
“Poulýdamas—
it is up to you to call and hold our captains
while I take on the battle over there.
I will come back as soon
as I have made my orders clear to them.”
And towering like a snowpeak off he went
with a raucous cry, traversing on the run
Trojans and allied troops. Their officers |
870 |
collected near Poulýdamas on hearing
new commands from Hektor.
Dêíphobos,
Lord Hélenos, Adámas, son of Ásïos,
and Ásïos, Hyrtakos’ son, were those
he looked for down the front. Safe and unhurt
he scarcely found them. Those who lost their lives
at Argive hands were lying near the sterns;
others were thrown back on the wall with wounds.
But one man he soon found, on the left flank
of grievous battle: Prince Aléxandros, |
880 |
husband of Helen of the shining hair.
He stood there cheering on his company,
and stepping near him Hektor spoke to him
in bitterness:
“Paris, you bad-luck charm,
so brave to look at, woman-crazed, seducer,
where is Dêíphobos? And Hélenos?
Ásïos, Hyrtakos’ son? Adámas, his son?
Where is Othrýoneus? If these are gone,
tall Ilion is crumbling, sure disaster
lies ahead.” |
890 |
Aléxandros replied:
“Hektor, since you are moved to blame the blameless,
there may be times when I break off the fighting,
but I will not now. My mother
bore me to be no milksop.
From the hour
you roused our men to battle for the ships
we have been here engaging the Danáäns
without respite. As for the friends you look for,
some are dead. Dêíphobos and Hélenos
went off, I think, with spear wounds in the hand,
but the Lord Zeus has guarded them from slaughter. |
900 |
Lead us now, wherever your high heart
requires. We are behind you, we are fresh
and lack no spirit in attack, I promise,
up to the limit of our strength.
Beyond that no man fights, though he may wish to.”
With these mild words he won his brother over.
Into the thick of battle both men went,
round Kebríonês, Poulýdamas, and Phálkês,
Orthaíos, godlike Polyphêtês, Palmys,
and the sons of Hippotíôn, Askánios |
910 |
and Mórys. These had come the day before
at dawn, replacements from Askaniê’s plowland.
Zeus now intensified the fight. Men charged
like rough winds in a storm launched on the earth
in thunder of Father Zeus, when roaring high
the wind and ocean rise together; swell
on swell of clamorous foaming sea goes forward,
snowy-crested, curling, ranked ahead
and ranked behind: so line by compact line
advanced the Trojans glittering in bronze |
920 |
behind their captains.
Hektor in the lead,
peer of the man-destroying god of war,
held out his round shield, thick in bull’s hide, nailed
with many studs of bronze, and round his temples
his bright helmet nodded. Feinting attack
now here, now there, along the front, he tried
the enemy to see if they would yield
before his shielded rush—but could not yet
bewilder the tough hearts of the Akhaians.
Aías with a giant stride moved out |
930 |
to challenge him:
“Come closer, clever one!
Is this your way to terrify the Argives?
No, we are not so innocent of battle,
only worsted by the scourge of Zeus.
And now your heart’s desire’s to storm our ships,
but we have strong arms, too, arms to defend them.
Sooner your well-built town shall fall
to our assault, taken by storm and plundered.
As for yourself, the time is near, I say,
when in retreat you’ll pray to Father Zeus |
940 |
that your fine team be faster than paired falcons,
pulling you Troyward, making a dustcloud boil
along the plain!”
At these words, on the right
an eagle soared across the sky. “Iakhê!”
the Akhaian army cried at this. In splendor
Hektor shouted:
“Aías, how you blubber;
clumsy ox, what rot you talk! I wish
I were as surely all my days
a son of Zeus who bears the stormcloud, born
to Lady Hêra, honored like Athêna |
950 |
or like Apollo—as this day will surely
bring the Argives woe, to every man.
You will be killed among them! Only dare
stand up to my long spear! That fair white flesh
my spear will cut to pieces: then you’ll glut
with fat and lean the dogs and carrion birds
of the Trojan land! You’ll die there by your ships!”
He finished and led onward. The front rank
moved out after him with a wild cry,
and from the rear the troops cheered. Facing them, |
960 |
the Argives raised a shout; they had not lost
their grip on valor but now braced to meet
the Trojan onslaught. Clamor from both sides
went up to the pure rays of Zeus in heaven.