As they came down to a ford in the blue Xánthos,
eddying and running, god-begotten
wondrous river, there Akhilleus drove
amid the rout and split them, left and right—
scattering half toward Troy over the plain
where yesterday Akhaians broke and ran
when Hektor raged. Now Trojans ran that way,
and Hêra spread a cloud ahead to slow them.
The other half were forced into the stream
now running high with foam on whirlpools. Down |
10 |
they plunged, smacking the water, and the banks
and gulped beds echoed their hurly-burly.
This way and that they swam, shouting, spun round
and round by eddies. As when locusts flitter
before a prairie fire into a river,
tireless flames, leaping abruptly higher,
scorch them, and they crumple into the water:
so the currents rushing before Akhilleus
now grew choked with men and chariot-teams.
He left his spear propped on a tamarisk |
20 |
by the riverbank, then like a wild god
he leapt in savagely for bloody work
with sword alone, and struck to right and left,
as cries and groans went up from men he slashed
and dark blood flushed the stream.
As darting fish,
in flight before a dolphin, crowd the bays
of a great roadstead, terrified, for he
engorges all he catches: so the Trojans
cowered down the dangerous river’s course
and under overhanging banks. Arm-wearied |
30 |
by butchery, Akhilleus from the stream
picked twelve young men alive to pay the price
for dead Patróklos. He led these ashore,
startled as fawns, and bound their hands behind them,
using the well-cut thongs they wore as belts
round braided combat-shirts. He turned them over
to men of his command to be led back
to the decked ships, then launched himself again
on furious killing.
At this point he met
a son of Priam, Prince Lykáôn, |
40 |
scrambling from the river. Akhilleus once
on a night raid had captured this young man,
forced him out of his father’s orchard, where
with a bronze knife he had been cutting boughs
of a wild fig for chariot rails: the raider
came like a ghost upon him, unforeseen.
That time Akhilleus sold him overseas
to Lemnos. lesson’s son had purchased him,
but he was freed by an old family friend,
Eëtíôn of Imbros, who gave passage |
50 |
to the fair town Arísbê, whence in flight
he reached his father’s hall. Being come again
from Lemnos, he enjoyed eleven days
with friends at home. On the twelfth day a god
returned him to the rough hands of Akhilleus,
who would dispatch him to the realm of Death.
The great battlefield runner, Prince Akhilleus,
found the man disarmed: he had no helm,
no shield, not even a spear; all were thrown down
when heat and sweat oppressed him as he toiled |
60 |
to leave the stream, his knees, sapped by fatigue.
Taken aback, grimly Akhilleus said
in his great heart:
“God, here is a strange thing
to have before my eyes! Trojans I’ve killed
will stand up in the western gloom of death
if this one could return, his evil day
behind him—after I sold him, shipped him out
to Lemnos island. The great grey salt sea
that balks the will of many could not stop him.
Well, let him taste our spearhead now. Let me |
70 |
absorb the answer: can it be he’ll come
back from the grave, or will the fertile earth
detain him, as it does the strongest dead?”
Thus he reflected, waiting, and the other
came in a rush to clasp his knees, confused,
but mad with hope to escape the pain of death
and the black shape of destiny. Akhilleus
raised his long spear aiming to run him through.
Lykáôn ducked and ran and took his knees
even as the driven spear passed over, starved |
80 |
for blood and raw manflesh, and stuck in earth.
Grasping one knee, the unarmed man held on
with his left hand to the spearshaft of Akhilleus,
and pled with him:
“I come before your knees,
Akhilleus: show respect, and pity me.
Pleader and plea are worth respect, your grace.
You were the first Akhaian at whose hands
I tasted the bruised barley of Dêmêtêr,
upon that day when, among orchard trees,
you captured me, then shipped me out to Lemnos |
90 |
away from father and friends. I earned for you
a hundred bulls’ worth. Triple that I’ll bring
as ransom, this time. Twelve days have gone by
since I returned from my hard life abroad
to Ilion. But now sinister fate
has put me in your hands a second time:
in hate, somehow, Zeus guided me to you.
A man of short life—so my mother bore me,
Laóthoê, daughter of old Altês, lord
of the fighting Lélegês, who holds the rock |
100 |
of Pêdasos upon the Satnióeis.
Priam, lover of many, loved his daughter,
and two of us were born of her; both men
you will have slaughtered. Aye, you killed my brother
amid foot soldiers, noble Polydôros—
brought him down with a spear-throw. And here
my evil hour has come. I see I cannot
get away from you; the will of heaven
forced us to meet. But think of one thing more:
don’t kill me, since the belly where I grew |
110 |
never held Hektor, never held the man
who killed your friend, that gentle and strong soldier.”
In these terms Priam’s son pled for his life,
but heard a voice of iron say:
“Young fool, don’t talk to me of what you’ll barter.
In days past, before Patróklos died
I had a mind to spare the Trojans, took them
alive in shoals, and shipped them out abroad.
But now there’s not a chance—no man that heaven
puts in my hands will get away from death |
120 |
here before Ilion—least of all a son
of Priam. Come, friend, face your death, you too.
And why are you so piteous about it?
Patróklos died, and he was a finer man
by far than you. You see, don’t you, how large
I am, and how well-made? My father is noble,
a goddess bore me. Yet death waits
for me, for me as well, in all the power of fate.
A morning comes or evening or high noon
when someone takes my life away in war, |
130 |
a spear-cast, or an arrow from a bowstring.”
At this the young man’s knees failed, and his heart;
he lost his grip upon the spear
and sank down, opening his arms. Akhilleus
drew his sword and thrust between his neck
and collarbone, so the two-edged blade went in
up to the hilt. Now face down on the ground
he lay stretched out, as dark blood flowed from him,
soaking the earth. Akhilleus picked him up
by one foot, wheeled, and slung him in the river |
140 |
to be swept off downstream. Then he exulted:
“Nose down there with fishes. In cold blood
they’ll kiss your wound and nip your blood away.
Your mother cannot put you on your bed
to mourn you, but Skamánder whirling down
will bear you to the sea’s broad lap,
where any fish that jumps, breaking a wave,
may dart under the dark wind-shivered water
to nibble white fat of Lykáôn. Trojans,
perish in this rout until you reach, |
150 |
and I behind you slaughtering reach, the town!
The god-begotten river swiftly flowing
will not save you. Many a bull you’ve offered,
many a trim-hooved horse thrown in alive
to Xánthos’ whirlpools. All the same, you’ll die
in blood until I have avenged Patróklos,
paid you back for the death-wounds of Akhaians
cut down near the deep-sea-going ships
far from my eyes.”
On hearing this, the river
darkened to the heart with rage. He cast |
160 |
about for ways to halt prodigious Akhilleus’
feats of war and keep death from the Trojans.
Meanwhile the son of Pêleus took his spear
and bounded straight for Asteropaíos,
burning to kill this son of Pêlegôn,
whom the broad river Áxios had fathered
on Periboia, eldest of the daughters
of Akessámenos. Whirling, deep-running
river that he was, Áxios loved her.
And now Akhilleus made for Asteropaíos, |
170 |
who came up from the stream-bed to confront him,
holding two spears. And Xánthos, in his anger
over all the young men dead, cut down
by Akhilleus pitilessly in the stream,
gave heart to this contender. As they drew near,
the great runner and prince was first to speak:
“Who are you, soldier? Where do you come from,
daring to challenge me? Grief comes to all
whose sons meet my anger.”
Pêlegôn’s
brave son replied: |
180 |
“Heroic son of Pêleus,
why do you ask my birth? I am a native
of rich farmland, Paiônia; Paiônês
are the spearmen I command. Today the eleventh
dawn came up since I arrived at Ilion.
My line began, if you must know, with Áxios,
mover of beautiful water over land,
who fathered the great spearman, Pêlegôn,
and Pêlegôn is said to have fathered me.
But now again to battle, Lord Akhilleus.”
That was his prideful answer. Then Akhilleus |
190 |
lifted his Pêlian ash. His enemy,
being ambidextrous, cast both spears at once
and failed. With one he hit Akhilleus’ shield
but could not pierce it, for the gold plate held,
the god’s gift; with his other spear he grazed
the hero’s right forearm. Dark blood ran out,
but, craving manflesh still, the spear passed on
and fixed itself in earth. In turn, Akhilleus,
putting his heart into the cast to bring down
Asteropaíos, rifled his ashwood spear. |
200 |
He missed him, hitting the high bank of the river,
where the long shaft punched in to half its length.
The son of Pêleus, drawing sword from hip,
lunged forward on his enemy, who could not
with his big fist work the spear loose: three times
he tried to wrench it from the arching bank,
three times relaxed his grip, then put his weight
into a fourth attempt to break the shaft,
and bent it; but Akhilleus closed
and killed him with a sword stroke. Near the navel |
210 |
he slashed his belly; all his bowels dropped out
uncoiling to the ground. He gasped, and darkness
veiled his eyes. Upon his chest Akhilleus
mounted, and then bent to strip his armor,
gloating:
“This way you’ll rest. It is rough work
to match yourself with children of Lord Zeus,
river’s offspring though you are. You claimed
descent from a broad river; well, I claim
descent from Zeus almighty. My begetter,
lord over many Myrmidons, was Pêleus, |
220 |
the son of Aíakos, a son of Zeus.
Zeus being stronger than the seaward rivers,
so are his offspring than a river’s get!
Here’s a big river for you, flowing by,
if he had power to help you. There’s no fighting
Zeus the son of Krónos. Akhelôïos
cannot rival him; neither can the might
of the deep Ocean stream—from whom all rivers
take their waters, and all branching seas,
all springs and deep-sunk wells. And yet he too |
230 |
is terrified by the lightning flash of Zeus
and thunder, when it crashes out of heaven.”
With this he pulled from the bank’s overhang
his bronze-shod spear, and, having torn the life
out of the body, left it there, to lie
in sand, where the dark water lapped at it.
Then eels and fish attended to the body,
picking and nibbling kidney fat away.
As for Akhilleus, he ran onward, chasing
spearmen of Paiônia in their rout |
240 |
along the eddying river: these had seen
their hero vanquished by the hand and blade
and power of Akhilleus. Now he slew
Thersílokhos, Mydôn, and Astýpylos,
Mnêsos, Thrásios, Ainios, Ophelestês,
and would have killed far more, had not the river,
cold with rage, in likeness of a man,
assumed a voice and spoken from a whirlpool:
“O Akhilleus, you are first in power
of all men, first in waywardness as well, |
250 |
as gods forever take your side. If Zeus
has given you all Trojans to destroy,
destroy them elsewhere, do your execution
out on the plain! Now my blue watercourses
back up, filled with dead; I cannot spend
my current in the salt immortal sea,
being dammed with corpses. Yet you go on killing
wantonly. Let be, marshal of soldiers.”
Akhilleus the great runner answered:
“Aye,
Skamánder, child of Zeus, as you require, |
260 |
the thing shall be. But as for killing Trojans,
arrogant enemies, I take no rest
until I back them on the town and try out
Hektor, whether he gets the best of me
or I of him.”
At this he hurled himself
upon the Trojans like a wild god. The deep
and swirling river then addressed Apollo:
“All wrong, bow of silver, child of Zeus!
You have not worked the will of Zeus. How often
he made you free to take the Trojan side! |
270 |
You could defend them until sunset comes,
till evening darkens grainland.”
As he spoke,
the great spearman Akhilleus in a flash
leapt into midstream from the arching bank.
But he, the river, surged upon the man
with all his currents in a roaring flood,
and swept up many of the dead, who jostled
in him, killed by Akhilleus. He ejected
these to landward, bellowing like a bull,
but living men he kept in his blue streams |
280 |
to hide them in deep places, in backwaters.
Then round Akhilleus with an ominous roar
a wave mounted. It fell against his shield
and staggered him, so that he lost his footing.
Throwing his arms around a leafy elm
he clung to it; it gave way, roots and all,
and tore the bank away, and dipped its branches
in the clear currents, damming up the river
when all had fallen in. The man broke free
of swirling water, turned into the plain |
290 |
and ran like wind, in fear. But the great god
would not be shaken off: with his dark crest
he reared behind to put the Prince Akhilleus
out of action and protect the Trojans.
Akhilleus led him by a spear-throw, running
as fast as the black eagle, called the hunter,
strongest and swiftest of all birds: like him
he flashed ahead, and on his ribs the bronze
rang out with a fierce clang. At a wide angle
he fled, and the river with tremendous din |
300 |
flowed on behind. Remember how a farmer
opens a ditch from a dark reservoir
to water plants or garden: with his mattock
he clears away the clods that dam the stream,
and as the water runs ahead, smooth pebbles
roll before it. With a purling sound
it snakes along the channel, going downhill,
outrunning him who leads it: so the wave
sent by the river overtook Akhilleus
momently, in spite of his great speed, |
310 |
as gods are stronger than men are. Each time
the great battlefield runner, Prince Akhilleus,
turned to make a stand—to learn if all
the immortal gods who own the sweep of heaven
chased him—every time, the rain-fed river’s
crest buffeted his back, and cursing
he leapt high in the air. Across his knees
the pressure of swift water tired him,
and sand was washed away under his feet.
Lifting his eyes to heaven, Akhilleus cried: |
320 |
“Father Zeus, to think that in my travail
not one god would save me from the river—
only that! Then I could take the worst!
None of the gods of heaven is so to blame
as my own mother, who beguiled me, lying,
saying my end would come beneath Troy’s wall
from flashing arrows of Apollo. Ah,
I wish Hektor had killed me; he’s their best.
Then one brave man would have brought down another.
No, I was fated to ignoble death, |
330 |
whelmed in a river, like a swineherd’s boy
caught by a winter torrent as he crosses.”
Now as he spoke, Poseidon and Athêna,
taking human form, moved near and stood,
and took his hands to tell him what would calm him.
Poseidon was the speaker:
“Son of Pêleus,
do not be shaken overmuch or fearful,
seeing what gods we are, your two allies,
by favor of Zeus—myself and Pallas Athêna.
The river is not destined to pull you down. |
340 |
He will fall back, and you will soon perceive it.
Meanwhile here’s good counsel, if you’ll take it.
Do not allow your hands to rest from war—
from war that treats all men without distinction—
till you have rolled the Trojan army back
to Ilion, every man of them who runs,
and shut them in the wall. Then when you’ve taken
Hektor’s life, retire upon the ships.
We give you glory; it is yours to win.”
At this the two went off to join the gods. |
350 |
Akhilleus, as their great directive stirred him,
crossed the plain, filled with flood water now,
where beautiful gear of slain men was afloat
and corpses, too. With high and plunging strides
he made his way in a rush against the current,
and the broad flooded river could not check him,
fired as he was with power by Athêna.
Skamánder, though, did not give up; his rage.
redoubled, and he reared his foaming crest
with a hoarse shout to Simóeis: |
360 |
“My own brother,
if we both try, can we not hold this man?
If not, he’ll storm Lord Priam’s tower soon;
the Trojans all in tumult won’t resist him.
Give me a hand now, fill your channels up
with water from the springs, make dry beds brim,
and lift a wall of water: let it grind
and thump with logs and stones; we’ll halt this madman,
powerful at the moment though he is,
with his intent to match the gods. I say
neither his great brawn nor his splendid form |
370 |
will pull him through, nor those magnificent arms.
They will be sunk in mud under flood water.
As for the man, I’ll roll him up in sand
and mound a ton of gravel round about him.
Akhaians who would gather up his bones
will have no notion how, in all the slime
I’ll pack him in. And that will be his tomb;
no need for them to heap a barrow for him
when soldiers make his funeral.”
Now Xánthos
surged in turbulence upon Akhilleus, |
380 |
tossing his crest, roaring with spume and blood
and corpses rolling, and a dark wave towering
out of the river fed by heaven swept
downward to overwhelm the son of Pêleus.
Hêra cried aloud in dread for him
whom the great raging stream might wash away,
and called to her dear son Hêphaistos:
“Action,
Gamelegs, my own child! We thought you’d be
a match for whirling Xánthos in the battle.
Lend a hand, and quickly. Make your fire |
390 |
blaze up. I’ll be raising from the sea
a rough gale of the west wind and the south wind,
able to carry flames to burn the heads
and armor off the Trojans. Kindle trees
by Xánthos’ banks, hurl fire at the river,
and do not let him put you off with threats
or honeyed speech. No slackening your fury!
Only when I call out, with a long cry,
withhold your living fire then.”
Hêphaistos
brought heaven’s flame to bear: upon the plain |
400 |
it broke out first, consuming many dead men
there from the number whom Akhilleus killed,
while all the plain was burned off and the shining
water stopped. As north wind in late summer
quickly dries an orchard freshly watered,
to the pleasure of the gardener, just so
the whole reach of the plain grew dry, as fire
burned the corpses. Then against the river
Hêphaistos turned his bright flame, and the elms
and tamarisks and willows burned away, |
410 |
with all the clover, galingale, and rushes
plentiful along the winding streams.
Then eels and fish, in backwaters, in currents,
wriggled here and there at the scalding breath
of torrid blasts from the great smith, Hêphaistos,
and dried away by them, the river cried:
“Hêphaistos, not one god can vie with you!
Neither would I contend with one so fiery.
Break off the quarrel: let the Prince Akhilleus
drive the Trojans from their town. Am I |
420 |
a party to that strife? Am I their savior?”
He spoke in steam, and his clear current seethed,
the way a caldron whipped by a white-hot fire
boils with a well-fed hog’s abundant fat
that spatters all the rim, as dry split wood
turns ash beneath it. So his currents, fanned
by fire, seethed, and the river would not flow
but came to a halt, tormented by the gale
of fire from the heavenly smith, Hêphaistos.
Turning in prayer to Hêra, Xánthos said: |
430 |
“Hêra, why did your son pick out my stream
from others to attack? You know
I merit this less than the other gods
who intervened for Trojans. Yet by heaven
if you command it, I’ll give up the fight;
let the man, too, give up, and in the bargain
I swear never to interpose between
the Trojans and their day of wrath, that day
when all Troy blazes with consuming fire
kindled by the warriors of Akhaia.” |
440 |
Hêra whose arms are white as ivory
listened to this, then told her son Hêphaistos:
“Hold now, splendid child. It will not do
to vex an immortal river, for men.”
At this Hêphaistos quenched his heavenly fire,
and back in its blue channels ran the wave.
And now that Xánthos had been overcome,
the two gods dropped their combat: Hêra, still
angry, checked them. Heavy and harsh strife,
however, came upon the rest, whose hearts |
450 |
grew stormy on both sides against each other.
Now they attacked in uproar. The broad earth
resounded, and great heaven blared around them,
and Zeus, who heard from his Olympian seat,
laughed in his heart for joy, seeing the gods
about to meet in strife. And not for long
were they apart, now Arês the shield-cleaver
led them; first he lunged against Athêna,
gripping his bronze-shod spear and roaring at her:
“Why do you drive the gods to quarrel once more, |
460 |
dogfly, with your bold and stormy ways,
and the violent heart that sets you on? Remember
telling Diomêdês to hit me hard?
Remember: you yourself, taking the spear
quite openly, made a thrust at me, and gashed
my noble flesh? Now in your turn, for that
and all you’ve done, I think you’ll have to pay!”
With this he struck hard at the stormcloud shield
that trails the rain of heaven: even a bolt
from Zeus will not undo it. Blood-encrusted |
470 |
Arês hit it with his giant spear.
Recoiling, in her great hand she picked up
a boulder lying there, black, jagged, massive,
left by the men of old as a boundary stone,
and hurling it hit Arês’ neck. His knees
gave way and down he went on seven hundred
feet of earth, his long mane in the dust,
and armor clanged upon him. Laughing at him,
Athêna made her vaunt above him:
“Fool,
you’ve never learned how far superior |
480 |
I’m glad to say I am. Stand up to me?
Lie there: you might fulfill your mother’s curse,
baleful as she is, incensed at you,
because you switched to Trojans from Akhaians.”
Now Aphrodítê, Zeus’ daughter, taking
Arês’ hand, began to help him away,
as he wheezed hard and fought to get his breath.
But Hêra saw her. She called out to Athêna:
“Daughter of Zeus the Stormking, what a couple!
There that dogfly goes, escorting Arês, |
490 |
bane of mankind, out of the deadly war
amid the battle din. Go after them!”
Athêna followed, in a flash, with joy,
and from the side struck Aphrodítê’s breast
with doubled fist, so that her knees went slack,
her heart faint, and together she and Arês
lay in a swoon upon the earth. Athêna
said derisively:
all the gods who would assist the Trojans
came to fight the Argives with such power! |
500 |
If only they were bold as these, and tough
as Aphrodítê was, rescuing Arês
under my nose! In that case, long ago
we should have dropped the war—for long ago
we should have carried Ilion by storm.”
At this Queen Hêra smiled. And the Earthshaker
said to Apollo:
“Phoibos, must we two
stay out of it? That isn’t as it should be,
when others enter into action. More’s
the pity if we go back without fighting |
510 |
to Olympos, to the bronze doorsill of Zeus.
You take the lead, you are younger: it would be
awkward of me, since I was born before you,
know more than you do.
Idiot, but how
forgetful you have been! Don’t you remember
even now, what troubles over Ilion
we alone among the gods have had,
when from the side of Zeus we came to serve
the strong man Laomédôn all one year
for a stated wage? Then he assigned our work, |
520 |
no trifle for my own: I walled the city
massively in well-cut stone, to make
the place impregnable. You herded cattle,
slow and dark amid the upland vales
of Ida’s wooded ridges. When the Seasons
happily brought to an end our term of hire,
barbaric Laomedon kept all wages
from us, and forced us out, with vile threats:
to bind us hand and foot, he said, and send us
in a slave ship to islands overseas— |
530 |
but first to crop our ears with a bronze knife!
So we departed, burning inwardly
for payment he had promised and not made.
For this you coddle his people now? You are not
willing, like the rest of us, to see
the Trojans in their pride, with wives and children,
come utterly to ruin and to grief.”
The lord of distant archery, Apollo,
answered:
“Lord of earthquake, sound of mind
you could not call me if I strove with you |
540 |
for the sake of mortals, poor things that they are.
Ephemeral as the flamelike budding leaves,
men flourish on the ripe wheat of the grainland,
then in spiritless age they waste and die.
We should give up our fighting over men.
Let men themselves contend with one another.”
On this he turned away. He would not face
his father's brother, hand to hand.
And now he was derided by his sister,
Lady Artemis, huntress of wild beasts, |
550 |
who had her stinging word:
“In full retreat
are you, yielding victory to Poseidon,
making him pay nothing for his glory.
Idiot, why do you have your useless bow?
I’ll never let you brag again
in Father’s hall, among the gods,
that you’ll oppose Poseidon in the battle.
To this, Archer Apollo made no answer,
but Hêra, Zeus’ consort, did, in anger:
“How can you think to face me, shameless bitch? |
560 |
A hard enemy I’ll be for you, although
you carry a bow, and Zeus has made of you
a lioness to women. You have leave
to put to death any you choose. No matter:
better to rend wild beasts on mountainsides,
and woodland deer, than fight a stronger goddess.
If you want lessons in war, then you can learn
how I excel you, though you face me—”
she took hold of the wrists of Artemis
in her left hand; with her right hand she snatched |
570 |
her quiver and bow and boxed her ears with them,
smiling to see her duck her head, as arrows
showered from the quiver. Artemis
ran off in tears, as a wild dove, attacked
by a diving hawk, will fly to a hollow rock,
a narrow cleft where she cannot be taken.
So, weeping, she took flight and left her bow.
Then Hermês the Wayfinder said to Lêto:
“I would not dream of fighting you, so rough
seem the Cloudmaster’s wives in fisticuffs. |
580 |
No, you may make your boast quite happily
to all the immortal gods that you have beaten me!”
Lêto retrieved the bow of Artemis
and picked her arrows up where they had veered
and landed in a flurrying of dust.
Then she retired with her daughter’s weapons.
Artemis reached Olympos, crossed the bronze
doorsill of Zeus, and at her father’s knees
sank down, a weeping girl, her fragrant gown
in tremors on her breast. Her father hugged her, |
590 |
asking with a mild laugh:
“Who in heaven
injured you, dear child? Pure willfulness!
As though for a naughty act!”
To this the mistress
of baying packs, her hair tied back, replied:
“Your lady, Hêra, buffeted me, Father.
She of the snow-white arms, by whom the gods
are plagued with strife and bickering.”
While these two
conversed, Phoibos Apollo entered Ilion,
concerned for the wall, to keep the Danáän men
from storming it this day, before their time. |
600 |
The other deathless ones went to Olympos,
some in anger, others enjoying triumph,
and took their chairs beside their father, lord
of stormcloud. But Akhilleus all that time
wrought havoc with the Trojans and their horses.
As a smoke column from a burning town
goes heavenward, propelled by the gods’ anger,
grief to many a townsman, toil for all,
Akhilleus brought the Trojans harrowing grief.
Erect on Troy’s great tower, aging Priam |
610 |
gazed at huge Akhilleus, before whom
Trojans in tumult fled, and no defense
materialized. Then groaning from the tower
Priam descended. For the gatekeepers,
known as brave soldiers, he had urgent words:
“Keep the gates open, hold them, till the troops
retiring from battle are in the town.
There is Akhilleus, harrying them. Too near.
I fear we’ll have a slaughter. When our soldiers
crowd inside the wall to get their breath, |
620 |
close both your timbered gates, bolt them again.
I fear this murderous man may leap the wall.”
At this they pushed the bolts, opening the gates,
and the gateway made a refuge. Then Apollo
flashed out to avert death from the Trojans,
headed as they were for the high wall,
men grown hoarse in thirst, covered with dust
out of the plain where they had run. Akhilleus,
wrought to a frenzy, pressed them with his spear,
all his great heart bent on winning glory. |
630 |
Troy of the high gates might have fallen now
to the Akhaian soldiers, but Apollo
stirred the Prince Agênor, strong and noble
son of Antênor. Into this man’s heart
the god sent courage, and stood near him, leaning
on an oak tree, concealed in heavy mist,
to guard him from the shapes and weight of death.
Agênor halted when he saw the raider
of cities, Akhilleus, and his heart grew large
640 |
grimly:
“This is the end of me. If I break
and run before Akhilleus like the others,
he’ll take me, even so: I’ll have my throat
cut like a coward for my pains. What if
I let them go in panic toward the town
ahead of him, while I run at a tangent
leaving the wall, to cross the plain
until I reach the mountain slopes of Ida,
taking cover in undergrowth? This evening
after a river bath to cleanse my sweat, |
650 |
I might return to Ilion. Why say it?
God forbid he sees me cutting away
from Troy into the open; in one sprint
he’ll have me. After that, there’s no escape
from my last end of death, so powerful
the man is, far beyond us all. Suppose
I meet him here, on the west approach to Troy?
Surely his body, even his, can be
wounded by sharp bronze; he can live but once;
men say he’s mortal, though the son of Krónos, |
660 |
Zeus, awards him glory.”
Even as he spoke,
he pulled himself together to face Akhilleus,
blood surging to his heart before the fight.
And as a panther out of underbrush
will go to meet a hunter, and have no fear,
and never falter when it hears the hounds;
and even though the hunter draw first blood,
the beast trailing the spear that wounded it
will not give up, until it close with him
or else go down: just so the Prince Agênor, |
670 |
son of Antênor, would not now retreat
until he put Akhilleus to the test.
With round shield held before him, and his spear
aimed at the man, he gave a battle shout
and cried:
“You hoped today at last to storm
the city of the Trojans. A rash hope.
Grief and wounds are still to be suffered for her.
Inside there, we are many fighting men.
For our dear parents, wives, and sons, we’ll hold
the city and defend it. You come here |
680 |
to meet your doom, prodigious though you are,
sure as you are in warfare.”
He let fly
the sharp spear from his heavy hand and struck
the shin below the kneecap square and hard.
Around his leg the new shinguard of tin
rang out deafeningly; back from the point
of impact sprang the spearhead, piercing nothing,
buffeted back by the god’s gift.
Then Akhilleus
struck in turn at his princely enemy,
Agênor, but Apollo |
690 |
would not let him win this glory now.
He whisked away Agênor, hid him in mist,
and quietly removed him from the war.
By trickery then he kept the son of Pêleus
away from Trojan soldiers: taking Agênors
likeness to the last detail, he halted
within range of Akhilleus, who set off
to chase him. For a long time down the plain
of grainland he pursued him, heading him
along Skámander, as the god kept a bare lead— |
700 |
for so Apollo teased him on; Akhilleus
thought to catch his quarry with a sprint.
Meanwhile the other Trojans in their panic
reached the walled town, thanking heaven, and all
the city filled up, jammed with men. They dared not
wait outside the wall for one another,
to learn who died in battle, who came through,
but all whose legs had saved them now took cover,
in hot haste entering the city.