RINGED BY THEIR TROOPS—who stood—the chieftains sat.
The one who rose—haranguing them—was Ajax,
the lord who bore the seven-plated shield.
Beside himself with rage—his gaze was grim—
he stared at the Sigean shore, the ships
drawn up along the beach; pointing to these,
he cried: “By Jupiter, you’d have me plead
my cause before the very fleet I saved;
and you would dare compare me with Ulysses!
But he was one who did not hesitate
to beat retreat when he was forced to face
the torches Hector threw, while I withstood
those deadly flames: the fleet was only rescued
because of me. Yes, it is far more safe
to fight with lying words than with one’s hands.
But I am not at ease with speech, and he
is not the one for deeds; if one has need
to battle savagely along the field,
I am the man to call, even as he—
if it is talk you want—is quite supreme.
But I don’t think that you, my fellow Greeks,
need be reminded now of all my feats—
you’ve seen them. Rather, let Ulysses speak
of his—for no one’s seen what he has done;
the only witness he can call upon
is night. I know I’m striving for a prize
that’s great indeed, but it’s diminished by
the worth of my opponent. Ajax can
gain little from a prize, however grand,
if it’s a thing Ulysses hopes to have.
This contest has already profited
Ulysses; he will lose, but he’ll win credit:
men will remember that he faced an Ajax.
“And even if you were to doubt my courage,
it’s I who claim the nobler lineage.
I am the son of Telamon, the friend
who helped the sturdy Hercules destroy
Latin [1–23]
the walls of Troy and, then, in Jason’s ship,
sailed off and reached the distant coast of Colchis.
And Telamon was born of Aeacus,
who is a judge within the silent world—
precisely in the place where Sisyphus,
the son of Aeolus, must struggle with
the weight of his great stone; and Aeacus
was born of Jove—as Jove himself admits.
But I’d not use the line of my descent
as argument on my behalf, unless
I shared that line with great Achilles: he
was my own cousin; and the arms I seek
are thus a cousin’s weapons. Should Ulysses,
who’s born—if truth be told—of Sisyphus—
and is like him in tricks and treachery—
attempt to link the line of Aeacus
with someone alien to our family?
“Am I to be denied these arms because
I took up arms before Ulysses did—
for he feigned madness to avoid the war
and did not join until he was unmasked
by Palamedes, who was forced to drag
that coward to the war that he had shirked?
Is he to win the world’s best weaponry
because he did not want to take up any?
Am I to be denied my cousin’s arms,
deprived of my due honors just because
I was the first to answer war’s alarms?
“Would that Ulysses had been truly mad,
or else had never had his trick unmasked,
for then he never would have joined our ranks
beneath the citadel of Troy—this man
who’s only bent upon malevolence!
And then, o Philoctetes, you would not
have been abandoned on the isle of Lemnos—
as foul Ulysses urged—an act that shames us;
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and there, they say, you hide in forest dens—
even the stones are stirred by your laments.
You curse Laertes’ son; you pray that he
indeed will meet the griefs that he deserves,
the lot that, if the gods exist, will be
his sorry destiny. Yes, Philoctetes
is on that isle; the chief who shared our vow
to conquer Troy, he who inherited
the bow of Hercules, is now diseased
and famished; he must count on birds to serve
as food and on their feathers as his clothes;
and he, to hunt them down, must use that bow
of Hercules; on them he spends the shafts
that had been meant to mark the end of Troy!
But Philoctetes is at least alive—
and owes that to his being left behind,
his having no Ulysses at his side.
“And Palamedes, too, if left behind,
would now be better off: he’d be alive
or would, at least, not have been put to death,
charged with a crime that he did not commit.
It was Ulysses who did not forget
that Palamedes had unmasked his madness;
he planted gold in Palamedes’ tent,
as proof of the false charge he’d brought against
poor Palamedes; he pretended that
this gold was sent by Priam as a bribe
for the betrayal of the Grecian side.
So has Ulysses, using banishment
or death as means, deprived us of much strength.
This is the way Ulysses fights—and why
he’s to be feared.
“I add that, even if
his eloquence outdid the faithful Nestor’s,
he never could convince me that his failure
to help old Nestor when he was in need,
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was anything but sinful. Nestor’s horse
was wounded; slowed by that and by the weight
of all his years, Nestor beseeched Ulysses
for help—his friend ran off, deserting him.
And I did not invent this accusation:
ask Diomedes just how many times
he called out to his frightened friend by name,
rebuking him for having run away.
The gods watch over mortals, and their eyes
see justly. He, who had not helped his friend,
was then in need of help himself. Just as
he had abandoned Nestor, so should he
have been deserted then—he was the one
who set the precedent. He called upon
his comrades, and I came; I saw his fear
and saw his trembling; death was much too near,
too terrible for him. And even as
he lay upon the ground, I used the mass
of my great shield to cover him; and thus
(though I deserve scant praise for that) I saved
his quaking soul. If you still want this contest,
Ulysses, let’s go back to that same spot:
we’ll put the enemy in place again,
your wound, and your accustomed cowardice;
then you can huddle underneath my shield,
a place most safe—and there we can compete!
But just as soon as I had dragged him off,
the man who could not find the force to stand
because his wound was so disabling, ran
away—there was no wound to slow him then!
“And there is Hector. When he strides to war,
the gods are at his side. He terrifies
not only you, Ulysses; even those
who are courageous quail at his approach,
his onrush, and the force of his dread blows.
And while he was exulting in the scores
of Greeks that he had slaughtered, from afar
Latin [65–85]
I flattened him with a tremendous rock;
at that, he challenged anyone to match
his strength, and I alone sustained that test.
And in your hearts you Greeks were praying that
I be the one allotted that fierce task;
your prayers were answered. And if you should ask
how that duel ended, I was not outmatched.
And now the Trojans mount a fierce attack:
with swords and fire and Jove they move against
the Danaan fleet. Where now is mighty-mouthed
Ulysses? It is I whose chest protects
those thousand ships, the hope of your return;
award to me the prize that I deserve.
But—if I now may speak the truth—indeed,
the glory that those weapons would receive
exceeds the glory they would give to me:
their fame is linked to mine; it’s they who seek
Ajax—not Ajax who seeks them. What feats
like mine were ever tallied by Ulysses?
His killing Rhesus and unwarlike Dolon;
and taking captive Helenus, the son
of Priam; and his theft of the Palladium—
but not a single one of these was done
by daylight or apart from Diomedes.
“Or, better still, why should he have these arms
at all? For he is one who wins by stealth;
he needs no weapons—he depends on snares
to catch an enemy who’s unaware!
The helmet glittering with gold will just
betray his hiding place, his wily work.
And, too, Ulysses’ head could not sustain
the helmet of Achilles, that great weight;
Achilles’ shaft of wood, from Pelion’s slopes,
might be a bit too huge—too ponderous—
for one who is no warrior. The shield,
where the vast world is carved in effigy,
is hardly suited to his timid hand—
Latin [86–111]
a left hand born for trickery and theft.
Why then, Ulysses, overreach—why seek
a prize that’s sure to leave you limp and weak?
If, by mistake, the Greeks give you this gift,
the enemy will have good cause to strip
that armor from you—and no cause to fear.
Your sprinting, that one thing in which you beat
all others, since you are so cowardly,
will not be swift—when you are asked to carry
such heavy weapons. And consider this:
your shield, so little used to wars, is quite
intact; but mine—I’ve parried thrust
on thrust—presents a thousand rips and tears. But why
do we need words at all? Let deeds decide.
Just toss the arms of the great warrior
into the Trojans’ midst; then send Ulysses
and me to get them back: who has retrieved
that armor from the enemy should be
the one who keeps those weapons: honor him!”