BOOK XXI

The Struggle of Achilles and the River

Now when they came to the ford of swirling Xanthus,

The fair-flowing river that immortal Zeus begot,

There Achilles divided the Trojan forces, and part

He drove across the plain toward the city, routing them

Over the same stretch of land where Achaeans had fled

The day before when resplendent Hector was raging,

And Hera, to make their way hard, now drifted dense fog

In front of them. But the other half were trapped

In the silvery swirls of the deep-running river. Into it

They plunged with tremendous confusion and noise, as man

After man hit the stream with a splash and the banks re-echoed

The din. Frantically shouting, they thrashed and swam

This way and that, spun about in the powerful whirlpools.

And as when locusts sense the onrush of fire

And fly for a stream to escape the quick-coming flames

Of a weariless blaze, then huddle low in the water,

So now in front of Achilles the clamorous course

Of deep-swirling Xanthus was cluttered with men and horses.

Zeus-sprung Achilles, leaning his spear against

Some tamarisks on the bank, leaped like a demon

Into the water armed only with his sharp sword

And the stern resolution to kill. And he laid about him,

Killing men right and left, and from them came grim sounds

Of groaning as they were struck with the sword, and the water

Ran red with their blood. And as small fish flee darting

Before a hungry huge dolphin, cramming the coves

Of some excellent harbor, lest they be devoured by the glutton,

Even so the Trojans cowered beneath the steep banks

Of the terrible river. At last Achilles, his arms

Worn weary with killing, chose twelve young Trojans alive

From out the river as blood-price for dead Patroclus,

Son of Menoetius.^bo These he led up the bank,

Fear-dazed like so many fawns, and tied their hands fast

Behind them with their own well-cut leather belts, which they wore

About their soft woven tunics, and turned them over

To comrades of his for them to lead away

To the hollow ships. Then back he sprang, eager

As ever to cut men asunder.

There on the bank

He met a son of Dardanian Priam, youthful

Lycaon, anxious to flee from the river. This man

He had captured before, at night in his father’s orchard,

Where able Achilles, an evil unlooked for, had come

Upon him while he was cutting young branches of fig

To be the handrails of a chariot. That time he had sent him

By ship to well-settled Lemnos and gotten a price

For him from the son of Jason. From there he was ransomed

By a former guest of his, Eëtion of Imbros,

Who paid a much greater price and sent him to splendid

Arisbe. Escaping from those protecting him there,

Lycaon returned to the house of his fathers in Troy,

Where he for eleven days enjoyed himself

With his friends, all glad that he had come back from Lemnos.

But on the twelfth day, God brought him again to the hands

Of Achilles, who this time was surely to send him, unwilling

As ever, down to Hades’ halls. Now fast-footed,

Noble Achilles knew him at once, for Lycaon

Had gotten so hot and tired struggling his way

From the river and up the bank that he had thrown all

Of his bronze to the ground, and now he appeared without helmet

Or shield or spear. Astounded to see him, Achilles

Spoke thus to his own great heart:

“Who would believe it!

This wonder before my eyes. Truly the spirited

Trojans whom I have destroyed will now arise

From the deep nether gloom, if one is to judge by the flight

Of this man, who though he was sold in sacred Lemnos

Has somehow escaped the ruthless day there, nor has

The gray brine held him back, the fathomless sea that discourages

Many anxious to cross it. But now he shall taste

The point of my spear, that I may discover for sure

Whether he will also return from below, or whether

The life-giving earth will hold him as fast as she does

Many other strong fellows.”

Thus thinking, he stood where he was

While Lycaon approached him, crazy with fear and frantic

To catch at his knees, his one thought to avoid harsh death

And final black doom. Achilles raised his long spear,

Hot for the kill, but Lycaon ducked and ran under

The cast to clutch his foe’s knees, and the spear shot over

His back and into the ground, its yearning for man’s meat

Thwarted. Lycaon then pleaded, with one hand clasping

Achilles’ knees, with the other his sharp-pointed spear.¹

Holding on for his life, he spoke these fear-winged words:

“Achilles, here at your knees, I beg you to have

Some regard and pity for me. To you, O Zeus-nurtured

One, I should be a sacred pleader, since you

Were the first with whom I broke Demeter’s bread

On the day you captured me in the well-planted orchard

Of Priam and sent me far from my father and friends

To be sold in sacred Lemnos, where I was bought

For the worth of a hundred oxen. But I was ransomed

For three times that much, and this is but the twelfth day

Since I arrived back in Troy after many hardships.

And now once more deadly fate has put me in your hands!

Father Zeus must surely despise me to give me to you

Again, and surely my mother Laothoë did not

Bear me to live very long, she the daughter

Of ancient Altes, King of the war-loving Leleges,

Holding steep Pedasus on the Satnioeis River.

His daughter was one of King Priam’s numerous wives,

And she bore me and another, and you will have butchered

Us both. For him you’ve already brought down mid the front rank

Of foot-fighting soldiers, my brother, godlike Polydorus,

Whom you transfixed with your keen-bladed spear. And now

Right here evil death shall be mine, for I don’t think I’m likely

To get away from your hands now that some demon

Has brought me near you. But let me say one other thing

For you to consider—spare me, since I was not born

From the same womb as Hector, who slaughtered your friend, the strong

And the gentle.”

So spoke to him splendid Lycaon, begging

For life, but not at all kind was the voice he heard say:

“You fool! offer no ransom, nor argument either,

To me. For until the day Patroclus caught up with

His fate and was killed, I preferred to spare the Trojans,

And many indeed were they whom I took alive

And sold into slavery, but now there is not even one

Who shall escape death, not a single one whom God

Brings into my hands before the walls of Ilium—

No Trojan at all, I say, shall escape, much less

The sons of Priam! And you, my friend, you also

Die, but why all this fuming and fuss about it?

Patroclus too died, a man far better than you!

And do you not see what sort of warrior I am,

How handsome, how huge? My father’s a man of great worth,

My mother a goddess, yet death and powerful fate

Hang over me too. One morning or evening or noon

Will surely come when some man shall kill me in battle,

Either by hurling his spear or shooting a shaft

From the bowstring.”²

At this Lycaon’s knees shook and he went

To pieces inside. Releasing the spear, he kneeled

Reaching out with both hands. But Achilles drew his sharp

sword

And brought it down on his collarbone close by the neck,

And the two-edged blade disappeared in his flesh, stretching him

Out on the earth, where he lay with his dark blood drenching

The ground. Seizing him then by the foot, Achilles

Slung him to drift in the river, shouting these words

Winged with vaunting:

“Float there with the fish that shall clean the blood

From your wound quite without feeling for you, nor shall

Your mother lay you out on a bed and mourn.

But swirling Scamander shall roll you into the broad gulf

Of the brine, and many a wave-hidden fish shall dart up

Beneath the dark ripple to eat the fat of Lycaon.³

So may all of you die, till we reach the city

Of holy Troy, you in retreat, and I

Killing men from behind. Not even this beautiful river,

Strong swirling with silver eddies, shall be any help

To you, despite the long time you have sacrificed bulls

To the River-god Xanthus and hurled while still alive

Fine solid-hoofed horses into his swirling pools.

Even so, all of you Trojans shall meet a harsh fate

And die, so paying the price for killing Patroclus

And making suffer those other Achaeans whom you

By the fast-running ships cut down while I was inactive.”

At this the River-god Xanthus became very angry

At heart and pondered hard in his mind how he

Might cut short Achilles’ war-work and keep the Trojans

From ruin. Meanwhile, Achilles gripped his long-shadowing

Spear and rushed upon Asteropaeus, son

Of Pelegon, hot for the kill. This Pelegon claimed

As his father the wide-flowing Axius River, stream

Of deep swirls, who mingled in love with fair Periboea,

The eldest daughter of King Acessamenus, to sire

The father of Asteropaeus, upon whom Achilles

Now charged. And Pelegon’s son strode through the water

To face him, holding two spears, and Xanthus, wrathful

For all the young men whom Achilles had ruthlessly killed

In his stream, breathed courage into his heart. Now when

They came within range Achilles, fast on his feet,

Shouted first:

“Who are you and where are you from, that you dare

To confront me? Unhappy indeed are those whose children

Oppose me!”

To which the glorious son of Pelegon:

“Haughty Achilles, why do you ask who I am?

I come from fertile Paeonia, far away,

Leading my warriors armed with long spears, and this

Is now the eleventh day I’ve been here. I trace

My line from the wide-rippling Axius River, by far

The loveliest river on earth and the father of spear-famous

Pelegon, who, men say, sired me. But now,

O splendid Achilles, do battle!”

Such was his challenge,

And shining Achilles drew back his Pelian ash,

But Asteropaeus let fly both spears at once,

Since he was quite ambidextrous. One struck the marvelous

Shield, but the layer of gold, the god’s gift, held it back,

While the other grazed Achilles’ right forearm, causing

The cloud-black blood to gush out. But the spear-head went on

To bury itself in the ground, still lusting for man’s meat.

Then Achilles in turn hurled his straight-flying ash

At Asteropaeus, eager to kill him, but missed

And struck the high bank so hard that the spear sank in

Full half its length. But Achilles drew his sharp sword

From beside his thigh and rushed toward his foe, who was vainly

Striving to pull the ash of Achilles free

From the bank. Three times he strained with his powerful arm,

And three times he did no more than make the shaft quiver.

The fourth time he tried to bend and break it, but now

Achilles charged in and slashed him across the navel,

Thus spilling his guts on the ground and wrapping his eyes

In darkness. Gasping, he died, and Achilles sprang onto

His chest and stripped off his armor, exultantly crying:

“Lie here where you fell! Very hard it is for the son

Of a river to vie with a child of Cronos’ son.⁴

For though you claim as your grandsire the wide-flowing Axius,

I trace descent from almighty Zeus himself!

My father Peleus is King of innumerable Myrmidons,

And his father, Aeacus, he was begotten by Zeus.

And just as Zeus is mightier far than all

Of the sea-mingling rivers, so also his seed is stronger

Than that of a stream. Right here, in fact, is a truly

Tremendous river, and what help has he been to you?

For no one can fight with Cronos’ son Zeus. With him

Not even powerful Achelous strives, nor even

The still more enormously mighty deep-circling Oceanus,

Stream from whom all seas and rivers rise,

All springs and bottomless wells. But even Oceanus

Dreads the bright bolt of great Zeus, and feels deep terror

Whenever it crashes above him!”

So saying, he jerked

His spear from the bank and left dead Asteropaeus

Prone in the sand, with the dark water lapping his corpse

And the eels and the fish nibbling and ripping the fat

From his kidneys. Achilles then went in pursuit of the well-horsed

Paeonians, who, having seen their best spearman succumb

In hard fight to the hands and sword of Peleus’ son,

Huddled in panic along the swirling river.

There he slaughtered Thersilochus, Mnesus and Mydon,

Astypylus, Thrasius, Aenius, and Ophelestes.

Nor would swift Achilles have paused in his killing had not

The angry river called out to him in the voice

Of a man, uttering it from out a deep whirlpool:

“O Achilles, inhuman you are in strength and brutality

Of performance, for always the gods themselves

Assist you. But if Zeus has willed that you are to kill

All the Trojans, then drive them out of my waters and do

Your foul work on the plain. Already my exquisite stream

Is jammed with dead men, and so choked with your ruinous killing

That I can no longer pour my wealth of water

Into the bright sea. So now, great commander of men,

Desist! You truly appall me!”

To which the fast runner

Achilles replied: “So be it, 0 god-fed Scamander.

The insolent Trojans, however, I’ll not stop killing

Till I have penned them up in their city and fought

A contest with Hector, to see just who will kill whom.”

With this, he charged at the foe like a demon, but now

The deep-swirling river spoke thus to Apollo: “For shame!

O silver-bowed one. You have not obeyed the strict charge

Of Zeus your Father, who told you to stand by the Trojans

And give them aid till the sun goes down and darkens

The fertile fields.”

So Xanthus spoke, but Achilles

Sprang from the bank into the midst of his current,

And quickly the river rushed on him with surging flood,

And filling his stream with churning water he cleaned

His course of the dead men killed by Achilles, roaring

Fierce as a bull as up on the banks he cast

The innumerable corpses, while saving survivors beneath

His fair waters, hiding them well in the huge swirling pools.

Then grimly the foaming wave curled over Achilles,

And striking his shield the current kept shoving him back

And sweeping his feet from beneath him. Desperate, he caught

Overhead a tall and sturdy elm that grew

From the bank, but it fell across the lovely stream,

Completely uprooted, and with its thick branches and roots

It dammed the river still further. Achilles, then, gripped

With panic, sprang out of the swirl and started to run

At top speed across the wide plain. But instead of desisting,

The great River-god rolled on in pursuit with a huge

Churning wave of dark and ominous crest, that he

Might cut short Achilles’ war-work and keep the Trojans

From ruin. But Peleus’ son got a lead as long as

A spear-cast, fleeing with all the speed of a hunting

Black eagle, the strongest and fastest of birds, and as

He shrank from beneath the high wave and fled across land

The bronze on his breast rang loud, and on came the river

Behind him, awesomely roaring. And as when a stream

Flows down from a spring of dark water, led mid plants

And garden-plots by a man with a mattock, who clears

All obstructions away from before it, so that as it burbles

And murmurs along down the slope it sweeps all the pebbles

Away and soon gets ahead of him who guides it,

So now the wave of the surging river outstripped

Achilles, fast though he was, for the gods are far stronger

Than men. And every time great Achilles would try

To stand and confront the wave, that he might learn

If all the sky-keeping gods had teamed up against him,

The towering wave of the heaven-fed river would crash

On his shoulders, and though he tried desperately to force

His way up through the flood, the strong undertow of the river

Kept tiring his legs and cutting the ground from beneath him.

At last, looking up at broad heaven, the son of Peleus

Cried out in complaint:

“O Father Zeus, why is it

That none of the gods will pity my plight and save me

From this dread river?⁵ Any other fate would be better

Than this—not that I blame you heavenly gods

So much as I do my own mother, who stupefied me

With false words, saying that I should die by the wall

Of the bronze-breasted Trojans, a victim of swift-flying shafts

From the bow of Phoebus Apollo. If only Hector,

The best man bred here, had slain me! Then killer and killed

Would both have been equally noble. But now I seem

To have been allotted a fate most dismal, trapped

In this tremendous river and swept away

Like some poor pig-herding boy who fails to make it

Across a rain-swollen torrent.”

In answer Poseidon

And Pallas Athena immediately came to his side

In the form of men, and clasping his hands in theirs

Spoke reassuring words, the Earthshaker first:

“Son of Peleus, be not unduly afraid or anxious,

Since you have such Zeus-approved helpers as Pallas Athena

And I. It is not your lot to be overcome

By a river. Far from it, for soon he’ll fall back, as you

Shall see for yourself. But we will give you good counsel,

If you will but listen. Let not your hands refrain

From evil, all-levehng war till you have penned up

The Trojan survivors within the famed walls of their city.

Then, when you have taken the life of Prince Hector,

Go back to the ships. Thus we grant the glory to you.”

With this, they went back to the gods, while Achilles, afire

With the word of immortals, charged over the plain, which by now

Was flooded with water, and the splendidly armored corpses

Of many young warriors floated there. But Achilles

Raised his knees high as he charged straight against the onrush

Of water, nor could the wide-flooding river restrain him,

So great was the strength Athena put in him. Not

That Scamander gave up, for he became fiercer than ever

Against Achilles, and rearing his mighty surge

To a foam-capped, curling crest, he shouted thus

To Simoeis, god of the stream that joined his:

“Dear brother,

Let us combine our forces and quench the might

Of this man, or soon he’ll sack King Priam’s great city,

Nor will the Trojans be able to hold out against him.

Come quickly to help me. Flood all your streams with water

From all of your springs and rouse all your torrents, then raise

A huge billow, churning with tree-trunks and boulders, that we

May stop this monstrous savage who now conquers all

And thinks himself equal to gods. For I do not believe

His strength will help him at all, nor his good looks,

Nor even that marvelous armor, which I shall wrap

In slime deep under water, and he himself

I’ll cover with tons of sand and silt, until

No Achaean shall know where to look for his bones. Right here

I’ll heap up his barrow myself, nor shall he have need

Of another when fellow Achaeans give him a funeral!”

So saying, he sent his towering wave, churning

With foam and blood and corpses, raging down

On Achilles.⁶ And the ominous billow curled high above him,

Just at the point of fatally crashing upon him.

But Hera, afraid that the powerful deep-swirling river

Would sweep Achilles away, spoke out at once

To her own dear son Hephaestus:

“Up, my child.

For surely we thought that you, the great limping god,

Were matched in fight with deep-eddying Xanthus. Go fast

As you can to bear aid, and wreathe the whole plain in your flames.

Meanwhile, I’ll hurry and send from the sea hard blasts

Of West Wind and the bright-flowing South, that they may constantly

Fan your fierce fire and burn up the many dead Trojans,

War-gear and all. But you attack Xanthus directly—

Burn all the trees on his banks, and boil all his water,

And don’t be turned aside by any soft words

Or threats from him. Cease not in your fury one whit

Till you hear me shout. Then hold back your untiring flame.”

She spoke, and Hephaestus prepared his god-blazing fire.

First it flared on the plain and burned all the dead,

The numerous corpses strewn there by Achilles, and soon

The bright water was gone and all the plain dry. And as when

In autumn the West Wind soon dries a new-watered orchard,

Much to the gardener’s joy, so now the whole plain

Was dried and the dead completely consumed. Then straight

On the river himself he turned his all-glaring fire.

Consumed were the tamarisks, elms, and willows, along with

The clover, rushes, and marsh grass that grew by the stream

So abundantly. Greatly tormented were eels and fish

In the eddies, and all along the fair water they leaped

And tumbled this way and that, badly hurt by the blast

Of resourceful Hephaestus. The powerful river himself

Was on fire, and thus he called out to the great artificer:

“Hephaestus, what god can successfully quarrel with you?

I will not contend with one so awesomely wrapped

In blazing fire. Cease the fight now, and as

For the Trojans, Achilles can empty their city of people,

For all I care. For what has a river to do

With strife, or assisting in strife?”

On fire all the time

He was talking, his lovely stream was boiling and steaming.

And like a cauldron of glistening hog’s lard that bubbles

And spurts when sere logs are kindled beneath it and all

Is melted and brought to a boil, even so the fair stream

Of Xanthus flamed and his water seethed, nor did he

Desire to flood the plain further, but halted, greatly

Distressed by the blast of cunning Hephaestus. Then

The River-god earnestly prayed these winged words

To Queen Hera:

“O Hera, why should your son afflict me

More than he does all others? You surely do not

Blame me so much as you do all those other helpers

Of Trojans. I will cease if you say so, O goddess,

But make Hephaestus also refrain. And further,

I’ll swear an oath that I will never keep

From the Trojans the hard day of doom, not even when Troy

Shall burn with furious fire lit by the warlike

Sons of Achaeans.”

At this the white-armed Hera

Spoke at once to her own dear son: “Hephaestus,

My so splendid child, withdraw. It is hardly right

To hurt an immortal this way on account of mere men.”

She spoke, and the water returned to the bed of the river

And rolled as before, a strong and beautiful stream.

When the fury of Xanthus was quelled, the fight with Hephaestus

Was over, for Hera, though angry, ended their struggle.

But now strife fell on the other immortals, hatred

Both heavy and hard, for the spirit within them was blown

In conflicting directions. As fiercely they clashed with a deafening

Roar, the wide earth re-echoed their din and the huge vault

Of heaven resounded as if with the blasting of trumpets.

And Zeus, from where he sat high up on Olympus,

Heard the clashing and laughed to himself, delighted

To see the immortals at odds with each other.⁷ Nor did they

Hold back any longer, once shield-piercing Ares had charged

On Athena, jabbing his spear and yelling these words

Of insult:

“Why you, you bitch’s flea, does your

Proud spirit make you so savage that you dare bring

The very immortals together in hatred and strife?

Have you forgotten that time you helped Diomedes

Wound me, seizing his spear in full sight of all

And driving it into my unblemished flesh?^bp Now,

I think, you’ll pay the whole price for that and all

You have done!”

So saying, he stabbed her fluttering aegis,

The awesome aegis against which not even the bolt

Of great Zeus can prevail. But blood-streaming Ares thrust

His lengthy spear hard on it, and Pallas Athena

Fell back and seized from the ground with her powerful hand

A nearby stone, black, jagged, and huge, that men

Long ago had put there to mark the line of a field.

This rugged rock she brought down hard on the neck

Of charging Ares and unstrung his limbs at once.

His armor rang as he fell, and there he lay

With his locks in the dust, the War-god sprawled out over what

seemed

More than an acre. Then Athena laughed loud, and over him

Spoke these proud words, winged with triumph and vaunting:

“You infantile fool! how long will it take you to learn

The proper respect for my always superior strength?

At this rate, you’ll pay the full price demanded by Hera

Your mother, who in her anger at you for deserting

The Argives and helping the insolent Trojans has called out

The Furies against you.”

When she had thus spoken, she turned

Her bright eyes away. But the daughter of Zeus, Aphrodite,

Took Ares’ hand and tried to revive him, as he

Lay moaning and groaning, so weak he could scarcely move.

Then Hera noticed her effort and quickly spoke

To Athena these winged words:

“For shame! O invincible

Daughter of aegis-great Zeus. There once again

That bitch’s flea Aphrodite is leading Ares,

Maimer of men, out of the blazing chaos

Of battle. But after her, quick!”

At this, Athena

Exultantly sped in pursuit, and charging upon her

She struck Aphrodite a terrible blow on the breasts

With her powerful hand. Then her heart and limbs gave way

On the spot, so that both she and Ares lay helplessly stretched

On the all-feeding earth and, vaunting, Athena spoke over them

These winged words:

“So may all helpers of Trojans

End up when they fight against bronze-breasted Argives. Let

Their courage and stamina be like those of soft

Aphrodite, when she came here against me to help Ares.

If all Trojan allies were such as she, then long

Before now this war would have ended and we would have plundered

The populous city of Troy!”

At this the goddess

White-armed Hera smiled, but earth-shaking Poseidon

Spoke thus to Apollo: “O Phoebus, why do we two

Stand off from each other? It hardly becomes us, now that

The others have started. Surely it would be disgraceful

For us to go back to the brazen-floored palace of Zeus

On Olympus without so much as striking a blow.

Begin then, since you are the younger. It would not be fair

For me to, since I am both older and more experienced.

Fool, how little real sense you have! For you

Don’t seem to remember the horrors that we two endured

When Zeus sent only us of the gods to labor

A year for haughty Laomedon here at Troy,

To take our orders and get our firm-promised pay

From him. I built round their city a wall, wide

And most imposing, a barrier not to be broken,

While you, O Phoebus, herded their lumbering fat cattle

Through all the valleys and woods of many-ridged Ida.

But when the gay seasons ended the year, then loathsome

Laomedon roughly sent us away with threats

As our only reward. He threatened, in fact, to tie

Our hands and our feet and sell us in far-distant islands

As slaves. Oh yes, and he made us believe he was going

To slice off our ears with a sword! So back to Olympus

We went, boiling inside because of the pay

He had promised and then refused. And now it is

To his people that you give your grace, instead of assisting

Us in bringing the arrogant Trojans to abject

Ruin, and with them their children and honored wives.”

Then the far-working lord Apollo answered him, saying:

“Earthshaker, you’d hardly consider me sane if I

Should do battle with you for the sake of ephemeral mortals,

Poor wretches that flame with life for a little while

Like flourishing leaves that draw their food from the earth,

Then wither and die forever. Let us, then, cease

This nonsense at once, and leave the fighting to men.”^bq

So saying, he turned away, for he was ashamed

To trade blows with his uncle. But now his sister Artemis,

Wild Queen of savage beasts and the untamed forest,

Fiercely railed at him thus: “Look how the great archer

Runs! yielding the victory all to Poseidon

And giving him glory for nothing. Fool, why carry

A bow worthless as wind? Now never again

Let me hear you boast as of old mid immortal gods

In the halls of our Father that you would fight face to face

With Poseidon.”

So she, but far-striking Apollo had nothing

To say in reply. The revered wife of Zeus, however,

Made this wrathful speech, thus chiding with words of insult

The goddess of fast-flying shafts:

“You brazen bitch,

I’ll teach you to stand against me! Believe me, I’m no

Easy mark in a fight, regardless of that bow of yours

And the lioness-like disposition Zeus gave you to use

Against women, whom he allows you to slay as you will.

Truly you’d be a great deal better off in the mountains

Killing wild deer and other such wilderness creatures

Than here to fight against those who are stronger than you.

However, learn if you wish what fighting is

And how much mightier I am than you, since now

You insist on matching your strength against mine!”

So saying,

Queen Hera seized both of Artemis’ wrists with her left hand

And snatching the bow off her back with her right, she boxed

The ears of her writhing foe, spilling her arrows

All over and all the while smiling. Then Artemis, weeping,

Fled from her like a dove that flies from a hawk

And hides in some cave or hollow rock, since she

Is not fated so to be caught. Even thus, tearful Artemis

Fled from Queen Hera, leaving her bow and arrows.

Then to Artemis’ mother Leto the messenger Hermes,

Slayer of Argus, spoke thus:

“Leto, I have

No idea of fighting you. No easy thing

It is to trade blows with the wives of cloud-driving Zeus.

You’re welcome to go and boast mid the immortal gods

That you overcame me with that great power of yours.”

Such were his words, and Leto picked up the curved bow

And the arrows that lay all around in the swirling dust

And retired, but Artemis came to the brazen-floored palace

Of Zeus on Olympus and all but collapsed at the knees

Of her Father, her fragrant gown quivering with sobs, and he,

The son of Cronos, hugged his daughter, and laughing

Softly, inquired:

“Who of the heavenly gods,

Dear child, has badly mistreated you now, as though

You had done something wrong where everybody could see?”

To which the fair-garlanded Queen of the echoing chase:

“Your own wife it was that beat me, Father—yes,

I mean white-armed Hera, the cause of all this hatred

And strife among the immortals.”

While these two spoke thus

With each other, Apollo entered high-hallowed Troy,

Concerned for the walls of the firm-founded city, lest that

Very day the Danaans go beyond fate and plunder

It all. But the other immortals returned to Olympus,

Some in wrath and some in great exultation,

And sat with their Father, lord of the lowering sky.

Meanwhile, Achilles continued his slaughter of men

And solid-hoofed horses. And as when the angry gods

Cause toil and suffering for men by setting fire

To their city, from which the smoke billows up to dim

The wide sky, so now Achilles brought labor and woe

On the Trojans.

At this point, ancient Priam mounted

The god-built wall and saw how gigantic Achilles

Drove all the Trojans before him in headlong, helpless

Rout. Groaning, he climbed back down to the ground,

Calling out down the wall to the glorious gate-keeping guards:

“Hold the gates wide with your hands, till the fleeing troops

Can get inside, for here they come with Achilles

Close behind them, and many, I fear, will not make it.

But shut the double doors tight as soon as the men

Are inside, for I am aghast at the thought of that murdering

Monster within these walls!”

At this they shot back

The bars and swung the gates wide, thus giving the Trojans

A light of deliverance. Apollo, moreover, charged out

To meet the stampede, that he might keep ruin away

From the Trojans, who came on fast for the looming wall

Of the city, all of their throats dry and gritty with thirst

And their bodies grimy with dust from the plain. And always

Behind them Achilles came on with his spear, his heart

In the grip of savage rage and the lust to win glory

Then indeed would the sons of Achaeans have taken Ilium,

Town of the towering gates, if Phoebus Apollo

Had not inspired noble Agenor, the blameless and stalwart

Son of Antenor. Into his heart Apollo

Infused great courage, then stood beside him in person,

Shrouded in mist and leaning against an oak tree,

That he might keep Death’s heavy hands away from the man.

Thus, when Agenor looked out at town-taking Achilles,

He stopped and stood still, awaiting his charge, while in him

His heart darkly seethed with many wild thoughts. Deeply troubled,

He spoke to his own great spirit:

“Ah misery! if now

I run with the rest in rout before mighty Achilles,

He’ll surely catch up with me and butcher me there

For a coward. But what if I leave the troops to be driven

By Peleus’ son, while I make rapid tracks

Away from the wall across the Ileian Plain

And continue till I am concealed mid the woods and valleys

Of Ida? Then in the evening, when I have bathed

In the river and washed off the sweat, I could go back to Troy.

But why do I argue thus with myself? Achilles

Would certainly see me going from city to plain

And soon overtake me with his great fleetness of foot.

Nor would it be possible then to escape dark death

And the fates, for he above all men is awesomely strong.

What else then remains but for me to go out and face him

In front of the city? No one thinks him immortal.

He has but one life, and that may be fatally reached

By the keen-cutting bronze. What glory he has is a gift

From Cronos’ son Zeus.”

So saying, he gathered his courage

To face the oncoming Achilles, and his brave heart

Was on edge for the clashing of combat. As when a leopard

Leaves a dense thicket to spring on a hunter, and goes

With no fear of the baying hounds, and still goes on

In her fury though he be quicker and pierce her through

With his spear—still she advances to grapple with him

Before death: so now proud Antenor’s son, goodly

Agenor, refused to retreat till he had clashed

With Achilles, and holding his round shield before him and hefting

His spear, he shouted:

“I know, O splendid Achilles,

That you in your heart have hope of sacking the city

Of god-gifted Trojans this day—fool that you are!

For many and hard are the battles yet to be fought

Over Troy. She still has plenty of battle-bold warriors

Inside her walls, men who stand between you

And their own dear parents, wives, and sons, and who guard

Great Ilium. You, though, shall meet your doom on this spot,

No matter how awesome and bold you are in a fight!”

So saying, he hurled the sharp spear with his powerful arm,

Nor did it miss, but struck the shin of Achilles

Under the knee, where his greave of new-hammered tin

Shrilly grated and rang, as back bounced the point of keen bronze,

Unable to pierce the glorious gift of Hephaestus.

Then Peleus’ son charged hard at godlike Agenor,

But Phoebus Apollo would not allow him to win

Any glory there, and snatching Agenor away

He hid him in mist and sent him out of the battle

To go back uninjured. Then, far-working Apollo

Deceitfully kept Peleus’ son from the Trojans. He took

The form of Agenor exactly and stood in the path

Of charging Achilles, who hotly pursued him across

The wheat-bearing plain, turning him toward deep-swirling

Scamander. But crafty Apollo remained just a little

Ahead, beguiling Achilles with hope of soon

Overtaking his foe. Meanwhile, the rest of the Trojans,

Madly stampeding, rushed with unspeakable joy

Through the gates of the city and swarmed through the town.

Nor did

They dare this time await one another outside

The walls to find out who managed to get away

And who failed to make it. But frantically all of them poured

Through the gates, whoever had legs still able to run.