Homer · a new plain-English translation from the Greek
The gods sat beside Zeus on the golden floor and held council together, and among them queenly Hebe poured out nectar; they pledged one another in cups of gold, gazing down upon the city of the Trojans. And at once the son of Kronos set about provoking Hera, speaking sidelong words to sting her.
"Two goddesses stand as helpers of Menelaus — Hera of Argos, and Athena who guards Alalkomenai. Yet these two sit apart and simply watch, and take their pleasure in it, while laughter-loving Aphrodite stays forever at his side and wards the death-spirits from him — even now she has snatched him from death when he thought surely to die. Well, the victory belongs to war-loving Menelaus. Let us then consider how these matters shall stand: shall we stir up evil war again and the dread clash of battle, or cast friendship between the two sides? If only this could somehow prove sweet and welcome to us all, then the city of lord Priam could go on standing, and Menelaus could lead Argive Helen home again."
So he spoke, and Athena and Hera muttered at it, sitting close together, plotting evil for the Trojans. Athena kept silent and said nothing, sulking at father Zeus, gripped by a wild anger; but Hera's breast could not contain her fury, and she burst out.
"Most dread son of Kronos, what a thing you have said! How can you wish to make my labor worthless and unfinished — the sweat I sweated in my toil, and my horses worn out gathering the army together, to bring evil on Priam and on Priam's sons? Do as you please — but know that not all the rest of us gods approve."
Deeply stirred, the cloud-gathering Zeus answered her: "Strange creature, what great wrongs can Priam and Priam's sons have done you, that you rage so relentlessly to lay waste the well-built citadel of Ilion? If you could pass through its gates and its long walls and devour Priam raw, and Priam's sons, and the rest of the Trojans besides, then perhaps your fury would be cured. Do as you wish, then — only do not let this quarrel become, hereafter, a great bone of contention between you and me. And I will tell you one more thing, and lay it up in your mind: whenever I in my turn am eager to destroy some city where men dear to you happen to live, do not try to hold back my anger — let me have my way, since I am giving you this now, willingly, though my heart is unwilling. For of all the cities under the sun and starry sky where men on earth make their homes, sacred Ilion was honored by me above all in my heart, and Priam, and the people of Priam of the strong ash spear. Never did my altar lack its due share of the feast, of libation and of the savor of burnt offering — for that is the honor allotted to us gods."
Then ox-eyed queenly Hera answered him: "There are indeed three cities dearest to me by far — Argos, and Sparta, and wide-wayed Mycenae. Lay these waste whenever they grow hateful to your heart — I will not stand in your way, nor begrudge you. Even if I resented it and would not allow their destruction, my resentment would come to nothing, since you are so much stronger. But my labor too must not be left unfinished — for I am a god as you are, and my birth is from the same source as yours, and Kronos of the crooked counsel begot me eldest of all, both by birth and because I am called your wife, while you rule over all the immortals.
So let us yield to one another in this, I to you and you to me, and the other gods will follow our lead. Now, quickly, command Athena to go down into the dreadful clash of Trojans and Achaeans, and contrive it so that the Trojans are the first to violate their sworn oaths and do wrong to the triumphant Achaeans."
So she spoke, and the father of men and gods did not refuse her. At once he spoke winged words to Athena: "Go with all speed into the army, among the Trojans and Achaeans, and contrive it so that the Trojans are the first to violate their sworn oaths and do wrong."
So he spoke, urging on Athena, who was already eager, and she darted down from the peaks of Olympus. Just as the son of crooked-counseling Kronos sends a star as a sign to sailors, or to a wide army of soldiers, a blazing star trailing many sparks behind it — in such a shape Pallas Athena sped down to earth, and leapt into the midst of the armies. Wonder seized all who watched, both the horse-taming Trojans and the well-greaved Achaeans, and men would say to their neighbor standing near.
"Surely evil war and the dread clash of battle will come again, unless Zeus, steward of war for mankind, is setting friendship between the two sides." So one man or another, Achaean or Trojan, would say.
But Athena, taking the shape of a man, plunged in among the Trojan ranks in search of Pandarus, godlike son of Lykaon, hoping to find him somewhere. She found him, blameless and strong, standing there, while around him the sturdy ranks of shield-bearing soldiers who had followed him from the streams of the Aesepos stood close by. Coming near, she spoke winged words to him.
"Would you be persuaded by me now, wise son of Lykaon? Would you dare to let fly a swift arrow at Menelaus? You would win favor and glory from all the Trojans, and most of all from prince Alexander. From him, surely, you would be first of all to carry off splendid gifts, if he should see warlike Menelaus, son of Atreus, brought down by your shaft and mounted on the grievous pyre. Come, then, loose an arrow at glorious Menelaus, and vow to Lykian-born Apollo, glorious archer, that you will offer a splendid hecatomb of firstborn lambs when you return home to the city of holy Zeleia."
So Athena spoke, and persuaded his foolish heart. At once he uncased his polished bow, made from the horns of a wild mountain goat which he himself had once struck beneath the breast as it came out from a rock, lying in wait for it in ambush; he had hit it in the chest, and it fell backward onto the rock. Its horns, growing from its head, measured sixteen palms; a craftsman skilled in horn had worked and fitted them together, smoothed the whole thing well, and set a golden tip upon it. Pandarus strung this bow, bracing it and leaning it against the ground, while his good companions held their shields in front of him, so that the warlike sons of the Achaeans might not leap up before Menelaus, warlike son of Atreus, had been struck.
Then he opened the lid of his quiver and took out an arrow, unshot before, feathered, a bearer of dark pains. Quickly he fitted the bitter shaft to the string, and vowed to Lykian-born Apollo, glorious archer, that he would offer a splendid hecatomb of firstborn lambs when he returned home to the city of holy Zeleia.
He drew the notch and the ox-gut string together; he brought the string to his breast, and the iron head to the bow. And when he had drawn the great bow into a full circle, the horn sang out, the string gave a great cry, and the sharp-pointed arrow leapt away, eager to fly into the crowd.
But you, Menelaus, were not forgotten by the blessed immortal gods, and above all by Zeus's daughter, driver of the spoil, who stood before you and turned aside the piercing shaft. She held it back from your skin just as a mother brushes a fly from her child when it lies in sweet sleep, and she herself guided it to where the golden clasps of the war-belt joined and the doubled breastplate met.
The bitter arrow struck the fitted belt; it drove clean through the finely worked belt and lodged in the elaborately worked breastplate, and in the guard he wore beneath, a defense for the skin, a barrier against spears, which protected him most — even through this it passed. The arrow only grazed the outer skin of the man, yet at once dark blood came flowing from the wound.
As when some woman of Maeonia or Caria stains ivory with crimson dye, to be a cheek-piece for horses; it lies stored in a chamber, and many horsemen have longed to wear it, but it lies there as a treasure for a king, both an ornament for the horse and glory for its rider — so, Menelaus, your well-shaped thighs were stained with blood, and your legs and your fair ankles beneath.
Then Agamemnon, lord of men, shuddered when he saw the dark blood flowing from the wound, and warlike Menelaus himself shuddered too. But when he saw the sinew and the barbs still outside the flesh, his spirit gathered back within his breast. Groaning heavily, lord Agamemnon spoke among them, holding Menelaus by the hand, while his companions groaned along with him.
"Dear brother, it was death I sealed for you in that oath, setting you alone before the Achaeans to fight the Trojans, since the Trojans have struck you down this way and trampled the sworn oaths underfoot. Yet the oath is not made worthless — nor the blood of lambs, nor the unmixed libations, nor the right hands we trusted in. Even if the Olympian does not bring it to pass at once, he brings it to pass late, and men pay a heavy price, with their own heads and their wives and their children.
For I know this well, in mind and in heart: a day will come when holy Ilion will perish, and Priam, and the people of Priam of the strong ash spear, and Zeus, son of Kronos, throned on high, who dwells in the sky, will himself shake his dark aegis over all of them in anger at this deceit — this will not go unfulfilled. But it will be a terrible grief to me over you, Menelaus, if you should die and fill out the full measure of your life.
And I would return to thirsty Argos most despised of men, for at once the Achaeans will remember their fatherland, and we would leave Helen of Argos as a boast for Priam and the Trojans, while your bones rot in the earth of Troy, lying there with our task unfinished. And some overbearing Trojan will say this, leaping upon the tomb of glorious Menelaus: 'May Agamemnon vent his anger this way against everything, just as now he led the Achaean army here for nothing, and has gone home to his own dear fatherland with his ships empty, leaving good Menelaus behind.' So someone will say one day — and on that day may the wide earth open and swallow me."
Then fair-haired Menelaus spoke to him, encouraging him: "Take heart, and do not frighten the army of the Achaeans just yet. The sharp point did not lodge in a mortal spot — my war-belt in front stopped it, the gleaming one, and beneath it the war-kilt and the guard, which men skilled in bronze made for me."
Then lord Agamemnon answered him: "If only it may be so, dear Menelaus! But a healer will feel the wound and lay upon it remedies that will end the dark pains." And he spoke to godlike Talthybius, his herald: "Talthybius, call Machaon here as quickly as you can, the son of Asclepius, the blameless healer, so that he may look at warlike Menelaus, son of Atreus, whom some man skilled with the bow has struck with an arrow — some Trojan or Lycian, glory to him, grief to us."
So he spoke, and the herald did not fail to obey once he had heard; he went among the bronze-armored Achaeans, searching with his eyes for the hero Machaon. He saw him standing there, and around him the sturdy ranks of shield-bearing soldiers who had followed him from horse-pasturing Trikke.
Coming near, he spoke winged words to him: "Rouse yourself, son of Asclepius — lord Agamemnon calls you, so that you may look at warlike Menelaus, leader of the Achaeans, whom some man skilled with the bow has struck with an arrow — some Trojan or Lycian, glory to him, grief to us." So he spoke, and stirred the heart in Machaon's breast, and the two of them went their way through the crowd, along the wide army of the Achaeans.
But when they came to where fair-haired Menelaus lay wounded, with all the best men gathered around him in a circle, the godlike man stepped into their midst and at once drew the arrow out from the well-fitted belt; and as it was drawn out, the sharp barbs bent backward. He loosed the gleaming war-belt from him, and beneath it the war-kilt and the guard which men skilled in bronze had made. But when he saw the wound where the bitter arrow had struck, he sucked out the blood, and then, with sure skill, sprinkled soothing remedies upon it, which Chiron had once given his father out of kindness.
While they were tending to Menelaus, good at the war cry, the ranks of shield-bearing Trojans came on, and the Achaeans put their armor on again and turned their minds back to battle. There you would not have seen godlike Agamemnon dozing, nor cowering, nor unwilling to fight, but hurrying eagerly to the battle that brings men glory. He left his horses and his chariot bright with bronze; his attendant, Eurymedon son of Ptolemaios, son of Peiraeus, held them apart, snorting, and Agamemnon charged him again and again to have them ready at hand whenever weariness should overtake his limbs from directing so many men.
But on foot he made his way among the ranks of men, and wherever he saw men of the swift-horsed Danaans hurrying eagerly, he stood beside them and gave them courage with his words. "Argives, do not slacken your furious courage even a little — for father Zeus will not be a helper to liars. No, the very ones who were first to violate the sworn oaths — vultures will feast on their tender flesh, while we will carry off their dear wives and their infant children in our ships, once we have taken their city."
But whenever he saw men holding back from the hateful war, he would rebuke them harshly with angry words: "Argives, glorious only with the bow, you objects of reproach, have you no shame at all? Why do you stand there stunned, like fawns which, when they have tired themselves running over the wide plain, stop and stand, with no fighting spirit left in their hearts? So you stand there stunned, and do not fight. Are you waiting for the Trojans to come close to where your fair-sterned ships are drawn up on the shore of the gray sea, so that you can see whether the son of Kronos will hold his hand over you?" So he went about directing the ranks of men.
And coming through the crowd of men, he came to the Cretans. Around Idomeneus of the sound mind they were arming themselves; Idomeneus was among the front fighters, like a wild boar in courage, while Meriones was urging on the ranks in the rear. Seeing them, Agamemnon, lord of men, rejoiced, and at once spoke to Idomeneus with gentle words.
"Idomeneus, I honor you above the rest of the swift-horsed Danaans, both in war and in every other task, and at the feast, when the chief men of the Argives mix the gleaming wine of the elders in the mixing bowl. For even if the rest of the long-haired Achaeans drink their portion, your cup always stands full, just as mine does, ready for you to drink whenever your heart desires. Go, then, into battle, and be the man you have always claimed to be."
Then Idomeneus, leader of the Cretans, answered him in turn: "Son of Atreus, I will indeed be a steadfast comrade to you, just as I promised and pledged at the very start. But go and urge on the rest of the long-haired Achaeans, so that we may fight as soon as possible, since the Trojans have broken the sworn oaths. Death and grief will be theirs hereafter, since they were first to violate the sworn oaths."
So he spoke, and the son of Atreus passed on, his heart rejoicing. He came through the crowd of men to where the two Ajaxes stood; the two of them were arming themselves, and a cloud of foot soldiers followed with them. Just as a goatherd watching from a lookout point sees a cloud coming over the sea before the blast of the west wind — from a distance it looks black as pitch as it moves over the sea, bringing a great storm with it, and he shudders at the sight and drives his flocks into a cave — so, moving alongside the two Ajaxes, thick dark ranks of young men nurtured by Zeus surged forward into grim battle, bristling with shields and spears.
Lord Agamemnon rejoiced to see them too, and he spoke winged words to them: "You two Ajaxes, leaders of the bronze-armored Argives, to you two I give no order — it would not be fitting to urge you on, since of your own accord you already command your men to fight with all their strength. If only, father Zeus, and Athena, and Apollo, every man had a spirit like yours in his breast — then the city of lord Priam would soon bow down, captured and sacked by our hands."
So he spoke, and left them there, and went on to others. There he came upon Nestor, the clear-voiced orator of the Pylians, arraying his companions and urging them to fight, around great Pelagon, Alastor, Chromios, lord Haimon, and Bias, shepherd of the people. He set the horsemen first, with their horses and chariots, and behind them the foot soldiers, many and brave, to be a bulwark of war, while he drove the weaker men into the middle, so that even a man unwilling would be forced by necessity to fight.
First Nestor gave his orders to the charioteers: he told them to hold their horses in check and not let the crowd jostle them out of line. No man, trusting in his horsemanship or his own courage, was to charge out alone ahead of the rest to fight the Trojans, and none was to fall back either — that would only weaken the whole line. Whoever left his own chariot to reach another man's should reach out with his spear, since that way is far better. This was how the men of an earlier age sacked cities and broke down walls, keeping this plan and this spirit in their hearts. So the old man urged his men on, schooled in warfare since long ago.
Seeing him, powerful Agamemnon was glad, and called out to him, saying:
“Old man, if only your knees could still keep pace with the spirit in your chest, and your strength stayed as firm as ever — but old age wears you down, the same for everyone. I wish some other man carried that burden, and you could stand among the younger fighters.”
Then the Gerenian horseman Nestor answered him:
“Son of Atreus, I too wish I could be the man I was when I killed godlike Erythalion. But the gods do not give men everything at once. I was young then; now old age has come for me instead. But even so I will stay among the horsemen and guide them with counsel and with words — that is the privilege old men keep. Let the younger men wield the spears, men born after me who still trust their own strength.”
So he spoke, and the son of Atreus went on, glad at heart. He found Menestheus, driver of horses, son of Peteos, standing with the Athenians, masters of the war cry, gathered round him; and nearby stood resourceful Odysseus, and beside him the ranks of the Cephallenians, no weak men, standing there — for the battle cry had not yet reached their ears; only now were the columns of horse-taming Trojans and Achaeans stirring and beginning to move, and these men stood waiting for some other column of Achaeans to advance against the Trojans and open the fighting. Seeing them, Agamemnon, lord of men, rebuked them, and called out, saying:
“Son of Peteos, king cherished by Zeus, and you, master of cunning tricks, schemer — why do you two hang back cringing, waiting for others to lead? You two ought to stand among the foremost and meet the scorching heat of battle, since you are the first to hear my call whenever we Achaeans prepare a feast for the elders. There you're glad enough to eat roasted meat and drink cups of honey-sweet wine as long as you please — but now you'd gladly watch even ten columns of Achaeans fighting in front of you with pitiless bronze.”
Looking at him darkly, resourceful Odysseus answered:
“Son of Atreus, what kind of word has slipped past the fence of your teeth? How can you say we hold back from battle, when the Achaeans are stirring up sharp war against the horse-taming Trojans? Watch, if you care to, and you will see the dear father of Telemachus mixing it up among the front fighters of the horse-taming Trojans. What you say is empty wind.”
Agamemnon smiled at him when he saw how angry he was, and took back his words:
“Son of Laertes, seed of Zeus, resourceful Odysseus, I do not mean to rebuke you too harshly, nor to order you about — I know the spirit in your own dear chest is kind and knows good sense; you think as I do. Come, we will make amends for this later, if any harsh word has been spoken now; may the gods scatter it all to the winds.”
So saying, he left them there and went on to the others. He found the son of Tydeus, proud Diomedes, standing among his horses and jointed chariot, with Sthenelus, son of Capaneus, beside him. Seeing him, powerful Agamemnon rebuked him too, and called out, saying:
“Ah, son of Tydeus, wise horse-taming Tydeus's son, why do you shrink back, why do you stare at the lanes of battle? It was not Tydeus's way to cower like this — he fought far ahead of his own companions against the enemy, or so say those who saw him at his work. I myself never met him or saw him, but they say he surpassed all others. Once, without any war, he came as a guest to Mycenae, along with godlike Polynices, gathering an army; they were mustering then against the sacred walls of Thebes, and they begged hard for us to give them famous allies. And we were willing to give them, and agreed to what they asked, but Zeus turned us back, showing unfavorable signs. So when they had set out and gotten well along the road, and reached the Asopus, deep in reeds and grassy banks, the Achaeans sent Tydeus ahead of them as a messenger. He went, and found many sons of Cadmus feasting in the hall of mighty Eteocles. There, guest though he was, horse-driving Tydeus felt no fear, alone as he was among so many Cadmeans, but challenged them to contests, and won every one of them easily — such was Athena's help to him. But the Cadmeans, drivers of horses, grew angry, and as he made his way back they set a close ambush, fifty young men, with two leaders: Maeon, son of Haemon, like the immortals, and Polyphontes, son of Autophonus, tireless in battle. But Tydeus brought a shameful death down on them too — he killed them all but one, whom he sent home again, letting Maeon go free in obedience to the gods' own signs. Such a man was Tydeus of Aetolia. But the son he fathered is a lesser man in battle, though better in the assembly.”
So he spoke, and mighty Diomedes said nothing in reply, out of respect for the rebuke of his honored king. But the son of glorious Capaneus answered in his place:
“Son of Atreus, don't tell lies when you know the truth well enough. We claim to be far better men than our fathers. We were the ones who took the seat of seven-gated Thebes, though we led a smaller army against a stronger wall, trusting in the gods' signs and the help of Zeus. They perished through their own recklessness. So don't ever rank our fathers with us in honor.”
Looking at him darkly, mighty Diomedes answered:
“Friend, be quiet and listen to what I say. I don't blame Agamemnon, shepherd of the people, for urging the well-greaved Achaeans into battle — the glory will fall to him if the Achaeans cut down the Trojans and take sacred Troy, and the great grief will be his too if the Achaeans are cut down. But come, let the two of us turn our minds to our own furious strength.”
So saying, he leaped down from his chariot to the ground in his armor, and the bronze on the lord's chest rang terribly as he sprang up — fear would have gripped even a steady-hearted man at that sound. As on a loud-echoing shore the sea's waves rise one after another when the West Wind sets them moving — far out at sea the swell first gathers a crest, then breaks on the land and roars mightily, curling high around the headlands and spitting foam from the brine — so then, wave on wave, the columns of the Danaans moved steadily toward battle. Each captain gave the word to his own men; the rest marched in silence, and you would not have thought so vast a host had voices in their chests, so silent, in awe of their commanders; and around them all their gleaming armor shone as they marched, wrapped in it.
The Trojans, though, were like the countless sheep in a rich man's steading, standing to be milked of their white milk, bleating without end as they hear the cries of their lambs — such was the din that rose from the Trojan host across the wide army; for their voices were not one sound, not a single tongue, but their speech was mixed, since they were men summoned from many lands. Ares drove some of them on, and bright-eyed Athena the others, and Terror and Fear, and Strife raging without limit, sister and companion of man-killing Ares — she who is small at first, but then plants her head in the sky while her feet still walk the earth. She it was who threw down the shared strife between them then, moving through the crowd, piling up the groaning of men.
And when the two sides came together, meeting in one place, they crashed shields, crashed spears, and the fury of bronze-armored men; the bossed shields pressed against each other, and a great roar went up. Then together rose the cries of triumph and the cries of pain from men killing and being killed, and the earth ran with blood. As when two winter torrents, swollen, rushing down from the mountains, pour their mighty waters together where valleys meet, out of their great springs within a hollow ravine, and a shepherd far off in the hills hears their roar — so, as these two forces mingled, rose the shouting and the struggle.
Antilochus was the first to kill a helmeted Trojan, a good man among the front fighters, Echepolus, son of Thalysius. He struck him first on the ridge of his horsehair-crested helmet, and the point fixed in his forehead, and the bronze drove through the bone within, and darkness covered his eyes; he fell like a tower in the fierce press of battle. As he fell, powerful Elephenor, son of Chalcodon, leader of the great-hearted Abantes, caught him by the feet and began to drag him clear of the missiles, eager to strip his armor as quickly as he could — but his effort was short-lived. Great-hearted Agenor saw him dragging the corpse, and as Elephenor bent forward his ribs showed clear past the rim of his shield; Agenor stabbed him there with his bronze-tipped spear, and loosed his limbs. So life left him, and over his body a bitter struggle broke out between Trojans and Achaeans; they fell on one another like wolves, and man grappled with man.
Then Telamonian Ajax struck down the son of Anthemion, the young man Simoeisios in his full bloom, whom his mother had once borne beside the banks of the Simoeis, coming down from Ida, when she had followed her parents to see their flocks — and for that they called him Simoeisios. He never repaid his dear parents for raising him; his life was cut short, brought down by great-hearted Ajax's spear. As he came on, Ajax struck him first in the chest, beside the right nipple, and the bronze spear went clean through his shoulder, and he fell in the dust like a poplar tree, one that grows smooth in the low ground of a great marsh, its branches sprouting only at the very top; a wagon-maker cuts it down with bright iron to bend into a wheel-rim for a fine chariot, and it lies there drying beside the river's banks. So Ajax, sprung from Zeus, cut down Simoeisios, son of Anthemion.
Then Antiphus, of the flashing breastplate, son of Priam, hurled his sharp spear at him across the crowd. He missed Ajax, but struck Leucus, Odysseus's good companion, in the groin, as he was dragging a body off to the other side; he fell across it, and the corpse dropped from his hands. Odysseus, enraged at his friend's death, strode through the front fighters helmeted in gleaming bronze, came up very close, and glancing around him hurled his shining spear; and the Trojans gave ground before the man's throw. His cast did not fly in vain — he struck Priam's bastard son Democoon, who had come from Abydos, from his swift horses. Odysseus, angry over his friend, struck him with his spear in the temple, and the bronze point drove through the other temple as well; darkness covered his eyes, and he fell with a crash, and his armor clattered upon him.
The Trojan front fighters gave ground, even shining Hector, and the Argives shouted loud, and dragged off the bodies, and pushed on much farther forward. But Apollo, watching from Pergamos, grew angry, and cried out to the Trojans:
“Rise up, horse-taming Trojans, don't yield ground in battle to the Argives — their flesh is not stone, nor is it iron, to withstand bronze that cuts flesh when it strikes them. And besides, Achilles, the fair-haired son of Thetis, is not fighting at all, but nurses his heart-sore anger beside the ships.”
So the dread god called from the city. But the daughter of Zeus, most glorious Athena, roused the Achaeans, moving through the crowd wherever she saw men slacking. There fate bound Diores, son of Amarynceus: a jagged stone struck him on the right shin, near the ankle, thrown by Peiros, son of Imbrasus, leader of the Thracian men, who had come from Aenos. The pitiless stone crushed clean through both tendons and the bones there; he fell backward in the dust, both hands flung out to his dear companions, gasping out his life. And Peiros, who had thrown the stone, ran up and stabbed him with his spear beside the navel; all his bowels poured out onto the ground, and darkness covered his eyes.
But as Peiros rushed off, Thoas the Aetolian struck him with his spear above the nipple, in the chest, and the bronze point fixed in his lung; Thoas came up close beside him, wrenched the heavy spear out of his chest, and drew his sharp sword, and struck him full in the belly with it, and took his life. But he did not strip his armor: the Thracians gathered round him, men with hair worn long on the crown, holding their long spears in their hands, and though he was tall and strong and proud, they drove him back from the body; he gave ground, staggering. So the two of them lay stretched in the dust side by side, one the leader of the Thracians, the other of the bronze-armored Epeians; and many others were killed around them besides.
No man could have come upon that work and found fault with it then, no man still unwounded and untouched by sharp bronze, who wandered through the middle of it, even if Pallas Athena took him by the hand and led him and warded off the flying spears — for many Trojans and Achaeans on that day lay stretched face-down in the dust beside one another.