Homer · a new plain-English translation from the Greek
Then Pallas Athena gave Diomedes, son of Tydeus, strength and courage, so that he would stand out among all the Argives and win glorious fame. She kindled from his helmet and shield a tireless fire, like the star of late summer that shines most brilliantly of all once it has bathed in the ocean's stream; such was the fire she kindled from his head and shoulders, and she drove him into the thick of the fighting, where the largest crowd was struggling.
Now there was among the Trojans a rich and blameless man named Dares, priest of Hephaestus, and he had two sons, Phegeus and Idaeus, both well versed in every kind of combat. These two broke from the ranks and charged straight at Diomedes: one from his chariot, the other rushing forward on foot. When they had closed the distance between them, Phegeus threw first, his long-shadowed spear passing over Tydeus's son's left shoulder without striking him. Then it was Diomedes's turn, and his bronze did not fly wide of the mark: he struck Phegeus square in the chest, between the nipples, and knocked him backward off the chariot. Idaeus leapt down, abandoning the beautiful car, and did not dare to stand over his fallen brother's body.
Not even Idaeus himself would have escaped black death, but Hephaestus rescued him, wrapping him in night so that the old priest would not be utterly overwhelmed with grief. Meanwhile the great-hearted son of Tydeus drove off the horses and gave them to his comrades to lead back to the hollow ships. When the proud Trojans saw one son of Dares in flight and the other dead beside the chariot, every heart among them was shaken. But grey-eyed Athena took furious Ares by the hand and spoke to him:
"Ares, Ares, curse of mortals, blood-soaked stormer of walls, why don't we let the Trojans and Achaeans fight it out however Father Zeus wishes to grant the glory, while we two withdraw and steer clear of the wrath of Zeus?"
So she spoke, and led furious Ares out of the fighting; she seated him on the banks of the Scamander. Then the Danaans bent back the Trojan line, and each of their captains cut down a man. First of all, Agamemnon, lord of men, hurled great Odius, chief of the Halizones, from his chariot: as the man turned to flee, Agamemnon drove his spear into his back between the shoulder blades and it passed clean through his chest. He fell with a crash, and his armor clattered around him.
Idomeneus killed Phaestus, son of Borus the Maeonian, who had come from fertile Tarne. Famous spearman Idomeneus struck him with his long spear as he was mounting his chariot, catching him in the right shoulder; he tumbled from the car, and hateful darkness took hold of him. Idomeneus's attendants stripped his armor. Then Menelaus, son of Atreus, killed Scamandrius, son of Strophius, a man skilled in hunting, striking him with his sharp spear —
a fine huntsman, taught by Artemis herself to bring down every wild creature the forest mountains breed; but neither Artemis who showers arrows, nor the long-range skill in which he had once excelled, could help him now. No — Menelaus, famous spearman, son of Atreus, struck him as he fled before him, driving his spear into his back between the shoulders, and it burst through his chest. He fell face forward, and his armor rang out over him.
Meriones cut down Phereclus, son of Harmon the craftsman, whose hands knew how to build every kind of intricate device, for Pallas Athena loved him above all others; he it was who had built the balanced ships for Paris, the ships that began all the trouble, that brought disaster on all the Trojans and on himself as well, since he knew nothing of the gods' decrees. Meriones caught up with him as he fled and struck him in the right buttock; the spearpoint drove straight through, passing under the bone into the bladder. He fell to his knees with a groan, and death wrapped him round.
Meges killed Pedaeus, son of Antenor — a bastard son, but noble Theano had raised him with care, treating him just like her own children, to please her husband. The son of Phyleus, famous with the spear, came up close and struck him behind the head with his sharp spear; the bronze cut straight through, slicing beneath the tongue and through the teeth. He fell in the dust, gripping the cold bronze in his teeth.
Eurypylus, son of Euaemon, killed godlike Hypsenor, son of proud Dolopion, who had been made priest of the Scamander and was honored by the people like a god. Eurypylus, Euaemon's splendid son, ran him down as he fled before him and slashed his shoulder with his sword, hacking off his heavy arm; the bloody arm fell to the ground, and crimson death and mighty fate seized his eyes.
So they toiled on through the fierce fighting. As for the son of Tydeus, you could not have told which side he fought for — whether he ran with the Trojans or with the Achaeans. He swept across the plain like a river in flood, a winter torrent that in its swift running sweeps away the very bridges built to hold it; no barriers can check it, no fences of the flourishing vineyards can stop it,
when it comes on suddenly, swollen by the rain of Zeus, and beneath it many fine works of strong young men collapse. So the packed ranks of the Trojans gave way before the son of Tydeus, and many as they were, they could not hold against him.
When Pandarus, splendid son of Lycaon, saw him sweeping across the plain, driving whole battle-lines before him, he quickly bent his curved bow against Tydeus's son, and as Diomedes charged forward, he caught him with an arrow in the right shoulder, in the hollow of his breastplate; the bitter shaft flew straight through and out the other side, and the breastplate was spattered with blood.
Then Lycaon's splendid son gave a great shout over him: "Up, great-hearted Trojans, spur your horses on! The best of the Achaeans has been struck, and I do not think he will hold out long against this powerful arrow — if it was truly the lord, the son of Zeus, who roused me to leave Lycia and come here."
So he spoke, boasting; but the swift arrow had not brought Diomedes down. He drew back and took cover in front of his horses and chariot, and said to Sthenelus, son of Capaneus: "Up, dear friend, son of Capaneus — get down from the chariot and draw this bitter arrow out of my shoulder."
So he spoke, and Sthenelus leapt down from the chariot to the ground, stood beside him, and pulled the swift arrow clean through the shoulder; the blood spurted up through the woven tunic. Then Diomedes, master of the war cry, prayed aloud: "Hear me, daughter of Zeus who bears the aegis, tireless one! If ever you stood by my father with loving heart in the heat of battle, now in turn love me, Athena! Grant that I may kill this man and come within spear's reach of him, who struck me first and now boasts that I will not much longer see the bright light of the sun."
So he prayed, and Pallas Athena heard him. She made his limbs light — his feet and his hands above them — and standing close beside him she spoke winged words: "Take courage now, Diomedes, and fight the Trojans, for I have put in your chest the fearless strength your father had, the shield-wielding horseman Tydeus. And I have lifted the mist from your eyes that was there before, so that you may clearly tell a god from a man.
So if a god comes here now to test you, do not fight head-on against any of the immortal gods — except if Aphrodite, daughter of Zeus, enters the battle: her you may wound with your sharp bronze." With these words grey-eyed Athena departed, and the son of Tydeus went back again to mingle with the front fighters.
Eager as he had already been to fight the Trojans, now three times that fury seized him — like a lion that a shepherd in the field has only grazed as it leapt the fence among his fleecy sheep, rousing its strength but not bringing it down; the shepherd then abandons the flock to its fate and takes shelter, while the sheep, deserted, panic and huddle together, piling on one another,
and the lion, driven by its fury, leaps clear out of the deep sheepfold. So, driven by fury, mighty Diomedes flung himself among the Trojans. There he killed Astynous and Hypeiron, shepherd of the people — one he struck above the nipple with his bronze-tipped spear, the other he hit with his great sword on the collarbone by the shoulder, severing the shoulder clean from the neck and back.
Leaving these, he went after Abas and Polyidus, sons of old Eurydamas, the reader of dreams; but the old man had not read any dreams for them before they set out, and mighty Diomedes now cut them both down.
Next he went after Xanthus and Thoon, sons of Phaenops, both born late in his life, his only children; their father was already worn down by grim old age and had fathered no other son to leave behind as heir to his possessions. There Diomedes killed both of them, taking the life from each, leaving their father only grief and bitter sorrow, since he would never welcome them home alive from the war — and distant kin divided up his estate.
Then he caught two sons of Priam, of the line of Dardanus, both riding in the one chariot, Echemmon and Chromius. Just as a lion springs among cattle and breaks the neck of a heifer or a bullock grazing in the woodland thicket, so Tydeus's son wretchedly hurled both men from their chariot, unwilling as they were, and then stripped their armor,
handing the horses over to his comrades to drive back to the ships. Aeneas saw him laying waste the ranks of men, and made his way through the fighting and the storm of spears, searching for godlike Pandarus, hoping to find him somewhere. He found Lycaon's blameless, powerful son, stood before him, and spoke to him directly:
"Pandarus, where is your bow now, and your winged arrows, and your reputation? No man here can rival you at that, and no one in Lycia claims to be better than you. Come now, lift your hands to Zeus and let an arrow fly at this man — whoever he is who has such power and has already done the Trojans so much harm, since he has loosened the knees of many brave men. Unless he is some god angry at the Trojans, furious over sacrifices withheld — and the anger of a god is a dangerous thing."
Then Lycaon's splendid son answered him: "Aeneas, counselor of the bronze-armored Trojans, in every way he seems to me like the battle-hungry son of Tydeus — I recognize him by his shield, his crested helmet, and by his horses, though I cannot say for certain whether he is a god. But if he is the man I think he is, the battle-hungry son of Tydeus, he is not raging like this without some god's help; rather some immortal stands close beside him, his shoulders wrapped in cloud, and turned aside the swift arrow just as it was about to hit him.
For I have already shot an arrow at him, and it struck him square in the right shoulder, clean through the hollow of his breastplate, and I thought for certain I had sent him down to Hades —
yet I did not bring him down. Some angry god must be at work here. And I have no horses or chariot here to mount: back in Lycaon's halls there are eleven fine chariots, newly built, freshly finished, with cloth coverings spread over them; and beside each stands a pair of horses, munching white barley and rye. Truly, old spearman Lycaon gave me strict orders as I was leaving his well-built house:
he told me to mount my chariot and horses and lead the Trojans into the fierce battles — but I would not listen to him, though it would have been far better if I had. I was sparing the horses, afraid they might go hungry among so many men used to eating their fill, when they were shut in by the siege. So I left them behind, and came to Troy on foot, trusting in my bow — but it was not going to do me any good after all.
For I have already shot at two of the best fighters, the son of Tydeus and the son of Atreus, and drawn real blood from both with my shots — but I only roused them further. It was in an evil hour that I took this curved bow down from its peg on that day I led my men to lovely Troy,
doing a favor for godlike Hector. If I ever return home and see with my own eyes my native land, my wife, and my great high-roofed house, may some stranger cut off my head then and there if I do not break this bow with my own hands and throw it into the blazing fire — since it has served me for nothing but wind."
Then Aeneas, leader of the Trojans, answered him: "Don't talk like that. Nothing will change until the two of us go up against this man with horses and chariot and test him at close quarters with our weapons.
Come, mount my chariot, so you can see what the horses of Troy are like — how skilled they are at racing across the plain in pursuit or in retreat. These same horses will carry us both safely back to the city, even if Zeus should once again grant glory to Diomedes, son of Tydeus. Come now, take the whip and the shining reins, and I will step down to fight on foot — or you take him on, and I'll manage the horses."
Then Lycaon's splendid son answered him: "Aeneas, you keep the reins yourself and drive your own team —
the chariot will run better under its usual driver if we do have to flee before the son of Tydeus. I'm afraid the horses might panic without your voice to guide them, and refuse to carry us clear of the fighting, and then the great-hearted son of Tydeus might charge in and kill us both and drive off our sure-footed horses. So you drive your own chariot and your own team, and I will face him coming on with my sharp spear."
With these words agreed, they climbed into the ornate chariot and drove their swift horses eagerly straight at the son of Tydeus. Sthenelus, splendid son of Capaneus, saw them coming and quickly spoke winged words to Diomedes:
"Diomedes, son of Tydeus, dear to my heart, I see two powerful men bearing down on you, eager to fight, men of tremendous strength — one is Pandarus, who prides himself on his archery and claims to be the son of Lycaon; the other, Aeneas, claims to be the son of blameless Anchises, and his mother is Aphrodite herself. Come, let's fall back in the chariot — don't keep charging through the front ranks like this, or you'll lose your life."
Mighty Diomedes looked at him darkly and answered: "Don't talk to me of retreat — I don't think you'll persuade me. It's not in my nature to fight running away, or to cower down; my strength is still steady in me. I'm reluctant even to mount the chariot — I'll go against them just as I am, on foot. Pallas Athena will not let me tremble. Their swift horses won't carry both of these men back again, away from us — even if one of the two should get away.
And I'll tell you something else — keep it in your mind: if all-wise Athena grants me the glory of killing both of them,
then hold our own swift horses here, reins drawn tight to the chariot rail, and charge straight at Aeneas's team, remembering to drive them out from the Trojans and in among the well-greaved Achaeans. They are of that same breed which wide-seeing Zeus gave to Tros in payment for his son Ganymede, since they were the finest horses under the dawn and the sun — from that very stock, Anchises, lord of men, stole a breeding, without Laomedon's knowledge, putting his own mares to them in secret, and from that union six were born to him in his halls.
Four of these he kept for himself and reared at his own manger, and the other two he gave to Aeneas, breeders of panic in war. If we could capture these, we would win ourselves great glory." While they were saying such things to one another, the other two came swiftly on, driving their fast horses close.
Lycaon's splendid son spoke first: "Bold-hearted, battle-hungry son of noble Tydeus, my swift arrow and its bitter point did not bring you down after all — now I'll try my luck with the spear." So saying, he drew back and hurled his long-shadowed spear,
and struck Tydeus's son's shield; the bronze point flew clean through and reached the breastplate. Then Lycaon's splendid son shouted out loudly over him: "You're hit — clean through the side! I don't think you'll hold out much longer now — you've given me great glory."
Unshaken, mighty Diomedes answered him: "You missed — you didn't hit your mark. But I don't think the two of you will stop this fight until one of you falls and gluts Ares, the tireless warrior, with his blood." So saying, he let his spear fly, and Athena guided it
to strike beside the nose, near the eye, and it drove through the white teeth. The tireless bronze sliced through the root of his tongue, and the point came out below his chin. He fell from the chariot, and his gleaming, flashing armor rang out over him; his swift-footed horses shied away in fear, and there his life and strength were undone.
Aeneas leapt down with his shield and long spear, afraid the Achaeans might drag the body away from him. He strode around it like a lion trusting in its strength, holding his spear out before him along with his shield, perfectly balanced on every side,
He came on, eager to kill whoever dared to stand against him, shouting his terrible shout. But Diomedes' hand found a stone lying in the field, a huge thing that two men as they are now could not carry, and he alone swung it easily.
With it he struck Aeneas on the hip, where the thighbone turns in its socket — men call it the hip-cup — and he shattered that socket and tore both tendons besides. The jagged stone ripped the skin away, and the hero went down on one knee, bracing himself with his broad hand against the ground, and black night poured over his eyes.
And now the lord of men Aeneas would have died there, but his mother was quick to see it, Aphrodite, daughter of Zeus, who had borne him to Anchises the herdsman. She threw her white arms around her own son and spread a fold of her shining robe in front of him to shield him, so that no bronze-tipped spear thrown by some quick-charging Greek might strike his chest and tear the life from him.
So she began to carry her dear son out of the fighting. But the son of Capaneus had not forgotten the orders Diomedes of the loud war cry had given him. He reined in his own sure-footed horses well clear of the noise, tying the reins to the chariot rail, then dashed forward, seized Aeneas' lovely-maned team, and drove them out from the Trojans to the strong-greaved Greeks. He handed them over to his dear friend Deipylus, whom he prized above all his age-mates because he knew his own mind, and told him to drive them back to the hollow ships. Then the hero climbed into his own car, took up the glittering reins, and drove his strong-hoofed horses hard after the son of Tydeus.
Diomedes, meanwhile, was chasing Aphrodite with pitiless bronze, knowing her for the weak goddess she was — not one of those who rule the battles of men, neither Athena nor Enyo the sacker of cities. When he caught up with her at last in the thick of the crowd, great-hearted Tydeus' son lunged and cut her tender wrist with the point of his spear.
The spear tore straight through the divine robe the Graces themselves had woven for her, cutting the skin above the base of her palm, and the immortal blood of the goddess flowed — the ichor that runs in the blessed gods, since they eat no bread and drink no dark wine, and so have no blood in them and are called deathless.
She screamed aloud and let her son fall from her arms. Phoebus Apollo caught him up in a dark cloud, so that no bronze-tipped spear thrown by some quick-charging Greek might strike his chest and take his life. And over her Diomedes of the loud war cry shouted:
"Keep away, daughter of Zeus, from war and slaughter! Isn't it enough that you lead weak women astray? If you go on meddling in battle, I promise you'll shudder at the very word war, wherever you hear it spoken again."
So he spoke, and she went off in her daze, in terrible pain, her lovely skin gone pale. Iris, swift as the wind, took her by the hand and led her from the crowd, worn down with agony. She found furious Ares sitting apart on the battle's left flank, his spear leaning in a bank of cloud, his swift horses beside him. She dropped to her knees before her own brother and begged him hard for the loan of his gold-bridled team.
"Dear brother, rescue me — give me your horses, so I can reach Olympus, the seat of the deathless gods. I am in agony from this wound a mortal man gave me, Tydeus' son, who by now would fight even against father Zeus."
So she spoke, and Ares gave her his gold-bridled horses. She climbed into the car, her heart heavy with grief, and Iris climbed up beside her and took the reins in her hands, then whipped the horses on, and they flew willingly enough. Soon they came to steep Olympus, seat of the gods, and there wind-footed Iris reined the horses in, loosed them from the chariot, and threw them ambrosial fodder.
Divine Aphrodite fell into her mother Dione's lap, and Dione folded her arms around her daughter, stroked her with her hand, and spoke to her, calling her by name: "Who has treated you this way, dear child, one of the gods of heaven, as if you had done something wrong in plain sight?"
Laughter-loving Aphrodite answered her: "Diomedes wounded me — proud Diomedes, Tydeus' son — because I was carrying my own dear son Aeneas out of the fighting, the man who is dearest to me of all men living. This is no longer a war of Trojans against Greeks; now the Greeks are fighting the very gods."
Then Dione, shining among goddesses, answered her: "Bear up, my child, and endure it, sore as you are. Many of us who hold houses on Olympus have suffered hard pain at the hands of men, dealing it out to one another as well.
Ares bore it, when Otus and mighty Ephialtes, the sons of Aloeus, bound him in cruel chains — he lay shackled in a bronze jar for thirteen months, and Ares, insatiable for war, would have perished there had not their stepmother, lovely Eeriboea, sent word to Hermes, who stole Ares away, worn out as he already was, so cruelly did the chain wear on him.
Hera bore it too, when the mighty son of Amphitryon shot her in the right breast with a three-barbed arrow — an agony beyond healing seized her then. And monstrous Hades among the gods bore a swift arrow, when that same man, the son of Zeus who bears the aegis, struck him among the dead at Pylos and gave him over to pain. He went up to the house of Zeus and towering Olympus, his heart sick with pain, the shaft driven deep in his massive shoulder, and it tormented his spirit, until Paeon spread pain-killing herbs on the wound and healed him, for he was never made to die.
That man was reckless, a doer of violence, who thought nothing of committing outrage, wounding with his arrows the gods who hold Olympus. And now the grey-eyed goddess Athena has set this man Diomedes on you. The fool doesn't understand in his heart that whoever fights the immortals does not live long — no children will ever climb onto his knees calling him father when he comes home from war and the dread of battle.
So let Tydeus' son think hard, strong as he is, that someone better than you may yet fight him, and that Aegialeia, wise daughter of Adrestus, may one day wake her whole household from sleep with her wailing, grieving for the husband of her youth, the best of the Greeks — the noble wife of Diomedes, breaker of horses."
With that she wiped the ichor from her daughter's wrist with both hands; the wound closed, and the terrible pain eased. But Athena and Hera, watching this, tried to provoke Zeus, son of Cronus, with mocking words. The grey-eyed goddess Athena spoke first among them:
"Father Zeus, will you be angry with me for what I'm about to say? I think the Lady of Cyprus has been urging some woman of Greece to run off after the Trojans, whom she now loves so extravagantly — and while petting one of those lovely-robed Greek women, she must have scratched her delicate hand on the woman's golden pin."
So she spoke, and the father of gods and men smiled, and calling golden Aphrodite to him he said: "War is not your business, my child. Go after the sweet works of marriage instead, and leave all this to swift Ares and Athena."
While the gods traded words like these among themselves, Diomedes of the loud war cry charged again at Aeneas, knowing that Apollo himself held his hands over him — yet he did not shrink even from the great god, so set was he on killing Aeneas and stripping his famous armor. Three times he lunged, burning to kill him, and three times Apollo knocked his gleaming shield aside. But when he charged a fourth time, like something more than a man, Apollo the archer god shouted at him in a terrible voice:
"Think, son of Tydeus, and give ground. Don't set your mind level with the gods — the race of immortal gods and men who walk the earth is never the same."
So he spoke, and Diomedes gave a little ground, avoiding the anger of Apollo who strikes from afar. Apollo then set Aeneas apart from the crowd, in his own holy shrine at Pergamus, where his temple stood. There, in the great inner chamber, Leto and arrow-showering Artemis healed him and gave him glory. Meanwhile Apollo of the silver bow made a phantom, shaped exactly like Aeneas and armed just as he was armed, and around this phantom the Trojans and noble Greeks kept hacking at each other's ox-hide shields, the round bucklers and the fluttering light shields.
Then Phoebus Apollo spoke to raging Ares: "Ares, Ares, curse of mankind, blood-drenched stormer of walls, won't you go and pull this man out of the fighting — Diomedes, who by now would fight even father Zeus? First he closed on the Lady of Cyprus and cut her hand at the wrist, then he came on at me himself, like something more than a man."
With these words he took his own seat on the height of Pergamus, while savage Ares went among the Trojan ranks to drive them on, taking the shape of swift Acamas, chief of the Thracians. He called to the god-favored sons of Priam: "Sons of King Priam, favored by god, how much longer will you let your men be slaughtered by the Greeks? Until they're fighting around the well-built gates themselves? A man lies fallen whom we honored as much as noble Hector — Aeneas, son of great-hearted Anchises. Come, let us save our good comrade from the crush of battle." So he spoke, and roused the spirit and courage of every man there.
Then Sarpedon turned on noble Hector with sharp words: "Hector, where has the courage gone that you used to have? You claimed, I remember, that you could hold the city without troops or allies, alone with your brothers-in-law and your brothers. But I can't see a single one of them now — they're all cringing like dogs around a lion, while we do the fighting, we who are only here as your allies.
I myself have come as an ally from very far away — Lycia lies far off, by the swirling waters of the Xanthus, where I left my dear wife and my baby son, and great wealth besides, which any poor man would long for. Yet even so I drive my Lycians on and am eager myself to meet this man in battle, though I have nothing here of my own that the Greeks could carry off or drive away. But you just stand there, and you don't even urge your own troops to hold firm and defend their wives.
Take care, or like men caught in the mesh of an all-catching net, you'll become the prey and plunder of your enemies, and they'll soon sack your well-peopled city. This should be your whole concern, day and night — to beg the leaders of your far-famed allies to hold the line without wavering, and to put aside your harsh reproach of them."
So Sarpedon spoke, and his words bit into Hector's heart. At once he leapt down from his chariot in full armor, and went everywhere through the army brandishing his sharp spears, urging the men to fight, and stirred up the terrible din of battle. They wheeled about and stood facing the Greeks, while the Argives held their ground in close ranks and did not break.
And as the wind carries chaff over the holy threshing floors when men are winnowing, and golden Demeter sorts the grain from the chaff as the winds rush by, and the heaps of straw grow white beneath — so now the Greeks turned white all over with the dust that the horses' hooves kicked up into the bronze sky as the drivers wheeled their chariots back into the crowd. The men bent all their strength straight into the fight, and furious Ares wrapped the battle in night as he lent his aid to the Trojans, ranging everywhere — carrying out the orders of Phoebus Apollo of the golden sword, who had told him to rouse the Trojans' spirit once he saw Pallas Athena had gone, since she had been helping the Greeks.
Apollo himself sent Aeneas out from his rich shrine and put strength into the shepherd of his people's chest. Aeneas took his place again among his comrades, and they rejoiced to see him come back alive and whole, full of good courage — though they did not stop to ask him how, since other work pressed on them, the work that the god of the silver bow and Ares, curse of mortals, and Strife raging without pause were stirring up. The two Ajaxes, Odysseus, and Diomedes were all driving the Greeks on to fight, and they themselves had no fear of the Trojans' strength or their onslaughts.
They stood firm like clouds that the son of Cronus sets on the mountain peaks in still weather, unmoving, while the force of the North Wind and the other wild winds — the ones that scatter the shadowy clouds with their whistling blasts — sleep quietly. So the Greeks stood fast against the Trojans and did not run. And the son of Atreus went through the crowd urging his men on:
"Friends, be men, and take courage in your hearts, and feel shame before each other in the hard press of battle. When men feel shame, more of them come through alive than die; but for men who run, there is no glory won, and no defense either."
With that he threw his spear quickly and struck a leading man, a comrade of Aeneas, great-hearted Deicoon, son of Pergasus, whom the Trojans honored as much as the sons of Priam, because he was always quick to fight in the front ranks. Lord Agamemnon's spear struck his shield, and the bronze drove straight through it and into his lower belly through his belt. He fell with a crash, and his armor clattered over him.
Then Aeneas in turn cut down two of the best men of the Greeks, the sons of Diocles, Crethon and Orsilochus. Their father lived in well-built Pherae, a man rich in livelihood, and his line came down from the river Alpheus, which flows wide through the land of the Pylians. Alpheus fathered Ortilochus, who ruled over many men, and Ortilochus fathered great-hearted Diocles, and from Diocles came twin sons, Crethon and Orsilochus, both well versed in every kind of fighting.
As soon as they came of age they sailed with the Argives to Ilion, land of fine horses, aboard the black ships, to win honor for the sons of Atreus, Agamemnon and Menelaus — but there death's ending covered them both over.
They were like two lions raised together on a mountain peak, nursed by their mother deep in the thick woods, who go plundering cattle and fat sheep from men's farmsteads until at last they too are killed by men's hands with sharp bronze. Just so these two, brought down by the hands of Aeneas, fell like two tall pines.
Menelaus, dear to Ares, pitied them as they fell, and strode through the front fighters helmeted in gleaming bronze, brandishing his spear, for Ares was driving him on, with this thought in mind — that he too might be brought down by the hands of Aeneas. But Antilochus, great-hearted Nestor's son, saw him go and strode through the front fighters as well, afraid for the shepherd of the people, afraid something might happen to him and undo all their labor.
The two of them, Aeneas and Menelaus, stood facing each other with their hands and their sharp spears, eager to fight, but Antilochus came and took his stand very close beside the shepherd of the people. And Aeneas, quick fighter though he was, did not stay when he saw the two men standing side by side.
So they dragged the bodies back to the Greek ranks, and gave the two unlucky brothers into the arms of their comrades, then turned themselves and went to fight again among the front ranks. There they killed Pylaemenes, a match for Ares, leader of the great-hearted Paphlagonian shieldmen. Menelaus, son of Atreus, famous with the spear, caught him standing still and struck him with his spear at the collarbone. And Antilochus struck down Mydon, his attendant and driver, the noble son of Atymnius, just as he was turning his sure-footed horses around — he hit him square on the elbow with a stone, and the white ivory-trimmed reins fell from his hands into the dust.
Antilochus rushed in and struck him on the temple with his sword, and gasping he tumbled from the well-made car headfirst into the dust, landing on his skull and shoulders. He stayed stuck there a good while, for he happened to land in deep sand, until his own horses kicked him down flat and finished him off in the dust. Antilochus lashed the horses and drove them back to the Greek army.
Hector saw the two brothers fall along the ranks and charged straight at the men with a great cry, and behind him came the strong Trojan ranks. Ares led them on, and lady Enyo beside him, she bringing pitiless Rout of battle, and Ares wielding a monstrous spear in his hands, ranging now in front of Hector, now behind him.
Diomedes of the loud war cry shuddered when he saw him coming. As a man crossing a wide plain with no way to help himself comes to a rushing river that pours down to the sea, sees it seething with foam, and shrinks back — so now Diomedes gave ground, and said to his men:
"Friends, no wonder we marvel at godlike Hector as a spearman and a bold fighter — some god always stands beside him to ward off ruin, and now that god is with him: Ares, in the shape of a mortal man. So keep your faces toward the Trojans, but give ground step by step, and don't strain to fight the gods themselves by force."
So he spoke, and the Trojans came close upon them. There Hector killed two men skilled in battle, riding together in a single chariot, Menesthes and Anchialus.
Great Telamonian Ajax pitied the fallen pair. He came in close, hurled his shining spear, and struck Amphius, son of Selagus, a man rich in flocks and fields who lived in Paesus — but fate had drawn him to fight beside Priam and his sons. Ajax's spear caught him at the war-belt and drove deep into his lower belly; he fell with a crash. Shining Ajax ran up to strip his armor, but the Trojans poured their bright, sharp spears down on him, and his shield caught many of them. Planting his heel on the corpse, he wrenched his bronze spear free, but he could not pull the fine armor from the dead man's shoulders — the missiles pressed too hard on him. He feared the strong ring of proud Trojans standing over the body, so many and so good, spears leveled, who, huge and powerful and splendid as he was, forced him back; he gave ground, shaken.
So they labored on in the grim struggle. Meanwhile mighty fate drove Tlepolemus, tall and strong son of Heracles, against godlike Sarpedon. When they came close, advancing on each other — the son and the grandson of Zeus who gathers the clouds — Tlepolemus spoke first:
"Sarpedon, counselor of the Lycians, what forces you to cower here, a man who knows nothing of war? They lie who call you son of Zeus the aegis-bearer, for you fall far short of the men who were born of Zeus in generations past. What a man they say my father was — mighty Heracles, bold-hearted, lion-souled — who once came here for the horses of Laomedon with only six ships and a handful of men, and sacked the city of Troy and left her streets widowed. But your heart is a coward's, and your people are wasting away. I don't think you'll prove any defense for the Trojans, for all you've come from Lycia, however strong you may be — beaten down by me, you'll pass through the gates of Hades."
Sarpedon, leader of the Lycians, answered him: "Tlepolemus, that man of yours destroyed sacred Troy through the folly of proud Laomedon, who repaid him with harsh words for a good deed, and would not give up the horses he had come so far to win. As for you, I tell you death and black doom will come to you from me here, and beaten down beneath my spear, you'll give me glory, and your soul to Hades, lord of famous horses."
So Sarpedon spoke, and Tlepolemus raised his ash spear. Both men's long spears flew from their hands at once. Sarpedon's caught Tlepolemus square in the neck, and the agonizing point drove clean through; black night closed over his eyes. Tlepolemus's long spear struck Sarpedon's left thigh, and the raging point tore through, grazing the bone — but his father still warded off destruction.
His noble comrades carried godlike Sarpedon out of the fighting, the long spear still dragging in his flesh and weighing him down; in their haste no one thought or noticed to pull the ash spear from his thigh so he could stand — the effort of tending him took all their care.
On the other side, the bronze-greaved Achaeans carried Tlepolemus out of the fighting. Enduring Odysseus noticed, and his heart raged within him. He weighed it in his mind: should he press on after the son of thundering Zeus, or should he instead cut down the lives of the common Lycians? But it was not fate for great-hearted Odysseus to kill the mighty son of Zeus with sharp bronze, so Athena turned his fury toward the mass of the Lycians instead.
There he cut down Coeranus, Alastor, Chromius, Alcander, Halius, Noemon, and Prytanis. Godlike Odysseus would have killed still more Lycians, but great Hector of the flashing helmet saw it quickly. He strode through the front fighters, helmeted in gleaming bronze, bringing terror to the Danaans. Sarpedon, son of Zeus, was glad to see him coming, and spoke to him in a voice of pain:
"Son of Priam, don't leave me lying here as plunder for the Danaans — defend me. Then let my life leave me, even in your city, since I was never going to make it home again, to my own dear land, to bring joy to my beloved wife and my infant son."
So he spoke, but Hector of the flashing helmet made no answer; he rushed past, eager to drive back the Argives as quickly as possible and take the lives of many.
His noble comrades set godlike Sarpedon down beneath the beautiful oak tree of Zeus who bears the aegis, and mighty Pelagon, his dear companion, drew the ash spear out from his thigh. His spirit left him and a mist poured over his eyes; but then he was revived, as a breath of the north wind blew over him and brought back to life the spirit that had been failing him painfully.
Under the pressure of Ares and bronze-armored Hector, the Argives were never driven all the way back to their black ships, nor did they ever stand and match them in battle — they kept giving ground, once they learned Ares was fighting on the Trojan side.
Who then was first, who last, that Hector, son of Priam, and bronze Ares struck down? Godlike Teuthras, then horse-driving Orestes, Trechus the spearman from Aetolia, and Oenomaus, Helenus son of Oenops, and Oresbius of the flashing war-belt, who lived in Hyle, devoted to great wealth, close by Lake Cephisis, where the rest of the Boeotians dwelled, holding rich farmland.
When white-armed Hera the goddess saw the Argives being slaughtered in the fierce fighting, she at once spoke winged words to Athena:
"Shame on us, child of Zeus the aegis-bearer, tireless one — the promise we made Menelaus, that he'd go home after sacking well-walled Troy, will come to nothing, if we're going to let destructive Ares rage on like this. Come, let the two of us think of our own furious strength."
So she spoke, and grey-eyed Athena did not disobey. Hera, the venerable goddess, daughter of great Cronus, went herself and harnessed the gold-browed horses, while Hebe quickly fitted the curved wheels to the chariot, bronze, eight-spoked, on their iron axle. Their rims were golden, imperishable, and over them bronze tires were fitted, a wonder to see; the hubs on both sides were silver, running smoothly. The chariot's platform was strung with gold and silver cords, and it had a double rail running around it. From it stretched a silver pole, and at its tip Hera bound a fine golden yoke, and cast on it the fine golden breast-straps. Then she led the swift-footed horses under the yoke, eager for battle-strife and the war-cry.
Meanwhile Athena, daughter of Zeus who bears the aegis, let fall on her father's floor her soft, embroidered robe, which she herself had made and worked with her own hands, and put on the tunic of Zeus who gathers the clouds, and armed herself for tearful war. Around her shoulders she threw the fringed aegis, a terrible thing crowned all around with Panic; on it were Strife, and Strength, and chilling Pursuit, and the head of the dread Gorgon, a fearsome, terrible monster, the sign of Zeus who bears the aegis. On her head she set a golden helmet with two ridges and four crests, fitted for the footsoldiers of a hundred cities. She stepped onto the blazing chariot and took up her spear, heavy, huge, and solid, with which she beats down the ranks of warriors, of any men against whom the daughter of the mighty father turns her anger.
Hera quickly touched the horses with her whip, and the gates of heaven groaned open on their own — the gates the Hours guard, to whom is entrusted the great sky and Olympus, to open the dense cloud or close it again. Through these they drove their goad-driven horses. They found the son of Cronus sitting apart from the other gods, on the topmost peak of many-ridged Olympus. There white-armed Hera stopped the horses and questioned Zeus, highest son of Cronus, and said:
"Father Zeus, does it not anger you to see these violent deeds of Ares — how many and what fine warriors of the Achaeans he has destroyed, for no reason, against all order? It grieves me, while Aphrodite and Apollo of the silver bow sit at ease enjoying it, having let loose this madman who knows no law at all. Father Zeus, will you be angry with me if I strike Ares hard and drive him out of the battle?"
Zeus who gathers the clouds answered her: "Go on, then — set the war-driver Athena on him; she is the one most used to bringing him face to face with bitter pain."
So he spoke, and white-armed Hera did not disobey. She whipped the horses onward, and they flew willingly between the earth and the starry sky. As far as a man sitting on a lookout post can see into the hazy distance, gazing out over the wine-dark sea, so far in a single bound do the high-stepping horses of the gods leap.
When they reached Troy and the two flowing rivers, where the streams of Simois and Scamander join, white-armed Hera stopped the horses, freed them from the chariot, and poured thick mist around them; and Simois grew ambrosia there for them to graze on.
The two goddesses went on with steps like timid doves, eager to defend the Argive men. And when they reached the place where the greatest and best men stood clustered around mighty Diomedes, tamer of horses, packed together like raw-eating lions or wild boars, whose strength is nothing weak, there white-armed Hera stopped and called out, taking the shape of great-hearted, bronze-voiced Stentor, whose shout was as loud as fifty other men's together:
"Shame, you Argives — disgraceful cowards, splendid only to look at! As long as godlike Achilles used to come out to battle, the Trojans never even ventured beyond the Dardanian gates, so afraid were they of his mighty spear. Now they are fighting far from their city, at your hollow ships."
With these words she stirred up the strength and spirit of every man. Meanwhile grey-eyed Athena rushed to the son of Tydeus, and found their lord beside his horses and chariot, cooling the wound Pandarus had given him with an arrow. Sweat was chafing him under the broad strap of his round shield; it wore on him, his arm was aching, and holding up the strap he was wiping away the dark clotted blood.
The goddess laid her hand on the horses' yoke and spoke: "Tydeus fathered a son little like himself. Tydeus was small in body, but a fighter. Even when I tried to hold him back from fighting, from charging out, that time he went as a messenger alone among the many Cadmeans to Thebes, and I told him to feast quietly in their halls, he kept the same fierce spirit he always had and challenged the young Cadmean men to contests, and beat them all easily — that's how much I stood beside him and helped him. But you — here I stand beside you and watch over you, and I urge you eagerly to fight the Trojans, yet either exhausting weariness has crept into your limbs, or some spiritless fear grips you. If so, you are no true offspring of Tydeus, wise Oeneus's son."
Strong Diomedes answered her: "I know you, goddess, daughter of Zeus who bears the aegis — so I will speak my mind to you frankly and hide nothing. No spiritless fear grips me, no hesitation, but I still remember the order you gave me: you told me not to fight the other blessed gods face to face, except that if Zeus's daughter Aphrodite should come into the battle, her alone I might wound with the sharp bronze. That's why I am now falling back myself, and why I told the other Argives to gather here together — because I recognize Ares, lording it over the battlefield."
Then grey-eyed Athena answered him: "Diomedes, son of Tydeus, dear to my heart, do not fear Ares for this, nor any other immortal — that is how strongly I stand behind you. Come, drive your single-hoofed horses straight at Ares first; strike him at close range, and don't hold back from raging Ares, that madman, that crafted evil, that two-faced thing, who not long ago promised me and Hera he would fight against the Trojans and help the Argives — and now he keeps company with the Trojans and has forgotten all that."
With these words she pulled Sthenelus back and pushed him down from the chariot, and he leapt down at once, and the goddess, eager for battle, mounted the car beside godlike Diomedes. The oaken axle groaned loudly under the weight, for it carried a dread goddess and the best of men. Pallas Athena took up the whip and reins, and drove the single-hoofed horses straight at Ares first.
Ares was at that moment stripping the armor of gigantic Periphas, by far the best of the Aetolians, splendid son of Ochesius; blood-stained Ares was killing and despoiling him, while Athena put on the helmet of Hades so that mighty Ares would not see her.
When man-killing Ares caught sight of godlike Diomedes, he left gigantic Periphas lying just where he had first taken his life, and went straight for Diomedes, tamer of horses.
As they came near each other, advancing on one another, Ares struck first, reaching over the yoke and the horses' reins with his bronze spear, eager to take Diomedes's life; but grey-eyed Athena caught it in her hand and shoved it aside, so it flew past the chariot in vain.
Next Diomedes, good at the war cry, thrust with his bronze spear, and Pallas Athena drove it home into Ares's lower flank, where his war-belt was fastened; there she struck and tore his handsome flesh, then wrenched the spear back out. And bronze Ares bellowed as loud as nine thousand or ten thousand men shout in war when they join in the strife of Ares — and both Achaeans and Trojans were seized with trembling fear, so loud did Ares roar, that insatiable warrior.
As a dark haze appears out of the clouds after a scorching wind has been blowing, so bronze Ares appeared to Diomedes, son of Tydeus, rising with the clouds into the wide sky.
Quickly he reached steep Olympus, the home of the gods, and sat down beside Zeus, son of Cronus, his heart grieving, and showed him the immortal blood flowing from his wound, and spoke to him in a voice of complaint, winged words:
"Father Zeus, does it not anger you to see these violent deeds? We gods are always suffering the worst pains at each other's hands, whenever we do favors for mortal men. We all quarrel with you over it — you're the one who fathered that reckless, destructive girl, who's always bent on wicked deeds. All the rest of us, every god on Olympus, obeys you, and each of us submits — but her you never check, in word or deed. You simply let her go, since you yourself fathered this destructive child. It's she who has now driven on Diomedes, Tydeus's insolent son, to rage against the immortal gods. First he went for Aphrodite, wounding her hand near the wrist, then he came at me myself, matched against a god. Only my swift feet carried me away, or I would have suffered agony for a long time there among the grim heaps of the dead, or else lived on helpless from the blows of bronze."
Zeus who gathers the clouds looked at him darkly and said: "Don't sit here beside me whining, you two-faced thing. You are the most hateful to me of all the gods who hold Olympus; strife is always dear to you, and wars, and battles. You have your mother Hera's temper, unmanageable, never yielding — and it is all I can do to keep her in check with words. So I think it is at her urging that you suffer this. But still, I will not go on much longer letting you suffer, for you are my own blood, and your mother bore you to me. If you had been born this destructive to any other god, you would long ago have been thrust down below the sons of Uranus."
So he spoke, and ordered Paeon to heal him. And Paeon spread pain-killing medicines over the wound...
...and healed him, for he was made of no mortal stuff.
As when fig-juice, stirred quickly into white milk, curdles it though it was liquid, and it thickens fast beneath the hand that turns it, so swiftly did the god heal furious Ares.
Hebe bathed him and dressed him in fine clothing, and he sat down beside Zeus, son of Cronus, glorying in his splendor.
And Argive Hera and Alalcomenean Athena went back to the great house of Zeus, their work done: they had stopped Ares, killer of men, from his slaughter.