Homer · a new plain-English translation from the Greek
Dawn spread her saffron robe over all the earth, and Zeus who delights in thunder called the gods to assembly on the highest peak of many-ridged Olympus. He himself spoke to them, and all the gods listened.
"Hear me, every god and every goddess, while I speak what my heart within my breast commands. Let no goddess, and no god either, try to cut across this word of mine — all of you agree to it together, so that I may bring these matters to their end as quickly as possible. Whichever one I catch trying to go off apart from the gods,
meaning to help either the Trojans or the Danaans, that one will come back to Olympus beaten in a way that brings no honor. Or I will seize him and hurl him down into misty Tartarus, far, far away, where the deepest pit lies beneath the earth, where the gates are iron and the threshold bronze, as far below Hades as the sky is above the earth — then he will learn how far I am the strongest of all the gods. Come, test me if you like, gods, so you may all know for certain: hang a golden rope down from the sky, and all of you, every god and every goddess, take hold of it and pull.
You could not drag Zeus, the highest counselor, down from the sky to the plain, no matter how hard you strained. But whenever I truly wished to pull with all my strength, I could haul you up, earth and sea together, and then I would tie that rope around a peak of Olympus and leave the whole world dangling in the air. That is how far I surpass gods and men alike." So he spoke, and all of them fell silent, struck dumb, amazed at his words — for he had spoken with tremendous force. At last the bright-eyed goddess Athena spoke up.
"Father, son of Cronus, highest of all rulers, we too know well that your strength cannot be resisted. Yet even so we grieve for the Danaan spearmen, who are doomed to fill out a wretched fate and perish. We will hold back from the fighting, as you command — but let us at least offer the Argives one piece of counsel that will help them, so that not all of them die from your anger." Zeus who gathers the clouds smiled at her and answered.
"Courage, Athena, dear child. I do not speak this with any real hostility in my heart — I mean to be gentle with you."
With these words he yoked his two bronze-hoofed horses beneath his chariot, swift-flying horses with flowing golden manes. He himself put on gold about his body, took up his well-made golden whip, and mounted his chariot. He struck the horses to drive them, and they flew on eagerly, neither unwilling, midway between the earth and the starry sky. He came to Ida, rich in springs and mother of wild beasts, to Gargaron, where his sacred ground and smoking altar stand. There the father of gods and men reined in the horses, unyoked them, and poured thick mist around them.
He himself sat down on the peaks, glorying in his splendor, gazing out over the city of the Trojans and the ships of the Achaeans. Meanwhile the long-haired Achaeans took their meal quickly at their huts and armed themselves straight afterward. On the other side, in the city, the Trojans armed too — fewer in number, but eager even so to meet the battle's test, driven by necessity, fighting for their children and their wives. Every gate swung open, and the whole host poured out, foot soldiers and chariot-fighters, and a great roar rose up. When the two sides came together, meeting in a single space,
shield crashed on shield, and spears and the fury of men in bronze armor met as one; the bossed shields ground against each other, and a huge roar went up. Then there was at once the groaning and the boasting of men, of those killing and those being killed, and the earth ran with blood. As long as it was morning and the sacred daylight kept growing, the missiles of both sides found their mark and the men kept falling. But when the sun stood astride the middle of the sky, then the father took out his golden scales,
and in them he placed two fates of grinding death, one for the horse-taming Trojans, one for the bronze-armored Achaeans; he took the balance by the middle and lifted it, and the day of doom for the Achaeans sank down. The Achaean fates settled on the nourishing earth, while the Trojan fates rose toward the wide sky. Then Zeus himself thundered a great crash from Ida and sent a blazing bolt of lightning down among the Achaean host — and at the sight of it they were struck with awe, and pale terror gripped them all. Then neither Idomeneus dared to hold his ground, nor Agamemnon, nor did the two Ajaxes stand firm, attendants of Ares that they were. Only Nestor, guardian of the Achaeans, stood his ground —
not by choice, but because his horse was in trouble, wounded by an arrow that godlike Paris, husband of lovely-haired Helen, had shot straight into the crown of its head, where the first hairs grow out from a horse's skull, and where the wound is most fatal. Stung with pain, the horse reared up as the arrow sank into its brain, and it threw the other horses into confusion, thrashing about the chariot pole. While the old man was cutting the trace-horse free with his sword, rushing to do it, Hector's swift horses came bearing their bold driver, Hector himself, straight through the chaos of battle — and the old man would have lost his life there and then,
had not Diomedes, good at the war cry, been quick to see it. He gave a terrible shout, urging Odysseus on: "Son of Laertes, seed of Zeus, resourceful Odysseus, where are you running, turning your back like a coward in the crowd? Watch that no one plants a spear between your shoulders as you flee! Stay, so that we can drive this savage man away from the old man." So he called, but long-suffering, godlike Odysseus did not hear him, and rushed on past toward the hollow Achaean ships. But the son of Tydeus, alone as he was, plunged in among the front fighters and took his stand before the horses of the old man, son of Neleus,
and spoke winged words to him. "Old man, truly the young warriors wear you down badly. Your strength has failed you, harsh old age weighs on you, your attendant is feeble, and your horses are slow. Come, mount my chariot, so you can see what the horses of Tros are like — how skilled they are at racing this way and that across the plain, whether chasing or fleeing. I took them from Aeneas, that master of terror. Let our attendants look after these two horses of yours, while these two of mine carry us straight at the horse-taming Trojans, so that Hector too
will learn whether even my spear rages madly in my hands." So he spoke, and the Gerenian horseman Nestor did not refuse. Then his own horses were taken in hand by his attendants, mighty Sthenelus and noble Eurymedon, while the two old warriors both climbed up into Diomedes's chariot. Nestor took the shining reins into his hands and lashed the horses on, and quickly they drew near to Hector. As Hector charged straight at them, the son of Tydeus let fly his spear, and missed him — but struck his driver instead, the attendant holding the reins,
Eniopeus, brave-hearted son of Thebaeus, right in the chest beside the nipple as he held the horses' reins. He toppled from the chariot, and the swift-footed horses shied back, and there his life and strength were undone. Bitter grief for his driver clouded Hector's heart, but though he mourned for his companion, he left him lying there and went after another bold charioteer — nor did his horses go long without a master, for at once he found Archeptolemus, bold son of Iphitus, and set him on the swift-footed horses, and put the reins into his hands.
Then ruin would have come and unmanageable things would have happened, and the Trojans might have been penned up inside Ilion like sheep, had not the father of gods and men been quick to see it. With a terrible crash he let loose a bolt of blazing lightning and drove it into the ground right in front of Diomedes's horses. A fearful flame rose up from the burning sulfur, and the two horses, terrified, cowered back beneath the chariot. The shining reins slipped from Nestor's hands, and fear seized his heart, and he spoke to Diomedes.
"Son of Tydeus, come now, turn the sure-footed horses toward flight. Don't you see that strength from Zeus does not follow you? Today, at least, the son of Cronus grants glory to that man — later he will grant it to us too, if he wishes. No man, however strong, can turn aside the will of Zeus, since he is by far the mightier." Diomedes, good at the war cry, answered him.
"Yes, old man, all that you have said is entirely fitting. But this is the bitter grief that reaches my heart and spirit: someday Hector will say, speaking among the Trojans, 'The son of Tydeus fled before me, back to the ships.' That's how he'll boast one day — and when he does, may the wide earth open and swallow me." Then the Gerenian horseman Nestor answered him.
"Ah, son of brave Tydeus, what a thing you've said! Even if Hector should call you a coward and no fighter, the Trojans will not believe him, nor will the Dardanians, nor the wives of the great-hearted, shield-bearing Trojans, whose vigorous husbands you have laid in the dust." With these words he wheeled the sure-footed horses back into flight, back through the chaos of battle, while the Trojans and Hector, with a tremendous roar, poured their groan-bringing missiles after them. Great Hector of the flashing helmet shouted a great cry after them.
"Son of Tydeus, the swift-horsed Danaans used to honor you above others, with the best seat and the choicest meat and full cups of wine — now they will scorn you. You've turned out no better than a woman! Go on, crawl away, worthless puppet — you will never climb our walls while I stand against you, never lead our women off in your ships. I'll give you death first!" So he spoke, and the son of Tydeus wavered, torn two ways, whether to wheel his horses around and fight him face to face.
Three times he weighed it in his heart and mind, and three times wise Zeus thundered down from the mountains of Ida,
giving the Trojans a sign, that the tide of battle would turn in their favor. And Hector called out to his Trojans in a great voice: "Trojans, Lycians, and Dardanians who fight hand to hand — be men, my friends, remember your furious courage! I know that the son of Cronus has nodded his favor to me, granting me victory and great glory, and ruin for the Danaans — fools, to build these flimsy walls, worth nothing, that will never hold back our strength. Our horses will leap easily over the ditch they dug.
But once I reach their curved ships, let someone remember to bring me blazing fire, so I can set the ships ablaze and cut down the Argives themselves beside their vessels, choking in the smoke." So he spoke, and called out to his horses.
"Xanthus, and you, Podargus, and Aithon, and noble Lampus — now repay me the care Andromache, daughter of great-hearted Eetion, gave you, when she used to set out honey-sweet grain for you before all others, and mixed wine for you to drink whenever the mood took you, before she ever thought of me, though I claim to be her strong husband.
Press on now, hurry, so that we may seize Nestor's shield, whose fame reaches the sky, said to be solid gold, both the rim and the shield itself, and strip from the shoulders of horse-taming Diomedes his cunningly wrought breastplate, which Hephaestus himself labored to make. If we could take these two things, I would have real hope of driving the Achaeans onto their swift ships this very night." So he spoke, boasting — and this angered queenly Hera,
who shook on her throne so that great Olympus trembled, and she spoke straight to the mighty god Poseidon.
"Ah, shame on you, wide-ruling shaker of the earth — even you feel no pity in your heart for the Danaans as they perish. Yet they bring you many splendid gifts at Helice and at Aegae — you ought to wish them victory. If all of us who favor the Danaans wanted to, we could drive the Trojans back and hold wide-thundering Zeus in check, and leave him sitting there on Ida, alone, nursing his anger." Deeply troubled, the lord who shakes the earth answered her.
"Hera, reckless in speech, what a thing you have said! I for one would not want the rest of us to fight against Zeus, son of Cronus,
since he is far too powerful." So the two of them talked together in this way. Meanwhile the whole space stretching from the ships up to the wall, hemmed in by the ditch, was packed with horses and shield-bearing men, crowded together — pressed in by Hector, son of Priam, a match for swift Ares, now that Zeus had granted him glory.
And he would have set the trim ships ablaze with consuming fire, had not queenly Hera put it into Agamemnon's mind to rouse the Achaeans himself, hurrying swiftly among them. He strode off along the huts and ships of the Achaeans,
holding a great purple cloak in his powerful hand, and took his stand on Odysseus's huge black ship, which lay in the middle, so that a shout from there could carry to both ends — to the huts of Ajax, son of Telamon, on one side, and to those of Achilles on the other, since these two, trusting their courage and the strength of their arms, had drawn their trim ships up at the furthest edges. He shouted out, his voice carrying far to the Danaans.
"Shame on you, Argives, disgraceful cowards, fine to look at and nothing more! Where have your boasts gone, when we used to claim we were the best — those boasts you flung around so emptily on Lemnos,
eating great quantities of beef from straight-horned cattle, drinking bowls brimming with wine, boasting that each one of you would stand up against a hundred or two hundred Trojans in battle? Now we're not worth one — not even Hector, who will soon set our ships ablaze with consuming fire. Father Zeus, was there ever before a mighty king you struck down with such utter ruin, and stripped him of so much glory? Yet I say that I never once passed by your beautiful altar in my benched ship on this miserable voyage, without burning the fat and thighbones of oxen on every one of them,
so eager was I to raze well-walled Troy. But Zeus, grant me at least this one prayer: let us at least escape and get away safely, and do not let the Achaeans be beaten down so completely by the Trojans." So he spoke, and the father pitied him as he wept, and nodded that his people would be kept safe and not destroyed. At once he sent an eagle, most reliable of all birds, holding in its claws a fawn, the young of a swift deer; it dropped the fawn beside the beautiful altar of Zeus, where the Achaeans used to offer sacrifice to Zeus who speaks through every sign.
When the men saw that the bird had come from Zeus, they threw themselves at the Trojans with fresh force and remembered their fighting spirit. Then, though there were many Danaans, no man could claim to have driven his swift horses across the ditch and closed with the enemy face to face before the son of Tydeus did — far ahead of all the rest he brought down a helmeted Trojan warrior, Agelaus, son of Phradmon. As the man wheeled his horses around to flee, Diomedes drove his spear into his back, between the shoulders, as he turned, and drove it clean through his chest.
He toppled from his chariot, and his armor clattered on him as he fell.
After him came the sons of Atreus, Agamemnon and Menelaus, and after them the two Ajaxes, clothed in furious courage, and after them Idomeneus and Idomeneus's companion, Meriones, a match for man-slaying Ares, and after them Eurypylus, splendid son of Euaemon. Ninth came Teucer, stringing his curved bow, and took his stand behind the shield of Ajax, son of Telamon. There Ajax would lift the shield aside a little, and the hero would peer out, and whenever he had shot someone in the crowd and struck him down,
the man would fall on the spot and lose his life, while Teucer
would slip back like a child behind its mother, back behind Ajax, who would hide him again behind his shining shield. Who was the first Trojan noble Teucer killed there? Orsilochus first, and Ormenus, and Ophelestes,
Daetor, and Chromius, and godlike Lycophontes, and Amopaon, son of Polyaemon, and Melanippus — one after another he laid them all low on the nourishing earth. Seeing him, Agamemnon, lord of men, rejoiced, watching him wreck the Trojan ranks with his powerful bow, and came and stood beside him and spoke to him.
"Teucer, dear friend, son of Telamon, leader of men, keep shooting like this — you may yet become a light for the Danaans, and for your father Telamon, who raised you when you were small and cared for you in his own house, though you were born outside marriage. Bring him glory now, even far away as he is. And I will tell you this, and it will be done:
if Zeus who bears the aegis and Athena grant that I raze the well-built citadel of Ilion, I will place the next prize of honor into your hands after my own — a tripod, or two horses with their chariot,
or a woman, to share your bed." Noble Teucer answered him in turn.
"Most honored son of Atreus, why urge me on when I am already eager myself? As long as I have strength in me I will not stop — from the moment we drove them back toward Ilion, I have been waiting with my bow and cutting men down. I have already let fly eight long-barbed arrows,
and every one has lodged in the flesh of some quick young fighter — but this mad dog here I cannot hit." So saying, he sent yet another arrow flying from the bowstring,
"Teucer, dear friend, son of Telamon, captain of men, shoot like that! You may yet be a light for the Danaans, and for your father Telamon too, who raised you from a small boy and looked after you in his own house, though you were born to him outside the marriage bed. Bring him glory now, far off as he is. And I will tell you plainly how it will be done. If Zeus who bears the storm-shield and Athena grant me to sack the well-built citadel of Troy, the first prize of honor I put into your hand, after my own, will be a tripod, or two horses with their chariot, or a woman who will climb into bed beside you."
Answering him, blameless Teucer said: "Great son of Atreus, why do you urge me on when I am already eager? I am not slacking off, not as far as my strength allows. From the moment we drove them back toward Troy, I have been waiting with my bow and cutting men down. Eight long-barbed arrows I have already loosed, and every one has stuck in the flesh of some quick young fighter. But this mad dog here I cannot hit." So saying he sent another arrow from the string, straight at Hector, his heart set on striking him, but he missed his man, and instead the arrow struck noble Gorgythion in the chest, Priam's own son, whom his mother had borne after her marriage brought her from Aesyme — lovely Castianeira, built like a goddess. As a poppy droops its head to one side, heavy with seed and the rains of spring, so his head fell sideways, weighed down by his helmet.
Teucer sent another arrow from the string, straight at Hector again, his heart set on striking him, but he missed once more — Apollo turned the shot aside — and instead it struck bold Archeptolemus, Hector's charioteer, as he drove eagerly into the fighting; it caught him in the chest beside the nipple. He toppled from the car, and his fast-footed horses shied back, and there his life and strength dissolved. Grief for his driver clouded Hector's heart like a dark mist, but he let him lie, sorry as he was for his companion, and called to Cebriones, his brother who was near at hand, to take the horses' reins — and Cebriones, hearing him, obeyed at once. Hector himself leaped down from the gleaming chariot to the ground with a terrible shout, snatched up a stone in his hand, and went straight for Teucer, his heart driving him to strike. Teucer had just pulled a bitter arrow from his quiver and set it on the string, when Hector, with his helmet flashing, struck him as he drew back the bow, right at the shoulder where the collarbone divides neck from chest — the deadliest spot — and the jagged stone caught him just as he strained to shoot. It snapped his bowstring, numbed his hand at the wrist, and he dropped to his knees where he stood, the bow falling from his fingers. Ajax did not forget his brother when he saw him fall.
He ran and stood over him, shielding him with his great shield. Then two loyal companions, Mecisteus son of Echius and godlike Alastor, stooped and lifted him, and carried him groaning heavily back to the hollow ships. And now the Olympian roused fresh fury in the Trojans once more, and they drove the Achaeans straight back to the deep trench. Hector went among the foremost, glorying in his strength. As a hound harries a wild boar or a lion from behind with quick feet, snapping at its haunches and hindquarters, watching for it to turn — so Hector harried the long-haired Achaeans, always cutting down the last man, and they fled before him. When they had crossed the stakes and the trench in their flight, and many had gone down under Trojan hands, the rest held their ground and rallied by the ships, calling to one another, and every man lifted his hands and prayed loudly to every god there was. And Hector wheeled his fine-maned horses this way and that, his eyes like the Gorgon's, like Ares the bane of men. White-armed Hera, the goddess, watched them and pitied them.
At once she spoke winged words to Athena: "Oh, this is shameful, daughter of Zeus who bears the storm-shield! Are we really going to let the Danaans die, now, at the very end, when they've come to this? They will fill up their share of misery and be destroyed by the rush of one man alone, who rages now beyond all bearing — Hector, son of Priam. He has already done more than enough harm."
The goddess grey-eyed Athena answered her: "Yes — and I wish his strength and his life would be lost just that way, cut down by Argive hands in his own fatherland. But my father is raging with a mind gone bad,
stubborn, always wrong, standing in the way of everything I mean to do. He remembers nothing of how often I saved his own son when he was worn down by the labors Eurystheus set him. He would cry out to the sky, and Zeus would send me down from heaven to stand by him. If only I had known this back then, in my own clever mind, when he sent Heracles down through the tight gates of Hades to fetch the hound of loathed Hades up out of Erebus — he would never have escaped the steep waters of the Styx. But now Zeus hates me, and he has gone and done what Thetis wanted,
she who kissed his knees and took hold of his chin, begging him to honor Achilles, sacker of cities. Well — there will come a time again when he calls me his own grey-eyed darling. But for now, harness our single-hoofed horses for us, while I go into the house of Zeus who bears the storm-shield and arm myself for war, so we can see whether Hector, Priam's son, with his flashing helmet, will be glad to see the two of us appear along the causeways of battle, or whether some Trojan, instead, will glut the dogs and birds with his fat and flesh, fallen by the ships of the Achaeans."
So she spoke, and white-armed Hera did not refuse her. She went and harnessed the gold-bridled horses, Hera, the queenly goddess, daughter of great Cronus, while Athena, daughter of Zeus who bears the storm-shield, let fall onto her father's threshold the soft robe she had made and worked with her own hands, and put on instead the tunic of cloud-gathering Zeus, and armed herself for tearful war. She stepped up into the flaming chariot and took hold of her spear — heavy, huge, and solid, with which she beats down the ranks of warriors
whom she, daughter of a mighty father, holds in anger. And Hera swiftly touched the horses with her whip, and the gates of heaven groaned open on their own — the gates the Hours keep, to whom is entrusted great heaven and Olympus, whether to roll back the thick cloud or shut it in place. Through these the goddesses drove their goaded horses. But Father Zeus, watching from Ida, was seized with terrible anger, and sent gold-winged Iris to carry his message: "Go, swift Iris, turn them back, don't let them come further — this meeting of ours will not end well.
Here is exactly how it will go, and it will be carried out. I will cripple their swift horses under the yoke, throw the two of them from the chariot, and smash the car itself. Not in ten full turning years will they heal the wounds my lightning bolt will leave on them — so that the grey-eyed one will learn what it means to fight her own father. Hera I hold no such grudge against, no such anger; she is always contrary, whatever I decide." So he spoke, and storm-footed Iris rose up to carry the message, and went from the mountains of Ida to tall Olympus.
At the outermost gates of many-folded Olympus she met them and held them back, and told them the word of Zeus: "Where are you two rushing? What madness has seized your hearts? The son of Cronus forbids you to help the Argives. This is his threat, and he will carry it out: he will cripple your swift horses under the yoke, throw the two of you from the chariot, and smash the car itself. Not in ten full turning years will you heal the wounds his lightning bolt will leave on you — so that you, grey-eyed one, will learn what it means to fight your own father.
As for Hera, he holds no such grudge, no such anger — she is always contrary, whatever he decides. But you, you dreadful thing, you shameless bitch, if you really dare to raise that monstrous spear against Zeus himself—" So speaking, swift-footed Iris went away, and Hera then spoke to Athena: "Oh, this is shameful, daughter of Zeus who bears the storm-shield! I for one will no longer let the two of us fight Zeus for the sake of mortal men. Let them die or live as fate allows, whoever draws the lot, while he, sitting there working out in his own mind whatever he pleases,
decides between the Trojans and the Danaans, as is only right." So she spoke, and turned the single-hoofed horses back around. The Hours unyoked the fine-maned horses for them, tethered them at their ambrosial mangers, and tipped the chariot back against the shining inner wall. The two goddesses themselves sat down on golden couches among the other gods, their hearts heavy within them. Meanwhile Father Zeus drove his smooth-wheeled chariot and horses from Ida up to Olympus and came to the seats of the gods. The famous Earthshaker unyoked his horses
and set the chariot on its stand, spreading a cloth over it. And far-seeing Zeus himself sat down on his golden throne, and beneath his feet great Olympus shook. Athena and Hera sat apart from him, off by themselves, saying nothing to him, asking him nothing. But he understood in his own heart, and spoke: "Why are you two sulking like this, Athena, Hera? Surely you didn't tire yourselves out in the glorious fighting, killing Trojans, whom you hate so bitterly. Whatever the case — such is my strength, such my unstoppable hands,
that not all the gods on Olympus together could turn me aside. As for you two — trembling seized your shining limbs even before you saw the fighting and its grim work. And I tell you plainly, and it would have been carried out: struck by my lightning, you would never have made it back to Olympus in your own chariot, to where the gods have their seats." So he spoke, and Athena and Hera muttered under their breath, sitting close together, plotting harm for the Trojans. Athena stayed silent and said nothing,
sulking at her father Zeus, wild anger gripping her. But Hera's chest could not contain her fury, and she burst out: "Terrible son of Cronus, what is this you are saying? We know very well that your strength is not to be trifled with. All the same, we grieve for the Danaan spearmen, who are going to fill out their doom in misery and die. Very well then — we will hold ourselves back from the fighting, since you order it. But let us suggest some plan to the Argives that will do them good, so they don't all perish under your anger." Cloud-gathering Zeus answered her:
"Tomorrow, ox-eyed lady Hera, if you care to watch, you will see the mighty son of Cronus destroying still more of the Argive spearmen's great army. Furious Hector will not draw back from the fighting until the swift son of Peleus rises up beside the ships, on the day they fight over the sterns in the tightest, grimmest press, around the body of Patroclus once he's dead. So it is fated. And I care nothing for your anger, not even if you should travel to the farthest bounds of earth and sea, where Iapetus and Cronus sit,
finding no joy in the rays of Hyperion the sun, nor in the winds, with deep Tartarus all around them. Not even if you wandered off to there would I care about your endless sulking — there is nothing more shameless than you." So he spoke, and white-armed Hera answered him nothing. And now the sun's bright light sank into Ocean, dragging black night behind it over the grain-giving earth. The Trojans were sorry to see the light go, but for the Achaeans the dark night came as a welcome, prayed-for thing. Then glorious Hector called a Trojan assembly,
leading them apart from the ships to a clear space by the swirling river, where the ground showed bare of the dead. They climbed down from their chariots to hear him speak, and Hector, dear to Zeus, addressed them, holding in his hand an eleven-cubit spear, its bronze point gleaming ahead of him, ringed with a golden collar. Leaning on this, he spoke among the Trojans: "Hear me, Trojans, Dardanians, and allies! Just now I thought I would destroy the ships and every last Achaean before returning home to windy Troy. But darkness came first, and it is darkness, more than anything else, that has saved
the Argives now and their ships drawn up on the shore. Well then — for tonight let us give way to the black night and get our supper ready. Unyoke your fine-maned horses from the chariots and throw down fodder before them. Bring cattle and fat sheep quickly from the city, fetch sweet wine and bread from your own halls, and gather plenty of firewood, so that all night long, until the early-born dawn, we can burn many fires, their glow reaching up to the sky — so that the long-haired Achaeans won't try, in the dark,
to slip away over the broad back of the sea. Let none of them climb aboard ship easily and at their leisure — let every man carry home a wound to nurse, hit by an arrow or a sharp spear as he jumps for the rail, so that others will dread bringing tearful war against the horse-taming Trojans. And let the heralds, dear to Zeus, announce through the city that the boys just coming into their strength and the grey-templed old men should take their posts around the city on the god-built walls, and that the women, each one in her own house,
should keep a great fire burning. And let a steady watch be kept, so no ambush slips into the city while the fighting men are away. Let it be exactly as I say, great-hearted Trojans. As for the plan that is sound advice now, let it stand; and what I have more to say I will say tomorrow to the horse-taming Trojans. I hope, praying to Zeus and the other gods, to drive out from here these death-doomed dogs the fates are carrying off in their black ships. But tonight let us keep watch over ourselves, and in the morning, armed at dawn in full gear,
let us wake sharp war beside the hollow ships. I will find out whether mighty Diomedes, son of Tydeus, drives me back from the ships to the wall, or whether I cut him down with bronze and carry off his bloody spoils. Tomorrow he will learn his own worth, whether he can stand against my spear when it comes at him. No — I think he will lie among the first to fall, wounded, with many of his comrades around him, when the sun rises tomorrow. I wish I were as sure of being immortal and ageless all my days, honored just as Athena and Apollo are honored,
as I am sure that this coming day will bring disaster on the Argives." So Hector spoke, and the Trojans roared their approval. They unyoked their sweating horses from under the yoke and tethered them each beside his own chariot with leather straps. They brought cattle and fat sheep quickly from the city, fetched sweet wine and bread from their own halls, and gathered plenty of firewood. The savor of roasting meat drifted up from the plain into the sky on the wind. And they, full of high spirits, sat all night long along the causeways of war, and many fires burned around them.
As when in the sky the stars around the bright moon shine out clear, when the air falls windless, and every peak and headland and mountain glen stands out, and the boundless sky breaks open from above, and every star is visible, and the shepherd's heart is glad — so many were the fires that shone between the ships and the streams of the Xanthus, lit by the Trojans in front of Troy. A thousand fires were burning on the plain, and beside each one sat fifty men in the glow of the blazing fire. And the horses, champing white barley and oats, stood beside their chariots and waited for the fair-throned Dawn.