Homer · a new plain-English translation from the Greek
Dawn rose from her bed beside noble Tithonus, to bring light to the immortals and to mortal men, and Zeus sent harsh Strife toward the swift ships of the Achaeans, carrying in her hands the sign of war. She took her stand on Odysseus's black ship, huge-bellied, which lay in the middle of the line so her voice could reach both ends, to Ajax son of Telamon's huts on one side and to Achilles's on the other — for these two had drawn their trim ships up at the farthest points, trusting their courage and the strength of their arms. There she stood and cried out, terrible and loud,
a high shrill cry, and she flung great strength into the heart of every Achaean, to fight without ceasing, without end. At once war grew sweeter to them than sailing home in their hollow ships to their own dear land.
Agamemnon shouted and ordered the Argives to arm, and he himself put on the gleaming bronze. First he strapped the greaves around his shins, fine ones, fitted with silver ankle-clasps. Next he pulled the corselet over his chest, the one Cinyras had once given him as a guest-gift.
For word had reached Cyprus, the great rumor, that the Achaeans meant to sail against Troy, and so Cinyras gave it to him, currying favor with the king. It had ten bands of dark blue enamel, twelve of gold, and twenty of tin, and dark blue serpents reared up toward the neck, three on each side, like the rainbows the son of Cronos sets in the clouds as a sign to mortal men. Across his shoulders he slung the sword, its golden studs flashing, and the scabbard around it
was silver, fitted with golden hangers. Then he took up the great shield that covered a man from head to foot, richly worked, a fine and terrible thing, with ten circles of bronze running round it, and twenty bosses of pale tin set upon it, and in the very center one of dark blue enamel. On it, crowning it all, was the grim-eyed Gorgon glaring her terrible glare, and Fear and Panic flanked her on either side. Its strap was silver, and coiled along it was a dark blue serpent with three heads twisting from a single neck.
On his head he set a helmet with two ridges and four plates and a horsehair crest, and the plume nodded fearsomely above it. He took up two strong spears, tipped with sharp bronze, and their bronze points flashed far up toward the sky. Athena and Hera thundered in answer, honoring the king of gold-rich Mycenae. Then each man gave his charioteer orders to hold the horses in good order there by the trench, while the footmen themselves, buckled into their armor, rushed forward, and a great, unquenchable shouting rose before the dawn.
They were formed up at the trench well ahead of the chariots; the chariots followed close behind. And the son of Cronos stirred up an evil confusion among them, and sent down from the upper air a dew drenched with blood, since he meant to send many strong men's souls down to the House of Hades.
The Trojans, on the far side, gathered on the rise of the plain around great Hector and blameless Polydamas and Aeneas, whom the Trojan people honored like a god, and the three sons of Antenor — Polybus and noble Agenor — and young Acamas, like the immortals.
Hector, in the front ranks, carried his shield, perfectly round on every side. As a baleful star shines out from among the clouds, blazing, then plunges again into the shadowed clouds, so Hector now appeared among the foremost fighters, now was seen ordering the rearmost, and everywhere the bronze on him flashed like the lightning of father Zeus who bears the aegis. And as reapers, working opposite each other, drive their swaths through a rich man's field of wheat or barley, and the cut handfuls fall thick and fast, so the Trojans and Achaeans, leaping at one another,
cut each other down, and neither side gave a thought to ruinous flight. The battle line held level, heads bowed to the work, and the men surged like wolves. And Strife, sorrow-bringer, watched and rejoiced, for she alone of the gods was present at the fighting — the other gods were absent, sitting at ease each in his own great hall, built along the folds of Olympus. All of them blamed the son of Cronos, shrouded in dark cloud, because he meant to grant the Trojans glory. But the Father paid them no heed. He had drawn apart
from the others and sat by himself, glorying in his power, looking out over the city of the Trojans and the ships of the Achaeans, the flash of bronze, men killing and men dying. As long as it was morning and the sacred daylight still grew, the weapons of both sides found their marks and men fell. But at the hour when a woodcutter prepares his meal in a mountain glen, when his arms have grown tired from felling tall trees and weariness comes over his spirit, and the desire for sweet food grips his heart — at that hour the Danaans, by their courage, broke through the enemy ranks,
calling to their comrades down the lines. Agamemnon was first to charge, and he brought down a man, Bianor, shepherd of his people, and then his companion Oileus, driver of horses. Oileus had leapt down from his chariot and stood to face him; as he came on eagerly Agamemnon stabbed him in the forehead with his sharp spear, and the bronze rim of his helmet did not hold the spear back — it drove straight through, through bone as well, and the brains inside were all spattered; so he brought the eager man down. Agamemnon, lord of men, left these two lying there,
their chests gleaming bare, for he had stripped off their tunics, and went on to strip Isus and Antiphus, two sons of Priam, one a bastard and one born in wedlock, both riding in a single chariot. The bastard son was driving; famous Antiphus rode beside him as fighter. Achilles had once caught this same Antiphus on the slopes of Ida, tying him with pliant willow shoots while he herded his sheep, and had let him go for ransom. Now Agamemnon, wide-ruling son of Atreus,
struck the one above the nipple, through the chest, with his spear, and drove his sword through Antiphus by the ear and threw him from the chariot. He quickly stripped the fine armor from the two of them,
recognizing them — for he had seen them before, by the swift ships, when swift-footed Achilles had brought them down from Ida. As a lion easily crushes in its strong jaws the newborn young of a swift deer, coming upon its lair, and tears out the tender life, while the mother, even if she happens to be very near, cannot help them, for a terrible trembling seizes her too, and she darts swiftly away through the thick brush and woodland, sweating, driven by the onrush of the mighty beast — so no man among the Trojans could save these two from death,
and the Trojans themselves fled before the Argives. Then Agamemnon took Peisander and stout-hearted Hippolochus, sons of wise Antimachus, who most of all, having taken glittering gifts of gold from Paris, had refused to let Helen be given back to fair-haired Menelaus. It was the two sons of this same Antimachus that lord Agamemnon caught, both riding in a single chariot, struggling together to hold their swift horses, for the shining reins had slipped from their hands, and the two of them were thrown into confusion. Against them Agamemnon rose up like a lion, the son of Atreus, and the two of them begged him from the chariot, on their knees:
"Take us alive, son of Atreus, and accept a worthy ransom. Great treasures lie stored in the house of Antimachus — bronze and gold and cunningly worked iron — and our father would gladly give you a boundless ransom from them, if he learns we are alive among the ships of the Achaeans."
So the two of them, weeping, spoke to the king with soft words, but the answer they heard was not soft at all: "If you are indeed the sons of wise Antimachus, who once, in the assembly of the Trojans, urged that Menelaus, who had come as an envoy with godlike Odysseus,
be killed there on the spot and never allowed to return to the Achaeans — now you shall pay the shameful price for your father's outrage."
So he spoke, and shoved Peisander down from the chariot to the ground, striking him with his spear in the chest, and he was flung backward onto the earth. Hippolochus leapt down, and Agamemnon killed him too on the ground, cutting off his hands with the sword and slicing off his head, and sent it rolling through the crowd like a stone mortar. He left those two and rushed to where the ranks of fighters were thickest in confusion, and with him the other well-greaved Achaeans. Footmen cut down footmen as they fled, forced to it,
and horsemen cut down horsemen, and beneath them the dust rose up from the plain, stirred by the thundering hooves of the horses, as the bronze dealt death; and lord Agamemnon, always killing, pressed on, urging the Argives forward. As when ruinous fire falls upon a dense, untended wood, and the whirling wind carries it every way, and the bushes are uprooted and fall, driven down by the onrush of the fire, so beneath Agamemnon, son of Atreus, the heads of fleeing Trojans fell, and many strong-necked horses
rattled their empty chariots along the lanes of battle, missing their blameless drivers, who lay now on the ground, far dearer now to the vultures than to their own wives. But Zeus drew Hector out of the missiles, out of the dust, out of the slaughter of men, out of the blood, out of the uproar, while the son of Atreus pressed on furiously, urging the Danaans forward. They streamed past the tomb of ancient Ilus, son of Dardanus, across the middle of the plain, past the wild fig tree,
eager to reach the city, while the son of Atreus followed, shouting all the while, his invincible hands spattered with gore. But when they reached the Scaean gates and the oak tree,
there at last they stood their ground and waited for one another. But some of them were still fleeing across the middle of the plain, like cattle that a lion, coming in the dead of night, has scattered — all of them; and to one alone appears sudden, steep death: first he breaks her neck, seizing it in his strong jaws, and then gulps down the blood and all the entrails — so the son of Atreus, lord Agamemnon, drove the Trojans before him, always killing the hindmost man, and they fled. Many pitched forward or backward off their chariots,
struck down by Agamemnon's hands, for he raged with his spear far out in front of the rest. But when he was on the point of reaching the city and its steep wall, then the father of gods and men came down from heaven and sat on the peaks of many-fountained Ida, holding the thunderbolt in his hands. He sent golden-winged Iris to carry a message: "Go, swift Iris, and take this word to Hector: as long as he sees Agamemnon, shepherd of the people, raging among the front fighters, cutting down the ranks of men,
let him hold back, and order the rest of his men to fight the enemy in the fierce battle. But once Agamemnon, struck by a spear or hit by an arrow, springs onto his chariot, then I will grant Hector the strength to kill until he reaches the well-benched ships, and the sun goes down and sacred darkness comes."
So he spoke, and wind-footed swift Iris did not disobey; she went down from the mountains of Ida to sacred Ilion. She found the son of wise Priam, godlike Hector, standing among his horses and jointed chariot, and coming close beside him, swift-footed Iris spoke: "Hector, son of Priam, equal to Zeus in counsel,
Father Zeus has sent me to tell you this: as long as you see Agamemnon, shepherd of the people, raging among the front fighters, cutting down the ranks of men, hold back from the fight, and order the rest of your men to fight the enemy in the fierce battle. But once Agamemnon, struck by a spear or hit by an arrow, springs onto his chariot, then Zeus will grant you the strength to kill, until you reach the well-benched ships, and the sun goes down and sacred darkness comes."
So having spoken, swift-footed Iris departed,
and Hector leapt down from his chariot to the ground in full armor, and brandishing his sharp spears he went everywhere through the army, rousing the men to fight, and stirred up grim battle. They wheeled around and stood facing the Achaeans, and the Argives on their side strengthened their ranks. The battle was set, they stood facing each other, and Agamemnon charged first of all, wishing to fight far out ahead of everyone.
Tell me now, Muses, who hold the halls of Olympus, who was the first man to come against Agamemnon, either of the Trojans themselves or their famed allies?
It was Iphidamas, son of Antenor, fine and tall, who had been raised in Thrace, rich in soil, mother of flocks. Cisseus had reared him in his house as a small child, Cisseus his mother's father, who had fathered fair-cheeked Theano. But when he reached the measure of glorious youth, Cisseus kept him there and gave him his own daughter in marriage. But newly wed, straight from the bridal chamber, he set out to win fame among the Achaeans, with twelve curved ships that followed him. He left these trim ships at Percote, and made his way on foot to Ilion.
He was the one who now came against Agamemnon, son of Atreus. When the two of them had come close, advancing on each other, Agamemnon's throw went wide, the spear turning aside from him, and Iphidamas stabbed him below the corselet, at the belt, and threw his weight behind it, trusting his heavy hand. But he did not pierce the gleaming war-belt; long before that the spear point, meeting the silver, bent back like lead. Then wide-ruling Agamemnon seized it with his hand and dragged it toward him, eager as a lion, wrenching it from his grip, and struck him on the neck with his sword, and loosed his limbs.
So Iphidamas fell there and slept a sleep of bronze, pitiful, having come to the aid of his countrymen, far from his wedded wife, of whom he had known no joy, though he had given much for her — a hundred cattle first, and then he had pledged a thousand more, goats and sheep together, from the countless flocks he tended. Now Agamemnon, son of Atreus, stripped him of his fine armor and went carrying it back through the crowd of Achaeans. When Coon, most notable of men, saw this — the eldest-born son of Antenor — a bitter grief covered his eyes at the sight of his brother fallen.
He came up sideways with his spear, unseen by godlike Agamemnon, and stabbed him in the forearm, below the elbow, and the bright spearhead drove clean through the other side. Then lord Agamemnon shuddered, but even so he did not give up the fight and the battle; he charged at Coon holding his wind-toughened spear. Coon was dragging away Iphidamas, his own brother by the same father, eager to save him, calling to all the bravest men; but as he dragged him through the crowd, Agamemnon stabbed him under his bossed shield
with his bronze-shod spear, and loosed his limbs,
and stepping close, cut off his head over the body of Iphidamas. So the sons of Antenor, brought down by lord Agamemnon, met their doom and went down into the house of Hades. Agamemnon went ranging on among the other ranks of men, with spear and sword and great stones, as long as the blood still ran warm from his wound. But when the wound dried and the bleeding stopped, sharp pains began to pierce the strength of the son of Atreus. As sharp as the arrow that pierces a woman in labor,
the piercing pain the Ilithyiae send, daughters of Hera, who hold the bitter pangs of childbirth — so sharp were the pains that now pierced the strength of the son of Atreus. He sprang up onto his chariot and ordered his driver to make for the hollow ships, for his heart was sick within him. He called out, his voice carrying far to the Danaans: "Friends, leaders and rulers of the Argives, you must now defend the seafaring ships from the harsh battle yourselves, since Zeus the counselor has not allowed me to fight the Trojans the whole day through."
So he spoke, and the driver whipped the fine-maned horses
toward the hollow ships, and the two of them flew on, not unwilling. Foam covered their chests, and the dust below spattered them, as they carried their suffering king away from the battle. And Hector, when he saw Agamemnon departing, cried out in a great voice to the Trojans and Lycians: "Trojans and Lycians and Dardanians who fight hand to hand, be men, my friends, remember your fighting fury. The best of them has gone; Zeus, son of Cronos, has granted me great glory. Now drive your single-hoofed horses straight at the mighty Danaans, and win still greater glory for yourselves."
So speaking, he roused the strength and spirit of every man. As when some hunter sets his white-toothed hounds against a wild boar or a lion, so Hector, son of Priam, equal to man-destroying Ares, set the great-hearted Trojans against the Achaeans. He himself strode among the foremost, filled with high purpose, and fell upon the battle like a raging storm-wind that swoops down and churns the violet sea. Who then was the first, who the last, that Hector, son of Priam, brought down, when Zeus granted him glory?
First he killed Asaeus, then Autonous and Opites, Dolops son of Clytius, Ophelтius and Agelaus, Aesymnus and Orus and Hipponous, steady in battle. These captains of the Danaans he cut down, and after them the mass of common men, the way the West Wind batters banks of cloud driven by a deep squall out of the clear South Wind—the heavy swell rolls on and the spray flies up, scattered by the wandering wind's blast—so did the heads of soldiers fall thick under Hector's hand.
There ruin would have come then, and the Achaeans would have been trapped and helpless, driven in flight back to their ships, had not Odysseus called out to Diomedes, son of Tydeus: "Son of Tydeus, what has come over us, that we forget our fighting strength? Come, stand here beside me, friend—it will be a disgrace if Hector of the flashing helmet takes the ships."
Mighty Diomedes answered him: "I will stand my ground and hold, yes—but our relief will not last long, since Zeus who gathers the clouds means to give victory to the Trojans now, and not to us."
So saying, he threw Thymbraeus down from his chariot to the ground, striking him with his spear through the left breast, while Odysseus killed Molion, godlike attendant of that same lord. The two of them then let those bodies lie, done with them, and went raging through the crowd of battle like two wild boars that fall upon a pack of hunting dogs in their fierce pride. So turning back they slaughtered Trojans, and the Achaeans, glad to escape, caught their breath from godlike Hector.
Then they took a chariot and two of the best men of the district, the two sons of Merops of Percote, who above all men understood prophecy and would not let his sons go to war, the war that wastes men—but the two would not listen to him, for the fates of black death led them on. Diomedes, spearman famous in war, son of Tydeus, stripped them both of life and breath and took their fine armor, while Odysseus killed Hippodamus and Hypeirochus.
There the son of Cronus stretched the battle even between the two sides, watching down from Ida, and they went on killing one another. The son of Tydeus wounded the hero Agastrophus, son of Paeon, with his spear in the hip; his horses were not near enough for him to flee, and in his heart's blindness he suffered greatly for it, for his attendant kept them apart while he himself went raging on foot through the front ranks, until he lost his dear life.
But Hector saw sharply across the ranks and rushed at them with a cry, and the Trojan battalions followed behind him. Diomedes, loud in the war cry, saw him coming and shuddered, and at once called out to Odysseus who was near: "Here rolls down on the two of us this disaster, mighty Hector. Come, let us stand and hold our ground against him."
He spoke, and balancing his long-shadowed spear he let it fly and did not miss, aiming at Hector's head—
it struck the very top of his helmet, but the bronze was turned aside by the bronze and never reached the fair skin, for the triple-ridged helmet with its face-guard held it off, the gift Phoebus Apollo had given him. Hector sprang back a great distance and mingled with the crowd, then dropped to his knees and braced himself with his heavy hand upon the earth, and black night covered his eyes. And while the son of Tydeus went off after the flight of his spear, far through the front ranks to where it had struck and stuck in the ground, Hector got his breath back, sprang again into his chariot, and drove out into the crowd, escaping black death.
Diomedes rushed at him with his spear and shouted: "Dog, once more you have escaped death! Ruin came very close to you indeed—but this time Phoebus Apollo saved you again, the one you no doubt pray to whenever you go into the crash of spears. I will finish you yet, when next we meet, if I too have some god standing by my side. For now I will go after the rest, whoever I can catch." So saying, he stripped the armor from the famous son of Paeon.
But Alexander, husband of fair-haired Helen, was drawing his bow against Diomedes, shepherd of his people, leaning against the pillar on the man-built mound of Ilus, son of Dardanus, an elder of old.
While Diomedes was pulling the corselet off the chest of strong Agastrophus, and his gleaming shield from his shoulders, and his heavy helmet, Paris drew the bow's grip back and let fly, and the arrow did not leave his hand for nothing—it struck the flat of Diomedes' right foot, and the shaft drove clean through and fixed itself in the ground. Laughing with great pleasure, Paris leaped up from his hiding place and spoke boasting words:
"You are hit, and my arrow was not wasted! I wish instead I had struck you in the lower belly and taken your life. Then the Trojans would have had some relief from their misery, they who shudder at you as bleating goats shudder at a lion."
Unafraid, mighty Diomedes answered him: "Archer, you insult with your bow, proud of your curled hair, ogler of girls—if you tried me face to face with real weapons, your bow and your quiver of arrows would do you no good at all. As it is you have scratched the flat of my foot and boast over nothing. I care no more for it than if a woman or a witless child had struck me. A blunt weapon it is, from a man who is nothing, a coward.
"But when a shaft leaves my hand, even a light graze is sharp and lays a man dead at once. His wife tears her cheeks in grief, his children are left orphans, and he rots there reddening the earth with his blood, with more birds of prey gathered around him than women."
So he spoke, and Odysseus, famed for his spear, came up close and stood in front of him; Diomedes sat down behind him and pulled the swift arrow from his foot, and sharp pain ran through his flesh. He sprang up into his chariot and ordered his driver to head for the hollow ships, for his heart was sick with grief.
Odysseus, famed for his spear, was left alone; not one of the Argives stayed beside him, for fear had taken hold of them all. Troubled, he spoke to his own great heart: "What is to become of me? It will be a great evil if I run, afraid of their numbers, but worse still if I am caught alone—the son of Cronus has driven the rest of the Danaans to flight. But why does my heart debate this with me? I know that cowards leave the fighting, but the man who means to be best in battle must hold his ground firmly, whether he is struck or strikes another."
While he turned this over in his mind and heart, the ranks of the shield-bearing Trojans came on and hemmed him in the middle, setting their own doom in the midst of them. As when dogs and vigorous young men close in around a wild boar that comes out from deep woodland whetting his white tusks in his curved jaws, and they rush at him from every side, and the grinding of his tusks sounds out, and still they hold their ground before him for all his terror—so then the Trojans, dear to Zeus, pressed in around Odysseus. He first wounded noble Deiopites,
lunging with his sharp spear into the top of his shoulder, and then he killed Thoon and Ennomus. Next he stabbed Chersidamas as he leapt down from his chariot, striking him under the navel-bossed shield through the belly, and the man fell in the dust and clawed the earth with his hand. He left those men and struck Charops, son of Hippasus, brother of wealthy Socus, with his spear. Socus, a man like a god, came to defend him, stood very close, and spoke to him: "Odysseus, famed in every story, tireless in cunning and in toil—
today you will either boast over the two sons of Hippasus, having killed such men as these and taken their armor, or struck down by my spear you will lose your own life." So saying he struck him on the perfectly balanced shield. The mighty spear went through the bright shield and drove on through the finely wrought corselet, tearing the flesh clean away from his ribs, but Pallas Athena did not let it mix with his vitals. Odysseus knew the blow had not reached anything fatal, and stepping back he spoke to Socus:
"Poor fool, now steep death has truly caught up with you. You have stopped me fighting the Trojans, yes—but I tell you that death and black doom will come to you here this day, brought down by my spear, and you will give the glory to me, and your life to Hades, famed for his horses." He spoke, and Socus had already turned to flee, but as he turned away Odysseus drove the spear into his back between the shoulders and sent it through his chest, and he fell with a thud. Then godlike Odysseus boasted over him: "Socus, son of wise Hippasus, tamer of horses—
death's end has overtaken you first, and you could not escape it. Poor fool—your father and honored mother will not close your eyes in death; instead the birds that eat raw flesh will tear at you, beating their thick wings around you. But when I die, the godlike Achaeans will still give me proper burial."
So saying, he pulled the heavy spear of wise Socus out of his flesh and out of the bossed shield, and blood spurted out as the spear was drawn, and pain gripped his heart. When the great-hearted Trojans saw Odysseus's blood they shouted to one another through the crowd and all came on at him together.
He began to give ground, and shouted for his comrades. Three times he called out as loud as a man's throat could hold, and three times Menelaus, dear to Ares, heard him cry. At once he spoke to Ajax, who was near: "Ajax, son of Zeus, lord of the sons of Telamon, the cry of steadfast Odysseus rings around me—it sounds as though the Trojans have cut him off alone in the fierce fighting and are overpowering him. Let us go into the crowd; it is better to help him. I fear he may come to harm out there among the Trojans, alone though he is a good man, and it would be a great loss to the Danaans."
So saying he led the way, and the godlike man followed with him. They found Odysseus, dear to Zeus, with the Trojans pressing around him like tawny jackals in the mountains around a wounded horned stag that a man has struck with an arrow from the string—the stag escapes him at first, running on his feet, so long as the blood is warm and his knees still move, but once the swift arrow finally overcomes him, the flesh-eating jackals tear him apart in the mountains, in some shady glen. But then some power brings a lion there,
a raider—the jackals scatter in fear, and the lion feeds. So then the Trojans, many and brave, pressed around wise, resourceful Odysseus, while the hero, lunging with his spear, fought off his pitiless day of death. Then Ajax came near, carrying his shield like a tower, and stood beside him, and the Trojans scattered in every direction. Warlike Menelaus led Odysseus out of the crowd, holding his hand, until his attendant drove the chariot up close. Ajax then leapt at the Trojans and killed Doryclus,
a bastard son of Priam, then wounded Pandocus, and wounded Lysander and Pyrasus and Pylartes as well. As when a river in flood comes down onto a plain, a winter torrent sent from the mountains by the rain of Zeus, and sweeps along many dry oaks and many pines, carrying a great mass of debris down into the sea—so did shining Ajax then drive across the plain in a rout, cutting down horses and men. Hector still knew nothing of it, for he was fighting on the far left of the whole battle, along the banks of the river Scamander, where men's heads were falling thickest and the cry of battle rose unceasing
around great Nestor and warlike Idomeneus. Hector moved among that fighting, working havoc with his spear and his horsemanship, breaking apart the young men's ranks. The godlike Achaeans would not have given up that ground at all, had not Alexander, husband of fair-haired Helen, stopped Machaon, shepherd of his people, in the middle of his valor, striking him with a three-barbed arrow in the right shoulder. The Achaeans, breathing hard with fury, were seized with dread for him, fearing that as the fighting turned they might lose him. At once Idomeneus spoke to godlike Nestor:
"Nestor, son of Neleus, great glory of the Achaeans, come, mount your chariot, and let Machaon climb up beside you, and drive your strong-hoofed horses to the ships as fast as you can. A healer is worth many other men together, for cutting out arrows and spreading soothing medicines."
So he spoke, and the Gerenian horseman Nestor did not refuse. At once he mounted his chariot, and Machaon, son of blameless healer Asclepius, climbed up beside him. He whipped the horses on, and they flew willingly toward the hollow ships, for that was where their hearts wanted to go.
Cebriones, standing beside Hector in his chariot, saw the Trojans in confusion and spoke to him: "Hector, the two of us are engaging the Danaans here on the fringe of this roaring battle, while the rest of the Trojans are thrown into confusion everywhere, horses and men together. Ajax son of Telamon is driving them in rout—I know him well, for he carries that broad shield across his shoulders. Let us turn our horses and chariot that way too, where horsemen and foot soldiers alike, locked in bitter strife, are slaughtering one another and the cry of battle never dies."
So speaking he lashed the fine-maned horses with his sharp whip, and feeling the blow they swiftly pulled the fast chariot on among Trojans and Achaeans, trampling over the dead and the shields; the axle beneath was spattered all over with blood, and the chariot rail around the car, splashed by the flying drops from the horses' hooves and from the wheel rims. Hector was eager to break into the crowd of men and burst through it, and he brought grim confusion down on the Danaans, hardly resting from his spear at all.
He went on ranging through the ranks of other men with spear and sword and great stones, but he avoided fighting Ajax, son of Telamon. Father Zeus, throned on high, stirred fear in Ajax then—he stood stunned, slung his sevenfold ox-hide shield behind him, and gave ground, glancing about him at the crowd like a wild animal, turning constantly, moving one knee slowly past the other.
As when dogs and men of the field drive a tawny lion away from a cattle pen, keeping watch all night so he cannot carry off the fat of their herd—the lion, hungry for meat, charges forward but achieves nothing, for the thick spears fly to meet him from bold hands, and the blazing torches too, which he fears for all his fury, and at dawn he goes off, sullen at heart—so Ajax then, heavy at heart, drew back from the Trojans against his will, in great fear for the Achaean ships.
As when a stubborn donkey, going along beside a field, overpowers the boys driving him, and though many sticks are broken over his back he goes in and grazes down deep in the standing grain while the boys beat him with their sticks, their strength too feeble to stop him,
and only drive him out at last once he has eaten his fill—so then the proud Trojans and their many allies from far off kept jabbing at great Ajax, son of Telamon, with their spears at the center of his shield, following him all the while. Ajax would at times remember his fighting strength and wheel around again, holding back the ranks of the horse-taming Trojans, and at other times he would turn again to give ground. He kept all of them from reaching the fast ships, and stood there himself between Trojans and Achaeans, raging in the middle, while spears from bold hands
struck fast in his great shield as they flew at him, and many others stuck in the ground before ever reaching his white flesh, still eager to taste it. Seeing him hard pressed under that storm of spears, the shining son of Euaemon, Eurypylus, came and stood beside him, hurled his bright spear, and struck Apisaon, son of Phausius, shepherd of his people, in the liver beneath the midriff, and at once loosed the strength of his knees. Eurypylus rushed forward and began stripping the armor from his shoulders. But when godlike Alexander saw him
stripping the armor from Apisaon, he at once drew his bow against Eurypylus and struck him with an arrow in the right thigh; the reed shaft snapped, but the arrowhead weighed down his thigh. He drew back into the crowd of his comrades to escape his death, and shouted out piercingly, calling to the Danaans: "Friends, leaders and rulers of the Argives, turn and stand your ground, and beat off Ajax's pitiless day of death—he is hard pressed by spears, and I do not think he will escape this roaring battle. Stand fast, face them, all around great Ajax, son of Telamon."
So spoke wounded Eurypylus, and they came and stood close beside him, leaning their shields against their shoulders and holding their spears upraised. Ajax came to meet them and turned to make his stand once he had reached the crowd of his comrades. So they fought there like a blazing fire. Meanwhile Nestor's Neleian mares, sweating, carried him out of the battle, bringing with him Machaon, shepherd of his people. Swift-footed, godlike Achilles saw him and understood, for he was standing on the stern of his huge-hulled ship, watching the grim toil and the tearful rout of battle.
At once he called out to his companion Patroclus, shouting from the ship. Patroclus heard him from inside the hut and came out like the war-god Ares himself — and this was the beginning of his ruin. Menoetius's brave son spoke first: "Why do you call me, Achilles? What do you need from me?"
Swift-footed Achilles answered him: "Son of Menoetius, dearest to my heart, now I think the Achaeans will be standing at my knees begging — the need that has come on them is no longer bearable. But go now, Patroclus, dear to Zeus, ask Nestor
who this man is that he is bringing back wounded from the fighting. From behind he looked exactly like Machaon, son of Asclepius, but I never saw the man's face — the horses tore past me at a run, straining ahead."
So he spoke, and Patroclus obeyed his dear companion and set off running along the huts and ships of the Achaeans. When they reached the hut of Nestor, son of Neleus, the two climbed down onto the bountiful earth, and Eurymedon, the old man's attendant, freed the horses from the chariot. The men cooled the sweat from their tunics
standing against the sea breeze along the shore, then went into the hut and sat down on chairs. Fair-haired Hecamede mixed them a drink — the woman old Nestor had won from Tenedos when Achilles sacked it, the daughter of great-hearted Arsinous, whom the Achaeans had chosen out for him because he surpassed everyone in counsel. She first set before them a table,
handsome, with legs of dark blue enamel, well polished, and on it a bronze basket, and onion to go with the drink, and pale honey, and meal ground from sacred barley,
and beside it a magnificent cup the old man had brought from home, studded with gold nails. It had four handles, and on each side two golden doves fed, and beneath were two stands. Anyone else would have strained to lift it full from the table, but old Nestor raised it without effort. In this cup the woman, lovely as a goddess, mixed them a drink
with Pramnian wine, and grated in goat's-milk cheese with a bronze grater, and sprinkled white barley meal over it, and bid them drink once she had prepared the mixture.
When the two men had drunk and quenched their burning thirst, they were taking pleasure talking to one another, when Patroclus, a man like a god, appeared in the doorway. Seeing him, the old man rose from his gleaming chair, took him by the hand, led him in, and urged him to sit. But Patroclus, standing across from him, refused, and said:
"I cannot sit, old man, cherished by Zeus — you will not persuade me. The one who sent me to find out who this wounded man is that you're bringing back deserves respect, and I would not want to anger him. But I already see for myself — I recognize Machaon, shepherd of his people.
Now I must go back and report to Achilles. You know well, old man, cherished by Zeus, what a fearsome man he is — he might even blame someone who is innocent."
Then Nestor of Gerenia, driver of horses, answered him: "Why does Achilles grieve so for the sons of the Achaeans, for all the men who have been struck by spears? He has no idea how much sorrow has risen through the camp. Our best men are lying among the ships, hit by arrows or wounded by spears. Diomedes, mighty son of Tydeus, has been struck; Odysseus, famous for his spear, has been wounded, and Agamemnon too;
Eurypylus here has been shot in the thigh with an arrow — and this other one I have just brought back from the fighting, hit by an arrow from a bowstring. And yet Achilles, brave as he is, feels no concern for the Danaans, no pity for them at all. Is he waiting until the swift ships, right at the water's edge, burn with hostile fire in spite of the Argives, and until we ourselves are cut down one after another? My strength is no longer what it once was in my supple limbs. If only I were young again, my power still unshaken, as it was that time a quarrel broke out between us and the men of Elis
over cattle-raiding, when I killed brave Itymoneus, son of Hypeirochus, who lived in Elis. I was driving off cattle in reprisal, and as he defended his herds he was struck among the front ranks by a spear from my own hand, and he fell, and the country folk around him scattered in fear. We drove off a huge amount of plunder from that plain — fifty herds of cattle, as many flocks of sheep, as many droves of swine, as many wide-ranging herds of goats, and a hundred and fifty tawny horses, all mares, many of them with foals still at their side.
And we drove these back into Neleian Pylos by night, into the city, and Neleus rejoiced in his heart that so much had fallen to me, young as I was, going out to war. At dawn the heralds called out, summoning all to whom a debt was owed in sacred Elis. The leading men of Pylos gathered together and divided the spoil, for the Epeians owed a debt to many of us, since we in Pylos were few and had suffered badly — mighty Heracles had come in former years and mistreated us, and all our best men had been killed.
Twelve sons had blameless Neleus, and I alone was left of them; all the rest perished. Because of this the bronze-armored Epeians grew arrogant and treated us with contempt, plotting outrages against us. So the old man took for himself a herd of cattle and a great flock of sheep, choosing three hundred head and their herdsmen, for a great debt was owed to him too in sacred Elis — four prize-winning horses with their chariot, which had gone to compete for a tripod in the games. But their driver, Augeas, lord of men, kept them there
and sent the charioteer away grieving for his horses. Angry at these words and deeds, the old man took an enormous amount for himself, and gave the rest to the people to divide, so that no one might go away cheated of a fair share. We settled each matter and performed sacrifices to the gods throughout the city. But on the third day the Epeians all came together, both the men themselves and their sure-footed horses, in full force, and among them the two sons of Molione armed for war, still boys, not yet skilled in the fury of battle. There is a city called Thryoessa, on a steep hill,
far off on the Alpheus, at the far edge of sandy Pylos. They laid siege to it, eager to destroy it. But when they had crossed the whole plain, Athena came to us by night as a messenger from Olympus, telling us to arm, and she gathered the people through Pylos — not unwilling men, but ones eager to fight. Neleus would not let me arm, though; he hid my horses away, for he said I did not yet know anything of the work of war. But even so, I stood out among our horsemen,
even though I went on foot, since it was Athena herself who led us into the quarrel. There is a river called the Minyeius that flows into the sea near Arene, and there we, the horsemen of Pylos, waited for the bright dawn, while the ranks of foot soldiers streamed in to join us. From there, in full force, armed with our weapons, we came at midday to the sacred stream of the Alpheus. There we made fine sacrifices to mighty Zeus, a bull to the Alpheus, a bull to Poseidon, and a cow from the herd to grey-eyed Athena, and then we took our meal by companies through the camp,
and lay down to sleep, each man in his own gear, along the banks of the river. But the great-hearted Epeians were already gathered around the city, eager to destroy it. Before that could happen, though, a great work of war appeared before them. For as soon as the shining sun rose over the earth, we joined battle, praying to Zeus and Athena. And when the fighting between the men of Pylos and the Epeians had begun, I was the first to bring down a man, and I took his sure-footed horses —
the spearman Mulius. He was son-in-law to Augeas, married to his eldest daughter, fair-haired Agamede, who knew every healing herb that the wide earth grows.
As he came at me I struck him with my bronze-tipped spear, and he fell in the dust; I leapt into his chariot and took my place among the front fighters. But the great-hearted Epeians scattered in every direction when they saw their leader of horsemen fall, the best fighter among them. Then I swept forward like a dark storm-cloud, and took fifty chariots, and beside each one two men bit the dust, brought down by my spear. And I would have killed the two young sons of Actor, the Moliones, too,
if their father, the wide-ruling Earth-shaker himself, had not saved them from the battle, wrapping them in a thick mist. There Zeus granted the men of Pylos a great victory, for we pressed on across the wide plain, killing men and gathering up their fine armor, until we drove our horses all the way to Buprasium, rich in wheat, and to the Olenian rock, and to the place called the Hill of Alesion — there Athena turned the army back. There I killed my last man and left him, and the Achaeans drove their swift horses back from Buprasium to Pylos, and all of them gave thanks to Zeus among the gods, and to Nestor among men.
That is how I was — if I ever truly was — among fighting men. But Achilles will enjoy his courage alone; I think he will weep bitterly for it later, once the army has been destroyed. Ah, young man — surely Menoetius gave you this order, on the very day he sent you from Phthia to Agamemnon. We were both there, I and godlike Odysseus, and we heard everything he told you in the hall. We had come to the well-built house of Peleus,
gathering troops through the length of fertile Achaea, and there we found the hero Menoetius inside,
and you with him, and Achilles too. Old Peleus, driver of chariots, was burning the fat thigh-pieces of an ox to Zeus who delights in thunder, in the courtyard of the house, and holding a golden cup, pouring gleaming wine over the burning offerings. You two were busy with the meat of the ox, and we came and stood in the doorway. Achilles jumped up in surprise,
took us both by the hand, led us in, urged us to sit, and set before us the hospitality due to guests. When we had had our fill of food and drink, I began to speak, urging you both to come with us, and you were both eager to go, and your fathers gave you both much advice.
Old Peleus told his son Achilles to always be the best and to hold himself above all others. But to you Menoetius, son of Actor, gave this charge: "My child, Achilles is nobler than you by birth, but you are older. In strength he is far the better man. Still, speak good sense to him, advise him, and guide him, and he will listen, for it will be for his own good." That is what the old man told you, but you have forgotten it. Even now, though, you might still say these things to fiery Achilles, and he may listen.
Who knows whether, with a god's help, you might stir his heart by pleading with him? A friend's persuasion is a powerful thing. But if he is avoiding some prophecy he knows in his heart, some word his honored mother has brought him from Zeus, then at least let him send you out, and let the rest of the Myrmidon army follow with you, in case you can bring some light to the Danaans. And let him give you his fine armor to wear into battle, so that the Trojans, mistaking you for him, might hold back from the fighting, and the hard-pressed sons of the Achaeans might catch their breath — even a brief respite is precious in war.
Fresh troops could easily push men already worn down back toward the city, away from the ships and the huts." So he spoke, and stirred the heart in Patroclus's chest, and he set off running along the ships toward Achilles, grandson of Aeacus. But when Patroclus, running, reached the ships of godlike Odysseus, where the assembly and the place of judgment were, and where altars to the gods had been built,
there he met Eurypylus, wounded, the godborn son of Euaemon, limping back from the battle with an arrow in his thigh, sweat pouring in streams down his shoulders and head,
and dark blood still oozing from his painful wound, though his mind remained clear. Seeing him, Menoetius's brave son felt pity, and spoke to him in a burst of grief:
"Ah, poor leaders and commanders of the Danaans — so this is how it was fated for you, far from your loved ones and your homeland, to glut the fast dogs of Troy with your white fat. But tell me this, Eurypylus, hero cherished by Zeus — will the Achaeans still be able to hold monstrous Hector back, or will they now be destroyed, brought down under his spear?"
Then wounded Eurypylus answered him: "There will be no holding him back any longer, godborn Patroclus — the Achaeans will fall back onto the black ships. For all the men who used to be our best now lie among the ships, hit by arrows or wounded by spears at the hands of the Trojans, whose strength keeps growing. But save me — take me to my black ship, cut the arrow out of my thigh, wash the dark blood from it with warm water, and spread on it the soothing herbs, the good ones they say you learned from Achilles,
who himself learned them from Chiron, most righteous of the Centaurs. As for the healers, Podalirius and Machaon — one, I think, is lying in his hut with a wound of his own, needing a healer himself, and the other is out on the plain still facing the fury of the Trojans."
Menoetius's brave son answered him: "How can this be? What are we to do, hero Eurypylus? I am on my way to bring word to fiery Achilles, the message Nestor of Gerenia, guardian of the Achaeans, charged me with. But even so I will not leave you here in your suffering."
With that, he put his arm under the shepherd of the people and led him to his hut, and his attendant, seeing them, spread out ox-hides on the ground. There Patroclus laid him down and cut the sharp, biting arrow out of his thigh with a knife, and washed the dark blood from the wound with warm water, and crushed a bitter root between his hands and pressed it into the wound to kill the pain — a root that stopped all his pain. The wound began to dry, and the bleeding stopped.