Homer · a new plain-English translation from the Greek
So the strong son of Menoetius tended wounded Eurypylus there in the huts, while the rest fought on, Argives and Trojans, mingled in a single roaring mass. And the Danaans' ditch was not going to hold much longer, nor the wall above it, the broad wall they had built to guard the ships, with the ditch running round it -- though they had not given the gods any splendid offerings for it, so that it might shelter their swift ships and the great plunder they held inside. It had been built against the will of the immortal gods, and so it was not fated to stand firm for long. While Hector still lived, and Achilles still nursed his anger, and the city of lord Priam still stood untaken, so long the great wall of the Achaeans also stood firm.
But once the best of the Trojans had died, and many of the Argives had fallen and many were left alive, and Priam's city was sacked in the tenth year, and the Argives sailed back in their ships to their own dear land, then at last Poseidon and Apollo took counsel to wear the wall away, bringing against it the force of every river that runs down from the mountains of Ida to the sea: the Rhesus and the Heptaporus, the Caresus and the Rhodius,
the Grenicus and the Aesepus, and shining Scamander, and the Simois, where many oxhide shields and helmet-crests had fallen in the dust, and the race of men half-divine along with them. Phoebus Apollo turned the mouths of all these rivers together into one stream, and for nine days he drove the flood against the wall, and all the while Zeus rained without a break, so that the wall might sooner be swept under the sea. Meanwhile the Earthshaker himself, trident in hand, led the work, sending into the waves every footing of timber and stone that the toiling Achaeans had laid, and leveling everything smooth again along the fast-running Hellespont,
and covering the great beach once more with sand, once he had worn the wall away. And he turned the rivers back to flow along the course down which their clear water had run before. So Poseidon and Apollo meant to do this in time to come; but for now, war and its din blazed on around the well-built wall, and the timbers of the towers rang as they were struck, while the Argives, beaten down under the lash of Zeus, huddled by the hollow ships, penned in and holding back, afraid of Hector, that great master of the rout. But Hector himself fought on as before, like a whirlwind.
As when among hounds and huntsmen a boar or a lion wheels about, glorying in his strength, and the men, forming themselves into a wall, stand up to face him and hurl their spears thick and fast from their hands, yet his proud heart never trembles nor takes fright, though his own daring is what kills him in the end -- again and again he wheels to test the line of men, and wherever he charges, there the line gives way -- so Hector went through the crowd, wheeling among his companions and urging them to cross the ditch. But his own swift-footed horses would not dare it,
and they only whinnied loudly, standing at the very lip, for the broad ditch frightened them: it was not easy to leap over it from close by, nor to cross it, for steep banks overhung it on both sides all the way round, and above, it bristled with sharp stakes that the sons of the Achaeans had planted there, thick and tall, a defense against enemy men. No horse could easily get down into that place hauling a smooth-running chariot, but the footsoldiers were eager to try it, if it could be done. Then Polydamas came up beside bold Hector and spoke:
"Hector, and the rest of you Trojan and allied captains -- we are being foolish, driving our swift horses across the ditch. It's a hard place to cross: sharp stakes stand planted in it, and right behind them, the wall of the Achaeans. There is simply no way for horsemen to get down there and fight -- the ground is too narrow, and I think we'd only get ourselves wounded. If Zeus who thunders on high truly means to crush the Achaeans down to nothing, wishing only to help the Trojans, then I too would gladly see it happen right now -- the Achaeans perishing here, far from Argos, without even a name left behind.
But if instead they turn on us, and we get driven back from the ships and thrown into confusion at the dug ditch, then I don't think a single messenger would even make it back to the city, once the Achaeans rallied against us. So come, let us all do as I say. Let the drivers hold the horses back here at the ditch, and let us all go forward on foot, armed in our gear, following close behind Hector in a single mass -- and the Achaeans will not be able to hold, if the cords of their doom are already drawn tight." So spoke Polydamas, and his safe counsel pleased Hector,
who at once leapt down from his chariot to the ground in full armor. Nor did the other Trojans stay mounted either -- all of them sprang down together, once they saw godlike Hector do the same. Each man then ordered his own driver to hold the horses in good order there at the ditch, while the rest, drawing apart and forming themselves up, arranged themselves in five companies and followed their leaders. The largest and best group went with Hector and blameless Polydamas, most eager of all to break through the wall and fight beside the hollow ships.
Cebriones went with them as third in command; Hector had left another man, a lesser one than Cebriones, in charge of his chariot. Of the second company Paris led, with Alcathous and Agenor. Of the third, Helenus and godlike Deiphobus led, two sons of Priam; and the third captain among them was the hero Asius -- Asius son of Hyrtacus, whom tall, tawny horses had carried from Arisbe, from the river Selleis. Of the fourth company the noble son of Anchises led, Aeneas, together with the two sons of Antenor, Archelochus and Acamas, both skilled in every kind of fighting.
Sarpedon led the far-famed allies, and he chose Glaucus and warlike Asteropaeus to stand beside him, for these seemed to him by far the best of all the rest -- though he himself outshone them all. And when they had fitted their oxhide shields close together, they went straight for the Danaans, burning to fight, no longer thinking they could be held back -- certain they would soon be falling upon the black ships. Now the rest of the far-famed Trojans and their allies followed the plan of blameless Polydamas; but Asius son of Hyrtacus, lord of men, would not.
He would not leave his horses and his driver there, but drove them straight up toward the swift ships, the fool -- he was not fated to escape his evil doom and come back again to windy Troy exulting in his horses and chariot from the ships. For death, unspeakable death, had already closed around him first, by the spear of proud Idomeneus, son of Deucalion. He drove toward the left side of the ships, the side by which the Achaeans used to come in from the plain with their horses and chariots, thinking to find the gate there
still standing open with its long bar drawn back, for the men guarding it kept it open, in case they might save some comrade fleeing the battle back to the ships. Straight for that gate he drove his horses, meaning to get through, and his men followed him, shouting fiercely, for they thought the Achaeans could hold out no longer and would soon be falling on the black ships -- fools that they were. For at the gate they found two men, the best of all, standing firm: the proud sons of the spear-fighting Lapiths, mighty Polypoetes, son of Pirithous, and Leonteus, a match for man-killing Ares.
These two stood before the high gate like tall oaks on a mountain ridge, which day after day withstand wind and rain, held fast by their great deep roots -- so these two, trusting to their own hands and strength, stood their ground against great Asius as he bore down on them, and did not flee. Straight at the well-built wall the Trojans came on, holding their dried oxhide shields high over their heads, shouting a great war-cry, all around lord Asius and Iamenus and Orestes, Adamas son of Asius, and Thoon, and Oenomaus.
Now the two Lapiths had been inside, urging on the well-greaved Achaeans to defend the ships; but when they saw the Trojans rushing at the wall, and heard the Danaans cry out in panic, the two of them burst out and fought in front of the gate, like two wild boars in the mountains that stand and face the onrush of men and dogs, wheeling sideways to snap the underbrush around them, tearing it out by the roots, and the gnash of their tusks sounds beneath, until someone's spear-throw takes the life from them --
so the bronze on their chests rang out as the enemy's blows came in against them, and they fought on very fiercely, trusting in the men above them on the wall and in their own strength. And those men hurled down stones from the well-built towers to defend themselves, their huts, and their swift ships -- the stones fell like snowflakes, which a howling wind, driving the shadowy clouds before it, pours thick and fast on the bountiful earth; so the missiles poured from the hands of Achaeans and Trojans both, and helmets rang out dully
as they were struck by rocks, and so did the bossed shields. Then Asius son of Hyrtacus groaned aloud and struck his own thighs, and cried out in bitter frustration: "Father Zeus, so you too, it seems, have turned out to be a lover of lies, through and through! I never imagined the Achaean fighters could hold back our strength and our irresistible hands. But here they are, like wasps of the tawny kind, or bees that build their nest along a rocky path -- they will not leave their hollow home, but stand their ground
and fight off the hunters to defend their young -- just so these two men, though only two, refuse to give ground from the gate until they either kill or are killed." So he spoke, but his words did not move the mind of Zeus, for Zeus's heart wished to grant glory to Hector instead. Meanwhile the rest fought battles, each company at its own gate around the wall -- it would be hard for me to tell it all, as if I were a god myself, for everywhere around the wall a fire not of this world was raging over the stone, and the Argives, grieving though they were, defended the ships because they had no choice; and the gods who stood beside the Danaans in this fight were all troubled at heart.
Then the Lapiths joined battle and slaughter. There strong Polypoetes, son of Pirithous, struck Damasus with his spear through his bronze-cheeked helmet -- the bronze cap did not hold, but the spearpoint drove straight through and shattered the bone, and the brain within was all spattered about; so he brought down Damasus in the very act of charging. After him he killed Pylon and Ormenus as well. Leonteus, offshoot of Ares, struck Antimachus's son Hippomachus with his spear, catching him at the belt. Then, drawing his sharp sword from its sheath,
he charged first through the crowd at Antiphates and struck him at close range, and the man fell backward to the ground. After him he brought down Menon, Iamenus, and Orestes, one after another, laying them low on the bountiful earth. While the two Lapiths were stripping the gleaming armor from these men, the young warriors following Polydamas and Hector -- the largest and finest company, most eager to breach the wall and set fire to the ships -- still stood hesitating at the ditch, holding back. For a bird sign had come to them just as they burned to cross it:
a high-flying eagle, skirting the army on the left, carrying in its talons a huge blood-red serpent, still alive, still writhing, not yet giving up the fight -- for the serpent twisted back and struck the bird that held it, on the chest, near the neck, and the eagle, stung with pain, let it drop to the ground, dropping it into the middle of the crowd, and flew off itself, screaming, on the wind's breath. And the Trojans shuddered when they saw the writhing snake lying there among them, a portent of aegis-bearing Zeus. Then Polydamas came up beside bold Hector and said:
"Hector, you're always quick to rebuke me in our assemblies when I speak good sense, since it isn't fitting, they say, for a man of the people to speak against you, whether in council or in war -- it's your authority that should always be built up. Even so, I will say now what seems best to me. Let us not go forward to fight the Danaans for the ships. For this, I think, is how it will turn out, if this bird sign that came to the Trojans just now, as they burned to cross, really means what I believe -- a high-flying eagle, skirting the army on the left, carrying in its talons a huge blood-red serpent,
still alive -- but then it let the thing drop before it reached its own nest, and did not manage to carry it home and give it to its young. So it will be with us: even if we break through the Achaean gates and wall by sheer force, and the Achaeans give way, we will not come back from the ships by the same road in good order -- for we will leave many Trojans behind, whom the Achaeans will cut down with bronze in defending their ships. This is how a seer would read it, one who truly understood omens in his heart, and whom the people would trust." But Hector, helmet flashing, looked at him darkly and answered:
"Polydamas, what you're saying now doesn't please me at all. You know how to think of a better speech than that. But if you're really serious in saying this, then the gods themselves must have destroyed your good sense -- telling me to forget the counsel of loud-thundering Zeus, which he himself promised me and confirmed with his nod. And you tell me instead to trust birds, spreading their long wings -- I don't care about them in the least, whether they fly off to the right, toward the dawn and the sun, or off to the left, toward the murky dark.
No -- let us trust the will of great Zeus instead, who rules over every mortal and every immortal. One omen is best: to fight for your own country. Why are you so afraid of war and slaughter? Even if the rest of us are all cut down by the Argive ships, you have nothing to fear -- your own death, I mean -- for your heart was never one to stand and hold in battle, was never a fighter's heart. But if you shrink back from the fighting yourself, or talk some other man out of it with your smooth words, then my own spear will strike you down on the spot and take the life from you."
So he spoke, and led the way, and the rest followed with a tremendous roar. And Zeus who delights in thunder stirred up a blast of wind sweeping down from the mountains of Ida, carrying dust straight against the ships -- and it dazed the wits of the Achaeans, while it gave glory to the Trojans and to Hector. Trusting in these omens and in their own strength, they set about trying to break through the great wall of the Achaeans. They tore at the battlements of the towers, they pulled down the parapets, and they pried loose the jutting corner-posts that the Achaeans had first set into the earth as buttresses for their towers --
these they now heaved out, hoping thereby to break through the Achaean wall. Still the Danaans did not give ground, but fenced their battlements with oxhide shields and hurled missiles down from behind them at the enemy approaching under the wall. And the two Ajaxes ranged everywhere along the towers, urging on the Achaean fighters, calling out to each man, some with gentle words, some with hard ones, whichever man they saw giving up the fight entirely: "Friends -- whether an Argive of great standing, of middling rank, or of lesser account, since not all men are equal
in war -- now there is work here for every one of you, and you know this well enough yourselves. Let no man turn back toward the ships at the sound of some man's rebuke, but press onward instead, and call each other on, in hope that Olympian Zeus, lord of the lightning, may grant us to drive back this attack and push the enemy toward the city." So the two of them, shouting ahead of the rest, spurred on the fighting of the Achaeans. And as the snowflakes fall thick on a winter day, when Zeus the counselor stirs himself to snow, revealing his weapons to mankind,
and having lulled the winds he pours it down steadily, until he has covered the peaks of the high mountains and their jutting headlands, the flowering plains and the rich farmland of men, and it is scattered even over the harbors and shores of the gray sea -- though the waves lapping in hold it back there -- while everywhere else all things lie wrapped beneath it, once the storm of Zeus bears down; so thick, from both sides, flew the stones, some against the Trojans, some from the Trojans against the Achaeans, as they hurled them at each other, and a great din rose up over the whole length of the wall.
Yet even then the Trojans and shining Hector would not have broken down the gates of the wall and its long bar, if Zeus the counselor had not roused his own son Sarpedon against the Argives, like a lion let loose upon curved-horned cattle. At once Sarpedon held before him his shield, round on every side, a fine bronze shield beaten out by the smith, who had lined it inside with a thick layer of oxhide, stitched with golden rods running unbroken around the rim. Holding this shield before him, and brandishing two spears, he strode forward like a mountain-bred lion, who has gone long without meat and whose proud heart drives him on
Once the winds are lulled, the snow pours down steadily, burying the high mountain peaks and the jutting crags, the clover meadows and the rich farmland of men, spilling out over the gray sea's harbors and shores — only the surf, breaking against it, holds it back, while everything else lies wrapped beneath it when the storm of Zeus bears down. So the stones flew thick from both sides, some against the Trojans, some from the Trojans against the Achaeans, as the two armies pelted each other, and the din rose over the whole wall. Yet not even then would the Trojans and shining Hector have broken the gates and the long bar of the wall, had not resourceful Zeus roused his own son Sarpedon against the Argives, like a lion loosed on curved-horned cattle.
At once he brought his round shield in front of him, a fine bronze shield beaten out by a smith, who had stitched ox-hides thick within it, running gold wire round the rim in unbroken bands. Holding this before him and shaking two spears, he strode forward like a mountain-bred lion who has gone long without meat and whose proud heart drives him to try
the flocks and break into a well-built fold. Even if he finds herdsmen there guarding the sheep with dogs and spears, he has no mind to be driven from the steading untested — either he leaps and snatches a beast, or he himself is struck by a swift spear from the first thrower's hand. So now his heart drove godlike Sarpedon to charge the wall and tear through its battlements. At once he spoke to Glaucus, son of Hippolochus:
"Glaucus, why is it that we two are given the greatest honor in Lycia — the best seats, the choicest meat, the full cups — and all men look on us as if we were gods? Why do we hold that great estate along the banks of the Xanthus, fine orchard land and wheat-bearing fields? For this very reason we must now stand among the foremost Lycians and face the scorching heat of battle, so that a man among the close-armored Lycians may say: 'Truly our kings who rule in Lycia are not without glory — they eat fat sheep and drink the finest honeyed wine — but their strength too
is noble, since they fight among the foremost Lycians.' My friend, if escaping this war we could live forever, ageless and undying, I myself would not fight among the front ranks, nor would I send you into the battle that brings men glory. But now — since ten thousand fates of death stand over us regardless, fates no mortal can flee or escape — let us go forward, whether we shall give glory to another or another give it to us." So he spoke, and Glaucus did not turn away or refuse him, and the two went straight ahead, leading the great host of the Lycians.
Seeing them, Menestheus, son of Peteos, shuddered, for it was toward his tower that they came bringing ruin. He scanned along the wall for some leader of the Achaeans who might ward off harm from his men, and caught sight of the two Ajaxes standing there, never sated with war, and Teucer, just come from his hut, close by. But there was no way to shout and be heard, so great was the roar that rose to heaven from shields and horse-crested helmets being struck, and from the gates — for all of them were blocked, and the enemy
pressed against them, trying by force to break their way in. At once he sent the herald Thoötes to Ajax: "Go, noble Thoötes, and call Ajax — both of them, rather, for that would be far the best of all, since utter destruction is about to be worked here very soon. So hard have the Lycian captains pressed us, men who have always been fierce in the grip of violent battles. But if trouble and strife have risen there too, at least let brave Ajax son of Telamon come alone, and let Teucer, skilled with the bow, follow with him."
So he spoke, and the herald, hearing him, did not disobey, but ran off along the wall of the bronze-armored Achaeans, and coming up stood beside the Ajaxes and spoke at once: "Ajaxes, leaders of the bronze-armored Argives, the dear son of Peteos, nurtured by Zeus, bids you come there, both of you if you can, if only briefly, to meet the danger together — for that would be far the best of all, since utter destruction is about to be worked there very soon. So hard have the Lycian captains pressed them, men who have always been fierce in the grip of violent battles.
But if war and strife have risen here too, at least let brave Ajax son of Telamon come alone, and let Teucer, skilled with the bow, follow with him." So he spoke, and great Telamonian Ajax did not refuse. At once he spoke winged words to the son of Oïleus: "Ajax, you and mighty Lycomedes stay here and rouse the Danaans to fight with all their strength, while I go there and meet the fighting. I will come back quickly once I have given them good help." With these words Telamonian Ajax went off,
and Teucer went with him, his brother by the same father, and Pandion carried Teucer's curved bow along with them. When they reached the tower of great-hearted Menestheus, going in along the inside of the wall, they found the defenders hard pressed — for the mighty Lycian leaders and captains were already climbing onto the battlements like a black storm-blast. The two sides closed in fighting face to face, and the war-cry rose. Ajax, Telamon's son, was the first to kill a man — Epicles, great-hearted companion of Sarpedon —
striking him with a jagged block of stone that lay huge beside the battlement, at the very top. Not easily could a man hold it in both hands, not even one in the prime of youth, of the men who live now — but Ajax lifted it high and hurled it down, shattering the four-ridged helmet and crushing the bones of his whole skull together. Like a diver, Epicles fell headlong from the high tower, and the life left his bones. Teucer struck mighty Glaucus, son of Hippolochus, with an arrow as he came rushing at the high wall, catching him where he saw the arm laid bare, and put an end to his fighting. Glaucus leapt back from the wall unseen, so that none of the Achaeans
would see him struck and boast over him with words. Sarpedon felt grief when he noticed Glaucus withdrawing, but even so he did not forget the fight. Instead he caught Alcmaon, son of Thestor, with his spear, drove it in, and pulled the weapon out again; Alcmaon fell forward following the spear, and his bronze armor rang about him. Then Sarpedon, seizing the battlement with his powerful hands, pulled hard, and the whole length of it gave way, laying the top of the wall bare and opening a path for many. Ajax and Teucer, coming at him together, let fly — Teucer with an arrow that
struck the gleaming baldric across his chest, the strap that held his body-covering shield, but Zeus warded off the fates of death from his son, unwilling that he fall by the ships' sterns. Ajax lunged and struck the shield, but the spear did not pass clean through, though it jarred Sarpedon back in his eager charge. He gave a little ground from the battlement, but did not retreat entirely, for his heart still hoped to win glory. Wheeling about, he called to the godlike Lycians: "Lycians, why do you slacken now in your furious courage? It is hard for me, mighty as I am,
to break through alone and clear a path to the ships. Come, follow with me — the work of many hands is better." So he spoke, and they, fearing their lord's rebuke, pressed harder still around their counsel-giving king. On the other side the Argives strengthened their ranks within the wall, and the struggle before them looked grim — for the mighty Lycians could not break through the wall of the Danaans and clear a path to the ships, nor could the Danaan spearmen ever drive the Lycians
back from the wall, once they had first closed with them. But just as two men quarrel over a boundary line, measuring rods in hand, on a shared field, contending over equal shares in a narrow strip of ground — so the battlements kept the two sides apart, and across them they hacked at each other's round ox-hide shields and fluttering light bucklers, striking at one another's chests. Many were wounded in the flesh by pitiless bronze, some turning and baring their backs to a blow amid the fighting, many struck straight through their very shields. Everywhere the towers and battlements were splattered with the blood of men,
spilled on both sides, from Trojans and Achaeans alike. Even so they could not put the Achaeans to rout — the battle held level, like the scales a hard-working widow holds, weighing wool and a counterweight together, balancing them evenly, so as to win some meager wage for her children. So evenly was the fight and the battle stretched between them, until Zeus gave the greater glory to Hector, son of Priam, who was the first to leap inside the wall of the Achaeans. He gave a piercing shout that carried to the Trojans: "Charge, horse-taming Trojans! Break through the Achaean wall,
and throw blazing fire on their ships!" So he spoke, urging them on, and all of them heard with their ears, and rushed at the wall in a mass. They began to climb up over the parapets, spears with sharpened points in hand, while Hector snatched up and carried a stone that stood before the gates, thick at the base but tapering to a sharp point at the top — a stone that two men, the strongest in a town, could not easily heave from the ground onto a wagon, of the men who live now — yet he alone swung it easily, for the son of crooked-counseled Cronus made it light for him.
As a shepherd easily carries the fleece of a ram, holding it in one hand, so light a burden it is, so Hector carried the stone straight at the door-planks, lifting it high — the planks that fenced the gates, close-set and firmly joined, tall double doors, with two bars crossing inside them, held fast by a single bolt. He came up very close, planted his feet wide for a firm throw, and struck the middle of the doors, so that the blow would not fall weak, and shattered both hinges at once. The stone crashed inward
under its own weight, and the gates groaned loudly all around, and the bars did not hold — the door-planks flew apart on either side under the impact of the stone. Then shining Hector leapt inside, his face like swift night, and the bronze blazed terribly on his body, the armor he wore, and he held two spears in his hands. No one could have stood against him and held him back once he had leapt through the gates — no one but a god — and his eyes burned like fire. Wheeling round to the Trojan throng, he called on them
to cross over the wall, and they obeyed his urging. At once some of them scaled the wall, while others poured in through the well-built gates themselves, and the Danaans fled in terror
back among the hollow ships, and an unceasing uproar broke out.