Homer · a new plain-English translation from the Greek
Menelaus, dear to Ares, did not fail to notice that Patroclus had fallen to the Trojans in the fighting. He strode out through the front ranks, armored in gleaming bronze, and stood over the body the way a mother stands over her firstborn calf, moaning, new to the pains of birth. So the red-haired Menelaus stood over Patroclus, holding his spear and his round shield before him, ready to kill any man who came against him.
Nor did Panthous's son, Euphorbus of the strong ash spear, forget that noble Patroclus had fallen. He came close and stood over him, and spoke to Menelaus, dear to Ares: "Son of Atreus, Menelaus, king raised by Zeus, fall back — leave the corpse, let go the bloodied spoils. No other Trojan or famous ally struck Patroclus with a spear before I did in the hard crush of battle. So let me win noble glory among the Trojans, or I will strike you and take that sweet life from you."
Deeply troubled, red-haired Menelaus answered him: "Father Zeus, it is not right to boast so arrogantly. Not the leopard has such fury, nor the lion, nor the savage wild boar, whose heart inside his chest swells fiercest with his own strength, as the sons of Panthous, men of the strong ash spear, think of themselves. Yet young Hyperenor, breaker of horses, got no joy from his own youth either, when he mocked me and stood against me, calling me the sorriest fighter among the Greeks. I do not think he walked home on his own feet to bring joy to his dear wife and honored parents. So I will break your strength too, if you stand against me. I tell you, fall back into the crowd, and do not face me, before you come to harm — only a fool learns from what has already happened."
So he spoke, but he did not persuade him. Euphorbus answered: "Now indeed, Menelaus, king raised by Zeus, you will pay for my brother, whom you killed and now boast about, leaving his wife a widow in the depths of their new bridal chamber, and giving his parents unbearable grief and mourning. I would be some comfort to those poor people in their sorrow if I brought your head and your armor and set them in the hands of Panthous and shining Phrontis. But this contest of ours will not go untried much longer, nor be left undecided, for victory or for rout."
So he said, and struck Menelaus's round shield, but the bronze did not break through — the point of his spear bent back against the strong shield. Then Menelaus, son of Atreus, rushed in second, praying to father Zeus, and as Euphorbus fell back, he struck low in the hollow of his throat, driving hard and trusting his heavy hand behind the thrust. The spearpoint went clean through the soft neck, and he fell with a crash, his armor clattering on him. His hair, lovely as the Graces', was soaked with blood, and the braids bound tight with gold and silver.
As a man tends a fine young shoot of an olive tree in some lonely place where the water rises plentifully — a beautiful, thriving thing, stirred by breezes from every quarter, bursting with white blossom — and then a sudden wind comes with a great storm, tears it from its trench, and stretches it out on the ground: such was Euphorbus, son of Panthous, of the strong ash spear, when Menelaus, son of Atreus, killed him and began to strip his armor.
As when a mountain-bred lion, trusting in his strength, snatches the best cow from a grazing herd — first he breaks her neck, gripping it in his powerful jaws, then gorges on the blood and all the entrails, tearing her apart, while around him the dogs and the herdsmen raise a great outcry from a distance but will not come close to face him, for pale fear grips them — so no man there had the heart in his chest to go up against glorious Menelaus.
And now the son of Atreus would easily have carried off the famous armor of Panthous's son, had Phoebus Apollo not grudged it and stirred up Hector, swift as Ares, against him, taking the shape of a man, Mentes, leader of the Cicones. He spoke and his words flew swift: "Hector, now you run in chase of a thing you cannot catch — the horses of wise-hearted Achilles. They are hard for mortal men to master or drive, for anyone but Achilles, whom an immortal mother bore. And meanwhile Menelaus, warlike son of Atreus, standing guard over Patroclus, has killed the best of the Trojans, Euphorbus son of Panthous, and stopped his furious fighting for good."
So speaking, the god went back into the toil of men, and grim grief covered Hector's dark heart all around. He looked along the ranks at once and saw one man stripping the famous armor, the other lying on the ground, blood flowing from the open wound. He strode through the front fighters, armored in gleaming bronze, shouting sharply, like the flame of Hephaestus that cannot be quenched. Nor did his piercing cry escape the son of Atreus, who, troubled, spoke to his own great heart:
"What now — if I leave behind this fine armor and Patroclus, who lies here for my honor's sake, I fear some Greek who sees it will hold it against me. But if, alone, out of shame, I fight Hector and the Trojans, they will surround me, one against many — for Hector of the flashing helmet is bringing every Trojan here. But why does my heart debate this within me? When a man tries to fight another whom a god honors, against the god's own will, ruin quickly rolls down on him. So no Greek who sees it will hold it against me if I give ground before Hector, since he fights with a god's help behind him. Yet if only I could find Ajax, good at the war cry — the two of us could turn again and take up the fight, even against a god's will, if somehow we might drag the body back to Achilles, son of Peleus. That, out of all these evils, would be the best."
While he turned these things over in his mind and heart, the Trojan ranks came on, Hector leading them. Menelaus drew back, giving up the corpse, but kept turning to look behind him, like a bearded lion driven from a farmyard by dogs and men with spears and shouting, whose brave heart in his chest goes cold, and who leaves the yard against his will — so red-haired Menelaus went from Patroclus. He stopped and turned once he reached the ranks of his companions, searching for great Ajax, son of Telamon.
Very quickly he spotted him on the far left of the whole battle, cheering his men on and urging them to fight, for Phoebus Apollo had cast a terrible panic over them. He ran to him and, coming close, spoke: "Ajax, friend, come here — let us hurry for the sake of dead Patroclus, so we may at least bring his stripped body back to Achilles, since Hector of the flashing helmet holds the armor."
So he spoke, and stirred the heart in brave Ajax. He strode through the front fighters, and red-haired Menelaus went with him. Hector, once he had stripped Patroclus of his famous armor, was dragging at him to cut off his head with sharp bronze and drag the body away to give to the dogs of Troy. But Ajax came near, carrying his shield like a tower, and Hector fell back into the crowd of his companions and leaped onto his chariot, giving the fine armor to the Trojans to carry to the city, to be a great glory for himself.
Ajax, covering Menoetius's son with his broad shield, took his stand like a lion standing over its cubs, when hunters come upon it in the woods leading its young — the lion glares in the fullness of its strength, its brow drawn low over its eyes. So Ajax stood guard over the hero Patroclus. And on the other side stood Menelaus, dear to Ares, son of Atreus, his heart swelling with great grief.
Then Glaucus, son of Hippolochus, leader of the Lycians, looked hard at Hector and rebuked him with harsh words: "Hector, so fine in looks, how far short you fall in battle! Your good name rests only on your running from danger. Think now how you and your people alone, without allies, will save your city and your town — for no Lycian is willing to go on fighting the Greeks for your city's sake, since we have earned no thanks at all for battling the enemy relentlessly. How could you save some lesser man in the crowd, hard-hearted as you are, when you left Sarpedon, your guest-friend and comrade, to be spoils and plunder for the Argives — Sarpedon, who did you great service, both your city and yourself, while he lived, and now you had not the courage to keep the dogs off him? So now, if any of my Lycian men will listen to me, we are going home, and steep ruin will appear over Troy. For if the Trojans had that bold, unshaken courage that fills men who fight and struggle without end for their own country against their enemies, we could quickly drag Patroclus inside Ilium. And if he — dead as he is — were brought within the great city of lord Priam, and we dragged him from the fight, then the Argives would quickly give back the fine armor of Sarpedon, and we could carry him too within Ilium, for the man whose comrade this was is far the best of the Argives by their ships, he and his close-fighting companions. But you did not dare to stand and face great-hearted Ajax eye to eye in the roar of battle, nor fight him directly, since he is stronger than you."
Looking hard at him, Hector of the flashing helmet answered: "Glaucus, why do you, being the man you are, speak so overbearingly? Friend, I always thought you had more sense than any other man from fertile Lycia — but now I find fault with your judgment entirely, for saying what you said, that I did not stand up to giant Ajax. I have never shrunk from battle, nor the thunder of horses. But the will of Zeus who bears the aegis is always stronger — he turns even a brave man to flight and snatches away victory easily, and then again he himself drives men on to fight. Come here, friend, stand by me and watch what I do — see whether I will be a coward all day long, as you claim, or whether I will stop some Greek, however hard he fights, from defending dead Patroclus."
So he spoke, and called loudly to the Trojans: "Trojans, Lycians, and Dardanians, close fighters all — be men, my friends, remember your furious courage, while I put on the fine armor of noble Achilles, which I stripped from mighty Patroclus when I killed him." So speaking, Hector of the flashing helmet went out from the grim battle. Running swiftly, he soon caught up with his companions, not far off, who were carrying the famous armor of the son of Peleus toward the city. Standing apart from the tearful fighting, he changed his own gear: he gave his own armor to the war-loving Trojans to carry back to sacred Ilium, and he put on the immortal armor of Achilles, son of Peleus, which the heavenly gods had given to Peleus, his father — and Peleus, growing old, had passed it on to his son. But the son did not grow old wearing his father's armor.
When Zeus who gathers the clouds saw him from afar, arming himself in the divine armor of the son of Peleus, he shook his head and spoke to his own heart: "Poor man — death is nowhere in your thoughts, though it draws near you now. You put on the immortal armor of the best of men, one whom even others tremble before. You have killed his comrade, gentle and strong, and stripped the armor from his head and shoulders in a way that was not right. Yet for now I will grant you great strength, to make up for the fact that you will not come home from this battle, nor will Andromache receive from you the famous armor of the son of Peleus." So the son of Cronos spoke, and nodded his dark brows in assent.
He made the armor fit Hector's body, and Ares the terrible war-god entered into him, and his limbs were filled inside with courage and strength. He went out among his famous allies with a great shout, and to all of them he seemed, in that gleaming armor, like the great-hearted son of Peleus himself. He went about urging on each man with words — Mesthles, Glaucus, Medon, Thersilochus, Asteropaeus, Deisenor, Hippothous, Phorcys, Chromius, and Ennomus the bird-reader — and stirring them, he spoke to them, his words flying swift:
"Hear me, you countless tribes of allies who dwell around us. It was not because I wanted numbers, or was in need of them, that I gathered each of you here from your own cities, but so that you would gladly defend the wives and small children of the Trojans from the war-loving Achaeans. With this in mind I wear out my people with gifts and food, to keep the spirit high in each of you. So now let each man turn straight ahead and either die or be saved — such is the give and take of war. Whoever drags Patroclus to the horse-taming Trojans, dead though he is, and makes Ajax give way, I will give him half the spoils and keep half myself — and his glory will be as great as my own."
So he spoke, and they went straight at the Greeks in full weight, spears raised, and their hearts hoped greatly to drag the body from under Ajax, son of Telamon — fools, for he took the life from many of them over that very body. And then Ajax spoke to Menelaus, good at the war cry: "Friend, Menelaus, king raised by Zeus, I no longer expect the two of us to come home safe from this war. I am not so afraid for Patroclus's body — he will soon glut the dogs and birds of the Trojans — as I fear for my own life, that harm may come to it, and to yours as well, since Hector, like a storm cloud, covers everything in war, and sheer destruction looms over us. Come, call the best of the Greeks, if any will hear."
So he spoke, and Menelaus, good at the war cry, did not disobey. He shouted, his voice carrying far and clear to the Greeks: "Friends, leaders and rulers of the Argives, all who drink at public expense with the sons of Atreus, Agamemnon and Menelaus, and command your own troops — honor and glory from Zeus attend each of you. It is hard for me to make out each captain individually, so fierce does the fire of battle blaze. Let each man come forward on his own, and feel it shame in his heart that Patroclus should become sport for the dogs of Troy."
So he spoke, and swift Ajax, son of Oïleus, heard him sharply, and was the first to come running through the battle to meet him, and after him Idomeneus, and Meriones, Idomeneus's companion, a match for man-slaying Ares. As for the rest, who could name from memory all who then rallied the Achaeans to the fight? The Trojans surged forward in a mass, Hector leading them.
As at the mouth of a heaven-fed river a great wave roars against the current, and all along the shore the headlands bellow as the sea surges out — so loud was the cry of the advancing Trojans. But the Achaeans stood around the son of Menoetius, all of one mind, fenced in by their bronze shields, and around their bright helmets the son of Cronos poured a thick mist, for he had never hated the son of Menoetius before, while he lived and served as companion to the grandson of Aeacus — and now Zeus hated the thought that he should become sport for the dogs of his enemies, the Trojans, and so he roused his comrades to defend him.
At first the Trojans pushed back the bright-eyed Achaeans, who gave ground, abandoning the body, though the proud Trojans, eager as they were with their spears, killed none of them — instead they dragged at the corpse. But the Achaeans were not to stay far from it for long, for Ajax quickly rallied them again — Ajax, who surpassed all the other Danaans, after the great son of Peleus, both in looks and in deeds. He drove straight through the front fighters like a wild boar in strength, the kind that in the mountains easily scatters hounds and strong young hunters as it wheels through the glens — so the son of glorious Telamon, shining Ajax, easily scattered the Trojan ranks that had gathered around Patroclus, all intent above all on dragging him back to their own city and winning glory.
Now Hippothous, shining son of Lethus the Pelasgian, was dragging the body by the foot through the hard crush of battle, having tied a strap around the ankle and tendons, to please Hector and the Trojans. But evil came upon him quickly, and no one, eager as they were, could keep it off. The son of Telamon, rushing through the crowd, struck him close up through his bronze-cheeked helmet. The horsehair-crested helmet split around the spearpoint, struck by the great spear and heavy hand, and the brain ran out along the spear-socket, mixed with blood, from the wound. His strength gave out at once, and his hands let fall the foot of great-hearted Patroclus, and he dropped to the ground, falling face down on the corpse.
far from rich Larisa, and he never repaid his dear parents for rearing him — his life was cut short beneath the spear of great-hearted Ajax. Hector then hurled his shining spear at Ajax, but Ajax, watching him come, ducked aside and the bronze shaft grazed past. It struck Schedius instead, son of great-hearted Iphitus, far the best of the Phocians, who had made his home in famous Panopeus, ruling over many men. The point caught him under the collarbone and drove clean through, the bronze spearhead coming out low by the shoulder.
He fell with a crash, and his armor clattered around him. Then Ajax struck down Phorcys, wise son of Phaenops, as he stood over the body of Hippothous, catching him full in the belly. The bronze tore through the hollow of his corselet and ripped out his guts; he fell in the dust and clawed at the earth. The front fighters gave ground, and shining Hector with them. The Argives shouted loud and dragged off the bodies of Phorcys and Hippothous, and stripped the armor from their shoulders.
Then the Trojans, beaten down by their own faintheartedness, would have been driven back into Troy by the Achaeans who love war, and the Argives would have won glory beyond even what Zeus had allotted, by their own strength and courage — but Apollo himself roused Aeneas, taking the shape of Periphas, son of Epytus, the herald who had grown old serving as herald beside Aeneas's aged father, a man wise in his thinking. In this likeness Apollo, son of Zeus, spoke to him:
"Aeneas, how could you and your men save steep Troy even against a god's will? I have seen other men trust in their own strength and courage, their numbers, their fighting spirit even when their people are few. But Zeus wants victory for us far more than for the Danaans — yet you yourselves cower back and will not fight."
So Apollo spoke, and Aeneas, looking him in the face, knew the Far-shooter, and he called out loudly to Hector: "Hector, and all you other leaders of the Trojans and their allies — this is shameful, that we should be driven back into Troy beaten down by faintheartedness before men who love war. No — a god has just come and stood beside me and told me that Zeus, highest counselor, is still backing us in this fight. Let us go straight at the Danaans, and not let them carry off the body of Patroclus to their ships in peace."
So he spoke, and sprang out well ahead of the front ranks and stood there. The Trojans wheeled around and faced the Achaeans again. Then Aeneas wounded Leiocritus with his spear, son of Arisbas, a good comrade of Lycomedes. War-loving Lycomedes pitied him as he fell, and coming close he hurled his own bright spear and struck Apisaon, son of Hippasus, shepherd of his people, beneath the midriff in the liver, and loosed his knees at once — he who had come from rich Paeonia,
and was the best fighter among them after Asteropaeus. Warlike Asteropaeus pitied him as he fell and charged forward, eager himself to fight the Danaans, but he could not — shields hedged him in on every side where men stood guard around Patroclus, and spears bristled in front of them. For Ajax was ranging along the whole line, giving many orders: he told no man to fall back from the corpse, and no man to fight far out ahead of the rest, but to stand close around it, right there, and fight hand to hand. So huge Ajax commanded, and the earth
grew wet with dark purple blood, and bodies piled up thickly one on another, Trojans and their mighty allies together, and Danaans too — for they did not fight bloodlessly either, though far fewer of them died, for each remembered always to guard his neighbor against grim death in the crush. So they fought like a raging fire, and you would not have said the sun still stood in the sky, or the moon — for a mist covered the whole battle, wherever the bravest men stood around the dead son of Menoetius. The rest of the Trojans and the well-armed Achaeans
fought at their ease under open sky, the sun's sharp light spread wide, and no cloud showed anywhere over the land or the mountains; they fought with pauses between, drawing apart from each other and dodging the arrows that bring grief, keeping their distance. But the men in the middle suffered — trapped in the mist and the war together, worn down by the pitiless bronze, all the best of them. Only two men had not yet learned that noble Patroclus was dead — Thrasymedes and Antilochus, both glorious warriors — but still believed him alive,
fighting the Trojans in the front of the din. Watching for their comrades' death or rout, the two of them fought apart, off to the side, just as Nestor had ordered when he sent them out from the black ships to war. And all day long a great and bitter struggle of hatred rose among the rest; sweat and toil without pause wore down the knees, the shins, the feet beneath every man, the hands and eyes as they fought over the good attendant of swift-footed Achilles. As when a man gives the hide of a great bull
to his people to stretch, soaked through with fat — they take it, spread out in a circle, and pull, until the moisture leaves it and the fat sinks in, with so many hands hauling, and it stretches out taut through and through — so they, this side and that, dragged the corpse back and forth in the cramped space between them, both sides hoping hard in their hearts, the Trojans to haul it back to Troy, the Achaeans to their hollow ships. A savage struggle rose around it,
wild — not even Ares who drives men on, not even Athena, could have found fault watching it, however great their anger. Such was the grim labor over men and horses that Zeus stretched out that day over Patroclus. And godlike Achilles did not yet know that Patroclus was dead, for they were fighting far off from the swift ships, under the wall of Troy. He never imagined in his heart that Patroclus had died, but thought he would come back alive, once he had pressed close to the gates,
since he never thought at all that Patroclus would sack the city without him, or even with him — his mother had often told him this in private, reporting to him the mind of great Zeus. But this time she had not told him of the disaster that had actually happened,
that his dearest companion by far had been destroyed. The men kept crowding around the body, spears sharpened for killing, thrusting at each other without pause, cutting each other down. And one man among the bronze-armored Achaeans would say: "Friends, there would be no glory for us in going back to the hollow ships — better the black earth swallow us all right here, than we give this man up to the horse-taming Trojans to drag back to their city and win the glory." And one of the great-hearted Trojans would say the same in answer:
"Friends, even if it is fated that all of us die beside this man together, still let no one give ground in the fight." So each man spoke, and stirred the fighting spirit in the other. So they fought on, and the iron din rose up through the barren air to the bronze sky. Meanwhile the horses of the son of Aeacus, standing apart from the battle, wept, since they had learned that their charioteer had fallen in the dust beneath man-killing Hector. Automedon, brave son of Diores,
lashed at them again and again with the quick whip, and spoke to them again and again, now gently, now harshly — but they would not go back to the ships by the broad Hellespont, nor forward into battle among the Achaeans. They stood fast like a pillar that stands firm on the grave-mound of a dead man or woman, holding the fine chariot motionless, heads bowed to the ground. Hot tears ran down from their eyes and fell to the earth as they mourned
their longing for their charioteer, and their rich manes grew soiled, spilling out from under the yoke-pad on either side of the yoke. The son of Cronus saw them mourning and pitied them, and shaking his head he said to his own heart: "Poor creatures — why did we give you to lord Peleus, a mortal man, when you yourselves are ageless and immortal? Was it only so you might suffer grief among wretched men? For there is nothing anywhere more miserable than man, of all things that breathe and move upon the earth.
But Hector son of Priam will not ride behind you in that gleaming chariot — I will not allow it. Is it not enough already that he holds Achilles's armor and boasts of it? No — I will put strength into your knees and your hearts, so that you may carry Automedon safely out of the fighting to the hollow ships. I will still grant the Trojans the glory of killing, until they reach the well-benched ships and the sun goes down and sacred darkness comes."
So he spoke, and breathed strong spirit into the horses. They shook the dust from their manes down to the ground and swiftly bore the fast chariot in among Trojans and Achaeans. Automedon fought on from behind them, grieving for his comrade, swooping in with the horses like a vulture among geese —
easily he would flee out from the roar of the Trojans, and easily he would charge back in, driving through the great crowd chasing them down. But he could not kill any man when he charged, for it was not possible, alone as he was in the sacred chariot, to hurl his spear and hold the swift horses at the same time. At last a comrade saw him with his own eyes, Alcimedon, son of Laerces, son of Haemon; he came up and stood behind the chariot and spoke to Automedon:
"Automedon, which of the gods has put this useless plan in your heart and taken away your good sense — that you fight the Trojans alone, out at the front of the crowd? Your comrade is dead, and Hector himself is wearing Achilles's armor on his own shoulders, glorying in it." Automedon, son of Diores, answered him: "Alcimedon, what other Achaean could handle the reins and the spirit of these immortal horses
as well as you — except Patroclus, a match for the gods in counsel, while he lived? Now death and fate have caught him. Take the whip and the shining reins yourself, and I will get down from the chariot to fight." So he spoke, and Alcimedon leapt onto the fast chariot and quickly took whip and reins in his hands, and Automedon jumped down. But shining Hector saw them, and at once spoke to Aeneas who stood nearby: "Aeneas, counselor of the bronze-armored Trojans, I see the two horses of swift-footed Achilles
coming out into battle now with weak drivers. I believe we could take them, if you are willing in your heart, since those two would never dare to stand against us and fight face to face if we both charge them." So he spoke, and the brave son of Anchises did not refuse. The two of them went straight forward, their shoulders wrapped in dry, tough oxhide overlaid with plenty of bronze. Chromius and godlike Aretus went with them,
both together, their hearts hoping hard to kill the two men themselves and drive off the high-necked horses — fools, for they were not going to come back from Automedon bloodlessly. Automedon prayed to father Zeus, and at once his dark heart filled with courage and strength, and he spoke at once to his loyal comrade Alcimedon:
"Alcimedon, don't hold the horses far off from me, but keep them breathing right at my back — for I don't think anything will hold back the fury of Hector, son of Priam, until he has either mounted the beautiful-maned horses of Achilles himself, killing the two of us, and routed the ranks of Argive men, or been struck down himself among the front fighters." So saying, he called out to the two Ajaxes and Menelaus: "You Ajaxes, leaders of the Argives, and Menelaus — leave the body to the best men there are, to stand guard around it and fight off the ranks of the enemy,
and drive off this pitiless day of death from us two who are still alive — for Hector and Aeneas, the best of the Trojans, are pressing hard on us here in this tearful battle. But all this lies on the knees of the gods; I will throw my spear too, and Zeus will see to the rest." So he spoke, and swinging back his long shadowed spear, he hurled it and struck the perfectly balanced shield of Aretus. The shield did not stop the spear — the bronze drove straight through it and through his belt into his lower belly. Just as when a strong young man swings a sharp axe
and strikes behind the horns of a field-ox to cut clean through the sinew, and the ox leaps forward and collapses — so Aretus leapt forward and fell backward, and the spear, quivering sharp in his guts, loosed his limbs. Hector then hurled his shining spear at Automedon, but Automedon, watching him come, ducked forward and dodged the bronze shaft; it flew past and stuck fast in the ground behind him, the butt-end of the spear still quivering
until powerful Ares let its force die away. Then the two of them would have closed and fought sword to sword, had not the two Ajaxes come pushing through the crowd and forced them apart, answering their comrade's call. Hector, Aeneas, and godlike Chromius, in awe of them, drew back again, leaving Aretus lying there with his heart torn open. Automedon, a match for swift Ares, stripped his armor and spoke in triumph:
"Well, this has eased my grief a little for the death of the son of Menoetius, even though the man I killed was far less than him." So saying, he lifted the bloody spoils into his chariot and climbed up himself, his feet and hands smeared with blood like a lion that has just fed on a bull. Then again the fierce, hard-fought, tear-soaked battle closed in over Patroclus, for Athena came down from heaven and stirred up the strife there — far-seeing Zeus had sent her
to rouse the Danaans, since his mind had now turned that way. Just as Zeus stretches a purple rainbow across the sky for mortal men as a sign either of war or of a bitter storm that stops men's work upon the earth and troubles the flocks — so Athena wrapped herself in a purple cloud and went down into the mass of the Achaeans, stirring each man to fight. First she came to the son of Atreus and spoke to rouse him,
to brave Menelaus, since he was near at hand — she took the shape and tireless voice of Phoenix, and said: "Menelaus, it will be your shame and disgrace if the swift dogs tear apart the loyal comrade of great Achilles under the wall of Troy. Hold fast with all your strength, and rouse the whole army." Menelaus, good at the war cry, answered her:
"Phoenix, old father, if only Athena would grant me strength and keep the flying spears away — then I would gladly stand by Patroclus and defend him, for his death has touched my heart deeply. But Hector holds the terrible fury of fire and does not stop cutting men down with his bronze, for Zeus grants him the glory." So he spoke, and the bright-eyed goddess Athena was glad that he had prayed to her first of all the gods. She put strength into his shoulders and his knees,
and set in his chest the boldness of a fly, which, driven off again and again from a man's skin, still keeps trying to bite, since human blood tastes sweet to it. With such boldness she filled his dark heart, and he went to stand by Patroclus and hurled his shining spear. Among the Trojans there was a man named Podes, son of Eetion, rich and brave, whom Hector honored above all others among his people, since he was his dear friend and drinking companion. Fair-haired Menelaus struck him with his spear through the belt
as he turned to flee, and drove the bronze clean through. He fell with a crash, and Menelaus, son of Atreus, dragged the body away from the Trojans, back to his own men. Apollo, standing close by Hector, urged him on, taking the shape of Phaenops, son of Asius, who was dearest to him of all his guest-friends, living in his house at Abydos. In this likeness the Far-worker Apollo spoke to him:
"Hector, what other Achaean will fear you now, when you shrink back before Menelaus, who up to now was only a soft spearman? Now he has gone off alone and carried away a body from among the Trojans, and has killed your loyal comrade, a brave man in the front ranks — Podes, son of Eetion." So he spoke, and a black cloud of grief covered Hector, and he strode through the front fighters armored in gleaming bronze. Then the son of Cronus took up his tasseled aegis,
glittering bright, and covered Mount Ida with clouds; he flashed lightning and thundered mightily, shaking the aegis, and gave victory to the Trojans, driving the Achaeans to rout. Peneleos of Boeotia was the first to break and run — struck in the shoulder by a spear as he stood turned always toward the enemy, a glancing blow, but the spear-point of Polydamas had grazed the bone to the quick, for he had struck him from close range.
Close by, Hector stabbed Leitus, son of great-hearted Alectryon, wounding him in the wrist and driving him out of the fighting. Leitus glanced about him and shrank back, for his heart no longer trusted the spear in his hand to face the Trojans. As Idomeneus went after Hector, who had turned on Leitus, he struck him on the breastplate near the nipple, but the long shaft snapped off at the socket, and the Trojans shouted. Hector hurled back at Idomeneus, who was standing on his chariot, and missed him only by a little, but struck down Coeranus, the follower and charioteer of Meriones,
Coeranus, who had come with him from well-built Lyctus. He had left the curved ships on foot at first, and would have given the Trojans a great triumph had not Coeranus quickly driven up his swift horses. He brought light to Idomeneus and warded off the pitiless day of death, but himself lost his life beneath man-slaying Hector, who struck him under the jaw and ear, so that the spearhead knocked his teeth out at the root and split his tongue down the middle. He toppled from the car, and the reins spilled to the ground.
Meriones stooped and gathered them up from the plain with his own hands, and spoke to Idomeneus: "Whip the horses on now, until you reach the swift ships. You yourself see well enough that the strength has gone out of the Achaeans."
So he spoke, and Idomeneus lashed the fair-maned horses back toward the hollow ships, for fear had fallen on his heart. Nor did it escape great-hearted Ajax and Menelaus that Zeus was now giving the Trojans the upper hand in the battle. Great Ajax, son of Telamon, was the first of them to speak: "Ah, by now even the greatest fool could see that father Zeus himself is helping the Trojans.
Every spear that leaves a hand finds its mark, whether thrown by a coward or a brave man — Zeus guides them all straight to the target — while ours, every one, falls useless to the ground. Come, then, let us work out the best plan ourselves, both how we may drag off the body and how we ourselves may bring joy to our friends by returning home safe, for they must be watching from over there in anguish, thinking that the fury and untouchable hands of man-slaying Hector can no longer be held back, that he will fall upon the black ships. If only some comrade would carry the news at once
to the son of Peleus — for I do not think he has even heard the grim news yet, that his dear companion has been killed. But I cannot make out any such man among the Achaeans; they are all wrapped in mist, both men and horses alike. Father Zeus, free the sons of the Achaeans from this mist, make the sky clear, and grant our eyes the power to see. Destroy us in the light, since it pleases you to destroy us now."
So he spoke, and the Father pitied him as he wept and shed tears; at once he scattered the mist and drove away the fog, the sun shone out, and the whole battle was lit up.
Then Ajax said to Menelaus, good at the war cry: "Look about now, Menelaus, favored of Zeus, and see if you can catch sight of Antilochus, great-hearted Nestor's son, still alive. Rouse him and send him quickly to tell keen-minded Achilles that his dearest companion by far has been killed."
So he spoke, and Menelaus, good at the war cry, did not refuse. He went off like a lion from a farmyard, one that has tired itself out harassing dogs and men, who will not let it carry off the choicest of the herd, keeping watch all night; but the lion, hungry for meat, keeps
charging forward, yet gains nothing, for thick javelins fly at it from bold hands, and blazing torches too, which it fears despite its fury, and at dawn it slinks away, sullen at heart. So it was that Menelaus, good at the war cry, left Patroclus's body very much against his will, for he was terribly afraid the Achaeans might abandon it to the enemy in the grim rout that had seized them. He gave many instructions to Meriones and the two Ajaxes: "You two, Ajaxes, leaders of the Argives, and you, Meriones — now let each of you
remember the kindness of poor Patroclus, for while he lived he knew how to be gentle to everyone. Now death and fate have overtaken him." So spoke fair-haired Menelaus, and went off, glancing everywhere like an eagle, which men say has the keenest sight of all birds beneath the sky, one that even from high up does not fail to notice a hare crouched beneath a leafy bush, but swoops down on it, seizes it swiftly, and tears the life from it. So then, Menelaus, favored of Zeus, your bright eyes
swept everywhere over the crowded ranks of your comrades, searching to see if you might spot Nestor's son still alive. He caught sight of him at once, over on the left of the whole battle, cheering on his companions and urging them to fight, and fair-haired Menelaus came up close and said to him: "Antilochus, come here, favored of Zeus, so you may learn grim news — news I wish had never had to happen.
You must already see for yourself, I think, that a god is rolling disaster down on the Danaans, and victory to the Trojans. Patroclus has been killed, the best of the Achaeans, and a terrible loss it is to the Danaans. Run quickly to the ships and tell Achilles, so he may hurry to save the naked corpse to his ship — his armor is held by Hector of the flashing helmet."
So he spoke, and Antilochus was horrified to hear the words. For a long while speechlessness gripped him, his eyes filled with tears, and his strong voice was choked. Yet even so he did not neglect Menelaus's charge — he set off running, after giving his armor to his blameless companion Laodocus, who was wheeling his sure-footed horses close by. His feet carried him weeping out of the battle,
to bring the grim news to Achilles, son of Peleus. Nor, Menelaus favored of Zeus, did your heart wish to stand by your worn companions where Antilochus had left them — a bitter loss it was to the men of Pylos — but he sent godlike Thrasymedes to them, while he himself went back to stand by the hero Patroclus, ran up beside the two Ajaxes, and spoke to them at once: "I have sent that man off to the swift ships to go to Achilles, swift of foot, but I do not think
he will come now, however furious he may be with godlike Hector, for he could hardly fight the Trojans without his armor. Let us ourselves work out the best plan, both how we may drag the body away and how we ourselves may escape death and doom amid the Trojan onslaught." Great Ajax, son of Telamon, answered him then: "Everything you have said is exactly right, glorious Menelaus. So you and Meriones stoop down quickly,
lift the body, and carry it out of the struggle, while the two of us behind you fight off the Trojans and godlike Hector, sharing one spirit as we share one name, we who have already stood
side by side before this, holding our ground against fierce war." So he spoke, and they gathered the body up from the ground, lifting it high with all their strength. Behind them the Trojan host cried out as they saw the Achaeans raising the corpse. They rushed forward like hounds that spring at a wounded boar ahead of the young hunters — for a while they run on eager to tear it apart, but when the boar wheels around among them, trusting its strength,
they fall back and scatter in flight, each man his own way. So the Trojans for a time kept following in a mass, thrusting with swords and double-edged spears, but whenever the two Ajaxes wheeled around to face them and made a stand, their color changed and none dared rush forward to fight over the body. So the two, straining hard, carried the corpse out of the battle toward the hollow ships, while behind them the fighting stretched out fierce as fire, the kind that suddenly springs up and rages through a city of men, and houses collapse in the great blaze, roaring under the force of the wind — so the relentless din of horses and spearmen
pressed upon them as they went. Like mules that throw their whole massive strength together and drag down a rugged mountain path some great beam or ship's timber, their hearts worn out together with toil and sweat as they strain — so the two men, straining hard, carried the corpse. Behind them the two Ajaxes held the enemy back, as a wooded ridge holds back a flood, running crosswise over a plain, one that even checks the raging streams of mighty rivers,
turning them aside so that its strength breaks the flow of every river alike, and none of them can burst through it — so the two Ajaxes forever kept pushing the Trojan attack back, though the Trojans kept following, and two among them most of all, Aeneas, son of Anchises, and glorious Hector. And as a cloud of starlings or jackdaws goes shrieking in terror when they see a hawk coming, one that brings death to little birds, so under the assault of Aeneas and Hector the young men of the Achaeans went off shrieking in terror, forgetting their will to fight. Many fine weapons fell around and beside the ditch
as the Danaans fled — but the fighting had no letup.