Homer · a new plain-English translation from the Greek
So the men fought on, like a raging fire, while Antilochus went as a messenger, running on quick feet, to Achilles. He found him in front of his high-beaked ships, turning over in his heart the very thing that had already happened. Groaning, he spoke to his own great heart: "Why now are the long-haired Achaeans again driven in confusion across the plain back toward the ships? I am afraid the gods have brought to pass the terrible grief my mother once described to me, when she told me that while I still lived, the best of the Myrmidons would lose the light of the sun at the hands of the Trojans. Surely by now the brave son of Menoetius is dead — reckless man, I told him to beat back the deadly fire and come back to the ships, not to fight Hector head to head."
While he turned these things over in his mind and heart, the son of noble Nestor came near him, shedding hot tears, and spoke his grievous message: "Ah, son of wise Peleus, you are about to hear terrible news — news I wish had never happened. Patroclus lies dead, and now they are fighting over his naked corpse. Hector of the flashing helmet holds his armor."
So he spoke, and a black cloud of grief settled over Achilles. With both hands he took the grimy dust and poured it over his head, defiling his handsome face; the black ash settled on his fragrant tunic. He himself, great in his greatness, lay stretched out in the dust, tearing at his own hair with his own hands. The women Achilles and Patroclus had taken captive cried out loudly in their grief and ran outside around warlike Achilles, all of them beating their breasts, and the strength went out of each of their limbs.
On the other side Antilochus grieved, shedding tears, holding Achilles' hands as he groaned in his proud heart, for Antilochus feared he might cut his own throat with iron. Achilles gave a terrible cry, and his queenly mother heard it as she sat in the sea's depths beside her aged father. She cried out in answer, and around her gathered the goddesses, all the Nereids who dwelt in the depths of the sea.
There were Glauce and Thalia and Cymodoce, Nesaea and Speio and Thoe and ox-eyed Halia, Cymothoe and Actaea and Limnoreia, Melite and Iaera and Amphithoe and Agave, Doto and Proto and Pherusa and Dynamene, Dexamene and Amphinome and Callianeira, Doris and Panope and glorious Galatea, Nemertes and Apseudes and Callianassa. There too were Clymene and Ianeira and Ianassa, Maera and Orithyia and fair-haired Amatheia, and the rest of the Nereids who lived in the sea's depths. The silvery cave was filled with them, and all together they beat their breasts, and Thetis led their lament.
"Hear me, sister Nereids, so that you may all know well the sorrows in my heart. Ah, wretched me, ah, the misery of bearing the finest of sons — since I bore a son who was blameless and strong, the best of heroes, and he shot up like a young sapling. I raised him like a shoot on the rich soil of an orchard and sent him off in the curved ships to Troy, to fight the Trojans — but I will never welcome him home again, returning to the house of Peleus.
"While he still lives and looks on the light of the sun, he suffers, and I can do nothing to help him, though I go to him. But I will go, to see my dear child and hear what grief has come to him, though he stays far from the fighting."
So she spoke, and left the cave; and the others went with her weeping, and around them the sea's waves broke apart. When they reached the fertile land of Troy, they climbed up the shore in a line, to where the many ships of the Myrmidons were drawn up around swift Achilles. There his queenly mother stood beside him as he groaned heavily, and with a sharp cry she took her son's head in her hands, and spoke to him in winged words of lament: "Child, why are you weeping? What grief has come into your heart? Speak, do not hide it. What you prayed for has been granted you by Zeus — that all the sons of the Achaeans, in want of you, should be pinned back against the sterns of their ships and suffer terrible things."
Groaning heavily, swift-footed Achilles answered her: "Mother, indeed the Olympian has granted me all this — but what joy is it to me, now that my dear companion is dead — Patroclus, whom I honored above all my companions, as much as my own life? I have lost him, and Hector, who killed him, has stripped from him that huge and wondrous armor, beautiful to look upon, which the gods gave to Peleus as a shining gift on the day they placed you in the bed of a mortal man. I wish you had stayed there among the immortal sea-nymphs, and Peleus had married a mortal wife. But as it is, so that your heart too may hold endless grief for your son's death, you will never welcome him home again, since my own heart no longer urges me to live or remain among men, unless Hector is struck down first by my spear and loses his life, paying the price for stripping Patroclus, son of Menoetius."
Then Thetis answered him, shedding tears: "Then you will be short-lived, my child, by what you say — for your death is fated to come right after Hector's."
Deeply troubled, swift-footed Achilles answered her: "Then let me die at once, since I was not there to defend my companion when he was killed. He died far from his homeland, and he needed me there to shield him from ruin. Now, since I am not going home to my own dear country, and I was no light of safety for Patroclus, nor for my other companions, so many of whom were beaten down by godlike Hector — instead I sit here by the ships, a useless burden on the earth, though I am such a man as no other bronze-clad Achaean is in war, even if in council others are better.
"I wish that strife could vanish from among gods and men, and anger too, which drives even a wise man to fury — anger that rises sweeter than dripping honey in the hearts of men, and spreads like smoke. Just so did Agamemnon, lord of men, provoke my anger. But let us set that behind us, grieved as we are, mastering our hearts under necessity. Now I am going, to find the man who destroyed the one dear to me — Hector; and I will accept my own death whenever Zeus wishes to bring it about, and the other immortal gods with him.
"Not even the great strength of Heracles escaped death, though he was dearest of all to lord Zeus, son of Cronus — fate and the harsh anger of Hera brought even him down. So too, if a like fate has been prepared for me, I will lie dead when I die. But now let me win noble glory, and make some deep-bosomed woman of Troy or Dardania, wiping the tears from her soft cheeks with both hands, cry out in grief, and let them know that I have been kept from war for far too long. Do not hold me back from battle, though you love me — you will not persuade me."
Then the silver-footed goddess Thetis answered him: "Yes, my child, what you say is true — it is no bad thing to defend one's beleaguered companions from sudden destruction. But your fine armor, the bronze that gleams, is in the hands of the Trojans; Hector of the flashing helmet wears it himself on his own shoulders and glories in it — though I do not think he will glory in it long, since his own death draws near. But you must not yet plunge into the struggle of war, until you see me return here with your own eyes; for at dawn, at sunrise, I will come back bringing you fine armor from lord Hephaestus."
So speaking she turned away from her son, and turning to her sister nymphs of the sea she said: "Now dive down into the broad lap of the sea to see the old man of the sea and our father's house, and tell him everything. I am going to high Olympus, to Hephaestus, the famous craftsman, to see if he will give my son splendid, gleaming armor."
So she spoke, and at once they plunged beneath the waves of the sea, while the silver-footed goddess Thetis went on to Olympus, to bring back famous armor for her dear son. Her feet carried her to Olympus; meanwhile the Achaeans, fleeing before man-killing Hector with a terrible din, reached the ships and the Hellespont.
Not even then could the well-greaved Achaeans drag Patroclus, the attendant of Achilles, clear of the weapons, for the Trojan men and horses caught up with him again, and Hector, son of Priam, fierce as flame. Three times glorious Hector seized him from behind by the feet, eager to drag him off, calling loudly to the Trojans; and three times the two Ajaxes, clothed in furious strength, beat him back from the corpse. But Hector, trusting steadily in his own strength, kept charging into the fray one moment, and the next standing his ground, shouting loudly — but never once did he give way and retreat.
As shepherds in the field cannot drive a tawny, ravenous lion from a carcass, so the two armored Ajaxes could not frighten Hector, son of Priam, away from the body. And now he would have dragged it off and won unspeakable glory, had not wind-footed swift Iris come running as a messenger from Olympus to Achilles, telling him to arm — sent secretly from Zeus and the other gods, for Hera had sent her. Standing close beside him she spoke winged words: "Rise up, son of Peleus, most terrible of all men!
"Defend Patroclus, for whose sake the dread battle now rages before the ships. Men are killing each other there, some defending the dead body, others — the Trojans — pressing to drag it away into windy Troy. Glorious Hector is most eager of all to drag it off; his heart urges him to cut the head from the soft neck and fix it on a stake. Get up, lie there no longer — let shame fill your heart at the thought of Patroclus becoming sport for the dogs of Troy. Disgrace will be yours if his corpse comes to them defiled."
Then swift Achilles, godlike, answered her: "Goddess Iris, which of the gods sent you to me as a messenger?" Wind-footed swift Iris answered him in turn: "Hera sent me, the glorious wife of Zeus. The son of Cronus who sits on high does not know of it, nor does any other of the immortals who dwell around snow-capped Olympus." Then swift-footed Achilles answered her: "But how can I go into the battle? They hold my armor. My own dear mother would not let me arm myself until I see her return with my own eyes,
"for she promised to bring me fine armor from Hephaestus. I know of no other armor I could put on, except the shield of Ajax, son of Telamon. But I think Ajax himself is out among the front ranks, fighting with his spear over the fallen body of Patroclus." Then wind-footed swift Iris answered him: "We too know well that they hold your famous armor. But go as you are to the trench, and show yourself to the Trojans, so that they may be struck with fear of you and hold back from battle, and the warlike sons of the Achaeans may catch their breath,
worn out as they are — even a brief respite from war is welcome." So speaking, swift-footed Iris departed. And Achilles, dear to Zeus, rose up; and Athena threw the fringed aegis around his mighty shoulders, and the shining goddess crowned his head with a golden cloud, and from it kindled a blazing, radiant fire.
As when smoke rises from a city and reaches the sky, from a far island under siege by enemies — and the people fight all day long in the hateful struggle of war, from their own city; but as the sun goes down, the signal fires blaze thick and fast, their glow shooting upward for the neighboring people to see, in hope that they may come with ships to defend them from ruin — so the gleam from Achilles' head reached the sky. He went and stood by the trench, away from the wall, but did not mingle with the other Achaeans, for he was mindful of his mother's wise command.
There he stood and shouted, and from a distance Pallas Athena added her own cry, and stirred unspeakable panic among the Trojans. As clear as the sound of a trumpet, blown out by enemies besieging a city that destroys men's lives — so clear then rang out the voice of the grandson of Aeacus.
When they heard the brazen voice of the grandson of Aeacus, the hearts of all were shaken. The fine-maned horses turned the chariots back, for they sensed disaster coming in their hearts. The charioteers were struck with terror when they saw the tireless, terrible fire blazing above the head of great-hearted Achilles, kindled there by the bright-eyed goddess Athena. Three times godlike Achilles shouted greatly across the trench, and three times the Trojans and their famous allies were thrown into confusion. Then and there twelve of their best men perished,
tangled among their own chariots and spears. But the Achaeans, gladly drawing Patroclus clear of the weapons, laid him upon a bier; and his dear companions stood around him mourning. Swift Achilles followed among them, shedding hot tears, when he saw his loyal companion lying on the bier, torn by the sharp bronze — the man he had sent off to war with his horses and chariot, but never welcomed home again. And ox-eyed queenly Hera sent the tireless sun, unwilling, down to the streams of Ocean to set.
So the sun set, and the godlike Achaeans ceased from the fierce fighting and the leveling war. On the other side the Trojans, drawing back from the hard-fought battle, unyoked their swift horses from the chariots, and gathered in assembly before thinking of supper. They held the assembly standing, and no one dared to sit, for fear gripped them all, because Achilles had appeared again, after so long a time away from grim battle.
Among them wise Polydamas, son of Panthous, was first to speak, for he alone looked both ahead and behind. He was Hector's companion, born on the same night as he, but while one excelled with words, the other far excelled with the spear. With good will he addressed the assembly and said: "Consider carefully, my friends. I myself urge that we go back into the city now, and not wait for bright dawn out here on the plain by the ships — we are too far from the wall.
"As long as this man was angry at godlike Agamemnon, the Achaeans were easier to fight; and I myself was glad to sleep by the swift ships, hoping we would capture their curved vessels. But now I am terribly afraid of the swift son of Peleus — his spirit is so violent that he will not be content to stay on the plain, where Trojans and Achaeans alike share out the fury of war between them; he will fight instead for our city and our women.
"Come, let us go back to the city — trust me, for this is how it will be. For now night has stopped the swift son of Peleus, immortal night; but if he catches us still here tomorrow, when he charges out in his armor, everyone will come to know him well — glad indeed will be the man who escapes and reaches sacred Troy, for many Trojans will be food for the dogs and vultures.
"May such a word stay far from my ears! But if we listen to my advice, grieved though we are, we will keep our strength in the assembly through the night, and the city's towers and high gates, with their long, well-fitted, polished doors, will protect us. Then early in the morning, armed in our gear, we will take our stand upon the towers. So much the worse for him, if he chooses to come from the ships and fight us around the wall — he will go back to the ships
after wearing out his high-necked horses, driving them every which way beneath the city walls in vain pursuit. His spirit will not allow him to force his way inside, nor will he ever sack it — sooner will the swift dogs eat him." But Hector of the flashing helmet looked at him darkly and said: "Polydamas, what you now propose no longer pleases me — you who tell us to go back and pen ourselves inside the city again. Are you not yet tired of being cooped up within the walls?
"Before now, all men on earth used to speak of Priam's city as rich in gold and rich in bronze; but now the fine treasures have vanished from our houses,
and much of our wealth has gone to be sold off in Phrygia and lovely Maeonia, ever since great Zeus grew angry with us. But now, when the son of crooked-scheming Cronus has granted me to win glory at the ships and pin the Achaeans against the sea, fool, do not voice such thoughts among the people any longer — for no Trojan will listen to you; I will not allow it. Come, let us all do as I say. Now take your supper throughout the camp by companies, and remember to keep watch, and let every man stay alert. And whoever among the Trojans is overly anxious about his possessions,
"Let it be gathered and given to the army to share out — better the army profit from it than the Achaeans do. At dawn, armed for battle, let us rouse sharp war beside the hollow ships. And if it is true that godlike Achilles has risen again by the ships, so much the worse for him if he wishes it — I will not run from grim battle for him, but will stand and face him, whether he carries off the great victory or I carry it off myself. The war-god deals fairly to all, and the killer is often killed in turn."
So Hector spoke, and the Trojans roared their approval — fools, for Pallas Athena had stolen away their wits. They applauded Hector, whose counsel was ruinous, and no one praised Polydamas, though his advice was sound. Then they took their supper through the camp. But the Achaeans mourned Patroclus the whole night through, weeping.
Among them the son of Peleus led the passionate lament, laying his man-killing hands on the chest of his companion, groaning again and again, like a bearded lion whose cubs a deer-hunter has snatched away out of the thick woods — the lion returns too late and grieves, and ranges through many mountain glens tracking the man's scent, hoping to find him, for a bitter fury has seized him. So Achilles groaned heavily and spoke among the Myrmidons:
"What an empty thing I said that day, trying to comfort the hero Menoetius in his hall — I told him I would bring his glorious son home to Opoeis after he had sacked Troy and taken his share of the spoil. But Zeus does not bring all men's plans to fulfillment. It is fated that both of us redden the same earth here at Troy, since I too will never return, and old Peleus, breaker of horses, will not welcome me home in his hall, nor will my mother Thetis — the earth here will hold me instead.
But now, Patroclus, since I go beneath the earth after you, I will not bury you until I have brought here the armor and the head of Hector, who slew you, great-hearted as you were. And before your pyre I will cut the throats of twelve splendid sons of the Trojans, in my fury at your death. Until then you will lie as you are, beside the curved ships, and around you the women of Troy and the deep-bosomed daughters of Dardanus will weep, night and day, shedding tears — women we won ourselves by strength and the long spear, sacking rich cities of mortal men."
So speaking, brilliant Achilles ordered his companions to set a great tripod over the fire, so that as quickly as possible they might wash the clotted blood from Patroclus. They set the water-heating tripod over the blazing fire, poured water into it, and took wood and kindled it beneath. The fire wrapped around the belly of the tripod and the water grew warm, and when it boiled in the gleaming bronze, they washed the body and anointed it richly with oil, filling the wounds with nine-year-old ointment. They laid him on a bed and covered him from head to foot in soft linen, and over that a white cloak. Then all night long the Myrmidons mourned swift-footed Achilles' companion Patroclus, weeping around him.
And Zeus spoke to Hera, his sister and wife:
"So you have had your way after all, ox-eyed lady Hera — you have roused swift-footed Achilles. One would think the flowing-haired Achaeans had truly been born of you."
Ox-eyed lady Hera answered him:
"Most dread son of Cronus, what a thing to say. Even a mere mortal manages to do a favor for another man, mortal as he is and far short of our wisdom — how then should I, who claim to be the greatest of goddesses, both by birth and because I am called your wife, and you rule over all the immortals — how should I not weave harm for the Trojans, since I am angry at them?"
So the two of them spoke to each other. Meanwhile silver-footed Thetis reached the house of Hephaestus, imperishable, starry, standing out among the homes of the immortals — a house of bronze that the crook-footed god had built with his own hands.
She found him sweating, turning about among his bellows, hard at work, for he was making twenty tripods all at once to stand around the wall of his well-built hall. He had set golden wheels beneath the base of each, so that they could roll on their own into the gathering of the gods and then return home again — a wonder to see. They were finished except for their handles, which he had not yet fitted; these he was now shaping, and hammering the joints. While he labored at this with his skilled mind, the goddess Thetis, silver-footed, came near him.
Charis came forward to meet her, the lovely goddess of the shining headdress whom the famous strong-armed god had married. She took Thetis by the hand and spoke to her, calling her by name:
"Why have you come to our house, Thetis of the long robe, honored and dear as you are? You do not visit often. Come further in, so that I may set refreshment before you."
So speaking, the shining goddess led her inside and seated her on a chair, richly wrought and studded with silver, with a footstool beneath it. Then she called to Hephaestus, the famous craftsman, and said:
"Hephaestus, come here — Thetis has need of you."
And the famous strong-armed god answered her:
"Then a dread and honored goddess is under our roof indeed — she who saved me when I fell far from heaven in pain, through the will of my own shameless mother, who wanted to hide me for being lame. I would have suffered greatly then, had not Eurynome and Thetis taken me into their arms — Eurynome, daughter of the back-flowing stream of Ocean. With them I worked in bronze for nine years, forging many fine things — brooches, spiral bracelets, rosettes, necklaces — in a hollow cave, while around it the stream of Ocean flowed on, foaming and murmuring without end. No one knew of it, neither god nor mortal man — only Thetis and Eurynome knew, the two who saved me. And now she has come to our house — so I owe it to lovely-haired Thetis to repay her fully for saving my life. Set before her now the finest hospitality I have, while I put away my bellows and all my tools."
So he spoke, and rose up from his anvil block, a huge, gasping figure, limping — his thin legs moved swiftly beneath him. He set the bellows away from the fire, and gathered up all the tools he had been working with into a silver chest. Then he wiped his face and both hands with a sponge, and his sturdy neck and hairy chest, put on a tunic, took up a thick staff, and went out through the door, limping. Handmaids of gold moved quickly to support their lord, made in the likeness of living young women — they have minds within them, and voices, and strength, and they have learned skills from the immortal gods.
These bustled along beside their lord, and he made his halting way to where Thetis sat, and took a shining chair beside her. He clasped her hand and spoke to her, calling her by name:
"Why have you come to our house, Thetis of the long robe, honored and dear as you are? You do not visit often. Tell me what is on your mind — my heart urges me to grant it, if I am able, and if it can be done at all."
Thetis answered him, shedding tears:
"Hephaestus, is there any goddess on Olympus who has borne in her heart such grief as Zeus, son of Cronus, has heaped on me alone, beyond all others? Of all the daughters of the sea he bent me alone to a mortal man, Peleus, son of Aeacus, and I endured a man's bed, much against my will. Now he lies in his halls, worn down by grim old age, but I have other sorrow now.
He gave me a son to bear and raise, outstanding among heroes, and he shot up like a young tree. I raised him like a shoot in a rich orchard plot, then sent him off in the curved ships to Troy, to fight the Trojans — and I will never welcome him home again, back to the house of Peleus. And while he still lives and looks on the light of the sun, he suffers, and I can do nothing to help him, though I go to him.
The girl the sons of the Achaeans chose for him as his prize, lord Agamemnon tore back out of his hands. His heart was wasting away with grief over her. But then the Trojans penned the Achaeans in against their ships' sterns and would not let them come out, and the elders of the Argives begged him, offering many splendid gifts. At that he himself refused to fight off their ruin, but he put his own armor on Patroclus and sent him into battle, and gave him a great force to lead. All day long they fought around the Scaean gates, and they would have sacked the city that very day, had not Apollo killed the brave son of Menoetius in the front ranks, after he had done much harm, and given the glory to Hector.
So now I have come to your knees, to ask whether you are willing to give my son, doomed to die so soon, a shield and helmet, and fine greaves fitted with ankle-guards, and a breastplate — for the armor he had was lost with his loyal companion, who fell to the Trojans, and now my son lies on the ground, his heart broken."
And the famous strong-armed god answered her:
"Take heart — let this not trouble your mind. I only wish I could hide him as surely from grim death, when his cruel fate comes upon him, as I can give him armor so fine that everyone who sees it, out of all mankind, will marvel."
So speaking he left her there and went to his bellows, turned them toward the fire, and ordered them to work. Twenty bellows all together blew into the smelting-pots, sending out blasts of every strength — now hard for the work at hand, now gentler, however Hephaestus wished it, to match the work in progress. He threw bronze that does not wear into the fire, and tin, and precious gold and silver. Then he set his great anvil on its block and took in one hand his mighty hammer, in the other his tongs.
First he made a shield, great and heavy, working every part of it, and around it he set a bright rim, triple-layered and gleaming, with a silver strap. The shield itself was made of five layers, and on it he worked many wonders with his skilled mind.
On it he made the earth, and the sky, and the sea, the tireless sun and the full moon, and all the constellations that crown the heavens — the Pleiades and the Hyades and mighty Orion, and the Bear, which men also call the Wagon, which turns in place and watches Orion, and alone has no share in the baths of Ocean. And on it he made two cities of mortal men, both beautiful.
In one there were weddings and wedding feasts — brides were being led through the city from their chambers by the light of blazing torches, and the wedding song rose loud around them. Young men whirled in the dance, and among them flutes and lyres sounded, and the women stood each at her doorway, marveling. The people had gathered in the assembly place, where a dispute had arisen — two men were quarreling over the blood-price for a man who had been killed. One claimed he had paid it all, declaring this to the people, but the other denied he had received anything.
Both were eager to bring the case before an arbiter for a ruling. The people cheered for both sides, taking sides, while heralds held the crowd back. The elders sat on polished stone seats in the sacred circle, holding in their hands the staffs of the clear-voiced heralds. With these they rose in turn and gave judgment. In the middle lay two bars of gold, to be given to whichever elder spoke the straightest judgment among them.
Around the other city sat two armies of men, gleaming in their armor. They were divided on which course to follow — whether to sack the city outright, or to divide in half all the wealth the lovely town held within it. But the besieged would not yield, and were secretly arming for an ambush. Their dear wives and little children stood guard on the wall, along with the old men, while the fighting men went out — Ares led them, and Pallas Athena, both worked in gold, wearing golden clothing, beautiful and huge in their armor, as befits gods, standing out clearly, for the men beside them were smaller. When these reached the place that seemed fit for an ambush,
along a river, where there was a watering place for all the herds, there they settled down, wrapped in gleaming bronze. Apart from them sat two scouts of the people, watching for when the sheep and shambling cattle should appear. These soon came on, with two herdsmen following behind, delighting themselves with pipes, suspecting nothing of the trap. The men in ambush saw them coming and rushed out, quickly cutting off the herds of cattle and fine flocks of white sheep on both sides, and killing the herdsmen too. And when the besiegers heard the great uproar
rising from the cattle as they sat before their council, they at once mounted their swift horses and went in pursuit, and soon arrived. They took their stand and fought a battle along the river's banks, striking each other with bronze-tipped spears. Strife and Uproar mingled among them, and deadly Fate, gripping one man alive still freshly wounded, another unhurt, and dragging a third, already dead, by the feet through the carnage — the cloak on her shoulders was stained red with the blood of men. They clashed like living men and fought, and dragged away each other's dead.
On it he also set a soft field newly plowed, rich and wide, tilled a third time, where many plowmen drove their teams back and forth across it. And whenever they turned and reached the edge of the field, a man would come up and put in their hands a cup of honey-sweet wine, and they would turn back along the furrows, eager to reach the end of the deep field. Behind them the earth grew dark, as though truly plowed, though it was made of gold — that was the wonder of the working. On it, too, he set a king's estate, where laborers were reaping,
holding sharp sickles in their hands. Some armfuls fell to the ground one after another along the swath, while others were bound into sheaves with twisted bands by the binders. Three binders stood ready, and behind them boys gathered the cut grain, carrying it in their arms and steadily supplying it to them. Among them the king stood in silence, staff in hand at the edge of the swath, rejoicing in his heart. Off to the side, under an oak tree, heralds were preparing a feast, having slaughtered a great ox and dressing it, while the women sprinkled abundant white barley over the meal for the workers.
On it, too, he set a vineyard heavy with clusters, beautiful and golden, its black grapes hanging, held up throughout on silver poles. Around it he drove a dark trench, and around that a fence of tin, and a single path led to it, along which the carriers went when they gathered the vintage. Young girls and boys, light-hearted, carried the honey-sweet fruit in woven baskets. Among them a boy played a clear, enchanting tune on a lyre, and sang the lovely dirge of Linos
in a delicate voice, while the others, keeping time together, followed with singing and shouting, their feet dancing in step. On it he also made a herd of straight-horned cattle. The cattle were fashioned of gold and tin, and lowing they hurried from farmyard to pasture, along a rushing river, along the waving reeds. Golden herdsmen went along with the cattle, four of them, and nine swift-footed dogs followed them. But two fearsome lions had seized a bellowing bull among the leading cattle, and it was dragged off, loudly bawling,
while the dogs and the young men rushed after it. The two lions had torn open the great bull's hide and were gulping down its entrails and dark blood, while the herdsmen tried in vain to drive them off, urging on their swift dogs. But the dogs shrank from actually biting the lions, and stood very close, barking, then sprang away again. And the famous strong-armed god set on it a pasture in a lovely valley, a great pasture of white sheep, with steadings and roofed huts and folds. And the famous strong-armed god also worked into it a dancing-floor,
like the one Daedalus once fashioned in broad Knossos for lovely-haired Ariadne. There young men and girls, worth many oxen in bride-price, danced, holding one another by the wrist. The girls wore fine linen, and the young men wore well-woven tunics, faintly gleaming with oil. The girls wore lovely garlands, and the young men carried golden daggers hung from silver belts. Now they would run around with skilled, practiced feet, very easily, as when a potter
A seated potter will test, to see if it spins true — that was how easily they wheeled. Then again they would run in rows, crossing toward one another. And a great crowd stood around the lovely dance, taking their pleasure in it, while two tumblers spun and somersaulted through the middle of them, leading the song.
On the shield he set the great strength of the river Ocean, running along the outermost rim of that sturdy, well-made work. And when he had finished the shield, huge and heavy, he forged for Achilles a breastplate brighter than the blaze of fire, and he made him a heavy helmet, fitted close to the temples, beautiful and finely worked, and set on it a crest of gold. He made him greaves too, of pliant tin.
When the famous god of the two strong arms had finished the whole armor, he lifted it and laid it down before the mother of Achilles. And she, like a hawk, sprang down from snowy Olympus, carrying that gleaming armor from Hephaestus's hands.