Quarrels, Broken Oaths, and Bloody Battle

Now the gods were sitting with Jove in council upon the golden floor while Hebe went round pouring out nectar for them to drink, and as they pledged one another in their cups of gold they looked down upon the town of Troy. The son of Saturn then began to tease Juno, talking at her so as to provoke her. “Menelaus,” said he, “has two good friends among the goddesses, Juno of Argos, and Minerva of Alalcomene, but they only sit still and look on, while Venus keeps ever by Alexandrus’ side to defend him in any danger; indeed she has just rescued him when he made sure that it was all over with him—for the victory really did lie with Menelaus. We must consider what we shall do about all this; shall we set them fighting anew or make peace between them? If you will agree to this last Menelaus can take back Helen and the city of Priam may remain still inhabited.”

Now the gods sat in council with Jove on the golden floor, while Hebe went around pouring nectar for them. As they toasted one another with their golden cups, they looked down on the town of Troy. The son of Saturn then began teasing Juno, directing his words at her to provoke her. “Menelaus,” he said, “has two good friends among the goddesses, Juno of Argos and Minerva of Alalcomene. But they just sit and watch, while Venus always stays beside Alexandrus to defend him from any danger. In fact, she has just rescued him when he was sure it was all over for him. For the victory really did belong to Menelaus. We must consider what to do about all this. Shall we make them fight again or make peace between them? If you agree to peace, Menelaus can take Helen back, and Priam’s city may remain inhabited.”

Minerva and Juno muttered their discontent as they sat side by side hatching mischief for the Trojans. Minerva scowled at her father, for she was in a furious passion with him, and said nothing, but Juno could not contain herself. “Dread son of Saturn,” said she, “what, pray, is the meaning of all this? Is my trouble, then, to go for nothing, and the sweat that I have sweated, to say nothing of my horses, while getting the people together against Priam and his children? Do as you will, but we other gods shall not all of us approve your counsel.”

Minerva and Juno muttered angrily as they sat side by side, plotting trouble for the Trojans. Minerva scowled at her father because she was furious with him. She said nothing, but Juno could not hold back. “Fearsome son of Saturn,” she said, “what is all this supposed to mean? Will all my trouble and sweat count for nothing? And what about my horses’ efforts as I gathered the people against Priam and his children? Do as you please, but not all of us other gods will approve of your plan.”

Jove was angry and answered, “My dear, what harm have Priam and his sons done you that you are so hotly bent on sacking the city of Ilius? Will nothing do for you but you must go within their walls and eat Priam raw, with his sons and all the other Trojans to boot? Have it your own way then; for I would not have this matter become a bone of contention between us. I say further, and lay my saying to your heart, if ever I want to sack a city belonging to friends of yours, you must not try to stop me; you will have to let me do it, for I am giving in to you sorely against my will. Of all inhabited cities under the sun and stars of heaven, there was none that I so much respected as Ilius with Priam and his whole people. Equitable feasts were never wanting about my altar, nor the savour of burning fat, which is honour due to ourselves.”

Jove was angry and answered, “My dear, what harm have Priam and his sons done you? Why are you so determined to sack the city of Ilius? Will nothing satisfy you unless you go inside their walls and eat Priam raw? Must you eat his sons and all the other Trojans too? Have your own way, then. I do not want this matter to cause a quarrel between us. But I have more to say, and you must take my words to heart. If I ever want to sack a city whose people are your friends, you must not try to stop me. You will have to let me destroy the city, because I am giving in to you very much against my will. Of all the inhabited cities under the sun and stars, none had my respect more than Ilius. I held Priam and all his people in that same regard. My altar never lacked feasts with everyone receiving their fair share, or the smell of burning fat. Such offerings are the honor owed to us.”

“My own three favourite cities,” answered Juno, “are Argos, Sparta, and Mycenae. Sack them whenever you may be displeased with them. I shall not defend them and I shall not care. Even if I did, and tried to stay you, I should take nothing by it, for you are much stronger than I am, but I will not have my own work wasted. I too am a god and of the same race with yourself. I am Saturn’s eldest daughter, and am honourable not on this ground only, but also because I am your wife, and you are king over the gods. Let it be a case, then, of give-and-take between us, and the rest of the gods will follow our lead. Tell Minerva to go and take part in the fight at once, and let her contrive that the Trojans shall be the first to break their oaths and set upon the Achaeans.”

“My three favorite cities,” Juno answered, “are Argos, Sparta, and Mycenae. Sack them whenever you are displeased with them. I will not defend them, and I will not care. Even if I cared and tried to stop you, I would gain nothing, because you are much stronger than I am. But I will not let my own work go to waste. I too am a god and come from the same race as you. I am Saturn’s eldest daughter, and I deserve honor not only for that reason, but also because I am your wife. And you are king of the gods. So let us both give and take, and the other gods will follow our lead. Tell Minerva to join the fighting at once. Have her arrange for the Trojans to be the first to break their oaths and attack the Achaeans.”

The sire of gods and men heeded her words, and said to Minerva, “Go at once into the Trojan and Achaean hosts, and contrive that the Trojans shall be the first to break their oaths and set upon the Achaeans.”

The father of gods and men listened to her words and said to Minerva, “Go at once among the Trojan and Achaean armies. Make sure the Trojans are the first to break their oaths and attack the Achaeans.”

This was what Minerva was already eager to do, so down she darted from the topmost summits of Olympus. She shot through the sky as some brilliant meteor which the son of scheming Saturn has sent as a sign to mariners or to some great army, and a fiery train of light follows in its wake. The Trojans and Achaeans were struck with awe as they beheld, and one would turn to his neighbour, saying, “Either we shall again have war and din of combat, or Jove the lord of battle will now make peace between us.”

Minerva was already eager to do this, so she darted down from the highest peaks of Olympus. She shot through the sky like a brilliant meteor sent by the son of scheming Saturn. Such a meteor is a sign to sailors or some great army, with a fiery trail following behind it. The Trojans and Achaeans watched in awe, turning to their neighbors and saying, “Either we will face war and the roar of battle again, or Jove, the lord of battle, will now make peace between us.”

Thus did they converse. Then Minerva took the form of Laodocus, son of Antenor, and went through the ranks of the Trojans to find Pandarus, the redoubtable son of Lycaon. She found him standing among the stalwart heroes who had followed him from the banks of the Aesopus, so she went close up to him and said, “Brave son of Lycaon, will you do as I tell you? If you dare send an arrow at Menelaus you will win honour and thanks from all the Trojans, and especially from prince Alexandrus—he would be the first to requite you very handsomely if he could see Menelaus mount his funeral pyre, slain by an arrow from your hand. Take your home aim then, and pray to Lycian Apollo, the famous archer; vow that when you get home to your strong city of Zelea you will offer a hecatomb of firstling lambs in his honour.”

So they talked. Then Minerva took the form of Laodocus, son of Antenor. She went through the Trojan ranks to find Pandarus, the formidable son of Lycaon. She found him among the strong warriors who had followed him from the banks of the Aesopus. So she approached him and said, “Brave son of Lycaon, will you do as I tell you? If you dare shoot an arrow at Menelaus, you will win honor and thanks from all the Trojans. Prince Alexandrus would be especially grateful. He would be the first to reward you richly if he saw Menelaus placed on his funeral pyre, killed by your arrow. So take careful aim, and pray to Lycian Apollo, the famous archer. Vow that when you return to your fortified city of Zelea, you will sacrifice a hundred firstborn lambs in his honor.”

His fool’s heart was persuaded, and he took his bow from its case. This bow was made from the horns of a wild ibex which he had killed as it was bounding from a rock; he had stalked it, and it had fallen as the arrow struck it to the heart. Its horns were sixteen palms long, and a worker in horn had made them into a bow, smoothing them well down, and giving them tips of gold. When Pandarus had strung his bow he laid it carefully on the ground, and his brave followers held their shields before him lest the Achaeans should set upon him before he had shot Menelaus. Then he opened the lid of his quiver and took out a winged arrow that had not yet been shot, fraught with the pangs of death. He laid the arrow on the string and prayed to Lycian Apollo, the famous archer, vowing that when he got home to his strong city of Zelea he would offer a hecatomb of firstling lambs in his honour. He laid the notch of the arrow on the ox-hide bowstring, and drew both notch and string to his breast till the arrow-head was near the bow; then when the bow was arched into a half-circle he let fly, and the bow twanged, and the string sang as the arrow flew gladly on over the heads of the throng.

His foolish heart was won over, and he took his bow from its case. The bow was made from the horns of a wild ibex he had killed while it leaped from a rock. He had stalked the ibex, and it had fallen when his arrow struck its heart. Its horns were sixteen palms long. A craftsman had shaped them into a bow, smoothing them carefully and adding gold tips. After stringing his bow, Pandarus laid it carefully on the ground. His brave followers held their shields in front of him to keep the Achaeans from attacking before he shot Menelaus. Then he opened his quiver and took out a feathered arrow, never yet fired and loaded with death’s pain. He placed the arrow on the string and prayed to Lycian Apollo, the famous archer. He vowed to sacrifice a hundred firstborn lambs in Apollo’s honor when he returned to his fortified city of Zelea. He fitted the arrow’s notch to the oxhide bowstring. He pulled both notch and string back to his chest until the arrowhead was close to the bow. Then, with the bow bent into a half-circle, he let the arrow fly. The bow twanged and the string sang as the arrow flew eagerly over the crowd’s heads.

But the blessed gods did not forget thee, O Menelaus, and Jove’s daughter, driver of the spoil, was the first to stand before thee and ward off the piercing arrow. She turned it from his skin as a mother whisks a fly from off her child when it is sleeping sweetly; she guided it to the part where the golden buckles of the belt that passed over his double cuirass were fastened, so the arrow struck the belt that went tightly round him. It went right through this and through the cuirass of cunning workmanship; it also pierced the belt beneath it, which he wore next his skin to keep out darts or arrows; it was this that served him in the best stead, nevertheless the arrow went through it and grazed the top of the skin, so that blood began flowing from the wound.

But the blessed gods did not forget you, Menelaus. Jove’s daughter, who drives off the spoils of war, was the first to stand before you and deflect the piercing arrow. She turned the arrow away from his skin as a mother brushes a fly off her sweetly sleeping child. She guided the arrow toward the golden buckles fastening the belt over his double cuirass. So the arrow struck the belt wrapped tightly around him. The arrow passed straight through the belt and through the skillfully made cuirass. It also pierced the belt beneath the armor, worn against his skin to keep out darts and arrows. This inner belt protected him best. Nevertheless, the arrow passed through the inner belt and grazed his skin, so blood began to flow from the wound.

As when some woman of Meonia or Caria strains purple dye on to a piece of ivory that is to be the cheek-piece of a horse, and is to be laid up in a treasure house—many a knight is fain to bear it, but the king keeps it as an ornament of which both horse and driver may be proud—even so, O Menelaus, were your shapely thighs and your legs down to your fair ancles stained with blood.

Imagine a woman of Meonia or Caria staining ivory with purple dye for the cheek-piece of a horse’s bridle. The ivory is to be stored in a treasure house. Many a knight longs to have the cheek-piece, but the king keeps it as an ornament. Both horse and driver may take pride in it. Just so, Menelaus, blood stained your shapely thighs and your legs down to your fair ankles.

When King Agamemnon saw the blood flowing from the wound he was afraid, and so was brave Menelaus himself till he saw that the barbs of the arrow and the thread that bound the arrow-head to the shaft were still outside the wound. Then he took heart, but Agamemnon heaved a deep sigh as he held Menelaus’s hand in his own, and his comrades made moan in concert. “Dear brother,” he cried, “I have been the death of you in pledging this covenant and letting you come forward as our champion. The Trojans have trampled on their oaths and have wounded you; nevertheless the oath, the blood of lambs, the drink-offerings and the right hands of fellowship in which we have put our trust shall not be vain. If he that rules Olympus fulfil it not here and now, he will yet fulfil it hereafter, and they shall pay dearly with their lives and with their wives and children. The day will surely come when mighty Ilius shall be laid low, with Priam and Priam’s people, when the son of Saturn from his high throne shall overshadow them with his awful aegis in punishment of their present treachery. This shall surely be; but how, Menelaus, shall I mourn you, if it be your lot now to die? I should return to Argos as a by-word, for the Achaeans will at once go home. We shall leave Priam and the Trojans the glory of still keeping Helen, and the earth will rot your bones as you lie here at Troy with your purpose not fulfilled. Then shall some braggart Trojan leap upon your tomb and say, ‘Ever thus may Agamemnon wreak his vengeance; he brought his army in vain; he is gone home to his own land with empty ships, and has left Menelaus behind him.’ Thus will one of them say, and may the earth then swallow me.”

When King Agamemnon saw blood flowing from the wound, he was afraid. Brave Menelaus was afraid too, until he saw that the arrow’s barbs were still outside the wound. So was the thread binding the arrowhead to the shaft. Then Menelaus took heart. But Agamemnon sighed deeply as he held Menelaus’s hand, and their comrades groaned together. “Dear brother,” he cried, “I have caused your death by making this pact and letting you fight as our champion. The Trojans have broken their oaths and wounded you. Yet the oath, the lambs’ blood, the drink-offerings, and the right hands clasped in friendship will not count for nothing. We have put our trust in them. If the ruler of Olympus does not enforce the oath here and now, he will enforce it later. The Trojans will pay dearly with their lives and with their wives and children. “The day will surely come when mighty Ilius falls, along with Priam and Priam’s people. Then the son of Saturn, from his high throne, will cast his terrible aegis over them. He will do so to punish their treachery today. This will surely happen. But how shall I mourn you, Menelaus, if you are fated to die now? I would return to Argos as a laughingstock, for the Achaeans will go home at once. We will leave Priam and the Trojans the glory of keeping Helen. Your bones will rot in the earth as you lie here at Troy, your purpose unfulfilled. Then some boasting Trojan will jump onto your tomb and say, ‘May Agamemnon always take his revenge like this. He brought his army here for nothing. He has gone back to his own land with empty ships and left Menelaus behind.’ That is what one of them will say, and may the earth swallow me then.”

But Menelaus reassured him and said, “Take heart, and do not alarm the people; the arrow has not struck me in a mortal part, for my outer belt of burnished metal first stayed it, and under this my cuirass and the belt of mail which the bronze-smiths made me.”

But Menelaus reassured him and said, “Take heart, and don’t alarm the people. The arrow hasn’t hit me in a fatal spot because my outer belt of polished metal stopped it first. Beneath the belt were my breastplate and the belt of mail the bronze-smiths made for me.”

And Agamemnon answered, “I trust, dear Menelaus, that it may be even so, but the surgeon shall examine your wound and lay herbs upon it to relieve your pain.”

And Agamemnon answered, “I hope so, dear Menelaus. But the surgeon will examine your wound and apply herbs to ease your pain.”

He then said to Talthybius, “Talthybius, tell Machaon, son to the great physician, Aesculapius, to come and see Menelaus immediately. Some Trojan or Lycian archer has wounded him with an arrow to our dismay, and to his own great glory.”

He then said to Talthybius, “Talthybius, tell Machaon to come and see Menelaus immediately. Machaon is the son of the great physician Aesculapius. Some Trojan or Lycian archer has wounded Menelaus with an arrow, to our dismay and the archer’s great glory.”

Talthybius did as he was told, and went about the host trying to find Machaon. Presently he found standing amid the brave warriors who had followed him from Tricca; thereon he went up to him and said, “Son of Aesculapius, King Agamemnon says you are to come and see Menelaus immediately. Some Trojan or Lycian archer has wounded him with an arrow to our dismay and to his own great glory.”

Talthybius did as he was told and went through the army looking for Machaon. Soon he found Machaon standing among the brave warriors who had followed him from Tricca. Talthybius went up to him and said, “Son of Aesculapius, King Agamemnon says you must come and see Menelaus immediately. Some Trojan or Lycian archer has wounded him with an arrow, to our dismay and the archer’s great glory.”

Thus did he speak, and Machaon was moved to go. They passed through the spreading host of the Achaeans and went on till they came to the place where Menelaus had been wounded and was lying with the chieftains gathered in a circle round him. Machaon passed into the middle of the ring and at once drew the arrow from the belt, bending its barbs back through the force with which he pulled it out. He undid the burnished belt, and beneath this the cuirass and the belt of mail which the bronze-smiths had made; then, when he had seen the wound, he wiped away the blood and applied some soothing drugs which Chiron had given to Aesculapius out of the good will he bore him.

He spoke, and Machaon was moved to go. They made their way through the vast Achaean army to the place where Menelaus lay wounded. The chieftains had gathered in a circle around him. Machaon stepped into the circle and immediately pulled the arrow from the belt. The force of his pull bent the arrow’s barbs backward. He unfastened the polished belt, then the cuirass and the belt of mail beneath it, made by bronze-workers. After examining the wound, he wiped away the blood and applied some soothing medicines. Chiron had given these medicines to Aesculapius out of goodwill toward him.

While they were thus busy about Menelaus, the Trojans came forward against them, for they had put on their armour, and now renewed the fight.

While they were tending to Menelaus, the Trojans advanced against them. The Trojans had put on their armor, so they now resumed the fight.

You would not have then found Agamemnon asleep nor cowardly and unwilling to fight, but eager rather for the fray. He left his chariot rich with bronze and his panting steeds in charge of Eurymedon, son of Ptolemaeus the son of Peiraeus, and bade him hold them in readiness against the time his limbs should weary of going about and giving orders to so many, for he went among the ranks on foot. When he saw men hasting to the front he stood by them and cheered them on. “Argives,” said he, “slacken not one whit in your onset; father Jove will be no helper of liars; the Trojans have been the first to break their oaths and to attack us; therefore they shall be devoured of vultures; we shall take their city and carry off their wives and children in our ships.”

You would not have found Agamemnon asleep then, or cowardly and unwilling to fight. Instead, he was eager for battle. He left his bronze-covered chariot and panting horses in the care of Eurymedon, son of Ptolemaeus, son of Peiraeus. He told Eurymedon to keep them ready for when his legs grew tired from walking around and giving so many orders. For Agamemnon was moving through the ranks on foot. Whenever he saw men hurrying to the front, he stood beside them and urged them on. “Argives,” he said, “do not ease your attack at all. Father Jove will not help liars. The Trojans were the first to break their oaths and attack us, so vultures will devour them. We will take their city and carry off their wives and children in our ships.”

But he angrily rebuked those whom he saw shirking and disinclined to fight. “Argives,” he cried, “cowardly miserable creatures, have you no shame to stand here like frightened fawns who, when they can no longer scud over the plain, huddle together, but show no fight? You are as dazed and spiritless as deer. Would you wait till the Trojans reach the sterns of our ships as they lie on the shore, to see whether the son of Saturn will hold his hand over you to protect you?”

But he angrily scolded those he saw avoiding battle and unwilling to fight. “Argives,” he cried, “you miserable cowards, aren’t you ashamed to stand here like frightened fawns? When the fawns can no longer run across the plain, they huddle together but put up no fight. You are just as dazed and spiritless as deer. Will you wait until the Trojans reach the sterns of our ships on the shore? Will you wait to see whether the son of Saturn holds his hand over you to protect you?”

Thus did he go about giving his orders among the ranks. Passing through the crowd, he came presently on the Cretans, arming round Idomeneus, who was at their head, fierce as a wild boar, while Meriones was bringing up the battalions that were in the rear. Agamemnon was glad when he saw him, and spoke him fairly. “Idomeneus,” said he, “I treat you with greater distinction than I do any others of the Achaeans, whether in war or in other things, or at table. When the princes are mixing my choicest wines in the mixing-bowls, they have each of them a fixed allowance, but your cup is kept always full like my own, that you may drink whenever you are minded. Go, therefore, into battle, and show yourself the man you have been always proud to be.”

So he moved through the ranks, giving orders. As he passed through the crowd, he soon reached the Cretans, who were putting on their armor around Idomeneus. Idomeneus stood at their head, fierce as a wild boar, while Meriones brought up the battalions from the rear. Agamemnon was glad to see Idomeneus and spoke warmly to him. “Idomeneus,” he said, “I honor you above all other Achaeans, whether in war, in other matters, or at the table. When the princes mix my finest wines in the mixing bowls, each prince gets a fixed amount. But your cup is always kept full, like mine, so you can drink whenever you want. So go into battle and prove yourself the man you have always been proud to be.”

Idomeneus answered, “I will be a trusty comrade, as I promised you from the first I would be. Urge on the other Achaeans, that we may join battle at once, for the Trojans have trampled upon their covenants. Death and destruction shall be theirs, seeing they have been the first to break their oaths and to attack us.”

Idomeneus answered, “I will be a loyal comrade, just as I promised you from the start. Urge the other Achaeans forward so we can join the battle at once, because the Trojans have broken their agreements. Death and destruction will be theirs, because the Trojans were the first to break their oaths and attack us.”

The son of Atreus went on, glad at heart, till he came upon the two Ajaxes arming themselves amid a host of foot soldiers. As when a goat-herd from some high post watches a storm drive over the deep before the west wind—black as pitch is the offing and a mighty whirlwind draws towards him, so that he is afraid and drives his flock into a cave—even thus did the ranks of stalwart youths move in a dark mass to battle under the Ajaxes, horrid with shield and spear. Glad was King Agamemnon when he saw them. “No need,” he cried, “to give orders to such leaders of the Argives as you are, for of your own selves you spur your men on to fight with might and main. Would, by father Jove, Minerva, and Apollo that all were so minded as you are, for the city of Priam would then soon fall beneath our hands, and we should sack it.”

The son of Atreus went on, happy at heart, until he found the two Ajaxes putting on their armor. A large force of foot soldiers surrounded them. Just as a goatherd on high ground watches a storm sweep across the sea before the west wind, the ranks advanced. The distant sea turns pitch-black, and a mighty whirlwind approaches the goatherd. Frightened, he drives his flock into a cave. So the ranks of strong young men moved toward battle in a dark mass under the Ajaxes. Their shields and spears made them terrifying. King Agamemnon was glad to see them. “There is no need,” he cried, “to give orders to leaders of the Argives like you. You urge your men on yourselves to fight with all their strength. By father Jove, Minerva, and Apollo, I wish all shared your spirit. Then Priam’s city would soon fall to us, and we would sack it.”

With this he left them and went onward to Nestor, the facile speaker of the Pylians, who was marshalling his men and urging them on, in company with Pelagon, Alastor, Chromius, Haemon, and Bias shepherd of his people. He placed his knights with their chariots and horses in the front rank, while the foot soldiers, brave men and many, whom he could trust, were in the rear. The cowards he drove into the middle, that they might fight whether they would or no. He gave his orders to the knights first, bidding them hold their horses well in hand, so as to avoid confusion. “Let no man,” he said, “relying on his strength or horsemanship, get before the others and engage singly with the Trojans, nor yet let him lag behind or you will weaken your attack; but let each when he meets an enemy’s chariot throw his spear from his own; this be much the best; this is how the men of old took towns and strongholds; in this wise were they minded.”

With these words, he left them and went on to Nestor, the eloquent speaker of the Pylians. Nestor was organizing his men and urging them on. With him were Pelagon, Alastor, Chromius, Haemon, and Bias, the shepherd of his people. Nestor placed his chariot warriors, with their horses and chariots, in the front rank. He put the many brave foot soldiers he could trust at the rear. He drove the cowards into the middle so they would have to fight, willing or not. He gave orders to the chariot warriors first, telling them to keep their horses under control to avoid confusion. “Let no man,” he said, “trust in his strength or skill with horses and rush ahead to fight the Trojans alone. Nor should anyone fall behind, or you will weaken your attack. Instead, whenever you meet an enemy chariot, throw your spear from your own chariot. This is by far the best way to fight. This is how the men of old captured towns and strongholds. This was their approach to battle.”

Thus did the old man charge them, for he had been in many a fight, and King Agamemnon was glad. “I wish,” he said to him, “that your limbs were as supple and your strength as sure as your judgment is; but age, the common enemy of mankind, has laid his hand upon you; would that it had fallen upon some other, and that you were still young.”

The old man gave them these orders, drawing on his experience in many battles, and King Agamemnon was pleased. “I wish,” he told the old man, “your limbs were as flexible and your strength as reliable as your judgment. But age, the common enemy of humanity, has laid its hand on you. I wish age had struck someone else instead, and that you were still young.”

And Nestor, knight of Gerene, answered, “Son of Atreus, I too would gladly be the man I was when I slew mighty Ereuthalion; but the gods will not give us everything at one and the same time. I was then young, and now I am old; still I can go with my knights and give them that counsel which old men have a right to give. The wielding of the spear I leave to those who are younger and stronger than myself.”

And Nestor, knight of Gerene, replied, “Son of Atreus, I too would gladly be the man I was when I killed mighty Ereuthalion. But the gods will not give us everything at once. I was young then, and now I am old. Still, I can go with my knights and give them the advice old men have a right to offer. I leave the fighting with spears to those younger and stronger than I am.”

Agamemnon went his way rejoicing, and presently found Menestheus, son of Peteos, tarrying in his place, and with him were the Athenians loud of tongue in battle. Near him also tarried cunning Ulysses, with his sturdy Cephallenians round him; they had not yet heard the battle-cry, for the ranks of Trojans and Achaeans had only just begun to move, so they were standing still, waiting for some other columns of the Achaeans to attack the Trojans and begin the fighting. When he saw this Agamemnon rebuked them and said, “Son of Peteos, and you other, steeped in cunning, heart of guile, why stand you here cowering and waiting on others? You two should be of all men foremost when there is hard fighting to be done, for you are ever foremost to accept my invitation when we councillors of the Achaeans are holding feast. You are glad enough then to take your fill of roast meats and to drink wine as long as you please, whereas now you would not care though you saw ten columns of Achaeans engage the enemy in front of you.”

Agamemnon went on his way rejoicing and soon found Menestheus, son of Peteos, waiting in his place. With Menestheus were the Athenians, who shouted loudly in battle. Nearby, cunning Ulysses also waited, surrounded by his sturdy Cephallenians. They had not yet heard the battle cry, because the Trojan and Achaean ranks had only just begun to move. So they stood still, waiting for some other Achaean columns to attack the Trojans and begin the fighting. When Agamemnon saw them waiting, he scolded them. “Son of Peteos, and you, so full of cunning and deceit, why stand here cowering and waiting for others? You two should be ahead of all others when there is hard fighting to do. After all, you are always first to accept my invitation when we Achaean councillors hold a feast. Then you are happy enough to fill yourselves with roast meat and drink wine as long as you please. But now you would not care even if you saw ten Achaean columns fighting the enemy ahead of you.”

Ulysses glared at him and answered, “Son of Atreus, what are you talking about? How can you say that we are slack? When the Achaeans are in full fight with the Trojans, you shall see, if you care to do so, that the father of Telemachus will join battle with the foremost of them. You are talking idly.”

Ulysses glared at him and answered, “Son of Atreus, what are you talking about? How can you say we are not fighting hard enough? When the Achaeans are fighting the Trojans in full force, you will see, if you care to look. The father of Telemachus will be fighting on the front lines. You are talking nonsense.”

When Agamemnon saw that Ulysses was angry, he smiled pleasantly at him and withdrew his words. “Ulysses,” said he, “noble son of Laertes, excellent in all good counsel, I have neither fault to find nor orders to give you, for I know your heart is right, and that you and I are of a mind. Enough; I will make you amends for what I have said, and if any ill has now been spoken may the gods bring it to nothing.”

When Agamemnon saw that Ulysses was angry, he smiled warmly at him and took back his words. “Ulysses,” he said, “noble son of Laertes, you give excellent advice in all matters. I have no criticism or orders for you, because I know your heart is in the right place. I also know that you and I agree. Enough. I will make up for what I have said. If anything harmful has been said now, may the gods keep those words from causing harm.”

He then left them and went on to others. Presently he saw the son of Tydeus, noble Diomed, standing by his chariot and horses, with Sthenelus the son of Capaneus beside him; whereon he began to upbraid him. “Son of Tydeus,” he said, “why stand you cowering here upon the brink of battle? Tydeus did not shrink thus, but was ever ahead of his men when leading them on against the foe—so, at least, say they that saw him in battle, for I never set eyes upon him myself. They say that there was no man like him. He came once to Mycenae, not as an enemy but as a guest, in company with Polynices to recruit his forces, for they were levying war against the strong city of Thebes, and prayed our people for a body of picked men to help them. The men of Mycenae were willing to let them have one, but Jove dissuaded them by showing them unfavourable omens. Tydeus, therefore, and Polynices went their way. When they had got as far the deep-meadowed and rush-grown banks of the Aesopus, the Achaeans sent Tydeus as their envoy, and he found the Cadmeans gathered in great numbers to a banquet in the house of Eteocles. Stranger though he was, he knew no fear on finding himself single-handed among so many, but challenged them to contests of all kinds, and in each one of them was at once victorious, so mightily did Minerva help him. The Cadmeans were incensed at his success, and set a force of fifty youths with two captains—the godlike hero Maeon, son of Haemon, and Polyphontes, son of Autophonus—at their head, to lie in wait for him on his return journey; but Tydeus slew every man of them, save only Maeon, whom he let go in obedience to heaven’s omens. Such was Tydeus of Aetolia. His son can talk more glibly, but he cannot fight as his father did.”

He then left them and went on to others. Soon he saw noble Diomed, son of Tydeus, standing beside his chariot and horses. Sthenelus, son of Capaneus, stood beside him. He began to scold Diomed. “Son of Tydeus,” he said, “why are you cowering here at the edge of the battle? Tydeus never held back like this. He was always ahead of his men when he led them against the enemy. At least, that is what those who saw him in battle say. I never saw him myself. They say there was no man like him. “He once came to Mycenae, not as an enemy but as a guest, with Polynices to recruit troops. They were preparing for war against the strong city of Thebes. They asked our people for a force of handpicked men to help them. The men of Mycenae were willing to provide one, but Jove discouraged them by sending unfavorable omens. So Tydeus and Polynices went on their way. “When they reached the banks of the Aesopus, with their lush meadows and reeds, the Achaeans sent Tydeus as their envoy. He found the Cadmeans gathered in large numbers for a feast in the house of Eteocles. Though he was a stranger, he felt no fear at finding himself alone among so many. He challenged them to contests of every kind and promptly won each one, so powerfully did Minerva help him. The Cadmeans were furious at his success. They sent fifty young men under two captains to ambush him on his return journey. The captains were the godlike hero Maeon, son of Haemon, and Polyphontes, son of Autophonus. But Tydeus killed every one of them except Maeon, whom he spared in obedience to heaven’s omens. Such was Tydeus of Aetolia. His son has a smoother tongue, but he cannot fight as his father did.”

Diomed made no answer, for he was shamed by the rebuke of Agamemnon; but the son of Capaneus took up his words and said, “Son of Atreus, tell no lies, for you can speak truth if you will. We boast ourselves as even better men than our fathers; we took seven-gated Thebes, though the wall was stronger and our men were fewer in number, for we trusted in the omens of the gods and in the help of Jove, whereas they perished through their own sheer folly; hold not, then, our fathers in like honour with us.”

Diomed said nothing because Agamemnon’s rebuke had shamed him. But the son of Capaneus answered Agamemnon, saying, “Son of Atreus, don’t tell lies. You can tell the truth if you choose. We boast that we are even better men than our fathers. We captured seven-gated Thebes, though its wall was stronger and we had fewer men. We succeeded because we trusted the gods’ omens and Jove’s help, while our fathers died through their own sheer foolishness. So don’t give our fathers the same honor you give us.”

Diomed looked sternly at him and said, “Hold your peace, my friend, as I bid you. It is not amiss that Agamemnon should urge the Achaeans forward, for the glory will be his if we take the city, and his the shame if we are vanquished. Therefore let us acquit ourselves with valour.”

Diomed looked sternly at him and said, “Be quiet, my friend, as I tell you. Agamemnon is not wrong to urge the Achaeans forward. For the glory will be his if we take the city, and the shame his if we are defeated. So let us fight bravely.”

As he spoke he sprang from his chariot, and his armour rang so fiercely about his body that even a brave man might well have been scared to hear it.

As he spoke, he leaped from his chariot. His armor clanged so fiercely around his body that the sound might well have frightened even a brave man.

As when some mighty wave that thunders on the beach when the west wind has lashed it into fury—it has reared its head afar and now comes crashing down on the shore; it bows its arching crest high over the jagged rocks and spews its salt foam in all directions—even so did the serried phalanxes of the Danaans march steadfastly to battle. The chiefs gave orders each to his own people, but the men said never a word; no man would think it, for huge as the host was, it seemed as though there was not a tongue among them, so silent were they in their obedience; and as they marched the armour about their bodies glistened in the sun. But the clamour of the Trojan ranks was as that of many thousand ewes that stand waiting to be milked in the yards of some rich flock-master, and bleat incessantly in answer to the bleating of their lambs; for they had not one speech nor language, but their tongues were diverse, and they came from many different places. These were inspired of Mars, but the others by Minerva—and with them came Panic, Rout, and Strife whose fury never tires, sister and friend of murderous Mars, who, from being at first but low in stature, grows till she uprears her head to heaven, though her feet are still on earth. She it was that went about among them and flung down discord to the waxing of sorrow with even hand between them.

A mighty wave thunders onto the beach when the west wind has whipped it into fury. The wave rises far out at sea, then crashes onto the shore. Its curving crest towers over the jagged rocks, spraying salt foam in all directions. Just so, the tightly packed ranks of the Danaans marched steadily into battle. Each chief gave orders to his own men, but the soldiers said nothing. No one would have believed that such a vast army could seem to have no tongues at all. So silently did the men obey. As they marched, the armor on their bodies gleamed in the sun. But the noise from the Trojan ranks was like the bleating of many thousands of ewes. The sheep wait to be milked in a wealthy flock owner's yards, constantly answering the cries of their lambs. For the Trojans did not share one language. They spoke different tongues and came from many different places. Mars inspired the Trojans, but Minerva inspired the Danaans. With them came Panic, Rout, and Strife, whose fury never tires. Strife is the sister and companion of murderous Mars. At first she is small, but she grows until her head reaches heaven, though her feet remain on earth. Strife moved among both armies, spreading discord equally between them and deepening their sorrow.

When they were got together in one place shield clashed with shield and spear with spear in the rage of battle. The bossed shields beat one upon another, and there was a tramp as of a great multitude—death-cry and shout of triumph of slain and slayers, and the earth ran red with blood. As torrents swollen with rain course madly down their deep channels till the angry floods meet in some gorge, and the shepherd on the hillside hears their roaring from afar—even such was the toil and uproar of the hosts as they joined in battle.

When the armies met, shield clashed with shield and spear with spear in the fury of battle. Shields with raised centers slammed against one another, and feet thundered like those of a great crowd. The dying cried out, and the killers shouted in triumph. The earth ran red with blood. Just as rain-swollen torrents rush wildly down deep channels until the raging waters meet in a gorge, the armies clashed. A shepherd on the hillside hears those waters roaring from far away. Such was the struggle and roar of the armies as they joined in battle.

First Antilochus slew an armed warrior of the Trojans, Echepolus, son of Thalysius, fighting in the foremost ranks. He struck at the projecting part of his helmet and drove the spear into his brow; the point of bronze pierced the bone, and darkness veiled his eyes; headlong as a tower he fell amid the press of the fight, and as he dropped King Elephenor, son of Chalcodon and captain of the proud Abantes began dragging him out of reach of the darts that were falling around him, in haste to strip him of his armour. But his purpose was not for long; Agenor saw him haling the body away, and smote him in the side with his bronze-shod spear—for as he stooped his side was left unprotected by his shield—and thus he perished. Then the fight between Trojans and Achaeans grew furious over his body, and they flew upon each other like wolves, man and man crushing one upon the other.

First Antilochus killed Echepolus, son of Thalysius, an armed Trojan warrior fighting in the front ranks. He struck the projecting part of Echepolus’s helmet and drove his spear into his forehead. The bronze point pierced the bone, and darkness covered Echepolus’s eyes. He fell headfirst like a tower into the crowded battle. As he fell, King Elephenor, son of Chalcodon and captain of the proud Abantes, began dragging him away. Elephenor was pulling the body beyond reach of the spears falling around him, eager to strip off its armour. But his attempt was short-lived. Agenor saw Elephenor dragging the body away and struck him in the side with his bronze-tipped spear. As Elephenor bent down, his shield left his side exposed, and the blow killed him. Then the fighting between Trojans and Achaeans grew fierce over Elephenor’s body. They lunged at one another like wolves, each man crushing against the next.

Forthwith Ajax, son of Telamon, slew the fair youth Simoeisius, son of Anthemion, whom his mother bore by the banks of the Simois, as she was coming down from Mt. Ida, where she had been with her parents to see their flocks. Therefore he was named Simoeisius, but he did not live to pay his parents for his rearing, for he was cut off untimely by the spear of mighty Ajax, who struck him in the breast by the right nipple as he was coming on among the foremost fighters; the spear went right through his shoulder, and he fell as a poplar that has grown straight and tall in a meadow by some mere, and its top is thick with branches. Then the wheelwright lays his axe to its roots that he may fashion a felloe for the wheel of some goodly chariot, and it lies seasoning by the waterside. In such wise did Ajax fell to earth Simoeisius, son of Anthemion. Thereon Antiphus of the gleaming corslet, son of Priam, hurled a spear at Ajax from amid the crowd and missed him, but he hit Leucus, the brave comrade of Ulysses, in the groin, as he was dragging the body of Simoeisius over to the other side; so he fell upon the body and loosed his hold upon it. Ulysses was furious when he saw Leucus slain, and strode in full armour through the front ranks till he was quite close; then he glared round about him and took aim, and the Trojans fell back as he did so. His dart was not sped in vain, for it struck Democoon, the bastard son of Priam, who had come to him from Abydos, where he had charge of his father’s mares. Ulysses, infuriated by the death of his comrade, hit him with his spear on one temple, and the bronze point came through on the other side of his forehead. Thereon darkness veiled his eyes, and his armour rang rattling round him as he fell heavily to the ground. Hector, and they that were in front, then gave round while the Argives raised a shout and drew off the dead, pressing further forward as they did so. But Apollo looked down from Pergamus and called aloud to the Trojans, for he was displeased. “Trojans,” he cried, “rush on the foe, and do not let yourselves be thus beaten by the Argives. Their skins are not stone nor iron that when you hit them you do them no harm. Moreover, Achilles, the son of lovely Thetis, is not fighting, but is nursing his anger at the ships.”

At once Ajax, son of Telamon, killed the handsome young Simoeisius, son of Anthemion. His mother had given birth to him beside the Simois while coming down from Mt. Ida. She had gone there with her parents to see their flocks. That was why he was named Simoeisius. But he did not live to repay his parents for raising him. The spear of mighty Ajax cut his life short. Simoeisius was advancing among the front ranks when Ajax struck him in the chest beside his right nipple. The spear passed straight through his shoulder. He fell like a poplar that has grown straight and tall in a meadow beside a lake, with thick branches above. A wheelwright cuts through the tree’s roots with his axe to make a wheel rim for a fine chariot. Then the tree lies drying beside the water. Just so, Ajax brought Simoeisius, son of Anthemion, crashing to the ground. Then Antiphus, son of Priam, wearing a gleaming breastplate, threw a spear at Ajax from among the crowd. He missed Ajax but struck Leucus, the brave companion of Ulysses, in the groin. Leucus was dragging Simoeisius’s body to the other side. He fell onto the body and let go of it. Ulysses was furious when he saw Leucus killed. In full armor, he strode through the front ranks until he was close. Then he glared around him and took aim. The Trojans fell back as he did so. His spear did not fly in vain. It struck Democoon, Priam’s illegitimate son, who had come to his father from Abydos. There, Democoon had cared for his father’s mares. Enraged by his companion’s death, Ulysses struck Democoon in one temple with his spear. The bronze point came out through the other side of his forehead. Darkness covered his eyes. His armor clattered around him as he fell heavily to the ground. Then Hector and the fighters in front fell back. The Argives shouted and carried off the dead, pushing farther forward as they did so. But Apollo looked down from Pergamus and called loudly to the Trojans, for he was displeased. “Trojans,” he cried, “charge the enemy, and do not let the Argives beat you like this. Their skin is not stone or iron, so your blows can hurt them. Besides, Achilles, son of lovely Thetis, is not fighting. He is brooding over his anger beside the ships.”

Thus spoke the mighty god, crying to them from the city, while Jove’s redoubtable daughter, the Trito-born, went about among the host of the Achaeans, and urged them forward whenever she beheld them slackening.

So spoke the mighty god, calling to them from the city. Meanwhile, Jove’s fearsome daughter, the Trito-born, moved among the Achaean troops. She urged the troops forward whenever she saw them slowing down.

Then fate fell upon Diores, son of Amarynceus, for he was struck by a jagged stone near the ancle of his right leg. He that hurled it was Peirous, son of Imbrasus, captain of the Thracians, who had come from Aenus; the bones and both the tendons were crushed by the pitiless stone. He fell to the ground on his back, and in his death-throes stretched out his hands towards his comrades. But Peirous, who had wounded him, sprang on him and thrust a spear into his belly, so that his bowels came gushing out upon the ground, and darkness veiled his eyes. As he was leaving the body, Thoas of Aetolia struck him in the chest near the nipple, and the point fixed itself in his lungs. Thoas came close up to him, pulled the spear out of his chest, and then drawing his sword, smote him in the middle of the belly so that he died; but he did not strip him of his armour, for his Thracian comrades, men who wear their hair in a tuft at the top of their heads, stood round the body and kept him off with their long spears for all his great stature and valour; so he was driven back. Thus the two corpses lay stretched on earth near to one another, the one captain of the Thracians and the other of the Epeans; and many another fell round them.

Then fate overtook Diores, son of Amarynceus, when a jagged stone struck him near his right ankle. Peirous, son of Imbrasus, had thrown the stone. He commanded the Thracians and had come from Aenus. The merciless stone crushed the bones and both tendons. Diores fell onto his back and, in his dying agony, reached out his hands toward his comrades. But Peirous, who had wounded him, sprang at him and drove a spear into his belly. His guts spilled onto the ground, and darkness covered his eyes. As Peirous left the body, Thoas of Aetolia struck him in the chest near the nipple. The spear's point lodged in his lungs. Thoas stepped closer and pulled the spear from Peirous's chest. Then he drew his sword and struck Peirous in the middle of the belly, killing him. But Thoas did not strip him of his armour. Peirous's Thracian comrades, who wore their hair in a tuft on top of their heads, gathered around the body. Despite Thoas's great size and courage, they held him off with their long spears. So Thoas was driven back. Thus the two bodies lay stretched on the ground near each other, one the Thracian commander, the other the Epean commander. Many others fell around them.

And now no man would have made light of the fighting if he could have gone about among it scatheless and unwounded, with Minerva leading him by the hand, and protecting him from the storm of spears and arrows. For many Trojans and Achaeans on that day lay stretched side by side face downwards upon the earth.

Now no man would have taken the fighting lightly, even if he could have walked through it unharmed and unwounded. Not even with Minerva leading him by the hand and shielding him from the storm of spears and arrows. For many Trojans and Achaeans lay side by side that day, stretched out face down on the earth.