Patroclus’s Funeral and Funeral Games

Thus did they make their moan throughout the city, while the Achaeans when they reached the Hellespont went back every man to his own ship. But Achilles would not let the Myrmidons go, and spoke to his brave comrades saying, “Myrmidons, famed horsemen and my own trusted friends, not yet, forsooth, let us unyoke, but with horse and chariot draw near to the body and mourn Patroclus, in due honour to the dead. When we have had full comfort of lamentation we will unyoke our horses and take supper all of us here.”

So the mourning continued throughout the city, while the Achaeans reached the Hellespont and each man returned to his own ship. But Achilles would not let the Myrmidons leave. He spoke to his brave comrades, saying, “Myrmidons, famous horsemen and my trusted friends, let us not unharness our horses yet. Instead, let us approach the body with our horses and chariots and mourn Patroclus, giving the dead their due honor. When we have found full comfort in mourning, we will unharness our horses and all eat supper here.”

On this they all joined in a cry of wailing and Achilles led them in their lament. Thrice did they drive their chariots all sorrowing round the body, and Thetis stirred within them a still deeper yearning. The sands of the sea-shore and the men’s armour were wet with their weeping, so great a minister of fear was he whom they had lost. Chief in all their mourning was the son of Peleus: he laid his blood-stained hand on the breast of his friend. “Fare well,” he cried, “Patroclus, even in the house of Hades. I will now do all that I erewhile promised you; I will drag Hector hither and let dogs devour him raw; twelve noble sons of Trojans will I also slay before your pyre to avenge you.”

At this, they all cried out in grief, and Achilles led their lament. Three times they drove their chariots around the body in sorrow, and Thetis deepened their longing for the dead man. Their tears soaked the sand on the shore and the men’s armor, so great was the terror he had inspired. The son of Peleus mourned most deeply of all. He laid his bloodstained hand on his friend’s chest. “Farewell,” he cried, “Patroclus, even in the house of Hades. I will now do everything I promised you before. I will drag Hector here and let dogs devour him raw. I will also kill twelve noble sons of Trojans before your funeral pyre to avenge you.”

As he spoke he treated the body of noble Hector with contumely, laying it at full length in the dust beside the bier of Patroclus. The others then put off every man his armour, took the horses from their chariots, and seated themselves in great multitude by the ship of the fleet descendant of Aeacus, who thereon feasted them with an abundant funeral banquet. Many a goodly ox, with many a sheep and bleating goat did they butcher and cut up; many a tusked boar moreover, fat and well-fed, did they singe and set to roast in the flames of Vulcan; and rivulets of blood flowed all round the place where the body was lying.

As he spoke, he dishonored noble Hector’s body, laying it flat in the dust beside Patroclus’s funeral bier. Then all the others took off their armor and unhitched the horses from their chariots. They gathered in great numbers and sat beside the ship of the swift descendant of Aeacus. He then served them a lavish funeral feast. They slaughtered and cut up many fine oxen, along with many sheep and bleating goats. They also singed many fat, well-fed, tusked boars and set them to roast in the flames of Vulcan. Streams of blood flowed all around the place where the body lay.

Then the princes of the Achaeans took the son of Peleus to Agamemnon, but hardly could they persuade him to come with them, so wroth was he for the death of his comrade. As soon as they reached Agamemnon’s tent they told the serving-men to set a large tripod over the fire in case they might persuade the son of Peleus to wash the clotted gore from this body, but he denied them sternly, and swore it with a solemn oath, saying, “Nay, by King Jove, first and mightiest of all gods, it is not meet that water should touch my body, till I have laid Patroclus on the flames, have built him a barrow, and shaved my head—for so long as I live no such second sorrow shall ever draw nigh me. Now, therefore, let us do all that this sad festival demands, but at break of day, King Agamemnon, bid your men bring wood, and provide all else that the dead may duly take into the realm of darkness; the fire shall thus burn him out of our sight the sooner, and the people shall turn again to their own labours.”

Then the Achaean princes took the son of Peleus to Agamemnon. But they could hardly persuade him to come, so furious was he over his comrade’s death. As soon as they reached Agamemnon’s tent, the princes told the servants to place a large tripod over the fire. They hoped to persuade the son of Peleus to wash the clotted blood from his body. But he sternly refused and swore a solemn oath, saying, “No, by King Jove, first and mightiest of all gods. No water should touch my body until I have laid Patroclus on the funeral pyre. I must also build him a burial mound and shave my head. For as long as I live, no other sorrow so great will ever come upon me. Now, therefore, let us do all that these sorrowful funeral rites require. But at daybreak, King Agamemnon, order your men to bring wood. Have them also provide everything else the dead must properly take into the realm of darkness. Then the fire will burn him out of our sight sooner, and the people will return to their work.”

Thus did he speak, and they did even as he had said. They made haste to prepare the meal, they ate, and every man had his full share so that all were satisfied. As soon as they had had enough to eat and drink, the others went to their rest each in his own tent, but the son of Peleus lay grieving among his Myrmidons by the shore of the sounding sea, in an open place where the waves came surging in one after another. Here a very deep slumber took hold upon him and eased the burden of his sorrows, for his limbs were weary with chasing Hector round windy Ilius. Presently the sad spirit of Patroclus drew near him, like what he had been in stature, voice, and the light of his beaming eyes, clad, too, as he had been clad in life. The spirit hovered over his head and said—

He spoke, and they did as he said. They hurried to prepare the meal and ate. Every man had his full share, so all were satisfied. Once they had eaten and drunk enough, the others went to rest, each in his own tent. But the son of Peleus lay grieving among his Myrmidons by the shore of the roaring sea. He lay in an open place where the waves surged in one after another. There he fell into a deep sleep that eased the burden of his sorrow. His limbs were exhausted from chasing Hector around windy Ilius. Soon the sorrowful spirit of Patroclus approached him, looking just as he had in life. His height, his voice, and the brightness of his shining eyes were the same. He wore the same clothes he had worn in life. The spirit hovered over his head and said:

“You sleep, Achilles, and have forgotten me; you loved me living, but now that I am dead you think for me no further. Bury me with all speed that I may pass the gates of Hades; the ghosts, vain shadows of men that can labour no more, drive me away from them; they will not yet suffer me to join those that are beyond the river, and I wander all desolate by the wide gates of the house of Hades. Give me now your hand I pray you, for when you have once given me my dues of fire, never shall I again come forth out of the house of Hades. Nevermore shall we sit apart and take sweet counsel among the living; the cruel fate which was my birth-right has yawned its wide jaws around me—nay, you too Achilles, peer of gods, are doomed to die beneath the wall of the noble Trojans.

“You sleep, Achilles, and have forgotten me. You loved me when I was alive, but now that I am dead, you no longer think of me. Bury me as soon as possible so that I may pass through the gates of Hades. The ghosts, empty shadows of men who can no longer work, drive me away. They will not yet let me join those beyond the river. So I wander, lonely and lost, beside the wide gates of the house of Hades. Give me your hand now, I beg you. For once you have given me my funeral fire, I will never again leave the house of Hades. Never again will we sit apart from others among the living and share our thoughts in friendship. The cruel fate that was mine from birth has opened its wide jaws around me. And you too, Achilles, equal of the gods, are doomed to die beneath the wall of the noble Trojans.

“One prayer more will I make you, if you will grant it; let not my bones be laid apart from yours, Achilles, but with them; even as we were brought up together in your own home, what time Menoetius brought me to you as a child from Opoeis because by a sad spite I had killed the son of Amphidamas—not of set purpose, but in childish quarrel over the dice. The knight Peleus took me into his house, entreated me kindly, and named me to be your squire; therefore let our bones lie in but a single urn, the two-handled golden vase given to you by your mother.”

“I have one more request, if you will grant it. Do not let my bones be laid apart from yours, Achilles, but together with yours. Let us rest together, just as we grew up together in your own home. Menoetius brought me to you from Opoeis as a child because, through sad misfortune, I had killed Amphidamas’s son. I did not mean to kill him, but we quarreled as children over a game of dice. The knight Peleus took me into his house, treated me kindly, and made me your squire. So let our bones lie in a single urn, the golden vase with two handles that your mother gave you.”

And Achilles answered, “Why, true heart, are you come hither to lay these charges upon me? I will of my own self do all as you have bidden me. Draw closer to me, let us once more throw our arms around one another, and find sad comfort in the sharing of our sorrows.”

And Achilles answered, “Why, dear friend, have you come here to accuse me like this? I will willingly do all you have asked me to do. Come closer. Let us hold each other once more and find sad comfort in sharing our sorrows.”

He opened his arms towards him as he spoke and would have clasped him in them, but there was nothing, and the spirit vanished as a vapour, gibbering and whining into the earth. Achilles sprang to his feet, smote his two hands, and made lamentation saying, “Of a truth even in the house of Hades there are ghosts and phantoms that have no life in them; all night long the sad spirit of Patroclus has hovered over head making piteous moan, telling me what I am to do for him, and looking wondrously like himself.”

As he spoke, he opened his arms toward him and tried to embrace him, but there was nothing to hold. The spirit vanished like mist into the earth, making strange sounds and whining. Achilles sprang to his feet, struck his hands together, and cried out in grief, saying, “There truly are ghosts and phantoms even in the house of Hades, but they have no life in them. All night long the sorrowful spirit of Patroclus has hovered over me, moaning pitifully. He told me what I must do for him and looked astonishingly like Patroclus himself.”

Thus did he speak and his words set them all weeping and mourning about the poor dumb dead, till rosy-fingered morn appeared. Then King Agamemnon sent men and mules from all parts of the camp, to bring wood, and Meriones, squire to Idomeneus, was in charge over them. They went out with woodmen’s axes and strong ropes in their hands, and before them went the mules. Up hill and down dale did they go, by straight ways and crooked, and when they reached the heights of many-fountained Ida, they laid their axes to the roots of many a tall branching oak that came thundering down as they felled it. They split the trees and bound them behind the mules, which then wended their way as they best could through the thick brushwood on to the plain. All who had been cutting wood bore logs, for so Meriones squire to Idomeneus had bidden them, and they threw them down in a line upon the sea-shore at the place where Achilles would make a mighty monument for Patroclus and for himself.

So he spoke, and his words made them all weep and mourn over the poor, silent dead until rosy-fingered dawn. Then King Agamemnon sent men and mules from all parts of the camp to bring wood. Meriones, squire to Idomeneus, was in charge of them. The men set out carrying woodcutters’ axes and strong ropes, with the mules ahead of them. They traveled over hills and through valleys, along straight and winding paths. When they reached the heights of Ida, with its many springs, they began chopping at the bases of tall, branching oaks. Many trees came crashing down. The men split the trees and tied the wood behind the mules. The mules then made their way as best they could through the thick undergrowth to the plain. All the woodcutters carried logs, as Meriones, squire to Idomeneus, had ordered. They dropped the logs in a line along the seashore. This was where Achilles would build a great monument for Patroclus and himself.

When they had thrown down their great logs of wood over the whole ground, they stayed all of them where they were, but Achilles ordered his brave Myrmidons to gird on their armour, and to yoke each man his horses; they therefore rose, girded on their armour and mounted each his chariot—they and their charioteers with them. The chariots went before, and they that were on foot followed as a cloud in their tens of thousands after. In the midst of them his comrades bore Patroclus and covered him with the locks of their hair which they cut off and threw upon his body. Last came Achilles with his head bowed for sorrow, so noble a comrade was he taking to the house of Hades.

After throwing down their great logs across the whole ground, they all stayed where they were. But Achilles ordered his brave Myrmidons to put on their armor and each man to harness his horses. So the Myrmidons rose, put on their armor, and each mounted his chariot with his charioteer. The chariots led the way, and tens of thousands of men followed on foot like a cloud. In their midst, Patroclus’s comrades carried his body. They cut off locks of their own hair and scattered them over his body, covering him. Achilles came last, his head bowed in grief, for he was taking so noble a comrade to the house of Hades.

When they came to the place of which Achilles had told them they laid the body down and built up the wood. Achilles then bethought him of another matter. He went a space away from the pyre, and cut off the yellow lock which he had let grow for the river Spercheius. He looked all sorrowfully out upon the dark sea, and said, “Spercheius, in vain did my father Peleus vow to you that when I returned home to my loved native land I should cut off this lock and offer you a holy hecatomb; fifty she-goats was I to sacrifice to you there at your springs, where is your grove and your altar fragrant with burnt-offerings. Thus did my father vow, but you have not fulfilled his prayer; now, therefore, that I shall see my home no more, I give this lock as a keepsake to the hero Patroclus.”

When they reached the place Achilles had described, they laid the body down and piled up the wood. Then Achilles thought of something else. He stepped away from the funeral pyre and cut off the golden lock he had grown for the river Spercheius. He looked out sadly over the dark sea and said, “Spercheius, my father Peleus made a vow to you in vain. He promised that when I returned to my beloved homeland, I would cut off this lock of hair. I would also offer you a sacred sacrifice of a hundred animals. I was to sacrifice fifty female goats to you at your springs. There stand your grove and your altar, fragrant with burnt offerings. That was my father’s vow, but you have not answered his prayer. So now, since I will never see my home again, I give this lock as a keepsake to the hero Patroclus.”

As he spoke he placed the lock in the hands of his dear comrade, and all who stood by were filled with yearning and lamentation. The sun would have gone down upon their mourning had not Achilles presently said to Agamemnon, “Son of Atreus, for it is to you that the people will give ear, there is a time to mourn and a time to cease from mourning; bid the people now leave the pyre and set about getting their dinners: we, to whom the dead is dearest, will see to what is wanted here, and let the other princes also stay by me.”

As he spoke, he placed the lock of hair in his dear comrade’s hands. All who stood nearby were filled with longing and grief. They would have mourned until sunset if Achilles had not soon said to Agamemnon, “Son of Atreus, the people will listen to you. There is a time to mourn and a time to stop mourning. Tell the people to leave the funeral pyre now and prepare their dinners. We who loved the dead man most will take care of what is needed here. Let the other princes stay with me too.”

When King Agamemnon heard this he dismissed the people to their ships, but those who were about the dead heaped up wood and built a pyre a hundred feet this way and that; then they laid the dead all sorrowfully upon the top of it. They flayed and dressed many fat sheep and oxen before the pyre, and Achilles took fat from all of them and wrapped the body therein from head to foot, heaping the flayed carcases all round it. Against the bier he leaned two-handled jars of honey and unguents; four proud horses did he then cast upon the pyre, groaning the while he did so. The dead hero had had house-dogs; two of them did Achilles slay and threw upon the pyre; he also put twelve brave sons of noble Trojans to the sword and laid them with the rest, for he was full of bitterness and fury. Then he committed all to the resistless and devouring might of the fire; he groaned aloud and called on his dead comrade by name. “Fare well,” he cried, “Patroclus, even in the house of Hades; I am now doing all that I have promised you. Twelve brave sons of noble Trojans shall the flames consume along with yourself, but dogs, not fire, shall devour the flesh of Hector son of Priam.”

When King Agamemnon heard this, he sent the people back to their ships. But those gathered around the dead man piled up wood and built a pyre a hundred feet long and wide. Then, filled with sorrow, they laid the dead man on top. They skinned and prepared many fat sheep and oxen in front of the pyre. Achilles took fat from all the animals and wrapped the body in it from head to foot. He piled the skinned carcasses around the body. Against the bier, he leaned two-handled jars of honey and scented oils. Then he threw four proud horses onto the pyre, groaning as he did so. The dead hero had kept dogs in his home. Achilles killed two of them and threw them onto the pyre. He also killed twelve brave sons of noble Trojans with his sword and laid them with the rest. He did this because he was full of bitterness and fury. Then he gave everything over to the unstoppable, devouring power of the fire. He groaned aloud and called his dead friend by name. “Farewell,” he cried, “Patroclus, even in the house of Hades. I am now doing all that I promised you. The flames will consume twelve brave sons of noble Trojans along with you. But dogs, not fire, will devour the flesh of Hector son of Priam.”

Thus did he vaunt, but the dogs came not about the body of Hector, for Jove’s daughter Venus kept them off him night and day, and anointed him with ambrosial oil of roses that his flesh might not be torn when Achilles was dragging him about. Phoebus Apollo moreover sent a dark cloud from heaven to earth, which gave shade to the whole place where Hector lay, that the heat of the sun might not parch his body.

So he boasted, but the dogs did not approach Hector’s body, because Jove’s daughter Venus kept them away night and day. She rubbed his body with ambrosial rose oil so his flesh would not tear when Achilles dragged him around. Phoebus Apollo also sent a dark cloud from heaven to earth. The cloud shaded the whole area where Hector lay so the sun’s heat would not dry out his body.

Now the pyre about dead Patroclus would not kindle. Achilles therefore bethought him of another matter; he went apart and prayed to the two winds Boreas and Zephyrus vowing them goodly offerings. He made them many drink-offerings from the golden cup and besought them to come and help him that the wood might make haste to kindle and the dead bodies be consumed. Fleet Iris heard him praying and started off to fetch the winds. They were holding high feast in the house of boisterous Zephyrus when Iris came running up to the stone threshold of the house and stood there, but as soon as they set eyes on her they all came towards her and each of them called her to him, but Iris would not sit down. “I cannot stay,” she said, “I must go back to the streams of Oceanus and the land of the Ethiopians who are offering hecatombs to the immortals, and I would have my share; but Achilles prays that Boreas and shrill Zephyrus will come to him, and he vows them goodly offerings; he would have you blow upon the pyre of Patroclus for whom all the Achaeans are lamenting.”

The pyre around Patroclus’s body would not catch fire. So Achilles thought of another way. He went aside and prayed to the two winds, Boreas and Zephyrus, promising them rich offerings. He poured many drink offerings from his golden cup. He begged the winds to come and help him so the wood would catch fire quickly and the bodies burn. Swift Iris heard his prayer and set off to fetch the winds. The winds were enjoying a great feast in the house of roaring Zephyrus. Iris ran up to the house’s stone threshold and stood there. As soon as the winds saw her, they all approached, and each invited her to join him. But Iris would not sit down. “I cannot stay,” she said. “I must return to the streams of Oceanus and the land of the Ethiopians. The Ethiopians are offering sacrifices of a hundred cattle to the immortals, and I want my share. But Achilles prays that Boreas and shrill Zephyrus will come to him, and he promises them rich offerings. He asks you to blow on the pyre of Patroclus, whom all the Achaeans are mourning.”

With this she left them, and the two winds rose with a cry that rent the air and swept the clouds before them. They blew on and on until they came to the sea, and the waves rose high beneath them, but when they reached Troy they fell upon the pyre till the mighty flames roared under the blast that they blew. All night long did they blow hard and beat upon the fire, and all night long did Achilles grasp his double cup, drawing wine from a mixing-bowl of gold, and calling upon the spirit of dead Patroclus as he poured it upon the ground until the earth was drenched. As a father mourns when he is burning the bones of his bridegroom son whose death has wrung the hearts of his parents, even so did Achilles mourn while burning the body of his comrade, pacing round the bier with piteous groaning and lamentation.

With that, she left them. The two winds rose with a cry that tore through the air and swept the clouds ahead of them. They blew on and on until they reached the sea, where the waves rose high beneath them. But when the winds reached Troy, they struck the funeral pyre, making the mighty flames roar under their blast. All night long, the winds blew hard against the fire. And all night long, Achilles held his double cup and drew wine from a golden mixing bowl. He called to the spirit of dead Patroclus as he poured the wine onto the ground until the earth was drenched. Just as a father mourns while burning the bones of his newly married son, whose death has broken his parents’ hearts, so Achilles mourned as he burned his comrade’s body. He paced around the bier with pitiful groans and cries of grief.

At length as the Morning Star was beginning to herald the light which saffron-mantled Dawn was soon to suffuse over the sea, the flames fell and the fire began to die. The winds then went home beyond the Thracian sea, which roared and boiled as they swept over it. The son of Peleus now turned away from the pyre and lay down, overcome with toil, till he fell into a sweet slumber. Presently they who were about the son of Atreus drew near in a body, and roused him with the noise and tramp of their coming. He sat upright and said, “Son of Atreus, and all other princes of the Achaeans, first pour red wine everywhere upon the fire and quench it; let us then gather the bones of Patroclus son of Menoetius, singling them out with care; they are easily found, for they lie in the middle of the pyre, while all else, both men and horses, has been thrown in a heap and burned at the outer edge. We will lay the bones in a golden urn, in two layers of fat, against the time when I shall myself go down into the house of Hades. As for the barrow, labour not to raise a great one now, but such as is reasonable. Afterwards, let those Achaeans who may be left at the ships when I am gone, build it both broad and high.”

At last, as the Morning Star began to announce the coming light, the flames sank and the fire began to die. Soon Dawn, dressed in saffron, would spread her light over the sea. The winds then went home beyond the Thracian sea, which roared and churned as the winds swept over it. The son of Peleus turned away from the pyre and lay down, exhausted by his work. He soon fell into a sweet sleep. Then the men around the son of Atreus approached together. The noise of their footsteps woke him. He sat up and said, “Son of Atreus, and all other princes of the Achaeans, first pour red wine over the whole fire to put it out. Then let us gather the bones of Patroclus, son of Menoetius, carefully separating them from the rest. His bones are easy to find because they lie in the middle of the pyre. Everything else, both men and horses, was piled up and burned at the outer edge. We will place his bones in a golden urn, between two layers of fat. There they will wait until I too go down to the house of Hades. As for the burial mound, do not work to make it large now. Make it a reasonable size. Later, let the Achaeans who may remain at the ships after I am gone make it broad and high.”

Thus he spoke and they obeyed the word of the son of Peleus. First they poured red wine upon the thick layer of ashes and quenched the fire. With many tears they singled out the whitened bones of their loved comrade and laid them within a golden urn in two layers of fat: they then covered the urn with a linen cloth and took it inside the tent. They marked off the circle where the barrow should be, made a foundation for it about the pyre, and forthwith heaped up the earth. When they had thus raised a mound they were going away, but Achilles stayed the people and made them sit in assembly. He brought prizes from the ships—cauldrons, tripods, horses and mules, noble oxen, women with fair girdles, and swart iron.

So he spoke, and they obeyed the son of Peleus. First they poured red wine over the thick layer of ashes and put out the fire. Weeping, they picked out the white bones of their beloved comrade. They placed the bones in a golden urn between two layers of fat. Then they covered the urn with a linen cloth and carried it into the tent. They marked out a circle for the burial mound and laid its foundation around the funeral pyre. Then they immediately piled up the earth. Once the mound was finished, they began to leave, but Achilles stopped them and called them to sit in assembly. He brought prizes from the ships: cauldrons, tripods, horses and mules, fine oxen, women wearing beautiful girdles, and dark iron.

The first prize he offered was for the chariot races—a woman skilled in all useful arts, and a three-legged cauldron that had ears for handles, and would hold twenty-two measures. This was for the man who came in first. For the second there was a six-year old mare, unbroken, and in foal to a he-ass; the third was to have a goodly cauldron that had never yet been on the fire; it was still bright as when it left the maker, and would hold four measures. The fourth prize was two talents of gold, and the fifth a two-handled urn as yet unsoiled by smoke. Then he stood up and spoke among the Argives saying—

The first prizes he offered were for the chariot races. The winner would receive a woman skilled in all useful arts and a three-legged cauldron with ear-shaped handles. The cauldron could hold twenty-two measures. Second prize was a six-year-old mare, not yet trained, and pregnant by a male donkey. Third prize was a fine cauldron that had never been over a fire. It was still as bright as when it left the maker and could hold four measures. Fourth prize was two talents of gold. Fifth prize was a two-handled urn, not yet stained by smoke. Then he stood up and addressed the Argives, saying:

“Son of Atreus, and all other Achaeans, these are the prizes that lie waiting the winners of the chariot races. At any other time I should carry off the first prize and take it to my own tent; you know how far my steeds excel all others—for they are immortal; Neptune gave them to my father Peleus, who in his turn gave them to myself; but I shall hold aloof, I and my steeds that have lost their brave and kind driver, who many a time has washed them in clear water and anointed their manes with oil. See how they stand weeping here, with their manes trailing on the ground in the extremity of their sorrow. But do you others set yourselves in order throughout the host, whosoever has confidence in his horses and in the strength of his chariot.”

“Son of Atreus, and all other Achaeans, these are the prizes waiting for the winners of the chariot races. At any other time, I would win first prize and take it to my own tent. You know how far my horses surpass all others, because my horses are immortal. Neptune gave them to my father Peleus, who in turn gave them to me. But my horses and I will stay out of the race. They have lost their brave and kind driver, who often washed them in clear water and oiled their manes. See how they stand here weeping, their manes trailing on the ground in their deep sorrow. But all of you throughout the army who trust your horses and the strength of your chariots, prepare to race.”

Thus spoke the son of Peleus and the drivers of chariots bestirred themselves. First among them all uprose Eumelus, king of men, son of Admetus, a man excellent in horsemanship. Next to him rose mighty Diomed son of Tydeus; he yoked the Trojan horses which he had taken from Aeneas, when Apollo bore him out of the fight. Next to him, yellow-haired Menelaus son of Atreus rose and yoked his fleet horses, Agamemnon’s mare Aethe, and his own horse Podargus. The mare had been given to Agamemnon by Echepolus son of Anchises, that he might not have to follow him to Ilius, but might stay at home and take his ease; for Jove had endowed him with great wealth and he lived in spacious Sicyon. This mare, all eager for the race, did Menelaus put under the yoke.

So spoke the son of Peleus, and the chariot drivers sprang into action. First of all rose Eumelus, king of men and son of Admetus, a skilled horseman. Next rose mighty Diomed, son of Tydeus. He yoked the Trojan horses he had taken from Aeneas when Apollo carried Aeneas out of the fight. Next rose yellow-haired Menelaus, son of Atreus, and he yoked his swift horses. These were Agamemnon’s mare Aethe and his own horse Podargus. Echepolus, son of Anchises, had given the mare to Agamemnon to avoid having to follow Agamemnon to Ilius. Instead, Echepolus could stay home and live at ease. For Jove had given Echepolus great wealth, and Echepolus lived in spacious Sicyon. Menelaus put this mare under the yoke, eager as she was to race.

Fourth in order Antilochus, son to noble Nestor son of Neleus, made ready his horses. These were bred in Pylos, and his father came up to him to give him good advice of which, however, he stood in but little need. “Antilochus,” said Nestor, “you are young, but Jove and Neptune have loved you well, and have made you an excellent horseman. I need not therefore say much by way of instruction. You are skilful at wheeling your horses round the post, but the horses themselves are very slow, and it is this that will, I fear, mar your chances. The other drivers know less than you do, but their horses are fleeter; therefore, my dear son, see if you cannot hit upon some artifice whereby you may insure that the prize shall not slip through your fingers. The woodman does more by skill than by brute force; by skill the pilot guides his storm-tossed barque over the sea, and so by skill one driver can beat another. If a man go wide in rounding this way and that, whereas a man who knows what he is doing may have worse horses, but he will keep them well in hand when he sees the doubling-post; he knows the precise moment at which to pull the rein, and keeps his eye well on the man in front of him. I will give you this certain token which cannot escape your notice. There is a stump of a dead tree—oak or pine as it may be—some six feet above the ground, and not yet rotted away by rain; it stands at the fork of the road; it has two white stones set one on each side, and there is a clear course all round it. It may have been a monument to some one long since dead, or it may have been used as a doubling-post in days gone by; now, however, it has been fixed on by Achilles as the mark round which the chariots shall turn; hug it as close as you can, but as you stand in your chariot lean over a little to the left; urge on your right-hand horse with voice and lash, and give him a loose rein, but let the left-hand horse keep so close in, that the nave of your wheel shall almost graze the post; but mind the stone, or you will wound your horses and break your chariot in pieces, which would be sport for others but confusion for yourself. Therefore, my dear son, mind well what you are about, for if you can be first to round the post there is no chance of any one giving you the go-by later, not even though you had Adrestus’s horse Arion behind you—a horse which is of divine race—or those of Laomedon, which are the noblest in this country.”

Fourth in line, Antilochus prepared his horses. He was the son of noble Nestor, son of Neleus. His horses had been bred in Pylos. His father came up to give him good advice, though Antilochus had little need of it. “Antilochus,” said Nestor, “you are young, but Jove and Neptune have loved you well and made you an excellent horseman. So I need not give you much instruction. You know how to turn your horses around the post, but the horses themselves are very slow. I fear their slowness will spoil your chances. The other drivers know less than you do, but their horses are faster. So, my dear son, try to think of a clever way to keep the prize from slipping through your fingers. “A woodcutter achieves more through skill than through brute force. Through skill, a pilot guides his storm-tossed ship over the sea. In the same way, one driver can beat another through skill. A driver may swing wide as he turns one way and then another. But a driver who knows his work may have worse horses and still keep them well under control. As he approaches the turning post, he knows exactly when to pull the reins. He also keeps a close eye on the man ahead. “I will give you a clear landmark you cannot miss. There is a dead tree stump, either oak or pine, standing about six feet above the ground. The rain has not yet rotted it away. The stump stands at a fork in the road, with a white stone on each side. There is a clear course all around it. It may have been a monument to someone long dead, or a turning post in earlier days. Now Achilles has chosen the stump as the marker around which the chariots must turn. “Stay as close to the stump as you can, but lean a little left as you stand in your chariot. Urge your right-hand horse on with your voice and whip, and give him a loose rein. But keep your left-hand horse so close that your wheel’s hub almost brushes the post. Watch out for the stone, or you will injure your horses and smash your chariot to pieces. Others would find that amusing, but you would be left in disgrace. So, my dear son, pay close attention to what you are doing. If you can round the post first, no one will have any chance of passing you later. Not even if Adrestus’s horse Arion, who is of divine ancestry, were behind you. Nor could Laomedon’s horses pass you, though they are the finest in this country.”

When Nestor had made an end of counselling his son he sat down in his place, and fifth in order Meriones got ready his horses. They then all mounted their chariots and cast lots. Achilles shook the helmet, and the lot of Antilochus son of Nestor fell out first; next came that of King Eumelus, and after his, those of Menelaus son of Atreus and of Meriones. The last place fell to the lot of Diomed son of Tydeus, who was the best man of them all. They took their places in line; Achilles showed them the doubling-post round which they were to turn, some way off upon the plain; here he stationed his father’s follower Phoenix as umpire, to note the running, and report truly.

When Nestor finished advising his son, he sat down in his place. Meriones was the fifth to get his horses ready. Then all the racers mounted their chariots and drew lots. Achilles shook the helmet, and the lot of Antilochus son of Nestor fell out first. King Eumelus came next, followed by Menelaus son of Atreus and then Meriones. Last place went to Diomed son of Tydeus, the best man of them all. The racers lined up. Achilles showed them the turning post some distance away on the plain, where they would turn their chariots. At the post, Achilles stationed his father’s follower Phoenix as judge, to watch the race and report accurately.

At the same instant they all of them lashed their horses, struck them with the reins, and shouted at them with all their might. They flew full speed over the plain away from the ships, the dust rose from under them as it were a cloud or whirlwind, and their manes were all flying in the wind. At one moment the chariots seemed to touch the ground, and then again they bounded into the air; the drivers stood erect, and their hearts beat fast and furious in their lust of victory. Each kept calling on his horses, and the horses scoured the plain amid the clouds of dust that they raised.

At the same instant, all the drivers lashed their horses, struck them with the reins, and shouted at full strength. The horses raced at full speed across the plain, away from the ships. Dust rose beneath them like a cloud or whirlwind, and all their manes streamed in the wind. One moment the chariots seemed to touch the ground, and the next they bounced into the air. The drivers stood upright, their hearts pounding fiercely with the desire to win. Each driver kept calling to his horses, and the horses raced across the plain through the dust clouds they raised.

It was when they were doing the last part of the course on their way back towards the sea that their pace was strained to the utmost and it was seen what each could do. The horses of the descendant of Pheres now took the lead, and close behind them came the Trojan stallions of Diomed. They seemed as if about to mount Eumelus’s chariot, and he could feel their warm breath on his back and on his broad shoulders, for their heads were close to him as they flew over the course. Diomed would have now passed him, or there would have been a dead heat, but Phoebus Apollo to spite him made him drop his whip. Tears of anger fell from his eyes as he saw the mares going on faster than ever, while his own horses lost ground through his having no whip. Minerva saw the trick which Apollo had played the son of Tydeus, so she brought him his whip and put spirit into his horses; moreover she went after the son of Admetus in a rage and broke his yoke for him; the mares went one to one side of the course, and the other to the other, and the pole was broken against the ground. Eumelus was thrown from his chariot close to the wheel; his elbows, mouth, and nostrils were all torn, and his forehead was bruised above his eyebrows; his eyes filled with tears and he could find no utterance. But the son of Tydeus turned his horses aside and shot far ahead, for Minerva put fresh strength into them and covered Diomed himself with glory.

As they raced through the final stretch back toward the sea, their speed reached its limit. Now each team showed what it could do. The horses of the descendant of Pheres took the lead, with Diomed’s Trojan stallions close behind. The stallions seemed about to climb onto Eumelus’s chariot. Eumelus could feel their warm breath on his back and broad shoulders. Their heads were close behind him as they flew along the course. Diomed would have passed Eumelus or finished in a dead heat, but Phoebus Apollo intervened out of spite. Apollo made Diomed drop his whip. Tears of anger fell from Diomed’s eyes as he watched the mares run faster than ever. His own horses were losing ground because he had no whip. Minerva saw the trick Apollo had played on the son of Tydeus. So she returned his whip and filled his horses with spirit. Then, in a rage, she went after the son of Admetus and broke his yoke. The mares swerved to opposite sides of the course, and the chariot’s pole struck the ground and broke. Eumelus was thrown from his chariot, landing close to the wheel. His elbows, mouth, and nostrils were all torn, and his forehead was bruised above his eyebrows. His eyes filled with tears, and he could not speak. But the son of Tydeus steered his horses aside and raced far ahead. Minerva had given the horses fresh strength and covered Diomed himself with glory.

Menelaus son of Atreus came next behind him, but Antilochus called to his father’s horses. “On with you both,” he cried, “and do your very utmost. I do not bid you try to beat the steeds of the son of Tydeus, for Minerva has put running into them, and has covered Diomed with glory; but you must overtake the horses of the son of Atreus and not be left behind, or Aethe who is so fleet will taunt you. Why, my good fellows, are you lagging? I tell you, and it shall surely be—Nestor will keep neither of you, but will put both of you to the sword, if we win any the worse a prize through your carelessness. Fly after them at your utmost speed; I will hit on a plan for passing them in a narrow part of the way, and it shall not fail me.”

Menelaus son of Atreus came next behind him, but Antilochus called to his father’s horses. “Go on, both of you,” he cried, “and give it everything you have. I’m not asking you to beat the horses of the son of Tydeus. Minerva has given those horses speed and covered Diomed with glory. But you must catch the horses of the son of Atreus and not fall behind. Otherwise Aethe, who is so fast, will mock you. Why are you lagging, my good fellows? I tell you, and it will certainly happen: Nestor will keep neither of you if your carelessness wins us a worse prize. Instead, he will kill you both with his sword. Race after them as fast as you can. I’ll find a way to pass them on a narrow stretch of the course, and my plan will not fail.”

They feared the rebuke of their master, and for a short space went quicker. Presently Antilochus saw a narrow place where the road had sunk. The ground was broken, for the winter’s rain had gathered and had worn the road so that the whole place was deepened. Menelaus was making towards it so as to get there first, for fear of a foul, but Antilochus turned his horses out of the way, and followed him a little on one side. The son of Atreus was afraid and shouted out, “Antilochus, you are driving recklessly; rein in your horses; the road is too narrow here, it will be wider soon, and you can pass me then; if you foul my chariot you may bring both of us to a mischief.”

They feared their master’s scolding and went faster for a short time. Soon Antilochus saw a narrow stretch where the road had sunk. The ground was broken because winter rain had collected there and worn away the road, deepening the whole stretch. Menelaus headed toward the narrow stretch, hoping to reach it first and avoid a collision. But Antilochus steered his horses to one side and followed a little to the side of Menelaus. The son of Atreus grew afraid and shouted, “Antilochus, you’re driving recklessly! Rein in your horses. The road is too narrow here. It will widen soon, and you can pass me then. If you hit my chariot, you may hurt us both.”

But Antilochus plied his whip, and drove faster, as though he had not heard him. They went side by side for about as far as a young man can hurl a disc from his shoulder when he is trying his strength, and then Menelaus’s mares drew behind, for he left off driving for fear the horses should foul one another and upset the chariots; thus, while pressing on in quest of victory, they might both come headlong to the ground. Menelaus then upbraided Antilochus and said, “There is no greater trickster living than you are; go, and bad luck go with you; the Achaeans say not well that you have understanding, and come what may you shall not bear away the prize without sworn protest on my part.”

But Antilochus kept using his whip and drove faster, as though he had not heard him. The chariots raced side by side for about the distance a young man can throw a discus from his shoulder when testing his strength. Then Menelaus’s mares fell behind because he stopped urging them on. He feared the horses would collide and overturn the chariots. In their push for victory, both men might crash headfirst to the ground. Menelaus then scolded Antilochus and said, “There is no greater cheat alive than you. Go on, and may bad luck follow you. The Achaeans are wrong to call you sensible. Whatever happens, you will not take the prize without a sworn protest from me.”

Then he called on his horses and said to them, “Keep your pace, and slacken not; the limbs of the other horses will weary sooner than yours, for they are neither of them young.”

Then he called to his horses and said, “Keep your pace. Don’t slow down. The other horses’ legs will tire sooner than yours because neither of those horses is young.”

The horses feared the rebuke of their master, and went faster, so that they were soon nearly up with the others.

The horses feared their master's scolding and ran faster. As a result, they soon nearly caught up with the others.

Meanwhile the Achaeans from their seats were watching how the horses went, as they scoured the plain amid clouds of their own dust. Idomeneus captain of the Cretans was first to make out the running, for he was not in the thick of the crowd, but stood on the most commanding part of the ground. The driver was a long way off, but Idomeneus could hear him shouting, and could see the foremost horse quite plainly—a chestnut with a round white star, like the moon, on its forehead. He stood up and said among the Argives, “My friends, princes and counsellors of the Argives, can you see the running as well as I can? There seems to be another pair in front now, and another driver; those that led off at the start must have been disabled out on the plain. I saw them at first making their way round the doubling-post, but now, though I search the plain of Troy, I cannot find them. Perhaps the reins fell from the driver’s hand so that he lost command of his horses at the doubling-post, and could not turn it. I suppose he must have been thrown out there, and broken his chariot, while his mares have left the course and gone off wildly in a panic. Come up and see for yourselves, I cannot make out for certain, but the driver seems an Aetolian by descent, ruler over the Argives, brave Diomed the son of Tydeus.”

Meanwhile, the Achaeans watched from their seats as the horses raced across the plain in clouds of their own dust. Idomeneus, captain of the Cretans, was the first to make out how the race was going. He stood apart from the crowd, on the ground with the best view. The driver was far away, but Idomeneus could hear him shouting and see the leading horse clearly. It was a chestnut with a round white star on its forehead, like the moon. He stood up and said among the Argives, “My friends, princes and counsellors of the Argives, can you see the race as well as I can? Another pair of horses seems to be in front now, with another driver. The horses that led at the start must have run into trouble out on the plain. At first I saw them going around the turning post. But now, though I search the plain of Troy, I cannot find them. Perhaps the reins fell from the driver’s hand, so he lost control of his horses at the turning post. That would have left him unable to make the turn. I suppose he must have been thrown out there and broken his chariot. His mares must have left the course and run wildly off in a panic. Come up and see for yourselves. I cannot tell for certain, but the driver seems to be brave Diomed, son of Tydeus. He is of Aetolian descent and a ruler over the Argives.”

Ajax the son of Oileus took him up rudely and said, “Idomeneus, why should you be in such a hurry to tell us all about it, when the mares are still so far out upon the plain? You are none of the youngest, nor your eyes none of the sharpest, but you are always laying down the law. You have no right to do so, for there are better men here than you are. Eumelus’s horses are in front now, as they always have been, and he is on the chariot holding the reins.”

Ajax the son of Oileus cut him off rudely and said, “Idomeneus, why rush to tell us all about it when the mares are still so far out on the plain? You’re not among the youngest, and your eyes aren’t among the sharpest. But you’re always laying down the law. You have no right to do that, because there are better men here than you. Eumelus’s horses are in front now, as they have been all along. And Eumelus is on the chariot, holding the reins.”

The captain of the Cretans was angry, and answered, “Ajax you are an excellent railer, but you have no judgement, and are wanting in much else as well, for you have a vile temper. I will wager you a tripod or cauldron, and Agamemnon son of Atreus shall decide whose horses are first. You will then know to your cost.”

The captain of the Cretans was angry and replied, “Ajax, you are excellent at hurling insults, but you have no judgment. You lack much else as well, because you have a nasty temper. I will bet you a tripod or a cauldron. Agamemnon son of Atreus will judge whose horses come first. Then you will learn, and pay the price.”

Ajax son of Oileus was for making him an angry answer, and there would have been yet further brawling between them, had not Achilles risen in his place and said, “Cease your railing, Ajax and Idomeneus; it is not seemly; you would be scandalised if you saw any one else do the like: sit down and keep your eyes on the horses; they are speeding towards the winning-post and will be here directly. You will then both of you know whose horses are first, and whose come after.”

Ajax son of Oileus was about to answer him angrily. The two would have argued further if Achilles had not stood up where he sat and spoken. “Stop your insults, Ajax and Idomeneus. You are behaving badly. You would be appalled if you saw anyone else acting like this. Sit down and watch the horses. The horses are racing toward the finish line and will be here any moment. Then you will both know whose horses are first and whose come after.”

As he was speaking, the son of Tydeus came driving in, plying his whip lustily from his shoulder, and his horses stepping high as they flew over the course. The sand and grit rained thick on the driver, and the chariot inlaid with gold and tin ran close behind his fleet horses. There was little trace of wheel-marks in the fine dust, and the horses came flying in at their utmost speed. Diomed stayed them in the middle of the crowd, and the sweat from their manes and chests fell in streams on to the ground. Forthwith he sprang from his goodly chariot, and leaned his whip against his horses’ yoke; brave Sthenelus now lost no time, but at once brought on the prize, and gave the woman and the ear-handled cauldron to his comrades to take away. Then he unyoked the horses.

As he spoke, the son of Tydeus drove in, swinging his whip hard from his shoulder. His horses lifted their legs high as they raced over the course. Sand and grit showered the driver. The chariot, inlaid with gold and tin, sped close behind his swift horses. The wheels left barely a mark in the fine dust, and the horses raced in at full speed. Diomed stopped them in the middle of the crowd. Sweat streamed from their manes and chests onto the ground. He immediately jumped from his fine chariot and leaned his whip against the horses’ yoke. Brave Sthenelus wasted no time, but immediately brought over the prize. He gave the woman and the cauldron with ear-shaped handles to his companions to take away. Then he unyoked the horses.

Next after him came in Antilochus of the race of Neleus, who had passed Menelaus by a trick and not by the fleetness of his horses; but even so Menelaus came in as close behind him as the wheel is to the horse that draws both the chariot and its master. The end hairs of a horse’s tail touch the tyre of the wheel, and there is never much space between wheel and horse when the chariot is going; Menelaus was no further than this behind Antilochus, though at first he had been a full disc’s throw behind him. He had soon caught him up again, for Agamemnon’s mare Aethe kept pulling stronger and stronger, so that if the course had been longer he would have passed him, and there would not even have been a dead heat. Idomeneus’s brave squire Meriones was about a spear’s cast behind Menelaus. His horses were slowest of all, and he was the worst driver. Last of them all came the son of Admetus, dragging his chariot and driving his horses on in front. When Achilles saw him he was sorry, and stood up among the Argives saying, “The best man is coming in last. Let us give him a prize for it is reasonable. He shall have the second, but the first must go to the son of Tydeus.”

Antilochus, a descendant of Neleus, came in next. He had passed Menelaus by a trick, not because his horses were faster. Even so, Menelaus finished as close behind him as a wheel follows the horse pulling a chariot and its master. The tips of a horse’s tail touch the wheel’s rim. There is never much space between wheel and horse when the chariot is moving. Menelaus was no farther behind Antilochus than that, though at first he had been a full discus throw behind him. He had quickly caught up again because Agamemnon’s mare Aethe kept pulling harder and harder. If the course had been longer, Menelaus would have passed Antilochus. They would not even have finished in a tie. Meriones, Idomeneus’s brave squire, finished about a spear’s throw behind Menelaus. His horses were the slowest of all, and he was the worst driver. Last of all came the son of Admetus, dragging his chariot and driving his horses ahead of him. Achilles felt sorry for him when he saw him. He stood up among the Argives and said, “The best man is coming in last. Let us give him a prize, as is only fair. He shall have the second prize, but the first must go to the son of Tydeus.”

Thus did he speak and the others all of them applauded his saying, and were for doing as he had said, but Nestor’s son Antilochus stood up and claimed his rights from the son of Peleus. “Achilles,” said he, “I shall take it much amiss if you do this thing; you would rob me of my prize, because you think Eumelus’s chariot and horses were thrown out, and himself too, good man that he is. He should have prayed duly to the immortals; he would not have come in last if he had done so. If you are sorry for him and so choose, you have much gold in your tents, with bronze, sheep, cattle and horses. Take something from this store if you would have the Achaeans speak well of you, and give him a better prize even than that which you have now offered; but I will not give up the mare, and he that will fight me for her, let him come on.”

He finished speaking, and all the others applauded his words and agreed to do as he suggested. But Nestor’s son Antilochus stood up and demanded his rightful prize from the son of Peleus. “Achilles,” he said, “I will be deeply offended if you do this. You would rob me of my prize because you think Eumelus deserves it after his chariot, horses, and he himself crashed. He is a good man, but he should have prayed properly to the immortals. He would not have come in last if he had done so. If you feel sorry for him and want to help, you have plenty of gold in your tents. You also have bronze, sheep, cattle, and horses. Take something from those riches if you want the Achaeans to speak well of you. Give him an even better prize than the one you have offered now. But I will not give up the mare. If anyone wants to fight me for her, let him come forward.”

Achilles smiled as he heard this, and was pleased with Antilochus, who was one of his dearest comrades. So he said—

Achilles smiled when he heard this and was pleased with Antilochus, one of his dearest friends. So Achilles said:

“Antilochus, if you would have me find Eumelus another prize, I will give him the bronze breastplate with a rim of tin running all round it which I took from Asteropaeus. It will be worth much money to him.”

“Antilochus, if you want me to give Eumelus another prize, I will give him the bronze breastplate. I took the breastplate from Asteropaeus, and it has a tin rim running all around it. The breastplate will be worth a lot of money to Eumelus.”

He bade his comrade Automedon bring the breastplate from his tent, and he did so. Achilles then gave it over to Eumelus, who received it gladly.

He told his comrade Automedon to bring the breastplate from his tent, and Automedon brought it. Achilles then gave the breastplate to Eumelus, who gladly accepted it.

But Menelaus got up in a rage, furiously angry with Antilochus. An attendant placed his staff in his hands and bade the Argives keep silence: the hero then addressed them. “Antilochus,” said he, “what is this from you who have been so far blameless? You have made me cut a poor figure and baulked my horses by flinging your own in front of them, though yours are much worse than mine are; therefore, O princes and counsellors of the Argives, judge between us and show no favour, lest one of the Achaeans say, ‘Menelaus has got the mare through lying and corruption; his horses were far inferior to Antilochus’s, but he has greater weight and influence.’ Nay, I will determine the matter myself, and no man will blame me, for I shall do what is just. Come here, Antilochus, and stand, as our custom is, whip in hand before your chariot and horses; lay your hand on your steeds, and swear by earth-encircling Neptune that you did not purposely and guilefully get in the way of my horses.”

But Menelaus stood up in a rage, furious with Antilochus. An attendant put his staff in his hands and told the Argives to be silent. Then the hero addressed them. “Antilochus,” he said, “you have been blameless until now. Why have you done this? You have made me look foolish and blocked my horses by driving your own in front of them. Yet your horses are much worse than mine. So, princes and counsellors of the Argives, judge between us without favouring either side. Otherwise, one of the Achaeans might say, ‘Menelaus won the mare through lies and corruption. His horses were far worse than Antilochus’s, but he has more power and influence.’ No, I will settle the matter myself. No one will blame me, because I will do what is fair. Come here, Antilochus, and stand before your chariot and horses with your whip in your hand, as our custom requires. Put your hand on your horses and swear by earth-encircling Neptune. Swear that you did not deliberately and deceitfully block my horses.”

And Antilochus answered, “Forgive me; I am much younger, King Menelaus, than you are; you stand higher than I do and are the better man of the two; you know how easily young men are betrayed into indiscretion; their tempers are more hasty and they have less judgement; make due allowances therefore, and bear with me; I will of my own accord give up the mare that I have won, and if you claim any further chattel from my own possessions, I would rather yield it to you, at once, than fall from your good graces henceforth, and do wrong in the sight of heaven.”

And Antilochus answered, “Forgive me, King Menelaus. I am much younger than you. You outrank me and are the better man. You know how easily young men are led into foolish behavior. They are quicker to anger and have less judgment. So please take my youth into account and be patient with me. I will willingly give up the mare I won. And if you ask for anything else I own, I would rather give it to you at once. I would rather do that than lose your favor from now on and do wrong in heaven’s eyes.”

The son of Nestor then took the mare and gave her over to Menelaus, whose anger was thus appeased; as when dew falls upon a field of ripening corn, and the lands are bristling with the harvest—even so, O Menelaus, was your heart made glad within you. He turned to Antilochus and said, “Now, Antilochus, angry though I have been, I can give way to you of my own free will; you have never been headstrong nor ill-disposed hitherto, but this time your youth has got the better of your judgement; be careful how you outwit your betters in future; no one else could have brought me round so easily, but your good father, your brother, and yourself have all of you had infinite trouble on my behalf; I therefore yield to your entreaty, and will give up the mare to you, mine though it indeed be; the people will thus see that I am neither harsh nor vindictive.”

Nestor’s son then took the mare and handed her over to Menelaus, calming his anger. Just as dew falls on a field of ripening grain, with the land thick with the coming harvest, so your heart, Menelaus, filled with joy. He turned to Antilochus and said, “Now, Antilochus, although I have been angry, I can freely choose to give way to you. You have never been reckless or unfriendly before, but this time your youth has overcome your good judgment. Be careful how you outwit your betters in the future. No one else could have won me over so easily. But your good father, your brother, and you have all endured endless trouble for my sake. So I will grant your request and give you the mare, though she is rightfully mine. Then everyone will see that I am neither harsh nor vengeful.”

With this he gave the mare over to Antilochus’s comrade Noemon, and then took the cauldron. Meriones, who had come in fourth, carried off the two talents of gold, and the fifth prize, the two-handled urn, being unawarded, Achilles gave it to Nestor, going up to him among the assembled Argives and saying, “Take this, my good old friend, as an heirloom and memorial of the funeral of Patroclus—for you shall see him no more among the Argives. I give you this prize though you cannot win one; you can now neither wrestle nor fight, and cannot enter for the javelin-match nor foot-races, for the hand of age has been laid heavily upon you.”

With these words, he handed the mare to Antilochus’s comrade Noemon, then took the cauldron. Meriones, who had finished fourth, took the two talents of gold. The fifth prize, a two-handled urn, had not been awarded, so Achilles gave the urn to Nestor. Achilles approached Nestor among the gathered Argives and said, “Take this urn, my dear old friend. Keep it as an heirloom and a reminder of Patroclus’s funeral, for you will never see him among the Argives again. I give you this prize though you can no longer win one. You can no longer wrestle or fight, or compete in the javelin throw or footraces. Age has laid its heavy hand on you.”

So saying he gave the urn over to Nestor, who received it gladly and answered, “My son, all that you have said is true; there is no strength now in my legs and feet, nor can I hit out with my hands from either shoulder. Would that I were still young and strong as when the Epeans were burying King Amarynceus in Buprasium, and his sons offered prizes in his honour. There was then none that could vie with me neither of the Epeans nor the Pylians themselves nor the Aetolians. In boxing I overcame Clytomedes son of Enops, and in wrestling, Ancaeus of Pleuron who had come forward against me. Iphiclus was a good runner, but I beat him, and threw farther with my spear than either Phyleus or Polydorus. In chariot-racing alone did the two sons of Actor surpass me by crowding their horses in front of me, for they were angry at the way victory had gone, and at the greater part of the prizes remaining in the place in which they had been offered. They were twins, and the one kept on holding the reins, and holding the reins, while the other plied the whip. Such was I then, but now I must leave these matters to younger men; I must bow before the weight of years, but in those days I was eminent among heroes. And now, sir, go on with the funeral contests in honour of your comrade: gladly do I accept this urn, and my heart rejoices that you do not forget me but are ever mindful of my goodwill towards you, and of the respect due to me from the Achaeans. For all which may the grace of heaven be vouchsafed you in great abundance.”

With those words, he handed the urn to Nestor, who gladly accepted it and replied, “My son, everything you have said is true. My legs and feet have no strength left, and I can no longer throw punches with either arm. I wish I were still as young and strong as when the Epeans buried King Amarynceus in Buprasium. His sons offered prizes in his honor. No one could match me then, not the Epeans, the Pylians themselves, or the Aetolians. In boxing I defeated Clytomedes, son of Enops. In wrestling I defeated Ancaeus of Pleuron, who had stepped forward to face me. Iphiclus was a good runner, but I beat him. I also threw my spear farther than either Phyleus or Polydorus. “Only in chariot racing did the two sons of Actor beat me, by forcing their horses ahead of mine. They were angry about how the victories had gone. They were also angry that most prizes still lay where they had been offered. They were twins, and one kept tight hold of the reins while the other used the whip. That was the man I was then, but now I must leave these contests to younger men. I must yield to the weight of age, but in those days I stood out among heroes. “And now, sir, continue the funeral contests in honor of your comrade. I gladly accept this urn. My heart rejoices that you have not forgotten me. You always remember my goodwill toward you and the respect the Achaeans owe me. For all this, may heaven bless you abundantly.”

Thereon the son of Peleus, when he had listened to all the thanks of Nestor, went about among the concourse of the Achaeans, and presently offered prizes for skill in the painful art of boxing. He brought out a strong mule, and made it fast in the middle of the crowd—a she-mule never yet broken, but six years old—when it is hardest of all to break them: this was for the victor, and for the vanquished he offered a double cup. Then he stood up and said among the Argives, “Son of Atreus, and all other Achaeans, I invite our two champion boxers to lay about them lustily and compete for these prizes. He to whom Apollo vouchsafes the greater endurance, and whom the Achaeans acknowledge as victor, shall take the mule back with him to his own tent, while he that is vanquished shall have the double cup.”

After listening to all of Nestor’s thanks, the son of Peleus moved among the gathered Achaeans. Soon he offered prizes for skill in the painful art of boxing. He brought out a strong mule and tied her in the middle of the crowd. She had never been trained and was six years old, the hardest age at which to train a mule. The mule was the winner’s prize. For the loser, he offered a double cup. Then he stood up among the Argives and said, “Son of Atreus, and all other Achaeans, I invite our two champion boxers to fight hard for these prizes. The boxer whom Apollo grants greater endurance, and whom the Achaeans declare the winner, will take the mule to his tent. The loser will have the double cup.”

As he spoke there stood up a champion both brave and of great stature, a skilful boxer, Epeus, son of Panopeus. He laid his hand on the mule and said, “Let the man who is to have the cup come hither, for none but myself will take the mule. I am the best boxer of all here present, and none can beat me. Is it not enough that I should fall short of you in actual fighting? Still, no man can be good at everything. I tell you plainly, and it shall come true; if any man will box with me I will bruise his body and break his bones; therefore let his friends stay here in a body and be at hand to take him away when I have done with him.”

As he spoke, a tall, brave champion stood up: Epeus, son of Panopeus, a skilled boxer. He laid his hand on the mule and said, “Let the man who will win the cup come forward. No one but me will take the mule. I am the best boxer of everyone here, and no one can beat me. Isn’t it enough that I fall short of you in actual fighting? Still, no man can be good at everything. I tell you plainly, and my words will come true. If anyone boxes with me, I will bruise his body and break his bones. So let his friends stay here together, ready to carry him away when I am done with him.”

They all held their peace, and no man rose save Euryalus son of Mecisteus, who was son of Talaus. Mecisteus went once to Thebes after the fall of Oedipus, to attend his funeral, and he beat all the people of Cadmus. The son of Tydeus was Euryalus’s second, cheering him on and hoping heartily that he would win. First he put a waistband round him and then he gave him some well-cut thongs of ox-hide; the two men being now girt went into the middle of the ring, and immediately fell to; heavily indeed did they punish one another and lay about them with their brawny fists. One could hear the horrid crashing of their jaws, and they sweated from every pore of their skin. Presently Epeus came on and gave Euryalus a blow on the jaw as he was looking round; Euryalus could not keep his legs; they gave way under him in a moment and he sprang up with a bound, as a fish leaps into the air near some shore that is all bestrewn with sea-wrack, when Boreas furs the top of the waves, and then falls back into deep water. But noble Epeus caught hold of him and raised him up; his comrades also came round him and led him from the ring, unsteady in his gait, his head hanging on one side, and spitting great clots of gore. They set him down in a swoon and then went to fetch the double cup.

Everyone stayed silent, and no one stood up except Euryalus, son of Mecisteus and grandson of Talaus. Mecisteus had once gone to Thebes after the fall of Oedipus to attend his funeral. There he defeated all the people of Cadmus. The son of Tydeus served as Euryalus’s second, cheering him on and hoping with all his heart that he would win. First he wrapped a waistband around Euryalus, then gave him some neatly cut strips of ox-hide. With their gear on, the two fighters entered the middle of the ring and immediately began fighting. They dealt each other heavy blows, striking hard with their powerful fists. The terrible crashing of their jaws could be heard, and sweat poured from every pore. Soon Epeus moved forward and struck Euryalus on the jaw as Euryalus was looking around. Euryalus could not stay on his feet. His legs gave way at once, and he bounced upward like a fish leaping near a seaweed-covered shore. The fish leaps as Boreas ruffles the tops of the waves, then falls back into deep water. But noble Epeus caught Euryalus and helped him up. Euryalus’s comrades also gathered around him and led him out of the ring. He staggered, his head hanging to one side, and spat out large clots of blood. They sat him down unconscious, then went to fetch the double cup.

The son of Peleus now brought out the prizes for the third contest and showed them to the Argives. These were for the painful art of wrestling. For the winner there was a great tripod ready for setting upon the fire, and the Achaeans valued it among themselves at twelve oxen. For the loser he brought out a woman skilled in all manner of arts, and they valued her at four oxen. He rose and said among the Argives, “Stand forward, you who will essay this contest.”

The son of Peleus now brought out the prizes for the third contest and showed them to the Argives. These prizes were for the painful sport of wrestling. The winner’s prize was a large tripod, ready to be placed over a fire. The Achaeans valued the tripod at twelve oxen. For the loser, he brought out a woman skilled in all kinds of crafts. The Achaeans valued her at four oxen. The son of Peleus stood up and said to the Argives, “Step forward, anyone who wants to try this contest.”

Forthwith uprose great Ajax the son of Telamon, and crafty Ulysses, full of wiles, rose also. The two girded themselves and went into the middle of the ring. They gripped each other in their strong hands like the rafters which some master-builder frames for the roof of a high house to keep the wind out. Their backbones cracked as they tugged at one another with their mighty arms—and sweat rained from them in torrents. Many a bloody weal sprang up on their sides and shoulders, but they kept on striving with might and main for victory and to win the tripod. Ulysses could not throw Ajax, nor Ajax him; Ulysses was too strong for him; but when the Achaeans began to tire of watching them, Ajax said to Ulysses, “Ulysses, noble son of Laertes, you shall either lift me, or I you, and let Jove settle it between us.”

Great Ajax, son of Telamon, rose at once, and Ulysses, crafty and full of tricks, rose too. The two tightened their belts and stepped into the middle of the ring. They gripped each other with strong hands, like rafters a master builder fits together for a tall house’s roof. The rafters keep the wind out. Their backbones cracked as they pulled at each other with their mighty arms. Sweat poured from them in torrents. Many bloody welts rose on their sides and shoulders. But they kept struggling with all their strength for victory and the tripod prize. Ulysses could not throw Ajax, and Ajax could not throw Ulysses. Ulysses was too strong for Ajax. But when the Achaeans began to tire of watching, Ajax said to Ulysses, “Ulysses, noble son of Laertes, either you lift me or I lift you. Let Jove decide between us.”

He lifted him from the ground as he spoke, but Ulysses did not forget his cunning. He hit Ajax in the hollow at back of his knee, so that he could not keep his feet, but fell on his back with Ulysses lying upon his chest, and all who saw it marvelled. Then Ulysses in turn lifted Ajax and stirred him a little from the ground but could not lift him right off it, his knee sank under him, and the two fell side by side on the ground and were all begrimed with dust. They now sprang towards one another and were for wrestling yet a third time, but Achilles rose and stayed them. “Put not each other further,” said he, “to such cruel suffering; the victory is with both alike, take each of you an equal prize, and let the other Achaeans now compete.”

As he spoke, he lifted Ulysses from the ground, but Ulysses did not forget his cunning. He struck Ajax in the hollow behind his knee, so that Ajax lost his footing. Ajax fell on his back with Ulysses lying on his chest, and all who watched were amazed. Then Ulysses took his turn lifting Ajax. He raised him a little but could not lift him completely off the ground. Ulysses’ knee buckled, and both men fell side by side, covered in dust. They sprang at each other, ready to wrestle a third time, but Achilles stood and stopped them. “Do not put each other through any more of this painful struggle,” he said. “The victory belongs equally to both of you. Each of you should take an equal prize, and let the other Achaeans compete now.”

Thus did he speak and they did even as he had said, and put on their shirts again after wiping the dust from off their bodies.

He spoke, and they did as he said. After wiping the dust off their bodies, they put their shirts back on.

The son of Peleus then offered prizes for speed in running—a mixing-bowl beautifully wrought, of pure silver. It would hold six measures, and far exceeded all others in the whole world for beauty; it was the work of cunning artificers in Sidon, and had been brought into port by Phoenicians from beyond the sea, who had made a present of it to Thoas. Eueneus son of Jason had given it to Patroclus in ransom of Priam’s son Lycaon, and Achilles now offered it as a prize in honour of his comrade to him who should be the swiftest runner. For the second prize he offered a large ox, well fattened, while for the last there was to be half a talent of gold. He then rose and said among the Argives, “Stand forward, you who will essay this contest.”

The son of Peleus then offered prizes for a footrace. First prize was a beautifully crafted mixing bowl made of pure silver. It held six measures and far surpassed all other bowls in the world in beauty. Skilled craftsmen in Sidon had made the bowl. Phoenicians had brought it into port from across the sea and given it to Thoas as a gift. Eueneus, son of Jason, had given the bowl to Patroclus as ransom for Priam’s son Lycaon. Achilles now offered the bowl to the fastest runner as a prize in honor of his comrade. For second prize, he offered a large, well-fattened ox. The last prize was half a talent of gold. He then stood up among the Argives and said, “Step forward, any of you who will compete in this race.”

Forthwith uprose fleet Ajax son of Oileus, with cunning Ulysses, and Nestor’s son Antilochus, the fastest runner among all the youth of his time. They stood side by side and Achilles showed them the goal. The course was set out for them from the starting-post, and the son of Oileus took the lead at once, with Ulysses as close behind him as the shuttle is to a woman’s bosom when she throws the woof across the warp and holds it close up to her; even so close behind him was Ulysses—treading in his footprints before the dust could settle there, and Ajax could feel his breath on the back of his head as he ran swiftly on. The Achaeans all shouted applause as they saw him straining his utmost, and cheered him as he shot past them; but when they were now nearing the end of the course Ulysses prayed inwardly to Minerva. “Hear me,” he cried, “and help my feet, O goddess.” Thus did he pray, and Pallas Minerva heard his prayer; she made his hands and his feet feel light, and when the runners were at the point of pouncing upon the prize, Ajax, through Minerva’s spite slipped upon some offal that was lying there from the cattle which Achilles had slaughtered in honour of Patroclus, and his mouth and nostrils were all filled with cow dung. Ulysses therefore carried off the mixing-bowl, for he got before Ajax and came in first. But Ajax took the ox and stood with his hand on one of its horns, spitting the dung out of his mouth. Then he said to the Argives, “Alas, the goddess has spoiled my running; she watches over Ulysses and stands by him as though she were his own mother.” Thus did he speak and they all of them laughed heartily.

Swift Ajax, son of Oileus, rose at once, along with cunning Ulysses and Nestor’s son Antilochus. Antilochus was the fastest runner among all the young men of his time. They stood side by side, and Achilles showed them the finish line. The course was laid out from the starting post, and the son of Oileus immediately took the lead. Ulysses followed as closely as a shuttle held near a woman’s chest as she passes the weft through the warp. Just as closely, Ulysses stepped into Ajax’s footprints before the dust could settle in them. As Ajax ran swiftly on, he could feel Ulysses’ breath on the back of his head. All the Achaeans shouted in applause as they watched Ulysses push himself to the limit. They cheered as he raced past them. But as the runners neared the end of the course, Ulysses silently prayed to Minerva. “Hear me,” he cried, “and help my feet, O goddess.” Pallas Minerva heard his prayer and made his hands and feet feel light. The runners were just about to seize the prize when Minerva spitefully made Ajax slip on some offal. The offal came from the cattle Achilles had slaughtered in honour of Patroclus. Ajax’s mouth and nostrils filled with cow dung. Ulysses therefore won the mixing bowl, overtaking Ajax and finishing first. But Ajax took the ox and stood with his hand on one of its horns, spitting dung from his mouth. Then he said to the Argives, “Alas, the goddess has ruined my race. She watches over Ulysses and stands by him as though she were his own mother.” At his words, they all laughed heartily.

Antilochus carried off the last prize and smiled as he said to the bystanders, “You all see, my friends, that now too the gods have shown their respect for seniority. Ajax is somewhat older than I am, and as for Ulysses, he belongs to an earlier generation, but he is hale in spite of his years, and no man of the Achaeans can run against him save only Achilles.”

Antilochus took the last prize and smiled as he said to those nearby, “You all see, my friends, that once again the gods have shown their respect for age. Ajax is a little older than I am. As for Ulysses, he belongs to an earlier generation, but he is still strong despite his age. No man among the Achaeans can match him in a race except Achilles.”

He said this to pay a compliment to the son of Peleus, and Achilles answered, “Antilochus, you shall not have praised me to no purpose; I shall give you an additional half talent of gold.” He then gave the half talent to Antilochus, who received it gladly.

He said this to compliment the son of Peleus. Achilles answered, “Antilochus, your praise will not go unrewarded. I will give you an extra half talent of gold.” He then gave the half talent to Antilochus, who gladly accepted it.

Then the son of Peleus brought out the spear, helmet and shield that had been borne by Sarpedon, and were taken from him by Patroclus. He stood up and said among the Argives, “We bid two champions put on their armour, take their keen blades, and make trial of one another in the presence of the multitude; whichever of them can first wound the flesh of the other, cut through his armour, and draw blood, to him will I give this goodly Thracian sword inlaid with silver, which I took from Asteropaeus, but the armour let both hold in partnership, and I will give each of them a hearty meal in my own tent.”

Then the son of Peleus brought out the spear, helmet, and shield that Sarpedon had carried. Patroclus had taken them from Sarpedon. The son of Peleus stood up and said to the Argives, “We call on two champions to put on their armour and take up their sharp swords. Let them test each other before the crowd. The first to cut through his opponent’s armour, wound his flesh, and draw blood will win a prize. I will give the winner this fine Thracian sword inlaid with silver, which I took from Asteropaeus. But both champions will share the armour, and I will give each a hearty meal in my own tent.”

Forthwith uprose great Ajax the son of Telamon, as also mighty Diomed son of Tydeus. When they had put on their armour each on his own side of the ring, they both went into the middle eager to engage, and with fire flashing from their eyes. The Achaeans marvelled as they beheld them, and when the two were now close up with one another, thrice did they spring forward and thrice try to strike each other in close combat. Ajax pierced Diomed’s round shield, but did not draw blood, for the cuirass beneath the shield protected him; thereon the son of Tydeus from over his huge shield kept aiming continually at Ajax’s neck with the point of his spear, and the Achaeans alarmed for his safety bade them leave off fighting and divide the prize between them. Achilles then gave the great sword to the son of Tydeus, with its scabbard, and the leathern belt with which to hang it.

Great Ajax, son of Telamon, rose at once, as did mighty Diomed, son of Tydeus. Each put on his armour on his own side of the ring. Then both stepped into the middle, eager to fight, with fire flashing from their eyes. The Achaeans watched in amazement. When the two fighters drew close, three times they lunged forward and tried to strike each other at close range. Ajax pierced Diomed’s round shield but drew no blood, because the breastplate beneath the shield protected Diomed. Then the son of Tydeus kept thrusting his spear over his own huge shield, aiming the point at Ajax’s neck. Fearing for Ajax’s safety, the Achaeans called on both men to stop fighting and share the prize. Achilles then gave the great sword to the son of Tydeus, along with its scabbard and leather belt. The belt was used to hang the sword.

Achilles next offered the massive iron quoit which mighty Eetion had erewhile been used to hurl, until Achilles had slain him and carried it off in his ships along with other spoils. He stood up and said among the Argives, “Stand forward, you who would essay this contest. He who wins it will have a store of iron that will last him five years as they go rolling round, and if his fair fields lie far from a town his shepherd or ploughman will not have to make a journey to buy iron, for he will have a stock of it on his own premises.”

Achilles next offered the massive iron throwing disk that mighty Eetion had once thrown. Achilles had killed Eetion and carried the disk away in his ships with the other spoils. He stood up among the Argives and said, “Step forward, anyone who wants to try this contest. The winner will have enough iron to last him five full years. If his fine fields are far from town, his shepherd or plowman will not need to travel to buy iron. He will have a supply on his own land.”

Then uprose the two mighty men Polypoetes and Leonteus, with Ajax son of Telamon and noble Epeus. They stood up one after the other and Epeus took the quoit, whirled it, and flung it from him, which set all the Achaeans laughing. After him threw Leonteus of the race of Mars. Ajax son of Telamon threw third, and sent the quoit beyond any mark that had been made yet, but when mighty Polypoetes took the quoit he hurled it as though it had been a stockman’s stick which he sends flying about among his cattle when he is driving them, so far did his throw out-distance those of the others. All who saw it roared applause, and his comrades carried the prize for him and set it on board his ship.

Then the two mighty men Polypoetes and Leonteus rose, along with Ajax son of Telamon and noble Epeus. They stood up one after another. Epeus took the quoit, a throwing disc, spun it around, and threw it, making all the Achaeans laugh. Next came Leonteus, a descendant of Mars. Ajax son of Telamon threw third and sent the quoit beyond every mark made so far. But mighty Polypoetes hurled the quoit as if it were a stick a herdsman throws among cattle to drive them. His throw went that much farther than all the others. Everyone watching roared with applause. His companions carried his prize for him and put it aboard his ship.

Achilles next offered a prize of iron for archery—ten double-edged axes and ten with single edges: he set up a ship’s mast, some way off upon the sands, and with a fine string tied a pigeon to it by the foot; this was what they were to aim at. “Whoever,” he said, “can hit the pigeon shall have all the axes and take them away with him; he who hits the string without hitting the bird will have taken a worse aim and shall have the single-edged axes.”

Achilles next offered iron prizes for archery: ten double-edged axes and ten single-edged axes. He set up a ship’s mast some distance away on the sand. He tied a pigeon’s foot to the mast with a thin string. The pigeon was the target. “Whoever hits the pigeon,” he said, “will win all the axes and take them away with him. Whoever hits the string without hitting the bird will have aimed less well and will win the single-edged axes.”

Then uprose King Teucer, and Meriones the stalwart squire of Idomeneus rose also, They cast lots in a bronze helmet and the lot of Teucer fell first. He let fly with his arrow forthwith, but he did not promise hecatombs of firstling lambs to King Apollo, and missed his bird, for Apollo foiled his aim; but he hit the string with which the bird was tied, near its foot; the arrow cut the string clean through so that it hung down towards the ground, while the bird flew up into the sky, and the Achaeans shouted applause. Meriones, who had his arrow ready while Teucer was aiming, snatched the bow out of his hand, and at once promised that he would sacrifice a hecatomb of firstling lambs to Apollo lord of the bow; then espying the pigeon high up under the clouds, he hit her in the middle of the wing as she was circling upwards; the arrow went clean through the wing and fixed itself in the ground at Meriones’ feet, but the bird perched on the ship’s mast hanging her head and with all her feathers drooping; the life went out of her, and she fell heavily from the mast. Meriones, therefore, took all ten double-edged axes, while Teucer bore off the single-edged ones to his ships.

Then King Teucer stood up, and so did Meriones, the sturdy squire of Idomeneus. They drew lots from a bronze helmet, and Teucer’s lot came out first. He fired his arrow at once, but he had not promised King Apollo a sacrifice of a hundred firstborn lambs. He missed the bird because Apollo spoiled his aim. But the arrow hit the string that held the bird, close to her foot. The arrow cut clean through the string, leaving it hanging toward the ground. The bird flew up into the sky, and the Achaeans shouted their approval. Meriones had readied his arrow while Teucer was aiming. He snatched the bow from Teucer’s hand. At once, he promised Apollo, lord of the bow, a sacrifice of a hundred firstborn lambs. Then he spotted the pigeon high beneath the clouds. As she circled upward, he struck her in the middle of the wing. The arrow passed clean through her wing and stuck in the ground at Meriones’ feet. But the bird perched on the ship’s mast, her head hanging and all her feathers drooping. Her life left her, and she fell heavily from the mast. So Meriones took all ten double-edged axes, while Teucer carried the single-edged axes back to his ships.

Then the son of Peleus brought in a spear and a cauldron that had never been on the fire; it was worth an ox, and was chased with a pattern of flowers; and those that throw the javelin stood up—to wit the son of Atreus, king of men Agamemnon, and Meriones, stalwart squire of Idomeneus. But Achilles spoke saying, “Son of Atreus, we know how far you excel all others both in power and in throwing the javelin; take the cauldron back with you to your ships, but if it so please you, let us give the spear to Meriones; this at least is what I should myself wish.”

Then the son of Peleus brought in a spear and a cauldron that had never been heated over a fire. The cauldron was worth an ox and was engraved with a pattern of flowers. The javelin throwers stood up: the son of Atreus, Agamemnon, king of men, and Meriones, the sturdy squire of Idomeneus. But Achilles said, “Son of Atreus, we know how far you surpass all others in both power and javelin throwing. Take the cauldron back to your ships. But if you agree, let us give the spear to Meriones. That, at least, is what I would wish.”

King Agamemnon assented. So he gave the bronze spear to Meriones, and handed the goodly cauldron to Talthybius his esquire.

King Agamemnon agreed. So he gave the bronze spear to Meriones and handed the fine cauldron to his attendant Talthybius.