Book XVII

BUT Arés-beloved Menelaus, Atreus’ son, marked well
How amidst of the fight overthrown by the Trojans Patroclus fell.
And harnessed in flame-bright brass through the forefront of battle he hied.
And as softly-lowing the mother-cow will her calf bestride—
She hath ne’er known travail before, and her firstling lieth there—
So over Patroclus strode Menelaus of golden hair.
And before him he stretched his spear and the round of his shapely targe,
With purpose to slay what man soever against him should charge.
Nor unheedful the while was Panthoüs’ son of the ashen spear
Of princely Patroclus fallen, for now did he stand full near.
‘Forthright unto prince Menelaus the Arés-beloved he spoke:
“Zeus-nurtured Atreus’ son, Menelaus captain of folk,
Draw backward, and leave yon corpse: let be the spoils blood-dyed.
For no man of Troy or her helpers battle-renowned beside
First smote with the spear Patroclus amidst of the mighty fray.
Thou therefore leave me to win high fame mid the Trojan array,
Lest haply I smite thee, and take thine honey-sweet life away.”
But the prince of the golden hair hurled back the braggart’s taunt:
“Zeus Father, how vile a thing is the overweening vaunt!
Good sooth, but a panther’s or lion’s spirit is not so grim,
Nor yet of a wild-boar baleful-souled, when the fury of him
Stormeth in strength most fierce of the forest’s mighty ones,
As the pride-uplifted spirit of Panthoüs’ spearman sons!
Ha, but of little avail unto Hyperénor’s might
Was the steed-queller’s youth, when he scorned me, and bode mine onset in fight,
And the vilest warrior was I mid the Danaans—so did he say.
But I say, never the feet of him trod the homeward way
To gladden his well-loved wife and the parents that held him dear.
Even so will I surely bring thy strength unto naught, if here
Thou stand against me!—but back to thy rabble I bid thee begone,
Neither stand against me, ere yet thy bane for thy meed thou hast won.
Sooth, even the fool may know the end when the deed is done.”
So spake he, yet turned not his purpose aside, but he answered and spake:
“Now, nurtured of Zeus, Menelaus, in truth for my brother’s sake
Shalt thou give me revenge, whom thou slewest, and vauntest the blood thou hast spilt,
And a widow hast made his wife in the bride-bower newly-built,
And on them that bare him hast sent lamentation and mourning and woe.
Yet I for the hapless shall be an assuager of mourning, I trow,
If I bear away thine head and all that harness of thine,
And in hands of Panthoüs lay them and Phrontis the lady divine,
But verily not long now shall our battle-toil be untried,
Nor unstriven our strife, whether triumph or terror of death shall betide,”
At the round of his shapely shield a furious thrust he sped,
But prevailed not to pierce it, and turned was the point of the brazen head
In the mighty buckler. Then with the lance swung high rushed on,
With a prayer unto Father Zeus, Menelaus Atreus’ son.
And he stabbed the nether throat of Euphorbus as backward he drew,
And with all the weight of his hand Menelaus thrust it through.
On through the smooth white neck the brazen point cleft sheer;
Down-crashing he fell, and clanged above him his battle-gear.
And blood-besprent were his tresses, bright as the Graces’ hair,
And the love-locks looped with the gold and the silver blended fair.
And as when one reareth a shoot of a fruitful olive-tree
In a lonely spot where the water upwelleth abundantly,
And in lovely wise doth it bourgeon, and sway it to and fro
The breezes of many a wind, and it blossometh white as the snow;
But there cometh the sudden flaw of a mighty tempest’s blast,
And out of its trench is it torn, and low on the earth is it cast:
Even so Euphorbus Panthoüs’ son of the ashen spear
Menelaus the Atreid slew, and was spoiling his battle-gear.
And as when in the pride of his strength a lion mountain-reared
Hath snatched from the pasturing kine a heifer, the best of the herd,
And, gripping her neck with his strong teeth, bone from bone hath he snapped,
And he rendeth her inwards and gorgeth her blood by his red tongue lapped;
And around him gather the dogs and the shepherd folk, and still
Cry long and loud from afar: howbeit they have no will
To face him in fight, for that pale dismay doth the hearts of them fill:
Even so in the breast of none of the Trojans was spirit found
To step forth then and to face Menelaus the war-renowned.
Then lightly had Atreus’ seed that glorious harness won
Of Euphorbus, but Phoebus Apollo with jealousy looked thereon,
Who in semblance of Mentes, the chief of Kikonian men, drew near
To speed against him Hector, the fleetfoot War-god’s peer.
And he lifted his voice unto him, and the light-winged words he spake:
“Now, Hector, in vain art thou chasing that which thou canst not o’ertake,
The horses of Aiakus’ war-wise son: full hard they are
For men that be mortal to quell, and to drive in the battle-car,
Save only Achilles, the man whom a Goddess-mother bare.
And Atreus’ warrior-son Menelaus the while otherwhere
Defending Patroclus hath slain the best of the Trojans in fight,
Euphorbus Panthoüs’ son, and hath hushed the storm of his might.”
So spake he, and back to the toil of men did the God depart:
But with terrible anguish o’ershadowed was Hector’s inmost heart;
And with swift keen glance he glared through the ranks, and he marked straightway
How the one was stripping the glorious arms, and the other lay
On the earth, and the blood was welling yet from the wound deep-gashed.
Through the forefighters strode he, arrayed in brass that as lightning flashed,
Shouting a far-ringing cry; he was like to the Fire-god’s flame
Quenchless: the wild-shrilling yell to the ears of Atreides came;
And sorely disquieted unto his high-souled spirit he spake:
“Ah me, if now this goodly harness of fight I forsake,
And Patroclus, who all for mine honour’s avenging is here laid low,
What Danaan warrior shall not be indignant, whoso shall know?
But and if against Hector and all Troy’s host I shall battle alone
For shame, they shall hem me round, who are many, and I but one.
And hitherward Hector is leading all the Trojan rout—
But wherefore communeth my spirit within me thus in doubt?
When a man in a God’s despite is minded to fight with a foe
Whom a God doth honour, full soon is he whelmed ’neath a surge of woe.
Wherefore no Danaan man shall be wroth to behold this sight
How backward from Hector I draw, for with help of the Gods doth he fight.
But if Aias the battle-helper now might I haply see,
We twain, as together we fared, would remember the battle-glee,
Yea, even against a God, if the corse from the foe we might wrest
For Achilles Peleus’ son, for of all ills this were the best.”
As pondering thus in the thoughts and intents of his spirit he said,
Near drew the ranks of the Trojans; their onset Hector led.
Then back Menelaus drew, and he left the corpse of the slain,
Ever turning him round as he went, as a lion of shaggy mane
Which the dogs and the men are essaying to drive away from the fold
With spears and with shouts, and the heart in his breast that was late so bold
Groweth chill, and exceeding loth from the garth doth he backward fare;
Even so from Patroclus went Menelaus of golden hair.
But he turned him about and he stood, to the throng of his friends when he won
Keen-glancing around for Aias the mighty, Telamon’s son,
Full quickly he marked him to left of the battle far away,
As he heartened his warrior comrades, and cheered them on to the fray;
For with strange fear Phoebus Apollo had made their spirits quake.
And the hero ran, and with speed he stood by his side, and he spake:
“Hither, O Aias my brother, for dead Patroclus’ sake
Let us speed, to bear to Achilles his body in any wise,
Though naked it be, for his arms are bright-helmed Hector’s prize.”
Stirred was the war-wise spirit of Aias to hear that thing.
Through the forefront he strode, Menelaus beside him, the bright-haired king.
Now Hector had stripped from Patroclus his glorious harness of fight,
And was dragging him thence, from his shoulders his head with the brass to smite,
And to hale the corse, and to cast it to dogs of Troy to devour.
Then Aias drew nigh unto him, on-bearing the shield like a tower.
Back into the throng of his men forthright did Hector recoil;
And he sprang to the floor of his car, and he gave that goodly spoil
To the Trojans to bear to the town, for a mighty glory to him.
But Aias covered Menoitius’ son with his broad shield’s rim,
And there he stood as standeth a lion defending his young,
On who, as he leadeth his whelps through the forest, there cometh a throng
Of huntsman-folk; but within him the storm of his might doth rise,
And the down-drawn skin of his brows overgloometh the fire of his eyes;
Even so stood Aias defending the hero Patroclus slain;
And Atreides beside him stood, Menelaus the battle-fain,
And heavy and heavier grew his heart with its bitter pain.
But Glaukus the son of Hippolochus, captain of Lycia’s array,
Frowned darkly on Hector the while, and with words of rebuke ’gan say:
“Hector, O goodly to see, in the fight art thou worthless found!
Of a surety in thee is a dastard with goodly glory crowned!
Bethink thee, how wilt thou save thy city left forlorn,
Thou only with those thy folk, the people in Ilium born?
For in any wise none of the Lycians shall fare to the fight after this
Against Danaan men for thy city:—nor thank nor requital there is
For grappling with foes evermore in the battle unrestingly!
How shall a meaner man in his peril be rescued of thee,
O wretch, since even Sarpedon, thine helper in battle-toil
And thy guest, thou hast left to be made the Argives’ prey and spoil?
Of him ye had manifold comfort and aid, thy city and thou,
While he lived, but thou hast not cared from the dogs to defend him now.
Wherefore if any man of the Lycians will hearken to me
To return home, swift and sure shall Troy’s destruction be.
For if now in the Trojans there were but a valiant spirit awake,
Unblenching, such spirit as entereth men that for fatherland’s sake
Have arrayed against foemen the toil of the strife, that they shall not quail,
Full quickly within Troy’s walls Patroclus’ corse should we hale.
Now if we should drag yon dead man out of the battle, and bring
Into the mighty city of Priam the ancient king,
Full soon would the Argives yield us Sarpedon’s fair war-gear;
Yea, and his body aback unto Ilium’s walls should we bear.
For slain is the friend of the hero who far excelleth in might
All Argive men by the ships, with his henchmen that close in the fight.
But thou—against great-heart Aias thou hast not endured to stand,
When thine eyes mid the foemen beheld him, then was our champion unmanned,
And thou darest not face him in fight, for that mightier than thine is his hand.”
But Hector the stormy-crested made answer with frowning brow:
“Glaukus, why speakest thou arrogant words—such a hero as thou?
Lo now, I had deemed that in wit thou excelledst all beside
Which dwelt in the fruitful acres of Lycia-land the wide!
But now do I wholly contemn thy wit for the word thou hast cried,
In that thou sayest that Aias the giant I dare not abide.
Not I at the battle shudder, nor crash of the thundering car:
But the purpose of Zeus the Aegis-lord is mightier far,
Who dismayeth even the valiant, and lightly taketh away
His triumph, anon himself doth enkindle him on to the fray.
Friend, hither to me, stand by me, behold my deeds this day,
Whether all day long I shall play the dastard, as thou dost say,
Or if haply some Danaan’s might, be he never so furious-fain,
I shall quench, that he fight no more defending Patroclus slain.”
Then high o’er the roar of the battle his shout to the Trojans rose:
“Trojans and Lycians and Dardans in grapple of conflict who close,
Quit you like men, my friends: and remember your stormy might,
Till I don the mail of Achilles the princely, the harness bright
Which I stripped from the slain when I slew Patroclus the warrior wight.”
So did he speak, and Hector the stormy-crested passed
Forth of devouring war, and with swift feet following fast
His comrades full soon overtook, for by this not afar had they gone
Citywards bearing the glorious armour of Peleus’ son.
And aloof from the dolorous fight did he change his warrior-gear.
His own gave he to the battle-revelling Trojans to bear
Unto Ilium the holy, but he put on that mail god-wrought
Of Achilles Peleus’ son, which the Heaven-abiders had brought
Unto Peleus his sire, and in hoar age gave he the same to his son.
But the son in his father’s armour to hoar hairs never won.
Now when Zeus the Cloudrack-gatherer marked that hero from far
Arraying himself in godlike Peleides’ harness of war,
Sadly he shaketh his head, and unto his heart he saith:
“Ah wretch, but in all thy thoughts there is no foreboding of death
Which is nigh thee, even at the door, but thou donnest the heavenly mail
Of a man most mighty, before whose face all others quail.
His comrade gentle and stalwart dead on the earth thou hast laid,
And his shoulders and head of his armour hast vilely disarrayed.
Yet now will I give great might unto thee, and so shall be paid
Thy requital for this, that thou shalt not return when the battle is done
Nor Andromaché take at thine hands the armour of Peleus’ son.”
And Kronion’s dark brows bent, and he sealed that promise fast.
And the harness fitted itself unto Hector, and into him passed
Arés the terrible War-god: his limbs within were filled
With prowess and strength: and he came, and his mighty war-cry thrilled
His battle-renowned allies; and he seemed to them all to behold,
As he flashed in the harness, very Peleides the mighty-souled.
And he came unto man after man, and he kindled their hearts with his word,
Till Mesthles, Thersilochus, Medon, and Glaukus took fire as they heard,
And Hippothoüs, Asteropaius, Deisénor withal, were stirred,
And Phorkys, and Chromius, and Ennomus seer of the augury-bird:
These roused he to battle, as fast on their ears his winged words fell:
“Hearken, ye tribes untold of the nations around us that dwell!
It is nowise for longing or lack of a mighty war-array
That hither from tower and town I have called you from far away,
But that ye may deliver the Trojans’ wives and their little ones,
Fighting with willing hands, from Achaia’s war-fain sons.
With suchlike intent for your gifts and your meat I consume the store
Of my folk, and make mighty the hearts of you all with the gifts I outpour.
Wherefore let each man turn him about, or to perish forthright,
Or be saved alive, for this is the winsome dalliance of fight!
And whoso shall hale Patroclus, dead though he lie on the field,
To the horse-quelling Trojans, and cause yon Aias the prey to yield,
The half of the spoils unto him will I render, and half of the same
Shall be mine, and great as mine own shall be that man’s honour and fame.”
So spake he, and full on the Danaans charged they with might and main
Uplifting their spears, and their hearts with the hope were exceeding fain
Of tearing the corpse of the dead from Aias Telamon’s son.
Fools!—many a man of his life bereft did he cast thereon.
But to prince Menelaus the battle-helper did Aias say:
“O brother, O nurtured of Zeus, Menelaus, I dare not to-day
Have hope that forth of the war we shall yet return, we twain.
Yet not so much fear I for the corpse of Patroclus slain,
Which haply shall yet glut vultures and dogs on the Trojan plain,
As sorely I fear for my very life, lest this be my bane,
And for thine, for the compassing cloud of war is darkening near,
Even Hector, and dawneth upon us destruction sudden and sheer.
But call thou the Danaan chieftains, if haply any may hear.”
He spake, Menelaus the battle-helper hearkened to do,
And he cried to the chiefs with a voice that pierced the war-din through:
“O friends, ye lords of the Argives, chiefs of their mighty ones,
Who beside Menelaus and King Agamemnon, Atreus’ sons,
Drink of the wine of the King, and in battle give command
To your folk, and with worship and honour are crowned from Zeus’s hand—
Hard is it for me each several man of the chiefs to discern,
So mighty a fury of battle-strife doth around us burn;
But unbidden let each man come, and indignation-stung
That Patroclus to dogs of the Trojans should be for their banqueting flung.”
Then quickly did Aias hear him, Oileus’ fleetfoot seed,
And foremost he ran through the strife, and came to meet him with speed.
Idomeneus next, and Idomeneus’ henchman-charioteer,
Mériones, the manslaying War-god’s battle-peer.
But of all the rest, what man of his wit could name each name
Of the host of Achaians that followed and kindled the battle-flame?
Onward the Trojans hurled in a dense throng, Hector led.
And as when at the mouth of a river by rains from heaven fed
Roareth the tide against the stream, and on either hand
Echo the cliffs as bursteth the sea-surge down on the strand;
So loud was the yell of the charging Trojans: but steadfastly stood
The Achaians around Menoitius’ son with one stern mood
By the brazen bucklers hedged. And around them and overhead
On the glittering helms dense mist did the son of Kronos shed.
For neither aforetime Menoitius’ child in his sight was abhorred,
While yet he lived, and was henchman to Aiakus’ son, his lord;
So now, that the dogs of the Trojans should rend him limb from limb
He endured not, wherefore he roused up his comrades to battle for him.
Now the Trojans first thrust back the Achaians flashing-eyed,
And forsaking the corpse they recoiled, howbeit not one of them died
On the spears of the haughty Trojans, though fain of the slaughter were they;
Yet fell they to haling the corpse. But aloof the Achaians would stay
Naught but a moment’s space, for that rallied they were full soon
By Aias, the man that in deeds and in goodlihead outshone
All men of the Danaan host, save Peleus’ peerless child.
Through the forefighters rushed he like to a fierce boar tameless-wild,
By whom mid the mountains the hounds and the young men stalwart and stout
Lightly be scattered, through forest-glades as he wheeleth about;
So glorious Aias, lordly Telamon’s son, that day
Turned on his foes, and lightly scattered the Trojan array,
As around Patroclus they swarmed, sore longing their hearts within
To hale him away to their city, and high renown to win.
Now Hippothoüs, scion of Léthus, of famous Pelasgian strain,
Forth of the desperate fray by the foot was haling the slain;
By his ankle around the sinews his baldric-belt had he bound
For a kindness to Hector and Troytown’s folk. But swiftly he found
His doom, there was none to save, were they never so eager-hearted,
For Aias Telamon’s son through the midst of the war-press darted
And stabbed through his morion brazen-checked with a thrust from anear,
And the helmet heavily-maned crashed round the point of the spear
At the shock of the mighty lance by his brawny hand on-sped,
And the brain through the crest-socket rushed from the wound all bloody-red.
Forthright was his strength unstrung, and he dropped from his nerveless hold,
To fall to the ground, the foot of Patroclus the mighty-souled.
And he fell down hard thereby: on his face on the corpse was he laid,
Far off from Larissa the fruitful: the nursing-debt never he paid
To the parents that loved him so well, but short was the span of his life
By the spear of Aias the mighty of heart overthrown in the strife.
Then Hector at Aias hurled with his javelin glittering bright;
But with swift keen glance looking forward he swerved from the path of its flight
But a little: yet great-heart Iphitus’ son did the lance dash down,
Schedius, bravest of Phocians: in Panopeus’ far-famed town
Were his stately halls, and he ruled over people not a few.
To the midst of his collar-bone leapt that lance; clear-cleaving through
’Neath his shoulder the brazen point of the spear shot forth into view.
And he fell with a crash, and clanged above him his battle-gear.
And Phorkys the war-wise, Phainops’ son, by Aias’ spear
Was stabbed through the midst of the belly, bestriding Hippothoüs dead;
And his corslet’s hollow was rent, by the brass were the bowels outshed;
And he fell in the dust fierce-clutching the earth in his agony-throe.
Back faltered the foremost, yea, Hector the glorious shrank from the foe.
Loud shouted the Argives, and forth of the press those slain did they hale,
Hippothoüs and Phorkys, and stripped from their shoulders the gory mail.
Then by the Arés-beloved Achaians the Trojan men
Had been driven in craven flight through Ilium’s gates again,
And even beyond Zeus’ doom had the Argives won them fame
By their might and their strength: but Apollo himself to Aeneas came,
For he fashioned himself as a man, and Periphas’ form he bore,
The herald Epytus’ son: with his father the ancient-hoar
Grey grew he in herald-service, in love and in loyal faith.
His semblance Apollo the child of Zeus hath ta’en, and he saith:
“Aeneas, how should ye save in despite of a God’s decree
Steep Ilium?—sooth ere now hath it happed to me heroes to see
Which in trust in their manhood and prowess and strength such deed have essayed,
And with help of a mighty war-host, a people unafraid;
But we—’tis to us Zeus willeth the victory more by far
Than our foes: ’tis yourselves are exceeding afraid, and ye shrink from the war.”
But Aeneas gazed in his face, and Archer Apollo he knew;
And he sent unto Hector a shout that cleft the war-din through:
“Hector, and all ye Captains of Troy and her warrior-aid,
Foul shame should it be, if thus I in craven rout disarrayed
From the Arés-beloved Achaians through Ilium’s gates we should flee!
Nay, thus saith one of the Gods—yea, a God hath stood by me—
That Zeus the Counsel- -king is our helper in battle to- -day.
On, charge on the Danaans then!—shall no man say them nay
That they bear not the dead Patroclus unto their galleys away?”
He spake, and he sprang from the ranks, and alone stood far afront.
Forthright the Trojans rallied, and faced the battle’s brunt.
Then with his lance Aeneas thrust Leiokritus through,
Arisbas’ son, Lykomédes’ henchman trusty and true.
And Arés-beloved Lykomédes had pity of him laid low,
And he strode full nigh, and he hurled with his flame-bright lance at the foe,
And Hippasus’ son Apisaon he smote, a shepherd of folk,
In the liver the midriff beneath, and the strength of his knees he broke:
Forth to the war had he fared from Paionia’s fruitful lea,
And next unto Asteropaius their mightiest in battle was he.
And Asteropaius the valiant had pity of him in his plight,
And full on the Danaans charged he with heart and with soul to fight.
Yet naught he availed, for the Argives compassed Patroclus about
With a shield-wall fenced, wherefrom the levelled spears stood out.
For Aias to this man and that man turned him on every side—-
“Let none from the corpse draw back, let no man flinch!” he cried—
“And afront of the other Achaians for battle let no man stand,
But close ye around the corpse, and grapple hand to hand.”
So Aias the giant commanded, and drenched was the earth the while
With purple blood; and still as they fell grew that grim pile
Of the mingled corpses of Trojans and them of their warrior-aid;
Yea, and of Danaans—not without blood was resistance made:—
Yet fewer by far of them died, for that heedful they were alway
To shield from the down-rushing doom their fellows in that wild fray.
So fought they with rage as of ravening flame:—thou hadst verily said
That the sun from the heaven had faded, the moon was utterly dead:
For a mist brooded over the battle, and wrapped each mightiest one
That stood in the warrior-ring round dead Menoitius’ son.
But the rest of the Trojans and goodly-greavéd Achaians at ease
In the clear air fought, and the sun’s keen radiance far over these
Was spread: over all the earth and the mountain heights was there seen
No cloud: and aye as they fought they rested therebetween,
Each flinching from shafts of the foemen, and standing far apart.
But with gloom and with war-toil they that were deep in the battle’s heart
Were enduring affliction; their mightiest all were aweary and worn
With the weight of their harness. Howbeit not yet had the tidings been borne
Unto warriors twain, that dead was Patroclus the princely, but naught
Thrasymédes knew, nor Antilochus: nay, but still they thought
That alive in front of the war-press against the Trojans he fought.
So with keen watch still to deliver from death and from rout their array
Aloof were they warring; for so in his hest did Nestor say
When forth from the dark-hulled ships he sped his sons to the fray.
So all day long the fury of that great strife waxed grim,
And for weariness-pain with the sweat of their labour every limb
Streamed without respite: from knees and from legs and from feet did it flow
And from hands, and bedimmed were their eyes, as the fight swayed to and fro
O’er the valiant henchman of fleetfoot Aiakus’ son laid low.
And as when to his craftsmen a currier giveth the fat-drenched hide
Of a mighty bull, to the end they may stretch it on every side,
And they take it, and stretch, as around it they stand in a ring ranged wide:
Forth oozeth the moisture thereof, the fat fast entereth in
‘Neath the strain of the many hands, and stretched throughout is the skin:
So hitherward, thitherward, haled they the corpse with tug and strain
In a scanty space, and with hope were their hearts exceeding fain—
The Trojans, to hale him to Ilium’s walls, but Achaia’s host,
To the hollow ships, and around him the surges of battle tossed
Wildly:—though Arés the Kindler of War, though Athéné had seen,
She had not made light of their strife, though her fury were never so keen.
Such grievous toil o’er Patroclus of steeds and of grappling men
Did Zeus strain hard that day. Howbeit naught by then
Was known to Achilles the godlike concerning Patroclus’ fall,
For that far aloof from the galleys beneath the Trojans’ wall
Were they fighting, wherefore he never deemed in his heart that his friend
Was dead; but he thought that alive, when the gates he had touched, he would wend
Backward again, for his heart nursed never the idle trust
That without him, or with him, Patroclus should lay those towers in the dust.
For this thing oft of his mother he heard, when sat they alone,
When the purpose of Zeus most high unto him her lips made known.
But in that hour never a word of so heavy a woe was said
By his mother, how that his friend, his best-beloved, lay dead.
But the others around the corse with the keen-whetted spears that they bore
Clashed evermore in the onset, and slew and slew evermore.
And thus did Achaian to brazen-harnessed Achaian cry:
“O friends, foul shame of a truth should it be if aback we should fly
To the hollow ships!—let the dark earth rather yearn for us all
Even here—it were better for us by far if this should befall,
If now we shall suffer the horse-quelling warriors of Troy to their town
From the battle to hale this hero, and win for them triumph-renown!”
But each to his fellow the while the great-heart Trojans said:
“O friends, what though we be doomed by the side of Patroclus dead
As one man all to be slain, yet let none flinch from the fight!”
So this one and that one shouted and kindled his fellow’s might.
Even so were they battling on: the iron din of them roared
Through the barren welkin till up to the brazen heaven it soared.
But the horses of Aiakus’ son stood aloof from where men warred,
Aye weeping, even from the time when they knew that their charioteer
Was fallen in dust stricken down by manslaying Hector’s spear.
Good sooth, but Automedon, stalwart son of Dióres, refrained
Nowise his hand, but many a blow from the swift scourge rained,
And with many a soft word pleading, and many a curse, he cried:
But neither aback to the galleys by broad-flowing Hellespont’s side
Would they go, nor to where the Achaians in strife still held their ground:
But as bideth a pillar unshaken, that high on the sepulchre-mound
Of a man or a woman doth stand, for a sign of the dead laid there,
So steadfastly still they abode with the chariot passing-fair,
Low-drooping their heads to the earth, and ran from their eyes evermore
The hot tears down to the ground as they mourned exceeding sore
In grief for their charioteer, and in dust defiled was the pride
Of their mane from the collar that streamed by the yoke upon either side.
And the son of Kronos beheld as they mourned, and was pity-stirred,
And in sorrow shaking his head he spake to his heart the word:
“Ah hapless, why did we give you to Peleus the king, to be
A mortal’s possession, while ageless and deathless for ever are ye?
Was it for this, that with wretched men ye should share their woe?
For nothing there is more misery-burdened than man, I trow,
Of all things that breathe and that crawl on the face of the earth to and fro.
Yet not of a surety on you and the chariot cunningly wrought
Shall Hector the son of Priam ride: I will suffer it not.
Sufficeth it not that the armour he hath, that he vaunteth in vain?
But with might will I thrill your knees, and your spirits my breath shall sustain,
To the end ye may bring Automedon safe from the midst of the foe
To the hollow galleys: for glory on Troy will I still bestow,
To slay and to slay, until by the fair-benched ships they stand,
And the sun go down, and the sacred dark sweep over the land.”
So spake he, and mettlesome might breathed through those car-steeds twain,
And they lifted their heads, and to earth each shook the dust from his mane,
And amidst of Achaians and Trojans the fleet car swiftly they sped.
And behind them Automedon fought heart-anguished for him that was dead;
And as swoopeth a vulture on geese, with his steeds did he charge through the fray,
For lightly now would he flee from the turmoil of Troy’s array,
Now lightly he swooped on them, chasing the fleers through tangle of fight,
Howbeit he slew of them none, whensoever he followed their flight;
For he might not in any wise borne alone on the sacred car
Fall on with the spear, and rein swift steeds mid the tumult of war.
But at last a comrade beheld with his eyes, and was ware of his plight,
The son of Laerkés the scion of Haimon, Alkimedon hight:
And behind the chariot he stood, and thus to the prince ’gan say:
“Automedon, which of the Gods hath set in thy breast this day
Profitless counsel, and stolen thy wisdom of heart away,
That thus in the forefront of battle thou fightest with Trojans alone?
And thy friend, thy companion, is slain, and Hector his harness hath won,
And triumpheth, sheathing his shoulders in armour of Aiakus’ son.”
Unto him Automedon spake, and the son of Dióres replied:
“Alkimedon, who shall be like him?—what man of Achaia beside
Can deal with the deathless horses, can tame their spirit and guide
Like to Patroclus, in counsel of battle the high Gods’ peer,
While he lived?—but to-day have the death and the doom overshadowed him here.
But the whip and the glittering reins receive thou into thine hand,
And I from the chariot will leap, in fight against foemen to stand.”
He spake, and Alkimedon sprang on the chariot rescue-swift,
And the reins hath he grasped in haste, and the scourge doth his hand uplift.
But Automedon leapt to the earth. Then Hector the glorious espied;
And straightway he spake to Aeneas, there as he fought by his side:
“Aeneas, to brass-mailed Trojans a counsellor good at need,
Yonder the horses I see of Aiakus’ fleetfoot seed
Break in on the battle, and weakling charioteers have they.
Now therefore, if thou in thy spirit consent, I would hope that the prey
Shall be ours, for they will not endure with might encountering might
To abide thine onset and mine, and to grapple with us in the fight.”
He spake, and the stalwart son of Anchises hearkened thereto.
Straight onward they pressed, and over their shoulders their bucklers they threw
Of the tough bull-hide and dry, overlaid with the massy brass;
And beside them did twain, Arétus the godlike and Chromius, pass
To the strife; and their hearts beat high with hope, for they looked to slay
Those charioteers, and to drive the strong-necked horses away.
Ah fools!—but it was not their weird without shedding of blood to fare
From Automedon back. Unto Zeus Allfather he uttered his prayer,
And with valour and strength Zeus thrilled his inmost spirit through.
To Alkimedon straightway he spake, to his war-fellow trusty and true:
“Alkimedon, far from mine helping the car-steeds stay thou not,
But breathing hard on my back do thou rein them, for well I wot
That Hector the son of Priam will cease not his mighty deeds
Until he have slain us twain, and behind these fair-maned steeds
He ride on the car of Achilles to war, and the ranks he appal
Of the Argive men, or himself mid the foremost fighters fall.”
On the two Aiantes and lord Menelaus then did he call:
“What ho, Menelaus!—ho, chiefs of the Argives, Aiantes twain!
Unto our mightiest men commit ye the corpse of the slain,
To rally around it, and face the ranks of Troy’s array:
But us which yet be alive shield ye from the pitiless day.
For hitherward heavily charging come through the dolorous war
Aeneas and Hector—the mightiest men of the Trojans they are.
Yet verily all these things on the knees of the high Gods lie:
Let Zeus take thought for the issue, but hurl at the foe will I.”
He swung up the lance long-shadowed, he hurled it across the field,
And it smote on the midst of Arétus’ shapely-rounded shield;
And the buckler withstood not the lance, but clear through burst the brass,
And into the nether belly cleaving the belt did it pass.
As a stalwart man in his grip a keen-edged axe upheaveth
And smiteth behind the horns of an ox of the steading, and cleaveth
Clear through the sinew, and forward it springeth, and falleth dead,
So forward he sprang, and he fell on his back, and the keen spear-head
Quivered within his bowels, that the strength of his limbs was unstrung.
Then at Automedon Hector his flame-bright javelin flung;
But with keen glance looking before him he shunned that brazen spear,
For forward he bowed, and the lance long-shafted far to the rear
Plunged into the earth, and above it the spear-butt quivered in air
Till Arés the stormy-hearted had spent its fury there.
Then drawing the sword on rushed they, and reddened the blades had been,
But or ever they closed in their fury came the Aiantes between;
For the cry of their comrade they heard, and they burst through the rout, and drew near:
And before those heroes’ faces backward shrinking in fear
Hector. Aeneas withal, and Chromius the godlike withdrew;
And there did they leave Arétus forlorn, with his heart pierced through,
Outstretched on the ground, and Automedon, battle-swift Arés’ peer,
Tore from the dead his harness, and shouted the triumph-jeer:
“Ha, surely a little now have I eased mine heart of its pain
For dead Menoitius’ son, though a viler than he have I slain!”
So spake he, and lifted on high the blood-stained spoils of the dead,
And cast on his chariot and mounted, with feet and with hands all red
With gore: as a lion he seemed on a slaughtered bull which hath fed.
Then over Patroclus again was the strain of the mighty fight,
Grievous and anguish-fraught: and adown from the heaven’s height
Came Athéné to waken its fury: of far-seeing Zeus was she sent
To enkindle the Danaan men, for that now did his spirit repent.
As when from the heavens Zeus outstretched a bright-hued bow
In the sight of mortal men, to be for a sign, and to show
The on-coming of war or the wintry storm, which stayeth folk
On the face of the earth from their toil and afflicteth the sheep of the flock;
Even so in a bright-hued cloud did Athéné veil her from sight
As she entered the host of Achaia and roused each warrior wight.
And first unto Atreus’ son with enkindling words did she cry—
Unto strong Menelaus, for now had she marked that hero anigh—
With Phoinix’ tireless voice, and as Phoinix she seemed to the eye:
“Upon thee, Menelaus, confusion of face and reproach shall fall,
If the trusty comrade of lordly Achilles beneath the wall
Of the Trojans be torn by the teeth of the swift hounds mangling the prey.
Up, bear thee stoutly, and kindle the whole host on to the fray.”
Unto her did the lord Menelaus, the battle-helper, say:
“Grey father Phoinix the ancient of days, of this were I fain
That Athéné would grant to me strength, and would shield from the javelin-rain,
Full blithely then for Patroclus’ help would I stand by his side,
For mine heart with anguish exceeding was stricken in that he died.
But the terrible fury of fire hath Hector: he doth not stay
The sword’s devourings: for Zeus unto him giveth glory this day.”
So spake he: then did Athéné the grey-eyed Goddess rejoice
In that first unto her of the Gods he uplifted in prayer his voice;
And the hero’s arms and his knees with sudden strength she thrilled,
And his breast with the aweless daring of that fierce fly she filled,
Which, how often soe’er from its feast on the flesh of a man it be chased,
Presseth onward to bite, for it deemeth a man’s blood sweet to the taste:
With suchlike daring the darkling chambers she filled of his heart,
And Patroclus’ corpse he bestrode, and he hurled with his gleaming dart.
Now a man there was of the Trojans, Podés, Eétion’s son,
Wealthy and brave, and dearer to Hector’s soul was there none
Mid the folk, for in field and in feastful hall his companion he was.
On his belt Menelaus the bright-haired smote with the leaping brass,
As flightward he darted, and drave the head of the lance clear through:
Down-crashing he fell; and Atreus’ son Menelaus drew
From the foe to the host of his friends the body of him that he slew.
But Apollo to Hector’s side to enkindle his might drew near
In the likeness of Phainops Asius’ son, whom he held most dear
Of all bond-friends; and his halls in Abydos stood by the sea;
So seemed Far-smiter Apollo to Hector, and thus spake he:
“Hector, what other Achaian hereafter shall tremble at thee?
What, man, hast thou feared Menelaus?—we knew him in days bygone
A spearman unhardy: but now hath he ’scaped thee, hath haled alone
From the midst of the Trojans a corpse, hath slain Eétion’s seed
Thy trusty companion Podés, in battle-brunt good at need.”
Then dark grew Hector’s soul overgloomed with the cloud of his grief;
And in bright brass sheathed through the forefront of battle strode that chief.
Then grasped Kronion his tasselled Aegis gleaming bright,
And he rolled dark clouds all down Mount Ida’s misty height,
And mid lightning and crashing of thunder he shook that Aegis abroad
For the triumph of Troy, and his terror the host of Achaia hath awed.
First Péneleds the Boeotian made beginning of flight,
For, aye as he faced the foe, did a lance on his shoulder light,
And grazed it, and glanced therefrom: yet scored was the bone by the spear
Which Polydamas hurled, for, or ever he cast it, he drew full near.
Then Léitus’ wrist with a thrust of his lance did Hector smite—
Great-hearted Alektryon’s son,—and he quenched his battle-delight.
And he knew in his heart, as around him he looked with quick scared glance,
That in battle against the Trojans no more could he wield the lance.
Then on rushed Hector to slay him: but forward Idomeneus pressed
And hurled at his corslet, and hard by the nipple smote on his breast.
But the long spear snapped at the socket, and shouted the Trojan men.
And Hector hurled at Idomeneus son of Deukalion then,
As he stood on his battle-car: yet a little erred that spear:
But Koiranus, henchman of Mériones, and his charioteer,
Who had followed his lord to the war from his fair-built Lyktian home—
For afoot at the first from the wave-rocked ships had Idomeneus come,
And unto the Argives a mighty triumph now had he given,
But Koiranus unto his aid the fleet steeds swiftly hath driven;
For a light of deliverance he came, for his shield from the pitiless day;
But for this was his own life yielded for manslaying Hector’s prey:—
Him smote he: the head of the lance, as it crashed beneath jawbone and ear,
Dashed from their sockets the teeth, and the midst of his tongue cleft sheer;
And:he fell from the car, and the reins streamed earthward as water is shed.
Then Mériones stooped swiftly, and caught from the grasp of the dead
The reins in his hands from the plain, and thus to Idomeneus said:
“Now scourge thou the horses, until to the sea-swift ships thou hast won.
Thou knowest thyself that Achaia’s day of triumph is done.”
He spake, and Idomeneus lashed the fair-maned steeds, that they sped
To the hollow ships, for there fell on his soul overmastering dread.
Then Aias the mighty-hearted and prince Menelaus discerned
How Zeus to the children of Troy the tide of victory turned.
And great Telamonian Aias cried to his war-fellows there:
“Lo, now might any man know, how witless soever he were,
That Father Zeus himself is helping the Trojans’ need.
For the shafts of them all strike home to the mark, whosoever doth speed,
Be he hero or weakling: Zeus guideth aright the flight of them all.
But for us, all vainly to earth doth the shaft of each man fall.
Nay, come then, devise we ourselves what counsel best shall avail
Whereby we shall rescue the corpse, and ourselves from the battle’s bale
Alive shall return, for a joy to the comrades that hold us dear,
Which be hitherward gazing in anguish of heart, and they say in their fear
That Hector the manslayer’s might and resistless hands shall droop
Never, nor faint, till down on the black-hulled galleys he swoop.
Now would there were one of our comrades with uttermost speed to bear
Tidings to Peleus’ son, for I ween he is nowise ware
Of the woeful tale, that his dear-loved friend is dead this day.
Howbeit such man can I nowise discern mid Achaia’s array:
For in gloom are they shrouded around, even they and their steeds withal.
Zeus, Father, yet save thou Achaia’s sons from beneath its pall,
And make clear day, and vouchsafe unto us with our eyes to see!
So it be but in light, destroy us!—since this is well-pleasing to thee.”
He spake, and Allfather was moved with compassion for him as he wept;
And he straightway scattered the gloom, and the mist aside hath he swept.
And the sun shone down, and revealed was the battle far and wide.
Then Aias to prince Menelaus the battle-helper cried:
“Gaze forth, Menelaus, O fostered of Zeus, if thou yet mayst behold
Antilochus living, the son of Nestor the mighty-souled;
And speed him to hasten away to Achilles the battle-fain
To tell unto him that his friend, his best-beloved, is slain.”
He spake, Menelaus the battle-helper said him not nay,
But he hied him, as when from a steading a lion turneth away,
Which is wearied with vexing the herdmen that shout, and the hounds that bay,
As they watch through the livelong night, neither suffer the forest-king
To seize on the choice of the herd, but for flesh mad-hungering
Ever on them he rusheth, yet naught he prevaileth, so thick and fast
Leap in his face the darts by the hands undaunted cast,
And the blazing brands that he dreadeth, how furious-fain soe’er,
Till at dawn sore chafing and grudging in spirit aback must he fare:
Even so Menelaus the battle-helper turned to depart
From Patroclus exceeding loth, for that sorely he feared in his heart
Lest in ruinous rout the Achaians should leave him the foemen’s prey.
And he charged the Aiantes twain, and to Mériones did he say:
“Aiantes, ye chiefs of the Argives, and Mériones hear thou:
Remember Patroclus the hapless, forget not his kindliness now;
For to all was he courteous-hearted, to all was he gracious-willed
While he lived: but his doom hath o’ertaken him now, and death hath stilled.”
So spake Menelaus the golden-haired, and he hied him away,
On all sides glancing as glanceth the eagle, the which, men say,
Is keenest of sight of all winged things through the welkin that fly:
For, aloft though he soar, yet a fleet-footed hare can escape not his eye,
Though she crouch ’neath a bush embowering: with swoop unerring descendeth
The eagle, and seizeth, and swiftly the life from the quarry he rendeth:
So then, O fostered of Zeus; Menelaus, thy bright eyes scanned
The countless host of thy friends, far ranging on every hand:
For the child of Nestor, if haply he lived, ever keenly they sought.
And he suddenly spied where afar on the left of the battle he fought,
And kindled his fellows’ courage, and cheered them on to the fray.
Then drew Menelaus nigh, and the bright-haired prince ’gan say:
“Hither, Antilochus fostered of Zeus, to the end thou mayst hear—
Would God it had never befallen!—tidings woeful-drear.
Even now art thou ware, I ween, for thine own eyes surely behold,
How God on the Danaan men a tide of trouble hath rolled,
And for Troy there is triumph:—but slain is the best of Achaia’s host,
Patroclus, and sore is the Danaans’ grief for their champion lost,
Thou, haste to Achilles, run to the galleys Achaian, and there
Tell it, if haply the corpse he will save to his galley to bear
All naked: his armour doth Hector the stormy-crested wear.”
He spake, and Antilochus shuddered to hear that word of woe:
Long time did speechlessness hold him, with tears did his eyes overflow,
And choked was his voice, for his throat in the grip of anguish was caught.
Yet not even so did he set Menelaus’ behest at naught;
But he turned him to run, and he gave to a comrade his corslet and shield,
To Laodokus, hard by his side as his thunderfoot horses he wheeled.
So weeping forth of the battle with hurrying feet is he gone
To bear that evil tale to Achilles Peleus’ son.
Yet, O Menelaus, thou fostered of Zeus, it was not in thine heart
To champion the Pylians sorely bestead when they saw him depart,
Antilochus: yea, and with grief for his loss were the hearts of them rent.
Yet a man for their help, Thrasymédes the godlike, Atreides sent.
But himself hath hasted back unto hero Patroclus’ side;
To the two Aiantes he ran, and with eager haste he cried:
“Lo, yonder man have I sped to the sea-swift galleys to go,
Unto fleetfoot Achilles: howbeit not now will he come, I trow,
How fiercely soe’er against Hector the fire of his wrath may glow,
‘For that fenceless he may not in any wise fight with the Trojan foe.
But let us bethink us now what counsel best shall avail,
Whereby we shall rescue the corpse, and deliver our souls from bale,
From the death that rideth the storm of the yell of the Trojan men.”
And great Telamonian Aias answering spake to him then:
“Menelaus the far-renowned, well spoken is this thy rede.
Thou therefore and Mériones bow down your shoulders with speed,
And uplift ye the dead, and bear from the strife, and behind you aye
Yon Trojans and Hector the godlike will we twain hold in play.
One name, one spirit have we: yea, oft in the days overpast
Shoulder to shoulder against grim battle have we stood fast.”
He spake, and they clasped in their arms the dead, and uplifted on high
From the earth with a mighty heave, and behind them a wild fierce cry
Burst from the Trojans which saw the Achaians uplifting the slain.
Down charged they upon them, as hounds that are darting furious-fain
In front of the hunter youths on a javelin-stricken boar;
For now fierce-eager to rend him rush they on before,
But anon, when he turneth upon them in pride of his aweless might,
Backward they shrink, and to this side and that side they scatter in flight:
Even so for a season the Trojans pursued them in serried array,
With swinging blades, and with spears two-headed thrusting aye;
But when the Aiantes twain turned on them and stood at bay,
Then faded the blood from their faces, was none but was sorely adread
Afront of his fellows to leap, and to battle to win the dead.
Even so from the heart of the war to the hollow ships these twain
Stern-striving bare the corpse, and against them the battle’s strain
Waxed ever fierce, as a fire which hath swooped on a peopled town,
And with sudden upleaping blazeth: the dwellings are crumbling down
Mid the mighty glare, and roareth upon it the wind’s wild blast;
So ceaseless the din of the steeds and the spearmen following fast
Maddened around them, as on through the whirlwind of war they passed.
But the heroes, as mules that bend to the labour their sinewy might,
As adown a rugged track they hale from the mountain’s height
A beam or a huge ship-timber, and spent are their spirits the while,
As onward they press, with the sweat of their labour, the strain of their toil:
So these bare onward the corpse stern-striving: behind them still
The Aiantes stayed the foe, as the ridge of a forest-clad hill
Stayeth the waters, a rampart across the plain stretched far;
Yea, even the mighty rivers’ ruinous floods doth it bar,
And over the plain wide-wandering turneth the course of them all,
Nor availeth the might of their onrush to breach that Titan wall:
So on the Aiantes still Troy’s surges of battle burst,
And were hurled back ever: yet onward they pressed; and amidst them the first
Were Aeneas Anchises’ son, and Hector the glory-crowned.
And even as cometh a cloud of starlings or daws with the sound
Of a ghastly shriek, what time looking forward afar they are ware
Of a hawk, the bearer of death to the lesser fowl of the air;
Even so from Aeneas and Hector the sons of Achaia in’ flight
Went yelling a ghastly yell, and forgat the battle’s delight.
And much fair armour on this side the trench and on that side was strown
As from Danaans fleeing it fell; and respite from war was there none.