Thundering Zeus has spread his hands above her . . .
her armies have taken heart.'
That's his answer.
And here are men to confirm it, fellow envoys.
Ajax and two heralds, both clear-headed men.
But old Phoenix passes the night in camp
as Achilles bids him, so he can voyage home,
home in the ships with him to the fatherland they love.
Tomorrow at dawn. But only if Phoenix wishes.
He will never force the man to go."
So he reported.
Silence held them all, struck dumb by his story,
Odysseus' words still ringing in their ears.
A long while they said nothing, spirits dashed.
Finally Diomedes lord of the war cry broke forth:
"Great marshal Atrides, lord of men Agamemnon--
if only you'd never begged the dauntless son of Peleus,
holding out to Achilles trove on trove of gifts!
He's a proud man at the best of times, and now
you've only plunged him deeper in his pride.
I say have done with the man--
whether he sails for home or stays on here.
He'll fight again--in his own good time--whenever
the courage in him flares and a god fires his blood.
So come, follow my orders. And all of us unite.
Go to sleep now, full to your heart's content
with food and wine, a soldier's strength and nerve.
Then when the Dawn's red fingers shine in all their glory,
quickly deploy your chariots and battalions, Agamemnon,
out in front of the ships--you spur them on
and you yourself, you fight in the front ranks!"
And Achaea's kings all shouted their assent,
stirred by the stallion-breaking Diomedes' challenge.
Pouring cups to the gods, each warlord sought his shelter.
There they spent the night and took the gift of sleep.
BOOK TEN
Marauding Through the Night
So by the ships the other lords of Achaea's armies
slept all night long, overcome by gentle sleep . . .
But not the great field marshal Agamemnon--
the sweet embrace of sleep could not hold him:
his mind kept churning, seething. Like Zeus's bolts
when the lord of bright-haired Hera flashes lightning,
threatening to loose torrential rain or pelting hail
or snow when a blizzard drifts on fields--or driving on,
somewhere on earth, the giant jaws of rending war--
so thick-and-fast the groans came from Atrides,
wrenching his chest, heaving up from his heart
and rocked his very spirit to the core.
Now as he scanned across the Trojan plain
Agamemnon marveled in horror at those fires,
a thousand fires blazing against the walls of Troy,
and the shrill of pipes and flutes and low roar of men.
And now as he glanced back at Achaea's troops and ships
he tore out his hair by the roots, he looked to Zeus on high,
groaning from the depths of his proud, embattled heart.
But soon this recourse struck his mind as best:
he would go and approach the son of Neleus first
and see if Nestor could work out something with him,
some foolproof plan that just might ward disaster
off the Achaean forces..
He rose up quickly
and over his chest he pulled a battle-shirt,
under his smooth feet he fastened supple sandals,
round him slung the glossy hide of a big tawny lion,
swinging down to his heels, and grasped a spear.
And the same anguish shook Menelaus too--
no sleep could settle over his eyes, not now.
He feared his men might meet the worst at last,
comrades who crossed a waste of seas for him
to raise Troy and mount their fierce assault.
First he covered his broad back with leopard skin,
a fine spotted hide, then lifting a round helmet
of good sturdy bronze, he fitted it to his head,
he took a spear in his grip and off he strode
to rouse his brother, king of all the Argives,
the armies that prized him in his power like a god.
And Menelaus found him alongside his ship's stern,
strapping his handsome gear around his shoulders.
Agamemnon warmed with pleasure as he came up
but Menelaus lord of the war cry ventured first,
"Why arming now, my brother? To spur a volunteer
to spy on Trojan lines? Not a man in sight will take
that mission on, I fear, and go against our enemies,
scout them out alone in the bracing godsent night--
it will take a daring man to do the job."
King Agamemnon answered crisply, "Tactics,
my noble Menelaus. That's what we need now,
you and I both, and cunning tactics too.
Something to shield and save our men and ships
since Zeus's heart has turned--his mighty heart
is set on Hector's offerings more than ours.
I've never seen or heard tell of a single man
wreaking so much havoc in one day as Hector,
Zeus's favorite, wreaks against our troops,
and all on his own--no son of god or goddess.
He's made a slaughter, I tell you. Pain for Achaeans,
enough to last us down the years to come ...
what blows he's dealt our men!
Go now, call Ajax, Idomeneus, quickly,
make a run for it down along the ships.
I'll go after Nestor, wake and rouse him,
see if the good man wants to join the guard,
that strong contingent, and give them orders.
He's the one they'll obey. His own son commands
the sentry-line, he and Idomeneus' aide Meriones.
They above all--we put those men in charge."
The lord of the war cry nodded, "Yes, fine,
but what orders for me? Do I stay with them,
waiting for you to come? Or follow you on the run,
once I've given the captains your command?"
The marshal made things clearer: "You stay there--
so we don't miss one another rushing back and forth
in the endless maze of pathways up and down the camp.
But shout wherever you go, tell them to stay awake.
And call each man by his name and father's line,
show them all respect. Not too proud now.
We are the ones who ought to do the work. so
On our backs, from the day that we were bom,
it seems that Zeus has piled his pack of hardships."
With his order clear, he sent his brother off
while he went after Nestor, the old commander.
He found him beside his black ship and shelter,
stretched on a fleecy bed, his blazoned gear at hand,
his shield and two long spears and burnished helmet.
His war-belt lay beside him, gleaming in all its fire.
The old man cinched it on whenever he'd harness up,
marching his men to war where fighters die--
Nestor gave no ground to withering old age.
He propped himself on an elbow, craned his head
and probed sharply, whispering through the dark,
"Who goes there? Stalking along the ships,
alone through camp in the very dead of night
when other mortals try to catch some sleep.
Tracking a stray mule or a lost companion? Speak!
Don't steal on me in silence--what do you want?"
The lord of men Agamemnon reassured
him:
"Nestor, son of Neleus, glory of Achaea,
don't you recognize Agamemnon? The one man,
past all others, Zeus has plunged in troubles,
year in, year out, for as long as the life breath
fills my lungs and the spring in my knees will lift me.
I roam this way since sleep won't close my eyes--
war's my worry, the agonies of our Achaeans.
How I fear for our comrades, fear the worst!
My mind is tom, I'm harried back and forth,
the heart inside me pounding through my chest
and the sturdy legs beneath me giving way.
But if you want action now--
sleeping is just as hard for you, it seems--
come, let's go down to the sentry-tine and see
if numb with exhaustion, lack of sleep, they've nodded off,
all duty wiped from their minds, the watch dissolved.
Our blood enemies camp hard by. How do we know
they're not about to attack us in the night?"
And the old charioteer warmed to his challenge:
"Great marshal Atrides, lord of men Agamemnon--
Hector and Hector's high hopes? Not a chance.
The plans of Zeus will never bring them off,
those dreams of glory inspiring Hector now.
Oh I think he'll have his troubles to shoulder,
plenty of them too, if Achilles ever turns away
from the heartbreaking anger deep inside him.
Follow you? Surely. Let's wake others also,
Diomedes famed for his spear, Odysseus,
quick Little Ajax and Phyleus' brave son.
And if only one would go and call the rest,
giant Ajax strong as a god and King Idomeneus--
they're hardly close, their ships last on the line.
But I will blame Menelaus, loved as he is and honored,
even if you will wheel on me in anger--I must,
I can't hide it now. How that fellow sleeps!
Turning over the work to you alone.
Now is the time for him to work, to hunt
the leading captains and beg them all for help.
Desperate straits--we can't hold out much longer."
The lord of men replied, "You're right, old soldier.
I'd even urge you to fault him any other day.
So often he hangs back, with no heart for the work,
not that he shrinks from action, skittish or off guard--
it's just that he looks to me, waiting for me
to make the first move. This time, though,
he woke before me, came and roused me first
and I sent him off to call the men you're after.
So let's move out, overtake the rest at the gates,
with the sentries where I ordered them to group."
And Nestor the noble charioteer assented gladly:
"True, when the man leaps in the breach that way
no one can blame or disobey him, no Achaean,
not when he spurs the troops and gives commands."
With that he slipped his tunic over his chest,
under his smooth feet he fastened supple sandals,
pinned with a brooch his crimson cape around him,
flowing in double folds and topped with thick fleece,
and gripping a tough spear tipped with a brazen point,
he strode along the ships of the Argives armed in bronze.
And reaching Odysseus first, a mastermind like Zeus,
the old driver roused him from sleep, shouting out,
"Wake up!" The cry went ringing through his ears
and out of his tent he came, shouting in return,
"Why, why prowling along the ships and camp,
you alone in the bracing godsent night--
what's the crisis now? What trouble's come?"
And Nestor the noble charioteer replied,
"Royal son of Laertes, Odysseus, great tactician,
no time for anger now--
such misery has overcome our Argives.
Follow us, come, so we can wake the next man,
some captain fit to map our strategy here,
whether we break and run or stand and fight."
Backing into his tent, the great tactician slung
his wrought shield on his back and joined the party
striding toward the son of Tydeus, Diomedes.
They found him with all his gear outside his shelter,
cohorts sleeping round him, shields beneath their heads,
spears stuck straight in the ground on butt-end spikes
and the bronze points flashing into the distance
like forked lightning flung by Father Zeus.
But the veteran fighter lay there fast asleep,
the cured hide of a field ox spread beneath him,
a lustrous blanket stretched beneath his head ...
The old charioteer moved in and woke him roughly,
dug a heel in his ribs, chiding him to his face,
"Up with you, Diomedes! What, sleep all night?
Haven't you heard? Trojans hold the high ground,
over the beachhead there, camped against the ships--
only a narrow strip to keep off sudden death."
So he prodded and Diomedes woke from sleep
with a quick start and burst of winging words:
"A hard man you are, old soldier--hard.
You never give up the good fight, do you?
Where are the younger troopers now we need them?
Why don't they go wake each king in tum
padding softly up and down through camp?
You, old man, you'd overpower us all!"
And. Nestor the noble driver answered warmly,
"Right you are, my friend, straight to the point.
Sons I have, and they're hardy, handsome boys,
and comrades too, men aplenty--one of the lot
could light out now and summon up the kings.
But now a crisis has overwhelmed our armies.
Our fate, I tell you, stands on a razor's edge:
life or death for Achaea, gruesome death at that.
Up with you! Wake quick Little Ajax, Meges too.
You're so much younger--come, pity an old man."
And round his back Diomedes slung the hide
of a big tawny lion, swinging down to his heels,
he grasped-a spear and the fighter strode away
and roused those men to leave their beds and march.
And now as they filed among the mustered guard
they found the chief sentries far from sleep--
on the alert, all stationed set with weapons.
Like sheepdogs keeping watch on flocks in folds,
a nervous, bristling watch when the dogs get wind
of a wild beast rampaging down through mountain timber,
crashing toward the pens, and the cries break as he charges,
a din of men and dogs, and their sleep is broken, gone--
and so the welcome sleep was routed from their eyes,
guardsmen keeping the long hard watch that night.
Always turning toward the plain, tense to catch
some sign of the Trojans launching an attack.
The old chariot-driver warmed to the sight
and cheered them on with urgings flying fast:
"Keep it up, my boys, that's the way to watch!
Not one of you submit to the grip of steep--
you'd give great joy to the men who'd take our lives."
With that the driver clambered through the trench.
They took the old captain's lead, the Argive kings
all called to the muster now. And flanking them
Meriones came in haste with Nestor's handsome son--
the kings had summoned both to share their counsel.
Crossing out over the deep trench they grouped
r /> on open ground, where they chanced to find a sector
free and clear of corpses, in fact the very place
where Hector in all his power had veered and turned away
from cutting Argives down when night closed in.
There they settled, conferring among themselves
till the noble horseman opened with his plan:
"My friends, isn't there one man among us here,
so sure of himself, his soldier's nerve and pluck,
he'd infiltrate these overreaching Trojans?
Perhaps he'd seize a straggler among the foe
or catch some rumor floating along their lines.
What plans are they mapping, what maneuvers next?
Are they bent on holding tight by the ships, exposed?--
or heading home to Troy, now they've trounced our armies?
If a man could gather that, then make it back unharmed,
why, what glory he'd gain across the whole wide earth
in the eyes of every man--and what a gift he'd win!
All the lords who command the ships of battle,
each and every one will give him a black ewe
suckling a young lamb-no prize of honor like it.
They'll ask that man to every feast and revel."
So Nestor proposed. All ranks held their peace
but Diomedes lord of the war cry spoke up briskly:
"Nestor, the mission stirs my fighting blood.
I'll slip right into enemy lines at once--
these Trojans, camped at our flank.
If another comrade would escort me, though,
there'd be more comfort in it, confidence too.
When two work side-by-side, one or the other
spots the opening first if a kill's at hand.
When one looks out for himself, alert but alone,
his reach is shorter--his sly moves miss the mark."
At that a crowd volunteered to go with Diomedes.
The two Aeantes, old campaigners, volunteered,
Meriones volunteered and Nestor's son leapt up
and Menelaus the famous spearman volunteered
and battle-hardened Odysseus too, to foray
into the Trojan units camped for the night-
Odysseus' blood was always up for exploit.
But King Agamemnon interceded quickly,
"Diomedes, soldier after my own heart,
pick your comrade now, whomever you want,
the best of the volunteers--how many long to go!
But no false respect. Don't pass over the better man
and pick the worse. Don't bow to a soldier's rank,
an eye to his birth--even if he's more kingly."
He suddenly feared for red-haired Menelaus
but Diomedes strong with the war cry answered,
"Is that an order? Pick my own comrade?
Then how could I s up royal Odysseus here?
His heart's so game, his fighting edge so keen,
the best of us all in every combat mission--
Athena loves the man. With him at my side
we'd go through fire and make it back alive
no one excels the mastermind of battle."