The Iliad

the bow dropped from his hand and Teucer shuddered,

  calling out to his brother, "Oh what luck--look,

  some power cuts us out of the fighting, foils our plans!

  He's knocked the bow from my grip, snapped the string,

  the fresh gut I tied to the weapon just at dawn

  to launch the showers of arrows I'd let fly."

  "Too bad, my friend," said Ajax. "Leave them there,

  that bow and spill of arrows down on the ground--

  a god with a grudge against us wrecks them all.

  Take up a long spear, shield on your shoulder,

  go for the Trojans, urge your troops to battle.

  Maybe they've whipped us here but not without a fight

  will they take our benched ships. Call up the joy of war!"

  At that his brother dropped his bow in a shelter,

  slung a shield on his shoulder, four plies thick,

  over his powerful head he set a well-forged helmet,

  the horsehair crest atop it tossing, bristling terror.

  And taking a rugged spearshaft tipped with whetted bronze

  the archer went on the run to stand by Ajax' side.

  But Hector, seeing Teucer's arrows in disarray,

  let fly a resounding shout to all his units:

  "Trojans! Lycians! Dardan fighters hand-to-hand!

  Fight like men, my friends, call up your battle-fury-

  make for the hollow ships! I see with my own eyes

  how Zeus has blocked their finest archer's arrows.

  Easy to see what help Zeus lends to mortals,

  either to those he gives surpassing glory

  or those he saps and wastes, refuses to defend,

  just as he wastes the Argives' power but backs us now.

  So fight by the ships, all together. And that comrade

  who meets his death and destiny, speared or stabbed,

  let him die! He dies fighting for fatherland--

  no dishonor there!

  He'll leave behind him wife and sons unscathed,

  his house and estate unharmed--once these Argives

  sail for home, the fatherland they love."

  That was his cry

  as Hector put fresh fighting spirit in each man.

  But Ajax fired the troops on his side too:

  "Shame, you Argives! All or nothing now--

  die, or live and drive defeat from the ships!

  You want this flashing Hector to take the fleet

  then each man walk the waves to regain his native land?

  Can't you hear him calling his armies on, full force,

  this Hector, wild to gut our hulls with fire?

  He's not inviting them to a dance, believe me--

  he commands them into battle! No better tactics now

  than to fight them hand-to-hand with all our fury.

  Quick, better to live or die, once and for all,

  than die by inches, slowly crushed to death--

  helpless against the hulls in the bloody press--

  by far inferior men!"

  And that was Ajax' cry

  as the giant put fresh fighting spirit in each man.

  But Hector cut down Schedius now, Perimedes' son,

  a Phocian chieftain--and Ajax killed Laodamas,

  captain of infantry, Antenor's splendid son--

  and Polydamas killed Cyllenian Otus outright,

  Meges' friend, one of the proud Epeans' leaders.

  Meges saw him drop, he lunged at Polydamas, fast,

  but he ducked and veered away and Meges missed him--

  Apollo was not about to let him fall at the front,

  not Panthous' son. But Meges did hit Croesmus,

  stabbed him square in the chest with a thrusting-lance

  and down he crashed--with Meges tearing the armor off his back

  as the Trojan Dolops lunged at him. A crack spearman--

  Laomedon's grandson, Lampus' big and brawny son,

  the strongest he sired, the best trained for assault--

  Dolops quickly went for Meges at close range,

  he speared his bulging shield

  but the solid breastplate warded off the blow

  with both plates fitted tight to bind his body.

  The gear his father brought from Ephyra once ...

  the Selleis banks where his host the lord Euphetes

  gave him that sturdy bronze to wear in battle,

  to beat off the bloody attacks of desperate men

  and now it saved his son's young flesh from death.

  So Meges chopped at the crown of Dolops' bronze helmet,

  split its spiny ridge with a sharp cleaving spear

  and sheared away its bristling horsehair crest.

  Down in the dust the war-gear tumbled, all

  still glistening bright in its fresh purple dye

  but the man stood his ground, still rearing to fight,

  his hopes still soaring for triumph. But now Menelaus,

  Atrides out for blood, moved in to fight for Meges--

  spear poised in his grip--in from the blind side

  and struck from behind the Trojan's shoulder so hard

  the spear came jutting out through his chest in all its fury

  and Dolops reeled and sank, facedown on the ground.

  The two men swarmed over him, ripping the armor

  off his back as Hector called his kinsmen on,

  all his kinsmen, but marked out Hicetaon's son

  the strong Melanippus, railing first at him ...

  He used to graze his shambling herds in Percote,

  long ago when the enemy's forces stood far off

  but once the rolling ships of Achaea swept ashore,

  home he came to Troy where he shone among the Trojans,

  living close to Priam, who prized him like his sons.

  But Hector rebuked him now, shouting out his name:

  "Metanippus--how can we take things lying down this way?

  No qualm in your heart for this? Your cousin's dead!

  Can't you see how they're clawing over Dolops' armor?

  Follow me now. No more standing back, no fighting

  these Argives at a distance--kill them hand-to-hand.

  Now--before they topple towering Ilium down,

  all our people slaughtered!"

  So with a shout

  he surged ahead and his gallant cohort followed.

  But Great Telamonian Ajax spurred his Argives on:

  "Be men, my friends! Discipline fill your hearts!

  Dread what comrades say of you here in bloody combat!

  When men dread that, more men come through alive--

  when soldiers break and run, good-bye glory,

  good-bye all defenses!"

  Up in arms as they were

  to shield themselves, they took his word to heart

  and round the ships they raised a wall of bronze.

  But against them Zeus impelled the Trojan ranks

  as Menelaus lord of the war cry urged Antilochus,

  "None of the younger troops, Antilochus, none

  is faster of foot than you or tougher in combat--

  why not leap right in and lay some Trojan out?"

  Menelaus withdrew as he drove Antilochus on.

  Out of the front he sprang, glaring left and right

  and hurled his spear--a glinting brazen streak--

  and the Trojans scattered, cringing before his shaft ...

  no wasted shot! Antilochus hit Hicetaon's son,

  impetuous Melanippus sweeping into battle,

  slashed him across the chest beside the nipple.

  Down he crashed and the darkness swirled his eyes

  with Antilochus rushing over him like some hound

  pouncing down on a deer that's just been wounded--

  leaping out of its lair a hunter's speared it,

  a lethal hit that's loosed its springy limbs.

  So
staunch Antilochus leapt at you, Melanippus,

  stripping away your gear, but Hector marked it now

  and straight through the ruck he charged Antilochus hard.

  Quick as that fighter was, he could not hold his ground,

  not there--he turned tail and broke like a rogue beast

  that's done some serious damage, mauled a dog to death

  or a herdsman tending flocks, and takes to his heels

  before the gangs of men can group and go against him.

  So Antilochus turned and ran as a savage cry went up

  and Hector and all his Trojans showered deadly shafts

  in hot pursuit, but he wheeled and stood his ground

  when he reached his thronging cohorts.

  Now to the ships--

  now like a pride of man-eating lions the Trojan forces

  stormed the fleet, fulfilling Zeus's strict commands

  as Zeus kept building their fury higher, stunned

  the Argives' spirit and wrenched away their glory,

  lashing Trojans on. The Father's will was set

  on giving glory over to Hector son of Priam

  that he might hurl his torch at the beaked ships--

  the force of fire, quenchless, ravening fire, yes,

  and bring to its bitter end the disastrous prayer of Thetis.

  For that alone he waited, the god who rules the world,

  to see with his own eyes the first Achaean ship

  go up in a blaze of flames. Then, from that point on

  he'd thrust the Trojans breakneck back from the fleet

  and give the Argives glory. Dead set now on that,

  he drove Prince Hector against the hollow hulls

  though the son of Priam raged in his own right,

  raged like Ares with brandished spear, or flash fire

  roaring down from a ridge into thick stands of timber.

  The foam flecked his mouth and his eyes shot flame,

  glaring under his shaggy brows and round his head

  his helmet shook and clashed, a terrific wild din--

  Hector on the attack! And high in the clear sky

  Zeus himself defended his champion--Hector alone

  he prized and glorified among hordes of men 710

  for Hector's life would be cut short so soon ...

  Why, even now Athena was speeding the fatal day

  when he would fall to the power of great Achilles.

  But now he was bent on breaking men, probing the lines

  wherever he saw the largest mass and the finest gear

  but he could not smash through yet for all his fury.

  They closed ranks, they packed like a stone wall,

  a granite cliff that towers against the churning surf,

  standing up to the screaming winds, their sudden assaults

  and the breaking waves they spawn that crash against its base--

  so the Danaans stood the Trojan onslaught, rock-solid

  and never flinched in fear. But Hector all afire,

  blazing head to foot, charged at their main force,

  bursting down as a wave bursts down on a veering ship,

  down from under the clouds it batters, bred by gate-winds--

  showers of foam overwhelm the hull, blot it all from sight,

  the hurricane's killing blast thundering into the sails

  and scudding clear of death by the skin of their teeth

  the sailors quake, their hearts race on with terror--

  so the Achaeans' courage quaked. And Hector lunged again

  like a murderous lion mad for kills, charging cattle

  grazing across the flats of a broad marshy pasture,

  flocks by the hundred led by an unskilled herdsman

  helpless to keep the marauder off a longhom heifer--

  no fighting that bloody slaughter--all he can do

  is keep pace with the lead or straggling heads,

  leaving the center free for the big cat's pounce

  and it eats a heifer raw as the rest stampede away.

  And so the Achaeans stampeded now, unearthly terror,

  all of them routed now by Father Zeus and Hector--

  though Hector killed just one ...

  Periphetes, a Mycenaean, favorite son of Copreus,

  Eurystheus' herald who summoned rugged Heracles

  time and again to grinding labors. Copreus, yes,

  that worthless father who sired a better son,

  better at every skill, primed for speed and war

  and his wits outstripped the best in all Mycenae,

  but all of it went now to build Prince Hector's glory.

  As the Argive spun in retreat his shield-rim tripped him--

  down to his feet that shield he bore to keep off spears--

  he stumbled over it now, pitched back, helmet clanging

  harshly against his brows as the man hit the ground..

  But Hector marked him at once, rushed up to his side

  and staked a spear in his chest to kill the fighter

  right in the eyes of loyal comrades standing by.

  Sick for their friend but what could they do? Nothing--

  just shake with dread in the face of mighty Hector.

  Now the Achaeans milled among the shipways,

  shielded round by the looming superstructures,

  stem on stern drawn up on the first line inland.

  But the Trojans stormed them there and back they fell,

  they had no choice, edging away from the front ships

  but once at the tents nearby they held their ground,

  massing ranks, no scattering back through camp.

  Their proud discipline gripped them, terror too--

  they rallied each other, nonstop, war cries rising.

  Noble Nestor was first, Achaea's watch and ward,

  pleading, begging each man for his parents' sake,

  "Be men, my friends! Discipline fill your hearts,

  maintain your pride in the eyes of other men!

  Remember, each of you, sons, wives, wealth, parents--

  are mother and father dead or alive? No matter,

  I beg you for their sakes, loved ones far away--

  now stand and fight, no turning back, no panic."

  With that he put new strength in each man's spirit.

  Athena thrust from their eyes the blinding battle-haze,

  the darkness sent by the gods, and a hard bright light

  burst down in both directions, out to the ships

  and down the lines where fighting drew dead even.

  Now they could make out Hector lord of the war cry,

  all his troops, squads in reserve and clear of battle,

  forward squads that fought at the fast trim ships.

  Ajax' challenge--how could it please his courage still

  to hang back now where other Achaeans held the rear?

  No more. Up and down the decks of the ships he went

  with his great plunging strides, swinging in hand

  his enormous polished pike for fights at sea,

  clamped with clinchers, twenty-two forearms long.

  Ajax skilled as a show-rider, a virtuoso horseman

  who picks from the herd four stallions, yokes them tight

  and galloping off the plain comes racing toward a large city,

  over a trafficked road and the crowds gaze in wonder,

  men and women watching, as sure-footed, never a slip,

  the rider keeps on leaping, swinging from back to back

  and the pounding team flies on. So Ajax swung now,

  leaping from deck to deck on the fast trim ships,

  ranging with huge strides as his voice hit the skies,

  keeping up a terrific bellowing, calling Argives on

  to defend the ships and shelters.

  And Hector too--

  how could he hold back with his massing, armored Trojans?

  Now like a fl
ashing eagle swooping down on bird-flocks,

  winged thousands feeding, swarming a river's banks,

  geese, cranes or swans with their long lancing necks--

  so swooping Hector went headfirst at a warship,

  charged its purple prow, and Zeus behind him

  thrust him on with his mighty, deathless hand,

  urging the soldiers on who crowded Hector's back.

  And again a desperate battle broke at the ships.

  You'd think they waded into the fighting, fresh troops,

  unbruised, unbroken, they fought with such new fire.

  And what were the fighters thinking? Only this:

  the Argives certain they'd never flee the worst,

  they'd perish then and there,

  but the hopes soared in every Trojan's heart

  to torch the ships and slaughter Argive heroes--

  so ran their thoughts, closing for the kill. At last

  Hector grappled a ship's stern, a beauty built for speed--

  it swept the seas with Protesilaus, bore him to Troy

  but never bore him back to his fatherland again.

  Now churning round that ship Achaeans and Trojans

  hacked each other at close range. No more war at a distance,

  waiting to take the long flights of spears and arrows--

  they stood there man-to-man and matched their fury,

  killing each other now with hatchets, battle-axes,

  big swords, two-edged spears, and many a blade,

  magnificent, heavy-hilted and thonged in black

  lay strewn on the ground--some dropped from hands,

  some fell as the fighters' shoulder-straps were cut--

  and the earth ran black with blood. And Hector held fast,

  he never let go of the high stem, he hugged its horn,

  arms locked in a death-grip, crying out to Trojans,

  "Bring fire! Up with the war cries, all together!

  Now Zeus hands us a day worth all the rest,

  today we seize these ships--

  they stormed ashore against the will of the gods,

  they came here freighted with years of pain for us,

  and all thanks to our city elders. What cowards!

  Whenever I longed to fight at the ships' high stems

  the old men kept me back, they held the troops in check.

  Oh but if Zeus's lightning blinded us those days,

  it's Zeus who drives us, hurls us on today!"

  The harder he cried

  the harder his forces charged against the Argives.

  Not even Ajax held his post, no longer now:

  forced by the shafts he backed away by inches,

  certain he'd die there--down he leapt from the decks,

  down to bestride the seven-foot bridge amidships.

  There he stood, tensing, braced to take them on--

  his huge pike kept beating the Trojans off the hulls,

  any attacker flinging tireless fire, and all the time

  that terrible voice of his, bellowing out to cohorts,

  "Friends! Fighting Danaans! Aides-in-arms of Ares!

  Fight like men, my comrades--call up your battle-fury!

  You think we have reserves in the rear to back us up?

  Some stronger wall to shield our men from disaster?

  No, there's no great citadel standing near with towers