Though deeply grieved by this loss, Hector left Eniopeus lying and went to find another charioteer. Soon he came upon Archeptolemus, son of Iphitus, a reliable fighter, whom he ordered to climb up and manage the team.
Diomedes and Nestor continued their pursuit of Hector, and this might have caused irremediable disaster—Hector speared, and the Trojans herded into Troy like a flock of lambs—had Zeus not decided on sudden action. His awe-inspiring thunder rolled out, and lightning struck the earth at the feet of Diomedes’ team. Fumes of sulphur rose, the horses baulked, cowering, and Nestor dropped the bright reins, muttering fearfully: ‘Diomedes, let us turn back! Zeus is warning you that this is Hector’s day. Later, perhaps, we will win our share of glory; but no man, however courageous, can close his eyes to so plain a portent. Zeus’ strength is immeasurably greater than ours.’
‘True enough, venerable Nestor,’ answered Diomedes, ‘yet what if Hector boasts: “Diomedes fled from me to the shelter of his camp”? Should the Trojans ever hear him say so, may the earth open and swallow me!’
Nestor reproached Diomedes: ‘Son of Tydeus the Wise, you ought not to talk in this stupid strain! Even though Hector dared call you a coward, no Trojan nor Dardanian soldier would believe him; still less would the many noblewomen whom you have robbed of their vigorous mates.’ He wheeled the chariot about and drove through a mob of excited Trojans who were aiming at him from all sides.
Hector taunted Diomedes: ‘Ah, son of Tydeus, the Greeks used to honour you with the highest place at their feasts, and the finest joints of beef, and cups filled to the brim! Now they will say: “After all, he is no better than a woman!” Hurry off home, poor little doll! You shall never scale our walls, nor carry away our women. I should crush you without a qualm if you tried!’
Diomedes hesitated. Three times he nearly paused to face Hector, but each time Zeus gave the Trojans a victory sign, thunder on their right flank from Mount Ida, and he desisted. Hector cried: ‘Trojans, Lycians, and hard-fighting Dardanians! Be men, be heroes! Zeus’ thunder assures me of his favour: he will grant us the upper hand and bring disaster on the Greeks. What fools they were to raise those miserable fortifications! Why, our horses could clear the fosse in their stride. Once past the rampart, we must set fire to the Greek fleet and destroy their crews in the smoky confusion.’
He yelled at his horses: ‘Hey, Chestnut, Bright-Foot, Fire-Eye, Beacon! Earn your feed! Prove your gratitude to Andromache, daughter of Eëtion! The way she has spoiled you by pouring the best wheat into your mangers and mixing wine in your water-troughs! She thinks of you even before she thinks of me and, Heaven knows, I am her husband! Get along with you now! Overtake those horses of Tros! Help me to capture Nestor’s celebrated shield—the gods themselves talk of it—solid gold, arm-rods and all! I also covet Diomedes’ inlaid breast-plate: a piece made by Hephaestus himself. If I can win both trophies, I should be able to send what remains of the Greeks scurrying off in their ships, this very evening, too.’
Hector’s confident words stung the Goddess Hera to the quick. She bounced up and down on her throne until Olympus shook, and cried to Poseidon the Earth-Shaker: ‘This is outrageous, brother! You show not the least pity for the defeated Greeks, though they have always heaped splendid offerings on your altars at Helice and Aegae. Why do you deny them victory? If only we friends of Greece could drive the Trojans back in defiance of Zeus, he would regret having left us and gone to sit in lonely state on Mount Ida!’
Poseidon, shocked by his sister’s suggestion, answered: ‘Hera, you head-strong creature, what do you mean? I certainly have no intention of offending our Brother Zeus. He is altogether too powerful for me.’
Zeus now allowed Hector to pen the Greeks behind their rampart, and soon the camp area enclosed by the sea and the fosse was crowded with their demoralized troops. Hector would have completed his glorious success by destroying the Greek fleet, had not Hera flashed a message to Agamemnon: that he must bestir himself at once and put new heart into his army. So Agamemnon strode past the line of ships and huts, a purple cloak on his arm, until he reached Odysseus’ huge black vessel, which was beached exactly halfway down. Standing here and pitching his voice high, he could make himself heard from Great Ajax’s flotilla at one end to Achilles’ at the other—for each of these two heroes had boldly stationed his command on an exposed flank.
‘Fie, oh fie!’ Agamemnon yelled. ‘You Greeks look fierce enough, but you are mean-spirited rascals. What of our landing on Lemnos? There you bolted good beef and swilled good wine, and bragged that, when it came to battle, one Greek was worth fifty or a hundred Trojans! Today Hector alone has put thousands of you to flight and, unless you display a little more manhood, he will burn our fleet. O Father Zeus, have you ever cursed a great king like myself with such blind faith in his allies, or robbed him of so much glory? Yet what is my error? On our mad voyage to these shores, when did I sail heedlessly past any of your altars? I always landed, and sacrificed bulls’ thighbones to you, folded in fat, as a token of my eagerness to sack Troy. Ah, Zeus, at least do not dash my last hopes! Permit us to re-embark without further loss and escape total extinction at our enemies’ hands!’ Tears bedewed Agamemnon’s eyes.
Zeus took compassion and sent the Greeks the most favourable augury: an eagle, grasping a fawn in its talons, swooped and let it fall beside the altar where they habitually sacrificed to him. The army rallied at once and found fresh courage.
No Greek could claim to have forestalled Diomedes by driving a chariot out beyond the fosse and killing a fully-armed Trojan. As Agelaus, the son of Phraedmon, wheeled about in avoidance of Diomedes’ charge, a spear struck him between the shoulders and its point emerged under the breastbone; Agelaus fell to the ground with a clang of armour.
Agamemnon and Menelaus followed Diomedes, and after them galloped Great and Little Ajax, Idomeneus of Crete, his joint-commander Meriones, and Eurypylus, son of Euaemon. Teucrus was the ninth of this gallant company; bow in hand, he hid behind the immense shield of his half-brother Great Ajax. Whenever Ajax stealthily shifted it, Teucrus would aim at someone in the throng, shoot him, and take cover again, as a child shelters behind the folds of his mother’s skirt.
You ask me who were Teucrus’ victims? I will tell you in the order of their deaths. First, Orsilochus, then Ormenus, then Ophelestes, Daetor, Chromius, noble Lycophontes, Amopaon son of Polyaemon, and Melanippus—Teucrus shot them all. Agamemnon, who had watched the havoc, ran up and cried happily. ‘Dear Teucrus, if you continue this sharp-shooting, you will save the army and bring glory on your father Telamon, in distant Salamis. I am aware, of course, that you are a bastard; yet Telamon was generous enough to acknowledge the paternity and educate you at his palace. Here is my firm promise: should Zeus the Shield-Bearer and his daughter Athene let me sack the fortress of Troy, I will award you a prize of honour—either a tripod, or a chariot and team, or a beautiful woman for your bed.’
‘My lord,’ Teucrus replied, ‘why spur a willing horse? Naturally I shall continue. Since this sortie began, eight of my long-barbed arrows have sunk into the flesh of sturdy young Trojan noblemen. So far, however, I have always failed to hit that mad dog yonder.’
Teucrus aimed at Prince Hector as he spoke, intent on killing him, but missed once more. The arrow struck Prince Gorgythion, Priam’s son; his mother was a divinely beautiful woman from Aesyme named Castianeira.
Oh, poppy in the garden bed
Oppressed by summer rain,
You loll your burdensome bright head
And powerless you remain
To lift it up again.
So Gorgythion’s bright head also lolled under the weight of his helmet; and he died.
When Teucrus aimed again, Apollo deflected the arrow. It caught Archeptolemus, Hector’s new charioteer, high on the breast and tumbled him dead over the rails. His horses swerved in alarm.
Though deeply grieved by this second loss, Hector left Archeptolemus lying, and persuaded his own bro
ther Prince Cebriones to take the reins. Hector then sprang down, shouting terribly, picked up a jagged stone and ran straight at Teucrus. Teucrus pulled another arrow from his quiver and fitted it to the string, but before he could shoot, Hector’s stone landed on his collarbone—a most vulnerable spot—and broke the sinews of his arm, numbing the wrist. Teucrus dropped his bow and sank to his knees; Ajax, however, straddled him protectively, shield advanced, until two loyal friends—Mecisteus, son of Echius, and noble Alastor—stooped and carried Teucrus groaning away to the camp.
A further roll of thunder from Zeus encouraged the Trojans, and the Greeks fled again, hotly pursued by the triumphant Hector:
With nips at flank and haunch, a well-trained hound
After a lion or wild boar will bound,
The fleeing monster dares not turn around,
So sharp his teeth!
Hector adopted similar tactics, spearing stragglers and driving the main body over their fosse, through their gates, and behind their palisaded rampart. The cornered Greeks began yelling for dismay, and lifting hands in desperate prayer to Heaven. Hector drove his chariot here and there, killing heroes by the score; he looked as grim as a Gorgon, or as Ares, that curse of mankind. *
***
Hera the White-Armed, watching the battle, spoke urgently to Athene: ‘Daughter of Zeus the Shield-Bearer, can we allow any more of this? Why not intervene, if only for a last time? Our wards are on the point of massacre; and all because no one dares face the battle rage of a single man, Hector, son of Priam! He has inflicted fearful casualties.’
Athene answered: ‘Indeed, Goddess, nothing would make me happier than to watch Hector being overborne and killed. But my father is a perverse, stubborn, evil-tempered wretch, who continually deranges my plans! He forgets how often I rescued his son Heracles, when King Eurystheus, acquiescing in your relentless hatred, set him those Twelve Labours that nearly brought about his death. Heracles would always invoke Zeus, who then hurried me to his aid. Had I foreseen my father’s ingratitude, I should never have troubled to save his bastard from the fearful, high-tumbling waterfall of Styx—Eurystheus, you remember, sent him down to the Palace of Hades, King of Hell, in quest of the Dog Cerberus? As it is, my father has turned against me and grants Thetis whatever she asks, just because she recently kissed his knees and caressed his beard, begging him to honour Achilles the City-Sacker! In time, Zeus will be glad to call me his bright-eyed darling again, but not today. Come, harness your horses, while I visit the Palace and arm myself for battle; I shall be interested to watch Hector’s face when we come charging on the scene. Trojan as well as Greek corpses will soon feed the dogs and carrion birds along that waterfront!’
Hera went off to harness her golden-frontleted team, and Athene visited the Palace where she slipped out of a many-c