‘It would, indeed!’ Diomedes answered. ‘I will fight to the bitter end, though we cannot gain much by smothering this advance, when Zeus clearly intends the Trojans to win.’
Still protesting, Diomedes drove his spear into the left breast of a Trojan named Thymbraeus, and at the same time Odysseus disposed of Molion, Thymbraeus’ handsome charioteer. They then counter-attacked noisily and gave their comrades a brief breathing space—
As when a couple of wild boars break back
Undauntedly, to charge the yelping pack.
Diomedes killed Adrestus and Amphius, the sons of Merops, King of Percote, who, as I have already said, was the most reliable of prophets and had warned them to keep out of this murderous war; but they would not listen, being lured onwards by the gloomy Fates. Diomedes stripped Adrestus and Amphius of their fine corslets; Odysseus dealt similarly with Hippodamus and Hypeirochus.
Zeus, watching from Ida, delayed the Trojan advance by allowing Diomedes to kill Agastrophus, son of Paeon, with a spear-thrust on the hip-joint. Agastrophus’ charioteer had reined in his team some distance away, leaving him to blunder on until he died.
Hector caught sight of Odysseus and Diomedes, and drove shouting at them, followed by a mass of Trojans. Diomedes shivered as he cried: ‘Here comes disaster rolling down on us in the person of Hector! Hold fast!’ He leaned back and flung his spear, which flew unerringly at the top of Hector’s helmet, a gift to him from Phoebus Apollo; the point, however, was turned by three thicknesses of brass and a crest-socket. Hector recoiled several paces. For a moment he lost consciousness and dropped on one knee, supporting himself with his palm. Diomedes hastened to retrieve and use the fallen spear, but Hector somehow struggled aboard his chariot and got away. Diomedes taunted him: ‘Once more you have escaped death at my hands, dog; and by what a narrow shave! Doubtless you invoke Phoebus Apollo, and fight under his wing; still, if I can secure some other god’s assistance, I will kill you when next our paths cross. Meanwhile, one of your comrades must die instead!’
As Diomedes knelt to remove Agastrophus’ bright corslet, shield and helmet, Prince Paris, Helen’s husband, hidden behind the pillar which marked Ilus’ tomb, fitted an arrow to his bow-string and took aim. It was a neat shot that transfixed the sole of Diomedes’ right foot, and pinned him to the ground. Paris came forward, laughing gaily. ‘A hit!’ he exclaimed. ‘But why did you not expose your groin and let me make the shot mortal? That would have been a great favour to my people; you scare them as much as a lion scares goats.’
Diomedes bellowed back: ‘You nasty-mouthed, mean, jeering lady-killer, with your bow and your kiss-curl! If we met in single-combat, using proper weapons, what would your chances be? This arrow has grazed my sole, coward! Yet it means less to me than a slap from a woman or a foolish small boy. When I fight, I fight! Once my spear touches the man at whom I hurl, his wife is soon tearing her cheeks, weeping for their fatherless children. The corpse rots; and vultures, not women, attend the funeral.’
Odysseus stood guard while Diomedes sat down and, shudder-ingly, plucked the arrow from his foot. Then, sick at heart and no longer able to laugh at the injury, he ordered Sthenelus to drive him off in his chariot. Left all alone, Odysseus exclaimed: ‘That such a thing should happen to me! Shall I basely run away, or shall I take on the whole Trojan army by myself? I know the answer only too well. A hero’s task is to face the enemy, and either kill or be killed!’
The Trojans now poured around noble Odysseus, barring his retreat.
When hounds give tongue for the wild boar,
The young men form a ring;
From his deep lair with eyes aglare
He darts out ravening.
He gnashes between crooked jaws
White tush against white tush:
Yet, man and hound, they stand their ground,
Daring the savage rush!
Odysseus made an equally savage rush. First he leaped in the air and drove his spear downwards into Deiopites; next, he accounted for Thoon and Ennomus. After that he lunged at the belly of Chersidamas, who had dismounted, and was holding his shield a trifle too high; Chersidamas collapsed, grabbing a fistful of dust. Odysseus did not attempt to despoil these corpses, but lunged again and mortally wounded Charops, son of Hippasus. Prince Socus, fighting at his brother’s side, shouted: ‘Why, Odysseus the Crafty, what a glutton you are! Now if you fail to brag of having killed the two redoubtable sons of Hippasus, and taken their armour, it will be because death has ended your braggart’s life!’ The spear flung by Socus tore a hole in Odysseus’ round shield, penetrated the corslet, and scored his flank; yet the Goddess Athene—so Odysseus knew at once—had steered it clear of his guts. He withdrew a pace, growling: ‘Poor doomed Socus! Black Fate hovers above you; here I stay, until I have avenged myself and sent your ghost to Hades.’
Socus turned to run, but a spear flew between his shoulders, its point emerging near his breastbone. Odysseus exulted: ‘Ah, Socus, son of Hippasus the Horseman, that was the doom I foresaw—no father and mother present to close your sightless eyes; but carrion-birds pecking at them, and shrouding you with their multitudinous wings! I at least have this solace: should Death come for me, I can expect burial by friendly hands.’
He wrenched Socus’ spear from his shield and corslet; but the sight of his own blood gushing out alarmed him as much as it encouraged the Trojans.
He fell back before their charge, and three times yelled: ‘To the rescue!’ King Menelaus observed to Great Ajax, who stood by him: ‘Son of Telamon, surely that was Odysseus’ voice? He must be battling for his life single-handed. You and I ought to rescue him! It would be a black day if so hardy a champion were cut off and killed.’
Menelaus hurried in the direction of the cries, followed by the enormous Ajax, and found Odysseus still feebly grasping his spear:
Away he runs, the wounded stag,
With undiminished pride,
Though soon those gallant leaps will flag—
An arrow galls his side.
And hungry jackals scent his blood;
Yet where he stands at bay,
A lion roaring from the wood
Turns preyers into prey.
Indeed, these two heroes went roaring to Odysseus’ assistance, and the Trojans, recognizing Ajax’s immense shield, scattered like jackals. Menelaus guided Odysseus to his chariot, which had just drawn up; but Ajax sprang at the Trojans, killed Doryclus, another of Priam’s bastards, and wounded Pandocus, Lysander, Pyrasus, and Pylartes.
The river, swollen by torrential rain
Pours down destructively on the wide plain;
Dead oaks and pine-trunks weapon-wise it wields,
And stains the sea with earth filched from the fields.
Ajax’s charge proved no less destructive.
Hector was meanwhile fighting noisily beside the Scamander, and dispatching numbers of Greek noblemen led by Nestor and Idomeneus the Cretan. Yet these could perhaps have continued to resist, had not Paris driven a triple-barbed arrow into the shoulder of Machaon, son of Asclepius, the heroic Thessalian surgeon. This alarmed Idomeneus: if Machaon were taken prisoner, the whole line might collapse. He shouted: ‘Nestor, Glory of the Greeks! You must save Machaon without delay! We can ill afford to lose a comrade so skilled at extracting arrows and healing wounds: one surgeon is worth several spearmen.’
Nestor thereupon helped Machaon into his chariot, and lashed the willing horses towards the camp.
‘Hector,’ cried Cebriones, his charioteer, ‘we Trojans are doing well enough over here, but Great Ajax seems to be holding our centre in check. That is the critical point; let us visit it!’
He swung his whip; the long-maned team bounded forward, trampling on corpses and fallen shields. The axle was soon red with blood kicked up by their hooves; and the car with splashes thrown by the wheel-rims. Hector, eager to break the Greek resistance, used his spear indefatigably, never pausing except to draw his sword, or to dismount and h
url stones; yet he avoided Great Ajax, for fear that Zeus would be angry if he attacked so much stronger a champion than himself.
Father Zeus, however, who sits enthroned high above all other gods, made Ajax feel a sudden anxiety. He gazed about him, like a cornered wild beast, then turned and retreated step by step, the huge shield protecting his rear—
All night long we countrymen
Guarding cattle in their pen
(With the aid of dogs that growl
Fiercely when marauders prowl),
At a neighbouring thicket stare.
Ay, a tawny lion’s there
Mad with hunger, waiting for
A chance to leap with sudden roar
On the neck of a plump cow…
‘Look, my lads, he’s coming now!’
In a volley from strong hands
Spears are cast and burning brands!
Be his anger what it may,
We have baulked him of his prey;
Off he slinks before the day.
The leonine Ajax, though equally loth to retire, did so because he feared the Trojans would work round on the flank and bum the fleet. In fact, since he had already done considerable execution, he may rather be compared to an ass chased from a barley-field by small boys:
All unwillingly our ass
Up the pathway goes,
What most irks him is to pass
Land where barley grows.
We have splintered many a stick
On his tough old hide,
Oh, that ass knows every trick:
Soon he may decide
To break loose and eat his fill
By superior strength;
We are only boys but still,
When we flog him with a will
Out he trots at length.
Numerous spears flung by the Trojans or their allies fell short, and none of those that struck Ajax’s renowned shield went through, though they seemed greedy to drink blood. Every now and again he would face about and defend himself, before retiring once more; his stubborn rear-guard action undoubtedly delayed the Trojan offensive.
Eurypylus, Euaemon’s gallant son, who had seen Ajax’s battle against odds, advanced and fought at his side. He killed an enemy commander named Apisaon, son of Phausius, with a spear-cast in the liver, and leaped forward to take his armour. Paris seized the opportunity: he sent an arrow into Eurypylus’ right thigh. The shaft broke off and caused Eurypylus such torment that he withdrew, crying shrilly: ‘Help, noblemen of Greece! Unless you rally to Ajax’s assistance, he will be overwhelmed.’
His comrades ran up in a body. Ajax met them, and then covered their retreat as they used a cradle of shields, supported by spears resting on their shoulders, to carry Eurypylus away. It was indeed a flaming, fiery battle!
When Nestor’s mares bore him and Machaon towards the camp, Achilles the Swift-Footed, watching the Greeks’ disorderly rout, summoned his friend Patroclus, son of Menoetius. ‘Do you need me, Achilles?’ Patroclus shouted, appearing at the entrance to the hut.
Achilles, from his post near the stern of his ship, answered: ‘Dear Patroclus, I am sure that the Greeks will soon be falling in supplication at my knees; they can hardly do otherwise. But I want you to ask Nestor who was the wounded man with him… From behind he looked like Machaon; the horses went by too quickly for me to distinguish his features.’
Patroclus, not suspecting the evil consequences of this mission, hurried along the line, until he reached Nestor’s quarters. Eurymedon the charioteer had already unharnessed his team, while Nestor and Machaon stood disarmed on the seashore, letting the breeze dry their sweaty tunics. They then entered the hut, where fair-haired Hecamede, daughter of the valiant Prince Arsinous, mixed them a delicious beverage. Hecamede, one of the women captured by Achilles on Tenedos, was Nestor’s prize of honour: a reward for his sagacious advice.
Nestor and Machaon settled into chairs, and Hecamede drew up a grand, well-polished table, its legs inlaid with lapis lazuli. On it she placed a bronze beaker containing a restorative drink of boiled onion juice, pale yellow honey, and the flour of pearl-barley; also a magnificent four-handled, two-footed, gold-studded bronze goblet, brought from Nestor’s own palace. Each handle was formed of two golden doves, which inclined their beaks as if sipping. The goblet, after being filled, was of tremendous weight, though Nestor could still lift it easily; and now held Pramnian wine. Hecamede, beautiful as a goddess, used a bronze grater to flavour this with goat’s cheese and added a little barley flour. ‘The drink is ready, my lords!’ she told them.
Nestor and Machaon quenched their thirst, and were enjoying a pleasant chat, when they noticed the handsome figure of Patroclus at the doorway. Nestor rose and, though seeing that Patroclus did not wish to come in, pulled him forward. ‘Pray be seated!’ he said.
‘I fear I cannot spare the time, venerable Nestor,’ replied Patroclus, ‘so make no attempt to persuade me! I have been sent by a prince universally feared and honoured—Achilles, in fact—to identify your wounded companion; and since I recognize Machaon, the Thessalian leader, I must be off without delay. King Nestor, you know of Achilles’ quick temper. Unless I go straight home, he may get angry and hold me responsible for what is not my fault.’
Nestor launched into a long speech. ‘Why should Achilles be so anxious to learn my unfortunate companion’s name? He has no conception of the Greek losses. All our leading champions are back wounded: Diomedes by an arrow, Odysseus and Agamemnon by spears; and I have just brought Machaon off the field with another arrow in his shoulder. But what would this bad news mean to Achilles? He has far greater courage than kindliness! Indeed, it looks as though he were waiting for the fleet to go up in flames, and the entire army to be massacred!
‘Alas that my youth is gone! I remember well how we Pylians fought against the Epeians of Elis… It all began with a raid I led on the cattle of Itymoneus, the son of Hypeirochus. My spear caught and killed him as he was bravely defending a farm at the head of his frightened peasants. We made a tremendous haul of livestock: fifty herds of cattle, fifty droves of pigs, fifty flocks of sheep, fifty of goats, also one hundred and fifty chestnut mares, many of which had foals; and that night we drove them all into Pylus. My father, King Neleus, congratulated me heartily, this being my first experience of active service, and at daybreak his heralds announced that any of our people to whom the Epeians owed debts must come and register these. Numerous Pylians did so, because we were then an insignificant folk, despised and oppressed by our Epeian neighbours ever since the war in which Heracles killed our best men, including my own eleven brothers.
‘Some years previously, my father entered a prize-winning team of four horses for the chariot-race at the Olympic Games—the winner was to receive a tripod—but King Augeias of Elis kept them and sent the driver home empty-handed. This angered my father so much that he now distrained upon a large herd of cattle and a flock of three hundred sheep with their attendant shepherds. He allowed his Councillors to divide the remaining spoils equitably among the people.
‘Thus the affair was settled in a decent manner, and we sacrificed to the gods around the walls of Pylus. Three days later, the entire Epeian army appeared, a mass of infantry and chariots, led by the two young Moliones, who had not yet won much fame as fighters. They encamped before the Pylian frontier fortress of Thryoessa, perched on a hill overlooking the River Alpheius, and swore to level its walls. While they were still advancing towards it, Athene had flown in by night from Olympus and told us to arm—an order which we eagerly obeyed. My father thought me too inexperienced to handle a chariot, and hid my horses; but Athene took such care of me that, though I began the battle on foot, I ended in a chariot and outshone everyone, too!
‘Near Arene, where the River Minyeius joins the sea, our chariots assembled for a dawn advance, and were reinforced by parties of infantry. Next morning we marched off in a compact column, sighted the River Alpheius at noon, and there offered a magnificent sacrifice to
Almighty Zeus—also a bull to the River-god, a bull to Poseidon, and a heifer to Athene the Owl-Eyed—dined without breaking ranks, and went to sleep fully armed beside the stream.
‘Finding that the Epeians had not yet stormed Thryoessa, we at tacked them at sunrise, after invoking Zeus and Athene. I killed the first Epeian, none other than Augeias’ son-in-law Mulius; his wife, the eldest princess, fair-haired Agamede, was the best-known herbalist of her day. As Mulius charged us, my spear sent him flying to the ground; then I leaped into his chariot. The Epeians fled when they saw their leader fall, but I harried them like a black storm, and captured fifty chariots, having speared the owner and charioteer of each! I might have done the same with the twin Moliones, who passed as sons of Augeias’ brother Actor; unfortunately for me, their real father, Poseidon the Earth-Shaker, came to their rescue by shrouding them in a thick mist. Zeus gave us Pylians remarkable endurance; our chariotry pursued the Epeians, killing them and stripping them of their armour, until we reached the wheat-fields of Buprasium and the Olenian Crag, where Athene called a halt. I was that sort of man once, believe it or not!
‘Achilles, however, thinks only of his own reputation; I fear that he will repent too late, and shed vain tears over our heaped corpses. Patroclus, have you forgotten your father Menoetius’ words when he sent you from Phthia to accompany this expedition? Odysseus and I, on a recruiting journey through Greece—land of beautiful women—visited King Peleus’ palace, and in the courtyard met Menoetius, Achilles, and yourself… I well recall how old Peleus stood burning bulls’ thighbones folded in fat, at Zeus the Thunderer’s altar, and pouring wine on them from a golden chalice. You and Achilles were busy with the carcase, as we entered. Achilles sprang up in surprise, clasped our hands and courteously asked us to be seated. At the close of our meal, I discussed Agamemnon’s coming attack on Troy, and you were both eager to take service under him. Your fathers then laid down what they expected of their sons while on campaign. King Peleus made it clear that Achilles must be the leader in every enterprise, and outdo all his comrades; whereas Menoetius said, as I remember: “Patroclus, my son, Achilles’ lineage is superior to yours, and though you are the elder, he is by far the stronger. Yet gently offer him sensible advice on matters of conduct, and he will accept and profit by it.” Perhaps these instructions have passed from your mind, but I think that if you now spoke seriously to Achilles, he might be persuaded to listen. Yes, with divine aid you might bring about a salutary change of heart in him; there is no one like a friend for breaking down a stubborn spirit.