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
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.”
But much-enduring Odysseus cut him short:
“Not too long on the praise—don’t fault me either.
You’re talking to Argive men who know my record.
Let’s move out. The night is well on its way
and daybreak’s near. The stars go wheeling by,
the full of the dark is gone—two watches down
but the third’s still ours for action.”
On that note
both men harnessed up in the grim gear of war ...
Thrasymedes staunch in combat handed Tydeus’ son
a two-edged sword—he’d left his own at the ship—
a shield too, and over his head he set a helmet,
bull’s-hide, bare of ridge and crest, a skullcap,
so it’s called, and made to protect the heads
of tough young-blooded fighters.
Meriones gave Odysseus bow, quiver and sword
and over his head he set a helmet made of leather.
Inside it was crisscrossed taut with many thongs,
outside the gleaming teeth of a white-tusked boar
ran round and round in rows stitched neat and tight—
a master craftsman’s work, the cap in its center
padded soft with felt. The Wolf Himself Autolycus
lifted that splendid headgear out of Eleon once,
he stole it from Ormenus’ son Amyntor years ago,
breaching his sturdy palace walls one night
then passed it on to Amphidamas, Cythera-born,
Scandia-bound. Amphidamas gave it to Molus,
a guest-gift once that Molus gave Meriones
his son to wear in battle. And now it encased
Odysseus’ head, snug around his brows.
And so,
both harnessed up in the grim gear of war,
the two men moved out, leaving behind them
all the captains clustered on the spot.
Athena winged a heron close to their path
and veering right. Neither man could see it,
scanning the dark night, they only heard its cry.
Glad for the lucky sign, Odysseus prayed to Pallas,
“Hear me, daughter of Zeus whose shield is thunder!
Standing by me always, in every combat mission
no maneuver of mine slips by you—now, again,
give me your best support, Athena, comrade!
Grant our return in glory back to the warships
once we’ve done some feat that brings the Trojans pain!”
Next Diomedes lord of the war cry prayed aloud,
“Hear me too, daughter of Zeus, tireless goddess!
Be with me now, just as you went with father,
veteran Tydeus, into Thebes that day
he ran ahead of the Argives with his message.
He left his armored men along the Asopus banks
and carried a peaceful word to Theban cohorts
crowded in their halls. But turning back he bent
to some grand and grisly work with you, Goddess,
and you stood by him then, a steadfast ally.
So come, stand by me now, protect me now!
I will make you a sacrifice, a yearling heifer
broad in the brow, unbroken, never yoked by men.
I’ll offer it up to you-I’ll sheathe its horns in gold!”
Their prayers rose and Pallas Athena heard them.
Once they’d appealed to Zeus’s mighty daughter,
into the black night they went like two lions
stalking through the carnage and the corpses,
through piles of armor and black pools of blood.
But no sleep for the headstrong Trojans either.
Hector would not permit it. He summoned all his chiefs
to a council of war, all Trojan lords and captains.
Mustering them he launched his own crafty plan:
“Who will undertake a mission and bring it off
for a princely gift? A prize to match the exploit!
I’ll give him a chariot, two horses with strong necks,
the best of the breeds beside Achaea’s fast ships.
Whoever will dare—what glory he can win—
a night patrol by the ships to learn at once
if the fleet’s still guarded as before or now,
battered down at our hands, huddling together,
they plan a quick escape, their morale too low
to mount the watch tonight-bone-weary from battle.”
So Hector proposed. All ranks held their peace.
But there was a man among the troops, one Dolon,
a son of the sacred Trojan herald Eumedes.
He was rich in bronze, rich in bars of gold,
no feast for the eyes but lightning on his feet
and an only son in the midst of five sisters.
This one volunteered among the Trojans:
“Hector, the mission stirs my fighting blood—
I’ll reconnoiter the ships and gather all I can.
Come, raise that scepter and swear you’ll give me
the battle-team and the burnished brazen car
that carry great Achilles—I will be your spy.
And no mean scout, I’ll never let you down.
I’ll infiltrate their entire army, I will,
all the way till I reach the ship of Agamemnon!
That’s where the captains must be mapping tactics now,
whether they’ll break and run or stand and fight.”
How he bragged and Hector, grasping his scepter,
The Iliad Page 39