In another part of the field, evil chance drove Tlepolemus, a descendant of Heracles, toward Sarpedon, to whom he called from afar: “Why are you still here, shaking with terror, you weakling from Asia, who lyingly boast that you are a son of Zeus, like Heracles, my father? You are a coward, but even if you had courage, you should not escape Hades!”
“Had I won no glory before this,” Sarpedon replied, “I should now gain it by your death.” As the last word left his lips, the two heroes raised their lances, and Sarpedon pierced his overbearing foe right through the throat. The weapon’s point came out at the nape of his neck, and he sank dead upon the earth. But the spear of Tlepolemus pierced Sarpedon’s left thigh to the bone; he would have died had it not been for Zeus, his father, who wanted his son to live. His friends led him from the battlefield. He was trembling with pain, but they went so swiftly that no one noticed he was still dragging with him the lance stuck in his leg. The Argives, in the meantime, carried off the body of Tlepolemus.
While Odysseus raged through the leaderless troops of the Lycians and came close to Sarpedon as he withdrew from the fight, the son of Zeus caught sight of Hector and called to him in a weak voice: “Son of Priam! Do not leave me here as the prey of the Argives! Defend me, so that if I cannot return to the land of my fathers, to my wife and my little son, I may at least breathe my last undisturbed in your city.” Hector did not take time to answer. He drove back the Argives around Sarpedon with such vigor that even Odysseus did not venture to advance. The Trojan warriors laid Sarpedon down near the Scaean Gates, under a tall beech tree sacred to Zeus, and Pelagon, the friend of his youth, drew the spear from his thigh. For a moment the wounded man lost consciousness, but soon he revived, and a cool wind blowing from the north freshened his languid spirit.
And now Ares and Hector pressed upon the Argives until they were forced to retreat to their ships. Hector unaided slew six splendid heroes. Stricken with horror, Hera gazed down from Olympus and saw the slaughter the Trojans were accomplishing with the help of Ares. Then the mother of all the gods ordered her chariot made ready, the chariot with its bronze wheels rimmed with gold, the silver shaft, and the golden yoke to which Hera harnessed her fleet-footed horses. Athene meanwhile girt on her father’s armor, set the gold helmet on her head, took the shield blazoned with the Gorgon’s head, grasped the spear, and mounted the silver car bound to the axle with chains of gold. Hera stood beside her and used her goad, so that the horses moved with even greater speed. The gates of heaven, guarded by the Hours, opened of themselves, and the great goddesses passed the jagged slopes of Olympus. On the highest peak sat Zeus. Reigning in her team for an instant, Hera, his wife, called to him: “Are you not angry that Ares, your son, is harassing the Achaeans contrary to the will of Fate? Aphrodite and Apollo exult because they have succeeded in rousing the war-god to do as they wish. Now surely you will permit me to strike that impudent wretch a blow that will send him flying from the field!”
“You may try,” Zeus answered her from his peak. “Send my daughter Athene against him, for she is vehement and strong and knows how to fight.” And now the chariot sped on between starry heaven and earth, until it descended where the Simois and the Scamander join their waters; there the horses touched ground.
The goddesses at once hastened into the midst of battle where warriors bold as lions and boars were fighting around the son of Tydeus. Hera, in the shape of Stentor, mingled with them and called aloud in the tone of the hero whose form she had assumed, and her voice rang like bronze: “Shame on you, Argives! Are you a terror to your foes only when Achilles fights at your side? Now that he stays with the ships, you cannot succeed!” Her taunts rallied the courage of the Argives. And Athene fought her way to Diomedes himself. She found him standing beside his chariot, trying to bind up the wound he had received from the shaft of Pandarus. His broad shield weighed on him, the sweat streamed from his body, and his hands were powerless. It was an effort for him even to loosen the strap and wipe away the blood.
Athene leaned on the horses’ yoke and said to him: “The son of Tydeus is most unlike his father! He was small of stature and yet the bravest of fighters. Before the walls of Thebes he fought against my will, but such was his pluck and daring that I could not deny him my aid. You too could claim my protection and help, were it not for—but I cannot say just what is the matter with you! Are you stiff with striking blows, or has fear clouded your mind and numbed your limbs? Whatever the cause may be, to me you do not seem the son of fiery Tydeus.”
At her words Diomedes raised his eyes to her face and looked at it wonderingly as he said: “I recognize you, daughter of Zeus, and I shall tell you the plain truth. Neither fear nor slackness hold me back, but one of the mightiest among the gods. You yourself opened my eyes that I might know him. It is Ares, the god of war, whom I have seen directing the attack of the Trojans. That is why I fell back and commanded the other Achaeans to gather here about me.”
Then Athene replied: “Diomedes! My chosen friend! From now on you shall fear neither Ares nor any other immortal, for I shall be at your side. Guide your horses straight toward the raging god himself.” Thus she spoke and lightly touched Sthenelus, his charioteer, who willingly dismounted so that she herself could ride beside Diomedes. The axle groaned under the weight of the goddess and the boldest among the Argive heroes.
She at once took reins and goad and drove the horses at Ares. He was just stripping off the armor of Periphas, the hardiest of the Aetolians. When he saw Diomedes coming toward him in his chariot—the goddess had veiled herself in impenetrable mists—he let Periphas lie and hastened toward the son of Tydeus, leaning forward over the yoke and the reins of his horses and aiming his lance. But Athene, unseen by anyone, laid her hand on it and gave it a different course, so that it slanted off into the empty air. And now Diomedes aimed, and Athene herself directed his spear so that it pierced Ares in the groin. The god of war roared as loudly as ten thousand mortals put together, and Trojans and Argives alike trembled, for they thought that though the sky was blue and serene they were hearing the thunder of Zeus. Only Diomedes saw Ares sheathed in cloud and riding up to heaven as if carried on a great gust of wind. There the war-god seated himself beside Zeus, his father, and showed him the blood running from his wound. But the Thunderer looked at him sternly and said:
“My son, do not whine complaints to me. Of all the Olympians you displease me most. You have always been fond of fighting and quarrels, and more than any other you resemble your mother in your stubborn, rebellious ways. It must be she who is responsible for this trouble of yours. All the same, I cannot bear to see you suffer. The healer among the gods shall tend you.” And he called Paeëon, who examined the wound and treated it so that it closed, and soon he was whole and well again.
In the meantime, the other gods had also returned to Olympus and left the Trojans and Danai to themselves. First Ajax, son of Telamon, broke the ranks of the Trojans and cleared a way for his men by piercing between the eyes Acamas, greatest among the Thracians. Then Diomedes slew Axylus and his charioteer. Three other Trojans fell by the hand of Euryalus, Pidytes by that of Odysseus. Teucer slew Aretaon, Antilochus killed Ablerus, and Agamemnon Elatus. Menelaus caught hold of Adrastus just as his horses stumbled and threw him to the ground, running off toward the city with other leaderless horses and dragging the chariot with them. The foe, lying in the dust, clasped the king’s knees and implored him: “Take me prisoner, son of Atreus! You shall have a ransom of bronze and gold from the stores of my father who will gladly give it to you if only he can clasp me alive in his arms again.”
The heart of Menelaus was moved, but just then Agamemnon came toward him and said reproachfully: “Have you pity on your foes, Menelaus? Not one shall escape our revenge, not even the child at the mother’s breast. All whom Troy has reared must die without mercy.” When Menelaus heard these words he thrust pleading Adrestus from him, and Agamemnon pierced his body with his lance.
Incessantly Nestor
’s call rang out among the Argives: “Friends, do not stay behind to strip or loot! Now all that counts is to kill. Later on we can take the weapons of the dead at our leisure!”
The Trojans would have been vanquished and forced to flee back to their city, had not Helenus, Priam’s son, who could predict the future from the flight of birds, turned to Hector and Aeneas and said to them: “All now depends on you. If you can stop the men before they enter the gates, we shall still be able to resume the battle with the Argives. Aeneas, the gods have chosen you for this task. And you, Hector, shall go to Troy and give a message to our mother. Tell her to assemble the noblest women on the acropolis, in the temple of Athene, to place her most precious robe on the knees of the goddess, and vow to sacrifice to her twelve unblemished heifers if only she will take pity on the Trojan women, their children, and their city, and ward off the terrible son of Tydeus.” Willingly Hector sprang from his chariot, strode through his battalions, spurring their courage, and then hastened toward the city.
GLAUCUS AND DIOMEDES
On the battlefield, Glaucus of Lycia, a grandson of Bellerophon, and Diomedes, son of Tydeus, had stormed forward from the ranks and were facing each other, eager for the struggle. When Diomedes saw his opponent at close quarters, he measured him with his eyes and said: “Who are you? I have not encountered you before, yet now I see you standing out from the rest. I must warn you that those who cross my path in war are destined to disaster. But should you be a god who has taken mortal shape, I renounce combat, for I do not wish to raise my hand against an immortal. If you are mortal, come! You shall not escape death!”
The son of Hippolochus replied: “Diomedes, why ask my lineage? We men are like leaves in the forest which fall and are scattered in the wind, and in the spring the branches bud afresh. But if you wish to know, then hear. My forbear was Aeolus, son of Hellen, and he begot crafty Sisyphus. Sisyphus begot Glaucus, Glaucus Bellerophon, Bellerophon Hippolochus, and I am his son. It is he who sent me against Troy that I might excel in battle and not disgrace my ancestors.”
When his opponent had ended, Diomedes thrust the shaft of his lance into the ground and spoke in a friendly voice. “Noble prince,” he said, “we are bound by ties of hospitality from the days of our fathers! For twenty days Oeneus, my grandfather, had your grandfather Bellerophon as a guest under his roof, and they honored each other with splendid gifts. My grandfather gave yours a crimson belt, and yours gave mine a golden cup with handles which I still have in my house. And so I must be your host in Argos and you mine in Lycia, should I ever journey there. Let us avoid each other in the turmoil of battle. There are enough Trojans left for me to kill, and Argives enough for you to slay. Let us exchange weapons so that the others may see we are proud to be bound by these ties of old.” And lightly they dropped from their chariots, took each other by the hand, and vowed friendship. But Zeus who turned all that chanced in favor of the Achaeans, blinded the spirit of Glaucus, so that he exchanged his golden armor for the brazen cuirass of Diomedes. It was as if a man had given a hundred bullocks for only nine.
HECTOR IN TROY
Hector, meanwhile, had reached the beech tree of Zeus and the Scaean Gates. Here the wives and daughters of the Trojans crowded around him and anxiously asked about their husbands, their sons, brothers, and kinsmen. He could not tell everyone what she wished to know, but counselled all to pray to the gods. Even so, what he had said filled many with gloom and anguish. And now he had come to his father’s palace. It was a beautiful structure flanked by spacious colonnades. Within were fifty chambers with walls of polished marble, one built close to the next. Here lived the sons of the king with their wives. On the other side of the inner court were twelve adjoining marble halls which housed the king’s daughters and their husbands. The whole was circled by a high rampart and was in itself a stately citadel. Here Hector met Hecuba, his mother, who was on her way to Laodice, the fairest of her daughters and the one she loved most dearly.
The aged queen hastened toward Hector, took him by the hand, and said, full of love and concern: “Son, how is it that you come to us in the midst of battle? It must be that the Argives are besetting us sorely and that you have come to raise your hands to Zeus in supplication. Wait until I bring you wine, fragrant and rich, that you may pour a libation and then refresh your own spirit with a sparkling draught. For nothing revives a weary fighter like wine.”
But Hector answered her: “Have no wine brought, dear mother, lest my mind blur and my limbs grow unsteady. Nor would I bring Zeus a libation with unclean hands. But you and the noblest women in Troy shall go to the temple of Athene, bearing incense, lay on the knees of the goddess your most beautiful robe, and vow to sacrifice to her twelve heifers without blemish, if she will take pity on us. I, meanwhile, will go to summon my brother Paris to battle. I wish the earth would swallow him where he stands, for he was born to our destruction!”
The mother did as her son had asked. She entered the perfumed chamber where she kept the fair silken robes Paris himself had brought her from Sidon when he was journeying home with Helen by slow and devious ways. One of these, the most beautiful, worked in an intricate pattern, she took from the very bottom of the chest and went to the acropolis, to the temple of Athene, accompanied by the noblest of the Trojan women. Theano, wife of An tenor, the Trojan priestess of Pallas, opened the house of the goddess. The women encircled the statue of Athene, lifted their hands to her, and made lament. Then Theano took the robe from the queen’s hand’s, laid it on the knees of the image, and implored the daughter of Zeus: “Pallas Athene! Protectress of cities, great and powerful goddess, shatter the spear of Diomedes! Let him fall headlong and writhe on his face in the dust before the gates of Troy. Have pity on this city, on the women and young children. In the hope that you will do all this, we dedicate to you twelve unblemished heifers.”
But in her heart Pallas Athene refused their request. By this time Hector had arrived in the palace of Paris which stood high on the acropolis, near the king’s palace and Hector’s own. For both princes had their houses separate from that of Priam. In his hand Hector carried his spear. It was eleven cubits long and the shaft, where it joined the brazen point, was bound with a ring of gold.
He found his brother examining weapons and smoothing the curve of a bow. Helen sat among her women directing them, and all were busily occupied with their day’s work. When Hector saw his brother he reproved him, saying: “It is wrong for you to loiter here at your ease. It is because of you that men are fighting before our walls. You yourself would blame anyone you saw idle at a moment such as this. Come and help us defend our city before it bursts into flame from the firebrands of the foe.”
Paris replied: “You are wrong to chide me, brother. I am sitting here idly because I am grieved. But now that Helen has warmly urged me to return to battle, I shall go. Wait until I gird on my armor. Or if you want to go, I shall soon follow you.”
Hector answered nothing to this, but Helen said to him humbly: “O brother-in-law! I am, indeed, a woman who brings calamity in her wake. I wish the sea had closed over me before ever I set foot on this coast with Paris! But now that things are as they are, would I were the wife of a better man, of one who felt the disgrace and the contempt he has brought upon himself. He has no heart, and the fruit of his cowardice will not be long in coming. But enter, Hector. Come in and rest from those labors which, because of me and that idle husband of mine, now weigh heavily on your shoulders.”
“No, Helen,” said Hector. “Do not bid me be seated, for indeed I must not. My heart yearns to help the men of Troy. Your task shall be to fire Paris to action. Let him hasten, so that he may join me before I am beyond the city walls. But first I must go to my own house to see my wife, my little son, and my servants.” So said Hector and hurried away. But he did not find his wife at home. “When she heard that the Trojans were hard pressed and the Argives were winning,” the woman who watched the doors told him, “she left the palace beside herself with anxie
ty, to climb one of the towers, and the nurse had to carry the child after her.”
Quickly Hector turned and again traversed the streets of Troy. When he reached the Scaean Gates, Andromache, his wife, the lovely daughter of Eetion, king of Thebe in Cilicia, came swiftly toward him. A serving-woman followed her, clasping to her breast the boy Astyanax, radiant as a star. The father looked at his son with a quiet smile, but Andromache went up to him with tears in her eyes, took his hand tenderly, and said: “Surely your courage will be the death of you! Have you no pity on your child or on your unhappy wife whom you will soon leave widowed? If I am deprived of you, it were best I sank into the earth. Achilles slew my father, my mother fell by the arrow of Artemis, and my seven brothers were also done to death by the son of Peleus. You are all I have, Hector. You are father, mother, and brothers to me. And so, take pity on me and stay here in the tower. Do not make an orphan of your child! Place your battalions over there, on that hill overgrown with fig trees. For there the wall is open to attack and easiest to scale. Three times already the bravest of the Argives—the two Ajaces, Idomeneus, the sons of Atreus, and Diomedes—have turned their steps in that direction, guided perhaps by the words of a soothsayer or by their own intuition.”
Tenderly Hector replied: “All this weighs heavily on me too, beloved. But I should disgrace myself before the men and women of Troy if I stayed here, like a coward, and watched the battle from afar. Nor does my own courage permit me such a course; it has always driven me on to the front. My heart tells me the day will come when sacred Troy shall lie in ruins and Priam and all his people be destroyed. But neither the sufferings of the Trojans nor those of my own parents and brothers, falling under the sword strokes of the Argives, will give me the pain I shall feel for you. An Achaean will carry you off into captivity. You will weep and lament. In Argos you will sit at the loom or fetch water, and someone seeing your tears may say: ‘That was Hector’s wife!’ Let the burial mound cover me rather than that I should hear your moans when they take you away.”
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