Metamorphoses

by Ovid

  as he lamented the death of Phaëthon,

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  and exercised his unremitting wrath

  on manslaying Achilles, whom he hated.

  War had been waged for almost ten years now,

  and Neptune urged Apollo’s intervention:

  “O most obliging of my brother’s sons,

  with whom I built Troy’s ineffectual walls,

  do you not groan at sight of that citadel

  so soon to fall? And do you not lament

  for the many thousands slain defending it?

  And of those many, whom I will not speak of,

  does not the shade of Hector rise from below,

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  his corpse appearing just as when Achilles

  shamefully dragged him round the Trojan walls?

  “But he who has a greater thirst for blood

  than even Mars himself, the pillager

  of our handiwork—Achilles—he still lives!

  Give him to me, and I will make him feel

  what I can do with my three-pronged spear!

  “But since I am not permitted to engage

  my enemy in combat hand to hand

  the task is yours: slay him with an arrow,

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  unseen and unexpected.”

  So Apollo,

  agreeing with his uncle, gave assent,

  and in a cloud, came to the Trojan front,

  where, in the midst of slaughter, he discerned

  Paris, lackadaisically shooting

  his arrows at anonymous Achaeans.

  Revealing his divinity to him,

  Apollo said, “Why do you waste your barbs

  on nobodies? If you have any care

  for your own people, take aim at Achilles,

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  and so avenge his slaughter of your brothers!”

  And with these words, he showed him where Achilles

  was devastating Trojans with his spear,

  and made him turn his bow in that direction,

  and with his own death-dealing hand, he guided

  that certain arrow to its fated target.

  Not since the death of Hector had old Priam

  a cause for celebration; now he had:

  that you, Achilles, conqueror of many,

  are overcome by an unheroic

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  adulterer who snatched a Grecian’s wife!

  Better that you were slain in battle by

  an Amazon, wielding her double axe.

  Now he who was the terror of the Trojans,

  the glory and protector of the Greeks,

  invincible Achilles, has been burned

  upon the pyre; one god and the same

  armed this great hero and consumed him quite;

  now he is ashes: and the little left

  of great Achilles scarcely fills an urn,

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  although his living glory fills the world.

  That glory is the measure of the man,

  and it is this that is Achilles’ essence,

  nor does he feel the emptiness of death.

  His very shield—that you should be aware

  whose it once was—now instigates a battle,

  and for his arms, arms are now taken up.

  None of the lesser leaders, such as Ajax,

  the son of Oileos, or Diomedes,

  or Menelaüs dares to lay a claim,

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  nor any of the other leaders, more

  distinguished for their age and experience;

  only Ajax, the son of Telamon,

  and Ulysses are bold enough to do so.

  Now Agamemnon, to spare himself the thankless

  burden of deciding on this issue,

  ordered the Argive leaders to assemble

  in the middle of the camp, and hear the case,

  and come to a decision by themselves.

  BOOK XIII

  SPOILS OF WAR AND PANGS OF LOVE

  Ajax versus Ulysses The sorrows of Hecuba Memnon The daughters of Anius The daughters of Orion Polyphemus, Galatea, and Acis Scylla and Glaucus

  Ajax versus Ulysses

  The leaders were seated while the common grunts

  stood round them in a circle. Ajax rose,

  the master of the seven-layered shield,

  now barely able to contain his anger.

  He looked back at the fleet along the shore,

  then pointed to it, fiercely glowering:

  “By Jupiter, it is appropriate

  to plead my case before these ships,” he said,

  and fitting that I clash here with Ulysses,

  who did not hesitate to yield them up

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  to Hector’s torches—which I held at bay,

  then put to flight!

  “There’s more security

  in flinging lies than fighting hand to hand.

  But I’m as slow to speak as he to act;

  I am his master on the battlefield,

  as he is mine—when it comes to talking.

  “Nor is it necessary, fellow Greeks,

  that I remind you once again of my great deeds,

  for you have seen them: let Ulysses tell

  his stories of events that went unwitnessed,

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  which none but night, it seems, was privy to.

  “I realize I seek a great reward,

  but having such a rival is demeaning

  and cheats me of the honor I am due:

  Ajax cannot be proud to win a prize,

  no matter how substantial, that Ulysses

  can have the expectation of receiving;

  he has already gotten his reward,

  for when his claim has been rejected, he

  can boast that he and I were fairly matched!

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  “But even if my courage were in doubt,

  my lineage would prove superior

  to his, for I am the son of Telamon,

  who, under Hercules, once captured Troy,

  then sailed to Colchis for the Golden Fleece;

  Telamon’s father was Aeacus, the stern judge

  of the silent underworld, where Sisyphus

  is forced to push a huge rock up a hill.

  Since Jupiter, the highest god in heaven,

  acknowledges Aeacus as his son,

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  I am the great-great-grandson of great Jove!

  “But this connection should not advance my cause

  unless I am related to Achilles:

  and he’s my cousin! I seek a cousin’s arms!

  And why do you, O son of Sisyphus,

  and most like him in lies and thievery,

  seek to associate Aeacus’ line

  with the name of an unrelated family?

  “Is it because I freely took up arms

  that arms are now denied me? Is the better man

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  the one who was the last to go to war,

  who sought to shirk the action by feigned madness,

  till someone who was cleverer than he,

  but not as self-serving, Palamades,

  exposed this coward’s trickery and forced him

  to take up the very weapons that he shunned?

  Shall he now have the best of arms, who wished

  no arms at all? Shall I go without honor,

  deprived of my own cousin’s worthy gifts,

  because I was the first to go to battle?

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  “Would that Ulysses had been truly mad,

  or that we had believed him: either way

  the fellow never would have come to Troy

  and driven us to crimes! You, Philoctetes,

  would not have been—to our shame—abandoned

  on Lemnos, where, they say, you hide yourself

  in woods and caves, and move the rocks to groans

  with curses you call down upon Ulysses,

  well merited, and not
—if there are gods—

  called down in vain! And he who took the oath

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  to fight in our cause, a leader who

  inherited the bow of Hercules,

  now perishes of hunger and disease,

  is clothed and nurtured by the birds brought down

  with arrows fate intended for the Trojans!

  “No matter: he still lives, at least—because

  he chose not to accompany Ulysses,

  unlike unfortunate Palamades,

  who would prefer to have been left behind,

  and would be living now—or would have died

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  without dishonor; for Ulysses here,

  reacting to the exposure of his madness,

  accused him of betraying our cause,

  and as his proof of this fictitious crime,

  produced the gold which he himself had hidden!

  And so, by means of exile or by murder,

  he has reduced the strength of our forces;

  that’s how he fights, and why he must be feared.

  “Although his eloquence surpasses Nestor’s,

  the man will never manage to persuade me

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  that abandoning old Nestor was no crime:

  for when, exhausted by extreme old age

  and held back by his wounded mount, he begged

  Ulysses’ aid, his friend deserted him;

  not only I, but Diomedes too,

  is well aware of this: he called to him

  repeatedly and seized him as he fled,

  reproaching him for his timidity!

  “The gods, however, even out the scales:

  behold, Ulysses is in need of aid,

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  who did not offer it; he who once left

  another must himself be left behind;

  a precedent that he himself has set.

  He cries to his companions for relief;

  arriving, I observe him trembling, pale,

  all discomposed by his impending doom;

  I plant my massive shield in front of him

  and save—no praise is due—his worthless life.

  “Will you keep on contesting me? If so,

  let us return, then, to the battlefield,

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  to the enemy, your wound, your constant fear:

  crouch down again behind my shield and argue!

  But once I had relieved him of the danger,

  he took off on those legs he couldn’t stand on—

  his ‘wound,’ remember? No laggard here!

  “Hector shows up and leads the gods to battle,

  and where he charges, not just you, Ulysses,

  are terrified, but even brave men too,

  so great a fear that warrior inspires.

  And while he was rejoicing in a string

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  of bloody victories, I laid him low

  with a great rock I hurled from quite a distance;

  when he sought someone out for single combat,

  I was the only one to undertake it;

  you prayed the lot would fall to me, Achaeans,

  and your prayers were answered. If you would learn

  the fortunes of that battle, know that I

  survived it undefeated by great Hector!

  “Look where the Trojans rush out of their city,

  carrying iron, fire, and the force of Jove

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  against our helpless fleet! Where’s glib Ulysses?

  A thousand ships, the hope of your return,

  and who protected them but me, alone!

  Give me the armor in exchange for them!

  “In truth, if I may say so, it’s the prize

  that seeks association with my glory,

  and would be honored much more than would I—

  for it’s the armor would be given Ajax,

  not Ajax the armor.

  “To my heroic deeds

  Ulysses should compare the way he dealt

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  with Rhesus, Dolon, and Helenus,

  his capture of the statue of Athena:

  none of these deeds was done in the light of day,

  and none without his Diomedes’ help;

  but if, on such weak merits, you decide

  to give the armor, then divide it up

  and give the larger share to Diomedes!

  “What use does someone like Ulysses—who

  conducts maneuvers secretly, unarmed,

  relying on his cunning to deceive

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  a careless foe—what use has he for armor?

  The rays reflecting from the golden helmet

  would spoil his ambush and reveal him hiding;

  nor could his head support the weight of it,

  not any more than his unwarlike arm

  could heft the spear shaft grown on Pelion;

  nor is the shield, engraved to represent

  the world in all its vastness, suitable

  for his left hand—the timid, thieving one!

  “Indecent man, why do you ask for gifts

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  that cannot but enfeeble you? Gifts which,

  if ever by some error on the part

  of the Achaeans, were presented to you,

  would not inspire terror in our foe,

  but greed to strip such prizes from your corpse!

  “And flight, most timid one, your only gift,

  and the one in which you do surpass us all,

  will be impeded for you by that burden.

  “To all these reasons let us add one more:

  your shield, so rarely used, is still brand new,

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  while mine, which bears a multitude of scars,

  is urgently in need of a replacement.

  “And finally, what need is there for words?

  Let us be seen in action: send the armor

  back to our foe, then order its recapture,

  and give it to the one who rescues it.”

  Ajax concluded: an approving murmur

  broke out among the soldiers standing there.

  Ulysses rose, paused briefly, and looked up

  to gaze upon the leaders, then began

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  to speak the words they had been waiting for,

  ingratiating in his eloquence.

  “If our prayers had triumphed—yours and mine,

  my fellow Greeks—there’d be no doubt at all

  as to the winner of this important match,

  and you would have your armor, now, Achilles,

  and we would now have you; but since his fate

  unfairly must deny him to you, to me—”

  and here he made as though to wipe his eyes,

  “the one who should relieve him of his armor

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  is the one who brought him to relieve the Greeks.

  “I don’t want my opponent here to profit

  simply because he seems to be (and is)

  just a bit slow—or that I should be harmed

  for being clever, or for having used

  my cleverness to your advantage always;

  my eloquence now takes its master’s side,

  but it has often spoken up for you;

  I would not have it garner any envy,

  for each should do his best with his own gifts.

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  “My race and family, the famous deeds

  of famous ancestors are not my own;

  since Ajax raised this issue, though, by claiming

  that Jove was his great-grandfather, I

  have to reply that he was also mine,

  the founding father of my father’s line:

  my father was Laertes; Arcesius,

  the son of Jupiter, was his; and nowhere

  in my father’s line was anyone convicted

  of criminal offenses, or condemned

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  to exile; moreove
r, on my mother’s side,

  Mercury adds his luster to our name;

  my lineage, on both sides, is divine!

  “But the reason why I ask you for these arms

  is not because of my more noble birth

  (owing to my mother) nor because

  my father was innocent of fratricide:

  this case must be decided on its merits;

  that Telamon and Peleus were brothers

  should not advantage Ajax: not origin,

  but honor ought to be considered here

  in seeing which of us deserves the plunder!

  “For if inheritance is linear,

  Achilles had a father, Peleus,

  and a son, Pyrrhus: so where is there a place

  for Ajax in Achilles’ family?

  Let the arms be sent to Phthia or Scyros!

  Teucer was a cousin of Achilles,

  no less than Ajax: does he seek the armor,

  and if he did, would he be like to win?

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  “Plain speech is what is called for in this contest;

  I have done more than words can manifest,

  yet I will try to tell my deeds in order.

  “Achilles’ mother, an immortal nymph,

  foreseeing the destruction of her son,

  attempted to disguise him as a woman:

  though her deception took in everyone,

  including Ajax, it was I who introduced

  some arms that would arouse a manly spirit

  among the items in the women’s quarters;

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  although he was still dressed up as a maiden,

  at once Achilles grasped the spear and shield:

  ‘O goddess-born,’ I said, ‘Troy waits for you,

  a city destined for destruction—why

  do you prevent yourself from sacking it?’

  I seized his hand, inspired and possessed him,

  then sent that brave man off to do brave things.

  “So everything that he did was my doing;

  my spear defeated Telephus in battle,

  whom I restored, when he entreated me;

  if Thebes has fallen, I deserve the thanks,

  and you can credit me with Lesbos and

  the cities of Apollo: Tenedos,

  Chryse, and Cilla; give me Scyros too,

  and grant that it was my right arm alone

  reduced the walls of Lyrnesus to rubble,

  and—not to speak of other actions—I,

  and no one else, gave you the only man

  able to destroy the warlike Hector; yes,

  through me that famous hero met his end!

  I seek these arms then, in exchange for those

  by which the hidden hero was discovered;

  I gave him arms while he was living; now,

  after his death, I ask them back again.

  “When one man’s troubles spread to all of Greece,

  and a thousand ships were idling at Aulis,

  all waiting for a wind that wouldn’t come,