and ripped your life away! Then my Trojans
could catch their breath again, reprieved from death—
they cringed at you like bleating goats before some lion.”
But never flinching, staunch Diomedes countered,
“So brave with your bow and arrows—big bravado—
glistening lovelocks, roving eye for girls!
Come, try me in combat, weapons hand-to-hand-
bow and spattering shafts will never help you then.
You scratch my foot and you’re vaunting all the same—
but who cares? A woman or idiot boy could wound me so.
The shaft of a good-for-nothing coward’s got no point
but mine’s got heft and edge. Let it graze a man—
my weapon works in a flash and drops him dead.
And his good wife will tear her cheeks in grief,
his sons are orphans and he, soaking the soil
red with his own blood, he rots away himself—
more birds than women flocking round his body!”
So he yelled and the famous spearman Odysseus
rushed in close and reared up to shield him.
Slipping behind, Tydides dropped to a knee
and yanked the winged arrow from his foot
as the raw pain went stabbing through his flesh.
Back Diomedes jumped on his car and told his driver
to make for the hollow ships—Tydides racked with pain.
That left the famous spearman Odysseus on his own,
not a single Argive comrade standing by his side
since panic seized them all. Unnerved himself,
Odysseus probed his own great fighting heart:
“O dear god, what becomes of Odysseus now?
A disgraceful thing if I should break and run,
fearing their main force—but it’s far worse
if I’m taken all alone. Look, Zeus just drove
the rest of my comrades off in panic flight.
But why debate, my friend, why thrash things out?
Cowards, I know, would quit the fighting now
but the man who wants to make his mark in war
must stand his ground and brace for all he’s worth—
suffer his wounds or wound his man to death.”
Weighing it all, heart and soul, as on they came,
waves of Trojan shieldsmen crowding him tighter,
closing in on their own sure destruction ...
like hounds and lusty hunters closing, ringing
a wild boar till out of his thicket lair he crashes,
whetting his white tusks sharp in his bent, wrenching jaws
and they rush in to attack and under the barks and shouts
you can hear the gnash of tusks but the men stand firm—
terrible, murderous as he is—so the Trojans ringed
Odysseus dear to Zeus, rushing him straight on.
But he lunged first, wounding lordly Deiopites,
spearshaft slicing into the Trojan’s shoulder,
then cut down Thoon and Ennomus in their blood,
Chersidamas next, vaulting down from his car—
Odysseus caught him up under the bulging shield
with a jabbing spear that split him crotch to navel—
the man writhed in the dust, hands clutching the earth.
Odysseus left them dead and skewered Hippasus’ son,
one Charops the blood brother of wealthy Socus
but Socus moved in quick as a god to shield his kin,
standing up to his enemy, crying out, “Odysseus—
wild for fame, glutton for cunning, glutton for war,
today you can triumph over the two sons of Hippasus,
killing such good men and stripping off their gear—
or beaten down by my spear you’ll breathe your last!”
With that he stabbed at Odysseus’ balanced shield,
straight through the gleaming hide the heavy weapon drove,
ripping down and in through the breastplate finely worked
and it flayed the skin clean off Odysseus’ ribs
but Pallas Athena would never let it pierce
her hero’s vitals. Odysseus knew the end
had not yet come—no final, fatal wound—
and drawing back he hurled his boast at Socus:
“Poor man, headlong death is about to overtake you!
You’ve stopped my fighting against the Trojans, true,
but I tell you here and now that a dark, bloody doom
will take you down today—gouged by my spear
you’ll give me glory now,
you’ll give your life to the famous horseman Death!”
And spinning in terror off he ran but as he spun
Odysseus plunged a spear in his back between the shoulders—
straight through his chest the shaft came jutting out
and down Socus crashed, Odysseus vaunting over him:
“Socus, son of Hippasus, skilled breaker of horses,
so, Death in its rampage outraced you—no escape.
No, poor soldier. Now your father and noble mother
will never close your eyes in death—screaming vultures
will claw them out of you, wings beating your corpse!
But I, if I should die,
my comrades-in-arms will bury me in style!”
He dragged the heavy spear of hardened Socus
squelching out of his own wound and bulging shield.
As the fighter tore it out the blood came gushing forth
and his heart sank. And seeing Odysseus bleeding there
the Trojan troops exulted, calling across the melee,
charging him in a mass as edging, backing off
he gave ground now, calling his own companions.
Three shattering cries he loosed at full pitch
till Odysseus’ head would burst—three times
Menelaus tense for combat heard his cries
and at once he called to Ajax standing near,
“Ajax, royal son of Telamon, captain of armies,
my ears ring with his cries—Odysseus never daunted.
He sounds like a man cut off and overpowered,
mauled by Trojan ranks in the rough assault.
Quick through the onset—better save him now!
I’m afraid he may be hurt, alone with the Trojans,
brave as Odysseus is—a blow to all our troops.”
And Atrides led the way and Ajax took his lead,
striding on like a god until they found Odysseus
dear to Zeus but round him Trojans thronged
like tawny jackals up in the mountains swarming
round a homed stag just wounded—a hunter’s hit him
with one fast shaft from his bow and the stag’s escaped,
sprinting at top speed so long as his blood runs warm
and the spring in his knees still lasts ...
But soon as the swift arrow saps his strength
the ravening carrion packs begin their feasting
off on a ridge in twilight woods until some god,
some power drives a lion down against them—ctaw-mad
and the panicked jackals scatter, the lion rends their prey.
So packed around Odysseus skilled and quick to maneuver
swarmed the brave bulk of Trojans—but still the hero
kept on lunging, spearing, keeping death at bay.
And in moved Ajax now, planted right beside him,
bearing that shield of his like a wall, a tower—
Trojans scattered in panic, bolting left and right
while the fighting son of Atreus led Odysseus
through the onslaught, bracing him with an arm
till a reinsman drove his team and car up close.
But charging down on the Trojans Ajax killed Doryclus,
bastard son of Priam—he wounded Pandocus next,
&
nbsp; wounded Lysander, Pyrasus, then Pylartes.
Wild as a swollen river hurling down on the flats,
down from the hills in winter spate, bursting its banks
with rain from storming Zeus, and stands of good dry oak,
whole forests of pine it whorls into itself and sweeps along
till it heaves a crashing mass of driftwood out to sea—
so glorious Ajax swept the field, routing Trojans,
shattering teams and spearmen in his onslaught.
Nor had Hector once got wind of the rampage ...
far off on the left flank of the whole campaign
he fought his way, powering past Scamander’s banks
where the heads of fighters fell in biggest numbers
and grim incessant war cries rose around tall Nestor
and battle-hard Idomeneus. Hector amidst them now
engaged them with a vengeance, doing bloody work
with lances flung and a master’s horsemanship,
destroying young battalions. Still the Achaeans
never would have yielded before the prince’s charge
if Paris the lord of lovely fair-haired Helen
had not put a stop to Machaon’s gallant fighting,
striking the healer squarely with an arrow
triple-flanged that gouged his right shoulder.
Achaeans breathing fury feared for Machaon no.w:
what if the tide turned and Trojans killed the healer?
Idomeneus suddenly called to Nestor, “Pride of Achaeal
Quick, mount your chariot, mount Machaon beside you—
lash your team to the warships, fast, full gallop!
A man who can cut out shafts and dress our wounds—
a good healer is worth a troop of other men.”
Nestor the noble charioteer did not resist.
He mounted his car at once as Asclepius’ son,
Machaon bom of the famous healer swung aboard.
He lashed the team and on they flew to the ships,
holding nothing back—that’s where their spirits
drove them on to go.
But riding on with Hector
Cebriones saw the Trojan rout and shouted, “Hector!
Look at us here, engaging Argives with a vengeance,
true, but off on the fringe of brutal all-out war
while our central force is routed pell-mell,
men and chariots flung against each other.
Giant Ajax drives them—I recognize the man,
that wall of a buckler slung around his shoulders.
Hurry, head our chariot right where the fighting’s thickest,
there—horse and infantry hurling into the slaughter,
hacking each other down, terrific war cries rising!”
With that, Cebriones flogged their sleek team
and leaping under the whistling, crackling whip
they sped the careering car into both milling armies,
trampling shields and corpses, axle under the chariot splashed
with blood, blood on the handrails sweeping round the car,
sprays of blood shooting up from the stallions’ hoofs
and churning, whirling rims. And Hector straining
to wade into the press and panicked ruck of men,
charge them, break them down—he flung terror
and stark disaster square in the Argive lines,
never pausing, giving his spear no rest.
Hector kept on ranging, battling ranks on ranks,
slashing his spear and sword and flinging heavy rocks
but he stayed clear of attacking Ajax man-to-man.
But Father Zeus on the heights forced Ajax to retreat.
He stood there a moment, stunned,
then swinging his seven-ply oxhide shield behind him,
drew back in caution, throwing a fast glance
at his own Achaean troops like a trapped beast,
pivoting, backpedaling, step by short step ...
Like a tawny lion when hounds and country field hands
drive him out of their steadings filled with cattle—
they’ll never let him tear the rich fat from the oxen,
all night long they stand guard but the lion craves meat,
he lunges in and in but his charges gain him nothing,
thick-and-fast from their hardy arms the javelins
rain down in his face, and waves of blazing torches—
these the big cat fears, balking for all his rage,
and at dawn he slinks away, his spirits dashed.
So Ajax slowly drew back from the Trojans,
spirits dashed, and much against his will,
fearing the worst for Achaea’s waiting ships.
Like a stubborn ass some boys lead down a road ...
stick after stick they’ve cracked across his back
but he’s too much for them now, he rambles into a field
to ravage standing crops. They keep beating his ribs,
splintering sticks—their struggle child’s play
till with one final shove they drive him off
but not before he’s had his fill of feed.
So with Telamon’s son Great Ajax then—
vaunting Trojans and all their far-flung allies
kept on stabbing his shield, full center, no letup.
And now the giant fighter would summon up his fury,
wheeling on them again, beating off platoons
of the stallion-breaking Trojans—and now again
he’d swerve around in flight. But he blocked them all
from hacking passage through to the fast trim ships
as Ajax all alone, battling on mid-field between
Achaean and Trojan lines, would stand and fight.
Some spears that flew from the Trojans’ hardy arms,
hurtling forward, stuck fast in his huge shield
but showers of others, cut short
halfway before they could graze his gleaming skin,
stuck in the ground,.still lusting to sink in flesh.
But Euaemon’s shining son Eurypylus saw him
overwhelmed by the Trojans’ dense barrage of spears.
Up to his side he dashed and flanked Great Ajax tight,
let fly with a spear and the glinting spearpoint hit
the son of Phausias, Apisaon captain of armies,
square in the liver, up under the midriff—
his knees went limp as Eurypylus rushed in,
starting to rip the armor off his shoulders.
But now Paris spotted him stripping Apisaon,
drew his bow at Eurypylus, fast—he shot well
and the arrow struck him full in the right thigh
but the shaft snapped, the thigh weighed down with pain.
Eurypylus staggered back to his massing comrades,
dodging death, and shouted a stark piercing cry:
“Friends—lords of the Argives, all our captains!
Come, wheel round—stand firm!
Beat the merciless day of death from Ajax,
The Iliad Page 43
