The Iliad

by Robert Fagels

  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,