No, let an aide attend you here while I rush back
to Achilles, spur him into combat. Who knows?
With a god’s help I just might rouse him now,
bring his fighting spirit round at last.
The persuasion of a comrade has its powers.”
With the last words his feet sped him on.
Meanwhile the Argives blocked the Trojan assault
but they still could not repel them from the fleet,
outnumbering them as they did. Nor could the Trojans
once break through the Argives’ bulking forward mass
and force their passage through to ships and shelters.
Tense as a chalk-line marks the cut of a ship timber,
drawn taut and true in a skilled shipwright’s hands—
some master craftsman trained in Athena’s school—
so tense the battle line was drawn, dead even ...
Some forces at some ships, some clashing at others,
but Hector charged head-on at Ajax braced for battle
and both warriors fought it out for a single vessel,
nor could Hector burst through and ignite the hull
nor Ajax drive him back—a god drove Hector on.
And here came Caletor son of Trojan Clytius
sweeping fire against the prow but famous Ajax
stopped him short with a spear that stabbed his chest.
Down he crashed, the torch dropped from his fist,
right before Hector’s eyes—he watched his cousin
sprawl in the dust before the huge black ship
and gave a stirring cry to all his units:
“Trojans! Lycians! Dardan fighters hand-to-hand,
don’t yield an inch, not in these bloody straits!
Rescue Caletor before the Argives strip his gear—
he’s down, he’s dead by the ships that crowd the beach!”
As he raised that cry he flung his spear at Ajax—
but the glinting metal missed and he hit Mastor’s son,
Lycophron, Ajax’ friend-in-arms, Cythera-born
yet he lived with Ajax once he’d killed a man
on Cythera’s holy shores. Hector killed him now
with whetted bronze, cleaving his skull above the ear
as he stood by Ajax. Down off the ship’s stem he dropped,
his back slamming the ground, his limbs slack in death,
and Ajax shuddered, calling out to his brother,
“Teucer, my friend—our trusted comrade’s dead,
Mastor’s son who came our way from Cythera.
We lived in our halls together, prized the man
as we prize our beloved parents—Hector’s killed him!
Hurry, where are your arrows fletched with death?
Where is the bow that god Apollo gave you?”
Teucer took the challenge, rushed to his side
and reflex bow in hand and quiver bristling shafts
he loosed a splattering burst against the Trojans.
He picked off Clitus, Pisenor’s shining son—
the charioteer to noble Panthous’ son Polydamas—
wrestling the reins, struggling to head his horses
straight for the point where most battalions panicked,
eager to please Prince Hector and all his Trojans,
Clitus raced on but his death came even faster.
No one could save him now, strain as they did—
a sudden arrow jabbed him behind the neck,
pierced him with pain and out the car he hurtled—
horses rearing in terror, empty chariot clattering off.
But their master Polydamas marked the kill at once,
ran and planted himself across the horses’ path
and handed them on to Protiaon’s son Astynous,
shouting strict commands—“Watch my every move!
Keep the team close by!”—then veering away himself,
back again to grapple frontline troops.
But Teucer—
quick with his next shaft the archer aimed at Hector,
at Hector’s brazen crest, and would have stopped
his assault on Argive ships, hit him squarely
and torn his life out just as his courage peaked.
But he could not dodge the lightning mind of Zeus—
standing guard over Hector
Zeus tore the glory right from Teucer’s grasp,
he snapped the twisted cord on his handsome bow
just as the archer drew it taut against his man
and the weighted bronze shaft skittered off to the side,
the bow dropped from his hand and Teucer shuddered,
calling out to his brother, “Oh what luck—look,
some power cuts us out of the fighting, foils our plans!
He’s knocked the bow from my grip, snapped the string,
the fresh gut I tied to the weapon just at dawn
to launch the showers of arrows I’d let fly.”
“Too bad, my friend,” said Ajax. “Leave them there,
that bow and spill of arrows down on the ground—
a god with a grudge against us wrecks them all.
Take up a long spear, shield on your shoulder,
go for the Trojans, urge your troops to battle.
Maybe they’ve whipped us here but not without a fight
will they take our benched ships. Call up the joy of war!”
At that his brother dropped his bow in a shelter,
slung a shield on his shoulder, four plies thick,
over his powerful head he set a well-forged helmet,
the horsehair crest atop it tossing, bristling terror.
And taking a rugged spearshaft tipped with whetted bronze
the archer went on the run to stand by Ajax’ side.
But Hector, seeing Teucer’s arrows in disarray,
let fly a resounding shout to all his units:
“Trojans! Lycians! Dardan fighters hand-to-hand!
Fight like men, my friends, call up your battle-fury-
make for the hollow ships! I see with my own eyes
how Zeus has blocked their finest archer’s arrows.
Easy to see what help Zeus lends to mortals,
either to those he gives surpassing glory
or those he saps and wastes, refuses to defend,
just as he wastes the Argives’ power but backs us now.
So fight by the ships, all together. And that comrade
who meets his death and destiny, speared or stabbed,
let him die! He dies fighting for fatherland—
no dishonor there!
He’ll leave behind him wife and sons unscathed,
his house and estate unharmed—once these Argives
sail for home, the fatherland they love.”
That was his cry
as Hector put fresh fighting spirit in each man.
But Ajax fired the troops on his side too:
“Shame, you Argives! All or nothing now—
die, or live and drive defeat from the ships!
You want this flashing Hector to take the fleet
then each man walk the waves to regain his native land?
Can’t you hear him calling his armies on, full force,
this Hector, wild to gut our hulls with fire?
He’s not inviting them to a dance, believe me—
he commands them into battle! No better tactics now
than to fight them hand-to-hand with all our fury.
Quick, better to live or die, once and for all,
than die by inches, slowly crushed to death—
helpless against the hulls in the bloody press—
by far inferior men!”
And that was Ajax’ cry
as the giant put fresh fighting spirit in each man.
But Hector cut down Schedius now, Perimedes’ son,
a Phocian chieftain—and Aj
ax killed Laodamas,
captain of infantry, Antenor’s splendid son—
and Polydamas killed Cyllenian Otus outright,
Meges’ friend, one of the proud Epeans’ leaders.
Meges saw him drop, he lunged at Polydamas, fast,
but he ducked and veered away and Meges missed him—
Apollo was not about to let him fall at the front,
not Panthous’ son. But Meges did hit Croesmus,
stabbed him square in the chest with a thrusting-lance
and down he crashed—with Meges tearing the armor off his back
as the Trojan Dolops lunged at him. A crack spearman—
Laomedon’s grandson, Lampus’ big and brawny son,
the strongest he sired, the best trained for assault—
Dolops quickly went for Meges at close range,
he speared his bulging shield
but the solid breastplate warded off the blow
with both plates fitted tight to bind his body.
The gear his father brought from Ephyra once ...
the Selleis banks where his host the lord Euphetes
gave him that sturdy bronze to wear in battle,
to beat off the bloody attacks of desperate men
and now it saved his son’s young flesh from death.
So Meges chopped at the crown of Dolops’ bronze helmet,
split its spiny ridge with a sharp cleaving spear
and sheared away its bristling horsehair crest.
Down in the dust the war-gear tumbled, all
still glistening bright in its fresh purple dye
but the man stood his ground, still rearing to fight,
his hopes still soaring for triumph. But now Menelaus,
Atrides out for blood, moved in to fight for Meges—
spear poised in his grip—in from the blind side
and struck from behind the Trojan’s shoulder so hard
the spear came jutting out through his chest in all its fury
and Dolops reeled and sank, facedown on the ground.
The two men swarmed over him, ripping the armor
off his back as Hector called his kinsmen on,
all his kinsmen, but marked out Hicetaon’s son
the strong Melanippus, railing first at him ...
He used to graze his shambling herds in Percote,
long ago when the enemy’s forces stood far off
but once the rolling ships of Achaea swept ashore,
home he came to Troy where he shone among the Trojans,
living close to Priam, who prized him like his sons.
But Hector rebuked him now, shouting out his name:
“Metanippus—how can we take things lying down this way?
No qualm in your heart for this? Your cousin’s dead!
Can’t you see how they’re clawing over Dolops’ armor?
Follow me now. No more standing back, no fighting
these Argives at a distance—kill them hand-to-hand.
Now—before they topple towering Ilium down,
all our people slaughtered!”
So with a shout
he surged ahead and his gallant cohort followed.
But Great Telamonian Ajax spurred his Argives on:
“Be men, my friends! Discipline fill your hearts!
Dread what comrades say of you here in bloody combat!
When men dread that, more men come through alive—
when soldiers break and run, good-bye glory,
good-bye all defenses!”
Up in arms as they were
to shield themselves, they took his word to heart
and round the ships they raised a wall of bronze.
But against them Zeus impelled the Trojan ranks
as Menelaus lord of the war cry urged Antilochus,
“None of the younger troops, Antilochus, none
is faster of foot than you or tougher in combat—
why not leap right in and lay some Trojan out?”
Menelaus withdrew as he drove Antilochus on.
Out of the front he sprang, glaring left and right
and hurled his spear—a glinting brazen streak—
and the Trojans scattered, cringing before his shaft ...
no wasted shot! Antilochus hit Hicetaon’s son,
impetuous Melanippus sweeping into battle,
slashed him across the chest beside the nipple.
Down he crashed and the darkness swirled his eyes
with Antilochus rushing over him like some hound
pouncing down on a deer that’s just been wounded—
leaping out of its lair a hunter’s speared it,
a lethal hit that’s loosed its springy limbs.
So staunch Antilochus leapt at you, Melanippus,
stripping away your gear, but Hector marked it now
and straight through the ruck he charged Antilochus hard.
Quick as that fighter was, he could not hold his ground,
not there—he turned tail and broke like a rogue beast
that’s done some serious damage, mauled a dog to death
or a herdsman tending flocks, and takes to his heels
before the gangs of men can group and go against him.
So Antilochus turned and ran as a savage cry went up
and Hector and all his Trojans showered deadly shafts
in hot pursuit, but he wheeled and stood his ground
when he reached his thronging cohorts.
Now to the ships—
now like a pride of man-eating lions the Trojan forces
stormed the fleet, fulfilling Zeus’s strict commands
as Zeus kept building their fury higher, stunned
the Argives’ spirit and wrenched away their glory,
lashing Trojans on. The Father’s will was set
on giving glory over to Hector son of Priam
that he might hurl his torch at the beaked ships—
the force of fire, quenchless, ravening fire, yes,
and bring to its bitter end the disastrous prayer of Thetis.
For that alone he waited, the god who rules the world,
to see with his own eyes the first Achaean ship
go up in a blaze of flames. Then, from that point on
he’d thrust the Trojans breakneck back from the fleet
and give the Argives glory. Dead set now on that,
he drove Prince Hector against the hollow hulls
though the son of Priam raged in his own right,
raged like Ares with brandished spear, or flash fire
roaring down from a ridge into thick stands of timber.
The foam flecked his mouth and his eyes shot flame,
glaring under his shaggy brows and round his head
his helmet shook and clashed, a terrific wild din—
Hector on the attack! And high in the clear sky
Zeus himself defended his champion—Hector alone
he prized and glorified among hordes of men 710
for Hector’s life would be cut short so soon ...
Why, even now Athena was speeding the fatal day
The Iliad Page 56
