by Homer
When Achilles had drawn them all up, men with their commanders in their proper ranks, he addressed them bluntly:
(200) ’Myrmidons, let none of you forget what you have been threatening to do to the Trojans here by the ships while I indulged my anger. There is not one of you who did not abuse me: ‘‘Obstinate son of Peleus, your mother suckled you with bile, not milk; you brute, holding your men back by the ships against their will. Let’s take to our seafaring vessels and sail home again, since you are in the grip of such pernicious rage.’’ That’s what you said about me when you all got together. Well now, a bit of real work has come your way, the sort of fight you have been longing for. So, brave hearts, let the Trojans have it!’
(210) So he spoke and put fresh heart and courage into every man, and the ranks closed when they heard their lord. As a mason fits together blocks of stone when he builds the wall of a high house to make sure of keeping out the wind, so tightly packed were their helmets and their bossed shields. They stood so close together, shield to shield, helmet to helmet, man to man, that when they moved their heads, the glittering peaks of their plumed helmets met. And in front of them all Patroclus and Automedon stood ready for battle, two men united in their (220) resolution to fight in the forefront of the Myrmidons.
But Achilles went off to his hut, where he lifted the lid of a beautiful inlaid chest which his mother silver-footed Thetis had packed with tunics, wind-proof cloaks and thick rugs, and put on board ship for him to take on his journey. In this he kept a lovely cup, from which he alone drank the sparkling wine and which he himself used for libations to no other god but Father Zeus. He took it from the chest and, after purifying it (230) with sulphur, rinsed it in a lovely stream of water, washed his hands and drew off some sparkling wine. Then, standing in the middle of the forecourt, he prayed and, looking up into the sky, poured out the wine. Zeus who delights in thunder did not fail to notice him:
Prayers for Patroclus’ return
’Lord Zeus, god of Dodona, god of the Pelasgi, you that live far away and rule over wintry Dodona, surrounded by your interpreters the Helloi, who leave their feet unwashed and sleep on the ground; you listened when I prayed to you before and you honoured me by striking a mighty blow at the Greek army. Now grant me (240) another wish. I myself am going to stay here by the ships, but I am sending my comrade with many of my Myrmidons into battle. Grant him victory, far-thundering Zeus, and fill his heart with daring, so that Hector finds out whether my attendant knows how to fight on his own or whether his hands rage invincibly only when I throw myself into the grind of battle. And directly he has driven the tumult and the fighting back from the ships, let him come back to me here at my own ships safe and sound with all my armour and close-fighting companions.’
So Achilles spoke in prayer, and Zeus wise in counsel heard (250) him. One half the Father granted, but not the other. The Father agreed that Patroclus should drive the tumult and the fighting back from the ships, but not that he should come back safely from battle. When Achilles had made his libation and prayer to Father Zeus, he went back into his hut and put the cup away in the chest. Then he came out and stood in front of his hut. He still wished to witness the dreadful clash between Trojans and Greeks.
Meanwhile the armed contingents under great-hearted Patroclus advanced and fearlessly attacked the Trojans. They (260) came swarming on like roadside wasps that boys always like to tease, stirring them up in their nest by the road, the young fools: they turn them into a public menace, and if a traveller comes by and unintentionally disturbs them, these brave hearts fly out one and all and protect their little ones – with their courage and spirit the Myrmidons swarmed out in a mass from the ships, and the tumult of battle filled the air. Patroclus then called out to his troops in a loud voice:
(270) ’Myrmidons, companions of Achilles, be men, my comrades, call up that fighting spirit of yours and win glory for the son of Peleus, the best man in the Greek camp, with the best warriors under him. Make wide-ruling Agamemnon son of Atreus realize the delusion he is under in giving no respect to the best of all the Greeks.’
So Patroclus spoke and put fresh heart and courage into every man. They fell on the Trojans in a mass and their intimidating roar echoed round the ships.
When the Trojans saw strong Patroclus and his attendant Automedon beside him in all the brilliance of their bronze (280) armour, panic threatened and the ranks began to waver, since they thought swift-footed Achilles must have abandoned his anger and reconciled himself with Agamemnon. Every man looked anxiously around to find some escape from sudden death.
Patroclus kills Pyraechmes
Patroclus was the first to throw a glittering spear. He hurled it straight into the mass of men where the fighting was at its most confused round the stern of Protesilaus’ ship and struck Pyraechmes, who had brought his Paeonians in their plumed helmets from Amydon and the broad-flowing River Axius. He hit him in the right shoulder. With a (290) groan Pyraechmes fell on his back in the dust, and his Paeonian troops ran for it. By killing their leader and finest fighter, Patroclus had sown panic among them all. Patroclus, having swept them from the ships, extinguished the fire that was blazing there, leaving the vessel half-burnt. Meanwhile the Trojans fell back with a tremendous din. The Greeks poured forward between the ships, and all hell broke loose.
Like lightning-gatherer Zeus shifting a dense cloud from the high summit of a great mountain, when every look-out place (300) and headland and mountain ravine stands out, and infinite upper air floods down from the skies – so the Greeks saved their ships from going up in flames and for a while could breathe more freely, but they had not done with the fighting. The Trojans had been forced back from the black ships, but not as yet in headlong rout. They still confronted them.
Greeks kill nine Trojans
Having broken the Trojan ranks, the Greeks started picking off their men one by one. Brave Patroclus was first to throw his sharp spear at Areilycus and hit him in the thigh just as he had turned. The (310) bronze point drove through and broke the bone; the man fell headlong to the ground. Meanwhile warlike Menelaus struck Thoas in his chest, which he had left exposed above his shield, and brought him down. Amphiclus charged at Meges, but Meges kept his eye on him and got in first with a spear-thrust on the top of the leg where a man’s muscle is very thick. The spear-point tore through the tendons, and darkness enveloped Amphiclus’ eyes.
Then one of Nestor’s sons Antilochus stabbed Atymnius with his sharp spear and drove the bronze head through his side. Atymnius crashed down in front of him. But Maris, infuriated (320) by his brother’s death, charged at Antilochus, spear in hand, and planted himself in front of the body. However, before he could do any damage, another son of Nestor, godlike Thrasy-medes, made a swift lunge at his shoulder and did not miss. The point of his spear, striking the base of the arm, tore it away from the muscles and completely dislocated the arm-bone. Maris thudded to the ground, and darkness enveloped his eyes. Thus these two men were killed by two brothers and went down to the underworld. Brave spearmen of Sarpedon’s contingent, they were the sons of Amisodarus who had reared the Chimaera, the raging monster that brought so many men to grief.
(330) Ajax son of Oïleus dashed into the mêlée where Cleobulus had tripped up and took him alive. But he killed him soon enough with a blow to the neck from his hilted sword, warming the whole blade with blood. Inexorable destiny and purple death closed his eyes. Next, Peneleos and Lycon charged at each other. Each had made a bad throw with his spear and missed the other. So now they ran at one another with their swords. Lycon struck the cone of the other’s plumed helmet and his sword broke off at the hilt. But Peneleos slashed Lycon in the neck behind the (340) ear and his sword-blade sliced right through. Nothing held but a piece of skin, and from that Lycon’s head dangled down as he sank to the ground.
Meriones, too fast for Acamas, caught him up and stabbed him in the right shoulder as he was about to mount his chariot.Acamas crashed out of the chariot and
a mist descended on his eyes. Meanwhile, Idomeneus struck Erymas on the mouth with his relentless bronze. The metal point of the spear penetrated under his brain and smashed the white jaw-bones. His teeth were knocked out; both his eyes filled with blood; and gasping for breath, he blew blood through his mouth and nostrils. (350) Death’s black cloud enveloped him.
So each of these Greek chieftains killed his man. Just as predatory wolves harry lambs or kids and snatch them away from their mothers when they have become separated on the mountains through the shepherd’s carelessness, and the wolves seize their chance to pick off the timid creatures – so the Greeks harried the Trojans. The Trojans could think only of tumultuous retreat, and all the fight went out of them.
It was now the one desire of great Ajax son of Telamon to hit bronze-clad Hector with his spear. But Hector was no in (360) experienced fighter. He protected his broad shoulders with his bull’s hide shield, and his ear was alert to the whistle of arrows and thud of spears. He was well aware that the enemy’s reinforcements had won them the day, but even so he held his position and tried to save his loyal men.
Hector and the Trojans turn to run
As Zeus unleashes a tempest after clear weather, driving storm-clouds into the skies from Olympus, so the Trojans started yelling and panicking, and they fled across the Greeks’ defensive ditch in no semblance of order. Hector’s speedy horses carried him off, arms and all, and he left to their fate the men who had become unintentionally (370) ensnared by the ditch. For many a pair of swift war-horses snapped off their shafts at the yoke as they tried to climb the ditch, leaving their master’s chariot behind.
Patroclus chased them with slaughter in his heart, urging on the Greeks relentlessly, while yelling, panicking Trojans, now separated from each other, filled every track. Swirls of dust went rolling up to the clouds as their strong horses made at full speed for the town, leaving the Greek ships and their huts behind them. Wherever Patroclus saw the greatest numbers of chariots in wild retreat, there he followed up, yelling threats. Men tumbled headlong from their chariots beneath his axles, and (380) their chariots flipped over. But Patroclus’ immortal swift horses, the splendid gift given by the gods to Achilles’ father Peleus, pressed on without a check and cleared the ditch at a single bound. It was Hector he was after, Hector he yearned to kill. But Hector’s swift horses carried him to safety.
As in autumn the whole countryside grows dark and heavy with rain under a stormy sky when Zeus sends torrential downpours; he is angry, and rages at men who deliver crooked rulings in public assembly and drive justice out, regardless of (390) the eye of the gods. All the streams run in spate, torrents scar the terraced hillsides, and rivers rush headlong down from the mountains with a great roar into the turbid sea, washing away the fields – such was the din that went up from the Trojan chariots as they fled.
Patroclus kills twelve Trojans
Patroclus had by now cut off the nearest Trojan contingents and was herding them back towards the ships. He defeated all their efforts to get back to Ilium and there, between the ships, the river and the high wall, he kept charging in and killing men, exacting the penalty for so many Greek dead. First he threw his shining spear at Pronous (400) and hit him on the chest which he had left exposed above his shield: this brought him down, and he thudded to the ground. Next he attacked Thestor, who was sitting hunched up in his polished chariot. This man had lost his senses, and the reins had slipped from his hands. Patroclus came up beside him and stabbed him on the right side of the jaw, driving the spear between his teeth. Then, using the spear as a lever, he hoisted him over the chariot-rail, as a fisherman sitting on a jutting rock pulls a lively fish out of the sea with his line and shining hook. So with his bright spear Patroclus hauled his gaping catch out (410) of the chariot and dropped him on his face to die where he fell. Next, as Erylaus rushed at him, he hit him with a rock full on the head. Inside the heavy helmet the man’s skull was split in two; he fell face downward on the ground, and heart-crushing death engulfed him. Then Patroclus dealt with Erymas, Ampho-terus and Epaltes; Tlepolemus, Echius and Pyris; Ipheus, Euippus and Polymelus, bringing them down in swift succession to the bountiful earth.
(420) When Sarpedon saw how his beltless Lycians were falling to Patroclus son of Menoetius, he turned on his godlike warriors:
‘Shame on you, Lycians! Where are you off to? Come on, now! I’m going to take on that man over there. I intend to find out who it is that’s carrying all before him and has done the Trojans so much harm already, bringing down so many of our best men.’
He spoke and, fully armed, leapt from his chariot to the ground, and on the other side Patroclus, when he saw him, did the same. As two vultures with their crooked claws and curved beaks fight on a rocky height and scream as they fight, so the (430) two men, uttering defiant cries, made for each other.
ZEUS weeps for his son Sarpedon (5.662)
Zeus, son of sickle-wielding Cronus, saw what was happening and took pity on them. Then he spoke to Hera, his sister and wife:
‘This is an unhappy business! My son Sarpedon, dearest of men, is destined to be killed by Patroclus son of Menoetius. I wonder now – I am in two minds. Shall I snatch him up and set him down alive on Lycia’s rich soil, far from the war with all its tears? Or shall I now let him fall at Patroclus’ hands?’
Ox-eyed lady Hera replied:
(440) ’Dread son of Cronus, what are you suggesting now? Are you proposing to reprieve from the pains of death a mortal man whose destiny has long been settled? Do what you like, then; but not all the rest of us gods will approve.
‘But I will tell you something else, and you bear it in mind. If you send Sarpedon home alive, consider whether some other god might not want to do the same for a son of his in the heat of battle. Many of those fighting it out round Troy are the sons of gods who would resent your action bitterly. If Sarpedon is
(450) dear to you and your heart grieves for him, let him fall in the thick of the action against Patroclus and, when the breath of life has left him, send Death and sweet Sleep to take him up and bring him to the broad realm of Lycia, where his relatives and retainers will give him burial with a grave-mound and monument, the honour that is due to the dead.’
So she spoke, and the Father of men and gods complied. But he did send down a shower of bloody raindrops to the earth in (460) tribute to his dear son whom Patroclus was about to kill in fertile Troy, far from the land of his fathers.
When the two had come within range of each other, Patroclus threw. He hit famous Thrasydemus, lord Sarpedon’s fine attendant, in the lower belly and brought him down. Sarpedon, throwing second with his shining spear, missed Patroclus but struck his horse Pedasus on the right shoulder. The horse keeled over, gasping for breath, fell whinnying in the dust, and its life (470) departed. The other two horses sprang apart; the yoke creaked under the strain; and their reins became entangled, since their trace-horse lay in the dust. But the great spearman Automedon soon found the remedy. He drew the long sword from his sturdy thigh, jumped down and deftly cut the trace-horse clear. The pair straightened themselves up and were pulled in by the reins, and the two men resumed their soul-destroying duel.
Sarpedon calls on Glaucus and dies
Sarpedon then missed with a glittering spear; the point passed harmlessly over Patroclus’ left shoulder and failed to make its (480) mark. But Patroclus threw his spear, and the weapon did not leave his hand for nothing. It struck Sarpedon where the lungs enclosed his dense heart, and he crashed down as an oak crashes down or a poplar or a towering pine which woodsmen cut down in the mountains with their newly sharpened axes to make timbers for a ship. So Sarpedon lay stretched in front of his chariot and horses, gurgling and clutching at the bloodstained dust. As a lion gets in among a herd and kills a proud tawny bull among the shambling cows, and the bull, dying under the lion’s jaws, bellows – so (490) Sarpedon, leader of the shield-bearing Lycians, struggled defiantly to speak as he yielded up his life to Patroclus
, and called on his dear companion:
‘Glaucus, old friend, champion among men, now’s the time to show your bravery and ability as a fighter. Now make deadly war your one desire, if you have it in you. Run to our Lycian leaders everywhere and urge them on to rally round Sarpedon. Then fight over me with your own spear. Every day of your life you will bear the blame and disgrace if you let the Greeks strip (500) me of my arms, here where I fell beside their ships. Hold firm, then, with all your strength and throw every man we have into the fight.’
As Sarpedon spoke, the end that is death enveloped his eyes and cut short his breath. Patroclus put his foot on his chest and withdrew the spear from his flesh. The innards came with it: he had drawn out the spear-point and the man’s life together. Close by, the Myrmidons held on to Sarpedon’s snorting horses, who were ready to bolt now they had left their masters’ chariot.
Glaucus was distraught when he heard Sarpedon’s call. His (510) inability to help him wrung his heart; and he gripped his dam- aged arm with his good hand, hurting as he was from the arrow-wound that Teucer, defending his companions, had given him when he charged at the high Greek wall. Then he prayed to the Archer-god Apollo:
(Glaucus healed (12.389); Hector rallies (12.397)) ’Listen to me, lord, you who are somewhere in the rich land of Lycia or in Troy; wherever you are, you can hear a man in distress, as I am now. I’ve received this cruel wound. The pain driving through my arm is excruciating; the blood refuses to dry up; my shoul- (520) der’s paralysed; I can’t hold my spear steady or go out and fight the enemy. And now our best man has been killed, Sarpedon son of Zeus. But Zeus will not lift a finger, even for his own son. But you, lord Apollo, heal this cruel wound, soothe away the pain and give me strength to call on the Lycians and urge them into battle, while I fight over the body of the dead man myself.’
