The Iliad, Page 23

  Now they're fighting far away from the city,

  right by your hollow ships!"

  So Hera trumpeted,

  lashing the nerve and fighting-fury in each man

  as Athena, her eyes blazing, made for Diomedes.

  Hard by his team and car she found the king,

  cooling the wound that Pandarus' arrow dealt him.

  Sweat from under the heavy buckler's flat strap

  had rubbed him raw, he was chafed and his arm ached

  from lifting up the strap, wiping off the blood

  and the dark clots. Laying hold of the yoke

  that bound his team, the goddess Pallas started,

  "So, Tydeus' son is half the size of his father,

  and he was short and slight--but Tydeus was a fighter!

  Even then, when I forbade him to go to war

  or make a show of himself in others' eyes . . .

  that time, alone, apart from his men, he marched

  the message into Thebes, filled with hordes of Thebans,

  I told him to banquet in their halls and eat in peace.

  But he always had that power, that courage from the first--

  and so he challenged the brave young blades of Thebes

  to tests of strength and beat them all with ease,

  I urged him on with so much winning force.

  But you, Tydides, I stand by you as well,

  I guard you too. And with all good will I say,

  fight it out with the Trojans here! But look at you--

  fatigue from too much charging has sapped your limbs,

  that or some lifeless fear has paralyzed you now.

  So you're no offspring of Tydeus,

  the gallant, battle-hardened Oeneus' son!"

  And powerful Diomedes bowed to her at once:

  "Well I know you, Goddess, daughter of storming Zeus,

  and so I will tell you all, gladly. I'll hide nothing.

  It's not some lifeless fear that paralyzes me now,

  no flinching from combat either.

  It's your own command still ringing in my ears,

  forbidding me to fight the immortals head-on,

  all but one of the blessed gods, that is--

  if Aphrodite daughter of Zeus slips into battle,

  she's the one to stab with my sharp bronze spear.

  So now, you see, I have given ground myself

  and told my comrades to mass around me here.

  Too well I know that Ares leads the charge."

  But the goddess roused him on, her eyes blazing:

  "True son of Tydeus, Diomedes, joy of my heart!

  Forget the orders--nothing to fear, my friend,

  neither Ares nor any other god. You too,

  I'll urge you on with so much winning force.

  Up now! Lash your racing horses at Ares first,

  strike him at close range, no shrinking away here

  before that headlong Ares! Just look at the maniac,

  born for disaster, double-dealing, lying two-faced god--

  just now he promised me and Hera, the War-god swore

  he'd fight the Trojans, stand behind the Argives.

  But now, look, he's leading the Trojan rampage,

  his pledges thrown to the winds!"

  With that challenge

  Athena levered Sthenelus out the back of the car.

  A twist of her wrist and the man hit the ground,

  springing aside as the goddess climbed aboard,

  blazing to fight beside the shining Diomedes.

  The big oaken axle groaned beneath the weight,

  bearing a great man and a terrifying goddess--

  and Pallas Athena seized the reins and whip,

  lashing the racing horses straight at Ares.

  The god was just stripping giant Periphas bare,

  the Aetolians' best fighter, Ochesius' noble son--

  the blood-smeared Ares was tearing off his gear

  but Athena donned the dark helmet of Death

  so not even stark Ares could see her now.

  But the butcher did see Tydeus' rugged son

  and he dropped gigantic Periphas on the spot

  where he'd just killed him, ripped his life away

  and Ares whirled at the stallion-breaking Diomedes--

  the two of them closing fast, charging face-to-face

  and the god thrust first, over Tydides' yoke and reins,

  with bronze spear burning to take the fighter's life.

  But Athena, her eyes afire, grabbed the flying shaft,

  flicked it over the car and off it flew for nothing--

  and after him Diomedes yelled his war cry, lunging out

  with his own bronze spear and Pallas rammed it home,

  deep in Ares' bowels where the belt cinched him tight.

  There Diomedes aimed and stabbed, he gouged him down

  his glistening flesh and wrenched the spear back out

  and the brazen god of war let loose a shriek, roaring,

  thundering loud as nine, ten thousand combat soldiers

  shriek with Ares' fury when massive armies clash.

  A shudder swept all ranks, Trojans and Argives both,

  terror-struck by the shriek the god let loose,

  Ares whose lust for slaughter never dies.

  But now,

  wild as a black cyclone twisting out of a cloudbank,

  building up from the day's heat, blasts and towers--

  so brazen Ares looked to Tydeus' son Diomedes.

  Soaring up with the clouds to the broad sweeping sky

  he quickly gained the gods' stronghold, steep Olympus,

  and settling down by the side of Cronus' great son Zeus,

  his spirit racked with pain, Ares displayed the blood,

  the fresh immortal blood that gushed from his wound,

  and burst out in a flight of self-pity: "Father Zeus,

  aren't you incensed to see such violent brutal work?

  We everlasting gods . . . Ah what chilling blows

  we suffer--thanks to our own conflicting wills--

  whenever we show these mortal men some kindness.

  And we all must battle you--

  you brought that senseless daughter into the world,

  that murderous curse--forever bent on crimes!

  While all the rest of us, every god on Olympus

  bows down to you, each of us overpowered.

  But that girl--

  you never block her way with a word or action, never,

  you spur her on, since you, you gave her birth

  from your own head, that child of devastation!

  Just look at this reckless Diomedes now--

  Athena spurred him on to rave against the gods.

  First he lunges at Aphrodite, stabs her hand at the wrist

  then charges me--even me--like something superhuman!

  But I, I'm so fast on my feet I saved my life.

  Else for a good long while I'd have felt the pain,

  writhing among the corpses there, or soldiered on,

  weak as a breathless ghost, beaten down by bronze."

  But Zeus who marshals storm clouds lowered a dark glance

  and let loose at Ares: "No more, you lying, two-faced . . .

  no more sidling up to me, whining here before me.

  You--I hate you most of all the Olympian gods.

  Always dear to your heart,

  strife, yes, and battles, the bloody grind of war.

  You have your mother's uncontrollable rage--incorrigible,

  that Hera--say what I will, I can hardly keep her down.

  Hera's urgings, I trust, have made you suffer this.

  But I cannot bear to see you agonize so long.

  You are my child. To me your mother bore you.

  If you had sprung from another god, believe me,

  and grown into such a blinding devastation,

  long ago you'd have droppe
d below the Titans,

  deep in the dark pit."

  So great Zeus declared

  and ordered the healing god to treat the god of war.

  And covering over his wound with pain-killing drugs

  the Healer cured him: the god was never bom to die.

  Quickly as fig-juice, pressed into bubbly, creamy milk,

  curdles it firm for the man who chums it round,

  so quickly he healed the violent rushing Ares.

  And Hebe washed him clean, dressed him in robes

  to warm his heart, and flanking the son of Cronus

  down he sat, Ares exultant in the glory of it all.

  And now the two returned to the halls of mighty Zeus--

  Hera of Argos, Boeotian Athena, guard of armies, both

  had stopped the murderous Ares' cutting men to pieces.

  BOOK SIX

  Hector Returns to Troy

  So the clash of Achaean and Trojan troops was on its own,

  the battle in all its fury veering back and forth,

  careering down the plain

  as they sent their bronze lances hurtling side-to-side

  between the Simois' banks and Xanthus' swirling rapids.

  That Achaean bulwark giant Ajax came up first,

  broke the Trojan line and brought his men some hope,

  spearing the bravest man the Thracians fielded,

  Acamas tall and staunch, Eussorus' son.

  The first to hurl, Great Ajax hit the ridge

  of the helmet's horsehair crest--the bronze point

  stuck in Acamas' forehead pounding through the skull

  and the dark came swirling down to shroud his eyes.

  A shattering war cry! Diomedes killed off Axylus,

  Teuthras' son who had lived in rock-built Arisbe,

  a man of means and a friend to all mankind,

  at his roadside house he'd warm all comers in.

  But who of his guests would greet his enemy now,

  meet him face-to-face and ward off grisly death?

  Diomedes killed the man and his aide-in-arms at once,

  Axylus and Calesius who always drove his team--

  both at a stroke he drove beneath the earth.

  Euryalus killed Dresus, killed Opheltius,

  turned and went for Pedasus and Aesepus, twins

  the nymph of the spring Abarbarea bore Bucolion ...

  Bucolion, son himself to the lofty King Laomedon,

  first of the line, though his mother bore the prince

  in secrecy and shadow. Tending his flocks one day

  Bucolion took the nymph in a strong surge of love

  and beneath his force she bore him twin sons.

  But now the son of Mecisteus hacked the force

  from beneath them both and loosed their gleaming limbs

  and tore the armor off the dead men's shoulders.

  Polypoetes braced for battle killed Astyalus--

  Winging his bronze spear Odysseus slew Pidytes

  bred in Percote, and Teucer did the same

  for the royal Aretaon--

  Ablerus went down too,

  under the flashing lance of Nestor's son Antilochus,

  and Elatus under the lord of men Agamemnon's strength--

  Elatus lived by the banks of rippling Satniois,

  in Pedasus perched on cliffs--

  The hero Leitus

  ran Phylacus down to ground at a dead run

  and Eurypylus killed Melanthius outright--

  But Menelaus

  lord of the war cry had caught Adrestus alive.

  Rearing, bolting in terror down the plain

  his horses snared themselves in tamarisk branches,

  splintered his curved chariot just at the pole's tip

  and breaking free they made a dash for the city walls

  where battle-teams by the drove stampeded back in panic.

  But their master hurled from the chariot, tumbling over the wheel

  and pitching facedown in the dust, and above him now

  rose Menelaus, his spear's long shadow looming.

  Adrestus hugged his knees and begged him, pleading,

  "Take me alive, Atrides, take a ransom worth my life!

  Treasures are piled up in my rich father's house,

  bronze and gold and plenty of well-wrought iron--

  father would give you anything, gladly, priceless ransom

  if only he learns I'm still alive in Argive ships!"

  His pleas were moving the heart in Menelaus,

  just at the point of handing him to an aide

  to take him back to the fast Achaean ships . . .

  when up rushed Agamemnon, blocking his way

  and shouting out, "So soft, dear brother, why?

  Why such concern for enemies? I suppose you got

  such tender loving care at home from the Trojans.

  Ah would to god not one of them could escape

  his sudden plunging death beneath our hands!

  No baby boy still in his mother's belly,

  not even he escape--all Ilium blotted out,

  no tears for their lives, no markers for their graves!"

  And the iron warrior brought his brother round--

  rough justice, fitting too.

  Menelaus shoved Adrestus back with a fist,

  powerful Agamemnon stabbed him in the flank

  and back on his side the fighter went, faceup.

  The son of Atreus dug a heel in his heaving chest

  and wrenched the ash spear out.

  And here came Nestor

  with orders ringing down the field: "My comrades--

  fighting Danaans, aides of Ares--no plunder now!

  Don't lag behind, don't fling yourself at spoils

  just to haul the biggest portion back to your ship.

  Now's the time for killing! Later, at leisure,

  strip the corpses up and down the plain!"

  So he ordered, spurring each man's nerve--

  and the next moment crowds of Trojans once again

  would have clambered back inside their city walls,

  terror-struck by the Argives primed for battle.

  But Helenus son of Priam, best of the seers

  who scan the flight of birds, came striding up

  to Aeneas and Hector, calling out, "My captains!

  You bear the brunt of Troy's and Lycia's fighting--

  you are our bravest men, whatever the enterprise,

  pitched battle itself or planning our campaigns,

  so stand your ground right here!

  Go through the ranks and rally all the troops.

  Hold back our retreating mobs outside the gates

  before they throw themselves in their women's arms in fear,

  a great joy to our enemies closing for the kill.

  And once you've roused our lines to the last man,

  we'll hold out here and fight the Argives down,

  hard-hit as we are--necessity drives us on.

  But you,

  Hector, you go back to the city, tell our mother

  to gather all the older noble women together

  in gray-eyed Athena's shrine on the city's crest,

  unlock the doors of the goddess' sacred chamber--

  and take a robe, the largest, loveliest robe

  that she can find throughout the royal halls,

  a gift that far and away she prizes most herself,

  and spread it out across the sleek-haired goddess' knees.

  Then promise to sacrifice twelve heifers in her shrine,

  yearlings never broken, if only she'll pity Troy,

  the Trojan wives and all our helpless children,

  if only she'll hold Diomedes back from the holy city--

  that wild spearman, that invincible headlong terror!

  He is the strongest Argive now, I tell you.

  Never once did we fear Achilles so,

  captain of armie
s, born of a goddess too,

  or so they say. But here's a maniac run amok--

  no one can match his fury man-to-man!"

  So he urged

  and Hector obeyed his brother start to finish.

  Down he leapt from his chariot fully armed, hit the ground

  and brandishing two sharp spears went striding down his lines,

  ranging flank to flank, driving his fighters into battle,

  rousing grisly war--and round the Trojans whirled,

  bracing to meet the Argives face-to-face.

  And the Argives gave way, they quit the slaughter--

  they thought some god swept down from the starry skies

  to back the Trojans now, they wheeled and rallied so.

  Hector shouted out to his men in a piercing voice,

  "Gallant-hearted Trojans and far-famed allies!

  Now be men, my friends, call up your battle-fury!

  Till I can return to Troy and tell them all,

  the old counselors, all our wives, to pray to the gods

  and vow to offer them many splendid victims."

  As Hector turned for home his helmet flashed

  and the long dark hide of his bossed shield, the rim

  running the metal edge, drummed his neck and ankles.

  And now

  Glaucus son of Hippolochus and Tydeus' son Diomedes

  met in the no man's land between both armies:

  burning for battle, closing, squaring off

  and the lord of the war cry Diomedes opened up,

  "Who are you, my fine friend?--another born to die?

  I've never noticed you on the lines where we win glory,

  not till now. But here you come, charging out

  in front of all the rest with such bravado--

  daring to face the flying shadow of my spear.

  Pity the ones whose sons stand up to me in war!

  But if you are an immortal come from the blue,

  I'm not the man to fight the gods of heaven.

  Not even Dryas' indestructible son Lycurgus,

  not even he lived long . . .

  that fellow who tried to fight the deathless gods.

  He rushed at the maenads once, nurses of wild Dionysus,

  scattered them breakneck down the holy mountain Nysa.

  A rout of them strewed their sacred staves on the ground,

  raked with a cattle prod by Lycurgus, murderous fool!

  And Dionysus was terrified, he dove beneath the surf

  where the sea-nymph Thetis pressed him to her breast--

  Dionysus numb with fear: shivers racked his body,

  thanks to the raucous onslaught of that man.

  But the gods who live at ease lashed out against him--

  worse, the son of Cronus struck Lycurgus blind.

  Nor did the man live long, not with the hate

  of all the gods against him.

  No, my friend,

  I have no desire to fight the blithe immortals.

  But if you're a man who eats the crops of the earth,

  a mortal born for death--here, come closer,

  the sooner you will meet your day to die!"

  The noble son of Hippolochus answered staunchly,

  "High-hearted son of Tydeus, why ask about my birth?