The Iliad, Page 43
Homer
fine fresh veils for Hera the queen of gods,
their pale, glimmering sheen like a rising sun,
and under her smooth feet she fastened supple sandals.
Now, dazzling in all her rich regalia, head to foot,
out of her rooms she strode and beckoned Aphrodite
away from the other gods and whispered, "Dear child,
would you do me a favor ... whatever I might ask?
Or would you refuse me, always fuming against me
because I defend the Argives, you the Trojans?"
Aphrodite the daughter of Zeus replied at once,
"Hera, queen of the skies, daughter of mighty Cronus,
tell me what's on your mind. I am eager to do it--
whatever I can do ... whatever can be done."
Quick with treachery noble Hera answered,
"Give me Love, give me Longing now, the powers
you use to overwhelm all gods and mortal men!
I am off to the ends of the fruitful, teeming earth
to visit Ocean, fountainhead of the gods, and Mother Tethys
who nourished me in their halls and reared me well.
They received me from Rhea, when thundering Zeus
drove Cronus under the earth and the barren salt sea.
I go to visit them and dissolve their endless feud--
how long they have held back from each other now,
from making love, since anger struck their hearts.
But if words of mine could lure them back to love,
back to bed, to lock in each other's arms once more ...
they would call me their honored, loving friend forever."
Aphrodite, smiling her everlasting smile, replied,
"Impossible--worse, it's wrong to deny your warm request,
since you are the one who lies in the arms of mighty Zeus."
With that she loosed from her breasts the breastband,
pierced and alluring, with every kind of enchantment
woven through it ... There is the heat of Love,
the pulsing rush of Longing, the lover's whisper,
irresistible--magic to make the sanest man go mad.
And thrusting it into Hera's outstretched hands
she breathed her name in a throbbing, rising voice:
"Here now, take this band, put it between your breasts--
ravishing openwork, and the world lies in its weaving!
You won't return, I know, your mission unfulfilled,
whatever your eager heart desires to do."
Hera broke into smiles now, her eyes wide--
with a smile she tucked the band between her breasts.
And Aphrodite the daughter of Zeus went home
but Hera sped in a flash from Mount Olympus' peak
and crossing Pieria's coast and lovely Emathia
rushed on, over the Thracian riders' snowy ridges,
sweeping the highest summits, feet never touching the earth
and east of Athos skimmed the billowing, foaming sea
and touched down on Lemnos, imperial Thoas' city.
There she fell in with Sleep, twin brother of Death,
clung to his hand and urged him, called his name:
"Sleep, master of all gods and all mortal men,
if you ever listened to me in the old days,
do what I ask you now--
and you shall have my everlasting thanks.
Put Zeus to sleep for me! Seal his shining eyes
as soon as I've gone to bed with him, locked in love,
and I will give you gifts--a magnificent throne,
never tarnished, always glittering, solid gold.
My own son Hephaestus, the burly crippled Smith
will forge it finely and under it slide a stool
where you can prop your glistening feet and rest,
stretching out at feasts."
And the voice of Sleep
the soft and soothing drifted back ... "Hera, Hera,
queen of the gods and daughter of mighty Cronus--
any other immortal god who lives forever,
believe me, I would put to sleep in a wink,
even the rolling tides of the great Ocean River,
the fountainhead that brought them all to birth.
But Zeus? Not I--I would not get too close
to the son of Cronus, much less put him under,
not unless the Father gave the command himself.
A commission of yours taught me my lesson once,
the day that Heracles, the insolent son of Zeus
sailed out from Troy, having razed her to the ground.
And then I put the brain of thundering Zeus to sleep,
pouring myself in a soft, soothing slumber round him.
But you and your anger! You were bent on trouble,
whipping a howling killer-squall across the sea,
bearing Heracles off to the crowded town of Cos,
far from all his friends. But Zeus woke up,
furious, flinging immortal gods about his house
to hunt for me--I was the culprit, the worst of all--
and out of the skies he would have sunk me in the sea,
wiped me from sight, if the Night had failed to save me,
old Night that can overpower all gods and mortal men.
I reached her in flight and Father called it quits
despite his towering anger. True, Zeus shrank
from doing a thing to outrage rushing Night.
But now you are back, Hera--
you ask me to do the impossible once again."
Eyes widening, noble Hera coaxed him further:
"So troubled, Sleep, why torture yourself with that?
You think that thundering Zeus, shielding the men of Troy,
will rage as he raged for great Heracles, his own son?
Come now, I will give you one of the younger Graces--
Wed her at once and she'll be called your wife."
"On with it!"--Sleep cried, thrilled by the offer--
"Swear to me by the incorruptible tides of Styx,
one hand grasping the earth that feeds mankind,
the other the bright sea, that all may be our witness,
all gods under earth that gather round King Cronus!
Swear you will give me one of the younger Graces,
Pasithea, she's the one--
all my days I've tossed and turned for her!"
The white-armed goddess Hera complied at once.
She swore as he urged and sounded out the names
of all the gods in the Tartarean Pit we call the Titans.
As soon as she'd sworn and sealed her binding oath,
away they launched from Imbros' walls and Lemnos,
swathed in a thick mist and nimbly made their way
until they reached Mount Ida with all her springs,
the mother of wild beasts, and making Lectos headland,
left the sea for the first time and swept over dry land
as the treetops swayed and shook beneath their feet.
There Sleep came to a halt--
before the eyes of the Father could detect him--
and climbed up softly into a towering pine tree.
The tallest trunk there was on the heights of Ida,
it pierced the low-hung mist and shot up through the sky.
There he nestled, hidden deep in the needling boughs,
for all the world like the bird with a shrill cry,
the mountain bird the immortals call Bronze Throat
and mortals call the Nighthawk.
But not Hera--
quick on her feet she scaled Gargaron peak,
the highest crest of Ida. And Zeus spotted her now,
Zeus who gathers the breasting clouds. And at one glance
the lust came swirling over him, making his heart race,
fast as the first time--all unknown to their parents--
He rose before her now, he savored her name:
"Hera--where are you rushing?
What wild desire brings you here from Olympus?
Where are the team and car you always ride?"
And filled with guile the noble Hera answered,
"I am off to the ends of the fruitful, teeming earth
to visit Ocean, fountainhead of the gods, and Mother Tethys
who nourished me in their halls and reared me well ...
I go to visit them and dissolve their endless feud--
how long they have held back from each other now,
from making love, since anger struck their hearts.
My team stands at the foot of Ida with all her springs,
they wait to bear me over the good dry land and sea.
But now it is you, you I have come to visit, Zeus--
speeding here from the heights of Mount Olympus,
afraid you'll flare in anger against me later
if I should go in secret toward the halls
of the deep, flowing Ocean."
"Why hurry, Hera?"--
Zeus who gathers the breasting clouds replied,
"that is a journey you can make tomorrow. Now--
come, let's go to bed, let's lose ourselves in love!
Never has such a lust for goddess or mortal woman
flooded my pounding heart and overwhelmed me so.
Not even then, when I made love to Ixion's wife
who bore me Pirithous, rival to all the gods in wisdom ...
not when I loved Acrisius' daughter Danae--marvelous ankles--
and Perseus sprang to life and excelled all men alive ...
not when I stormed Europa, far-famed Phoenix' daughter
who bore me Minos and Rhadamanthys grand as gods ...
not even Semele, not even Alcmena queen of Thebes
who bore me a son, that lionheart, that Heracles,
and Semele bore Dionysus, ecstasy, joy to mankind--
not when I loved Demeter, queen of the lustrous braids--
not when I bedded Leto ripe for glory--
Not even you!
That was nothing to how I hunger for you now--
irresistible longing lays me low!"
Teeming with treachery noble Hera led him on:
"Dread majesty, son of Cronus, what are you saying?
You are eager for bed now, burning to make love,
here on Ida's heights for all the world to see?
What if one of the deathless gods observes us,
sleeping together, yes--
and runs off to the rest and points us out to all?
I have no desire to rise from a bed like that
and steal back home to your own high halls--
think of the shocking scandal there would be!
But if you're on fire, overflowing with passion,
there's always your own bedroom. Hephaestus built it,
your own dear son, and the doors fit snug and tight ...
There we can go to bed at once--since love is now your pleasure!"
And Zeus who gathers the breasting clouds assured her,
"Hera--nothing to fear, no god or man will see us--
I will wrap us round in a golden cloud so dense
not even the Sun's rays, the sharpest eyes in the world,
will pierce the mist and glimpse us making love!"
With that the son of Cronus caught his wife in his arms
and under them now the holy earth burst with fresh green grass,
crocus and hyacinth, clover soaked with dew, so thick and soft
it lifted their bodies off the hard, packed ground ...
Folded deep in that bed they lay and round them wrapped
a marvelous cloud of gold, and glistening showers of dew
rained down around them both.
And so, deep in peace,
the Father slept on Gargaron peak, conquered by Sleep
and strong assaults of Love, his wife locked in his arms.
Soothing Sleep went rushing off to the ships at once,
running a message to Poseidon. Approaching the god
who shakes the earth, Sleep sent a winged urging:
"Fight for the Argives now with all your might!
Now give them glory, if only a moment's glory--
long as Zeus still slumbers. I've covered him over,
sent him into a deep, soothing sleep as soon as Hera
seduced great Zeus to lose himself in love."
With that
Sleep went drifting off to the famous tribes of men,
stirring Poseidon even more to defend the Argives.
He suddenly sprang forward, into the front ranks,
the god's voice rippling strong: "Again, you Argives?
You're handing victory over to Hector, Priam's son,
so he can seize the ships and reap the glory?
That's his hope, his prayer, thanks to Achilles,
ironbound by the ships and filled with anger still.
But Achilles won't be missed so sorely, not a bit,
if the rest of us can rouse and defend each other.
So come, follow my orders. All obey me now.
Gear up with the best and biggest shields in camp
and encase our heads in helmets, burnished, fire-bright
and take in hand the longest javelins we can find--
then in for attack! And I, I will lead the way
and the son of Priam won't stand up against us,
not for long, I tell you, not for all his fury.
Let any rugged fighter who shoulders a small buckler
pass it on to a weaker man--put on the bigger shield."
The men hung on his words and they obeyed at once.
And the kings themselves, overcoming their wounds,
arrayed them all in proper battle-order.
Diomedes, Odysseus, Atreus' son Agamemnon
ranged the ranks, made them exchange their armor.
The best men donned the best, the worst the worst
and soon as they strapped the bronze around their bodies,
out they moved and the god of earthquakes led them on,
grasping his terrible long sword in his massive hand,
the grip of power, the blade like a lightning flash.
There is no way in the world a man can meet its edge
and still survive the slashing--fear holds all men back.
But over against them glorious Hector ranged his Trojans ...
and now they stretched the line of battle strangling tight,
the blue-haired god of the sea and Hector fired in arms,
he driving the Trojans, the god driving the Argives--
and a wild surf pounded the ships and shelters,
squadrons clashed with shattering war cries rising.
Not so loud the breakers bellowing out against the shore,
driven in from open sea by the North Wind's brutal blast,
not so loud the roar of fire whipped to a crackling blaze
rampaging into a mountain gorge, raging up through timber,
not so loud the gale that howls in the leafy crowns of oaks
when it hits its pitch of fury tearing branches down--
Nothing so loud as cries of Trojans, cries of Achaeans,
terrible war cries, armies storming against each other.
And shining Hector was first to hurl his spear--
at the giant Ajax veering into him, full face--
a direct hit! where two straps crossed his chest,
one for the shield, one for the silver-studded sword
but both flexed taut to guard his glistening skin.
Hector seethed in anger--his hurtling spear
and his whole arm's power poured in a wasted shot--
and back in his massing ranks he shrank, dodging death.
But as Hector
backed away Great Ajax seized a rock--
countless holding-stones for the fast trim ships
were rolling round among the fighters' feet--
he hoisted one and heaved it at Hector's chest
and struck him over the shield-rim, close to his throat
and the blow sent Hector whirling off like a whipping-top,
reeling round and round. As a huge oak goes down
at a stroke from Father Zeus, ripped up by the roots
and a grim reek of sulphur bursts forth from the trunk
and a passerby too close, looking on, loses courage--
the bolt of mighty Zeus is hell on earth--so in a flash,
for all his fighting power, Hector plunged in the dust,
his spear dropped from his fist, shield and helmet
crushing in on him, bronze gear clashing round him.
And shouting squads of Achaeans raced in for the kill,
hoping to drag him off and hurling showers of spears
but none could stab or strike the lord of armies now.
Too fast for them, here was a ring of Trojan chiefs:
Aeneas, Polydamas and the royal prince Agenor,
Sarpedon the Lycians' captain, valiant Glaucus--
and all their troops spared nothing, pitching in,
bracing their thick bulging shields to cover Hector.
Comrades heaved him up and swept him clear of the fighting,
far downfield till they gained his team of racers
standing behind the rear lines and rush of battle,
their driver and blazoned chariot held in tow ...
Then back to Troy they bore him, groaning hard.
But once they reached the ford where the river runs clear,
the strong, whirling Xanthus sprung of immortal Zeus,
they lifted him off his car and laid him down
on the level bank, splashing water over him.
Hector caught his breath and his eyes cleared,
he crouched down on his knees to vomit dark clots
then slumped back down, stretched on the ground again
and the world went black as night across his eyes.
The force of the blow still overwhelmed his senses.
But Argive units, spotting Hector in full retreat,
charged the Trojans harder, their lust for battle rising.
And first by far was Oileus' son, quick Little Ajax--
he lunged out and his spearhead skewered Satnius,
Enops' son the lithe nymph of the ford once bore
to Enops tending his flocks by Satniois' banks ...
Now the renowned spearman Ajax rushed against him,
slashing him down the flank, knocking him backward--
Trojans and Argives swarming over him, out for blood.
Shaking a spear Polydamas moved in fast to the rescue,
Panthous' son lancing the right shoulder of Prothoenor,
Arielycus' son, and the heavy shaft impaled his upper arm--
he pitched in the dust, clawing the earth with both hands
and Polydamas shouted over him, wild with glory now:
"Here is another spear that leaps from my strong arm,
