The Iliad, Page 57

  but a great god is and the strong force of fate.

  Not through our want of speed or any lack of care

  did the Trojans strip the armor off Patroclus' back.

  It was all that matchless god, sleek-haired Leto's son--

  he killed him among the champions and handed Hector glory.

  Our team could race with the rush of the West Wind,

  the strongest, swiftest blast on earth, men say--

  still you are doomed to die by force, Achilles,

  cut down by a deathless god and mortal man!"

  He said no more. The Furies struck him dumb.

  But the fiery runner Achilles burst out in anger,

  "Why, Roan Beauty--why prophesy my doom?

  Don't waste your breath. I know, well I know--

  I am destined to die here, far from my dear father,

  far from mother. But all the same I will never stop

  till I drive the Trojans to their bloody fill of war!"

  A high stabbing cry--

  and out in the front ranks he drove his plunging stallions.

  BOOK TWENTY

  Olympian Gods in Arms

  So by the beaked ships the Argives formed for battle,

  arming round you, Achilles--Achilles starved for war--

  and faced by the Trojan ranks along the plain's high ground.

  At the same time, from the peak of rugged ridged Olympus

  Zeus commanded Themis to call the gods to council.

  Themis made her rounds, ranging far and wide

  and summoned all to march to Father's halls.

  Not a single river failed to come, none apart

  from the Ocean stream that holds the earth in place,

  nor a single nymph who haunts the rustling groves

  and the river springs and the lush, grassy meadows.

  All flocked to the halls of Zeus who gathers storms

  and found their seats in the colonnades of polished stone

  Hephaestus built for Father Zeus with all his craft and cunning.

  And so the powers assembled deep in Zeus's halls.

  Nor did the god of earthquakes fail to hear the goddess.

  Surging up from the sea he came to join their ranks,

  took a seat in their midst and probed Zeus's plans:

  "Why now, great king of the lightning,

  why summon the gods to council once again?

  Still some concern for Troy's and Achaea's armies?--

  now that battle is set to burst in flames between them!"

  But Zeus who marshals the thunderheads replied,

  "God of the earthquake, well you know my plans,

  the strategy in my mind, and why I call you here

  These mortals do concern me, dying as they are.

  Still, here I stay on Olympus throned aloft,

  here in my steep mountain cleft, to feast my eyes

  and delight my heart. The rest of you: down you go,

  go to Trojans, go to Achaeans. Help either side

  as the fixed desire drives each god to act.

  If Achilles fights the Trojans--unopposed by us--

  not for a moment will they hold his breakneck force.

  Even before now they'd shake to see him coming.

  Now, with his rage inflamed for his friend's death,

  I fear he'll raze the walls against the will of fate."

  And with that command Zeus roused incessant battle.

  Down the immortals launched to the field of action--

  their warring spirits split the gods two ways.

  Hera went to the massed ships with Pallas Athena,

  Poseidon who grips the earth, and Hermes god of luck

  who excels them all at subtle twists and tactics--

  and the god of fire flanked them, seething power,

  hobbling along but his shrunken legs moved nimbly.

  But Ares swept down to the Trojans, helmet flashing,

  and pacing him went Phoebus with long hair streaming

  and Artemis showering arrows, Leto and River Xanthus

  and goddess Aphrodite strong with eternal laughter.

  Now, while the gods had still kept clear of mortal men,

  the Achaeans kept on gaining glory--great Achilles

  who held back from the brutal fighting so long

  had just come blazing forth. Chilling tremors

  shook the Trojans' knees, down to the last man,

  terrified at the sight: the headlong runner coming,

  gleaming in all his gear, afire like man-destroying Ares.

  But once the Olympians merged with mortal fighters,

  Strife the mighty driver of armies rose in strength

  and Athena bellowed her stunning war cry--standing now

  at the edge of the deep-dug trench outside the rampart,

  now at thundering cliffs she loosed her vibrant cry.

  And Ares bellowed his cry from far across the lines,

  churning black as a whirlwind, roaring down now

  from the city's crest, commanding Trojans on and now

  rushing along the Simois banks and scaling Sunlight Hill.

  So the blissful gods were rousing both opposing armies,

  clashing front to front but then, in their own ranks,

  their overpowering strife broke out in massive war.

  Down from the high skies the father of men and gods

  let loose tremendous thunder--from down below Poseidon

  shook the boundless earth and towering heads of mountains.

  The whole world quaked, the slopes of Ida with all her springs

  and all her peaks and the walls of Troy and all Achaea's ships.

  And terror-struck in the underworld, Hades lord of the dead

  cringed and sprang from his throne and screamed shrill,

  fearing the god who rocks the ground above his realm,

  giant Poseidon, would burst the earth wide open now

  and lay bare to mortal men and immortal gods at last

  the houses of the dead--the dank, moldering horrors

  that fill the deathless gods themselves with loathing.

  So immense the clash as the war of gods erupted.

  There, look, rearing against the lord Poseidon

  Phoebus Apollo loomed, bristling winged arrows,

  rearing against Ares, blazing-eyed Athena,

  rearing against Hera, Artemis with arrow of gold

  and cry that halloos the hunt, the goddess raining shafts,

  Huntress sister of Phoebus the distant deadly Archer--

  rearing against Leto, Hermes the running god of luck

  and against the Fire-god rose the great deep-swirling river

  immortals call the Xanthus, mankind calls Scamander.

  So god went up against god. But blazing Achilles

  strained to engage Prince Hector, plunge in battle

  with him beyond all others--Achilles yearning now

  to glut with Hector's blood, his, no other,

  Ares who hacks at men behind his rawhide shield.

  But Aeneas it was whom Phoebus, urger of armies,

  filled with power now and drove against Achilles.

  Phoebus, masking his voice like Priam's son Lycaon,

  like him to the life the son of Zeus called out,

  "Captain of Trojan councils--where have they gone,

  those threats you made in your cups before the kings?

  Boasting you'd face Achilles man-to-man in battle!"

  But Aeneas turned and gave the god an answer:

  "Son of Priam, why press me to go against Achilles?

  It's much against my will--his fury is overwhelming.

  Nor would it be the first time I have had to face

  the matchless, headlong runner. Once before

  he chased me hard with his spear, down from Ida

  the day he raided our flocks and sacked Lymessus,

  Pedasus fort as well. But Zeus saved
me then,

  put force in my heart, spring in my racing knees.

  Else I'd gone down at Achilles' hands, Athena's too--

  the goddess sweeping before him lent the light of safety,

  calling Achilles on that day with his bronze spear

  to slaughter Leleges and Trojans. That is why

  no mortal can fight Achilles head-to-head:

  at every foray one of the gods goes with him,

  beating back his death. Even without that power

  his spear flies straight to the mark, never stops,

  not till it bores clean through some fighter's flesh.

  But if only Zeus would stretch the ropes of war dead even

  the man would have no easy victory then, believe me--

  not though he claims he's built of solid bronze!"

  Apollo son of Zeus encouraged him still more:

  "Hero, why not invoke the deathless gods yourself?

  They say you're a son of Aphrodite, Zeus's daughter,

  but Achilles sprang from a lesser goddess' loins--

  Aphrodite's a child of Zeus,

  Thetis comes from the Old Man of the Sea.

  So ram him straight on with your tough bronze!

  Now--and not for a moment let him turn you back

  with his stinging proud contempt and brazen threats!"

  That breathed enormous strength in the good captain--

  right through the front he went, helmed in flashing bronze.

  Nor did the white-armed Hera fail to see Anchises' son

  advancing there through the press to face Achilles.

  And rallying other gods around her, Hera shouted,

  "Bend to the work, you two, Poseidon, Athena,

  decide in your hearts how this assault will go!

  Here comes Aeneas, look, helmed in flashing bronze

  to oppose Achilles now and Phoebus speeds him on.

  Come, spin him round in his tracks and drive him back.

  That, or else one of us might stand beside Achilles

  and lend him winning force--his courage must not flag.

  Let him know he's loved by the greatest gods on high

  while the gods who up till now have shielded Troy

  from war and death are worthless as the wind!

  We swept down from Olympus, all to join this fight

  so Achilles might not fall at Trojan hands today.

  Afterward he must suffer what the Fates spun out

  on the doomed fighter's life line drawn that day

  his mother gave him birth. If Achilles fails

  to learn all this from our own immortal voices

  he will quail when a god attacks him face-to-face.

  The gods are hard to handle--

  when they come blazing forth in their true power."

  But the god who grips the earth restrained the Queen:

  "Hera, so hard, so senseless! Don't leap to extremes.

  I, at least, have no real lust to drive our forces

  against the gods of Troy. Our side is so much stronger.

  Come now, let us move off and settle down together

  far from the trampled field, take a lookout post

  and leave the war to mortals ...

  But if Ares or Phoebus cares to start things off,

  if they block Achilles and keep him out of action,

  they will have a fight on their hands, then and there,

  an all-out fight with us. But not for long, I trust--

  they will soon break off and slink back to Olympus,

  home to the gathered gods who wait their coming,

  overwhelmed by the crushing power of our fists!"

  And with that threat the god of the sea-blue mane

  led the way to the fortress raised for godlike Heracles:

  earth piled on both sides, a high imposing breastwork

  men of Troy and Pallas Athena flung up for the man

  where he could race and escape that sea monster

  whenever it charged him hard from shore to plain.

  There Poseidon sat at ease with his deathless friends

  who spread unbroken shrouds of mist around their shoulders,

  while far on the other side the gods of Troy sat down

  on the brows of Sunlight Hill, flanking you, Apollo,

  god of the wild cry, and Ares scourge of cities.

  3

  So either side of the lines they took positions,

  weighing tactics, each Olympian force reluctant now

  to launch out first on the wrenching horrors of war ...

  while Zeus on the heights sat poised to thunder orders.

  But the whole plain filled with men and flashed with bronze,

  with troops and horse and beneath their feet the earth quaked

  as armies rushed together. And now in the no man's land

  two champions, greatest of all, strode and closed,

  both men burning for battle,

  Aeneas son of Anchises and brilliant Achilles.

  Aeneas came up first with long, menacing strides,

  head tossing his heavy helmet, his charging shield

  thrust out to defend his chest, and shook his bronze spear.

  But over against him came Achilles rearing like some lion

  out on a rampage, and a whole town of men has geared

  for the hunt to cut him down: but at first he lopes along,

  all contempt, till one of the fast young hunters spears him--

  then ... crouched for attack, his jaws gaping, over his teeth

  the foam breaks out, deep in his chest the brave heart groans,

  he lashes his ribs, his flanks and hips with his tail,

  he whips himself into fighting-fury, eyes glaring,

  hurls himself head-on-kill one of the men or die,

  go down himself at the first lethal charge!

  So now magnificent pride and fury lashed Achilles

  to go against Aeneas the greathearted fighter.

  As they closed on each other, both in range,

  the matchless runner Achilles opened up: "Aeneas--

  why so far from your own ranks, standing all exposed?

  Does your courage really drive you to challenge me?

  In hopes of ruling your stallion-breaking friends

  and filling Priam's throne? Even if you killed me,

  would Priam drop his crown in your hands--for that?

  The king has sons. He's sound of limb. No half-wit either.

  Or have the Trojans sworn to carve you a fine estate?

  The choicest land in the realm, rich in vineyards

  and good tilled fields for you to lord it over--

  if only you kill me!

  Ah but I think you'll find the work quite taxing.

  I seem to remember once before you fled my spear ...

  Or have you forgot the time I caught you all alone,

  I cut you off from your flocks and sent you scurrying down

  the slopes of Ida? Running for dear life, legs driving,

  never a look behind. And you escaped that time,

  you fled to Lyrnessus' walls, but at one charge

  I sacked the place with Athena's help and Father Zeus,

  I tore the day of freedom away from all the women,

  dragged them off as slaves. Zeus saved you then

  and other gods joined in. But he won't save you now,

  I'd say--though the hope goes racing through your mind.

  Go back to your own rank and file, I tell youl

  Don't stand up against me--or you will meet your death.

  Even a fool learns something once it hits him."

  But Aeneas, taking a long, deep breath, replied,

  "Don't think for a moment, Achilles, son of Peleus,

  you can frighten me with words like a child, a fool--

  I'm an old hand myself at trading taunts and insults.

  We both know each other's birth, each other's parents,<
br />
  we've heard their far-flung fame on the lips of mortal men,

  though you have never set eyes on mine, or I on yours.

  They say you are Peleus' son, that fine, flawless man;

  your mother, Thetis, sleek-haired child of the Sea.

  And I am Aeneas, and I can boast Anchises' blood,

  the proud Anchises, but my mother is Aphrodite.

  Our parents--one pair or the other will mourn

  a dear son today. Certain it is, I warn you,

  we won't break off from battle and leave the field

  with no more than a youngster's banter light as this.

  But about my birth, if you'd like to learn it well,

  first to last--though many people know it--

  here's my story, Achilles ...

  Starting with Dardanus, Storm-king Zeus's son

  who founded Dardania, long before holy Troy arose,

  that city reared on the plain to shelter all our people.

  They still camped on the slopes of Ida wet with springs.

  Then Dardanus had a son in turn, King Erichthonius,

  and he was the richest man in all the world--

  three thousand mares he owned, grazing the marshes,

  brood-mares in their prime, proud of their leaping foals.

  And the North Wind, lusting once for the herd at pasture,

  taking on the build of a black stallion, mounted several

  and swelling under his force they bore him twelve colts.

  And when they'd frisk on the tilled fields ripe with grain

  they'd brush the crests of the com and never snap a stalk,

  but when they'd frisk and vault on the sea's broad back

  they'd skim the crests of whitecaps glistening foam.

  Now Erichthonius sired Tros, a lord of the Trojans,

  and Tros, in turn, had three distinguished sons:

  Ilus, Assaracus and Ganymede radiant as a god,

  and he was the handsomest mortal man on earth--

  and so the immortals, awestruck by his beauty,

  snatched him away to bear the cup of Zeus

  and pour out wine for all the deathless gods.

  And Ilus, in turn, sired a valiant son Laomedon,

  Laomedon had his sons as well, Tithonus and Priam,

  Lampus and Clytius, Hicetaon the gallant aide of Ares,

  and Assaracus fathered Capys, and he had a son Anchises

  and Anchises fathered me, but Priam had Prince Hector.

  There you have my lineage.

  That is the blood I claim, my royal birth.

  As for strength in war, Zeus lends power to some,

  others he wastes away, whatever his pleasure--

  the strongest god of all.

  Come, Achilles,

  no more bragging on this way like boys,

  standing here in the thick of a pitched battle.

  Plenty of insults we could fling against each other,

  enough to sink a ship with a hundred benches!

  A man's tongue is a glib and twisty thing ...

  plenty of words there are, all kinds at its command--

  with all the room in the world for talk to range and stray.

  And the sort you use is just the sort you'll hear.