The Iliad, Page 60

not till you pack and cram the Trojan armies tight

  in the famous walls of Troy--whoever flees your onset.

  But once you've ripped away Prince Hector's life,

  back to the ships you go! We give you glory--

  seize it in your hands!"

  With that challenge

  both went soaring home to the deathless ones on high

  but Achilles rampaged on with the gods' strong command

  driving him down the plain where the river flooded now,

  an immense, cresting outrush bursting with burnished gear

  and troops of battle dead, men cut down in their prime,

  floating corpses rolling--But Achilles surged on too

  with high hurdling strides, charging against the river,

  on, breakneck on and the river could not stop him,

  not for all its reach and tide race, not with Athena

  pumping enormous strength deep down Achilles' heart--

  But the Xanthus River would not slack his fury either,

  he raged at Achilles all the more, he marshaled up

  a mountainous ridge of water, roaring out to Simois,

  "Oh dear brother, rise! Both of us rush together

  to halt this mortal's onslaught! At any moment

  he'll storm King Priam's mighty stronghold down--

  the Trojans can't stand up to the man in battle.

  Beat him back, quickly! Deluge all your channels

  from all your gushing springs--muster all your torrents--

  raise up a tremendous wave, rumbling, booming with timber,

  boulders crashing--we'll stop this wild man in his tracks,

  lording it in his power now and raging like some god!

  Neither his strength nor splendid build can save him,

  not now, I tell you--nor all that glorious armor:

  now, somewhere under our floods that gear will sink,

  immersed deep in slime, and I, I'll roil his body

  round in sand and gravel, tons of spills of silt.

  Achaeans will never know where to find his bones,

  never collect them now--

  I'll bury that man so deep in mud and rocks!

  That's where his grave-mound will be piled and then

  no need in the world to raise his barrow high

  when comrades come to give him royal rites!"

  So he vaunted,

  rearing against Achilles, seething, heaving up in fury,

  thundering out now in foam and blood and corpses--

  the bloodred crest of the river swelled by Zeus

  came arching higher, ready to tear Pelides down

  but Hera, struck with fear for Achilles, screamed out,

  dreading he might be swept away by the giant churning river

  and quickly cried to the god of fire, her own dear son,

  "To arms, my child--god of the crooked legs!

  You are the one we'd thought a worthy match

  for the whirling river Xanthus!

  Quick, rescue Achilles! Explode in a burst of fire!

  I'll drive the West and South Winds white with clouds

  and sweep in from the open seas a tearing gale to sear

  the Trojan bodies and gear and spread your lethal flames!

  And you, you make for the Xanthus banks and bum the trees,

  hurl the stream itself into conflagration--not for a moment

  let him turn you back with his winning words or threats.

  Never abate your fury! Not till I let loose my shout--

  then halt your withering fire!"

  Hera's command--

  and Hephaestus launched his grim inhuman blaze.

  First he shot into flames and burned the plain,

  ignited hordes of corpses, squads Achilles slaughtered--

  he scorched the whole plain and the shining river shrank.

  Hard as the autumn North Wind hits a leveled field

  just drenched in a downpour, quickly dries it off

  and the farmer is glad and starts to till his soil--

  so the whole plain was parched and the god of fire devoured

  all the dead, then blazing in all his glory veered for the river--

  an inferno--the elms burned, the willows and tamarisks burned

  and the lotus burned and the galingale and reeds and rushes.

  all that flourished along the running river's lush banks

  and the eels writhed and fish in the whirlpools leapt high,

  breaking the surface left and right in a sheen of fire,

  gasping under the Master Smith Hephaestus' blast

  and now the river's strength was burning out,

  he panted the god's name: "Hephaestus--stop!

  Not a single god can stand against you--no, not I--

  can't fight such fire, such fury--hold your attack, stop!

  Brilliant Achilles can drive them out of Ilium now!

  What's this war to me? Why should I help Troy?"

  He screamed in flames, his clear currents bubbling up

  like a cauldron whipped by crackling fire as it melts down

  the lard of a fat swine, splattering up around the rim--

  dry logs blazing under it, lashing it to the boit--

  so the river burned, his clear currents seethed

  and lost all will to flow. He stopped--overwhelmed

  by the torrid blast of the Master Craftsman god of fire--

  and Xanthus cried to Hera, pouring out his heart

  in a flood of supplication, "Oh Hera--why?

  Why does your son attack me, whip my waters more

  than all the others? Why, what have I done to you?

  Nothing beside those other powers, all who rush

  to defend the Trojan armies. Oh I'll stop--

  if that is your command--

  but let your son stop too! I'll swear, what's more,

  never to drive the fatal day away from the Trojans,

  not even when all Troy burns in the ramping flames

  when the warring sons of Achaea bum her down!"

  And Hera heard him, the radiant white-armed goddess

  quickly cried to the god of fire, her own dear son,

  "Hephaestus, stop! Stop, my glorious blazing boy!

  It's not right to batter another deathless god,

  not for the sake of these mortals."

  She ceased

  and the god of fire quenched his grim inhuman blaze

  and back in its channel ran the river's glistening tides.

  And now with the strength of Xanthus beaten down

  the two called off their battle. Hera held them back,

  still enraged as she was. But now for total war,

  bearing down on the other gods, disastrous, massive,

  their fighting-fury blasting loose from opposing camps--

  the powers collided! A mammoth clash--the wide earth roared

  and the arching vault of heaven echoed round with trumpets!

  And Zeus heard the chaos, throned on Olympus heights,

  and laughed deep in his own great heart, delighted

  to see the gods engage in all-out conflict.

  They did not waste a moment, closed at once--

  Ares stabber of shields led off, charging Athena,

  shaking his brazen spear and dressed the goddess down:

  "You dog-fly, why drive the gods to battle once again

  with that stormy bluster driving your wild heart?

  Don't you recall the time you drove Tydides' son

  to spear me through? In the eyes of all the world

  you seized his lance and rammed it home yourself,

  tearing into my rippling, deathless flesh--so now

  I think I'll pay you back for all your outrage!"

  With that he stabbed at her battle-shield of storm,

  its dark tassels flaring, packing tremendous force--

  not even Zeus's lightning bolt can break its front.

&nbs
p; Bloody Ares lunged at it now with giant lance

  and Athena backed away, her powerful hand hefting

  a boulder off the plain, black, jagged, a ton weight

  that men in the old days planted there to mark off plowland--

  Pallas hurled that boundary-stone at Ares, struck his neck,

  loosed his limbs, and down he crashed and out over seven acres

  sprawled the enormous god and his mane dragged in the dust,

  his armor clashed around him. Athena laughed aloud,

  glorying over him, winging insults: "Colossal fool--

  it never even occurred to you, not even now

  when you matched your strength with mine,

  just how much greater I claim to be than you!

  So now you feel the weight of your mother's curses--

  Hera plotted against you, Hera up in arms

  because you left the Achaean forces in the lurch

  and rushed to defend these reckless, headlong Trojans!"

  Triumphant Athena turned her shining eyes away

  and Aphrodite daughter of Zeus took Ares' hand

  and led him off the field, racked with groans,

  barely able to gather back his strength ...

  But the white-armed Hera saw her move at once

  and winged Athena on: "Just look at them there--

  daughter of Zeus whose shield is storm and thunder,

  tireless one, Athena. There she goes again,

  that dog-fly, leading her man-destroying Ares'clear

  of the rampage, through the slaughter! After her, quick!"

  Athena's heart leapt high, she charged at Aphrodite,

  overtook her and beat her breasts with clenched fists.

  Down she sank with Ares, resistance quite dissolved,

  two immortals spread on the earth that rears us all

  with Pallas trumpeting over them winged exultations:

  "Down you go! May all the gods who help the Trojans

  fall as hard when they battle Argives armed for war--

  all as courageous, all as steadfast as Aphrodite

  when she sped to Ares' side and faced my fury!

  Then we'd have done with fighting long ago,

  razed the rugged walls of Troy and laid her waste."

  So Athena vaunted and white-armed Hera smiled

  but the mighty god of earthquakes challenged Phoebus:

  "Apollo--why hold back from each other? It's not fair

  when the other gods have launched themselves in war.

  What disgrace for us--to return without a fight

  to the bronze-floored house of Zeus on Mount Olympus!

  You lead off. You are the younger-born, and I--

  it's wrong for me, since I have years on you

  and I know the world much better.

  Fool, what short-lived memory you must havel

  Don't you remember? Have you forgotten--even now?--

  all those troubles we suffered here alongside Troy,

  we alone of the gods when Zeus dispatched us down

  to slave for proud Laomedon one whole year,

  for stated wages--at that man's beck and call.

  I erected the rampart round the Trojans' city,

  a massive ashlar wall to make the place impregnable.

  You, Phoebus, herded his shambling crook-homed cattle

  along the spurs of Ida's timbered ridges. Ah but then,

  when the happy spring brought time for payment round,

  that outrageous man Laomedon robbed us blind.

  He stole our wages, cursed us, sent us packing--

  he threatened to bind us both, hand and foot,

  ship us off and away as slaves to distant islands--

  he was all for lopping off our ears with a brazen ax!

  So we made our way back home, hearts smoldering,

  furious for the sum he swore but never paid--

  and that, that is the one whose men you favor now.

  No joining ranks with us as we fight to wipe them out,

  these insolent Trojans, stretch them out in the dust

  with all their sons and all their honored wives!"

  But the distant deadly Archer volleyed back,

  "God of the earthquake--you'd think me hardly sane

  if I fought with you for the sake of wretched mortals ...

  like leaves, no sooner flourishing, full of the sun's fire,

  feeding on earth's gifts, than they waste away and die.

  Stop. Call off this skirmish of ours at once--

  let these mortals fight themselves to death."

  With that he turned and left, filled with shame

  to grapple his own father's brother hand-to-hand.

  But his sister Artemis, Huntress, queen of beasts,

  inveighed against him now with stinging insults:

  "So, the deadly immortal Archer runs for dear life!--

  turning over victory to Poseidon, total victory,

  giving him all the glory here without a fight.

  Why do you sport that bow, you spineless fool?--

  it's worthless as the wind!

  Don't let me hear you boast in Father's halls,

  ever again, as you bragged among the gods till now,

  that you would fight Poseidon strength for strength."

  Not a word in reply to that from the Archer-god

  but Zeus's regal consort flew into rage at once

  and her outburst raked the Huntress armed with arrows:

  "How do you have the gall, you shameless bitch,

  to stand and fight me here? You and your archery!

  Zeus made you a lion against all women, true,

  he lets you kill off mothers in their labor--

  but you'll find it painful, matching force with me.

  Better to slaughter beasts on rocky mountain slopes

  and young deer in the wild than fight a higher goddess!

  But since you'd like a lesson in warfare, Artemis,

  just to learn, to savor how much stronger I am

  when you engage my power--"

  She broke off,

  her left hand seizing both wrists of the goddess,

  right hand stripping the bow and quiver off her shoulders--

  Hera boxed the Huntress' ears with her own weapons,

  smiling broadly now as her victim writhed away

  and showering arrows scattered. Bursting into tears

  the goddess slipped from under her clutch like a wild dove

  that flies from a hawk's attack to a hollow rocky cleft

  for it's not the quarry's destiny to be caught--

  so she fled in tears, her archery left on the spot.

  But Hermes the guide of souls and giant-killer

  reassured her mother, Leto, "Nothing to fear,

  I'd never fight you, Leto. An uphill battle it is,

  trading blows with the wives of Zeus who rules the clouds.

  No, go boast to your heart's content and tell the gods

  you triumphed over me with your superhuman power!"

  So Leto gathered the reflex bow and arrows

  scattered left and right in the swirling dust,

  and bearing her daughter's archery in her arms

  withdrew from the field of battle trailing Artemis.

  By now the Huntress had reached Olympus heights

  and made her way to the bronze-floored house of Zeus.

  And down she sat on her Father's lap, a young girl,

  sobbing, her deathless robe quivering round her body.

  But her Father, son of Cronus, hugged her tight

  and giving a low warm laugh inquired gently,

  "Who has abused you now, dear child, tell me,

  who of the sons of heaven so unfeeling, cruel?

  Why, it's as if they had caught you in public,

  doing something wrong . . ."

  Wreathed in flowers

  the one who halloos the hunt cried out
at once,

  "Your own wife, Father! The white-armed Hera beat me!

  This strife, this warfare plaguing all the immortals--

  Hera's all to blame!"

  And now as the powers wrangled back and forth

  the lord god Apollo entered holy Troy,

  filled with dread for the city's sturdy walls:

  what if the Argive forces stormed them down today--

  against the will of fate? The rest of the gods

  who live forever soon returned to Mount Olympus,

  some enraged, some in their proud, new-won glory,

  and sat beside the Father, king of the black cloud.

  But Achilles slaughtered on and on, never pausing,

  killing Trojans and skittish battle-teams at once.

  As smoke goes towering into the broad vaulting sky

  from a burning town and the gods' wrath drives it on,

  dealing struggle to all, to many searing grief--

  so Achilles dealt the Trojans struggle, grief.

  But there on the god-built heights stood aged Priam.

  He saw the monstrous Achilles and racing on before him

  Trojans whipped in headlong flight, all rescue gone.

  The king cried out and clambered down to ground

  from the high tower, issuing quick commands

  to veteran gateway guards beside the walls:

  "Spread the great gates wide--all hands now--

  till our routed troops can straggle back to Troy!

  Achilles swarms over them--they're stampeding,

  a terrible mauling's coming ... I can see it now!

  Once they're packed in the walls and catch their breath,

  close the thickset gates and bolt them tight again.

  I dread this murderous man--he'll burst right through our walls."

  They spread the gates and rammed the doorbars back

  and the spreading gates made way for a ray of hope

  as Phoebus Apollo hurtled forth to meet Achilles,

  to fight disaster off the Trojan troops.

  Heading straight for the city's lofty ramparts,

  ragged with thirst, choked with dust from the plain

  they fled as Achilles stormed them, shaking his spear,

  that wild rabid frenzy always gripping his heart,

  blazing to seize his glory.

  And then and there

  the Achaeans would have taken the lofty gates of Troy

  if Apollo had not driven Prince Agenor at them,

  Antenor's son, a courageous, rugged soldier.

  He inspired his heart with daring, standing near--

  in person, to beat away the dragging fates of death--

  leaning against an oak, concealed in swirls of mist.

  And now, as soon as Agenor saw Achilles coming,

  there he stood, poised for the scourge of cities

  while the heart inside him heaved like heavy seas.

  Waiting, tense, he probed his own brave spirit:

  "Ah dear god--if I run from Achilles' onslaught,

  taking the route the rest have fled, stampeding,

  he'll catch me even so and slash my coward's throat.

  But if I leave my comrades panicked before his charge,

  this Prince Achilles--slip away from the wall on foot