Book V

The Exploits of Diomed

The valor of Diomed, aided by Minerva⁠—He is wounded by Pandarus, and healed by the Goddess, who forbids him to fight with any of the immortals, save Venus⁠—His combat with Pandarus and Aeneas⁠—Pandarus slain, and Aeneas, wounded and in great danger, rescued by Venus, who in the act is wounded by Diomed, and leaves Aeneas to the care of Apollo⁠—Descent of Mars to the field in aid of Hector⁠—Return of Aeneas to the field⁠—Descent of Juno and Minerva to resist Mars, who is wounded by Diomed⁠—Return of the gods to heaven.

Then Pallas to Tydides Diomed

Gave strength and courage, that he might appear

Among the Achaians greatly eminent,

And win a glorious name. Upon his head

And shield she caused a constant flame to play,

Like to the autumnal star that shines in heaven

Most brightly when new-bathed in ocean tides.

Such light she caused to beam upon his crest

And shoulders, as she sent the warrior forth

Into the thick and tumult of the fight.

Among the Trojans, Dares was the priest

Of Vulcan, rich and blameless. His two sons

Were Phegeus and Idaus, trained in all

The arts of war. They left the host and came

To meet Tydides⁠—on the chariot they,

And he on foot; and now, as they drew near,

First Phegeus hurled his massive lance. It flew

O’er Diomed’s left shoulder and struck not.

Tydides cast his spear, and not in vain;

It smote the breast of Phegeus in the midst,

And dashed him from his seat. Idaeus leaped

To earth, and left the sumptuous car, nor dared

To guard the slain, yet would have met his death

If Vulcan had not borne him swiftly thence

Concealed in darkness, that he might not leave

The aged man, his father, desolate.

The son of Tydeus took the steeds, and bade

His comrades lead them to the fleet. Aghast

The valiant sons of Troy beheld the sons

Of Dares, one in flight, the other slain.

Meantime the blue-eyed Pallas took the hand

Of Mars, and thus addressed the fiery god:⁠—

“Mars, Mars, thou slayer of men, thou steeped in blood,

Destroyer of walled cities! Should we not

Leave both the Greeks and Trojans to contend,

And Jove to crown with glory whom he will,

While we retire, lest we provoke his wrath?”

Thus having said, she led the violent Mars

From where the battle raged, and made him sit

Beside Scamander, on its grassy bank.

And then the Achaians put the sons of Troy

To flight: each leader slew a foe; and first

The king of men, Atrides, from his car

Struck down the huge-limbed Hodius, who was chief

Among the Halizonians. As he turned

To flee, the Achaian, smiting him between

The shoulders, drove the javelin through his breast.

Heavily clashed his armor as he fell.

Then by Idomeneus was Phaestus slain,

Son of Meonian Borus, who had come

From Tarna, rich in harvests. As he sprang

Into his car, Idomeneus, expert

To wield the ponderous javelin, thrust its blade

Through his right shoulder. From the car he fell,

And the dark night of death came over him.

The Achaian warriors following spoiled the slain.

The son of Atreus, Menelaus, slew

With his sharp spear Scamandrius, the son

Of Strophius, practised in the forest chase,

A mighty hunter. Him had Dian taught

To strike whatever beast the woody wild

Breeds on the hills; but now availed him not

The favor of Diana, archer-queen,

Nor skill to throw the javelin afar;

For Menelaus, mighty with the spear,

Followed him as he fled, and in the back

Smote him, between the shoulder-blades, and drave

The weapon through. He fell upon the ground

Headlong, his armor clashing as he fell.

And then Meriones slew Phereclus,

Son of Harmonius, the artificer,

Who knew to shape all works of rare device,

For Pallas loved him. It was he who built

The fleet for Paris⁠—cause of many woes

To all the Trojans and to him⁠—for ill

He understood the oracles of heaven.

Him did Meriones, pursuing long,

O’ertake, and, smiting him on the right hip,

Pierced through the part beneath the bone and near

The bladder. On his knees with sad lament so

He fell, and death involved him in its shade.

And then by Meges was Pedseus slain,

Antenor’s base-born son, whose noble wife,

Theano, reared him with as fond a care

As her own children, for her husband’s sake.

And now the mighty spearman, Phyleus’ son,

Drew near and smote him with his trenchant lance

Where meet the head and spine, and pierced the neck

Beneath the tongue; and forth the weapon came

Between the teeth. He fell, and in the fall

Gnashed with his teeth upon the cold bright blade.

Then did Evaemon’s son Eurypylus

Strike down Hypsenor, nobly born, the son

Of great Dolopion, Scamander’s priest,

Whom all the people honored as a god.

Evaemon’s gallant son, o’ertaking him

In flight; with one stroke of his falchion hewed

His brawny arm away. The bloody limb

Dropped to the ground, and the dark night of death

Came o’er his eyes: so cruel fate decreed.

Thus toiled the heroes in that stubborn fight.

Nor would you now have known to which array⁠—

Trojan or Greek⁠—Tydides might belong;

For through the field he rushed with furious speed,

Like a swollen river when its current takes

The torrent’s swiftness, scattering with a sweep

The bridges; nor can massive dikes withstand

Its fury, nor embankments raised to screen

The grassy meadows, while the rains of Jove

Fall heavily, and harvests, late the joy

Of toiling youth, are beaten to the ground.

Thus by Tydides the close phalanxes

Of Troy were scattered, nor could they endure,

All numerous as they were, his strong assault.

As Pandarus, Lycaon’s eminent son,

Beheld Tydides rush athwart the field,

Breaking the ranks, he drew his crooked bow

And smote the chief’s left shoulder as he came,

Striking the hollow corselet. The sharp point

Broke through, and blood came gushing o’er the mail.

Then called aloud Lycaon’s eminent son:⁠—

“Brave Trojans, great in mastery of steeds,

Press on; the bravest of the Grecian host

Is smitten, nor, I think, can long survive

The grievous wound, if it be true that I,

At the command of Phoebus, son of Jove,

Have left my home upon the Lycian shore.”

Thus boastfully he spake; but his swift shaft

Slew not Tydides, who had now withdrawn.

And, standing by his steeds and chariot, spake

To Sthenelus, the son of Capaneus:⁠—

“Haste down, kind Sthenelus, and with thy hand

Draw the sharp arrow from my shoulder here.”

He spake, and Sthenelus at once leaped down,

Stood by his side, and from his shoulder drew

The wingèd arrow deeply fixed within.

The blood flowed forth upon the twisted rings

Of mail, while Diomed, the valiant, prayed:⁠—

“Hear me, O child of aegis-bearing Jove,

Goddess invincible! If ever thou

Didst aid me or my father in the heat

Of battle, aid me, Pallas, yet again.

Give me to slay this Trojan; bring him near,

Within my javelin’s reach, who wounded me,

And now proclaims⁠—the boaster⁠—that not long

Shall I behold the brightness of the sun.”

So prayed he, and Minerva heard his prayer

And lightened all his limbs⁠—his feet, his hands⁠—

And, standing near him, spake these wingèd words:⁠—

“War boldly with the Trojans, Diomed;

For even now I breathe into thy frame

The ancestral might and fearless soul that dwelt

In Tydeus, peerless with the steed and shield.

Lo! I remove the darkness from thine eyes,

That thou mayst well discern the gods from men;

And if a god should tempt thee to the fight,

Beware to combat with the immortal race;

Only, should Venus, child of Jupiter,

Take part in battle, wound her with thy spear.”

The blue-eyed Pallas spake, and disappeared;

And Diomed went back into the field

And mingled with the warriors. If before

His spirit moved him fiercely to engage

The men of Troy, a threefold courage now

Inspired him. As a lion who has leaped

Into a fold⁠—and he who guards the flock

Has wounded but not slain him⁠—feels his rage

Waked by the blow;⁠—the affrighted shepherd then

Ventures not near, but hides within the stalls,

And the forsaken sheep are put to flight,

And, huddling, slain in heaps, till o’er the fence

The savage bounds into the fields again;⁠—

Such was Tydides midst the sons of Troy.

Astynoüs first he slew, Hypenor next,

The shepherd of the people. One he pierced

High on the bosom with his brazen spear,

And smote the other on the collar-bone

With his good sword, and hewed from neck and spine

The shoulder. There he left the dead, and rushed

To Abas and to Polyeidus, sons

Of old Eurydamas, interpreter

Of visions. Ill the aged man had read

His visions when they joined the war. They died,

And Diomed, the valiant, spoiled the slain.

Xanthus and Thoön he encountered next,

The sons of Phaenops, born in his old age.

No other child had he, to be his heir,

And he was worn with length of years. These two

Tydides smote and took their lives, and left

Grief to their father and regretful cares,

Since he no more should welcome their return

From war, and strangers should divide his wealth.

Then smote he Chromius and Echemon, sons

Of Dardan Priam, in one chariot both.

As on a herd of beeves a lion springs

While midst the shrubs they browse, and breaks their necks⁠—

Heifer or ox⁠—so sprang he on the twain

And struck them, vainly struggling, from their car,

And spoiled them of their arms, and took their steeds,

And bade his comrades lead them to the fleet.

Aeneas, who beheld him scattering thus

The embattled ranks before him, straightway went

Through the thick fight, amid encountering spears,

In search of godlike Pandarus. He found

Lycaon’s blameless and illustrious son,

And stood before him, and addressed him thus:⁠—

“Where is thy bow, O Pandarus, and where

Thy wingèd arrows? Where the old renown

In which no warrior here can vie with thee,

And none upon the Lycian shore can boast

That he excels thee? Hasten, and lift up

Thy hands in prayer to Jupiter, and send

An arrow at this man, whoe’er he be,

Who thus prevails, and thus afflicts our host,

And makes the knees of many a strong man weak.

Strike him⁠—unless he be some god incensed

At Troy for sacrifice withheld, since hard

It is to bear the anger of a god.”

Lycaon’s son, the far-renowned, replied:⁠—

“Aeneas, leader of the Trojans mailed

In brass, to me this man in all things seems

Like warlike Diomed. I know his shield,

High helm, and steeds, and yet I may not say

That this is not a god. But if he be

The chief of whom I speak, the warlike son

Of Tydeus, not thus madly would he fight,

Without some god to aid him. By his side

Is one of the immortals, with a cloud

About his shoulders, turning from its aim

The swiftly flying arrow. ’Twas but late

I aimed a shaft that pierced the hollow mail

On his left shoulder, and I thought him sent

To Pluto, but I slew him not. Some god

Must be offended with me. I have here

No steeds or car to mount. Far off at home

There stand within Lycaon’s palace-walls

Eleven chariots, fair and fresh and new:

Each has an ample cover, and by each

Are horses yoked in pairs, that champ their oats

And their white barley. When I left my home,

Lycaon, aged warrior, counselled me,

Within his sumptuous halls, that with my steeds

And chariot I should lead the sons of Troy

In the fierce battle. I obeyed him not:

Far better if I had. I wished to spare

My horses, lest, so largely fed at home,

They might want food in the beleaguered town.

So, leaving them, I came on foot to Troy,

Confiding in my bow, which yet was doomed

To avail me little, for already I

Have smitten with my arrows the two chiefs,

Tydides and Atrides, and from both

Drew the red blood, but only made their rage

To flame the fiercer. In an evil hour

I took my bow and quiver from the wall

And came to lead the Trojans for the sake

Of Hector. But if ever I return

To see my native country and my wife

And my tall spacious mansion, may some foe

Strike off my head if with these hands I fail

To break my bow in pieces, casting it

Into the flames, a useless weapon now.”

The Trojan chief Aeneas, answering, said:⁠—

“Nay, talk not so; it cannot but be thus,

Until upon a chariot, and with steeds,

We try our prowess with this man in war.

Haste, mount my chariot here, and thou shalt see

How well are Trojan horses trained to range

The field of battle, in the swift pursuit

Hither and thither, or in rapid flight;

And they shall bring us safely to the town

Should Jove a second time bestow the meed

Of glory on Tydides. Haste, and take

The lash and well-wrought reins, while I descend

To fight on foot; or haply thou wilt wait

The foe’s advance while I direct the steeds.”

Then spake again Lycaon’s eminent son:⁠—

“Keep thou the reins, Aeneas, and still guide

The horses. With their wonted charioteer,

The better shall they bear away the car

Should we be forced to fly before the arm

Of Diomed; lest, taking flight, they range

Unmastered when they hear thy voice no more,

Nor bear us from the combat, and the son

Of Tydeus, having slain us, shall lead thence

Thy firm-hoofed coursers. Therefore guide them still,

Them and the chariot, while, with this keen spear,

I wait the Greek, as he is rushing on.”

They spake, and, climbing the magnificent car,

Turned toward Tydides the swift-footed steeds.

The noble son of Capaneus beheld,

And said in wingèd words to Diomed:⁠—

“Tydides Diomed, most dear of men!

I see two warriors, strong, immensely strong,

Coming to combat with thee. Pandarus

Is one, the skilled in archery, who boasts

To be Lycaon’s son; and by his side

There comes Aeneas, glorying that he sprang

From the large-souled Anchises⁠—borne to him

By Venus. Mount we now our car and leave

The ground, nor in thy fury rush along

The van of battle, lest thou lose thy life.”

The brave Tydides, with a frown, replied:⁠—

“Speak not of flight; thou canst not yet persuade

My mind to that. To skulk or shrink with fear

In battle ill becomes me, and my strength

Is unexhausted yet. It suits me not

To mount the chariot; I will meet the foe

Just as I am. Minerva will not let

My spirit falter. Ne’er shall those swift steeds

Bear the two warriors hence⁠—if even one

Escapes me. One thing more have I to say;

And keep it well in mind. Should Pallas deign⁠—

The wise, forecasting Pallas⁠—to bestow

On me the glory of o’ercoming both,

Stop thy swift horses, and tie fast the reins

To our own chariot, and make haste to seize

The horses of Aeneas, guiding them

Hence from the Trojan to the Grecian host;

For they are of the stock which Jupiter

The Thunderer gave to Tros. It was the price

He paid for Ganymede, and they, of all

Beneath the eye of morning and the sun,

Are of the choicest breed. The king of men,

Anchises, stealthily and unobserved,

Brought to the coursers of Laomedon

His brood-mare, and obtained the race. Six colts,

Their offspring, in his courts were foaled. Of these,

Four for himself he kept, and in his stalls

Reared them, and two of them, both apt for war,

He gave Aeneas. If we make them ours,

The exploit will bring us honor and renown.”

Thus they conferred. Meantime their foes drew near,

Urging their fiery coursers on, and first

Lycaon’s eminent son addressed the Greek:⁠—

“My weapon, swift and sharp, the arrow, failed

To slay thee; let me try the javelin now,

And haply that, at least, may reach its mark.”

He spake, and, brandishing his massive spear,

Hurled it against the shield of Diomed.

The brazen point broke through, and reached the mail.

Then shouted with loud voice Lycaon’s son:⁠—

“Ha! Thou art wounded in thy flank; my spear

Bites deep; nor long, I think, canst thou survive,

And great will be my glory gained from thee.”

But thus the valiant Diomed replied.

Incapable of fear: “Thy thought is wrong.

I am not wounded, and I well perceive

That ye will never give the conflict o’er

Till one of you, laid low amid the dust,

Pour out his blood to glut the god of war.”

He spake, and cast his spear. Minerva kept

The weapon faithful to its aim. It struck

The nose, and near the eye; then passing on

Betwixt the teeth, the unrelenting edge

Cleft at its root the tongue; the point came out

Beneath the chin. The warrior from his car

Fell headlong; his bright armor, fairly wrought,

Clashed round him as he fell; his fiery steeds

Started aside with fright; his breath and strength

Were gone at once, Aeneas, with his shield

And his long spear, leaped down to guard the slain,

That the Achaians might not drag him thence.

There, lion-like, confiding in his strength,

He stalked around the corpse, and over it

Held his round shield and lance, prepared to slay

Whoever came, and shouting terribly.

Tydides raised a stone⁠—a mighty weight,

Such as no two men living now could lift;

But he, alone, could swing it round with ease.

With this he smote Aeneas on the hip,

Where the thigh joins its socket. By the blow

He brake the socket and the tendons twain,

And tore the skin with the rough, jagged stone.

The hero fell upon his knees, but stayed

His fall with his strong palm upon the ground;

And o’er his eyes a shadow came like night.

Then had the king of men, Aeneas, died,

But for Jove’s daughter, Venus, who perceived

His danger instantly⁠—his mother, she

Who bore him to Anchises when he kept

His beeves, a herdsman. Round her son she cast

Her white arms, spreading over him in folds

Her shining robe, to be a fence against

The weapons of the foe, lest some Greek knight

Should at his bosom aim the steel to take

His life. And thus the goddess bore away

From that fierce conflict her beloved son.

Nor did the son of Capaneus forget

The bidding of the warlike Diomed,

But halted his firm-footed steeds apart

From the great tumult, with the long reins stretched

And fastened to the chariot. Next, he sprang

To seize the horses with fair-flowing manes,

That drew the chariot of Aeneas. These

He drave away, far from the Trojan host,

To the well-greaved Achaians, giving them

In charge, to lead them to the hollow ships,

To his beloved friend Deipylus,

Whom he of all his comrades honored most,

As likest to himself in years and mind.

And then he climbed his car and took the reins,

And, swiftly drawn by his firm-footed steeds,

Followed Tydides, who with cruel steel

Sought Venus, knowing her unapt for war,

And all unlike the goddesses who guide

The battles of mankind, as Pallas does,

Or as Bellona, ravager of towns.

O’ertaking her at last, with long pursuit,

Amid the throng of warring men, the son

Of warlike Tydeus aimed at her his spear,

And wounded in her hand the delicate one

With its sharp point. It pierced the ambrosial robe,

Wrought for her by the Graces, at the spot

Where the palm joins the wrist, and broke the skin,

And drew immortal blood⁠—the ichor⁠—such

As from the blessed gods may flow; for they

Eat not the wheaten loaf, nor drink dark wine;

And therefore they are bloodless, and are called

Immortal. At the stroke the goddess shrieked,

And dropped her son. Apollo in his arms

Received and in a dark cloud rescued him,

Lest any of the Grecian knights should aim

A weapon at his breast to take his life.

Meantime the brave Tydides cried aloud:⁠—

“Leave wars and battle, goddess. Is it not

Enough that thou delude weak womankind?

Yet, if thou ever shouldst return, to bear

A part in battle, thou shalt have good cause

To start with fear, when war is only named.”

He spake; and she departed, wild with pain,

For grievously she suffered. Instantly

Fleet-footed Iris took her by the hand

And led her from the place, her heart oppressed

With anguish and her fair cheek deathly pale.

She found the fiery Mars, who had withdrawn

From that day’s combat to the left, and sat,

His spear and his swift coursers hid from sight,

In darkness. At his feet she fell, and prayed

Her brother fervently, that he would lend

His steeds that stood in trappings wrought of gold:⁠—

“Dear brother, aid me; let me have thy steeds

To bear me to the Olympian mount, the home

Of gods, for grievously the wound I bear

Afflicts me. ’Twas a mortal gave the wound⁠—

Tydides, who would even fight with Jove.”

She spake; and Mars resigned to her his steeds

With trappings of bright gold. She climbed the car,

Still grieving, and, beside her, Iris took

Her seat, and caught the reins and plied the lash.

On flew the coursers, on, with willing speed,

And soon were at the mansion of the gods

On high Olympus. There the active-limbed,

Fleet Iris stayed them, loosed them from the car,

And fed them with ambrosial food. Meanwhile,

The goddess Venus at Dione’s feet

Had cast herself. The mother round her child

Threw tenderly her arms, and with her hand

Caressed her brow, and spake, and thus inquired:⁠—

“Which of the dwellers of the skies, dear child,

Has dealt thus cruelly with thee, as one

Caught in the doing of some flagrant wrong?”

And thus did Venus, queen of smiles, reply:⁠—

“The son of Tydeus, arrogant Diomed,

Wounded me as I sought to bear away

From battle’s dangers my beloved son

Aeneas, dear beyond all other men:

For now no longer does the battle rage

Between the Greeks and Trojans, but the Greeks

Venture to combat even with the gods.”

Dione, great among the goddesses,

Rejoined: “Submit, my daughter, and endure,

Though inly grieved; for many of us who dwell

Upon the Olympian mount have suffered much

From mortals, and have brought great miseries

Upon each other. First, it was the fate

Of Mars to suffer, when Aloëus’ sons,

Otus and mighty Ephialtes, made

Their fetters fast upon his limbs. He lay

Chained thirteen months within a brazen cell;

And haply there the god, whose thirst of blood

Is never cloyed, had perished, but for aid

Which Eriboea gave, the beautiful,

His step-mother. She made his miseries known

To Mercury, who set him free by stealth,

Withered and weak with long imprisonment.

And Juno suffered when Amphitryon’s son,

The valiant, dared to plant in her right breast

A three-pronged arrow, and she writhed with pain.

And Pluto suffered, when the hero-son

Of aegis-bearing Jove, with a swift shaft,

Smote him beside the portals of the dead,

And left him filled with pain. He took his way

To high Olympus and the home of Jove,

Grieving and racked with pain, for deep the dart

Had pierced his brawny shoulder, torturing him.

There Paean with his pain-dispelling balms

Healed him, for he was not of mortal race.

O daring man and reckless, to make light

Of such impieties and violate

The sacred persons of the Olympian gods!

It was the blue-eyed Pallas who stirred up

Tydides to assail thee thus. The fool!

He knew not that the man who dares to meet

The gods in combat lives not long. No child

Shall prattling call him father when he comes

Returning from the dreadful tasks of war.

Let then Tydides, valiant though he be,

Beware lest a more potent foe than thou

Encounter him, and lest the nobly-born

Aegialeia, in some night to come⁠—

Wise daughter of Adrastus, and the spouse

Of the horse-tamer Diomed⁠—call up

The servants of her household from their sleep,

Bewailing him to whom in youth she gave

Her maiden troth⁠—the bravest of the Greeks.”

She spake, and wiped the ichor from the hand

Of Venus; at her touch the hand was healed

And the pain left it. Meantime Pallas stood,

With Juno, looking on, both teasing Jove

With words of sarcasm. Blue-eyed Pallas thus

Addressed the god: “O Father Jupiter,

Wilt thou be angry at the word I speak?⁠—

As Venus, wheedling some Achaian dame

To join the host she loves, the sons of Troy,

Caressed the fair, arrayed in gay attire,

A golden buckle scratched her tender hand.”

As thus she spake, the Father of the gods

And mortals, calling golden Venus near,

Said, with a smile: “Nay, daughter, not for thee

Are tasks of war; be gentle marriage-rites

Thy care; the labors of the battle-field

Pertain to Pallas and the fiery Mars.”

Thus with each other talked the gods, while still

The great in battle, Diomed, pursued

Aeneas, though he knew that Phoebus stretched

His arm to guard the warrior. Small regard

Had he for the great god, and much he longed

To strike Aeneas down and bear away

The glorious arms he wore; and thrice he rushed

To slay the Trojan, thrice Apollo smote

Upon his glittering shield. But when he made

The fourth assault, as if he were a god,

The archer of the skies, Apollo, thus

With menacing words rebuked him: “Diomed,

Beware; desist, nor think to make thyself

The equal of a god. The deathless race

Of gods is not as those who walk the earth.”

He spake; the son of Tydeus, shrinking back,

Gave way before the anger of the god

Who sends his shafts afar. Then Phoebus bore

Aeneas from the tumult to the height

Of sacred Pergamus, where stands his fane;

And there Latona and the archer-queen,

Diana, in the temple’s deep recess,

Tended him and brought back his glorious strength.

Meantime the bowyer-god, Apollo, formed

An image of Aeneas, armed like him,

Round which the Trojans and Achaians thronged

With many a heavy weapon-stroke that fell

Upon the huge orbs of their ox-hide shields

And lighter bucklers. Now to fiery Mars

Apollo spake: “Mars, Mars, thou plague of men,

Thou steeped in blood, destroyer of walled towns!

Wilt thou not force this man to leave the field?

Wilt thou not meet in arms this daring son

Of Tydeus, who would even fight with Jove?

Already has he wounded, in close fight,

The goddess Venus at the wrist, and since

Assaulted me as if he were a god.”

He said, and on the heights of Pergamus

Sat down, while the destroyer Mars went forth

Among the embattled Trojan ranks, to rouse

Their valor. In the form of Acamus,

The gallant Thracian leader, he bespake

The sons of Jove-descended Priam thus:⁠—

“O sons of Priam, him who claims descent

From Jupiter! How long will ye submit

To see your people slaughtered by the Greeks?

Is it until the battle-storm shall reach

Your city’s stately portals? Even now

A hero whom we honor equally

With the great Hector, our Aeneas, son

Of the large-souled Anchises, is struck down.

Haste, let us rescue our beloved friend.”

He spake, and into every heart his words

Carried new strength and courage. In that hour

Sarpedon chid the noble Hector thus:⁠—

“Where is the prowess, Hector, which was thine

So lately? Thou hast said that thou alone,

Thy kindred and thy brothers, could defend

The city, without armies or allies.

Now I see none of these; they all, like hounds

Before a lion, crouch and slink away,

While the confederates bear the brunt of war.

I am but an auxiliar come from far,

From Lycia, where the eddying Xanthus runs.

There left I a beloved wife, and there

An infant child, and large possessions, such

As poor men covet. Yet do I exhort

My Lycians to the combat, and myself

Would willingly engage this foe of Troy,

Although I here have nothing which the Greeks

Might bear or drive away. Thou standest still,

Meanwhile, nor dost thou bid the rest to keep

Their ground and bear the battle for their wives.

Yet have a care, lest, as if caught at length

In the strong meshes of a mighty net,

Ye find yourselves the captives and the prey

Of enemies, who quickly will destroy

Your nobly-peopled city. These are thoughts

That should engage thy mind by night and day,

And thou shouldst beg the chiefs of thine allies,

Called to thy aid from far, that manfully

They meet the foe, and foil his fierce attack,

And take the cause of this reproach away.”

Sarpedon spake; and Hector, all in arms,

Stung by his words, and leaping from his car,

Brandished his spears, and went among the hosts

And rallied them to battle. Terrible

The conflict that ensued. The men of Troy

Made head against the Greeks: the Greeks stood firm,

Nor ever thought of flight. As when the wind

Strews chaff about the sacred threshing-floors

While wheat is winnowed, and before the breeze

The yellow Ceres separates the grain

From its light husk, which gathers in white heaps⁠—

Even so the Greeks were whitened o’er with dust

Raised in that tumult by the horses’ hoofs

And rising to the brazen firmament,

As toward the fight the charioteers again

Urged on their coursers. Yet the Greeks withstood

The onset, and struck forward with strong arms.

Meantime the furious Mars involved the field

In darkness, to befriend the sons of Troy,

And went through all the ranks, and well fulfilled

The mandate which Apollo gave the god

Who wields the golden falchion, bidding him

Kindle the courage of the Trojan host

Whene’er he saw the auxiliar of the Greeks,

Minerva, leave the combat. Then the god

Brought from the sanctuary’s inner shrine

Aeneas⁠—filling with recovered strength

That shepherd of the people. He beside

His comrades placed himself, and they rejoiced

To see him living and unharmed and strong

As ever; yet they questioned not; their task

Was different, set them by the god who bears

The silver bow, and Mars the slayer of men,

And raging Strife that never is appeased.

The Ajaces and Ulysses and the son

Of Tydeus roused the Achaians to the fight.

For of the strength and clamor of the foe

They felt no fear, but calmly stood, to bide

The assault; as stand in air the quiet clouds

Which Saturn’s son upon the mountain-tops

Piles in still volumes when the north wind sleeps,

And every ruder breath of blustering air

That drives the gathered vapors through the sky.

Thus calmly waited they the Trojan host,

Nor thought of flight. And now Atrides passed

In haste along their ranks, and gave command:⁠—

“O friends, be men, and let your hearts be strong,

And let no warrior in the heat of fight

Do what may bring him shame in others’ eyes;

For more of those who shrink from shame are safe

Than fall in battle, while with those who flee

Is neither glory nor reprieve from death.”

So spake the king, and hurled his spear and smote

Deïcoön, the son of Pergasis,

A chief, and a companion in the war

Of the great-souled Aeneas. He in Troy

Was honored as men honored Priam’s sons,

For he was ever foremost in the fight.

The weapon struck his shield, yet stopped not there,

But, breaking through its folds and through the belt,

Transfixed the part beneath. The Trojan fell

To earth, his armor clashing with his fall.

Aeneas slew the sons of Diodes⁠—

Orsilochus and Crethon, eminent Greeks.

Their father dwelt in Pherae nobly built,

Amid his riches. From Alpheius he

Derived his race⁠—a river whose long stream

Flows through the meadows of the Pylian land.

Orsilochus was to Alpheius born,

Lord over many men, and he became

The father of great Diocles, to whom

Twin sons were born, well trained in all the arts

Of warfare⁠—Crethon and Orsilochus.

These, in the prime of youth, with their black ships

Followed the Argives to the coast of Troy

Famed for its generous steeds. They left their home

To vindicate the honor of the sons

Of Atreus⁠—Agamemnon, king of men,

And Menelaus⁠—but they found their death.

As two young lions, nourished by their dam

Amid the thickets of some mighty wood,

Seizing the beeves and fattened sheep, lay waste

The stables, till at length themselves are slain

By trenchant weapons in the shepherd’s hand,

So by the weapons of Aeneas died

These twain; they fell as lofty fir-trees fall.

But now, when Menelaus saw their fate,

The mighty warrior, deeply sorrowing, rushed

Among the foremost, armed in glittering brass,

And brandishing his spear; for Mars had roused

His soul to fury, trusting he would meet

Aeneas, and would perish by his hand.

Antilochus, the generous Nestor’s son,

Came also to the van, for anxiously

He feared mischance might overtake the king,

To make the toils of their long warfare vain;

And there he found the combatants prepared

For battle, with their trusty spears in hand,

And standing face to face. At once he took

His stand beside the monarch of the Greeks.

At sight of the two warriors side by side,

All valiant as he was, Aeneas shunned

The encounter. They, when they had drawn the dead

Among the Grecian ranks, and to their friends

Given up the hapless brothers, turned to take

Their place among the foremost in the fight.

Then, too, Pykemenes, a chief like Mars,

And leader of the Paphlagonian host⁠—

A valiant squadron armed with shields⁠—was slain.

Atrides Menelaus, skilled to wield

The javelin, gave his death-wound. He transfixed

The shoulder at the collar-bone. Meanwhile

Antilochus against his charioteer,

Mydon, the brave son of Atymnias, hurled

A stone that smote his elbow as he wheeled

His firm-paced steeds in flight. He dropped the reins,

Gleaming with ivory as they trailed in dust.

Antilochus leaped forward, smiting him

Upon the temples with his sword. He fell

Gasping amidst the sand, his head immersed

Up to his shoulders⁠—for the sand was deep⁠—

And there remained till he was beaten down

Before the horses’ hoofs. Antilochus,

Lashing the horses, drave them to the Greeks.

Hector beheld, and, springing with loud shouts,

Stood mid the wavering ranks. The phalanxes

Of the brave Trojans followed him, for Mars

And terrible Bellona led them on⁠—

Bellona bringing Tumult in her train,

And Mars with brandished lance⁠—a mighty weight⁠—

Now stalking after Hector, now before.

Him when the valiant Diomed beheld,

He trembled; and, as one who, journeying

Along a way he knows not, having crossed

A place of drear extent, before him sees

A river rushing swiftly toward the deep,

And all its tossing current white with foam,

And stops and turns, and measures back his way,

So then did Diomed withdraw, and spake:⁠—

“O friends, how greatly must we all admire

This noble Hector, mighty with the spear

And terrible in war. There is some god

Forever near him, warding off the stroke

Of death; beside him yonder even now

Stands Mars in semblance of a mortal man.

Yield, then, and with your faces toward the foe

Fall back, and strive not with the gods of heaven.”

Even as he spake, the Trojan host drew near,

And Hector slew two warriors trained to arms⁠—

Menesthes and Anchialus⁠—who came

Both in one chariot to the war. Their fall

Ajax, the son of Telamon, beheld,

And pitied, and drew near, and stood, and hurled

His glittering spear. It smote Ampheius, son

Of Selagus, who, rich in lands and goods,

Abode in Paesus. In an evil hour

He joined the cause of Priam and his sons.

Him at the belt the spear of Ajax smote,

And pierced the bowels. With a crash he fell,

Then hastened mighty Ajax to strip off

The armor, but the Trojans at him cast

Their pointed spears that glittered as they flew,

And many struck his shield. He pressed his heel

Against the slain, and from the body drew

His brazen spear, but could not from the breast

Loose the bright mail, so thick the weapons came,

And such the wary dread with which he saw

The bravest of the Trojans closing round,

Many and fierce, and all with spears outstretched;

And he, though strong and valiant and renowned,

Driven from the ground, gave way to mightier force.

So toiled the warriors through that stubborn fight,

When cruel fate urged on Tlepoemus,

The great and valiant son of Hercules,

To meet Sarpedon, mighty as a god.

And now as each to each advanced⁠—the son

And grandson of the cloud-compeller Jove⁠—

Thus first Tlepolemus addressed his foe:⁠—

“Sarpedon, Lycian monarch, what has brought

Thee hither, trembling thus, and inexpert

In battle? Lying flatterers are they

That call thee son of Jupiter who bears

The aegis; for unlike the heroes thou,

Born to the Thunderer in times of old,

Nor like my daring father, Hercules

The lion-hearted, who once came to Troy

To claim the coursers of Laomedon.

With but six ships, and warriors but a few,

He laid the city waste and made its streets

A desolation. Thou art weak of heart,

And round thee are thy people perishing;

Yet, even wert thou brave, thy presence here

From Lycia’s coast would prove of small avail

To Troy; for, slain in combat here by me,

Thou to the gates of Hades shalt go down.”

Sarpedon, leader of the Lycians, thus

Made answer: “True it is, Tlepolemus,

That he laid waste the sacred city of Troy

For the base dealings of Laomedon,

The monarch who with railing words repaid

His great deservings, and kept back the steeds

For which he came so far. But thou⁠—thy fate

Is slaughter and black death from this my spear;

And fame will come to me, and one more soul

Go down to Hades.” As Sarpedon spake,

Tlepolemus upraised his ashen spear,

And from the hands of both the chiefs at once

Their massive weapons flew. Sarpedon smote

Full in the throat his foe; the cruel point

Passed through the neck, and night came o’er his eyes.

Tlepolemus, in turn, on the left thigh

Had struck Sarpedon with his ponderous lance.

The weapon, cast with vigorous hand and arm,

Pierced deep, and touched the bone; but Jupiter

Averted from his son the doom of death.

His noble comrades raised and bore away

The great Sarpedon from the battle-field,

Trailing the long spear with them. Bitter pain

It gave him; in their haste they marked it not,

Nor thought to draw the ashen weapon forth,

That he might mount the car; so eagerly

His anxious bearers hurried from the war.

On the other side the well-armed Greeks took up

The slain Tlepolemus, to bear him thence.

The great Ulysses, large of soul, beheld,

And felt his spirit moved, as anxiously

He pondered whether to pursue the son

Of Jove the Thunderer, or turn and take

The life of many a Lycian. Yet to slay

Jove’s mighty son was not his destiny,

And therefore Pallas moved him to engage

The crowd of Lycian warriors. Then he slew

Coeranus and Alastor, Chromius,

Alcander, Halius, and Prytanis

Noëmon; and yet more the noble Greek

Had slain, if crested Hector, mighty chief,

Had not perceived the havoc and, arrayed

In shining armor, hurried to the van

Of battle, carrying terror to the hearts

Of the Achaians. As he saw him near,

Sarpedon was rejoiced, yet sadly said:⁠—

“O son of Priam, leave me not a prey

To these Achaians. Aid me, let me breathe

My latest breath in Troy, since I no more

Can hope, returning to my native land,

To gladden my dear wife and little son.”

He spake, and crested Hector answered not,

Still pressing forward, eager to drive back

The Greeks in quick retreat, and take the life

Of many a foe. Then did the noble band

Who bore the great Sarpedon lay him down

Beneath a shapely beech, a tree of Jove

The Aegis-bearer. There stout Pelagon,

His well-beloved comrade, from his thigh

Drew forth the sharp blade of the ashen spear.

Then the breath left him, and his eyes were closed

In darkness; but the light came back again

As, breathing over him, the fresh north wind

Revived the spirit in his laboring breast.

But not for Mars nor Hector mailed in brass

Fled the Achaians to their fleet; nor yet

Advanced they on the foe, but step by step

Gave way before him, for they had perceived

The god of war was with the sons of Troy.

Whom first, whom last did Hector, Priam’s son,

And iron Mars lay low? The godlike chief

Teuthras, and⁠—great among the Grecian knights⁠—

Orestes, and the Aetolian Trechus, famed

As spearman, and Oenomaüs, and the son

Of Oenops, Helemes, and after these

Belted Oresbius, who in Hyla made

His home, intent on gathering wealth beside

The Lake Cephissus, on whose borders dwelt

Boeotians many, lords of fertile lands.

The white-armed goddess Juno, when she saw

The Argives falling in that cruel fray,

Addressed Minerva with these wingèd words:⁠—

“O thou unconquerable goddess, born

To Jove the Aegis-bearer! What is this?

It was an idle promise that we made

To Menelaus, that he should behold

Troy, with its strong defences, overthrown,

And reach his home again, if thus we leave

Mars the destroyer to his ravages.

Come, let us bring our friends effectual aid.”

So spake she, and her bidding was obeyed

By blue-eyed Pallas. Juno the august,

Daughter of mighty Saturn, laid in haste

The harness, with its ornaments of gold,

Upon the horses. Hebe rolled the wheels,

Each with eight spokes, and joined them to the ends

Of the steel axle⁠—fellies wrought of gold,

Bound with a brazen rim to last for aye⁠—

A wonder to behold. The hollow naves

Were silver, and on gold and silver cords

Was slung the chariot’s seat; in silver hooks

Rested the reins, and silver was the pole

Where the fair yoke and poitrels, all of gold,

Were fastened. Juno, eager for the strife,

Led the swift-footed steeds beneath the yoke.

Then Pallas, daughter of the god who bears

The aegis, on her father’s palace-floor

Let fall in dainty folds her flowing robe

Of many colors, wrought by her own hand,

And, putting on the mail of Jupiter

The Cloud-compeller, stood arrayed in arms

For the stern tasks of war. Her shoulder bore

The dreadful aegis with its shaggy brim

Bordered with Terror. There was Strife, and there

Was Fortitude, and there was fierce Pursuit,

And there the Gorgon’s head, a ghastly sight,

Deformed and dreadful, and a sign of woe

When borne by Jupiter. Upon her head

She placed a golden helmet with four crests

And fair embossed, of strength that might withstand

The armed battalions of a hundred towns;

Then stepped into her shining car, and took

Her massive spear in hand, heavy and huge,

With which whole ranks of heroes are o’erthrown

Before the daughter of the Mighty One

Incensed against them. Juno swung the lash

And swiftly urged the steeds. Before their way,

On sounding hinges, of their own accord,

Flew wide the gates of heaven, which evermore

The Hours are watching⁠—they who keep the mount

Olympus and the mighty heaven, with power

To open or to close their cloudy veil.

Thus through the gates they drave the obedient steeds,

And found Saturnius, where he sat apart

From other gods, upon the loftiest height

Of many-peaked Olympus. Juno there,

The white-armed goddess, stayed her chariot-wheels,

And, thus accosting Jove, she questioned him:⁠—

“O Father Jupiter, does not thy wrath

Rise at those violent deeds of Mars? Thou seest

How many of the Achaians he has slain,

And what brave men. Nay, thus it should not be.

Great grief is mine; but Venus and the god

Phoebus, who bears the silver bow, rejoice

To see this lawless maniac range the field,

And urge him on. O Father Jupiter,

Wilt thou be angry with me if I drive

Mars, sorely wounded, from the battle-field?”

The cloud-compelling Jupiter replied:⁠—

“Thou hast my leave; but send to encounter him

Pallas the spoiler, who has many a time

Brought grievous troubles on the god of war.”

He spake, and white-armed Juno instantly

Obeyed him. With the scourge she lashed the steeds,

And not unwillingly they flew between

Earth and the starry heaven. As much of space

As one who gazes on the dark-blue deep

Sees from the headland summit where he sits⁠—

Such space the coursers of immortal breed

Cleared at each bound they made with sounding hoofs;

And when they came to Ilium and its streams,

Where Simoïs and Scamander’s channels meet,

The white-armed goddess Juno stayed their speed,

And loosed them from the yoke, and covered them

With darkness. Simoïs ministered, meanwhile,

The ambrosial pasturage on which they fed.

On went the goddesses, with step as light

As timid doves, and hastened toward the field

To aid the Achaian army. When they came

Where fought the bravest warriors in a throng

Around the great horse-tamer Diomed,

Like ravenous lions or wild boars whose rage

Is terrible, the white-armed goddess stood,

And called aloud⁠—for now she wore the form

Of gallant Stentor, in whose brazen voice

Was heard a shout like that of fifty men:⁠—

“Shame on you, Argives⁠—wretches, who in form,

And form alone, are heroes. While we yet

Had great Achilles in the war, the men

Of Ilium dared not pass beyond their gates,

So much they feared his mighty spear; but now

They push the battle to our hollow ships,

Far from the town.” As thus the goddess spake,

New strength and courage woke in every breast.

Then blue-eyed Pallas hastened to the son

Of Tydeus. By his steeds she found the king,

And by his chariot, as he cooled the wound

Made by the shaft of Pandarus. The sweat

Beneath the ample band of his round shield

Had weakened him, and weary was his arm.

He raised the band, and from the wounded limb

Wiped off the clotted blood. The goddess laid

Her hand upon the chariot-yoke, and said:⁠—

“Tydeus hath left a son unlike himself;

For he, though low in stature, was most brave;

And when he went, an envoy and alone,

To Thebes, the populous Cadmean town,

And I, enjoining him to keep aloof

From wars and rash encounters, bade him sit

Quietly at the feasts in palace-halls,

Still, to his valiant temper true, he gave

Challenges to the Theban youths, and won

The prize with ease in all their games, such aid

I gave him. Now I stand by thee in turn,

Protect thee, and exhort thee manfully

To fight against the Trojans; but today

Either the weariness of toil unnerves

Thy frame, or withering fear besets thy heart.

Henceforth we cannot deem thee, as of late,

The offspring of Oenides skilled in war.”

And then the valiant Diomed replied:⁠—

“I know thee, goddess, daughter of great Jove

The Aegis-bearer; therefore will I speak

Freely and keep back nothing. No base fear

Unmans me, nor desire of ease; but well

I bear in mind the mandate thou hast given.

Thou didst forbid me to contend with gods,

Except that if Jove’s daughter, Venus, joined

The battle, I might wound her with my spear.

But now I have withdrawn, and given command

That all the Greeks come hither; for I see

That Mars is in the field and leads the war.”

Again the blue-eyed Pallas, answering, said:⁠—

“Tydides Diomed, most dear of men,

Nay, fear thou nothing from this Mars, nor yet

From any other of the gods; for I

Will be thy sure defence. First urge thy course

Full against Mars, with thy firm-footed steeds.

Engage him hand to hand; respect him not,

The fiery, frantic Mars, the unnatural plague

Of man, the fickle god, who promised me

And Juno, lately, to take part with us

Against the Trojans and befriend the Greeks.

Now he forgets, and joins the sons of Troy.”

She spake, and laid her hand on Sthenelus,

To draw him from the horses; instantly

He leaped to earth; the indignant deity

Took by the side of Diomed her place;

The beechen axle groaned beneath the weight

Of that great goddess and that man of might.

Then Pallas seized the lash and caught the reins,

And, urging the firm-footed coursers, drave

Full against Mars, who at that moment slew

Huge Periphas, the mightiest one of all

The Aetolian band⁠—Ochesius’ famous son.

While bloody-handed Mars was busy yet

About the slain, Minerva hid her face

In Pluto’s helmet, that the god might fail

To see her. As that curse of humankind

Beheld the approach of noble Diomed,

He left the corpse of Periphas unspoiled

Where he had fallen, and where he breathed his last,

And came in haste to meet the Grecian knight.

And now, when they were near, and face to face,

Mars o’er the chariot-yoke and horses’ reins

First hurled his brazen spear, in hope to take

His enemy’s life; but Pallas with her hand

Caught it and turned it, so that it flew by

And gave no wound. The valiant Diomed

Made with his brazen spear the next assault,

And Pallas guided it to strike the waist

Where girded by the baldric. In that part

She wounded Mars, and tore the shining skin,

And drew the weapon back. The furious god

Uttered a cry as of nine thousand men,

Or of ten thousand, rushing to the fight.

The Greeks and Trojans stood aghast with fear,

To hear that terrible cry of him whose thirst

Of bloodshed never is appeased by blood.

As when, in time of heat, the air is filled

With a black shadow from the gathering clouds

And the strong-blowing wind, so furious Mars

Appeared to Diomed, as in a cloud

He rose to the broad heaven and to the home

Of gods on high Olympus. Near to Jove

He took his seat in bitter grief, and showed

The immortal blood still dropping from his wound,

And thus, with wingèd words, complaining said:⁠—

“O Father Jupiter! Does not thy wrath

Rise at these violent deeds? ’Tis ever thus

That we, the gods, must suffer grievously

From our own rivalry in favoring man;

And yet the blame of all this strife is thine,

For thou hast a mad daughter, ever wrong,

And ever bent on mischief. All the rest

Of the immortals dwelling on this mount

Obey thee and are subject to thy will.

Her only thou hast never yet restrained

By word or act, but dost indulge her freaks

Because the pestilent creature is thy child.

And now she moves the insolent Diomed

To raise his hand against the immortal gods.

And first he wounded Venus in the wrist,

Contending hand to hand; and then he sought

To encounter me in arms, as if he were

The equal of a god. My own swift feet

Carried me thence, else might I long have lain,

In anguish, under heaps of carcasses,

Or helplessly been mangled by his sword.”

The Cloud-compeller, Jove, replied, and frowned:

“Come not to me, thou changeling, to complain.

Of all the gods upon the Olympian mount

I like thee least, who ever dost delight

In broils and wars and battles. Thou art like

Thy mother Juno, headstrong and perverse.

Her I can scarcely rule by strict commands,

And what thou sufferest now, I deem, is due

To her bad counsels. Yet ’tis not my will

That thou shouldst suffer longer, who dost share

My lineage, whom thy mother bore to me.

But wert thou born, destroyer as thou art,

To any other god, thou hadst long since

Lain lower than the sons of Uranus.”

So spake he, and to Paeon gave command

To heal the wound; and Paeon bathed the part

With pain-dispelling balsams, and it healed;

For Mars was not to die. As, when the juice

Of figs is mingled with white milk and stirred,

The liquid gathers into clots while yet

It whirls with the swift motion, so was healed

The wound of violent Mars. Then Hebe bathed

The god, and robed him richly, and he took

His seat, delighted, by Saturnian Jove.

Now, having forced the curse of nations, Mars

To pause from slaughter, Argive Juno came,

With Pallas, her invincible ally,

Back to the mansion of imperial Jove.