Homer
c.800 BC
THE ILIAD
translated by Samuel Butler
BOOK XVI
THUS did they fight about the ship of Protesilaus. Then
Patroclus drew near to Achilles with tears welling from his eyes, as from some
spring whose crystal stream falls over the ledges of a high precipice. When
Achilles saw him thus weeping he was sorry for him and said, “Why, Patroclus, do
you stand there weeping like some silly child that comes running to her mother,
and begs to be taken up and carried–she catches hold of her mother’s dress to
stay her though she is in a hurry, and looks tearfully up until her mother
carries her–even such tears, Patroclus, are you now shedding. Have you anything
to say to the Myrmidons or to myself? or have you had news from Phthia which you
alone know? They tell me Menoetius son of Actor is still alive, as also Peleus
son of Aeacus, among the Myrmidons–men whose loss we two should bitterly
deplore; or are you grieving about the Argives and the way in which they are
being killed at the ships, through their own high-handed doings? Do not hide
anything from me but tell me that both of us may know about it.”
Then, O knight Patroclus, with a deep sigh you answered,
“Achilles, son of Peleus, foremost champion of the Achaeans, do not be angry,
but I weep for the disaster that has now befallen the Argives. All those who
have been their champions so far are lying at the ships, wounded by sword or
spear. Brave Diomed son of Tydeus has been hit with a spear, while famed Ulysses
and Agamemnon have received sword-wounds; Eurypylus again has been struck with
an arrow in the thigh; skilled apothecaries are attending to these heroes, and
healing them of their wounds; are you still, O Achilles, so inexorable? May it
never be my lot to nurse such a passion as you have done, to the baning of your
own good name. Who in future story will speak well of you unless you now save
the Argives from ruin? You know no pity; knight Peleus was not your father nor
Thetis your mother, but the grey sea bore you and the sheer cliffs begot you, so
cruel and remorseless are you. If however you are kept back through knowledge of
some oracle, or if your mother Thetis has told you something from the mouth of
Jove, at least send me and the Myrmidons with me, if I may bring deliverance to
the Danaans. Let me moreover wear your armour; the Trojans may thus mistake me
for you and quit the field, so that the hard-pressed sons of the Achaeans may
have breathing time–which while they are fighting may hardly be. We who are
fresh might soon drive tired men back from our ships and tents to their own
city.”
He knew not what he was asking, nor that he was suing for
his own destruction. Achilles was deeply moved and answered, “What, noble
Patroclus, are you saying? I know no prophesyings which I am heeding, nor has my
mother told me anything from the mouth of Jove, but I am cut to the very heart
that one of my own rank should dare to rob me because he is more powerful than I
am. This, after all that I have gone through, is more than I can endure. The
girl whom the sons of the Achaeans chose for me, whom I won as the fruit of my
spear on having sacked a city–her has King Agamemnon taken from me as though I
were some common vagrant. Still, let bygones be bygones: no man may keep his
anger for ever; I said I would not relent till battle and the cry of war had
reached my own ships; nevertheless, now gird my armour about your shoulders, and
lead the Myrmidons to battle, for the dark cloud of Trojans has burst furiously
over our fleet; the Argives are driven back on to the beach, cooped within a
narrow space, and the whole people of Troy has taken heart to sally out against
them, because they see not the visor of my helmet gleaming near them. Had they
seen this, there would not have been a creek nor grip that had not been filled
with their dead as they fled back again. And so it would have been, if only King
Agamemnon had dealt fairly by me. As it is the Trojans have beset our host.
Diomed son of Tydeus no longer wields his spear to defend the Danaans, neither
have I heard the voice of the son of Atreus coming from his hated head, whereas
that of murderous Hector rings in my cars as he gives orders to the Trojans, who
triumph over the Achaeans and fill the whole plain with their cry of battle. But
even so, Patroclus, fall upon them and save the fleet, lest the Trojans fire it
and prevent us from being able to return. Do, however, as I now bid you, that
you may win me great honour from all the Danaans, and that they may restore the
girl to me again and give me rich gifts into the bargain. When you have driven
the Trojans from the ships, come back again. Though Juno’s thundering husband
should put triumph within your reach, do not fight the Trojans further in my
absence, or you will rob me of glory that should be mine. And do not for lust of
battle go on killing the Trojans nor lead the Achaeans on to Ilius, lest one of
the ever-living gods from Olympus attack you–for Phoebus Apollo loves them
well: return when you have freed the ships from peril, and let others wage war
upon the plain. Would, by father Jove, Minerva, and Apollo, that not a single
man of all the Trojans might be left alive, nor yet of the Argives, but that we
two might be alone left to tear aside the mantle that veils the brow of Troy.”
Thus did they converse. But Ajax could no longer hold his
ground for the shower of darts that rained upon him; the will of Jove and the
javelins of the Trojans were too much for him; the helmet that gleamed about his
temples rang with the continuous clatter of the missiles that kept pouring on to
it and on to the cheek-pieces that protected his face. Moreover his left
shoulder was tired with having held his shield so long, yet for all this, let
fly at him as they would, they could not make him give ground. He could hardly
draw his breath, the sweat rained from every pore of his body, he had not a
moment’s respite, and on all sides he was beset by danger upon danger.
And now, tell me, O Muses that hold your mansions on
Olympus, how fire was thrown upon the ships of the Achaeans. Hector came close
up and let drive with his great sword at the ashen spear of Ajax. He cut it
clean in two just behind where the point was fastened on to the shaft of the
spear. Ajax, therefore, had now nothing but a headless spear, while the bronze
point flew some way off and came ringing down on to the ground. Ajax knew the
hand of heaven in this, and was dismayed at seeing that Jove had now left him
utterly defenceless and was willing victory for the Trojans. Therefore he drew
back, and the Trojans flung fire upon the ship which was at once wrapped in
flame.
The fire was now flaring about the ship’s stern, whereon
Achilles smote his two thighs and said to Patroclus, “Up, noble knight, for I
see the glare of hostile fire at our fleet; up, lest they destroy our ships, and
there be no way by which we may retreat. Gird on your armour at once while I
call our people together.”
As he spoke Patroclus put on his armour. First he greaved
his legs with greaves of good make, and fitted with ancle-clasps of silver;
after this he donned the cuirass of the son of Aeacus, richly inlaid and
studded. He hung his silver-studded sword of bronze about his shoulders, and
then his mighty shield. On his comely head he set his helmet, well wrought, with
a crest of horse-hair that nodded menacingly above it. He grasped two
redoubtable spears that suited his hands, but he did not take the spear of noble
Achilles, so stout and strong, for none other of the Achaeans could wield it,
though Achilles could do so easily. This was the ashen spear from Mount Pelion,
which Chiron had cut upon a mountain top and had given to Peleus, wherewith to
deal out death among heroes. He bade Automedon yoke his horses with all speed,
for he was the man whom he held in honour next after Achilles, and on whose
support in battle he could rely most firmly. Automedon therefore yoked the fleet
horses Xanthus and Balius, steeds that could fly like the wind: these were they
whom the harpy Podarge bore to the west wind, as she was grazing in a meadow by
the waters of the river Oceanus. In the side traces he set the noble horse
Pedasus, whom Achilles had brought away with him when he sacked the city of
Eetion, and who, mortal steed though he was, could take his place along with
those that were immortal.
Meanwhile Achilles went about everywhere among the tents,
and bade his Myrmidons put on their armour. Even as fierce ravening wolves that
are feasting upon a homed stag which they have killed upon the mountains, and
their jaws are red with blood–they go in a pack to lap water from the clear
spring with their long thin tongues; and they reek of blood and slaughter; they
know not what fear is, for it is hunger drives them–even so did the leaders and
counsellors of the Myrmidons gather round the good squire of the fleet
descendant of Aeacus, and among them stood Achilles himself cheering on both men
and horses.
Fifty ships had noble Achilles brought to Troy, and in each
there was a crew of fifty oarsmen. Over these he set five captains whom he could
trust, while he was himself commander over them all. Menesthius of the gleaming
corslet, son to the river Spercheius that streams from heaven, was captain of
the first company. Fair Polydora daughter of Peleus bore him to ever-flowing
Spercheius–a woman mated with a god–but he was called son of Borus son of
Perieres, with whom his mother was living as his wedded wife, and who gave great
wealth to gain her. The second company was led by noble Eudorus, son to an
unwedded woman. Polymele, daughter of Phylas the graceful dancer, bore him; the
mighty slayer of Argos was enamoured of her as he saw her among the singing
women at a dance held in honour of Diana the rushing huntress of the golden
arrows; he therefore–Mercury, giver of all good–went with her into an upper
chamber, and lay with her in secret, whereon she bore him a noble son Eudorus,
singularly fleet of foot and in fight valiant. When Ilithuia goddess of the
pains of child-birth brought him to the light of day, and he saw the face of the
sun, mighty Echecles son of Actor took the mother to wife, and gave great wealth
to gain her, but her father Phylas brought the child up, and took care of him,
doting as fondly upon him as though he were his own son. The third company was
led by Pisander son of Maemalus, the finest spearman among all the Myrmidons
next to Achilles’ own comrade Patroclus. The old knight Phoenix was captain of
the fourth company, and Alcimedon, noble son of Laerceus of the fifth.
When Achilles had chosen his men and had stationed them all
with their captains, he charged them straitly saying, “Myrmidons, remember your
threats against the Trojans while you were at the ships in the time of my anger,
and you were all complaining of me. ‘Cruel son of Peleus,’ you would say, ‘your
mother must have suckled you on gall, so ruthless are you. You keep us here at
the ships against our will; if you are so relentless it were better we went home
over the sea.’ Often have you gathered and thus chided with me. The hour is now
come for those high feats of arms that you have so long been pining for,
therefore keep high hearts each one of you to do battle with the Trojans.”
With these words he put heart and soul into them all, and
they serried their companies yet more closely when they heard the of their king.
As the stones which a builder sets in the wall of some high house which is to
give shelter from the winds–even so closely were the helmets and bossed shields
set against one another. Shield pressed on shield, helm on helm, and man on man;
so close were they that the horse-hair plumes on the gleaming ridges of their
helmets touched each other as they bent their heads.
In front of them all two men put on their armour–Patroclus
and Automedon–two men, with but one mind to lead the Myrmidons. Then Achilles
went inside his tent and opened the lid of the strong chest which silver-footed
Thetis had given him to take on board ship, and which she had filled with
shirts, cloaks to keep out the cold, and good thick rugs. In this chest he had a
cup of rare workmanship, from which no man but himself might drink, nor would he
make offering from it to any other god save only to father Jove. He took the cup
from the chest and cleansed it with sulphur; this done he rinsed it clean water,
and after he had washed his hands he drew wine. Then he stood in the middle of
the court and prayed, looking towards heaven, and making his drink-offering of
wine; nor was he unseen of Jove whose joy is in thunder. “King Jove,” he cried,
“lord of Dodona, god of the Pelasgi, who dwellest afar, you who hold wintry
Dodona in your sway, where your prophets the Selli dwell around you with their
feet unwashed and their couches made upon the ground–if you heard me when I
prayed to you aforetime, and did me honour while you sent disaster on the
Achaeans, vouchsafe me now the fulfilment of yet this further prayer. I shall
stay here where my ships are lying, but I shall send my comrade into battle at
the head of many Myrmidons. Grant, O all-seeing Jove, that victory may go with
him; put your courage into his heart that Hector may learn whether my squire is
man enough to fight alone, or whether his might is only then so indomitable when
I myself enter the turmoil of war. Afterwards when he has chased the fight and
the cry of battle from the ships, grant that he may return unharmed, with his
armour and his comrades, fighters in close combat.”
Thus did he pray, and all-counselling Jove heard his
prayer. Part of it he did indeed vouchsafe him–but not the whole. He granted
that Patroclus should thrust back war and battle from the ships, but refused to
let him come safely out of the fight.
When he had made his drink-offering and had thus prayed,
Achilles went inside his tent and put back the cup into his chest.
Then he again came out, for he still loved to look upon the
fierce fight that raged between the Trojans and Achaeans.
Meanwhile the armed band that was about Patroclus marched
on till they sprang high in hope upon the Trojans. They came swarming out like
wasps whose nests are by the roadside, and whom silly children love to tease,
whereon any one who happens to be passing may get stung–or again, if a wayfarer
going along the road vexes them by accident, every wasp will come flying out in
a fury to defend his little ones–even with such rage and courage did the
Myrmidons swarm from their ships, and their cry of battle rose heavenwards.
Patroclus called out to his men at the top of his voice, “Myrmidons, followers
of Achilles son of Peleus, be men my friends, fight with might and with main,
that we may win glory for the son of Peleus, who is far the foremost man at the
ships of the Argives–he, and his close fighting followers. The son of Atreus
King Agamemnon will thus learn his folly in showing no respect to the bravest of
the Achaeans.”
With these words he put heart and soul into them all, and
they fell in a body upon the Trojans. The ships rang again with the cry which
the Achaeans raised, and when the Trojans saw the brave son of Menoetius and his
squire all gleaming in their armour, they were daunted and their battalions were
thrown into confusion, for they thought the fleet son of Peleus must now have
put aside his anger, and have been reconciled to Agamemnon; every one,
therefore, looked round about to see whither he might fly for safety.
Patroclus first aimed a spear into the middle of the press
where men were packed most closely, by the stern of the ship of Protesilaus. He
hit Pyraechmes who had led his Paeonian horsemen from the Amydon and the broad
waters of the river Axius; the spear struck him on the right shoulder, and with
a groan he fell backwards in the dust; on this his men were thrown into
confusion, for by killing their leader, who was the finest soldier among them,
Patroclus struck panic into them all. He thus drove them from the ship and
quenched the fire that was then blazing–leaving the half-burnt ship to lie
where it was. The Trojans were now driven back with a shout that rent the skies,
while the Danaans poured after them from their ships, shouting also without
ceasing. As when Jove, gatherer of the thunder-cloud, spreads a dense canopy on
the top of some lofty mountain, and all the peaks, the jutting headlands, and
forest glades show out in the great light that flashes from the bursting
heavens, even so when the Danaans had now driven back the fire from their ships,
they took breath for a little while; but the fury of the fight was not yet over,
for the Trojans were not driven back in utter rout, but still gave battle, and
were ousted from their ground only by sheer fighting.
The fight then became more scattered, and the chieftains
killed one another when and how they could. The valiant son of Menoetius first
drove his spear into the thigh of Areilycus just as he was turning round; the
point went clean through, and broke the bone so that he fell forward. Meanwhile
Menelaus struck Thoas in the chest, where it was exposed near the rim of his
shield, and he fell dead. The son of Phyleus saw Amphiclus about to attack him,
and ere he could do so took aim at the upper part of his thigh, where the
muscles are thicker than in any other part; the spear tore through all the
sinews of the leg, and his eyes were closed in darkness. Of the sons of Nestor
one, Antilochus, speared Atymnius, driving the point of the spear through his
throat, and down he fell. Maris then sprang on Antilochus in hand-to-hand fight
to avenge his brother, and bestrode the body spear in hand; but valiant
Thrasymedes was too quick for him, and in a moment had struck him in the
shoulder ere he could deal his blow; his aim was true, and the spear severed all
the muscles at the root of his arm, and tore them right down to the bone, so he
fell heavily to the ground and his eyes were closed in darkness. Thus did these
two noble comrades of Sarpedon go down to Erebus slain by the two sons of
Nestor; they were the warrior sons of Amisodorus, who had reared the invincible
Chimaera, to the bane of many. Ajax son of Oileus sprang on Cleobulus and took
him alive as he was entangled in the crush; but he killed him then and there by
a sword-blow on the neck. The sword reeked with his blood, while dark death and
the strong hand of fate gripped him and closed his eyes.
Peneleos and Lycon now met in close fight, for they had
missed each other with their spears. They had both thrown without effect, so now
they drew their swords. Lycon struck the plumed crest of Peneleos’ helmet but
his sword broke at the hilt, while Peneleos smote Lycon on the neck under the
ear. The blade sank so deep that the head was held on by nothing but the skin,
and there was no more life left in him. Meriones gave chase to Acamas on foot
and caught him up just as he was about to mount his chariot; he drove a spear
through his right shoulder so that he fell headlong from the car, and his eyes
were closed in darkness. Idomeneus speared Erymas in the mouth; the bronze point
of the spear went clean through it beneath the brain, crashing in among the
white bones and smashing them up. His teeth were all of them knocked out and the
blood came gushing in a stream from both his eyes; it also came gurgling up from
his mouth and nostrils, and the darkness of death enfolded him round about.
Thus did these chieftains of the Danaans each of them kill
his man. As ravening wolves seize on kids or lambs, fastening on them when they
are alone on the hillsides and have strayed from the main flock through the
carelessness of the shepherd–and when the wolves see this they pounce upon them
at once because they cannot defend themselves–even so did the Danaans now fall
on the Trojans, who fled with ill-omened cries in their panic and had no more
fight left in them.
Meanwhile great Ajax kept on trying to drive a spear into
Hector, but Hector was so skilful that he held his broad shoulders well under
cover of his ox-hide shield, ever on the look-out for the whizzing of the arrows
and the heavy thud of the spears. He well knew that the fortunes of the day had
changed, but still stood his ground and tried to protect his comrades.
As when a cloud goes up into heaven from Olympus, rising
out of a clear sky when Jove is brewing a gale–even with such panic stricken
rout did the Trojans now fly, and there was no order in their going. Hector’s
fleet horses bore him and his armour out of the fight, and he left the Trojan
host penned in by the deep trench against their will. Many a yoke of horses
snapped the pole of their chariots in the trench and left their master’s car
behind them. Patroclus gave chase, calling impetuously on the Danaans and full
of fury against the Trojans, who, being now no longer in a body, filled all the
ways with their cries of panic and rout; the air was darkened with the clouds of
dust they raised, and the horses strained every nerve in their flight from the
tents and ships towards the city.
Patroclus kept on heading his horses wherever he saw most
men flying in confusion, cheering on his men the while. Chariots were being
smashed in all directions, and many a man came tumbling down from his own car to
fall beneath the wheels of that of Patroclus, whose immortal steeds, given by
the gods to Peleus, sprang over the trench at a bound as they sped onward. He
was intent on trying to get near Hector, for he had set his heart on spearing
him, but Hector’s horses were now hurrying him away. As the whole dark earth
bows before some tempest on an autumn day when Jove rains his hardest to punish
men for giving crooked judgement in their courts, and arriving justice therefrom
without heed to the decrees of heaven–all the rivers run full and the torrents
tear many a new channel as they roar headlong from the mountains to the dark
sea, and it fares ill with the works of men–even such was the stress and strain
of the Trojan horses in their flight.
Patroclus now cut off the battalions that were nearest to
him and drove them back to the ships. They were doing their best to reach the
city, but he would not let them, and bore down on them between the river and the
ships and wall. Many a fallen comrade did he then avenge. First he hit Pronous
with a spear on the chest where it was exposed near the rim of his shield, and
he fell heavily to the ground. Next he sprang on Thestor son of Enops, who was
sitting all huddled up in his chariot, for he had lost his head and the reins
had been torn out of his hands. Patroclus went up to him and drove a spear into
his right jaw; he thus hooked him by the teeth and the spear pulled him over the
rim of his car, as one who sits at the end of some jutting rock and draws a
strong fish out of the sea with a hook and a line– even so with his spear did
he pull Thestor all gaping from his chariot; he then threw him down on his face
and he died while falling. On this, as Erylaus was on to attack him, he struck
him full on the head with a stone, and his brains were all battered inside his
helmet, whereon he fell headlong to the ground and the pangs of death took hold
upon him. Then he laid low, one after the other, Erymas, Amphoterus, Epaltes,
Tlepolemus, Echius son of Damastor, Pyris, lpheus, Euippus and Polymelus son of
Argeas.
Now when Sarpedon saw his comrades, men who wore ungirdled
tunics, being overcome by Patroclus son of Menoetius, he rebuked the Lycians
saying. “Shame on you, where are you flying to? Show your mettle; I will myself
meet this man in fight and learn who it is that is so masterful; he has done us
much hurt, and has stretched many a brave man upon the ground.”
He sprang from his chariot as he spoke, and Patroclus, when
he saw this, leaped on to the ground also. The two then rushed at one another
with loud cries like eagle-beaked crook-taloned vultures that scream and tear at
one another in some high mountain fastness.
The son of scheming Saturn looked down upon them in pity
and said to Juno who was his wife and sister, “Alas, that it should be the lot
of Sarpedon whom I love so dearly to perish by the hand of Patroclus. I am in
two minds whether to catch him up out of the fight and set him down safe and
sound in the fertile land of Lycia, or to let him now fall by the hand of the
son of Menoetius.”
And Juno answered, “Most dread son of Saturn, what is this
that you are saying? Would you snatch a mortal man, whose doom has long been
fated, out of the jaws of death? Do as you will, but we shall not all of us be
of your mind. I say further, and lay my saying to your heart, that if you send
Sarpedon safely to his own home, some other of the gods will be also wanting to
escort his son out of battle, for there are many sons of gods fighting round the
city of Troy, and you will make every one jealous. If, however, you are fond of
him and pity him, let him indeed fall by the hand of Patroclus, but as soon as
the life is gone out of him, send Death and sweet Sleep to bear him off the
field and take him to the broad lands of Lycia, where his brothers and his
kinsmen will bury him with mound and pillar, in due honour to the dead.”
The sire of gods and men assented, but he shed a rain of
blood upon the earth in honour of his son whom Patroclus was about to kill on
the rich plain of Troy far from his home.
When they were now come close to one another Patroclus
struck Thrasydemus, the brave squire of Sarpedon, in the lower part of the
belly, and killed him. Sarpedon then aimed a spear at Patroclus and missed him,
but he struck the horse Pedasus in the right shoulder, and it screamed aloud as
it lay, groaning in the dust until the life went out of it. The other two horses
began to plunge; the pole of the chariot cracked and they got entangled in the
reins through the fall of the horse that was yoked along with them; but
Automedon knew what to do; without the loss of a moment he drew the keen blade
that hung by his sturdy thigh and cut the third horse adrift; whereon the other
two righted themselves, and pulling hard at the reins again went together into
battle.
Sarpedon now took a second aim at Patroclus, and again
missed him, the point of the spear passed over his left shoulder without hitting
him. Patroclus then aimed in his turn, and the spear sped not from his hand in
vain, for he hit Sarpedon just where the midriff surrounds the ever-beating
heart. He fell like some oak or silver poplar or tall pine to which woodmen have
laid their axes upon the mountains to make timber for ship-building–even so did
he lie stretched at full length in front of his chariot and horses, moaning and
clutching at the blood-stained dust. As when a lion springs with a bound upon a
herd of cattle and fastens on a great black bull which dies bellowing in its
clutches–even so did the leader of the Lycian warriors struggle in death as he
fell by the hand of Patroclus. He called on his trusty comrade and said, “Glaucus,
my brother, hero among heroes, put forth all your strength, fight with might and
main, now if ever quit yourself like a valiant soldier. First go about among the
Lycian captains and bid them fight for Sarpedon; then yourself also do battle to
save my armour from being taken. My name will haunt you henceforth and for ever
if the Achaeans rob me of my armour now that I have fallen at their ships. Do
your very utmost and call all my people together.”
Death closed his eyes as he spoke. Patroclus planted his
heel on his breast and drew the spear from his body, whereon his senses came out
along with it, and he drew out both spear-point and Sarpedon’s soul at the same
time. Hard by the Myrmidons held his snorting steeds, who were wild with panic
at finding themselves deserted by their lords.
Glaucus was overcome with grief when he heard what Sarpedon
said, for he could not help him. He had to support his arm with his other hand,
being in great pain through the wound which Teucer’s arrow had given him when
Teucer was defending the wall as he, Glaucus, was assailing it. Therefore he
prayed to far-darting Apollo saying, “Hear me O king from your seat, may be in
the rich land of Lycia, or may be in Troy, for in all places you can hear the
prayer of one who is in distress, as I now am. I have a grievous wound; my hand
is aching with pain, there is no staunching the blood, and my whole arm drags by
reason of my hurt, so that I cannot grasp my sword nor go among my foes and
fight them, thou our prince, Jove’s son Sarpedon, is slain. Jove defended not
his son, do you, therefore, O king, heal me of my wound, ease my pain and grant
me strength both to cheer on the Lycians and to fight along with them round the
body of him who has fallen.”
Thus did he pray, and Apollo heard his prayer. He eased his
pain, staunched the black blood from the wound, and gave him new strength.
Glaucus perceived this, and was thankful that the mighty god had answered his
prayer; forthwith, therefore, he went among the Lycian captains, and bade them
come to fight about the body of Sarpedon. From these he strode on among the
Trojans to Polydamas son of Panthous and Agenor; he then went in search of
Aeneas and Hector, and when he had found them he said, “Hector, you have utterly
forgotten your allies, who languish here for your sake far from friends and home
while you do nothing to support them. Sarpedon leader of the Lycian warriors has
fallen– he who was at once the right and might of Lycia; Mars has laid him low
by the spear of Patroclus. Stand by him, my friends, and suffer not the
Myrmidons to strip him of his armour, nor to treat his body with contumely in
revenge for all the Danaans whom we have speared at the ships.”
As he spoke the Trojans were plunged in extreme and
ungovernable grief; for Sarpedon, alien though he was, had been one of the main
stays of their city, both as having much people with him, and himself the
foremost among them all. Led by Hector, who was infuriated by the fall of
Sarpedon, they made instantly for the Danaans with all their might, while the
undaunted spirit of Patroclus son of Menoetius cheered on the Achaeans. First he
spoke to the two Ajaxes, men who needed no bidding. “Ajaxes,” said he, “may it
now please you to show yourselves the men you have always been, or even better–Sarpedon
is fallen–he who was first to overleap the wall of the Achaeans; let us take
the body and outrage it; let us strip the armour from his shoulders, and kill
his comrades if they try to rescue his body.”
He spoke to men who of themselves were full eager; both
sides, therefore, the Trojans and Lycians on the one hand, and the Myrmidons and
Achaeans on the other, strengthened their battalions, and fought desperately
about the body of Sarpedon, shouting fiercely the while. Mighty was the din of
their armour as they came together, and Jove shed a thick darkness over the
fight, to increase the toil of the battle over the body of his son.
At first the Trojans made some headway against the
Achaeans, for one of the best men among the Myrmidons was killed, Epeigeus, son
of noble Agacles who had erewhile been king in the good city of Budeum; but
presently, having killed a valiant kinsman of his own, he took refuge with
Peleus and Thetis, who sent him to Ilius the land of noble steeds to fight the
Trojans under Achilles. Hector now struck him on the head with a stone just as
he had caught hold of the body, and his brains inside his helmet were all
battered in, so that he fell face foremost upon the body of Sarpedon, and there
died. Patroclus was enraged by the death of his comrade, and sped through the
front ranks as swiftly as a hawk that swoops down on a flock of daws or
starlings. Even so swiftly, O noble knight Patroclus, did you make straight for
the Lycians and Trojans to avenge your comrade. Forthwith he struck Sthenelaus
the son of Ithaemenes on the neck with a stone, and broke the tendons that join
it to the head and spine. On this Hector and the front rank of his men gave
ground. As far as a man can throw a javelin when competing for some prize, or
even in battle–so far did the Trojans now retreat before the Achaeans. Glaucus,
captain of the Lycians, was the first to rally them, by killing Bathycles son of
Chalcon who lived in Hellas and was the richest man among the Myrmidons. Glaucus
turned round suddenly, just as Bathycles who was pursuing him was about to lay
hold of him, and drove his spear right into the middle of his chest, whereon he
fell heavily to the ground, and the fall of so good a man filled the Achaeans
with dismay, while the Trojans were exultant, and came up in a body round the
corpse. Nevertheless the Achaeans, mindful of their prowess, bore straight down
upon them.
Meriones then killed a helmed warrior of the Trojans,
Laogonus son of Onetor, who was priest of Jove of Mt. Ida, and was honoured by
the people as though he were a god. Meriones struck him under the jaw and ear,
so that life went out of him and the darkness of death laid hold upon him.
Aeneas then aimed a spear at Meriones, hoping to hit him under the shield as he
was advancing, but Meriones saw it coming and stooped forward to avoid it,
whereon the spear flew past him and the point stuck in the ground, while the
butt-end went on quivering till Mars robbed it of its force. The spear,
therefore, sped from Aeneas’s hand in vain and fell quivering to the ground.
Aeneas was angry and said, “Meriones, you are a good dancer, but if I had hit
you my spear would soon have made an end of you.”
And Meriones answered, “Aeneas, for all your bravery, you
will not be able to make an end of every one who comes against you. You are only
a mortal like myself, and if I were to hit you in the middle of your shield with
my spear, however strong and self-confident you may be, I should soon vanquish
you, and you would yield your life to Hades of the noble steeds.”
On this the son of Menoetius rebuked him and said,
“Meriones, hero though you be, you should not speak thus; taunting speeches, my
good friend, will not make the Trojans draw away from the dead body; some of
them must go under ground first; blows for battle, and words for council; fight,
therefore, and say nothing.”
He led the way as he spoke and the hero went forward with
him. As the sound of woodcutters in some forest glade upon the mountains–and
the thud of their axes is heard afar–even such a din now rose from earth-clash
of bronze armour and of good ox-hide shields, as men smote each other with their
swords and spears pointed at both ends. A man had need of good eyesight now to
know Sarpedon, so covered was he from head to foot with spears and blood and
dust. Men swarmed about the body, as flies that buzz round the full milk-pails
in spring when they are brimming with milk–even so did they gather round
Sarpedon; nor did Jove turn his keen eyes away for one moment from the fight,
but kept looking at it all the time, for he was settling how best to kill
Patroclus, and considering whether Hector should be allowed to end him now in
the fight round the body of Sarpedon, and strip him of his armour, or whether he
should let him give yet further trouble to the Trojans. In the end, he deemed it
best that the brave squire of Achilles son of Peleus should drive Hector and the
Trojans back towards the city and take the lives of many. First, therefore, he
made Hector turn fainthearted, whereon he mounted his chariot and fled, bidding
the other Trojans fly also, for he saw that the scales of Jove had turned
against him. Neither would the brave Lycians stand firm; they were dismayed when
they saw their king lying struck to the heart amid a heap of corpses–for when
the son of Saturn made the fight wax hot many had fallen above him. The
Achaeans, therefore stripped the gleaming armour from his shoulders and the
brave son of Menoetius gave it to his men to take to the ships. Then Jove lord
of the storm-cloud said to Apollo, “Dear Phoebus, go, I pray you, and take
Sarpedon out of range of the weapons; cleanse the black blood from off him, and
then bear him a long way off where you may wash him in the river, anoint him
with ambrosia, and clothe him in immortal raiment; this done, commit him to the
arms of the two fleet messengers, Death, and Sleep, who will carry him
straightway to the rich land of Lycia, where his brothers and kinsmen will inter
him, and will raise both mound and pillar to his memory, in due honour to the
dead.”
Thus he spoke. Apollo obeyed his father’s saying, and came
down from the heights of Ida into the thick of the fight; forthwith he took
Sarpedon out of range of the weapons, and then bore him a long way off, where he
washed him in the river, anointed him with ambrosia and clothed him in immortal
raiment; this done, he committed him to the arms of the two fleet messengers,
Death, and Sleep, who presently set him down in the rich land of Lycia.
Meanwhile Patroclus, with many a shout to his horses and to
Automedon, pursued the Trojans and Lycians in the pride and foolishness of his
heart. Had he but obeyed the bidding of the son of Peleus, he would have,
escaped death and have been scatheless; but the counsels of Jove pass man’s
understanding; he will put even a brave man to flight and snatch victory from
his grasp, or again he will set him on to fight, as he now did when he put a
high spirit into the heart of Patroclus.
Who then first, and who last, was slain by you, O
Patroclus, when the gods had now called you to meet your doom? First Adrestus,
Autonous, Echeclus, Perimus the son of Megas, Epistor and Melanippus; after
these he killed Elasus, Mulius, and Pylartes. These he slew, but the rest saved
themselves by flight.
The sons of the Achaeans would now have taken Troy by the
hands of Patroclus, for his spear flew in all directions, had not Phoebus Apollo
taken his stand upon the wall to defeat his purpose and to aid the Trojans.
Thrice did Patroclus charge at an angle of the high wall, and thrice did Apollo
beat him back, striking his shield with his own immortal hands. When Patroclus
was coming on like a god for yet a fourth time, Apollo shouted to him with an
awful voice and said, “Draw back, noble Patroclus, it is not your lot to sack
the city of the Trojan chieftains, nor yet will it be that of Achilles who is a
far better man than you are.” On hearing this, Patroclus withdrew to some
distance and avoided the anger of Apollo.
Meanwhile Hector was waiting with his horses inside the
Scaean gates, in doubt whether to drive out again and go on fighting, or to call
the army inside the gates. As he was thus doubting Phoebus Apollo drew near him
in the likeness of a young and lusty warrior Asius, who was Hector’s uncle,
being own brother to Hecuba, and son of Dymas who lived in Phrygia by the waters
of the river Sangarius; in his likeness Jove’s son Apollo now spoke to Hector
saying, “Hector, why have you left off fighting? It is ill done of you. If I
were as much better a man than you, as I am worse, you should soon rue your
slackness. Drive straight towards Patroclus, if so be that Apollo may grant you
a triumph over him, and you may rule him.”
With this the god went back into the hurly-burly, and
Hector bade Cebriones drive again into the fight. Apollo passed in among them,
and struck panic into the Argives, while he gave triumph to Hector and the
Trojans. Hector let the other Danaans alone and killed no man, but drove
straight at Patroclus. Patroclus then sprang from his chariot to the ground,
with a spear in his left hand, and in his right a jagged stone as large as his
hand could hold. He stood still and threw it, nor did it go far without hitting
some one; the cast was not in vain, for the stone struck Cebriones, Hector’s
charioteer, a bastard son of Priam, as he held the reins in his hands. The stone
hit him on the forehead and drove his brows into his head for the bone was
smashed, and his eyes fell to the ground at his feet. He dropped dead from his
chariot as though he were diving, and there was no more life left in him. Over
him did you then vaunt, O knight Patroclus, saying, “Bless my heart, how active
he is, and how well he dives. If we had been at sea this fellow would have dived
from the ship’s side and brought up as many oysters as the whole crew could
stomach, even in rough water, for he has dived beautifully off his chariot on to
the ground. It seems, then, that there are divers also among the Trojans.”
As he spoke he flung himself on Cebriones with the spring,
as it were, of a lion that while attacking a stockyard is himself struck in the
chest, and his courage is his own bane–even so furiously, O Patroclus, did you
then spring upon Cebriones. Hector sprang also from his chariot to the ground.
The pair then fought over the body of Cebriones. As two lions fight fiercely on
some high mountain over the body of a stag that they have killed, even so did
these two mighty warriors, Patroclus son of Menoetius and brave Hector, hack and
hew at one another over the corpse of Cebriones. Hector would not let him go
when he had once got him by the head, while Patroclus kept fast hold of his
feet, and a fierce fight raged between the other Danaans and Trojans. As the
east and south wind buffet one another when they beat upon some dense forest on
the mountains–there is beech and ash and spreading cornel; the top of the trees
roar as they beat on one another, and one can hear the boughs cracking and
breaking–even so did the Trojans and Achaeans spring upon one another and lay
about each other, and neither side would give way. Many a pointed spear fell to
ground and many a winged arrow sped from its bow-string about the body of
Cebriones; many a great stone, moreover, beat on many a shield as they fought
around his body, but there he lay in the whirling clouds of dust, all huge and
hugely, heedless of his driving now.
So long as the sun was still high in mid-heaven the weapons
of either side were alike deadly, and the people fell; but when he went down
towards the time when men loose their oxen, the Achaeans proved to be beyond all
forecast stronger, so that they drew Cebriones out of range of the darts and
tumult of the Trojans, and stripped the armour from his shoulders. Then
Patroclus sprang like Mars with fierce intent and a terrific shout upon the
Trojans, and thrice did he kill nine men; but as he was coming on like a god for
a time, then, O Patroclus, was the hour of your end approaching, for Phoebus
fought you in fell earnest. Patroclus did not see him as he moved about in the
crush, for he was enshrouded in thick darkness, and the god struck him from
behind on his back and his broad shoulders with the flat of his hand, so that
his eyes turned dizzy. Phoebus Apollo beat the helmet from off his head, and it
rolled rattling off under the horses’ feet, where its horse-hair plumes were all
begrimed with dust and blood. Never indeed had that helmet fared so before, for
it had served to protect the head and comely forehead of the godlike hero
Achilles. Now, however, Zeus delivered it over to be worn by Hector.
Nevertheless the end of Hector also was near. The bronze-shod spear, so great
and so strong, was broken in the hand of Patroclus, while his shield that
covered him from head to foot fell to the ground as did also the band that held
it, and Apollo undid the fastenings of his corslet.
On this his mind became clouded; his limbs failed him, and
he stood as one dazed; whereon Euphorbus son of Panthous a Dardanian, the best
spearman of his time, as also the finest horseman and fleetest runner, came
behind him and struck him in the back with a spear, midway between the
shoulders. This man as soon as ever he had come up with his chariot had
dismounted twenty men, so proficient was he in all the arts of war–he it was, O
knight Patroclus, that first drove a weapon into you, but he did not quite
overpower you. Euphorbus then ran back into the crowd, after drawing his ashen
spear out of the wound; he would not stand firm and wait for Patroclus, unarmed
though he now was, to attack him; but Patroclus unnerved, alike by the blow the
god had given him and by the spear-wound, drew back under cover of his men in
fear for his life. Hector on this, seeing him to be wounded and giving ground,
forced his way through the ranks, and when close up with him struck him in the
lower part of the belly with a spear, driving the bronze point right through it,
so that he fell heavily to the ground to the great of the Achaeans. As when a
lion has fought some fierce wild-boar and worsted him–the two fight furiously
upon the mountains over some little fountain at which they would both drink, and
the lion has beaten the boar till he can hardly breathe–even so did Hector son
of Priam take the life of the brave son of Menoetius who had killed so many,
striking him from close at hand, and vaunting over him the while. “Patroclus,”
said he, “you deemed that you should sack our city, rob our Trojan women of
their freedom, and carry them off in your ships to your own country. Fool;
Hector and his fleet horses were ever straining their utmost to defend them. I
am foremost of all the Trojan warriors to stave the day of bondage from off
them; as for you, vultures shall devour you here. Poor wretch, Achilles with all
his bravery availed you nothing; and yet I ween when you left him he charged you
straitly saying, ‘Come not back to the ships, knight Patroclus, till you have
rent the bloodstained shirt of murderous Hector about his body. Thus I ween did
he charge you, and your fool’s heart answered him ‘yea’ within you.”
Then, as the life ebbed out of you, you answered, O knight
Patroclus: “Hector, vaunt as you will, for Jove the son of Saturn and Apollo
have vouchsafed you victory; it is they who have vanquished me so easily, and
they who have stripped the armour from my shoulders; had twenty such men as you
attacked me, all of them would have fallen before my spear. Fate and the son of
Leto have overpowered me, and among mortal men Euphorbus; you are yourself third
only in the killing of me. I say further, and lay my saying to your heart, you
too shall live but for a little season; death and the day of your doom are close
upon you, and they will lay you low by the hand of Achilles son of Aeacus.”
When he had thus spoken his eyes were closed in death, his
soul left his body and flitted down to the house of Hades, mourning its sad fate
and bidding farewell to the youth and vigor of its manhood. Dead though he was,
Hector still spoke to him saying, “Patroclus, why should you thus foretell my
doom? Who knows but Achilles, son of lovely Thetis, may be smitten by my spear
and die before me?”
As he spoke he drew the bronze spear from the wound,
planting his foot upon the body, which he thrust off and let lie on its back. He
then went spear in hand after Automedon, squire of the fleet descendant of
Aeacus, for he longed to lay him low, but the immortal steeds which the gods had
given as a rich gift to Peleus bore him swiftly from the field.
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