As the Achaeans surrounded Peleus’ insatiable
son by the beaked ships and armed for battle,
and as the Trojans waited on the rising plain,
Zeus ordered Themis to call the gods to assembly
atop many-ridged Olympus, so she went all
over, summoning them to the house of Zeus.
Every river save for Oceanus answered the call,
as did the nymphs living in beautiful groves,
river-feeding springs, and grassy meadows.
Assembling at the cloud-gatherer’s home,
they sat in the polished portico that Hephaestus
built for father Zeus with his ingenious skill.

All assembled at Zeus’ home, including the earth-
shaker, who answered Themis’ call, left the sea,
joined the gathering, and asked counselor Zeus:
“Wielder of the bright thunderbolt, why did you
call this assembly? Does it concern the Trojans
and Achaeans? For their fighting is set to ignite.”

Then cloud-gathering Zeus answered him:
“Earth-shaker, you know full well why I called
this assembly; though they are dying, I still care.
I will remain seated here in a cleft on Olympus,
looking down and entertaining my mind,
but the rest of you should go to the Trojans
and Achaeans and aid one side or the other.
If we let Achilles fight the Trojans alone, then
Peleus’ swift-footed son will be unstoppable.
They used to tremble at the mere sight of him,
but now that his heart burns in rage for his friend,
I fear he will destroy Troy beyond what is fated.”

So Cronos’ son spoke, rousing unceasing war,
and the gods went into battle, hearts divided.
Hera went to the ships with Pallas Athena,
earth-embracing Poseidon, the helper Hermes
who surpassed all in cleverness, and powerful
Hephaestus who walked with a limp though
his slender legs moved nimbly. To the Trojans
went glancing-helmed Ares, flowing-haired
Phoebus, shedder of arrows Artemis, Leto,
Xanthos, and laughter-loving Aphrodite.

Now, so long as the gods were far from men,
the Achaeans triumphed, for Achilles, long
absent from terrible war, was among them,
and Trojan limbs shook with terror when they
saw the shining armor of the swift-footed son
of Peleus, equal to Ares. But once the gods
reached the battle, Strife, rouser of armies,
rose up, and Athena cried out, standing first
by the trench outside the wall, then on the loud-
thundering sea shores. Opposite them, Ares,
like a black cloud, roused the Trojans, roused
the Trojans, first from the topmost citadel,
then along the Simoïs’ banks to the Callicolone.^[1]

So the blessed gods roused both armies to war,
their deadly strife bursting across the battlefield.
From on high, the father of gods and men sent
terrible thunder, and from below Poseidon shook
the vast earth and the high mountains peaks,
shaking the feet and peaks of many-fountained
Ida, the city of Troy, and the Achaean ships.
This terrified Aïdoneus, lord of the underworld,
who leapt from his throne and cried out, fearing
that earth-shaker Poseidon would rip the earth
wide open, revealing to mortals and immortals
his dank, dark home that even the gods loathed.
Such was the crash of the gods when they came
together in strife: lord Poseidon standing against
Phoebus Apollo and his winged arrows, Enyalius
against the gleaming-eyed goddess Athena,
Hera against Artemis, archer of the golden bow
and echoing hunt and sister of the far-shooter,
Leto against the mighty helper Hermes,
and Hephaestus against the deep-eddying river
the gods call Xanthos and men Scamander.

So gods fought gods, but Achilles was intent
on facing Hector, son of Priam, above all others,
for the anger in his heart compelled him to sate
sturdy-shielded Ares with Hector’s blood.
But Apollo, rouser of armies, urged Aeneas to face
the son of Peleus, filling him with great courage.
The son of Zeus, Apollo, took the form and voice
of Lycaon, Priam’s son, and said to Aeneas:
“Aeneas, counselor of Troy, did you not vow
to the Trojan princes over wine that you would
fight Achilles, son of Peleus, one-on-one?”

Then again Aeneas answered him, saying:
“Son of Priam, why do you urge me to face
and fight the high-minded son of Peleus?
I stood and fought swift-footed Achilles before,
when he forced me at spearpoint to flee Ida
after attacking our cattle and sacking Lyrnessus
and Pedasus; but Zeus protected me, stirring
my might and lightening my limbs. I would
have died by Achilles’ hands and by Athena’s,
for she led the way and urged him to slay
Leleges and other Trojans with his bronze
spear. Thus no man can fight Achilles since
he always has a god to keep him from ruin.
Plus, his spear shoots straight and does not
stop until it pierces flesh. But if a god could
even the battle odds, then I would not be easily
beaten, though he claims to be made of bronze.”

Then Apollo, son of lord Zeus, answered him:
“Come and pray to the immortal gods, for they
say you were born to Aphrodite, daughter of Zeus,
while he was born to a lesser god. Zeus is your
grandfather; his is the old man of the sea. So go
straight at him with your sturdy bronze and do not
let him stop you with abusive words and threats.”

So saying, he breathed greatness into the shepherd
of men, and Aeneas joined the front lines armed
in fiery bronze. White-armed Hera noticed the son
of Anchises as he set off through the throng to fight
the son of Peleus, and she said to the other gods:
“Poseidon and Athena, consider these things
in your minds and decide what should be done.
Phoebus Apollo has sent Aeneas, armed in fiery
bronze, to fight the son of Peleus. So come, let us
either go and turn him back at once or let one
of us stand beside Achilles and give him even
greater might, so his heart is full and he knows
that the best of the immortals love him, while
those who defend and fight for the Trojans are
as useless as the wind. We all left Olympus
and joined the battle so Achilles would not be
harmed by the Trojans today; later, he will suffer
whatever Fate spun for him with her thread
on the day his mother bore him.^[2] But if Achilles
does not hear all this from a god, he will panic
when a god faces him in battle, for it is
dangerous when gods appear in their true form.”

Then earth-shaker Poseidon replied to her:
“There is no reason to be angry, Hera.
I do not wish to see the gods fighting each
other, since we are far more powerful.
Let us go, then, to a place off the beaten
track where we can sit and watch the men do
battle. But if Ares or Phoebus Apollo begin
fighting or keep Achilles away from battle,
then we can quickly sound the cry of war.
Soon after, I think, they will leave the fight
and return to Olympus and the assembly
of gods, overpowered by our mighty hands.”

So saying, the dark-haired god led the others
to the high, earth-covered wall of godlike
Heracles, built by the Trojans and Pallas
Athena as a refuge for the hero when the sea
monster drove him from the seashore to the plain.^[3]
There Poseidon and the other gods sat, covering
themselves in an impenetrable cloud, while
across from them, on the ridge of the Callicolone,
sat Phoebus Apollo and Ares, sacker of cities.

Thus each side sat and discussed their options,
both reluctant to begin the bitter battle, though
Zeus, seated on high, urged them to do just that.

But the entire plain was filled with men, horses,
and blazing bronze, and the earth quaked under
their feet when they clashed. The two finest
warriors came together between the two armies:
Aeneas, son of Anchises, and godlike Achilles.
Aeneas emerged first, uttering threats, tilting
his strong helmet, holding his furious shield
against his chest, and wielding his bronze spear.
Opposite him, the son of Peleus charged like
a ravenous lion that a community eagerly
comes together to kill. At first, the lion ignores
them, but when a swift-fighting youth hurls
his spear and strikes him, the lion’s mouth
opens and begins to foam, his heart groans,
his tail whips around his ribs and hip-joints
on both sides, and he readies himself for attack,
his eyes glaring brightly as he dashes forward
with a frenzied rage either to kill or be killed.
So, too, was Achilles roused by the rage
in his heroic heart to face great-hearted
Aeneas, and as they came near one another,
noble Achilles, swift of foot, addressed him:
“Aeneas, why do you stand against me so far
from the throng? Does your heart order you
to fight in hopes of gaining Priam’s honor
among the horse-taming Trojans? But if you
slay me, Priam will not hand you this honor,
for he has sons, and his mind is steady, not weak.
Or have the Trojans offered you a splendid
estate with beautiful orchards and fields if you
kill me? But this will be no easy task. Do you
remember fleeing from my spear once before,
when you were alone and I forced you to run
away from your cattle and down Mount Ida’s
slopes, never once turning back? You ran all
the way to Lyrnessus, but I followed and sacked
the city with the help of Athena and father Zeus,
capturing many women, taking their freedom.
Zeus and the other gods protected you then,
but they will not protect you now, though
you believe they will. So go now and retreat
into the throng before you pay the price,
for fools only learn once a deed is done.”

Then, in reply, Aeneas said to him:
“Son of Peleus, do not try to frighten me like
a child, for I know how to make threats and hurl
insults just as well as you. We each know about
the other’s birth and family for we have heard
the tales from mortal men, but I have never
seen your parents nor you mine. People say
your father is noble Peleus and your mother
is the fair-haired sea goddess Thetis, while
I am proud to say my father is great-hearted
Anchises and my mother is Aphrodite.
Now, one set of parents will mourn their dear
child’s loss today, for I do not expect us to utter
childish words, separate, and return from battle.
Still, if you want to learn about my lineage,
then I will tell you, for many men know it:
cloud-gatherer Zeus first fathered Dardanus,
who founded Dardania, for divine Ilios had
not yet been built on the plain, but men
still lived on many-fountained Ida’s foothills.
Then Dardanus sired a son, King Erichthonius,
who became the wealthiest of mortal men,
with three thousand horses grazing in marsh
meadows, mares caring for their young foals.
Now the North Wind fell in love with the grazing
mares, disguised himself as a black-maned stallion,
and covered them; and they conceived and bore
twelve foals who could frolic over the grain-giving
earth without breaking the tips of the corn stalks
and could run over the wide surface of the sea
touching only the crests of the grey waves.
And Erichthonius begot Tros, who would rule
the Trojans, and from Tros were born three noble
sons: Ilus, Assaracus, and godlike Ganymede,
who was born the most beautiful of mortal men;
so great was his beauty that the gods snatched
him up, and he became the cup bearer for Zeus.
Ilus then had a son, noble Laomedon, who
begot Tithonus, Priam, Lampus, Clytius,
and Hicetaon, child of Ares. And Assaracus
begot Capys, Capys begot Anchises, Anchises
begot me, and Priam begot noble Hector.
This is my lineage and my proud bloodline.
But Zeus decides when to give a man honor
or when to take it away, for he is strongest of all,
so come, let us stop talking like little children
as we stand here in the middle of the battlefield.
We could hurl so much abuse at one another
that a hundred-benched ship could not hold it.
The tongues of mortals are loose and dripping
with words—words for any and all occasions.
Whatever you say will be thrown back at you.
But there is no need for the two of us to bicker
and quarrel with each other like women who,
angry at each other in soul-sucking strife,
head into the street and argue with words
both true and false, driven on by their rage.
Your words will not divert me from fighting
you face-to-face with bronze; so come, let us
battle one another with bronze-tipped spears.”

So saying, he drove his stout spear against
Achilles’ fearsome shield, and a loud clang
rang out, startling Peleus’ son, whose strong
hands held the shield away from him, for he
thought that Aeneas’ long spear would pierce
his shield—the fool, for his mind and heart
did not know that gifts from the gods are not
easily broken by mortals. Though the mighty
spear of great-hearted Aeneas pierced two
layers, the shield held firm, for three layers
remained. In all, the crooked-footed god had
forged five layers: two of bronze, two inside
of tin, and one of gold, and it was this
golden layer that stopped the ashen spear.

Then Achilles hurled his long-shadowed spear
and hit the edge of Aeneas’ well-balanced shield
where the bronze and the bull’s hide both ran
thinnest; and the ashen spear of Peleus’ son shot
through, making the shield clang. A frightened
Aeneas crouched down and held his shield away
from him as the spear sailed over his back and hit
the dirt, after taking two of the shield’s circles
with it. Having escaped the long spear, he stood,
great fear filling his eyes, for he was shocked at how
close the spear had come. Then Achilles drew
his sharp sword and, with a terrible cry, eagerly
charged; at the same time, Aeneas grabbed a huge
stone that two men (as they are now) could not
lift but that he easily lifted all by himself. And he
would have hurled the stone, hitting Achilles
on his helm or on the shield that warded death,
and Achilles would have used his sword to strip
Aeneas of his soul, had earth-shaker Poseidon not
quickly seen all this and said to the other gods:
“Alas, I pity great-hearted Aeneas, for Peleus’
son will soon send him to the house of Hades,
for the fool listened to the words of far-shooter
Apollo, who will do nothing to prevent his death.
But why should a man so blameless, one who
always offers gifts to the gods who rule wide
heaven, suffer because of someone else’s pain?
Come now, let us lead him away from death
so we may avoid the wrath of Zeus should
Achilles slay him. Aeneas is fated to survive
so that the Dardanian race should not cease,
for Cronos’ son loved Dardanus above all
his children born to mortal women. And since
the son of Cronos has come to hate the race
of Priam, surely Aeneas will rule Troy, as will
the sons of his sons who are not yet born.”

Then revered, ox-eyed Hera answered him:
“Earth-shaker, do with Aeneas what your mind
thinks best; protect this brave man or let him
be slaughtered by Achilles, son of Peleus.
But we two, Pallas Athena and I, have sworn
many oaths before the immortals that we will
not ward off the Trojan day of doom, not even
when all of Troy is devoured by a blazing fire,
set alight by the warlike Achaean sons.”

Hearing this, earth-shaker Poseidon set out
across the spear-strewn battlefield until he
came to Aeneas and mighty Achilles.
He quickly spread a mist over Achilles’ eyes,
drew the sharp-pointed ashen spear out
of great-hearted Aeneas’ shield, and set
it down by Achilles’ feet. Then Poseidon’s
hands lifted Aeneas off the ground, swung
him high in the air, and sent him soaring
over many ranks of men and lines of chariots
until he reached the outer edge of the furious
battle where the Caucones were arming for war.
There earth-shaker Poseidon came near him
and spoke to him with winged words, saying:
“Aeneas, which foolish god ordered you to fight
proud-hearted Peleus’ son, who is stronger
than you and loved by the immortals? No, draw
back when you meet him or you will be sent
to the house of Hades before your fated time.
But when Achilles meets his fate and dies,
then be brave and fight among the front lines,
for no other Achaean will be able to slay you.”

Poseidon finished speaking and left to remove
the divine mist that had clouded Achilles’ eyes.
When Achilles’ vision was suddenly cleared,
he became angry and said to his agitated heart:
“What is this wondrous thing my eyes now see?
My spear lies on the ground, but the man who
was its target, who I was eager to slay, is gone.
Clearly Aeneas’ words were no idle boasts,
and he is indeed beloved by the immortal gods.
So be it. He will not have the heart to fight me
again, for now he knows he is lucky to have
escaped death. So I will call the war-loving
Danaans and go out to face the other Trojans.”

So he ran along the ranks, saying to each man:
“Noble Achaeans, do not stand far away
from the Trojans but face them man-to-man
and fight them with passion! Although I am
strong, I cannot fight so many men alone.
Not even Ares, an immortal god, or Athena
could deal with such a mass of fighting foes.
But I will do all that my hands, feet, and might
will allow, and I swear I will not slacken, not one
bit, but will drive through their ranks and bring
fear to any Trojan who comes near my spear.”

As he urged them on, shining Hector called
to the Trojans, declaring he would face Achilles:
“Great-hearted Trojans, do not fear Peleus’ son.
I would fight the immortals with words, but not
with spears, for they are far mightier. In the same
way, not all the words of Achilles will come true:
some will be fulfilled, others will come to nothing.
But I will face him even if his hands are like fire,
his hands like fire, and his heart like blazing iron.”

So he urged them on; and the Trojans lifted
their spears and, with a great shout, charged
into battle. Then Phoebus Apollo said to Hector:
“Hector, do not fight in front of Achilles; wait
for him in the noisy throng or he will hit you
with his spear or strike you with his sword.”

Hearing these words from the god’s own voice,
a frightened Hector retreated back into the ranks.

But Achilles, his heart full of fury, cried out
and attacked the Trojans. First, he slew Iphition,
Otrynteus’ skilled son and leader of men, whom
a Naiad bore to Otrynteus, sacker of cities, under
snowy Tmolus in the rich lands of Hyde. Noble
Achilles hurled his spear straight at him, hitting
him square in the head, splitting it in two. As he
fell with a thud, Achilles derided him, saying:
“Lie there, son of Otrynteus, most feared of men.
This is where you die, though your birth was
by Gygaean lake, in the land of your father,
near fish-filled Hyllus and whirling Hermus.”

So he boasted as darkness covered the other’s
eyes and the Achaean chariot wheels ripped
the man apart. Then Achilles struck the great
defender Demoleon, Antenor’s son, in the temple,
driving his spear straight through the bronze
cheek-pieces of his helmet, tearing his skull apart,
scattering his brains all over, and ending his life
in a furious flash. Next he speared Hippodamas
in the back as he leapt from his chariot and tried
to escape. As he breathed his last, he roared
the way a bull bellows when dragged by young
men to the altar of Poseidon on Helice, pleasing
the earth-shaker; so bellowed Hippodamas as
his soul left his bones. Then Achilles took his spear
and went after godlike Polydorus, Priam’s son.
His father had refused to let his youngest
and dearest child fight, but Polydorus surpassed
others in quickness, and in order to show off
his speed, he ran foolishly through the front-lines
until his life came to an end. As he shot past,
swift-footed Achilles speared him in the back
where the breastplate overlapped with the gold
clasps of his belt. The spearpoint then drove
straight through and came out by the navel,
and as a dark cloud enveloped him, he held
his intestines in his hands and sank to the earth.

When Hector saw his brother Polydorus holding
his intestines in his hands and sinking to the earth,
a mist of tears filled his eyes. No longer able
to hold back, he went and faced Achilles, wielding
his sharp spear like a flame. But when Achilles
saw him, he sprang up and mocked him, saying:
“Nearby is the man who poisoned my heart,
striking down my honored friend; no longer
will we avoid each other across the battle-lines.”

Then he glared angrily at noble Hector and said:
“Come closer and you will soon meet your end.”

Flashing-helmed Hector fearlessly replied to him:
“Son of Peleus, quit trying to frighten me like
a child, for I know how to make threats and hurl
insults just as well as you. I know you are a great
warrior, much greater than I am; but it now lies
on the knees of the gods to determine whether
I, your inferior, should slay you with my spear,
since my weapon has been proven sharp before.”

He finished, poised his spear, and threw it,
but Athena turned it away from glorious Achilles
with a light breath, and the missile came back
and fell at noble Hector’s feet, Achilles then cried
out furiously and rushed him, eager to slay him,
but Apollo snatched Hector away with ease,
shrouding him in a thick mist. Three times noble
Achilles rushed at Hector with his bronze spear,
and three times he struck only the thick mist.
But on the fourth try, he charged like a god,
uttered a terrible cry, and said to Hector:
“Again, dog, you have barely escaped a foul
death, saved by Phoebus Apollo, to whom you
must pray before entering the chaos of spears.
But I will kill you when we next face each
other, if I too can get help from a divine ally.
For now, I will attack whoever I can reach.”

So saying, he speared Dryops square in the neck,
and the man fell at his feet. Achilles then left
him and hit Demuchus, Philetor’s son, in the knee
with a spear and then stabbed him with a sword,
robbing him of life. Then he attacked Laogonus
and Dardanus, both sons of Bias, hurling them
from their chariot to the ground, hitting one
with his spear and the other with his sword.
Then Tros, Alastor’s son, fell to Achilles’ knees,
begging him to take pity on one so young, to be
spared from death, to be taken and released—
the fool. There was no persuading Achilles,
for his mind was not sweet or gentle but fierce
and savage. Tros tried to wrap his hands around
the man’s knees, begging him, but Achilles stuck
his sword in his liver; the liver fell out, black
blood poured into his chest, darkness covered
his eyes, and his soul left him. Then Achilles
stuck his spear in Mulius’ ear, the bronze point
passing through and out the other ear. Then
his handled sword hit Echeclus, Agenor’s son,
square in the head; his blood warmed the blade,
and dark death and mighty fate covered his eyes.
Then he pierced Deucalion in the arm, where
the tendon meets his elbow, and the spearpoint
made his arm go limp. As he waited for death,
Achilles then sliced his neck with his sword;
his helm and head went flying, marrow gushed
from his neck, and the corpse fell to the ground.
Then he went after Rhigmus, Peires’ noble son
who came from fertile Thrace. Achilles speared
him in the gut, and he fell from his chariot.
Then, as Rhigmus’ attendant Areïthous turned
the horses away, he was speared in the back
and thrown from the chariot, and the horses fled.

As when a savage fire rages through a dry
mountain valley, winds driving the flames far
and wide and burning the thick forests down,
so Achilles rushed all over like a god, killing
men and covering the earth in black blood.
Or as when a man yokes broad-fronted bulls
to tread white barley on a threshing-floor,
and in no time the bellowing bulls’ feet thin
out the grain, so under his single-hoofed
horses did Achilles trample men and shields
alike. And the chariot’s axle and rims were
splattered with blood from the horses’ hooves
and wheels, and the hands of Peleus’ son were
thick with gore, for he sought eternal glory.