The noise did not escape the notice of Nestor,
who was drinking, and he said to Asclepius’ son:
“Noble Machaon, what do you make of all this?
The young men’s cries grow stronger by the ships.
Now, you just sit here, drinking sparkling wine,
as fair-haired Hecamede heats a warm bath
for you and cleans your bloody wound, and I
will go to a lookout spot to see what is going on.”

So saying, he took the shining bronze shield
of his son, horse-taming Thrasymedes, which was
lying in the tent, for the son had his father’s shield.
Then he laid hold of his sharp-edged bronze spear,
left his tent, and quickly saw a shameful sight:
the Achaeans in panicked flight, the great-hearted
Trojans in pursuit, and the wall toppled.
Just as a deep sea swell heaves but does not break,
the waves rolling neither forward nor to the side
but waiting for a decisive surge of piercing
winds to be sent down by Zeus, so the old man
pondered in his divided heart whether to join
the throng of swift-mounted Danaans or to find
Agamemnon, son of Atreus, herder of men.
He soon decided it was best to find Atreus’ son.
But the rest battled on, fighting and slaying,
and hard bronze rang round as warriors thrust
their swords and two-edged spears at one another.

Nestor met the Zeus-blessed, bronze-struck kings
as they returned along the ships: the son of Tydeus,
Odysseus, and Agamemnon, son of Atreus.
The ships had been drawn up out of the grey
sea, far from the fighting and closest to the shore
and to the defenses built at their sterns. Since
the beach was not wide enough to hold all
the ships and the army was confined, the ships
were drawn in rows and filled the wide mouth
of the shore that is enclosed by the headlands.
So the kings went as one, leaning on their spears,
to look upon the battle, the hearts in their chests
filled with woe. Old Nestor approached them,
and the heart in his breast shared their despair.
Lord Agamemnon addressed him, saying:
“Nestor, son of Neleus, great glory of the Achaeans,
why have you left the war, destroyer of men,
to come here? I fear mighty Hector will carry out
the threat he made to the Trojan throng: that he
would not return to Ilios from the ships until
he has burned our vessels and killed our men.
So he said, and now this is coming to pass.
I fear the other well-greaved Achaeans are full
of hatred for me, just like Achilles, and have
no wish to fight by the sterns of the ships.”

In reply, Nestor, horseman of Gerenia, said:
“Yes, these things are upon us, and not even
high-thundering Zeus could change them,
for the unbreakable wall that we trusted
to protect our ships and ourselves has fallen,
the men beside the swift ships fight without
pause, and you cannot tell from which direction
the Achaeans are driven to rout, so random
is their slaughter, their cries reaching heaven.
We must consider our next plan, if such
plans can help us now; but we should not join
the battle, for injured men make poor fighters.”

Then Agamemnon, lord of men, answered him:
“Nestor, since they are fighting by the ships’ sterns
and the wall and trench did not protect us, though
we labored long on them in hope that they would
be unbreakable and protect our ships and ourselves,
then it must please mighty Zeus that the Achaeans
should die here, nameless and far from Argos.
Where once he zealously defended the Danaans,
now he exalts the Trojans like they were blessed
gods and binds our hands and saps our strength.
So this is what we shall do, and let all obey:
take the ships nearest to the sea, draw them out
into the shining waters, and moor them
in the harbor until ambrosial night comes.
If the Trojans ever cease fighting, then we can
draw out the other ships, for there is no shame
in fleeing misfortune, even by night. Better
to run from ruin than be captured by it.”

Then wily Odysseus scowled at him and replied:
“Son of Atreus, accursed man, what are you
saying? I wish you commanded some other
army of cowards and not us: men chosen
by Zeus to carry out the burdens of battle
from youth to old age, until each of us is dead.
Do you truly intend to abandon Troy’s wide
streets, for which we have endured so much?
Keep quiet or some other Achaeans will hear
your words, which should never leave the lips
of anyone who knows in his head what should
and should not be said, must less a sceptered
king of an army of Argives who obey you.
You have lost your mind to say such things,
ordering us, while the battle rages, to launch
our well-benched ships onto the sea, adding
more glory to the Trojan victory and driving us
further into despair. Once the Achaeans see
ships drawing down to the sea, they will not hold
firm in battle but will look for a way to escape.
Then, leader of men, your plan will ruin us.”

Then Agamemnon, lord of men, replied to him:
“Odysseus, your harsh rebuke has pierced
my heart. I will not order the Achaean sons
to launch the well-benched ships into the sea,
but if someone else could offer a better plan,
be he young or old, then I would welcome it.”

Then great-shouter Diomedes addressed them:
“That man is near, and we will soon find him
if you are willing to listen without jealousy
or contempt because I am the youngest of us.
But I am of noble stock, my father being Tydeus
who lies buried beneath the Theban soil.
Portheus fathered three noble sons, and they lived
in Pleuron and rocky Calydon: Agrius, Melas,
and the horseman Oeneus, who was my father’s
father and the bravest of them. Oeneus remained
there, but my father was forced to flee to Argos,
which was the will of Zeus and the other gods.
He married one of the daughters of Adrastus
and lived in a wealthy home with ample wheat
fields, long lines of fruit trees, and many sheep,
and he surpassed all Achaeans with the spear.
No doubt you have heard this and know it true,
so do not say I am a liar or coward by blood
and so ignore my words if I speak well.
I say, injured or not, we must return to battle.
Once there, we should hold back, stay out
of missile range to avoid any further wounds,
and press others into battle, those who bear
resentment, standing apart and not fighting.”

So he said, and they heard and obeyed, setting
off, with Agamemnon, lord of men, in the lead.

The famed earth-shaker was not blind to any
of this but joined them disguised as an old man.
He took the right hand of Agamemnon, son
of Atreus, and spoke to him with winged words:
“Son of Atreus, the deadly heart of Achilles
must rejoice to see so many Achaeans dead
or in flight, for he understands nothing at all;
may he too die, driven down by a god.
But the serene gods are not wholly angry
at you, and soon the leaders and lords of Troy
will fill the wide plain with dust as you watch
them retreat to the city from the ships and tents.”

So saying, he sped over the plain with a cry as
great as the battle shouts of nine or ten thousand
warriors coming together under Ares’ fury;
and the force of the earth-shaker’s cry lifted
the strength of each Achaean’s heart so they
were able to battle and to fight without pause.

Standing atop Olympus, golden-throned
Hera looked down and soon spotted her brother
and brother-in-law hurrying over the battlefield
of glory and rejoiced in her heart. But she also
saw Zeus atop the highest peak of Ida of many
waters, and he filled her heart with hatred.
Ox-eyed Hera then considered how best
to deceive the mind of aegis-bearing Zeus,
and she decided that the best plan was to make
herself beautiful, go to many-watered Ida,
and seduce him to sleep beside her flesh
in loving embrace and so pour warm, gentle
sleep over his eyelids and his astute mind.
She went to her chamber, which Hephaestus built
for her with sturdy doors fixed to the doorposts
and a secret bolt that no other god could open;
then, once she was inside, she shut the doors.
She first washed the impurities from her lovely
body with sweet ambrosia and then anointed
herself with olive oil so rich and fragrant that
if it were shaken in the bronze-floored palace
of Zeus, its scent would reach both earth
and heaven. After anointing her fair skin with oil,
she combed her hair, used her hands to plait
the lovely, ambrosial locks on her immortal
head, donned a well-wrought, ambrosial robe
which Athena had made and smoothed for her,
fastened a gold brooch to her chest, girded
around her waist a belt with a hundred tassels,
and put earrings with three clustered berries
in her well-pierced ears. Then the goddess,
filled with grace, covered herself with a fair,
newly-made veil, as white as the sun, and under
her shining feet she bound beautiful sandals.
And when she had dressed herself in all finery,
she left her chamber and called Aphrodite
away from the other gods and said to her:
“Dear child, will you listen and obey me,
or will you deny me out of anger because
I aid the Danaans and you the Trojans?”

Then Aphrodite, daughter of Zeus, replied:
“Hera, revered goddess, daughter of great
Cronos, speak your mind; I will obey your
command if it is in my power to do so.”

With guile in her heart, revered Hera replied:
“Give me love and desire, which you use
to seduce gods and mortal men alike. I am
going to the ends of the earth to visit Oceanus,
who birthed the gods, and mother Tethys,
who raised me lovingly in their home when I
was taken from Rhea after wide-eyed Zeus sent
Cronos to live below the earth and barren sea.
I will go and free them from endless strife,
for rage has consumed their love and kept
them apart for far too long. If my words
could prevail upon these two hearts to again
unite in the marriage bed, then I would
forever be honored and loved by them.”

Then ever-smiling Aphrodite answered her:
“I can hardly refuse your request, for you pass
the night in the bent arms of mighty Zeus.”

So saying, she took from her breast a pierced,
leather strap, finely-made with all manner
of spells for love, yearning, and seduction:
desires that steal even the wisest man’s senses.
She put this in Hera’s hands and said to her:
“Take and put across your breast this well-made
strap with all manner of spells. With this, you
will accomplish anything your heart desires.”

So she said, and ox-eyed queen Hera smiled
and drew the leather strap across her breast.

As Aphrodite, daughter of Zeus, returned home,
Hera darted quickly down from rocky Olympus,
passing Pieria and beautiful Emathia, moving
over the highest snow-capped peaks of Thracian
horsemen, her feet never touching the earth.
Passing Athos, she stepped upon the surging
sea and arrived in Lemnos, city of divine Thoas.
There she met Sleep, brother of Death. Clasping
his hand and speaking his name, she said to him:
“Sleep, ruler of all gods and men, if you ever
listened to my words, then obey me now and I
will be grateful for all my days: lull to sleep
the shining eyes of Zeus below his brows as soon
as I lie down beside him in love. In turn, my son
Hephaestus, the bow-legged god, will make
for you with his skill a fine, imperishable golden
throne along with a footstool upon which you
can rest your smooth feet when you relax.”

Then refreshing Sleep answered her, saying:
“Queen Hera, divine daughter of great Cronos,
I could easily lull any other immortal god
to sleep, even the flowing waters of the river
Oceanus, from whom all immortals are born,
but I cannot draw near nor lull to sleep Zeus,
son of Cronos, unless he himself ordered it.
It was one of your own commands that taught
me this lesson, on the day the noble son of Zeus^[1]
sailed from Ilios after sacking the city of Troy.
I sent sweet sleep to the mind of aegis-bearing
Zeus while you planned foul deeds in your heart
against Heracles, stirring up a blast of wind that
carried him to busy Cos, far from all he loved.
When Zeus woke, he was enraged, tossing the gods
about his halls in search of me, and he would
have thrown me into the sea had I not been saved
by Night, who calms both men and gods. I fled
to her, and Zeus eased his rage; though angry,
he feared upsetting speedy Night. And now you
order me to fulfill yet another impossible task?”

Then ox-eyed Hera spoke to him once more:
“Sleep, why trouble your heart with such things?
How can far-seeing Zeus’ aid to the Trojans
compare to his anger over his son Heracles?
But come, I will give you one of the young
Graces to marry and to be called your wife:
Pasithea, the one you longed for all your days.”

So she said, and Sleep rejoiced and replied to her:
“Come, then, and swear to me by the sacred
waters of the Styx, seizing the bountiful earth
with one hand and the sacred sea with the other
so all gods below with Cronos may bear witness,
that you will give me one of the Graces,
Pasithea, who I have longed for all my days.”

So he said, and the white-armed goddess Hera
obeyed, and swore as he asked, calling upon all
the gods who are below Tartarus, called Titans.
After swearing the oath, they left the cities
of Lemnos and Imbros and sped off, clothed
in clouds, until they came to well-watered
Ida, mother of beasts, past Lectum, where
first they left the sea, and onto dry land,
and below their feet the treetops quivered.
There Sleep halted before Zeus’ eyes could spy
him and climbed a tall fir tree—the tallest tree
in Ida, which reached into the mists of heaven.
Here he waited, covered in pine branches
and disguised as a shrill-crying mountain bird
that gods call chalcis and men call cymindis.

But Hera went swiftly to Gargaron, the topmost
peak of Ida, and when cloud-gatherer Zeus saw
her, his shrewd mind was overwhelmed by desire,
as when they first came together in love, sneaking
to bed behind the backs of their dear parents.
Standing before her, he addressed her, saying:
“Hera, what brings you here from Olympus?
Your horses and chariot are nowhere to be seen.”

With guile in her heart, revered Hera said to him:
“I am going the ends of the earth that feeds
many to see Oceanus, from whom all gods are
sprung, and Tethys, who nursed and loved me.
I wish to mend their endless struggle, their hate-
filled hearts having kept them from each other
and from their marriage bed for too long.
At the base of well-watered Ida stand my horses,
ready to carry me over dry land and ocean waters.
But now I have come down from Olympus
so you will not be angry at me for going
to Oceanus’ watery house without telling you.”

In reply, cloud-gatherer Zeus said to her:
“Hera, you can head there at a later time,
but now let us go to bed and make love,
for my desire for goddess or mortal woman
has never overwhelmed my heart as it does
now, not even when I fell for Ixion’s wife,
who bore Peirithous, a god’s peer in counsel;
or for fair-ankled Danaë, daughter of Acrisius,
who bore Perseus, greatest of all warriors;
or for the daughter of the famed Phoenix,
who bore Minos and godlike Rhadamanthys;
or for Semele or Alcmene in Thebes, who
bore stout-hearted Heracles, and Semele who
bore Dionysus, a source of comfort for men;
or for Demeter, the bright-tressed queen,
or radiant Leto or you yourself, for I now
love you and sweet desire has taken hold of me.”

With trickery in her heart, queen Hera replied:
“What a thing to say, dreaded son of Cronos.
Do you truly desire to lie here and make love
on the peaks of Ida for all the world to see?
What if an immortal gods looked upon us as
we slept and went to tell the others about it?
I could never again rise from bed and visit
your house, for I would be too ashamed.
But if you truly wish it, then there is a chamber
made by your dear son Hephaestus, with sturdy
doors fixed to every post. Let us go there
and lie down, since bed is clearly your desire.”

In reply, cloud-gatherer Zeus said to her:
“Hera, fear not, for neither gods nor men
will see. I will wrap us in a cloud of gold
so that Helios himself will be unable to see
us, though his sight is the sharpest of all.”

Then the son of Cronos took his wife in his arms.
Below them, the ground opened as fresh grass,
dewy clovers, crocus, and hyacinth grew soft
and thick, shielding them from the earth.
They lay there clothed in a beautiful cloud
of gold that glistened with falling drops of dew.

As the father slept soundly in his wife’s arms
atop Gargaron, overcome by love and fatigue,
sweet Sleep hurried to the Achaean ships to give
a message to the embracer and shaker of earth.
He stood near him and addressed him, saying:
“Poseidon, fight zealously for the Danaans,
but only for a short time, while Zeus sleeps.
I have shrouded him in sweet slumber, and Hera
has tricked him into laying with her in love.”

So saying, he went away, leaving Poseidon
even more determined to defend the Danaans.
At once, he leapt to the front lines and cried:
“Argives, are you ready to hand victory to Hector,
Priam’s son, so he may take our ships and win
glory? This is what he boasts, since Achilles
remains beside the hollow ships with anger
in his heart. But we will not miss him if we
urge each other on and fight for one another.
So come, listen to my words, and do as I say:
let us take the army’s best and largest shields,
cover our heads with gleaming helmets, seize
the longest spears, and so go out. I will lead
the way, and I do not think Hector, Priam’s son,
will remain for long, no matter his desire.
Let the toughest fighters take the larger shields
while the weaker fighters take the smaller.”

So he spoke, and all eagerly listened and obeyed,
the wounded kings taking the lead: Tydeus’ son,
Odysseus, and Agamemnon, son of Atreus. They
roamed the ranks and ordered the strongest to take
the best armor and the weakest to take the worst.
Once covered in flashing bronze, they set off,
and earth-shaker Poseidon led the way, holding
in his strong hand a terrible sword, a weapon
so lightning-sharp that no man would dare face
it in dread battle, for fear would take hold.

Opposite them, famed Hector led the Trojans.
Now drawn tight in the strife of dread battle
were dark-haired Poseidon and radiant
Hector, one for the Achaeans and the other
for the Trojans. The sea surged up to the Argive
ships and tents, and a loud cry arose as
the two sides clashed. Neither the ocean waves
rushing onto dry land, driven from the sea
by the blasting north wind, nor a blazing fire
roaring in a mountain dell as it burns through
a forest, nor a shrieking wind that blows over
lofty tree tops in all its ferocity—none of these
could match the violent cries of Trojans
and Achaeans as they leapt upon one another.

First, glorious Hector cast his spear at Ajax,
who was facing him, and hit him where two
baldrics—one for his shield, one for his silver-
studded sword—were drawn across his chest,
thus protecting his soft flesh. Angry that
the swift strike had done no damage, Hector
shrank behind his comrades to avoid fate.
But Telamonian Ajax took a large rock
from under his feet, one of many used to prop
the swift ships, and hurled it at Hector, hitting
him in the chest, above the shield and near
the neck, and he staggered and spun like a top.
Like a bolt from father Zeus that fells an oak tree,
root and all, creating a terrible sulphur smell
that robs the courage of those near enough
to see, for terrible is a blast from mighty Zeus,
so Hector quickly fell to the dust and dropped
his spear. Then his shield and helmet were thrown
away, and his bronze armor clanged all around.
With a great cry, the Achaean sons ran up, hoping
to drag him away and throwing a volley of spears
at him. But before they could wound the herder
of men, Troy’s best fighters surrounded him:
Polydamas, Aeneas, noble Agenor, the Lycian
leader Sarpedon, and blameless Glaucus.
The rest held their round shields in front of him
as his comrades carried him from the fighting.
Soon they reached the rear of the battle, where
the swift horses stood with the charioteers
and well-made chariots, and they then carried
him back toward the city as he moaned deeply.

But when they reached the ford of the fair-flowing
Xanthos, sprung from immortal Zeus, they set
Hector on the ground and doused him with water.
He came to, opened his eyes, raised himself
to his knees, and vomited black blood. Then he
fell back to the ground and shrouded his eyes
in black night, for the strike still overwhelmed him.

Seeing Hector taken away, the Argives regained
their battle lust and attacked the Trojans with fury.
First, swift Ajax, son of Oïleus, thrust his sharp
spear at Satnius, wounding the son of Enops,
whom a blameless Naiad bore to Enops as he
tended cattle by the Satnioeis. The spear-famed
son of Oïleus came up to him, pierced his flank,
and knocked him back as Trojans and Danaans
fought fiercely all around him. Spear-wielding
Polydamas, son of Panthous, stood by Satnius
and struck his spear straight through the right
shoulder of Prothoenor, son of Areilycus,
who fell to the earth clutching the dust.
Then Polydamas boasted over him, crying:
“Again, the sturdy hand of great-hearted
Panthous’ son did not send his spear in vain,
for it struck an Argive’s flesh. He can use it
as a crutch as he heads to the house of Hades.”

His boasting brought woe to the Argives
but roused the rage of skilled warrior Ajax,
Telamon’s son, who was nearest to the fallen man.
He quickly shot his shining spear, but Polydamas
darted sideways and avoided a black death.
Instead, the spear caught the son of Antenor,
Archelochus, for the gods chose him to die.
He was struck where the head joins the neck,
at the top of the spine, cutting both tendons,
and when he fell over, his head, nose, and mouth
reached the earth sooner than his knees and legs.
Ajax then called out to noble Polydamas:
“Think, Polydamas, and tell me honestly,
is this man a worthy exchange for Prothoenor?
He seems to me no common man of low birth
but the brother of horse-taming Antenor
or his son, for they share a family likeness.”

He spoke knowingly, but the Trojans grieved.
Then Acamas stood over his brother and speared
Promachus, the Boeotian, who was trying to drag
the body away. And Acamas derided him, shouting:
“You Argives archers boast insatiably, but we will
not be alone in toil and sorrow; some day soon
you, too, will suffer and die. Look at Promachus
resting in peace, killed by my spear so the blood-
price for my brother will not go unpaid.
This is why a man prays for a kinsman to stay
behind in the large halls, to ward off disgrace.”

His boasting brought woe to the Argives
but roused the rage of skilled warrior Peneleos.
He attacked Acamas, but Acamas fled from lord
Peneleos’ fury, so Peneleos struck Ilioneus, son
of Phorbas, whom Hermes loved above all other
Trojans; he was rich in flocks and wealth but had
only one child, Ilioneus. Peneleos’ spear hit the root
of his eye, forced the eyeball out, and then drove
past the eye and through the nape of the neck.
Ilioneus fell backwards, arms outstretched,
but Peneleos drew his sword and sliced his neck
clean through. The head and helmet hit
the ground together, but the eyeball was stuck
on the spear-point, so Peneleos held it up like
a poppy-head, showed it to the Trojans, and said:
“Trojans, tell the dear father and mother of noble
Ilioneus to begin mourning rites in the great hall;
for neither will the wife of Promachus, Alegeneor’s
son, rejoice at her husband’s return when we
sons of Achaea return in our ships from Troy.”

So he said, and every man’s limbs began to tremble
as they all searched for a way to escape death.

Tell me, Muses who live on Olympus, who was
the first Achaean warrior to win blood-stained
spoils once the earth-shaker turned the fortunes
of war? Telamonian Ajax was the first, striking
Hyrtius, son of Gyrtius, the stout-hearted Mysian
leader. Then Antilochus stripped the armor
from Phalces and Mermerus, Meriones killed
Morys and Hippotion, and Teucer slew Prothoön
and Periphetes. Then Menelaus struck the flank
of Hyperenor, herder of men, the bronze releasing
the entrails as it cut through; his soul quickly
fled the wound, and darkness covered his eyes.
But Ajax, the swift son of Oïleus, slew the most
men, for there was no one better at pursuing
flying foes once Zeus roused them in panic.