As they fought like flaming fire, swift-footed
Antilochus delivered his message to Achilles,
who was in front of the high-sterned ships
wondering to himself what had come to pass.
In agitation, he addressed his own heart, saying:
“Alas, why are the long-haired Achaeans again
retreating over the plain and back to the ships?
I hope the gods have not brought to my heart
the foul pain my mother once foretold: that
while I lived the best of the Myrmidons
would leave the sun’s light by Trojan hands.
Menoetius’ strong son must surely be dead,
the fool. I told him to return to the ships once
the fire was out and not to battle mighty Hector.”

As he pondered all this in his mind and heart,
Nestor’s noble son approached him, shedding
hot tears, and delivered the terrible tidings:
“Son of skilled Peleus, I bring dreadful news
that you must hear, though I wish it were not so.
Patroclus is dead, a battle rages around his naked
corpse, and flashing-helmed Hector has his armor.”

A black cloud of sorrow immediately enveloped
Achilles. He lifted dark soot in both hands
and poured it over his head, debasing his fair
face and his fragrant clothes with black ash.
Then he stretched out his mighty body in the dust
and ripped out chunks of hair with his hands.
And the slave women who were taken by Achilles
and Patroclus cried out in grief and rushed
to surround skilled Achilles, beating their breasts
with their hands and falling to their knees. Facing
them was Antilochus, crying and shedding tears
with them as he held the hand of a groaning
Achilles, afraid that the prince would cut
his own throat with iron. The piercing wails
of Achilles were heard by his revered mother,
who sat deep under the sea beside the old man,
her father. Then she cried out, and the goddesses
converged upon her, all the daughters of Nereus
in the depths of the sea: Glauce, Thaleia,
Cymodoce, Nesaea, Speio, Thoë, ox-eyed
Hailë, Cymothoë, Actaeë, Limnoreia, Melite,
Iaera, Amphitoeë, Agave, Doto, Proto, Pherusa,
Dynamene, Dexamene, Amphinome,
Callianeira, Doris, Panope, glorious Galatea,
Nemertes, Apseudes, Callianassa, Clymene,
Ianeira, Ianassa, Maera, Oreithyia,
fair-haired Amatheia, and many other
Nereids who lived deep beneath the sea.
When the bright cave was full, they all beat
their breasts, and Thetis led their laments:
“Listen, Nereid sisters, so you may know all
of the troubles that are in my heart. Woe is
me, unfortunate mother of a hero, for I bore
a noble and strong son, the best of men.
He shot up like a sapling, and I reared him well,
like a tree in a rich orchard. Then I sent him
in the curved ships to Ilios to battle the Trojans,
but I will never again welcome him home
to the house of Peleus. Though he still lives
and looks upon the light of the sun, he grieves,
and I cannot help him. Still, I will go to him,
look upon my child, and find out why grief has
come to him though he refrains from fighting.”

So saying, she left the cave, her weeping sisters
following. The ocean waves parted around them,
and when they came to fertile Troy, they stepped,
one by one, onto the beach where the Myrmidon
swift ships were set close together around Achilles.
His revered mother came to stand beside him as he
groaned deeply. With a sharp cry, she took her child’s
head in her arms and mournfully said to him:
“Why do you cry, my son? What woe has filled
your heart? Tell me; do not hold back. Your wish,
your prayer, has been fulfilled by Zeus: that all
the sons of Achaea should be trapped by the sterns
of their ships, having suffered terribly.”

Sighing deeply, swift-footed Achilles replied to her:
“Mother, the Olympian answered my prayers,
but what good is that when Patroclus lies dead,
my dear friend whom I honored above all others,
equal to myself? I lost him, and when Hector
killed him, he stripped his fine armor, a wonder
to behold, a splendid gift from the gods to Peleus
on the day they put you in a mortal’s bed.
I wish you had stayed in the sea with the other
immortals and Peleus had taken a mortal bride.
But now, you will suffer infinite grief in your heart
for your dead son, whom you will never again
welcome into your home, for my heart commands
me not to live on among men unless Hector is
slain by my spear and loses his life as payment
for spoiling Patroclus, son of Menoetius.”

Then a tearful Thetis answered him, saying:
“If you speak truth, my child, then you will soon
die, for your death will swiftly follow Hector’s.”

A distressed Achilles, swift of foot, answered her:
“Then I will die soon, for I could not protect
my friend from death, and he fell far from home
because I failed to save him from ruin. Therefore,
since I am not returning to my dear father’s land,
since I was not a light for Patroclus or others who
were overpowered by godlike Hector, and since
I sat beside the ships like a useless lump of soil—
I who in war am the best of all bronze-clad
Achaeans, though others are better in council—
then let strife among gods and men cease along
with the rage that turns a sensible man violent
and grows like smoke in men’s hearts until it
becomes sweeter than dripping honey, as it did
when Agamemnon, lord of men, enraged me.
But let us set aside thoughts of grief and stifle
the pain that fills our hearts, for now I must go
after Hector, who killed my dear friend. I will
then accept my death when Zeus and the other
immortals will it to come to pass. Not even mighty
Heracles escaped death, though he was the favorite
of Zeus, son of Cronos, for he could not conquer
fate or Hera’s anger. And if I meet a similar fate,
then I, too, will lie down and die. But now I must
win great glory so some Trojan or Dardanian
women with deep-folded dresses should wipe tears
from their soft cheeks with both hands, send out
wailing groans, and learn that I stayed away
from war too long. Though you love me, do not
hold me back from battle, for I will not obey.”

Then silver-footed Thetis answered him:
“All you say is true, my child; it is right
to protect your weary friends from a foul fate.
But your beautiful bronze armor is in Trojan
hands, and flashing-helmed Hector delights
in wearing it on his shoulders. But his joy
will be short-lived, for his death is near at hand.
Therefore do not plunge into the toil of Ares
until your eyes witness my return to this place,
for when the sun rises at dawn, I will be back
bearing beautiful armor from lord Hephaestus.”

So saying, she turned away from her son
and spoke to her sisters of the sea, saying:
“Plunge into the bosom of the sea, visit the old
man of the sea in our father’s house, and tell
him everything. I will go to high Olympus
and to ask famed craftsman Hephaestus if he
would give my son brilliant, shining armor.”

So saying, her sisters plunged into the sea,
and silver-footed Thetis went to Olympus
to bring brilliant armor back for her son.

As she set off for Olympus, the Achaeans cried
out in panic as they fled man-slaying Hector
and returned to their ships and the Hellespont.
But the men and horses of Troy and the flaming
fury of Priam’s son, Hector, reached the Achaeans
before they could drag the corpse of Patroclus,
Achilles’ friend, away from the missiles. Three
times shining Hector grabbed his feet and tried
to drag him off, calling on the Trojans for help,
and three times the furious Ajaxes drove him
away. But Hector, trusting his strength, kept
either charging into the fray or standing firm
and crying out, never once giving ground.
Just as shepherds in a field cannot drive a lion
away from a carcass when his hunger is great,
so the two Ajaxes, leaders of men, could not
scare Hector away from the corpse. He would
have dragged Patroclus away and won great glory
had wind-swift Iris not come from Olympus,
sent by Hera without the knowledge of Zeus
and the other gods, to tell the son of Peleus
to prepare for battle. She came to him and said:
“Achilles, fiercest of all men, rise and protect
Patroclus, for whose sake a brutal battle is being
waged by the ships. Men are killing each other:
the Achaeans to defend the corpse, the Trojans
to drag it back to windy Ilios. Great Hector
is especially eager to drag it away, for his heart
hopes to cut the head from the tender neck
and fix it to the palisades. So stand and fill
your heart with shame that Patroclus should
become a sport for Trojan dogs. You will be
the one dishonored if his corpse is mutilated.”

Swift-footed, godlike Achilles replied to her:
“Goddess Iris, which god sent you to me?”

Then wind-swift Iris answered him, saying:
“Hera sent me, noble wife of Zeus; the son
of Cronos and the other immortals living
on snow-clad Olympus know nothing of this.”

In reply, swift-footed Achilles said to her:
“But how will I fight? They have my armor,
and my dear mother told me not to arm
myself until my eyes witness her return, for she
vowed to bring back beautiful armor made
by Hephaestus. I know no other armor I could
wear save for the shield of Telamonian Ajax.
But I expect he is among the foremost fighters
wielding his spear in defense of dead Patroclus.”

Then wind-swift Iris answered him, saying:
“We know that they have your famous armor,
but go to the trench and show yourself as you
are to the Trojans so that they may panic, flee
the fight, and give the worn-out Achaean sons
some rest, for there is little time for rest in war.”

So wind-swift Iris said and departed, and Achilles,
blessed by Zeus, sprang up. Athena draped
the tasseled aegis around his strong shoulders
and covered his head in a golden mist so he
glowed like a blazing fire. Imagine smoke rising
into the aether over a besieged city on a distant
island where men have battled in hated war all
day long, but at sunset they light signal fires one
after another, their glare rising high enough
for their neighbors to see, and hope rises that
some will come in their ships and save them
from ruin. So also did the glow from Achilles’
head rise into the aether when he left the wall
to stand in the trench away from the Achaeans,
obeying his mother. He stood there and shouted,
and from afar Pallas Athena amplified his cry,
and the Trojans were terrified. Like a trumpet’s
piercing wail when a city is attacked by deadly
enemies, so were the cries of Aeacus’ grandson.
Hearing Achilles’ brazen voice, all Trojans
lost heart, and the fair-maned horses turned
their chariots around, sensing the coming grief.
Their drivers also panicked at the sight of steady
flames blazing above the head of Peleus’ great-
hearted son, set alight by gleaming-eyed Athena.
Three times Achilles cried out over the trench,
and each time the Trojans and their allies were
filled with fear, and in the confusion of chariots
and spears, twelve of the best Trojans died.
But the Achaeans gladly pulled Patroclus away
from the missiles and placed him on a litter,
and his friends stood around him and grieved,
including swift-footed Achilles, who cried hot
tears at the sight of his trusted friend lying
on a bier, torn apart by sharp bronze: the man
he sent to war with horses and chariot
but will never again be welcomed home.

Then ox-eyed queen Hera ordered tireless
Helios to return unwillingly to Ocean’s streams,
and as the sun set, the noble Achaeans put
a halt to the great battle and terrible war.

After the Trojans withdrew from mighty combat,
they unyoked their swift horses from the chariots
and gathered together before arranging dinner.
All in the assembly stood straight and none sat,
for they trembled with fear at the thought
of Achilles returning to battle after a long absence.
Polydamas, Panthous’ son, was first to speak,
for he alone could see future and past. He was
Hector’s friend, born on the same night, but one
was better in words, the other with a spear.
With good intent, he addressed the assembly:
“Think carefully, my friends. I urge you to return
to the city and not wait for dawn on the plain
beside the ships, for we are far from the wall.
While this man quarreled with noble Agamemnon,
the Achaeans were a much easier foe to fight,
and I eagerly stayed the night beside the swift
ships, for I hoped to take those well-made ships.
But now I am terrified of swift-footed Peleus’ son,
for his heart is headstrong and he will not want
to stay on the plain where Trojans and Achaeans
have fought together under the fury of Ares,
but will take the fight to our city and our wives.
I urge you, go to the city; it is just common sense.
For now, ambrosial night has stopped swift-footed
Achilles, but if he comes in his armor tomorrow
and catches us here, then many men will know
who he is and will gladly retreat to sacred Ilios,
but others will be devoured by vultures and dogs.
I hope that tale is far from my hearing. If we
obey my words, though it pains us to do so,
then tonight we will keep our forces in the market-
place, and the city will be guarded by walls,
towers, gates, and well-polished, well-bolted doors.
Then, at dawn, we will arm ourselves and take
our places on the walls, and this will frustrate
him when he leaves his ships to fight us, for after
exhausting his high-necked horses by driving
them around the city, he will return to his ships.
His pride will not let him force his way inside
or sack us, and soon swift dogs will devour him.”

With an angry glance, Hector answered him:
“Polydamas, I despise your plan to retreat
to the city and hide there together. Have you
not had your fill of hiding behind walls?
In the past, all mortal men told stories about
the wealth of gold and bronze in Priam’s city;
now Troy’s homes are empty, its treasures sold
to Phrygia and fair Maeonia after great Zeus
grew angry. But wily Cronos’ son has promised
that I would win glory at the ships and trap
the Achaeans by the sea, so do not share
these thoughts among our men, for no Trojan
will obey you—I will make sure of it. But come
now, listen to my words, and obey: dine
with your troops, remember your guard duty,
and let each man stay alert, and if any Trojan
cares for his possessions, then let him gather
them and give them to the people; better
they enjoy them than the Achaeans. Then,
at dawn, we will arm ourselves and bring fierce
battle to the hollow ships. If noble Achilles
has stirred himself to action beside the ships,
then it will be at his peril, for I will not flee
from him in woeful battle but stand and face
him, be it for his glory or my own. The god
of war is impartial: he kills the man who kill.”

So Hector said, and the Trojans rejoiced,
the fools, for Pallas Athena had stripped them
of their senses, and all praise went to Hector’s
deadly plan and none to Polydamas’ wise one.
So the Trojans dined in their camp. But all
night long, the Achaeans mourned Patroclus,
led by the son of Peleus who laid his friend’s
man-slaying hands across his chest and groaned
like a well-maned lion whose cubs had been taken
by a hunter and carried away in a thick forest;
later, the lion returns, grieves, and then sets off
to track the man’s footprints through many glens
in hopes of finding him, for he is filled with rage.
So, with a heavy groan, Achilles told the Myrmidons:
“Friends, I spoke empty words on the day I tried
to comfort heroic Menoetius in our palace, saying
that I would bring his famous son back to Opoeis
with his share of the spoils after I sack Ilios.
But Zeus does not grant all wishes to all men,
and we are both fated to stain the Trojan earth
red with blood, for I, too, will die here and never
again be welcomed home by old horseman Peleus
or by Thetis, my mother. But since I will join you
in the earth later, I will not perform funeral rites
for you until after I have brought back the armor
and head of your killer, noble Hector, and have
cut the throats of twelve Trojan children before
your pyre as payment for your death. Until then,
you will lie by the curved ships as Trojan
or Dardanian women with deep-folded dresses
shed tears and mourn for you all day and night,
women we won with our strength and long
spears when we raided the rich cities of men.”

So saying, godlike Achilles urged his comrades
to set a great cauldron around the fire so that he
could quickly wash Patroclus’ blood-stained body.
So they set on the fire a bath-water cauldron,
filled it with water, and set kindling beneath it.
After the fire spread around the cauldron’s belly
and the water was boiling in the glittering bronze,
they washed him and anointed his wounds
with nine-year old oils; then they laid him on a bier,
covered him from head to toe with a soft linen
cloth, and covered that cloth with a white cloak.
And all night long, Myrmidons gathered around
swift-footed Achilles and mourned Patroclus.
And Zeus said to his sister and wife, Hera:
“Your got your way, ox-eyed queen Hera.
Swift-footed Achilles has been roused. The long-
haired Achaeans must surely be your children.”

Then, in reply, ox-eyed queen Hera said:
“What a thing to say, feared son of Cronos.
Even mortals who lack my wisdom are
expected to carry out their will for another.
So how can I—who is the greatest of all
goddesses, for I am eldest and am married
to you, lord of all immortals—not plot against
the Trojans, since I bear them such a grudge?”

As they spoke to one another, silver-footed
Thetis arrived at the house of Hephaestus—
the immortal, imperishable house of stars
and bronze forged by the crooked-footed god.
She found him sweating as he quickly worked
the bellows while fashioning twenty tripods
to stand around the wall of his well-built
palace. Golden wheels were fixed to each leg,
so each tripod could roll into a divine gathering
and return on its own—a true wonder.
These were nearly done, but the handles were
not yet attached, and he was forging the rivets
for them with craftsmanship and cunning when
the silver-footed goddess Thetis approached.
Beautiful Charis of the bright head-dress,
wife of famed crooked-limbed Hephaestus,
saw her, took her by the hand, and said to her:
“Long-robed Thetis, honored guest, why have
you come to our home? You do not come often.
But follow me, so I may welcome you properly.”

So saying, Charis led her in and set her down
on a fine, well-crafted, silver-studded chair
with a footstool beneath it. Then she called
to her famed craftsman husband, saying:
“Hephaestus, come here. Thetis needs you.”

The famed crooked-limbed god replied to her:
“Here in my house is the revered, honored
goddess who saved me after I came to harm
when my mother shamelessly threw me away,
hoping to hide my lameness. I would have
suffered had Thetis and Eurynome, daughter
of ever-circling Oceanus, not rescued me.
I was with them for nine years, crafting fine
objects—brooches, spiral bracelets, necklaces,
and pins—in their hollow cave as the foaming,
rushing waters of Oceanus flowing around us;
and no other gods or mortals knew except
for Thetis and Eurynome, who saved me.
Now she has come to my house, and it is time
for me to repay fair-haired Thetis for saving
my life. So set before her many good things
while I put away my bellows and my tools.”

So saying, the mighty god rose from the anvil
and limped away, though his thin legs moved
nimbly. He set the bellows away from the fire,
gathered his tools, and placed them in a silver
chest; then he wiped his face, hands, strong
neck, and hairy chest with a sponge, dressed
in a tunic, took up a stout staff, and limped
out the door. Golden attendants resembling
young girls quickly came out to aid their lord.
The immortal gods granted them intelligence,
speech, strength, and knowledge of handiwork.
They hurried to support him as he limped
over to Thetis, sat on a splendid seat, took
her hand in his, and addressed her, saying:
“Long-robed Thetis, beloved guest, why have
you come to our home? You do not come often.
Tell me what you need, and if it is in my power
to fulfill your request, then fulfill it I will.”

With tears in her eyes, Thetis answered him:
“Hephaestus, has any Olympian goddess ever
suffered as many painful woes in her heart as
those Zeus, son of Cronos, has sent to me?
Of all the sea goddesses, he forced me against
my will to marry and lay in bed with a mortal,
Peleus, son of Aeacus, who now sits in his palace
suffering from old age, but I have other worries.
He gave me a son to bear, greatest of warriors.
He shot up like a sapling, and I raised him
well, like a tree in a rich orchard. Then I
sent him in the curved ships to Ilios to battle
the Trojans, but I will never again welcome
him home to the house of Peleus. Though he
still lives and still sees the sun’s rays, he grieves,
and I cannot help him. The maiden given
to him as a prize by the sons of Achaea was
taken from his arms by lord Agamemnon.
Grief over her broke his heart, but the Trojans
held the Achaean at the sterns of their ships
and did not let them escape. The Achaean elders
begged for his help, offering him many gifts,
but he refused to save them from ruin. Still,
he allowed Patroclus to don his armor and sent
him into war along with many of his men. All day
long they fought by the Scaean gates, the stout son
of Menoetius killing many; and they would have
sacked the city had Apollo not slain him there
in the front lines, giving glory to Hector. Now I
come to you on my knees to ask that you give
my short-lived son a shield, a helmet, fine greaves
with ankle-clasps, and a breastplate. The Trojans
took his armor when they slew his comrade,
and now my son lies grieving on the ground.”

The famed crooked-limbed god replied to her:
“Take heart, and do not worry about these things.
I only wish I could hide him from foul death’s
grasp when fate reaches him. But I will give him
armor so beautiful that in future any mortals
who look upon it will marvel at the sight.”

So saying, he left her, went to his bellows,
turned them towards the fire, and ordered
them to work. Then all twenty bellows blew
on the crucible and sent a blast of air that
fanned the flames so wherever Hephaestus
moved, his work would continue. He threw
on the fire impermeable bronze along with tin,
precious gold, and silver. Then he set the great
anvil on the block and took his mighty
hammer in one hand and tongs in the other.

First he made a strong, sturdy shield covered
in cunning adornments. A triple-banded rim
glittered around it, and a silver baldric was
fastened to it. The shield had five metal layers,
and on it he crafted many curious designs.

He forged upon it the earth, the heavens,
the sea, the tireless sun, the full moon,
and all the constellations found in the heavens:
the Pleiades, the Hyades, fierce Orion,
and the Great Bear, also called the Wain,
that spins in place and watches Orion but is
alone in never entering the baths of Oceanus.

Then he made two fair cities of mortal men.
In one, there were wedding feasts and festivals:
brides were being led from their chambers
across the city under torchlight as wedding
songs played, and young men were whirling
and dancing to the sounds of flutes and lyres
as women stood at their doors in wonder.
A crowd filled the marketplace, for a quarrel
had arisen between two men over the blood-price
for a slain man: one vowed to paid the price
in full, the other refused to accept the price,
and both wanted an arbitrator to decide.
The crowd cheered both sides, aiding each man
in turn, and heralds restrained the people as
the elders, sitting on polished stones in a sacred
circle, held in their hands the scepters of loud-
crying heralds and stood in turn to pass judgment.
And two talents of gold sat between them to be
given to the judge whose verdict was straightest.

In the other city, there were two armies of men
in shining armor. One side wished to destroy
the city while the other wished to divide in two
all of the city’s fine possessions. But the city,
undaunted, was arming for an ambush.
Their dear wives and young children stood
guard on the wall with the older men; the rest
went out, led by Ares and Pallas Athena, whose
bodies and tunics glowed gold. They were fair
and tall in their armor, like the gods they are,
and they towered over the mortals. When they
reached a riverbed with a watering hole for all
herds—a spot suitable for an ambush—
they sat there, wrapped in their fiery bronze.
Then two lookouts were set apart from the army
to wait until they saw sheep and sleek cattle.
These came quickly, followed by sheepherders
playing their pipes, unaware of the ambush
to come. Seeing them approach, the ambushers
quickly cut off the cattle herds and flocks of white
sheep and killed the herdsmen. When the other
army, sitting in assembly, heard the cattle noises,
they quickly mounted behind their high-stepping
horses, rode off, and soon reached them. The two
sides stood and fought beside the river, hurling
bronze-tipped spears at each other. Strife was there
with Tumult and deadly Doom, who was holding
one freshly-hurt man and another unhurt one
and was dragging a dead man by his feet through
the battle; and the clothing on her shoulders was
red with blood. They joined and fought alongside
mortal men, and each side carried away their dead.

Then he made a wide field with rich, soft soil,
thrice-plowed, and in the field were many
plowmen driving their oxen this way and that.
When they reached the field’s end and turned,
a man would come and give them each a cup
of honey-sweet wine; then they turned again
to the furrows, eager to reach the deep soil’s edge.
The field was black as if it had been plowed,
though it was gold: such was the shield’s wonder.

Then he made a king’s domain where laborers
held sharp sickles in their hands and reaped.
Some grain fell in armfuls along the furrows
while binders bound others with rope. Three
binders stood ready, and behind them boys
gathered grains by the armfuls and carried
them to the binders. The king, staff in hand,
stood silently by the furrow, his heart pleased.
Far away, heralds sat under a tree and prepared
a slaughtered ox for a feast while the women
scattered white barley for the worker’s meal.

Then he made a beautiful golden vineyard
overflowing with bunches of black grapes
set on silver poles throughout the yard.
Around it he put a blue ditch alongside a tin
fence with a single path leading to it that was
used by grape harvesters on their way to strip
the vines. Girls and boys, full of childish
glee, carried the honey-sweet fruit in wicker
baskets. And a child played a sweet-toned
lyre and softly sang the beautiful Linos song
while the others all sang along as their feet
skipped and danced in rhythm to the music.

Then he forged from gold and tin a herd
of straight-horned cattle who lowed as they
hurried out of the dung towards a farm-yard
beside a murmuring river with wavering reeds.
The herdsmen, also golden, led the cattle,
four in all, followed by nine swift-footed dogs.
But two fearsome lions near the foremost cattle
held a bull, who gave a loud roar as he was
dragged away, pursued by dogs and young men.
The lions tore the great bull’s hide, devouring
its innards and black blood as the herdsmen
let the swift dogs loose in hopes of scaring them.
But the dogs avoided biting the lions, drawing
near them and barking but staying well clear.

Then the famed, crooked-limbed god made
a pasture in a fair dell filled with flocks of white
sheep, farm-houses, roofed huts, and pens.

Then the famed, crooked-limbed god fashioned
a dancing floor like the one Daedalus made
in broad Cnossos for fair-haired Ariadne.
There, young men and maidens whose beauty
was worth many oxen danced with each other
and held hands at the wrist. The maidens wore
finely woven linens and elegant coronets,
and the men wore well-spun tunics glowing
softly with oil and golden daggers held
in silver baldrics. They would move their skillful
feet in circles with the ease of a potter fitting
his hands close to his wheel to test how it
runs. Then they would run in lines towards
each other as an assembly of people stood
around celebrating the delightful dance,
and among them two acrobats whirled up
and down, leading the singing and dancing.

Then, around the rim of the well-made shield,
he formed the great and mighty river Oceanus.

After making the great and sturdy shield,
he forged a breastplate brighter than a blazing
fire, a snug-fitting, stout helmet, cunningly
crafted and topped with a golden crest,
and a pair of greaves made from supple tin.

When the crooked-limbed god finished making
all the armor, he set it before Achilles’ mother,
and she flew like a hawk down snowy Olympus
carrying the sparkling armor from Hephaestus