When they came to a ford on the Xanthos,
the fair-flowing river son of immortal Zeus,
Achilles split the Trojans in half. He drove some
over the plain to the city, where the Achaeans had
fled from Hector’s fury the day before, and Hera
covered them in a thick mist to slow their retreat.
But the others raced into the deep, silvery waters
of the river, making a great splash and forcing
the banks to cry out. When the men attempted
to swim, they became caught in the eddies
and uttered terrible cries. Just as locusts fly
to a river to escape a rushing fire, but the fire
draws near and forces them to cower against
the water to avoid being burnt, so the deep-
eddying Xanthos was filled with fleeing men
and chariots, all seeking to escape Achilles.

Zeus-sprung Achilles left his spear on the bank
against a tamarisk and, with only his sword, leapt
into the river like a god, intent on fearsome acts.
He struck in all directions, shameful groans rising
with each strike, and the water turned blood-red.
Just as other fish flee from a mighty-mawed
dolphin, filling the recesses of a safe harbor
for fear of the beast who devours whatever it can,
so the Trojans cowered in the river’s streams
and banks. When Achilles’ hands grew tired,
he took twelve living youths out of the river as
blood-price for the slain Patroclus, Menoetius’ son.
He led them out of the river like stunned fawns,
tied their hands behind them with the artful
belts they wore around their tunics, ordered
his men to take them to the hollow ships,
and then returned to battle, eager to kill.

Then he came upon a son of Dardanian Priam
coming out of the river—Lycaon, whom Achilles
once caught in his father’s orchard in the dead
of night. As he was cutting a branch from a fig
tree with sharp bronze to use as a chariot’s rail,
godlike Achilles appeared, an unwanted danger.
Achilles took him in his ships to well-built Lemnos
and sold him, and the son of Jason gave a good
price for him; but a guest-friend, Eëtion of Imbros,
paid his ransom and sent him to divine Arisbe,
and from there Lycaon fled back home in secret.
He enjoyed eleven days with friends and family
after leaving Lemnos, but on the twelfth a god
threw him again into the hands of Achilles, who
was set to send him to Hades, where he did not
wish to go. When Achilles saw him, Lycaon was
unarmed—no helmet, shield, or spear, having
thrown them aside as he fled into the river, for he
was tired and sweating and his knees had given
out. And Achilles said to his own heroic heart:
“I am amazed at what my eyes behold. Perhaps
the great-hearted Trojans that I killed will rise
again from the gloomy netherworld, for he has
escaped his day of doom and returned home
after being sold in Lemnos; not even the grey
sea that captures many could hold him back.
But now he will taste the point of our spear,
so I may witness for myself whether he will
return from that place or whether the life-giving
earth will hold him like it holds even the strong.”

So he thought, waiting, while the other came
near him in a daze, ready to clasp his knees
in hopes of escaping a foul death and a black
fate. When noble Achilles raised his large
spear, eager to hit him, Lycaon dropped down
and grabbed his knees, and the flesh-craving
spear passed over him and lodged in the earth.
Lycaon then begged Achilles, holding his knees
with one hand, the spear with the other hand,
and refusing to let go of either, saying to him:
“Zeus-blessed Achilles, I beg you on my knees
to respect and pity me. I am your honored
suppliant, for I ate Demeter’s bread at your table
on the day you took me from the well-tended
orchard and sent me to Lemnos, far from friends
and family, for the price of a hecatomb of oxen.
I paid three times as much to gain my freedom,
and it has been twelve days since I returned to Ilios
after suffering much. But now, my fate is again
in your hands, and father Zeus must surely hate
me for again handing me over to you and making
my mother bear such a short-lived son: Laothoe,
daughter of old Altes, who rules the warlike
Leleges and holds steep Pedasus on the Satnioeis.
Priam took his daughter as wife, one of many;
she bore two of us, and soon we will both be
dead. You have already killed godlike Polydorus
with your sharp spear as he charged with the front-
fighters, and now this doom falls on me. I know
I cannot escape your hands—some god has seen
to that. But I beg you now, and take it to heart:
do not kill me. I was not born in the same womb
as Hector, who killed your kind, powerful friend.”

Such were the pleading words of Priam’s shining
son, but there was no pity in Achilles’ reply:
“Fool, make no speeches or requests for ransom.
Before Patroclus met his day of doom, I was
inclined in my mind to offer the Trojans mercy,
and I captured many and sold them. But now
no one will escape death if the gods deliver
them to my hands before the walls of Ilios—
especially the sons of Priam. So you, too, will
die, my friend. Why bother crying? Patroclus
died, and he was greater than you. Do you not
see the kind of man I am, how fair and strong?
My father is noble and my mother a goddess,
yet relentless death looms over me as well.
One day soon, at dawn, midday, or evening,
someone will slay me in battle, with either
a spear-cast or an arrow from a bowstring.”

Hearing this, Lycaon’s knees and heart gave out;
he let go of the spear, sank down, and stretched
out his arms. Achilles drew his sharp sword
and sliced his collar-bone near the neck until
the whole blade sank in. Lycaon fell to the earth,
and black blood gushed out and drenched the dirt.
Achilles then grabbed his foot and threw him
in the river to float away, and mocked him saying:
“Now lie with the fish. They will lick your bloody
wound without thought. Your mother will not place
you on a bier and mourn you, but the whirling
Scamander will carry you into the sea’s wide folds,
and a fish will leap up out of the black, rippling
waters and feast upon Lycaon’s white, fat flesh.
Death to you all until we reach sacred Ilios:
you running away, me slaying you from behind.
The fine-flowing river with its silver eddies will
not stop me, though you no doubt sacrificed many
bulls to him and cast many horses into his depths.^[1]
But all of you will die a foul death as punishment
for killing Patroclus and destroying the Achaeans,
whom you killed by the swift ships while I was away.”

So he said, but the river’s rage increased, and he
debated in his heart how to stop godlike Achilles’
assault and ward off disaster for the Trojans.
Meanwhile, the son of Peleus wielded his long-
shadowed spear and sought to slay Asteropaeus,
the son of Pelegon and grandson of the broad-
channeled river Axius who lay with Periboea,
Acessamenus’ oldest daughter. Achilles attacked
Asteropaeus, who left the river to face him and held
two spears. Courage filled his heart, granted him
by Xanthos, who was enraged over the deaths
of the youths that Achilles killed without pity
by the river. When they came together, swift-
footed and godlike Achilles was first to speak:
“Who are you who challenges me? Where are you
from? Unhappy are the parents of my enemies.”

Then the shining son of Pelegon answered him:
“Great-hearted son of Peleus, why ask about
my family? I am from the fertile fields of far away
Paeonia, and I lead the long-speared Paeonians.
This is the eleventh dawn since my arrival in Ilios,
but I am grandson of wide-flowing Axius,
whose waters are the fairest on earth and who
sired spear-famed Pelegon, whom men say is
my father. Now let us battle, brilliant Achilles.”

So he said, menacingly, and as godlike Achilles
was lifting his Pelian ash spear, heroic Asteropaeus
threw both of his spears at once, for he was
ambidextrous. One spear hit the shield but did
not pass through, for the gold stopped it, a gift
from the gods. The other grazed Achilles’ right
elbow; black blood oozed out, but the flesh-
craving spear shot past and struck the earth.
Then Achilles threw his straight-flying ash spear
at Asteropaeus, eager to slay him, but the spear
missed, hit the high bank, and lodged itself halfway
into the bank. Peleus’ son drew his sharp sword
and leapt eagerly upon him, but the other could
not pull Achilles’ stout spear from the bank.
Three times he tried to loosen the ashen spear
of Aeacus’ grandson, and three times he failed.
On the fourth attempt, he bent the spear, trying
to break it, but before he could finish, Achilles
slew him with his sword, striking his belly near
the navel. His guts spewed onto the ground
and darkness covered his eyes as he lay there,
gasping for breath. Then Achilles leapt on him,
stripped his armor, and mocked him, saying:
“Lie there, for it is hard even for a river’s son
to beat the children of mighty Cronos’ son.
You say your father is a fair-flowing river,
but I say I am descended from great Zeus.
My honored father rules the Myrmidons,
Peleus, son of Aeacus, who was son of Zeus.
Just as Zeus is mightier than a sea-flowing
river, so Zeus’ son is mightier than a river’s.
A great river flows beside you, if he were
able to help; but no one can fight against
Zeus, son of Cronos. Even great Achelous
is no match, nor the might of deep-flowing
Oceanus, which all rivers, seas, springs,
and deep wells empty into; even he fears
the lightning of great Zeus and his terrible
thunderbolt when it crashes into heaven.”

So saying, he took from the bank his bronze
spear and left the body he had robbed of life
to lie in the sand and soak in the black water.
The eels and fish then made a meal of him,
nibbling and gnawing at the fat on his kidneys.
But Achilles went after the Paeonians, lords
of chariots, who had fled into the whirling river
after seeing their finest slain in mighty combat
by the sword and hands of Peleus’ sons. He slew
Thersilochus, Mydon, Astypylus, Mnesus,
Thrasius, Aenius, and Ophelestes. And swift
Achilles would have killed more Paeonians,
but the deep-eddying river, enraged, spoke to him
with a mortal’s voice from the whirling depths:
“Achilles, you are the mightiest and most
wicked of men, for the gods always protect you.
If Cronos’ son orders you to slay all Trojans,
then at least drive them out of my waters and kill
them on the plain, for my fair streams are clogged
with corpses, and my currents cannot pour
into the divine sea while you continue to kill.
So ease up, leader of men, for I am amazed.”

Then swift-footed Achilles answered him, saying:
“Zeus-nourished Scamander, I will do as you say.
But I will not stop slaying the arrogant Trojans
until I drive them to the city and fight Hector
one-on-one, and either he slays me or I him.”

So saying, godlike Achilles attacked the Trojans.
Then the deep-flowing river called out to Apollo:
“Son of Zeus, lord of the silver bow, you have not
obeyed the will of Cronos’ son, who ordered
you to stand by the Trojans and protect them
until evening comes and darkness covers the earth.”

As spear-famed Achilles sprang from the bank
and leapt into the currents, the river formed
a furious flood that swept the crowd of Achilles’
corpses out of the river’s depths. Then, bellowing
like a bull, he pushed them onto dry land while
also saving the living under the fair waters,
hiding them in whirlpools both deep and wide.
A fierce wave rose up around Achilles, slamming
into his shield and pushing him back. He lost
his footing and grabbed a tall, well-grown elm,
but the tree was ripped out by the roots along
with the bank, and it fell fully into the water,
its thick branches damning the river himself.
Achilles, now frightened, leapt out of the eddy
and flew as fast as he could over the plain.
But without pause the great god chased after
him with a dark wave, desperate to stop noble
Achilles and ward off disaster for the Trojans.
The son of Peleus darted away like a spear
with the swoop of a black eagle, the strongest
and swiftest of winged predators. So he flew
away, his bronze breastplate clanging terribly
as he swerved to avoid the flood as the raging
river followed close behind. Imagine a man who
has dug ditches to irrigate his trees and garden
with dark river water; then he uses a pick-axe
to knock out the dams, but when the currents
are unleashed, all the pebbles are carried away,
the land is saturated with water, and the man
is left far behind. So, in this way, did the flood
overtake Achilles’ swift feet, for gods are greater
than men. Each time Achilles tried to stand
against the river and find out if the gods
who hold broad heaven were against him,
the divine river would send a flood down
upon his shoulders, and he would be forced
to leap out of the way. And every time the river
swiped his knees and seized the ground under
his feet, his spirit would grow more distressed.
Soon Peleus’ son cried out to broad heaven:
“Father Zeus, will no god save me from the river,
pitiful as I am? After that, I would meet my fate.
But the other heavenly gods are not to blame,
only my dear mother, who filled me with lies,
saying that I would die by Apollo’s swift arrows
under the wall of the well-armed Trojans. If only
I had been killed by Hector, the best of the men
here, then one brave man would have slain another.
Now a wretched death awaits me: to be trapped
in this river like a pigkeeper’s son swept
away while trying to cross a river in winter.”

So he said, and Poseidon and Athena quickly
came and stood near him, in mortal forms.
Taking his hands in theirs, they reassured him,
and earth-shaker Poseidon was first to speak:
“Son of Peleus, do not panic or flee, for two
gods, Pallas Athena and I, are here to help
you, with Zeus’ blessing. Since you are not
fated to be killed by the river, his battle will
soon end, as you will see. But now we offer
wise advice, if you will listen: do not let
your hands cease fighting until you have trapped
the remaining Trojans inside the famous walls
of Ilios; and when you have killed Hector,
return to the ships. We grant you this glory.”

So saying, they returned to the immortals
while Achilles went out to the plain, the gods
having roused his heart. The plain was flooded,
and young men’s corpses and fine weapons floated
in the water, but Achilles’ knees leapt high as he
shot straight at the flood, the river unable to hold
him back, Athena having increased his strength.
Scamander’s fury still held and his anger against
Peleus’ son had only grown, so he gathered his waters
into a huge, cresting wave and shouted to Simoïs:
“Brother, let us use our strength to hold back
this man, or else he will soon destroy Priam’s great
city, for the Trojans cannot defeat him in battle.
So quickly come and help me: fill your streams
with spring water, rouse your torrents, unleash
a great wave, and stir up the crashing chaos
of logs and stones so we can stop this wild
man who thinks himself an equal to the gods.
I say his might will not save him, nor his beauty,
nor his fine armor, which will soon be under
the water, covered in mud; and I will bury
his body in sand and pour countless pebbles
over him, and the Achaeans will never find
his bones under all that rubbish. This will be
his barrow, and he will need no grave-mound
when the Achaeans perform the death rites.”

So saying, he rushed Achilles, seething with rage
and boiling over with foam, blood, and corpses.
The gleaming wave from the rain-fed river
towered over Peleus’ son, ready to envelop him,
but Hera cried out, fearful that the deep-flowing
river would carry Achilles away, and quickly
called to her dear son Hephaestus, saying to him:
“Get up, crook-footed child, for we think eddying
Xanthos is a worthy foe for you in battle. Now go
quickly to Achilles’ aid and unleash your fire
while I go to the sea and call the West Wind
and the white South Wind to rouse a tempest
that will spread your foul flames and burn
the Trojan dead and their armor, the trees
on the banks, and Xanthos himself. But do not
let him turn you away with kind words or threats
and do not hold back your rage until I call
to you with a shout; then you can still your fire.”

So she said, and Hephaestus readied his god-forged
fire. After kindling the fire on the plain, he burnt
the many corpses strewn about—Achilles’ kills—
until the plain was dry and the bright water stilled.
As in late summer when the North Wind quickly
dries up a freshly-watered garden, pleasing
the gardener, so Hephaestus dried the plain
and burnt the corpses before turning the flames
on the river. Elms, willows, and tamarisk were all
burnt, as were the lotus, rushes, and galingale
that grew in abundance around the fair streams.
The eels and fish in the eddies, too, were tossed
this way and that by the river’s currents thanks
to the fires of wily Hephaestus. As the river
burned away, Scamander called to the god:
“Hephaestus, no other god can challenge you,
nor will I try to fight your flaming fire. So stop
your assault. Let noble Achilles quickly drive
the Trojans out of their city. What do I care?”

So he said amidst the raging fire and seething
waters. Just as a cauldron boils and bubbles
over when flames melt the fat from a well-fed
swine after dry kindling is placed below it,
so the streams blazed and the waters boiled,
and he could not escape, for he was held back
by the mighty blasts of clever Hephaestus.
Then the river pleaded with Hera, saying:
“Hera, why does your son attack my streams
and mine alone? Surely you cannot fault me
more than all the others who aid the Trojans.
But truly I will quit if you order it, if he also
quits. I also swear that I will not lift my hands
to ward off the Trojan day of doom, even
when the warlike Achaean sons burn Troy,
engulfing the city in an all-consuming fire.”

Hearing this, white-armed goddess Hera
quickly called to her dear son Hephaestus:
“Hephaestus, glorious son, hold back, for it
is not right to strike a god for a mortal’s sake.”

Hearing this, Hephaestus doused the divine fire,
and the fair waters returned to the streams.

Once Xanthus’ rage waned, the two ceased
fighting, for Hera, though angry, restrained them.
But painful strife fell hard upon the other gods,
their fury blowing about like two crossed winds.
They collided with a violent crash, making
the earth ring and heavens squeal like a trumpet,
and when Zeus heard it on Olympus, his heart
laughed with joy to see the gods in battle.
Shield-piercer Ares started the conflict, first
charging Athena, a bronze spear in his hand,
and then reviling her with words, saying:
“Why, dog-fly, does your furious heart again
force the gods to fight each other? Do you
remember when you sent Diomedes, Tydeus’
son, to wound me, and you yourself grabbed
the spear and drove it into me, tearing my fine
flesh? Now I will pay you back for that outrage.”

So saying, blood-stained Ares hurled his large
spear at Athena’s tasseled aegis, which even Zeus’
thunderbolts could not pierce. She drew back
and, with her strong hand, picked up a black stone
lying on the plain, a jagged rock that men once
used to mark a field’s boundary; she threw it and hit
furious Ares in the neck. His limbs went slack,
and he fell backwards seven plethra^[2] until his hair
was covered in dust and his armor clanged.
Pallas Athena laughed and mocked him, saying:
“Fool, you still do not see that I am stronger than
you for you still try to match your rage with mine.
This must be your mother’s doing, for she angrily
called foul curses down upon you for abandoning
the Achaeans and aiding the arrogant Trojans.”

So saying, she turned her bright eyes away
from Ares, but Zeus’ daughter, Aphrodite,
took his hand and led him away as he groaned
and tried to recover his breath. Seeing her,
white-armed Hera quickly said to Athena:
“Well, child of aegis-bearing Zeus, Atrytone,
once again that pest leads Ares, bane of men,
away from the chaos of battle. Go after her.”

Athena gleefully pursued Aphrodite and struck
her on the chest with her fist, making the knees
and heart of the goddess grow slack. As two gods
were sprawled upon the bountiful earth, Athena
stood over them and mocked them, saying:
“This is what comes to those aiding the Trojans
when they battle the breastplate-armed Argives.
If they were all as bold and as stout-hearted
as Aphrodite, who came to Ares’ aid and faced
my might, then we would have ended the war
long ago, having sacked the well-built city of Ilios.”

So she said, and white-armed Hera smiled.
Then the great earth-shaker said to Apollo:
“Phoebus, why do we stand apart? The others
have begun. It would be a shame to return
and cross the bronze threshold of Zeus’ house
on Olympus without fighting. But you go first,
for you are younger while I am older and wiser.
Does your foolish heart not remember all the ills
that we, alone among the gods, suffered when
we came to Ilios at Zeus’ command to serve
arrogant Laomedon for a year at a fixed wage,
and he oversaw our work and ordered us about?
I built city walls for the Trojans that were both
beautiful and wide, so the city might never be
taken; and you, Phoebus, herded his shambling
oxen around the many spurs and forests of Ida.
But when this happy season ended and we
were set to be paid, headstrong Laomedon
robbed us of all our pay, dismissed us,
and threatened to bind our feet, tie our hands,
sell us to some faraway island, and cut off
both of our ears with his bronze. So we went
home with resentful hearts, angry over
the pay that was promised but never delivered.
Now you favor his people and do not seek
to join us and destroy the arrogant Trojans
and bring ruin to their wives and children.”

Then lord Apollo, the far-seer, answered him:
“Earth-shaker, you would not call me smart
if I battled you for the sake of some cowardly
mortals who are like leaves: at first full of life,
eating the fruits of the land, but soon after
wasting away and dying. So let us quickly quit
fighting and leave them to battle on their own.”

So saying, he turned his back, unwilling
to clench his fists and fight his father’s brother.
But his sister, the goddess Artemis, the huntress,
reproached him with harsh words, telling him:
“Far-shooter, by running away, you are giving
Poseidon all the victory and all the glory. Why
even bother bringing your useless bow, you fool?
I do not want to hear you in our father’s halls,
bragging yet again to the immortal gods
about fighting Poseidon face-to-face.”

So she said, but far-shooter Apollo did not
reply. Then the honored wife of Zeus, angry
at the shedder of arrows, reproached her, saying:
“So, bold bitch, now you want to stand against
me? It will be not be easy for you to challenge me,
even with your bow, since Zeus made you a lion
against women, able to kill any of them you wished.
Surely it is better to kill mountain beasts and wild
deer than to battle those stronger than you.
But if you wish to learn how much greater I am
than you in battle, then let us fight one another.”

So saying, Hera grabbed both of Artemis’ wrists
with her left hand, and with the right she took
the bow and arrows from her shoulders and used
them to box her ears, smiling smugly. As Artemis
tried to free herself, arrows fell from the quiver,
but then she escaped and ran away in tears. Like
a pigeon who flies into a cave to escape a falcon,
so Artemis tearfully fled, leaving her weapons
behind. Then the messenger Hermes said to Leto:
“Leto, I will not fight you, for it is hard to trade
blows with the wives of cloud-gatherer Zeus;
but feel free to boast to the other immortal gods
that you defeated me with your mighty strength.”

So he said, and Leto picked the curved bow
and arrow out of the swirling dust and went back
to her daughter. But Artemis was on Olympus,
in Zeus’ house with bronze threshold, where she
sat at her father’s knee and cried, her ambrosial
robes quivering around her. Her father, Cronos’
son, drew her near and, laughing gently, asked her:
“Dear child, which son of heaven has done this
to you, as if you had openly been making mischief?”

And Artemis of the echoing hunt answered him:
“Your wife, white-armed Hera, struck me, father,
for she has stirred strife among the immortals.”

As they spoke to one another, Phoebus Apollo
made his way to sacred Ilios, worried that
the Danaans would exceed what was fated
and raze the city’s well-made walls on that day.
The other gods returned to Olympus, some angry
and others pleased, and all sat by their father,
lord of the black cloud. But Achilles continued
to slay both Trojans and their single-hoofed
horses. Just as smoke rises to the wide heavens
from a city on fire, sent by the rage of gods that
brings toil to all and tears to many, so Achilles
brought both toil and tears to the Trojans.

Now, old Priam stood atop the god-built wall
and saw wondrous Achilles quickly sending
the Trojans into panicked flight, their strength
spent. Groaning, he descended to the ground
and roused the famed gatekeepers, saying:
“Open the gates wide with your hands until
the retreating men reach the city, for Achilles
is driving them away, and all seems lost.
But once they reach safety behind the wall,
then shut the double-gates again, for I fear
this dangerous man may leap inside the wall.”

Hearing this, they loosened the bar, opened
the gates, and let in daylight. But Apollo leapt
down to face Achilles and protect the Trojans
who were racing to the city’s high walls, throats
parched with thirst and bodies covered in dust.
And Achilles chased them with his furious
spear, his rage-filled heart eager to win glory.

Then the Achaean sons would have taken
high-gated Troy had Phoebus Apollo not
roused Agenor, Antenor’s mighty son. He
filled his heart with the courage to ward off
death’s heavy hands and then leaned against
the nearby oak tree, shrouding himself in mist.
When Agenor saw Achilles, sacker of cities,
he stood to face him; many thoughts stirred
his troubled heart, and he said to himself:
“If I run away from mighty Achilles like
the others who are fleeing in panic, then he
will catch me and cut my cowardly throat.
But if I let Achilles, son of Peleus, chase after
the rest, then I can run away from the wall,
over the plain of Ilion, to the spurs of Ida,
where I can hide in the brush. In the evening,
after bathing in the river and washing away
the sweat from my body, I can return to Ilios.
But why does my heart debate these things
with me? If he sees me as I turn from the city
and head to the plain, then his swift feet will
catch me and I will never escape my deadly
fate, for he is the mightiest of men. Perhaps
if I go to the front of the city and face him,
then a sharp blade could cut his flesh. Men
say that he is mortal and has only one soul.
Still, Zeus, son of Cronos, grants him glory.”

So saying, he crouched down and waited
for Achilles, his stout heart eager to fight.
Think of a panther emerging from a thick
woods to face a hunter, taking no thought
of fear or flight, even after hearing the barking
dogs; and even when the man strikes first,
piercing her with his spear, she continues
to fight until she either strikes him or is struck
down. So, in this way, did Agenor, Antenor’s
noble son, refuse to flee until he fought Achilles.
He held his balanced shield in front of him,
pointed his spear at Achilles, and shouted:
“Famous Achilles, you hope in your heart
to sack the city of noble Trojans today. Fool!
There will be much suffering before it is won,
for many stout men wait inside, standing
in front of our dear parents, wives, and sons,
ready to guard Ilios. It is you who will meet
your fate, though you are a fierce, bold warrior.”

So saying, his heavy hand hurled his sharp
spear and struck Achilles on the shin, below
the knee, making his well-made tin greave
clang terribly; but the bronze sprang back
after hitting the greave, having failed to pierce
this gift from the gods. Then the son of Peleus
tried to attack godlike Agenor, but Apollo
refused to grant him glory, shrouding the man
in a mist and sending him safely away
from the battle. Then Apollo disguised himself
as Agenor, stood in Achilles’ way, and kept him
away from the army. Achilles chased him across
wheat-bearing fields and along the deep-
eddying Scamander, Apollo always just ahead
and Achilles always just behind but certain
that his swift feet will catch him. All the while,
the rest of the fleeing Trojans gladly returned
to the city and filled the town. They did not
wait for each other outside the city walls
to find out who had escaped and who had died
in battle; instead, those whose feet and knees
had been saved poured quickly into the city.