When the leaders had assembled their troops,
the Trojans advanced with a loud clamor,
like the cries of cranes that fill the skies as
they set out over the streams of Oceanus,
fleeing winter storms and terrifying rains,
carrying death and destruction to the Pygmies,
and waging wicked war in the early morning
hours. But the fire-breathing Achaeans moved
silently, eager and ready to protect one another.

Just as the South Wind pours fog over a mountain—
a foe to shepherds but a better friend for thieves
than night—and a man can see only as far as
he can throw a stone, so a dense dust cloud rose
from the feet that advanced quickly over the plain.

As the armies closed on one another, godlike
Alexander emerged out of the Trojan ranks.
With a panther skin on his shoulders, a bent bow
on his back, a sword at his side, and two bronze
spears in his hands, he challenged any Argive
to fight him man-to-man in grim combat.

Menelaus, dear to Ares, recognized the man
who came strutting out of the throng. Just as
a hungry lion rejoices when he finds a horned
deer or wild goat carcass and eagerly devours
it though swift dogs and mighty hunters draw
ever closer, so Menelaus rejoiced when
he saw Alexander, for he knew his time
for vengeance had arrived. He sprang, fully
armed, from his chariot and hit the ground.

Seeing him standing before the battle line,
Alexander’s heart shook with deathly horror,
and he withdrew into the ranks. Just as a man
recoils at the sight of a serpent in a forest
glen, his limbs trembling uncontrollably
and a paleness filling his cheeks as he runs
away, so godlike Alexander, fearing Menelaus,
retreated back into the Trojan throng.

Seeing this, a disgusted Hector said to him:
“Wretched Paris, beautiful deceiver of women,
if only you had never been born or had died
unwed—either would be better than these
shameful acts that make you a joke to others.
The long-haired Achaeans howl with laughter,
saying our champion was chosen for his looks,
not his strength or spirit. Was this how you
gathered your comrades, sailed over the seas
in your sturdy ship, mingled with foreigners,
and brought back a beautiful woman, sister
of skilled spearmen, and a great misery
to your father, city, and people? You bring
joy to your enemies and disgrace to yourself.
Will you not face Menelaus and learn the kind
of man he is whose wife you stole? Aphrodite’s
gifts, your lyre, your locks, and your looks will
be no help when you hit the dust. The Trojans
are the timid ones; otherwise they would have
stoned you to death for your wicked deeds.”

In reply, godlike Alexander said to him:
“Hector, your reproach is proper and fair.
Your heart is forever like a sharp axe driven
into a tree by a skilled shipbuilder, the blade
making each cut that much stronger; so also
does your sharp spirit intensify your mind’s
resolve. But do not scorn golden Aphrodite
or dismiss the gods’ glorious gifts, for it is
their will, not ours, that grants them. But if
you wish me to fight, then I will. Have all
Trojans and Achaeans sit, but set Menelaus
and I in the middle, and we will fight for Helen
and her riches. Whoever proves himself
the strongest and wins will take the woman
and all the wealth and go home, while the rest
swear oaths of friendship and trust, and you will
live in fertile Troy while they return to Argos’
pastures and the fair women of Achaea.”

His words pleased Hector, who went straight
to the Trojan front line, held the battalions back
with his spear, and ordered them to sit. Seeing
Hector, the long-haired Achaeans prepared
to shoot him with arrows and strike him with stones,
but Agamemnon, leader of men, loudly shouted:
“Hold, Argives, and cease your fire, Achaean youth.
Flashing-helmed Hector is preparing to speak.”

Hearing this, they ceased fighting and quickly
quieted. Then Hector addressed both armies:
“Listen to me, Trojans and well-greaved Achaeans,
for Alexander, the source of our strife, has an offer.
He urges the other Trojans and all Achaeans
to put their fine armor down on the fertile earth
and let Paris and the warrior Menelaus fight
one-on-one for Helen and her riches. Whoever
proves himself the strongest and wins will take
the woman and all the wealth and go home,
while the rest swear oaths of friendship and trust.”

So he spoke, and the soldiers all fell silent;
then the great war-crier Menelaus said to them:
“Listen to me, for the pain in my heart is by far
the greatest. I want the Argives and Trojans
to part ways because my quarrel with Alexander,
the aggressor, has caused far too much suffering.
Whoever is fated to die today, let him die
so the rest can quickly part ways. Now bring
two different lambs, one white and one black,
for earth and sun, and bring another for Zeus;^[1]
then send for mighty Priam, so he himself can
swear an oath, for his sons are untrustworthy,
and any wrongdoing would violate Zeus’ oath.
Young men’s hearts are always blown by passions,
but an older man sees both the past and the future
and can find a solution that is best for both sides.”

At once, the Achaeans and Trojans rejoiced,
hoping this would bring the bitter war to an end.
They lined up their chariots, dismounted, stripped
off their armor, and set it on the ground in tight
rows that left little free space. Then Hector sent
two heralds hurrying to the city to summon
King Priam and to retrieve two lambs while
Agamemnon told Talthybius to head back
to the hollow ships and retrieve another lamb,
and he did not disobey godlike Agamemnon.

But messenger Iris came to white-armed Helen
disguised as her sister-in-law, Laodice, wife
of Antenor’s son Helicaon, sister to Paris
and Hector, and most beautiful of Priam’s
daughters. She found her in the palace weaving
a purple folded cloak adorned with battle scenes
between the horse-tamer Trojans and bronze-
clad Achaeans—all for her sake. Standing
beside Helen, swift-footed Iris said to her:
“Come, dear maiden, and witness the horse-
tamer Trojans and bronze-clad Achaeans.
Where once their battles brought countless
tears to the deadly plains, now the fighting
has ceased and they sit in silence, leaning
on their shields, their long spears fixed
to the earth. For Alexander and Menelaus
will fight in single combat—all for you!
He who wins will call you his beloved wife.”

The goddess’ words brought to Helen’s soul
sweet longing for her former husband, her city,
and her parents. With round tears in her eyes,
she covered herself with a white cloth and raced
from her chambers, followed by two handmaids:
Aethra, daughter of Pittheus, and ox-eyed
Clymene. Soon they arrived at the Scaean gates.^[2]

Priam sat by the Scaean gates with his council
of elders: Panthous, Thymoetes, Lampus,
Clytius, Hicetaon, son of Ares, and the shrewd
strategists Ucalegon and Antenor. Old age
prevented them from fighting, but they were
fine orators, like cicadas that sit in a forest
tree and let loose their lily-like voices—these
were the Trojan elders who sat on the tower.
When they noticed the approaching Helen,
they quietly spoke to one another, saying:
“The Trojans and Achaeans cannot be faulted
for suffering so much for so long for such a woman:
to look at her is to see a goddess in the flesh.
All the same, she should go home in the long ships
and spare us and our children further misery.”

So they spoke, but Priam said to Helen:
“Come, dear child, and sit beside me so you
can see your former husband, your kinsmen,
and your people, for it was not you but the gods
who started this woeful war with the Achaeans.
Now tell me, who is this powerful Achaean
warrior, so brave and tall? There are certainly
others who are taller in stature, but I
have not set eyes on one so well-favored
and so majestic. Clearly this man is a king.”

And Helen, noblest of women, replied to him:
“Beloved father-in-law, whom I both revere and fear,
if only foul death had taken me when I followed
your son here and left my marriage bed, my kin,
my lovely daughter, and my childhood companions.
But that was not to be, so I pine away in tears.
But you asked about this man, so let me answer:
he is Agamemnon, son of Atreus, lord of many lands,
a worthy king, a mighty warrior, and brother-in-law
to my dog-eyed soul, unless that was but a dream.”

So she said, and the old man, in wonder, told her:
“The son of Atreus is a child of fortune whom
the gods bless and many Achaean youths obey.
Long ago I journeyed to Phrygia, rich in vines,
where I saw countless warriors and their nimble
steeds, the men of Otreus and godlike Mygdon,
encamped beside the Sangarius river. I was
among their allies on the day the Amazons,
a match for men, came. But not even they
could match the quick-glancing Achaeans.”

Next, upon seeing Odysseus, the old man asked:
“Now tell me, dear child, who is this other
man? He is a head shorter than Agamemnon
but looks broader in the shoulders and chest.
His battle armor lies upon the fertile earth,
but he seems to go around inspecting the lines
of soldiers like a thick-fleeced bellwether ram
as it passes through a large flock of white ewes.”

Then Helen, born of Zeus, answered him:
“That is the son of Laertes, cunning Odysseus,
who was raised in the rugged land of Ithaca
and knows all kinds of tricks and shrewd schemes.”

In reply, wise and sensible Antenor said to her:
“Yes, all the things you say, young lady, are true,
for King Odysseus and Menelaus, dear to Ares,
came to us once as part of an embassy. I hosted
the guests and entertained them in my halls,
and I got to know both men’s stature and cunning.
When they stood before the Trojan assembly,
Menelaus towered over him with his wide shoulders,
but when they sat Odysseus was more dignified.
When they began to weave their web of words,
Menelaus spoke clearly, without stumbling,
but said little, since he was a man of few words
and not one to ramble, though he was younger.
But when Odysseus sprang up, he stood stock
still, his eyes fixed to the ground, his scepter
held stiff to the floor, moving neither forwards
or backwards like a man of ignorance; you
would have thought him a surly, senseless fool.
But when his great voice burst from his chest,
his words falling like snowflakes in a winter storm,
then no mortal man could challenge Odysseus.
After that, Odysseus’ appearance was forgotten.”

Seeing a third man, Ajax, the old king asked:
“Who is that third Achaean, strong and wide,
standing head and shoulders above the Argives?”

And fair Helen, in her flowing robes, replied:
“That is mighty Ajax, defender of the Achaeans,
and godlike Idomeneus stands on the other side
among the other Cretan leaders. Menelaus
would often entertain him when he journeyed
to our home from Crete. Now I see the other
quick-glancing Achaeans, and I remember them
well and can tell you their names, but there
are two leaders missing: horse-tamer Castor
and great fighter Polydeuces, my brothers,
born from the same mother. Either they did
not follow from lovely Lacedaemon, or they
sailed here in their sea-faring ships but did not
wish to join with the soldiers in battle for fear
of the insults and abuse heaped upon me.”

So she said, but they were in Lacedaemon,
their father’s land, buried in the life-giving earth.

Now heralds carried across the city offerings
to the gods: two lambs and a goatskin bag filled
with earth-grown, heart-warming wine. Idaeus,
carrying a shining bowl and a golden goblet,
stood by the old king and called upon him:
“Come, son of Laomedon, for the horse-taming
Trojans and bronze-clad Achaeans summon
you to the plain to swear solemn oaths of trust,
for Alexander and Menelaus are to fight each
other with long spears for the sake of Helen.
The victor will win the woman and her wealth
while the rest swear oaths of friendship and trust.
We will return to the fertile soil of Troy, and they
to horse-rich Argos and Achaea’s fair women.”

Hearing this, the king shuddered but ordered
men to yoke his horses, and they quickly obeyed.
Priam mounted his chariot and drew back
the reins, and with him was Antenor. Then they
drove the swift horses out of the Scaean gates.

When they reached the Trojans and Achaean
armies, they stepped down from their chariots
and walked between the armies. Agamemnon
and wily Odysseus then rose, and the noble
heralds brought the offerings for the gods,
mixed the wines into the bowl, and poured
water over the hands of the kings. Atreus’ son
took into his hand a dagger he always held
in the sheath beside his sword and cut wool
from the heads of the lambs, which the heralds
offered to the Trojan and Achaean leaders.
Then Agamemnon lifted his hands and prayed:
“Great and glorious Father Zeus who rules
from Ida, and Helios who sees and hears all,
and the rivers and earth and those who dwell
below and punish men who swear falsely—be
witnesses and guard the sanctity of sacred oaths.
If Alexander kills Menelaus, then let him have
Helen and all of her possessions while we return
to our ships and sail across the sea to our homes.
But if fair-haired Menelaus kills Alexander,
then let Troy give up Helen and all her wealth
and pay the Argives a fitting recompense, one
that will be remembered by future generations.
But if Alexander falls and Priam and Priam’s
sons are unwilling to pay the price, then I
will remain and fight for my blood-ransom,
and I will not stop fighting until the war is over.”

Then he cut the lambs’ throats with his ruthless
blade and placed them on the ground gasping
for breath, for the knife had seized their souls.
Then the two kings drew wine out of the bowl
with goblets and poured it out, and Achaeans
and Trojans alike prayed to the eternal gods:
“Great and glorious Zeus and all other immortals,
should any defy these solemn oaths, let their brains
and their children’s brains be poured onto the ground
like this wine and let their wives be taken by others.”

So they prayed, but Cronos’ son did not answer.
Then Priam, son of Dardanus, said to them:
“Listen, Trojans and well-greaved Achaeans,
I am returning home to wind-blown Ilios,
for I could not endure seeing with my own eyes
my dear son battling Menelaus, dear to Ares.
Only Zeus and the other immortal gods know
which of the two is destined by fate to die today.”

So saying, the godlike man had the lambs
placed in his well-wrought chariot, which he
then mounted. Once Antenor was beside him,
Priam drew back the reins and returned to Ilios.
Then Priam’s son Hector and godlike Odysseus
measured out a space and together cast lots
in a helmet tipped with bronze to decide who
would be the first to throw his bronze spear.
And all Achaeans and Trojans raised their hands
to the gods and offered their prayers, saying:
“Father Zeus, ruler of Ida, glorious and great,
whoever caused these troubles for both sides,
may he die and head to the house of Hades,
and may the rest of us swear oaths of friendship.”

As they prayed, gleaming-helmed Hector shook
the lots, looking away, and the lot for Paris
leapt out. Then the soldiers sat down in rows,
each beside his horse and well-wrought armor.
Godlike Alexander, fair Helen’s husband, put
his splendid armor on his shoulders, wrapped
the greaves around his legs, and fastened them
to his ankles with a silver buckle. Next he
covered his chest with his brother Lycaon’s
breastplate, which fit him well, and slung over
his shoulder his silver-studded bronze sword
and great and sturdy shield. On his head he
put a sturdy horse-hair crest helmet topped
with a fierce, nodding plume, and he took up
a stout spear that fit his hand perfectly.
And Menelaus geared for battle in the same way.

Once armed, the men stood between the two
armies, glaring harshly at one another,
and wonder seized the onlookers, the horse-
taming Trojans and well-greaved Achaeans.
The two stood near the marked-off space,
each brandishing a spear and boiling with rage.
Alexander shot first, and his long-shadowed spear
struck the well-balanced shield of Atreus’ son
but did not pierce it; instead, the sturdy shield
bent the spearhead. Then, as Menelaus readied
to launch his lance, he prayed to father Zeus:
“Lord Zeus, grant me revenge on Alexander,
who wronged me, and let my hands slay him
so generations to come may recoil at the thought
of harming a host who offers friendship.”

So saying, he hurled the long-shadowed spear
and struck Paris’ well-balanced shield, piercing
the shield and the richly-adorned breastplate,
tearing into his tunic, and reaching his flank—
but Paris turned to one side and escaped death’s
darkness. Then Menelaus drew his silver-
studded sword and struck the ridge of Paris’
helmet, but the sword broke into three or four
pieces and fell from his hand. Groaning, the son
of Atreus looked to the heavens and cried:
“Father Zeus, no other god is as dangerous as you.
I thought I had revenge for Alexander’s wrongs,
but I lost my sword when it shattered and my spear
when it flew from my hand and missed its target.”

Menelaus then lunged at his helmet’s horse-hair
crest and, with a spin, dragged him to the Achaean
line. The well-stitched strap holding the helmet
in place stretched Paris’ chin, choking his tender
throat, and Menelaus would have dragged him
away and gained eternal glory had Aphrodite,
daughter of Zeus, not broken the helmet’s ox-hide
strap, leaving Menelaus holding an empty helmet.
He turned and threw the helmet at the Achaeans,
and his comrades picked it up. Then he turned
back, intent on attacking Paris with his bronze
spear, but Aphrodite, with the ease of a goddess,
grabbed Paris, covered him in a mist, and sent
him back to his sweet-scented bedroom. Then she
went to summon Helen, who was on the high wall
ringed by a throng of Trojan women. The goddess
put her hand on Helen’s fragrant robe, shook it,
and then spoke to her in the guise of an old
woman, a wool dresser from Lacedaemon who
was known to Helen and was especially loved.
In this guise, heavenly Aphrodite addressed her:
“Go now, for Alexander calls you home. He is
in the bed chamber, on the bed with inlaid
rings, his body and clothes shining, and looking
not like a man who just faced a foe but a man
heading to a dance or just come from a dance.”

So she said, stirring the heart in Helen’s breast.
Seeing the beautiful neck, lovely chest,
and sparkling eyes of the goddess, she was
filled with awe, and she addressed her, saying:
“Strange goddess, why this deception? Do you
plan to lead me further into shame, to send
me to cities like Phrygia or pleasant Maeonia
where another mortal man you favor awaits,
since Menelaus has defeated godlike Alexander
and wants to lead woeful me back to his home?
Is this why you have come to me with trickery?
Sit by his side yourself, quit the way of the gods,
never turn around and return to Olympus
but be forever anxious for him and protect him
until he makes you his wife—or perhaps his slave.
But I will not go there, for it would be a disgrace
to share his bed. All Trojan women would blame
me hereafter, and my heart has enough grief.”

With violent rage, Aphrodite replied to her:
“Do not anger me, stubborn woman, or I will
hate you more deeply than I now love you
and brew bitter hatred for you by both the Trojans
and the Danaans, ensuring you a dreadful death.”

Her words terrified Helen, daughter of Zeus,
who covered herself in a white robe and snuck
silently past the Trojan women, led by the goddess.

When they arrived at Alexander’s majestic house,
Helen’s handmaids went quickly about their work
while she went to the high-roofed bedchamber.
The goddess, ever-smiling Aphrodite, took a chair
and set it down across from Alexander. Helen,
daughter of aegis-bearing Zeus, sat down, looked
away from her husband, and scolded him:
“You came back from war, but I wish you had
died there, slain by a mighty man, my former
husband. You once claimed to be greater than
Menelaus, dear to Ares, with your hands
and spear. Well then, go back and challenge
him to another fight, man-to-man. But no,
I urge you not to fight fair-haired Menelaus
in single combat or in any other reckless way,
for you could very well die under his spear.”

Paris quickly responded to her words, saying:
“Do not taunt me with abusive words, woman.
Yes, Menelaus beat me today, with Athena’s
help, but I will win next time, for we have gods
as well. But let us go to bed and make love,
for I have never felt such desire for you, not even
when I first took you from fair Lacedaemon
and sailed with you on my seafaring ships
and made love to you on the island of Cranae.
Now more than ever does sweet love control me.”

Then he led the way to bed, and his wife followed.

While they retired to their inlaid bed, the son
of Atreus roamed up and down the battlefield
like a wild beast in search of godlike Alexander.
But the Trojans and their famed allies could not
point out Alexander to Menelaus, dear to Ares.
Had they seen him, they would not have tried
to hide him, for they hated him like black death.
So Agamemnon, ruler of men, addressed them:
“Hear me, Trojans and Dardanians and allies:
victory clearly belongs to Menelaus, dear to Ares,
so surrender the Argive Helen and her possessions,
and pay to us a fair and just recompense, one that
will be remembered by future generations.”

So said the son of Atreus, and all Achaeans agreed.