So the gods sat beside Zeus and held assembly
on the golden floor, and as divine Hebe went
among them pouring nectar into their golden
goblets, they looked down on Troy and toasted
one another. Then the son of Cronos, wishing
to provoke Hera, spoke to her maliciously:
“There are two goddesses helping Menelaus,
Argive Hera and Alalcomenean Athena.
But while they seem satisfied to sit and watch
the scene from afar, ever-smiling Aphrodite
stands beside Paris and wards off the fates.
In fact, she just now saved him from certain
death. Still, Menelaus is the clear victor,
so let us consider these matters. Should we
again ignite the bitter battles of war, or should
we inspire friendship on both sides? If this
sweet outcome is somehow welcomed by all,
then lord Priam’s city would remain inhabited
and Menelaus would take back Argive Helen.”

So he said, and Athena and Hera whispered
to each other, plotting more pain for the Trojans.
Still, Athena stayed silent, though her father’s
words filled her with fury. But Hera could
not contain her anger, and she said to him:
“Dreaded son of Cronos, what are you saying?
Do you wish to render my work worthless?
I toiled in sweat—my horses, too—gathering
armies to bring pain to Priam and his sons.
So do it, but do not expect all gods to agree.”

Greatly troubled, cloud-gathering Zeus replied:
“Crazy woman, what did Priam and his sons do
to incite the endless rage that fuels your deep
desire to destroy the well-built citadel of Ilios?
If you went through the city gates and high walls
and ate Priam, his sons, and all other Trojans
raw, then perhaps your rage would be sated.
Do what you wish, but do not allow this quarrel
to be the cause of any future strife between us.
But I will say one more thing, and take it to heart:
in the future, should I be bent on destroying a city
whose inhabitants have become dear to you,
do not seek to thwart my anger, but let me be,
for I give you this freely, though it breaks my heart.
Of all the cities under the sun and starry skies
where men have built their homes upon the earth,
the one that my heart holds most dear is the Ilios
of Priam and Priam’s men of the ashen spear,
for never has my altar lacked offerings of wine
and burnt flesh, those gifts that are rightly ours.”

Then ox-eyed queen Hera answered him, saying:
“Indeed, three cities are very dear to me: Argos,
Sparta, and the wide streets of Mycenae. If ever
these cities grow hateful to your heart, sack them,
and I will not stand in your way or resent you for it.
Besides, even if I sought to stop your slaughter,
it would accomplish little for you are far stronger.
Still it is not right to render my work worthless,
for I too am a god, from the same stock as you.
I am the eldest-born daughter of wily Cronos
and am doubly-blessed to be both the first-born
and the wife of he who rules all immortals.
But clearly we must yield to each other on this,
you to me and I to you; then the other gods
will follow our lead. Now quickly order Athena
to go at once to the field of battle and arrange
for the Trojans to be first to break the sacred
oath and attack the illustrious Achaeans.”

She spoke, and the father of gods and men agreed
and quickly addressed Athena with winged words:
“Go at once to the field of battle and arrange
for the Trojans to be first to break the sacred
oath and attack the illustrious Achaeans.”

His words roused an already eager Athena.
Just as the son of crooked counselor Cronos
sends a star as a sign for sailors or soldiers,
a bright light shooting sparks in all directions,
so Pallas Athena dashed down the peaks
of Olympus and landed between the armies,
amazing all who saw her, horse-taming
Trojans and well-greaved Achaeans alike;
and men looked at one another and declared:
“Either wicked war and dreaded battle-cries
have returned or Zeus, who controls men’s wars,
has brought both armies together for peace.”

So spoke both the Achaeans and the Trojans.
Athena entered the Trojan troops disguised as
the skilled spearman Laodocus, son of Antenor,
and she went in search of godlike Pandarus.
She found the strong and noble son of Lycaon
standing among the shield-bearing soldiers
who followed him from the river Aesepus.
She went to him and spoke with winged words:
“Listen to me, skilled son of Lycaon. If you
dare to take a speedy shot at Menelaus,
then you will gain the gratitude and glory
of all Trojans—noble Alexander most of all.
For if he saw warlike Menelaus, son of Atreus,
felled by your arrow and laid on a pyre,
then he would grant you many brilliant gifts.
So shoot your arrow at glorious Menelaus,
and swear to wolf-born Apollo, the great archer,
that you will offer a sacrifice of first-born lambs
when you return home to the city of Zeleia.”

Athena’s words persuaded the foolish man
to take his polished bow made from the horn
of a wild ibex he himself had killed, waiting
in ambush for it to emerge, shooting it
in the chest, and driving it onto a cleft rock.
The ibex’s horns were sixteen hands in length,
and an artisan bound the horns together,
polished the bow, and topped it with a gold tip.
He set down the bow, bent it, and strung it,
and his comrades hid him behind their shields
so Achaea’s sons could not spring up before
warlike Menelaus, son of Atreus, was struck.
He opened the lid of his quiver, removed
a fresh, feathered arrow loaded with black pain,
fitted the piercing arrow into the bowstring,
and swore to wolf-born Apollo, the great archer,
that he would offer a sacrifice of first-born
lambs when he returned home to Zeleia.
He then drew the notched arrow to his chest
until the bow string met the iron arrowhead,
and when he stretched the great bow into a curve,
the bow sang, the bowstring cried, and the sharp-
pointed arrow flew eagerly through the throng.

But the blessed gods did not forget you,
Menelaus. First, Athena, driver of spoils,
stood before you and blocked the sharp arrow,
sweeping it away from your flesh like a mother
swatting a fly from her sweetly sleeping child.
She directed it down to where the golden
belt buckle and double breastplate overlapped.
The sharp arrow struck the finely-made buckle,
passed through the warrior’s elaborate belt,
forced its way into the well-wrought breastplate,
and tore into his greatest defense, the metal
band that protected the skin against spears.
So the tip of the arrow cut into the man’s skin,
and black blood began oozing from his wound.

Just as Maeonian and Carian women stain ivory
with dark red dye when making a cheekpiece
for horses—which many desire but cannot use
for it is stored away for the king’s delight alone,
to ornament his horse and glorify its driver—
so too was Menelaus stained in black blood
from thighs to shapely legs to ankles below.

Then Agamemnon, ruler of men, shuddered
in fear at the sight of black blood flowing
from the wound. Menelaus also shuddered,
but when he saw that the arrow’s barbs were
outside the flesh, his heart returned to his chest.
As the men moaned, lord Agamemnon gave
a heavy sigh, held Menelaus’ hand, and said:
“Brother, my oath has brought your death,
for I sent you alone to fight the Trojans for us,
and their strike has violated our sacred pact.
But no oath is worthless. We sacrificed sheep,
poured unmixed wine, and clasped right hands.
And even if the Olympian does not act at once,
he will eventually, and they will pay heavily
with their heads and the heads of their wives
and children. For I know this well in my mind
and heart: one day holy Ilios will be destroyed,
as well as Priam and those under his ashen spear.
Zeus, son of Cronos, on his throne in heaven,
will shake his dark aegis over them in anger
at their deceit; these things will come to be.
But my grief for you will be great, Menelaus,
if you die and use up your measure of life.
I would return to dry Argos in utter disgrace,
for the Achaeans would immediately look
to home, and Priam and the Trojans would
boast of Argive Helen. Your bones would rot
in a Trojan field with a task left unfinished,
and some arrogant Trojan will leap upon
the barrow of glorious Menelaus and say:
‘This is the result of Agamemnon’s rage:
he led his Achaean army here for nothing
and returned in empty ships to his dear
fatherland, leaving noble Menelaus behind.’
On that day, may the earth consume me.”

Cheering him, fair-haired Menelaus said:
“Take heart and do not frighten the Achaean
army, for my shining belt and the band under
it, made carefully for me by smiths, stopped
the sharp arrow before it hit a fatal spot.”

Lord Agamemnon answered him, saying:
“I hope that this is so, my dear Menelaus.
But the healer should examine the wound
and apply a drug to stop your dark pain.”

Then he told the herald, godlike Talthybius:
“Talthybius, quickly call Machaon, son
of Asclepius, the noble healer, to come here
and see warlike Menelaus, son of Atreus,
for some Trojan or Lycian bowman seeking
glory shot him with an arrow, to our dismay.”

So he said, and the herald heard and obeyed.
He roamed the bronze-clad Achaean army
for the hero Machaon and found him standing
with the mighty shield-bearing warriors who
followed him from the horselands of Tricca.
Talthybius stood beside him and said:
“Rise, son of Asclepius. Lord Agamemnon
calls you to warlike Menelaus, Achaean leader.
Some Trojan or Lycian bowman seeking
glory shot him with an arrow, to our dismay.”

So he said, stirring the heart of Machaon.
They raced through the wide Achaean army
to the spot where fair-haired Menelaus was
hit to find him surrounded by many leaders.
The healer, a godlike man, stood among them
and quickly pulled the arrow from his belt;
as he did this, the sharp barbs were broken
backwards. He then loosened the shining belt
and the band beneath it, made carefully for him
by smiths. When he saw the sharp arrow wound,
he sucked the blood out and sprinkled on it
a soothing drug Chiron once gave to his father.

As the great war-crier Menelaus was treated,
lines of shield-bearing Trojans approached,
and the Achaeans readied themselves for war.

You would not see noble Agamemnon sleeping
or cowering in fear or running from the fight,
for he was eager for battle and glory. He left
his snarling horses and well-wrought chariot
and ordered his attendant Eurymedon, son
of Ptolemaeus, who was the son of Piraeus,
to keep hold of them in case fatigue seized
his limbs while he commanded the army.
Then he went on foot through the regiments,
and when he saw Danaans on fleet horses eager
for battle, he would encourage them, saying:
“Fight on, fearless Argives—no holding back,
for father Zeus gives no aid to oath-breakers.
And those who first defy their oath and fight
shall surely get their soft flesh eaten by vultures,
and we will carry off on our ships their beloved
wives and children once we capture the city.”

But when he saw men holding back from war,
he showered them with harsh abuse, saying:
“Argive bowmen, have you no shame or honor?
Why are you standing there, neither moving
nor fighting? You look like helpless fawns who,
exhausted after racing across a wide plain,
stay still, their hearts stripped of all spirit.
Are you waiting for the Trojans to come near
the sterns of the ships beached by the grey sea,
hoping the hands of Zeus will protect you?”

While barking orders and reviewing the ranks
of soldiers, he came upon the Cretan warriors
as they readied for battle beside Idomeneus,
who led the front lines like a spirited wild boar
while Meriones urged on the lines in the rear.
Seeing them, king of men Agamemnon rejoiced,
and spoke to Idomeneus with calming words:
“Idomeneus, above all the Danaans with swift
horses do I honor you in war, in other work,
or at the feast where the Argive leaders mix
in a bowl the sparkling wine of the elders.
For although other long-haired Achaeans drink
their share, your cup remains full, like my own,
for you drink only when it suits you. So go
and prove your claims of great fighting true.”

Then Idomeneus, the Cretan chief, replied:
“Son of Atreus, I will be your most worthy
comrade, just as I promised you so long ago.
But stir up the other long-haired Achaeans
so we can finally begin the battle against
the oath-breaking Trojans, who shall suffer
death and grief for violating their sacred word.”

He spoke, and a pleased son of Atreus moved on,
passing many men before seeing both Ajaxes
gearing for war, a cloud of infantry behind them.
Think of a goatherd who sees a cloud passing
over the sea, pushed by the roaring West Wind.
From far off, the cloud appears pitch black;
knowing this heralds a great storm, the goatherd
shudders and drives his flock into a cave.
So it was that a thick phalanx of Zeus-blessed
youths moved behind the two Ajaxes, bound
for deadly war and brandishing spears and shields.
Seeing this sight, lord Agamemnon rejoiced,
and spoke to them with winged words, saying:
“Ajaxes, leaders of the bronze-clad Argives,
you need no urging, so I give you no orders;
for you push your men to fight with great force.
Father Zeus and Athena and Apollo, if all
my people’s souls possessed such courage,
then lord Priam’s city would quickly be bent
beneath our hands, utterly sacked and seized.”

So saying, he left them there and moved on
and soon found Nestor, the clear-toned Pylian
orator, who was urging his men to prepare
for battle, flanked by great Pelagon, Alastor,
Chromius, lord Haemon, and Bias, shepherd
of men. He put the charioteers and their horses
in front, set his best foot soldiers at the rear as
a bulwark, and drove the cowards to the middle,
forcing them to fight out of necessity. Nestor
spoke first to the charioteers, ordering them
to keep their horses away from the battle throng:
“Do not trust your horsemanship or valor and try
to fight the Trojans alone before help arrives,
and do not fall back or you will weaken the line.
If a charioteer reaches the chariot of a foe,
then it is better to lunge at him with your lance.
This is how men of old, men with strong
minds and valiant hearts, sacked walls and cities.”

So the old man inspired them with his battle
wisdom. Seeing him, lord Agamemnon rejoiced
and addressed him with winged words, saying:
“Old man, I wish that your knees and your vigor
were a match for the passion within your heart.
But old age has worn you down; if only others
had your many years, and you had their youth.”

Then Nestor, horseman of Gerenia, answered him:
“Son of Atreus, I too greatly wish I could again
be the man who once slew godlike Ereuthalion.
But the gods never grant men their every wish.
I was just a youth then but am now an old man,
but I will be with the charioteers, urging them
on with words of advice, for that is the gift of age.
Shooting spears is not for me but for younger men
who have confidence in their youthful strength.”

His words cheered the son of Atreus, who moved
on and soon came to the horseman Menestheus,
son of Peteos, standing with the war-crying
Athenians. Nearby, wily Odysseus stood,
and with him stood the relentless Cephallenians.
These men had not yet heard the battle cry,
for the lines of the horse-taming Trojans
and the Achaeans had just begun to move;
so they stood there, waiting for Achaean lines
to move upon the Trojans and start the battle.
Seeing them, the lord of men Agamemnon
became angry, telling them with winged words:
“Son of Peteos, Zeus-nourished king, and you,
Odysseus of the cunning tricks for greedy
gain, why do you two cower in fear, waiting
for others? You should be standing on the front
lines and charging into the blazing battle,
for you are always the first to hear my call
when the Achaeans ready a feast for the elders,
and you always love eating roasted meat
and drinking goblets of honey-sweet wine.
But now you happily watch as ten Achaean
troops fight the pitiless enemy in front of you.”

With a scowling look, wise Odysseus replied:
“Son of Atreus, what sort of words are these?
How can you say we hide from battle whenever
the Achaeans fight the horse-taming Trojans?
Should you bother to look, you will soon see
dear Telemachus’ father fighting the Trojans.
Thus your words are empty like the wind.”

When he saw his anger, lord Agamemnon
smiled and took back his words, telling him:
“Zeus-born son of Laertes, wily Odysseus,
I neither unduly reproach you nor order you,
for I know you think as I do, and the heart
in your chest beats in sync with my own.
So go, and if any wicked words were spoken
between us, then let the gods render them void.”

He finished and left them to go and see others.
Soon he found the son of Tydeus, Diomedes,
standing with his horse and well-built chariot,
and nearby was Sthenelus, son of Capaneus.
Seeing him, lord Agamemnon chastised him
and addressed him with winged words, saying:
“Alas, son of skilled horse-tamer Tydeus, why
do you cower while gazing at the battle lines?
Tydeus was never one to cower in this way
but would fight foes far ahead of his comrades—
according to those who saw him toil in battle,
for I myself never saw this greatest of men.
He once came to Mycenae, not as enemy
but as friend, to raise an army with godlike
Polynices for their fight against sacred Thebes,
begging that we may offer our service as allies.
We greatly desired to heed their call, but Zeus
sent ill omens to change our minds. So they
departed, headed up the road, and when
they came to the grassy banks of the Asopus,
the Achaeans sent Tydeus on a mission
to the sons of Cadmus. He left and soon found
them feasting in the house of mighty Eteocles.
And horseman Tydeus, though a stranger
alone among many Cadmeians, felt no
fear but challenged them to trials of strength,
and defeated them easily with Athena’s help.
This angered the skilled horsemen of Cadmus,
so as he headed back, they shrewdly set
an ambush of fifty men, including two leaders,
Maeon, son of Haemon, equal to the gods,
and stout Polyphontes, son of Autophonus.
But Tydeus sent them all to a dreadful end,
killing them and allowing only Maeon to return
home, obeying the will of the gods. This was
Tydeus of Aetolia, but his son is not his equal
in battle, though he is a better speaker.”

So he spoke, but Diomedes said nothing,
fearing the rebuke of the respected king.
So the noble son of Capaneus answered:
“Son of Atreus, do not lie, for you know
the truth. We are better than our fathers.
We took the seven-gated citadel of Thebes
with a smaller army beneath a stronger wall,
obeying the gods’ signs and aided by Zeus.
But our fathers were destroyed by their own folly
and do not deserve our well-earned honor.”^[1]

With a scowl, mighty Diomedes said to him:
“Silence, my friend, and do as I say. I am
not angry at Agamemnon, shepherd of men,
for rousing the well-greaved Achaeans to battle.
Great glory shall follow if the Achaeans
slaughter the Trojans and seize Ilios, but great
grief will come if the Achaeans are slain.
For now, let us focus on war’s fierce fury.”

So saying, he leapt fully-armed from his chariot,
and the king’s bronze chest rattled with each
step, frightening even the stoutest of hearts.

Just as roaring waves, driven by the West Wind,
crash against the sea shore, the sea first rising
into a crest, then breaking with a great roar
onto dry land, crashing against arched peaks,
and spitting salt foam into the sky, so also did
the relentless Danaan battalions move as one
into the fight. Each leader ordered his men,
and each man followed behind in silence as if
he possessed no voice of his own, and all were
adorned with shining, well-wrought armor.
But the Trojans were like countless ewes
in the pens of wealthy men, waiting to be
milked and bleating incessantly when they
hear the voices of lambs. So stirred the war-
cries of the wide Trojan army, for they shared
no common language, came from many lands,
and spoke many tongues. The Trojans were
urged on by Ares, the Danaans by gleaming-
eyed Athena, and both were moved by Terror,
Fear, and Strife, sister of Ares, slayer of men:
small when first roused, but soon her head is high
in heaven and her feet are fixed on the earth.
She moved over the battle-throng hurling hatred
in all directions, intensifying the agony of men.

When both armies converged on one another,
the shields and spears of bronze-chested warriors
collided, their bossed shields pressed together,
and the many noises of battle filled the air.
Then came wailing and shouting by slayers
and slain, and rivers of blood covered the earth.
Just as winter storms bring torrents pouring down
mountains onto valley glens below, the waters
meeting and plunging into a hollow gorge,
and far off a mountain shepherd hears the roar,
so the cries and furies of war mingled as one.

Antilochus was the first to kill a Trojan warrior,
the skilled fighter Echepolus, son of Thalysius.
He struck him first on his helmet’s horsehair crest,
driving the spear into his forehead, and the copper
point bore into bone. His eyes then drew dark
and he toppled like a tower in the ferocious fight.
As he dropped, lord Elphenor, son of Chalcodon
and leader of the Abantes, caught him by the feet
and tried to drag him away from the missiles
so he could quickly strip the armor. But he did not
get far before great-hearted Agenor spotted him.
Seeing the man’s ribs exposed when he stooped,
he thrust his spear into his side, and his limbs
went limp, and his soul left him. Over his body,
the battle raged, Trojans and Achaeans leaping
at each other like wolves, man against man.

Then Telamonian Ajax struck Anthemion’s son,
the young, vigorous Simoeisius, whose mother
bore him by the river Simoïs while descending
down Mount Ida after visiting her family’s flocks.
Thus, he was called Simoeisius, but he would
never repay his parents for raising him, for his life
was cut short by the spear of great-hearted Ajax.
First the bronze spear struck on the right side
of his chest by the nipple, going straight
into his shoulder. He hit the ground like a poplar
tree growing at the bottom of a great marsh,
its trimmed trunk topped by many branches;
a chariot-maker cuts it down with a blazing axe
and uses it to fashion beautiful chariot wheels,
and now it lies drying on the banks of the river.
Thus did Zeus-born Ajax kill Anthemion’s son,
Simoeisius. Then the son of Priam, Antiphus,
threw a sharp spear at Ajax through the throng.
It missed him but hit Odysseus’ friend Leucus
in the groin as he was dragging the body away;
the corpse slipped from his hands and he fell.
Enraged by his death, Odysseus approached
the front lines, gleaming in his bronze armor.
He drew near them, glanced round, and threw
his shining spear. The Trojans drew back
from the warrior’s throw, but the shot did not
miss, striking Priam’s bastard son Democoon,
who came from Abydus, land of swift horses.
Odysseus, furious for his friend, shot the bronze
spear into his forehead, and it bore straight
through to the other side; his eyes drew dark,
and he fell with a thud, his armor rattling
his chest. Then the front ranks and great Hector
withdrew, and the Argives cried, took the bodies
away, and pressed on. Apollo, atop Pergamus,
watched with disgust, and shouted at the Trojans:
“Up, horse-taming Trojans. Do not give ground
to the Achaeans. Their skin is neither stone
nor iron, impervious to bronze. And Achilles,
son of the fair-haired Thetis, does not fight,
for he is on his ship nursing his hateful heart.”

So spoke the dreaded god, but the Achaeans
were urged on by noble Tritogeneia,^[2] daughter
of Zeus, whenever she saw them giving ground.

Then Diores, son of Amarynceus, met his fate,
for a jagged boulder struck his right ankle,
thrown by the leader of the Thracians, Peirous,
son of Imbrasus, who had come from Ainos.
The reckless stone completely crushed both
tendons and bones, and he fell into the dust
backwards, his hand reaching for his comrades,
his breath fading. Then Peirous ran up to him
and speared him in the gut, and his bowels
gushed onto the ground, and his eyes drew dark.

As Peirous moved away, Thoas of Aetolia
speared him in the chest above the nipple,
and the bronze pierced his lungs. Then Thoas
took the mighty spear out of his chest, pulled
out his sharp sword, and stabbed him in the gut,
taking his life. But he could not strip the armor,
for he was surrounded by the Thracian’s long-
speared comrades, and though Thoas was brave,
mighty, and noble, they forced him back, and he
staggered away. So these two were left in the dust
beside one another, the Thracian and the bronze-
clad Aetolian, surrounded by the other dead.

No man could make light of the battle any longer,
even those unstruck and uninjured by the whirl
of sharp bronze or protected from the onrush
of missiles by the guiding hand of Pallas Athena,
for on this day many Trojans and Achaeans
lay beside each other, their faces in the dust.