Then Pallas Athena gave Tydeus’ son Diomedes
the courage and confidence to distinguish
himself among all Achaeans and to win glory.^[1]
She lit his helmet and shield ablaze with endless
fire, like a harvest-time star that shines brightest
of all when bathing in the ocean stream.
She set this blaze upon his head and shoulders
and sent him where the fighting was fiercest.

Now Dares, a rich and honorable Trojan
and a priest of Hephaestus, had two sons,
Phegeus and Idaeus, both skilled in fighting.
These two split from the army and attacked
Diomedes, they in chariots and he on foot.
When they drew closer to one another,
Phegeus hurled his far-shadowing spear,
but it sailed over Diomedes’ left shoulder,
missing him. Then Tydeus’ son sent his spear
flying from his hand, hit Phegeus in the chest,
and knocked him from his chariot. Idaeus
leaped off his chariot but lacked the courage
to defend his brother’s body. And he would
have met that same black fate had Hephaestus
not concealed him in darkness, saving him
and sparing his aged father from further grief.
But great-hearted Diomedes claimed the horses,
and his men drove them to the hollow ships.
When the great-hearted Trojans saw the two
sons of Dares, one in flight and the other slain,
their hearts broke; but gleaming-eyed Athena
seized Ares by the hands and said to him:
“Ares, Ares, blood-stained destroyer of men,
let us leave the Trojans and Achaeans to fight,
so father Zeus may grant glory as he sees fit,
while we retire and avoid his wrath.”

She then made furious Ares leave the battle,
sit by the river Scamander’s banks, and watch
as the Trojans retreated and the Danaan
leaders slew their men. First Agamemnon threw
from his chariot a fleeing Odius, the Halizones
leader, fixing his spear into his back between
the shoulders and thrusting it through his chest.
And Odius fell with a thud, his armor clanging.

Then spear-famed Idomeneus slew Phaistos,
son of Borus the Maeonian, who came
from fertile Tarne; he was struck on his right
shoulder while mounting his horses and fell
from his chariot as dread death took him.

As Idomeneus’ men stripped Phaestus’ armor,
Menelaus, son of Atreus, used his sharp spear
to slay Strophius’ son, Scamandrius, a skilled
hunter whom Artemis herself taught to shoot all
kinds of wild beasts that grow in the mountain
forest. But Artemis, shedder of arrows, could not
help him, nor could his superior archery skill;
for, as he ran away, famed spearman Menelaus,
son of Atreus, thrust his spear into his back
between the shoulders and drove it into his chest;
and he fell face-first, his armor clanging.

And Meriones slew Phereclus, son of Harmon
the smith; beloved by Pallas Athena, his hands
made many fine items—including Alexander’s
stellar ships, the seeds of mischief that brought
misery to all Troy and to Phereclus himself,
who did not know the decree of the gods.
Meriones chased him, caught him, and speared
him in the right buttocks, the spear-point going
straight past the bone and into his bladder.
He fell to his knees and cried as death covered him.

And Meges slew Pedaeus, Antenor’s bastard son,
reared with care by Theano like her own dear
children so as to please her husband. Phyleus’
spear-famed son came near, pierced the base
of his neck with his sharp spear, and then drove
the spear straight into the teeth, slicing his tongue.
He fell to the dust, his teeth biting cold bronze.

And Eurypylus, Euaemon’s son, slew noble
Hypsenor, son of great-hearted Dolopion,
the Scamander priest who was honored like
a god by the people. Famed Eurypylus pursued
Hypsenor as he fled from him, striking his sword
in his shoulder and severing his heavy arm.
The blood-red stump dropped to the ground as
dark death and unrelenting fate fell over his eyes.

As they toiled away in fierce combat,
you could not tell whether Diomedes
fought for the Trojan army or the Achaean,
for he ran across the plain like a winter storm
from Zeus that swells a river until its waters
suddenly burst beyond the embankment
and scatter unchecked over the fortified walls
of a flourishing vineyard, thus destroying
the many beautiful works made by men.
In this way the dense Trojan ranks were driven
to disorder and despair by the son of Tydeus.

But when Lycaon’s^[2] noble son saw him run
about, sending the battle lines into chaos,
he quickly bent his bow and struck a charging
Diomedes on the right shoulder. The sharpened
arrow pierced the corselet’s front plate and flew
clean through, spattering the armor with blood.
And Pandarus, noble Lycaon’s son, cried out:
“Rise up, great-hearted Trojan horsemen!
The best of the Achaeans has been hit, and he
will not endure that arrow for long, if Apollo,
son of Zeus, truly sent me here from Lycia.”

So he said in triumph, but the missile did not
kill Diomedes, who drew back and stood before
his chariot and said to Sthenelus, son of Capaneus:
“Come, dear Sthenelus, leap from your chariot
and pull this sharp arrow from my shoulder.”

At once Sthenelus leapt from his chariot, stood
beside him, and pushed the arrow clean through
his shoulder as blood burst through the loose tunic.
Then great war-crier Diomedes offered a prayer:
“Hear me, Atrytone,^[3] child of aegis-bearing Zeus.
If you ever kindly came to the aid of my father
in deadly battle, then honor me now, Athena.
Grant this man to come within range of my spear
so I may slay him, this man who blindsided me
and brags that I am not long to see the sun’s light.”

So he prayed, and Pallas Athena heard him
and lightened his limbs, feet, and hands above.
Then she came and stood beside him and said:
“Have courage, Diomedes, as you fight
the Trojans. I have put in your chest the might
of your father, fearless Tydeus, horseman
of the great shield, and I have lifted the mist
from your eyes so you can clearly distinguish god
from man. Do not fight face-to-face against any
immortal god who might try to test you, but if
the daughter of Zeus, Aphrodite, enters the fray,
then you may stab her with your sharp bronze.”

So gleaming-eyed Athena said and departed,
and the son of Tydeus returned to the front
ranks. He had fought the Trojans eagerly before,
but now three times more fury took hold, as when
a shepherd protecting his flock injures a fence-
jumping lion; rather than killing him, the wound
increases his strength, forcing the shepherd
to retreat into the farmhouse while the sheep are
routed, their bloodied bodies heaped into piles,
after which the lion leaps back over the fence.
Thus did Diomedes bring fury to the Trojans.

Then he slew Astynous and Hyperion, herder
of men: one with his bronze spear above the nipple,
the other with his great sword on the collarbone,
severing his shoulder from the neck to the back.
He left them to pursue Abas and Polyidus,
sons of the elderly dream diviner Eurydamas;
the old man could no longer read their dreams,
for mighty Diomedes had slain them. Then he
went after Xanthus and Thoön, beloved sons
of Phaenops, who was worn with woe in his old age,
for he sired no other sons to inherit his property.
Diomedes killed them, stripping them of their souls,
and Phaenops wailed in grief over his wretched loss,
since he could not welcome them home from war
and distant kin would inherit his possessions.

Then he killed Dardanian Priam’s two sons,
Echemmon and Chromius, both in the same chariot.
Like a lion leaping onto a herd and breaking
the neck of a calf or cow as it grazes in a pasture,
so the son of Tydeus harshly forced them
from their chariot, stripped their armor, and gave
their horses to his men to drive to the ships.

Aeneas saw Diomedes decimating the ranks
and set out into the chaos of soldiers and spears
in hopes of finding godlike Pandarus.
Finding the brave and bold son of Lycaon,
he came and stood before him and said to him:
“Pandarus, where are your bow, your winged
arrows, and your unmatched skill that cannot
be equaled in this land or in Lycia? Come,
lift your hands in prayer and shoot an arrow
at this mighty man who has harmed the Trojans
by breaking many great men at the knees—
unless he is a wrathful god angry at the Trojans
over some sacrifice, for a god’s wrath is deadly.”

Then the shining son of Lycaon replied:
“Aeneas, bronze-clad counselor of the Trojans,
the man resembles the skilled son of Tydeus
for he has his shield, his helmet’s hollowed eyes,
and his horses; still, I cannot say if he is man
or god. But if he is the skilled warrior Diomedes,
then some immortal god with shoulders wrapped
in clouds must be beside him, deflecting
my speedy arrow just as it was to strike him.
Just now I shot my missile into his right shoulder,
and it drove straight through his hollow armor;
I said that I would send him to Aïdoneus,^[4]
but it did not end him; and now a god is furious.
Neither horses nor chariot are available to me,
but there are eleven beautiful chariots in Lycaon’s
great halls, all newly-made and covered in cloth;
and beside each one stands a pair of yoked
horses feeding on light barley and oats.
In fact, as I was leaving our stately home,
the old warrior Lycaon gave me stern orders:
that I should mount the horses and chariot
and lead the Trojans into the fury of battle,
but I did not obey, as would have been best.
I feared the horses would suffer in the crunch
of men, for they were used to eating their fill.
I left them behind and came to Ilios on foot,
trusting in my bow—but it was no help. I have
already shot at two great leaders, the sons
of Tydeus and Atreus, hitting both and drawing
blood, but this only angered them. Thus it
was a dreadful day when I took my curved
bow from its peg and led my Trojans to lovely
Ilios as a favor to noble Hector. If I ever return
home and set my eyes upon my father’s land,
my wife, and my high-roofed home, then let
some stranger sever my head from my neck
if I do not break my bow in half with my hands
and toss it in a blazing fire, for it is useless to me.”

The Trojan leader Aeneas then replied to him:
“Do not speak in this way; things will not improve
until we secure horses and chariots and fight
this man face-to-face, weapon against weapon.
Instead, mount my chariot, so you may see
what the Trojan horses are like as they dash
back and forth across the plain, either charging
or fleeing. They will bring us safely to the city,
should Zeus again grant favor to Diomedes,
son of Tydeus. So take the whip and glistening
reins and I will dismount from the horses to fight;
or you fight this man, and I will take the horses.”

Then the noble son of Lycaon answered him:
“Aeneas, you hold the reins and drive the horses
for they are used to your driving of the curved
chariot, and if we need to flee from Diomedes
and the horses do not hear your voice, they may
run wild with fear and forget to carry us from battle;
then the great-hearted son of Tydeus will rush us,
kill us, and drive off the single-footed horses.
But if you drive your chariot and your horses,
then I will meet his attack with my sharp spear.”

So they mounted the well-made chariot
and drove the swift horses against the son
of Tydeus. Seeing them, Sthenelus, noble
son of Capaneus, quickly said to Diomedes:
“Son of Tydeus, Diomedes, dear to my heart,
I see two mighty men with unmeasured strength
eager to fight you. One is the skilled bowman
Pandarus who boasts of being Lycaon’s son;
the other is Aeneas who boasts that his father
is noble Anchises and his mother Aphrodite.
Come, let us draw back in our chariot and not
rush to the front—or you may lose your life.”

With a scowling glance, Diomedes replied:
“You will never persuade me to flee, for it is
not in my nature to shirk from a fight or cower
in fear, and my might is unimpaired. I will
not mount the chariot but will face them
as I am, for Pallas Athena will not let me flee.
But the swift horses of these men will not carry
them away from us, even if one escapes. And I
will tell you another thing, and take it to heart:
if Athena of many counsels grants me the honor
of killing them both, you must hold our swift
horses here, tether the reins to the chariot’s rail,
make a rush for Aeneas’ horses, and drive them
from the Trojans to the well-greaved Achaeans,
for they are from the stock given to Troy
by Zeus in payment for his son Ganymede:
the finest of all horses under the sun. King
of men Anchises stole them and bred them
with his mares without Laomedon’s knowledge.
Six of this fine breed were born to his house;
he kept four, rearing them in his manger,
and gave these two devisers of doom to Aeneas.
If we take them, we will win great glory.”

While they were speaking to one another,
the Trojans drove their swift horses ever closer,
and the shining son of Lycaon said to Diomedes:
“Son of noble Tydeus, stout-hearted and fierce,
my bitter arrow did not defeat you before,
so now I will see if my spear can hit its mark.”

He hurled his long-shadowed spear and struck
the shield of Tydeus’ son, and the bronze point
cut through the shield and hit the breastplate.
And the glorious son of Lycaon cried out:
“You are hit clean through the flank and will not
last long, I think; but you have given me glory.”

Mighty Diomedes was unafraid, saying to him:
“You missed me, but you two will not escape
until one of you has fallen and steady-shielded
warrior Ares has taken his fill of your blood.”

He then threw, and Athena directed the spear
at Pandarus’ nose and eye, and the sturdy bronze
shattered his white teeth and cut off his tongue.
The point came out at the base of his chin,
and he fell from the chariot, his flashing armor
rattling. The frightened horses quickly jolted
aside as his soul and strength abandoned him.

Aeneas darted down with his shield and long spear,
fearing the Achaeans would drag the body away.
Like a proud, powerful lion, he stood over him,
holding out his spear and well-balanced shield,
waiting to kill any who came near, and uttering
a terrible cry. But Tydeus’ son grabbed a large
boulder no two mortal men of today could lift,
though he easily lifted it by himself. He hurled
this and hit Aeneas on the hip where the thigh
meets the hip joint, a place men call the cup.
The jagged stone smashed the cup, severing both
tendons and cutting away the skin, and the hero fell
to his knees and stayed there, leaning on the dirt
with his strong hands as darkness covered his eyes.

And Aeneas, lord of men, would have died
but for the keen eyes of his mother, Aphrodite,
Zeus’ daughter, who bore him to Anchises, the ox-
herder; she threw her white arms around her dear
son and put a fold of her shining robe in front
of him as a shield should any mounted Danaan
try to spear him in the chest and take his soul.

She removed her beloved son from the battle,
but Capaneus’ son did not forget his promise
to great-shouter Diomedes. He took his single-
hoofed horses from the chaos and tethered
their reins to the chariot rail; then he went
after Aeneas’ flowing-maned horses, drove
them from the Trojans to the well-greaved
Achaeans, and gave them to his dear friend
Deïpylos, whose heart he prized above all
others, and he drove them to the hollow ships.
Then Sthenelus mounted his chariot, took
the reins, and drove his strong-hoofed horse
in pursuit of Tydeus’ son, who was chasing
the lady of Kypros^[5] with his ruthless bronze,
for he knew her to be a weak goddess, not one
to dominate in battle like Athena or Enyo,
sacker of cities. When he caught up to her
in the battle throng, great-hearted Diomedes
thrust his sharp spear at her, and the bronze
tip tore into the ambrosial cloth made for her
by the Graces themselves, cutting her skin
on the palm of her gentle hand; out flowed
ichor, the blood of the gods, for they do not
eat food or drink sparkling wine and so are
bloodless and are called immortals. She cried
out in pain and dropped her son, but Phoebus
Apollo saved him in his arms, hiding him
in a dark mist so the swift-horse Danaans
could not spear his chest and end his life.
But war-crier Diomedes shouted at her:
“Give up this war and chaos, daughter of Zeus.
Is deceiving weak women not enough for you?
If you join the battle regularly, you will dread
the word war even when spoken from afar.”

He spoke, and she left in agony; wind-swift
Iris led her from the battle, consumed by pain,
her beautiful skin blackened. Soon she found
furious Ares sitting to the left of the battle,
his spear leaning on a cloud near two swift
horses; she fell to one knee and begged her dear
brother for his horses with golden frontlets:
“Save me, dear brother. Give me your horses,
so I can go to Olympus, the home of the gods.
I am in pain, wounded by a mortal, the son
of Tydeus, who now could challenge even Zeus.”

So Ares gave her the horses with golden frontlets,
and she took her grieving heart and boarded
the chariot. Iris followed her, took the reins,
whipped the horses into a gallop, and soon
arrived at their home on steep Olympus.
Quick-footed Iris tethered and unyoked
the horses and fed them ambrosial fodder,
and Aphrodite fell to the knees of Dione,
her mother, who held her daughter in her arms
and caressed her with her hands, asking:
“Dear child, which of the gods has harmed you,
as if you were doing wicked deeds before all?”

And ever-smiling Aphrodite answered her:
“Tydeus’ son, arrogant Diomedes, wounded me,
for I was carrying away from battle my dear son
Aeneas, whom I love more than any other mortal.
This is no longer a bitter battle between Trojans
and Achaeans, for the Danaans fight like gods.”

Then glorious goddess Dione said to her:
“My child, be strong and endure your suffering,
for many who dwell on Olympus have suffered
at men’s hands when we inflict pain on one
another. Ares suffered when Aloeus’ sons, Otos
and mighty Ephialtes, chained him in powerful
bonds and encased him in a bronze jar for thirteen
months; and Ares, unbeatable in war, might
have died had his stepmother, the fair Eëriboia,
not brought word to Hermes, who rescued Ares,
now greatly weakened by the powerful bonds.
Hera also suffered when Amphitryon’s mighty
son shot her in the right breast with a three-
barbed arrow, bringing her unbearable pain.
Hades, too, suffered a swift arrow when this
same man, son of aegis-bearing Zeus, shot him
among the dead of Pylos, bringing him agony.
Still, he went to Zeus’ house on high Olympus,
his heart pierced with untold pain and his soul
distressed, for the arrow was driven into his stout
shoulder. But Paean applied an herb that eased
his pain and healed him, for he was not of mortal
stock. Hard-hearted and unafraid of unseemly
violence, Herakles hurt the Olympian gods
with his arrows. Bright-eyed Athena set Tydeus’
son upon you, but his foolish mind does not know
that no man lives long fighting with the gods,
nor do his children come and sit at his knees
after he returns from fighting a dreaded war.
The son of Tydeus may be very strong, but he
must watch out lest he fight one stronger than
you, or Aegialeia, wise daughter of Adrastus
and fair wife of horse-taming Diomedes,
will awaken her dear servants with cries
for her husband, the best of the Achaeans.”

With both hands, she wiped Aphrodite’s arms
of ichor, healing her and stemming the pain.
But Athena and Hera looked on and mocked
Zeus, son of Cronos, hoping to provoke him,
and gleaming-eyed Athena was first to speak:
“Father Zeus, would you be angry if I spoke?
It seems that the lady of Kypros is urging some
Achaean women to follow her much-beloved
Trojans, and as she caressed these women’s fair
robes, she tore her hand on a golden brooch.”

Hearing this, the father of gods and men smiled
and called to golden Aphrodite, saying to her:
“You, my child, are not meant to wage war
but to attend to the delights of marriage,
so leave warcraft to swift Ares and Athena.”

As these gods were talking to one another,
war-crier Diomedes attacked Aeneas. Though
he knew Apollo’s hands protected him, he was
too eager to kill Aeneas and strip off his fine
armor to stand in awe of the great god. Three
times he attempted to attack and kill him,
and three times Apollo fended off his shining
shield. But as he made his fourth godlike attack,
Apollo called out to him with a terrible cry:
“Take thought and give up, son of Tydeus.
You are not a god, and men who walk the earth
can never equal the race of immortals.”

So he said, and Diomedes stepped back
slightly to avoid far-shooter Apollo’s wrath.
Then Apollo took Aeneas out of the throng
and sent him to his temple in sacred Pergamus.
Here, Leto and Artemis, shedder of arrows,
healed his wounds in the grand sanctuary.
But silver-bowed Apollo fashioned a phantom
in the likeness of Aeneas, armor and all.
Around this, Trojans and noble Achaeans
hacked at one another and at their round, ox-
hide shields and at their light, fluttering bucklers.
Then Phoebus Apollo called to furious Ares:
“Ares, Ares, destroyer of men and blood-stained
stormer of walls, can you not hold back Tydeus’
son, who would now fight father Zeus himself?
He first wounded Kypros on the hand, near
the wrist, and then went after me like a god.”

He spoke and seated himself atop Pergamus
while cruel Ares joined the Trojan ranks
disguised as swift Acamas, the Thracian leader,
and stirred the noble sons of Priam, saying:
“Sons of noble King Priam, for how long
will you allow the Achaeans to kill your men?
Will it be until they reach our well-built gates?
Lying dead is one we honored like noble Hector:
Aeneas, son of great-hearted Anchises. Come,
let us retrieve our comrade from the battlefield.”

His words stirred each man’s strength and spirit.
Then Sarpedon strongly scolded noble Hector:
“Hector, where has your once mighty rage gone?
You once said you could hold the city without
allies, just your brothers and sister’s husbands.
But I see none of them here now, for they are
off cowering in fear like dogs around lions
while we mere allies do all of the fighting.
For I am an ally who comes from afar,
from distant Lycia by the eddying Xanthos.
There I left my beloved wife, my infant son,
and my riches—things all men desire.
Still, I urge on the Lycians and am anxious
myself to fight my foe, though I have nothing
for the Achaeans to carry away as spoils.
But you stand there and do not even urge
your men to remain and defend their wives.
Watch out or you will all be caught in the mesh
of a net and become spoils for our enemy
who will then quickly sack your strong city.
Concern yourself with all this day and night
and beg the leaders of your famed allies
to hold their ground and silence this rebuke.”

Sarpedon’s words hit Hector in the heart;
at once, he lept to the ground from his chariot
wielding two spears and ran through the army
urging all to fight and waking the din of war.
His men whirled about to face the Achaeans,
but the Argives fearlessly stood their ground.
Just as wind carries chaff over holy threshing
floors where men winnow, and fair Demeter
sends bursts of wind to separate grain from chaff
until the chaff becomes white, so the Achaean
faces became white under clouds of dust stirred
to the brazen heavens by their horses’ hooves
as charioteers spun around to rejoin the fighting.
Strong hands drove them forward, and furious
Ares was everywhere, shrouding the battle
in night to aid the Trojans, fulfilling the charge
of Phoebus Apollo of the golden sword, who
ordered him to rouse the Trojans when he saw
Pallas Athena depart, for she aided the Danaans.
Then Apollo sent Aeneas away from the rich
sanctuary and filled his breast with vigor.
Aeneas joined his comrades, and they rejoiced
to see him alive, safe and sound and full
of vigor; but they did not question him, too
occupied by the toil brought by the silver bow,
by murderous Ares, and by ceaseless Strife.

Then both Ajaxes, Odysseus, and Diomedes
all pressed the Danaans to fight, since they
themselves feared neither the Trojan might
nor their attacks. Like unmoving clouds placed
atop lofty mountains by Cronos’ son when
the North Wind and other furious winds sleep,
winds that blow whistling cries over shadowy
clouds and scatter them, so the Danaans stood
firm and unflinching against the Trojans.
And Atreus’ son went among them, calling out:
“Be men, my friends. Take your fill of courage
and respect each other in the fierce fighting.
When men show respect, more are saved than slain,
and no glory comes from fleeing, nor any defense.”

So he said and quickly hurled a spear, striking
great-hearted Aeneas’ comrade, Deïcoön, son
of Pergasus, honored by the Trojans like a son
of Priam for his readiness to fight on the front
lines. Lord Agamemnon threw his spear at him,
and the bronze spear tip hit his shield and drove
straight through his belt and into his lower belly,
and he crashed to the ground, his armor clanging.

Then Aeneas slew two great Danaan warriors,
the sons of Diocles, Crethon and Orsilochus.
Diocles lived a wealthy life in well-built Pheres,
and was descended from the river Alpheius,
whose streams flow wide through Pylian lands.
Alpheius was the father of Orsilochus, ruler
of men, and Orsilochus fathered great-hearted
Diocles, to whom were born twin sons, Crethon
and Orsilochus, skilled warriors both. When
they came of age, they joined the Argive black
ships headed to Ilios, land of horses, seeking
recompense for Agamemnon and Menelaus,
the sons of Atreus; but death intervened.
In the same way that two mountain lions,
raised by their mother in a deep, dark woods,
will prey upon cattle and well-grown sheep
and will lay waste to the homes of herders
until they are killed by men with sharp swords,
so too were these two bested by the hands
of Aeneas, and so they fell like tall fir trees.

But warlike Menelaus pitied the slain and strode
past the front lines armed in gleaming bronze,
carrying a spear, and stirred on by Ares, who
hoped he might be killed by Aeneas’ hands.
But Antilochus, great-hearted Nestor’s son,
saw him and followed, fearing the shepherd
of men might be harmed, thereby frustrating
all of their efforts. As the men faced each other,
their sharp spears extended and ready for battle,
Antilochus came and stood beside Menelaus.
Aeneas, though a swift fighter, did not remain
when he saw two men standing firm before him.
So these two pulled the dead to the Achaean
army, left the unlucky men in their comrades’
hands, and then returned to the front lines.

These two then slew Ares-blessed Pylaemenes,
the great-hearted Paphlagonian warrior chief.
He stood his ground, but Menelaus, Atreus’ son,
shot his famed spear straight into his collar-bone.
Then Antilochus hurled a stone at his charioteer,
Mydon, noble son of Atymnius, who was turning
his horses. It hit his elbow, and the ivory reins
fell from his hands and dropped to the dust.
Antilochus then charged and drove his sword
into his temple; Mydon gasped and tumbled
from the chariot, landed headfirst in deep sand,
and stayed there until his horses’ hooves trampled
him into the dust. Then Antilochus whipped
the horses and drove them to the Achaean army.

Hector saw them across the ranks and rushed
after them, crying out, and the mighty Trojan
battalions followed. Ares and queen Enyo led
them: she carried the shameless chaos of war
while he held a monstrous spear in his hands,
moving first ahead of Hector, then behind.

Seeing him, war-crier Diomedes shuddered.
Just as a man crossing a plain stops helplessly
before a swift-running river flowing to the sea,
watches it roar and foam, and steps back,
so Tydeus’ son drew back, telling his men:
“My friends, we all marvel at godlike Hector’s
skill with the spear and his boldness in battle,
but a god is always nearby, protecting him.
Now it is Ares disguised as a mortal man,
so keep facing the Trojans as you give
ground, and do not seek battle with the gods.”

So he said as the Trojans closed in on them.
Then Hector killed Menesthes and Anchialus,
two skilled fighters riding in the same chariot.
As they fell, great Telamonian Ajax felt pity;
standing close by, he hurled his shining spear,
hitting Amphius, son of Selagus, a rich man
from Paesus who owned many cornfields,
but fate led him to ally with Priam and his sons.
Ajax hit the man below his belt, the long-
shadowed spear stuck into his lower belly,
and he fell with a thud. As shining Ajax rushed
to strip his armor, the Trojans showered him
with sharp spears, but his shield caught many.
He put his foot on the corpse and pulled out
the bronze spear, but the rain of missiles
prevented him from stripping the fine armor.
He feared the powerful defense of the brave,
spear-wielding Trojan lords who faced him,
and though he was strong, noble, and brave,
they forced him back, and he retreated, stumbling.

As the two armies continued their struggle,
Tlepolemus, son of Heracles, mighty and tall,
was roused by resistless fate against godlike
Sarpedon. When the two drew closer—one
a son, the other a grandson of cloud-gatherer
Zeus—Tlepolemus spoke first, saying to him:
“Sarpedon, advisor to the Lycians, why are
you here, cowering in fear? You cannot fight.
Those calling you the progeny of aegis-bearing
Zeus must be lying, for you are nothing like
those men sprung from the gods in days of old.
Such a man, they say, was mighty Herakles,
my father, bold of spirit and lion-hearted,
who once came here for Laomedon’s horses
with just six ships and a few men, but still he
sacked Ilios and desolated the city’s streets.
But you are a coward, and your men perish;
your coming here from Lycia could never aid
Troy, no matter your strength, for I will defeat
you and send you through the gates of Hades.”

In reply, Sarpedon, the Lycian leader, said:
“Tlepolemus, Herakles did destroy sacred Ilios
thanks to the recklessness of lordly Laomedon
who rewarded his noble deeds with insults
and withheld the horses he came so far to get.
But your only reward from me today will be
black death by my hands, and you will honor
me as my spear sends your soul to Hades.”

So said Sarpedon as the other raised his ashen
spear, and at the same time, both men hurled
their long spears. Sarpedon hit Tlepolemus
square in the neck; the pont sliced clean through,
and black night enveloped his eyes like a shroud.
And Tlepolemus’ long spear hit Sarpedon’s
left thigh; the point passed through and grazed
the bone, but his father kept death at bay.

Then godlike Sarpedon’s noble comrades carried
him out of the battle, the heavy spear dragging
behind him. In their haste, they did not think
to draw the ashen spear from his thigh so he could
stand—such was the difficulty of handling him.

On the other side, well-greaved Achaeans carried
Tlepolemus from battle as noble, stout-hearted
Odysseus watched, his soul burning with rage.
He pondered in his mind and heart whether
to chase after the son of loud-thundering
Zeus or to take more Lycians lives. But fate did
not decree for great-hearted Odysseus to slay
the noble son of Zeus with his sharp spear,
so Athena turned his mind to the Lycian forces,
and he killed Coeranus, Alastor, Chromius,
Alcandrus, Halius, Noëmon, and Prytanis.
And Odysseus would have killed more Lycians
had gleaming-helmed Hector not spotted him.
He tore through the front lines, terrifying
the Danaans, but Sarpedon, son of Zeus,
rejoiced at his approach, and said to him:
“Son of Priam, do not let the Danaans prey
upon me—protect me! Should I die, let it be
in your city, for I am not fated to return
to my home in my beloved fatherland
to comfort my dear wife and infant son.”

So he said, but Hector of the gleaming helm
hurried past without reply, for he was intent
on driving the Argives back and taking many
lives. But godlike Sarpedon’s comrades sat him
under a sacred oak of aegis-bearing Zeus,
and mighty Pelagon, his dear friend, pushed
the ashen spear through and out of his thigh.
A mist fell over his eyes and he breathed his last,
but then a North Wind gust blew over him,
returning the spirit he had so painfully lost.

But the Argives, pressed by Ares and bronze-clad
Hector, did not turn and flee to the black ships
or stand and fight but drew ever backwards,
for they knew Ares was with the Trojans.

Who was the first and who was last to be slain
by Priam’s son Hector and brazen Ares?
Godlike Teuthras was first, followed by horse-
driver Orestes, the Aetolian warrior Trechus,
Oenomaus, Oenops’ son Helenus, and Oresbius
of the glancing guard, who lived in Hyle by lake
Cephisian, worried for his wealth; and near
him other Boeotians lived in rich, fertile lands.

When golden-haired goddess Hera noticed
them killing the Argives in fierce battle,
she quickly spoke winged-words to Athena:
“Well, child of aegis-bearing Zeus, Atrytone,
our pledge to Menelaus—that he return home
after sacking well-walled Ilios—will be in vain
if we allow deadly Ares to rage in this way.
Come, let us focus on our own fighting fury.”

She spoke, and gleaming-eyed Athena obeyed.
Goddess Hera, eldest daughter of Cronos,
harnessed the gold-filleted horses, and Hebe
quickly put the bronze chariot’s curved, eight-
spoked wheels onto the iron axle. The felloes
were made of imperishable gold and fitted
with bronze tires, a wonder to look upon,
and silver naves spun round on both sides.
The cart was plated with silver and gold
straps with two rails circling it. The chariot’s
pole was silver, and on its end Hebe bound
the fine gold yoke and fastened the golden
harness; and beneath the yoke, Hera led
the swift-footed horses, eager for battle.

But Athena, daughter of aegis-bearing Zeus,
let fall on her father’s floor her ornamented
robe, which she herself had made, donned
the tunic of cloud-gathering Zeus, and armed
herself for the miseries of war. She threw
about her shoulder the tasseled, terrible aegis,
crowned by Panic, Strife, Strength, and cold
Pursuit, and in the center was the head
of the Gorgon, terrible and dire, a portent
of aegis-bearing Zeus. On her head she set
a helmet with two horns and four gold plates
embossed with soldiers from a hundred cities.
Then she stepped onto the fiery chariot
and seized the heavy, strong spear used to rout
the ranks of men who anger a mighty sire’s
daughter. Hera lashed the horses with her whip,
and heaven’s gates groaned open by order
of the Hours, who control whether the thick
clouds of Olympus are opened or closed.
They held their horses steady through the gates
and found the son of Cronos sitting alone
on the topmost peak of rocky Olympus.
White-armed goddess Hera held her horses
and spoke to Zeus, Cronos’ son, asking him:
“Father Zeus, are you not angered by Ares
senselessly slaughtering so many Achaeans
just to spite me, while Kypros and Apollo
of the silver bow sit back and delight in inciting
this foolish maniac with no sense of justice?
Father Zeus, would it anger you if I strike
Ares painfully and drive him from battle?”

Then cloud-gatherer Zeus answered, saying:
“Go and send Athena, driver of spoils, against
him, for she is best able to bring him pain.”

So he said, and white-armed Hera did not
disobey but whipped her horses, who eagerly
flew between the earth and the starry skies.
As far as a man on a mountain can see while
gazing into the haze over the wine-dark sea,
so far do the roaring horses of the gods leap
in a single bound. When they came to Troy,
where the Simoïs and Scamander rivers join,
white-armed goddess Hera stayed her horses,
unyoked them, and covered them in a thick mist;
and Simoïs made ambrosia for them to graze on.

Though eager to protect the Achaean warriors,
the goddesses stepped forward like timid doves
until they came to the place where the bravest
and best men were gathered around mighty
horse-tamer Diomedes like ravenous lions
or wild boars whose strength never waivers.
White-armed goddess Hera stood there, disguised
as great-hearted, brazen Stentor whose voice
was as great as fifty men, and she cried out:
“Argives, fair to behold but disgraceful in deed!
When noble Achilles fought in battle, the Trojans
could not get past the Dardanian gates, so afraid
were they of the man’s mighty spear; but now
they fight at the hollow ships, far from the city.”

Her words stirred each man’s strength and spirit.
But gleaming-eyed Athena rushed to Diomedes
and found the king beside his horses and chariot
cooling the arrow wound given him by Pandarus.
The sweat under the broad strap of his rounded
shield troubled him and his arm was weary, so he
lifted the strap and wiped away the black blood.
The goddess seized the horses’ yoke and said:
“Diomedes, you are not much like your father.
Tydeus was small in size but a true fighter.
Once he left the Achaeans and went alone
to Thebes as an envoy among the Cadmeians.
I ordered him to feast at ease in their halls
and not to fight or distinguish himself,
but his stout heart challenged the Cadmeian
youth and easily defeated them all—thanks
to the help I provided him. Now I also stand
beside you, protect you, and urge you to fight
earnestly against the Trojans, for either fighting
has made your limbs fall weak or terror has
drained your spirit. Truly, you are no child
of Tydeus, the son of wise Oeneus.”

In reply to her, mighty Diomedes said:
“I know you, daughter of aegis-bearing Zeus,
and so will speak honestly and hide nothing.
Neither lifeless terror nor hesitance hold me;
rather, I obey your order not to fight face-
to-face with the blessed gods unless Aphrodite,
daughter of Zeus, joins the battle, in which
case I can pierce her with my sharp bronze.
This is why I have drawn back and have
ordered the Argives to gather beside me here;
for I know that it is Ares who leads the fight.”

Then gleaming-eyed goddess Athena replied:
“Diomedes, son of Tydeus, dear to my heart,
you do not need to fear Ares or any other
immortal, for I am here to defend you.
So drive your single-hoofed horse at furious
Ares, strike him in close combat, and do
not fear that baneful, two-faced liar who
recently promised Hera and me that he
would fight the Trojans and aid the Argives.
Now he cares nothing for us and aids Troy.”

So saying, she pulled Sthenelus off the chariot,
and he fell to the ground and ran off; then
the battle-ready goddess boarded the chariot
with noble Diomedes, the axle creaking under
the weight of the terrible goddess and the great
man. Pallas Athena took the reins and drove
the single-hoofed horses quickly against Ares.
Blood-stained Ares was stripping the armor
from monstrous Periphas, best of the Aetolians
and noble son of Ochesius, but Athena donned
the wolf’s cap of Hades^[6] so Ares would not see her.

But when destroyer of men Ares saw noble
Diomedes, he left great Periphas where
he had first struck him and taken his life
and made straight for horse-tamer Diomedes.
As they drew near to one another, Ares
thrust his bronze spear over his horses’ yoke
and reins, intent on taking the other’s life;
but grey-eyed Athena used her hands to deflect
the spear away from the chariot and its target.
Then great war-crier Diomedes rushed him
with his bronze spear, and Pallas Athena thrust
it into Ares’ flank where his belt girded him,
drove it deep into his fair flesh, and pulled
it out again. Brazen Ares uttered a cry as great
as the cries of nine or ten thousand soldiers
when they fight with the fury of the war god.
Achaeans and Trojans alike trembled in terror
at the powerful cry of battle-mad Ares.

Just as a dark mist appears from clouds
stirred by a violent whirlwind on a hot day,
so to Diomedes did bold Ares appear
as he retreated to the clouds in wide heaven.
When he came to Olympus, home of the gods,
he sat in grief beside Zeus, son of Cronos,
pointed to the immortal blood flowing
from his wound, and cried to him in despair:
“Father Zeus, are you not enraged by these
violent acts? We gods always bring suffering
to one another when we give favor to men.
You started this war by bearing this foolish,
accursed maid who cares only for evil deeds.
All other gods on Olympus are obedient
and submissive to you, yet you say and do
nothing to restrain her; instead, you urge
her on, for she is your own child. Now she
has urged reckless Diomedes, Tydeus’ son,
to direct his fury at the immortals. First, he
wounded Kypros on the wrist near her hand;
then he rushed at me like a god. My quick
feet bore me from danger or else I would
long be lying in misery among the dead
or living powerless because of the spear strikes.”

Then cloud-gatherer Zeus scowled and said,
“Do not sit by me and whine, two-faced liar.
To me, you are the most hateful of all Olympian
gods for you relish strife, war, and fighting.
You have the rebellious spirit of your mother,
Hera; even I cannot control her with words,
and I suspect she is behind your suffering.
But I will not allow you to suffer any longer,
for you are my child, born to me by your mother.
Had you hurt other gods in this way, then long
ago you would have fallen below the Titans.”

So he said, and ordered Paean to heal him,
and Paean sprinkled herbs to soothe the pain
and mend him, for he was not of mortal stock.
Just as fig juice added to white milk quickly
thickens and curdles the liquid as it is stirred,^[7]
so too did he quickly heal furious Ares.
Hebe bathed him, clad him in fine clothes,
and sat him beside Zeus to rejoice in his glory.

Then Argive Hera and Alalcomenean Athena
returned to the halls of Zeus after stopping
the slaughter brought by Ares, plague of men.