Fire being now thrown on the ship of Protesilaus, Patroclus

      fights in the armour of Achilles—He drives the Trojans back, but

      is in the end killed by Euphorbus and Hector.



      Thus did they fight about the ship of Protesilaus. Then Patroclus

      drew near to Achilles with tears welling from his eyes, as from

      some spring whose crystal stream falls over the ledges of a high

      precipice. When Achilles saw him thus weeping he was sorry for

      him and said, “Why, Patroclus, do you stand there weeping like

      some silly child that comes running to her mother, and begs to be

      taken up and carried—she catches hold of her mother’s dress to

      stay her though she is in a hurry, and looks tearfully up until

      her mother carries her—even such tears, Patroclus, are you now

      shedding. Have you anything to say to the Myrmidons or to myself?

      or have you had news from Phthia which you alone know? They tell

      me Menoetius son of Actor is still alive, as also Peleus son of

      Aeacus, among the Myrmidons—men whose loss we two should bitterly

      deplore; or are you grieving about the Argives and the way in

      which they are being killed at the ships, through their own

      high-handed doings? Do not hide anything from me but tell me that

      both of us may know about it.”



      Then, O knight Patroclus, with a deep sigh you answered,

      “Achilles, son of Peleus, foremost champion of the Achaeans, do

      not be angry, but I weep for the disaster that has now befallen

      the Argives. All those who have been their champions so far are

      lying at the ships, wounded by sword or spear. Brave Diomed son

      of Tydeus has been hit with a spear, while famed Ulysses and

      Agamemnon have received sword-wounds; Eurypylus again has been

      struck with an arrow in the thigh; skilled apothecaries are

      attending to these heroes, and healing them of their wounds; are

      you still, O Achilles, so inexorable? May it never be my lot to

      nurse such a passion as you have done, to the baning of your own

      good name. Who in future story will speak well of you unless you

      now save the Argives from ruin? You know no pity; knight Peleus

      was not your father nor Thetis your mother, but the grey sea bore

      you and the sheer cliffs begot you, so cruel and remorseless are

      you. If however you are kept back through knowledge of some

      oracle, or if your mother Thetis has told you something from the

      mouth of Jove, at least send me and the Myrmidons with me, if I

      may bring deliverance to the Danaans. Let me moreover wear your

      armour; the Trojans may thus mistake me for you and quit the

      field, so that the hard-pressed sons of the Achaeans may have

      breathing time—which while they are fighting may hardly be. We

      who are fresh might soon drive tired men back from our ships and

      tents to their own city.”



      He knew not what he was asking, nor that he was suing for his own

      destruction. Achilles was deeply moved and answered, “What, noble

      Patroclus, are you saying? I know no prophesyings which I am

      heeding, nor has my mother told me anything from the mouth of

      Jove, but I am cut to the very heart that one of my own rank

      should dare to rob me because he is more powerful than I am.

      This, after all that I have gone through, is more than I can

      endure. The girl whom the sons of the Achaeans chose for me, whom

      I won as the fruit of my spear on having sacked a city—her has

      King Agamemnon taken from me as though I were some common

      vagrant. Still, let bygones be bygones: no man may keep his anger

      for ever; I said I would not relent till battle and the cry of

      war had reached my own ships; nevertheless, now gird my armour

      about your shoulders, and lead the Myrmidons to battle, for the

      dark cloud of Trojans has burst furiously over our fleet; the

      Argives are driven back on to the beach, cooped within a narrow

      space, and the whole people of Troy has taken heart to sally out

      against them, because they see not the visor of my helmet

      gleaming near them. Had they seen this, there would not have been

      a creek nor grip that had not been filled with their dead as they

      fled back again. And so it would have been, if only King

      Agamemnon had dealt fairly by me. As it is the Trojans have beset

      our host. Diomed son of Tydeus no longer wields his spear to

      defend the Danaans, neither have I heard the voice of the son of

      Atreus coming from his hated head, whereas that of murderous

      Hector rings in my cars as he gives orders to the Trojans, who

      triumph over the Achaeans and fill the whole plain with their cry

      of battle. But even so, Patroclus, fall upon them and save the

      fleet, lest the Trojans fire it and prevent us from being able to

      return. Do, however, as I now bid you, that you may win me great

      honour from all the Danaans, and that they may restore the girl

      to me again and give me rich gifts into the bargain. When you

      have driven the Trojans from the ships, come back again. Though

      Juno’s thundering husband should put triumph within your reach,

      do not fight the Trojans further in my absence, or you will rob

      me of glory that should be mine. And do not for lust of battle go

      on killing the Trojans nor lead the Achaeans on to Ilius, lest

      one of the ever-living gods from Olympus attack you—for Phoebus

      Apollo loves them well: return when you have freed the ships from

      peril, and let others wage war upon the plain. Would, by father

      Jove, Minerva, and Apollo, that not a single man of all the

      Trojans might be left alive, nor yet of the Argives, but that we

      two might be alone left to tear aside the mantle that veils the

      brow of Troy.”



      Thus did they converse. But Ajax could no longer hold his ground

      for the shower of darts that rained upon him; the will of Jove

      and the javelins of the Trojans were too much for him; the helmet

      that gleamed about his temples rang with the continuous clatter

      of the missiles that kept pouring on to it and on to the

      cheek-pieces that protected his face. Moreover his left shoulder

      was tired with having held his shield so long, yet for all this,

      let fly at him as they would, they could not make him give

      ground. He could hardly draw his breath, the sweat rained from

      every pore of his body, he had not a moment’s respite, and on all

      sides he was beset by danger upon danger.



      And now, tell me, O Muses that hold your mansions on Olympus, how

      fire was thrown upon the ships of the Achaeans. Hector came close

      up and let drive with his great sword at the ashen spear of Ajax.

      He cut it clean in two just behind where the point was fastened

      on to the shaft of the spear. Ajax, therefore, had now nothing

      but a headless spear, while the bronze point flew some way off

      and came ringing down on to the ground. Ajax knew the hand of

      heaven in this, and was dismayed at seeing that Jove had now left

      him utterly defenceless and was willing victory for the Trojans.

      Therefore he drew back, and the Trojans flung fire upon the ship

      which was at once wrapped in flame.



      The fire was now flaring about the ship’s stern, whereon Achilles

      smote his two thighs and said to Patroclus, “Up, noble knight,

      for I see the glare of hostile fire at our fleet; up, lest they

      destroy our ships, and there be no way by which we may retreat.

      Gird on your armour at once while I call our people together.”



      As he spoke Patroclus put on his armour. First he greaved his

      legs with greaves of good make, and fitted with ancle-clasps of

      silver; after this he donned the cuirass of the son of Aeacus,

      richly inlaid and studded. He hung his silver-studded sword of

      bronze about his shoulders, and then his mighty shield. On his

      comely head he set his helmet, well wrought, with a crest of

      horse-hair that nodded menacingly above it. He grasped two

      redoubtable spears that suited his hands, but he did not take the

      spear of noble Achilles, so stout and strong, for none other of

      the Achaeans could wield it, though Achilles could do so easily.

      This was the ashen spear from Mount Pelion, which Chiron had cut

      upon a mountain top and had given to Peleus, wherewith to deal

      out death among heroes. He bade Automedon yoke his horses with

      all speed, for he was the man whom he held in honour next after

      Achilles, and on whose support in battle he could rely most

      firmly. Automedon therefore yoked the fleet horses Xanthus and

      Balius, steeds that could fly like the wind: these were they whom

      the harpy Podarge bore to the west wind, as she was grazing in a

      meadow by the waters of the river Oceanus. In the side traces he

      set the noble horse Pedasus, whom Achilles had brought away with

      him when he sacked the city of Eetion, and who, mortal steed

      though he was, could take his place along with those that were

      immortal.



      Meanwhile Achilles went about everywhere among the tents, and

      bade his Myrmidons put on their armour. Even as fierce ravening

      wolves that are feasting upon a homed stag which they have killed

      upon the mountains, and their jaws are red with blood—they go in

      a pack to lap water from the clear spring with their long thin

      tongues; and they reek of blood and slaughter; they know not what

      fear is, for it is hunger drives them—even so did the leaders and

      counsellors of the Myrmidons gather round the good squire of the

      fleet descendant of Aeacus, and among them stood Achilles himself

      cheering on both men and horses.



      Fifty ships had noble Achilles brought to Troy, and in each there

      was a crew of fifty oarsmen. Over these he set five captains whom

      he could trust, while he was himself commander over them all.

      Menesthius of the gleaming corslet, son to the river Spercheius

      that streams from heaven, was captain of the first company. Fair

      Polydora daughter of Peleus bore him to ever-flowing Spercheius—a

      woman mated with a god—but he was called son of Borus son of

      Perieres, with whom his mother was living as his wedded wife, and

      who gave great wealth to gain her. The second company was led by

      noble Eudorus, son to an unwedded woman. Polymele, daughter of

      Phylas the graceful dancer, bore him; the mighty slayer of Argos

      was enamoured of her as he saw her among the singing women at a

      dance held in honour of Diana the rushing huntress of the golden

      arrows; he therefore—Mercury, giver of all good—went with her

      into an upper chamber, and lay with her in secret, whereon she

      bore him a noble son Eudorus, singularly fleet of foot and in

      fight valiant. When Ilithuia goddess of the pains of childbirth

      brought him to the light of day, and he saw the face of the sun,

      mighty Echecles son of Actor took the mother to wife, and gave

      great wealth to gain her, but her father Phylas brought the child

      up, and took care of him, doting as fondly upon him as though he

      were his own son. The third company was led by Pisander son of

      Maemalus, the finest spearman among all the Myrmidons next to

      Achilles’ own comrade Patroclus. The old knight Phoenix was

      captain of the fourth company, and Alcimedon, noble son of

      Laerceus of the fifth.



      When Achilles had chosen his men and had stationed them all with

      their captains, he charged them straitly saying, “Myrmidons,

      remember your threats against the Trojans while you were at the

      ships in the time of my anger, and you were all complaining of

      me. ‘Cruel son of Peleus,’ you would say, ‘your mother must have

      suckled you on gall, so ruthless are you. You keep us here at the

      ships against our will; if you are so relentless it were better

      we went home over the sea.’ Often have you gathered and thus

      chided with me. The hour is now come for those high feats of arms

      that you have so long been pining for, therefore keep high hearts

      each one of you to do battle with the Trojans.”



      With these words he put heart and soul into them all, and they

      serried their companies yet more closely when they heard the

      words of their king. As the stones which a builder sets in the

      wall of some high house which is to give shelter from the

      winds—even so closely were the helmets and bossed shields set

      against one another. Shield pressed on shield, helm on helm, and

      man on man; so close were they that the horse-hair plumes on the

      gleaming ridges of their helmets touched each other as they bent

      their heads.



      In front of them all two men put on their armour—Patroclus and

      Automedon—two men, with but one mind to lead the Myrmidons. Then

      Achilles went inside his tent and opened the lid of the strong

      chest which silver-footed Thetis had given him to take on board

      ship, and which she had filled with shirts, cloaks to keep out

      the cold, and good thick rugs. In this chest he had a cup of rare

      workmanship, from which no man but himself might drink, nor would

      he make offering from it to any other god save only to father

      Jove. He took the cup from the chest and cleansed it with

      sulphur; this done he rinsed it clean water, and after he had

      washed his hands he drew wine. Then he stood in the middle of the

      court and prayed, looking towards heaven, and making his

      drink-offering of wine; nor was he unseen of Jove whose joy is in

      thunder. “King Jove,” he cried, “lord of Dodona, god of the

      Pelasgi, who dwellest afar, you who hold wintry Dodona in your

      sway, where your prophets the Selli dwell around you with their

      feet unwashed and their couches made upon the ground—if you heard

      me when I prayed to you aforetime, and did me honour while you

      sent disaster on the Achaeans, vouchsafe me now the fulfilment of

      yet this further prayer. I shall stay here where my ships are

      lying, but I shall send my comrade into battle at the head of

      many Myrmidons. Grant, O all-seeing Jove, that victory may go

      with him; put your courage into his heart that Hector may learn

      whether my squire is man enough to fight alone, or whether his

      might is only then so indomitable when I myself enter the turmoil

      of war. Afterwards when he has chased the fight and the cry of

      battle from the ships, grant that he may return unharmed, with

      his armour and his comrades, fighters in close combat.”



      Thus did he pray, and all-counselling Jove heard his prayer. Part

      of it he did indeed vouchsafe him—but not the whole. He granted

      that Patroclus should thrust back war and battle from the ships,

      but refused to let him come safely out of the fight.



      When he had made his drink-offering and had thus prayed, Achilles

      went inside his tent and put back the cup into his chest.



      Then he again came out, for he still loved to look upon the

      fierce fight that raged between the Trojans and Achaeans.



      Meanwhile the armed band that was about Patroclus marched on till

      they sprang high in hope upon the Trojans. They came swarming out

      like wasps whose nests are by the roadside, and whom silly

      children love to tease, whereon any one who happens to be passing

      may get stung—or again, if a wayfarer going along the road vexes

      them by accident, every wasp will come flying out in a fury to

      defend his little ones—even with such rage and courage did the

      Myrmidons swarm from their ships, and their cry of battle rose

      heavenwards. Patroclus called out to his men at the top of his

      voice, “Myrmidons, followers of Achilles son of Peleus, be men my

      friends, fight with might and with main, that we may win glory

      for the son of Peleus, who is far the foremost man at the ships

      of the Argives—he, and his close fighting followers. The son of

      Atreus King Agamemnon will thus learn his folly in showing no

      respect to the bravest of the Achaeans.”



      With these words he put heart and soul into them all, and they

      fell in a body upon the Trojans. The ships rang again with the

      cry which the Achaeans raised, and when the Trojans saw the brave

      son of Menoetius and his squire all gleaming in their armour,

      they were daunted and their battalions were thrown into

      confusion, for they thought the fleet son of Peleus must now have

      put aside his anger, and have been reconciled to Agamemnon; every

      one, therefore, looked round about to see whither he might fly

      for safety.



      Patroclus first aimed a spear into the middle of the press where

      men were packed most closely, by the stern of the ship of

      Protesilaus. He hit Pyraechmes who had led his Paeonian horsemen

      from the Amydon and the broad waters of the river Axius; the

      spear struck him on the right shoulder, and with a groan he fell

      backwards in the dust; on this his men were thrown into

      confusion, for by killing their leader, who was the finest

      soldier among them, Patroclus struck panic into them all. He thus

      drove them from the ship and quenched the fire that was then

      blazing—leaving the half-burnt ship to lie where it was. The

      Trojans were now driven back with a shout that rent the skies,

      while the Danaans poured after them from their ships, shouting

      also without ceasing. As when Jove, gatherer of the

      thunder-cloud, spreads a dense canopy on the top of some lofty

      mountain, and all the peaks, the jutting headlands, and forest

      glades show out in the great light that flashes from the bursting

      heavens, even so when the Danaans had now driven back the fire

      from their ships, they took breath for a little while; but the

      fury of the fight was not yet over, for the Trojans were not

      driven back in utter rout, but still gave battle, and were ousted

      from their ground only by sheer fighting.



      The fight then became more scattered, and the chieftains killed

      one another when and how they could. The valiant son of Menoetius

      first drove his spear into the thigh of Areilycus just as he was

      turning round; the point went clean through, and broke the bone

      so that he fell forward. Meanwhile Menelaus struck Thoas in the

      chest, where it was exposed near the rim of his shield, and he

      fell dead. The son of Phyleus saw Amphiclus about to attack him,

      and ere he could do so took aim at the upper part of his thigh,

      where the muscles are thicker than in any other part; the spear

      tore through all the sinews of the leg, and his eyes were closed

      in darkness. Of the sons of Nestor one, Antilochus, speared

      Atymnius, driving the point of the spear through his throat, and

      down he fell. Maris then sprang on Antilochus in hand-to-hand

      fight to avenge his brother, and bestrode the body spear in hand;

      but valiant Thrasymedes was too quick for him, and in a moment

      had struck him in the shoulder ere he could deal his blow; his

      aim was true, and the spear severed all the muscles at the root

      of his arm, and tore them right down to the bone, so he fell

      heavily to the ground and his eyes were closed in darkness. Thus

      did these two noble comrades of Sarpedon go down to Erebus slain

      by the two sons of Nestor; they were the warrior sons of

      Amisodorus, who had reared the invincible Chimaera, to the bane

      of many. Ajax son of Oileus sprang on Cleobulus and took him

      alive as he was entangled in the crush; but he killed him then

      and there by a sword-blow on the neck. The sword reeked with his

      blood, while dark death and the strong hand of fate gripped him

      and closed his eyes.



      Peneleos and Lycon now met in close fight, for they had missed

      each other with their spears. They had both thrown without

      effect, so now they drew their swords. Lycon struck the plumed

      crest of Peneleos’ helmet but his sword broke at the hilt, while

      Peneleos smote Lycon on the neck under the ear. The blade sank so

      deep that the head was held on by nothing but the skin, and there

      was no more life left in him. Meriones gave chase to Acamas on

      foot and caught him up just as he was about to mount his chariot;

      he drove a spear through his right shoulder so that he fell

      headlong from the car, and his eyes were closed in darkness.

      Idomeneus speared Erymas in the mouth; the bronze point of the

      spear went clean through it beneath the brain, crashing in among

      the white bones and smashing them up. His teeth were all of them

      knocked out and the blood came gushing in a stream from both his

      eyes; it also came gurgling up from his mouth and nostrils, and

      the darkness of death enfolded him round about.



      Thus did these chieftains of the Danaans each of them kill his

      man. As ravening wolves seize on kids or lambs, fastening on them

      when they are alone on the hillsides and have strayed from the

      main flock through the carelessness of the shepherd—and when the

      wolves see this they pounce upon them at once because they cannot

      defend themselves—even so did the Danaans now fall on the

      Trojans, who fled with ill-omened cries in their panic and had no

      more fight left in them.



      Meanwhile great Ajax kept on trying to drive a spear into Hector,

      but Hector was so skilful that he held his broad shoulders well

      under cover of his ox-hide shield, ever on the look-out for the

      whizzing of the arrows and the heavy thud of the spears. He well

      knew that the fortunes of the day had changed, but still stood

      his ground and tried to protect his comrades.



      As when a cloud goes up into heaven from Olympus, rising out of a

      clear sky when Jove is brewing a gale—even with such panic

      stricken rout did the Trojans now fly, and there was no order in

      their going. Hector’s fleet horses bore him and his armour out of

      the fight, and he left the Trojan host penned in by the deep

      trench against their will. Many a yoke of horses snapped the pole

      of their chariots in the trench and left their master’s car

      behind them. Patroclus gave chase, calling impetuously on the

      Danaans and full of fury against the Trojans, who, being now no

      longer in a body, filled all the ways with their cries of panic

      and rout; the air was darkened with the clouds of dust they

      raised, and the horses strained every nerve in their flight from

      the tents and ships towards the city.



      Patroclus kept on heading his horses wherever he saw most men

      flying in confusion, cheering on his men the while. Chariots were

      being smashed in all directions, and many a man came tumbling

      down from his own car to fall beneath the wheels of that of

      Patroclus, whose immortal steeds, given by the gods to Peleus,

      sprang over the trench at a bound as they sped onward. He was

      intent on trying to get near Hector, for he had set his heart on

      spearing him, but Hector’s horses were now hurrying him away. As

      the whole dark earth bows before some tempest on an autumn day

      when Jove rains his hardest to punish men for giving crooked

      judgement in their courts, and driving justice therefrom without

      heed to the decrees of heaven—all the rivers run full and the

      torrents tear many a new channel as they roar headlong from the

      mountains to the dark sea, and it fares ill with the works of

      men—even such was the stress and strain of the Trojan horses in

      their flight.



      Patroclus now cut off the battalions that were nearest to him and

      drove them back to the ships. They were doing their best to reach

      the city, but he would not let them, and bore down on them

      between the river and the ships and wall. Many a fallen comrade

      did he then avenge. First he hit Pronous with a spear on the

      chest where it was exposed near the rim of his shield, and he

      fell heavily to the ground. Next he sprang on Thestor son of

      Enops, who was sitting all huddled up in his chariot, for he had

      lost his head and the reins had been torn out of his hands.

      Patroclus went up to him and drove a spear into his right jaw; he

      thus hooked him by the teeth and the spear pulled him over the

      rim of his car, as one who sits at the end of some jutting rock

      and draws a strong fish out of the sea with a hook and a

      line—even so with his spear did he pull Thestor all gaping from

      his chariot; he then threw him down on his face and he died while

      falling. On this, as Erylaus was on coming to attack him, he

      struck him full on the head with a stone, and his brains were all

      battered inside his helmet, whereon he fell headlong to the

      ground and the pangs of death took hold upon him. Then he laid

      low, one after the other, Erymas, Amphoterus, Epaltes,

      Tlepolemus, Echius son of Damastor, Pyris, Ipheus, Euippus and

      Polymelus son of Argeas.



      Now when Sarpedon saw his comrades, men who wore ungirdled

      tunics, being overcome by Patroclus son of Menoetius, he rebuked

      the Lycians saying. “Shame on you, where are you flying to? Show

      your mettle; I will myself meet this man in fight and learn who

      it is that is so masterful; he has done us much hurt, and has

      stretched many a brave man upon the ground.”



      He sprang from his chariot as he spoke, and Patroclus, when he

      saw this, leaped on to the ground also. The two then rushed at

      one another with loud cries like eagle-beaked crook-taloned

      vultures that scream and tear at one another in some high

      mountain fastness.



      The son of scheming Saturn looked down upon them in pity and said

      to Juno who was his wife and sister, “Alas, that it should be the

      lot of Sarpedon whom I love so dearly to perish by the hand of

      Patroclus. I am in two minds whether to catch him up out of the

      fight and set him down safe and sound in the fertile land of

      Lycia, or to let him now fall by the hand of the son of

      Menoetius.”



      And Juno answered, “Most dread son of Saturn, what is this that

      you are saying? Would you snatch a mortal man, whose doom has

      long been fated, out of the jaws of death? Do as you will, but we

      shall not all of us be of your mind. I say further, and lay my

      saying to your heart, that if you send Sarpedon safely to his own

      home, some other of the gods will be also wanting to escort his

      son out of battle, for there are many sons of gods fighting round

      the city of Troy, and you will make every one jealous. If,

      however, you are fond of him and pity him, let him indeed fall by

      the hand of Patroclus, but as soon as the life is gone out of

      him, send Death and sweet Sleep to bear him off the field and

      take him to the broad lands of Lycia, where his brothers and his

      kinsmen will bury him with mound and pillar, in due honour to the

      dead.”



      The sire of gods and men assented, but he shed a rain of blood

      upon the earth in honour of his son whom Patroclus was about to

      kill on the rich plain of Troy far from his home.



      When they were now come close to one another Patroclus struck

      Thrasydemus, the brave squire of Sarpedon, in the lower part of

      the belly, and killed him. Sarpedon then aimed a spear at

      Patroclus and missed him, but he struck the horse Pedasus in the

      right shoulder, and it screamed aloud as it lay, groaning in the

      dust until the life went out of it. The other two horses began to

      plunge; the pole of the chariot cracked and they got entangled in

      the reins through the fall of the horse that was yoked along with

      them; but Automedon knew what to do; without the loss of a moment

      he drew the keen blade that hung by his sturdy thigh and cut the

      third horse adrift; whereon the other two righted themselves, and

      pulling hard at the reins again went together into battle.



      Sarpedon now took a second aim at Patroclus, and again missed

      him, the point of the spear passed over his left shoulder without

      hitting him. Patroclus then aimed in his turn, and the spear sped

      not from his hand in vain, for he hit Sarpedon just where the

      midriff surrounds the ever-beating heart. He fell like some oak

      or silver poplar or tall pine to which woodmen have laid their

      axes upon the mountains to make timber for ship-building—even so

      did he lie stretched at full length in front of his chariot and

      horses, moaning and clutching at the blood-stained dust. As when

      a lion springs with a bound upon a herd of cattle and fastens on

      a great black bull which dies bellowing in its clutches—even so

      did the leader of the Lycian warriors struggle in death as he

      fell by the hand of Patroclus. He called on his trusty comrade

      and said, “Glaucus, my brother, hero among heroes, put forth all

      your strength, fight with might and main, now if ever quit

      yourself like a valiant soldier. First go about among the Lycian

      captains and bid them fight for Sarpedon; then yourself also do

      battle to save my armour from being taken. My name will haunt you

      henceforth and for ever if the Achaeans rob me of my armour now

      that I have fallen at their ships. Do your very utmost and call

      all my people together.”



      Death closed his eyes as he spoke. Patroclus planted his heel on

      his breast and drew the spear from his body, whereon his senses

      came out along with it, and he drew out both spear-point and

      Sarpedon’s soul at the same time. Hard by the Myrmidons held his

      snorting steeds, who were wild with panic at finding themselves

      deserted by their lords.



      Glaucus was overcome with grief when he heard what Sarpedon said,

      for he could not help him. He had to support his arm with his

      other hand, being in great pain through the wound which Teucer’s

      arrow had given him when Teucer was defending the wall as he,

      Glaucus, was assailing it. Therefore he prayed to far-darting

      Apollo saying, “Hear me O king from your seat, may be in the rich

      land of Lycia, or may be in Troy, for in all places you can hear

      the prayer of one who is in distress, as I now am. I have a

      grievous wound; my hand is aching with pain, there is no

      staunching the blood, and my whole arm drags by reason of my

      hurt, so that I cannot grasp my sword nor go among my foes and

      fight them, though our prince, Jove’s son Sarpedon, is slain.

      Jove defended not his son, do you, therefore, O king, heal me of

      my wound, ease my pain and grant me strength both to cheer on the

      Lycians and to fight along with them round the body of him who

      has fallen.”



      Thus did he pray, and Apollo heard his prayer. He eased his pain,

      staunched the black blood from the wound, and gave him new

      strength. Glaucus perceived this, and was thankful that the

      mighty god had answered his prayer; forthwith, therefore, he went

      among the Lycian captains, and bade them come to fight about the

      body of Sarpedon. From these he strode on among the Trojans to

      Polydamas son of Panthous and Agenor; he then went in search of

      Aeneas and Hector, and when he had found them he said, “Hector,

      you have utterly forgotten your allies, who languish here for

      your sake far from friends and home while you do nothing to

      support them. Sarpedon leader of the Lycian warriors has

      fallen—he who was at once the right and might of Lycia; Mars has

      laid him low by the spear of Patroclus. Stand by him, my friends,

      and suffer not the Myrmidons to strip him of his armour, nor to

      treat his body with contumely in revenge for all the Danaans whom

      we have speared at the ships.”



      As he spoke the Trojans were plunged in extreme and ungovernable

      grief; for Sarpedon, alien though he was, had been one of the

      main stays of their city, both as having much people with him,

      and himself the foremost among them all. Led by Hector, who was

      infuriated by the fall of Sarpedon, they made instantly for the

      Danaans with all their might, while the undaunted spirit of

      Patroclus son of Menoetius cheered on the Achaeans. First he

      spoke to the two Ajaxes, men who needed no bidding. “Ajaxes,”

      said he, “may it now please you to show yourselves the men you

      have always been, or even better—Sarpedon is fallen—he who was

      first to overleap the wall of the Achaeans; let us take the body

      and outrage it; let us strip the armour from his shoulders, and

      kill his comrades if they try to rescue his body.”



      He spoke to men who of themselves were full eager; both sides,

      therefore, the Trojans and Lycians on the one hand, and the

      Myrmidons and Achaeans on the other, strengthened their

      battalions, and fought desperately about the body of Sarpedon,

      shouting fiercely the while. Mighty was the din of their armour

      as they came together, and Jove shed a thick darkness over the

      fight, to increase the toil of the battle over the body of his

      son.



      At first the Trojans made some headway against the Achaeans, for

      one of the best men among the Myrmidons was killed, Epeigeus, son

      of noble Agacles who had erewhile been king in the good city of

      Budeum; but presently, having killed a valiant kinsman of his

      own, he took refuge with Peleus and Thetis, who sent him to Ilius

      the land of noble steeds to fight the Trojans under Achilles.

      Hector now struck him on the head with a stone just as he had

      caught hold of the body, and his brains inside his helmet were

      all battered in, so that he fell face foremost upon the body of

      Sarpedon, and there died. Patroclus was enraged by the death of

      his comrade, and sped through the front ranks as swiftly as a

      hawk that swoops down on a flock of daws or starlings. Even so

      swiftly, O noble knight Patroclus, did you make straight for the

      Lycians and Trojans to avenge your comrade. Forthwith he struck

      Sthenelaus the son of Ithaemenes on the neck with a stone, and

      broke the tendons that join it to the head and spine. On this

      Hector and the front rank of his men gave ground. As far as a man

      can throw a javelin when competing for some prize, or even in

      battle—so far did the Trojans now retreat before the Achaeans.

      Glaucus, captain of the Lycians, was the first to rally them, by

      killing Bathycles son of Chalcon who lived in Hellas and was the

      richest man among the Myrmidons. Glaucus turned round suddenly,

      just as Bathycles who was pursuing him was about to lay hold of

      him, and drove his spear right into the middle of his chest,

      whereon he fell heavily to the ground, and the fall of so good a

      man filled the Achaeans with dismay, while the Trojans were

      exultant, and came up in a body round the corpse. Nevertheless

      the Achaeans, mindful of their prowess, bore straight down upon

      them.



      Meriones then killed a helmed warrior of the Trojans, Laogonus

      son of Onetor, who was priest of Jove of Mt. Ida, and was

      honoured by the people as though he were a god. Meriones struck

      him under the jaw and ear, so that life went out of him and the

      darkness of death laid hold upon him. Aeneas then aimed a spear

      at Meriones, hoping to hit him under the shield as he was

      advancing, but Meriones saw it coming and stooped forward to

      avoid it, whereon the spear flew past him and the point stuck in

      the ground, while the butt-end went on quivering till Mars robbed

      it of its force. The spear, therefore, sped from Aeneas’s hand in

      vain and fell quivering to the ground. Aeneas was angry and said,

      “Meriones, you are a good dancer, but if I had hit you my spear

      would soon have made an end of you.”



      And Meriones answered, “Aeneas, for all your bravery, you will

      not be able to make an end of every one who comes against you.

      You are only a mortal like myself, and if I were to hit you in

      the middle of your shield with my spear, however strong and

      self-confident you may be, I should soon vanquish you, and you

      would yield your life to Hades of the noble steeds.”



      On this the son of Menoetius rebuked him and said, “Meriones,

      hero though you be, you should not speak thus; taunting speeches,

      my good friend, will not make the Trojans draw away from the dead

      body; some of them must go under ground first; blows for battle,

      and words for council; fight, therefore, and say nothing.”



      He led the way as he spoke and the hero went forward with him. As

      the sound of woodcutters in some forest glade upon the

      mountains—and the thud of their axes is heard afar—even such a

      din now rose from earth-clash of bronze armour and of good

      ox-hide shields, as men smote each other with their swords and

      spears pointed at both ends. A man had need of good eyesight now

      to know Sarpedon, so covered was he from head to foot with spears

      and blood and dust. Men swarmed about the body, as flies that

      buzz round the full milk-pails in spring when they are brimming

      with milk—even so did they gather round Sarpedon; nor did Jove

      turn his keen eyes away for one moment from the fight, but kept

      looking at it all the time, for he was settling how best to kill

      Patroclus, and considering whether Hector should be allowed to

      end him now in the fight round the body of Sarpedon, and strip

      him of his armour, or whether he should let him give yet further

      trouble to the Trojans. In the end, he deemed it best that the

      brave squire of Achilles son of Peleus should drive Hector and

      the Trojans back towards the city and take the lives of many.

      First, therefore, he made Hector turn fainthearted, whereon he

      mounted his chariot and fled, bidding the other Trojans fly also,

      for he saw that the scales of Jove had turned against him.

      Neither would the brave Lycians stand firm; they were dismayed

      when they saw their king lying struck to the heart amid a heap of

      corpses—for when the son of Saturn made the fight wax hot many

      had fallen above him. The Achaeans, therefore stripped the

      gleaming armour from his shoulders and the brave son of Menoetius

      gave it to his men to take to the ships. Then Jove lord of the

      storm-cloud said to Apollo, “Dear Phoebus, go, I pray you, and

      take Sarpedon out of range of the weapons; cleanse the black

      blood from off him, and then bear him a long way off where you

      may wash him in the river, anoint him with ambrosia, and clothe

      him in immortal raiment; this done, commit him to the arms of the

      two fleet messengers, Death, and Sleep, who will carry him

      straightway to the rich land of Lycia, where his brothers and

      kinsmen will inter him, and will raise both mound and pillar to

      his memory, in due honour to the dead.”



      Thus he spoke. Apollo obeyed his father’s saying, and came down

      from the heights of Ida into the thick of the fight; forthwith he

      took Sarpedon out of range of the weapons, and then bore him a

      long way off, where he washed him in the river, anointed him with

      ambrosia and clothed him in immortal raiment; this done, he

      committed him to the arms of the two fleet messengers, Death, and

      Sleep, who presently set him down in the rich land of Lycia.



      Meanwhile Patroclus, with many a shout to his horses and to

      Automedon, pursued the Trojans and Lycians in the pride and

      foolishness of his heart. Had he but obeyed the bidding of the

      son of Peleus, he would have escaped death and have been

      scatheless; but the counsels of Jove pass man’s understanding; he

      will put even a brave man to flight and snatch victory from his

      grasp, or again he will set him on to fight, as he now did when

      he put a high spirit into the heart of Patroclus.



      Who then first, and who last, was slain by you, O Patroclus, when

      the gods had now called you to meet your doom? First Adrestus,

      Autonous, Echeclus, Perimus the son of Megas, Epistor and

      Melanippus; after these he killed Elasus, Mulius, and Pylartes.

      These he slew, but the rest saved themselves by flight.



      The sons of the Achaeans would now have taken Troy by the hands

      of Patroclus, for his spear flew in all directions, had not

      Phoebus Apollo taken his stand upon the wall to defeat his

      purpose and to aid the Trojans. Thrice did Patroclus charge at an

      angle of the high wall, and thrice did Apollo beat him back,

      striking his shield with his own immortal hands. When Patroclus

      was coming on like a god for yet a fourth time, Apollo shouted to

      him with an awful voice and said, “Draw back, noble Patroclus, it

      is not your lot to sack the city of the Trojan chieftains, nor

      yet will it be that of Achilles who is a far better man than you

      are.” On hearing this, Patroclus withdrew to some distance and

      avoided the anger of Apollo.



      Meanwhile Hector was waiting with his horses inside the Scaean

      gates, in doubt whether to drive out again and go on fighting, or

      to call the army inside the gates. As he was thus doubting

      Phoebus Apollo drew near him in the likeness of a young and lusty

      warrior Asius, who was Hector’s uncle, being own brother to

      Hecuba, and son of Dymas who lived in Phrygia by the waters of

      the river Sangarius; in his likeness Jove’s son Apollo now spoke

      to Hector saying, “Hector, why have you left off fighting? It is

      ill done of you. If I were as much better a man than you, as I am

      worse, you should soon rue your slackness. Drive straight towards

      Patroclus, if so be that Apollo may grant you a triumph over him,

      and you may rule him.”



      With this the god went back into the hurly-burly, and Hector bade

      Cebriones drive again into the fight. Apollo passed in among

      them, and struck panic into the Argives, while he gave triumph to

      Hector and the Trojans. Hector let the other Danaans alone and

      killed no man, but drove straight at Patroclus. Patroclus then

      sprang from his chariot to the ground, with a spear in his left

      hand, and in his right a jagged stone as large as his hand could

      hold. He stood still and threw it, nor did it go far without

      hitting some one; the cast was not in vain, for the stone struck

      Cebriones, Hector’s charioteer, a bastard son of Priam, as he

      held the reins in his hands. The stone hit him on the forehead

      and drove his brows into his head for the bone was smashed, and

      his eyes fell to the ground at his feet. He dropped dead from his

      chariot as though he were diving, and there was no more life left

      in him. Over him did you then vaunt, O knight Patroclus, saying,

      “Bless my heart, how active he is, and how well he dives. If we

      had been at sea this fellow would have dived from the ship’s side

      and brought up as many oysters as the whole crew could stomach,

      even in rough water, for he has dived beautifully off his chariot

      on to the ground. It seems, then, that there are divers also

      among the Trojans.”



      As he spoke he flung himself on Cebriones with the spring, as it

      were, of a lion that while attacking a stockyard is himself

      struck in the chest, and his courage is his own bane—even so

      furiously, O Patroclus, did you then spring upon Cebriones.

      Hector sprang also from his chariot to the ground. The pair then

      fought over the body of Cebriones. As two lions fight fiercely on

      some high mountain over the body of a stag that they have killed,

      even so did these two mighty warriors, Patroclus son of Menoetius

      and brave Hector, hack and hew at one another over the corpse of

      Cebriones. Hector would not let him go when he had once got him

      by the head, while Patroclus kept fast hold of his feet, and a

      fierce fight raged between the other Danaans and Trojans. As the

      east and south wind buffet one another when they beat upon some

      dense forest on the mountains—there is beech and ash and

      spreading cornel; the top of the trees roar as they beat on one

      another, and one can hear the boughs cracking and breaking—even

      so did the Trojans and Achaeans spring upon one another and lay

      about each other, and neither side would give way. Many a pointed

      spear fell to ground and many a winged arrow sped from its

      bowstring about the body of Cebriones; many a great stone,

      moreover, beat on many a shield as they fought around his body,

      but there he lay in the whirling clouds of dust, all huge and

      hugely, heedless of his driving now.



      So long as the sun was still high in mid-heaven the weapons of

      either side were alike deadly, and the people fell; but when he

      went down towards the time when men loose their oxen, the

      Achaeans proved to be beyond all forecast stronger, so that they

      drew Cebriones out of range of the darts and tumult of the

      Trojans, and stripped the armour from his shoulders. Then

      Patroclus sprang like Mars with fierce intent and a terrific

      shout upon the Trojans, and thrice did he kill nine men; but as

      he was coming on like a god for a time, then, O Patroclus, was

      the hour of your end approaching, for Phoebus fought you in fell

      earnest. Patroclus did not see him as he moved about in the

      crush, for he was enshrouded in thick darkness, and the god

      struck him from behind on his back and his broad shoulders with

      the flat of his hand, so that his eyes turned dizzy. Phoebus

      Apollo beat the helmet from off his head, and it rolled rattling

      off under the horses’ feet, where its horse-hair plumes were all

      begrimed with dust and blood. Never indeed had that helmet fared

      so before, for it had served to protect the head and comely

      forehead of the godlike hero Achilles. Now, however, Zeus

      delivered it over to be worn by Hector. Nevertheless the end of

      Hector also was near. The bronze-shod spear, so great and so

      strong, was broken in the hand of Patroclus, while his shield

      that covered him from head to foot fell to the ground as did also

      the band that held it, and Apollo undid the fastenings of his

      corslet.



      On this his mind became clouded; his limbs failed him, and he

      stood as one dazed; whereon Euphorbus son of Panthous a

      Dardanian, the best spearman of his time, as also the finest

      horseman and fleetest runner, came behind him and struck him in

      the back with a spear, midway between the shoulders. This man as

      soon as ever he had come up with his chariot had dismounted

      twenty men, so proficient was he in all the arts of war—he it

      was, O knight Patroclus, that first drove a weapon into you, but

      he did not quite overpower you. Euphorbus then ran back into the

      crowd, after drawing his ashen spear out of the wound; he would

      not stand firm and wait for Patroclus, unarmed though he now was,

      to attack him; but Patroclus unnerved, alike by the blow the god

      had given him and by the spear-wound, drew back under cover of

      his men in fear for his life. Hector on this, seeing him to be

      wounded and giving ground, forced his way through the ranks, and

      when close up with him struck him in the lower part of the belly

      with a spear, driving the bronze point right through it, so that

      he fell heavily to the ground to the great grief of the Achaeans.

      As when a lion has fought some fierce wild boar and worsted

      him—the two fight furiously upon the mountains over some little

      fountain at which they would both drink, and the lion has beaten

      the boar till he can hardly breathe—even so did Hector son of

      Priam take the life of the brave son of Menoetius who had killed

      so many, striking him from close at hand, and vaunting over him

      the while. “Patroclus,” said he, “you deemed that you should sack

      our city, rob our Trojan women of their freedom, and carry them

      off in your ships to your own country. Fool; Hector and his fleet

      horses were ever straining their utmost to defend them. I am

      foremost of all the Trojan warriors to stave the day of bondage

      from off them; as for you, vultures shall devour you here. Poor

      wretch, Achilles with all his bravery availed you nothing; and

      yet I ween when you left him he charged you straitly saying,

      ‘Come not back to the ships, knight Patroclus, till you have rent

      the blood-stained shirt of murderous Hector about his body.’ Thus

      I ween did he charge you, and your fool’s heart answered him

      ‘yea’ within you.”



      Then, as the life ebbed out of you, you answered, O knight

      Patroclus: “Hector, vaunt as you will, for Jove the son of Saturn

      and Apollo have vouchsafed you victory; it is they who have

      vanquished me so easily, and they who have stripped the armour

      from my shoulders; had twenty such men as you attacked me, all of

      them would have fallen before my spear. Fate and the son of Leto

      have overpowered me, and among mortal men Euphorbus; you are

      yourself third only in the killing of me. I say further, and lay

      my saying to your heart, you too shall live but for a little

      season; death and the day of your doom are close upon you, and

      they will lay you low by the hand of Achilles son of Aeacus.”



      When he had thus spoken his eyes were closed in death, his soul

      left his body and flitted down to the house of Hades, mourning

      its sad fate and bidding farewell to the youth and vigor of its

      manhood. Dead though he was, Hector still spoke to him saying,

      “Patroclus, why should you thus foretell my doom? Who knows but

      Achilles, son of lovely Thetis, may be smitten by my spear and

      die before me?”



      As he spoke he drew the bronze spear from the wound, planting his

      foot upon the body, which he thrust off and let lie on its back.

      He then went spear in hand after Automedon, squire of the fleet

      descendant of Aeacus, for he longed to lay him low, but the

      immortal steeds which the gods had given as a rich gift to Peleus

      bore him swiftly from the field.