A quarrel in Olympus—Minerva goes down and persuades Fandarus to

      violate the oaths by wounding Menelaus with an arrow—Agamemnon

      makes a speech and sends for Machaon—He then goes about among his

      captains and upbraids Ulysses and Sthenelus, who each of them

      retort fiercely—Diomed checks Sthenelus, and the two hosts then

      engage, with great slaughter on either side.



      Now the gods were sitting with Jove in council upon the golden

      floor while Hebe went round pouring out nectar for them to drink,

      and as they pledged one another in their cups of gold they looked

      down upon the town of Troy. The son of Saturn then began to tease

      Juno, talking at her so as to provoke her. “Menelaus,” said he,

      “has two good friends among the goddesses, Juno of Argos, and

      Minerva of Alalcomene, but they only sit still and look on, while

      Venus keeps ever by Alexandrus’ side to defend him in any danger;

      indeed she has just rescued him when he made sure that it was all

      over with him—for the victory really did lie with Menelaus. We

      must consider what we shall do about all this; shall we set them

      fighting anew or make peace between them? If you will agree to

      this last Menelaus can take back Helen and the city of Priam may

      remain still inhabited.”



      Minerva and Juno muttered their discontent as they sat side by

      side hatching mischief for the Trojans. Minerva scowled at her

      father, for she was in a furious passion with him, and said

      nothing, but Juno could not contain herself. “Dread son of

      Saturn,” said she, “what, pray, is the meaning of all this? Is my

      trouble, then, to go for nothing, and the sweat that I have

      sweated, to say nothing of my horses, while getting the people

      together against Priam and his children? Do as you will, but we

      other gods shall not all of us approve your counsel.”



      Jove was angry and answered, “My dear, what harm have Priam and

      his sons done you that you are so hotly bent on sacking the city

      of Ilius? Will nothing do for you but you must go within their walls

      and eat Priam raw, with his sons and all the other Trojans to

      boot? Have it your own way then; for I would not have this matter

      become a bone of contention between us. I say further, and lay my

      saying to your heart, if ever I want to sack a city belonging to

      friends of yours, you must not try to stop me; you will have to

      let me do it, for I am giving in to you sorely against my will.

      Of all inhabited cities under the sun and stars of heaven, there

      was none that I so much respected as Ilius with Priam and his

      whole people. Equitable feasts were never wanting about my altar,

      nor the savour of burning fat, which is honour due to ourselves.”



      “My own three favourite cities,” answered Juno, “are Argos,

      Sparta, and Mycenae. Sack them whenever you may be displeased

      with them. I shall not defend them and I shall not care. Even if

      I did, and tried to stay you, I should take nothing by it, for

      you are much stronger than I am, but I will not have my own work

      wasted. I too am a god and of the same race with yourself. I am

      Saturn’s eldest daughter, and am honourable not on this ground

      only, but also because I am your wife, and you are king over the

      gods. Let it be a case, then, of give-and-take between us, and

      the rest of the gods will follow our lead. Tell Minerva to go and

      take part in the fight at once, and let her contrive that the

      Trojans shall be the first to break their oaths and set upon the

      Achaeans.”



      The sire of gods and men heeded her words, and said to Minerva,

      “Go at once into the Trojan and Achaean hosts, and contrive that

      the Trojans shall be the first to break their oaths and set upon

      the Achaeans.”



      This was what Minerva was already eager to do, so down she darted

      from the topmost summits of Olympus. She shot through the sky as

      some brilliant meteor which the son of scheming Saturn has sent

      as a sign to mariners or to some great army, and a fiery train of

      light follows in its wake. The Trojans and Achaeans were struck

      with awe as they beheld, and one would turn to his neighbour,

      saying, “Either we shall again have war and din of combat, or

      Jove the lord of battle will now make peace between us.”



      Thus did they converse. Then Minerva took the form of Laodocus,

      son of Antenor, and went through the ranks of the Trojans to find

      Pandarus, the redoubtable son of Lycaon. She found him standing

      among the stalwart heroes who had followed him from the banks of

      the Aesopus, so she went close up to him and said, “Brave son of

      Lycaon, will you do as I tell you? If you dare send an arrow at

      Menelaus you will win honour and thanks from all the Trojans, and

      especially from prince Alexandrus—he would be the first to

      requite you very handsomely if he could see Menelaus mount his

      funeral pyre, slain by an arrow from your hand. Take your home

      aim then, and pray to Lycian Apollo, the famous archer; vow that

      when you get home to your strong city of Zelea you will offer a

      hecatomb of firstling lambs in his honour.”



      His fool’s heart was persuaded, and he took his bow from its

      case. This bow was made from the horns of a wild ibex which he

      had killed as it was bounding from a rock; he had stalked it, and

      it had fallen as the arrow struck it to the heart. Its horns were

      sixteen palms long, and a worker in horn had made them into a

      bow, smoothing them well down, and giving them tips of gold. When

      Pandarus had strung his bow he laid it carefully on the ground,

      and his brave followers held their shields before him lest the

      Achaeans should set upon him before he had shot Menelaus. Then he

      opened the lid of his quiver and took out a winged arrow that had

      not yet been shot, fraught with the pangs of death. He laid the

      arrow on the string and prayed to Lycian Apollo, the famous

      archer, vowing that when he got home to his strong city of Zelea

      he would offer a hecatomb of firstling lambs in his honour. He

      laid the notch of the arrow on the ox-hide bowstring, and drew

      both notch and string to his breast till the arrow-head was near

      the bow; then when the bow was arched into a half-circle he let

      fly, and the bow twanged, and the string sang as the arrow flew

      gladly on over the heads of the throng.



      But the blessed gods did not forget thee, O Menelaus, and Jove’s

      daughter, driver of the spoil, was the first to stand before thee

      and ward off the piercing arrow. She turned it from his skin as a

      mother whisks a fly from off her child when it is sleeping

      sweetly; she guided it to the part where the golden buckles of

      the belt that passed over his double cuirass were fastened, so

      the arrow struck the belt that went tightly round him. It went

      right through this and through the cuirass of cunning

      workmanship; it also pierced the belt beneath it, which he wore

      next his skin to keep out darts or arrows; it was this that

      served him in the best stead, nevertheless the arrow went through

      it and grazed the top of the skin, so that blood began flowing

      from the wound.



      As when some woman of Meonia or Caria strains purple dye on to a

      piece of ivory that is to be the cheek-piece of a horse, and is

      to be laid up in a treasure house—many a knight is fain to bear

      it, but the king keeps it as an ornament of which both horse and

      driver may be proud—even so, O Menelaus, were your shapely thighs

      and your legs down to your fair ancles stained with blood.



      When King Agamemnon saw the blood flowing from the wound he was

      afraid, and so was brave Menelaus himself till he saw that the

      barbs of the arrow and the thread that bound the arrow-head to

      the shaft were still outside the wound. Then he took heart, but

      Agamemnon heaved a deep sigh as he held Menelaus’s hand in his

      own, and his comrades made moan in concert. “Dear brother,” he

      cried, “I have been the death of you in pledging this covenant

      and letting you come forward as our champion. The Trojans have

      trampled on their oaths and have wounded you; nevertheless the

      oath, the blood of lambs, the drink-offerings and the right hands

      of fellowship in which we have put our trust shall not be vain.

      If he that rules Olympus fulfil it not here and now, he will yet

      fulfil it hereafter, and they shall pay dearly with their lives

      and with their wives and children. The day will surely come when

      mighty Ilius shall be laid low, with Priam and Priam’s people,

      when the son of Saturn from his high throne shall overshadow them

      with his awful aegis in punishment of their present treachery.

      This shall surely be; but how, Menelaus, shall I mourn you, if it

      be your lot now to die? I should return to Argos as a by-word,

      for the Achaeans will at once go home. We shall leave Priam and

      the Trojans the glory of still keeping Helen, and the earth will

      rot your bones as you lie here at Troy with your purpose not

      fulfilled. Then shall some braggart Trojan leap upon your tomb

      and say, ‘Ever thus may Agamemnon wreak his vengeance; he brought

      his army in vain; he is gone home to his own land with empty

      ships, and has left Menelaus behind him.’ Thus will one of them

      say, and may the earth then swallow me.”



      But Menelaus reassured him and said, “Take heart, and do not

      alarm the people; the arrow has not struck me in a mortal part,

      for my outer belt of burnished metal first stayed it, and under

      this my cuirass and the belt of mail which the bronze-smiths made

      me.”



      And Agamemnon answered, “I trust, dear Menelaus, that it may be

      even so, but the surgeon shall examine your wound and lay herbs

      upon it to relieve your pain.”



      He then said to Talthybius, “Talthybius, tell Machaon, son to the

      great physician, Aesculapius, to come and see Menelaus

      immediately. Some Trojan or Lycian archer has wounded him with an

      arrow to our dismay, and to his own great glory.”



      Talthybius did as he was told, and went about the host trying to

      find Machaon. Presently he found standing amid the brave warriors

      who had followed him from Tricca; thereon he went up to him and

      said, “Son of Aesculapius, King Agamemnon says you are to come

      and see Menelaus immediately. Some Trojan or Lycian archer has

      wounded him with an arrow to our dismay and to his own great

      glory.”



      Thus did he speak, and Machaon was moved to go. They passed

      through the spreading host of the Achaeans and went on till they

      came to the place where Menelaus had been wounded and was lying

      with the chieftains gathered in a circle round him. Machaon

      passed into the middle of the ring and at once drew the arrow

      from the belt, bending its barbs back through the force with

      which he pulled it out. He undid the burnished belt, and beneath

      this the cuirass and the belt of mail which the bronze-smiths had

      made; then, when he had seen the wound, he wiped away the blood

      and applied some soothing drugs which Chiron had given to

      Aesculapius out of the good will he bore him.



      While they were thus busy about Menelaus, the Trojans came

      forward against them, for they had put on their armour, and now

      renewed the fight.



      You would not have then found Agamemnon asleep nor cowardly and

      unwilling to fight, but eager rather for the fray. He left his

      chariot rich with bronze and his panting steeds in charge of

      Eurymedon, son of Ptolemaeus the son of Peiraeus, and bade him

      hold them in readiness against the time his limbs should weary of

      going about and giving orders to so many, for he went among the

      ranks on foot. When he saw men hasting to the front he stood by

      them and cheered them on. “Argives,” said he, “slacken not one

      whit in your onset; father Jove will be no helper of liars; the

      Trojans have been the first to break their oaths and to attack

      us; therefore they shall be devoured of vultures; we shall take

      their city and carry off their wives and children in our ships.”



      But he angrily rebuked those whom he saw shirking and disinclined

      to fight. “Argives,” he cried, “cowardly miserable creatures,

      have you no shame to stand here like frightened fawns who, when

      they can no longer scud over the plain, huddle together, but show

      no fight? You are as dazed and spiritless as deer. Would you wait

      till the Trojans reach the sterns of our ships as they lie on the

      shore, to see whether the son of Saturn will hold his hand over

      you to protect you?”



      Thus did he go about giving his orders among the ranks. Passing

      through the crowd, he came presently on the Cretans, arming round

      Idomeneus, who was at their head, fierce as a wild boar, while

      Meriones was bringing up the battalions that were in the rear.

      Agamemnon was glad when he saw him, and spoke him fairly.

      “Idomeneus,” said he, “I treat you with greater distinction than

      I do any others of the Achaeans, whether in war or in other

      things, or at table. When the princes are mixing my choicest

      wines in the mixing-bowls, they have each of them a fixed

      allowance, but your cup is kept always full like my own, that you

      may drink whenever you are minded. Go, therefore, into battle,

      and show yourself the man you have been always proud to be.”



      Idomeneus answered, “I will be a trusty comrade, as I promised

      you from the first I would be. Urge on the other Achaeans, that

      we may join battle at once, for the Trojans have trampled upon

      their covenants. Death and destruction shall be theirs, seeing

      they have been the first to break their oaths and to attack us.”



      The son of Atreus went on, glad at heart, till he came upon the

      two Ajaxes arming themselves amid a host of foot soldiers. As

      when a goat-herd from some high post watches a storm drive over

      the deep before the west wind—black as pitch is the offing and a

      mighty whirlwind draws towards him, so that he is afraid and

      drives his flock into a cave—even thus did the ranks of stalwart

      youths move in a dark mass to battle under the Ajaxes, horrid

      with shield and spear. Glad was King Agamemnon when he saw them.

      “No need,” he cried, “to give orders to such leaders of the

      Argives as you are, for of your own selves you spur your men on

      to fight with might and main. Would, by father Jove, Minerva, and

      Apollo that all were so minded as you are, for the city of Priam

      would then soon fall beneath our hands, and we should sack it.”



      With this he left them and went onward to Nestor, the facile

      speaker of the Pylians, who was marshalling his men and urging

      them on, in company with Pelagon, Alastor, Chromius, Haemon, and

      Bias shepherd of his people. He placed his knights with their

      chariots and horses in the front rank, while the foot soldiers,

      brave men and many, whom he could trust, were in the rear. The

      cowards he drove into the middle, that they might fight whether

      they would or no. He gave his orders to the knights first,

      bidding them hold their horses well in hand, so as to avoid

      confusion. “Let no man,” he said, “relying on his strength or

      horsemanship, get before the others and engage singly with the

      Trojans, nor yet let him lag behind or you will weaken your

      attack; but let each when he meets an enemy’s chariot throw his

      spear from his own; this be much the best; this is how the men of

      old took towns and strongholds; in this wise were they minded.”



      Thus did the old man charge them, for he had been in many a

      fight, and King Agamemnon was glad. “I wish,” he said to him,

      “that your limbs were as supple and your strength as sure as your

      judgment is; but age, the common enemy of mankind, has laid his

      hand upon you; would that it had fallen upon some other, and that

      you were still young.”



      And Nestor, knight of Gerene, answered, “Son of Atreus, I too

      would gladly be the man I was when I slew mighty Ereuthalion; but

      the gods will not give us everything at one and the same time. I

      was then young, and now I am old; still I can go with my knights

      and give them that counsel which old men have a right to give.

      The wielding of the spear I leave to those who are younger and

      stronger than myself.”



      Agamemnon went his way rejoicing, and presently found Menestheus,

      son of Peteos, tarrying in his place, and with him were the

      Athenians loud of tongue in battle. Near him also tarried cunning

      Ulysses, with his sturdy Cephallenians round him; they had not

      yet heard the battle-cry, for the ranks of Trojans and Achaeans

      had only just begun to move, so they were standing still, waiting

      for some other columns of the Achaeans to attack the Trojans and

      begin the fighting. When he saw this Agamemnon rebuked them and

      said, “Son of Peteos, and you other, steeped in cunning, heart of

      guile, why stand you here cowering and waiting on others? You two

      should be of all men foremost when there is hard fighting to be

      done, for you are ever foremost to accept my invitation when we

      councillors of the Achaeans are holding feast. You are glad

      enough then to take your fill of roast meats and to drink wine as

      long as you please, whereas now you would not care though you saw

      ten columns of Achaeans engage the enemy in front of you.”



      Ulysses glared at him and answered, “Son of Atreus, what are you

      talking about? How can you say that we are slack? When the

      Achaeans are in full fight with the Trojans, you shall see, if

      you care to do so, that the father of Telemachus will join battle

      with the foremost of them. You are talking idly.”



      When Agamemnon saw that Ulysses was angry, he smiled pleasantly

      at him and withdrew his words. “Ulysses,” said he, “noble son of

      Laertes, excellent in all good counsel, I have neither fault to

      find nor orders to give you, for I know your heart is right, and

      that you and I are of a mind. Enough; I will make you amends for

      what I have said, and if any ill has now been spoken may the gods

      bring it to nothing.”



      He then left them and went on to others. Presently he saw the son

      of Tydeus, noble Diomed, standing by his chariot and horses, with

      Sthenelus the son of Capaneus beside him; whereon he began to

      upbraid him. “Son of Tydeus,” he said, “why stand you cowering

      here upon the brink of battle? Tydeus did not shrink thus, but

      was ever ahead of his men when leading them on against the

      foe—so, at least, say they that saw him in battle, for I never

      set eyes upon him myself. They say that there was no man like

      him. He came once to Mycenae, not as an enemy but as a guest, in

      company with Polynices to recruit his forces, for they were

      levying war against the strong city of Thebes, and prayed our

      people for a body of picked men to help them. The men of Mycenae

      were willing to let them have one, but Jove dissuaded them by

      showing them unfavourable omens. Tydeus, therefore, and Polynices

      went their way. When they had got as far the deep-meadowed and

      rush-grown banks of the Aesopus, the Achaeans sent Tydeus as

      their envoy, and he found the Cadmeans gathered in great numbers

      to a banquet in the house of Eteocles. Stranger though he was, he

      knew no fear on finding himself single-handed among so many, but

      challenged them to contests of all kinds, and in each one of them

      was at once victorious, so mightily did Minerva help him. The

      Cadmeans were incensed at his success, and set a force of fifty

      youths with two captains—the godlike hero Maeon, son of Haemon,

      and Polyphontes, son of Autophonus—at their head, to lie in wait

      for him on his return journey; but Tydeus slew every man of them,

      save only Maeon, whom he let go in obedience to heaven’s omens.

      Such was Tydeus of Aetolia. His son can talk more glibly, but he

      cannot fight as his father did.”



      Diomed made no answer, for he was shamed by the rebuke of

      Agamemnon; but the son of Capaneus took up his words and said,

      “Son of Atreus, tell no lies, for you can speak truth if you

      will. We boast ourselves as even better men than our fathers; we

      took seven-gated Thebes, though the wall was stronger and our men

      were fewer in number, for we trusted in the omens of the gods and

      in the help of Jove, whereas they perished through their own

      sheer folly; hold not, then, our fathers in like honour with us.”



      Diomed looked sternly at him and said, “Hold your peace, my

      friend, as I bid you. It is not amiss that Agamemnon should urge

      the Achaeans forward, for the glory will be his if we take the

      city, and his the shame if we are vanquished. Therefore let us

      acquit ourselves with valour.”



      As he spoke he sprang from his chariot, and his armour rang so

      fiercely about his body that even a brave man might well have

      been scared to hear it.



      As when some mighty wave that thunders on the beach when the west

      wind has lashed it into fury—it has reared its head afar and now

      comes crashing down on the shore; it bows its arching crest high

      over the jagged rocks and spews its salt foam in all

      directions—even so did the serried phalanxes of the Danaans march

      steadfastly to battle. The chiefs gave orders each to his own

      people, but the men said never a word; no man would think it, for

      huge as the host was, it seemed as though there was not a tongue

      among them, so silent were they in their obedience; and as they

      marched the armour about their bodies glistened in the sun. But

      the clamour of the Trojan ranks was as that of many thousand ewes

      that stand waiting to be milked in the yards of some rich

      flock-master, and bleat incessantly in answer to the bleating of

      their lambs; for they had not one speech nor language, but their

      tongues were diverse, and they came from many different places.

      These were inspired of Mars, but the others by Minerva—and with

      them came Panic, Rout, and Strife whose fury never tires, sister

      and friend of murderous Mars, who, from being at first but low in

      stature, grows till she uprears her head to heaven, though her

      feet are still on earth. She it was that went about among them

      and flung down discord to the waxing of sorrow with even hand

      between them.



      When they were got together in one place shield clashed with

      shield and spear with spear in the rage of battle. The bossed

      shields beat one upon another, and there was a tramp as of a

      great multitude—death-cry and shout of triumph of slain and

      slayers, and the earth ran red with blood. As torrents swollen

      with rain course madly down their deep channels till the angry

      floods meet in some gorge, and the shepherd on the hillside hears

      their roaring from afar—even such was the toil and uproar of the

      hosts as they joined in battle.



      First Antilochus slew an armed warrior of the Trojans, Echepolus,

      son of Thalysius, fighting in the foremost ranks. He struck at

      the projecting part of his helmet and drove the spear into his

      brow; the point of bronze pierced the bone, and darkness veiled

      his eyes; headlong as a tower he fell amid the press of the

      fight, and as he dropped King Elephenor, son of Chalcodon and

      captain of the proud Abantes began dragging him out of reach of

      the darts that were falling around him, in haste to strip him of

      his armour. But his purpose was not for long; Agenor saw him

      haling the body away, and smote him in the side with his

      bronze-shod spear—for as he stooped his side was left unprotected

      by his shield—and thus he perished. Then the fight between

      Trojans and Achaeans grew furious over his body, and they flew

      upon each other like wolves, man and man crushing one upon the

      other.



      Forthwith Ajax, son of Telamon, slew the fair youth Simoeisius,

      son of Anthemion, whom his mother bore by the banks of the

      Simois, as she was coming down from Mt. Ida, where she had been

      with her parents to see their flocks. Therefore he was named

      Simoeisius, but he did not live to pay his parents for his

      rearing, for he was cut off untimely by the spear of mighty Ajax,

      who struck him in the breast by the right nipple as he was coming

      on among the foremost fighters; the spear went right through his

      shoulder, and he fell as a poplar that has grown straight and

      tall in a meadow by some mere, and its top is thick with

      branches. Then the wheelwright lays his axe to its roots that he

      may fashion a felloe for the wheel of some goodly chariot, and it

      lies seasoning by the waterside. In such wise did Ajax fell to

      earth Simoeisius, son of Anthemion. Thereon Antiphus of the

      gleaming corslet, son of Priam, hurled a spear at Ajax from amid

      the crowd and missed him, but he hit Leucus, the brave comrade of

      Ulysses, in the groin, as he was dragging the body of Simoeisius

      over to the other side; so he fell upon the body and loosed his

      hold upon it. Ulysses was furious when he saw Leucus slain, and

      strode in full armour through the front ranks till he was quite

      close; then he glared round about him and took aim, and the

      Trojans fell back as he did so. His dart was not sped in vain,

      for it struck Democoon, the bastard son of Priam, who had come to

      him from Abydos, where he had charge of his father’s mares.

      Ulysses, infuriated by the death of his comrade, hit him with his

      spear on one temple, and the bronze point came through on the

      other side of his forehead. Thereon darkness veiled his eyes, and

      his armour rang rattling round him as he fell heavily to the

      ground. Hector, and they that were in front, then gave round

      while the Argives raised a shout and drew off the dead, pressing

      further forward as they did so. But Apollo looked down from

      Pergamus and called aloud to the Trojans, for he was displeased.

      “Trojans,” he cried, “rush on the foe, and do not let yourselves

      be thus beaten by the Argives. Their skins are not stone nor iron

      that when you hit them you do them no harm. Moreover, Achilles, the

      son of lovely Thetis, is not fighting, but is nursing his anger

      at the ships.”



      Thus spoke the mighty god, crying to them from the city, while

      Jove’s redoubtable daughter, the Trito-born, went about among the

      host of the Achaeans, and urged them forward whenever she beheld

      them slackening.



      Then fate fell upon Diores, son of Amarynceus, for he was struck

      by a jagged stone near the ancle of his right leg. He that hurled

      it was Peirous, son of Imbrasus, captain of the Thracians, who

      had come from Aenus; the bones and both the tendons were crushed

      by the pitiless stone. He fell to the ground on his back, and in

      his death-throes stretched out his hands towards his comrades.

      But Peirous, who had wounded him, sprang on him and thrust a

      spear into his belly, so that his bowels came gushing out upon

      the ground, and darkness veiled his eyes. As he was leaving the

      body, Thoas of Aetolia struck him in the chest near the nipple,

      and the point fixed itself in his lungs. Thoas came close up to

      him, pulled the spear out of his chest, and then drawing his

      sword, smote him in the middle of the belly so that he died; but

      he did not strip him of his armour, for his Thracian comrades,

      men who wear their hair in a tuft at the top of their heads,

      stood round the body and kept him off with their long spears for

      all his great stature and valour; so he was driven back. Thus the

      two corpses lay stretched on earth near to one another, the one

      captain of the Thracians and the other of the Epeans; and many

      another fell round them.



      And now no man would have made light of the fighting if he could

      have gone about among it scatheless and unwounded, with Minerva

      leading him by the hand, and protecting him from the storm of

      spears and arrows. For many Trojans and Achaeans on that day lay

      stretched side by side face downwards upon the earth.