The Trojan front-line now gave way and, when Hector himself retired, the Greeks, yelling for joy, took possession of the enemy corpses and pressed onward.
Apollo, from his watchpost on the citadel of Troy, shouted furiously: ‘Up and at them, men of Troy! Why yield to these invaders? They are human like yourselves, not statues of stone or iron; your weapons will go through them easily! Besides, Achilles, son of Thetis, is absent today—brooding in his hut by the sea.’
The Greeks were being urged to greater efforts by Athene, who exhibited her glory wherever she saw any slackening.
Fate’s next victim was Diores the Epeian, son of Amarynceus. Peirous, son of Imbrasus, the Thracian from the River Aenus, threw a jagged boulder which struck his right ankle, smashing bone and sinews. Diores fell to the ground, stretching his arms for help, and gasped in anguish. Peirous completed his victory with a spear-thrust below Diores’ navel; out gushed the intestines and he died. Hardly had Peirous stepped back, however, when Thoas the Aetolian’s spear-point pierced his lung. Thoas came in closer, freed the heavy weapon, drew his sword, and drove it into Peirous’ belly; yet the Thracian men-at-arms, distinguished by long pikes and peculiar top-knots, defended their leader’s corpse. Despite Thoas’ rank and courage, they sent him reeling away, without the spoils.
Peirous and Diores lay dead together among the bodies of numerous lesser men. No one could deny that it was a fearful battle—not even if Pallas Athene had taken him by the hand and led him unwounded through the mělée, warding off spear-lunges, sword-cuts, and random missiles. Hundreds of Trojans and Greeks were already scattered prone in the dust.
Book Five:
Diomedes’ Day of Glory
To Diomedes, Tydeus’ son,
PALLAS ATHENE lent
Courage and strength, above all Greeks,
To be armipotent.
Glory she kindled on his casque,
And glory on his shield,
From head and side fierce rays she sent
Over the battlefield,
That tangled in a blaze of light
He like a star should seem:
The summer evening’s star which first
Bobs from the Ocean Stream.
Phegeus and Idaeus, sons of a rich Trojan nobleman named Dares, priest of the God Hephaestus, were capable soldiers and shared the same chariot. Together they attacked Diomedes, who was now fighting on foot. Phegeus hurled his spear, but it travelled high over Diomedes’ left shoulder. His return cast was more effective; it struck Phegeus full on the chest and sent him flying out of the chariot. Idaeus, not daring to defend the corpse from spoliation, abandoned their beautiful equipage, convinced that he could avoid the same fate by flight alone; and, indeed, Hephaestus cast a veil of invisibility around him, thus sparing old Dares further grief. Diomedes, however, captured the chariot, and some of his men led the team off towards the naval camp.
The Trojans were aghast to see one of Dares’ sons fallen stone dead, the other in flight; and Athene grasped brutal Ares by the hand, saying: ‘Ares, blood-stained Ares, stormer of fortresses and sworn enemy of humankind, you should leave the armies to fight it out and Father Zeus to choose the winner. He will be vexed unless we break away.’
Though Ares had been keeping the Trojan line steady, he accepted Athene’s advice. They sat down together beside the noisy River Scamander. The Greeks being thus free to press the Trojans back, each of their leaders killed his man. For a start, Agamemnon pursued Odius the Great, King of the Halizonians, who had just wheeled his chariot about, and thrust him through between the shoulderblades. The spear-point emerged from Odius’ breast, and he toppled over the rail with a clatter.
Phaestus, son of Borus, a nobleman of fertile Tarne in Maeonia, was mounting his chariot, when Idomeneus surprised him; the spear entered Phaestus’ shoulder, and he also fell dead. Idomeneus ordered his squires to strip the corpse of its armour.
Menelaus accounted for Scamandrius the Archer, son of Strophius. Artemis the Huntress had trained him to shoot every variety of wild beast that forests breed; but neither her patronage nor his own marksmanship saved Scamandrius from Menelaus’ spear, which caught him in the back as he turned to run. He was thrown lifeless on his face.
Next died Phereclus, son of Tecton, the son of Harmon, on whom Athene had conferred pre-eminent skill in carpentry and smithcraft; yet, having no prophetic foresight, he built the ships which Paris took to Greece—with sad consequences alike for the Trojans and for himself. Meriones chased the fleeing Phereclus and speared his buttock; the blade went in under the bone and burst the bladder. He dropped to his knees and died screaming.
Antenor’s wife Theano had given an example of wifely devotion by lavishing as much love on her bastard step-son Pedaeus as on her own children. Pedaeus, however, now succumbed to a thrust from his pursuer Meges, son of Phyleus. It cut the neck-tendon, severed the root of his tongue, and he tumbled headlong, the spear-point clenched between his teeth.
Eurypylus, son of Euaemon, killed Hypsenor, son of noble Dolopion, who enjoyed semi-divine honours at Troy as priest to the River-god Xanthus. He was trying to escape, when Eurypylus’ sword swept down on his right shoulder, hacking off his sword-arm. Death clouded Hypsenor’s eyes.
So much for the feats of the other Greek leaders; but King Diomedes excelled them all. It seemed doubtful on which side he fought, so freely did he storm across the battlefield.
Winter’s worst deluge hits the hills,
Swelling a torrent
Which wrecks all that we planned with skill:
Fierce and abhorrent,
It bursts the causeys, row on row,
Flattening the fences
That round our well-dug orchards go—
Futile expenses!
Against line after line of Trojan troops Diomedes displayed the same ungovernable violence, and burst through each in turn, despite the enormous odds.
Pandarus, son of Lycaon, vexed by this magnificent rush, drew his oryx-horn bow and took careful aim; the arrow pierced Diomedes’ shoulder-plate. Catching a glint of blood, Pandarus shouted: ‘Courage, bold Trojans! I have winged their leading champion. If Apollo the Archer has prospered my journey from Lycia, you may be sure that the son of Tydeus will not live long with that arrow in him!’
A premature boast! Diomedes merely retired to his chariot which Sthenelus, son of Capaneus, was driving, and cried: ‘Dear friend, pray dismount and pull out an arrow for me.’
Sthenelus at once did so. Then, though blood dripped from the wound, Diomedes offered this prayer to Pallas Athene:
‘Unwearied daughter
Of the Shield-Bearer,
You loved my father,
Tydeus the Strong,
Steering him featly
Through battle frenzy—
Come now, protect me
The spears among!
Let my shaft hurtling
Transfix that witling,
That princeling boasting:
“He will not live long!”’
Athene granted the plea. She put fresh strength into his legs and arms, whispering: ‘Do not fear the Trojans, Diomedes! I have inspired you with the unconquerable spirit of your father Tydeus. I have also dispelled the mist that has hitherto kept your eyes from recognizing gods in human guise. Should any Olympians offer to fight you, decline their challenge! The one exception is Aphrodite: if she enters the battle, use your sharp sword on her!’
Athene vanished, and he resumed the fight, three times the man he had been before.
There is a lion in the fold;
An angry beast is he.
For why? The shepherd has made bold
To wound him cruelly.
Yet wounds, however deep, will not
A lion’s rage subdue:
The foolish man his bolt has shot
And no more dares to do.
The lion, left among those sheep,
Ravens and rends them all,
Then casts their
bodies in a heap,
To leap the enclosing wall.
Diomedes ran among the Trojans as furiously as the wounded lion among that terrified flock. He killed Astinous with a spear-thrust; and Hypeiron with a sweep of his heavy sword on the collarbone, that parted shoulderblade from body. Not troubling to despoil the corpses, he attacked Abas and Polyeidus, sons of Eurydamas the Soothsayer. They never brought home any new dreams for their father’s interpretation—bold Diomedes had despoiled them of their lives.
His next victims were the brothers, Xanthus and Thoon; whose father Phaenops mourned broken-heartedly when they did not return. Since he was no longer young enough to beget a new heir, relatives eventually divided his large estate.
A lion, where fat cows securely graze
On wooded hills, fixes on one his gaze,
Then springing at her without more ado,
Snaps his jaw tight, to bite the neckbone through.
Diomedes displayed the same leonine ferocity. He sprang roaring at two sons of Priam, Prince Echemmon and Prince Chromius, who shared a chariot and, despite their resistance, tumbled them dead to the ground. This time he took both suits of armour, and told his men to lead away the captured teams.
Aeneas, son of Anchises, observing this havoc, went in search of Pandarus, son of Lycaon. He drove across the plain with a fine disregard for the spears that whizzed past, and at length found him. ‘Pandarus,’ he cried, ‘you are by far our best archer, and even in your native Lycia none can claim to outshoot you. Come, invoke Zeus again, and send an arrow into that Greek hero who is dominating the battlefield and has already killed several of our bravest men! I only hope he is not an Immortal in disguise, whom we Trojans have offended by failing to burn the correct sacrifices on his altar! Angry gods often cause mortals a great deal of misery.’
‘He looks very much like Diomedes,’ Pandarus answered, ‘to judge from his shield, his helmet-crest, and the valour of his team. Yet who can be sure that some god has not decided to impersonate him? And even if Diomedes, he must be fighting under a divine spell, with an Olympian standing by, wrapped in a cloak of darkness. I thought just now that I had sent him headlong down to Hell, when my arrow pierced the shoulder-plate of his corslet; but the unknown protector saved his life. Nor have I a chariot from which to shoot over the troops’ heads. When leading my men here at Prince Hector’s invitation, I foolishly disregarded my father Lycaon’s warning; he would have had me bring a chariot. But since fodder promised to be scarce in the large army then converging on Troy, I did not want my horses to eat any worse than at home. So I left eleven teams of them munching spelt and pearl-barley in our Lycian stables, and a beautiful new chariot draped with a cloth waiting beside each team—all the harness was new as well—and set out on foot. My bow would be more serviceable than spears, I thought. Today, however, it has failed me. I have shot at two kings, Menelaus and Diomedes, and drawn blood from both, but merely roused them to greater feats of daring. It was in an evil hour that I took my curved bow-case off its peg! Should I ever see my beloved Lycian countryside again, and my dear wife, and my huge, high palace, may some stranger behead me if I do not instantly snap this bow across my knee, and throw the pieces into a blazing fire! It is as useless as a puff of wind.’
‘No more idle talk, pray!’ cried Aeneas. ‘Until we seek out this Greek, the battle will go still worse for Troy. Look, here is my own team of fast Trojan mares, admirably trained to swing a chariot around in pursuit or retirement. Climb up! Even though Zeus allows Diomedes to push our forces off the field, these nags will carry us back safely. It makes no difference to me whether you drive and I fight, or contrariwise.’
Pandarus replied: ‘Very well, Aeneas: take reins and whip! After all, the horses are accustomed to your voice. If we retired in a hurry, they might go wild with fear on hearing mine instead of yours, and baulk, and let Diomedes overtake us. Then neither of us would escape, and he would capture your equipage.’
Aeneas agreed, and they rattled off together. Sthenelus, son of Capaneus, saw them from a distance, and said urgently to Diomedes: ‘Dear comrade, a most formidable pair of fighters seem eager to engage you—Pandarus the Archer, son of Lycaon; and Prince Aeneas, who claims to be Aphrodite’s son by Anchises. We must avoid their challenge! And I do wish you would not keep rushing into the thick of battle! That is the way to lose your life. Come, remount, I beg you!’
Diomedes quelled Sthenelus with a glance. ‘Say no more about avoiding a challenge!’ he stormed. ‘Am I the man to skulk or withdraw, while my strength still holds? No, I will not remount, but face Pandarus and Aeneas where I stand. Pallas Athene has told me to fear nothing. Though one of the pair may escape, I swear that Aeneas’ team will never carry both to safety! So, if Athene grants me victory, you must leave this chariot unattended, first tightening the reins and knotting them to the rail. Then seize Aeneas’ equipage and drive it off as our prize. The team is of a divine breed: Zeus the Omniscient gave the original horses—the finest under the sun—to King Tros in compensation for stealing his son Ganymede. Afterwards, when Laomedon succeeded to the throne of Troy, King Anchises of Dardanus secretly had some of his own mares covered by those divine stallions, and thus secured six foals. He kept four, and gave Aeneas these two. If we can capture them, that will make us famous.’
Aeneas had approached within spear-cast, and Pandarus cried: ‘Ho, Diomedes, son of proud Tydeus! It seems that my arrow did not kill you? Well, rascal, I shall see whether I have better luck with a different sort of weapon.’
He poised his heavy spear and flung: the bronze blade went straight through Diomedes’ shield and dinted his breast-plate. Pandarus shouted gleefully: ‘A wound in the stomach! You cannot survive that, I think. What a triumph for me!’
But Diomedes answered calmly: ‘I am unwounded, and vow that either you or your comrade will now fall a victim to Ares, the stubborn God of War.’
He hurled his spear high in the air, and Athene guided the descent. It struck Pandarus between nose and eye, penetrated his upper jaw, sliced the tongue, and emerged near the crook of his jawbone. Pandarus fell heavily to the earth, and the horses sprang sideways in alarm.
Aeneas let go his reins, seized spear and shield and, yelling a challenge to all comers, leaped down in defence of Pandarus’ corpse. As he straddled it, with the ferocious pride of a lion crouched upon its prey, Diomedes picked up a massive boulder, such as no two men, in these degenerate days, would be strong enough to heave off the ground—and tossed it at Aeneas, crushing the cup-bone where thigh and pelvis join, tearing the flesh, snapping the sinews. Aeneas, now on his knees, gallantly propped himself upright with one hand until he collapsed in a faint. The boulder would have ended his life (which began soon after Aphrodite seduced Prince Anchises on a cattle ranch) had not the goddess dived to her beloved son’s rescue. She clasped him in her white arms, wrapped a fold of her shining robe around him as a protection against Greek spears, and began carrying him to safety.
Meanwhile, Sthenelus, son of Capaneus, remembered Diomedes’ orders. He got clear of the mělée, tied his reins securely to the rail, dismounted, vaulted into Aeneas’ chariot and drove the sleek mares towards the Achaean lines. There Deipylus, his most intimate friend, took charge of the prize and brought it down to the Greek camp. This done, Sthenelus remounted his own chariot, unknotted the reins, and galloped back.
Diomedes had recognized Aphrodite and, well aware that she was not a fighting Olympian, like Athene or Ares the City-Sacker, chased her across the plain and lunged at one of her hands. His spear-point passed through the beautiful linen tissue woven by the Graces, and cut her palm just above the wrist. This wound did not bleed, because Olympians eat no bread and drink no wine, and therefore have no mortal blood in their veins—which is, of course, why they are known as ‘Immortals’—but a colourless liquid called ‘ichor’ oozed out. Aphrodite screamed and let Aeneas fall; whereupon Phoebus Apollo, catching him up, threw a magical mist over him. Diomedes then surprised
and grieved the goddess by shouting: ‘Keep clear of this war, Aphrodite, daughter of Zeus, and confine yourself to making fools of weak women! Now that you have experienced a real battle, you will always shudder on hearing the very word spoken, even from afar.’
Iris the Wind-Footed led her away, sobbing for the sting of the wound, and for the ichor staining her lovely skin. Aphrodite found bold Ares still sitting beside his gold-frontleted team, to the left of the battlefield. His spear was resting against a cloud. She fell on her knees and cried: ‘Dearest brother, please lend me your chariot! I must return to Olympus without delay. A mortal named Diomedes, son of Tydeus, has severely wounded me; I believe that daredevil would challenge Almighty Zeus himself!’
Ares cheerfully did as she asked; and Iris, assisting her into the chariot, handled reins and whip. The horses scudded to the top of Olympus, where Iris removed the harness and set before them their customary ambrosial forage; but Aphrodite ran off and plumped herself down, blubbering, on the Goddess Dione’s lap. Dione fondled her wounded daughter, stroked her hair, and said coaxingly: ‘Tell me, darling, which of the Olympians has treated you like a common criminal?’
‘It was no Olympian,’ Aphrodite wailed, ‘it was proud Diomedes, the son of Tydeus! He saw me rescuing your grandson from the battle. I love Aeneas better than anyone in the world! These Greeks no longer merely fight the Trojans; they are at war with Heaven itself!’