The field’s not broad, but we contend
How much is his, or mine.
Says he: ‘Your frontier, greedy friend,
Runs here, along this line.’
So I have brought a measuring-rod
And grudge him every inch,
Scoring my own line in the sod—
I’ll fight him, at a pinch!
Here the disputed frontier lay between opposing parapets of shields, and spears took the place of measuring-rods. Many men got wounded, whether as a result of turning and exposing a flank, or because some shields were not weapon-proof. Rampart and towers dripped blood, yet neither side could dislodge the other.
The honest widow spins all day,
Her children being small.
A pound of yarn their food will pay,
She rolls it in a ball,
And lifts the balance, with dismay
If either pan should fall.
The fortunes of war remained no less delicately poised until Zeus conferred on Hector the perennial fame of first entering the Greek camp. Shouting ‘On, Trojans, on! Breach the defences! Burn the fleet!’ he led his company over the bridge of the sally-port. While his Trojans scaled the parapet and swarmed into the towers, Hector grasped a great, rough, conical boulder that lay near the gateway. It was so enormous that the two strongest men living today could only just heave it from the ground into a wagon, but the spirit of Zeus had come upon Hector. He lifted it as easily as a shepherd would a sheepskin, and ran towards the gates, which were tall, massive, and reinforced by cross-bars bolted together. Planting himself a short distance away, advancing one foot in order to lengthen his cast, and aiming at the very middle of the barrier, he let fly.
With a deafening crash the cross-bars flew in pieces, and the gates burst their hinges. Hector’s armour glinted, his eyes blazed, yet he looked grimmer than sudden night. No man alive could resist him now; it would need a god for that! ‘Follow me!’ he yelled at the Trojans on the rampart, and a number of them leaped down; others hurried through the gateway after him. The Greeks fled in panic to their ships amid an indescribable hubbub.
Book Thirteen:
The Greek Defences Are Breached
Having thus brought Hector’s Trojans within a short distance of the Greek fleet, Zeus left them to complete their difficult task and, not suspecting that any Olympian would again dare assist either army, turned his attention elsewhere. He gazed beyond the Hellespont at the horse pastures of Thrace and other northern plains, such as those of the fighting Mysians, the lordly Hippomolgians who drink mares’ milk, and the exemplary Abians.
However, Poseidon of the Dark Locks watched the battle as attentively as before. Having come out of the sea and chosen a seat on the highest peak of Samothrace, from which Mount Ida, Troy and the naval camp were plainly visible, he was seized with pity for the Greeks, and with rage against Zeus, who had permitted their discomfiture. Three great strides down the rough wooded hillside made the island tremble, and then an enormous leap carried him right across the Aegean Sea to Euboean Aegae, the town off which his famous, imperishable, golden palace glitters at the sea-bottom. There he gave orders for the harnessing of a swift, yellow-maned, bronze-hooved team, put on a golden corslet, seized an elegant gold whip, and drove away eastward over the waves. Sea-beasts frolicked in homage under and around his chariot, the water parted complaisantly, and the wheels went so fast that their bronze axle was still dry by the time he sighted the Trojan coast. Reining in at a huge submarine cave between Tenedos and the rocky island of Imbros, he unharnessed his horses, which he tethered securely with golden chains, strewing ambrosial fodder for them, then visited Agamemnon’s camp on foot.
Sworn to capture the Greek fleet and massacre its defenders, Prince Hector and his triumphant Trojans had advanced like a storm, or a forest fire. But Poseidon, whose Ocean Stream girdles the earth, stepped ashore and, disguising himself as the indefatigable Calchas, stiffened Greek resistance. First he approached Great and Little Ajax. They were already eager enough to fight, but he cried: ‘Keep up your courage, my lords Ajax son of Telamon and Ajax son of Oïleus, for all will be well! Though the Trojans have broken through in large numbers, we can count on holding their attack. The only point of danger is here, where Hector, who claims to be Zeus’ favourite son, is advancing ferociously. I trust that some other god will inspire you to oppose him, and organize the defence; even if Zeus himself backs Hector, you may yet save the fleet!’
Two taps of Poseidon’s staff lent the champions such battle-fury, that their hands and feet seemed to weigh nothing.
Perched on a sheer, tremendous height
The hawk, with gaze acute,
Observes a bird of feebler flight
Careering almost out of sight,
And plummets in pursuit.
Poseidon’s departure being equally swift, Little Ajax at once understood its significance. He said to Great Ajax: ‘That cannot have been Calchas the Prophet! As he turned away, I noticed his knees and feet. They were superhuman ones, clearly belonging to an Olympian, whose salutation has given me renewed courage: my hands and feet itch for battle!’
‘The same has happened to me!’ Great Ajax answered. ‘I have a sense of invincibility. My breast swells; my hands clutch the spear-shaft furiously; my feet dance… Yes, I am ready to confront Hector’s terrible rage.’
Poseidon, having put these two in a high good humour, next visited a group of weary, tearful, breathless, demoralized Greeks who had retired to the shelter of their ships, and stood observing the Trojans as they swarmed down the rampart. Still disguised as Calchas, he reprimanded their leaders Teucrus, Leïtus, the usually dashing Peneleos, Thoas, Deipyrus, Meriones and Antilochus. ‘For shame, Greeks!’ he cried. ‘I expected you to behave less irresponsibly than a rabble of boys. Unless you show more spirit, the Trojans will win a complete victory. I never saw anything so disgraceful or so singular! A few days ago, they were timid as hinds scurrying through the woodland in perpetual fear of jackals, leopards, wolves. They dared not emerge from their walls for the briefest of skirmishes; but now, look at them, ensconced in our very camp… And all because a grudge against King Agamemnon disinclines you to protect the fleet he commands! My friends, even though he may be a villain, and may have brought this trouble on himself by dishonouring Achilles, son of Peleus, is that a good reason why you should not save your own lives and property? I never blame an unwarlike man whom I see avoiding battle, but it outrages me to see our finest champions doing so! Show a change of heart, and be quick about it, for at bottom you are heroes! Feel shame and indignation at your defeat, and realize that with the gates forced and Hector attacking our ships, defeat may presently become disaster!’
Poseidon’s speech roused the fugitives to immediate action. They formed two strong companies, some around Great Ajax, some around Little Ajax. A charge by Ares or Athene in person would hardly have shaken them. Shield to shield, shoulder to shoulder, helmet to helmet, they were wedged so tight together that their plumed crests touched, and their spears, which resembled a close-set fence, could not be brandished without entanglement. When Hector arrived, they would surely yield no ground.
A winter torrent, savaging
The hill’s well-wooded shoulder,
Gravel and clay has gnawed away,
Dislodging a vast boulder;
This boulder thunders down the hill,
Its course exactly keeping,
And leaps amain till level plain
Prohibits further leaping.
Hector’s course had been no less straight and destructive; but the regular line of shields halted him. He reeled back from the spear-thrusts and sword-cuts that greeted him. ‘Come on, Trojans, Lycians, sturdy Dardanians!’ he yelled. ‘The Greeks cannot long resist me, though they stand packed like the stones of a tower. Zeus the Thunderer is behind me; they are bound to fail!’
Hector’s light-footed brother Deïphobus ran up in support, and Meriones the Cretan flung at him. Deïphobus, wh
o felt a twinge of fear, kept his shield well advanced; and the spear snapped off at the socket without so much as dinting it. Vexed that he had missed his man and shattered his only weapon, Meriones hurried away to fetch another from his hut.
The fight roared on. Imbrius of Pedaeon, Mentor the Horse-breeder’s son, and husband of Priam’s bastard daughter Medesicaste, had returned to Troy on the outbreak of war, and been treated by King Priam as if he were a son. But now Teucrus thrust a spear into the base of his skull, below the ear—
Observe the distant flash
Of bronze: a mountain-ash
Topples and heaves
Earthward its crown of leaves!
So fell Imbrius. Hector cast at Teucrus, who was attempting to strip the body. Teucrus bent aside, and the spear whizzed on, making for the breast of Amphimachus the Epeian, Cteatus’ son, who had just entered the fight. He too fell dead. As Hector tried to seize Amphimachus’ close-fitting helmet, Great Ajax lunged—not at his breast, which was heavily armoured, but at his shield-boss—and repulsed him by main force. Stichius and King Menestheus, the Athenian leaders, then rescued Amphimachus’ corpse, while Great and Little Ajax bore off that of Imbrius for despoilment.
The hounds have slaughtered a wild goat,
Which offers a rare meal
Until two lions, taking note,
The carcase dare to steal.
Together in their mighty jaws
They lift that carcase high,
And through the glade, still unafraid
Pad off triumphantly!
Little Ajax avenged the death of Amphimachus: severing Imbrius’ head from its delicate neck, he bowled it like a ball among the fighters, to fetch up at Hector’s feet.
Grieved by the loss of his grandson Amphimachus, Poseidon disguised himself as Thoas, a prince to whom his subjects gave almost divine honours; he would make still greater efforts to animate the Greek laggards and dishearten the Trojans. Presently he met King Idomeneus, about to enter his hut after fetching surgeons for a Cretan with a wounded knee, whom two comrades had carried from the battlefield on their shoulders. Poseidon challenged him: ‘Well, you wise Cretan, why have your loud threats against Troy miscarried?’
Idomeneus answered: ‘I cannot blame anyone. We are all good soldiers, and it would be wrong to accuse this man or that of shirking or running away. The sole cause of our reverse seems to be Almighty Zeus’ decision that we must die ingloriously on a foreign shore. But, Thoas, you were always famous for your courage in venturing behind a man and urging him to stand fast. Keep it up!’
‘Idomeneus,’ said Poseidon solemnly, ‘I trust that no Greek who evades his duty today will survive the battle—may the dogs make free with his carcase! Quick, arm yourself, and though only two against many, let us show the meaning of true valour! Even cowards derive strength from company—how much more a pair of bold champions, prepared for the worst?’
Poseidon hurried forward, while Idomeneus went into his well-appointed hut, buckled his polished armour on again, grasped two spears, and sallied out like a flash of Zeus’ lightning. Meriones, son of Molus, Idomeneus’ trusty lieutenant, met him near the entrance. ‘Swift-footed Meriones, my dearest friend, what is this?’ Idomeneus asked. ‘Why are you not fighting? Have you been injured, or do you bring me a message? I am not one to sit idle in my quarters, you know: I fight!’
Meriones said: ‘Can you lend me a spear? I splintered mine on the shield of Prince Deïphobus.’
‘Of course, I can lend you a spear!’ cried Idomeneus. ‘At least twenty are decorating the walls of this hut, mementoes of Trojans killed by me. Who dares suggest that I fight from far in the rear? My large hoard of Trojan spears, shields, helmets, and fine corslets will give him the lie!’
‘As to that,’ said Meriones, ‘I have a similar armoury stored in my hut and my ship, though yours happens to be nearer. So, please, do not imply that I am any less of a champion than yourself, or averse to facing the enemy! You should be the last to slight my battle record.’
Idomeneus soothed him: ‘Why then insist on what is ungain-sayable? Imagine that an ambush had been set for the Trojans, and we were kneeling under cover… An ambush is the supreme test of a brave man. A coward’s colour changes frequently as he alternates between hope and despair; he shifts from one knee to the other; his heart pounds, and his teeth chatter at the prospect of death. A hero masters his fear, remains calm, and asks nothing better than the signal to attack. Well, in such a situation, none of us would question your courage. And were you unlucky enough to be wounded, by an arrow fired from a distance, or at close quarters by a spear, I am sure that the wound would not be in the nape of your neck, or between your shoulderblades, but either in breast or belly, as you made for the thick of the struggle. But, no more of this! If we loiter here much longer, arguing like small boys, our comrades may grow impatient Off to my hut without further delay, and choose the stoutest spear you can find!’
Meriones did as he was invited, then hastened after Idomeneus.
All men detest the face
Of ARES, when from Thrace
Escorted by his son
TERROR, who makes men run,
He goes well armed to where
With proud and martial glare
The valiant Phrygians
Confront the Ephyrians
In stern battle array.
Our side must win the day:
The God of War is loth
Ever to honour both.
Idomeneus and Meriones might now have been mistaken for Ares and Terror. ‘Son of Deucalion,’ asked Meriones, ‘shall we visit the right flank, the left, or the centre? I believe the left flank is weakest.’
‘We need have no anxiety about the centre,’ Idomeneus answered. ‘Great and Little Ajax are there, also Teucrus, a fine spearman and our best archer; they will keep Hector fully occupied, however voracious his appetite for battle. In fact, I think it most improbable that he will contrive to burn our ships, unless Zeus himself hurls a flaming torch at them. Great Ajax, son of Telamon, would certainly yield to no champion whose food was barley-bread, rather than divine ambrosia, and from whose body sword-strokes and boulders did not rebound harmlessly. When it comes to close combat, Ajax could stand even against Achilles; though in a running fight, I admit, Achilles has never met his match. So let us choose the left flank, and learn whether we are destined to win glory by killing Trojans, or whether the glory will be theirs.’
To the left flank they went, shouting assent. The Trojans surged forward, and met them near the sterns of their beached ships.
Winds in a pack attack
A much-used wagon-track,
Flurry its dust and shroud
The scene with a white cloud.
Similar flurry and confusion reigned throughout the camp, and eyes dazzled at the play of sunshine on helmets, newly-burnished corslets, bright shields, and the two lines bristling with long, sharp-bladed spears. Whoever did not feel his heart stirred by joy and pain at this spectacle must have been a man of remarkable composure.
The rival aims of the brothers Zeus and Poseidon were causing excessive grief and anguish on earth. It will be remembered that Zeus meant Hector’s Trojans to gain the victory, short of a Greek massacre, and thus avenge the wounded honour of Achilles, his benefactress Thetis’ son; whereas Poseidon had stolen from the grey salt sea to animate the Greeks—disgusted by Zeus’ preference for their enemies. These two gods could claim the same parentage and birthplace; but since Zeus was both elder and wiser, Poseidon dared not take an active part in the battle. He merely adopted human guise and encouraged the Greeks to hold fast. Over the opposing armies, therefore, two divine ropes were stretched, knotted together and pulled taut from either end in a tug-of-war. Nobody could break or undo that knot and, while it held, the slaughter went on.
Idomeneus, despite his grizzled beard, entered the battle with an alarming leap and cry. Recently, an adventurer named Othryoneus had heard tell of the Greek expedition
, and come to Troy from Cabesus as a suitor for Cassandra, King Priam’s daughter; ingenuously undertaking to drive the Greek army out of the Troad, if Priam would accept this service in lieu of a bride-gift! Priam having sworn agreement, Othryoneus was keeping his side of the bargain, and now strode confidently ahead of the Trojan line. Idomeneus, however, hurled a spear with such force and so true an aim that it pierced Othryoneus’ bronze corslet and buried itself in his belly. He crashed to the ground, and Idomeneus taunted him: ‘Othryoneus, I shall call you the most formidable hero alive, if you can still make good your undertaking to King Priam in that matter of the bride-gift! But why not change sides? We promise you as handsome a reward for the capture of Troy and prompt payment, too, when you bring it off. Agamemnon will have his prettiest daughter sent from Greece, so that you may celebrate the wedding here. Rise, and let us conclude the marriage covenant at once; he seldom drives a hard bargain.’
Idomeneus stooped, caught Othryoneus by the foot, and was dragging him away, when Prince Asius appeared. He had dismounted from his chariot, and the driver kept the horses so close in his rear that their breath warmed his shoulders. Asius tried to kill Idomeneus before he could despoil Othryoneus’ corpse, but Idomeneus struck first, spearing him in the throat, just under the chin; the point emerged at the nape of his neck.
With newly sharpened axes, see,
Ship’s carpenters attack a tree,
And whether poplar, pine or oak
No timber stands against their stroke.
Asius fell, like a tall oak, and the driver lost his habitual presence of mind. He should have wheeled the team around and saved them from capture; instead, he gazed in horror at Asius, who lay moaning and clutching the bloody soil. Nestor’s son Antilochus thrust him through the belly, despite his stout bronze corslet; he gave one gasp and tumbled over the rail. Antilochus took the chariot.
Deiphobus hoped to avenge Asius by a short spear-cast at Idomeneus. But Idomeneus, watching him intently, ducked behind the brass-bound bull’s hide shield, fitted with arm-rods, which he always carried; and the spear clanged as it glanced off the rim. Nevertheless, it had not been thrown for nothing: because Hypsenor, son of Hippasus, the Trachian commander, chanced by; he was struck in the liver, and died at once. Deiphobus exulted: ‘Aha, Asius is avenged! Even on his road to Hades’ kingdom he will rejoice at the escort I have sent to accompany him.’