but still the Trojans could not rout the Argives.
They held tight as a working widow holds the scales,
painstakingly grips the beam and lifts the weight
and the wool together, balancing both sides even,
struggling to win a grim subsistence for her children.
So powerful armies drew their battle line dead even
till, at last, Zeus gave Hector the son of Priam
the greater glory--the first to storm the wall.
Hector loosed a piercing cry at his men:
"Drive, drive, my stallion-breaking Trojans!
Breach the Achaean rampart! Hurl your fire now--
a blazing inferno of fire against their ships!"
So he cried,
driving them on, and all ears rang with his cries
and a tight phalanx launched straight at the wall,
brandishing sharp spears, swarming the bastions
as Hector grappled a boulder, bore it up and on.
It stood at the gates, huge, blunt at the base
but spiked to a jagged point
and no two men, the best in the whole realm,
could easily prize it up from earth and onto a wagon,
weak as men are now--but he quickly raised and shook it
as Zeus the son of Cronus with Cronus' twisting ways
made it a light lift for Hector all on his own.
As a shepherd lifts a ram's fleece with ease,
plucks it up with a hand--no weight at all to him--
so Hector raised the rock, bore it straight for the doors
that blocked the gateway, powerful, thickset, the pair
towering up with two bars on the inside, crossing over
each other, shot home with a bolt to pin them firm.
Planting his body right in front, legs spread wide,
his weight in the blow to give it total impact,
Hector hurled at the gates, full center, smashing
the hinges left and right and the boulder tore through,
dropped with a crash and both gates groaned and thundered--
the doorbars could not hold, the planking shattered up
in a flying storm of splinters under the rock's force
and Hector burst through in glory, his face dark
as the sudden rushing night but he blazed on in bronze
and terrible fire broke from the gear that wrapped his body,
two spears in his fists. No one could fight him, stop him,
none but the gods as Hector hurtled through the gates
and his eyes flashed fire. And whirling round
he cried to his Trojans, shouting through the ruck,
"The wall, storm the wall!"
They rushed to obey him,
some swarming over the top at once, others streaming in
through the sturdy gateways--Argives scattering back in terror,
back by the hollow hulls, the uproar rising, no way out, no end--
BOOK THIRTEEN
Battling for the Ships
But once Zeus had driven Hector and Hector's Trojans
hard against the ships, he left both armies there,
milling among the hulls to bear the brunt
and wrenching work of war--no end in sight--
while Zeus himself, his shining eyes turned north,
gazed a world away to the land of Thracian horsemen,
the Mysian fighters hand-to-hand and the lordly Hippemolgi
who drink the milk of mares, and the Abii, most decent men alive.
But not a moment more would he turn his shining eyes to Troy.
Zeus never dreamed in his heart a single deathless god
would go to war for Troy's or Achaea's forces now.
But the mighty god of earthquakes was not blind.
He kept his watch, enthralled by the rush of battle,
aloft the summit of timbered Samos facing Thrace.
From there the entire Ida ridge swung clear in view,
the city of Priam clear and the warships of Achaea.
Climbing out of the breakers, there Poseidon sat
and pitied the Argives beaten down by Trojan troops
and his churning outrage rose against the Father.
Suddenly down from the mountain's rocky crags
Poseidon stormed with giant, lightning strides
and the looming peaks and tall timber quaked
beneath his immortal feet as the sea lord surged on.
Three great strides he took, on the fourth he reached his goal,
Aegae port where his famous halls are built in the green depths,
the shimmering golden halls of the god that stand forever.
Down Poseidon dove and yoked his bronze-hoofed horses
onto his battle-car, his pair that raced the wind
with their golden manes streaming on behind them,
and strapping the golden armor round his body,
seized his whip that coils lithe and gold
and boarded his chariot launching up and out,
skimming the waves, and over the swells they came,
dolphins leaving their lairs to sport across his wake,
leaping left and right--well they knew their lord.
And the sea heaved in joy, cleaving a path for him
and the team flew on in a blurring burst of speed,
the bronze axle under the war-car never flecked with foam,
the stallions vaulting, speeding Poseidon toward Achaea's fleet.
There is a vast cave, down in the dark sounding depths,
mid-sea between Tenedos and Imbros' rugged cliffs ...
Here the god of the earthquake drove his horses down,
he set them free of the yoke and flung before them
heaps of ambrosia, fodder for them to graze.
Round their hoofs he looped the golden hobbles
never broken, never slipped, so there they'd stand,
stock-still on the spot to wait their lord's return
and off Poseidon strode to Achaea's vast encampment.
But the Trojans swarmed like flame, like a whirlwind
following Hector son of Priam blazing on nonstop,
their war cries shattering, crying as one man--
their hopes soaring to take the Argive ships
and slaughter all their best against the hulls.
But the ocean king who grips and shakes the earth,
rising up from the offshore swell, urged the Argives,
taking the build and tireless voice of Calchas.
First the god commanded the Great and Little Ajax,
hungry for war as both men were already, "Ajax, Ajax!
Both of you--fight to save the Achaean armies,
call up your courage, no cringing panic now!
At other points on the line I have no fear
of the Trojans' hands, invincible as they seem--
troops who had stormed our massive wall in force--
our men-at-arms will hold them all at bay.
But here I fear the worst, I dread a breakthrough.
Here this firebrand, rabid Hector leads the charge,
claiming to be the son of high and mighty Zeus.
But the two of you, if only a god could make you
stand fast yourselves, tense with all your power,
and command the rest of your men to stand fast too--
then you could hurl him back from the deep-sea ships,
hard as he hurls against you, even if Zeus himself
impels the madman on."
In the same breath the god
who shakes the mainland struck both men with his staff
and filled their hearts with strength and striking force,
put spring in their limbs, their feet and fighting hands.
Then off he sped himself with the speed of a darting hawk
that soaring up from a sheer rock face, hovering high,
swoops at the plain to harry larks and swallows--
so the lord of the earthquake sped away from both.
First of the two to know the god was rapid Ajax.
Oileus' son alerted Telamon's son at once:
"Ajax, since one of the gods who hold Olympus,
a god in a prophet's shape, spurs us on to fight
beside the ships--and I tell you he's not Calchas,
seer of the gods who scans the flight of birds ...
The tracks in his wake, his stride as he sped away--
I know him at once, with ease--no mistaking the gods.
And now, what's more, the courage inside my chest
is racing faster for action, full frontal assault--
feet quiver beneath me, hands high for the onset!"
And Telamonian Ajax joined him, calling out,
"I can feel it too, now, the hands on my spear,
invincible hands quivering tense for battle, look--
the power rising within me, feet beneath me rushing me on!
I even long to meet this Hector in single combat,
blaze as he does nonstop for bloody war!"
So they roused each other, exulting in the fire,
the joy of battle the god excited in their hearts.
And he sped to the rear to stir more ranks of Argives,
men refreshing their strength against the fast ships,
dead on their feet from the slogging work of war--
and anguish caught their hearts to see the Trojans,
troops who had stormed their massive wall in force.
They watched that assault, weeping freely now ...
they never thought they would fight free of death.
But a light urging sent by the god of earthquakes
rippled through their lines and whipped battalions on.
Spurring Teucer and Leitus first with bracing orders,
then the fighting Peneleos, Thoas and Deipyrus,
Meriones and Antilochus, both strong with the war cry,
Poseidon pressed them on with winging charges: "Shame--
you Argives, raw recruits--and I, I trusted in you,
certain that if you fight you'll save our ships!
But if you hang back from the grueling battle now,
your day has dawned to be crushed by Trojans. What disgrace--
a marvel right before my eyes! A terrible thing ...
and I never dreamed the war would come to this:
the Trojans advancing all the way to our ships,
men who up till now had panicked like deer,
food in the woods for jackals, leopards, wolves--
helpless, racing for dear life, all fight gone.
For months on end the Trojans would have no heart
to stand and face the Argives' rage and bloody hands.
Not for a moment. Ah but now, quite exposed,
far from Troy they battle around our hollow ships,
thanks to our leader's weakness, our armies' slacking off.
Our men fight with him. They'd rather drop and die
by our fast trim ships than rise to their defense.
And what if it's all true and the man's to blame--
lord of the far-flung kingdoms, hero Agamemnon--
because he spurned the famous runner Achilles?
How on earth can we hang back from combat now?
Heal our feuds at once! Surely they can be healed,
the hearts of the brave. How can you hold back
your combat-fury any longer? Not with honor--
you, the finest men in all our ranks ...
Why, not even I would rail against that man,
that worthless coward who cringes from the fighting.
But you, I round on you with all my heart. Weaklings!
You'll make the crisis worse at any moment with this,
this hanging back. Each of you get a grip on yourself--
where's your pride, your soldier's sense of shame?
A great battle rises before us! Look--Hector
the king of the war cry fights beside our ships,
assaulting in all his force. Hector's crashed our gates,
he's burst the tremendous bar!"
His voice like a shock wave,
the god of the earthquake spurred the Argive fighters on--
battalions forming around the two Aeantes, full strength,
crack battalions the god of war would never scorn,
rearing midst their ranks, nor would Pallas Athena
driver of armies. Here were the best picked men
detached in squads to stand the Trojan charge
and shining Hector: a wall of them bulked together,
spear-by-spear, shield-by-shield, the rims overlapping,
buckler-to-buckler, helm-to-helm, man-to-man massed tight
and the horsehair crests on glittering helmet horns brushed
as they tossed their heads, the battalions bulked so dense,
shoulder-to-shoulder close, and the spears they shook
in daring hands packed into jagged lines of battle--
single-minded fighters facing straight ahead,
Achaeans primed for combat.
Trojans pounded down on them!
Tight formations led by Hector careering breakneck on
like a deadly rolling boulder torn from a rock face--
a river swollen with snow has wrenched it from its socket,
immense floods breaking the bank's grip, and the reckless boulder
bounding high, flying with timber rumbling under it,
nothing can stop it now, hurtling on undaunted
down, down till it hits the level plain
and then it rolls no more for all its wild rush.
So Hector threatened at first to rampage through
the Argives' ships and shelters and reach the sea
with a single sudden charge, killing all the way.
But once he crashed against those dense battalions
dead in his tracks he stopped, crushed up against them:
sons of Achaea faced him now, stabbing away with swords,
with two-edged spears, hoisting him off their lines--
and he gave ground, staggering, reeling, shouting out
to his troops with shrill cries, "Trojans! Lycians!
Dardan skirmishers hand-to-hand-stand by me here!
They cannot hold me off any longer, these Achaeans,
not even massed like a wall against me here--
they'll crumble under my spear, well I know,
if the best of immortals really drives me on,
Hera's lord whose thunder drums the sky!"
So he shouted,
lashing the rage and fighting-fury in every Trojan.
And breaking out of their ranks Deiphobus strode,
the son of Priam fired for feats of arms, there,
thrusting his balanced round buckler before him,
step by springy step on the balls of his feet,
pressing forward under his shield. But Meriones,
taking aim at Deiphobus, hurled his flashing spear
and struck--no miss!--right in the bull's-hide boss
but the spear did not ram through, far from it,
the long shaft snapped at the spearhead's socket--
the Trojan had thrust his shield at arm's length,
shrinking before the expert marksman's lance.
But now Meriones pulled back to his cohorts,
stung with rage for two defeats at once:
victory shattered, spearshaft smashed to bits.
He went on the run to Achaea's ships and shelters,
out for the heavy lance he'd left aslant his hut.
The rest fought on with deafening war cries rising.
Teucer was first to kill his man, a son of Mentor,
breeder of stallions, the rugged spearman Imbrius.
He had lived in Pedaeon, before the Argives cam
e,
and wed a bastard daughter of Priam, Medesicaste,
but once the rolling ships of Achaea swept ashore,
home he came to Troy where he shone among the Trojans,
living close to Priam, who prized him like his sons.
Under his ear the son of Telamon stabbed with a heavy lance,
wrenched the weapon out and down he went like a tall ash
on a landmark mountain ridge that glistens far and wide--
chopped down by an ax, its leaves running with sap,
strewn across the earth ... So Imbrius fell,
the fine bronze armor clashing against him hard.
Teucer charged forward, mad to strip that gear
but as Teucer charged, Hector flung his lance--
a glint of bronze--but the Argive saw it coming,
dodged to the side and it missed him by an inch
and hit Amphimachus, Cteatus' son and Actor's heir,
the shaft slashed his chest as he ran toward the front
and down he went, thundering, armor clanging round him.
And Hector rushed to tear the helmet off his head,
snug on Amphimachus' brows, the gallant soldier--
Hector rushing in and Ajax lunged with a spear
yet the burnished weapon could not pierce his skin,
Hector's whole body was cased in tremendous bronze.
But Ajax did stab home at the shield's jutting bulge,
beating Hector back with enormous driving force
and he gave ground, back and away from both corpses
as Argives hauled them from the fighting by the heels.
The captains of Athens, Stichius, staunch Menestheus,
bore Amphimachus back to Achaea's waiting lines.
But the two Aeantes blazing in battle-fury
saw to Imbrius now ... as two lions seizing a goat
from under the guard of circling rip-tooth hounds,
lugging the carcass on through dense matted brush,
hoist it up from the earth in their big grinding jaws.
So the ramping, crested Aeantes hoisted Imbrius high,
stripping his gear in mid-air, and the Little Ajax,
raging over Amphimachus' death, lopped the head
from the corpse's limp neck and with one good heave
sent it spinning into the milling fighters like a ball,
right at the feet of Hector, tumbling in the dust.
And then the heart of Poseidon quaked with anger--
his own grandson brought down in the bloody charge.
He surged along the Achaean ships and shelters,
spurring Argives, piling griefs on Trojans.
The famous spearman Idomeneus crossed his path--
he'd come from a friend who just emerged from battle
gashed in back of the kneecap, gouged by whetted bronze.
That soldier the comrades carried off but Idomeneus,
giving the healers orders, made for his own tent
though he still yearned for action face-to-face.
And the god of earthquakes only fueled his fire,
taking the voice of Thoas, son of Andraemon,
king over all Pleuron, craggy Calydon too
and Aetolian men he ruled revered him like a god: