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.