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So they fought like blazing fire, while Antilochus came swift-footed to Achilles with his news. He found him before the high-prowed ships, pondering in his heart what had already come to pass. Troubled, he spoke to his own proud spirit: “Ah me, why are the long-haired Achaeans once more driven back upon the ships, fleeing in terror across the plain?

“May the gods not bring to pass the bitter griefs my mother once foretold to me, when she said that while I still lived the best of the Myrmidons would leave the sunlight beneath the hands of the Trojans.

“Surely the valiant son of Menoetius is dead, poor man! Yet I told him to come back to the ships once he had beaten off the enemy’s fire, and not to fight Hector face to face.” While he turned these thoughts over in his mind and heart, the son of noble Nestor drew near, shedding hot tears, and spoke his grievous message: “Ah, son of wise Peleus, you must hear dreadful news—would that it had never happened!

“Patroclus lies dead, and they are fighting over his naked body. Hector of the flashing helmet has his armor.” So he spoke, and a black cloud of grief enfolded Achilles. With both hands he caught up the dark dust and poured it over his head, disfiguring his handsome face, and black ash settled upon his fragrant tunic.

He lay stretched in the dust, his great body sprawling, and with his own hands tore and ravaged his hair. The captive women whom Achilles and Patroclus had taken cried aloud in anguish and ran out of doors around warlike Achilles. They all beat their breasts with their hands, and each woman’s knees gave way beneath her.

Across from him Antilochus wept and lamented, holding Achilles’ hands, while Achilles groaned in his noble heart; for Antilochus feared he might cut his throat with a blade. Achilles gave a terrible cry, and his lady mother heard him where she sat in the depths of the sea beside her aged father. Then she too cried out, and all the Nereid goddesses who lived in the sea’s depths gathered around her.

There were Glauce and Thaleia and Cymodoce, Nesaea and Speio and Thoe and ox-eyed Halia, Cymothoe and Actaea and Limnoreia, Melite and Iaera and Amphithoe and Agaue, Doto and Proto and Pherusa and Dynamene, Dexamene and Amphinome and Callianeira, Doris and Panope and far-famed Galatea, Nemertes and Apseudes and Callianassa. There too were Clymene and Ianeira and Ianassa, Maera and Oreithyia and lovely-haired Amatheia, and all the other Nereids who lived in the depths of the sea.

The silver cave was filled with them. All together they beat their breasts, and Thetis led their lament: “Listen, my sisters, daughters of Nereus, so that you may all hear and know the sorrows in my heart.

“Ah, how wretched I am! To my sorrow I bore the best of sons, a son blameless and strong, preeminent among heroes. He shot up like a sapling; I nurtured him like a tree on the rich slope of an orchard, then sent him in curved ships to Ilios to fight the Trojans. But I shall never welcome him home again to the house of Peleus.

“And while he lives and looks upon the sunlight, he suffers, and I cannot go to him and help him. Yet I will go, to see my dear child and learn what grief has come upon him while he stays apart from battle.”

With these words she left the cave, and the others went with her, weeping, while the sea’s waves parted around them. When they reached the fertile land of Troy, they climbed ashore one after another where the Myrmidons’ ships lay drawn up close together around swift Achilles.

His lady mother stood beside him as he groaned heavily. With a piercing cry she took her son’s head in her hands and, lamenting, spoke winged words: “My child, why do you weep? What sorrow has come upon your heart?

“Speak out; do not hide it. Zeus has brought to pass what you once prayed for with uplifted hands: that all the sons of the Achaeans should be penned beside their ships’ sterns, longing for you, and suffer shameful things.”

Groaning heavily, swift-footed Achilles answered her: “My mother, the Olympian has indeed fulfilled my wish. But what pleasure is there in it for me, now that my dear companion is dead—Patroclus, whom I honored above all my companions, as dearly as my own life? I have lost him, and Hector, who killed him, has stripped away his armor, that splendid armor, immense and wonderful to behold. The gods gave it to Peleus as a glorious gift on the day they brought you to a mortal man’s bed.

“Would that you had stayed there among the immortal sea-goddesses, and Peleus had taken a mortal wife! But now you too must suffer boundless grief in your heart for your dead son, whom you will never welcome home again. For my heart no longer urges me to live or move among men unless Hector first falls beneath my spear and loses his life, paying for the spoils he took from Patroclus, son of Menoetius.”

Then Thetis answered him, shedding tears: “Your life will soon be ended, my child, if what you say comes true, for your own death stands ready close behind Hector’s.”

Deeply troubled, swift-footed Achilles answered her: “Then let me die at once, since I was not to save my companion from being killed. Far from his homeland he perished, and he needed me to stand beside him and ward off destruction.

“Now, since I shall never return to my dear native land, nor have I brought deliverance to Patroclus or to my other companions, so many of whom glorious Hector has slain, I sit beside the ships, a useless burden on the earth—I, who have no equal in battle among the bronze-clad Achaeans, though in council there are others better than I.

“Would that strife might perish from among gods and men, and anger too, which drives even a wise man to rage—anger, sweeter far than dripping honey, that swells like smoke within men’s breasts. So Agamemnon, lord of men, has stirred my anger.

“But we will let the past be past, however bitterly we grieve, and force the hearts within our breasts into submission. Now I will go to find Hector, the killer of the man I loved. And I will accept my own death whenever Zeus and the other immortal gods choose to bring it upon me.

“Not even mighty Heracles escaped death, though he was dearest of all to lord Zeus, son of Cronus. Fate brought him low, and Hera’s bitter anger. So I too, if such a fate is made for me, shall lie dead when death comes. But now let me win great glory, and make some deep-bosomed Trojan or Dardanian woman wipe the tears from her tender cheeks with both hands and sob in anguish. Let them know how long I have stayed away from battle! Do not hold me back from fighting, much as you love me. You will not persuade me.”

Then the goddess Thetis of the silver feet answered him: “Yes, my child, it is truly no bad thing to ward off utter ruin from your hard-pressed companions. But your beautiful armor of gleaming bronze is in Trojan hands. Hector of the flashing helmet wears it on his shoulders and exults in it. Yet I do not think he will glory in it long, for his death is close at hand.

“But do not plunge into the turmoil of Ares until you see me here again with your own eyes. At dawn, when the sun rises, I will return, bringing splendid armor from lord Hephaestus.”

With these words she turned away from her son and spoke to her sisters of the sea: “Now dive down into the sea’s broad bosom, to visit our aged father in his house, and tell him everything. I shall go to high Olympus, to Hephaestus, famed for his craft, to see whether he will give my son glorious, shining armor.”

So she spoke, and at once they plunged beneath the sea’s waves. But the goddess Thetis of the silver feet went toward Olympus, to bring glorious armor for her beloved child. While her feet carried her toward Olympus, the Achaeans, fleeing with a tremendous din before man-slaying Hector, reached the ships and the Hellespont.

Nor could the well-greaved Achaeans have drawn even the body of Patroclus, Achilles’ companion, out of range of the missiles; for the foot soldiers and chariots had overtaken him again, with Hector, son of Priam, whose fury was like fire.

Three times glorious Hector seized him from behind by the feet, eager to drag him away, and shouted loudly to the Trojans. Three times the two Ajaxes, clothed in furious valor, drove him back from the body. Yet he stood firm, trusting in his strength, and now charged into the tumult, now stood still and shouted aloud. He would not yield an inch.

As shepherds in the fields cannot drive a tawny lion, ravenous with hunger, away from a carcass, so the two warrior Ajaxes could not frighten Hector, son of Priam, away from the dead.

And he would have dragged the body off and won immeasurable glory, had not swift, wind-footed Iris come running from Olympus to the son of Peleus, bidding him arm for battle. Hera had sent her, unknown to Zeus and all the other gods.

Standing close beside him, she spoke winged words: “Rise, son of Peleus, most terrible of all men! Defend Patroclus, for whose sake a dreadful battle rages before the ships. Men are killing one another, some defending his dead body, while the Trojans rush on to drag it toward windy Ilios. Above all, glorious Hector longs to drag him away, and his heart urges him to cut the head from his tender neck and fix it on a stake.

“Up, then! Lie there no longer. Let horror seize your heart at the thought of Patroclus becoming a plaything for Trojan dogs. Yours will be the shame if his body comes back dishonored.” Then noble, swift-footed Achilles answered her: “Goddess Iris, which of the gods sent you to me as messenger?”

Swift, wind-footed Iris answered him: “Hera sent me, the glorious wife of Zeus. The son of Cronus, enthroned on high, knows nothing of it, nor does any other immortal who dwells on snow-clad Olympus.”

Swift-footed Achilles answered her: “How can I go into the fighting? They have my armor, and my dear mother forbade me to arm for battle until I should see her here again with my own eyes. She promised to bring me splendid armor from Hephaestus.

“I know of no one else whose glorious armor I could wear, unless it were the shield of Ajax, son of Telamon. But he himself, I think, is among the foremost fighters, dealing death with his spear around the fallen Patroclus.”

Swift, wind-footed Iris answered him: “We too know well that your glorious armor is in enemy hands. Yet go as you are to the trench and show yourself to the Trojans. Perhaps in fear of you they will draw back from the fighting, and the warlike sons of the Achaeans, hard pressed as they are, may find a breathing space. Brief though it is, there is respite from war.”

With these words swift-footed Iris departed, and Achilles, dear to Zeus, rose up. Athena cast her tasseled aegis about his mighty shoulders, and the glorious goddess crowned his head with a golden cloud, kindling from it a dazzling flame.

As when smoke rises to heaven from a distant island, from a city besieged by enemies, whose people fight all day before their own town in hateful war; and at sunset beacon fires blaze thick and fast, their light leaping high for neighboring islanders to see, in hope that they may come in ships to ward off destruction—so from Achilles’ head a radiance reached the heavens. He went beyond the wall and stood beside the trench, but did not mingle with the Achaeans, for he respected his mother’s wise command.

There he stood and shouted, and from afar Pallas Athena raised her voice with his, rousing unspeakable panic among the Trojans. Clear as the sound of a trumpet when murderous enemies besiege a city, so rang out the voice of the grandson of Aeacus.

When they heard that brazen voice, all their hearts were shaken. The horses with their flowing manes wheeled the chariots backward, sensing disaster, and the charioteers were struck with terror when they saw the dreadful, tireless fire blazing above the head of great-hearted Peleus’ son. The bright-eyed goddess Athena had kindled it.

Three times noble Achilles shouted mightily across the trench, and three times the Trojans and their renowned allies fell into confusion. There and then twelve of their finest men perished among their own chariots and spears. Gladly the Achaeans drew Patroclus out of range of the missiles and laid him on a bier. His dear companions stood around him, weeping, and swift-footed Achilles went with them, shedding hot tears as he saw his faithful companion lying on the bier, mangled by sharp bronze. He had sent him into battle with horses and chariot, but had not welcomed him home again.

Then ox-eyed lady Hera sent the tireless Sun unwillingly down to the streams of Ocean. The sun sank, and the noble Achaeans ceased from the fierce struggle and the war that spares no one.

On the other side the Trojans withdrew from the fierce fighting and unyoked the swift horses from their chariots. Before thinking of supper, they gathered in assembly. They held their assembly standing; no one dared sit down, for terror gripped them all because Achilles had appeared, after so long an absence from the bitter fighting.

Wise Polydamas, son of Panthous, was the first to speak. He alone could look both forward and behind. He was Hector’s companion, and they had been born on the same night, but he far excelled in counsel, as Hector did with the spear. With their welfare at heart he addressed them: “Consider carefully, friends. I urge you now to go back to the city, and not await bright dawn here on the plain beside the ships. We are far from our walls.

“While this man was angry with noble Agamemnon, the Achaeans were easier to fight. I was glad then to spend the night beside their swift ships, hoping we would capture those curving vessels.

“But now I dread the swift-footed son of Peleus. Such is his overbearing spirit that he will not be content to remain on the plain, where Trojans and Achaeans meet between the city and the ships to share the fury of Ares. He will fight for our city and our wives.

“Let us return to the city. Listen to me, for this is what will happen. For now immortal night has halted the swift-footed son of Peleus. But if tomorrow he finds us still here when he charges out in armor, many a man will know him well. Gladly will any man who escapes reach sacred Ilios, but dogs and vultures will devour many Trojans. May news of such a thing never reach my ears!

“But if we follow my counsel, however troubled we are, we shall keep our forces in the assembly place tonight, and the towers and lofty gates, with their long, smooth-hewn doors firmly fitted and barred, will guard the city. Early tomorrow, at the first light, we will arm ourselves and take our stand upon the towers. Then it will be the worse for him if he chooses to come from the ships and fight us around the walls.

“Back to the ships he will go, when he has wearied his proud-necked horses with every kind of course, driving them to and fro beneath the city. His spirit will not let him force his way inside, nor will he ever sack it. Before that, the swift dogs will eat him.”

Hector of the flashing helmet glowered at him and answered: “Polydamas, this counsel of yours no longer pleases me, when you tell us to go back and shut ourselves inside the city.

“Have you not had enough of being penned within the towers? Once all men spoke of Priam’s city as rich in gold and bronze. But now the splendid treasures of our houses have vanished, and much of our wealth has been sold and carried off to Phrygia and lovely Maeonia, since mighty Zeus grew angry with us.

“Now that the son of crooked-counseling Cronus has granted me glory beside the ships and driven the Achaeans back against the sea, you fool, do not put such thoughts before the people! No Trojan will listen to you. I will not allow it.

“Come, let us all do as I say. Take your supper now throughout the army, company by company. Remember to post the watch, and let every man stay wakeful. Any Trojan who is greatly troubled about his possessions should gather them up and give them to the army to consume in common. Better that one of our own should enjoy them than the Achaeans.

“Early tomorrow, at the first light, we will arm ourselves and stir up fierce battle beside the hollow ships. If noble Achilles has truly risen beside the ships, it will be the worse for him if he chooses to fight. I will not flee from him in the dreadful clash of war, but stand against him face to face. Either he shall win great mastery over me, or I over him.

“The war god is impartial, and he slays the slayer.” So Hector spoke, and the Trojans cheered—the fools! Pallas Athena had robbed them of their wits. They applauded Hector’s evil counsel, while no one praised Polydamas, whose advice was sound.

Then they took their supper throughout the army. But all night long the Achaeans mourned Patroclus with groans and lamentation. The son of Peleus led their bitter mourning, laying his man-slaying hands upon his companion’s breast and groaning again and again, like a thick-maned lion whose cubs a hunter has stolen from the dense forest. Returning too late, he grieves, and roams through many a valley, searching for the man’s tracks in hope of finding him, for savage anger possesses him. So Achilles, groaning heavily, addressed the Myrmidons: “Ah, how empty were the words I spoke that day when I tried to hearten the warrior Menoetius in his halls! I promised him I would bring his glorious son home to Opus, once he had sacked Ilios and won his share of the spoil.

“But Zeus does not fulfill all men’s designs. It is fated that we both shall redden the same earth here in Troy, for neither the old horseman Peleus nor my mother Thetis will welcome me home to their halls. Here the earth will hold me.

“Now, Patroclus, since I shall go beneath the earth after you, I will not bury you until I have brought here the armor and the head of Hector, your proud-hearted killer. Before your pyre I will cut the throats of twelve splendid sons of the Trojans, in anger for your death.

“Until then you shall lie as you are beside my curved ships, and around you the deep-bosomed Trojan and Dardanian women shall weep night and day, shedding tears—the women whom we ourselves won by our strength and our long spears when we sacked the rich cities of mortal men.”

With these words noble Achilles ordered his companions to set a great tripod cauldron over the fire, so that they might quickly wash the bloody gore from Patroclus. They set the bathing cauldron upon the blazing fire, poured water into it, and brought wood to burn beneath.

The flames embraced the belly of the cauldron, and the water grew hot. When it boiled within the gleaming bronze, they washed him and anointed him richly with oil, and filled his wounds with ointment nine years old. Then they laid him on a bed and covered him from head to foot with a soft linen cloth, and over it spread a white robe.

All night long the Myrmidons gathered around swift-footed Achilles and mourned Patroclus with groans and lamentation. But Zeus spoke to Hera, his sister and his wife: “So you have had your way, ox-eyed lady Hera, and roused swift-footed Achilles. Surely the long-haired Achaeans must be children of your own.”

Then ox-eyed lady Hera answered him: “Dread son of Cronus, what a thing to say! Even a mortal may accomplish his purpose against another man, though he is subject to death and knows far less than we do. How then should I, who claim to be foremost among goddesses both by birth and because I am called your wife—you who rule over all the immortals—not devise harm for the Trojans in my anger?”

So they spoke to one another. Meanwhile Thetis of the silver feet reached the house of Hephaestus, imperishable, bright as the stars, a house of bronze surpassing the homes of the immortals, which the lame god had built himself.

She found him sweating, hurrying to and fro about his bellows, hard at work. He was making twenty tripods to stand around the walls of his well-built hall, and had fitted golden wheels beneath the base of each, so that they might go of their own accord to the gathering of the gods and return again to his house—a wonder to behold.

They were finished thus far, but their finely wrought handles were not yet attached. He was preparing these and forging their fastenings. While he labored at this with all his skill, the goddess Thetis of the silver feet drew near.

Beautiful Charis, in her shining veil, the wife of the renowned lame god, came forward and saw her. She clasped her hand and spoke, calling her by name: “Why have you come to our house, long-robed Thetis, honored and dear to us? You have not often visited us before.

“But come farther in, so that I may set refreshments before you.” With these words the glorious goddess led her inside. She seated her on a beautiful, cunningly wrought chair studded with silver, with a footstool beneath her feet. Then she called to Hephaestus, famed for his craft: “Hephaestus, come here! Thetis has need of you.”

The renowned lame god answered her: “Then indeed a dread and honored goddess is beneath my roof, she who saved me when suffering came upon me after I had fallen far, through the will of my shameless mother, who wished to hide me because I was lame. I should have suffered bitterly then, had Eurynome and Thetis not taken me to their bosom—Eurynome, daughter of Ocean, whose waters flow back upon themselves.

“For nine years I stayed with them, forging many intricate things—brooches and curling bracelets, earrings and necklaces—in a hollow cave, while all around it the immense stream of Ocean flowed, murmuring with foam. No one else, god or mortal, knew of me; only Thetis and Eurynome knew, who had saved me.

“And now she has come to our house. I must repay lovely-haired Thetis in full for saving my life. Set fine refreshments before her now, while I put away my bellows and all my tools.”

He spoke, and the huge, wondrous god rose limping from his anvil, his slender legs moving quickly beneath him. He drew the bellows away from the fire and gathered all the tools he worked with into a silver chest. With a sponge he wiped his face and both hands, his sturdy neck and hairy chest. Then he put on a tunic, took up a stout staff, and limped out. Golden serving women hurried to support their master, looking like living girls.

They have understanding in their hearts, and speech and strength, and the immortal gods have taught them their work. They busied themselves at their master’s side, while he made his way to where Thetis sat and settled into a shining chair beside her. He clasped her hand and spoke, calling her by name: “Why have you come to our house, long-robed Thetis, honored and dear to us? You have not often visited us before.

“Tell me what is in your mind. My heart bids me do it, if I can, and if it is a thing that can be done.” Then Thetis answered him, shedding tears: “Hephaestus, is there any goddess on Olympus who has endured such bitter sorrows in her heart as the griefs Zeus, son of Cronus, has given me above all others?

“Alone among the sea-goddesses, I was forced by him to submit to a mortal man, Peleus, son of Aeacus, and much against my will I endured a mortal’s bed. He lies now in his halls, worn down by wretched old age, but other sorrows have come upon me. Zeus granted me a son to bear and rear, preeminent among heroes. He shot up like a sapling; I nurtured him like a tree on the rich slope of an orchard, then sent him in curved ships to Ilios to fight the Trojans. But I shall never welcome him home again to the house of Peleus.

“And while he lives and looks upon the sunlight, he suffers, and I cannot go to him and help him. The girl whom the sons of the Achaeans chose for him as his prize of honor was taken from his hands by lord Agamemnon.

“Grieving for her, he wore his heart away. Meanwhile the Trojans penned the Achaeans beside their ships’ sterns and would not let them out. The elders of the Argives pleaded with him, offering many splendid gifts.

“Yet he himself refused to ward off their destruction. Instead he clothed Patroclus in his own armor and sent him into battle, with a great host to follow him.

“All day they fought about the Scaean Gates, and that very day they would have sacked the city had Apollo not killed the valiant son of Menoetius among the foremost fighters, after he had wrought great havoc, and given the glory to Hector.

“That is why I have come now to clasp your knees, in hope that you will give my short-lived son a shield and helmet, fine greaves fitted with ankle clasps, and a breastplate. His faithful companion lost the armor he had when he fell beneath the Trojans, and now my son lies on the ground in anguish.”

Then the renowned lame god answered her: “Take heart. Do not let these things trouble your mind. Would that I could hide him from grievous death when his dreadful doom comes upon him as surely as splendid armor shall be his—armor that will astonish any man among the multitude who sees it.”

With these words he left her there and went to his bellows, turned them toward the fire, and bade them work. All twenty bellows blew into the furnaces, sending out strong blasts of every force, now to help him as he labored swiftly, now more gently, according to the will of Hephaestus and the needs of his work.

He cast unyielding bronze into the fire, and tin, and precious gold and silver. Then he set a great anvil upon its block, took a heavy hammer in one hand, and grasped the tongs in the other.

First he made a great and sturdy shield, working it richly all over, and set around it a shining triple rim, glittering bright, with a silver strap attached. The shield itself had five layers, and upon it he fashioned many intricate designs with his knowing skill.

He made the earth upon it, and the heavens and the sea, the tireless sun and the moon at the full, and all the constellations that crown the heavens: the Pleiades and the Hyades and mighty Orion, and the Bear, which men also call the Wagon, wheeling where it is and watching Orion, alone denied a share in the baths of Ocean.

Upon it he made two beautiful cities of mortal men. In one were weddings and feasts. Brides were being led from their chambers through the city by the light of blazing torches, and the wedding song rose loud. Young men whirled in the dance, and among them flutes and lyres sounded, while the women stood in their doorways, each watching in wonder.

The people were gathered in the marketplace, where a dispute had arisen. Two men were quarreling over the blood price for a man who had been killed. One declared before the people that he had paid it all, while the other denied receiving anything. Both sought a judgment from an arbiter to settle the matter.

The people shouted for one side or the other, supporting both, while heralds held the crowd in check. The elders sat upon polished stones in a sacred circle, holding in their hands the staffs of the clear-voiced heralds. With these they rose in turn and gave their judgments.

In their midst lay two talents of gold, to be given to the man who pronounced the straightest judgment among them. Around the other city two armies lay encamped, shining in their armor. Their counsels were divided: whether to sack the city or divide in two all the wealth the lovely town contained. But the defenders would not yet yield, and secretly armed themselves for an ambush.

Their dear wives and young children stood guard upon the wall, together with the men whom old age held back. The others marched out, led by Ares and Pallas Athena, both made of gold and clothed in golden garments, beautiful and tall in their armor, standing out clearly, as gods should, above the smaller people.

When they reached the place that seemed right for their ambush, beside a river where all the herds were watered, they settled down, clad in gleaming bronze.

Two scouts sat apart from the army, waiting to catch sight of the sheep and the curving-horned cattle. Soon the herds came into view, followed by two herdsmen delighting in the music of their pipes, with no thought of the ambush.

Those who had spotted them rushed forward, and swiftly cut off the herds of cattle and the fine flocks of white sheep, killing the shepherds as well. When the others, seated before their places of assembly, heard the great uproar among the cattle, they mounted their high-stepping horses at once and rode in pursuit, soon reaching the spot.

They took their stand and fought beside the riverbanks, striking one another with bronze-tipped spears. Among them moved Eris and Kydoimos, and deadly Ker, holding one man alive but freshly wounded, another still unhurt, while she dragged a dead man by the feet through the fighting. The garment about her shoulders was crimson with the blood of men.

They mingled and fought like living mortals, and dragged away one another’s dead. On the shield he also set a soft, rich field, broad and thrice-ploughed, with many ploughmen driving their teams back and forth across it.

Whenever they turned and reached the headland, a man would come up and put a cup of honey-sweet wine into their hands. Then they would turn back along the furrows, eager to reach the far end of the deep-soiled field.

Behind them the earth grew dark and looked as though it had truly been ploughed, though it was made of gold: a marvellous piece of work. He also set there a king’s estate, where hired men were reaping with sharp sickles in their hands.

Some handfuls of cut grain fell thickly to the ground along the swath, while others the binders tied into sheaves with twisted bands. Three binders stood at their work, and behind them boys gathered the grain and carried it in their arms, keeping them constantly supplied. Among them the king stood silently beside the swath, sceptre in hand, his heart full of joy.

At a distance, beneath an oak, heralds were preparing a feast, tending a great ox they had slaughtered, while the women sprinkled white barley meal in abundance for the reapers’ supper. He also set there a beautiful golden vineyard, heavily laden with grapes. Its clusters were black, and silver stakes supported the vines from end to end.

Around it he fashioned a dark-blue ditch and a fence of tin. A single path led into it, along which the bearers went whenever they gathered the vintage. Maidens and youths, light of heart, carried the honey-sweet fruit in woven baskets.

In their midst a boy played sweetly on a clear-toned lyre, singing the lovely song of Linos in a delicate voice. The others followed, beating time together, singing and shouting as their feet skipped in the dance.

He also fashioned a herd of straight-horned cattle. The cattle were made of gold and tin, and with loud lowing they hurried from the byre to pasture beside a murmuring river and its waving reeds.

Four golden herdsmen walked beside the cattle, and nine swift-footed dogs followed them. But among the foremost cattle two fearsome lions had seized a bellowing bull. He was dragged away, lowing loudly, while the dogs and young men pursued him.

The lions tore open the great bull’s hide and gulped down his entrails and dark blood. In vain the herdsmen pressed after them, urging on their swift dogs. The dogs shrank from sinking their teeth into the lions; they stood close by and barked, then sprang away.

The renowned lame god also fashioned a great pasture for white sheep in a lovely valley, with farmsteads, roofed shelters, and pens. And the renowned lame god worked an intricate dancing ground, like the one Daedalus once made in broad Knossos for lovely-haired Ariadne.

There young men and maidens whose bride-price would be many cattle danced, holding one another by the wrists. The maidens wore fine linen, and the youths well-woven tunics gleaming softly with oil. The maidens wore beautiful garlands, and the youths carried golden daggers on silver belts.

At times they ran lightly on their practised feet, as a potter sits and tests a well-fitted wheel between his hands to see whether it will spin. At other times they ran in rows towards one another.

A great crowd stood around the lovely dance, delighting in it. Among them a godlike singer sang to his lyre, while two tumblers, leading the dance, whirled through their midst.

Along the outermost rim of the finely wrought shield he set the mighty stream of the river Oceanus. When he had made the great, sturdy shield, he made a breastplate brighter than the blaze of fire, and a heavy helmet fitted to the temples, beautiful and richly worked, upon which he placed a golden crest. He also made greaves of supple tin.

When the renowned lame god had finished all the armour, he lifted it and laid it before Achilles’ mother. Then, like a hawk, she sprang down from snowy Olympus, carrying the gleaming armour from Hephaestus.