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Nor did Menelaus, the warlike son of Atreus, fail to see that Patroclus had fallen to the Trojans in battle. Clad in gleaming bronze, he strode through the foremost fighters and stood over him, as a lowing mother stands over her calf, her firstborn, having never known the pains of birth before. So fair-haired Menelaus stood over Patroclus.

Before him he held his spear and round shield, eager to kill whoever came against him. Nor did the son of Panthous, skilled with the ash spear, neglect the fallen, noble Patroclus. He came close and stood beside him, and addressed warlike Menelaus: “Son of Atreus, Menelaus, king cherished by Zeus, leader of your people, draw back. Leave the corpse and let the bloodstained armor lie. No Trojan or renowned ally struck Patroclus with his spear before I did in the fierce fighting. Let me win this splendid glory among the Trojans, or I may strike you and take away your honey-sweet life.”

Deeply angered, fair-haired Menelaus answered him: “Father Zeus, there is no grace in such outrageous boasting! Neither the leopard nor the lion nor the savage wild boar, whose heart exults most fiercely in its strength, has such pride as these sons of Panthous, skilled with the ash spear.

“Yet even mighty Hyperenor, tamer of horses, had little joy of his youth when he mocked me and stood his ground, calling me the most contemptible warrior among the Danaans. I do not think he walked home on his own feet to gladden his dear wife and loving parents.

“So shall I break your strength as well, if you stand against me. But I advise you to draw back into the throng, and not face me here, before you come to harm. Even a fool learns once the deed is done.”

So he spoke, but did not persuade him. The other answered: “Now indeed, Menelaus, cherished by Zeus, you shall pay for my brother, whom you killed and boast of killing. You left his wife a widow in her newly built bridal chamber, and brought his parents grief and bitter lamentation.

“I could bring those unhappy people some respite from their mourning if I carried back your head and armor and laid them in the hands of Panthous and noble Phrontis. But the trial shall not be delayed much longer, nor the contest left undecided, whether it ends in courage or in flight.”

With that he struck the round shield, but the bronze did not pierce it: the point bent back against the sturdy shield. Then Menelaus, son of Atreus, charged in turn with his bronze spear, praying to Father Zeus. As his enemy drew back, he stabbed him at the base of the throat, leaning into the thrust with all the weight of his strong hand. The point passed clean through the tender neck. He fell with a thud, and his armor clattered about him.

Blood soaked his hair, lovely as the Graces’, and the locks bound with gold and silver. As when a man tends a flourishing olive sapling in a lonely place where water wells up plentifully, a fair and vigorous tree, stirred by breezes from every quarter and thick with white blossom, until a sudden wind comes with a mighty storm, tears it from its bed, and lays it flat upon the earth—so lay Euphorbus, son of Panthous, skilled with the ash spear, as Menelaus, son of Atreus, killed him and stripped away his armor.

As when a mountain-bred lion, trusting in his strength, seizes the finest cow in a grazing herd, first breaking her neck in his powerful jaws, then tearing her apart and gulping down her blood and all her entrails, while dogs and herdsmen raise a great outcry around him from a distance, unwilling to come close, for pale terror grips them—so not one of them had the heart to face glorious Menelaus.

Then the son of Atreus would easily have carried off the splendid armor of Panthous’ son, had Phoebus Apollo not begrudged him the prize. Taking the likeness of Mentes, leader of the Cicones, he roused Hector against him, Hector the peer of swift Ares. He addressed him with winged words: “Hector, here you are running after an unreachable prize, the horses of the brave grandson of Aeacus. They are hard for mortal men to master and drive, for anyone but Achilles, whose mother is immortal.

“Meanwhile warlike Menelaus, son of Atreus, has stood over Patroclus and killed the finest of the Trojans, Euphorbus, son of Panthous, and stopped his furious valor.” With that the god went back into the turmoil of men, while terrible grief enfolded Hector’s dark heart. He looked along the ranks and at once saw one man stripping the glorious armor, and the other lying on the ground, blood flowing from his open wound.

Clad in gleaming bronze, he strode through the foremost fighters with a piercing cry, like the unquenchable flame of Hephaestus. His shrill shout did not escape the son of Atreus. Troubled, Menelaus spoke to his own great heart: “Alas! If I leave this splendid armor and Patroclus, who lies here for the sake of my honor, some Danaan who sees it may reproach me.

“But if, for shame, I fight Hector and the Trojans alone, many may surround me, one against them all. Hector of the flashing helmet is bringing all the Trojans here. Yet why does my heart debate these things?

“When a man defies divine will and fights another whom a god honors, great disaster soon comes rolling upon him. No Danaan who sees me will blame me for giving ground before Hector, since he fights with the gods’ support.

“But if I could only hear Ajax, master of the war cry, the two of us might return and take up the fight, even against divine will, in the hope of rescuing the body for Achilles, son of Peleus. That would be the best of these bitter choices.”

While he turned these thoughts over in his mind and heart, the Trojan ranks advanced, with Hector at their head. Menelaus drew back and left the corpse, turning again and again, like a thick-maned lion whom dogs and men drive from a cattle pen with spears and shouting. His valiant heart grows cold, yet unwillingly he leaves the enclosure. So fair-haired Menelaus withdrew from Patroclus.

When he reached the throng of his companions, he turned and stood looking for great Ajax, son of Telamon. Soon he saw him on the far left of the whole battle, heartening his companions and urging them to fight, for Phoebus Apollo had cast a supernatural terror among them. Menelaus ran to him, and standing close beside him, spoke:

“Ajax, dear friend, come here! Let us hurry to defend the dead Patroclus, in the hope of bringing his body back to Achilles, naked though it is. Hector of the flashing helmet has his armor.” These words stirred the heart of valiant Ajax, and he strode through the foremost fighters, with fair-haired Menelaus beside him.

Hector, after stripping Patroclus of his splendid armor, was dragging him away, meaning to cut his head from his shoulders with the sharp bronze and haul off his corpse to give it to the dogs of Troy. But Ajax came near, bearing his shield like a tower. Hector drew back into the throng of his companions and leapt into his chariot. He gave the splendid armor to the Trojans to carry to the city, to be his great renown.

Ajax spread his broad shield over the son of Menoetius and stood like a lion over his cubs, when hunters meet him in the forest as he leads his young. He glares in the pride of his strength, drawing down his brows until they cover his eyes. So Ajax stood over the hero Patroclus.

On the other side stood warlike Menelaus, son of Atreus, with great sorrow swelling in his breast. Then Glaucus, son of Hippolochus, leader of the Lycian warriors, glared at Hector and rebuked him harshly: “Hector, supreme in looks, how far you fall short in battle!

“Your splendid fame is undeserved, since you are a man who runs away. Now consider how you will save your city and its stronghold alone, with only the men born in Ilium. No Lycian will go out to fight the Danaans for your city, since there is no thanks, it seems, for battling endlessly against your enemies.

“Cruel man, how could you save a lesser warrior in the throng, when you abandoned Sarpedon, your guest-friend and companion, to become the Argives’ prey and spoil? While he lived, he was a great help to your city and to you; yet now you have not dared to keep the dogs from him.

“So if any of the Lycians will listen to me, we shall go home, and utter destruction will loom over Troy. If only the Trojans now had bold, unflinching courage, such as enters men who bear the toil and strife of battle against their enemies for their homeland, we should soon drag Patroclus inside Ilium.

“If his dead body came to the great city of King Priam, if we dragged him from the battle, the Argives would soon give up Sarpedon’s splendid armor, and we could bring Sarpedon himself into Ilium. For the man whose companion has been killed is far the best of the Argives by the ships, and his followers are fighters at close quarters.

“But you did not dare to stand against great-hearted Ajax, looking him in the eyes amid the enemy’s outcry, or fight him face to face, because he is stronger than you.” Hector of the flashing helmet glared at him and answered: “Glaucus, how could a man like you speak so arrogantly?

“I truly thought you wiser than all the others who inhabit fertile Lycia. But now I utterly condemn your judgment for what you have said, claiming that I did not stand against mighty Ajax.

“I do not shudder at battle or the thunder of horses. But the purpose of Zeus who bears the aegis is always stronger: he puts even a valiant man to flight and easily robs him of victory, though at other times he himself urges him to fight.

“Come here, dear friend, stand beside me and watch what I do. See whether I prove a coward all day long, as you say, or stop some Danaan, however eager for battle, from defending the dead Patroclus.”

With that he called out to the Trojans in a mighty voice: “Trojans, Lycians, and Dardanians who fight at close quarters, be men, my friends, and remember your furious courage, while I put on the splendid armor of noble Achilles, which I stripped from mighty Patroclus after killing him.”

So saying, Hector of the flashing helmet left the savage battle. Running swiftly, he soon overtook his companions, who were not yet far away, carrying the glorious armor of Peleus’ son toward the city.

Standing apart from the battle that brings so many tears, he changed his armor. He gave his own to the warlike Trojans to carry to sacred Ilium, and put on the immortal armor of Achilles, son of Peleus, which the gods of heaven had given his dear father. In his old age Peleus had bestowed it on his son; but the son did not grow old in his father’s armor.

When Zeus the cloud-gatherer saw him from afar putting on the armor of the godlike son of Peleus, he shook his head and spoke to his own heart: “Poor man, you give no thought to death, though it is close upon you. You put on the immortal armor of a peerless warrior, before whom all others tremble. You have killed his gentle, mighty companion, and stripped the armor from his head and shoulders in defiance of what is right. Yet for now I shall grant you great strength, in recompense for this: you will not return from battle for Andromache to receive from you the glorious armor of Peleus’ son.”

So spoke the son of Cronus, and nodded his dark brows. The armor fitted Hector’s body, and Ares, the dread god of war, entered him. His limbs were filled with courage and strength. Shouting mightily, he went among the renowned allies, and to all of them he appeared in the shining armor of great-hearted Peleus’ son.

He went from man to man, urging them on: Mesthles, Glaucus, Medon, Thersilochus, Asteropaeus, Deisenor, Hippothous, Phorcys, Chromius, and Ennomus the interpreter of birds. To stir them he spoke these winged words: “Listen, countless tribes of allies dwelling round about! It was not because I sought or needed a crowd that I gathered each of you here from your cities, but so that you might willingly defend the Trojans’ wives and little children from the warlike Achaeans.

“With that in mind I drain my people’s wealth for gifts and food, and foster the spirit of each of you. So now let every man face forward, whether he dies or is saved: such is the intimate converse of war.

“Whoever drags Patroclus, dead though he is, among the horse-taming Trojans and makes Ajax give way, I shall give him half the spoils and keep half myself. His glory shall be as great as mine.”

So he spoke, and they charged straight at the Danaans in a mass, their spears raised, their hearts full of hope that they would drag the corpse from beneath Ajax, son of Telamon. Fools! Over that body he would take the lives of many of them.

Then Ajax spoke to Menelaus, master of the war cry: “Dear friend, Menelaus, cherished by Zeus, I no longer expect even the two of us to return alive from this battle. I am not so afraid for Patroclus’ body, which will soon glut the dogs and birds of Troy, as I fear for my own life and yours, lest we come to harm. Hector wraps everything in a cloud of war, and sheer destruction looms before us.

“Come, call the best of the Danaans, if any can hear.” So he spoke, and Menelaus, master of the war cry, obeyed. He shouted piercingly to the Danaans: “Friends, leaders and rulers of the Argives, you who drink at the people’s expense beside the sons of Atreus, Agamemnon and Menelaus, each commanding his own men, with honor and glory attending you from Zeus!

“It is hard for me to pick out each leader with my eyes, so fiercely has the strife of battle flared. But let each man come of his own accord, and feel shame in his heart at the thought of Patroclus becoming a plaything for the dogs of Troy.”

So he spoke, and swift Ajax, son of Oileus, heard him clearly. He was the first to come running through the fighting to meet him, followed by Idomeneus and his attendant Meriones, the peer of man-slaying Ares.

Who could tell from memory the names of all the others who came after them and roused the Achaeans’ battle? The Trojans struck in a mass, with Hector leading them. As a great wave roars against the current at the mouth of a heaven-fed river, and the jutting shores resound on either side as the sea bellows against them, so loud was the cry with which the Trojans advanced. But the Achaeans stood around the son of Menoetius with one heart, fenced in by their bronze-bound shields. Around their shining helmets the son of Cronus poured a heavy mist, for he had not hated the son of Menoetius while he lived as the companion of Aeacus’ grandson. He could not bear that he should become the prey of the Trojans’ dogs, and so he roused his companions to defend him.

The Trojans first drove back the keen-eyed Achaeans. They shrank away and left the body, yet the proud Trojans, eager though they were, killed none of them with their spears. Instead they began to drag away the corpse. But the Achaeans would not be parted from it long, for Ajax quickly rallied them, surpassing all the other Danaans in stature and in deeds, save only the noble son of Peleus.

He charged through the foremost fighters with the strength of a wild boar that wheels through the mountain glens and easily scatters the dogs and vigorous young hunters. So glorious Ajax, son of noble Telamon, rushed forward and easily scattered the Trojan battalions standing over Patroclus, who had been so eager to drag him to their city and win glory.

Hippothous, the glorious son of Lethus the Pelasgian, was dragging him by the foot through the fierce fighting, having tied a strap about the tendons at the ankle, to please Hector and the Trojans. But disaster soon came upon him, and no one, however willing, could ward it off.

The son of Telamon sprang through the throng and struck him at close quarters through his bronze-cheeked helmet. The horsehair-crested helmet split around the spear point beneath the blow of the great spear and heavy hand. His brains spurted bloodstained from the wound beside the spear’s socket, and his strength gave way. From his hands he let great-hearted Patroclus’ foot drop to the ground, and fell face down upon the corpse beside him, far from fertile Larissa. He did not repay his dear parents for his upbringing: his life was cut short by the spear of great-hearted Ajax.

Then Hector hurled his gleaming spear at Ajax. But Ajax saw it coming and swerved a little, avoiding the bronze spear. It struck Schedius, son of great-hearted Iphitus, far the best of the Phocians, who lived in renowned Panopeus and ruled over many men. The spear struck beneath the middle of his collarbone, and its bronze point passed clean through and emerged below his shoulder. He fell with a thud, and his armor clattered about him.

Then Ajax struck warlike Phorcys, son of Phaenops, in the middle of the belly as he stood over Hippothous. He broke the hollow of his breastplate, and the bronze tore through his bowels. Falling in the dust, he clutched the earth in his palm.

The foremost fighters gave way, and glorious Hector with them. The Argives raised a mighty shout and dragged away the bodies of Phorcys and Hippothous, stripping the armor from their shoulders. Then the Trojans would once more have retreated into Ilium, beaten into helplessness by the warlike Achaeans, and the Argives would have won glory through their own might and strength, beyond even the decree of Zeus. But Apollo himself roused Aeneas, taking the shape of Periphas, son of Epytus, the herald who had grown old in the service of Aeneas’ aged father, a man of kindly and understanding heart. In his likeness Apollo, son of Zeus, spoke: “Aeneas, how could you save steep Ilium even against a god’s will? I have seen other men do so, trusting in their might and strength, their courage and their numbers, though their people were fewer. But Zeus desires victory for us far more than for the Danaans, and yet you flee in boundless terror and will not fight.”

So he spoke, and Aeneas, looking straight at him, recognized Apollo who strikes from afar. He called out loudly to Hector: “Hector, and all you other leaders of the Trojans and their allies, what shame it would be to retreat into Ilium now, beaten into helplessness by the warlike Achaeans!

“For even now a god has stood beside me and told me that Zeus, the highest lord, deviser of battle, is our helper. So let us go straight at the Danaans, and not let them carry the dead Patroclus to the ships unchallenged.”

With that he leapt far out before the foremost fighters and stood his ground. They wheeled and faced the Achaeans. Then Aeneas struck with his spear Leocritus, son of Arisbas, a brave companion of Lycomedes.

Warlike Lycomedes pitied him as he fell. Coming very close, he stood and hurled his shining spear, striking Apisaon, son of Hippasus, shepherd of his people, in the liver beneath the midriff. At once he loosened his knees. Apisaon had come from fertile Paeonia, and after Asteropaeus he was their finest fighter.

Warlike Asteropaeus pitied him as he fell, and he too charged forward, eager to fight the Danaans. But he could find no way through: on every side they were fenced in by shields, standing around Patroclus with their spears held out before them.

For Ajax went among them all, urging them repeatedly. He ordered no one to draw back behind the corpse, nor any Achaean to fight out in front of the others, but all to stand close around it and fight at close quarters.

So mighty Ajax commanded. The earth was soaked with dark blood, and the dead fell close together, Trojans and proud allies and Danaans alike. For the Danaans did not fight without bloodshed either, though far fewer of them died: amid the throng they always remembered to shield one another from cruel death.

So they fought like blazing fire. You would have said that neither sun nor moon remained unharmed, for mist enveloped all that part of the battlefield where the finest warriors stood around the dead son of Menoetius.

The other Trojans and well-greaved Achaeans fought at ease beneath the open sky. The sun’s sharp radiance spread abroad, and no cloud appeared over all the earth or mountains. They fought with pauses, standing far apart and avoiding one another’s grievous missiles. But those in the center suffered in the mist and battle, the finest of them worn down by the pitiless bronze. Two men alone, the renowned Thrasymedes and Antilochus, had not yet learned that noble Patroclus was dead. They still believed him alive, fighting the Trojans in the foremost tumult.

Watching for their companions’ death or rout, those two fought apart, as Nestor had ordered when he urged them into battle from the black ships. But around Patroclus the great struggle of bitter strife raged all day long. In unceasing toil and sweat, every man’s knees and shins, his feet beneath him, his hands and eyes were befouled, as the two sides fought over the brave companion of swift-footed Aeacus’ grandson.

As when a man gives his people the hide of a great bull to stretch, steeped in grease, and they take it and stand apart in a circle, pulling it taut, until the moisture is soon gone and the grease sinks in under the pull of many hands, and the whole hide is stretched throughout—so the two sides tugged the corpse this way and that within a narrow space. The Trojans’ hearts were full of hope that they would drag it toward Ilium, the Achaeans’ that they would bring it to the hollow ships. Around it savage conflict raged, such that neither Ares who rouses armies nor Athena, looking on, could have found fault with it, however angry they might be. Such was the cruel toil of men and horses that Zeus stretched over Patroclus that day. Yet noble Achilles still knew nothing of Patroclus’ death, for they were fighting far from the swift ships, beneath the Trojan wall. Never had he imagined in his heart that Patroclus was dead; he thought he would come close to the gates and then return alive. For he had never expected him to sack the city without him, or even at his side: often he had heard this from his mother in private, when she told him the purpose of great Zeus.

But this time his mother had not told him of the great calamity that had come to pass, that his dearest companion had perished. Meanwhile, around the corpse, the warriors pressed on without respite, sharp spears in hand, killing one another. And one of the bronze-clad Achaeans would say: “Friends, there will be no glory for us in returning to the hollow ships. Let the black earth gape here for us all! That would be far better than letting the horse-taming Trojans drag this man to their city and win glory.”

And one of the great-hearted Trojans would say in turn: “Friends, even if it is our fate to be killed beside this man, every one of us, let no one yet draw back from battle.” So men spoke, stirring the courage of each.

So they fought, and the iron din rose through the barren air to the bronze sky. But the horses of Aeacus’ grandson stood apart from the battle and wept, ever since they first learned that their charioteer had fallen in the dust at the hands of man-slaying Hector.

Automedon, the valiant son of Diores, often lashed them with the swift whip, often spoke to them gently, and often threatened them. Yet they would neither go back to the ships beside the broad Hellespont nor into battle among the Achaeans. As a pillar stands fixed upon the tomb of a dead man or woman, so they remained motionless, holding the beautiful chariot, their heads bowed to the earth. Hot tears streamed from their eyes to the ground as they mourned and longed for their charioteer, and their rich manes, falling free of the yoke-pads on either side of the yoke, were soiled.

The son of Cronus saw them mourning and pitied them. Shaking his head, he spoke to his own heart: “Poor creatures, why did we give you to King Peleus, a mortal man, when you are ageless and immortal?

“Was it so that you should suffer among unhappy men? For of all things that breathe and move upon the earth, nothing is more wretched than man. But Hector, son of Priam, shall not ride behind you in this richly fashioned chariot. I shall not allow it.

“Is it not enough that he has the armor and boasts of it in vain? I shall put strength into your knees and your hearts, so that you may bring Automedon safely from the battle to the hollow ships. For I shall still grant the Trojans glory in slaughter, until they reach the well-benched ships and the sun sets and sacred darkness falls.” With that he breathed fresh strength into the horses.

Shaking the dust from their manes to the ground, they swiftly bore the speeding chariot among the Trojans and Achaeans. Behind them Automedon fought, though grieving for his companion, darting with his horses like a vulture among geese. Easily he would escape the Trojans’ uproar, and easily he would charge back, pursuing through the crowded throng.

But he killed no men when he rushed in pursuit, for it was impossible, alone in the sacred chariot, both to attack with his spear and to control the swift horses. At last a companion saw him, Alcimedon, son of Laerces, son of Haemon. He stood behind the chariot and addressed Automedon: “Automedon, what god has put this foolish purpose in your breast and taken away your sound judgment?

“Look how you fight the Trojans alone in the foremost throng! Your companion has been killed, and Hector himself wears the armor of Aeacus’ grandson upon his shoulders and exults in it.” Automedon, son of Diores, answered: “Alcimedon, what other Achaean can match you in governing the spirit and strength of these immortal horses, except Patroclus, a counselor equal to the gods, while he was alive? But now death and fate have overtaken him.

“Take the whip and shining reins, while I step down from the chariot to fight.” So he spoke, and Alcimedon leapt onto the swift war chariot and quickly took the whip and reins in his hands. Automedon sprang down. Glorious Hector saw him, and at once addressed Aeneas, who was close by: “Aeneas, counselor of the bronze-clad Trojans, I have seen the horses of swift-footed Aeacus’ grandson appear in battle with feeble charioteers. I think we could capture them, if you are willing. Those men would not dare stand against the two of us and fight us face to face in battle.”

So he spoke, and the noble son of Anchises obeyed. The two advanced, their shoulders covered in shields of tough, dry oxhide, overlaid with thick bronze. Chromius and godlike Aretus went with them, their hearts full of hope that they would kill the two men and drive away the high-necked horses. Fools! They were not destined to come back from Automedon without bloodshed. He prayed to Father Zeus, and his dark heart filled with courage and strength. At once he addressed his faithful companion Alcimedon: “Alcimedon, do not hold the horses far from me. Keep them close enough to breathe upon my back. For I do not think Hector, son of Priam, will check his fury until he has killed us both, mounted behind Achilles’ lovely-maned horses, and routed the Argive ranks—or has himself been killed among the foremost.”

With that he called to the two Ajaxes and Menelaus: “Ajaxes, leaders of the Argives, and Menelaus, leave the corpse to those best able to stand around it and hold off the ranks of men, and ward the pitiless day from us who are still alive. For here Hector and Aeneas, the finest of the Trojans, have come bearing down upon us through the tearful battle.

“Yet these things lie in the lap of the gods. I too shall cast my spear, and Zeus will see to all the rest.” He spoke, balanced his long-shadowed spear, and hurled it, striking Aretus on his round shield. The shield did not stop the spear: the bronze passed straight through and drove through his belt into his lower belly.

As when a strong young man with a sharp axe strikes a field-roaming ox behind the horns and cuts clean through the sinew, and the beast leaps forward and falls, so Aretus leapt and fell upon his back. The keen spear quivered in his bowels and loosened his limbs.

Hector hurled his gleaming spear at Automedon, but Automedon saw it coming and avoided the bronze spear. He bent forward, and the long shaft drove into the ground behind him, its butt quivering in the air. There mighty Ares spent its force.

And now the two would have rushed at each other with swords at close quarters, had not the two Ajaxes, eager for battle, parted them. They had come through the throng at their comrade’s call. In fear of them, Hector, Aeneas, and godlike Chromius drew back once more, leaving Aretus lying there with his heart pierced through. Automedon, a match for swift Ares, stripped off his armor and spoke in triumph: “Now at least I have eased my heart a little of its grief for the dead son of Menoetius, though the man I have killed was far less worthy.”

So saying, he gathered the bloodstained spoils and laid them in the chariot, then mounted himself, his feet and hands above them bloody as a lion that has devoured a bull. And once again the fierce battle stretched over Patroclus, bitter and laden with tears. Athena stirred the strife, descending from heaven, for far-seeing Zeus had sent her to rouse the Danaans: his purpose had now changed.

As Zeus stretches a crimson rainbow from heaven for mortals, a portent of war or of a bitter storm that halts men’s labors on the earth and troubles their flocks, so she wrapped herself in a crimson cloud and entered the Achaean host, stirring every man.

First she spoke to urge on Atreus’ son, mighty Menelaus, who was close beside her, taking on the form and tireless voice of Phoenix: “Menelaus, shame and disgrace will be yours if swift dogs drag the faithful companion of glorious Achilles beneath the walls of Troy.

“Stand firm, then, and rouse the whole army.” Menelaus, strong in the war cry, answered her: “Father Phoenix, venerable elder, if only Athena would grant me strength and turn aside the rush of spears! Then gladly would I stand over Patroclus and defend him, for his death has struck deep into my heart.

“But Hector has the terrible fury of fire and never ceases slaughtering with his bronze, for Zeus grants him glory.” So he spoke, and the goddess, gray-eyed Athena, rejoiced that of all the gods he had prayed to her first.

She put strength into his shoulders and his knees, and into his breast she set the boldness of a fly, which, though driven off again and again, persists in biting a man’s flesh, so sweet to it is human blood. With such boldness she filled his dark heart, and he strode over Patroclus and cast his shining spear.

Among the Trojans was Podes, son of Eetion, a rich and noble man. Hector honored him above all his countrymen, for he was a dear companion at his feasts. Fair-haired Menelaus struck him at the belt as he darted into flight, driving the bronze clean through. He fell with a crash, and Menelaus, son of Atreus, dragged his body from among the Trojans into the ranks of his companions.

Apollo stood close beside Hector and urged him on, in the likeness of Phaenops, son of Asius, who lived in Abydos and was the dearest of all his guest-friends. Taking his form, far-shooting Apollo said: “Hector, what Achaean will fear you now?

“See how you have shrunk before Menelaus, who until now has been a feeble spearman! Yet now he has gone off alone, carrying a corpse out from among the Trojans, and has killed your faithful companion, Podes, Eetion’s son, a brave man among the foremost fighters.”

So he spoke, and a black cloud of grief enfolded Hector. Clad in gleaming bronze, he strode through the foremost ranks. Then the son of Cronus took up his bright, tasseled aegis and covered Ida with clouds. He flashed his lightning, thundered mightily, and shook the aegis, granting victory to the Trojans and driving the Achaeans into flight.

Boeotian Peneleos was the first to turn and flee. For as he kept facing the enemy, a spear had grazed the top of his shoulder, scraping down to the bone: it was the spear of Polydamas, who had come close to strike him.

Then Hector struck Leitus, son of great-hearted Alectryon, at close quarters in the wrist and put an end to his fighting. He fled, glancing about in terror, for he no longer hoped in his heart to fight the Trojans with a spear in his hand.

As Hector charged after Leitus, Idomeneus struck him on the breastplate beside the nipple, but the long spear broke at the shaft, and the Trojans shouted. Hector cast at Idomeneus, Deucalion’s son, as he stood in his chariot, and missed him by a little; instead he struck Coeranus, the attendant and charioteer of Meriones, who had followed him from well-built Lyctus. Idomeneus had first come on foot from the curving ships and would have handed the Trojans a great triumph had not Coeranus swiftly driven up the fleet-footed horses. He brought Idomeneus deliverance and warded off the pitiless day, but himself lost his life at the hands of man-slaying Hector. Hector struck him beneath the jaw and ear; the spearhead drove out his teeth at their roots and cut through the middle of his tongue.

He fell from the chariot and let the reins spill to the ground. Meriones stooped and gathered them from the earth with his own hands, then said to Idomeneus: “Lay on the whip now, until you reach the swift ships. You can see for yourself that the strength is no longer with the Achaeans.”

So he spoke, and Idomeneus lashed the sleek-maned horses toward the hollow ships, for fear had entered his heart. Nor did great-hearted Ajax and Menelaus fail to see that Zeus was granting the Trojans the victory that turns the tide of battle.

Great Ajax, son of Telamon, was the first to speak: “Ah, now even a fool could see that Father Zeus himself is helping the Trojans! Every missile of theirs strikes home, whoever casts it, a coward or a brave man: Zeus guides them all alike. But every one of ours falls useless to the ground.

“Come, let us devise the best plan we can, both to save the body and to return ourselves and gladden our dear companions. They must be looking this way in anguish, no longer believing that we can withstand the fury and invincible hands of man-slaying Hector, but that we shall fall upon the black ships.

“If only some comrade could carry word at once to Peleus’ son! I do not think he has even heard the bitter news that his dear companion is dead. But nowhere can I see a suitable man among the Achaeans, for men and horses alike are shrouded in mist.

“Father Zeus, deliver the sons of the Achaeans from this mist! Make the sky clear and grant our eyes their sight. Destroy us in the light, if such is now your pleasure!”

So he spoke, and the Father pitied him as he wept. At once he scattered the mist and drove away the fog; the sun shone out, and the whole battle lay revealed. Then Ajax said to Menelaus, strong in the war cry: “Look now, Menelaus, cherished by Zeus, and see whether Antilochus, son of great-hearted Nestor, is still alive. Urge him to go swiftly to valiant Achilles and tell him that the dearest of all his companions is dead.”

So he spoke, and Menelaus, strong in the war cry, obeyed. He went like a lion leaving a cattle yard, worn out at last from harrying dogs and men, who keep watch all night and will not let him seize the fattest of their cattle. Hungry for flesh, he charges, but achieves nothing, for a shower of spears flies at him from bold hands, and blazing torches, which he fears despite his fury. At dawn he withdraws, his heart full of bitterness. So Menelaus, strong in the war cry, left Patroclus most unwillingly, for he greatly feared that the Achaeans, driven by the terror of flight, might leave him as prey for their enemies.

Earnestly he charged Meriones and the two Ajaxes: “You two Ajaxes, leaders of the Argives, and you, Meriones, let each man now remember the kindness of poor Patroclus. While he lived he knew how to be gentle to all; now death and fate have overtaken him.”

With these words fair-haired Menelaus went away, looking about him on every side like an eagle, said to have the keenest sight of all the birds beneath the heavens. Though high aloft, it does not miss the swift-footed hare lying under a leafy bush, but swoops upon it, swiftly seizes it, and takes its life.

So then, Menelaus, cherished by Zeus, your shining eyes ranged everywhere through the multitude of your companions, searching for Nestor’s son still alive. Soon he caught sight of him on the far left of the battle, heartening his companions and urging them to fight. Fair-haired Menelaus stood beside him and said: “Antilochus, cherished by Zeus, come here and hear bitter news—would that it had never come to pass!

“I think you yourself can see and understand already that a god is rolling ruin upon the Danaans, and victory belongs to the Trojans. Patroclus, the best of the Achaeans, has been killed, and a great longing for him has come upon the Danaans.

“Run now to the Achaean ships and tell Achilles, so that he may swiftly save the body and bring it to his ship, naked as it is; for Hector of the flashing helmet has his armor.” So he spoke, and Antilochus shuddered at the news. For a long time he was struck speechless; his eyes filled with tears, and his strong voice failed him.

Yet even so he did not neglect Menelaus’ command. He set off running, giving his armor to his trusty companion Laodocus, who was wheeling his single-hoofed horses close beside him. Weeping, his feet carried him out of the battle to bring the bitter tidings to Achilles, son of Peleus.

But you, Menelaus, cherished by Zeus, had no wish to remain and defend the hard-pressed companions whom Antilochus had left, though the Pylians sorely missed him. Instead he sent noble Thrasymedes to them, while he himself returned to the warrior Patroclus. Running up, he stood beside the two Ajaxes and said at once: “I have sent him to the swift ships, to find swift-footed Achilles. Yet I do not think Achilles will come now, however angry he may be with noble Hector, for without armor he could never fight the Trojans.

“Let us ourselves devise the best plan we can, both to save the body and to escape death and doom amid the Trojans’ battle cries.” Then great Ajax, son of Telamon, answered him: “All you have said is right, glorious Menelaus. You and Meriones must stoop beneath the body at once, lift it, and carry it out of the struggle. Behind you we two will fight the Trojans and noble Hector, alike in name and spirit, as before we have stood side by side and faced the fury of war.”

So he spoke, and they raised the body high from the ground in their arms. Behind them the Trojan host shouted when they saw the Achaeans lifting the dead man. They charged like hounds that rush upon a wounded boar ahead of the young hunters. For a while they run eagerly, longing to tear it apart; but when it wheels among them, trusting in its strength, they draw back and scatter in fear, this way and that.

So the Trojans followed close in a mass, thrusting with swords and double-edged spears; but whenever the two Ajaxes turned and stood to face them, their faces paled, and not a man dared rush forward to fight for the body.

Thus the two men carried the body eagerly out of the battle toward the hollow ships. Behind them the fighting raged, wild as a fire that suddenly breaks out and sweeps upon a city of men: houses dwindle in the mighty blaze, and the force of the wind roars over it.

So the unceasing din of horses and spearmen pursued them as they went. Like mules throwing their strength into the task as they drag a beam or a great ship’s timber down a rugged mountain path, their hearts worn out with toil and sweat as they strain onward, so the two men labored to carry the body. Behind them the two Ajaxes held the enemy back, as a wooded ridge stretching across a plain holds back the water, checking even the fierce currents of mighty rivers and turning them aside to flow across the plain; their flood cannot break through it, for all its force. So the two Ajaxes kept driving back the Trojans’ assault. Yet still they followed, and foremost among them were two, Aeneas, son of Anchises, and glorious Hector.

As a cloud of starlings or jackdaws flies shrieking when they see a hawk coming, bringing death to little birds, so the young Achaeans fled before Aeneas and Hector with cries of terror, forgetting their will to fight.

Many fine pieces of armor fell in and around the ditch as the Danaans fled, and there was no respite from the battle.