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The other leaders of all the Achaeans slept beside their ships all night, overcome by gentle sleep. But sweet sleep held no sway over Agamemnon, son of Atreus, shepherd of the people: too many thoughts were stirring in his mind.

As when the husband of lovely-haired Hera flashes lightning, preparing a vast, unutterable downpour, or hail, or snow that whitens the fields, or somewhere the gaping jaws of bitter war, so thick and fast Agamemnon’s sighs rose from the depths of his heart, and his spirit trembled within him.

Whenever he gazed across the Trojan plain, he marveled at the many fires burning before Ilium, at the sound of pipes and flutes and the clamor of men. But whenever he looked toward the ships and the Achaean army, he tore great handfuls of hair out by the roots, appealing to Zeus on high, and his proud heart groaned aloud.

This seemed to him the best course: to go first to Nestor, son of Neleus, and see whether together they might devise some sound plan that would ward off ruin from all the Danaans.

He rose and drew a tunic over his chest, bound fine sandals beneath his shining feet, then wrapped himself in the tawny hide of a great, fiery lion, reaching to his feet, and took up a spear.

The same dread gripped Menelaus. Sleep would not settle on his eyelids either, for fear that harm might come to the Argives, who for his sake had crossed the wide waters to Troy, their hearts set on daring war.

First he covered his broad back with a spotted leopard skin, then lifted a bronze helmet and set it on his head, and grasped a spear in his stout hand. He went to rouse his brother, who ruled mightily over all the Argives and was honored by the people like a god.

He found him beside the stern of his ship, putting his fine armor about his shoulders; Agamemnon welcomed his arrival. Menelaus, good at the war cry, spoke first: “Why are you arming yourself like this, dear brother? Are you urging one of our companions to spy on the Trojans? I am terribly afraid no one will undertake such a task for you—to go alone through the immortal night and spy on the enemy. He would need a very daring heart.”

Lord Agamemnon answered him: “You and I, Menelaus, cherished by Zeus, need some cunning plan that will shield and save the Argives and their ships, for the mind of Zeus has turned against us.

“He has plainly given more heed to Hector’s sacrifices. Never have I seen, nor heard anyone tell of, a single man devising so much havoc in one day as Hector, dear to Zeus, has wrought upon the sons of the Achaeans—and he is neither the beloved son of a goddess nor of a god.

“He has done deeds that I believe the Argives will remember for a long, long time: such misery has he brought upon the Achaeans. But go now, run swiftly along the ships and summon Ajax and Idomeneus. I will go to noble Nestor and urge him to rise, in the hope that he will come to the sacred company of the sentries and give them their orders.

“They will obey him above all others, for his son commands the sentries, together with Meriones, Idomeneus’s companion. It was to them above all that we entrusted this duty.” Then Menelaus, good at the war cry, answered him: “What exactly do you instruct me to do?

“Should I stay there with them, waiting until you come, or run back to join you once I have given them your orders?” Agamemnon, lord of men, replied: “Stay there, lest we miss each other on the way, for many paths run through the camp.

“Call out wherever you go, and bid them wake. Address each man by his father’s name and lineage, honoring them all. Do not be proud at heart: we too must labor. It seems that from our very birth Zeus has laid this heavy burden of suffering upon us.”

With these words he sent his brother off, carefully instructing him, and went himself to seek Nestor, shepherd of the people. He found him on a soft bed beside his hut and black ship. Near him lay his finely wrought armor, his shield, two spears, and shining helmet.

Beside him too lay the gleaming belt the old man wore whenever he armed himself to lead his people into man-destroying battle, for he would not yield to grievous old age. Raising his head and propping himself on an elbow, he addressed the son of Atreus and questioned him: “Who are you, walking alone through the camp beside the ships in the dark night, while other mortals sleep? Are you looking for one of the mules, or for some companion?

“Speak! Do not come toward me in silence. What do you need?” Then Agamemnon, lord of men, answered him: “Nestor, son of Neleus, great glory of the Achaeans, you will recognize Agamemnon, son of Atreus, whom Zeus has burdened beyond all others with unending troubles, as long as breath remains in my breast and my knees have strength to move.

“I wander like this because sweet sleep will not settle on my eyes: war and the sorrows of the Achaeans weigh upon me. I am terribly afraid for the Danaans. My heart will not keep steady; I am distraught, my heart leaps out of my breast, and my splendid limbs tremble beneath me.

“But if you are willing to do something, since sleep has not come to you either, let us go down to the sentries and see whether, overcome by weariness and sleep, they have lain down and forgotten their watch altogether.

“The enemy are encamped close by, and we cannot know whether they may be minded to attack us even in the night.” Then Nestor, the Gerenian horseman, answered him: “Most glorious son of Atreus, Agamemnon, lord of men, surely Zeus the counselor will not fulfill every hope Hector now cherishes. I think he will struggle beneath still greater sorrows, if Achilles turns his heart away from his grievous anger.

“I will gladly go with you. And let us rouse the others too: the son of Tydeus, famed for his spear, and Odysseus, swift Ajax, and the valiant son of Phyleus. But someone should also go and summon godlike Ajax and lord Idomeneus, for their ships lie farthest away, not close at hand.

“But dear and honored though Menelaus is, I will reproach him—even if you resent it—and will not conceal my thoughts: how can he sleep and leave you alone to labor? He ought now to be at work among all the chiefs, pleading with them, for the need that has come upon us is no longer bearable.”

Agamemnon, lord of men, answered him: “Old man, at other times I would even urge you to blame him, for often he hangs back and is unwilling to exert himself—not yielding to cowardice or lack of understanding, but looking to me and waiting for me to take the lead.

“This time, though, he woke long before I did and came to stand beside me. I have sent him ahead to summon the men you name. But let us go: we shall find them before the gates among the sentries, for that is where I told them to assemble.”

Then Nestor, the Gerenian horseman, answered him: “In that case no Argive will resent him or disobey him when he urges a man on and gives him orders.” With that he drew a tunic over his chest, bound fine sandals beneath his shining feet, and fastened about him a purple cloak, double-folded and ample, with a thick, woolly nap.

He took up a sturdy spear tipped with sharp bronze and set off along the ships of the bronze-clad Achaeans. First Nestor, the Gerenian horseman, called out and woke Odysseus, whose cunning matched that of Zeus. The voice quickly pierced his awareness; he came out of his hut and said to them: “Why are you wandering like this alone through the camp beside the ships, through the immortal night? What great need has come upon us?”

Then Nestor, the Gerenian horseman, answered him: “Son of Laertes, sprung from Zeus, resourceful Odysseus, do not be angry: such grief has overwhelmed the Achaeans. Come with us, so that we may rouse another man whose place it is to take counsel on whether we should flee or fight.”

So he spoke, and resourceful Odysseus went into his hut, slung his richly worked shield over his shoulders, and followed them. They went to Diomedes, son of Tydeus, and found him outside his hut with his armor. His companions slept around him, their shields beneath their heads, their spears planted upright on their butt-spikes, the bronze flashing far away like the lightning of Father Zeus. The hero himself lay asleep on the hide of a field-ranging ox, with a bright rug spread beneath his head.

Nestor, the Gerenian horseman, stood beside him and woke him with a nudge of his foot, urging him on and openly chiding him: “Wake, son of Tydeus! Why do you sleep so soundly all night? Do you not hear that the Trojans are camped on the rise of the plain, close to the ships, with only a little ground between us?”

So he spoke, and Diomedes sprang swiftly out of sleep and addressed him with winged words: “You are relentless, old man! You never cease from labor. Are there not other sons of the Achaeans, younger men, who could go everywhere and rouse each of the kings? There is no dealing with you, old man!”

Then Nestor, the Gerenian horseman, answered him: “Yes, my friend, everything you have said is right. I have worthy sons, and many men besides, any one of whom could go and summon them. But a very great need has overwhelmed the Achaeans.

“For now the fate of us all stands on a razor’s edge: either dreadful destruction for the Achaeans, or life. But go now and rouse swift Ajax and the son of Phyleus, if you pity me, for you are younger.”

So he spoke, and Diomedes wrapped about his shoulders the hide of a great, fiery lion, reaching to his feet, and took up his spear. The hero went off, roused the men, and brought them back.

When they joined the assembled sentries, they did not find the captains of the watch asleep: all sat wakeful in their armor. As dogs keep an anxious watch over sheep in a fold when they hear a fierce beast moving through the mountain woods, and a great clamor of men and dogs rises against it, and sleep is driven from them, so sweet sleep had fled from the eyelids of these men as they kept watch through the perilous night. Always they turned toward the plain, listening for the Trojans’ approach.

The old man rejoiced to see them and encouraged them, addressing them with winged words: “Keep watch just so, dear children! Let sleep seize none of you, lest we become a joy to our enemies.”

With that he hurried across the ditch, and the Argive kings who had been summoned to the council followed him. Meriones and Nestor’s splendid son went with them too, for the kings themselves invited them to share their deliberations.

After crossing the dug ditch, they sat down in a clear place where the ground showed free of fallen bodies, the place from which mighty Hector had turned back from slaughtering the Argives when night closed over him.

There they sat and spoke to one another, and Nestor, the Gerenian horseman, began: “Friends, is there no man who would trust his own daring heart and venture among the proud Trojans? He might capture some enemy straggler, or perhaps overhear something among the Trojans—what plans they are making, whether they mean to stay here beside the ships, far from their city, or withdraw to it again now that they have overcome the Achaeans.

“If he learned all this and returned to us unharmed, his fame would be great among all men beneath the sky, and he would have a splendid reward. Every chief who commands our ships would give him a black ewe with a lamb at her teat—no possession could compare with that—and he would always have his place at our feasts and banquets.”

So he spoke, and all remained hushed and silent. Then Diomedes, good at the war cry, addressed them: “Nestor, my heart and proud spirit urge me to enter the camp of our enemies, the Trojans, close by. But if another man would come with me, I should have greater comfort and confidence.

“When two men go together, one may see before the other where the advantage lies. A man alone, even if he sees it, is slower of thought, and his judgment lacks force.” So he spoke, and many were eager to accompany Diomedes.

Both Ajaxes, servants of Ares, were willing; Meriones was willing, and Nestor’s son was very eager. Menelaus, son of Atreus, famed for his spear, was willing, and steadfast Odysseus too wished to enter the throng of Trojans, for the spirit within him was always daring.

Then Agamemnon, lord of men, addressed them: “Diomedes, son of Tydeus, dear to my heart, choose for your companion whichever man you wish, the best of those before you, since so many are eager.

“Do not out of deference leave the better man behind and take a lesser one, yielding to respect for his lineage, even if he is more kingly.” So he spoke, for he feared for fair-haired Menelaus.

Then Diomedes, good at the war cry, spoke again: “If you tell me to choose my own companion, how could I overlook noble Odysseus? His heart is always ready and his spirit brave in every hardship, and Pallas Athena loves him.

“With him beside me, we could both return even from blazing fire, for he excels in understanding.” Then steadfast, noble Odysseus answered him: “Son of Tydeus, neither praise me too highly nor find fault with me. You are speaking among Argives who know all this.

“But let us go. The night is far spent, and dawn is near. The stars have moved onward: more than two-thirds of the night have passed, and only a third remains.”

With these words the two put on their fearsome armor. Thrasymedes, steadfast in war, gave the son of Tydeus a double-edged sword—his own had been left beside his ship—and a shield. On his head he set a bull’s-hide helmet, without crest or plume, the kind called a skullcap, which protects the heads of vigorous young men.

Meriones gave Odysseus a bow, a quiver, and a sword, and set a leather helmet on his head. Inside, it was tightly braced with many straps; outside, the white tusks of a white-tusked boar were set thickly on either side, skillfully arranged, and within it a felt lining was fitted.

Autolycus had once stolen it from Eleon, breaking into the stout house of Amyntor, son of Ormenus. He gave it to Amphidamas of Cythera to take to Scandeia; Amphidamas gave it to Molus as a guest-gift, and Molus gave it to his son Meriones to wear. Now, set upon Odysseus’s head, it covered him.

When the two had put on their fearsome armor, they set off, leaving all the chiefs there behind them. Pallas Athena sent a heron close to their path on the right. They could not see it with their eyes through the dark night, but they heard its cry.

Odysseus rejoiced at the bird and prayed to Athena: “Hear me, child of aegis-bearing Zeus, you who always stand beside me in every hardship, who never lose sight of me wherever I go. Now above all show me your love, Athena, and grant that we return in glory to the ships after accomplishing some great deed that will bring sorrow to the Trojans.”

Diomedes, good at the war cry, prayed in turn: “Hear me too now, tireless daughter of Zeus. Come with me as you went with my father, noble Tydeus, to Thebes, when he journeyed ahead of the Achaeans as their messenger.

“He left the bronze-clad Achaeans beside the Asopus and carried a peaceful message there to the Cadmeans. But on his journey home he devised deeds of terrible might with your help, divine goddess, when you stood willingly beside him.

“So now stand willingly beside me and protect me. In return I will sacrifice to you a broad-browed yearling heifer, unbroken, which no man has ever led beneath the yoke. I will sacrifice her to you with gold poured about her horns.”

So they prayed, and Pallas Athena heard them. When they had prayed to the daughter of mighty Zeus, they went on like two lions through the black night, amid slaughter, among corpses, through armor and dark blood.

Nor did Hector allow the proud Trojans to sleep. He summoned all their chiefs together, all who were leaders and rulers of the Trojans, and gathered them to frame a shrewd plan: “Who will undertake a task for me and carry it through for a great reward? His payment shall be ample.

“I will give a chariot and two high-necked horses, the best to be found beside the swift ships of the Achaeans, to whoever dares to approach their swift-sailing ships—and win glory for himself—and discover whether the ships are guarded as before, or whether, already beaten down beneath our hands, they are planning flight among themselves and have no heart to keep watch through the night, worn out by dreadful exhaustion.”

So he spoke, and all remained hushed and silent. Now among the Trojans was a man named Dolon, son of Eumedes, the godlike herald, rich in gold and bronze. He was ugly to look at, but swift of foot, and was the only son among five sisters.

He now spoke before Hector and the Trojans: “Hector, my heart and proud spirit urge me to approach the swift-sailing ships and discover what you ask. But come, lift your scepter and swear to me that you will give me the horses and the chariot adorned with bronze that carry the peerless son of Peleus. I will not prove a useless scout to you, nor disappoint your hopes: I will go straight through their camp until I reach Agamemnon’s ship, where the chiefs will surely be taking counsel on whether to flee or fight.”

So he spoke, and Hector took the scepter in his hands and swore to him: “Let Zeus himself, the loud-thundering husband of Hera, be my witness: no other Trojan man shall ride behind those horses. You, I declare, shall glory in them forever.”

So he spoke and swore an oath that would not be fulfilled, and stirred Dolon’s courage. At once Dolon slung his curved bow about his shoulders, put on the hide of a gray wolf, set a marten-skin cap on his head, and took a sharp javelin. He left the camp and set off toward the ships; but he was not destined to return from the ships and bring Hector his report.

When he had left the throng of horses and men behind, he went eagerly along the path. Noble Odysseus saw him approaching and said to Diomedes: “Here is a man coming from their camp, Diomedes. I do not know whether he is spying on our ships or means to strip one of the dead.

“Let us first allow him to pass a little way across the plain. Then we can rush him and seize him quickly. But if he outruns us, keep driving him away from their camp toward the ships, charging at him with your spear, so that he cannot escape toward the city.”

With that the two lay down among the dead beside the path, and Dolon ran swiftly past, unsuspecting. But when he was as far away as the length of a furrow plowed by mules—for mules are better than oxen at drawing the jointed plow through deep fallow ground—the two ran after him. Hearing their footsteps, he stopped.

For he hoped in his heart that they were companions coming from the Trojans to turn him back at Hector’s command. But when they were a spear’s cast away, or even less, he recognized them as enemies and plied his nimble knees in flight. They instantly dashed in pursuit.

As two sharp-toothed hounds, skilled in hunting, press relentlessly after a fawn or hare through wooded country while it runs screaming ahead, so the son of Tydeus and Odysseus, sacker of cities, cut Dolon off from his people and pursued him without respite.

But when in his flight toward the ships he was soon to reach the sentries, Athena put strength into the son of Tydeus, so that no bronze-clad Achaean might strike Dolon first and boast of it, leaving Diomedes to come second.

Mighty Diomedes rushed at him with his spear and shouted: “Stop, or I will catch you with my spear! You will not long escape sheer destruction at my hands.” He spoke and hurled his spear, deliberately missing the man. The point of the polished shaft passed over his right shoulder and stuck in the earth. Dolon stopped, terrified and stammering, his teeth chattering, pale with fear. The two caught up with him, panting, and seized his hands. Through his tears he said: “Take me alive, and I will ransom myself! At home there is bronze and gold and well-wrought iron. My father would gladly give you a boundless ransom from these stores if he learned that I was alive beside the Achaean ships.”

Resourceful Odysseus answered him: “Take heart, and do not let death weigh upon your mind. But come, tell me this, and tell me truly: why are you going alone from your camp toward the ships through the dark night, while other mortals sleep?

“Is it to strip one of the dead? Or did Hector send you to spy out everything beside the hollow ships? Or did your own spirit urge you?” Then Dolon answered him, his limbs trembling beneath him: “Hector led me astray with countless delusions and robbed me of my senses. He promised to give me the solid-hoofed horses of the glorious son of Peleus, and his chariot adorned with bronze. He told me to go through the swift black night, approach the enemy, and discover whether the swift ships are guarded as before, or whether, already beaten down beneath our hands, you are planning flight among yourselves and have no heart to keep watch through the night, worn out by dreadful exhaustion.”

Resourceful Odysseus smiled and said: “Your heart was certainly reaching for a great reward—the horses of the warlike descendant of Aeacus! They are hard for mortal men to master and drive, for anyone but Achilles, whose mother is immortal.

“But come, tell me this, and tell me truly: where did you leave Hector, shepherd of the people, when you came here? Where does his battle armor lie, and where are his horses? How are the watches and sleeping places of the other Trojans arranged?

“What plans are they making among themselves? Do they mean to stay here beside the ships, far from their city, or withdraw to it again now that they have overcome the Achaeans?” Dolon, son of Eumedes, answered him: “I will tell you all this quite truthfully.

“Hector is taking counsel with his counselors beside the tomb of godlike Ilus, away from the tumult. As for the guards you ask about, hero, there is no separate watch assigned to protect and guard the camp.

“Wherever the Trojans have their watchfires, those men stay awake and urge one another to keep watch: necessity compels them. But the allies summoned from many lands are sleeping. They leave the Trojans to keep watch, for their own wives and children are not close by.”

Resourceful Odysseus answered him: “How is it now? Are they sleeping mixed among the horse-taming Trojans, or apart? Explain it so that I may know.” Then Dolon, son of Eumedes, answered him: “I will tell you this too quite truthfully.

“Toward the sea are the Carians and the Paeonians with their curved bows, the Leleges, the Caucones, and the noble Pelasgians. Toward Thymbra the Lycians have their place, with the proud Mysians, the horse-fighting Phrygians, and the Maeonian chariot warriors.

“But why question me about all these things in detail? If you are eager to enter the Trojan throng, there are the Thracians, newly arrived, apart from the rest at the very edge. With them is their king Rhesus, son of Eioneus.

“His horses are the finest and largest I have ever seen, whiter than snow and swift as the winds. His chariot is finely worked with gold and silver, and he has brought enormous golden armor, a wonder to behold. Such armor is not fit for mortal men to wear, but for immortal gods.

“Now take me to the swift-sailing ships, or bind me and leave me here in pitiless bonds until you have gone and tested whether what I have told you is true or not.”

Mighty Diomedes looked darkly at him and said: “Dolon, do not put any hope of escape into your heart, even though you have brought us useful news, now that you have fallen into our hands. If we ransom you now or let you go, you will come again to the swift ships of the Achaeans, either to spy or to fight us face-to-face. But if you are struck down beneath my hands and lose your life, you will never again be a bane to the Argives.”

He spoke, and Dolon was about to grasp his chin with his stout hand and plead with him, but Diomedes sprang forward and struck him through the middle of the neck with his sword, severing both tendons. While he was still speaking, his head fell into the dust.

They took the marten-skin cap from his head, the wolf skin, the back-curving bow, and the long spear. Noble Odysseus lifted them high in his hands to Athena, giver of spoil, and prayed: “Rejoice in these, goddess! You shall be the first of all the immortals on Olympus to whom we make our offering. But guide us once more, to the horses and sleeping places of the Thracian men.”

So he spoke, and lifting the spoils away from him, set them high in a tamarisk. He made a clear marker by gathering reeds and leafy tamarisk branches, so that they would not miss the place as they returned through the swift black night.

The two went onward through armor and dark blood and soon reached the company of the Thracian men. They lay asleep, overcome by weariness, their fine armor neatly arranged beside them on the ground in three rows, and beside each man stood a pair of horses.

Rhesus slept in their midst, and close to him his swift horses were tethered by straps to the outer rim of his chariot. Odysseus saw him first and pointed him out to Diomedes: “There is the man, Diomedes, and there are the horses Dolon told us of, the man we killed.

“Come now, put forth your strength! You must not stand here idle in your armor. Untie the horses—or else kill the men, and I will see to the horses.”

So he spoke, and bright-eyed Athena breathed strength into Diomedes. He struck and killed on every side. Hideous groans rose from those his sword smote, and the earth grew red with blood.

As a lion comes upon unguarded flocks, goats or sheep, and springs among them bent on slaughter, so the son of Tydeus fell upon the Thracian men until he had killed twelve. And each man whom the son of Tydeus struck with his sword, resourceful Odysseus would seize by the foot from behind and drag aside. His thought was to give the fine-maned horses an easy passage, so that they would not take fright as they stepped over the dead, for they were not yet used to them.

But when the son of Tydeus reached the king, he robbed him too of his honey-sweet life, the thirteenth to die, as he gasped for breath. For that night the descendant of Oeneus stood above his head as an evil dream, through Athena’s devising.

Meanwhile steadfast Odysseus untied the solid-hoofed horses, coupled them with the straps, and drove them out of the throng, striking them with his bow, for he had not thought to take the shining whip from the richly worked chariot. Then he whistled to signal noble Diomedes.

But Diomedes lingered, pondering what most daring deed he might do: whether to seize the chariot where the splendid armor lay and drag it away by the pole, or lift it up and carry it out, or take the lives of still more Thracians.

While he turned these thoughts over in his mind, Athena drew near and spoke to noble Diomedes: “Think now of returning to the hollow ships, son of great-hearted Tydeus, lest you have to make your way back in flight. Some other god may yet awaken the Trojans.”

So she spoke, and he understood the goddess’s voice and quickly mounted the horses. Odysseus struck them with his bow, and they flew toward the swift ships of the Achaeans. But Apollo of the silver bow was not keeping a blind watch. When he saw Athena attending the son of Tydeus, he was angered with her and entered the great throng of Trojans. He roused Hippocoon, a counselor of the Thracians and a noble cousin of Rhesus. Springing from sleep, Hippocoon saw the empty place where the swift horses had stood, and the men writhing amid the dreadful slaughter. Then he cried aloud in grief and called his dear companion by name.

A clamor and a boundless uproar rose among the Trojans as they rushed together. They gazed in wonder at the terrible deeds the two men had done before making their way to the hollow ships. When the two reached the place where they had killed Hector’s scout, Odysseus, dear to Zeus, reined in the swift horses, while the son of Tydeus leapt to the ground, placed the bloodstained spoils in Odysseus’ hands, and mounted again. He lashed the horses, and the pair flew willingly toward the hollow ships, for that was where their hearts longed to go.

Nestor was the first to hear the hoofbeats, and he spoke: “My friends, leaders and rulers of the Argives, shall I speak falsely, or tell the truth? My heart urges me to speak. The thunder of swift-footed horses strikes upon my ears.

“If only Odysseus and mighty Diomedes were even now driving single-hoofed horses here from the Trojan camp! Yet deep in my heart I am terribly afraid that these, the best of the Argives, may have come to harm amid the tumult of the Trojans.”

He had not yet finished speaking when the men themselves arrived. They dismounted to the ground, and the others joyfully clasped their right hands and greeted them with gentle words. Nestor, the horseman of Gerenia, was the first to question them: “Come, tell me, much-praised Odysseus, great glory of the Achaeans, how did you two capture these horses? Did you plunge into the Trojan host, or did some god meet you and give them to you?

“They shine wonderfully like the sun’s own rays. I am always mingling with the Trojans in battle; old warrior though I am, I do not, I tell you, linger beside the ships. Yet never have I seen or noticed horses such as these.

“Surely some god must have met you and given them to you, for Zeus the cloud-gatherer loves you both, as does bright-eyed Athena, daughter of Zeus who bears the aegis.” Resourceful Odysseus answered him: “Nestor, son of Neleus, great glory of the Achaeans, a god, if he wished, could easily give us horses even finer than these, for the gods are far mightier than we.

“But these newly arrived horses you ask about, old sir, are Thracian. Brave Diomedes killed their master, and beside him twelve of his companions, all men of the highest valor. A thirteenth man, a scout, we caught near the ships. Hector and the other proud Trojans had sent him out to spy upon our army.”

With these words he drove the single-hoofed horses across the trench, exulting, while the other Achaeans went beside them, rejoicing. When they reached the well-built hut of the son of Tydeus, they tethered the horses with neatly cut leather straps at the manger where Diomedes’ swift-footed horses stood eating honey-sweet wheat. Odysseus laid Dolon’s bloodstained spoils in the stern of his ship, to make ready a sacred offering to Athena.

Then they themselves waded into the sea and washed the heavy sweat from their shins, their necks, and their thighs. When the sea’s waves had washed the sweat from their skin and refreshed their hearts, they stepped into polished bathing tubs and bathed.

When both had bathed and richly anointed themselves with oil, they sat down to supper, and, drawing honey-sweet wine from a brimming mixing bowl, poured libations to Athena.