Prevod
Saffron-robed Dawn was spreading over all the earth when Zeus, who delights in thunder, called the gods to council on the highest peak of many-ridged Olympus. He himself addressed them, and all the gods listened: “Hear me, every god and every goddess, while I tell you what the heart within my breast commands.
“Let no goddess and no god attempt to thwart my word. All of you assent together, so that I may bring these matters to their end as swiftly as I can. Whomever I see stealing away from the gods to help either Trojans or Danaans shall return to Olympus battered and disgraced. Or I will seize him and hurl him into misty Tartarus, far away, where the deepest gulf lies beneath the earth, with gates of iron and a threshold of bronze, as far below Hades as heaven is above the earth. Then he will learn how much stronger I am than all the gods.
“Come, gods, put me to the test, so that you all may know. Hang a golden cord from heaven and take hold of it, every god and every goddess. Even so, you could not drag Zeus, the highest lord and counsellor, from heaven to the plain, however hard you laboured.
“But if I in earnest chose to pull, I could haul you up with earth itself and the sea itself besides. Then I would bind the cord around a peak of Olympus, and everything would hang suspended in the air.
“So far do I surpass both gods and men.” Thus he spoke, and all of them fell silent, awed by his words, for he had spoken with tremendous force.
At last the bright-eyed goddess Athena answered: “Our father, son of Cronus, highest of all rulers, we too know well that your strength cannot be challenged. Yet still we pity the Danaan spearmen, who must fulfil their bitter fate and perish.
“We will indeed keep clear of battle, as you command, but we shall offer the Argives counsel that may help them, so that they do not all perish beneath your wrath.” Cloud-gathering Zeus smiled at her and replied: “Take heart, Tritogeneia, my dear child. I do not speak with an unyielding heart; I wish to be gentle with you.”
With these words he harnessed to his chariot two bronze-hoofed horses, swift-flying, their manes streaming with gold. He clothed himself in gold, took up his finely fashioned golden whip, and mounted his chariot. He lashed the horses onward, and eagerly they flew between the earth and starry heaven.
He came to Ida of the many springs, mother of wild beasts, to Gargarus, where his sacred precinct stood and his fragrant altar. There the father of men and gods halted his horses, unyoked them from the chariot, and poured thick mist about them.
He himself sat on the heights, exulting in his glory, looking out over the city of the Trojans and the ships of the Achaeans. Meanwhile the long-haired Achaeans hurriedly took their meal among the huts, and then put on their armour.
On the other side, the Trojans too were arming throughout the city. They were fewer, but even so they longed to fight, driven by stern necessity to defend their children and their wives. All the gates were opened, and the army streamed out, foot soldiers and charioteers, while a mighty din arose.
When the two armies met upon the same ground, they crashed together, hide shields against hide shields, spears and the strength of bronze-armoured men. Bossed shields struck one another, and a mighty din arose.
There cries of anguish mingled with cries of triumph, from men killing and men being killed, and the earth ran with blood. So long as it was morning and the sacred day was waxing, the missiles of both armies struck home, and men kept falling.
But when the Sun had reached the middle of heaven, the Father lifted up his golden scales. In them he set two fates of death that lays men low, one for the horse-taming Trojans, one for the bronze-clad Achaeans. He took the balance by its middle and raised it, and the Achaeans’ day of doom sank down.
The Achaeans’ fates settled upon the earth that feeds so many, while the Trojans’ rose toward the broad heavens. Zeus himself thundered mightily from Ida and hurled a blazing flash among the Achaean army. At the sight they stood aghast, and pale terror seized them all.
Then neither Idomeneus nor Agamemnon dared hold his ground, nor did the two Ajaxes, servants of Ares, stand firm. Only Gerenian Nestor, guardian of the Achaeans, remained, and not of his own will: one of his horses was in agony. Noble Alexander, husband of lovely-haired Helen, had struck it with an arrow on the crown of its head, where the first hairs of a horse’s mane grow from the skull, a most deadly spot.
It reared in pain, and the shaft pierced its brain. Writhing about the bronze point, it threw the other horses into confusion. While the old man sprang forward with his sword to cut away the horse’s traces, Hector’s swift horses came through the rout, carrying their bold charioteer, Hector. And there the old man would have lost his life, had Diomedes, lord of the war cry, not been quick to see him. With a terrible shout he called to Odysseus: “Heaven-born son of Laertes, resourceful Odysseus, where are you fleeing, turning your back like a coward in the throng?
“Take care that someone does not plant a spear between your shoulders as you run! Stand fast, and let us drive this savage man away from the old king.” So he spoke, but noble, much-enduring Odysseus did not hear him; he sped past toward the hollow ships of the Achaeans.
Alone though he was, the son of Tydeus plunged among the foremost fighters and stood before the horses of the aged son of Neleus. He addressed him with winged words: “Old sir, these young warriors are pressing you hard. Your strength has ebbed, harsh old age weighs upon you, your attendant is feeble, and your horses slow.
“Come, mount my chariot and see what the Trojan horses are like, how well they know the plain and how swiftly they can pursue or flee, this way and that. I took them once from Aeneas, these masters of rout.
“Let our attendants care for your pair, while we drive mine straight against the horse-taming Trojans. Then Hector too shall learn whether my spear rages in my hands.” So he spoke, and Gerenian Nestor the horseman obeyed.
Then their attendants, mighty Sthenelus and kindly Eurymedon, took charge of Nestor’s horses. The other two mounted Diomedes’ chariot together. Nestor took the shining reins in his hands and whipped the horses onward, and soon they were close to Hector.
As Hector charged straight at them, the son of Tydeus hurled his spear. He missed Hector, but struck his attendant and charioteer, Eniopeus, son of proud Thebaeus, in the chest beside the nipple as he held the horses’ reins.
He fell from the chariot, and the swift-footed horses shied back. There his life and strength were loosed. Bitter grief for his charioteer darkened Hector’s heart. Yet, grieving for his companion, he left him lying and sought another bold charioteer. His horses did not lack a driver long: he quickly found brave Archeptolemus, son of Iphitus, set him beside the swift-footed horses, and put the reins into his hands.
Then there would have been slaughter and deeds beyond remedy, and the Trojans would have been penned in Ilium like lambs, had the father of men and gods not been quick to see. With a terrible peal of thunder he hurled a gleaming bolt, striking the earth in front of Diomedes’ horses. A fearsome flame sprang up from the burning sulphur, and the two horses cowered beneath the chariot in terror. The shining reins slipped from Nestor’s hands; fear entered his heart, and he said to Diomedes: “Son of Tydeus, come, turn your strong-hoofed horses back in flight.
“Do you not see that victory from Zeus is not with you? Today Zeus, son of Cronus, grants glory to this man. Another day, if he wishes, he will give it to us. No man, however mighty, can turn aside the will of Zeus, for he is stronger by far.”
Then Diomedes, lord of the war cry, answered him: “Yes, old sir, everything you say is right. But this bitter grief pierces my heart and spirit: one day Hector will boast before the Trojans, ‘The son of Tydeus fled before me and reached his ships.’
“That is what he will boast. Then may the broad earth swallow me!” Gerenian Nestor the horseman answered: “Ah, son of warlike Tydeus, what a thing to say! Even if Hector calls you a coward and a weakling, the Trojans and Dardanians will not believe him, nor the wives of those great-hearted Trojan shieldmen whose strong husbands you have laid in the dust.”
With these words he turned the strong-hoofed horses back through the rout. Behind them, Hector and the Trojans poured down their grievous missiles with an unearthly din. Great Hector of the flashing helmet shouted after him: “Son of Tydeus, the Danaans with their swift horses used to honour you above all others, with a place of honour, with meat, and with brimming cups. Now they will despise you. You have proved no better than a woman!
“Away with you, miserable doll! You shall not climb our towers while I stand firm, nor carry off our women in your ships. First I will give you your doom.” So he spoke, and the son of Tydeus wavered, wondering whether to turn his horses and fight him face to face.
Three times he pondered it in heart and spirit, and three times Zeus the counsellor thundered from the mountains of Ida, giving the Trojans a sign that victory in the battle was turning to their side. Hector called to the Trojans with a mighty shout: “Trojans, Lycians, and Dardanians who fight at close quarters, be men, my friends, and remember your fierce courage!
“I know that the son of Cronus has willingly nodded his assent to victory and great glory for me, and disaster for the Danaans. Fools, to have built these walls, feeble things, worth nothing! They will not check our strength, and our horses will leap easily over their dug trench.
“But when I reach the hollow ships, let someone remember the ravaging fire, so that I may burn their ships and slaughter the Argives themselves beside them, bewildered by the smoke.”
Then he called to his horses: “Xanthus, and you, Podargus, Aethon, and noble Lampus, now repay me for the lavish care Andromache, daughter of great-hearted Eetion, has given you. She set sweet wheat before you, and mixed wine for you to drink whenever your hearts desired it, before she tended me, though I am proud to be her husband in his prime.
“Come, follow close and make haste, so that we may seize Nestor’s shield, whose fame now reaches heaven, for they say it is all of gold, the crossbars and the shield itself; and strip from the shoulders of horse-taming Diomedes the richly wrought breastplate that Hephaestus laboured to make.
“If we could take these two, I should expect the Achaeans to board their swift ships this very night.” So he boasted, and queenly Hera was indignant. She stirred upon her throne and shook tall Olympus, then spoke to Poseidon, the great god beside her: “Ah, mighty Earth-shaker, does your heart feel no pity for the Danaans as they perish?
“Yet they bring you many lovely offerings to Helice and Aegae. Wish victory for them! If all of us who aid the Danaans were willing to drive the Trojans back and hold far-thundering Zeus in check, he would sit there alone on Ida, nursing his grief.”
Deeply troubled, the lord who shakes the earth replied: “Hera, reckless in speech, what have you said? I would not wish the rest of us to fight Zeus, son of Cronus, for he is stronger by far.”
Thus they spoke to one another. Meanwhile, all the space that the trench enclosed outside the wall by the ships was filled with horses and shield-bearing men crowded together. Hector, son of Priam, a match for swift Ares, had penned them there, since Zeus had granted him glory.
And he would have burned the well-built ships with blazing fire, had queenly Hera not put it into Agamemnon’s heart to hurry out himself and swiftly rouse the Achaeans. He went beside the huts and ships, holding a great purple cloak in his powerful hand, and took his stand upon Odysseus’ huge black ship. It lay in the middle, so that his voice could reach both ways, to the huts of Ajax, son of Telamon, and to those of Achilles. These two had drawn up their well-built ships at the ends of the line, trusting in their courage and the strength of their hands. He shouted piercingly to the Danaans: “Shame, Argives! Wretched disgraces, splendid only to look at! Where are your boasts now, when we claimed to be the best? On Lemnos you made such empty vaunts, eating the flesh of straight-horned cattle in abundance and drinking bowls brimful of wine, saying that each of you would stand against a hundred or two hundred Trojans in battle. Yet now we are no match for a single man, for Hector, who will soon burn our ships with blazing fire!
“Father Zeus, have you ever blinded another mighty king with such ruin, and robbed him of such glory? Never, I tell you, as I sailed here in my many-benched ship, did I pass one of your beautiful altars without burning the fat and thighbones of oxen upon it, longing to sack well-walled Troy.
“But Zeus, grant me at least this prayer: let us escape with our lives and get away. Do not allow the Achaeans to be crushed like this by the Trojans.” So he spoke, and the Father pitied him as he wept, and nodded his assent that the army should be saved and not destroyed.
At once he sent an eagle, surest of all birds in omen, carrying in its talons a fawn, the young of a swift deer. It dropped the fawn beside the lovely altar of Zeus, where the Achaeans offered sacrifice to Zeus, lord of every omen.
When they saw the bird and knew that it had come from Zeus, they sprang more fiercely against the Trojans and remembered the joy of battle. Then, many though the Danaans were, none could boast that he had wheeled his swift horses, driven out across the trench, and fought face to face before the son of Tydeus. Far ahead of all the rest, he killed an armoured Trojan, Agelaus, son of Phradmon. The man had turned his horses to flee, and as he turned, Diomedes planted his spear in his back between the shoulders and drove it through his chest. He fell from the chariot, and his armour clattered upon him.
After him came the sons of Atreus, Agamemnon and Menelaus; after them the two Ajaxes, clothed in fierce courage; after them Idomeneus and his companion Meriones, a match for Enyalius the slayer of men; after them Eurypylus, the splendid son of Euaemon. Teucer came ninth, drawing his recurved bow, and took his stand beneath the shield of Ajax, son of Telamon.
Ajax would lift his shield aside, and the hero would peer around him. When he had shot and struck someone in the throng, the man would fall where he stood and lose his life, while Teucer slipped back to Ajax like a child beneath its mother’s shelter, and Ajax hid him with his gleaming shield.
Who was the first Trojan that peerless Teucer killed? First Orsilochus, then Ormenus and Ophelestes, Daetor and Chromius, godlike Lycophontes, Amopaon, son of Polyaemon, and Melanippus: one after another he brought them all down upon the earth that feeds so many.
Agamemnon, king of men, rejoiced to see him destroying the Trojan ranks with his powerful bow. He came and stood beside him, saying: “Teucer, dear friend, son of Telamon, leader of men, keep shooting as you are! You may yet bring light to the Danaans and to your father Telamon, who reared you from childhood and cared for you in his own house, though you were born outside marriage. Far away though he is, bring him glory.
“And I will tell you something that shall surely come to pass: if Zeus who bears the aegis and Athena allow me to sack the well-built city of Ilium, you shall be the first after me into whose hands I put a prize of honour—a tripod, or two horses with their chariot, or a woman to share your bed.”
Peerless Teucer answered him: “Most glorious son of Atreus, why urge me on when I am eager already? As far as my strength allows, I do not hold back. Ever since we drove them toward Ilium, I have watched for men and killed them with my bow.
“Already I have loosed eight long-barbed arrows, and all have lodged in the flesh of young men swift in battle. But this one raging dog I cannot hit.” With that he sent another arrow from the string straight at Hector, longing in his heart to strike him. But he missed him and hit peerless Gorgythion, a noble son of Priam, in the chest. His mother was lovely Castianeira, who had come as a bride from Aesyme, a woman like the goddesses in beauty.
As a poppy in a garden bows its head to one side, weighed down by its seed and the rains of spring, so his head drooped sideways beneath the weight of his helmet. Teucer sent another arrow from the string straight at Hector, longing in his heart to strike him.
But again he missed, for Apollo turned the shaft aside. Instead he struck bold Archeptolemus, Hector’s charioteer, in the chest beside the nipple as he rushed into battle. He fell from the chariot, and the swift-footed horses shied back. There his life and strength were loosed.
Bitter grief for his charioteer darkened Hector’s heart. Yet, grieving for his companion, he left him there and called to his brother Cebriones, who was close by, to take the horses’ reins. He heard and obeyed.
Hector himself leapt from the gleaming chariot to the ground with a terrible cry. He took a stone in his hand and went straight at Teucer, his heart urging him to strike. Teucer had just drawn a bitter arrow from his quiver and set it on the string. As he drew the bow back, Hector of the flashing helmet struck him with the jagged stone beside the shoulder, where the collarbone divides neck and chest, a most deadly spot, just as he aimed at him. He snapped the bowstring; Teucer’s arm went numb at the wrist, and he fell to his knees, the bow dropping from his hand.
Ajax did not neglect his fallen brother. He ran and stood astride him, covering him with his shield. Then two faithful companions, Mecisteus, son of Echius, and noble Alastor, slipped beneath him and carried him toward the hollow ships, groaning heavily.
Once more the Olympian roused the Trojans’ courage, and they drove the Achaeans straight toward the deep trench. Hector strode among the foremost, fierce in his strength. As a hound pursues a wild boar or a lion on swift feet, snapping from behind at its flanks and haunches and watching for it to turn, so Hector pressed the long-haired Achaeans, always killing the hindmost as they fled.
When they had fled through the stakes and across the trench, and many had fallen beneath Trojan hands, they halted beside their ships and stood their ground. They called to one another, and each raised his hands to all the gods and prayed aloud. Hector wheeled his lovely-maned horses back and forth, with the eyes of the Gorgon and of Ares, destroyer of men.
The white-armed goddess Hera saw them and took pity. At once she addressed Athena with winged words: “Ah, child of Zeus who bears the aegis, shall we two no longer care for the Danaans as they perish, even at this last extremity?
“They will fulfil their bitter fate and die beneath the onslaught of a single man. Hector, son of Priam, rages beyond all bearing, and already he has done them untold harm.” The bright-eyed goddess Athena answered: “Would that this man too might lose his strength and life, struck down by Argive hands in his own native land! But my father rages with a cruel mind, harsh and ever unjust, thwarting my purpose. He does not remember how often I saved his son when he was worn down by the labours Eurystheus imposed.
“He would weep and cry to heaven, and Zeus would send me down from heaven to help him. Had I known all this in my discerning heart when Eurystheus sent him to the house of Hades, keeper of the gates, to bring the hound of hateful Hades out of Erebus, he would never have escaped the plunging waters of the Styx.
“Now he hates me and has fulfilled the wishes of Thetis, who kissed his knees and took his chin in her hand, begging him to honour Achilles, sacker of cities. Yet a day will come when he calls me his dear bright-eyed daughter again.
“But now harness the strong-hoofed horses for us, while I go into the house of Zeus who bears the aegis and arm myself for battle. Then I shall see whether Hector, Priam’s son of the flashing helmet, will rejoice when the two of us appear along the lines of battle, or whether some Trojan will feed the dogs and birds with his fat and flesh, fallen beside the Achaean ships.”
So she spoke, and the white-armed goddess Hera obeyed. Hera, eldest goddess, daughter of mighty Cronus, went about harnessing the horses with their golden headbands. Meanwhile Athena, daughter of Zeus who bears the aegis, let her soft embroidered robe fall upon her father’s floor, the robe she herself had made and laboured over with her hands. Then she put on the tunic of cloud-gathering Zeus and armed herself for the war that brings tears.
She stepped into the flaming chariot and took up her heavy spear, huge and strong, with which she subdues the ranks of warrior heroes against whom she, daughter of a mighty father, is angered. Hera swiftly touched the horses with the whip. Of their own accord the gates of heaven groaned open, the gates guarded by the Seasons, to whom great heaven and Olympus are entrusted, to open the dense cloud or close it again.
Through those gates they drove their horses obedient to the goad. But when Father Zeus saw them from Ida, he was terribly angered, and sent golden-winged Iris with a message: “Go, swift Iris, turn them back. Do not let them come against me, for our meeting in battle will not end well.
“This I tell you, and it shall be fulfilled: I will cripple the swift horses beneath their chariot, hurl the goddesses out of it, and smash their car. Not in ten returning years will they heal the wounds my thunderbolt shall inflict. Then the bright-eyed goddess will know what it means to fight her father.
“With Hera I am not so indignant or so angry, for she is always accustomed to thwart whatever I say.” So he spoke, and storm-footed Iris sped away with his message, leaving the mountains of Ida for tall Olympus.
At the outermost gates of many-folded Olympus she met them and stopped them, declaring Zeus’s words: “Where are you rushing? What madness rages in your hearts? The son of Cronus will not let you defend the Argives.
“For this is the threat the son of Cronus has made, and he will fulfil it: he will cripple the swift horses beneath your chariot, hurl you out of it, and smash your car. Not in ten returning years will you heal the wounds his thunderbolt shall inflict. Then you, bright-eyed goddess, will know what it means to fight your father.
“With Hera he is not so indignant or so angry, for she is always accustomed to thwart whatever he says. But you, shameless, brazen creature, would be terrible indeed if you dared to raise your great spear against Zeus!”
With these words swift-footed Iris departed, and Hera said to Athena: “Ah, child of Zeus who bears the aegis, I will no longer let us fight Zeus for the sake of mortals. Let one of them die and another live, as chance may have it. Let him ponder his own purposes and judge between Trojans and Danaans as he thinks fit.”
With these words she turned the strong-hoofed horses back. The Seasons unyoked their lovely-maned horses and tethered them at their ambrosial mangers, then leaned the chariot against the shining inner walls. The goddesses themselves sat down on golden chairs among the other gods, their hearts heavy with grief.
Father Zeus drove his horses and well-wheeled chariot from Ida to Olympus and reached the gathering place of the gods. The renowned Earth-shaker unyoked his horses and set the chariot upon its stand, spreading a cloth over it. Far-thundering Zeus himself sat upon his golden throne, and great Olympus trembled beneath his feet.
Athena and Hera sat apart from Zeus, neither speaking to him nor questioning him. But he understood their thoughts and said: “Why are you so dejected, Athena and Hera?
“Surely you have not wearied yourselves in the battle that gives men glory, destroying the Trojans against whom you bear such bitter hatred. With strength like mine and hands that none can resist, all the gods on Olympus could not turn me back.
“But trembling seized your glorious limbs before you ever saw the fighting and the dreadful deeds of war. For this I tell you, and it would have come to pass: struck by my thunderbolt, you would not have returned in your chariot to Olympus, where the immortals dwell.”
So he spoke, and Athena and Hera muttered, sitting close together and plotting ruin for the Trojans. Athena remained silent and said nothing, seething against her father Zeus, possessed by savage anger. But Hera could not contain the anger in her breast, and answered him: “Dread son of Cronus, what have you said?
“We too know well that your strength is far from feeble. Yet still we pity the Danaan spearmen, who must fulfil their bitter fate and perish. We will indeed keep clear of battle, if you command it, but we shall offer the Argives counsel that may help them, so that they do not all perish beneath your wrath.”
Cloud-gathering Zeus answered her: “At dawn, if you wish, ox-eyed queenly Hera, you shall see the mighty son of Cronus destroy still more of the great host of Argive spearmen. For powerful Hector will not cease from battle until swift-footed Achilles, son of Peleus, is roused beside the ships, on that day when they fight at the sterns in direst straits over the body of fallen Patroclus. So it is decreed. As for your anger, I care nothing for it, not even if you reach the furthest bounds of earth and sea, where Iapetus and Cronus sit, delighting neither in the rays of Hyperion the Sun nor in the winds, with deep Tartarus about them. Even if you wander there, I care nothing for your sulking, for there is nothing more brazen than you.”
So he spoke, and white-armed Hera made no answer. The bright light of the sun sank into Ocean, drawing black night over the grain-giving earth. The light went down against the Trojans’ wishes, but to the Achaeans dark night came welcome, fervently prayed for.
Then glorious Hector called the Trojans to council, leading them away from the ships beside the swirling river, to an open place where the ground was clear of corpses. They stepped down from their chariots and listened to the words of Hector, dear to Zeus. In his hand he held a spear eleven cubits long. Its bronze point gleamed before him, and a golden band encircled the shaft. Leaning on it, he addressed the Trojans: “Hear me, Trojans, Dardanians, and allies. I thought that today I would destroy the ships and all the Achaeans, and then return to windy Ilium. But darkness came first, and for now that above all has saved the Argives and their ships beside the breaking sea.
“For the present, then, let us obey black night and prepare our supper. Unyoke your lovely-maned horses from the chariots and set fodder before them. Bring cattle and sturdy sheep quickly from the city, and fetch sweet wine and bread from your houses. Gather plenty of wood, so that all night long, until early-born Dawn, we may burn many fires and their blaze may reach the heavens. Otherwise the long-haired Achaeans may attempt to flee by night over the broad back of the sea.
“Let them not board their ships untroubled and at ease. No, let some of them nurse their wounds even at home, struck by an arrow or a sharp spear as they leap aboard, so that others too may dread bringing tearful war against the horse-taming Trojans.
“Let the heralds, dear to Zeus, announce throughout the city that boys just come to manhood and grey-haired elders must take their posts around the city on its god-built towers. Let every woman kindle a great fire in her house, and let a watch be firmly kept, lest an ambush enter the city while the army is away.
“Let it be as I say, great-hearted Trojans. Let this be sound counsel for the present; at dawn I shall speak again among the horse-taming Trojans. In hope I pray to Zeus and all the gods that we may drive away these dogs whom the death-fates have carried here aboard their black ships.”
“But for tonight we shall keep watch and guard ourselves. Early tomorrow, at the first light of dawn, we shall put on our armor and stir up fierce battle beside the hollow ships. Then I shall see whether mighty Diomedes, Tydeus’ son, will drive me back from the ships toward the wall, or whether I shall slay him with my bronze spear and carry off his bloodstained armor.
Tomorrow he will learn the measure of his courage, if he stands his ground against my charging spear. But I think he will lie wounded among the foremost, with many comrades around him, when the sun rises tomorrow. If only I could be as sure of being immortal and ageless all my days, and honored as Athena and Apollo are honored, as I am that this day brings disaster to the Argives.”
So Hector spoke, and the Trojans shouted their approval. They unyoked their sweating horses, and each man tethered his team with straps beside his chariot. Swiftly they brought cattle and sturdy sheep from the city, drew honey-sweet wine, fetched bread from their homes, and gathered great heaps of firewood.
They offered perfect hecatombs to the immortals, and the winds carried the sweet savor of the fat from the plain up into heaven. But the blessed gods would have no share of it, nor did they wish to: so deeply did they hate holy Ilios, and Priam, and the people of Priam, skilled with the ashen spear. High in spirit, the Trojans sat all night along the battle lines, and many fires burned around them.
As when the stars in heaven shine clear around the radiant moon, and the air is still, and every lookout peak and jutting headland and wooded glen stands out; above, the boundless heavens open wide, and all the stars are visible, and the shepherd’s heart is glad—so many were the fires the Trojans kindled before Ilios, between the ships and the streams of Xanthus.
A thousand fires burned upon the plain, and beside each sat fifty men in the glow of the blazing flames. The horses stood beside their chariots, munching white barley and spelt, awaiting Dawn on her lovely throne.
