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Homer

The Iliad

Abridged

Translated
by
Ian Johnston
Vancouver Island University
Nanaimo, British Columbia
Canada

This abridged version of Homer’s Iliad has been prepared by Ian Johnston of Vancouver Island University, Nanaimo, British Columbia, Canada, from his translation of the complete poem (available here). This abridged translation is roughly one-third the length of the original poem. Each line is a direct translation from the Greek original (i.e., I have shortened the poem by removing large parts of it, not by rewriting different sections).  In many places, I have included a very short prose summary of the missing material placed in square brackets and italics (e.g., [Summary sentences]). However, these short summaries do not include all details of the omitted text. And in many places no summary is provided for missing material.

This translation uses the traditional Latinate spellings and common English equivalents for the Greek names (e.g., Achilles, Menelaus, Achaeans) rather than modern renditions which strive to stay closer to the Greek (e.g., Akhilleus, Menelaos, Akhaians), with the exception of a few names of gods (Cronos, Ouranos) and a few others. Where there is a common English rendition of the name (e.g., Ajax, Troy, Teucer), I have used that. A dieresis over a vowel indicates that is it pronounced by itself. For example “Deïphobus” is pronounced “Day-ee-pho-bus” not “Day-pho-bus” or “Dee-pho-bus.”

In numbering the lines, the translator has normally included a short indented line with the shorter line immediately above it, so that the two partial lines count as a single line in the tally.  Note that the numbering of the lines starts again in each book.

Note that Homer calls the Greek forces at Troy Achaeans, Danaans, or Argives, not Greeks. Alexander is an alternative name for Paris. And Troy is frequently called Ilion.

At the end of this text there is a Glossary of Names and Places.

For a pdf version of this translation, please contact Ian Johnston.

A printed paperback edition of this abridged translation is available from Richer Resources Publications.

Book One
The Quarrel at the Ships

Sing, Goddess, sing of the rage of Achilles, son of Peleus—
that murderous anger which condemned Achaeans
to countless agonies and threw many warrior souls
deep into Hades, leaving their dead bodies
carrion food for dogs and birds—
all in fulfillment of the will of Zeus.

Start at the point where Agamemnon, son of Atreus,
that king of men, quarreled with noble Achilles.
Which of the gods incited these two men to fight?

That god was Apollo, son of Zeus and Leto.    10
Angry with Agamemnon, he cast plague down       
onto the troops—deadly infectious evil.
For Agamemnon had dishonoured the god’s priest,
Chryses, who’d come to the ships to find his daughter,
Chryseis, bringing with him a huge ransom.
He begged Achaeans, above all the army’s leaders,
the two sons of Atreus:

“Menelaus, Agamemnon, sons of Atreus,      
all you well-armed Achaeans, may the gods       
on Olympus grant you wipe out Priam’s city,    20
and then return home safe and sound.
Release my dear child to me. Take this ransom.   
Honour Apollo, far-shooting son of Zeus.”

All the Achaeans roared out their support:

“Respect the priest. Take the generous ransom.”                        

Displeased, Agamemnon dismissed Chryses roughly—

                                                                 “Old man,
don’t let me catch you by our hollow ships,                        
sneaking back here today or later on.                  
I’ll not release the girl to you, no, not before
she’s grown old with me in Argos, far from home,                      30
working the loom, sharing my bed. Go away.                           
If you want to get home safely, don’t anger me.”

The old man, afraid, obeyed his words, walked off in silence,
along the shore by the tumbling, crashing surf. 
Some distance off, he prayed to Lord Apollo, 
Leto’s fair-haired child:

            “God with the silver bow,
hear my prayer: Force the Danaans
to pay full price for my tears with your arrows.”

So Chryses prayed. Phoebus Apollo heard him.                        
He came down from Olympus top enraged,       40
carrying on his shoulders bow and covered quiver,
his arrows rattling in anger against his arm.  
So the god swooped down, descending like the night.                        
He sat some distance from the ships, shot off an arrow—
the silver bow reverberated ominously.
First, the god massacred mules and swift-running dogs,
then loosed sharp arrows in among the troops themselves.
Thick fires kept burning corpses ceaselessly.

For nine days Apollo rained death down upon the troops.            
On the tenth, Achilles summoned an assembly.    50
White-armed Hera put that thought into his mind,
concerned for the Danaans, seeing them die.
The men gathered. The meeting came to order.     
Swift-footed Achilles rose to speak:

                                         “Son of Atreus,
I fear we’re being beaten back, forced home,
if we aren’t all going to be destroyed right here,
with war and plague killing off Achaeans.                          
Come now, let’s ask some prophet, priest,
interpreter of dreams—for dreams, too, come from Zeus—
a man who might say why Apollo is so angry,         60
whether he faults our prayers and offerings, 
whether somehow he’ll welcome sacrificial smoke                    
from perfect lambs and goats, then rouse himself            
and release us from this plague.”

                                           Achilles spoke and took his seat.
Then Calchas, Thestor’s son, stood up before them all,
the most astute interpreter of birds, who understood
present, future, past. His skill in prophecy,                   
Apollo’s gift, had led Achaean ships to Troy.                                 
He addressed the troops, thinking of their common good:

“Apollo does not fault us for prayers or offerings,               70
but for his priest, disgraced by Agamemnon, 
who did not free his daughter and take ransom. 
That’s why the archer god has brought disaster,                 
and will bring still more. He won’t remove               
this wretched plague from the Danaans,
until we hand back bright-eyed Chryseis,
give her to her beloved father, freely, 
without ransom, and offer holy sacrifice 
at Chryse. If we will carry out all that,
we may change Apollo’s mind, appease him.”      80

So he spoke and sat back down. Then, Atreus’ son,
wide ruling, mighty Agamemnon, stood up before them,      
incensed, spirit filled with huge black rage.
Eyes blazing fire, he rounded first on Calchas:                                   

“Prophet of evil, when have you ever said
good things to me? You love to predict the worst,
always the worst! You never show good news.  
Now, in prophecy to the Danaans, 
you say archer Apollo brings us pain                    
because I was unwilling to accept                    90
fine ransom for Chryses’ daughter, Chryseis.
But I have a great desire to take her home.        
Still, I’m prepared to give her back, if that’s best. 
I want the people safe, not all killed off.
But then you’ll owe me another prize.
I won’t be the only Argive left without a gift.  
That would be entirely unfair to me.                       
You all can see my spoils are going elsewhere.”    

At that point, swift-footed Achilles answered the king:     

“Noble son of Atreus, most acquisitive of men,       100
how can brave Achaeans give you a prize now?             
There are none left for us to pass around. 
We’ve divided up what we allotted,
loot from captured towns we devastated.
For men to make a common pile again                      
would be most unfair. Send the girl back now,
as the god demands. Should Zeus ever grant
we pillage Troy, a city rich in goods,
we’ll give you three or four times as much.”       

Mighty Agamemnon then said in reply:          110

“Achilles, you’re a fine man, like a god.
But don’t conceal what’s in your heart.
You’ll not trick me or win me with your words.
You intend to keep your prizes for yourself, 
while the army takes my trophy from me.              
That’s why you tell me to give Chryseis back.
Let Achaeans give me another prize, 
equal in value, something I’ll enjoy.  
If not, then I’ll take a prize myself by force,                               
The man I visit is going to be enraged.                              120
But let’s postpone discussion of all this.          
Let’s drag a black ship down to the sacred sea,
select a crew, load oxen on for sacrifice, 
and Chryseis, that fair-complexioned girl,
so with a sacrifice we may appease           
the god who shoots from far away.”                    

Scowling grimly, swift-footed Achilles interposed:  

“You insatiable creature, quite shameless.
I didn’t come to battle over here
because of Trojans. I have no fight with them.            130
They never stole my bulls or horses,
or razed my crops in fertile Phthia,
where heroes grow. Many shady mountains   
and the roaring sea stand there between us. 
But you, great shameless man, we came with you,
to please you, to win honour from the Trojans—
for you, dog face, and for Menelaus.
You don’t consider this, don’t think at all.     
You threaten now to confiscate the prize
I worked so hard for, gift from Achaea’s sons.                            140
When we Achaeans loot some well-built Trojan town,
my prizes never match the ones you get.  
The major share of war’s fury rests on me.     
But when we hand around the battle spoils,
you get much larger trophies. Worn out in war,
I reach my ships with something fine but small.
So I’ll return home now, back to Phthia.
It’s far better to sail back in my curved ships.
I don’t fancy staying here unvalued,
to pile up riches, treasures just for you.”                         150

To that, Agamemnon, king of men, shot back:                 

“Fly off home then, if that’s your heart’s desire. 
I’ll not beg you to stay on my account.        
I have others around to honour me,
especially all-wise Zeus himself.  
Of all the kings Zeus cherishes, it’s you 
I hate the most. You love constant strife—
war and combat. So what if you’re strong?
Some god gave you that. So scurry off home.
Take ships and friends. Go rule your Myrmidons.                      160
I don’t like you or care about your rage.
But I’ll make this threat: I’ll take your prize,   
fair-cheeked Briseis. I’ll fetch her in person.  
You’ll see just how much I’m the better man.
And others will hate to speak to me as peers, 
in public claiming full equality with me.”

As Agamemnon spoke, Peleus’ son, Achilles,
was overwhelmed with anguish, heart torn two ways,
debating in his shaggy chest what he should do:
Should he draw out the sharp sword on his thigh, 170
incite the crowd, kill Atreus’ son, or suppress his rage,   
control his fury?  As he argued in his mind and heart,
he slid his huge sword part way from its sheath.          
At that moment, Athena came down from heaven.
White-armed Hera sent her. She cherished both men,
cared for them equally. Athena stood behind Achilles,
grabbed him by his red-brown hair, invisible to all 
except Achilles. In astonishment he turned.
At once he recognized Pallas Athena, 
the dreadful glitter in her eyes. Achilles spoke—      180
his words had wings.

                                 “Child of aegis-bearing Zeus,
why have you come now?⁰ Do you wish to see   
how overbearing Agamemnon is?
I’ll tell you where all this is going to lead:
that arrogance will soon cost him his life.”

Glittery-eyed Athena then spoke in reply:

“I came down from heaven to curb your passion,
if you obey. White-armed Hera sent me.                         
She loves you both alike, cares equally.                                
Give up this quarrel. Don’t draw your sword.                           190
Fight him with words, so he becomes disgraced.
For I say to you, and this will happen,           
because of Agamemnon’s arrogance  
some day gifts three times greater than this girl
will be set down before you. Control yourself. 
Obey.”

Swift-footed Achilles answered Athena:

“Goddess, men should follow your instructions,
though angry in their hearts. It’s better so.                    
The person who’s obedient to the gods, 
the gods attend to all the more.”

                                                     Obeying Athena’s words,    200
Achilles relaxed his huge fist on the silver hilt   
and pushed the massive sword back in its scabbard.     
Athena then returned to heaven, home of Zeus,   
who bears the aegis, and the other gods.

Achilles turned again on Agamemnon, Atreus’ son, 
with harsh abuse, his anger still unabated:

“You drunken sot, dog-eyed coward, timid as deer.
A king who gorges on his own people!
You lord it over worthless men. If not,
son of Atreus, this would be your last offence.      210
I’ll tell you, swear a great oath on this point,                   
by this sceptre, which Achaea’s sons take in hand       
whenever they do justice in Zeus’ name.
An oath on this has power. On this I swear—
the time will come when Achaea’s sons
all miss Achilles, a time when, in distress,
you’ll lack my help, a time when Hector,
that man killer, destroys many warriors.
Then grief will tear your hearts apart,
because you shamed Achaea’s finest man.”       220

So the son of Peleus spoke, throwing to the ground  
the sceptre with the golden studs. Then he sat down,     
directly facing furious Agamemnon.

Then Nestor stood up, clear, sweet orator from Pylos.
Sweeter than honey the words flowed from his tongue.
Concerned about their common good, he said:

“Alas, this is great sorrow for Achaeans.     
Priam and Priam’s children will be glad,      
the hearts of other Trojans swell with joy,
should they find out about such quarreling,       230
a fight between you two, among Danaans
the very best for counsel or combat.
But listen. You are both younger men than I.                     
And I’ve been colleague of better men than you,  
Yet they heard me and followed my advice.
So listen, both of you. That’s what’s best now.
Agamemnon, you’re an excellent man,
but do not take Briseis from Achilles.
Let that pass. Achaea’s sons gave her to him first. 
And you, Peleus’ son, don’t seek to fight the king,  240
not as your enemy. Son of Atreus, check your anger.  
Set aside, I urge you, your rage against Achilles,
who provides, in the middle of war’s evils,
a powerful defence for all Achaeans.”

Mighty Agamemnon then replied to Nestor: 

“Old man, everything you say is true enough.
But this man wants to put the rest to shame,
rule all of us, lord it over everyone.             
But some, I think, will not obey him.     
So what if the gods, who live forever,                             250
made him a spearman? Is that some reason        
we should let him say such shameful things?”

Achilles, interrupting Agamemnon, shouted:

“I’d be called a coward, a nobody,
if I held back from any action
because of something you might say.
Order other men about. Don’t tell me
what I should do. I’ll not obey you any more.  
But I will tell you this—remember it well—      
I’ll not raise my hand to fight about that girl,      260
no, not against you or any other man.                
You Achaeans gave her to me, and now,
you seize her back again. But you’ll not take
another thing from my swift black ship—         
you’ll get nothing else with my consent.
If you’d like to see what happens, just try.
My spear will quickly drip with your dark blood.”

Then they stood up, dissolving the assembly by the ships.   
Agamemnon dragged a swift ship down the shore,
chose twenty sailors, loaded it with oxen,    270
offerings for the god, and led on fair-cheeked Chryseis.     
Shrewd Odysseus shipped on as leader. All aboard,
they set off, carving a pathway through the sea.                            

Atreus’ son ordered troops to cleanse themselves.
The men bathed in the sea, washed off impurities.     
They then made sacrificial offerings to Apollo—
hundreds of perfect bulls and goats—beside the restless sea.
Savory smells curled up amid the smoke high into heaven.     

The men thus occupied, Agamemnon did not forget
the challenge he’d made earlier to Achilles.   280
He called his heralds, Talthybius and Eurybates:   

“Go to Achilles’ tent, Peleus’s son,                                      
take fair-complexioned Briseis by the hand.                    
Bring her to me. If he won’t surrender her,
I’ll come myself in force and take her.             
For him that will be a worse disaster.”

With these firm orders, he dismissed the men, who moved off,  
heavy hearted, along the shore of the restless sea.        
They reached the huts and ships of the Myrmidons. 
There they found Achilles seated by his hut     290
and his black ship. As he saw them approach,
in his heart Achilles sensed their purpose. He called them.

“Cheer up, heralds, messengers for gods and men.    
Come here. I don’t blame you, but Agamemnon.  
He sends you both here for the girl Briseis.
Come, Patroclus, born from Zeus, fetch the girl.
Give her to these two men to take away.
Let them both witness, before blessed gods,
mortal men, and that unfeeling king,                       
if ever there’s a need for me again        300
to defend others from a shameful death.”

Patroclus did as his dear comrade had requested.
He led out fair-cheeked Briseis from the hut     
and gave her up to be led off. The heralds went back,
returning to Achaean ships, Briseis with them,
but against her will.

                                       Achilles then, in tears,
withdrew from his companions, sat by the shore, 
staring at the wide gray seas. Stretching out his hands, 
he cried aloud, praying repeatedly to Thetis,
his beloved mother.

              “Mother, since you gave me life—                           310
if only for a while—Olympian Zeus,          
high thunderer, should give me due honour. 
But he doesn’t grant me even slight respect.       
For wide-ruling Agamemnon, Atreus’ son, 
has shamed me, has taken away my prize, 
appropriated it for his own use.”

                                                        As he said this, he wept.
His noble mother heard him from deep within the sea,
where she sat by her old father.  Quickly she rose up,
moving above gray waters, like an ocean mist, 
and settled down before him, as he wept. She stroked him,  320
then said:

                        “My child, why these tears? What sorrows   
weigh down your heart? Tell me, so we’ll both know.
Don’t hide from me what’s on your mind.”            

With a deep groan, swift-footed Achilles then replied.

“Why should I tell you what you know? Heralds came
to take away Briseis from my huts,
the girl who is my gift from Achaea’s sons.
So now, if you can, protect your son.
Go to Mount Olympus, implore Zeus,
if ever you in word or deed have pleased him.    330
For often I have heard you boast in father’s house    
that you alone of all the deathless gods 
saved Zeus of the dark clouds from disgraceful ruin.
Clasp his knee, remind him of all that,           
so he’ll want to help the Trojans somehow,
corner Achaeans by the sea, by their ships’ prows,
have them destroyed, so they all enjoy their king,   
so the son of Atreus, wide-ruling Agamemnon, 
himself may see his foolishness, dishonouring
Achilles, the best of the Achaeans.”   340

Thetis, shedding tears, answered her son, Achilles:      

“O my child, why did I rear you,   
since I brought you up to so much pain? 
But I’ll tell these things to thunder-loving Zeus. 
I’ll go myself to snow-topped Mount Olympus, 
to see if he will undertake all this.
Meanwhile, you should sit by your swift ships, 
angry at Achaeans. Take no part in war.  
I’ll go to Zeus’ bronze-floored house, clasp his knee.
I think I’ll get him to consent.”

                                                            Thetis spoke.   350
Then she went away, leaving Achilles there.           

Odysseus sailed to Chryse, bringing with him
the sacrificial animals as sacred offerings.
When they had sailed into deep anchorage,
they took in the sails and stowed them in the ship,
then rowed the ship in to its mooring place.
Then Chryseis disembarked from the ocean ship.     
Resourceful Odysseus led her to the altar,                                   
placed her in her beloved father’s hands, then said:   360

“Chryses, I have been sent by Agamemnon,
ruler of men, to bring your daughter to you,
and then, on behalf of the Danaans,
to make an offering to lord Apollo—
all these sacrificial beasts—to placate the god,
who now inflicts such dismal evil on us.”

Raising his arms, Chryses prayed out loud on their behalf: 

“Hear me, god of the silver bow, protector
of Chryse, mighty lord of holy Cilla,
sacred Tenedos. You heard me earlier,                                       370
when I prayed to you. Just as you honoured me,                  
striking hard against Achaeans then, so now,       
grant me what I pray for—remove disaster,   
this wretched evil, from the Danaans.”

So Chryses spoke. Phoebus Apollo heard him.

Meanwhile, Achilles, divinely born son of Peleus,
sat down in anger alongside his swift ships. Not once
did he attend assembly where men win glory,                
or go out to fight. But he pined away at heart,
remaining idle by his ships, yearning       380
for the hue and cry and clash of battle.                                            

Thetis did not forget the promise to her son.  
She rose up through the ocean waves at day break,         
then moved high up to great Olympus. She found Zeus,
wide-seeing son of Cronos, some distance from the rest,
seated on the highest peak of many-ridged Olympus.
She sat down right in front of him. With her left hand,            
she clutched his knees, with her right she cupped his chin,
in supplication to lord Zeus, son of Cronos:                          

“Father Zeus, if, among the deathless gods,                                390
I’ve ever served you well in word or deed,    
then grant my prayer will be fulfilled.
Bring honour to my son, who, of all men      
will be Fate’s quickest victim. For just now,
Agamemnon, king of men, has shamed him.
He seized his prize, robbing him in person,
and kept it for himself. But honour him,
Zeus, all-wise Olympian. Give the Trojans
the upper hand, until Achaeans respect my son,
until they multiply his honours.”    400

Cloud gatherer Zeus, greatly troubled, said:

                                                  “A nasty business.
What you say will set Hera against me.  
She provokes me so with her abuse. Even now,  
in the assembly of immortal gods,
she’s always insulting me, accusing me             
of favouring the Trojans in the war.
But go away for now, in case Hera catches on.  
I’ll take care of this, make sure it comes to pass.  
Come, to convince you, I’ll nod my head.  
Among gods that’s the strongest pledge I make.  410
Once I nod my assent, nothing I say
can be revoked, denied, or unfulfilled.”

Zeus, son of Cronos, nodded his dark brows.                        
The divine hair on the king of gods fell forward,   
down over his immortal head, shaking Olympus                 
to its very base. The conference over, the two parted.
Thetis plunged from bright Olympus back into the sea. 

[At a meeting of the gods, Zeus quarrels with Hera, who has guessed what Zeus has just promised to do for Thetis. Hephaestus soothes everyone. The gods enjoy a rich feast and then retire to bed.]

Book Two
Agamemnon’s Dream

[During the night Zeus tricks Agamemnon by sending him a false dream promising him victory over the Trojans and urging him to lead his troops to battle. Agamemnon gets up determined to follow what the dream has told him.]

When goddess Dawn rose high up on Olympus,
bringing light to Zeus and the immortals,
Agamemnon bid the loud-voiced heralds summon     
all the long-haired Achaeans to assembly. 
Such a call went out. Men answered on the run.      
But first, Agamemnon convened a meeting
of all his great-hearted senior counselors. 
They met by Nestor’s ships, king born on Pylos.
Agamemnon spoke to the assembled group:

                  “My friends, listen.                              
A divine Dream has just come to me, 10
through the sacred night, as I lay asleep,
in form, size, and voice just like worthy Nestor.                         
He stood above my head and spoke these words:

‘Hear what I have to say. I come to you
as Zeus’ messenger, with his orders.
He bids you quickly arm long-haired Achaeans,       
for now you can take Troy, city of wide streets.  
Immortal gods who dwell on Mount Olympus       
no longer disagree about all this.        
Hera’s entreaties have persuaded them.  20
The Trojans can expect from Zeus more sorrows,   
more disasters. Remember what I’ve said.’

With that, Dream flew off, sweet Sleep released me. 
Come, then, let’s get long-haired Achaeans 
somehow armed for battle.”

Agamemnon finished speaking and sat back down.

Nestor stood up before them, king of sandy Pylos. 
With a wise sense of their common cause, he addressed them:

“My friends, chiefs and leaders of the Argives,    
if any other Achaean had told us such a dream,      30
we would declare it quite false, dismiss it.  
But now the man who has a claim to be 
the greatest of Achaeans has witnessed it.  
So come, let’s find a way to arm Achaea’s sons.”

So Nestor spoke. Then he began to make his way back,
leaving the council meeting. The others stood up,
all sceptre-bearing kings, following Nestor’s lead,
his people’s shepherd. Troops came streaming out to them. 

Just as dense clouds of bees pour out in endless swarms 
from hollow rocks, in clusters flying to spring flowers, 40
charging off in all directions, so from ships and huts      
the many clans rushed out to meet, group after group. 
Among the troops Rumour blazed, Zeus’ messenger,
igniting them. The assembly was in uproar. 

[The Achaean assembly finally grows quiet and waits for the leaders to speak.]

But a single man kept on yelling out abuse—
scurrilous Thersites, expert in various insults,
vulgar terms for inappropriate attacks on kings,   
whatever he thought would make the Argives laugh.
Of all the men who came to Troy, he was the ugliest: 
bow legged, one crippled foot, rounded shoulders  50
curving in toward his chest. On top, his pointed head 
sprouted thin, scraggly tufts of hair. Achilles hated him,   
as did Odysseus, too, both subject to his taunts.
But now Agamemnon was the target of his gibes.

“Son of Atreus, what’s your problem now?
What do you lack? Your huts are stuffed with bronze, 
plenty of choice women, too—all presents
we Achaeans give you as our leader,
whenever we ransack some city.         
Or are you in need of still more gold,  60
a ransom fetched by some horse-taming Trojan   
for his son tied up and delivered here
by me or by some other Achaean?
Or do you want a young girl to stash away,    
so you can screw her all by yourself? 
It’s just not fair that you, our leader, 
have botched things up so badly for us,
Let’s sail home in our ships, leave this man, 
our king, in Troy here to enjoy his loot.” 

Once he stopped, noble Odysseus stood up quickly, 70
confronting Thersites. Scowling, he lashed out sternly:   

“Shut up, chatterbox. You’re a champion talker.
But don’t try to have it out with kings.
I’ll tell you how things are going to be.
If I find you being so foolish any more,
then let Odysseus’ head no longer stay
upon his shoulders, let him no longer
be called the father of Telemachus,                                        
if I don’t grab you, rip off all your clothes,   
cloak and tunic, down to your cock and balls,  80
and beat you back to the fast ships in tears,                           
whipping you in shame from our assembly.”

Saying this, Odysseus lashed out with the sceptre,
hitting Thersites hard across his back and shoulders.
He doubled up in pain, shedding many tears.
In the middle of Thersites’ back sprang up
bloody welts beneath the golden sceptre.
He sat down, afraid and hurt, peering around,
like an idiot, and rubbing away his tears.    
The soldiers, though discontent, laughed uproariously,     90

Then Nestor, the Geranian horseman, cried out:

“Son of Atreus, you must maintain with force
your previous plan to lead the Argive troops                               
directly to the harsh demands of war.
And let those one or two be damned,       
the men who don’t think like Achaeans,          
the few of them who yearn to go back home—
something they’ll find impossible to do.”

Mighty Agamemnon then answered Nestor:    

“Old man, in our assembly once again    100
you win out over all Achaea’s sons.                                        
O father Zeus, Athena, and Apollo— 
if I only had ten such counselors
among Achaeans, king Priam’s city
would soon fall. But let’s go off to eat, 
so we can resume the fight. Every one of you,
get your spears and shields prepared for action.
Feed your swift-footed horses properly. 
Inspect the chariots with a careful eye,       
so we can stand all day and battle Ares, 110
hateful god of war. We’ll get no respite,
not even for a moment, except at dusk,        
when nightfall separates the frenzied soldiers.
But if I see a man coming out to fight
reluctantly, hanging back by our curved ships, 
he’ll not escape being food for dogs and birds.”

Argives answered Agamemnon with a mighty roar,                       
like waves by a steep cliff crashing on the rock face, 
lashed by South Wind’s blasts, always foaming on the rock,  
whipped on by every wind gusting here and there. 120
The men leapt up, moved off, scattering to ships,                       
set fires by their huts, and each man ate his dinner.

Every man then sacrificed to the immortal gods,    
praying to escape death and war’s killing zone. 
Agamemnon, king of men, sacrificed an ox,
a fat one, five years old, to Zeus, exalted son of Cronos. 
He summoned the best senior men of all Achaeans.
Then Agamemnon prayed on their behalf:

                                                “Most powerful Zeus,
exalted lord of thunder clouds, Zeus,     
who dwells in heaven, grant my prayer— 130
May the sun not go down, nor darkness come,                     
before I have cast down Priam’s palace,
covered it with dust, destroyed its doors       
in all-consuming fire, and with my bronze sword
sliced to shreds the tunic on Hector’s chest.
May many of his comrades lie beside him,
face down on the ground, teeth grinding dirt.”

So he prayed. But Cronos’ son did not grant his wish.
Zeus took the offering but increased their suffering.    

Once the men had prayed, scattering barley grain,  140
they pulled back the beast’s head, slit its throat, flayed it,
sliced thigh bones out and hid them in twin layers of fat,
with raw meat on top. They cooked these on split wood,  
then placed the innards on spits in Hephaestus’ fire.
When the wrapped-up thigh bones were completely cooked, 
and they’d tasted samples of the inner organs, 
they chopped up the rest, arranged the meat on spits,
cooked it carefully, then drew it from the fire.
This work finished, the men prepared a meal and ate.   
Each soldier’s appetite was fully satisfied— 150
all dined equally. When every man had eaten                              
as much food and drink as anyone could wish,                              
Geranian horseman Nestor was the first to speak. 

“Lord Agamemnon, son of Atreus, 
king of men, let’s end our discussions now,
and not postpone work given by the gods.                         
Come, let heralds of bronze-clad Achaeans
summon all the soldiers to assembly.
Let’s move together across the wide front,    
to stir Achaea’s men with blood-lust for this war.”  160

Agamemnon, king of men, agreed with Nestor.
He ordered clear-voiced heralds immediately
to sound the battle call to long-haired Achaeans.  
The call went out. Troops assembled on the run.
Around Agamemnon, kings nurtured by the gods
rushed to establish order. With them strode Athena,
her eyes glittering, holding up the aegis—
her priceless, ageless, eternal aegis,
its hundred golden tassels quivering,     
each finely woven, valued at a hundred oxen.  170
With this, she sped on through Achaean ranks,        
like lightning, firing soldiers’ hearts for war.
As she passed, she roused in men that hot desire     
to fight, to kill. At once she made each man feel war
far sweeter than returning home, finer than sailing
in the hollow ships back to his dear native land.
Just as an all-consuming fire burns through huge forests
on a mountain top, and men far off can see its light,
so, as soldiers marched out, their glittering bronze   
blazed through the sky to heaven, an amazing sight. 180

[The Achaean troops march out in formation. The text lists the origin, the size, 
and the leadership of each contingent]

Then wind-swift Iris came to Troy as messenger
from aegis-bearing Zeus carrying grim news. 
Trojans had summoned an assembly by Priam’s palace gates.
There all had gathered, young and old. Standing by Priam, 
swift-footed Iris spoke, sounding like Polites, Priam’s son.     

“Hector, I call on you, on you above all, to follow
my instructions—the numerous allies here
in Priam’s great city all speak different languages
from far-scattered regions. So let each man  
issue orders to the ones he leads,  190
let him now organize his countrymen, 
then lead them out to battle.”                  

Iris spoke. Hector understood her words.
Immediately he ended the assembly. 
Men rushed to arm themselves. They opened up the gates.
Troops streamed out, infantry and horses. A huge din arose.        
In the plain, some distance off, a high hill stood by itself.
Here the Trojans and their allies marshaled forces.

[The forces of the Trojan and their allies are listed at length]

Book Three
Paris and Helen

Once troops had formed in ranks under their own leaders,
Trojans marched out, clamouring like birds, like cranes
screeching overhead, when winter’s harsh storms drive them off,
screaming as they move over the flowing Ocean,
bearing death and destruction to the Pygmies,
launching their savage attack on them at dawn.
Achaeans came on in silence, breathing ferocity,
determined to stand by each other in the fight.

Then godlike Paris stepped out, as Trojan champion.
Brandishing two bronze-tipped spears, he challenged 10
the best men in the whole Achaean force to fight—
a single combat, to the death. War-loving Menelaus      
noticed Alexander striding there, and he rejoiced.
Menelaus was pleased to see Paris there,
right before his eyes. Menelaus had in mind
taking revenge on the man who’d injured him.
When godlike Alexander saw Menelaus there,  
he moved back into the ranks, among his comrades.
Seeing this, Hector went at Alexander, insulting him:⁰

“Despicable Paris, handsomest of men,                                       20
but woman-mad seducer. How I wish
you never had been born or died unmarried. 
That’s what I’d prefer, so much better
than to live in shame. Can you now
not face Menelaus? If so, you’d learn
the kind of man he is whose wife you took.
You’d get no help then from your lyre, long hair,
good looks—Aphrodite’s gifts—once face down, 
lying in the dirt. Trojans must be timid men.
If not, for all the evil things you’ve done      30
by now you’d wear a garment made of stones.”

To Hector godlike Alexander then replied:  

“Hector, you’re right in what you say against me.
Those complaints of yours are not unjustified. 
The spirit in your chest is fearless. But don’t blame me 
for golden Aphrodite’s lovely gifts.       
Men can’t reject fine presents from the gods,
those gifts they personally bestow on us,
though no man would take them of his own free will.
You want me now to go to battle.                  40
Then get the others to sit down—Trojans and Achaeans.  
Put me and war-loving Menelaus
in their midst to fight it out for Helen.”

So Paris spoke. Hearing those words, Hector felt great joy.
He went to the middle ground, between the armies,
halted Trojan troops, grasping the centre of his spear shaft.
Hector then addressed both sides:

“You Trojans, you well-armed Achaeans,
listen now to what Paris has to say,
the man whose actions brought about our fight.                         50
He bids the other Trojans, all Achaeans,  
set their weapons on the fertile ground.                                     
He and war-loving Menelaus here   
will fight it out alone between the armies
for Helen and for all her property.
Whichever one comes out victorious,
the stronger man, let him seize all the goods,
and take the woman as his wife back home.
Let others swear a solemn oath as friends.”

So Hector spoke. The soldiers all grew silent.     60
Then Menelaus, loud in war, answered Hector:

“Listen now to me. More than anyone, 
my heart has suffered pain. So now I think       
Argives and Trojans should part company,
since you have suffered many hardships,
thanks to the fight between myself and Paris,   
a fight that he began. Whichever one of us                              
death takes, our fate, let that man perish.
You others quickly go your separate ways.”

Then Iris came as messenger to white-armed Helen.    70
Standing near by, swift-footed Iris said:

                                        “Come here, dear girl.
Look at the amazing things going on.
Horse-taming Trojans and bronze-clad Achaeans,
men who earlier were fighting one another
in wretched war out there on the plain, 
both keen for war’s destruction, are sitting still.
Alexander and war-loving Menelaus 
are going to fight for you with their long spears.
The man who triumphs will call you his dear wife.”

With these words the goddess set in Helen’s heart       80
sweet longing for her former husband, city, parents.
Covering herself with a white shawl, she left the house,
shedding tears. She did not go alone, but took with her
two attendants. They soon reached the Scaean Gates.
Priam was sitting there. He called out to Helen.

“Come here, dear child. Sit down in front of me,
so you can see your first husband, your friends,
your relatives. As far as I’m concerned,
it’s not your fault. For I blame the gods.
They drove me to wage this wretched war                                  90
against Achaeans. Tell me, who’s that large man,
over there, that impressive, strong Achaean? 
Others may be taller by a head than him, 
but I’ve never seen with my own eyes 
such a striking man, so noble, so like a king.”     

Then Helen, goddess among women, said to Priam:

“My dear father-in-law, whom I respect and honour, 
how I wish I’d chosen an evil death 
when I came here with your son, leaving behind 
my married home, companions, darling child,    100
and friends my age. But things didn’t work that way.
So I weep all the time. But to answer you,
that man is wide-ruling Agamemnon,
son of Atreus, a good king, fine fighter,
and once he was my brother-in-law,
if that life was ever real. I’m such a whore.”

The old man then spied Odysseus and asked:

“Dear child, come tell me who this man is,   
shorter by a head than Agamemnon,
son of Atreus. But he looks broader                                            110
in his shoulders and his chest. His armour’s stacked 
there on the fertile earth, but he strides on,
marching through men’s ranks just like a ram 
moving through large white multitudes of sheep. 
Yes, a woolly ram, that’s what he seems to me.”

Helen, child of Zeus, then answered Priam: 

“That man is Laertes’ son, crafty Odysseus,         
raised in rocky Ithaca. He’s well versed     
in all sorts of tricks, deceptive strategies.”

Priam, the old man, saw a third figure, Ajax, and asked:   120

“Who is that other man? He’s over there—
that huge, burly Achaean—his head and shoulders
tower over the Achaeans.”   

                                                              Then Helen,
long-robed goddess among women, answered:

“That’s massive Ajax, Achaea’s bulwark.
Across from him stands Idomeneus,
surrounded by his Cretans, like a god.        
Around him there stand the Cretan leaders.
Often war-loving Menelaus welcomed him
in our house, whenever he arrived from Crete.      130
Now I see all the bright-eyed Achaeans
whom I know well, whose names I could recite.
But I can’t see two of the men’s leaders, 
Castor, tamer of horses, and Pollux, 
the fine boxer—they are both my brothers,
whom my mother bore along with me.
Either they did not come with the contingent
from lovely Lacedaemon, or they sailed here 
in their seaworthy ships, but have no wish    
to join men’s battles, fearing the disgrace,    140
the many slurs, which are justly mine.”

Helen spoke. But the life-nourishing earth
already held her brothers in Lacedaemon,    
in their own dear native land.

[Both sides participate in a sacrifice and prayers before the single combat]

Then Hector, Priam’s son, and lord Odysseus
first measured out the ground, took lots, and shook them up
in a bronze helmet, to see who’d throw his bronze spear first.
Then every Trojan and Achaean held up his hands,
praying to the gods:

                      “Father Zeus, ruling from Mount Ida, 
mighty, all-powerful, of these two men,        150
let the one who brought this war to both sides     
be killed and then go down to Hades’ house.
And grant our oath of friendship will hold firm.” 

So they prayed. Hector of the flashing helmet
turned his eyes to one side and shook out the lots.
Alexander’s token fell out immediately.  
When the two men, standing on each side with their troops, 
had armed themselves, they strode out to the open space
between the Trojans and Achaeans, staring ferociously.
The two men approached each other over measured ground,   160
brandishing their spears in mutual fury.
Alexander was the first to hurl his spear.
It struck Menelaus’ shield, a perfect circle,
but the bronze did not break through, the point deflected
by the powerful shield. Then Menelaus, Atreus’ son,
threw in his turn. First he made this prayer to Zeus:     

“Lord Zeus, grant I may be revenged on this man,
who first committed crimes against me,
lord Alexander. Let him die at my hands,  
so generations of men yet to come                                              170
will dread doing wrong to anyone 
who welcomes them into his home as friends.”

Menelaus then drew back his long-shadowed spear,
and hurled it. It hit the son of Priam’s shield,
a perfect circle. The heavy spear pierced through it,
went straight through the fine body armour, through the shirt 
which covered Alexander’s naked flesh.
But Paris twisted to the side, evading a black fate.  
Pulling out his silver-studded sword, the son of Atreus
raised it and struck the crest of Paris’ helmet.   180
But the sword shattered into three or four pieces,
falling from his hand. The son of Atreus, in vexation,
looked up into the wide heavens, crying out:

                                                               “Father Zeus, 
what god brings us more trouble than you do?
I thought I was paying Alexander
for his wickedness, but now my sword
has shattered in my fist, while from my hand
my spear has flown in vain. I haven’t hit him.”

As Menelaus said these words, he sprang forward,  
grabbing the horse hair crest on Paris’ helmet,     190
twisting him around. He began dragging Paris off,    
back in the direction of well-armed Achaeans.
The fine leather strap stretched round Paris’ soft neck,
right below his chin, was strangling him to death.
At that point Menelaus would’ve hauled back Paris
and won unending fame, if Aphrodite, Zeus’ daughter,
had not had sharp eyes. Her force broke the ox-hide strap,
leaving Menelaus clutching in his massive hands
an empty helmet. Whipping it around, Menelaus
hurled the helmet in among well-armed Achaeans. 200
His loyal companions retrieved it. He charged back,    
with his bronze spear, intent on killing Alexander.
But Aphrodite had snatched Paris up—for a god
an easy feat—concealed him in a heavy mist,
and placed him in his own sweetly scented bedroom.

Then Aphrodite went to summon Helen.
She found her on the high tower, in a crowd
among the Trojan women. She clutched Helen
by her perfumed dress, twitched it, then addressed her,  
in the form of an old woman, a wool carder, 210
someone who used to live in Lacedaemon, 
producing fine wool, a woman Helen really liked.
In this shape, divine Aphrodite spoke to Helen:

“Alexander is asking you to come back home.
He’s in the bedroom, on the carved out bed,
his beauty and his garments glistening.
You wouldn’t think he’s just come from some fight.
He looks as if he’s going to a dance,
or if he’s sitting down right after dancing.”  

Aphrodite spoke, stirring emotion in Helen’s heart.  220
Noticing the goddess’ lovely neck, enticing breasts,    
her glittering eyes, Helen was astonished.

“Goddess, why do you wish to deceive me so?
Are you going to take me still further off,        
to some well populated city somewhere
in Phrygia or beautiful Maeonia,
because you’re in love with some mortal man
and Menelaus has just beaten Paris
and wants to take me, a despised woman,   
back home with him? Is that why you’re here, 230
you and your devious trickery?                       
Why don’t you go with Paris by yourself,
stop walking around here like a goddess,
stop directing your feet toward Olympus,
and lead a miserable life with him,
caring for him, until he makes you his wife     
or slave. I won’t go to him in there—
that would be shameful, serving him in bed.  
Every Trojan woman would revile me afterwards.    
Besides, my heart is hurt enough already.” 240

Divine Aphrodite, angry at Helen, answered her:    

“Don’t provoke me, you obstinate girl.
I might lose my temper, abandon you,
and hate you just as much as I have loved you.
I could make Trojans and Danaans hate you, too.
Then you’d suffer death in misery.”

Aphrodite spoke. Helen, born from Zeus, was too afraid.
She covered herself in her soft white linen shawl,  
went off in silence, unnoticed by all the Trojan women.  
With goddess Aphrodite in the lead,        250
they came to Alexander’s lovely house.     
There the attendants quickly set about their work.
Helen, goddess among women, went to her room upstairs,
where laughter-loving goddess Aphrodite
picked up a chair and carried it for Helen. 
She placed it facing Paris. Helen, child of Zeus,
who bears the aegis, sat down. With eyes averted,
she began to criticize her husband:

“You’ve come back from the fight. How I wish 
you’d died there, killed by that strong warrior 260
who was my husband once. You used to boast  
you were stronger than warlike Menelaus,  
more strength in your hands, more power in your spear.
So go now, challenge war-loving Menelaus
to fight again in single combat. 
I’d suggest you stay away. Don’t fight it out
man to man with red-haired Menelaus,
without further thought. You might well die,   
come to a quick end on his spear.”    

Replying to Helen, Paris said:

                                                           “Wife, 270
don’t mock my courage with your insults.                
Yes, Menelaus has just defeated me,
but with Athena’s help. Next time I’ll beat him.
For we have gods on our side, too. But come,
let’s enjoy our love together on the bed.
Never has desire so filled my mind as now,
not even when I first took you away
from lovely Lacedaemon, sailing off                                             
in our sea-worthy ships, or when I lay with you  
in our lover’s bed on the isle of Cranae. 280
That’s how sweet passion has seized hold of me,   
how much I want you now.”

                                                  Paris finished speaking.
He led the way to bed. His wife went, too.
The two lay down together on the bed.          

Atreus’ son paced through the crowd, like a wild beast,
searching for some glimpse of godlike Alexander. 
But no Trojan nor any of their famous allies
could reveal Alexander to warlike Menelaus.
If they’d seen him, they had no desire to hide him.    
For they all hated Paris, as they hated gloomy death. 290
Agamemnon, king of men, addressed them:       

“Listen to me, Trojans, Dardanians, allies—
victory clearly falls to war-loving Menelaus.
So give back Argive Helen and her property,
compensate us with a suitable amount,
something future ages will all talk about.”

As he finished speaking, the other Achaeans cheered.

Book Four
The Armies Clash

The gods all sat assembled in the golden courtyard,
with Zeus there, too. Gracious Hebe went among them,
pouring nectar. They toasted each other in golden cups,
as they looked out on Troy. Then Zeus, son of Cronos,
wishing to irk Hera with a sarcastic speech,
addressed them:

                      “Why don’t we discuss
how this warfare is going to finish up—
whether we should re-ignite harsh combat,
this horrific strife, or make both sides friends.
If this second option pleases all of us,                                          10
if we find it sweet, then king Priam’s city
remains inhabited, and Menelaus
takes Argive Helen home with him.”

Athena and Hera sat together muttering,       
plotting trouble for the Trojans. Angry at Zeus,
her father, Athena sat there silently,
so enraged she didn’t say a word. But Hera, 
unable to contain her anger, burst out:

“Most fearful son of Cronos, what are you saying?  
How can you wish to undermine my efforts,     20
prevent them from achieving anything?  
What about the sweat which dripped from me,
as I worked so hard, wearing my horses out,
gathering men to wipe out Priam and his children.
Go ahead then. But all we other gods
do not approve of what you’re doing.”                                  

Then cloud-gatherer Zeus, irritated, said to her: 

“Dear wife, what sort of crimes have Priam
or Priam’s children committed against you,     
that you should be so vehemently keen             30
to destroy that well-built city Ilion?
Do as you wish. We shouldn’t make this matter
something you and I later squabble over,
a source of major disagreements.
But I’ll tell you this—keep it in mind.
Whenever I get the urge to wipe out   
some city whose inhabitants you love,
don’t try to thwart me.  Let me have my way.  
I’ll give in to you freely, though unwillingly.
For of all towns inhabited by earth’s peoples,                              40
under the sun, beneath the heavenly stars, 
sacred Ilion, with Priam and his people, 
expert spearmen, stands dearest in my heart.  
My altar there has always shared their feasts,  
with libations and sacrificial smoke,
offerings we get as honours due to us “  

Ox-eyed Hera then said in reply to Zeus: 

“The three cities I love the best by far
are Argos, Sparta, and Mycenae,
city of wide streets. Destroy them utterly,                                  50
if you ever hate them in your heart.
But my own work must not be wasted,    
worth nothing. I’m a god, the same race as you—
I’m crooked-minded Cronos’ eldest daughter.  
Another thing—in addition to my birth—
I’m called your wife, and you rule all immortals.  
In this matter, then, let’s both support
each other’s wishes—you mine, I yours.
Other gods will follow our example.
Instruct Athena to go immediately                 60
where Trojans and Achaeans carry on
their bitter conflict. There she should try   
to get the Trojans to break their oaths first,
by harming the glorious Achaeans.”

Hera spoke. The father of gods and men agreed.
He spoke up to Athena—his words had wings.

“Go quickly to the Trojan and Achaean troops.      
Try to get the Trojans to break their oaths first, 
by injuring the glorious Achaeans.”                          

Zeus’ words stirred up Athena’s earlier desires.      70
She darted from Olympus summit, sped off,
like a comet sent by crooked-minded Cronos’ son.  
Athena went down into the Trojan crowd,
looking like Laodocus, Antenor’s son,
a strong spearman, seeking godlike Pandarus.
She met Pandarus, Lycaon’s powerful son,
a fine man, standing there with his sturdy regiment,    
Standing near him, Athena spoke. Her words had wings.

“Fiery hearted son of Lycaon,                                   
why not do as I suggest? Prepare yourself                 80
to shoot a swift arrow at Menelaus.
You’d earn thanks and glory from all Trojans,
most of all from prince Alexander.
He’d be the very first to bring fine gifts,
if he could see warlike Menelaus,
son of Atreus, mounted on his bier,
his bitter funeral pyre, killed by your arrow. 
So come, then, shoot an arrow at him.”

Athena spoke and thus swayed his foolish wits.
Pandarus strung the bow, then set it on the ground.  90
Then, removing the cover from his quiver,
Pandarus took out an arrow, a fresh-winged courier
bearing dark agony. Next he quickly set         
the keen arrow on the string, swearing an oath
to the archer god, Lycian-born Apollo,
that he would make splendid sacrifice, first-born lambs,   
when he got back to his city, holy Zaleia.
Gripping the arrow notch, the ox-gut bowstring, 
he pulled back, drawing the string right to his nipple,
iron arrow head against the bow. Once he’d bent      100
that great bow into a circle, the bow twanged,
the string sang out, the sharp-pointed arrow flew away,
eager to bury itself in crowds of men.       
But, Menelaus, the immortal sacred gods 
did not forget you. Athena, Zeus’ daughter,
goddess of war’s spoils, was first to stand before you,
to ward off the piercing arrow—she brushed it from your skin,
just as a mother brushes a fly off her child          
while he lies sweetly sleeping. Athena led the arrow
to the spot where the gold buckles on the belt     110
rest on the joint in the double body armour.
The keen arrow dug into the leather strap,
passed right through the finely decorated belt,   
through the richly embossed armour, the body mail,
his most powerful guard, worn to protect his flesh,
by blocking spears and arrows. The arrow pierced it,
going through that mail, and grazed the skin of Menelaus.
Dark blood at once came flowing from the wound.  

When Agamemnon saw dark blood flowing from the wound,
that king of men shuddered. Mighty Agamemnon,    120
taking Menelaus by the hand, with a bitter groan,
spoke to his companions, all grieving with him: 

“Dear brother, that oath I swore to was your death—
letting you step forward to fight Trojans,
as Achaea’s champion. For now the Trojans
have shot you, walking roughshod on their oaths,
that treaty they swore to in good faith. But, Menelaus,  
I’ll be in dreadful pain on your account,
if you die, if fate now ends your life,    
if I return to arid Argos totally disgraced.          130
Your bones will lie rotting here in Trojan soil,
recalling the work we failed to finish.
Then some arrogant Trojan, leaping up                                 
onto the tomb of famous Menelaus,
will shout: ‘May Agamemnon’s anger
always end like this. His Achaean army      
he brought here in vain. He returned home,
back to his native land in empty ships,       
abandoning courageous Menelaus.’
That’s what he’ll say. Before that day                                         140
I hope the broad earth will lie over me!”

Then Menelaus, to cheer up Agamemnon, said:                              

“Take courage. Don’t upset Achaeans.                          
This sharp arrow is not a fatal hit.
My gleaming belt protected me on top,
as did my body chain mail underneath,   
forged in bronze.”

                                                    While the Achaeans
were looking after Menelaus, Trojan ranks advanced,
shields ready, once more armed with all their weapons,
fully charged with passionate desire for battle.   150

Just as thundering ocean surf crashes on the sand, 
wave after wave, driven by the West Wind’s power, 
one wave rising at sea, then booming down on shore,
arching in crests and crashing down among the rocks, 
spewing salt foam, so then Danaan ranks, 
row after row, moved out, spirits firmly set on war.
Each leader issued his own orders to his men.      
The rest marched on in silence. You’d never think 
such a huge army could move out and keep its voice
buried in those chests, in silent fear of their commanders. 160
As they marched, the polished armour on them glittered.

As for the Trojans, they were like thousands of ewes 
standing in a rich man’s farm, bleating constantly,
waiting for someone to come and collect white milk,
as they hear lambs call. Just like that, the din rose up 
throughout the widespread Trojan force. They shared no words— 
they had no common language, but mixtures of tongues,   
with men from many lands. Ares urged the Trojans on,
while bright-eyed Athena kept rousing the Achaeans.
With them came Terror, Fear, and tireless Strife,    170
sister and companion of man-destroying Ares—
at first small in stature, she later grows enormous,
head reaching heaven, as she strides across the earth.
Strife went through crowds of soldiers, casting hatred 
on both sides equally, multiplying human miseries.

When the two armies came to one common ground, 
they smashed into each other—shields, spears, fierce angry men 
encased in bronze. Studded shields bashed one another.
A huge din arose—human cries of grief and triumph,    
those killing and those killed. Earth flowed with blood.  180

Antilochus was the first to kill a man—
a well armed Trojan warrior, Echepolus,      
son of Thalysius, a courageous man, 
who fought in the front ranks. He hit his helmet crest, 
topped with horsehair plumes, spearing his forehead.       
The bronze point smashed through the frontal bone.
Darkness hid his eyes and he collapsed, like a tower, 
falling down into that frenzied battle. As he fell, 
powerful Elephenor, son of Chalcodon, 
courageous leader of the Abantes, seized his feet     190
and started pulling him beyond the range of weapons,
eager to strip him of his armour quickly.   
But Elephenor’s attempt did not go on for long. 
Great-hearted Agenor saw him drag the dead man.  
He stabbed Elephenor with his bronze spear, 
right in his exposed side, where his shield left him 
vulnerable as he bent down. His limbs gave way, 
as his spirit left him.  Over his dead body,               
Trojans and Achaeans kept fighting grimly on, 
attacking like wolves, man whirling against man.   200

Then Ajax, son of Telamon, hit Simoeisius,
Anthemion’s son, a fine young warrior.          
He was born on the banks of the river Simoeis,
while his mother was coming down Mount Ida,
accompanying her parents to watch their flocks. 
That’s why the people called him Simoeisius. 
But he did not repay his fond parents for raising him.  
His life was cut short on great Ajax’s deadly spear.
As he was moving forward with the men in front,    
Ajax struck him in the chest, by the right nipple.   210
The bronze spear went clean through his shoulder.
He collapsed in the dust, like a poplar tree,       
one growing in a large well-watered meadow, 
from whose smooth trunk the branches grow up to the top,
until a chariot builder’s bright axe topples it, 
bends the wood, to make wheel rims for a splendid chariot,
letting the wood season by the riverbank.

Death then came to Diores, son of Amarynceus.  
He was hit by a jagged rock on his right shin,
beside the ankle. It was thrown by Peirous,   220
captain of Thracians. The cruel rock crushed both tendons 
and the bone. He fell onto his back down in the dust.   
There he reached out with both hands for his companions. 
His spirit left his body with each gasp he took.
Peirous, who’d thrown the rock, ran up and speared his gut.  
His bowels spilled out onto the ground. Darkness hid his eyes.
As Peirous moved off, Thoas, an Aetolian, hit him, 
his spear striking him above the nipple. The bronze spear point
bit into his lungs. Thoas moved in to close quarters,   
pulled the heavy spear out from his chest, drew his sharp sword, 230
then drove it straight into the middle of his belly, 
destroying Peirous’ life. But Thoas couldn’t strip 
the armour off.  For Peirous’ companions, 
Thracian men, whose hair is piled atop their heads, 
rallied round, holding out long spears, forcing Thoas 
away from them. Thoas was big, strong, and brave, 
but he fell back, shaken. And so those two warriors
lay stretched out in the dirt beside each other—
one Thracian chief, one captain of bronze-clad Epeians.   
And many other men lay dead around them.                240

Book Five
The Battle Continues

Danaans then began to push the Trojans back. 
Each leader killed his enemy. First, Agamemnon,
king of men, threw huge Odius, chief of the Halizoni, 
from his chariot. His spear first struck him in the back,     
between the shoulder blades, as he turned to flee.
It drove clean through his chest. Odius pitched forward
with a thud, his armour rattling round him as he fell.
Idomeneus slaughtered Phaestus, son of Borus, 
a Meonian, who’d come from fertile Tarne. 
With his long spear, skilful Idomeneus struck him    10
in his right shoulder, as he climbed in his chariot.  
Dreadful darkness came and gathered Phaestus in.  
Those attending Idomeneus stripped the armour.
Then with his sharp spear Menelaus, son of Atreus, 
killed Scamandrius, son of Strophius, a huntsman.                 
Artemis herself had taught him how to shoot 
every animal raised in the mountain forests.  
But archer Artemis was no help to him then,
no more than was his expertise in archery,
at which he’d been pre-eminent in former times.   20

Meriones then killed Phereclus, son of Tecton, 
Harmon’s son, whose hands could make fine objects of all sorts.
Pallas Athena had a special love for him.  
He was the one who’d made well-balanced ships
for Paris at the start of all the trouble,                       
bringing disaster on the Trojans and on Paris, too,  
for he was ignorant of what gods had decreed.  
Meriones went after Phereclus as he ran off,
hurled his spear straight into his right buttock.
The spear point pushed on through, below the bone,    30
piercing his bladder. He fell down on his knees,
screaming. Then death carried him into its shadows. 

Then Meges killed Pedaeus, Antenor’s bastard son.
Theano had raised him with all care, loving him              
as one of her own children, to please her husband.   
That famous spearman Meges, son of Phyleus, 
coming up close, drove a sharp spear in his neck,
into the nape behind his head. The bronze point,
slicing under his tongue, smashed through his teeth.
He fell into the dust, jaws locked on the cold bronze.  40

Eurypylus, Euaemon’s son, killed lord Hypsenor, 
son of proud Dolopion, Scamander’s priest,  
a man honoured by his people as a god.
Eurypylus, Euaemon’s splendid son, caught him 
as he ran off in front of him. Going quickly after him,  
Eurypylus struck at Hypsenor’s shoulder—  
his sharp sword sliced off Hypsenor’s brawny arm.
The bloody limb fell on the ground. Then death’s black night, 
all-powerful Fate, moved in and stole away his sight.
Thus these men kept toiling in the battle frenzy.     50

[Athena inspires Diomedes to win battlefield glory. He kills many Trojans, including  Pandarus, captures the famous horses of Aeneas, and wounds the goddess Aphrodite]

Then the two Ajaxes, Odysseus, and Diomedes 
roused Danaans, urging them to battle.             
They did not fear the Trojans’ powerful attack
and stood their ground like clouds set in place by Zeus,
son of Cronos, above a range of mountain peaks
on a windless day, quite motionless, while the force
of North Wind and other raging blasts is sound asleep.       
When these storm winds blow, they scatter shadowy clouds.  
That’s the way Danaans held their positions then,
without flinching, without fear. The son of Atreus     60
moved through the troops and gave out many orders.

“My friends, be men. Let courage fill your hearts.
In the heat of battle remember honour,    
each man’s reputation. When men recall
their honour, more troops are saved than slaughtered.           
Those who run away lose life and fame.”

Agamemnon spoke, then quickly hurled his spear.  

Antilochus and Menelaus then killed Pylaemenes, 
a man like Ares, leader of the Paphlagonians,
great-hearted, shield-bearing men. The son of Atreus,    70
famous spearman Menelaus, struck him,
as he stood up in his chariot, hitting him
right on his collar bone. Antilochus hit Mydon,   
Atymnius’ noble son, the attendant driver,        
as he was wheeling his sure-footed horses round.  
He struck him with a rock square on the elbow.                                
The reins, decorated with rich ivory, 
fell from his hands onto the dusty ground.
Antilochus sprang out and with his sword struck Mydon
on the temple. Gasping with pain, Mydon pitched over,   80
and tumbled from the well-made chariot headfirst, 
his head and shoulders disappearing in the dirt.
For some time he stayed stuck, buried in deep sand,  
until his horses kicked him flat, level with the dust,                  
stamping him into the ground, as Antilochus 
whipped them on, leading them back to Achaean troops.      

[The fighting continues. Hector rallies the Trojans. The Lycian leader Sarpedon is
wounded. Diomedes, with Athena’s help, wounds the god Ares and sends him from the battle.]

Book Six
Hector and Andromache

Now the grim war between Trojans and Achaeans
was left to run its course. The battle raged,
this way and that, across the entire plain,
as warriors hurled bronze-tipped spears at one another,
between the Simoeis and Xanthus rivers.

Ajax, son of Telamon, Achaea’s tower of strength,
was the first to break through ranks of Trojans,
punching out some breathing room for his companions.
He hit Acamas, son of Eussorus, a strong brave soldier,
best of the Thracians. Ajax’s spear struck him first   10
on the peak of his horse-plumed helmet. The sharp bronze
drove right into his forehead—dead in the centre—
straight through bone into the brain. Darkness fell on his eyes.

Diomedes, expert in war cries, killed Axylus,
son of Teuthras, a rich man, from well-built Arisbe.
People really loved him, for he lived beside a road
and welcomed all passers-by into his home.
But not one of those men he’d entertained now stood
in front of him, protecting him from wretched death.

Diomedes took the lives of two men—Axylus      20
and his attendant charioteer, Calesius.
So both men went down into the underworld.
Euryalus killed Dresus and Opheltius,
then charged after Aesepus and Pedasus,
whom the naiad nymph Abararea bore
to noble Boucolion, son of high-born Laomedon,
his eldest son. His mother bore Pedasus in secret.
Bucolion had had sex with the nymph
while tending to his flock. She became pregnant,
then gave birth to two twin sons. Euryalus,   30
son of Mecistus, slaughtered both of them,
destroying their strength and splendid bodies.
Then he stripped the armour from their shoulders.

Hector issued orders to the Trojans, shouting:                   

“You proud Trojans, wide-renowned allies,
friends, be men, summon up your fighting strength,
while I go to Troy in person, to instruct     
the old men of the council and our wives
to pray to the gods and promise sacrifice.”

With these words, Hector of the shining helmet moved away.  40
As he went, black leather running round the outer edge
on his studded shield struck his neck and ankles.

[Diomedes and Glaucus prepare for single combat but discover that their fathers were
friends. So they refuse to fight and exchange gifts instead]

Meanwhile Hector reached the Scaean Gates and oak tree.
The Trojans’ wives and daughters ran up round him, 
asking after children, brothers, relatives, and husbands.  
Addressing each of them in turn, he ordered them     
to pray to all the gods. For many were to face great grief.

[Hector goes to the palace. He meets his mother and tells her to offer a sacrifice to Athena.
Then he talks with Paris and Helen. He goes home, but is told his wife is out, so he
returns to the Scaean Gates]

There his wife ran up to meet him, Andromache,
holding at her breast their happy infant child,         
well-loved son of Hector, like a beautiful star.    50
Hector had named him Scamandrius, but others                             
called him Astyanax, lord of the city,
because Hector was Troy’s only guardian.  
Hector looked at his son in silence, with a smile.
Andromache stood close to him, weeping.
Taking Hector by the hand, she spoke to him.

“My dear husband, your warlike spirit                                
will be your death. You’ve no compassion
for your infant child, for me, your sad wife,  
who before long will be your widow.   60
For soon the Achaeans will attack you,
all together, and cut you down. As for me,    
it would be better, if I’m to lose you,
to be buried in the ground. For then I’ll have
no other comfort, once you meet your death,
except my sorrow. I have no father,
no dear mother. So, Hector, you are now
my father, noble mother, brother,                  
and my protecting husband. So pity me.                                     
Stay here in this tower. Don’t orphan your child   70
and make your wife a widow.”

Great Hector of the shining helmet answered her: 

                                                            “Wife,    
all this concerns me, too. But I’d be disgraced,   
dreadfully shamed among Trojan men
and Trojan women in their trailing gowns,
if I should, like a coward, slink away from war.
My heart will never prompt me to do that, 
for I have learned always to be brave, 
to fight alongside Trojans at the front, 
striving to win fame for father and myself.                     80
My heart and mind know well the day is coming
when sacred Ilion will be destroyed,
along with Priam of the fine ash spear         
and Priam’s people. But what pains me most
about these future sorrows is not so much    
the Trojans, Hecuba, or king Priam, 
or even my many noble brothers,
who’ll fall down in the dust, slaughtered
by their enemies. My pain focuses on you,                             
when one of the bronze-clad Achaeans      90
leads you off in tears, ends your days of freedom.
If then you come to Argos as a slave,
working the loom for some other woman,   
fetching water from Hyperia or Messeis,
against your will, forced by powerful fate,                           
then someone, seeing you as you weep
may well say: ‘That woman is Hector’s wife.
He was the finest warrior in battle   
of all horse-taming Trojans in that war      
when they fought for Troy.’ Someone will say that, 100
and it will bring still more grief to you,
to be without such a man to save you
from days of servitude. May I lie dead,  
hidden deep under a burial mound, 
before I hear about your screaming,
as you are dragged away.” 

                                                       With these words,
glorious Hector stretched his hands out for his son.
The boy immediately shrank back against the breast
of the finely girdled nurse, crying out in terror  
to see his own dear father, scared at the sight of bronze,  110
the horse-hair plume nodding fearfully from his helmet top.  
The child’s loving father laughed, his noble mother, too.  
Glorious Hector pulled the glittering helmet off       
and set it on the ground.  Then he kissed his dear son
and held him in his arms. He prayed aloud to Zeus                       
and the rest of the immortals.                                                     

                                “Zeus, all you other gods, 
grant that this child, my son, may become, 
like me, pre-eminent among the Trojans, 
as strong and brave as me. Grant that he may rule
Troy with strength. May people someday say,    120
as he returns from war, ‘This man is far better 
than his father.’ May he carry back
bloody spoils from his slaughtered enemy,  
making his mother’s heart rejoice.”

He placed his son in the hands of his dear wife.                           
She embraced the child on her sweet breast, smiling
through her tears. Observing her, Hector felt compassion.
He took her hand, then spoke to her.

                                             “My dearest wife, 
don’t let your heart be sad on my account.  
No man will throw me down to Hades        130
before my destined time. I tell you this—
no one escapes his fate, not the coward, 
nor the brave man, from the moment of his birth.
So you should go into the house, keep busy       
with your own work, with your loom and wool,                   
telling your servants to set about their tasks.
War will be every man’s concern, especially mine, 
of all those who live in Troy.”

                                                  Having said these words, 
glorious Hector picked up his plumed helmet.
His beloved wife went home, often looking back,   140
as she went, crying bitterly. She quickly reached 
the spacious home of Hector, killer of men.  
Inside she met her many servants and bid them all lament.   
So they mourned for Hector in his own house,       
though he was still alive, for they thought he’d not come back—
he’d not escape the battle fury of Achaean hands.

[Paris rejoins Hector, and together they leave Troy to return to battle]

Book Seven
A Truce to Bury the Dead

[Paris and Hector return to battle and enjoy considerable success against the Achaeans. Hector challenges the Achaeans to produce a volunteer to fight him in single combat. Ajax
is chosen by lot. The two men fight, but heralds stop the conflict. The two men exchange gifts.]

Well-armed Achaeans, came inside the son of Atreus’ hut.
Agamemnon, king of men, sacrificed an ox, 
a male five years old, to the exalted son of Cronos.
They flayed the beast, prepared and carved it up,
chopping it skillfully into tiny pieces.             
When everyone had had his fill of food and drink, 
old Nestor spoke up first, outlining for them 
a plan he had. Earlier his advice had seemed the best.
Keeping in mind their common good, he said:

“Son of Atreus, you other Argive leaders,                  10
many long-haired Achaeans have been killed.
Fierce Ares has scattered their dark blood
beside the fair-flowing Scamander river.
Their souls have departed down to Hades.  
So tomorrow you should call a halt.
Stop Achaeans fighting. We should all assemble,
then carry off the bodies of the dead
with mules and oxen. Then we’ll burn them
a short distance from our ships, so each of us,
when we return, may take back the bones.                   20
Let’s set up one single common funeral mound
close by the fire, angled back from the plain.  
Then we’ll build with all speed from that mound 
some high walls with turrets, to guard us and our ships.
Outside we’ll dig a deep trench close by,
to enclose the walls and hold out chariots—
soldiers, too, if those impetuous Trojans
should ever drive us back in battle.”   

So Nestor spoke. All the kings approved his plan.

Meanwhile the Trojans were meeting on the city heights,  30
by Priam’s palace doors—they were confused and fearful.
Antenor, a wise counsellor, was the first to speak:

“Listen to me, you Trojans, Dardan allies, 
so I may say what the heart in my chest prompts.  
Come now, let’s give back Argive Helen 
and her possessions to the sons of Atreus 
for them to keep. We’ve broken the truce 
and are fighting once again, so I don’t see 
how things will work out very well for us,
unless we carry out what I propose.”                                           40

Antenor spoke, then sat down. Before them all,
lord Alexander, husband of fair-haired Helen,
stood up to reply. His words had wings:

“I flatly refuse. I won’t give up my wife.
But I will surrender all the goods
I carried back from Argos to our home.
I’m willing to give up all of it,
even to add to it things of my own.”

Paris spoke, then sat back down. Priam stood up, 
descendant of Dardanus, wise as the gods.  50
Thinking of their common cause, he spoke out:

“Listen to me, Trojans, Dardan allies.  
You should prepare your dinner and then eat, 
here in the city, as before. But remember— 
keep sentries posted. Each man should stay awake. 
Tomorrow morning Idaios should go 
to the hollow ships, to tell the sons of Atreus,
both Agamemnon and Menelaus, 
what Alexander has just now proposed,  
the very man whose cause launched this dispute.            60
Idaios should propose this wise suggestion—  
if they’ll consent to postpone grim warfare,
so we can burn our dead, we’ll fight later,
until god adjudicates between us, 
and awards one side the victory.”

They heard what Priam said and readily agreed.
Throughout the army, in the ranks, they ate their dinner. 

At dawn Idaios went out to the hollow ships.  
There he found Danaans, companions of Ares,
assembled by the stern of Agamemnon’s ship.    70
The loud-voiced herald, standing in their midst, spoke out: 

“Son of Atreus, other Achaean leaders,
Priam and other noble Trojans have instructed me
to tell you what Alexander has proposed,
if that meets with your approval, an offer
you will want to hear. That man began our strife.  
All the property which Paris brought here
in his hollow ships to Troy—how I wish     
he’d died before that day!—he’ll hand over
and add more goods from his own home.                     80
But he says he’ll not return that noble lady,     
wife of Menelaus, though the Trojans wish
he’d do that. There’s more. My orders tell me
to speak to you to see if you are willing 
to put a stop to the harsh clash of war, 
until such time as we have burned our dead.
We will fight later, until god chooses
between us, makes one of us victorious.”

Idaios spoke. They all remained silent, speechless.
At last Diomedes, skilled at war shouts, cried out:     90

“Let no man now accept Alexander’s stuff, 
nor Helen. For it’s quite clear, even to a fool,
the Trojans are tied down to lethal fate.”

Diomedes spoke. All Achaea’s sons roared out, 
approving the reply of horse-taming Diomedes.
Mighty Agamemnon then addressed Idaios:

“Idaios, you yourself have heard our answer,
what Achaeans think of what you offer.  
And I agree with them. But I don’t object
to burning corpses, for when men die,   100
one should not deny the bodies of the dead    
a swift propitiation in the flames.    
So let Zeus, Hera’s loud-thundering husband,
stand as witness here to our pledged word.”

Saying this, Agamemnon held up his sceptre, 
invoking all the gods. Idaios then returned,
going back to sacred Ilion. There the Trojans
and Dardanians were sitting in a meeting, 
a general assembly, awaiting his return.
He came, stood in their midst, and delivered his report. 110
Then they quickly organized two working parties—  
some to collect bodies, others to get firewood.  

Argives also moved swiftly from their well-decked ships.
Some hurried to bring in the dead, others to find wood. 
Just as the sun began to shine down on the fields, 
rising from the gently flowing Ocean depths, 
climbing into the sky, the two groups met each other.
At that point it was hard to recognize each dead man.  
They washed blood off with water and piled them onto carts.

Next day, just before dawn, still at night, in half light,  120
a chosen group of Achaeans was awake around the pyre.
Beside it, on an angle, they made a common grave, 
back from the plain. From that mound they built a wall, 
with high towers, to defend them and their ships.
Outside the wall they dug a big ditch, wide and deep,   
close to the rampart, setting stakes down in the trench.

Book Eight
The Trojans Have Success

[At a council of the gods, Zeus announces he is going to assist the Trojans and forbids
the other gods to join in the battle]

Long-haired Achaeans gulped a quick meal by their huts.
Then they armed themselves. On the other side, in town,                
Trojans, too, prepared to fight. They threw open all the gates. 
The army streamed out, foot soldiers and charioteers,
making a huge din. As the two groups moved out  
to the same spot, they crashed together, smashing shields
and spears, the battle frenzy of bronze-armed warriors. 
Embossed shields collided one against the other,     
a tremendous noise. Screams of pain and triumph,
came from soldiers—those killing, those being killed—  10
and the earth was saturated with their blood.

In early morning, as that sacred day grew stronger,
weapons hurled by both sides grimly took their toll—
men kept on dying. But when the sun was at its height,
Father Zeus set up his golden balance, placed on it
two fatal destinies, one for horse-taming Trojans,   
one for bronze-armed Achaeans. Gripping the scales,
he raised them by the centre. One scale sank down, 
the one which held the Achaeans’ fate that day—
it moved down to the all-sustaining earth,      20
while the Trojans’ fate rose up toward wide heaven.

[Zeus sends a bolt of lightning to force the Achaean leaders back. They retreat
and rally to hold their ground]

Once more Olympian Zeus put force into the Trojans.
They drove Achaeans back, right to their deep trench,
Hector at the front, proudly showing off his strength.
By the time Achaeans had rushed through the stakes,
as they crossed the ditch, many had died at Trojan hands.
At last they halted by the ships and stayed there,
calling out to one another. Raising their hands,
each man prayed fervently to all the gods.
Hector drove his fine-maned horses back and forth,   30
his eyes glaring like a Gorgon or man-killing Ares.

[Hera and Athena decide to defy Zeus and join the battle to assist the Achaeans. 
Zeus sees them leaving heaven and stops them.]

Now the sun’s bright light sank down into the ocean,
dragging black night over fertile croplands.
The end of daylight made the Trojans sorrowful,
but Achaeans welcomed the arrival of black night,
something they’d been praying for constantly.

Then glorious Hector assembled all the Trojans
some distance from the ships, by the swirling river,    
in open ground where there were no corpses in plain view.
Hector then addressed his Trojans:

                                   “Listen to me,                         40
you Trojans, Dardanians, you allies.
Just now I stated we’d go back to Troy today,
once we’d destroyed the ships and slaughtered
all Achaeans. But darkness intervened.       
That’s the only thing that spared the Argives
and saved their ships beached on the shore. Come then, 
let’s do what black night demands—prepare a meal.
So from your chariots take out of harness
those horses with their lovely manes, feed them,
then quickly bring here from the city          50
cattle and stout sheep. Bring sweet wine as well,
and bread from your own homes.  Gather lots of wood,
so all night long, until first light of dawn,
we can burn many fires, lighting up the sky.
That’s all I have to tell you at this time.
I’ve more orders for horse-taming Trojans
for tomorrow.  I hope and pray to Zeus,
to the other gods as well, I’ll drive away
these death-infected dogs, conducted here
in their black ships by mortal fates.”                                     60

Hector finished speaking. Trojans gave a shout.
They untied their sweaty horses from their yokes,       
tethered them with straps, each by its chariot.
From the city they soon brought cattle and stout sheep,
sweet wine and bread from home. They gathered piles of wood
and made perfect sacrificial offerings to the gods.
From the plain, the wind carried the sweet-smelling smoke
right up to heaven. But the blessed gods weren’t willing          
to accept it, for sacred Ilion, and Priam,
and Priam’s people, rich in sheep, did not please them.    70
So all night long men sat there in the battle lanes,
with high expectations, burning many fires.              
Just as those times when the stars shine bright in heaven,
clustered around the glowing moon, with no wind at all,
and every peak and jutting headland, every forest glade
is clearly visible, when every star shines out,
and the shepherd’s heart rejoices—that’s the way
the many Trojan fires looked, as they burned there
in front of Ilion, between the river Xanthus             
and the ships, a thousand fires burning on the plain.    80
By each sat fifty men in the glow of firelight.
Horses munched on wheat and barley, standing there
by their chariots, awaiting the regal splendour of the dawn.

Book Nine
Peace Offerings to Achilles

Meanwhile, as the Trojans maintained their careful watch,
Panic, chilling Fear’s dread comrade, gripped Achaeans, 
their best men suffering unendurable anguish.  
Atreus’ son, heart overwhelmed with painful sorrow,  
went to give out orders for clear-voiced heralds           
to summon all the warriors to assembly,
calling them one by one, not with a general shout. 
He himself, with his heralds, carried out the task.
The counselors sat heart sick. Agamemnon stood,
his face shedding tears like a black water spring  10
whose dark stream flows down a sheer rock precipice.
With a sigh, Agamemnon addressed the Argives: 

“My friends, leaders, Argive counselors,
Zeus, son of Cronos, has snared me badly
in grievous folly. Deceptive god,                     
he promised me—he nodded his assent—
that I’d lay waste to well-built Ilion,           
before I went back home. Now he tricks me.
He’s devised a cruel deceit for me,
telling me to return to Argos in disgrace,                        20
after the deaths of so many warriors.  
That’s what now delights all-powerful Zeus, 
who has hurled down so many lofty towns, 
and who’ll still demolish many more—
such is his power, irresistible.”

Then horseman Nestor, standing up before them, said:

“Mighty son of Atreus, Agamemnon,
king of men, I’ll begin and end my speech
with you, for you are lord of many men.
Zeus gave you sceptre and laws to rule them.                             30
Thus, you, above all, should speak and listen,  
then act upon what other men may say,             
if their spirit prompts them to speak well.
You’ll get the credit for what they begin.
So I’ll say what seems to me the best advice.
No one else has set out a better scheme
than the one which I’ve been mulling over
a long time now, ever since you, my lord,
made Achilles angry by taking back
that young girl Briseis from his hut,                                  40
against my judgment. Repeatedly,
I urged you not to do it. But then you,     
surrendering to your arrogant spirit,
shamed our strongest man, honoured by the gods.  
You still have that prize you took. So now let’s think
how we may make amends, win him back with gifts
and gracious speeches, and be friends once more.”

Agamemnon, king of men, then answered Nestor:

“Old man, you expose my folly justly.
I was deluded. I don’t deny that.                                                50