The truce having been broken by the treacherous act of Pandarus, both
sides prepared for an immediate assault. Agamemnon, as soon as he was
assured that his brother was in no danger, summoned his chariot, and,
bidding the driver keep within call, went on foot up and down the ranks
of the Greeks, encouraging those whom he saw pressing forward to the
attack with promises of favour and reward, and upbraiding those who
hung back with taunts and rebukes. His heart rejoiced when he saw the
towering form of Ajax, who was hurrying to battle, followed close by a
stout troop of spearsmen, with shield pressing on shield, and bristling
spears. Near him was Idomeneus, the grizzled captain of the Cretans,
with his comrade, Meriones, at the head of a numerous and
well-appointed troop. And after these he came to the men of Nestor,
who were receiving instructions from their veteran leader how to bear
themselves in the battle. "Keep your ranks," he was saying, "and fight
shoulder to shoulder, the horsemen in the van, and the infantry ready
to support them behind. And let no one be carried away by his zeal to
engage singlehanded with the enemy, for union is strength, and weakness
comes of division."
These were the foremost, but there were others, and among them some of
the most valiant leaders in the army, whose station was more remote,
and who had not yet heard of the breaking of the truce. One of these
was Diomede, and when Agamemnon found him standing inactive, he rebuked
him harshly, reminding him of his father's prowess, and calling him an
unworthy son. The young chieftain deigned no answer to the unmerited
reproach, but at once put his men in motion to join the encounter.
The whole army was now advancing, rank pressing on rank, and column on
column, like the waves rushing landward along a wide-watered shore.
The Greeks came on in silence, broken only by the short, sharp words of
command; but the Trojans, whose army was made up of a motley throng of
many nations, rushed to the onset with multitudinous cries, like ewes
at milking-time in the folds of a wealthy sheep master, when they hear
the voices of their lambs. On the Trojan side was Ares, and on the
side of the Greeks stern-eyed Athene, with whom were seen Panic and
Flight, and insatiable Strife, who is small of stature at the beginning
of a fray, but grows and grows as the feud proceeds, until her head
presses against the sky as she stalks along the earth.
Then the air was rent with a deafening crash, as the two armies met,
and shield was dashed against shield, and brazen armour was dinted by
spear and axe and sword. Shouts of triumph arose, and cries of
anguish, as the wild _mêlée_ swayed to and fro, and the ground ran with
blood. As two torrents descending from copious springs high up in the
mountains, and swollen high by winter rains, mingle their waters with a
roar at a place where two glens meet--such was the roar which went up
to heaven, at the conflict of those mailed hosts.
Among the many victims of that bloody day, some are singled out for
especial mention. One of these was Simocisius, a tall and comely
youth, so named because he was born on the banks of the Simocis, when
his mother went to visit her parents on their farm. Ajax marked him as
he came on, and smote him in the breast with his spear; and down he
fell, like a tall poplar, which rears its stately height in a meadow by
the riverside, until it is hewn down by a wheelwright to make a felly
for a chariot; and there it lies seasoning on the banks of the stream.
So lay the young Simocisius, and Ajax stripped him of his armour.
While he was thus engaged, Antiphus, a son of Priam, flung a javelin at
him, but, missing him, struck down Leucus, a comrade of Odysseus, who
had laid hold of the corpse to hale it away. Odysseus was exceeding
wroth at the fall of his comrade, and stepping forward he flung his
spear, and smote Democoon, a natural son of Priam, in the temple. The
Trojan champions fell back before him, and the Greeks rushed forward
and gained possession of the dead. Apollo, who sat watching the battle
from the citadel of Troy, was indignant when he saw the Trojans give
ground, and shouted to them in a loud voice, crying: "Up, ye horsemen
of Troy, and fly not from these Greeks, for their flesh is not of stone
or of iron, to resist the thrust of your spears. Now is your time,
while Achilles is absent, chewing the cud of his ire among the ships."
The Trojans rallied at the cry of the god, and the battle was resumed
with fresh fury on both sides. It was no child's play, no holiday
tilting, which was seen that morning on the Trojan plain, but the dire
and dreadful game of war, with Ares and Athene for players, and the
blood of heroes for the stakes.