When Diomede saw his prey snatched from him a second time he was very
wroth, and followed close on Apollo, who was bearing Æneas towards the
city. Three times he sprang upon the god, and three times Apollo
hurled him back; and he was preparing to make a fourth assault, when
Apollo rebuked him sternly, and bade him stand off. Remembering the
words of Athene, who had warned him not to meddle with any other god
save Aphrodite, Diomede drew back, and Æneas was carried in safety to
the shelter of the citadel.
Apollo was highly incensed at the presumption of Diomede, and leaving
Æneas in good hands he hastened back to the battlefield, and roused
Ares to take up the cause of insulted heaven, and chastise the impious
man who twice that day had pointed his weapon against the person of a
god. Ares readily took up the challenge, and putting on the likeness
of a Trojan he flung himself in the path of the panic-stricken
fugitives, shouting: "Where are the sons of Priam, and why suffer they
the people to be slaughtered like sheep?"
"Hearest thou what he saith?" cried Sarpedon, the giant leader of the
Lycians, to Hector, who had been dismayed, like the rest, by the
prowess of Diomede. "What art thou doing, thou and thy brethren, that
ye leave the brunt of battle to be borne by your allies? Have we not
left home and country, our wives and our little ones, to pour out our
blood in defence of thy city?--and wilt thou not play thy part, when
honour and duty call thee--when the very stones of thy streets cry
aloud to thee to be the first in the onset, the last to retreat?"
Stung by Sarpedon's reproaches, Hector leapt from his car, and exerted
all his authority to rally the flying Trojans. By his efforts the
flight was checked, and the Trojans wheeled their chariots and returned
to the charge. The ranks of the Greeks grew white from the clouds of
dust thrown up by their chariot wheels as they came on like a
whirlwind, with Ares in their van. Presently, to the equal delight and
amazement of the Trojans, the princely form of Æneas was seen
glittering among the foremost champions; and his step was as light, and
his arm as firm, as when the fight began. They would have learnt, if
they had asked, that this was the work of Apollo; but they had no time
to question him, for by this time the storm of battle was raging with
redoubled fury.
Like clouds which lie heavy on the mountain-tops, when all the winds
are sleeping, so steadfast stood the Greeks to abide the shock of that
charge. And Agamemnon strode up and down the armed files, crying as he
passed: "Stand firm, and play the man! Before you lies the path of
honour, but behind is shame and defeat."
Long the contest swayed to and fro with doubtful issue, and many a
Greek, and many a Trojan, named or unnamed, received the wages of the
sword. At last Diomede, whose vision had been purged by Athene,
recognised Ares under his disguise; then even he began to lose heart,
and cried out to the Greeks: "We must retreat! Ares is fighting
against us. Fall back upon the ships, keeping your faces to the foe."
And slowly, step by step, disputing every inch of ground, the Greeks
began to retire.
Hitherto Hera and Athene had remained inactive spectators of the
struggle: but when they saw that the tide of battle had turned they
resolved to make a vigorous stand against the victorious career of
Ares. With her own hand Hera harnessed the steeds to her royal car,
which was the work of no mortal artist, with its brazen wheels and axle
of iron. The body of the car was cunningly wrought with bands of gold
and silver; the pole was a solid bar of silver, and the yoke was of
gold. Meanwhile Athene was arming herself for the conflict. First she
put on a coat of mail, not to be pierced by any mortal weapon; on her
head she placed a helmet, glittering with symbols of war and death;
then she grasped her shield, the immortal ægis, of "ethereal temper,
massy, large, and round," on which were pictured Panic and Strife,
Defence and Pursuit, and all the dread powers whose realm is the
battlefield; and in the midst glared the Gorgon's head, with its awful
eyes, which freeze the blood and paralyse the limbs.
Having asked and obtained permission of Zeus, they mounted the car,
Hera guiding the fiery coursers of heaven, and Athene standing, spear
in hand, at her side. In another moment they drew up before the cloudy
portals of Olympus, which are given in charge of the mystic Daughters
of Time, to open and to shut. Wide flew the gates, with muttered roar,
at the summons of the queen of heaven; and forth they leapt into the
void and cavernous vault of air. Far as a man can see into the dim
distance, when he stands on some skyey peak and gazes across the purple
sea--so wide is the space traversed by the heavenly steeds at a single
stride.
When they came to the place where Simoeis and Scamander mingle their
waters in one stream, they drew up their car, and dismounted, leaving
the steeds in charge of the river-god Simoeis, whose banks put forth
ambrosial herbs for them to feed upon. Then, walking delicately, like
a pair of doves,[3] but with no tender thoughts in their breasts, they
went and joined the ranks of the Greeks, where they stood at bay round
Diomede, like boars or lions hard pressed by the hunters. Standing in
their midst, Hera took the form and the voice of Stentor, whose shout
was as the shout of fifty men. "Shame on you, ye Greeks!" she
thundered. "As long as Achilles fought among you, the Trojans never
ventured beyond their gates; but now they are fighting at the very
confines of your camp."
[3] I have preserved the language of the original, which seems to have
a touch of irony.
Diomede had drawn back from the fighting-line, for his arm was lamed by
the wound which he had received from Pandarus, which now began to
stiffen and grow painful. In this state he was found by Athene, just
as he was lifting up his shield strap to wipe away the blood from his
shoulder. Laying her hand on the yoke of his car she said: "The son of
Tydeus is most unlike his sire, who was little of stature, but mighty
of heart. With him I needed the curb to restrain his fiery spirit,
which prompted him to fight against any odds. But thy sluggish nature
ever wants the goad. Say, art thou weary, or art thou afraid?"
"It is not fear that has made me shrink," answered Diomede. "I am but
obeying thy behest, when thou forbadest me to resist any god, save only
Aphrodite. And thou seest Ares is lending aid to the Greeks."
"Fear neither Ares, nor any other god," replied Athene. "Mount thou
thy car with me, and thou shalt see whether this turncoat, this fickle,
furious, bloodthirsty god of war, will brook thy onset when I am by thy
side.
Thereupon she thrust down Sthenelus from the chariot, and taking his
place beckoned to Diomede to mount with her. Diomede obeyed, and the
beechen axle groaned beneath the weight of the hero and the goddess.
Athene plied the lash, and drove straight at Ares, who was stooping to
strip off the armour of a Greek champion whom he had just slain with
his own hand. The goddess had put on the helmet of Hades, which made
her invisible to the eyes of Ares; and he, when he saw Diomede coming
against him, left off stripping the corpse, and charged with levelled
spear. But Athene caught the weapon by the shaft, and turned the point
aside. Then Diomede thrust at Ares with his spear, Athene aiding him,
and wounded him in the side. And as the roar of ten thousand men in
the full fury of battle, so was the roar of Ares when he felt that
wound.
Like a heavy thundercloud, which hangs black and threatening when
heaven is overcast, and a storm is brewing on a sultry day, such
appeared the giant form of Ares as he fled darkling across the sky to
Olympus; and when he reached the seat of the gods he sat down near
Zeus, his father, and showed him the immortal blood flowing from his
wound. "What thinkest thou," he said, speaking in a pitiful voice, "of
these deeds of violence? Thou art the author of this wound; for it is
thy weak indulgence which makes thy daughter, Athene, so violent and
unruly. Nothing but the speed of my feet saved me from worse outrage."
But the injured Ares found scant sympathy from his father. "Come not
to me," he said sternly, "with thy whining complaints. Blame thy
mother for what thou hast suffered; for to her thou owest the froward
temper which makes thee the most hateful to me of all my children.
Nevertheless I will not leave thee in pain, for thou art my son, the
child of my wedded love. Were it not so, I would have found thee a
place in the dungeons where the Titans groan." Then he laid his
commands upon Pæan, the god of healing, who sprinkled powerful remedies
on the wound, which gave instant relief. Swift as is the action of the
fig-juice when it falls with eager droppings[4] into milk, and turns it
to curd, so quickly closed the wound under the skilful hands of Pæan.
And when he had bathed, Ares sat down, hale and whole, by his father's
side.
[4] Used as rennet. "Eager droppings" is from Hamlet.