THE FIGHTING ON THE PLAIN
The night passed, and grey dawn saw a mighty fight begin.
Fiercely did the battle wax and wane, and valiant deeds were done that
day.
Mightily fought Agamemnon, but against him fought the gods, and when
the sun blazed forth at noon, he and many another Greek warrior,
grievously wounded, were forced to leave the field.
An arrow, from the bow of Paris, smote Machaon, skilled physician of
the Greeks, and fear seized them lest he who healed their wounds might
himself perish.
Into his chariot did old Nestor take Machaon, and right willingly his
horses galloped back to their stables by the shore.
By the stern of his ship stood Achilles, watching the battle from afar,
and his dear friend and comrade, Patroclus, he sent speeding to the
tent of Nestor for tidings of the battle and to ask the name of the
wounded warrior.
Scornfully spake Nestor:
‘What matters it to Achilles which of the sons of Greece lie wounded?
Many chiefs of the Greeks have shed their blood this day, yet Achilles
heedeth not. Hast thou forgotten, Patroclus, that day when thy father
didst speak to thee of thyself and of Achilles? “_Of nobler birth
than thou is Achilles_,” he said, “_and in might much greater. Yet he
is younger than thou, so see that thou counsel him gently and wisely
when there is need, and he will obey thee._” Even now, Patroclus, thou
mightest persuade Achilles to go forth to battle. But if he will not
go, then let him lend thee his armour so that the men of Troy may flee
before thee, thinking that Achilles goeth forth to war once more.’
So did Nestor rouse the heart of Patroclus, and swiftly Patroclus
returned to the ship of Achilles.
Fiercer and ever more fierce grew the battle as the hours went by.
Up to the walls that the Greeks had built did the Trojans press their
furious way. Up the battlements, spear in hand, they swarmed, nor
heeded the storm of stones that crashed down upon them from above.
In front of the gates lay a stone so huge that two strong men could not
together have lifted it and placed it on a wagon. With one hand did
mighty Hector, legs wide apart, hurl it against the great double gates.
Before it, hinges burst, bars smashed, and the gates crashed backwards.
Then in leapt Hector, his eyes flashing fire. None but the gods could
have withstood him, and on his heels came the men of Troy. Before them
they swept the Greek host to their ships.
But down by the sea fought Ajax, and round him the Greeks took their
stand. Mighty was the wall of living men that sought to die for their
honour and for their own dear land.
Yet, like a great rock that the fierce floods of winter tear from a
mountain-side, and that crashes through the forests and thunders down
the valleys, destroying as it goes, so did Hector press onward. Behind
him in heaps lay the slain, the moans of the dying mingled with the
din of battle, and the dark night of death blinded the eyes of many a
mighty chief.
‘Thinkest thou to spoil our ships!’ called Ajax to Hector. ‘To the
gods, and not to the men of Troy do we owe our evil plight. Yet ere
long will Troy fall before us, and thou thyself wilt pray to Zeus to
make thy steeds fleet as falcons as they bear thee in shameful plight
back to thy city, across the plain.’
To Ajax did Hector make answer:
‘Blundering boaster art thou! Woe cometh this day to the Greeks! And
thou, Ajax, if thou hast courage to meet my spear, shalt be food for
the birds and the dogs.’
In his tent the heart of Agamemnon sank within him, and those beside
him did he counsel that they should drag their ships down to the sea
and swiftly sail away.
‘There is no shame in fleeing from ruin,’ said he.
But Odysseus and Diomedes replied with angry scorn to the coward words
of their overlord.
‘Let us go down to the battle, wounded though we be,’ said Diomedes.
So they set forth, and with them went Agamemnon, and through the long
day did that mortal fight go on. Now would the Trojans triumph, and
again to the men of Greece would come the victory.
At last, before a huge stone, hurled by Ajax, did Hector fall. Like a
mighty oak smitten by lightning he fell, and the Trojans bore him away,
the black blood gushing from his mouth.
Then pressed the men of Greece the more. Back from the ships they drove
the men of Troy.
But to Hector where he lay a-dying came Apollo, and into his fainting
body and heart he breathed fresh strength and courage.
With strength as the strength of ten Hector once again faced the foe,
and before him the Greeks fell back in dismay.
Patroclus in his tent, tending the wounds of a friend, marked how the
Greeks fell back, and he groaned aloud.
‘To Achilles must I hasten,’ he said. ‘Who knows but that the time has
come when I may arouse him to join in the battle.’