but the glinting metal missed and he hit Mastor’s son,
Lycophron, Ajax’ friend-in-arms, Cythera-born
yet he lived with Ajax once he’d killed a man
on Cythera’s holy shores. Hector killed him now
with whetted bronze, cleaving his skull above the ear
as he stood by Ajax. Down off the ship’s stem he dropped,
his back slamming the ground, his limbs slack in death,
and Ajax shuddered, calling out to his brother,
“Teucer, my friend—our trusted comrade’s dead,
Mastor’s son who came our way from Cythera.
We lived in our halls together, prized the man
as we prize our beloved parents—Hector’s killed him!
Hurry, where are your arrows fletched with death?
Where is the bow that god Apollo gave you?”
Teucer took the challenge, rushed to his side
and reflex bow in hand and quiver bristling shafts
he loosed a splattering burst against the Trojans.
He picked off Clitus, Pisenor’s shining son—
the charioteer to noble Panthous’ son Polydamas—
wrestling the reins, struggling to head his horses
straight for the point where most battalions panicked,
eager to please Prince Hector and all his Trojans,
Clitus raced on but his death came even faster.
No one could save him now, strain as they did—
a sudden arrow jabbed him behind the neck,
pierced him with pain and out the car he hurtled—
horses rearing in terror, empty chariot clattering off.
But their master Polydamas marked the kill at once,
ran and planted himself across the horses’ path
and handed them on to Protiaon’s son Astynous,
shouting strict commands—“Watch my every move!
Keep the team close by!”—then veering away himself,
back again to grapple frontline troops.
But Teucer—
quick with his next shaft the archer aimed at Hector,
at Hector’s brazen crest, and would have stopped
his assault on Argive ships, hit him squarely
and torn his life out just as his courage peaked.
But he could not dodge the lightning mind of Zeus—
standing guard over Hector
Zeus tore the glory right from Teucer’s grasp,
he snapped the twisted cord on his handsome bow
just as the archer drew it taut against his man
and the weighted bronze shaft skittered off to the side,
the bow dropped from his hand and Teucer shuddered,
calling out to his brother, “Oh what luck—look,
some power cuts us out of the fighting, foils our plans!
He’s knocked the bow from my grip, snapped the string,
the fresh gut I tied to the weapon just at dawn
to launch the showers of arrows I’d let fly.”
“Too bad, my friend,” said Ajax. “Leave them there,
that bow and spill of arrows down on the ground—
a god with a grudge against us wrecks them all.
Take up a long spear, shield on your shoulder,
go for the Trojans, urge your troops to battle.
Maybe they’ve whipped us here but not without a fight
will they take our benched ships. Call up the joy of war!”
At that his brother dropped his bow in a shelter,
slung a shield on his shoulder, four plies thick,
over his powerful head he set a well-forged helmet,
the horsehair crest atop it tossing, bristling terror.
And taking a rugged spearshaft tipped with whetted bronze
the archer went on the run to stand by Ajax’ side.
But Hector, seeing Teucer’s arrows in disarray,
let fly a resounding shout to all his units:
“Trojans! Lycians! Dardan fighters hand-to-hand!
Fight like men, my friends, call up your battle-fury-
make for the hollow ships! I see with my own eyes
how Zeus has blocked their finest archer’s arrows.
Easy to see what help Zeus lends to mortals,
either to those he gives surpassing glory
or those he saps and wastes, refuses to defend,
just as he wastes the Argives’ power but backs us now.
So fight by the ships, all together. And that comrade
who meets his death and destiny, speared or stabbed,
let him die! He dies fighting for fatherland—
no dishonor there!
He’ll leave behind him wife and sons unscathed,
his house and estate unharmed—once these Argives
sail for home, the fatherland they love.”
That was his cry
as Hector put fresh fighting spirit in each man.
But Ajax fired the troops on his side too:
“Shame, you Argives! All or nothing now—
die, or live and drive defeat from the ships!
You want this flashing Hector to take the fleet
then each man walk the waves to regain his native land?
Can’t you hear him calling his armies on, full force,
this Hector, wild to gut our hulls with fire?
He’s not inviting them to a dance, believe me—
he commands them into battle! No better tactics now
than to fight them hand-to-hand with all our fury.
Quick, better to live or die, once and for all,
than die by inches, slowly crushed to death—
helpless against the hulls in the bloody press—
by far inferior men!”
And that was Ajax’ cry
as the giant put fresh fighting spirit in each man.
But Hector cut down Schedius now, Perimedes’ son,
a Phocian chieftain—and Ajax killed Laodamas,
captain of infantry, Antenor’s splendid son—
and Polydamas killed Cyllenian Otus outright,
Meges’ friend, one of the proud Epeans’ leaders.
Meges saw him drop, he lunged at Polydamas, fast,
but he ducked and veered away and Meges missed him—
Apollo was not about to let him fall at the front,
not Panthous’ son. But Meges did hit Croesmus,
stabbed him square in the chest with a thrusting-lance
and down he crashed—with Meges tearing the armor off his back
as the Trojan Dolops lunged at him. A crack spearman—
Laomedon’s grandson, Lampus’ big and brawny son,
the strongest he sired, the best trained for assault—
Dolops quickly went for Meges at close range,
he speared his bulging shield
but the solid breastplate warded off the blow
with both plates fitted tight to bind his body.
The gear his father brought from Ephyra once ...
the Selleis banks where his host the lord Euphetes
gave him that sturdy bronze to wear in battle,
to beat off the bloody attacks of desperate men
and now it saved his son’s young flesh from death.
So Meges chopped at the crown of Dolops’ bronze helmet,