split its spiny ridge with a sharp cleaving spear
and sheared away its bristling horsehair crest.
Down in the dust the war-gear tumbled, all
still glistening bright in its fresh purple dye
but the man stood his ground, still rearing to fight,
his hopes still soaring for triumph. But now Menelaus,
Atrides out for blood, moved in to fight for Meges—
spear poised in his grip—in from the blind side
and struck from behind the Trojan’s shoulder so hard
the spear came jutting out through his chest in all its fury
and Dolops reeled and sank, facedown on the ground.
The two men swarmed over him, ripping the armor
off his back as Hector called his kinsmen on,
all his kinsmen, but marked out Hicetaon’s son
the strong Melanippus, railing first at him ...
He used to graze his shambling herds in Percote,
long ago when the enemy’s forces stood far off
but once the rolling ships of Achaea swept ashore,
home he came to Troy where he shone among the Trojans,
living close to Priam, who prized him like his sons.
But Hector rebuked him now, shouting out his name:
“Metanippus—how can we take things lying down this way?
No qualm in your heart for this? Your cousin’s dead!
Can’t you see how they’re clawing over Dolops’ armor?
Follow me now. No more standing back, no fighting
these Argives at a distance—kill them hand-to-hand.
Now—before they topple towering Ilium down,
all our people slaughtered!”
So with a shout
he surged ahead and his gallant cohort followed.
But Great Telamonian Ajax spurred his Argives on:
“Be men, my friends! Discipline fill your hearts!
Dread what comrades say of you here in bloody combat!
When men dread that, more men come through alive—
when soldiers break and run, good-bye glory,
good-bye all defenses!”
Up in arms as they were
to shield themselves, they took his word to heart
and round the ships they raised a wall of bronze.
But against them Zeus impelled the Trojan ranks
as Menelaus lord of the war cry urged Antilochus,
“None of the younger troops, Antilochus, none
is faster of foot than you or tougher in combat—
why not leap right in and lay some Trojan out?”
Menelaus withdrew as he drove Antilochus on.
Out of the front he sprang, glaring left and right
and hurled his spear—a glinting brazen streak—
and the Trojans scattered, cringing before his shaft ...
no wasted shot! Antilochus hit Hicetaon’s son,
impetuous Melanippus sweeping into battle,
slashed him across the chest beside the nipple.
Down he crashed and the darkness swirled his eyes
with Antilochus rushing over him like some hound
pouncing down on a deer that’s just been wounded—
leaping out of its lair a hunter’s speared it,
a lethal hit that’s loosed its springy limbs.
So staunch Antilochus leapt at you, Melanippus,
stripping away your gear, but Hector marked it now
and straight through the ruck he charged Antilochus hard.
Quick as that fighter was, he could not hold his ground,
not there—he turned tail and broke like a rogue beast
that’s done some serious damage, mauled a dog to death
or a herdsman tending flocks, and takes to his heels
before the gangs of men can group and go against him.
So Antilochus turned and ran as a savage cry went up
and Hector and all his Trojans showered deadly shafts
in hot pursuit, but he wheeled and stood his ground
when he reached his thronging cohorts.
Now to the ships—
now like a pride of man-eating lions the Trojan forces
stormed the fleet, fulfilling Zeus’s strict commands
as Zeus kept building their fury higher, stunned
the Argives’ spirit and wrenched away their glory,
lashing Trojans on. The Father’s will was set
on giving glory over to Hector son of Priam
that he might hurl his torch at the beaked ships—
the force of fire, quenchless, ravening fire, yes,
and bring to its bitter end the disastrous prayer of Thetis.
For that alone he waited, the god who rules the world,
to see with his own eyes the first Achaean ship
go up in a blaze of flames. Then, from that point on
he’d thrust the Trojans breakneck back from the fleet
and give the Argives glory. Dead set now on that,
he drove Prince Hector against the hollow hulls
though the son of Priam raged in his own right,
raged like Ares with brandished spear, or flash fire
roaring down from a ridge into thick stands of timber.
The foam flecked his mouth and his eyes shot flame,
glaring under his shaggy brows and round his head
his helmet shook and clashed, a terrific wild din—
Hector on the attack! And high in the clear sky
Zeus himself defended his champion—Hector alone
he prized and glorified among hordes of men 710
for Hector’s life would be cut short so soon ...
Why, even now Athena was speeding the fatal day
when he would fall to the power of great Achilles.
But now he was bent on breaking men, probing the lines
wherever he saw the largest mass and the finest gear
but he could not smash through yet for all his fury.
They closed ranks, they packed like a stone wall,
a granite cliff that towers against the churning surf,
standing up to the screaming winds, their sudden assaults
and the breaking waves they spawn that crash against its base—
so the Danaans stood the Trojan onslaught, rock-solid
and never flinched in fear. But Hector all afire,
blazing head to foot, charged at their main force,
bursting down as a wave bursts down on a veering ship,
down from under the clouds it batters, bred by gate-winds—
showers of foam overwhelm the hull, blot it all from sight,
the hurricane’s killing blast thundering into the sails
and scudding clear of death by the skin of their teeth
the sailors quake, their hearts race on with terror—
so the Achaeans’ courage quaked. And Hector lunged again
like a murderous lion mad for kills, charging cattle
grazing across the flats of a broad marshy pasture,
flocks by the hundred led by an unskilled herdsman
helpless to keep the marauder off a longhom heifer—
no fighting that bloody slaughter—all he can do
is keep pace with the lead or straggling heads,