Pull back at once, whenever you’re thrown against him—
or go down to the House of Death against the will of fate.
But once Achilles has met his death, his certain doom,
take courage then, go fight on the front lines then—
no other Achaean can bring you down in war.”
With that,
with destiny made clear, he left him there on the spot
and turning back to Achilles quickly brushed away
the mist from his eyes, the magic, godsent haze.
And Achilles stared with all his might, dazzled,
disgusted too, and addressed his own great heart:
“Impossible—look, a marvel right before my eyes!
That spear I hurled is lying here on the ground.
That man—I cannot see him—
the one I hurled at, wild to cut him down.
Ah, so the deathless gods must love Aeneas too.
And I thought his vaunts were empty, hollow boasting.
Well let him go, I say! Never, never again
will he have the nerve to test my fighting power—
even now he was glad to save himself from death.
Now, quick, I’ll marshal our battle-hungry Argives—
face the rest of the Trojans, test them, fight them down!”
And back to the lines he leapt and urged each man,
“No more standing back from the Trojans, brave Achaeans!
Now fighter go against fighter, out for bloodshed!
It’s hard for me, strong as I am, single-handed
to make for such a force and fight them all.
Why, not even Ares the deathless god of war,
not even Athena—for all their heavy labor
could hack a passage through such jaws of battle.
But I—whatever fists and feet and strength can do,
that I will do, I swear, not hang back, not one inch.
Straight through enemy columns I go plowing now—
and no Trojan, I guarantee, will thrill with pleasure
once he meets my spearshaft head-to-head!”
Spurring his men
while Hector aflash in armor urged his Trojans—
thinking he’d even go up against Achilles:
“No fear of Pelides now, my gallant Trojans!
I too could battle the deathless gods with words—
it’s hard with a spear, the gods are so much stronger.
Not even Achilles can bring off all his boasts:
some he’ll accomplish, some cut short, half done.
I’m off to engage the man, though his fists are fire,
though his fists are fire and his fury burnished iron!”
Spurring them on to raise their spears for full assault
and the Trojans’ fury massed and mounted, war cries broke
but Apollo suddenly stood by Hector, shouting,
“Don’t for a moment duel Achilles, Hector,
out in front of your ranks!
Withdraw to your main lines and wait him there,
out of the crash of battle. Else he’ll spear you down
or close for the kill and hack you with his sword.”
So Hector drew back to his thronging comrades,
terrified to hear the voice of god. Not Achilles—
armored in battle-power down he flung on the Trojans,
loosed barbaric cries, and his first kill was Iphition,
Otrynteus’ hardy son and a chief of large contingents,
born of a river nymph to Otrynteus, scourge of towns,
below Tmolus’ snows in the wealthy realm of Hyde ...
As the Trojan charged head-on Achilles speared him
square in the brows—his whole skull split in half
and down he crashed, Achilles exulting over him:
“Here you lie, Otrynteus’ son—most terrible man alive!
Here’s your deathbed! Far from your birthplace, Gyge Lake
where your father’s fine estate lies next to the Hyllus
stocked with fish and next to the whirling Hermus!”
Vaunting over the dark that swept his quarry’s eyes
and the running-rims of Argive war-cars cut him to shreds
at the onset’s breaking edge. And next Achilles lunged
at Demoleon, son of Antenor, a tough defensive fighter—
he stabbed his temple and cleft his helmet’s cheekpiece.
None of the bronze plate could hold it—boring through
the metal and skull the bronze spearpoint pounded,
Demoleon’s brains splattered all inside his casque,
the Trojan beaten down in his fury. Hippodamas next,
he leapt from his chariot fleeing before Achilles—
Achilles’ spearshaft rammed him through the back
and he gasped his life away, bellowing like some bull
that chokes and grunts when the young boys drag him round
the lord of Helice’s shrine and the earthquake god
delights to see them dragging—so he bellowed now
and the man’s proud spirit left his bones behind.
Achilles rushed with his spear at noble Polydorus
son of Priam. His father would not let him fight,
ever, he was the youngest-born of all his sons—
Priam loved him most, the fastest runner of all
but now the young fool, mad to display his speed,
went dashing along the front to meet his death.
Just as he shot past the matchless runner Achilles
speared him square in the back where his war-belt clasped,
golden buckles clinching both halves of his breastplate—
straight on through went the point and out the navel,
down on his knees he dropped—
screaming shrill as the world went black before him—
ciutched his bowels to his body, hunched and sank.
But Hector seeing his own brother Polydorus
clutching his entrails, sinking limp to the ground—
the mist came swirling down his eyes as well...
He could bear no more, wheeling off at a distance—
shaking his whetted spear he charged Achilles now,
coming fierce as fire but Achilles marked him quickly
and springing forth to take him, triumphed to himself,
“Here is the man who’s raked my heart the most,
who killed my cherished comrade! No more delay,
dodging each other down the passageways of battle!”
Under his brows he glared at royal Hector, shouting,
“Quick, charge me—the sooner to meet your death!”
But Hector, his helmet flashing, never flinched:
“Don’t think for a moment, Achilles, son of Peleus,
you can frighten me with words like a child, a foot—
I’m an old hand myself at trading taunts and insults.
Well I know you are brave, and I am far weaker.
True—but all lies in the lap of the great gods.
Weaker I am, but I still might take your life
with one hurl of a spear—my weapon can cut too,
long before now its point has found its mark!”
Grim reminder—
he brandished the shaft and hurled with all his might