just as hunger strikes—he rips it, bolts it down,
even with running dogs and lusty hunters rushing him.
So Menelaus thrilled at heart—princely Paris there,
right before his eyes. The outlaw, the adulterer ...
“Now for revenge!” he thought, and down he leapt
from his chariot fully armed and hit the ground.
But soon as magnificent Paris marked Atrides
shining among the champions, Paris’ spirit shook.
Backing into his friendly ranks, he cringed from death
as one who trips on a snake in a hilltop hollow
recoils, suddenly, trembling grips his knees
and pallor takes his cheeks and back he shrinks.
So he dissolved again in the proud Trojan lines,
dreading Atrides—magnificent, brave Paris.
At one glance
Hector raked his brother with insults, stinging taunts:
“Paris, appalling Paris! Our prince of beauty—
mad for women, you lure them all to ruin!
Would to god you’d never been born, died unwed.
That’s all I’d ask. Better that way by far
than to have you strutting here, an outrage—
a mockery in the eyes of all our enemies. Why,
the long-haired Achaeans must be roaring with laughter!
They thought you the bravest champion we could field.
and just because of the handsome luster on your limbs,
but you have no pith, no fighting strength inside you.
What?—is this the man who mustered the oarsmen once,
who braved the seas in his racing deep-sea ships,
trafficked with outlanders, carried off a woman
far from her distant shores, a great beauty
wed to a land of rugged spearmen?
You...
curse to your father, your city and all your people,
a joy to our enemies, rank disgrace to yourself!
So, you can’t stand up to the battling Menelaus?
You’d soon feel his force, that man you robbed
of his sumptuous, warm wife. No use to you then,
the fine lyre and these, these gifts of Aphrodite,
your long flowing locks and your striking looks,
not when you roll and couple with the dust.
What cowards, the men of Troy—or years ago
they’d have decked you out in a suit of rocky armor,
stoned you to death for all the wrongs you’ve done!“
And Paris, magnificent as a god, replied,
“Ah Hector, you criticize me fairly, yes,
nothing unfair, beyond what I deserve.
The heart inside you is always tempered hard,
like an ax that goes through wood when a shipwright
cuts out ship timbers with every ounce of skill
and the blade’s weight drives the man’s stroke.
So the heart inside your chest is never daunted.
Still, don’t fling in my face the lovely gifts
of golden Aphrodite. Not to be tossed aside,
the gifts of the gods, those glories ...
whatever the gods give of their own free will—
how could we ever choose them for ourselves?
Now, though,
if you really want me to fight to the finish here,
have all Trojans and Argives take their seats
and pit me against Menelaus dear to Ares—
right between the lines—
we’ll fight it out for Helen and all her wealth.
And the one who proves the better man and wins,
he’ll take those treasures fairly, lead the woman home.
The rest will seal in blood their binding pacts of friendship.
Our people will live in peace on the rich soil of Troy,
our enemies sail home to the stallion-land of Argos,
the land of Achaea where the women are a wonder ...“
When Hector heard that challenge he rejoiced
and right in the no man’s land along his lines he strode,
gripping his spear mid-haft, staving men to a standstill.
But the long-haired Argive archers aimed at Hector,
trying to cut him down with arrows, hurling rocks
till King Agamemnon cried out in a ringing voice,
“Hold back, Argives! Sons of Achaea, stop your salvos!
Look, Hector with that flashing helmet of his—
the man is trying to tell us something now.”
They held their attack. Quickly men fell silent
and Hector pleaded, appealing to both armed camps:
“Hear me—Trojans, Achaeans geared for combat!
Hear the challenge of Paris,
the man who caused our long hard campaign.
He urges all the Trojans, all the Argives too,
to lay their fine armor down on the fertile earth
while Paris himself and the warrior Menelaus
take the field between you and fight it out
for Helen and all her wealth in single combat.
And the one who proves the better man and wins,
he’ll take those treasures fairly, lead the woman home.
The rest will seal in blood their binding pacts of friendship.”
He stopped. A hushed silence held the ranks.
And Menelaus whose cry could marshal armies
urged both sides, “Now hear me out as well!
Such limited vengeance hurts me most of all—
but I intend that we will part in peace, at last,
Trojans and Achaeans. Look what heavy casualties
you have suffered just for me, my violent quarrel,
and Paris who brought it on you all. Now we’ll fight—
and death to the one marked out for doom and death!
But the rest will part in peace, and soon, soon.
Bring two lambs—a white male and a black ewe
for the Sun and Earth—and we’ll bring a third for Zeus.
And lead on Priam too, Priam in all his power,
so the king himself can seal our truce in blood—
his royal sons are reckless, not to be trusted:
no one must trample on the oath we swear to Zeus.
The minds of the younger men are always flighty,
but let an old man stand his ground among them,
one who can see the days behind, the days ahead—
that is the best hope for peace, for both our armies.”
The Achaean and Trojan forces both exulted,
hoping this would end the agonies of war.
They hauled their chariots up in ranks, at rest,
the troops dismounted and stripped away their arms
and laid them down on the earth, crowded together—
hardly a foot of plowland showed between them.
Back to the city Hector sent two heralds now
to bring the lambs at once and summon Priam
while King Agamemnon sent Talthybius off,
heading down to the ships for one more lamb.
The herald obeyed his captain’s orders quickly.
And now a messenger went to white-armed Helen too,
Iris, looking for all the world like Hector’s sister