that you were the better man than fighting Menelaus
in power, arm and spear! So why not go back now,
hurl your challenge at Menelaus dear to Ares,
fight it out together, man-to-man again?
Wait,
take my advice and call a halt right here:
no more battling with fiery-haired Menelaus,
pitting strength against strength in single combat—
madness. He just might impale you on his spear!“
But Paris replied at once to Helen’s challenge:
“No more, dear one—don’t rake me with your taunts,
myself and all my courage. This time, true,
Menelaus has won the day, thanks to Athena.
I’ll bring him down tomorrow.
Even we have gods who battle on our side.
But come—
let’s go to bed, let’s lose ourselves in love!
Never has longing for you overwhelmed me so,
no, not even then, I tell you, that first time
when I swept you up from the lovely hills of Lacedaemon,
sailed you off and away in the racing deep-sea ships
and we went and locked in love on Rocky Island ...
That was nothing to how I hunger for you now—
irresistible longing lays me low!“
He led the way to bed. His wife went with him.
And now, while the two made love in the large carved bed,
Menelaus stalked like a wild beast, up and down the lines—
where could he catch a glimpse of magnificent Paris?
Not a single Trojan, none of their famous allies
could point out Paris to battle-hungry Menelaus.
Not that they would hide him out of friendship,
even if someone saw him—
all of them hated him like death, black death.
But marshal Agamemnon called out to the armies,
“Hear me now, you Trojans, Dardans, Trojan allies!
Clearly victory goes to Menelaus dear to Ares.
You must surrender Helen and all her treasure with her.
At once—and pay us reparations fair and fitting,
a price to inspire generations still to come!”
So Atrides demanded. His armies roared assent.
BOOK FOUR
The Truce Erupts in War
Now aloft by the side of Zeus the gods sat in council,
conferring across Olympus’ golden floor as noble Hebe
poured them rounds of nectar. They lifted golden beakers,
pledging each other warmly, gazing down on Troy ...
But abruptly Zeus was set on infuriating Hera,
courting her fire with cunning, mocking taunts: “So,
those two goddesses there are Menelaus’ best defense,
Hera of Argos, Boeotian Athena, guard of armies.
Look at them—sitting apart, watching the dueling.
So they take their pleasure. But Aphrodite here
with her everlasting laughter always stands by Paris
and drives the deadly spirits from her man. Why,
just now she plucked him away, she saved his life
when he thought his end had come. Nevertheless—
clearly victory goes to Menelaus dear to Ares.
So now we plan how the war will all work out:
do we rouse the pain and grisly fighting once again
or hand down pacts of peace between both armies?
Ah if only it might prove well and good to all,
to every immortal god, men might still live on
in royal Priam’s citadel. And Helen of Argos?
Menelaus just might lead her home again.”
So he mocked
as Athena and Queen Hera muttered between themselves,
huddled together, plotting Troy’s destruction.
True, Athena held her peace and said nothing ...
smoldering at the Father, seized with wild resentment.
But Hera could hold the anger in her breast no longer,
suddenly bursting out, “Dread majesty, son of Cronus,
what are you saying? How can you think of making
all my labor worthless, all gone for nothing?
Mortal labor—the sweat I poured, my horses panting,
spent from launching Achaea’s armies, heaping pains
on Priam and Priam’s sons.
Do as you please—
but none of the deathless gods will ever praise you.“
Rising in anger, Zeus who drives the storm clouds
thundered, “Insatiable Hera! How great are the pains
that Priam and Priam’s sons have heaped on you
that you rage on, relentless, forever bent on razing
the well-built heights of Troy? Only if you could breach
their gates and their long walls and devour Priam
and Priam’s sons and the Trojan armies raw—
then you just might cure your rage at last.
Well, do as you please. But in days to come
don’t let this quarrel breed some towering clash
between us both, pitting you and me in conflict.
One more thing—take it to heart, I urge you.
Whenever I am bent on tearing down some city
filled with men you love—to please myself—
never attempt to thwart my fury, Hera,
give me my way. For I, I gave you this,
all of my own free will but hardly willing. No,
of all the cities under the sun and starry skies,
wherever men who walk the earth have dwelled,
I honor sacred Ilium most with my immortal heart:
Priam and men of Priam who hurls the strong ash spear.
Never once did my altar lack its share of victims,
winecups tipped and the deep smoky savor. These,
these are the gifts we claim—they are our rights.”
And Hera the Queen, her eyes wide, answered,
“Excellent! The three cities that I love best of all
are Argos and Sparta, Mycenae with streets as broad as Troy’s.
Raze them—whenever they stir the hatred in your heart.
My cities ... I will never rise in their defense,
not against you—I’d never grudge your pleasure.
What if I did protest, forbid you to raze their walls?
What good would protest do? You are far stronger than I.
Still, you must not make my labor come to nothing.
I am a god too. My descent the same as yours—
crooked-minded Cronus fathered me as well,
the first of all his daughters, first both ways:
both by birth and since I am called your consort
and you in turn rule all the immortal gods.
So come, let us yield to each other now
on this one point, I to you and you to me,
and the other deathless powers will fall in line.
But quickly, order Athena down to battle now,
into the killing-ground of Trojans and Achaeans—
and see that the Trojans break the sworn truce first