there in glorious battle, slaughtering Trojans,
the men you break with all your deathless rage.
But I with my courage, my hands, never conquered—
for all their force not all the gods on Olympus heights
could ever turn me back. Ah but the two of you—
long ago the trembling shook your glistening limbs
before you could glimpse the horrid works of war.
I tell you this, and it would have come to pass:
once my lightning had blasted you in your chariot,
you could never have returned to Mount Olympus
where the immortals make their home.”
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? We already know your power,
far too well . . . who can stand against you?
Even so, we pity these Argive spearmen
living out their grim fates, dying in blood.
Yes, we’ll keep clear of the war as you command.
We’ll simply offer the Argives tactics that may save them—
so they won’t all fall beneath your blazing wrath.”
And Zeus who marshals the thunderheads replied,
“Tomorrow at dawn’s your chance, my ox-eyed queen.
Look down then, if you have the taste for it, Hera,
and you will see the towering son of Cronus killing
still more hordes, whole armies of Argive soldiers.
This powerful Hector will never quit the fighting,
not till swift Achilles rises beside the ships
that day they battle against the high sterns,
pinned in the fatal straits
and grappling for the body of Patroclus.
So runs the doom of Zeus.
You and your anger—
rage away! I care nothing for that. Not even
if you go plunging down to the pit of earth and sea
where Cronus and Iapetus make their beds of pain,
where not a ray of the Sun can warm their hearts,
not a breeze, the depths of Tartarus wall them round.
Not if you ventured down as far as the black abyss Itself—
I care nothing for you, you and your snarling anger,
none in the world a meaner bitch than you.“
So he erupted
but the white-armed goddess Hera answered not a word . . .
Now down in the Ocean sank the fiery light of day,
drawing the dark night across the grain-giving earth.
For the men of Troy the day went down against their will
but not the Argives—what a blessing, how they prayed
for the nightfall coming on across their lines.
But again, still bent on glory, Hector mustered
his Trojan cohorts, pulled them back from the ships
toward the river rapids, to wide open ground
where they found a sector free and clear of corpses.
They swung down from their chariots onto earth
to hear what Hector dear to Zeus commanded now.
He clutched a thrusting-lance eleven forearms long;
the bronze tip of the weapon shone before him,
ringed with a golden hoop to grip the shaft.
Leaning on this, the prince addressed his men:
“Hear me, Trojans, Dardans, all our loyal allies!
I had hoped by now, once we destroyed them all—
all the Achaeans and all their hollow ships—
we might turn home to the windy heights of Troy.
But night came on too soon. That’s what saved them,
that alone, they and their ships along the churning surf.
Very well then, let us give way to the dark night,
set out our supper, unyoke our full-maned teams
and pile the fodder down before their hoofs.
Drive cattle out of the city, fat sheep too,
quickly, bring on rations of honeyed, mellow wine
and bread from the halls, and heap the firewood high.
Then all night long till the breaking light of day
we keep the watch fires blazing, hundreds of fires
and the rising glare can leap and hit the skies,
so the long-haired Achaeans stand no chance tonight
to cut and run on the sea’s broad back. Never,
not without a struggle, not at their royal ease
are they going to board those ships! No, no,
let every last man of them lick his wounds—
a memento at home—pierced by arrow or spear
as he vaults aboard his decks. So the next fool
will cringe at the thought of mounting hateful war
against our stallion-breaking Trojans.
Now let heralds
dear to Zeus cry out through the streets of Troy
that boys in their prime and old gray-headed men
must take up posts on the towers built by the gods,
in bivouac round the city. And as for our wives,
each in her own hall must set big fires burning.
The night watch too, it must be kept unbroken,
so no night raiders can slip inside the walls
with our armies camped afield.
That’s our battle-order,
my iron-hearted Trojans, just as I command.
Let the order I issue now stand firm and clear
and the stirring call to arms I sound tomorrow morning,
my stallion-breaking Trojans!
My hopes are rising now—
I pray to Zeus and the great array of deathless gods
that we will whip the Achaeans howling out of Troy
and drive them off to death, those dogs of war
the deadly fates drove here in their black ships!
So now, for the night, we guard our own positions,
but tomorrow at daybreak, armed to the hilt for battle,
waken slashing war against their hollow hulls.
I’ll soon see if the mighty Diomedes rams me
back from the ships and back against our walls
or I kill him with bronze and strip his bloody armor!
Tomorrow Tydeus’ son will learn his own strength—
if he has the spine to stand the onrush of my spear.
In the front ranks he’ll sprawl, I think, torn open,
a rout of his comrades down around their captain
just as the sun goes rising into dawn. If only
I were as sure of immortality, ageless all my days—
and I were prized as they prize Athena and Apollo
as surely as this day will bring the Argives death!“
So Hector urged his armies. The Trojans roared assent.
The fighters loosed their sweating teams from the yokes,
tethered them by the reins, each at his own chariot.
They herded cattle out of the city, fat sheep too,