spears stuck straight in the ground on butt-end spikes
and the bronze points flashing into the distance
like forked lightning flung by Father Zeus.
But the veteran fighter lay there fast asleep,
the cured hide of a field ox spread beneath him,
a lustrous blanket stretched beneath his head ...
The old charioteer moved in and woke him roughly,
dug a heel in his ribs, chiding him to his face,
“Up with you, Diomedes! What, sleep all night?
Haven’t you heard? Trojans hold the high ground,
over the beachhead there, camped against the ships—
only a narrow strip to keep off sudden death.”
So he prodded and Diomedes woke from sleep
with a quick start and burst of winging words:
“A hard man you are, old soldier—hard.
You never give up the good fight, do you?
Where are the younger troopers now we need them?
Why don’t they go wake each king in tum
padding softly up and down through camp?
You, old man, you’d overpower us all!”
And. Nestor the noble driver answered warmly,
“Right you are, my friend, straight to the point.
Sons I have, and they’re hardy, handsome boys,
and comrades too, men aplenty—one of the lot
could light out now and summon up the kings.
But now a crisis has overwhelmed our armies.
Our fate, I tell you, stands on a razor’s edge:
life or death for Achaea, gruesome death at that.
Up with you! Wake quick Little Ajax, Meges too.
You’re so much younger—come, pity an old man.”
And round his back Diomedes slung the hide
of a big tawny lion, swinging down to his heels,
he grasped-a spear and the fighter strode away
and roused those men to leave their beds and march.
And now as they filed among the mustered guard
they found the chief sentries far from sleep—
on the alert, all stationed set with weapons.
Like sheepdogs keeping watch on flocks in folds,
a nervous, bristling watch when the dogs get wind
of a wild beast rampaging down through mountain timber,
crashing toward the pens, and the cries break as he charges,
a din of men and dogs, and their sleep is broken, gone—
and so the welcome sleep was routed from their eyes,
guardsmen keeping the long hard watch that night.
Always turning toward the plain, tense to catch
some sign of the Trojans launching an attack.
The old chariot-driver warmed to the sight
and cheered them on with urgings flying fast:
“Keep it up, my boys, that’s the way to watch!
Not one of you submit to the grip of steep—
you’d give great joy to the men who’d take our lives.”
With that the driver clambered through the trench.
They took the old captain’s lead, the Argive kings
all called to the muster now. And flanking them
Meriones came in haste with Nestor’s handsome son—
the kings had summoned both to share their counsel.
Crossing out over the deep trench they grouped
on open ground, where they chanced to find a sector
free and clear of corpses, in fact the very place
where Hector in all his power had veered and turned away
from cutting Argives down when night closed in.
There they settled, conferring among themselves
till the noble horseman opened with his plan:
“My friends, isn’t there one man among us here,
so sure of himself, his soldier’s nerve and pluck,
he’d infiltrate these overreaching Trojans?
Perhaps he’d seize a straggler among the foe
or catch some rumor floating along their lines.
What plans are they mapping, what maneuvers next?
Are they bent on holding tight by the ships, exposed?—
or heading home to Troy, now they’ve trounced our armies?
If a man could gather that, then make it back unharmed,
why, what glory he’d gain across the whole wide earth
in the eyes of every man—and what a gift he’d win!
All the lords who command the ships of battle,
each and every one will give him a black ewe
suckling a young lamb-no prize of honor like it.
They’ll ask that man to every feast and revel.”
So Nestor proposed. All ranks held their peace
but Diomedes lord of the war cry spoke up briskly:
“Nestor, the mission stirs my fighting blood.
I’ll slip right into enemy lines at once—
these Trojans, camped at our flank.
If another comrade would escort me, though,
there’d be more comfort in it, confidence too.
When two work side-by-side, one or the other
spots the opening first if a kill’s at hand.
When one looks out for himself, alert but alone,
his reach is shorter—his sly moves miss the mark.”
At that a crowd volunteered to go with Diomedes.
The two Aeantes, old campaigners, volunteered,
Meriones volunteered and Nestor’s son leapt up
and Menelaus the famous spearman volunteered
and battle-hardened Odysseus too, to foray
into the Trojan units camped for the night-
Odysseus’ blood was always up for exploit.
But King Agamemnon interceded quickly,
“Diomedes, soldier after my own heart,
pick your comrade now, whomever you want,
the best of the volunteers—how many long to go!
But no false respect. Don’t pass over the better man
and pick the worse. Don’t bow to a soldier’s rank,
an eye to his birth—even if he’s more kingly.”
He suddenly feared for red-haired Menelaus
but Diomedes strong with the war cry answered,
“Is that an order? Pick my own comrade?
Then how could I s up royal Odysseus here?
His heart’s so game, his fighting edge so keen,
the best of us all in every combat mission—
Athena loves the man. With him at my side
we’d go through fire and make it back alive
no one excels the mastermind of battle.”
But much-enduring Odysseus cut him short:
“Not too long on the praise—don’t fault me either.
You’re talking to Argive men who know my record.
Let’s move out. The night is well on its way
and daybreak’s near. The stars go wheeling by,
the full of the dark is gone—two watches down
but the third’s still ours for action.”
On that note
both men harnessed up in the grim gear of war ...
Thrasymedes staunch in combat handed Tydeus’ son
a two-edged sword—he’d left his own at the ship—
a shield too, and over his head he set a helmet,