bull’s-hide, bare of ridge and crest, a skullcap,
so it’s called, and made to protect the heads
of tough young-blooded fighters.
Meriones gave Odysseus bow, quiver and sword
and over his head he set a helmet made of leather.
Inside it was crisscrossed taut with many thongs,
outside the gleaming teeth of a white-tusked boar
ran round and round in rows stitched neat and tight—
a master craftsman’s work, the cap in its center
padded soft with felt. The Wolf Himself Autolycus
lifted that splendid headgear out of Eleon once,
he stole it from Ormenus’ son Amyntor years ago,
breaching his sturdy palace walls one night
then passed it on to Amphidamas, Cythera-born,
Scandia-bound. Amphidamas gave it to Molus,
a guest-gift once that Molus gave Meriones
his son to wear in battle. And now it encased
Odysseus’ head, snug around his brows.
And so,
both harnessed up in the grim gear of war,
the two men moved out, leaving behind them
all the captains clustered on the spot.
Athena winged a heron close to their path
and veering right. Neither man could see it,
scanning the dark night, they only heard its cry.
Glad for the lucky sign, Odysseus prayed to Pallas,
“Hear me, daughter of Zeus whose shield is thunder!
Standing by me always, in every combat mission
no maneuver of mine slips by you—now, again,
give me your best support, Athena, comrade!
Grant our return in glory back to the warships
once we’ve done some feat that brings the Trojans pain!”
Next Diomedes lord of the war cry prayed aloud,
“Hear me too, daughter of Zeus, tireless goddess!
Be with me now, just as you went with father,
veteran Tydeus, into Thebes that day
he ran ahead of the Argives with his message.
He left his armored men along the Asopus banks
and carried a peaceful word to Theban cohorts
crowded in their halls. But turning back he bent
to some grand and grisly work with you, Goddess,
and you stood by him then, a steadfast ally.
So come, stand by me now, protect me now!
I will make you a sacrifice, a yearling heifer
broad in the brow, unbroken, never yoked by men.
I’ll offer it up to you-I’ll sheathe its horns in gold!”
Their prayers rose and Pallas Athena heard them.
Once they’d appealed to Zeus’s mighty daughter,
into the black night they went like two lions
stalking through the carnage and the corpses,
through piles of armor and black pools of blood.
But no sleep for the headstrong Trojans either.
Hector would not permit it. He summoned all his chiefs
to a council of war, all Trojan lords and captains.
Mustering them he launched his own crafty plan:
“Who will undertake a mission and bring it off
for a princely gift? A prize to match the exploit!
I’ll give him a chariot, two horses with strong necks,
the best of the breeds beside Achaea’s fast ships.
Whoever will dare—what glory he can win—
a night patrol by the ships to learn at once
if the fleet’s still guarded as before or now,
battered down at our hands, huddling together,
they plan a quick escape, their morale too low
to mount the watch tonight-bone-weary from battle.”
So Hector proposed. All ranks held their peace.
But there was a man among the troops, one Dolon,
a son of the sacred Trojan herald Eumedes.
He was rich in bronze, rich in bars of gold,
no feast for the eyes but lightning on his feet
and an only son in the midst of five sisters.
This one volunteered among the Trojans:
“Hector, the mission stirs my fighting blood—
I’ll reconnoiter the ships and gather all I can.
Come, raise that scepter and swear you’ll give me
the battle-team and the burnished brazen car
that carry great Achilles—I will be your spy.
And no mean scout, I’ll never let you down.
I’ll infiltrate their entire army, I will,
all the way till I reach the ship of Agamemnon!
That’s where the captains must be mapping tactics now,
whether they’ll break and run or stand and fight.”
How he bragged and Hector, grasping his scepter,
swore a binding oath: “Now Zeus my witness,
thundering lord of Hera—no other Trojan fighter
will ride behind that team, none but you, I swear—
they will be your glory all your life to come!”
So Hector vowed—with an oath he swore in vain
but it spurred the man to action. Dolon leapt to it,
he quickly slung a reflex bow on his back,
over it threw the pelt of a gray wolf
and set on his head a cap of weasel skin
and taking a sharp spear, moved out from camp,
heading toward the fleet—but he was never to come back
from the enemy’s beaked ships, bringing Hector news.
Putting the mass of horse and men behind him
Dolon picked up speed, hot for action now,
but keen as a god Odysseus saw him coming
and alerted Diomedes: “Who is this?
A man heading out of the Trojan camp!
Why? I can’t be sure—to spy on our ships
or loot the fallen, one of the fighters’ corpses?
Let him get past us first, into the clear a bit,
then rush him and overtake him double-quick!
If he outruns us, crowd him against the ships,
cut him off from his lines, harry him with your spear
and never stop—so he can’t bolt back to Troy.”
No more words. Swerving off the trail
they both lay facedown with the corpses now
as Dolon sped by at a dead run, the fool.
Soon as he got a furlong’s lead ahead,
the plowing-range of a good team of mules—
faster than draft oxen dragging a bolted plow
through deep fallow ground—the two raced after
and Dolon, hearing their tread, froze stock-still,
his heart leaping—here were friends, yes,
fellow Trojans coming to turn him back,
yes, Hector had just called off the mission!
But soon as they were a spear-cast off or less
he saw them—enemies—
quick as a flash he sprang,
fleeing for dear life- they sprang in pursuit
as a pair of rip-tooth hounds
bred for the hunt and flushing fawn or hare
through a woody glen keep closing for the kill,
nonstop and the prey goes screaming on ahead—