so glorious Ajax swept the field, routing Trojans,
shattering teams and spearmen in his onslaught.
Nor had Hector once got wind of the rampage ...
far off on the left flank of the whole campaign
he fought his way, powering past Scamander’s banks
where the heads of fighters fell in biggest numbers
and grim incessant war cries rose around tall Nestor
and battle-hard Idomeneus. Hector amidst them now
engaged them with a vengeance, doing bloody work
with lances flung and a master’s horsemanship,
destroying young battalions. Still the Achaeans
never would have yielded before the prince’s charge
if Paris the lord of lovely fair-haired Helen
had not put a stop to Machaon’s gallant fighting,
striking the healer squarely with an arrow
triple-flanged that gouged his right shoulder.
Achaeans breathing fury feared for Machaon no.w:
what if the tide turned and Trojans killed the healer?
Idomeneus suddenly called to Nestor, “Pride of Achaeal
Quick, mount your chariot, mount Machaon beside you—
lash your team to the warships, fast, full gallop!
A man who can cut out shafts and dress our wounds—
a good healer is worth a troop of other men.”
Nestor the noble charioteer did not resist.
He mounted his car at once as Asclepius’ son,
Machaon bom of the famous healer swung aboard.
He lashed the team and on they flew to the ships,
holding nothing back—that’s where their spirits
drove them on to go.
But riding on with Hector
Cebriones saw the Trojan rout and shouted, “Hector!
Look at us here, engaging Argives with a vengeance,
true, but off on the fringe of brutal all-out war
while our central force is routed pell-mell,
men and chariots flung against each other.
Giant Ajax drives them—I recognize the man,
that wall of a buckler slung around his shoulders.
Hurry, head our chariot right where the fighting’s thickest,
there—horse and infantry hurling into the slaughter,
hacking each other down, terrific war cries rising!”
With that, Cebriones flogged their sleek team
and leaping under the whistling, crackling whip
they sped the careering car into both milling armies,
trampling shields and corpses, axle under the chariot splashed
with blood, blood on the handrails sweeping round the car,
sprays of blood shooting up from the stallions’ hoofs
and churning, whirling rims. And Hector straining
to wade into the press and panicked ruck of men,
charge them, break them down—he flung terror
and stark disaster square in the Argive lines,
never pausing, giving his spear no rest.
Hector kept on ranging, battling ranks on ranks,
slashing his spear and sword and flinging heavy rocks
but he stayed clear of attacking Ajax man-to-man.
But Father Zeus on the heights forced Ajax to retreat.
He stood there a moment, stunned,
then swinging his seven-ply oxhide shield behind him,
drew back in caution, throwing a fast glance
at his own Achaean troops like a trapped beast,
pivoting, backpedaling, step by short step ...
Like a tawny lion when hounds and country field hands
drive him out of their steadings filled with cattle—
they’ll never let him tear the rich fat from the oxen,
all night long they stand guard but the lion craves meat,
he lunges in and in but his charges gain him nothing,
thick-and-fast from their hardy arms the javelins
rain down in his face, and waves of blazing torches—
these the big cat fears, balking for all his rage,
and at dawn he slinks away, his spirits dashed.
So Ajax slowly drew back from the Trojans,
spirits dashed, and much against his will,
fearing the worst for Achaea’s waiting ships.
Like a stubborn ass some boys lead down a road ...
stick after stick they’ve cracked across his back
but he’s too much for them now, he rambles into a field
to ravage standing crops. They keep beating his ribs,
splintering sticks—their struggle child’s play
till with one final shove they drive him off
but not before he’s had his fill of feed.
So with Telamon’s son Great Ajax then—
vaunting Trojans and all their far-flung allies
kept on stabbing his shield, full center, no letup.
And now the giant fighter would summon up his fury,
wheeling on them again, beating off platoons
of the stallion-breaking Trojans—and now again
he’d swerve around in flight. But he blocked them all
from hacking passage through to the fast trim ships
as Ajax all alone, battling on mid-field between
Achaean and Trojan lines, would stand and fight.
Some spears that flew from the Trojans’ hardy arms,
hurtling forward, stuck fast in his huge shield
but showers of others, cut short
halfway before they could graze his gleaming skin,
stuck in the ground,.still lusting to sink in flesh.
But Euaemon’s shining son Eurypylus saw him
overwhelmed by the Trojans’ dense barrage of spears.
Up to his side he dashed and flanked Great Ajax tight,
let fly with a spear and the glinting spearpoint hit
the son of Phausias, Apisaon captain of armies,
square in the liver, up under the midriff—
his knees went limp as Eurypylus rushed in,
starting to rip the armor off his shoulders.
But now Paris spotted him stripping Apisaon,
drew his bow at Eurypylus, fast—he shot well
and the arrow struck him full in the right thigh
but the shaft snapped, the thigh weighed down with pain.
Eurypylus staggered back to his massing comrades,
dodging death, and shouted a stark piercing cry:
“Friends—lords of the Argives, all our captains!
Come, wheel round—stand firm!
Beat the merciless day of death from Ajax,
overpowered, look, by a pelting rain of spears.
He can’t escape, I tell you, not this wrenching battle.
Stand up to them—ring Great Ajax, Telamon’s son.”
So wounded Eurypylus pleaded, friends around him
crowding, bracing shields against their shoulders,
spears brandished high
and back to the bulking front came giant Ajax now.
The fighter turned on his heels and took his stand,
once he reached that wedge of Argive comrades.
So on they fought like a mass of swirling fire
as Neleus’ foaming mares bore Nestor clear of battle