three hundred head he picked, the herdsmen too.
For wealthy Elis owed my father a heavy debt:
four prizewinning thoroughbreds, chariot and all.
They’d gone to the games, primed to race for the tripod,
but Augeas the warlord commandeered them on the spot
and sent the driver packing, sick for his team.
So now old Neleus, still enraged at it all—
the threats to his man, the naked treachery—
helped himself to a priceless treasure trove
but gave the rest to his people to divide,
so none would go deprived of his fair share.
But just as we were parceling out the plunder
and offering victims to the gods around the city,
right on the third day they came, the Epeans massed
in a swarm of men and plunging battle-stallions struck
at the border, full force—and square in their midst
the two Moliones armed to the hilt, and still boys,
not quite masters yet in the ways of combat.
Now then,
there’s a frontier fortress, Thryoëssa perched on cliffs,
far off above the Alpheus, at the edge of sandy Pylos.
The Epeans ringed that fort, keen to raze its walls,
but once their troops had swept the entire plain,
down Athena rushed to us in the night, a herald
down from Olympus crying out, ‘To arms! to arms!’
Nor did Pallas muster a slow, unwilling army
there in Pylos, all of us spoiling for a fight.
But Neleus would not let me arm for action—
he’d hidden away my horses,
thought his boy still green at the work of war.
So I had to reach the front lines on foot
but I shone among our horsemen all the same—
that’s how Athena called the turns of battle.
Listen. There is a river, the Minyeos
emptying into the sea beside Arene’s walls,
and there we waited for Goddess Dawn to rise,
the Pylian horse in lines while squads of infantry
came streaming up behind. Then, from that point on,
harnessed in battle-arrttor, moving at forced march
our army reached the Alpheus’ holy ford at noon.
There we slaughtered fine victims to mighty Zeus,
a bull to Alpheus River, a bull to lord Poseidon
and an unyoked cow to blazing-eyed Athena.
And then through camp we took our evening meal
by rank and file, and caught what sleep we could,
each in his gear along the river rapids.
And all the while
those vaunting Epeans were closing round the fortress,
burning to tear it down. But before they got the chance
a great work of the War-god flashed before their eyes!
Soon as the sun came up in flames above the earth
we joined battle, lifting a prayer to Zeus and Pallas.
And just as our two opposing armies clashed
I was the first to kill a man and seize his team,
the spearman Mulius, son-in-law to their king
and wed to his eldest daughter, blond Agamede,
skilled with as many drugs as the wide world grows.
Just as he lunged I speared the man with a bronze lance
and Mulius pitched in the dust as I, I swung aboard his car
and I took my place in our front ranks of champions.
How those hot-blooded Epeans scattered in terror!
Scuttling left and right when they saw him down,
their chariot captain who’d outfought them all.
Now I charged their lines like a black tornado,
I captured fifty chariots there, and each time
two men bit the dust, crushed beneath my spear.
Now I would have destroyed the young Moliones,
Actor’s sons—if their real father, Poseidon,
lord god of the open sea who shakes the earth,
had not snatched them out of the fighting then,
shrouded them round in clouds.
But now Zeus gave our Pylians stunning triumph!
Pushing Epeans north on the spreading plain we went,
killing their troops, gathering up their burnished gear,
far as Buprasion rich in wheat our chariots rolled,
all the way to Olenian Rock and the high ground
they call Alesion Hill—but there, at last,
Pallas Athena turned our forces back.
I killed my last man there, I left him dead.
There our Achaeans swung round from Buprasion,
heading their high-strung horses back to Pylos
where all gave glory to Zeus among the gods
and among all men to Nestor.
So, such was I
in the ranks of men ... or was it all a dream?
This Achilles—
he’ll reap the rewards of that great courage of his
alone, I tell you—weep his heart out far too late,
when our troops are dead and gone.
My friend, remember your father’s last commands?
That day he sent you out of Phthia to Agamemnon.
We were both there inside, I and Prince Odysseus
heard it all in the halls, all your father told you.
We’d come to the strong and storied house of Peleus,
out for recruits across Achaea’s good green land.
There inside we found the old soldier Menoetius,
found you too, and Achilles close beside you,
and the old horseman Peleus tending, burning
the fat thighs of an ox to thundering Zeus,
deep in the walled enclosure of his court.
He was lifting a golden cup and pouring wine,
glistening wine to go with the glowing victim.
You two were busy over the carcass, carving meat
when we both appeared and stood at the broad doors.
Achilles sprang to his feet, he seemed startled,
clasped the two of us by the hand and led us in—
he pressed us to take a seat and set before us
sumptuous stranger’s fare, the stranger’s right.
And once we’d had our fill of food and drink,
I led off with our plan, inviting the two of you
to come campaign with us. How willing you were!
And your fathers filled your ears with marching orders.
The old horseman Peleus urging his son Achilles,
‘Now always be the best, my boy, the bravest,
and hold your head up high above the others.’
And Actor’s son Menoetius urging you, ‘My child,
Achilles is nobler than you with his immortal blood
but you are older. He has more power than you, by far,
but give him sound advice, guide him, even in battle.
Achilles will listen to you—for his own good.’
So the old man told you. You’ve forgotten.
But even now,
late as it is, you could tell your Achilles all this
and your fiery friend might listen. Who knows?
With a god’s help you just might rouse him now,
bring his fighting spirit round at last.