Medusa Mythology: Iliad Sections

Book 4

BkIV:1-67 Hera prolongs the War

The gods, meanwhile, were gathered with Zeus on the golden council-floor, drinking toasts of nectar from gleaming cups that lovely Hebe filled while they gazed down on Troy.

Cronos’ son was swift to taunt Hera with mocking words, and said slyly: ‘Menelaus has two goddesses to aid him, Hera of Argos and Alalcomenean Athene. But while they sit here only looking on, laughter-loving Aphrodite stands by him and shields him from fate. Now she saves him when he thought to die. Yet surely Menelaus, beloved of Ares, won the duel, so let us decide what to do; whether to stir harsh war and wake the noise of battle, or seal a pact of friendship between these foes. If that were good and pleasing to all, king Priam’s city might stand and Menelaus take back Argive Helen.’

Athene and Hera murmured at his words, where they sat together plotting disaster for Troy. Athene, it’s true, bit her tongue, and despite the fierce fury gripping her, and anger at Father Zeus, stayed silent, but Hera could not contain herself: ‘What’s this you say, dread son of Cronos? Will you render my efforts null and void, all the toil and sweat I’ve suffered, wearing out my horses, gathering an army to defeat Priam and his sons? Do as you will, but be clear the rest of us disagree.’

Zeus, the Cloud-Gatherer was troubled: ‘My Queen, how have Priam and his sons harmed you that you work so fervently to sack the high citadel of Ilium? Will nothing sate your anger but to shatter the gates and the great walls, and consume King Priam, his sons, and nation? Well then, do as you wish, so it ceases to be a source of strife between us. But I tell you this, and keep it well in mind, whenever I choose in my zeal to sack some city dear to you, keep clear of my wrath, and let me have my way, as I agree now to yield to you, though my heart wills otherwise. For of all the cities beneath the sun and stars, that mortal men have made to dwell in, sacred Troy is dearest to me, as are Priam and his people of the strong ashen spear. Never at their feasts did my altar lack its share of wine and burnt flesh, those offerings that are the gods’ privilege.’

And Hera, the ox-eyed heavenly queen replied: ‘There are three cities dearest to me; Argos, Sparta and broad-paved Mycenae; if they rouse your hatred, ruin them. I’ll not shield them, nor hold a grudge. And if I did, you are the stronger: I would achieve nothing by trying. Yet my efforts must not be mocked, for I too am divine and born of the same stock as you, since Cronos, crooked in counsel, begot me, the most honoured of all his daughters, twice so being the eldest and your wife, you who are king of all the gods. Yet let us bow to each other in this, I to you, and you to me, and all the other deathless gods will follow. Command Athene to visit the Greek and Trojan battle lines, and make sure the Trojans are first to break the truce by attacking the triumphant Greeks.’

BkIV:68-126 Athene stirs Pandarus to action

At this, the father of men and gods obeyed, swiftly repeating her words, rousing the eager Athene, who darted from the peak of Olympus, like a glistening meteor shedding the sparks that Zeus sends as a warning to sailors or to some great army. She flew to Earth, and landed in their midst, awing those who saw, both the bronze-greaved Greeks and the Trojans, the horse-tamers; so that men turned to each other saying: ‘Does Zeus mean harsh war and the call to battle, or a pact of friendship between foes, for he dispenses peace and war.’

While they murmured, she entered the Trojan ranks, disguised as the mighty spearman Laodocus, Antenor’s son, searching for godlike Pandarus. She found that great and peerless son of Lycaon, where he stood surrounded by the strong force of warriors who had followed him from the banks of Aesepus. Approaching, she spoke her winged words: ‘Would you hear my advice, warlike son of Lycaon? Aim a swift arrow at Menelaus, win glory and renown among the Trojans, and please Prince Paris most of all. He would be first to load you with fine gifts if he saw Menelaus, Atreus’ brave son, felled by your shaft and laid on the funeral pyre. Come, shoot at glorious Menelaus, and vow to Lycian Apollo, lord of the bow, a great sacrifice of firstling lambs when you are home again in holy Zeleia.’

So she spoke, and swayed his foolish heart. Swiftly he took his bow made from the polished horns of a wild ibex, shot beneath the chest as it came from behind a rock where he lay in wait, so that it tumbled backward into a cleft. The horns of sixteen hands the artisan had skilfully joined together, carefully smoothing the bow and tipping it with gold. Now he set it firmly against the ground, and strung it, while his noble friends hid him with their shields, lest the Greeks should rise to their feet before Menelaus could be hit. Then he opened his quiver and took a new-feathered arrow, darkly freighted with pain, swiftly fitted the bitter shaft to the string, and vowed to Lycian Apollo, lord of the bow, a great sacrifice of firstling lambs once he was home again in holy Zeleia. Gripping the notched arrow and the ox-gut string he drew it back to his chest till the iron point was against the bow, and bending the great bow in a curve, it twanged, the string sang out, and the keen arrow leapt, eager to wing its way towards the foe.

Book 5

BkV:703-766 Hera and Athene join the battle

Who were the first and last to be slain by Hector, Priam’s son, and bronze-clad Ares? Godlike Teuthras, next horse-tamer Orestes, then Trechus Aetolian spearman, Oenemaus, and Helenus, son of Oenops, last Oresbius of the glittering belt, from Hyle on the shores of Lake Cephisis where he garnered riches among the Boeotians in that fertile land.

And when the goddess, white-armed Hera saw the slaughter of Argives in mortal combat, she swiftly spoke winged words to Athene: ‘Oh, child of aegis-bearing Zeus, Atrytone, if we let savage Ares rage like this, what use our pledge to Menelaus that he’d raze the high walls of Troy before returning home? Come let us too think of wild bravery.’

Bright-eyed Athene hastened to obey her words. Hera, the great goddess, daughter of Cronos, ran to harness her steeds with gold, while Hebe swiftly fitted the eight-spoked wheels of bronze on the chariot’s iron axle. The felloes of these are imperishable gold: the tires are bronze, a wonder to see; while the whirling hubs are silver. The platform is woven with straps of silver and gold, with a double rail, and a long silver pole to which she fastened the golden yoke and breast-straps. Then Hera, eager for war’s alarums, led her swift horses under the yoke.

Meanwhile Athene, daughter of aegis-bearing Zeus, shed her soft richly embroidered robe the work of her own two hands, at her Father’s threshold, dressed herself in the tunic of Zeus the Cloud-Driver, and donned her armour ready for sad war. She threw the dreadful tasselled aegis about her shoulders, crowned at every point with terror, violence and strife within, adorned with the monstrous image of the Gorgon’s head, grim and awful emblem of aegis-bearing Zeus. She set on her head the golden helmet with its four cones and double-crest, adorned with warriors of a hundred cities. Then she set foot on the fiery chariot, grasped her huge, strong, weighty spear, with which this daughter of a mighty Father shatters the ranks in anger.

At once, Hera whipped up the horses, and Heaven’s Gates of themselves groaned open on their hinges, gates that the Hours guard, the wardens of wide heaven and Olympus, to veil or reveal as they see fit. Through the gates they drove their steady horses, and found the Son of Cronos sitting alone on the topmost peak of many-ridged Olympus. There white-armed Hera reined in the horses, and questioned lofty Zeus: ‘Father are you not seething with indignation at Ares for this violence that has laid a vast army of noble Achaeans low, with reckless abandon, to my great sorrow? Cyprian Aphrodite, and Apollo, Lord of the Silver Bow, are delighted at loosing this lawless savage. Will you be angry, Father Zeus, if I smite Ares hard and drive him from the field?’

‘Then rouse Athene, ever first to chase the spoils, and let her face him,’ Zeus the Cloud-Gatherer replied. ‘She, above all, is wont to cause him pain.’

Bk V:767-845 Athene fights alongside Diomedes

The goddess, white-armed Hera, sped to obey his order, flicking the horses with her whip, and the willing pair set a course between earth and the starry heavens. Those thundering horses of the gods cover the distance at one bound that a man can see through the distant haze, gazing from a watchtower over the wine-dark deep. They soon reached Troy, land of the two rivers, and there at the meeting of Simoïs and Scamander, the white-armed goddess Hera reined in her horses, and loosed them from the yoke. With a deep mist she veiled them, while Simoïs made ambrosia spring up for them to graze. Then the two goddesses strutted forward, like bold pigeons, in their eagerness to aid the Argive army.

When they had reached the place where a picked force of Achaeans, ranged like ravenous lions or formidable wild boars, had gathered round mighty Diomedes, tamer of horses, the goddess, white-armed Hera halted and called aloud, imitating bronze-voiced Stentor’s great shout louder than fifty men: ‘Shame on you, Greeks, fine to view, but contemptible within! When noble Achilles led the fight no Trojan dared to leave the Dardanian Gates, they feared his great spear so much, but now far from their city they fight by your hollow ships.’

With these words she roused the courage and daring in every man. Meanwhile bright-eyed Athene seeing Tydeus’ son, beside his horses and chariot, airing the arrow-wound Pandarus dealt, ran swiftly to his side. Beneath the broad shoulder-strap of his round shield the sweat was irking him, and he lifted the strap to wipe away the dark blood beneath his weakened arm. The goddess laid her hand on the chariot yoke saying: ‘Tydeus’ son is hardly like his father. Small though he was he was a fighter. Even when I wanted him not to fight or make a row, when he strode alone into the crowd of Cadmeians at Thebes, bearing them a message, even when I’d told him to sit and banquet quietly in their hall, he with his great heart had to challenge the Cadmeian youth, and beat them easily, as ever, though with my help. But you, I stand by your side, I shield you from harm, ready to urge you on against the Trojans, yet you seem too weary to attack again, or are robbed of your strength by fear. If that is so, then you are no child of Tydeus, Oeneus’ warlike son!’

‘I know you, daughter of aegis-bearing Zeus,’ answered mighty Diomedes, ‘so I will speak freely hiding nothing. Neither blind fear nor weariness possess me, I am merely obeying your command not to fight with the gods face to face, unless Aphrodite daughter of Zeus enters the fray, when I might wound her with my keen blade. It is Ares I see controlling the field of war, so I have retreated and told the rest of the Argives to gather here round me.’

‘Dearest Diomedes, true son of Tydeus,’ bright-eyed Athene replied, ‘have no fear of Ares now or any of the immortals, and I will be here beside you to defend you. Drive your swift steeds towards him, and strike him at close range. Be not in awe of Ares raging in his fury, treacherous plague that he is, who promised Hera and I just now he would aid the Greeks against the Trojans, but now forgets what he swore and fights for Troy.’

She reached out, as she spoke, and grasping Sthenelus hustled him from the chariot, he being quick to go, she mounting beside Diomedes, eager herself for battle. The beech-wood axle groaned beneath its burden, weighed down by the mighty warrior and the fearsome goddess. Pallas Athene grasped the reins, and whipped the swift horses towards Ares, as he stripped the armour from vast Periphas, noble son of Ochesius, and pride of the Aetolians. Spattered with blood he despoiled the corpse, while Athene donned Hades’ helmet of invisibility, to hide her identity from the mighty god.

BkV:846-909 Diomedes wounds Ares

But the moment Ares, bane of the living, glimpsed Diomedes, he left vast Periphas where he had killed him, and headed straight for the horse-tamer. When they were at close quarters, Ares thrust with his bronze spear over the reins and yoke, at Diomedes, eager to strike him dead: but bright-eyed Athene caught the spear in her hand, and drove it above the chariot to spend its force in the air. Now, Diomedes, of the loud war-cry, drove his bronze-spear at Ares, and Pallas Athene drove it home into the lower belly, where he wore a defensive apron. There the thrust landed, tearing the flesh, and Diomedes wrenched it free again. Then brazen Ares bellowed as loud as ten thousand warriors shout in battle, when they meet in the war-god’s shadow. The Greeks and Trojans trembled with fear at insatiable Ares’ cry.

Like the dark column that whirls from the cloud when a tornado forms in heated air, so brazen Ares seemed to Diomedes, as he sped through the sky to high heaven. Swiftly he reached the gods’ home on steep Olympus, and sat down at Zeus’ side, in anguish. Ares showed Zeus the divine ichor flowing from the wound, and spoke in a plaintive voice: ‘Father Zeus, does it not stir your indignation to see all this violence? We gods always suffer cruelly at each other’s hands when we show mortals favour. We are all at odds with you because you cursed the world with that mad daughter of yours who is ever bent on lawlessness. The rest of us Olympians obey you and bow to you, but you say and do nothing to stop her antics, you condone them rather, simply because this girl who wreaks havoc is yours. Now she spurs on foolhardy Diomedes to vent his anger on us immortals. First in a close encounter he wounded Aphrodite on the wrist then he ran at me like a very demon. Quick on my feet, I sprang away, or I would have suffered there for ages among the grisly dead, or been crippled by his spear-blows.

Zeus, the Cloud-gatherer, turned on him angrily: ‘Don’t come here to whine, you backslider. Strife, conflict, and war are all you care for, so much so that I loathe you more than all the other Olympians. You share your mother Hera’s intolerable, headstrong spirit; she too will scarcely obey my word. I suspect she prompted this and caused your wound. Yet as my offspring I’ll not let you suffer, since it was to me she bore you, though if any other god had fathered so violent a son, you’d have been ranked below the sons of Uranus, long ago.’

So saying, he ordered Paeon to heal him, by spreading soothing ointment on the wound, for Ares was no mortal. He healed the fierce god as swiftly as fig-juice thickens milk that curdles when stirred. Then Hebe bathed him, and dressed him in fine clothes, and he sat down again by Zeus’ side, in all his former glory.

Meanwhile Hera of Argos and Alalcomenean Athene returned to great Zeus’ palace, having forced Ares, bane of the living, to end his murderous progress.

Book 8

BkVIII:1-52 Zeus warns the gods not to join in the battle

As Dawn prepared to spread her saffron mantle over the land, Zeus the Thunderer gathered the gods to the highest peak of many-ridged Olympus, and spoke to them while all listened: ‘Hear me, gods and goddesses, while I say what my heart prompts. Let none of you try to defy me: all must assent, so I may swiftly achieve my aim. Whomever I find inclined to help the Greeks or Trojans, shall suffer the lightning stroke and be sent back ignominiously to Olympus, or be seized and hurled into dark Tartarus, into the furthest, deepest gulf beneath the earth, with iron gates and threshold of bronze, as far below Hades as earth is from heaven. Then you will see how much mightier I am than you immortals. Go on: attempt it, and see. If you tied a chain of gold to the sky, and all of you, gods and goddesses, took hold, you could not drag Zeus the High Counsellor to earth with all your efforts. But if I determined to pull with a will, I could haul up land and sea then loop the chain round a peak of Olympus, and leave them dangling in space. By that much am I greater than gods and men.’

They all fell silent as he spoke, astonished by the force of his words. But at last a goddess, bright-eyed Athene, answered: ‘Our Father, son of Cronos, Lord over all, we all know your irresistible power, yet none the less we pity the Greek spearmen, doomed to die and fulfil their sad fate. We will hold back from battle, as you order; but we will still offer them our good advice, so they may not all suffer your wrath.’

Then Zeus the Cloud-gatherer smiled and said: ‘Tritogeneia, dear child, be reassured. I did not mean to threaten you, I shall be kind.’

With this, he harnessed his bronze-hoofed horses to his chariot, swift of flight they were with flowing manes of gold, and clothed in gold himself he grasped a fine golden whip, mounted the chariot, and started the team with a flick of his whip. The willing pair flew off on a course midway between earth and the starry heavens. To Ida he came with her many springs, mother of wild creatures, and to Gargarus the peak, site of his precinct and its fragrant altar. There the father of men and gods reined in his horses, loosed them, and cloaked them with deep mist, then seated himself on the heights, exulting in his glory, looking down on the city of Troy and the Greek ships.

BkVIII:335-396 Hera and Athene arm for battle

Now Olympian Zeus gave the Trojans fresh heart, and with Hector at their head, exulting in his strength, they drove the Achaeans straight towards the deep ditch. Like a hound in full cry chasing lion or wild boar, snapping at flank and buttock, intent on every move, so Hector pressed the long-haired Achaeans, killing the stragglers as they fled in rout. When the Greeks had passed the ditch and palisade, leaving many dead at the Trojans’ hands, they halted by the ships, calling to one another, lifting their arms to the gods, and praying fervently. But there rode Hector, his eyes like those of some Gorgon or of Ares, bane of mortals, wheeling his long-maned horses to and fro.

White-armed Hera felt pity at the sight, and spoke at once to Athene: ‘Ah, child of aegis-bearing Zeus, shall we not make one last effort to save the Greeks from destruction? They fill the cup of fate with their blood, falling before a single man’s onslaught, this Hector, son of Priam, who deals great harm, raging beyond my endurance.’

Bright-eyed Athene answered: ‘I too wish to see him, strength and courage drained, slain by the Argives on his native soil, but my father’s mind is full of evil: harsh and perverse as ever, he thwarts my desires. He forgets how I rescued Heracles, his son, foiled time and again by the tasks Eurystheus set him. He had only to moan to Heaven, and Zeus would send me to his aid. If my heart in its wisdom had foreseen this, when Eurystheus sent him down to the House of Hades, Closer of the Gate, to fetch the Hound of Hell from Erebus, Heracles would never have re-passed the falls of Styx. But now Zeus slights me, and fulfils Thetis’ wish. She kissed his knees, and brushed his chin with her fingers, and begged him to honour Achilles, sacker of cities. One day he will again call me his bright-eyed darling, but ready the horses for now, while I go to his palace and don my armour. Let us see if Priam’s son, Hector of the gleaming helm, is as gleeful when he sees us join the ranks. Many a Trojan now will die by the Greek ships, and glut the dogs and carrion birds, fat and flesh.’

White-armed Hera, the great goddess, daughter of mighty Cronos, promptly complied, readying her team with their golden harness; while Athene, daughter of aegis-bearing Zeus, let her soft embroidered robe, adorned by her own two hands, fall to the palace floor and donned the tunic and armour of Cloud-gathering Zeus for the sad work of war. Then she mounted the fiery chariot, gripping the long, stout, heavy spear, with which she breaks the warrior ranks, when that daughter of the mighty Father is angered. Hera now flicked the horses with her whip, and of their own accord the Gates of Heaven groaned open on their hinges, those gates the Hours keep, the Guardians of the Heavens and Olympus, who roll the heavy cloud across them or away. Through the gates, the goddesses then drove their willing team.

BkVIII:397-437 Zeus turns back the goddesses

But Father Zeus, watching them from Ida, enraged, sent Iris the golden-winged to take them a message: ‘Away, and swiftly, Iris; turn them back, and keep them far from me, a confrontation will do them no good. Tell them what I say, and would surely do. I’d hamstring the horses that pull their chariot, hurl them from it, and shatter it to pieces. Not in ten years’ circuit would they be healed of the wounds my thunderbolt deals. That would show the bright-eyed goddess what a fight with her father means! I’ve less words of wrath or indignation to waste on Hera: she habitually defies my decrees.’

At this, Iris, swift as the storm, sped on her way, from the peak of Ida to high Olympus, where she met them at the very gates of that many-ridged mountain, and gave them Zeus’ message: ‘Where are you rushing to, your hearts pounding in your breasts? Zeus forbids you to help the Argives. He threatens you, and he fulfils his threats. He’d hamstring the horses that pull your chariot, hurl you from it, and shatter it to pieces. Not in ten years’ circuit would you be healed of the wounds his thunderbolt deals. That would show you, bright-eyed goddess, what a fight with your father means! He has less words of wrath or indignation to waste on Hera: who habitually defies his decrees. But you’d be dreadful in your brazen impudence, if you truly dared to raise your great spear against Zeus.’

With these words, fleet-footed Iris took her divine way, while Hera turned to Athene in alarm: ‘Well now, daughter of aegis-bearing Zeus, I cannot sanction us waging war on Zeus for these mortals. Let events decide who lives and who dies. Zeus must decide between the Greeks and Trojans, as is only right.’

So saying, she wheeled her team and returned. Then the Hours unyoked the long-maned horses, and tethered them by their ambrosial mangers, and leaned the chariot against the bright entrance-wall, while the two anxious goddesses sat down, with the other gods, on golden chairs.

BkVIII:438-488 Zeus prophesies the course of the war

Meanwhile Father Zeus drove his fine chariot and team from Ida to Olympus, to the concourse of the gods. Poseidon, the Earth-shaker, unyoked his horses and rolled the chariot onto its stand, and covered it with a cloth. Then far-sounding Zeus sat down on his golden throne, and Olympus shook, under his feet.

Athene and Hera alone sat far from Zeus, and said not a word, asked no question of him. But he knew their thoughts, and said: ‘Why so troubled, you two? Tired already of destroying Trojans on the field of glory, those Trojans you resent so deeply? Such is the strength in my unconquerable hands, that all the gods of Olympus could not turn me, come what may, while trembling seized your lovely limbs before you even saw the battlefield and its terrors. But I tell you, and this is sure, that struck by my thunderbolt you would have needed someone else’s chariot to get back to Olympus, where we immortals dwell!’

While he spoke, Athene and Hera sat muttering and planning evil to the Trojans. Though Athene kept quiet and held her tongue, furious as she was, consumed by anger at Father Zeus, Hera burst out in rage: ‘Dread son of Cronos what are you saying? We know your strength is that of no weakling, yet we cannot but pity the Danaan spearmen who are doomed to die a wretched death. We will hold back from battle, if you so order; but we will still offer them our good advice, so they may not all suffer your wrath.’

To this Zeus the Cloud-gatherer replied: ‘Look at dawn, if you wish, my ox-eyed Queen, and see this almighty son of Cronos wreak worse destruction on the vast Argive force; for mighty Hector will not retreat until fleet-footed Achilles, son of Peleus, is roused from his hut to action, on the day when the Greeks, in desperate straits, fight at their ships’ sterns for the body of Patroclus. So it is decreed. I care nothing for your anger. Travel the bottomless depths of earth and sea, plumb deep Tartarus, view Cronos and Iapetus sitting there, deprived of Hyperion’s sunny beams, without even a breeze. Wherever you go I care nothing for your fury, you, most shameless of all.’

At this, white-armed Hera fell silent. And now the bright flame of the sun fell into Ocean, and cloaked the face of fertile earth with night’s blackness. The Trojans were unwilling to see day end, but three times prayed for and welcome was dark night to the Greeks.

Book 15

The father of gods and men smiled at her words: ‘Hera, my ox-eyed Queen, if you really choose to support me in council from now on, then even though Poseidon thought otherwise, he’d be inclined to follow our wishes promptly. If what you say is truly and sincerely said, go to the immortal gods and summon Iris, and Apollo the Archer. She must visit the army of bronze-clad Greeks, and tell Poseidon to leave the field and go home. Meanwhile Phoebus Apollo must breathe new strength into Hector, make him forget his heart-troubling pain, rouse him to fight, and drive the Achaeans back once more. Once he has them panicking like cowards, they will run and die beside the benched ships of Achilles, son of Peleus. He will send out his friend Patroclus, who will slay many a fine young man, among them noble Sarpedon my son, but great Hector will kill him in turn with his spear, under the walls of Troy. Then in revenge for Patroclus, noble Achilles will kill Hector. Thereafter I shall let the Trojans be driven steadily from the ships, remorselessly, until the Greeks, advised by Athene, take Troy. But my wrath will be unabated till then, and no other immortal shall help the Greeks, till Achilles’ wishes are fulfilled, in accord with the promise I made with a nod of my head, that day that divine Thetis clasped my knees, and begged me to honour her son, Achilles, sacker of cities.’

BkXV:78-148 Hera executes Zeus’s orders

The goddess, white-armed Hera, listened and obeyed, speeding from Mount Ida to lofty Olympus. Like the swift mind of a man who has travelled widely, whose deep thought prompts many wishes, saying to himself: ‘I wish I were there, or there,’ as swiftly Queen Hera flew in her eagerness. Reaching high Olympus, she found the immortals gathered in Zeus’s palace. On seeing her they rose, and pledged her in welcome. Passing by the others, she accepted a cup from fair-faced Themis who ran to meet her, saying: ‘Hera, what prompts your return, why so distraught? Zeus must have frightened you, your own husband.’

White-armed Hera replied: ‘Don’t ask, dear Themis. You know what he’s like, so harsh and unyielding. Let the gods begin their feast equably, and you and all the immortals in these halls shall hear the devious actions Zeus intends. If any still sit down to feast with joy in mind, well, I can tell them it will neither please them all, nor every mortal.’

With this Queen Hera took her seat, and throughout the hall the gods looked troubled. Though her lips formed a smile, her forehead above her dark brows was tight with indignation: ‘What fools we are to quarrel with Zeus! We are eager to get at him and thwart his wishes with words or action. But he sits there, unconcerned, indifferent to us, repeating that he’s unquestionably the greatest and strongest of immortals. So be content with whatever nastiness he visits on each of us. Even now he deals Ares a blow, since his dearest son has died in battle, Ascalaphus, whom Ares claimed as his own.’

Ares groaned at this, and struck his sturdy thighs with the flat of his hands: ‘Gods of Olympus, don’t blame me if I go to the Achaean ships right now, and avenge my son, even if Zeus should strike me with his lightning bolt, and I lie in blood and dust among the corpses.’

With this, ordering Terror and Panic to harness the horses, he donned his gleaming armour. Then a greater and angrier quarrel between Zeus and the immortals would have broken out, had Athene, fearful for them all, not left her chair, run to the threshold and snatched Ares’ helm from his head, the shield from his shoulders, and the bronze spear from his great hand, throwing them down and pouring words of rebuke on the angry Ares: ‘Madman, your mind’s astray, you’d be doomed! Why were you given ears to hear? Where’s your sense and self-restraint? Did you not listen to what white-armed Hera said, straight from Olympian Zeus? Do you want a greater measure of sorrow, to be driven back to Olympus, in anguish, and sow the seeds of suffering for us all? He will quit the brave Trojans and the Greeks, instantly, and head to Olympus to wreak havoc. He’ll lay hands on the guilty and the innocent too. So, I beg you, swallow your anger. Many a man greater than Ascalaphus in strength, more skilful in warfare, has died and many must die still. It would be hard for us to save every man’s sons and lineage.’

So saying, she made the angry Ares take his seat again, while Hera called Apollo and Iris, the gods’ messenger, from the hall and spoke to them winged words: ‘Zeus asks that you both go swiftly to Ida, and when you see him there, face to face, then do whatever he urges you to do.’

BkXV:149-219 Iris carries Zeus’s message to Poseidon

Having spoken, Queen Hera returned to her seat, while the pair sped away on their errand. They reached Ida of the many streams, mother of the wild creatures, where Zeus, of the far-echoing voice, was sitting on the top of Gargarus, wreathed in a scented mist. They met the Cloud-Gatherer, face to face, and he was pleased to see how swiftly they had obeyed his dear wife’s order. He spoke to Iris first: ‘Off with you, now, swift Iris, and give this message to Lord Poseidon, exactly as I speak it. Tell him to cease from war and fighting, and return to the gods on Olympus, or to the glittering sea. If he will not obey, choosing to ignore my words, let him think deeply on it, for strong as he is he dare not face my anger, since I am the more powerful and his elder, even though pride prompts him to claim himself my equal, I whom the other gods fear.’

So he spoke, and wing-footed Iris obeyed, speeding from Ida’s hills to sacred Ilium. As fast as the snow or frozen hail that falls from the clouds driven by a northerly gale, swift Iris flew, found Poseidon, the great Earth-Shaker, the dark-haired Encircler of Earth, and delivered the message.

Poseidon was enraged: ‘He may be powerful, but this is arrogance, to try and restrain me against my will, and threaten force, I who share equal honour with himself. Three brothers are we, sons of Cronos and Rhea, Zeus and I and Hades, Lord of the Dead. The world was divided in three, and each received his domain. When the lots were cast, I won the grey sea for my home forever, while Hades had the dense darkness beneath. Zeus may have taken the wide heavens, the cloud and air, but Earth and lofty Olympus are common to us all. So I will not submit to Zeus’s will. Despite his power, let him stay quietly in his own third. And let him not try to frighten me, as if I were a coward. Let him menace his sons and daughters with angry words, he begot them and they are forced to listen to his urgings.’

Then Iris, swift as the wind, answered him: ‘Is this the answer, dark-haired Encircler of Earth that I am to take to Zeus, these harsh and stubborn words? Will you not change your mind, as the minds of the noble may be changed? You know how the Furies ever support the first-born.’

Poseidon, Earth-Shaker, replied: ‘Dear Iris, you are right to say so, and it is good when a messenger shows wisdom. But such is the dreadful feeling in mind and heart when a wrathful god decides to rebuke one of his peers, whom Fate has made his equal. Yet I will yield for now, despite my indignation. In my anger though, I’ll add this warning. If Zeus ignores me, and ignores Athene, chaser of the spoils, and Hera, Hermes, and Lord Hephaestus too, and spares lofty Ilium, prevents its ruin, and denies the Argives glory, tell him there’ll be an irreparable breach between us.’

With this, the Earth-Shaker abandoned the Argives, headed for the shore and plunged into the depths, leaving the Greeks to bemoan his absence.

BkXV:220-280 Apollo revives Hector

Now Zeus, the Cloud-Gatherer, issued his request to Apollo: ‘Dear Phoebus, Poseidon, the Earth-Shaker and Encircler, has withdrawn to the glittering waves, to escape my wrath. It is better for both that he yielded to my power despite his indignation, before those gods beneath the world with Cronos heard our quarrel, which could not end without much toil and sweat. Go to bronze-clad Hector, and as you go take my tasselled aegis, and shake it fiercely over the Greek army to instil fear. Then, Far-Striker, help noble Hector and fill him with enduring strength until the Greeks are driven back to the ships and the Hellespont. At that time I will ensure by word and deed that the Greeks are given respite from the toils of war.’

Apollo obeyed his father’s words, speeding from Ida’s heights, like a swift falcon, the dove-slayer, swiftest of birds. Noble Hector, warlike Priam’s son, was only now recovering, no longer lying flat but sitting upright, conscious of his friends around him. His sweating and panting had ceased now aegis-bearing Zeus wished to revive him. Apollo the Far-Striker approached saying: ‘Hector, Priam’s son, why are you sitting here in this state, far from the lines? Are you badly hurt?’

Hector of the gleaming helm, replied in weakened tones: ‘What god are you, mighty one, who needs to ask that of me? Surely you know that as I slaughtered his men by the sterns of the Greek ships, Ajax of the loud war-cry struck me on the chest with a great stone, and stopped me in mid-flight. I thought in truth this very day I would gasp away my life, and gaze on the dead in the House of Hades.’

‘Lift your spirits,’ Lord Apollo, the Far-Striker, replied: ‘Phoebus Apollo of the Golden Sword is here, sent from Ida by the son of Cronos as a mighty helper to stand beside you and defend you, one who has long protected you and your lofty citadel alike. Come, order your host of charioteers to send their swift horses against the hollow ships, while I go on ahead to smooth the path for their chariots and rout the Greeks.’

Iliad Book 21

BkXXI:298-382 Hephaestus blasts the River with fire

The gods, their message delivered, returned to join the other immortals, while Achilles, inspired by Poseidon’s words, advanced over the plain. The whole area was flooded, and the corpses and fine armour of a host of young men slain in battle were awash there. Leaping along through the water, he worked his way up-stream, Athene granting him such strength that the spreading river failed to halt him. Not that Xanthus’ power was less, for his wrath against Peleus’ son increased, and towering up in a surging crest, he called across to Simoïs: ‘Dear brother, let us unite to stop this man or he’ll waste great Priam’s city, and the Trojans will lose the war. Speed to my aid, fill your streams with water from your source, and raise a torrent, send down a mighty wave, with a clashing of logs and rocks, so we can thwart this savage who thinks himself equal to the gods and carries all before him. I say strength and beauty will help him not, nor his fine armour that will lie deep drowned in the mud. I will roll him in sand and pile a mountain of pebbles over his flesh. So deep the silt I’ll cover him with, no Greek will know where his bones are buried. He’ll not need a funeral mound when the Greeks perform their rites: here now is his tomb all prepared.’

So saying, he towered on high, and rushed at Achilles in a surge of rage, seething with foam and blood and corpses. And over the son of Peleus hung a great wave of the heaven-fed river, threatening to overwhelm him. Now Hera cried out, gripped by terror lest the broad deep-swirling stream should sweep Achilles away. Quickly she called to her dear son Hephaestus: ‘Up, my child, on your crooked feet! You we thought to match in this fight against whirling Xanthus. Be swift to save, and rouse your flames. I will hasten to stir the winds from the sea, a fierce Westerly gale and a sharp Southerly, to spread the fierce conflagration till the Trojan dead and their amour are utterly consumed. You must scorch the trees along Xanthus’ banks, and wall his course with flames. Don’t let him deter you with threats or tender speeches, nor must you mitigate your force, until I call you off with a cry: then, quench your restless fires.’

Hephaestus answered her with a wondrous blaze, that began by burning the host of dead that strewed the plain, the victims of Achilles, until the plain was dry and the streams abated, as a Northerly wind dries a newly-wet orchard at fruit-harvest, to the delight of him who must pick the crop. Soon the whole plain was bone dry, and the corpses consumed. Then Hephaestus turned his bright flame on the river itself. The elms, willows and tamarisks burned, the rushes and sedge and lotus leaves that grew densely along the winding streams, and the eels and fish thrashed about in the swirling pools, tormented by artful Hephaestus’ fiery blast. The mighty River himself was scalded, and cried out to the god: ‘Hephaestus, you’re a match for any immortal. I’ll not fight you while you’re wreathed in flame. Cease this battle, and let noble Achilles drive the Trojans from their city. What business of mine are war and conflict?’

So he spoke, his silver waters boiling and seething, fringed with fire. Like the melted lard of a fat hog, in a cauldron set on a fierce flame of dry kindling, that bubbles and seethes throughout, so his flood boiled and steamed. Lacking the will to flow onward, he sank back, troubled by artful Hephaestus’ fiery blast. He cried out to Hera, for mercy, in winged words: ‘Why does your son torment my stream above all others, Hera? Surely I am less guilty in your eyes than all the others who aid the Trojans? I will desist at your command, if he will also refrain. Moreover, I’ll swear this oath, never to try and save the Trojans from their day of doom, not even if all Troy is ablaze, wreathed in consuming fire, at the hands of the warlike Greeks.’

When the goddess, white-armed Hera, heard his cry, she called quickly to her dear son: ‘Enough, Hephaestus, my noble child. We must not harm an immortal for the sake of a mere man.’ Hephaestus responded to her words, and quenched his mighty conflagration, and the current began to flow again along its lovely channels.

BkXXI:383-525 The Immortals quarrel

Xanthus’ force was spent, Hera’s command had ended the conflict, though she was still resentful, but the other gods, torn in opposing directions by strong passions, were occupied in dire and momentous strife. They clashed with a mighty tumult, earth rang, and heaven echoed with sound like a trumpet blast. Zeus, on Olympus, heard the row, and he laughed to himself with joy, witnessing the immortals’ quarrel. Ares, the breaker of shields, bronze spear in hand, wasting not a moment, leapt at Athene and began the fight, with a shout of abuse: ‘Yet again, you gad-fly, you set the immortals at one another, you with your fiery impudence, and your boundless pride. Remember the time when you spurred Diomedes on to wound me, grasping the spear-shaft yourself, sending that blade straight towards me and tearing my sweet flesh. Now you’ll pay, I say, for all you’ve done.’

With that the murderous war-god lashed out with his long spear, striking her tasselled aegis, that dread aegis that resists even Zeus’s lightning, and she stepped back. Then, in her powerful hand, she grasped a great black jagged stone that men had raised, on the plain, in former times to mark a field boundary. She struck the angry Ares on the neck, and knocked him down, with a clash of armour, and he lay stretched out over an acre of ground, his hair in the dust, Pallas Athene laughed in triumph: ‘You have still not learnt to know my strength: it’s greater than yours, you fool, if you try and match it with mine. That’s how you’ll shake off the Furies your mother invoked against you, plotting trouble, since you angered her by siding with the insolent Trojans against her Greeks.’

So saying, she turned away her bright gaze, as Aphrodite, Zeus’ daughter, took his arm and led him from the field, recovering his breath with a groan. But white-armed Hera saw, and called to Athene: ‘Aegis-bearing Atrytone, child of Zeus, that gad-fly is helping Ares, the mortals’ bane, through the ranks and away from the battle. After her: quickly!’

Eagerly, Athene sped away in pursuit, at her words, and rushing at Aphrodite struck her a heavy blow on the chest. Aphrodite collapsed, without a murmur. There lay Ares and Aphrodite on the dark earth, while Athene triumphed over them: ‘May all the rest who help the Trojans meet the same fate! If they are all as brave and resolute as Aphrodite here, Ares’ defender against me, the war will soon be over and populous Troy a ruin.’

The white-armed goddess, Hera, smiled at this, but Poseidon Earth-Shaker turned to Apollo, saying: ‘Phoebus, why are you holding off? It can’t be right to leave it to the others. Shame on us if we scurry back to Olympus, to Zeus’ bronze threshold, without fighting! You, the younger, should attack me first, given I am older and more experienced. Ah, what a empty-witted fool you are! Have you forgotten what we two suffered here at Troy, when by Zeus’ command we served proud Laomedon for a year? The wages were set, and how that king ordered us around! I built a fine wide wall round the Trojan city, to render it impregnable, while you, Apollo, were herdsman of their sleek shambling cattle, on the wooded spurs of many-ridged Ida. But when the bright season brought an end to our term, that rogue Laomedon cheated us of payment, threatening to bind our hands and feet and sell us into some distant isle. He even talked of lopping our ears off with his knife! So we went away with anger in our hearts, robbed of the wages he had promised. Now you show favour to his race, instead of seeing to it along with us that the haughty Trojans, their wives and children face utter ruin.’

‘Earth-Shaker,’ replied Lord Apollo, the Far-Striker, ‘you would hardly call me wise if I fought with you for the sake of these wretched mortals, now full of life, eating the earth’s fruit, now fading away and falling like the leaves. Let us cease arguing now, let them fight their own battles.’ Then he turned away, ashamed to quarrel with his own uncle. But now his sister Artemis, Queen of the Creatures, Goddess of the Wild, reviled him with harsh rebukes: ‘So you are off now, Far-Striker, yielding all to Poseidon, handing him victory without a struggle! What’s the sense, you fool, in carrying a bow as useless as the wind? Don’t let me hear you boast again in our Father’s house, as you did before among us immortals, that you’d fight Poseidon hand to hand!’

Apollo, the Far-Striker, did not deign to answer, but Hera, revered as Zeus’ wife, rebuked the Lady of the Bow angrily: ‘You want to fight with me now, do you, bold and shameless as you are? I am no mean opponent, I tell you, if you seek a challenge, even though you wield the bow, and Zeus made you a lioness where women are concerned, letting you kill them as you wish. You’ll find it better sport, though, to slaughter deer and other prey in the mountains, than take on someone fiercer than yourself. But if that’s your idea, to vie with me in strength, then let this teach you who is stronger.’

So saying, she seized the other’s wrists in her left hand, snatched Artemis’ bow and quiver from her shoulders and, laughing all the while, boxed her on the ears with the weapons as she writhed, scattering the winged arrows. Artemis fled weeping from her, like a dove, flying from a falcon, which finds a cleft or hollow in the cliffs so cheating fate. She took her tears with her, but left the bow and arrows where they lay. Then the Messenger God, Hermes, Slayer of Argus, called across to her mother: ‘Don’t worry! I’ll not fight you Leto! It looks like hard work trading blows with a consort of Zeus the Cloud-Gatherer. Go boast to your heart’s content to the immortals of how your great strength bettered me.’

At this, Leto gathered the curved bow and the scattered arrows from the dust, and went off carrying her daughter’s weapons. Meanwhile the archer maiden herself had reached Olympus, and run to Zeus’ house with its bronze threshold, and now sat sobbing in her Father’s lap, her scented robes all a-quiver. The son of Cronos drew his daughter to him, laughing: ‘Which of the Heavenly Ones seems to have ill-used you unfairly, dear child, thinking perhaps you were up to mischief?’ ‘Father,’ the Huntress of the Echoing Chase, she of the Lovely Crown, replied: ‘it was your own wife, white-armed Hera, who hit me: she it was who set us all quarrelling.’

As they spoke, the immortals returned to Olympus, some angry some in triumph, to sit beside their Father, Lord of the Storm Clouds, all except Apollo who entered the sacred citadel, Ilium, anxious lest the Greeks should exceed their fate and breach its well-built walls that day. For Achilles was still slaughtering men and horses alike. As the wrath of the gods sends smoke to the sky from many a burning city, bringing toil and woe, so did Achilles bring toil and woe to many a Trojan.

BkXXI:526-611 Apollo saves Agenor

Now old King Priam stood on the battlements Poseidon built, and saw great Achilles driving the Trojans before him in headlong rout, with none to aid them. Groaning, he descended from the wall, calling aloud to the gatekeepers: ‘Hold the gates wide open till the army are inside, Achilles is hard on their heels, and there will be sad slaughter. Once they are safe within, close the wooden doors lest that savage storms the city.’

They unbarred the gates and flung them wide to bring deliverance, while Apollo went to meet Achilles and save Troy from ruin. The Trojans fled for the city wall, dry-mouthed and drowned in dust from the plain, as the fierce spearman, that son of Peleus, ran them down, like a man possessed, eager to win glory.

And the Greeks would indeed have captured Troy of the lofty gates if Phoebus Apollo had not roused Antenor’s son, great Agenor, the strong and peerless warrior. He filled his heart with courage, and stood by his side, to defend him from death’s mighty hand. The god leaned on the sacred oak, veiled in dense mist. There Agenor halted at the sight of Achilles, sacker of cities, and waited, his mind dark with misgivings, murmuring anxiously to himself: ‘Alas, if I fled before him like a coward, along with all the rest, he would simple overtake me and kill me. I could leave these men to be chased before him, and run from the wall towards the Ilean Plain, until I reach the foothills and gullies of Mount Ida, then hide there in the woods. Then after washing the sweat from my body in the river, I could return to Troy in the cool of evening. But why dream of that? He would see me turn towards the plain and with his swift feet chase me down. That would indeed be certain death, since he is too strong for any man. Nothing for it then: but to meet him here before the city. His flesh too can be pierced by the blade. He is mortal they say, so has only the one life, even if Zeus, son of Cronos, grants him brief glory.’

With this, he crouched low, awaiting Achilles, his great heart eager for the fight. As a leopardess lopes from dense brush to face the hunt, fearless and bold despite the hounds’ baying, and even though struck and wounded by spear or javelin, still leaps at her foe and slashes at him or is slain, so noble Agenor, son of great Antenor, was determined not to flee without tackling Achilles. He held his round shield before him, and aiming his spear at Achilles, shouted aloud: ‘No doubt you hoped to sack the proud city of Troy this very day, Prince Achilles. A foolish thought, for many are the sorrows yet to be borne by you Greeks on her account. Many are we and mighty, who guard Ilium for our parents, wives and sons. It is you will meet your doom here, bold and impressive as you are.’

With that he hurled the keen spear from his strong hand, striking Achilles on the shin below the knee, the blade clashing against the new greave worked with tin. But the god’s gift held and the bronze blade failing to pierce it, rebounded. The son of Peleus, in turn, attacked godlike Agenor, but Apollo refused him glory, snatching up Agenor, veiling him in dense mist, and setting him down quietly, away from the fight. The god then cunningly led Achilles away from the Trojans. Disguising himself as Agenor, the Far-Striker appeared again in front of Achilles who started swiftly in pursuit. Subtly the god deceived him, as they ran over the fertile plain, veering towards the river, the whirling Scamander, keeping a little ahead so Achilles always hoped to overtake him. And while they ran, the mass of fleeing Trojans reached the city, overjoyed. Not daring to linger outside the walls to find out who had survived and who had died, those whose speed of foot had saved them poured through the gates, and filled the streets.