Book 12: The Assault on the Achaean Wall

So in the shelters Menoetius's brave son tended the wounded Eurypylus, while the others fought on, Argives and Trojans in massed ranks. Nor were the Danaans' trench and the wide wall rising above it going to hold the Trojans back much longer. The Danaans had built that wall to protect their ships and driven a trench around it—without offering splendid hecatombs to the gods—so that it might hold their swift ships and abundant plunder safe inside. Because it had been built against the will of the immortal gods, it did not stand firm for long.

As long as Hector was alive, and Achilles nursed his wrath, and Lord Priam's city remained unsacked, for so long the great wall of the Achaeans also stood firm. But afterward, when all the bravest of the Trojans had died, and of the Argives many had been killed while others survived, when Priam's city had been sacked in the tenth year and the Argives had sailed home in their ships to their dear native land, then at last Poseidon and Apollo devised a plan to obliterate the wall by turning the fury of the rivers against it. All the streams that flow from the mountains of Ida down to the sea—Rhesus, Heptaporus, Caresus, and Rhodius, Granicus, Aesepus, and bright Scamander, and Simois, along whose banks many oxhide shields and helmets had fallen in the dust together with a race of half-divine men—Phoebus Apollo turned the mouths of all these rivers together, and for nine days he drove their flood against the wall, while Zeus rained without pause to wash the ramparts more quickly into the sea. The Earth-Shaker himself, gripping his trident in both hands, led the surge and swept out on the breakers all the foundations of logs and stones that the Achaeans had laid with such hard labor. Once he had obliterated the wall, he made the ground smooth beside the strong-flowing Hellespont, covered the wide beach once more with sand, and turned the rivers back down their channels, where their fair-flowing waters had run before.

That was what Poseidon and Apollo would do later. But now battle and war cries blazed around the well-built wall, and the timbers of the towers rang as they were struck. Beaten down by the whip of Zeus, the Argives were penned back against their hollow ships and held fast, terrified of Hector, that fierce master of rout, while he fought on as before like a whirlwind. And just as a wild boar or a lion wheels about among hounds and huntsmen, exulting in its strength, and the men array themselves like a wall to stand face-to-face against it, hurling a thick volley of spears from their hands—yet its proud heart never flinches or gives way to fear, and its own courage kills it; again and again it wheels around, testing the ranks of men, and wherever it charges, the ranks of men give way—so Hector moved through the press and implored his comrades, urging them to cross the trench. Yet his own swift-footed horses dared not try it, but stood whinnying loudly at the very lip of the brink, for the wide trench frightened them back. It was neither easy to leap across at a bound nor easy to pass through, for steep, overhanging banks stood all around it on both sides, and above, it was fitted with sharp stakes that the sons of the Achaeans had planted there, thick and tall, as a defense against attacking men. No horse pulling a smooth-wheeled chariot could easily get down in there, and the foot soldiers were anxiously wondering whether they could make it across.

Then Polydamas stepped up beside bold Hector and said: "Hector, and you other leaders of the Trojans and allies, it is madness for us to drive our swift horses through the trench. It is far too hard to cross, for sharp stakes stand in it, and right behind them rises the wall of the Achaeans. There is no way at all for charioteers to go down and fight there; it is a cramped space, where I think we will be mauled. If high-thundering Zeus in fierce ill will means to crush them utterly and is eager to help the Trojans, I myself would gladly see that happen this very instant—that the Achaeans perish here without a name, far from Argos. But if they turn back on us and drive us in a counterattack from the ships, and we plunge into the dug trench, then I do not think even a messenger will make it back to the city once the Achaeans wheel upon us. Come, then, let us all do as I say: let our attendants hold the horses at the trench, while we ourselves go on foot, armored in our war gear, and follow Hector all together in one close mass. Then the Achaeans will not withstand us, if the cords of destruction are indeed fastened upon them."

So spoke Polydamas, and this sound advice pleased Hector. At once he leaped in full armor from his chariot to the ground. Nor did the other Trojans stay mounted in their chariots; they all sprang down when they saw brilliant Hector do so. Then each man ordered his own charioteer to rein in his horses in good order right there by the trench, while they themselves parted into companies, closed their ranks, and marched behind their leaders marshaled in five divisions. The first went with Hector and blameless Polydamas; they were the largest and finest division, and the most eager to break through the wall and fight beside the hollow ships. Cebriones went with them as third in command, for beside his chariot Hector had left another man, a lesser fighter than Cebriones. Alexander led the second division with Alcathous and Agenor. The third was led by Helenus and godlike Deiphobus, two sons of Priam, and the third commander was the warrior Asius—Asius, son of Hyrtacus, whom his tall, fiery-coated horses had carried from Arisbe, from the river Selleis. The fourth division was led by Anchises's valiant son Aeneas, and with him went two sons of Antenor, Archelochus and Acamas, well skilled in every kind of fighting. Sarpedon led the renowned allies, and chose Glaucus and warlike Asteropaeus to command beside him, since he judged those two clearly the best of all the rest after himself—though he himself stood out above every man there. Once they had fitted themselves together with shields of worked oxhide, they charged straight at the Danaans in fierce eagerness, thinking the Danaans could no longer hold them off, and that they themselves would storm the black ships.

There the other Trojans and their far-famed allies obeyed the counsel of blameless Polydamas. But Asius, son of Hyrtacus, a leader of men, refused to leave his horses and his charioteer attendant behind there; instead, he approached the swift ships with them, the fool. He was never going to escape the grim spirits of death and return from the ships, exulting in his horses and chariot, back to windswept Ilion; for before that could happen, an accursed fate was to shroud him under the spear of proud Idomeneus, Deucalion's son. Asius charged toward the left of the ships, the very way the Achaeans used to return from the plain with their horses and chariots. There he drove his horses and chariot through, and at the gates he did not find the plank doors swung shut or the long crossbar in place; instead, men were holding them wide open, hoping to save any comrade who fled out of the fighting back toward the ships. Straight that way he steered his horses with resolute purpose, and his men followed, shouting shrill cries; for they thought the Achaeans could no longer hold them off, and that they themselves would storm the black ships—fools that they were. In the gateway they found two of the bravest men, high-hearted sons of the spear-fighting Lapiths: one was mighty Polypoetes, son of Pirithous, and the other Leonteus, the equal of man-slaughtering Ares. Those two stood in front of the high gates like tall-crowned oaks in the mountains that withstand the wind and rain through all the days, anchored fast by their great, far-reaching roots; so those two, trusting in their own hands and strength, stood waiting for tall Asius as he came on, and did not flee.

The attackers came straight at the well-built wall, holding their dry oxhide shields high overhead and advancing with a tremendous war cry around Lord Asius, Iamenus, and Orestes, Adamas son of Asius, Thoon, and Oenomaus. For a while the two Lapiths had stayed inside, urging the Achaeans in fine leg armor to fight in defense of the ships; but when they saw the Trojans rushing the wall while shouting and panic broke out among the Danaans, the two of them burst out and fought in front of the gates like two wild boars in the mountains that stand to meet an oncoming tumult of men and hounds, and charging sidelong snap the brushwood all around them, slashing it off at the root, while the clatter of their tusks rings out beneath until someone hits them and takes their life. Just so the shining bronze clattered on the chests of those two as they were struck head-on; for they fought with fierce strength, trusting in the troops on the wall above and in their own might. From the well-built towers the Achaeans were hurling jagged stones, fighting to defend themselves, their shelters, and their swift-sailing ships. Like snowflakes falling to the ground, which a blustery wind, driving the shadowy clouds, sheds thick and fast upon the fruitful earth, so the missiles streamed from the hands of the Achaeans and Trojans alike; and helmets and bossed shields rang out with a dry, harsh clang as they were battered by millstones.

Then Asius, son of Hyrtacus, groaned aloud, slapped both his thighs, and spoke in bitter fury: "Father Zeus, so even you have turned out to be a lover of lies through and through! For I never thought the Achaean heroes would withstand our fury and our invincible hands. Yet like wasps supple at the waist, or bees that have built their nest beside a rocky trail and do not abandon their hollow home, but stay and fight off hunting men in defense of their young, so these two, though there are only two of them, refuse to give way from the gates until they either kill or are taken." So he spoke, but his words did not sway the mind of Zeus, whose heart wished instead to grant the glory to Hector. Meanwhile others were fighting the battle around the other gates; yet it is hard for me to tell all these things as if I were a god, for everywhere around the stone wall a fierce, god-kindled fire blazed up. The Argives, though in anguish, defended the ships out of sheer necessity, while all the gods who were helpers of the Danaans in battle were grieved in their hearts.

The Lapiths joined the clash of war and deadly combat. There mighty Polypoetes, son of Pirithous, struck Damasus with his spear through his bronze-cheeked helmet. The bronze helmet did not hold it back, but the bronze point drove right on through and smashed the bone, and all the brain inside was spattered; so he cut him down in his charge. After that he killed and stripped Pylon and Ormenus. And Leonteus, scion of Ares, struck Hippomachus, the son of Antimachus, with his spear, hitting him at the war-belt. Next, drawing his sharp sword from its scabbard, he charged through the throng and first struck Antiphates a blow at close quarters, so that he fell flat on his back to the ground; then he brought down Menon, Iamenus, and Orestes, one after another, upon the fruitful earth.

While those two were stripping the glittering armor from the fallen, the young warriors who followed Polydamas and Hector—the largest and bravest division, and the most eager to break through the wall and burn the ships with fire—still stood wavering beside the trench. For a bird had come upon them as they were eager to cross, a high-flying eagle skirting the army on the left, carrying in its talons a monstrous blood-red serpent, alive and still writhing, nor had it yet lost its fight; twisting backward, it struck the eagle in the chest beside the neck as the bird held it. Stung with sharp pain, the bird flung it away to the ground, dropping it right into the middle of the throng, and with a shrill cry flew off down the gusts of wind. The Trojans shuddered when they saw the glinting snake lying in their midst, a portent from aegis-bearing Zeus.

Then Polydamas stepped up beside bold Hector and said: "Hector, somehow you always rebuke me in our assemblies when I offer sound counsel—since of course it is never fitting for a man of the people to speak against you, either in council or ever in war, but he must always exalt your authority! Even so, I will speak out now as seems best to me: let us not go on to fight the Danaans for the ships. For this is how I think it will end, if indeed this bird came for the Trojans as we were eager to cross—a high-flying eagle skirting the army on the left, carrying in its talons a monstrous blood-red serpent, still alive; yet suddenly it let it drop before reaching its own home, and failed to bring it back to give to its young. In the same way, even if we break through the gates and the wall of the Achaeans with our great strength, and the Achaeans give way, we will not return from the ships in good order along the same paths; for we will leave many Trojans behind, whom the Achaeans will cut down with bronze as they fight to defend their ships. That is how a seer would interpret it, one who clearly understood omens in his heart and whom the armies obeyed."

Glaring at him from beneath his brows, Hector of the flashing helmet answered: "Polydamas, what you say no longer pleases me; you know how to devise a better speech than this. But if you truly mean this in earnest, then the gods themselves have destroyed your wits, since you tell me to forget the counsels of loud-thundering Zeus—the very promises he made to me himself and sealed with his nod—while you urge me to obey long-winged birds. I neither care about them nor heed them at all, whether they fly to the right toward the dawn and the sun, or to the left toward the murky darkness. Let us obey the counsel of great Zeus, who rules over all mortals and immortals. One omen is best: to fight in defense of our fatherland. Why are you so afraid of war and combat? Even if all the rest of us are killed around the ships of the Argives, there is no fear that you will perish, for your heart cannot stand against an enemy, nor is it warlike. Yet if you hold back from the fighting, or win any other man over with your words and turn him from the war, struck at once by my spear you will lose your life."

With those words he led the way, and the men followed after him with an unearthly roar. Then Zeus, who delights in thunder, roused a blast of wind down from the mountains of Ida that drove the dust straight against the ships; and he bewildered the minds of the Achaeans, while granting glory to the Trojans and Hector. Trusting in his signs and in their own strength, the Trojans tried to break through the great wall of the Achaeans. They tore at the stepped copings of the towers, battered down the parapets, and pried with levers at the projecting buttresses that the Achaeans had planted first in the earth to brace the towers. These they hauled at, hoping to breach the Achaeans' wall. Yet the Danaans did not give ground from the path, but fenced the parapets with oxhide shields and pelted from above the enemies advancing beneath the wall.

Both Ajaxes, shouting commands along the towers, strode everywhere, rousing the fighting spirit of the Achaeans. Whenever they saw anyone hanging back altogether from the fight, they chided him—one man with gentle words, another with harsh rebukes: "Friends—whoever among the Argives is foremost, whoever is of middle rank, and whoever is lesser, since by no means are all men equal in war—now there is work here for everyone, as you yourselves surely know. Let no man turn back toward the ships when he hears the enemy shouting threats, but press forward and urge one another on, in the hope that Olympian Zeus, lord of the lightning, may grant that we beat back the assault and drive our enemies to the city."

So the two of them, shouting out in front, spurred on the battle of the Achaeans. And just as flakes of snow fall thick and fast on a winter day, when Zeus the counselor sets out to snow upon mankind, displaying his shafts—he lulls the winds to sleep and pours the snow down steadily, until he covers the crests of the high mountains and the jutting headlands, the clover-rich plains and the fertile farmlands of men; and it is shed over the harbors and shores of the gray sea, where only the beating wave holds it back, while all else is blanketed from above when the snowfall of Zeus bears down—so the stones flew thick and fast from both sides, some hurled at the Trojans and others from the Trojans at the Achaeans as they struck at one another, and along the whole wall the din rose up.

Yet even then the Trojans and glorious Hector would not have broken open the gates of the wall and their long crossbar, had not Zeus the counselor roused his own son Sarpedon against the Argives, like a lion against curved-horned cattle. At once Sarpedon held before him his evenly balanced shield—fine, of beaten bronze, which the smith had hammered out, stitching thick oxhides inside it with continuous golden rods all around the rim. Holding this before him and brandishing two spears, he set out like a mountain-bred lion that has gone long without meat, and whose proud spirit drives him to make a try for the sheep and go right into the tightly built fold; for even if he finds the herdsmen there keeping watch over the flock with dogs and spears, he has no thought of being driven from the steading without an attempt, but leaps in and either snatches a sheep, or else he himself is hit at the forefront by a javelin from a quick hand—so then his spirit impelled godlike Sarpedon to rush the wall and tear apart the parapets.

At once he spoke to Glaucus, son of Hippolochus: "Glaucus, why is it that the two of us are honored most of all in Lycia with seats of honor, cuts of meat, and brimming cups, and all men look upon us as gods, and we hold a great estate along the banks of the Xanthus, fine land of orchards and wheat-bearing plowland? Therefore we must now take our stand among the foremost Lycians and face the blazing battle, so that one of the closely armored Lycians may say: 'Truly it is not without glory that our kings rule over Lycia, eating fat sheep and drinking choice honey-sweet wine; no, their strength is noble too, since they fight among the foremost Lycians.' Dear friend, if by escaping this war the two of us were forever to be ageless and immortal, I myself would neither fight in the front ranks nor send you into battle where men win glory. But as it is, since a thousand fates of death stand over us anyway, which no mortal can flee or escape, let us go forward, and either give glory to another, or let another give it to us." So he spoke, and Glaucus neither turned aside nor disobeyed; the two of them strode straight ahead, leading the great host of the Lycians.

Seeing them, Menestheus, son of Peteos, shuddered, for it was toward his tower they came, bringing disaster. He scanned along the Achaeans' rampart to see if he could spot any of the commanders who might ward off ruin from his comrades. He caught sight of the two Ajaxes, insatiable in war, standing close by, and Teucer, who had just come from his shelter; yet there was no way his shout could reach their ears, so great was the din, and the battle cry rose to heaven from the battering of shields, horsehair-crested helmets, and the gates themselves. For all the gates had been barred shut, and the attackers stood facing them, trying to smash through by force and enter. At once he sent the herald Thootes to Ajax: "Go, noble Thootes, run and call Ajax—both of them, rather, for that would be best of all by far, since sheer destruction will soon be upon us here. So heavily do the Lycian leaders press on, men who even before now have proved fierce in the thick of hard fighting. But if toil and strife have risen around them there as well, let at least one of the two come—brave Telamonian Ajax—and let Teucer follow with him, skilled with the bow."

So he spoke, and the herald heard him and did not disobey. He set off running along the wall of the bronze-tunicked Achaeans, came up and stood beside the Ajaxes, and spoke to them at once: "Ajaxes, leaders of the bronze-tunicked Argives, the dear son of Zeus-cherished Peteos urges you to go there and share his struggle, even if only for a little while—both of you, rather, for that would be best of all by far, since sheer destruction will soon be upon them there. So heavily do the Lycian leaders press on, men who even before now have proved fierce in the thick of hard fighting. But if war and strife have risen here as well, let at least one of the two come—brave Telamonian Ajax—and let Teucer follow with him, skilled with the bow."

So he spoke, and great Telamonian Ajax did not disobey. At once he spoke winged words to the son of Oileus: "Ajax, the two of you stay right here—you and strong Lycomedes—stand your ground and urge the Danaans to fight with all their strength. I will go over there and meet the fighting, and I will come back again at once, as soon as I have defended them well." With those words Telamonian Ajax strode off, and Teucer went with him, his brother born of the same father, while Pandion walked with them carrying Teucer's curved bow. When they reached the tower of great-hearted Menestheus, passing inside the wall—and they came to men hard pressed—the mighty leaders and counselors of the Lycians were climbing the battlements like a dark storm-squall. They clashed face-to-face in battle, and the war cry rose.

Telamonian Ajax was first to kill a man, Sarpedon's comrade, great-hearted Epicles, striking him with a jagged boulder that lay inside the wall, huge, topmost beside the battlement. Not easily could a man hold it in both hands, not even one in the prime of youth, such as mortals are now; yet Ajax lifted it high and hurled it down, shattering the four-bossed helmet and crushing all the bones of his skull together; and like a diver Epicles plunged from the high tower, and the life left his bones. As Glaucus, the strong son of Hippolochus, charged forward, Teucer shot him with an arrow from the high wall, striking where he saw Glaucus's arm exposed and stopping him from fighting. Glaucus sprang back from the wall unseen, so that no Achaean might see that he was hit and boast over him with taunting words. Grief took hold of Sarpedon at Glaucus's departure the moment he noticed it; yet even so he did not forget the fight, but struck Alcmaon, son of Thestor, with a thrust of his spear and wrenched the spear back out. Following the spear, Alcmaon pitched forward on his face, and his armor inlaid with bronze clanged around him. Then Sarpedon gripped a section of the battlement with his strong hands and pulled; the whole section came away completely, leaving the top of the wall stripped bare above and opening a path for many.

Ajax and Teucer came at him together: Teucer with an arrow struck the gleaming strap across his chest that held his man-covering shield, yet Zeus warded off the fates of death from his son, so that he would not be cut down by the sterns of the ships; and Ajax lunged in and stabbed his shield, and though the spear did not drive clean through, it jolted him back in his charge. Sarpedon gave ground a little from the battlement, yet he did not draw back altogether, since his heart hoped to win glory. He wheeled around and called out to the godlike Lycians: "Lycians, why do you slacken your fierce strength like this? It is hard for me, strong though I am, to break through alone and make a path by the ships. Press on with me; the work of many is better." So he spoke, and fearing their king's rebuke, they bore down all the harder around their counsel-giving king.

On the other side, the Argives strengthened their ranks inside the wall, and a great struggle lay before them. For neither could the strong Lycians break the Danaans' wall and make a path by the ships, nor could the Danaan spearmen ever thrust the Lycians back from the wall, once they had closed right up to it. But just as two men quarrel over boundary stones, holding measuring rods in their hands in a common field, and contend in a narrow strip of ground for an equal share, so the battlements kept them apart; and right over them they hacked at the oxhide around one another's chests, the well-rounded shields and winged rawhide bucklers. Many were gashed in the flesh by pitiless bronze, both any man whose back was left bare as he turned in the fighting, and many clean through the shield itself. Everywhere the towers and battlements were spattered with the blood of men from both sides, Trojans and Achaeans alike. Even so, the Trojans could not put the Achaeans to flight, who held fast just as an honest woman working with her hands holds the scales: she sets the weight and the wool on either side and lifts them up, balancing them level to earn a meager wage for her children. So their battle and war were stretched taut in even balance, until the moment Zeus gave the higher glory to Hector, son of Priam, who was first to leap inside the wall of the Achaeans.

He let out a piercing shout, calling aloud to the Trojans: "Charge, horse-taming Trojans! Break the wall of the Argives and hurl blazing fire onto the ships!" So he spoke, urging them on; they all heard him with their ears and rushed straight at the wall in one mass. Then they began climbing the battlements with sharpened spears in hand, while Hector seized and carried a stone that stood in front of the gates, thick at the base, though above it came to a sharp point. Not even two men of the sort who live today—the best of their people—could easily lever it up from the ground onto a wagon; yet he swung it easily all alone, for the son of crooked-counseling Cronus made it light for him. Just as a shepherd easily carries the fleece of a ram, taking it in one hand, and its slight weight scarcely burdens him, so Hector lifted the stone and carried it straight at the wooden panels that guarded the high, double-folding gates, tightly and stoutly fitted; inside, two overlapping crossbars held them fast, secured by a single bolt.

He came right up close, braced himself with his feet planted wide apart so his throw would not lose its force, and struck them full in the middle. He smashed off both hinges; the stone crashed inside by its own weight, the gates bellowed loudly around it, the crossbars did not hold, and the wooden panels split apart this way and that under the impact of the stone. Glorious Hector leaped inside, his face like swift night; he shone with the terrible bronze that he wore around his body, and in his hands he held two spears. No one meeting him could have held him back, none but the gods, when he leaped through the gates, and his eyes blazed with fire. Wheeling around toward the throng, he called out to the Trojans to climb over the wall, and they obeyed his urging. At once some climbed over the wall, while others poured in through the well-built gates themselves; the Danaans fled in rout among the hollow ships, and a relentless uproar arose.