Book 23: The Funeral Games for Patroclus

So they groaned throughout the city. Meanwhile, once the Achaeans reached their ships and the Hellespont, they scattered, each man to his own ship. Yet Achilles would not let the Myrmidons scatter, and he spoke among his war-loving companions: "Myrmidons, riders of swift horses, my loyal companions, let us not yet unyoke our solid-hoofed horses from the chariots, but draw near with horses and chariots as we are and weep for Patroclus, for that is the honor due to the dead. Then, when we have taken our fill of bitter mourning, we will unyoke the horses and all take supper here."

So he spoke, and they all cried out in grief together, with Achilles leading them. Three times around the corpse they drove their sleek-maned horses, weeping; and among them Thetis stirred a longing for lament. The sands were soaked, and the warriors' armor was soaked with tears, for they missed so great a master of rout. And the son of Peleus led them in heaving lament, laying his man-slaying hands on his companion's chest: "Hail to you, Patroclus, even in the house of Hades! For now I am fulfilling for you everything I promised before: that I would drag Hector here and give him to the dogs to tear raw, and before your pyre cut the throats of twelve splendid sons of the Trojans in my rage over your killing."

He spoke, and bent on shameful treatment for noble Hector, he stretched him face down in the dust beside the bier of Menoetius' son. Then each man stripped off his glittering bronze armor, and they unyoked their loud-neighing horses and sat down in thousands beside the ship of the swift-footed descendant of Aeacus; and he gave them a rich funeral feast. Many sleek oxen bellowed under the iron blade as they were slaughtered, and many sheep and bleating goats; and many white-tusked hogs, rich with fat, were stretched out to singe across the flame of Hephaestus, while all around the corpse blood flowed in cupfuls.

Meanwhile the kings of the Achaeans led the lord himself, the swift-footed son of Peleus, to noble Agamemnon, barely persuading him, his heart still raging for his companion. When they came on their way to Agamemnon's shelter, at once they ordered the clear-voiced heralds to set a great tripod cauldron over the fire, hoping to persuade the son of Peleus to wash away the bloody gore. But he firmly refused, and swore an oath besides: "No, by Zeus, who is highest and best of the gods, it is not right for bathwater to come near my head until I have laid Patroclus on the fire, heaped up his burial mound, and shorn my hair; for never a second time will grief reach my heart like this while I remain among the living. Yet for now let us yield to this hateful meal; but at dawn, Agamemnon, lord of men, give orders to haul timber and provide all that is fitting for a dead man to have as he goes down into the murky darkness, so that tireless fire may burn him away quickly from our eyes, and the men may turn back to their work."

So he spoke, and they listened closely to him and obeyed. Eagerly they each made supper ready and feasted, nor did any man's heart lack an equal share of the feast. When they had put aside their desire for food and drink, the others went to their shelters, each man to lie down and sleep; but the son of Peleus lay groaning heavily among his many Myrmidons along the shore of the loud-roaring sea, in an open space where the waves washed up on the beach. When sleep took hold of him, loosening the cares of his heart as it poured sweetly around him—for his shining limbs were exhausted from charging after Hector toward windy Ilion—there came to him the spirit of poor Patroclus, just like the man himself in stature and fine eyes and voice, and wearing the very same clothes upon his skin. It stood above his head and spoke to him:

"You sleep, Achilles, and you have forgotten me. You never neglected me while I lived, only now that I am dead. Bury me as quickly as you can, so I may pass through the gates of Hades. The spirits, the phantoms of the worn-out dead, keep me far off and do not yet let me cross the river to join them, so I wander in vain through the wide-gated house of Hades. And give me your hand, I beg you through my tears, for never again will I return from Hades, once you have given me my share of fire. Never again in life, sitting apart from our dear companions, will we take counsel together; instead, hateful doom has gaped wide and swallowed me, the fate allotted to me at my birth. And for you too, godlike Achilles, it is fated to die beneath the wall of the wealthy Trojans. One thing more I will say, and charge you with, if you will listen: do not lay my bones apart from yours, Achilles, but together, just as we were raised in your house, when Menoetius brought me as a small boy from Opoeis to your home because of a grim manslaying, on the day I killed the son of Amphidamas—foolish child that I was, not meaning to, angry over a game of knucklebones. There the horseman Peleus welcomed me into his halls, raised me with care, and named me your attendant; so too let a single vessel enclose our bones together, the golden two-handled urn your revered mother gave you."

Then swift-footed Achilles answered him: "Why have you come here to me, beloved head, and why do you charge me with each of these things? I myself will fulfill it all for you and obey just as you command. But stand closer to me; even if only for a moment, let us throw our arms around each other and take our fill of bitter mourning." So speaking, he reached out with his own hands, but could not grasp him; the spirit went beneath the earth like smoke, with a thin shriek. Achilles sprang up in amazement, clapped his hands together, and spoke a sorrowful word: "Ah, then truly even in the house of Hades there is something—a spirit and a phantom, though no living heart is in it at all. For all night long the spirit of poor Patroclus stood over me, lamenting and weeping, and charged me with each thing, wondrously like the man himself."

So he spoke, and among them all he stirred a longing for lament; and as they wept, rosy-fingered Dawn appeared to them around the pitiable corpse. Then lord Agamemnon roused mules and men from all the shelters to haul timber; and a noble man took charge of them, Meriones, attendant of kindly Idomeneus. They set out holding wood-cutting axes in their hands and tightly braided ropes, while the mules went on ahead of them. Long ways uphill and downhill they traveled, along the slopes and crosswise paths. But when they reached the ridges of many-springed Mount Ida, at once they set to work on the tall-crowned oaks with long-edged bronze, chopping in haste, and with a mighty crash the trees came down. Then the Achaeans split the trunks and lashed them to the mules. Their hooves tore up the ground as they strained toward the plain through the dense brushwood. All the woodcutters carried logs as well, for such were the orders of Meriones, attendant of kindly Idomeneus. Down on the shore they laid the wood in order, where Achilles had planned a great burial mound for Patroclus and for himself.

When they had piled the measureless timber all around the spot, they sat down there together and waited. Then Achilles at once commanded the war-loving Myrmidons to belt on their bronze armor, and each man to yoke his horses to his chariot. They rose and put on their gear, and warriors and charioteers alike mounted their cars. The charioteers led the way, and behind them followed a cloud of foot soldiers in thousands; and in their midst his companions carried Patroclus. They covered the whole body with locks of hair that they sheared off and cast upon him, while behind them brilliant Achilles held Patroclus' head, grieving deeply, for he was escorting his noble companion to Hades. When they reached the place that Achilles had appointed for them, they set him down and quickly heaped up abundant wood for him.

Then swift-footed brilliant Achilles thought of one thing more: standing apart from the pyre, he cut the tawny lock of hair that he had let grow thick and long for the river Spercheius. Deeply troubled, he looked out over the wine-dark sea and spoke: "Spercheius, in vain my father Peleus vowed to you that when I returned home there to my dear native land, I would cut my hair for you and sacrifice a sacred hecatomb, and slaughter fifty uncastrated rams right there into your springs, where your sacred precinct and fragrant altar stand. So the old man prayed, but you did not fulfill his wish. Now, since I will not return to my dear native land, let me give my hair to the hero Patroclus to take with him." With those words, he placed the hair in the hands of his dear companion, and in all of them he stirred a longing for lament.

And the light of the sun would have gone down on their mourning had Achilles not stepped quickly up to Agamemnon and said: "Son of Atreus, since the Achaean army listens to your words most of all—and men can have their fill even of lament—dismiss them now from the pyre and tell them to prepare their meal. As for the work here, we to whom the dead man is dearest will tend to it; but let the commanders stay with us." When Agamemnon, lord of men, heard this, he at once dismissed the army to their balanced ships, while the chief mourners stayed behind there and piled up the wood. They built a pyre a hundred feet long on every side, and with aching hearts they laid the body on top of the pyre.

They skinned and dressed many fat sheep and shambling, curve-horned cattle in front of the pyre; and from all of them great-hearted Achilles took the fat and covered the corpse from head to foot, and heaped the skinned carcasses around him. He set two-handled jars of honey and rich oil upon the pyre, leaning them against the bier, and hurled four strong-necked horses onto the pyre in fierce haste, groaning aloud. Nine table-dogs had belonged to the lord Patroclus; Achilles slit the throats of two of them and threw them onto the pyre, along with twelve noble sons of great-hearted Trojans, hacking them down with bronze—he devised grim work in his heart—and he set the iron fury of fire to the wood so it might feed. Then he cried out in grief and called his dear companion by name: "Hail to you, Patroclus, even in the house of Hades! For now I am fulfilling everything I promised you before: twelve noble sons of great-hearted Trojans are all being devoured by the fire along with you. But I will not give Hector, son of Priam, to the fire to feed on, but to the dogs."

So he spoke in threat; yet no dogs busied themselves with Hector, for Zeus's daughter Aphrodite kept the dogs away day and night, and anointed him with rose-scented, ambrosial oil, so Achilles would not tear his skin when dragging him. And Phoebus Apollo drew a dark cloud over him from heaven down to the plain, covering the whole place where the dead man lay, lest before the time the sun's fierce heat should shrivel the skin around his sinews and limbs.

Yet the pyre of dead Patroclus would not catch fire. Then swift-footed brilliant Achilles thought of one thing more: standing apart from the pyre, he prayed to the two winds, Boreas and Zephyrus, and promised them fine sacrifices; and pouring out many libations from a golden cup, he begged them to come, so that the bodies might blaze up quickly in the fire and the timber rush into flame. Swiftly Iris heard his prayers and went as a messenger to the winds. They were all gathered together inside the house of stormy Zephyrus, feasting at a banquet, when Iris ran up and halted on the stone threshold. As soon as their eyes fell on her, they all sprang to their feet, and each one called her to sit by him. But she refused to sit, and spoke to them: "I must not sit, for I am going back to the streams of Oceanus, to the land of the Ethiopians, where they are sacrificing hecatombs to the immortals, so that I too may share in the sacred feast. But Achilles is praying for Boreas and loud-roaring Zephyrus to come, and he promises you fine sacrifices, so that you will rouse the pyre into flame, where Patroclus lies, over whom all the Achaeans are groaning in grief."

With those words she departed, and the two winds rose up with a tremendous roar, driving the clouds in tumult before them. At once they reached the open sea and blew, and the waves surged up beneath their whistling blast. They came to rich-soiled Troy and fell upon the pyre, and the fierce-blazing fire roared aloud. All night long the two of them together whipped up the flames of the pyre, blowing with a shrill scream; and all night long swift Achilles, taking a two-handled cup, drew wine from a golden mixing bowl and poured it out upon the ground, drenching the earth as he called upon the spirit of poor Patroclus. As a father mourns while burning the bones of his newly married son, whose death has left his wretched parents in grief, so Achilles mourned while burning the bones of his companion, dragging his steps beside the pyre and groaning without cease.

At the hour when the Morning Star goes forth to herald light across the earth, and in its wake Dawn in her saffron robe spreads over the sea, then the funeral pyre died down, and the flames ceased. The winds set off again to return home across the Thracian sea, and the water groaned, raging in a heavy swell. The son of Peleus drew aside from the pyre and lay down exhausted, and sweet sleep rushed upon him. Meanwhile the others gathered in a crowd around the son of Atreus, and the din and heavy tread of their approach woke Achilles. He sat upright and spoke to them: "Son of Atreus and you other chieftains of all the Achaeans, first quench the funeral pyre with gleaming wine all across it, wherever the fury of the fire reached; and after that, let us gather the bones of Patroclus, son of Menoetius, singling them out carefully—they are easy to recognize, for he lay in the middle of the pyre, while the others burned apart at the outer edge, horses and men mingled together. Let us place his bones, wrapped in a double layer of fat, in a golden urn, until I myself am hidden away in Hades. As for the burial mound, I do not ask you to labor over a huge one now, just one of fitting, modest size. Later on, you Achaeans can build it broad and high—those of you who survive me and remain behind in the many-benched ships."

So he spoke, and they obeyed the swift-footed son of Peleus. First they quenched the funeral pyre with gleaming wine wherever the flames had spread, and the deep ash settled down. Weeping, they gathered the white bones of their gentle companion, wrapped them in a double layer of fat, placed them in a golden urn, set it in the shelters, and covered them with a soft linen cloth. They marked out the circle of the mound and laid its foundation stones around the pyre, and straightway heaped loose earth over it. When they had heaped up the mound, they turned to go; but Achilles held the army there and seated them in a wide assembly, and from his ships he brought out prizes—cauldrons and tripods, horses and mules and strong head of cattle, women in fine sashes, and gray iron. First he set out splendid prizes for the swift charioteers: for the first man, a woman to lead away, skilled in faultless handiwork, and a handled tripod holding twenty-two measures; for the second he set out a mare six years old and unbroken, carrying a mule foal in her womb; for the third he set down a cauldron untouched by fire, a fine piece holding four measures, still bright and new; for the fourth he set out two talents of gold; and for the fifth he set a two-handled bowl untouched by fire.

He stood upright and spoke among the Argives: "Son of Atreus and you other Achaeans in fine leg armor, these prizes lie in the ring awaiting the charioteers. If we Achaeans were competing now in honor of some other man, I would surely take first prize and carry it back to my shelter. For you know how far my pair of horses surpass all others in excellence: they are immortal, and Poseidon gave them to my father Peleus, who in turn handed them on to me. Yet I will stay behind, and my solid-hoofed horses with me, for they have lost the noble glory of such a charioteer—a gentle man, who so often poured smooth oil over their manes after washing them in clear water. Standing in their place, the two of them mourn him; their manes trail on the ground, and they stand motionless, their hearts aching. So let the rest of you across the camp make ready, whoever of the Achaeans trusts in his horses and his tightly jointed chariot."

So spoke the son of Peleus, and the swift charioteers gathered. Far the first to rise was Eumelus, lord of men, the dear son of Admetus, who excelled in horsemanship. Next after him rose the son of Tydeus, strong Diomedes, and he led under the yoke the Trojan horses he had once taken from Aeneas, though Apollo rescued the man himself. After him rose the fair-haired son of Atreus, Menelaus of Zeus's line, and he led swift horses under the yoke: Agamemnon's mare Aethe and his own stallion Podargus. Echepolus, son of Anchises, had given the mare to Agamemnon as a gift, so that he would not have to follow him to windy Ilion but could stay behind and enjoy his life at home, for Zeus had given him great wealth, and he lived in Sicyon with its wide dancing grounds. Menelaus led her under the yoke; the mare was fiercely eager for the race. Fourth, Antilochus harnessed his sleek-maned horses—the splendid son of Nestor, the high-hearted king and son of Neleus. Swift-footed horses bred in Pylos drew his chariot, and his father stood close beside him and spoke to him for his good, wise though Antilochus already was:

"Antilochus, young as you are, Zeus and Poseidon have loved you and taught you every kind of horsemanship, so there is little need to instruct you. You know well how to wheel around the turning post; yet your horses are the slowest at running, and that, I think, will mean trouble. Their horses are faster, yet the men themselves know no more than you about devising a clever plan. So come, dear son, lay every kind of craft to heart, so that the prizes do not slip away from you. By craft a woodcutter is far better than by brute strength; by craft, too, a helmsman on the wine-dark sea steers a swift ship buffeted by the winds; and by craft one charioteer beats another. A man who relies only on his horses and chariot wheels carelessly wide this way and that, and his horses wander over the course, and he fails to hold them in check. But a man who knows his craft, even when driving slower horses, keeps his eyes fixed on the post and turns tight around it, never missing the right moment to tighten the oxhide reins, but holds his team steady and closely watches the leader.

"Now I will tell you a clear landmark that you cannot miss. A dry stump stands a fathom high above the ground, of oak or pine, unrotted by the rain, and two white stones are propped against it, one on each side, where the track narrows, with smooth driving ground around it—whether it is the grave marker of some mortal who died long ago, or was set up as a turning post in the days of earlier men—and now swift-footed brilliant Achilles has made it the turning mark. Crowd right up to it and drive your chariot and horses close, and lean your own body in the well-woven chariot car just to the left of the pair; then call out to the right-hand horse, goad him on, and give him slack rein with your hands. At the turning post let your left-hand horse press close in, so that the hub of your well-made wheel seems to graze the surface of the post; yet avoid striking the stone, lest you injure the horses and shatter your chariot—which would be a joy to the others, and a disgrace for you yourself. No, my dear son, keep your wits and be on your guard. For if at the turning post you surge past in the chase, there is no man who will catch you with a bound or pass you by, not even if behind you he were driving noble Arion, the swift stallion of Adrastus, who came of divine stock, or the horses of Laomedon, the fine team bred right here."

With these words, Nestor son of Neleus returned to his place and sat down, having told his son the crucial point of every matter. Then Meriones was the fifth to harness his sleek-maned horses. They stepped up into their chariots and cast in their lots; Achilles shook them, and out leaped the lot of Nestor's son Antilochus; after him lord Eumelus drew the next place; next after him came Atreus' son Menelaus, famed with the spear, and after him Meriones drew his place to drive; and last of all, Tydeus' son, though by far the best, drew the lot to drive his horses. They stood in a row, and Achilles pointed out the turning post far off on the smooth plain; and beside it he stationed as umpire godlike Phoenix, his own father's follower, to keep close watch on the running and report the truth. Then all at once they raised their whips above their teams, lashed them with the leather straps, and shouted commands fiercely; and the horses sped swiftly across the plain, fast away from the ships. Beneath their chests the dust rose and stood like a cloud or a whirlwind, and their manes streamed on the blasts of the wind. At one moment the chariots skimmed the rich-pastured earth, and at another they bounded high into the air; yet the drivers stood firm in their cars, and the heart of each man pounded in their eagerness for victory; each shouted to his own horses, and they flew onward, kicking up dust across the plain.

But when the swift horses were making the final stretch of the course back toward the gray sea, then the true mettle of each team showed, and at once the pace was strained to the utmost. Quickly then the swift mares of Pheres' grandson surged ahead, and right behind them surged the Trojan stallions of Diomedes, not far back at all, but close upon them; they always looked as though they were about to mount right into Eumelus' chariot, and with their breath his back and broad shoulders grew warm, for they flew along resting their heads right over him. And now Diomedes would either have passed him or made it a dead heat, had Phoebus Apollo not grown angry with the son of Tydeus and knocked the shining whip from his hands. Tears of rage poured from Diomedes' eyes as he saw the mares pulling even further ahead, while his own team lost ground, running without the goad. Yet Apollo did not escape Athena's notice when he cheated the son of Tydeus; swiftly she sped after the shepherd of the people, handed him back his whip, and put strength into his horses. Then in anger she went after the son of Admetus, and the goddess snapped his horses' yoke; his mares swerved to either side of the track, and the pole dropped to the ground. Eumelus himself was hurled from the car beside the wheel, scraping the skin from his elbows, mouth, and nose, and his forehead was gashed above the eyebrows; his eyes filled with tears, and his strong voice was choked.

The son of Tydeus swerved past and held his solid-hoofed horses on course, leaping far ahead of the others, for Athena had put strength into his horses and bestowed glory on him. Next after him drove the fair-haired son of Atreus, Menelaus. But Antilochus shouted to his father's horses: "Step out, you two as well! Strain with all your speed! I am not telling you to contend with those horses of Tydeus' battle-wise son: Athena has now granted them speed and given their driver glory; but overtake the horses of Atreus' son and do not lag behind, quickly now, lest Aethe cover you with disgrace, and she a mare! Why are you falling behind, my finest? For I will tell you this, and it will surely be fulfilled: there will be no tending for you from Nestor, shepherd of the people, but at once he will slaughter you with sharp bronze if through your slackness we carry off the worse prize. Follow close after them and hurry with all your speed! And I myself will contrive a way to slip past him in the narrow track, and it will not escape me."

So he spoke, and fearing their master's shout the pair ran harder for a short while; and presently steadfast Antilochus spotted a narrow place in the sunken track. There was a gully in the earth where winter rain had gathered and torn away part of the road, hollowing out the whole spot. Menelaus was steering along it, avoiding the clash of wheels; but Antilochus swerved his solid-hoofed horses off the track and, turning slightly aside, pressed the chase. The son of Atreus was alarmed and shouted out to Antilochus: "Antilochus, you are driving recklessly! Hold in your horses! The track is narrow here, and soon it will be wider for passing—beware lest you foul my chariot and wreck us both!" So he spoke, but Antilochus drove on all the harder, urging his team with the goad as if he had not heard. As far as the cast of a discus swung from the shoulder, when a young man hurls it to test his youthful strength, so far they surged ahead; and the horses of Atreus' son fell back, for he himself deliberately slackened his driving, lest the solid-hoofed horses collide in the narrow track, overturn the well-woven chariots, and leave the drivers themselves sprawling in the dust in their eagerness for victory.

Then fair-haired Menelaus rebuked him and said: "Antilochus, no mortal is more destructive than you! Go to ruin—we Achaeans were wrong to say you had good sense! Yet even so, you shall not carry off the prize without swearing an oath." With these words he called out to his horses and said: "Do not hang back for me or stand with aching hearts! Their feet and knees will grow weary before yours do, for both of them are past their youth." So he spoke, and fearing their master's shout they ran on harder, and soon drew close upon the others.

Meanwhile the Argives sitting in the assembly were watching the horses as they flew onward, kicking up dust across the plain. First to make out the horses was Idomeneus, leader of the Cretans, for he was sitting outside the ring, highest up on a vantage point. Hearing the driver's voice though he was still far off, he recognized it, and he made out a conspicuous stallion in the lead, chestnut over all the rest of his body, but on his forehead was a white mark, round like the moon. He stood upright and spoke among the Argives: "Friends, leaders and rulers of the Argives, am I the only one who discerns the horses, or do you see them too? Another team seems to me to be in the lead, and another charioteer appears in view. Those mares that were ahead on the outward run must have come to grief somewhere out on the plain; for I saw them rounding the turning post first, yet now I cannot see them anywhere, though my eyes scan every part of the Trojan plain as I look out. Perhaps the reins slipped from the charioteer's grasp and he could not hold them well around the post and failed to make the turn—there, I think, he must have been thrown out and shattered his chariot, while the mares bolted off the course when wild spirit seized their hearts. But stand up and look for yourselves, for I cannot make them out for certain; yet the man seems to me to be an Aetolian by birth who rules among the Argives—the son of horse-taming Tydeus, strong Diomedes."

Then swift Ajax, son of Oileus, rebuked him rudely: "Idomeneus, why are you babbling ahead of time? Those high-stepping mares are still far off, speeding across the wide plain. You are hardly the youngest man among the Argives, nor do the sharpest eyes look out from your head; yet you are always babbling with words. There is no need for you to be a windbag when better men than you are present. The same mares are in the lead as before, Eumelus' team, and he himself stands in the car holding the reins." Angrily the leader of the Cretans answered him: "Ajax, best at abuse, ill-judging, in everything else you fall short of the Argives, because your mind is stubborn and harsh. Come now, let us wager a tripod or a cauldron, and let us both make Agamemnon, son of Atreus, our umpire as to which horses are in front, so you may learn the truth when you pay up!" So he spoke, and at once swift Ajax, son of Oileus, started up in anger to answer with harsh words; and now the quarrel between the two would have gone still further, had Achilles himself not risen and spoken: "No more trading of harsh, ugly words now, Ajax and Idomeneus; it is not fitting. You yourselves would be indignant with anyone else who acted so. Sit down in the assembly and watch for the horses; straining for victory, they will soon be here themselves, and then each of you will know which of the Argives' horses are second and which are in front."

So he spoke, and the son of Tydeus came driving very near, plying the whip continually from his shoulder, while his horses bounded high as they swiftly covered the course. Sprays of dust kept striking the charioteer, and the chariot overlaid with gold and tin rolled close behind the swift-footed horses; scarce a trace of the wheel rims showed behind them in the fine dust as the pair flew onward in haste. He pulled up in the middle of the assembly while sweat streamed in abundance from the horses' necks and chests to the ground. Diomedes himself leaped to the ground from the gleaming car and leaned his whip against the yoke; and strong Sthenelus did not delay, but eagerly seized the prize, gave the woman to his high-hearted companions to lead away and the handled tripod to carry off, while he himself unyoked the horses.

Next after him Antilochus of Neleus' line drove up his horses, having passed Menelaus by craft and not at all by speed; yet even so, Menelaus held his swift horses close behind. As far as a horse is from the wheel when he strains across the plain drawing his master with the chariot—the very tips of his tail hairs brush the tire, and he runs just ahead of it, with hardly any space between as he courses over the wide plain—by so much Menelaus trailed behind noble Antilochus. At first he had been left as much as a discus-cast behind, yet he was quickly overtaking him, for the fine mettle of Agamemnon's sleek-maned mare Aethe was rising; and had the course been longer for them both, he would have passed him and left the matter in no doubt. Meanwhile Meriones, the noble attendant of Idomeneus, came in a spear-cast behind glorious Menelaus; for his sleek-maned horses were the slowest, and he himself was the least skilled at driving a chariot in a race. Last of them all came the son of Admetus, dragging his fine chariot and driving his mares in front of him.

Seeing him, swift-footed brilliant Achilles felt pity, and standing among the Argives he spoke winged words: "The best man is driving his solid-hoofed horses in last. Come, let us give him a prize, as is fitting—second place; and let the son of Tydeus carry off the first." So he spoke, and they all approved what he proposed. And now he would have given him the mare, for the Achaeans approved, had not Antilochus, son of great-hearted Nestor, risen and answered Achilles son of Peleus with a claim of right: "Achilles, I will be deeply angry with you if you carry out this word; for you mean to rob me of my prize, thinking of how his chariot and swift mares came to grief, though he himself is a noble driver. Well, he ought to have prayed to the immortals; then he would never have come driving in last of all! If you pity him and he is dear to your heart, you have plenty of gold in your shelter, and bronze and sheep, and you have slave women and solid-hoofed horses. Take from those and give him an even greater prize later on, or right now on the spot, so the Achaeans may applaud you. But this mare I will not give up; for her, let any man who wishes try me in combat with his hands!"

So he spoke, and swift-footed brilliant Achilles smiled, pleased with Antilochus because he was his dear companion; and answering him he spoke winged words: "Antilochus, if you bid me give Eumelus something else from my own store besides, I will do that too. I will give him the bronze breastplate that I stripped from Asteropaeus, around which a rim of bright tin is set in a circle; it will be of great worth to him." He spoke, and told his dear companion Automedon to bring it from the shelter; he went and brought it to him, and placed it in Eumelus' hands, and he received it gladly.

Then Menelaus also rose among them, his heart aching, furiously angry with Antilochus. A herald placed the staff in his hands and called for silence among the Argives, and the godlike man spoke: "Antilochus, you used to have good sense—what a thing you have done! You have disgraced my skill and fouled my horses by thrusting your own in front, though yours were far inferior. Come then, leaders and rulers of the Argives, judge fairly between the two of us, showing favor to neither side, lest one of the bronze-armored Achaeans someday say: 'Menelaus overcame Antilochus with lies and went off with the mare, because although his horses were far inferior, he himself was superior in rank and power.' Or come, I myself will set out the judgment, and I say no other Danaans will fault me, for it will be straight: Antilochus, fostered by Zeus, come here, as custom requires; stand before your horses and chariot, hold in your hands the slender whip with which you drove just now, and touching your horses swear by the Earth-Holder, the Earth-Shaker, that you did not willingly foul my chariot by trickery."

Then sensible Antilochus answered him: "Bear with me now; for I am much younger than you, lord Menelaus, and you are my elder and my better. You know how a young man's transgressions come about, for his mind is hastier and his judgment thin. So let your heart be patient; I myself will give you the mare that I won. And even if you should ask for something else of greater value from my own store, I would rather give it to you at once on the spot than fall out of favor with your heart for all my days, fostered by Zeus, and be a sinner against the gods." He spoke, and the son of great-hearted Nestor led the mare and placed her in Menelaus' hands; and Menelaus' heart softened, as ripening grain is refreshed by dew upon its ears when the fields bristle with the crop—just so, Menelaus, the heart within your breast softened. Speaking to him, he uttered winged words: "Antilochus, now I myself will yield to you, angry though I was, since before this you were neither flighty nor reckless; just now youth got the better of your judgment. Next time avoid outwitting your betters. Not readily would another man of the Achaeans have won me over; but you have suffered much and toiled much for my sake, and so have your noble father and your brother. Therefore I will yield to your plea, and I will even give you the mare, though she is mine, so that these men too may know that my heart is never arrogant or unbending." He spoke, and gave the mare to Noemon, Antilochus' companion, to lead away, and he himself took the gleaming cauldron.

Meriones took up the two talents of gold in fourth place, as he had driven. The fifth prize was left unclaimed, the two-handled bowl; carrying it through the assembly of the Argives, Achilles stood beside Nestor and gave it to him, saying: "Take this now, old sir, and let it be a treasure for you in memory of Patroclus' burial; for never again will you see him among the Argives. I give you this prize freely, for you will not box, nor wrestle, nor enter the javelin contest, nor run on your feet, since harsh old age already weighs upon you." With these words he placed it in his hands, and Nestor received it gladly, and speaking to him uttered winged words: "Yes indeed, my child, you have spoken all this fittingly. My limbs are no longer steady, friend—neither my feet, nor do my arms shoot out lightly from either shoulder. Would that I were as young and my strength as firm as when the Epeians buried lord Amarynceus at Buprasium, and his sons set out the king's prizes! There no man proved my match, neither of the Epeians nor of the Pylians themselves nor of the great-hearted Aetolians. In boxing I defeated Clytomedes, son of Enops, and in wrestling Ancaeus of Pleuron, who stood up against me; I outran Iphiclus on foot, good man though he was, and with the spear I outthrew Phyleus and Polydorus. Only with horses did the two sons of Actor outstrip me, crowding in front of me by their number, jealous for victory because the greatest prizes remained right there for that race. They were twins: one held the reins with a steady hand—held the reins with a steady hand—while the other plied the whip. Such was I once; now let younger men face such deeds, and I must obey grim old age, though in those days I shone among heroes. Come, go on and honor your companion with funeral contests. This gift I gladly accept, and my heart rejoices that you always remember my kindness to you—nor does it escape you what honor I ought to be shown among the Achaeans. For this may the gods grant you abundant grace in return." So he spoke, and the son of Peleus went back through the great throng of the Achaeans after listening to all the praise of Neleus' son.

Next he set out prizes for painful boxing. He led a hardy female mule into the ring and tethered her there, six years old and unbroken, the hardest of all to break; and for the loser he set out a two-handled cup. He stood upright and spoke among the Argives: "Son of Atreus and you other Achaeans in fine leg armor, we call for two men, the best here, to put up their fists for these prizes and trade blows. Whichever man Apollo grants endurance, and all the Achaeans see it, let him lead the hardy mule away to his shelter; and the loser will carry off the two-handled cup." So he spoke, and at once there rose a big, valiant man skilled in boxing, Epeius, son of Panopeus. He laid his hand on the hardy mule and said: "Let the man step forward who will carry off the two-handled cup; the mule, I say, no other Achaean will lead away by beating me with his fists, for I claim to be the best at this. Is it not enough that I fall short in battle? A man could hardly prove skilled in every kind of work. For I will tell you this, and it will surely be fulfilled: I will tear his flesh clean through and smash his bones together. Let those who care for him stay right here in a group to carry him out once my hands have beaten him down!"

So he spoke, and they all fell hushed in silence. Euryalus alone stood up to face him, a godlike man, the son of lord Mecisteus and grandson of Talaus. Mecisteus had once gone to Thebes for the funeral games of fallen Oedipus and there defeated all the Cadmeans. The son of Tydeus, famed with the spear, busied himself around Euryalus, cheering him on with words, for he badly wanted victory for him. First he cast a loincloth beside him, and then gave him well-cut thongs of the hide of a field-ranging ox. When the two had belted themselves, they stepped into the middle of the ring, raised their strong hands together face to face, and fell upon one another, their heavy fists trading blows. There was a terrible grinding of jaws, and sweat poured from their limbs on every side. Then noble Epeius lunged in as the other peered out for an opening and struck him on the cheek; he could stand no longer, for his shining limbs gave way beneath him on the spot. As a fish leaps up beneath the ripple of the North Wind on a weed-strewn beach, and then the dark wave covers it over, so Euryalus leaped up when struck. But great-hearted Epeius took him in his hands and lifted him to his feet, and his dear companions gathered around him and led him through the ring with his feet dragging, spitting thick blood and rolling his head to one side. They brought him in a daze and sat him down among them, and went themselves to fetch the two-handled cup.

At once the son of Peleus set out prizes for a third contest, displaying them to the Danaans for painful wrestling: for the winner, a great tripod to stand over the fire, which the Achaeans valued among themselves at twelve oxen; and for the loser he placed a woman in the midst, skilled in many crafts, whom they valued at four oxen. He stood upright and spoke among the Argives: "Rise, you two who will try this contest as well." So he spoke, and then rose great Telamonian Ajax, and up rose Odysseus of many counsels, skilled in craft. When the two had belted themselves, they stepped into the middle of the ring and locked each other in their arms with their strong hands, like the rafters of a high house that a famed carpenter fits together to keep out the force of the winds. Their backs creaked as they were wrenched hard beneath their bold hands, wet sweat poured down, and thick welts crimson with blood sprang up along their ribs and shoulders; yet both kept straining ever harder for victory and the well-wrought tripod. Neither could Odysseus trip Ajax and bring him to the ground, nor could Ajax throw him, for the mighty strength of Odysseus held firm.

But when they were beginning to weary the Achaeans in fine leg armor, great Telamonian Ajax spoke to him: "Son of Laertes, of Zeus's line, resourceful Odysseus, either lift me, or I will lift you; and the outcome will be for Zeus to decide." With those words he lifted him; yet Odysseus did not forget his craft. He struck him accurately behind the hollow of the knee and loosed his limbs, throwing him backward, and Odysseus fell upon his chest as the men looked on and marveled. Next much-enduring brilliant Odysseus tried to lift him, and budged him a little from the ground, but could not lift him higher; instead he hooked his knee inside, and both fell to the ground side by side and were soiled with dust. And now they would have sprung up a third time and wrestled again, had Achilles himself not risen and held them back: "Do not strain against each other any longer or wear yourselves out with pain. Victory belongs to you both; take equal prizes and go, so that the other Achaeans may compete as well." So he spoke, and they listened closely to him and obeyed, and wiping off the dust they put on their tunics.

At once the son of Peleus set out other prizes for speed of foot: a wrought silver mixing bowl that held six measures and far surpassed all others over the whole earth in beauty, since skilled Sidonians had crafted it well, and Phoenician men had carried it over the misty sea, set it ashore in harbor, and given it as a gift to Thoas; and Euneus, son of Jason, had given it to the hero Patroclus in payment for Priam's son Lycaon. This bowl too Achilles set out as a prize in honor of his companion, for whichever man proved lightest on swift feet; for the second man he set out a great ox, rich with fat; and as the last prize he set half a talent of gold. He stood upright and spoke among the Argives: "Rise, you who will try this contest as well." So he spoke, and at once rose swift Ajax, son of Oileus, and up rose Odysseus of many counsels, and after them Nestor's son Antilochus, for he surpassed all the young men in speed of foot. They stood in a row, and Achilles pointed out the turning mark.

Their pace was strained from the starting line, and swiftly the son of Oileus surged ahead; and close behind him pressed brilliant Odysseus—as close as the weaving-rod is to the breast of a woman in a fine sash when she pulls it taut with her hands, drawing the spool past the warp, and holds it near her breast. So close behind ran Odysseus, and his feet struck the other's tracks before the dust could settle back over them, and as he ran lightly on, brilliant Odysseus breathed right down upon the back of his head. All the Achaeans shouted for him in his eagerness for victory, cheering him on as he strained hard. When they were making the final stretch of the course, at once Odysseus prayed in his heart to bright-eyed Athena: "Hear me, goddess, and come as a kindly helper to my feet!" So he spoke in prayer, and Pallas Athena heard him, and made his limbs light, his feet and his arms above. Just as they were about to spring for the prize, Ajax slipped as he ran—for Athena tripped him—right where the dung of the loud-bellowing slaughtered cattle was scattered, which swift-footed Achilles had slain in honor of Patroclus; and his mouth and nostrils were filled with cow dung. Much-enduring brilliant Odysseus took up the mixing bowl, since he came in first, and glorious Ajax took the ox.

He stood holding the horn of the field-ranging ox in his hands, spitting out dung, and spoke among the Argives: "Curse it! Truly the goddess tripped my feet, she who as always stands by Odysseus like a mother and helps him." So he spoke, and they all laughed merrily at him. Then Antilochus carried off the last prize, smiling, and spoke among the Argives: "Friends, I will tell you all what you already know: even now the immortals honor older men. For Ajax is only a little older than I am, while this man belongs to an earlier generation and earlier men. They say he is on the threshold of old age, yet it is hard for any of the Achaeans to rival him on foot, except Achilles." So he spoke, and paid honor to the swift-footed son of Peleus. Answering him, Achilles said: "Antilochus, your praise shall not be spoken in vain; I will add half a talent of gold for you." With those words he placed it in his hands, and Antilochus received it gladly.

Next the son of Peleus brought and set down in the ring a long-shadowed spear, and set down a shield and helmet—the armor of Sarpedon that Patroclus had stripped from him. He stood upright and spoke among the Argives: "We call for two men, the best here, to put on their armor, take flesh-cutting bronze, and test each other before the host for these prizes. Whichever man first reaches the other's fair flesh, piercing his armor to touch the flesh within and draw dark blood, to him I will give this silver-studded sword, a fine Thracian blade that I stripped from Asteropaeus; and let both men carry off this armor in common, and we will set a fine feast before them in the shelters." So he spoke, and then rose great Telamonian Ajax, and up rose the son of Tydeus, strong Diomedes. When they had armed themselves on either side of the throng, both strode into the middle eager to fight, glaring fiercely; and wonder held all the Achaeans. When they came close, advancing upon each other, three times they lunged in, and three times they charged at close quarters. Then Ajax thrust at Diomedes' balanced shield, but did not reach his flesh, for the breastplate inside protected him; and after that the son of Tydeus kept aiming over the great shield at Ajax's neck with the point of his shining spear. Then indeed the Achaeans, terrified for Ajax, called on them to stop and take up equal prizes. Yet Achilles gave the great sword to the son of Tydeus, bringing it with its scabbard and well-cut baldric.

Next the son of Peleus set out a rough-cast mass of iron that the mighty Eetion used to hurl; but swift-footed brilliant Achilles had slain him and brought the iron away in his ships along with his other possessions. He stood upright and spoke among the Argives: "Rise, you who will try this contest as well. Even if the winner's rich fields lie very far away, he will have this to use for five wheeling years; for neither his shepherd nor his plowman will go to town for lack of iron, but this will supply it." So he spoke, and up rose steadfast Polypoetes, and the strong might of godlike Leonteus, and Telamonian Ajax, and noble Epeius. They stood in order, and noble Epeius took the iron mass, whirled, and hurled it; and all the Achaeans laughed at him. Second, Leonteus, scion of Ares, cast it; third, great Telamonian Ajax hurled it from his strong hand and threw past all their marks. But when steadfast Polypoetes took the iron mass, as far as a herdsman flings his throwing-stick, and it flies whirling over the herd of cattle, so far he threw beyond the whole ring; and the men shouted aloud. Then the companions of strong Polypoetes rose and carried the king's prize off to the hollow ships.

Next he set out dark iron for the archers, putting down ten double-bladed axes and ten single-bladed axes. He set up the mast of a dark-prowed ship far out on the sands, and to it he tied a timid dove by the foot with a slender cord and bade them shoot at her: "Whichever man hits the timid dove, let him take up all the double-bladed axes and carry them home; and whichever man misses the bird and hits the cord—since he is the lesser shot—he shall carry off the single-bladed axes." So he spoke, and then rose the mighty lord Teucer, and up rose Meriones, the noble attendant of Idomeneus. They took lots and shook them in a bronze helmet, and Teucer drew first place by lot. At once he shot an arrow with all his strength, yet he did not vow to the lord Apollo to sacrifice a splendid hecatomb of firstborn lambs. He missed the bird, for Apollo grudged him that, but he hit the cord beside her foot where the bird was tied, and the sharp arrow severed the cord clean through. The bird shot up toward the sky, while the cord drooped down toward the ground; and the Achaeans raised a roar. In haste Meriones snatched the bow from Teucer's hand—he had already been holding an arrow ready while the other aimed—and at once he vowed to far-shooting Apollo to sacrifice a splendid hecatomb of firstborn lambs. High up beneath the clouds he spotted the timid dove; there, as she circled, he hit her squarely beneath the wing, and the shaft passed clean through. It fell back and stuck in the ground in front of Meriones' foot, while the bird, settling on the mast of the dark-prowed ship, let her neck droop, and her thick wings fell slack together. Swiftly the life fled from her limbs, and she fell far from the mast; and the men looked on and marveled. Then Meriones took up all ten double-bladed axes, and Teucer carried the single-bladed axes to the hollow ships.

Then the son of Peleus brought and set down in the ring a long-shadowed spear and a cauldron untouched by fire, worth an ox and embossed with flowers; and the spear-throwers rose up. Up rose the son of Atreus, wide-ruling Agamemnon, and up rose Meriones, the noble attendant of Idomeneus. But swift-footed brilliant Achilles spoke among them: "Son of Atreus, since we know how far you surpass all men, and how far you are the best in power and in throwing the spear, take this prize and go your way to the hollow ships; and let us give the spear to the hero Meriones, if you in your heart are willing—for that is what I urge." So he spoke, and Agamemnon, lord of men, did not disobey. Achilles gave the bronze spear to Meriones, and the hero Agamemnon handed the splendid prize to the herald Talthybius.