Book XII: The Battle at the Grecian Wall

Thus in the camp Menoetius’ valiant sonTended Eurypylus, and dressed his wounds;While yet in mingled throngs the warriors fought—Trojans and Greeks. Nor longer was the trenchA barrier for the Greeks, nor the broad wallWhich they had built above it to defendTheir fleet; for all around it they had drawnThe trench, yet not with chosen hecatombsPaid to the gods, that so it might protectThe galleys and the heaps of spoil they held.Without the favor of the gods it rose,And therefore was not long to stand entire.As long as Hector lived, and Peleus’ sonWas angered, and King Priam’s city yetWas not o’erthrown, so long the massive wallBuilt by the Greeks stood firm. But when at lengthThe bravest of the Trojans had been slain,And many of the Greeks were dead—though stillOthers survived—and when in the tenth yearThe city of Priam fell, and in their shipsThe Greeks went back to their beloved land,Then did Apollo and the god of seaConsult together to destroy the wallBy turning on it the resistless mightOf rivers, all that from the Idaean heightsFlow to the ocean—Rhesus, Granicus,Heptaporus, Caresus, Rhodius,Aesepus, and Scamander’s hallowed stream,And Simoïs, in whose bed lay many shieldsAnd helms and bodies of slain demigods.Phoebus Apollo turned the mouths of theseAll toward one spot; nine days against the wallHe bade their currents rush, while JupiterPoured constant rain, that floods might overwhelmThe rampart; and the god who shakes the earth,Wielding his trident, led the rivers on.He flung among the billows the huge beamsAnd stones which, with hard toil, the Greeks had laidFor the foundations. Thus he levelled allBeside the hurrying Hellespont, destroyedThe bulwarks utterly, and overspreadThe long broad shore with sand; and then he broughtAgain the rivers to the ancient bedsIn which their gently flowing waters ran.

This yet was to be done in time to comeBy Neptune and Apollo. Meanwhile ragedBattle and tumult round that strong-built wall.The towers in all their timbers rang with blows;And, driven as by the scourge of Jove, the Greeks,Hemmed closely in beside their roomy ships,Trembled at Hector, the great scattererOf squadrons, fighting, as he did before,With all a whirlwind’s might. As when a boarOr lion mid the hounds and huntsmen stands,Fearfully strong, and fierce of eye, and theyIn square array assault him, and their handsFling many a javelin;—yet his noble heartFears not, nor does he fly, although at lastHis courage cause his death; and oft he turns,And tries their ranks; and where he makes a rushThe ranks give way;—so Hector moved and turnedAmong the crowd, and bade his followers crossThe trench. The swift-paced horses ventured notThe leap, but stood upon the edge and neighedAloud, for the wide space affrighted them;And hard it was to spring across, or passFrom side to side, for on each side the brinkWas steep, and bristled with sharp stakes, close setAnd strong, which there the warrior sons of GreeceHad planted, a defence against the foe.No steed that whirled the rapid car alongCould enter, but the soldiery on footEagerly sought to pass, and in these wordsPolydamas to daring Hector spake:—

“Hector, and ye who lead the troops of TroyAnd our auxiliars! Rashly do we seekTo urge our rapid steeds across the trenchSo hard to pass, beset with pointed stakes—And the Greek wall so near. The troops of horseCannot descend nor combat there: the spaceIs narrow: they would all be slain. If Jove,The Thunderer of the skies, design to crushThe Greeks and succor Troy, I should rejoiceWere the design at once fulfilled, and allThe sons of Greece ingloriously cut off,Far from their Argos. But if they should turnUpon us, and repulse us from their fleet,And we become entangled in the trench,I deem no messenger would e’er go backTo Troy from fighting with the rallied Greeks.Heed, then, my words, and let the charioteersStay with the coursers at the trench, while we,Armed, and on foot, and all in close array,Follow our Hector. For the Greeks in vainWill strive to stem our onset if, in truth,The hour of their destruction be at hand.”

So spake Polydamas; and Hector, pleasedTo hear the prudent counsel, leaped to earthWith all his arms, and left his car. The restRode with their steeds no more, but, hastilyDismounting, as they saw their noble chief,Each bade his charioteer hold back his steeds,Reined at the trench, in ranks. And then, apart,They mustered in five columns, following closeTheir leaders. First, the largest, bravest band,Those who, with resolute daring, longed to breakThe rampart and to storm the fleet, were ledBy Hector and the good Polydamas,Joined with Cebriones—for Hector leftHis chariot to the care of one who heldAn humbler station than Cebriones.Paris, Alcathoüs, and Agenor ledA second squadron. Helenus, a sonOf Priam, and Deïphobus, a youthOf godlike form, his brother, took commandOf yet a third—with whom in rank was joinedThe hero Asius, son of Hyrtacus,Whose bright-haired coursers, of majestic size,Had borne him from Arisba and the banksOf Selleis. Aeneas led the fourth—The brave son of Anchises; and with himWere joined Archilochus and Acamas,Sons of Antenor, skilled in arts of war.The band of Troy’s illustrious alliesFollowed Sarpedon, who from all the restHad chosen, to partake in the command,Glaucus and brave Asteropoeus. TheseHe deemed the bravest under him; yet heStood foremost of them all in warlike might.

Then all, with their stout bucklers of bull’s-hideAdjusted to each other, bravely marchedAgainst the Greeks, who, as they deemed, must flyBefore them, and must fall by their black ships.Then all the other Trojans, and the alliesFrom foreign shores, obeyed the counsel givenBy good Polydamas; but Asius, sonOf Hyrtacus, and prince of men, chose notTo leave his chariot and his charioteer,But drave with them against the roomy ships.Vain youth!—he was not destined to return,Borne by his steeds and chariot, from the fleet,And from the fate he braved, to wind-swept Troy.His evil fate o’ertook him from the spearOf great Idomeneus, Deucalion’s son;For toward the galleys moored upon the leftHe hastened by the way in which the Greeks,With steeds and cars, retreated from the plain.Thither he drave his coursers; there he foundThe gates not closed, nor the long bar across,But warriors held them open to receiveIn safety their companions as they fledFrom battle to the fleet. ExultinglyHe turned his coursers thither, and his menFollowed him, shouting; for they thought the GreeksCould not abide their onset, but must yield,And perish by their ships. Deluded men!—They met two mighty warriors at the gate—The brave descendants of the Lapithae,That warlike tribe: Pirithoüs’ gallant sonWas one, named Polypoetes; with him stoodLeonteus, strong as Mars the slayer of men.By the tall gates they stood, as giant oaksStand on the mountains and abide the windAnd the tempestuous rains of all the year,Firm-planted on their strong and spreading roots.So they, confiding in their strength of arm,Waited for mighty Asius hasting on,And fled not. Onward came the hostile troop,With their tough shields uplifted, and with shouts:All rushing toward the massive wall they came,Following King Asius, and Iamenus,Orestes, Thoön, Acamas the sonOf Asius, and Oenomaüs. MeanwhileLeonteus and his comrade had retiredWithin, encouraging the well-armed GreeksTo combat for the fleet; but when they sawThe rout and panic of their flying host,They darted forth and fought before the gates—Fought like wild boars that in the mountains meetA clamorous troop of men and dogs, and dartSideway at their assailants, break the treesClose to the root, and fiercely gnash their tusks,Until some javelin strikes them, and they die.So on the breasts of the two warriors rangThe shining brass, oft smitten; for they foughtFearlessly, trusting in the aid of thoseWho held the wall, and their own valiant arms.And they who stood on the strong towers hurled downStones, to defend the Achaians and their tentsAnd their swift ships. As snow-flakes fall to earthWhen strong winds, driving on the shadowy cloud,Shower them upon the nourishing glebe, so thickWere showered the weapons from the hands of GreeksAnd Trojans; and the helms and bossy shields,Beaten by stones, resounded. Asius then—The son of Hyrtacus—in anger groaned,And smote his thighs impatiently, and said:—

“O Father Jove! Thou then art wholly false.I did not look to see the men of GreeceStand thus before our might and our strong arms;Yet they, like pliant-bodied wasps or bees,That build their cells beside the rocky way,And quit not their abode, but, waiting thereThe hunter, combat for their young—so these,Although but two, withdraw not from the gates,Nor will, till they be slain or seized alive.”

He spake; but moved not thus the will of Jove,Who planned to give the glory of the dayTo Hector. Meanwhile, at the other gatesFought other warriors—but ’twere hard for me,Were I a god, to tell of all their deeds;For round the wall on every side there raged,Fierce as consuming fire, a storm of stones.The Greeks, in bitter anguish, yet constrained,Fought for their fleet; and sorrowful were allThe gods who in the battle favored Greece.

Now the two Lapithae began the fight.Pirithoüs’ son, brave Polypoetes, castHis spear at Damasus; it broke its wayThrough the helm’s brazen cheek—nor that alone:Right through the temple went the brazen blade,And crushed the brain within. He left him slain,And next struck Pylon down, and Ormenus.Leonteus, of the stock of Mars, assailedHippomachus, who from AntimachusDerived his birth; he pierced him at the belt,And, drawing forth his trenchant sword, hewed down,In combat hand-to-hand, Antiphates;He dashed him backward to the ground, and nextSmote Menon and Iamenus; and lastHe slew Orestes: at his feet they lay,A pile of dead, upon their mother Earth.

Then, as the twain were stripping from the deadTheir glittering arms, the largest, bravest bandOf those who eagerly desired to breakThe rampart and to burn the ships with fire,Following Polydamas and Hector, stoodConsulting at the trench. An augury,Just as they were in act to cross, appearedUpon the left: an eagle high in air,Between the armies, in his talons boreA monstrous serpent, bleeding, yet aliveAnd palpitating—nor disabled yetFor combat; for it turned, and on the breastWounded the eagle, near the neck. The birdIn pain let fall his prize amid the host,And flew away, with screams, upon the wind.The Trojans shuddered at the spotted snakeLying among them, and PolydamasSaid thus to fearless Hector, standing near:—

“Hector, thou almost ever chidest meIn council, even when I judge aright.I know it ill becomes the citizenTo speak against the way that pleases thee,In war or council—he should rather seekTo strengthen thy authority; yet nowI will declare what seems to me the best:Let us not combat with the Greeks, to takeTheir fleet; for this, I think, will be the end,If now the omen we have seen be meantFor us of Troy who seek to cross the trench;This eagle, flying high upon the left,Between the hosts, that in his talons boreA monstrous serpent, bleeding, yet alive,Hath dropped it mid our host before he cameTo his dear nest, nor brought it to his brood;So we, although by force we break the gatesAnd rampart, and although the Greeks fall back,Shall not as happily retrace our way;For many a Trojan shall we leave behind,Slain by the weapons of the Greeks, who standAnd fight to save their fleet. Thus will the seer,Skilled in the lore of prodigies, explainThe portent, and the people will obey.”

Sternly the crested Hector looked, and spake:—“Polydamas, the thing that thou hast saidPleases me not, and easily couldst thouFrame better counsels. If thy words conveyThy earnest thought, the gods assuredlyHave made thee lose thy senses. Thou dost askThat I no longer reverence the decreeOf Jove, the Thunderer of the sky, who gaveHis promise, and confirmed it. Thou dost askThat I be governed by the flight of birds,Which I regard not, whether to the rightAnd toward the morning and the sun they fly,Or toward the left and evening. We should heedThe will of mighty Jupiter, who bearsRule over gods and men. One auguryThere is, the surest and the best—to fightFor our own land. Why dreadest thou the warAnd conflict? Though we all should fall besideThe galleys of the Greeks, there is no fearThat thou wilt perish, for thou hast no heartTo stand against the foe;—no warrior thou!Yet, if thou dare to stand aloof, or seekBy words to turn another from the fight,The spear I wield shall take thy life at once.”

He spake, and went before; and all his bandFollowed with fearful clamor. Jupiter,The God of thunders, sending a strong windFrom the Idaean summits, drave the dustFull on the galleys, and made faint the heartsOf the Greek warriors, and gave new renownTo Hector and the men of Troy. For these,Trusting in portents sent from Jupiter,And their own valor, labored to break throughThe massive rampart of the Greeks: they toreThe galleries from the towers, and levelled downThe breastworks, heaved with levers from their placeThe jutting buttresses which Argive handsHad firmly planted to support the towers,And brought them to the ground; and thus they hopedTo force a passage to the Grecian camp.Not yet did they of Greece give way: they fencedThe rampart with their ox-hide shields, and smoteThe enemy from behind them as he cameUnder the wall. The chieftains Ajax flewFrom tower to tower, and cheered the Achaians on,And roused their valor—some with gentle words,And some with harsh rebuke—whome’er they sawSkulk from the toils and dangers of the fight.“O friends!” they said, “ye great in war, and yeOf less renown, and ye of little note!—For all are not alike in war—the timeDemands the aid of all, as well ye know:And now let no man turn him toward the fleetBefore the threats of Hector, but press on,And each exhort his fellow: so may Jove,Who flings the lightning from Olympus, grantThat, driving back their onset, we may chaseThe enemy to the very walls of Troy.”

Thus in the van they shouted, and awokeNew courage in the Greeks. As when the flakesOf snow fall thick upon a winter-day,When Jove the Sovereign pours them down on men,Like arrows, from above;—he bids the windBreathe not; continually he pours them down,And covers every mountaintop and peak,And flowery mead, and field of fertile tilth,And sheds them on the havens and the shoresOf the gray deep; but there the waters boundThe covering of snows—all else is whiteBeneath that fast-descending shower of Jove;—So thick the shower of stones from either sideFlew toward the other—from the Greeks againstThe Trojans, and from them against the Greeks;And fearful was the din along the wall.

Yet would illustrious Hector and the menOf Troy have failed to force the gates and burstThe bar within, had not all-seeing JoveImpelled his son Sarpedon to attackThe Greeks as falls a lion on a herdOf horned beeves. The warrior held his shield,A brazen orb, before him—beautiful,And fenced with metal; for the armorer laidBroad plates without, while under these he sewedBull’s-hides the toughest, edged with golden wiresUpon the rim. With this the warrior came,Wielding two spears. As when a lion, bredAmong the mountains, fasting long from flesh,Comes into the fenced pastures, without fear,To prey upon the flock; and though he meetThe shepherds keeping watch with dogs and spears,Yet will he not be driven thence untilHe makes a spring into the fold and bearsA sheep away, or in the act is slain,Struck by a javelin from some ready hand;—Sarpedon, godlike warrior, thus was movedBy his great heart to storm the wall and breakThrough the strong barrier; and to Glaucus, sonOf Lycia’s king Hippolochus, he said:—

“Why, Glaucus, are we honored, on the shoresOf Lycia, with the highest seat at feasts,And with full cups? Why look men up to usAs to the gods? And why do we possessBroad, beautiful enclosures, full of vinesAnd wheat, beside the Xanthus? Then it wellBecomes us, foremost in the Lycian ranksTo stand against the foe, where’er the fightIs hottest; so our well-armed Lycian menShall say, and truly: ‘Not ingloriouslyOur kings bear rule in Lycia, where they feastOn fatlings of the flock, and drink choice wine;For they excel in valor, and they fightAmong our foremost.’ O my friend, if we,Leaving this war, could flee from age and death,I should not here be fighting in the van,Nor would I send thee to the glorious warBut now, since many are the modes of deathImpending o’er us, which no man can hopeTo shun, let us press on and give renownTo other men, or win it for ourselves!”

He spake; and Glaucus not unwillinglyHeard and obeyed. Right on the warriors pressed,Leading the Lycian host. Menestheus, sonOf Peteus, saw, and trembled; for they cameWith evil menace toward his tower. He lookedAlong the Grecian lines in hope to seeSome chieftain there whose ready help might saveHis comrades from their danger. He beheldThe rulers Ajax, never tired of war,Standing with Teucer, who just then had leftHis tent; and yet they could not hear his shout,So fearful was the din that rose to heavenFrom all the shields, and crested helms, and gates,Smitten with missiles—for at all the gatesThe Lycians thundered, struggling hard to breakA passage through them. Then Menestheus calledA herald near, and bade Thoötes bearA message to the leaders Ajax, thus:—

“Go, nobly born Thoötes, and in hasteCall Ajax—call them both, for that were best—Since terrible will be the slaughter here,So fiercely are the Lycians pressing on,Impetuous ever in assault. If thereThe fight be also urgent, then at leastLet the brave Telamonian Ajax come,And Teucer, the great archer, follow him.

He spake. The herald listened and obeyed,And flew along the summit of the wallBuilt by the Greeks. He reached, and stood beside,The chieftains Ajax, and addressed them thus:—

“Ajaces, leaders of the warlike Greeks,The honored son of noble Peteus asksThat ye will come, though for a little space,To aid him and to share his warlike toils;For terrible will be the slaughter there,So fiercely are the Lycians pressing on,Impetuous ever in assault. If hereThe fight be also urgent, then at leastLet the brave Telamonian Ajax come.And Teucer, the great archer, follow him.”

He ended. Ajax, son of Telamon,Hearkened, and to his fellow-warrior said:—

“Here, where the gallant Lycomedes stands,Ajax! remain, and, cheering on the Greeks,Lead them to combat valiantly. I goTo stem the battle there, and when our friendsAre succored I will instantly return.”

So speaking, Ajax, son of Telamon,Departed thence, and with him Teucer, sprungFrom the same father. With them also wentPandion, carrying Teucer’s crooked bow.They came to brave Menestheus at his tower,And went within the wall and met their friends,Hard-pressed—for gallantly the Lycian chiefsAnd captains, like a gloomy tempest, rushedUp the tall breastworks; while the Greeks withstoodTheir onset, and a mighty clamor rose.

Then Telamonian Ajax smote to deathEpicles, great of soul, Sarpedon’s friend:Against that chief he cast a huge, rough stone,That lay high up beside a pinnacleWithin the wall. No man with both his hands—Such men as now are—though in prime of youth,Could lift its weight; and yet he wielded itAloft, and flung it. Through the four-coned helmIt crashed, and brake the skull within. Down plungedThe Lycian, like a diver, from his placeOn the high tower, and life forsook his limbs.Then Teucer also wounded with a shaftGlaucus, the brave son of Hippolochus,As he leaped forth to scale the lofty wall—Wounded him where the naked arm was seen,And made him leave the combat. Back he sprang,Hiding amid the crowd, that so the GreeksMight not behold the wounded limb, and scoff.With grief Sarpedon saw his friend withdraw,Yet paused not from the conflict, but took aimAt Thestor’s son, Alcmaon, with his spear;Pierced him; and drew the weapon out. The Greek,Following the spear, fell headlong; and his arms,Studded with brass, clashed round him as he fell.Then did Sarpedon seize, with powerful hands,The battlement; he wrenched it, and it cameTo earth, and laid the rampart’s summit bare,To make a passage for the assailing host.Ajax and Teucer saw, and both took aimTogether at Sarpedon: Teucer’s shaftStruck in the midst the buckler’s glittering belt,Just at the bosom; but Jove warded offThe death-stroke from his son, lest he should fallBeside the galleys. Ajax, springing, struckThe buckler with his spear, and pierced its folds,And checked the eager warrior, who gave wayA little, yet retreated not, but turned,Encouraging the godlike Lycians thus:—

“Where, Lycians, is your fiery valor now?Were I the bravest, it were hard, alone,For me to force a passage to the fleet,Though I have cleared the way. Come on with me!Light is the task when many share the toil.”He spake; and they who reverenced his wordsOf exhortation drew more closely roundTheir counsellor and sovereign, while the GreeksAbove them made their phalanxes more strongWithin the wall—for urgent was the need;Since neither could the gallant Syrians breakThe barrier of the Greeks, and cut their wayThrough to the fleet, nor could the warlike GreeksDrive back the Lycians when they once had reachedThe rampart. As two men upon a field,With measuring-rods in hand, disputing standOver the common boundary, in small space,Each one contending for the right he claims,So, kept asunder by the breastwork, foughtThe warriors over it, and fiercely struckThe orbèd bull’s-hide shields held up beforeThe breast, and the light targets. Many a oneWas smitten when he turned and showed the backUnarmed, and many wounded through the shield.The towers and battlements were steeped in bloodOf heroes—Greeks and Trojans. Yet were notThe Greeks thus put to flight; but, as the scalesAre held by some just woman, who maintains,By spinning wool, her household—carefullyShe poises both the wool and weights, to makeThe balance even, that she may provideA pittance for her babes—thus equallyWere matched the warring hosts, till JupiterConferred the eminent glory of the dayOn Hector, son of Priam. He it wasWho first leaped down into the space withinThe Grecian wall, and, with far-reaching voice,Thus shouted, calling to the men of Troy:—

“Rush on, ye knights of Troy! Rush boldly on,And break your passage through the Grecian wall,And hurl consuming flames against their fleet!”

So spake he, cheering on his men. They heard,And rushed in mighty throngs against the wall,And climbed the battlements, to charge the foeWith spears. Then Hector stooped, and seized a stoneWhich lay before the gate, broad at the baseAnd sharp above, which two, the strongest men—As men are now—could hardly heave from earthInto a wain. With ease he lifted it,Alone, and brandished it: such strength the sonOf Saturn gave him, that it seemed but light.As when a shepherd carries home with easeA wether’s fleece—he bears it in one hand,And little is he cumbered with its weight—So Hector bore the lifted stone, to breakThe beams that strengthened the tall folding-gates.Two bars within, laid crosswise, hold them firm—Both fastened with one bolt. He came and stoodBefore them; with wide-parted feet he stood,And put forth all his strength, that so his armMight drive the missile home; and in the midstHe smote the folding-gates. The blow tore offThe hinges; heavily the great stone fellWithin: the portals crashed; nor did the barsWithstand the blow: the shattered beams gave wayBefore it; and illustrious Hector sprangInto the camp. His look was stern as night;And terribly the brazen armor gleamedThat swathed him. With two spears in hand he came,And none except the gods—when once his footWas on the ground—could stand before his might.His eyes shot fire, and, turning to his men,He bade them mount the wall; and they obeyed:Some o’er the wall, some through the sculptured gate,Poured in. The Achaians to their roomy shipsFled, and a fearful uproar filled the air.