The Iliad: Book 11

But Zeus flung Strife on Achaea's fast ships,
the brutal goddess flaring his storm-shield,
his monstrous sign of war in both her fists.

Ten bands of blue enamel spanned it,
spaced by twelve of gold and twenty of beaten tin
and dark blue serpents writhed toward the throat

Then over his shoulder Agamemnon slung his sword,
golden studs at the hilt, the blade burnished bright
and the scabbard sheathed in silver swung on golden straps,
and he grasped a well-wrought shield to encase his body,
forged for rushing forays—beautiful, blazoned work.

Circling the center, ten strong rings of bronze
with twenty disks of glittering tin set in,
at the heart a boss of bulging blue steel
and there like a crown the Gorgon's grim mask—
the burning eyes, the stark, transfixing horror—
and round her strode the shapes of Rout and Fear.

And the men like gangs of reapers slashing down
the reaping-rows and coming closer, closer across
the field of a warlord rich in wheat or barley—
swaths by the armfuls falling thick-and-fast

No, the pressure of combat locked them head-to-head,
lunging like wolves, and Strife with wild groans
exulted to see them, glaring down at the melee

And all were blaming Zeus with his storming dark clouds
because the Father decreed to hand the Trojans glory.

But the Father paid no heed to them. Retiring
peaks apart from the other gods, he sat aloof

Agamemnon killed Pisander and combat-hard Hippolochus,
two sons of Antimachus, that cunning, politic man
whom Paris bribed with gold and sumptuous gifts

Like devouring fire roaring down onto dry dead timber,
squalls hurling it on, careening left and right and
brush ripped up by the roots goes tumbling under
crushed by the blasting fire rampaging on

So King Agamemnon coursed his quarry, always cutting
the straggler from the mass and they, they fled in terror

But Coon marked him, Coon,
Antenor's eldest son, a distinguished man-at-arms,
and stinging grief went misting down his eyes
for his fallen brother.

But soon as the gash dried and firm clots formed,
sharp pain came bursting in on Atrides' strength—
spear-sharp as the labor-pangs that pierce a woman,
agonies brought on by the harsh, birthing spirits,
Hera's daughters who hold the stabbing power of birth—
so sharp the throes that burst on Atrides' strength.

At once
they took two lords of the realm and seized their car,
the two good sons of Merops out of Percote harbor,
Merops adept beyond all men in the mantic arts.

And loosing a heady laugh of triumph Paris leapt
from his hiding-place and shouted out in glory

Then my Trojans
could catch their breath again, reprieved from death

With that he stabbed at Odysseus' balanced shield,
straight through the gleaming hide the heavy weapon drove,
ripping down and in through the breastplate finely worked
and it flayed the skin clean off Odysseus' ribs

He dragged the heavy spear of hardened Socus
squelching out of his own wound and bulging shield.

Nor had Hector once got wind of the rampage...
far off on the left flank of the whole campaign
he fought his way, powering past Scamander's banks
where the heads of fighters fell in biggest numbers
and grim incessant war cries rose around tall Nestor

Look at us here, engaging Argives with a vengeance,
true, but off on the fringe of brutal all-out war
while our central force is routed pell-mell,
men and chariots flung against each other.

With that, Cebriones flogged their sleek team
and leaping under the whistling, crackling whip
they sped the careering car into both milling armies

But Euaemon's shining son Eurypylus saw him
overwhelmed by the Trojans' dense barrage of spears.

And well- kempt Hecamede mixed them a bracing drink

My limbs are gnarled now, the old power's gone.

As fresh as I was that time the feud broke out…
fighting Epeans over a cattle-raid I killed Itymoneus,
Hypirochus' gallant son who used to live in Elis.
I was rustling their cattle in reprisal, you see