The Iliad: Book 22

But there stood Hector,
shackled fast by his deadly fate, holding his ground,
exposed in front of Troy and the Scaean Gates.

Else what a mighty Trojan army had gnawed the dust
before they could ever straggle through their gates!

No more words—he dashed toward the city,
heart racing for some great exploit

...that star they call Orion's Dog—brightest of all
but a fatal sign emblazoned on the heavens,
it brings such killing fever down on wretched men.

Rescue the men of Troy and the Trojan women—
don't hand the great glory to Peleus' son,
bereft of your own sweet life yourself.

Pity me too!—
still in my senses, true, but a harrowed, broken man
marked out by doom—past the threshold of old age

My sons laid low, my daughters dragged away
and the treasure-chambers looted, helpless babies
hurled to the earth in the red barbarity of war

I bred in my own halls to share my table, guard my gates—
mad, rabid at heart they'll lap their master's blood
and loll before my doors.

So they wept, the two of them crying out
to their dear son, both pleading time and again
but they could not shake the fixed resolve of Hector.

No way to parley with that man—not now—
not from behind some oak or rock to whisper

So he wavered,
waiting there, but Achilles was closing on him now

On and on they raced,
passing the lookout point, passing the wild fig tree
tossed by the wind, always out from under the ramparts
down the wagon trail they careered until they reached
the clear running springs where whirling Scamander
rises up from its double wellsprings bubbling strong

Nothing I said was meant in earnest, trust me

Do as your own impulse bids you. Hold back no more.

No way for him to escape us now, no longer—
not even if Phoebus the distant deadly Archer
goes through torments, pleading for Hector's life,
groveling over and over before our storming Father Zeus.

And Athena left him there, caught up with Hector at once,
and taking the build and vibrant voice of Deiphobus
stood shoulder-to-shoulder with him, winging orders

Now I'm determined to praise you all the more,
you who dared—seeing me in these straits—
to venture out from the walls, all for my sake,
while the others stay inside and cling to safety.

True, dear brother—how your father and mother both
implored me, time and again, clutching my knees,
and the comrades round me begging me to stay!

How much lighter the war would be for Trojans then
if you, their greatest scourge, were dead and gone!

And on that resolve
he drew the whetted sword that hung at his side,
tempered, massive

So Hector swooped now, swinging his whetted sword

Beg no more, you fawning dog—begging me by my parents!

The dogs and birds will rend you—blood and bone!

Flying free of his limbs
his soul went winging down to the House of Death,
wailing his fate, leaving his manhood far behind,
his young and supple strength.

And the other sons of Achaea, running up around him,
crowded closer, all of them gazing wonder-struck
at the build and marvelous, lithe beauty of Hector.

Now that the gods have let me kill this man
who caused us agonies, loss on crushing loss—
more than the rest of all their men combined—
come, let us ring their walls in armor, test them,
see what recourse the Trojans still may have in mind.

And a thick cloud of dust rose up
from the man they dragged, his dark hair swirling round
that head so handsome once, all tumbled low in the dust—
since Zeus had given him over to his enemies now
to be defiled in the land of his own fathers.

O my child—my desolation! How can I go on living?
What agonies must I suffer now, now you are dead and gone?

And she called her well- kempt women through the house
to set a large three-legged cauldron over the fire
so Hector could have his steaming hot bath
when he came home from battle

She flung to the winds her glittering headdress,
the cap and the coronet, braided band and veil,
all the regalia golden Aphrodite gave her once