Book XXIII

The ghost asks for burial and one last embrace; the pyre takes horses, dogs, and twelve men; and then — games: the army that has been killing for nine years spends a day competing for tripods and mares, quarreling justly, yielding handsomely, and laughing — while the man who arranged it all watches, having no future of his own.

Translator’s note on Book 23

Book 23 is the Iliad's demonstration that civilization is a thing people do on purpose, the day after the worst thing in their lives. Its first movement is all night and fire: the Myrmidons' three circuits of the body, the funeral feast where "blood ran in cupfuls," Achilles' refusal to wash until the pyre is built (the fast of Book 19 still governing his body), and the visit of the ghost — Patroclus "in everything like himself, in stature and the beautiful eyes and the voice," standing above the sleeper's head with the poem's most quietly devastating reproach: "You sleep — and you have forgotten me, Achilles" (note 4). What the ghost asks for is administration: burial, quickly, so the other souls will let him across the river; and one thing more — "give me your hand: I am weeping" — which the living man cannot deliver: the embrace closes on nothing, and the soul goes down "like smoke... squeaking," leaving Achilles with the poem's plainest statement of its afterlife: "a soul and an image — but the wits are not in it at all" (note 5). Homer's dead are real enough to make requests and too thin to hold.

The pyre-sequence keeps every terrible ledger the poem has opened: the hair vowed to the river Spercheius given to the dead instead (the vow of homecoming formally cancelled, note 7); and the twelve Trojan youths of the vow of 18.336-337, killed with the narrator's own verdict attached — "and evil was the work his heart intended" — while, two lines later, the gods quietly begin Book 24: Aphrodite keeping the dogs from Hector with rose-oil, Apollo roofing the corpse with cloud (note 8). The winds must be fetched by Iris from a dinner-party to make the pyre burn; and over the all-night fire the poem sets its most terrible simile of grief: Achilles mourning "as a father mourns, burning the bones of his son, a bridegroom" (note 9).

Then the games — two-thirds of the book, and the poem's whole social philosophy in action. Every crisis of the Iliad recurs here in miniature, and every one is resolved: a dispute over a prize (Antilochus's foul and Menelaus's oath-challenge) ends not in wrath but in yielding, a young man handing over the mare and an elder, melted "as dew softens the ears of ripening corn," handing it back (note 21); a spectators' quarrel (Idomeneus and Oilean Ajax) is stopped by — of all men — Achilles, the poem's original quarreler, now its arbiter (note 17); and the book ends with Agamemnon standing up for the javelin-throw and Achilles awarding him the prize uncontested — the two men whose fight over a prize began the epic closing it with a prize freely given (note 29). Around these, the poem's late tenderness is everywhere: Achilles' only smile (at Antilochus, note 20); Epeius's disarming self-knowledge ("no man can be best in everything"); Nestor given a prize for nothing but memory; the biography of a silver bowl that once ransomed Lycaon and is now raced for at the funeral of the man whose death doomed him (note 25); Ajax face-down in cattle-dung while the army "laughed at him sweetly." The dead man gets his games; the living get their order back; and the host of the funeral arranges prizes for a future — his own burial mound, his own bones in the same urn — that he has already scheduled (note 10). It is the gentlest book of the poem, and it earns its gentleness line by line over an open grave.

Register notes: 23.22-23 report the vow of 18.336-337 in its registered wording; the twelve youths' thread (18.336 → 21.27 → 23.175) closes; 23.179-180 repeat 23.19-20 verbatim (kept); the fast-and-wash continuity honors 19.208-210; "loud-roaring sea," "rosy-fingered Dawn," "saffron robe," "of many devices," "resourceful," "much-enduring," "who strikes from afar," and the "earth-upholder, earth-shaker" oath-title hold their registered forms; Patroclus is ἐνηής — "the kindly" — at 252 and 648, both kept as "kindly," the dead man's adjective shared with Nestor's self-description.

1So they mourned through the city. And the Achaeans,¹

when they had come to the ships and the Hellespont,

scattered, each man to his own ship —

but Achilles would not let the Myrmidons scatter:

5he spoke out among his war-loving companions:

"Myrmidons of the fast horses, my trusted companions,

let us not yet loose the single-hoofed horses from the cars:

with the very horses and chariots let us drive close

and mourn Patroclus: for that is the honor-right of the dead.

10Then, when we have taken our fill of the deadly lament,

we will unyoke the horses, and all take supper here."

So he spoke; and they wailed as one body, and Achilles led.

Three times around the corpse they drove their well-maned horses,

mourning; and among them Thetis stirred the desire of lament.

15The sands were wet, and the armor of the men was wet

with tears: such a machine of rout they missed.

And the son of Peleus led the thick lament among them,²

laying his man-slaughtering hands on his companion's chest:

"Rejoice, O Patroclus, even in the house of Hades:

20for now I am accomplishing all I promised you before —

to drag Hector here and give him raw to the dogs,

and before your pyre to cut the throats of twelve

shining children of the Trojans, in my rage at your slaying."

He spoke, and devised foul work against brilliant Hector,

25stretching him face-down in the dust beside the bier of Menoetius's son.

And the men put off their armor, each his gear of glittering bronze,

and loosed their high-necked horses, and sat down beside the ship

of the swift-footed son of Aeacus, in their thousands;

and he set the funeral feast before them, to their hearts' fill.

30Many shining oxen bellowed around the iron³

as their throats were cut, and many sheep and bleating goats;

and many white-tusked swine, blooming with fat,

were stretched to singe across the flame of Hephaestus;

and everywhere around the corpse the blood ran in cupfuls.

35But the lord, the swift-footed son of Peleus —

the kings of the Achaeans led him to brilliant Agamemnon,

persuading him with effort, his heart still angry for his companion.

And when they came in their going to Agamemnon's hut,

at once they ordered the clear-voiced heralds

40to set a great tripod over the fire, in hope of persuading

the son of Peleus to wash off the clotted gore.

But he refused them flatly, and swore an oath on it:

"No — by Zeus, who is highest of the gods and best,

it is not right that water come near this head

45before I lay Patroclus on the fire, and heap his mound,

and cut my hair for him: since never a second time

will such grief reach my heart, while I am among the living.

For now — yes, let us yield to the hateful feast;

and at dawn, lord of men Agamemnon, drive the men

50to bring in wood, and furnish all that is fitting

for a dead man to have, going under the murky dark,

so that untiring fire may burn him the sooner

out of our eyes, and the army turn back to its work."

So he spoke; and they listened to him well, and obeyed.

55Quickly, each company, they made the supper ready

and feasted; and no man's appetite went short of the equal feast.

And when they had put away the desire for drink and food,

the rest went off to their rest, each man to his hut;

but the son of Peleus, on the shore of the loud-roaring sea,

60lay groaning heavily, among his many Myrmidons,

in a clear space, where the waves washed up along the beach —

until sleep took hold of him, loosening the cares of his heart,

poured sweet around him: for his shining limbs were spent

with chasing Hector toward windy Ilion.

65And there came to him the soul of unhappy Patroclus,⁴

in everything like the man himself — in stature, and the beautiful

eyes, and the voice; and the same clothes were on his body.

He stood above his head, and spoke a word to him:

"You sleep — and you have forgotten me, Achilles.

70You were never careless of me living — only dead.

Bury me with all speed, and let me pass the gates of Hades.

The souls keep me at a distance — the images of the worn-out —

and they will not yet let me join them across the river:

I wander, just as I am, through the wide-gated house of Hades.

75And give me your hand: I am weeping. Never again

shall I come back out of Hades, once you have given me my fire.

Never again in life shall we two sit apart

from our dear companions, making our plans. The hateful

death-spirit has gaped around me — the one allotted at my very birth.

80And for you too the portion stands, Achilles like the gods:

to die beneath the wall of the rich Trojans.

And one thing more I will say, and charge you, if you will listen:

do not lay my bones apart from yours, Achilles,

but together — as we were raised together in your house,

85when Menoetius brought me, still a small boy,

out of Opoeis to your country, for a grim killing:

the day I killed the son of Amphidamas —

a child's act; I did not mean it; I was angry over the dice.

The horseman Peleus took me into his house then,

90and raised me with kindness, and named me your companion.

So let one vessel enfold the bones of us both —

the golden two-handled jar your lady mother gave you."

Then in answer swift-footed Achilles spoke to him:⁵

"Why have you come to me here, beloved head,

95and why do you charge me with all these things? For me,

I will accomplish everything, and bow to what you ask.

But stand nearer to me: even for a little, let us

put our arms around each other and take our fill of deadly lament."

So speaking, he reached out with his own hands —

100and grasped nothing: the soul, like smoke, was gone

under the earth, squeaking. And Achilles started up, astonished,

and drove his hands together, and spoke the word of mourning:

"Ah then — so there is, even in the house of Hades,

a soul and an image — but the wits are not in it at all!

105All night long the soul of unhappy Patroclus

stood over me, weeping and wailing,

and charged me point by point — and it was marvelously like him."

So he spoke; and in them all he stirred the desire of lament;

and rosy-fingered Dawn shone out upon them still

110mourning around the pitiful corpse. And lord Agamemnon

drove out the mules and men from every hut

to bring in wood; and a good man oversaw them —

Meriones, the aide of kind-hearted Idomeneus.

They went out with woodcutters' axes in their hands

115and well-braided ropes; and the mules went on before them;

and long they climbed — uphill, downhill, sidehill, slantwise.

But when they came to the spurs of many-springed Ida,

at once they set to felling the high-crowned oaks

with the long-edged bronze, in haste; and with a great crashing

120the trees came down. Then the Achaeans split them

and lashed them behind the mules; and these tore up the ground with their feet,

straining for the plain through the dense thickets.

And all the woodcutters carried logs: for so commanded

Meriones, the aide of kind-hearted Idomeneus.

125They laid them down along the shore in rows, at the place

where Achilles planned the great mound for Patroclus — and for himself.⁶

And when they had laid down measureless wood on every side,

they sat where they were, all together, and waited. And Achilles

at once commanded the war-loving Myrmidons

130to belt on their bronze, and each man yoke his horses;

and they rose and got into their armor,

and mounted their chariots, fighters and drivers both,

the horsemen in front, and behind them followed a cloud of foot-soldiers,

thousands; and in their midst his companions carried Patroclus,

135and they heaped the whole corpse with the locks of hair they cut

and cast on him. And behind, brilliant Achilles held the head,

grieving: a blameless companion he was sending down to Hades.

And when they came to the place Achilles had appointed,

they set him down, and quickly piled the wood to his heart's fill.

140Then swift-footed brilliant Achilles thought of one thing more:⁷

standing apart from the pyre, he cut the tawny lock

he had been growing long for the river Spercheius,

and troubled, he spoke, looking out on the wine-dark sea:

"Spercheius — for nothing did my father Peleus vow to you

145that when I came home there, to my dear fatherland,

I would cut my hair for you, and offer a holy hecatomb,

and sacrifice fifty rams into your very sources,

where your sacred plot and your smoking altar stand.

So the old man vowed; and you did not accomplish his intent.

150Now — since I am not going home to my dear fatherland —

let me give my hair to the hero Patroclus, to carry with him."

So speaking, he laid the hair in the hands of his dear

companion; and in them all he stirred the desire of lament.

And the light of the sun would have gone down on their mourning

155had not Achilles quickly stepped to Agamemnon's side:

"Son of Atreus — you are the man whose word the army

most obeys. Of lament there can be fill enough.

Disperse them now from the pyre; tell them to make

their meal. We to whom the dead is nearest care

160will labor at the rest; and let the leaders stay beside us."

Now when the lord of men Agamemnon heard him,⁸

at once he dispersed the army among the balanced ships;

and the mourners of the closest care stayed there and heaped the wood,

and made a pyre a hundred feet this way and that,

165and on the pyre's height they laid the corpse, grieving at heart.

Many fat sheep and shambling twist-horned cattle

they flayed and dressed before the pyre; and from them all

great-hearted Achilles took the fat, and wrapped the corpse

from head to foot, and heaped the flayed carcasses around him.

170And he set two-handled jars of honey and of oil

leaning against the bier; and four strong-necked horses

he flung on the pyre with violence, groaning aloud.

Nine dogs the lord had, fed from his table;

and of these he cut the throats of two, and flung them on;

175and twelve noble sons of the great-hearted Trojans

he butchered with the bronze — and evil was the work his heart intended —

and into it all he threw the iron strength of fire, to feed.

Then he wailed aloud, and called his dear companion by name:

"Rejoice, O Patroclus, even in the house of Hades:

180for now I am accomplishing all I promised you before.

Twelve noble sons of the great-hearted Trojans —

the fire is eating all of them with you. But Hector,

Priam's son, I will not give to the fire to feed on — but to the dogs."

So he spoke, threatening. But the dogs did not deal with Hector:

185the daughter of Zeus, Aphrodite, kept the dogs from him

by day and by night, and anointed him with oil of roses,

ambrosial, so the dragging would not tear him;

and Phoebus Apollo drew a dark-blue cloud

down from heaven to the plain, and covered all the ground

190the corpse lay over, so the sun's strength would not

wither the flesh too soon on his sinews and limbs.

But the pyre of dead Patroclus would not kindle.⁹

Then swift-footed brilliant Achilles thought of one thing more:

standing apart from the pyre, he prayed to the two winds,

195Boreas and Zephyrus, and promised them fine offerings;

and pouring many libations from a golden cup he begged them

to come, so the dead would blaze up in the fire

with all speed, and the wood take flame. And quickly Iris,

hearing his prayers, went messenger to the winds.

200They were all indoors at the house of gusting Zephyrus,

feasting at a banquet, when Iris came running

and stood on the stone threshold. And the moment their eyes saw her

they all sprang up, and each one called her to himself.

But she refused to sit, and said her word:

205"No seat for me: I am away over the streams of Ocean

to the Aethiopians' land, where they are offering hecatombs

to the immortals — so I too may share the feast.

But Achilles is praying to Boreas and loud Zephyrus

to come, and he promises you fine offerings,

210so you may rouse the pyre to burning, where lies

Patroclus, whom all the Achaeans mourn aloud."

So speaking she went her way; and they rose up

with an unearthly roar, driving the clouds in rout before them.

Quickly they came to the sea, to blow across it, and the wave

215swelled under their shrill blast; and they reached deep-soiled Troy

and fell upon the pyre; and the unearthly fire howled huge.

All night long together they beat the flame of the pyre,

blowing shrill; and all night long swift Achilles,

taking a two-handled cup from a golden bowl,

220drew wine and poured it on the ground, and soaked the earth,

calling upon the soul of unhappy Patroclus.

As a father mourns, burning the bones of his son,

a bridegroom, whose death has grieved his unhappy parents:

so Achilles mourned, burning the bones of his companion,

225dragging himself around the pyre, groaning without pause.

At the hour the morning star goes forth to herald light over the earth,

and behind it Dawn in her saffron robe spreads out across the sea,

at that hour the pyre died down, and the flame was done.

And the winds set out again, to go back home

230across the Thracian sea; and it groaned, seething with swell.

And the son of Peleus turned a little from the burning-place

and lay down, worn out; and sweet sleep leapt upon him.

But the others gathered in a body around the son of Atreus,

and the noise and tramp of their coming woke him;

235and he sat upright, and spoke his word to them:

"Son of Atreus, and you other chiefs of all the Achaeans:¹⁰

first quench the burning-place with glistening wine,

all of it, wherever the fire's strength has reached. Then

let us gather the bones of Patroclus, Menoetius's son,

240telling them apart well — and they are easily known:

he lay in the middle of the pyre; the others burned apart,

at the edge, horses and men together.

And let us lay his bones in a golden vessel, in a double

fold of fat, until I myself am hidden in Hades.

245And no huge mound do I ask you to labor over —

a seemly one, no more. Then afterward the Achaeans

may build it wide and high — you who are left

behind me in the many-benched ships."

So he spoke; and they obeyed the swift-footed son of Peleus.

250First they quenched the burning-place with glistening wine,

far as the flame had gone, and the ash had settled deep;

and weeping, they gathered the white bones of their kindly companion

into a golden vessel, in a double fold of fat,

and laid it in the hut, and covered it with soft linen;

255and they drew the circle of the mound, and set its footing-stones

around the pyre, and heaped the piled earth over it;

and when they had heaped the mound, they turned to go. But Achilles

held the army there, and sat them in a wide assembly,

and out of the ships he brought his prizes: cauldrons and tripods,

260and horses and mules and strong heads of oxen,

and deep-girdled women, and grey iron.

For the swift charioteers first he set out shining prizes:¹¹

a woman skilled in blameless work, to lead away,

and an eared tripod holding twenty-two measures —

265these for the first man; and for the second he set a mare,

six years old, unbroken, carrying a mule foal;

and for the third he set down a cauldron untouched by fire,

a beautiful one, holding four measures, white as new;

and for the fourth he set out two talents of gold;

270and for the fifth, a two-handled bowl untouched by flame.

Then he stood upright, and spoke his word among the Argives:

"Son of Atreus, and you other strong-greaved Achaeans:¹²

these prizes lie in the gathering, waiting for the charioteers.

If we Achaeans were competing now for any other man,

275I would take the first prize myself, and carry it to my hut:

you know how far my horses surpass all others in their worth —

for they are immortal: Poseidon gave them

to my father Peleus, and he passed them into my hands.

But I will stay aside, I and my single-hoofed horses:

280such is the driver whose glory they have lost —

the gentle one, who so many times poured smooth oil

down their manes, when he had washed them in shining water.

They stand and mourn him now; their manes trail

on the ground; they stand with grief in their hearts.

285But the rest of you make ready through the army — whoever

of the Achaeans trusts his horses and his bolted car."

So spoke the son of Peleus, and the swift charioteers gathered.¹³

Up first, far first, rose Eumelus, lord of men,

Admetus's dear son, supreme in horsemanship;

290and after him rose Tydeus's son, strong Diomedes,

and led under the yoke the horses of Tros, which he once

stripped from Aeneas — though Apollo saved the man himself;

and after him rose Atreus's son, fair-haired Menelaus,

the Zeus-born, and led beneath the yoke two swift horses —

295Aethe, Agamemnon's mare, and his own Podargus.

Her Echepolus, Anchises' son, gave to Agamemnon

as a gift, so he need not follow him to windy Ilion

but stay at home and take his ease: for Zeus had given him

great wealth, and he lived in Sicyon of the wide dancing-floors.

300Her Menelaus led beneath the yoke, athirst for the running.

And fourth, Antilochus made ready his well-maned horses —

the shining son of Nestor, the great-hearted lord,

Neleus's son; and horses bred in Pylos

drew his car, quick-footed. And his father, standing by him,

305spoke good counsel to a son who knew it for himself:

"Antilochus — young as you are, Zeus and Poseidon

have loved you, and taught you horsemanship

of every kind. So there is no great need to teach you:

you know well how to wheel the turning-post. But your horses

310are the slowest in the running; so I expect a sorry business.

Their horses are faster — but the men themselves

do not know more of cunning than you do.

Come then, dear boy: lay up cunning in your heart,

cunning of every kind, so the prizes do not slip past you.

315By cunning, far more than by force, is the woodcutter better;

by cunning the helmsman on the wine-dark sea

holds his swift ship on course when the winds are tearing at it;

by cunning charioteer outdoes charioteer.

One man, trusting in his horses and his car,

320swings wide, mindlessly, this way and that,

and his horses wander down the course, and he cannot hold them.

But the man who knows his advantages, driving lesser horses,

keeps his eye on the post and turns it close, and never forgets

how much rein of oxhide to give at the start —

325he holds his line securely, and watches the man in front.

And the mark itself I will tell you — plain to see; you cannot miss it.

A dry stump stands there, a fathom high above the ground,

of oak or of pine, not rotted by the rain,

and two white stones are set against it, one on either side,

330at the joining of the track; and around it the racing-ground is smooth.

Either it is the grave-mark of a man dead long ago,

or it was set for a turning-post by men before our time;

and now swift-footed brilliant Achilles has made it the goal.

Drive your car and horses grazing hard against it,

335and lean your own body, in the well-plaited chariot,

a little to their left; and the right-hand horse —

goad him and call to him, and give him rein from your hands.

And let your left-hand horse graze the post so close

that the hub of the well-wrought wheel seems to touch

340its very edge — but take care not to catch the stone,

or you will wound the horses and wreck the car:

joy for the others, and reproach for you.

Dear boy — keep your wits about you; be watchful.

For if at the turn you slip past them in your pursuit,

345there is no man who will catch you with a lunge, or pass you —

not though he drove brilliant Arion behind you,

Adrastus's swift horse, whose line was from the gods,

or the horses of Laomedon, best of the breed reared here."

So speaking, Nestor Neleus's son sat back down in his place,

350when he had told his son the essentials of each thing.

And Meriones was the fifth to make ready his well-maned horses.¹⁴

They mounted their chariots, and cast in their lots;

and Achilles shook them, and out sprang the lot of Nestor's son,

Antilochus; and after him lord Eumelus drew;

355and after him Atreus's son, spear-famed Menelaus;

and after him Meriones drew his place to drive; and last of all

the son of Tydeus, far the best of them, drew his place to drive.

They stood in line; and Achilles showed them the turn-post,

far off on the level plain; and beside it he set an umpire,

360godlike Phoenix, his own father's follower,

to keep the running in memory, and report the truth.

Then all of them together raised the lash over their horses,

and struck with the reins, and shouted them on with words,

furiously; and they swept fast across the plain,

365away from the ships; and under their chests the dust

hung, rising like a cloud or a stormwind,

and their manes streamed back on the rush of the wind.

And the chariots now hugged the earth that feeds many,

now leapt bounding high in the air; and the drivers

370stood in the cars, and each man's heart was pounding

in his hunger for victory; and each one called to his horses,

and they flew through the dust of the plain.

But when the swift horses were running the last of the course¹⁵

back toward the grey sea, then each man's worth

375showed itself, and the pace stretched them flat out; and quickly

the swift-footed mares of Pheres' grandson shot ahead,

and behind them the stallions of Diomedes, the horses of Tros,

ran close — not far at all, but hard upon him:

they seemed forever on the point of mounting his chariot,

380and their breath was hot on the back and broad shoulders

of Eumelus: their heads were laid right on him as they flew.

And now he would have passed him, or made it a dead heat,

had not Phoebus Apollo been angry with Tydeus's son

and dashed the shining whip out of his hands.

385Then the tears of rage sprang from his eyes: he saw

the mares going better still — better and better —

while his own pair faltered, running without the goad.

But Apollo's cheating of the son of Tydeus did not

slip past Athena: she swept after the shepherd of the people,

390gave him back his whip, and put fury in his horses;

and after Admetus's son she went in her anger

and shattered — a goddess — his horses' yoke; and his mares

ran out to either side of the road, and the pole slewed to the ground,

and he himself was tumbled out of the car beside the wheel,

395and the skin was ripped from his elbows, his mouth, his nostrils,

and his forehead bruised above the brows; and his eyes

filled up with tears, and the strong voice stuck in his throat.

And the son of Tydeus swung his single-hoofed horses past him,

leaping far out in front of the rest: for Athena

400had put fury in his horses, and set the glory on him.

And after him came Atreus's son, fair-haired Menelaus.

But Antilochus called to his father's horses:¹⁶

"Get in there, you two as well! Stretch out — as fast as you can!

I am not telling you to race with those in front —

405the horses of war-minded Tydeus's son, to whom Athena

has just now given speed, and set the glory on their driver.

But catch the horses of Atreus's son — don't be left behind them! —

quickly — or Aethe will pour shame over the two of you:

a female! Why are you falling behind, my braves?

410For I will tell you this, and it will be accomplished:

there will be no more care for you two at the hands of Nestor,

shepherd of the people — he will cut your throats on the spot

with the sharp bronze, if by your slacking we carry off the lesser prize.

After them! Press hard — fast as you can!

415And I myself will devise it and manage it —

a way to slip past in the narrow of the road. It will not escape me."

So he spoke; and in dread at their master's rebuke

they ran the harder for a little while; and quickly then

Antilochus, staunch in battle, saw the narrows of the sunken road.

420There was a break in the ground, where winter-gathered water

had torn away the track and hollowed the whole place deep;

there Menelaus held his line, shy of fouling wheels;

but Antilochus swerved his single-hoofed horses and drove

outside the track, and pressed him hard, bearing in a little.

425And the son of Atreus was afraid, and shouted to Antilochus:

"Antilochus — this is mad driving! Hold in your horses!

The road is narrow here — it widens soon for passing —

you'll wreck the both of us, fouling my car!"

So he spoke; but Antilochus drove all the harder,

430laying on the goad, like a man who had not heard.

As far as the swing of a discus flung from the shoulder,

hurled by a young man testing the strength of his youth,

so far they ran on together; and then the mares of Atreus's son

dropped back: he slackened his driving by his own will,

435for fear the single-hoofed horses would collide in the road

and overturn the well-plaited cars, and the men themselves

go down in the dust for all their straining after victory.

And fair-haired Menelaus called after him in rebuke:

"Antilochus — no mortal man alive is more ruinous than you!

440Go, and be damned — we Achaeans were wrong to call you sane.

But even so, you shall not carry off the prize without an oath."

So he spoke, and called out to his horses:

"Don't hang back on me now, don't stand there grieving!

Their feet and knees will tire before yours do:

445the pair of them are past their youth."

So he spoke; and in dread at their master's rebuke

they ran the harder, and quickly closed the gap.

Meanwhile the Argives, sitting in the assembly, watched¹⁷

for the horses; and these came flying through the dust of the plain.

450And the first to make them out was Idomeneus, leader of the Cretans:

for he sat outside the gathering, highest up, on a lookout;

and hearing the voice of a driver shouting, far off as he was,

he knew it; and he made out a horse, clear in the lead,

chestnut over all the rest of him, except that on his forehead

455a white blaze was set, round as the full moon.

And he stood upright, and spoke his word among the Argives:

"Friends — leaders and counselors of the Argives —

am I the only one who sees the horses, or do you see them too?

Other horses seem to me to be in front now —

460another driver shows. The mares must have come to grief

out on the plain — the ones that led on the way out:

I saw them rounding the turn-post first,

and now I cannot see them anywhere, though my eyes

go searching everywhere across the Trojan plain.

465Did the reins escape their driver, so he could not

hold them well around the post, and failed to make the turn?

He was thrown out there, I think, and the chariot wrecked,

and the mares bolted off the course, their hearts gone wild.

But stand up and look for yourselves: I cannot

470make it out for certain. The man in front seems to me

to be Aetolian by birth — and a lord among the Argives —

the son of horse-taming Tydeus, strong Diomedes."

Then swift Ajax, Oileus's son, rounded on him shamefully:

"Idomeneus — why this blather before the time? The mares

475are far away still, sweeping the wide plain.

You are not so much the youngest among the Argives,

and the eyes in your head are not the sharpest lookers —

yet you are always blathering. There is no need for you

to blather here: better men than you are present.

480The mares in front are the same that led before —

Eumelus's; and it is he who stands there holding the reins."

And the leader of the Cretans answered him in anger:

"Ajax — champion of insult, wit of straw — in all things else

you are least of the Argives: your mind is a stubborn mind.

485Come then: let us wager a tripod or a cauldron,

and let us both make Agamemnon, Atreus's son, our judge —

whose mares are in front. You will learn as you pay."

So he spoke; and at once swift Ajax, Oileus's son,

rose up in anger to answer with hard words —

490and the quarrel between the two would have gone further,

had not Achilles himself stood up, and said his word:

"No longer answer each other with hard words,

Ajax — Idomeneus — with evil words: it is not seemly.

You would be indignant at another man who acted so.

495Sit down in the gathering, and watch

for the horses: they are straining for victory, and they

will be here soon enough. Then each of you can know

the Argive horses — who is behind, and who in front."

So he spoke — and the son of Tydeus came driving in nearly upon them,¹⁸

500laying on the whip down from the shoulder, stroke on stroke; and his horses

lifted high, going fast, devouring the way.

And the spatters of dust rained without pause on the driver,

and the chariot, plated with gold and tin,

ran hard on the heels of the quick-footed horses — and behind them

505the tires left hardly a trace of wheel-track

in the fine dust: the pair of them flew, straining.

He pulled up in the middle of the gathering, the sweat

streaming to the ground from his horses' necks and chests;

and he himself leapt to the ground from his shining car

510and leaned the whip against the yoke. Nor did strong Sthenelus

delay: he seized the prize at once, eagerly,

and gave the woman to his high-hearted companions to lead,

and the eared tripod to carry; and he loosed the horses from the yoke.

Next after him Antilochus of Neleus's line drove in his horses —¹⁹

515by craft, not speed at all, he had slipped past Menelaus;

yet even so Menelaus held his swift horses close behind.

As far as a horse stands from the wheel, when he strains

drawing his master over the plain with the chariot,

and the tips of his tail-hairs brush against the tire,

520for he runs close in front, and there is little space between

as he sweeps the wide plain:

so far was Menelaus behind blameless Antilochus —

though at first he was left a discus-throw behind,

he was catching him fast: the fine fury of Aethe,

525Agamemnon's lovely-maned mare, was rising still;

and had the course run longer for the two of them,

he would have passed him clean, beyond dispute.

And Meriones, the good aide of Idomeneus,

came in a spear-cast behind famed Menelaus:

530for his lovely-maned horses were the slowest of them all,

and he himself the least of them at driving in a race.

And Admetus's son came last of all the others,

dragging his beautiful chariot, driving his horses before him.

And swift-footed brilliant Achilles saw him, and pitied him,²⁰

535and stood among the Argives and spoke winged words:

"Last comes the best man, driving his single-hoofed horses.

Come, let us give him a prize, as is fitting —

the second; and let the son of Tydeus carry off the first."

So he spoke; and they all approved what he commanded.

540And now he would have given him the mare — for the Achaeans approved —

had not Antilochus, great-hearted Nestor's son,

stood up and answered Achilles, Peleus's son, with a claim of right:

"Achilles, I will be very angry with you if you accomplish

this word: for you mean to take away my prize,

545weighing this — that his chariot came to grief, and his swift horses,

and he himself a good man. But he should have prayed

to the immortals: then he would not have come in last of all.

If you pity him, and he is dear to your heart,

there is gold in plenty in your hut, and there is bronze,

550and sheep and goats, and there are slave-women and single-hoofed horses:

take from those, and give him afterward an even greater prize —

or right now, this moment — and the Achaeans will applaud you.

But the mare I will not give up. For her, let any man

who wants her try me — hand to hand."

555So he spoke; and swift-footed brilliant Achilles smiled,

delighting in Antilochus, because he was his dear companion;

and in answer he spoke winged words to him:

"Antilochus — if you would have me give Eumelus

some other thing from my stores, that too I will do.

560I will give him the corslet I stripped from Asteropaeus —

bronze, with a casting of shining tin

run round it. It will be worth much to him."

He spoke, and told Automedon, his dear companion,

to bring it from the hut; and he went and brought it,

565and laid it in Eumelus's hands; and he received it, rejoicing.

Then Menelaus also rose among them, grieved at heart,²¹

angry past soothing at Antilochus. And the herald

put the staff into his hand, and called the Argives

to silence; and then that man like a god spoke out:

570"Antilochus — you who had good sense before — what have you done?

You have shamed my skill and fouled my horses,

throwing your own in front, which were far the worse.

Come then, leaders and counselors of the Argives:

judge between the two of us — and no favor either way —

575so no man of the bronze-shirted Achaeans ever says:

'Menelaus beat Antilochus down with lies

and went off leading the mare — his horses were far the worse,

but he himself the greater in rank and power.'

Or come — I will judge it myself; and I say no other

580Danaan will fault the judgment: it will be straight.

Antilochus — come here, Zeus-nurtured, as the custom stands:

stand in front of your horses and your chariot, take in your hand

the slender whip you drove with,

lay your hand on your horses, and swear by the earth-upholder,

585the earth-shaker, that you did not foul my car by deliberate craft."

Then in his turn sound-minded Antilochus answered him:

"Bear with me now: I am far younger

than you, lord Menelaus — you are the elder, and the better man.

You know how a young man's trespasses come about:

590his mind is the quicker, but his judgment thin.

So let your heart endure it. The mare I won —

I give her to you myself. And if you asked of me some greater thing

from my own stores besides, I would choose to give it to you

at once, this moment, Zeus-nurtured — rather than fall

595out of your favor all my days, and be wrong before the gods."

So spoke great-hearted Nestor's son, and led the mare

and put her into Menelaus's hands. And that man's heart

was warmed like the dew about the ears of ripening corn,

when the fields are bristling: so, Menelaus,

600was the heart in your chest warmed within you.

And he spoke to him in answer winged words:

"Antilochus — now I will yield to you myself, out of my anger:

for you were never scattered or light of mind before.

This once, youth got the better of your judgment;

605the next time, take care not to outscheme your betters.

No other man of the Achaeans would have soothed me quickly —

but you have suffered much, and labored much for my sake,

you and your good father and your brother.

So I will be persuaded by your plea; and the mare —

610mine though she is, I will give her to you — so these men too may know

that my heart was never overbearing and unbending."

He spoke, and gave the mare to Noëmon, Antilochus's

companion, to lead away; and took for himself the shining cauldron.

And Meriones took up the two talents of gold,

615fourth, as he had driven. But the fifth prize was left over —

the two-handled bowl. Achilles gave it to Nestor,

carrying it to him across the gathering of the Argives, and said:

"Here, old man. Let this be a treasure laid away for you,²²

a memorial of the burial of Patroclus: for never again

620will you see him among the Argives. I give you this prize

outright: for you will not box, and you will not wrestle,

nor enter for the javelins, nor race

on foot: the hard weight of age is on you now."

So speaking, he laid it in his hands; and he received it, rejoicing,

625and speaking winged words he addressed him:

"Yes, child — all this you have said aright.

My limbs are no longer sound, dear friend — my feet — nor do my arms

swing light from my shoulders on either side.

Would that I were young, and my strength as firm

630as when the Epeians buried lord Amarynceus

at Buprasium, and his sons set out the king's prizes.

There no man proved my equal — not of the Epeians,

not of the Pylians themselves, not of the great-hearted Aetolians.

In boxing I beat Clytomedes, Enops's son;

635at wrestling, Ancaeus of Pleuron, who stood up against me;

Iphiclus I outran on foot, good runner though he was;

and with the spear I out-threw Phyleus and Polydorus.

Only with the horses did the two sons of Actor pass me —

crowding ahead by force of numbers, grudging me the victory,

640because the biggest prizes had been left for the horses.

They were twins: one held the reins — held the reins

for good and all — while the other laid on the whip.

Such I was once. Now let younger men take on

such labors: I must bow to grim old age —

645though in my day I shone among the heroes.

But go: honor your companion too with funeral games.

This gift I receive gladly, and my heart rejoices

that you remember me always as your kindly friend, and never forget

the honor with which it is fitting I be honored among the Achaeans.

650And may the gods, in return, grant you grace to your heart's fill."

So he spoke; and the son of Peleus went back through the great

crowd of Achaeans, when he had heard out all the praise of Neleus's son.

Then he set out the prizes for the punishing fist-fight:²³

a hard-working mule he led out and tethered in the gathering,

655six years old, unbroken — the hardest kind to break;

and for the beaten man he set a two-handled cup.

Then he stood upright, and spoke his word among the Argives:

"Son of Atreus, and you other strong-greaved Achaeans:

for these we summon two men — the best there are —

660to put up their fists and trade blows. The man to whom Apollo

grants endurance, and all the Achaeans acknowledge it,

let him lead the hard-working mule away to his hut;

and the beaten man carries off the two-handled cup."

So he spoke; and at once a man rose up, huge and strong,

665skilled in fist-fighting — Epeius, Panopeus's son;

and he laid a hand on the hard-working mule, and said:

"Step up, whoever wants to carry off the two-handled cup:

the mule — I say no other Achaean is taking her

by winning with his fists. I claim to be the best.

670Is it not enough that I fall short in battle? There was never a way,

it seems, for one man to be skilled in every work there is.

For I tell you this, and it will be accomplished:

I will split his skin clean open and stave his bones in.

Let his next of kin stand waiting here in a body

675to carry him out when my fists have finished him."

So he spoke; and they all fell silent, stilled.

Euryalus alone stood up to face him, a man like a god,

son of lord Mecisteus, Talaus's son,

who once came to Thebes for the burial of fallen

680Oedipus, and there beat all the sons of Cadmus.

And Tydeus's spear-famed son busied himself about him,

cheering him with words, wanting the victory for him badly.

First he threw down the girdle for him, and then

he gave him the well-cut thongs of a field-ranging ox.

685Girded, the two men strode into the middle of the gathering,

and squaring up, both at once, with their heavy hands,

they fell on each other, and their heavy fists mixed.

Terrible was the grinding of jaws, and the sweat ran

everywhere off their limbs. And brilliant Epeius rose to it:

690as the other glanced for an opening, he struck him on the cheek,

and he could stand no longer: there his shining limbs went down.

As under the North Wind's shiver a fish leaps up

on the weed-strewn shallows, and the black wave hides it again:

so he leapt at the blow. But great-hearted Epeius

695took him in his hands and set him upright; and his own companions

crowded round and led him through the gathering, feet trailing,

spitting thick blood, his head lolling to one side;

and they sat him down among them, wits astray,

and went themselves and fetched the two-handled cup.

700Then the son of Peleus set out at once, and showed the Danaans,²⁴

a third set of prizes, for the punishing wrestling:

for the winner a great tripod made to stand over fire —

the Achaeans among themselves priced it at twelve oxen —

and for the beaten man he put a woman in their midst,

705skilled in many kinds of work; they priced her at four oxen.

And he stood upright, and spoke his word among the Argives:

"Up — you two who will make trial of this prize."

So he spoke; and then great Telamonian Ajax rose,

and resourceful Odysseus stood up, the knower of advantages.

710Girded, the two men strode into the middle of the gathering

and grappled each other arm on arm with their heavy hands,

like the gable-rafters a famous builder joins

in a high house, to baffle the strength of the winds.

Their backs creaked under the stubborn hauling

715of bold hands; and the wet sweat ran down;

and welts thick and many along their ribs and shoulders

sprang up red with blood; and always they

strained for victory, and the wrought tripod;

and Odysseus could not trip him and bring him to the ground,

720nor could Ajax — the strong build of Odysseus held.

But when they began to weary the strong-greaved Achaeans,

then great Telamonian Ajax said to him:

"Zeus-born son of Laertes, Odysseus of many devices:

lift me — or I lift you. And the rest will be Zeus's business."

725So speaking he heaved him up. But Odysseus did not forget his craft:

he caught him with a kick behind the knee, and unstrung his limbs,

and threw him backward, and fell on his chest

himself. The watching army marveled at it.

Second, much-enduring brilliant Odysseus heaved in his turn,

730and budged him a little off the ground — but could not lift him —

and hooked his knee inside; and both went down together

close in each other's grip, and were fouled with dust.

And now they would have sprung up and wrestled a third fall,

had not Achilles himself risen, and held them back:

735"Strain against each other no more. Do not wear yourselves out with pain.

Victory to you both. Take equal prizes

and go — so the other Achaeans may compete."

So he spoke; and they listened to him well, and obeyed,

and wiped away the dust, and put their tunics on.

740Then the son of Peleus set out at once the prizes for the foot-race:²⁵

a mixing-bowl of silver, a worked piece: six measures

it held, and in beauty it outdid all others on earth

by far, since craftsmen of Sidon, the cunning-handed, made it well,

and Phoenician men carried it over the misty sea,

745set it up in harbor, and gave it as a gift to Thoas;

and Euneus, Jason's son, gave it as the price of Lycaon,

Priam's son, to the hero Patroclus.

This too Achilles set out as a prize for his companion —

for the man who should prove the lightest on his quick feet;

750for the second again he set out an ox, big and heavy with fat;

and a half-talent of gold he set out for the last.

And he stood upright, and spoke his word among the Argives:

"Up — you who will make trial of this prize."

So he spoke; and at once swift Ajax rose, Oileus's son,

755and resourceful Odysseus stood up, and then Nestor's son

Antilochus: for he beat all the young men at running.

They stood in line; and Achilles showed them the goal.

The course was stretched flat-out from the start; and quickly

the son of Oileus shot ahead; and brilliant Odysseus drove in

760close behind — close as the weaving-rod to the breast

of a fair-girdled woman, when she pulls it deftly in her hands,

drawing the spool out along the warp, and holds the rod

near her breast: so close Odysseus ran, and behind him

he struck the man's footprints with his feet before the dust could settle,

765and brilliant Odysseus poured his breath down on his head,

running lightly on and on; and all the Achaeans roared

for his straining after victory, and cheered him pressing on.

But when they were running the last of the course, at once

Odysseus prayed in his heart to grey-eyed Athena:

770"Hear me, goddess: come a good helper to my feet!"

So he spoke, praying; and Pallas Athena heard him,

and made his limbs light — his feet, and his arms above them.

And when they were on the point of darting in for the prize,

then Ajax slipped at a dead run — for Athena tripped him —

775just where the dung lay scattered from the slaughtered bellowing

oxen swift-footed Achilles had killed for Patroclus;

and his mouth and nostrils filled with ox-dung.

So much-enduring brilliant Odysseus took up the bowl,

having come in first; and shining Ajax took the ox.

780And he stood there holding the horn of the field-ranging ox,

spitting out dung, and spoke among the Argives:

"Damn it all — the goddess hobbled my feet! — she who forever

stands by Odysseus like a mother, and comes to help him."

So he spoke; and they all laughed at him sweetly.

785And Antilochus carried off the last prize

smiling, and spoke his word among the Argives:

"I tell you all what you know already, friends: the immortals

honor the elder generation of men, now as always.

For Ajax is only a little older than I am —

790but this one is of an earlier stock, of earlier men:

a green old age, they say, is his. And it is hard work

for any Achaean to race him — except Achilles."

So he spoke, and gave glory to the swift-footed son of Peleus.

And Achilles answered him with his word, and said:

795"Antilochus — your praise shall not be spoken for nothing:

I will add to your prize a half-talent of gold."

So speaking, he laid it in his hands; and he received it, rejoicing.

Then the son of Peleus carried into the gathering and set down²⁶

a long-shadowed spear, and a shield and helmet —

800the armor of Sarpedon, which Patroclus stripped from him.

And he stood upright, and spoke his word among the Argives:

"For these we summon two men — the best there are —

to put on armor, take up the flesh-cutting bronze,

and make trial of each other before the crowd.

805Whichever man first reaches the other's fair flesh

and touches the inward parts through armor and dark blood,

to him I will give this sword with its silver studs —

a beautiful Thracian blade I stripped from Asteropaeus;

and the armor — let both men carry it off in common;

810and we will set a good feast before them in the huts."

So he spoke; and then great Telamonian Ajax rose,

and up rose the son of Tydeus, strong Diomedes.

And when they had armed themselves on opposite sides of the crowd,

the two came together in the middle, hot for combat,

815glaring terribly; and awe held all the Achaeans.

And when they had come close, advancing on each other,

three times they lunged in, three times they charged to close quarters.

Then Ajax stabbed at the balanced round shield —

but did not reach the flesh: the corslet inside it held.

820And the son of Tydeus, over the rim of the great shield,

kept reaching for his neck with the point of the shining spear.

And then, in fear for Ajax, the Achaeans

called on them to stop, and take equal prizes.

But to the son of Tydeus the hero gave the great sword,

825bearing it with its scabbard and well-cut baldric.

Then the son of Peleus set out a lump of self-smelted iron²⁷

that the huge strength of Eëtion used to throw;

but him swift-footed brilliant Achilles killed,

and carried the iron off in his ships with the rest of his goods.

830And he stood upright, and spoke his word among the Argives:

"Up — you who will make trial of this prize.

Though his rich fields lie very far away,

the winner will have this to use for five revolving years:

not for want of iron will his shepherd or his plowman

835go into town — this will supply them."

So he spoke; and then war-staunch Polypoetes rose,

and the strong might of godlike Leonteus rose,

and Ajax, Telamon's son, and brilliant Epeius.

They stood in order; and brilliant Epeius took the weight,

840whirled, and let it fly; and all the Achaeans laughed at him.

Second in turn Leonteus, sprig of Ares, threw it;

and third, great Telamonian Ajax flung it

from his heavy hand, and passed the marks of all the others.

But when war-staunch Polypoetes took up the weight —

845far as a herdsman sends his throwing-staff

spinning away through the herds of his cattle —

so far past the whole field he threw it; and the people shouted;

and the companions of strong Polypoetes stood up

and carried the king's prize away to the hollow ships.

850Then for the archers he set out the dark-blue iron:²⁸

ten double axes he laid down, and ten half-axes,

and he set up the mast of a dark-prowed ship

far off in the sands, and to it, by a thin cord,

tied a trembling dove by the foot, and commanded them

855to shoot at her: "Whoever hits the trembling dove,

let him take up all the double axes and carry them home;

whoever hits the cord, and misses the bird —

he is the lesser man: let him carry off the half-axes."

So he spoke; and then the strength of lord Teucer rose,

860and up rose Meriones, the good aide of Idomeneus.

They took lots and shook them in a bronze helmet,

and Teucer drew first place; and at once he let fly

an arrow with all his force — but did not vow to the lord

a famous hecatomb of firstling lambs.

865So he missed the bird — Apollo grudged him that —

but hit the cord beside her foot, where the bird was tied,

and the bitter arrow cut the cord clean through.

She darted up toward heaven; and the cord fell slack

toward the earth; and the Achaeans thundered.

870But Meriones, in one motion, snatched the bow

out of his hand — an arrow he had held ready while the other aimed —

and vowed at once to Apollo who strikes from afar

a famous hecatomb of firstling lambs;

and high under the clouds he saw the trembling dove:

875there, as she circled, he shot her under the wing, full through,

and the shaft passed clean out, and came back down to plant itself

in the earth before Meriones's foot. And the bird

settled on the mast of the dark-prowed ship,

her neck drooped over, and the close-set wings went slack,

880and the life flew swift from her limbs, and she dropped far down

from the mast; and the watching army marveled at it.

And Meriones took up all ten double axes,

and Teucer carried the half-axes to the hollow ships.

Then, last, the son of Peleus carried into the gathering²⁹

885a long-shadowed spear and an unfired cauldron worked with flowers,

worth an ox; and the javelin-throwers stood up:

up rose the son of Atreus, wide-ruling Agamemnon,

and up rose Meriones, the good aide of Idomeneus.

And among them spoke swift-footed brilliant Achilles:

890"Son of Atreus — we know how far you surpass all others,

how much you are the best in power and in the throw:

take this prize with you to the hollow ships,

and let us give the spear to the hero Meriones —

if your own heart is willing: for that is what I urge."

895So he spoke; and the lord of men Agamemnon did not refuse.

Achilles gave the bronze spear to Meriones; and the hero

handed his prize, the beautiful cauldron, to Talthybius the herald.

Notes

1 lines 1–16 — The Myrmidons mourn mounted: three circuits of the body with horses and chariots — cavalry honors, the war-machine itself made to grieve — with Thetis stirring "the desire of lament" (γόου ἵμερος: grief in Homer is an appetite, roused, fed, and satisfied). Achilles' ruling is the book's charter: "that is the dead man's due" (γέρας θανόντων) — the prize of the dead, in the same word the living quarreled over in Book 1. ↩

2 lines 17–25 — The vow reported to its beneficiary: 22-23 repeat the wording of 18.336-337 (register kept), and Hector is laid "face-down in the dust beside the bier" — the outrage arranged like a grave-good. The poem keeps Achilles' promise-keeping and its horror in one frame: he is exact with the dead on both sides of hate. ↩

3 lines 26–58 — The funeral feast — "everywhere around the corpse the blood ran in cupfuls" — and the refusal to wash: the fast of Book 19 (19.208-210, 305-308) still governs Achilles' body; he yields to the "hateful feast" but swears off water "before I lay Patroclus on the fire." His oath contains the book's quiet self-knowledge: "never a second time will such grief reach my heart, while I am among the living" — true both ways, as he intends it and as the poem knows it: there is not much "while" left. ↩

4 lines 59–92 — The ghost. Patroclus comes "in everything like the man himself" — stature, the beautiful eyes, the voice, even the clothes — and opens with the gentlest rebuke in epic: "You sleep — and you have forgotten me, Achilles." His requests are a dead man's administration: burial now, because the other souls bar him from crossing the river (the poem's one glimpse of the afterlife's waiting-room); the hand ("I am weeping"); and the shared urn — grounded in the biography only now revealed: Patroclus came to Peleus's house as a child-killer, a boy who slew the son of Amphidamas "angry over the dice — a child's act; I did not mean it." The gentlest man in the poem was a refugee from his own temper: gentleness, the lines quietly say, was something he built. Aristarchus athetized 92 (the golden amphora, "which your lady mother gave you" — Dionysus's gift to Thetis in the later tradition; Aeschines' text lacked it), but the request stands: one vessel, two friends, the arrangement the Odyssey (24.74) confirms was kept. ↩

5 lines 93–108 — The failed embrace: Achilles reaches, "and grasped nothing: the soul, like smoke, was gone under the earth, squeaking." His waking cry is the plainest statement of Homeric eschatology: "so there is, even in the house of Hades, a soul and an image (ψυχὴ καὶ εἴδωλον) — but the wits (φρένες) are not in it at all." (Aristophanes athetized the line as too doctrinal; it is the shape of the whole scene.) The dead persist as form without force — enough to be loved, too little to be held: the exact measure of what the living owe them, which is everything this book does. ↩

6 lines 109–140 — The wood-train — Meriones's logistics, the mules, the felled oaks "with a great crashing" — ends at the shore where Achilles plans "the great mound for Patroclus — and for himself": his own funeral entering the arrangements as a fact needing no comment. The army heaps the corpse with cut hair; Achilles carries the head — chief mourner's station, as Thetis held his (18.71). ↩

7 lines 141–154 — The Spercheius lock: hair grown long for a homecoming vow — Peleus's fifty rams at the river's sources — cut now and given to the dead instead: "since I am not going home to my dear fatherland." The vow of return is formally transferred to the grave; no line in the book cancels Achilles' future more quietly. He says it looking at the sea — the road home, declined. ↩

8 lines 161–192 — The pyre, a hundred feet each way, and its freight: fat-wrapped corpse, honey and oil, four horses, two of the nine table-dogs — and the twelve Trojan youths of the vow, butchered with the narrator's own verdict attached: "and evil was the work his heart intended" (κακὰ δὲ φρεσὶ μήδετο ἔργα). The poem does not flinch from human sacrifice and does not condone it: one clause of judgment, unique in the epic, set exactly here. And then, within eight lines, Book 24 quietly begins: Aphrodite keeping the dogs from Hector "by day and by night," the oil of roses, Apollo's sheltering cloud — the gods already voting against the rage they have stopped assisting. ↩

9 lines 193–232 — The winds must be asked: Iris fetches Boreas and Zephyrus from a banquet (declining a seat — she is expected at the Aethiopians': divine society continuing around the edges of grief), and they burn the pyre all night while Achilles pours wine and calls the soul. Over it, the poem's most terrible simile of mourning: "As a father mourns, burning the bones of his son, a bridegroom" — the worst grief the Greek imagination could name, a child dead at the threshold of marriage — given to a friend for a friend, and doubled by the fact that the mourner's own father will soon have precisely this grief and no body to burn. ↩

10 lines 236–257 — The white bones "of their kindly companion" (ἐνηέος — the dead man's adjective) into the golden vessel "until I myself am hidden in Hades"; the mound deliberately modest, "then afterward the Achaeans may build it wide and high — you who are left behind me": Achilles designs his own tomb as an afterthought to his friend's, assigning the enlargement to survivors he has already stopped counting himself among. The funeral is double throughout; only one of the dead is present. ↩

11 lines 257–271 — The pivot of the book: "But Achilles held the army there" — grief converted, by decree, into games. The prize-list is the Iliad's economy in miniature: women, tripods, mares, cauldrons, gold, iron — the same currencies men died over, now to be won by rule. ↩

12 lines 271–286 — Achilles' abdication: his immortal horses would win, so he withdraws — and the reason is their mourning: they stand with manes trailing the ground for "the gentle one" (ἠπίου), who washed them and oiled their manes. Patroclus's epithet-world (kindly, gentle) persists in the memory of animals; the horses that wept at 17.426-440 are still in mourning, and their grief disqualifies the field's best entry. ↩

13 lines 287–351 — Nestor's sermon on μῆτις — "by cunning, far more than by force, is the woodcutter better; by cunning the helmsman... by cunning charioteer outdoes charioteer" — the poem's most explicit praise of intelligence over strength, delivered to a son whose horses are slowest. The turn-post itself is the book's emblem: "either it is the grave-mark of a man dead long ago, or it was set for a turning-post by men before our time; and now Achilles has made it the goal" — a monument whose meaning is already lost, reused as sport: what tombs become, in the long run the poem knows all about. The driving instructions (lean left, goad the right-hand horse, graze the post with the hub) are the oldest coaching manual in literature. ↩

14 lines 352–373 — The start: lots drawn (Antilochus first — the inside track his tactics will need), Phoenix as umpire "to keep the running in memory and report the truth," and the break — dust like cloud or stormwind, manes streaming, the cars now hugging earth, now airborne, "and each man's heart was pounding in his hunger for victory." The poem's joy in speed, absent since the chariots ran for Hector's life, is given back clean. ↩

15 lines 373–402 — The gods play the race as they played the war: Apollo dashes the whip from Diomedes (still angry from Book 5, perhaps — or just partisan); Athena returns it and breaks Eumelus's yoke — the best horseman skinned across mouth and elbows in the dust. Divine interference, which cost Patroclus his life and Hector his, here costs a man a mare and his skin: the same machinery at play-scale, safe at last. ↩

16 lines 402–447 — Antilochus's foul: the speech to his horses (threatening them with Nestor's knife — charioteer's hyperbole; "Aethe will pour shame over you: a female!"), the sunken narrows, and the swerve that forces Menelaus to yield or wreck. The narrator is exact: Menelaus dropped back "by his own will," the prudence of the elder buying both men's safety — and his shout ("you shall not carry off the prize without an oath") files the case the assembly will hear. The young man drives "like a man who had not heard": Nestor's cunning-lecture, over-learned in one generation. ↩

17 lines 448–499 — The spectators' quarrel — Idomeneus's sharp-eyed call (the chestnut with the moon-round blaze), Oilean Ajax's gratuitous insult, the proposed wager with Agamemnon as judge — is Book 1 in a teacup: two proud men, a prize, an arbiter. And it is stopped by Achilles — "it is not seemly... You would be indignant at another man who acted so" — the poem's original quarreler now its peacemaker, speaking to others the sentence nobody managed to speak to him. The reformation is complete and completely unremarked: the poem lets you notice it yourself. ↩

18 lines 499–514 — Diomedes wins — whip-strokes "down from the shoulder," the gold-and-tin car running the horses' heels down, wheel-tracks barely printed in the fine dust (speed measured by what it fails to leave), and the cool gesture at the end: the whip leaned against the yoke. Sthenelus takes the woman and the tripod: Book 5's team, intact, at play. ↩

19 lines 514–533 — The placings, with the poem's own verdict on Antilochus: "by craft, not speed at all" (κέρδεσιν, οὔ τι τάχει γε). The tail-hairs-brushing-the-tire figure measures Menelaus's closing surge; Meriones a spear-cast back; and last, dragging his wreck, "the best man" — Eumelus, whose excellence the race no longer records, which is why the next scene has to. ↩

20 lines 534–566 — Justice, round one: Achilles proposes second prize for Eumelus (pity ranking worth above result), and Antilochus objects on procedure — the mare is won; compensate from your own stores — with the challenge-tag of a man standing on right ("let any man who wants her try me — hand to hand"). And Achilles smiled — his only smile in the Iliad — "delighting in Antilochus, because he was his dear companion." The word ἑταῖρος, freighted with all the book's grief, spent here on the living: the smile is the poem's first evidence that Achilles can still be reached. Eumelus gets Asteropaeus's corslet; everyone is paid; nobody is wronged. ↩

21 lines 566–613 — Justice, round two — the poem's model trial. Menelaus rises "grieved at heart," takes the herald's staff (procedure!), and offers two courses: judgment by the leaders, "and no favor either way," or — better — the self-executing oath: stand before your horses, whip in hand, touch the team, and swear by the earth-upholder, the earth-shaker, that the foul was not deliberate. Antilochus folds precisely at the oath — he will not perjure — with the young man's confession for all time: "his mind is the quicker, but his judgment thin" — and hands over the mare with his whole inheritance in one sentence rather than "be wrong before the gods." And Menelaus melts — the dew-on-the- ripening-corn simile, the gentlest in the poem, for the untensing of an angry heart — and gives the mare back. Compare Book 1: a prize, a grievance, an assembly — and there, wrath; here, yielding met by yielding. This scene is the Iliad showing what the quarrel of Achilles and Agamemnon should have been. ↩

22 lines 615–652 — Nestor's prize for nothing: the leftover bowl, given "a memorial of the burial of Patroclus: for never again will you see him among the Argives." The old man's answer is his career in miniature — the games for Amarynceus at Buprasium, four victories named, and the one defeat: the Molione twins who beat him "by force of numbers... one held the reins — held the reins for good and all — while the other laid on the whip" (the doubled phrase is the Greek's own, an old man's groove in the telling). His thanks name the thing the whole book trades in: "my heart rejoices that you remember me always as your kindly friend" (ἐνηέος — Patroclus's word, 252). Honor, in the end, is being remembered kindly: the games' true currency, and the poem's. ↩

23 lines 653–700 — The boxing: Epeius's magnificent boast with its disarming core — "Is it not enough that I fall short in battle? There was never a way for one man to be skilled in every work there is" — the most honest self-assessment in the epic (this is the man who will build the wooden horse: his skill was coming). Euryalus's pedigree is a funeral-games résumé — he won at the burial of "fallen Oedipus" at Thebes, the Iliad's only notice of Oedipus, dead at home and buried with games. One counter-punch ends it; the fish-leap simile under Boreas's shiver lands him; and Epeius "took him in his hands and set him upright" — courtesy inside violence, the book's whole ethic in one gesture. ↩

24 lines 700–740 — The wrestling, with the poem's price-list attached: the tripod worth twelve oxen; the woman "skilled in many kinds of work," worth four. The Iliad states its world's arithmetic without comment, and no reader is meant to pass it in silence: this is the economy the whole war runs on. Ajax and Odysseus lock like "gable-rafters a famous builder joins"; two falls — Odysseus's knee-trick, then the failed lift and mutual tumble — and Achilles calls it: "Victory to you both." Force and cunning, the poem's two great modes, wrestle to a draw and are sent to dinner. ↩

25 lines 740–798 — The foot-race, and the bowl with a biography: Sidonian work, Phoenician freight, guest- gift to Thoas, and then — the price of Lycaon, paid by Euneus to Patroclus. The object that once bought Lycaon's life (21.40-41) is now the prize at the funeral of the man it was paid to, raced for while Lycaon lies in the river. Objects in Homer remember what men would rather not. The race itself is the book's comedy: Odysseus running so close he treads Ajax's prints "before the dust could settle," breathing on his head (with the weaving-woman simile — the poem's most domestic measure of distance); the prayer; Athena's trip; Ajax face-down in the sacrificial ox-dung, spitting, with the complaint that convulses the army: "she stands by Odysseus like a mother!" — "and they all laughed at him sweetly" (ἡδύ). Laughter, which this poem has mostly given to gods and scorners, comes back to men, sweet, at a funeral. Antilochus's graceful last-place speech ("the immortals honor the elder generation... hard work to race him — except Achilles") wins a half-talent bonus for pure charm. ↩

26 lines 798–826 — The armed duel — for Sarpedon's armor, Patroclus's greatest spoil (16.663-665) — is the one event that edges too close to the real thing: first blood "through armor and dark blood" for Asteropaeus's Thracian sword. Ajax and Diomedes close "glaring terribly; and awe held all the Achaeans"; Diomedes keeps reaching over the shield-rim for the neck — the exact stroke that killed Hector — and the Achaeans, "in fear for Ajax," stop it. Play that can kill is called before it does: the community knows where the line is now. (Aristophanes' text varied the victory-terms; Aristarchus athetized 806 and 810; 824-825 were athetized too — antiquity was uneasy exactly where the game is uneasy.) ↩

27 lines 826–849 — The weight-throw: the prize is the implement — Eëtion's self-smelted iron lump, war-booty from Andromache's father's city, now five years' supply for a winner's shepherd and plowman: iron passing from a king's sport through sack and spoil to farm-tools — the poem's whole material history in one object. Polypoetes's cast, measured by a herdsman's throwing-staff "spinning away through the herds," wins it for the ships. ↩

28 lines 850–883 — The archery: a dove on a cord at the mast-head. Teucer shoots without vowing the hecatomb — "Apollo grudged him that" — and cuts the cord; Meriones, arrow already in hand, vows, and takes the bird under the wing as she circles the clouds. Piety as marksmanship's missing variable, scored like the contest it is; and the poem's last death — after Hector, after the twelve — is a dove's, drooping her neck on the mast "and the life flew swift from her limbs." The Iliad's killing ends in miniature, feathered, at a game. ↩

29 lines 884–897 — The close: Agamemnon stands up for the javelin — and Achilles awards him the prize without a throw: "we know how far you surpass all others... take this prize" — with the spear to Meriones. The poem's first quarrel was these two men over a prize; its last prize passes between them ungrudged, unthrown-for, by the loser of Book 1 now presiding in perfect courtesy. Agamemnon hands the cauldron to Talthybius — the herald who once came to Achilles' hut to take Briseis (1.320-348) now receives, from Agamemnon's own hands, a gift born of Achilles' graciousness. The circle shuts without a word of comment: the games have done what nine years of war could not. All that remains is a corpse behind the hut, and a father across the plain — Book 24. ↩