But the injured Ares found scant sympathy from his father. "Come not to me," he said sternly, "with thy whining complaints. Blame thy mother for what thou hast suffered; for to her thou owest the froward temper which makes thee the most hateful to me of all my children. Nevertheless I will not leave thee in pain, for thou art my son, the child of my wedded love. Were it not so, I would have found thee a place in the dungeons where the Titans groan." Then he laid his commands upon Pæan, the god of healing, who sprinkled powerful remedies on the wound, which gave instant relief. Swift as is the action of the fig-juice when it falls with eager droppings[4] into milk, and turns it to curd, so quickly closed the wound under the skilful hands of Pæan. And when he had bathed, Ares sat down, hale and whole, by his father's side. [4] Used as rennet. "Eager droppings" is from Hamlet. The Battle Continued: Hector and Andromache I Having driven Ares from the field, Hera and Athene returned to Olympus, leaving the battle to be decided by human strength and valour. Soon the numbers and prowess of the Greeks began to prevail, and the Trojans were gradually forced back towards their walls. At this critical moment Hector, who hitherto had played but a secondary part in the battle, was suddenly inspired with almost superhuman courage and energy, and by his example the Trojans were saved from a general rout. Having allayed the panic, he left the other leaders to make head against the enemy, and went himself into the city, with the purpose of ordering a general sacrifice and supplication, to avert the anger of Athene. Both armies were growing weary of the long struggle, and during Hector's absence the work of slaughter ceased for a time by mutual consent. Diomede alone kept the field, and stalked about in the space between the two armies, eyeing the ranks of the Trojans, and seeking for a foeman worthy of his steel. Glaucus, the Lycian captain, marked his defiant attitude, and strode forward undaunted to the encounter. When they were met in the middle of the plain, Diomede accosted him with haughty mien, and said: "Who art thou, bold sir, that hast dared to match thyself with me? Unhappy are the parents whose sons affront my might.[1] If thou be a god, I will not meddle with thee, for I fear to lift my hand again to fight with the sons of heaven. But if thou art of the race of men, that live by bread, come on, and I will give thee to thy doom. But first tell me thy name and thy race." [1] "And with their darkness durst _affront_ his light."--Milton, _P.L._ i.