In the guise of a man she sought Pandarus, a gallant warrior and a mighty archer. ‘Hearken to me, wise Pandarus,’ said the goddess. ‘Shoot now a swift arrow at Menelaus, that thou may’st slay him. So shalt thou win fame and glory before all the Trojans, and gain from Paris kingly gifts.’ And to her words foolish Pandarus lent willing ears. He unsheathed his polished bow, made from the horn of a wild ibex that he himself had shot in the mountains. Sixteen palms long were its horns, and these a skilled workman had polished well and joined cunningly together, and tipped with gold. Well did Pandarus string his bow, and from his quiver he chose an arrow, sharp and new. Then did he pull back the bowstring to his breast until the great bow was bent into a round. The horn twanged and the bowstring sang, and the keen arrow sped fiercely on its way. Straight to the heart of Menelaus would it have sped, but Athene made it glance aside, so that it smote against the golden buckles of the belt of his breastplate. Yet even then did it graze his flesh, and the black blood gushed forth from the wound. When Agamemnon saw the blood flowing, sorely grieved was he. But Menelaus said: ‘Be of good courage. The wound is not deep, for my glistering belt in front and my kirtle of mail beneath stayed the deadly arrow.’ Then did they send for a skilled physician. And he, when he was come, drew forth the arrow, and sucked the blood and spread healing drugs upon the wound. While the physician tended Menelaus, throughout the Greek host went Agamemnon. ‘To arms!’ he said to his men. ‘The men of Troy have broken the oath of peace that they took, and for us it is to punish them. No helper of liars is Zeus, and so shall they fall before us and their flesh be given to the vultures for their food!’ All those of his men that he found preparing eagerly for the battle, he praised. But to those that he found shrinking from battle he gave angry words, whether they were common soldiers or great chiefs. To Diomedes he came at last. ‘Dost thou hold back from battle, Diomedes?’ he cried. ‘Such was not thy father’s way. Ever in battle was he the first. But his son is not a fighter such as he, though in speech he may be more skilled.’ No answer did Diomedes make, for he reverenced Agamemnon the king. But a comrade who stood by him cried out in anger at the injustice of his words. ‘Falsely dost thou speak, Agamemnon!’ he said. ‘Better men than our fathers are we! Did we not, with fewer men and against a stronger wall, take the great city of Thebes which they strove to take in vain!’ But brave Diomedes sternly rebuked him. ‘Be silent, brother,’ he said, ‘for right and just it is that Agamemnon should urge his warriors on to the fight. His will be the glory if we overcome the men of Troy and take their city, and his will be the great sorrow if by the Trojans we Greeks are laid low. Come! let us to arms!’