‘Thinkest thou to spoil our ships!’ called Ajax to Hector. ‘To the gods, and not to the men of Troy do we owe our evil plight. Yet ere long will Troy fall before us, and thou thyself wilt pray to Zeus to make thy steeds fleet as falcons as they bear thee in shameful plight back to thy city, across the plain.’ To Ajax did Hector make answer: ‘Blundering boaster art thou! Woe cometh this day to the Greeks! And thou, Ajax, if thou hast courage to meet my spear, shalt be food for the birds and the dogs.’ In his tent the heart of Agamemnon sank within him, and those beside him did he counsel that they should drag their ships down to the sea and swiftly sail away. ‘There is no shame in fleeing from ruin,’ said he. But Odysseus and Diomedes replied with angry scorn to the coward words of their overlord. ‘Let us go down to the battle, wounded though we be,’ said Diomedes. So they set forth, and with them went Agamemnon, and through the long day did that mortal fight go on. Now would the Trojans triumph, and again to the men of Greece would come the victory. At last, before a huge stone, hurled by Ajax, did Hector fall. Like a mighty oak smitten by lightning he fell, and the Trojans bore him away, the black blood gushing from his mouth. Then pressed the men of Greece the more. Back from the ships they drove the men of Troy. But to Hector where he lay a-dying came Apollo, and into his fainting body and heart he breathed fresh strength and courage. With strength as the strength of ten Hector once again faced the foe, and before him the Greeks fell back in dismay. Patroclus in his tent, tending the wounds of a friend, marked how the Greeks fell back, and he groaned aloud. ‘To Achilles must I hasten,’ he said. ‘Who knows but that the time has come when I may arouse him to join in the battle.’ CHAPTER XI HOW PATROCLUS FOUGHT AND DIED While round the dark ships of Greece the fierce fight raged, Achilles, from afar, listened unmoved to the din of battle, and watched with stony eyes the men of Greece as they fell and died on the reddened ground. To him came Patroclus. ‘Why dost thou weep, Patroclus?’ asked Achilles. ‘Like a fond little maid art thou that runs by her mother’s side, plucking at her gown, hindering her as she walks, and with tearful eyes looking up at her until the mother lifts her in her arms. Like her, Patroclus, dost thou softly weep.’ Then Patroclus, heavily groaning, made answer: ‘Among the ships lie the bravest and best of the men of Greece, sore wounded or dead. Pitiless art thou, Achilles, pitiless and unforgiving. Yet if thou dost still hold back from the battle, give me, I pray thee, thine armour, and send me forth in thy stead. Perchance the Trojans may take me for the mighty Achilles, and even now the victory be ours.’ Then said Achilles, and heavy was his heart within him: