When Achilles came near he cast his spear, striking the leg below the knee, but the armor was so strong it turned off the spear. But when Achilles would have slain him, lo! Apollo lifted him up and set him within the city, and that the men of Troy might have space to enter, he took upon him Agenor’s shape. The false Agenor fled, and Achilles pursued him. In the meanwhile the men of Troy flocked into the city, without stopping to ask who was safe and who was dead. Only Hector remained outside the walls, standing in front of the great Scæan gates. But all the while Achilles was fiercely pursuing the false Agenor, till at last Apollo turned and spake to him— “Why dost thou pursue me, swift-footed Achilles? Hast thus not yet found out that I am a god, and that all thy fury is in vain? All the sons of Troy are safe in their city, and thou art here, far out of the way, seeking to slay me, who cannot die.” In great wrath Achilles answered him, “Thou hast done me wrong in so drawing me away from the wall, great archer, most mischief-loving of all the gods. Had it not been for this, many a Trojan more had bitten the ground. Thou hast robbed me of great glory, and saved thy favorites. O that I had the power to take vengeance on thee! Thou hadst paid dearly for thy cheat!” Then he turned and rushed towards the city, swift as a racehorse whirls a chariot across the plain. Old Priam spied him from the walls, with his glittering armor, bright as that brightest of the stars—men call it Orion’s dog—which shines at vintage-time, a baleful light, bringing the fevers of autumn to men. And the old man groaned aloud when he saw him, and stretching out his hands, cried to his son Hector, where he stood before the gates, eager to do battle with this dread warrior—