So speaking he set on the hero Kebriones with the
rush of a lion, that while wasting the cattle-pens
is smitten in the breast, and his own valour is his
bane, even so against Kebriones, Patroklos, didst thou
leap furiously. But Hector, on the other side,
leaped from his chariot to the ground. And these
twain strove for Kebriones like lions, that on the
mountain peaks fight, both hungering, both high of
heart, for a slain hind. Even so for Kebriones’
sake these two masters of the war-cry, Patroklos son
of Menoitios, and renowned Hector, were eager each
to hew the other’s flesh with the ruthless bronze.
Hector then seized him by the head, and slackened
not hold, while Patroklos on the other side grasped
him by the foot, and thereon the others, Trojans and
Danaans, joined strong battle. And as the East
wind and the South contend with one another in shaking
a deep wood in the dells of a mountain, shaking beech,
and ash, and smooth-barked cornel tree, that clash
against each other their long boughs with marvellous
din, and a noise of branches broken, so the Trojans
and Achaians were leaping on each other and slaying,
nor had either side any thought of ruinous flight.
And many sharp darts were fixed around Kebriones, and
winged arrows leaping from the bow-string, and many
mighty stones smote the shields of them that fought
around him. But he in the whirl of dust lay mighty
and mightily fallen, forgetful of his chivalry.
Now while the sun was going about mid-heaven, so long
the darts smote either side, and the host fell, but
when the sun turned to the time of the loosing of
oxen, lo, then beyond their doom the Achaians proved
the better. The hero Kebriones drew they forth
from the darts, out of the tumult of the Trojans,
and stripped the harness from his shoulders, and with
ill design against the Trojans, Patroklos rushed upon
them. Three times then rushed he on, peer of
swift Ares, shouting terribly, and thrice he slew
nine men. But when the fourth time he sped on
like a god, thereon to thee, Patroklos, did the end
of life appear, for Phoebus met thee in the strong
battle, in dreadful wise. And Patroklos was not
ware of him coming through the press, for hidden in
thick mist did he meet him, and stood behind him,
and smote his back and broad shoulders with a down-stroke
of his hand, and his eyes were dazed. And from
his head Phoebus Apollo smote the helmet that rolled
rattling away with a din beneath the hooves of the
horses, the helm with upright socket, and the crests
were defiled with blood and dust. And all the
long-shadowed spear was shattered in the hands of
Patroklos, the spear great and heavy and strong, and
sharp, while from his shoulders the tasselled shield
with the baldric fell to the ground.
