Book XVI

BOOK XVI

THUS did they fight about the ship of Protesilaus. Then Patroclus

drew near to Achilles with tears welling from his eyes, as from

some spring whose crystal stream falls over the ledges of a high

precipice. When Achilles saw him thus weeping he was sorry for

him and said, "Why, Patroclus, do you stand there weeping like

some silly child that comes running to her mother, and begs to be

taken up and carried--she catches hold of her mother's dress to

stay her though she is in a hurry, and looks tearfully up until

her mother carries her--even such tears, Patroclus, are you now

shedding. Have you anything to say to the Myrmidons or to myself?

or have you had news from Phthia which you alone know? They tell

me Menoetius son of Actor is still alive, as also Peleus son of

Aeacus, among the Myrmidons--men whose loss we two should

bitterly deplore; or are you grieving about the Argives and the

way in which they are being killed at the ships, through their

own high-handed doings? Do not hide anything from me but tell me

that both of us may know about it."

Then, O knight Patroclus, with a deep sigh you answered,

"Achilles, son of Peleus, foremost champion of the Achaeans, do

not be angry, but I weep for the disaster that has now befallen

the Argives. All those who have been their champions so far are

lying at the ships, wounded by sword or spear. Brave Diomed son

of Tydeus has been hit with a spear, while famed Ulysses and

Agamemnon have received sword-wounds; Eurypylus again has been

struck with an arrow in the thigh; skilled apothecaries are

attending to these heroes, and healing them of their wounds; are

you still, O Achilles, so inexorable? May it never be my lot to

nurse such a passion as you have done, to the baning of your own

good name. Who in future story will speak well of you unless you

now save the Argives from ruin? You know no pity; knight Peleus

was not your father nor Thetis your mother, but the grey sea bore

you and the sheer cliffs begot you, so cruel and remorseless are

you. If however you are kept back through knowledge of some

oracle, or if your mother Thetis has told you something from the

mouth of Jove, at least send me and the Myrmidons with me, if I

may bring deliverance to the Danaans. Let me moreover wear your

armour; the Trojans may thus mistake me for you and quit the

field, so that the hard-pressed sons of the Achaeans may have

breathing time--which while they are fighting may hardly be. We

who are fresh might soon drive tired men back from our ships and

tents to their own