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the Iliad book 6

[The battle continues; Menelaus captures Adrestus;  Agamemnon

refuses ransom; Helenus gives advice to Hector; Glaucus and Diomedes

prepare to fight; Glaucus tells the story of Bellerophon; Glaucus and

Diomedes exchange armour in friendship; Hector goes to Troy, talks to

his mother; Hector talks to Paris and Helen; Hector goes home, talks to

his housekeeper; Hector meets Andromache and Astyanax; Hector

prays for his son's future; Paris rejoins Hector at the gates]

Now the grim war between Trojans and Achaeans

was left to run its course. The battle raged,

this way and that, across the entire plain,

as warriors hurled bronze-tipped spears at one another,

between the Simoeis and Xanthus rivers.

Ajax, son of Telamon, Achaea's tower of strength,

was the first to break through ranks of Trojans,

punching out some breathing room for his companions.

He hit Acamas, son of Eussorus, a strong brave soldier,

best of the Thracians. Ajax's spear struck him first  10

on the peak of his horse-plumed helmet. The sharp bronze

drove right into his forehead—dead in the centre—

straight through bone into the brain. Darkness fell on his eyes.

Diomedes, expert in war cries, killed Axylus,

son of Teuthras, a rich man, from well-built Arisbe.

People really loved him, for he lived beside a road

and welcomed all passers-by into his home.

But not one of those men he'd entertained now stood

in front of him, protecting him from wretched death.

Diomedes took the lives of two men—Axylus  20

and his attendant charioteer, Calesius.

So both men went down into the underworld.

Euryalus killed Dresus and Opheltius,

then charged after Aesepus and Pedasus,124

whom the naiad nymph Abarbarea bore

to noble Boucolion, son of high-born Laomedon,

his eldest son. His mother bore Pedasus in secret.

Bucolion had had sex with the nymph

while tending to his flock. She became pregnant,

then gave birth to two twin sons. Euryalus,  30

son of Mecistus, slaughtered both of them,

destroying their strength and splendid bodies.

Then he stripped the armour from their shoulders.

Next, fierce warrior Polypoetes killed Astyalus.

With his bronze spear Odysseus killed Pidytes from Percote.

Teucer slaughtered lord Aretaon, and Antilochus,

Nestor’s son, with his glittering spear killed Ableros.

Agamemnon, king of men, killed Elatus,

who lived in high Pedasus, beside the banks

of the fair-flowing river Satnioeis.  40

Heroic Leitus knocked down Phylacus, as he was fleeing.

And Eurypylus then slaughtered Melanthus.

Menelaus, skilled in war cries, took Adrestus still alive.

His horses had panicked and bolted off across the plain.

They charged into a tamarisk bush and snapped the pole

on the curved chariot, right at the very end.

The horses then ran off towards the city, where others,

panic stricken, were headed, too. Adrestus

rolled out of the chariot beside the wheel,

face down in the dirt. Menelaus, son of Atreus,  50

stood there over him, holding his long-shadowed spear.

Adrestus clutched Menelaus by the knees and begged:

“Take me alive, son of Atreus—you'll get

good ransom. My father is a wealthy man,

owns lots of things—bronze, silver, well-worked iron.

So he'll give you a splendid ransom,

if he learns I'm by Achaean ships, alive.”

Adrestus pleaded. Menelaus' heart in his chest was moved.

He was about to hand Adrestus to his attendant, 125

to take back captive to the fast Achaean ships.  60

But then Agamemnon came running up to him,

sharply criticizing Menelaus:

“Menelaus, you soft-hearted man,

why are you sparing men's lives like this?

In your own home, Trojans treated you

exceptionally well, did they not?

So don't let any one of them evade

a terrible destruction at our hands—

not even the young child still carried

in his mother's belly. Let no one escape.  70

Let everyone in Troy be slaughtered,

without pity, without leaving any trace.”

With these words, by this appeal to justice,

he changed his brother's mind. So Menelaus

shoved heroic Adrestus away from him.

Mighty Agamemnon then speared him in the side.

Adrestus fell onto his back. The son of Atreus

placed his heel down on his chest and pulled the ash spear out.

Then Nestor addressed the Argives, shouting:

                  “My friends,

Danaan heroes, comrades of Ares, 80

let no one lag behind to pick up loot,

seeking to reach our ships with all you can.

Let's kill the enemy instead. Later,

with the corpses on the plain, you'll have time

to strip off bodies of the slaughtered men.”

With this Nestor stirred each man's strength and spirit.

Then Achaeans, filled with love of war, would once more

have beaten Trojans, broken by cowardice,

back in flight to Troy, if Helenus, a son of Priam,

by far the best at reading omens, had not spoken out.  90

Standing by Hector and Aeneas, Helenus said:126

“Aeneas, Hector, among Trojans and Lycians,

the main weight falls particularly on you,

for you are, in all attacks, the best at fighting,

at strategy. Make a stand right here.

Rally the men before the city gates.

Move around through the entire army,

before men run and fall into their women's arms.

How that would make our enemies rejoice!

Then, once you've restored the spirits  100

in all our ranks, we'll stand right here

and fight Danaans, no matter how hard pressed.

For then we'll have no other option.

And you, Hector, go into the city.

Speak to our mother, yours and mine.

Tell her to assemble the old women

at the temple of bright-eyed Athena,

on the city heights. She should take the key,

open the doors of the sacred building,

then place in the lap of the goddess there,  110

fair-haired Athena, the garment she thinks

loveliest, the greatest in the palace,

the one she likes far above the others.

Tell her to promise Athena she'll give

twelve heifers in a temple sacrifice,

yearlings, as yet untouched by any goad,

if she will pity Troy, pity the wives

and Trojan children, if she will keep

Tydeus' son away from sacred Ilion,

that fierce spearman, that mighty warrior,  120

who makes men afraid—in my opinion,

the most powerful of all Achaeans.

We didn't fear Achilles, chief of men,

like this, although they say a goddess

was his mother. But this man's fighting rage

has no equal. We can't match his power.”

Helenus spoke. Hector was convinced by his advice.

At once he jumped down from his chariot to the ground,

clutching his weapons. Brandishing two sharp spears, 127

he moved through all the army, urging men to fight, 130

rousing their spirits for the harsh brutality of war.

So men wheeled around and faced Achaean soldiers.

Argives then drew back and stopped the slaughter,

thinking that one of the immortal gods had come,

descending from star-lit heaven to help the Trojans,

enabling them to turn themselves around and fight.

Hector issued orders to the Trojans, shouting:

“You proud Trojans, wide-renowned allies,

friends, be men, summon up your fighting strength,

while I go to Troy in person, to instruct  140

the old men of the council and our wives

to pray to the gods and promise sacrifice.”

With these words, Hector of the shining helmet moved away.

As he went, black leather running round the outer edge

on his studded shield struck his neck and ankles.

Then Glaucus, son of Hippolochus, and Diomedes

moved out together between the armies, keen to fight.

When they'd come to close quarters, facing one another,

Diomedes, expert in war cries, was the first to speak:

“Who are you, my dear man, among mortal men?  150

For I've never clapped eyes on you before

in those fights where men win glory.

But now you've stepped out well beyond the ranks,

showing more courage here than anyone,

standing up to my long-shadowed spear.

Men who face me end up with grieving parents.

If you're one of the immortal gods

come down from heaven, I won't fight you.

Even mighty Lycurgus, son of Dryas,

did not live long, once he started battling  160

heavenly gods. He was the one who chased

attendants of the frenzied Dionysus,

forcing them to run by sacred Nysa.

They all threw their holy wands onto the ground,128

as murderous Lycurgus with his ox whip

kept beating them. Even Dionysus,

terrified, jumped in the ocean waves.

Thetis embraced him, as he shook with fear,

intimidated by Lycurgus' threats.

He angered the gods, who live without a care,  170

so the son of Cronos blinded him.

He didn't live much longer, not once he'd made

all the deathless gods displeased with him.

So I don't want to battle sacred gods.

But if you're a mortal man, someone

who eats earth's fruit, come closer to me,

so you can meet your death more quickly.”

Glaucus, fine son of Hippolochus, replied:

“Son of Tydeus, great-hearted Diomedes,

why ask me about my ancestry?  180

Generations of men are like the leaves.

In winter, winds blow them down to earth,

but then, when spring season comes again,

the budding wood grows more. And so with men—

one generation grows, another dies away.

But if you wish to learn about my family,

so you're familiar with my lineage,

well, many people know the details.

There is a city in a part of Argos,

land where horses breed—it's called Ephyra.  190

There Sisyphus lived, craftiest man ever born,

Sisyphus, Aeolus' son. He had a son,

Glaucus, father of handsome Bellerophon.

The gods made Bellerophon so beautiful

and gave him the best qualities of men.

But Proetus, in his heart, plotted against him,

driving him from Argos, being much stronger,

for Zeus had given royal power to Proetus.

Now, Proetus' wife, lady Anteia,

desperate to have sex with Bellerophon,  200

wanted him to lie with her in secret. 1

This detail has been much discussed, since it is the only explicit reference in the

Iliad to some form of writing.

129

But fiery Bellerophon refused,

for he possessed an honourable heart.

So Anteia made up lies, telling Proetus,

the king, 'You'll be murdered, Proetus,

unless you assassinate Bellerophon,

who wants to have sex with me against my will.'

Proetus was overcome with anger

at what he'd heard, but was reluctant

to kill Bellerophon—in his heart  210

he shrank from such an evil act.

He sent Bellerophon to Lycia,

with a lethal message, coded symbols

written on a folded tablet.

1

 These told

many lies about Bellerophon.

Proetus told him to give the message

to his father-in-law, so he'd be killed.

Bellerophon went off to Lycia,

under safe conduct from the gods.

In Lycia he reached the river Xanthus, 220

and was honoured fully by the Lycian king,

with nine days of welcome entertainment,

nine sacrificial oxen. The tenth day,

when rose-fingered early Dawn appeared,

the Lycian king questioned Bellerophon,

asking to see the message he had brought

from Proetus, his son-in-law.

Once he'd received the evil message

from his son-in-law, he told Bellerophon,

first of all, to kill the Chimera,  230

an invincible inhuman monster,

but divine in origin. Its front part was a lion,

its rear a snake's tail, and in between a goat.

She breathed deadly rage in searing fire.

But Bellerophon killed the Chimera,

putting his trust in omens from the gods.

Next, he battled the Solymi, the worst fight,

they say, he ever had with mortal beings.130

Then, third, he massacred the Amazons,

women who rival men. The king planned  2 one more devious evil trick against him,

as he was returning from the Amazons.

He set Lycia's best men in ambush.

But not a single one of them came back—

worthy Bellerophon had killed them all.

Then the king knew he must be divinely born.

So he kept him with him there in Lycia,

gave him his daughter's hand in marriage,

and half the honours in the entire kingdom.

The Lycians then gave him an estate  250

far better than the rest, rich in vineyards,

wheat-growing farmland, for him to keep.

The king's daughter bore him three children—

Isander, Hippolochus, and Laodamia.

Counselor Zeus then had sex with the girl.

She bore great Sarpedon, bronze-armed warrior.

But then Bellerophon angered all the gods.

He wandered out alone on the Aleian plain—

depressed in spirit, roaming there and shunning all.

Ares, insatiable in war, killed his son Isander,  260

while he was fighting the famous Solymi.

Artemis, goddess with the golden reins,

in anger killed the daughter of Bellerophon.

My father was Hippolochus. I claim

my descent from him. He sent me to Troy,

telling me repeatedly to strive always

to be the best, to outdo other warriors,

so I do not shame my father's family,

the finest men by far in Ephyra,

in spacious Lycia. That's my lineage,  270

the blood ancestry I claim as mine.”

Glaucus spoke. Diomedes, skilled at war cries, rejoiced.

He jabbed his spear into the life-giving earth,

and then spoke to that shepherd of his people as a friend:

“In that case, you're an old friend of my father. 131

For Oeneus once entertained Bellerophon,

that worthy man, in his home for twenty days.

The two of them exchanged fine presents.

Oeneus gave a shining purple belt,

Bellerophon a gold two-handled cup, 280

which I left in my house when I came here.

I have no memory of Tydeus,

for he died while far away from me,

killed at Thebes with the Achaean army.

Now I'll be your kind host in middle Argos,

you'll be mine in Lycia, when I visit you.

Let's make sure we avoid each other's spears,

even in the thick of all the fighting.

For there are many famous Trojans and allies

for me to kill, any warrior the gods provide, 290

whom I can run after and catch on foot.

For you there are many Argives to destroy,

all you can manage. So let's trade armour.

Then those warriors here will all recognize

that we acknowledge our father's bonds as friends.”

With these words, the two men jumped out of their chariots,

clasped hands and pledged their mutual friendship.

Then Zeus, son of Cronos, stole Glaucus' wits,

for he gave Tydeus' son his golden armour,

worth one hundred oxen, exchanging that  300

for armour made of bronze, worth only nine.

Meanwhile, Hector reached the Scaean Gates and oak tree.

The Trojans' wives and daughters ran up round him,

asking after children, brothers, relatives, and husbands.

Addressing each of them in turn, he ordered them

to pray to all the gods. For many were to face great grief.

He came to Priam's splendid palace, with porticos

of well-ground stone. It had fifty private bed rooms,

all of polished rock, built close to one another,

where Priam's sons slept with the wives they married. 310

On the opposite side, within the courtyard,

were twelve roofed rooms, all made of polished stone,132

for Priam's daughters, built near one another,

where Priam's sons-in-law slept with their married wives.

It was here Hector's gracious mother, Hecuba,

met him, as she was going to the palace,

with Laodice, loveliest of all her daughters.

Taking his hand, she spoke to Hector:

               “My child,

why have you left hard battle to come here?

The sons of Achaea—may gods curse them!— 320

press us hard, eager to fight around our city.

Your spirit has led you here to lift your hands

in prayers to Zeus from our city heights.

But wait. I can fetch some sweet wine for you,

so you can start by pouring a libation

to father Zeus and other deathless gods.

Then you may enjoy some, too, if you'll drink.

Wine restores strength well in a weary man,

and you've grown tired guarding your own family.”

Great Hector of the shining helmet then replied:  330

“My dear mother, don't bring me some sweet wine,

for you'll weaken me. I'll lose my battle strength.

And I'm ashamed to offer up to Zeus

libations of bright wine with unwashed hands.

It's not at all appropriate for a man

spattered with blood and dirt to offer prayers

to the son of Cronos, lord of the black clouds.

But you must go to Athena’s temple,

goddess of battle spoils, with burnt offerings.

First assemble the old women all together,  340

then place in Athena's lap, that fair-haired goddess,

the garment which you think is loveliest,

the very finest you keep here at home,

the one you like far better than the rest.

You must promise you will give Athena

twelve heifers in a temple sacrifice,

yearlings, as yet untouched by any goad,133

if she will pity Troy, pity the wives

and Trojan children, if she will keep

Tydeus' son away from sacred Ilion,  350

that fierce spearman, that mighty warrior,

who makes men so afraid. You must leave now—

go straight to the temple of Athena,

goddess of battle spoils. I'll find Paris

and call him back, if he will to listen to me.

If only the earth would open under him,

swallow him up! Olympian Zeus raised him

as trouble for the Trojans, for brave Priam,

for his children. If I could see Paris die,

heading down to Hades, then I could say  360

my heart's sorrows were over and forgotten.”

Hector spoke. His mother went into the house,

calling her attendants, who brought together

the matrons from the city. Then she went down

into the sweet-smelling room which stored their gowns,

fine embroidered work of women from Sidonia,

which godlike Paris brought with him from Sidon,

when he sailed across the broad sea, on that voyage

where he carried high-born Helen off. Hecuba took out

one of the gowns, the finest embroidery, the largest. 370

Glittering like a star, it lay at the bottom of the chest.

Taking that as Athena's gift, she walked away.

The old ladies followed her. At Athena's temple

fair-cheeked Theano, daughter of Cisseus,

wife of horse-taming Antenor, let them in.

Trojans had appointed her Athena's priestess.

All the women raised their hands, praying to Athena,

while Theano took that lovely robe and placed it

in Athena's lap, the goddess with the lovely hair,

then spoke out this prayer to great Zeus' daughter: 380

“Blessed Athena, sacred goddess,

defender of our city, break the spear

of Diomedes. Let him fall face down

before the Scaean Gates. If so, right now134

we'll sacrifice twelve heifers in your temple,

beasts untouched by any goad, if you'll pity

our city, Trojans' wives and children.”

The women prayed. But Pallas Athena refused their prayer.

As they made their plea to great Zeus' daughter,

Hector went to the fine house of Alexander.  390

He'd built it himself with fertile Troy's best craftsmen.

They'd made a bedroom, living quarters, and a yard

close to Priam and to Hector, on the city height.

Hector, loved by Zeus, went in the house, holding his spear,

sixteen feet long, bronze point glittering in front of him,

a gold band running round it. He met Alexander,

busy in his room with his fine weapons—shield

and body armour—polishing his curving bow.

Argive Helen sat there, too, with her attendant ladies,

directing servants in their famous handicrafts.  400

Seeing Paris, Hector spoke some sharp words to him:

“Paris, you're a worthless man.

It's quite wrong of you to nurse that anger

in your heart, while men are being destroyed,

fighting round the city, its steep walls.

It's because of you the sounds of warfare

catch fire round our city. You would fight

any man you saw avoiding battle,

fleeing war's brutality. So up with you,

or soon our city will go up in smoke,  410

with fire consuming everything.”

                                             Godlike Alexander then replied:

“Hector, your rebuke is not unfair,

without reason. So I'll speak plainly.

Listen and remember what I'm saying.

I'm not sitting in my bedroom here

out of spite or anger with the Trojans.

I want to grieve. Just now my wife urged me,135

using gentle words, to rouse myself to fight.

And personally I think that would be best.

Winning shifts from one man to another.  420

Now, wait here, while I put on my armour.

Or go, and I'll come later, catch up with you.”

Hector of the shining helmet did not answer.

So Helen spoke to Hector with these soothing words:

“O Hector, you’re my brother, and me,

I'm a horrible, conniving bitch.

I wish that on that day my mother bore me

some evil wind had come, carried me away,

and swept me off, up into the mountains,

or to the waves of the tumbling, crashing sea.  430

Then I would’ve died before this happened.

But since gods have ordained these evil things,

I wish I'd been wife to a better man,

someone sensitive to others' insults,

with feeling for his many shameful acts.

This husband of mine has no sense now

and won't acquire any in the future.

I expect he'll get from that what he deserves.

But come in, sit on this chair, my brother,

since this trouble really weighs upon your mind— 440

all because I was a bitch—because of that

and Paris' folly, Zeus gives us an evil fate,

so we may be subjects for men's songs

in human generations yet to come.”

Great Hector of the shining helmet answered Helen:

“Don't ask me to sit down, Helen. You're kind,

but you won't persuade me. For my heart's on fire

to help Trojans, who really miss me when I'm gone.

But you must rouse Paris, and he should hurry,

so he can catch me here in the city.  450

I'm going home, to visit my dear wife

and infant son, for I've no idea 136

if I'll be coming back to them again,

or if the gods will kill me at Achaean hands.”

Saying this, Hector of the shining helmet went away.

Soon afterwards he reached his well-built house.

He didn't find white-armed Andromache at home,

for she'd left with the infant child, going to the walls

with a finely dressed attendant, in tears, lamenting.

When Hector didn't meet his fair wife in the house, 460

he went and, standing in the doorway, asked his servant:

“Woman, tell me the truth. Where's Andromache?

At one of my sisters? With a well-dressed wife

of one of my brothers? Or is she at Athena's temple,

where the other fine-haired Trojan women

are praying to that fearful goddess?”

His busy housekeeper then answered him:

“Hector, you asked me to tell you the truth.

She didn't go to one of your sisters,

or one of your brothers' well-dressed wives,  470

nor did she go to Athena's temple,

where other fine-haired Trojan women

are praying to that fearful goddess.

No. She went to Ilion's great tower,

for she'd heard the Trojans were hard pressed,

the power of Achaeans was so great.

So she's hurrying off up to the walls,

like someone in a fit. A nurse went, too,

carrying the child.”

Once the housekeeper spoke,

Hector left the house by the same route he'd come,  480

through the well-built streets, across the mighty city,

and reached the Scaean Gates, beyond which he'd go

out onto the plain. There his wife ran up to meet him,

Andromache, daughter of great-hearted Eëtion,

who'd included a large dowry with her. 137

Eëtion had lived below forested Mount Placus,

in Thebe, king of the Cilician people. She'd become

married wife to Hector of the shining helmet.

Now she met him there. With her came the nurse,

holding at her breast their happy infant child,  490

well-loved son of Hector, like a beautiful star.

Hector had named him Scamandrius, but others

called him Astyanax, lord of the city,

because Hector was Troy's only guardian.

Hector looked at his son in silence, with a smile.

Andromache stood close to him, weeping.

Taking Hector by the hand, she spoke to him.

“My dear husband, your warlike spirit

will be your death. You've no compassion

for your infant child, for me, your sad wife,  500

who before long will be your widow.

For soon the Achaeans will attack you,

all together, and cut you down. As for me,

it would be better, if I'm to lose you,

to be buried in the ground. For then I'll have

no other comfort, once you meet your death,

except my sorrow. I have no father,

no dear mother. For lord Achilles killed

my father, when he wiped out Thebe,

city with high gates, slaying Eëtion.  510

But he didn't strip his corpse—his heart

felt too much shame for that. So he burned him

in his finely decorated armour

and raised a burial mound above the ashes.

Mountain nymphs, daughters of aegis-bearing Zeus,

planted elm trees all around his body.

I had seven brothers in my home.

All went down to Hades in a single day,

for swift-footed lord Achilles killed them all,

while they were guarding their shambling oxen  520

and their white shining sheep. As for my mother,

who ruled wooded Thebe-under-Placus,

he brought her here with all his other spoils.138

Then he released her for a massive ransom.

But archer goddess Artemis then killed her

in her father's house. So, Hector, you are now

my father, noble mother, brother,

and my protecting husband. So pity me.

Stay here in this tower. Don't orphan your child

and make me a widow. Place men by the fig tree,  530

for there the city is most vulnerable,

the wall most easily scaled. Three times

their best men have come there to attack,

led by the two Ajaxes, the sons of Atreus,

famous Idomeneus, and Diomedes,

Tydeus' courageous son, incited to it

by someone well versed in prophecy

or by their own hearts' inclination.”

Great Hector of the shining helmet answered her:

                          “Wife,

all this concerns me, too. But I'd be disgraced,  540

dreadfully shamed among Trojan men

and Trojan women in their trailing gowns,

if I should, like a coward, slink away from war.

My heart will never prompt me to do that,

for I have learned always to be brave,

to fight alongside Trojans at the front,

striving to win fame for father and myself.

My heart and mind know well the day is coming

when sacred Ilion will be destroyed,

along with Priam of the fine ash spear 550

and Priam's people. But what pains me most

about these future sorrows is not so much

the Trojans, Hecuba, or king Priam,

or even my many noble brothers,

who'll fall down in the dust, slaughtered

by their enemies. My pain focuses on you,

when one of those bronze-clad Achaeans

leads you off in tears, ends your days of freedom.

If then you come to Argos as a slave,139

working the loom for some other woman,  560

fetching water from Hypereia or Messeis,

against your will, forced by powerful Fate,

then someone seeing you as you weep

may well say: 'That woman is Hector's wife.

He was the finest warrior in battle

of all horse-taming Trojans in that war

when they fought for Troy.' Someone will say that,

and it will bring still more grief to you,

to be without a man like that to save you

from days of servitude. May I lie dead, 570

hidden deep under a burial mound,

before I hear about your screaming,

as you are dragged away.”

With these words,

glorious Hector stretched his hands out for his son.

The boy immediately shrank back against the breast

of the finely girdled nurse, crying out in terror

to see his own dear father, scared at the sight of bronze,

the horse-hair plume nodding fearfully from his helmet top.

The child's loving father laughed, his noble mother, too.

Glorious Hector pulled the glittering helmet off 580

and set it on the ground. Then he kissed his dear son

and held him in his arms. He prayed aloud to Zeus

and the rest of the immortals.

“Zeus, all you other gods,

grant that this child, my son, may become,

like me, pre-eminent among the Trojans,

as strong and brave as me. Grant that he may rule

Troy with strength. May people someday say,

as he returns from war, 'This man is far better

than his father.' May he carry back

bloody spoils from his slaughtered enemy, 590

making his mother's heart rejoice.”

He placed his son in the hands of his dear wife.

She embraced the child on her sweet breast, smiling140

through her tears. Observing her, Hector felt compassion.

He took her hand, then spoke to her.

“My dearest wife,

don't let your heart be sad on my account.

No man will throw me down to Hades

before my destined time. I tell you this—

no one escapes his fate, not the coward,

nor the brave man, from the moment of his birth.  600

So you should go into the house, keep busy

with your proper work, with your loom and wool,

telling your servants to set about their tasks.

War will be every man's concern, especially mine,

of all those who live in Troy.”

Having said these words,

glorious Hector took his plumed helmet in his hands.

His beloved wife went home, often looking back,

as she went, crying bitterly. She quickly reached

the spacious home of Hector, killer of men.

Inside she met her many servants and bid them all lament.  610

So they mourned for Hector in his own house,

though he was still alive—they thought he'd not come back,

he'd not escape the battle fury of Achaean hands.

Paris did not wait for long in his high-roofed home.

Once he'd pulled on his famous armour, ornate bronze,

he hurried off on foot quickly through the city.

Just as some stalled stallion, well fed in the barn,

breaks his restraints, then gallops at top speed

across the plain, off to bathe in a fair-flowing river,

something he does habitually, proud of his strength,  620

holding his head high, mane streaming on his shoulders,

legs taking him swiftly to the grazing mares—

that's how Paris, son of Priam, hurried then,

rushing down from the heights of Pergamus,

gleaming like a ray of sunshine in his armour,

laughing with joy as his feet carried him so fast.

He soon met his brother Hector, turning away141

from where he’d had his conversation with his wife.

Godlike Paris was the first to speak:

“My dear brother, you're in a hurry.  630

I'm holding you back with my delay,

not coming as quickly as you asked.”

Hector of the shining helmet answered Paris:

“Brother, no one could justly criticize

your work in battle, for you fight bravely.

But you deliberately hold back

and do not wish to fight. It pains my heart,

when I hear shameful things about you

from Trojans, who are suffering much distress

because of you. But let's be on our way.  640

We'll sort all this out later, if Zeus ever grants

we arrange in place inside our homes

bowls of wine to celebrate our freedom,

in thanks to the eternal, heavenly gods,

once we have driven away from Troy

all these well-armed Achaeans.”

Day 43

Unfortunately, I am almost exactly halfway through my summer. Yet it feels like it has only just begun! How strange...
As an update, I am home again from vacation in California, and now am suffering from jetlag-induced insomnia. Hopefully this will pass, as I'm quite sick of it by now. Also, things are definitely over between me and Karl (name changed for privacy). He was really pretty awful to me, and while I don't condemn him worthless as a person, he is certainly not worth my time. I only wish I had figured this out before I got so involved with him emotionally and physically. Still, it is over, and I have more experience and a couple pleasant memories to say for it. Now I am just in want of a boy, one who I would actually enjoy spending time with! Or at least one who would want to kiss me without asking for so much more along with the kiss.  But that's how boys are, or at least how they've always presented themselves as to me. I hope college will open the arena to more acceptable boys, but I'm inclined to doubt this optimism.
Summer is fleeting, and I don't quite know how I want it to proceed. I do love spending time with my friends, but at the same time I would like some quiet home time. I guess the real problem is that I have too many groups of friends! I never thought I'd be saying this, but my social life is way to involved. I have to cycle through the groups, so as to spend some time with each group, and it's exhausting. Well, tomorrow nothing's planned until the evening, so I'll have a nice day at home at least.

Day 25

Hmmm... This whole one-blog-per-day hasn't worked out too well. Not that anyone is reading this to care or keep me honest! That's okay. I just realized that I'm 1/4th of the way through my summer. What a bummer.

In California for the Simons Family Reunion. It is fantastically beautiful - gold country, but in my opinion it is rich more for its topical geography than for its mineral capacity. Oh well, no one asked me. The landscape is so intense, it inspires stories based upon it. I am extremely fascinated in the people who moved here in the 1830s. It is so rugged, and making a life here must have taken many lives' work. Thus, I am moved to write a story for the land and for the forgotten people who perched here on the edge of existence.

SPERRY TOP-SIDERS

Or in laymen's terms, boat shoes! I just purchased a standard pair of boat shoes on ebay, for $20 off the standard price, and the ones I got are new, so I thought it was a pretty good deal. I'll be working on the Elissa this summer, and possibly on other boats next fall, and I decided I just really wanted some boat shoes. They are all-purpose shoes, similar to sandals in that you can pretty much pair them with any casual-semicasual outfit to give it that added something. They will also, I'm hoping, remind me of how much I love working on the Elissa, and how I want to be out there in Galveston once a week for as many weeks as I can. I hope to be able to sleep on board, as that would really add to the maritime mystique and that's what I'm all about.

Just a few thoughts before I hit the sack.

100 Days of Summer: Day 1

Today is the 146th day of 2010. 100 days and one summer vacation stand between me and college, and I thought I would make a project for myself: I will post one blog entry every day of this summer vacation, and make a record of this last high school summer. I do not require that my posts should be long or interesting, but simply the things I would want to read in some forgotten journal from the past. Basic, every day stuff. A log of me, if you will.

This morning I overslept, waking at mom's insistence at 6:58 am. I wasn't too worried about it. Finals week, which this is, is not terribly concerning, as I've already had my hardest exam yesterday (Physics, on which I made a 58, which brought my overall semester average down to an 83. Thank god I made 90s the rest of the year!). Today I just finished BCIS, the easiest test ever (we were given time before the test to go over all of the test questions and answers). Tomorrow I have English IV, which should be a breeze, though I have to write a paper on it. It's only on about half of The Merchant of Vinice, so no worries. I saw Merchant two years ago at Windale, and the year before that with the Actors from the London Stage, both of whom made a lasting and good impression on my mind. I am well acquainted with the story, and as such am expecting to perform well tomorrow. I suppose I can tell you tomorrow how it turns out.

I am terribly excited for college. I just keep thinking of all the cool things that I'll be privy to: The USS Constellation, Lancaster County's Amish community, the Atlantic ocean, Washington D.C., Baltimore's Inner Harbor, Choreographie Antique (historic dance course I'll be signing up for), all the area museums, the Chesapeake Bay maritime history, and more that I can't even remember! Needless to say, I'm really interested in history, and am hankering to get up there.

The rich maritime history is especially exciting, as they posesses so much more of it than we do down here in the Gulf. The Houston Channel is not exactly a hotbed of historic ship ventures, although we are blessed with The Elissa. In Baltimore I'll be able to attend Chantey Sings - which is really cool! 

My new location has also rekindled the fire in me to reenact. I suppose I should speak of that on my reenactment blog, but I'm in no mood to try and upkeep on two different blogs. It doesnt' work to have two journals, and I'm pretty sure blogs follow the same time-committment laws as physical logs do. Weirdly enough, I'm interested in reenacting as a boy, a ship's boy to be exact. But I'm not sure the time-to-economic ratio is very good. I'll be in college, and then having something to do outside of school (code for not as often as I'd like) with a hefty price tag (if I bought the togs I'd be out of pocket around $400) doesn't sound too do-able.

Well, it's something I'll be back tomorrow. Right now there's a terribly heated religious vs. science debate, and I can't concentrate.

I'm writing a screenplay. I think.

You see, I'm not sure I'll be able to stick with the story I have so far, which is not such a great thing. How do people do it? Stick with one story, I mean. I get tired of them by the time I've finished with the plot outline. Or more specifically, I get side-tracked and interested in another plot seed. What gives? I guess I need to learn not to be so distractible. I think I shall post what I have so far in my plot and see what people think. If there are any people out there looking at this insignificant and infrequent blog. As I work with this, however, I am not sure a screenplay is the best idea. I actually think that writing a novel is a better idea. Anyway, this is what I have so far.


Working Title: Foxborough Summer
Time: Present Day, summer
Location: West Maryland, around Cumberland
Fictional estate, Foxborough, established in 1690 by Adam Compton. The main house is an historic landmark, with an original wing of the 1695, and additions dating from 1740, 1786, 1805, and 1897. Preserved and run for over three hundred years by the same family, though the name sometimes changed between several old families in the area: Compton, Turner, Green, Atwood, Jones. Esther Compton was born in 1923, and married Calvin Turner in 1950. Esther's only child Alice Turner was born in 1957 and wed out of the area to a Southern gentleman named Eric White. Their only daughter Emma White is the heroine of Foxborough Summer. Esther's sister, Rose Turner is the current owner. Rose having no children, and Alice having refused inheritance, has forced the inheritance to fall to William Edward Compton, who like Emma is the great great great grandchild of Edward Compton.

The summer after her senior year, Emma White gets an invitation from her reclusive great aunt Rose Turner to spend the summer at the family estate, Foxborough. Although her mother Alice has never spoken much about her estranged family, Emma has heard enough to know it is a grand affair, and her curiosity is piqued by the old-fashioned stationary of the letter and the old photographs of her mother as a child in Foxborough. Alice tries to convince Emma not to go, but Eric, her father, argues that it would be good to know about her family history. In an argument between Eric and Alice, overheard by Emma, Eric points out that Emma should know what she's giving up. Emma doesn't know what she's giving up, but guesses that Eric is referring to her mother's side of the family.

Eighty year old Rose Turner is a reclusive and taciturn individual, hardly leaving her suite of rooms and leaving the operation of the estate to the aging generation of several local families. The Joneses and Greens manage the house and immediate grounds and the Atwoods, Kidwells, and Redhorns operate the horti- and agriculture. Emma's great-aunt doesn't interfere, save to take enough from the harvests to live on.

Emma arrives with a bunch of movies and novels, as she expects a rather long and boring summer. But once there, she is charmed by the history of the place. Photos, letters, clothes, old LPs, and her great grandmother's diary are all discovered in a trunk in on of the barns. She elicits the help of a local boy, Will Compton, in renovating the Model T in the carriage shed. Will doesn't tell her that they are related, or that he is in line to inherit the estate and is seriously considering rejecting the inheritance. She realizes that they are thrice-removed cousins while reading the old letters and looking at family records and talking to Nancy Compton, his mother. Will feels out what she thinks of the place as they grow closer, and when they eventually fall in love he decides to accept his inheritance if she will marry him. Emma loves Foxborough, but she is frightened by the long history there, and the inevitability of her life there - she finally learns of Will's inheritance from Rose, who begins to ask Emma in to discuss the future of the estate. Alice, too, felt this fear, which is why she ran away to New Mexico. Rose has decided to sell the estate to some local farmers if William doesn't accept the responsibility (could this be a ruse that Rose devises to convince Emma to stay with William?).

One big deciding factor of whether she should get closer to William and try to stay with Foxborough is what college Emma will go to in the fall. Her top choice school, Johns Hopkins University, has put her on its wait-list, and if she doesn't get in she'll be attending Pomona College, in California. William is desperate for her to go to J.H., and finally goes to Rose to ask if the old woman would give him enough of his inheritance money now to pay for Emma's tuition (it's more than Alice and Eric can pay twice over, even with Emma's scholarships). Rose knows William's love is true, and allows for what he asks. Still, they have to wait for the letter from J.H.. At the end she does get in, and Will explains that the estate will pay for her to attend. There is a local custom in the area that has been around since the early settlers that declares married (at least in tradition) any couple who makes love on a large stone embedded in the side of Compton Hill.  Well, before Will was certain of Emma's remaining in Maryland, he took her out to the top of the enormous rock and they made love for the first time there. It was near the end of the summer, and only two weeks before she was set to hear from J.H. He didn't tell her about the custom. But Rose does; Emma asks, at Alice's prompting, what the whole thing meant. Rose explains that there was some american indian custom involving seven revolutions and lovemaking on that rock that sealed the marriage in the tribe's eyes, and those elements remained in the local folklore.  Youth still perform the rite the night of their wedding day. Emma freaks out, and stops seeing William. But the night before she is set to leave, she dreams of her and Will's children living in Foxborough, and the next day she gets the letter from J.H. giving her a place in the freshman class. So she goes to Will and accepts her fate.

This is rough, I'll warrant, but I'm hoping to coax a good story out of it!