Book 3: The Duel of Menelaus and Paris

When each contingent had been marshaled in order beside its leaders, the Trojans advanced with cries and a din of battle like birds—just as the clamor of cranes rises across the sky when they flee winter and relentless rain, and fly screaming toward the currents of Ocean, bringing slaughter and doom to the Pygmy men, and through the morning mist they launch a bitter conflict.

But the Achaeans marched in silence, breathing fury, eager in their hearts to defend one another. Just as the South Wind pours a mist over the mountain peaks—no friend to shepherds, though better than night for a thief, when a man can see only as far as he can throw a stone—so the swirling dust rose from beneath their feet as they marched, and very swiftly they crossed the plain.

When the two armies had come close, advancing against one another, godlike Alexander, also called Paris, stepped out to fight in front of the Trojans, wearing a leopard skin on his shoulders, a curved bow, and a sword. Brandishing two bronze-tipped spears, he challenged all the best men of the Argives to fight him face-to-face in grim combat.

As soon as warlike Menelaus caught sight of him striding out with long steps in front of the ranks, he rejoiced like a starving lion that comes upon a great carcass—finding a horned stag or a wild goat—and devours it greedily, even if swift hounds and vigorous young hunters try to drive him off. Just so Menelaus rejoiced when he saw godlike Alexander with his own eyes, convinced that he would punish the wrongdoer; and at once he leaped in his armor from his chariot to the ground.

When godlike Alexander saw him appear among the front fighters, his heart was struck with panic, and he shrank back into the crowd of his comrades to avoid death. As a man who catches sight of a snake in the glens of a mountain starts and leaps backward, and trembling seizes his limbs beneath him as he retreats, and a pallor takes hold of his cheeks, so godlike Alexander plunged back into the press of proud Trojans, terrified of the son of Atreus.

Hector saw him and rebuked him with shaming words: "Disastrous Paris, finest in looks, woman-crazy seducer! I wish you had never been born, or had died unmarried! I would have wanted that, and it would have been far better than for you to be such an outrage and an object of contempt to others. Surely the long-haired Achaeans are laughing out loud, having thought you were a foremost champion because of your handsome appearance—yet there is no strength in your heart, nor any courage. Were you a man like this when you sailed across the open sea in seafaring ships, after gathering loyal comrades, mingled with foreigners, and brought back a beautiful woman from a distant land, a bride of spear-fighting men—a great misery to your father, your city, and all the people, a joy to our enemies, and a disgrace to yourself? Could you not stand your ground against warlike Menelaus? Then you would learn what kind of man it is whose blooming wife you hold. Your lyre would do you no good, nor the gifts of Aphrodite, nor your hair and handsome looks, when you were rolled in the dust. But the Trojans are utter cowards; otherwise by now you would have put on a tunic of stone for all the evils you have done."

Then godlike Alexander answered him: "Hector, since you have rebuked me fairly and not beyond what is right—your heart is always unyielding as an axe that drives through timber under the hand of a man who skillfully hews out a ship's beam, multiplying the force of his swing; just so fearless is the mind within your chest—do not reproach me with the lovely gifts of golden Aphrodite. The glorious gifts of the gods are not to be cast aside, whatever they themselves give, and no man could win them by his own will alone. But now, if you want me to wage war and fight, make the other Trojans and all the Achaeans sit down, and set me and warlike Menelaus in the space between to clash in battle for Helen and all the possessions. Whoever wins and proves the stronger man, let him take all the possessions in full and lead the woman home. And may the rest of you, after cutting sacrifices for friendship and faithful oaths, dwell in fertile Troy, while they sail back to horse-pasturing Argos and Achaea with its beautiful women."

So he spoke, and Hector rejoiced greatly when he heard his words. Going into the space between, he held back the Trojan ranks, grasping his spear by the middle; and they all sat down. Meanwhile the long-haired Achaeans were drawing their bows at him, taking aim with arrows and pelting him with stones. But Agamemnon, lord of men, shouted aloud: "Hold back, Argives! Do not throw, young men of the Achaeans! Hector of the flashing helmet shows that he has something to say."

So he spoke, and they held back from battle and fell silent at once; and Hector spoke between both armies: "Hear from me, Trojans and Achaeans in fine leg armor, the proposal of Alexander, on whose account this quarrel arose. He urges all the other Trojans and all the Achaeans to lay their fine armor down upon the nourishing earth, while he himself and warlike Menelaus, in the space between, fight alone for Helen and all the possessions. Whoever wins and proves the stronger man, let him take all the possessions in full and lead the woman home; and let the rest of us cut sacrifices for friendship and faithful oaths."

So he spoke, and they all fell hushed in silence. Then Menelaus, good at the war cry, spoke among them: "Now listen to me as well, for pain touches my heart most of all; I think that now at last Argives and Trojans should part from one another, since you have suffered many evils because of my quarrel and Alexander's first offense. Whichever of the two of us is marked out for death by fate, let him die; and let the rest of you part from one another at once. Bring two lambs—a white ram and a black ewe—for Earth and Sun, and we will bring another for Zeus. And bring mighty Priam, so that he may cut the oath-sacrifices himself, since his sons are arrogant and untrustworthy, lest someone by his transgression violate the oaths of Zeus. The minds of younger men are always flighty, but when an old man is present among them, he looks both forward and back, discerning how things may turn out best by far for both sides."

So he spoke, and the Achaeans and Trojans both rejoiced, hoping to rest from miserable war. They reined their horses into line, stepped down themselves, and stripped off their armor, laying it upon the ground close together, with only a narrow strip of earth between them. Hector sent two heralds toward the city to bring the lambs quickly and summon Priam, while lord Agamemnon sent Talthybius to go to the hollow ships, ordering him to fetch a lamb; and he did not disobey noble Agamemnon.

Meanwhile Iris came as a messenger to white-armed Helen, taking the likeness of her husband's sister, the wife of Antenor's son—Laodice, the loveliest in form of Priam's daughters, whom lord Helicaon, son of Antenor, had in marriage. She found Helen in the great hall, weaving a wide web, a double cloak of purple, working into it the many struggles of the horse-taming Trojans and the bronze-shirted Achaeans, which they were enduring for her sake beneath the hands of Ares. Swift-footed Iris stood close beside her and spoke: "Come here, dear lady, so you may see the marvelous deeds of the horse-taming Trojans and the bronze-shirted Achaeans. Just now they were unleashing Ares, bringer of many tears, against one another out on the plain, eager for deadly war; yet now they sit in silence, leaning on their shields, with their long spears planted beside them; the fighting has stopped. Instead, Alexander and warlike Menelaus will fight over you with long spears, and you will be called the dear wife of whichever man wins."

With these words the goddess cast into her heart a sweet longing for her former husband, her city, and her parents. At once she veiled herself in shimmering white linen and hurried from her chamber, shedding soft tears—not alone, for two attendants went with her, Aethra, daughter of Pittheus, and ox-eyed Clymene. Quickly then they came to where the Scaean Gates stood.

There Priam and the men around him—Panthous and Thymoetes, Lampus, Clytius, and Hicetaon, scion of Ares, along with Ucalegon and Antenor, both men of sound judgment—sat as elders of the people above the Scaean Gates. Old age had ended their fighting, yet they were fine speakers, like cicadas that sit upon a tree in the woods and pour out their delicate, clear voice; such were the leaders of the Trojans sitting on the tower. When they saw Helen coming toward the tower, they spoke winged words softly to one another: "No one can blame the Trojans and the Achaeans in fine leg armor for suffering misery so long over a woman like this; to look upon her face, she is terribly like the immortal goddesses. Even so, lovely as she is, let her sail home in the ships, and leave no sorrow behind for us and our children after us."

So they spoke, and Priam called out to Helen: "Come here, dear child, and sit in front of me, so you can see your former husband, your kinsmen, and your friends. In my eyes you are not to blame; the gods are to blame, who launched upon me this war of many tears with the Achaeans. Now tell me the name of this huge warrior—who is this Achaean man, so valiant and tall? True, there are others even taller by a head, yet my eyes have never seen a man so handsome or so majestic; he looks like a kingly man."

Helen, radiant among women, answered him with these words: "Dear father-in-law, I hold you in reverence and awe. Would that bitter death had been my choice when I came here, following your son and leaving behind my marriage chamber, my brothers, my cherished daughter, and the lovely companions of my youth. But that did not happen, and so I waste away in tears. Still, I will tell you what you ask and inquire after. That man is Atreus's son, wide-ruling Agamemnon, both a noble king and a mighty spearman. He was once my brother-in-law, shameless dog that I am—if ever he truly was."

So she spoke, and the old man marveled at him and said: "Blessed son of Atreus, favored by birth and fortune, truly a great multitude of Achaean youths are subject to your rule! Once I traveled into vine-rich Phrygia, where I saw vast numbers of Phrygian warriors with their nimble horses, the armies of Otreus and godlike Mygdon, who were camped then along the banks of the Sangarius. For I myself was counted among them as an ally on the day the Amazons came, women who fought as the equals of men; yet not even they were as numerous as the bright-eyed Achaeans."

Next the old man caught sight of Odysseus and asked: "Come, tell me of this man too, dear child—who is he? He is shorter by a head than Agamemnon, son of Atreus, yet broader to look at across the shoulders and chest. His armor lies on the nourishing earth, while he himself ranges like a ram through the ranks of men. To me he looks like a thick-fleeced ram striding through a great flock of shining white sheep."

Then Helen, daughter of Zeus, answered him: "That is Laertes' son, resourceful Odysseus, who was raised in the land of Ithaca, rugged though it is—a man skilled in every kind of craft and shrewd counsel."

Thoughtful Antenor spoke to her in reply: "Lady, what you have said is the plain truth. For noble Odysseus came here once before on an embassy concerning you, together with warlike Menelaus. I welcomed them as guests and entertained them in my halls, and I came to know the build of both men and their shrewd counsels. When they joined the gathered Trojans in the assembly, as the two stood, Menelaus rose above him with his broad shoulders; but when both were seated, Odysseus had the more commanding presence. Then, when they began to weave their speeches and counsels before us all, Menelaus spoke fluently and to the point, in few words, but with ringing clarity, since he was not a man of many words nor one to miss the mark, even though he was younger in years. But whenever resourceful Odysseus sprang up to speak, he would stand and look down, fixing his eyes on the ground, moving the staff neither backward nor forward, but holding it stiffly, like a man who knew nothing of speaking; you would have said he was someone sullen and a simple fool. Yet when he sent that great voice out from his chest, and words like flurries of winter snow, then no other mortal could rival Odysseus; watching him then, we no longer marveled so at Odysseus's outward form."

A third time the old man, catching sight of Ajax, asked a question: "Who then is this other Achaean warrior, valiant and tall, towering above the Argives by his head and broad shoulders?"

Helen in her long robe, radiant among women, answered him: "That is huge Ajax, bulwark of the Achaeans. And on the other side, among the Cretans, stands Idomeneus like a god, with the leaders of the Cretans gathered around him. Often warlike Menelaus welcomed him as a guest in our house, whenever he came from Crete. And now I see all the other bright-eyed Achaeans, whom I could easily recognize and tell by name; yet two marshals of the people I cannot see, Castor, tamer of horses, and Polydeuces, the good boxer, my own brothers, whom the same mother bore with me. Either they did not follow from lovely Lacedaemon, or else they did follow here in the seafaring ships, but now are unwilling to enter the battle of men, fearing the shame and the many reproaches that are mine." So she spoke; but the life-giving earth already held them fast there in Lacedaemon, in their dear native land.

Meanwhile, through the city the heralds were bringing the offerings for the gods' faithful oaths—two lambs and heart-gladdening wine, the fruit of the earth, in a goatskin bag; and the herald Idaeus carried a shining mixing bowl together with golden cups. Standing beside the old man, he urged him on with these words: "Rise, son of Laomedon! The best men of the horse-taming Trojans and the bronze-shirted Achaeans are calling for you to go down to the plain so that you may cut sacrifices for faithful oaths. For Alexander and warlike Menelaus will fight with long spears over the woman; and the woman and the possessions shall go to whichever one wins. Then may the rest of us, after cutting sacrifices for friendship and faithful oaths, dwell in fertile Troy, while they sail back to horse-pasturing Argos and Achaea with its beautiful women."

So he spoke, and the old man shuddered, yet he ordered his companions to yoke the horses, and they quickly obeyed. Priam mounted and drew back the reins, and beside him Antenor stepped into the splendid chariot; and the two of them drove the swift horses through the Scaean Gates toward the plain. When they reached the Trojans and the Achaeans, they stepped down from the chariot onto the nourishing earth and walked into the space between the Trojans and the Achaeans. At once Agamemnon, lord of men, rose up, and up rose resourceful Odysseus; and the noble heralds brought together the offerings for the gods' faithful oaths, mixed the wine in the bowl, and poured water over the hands of the kings. Then the son of Atreus drew with his hands the knife that always hung beside the great scabbard of his sword, and cut hair from the heads of the lambs; and afterward the heralds distributed it to the best men of the Trojans and the Achaeans.

Among them the son of Atreus lifted his hands and prayed aloud: "Father Zeus, ruling from Ida, most glorious, greatest, and you, Sun, who watch over all things and hear all things, and rivers and earth, and you below, who punish people after death for swearing false oaths: be witnesses, and guard our faithful oaths. If Alexander slays Menelaus, then let him keep Helen himself and all the possessions, and we will return home in our seafaring ships. But if fair-haired Menelaus kills Alexander, then the Trojans must give back Helen and all the possessions, and pay the Argives whatever restitution is fitting, one that will be remembered even among people yet to come. And if Priam and the sons of Priam will not pay me that restitution once Alexander has fallen, then I will fight on for the recompense, staying right here until I reach the end of the war."

He spoke, and slit the throats of the lambs with the pitiless bronze. He laid them down on the ground, gasping as their lives faded, for the bronze had taken their strength away. Then, drawing wine from the mixing bowl in their cups, they poured it out and prayed to the everlasting gods. And thus one or another of the Achaeans and Trojans would say: "Zeus, most glorious, greatest, and you other immortal gods, whichever side is first to do harm in violation of the oaths, so may their brains pour onto the ground like this wine—theirs and their children's—and may their wives be forced by other men." So they spoke, but the son of Cronus did not yet fulfill their prayer.

Then Priam, descendant of Dardanus, spoke among them: "Hear me, Trojans and Achaeans in fine leg armor. For my part, I am going back to windy Ilion, since I can never bear to watch with my own eyes my dear son fighting against warlike Menelaus. Zeus and the other immortal gods surely know which of the two is fated to die." So spoke the godlike man, and placed the lambs in the chariot, then mounted himself and drew back the reins; and beside him Antenor stepped into the splendid chariot. So the two of them turned back and drove away to Ilion.

Meanwhile Hector, son of Priam, and noble Odysseus first measured out the ground, and after that took the lots and shook them in a bronze-fitted helmet, to see which of the two duelists, Alexander or Menelaus, would cast his bronze spear first. The armies prayed and lifted their hands to the gods, and thus one or another of the Achaeans and Trojans would say: "Father Zeus, ruling from Ida, most glorious, greatest, whichever of the two brought this trouble upon both sides, grant that he perish and go down into the house of Hades, and that friendship and faithful oaths be ours." So they spoke, and great Hector of the flashing helmet shook the lots, looking backward; and quickly the lot of Paris leaped out.

Then the men sat down in ranks, where each warrior's high-stepping horses stood and his finely worked armor lay. And noble Alexander, husband of lovely-haired Helen, put his fine armor about his shoulders. First he set fine greaves around his shins, fitted with silver ankle-clasps. Next he put a breastplate around his chest, his brother Lycaon's, and it fitted him well. Around his shoulders he slung a bronze, silver-studded sword, and then a great, sturdy shield. On his mighty head he placed a well-made helmet with a horsehair crest, and the plume nodded terribly from above. He took up a strong spear that fitted his grip. In the same way warlike Menelaus put on his armor.

When the two had armed themselves on either side of the throng, they strode into the space between the Trojans and the Achaeans, glaring fiercely, and awe held those who watched—the horse-taming Trojans and the Achaeans in fine leg armor. They stood close together in the measured ground, shaking their spears, furious with each other. First Alexander hurled his long-shadowed spear and struck the son of Atreus on his well-balanced shield, but the bronze did not break through; its point bent back in the stout shield. Then the second man charged with his bronze—Menelaus, son of Atreus, praying to Father Zeus: "Lord Zeus, grant that I punish the man who wronged me first, godlike Alexander, and bring him down beneath my hands, so that even among men yet to be born a man will shudder to wrong a host who has offered him friendship."

He spoke, poised his long-shadowed spear, and hurled it, striking the son of Priam on his well-balanced shield. Through the bright shield went the heavy spear, and it forced its way through the richly worked breastplate; straight on beside his flank the spear sheared through his tunic, but he leaned aside and escaped black death. The son of Atreus drew his silver-studded sword, raised it high, and struck the ridge of the helmet; but upon it the blade shattered into three, into four pieces, and fell from his hand. The son of Atreus groaned, looking up into the wide sky: "Father Zeus, no other god is more ruinous than you! Truly I thought I would punish Alexander for his wickedness, yet now my sword has broken in my hands, and my spear flew from my grip in vain, and I did not strike him."

He spoke, lunged forward, and seized the horsehair-crested helmet, then spun him around and dragged him toward the Achaeans in fine leg armor. The richly stitched strap choked him beneath his soft throat, where the helmet's strap was stretched tight under his chin. And now he would have dragged him away and won measureless glory, had not Zeus's daughter Aphrodite been quick to notice; she snapped the strap made from the hide of a slaughtered ox, and the empty helmet came away in Menelaus’s heavy hand. Then the hero whirled the helmet and flung it toward the Achaeans in fine leg armor, and his loyal companions picked it up. He sprang back again, raging to kill him with his bronze spear; but Aphrodite snatched him away with ease, as a goddess can, wrapped him in thick mist, and set him down in his fragrant, incense-scented bedroom.

Then she herself went to summon Helen, and found her on the high tower, with Trojan women gathered thick around her. With her hand she caught hold of Helen's nectar-scented robe and tugged it, and spoke to her in the likeness of an aged woman, a wool-worker who, when Helen lived in Lacedaemon, used to work fine wool for her—a woman Helen loved especially dearly. Taking her likeness, divine Aphrodite spoke to her: "Come here; Alexander is calling you to return home. There he is in his bedroom, on the lathe-turned bed, gleaming in his beauty and his clothes; you would not say he had come from fighting a man, but was setting out for a dance, or had just ceased from the dance and sat down."

So she spoke, and stirred the heart in Helen's breast; and when she noticed the goddess's exquisite neck, her lovely breasts, and her flashing eyes, she was seized with awe and addressed her directly: "Strange goddess, why are you so eager to deceive me with this? Are you going to take me still farther among well-peopled cities, leading me off to Phrygia or lovely Maeonia, if there too you have some favorite among mortal men? Is it because Menelaus has now defeated godlike Alexander and wants to take hateful me back to his home, that you stand beside me here now, plotting deceit? Go sit beside Alexander yourself, and abandon the paths of the gods; never again turn your feet back toward Olympus, but fret over him forever and guard him, until he makes you his wife—or his slave. I will not go there—it would be shameful—to tend his bed; hereafter the Trojan women will all scorn me, and I have endless grief in my heart."

Then radiant Aphrodite grew angry and spoke to her: "Do not provoke me, stubborn woman, or in my anger I will abandon you, and hate you just as fiercely as I have loved you until now, and stir bitter hatred against you among both peoples, Trojans and Danaans alike, and you will die a wretched death." So she spoke, and Helen, born of Zeus, was seized with fear; she went, wrapping herself in her bright, shimmering robe, in silence, unseen by any of the Trojan women, and the goddess led the way.

When they reached Alexander's splendid house, her attendant women quickly turned to their tasks, while she, radiant among women, went into the high-roofed chamber. Laughter-loving Aphrodite took up a chair for her, and the goddess carried it over and set it down facing Alexander. There Helen, daughter of aegis-bearing Zeus, sat down, turning her eyes away, and rebuked her husband with these words: "So you have come back from the war—I wish you had died out there, brought down by a strong man, who was my husband before you. Before now you used to boast that compared to warlike Menelaus you were the better man in your strength, your hands, and your spear. Go on then, challenge warlike Menelaus now to fight you face-to-face once more! Yet I for my part urge you to stop, and not to wage war against fair-haired Menelaus or fight him recklessly face-to-face, or you may soon be brought down by his spear."

Paris answered her in turn and said: "Wife, do not lash my heart with harsh reproaches. This time Menelaus has won with Athena's help, and next time I will beat him; for there are gods on our side too. Come now, let us go to bed and take our pleasure in love; for never before has desire so wrapped my senses—not even when I first carried you off from lovely Lacedaemon and sailed in my seafaring ships, and on the island of Cranae lay with you in love and bed—as I desire you now, and sweet longing seizes me." He spoke, and led the way to the bed, and his wife followed with him. So the two of them lay down on the corded bed.

Meanwhile the son of Atreus prowled through the crowd like a wild beast, searching everywhere to catch sight of godlike Alexander. Yet none of the Trojans or their renowned allies could point Alexander out then to warlike Menelaus; not out of friendship would they have hidden him, had anyone seen him, for they all hated him as much as black death itself. Then Agamemnon, lord of men, spoke out among them: "Hear me, Trojans and Dardanians and allies! Victory clearly belongs to warlike Menelaus; so now you must give back Argive Helen and the possessions with her, and pay whatever restitution is fitting, one that will be remembered even among people yet to come." So spoke the son of Atreus, and the other Achaeans voiced their approval.