rom behind, Apollo smote his broad shoulders, and from
off his head the helmet of Achilles fell with a clang, rattling under
the hoofs of the horses. Before the smiting of the god, Patroclus
stood stricken, stupid and amazed. Shattered in his hands was the
spear of Achilles, and his mighty shield clanged on the ground.

Ere he could know who was the smiter, a Trojan ally drove a spear
between his shoulders, and Patroclus, sore wounded, fell back.

Marking his dismay, Hector pressed forward, and clean through his
body drove his bronze spear. With a crash Patroclus fell.

"Thou that didst boast that thou wouldst sack my town, here shall
vultures devour thee!" cried Hector.

And in a faint voice Patroclus made answer:

"Not to thee do I owe my doom, great Hector. Twenty such as thou would
I have fought and conquered, but the gods have slain me. Yet verily I
tell thee that thou thyself hast not long to live. Even now doth Death
stand beside thee!"

As he spoke, the shadow of Death fell upon Patroclus. No more in his
ears roared the din of battle; still and silent for ever he lay.

VI

THE ROUSING OF ACHILLES

Fierce had been the fight before Patroclus died. More fiercely yet it
raged when he lay dead.

From his body did Hector take the arms of Achilles, and the dead
Patroclus would the Trojans fain have dragged to their city, there to
bring shame to him and to all the Greek host.

But for him fought the Greeks, until the earth was wet with blood and
the very skies echoed the clang of battle.

To Achilles came Antilochos, a messenger fleet of foot.

"Fallen is Patroclus!" he cried, "and around his naked body do they
fight, for his armor is held by Hector."

Then did Achilles moan aloud. On the ground he lay, and in his hair he
poured black ashes. And the sound of his terrible lament was heard by
his mother, Thetis, the goddess, as she sat in her palace down under
the depths of the green sea.

Up from under the waves swiftly came she to Achilles, and tenderly did
she listen while he poured forth to her the tale of the death of his
dear comrade.

Then said Thetis:

"Not long, methinks, shall Hector glory in the armor that was thine,
for Death presseth hard upon him. Go not forth to battle, my son,
until I return, bearing with me new and fair armor for thee."

But when Thetis had departed, to Achilles in his sorrow came Iris,
fair messenger of the gods.

"Unto windy Ilios will the Trojans drag t