two mares carrying onward the terror of battle. But of warriors far best
was the Telamonian Aias, while the wrath of Achilles yet endured; for he
was greatest of all, he and his horses that bore him, even Peleus' noble
son. But he lay idle among his seafaring ships, in sore wrath against
Agamemnon Atreus' son, shepherd of the host; and his folk along the
sea-shore sported with quoits and with casting of javelins and archery;
and the horses each beside his own chariot stood idle, champing clover
and parsley of the marsh, and their lords' chariots lay well covered up
within the huts, while the men yearned for their warrior chief, and
wandered hither and thither through the camp and fought not.

So marched they then as though all the land were consuming with fire;
and the earth groaned beneath them as at the wrath of Zeus whose joy is
in the thunder, when he lasheth the earth about Typhoeus in the country
of the Arimoi, where men say is Typhoeus' couch. Even so groaned the
earth aloud at their tread as they went: and with speed advanced they
across the plain.

Now fleet Iris the wind-footed went to the Trojans, a messenger from
aegis-bearing Zeus, with a grievous message. These were holding assembly
at Priam's gate, being gathered all together both young men and old. And
fleet-footed Iris stood hard by and spake to them; and she made her
voice like to the voice of Polites son of Priam, who was the sentinel of
the Trojans and was wont to sit trusting in his fleetness upon the
barrow of Aisyetes of old, and on the top thereof wait the sallying of
the Achaians forth from their ships. Even in his likeness did
fleet-footed Iris speak to Priam: "Old man, words beyond number are
still pleasant to thee as erst in the days of peace; but war without
respite is upon us. Of a truth have I very oft ere now entered into
battles of the warriors, yet have I never seen so goodly a host and so