encountered each other, and fought furiously. Seeing the peril of Hector,
Apollo smote Patroclus's helmet off, broke his spear, and loosed his
buckler. Still undaunted, the hero fought until he fell, and died with the
boasting words of Hector in his ears.

Speedily the swift-footed Antilochus conveyed to Achilles the tidings of
his friend's death. Enveloped in "a black cloud of sorrow," Achilles
rolled in the dust and lamented for his friend until warned by Iris that
the enemy were about to secure Patroclus's body. Then, without armor,--for
Hector had secured that of Patroclus and put it on,--he hastened to the
trench, apart from the other Greeks, and shouted thrice, until the men of
Troy, panic-stricken, fell back in disorder, and the body of his friend
was carried away by the triumphant Greeks.

Through the long night the Achaians wept over Patroclus; but deeper than
their grief was the sorrow of Achilles, for he had promised Menoetius to
bring back his son in honor, laden with spoils, and now the barren coast
of Troy would hold the ashes of both. Then Achilles made a solemn vow not
to celebrate the funeral rites of Patroclus until he brought to him the
head and arms of Hector, and had captured on the field twelve Trojan
youths to slaughter on his funeral pile. The hated Hector slain and
Patroclus's funeral rites celebrated, he cared not for the future. The
fate his mother had foretold did not daunt him. Since, by his own folly,
his dearest friend had been taken from him, the sooner their ashes rested
together the better. If he was not to see the rich fields of Phthia, his
was to be, at least, a deathless renown.

To take the place of the arms which Hector had taken from Patroclus,
Vulcan, at Thetis's request, had fashioned for Achilles the most beautiful
armor ever worn by man. Brass, tin, silver, and gold composed the bright