Destiny! the gods proclaim! Consequence, I argue.
Paris’ lust, Agamemnon’s greed, Achilles’ rage!
Woman! you say. Oh, I will listen.
Hellen, Briseis, Chryseis, –
And now many lay waste to war,
but you gentle-friend, Patroclus son of Menoetius,
you, I mourn for.
Aching for your Argive friends pinned by the beaked ships,
for them you gave your life.
Shame on you Agamemnon! Shame on you Achilles!
Sweet Hector was it? war lusting Hector more like.
Ruthless son of Priam vies for glory, but not so fast!
First, was Euphorbus’ spear, then Apollo, god of the silver bow.
Hector, in Third place you ranked!
Behind the strife, the rage, the slaughter,
is a Menoetius, a Priam, a Peleus,
weighed down with old age, torn by gutting grief.
Behind reckless pride, boasts, revenge
is a Philomela, a Thetis, a Hecuba,
forever scarred, forever wrenched in grief!
So goes the story of Troy, the story of war!
Like a double-edged sword that strikes the good and the bad,
so is hateful war.
Like the warm sun that shines on all mortals alike,
so is glutting war.
Like the green earth that feeds us all,
so is loathful war that makes enemies of men.