Diomedes wounds Aeneas and Aphrodite

                                                 Just as Diomedes
hefted a boulder in his hands, a tremendous feat -
no two men could hoist it, weak as men are now,
but all on his own he raised it high with ease,
flung it and struck Aeneas' thigh where the hipbone
turns inside the pelvis, the joint they call the cup -
it smashed the socket, snapped both tendons too
and the jagged rock tore back the skin in shreds.
The great fighter sank to his knees, bracing himself
with one strong forearm planted against the earth,
and the world went black as night before his eyes.

And now the prince, the captain of men Aeneas
would have died on the spot if Zeus's daughter
had not marked him quickly, his mother Aphrodite
who bore him to King Anchises tending cattle once.
Round her beloved son her glistening arms went streaming,
flinging her shining robe before him, only a fold
but it blocked the weapons hurtling toward his body.
She feared some Argive fast with chariot-team
might hurl bronze in his chest and rip his life out.

She began to bear her dear son from the fighting . .
but Capaneus' son did not forget the commands
the lord of the war cry put him under.
Sthenelus checked his own racers clear of the crash of battle,
lashed them tight to his chariot-rails with reins
then dashed for Aeneas' glossy full-maned team
and drove them out of the Trojan lines and into his.
He passed them on to Deipylus, a friend-in-arms
he prized beyond all comrades his own age -
their minds worked as one - to drive to the ships
as Sthenelus mounted behind his own chariot now,
seized the glittering reins and whipped his team,
his strong-hoofed horses ahead at breakneck speed,
rearing, plunging to overtake his captain Diomedes
but he with his ruthless bronze was hunting Aphrodite -
Diomedes, knowing her for the coward goddess she is,
none of the mighty gods who marshal men to battle,
neither Athena nor Enyo raider of cities, not at all.
But once he caught her, stalking her through the onslaught,
gallant Tydeus' offspring rushed her, lunging out,
thrusting his sharp spear at her soft, limp wrist
and the brazen point went slashing through her flesh,
tearing straight through the fresh immortal robes
the Graces themselves had made her with their labour.
He gouged her just where the wristbone joins the palm
and immortal blood came flowing quickly from the goddess,
the ichor that courses through their veins, the blessed gods -
they eat no bread, they drink no shining wine, and so
the gods are bloodless, so we call them deathless.
A piercing shriek - she reeled and dropped her son
But Phoebus Apollo plucked him up in his
and swathed him round in a swirling dark mist
for fear some Argive fast with chariot-team
might hurl bronze in his chest and rip his life out.
But Diomedes shouted after her, shattering war cries:
"Daughter of Zeus, give up the war, your lust for carnage!
So, it's not enough that you lure defenseless women
to their ruin? Haunting the fighting, are you?
Now I think you'll cringe at the hint of war
if you get wind of battle far away."
                                                 So he mocked
and the goddess fled the front, beside herself with pain.