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Hector, abandoned by Deiphobus:
"So now I meet my doom. Well let me die -
but not without struggle, not without glory, no,
in some great clash of arms that even men to come
will hear of down the years!"
And on that resolve
he drew the whetted sword that hung at his side,
tempered, massive, and gathering all his force
he swooped like a soaring eagle
launching down from the dark clouds to earth
to snatch some helpless lamb or trembling hare.
So Hector swooped now, swinging his whetted sword
and Achilles charged too, bursting with rage, barbaric,
guarding his chest with the well-wrought blazoned shield,
head tossing his gleaming helmet, four horns strong
and the golden plumes shook that the god of fire
drove in bristing thick along its ridge.
Bright as that star amid the stars in the night sky,
star of the evening, brightest star that rides the heavens,
so fire flared from the sharp point of the spear Achilles
brandished high in his right hand, bent on Hector's death,
scanning his splendid body - where to pierce it best?
The rest of his flesh seemed all encased in armour,
burnished, brazen - Achilles' armour that Hector stripped
from strong Patroclus when he killed him - true,
but one spot lay exposed,
where collarbones lift the neckbone of the shoulders,
the open throat, where the end of life comes quickest - there
as Hector charged in fury brilliant Achilles drove his spear
and the point went stabbing clean through the tender neck...
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