THE SCENE: Turnabout is fair play as each army surges and ebbs in turn in this bloody passage from the Iliad.
THE TEXT: Now Amarinceus’ son Diores – fate shackled Diores fast, and a jagged rock struck him against his right shin, besides the ankle, Pirous son of Imbrasus winged it hard and true, the Thracian chief who had sailed across from Aenus… the ruthless rock striking the bones and tendons crushed them to pulp – he landed flat on his back, slamming the dust, both arms flung out to his comrades, gasping out his life. Pirous who heaved the rock came rushing in and speared him up the navel – his bowels uncoiled spilling loose on the ground and the dark came swirling down across his eyes.
But Prious – Aetolian Thoas speared him as he swerved and sprang away, the lancehead piercing his chest above the nipple plunged deep in his lung, and Thoas, running up, wrenched the heavy spear from the man’s chest, drew his blade, ripping him across the belly, took his life but he could not strip his armor.
Look, there were Prious’ cohorts bunched in a ring, Thracians, topknots waving, clutching their long pikes and rugged, strong and proud as the Trojan Thoas was, they shoved him back – he gave ground, staggering, reeling, and so the two lay stretched in the dust, side-by-side, a lord of Thrace, a lord of Epean armed in bronze and a ruck of other soldiers died around them. That day, ranks of Trojans, ranks of Achean fighters sprawled there side-by-side, facedown in the dust.
– The Iliad, Homer, 8th Century BC
