‘Among the ships lie the bravest and best of the men of Greece, sore wounded or dead. Pitiless art thou, Achilles, pitiless and unforgiving. Yet if thou dost still hold back from the battle, give me, I pray thee, thine armour, and send me forth in thy stead. Perchance the Trojans may take me for the mighty Achilles, and even now the victory be ours.’
Then said Achilles, and heavy was his heart within him:
‘These Greeks took from me my well-won prize, Patroclus. Yet let the past be past; no man may keep his anger for ever. I have said that until the men of Troy come to burn my own ships I will hold me back from the battle. But take you my armour; lead my men in the fight, and drive from the ships the men of Troy. But to others leave it to chase them across the plain.’
Even as Achilles spoke, the strength of mighty Ajax had come to an end, and with furious rush did the Trojans board the ships. In their hands they bore blazing torches, and up to the sky rushed the fiercely roaring flames.
Then cried Achilles, smiting his thighs:
‘Haste thee, Patroclus! They burn the ships! Arm thyself speedily, and I will call my men!’
Corslet and shield and helmet did Patroclus swiftly don, and girded on the silver-studded sword and took two strong lances in his hand.
In the chariot of Achilles he mounted, and Automedon, best and bravest of charioteers, took the reins.
Swift as the wild west wind were Bayard and Piebald, the two horses of Achilles, and in the side harness was Pedasus, a horse only less swift than they.
Gladly did the men of Achilles meet his call to arms, for fierce as wolves were they.