Once again did Sarpedon cast his spear, and the point flew over the left shoulder of Patroclus. But Patroclus missed not. Through the heart of Sarpedon sped the fiercely hurled spear, and like a slim tree before the axe of the woodcutter he fell, his dying hands clutching at the bloody dust.
Furious was the combat then over the body of Sarpedon. One brave warrior after another did Patroclus lay dead.
And more terrible still was the fight because in the ranks of the men of Troy there fought now, in all-devouring wrath, the god Apollo.
Nine men, good warriors all, did Patroclus slay; then, waxing bolder, he tried to climb the very walls of Troy.
Three times did Apollo thrust him back, and when, a fourth time, he attacked, the god cried aloud to him in anger, warning him not to dare so much.
Against Patroclus did Hector then drive his war-horses, but Patroclus, leaping from his chariot, hurled at Hector a jagged stone. In the eyes it smote the charioteer of Hector, and the slain man dropped to the ground.
‘How nimble a man is this!’ jeered Patroclus. ‘How lightly he diveth! Were this the sea, how good an oyster-seeker would this fellow be!’
The point of the spear flew over the left shoulder of Patroclus (page [ 107])
Then from his chariot leaped Hector and met Patroclus, and the noise of the battle was as the noise of a mighty gale in the forest when great trees fall crashing to the ground.