'The god gives men differing gifts. One man can fight, another dance, another sing poetry to the lyre; and yet another is endowed by Zeus with a good brain.'

'You would satisfy your rage only if you stormed through the gates and long walls of Ilium and ate up Priam, his children and the rest of the Trojans raw.'

Patroclus laid Eurypylus down, cut the sharp point of the arrow out of his thigh with his knife and washed away the dark blood from the wound with warm water. Then he crushed the root of a bitter herb and applied it. The wound began to dry, and the blood stopped flowing.

'When I seal a promise with a nod, there can be no failure to fulfill it, no going back, no deception.' The son of Cronus spoke and nodded his sable brows. The divine locks rolled forward from the lord god’s immortal head, and great Olympus shook.

When Briseis, who looked like golden Aphrodite, saw Patroclus lying there, she gave a piercing scream and threw herself on his body, speaking in tears, ‘Oh Patroclus, oh my misery! You were always so gentle with me, so in death I mourn you inconsolably.'

'It was no quarrel with Trojan warriors that brought me here to fight. They have never done me any harm. They have never lifted oxen or horses of mine, nor ravaged my crops back home in fertile Phthia. The roaring seas and many a dark range of mountains lie between us.'

'Plague-god, if ever I built a temple that pleased you, if ever I burnt you offerings of the fat thighs of bulls or goats, grant me this wish. Make the Greeks pay with your arrows for my tears.'

Patroclus chased them with slaughter in his heart, urging on the Greeks relentlessly… It was Hector he was after, Hector he yearned to kill.

His sister Artemis insulted him with biting words: ‘So you are running away, Archer-god, after handing Poseidon a victory - and a cheap one too! What’s the sense, you baby, in carrying a bow you never use?'

Godlike Achilles armed for battle. He ground his teeth, his eyes blazed like flames of fire and unendurable grief consumed him as he put on the divine gifts that Hephaestus had made for him.

'For all the creatures that breathe and creep about on the earth, there is none so miserable as man.'

Achilles prayed, 'Lord Zeus, grant me another wish. I am going to stay here by the ships, but I am sending my comrade with many of my Myrmidons into battle. Grant him victory, and fill his heart with daring. Then, let him come back to me here at my own ships safe and sound.'

Patroclus chased them with slaughter in his heart, urging on the Greeks relentlessly… It was Hector he was after, Hector he yearned to kill.

The long-shadowed spear was shattered in Patroclus’ hands. The fringed shield with its strap fell from his shoulder to the ground; and lord Apollo undid all of his body armor. A fatal blindness overtook Patroclus. His shining limbs were paralyzed, and he stood there in a daze.

Like a chase in a nightmare when no one, pursuer or pursued, can move a limb, so Achilles could not catch up Hector, nor Hector shake off Achilles.

As saffron-robed Dawn rose from the river of Ocean to bring daylight to immortals and men, Thetis reached the Greek ships with the armor in her hands. She found her son prostrate, with his arms round Patroclus. He was weeping bitterly and many men stood round him lamenting.

'Destiny has left two courses open to me on my journey to Hades. If I stay here and fight round Ilium, there is no home-coming for me, but there will be eternal glory instead. If I go back to the land of my fathers, my heroic glory will be forfeit, but my life will be long.'

So he spoke in prayer, and Phoebus Apollo heard him and came down in fury from the heights of Olympus, his bow and quiver on his back. With every movement of the furious god, the arrows rattled on his shoulders, and his descent was like nightfall.

'Patroclus, do not be indignant with me if you learn, down in the halls of Hades, that I let his father have godlike Hector back. The ransom he paid me was a worthy one and I will see that you receive your proper share of it.'

Eloquent Nestor, the clear-voiced orator from Pylos whose speech flowed sweeter than honey off his tongue.