Then the Wanderer bade men take out the poles of chariots and follow
him and beat down the gates with the poles. This with much toil and loss
they did, for the archers poured their arrows on the assailants of the
gate. Now at length the gates were down, and the Wanderer rushed through
them with his chariot. But even as he passed the mercenaries of Pharaoh
were driven out from the camp on the right, and those who led the left
attack fled also. The soldiers who should have followed the Wanderer saw
and wavered a little moment, and while they wavered the companies of the
barbarians poured into the gateway and held it so that none might pass.
Now the Wanderer was left alone within the camp, and back he might not
go. But fear came not nigh him, nay, the joy of battle filled his mighty
heart. He cast his shield upon the brazen floor of the chariot, and
cried aloud to the charioteer, as he loosened the long grey shafts in
his quiver.
"Drive on, thou charioteer! Drive on! The jackals leave the lion in the
toils. Drive on! Drive on! and win a glorious death, for thus should
Odysseus die."
So the charioteer, praying to his Gods, lashed the horses with his
scourge, and they sprang forward madly among the foe. And as they
rushed, the great bow rang and sang the swallow string--rung the bow and
sung the string, and the lean shaft drank the blood of a leader of men.
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