Fly, ere the curse smite
you."
Then a great cry of fear rose from the host of the Achaeans, as company
called to company that the ghosts of Paris of Ilios and Argive Helen led
the armies of Pharaoh on to victory. A moment they gazed as frightened
sheep gaze upon the creeping wolves, then turning from the wall, they
rushed headlong to their ships.
Behind them came the soldiers of Pharaoh, storming the walls and tearing
at their flanks as wolves tear the flying sheep. Then the Achaeans turned
at bay, and a mighty fray raged round the ships, and the knees of many
were loosened. And of the ships, some were burned and some were left
upon the bank. But a remnant of them were pushed off into the deep
water, and hung there on their oars waiting for the end of the fray.
Now the sun was gone down, so that men could scarce see to slay each
other. The Wanderer stood his chariot on the bank, watching the battle,
for he was weary, and had little mind to swell the slaughter of the
people of his own land.
Now the last ship was pushed off, and at length the great battle
was done. But among those on the ship was a man still young, and the
goodliest and mightiest among all the host of the Achaeans. By his own
strength and valour he had held the Egyptians back while his comrades
ran the curved ship down the beach, and the Wanderer, looking on him,
deemed him their hardiest warrior and most worthy of the Achaeans.
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