their
hands in his, swore to do his bidding on the march and in the battle.
They brought him the great black bow of Eurytus, and his keen sword
of bronze, Euryalus' gift, and many a sheaf of arrows, and his heart
rejoiced when he saw the goodly weapon. He took the bow and tried it,
and as he drew the string, once again and for the last time it sang
shrilly of death to be. The Captains heard the Song of the Bow, though
what it said the Wanderer knew alone, for to their ears it came but as
a faint, keen cry, like the cry of one who drowns in the water far from
the kindly earth. But they marvelled much at the wonder, and said one
to another that this man was no mortal, but a God come from the
Under-world.

Then the Wanderer mounted the chariot of bronze that had been made ready
for him, and gave the word to march.

All night the host marched swiftly, and at day-break they camped beneath
the shelter of a long, low hill. But at the sunrise the Wanderer left
the host, climbed the hill with certain of the Captains, and looked
forth. Before him was a great pass in the mountains, ten furlongs or
more in length, and through it ran the road. The sides of the mountain
sloped down to the road, and were strewn with rocks split by the sun,
polished by the sand, and covered over with bush that grew sparsely,
like the hair on the limbs of a man. To the left of the mountains lay
the river Sihor, but none might pass between the mountain and the river.
The Wanderer descended from the hill, and while the soldiers ate, drove
swiftly in his chariot to the further end of the pass and looked forth
again. Here the river curved to the left, leaving a wide plain, and on
the plain he saw the host of the Nine-bow barbarians, the mightiest host
that ever his eyes had looked upon. They were encamped by nations, and
of each nation there was twenty thousand men, and beyond the glittering
camp of the barbarians he saw the curved ships of the Achaeans. They were
drawn up on the beach of the great river, as many a year ago he had seen
them drawn up on the shore that is by Ilios. He looked upon plain and
pass, on mountain and river, and measured the number of the foe. Then
his heart was filled with the lust of battle, and his warlike cunning
awoke. For of all leaders he was the most skilled in the craft of
battle, and he desired that this, his last war, should be the greatest
war of all.

Turning his horses' heads, he galloped back to the host of Pharao