through the ranks of the Trojans to find Pandarus,
the redoubtable son of Lycaon. She found him standing among the
stalwart heroes who had followed him from the banks of the Aesopus, so
she went close up to him and said, "Brave son of Lycaon, will you do as
I tell you? If you dare send an arrow at Menelaus you will win honour
and thanks from all the Trojans, and especially from prince
Alexandrus--he would be the first to requite you very handsomely if he
could see Menelaus mount his funeral pyre, slain by an arrow from your
hand. Take your home aim then, and pray to Lycian Apollo, the famous
archer; vow that when you get home to your strong city of Zelea you
will offer a hecatomb of firstling lambs in his honour."

His fool's heart was persuaded, and he took his bow from its case. This
bow was made from the horns of a wild ibex which he had killed as it
was bounding from a rock; he had stalked it, and it had fallen as the
arrow struck it to the heart. Its horns were sixteen palms long, and a
worker in horn had made them into a bow, smoothing them well down, and
giving them tips of gold. When Pandarus had strung his bow he laid it
carefully on the ground, and his brave followers held their shields
before him lest the Achaeans should set upon him before he had shot
Menelaus. Then he opened the lid of his quiver and took out a winged
arrow that had not yet been shot, fraught with the pangs of death. He
laid the arrow on the string and prayed to Lycian Apollo, the famous
archer, vowing that when he got home to his strong city of Zelea he
would offer a hecatomb of firstling lambs in his honour. He laid the
notch of the arrow on the oxhide bowstring, and drew both notch and
string to his breast till the arrow-head was near the bow; then when
the bow was arched into a half-circle he let fly, and the bow twanged,
and the string sang as the arrow flew gladly on over the heads of the
throng.

But the blessed gods did not forget thee, O Menelaus, and Jove's
daughter, driver of the spoil, was the first to stand before thee and
ward off the piercing arrow. She turned it from his skin as a mother
whisks a fly from off her child when it is sleeping sweetly; she guided
it to the part where the golden buckles of the belt that passed over
his double cuirass were fastened, so the arrow struck the belt that
went tightly round him. It went right through this and through the
cuirass of cunning workmanship; it also pierced the belt beneath i