Enter the Chorus of Trojan guards. Go to Hector’s couch. Which of you squires that tend the prince, or you armor-clad men, is awake? He ought to receive fresh tidings
from the warriors who were set to guard the assembled army during the fourth watch of the night. Calls to Hector in the tent. Lift up your head! Prop your arm beneath it! Unseal that fierce eye from its repose; quit your lowly couch of scattered leaves,
Hector! It is time to hearken.
Who is this? Is it a friend who calls? Who are you? Your password? Speak! Who are these who come near my couch in the night? You must tell me.
Sentinels of the army.
Why this tumultuous haste?
Be of good courage.
Is there some midnight ambush?
Why do you desert your post and rouse the army, unless you have some tidings of the night?
Are you not aware how near the Argive army we take our night’s repose clad in all our armor?
To arms! Hector, seek your allies’ sleeping camp!
Stir them up to wield the spear! Awake them! Despatch a friend to your own company, bridle the horses. Who will go to the son of Panthus? Who to Europa’s son, captain of the Lycian band?
Where are they who should inspect the victims? Where are the leaders of the light-armed troops and the Phrygian archers? String your horn-tipped bows!
Your tidings inspire now fear,
now confidence; nothing is plainly set forth. Can it be that you are smitten with wild fear by Pan, the son of Cronion? Leaving your watch you rouse the army. What does your noisy summons mean? What tidings can I say you bring? Your words are many,
but no plain statement have you made.
The long night through, Hector, the Argive army has kindled fires, and bright with torches shines the anchored fleet. To Agamemnon’s tent the whole army