Iris left him when she had spoken. Achilles rose, and Athena flung her tasselled aegis round his strong shoulders; she set a golden cloud about his head and kindled from it a flame that blazed to heaven.
As smoke rises from a city on an island that enemies are besieging, and the townsmen light fires from dawn so neighbors may see and come with ships to help — so the light from Achilles' head went up into the sky.
He went to the ditch, but he did not join the Achaeans, for he heeded his mother's word. There he stood and shouted aloud. Athena also raised her voice from afar and spread terror unspeakable among the Trojans.
As the voice of a trumpet sounds clear when a town is surrounded by killers, so clear was the voice of Achilles. When the Trojans heard it, their hearts were shaken; the horses with fine manes turned their chariots back, for they foresaw sorrow.
Thrice Achilles raised his loud cry beside the trench, and thrice the Trojans and their brave allies were thrown into confusion. There and then twelve of their best fighters perished among their own chariots and spears.
The Achaeans gladly drew Patroclus out from under the weapons and laid him on a litter. His comrades stood round him mourning, and among them Achilles wept hot tears when he saw his faithful friend lying on the bier, torn with sharp bronze.
Hera sent the busy sun, unwilling though he was, into the waters of Ocean; so he set, and the Achaeans had rest from the tug and turmoil of war.