So here we are on the shores of Lemnos,

a lonely place—well off the beaten track,

surrounded by the sea. No one lives here.

This was this place, Neoptolemus,

son of Achilles, bravest and best

of all the Greeks, where, many years ago,

I left Philoctetes, son of Poeas,

a man from Malis. I abandoned him,

acting on orders from our two commanders.

His foot was dripping with infectious sores,                                 10

painful ulcers. He kept screaming all the time.

His strange, wild howling rang throughout the camp.                                              [10]

He cried so much we couldn’t pray in peace

or make libations and burnt sacrifice.

But what's the point in talking of that now?

This is no time to tell lengthy stories,

for if he learns I’m here, then my whole scheme,

the one I think will catch him quickly, fails.

Look, your job is to carry out the tasks

we still have left to do—to find a rock                                             20

somewhere round here which has two openings,

so shaped that when it’s cool there are two seats

facing the sun, and when it’s hot, the breeze

wafts sleep in through the chamber tunnel.

To the left below it you might glimpse                                                                        [20]

a water spring, if it’s still functioning.

Climb up there. Keep quiet. Then signal me

if you see those features there or somewhere else.

After that I’ll tell you my entire plan.

Then both of us will carry out my scheme.                                     30

NEOPTOLEMUS [approaching the mouth of the cave]

Watch out. He may be there, in bed asleep.                                                             [30]

NEOPTOLEMUS [peering into the cave]

Yes, there is—

a bed of leaves pressed down Someone’s stayed here.                 40   

This is the spot.

Obviously our man lives here and is near by. [40]

His foot is crippled with that old disease.

He can’t go far. He’s gone to find some food 50

or a remedial herb he’s seen somewhere.

Send that man of yours to be our lookout,

in case he stumbles on us unawares.

He’d rather catch me than any other Greek.

Son of Achilles, to fulfill your mission,                                                                       [50]

you must be loyal to your ancestry—

that’s more than something merely physical.

If you hear a plan you’ve not heard before 60

and it sounds strange, you must obey it—

you’re with me here as my subordinate.

With Philoctetes—

when you speak to him, tell him a story.

You have to trick him, lead his mind astray.

When he asks you who you are and where you’re from,

say you’re Achilles’ son—no deception there.

But tell him you intend to sail for home.

You’ve left the Achaeans’ naval forces

because you truly hate them. And here’s why—                     70

in their prayers they summoned you from home                                                     [60]

to Troy, since you’re the only hope they’ve got

to take the city. But then they judged you

not good enough to have Achilles’ arms,

although you came to claim them as your right.

Instead they gave them to Odysseus.

Say what you like of me—pile up the insults,

the worst there are. That won’t injure me.

But if you don’t go through with what I say,

you’ll hurt the Argives, every one of them.                             80

If we don’t get our hands on that man’s bow,

you’ll never capture Troy successfully,

never destroy the realm of Dardanus.1

Let me tell you why you can talk to him                                                                 [70]

and safely win his trust, while I cannot.

You’ve joined the Trojan expedition freely—

you’d made no oath to anyone. In fact,

you weren’t a member of that first contingent.

But I was, and I can’t deny the fact.

If he sees me while he still has his bow,                                     90

I’m lost, and you, as my companion,

will share my fate. That’s why we need to plan—

we need some way you can be the means

to steal his bow, which is invincible.

My boy, I know your nature is not fit

to make up lies or speak deceitful things.                                                                 [80]

But winning victory’s prize is sweet indeed,

so force yourself to do it. After this,

the justice of our actions will be clear.

So now, for one short day, follow my lead,                                100

without a sense of shame. In time to come

they’ll call you the finest man there is.

 

Son of Laertes, I hate to carry out

an order which it hurts to listen to.

It’s not my nature to do anything

based on deceit. My father, so they say,

was just the same. But I am prepared [90]

to take the man by force, no trickery.

He’s just one man on foot. He’ll never win

against so many of us in a fight. 110

Since I was ordered here to work with you,

I’m not anxious to be called disloyal.

Still, my lord, I’d much prefer to fail

in something honourable, than to win out

with treachery.

You noble father’s son,

when I was young, I, too, had a quiet tongue.

I let my active hands speak up for me.

But now I’ve gone out into adult life,

faced all its trials, I see with mortal men

the tongue, not action, rules in everything.                             120

What are your orders, then, apart from lying?                                                         [100]

None whatsoever, unless, as I’ve said,                                     130

you use some trick to grab him.

But how can anyone control his face                                                                        [110]

when he dares speak such lies?

So I’m not the one

who’ll take that city, as you told me?                         140

All right, [120]

I’ll do it. I’ll set all shame aside.

ODYSSEUS

That story I sketched out for you just now—

do you recall it?

You can be sure of that,

since I’ve at last agreed to do it.                                         150

Then, right now you stay here and wait for him.

I’ll move off, so I’m not seen around you.

And I’ll return our lookout to his ship.

Now, if I think you’re taking too much time,

I’ll send that same sailor here again—

but I’ll disguise his actions and his clothes,

to make him captain of some merchant ship,

beyond all recognition. Then, my boy,                                                 [130]

when he tells you some fancy tale, you listen,

taking from it anything that helps you.                                 160

Now I’m going to my ship. It’s up to you.

May Hermes, who guides men through deceptions,

lead us through this, and with Athena, too,

goddess of victory, our city’s patron

and the one who always rescues me.

My lord, tell me what I must conceal

and what I should say to this Philoctetes.

He’s bound to be full of suspicion.

For I’m a stranger in a foreign place.

The art and judgment of the man 170

who rules with Zeus’ godlike sceptre                                                     [140]

exceed the skills of ordinary men.

That age-old authority of kings

has now come down to you, my son.

So tell me what I need to do to serve you.

Right now perhaps you’re eager to inspect

the place here on the shore in which he lives.

You can look through it—there’s no need to fear—

that dangerous man has left his cave for now.

When he gets back, stand ready to come out 180

when I give the signal. Try to help me—

give whatever aid I may then require.

My lord, this help you talk about                                                                 [150]

has long been my chief concern—

always to keep my eyes alert

above all to what’s best for you.

Tell me about this man,

the kind of shelter where he lives,

and where he might be now.

That’s something I should know,                                         190

in case he comes at me somewhere

when I’m not ready for him.

Where’s he gone off to?

Is he at home in there,

in that cave, or here outside?

Here’s his dwelling with two entrances,

a den carved in the rock.                                                                                           [160]

I think that’s clear.

He’s dragging his foot along some place nearby,

looking for things to eat. I’ve heard it said                            200

that that’s the way he usually lives—

in his wretched state it takes all he has

to shoot his feathered arrows at his prey,

and no one ever ventures close enough

to help him cure his sad condition.

Well, I pity him for that—

with no human to look after him, [170]

and no companion’s face to see,

he lives a miserable life,

alone, always alone, 210

infected with a cruel disease,

confused about what he should do

to cope with every pressing need—

how does he bear a fate so grim?

It’s the workings of the gods.

What a wretched race of men they are

whose life exceeds due measure.

This man Philoctetes, [180]

for all we know, is just as good

as any member of the finest clan. 220

But here he lies all by himself,

apart from other human beings,

with shaggy goats and spotted deer,

suffering from hunger pangs

and from his painful wound.

It’s pitiful—he has to bear

an agony that has no cure,

and as he cries in bitter pain,

the only answer comes from Echo,

a distant, senseless babble.                                            230                                     [190]

Well, nothing in all this surprises me.

Let me explain just how I understand it.

This man’s sufferings come from the gods,

both those afflicting him from savage Chryse

and those he suffers now without a cure.1

The gods are planning that Philoctetes

won’t aim his bow at Troy and shoot his shafts,

those all-conquering arrows from the gods,

until the time is right, when, people say,

those weapons take the city—that’s Troy’s fate.