So speaking, Neptune turned to share the toils Of war. Idomeneus, who now had reached His princely tent, put on his glorious mail, And seized two spears, and flew upon his way, Like lightning grasped by Saturn’s son and flung Quivering above Olympus’ gleaming peak, A sign to mortals, dazzled by the blaze, So glittered, as he ran, his brazen mail. His fellow-warrior, good Meriones, Met him beside the tent, for he had come To fetch a brazen javelin thence, and thus The stout Idomeneus addressed his friend:⁠—

“O son of Molus, swift Meriones, Dearest of all my comrades! Why hast thou Thus left the battle-field? Hast thou a wound⁠— A weapon’s point that galls thee? Dost thou bring A message to me? Think not that I sit Within my tent an idler: I must fight.”