From the hull of the boat Achilles produces his great ash spear, tipped in pitiless iron — a skilled craftsman from among the goat-herding Solvunnites made it for him in exchange for the cleaned pelts of twelve deer, soft and speckled white. He stands from the rowing bench, leaving the oars to Teddy.

"No, magnificent Nanaue will not brave the bloody jaws of battle alone, not when I am here. Among the bronze-clad Achaeans, no man was my equal, not in matters of war.

"I in all my great strength could not save my dear comrade, Menoetius' gallant son Patroclus, whom I loved above all other men. Blinded by the rage that smoked in my breast for Agamemnon, lord of men, I let him leap into battle alone, and when he met man-killing Hector far from the hollow ships, I was not there to defend him. Death loosed his limbs, and down he went to the house of Hades. Never again will any companion of mine be felled because I abstained from the fight."

So speaking, godlike Achilles hurls his long-shadowed spear at the fierce golden eye of the beast. The shaft sails over the frothing waves, and the iron tip strikes home in the center. The leviathan looses a roar from its maw. Raging in pain, it heaves one of its mighty tentacles toward the boat, and Achilles dives into the dark of the sea. Bent on retrieving his weapon, he swims toward the beast with swift, sure strokes.