Athena took Ares’ hand and said, “Murderer Ares / . . . let us now leave the Trojans and Achaeans / to fight on their own, so that Father Zeus may award / the victory to whichever army he wishes, / while we two withdraw far away from his terrible rage.

This war is no longer between the Achaeans and the Trojans; / the Argives are fighting even against the gods.

[Athena] put on Lord Zeus’s armor. / Around her shoulders she threw the terrible gold-tasseled / storm shield, crowned with the figures of Strife and Panic / and inset with all the heart-chilling horrors of war.

Let us exchange our armor, so all can see / that our grandfathers’ friendship has made guest-friends of us also.

Zeus has brought us an evil fate, so that poets / can make songs about us for all future generations.