Now come, you sons of Achaea, raise a song of triumph!
Down to the ships we march and bear this corpse on high–
we have won ourselves a great glory. We have brought
magnificent Hector down, the man the Trojans
glorified in their city liek a god!“
So he triumphed
and now he was bent on outrage, on shaming noble Hector.
Piercing the tendons, ankle to heel behind both feet,
he knotted straps of rawhide through them both,
lashed them to his chariot, left the head to drag
and mounting the car, hoisting the famous arms aboard,
he whipped his team to a run and brakneck on the flew
holding nothing back. And a thick cloud of dust rose up
from the man they dragged, his dark hair swirling round
that head so handsom once, all tumbled low in the dust–
since Zeus had given him over to his enemies now
to be defiled in the land of his own fathers.
So his whole head was dragged down in the dust.