She spake, and with both her hands wiped the ichor from the arm; the arm was restored, and the grievous pains assuaged. But Athene and Hera, as they looked upon her, sought to anger Zeus, son of Cronos, with mocking words.
And among them the goddess flashing-eyed Athene was first to speak: “Father Zeus, wilt thou anywise be wroth with me for the word that I shall say? Of a surety now Cypris has been urging some one of the women of Achaea to follow after the Trojans, whom now she so wondrously loveth; and while stroking such a one of the fair-robed women of Achaea,
she hath scratched upon her golden brooch her delicate hand.”
So spake she, but the father of men and gods smiled, and calling to him golden Aphrodite, said: “Not unto thee, my child, are given works of war; nay, follow thou after the lovely works of marriage,
and all these things shall be the business of swift Ares and Athene.”
On this wise spake they one to the other; but Diomedes, good at the war-cry, leapt upon Aeneas, though well he knew that Apollo himself held forth his arms above him; yet had he no awe even of the great god, but was still eager
to slay Aeneas and strip from him his glorious armour. Thrice then he leapt upon him, furiously fain to slay him, and thrice did Apollo beat back his shining shield. But when for the fourth time he rushed upon him like a god, then with a terrible cry spake to him Apollo that worketh afar:
“Bethink thee, son of Tydeus, and give place, neither be thou minded to be like of spirit with the gods; seeing in no wise of like sort is the race of immortal gods and that of men who walk upon the earth.”
So spake he, and the son of Tydeus gave ground a scant space backward, avoiding the wrath of Apollo that smiteth afar.
Aeneas then did Apollo set apart from the throng in sacred Pergamus where was his temple builded. There Leto and the archer Artemis healed him in the great sanctuary, and glorified him; but Apollo of the silver bow fashioned a wraith
in the likeness of Aeneas' self and in armour like to his; and over the wraith the Trojans and goodly Achaeans smote the bull's-hide bucklers about one another's breasts, the round shields and fluttering targets.1
Then unto furious Ares spake Phoebus Apollo:
“Ares, Ares, thou bane of mortals, thou blood-stained stormer of walls, wilt thou not now enter into the battle and withdraw this man therefrom, this son of Tydeus, who now would fight even against father Zeus? Cypris first hath he wounded in close fight on the hand at the wrist, and thereafter rushed he upon mine own self like unto a god.”