He spake, and gave the mare to Noemon, the comrade of Antilochus, to lead away; but he took the bright caldron to himself.  And Meriones, who came in fourth, took the two talents of gold.  But the fifth prize, a vase with two handles, was not obtained; and the noble Achilles gave this to Nestor, and, standing by him, uttered winged words:—­

“Let this, O Father! be for thee an heirloom, and a memorial of Patroclus’ funeral games—­of him, whom thou wilt never see again!  I give it to thee since thou mayest not contend in boxing, nor in wrestling, nor in throwing the lance, nor in the foot-race; for rueful old age weigheth heavily upon thee.”

Nestor gladly received the splendid gift, and spake:  “True and fitting are thy words, dear friend!  My limbs are no longer sound, nor do my arms move easily from my shoulders; and I must make way for younger men.  But I accept thy free gift with joy, and rejoice that thou dost remember our old friendship.”

Then Pelides brought forward the prizes for the rough, fierce boxing-match:  a six-year-old unbroken mule for the winner; and a two-handled goblet for the loser.  Then quickly rose the famous boxer Epeius, and laid his hand on the stubborn mule, and boasted aloud:  “Let who will bear away the goblet; but the mule is mine! for no one will beat me with his fists!” They all kept silence, and feared.  Only one came forward, even Euryalus, the gallant son of King Mecistus.  The famous warrior Tydides made him ready for the fight, and bade him God speed.  The twain went into the ring, and fell to work; and terrible was the gnashing of their teeth, and the sweat ran down from their limbs.  Epeius came on fiercely, and struck Euryalus on the cheek, and that was enough; for all his limbs were loosened.  As a fish on a weedy beach, in the ripple caused by Boreas, leapeth high in air, so Euryalus leapt up in his anguish.  But the generous Epeius raised him again to his feet, and his comrades led him away, with dragging feet and drooping head, and spitting out black blood.

Next came the terrible wrestling match; and for this the glorious Achilles brought out two costly prizes:  for the winner, a fireproof tripod, worth twelve oxen; and for the loser, a woman skilled in handiwork, valued at four oxen.  And he cried aloud to the Achaians, “Stand forward all ye who will enter into this contest!”

Then rose Telamonian Ajax and the crafty Ulysses, and faced each other.  And they entered the ring, and grasped each other with their strong hands, like the rafters of a house, joined by some skillful builder to withstand the wind.  Their backbones grated and creaked beneath the strain; the sweat poured down from their limbs, and bloody weals streaked their sides and shoulders, as they struggled for the well-wrought tripod.  But neither could Ulysses throw the burly Ajax, nor Ajax him.  And when the Achaians grew tired of the futile contest, Ajax spake to Ulysses:  “O thou offspring of the Gods, Laertes’ son! do thou lift me, or I will lift thee, and the issue will be on the lap of Zeus!”