The wind that carried west from Ilium brought me to Icarus, on the far shore, a strongpoint on the coast of Ciccone's. I stormed that place and killed the men who fought. Plunder we took, and we enslaved the women, to make division, equal shares to all— but on the spot I told them: 'Back, and quickly! ‘Out to sea again!' My men were mutinous, fools, on stores of wine. Sheep after sheep they butchered by the surf, and shambling cattle, feasting,—while fugitives went inland, running to call to arms the main force of Ciccone's. This was an army, trained to fight on horseback or, where the ground required, on foot. They came with dawn over that terrain like the leaves and blades of spring. So doom appeared to us, dark word of Zeus for us, our evil days. My men stood up and made a fight of it—60 backed on the ships, with lances kept in play, from bright morning through the blaze of noon so holding our beach, although so far outnumbered;