Dué, Casey. 2018. Achilles Unbound: Multiformity and Tradition in the Homeric Epics. Hellenic Studies Series 81. Washington, DC: Center for Hellenic Studies. http://nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:hul.ebook:CHS_Due.Achilles_Unbound.2018.
Chapter 4. The Lost Verses of the Iliad: Medieval Manuscripts and the Poetics of a Multiform Epic Tradition
“The daughter of Brises, whom the sons of the Achaeans gave me”
The presence of a dash is an indication that Erbse has skipped over a section of the scholion. Because he chose not to include in his edition material in a category that he and others call the D-scholia, which often treat mythological subjects, he has abbreviated the scholion in his edition. But if we look at the full scholion in the Venetus A at 1.392 (folio 19v), we find this:
As I noted in my 2002 book, the term arkhaioi in the scholia refers to Homer and earlier poets in contrast with more recent poets (hoi neōteroi), who can include Hesiod, the Archaic poets, the tragedians, and Alexandrian poets like Callimachus.  The scholion thus suggests that there were Archaic poetic traditions as old as or older than our Iliad in which Briseis had not only a name, but a greatly expanded story.
εἶδον πρὸ πτόλιος δεδαϊγμένον ὀξέϊ χαλκᾠ,
τρεῖς τε κασιγνήτους, τούς μοι μία γείνατο μήτηρ,
κηδείους, οἳ πάντες ὀλέθριον ἦμαρ ἐπέσπον.
I saw torn by the sharp bronze before the city,
and my three brothers, whom one mother bore together with me,
beloved ones, all of whom met their day of destruction.
Patroklos proves to be an ally for a vulnerable woman who no longer has the protection of her father, husband, or brothers.
οἳ μὲν πάντες ἰᾠ κίον ἤματι Ἄϊδος εἴσω·
πάντας γὰρ κατέπεφνε ποδάρκης δῖος Ἀχιλλεὺς
all of whom went to Hades in one day.
For the swift-footed Achilles slew all of them.
The sacks of Lyrnessos (the city in which Briseis was captured) and Thebe (in which the brothers of Andromache were killed) took place on a single campaign. In this same sack of Thebe Chryseis was taken and given as a prize to Agamemnon.  Andromache was already living in Troy as Hektor’s wife at the time of the raid. She thus escapes capture, but only temporarily: through Chryseis and Briseis we are reminded that Andromache (and all of the Trojan women) will soon be captives. As J. W. Zarker notes in his study of allusions to the raid on Thebe in the Iliad: “The fate of both Hector and Andromache is the same, as is that of Thebe and Troy. What happened at Thebe and the other cities of the Troad will happen to Troy. What happened to Chryseis, Briseis, and other captive women will happen to Andromache.… Achilles’ taking of Thebe is the dramatic foreshadowing of the fall of Troy” (Zarker 1965–66:114).
ἔκτεινεν, πέρσεν δὲ πόλιν θείοιο Μύνητος,
κλαίειν, ἀλλά μ’ ἔφασκες Ἀχιλλῆος θείοιο
κουριδίην ἄλοχον θήσειν, ἄξειν τ’ ἐνὶ νηυσὶν
ἐς Φθίην, δαίσειν δὲ γάμον μετὰ Μυρμιδόνεσσι.
and sacked the city of god-like Mynes,
to weep, but you claimed that you would make me the
wedded wife of god-like Achilles, and that you would bring me in the ships
to Phthia, and give me a wedding feast among the Myrmidons.
The allusion to Mynes raises the interesting possibility that Briseis was the queen of Lyrnessos, and that her husband was Mynes.  If this interpretation is right, with this one detail the story of Briseis comes together and we can piece together the narrative of her life as it is implied in the Iliad. As I have reconstructed it, she was born in Brisa on Lesbos and married to King Mynes of Lyrnessos. When Achilles went on his series of raids in and around Lesbos, he sacked not only Briseis’ hometown, where presumably her brothers were killed, but also Lyrnessos. Achilles killed Mynes and enslaved the women of the town, winning Briseis as his prize. Because of the hypertext-like power of traditional poetry, in these few lines Briseis can allude elliptically to all of these events, indeed her entire life history up to the present moment. 
“Of the Boeotians Peneleos and Leitos were the leaders”
οἵ τ᾽ Ἄλον οἵ τ᾽ Ἀλόπην· οἵ τε Τρηχῖν’ ἐνέμοντο
οἵ τ᾽ εἶχον Φθίην ἠδ᾽ Ἑλλάδα καλλιγύναικα
Μυρμιδόνες δὲ καλεῦτο καὶ Ἕλληνες καὶ Ἀχαιοὶ.
τῶν αὖ πεντήκοντα νεῶν ἦν ἀρχὸς Ἀχιλλεύς.
ἀλλ᾽ οἵ γ᾽ οὐ πολέμοιο δυσηχέος ἐμνώοντο·
οὐ γὰρ ἔην ὅς τί σφιν ἐπὶ στίχας ἡγήσαιτο·
κεῖτο γὰρ ἐν νήεσσι ποδάρκης δῖος Ἀχιλλεὺς
κούρης χωόμενος Βρισηΐδος ἠϋκόμοιο
τὴν ἐκ Λυρνησσοῦ ἐξείλετο πολλὰ μογήσας
Λυρνησσὸν διαπορθήσας καὶ τείχεα Θήβης·
καδ δὲ Μύνητ᾽ ἔβαλεν καὶ Ἐπίστροφον ἐγχεσιμώρους
υἱέας Εὐηνοῖο, Σεληπιάδαο ἄνακτος·
τῆς ὅ γε κεῖτ᾽ ἀχέων. τάχα δ᾽ ἀνστήσεσθαι ἔμελλεν·
and those who possesed Alos and Alope and Trachis,
and those who held Phthia and Hellas of the beautiful women,
and were called Myrmidons and Hellenes and Achaeans,
of these Achilles was the leader of fifty ships.
But they did not have in mind grievous war.
For they did not have anyone to lead the troops.
For swift-footed radiant Achilles lay among his ships
furious over the girl Briseis with the beautiful hair,
whom he took from Lyrnessos with great toil,
when he sacked Lyrnessos and the walls of Thebe
and he slew the spear-fighters Mynes and Epistrophus,
the sons of the lord Euenus, who was the son of Selepius.
He lay grieving because of her, but he was soon to rise up.
I have written about these lines elsewhere as an illustration of the way that epic narratives can be greatly expanded (to a poem the scale of the Iliad) or highly compressed (as here) within an oral performance tradition (Dué 2002:8–9). If the Iliad did not survive and these lines were found in another epic about another warrior at Troy, today’s readers would find the references to Achilles’ anger and the capture of Briseis at Lyrnessos obscure. But for a traditional audience, the mēnis of Achilles would be called before their eyes and that compressed narrative would resonate within its context. Briseis’ own personal history is now largely lost to us, but as I have already argued, ancient audiences of the Iliad most likely knew at least one expanded version, and very possibly more than one version, of her story, and that story reverberates throughout the poem.
ὁρμήθη δ᾽ Ἀκάμαντος· ὃ δ᾽ οὐχ ὑπέμεινεν ἐρωὴν
Πηνελέωο ἄνακτος· ὃ δ᾽ οὔτασεν Ἰλιονῆα
υἱὸν Φόρβαντος πολυμήλου, τόν ῥα μάλιστα
Ἑρμείας Τρώων ἐφίλει καὶ κτῆσιν ὄπασσε·
τῷ δ᾽ ἄρ᾽ ὑπὸ μήτηρ μοῦνον τέκεν Ἰλιονῆα.
τὸν τόθ᾽ ὑπ᾽ ὀφρύος οὖτα κατ᾽ ὀφθαλμοῖο θέμεθλα,
ἐκ δ᾽ ὦσε γλήνην· δόρυ δ᾽ ὀφθαλμοῖο διὰ πρὸ
καὶ διὰ ἰνίου ἦλθεν, ὃ δ᾽ ἕζετο χεῖρε πετάσσας
ἄμφω· Πηνέλεως δὲ ἐρυσσάμενος ξίφος ὀξὺ
αὐχένα μέσσον ἔλασσεν, ἀπήραξεν δὲ χαμᾶζε
αὐτῇ σὺν πήληκι κάρη· ἔτι δ᾽ ὄβριμον ἔγχος
ἦεν ἐν ὀφθαλμῷ· ὃ δὲ φὴ κώδειαν ἀνασχὼν
πέφραδέ τε Τρώεσσι καὶ εὐχόμενος ἔπος ηὔδα·
εἰπέμεναί μοι Τρῶες ἀγαυοῦ Ἰλιονῆος
πατρὶ φίλῳ καὶ μητρὶ γοήμεναι ἐν μεγάροισιν·
οὐδὲ γὰρ ἣ Προμάχοιο δάμαρ Ἀλεγηνορίδαο
ἀνδρὶ φίλῳ ἐλθόντι γανύσσεται, ὁππότε κεν δὴ
ἐκ Τροίης σὺν νηυσὶ νεώμεθα κοῦροι Ἀχαιῶν.
and he started for Akamas. But he [Akamas] did not wait for the onrush
of the lord Peneleos. And he [Peneleos] wounded Ilioneus,
the son of Phorbas of many flocks, whom especially
of the Trojans Hermes loved and granted property.
To him his mother had born Ilioneus as an only child,
and him at that moment he [Peneleos] wounded under the eyebrow in the roots of the eye
and he pushed the eyeball from it. Right through the eye came the spear
and it went through the occipital bone, and he [Ilioneus] sat down, stretching out his hands,
both of them, while Peneleos drew his sharp sword
and drove it in the middle of his neck, and to the ground he struck off
his head together with its helmet. The mighty spear still
was in his eye. And he [Peneleos], holding it up like the head of a poppy,
signaled to the Trojans and boasting spoke a word:
“Tell for me, Trojans, illustrious Ilioneus’
dear father and mother to lament in their halls.
For the wife of Promakhos the son of Alegenor
will not be gladdened by her dear husband coming home, whenever
the sons of the Achaeans return from Troy with their ships.”
Even though the account of Ilioneus’ death is followed by a boast, in which the grief of his parents is treated as just compensation for the grief of the widow of Promakhos, we see in it a kind of mourning for Ilioneus and great compassion for the suffering of his Trojan parents. This passage closely resembles others found throughout the Iliad that introduce warriors just before they die. As Mary Ebbott and I have argued elsewhere, these highly compressed biographies would likely have served a commemorative function, and, abbreviated though they are, often share themes and imagery (especially botanical imagery) with traditional laments performed by women, such as those sung by Andromache, Briseis, and Achilles’ mother, Thetis, in the Iliad (Dué and Ebbott 2010:322–323). Many of these compressed biographies seem to be focalized through the eyes of a mother or widow. In Iliad 11.221–228, we hear the story of Iphidamas, who leaves behind his bride and half-built house to “go after the kleos of the Achaeans.” In Iliad 4.473–489, we learn how Simoeisios comes to be named by his parents, and that he dies before he can repay their care in raising him. He is compared to a felled poplar, a use of plant imagery that is also common in lament.
υἱὸν ἐῢν Πριάμοιο κατὰ στῆθος βάλεν ἰῷ,
τόν ῥ’ ἐξ Αἰσύμηθεν ὀπυιομένη τέκε μήτηρ
καλὴ Καστιάνειρα δέμας ἐϊκυῖα θεῇσι.
μήκων δ’ ὡς ἑτέρωσε κάρη βάλεν, ἥ τ’ ἐνὶ κήπῳ
καρπῷ βριθομένη νοτίῃσί τε εἰαρινῇσιν,
ὣς ἑτέρωσ’ ἤμυσε κάρη πήληκι βαρυνθέν.
We can easily imagine these words spoken in the first person by Kastianeira upon learning of the death of her son in battle. Indeed, epic poetry is infused with the imagery, themes, and language of lament, so much so that a number of scholars have speculated that women’s lament traditions played a crucial role in the development of epic. Epic poetry narrates the glory of heroes, the klea andrōn, but it also laments their untimely deaths and the suffering they cause. That these lament-filled passages are more often than not sung for the death of the Trojans and their allies is a testament to the remarkable parity of compassion that underlies the Iliad. Both sides are mourned equally. 
ναῖε δὲ Σατνιόεντος ἐϋρρείταο παρ᾽ ὄχθας
And lord of men Agamemnon killed Elatos
who inhabited the banks of the wide-flowing river Satnioeis
Here we are not told anything about Elatos’ parents or any other details of his life (such as we find in the other passages cited), but his hometown is remembered along with some geographical details that connect him to a particular place and add to the sense of loss that accompanies his death.
οἵ θ᾽ Ὑρίην ἐνέμοντο καὶ Αὐλίδα πετρήεσσαν
Σχοῖνόν τε Σκῶλόν τε πολύκνημόν τ᾽ Ἐτεωνόν,
Θέσπειαν Γραῖάν τε καὶ εὐρύχορον Μυκαλησσόν,
οἵ τ᾽ ἀμφ᾽ Ἅρμ᾽ ἐνέμοντο καὶ Εἰλέσιον καὶ Ἐρυθράς,
οἵ τ᾽ Ἐλεῶν᾽ εἶχον ἠδ᾽ Ὕλην καὶ Πετεῶνα,
Ὠκαλέην Μεδεῶνά τ᾽ ἐϋκτίμενον πτολίεθρον,
Κώπας Εὔτρησίν τε πολυτρήρωνά τε Θίσβην
who inhabited Hyria and rocky Aulis
and Skhoinos and Skolos and many-peaked Eteonos
and wondrous Graia and Mykalessos with its broad dancing places
and those who inhabited Harma and Eilesios and Erythrai
and those who held Eleon and Hyle and Peteon,
Okalea and Medeon the well-built citadel,
Kopai and Eutresis and Thisbe of the many doves
Was there a real place named Mykalessos and did it actually have broad dancing places? Why is Medeon a “well-built citadel” but Okalea is not described at all? Did Thisbe really have many doves, and if so how do we know? How did such places and epithets make it into the epic tradition to begin with? Again, it would be beyond the scope of this chapter to definitively answer these questions (and again I point to the very thorough work of Visser 1997 with additional bibliography ad loc.). But by exploring further the epithets used of Mykalessos and Thisbe in this passage, I believe we can once again gain an appreciation for why the Iliad must be understood as a multiform tradition that evolved dynamically over time. We will see once again that the Catalogue of Ships constantly draws upon a vast storehouse of epic material, centuries in the making, with the result that each entry becomes almost like an archaeological excavation, through which we must carefully sift to uncover other long-lost epics. In what follows I build on previous work in which I have discussed the poetics of various other kinds of noun-epithet combinations, and here as always I am much indebted to the work of Milman Parry, whose first doctoral thesis was entitled L’Épithète traditionelle dans Homère; Essaie sur un problème de style homérique (= The Traditional Epithet in Homer). 
τῷ ἴκελον οἷόν ποτ᾽ ἐνὶ Κνωσῷ εὐρείῃ
Δαίδαλος ἤσκησεν καλλιπλοκάμῳ Ἀριάδνῃ.
And on it a dancing place was wrought by the very famous god who was lame in both legs,
like the one which once in broad Knossos
Daidalos made for Ariadne of the beautifully braided hair.
Here the dancing place is not said to be broad; instead Knossos itself is described as broad (εὐρείῃ).
Just as being good at the war shout was considered a good quality for the epic hero to have, so too it seems that having broad dancing places was a quality associated with ancient cities. 
“A better mētis”
Once again we are confronted with the possibility of a considerably shorter, and perhaps more logical Iliad. Iliad 10, also commonly referred to as the Doloneia,  has long been felt to be different from the rest of the Iliad somehow, and many modern editors reject it as un-Homeric. The book narrates—using unusual diction that sometimes feels more Odyssean than Iliadic—a night expedition undertaken by Odysseus and Diomedes, in which the two heroes capture and kill the Trojan spy Dolon and then go on to kill the newly arrived Trojan ally Rhesos and his companions and steal Rhesos’ famed horses. Even though ambushes, cattle raids, and other forms of alternative warfare abound in the epic tradition, modern discomfort with the actions narrated in Iliad 10 have caused the book’s place in the Iliad to be questioned again and again. That the book at times exhibits unusual diction and oddities of language, special items of clothing, and other unusual features, has cemented the feeling among many critics that the Doloneia does not belong in our Iliad.
“And on it he wrought the earth, and heaven, and the sea”
As we saw in chapter 2, Zenodotus seems to have in many if not most places preferred a considerably shorter Iliad than the one we know.  We are fortunate that it was evidently Alexandrian practice to comment on a received text but not to alter that text beyond adding annotations such as critical signs. The commentaries keyed to such signs were published in separate scrolls.  If Zenodotus had made an edition that excised all athetized verses from the text, and subsequent scholars commented only on that edition, we would know much less Homeric poetry than we do now. The editors of the Homer Multitext have a very different approach to the text than that of Zenodotus, but the result is similar. We don’t throw anything away, and thereby preserve the evidence for others to discover.
The open-endedness that Nagy describes means that it is possible to make connections forwards and backwards to events that precede and follow the creation of the shield in the larger epic tradition. The entire Iliad, from book 1 all the way through the ransom and funeral of Hektor in book 24, can be more fully appreciated with reference to the images on the shield. This is the kind of meaning made possible by an oral traditional system, in which the audience is as familiar with the shield when listening to a performer performing book 1 or book 9 or book 16 as they are when they come at last to book 18 or when they come to the end of the poem.
ὠρώρει, δύο δ᾽ ἄνδρες ἐνείκεον εἵνεκα ποινῆς
ἀνδρὸς ἀποφθιμένου· ὃ μὲν εὔχετο πάντ᾽ ἀποδοῦναι
δήμῳ πιφαύσκων, ὃ δ᾽ ἀναίνετο μηδὲν ἑλέσθαι
had arisen, and two men were disputing about the blood-price
for a man who had died [apo-phthi-]. The one made a claim to pay back in full,
declaring publicly to the district, but the other was refusing to accept anything.
Zenodotus athetized the entire description of the shield, but he did not omit it from his edition of the poem. And so while the Venetus A reads ἀποφθιμένου in 18.499 (“a man who had died”), a scholion in the Venetus A is able to tell us that Zenodotus knew the reading ἀποκταμένου (“a man who was killed”):
Unlike an Alexandrian editor, Nagy is not advocating that we choose one reading over the other. Instead we can appreciate both readings as generated and having meaning within the system of Homeric poetry. The case of apoktamenou and apophthimenou is just one example of multiformity within the textual tradition of the shield, a choice to be made by the performer. Revermann, whose thesis about the detachability of the shield I cited above, argues that such separate performances made the shield even more subject to the kinds of expansion and compression that are natural to oral poetry.  But, as I have suggested already in chapter 3, this kind of multiformity should not be viewed as problematic or something to explain away. Rather it is an opportunity for those who are willing to see the Homeric text as being open-ended. If we are unbound by the limitations of a literate mindset that insists on freezing the text in a fixed state, we can not only appreciate the array of Iliads that were known to audiences in antiquity but also better understand the poetics of the Iliad that has come down to us.
“He stood before the gates, insatiably eager to do battle with Achilles”
Ἶρίν τ᾽ ἐλθέμεναι καὶ Ἀπόλλωνα κλυτότοξον,
ὄφρ᾽ ἣ μὲν μετὰ λαὸν Ἀχαιῶν χαλκοχιτώνων
ἔλθῃ, καὶ εἴπῃσι Ποσειδάωνι ἄνακτι
παυσάμενον πολέμοιο τὰ ἃ πρὸς δώμαθ᾽ ἱκέσθαι,
Ἕκτορα δ᾽ ὀτρύνῃσι μάχην ἐς Φοῖβος Ἀπόλλων,
αὖτις δ᾽ ἐμπνεύσῃσι μένος, λελάθῃ δ᾽ ὀδυνάων
αἳ νῦν μιν τείρουσι κατὰ φρένας, αὐτὰρ Ἀχαιοὺς
αὖτις ἀποστρέψῃσιν ἀνάλκιδα φύζαν ἐνόρσας,
φεύγοντες δ᾽ ἐν νηυσὶ πολυκλήϊσι πέσωσι
Πηλεΐδεω Ἀχιλῆος· ὃ δ᾽ ἀνστήσει ὃν ἑταῖρον
Πάτροκλον· τὸν δὲ κτενεῖ ἔγχεϊ φαίδιμος Ἕκτωρ
Ἰλίου προπάροιθε πολέας ὀλέσαντ᾽ αἰζηοὺς
τοὺς ἄλλους, μετὰ δ᾽ υἱὸν ἐμὸν Σαρπηδόνα δῖον.
τοῦ δὲ χολωσάμενος κτενεῖ Ἕκτορα δῖος Ἀχιλλεύς.
ἐκ τοῦ δ᾽ ἄν τοι ἔπειτα παλίωξιν παρὰ νηῶν
αἰὲν ἐγὼ τεύχοιμι διαμπερὲς εἰς ὅ κ᾽ Ἀχαιοὶ
Ἴλιον αἰπὺ ἕλοιεν Ἀθηναίης διὰ βουλάς.
to come here Iris and Apollo famed for his bow,
in order that Iris among the warriors of the bronze-wearing Achaeans
may go, and tell lord Poseidon
to cease from battle and go home,
and in order that Apollo may urge Hektor to battle,
and breathe rage [menos] into him again, and he may forget his pains,
which now wear out his senses, and then the Achaeans
he may turn back, stirring up the headlong flight that is lacking in battle resolve,
and they, fleeing, will fall among the ships with many benches
of Achilles the son of Peleus. And he will cause his companion to rise up,
Patroklos. And him radiant Hektor will kill with his spear
before Troy after he [Patroklos] has killed many other flourishing young men,
and among them my son, brilliant Sarpedon.
Furious about this, brilliant Achilles will kill Hektor.
And from this point forward I will continuously make
a pursuit [of the Trojans] from the ships until the Achaeans
take steep Troy through the counsels of Athena.
Here we have the remainder of the Iliad (and beyond), more than nine books’ worth of material, compressed into only eighteen verses, not unlike the compressed story of Achilles in the Catalogue of Ships, or Proklos’ summaries of the poems of the Epic Cycle. Zeus’ anger suggests that it was in theory possible for the story of Troy to turn out another way, if he hadn’t woken up and regained control of the narrative. As I see it, such concerns about getting the story right point to a flourishing world of song in which there were rival versions of tradition (as paradoxical as that sounds). My work on the character of Briseis, for example, leads me to believe that rival traditions about her life history were in circulation at some early stage in the crystallization of the Iliad.
It would be easy to dismiss Dio as a late author playing a literary game with the Iliad, much as Dares and Dictys of Crete and Philostratus’ Heroikos are not typically seen as reliable guides to early epic tradition. And perhaps, in an abundance of caution, we really should not try to use Dio as a clue to what the Iliad was like fifteen hundred years before his time.
σεῦα κατ᾽ Ἰδαίων ὀρέων ταχέεσσι πόδεσσι
καρπαλίμως; τότε δ᾽ οὔ τι μετατροπαλίζεο φεύγων.
I chased down from the peaks of Ida with swift feet,
speedily? At that time you did not look back as you fled.
The chase takes Achilles all the way to Lyrnessos, which he then proceeds to sack (taking Briseis as his prize), while Aeneas makes his escape. Aeneas, earlier in book 20, recounts this exact same episode when Apollo (disguised as Lykaon) urges him to fight Achilles. Aeneas too refers to Achilles’ swift feet when invoking this prior encounter (οὐ μὲν γὰρ νῦν πρῶτα ποδώκεος ἄντ᾽ Ἀχιλῆος / στήσομαι 89–90).
Unlike the scholion about Briseis’ name, we are not told anything about who οἱ λοιποὶ are. “Homer” is not compared or contrasted with other “arkhaioi” or “neōteroi” in this comment, as we find elsewhere in the scholia. A search of the full corpus of Greek in the Thesaurus Linguae Graecae database turns up no other place where “only Homer” says or does anything. A survey of uses of the phrase οἱ δὲ λοιποὶ πάντες turns up no meaningful pattern for deducing who οἱ λοιποί might be in this context. But the very fact that Homer is frequently contrasted with other poets (including those of the Epic Cycle) in the Venetus A scholia means we should at least consider the possibility that οἱ λοιποί are other epic poets. In the Panhellenic Iliadic tradition, Achilles kills Hektor in man-to-man combat. But there was another way to tell the story in the larger epic tradition: Achilles could have used his solo ambusher skills to take down Hektor.