Tsagalis, Christos. 2012. From Listeners to Viewers: Space in the Iliad. Hellenic Studies Series 53. Washington, DC: Center for Hellenic Studies. http://nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:hul.ebook:CHS_TsagalisC.From_Listeners_to_Viewers.2012.
Chapter 1. The Base-Level Setting: The Battlefield
The Dynamics of Martial Space
σύν ῥ’ ἔβαλον ῥινούς, σὺν δ’ ἔγχεα καὶ μένε’ ἀνδρῶν
χαλκεοθωρήκων· ἀτὰρ ἀσπίδες ὀμφαλόεσσαι
ἔπληντ’ ἀλλήληισι, πολὺς δ’ ὀρυμαγδὸς ὀρώρει.
ἔνθα δ’ ἅμ’ οἰμωγή τε καὶ εὐχωλὴ πέλεν ἀνδρῶν
ὀλλύντων τε καὶ ὀλλυμένων, ῥέε δ’ αἵματι γαῖα. 
they dashed their shields together and their spears, and the strength
of armoured men in bronze, and the shields massive in the middle
clashed against each other, and the sound grew huge of the fighting.
There the screaming and the shouts of triumph rose up together
of men killing and men killed, and the ground ran blood. 
The introduction to this extended battle scene is a global view of the two armies standing in front of each other. Having previously referred to the movement of Achaeans and Trojans (Iliad IV 332, IV 427 κίνυντο φάλαγγες),  the narrator orients his listeners by offering a panoramic scan  of the opposing contingents and framing a common ground (Iliad IV 446 ἐς χῶρον ἕνα) for the actual combat. Orientation and framing have time and again been pointed out as typical tendencies, if not techniques, used by the Homeric narrator, who aims at guiding his audience by presenting the general framework of a scene, and only then proceeds to its constituent members. 
ἐς μισγάγκειαν συμβάλλετον ὄβριμον ὕδωρ
κρουνῶν ἐκ μεγάλων κοίλης ἔντοσθε χαράδρης,
τῶν δέ τε τηλόσε δοῦπον ἐν οὔρεσιν ἔκλυε ποιμήν,
ὣς τῶν μισγομένων γένετο ἰαχή τε φόβος τε.
throw together at the meeting of streams the weight of their water
out of the great springs behind in the hollow stream-bed,
and far away in the mountains the shepherd hears their thunder;
such, from the coming together of men, was the shock and the shouting.
Although the simile refers to the preceding narrative, the narrator is well aware that he is now inviting his listeners to adopt a significantly different view of the fighting armies. Not simply adding material to the previous description, he is rather “mapping” the combat action onto a different mental grid, by temporarily stepping outside of story space and “leaping” into what I shall call paratopic space (παρά + τόπος ‘place’), the extratextual and atextual space of the Homeric simile.
Fighting in small groups
αὐτοκασίγνητον εὐηγενέος Σώκοιο.
τῶι δ’ ἐπαλεξήσων Σῶκος κίεν, ἰσόθεος φώς,
στῆ δὲ μάλ’ ἐγγὺς ἰὼν καί μιν πρὸς μῦθον ἔειπεν·
Charops, full brother of Sokos, a man rich in substance. And Sokos
moved in, a man like a god, to stand over the fallen brother
and came and stood close by Odysseus and spoke a word to him …
The privileged treatment of Sokos has already been signaled by the narrator’s refusal to deal with Odysseus’ other victims and his subsequent focus on Sokos’ brother Kharops. In order to create a special space for the encounter with Sokos, the narrator describes Kharops by giving both his father’s and his brother’s names. Since the latter reference does not form part of a hero’s typical epic presentation, listeners realize that such a compressed foregrounding of a soldier’s brother is narratively significant. As soon as Sokos is designated as the brother of the victim, the audience is presented with a vista of his coming to save his brother Kharops. In contrast both to Odysseus’ previous victims, who are bare items in a list, and to Kharops’ father Hippasos, who is a mere name in the victim’s pedigree, Sokos is “here to stay,” as he will be given a whole scene. The space is designated in terms of deictic proximity to the place where Kharops has fallen: Sokos comes close and stands (στῆ δὲ μάλ’ ἐγγὺς ἰών) to protect his brother. By combining movement and standing, the narrator hints at fraternal solidarity, which is here expressed by means of typical epic diction. The vagueness of the place where the ensuing encounter will occur is replaced by a heavily thematized space, delineated not in terms of description but of cooperation and camaraderie. In this light, space becomes not a container of action but action itself: where is effectively replaced by what and who.
κεκλόμενοι καθ’ ὅμιλον ἐπ’ αὐτῶι πάντες ἔβησαν·
αὐτὰρ ὅ γ’ ἐξοπίσω ἀνεχάζετο, αὖε δ’ ἑταίρους.
τρὶς μὲν ἔπειτ’ ἤϋσεν, ὅσον κεφαλὴ χάδε φωτός,
τρὶς δ’ ἄϊεν ἰάχοντος ἀρηΐφιλος Μενέλαος,
αἶψα δ’ ἄρ’ Αἴαντα προσεφώνεεν ἐγγὺς ἐόντα·
“Αἶαν διογενὲς Τελαμώνιε, κοίρανε λαῶν,
ἀμφί μ’ Ὀδυσσῆος ταλασίφρονος ἵκετο φωνή,
τῶι ἰκέλη, ὡς εἴ ἑ βιώιατο μοῦνον ἐόντα
Τρῶες ἀποτμήξαντες ἐνὶ κρατερῆι ὑσμίνηι.
ἀλλ’ ἴομεν καθ’ ὅμιλον· ἀλεξέμεναι γὰρ ἄμεινον.”
cried aloud through the close battle and all made a charge against him.
He gave back a little way and called out for his companions.
Three times he called, as much voice as a man’s head could hold,
and three times Menelaos the warlike heard him shouting
and immediately spoke to Aias, who was near by him.
“Son of Telamon, seed of Zeus, Aias, lord of the people,
the war cry of patient Odysseus is ringing about me
with a sound as if he had been cut off by himself, and the Trojans
were handling him violently in the strong encounter. Therefore
let us go to him through the battle. It is better to defend him against them.”
στῆ δὲ πάρεξ· Τρῶες δὲ διέτρεσαν ἄλλυδις ἄλλος.
ἤτοι τὸν μὲν Μενέλαος ἀρήϊος ἔξαγ’ ὁμίλου
χειρὸς ἔχων, εἵως θεράπων σχεδὸν ἤλασε ἵππους·
and stood forth beside him, and the Trojans fled one way and another.
Then taking Odysseus by the hand warlike Menelaos
led him from the battle, while his henchman drove the horses close up.
Sound is also an aspect of space.  Since Menelaos and Ajax can hear Odysseus’ shout, the audience visualizes them at some distance but not far away from him. Their movement through the ranks of the army (Iliad XI 469 καθ’ ὅμιλον) and their realization that Odysseus is left alone among the Trojans (470 μονωθείς, picking up line 467 μοῦνον ἐόντα) are combined,  as in the previous case of Sokos, with coming close (485 ἐγγύθεν ἦλθε) and standing next to (486 στῆ δὲ πάρεξ), but also with carrying the wounded Odysseus away from the enemy lines (487 ἔξαγ’ ὁμίλου). The use of similar diction, further accentuated by its use in two successive scenes of the same episode, shows that the thematized space of brotherhood and comradeship, of solidarity and cooperation, applies to victims and victors alike, irrespective of their nationality. In this light, listeners are invited to ponder such minutiae from these episodes and realize that they form part of a coherent organization of space, with far-reaching consequences for both character delineation and the development of the plot as a whole. The Iliad establishes and exploits intrinsic visual norms that require listeners to learn the epic’s unique storytelling strategies. By learning the Iliad’s grammar of space, the audience is constantly expected to expand these superficially miniaturized battle scenes and piece them together within a larger and complex story-world. Viewed from this perspective, the repeated lessons on warrior solidarity and comradeship, expressed in the motif of fighting pairs and the diction of spatial deixis (coming to the aid of and standing next to), create highly engaged listeners, able to decode and appreciate the epic’s technique of building macronarrative dramatic tension. The thematized space explored above, and systematically reiterated in equivalent scenes throughout the poem, reaches its sublime climax in the fatal encounter between Achilles and Hektor in Iliad XXII. When Hektor decides to stop running, deceived by Athena who is standing next to him disguised as his brother Deiphobos (Iliad XXII 226–247), the audience is expected to comprehend the deep irony based on the illusion of heroic solidarity. The Iliadic grammar of space allows the listeners to recall numerous scenes of warrior and fraternal solidarity, and realize that the shocking overturning of Hektor’s expectations amounts to a violation of the thematized space of solidarity, which now becomes a space of betrayal and death.
ἐν προμάχοισι φανέντα, κατεπλήγη φίλον ἦτορ,
ἂψ δ’ ἑτάρων εἰς ἔθνος ἐχάζετο κῆρ’ ἀλεείνων.
showing among the champions, the heart was shaken within him;
to avoid death he shrank into the host of his own companions.
Here (as in Iliad XI 585 and XIII 596), the πρόμαχος retreats among his companions standing behind him and saves his life (κῆρ’ ἀλεείνων), whereas in two other cases Meriones continues his withdrawal and returns temporarily to the ships and his hut in search of a new spear (Iliad XIII 165–168), with which he wounds Deiphobos and then retreats among his fellow warriors (XIII 533). This particular thematization of “space behind” signals protection and safety, and demarcates notional zones that are presented in terms of bipolar antitheses between isolation and contiguity, separation and solidarity. The Iliad thus introduces a notion of space that capitalizes on Greek views of the alien and unknown as something standing beyond an enclosed area,  where knowledge and therefore safety are guaranteed. In the military cosmos of the Iliad, uncharted space is the area where there are no comrades-in-arms, who represent a hero’s only familiar topos. 
ἂψ ἑτάρων εἰς ἔθνος ἐχάζετο κῆρ’ ἀλεείνων.
Ἕκτωρ δ’ ὡς εἶδεν Πατροκλῆα μεγάθυμον
ἂψ ἀναχαζόμενον, βεβλημένον ὀξέϊ χαλκῶι,
ἀγχίμολόν ῥά οἱ ἦλθε κατὰ στίχας, οὖτα δὲ δουρί
νείατον ἐς κενεῶνα, διάπρο δὲ χαλκὸν ἔλασσεν·
to shun death and shrink back into the swarm of his own companions.
But Hektor, when he saw high-hearted Patroklos trying
to get away, saw how he was wounded with the sharp javelin,
came close against him across the ranks, and with the spear stabbed him
in the depth of his belly and drove the bronze clean through.
In this way, the Iliad makes a telling gesture to its audience, who are invited to realize the profound paradox of heroism: to acquire κλέος within warrior society by isolating oneself from it, that is, by fighting as a πρόμαχος away from the protection of the army.
ἄφλαστον μετὰ χερσὶν ἔχων, Τρωσὶν δ’ ἐκέλευεν·
“οἴσετε πῦρ, ἅμα δ’ αὐτοὶ ἀολλέες ὄρνυτ’ ἀϋτήν.
νῦν ἥμιν πάντων Ζεὺς ἄξιον ἦμαρ ἔδωκεν,
νῆας ἑλεῖν …”
but gripped the sternpost in his hands and called to the Trojans:
“Bring fire, and give single voice to the clamour of battle.
Now Zeus has given us a day worth all the rest of them:
the ships’ capture …”
By penetrating deep into enemy space after breaking the Achaean wall with a stone (Iliad XII 445–462), Hektor makes his claim to foreign territory an almost tangible reality. Contrary to what is expected to happen in a poetic tradition culminating in the sack of Troy, it is not the city walls that are invaded but the enemy’s mirror city, the secluded space of the Achaean camp. In this light, the audience interprets the symbolic function of the play between insiders and outsiders, and evaluates the violation of spatial frames against the backdrop of the Iliadic plot.  Hektor’s attempt to burn the ships not only risks the safety of the Achaeans, who would be unable to return to Greece, but also contrasts with the audience’s expectations based on the Iliadic tradition’s subject matter. By entertaining such a scenario through Hektor’s ἀριστεία, the Iliad flirts with the transgression of spatial boundaries that its plot has, until this moment, carefully delineated, and creates such strong puzzlement and agony  in the audience that it almost needs an equally powerful mechanism to restore the shattered balance. This mechanism will be nothing else than a new violation of spatial boundaries, this time by Patroklos, who in his arrogance will first push back the Trojans and then entertain the thought that he may sack Troy: 
Πατρόκλου ὑπὸ χερσί, πέριπρο γὰρ ἔγχεϊ θυῖεν,
εἰ μὴ Ἀπόλλων Φοῖβος ἐϋδμήτου ἐπὶ πύργου
ἔστη, τῶι ὀλοὰ φρονέων, Τρώεσσι δ’ ἀρήγων.
τρὶς μὲν ἐπ’ ἀγκῶνος βῆ τείχεος ὑψηλοῖο
Πάτροκλος, τρὶς δ’ αὐτὸν ἀπεστυφέλιξεν Ἀπόλλων,
χείρεσσ’ ἀθανάτηισι φαεινὴν ἀσπίδα νύσσων.
ἀλλ’ ὅτε δὴ τὸ τέταρτον ἐπέσσυτο δαίμονι ἶσος,
δεινὰ δ’ ὀμοκλήσας ἔπεα πτερόεντα προσηύδα·
“χάζεο, διογενὲς Πατρόκλεις· οὔ νύ τοι αἶσα
σῶι ὑπὸ δουρὶ πόλιν πέρθαι Τρώων ἀγερώχων
οὐδ’ ὑπ’ Ἀχιλλῆος, ὅς περ σέο πολλὸν ἀμείνων.”
ὣς φάτο· Πάτροκλος δ’ ἀνεχάζετο πολλὸν ὀπίσσω,
μῆνιν ἀλευάμενος ἑκατηβόλου Ἀπόλλωνος.
under the hands of Patroklos, who raged with the spear far before them,
had not Phoibos Apollo taken his stand on the strong-built
tower,  with thoughts of death for him, but help for the Trojans.
Three times Patroklos tried to mount the angle of the towering
wall, and three times Phoibos Apollo battered him backward
with the immortal hands beating back the bright shield. As Patroklos
for the fourth time,  like something more than a man, came at him
he called aloud, and spoke winged words in the voice of danger:
“Give way, illustrious Patroklos: it is not destined
that the city of the proud Trojans shall fall before your spear
nor even at the hands of Achilleus, who is far better than you are.”
He spoke, and Patroklos gave ground before him a great way,
avoiding the anger of him who strikes from afar, Apollo.
Like Hektor before him, Patroklos extends the limits of the area within which he is supposed to act (and has actually been advised by Achilles to do so)  and thus violates all the rules of its symbolic function. Such a transgression of one’s heroic space furnishes an unmistakable clue to decoding his concomitant arrogance. Space saturates Iliadic narrative to such an extent that it undergirds heroic action and behavior:  craving ultimate victory, Patroklos tries to overcome the very boundaries of the plot within which he functions as a heroic figure. Apollo’s intervention, which makes effective use of typically Iliadic spatial protocols (Iliad XVI 707–709), reminds the audience that the son of Menoitios is just the surrogate of Achilles. There is no esprit de corps here, for Patroklos has already pushed the Trojans back from the ships. His action does not even abide by heroic etiquette, in the sense that his overconfidence stems from his military disguise. In light of the fact that the most elementary tenet of heroic behavior is eponymity, that is, being recognizable by the enemy as a noble and mighty warrior of status and prestige, from the very beginning of his ἀριστεία Patroklos has also violated a figurative notion of Achilles’ personal space. By wearing Achilles’ divine armor,  a remarkable piece of weaponry testifying to his special connection to the divine world,  Patroklos even transgresses the notional boundaries of his own self: he enters an unknown and dangerous space, that of being thought of as and acting like Achilles, a space that Hektor will also enter (after killing Patroklos and putting on Achilles’ armor), and will never be able to leave until his own demise. Seen from this angle, Achilles’ premonition is telling:
ὡς ἄν μοι τιμὴν μεγάλην καὶ κῦδος ἄρηαι
πρὸς πάντων Δαναῶν, ἀτὰρ οἳ περικαλλέα κούρην
ἂψ ἀπονάσσωσιν, ποτὶ δ’ ἀγλαὰ δῶρα πόρωσιν.
ἐκ νηῶν ἐλάσας ἰέναι πάλιν· εἰ δέ κεν αὖ τοι
δώηι κῦδος ἀρέσθαι ἐρίγδουπος πόσις Ἥρης,
μὴ σύ γ’ ἄνευθεν ἐμεῖο λιλαίεσθαι πολεμίζειν
Τρωσὶ φιλοπτολέμοισιν· ἀτιμότερον δέ με θήσεις·
μηδ’ ἐπαγαλλόμενος πολέμωι καὶ δηϊοτῆτι
Τρῶας ἐναιρόμενος προτὶ Ἴλιον ἡγεμονεύειν,
μή τις ἀπ’ Οὐλύμποιο θεῶν αἰειγενετάων
ἐμβήηι―μάλα τούς γε φιλεῖ ἑκάεργος Ἀπόλλων―
ἀλλὰ πάλιν τρωπᾶσθαι, ἐπὴν φάος ἐν νήεσσιν
θήηις, τοὺς δέ τ’ ἐᾶν πεδίον κάτα δηριάασθαι.
αἲ γάρ, Ζεῦ τε πάτερ καὶ Ἀθηναίη καὶ Ἄπολλον,
μήτέ τις οὖν Τρώων θάνατον φύγοι, ὅσσοι ἔασιν,
μήτέ τις Ἀργείων, νῶϊν δ’ ἐκδυῖμεν ὄλεθρον,
ὄφρ’ οἶοι Τροίης ἱερὰ κρήδεμνα λύωμεν.”
so that you can win, for me, great honour and glory
in the sight of all the Danaans, so they will bring back to me
the lovely girl, and give me shining gifts in addition.
When you have driven them from the ships, come back; although later
the thunderous lord of Hera might grant you the winning of glory,
you must not set your mind on fighting the Trojans, whose delight
is in battle, without me. So you will diminish my honour.
You must not, in the pride and fury of fighting, go on
slaughtering the Trojans, and lead the way against Ilion,
for fear some one of the everlasting gods on Olympos
might crush you. Apollo who works from afar loves these people
dearly. You must turn back once you bring the light of salvation
to the ships, and let the others go on fighting in the flat land.
Father Zeus, Athene and Apollo, if only
not one of all the Trojans could escape destruction, not one
of the Argives, but you and I could emerge from the slaughter
so that we two alone could break Troy’s hallowed coronal.”
Achilles’ forewarning is accompanied by his shocking hunch about the doom of Patroklos. He not only advises his friend about what to do but also implicitly reveals, through a moving tragic irony, what will happen to him if he does not follow his advice. What is of particular interest to my investigation concerns the proxemics upon which Achilles’ advice is based:  he explicitly tells Patroklos that only together will they be able, if the gods grant them victory, to sack the city of Troy (XVI 89, 97–100).  By translating their standing next to each other in combat into spatial terms, Achilles makes a personal comment on the heroic code. Lack of honor (XVI 90 ἀτιμότερον δέ με θήσεις) is tied to Patroklos’ potential refusal to fight together with Achilles, a statement that injects space into the rhetoric of pride, distinction, and reputation. Likewise, Hektor’s taunting speech to Patroklos after inflicting a fatal wound on him (XVI 830–842) begins by offering another aspect of a heroic rhetoric of space:
Τρωϊάδας δὲ γυναῖκας ἐλεύθερον ἦμαρ ἀπούρας
ἄξειν ἐν νήεσσι φίλην ἐς πατρίδα γαῖαν,
of stripping from the Trojan women the day of their liberty
and dragging them off in ships to the beloved land of your fathers.
Hektor adopts the stance of the protector of Troy, whose women would have been taken to Greece as slaves by the Achaean ships. He thus confirms his own status as savior of his city, and even verbalizes ironically distorted imaginary advice from Achilles to Patroklos. Whereas Achilles has actually warned Patroklos not to follow the panic-stricken Trojans into the plain, away from the Achaean ships,  Hektor imagines Achilles putting a heavy burden on his friend’s shoulders by asking him to return to the ships only after killing Hektor (XVI 839–842). This rhetoric of space is based on the way individual heroes highlight different aspects of the heroic code. Achilles emphasizes to Patroklos the honor and glory (XVI 84 ὡς ἄν μοι τιμὴν μεγάλην καὶ κῦδος ἄρηαι) he himself (i.e. Achilles) is going to win if Patroklos pushes the Trojans back, but warns him of the danger of winning glory for himself without him (XVI 87–88 εἰ δέ κεν αὖ τοι / δώηι κῦδος ἀρέσθαι ἐρίγδουπος πόσις Ἥρης). Hektor, on the other hand, painfully reminds Patroklos that by violating his personal heroic space he has lost both his life and his honor, as his body will be devoured by vultures in this place (XVI 836 σὲ δέ τ’ ἐνθάδε γῦπες ἔδονται), that is, in an area located outside Patroklos’ proper space. In a remarkable dramatic reversal of the previous situation, Hektor distorts Achilles’ advice  and creates a shocking image of Patroklos, who—if victorious—would have returned to the Achaean ships with Hektor’s blood-stained chiton (XVI 839–841).
ἤματι τῶιδε πόλιν πέρσειν Τρώων ἀγερώχων,
σὺ δ’ ἐνθάδε πότμον ἐφέψεις …”
on this day to storm the city of the proud Trojans.
You fool! …
but in this place you will find your destiny …”
Agenor’s vague foreshadowing of Achilles’ death will become more explicit when the dying Hektor, using language that recalls Agenor’s prophetic words, even mentions the names of his opponent’s future killers:
ἐσθλὸν ἐόντ’ ὀλέσωσιν ἐνὶ Σκαιῆισι πύληισιν.”
destroy you in the Skaian gates, for all your valour.”
The reference to the Skaian Gates implicitly points to Achilles’ violation of heroic space. Taken together with Agenor’s telling ἐνθάδε (XXI 588), they indicate that the tradition of the Iliad sees Achilles’ extra-Iliadic death in terms of his violation of his personal heroic space, which amounts to his arrogant claim that he can sack Troy. Space thus becomes such a profoundly linked feature of the way the poem deals with the world of heroes that it even postulates a similarly defined heroic attitude for Achilles in another epic tradition. 
ἄλλους μὲν κάθεσον Τρῶας καὶ πάντας Ἀχαιούς,
αὐτὰρ ἔμ’ ἐν μέσσωι καὶ ἀρηΐφιλον Μενέλαον
συμβάλετ’ ἀμφ’ Ἑλένηι καὶ κτήμασι πᾶσι μάχεσθαι·”
make the rest of the Trojans sit down, and all the Achaians,
and set me in the middle with Menelaos the warlike
to fight together for the sake of Helen and all her possessions.”
Both the verb κάθεσον (line 68) and the expression ἐν μέσσωι (69) are essential for understanding how the Iliad transforms the battlefield, the space of martial violence par excellence, into a space of sanctified violence. By calling the armies to “sit down” or by “seating” them, the narrator aims to curtail the visual fluidity  of the battlefield and delineate a space where the ensuing episode will occur. In the light of Paris’ determination to fight Menelaos ἐν μέσσωι ‘in the middle’, it becomes clear that the Iliad aims at highlighting the theatricality of the scene to follow, as the armies are transformed into seated spectators and the protagonists of the duel into stage actors. This “internal” transformation mirrors an “external” one that converts auditors into spectators.  Consider the remarks of Clay:
This almost cinematic character is not limited to battle scenes, but pervades Homeric epic as a whole. It allows the traditional storyteller to present the tale to his audience as a series of slides, which they are able to watch in their minds’ eye.  In order to underpin visual and spatial imagery, he lays special emphasis on placing himself in a privileged position, in this case at the very center where Paris and Menelaos will fight each other.  The narrator, though, will exploit this central space by turning it, temporarily, into the space where the oath will be sworn.
ἐς μέσον ἀμφοτέρων συνίτην μεμαῶτε μάχεσθαι.
οἳ δ’ ὅτε δὴ σχεδὸν ἦσαν ἐπ’ ἀλλήλοισι ἰόντες,
τὸν πρότερος προσέειπε βοὴν ἀγαθὸς Διομήδης·
came together in the space between the two armies, battle-bent.
Now as these advancing came to one place and encountered,
first to speak was Diomedes of the great war cry:
ἐς μέσον ἀμφοτέρων συνίτην μεμαῶτε μάχεσθαι,
Αἰνείας τ’ Ἀγχισιάδης καὶ δῖος Ἀχιλλεύς.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
οἱ δ’ ὅτε δὴ σχεδὸν ἦσαν ἐπ’ ἀλλήλοισιν ἰόντες,
τὸν πρότερος προσέειπε ποδάρκης δῖος Ἀχιλλεύς·
were coming to encounter, furious to fight with each other,
Aineias, the son of Anchises, and brilliant Achilleus.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Now as these in their advance had come close to each other
first of the two to speak was swift-footed brilliant Achilleus …
ἂν δ’ ἄρα Τυδείδης ὦρτο κρατερὸς Διομήδης.
οἳ δ’ ἐπεὶ οὖν ἑκάτερθεν ὁμίλου θωρήχθησαν,
ἐς μέσον ἀμφοτέρων  συνίτην μεμαῶτε μάχεσθαι
and next the son of Tydeus rose up, strong Diomedes.
When these were in their armour on either side of the assembly,
they came together in the middle space, furious for the combat …
The formulaic material employed in all these instances includes a two-step process: (1) the introduction of the two warriors in stark epic manner by means of patronymics and typical epithets accompanying their names; (2) a designation of space in two phases, including their coming close together or separating themselves from other bystanders and standing between the two armies. 
χεῖράς τ’ ἀλλήλων λαβέτην καὶ πιστώσαντο.
gripped each other’s hands and exchanged the promise of friendship.
The use of the expression καθ’ ἵππων ἀΐξαντε, which always refers to chariots,  has caused much trouble for Homeric scholars, since it is contrasted with the beginning of the entire scene, where Diomedes and Glaukos stand as foot-soldiers one against the other. One can speculate that the Iliad has shaped the end of this episode by conflating a typical scene of gift-exchange  and reconciliation between two warriors with one of fighting, in which the two adversaries would have dismounted their chariots to engage in close combat, as is highly likely given the military context of Iliad XI 423, XVII 460, and XX 401, where the same expression is used. After all, it is often the case that the borrowing of diction from one scene and its transfer to another is only partial and imperfect, resulting in thematic gaps.
νόσφι νεῶν ἀγαγών, ποταμῶι ἔπι δινήεντι,
ἐν καθαρῶι, ὅθι δὴ νεκύων διεφαίνετο χῶρος.
taking them aside from the ships, by a swirling river
on clean ground, where there showed a space not cumbered with corpses.
By creating the conditions for a “shared vision” between himself and his audience,  the narrator offers his listeners a vivid image of a place without slain warriors. The rare use of χῶρος, which testifies to the importance given to the spatial aspect of the assembly scene that is about to begin, as well as the emphatic ἐν καθαρῶι, help the audience view the area where the assembly is held not so much in terms of a geographical location but rather of a nonmartial space. It is as if the performer of the song encourages his listeners to clear their minds of the larger space of the battlefield covered by corpses of warriors, and visualize it again as a new thematized space, where there is a place for an exchange of opinions, and room for an assembly.
Ἀργείων βασιλῆες, ὅσοι κεκλήατο βουλήν.
τοῖς δ’ ἅμα Μηριόνης καὶ Νέστορος ἀγλαὸς υἱός
ἤϊσαν· αὐτοὶ γὰρ κάλεον συμμητιάασθαι.
τάφρον δ’ ἐκδιαβάντες ὀρυκτὴν ἑδριόωντο
ἐν καθαρῷ, ὅθι δὴ νεκύων διεφαίνετο χῶρος
πιπτόντων, ὅθεν αὖτις ἀπετράπετ’ ὄβριμος Ἕκτωρ
ὀλλὺς Ἀργείους, ὅτε δὴ περὶ νὺξ ἐκάλυψεν.
ἔνθα καθεζόμενοι ἔπε’ ἀλλήλοισι πίφαυσκον.
τοῖσι δὲ μύθων ἦρχε Γερήνιος ἱππότα Νέστωρ·
the kings of the Argives, all who had been called into conclave,
and with them went Meriones and Nestor’s glorious
son, since the kings themselves called these to take counsel with them.
After they had crossed the deep-dug ditch they settled
on clean ground, where there showed a space not cumbered with corpses
of the fallen, a place whence Hektor the huge had turned back
from destroying the Argives, after the night had darkened about him.
There they seated themselves, and opened words to each other,
and the Gerenian horseman Nestor began speaking among them …
As these astute remarks suggest, the audience visualizes the area where the Achaean assembly takes place by reactivating in their minds’ eye the image they created when they visualized Hektor’s slaughter of the Achaeans before the nightfall.  Given that the pragmatic function of αὖτις reenacts not only a previous event but also a recent moment of the performance,  the listeners, transformed into spectators, “see” the Achaeans reclaiming the space held by Hektor and the Trojans. In other words, the storyteller uses space to create a thematic link between two distinct scenes, and at the same time bridges two separate performance instances. The twofold meaning of the word “assembly” is fully exploited: the gathering of the Achaean leaders and the place where this gathering takes place, which constitutes an intermediate space claimed by both sides, are parallel to the metaphorical coming together of storyteller and audience at the very point where the earlier and the more recent visualizations are mentally evoked. Seen from this angle, most of the diction employed in Iliad X 194–203 works also on the level of the discourse. Like Nestor, the heroic archetype of the wise hero of a distant past, the storyteller rushes (διέσσυτο)  to an uncharted area (τάφροιο, τάφρον ἐκδιαβάντες), outside the limits of the well-described Achaean camp; he is mentally followed by his audience (τοὶ δ’ ἕποντο) with whom he will share his thoughts (συμμητιάασθαι); they will mentally move into an unfamiliar, clear space (ἐν καθαρῶι), away from the previous narration of the battlefield killings, and there they will communicate while refraining from other action (ἔνθα καθεζόμενοι ἔπε’ ἀλλήλοισι πίφαυσκον). This reading conceives the flow of Homeric narration as “cinema in the mind,” a process where story and discourse do not represent separate registers of action but share a symbiotic relationship. In the dynamic universe of oral performance, the delineation of space for the agents of the plot is inseparable from the designation of mental space for the audience. The storyteller invites his listeners to visualize the space where the assembly takes place in performative terms, by allowing the image of a previous visualization to re-emerge in their minds. Following the pragmatic “stop sign” of αὖθις, the world of the story and that of the discourse come closer, as the listeners become spectators who mentally transfer themselves over the ditch into an uncharted area, and, suspending their previous visualization of the action, are ready to listen to the storyteller, just as the Achaean leaders refrain from fighting and listen to wise Nestor.
“Πηλείδη, μὴ δή μ’ ἐπέεσσί γε νηπύτιον ὥς
ἔλπεο δειδίξεσθαι, ἐπεὶ σάφα οἶδα καὶ αὐτός
ἠμὲν κερτομίας ἠδ’ αἴσυλα μυθήσασθαι.
ἴδμεν δ’ ἀλλήλων γενεήν, ἴδμεν δὲ τοκῆας,
πρόκλυτ’ ἀκούοντες ἔπεα θνητῶν ἀνθρώπων·
ὄψει δ’ οὔτ’ ἄρ πω σὺ ἐμοὺς ἴδες οὔτ’ ἄρ’ ἐγὼ σούς.
φασὶ σὲ μὲν Πηλῆος ἀμύμονος ἔκγονον εἶναι
μητρὸς τ’ ἐκ Θέτιδος καλλιπλοκάμου ἁλοσύδνης·
αὐτὰρ ἐγὼν υἱὸς μεγαλήτορος Ἀγχίσαο
εὔχομαι ἐκγεγάμεν, μήτηρ δέ μοί ἐστ’ Ἀφροδίτη.
τῶν δὴ νῦν ἕτεροί γε φίλον παῖδα κλαύσονται
σήμερον· οὐ γάρ φημ’ ἐπέεσσί γε νηπυτίοισιν
ὧδε διακρινθέντε μάχης ἒξ ἀπονέεσθαι.
εἰ δ’ ἐθέλεις καὶ ταῦτα δαήμεναι, ὄφρ’ εὖ εἴδῃς
ἡμετέρην γενεήν, πολλοὶ δέ μιν ἄνδρες ἴσασιν.
Δάρδανον ἂρ πρῶτον τέκετο νεφεληγερέτα Ζεύς·
κτίσσε δὲ Δαρδανίην, ἐπεὶ οὔ πω Ἴλιος ἱρή
ἐν πεδίῳ πεπόλιστο, πόλις μερόπων ἀνθρώπων,
ἀλλ’ ἔθ’ ὑπωρείας οἴκεον πολυπίδακος Ἴδης.
Δάρδανος αὖ τέκεθ’ υἱὸν Ἐριχθόνιον βασιλῆα,
ὃς δὴ ἀφνειότατος γένετο θνητῶν ἀνθρώπων·
τοῦ τρισχείλιαι ἵπποι ἕλος κάτα βουκολέοντο
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
230 Τρῶα δ’ Ἐριχθόνιος τέκετο Τρώεσσιν ἄνακτα·
Τρωὸς δ’ αὖ τρεῖς παῖδες ἀμύμονες ἐξεγένοντο,
Ἶλός τ’ Ἀσσάρακός τε καὶ ἀντίθεος Γανυμήδης,
ὃς δὴ κάλλιστος γένετο θνητῶν ἀνθρώπων·
τὸν καὶ ἀνηρείψαντο θεοὶ Διὶ οἰνοχοεύειν
κάλλεος εἵνεκα οἷο, ἵν’ ἀθανάτοισι μετείη.
Ἶλος δ’ αὖ τέκεθ’ υἱὸν ἀμύμονα Λαομέδοντα·
Λαομέδων δ’ ἄρα Τιθωνὸν τέκετο Πρίαμόν τε
Λάμπόν τε Κλυτίον θ’ Ἱκετάονά τ’ ὄζον Ἄρηος.
Ἀσσάρακος δὲ Κάπυν, ὃ δ’ ἄρ’ Ἀγχίσην τέκε παῖδα·
αὐτὰρ ἔμ’ Ἀγχίσης, Πρίαμος δ’ ἔτεχ’ Ἕκτορα δῖον.
ταύτης τοι γενεῆς τε καὶ αἵματος εὔχομαι εἶναι·”
“Son of Peleus, never hope by words to frighten me
as if I were a baby. I myself understand well enough
how to speak in vituperation and how to make insults.
You and I know each other’s birth, we both know our parents
since we have heard the lines of their fame from mortal men; only
I have never with my eyes seen your parents, nor have you seen mine.
For you, they say you are the son of blameless Peleus
and that your mother was Thetis of the lovely hair, the sea’s lady;
I in turn claim I am the son of great-hearted Anchises
but that my mother was Aphrodite; and that of these parents
one group or the other will have a dear son to mourn for
this day. Since I believe we will not in mere words, like children,
meet, and separate and go home again out of the fighting.
Even so, if you wish to learn all this and be certain
of my genealogy: there are plenty of men who know it.
First of all Zeus who gathers the clouds had a son, Dardanos
who founded Dardania, since there was yet no sacred Ilion
made a city in the plain to be a centre of peoples,
but they lived yet in the underhills of Ida with all her waters.
Dardanos in turn had a son, the king, Erichthonios,
who became the richest of all mortal men, and in his possession
were three thousand horses who pastured along the low grasslands,
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
230 Erichthonios had a son, Tros, who was lord of the Trojans,
and to Tros in turn there were born three sons unfaulted,
Ilos and Assarakos and godlike Ganymedes
who was the loveliest born of the race of mortals, and therefore
the gods caught him away to themselves, to be Zeus’ wine-pourer,
for the sake of his beauty, so he might be among the immortals.
Ilos in turn was given a son, the blameless Laomedon,
and Laomedon had sons in turn, Tithonos and Priam,
Lampos, Klytios and Hiketaon, scion of Ares;
but Assarakos had Kapys, and Kapys’ son was Anchises,
and I am Anchises’ son, and Priam’s is Hektor the brilliant.
Such is the generation and blood I claim to be born from.”
According to this genealogy, Ilos was the son of Tros, grandson of Erikhthonios, great-grandson of Dardanos, and great-great-grandson of Zeus. In other words, there are three generations of Trojan ancestors before Ilos, not counting Zeus. Likewise, Hektor and Aineias (who offers this genealogy) belong to the third generation after Ilos (> Laomedon > Priam > Hektor) or his brother Assarakos (> Kapus > Ankhises > Aineias). So Ilos stands in the very middle of the entire pedigree of Trojan kings, separated by three generations from Dardanos and Hektor respectively. Ilos’ importance is based not only on his occupying the center of the entire line of Trojan kings, but also on the fact that the city of Ilion bears his name and that it was in the time of his ancestor Dardanos that the first city, called “Dardania,” was built “to be a centre of peoples” who at the time lived in the foothills of Mount Ida (Iliad XX 216–218). What we see at work here is the sociomnemonic process of periodization, according to which communities articulate their past by emphasizing certain “historical” events, which they consider watersheds in their life and their future. By employing such processes, communities often engage in selective obliteration: they tend to select events that fit their desired self-image and erase disturbing events or darker periods of their history that negatively affect the construction of their fictive self. Seen from this angle, the emphasis on Ilos among Troy’s ancestors is conditioned by the desire to create a point of historical departure, of “resetting a mnemonic community’s ‘historical chronometer’ at zero.” 
ἐν πεδίῳ ἀπάνευθε, περίδρομος ἔνθα καὶ ἔνθα,
τὴν ἤτοι ἄνδρες Βατίειαν κικλήσκουσιν,
ἀθάνατοι δέ τε σῆμα πολυσκάρθμοιο Μυρίνης·
ἔνθα τότε Τρῶές τε διέκριθεν ἠδ’ ἐπίκουροι.
in the plain by itself, so you pass on one side or the other.
This men call the Hill of the Thicket, but the immortal
gods have named it the burial mound of dancing Myrina.
There the Trojans and their companions were marshalled in order.
This is true, but I think that there is more to it. Given that the tomb of Myrine points to the past, its double naming not only reflects the divergence between divine and human knowledge of the past, but also different or conflicting points of view about the past. Naming is a powerful means of culturally appropriating or even reclaiming the past. According to the ancient scholia,  Myrine was the name of an Amazon, and some scholars  have argued that this scant reference may be a hint at the existence of a local myth concerning a war between the locals and the Amazons. In fact, the Iliad (III 184–189) may refer to such a war between the Phrygians (with Priam as their ally) and the Amazons, though Kullmann regards it as an anachronism, since the Amazons about whom Priam speaks attacked not Troy but Phrygia.  I would not press this point. The double naming may be indicative of two different focalizations of the same landmark, based on the propensity of humans to reappropriate painful memories of the past. Perhaps the narrator’s formulation silently implies the erasing of the name “tomb of the Amazon Myrine” (who had fought against the alliance of Trojans and Phrygians) and its replacement by a neutral term devoid of emotional involvement. The idea of the supreme knowledge of the gods with respect to an older name may be right, but it has to be combined with that of “reclaiming the past,” which, though the myth surrounding Myrine has faded in the course of time, is a strong tendency as far as the working of collective memory is concerned.