BOOK IX

Agamemnon’s Offers to Achilles

While thus the Trojans kept watch, the Achaeans were gripped

With awesome Panic, companion of freezing Fear,

And all their leaders were filled with unbearable grief.

As the fish-full sea is stirred by a storm when hard winds

Quickly arise and blow from the North and West

Directly from Thrace, raising dark foam-crested billows

And strewing the beaches with seaweed, so now the hearts

Of Achaeans were stirred.

But Atreus’ son Agamemnon,

Deeply despairing, went up and down through the host

Commanding the clear-voiced heralds to call each man

By name to the place of assembly, to call without shouting,

And he himself worked with the heralds. At last they sat

In assembly, troubled and grieving, and King Agamemnon

Stood up to speak, weeping like a spring whose dark streams

Trickle down the rocky face of a cliff. Even so,

And heavily sighing, he addressed the Argives thus:

“My friends, captains and counselors of the Argives,

Almighty Zeus, the son of crooked Cronos,

Has bound me now in woeful blindness of spirit,

Heartless god that he is! For long ago

He made me a promise and vowed with a nod of his head

That I should sack the well-walled city of Ilium

Before I went home, but now a vile deceit

Appears in his plans, and he bids me go back in disgrace

To Argos, having lost a great many men. Such,

I suppose, is the pleasure of Zeus, almighty God,

Who has toppled the towers of numerous cities and who

Shall continue to topple, since his is the greatest power.¹

So come, all of you do as I say. Let us flee

With our ships to the precious land of our fathers. For we

Can no longer hope to plunder the wide streets of Troy.”

He spoke, and the grieving sons of Achaeans sat

A long time in silence, till finally strong Diomedes,

He of the fierce battle-scream, spoke out among them:

“Son of Atreus, with you and your folly, O King,

I’ll be the first to contend in the privileged place

Of assembly, here where speech is respected. Do not, then,

Be angry at me and my words. You, after all,

Amid the Danaans slandered my valor first,

Saying that I was weak and unwarlike.^aa Nor is there

A single Argive, young or old, who isn’t

Aware that you spoke so to me. But you are the one

Whom the son of Cronos, crooked in counsel, uncertainly

Endowed: he gave you the scepter, yes, and with it

The highest honor, but courage he did not grant you,

And courage is far the most kingly virtue of all.

Strange man, do you really believe that the sons of Achaeans

Have hearts as weak and unwarlike as you imply?

But if your own heart is anxious to go, go on!

You know the way, and the whole huge fleet that followed you

Here from Mycenae still stands drawn up by the sea.

But the other long-haired Achaeans will stay till Ilium

Falls. And if they also should flee in their ships

To the precious land of their fathers, we two, Sthenelus

And I, will surely fight on till Troy is ours,

For we came here with the blessing of almighty God.”

He spoke, and all the sons of Achaeans shouted

Approval, applauding the words of brave Diomedes,

Breaker of horses. Then knightly old Nestor stood up

And spoke out among them: “Son of Tydeus, you

Are the strongest of men in battle and surely the best

Of all our young men in council. No Achaean would scorn

The speech you just made or contradict what you said.

Even so, there is more that badly needs saying. It’s true

That you’re still a young man, quite young enough to be

My youngest son. Still your words of reproof

To the kings of Argos were prudent and utterly right.

But now let an older man speak and complete your good counsel.

Nor is there a man who will scorn what I say, not even

King Agamemnon. Friendless, lawless, and homeless

Is he who enjoys the horror of blood-chilling strife

Among his own people. But now let us yield to black night

And make preparations for supper. Let sentinels take

Their positions beyond the wall along the deep ditch.

This I say to the young men only. Then you,

Agamemnon, make the first move, since you are highest

In royal rank, and give a feast for the chieftains,

As is but fitting and right. Your lodges are full

Of wine brought daily to you in Achaean ships

From Thrace across the wide water, and you, as ruler

Of many, have means to receive us as only a great king

Can. Then you may take his advice who speaks

Most wisely in our discussion. And surely all

The Achaeans are sorely in need of advice, of practical

Good advice, now that our foes are lighting

Their many fires so close to the ships. Who

Among us rejoices in that? Believe me, this night

Will determine the ruin or salvation of all our great army!”

He spoke, and they, quite attentive, did as he said.

The armor-clad sentries went out on the double, commanded

By Nestor’s son Thrasymedes, shepherd of the people,

Ascalaphus and Ialmenus, sons of Ares, and Meriones,

Aphareus, Deïpyrus, and able Lycomedes, son

Of Creon. These captains of the guard were seven in all,

And with each of them marched a hundred young warriors armed

With long spears. They all went out and took their posts

Midway between trench and wall, and there they lit fires

And each prepared his own supper.

But King Agamemnon

Led the whole body of chieftains to a royal feast

In his lodge, where all their hearts could wish for was theirs.

They fell to feasting and enjoyed the good things before them.

But when they had eaten and drunk as much as they wanted,

The old one stood up and wove wise counsel for them,

The ancient Nestor, whose wisdom had won out before.

Now he, in an effort to help, spoke out among them:

“Renowned Atrides, king of men Agamemnon,

From beginning to end my remarks are especially for you.

For you are King over many, and Zeus himself

Has given the scepter to you and entrusted you

With the laws, that you might rule wisely and well. Hence you

Above all should speak your counsel and listen to that

Of others, listen and also abide by the good

Advice you get. You, of course, will finally

Have to decide on anything we may suggest.

So now I will speak what seems to me best, nor will

Another find any better suggestion than this

I have had in my mind for some time, since the day when you,

O Zeus-sprung mighty chief, took the girl Briseis

From the lodge of angry Achilles and went your own

Heedless way completely against our will. I myself

Did all I could to change your mind, but you

Gave in to your pride and insulted our mightiest man,

Whom even the gods do not fail to honor. You took

And kept his prize of prestige. But still it is not

Too late for us to consider how we may make up

For all that and how we may win his good will again

With friendly gifts and gentle words of entreaty.”

And thus the commander-in-chief Agamemnon replied:

“Old sire, you speak of my folly with perfect truth.

I acted blindly,² and I don’t for a moment deny it.

A man whom Zeus loves in his heart and honors, as surely

He honors this man, while beating the rest of us down,

Is worth any number of regular uninspired armies.

But since I did give in to my miserable pride,

And since I did act with such folly and lack of foresight,

I now would like very much to make amends

And give the man gifts of limitless value. Here

In the midst of you all I will name the glorious tokens:

Seven tripods untouched by the fire, ten talents

Of gold and twenty bright cauldrons, along with twelve

Strong prize-taking horses, swift winners of many a race.

By no means lacking in treasure or precious gold

Would be that man whose wealth was as great as the prizes

These solid-hoofed horses have won me. And I will give him

Seven fair women of Lesbos, skillful weavers

Of matchless work, women I personally chose

From the spoil when he himself took well-fortified Lesbos,

The loveliest women the world has to offer. I’ll give him

These seven, and with them the daughter of Briseus, the girl

I took away. And I will swear a great oath

That never once have I slept or made love with her,

As men and women so naturally do. All

Of these things shall be his at once, and if the immortals

Grant us the sack of Priam’s great city, let him

Be present when we Achaeans are dividing the spoil,

That he may fill his ship full of gold and bronze,

And let him choose twenty women, the fairest in Troy

After Argive Helen herself. And if we return

To Achaean Argos, rich udder of earth, he

Shall be my own son-in-law, nor will I treat

My beloved and richly reared son Orestes any better.

I have at home in my solid-built palace three daughters:

Chrysothemis, Laodice, and Iphianassa. Of these

He may take the bride of his choice to the house of Peleus,

And I will not only forego all wedding gifts

From him, but will myself give a dowry far larger

Than any man yet has sent with a daughter. And I

Will give seven populous cities to him: Cardamyle,

Enope, grassy Hire, and hallowed Pherae,

Antheia, deep in meadows, lovely Aepeia,

And Pedasus, rich in vineyards. They’re all near the sea

On the lower coast of sandy Pylos, and those

Who live there are wealthy in cattle and sheep, men

Who will honor him like a god and give him fine gifts,

And under his scepter they’ll do as he says and prosper

Immensely. All of these gifts are his, if only

He’ll stop being angry. And let him stop—Hades,

You know, is hard and implacable, and so he’s the god

All mortals hate most! Let him give in to me,

For I am higher in royal rank, and besides

I’m an older man.”

Then the horseman, Gerenian Nestor,

Answered him thus: “Most famous son of Atreus,

King of men Agamemnon, no man would despise

These gifts of yours to kingly Achilles. So come,

Let us choose men and send them at once to the lodge

Of Peleus’ great son. Or rather, let those I select

Be willing to go. First, then, I single out Phoenix,

Dear to Zeus, and with him the powerful Ajax

And brilliant Odysseus, and let these three be attended

By two of our heralds, Odius and Eurybates. But first

Bring water for the washing of hands, and call for holy

Silence, that we may pray to Cronos’ son Zeus

For mercy in this our trouble.”

He spoke, and his words

Were pleasing to all. Quickly the heralds poured water

Over their hands, and the young men filled the bowls

Brimful of wine, and then the goblets, first pouring

Libation drops in the goblets of all. But when

They had made libations and drunk as much as they wished,

They left the lodge of Atreus’ son Agamemnon.

And the horseman, Gerenian Nestor, with an earnest glance

At each, but especially at Odysseus, urgently

Ordered them all to do their best in persuading

The peerless son of Peleus.

So off they went

Along the beach of the surf-booming sea, with many

A prayer to Poseidon, god who holds and shakes

The earth, that they might easily change the great heart

Of Aeacus’ grandson Achilles. Now when they came

To the lodges and ships of the Myrmidons, there they found him

Soothing his soul with a resonant lyre, exquisitely

Wrought and carved, with a bridge of solid silver,

Part of the loot he had taken when he himself sacked

Eëtion’s city.³ With this he was pleasantly passing

The time, as to it he sang of warriors’ fame,

Alone but for Patroclus, who sat across

From his friend quietly awaiting the end of his song.

But now the envoys approached with shrewd Odysseus

Leading the way, and stood in the great man’s presence.

And he, astonished, leaped up with the lyre in his hand,

And also Patroclus, seeing the men, got up

From his seat. Then swift Achilles greeted them, saying:

“Welcome, my friends, for such you truly are.

Very great is our need of each other. Even in anger

You are to me the dearest of all the Achaeans.”

So saying, noble Achilles led them in

And gave them all chairs with coverings of purple, and at once

He spoke thus to Patroclus: “Set out a larger bowl,

You son of Menoetius, and mix us a livelier drink.

Then fill a cup for each of these men, for these

Are my dearest friends who sit here under my roof.”

At this Patroclus got busy. He moved a great block

Out into the firelight, and on it he laid the chines

Of a sheep and fat goat along with that of a huge,

Well-larded hog. And the driver Automedon held them

While noble Achilles carved. Expertly he cut up

The meat and put it on spits, and godlike Patroclus

Built up the fire. Then, when the flame had died down,

He spread the hot coals and laid the meat above them,

Resting the spits in holders and sprinkling the cuts

With holy salt. And when he had roasted the meat

And heaped it on platters, Patroclus put beautiful baskets

Of bread on the table, while Achilles gave helpings of meat.

Then he sat down by the wall across from Odysseus

And told his comrade Patroclus to sacrifice meat

To the gods, and Patroclus threw the gods’ share in the fire.

And they all helped themselves to the good things before them, eating

And drinking as much as they wanted. Then Ajax nodded

To Phoenix. But Odysseus caught the signal, and filling

A cup with wine he pledged Achilles thus:

“Here’s to you, Achilles. We have no lack of fine food,

Either in the lodge of Atreus’ son Agamemnon

Or here in yours. This has indeed been a wonderful

Meal. But we are not really concerned with food,

However delicious, for now, O god-nourished Prince,

Our eyes can see nothing but total destruction, and we

Are afraid. Unless you come back in all of your might,

We can as easily lose the benched ships as save them.

Not far from the ships and wall the confident Trojans

And their far-famous allies have made their camp

And kindled innumerable fires throughout the battalions.

They no longer think that we can keep them from falling

Upon our black ships. Great Zeus encourages them

With lightning-bolts on the right, and Hector exulting

In martial prowess rages like mad, trusting

In Zeus, but quite regardless of all other gods

To say nothing of men. Irresistible madness has made him

Her own. He prays for the speedy arrival of sacred

Young Dawn, and swears he will hew the high horns from the sterns

Of our ships and burn the hulls with ravenous fire,

Killing Achaeans reeling around in the smoke.

Such is the terrible fear in my heart, that the gods

May make his threats good and our fate be to die in the land

Of Troy so far from rich Argos where thoroughbreds graze.

But up, if now at last you are willing to enter

The horrible din of battling Trojans and save

The hard-pressed Achaeans. Otherwise, you too will suffer,

Nor is there any real help for evil done.

But come, before it’s too late, and think how you

May help the Danaans and ward the evil day off.

Surely, old friend, your father Peleus was talking

To you the day he sent you from Phthia and home

To King Agamemnon, saying:

“‘My son, if it be

Their wish, Athena and Hera will make you strong,

But you will have to restrain your own proud spirit.

Good will is always best. And should you find yourself

Caught in a ruinous quarrel, be reconciled quickly,

That Argives young and old may respect you still more.’⁴

“Even so the old one bade you, but you have forgotten.

Still, though, it isn’t too late for you to renounce

Your heart-eating wrath. And if you will, Agamemnon

Offers these adequate gifts, which I will enumerate

Now, if you will but listen. Here then are the tokens

That in his lodge Agamemnon promised to give you:

Seven tripods untouched by the fire, ten talents

Of gold and twenty bright cauldrons, along with twelve

Strong prize-taking horses, swift winners of many a race.

By no means lacking in treasure or precious gold

Would be that man whose wealth was as great as the prizes

These solid-hoofed horses have won him. And he will give you

Seven fair women of Lesbos, skillful weavers

Of matchless work, women he personally chose

From the spoil when you yourself took well-fortified Lesbos,

The loveliest women the world has to offer. He’ll give you

These seven, and with them the daughter of Briseus, the girl

He took away. And he will swear a great oath

That never once has he slept or made love with her,

As men and women so naturally do. All

Of these things shall be yours at once, and if the immortals

Grant us the sack of Priam’s great city, then you

Be present when we Achaeans are dividing the spoil,

That you may fill your ships full of gold and bronze,

And you may choose twenty women, the fairest in Troy

After Argive Helen herself. And if we return

To Achaean Argos, rich udder of earth, you

Shall be his own son-in-law, nor will he treat

His beloved and richly reared son Orestes any better.

He has at home in his solid-built palace three daughters:

Chrysothemis, Laodice, and Iphianassa. Of these

You may take the bride of your choice to the house of Peleus,

And he will not only forego all wedding gifts

From you, but will himself give a dowry far larger

Than any man yet has sent with a daughter. And he

Will give seven populous cities to you: Cardamyle,

Enope, grassy Hire, and hallowed Pherae,

Antheia, deep in meadows, lovely Aepeia,

And Pedasus, rich in vineyards. They’re all near the sea

On the lower coast of sandy Pylos, and those

Who live there are wealthy in cattle and sheep, men

Who will honor you like a god and give you fine gifts,

And under your scepter they’ll do as you say and prosper

Immensely. All of these gifts are yours, if only

You’ll stop being angry.⁵ But if your heart is still full

Of hatred for Atreus’ son, for him and his gifts,

Then at least have pity on the other united Achaeans

Now on the verge of total defeat. They will surely

Hold you in highest honor and glorify you

Like a god. For now you may take great Hector himself,

Since he in his self-destroying rage would come

Right up to you. He no longer thinks that our ships

Brought any man here to equal his prowess in war.”

Then Achilles, swift of foot, answered him thus:

“O god-sprung son of Laertes, resourceful Odysseus,

Regardless of persons, I have to say what I think

And what shall indeed come to pass. Don’t sit here with me,

Coaxing and wheedling, first one and then the other.

For the gates of Hades are not more hateful to me

Than a man who hides one thing in his heart and says

Something else. I, then, will say what seems to me best.⁶

Atreus’ son Agamemnon will not, I think,

Persuade me, nor the other Danaans either, since now

I know there were never to be any thanks at all

For my ceaseless efforts against the foe. He

Who lolls in his lodge has equal reward with him

Who fights on the field, coward and hero are honored

Alike, and death comes just as surely to the soldier

Who labors much as it does to the unmanly sluggard.

And what do I have to show for the pains my heart suffered,

Forever risking my life in battle? You’ve seen

A bird that brings in her bill whatever food

She can find to sustain her unfledged babies, while she

Herself most miserably goes without. Even so,

I’ve watched through many a sleepless night and fought

My way through many a bloody day, and all

For the sake of a woman. I’ve sailed in my ships to twelve

Well-garrisoned cities and plundered them all, and eleven

Others, I say, I’ve stormed and taken by land

Throughout the fertile Troad. Much marvelous booty

I took from them all, treasure I brought and gave

To Atreus’ son Agamemnon. And he, having stayed

In camp beside his swift ships, would take what I won

And dole out a little, but most he would keep for himself.

Some he gave as prizes to princes and kings,

And they still have them untouched. But from me—and only

From me—he has taken and kept the bride I adored.

“Well let him sleep with her now and enjoy himself.

But why should Argives battle the Trojans? And why

Has this miserable son of Atreus gathered and led

This great army here? Wasn’t it all for lovely

Blonde Helen? Can it be that of all mortal men, only

The sons of Atreus love their wives? Not so,

For any real man of good sense both loves and cares for

His own, as I loved her with all of my heart,

Though she was won by my spear. So now that he’s played

Me false and taken my prize from my arms, let him

Not try me again. I know him too well, and now

He shall not persuade me.

“But you, Odysseus, let him

Make plans with you and the other chieftains to keep

The ruinous fire away from the ships. Surely

He’s done a great deal without assistance from me.

He’s built a wall and dug a ditch all around it,

A deep wide ditch bristling with sharp-pointed stakes.

Still, though, he hasn’t been able to cope with the strength

Of man-killing Hector, who had no stomach for fighting

Out from the wall so long as I was in battle

Among the Achaeans. Then he would venture only

So far as the Scaean Gates and the oak tree. There

He awaited me once in single combat, and there

He just barely escaped my charge with his life. But now

That I am no longer inclined to battle great Hector,

Tomorrow I’ll make an offering to Zeus and all

Of the gods, then launch my ships on the sea and load them

Down with treasure. Tomorrow at daybreak, then,

If you care to look out on the fish-full Hellespont water,

You’ll see my ships pulling out from shore and in them

Men eager to row. Then, if the mighty Earthshaker

Grants me good sailing, I’ll reach the rich soil of Phthia

On the third day out. Treasures uncounted I left there

To make my unfortunate way to this land, and still

More treasure I’ll take home from here, gold, red bronze,

And fair-belted women, along with a plentiful store

Of gray iron—all wealth allotted to me. Even so,

My prize has been taken from me by the arrogant lord

Who gave it, King Agamemnon, son of Atreus.

So go and tell him all I’ve told you, and say it

Out loud in assembly before all the other Achaeans,

That they may also be angry, and warned. For he

In his utter meanness of spirit may even now

Be planning to cheat someone else of the Danaan fighters.

Yet he lacks the courage to so much as look at me

Face to face, greedy and shameless dog that he is!

I’ll take no counsel with him, nor will I assist him

In fighting. For he has been utterly unfair to me,

Grievously sinning against me. Not again will I let him

Trick me with words. Of that he has done quite enough.

So let him be damned as he himself wishes, for Zeus

The contriver has robbed him of all good sense.

“I hate

And despise his proffered gifts, nor do I value

The man himself worth a straw. Not if he gave me

Ten times all he has now, or twenty times,

And added to that every bit of the wealth that enters

Orchomenus or Egyptian Thebes—and in that city

Of a hundred gates, through each of which two hundred men

With horses and cars sally forth, more treasure is stored

In the houses of men than anywhere else in the world—

Not if he gave me gifts as numberless quite

As sand and dust, still Agamemnon could not

Prevail any more on my soul till he himself

Has personally paid for all of the insult and pain

That gnaws at my heart.

“Nor will I take as my bride

Any daughter of Atreus’ son Agamemnon, not

If she rivaled in beauty golden Aphrodite herself,

Or bright-eyed Athena in skill at handwork. Still

I would not marry any daughter of his. Let

The man choose some other Achaean, someone more

Like himself and more kingly than I. For if the gods keep me

And see me home safely, Peleus himself, I dare say,

Will find me a suitable wife. There is no shortage

Of Achaean girls throughout both Hellas and Phthia,

Daughters of chieftains in charge of protecting the cities.

From these I can have the beloved wife of my choice.

At home my proud heart very often desired to woo

And win some excellent wife, and enjoy life

With the wealth old Peleus won me. For I put a much

Higher value on life than on all the treasures men say

Were contained in the rich and populous city of Troy

Before we sons of Achaeans came, or,

For that matter, all the wealth laid up behind

The marble threshold of the archer god Phoebus Apollo

In rocky Pytho. For raiding can get a man cattle

And splendid fat sheep, and barter can get him tripods

And sorrel horses. But once his soul goes out

Through the barrier of his teeth, neither raiding nor barter

Can make it return. My goddess mother, Thetis

Of the silver feet, tells me I bear two fates

With me on my way to the grave. If I stay here

And fight about Troy, I’ll never return to my home,

But men will remember my glory forever. On the other hand,

If I go back to the precious land of my fathers,

No glory at all will be mine, but life, long life,

Will be, and no early death shall ever come on me.

“Yes, and I would advise you others also

To set sail for home, since now you no longer have hopes

Of taking steep Ilium. For loud-thundering Zeus holds out

A mighty arm above her and greatly inspirits

Her people. So go and perform the honored office

Of senior chiefs by giving my answer to all

The kings of Achaea, that they may devise some better

Plan than this to save the Achaean army

And hollow ships, for now their appeal to me

Has done them no good, because of the wrath I still have.

Phoenix, though, can spend the night here with us,

That he may go in the morning with me and the ships

Back to my own dear country, that is if he wants to.

I’ll surely not force him to go.”

Such was his answer,

And all of them sat in silence, stunned by the force

Of his bitter refusal. At last, old Phoenix, driver

Of horses, spoke out among them, the tears streaming down

His face, so deeply he feared for the ships of Achaea:

“Resplendent Achilles, if you really mean to return,

And are so wrathful at heart that you have no wish

At all to keep the fierce fire away from the ships,

How could I stay here without you, dear child? The knightly

Old Peleus made me your guardian,⁷ then sent us both

From Phthia to King Agamemnon, you a mere child

With no experience then of horrible war

Or of speaking in council where men win distinction. So Peleus

Sent me along to be your instructor in all

Of these things, that you might be an effective speaker

As well as a man of action. Hence, dear child,

I have no wish at all to stay here without you,

Not even if God himself should promise to strip me

Of age and make me as strong as I was on the day

I first left Hellas, land of glamorous women.

I fled from a quarrel with Ormenus’ son, my father

Amyntor, who hated me on account of a fair-haired

Mistress whom he adored, thereby disgracing

His wife, my mother. So she was always begging me

Close at my knees to lie with the girl myself

And make her despise the old man. But I had no sooner

Done what my mother wished, than my father knew

What had happened and fearfully cursed me, calling out

On the dreaded Furies^ab for them to prevent my ever

Having a son of my own to take on my lap.

And the underworld powers, Hades and awesome Persephone,

Made his curse good, whereat I decided to use

My keen bronze and kill the old man, but some immortal

Restrained my rage, reminding me of public

Opinion and what the Achaeans would say of a man

Who killed his own father. But then my heart was too restless

To stay any longer at home with my hostile sire,

Though friends and kinsfolk did all they could to keep me

There in the palace. Daily they slaughtered many

Fine sheep and shuffling sleek cattle, and many fat swine

They singed and stretched out above the flame of Hephaestus,

Feasting and drinking much wine from the old man’s jars.

All night long for nine nights they camped about me,

Taking turns at standing watch and feeding

The fires, one out in the front colonnade of the well-walled

Courtyard, the other up in the portico, right

In front of my bedroom door. But during the tenth

Dark night, I burst through the tightly closed doors of my chamber

And easily leaped the wall of the courtyard, nor was I

Seen by any of the guards or women servants.

Then I fled far away through the open fields

Of Hellas to fertile Phthia, mother of flocks,

And the house of King Peleus. And warmly he took me in

And loved me quite as a wealthy father loves

His only son and heir. He made me rich

And the ruler of many subjects, and I went to live

On the furthest border of Phthia as lord over all

The Dolopians.

“Since that time, O godlike Achilles,

I’ve loved you deeply and done all I could to make you

What you are. For you would go in to meals

With no one else but me, nor would you eat

Even then until I had taken you up on my lap

And cut you your fill of juicy meat and held

The wine to your lips. Many indeed were the times

When you, like the difficult baby you were, spluttered

The wine right back all over my tunic. Thus

I worked very hard for you and put up with a lot,

Since I knew very well that the gods were never to give me

A son of my own. So you, O godlike Achilles,

I tried to raise as my son, that someday you

Might save me from ruin and a sad, unseemly end.

“Therefore, Achilles, master your pride. Relentlessness

Doesn’t become you. Even the gods can yield,⁸

And theirs is surely superior majesty, honor,

And power. Yet they are appeased by offerings burned

On their altars, by humble prayers, reverent libations,

And the savory smoke that goes up to them when some

Poor supplicant sinner has foolishly broken their laws.

For Prayers are the daughters of almighty Zeus, and they always

Come limping along behind Sin, sad creatures with wrinkled

Skin and downcast eyes. Sin, however,

Is lusty and swift, and so outdistances them,

Arriving first all over the world and doing

Her damage to men, while Prayers come halting after

And try to heal the wounds of Sin. Now he

Who reveres these daughters of Zeus when they approach,

That man they greatly bless, and when he prays

They heed him. But if a man stubbornly turns from them

In refusal and sends them away, they go and pray

To Cronos’ son Zeus that Sin may follow that man

Till he too falls and pays the full price for his pride.

So you, Achilles, be careful to reverence these daughters

Of God, who continue to bend the wills of all

Right-thinking men. For if Atreus’ son were still

In his furious rage instead of offering you gifts

With promises of still more, I surely would not

Advise you to throw off your wrath and help the Argives,

No matter how desperate they were. But now he offers you

Many fine gifts with a pledge of more hereafter,

And besides he sends these envoys, choosing the most

Outstanding men in the whole Achaean army

And those whom you hold dearest of all the Argives.

Do not, then, scorn their coming to you and what

They have said, though before they came here no man could blame

Your wrath and resentment.

“We’ve all heard similar stories

About the old heroes,⁹ men who allowed fierce anger

To come upon them, but yielded to gifts and entreaty.

I’m thinking now of something that happened a long time

Ago, a crucial event of no recent occurrence,

And I will tell you, since we are all friends, how it was.

The Curetes once were fighting the staunch Aetolians

Around the walls of their city, beautiful Calydon,

And men on both sides were dying, the Aetolians bravely

Defending their town, the Curetes striving to sack it.

For on the Aetolians golden-throned Artemis had sent

A great evil, she being angry at Oeneus their King

For neglecting to offer her harvest first-fruits from his orchard.

All the other gods reveled on whole hecatombs from him,

While she alone, great Zeus’s own daughter, got no

Sacrifice at all. He either forgot her completely,

Or thought he had done what he had not: great blindness of soul

Was surely upon him. So the goddess of flying arrows,

Deeply offended, sent against Oeneus a huge

And ferocious wild boar that flashed his white tusks and tore up

The King’s great orchard, doing much damage, as fiercely

He rooted up many a large apple tree and laid it

Out on the ground—roots, sweet blossoms, and all.

But Oeneus’ son Meleager killed the great boar,

Though not without gathering hunters and hounds from many

Strong cities. No meager force of mortals could ever

Have cut the beast down, so truly enormous he was,

And many were the men he heaped on the sad funeral pyre.

Then Artemis caused a savage and noisy quarrel

Over the spoils, a fight between the Curetes

And great-souled Aetolians, both sides eager to take

The huge head and shaggy hide as trophies.

“Now just

So long as Prince Meleager, dear to the War-god,

Fought for his people, the Curetes steadily lost,

Unable to hold their own outside the walls

Of the city, though many the men they had brought there. But then

Wrath seized Meleager, wrath that swells the hearts

Of others too, no matter how wise they may be.

Meleager quarreled with his own dear mother Althaea,

Daughter of Thestius, King of the brave Curetes,

And sullenly lay at home beside his young wife,

The fair Cleopatra, child of Euenus’ daughter,

Trim-ankled Marpessa, and Idas, the strongest man

Of his time, Idas who drew his powerful bow

Against lord Phoebus Apollo himself, when fighting

The god for the trim-ankled maid Marpessa. Later,

At home, he and Marpessa called their daughter

Halcyone, thinking of how like the halcyon bird

Her mother had mournfully cried when the far-working god

Snatched her away—their daughter whom all others called

Cleopatra.

“And now by her side Meleager lay,

Indulging his wrath and resentment because of the curses

His mother called down upon him out of fierce grief

For her brother Meleager had slain. She fell on her knees

And beat with her hands on the all-feeding earth, streaking

Her bosom with tears and praying to the infernal powers,

To Hades and awesome Persephone, begging them both

To kill her son. And the Fury that stalks through the mist,

She of the ruthless heart, heard her from Erebus.

“Soon the Curetes were raising a din at the gates

And storming the walls with a battering, thunderous noise.

Then the Aetolian elders besought Meleager

To come out and ward off the foe. They sent as envoys

To him the godly high priests of the city and promised

To give him a splendid reward. He could take, they said,

His choice of fifty acres from the richest part

Of the fair Calydonian plain, half to be

In vineyard land, half in land for plowing.

And often his knightly old father begged him to help.

He stood outside the high-roofed room of his son

And shook the well-bolted doors, fervently pleading.

His sisters and queenly mother kept after him too,

But to them his refusal was firmer than ever. Even

His friends, those who were dearest and truest of all,

Even they could not change his mind. But when the Curetes

Were scaling the walls, firing the city, and raining

Their missiles down hard on the room of Prince Meleager,

At last his fair-belted wife came to him in tears

And vividly pictured for him the horrors that people

Suffer when enemies take their town, reminding

Him of the men all slaughtered, of the city reduced

To ashes, of children and fair-belted women dragged off

By the foe. Her lurid account stirred Meleager’s

Soul to the point where he went out and donned

His flashing armor.¹⁰ Thus he did what his own heart

Wanted and kept the Aetolians safe from the evil

Day. But they thereafter gave him none

Of the many and gracious gifts they had earlier offered.

He saved the people, but late, and so got nothing

For what he did.

“But you, my friend, don’t let

This happen to you. Think otherwise, and don’t allow

Some demon to harden your heart as his was. To save

The ships already burning will surely be

Much harder. Come then, while gifts and honor are yours

For the mere accepting, and then you’ll live as a god

Among the Achaeans. But if, too late for gifts,

You enter the man-ruining war, you may indeed

Drive our enemies back, but the honor we offer you now

Will be no longer the same.”

Then swift Achilles

Answered: “Phoenix, my god-sprung good old father,

What do I care for this honor you offer? I’m honored

Enough, I think, by Zeus himself, and the favor

He shows me will keep me here by the curving ships

So long as there’s breath in my body and strength in my limbs.

And here’s something else I’ll say for you to remember.

Don’t try to confuse me with grieving and weeping, hoping

That I’ll do the pleasure of Atreus’ son Agamemnon.

It hardly becomes you to care for that man at all,

Lest my love for you be changed into hatred. It would be

Much better, I think, for you to oppose whoever

Hurts me. Take half of my kingdom, Phoenix, and half

Of my royal prestige, but the message I’ve given these others

To bear shall surely remain unchanged. Meanwhile,

Stay here with me and sleep on an excellent bed.

Then tomorrow at dawn we’ll make up our minds whether we

Should go back to our own or stay where we are.”¹¹

So saying,

He nodded his brow at Patroclus to start making up

A well-covered bed for Phoenix, that all of the others

Might quickly decide to leave. But Ajax, the godlike

Son of Telamon, spoke out among them, saying:

“God-sprung son of Laertes, resourceful Odysseus,

Let us go now, since surely our mission has failed

And we are obliged to tell the results, however

Unpleasant, to the Danaan chiefs, who must be sitting up

Waiting for us. Achilles has filled his proud heart

With savage, inhuman hatred. He has become

A cruel and ruthless man, who cannot remember

The love of his friends and how we idolized him

Like nobody else among the black ships. Incredibly

Pitiless man! Why others accept recompense

From one who has murdered a brother or even a son,

And the killer who pays the blood-price in full stays on

In his land, while the kinsman’s revengeful proud spirit is checked

By the wealth he receives. But to you, Achilles, the gods

Have given a heart both evil and changeless, and all

Because of one girl. And here we have offered you seven

Of the loveliest girls there are, and a great deal more

Besides. So come, be gracious and remember that we

Are your guests. And here beneath your roof we have come

Representing all of the Danaans, and still we would like

Very much to remain your nearest and dearest friends

Among the whole host of Achaeans.”

And swift Achilles

Answered him thus: “O god-sprung ruler of many,

Telamonian Ajax, I almost agree with all

That you say, but my heart swells with bitter rage

Whenever I think how Atreus’ son insulted

Me mid the Argives, as though I were some despised

And dishonored outsider. So go and deliver my message,

For I will not fight again in any man’s bloody

War till wise-hearted Priam’s son, great Hector,

Reaches the Myrmidon lodges and ships, killing

Argives all the way, and puts his torch to the hulls.

But Hector, however hungry for war he may be,

Will stop his advance, I think, when he reaches my lodge

And looming black vessel!”¹²

He spoke, and each of them took

A two-handled cup, poured a libation, and left,

Walking back down the long line of ships with Odysseus striding

Ahead. But Patroclus at once instructed his men

And the women servants to make up a well-covered bed

For Phoenix and quickly they did as he said, spreading

The frame with fleeces and blanket and smooth linen sheet.

On this the old one lay down and waited for bright Dawn

To come. But Achilles slept in one corner of the spacious,

Strongly built lodge and with him a woman, one

Whom he had brought from Lesbos, the pretty Diomeda,

Daughter of Phorbas. And Patroclus lay down on a bed

In the opposite corner with fair-gowned Iphis beside him,

A girl given him by kingly Achilles when he

Laid Scyrus waste, Enyeus’ steep citadel.

Now when the envoys got back and entered the lodge

Of Atreus’ son, the kings of Achaea stood up

All around them, raising their cups of gold and asking them

Questions. But surely most urgent of all was the king

Of men Agamemnon, asking: “Come now, most worthy

Odysseus, great glory of all the Achaeans, tell me

If he is willing to ward off fierce fire from the ships,

Or did he refuse you because his great heart still seethes

With bitter resentment?”

And noble, long-suffering Odysseus:

“Most famous Atrides, commander-in-chief Agamemnon,

Achilles has no intentions at all of quenching

His wrath and resentment. Now, in fact, he is filled

With more rage than ever, and says he will have no part

Of you or your gifts. And you he advises to meet

With the Argives and make some plan for saving the ships

And Achaea’s army. As for himself, he threatens

To launch at dawn his well-benched, graceful ships.

And he says he would counsel the other Achaeans also

To set sail for home, since now you no longer have hopes

Of taking steep Ilium. For loud-thundering Zeus holds out

A mighty arm above her and greatly inspirits

Her people. These were his very words, and here

Are the men who went with me, Ajax and two wise heralds,

To confirm what I say. But the old man Phoenix will spend the night

There. Achilles urged him to stay, that tomorrow

The old one may go with him and his ships back to

His own dear country, that is if he wants to. He says

He’ll not force him to go.”

Thus bluntly Odysseus reported,

And the grieving kings of Achaea sat a long time,

Stunned and silent, till finally strong Diomedes,

He of the great battle-scream, spoke out among them:

“Most famous Atrides, commander-in-chief Agamemnon,

Would you had never pleaded at all with Peleus’

Peerless son, or offered him all those gifts.

He’s haughty enough with no help from us, but now

You have made him more haughty than ever. Hence we’ve no choice

But to leave him alone, to go or stay as he wishes.

He’ll not fight again till the heart in his breast says fight,

Or until some god sets him on. But come, let all of us

Do as I say and go to our beds, now that

We’ve taken our fill of the meat and wine men need

To keep up their strength and courage. But you, O King,

As soon as fair Dawn of the rosy fingers appears,

Marshal your soldiers and horses in front of the ships

And urge them to battle. Then fight in the front rank yourself.”

The kings all had praise for these words from brave Diomedes,

Breaker of horses. They poured their libations and went

To their lodges, where each received the sweet gift of sleep.