While the Trojans kept watch that night, utter confusion reigned among the Greeks. It was as when:
Two furious winds come striving
South-easterly from Thrace,
Brown weed in tangles driving
Across the sea’s wan face—
So wild a storm provokes despair
Among the dumb fish lurking there.
Though dazed by grief, Agamemnon collected a few heralds and sent them off to convene a hurried council-of-war. ‘But give each prince a private warning,’ he said. ‘The Trojans might overhear a public summons.’ When he addressed the Council—
His tears ran down as mournfully as if
They were some dark stream oozing from a cliff…
Agamemnon spoke in a broken voice: ‘Comrades, Zeus Son of Cronus must have cursed me with blindness; I never suspected so cruel a trick. Despite his firm promise that I should not quit these shores before sacking Troy, he now expects me to sail home dishonoured by immense losses. Yet, such being Zeus’ pleasure, what can we do? He has humbled many a proud city and, since his power is supreme, will often do so again. I propose therefore that we raise this siege and make the best of our way back to Greece; for Heaven denies us victory.’
A long silence greeted this outburst, all the Councillors feeling too glum to venture a reply; but at last Diomedes of the Loud War-Cry rose.
‘My lord Agamemnon,’ he said, ‘I shall exercise the right of free speech and you must not resent any strictures on your incompetence—especially after having called me a coward, as everyone in the camp, whatever his length of service, well remembers. The truth is that Zeus Son of Cronus the Crooked-Dealer has a habit of doing things by halves: he has, for instance, granted you the title of High King and appointed you leader of this expedition, while denying you the supreme gift of steadfastness. My lord, do you really consider us mean-spirited? Your ships lie beached beside the many hundreds that followed you from Greece; yonder stretches the sea… But none of us other Greeks will desert the allied cause; or so I trust. Even if I should be mistaken about my fellow-commanders, at least Sthenelus and I, who came here in Zeus’ name, are resolved to stay—just the two of us—until Troy falls.’
A burst of cheering rang out, and King Nestor spoke next. ‘Diomedes, son of Tydeus,’ he cried, ‘you are not only a remarkable fighter, but the best public speaker of our generation! Nobody can disregard or contradict what you have said. Though young enough to be a son of my old age, you gave advice that was both sound and honest—so far as it went. Now, as a soldier of much greater experience, I shall carry the argument to its conclusion; for neither the High King himself nor anyone else is likely to treat my words with disdain:
Only a tribeless, lawless, homeless man
Discord will meditate, and discord plan!
And which of us could be described as tribeless, lawless, or homeless?
‘However, I do not propose to speak on an empty stomach. Since night has fallen, let us prepare supper, while some of the more active men form outposts in the space between the fosse and the rampart. My lord Agamemnon, pray spread a banquet for us Councillors! As High King this is at once your duty and your privilege; and these huts are well stocked with wine ferried across from Thrace. When we have supped, you can review our various suggestions and adopt the wisest. Wisdom we certainly need. To be ringed round by the enemy’s numerous camp-fires is no laughing matter. The fate of our expedition must be decided tonight!’
No sooner said than done. Seven companies, each of a hundred spearmen under a captain, acted as outposts, lighting fires and cooking their suppers in the space between fosse and rampart. The captains were: Thrasymedes, son of Nestor; the Minyans Ascalaphus and Ialmenus, sons of Ares; Meriones the Cretan; Aphareus; Deipyrus; and Lycomedes, son of Creion. But Agamemnon feasted the Council in his hut, and when they had all satisfied their hunger and thirst Nestor, whose advice had always been voted the best—in the old days—generously gave them more of it.
He said: ‘Most noble son of Atreus, my lord Agamemnon the High King! If I both start and end this speech with your name, I do so because Zeus has entrusted you with the sceptre of sovereignty, and placed you in command over many different contingents; it is therefore your duty, as President of this Council, to guide the debate, and approve the sagest proposal made. You can rely on us to follow in whatever direction you then point. I shall be as helpful as possible—and doubt whether anyone present will hit upon a wiser comment than mine—the thought has been floating in my head ever since the day when you sent heralds to take the captive Briseis from Achilles’ hut, not only without our approval but against my express warning—in short, you were a fool to let your proud heart betray you into dishonouring a hero whom the gods themselves honoured—for you robbed Achilles of his prize, and still retain it! Yet it is not too late to think how we may win his renewed support by appeasing him with kind words and friendly gifts.’
‘Venerable Nestor,’ Agamemnon answered, ‘your animadversions are well deserved. I do not deny having acted like a fool. A military commander beloved by Zeus—as Zeus now loves Hector, and allows him to destroy us—is worth many armies. So, repenting of my hasty passions, I shall make amends in the form of a stupendous indemnity herewith offered to Prince Achilles: Seven unused, three-legged bronze kettles; ten gold ingots weighing a talent apiece6; twenty shining copper cauldrons; six pairs of race-winning chariot horses—the man would not be poor, no indeed, my lords, who owned as much wealth as those horses earn me in prizes! To these gifts I add seven craftswomen—marvellously beautiful girls—I chose them for myself from the booty which Achilles won at Lesbos; also the woman of whom I deprived him the other day—namely Briseis, daughter of Briseus—taking an oath that I have had no carnal knowledge of her. All goods and prisoners will be delivered to him at once; and if the gods grant us the good fortune of sacking Troy, then he may claim the further right to select not only a whole shipload of gold and bronze treasures, but the twenty loveliest women in Troy, Queen Helen the Fair-Haired alone excepted. Moreover, if we come safely back to the rich land of Greece, I vow to adopt Achilles and accord him the same rank and honours as my own son Orestes, who is now enjoying a luxurious education at Mycenae. Besides, I have three daughters in that splendid palace of mine: Chrysothemis, Laodice, and Iphianassa. Achilles is free to marry whichever girl he prefers and, when he fetches her away to Phthia, I shall demand no bride-price but, quite the reverse, provide a dowry larger than any king ever settled on a daughter! I will give him lordship, too, over seven towns: Cardamyle, Enope, Hire (where the grazing is excellent), Pherae, sacred to Apollo, Antheia with its lush meadows, lovely Aepeia, and Pedasus, famous for its vines. They lie together near the sea, beyond Sandy Pylos; and the inhabitants, who own enormous flocks of sheep and herds of cattle, will bring him gifts worthy of a god when they swear allegiance. I make these promises on the understanding that Achilles yields to my entreaty and forgets his grudge. Let him not behave like Hades—the most hated of all the gods, because his stern heart is never softened, nor his mind changed, however cogent the appeal! I expect Achilles, in fact, to be ruled by me; since I am far higher in rank and, what is more, considerably his senior.’
Nestor replied: ‘Most noble Agamemnon, such gifts cannot be lightly declined; but we must send acceptable delegates to Achilles’ hut… See here: if I choose them myself, will anyone raise objections? First, I name the venerable Phoenix, King of the Dolopians, and Achilles’ own tutor; second, Great Ajax; third, King Odysseus. The heralds Odius and Eurybates should accompany them. How is that? Now, pray my lord, call for water to wash our hands, and then for holy silence while we address Zeus Son of Cronus in prayer; he may well show us mercy.’
Nestor’s suggestion being approved, the heralds poured water over every guest’s hands; after which servitors filled the mixing-bowls and ladled out wine. Every guest took his cup, emptied it on the ground by way of libation to Zeus and, when replenished, drank heartily. The banquet thus came to an end and Nestor, with many searching glances at each face, but especially at that of Odysseus, gave the delegates full instructions how best to overcome Achilles’ resistance.
Phoenix, Ajax, Odysseus and the two heralds went along the seashore, praying that Zeus, Supreme Ruler of this Earth, might induce Achilles to accept Agamemnon’s advances. Arrived at the Myrmidons’ lines, they found him singing a lusty ballad about ancient heroes, and accompanying himself on his lyre. This was a resonant, beautifully constructed instrument, with a silver cross-bar, looted from Eëtion’s fortress of Thebe. Achilles’ intimate friend Patroclus sat listening near and, when the delegation reached the hut, did not interrupt his performance. The five men entered, headed by Odysseus, and Achilles sprang up in surprise, still holding the lyre. Patroclus also rose.
Achilles greeted his guests. ‘Well met,’ he cried. ‘I am glad to see once again the faces of my dearest comrades—I have missed you all sorely, despite my anger.’ He offered them seats on settles and bales of purple carpet, then said to Patroclus: ‘Son of Menoetius, fetch a larger bowl, mix stronger drink, and produce five more cups for these friends of mine.’
Patroclus complied. He also carried a huge chopping-block into the firelight, and laid on it the chines of three fat carcases—a sheep’s, a goat’s, and a porker’s. Automedon the charioteer held these in place, while Achilles hacked at them, afterwards slicing and spitting the meat. Patroclus made up the fire and, as soon as its flames died down, spread out the embers evenly and rested the spits on racks over their hot glow. When the slices of meat, which had already been salted, were done to a turn, Achilles heaped trenchers with them; at the same time Patroclus took bread and distributed it in neat baskets around the table.
Achilles sat facing Odysseus, and asked Patroclus to offer the gods a sacrifice by tossing pieces of meat into the fire. This done, they ate and drank heartily until, at the close, Ajax nodded to Phoenix. Odysseus, however, intercepted the nod and, before Phoenix could say what he had come to say, filled his own cup crying: ‘Your health, Achilles! We can always be sure of a splendid feast not only in Agamemnon’s hut, but also, it seems, in this. But where to find good food and drink is by no means our sole preoccupation at the moment; on the contrary, great foster-son of Zeus, after our serious reverse, we are wondering whether, unless you step into the breach, we shall manage to save the fleet. The Trojans and their allies are, as you know, bivouacking behind a long line of fires just outside our defence system, resolved that we shall not survive their next assault. Yesterday Zeus Son of Cronus encouraged them with thunder on the right flank; and Hector, welcoming so favourable a sign, fought like one possessed. He rejoiced in his great strength, charged furiously through our ranks, shouting defiance at gods and men, and dealt death wherever he went. Now, having ordered his men to chop the high stern-ornaments from our ships, set the hulls ablaze, and massacre us in the confusion, he prays that bright Dawn will quickly shine for him. I fear the gods may allow him to fulfil his threats and leave our bones rotting on this alien shore. My lord, here is your last chance to save a demoralized Greek army from the triumphant Trojans. Fail us, and you will always regret it! A disaster on such a scale can never be undone; take my warning and rescue us in the nick of time.’
Odysseus then proceeded: ‘My friend, your father Peleus’ strict injunctions, when he sent you off to serve under King Agamemnon, still haunt my memory. “Achilles, dear son,” he said, “though the Goddesses Athene and Hera give you success in battle, pray try to restrain that proud spirit of yours; gentleness becomes you far better. And keep clear of quarrels, for quiet behaviour is admired by Greeks of all ages!” My lord, even if you have forgotten your father’s words, do, pray, let your anger finally cool! King Agamemnon is anxious to conciliate you with gifts that match your achievements. Listen while I enumerate the valuables which he promises from his treasure-hut: Seven unused, three-legged bronze kettles; ten talents of gold; twenty shining copper cauldrons; six pairs of race-winning chariot horses—the man would not be poor, no indeed, who owned as much wealth as those horses earn Agamemnon in prizes! To these gifts he adds seven craftswomen—marvellously beautiful girls—he chose them for himself from the booty which you won at Lesbos; also the woman of whom he deprived you the other day—namely Briseis, daughter of Briseus—taking an oath that he has had no carnal knowledge of her. All goods and prisoners will be delivered to you at once; and if the gods grant us the good fortune of sacking Troy, then you may claim the further right to select not only a whole shipload of gold and bronze treasures, but the twenty loveliest women in Troy, Queen Helen alone excepted. Moreover, if we come safely back to the rich land of Greece, he promises to adopt you and accord you the same rank and honours as his own son Orestes, who is now enjoying a luxurious education at Mycenae. Besides, Agamemnon has three daughters in that splendid palace of his: Chrysothemis, Laodice, and Iphianassa. You are free to marry whichever girl you prefer and, when you fetch her away to Phthia, he will demand no bride-price but, quite the reverse, provide a dowry larger than any king ever settled on a daughter. He will give you lordship, too, over seven towns: Cardamyle, Enope, Hire (where the grazing is excellent), Pherae, sacred to Apollo, Antheia with its lush meadows, lovely Aepeia, and Pedasus, famous for its vines. They lie together near the sea, beyond Sandy Pylos; and the inhabitants, who own enormous flocks of sheep and herds of cattle, will bring you gifts worthy of a god when they swear allegiance.
‘All this he offers. But if hatred of Agamemnon prompts you to refuse, at least take pity on your wretched compatriots! Save them and earn semi-divine honours! You might even have the undying glory to kill Hector: if his battle-madness comes upon him he is sure to seek you out as our supreme champion.’
Achilles answered: ‘My lord Odysseus, pray waste no more breath in coaxing me to change my heart! I hate a man who conceals his true feelings, as much as I hate the Gates of Hell, and shall therefore make myself plain. Since Agamemnon never showed the smallest gratitude for the countless feats which I performed at his request, neither he nor any Greek alive will persuade me to accept these belated advances! On the ground, I suppose, that death strikes down every mortal irrespective of his service, Agamemnon, when he allotted spoils, would not distinguish between the coward who had elected to stay in his hut and the hero who had borne the brunt of the fighting. What thanks did I get from him, though I hazarded my life time after time?
“The hen-bird flutters out to find
Food for her callow chicks,
And nobly bears their needs in mind
When, from the grass, she picks
Beetles or grubs with tireless bill;
But her own maw may never fill.”
‘That was how I used to work: on watch ail night, at war all the bloody day, robbing brave soldiers of their wives and daughters to provide Agamemnon with concubines! I led no less than twelve successful sea-raids on Trojan towns, and eleven successful land attacks. In each case I brought back a huge haul of booty, which the High King shared among his subordinates. He reserved most of it for himself, doling out a few treasures only as prizes of honour. Though my fellow-princes have kept theirs, Agamemnon chose me, Achilles, to rob of my sweetheart! She is still in his power; but now he can do with her what he pleases—Briseis no longer means anything to me.
‘Confess, my lords; how did this war come about? Was it not that Agamemnon raised an immense expedition to recover Queen Helen? Then are he and his brother Menelaus the sole husbands who value their wives? Surely all decent, sound-witted men feel alike? I loved Briseis wholeheartedly, even if she was no more than my prisoner. But since the High King has cheated me of my prize, and I have learned to distrust him, he may as well abandon his attempt at flattery. No, my lord Odysseus, if Agamemnon wants his fleet to stay unburned, he should forget my existence, and call on you and the rest of the Council for advice. He has accomplished many things lately without my help: such as raising a rampart and digging a deep, wide, palisaded fosse—not that they will serve to check the death-dealing Hector! Besides, while I still took the field, Hector never ventured far from his walls; he seldom even reached Zeus’ oak just outside the Scaean Gate, and waited for me there only once. He was fortunate to escape alive!
‘Having, however, no further quarrels with noble Hector, I shall sacrifice to Zeus and his divine family at sunrise tomorrow, before launching and leading the ships; those of you who are interested can watch my Myrmidons pulling lustily at the oars as we sail off across the Hellespont. If Poseidon the Earth-Shaker grants us a prosperous voyage, we should sight Phthia on the third day. I left great possessions behind me when I had the ill-luck to set out for Troy. They will soon be augmented with further gold, bronze, iron and beautiful captives—whatever fell to me by lot, since it was only of my prize of honour that Agamemnon spitefully deprived me.
‘I count on you to repeat these exact words, in open Assembly, so that my fellow-princes may express their indignation and be on guard against the High King’s greed and treachery. He has sent you here as his delegates because the shameless dog would not dare to meet my eyes! Make it plain that, after the wicked trick played on me, I will have no further dealings with him; nor join in any enterprise he sponsors; nor listen to any more of his flattering messages—one is quite sufficient. Zeus has robbed my lord Agamemnon of his wits; so let him go his way in peace, and I will go mine!
‘I reject the indemnity. I do not care a straw for him! Though he offered me ten or twenty times his entire present fortune, and all the wealth that may accrue to him in future—though he were to capture Boeotian Orchomenus, or sack the bulging treasure-houses of Egyptian Thebes—Thebes, where two hundred chariotmen stand always ready-armed at each of its hundred gates—though he offered me gifts as numerous as the grains of sand on the seashore, or the specks of dust on yonder plain, he could never soften my rage—without first making full amends for those outrageous insults!
‘Tell him that I would not marry any daughter of his, not even if she rivalled Aphrodite the Golden in beauty, and Athene the Owl-Eyed in arts and crafts! Let him match them with bridegrooms of his own rank, and of better blood than mine… If the gods accept my sacrifice and bring us safely across the sea, my father King Peleus will himself find me a wife. There are enough girls in Phthia and the rest of Greece to pick from, daughters of princes who rule fortified towns. While still at home, I often considered marrying a loyal and capable wife and settling down to enjoy my inheritance.
‘And another thing: I value life far more than I covet wealth—albeit such wealth as the Trojans amassed during the years of peace, or Apollo the Archer has heaped in the massive temple he raised at rocky Delphi. Herds and flocks may be won in forays; tripods and chestnut horses may be peacefully bought; but neither raiding nor trading can redeem a man’s soul once it has fled from his dying lips. My goddess-mother, Thetis the Silver-Footed, prophesied as follows:
“Twin fates dispute your death, heroic son,
Of which two fates you must, perforce, choose one:
Either to stand fast on the Trojan shore
Until you die, renowned for evermore,
Or to retreat and from your Phthian town
Rule long, nor hope for any high renown.”
‘You may as well warn Agamemnon to raise his siege. Troy shall never fall; everyone can see that Zeus protects her walls, nor do their defenders lack courage. Now, pray go and announce my reply! It will be the Council’s task to discuss some other means of saving the Greek army and fleet, since I cannot, for rage, accept the compensation offered on their advice. By your leave, I should like King Phoenix to spend the night here, in readiness for our homeward voyage. I shall not, of course, take him off against his will.’
Achilles’ vehemence so astounded the delegates that it was some time before any man of the five ventured a word. The venerable Phoenix said with tears in his eyes: ‘Glorious Achilles, if you are really thinking of departure, and are too angry to care whether or not the fleet gets burned, what will become of me? How can I remain here, alone and unprotected, my dearest foster-son? When Peleus sent you to join Agamemnon’s army—do not forget that you were still a callow youth without battle experience or distinction in debate—he appointed me your tutor, to teach you the rudiments of warfare and oratory. So now I could not bear to be deserted by you, even if Zeus himself stripped my years away, making me as young and vigorous again as when I left the country where I was born!
‘I must at last reveal what drove me from Thessaly, land of lovely women… My father, Amyntor, son of Ormenus, had a beautiful slave named Clytia, whom he admired more than he did my mother. My mother, feeling wronged, ceaselessly implored me to anticipate him by seducing her rival. I yielded; but my father heard of the act, and laid a solemn curse on me, charging the dreadful Furies never to let any child of mine sit on his knees. Since the Lord of Hell and Persephone, his terrifying Queen, approved this curse, I drew sword and would have taken vengeance, had not some god or other restrained me, with a warning that I should be ever afterwards hated and shunned as a parricide by my subjects. None the less, I could not bring myself to stay in the palace, though numerous friends and relatives begged me to change my mind, and determined that I should not escape. Having made ready a great banquet of beef, mutton, fat pork, and wine galore from the royal cellar, they took turns to watch me for nine nights, keeping one fire continuously ablaze in the colonnade of the fenced courtyard, and another in the porch outside my bedroom. On the tenth night, when it was dark, I broke through the strongly barred door, vaulted over the courtyard fence, unseen by any watchmen or servant women, and fled across the green Thessalian meadows to the fertile sheep-lands of Phthia. There your father Peleus welcomed me as if I had been an only son, the young heir to all his riches, and appointed me King of the Dolopians, who live on the Phthian frontier.
‘Yes, glorious Achilles, I tutored you with unwavering care and affection. As a little boy, you would not enter the banqueting hall in any company but mine, nor eat and drink there unless I set you on my knee, gave you tit-bits from the trencher, and put the wine-cup to your lips. You were so helpless that often, on rising, I found my tunic was stained by the sputtered wine. Why I lavished such care on your upbringing and treated you as my foster-son, was that the gods had doomed me to impotence; and now, in return, I trust that your filial love will prove my salvation. Prince Achilles, curb your pride; this vindictive spirit does not become you! The Olympians themselves relent sometimes, though ineffably stronger and more majestic than you are. If a mortal has transgressed the divine law, he appeals to Heaven, burns incense, pours libations, sacrifices victims, utters vows, and counts on the gods to forgive him:
‘Penitential PRAYERS that go
Withered, lame, with eyes askance,
In a long unhappy row
Following TRANSGRESSION’S dance,
‘Never hope to overtake
Her quick-moving wanton feet:
Queen TRANSGRESSION still shall make
Mischief by her foul deceit,
‘Yet the man who dares reject
Heaven’s commandments with abuse,
In his downfall may expect,
By the gracious leave of ZEUS,
‘This angelic company
To come limping up pell-mell;
Who, if handled reverently,
Heal his hurt and use him well
But, if scorned, ensure that he
Suffers for their scorn in Hell!
‘Come, Achilles! Just as Zeus listens to the penitential prayers of transgressors, so every right-minded mortal will accept the apologies of whoever has wronged him. Had Agamemnon failed to offer you amends, with promises of additional treasure and honours at a later date, then I should certainly not have joined this delegation, nor begged you to swallow your grudge and save your desperate compatriots from massacre. But since his immediate offer is a very handsome one, and his further offers are even more so; and since his delegates were chosen out of the whole army as the three princes whom you love best, do not put yourself in the wrong by rebuffing us! Tradition teaches that whenever an ancient hero grew angry, he always yielded in the end. A story occurs to me that illustrates this point—the events happened long before my day—and because we meet here as friends, I should like to tell it you:
***
THE TALE OF MELEAGER’S ANGER
A bloody war broke out between Thestias, King of the Curetians and his brother-in-law, Oeneus, King of the Aetolians; the Curetians trying to capture Oeneus’ fine city of Calydon. What caused this war was that at one harvest thanks-giving, Oeneus, whether deliberately or by inadvertence, failed to give Artemis of the Golden Throne the first-fruits of his rich demesne. The other eleven Olympians having received their hundred-beast sacrifices, Oeneus deeply offended her by the omission. She let loose a divine monster, a huge white-tusked boar, which did serious damage to the Calydonian orchards, even felling large apple-trees—root, blossom and all. Meleager, Oeneus’ son, gathered a great company of princes from several cities to hunt the boar—this being no task that two or three only could undertake—and was valiant enough to destroy it himself.
Artemis then provoked a hot argument between the Aetolians and their Curetian allies when it came to awarding the prize of honour—the boar’s head and shaggy pelt. For, though it was Meleager’s spear that dispatched the monster, Atalanta, an Arcadian huntress, had already driven an arrow in behind its ear, thus saving the lives of your own father Peleus and of Telamon, Great Ajax’s father. Meleager flayed the carcase and, thereupon, waived his award in Atalanta’s favour, announcing that the beast would soon have succumbed to her arrow. Plexippus the Curetian took exception to such gallantry. Since Meleager declined the prize of honour, he said, it must not go to Atalanta but to himself, as the most important personage present. Meleager, now fallen in love with Atalanta, flew into a temper and murdered Plexippus, and another uncle who supported his contention.
In the ensuing war Meleager, a favourite of Ares, won every battle he fought—so that after awhile the Curetians, although far outnumbering the Aetolians, kept inside their own city walls. But Althaea, Meleager’s mother, mourned for her two brothers; she would kneel weeping on the ground, belabouring the earth with her palms, as she supplicated the Rulers of Hell to destroy her son; and the pitiless Fury who walks in darkness heard this plea from the Pit below. Althaea’s curse roused an anger in Meleager’s heart such as other men, however wise, have been equally unable to subdue. He laid down his arms, and stayed at home, in the company of his wife Cleopatra… Cleopatra’s mother, I should mention, was Marpessa the Neat-Ankled, daughter of Evenus; and her father was Idas, the strongest hero alive, who had once even dared catch up a bow and challenge Apollo, his rival for Marpessa’s love… Everyone knew Cleopatra by her proper name at the time of my story, but later Marpessa and Idas nicknamed her ‘Alcyone’ because, when Apollo widowed her, she returned to their palace, mourning Meleager as loudly as the halcyon bird mourns her dead mate in the midwinter season.
Meleager now used to lie beside Cleopatra, brooding angrily on his mother’s curses, and refusing to defend Calydon. At length, a huge din of battle rose from the gates, and the Curetians began battering at the towers; so the Council of Calydon delegated the leading priests to make Meleager change his mind and save their city. They offered him as much fertile land as it would take a yoke of oxen fifty days to plough—half of it already planted with vines—and he could choose the estate, they said, from whichever part of the plain he wished. Old Oeneus also implored his son to fight and, standing outside his fine bedroom, rattled desperately at the door. Meleager’s sisters and a group of his closest friends joined in the plea, and so did Althaea herself—an intrusion that made his refusal even sterner. He continued obdurate, until missiles came hurtling through the bedroom roof; by which time the Curetians had won a lodgement on the fortifications and were setting fire to the houses. Then Cleopatra wept, reminding her husband of the disasters that attend the sack of a city: men killed, buildings aflame, women of whatever rank forced into concubinage. Her tears finally roused Meleager. He sprang from bed, buckled on his glittering armour, and drove off the Curetians. But since he fought of his own free will, after declining the reward offered by the Calydonians, they were under no obligation to pay him. Nevertheless, he had saved Calydon.
***
‘Dear son, I can see how angry you are; yet do not withhold your help until the very last moment, as Meleager did; ships, once they catch fire, are more difficult to extinguish than stone houses! If you accept Agamemnon’s advances, you will be treated like a god; if you reject them and then fight, as Meleager did, the honour will be far less, however vigorous your intervention.’
Achilles answered: ‘Dear foster-father, I want no honour from my enemies. It is enough that Zeus has agreed to justify my stand—a most encouraging sign, while I remain alive and well. But I cannot have you lamenting in my hut on behalf of Agamemnon, your obstinate love for whom must forfeit you mine. It would be more proper to cause him as much trouble as he has caused me. Show a royal independence—let us join forces—and allow your companions to take my message unassisted! Stay here on a soft bed, and by the light of dawn we shall decide whether to sail home.’
Achilles nodded at Patroclus, as a sign that Phoenix should be given his bed; and also as a hint that the other guests should take their leave without further ado.
Great Ajax, son of Telamon, then spoke: ‘My lord Odysseus, having clearly failed to fulfil the High King’s commission, we ought to be off. The Council awaits Prince Achilles’ answer, which must be delivered at once, though a downright unsatisfactory answer it is. I much regret that he has worked himself into such a proud, stubborn, furious rage as to spurn the friendship of comrades who consider him our leading champion. What a merciless fellow you are, Achilles! Any other man accepts blood-money even for the loss of a brother or a son; thus a homicide is able, at enormous cost, to appease the relatives of his victim and avoid exile. You are different, it seems. The gods have planted in you a proud and implacable grudge—and all because of a single girl captive! Now the High King offers seven others, the loveliest and most talented in his possession, with additional gifts of fabulous value. Why deny us the courtesy due from a host to his guests? We have come not only as the Council’s chosen delegates, but as your brothers-in-arms, and are hurt to find ourselves received like strangers.’
Achilles answered: ‘Ajax, son of Telamon, descendant of Zeus himself, what you say very nearly makes me relent. Yet my blood boils when I think of Agamemnon’s abusive arrogance in the Assembly—I might have been some ignoble camp-follower! So here is my message: I will take no further part in the war unless Prince Hector attacks this station, killing my own men and attempting to burn my ships; I believe, however, that he will keep his distance, eager for battle though he may be.’
No more was spoken. Each delegate in turn poured a libation from a two-handled cup; then all except Phoenix went back along the line of ships, led by Odysseus.
At Patroclus’ orders, the valets and slave-women made up a comfortable couch, fetching rugs, fleeces, fine linen sheets; and Phoenix stretched out on it, prepared to sleep until sunrise. Achilles’ bed stood in a comer of the stoutly-built hut, and beside him now lay pretty Diomede, Phorbas’ daughter, one of the prisoners taken by him on Lesbos. Patroclus occupied the opposite corner in company with another captive—slim-waisted Iphis, a gift from Achilles after the sack of Scyrus, Enyeus’ city perched on a steep hill.
When the delegates returned to the High King’s hut, the entire Assembly rose and drank their healths. Agamemnon was the first to question them. ‘Tell me at once, Odysseus, glory of Greece,’ he said. ‘Is Achilles ready to forget his grudge and save the fleet, or does pride prevent him?’
‘Most noble Agamemnon,’ Odysseus answered, ‘so far from forgetting his grudge, he seems angrier than ever and declines your gifts contemptuously. He recommends that you should call on us princes for advice, if you would save your fleet and your army. Achilles himself launches his flotilla at daybreak, and warns you to raise the siege—on the ground that Troy can never fall while Zeus the Far-Sighted protects her walls and their defenders do not lack courage. This was his message, as Prince Ajax and your two discreet heralds will testify. Old King Phoenix, at Achilles’ request, is spending the night in his hut. He has been asked, though not compelled, to sail away when his foster-son gives the word.’
A miserable silence greeted Odysseus’ terse speech, for the news stunned everyone present. At last Diomedes spoke: ‘Most illustrious Agamemnon, it was a great mistake to offer Achilles bribes. You only flattered his immoderate pride. Nevertheless, let us wait and see whether he really means what he says: my view is that as soon as he feels inspired to fight, fight he will. My lords, I propose an adjournment. This noble banquet must have revived your strength and lent you courage for tomorrow’s ordeal, but you need sleep. King Agamemnon, we expect you to marshal us in defence of our fleet at the earliest flush of dawn, and head the counter-attack yourself.’
The Councillors applauded Diomedes, then poured libations, and made off, hoping for a good night’s rest.