The Assembly (lines 53–187)

Nine days the god's arrows went through the army.On the tenth, Achilles called the people to assembly:for white-armed Hera put it in his heart, for she grievedfor the Danaans who died dying. When the assembly formed, the place of speech filled.Up rose the swift-footed son of Peleus and spoke among them:"Son of Atreus — now, I think, we shall go home driven back,if indeed we escape death — if war and plague togetherdo not finish the Achaeans. But come: let us ask some seer,some priest, some reader of dreams — for a dream too is from Zeus —who caused this plague, why Phoebus is so wroth:is it a hecatomb he blames, or a hundred rams? Perhaps he will acceptthe savor of lambs and unblemished goats, and wish to lift this pest from us."So he spoke and sat, and up among them stood Calchas,son of Thestor, by far the best of the bird-readers,who knew the things that are, the things to be, and the things that were,and who had led the ships of the Achaeans to Iliosthrough the second sight Phoebus Apollo gave him. With good will he spoke:"Achilles, dear to Zeus, you ask me to name the Far-Shooter's anger.Then hear me — but I bind you, and swear it first:by this staff, which shall never again sprout leaf and shootnow that it first left its trunk in the mountains, nor grow green again,around which the sons of Achaeans carry justice in their hands,the judges who guard the ordinances of Zeus — such an oath as this:surely you will protect me by ship and word and mighty handwhile I speak what must be, though Agamemnon, lord of men,be angered — though he rule the Argives mightily, and the Achaeans with him."Then the swift-footed, brilliant Achilles answered him:"Take heart; speak out the prophecy you know. By Apollo,beloved of Zeus, to whom you pray, you who reveal the will of the Far-Shooterto the Danaans — no man alive, not one of the Achaeans,while I draw breath among the living and see the light,shall lay a heavy hand on you beside the hollow ships —no, not Agamemnon, who boasts himself the best of the Achaeans."Then the blameless seer took courage and spoke: "It is not sacrifice,not hecatomb, that he blames — but for his priestwhom the son of Atreus dishonored and would not set free.That is why the Far-Shooter gives the people sorrow, and will give it:he will not drive off the loathsome plague from the Danaansuntil we give back the girl with flashing eyes to her father,unpriced, unransomed — and carry a sacred hecatomb to Chryse.Then, appeased, we might move him to change his mind."So speaking he sat down; and among them up stood the hero,son of Atreus, wide-ruling Agamemnon, grieving,and his dark heart within him filled utterly with fury,and his eyes were like blazing fire. He fixed his glareon Calchas first, and gave him his word of contempt:"Seer of evil: you have never yet told me one good prophecy.You delight in prophecy gone wrong; nothing good ever comes to speech or deed.Now you divine among the Danaans why the Far-Shooter torments us:because I would not take the shining price of the girl Chryseis.For I want her in my halls; I prefer her to Clytemnestra,my wedded wife — for she is no worse in face or statureor mind or handiwork. Still, if she is pleasing, even soI will give her back, if it is better for all: I want the army saved,not destroyed. But prepare me a prize at once, so I aloneam not without honor among the Argives — since it is plainmy prize departs. All of you can see it."Then the brilliant, swift-footed Achilles answered him:"Son of Atreus, most glorious, most covetous of all —how shall the great-hearted Achaeans give you a prize?We know of no great common store lying by. What we wonfrom the plundered cities has been divided; to divide the people's spoils backis not right. Now send her back, this girl, to the god — and the Achaeanswill repay you three and four times over, if Zeus grantsthat we sack great Troy, the well-built city."Then Agamemnon, lord of men, answered him:"Never hope that, brilliant Achilles, nor try to deceive me:you will not seize me or out-speech me. For what joy is it to meif you keep your prize while I sit idle here? Is it this: you meanto keep your own prize and have me sit here short? Or do you meanI must go without and you command me to send her back? No —if the great-hearted Achaeans give me a prize, matched to my liking,equal in worth — if they do not, then I will come myselfand take your prize, or Ajax's, or Odysseus' — and the man I come towill be angry. But of that, we will think later. Come, let a black shipbe dragged to the bright sea, and rowers and oars, and aboard hera hecatomb; and Chryseis of the fair cheeks put aboard, her;and let one man lead her, a counselor — Ajax, or Idomeneus,or brilliant Odysseus, or you, son of Peleus, most violent of men —to make sacrifice to the Far-Shooter and appease the god."Then Achilles, looking darkly at him, answered under his brows:"Ah me, clothed in shamelessness, all cunning: how shall any Achaeanobey your word — march out on campaign, or fight men strongly?I did not come to fight the spear-famed Trojans: they are nooffense to me. They never stole my cattle, never my horses,never, in Phthia the nourishing, the mother of flocks, did they strip my crops —for between us lie the shady mountains and the sounding sea.But you, shameless one, we followed — to win your favor,to win honor for Menelaus, you dog-face, from the Trojans.All this you disregard and forget; and now you threatento strip my prize yourself, for which I toiled hard, which the sons of the Achaeans gave me.Never have I a prize equal to yours when the Achaeanssack a well-walled city of the Trojans: no — the greater part of the hot battle-handsfalls to me; but when the dividing comes, your prize is far greater,while I go back to the fast ships with a small thing, yet dear —when I have wearied myself with fighting. So now I go to Phthia:far better to go home with my beaked ships. I do not thinkI will stay here, heaping up wealth and riches for you,while you sit gathering honor." Then the lord of men, Agamemnon, answered:"Flee, if your heart runs to it. I will not beg you to stay for your sake.There are others who will honor me — above all Zeus the counselor.To me you are the most hateful of the kings Zeus nourishes:always strife is dear to you — wars and battle. What if you are strong?A god gave it to you. Go home with your ships and your men, lord over the Myrmidons.I do not care for you, nor care for your anger. But here is my threat to you:even as Phoebus Apollo is stripping the daughter of Chryses from me,I will take her back with my own ships and my own men:fair-cheeked Briseis. I will go myself to your shelter and takethe blooming prize of war, so you may learn how far I am greater than you,and so another may shrink from speaking as my equal, eye to eye."

For nine days the arrows tore through the army. On the tenth,Achilles called an assembly: Hera put the idea in his heart —she pitied the Greeks dying. When everyone had gathered,Achilles stood up: "Son of Atreus, I think we'll have to sail home —if we don't die here first, war and sickness together.Come on: let's ask a priest or a prophet or a dream-reader —dreams come from Zeus too — why Apollo is this angry:is it a sacrifice he wants? Maybe the smoke of lambs and goatswould make him lift this plague from us."He sat down, and Calchas, son of Thestor, stood up —by far the best reader of birds, who knew present, future, and past,the man who had guided the Greek ships to Troywith the second sight Apollo gave him. He said kindly:"Achilles, you ask me to explain Apollo's anger.I'll tell you — but first promise me and swear:by this staff, which will never grow leaves againnow that it's been cut from its tree,the staff the Greek judges carry when they hand down justice —you'll protect me with your ships, your word, and your strength,even though Agamemnon will be furious,since he's the top king here."Achilles answered: "Speak up — say what you see. I swear by Apollo,whom you serve: no man on this beach will lift a hand against youwhile I'm alive — not even Agamemnon himself."Then the prophet found his courage: "The god isn't angryabout missed sacrifices. He's angry about his priest.Agamemnon disgraced him and refused to free his daughter.That's why the Far-Shooter is punishing us — and he'll keep punishing usuntil we give the girl back to her father, free, no payment —and send a hundred sacred oxen to Chryse.Then maybe he'll calm down."He sat. Agamemnon stood up, furious,his heart black with rage, his eyes like fire.He went at Calchas first: "You prophet of doom —you've never once brought me good news.You love predicting disaster. Now you tell the Greeksit's the Far-Shooter tormenting us — because I refusedthe prize money for Chryseis. Yes, I want her in my house.I like her better than Clytemnestra, my own wife —she's her equal in beauty, body, brains, and skill. But fine —I'll give her back if that's best for everyone. I want the army alive,not wiped out. But prepare me another prize, immediately,so I'm not the only one here without honor — everyone can seemy prize is leaving."Achilles fired back: "Son of Atreus — most glorious, most greedy.How can the Greeks hand you a prize? There's no big pileof common loot lying around. Everything from captured citieshas already been divided. Handing back divided loot isn't right.So send the girl to the god now — and we'll pay you backthree or four times over, if Zeus lets us sack Troy."Agamemnon answered: "Don't try to trick me, Achilles.You won't out-talk me. What do I get if you keep your prizewhile I sit here with nothing? Are you planning to keep yoursand leave me short? If the Greeks hand me a prize I like,worth the same — fine. If not, I'll come take one myself:yours, or Ajax's, or Odysseus'. Whoever I come to will be angry.We'll deal with that later. Right now: drag a black ship to the sea,find rowers, load a hundred oxen, and put Chryseis aboard,with a leader — Ajax, Idomeneus, Odysseus — or you, son of Peleus,most violent man alive. Go make the god an offering and calm him down."Achilles glared at him: "Shameless, scheming, dog-eyed, deer-hearted!You've never once armed yourself with the men for battle,never gone on an ambush raid. Coward's work, to you.It's easier to walk through camp stealing the prizeof anyone who talks back to you. King who feeds on your people:you command nobodies, that's all. Otherwise this would be your last insult.But hear me — I swear it on this staff:the staff that will never bud or leaf again,cut from its mountain tree; the staff the Greek judges carrywhen they hand down Zeus's justice —just as surely as that wood will never grow again,the Greeks will beg for Achilles, one day.And your grief will have no cure, no matter how sorry you are,when the war god cuts your army down — and you,choked with rage at yourself, grind your heart,because you honored the best Greek here not at all."He threw the gold-studded staff to the ground and sat.Agamemnon burned with rage. But Nestor rose between them,the smooth-tongued speaker of Pylos, whose voicepoured out sweeter than honey. Two generations of menhad already passed away, born and raised in Pylos,and now he ruled among the third. He spoke kindly:"Terrible grief for the land of Greece!Priam and his sons would cheer,and every Trojan would celebrate,if they heard you two fighting — you two,the best in council, the best in battle. Listen to me: you're both younger than I am.I've walked with better men than you,men who never looked down on me. I'll never see their like again:Perithous, Dryas the shepherd of armies,Caineus, Exadius, godlike Polyphemus,and Aegeus, who looked like an immortal.They were the strongest men on earth, the strongest,and they fought the wild mountain Centaurs — destroyed them.I was with them, called from far-off Pylos.Even they took my advice. Listen to me too: it's better.Don't take the girl. Leave her — the army picked her out first.But you, son of Peleus: don't fight a king, force against force.A scepter-carrying king, honored by Zeus,has no equal. You're stronger, and a goddess bore you —but he rules more men. Son of Atreus, hold back your anger.I beg you: go easy on Achilles, who isa great wall of defense for all the Greeks in this war."Agamemnon answered: "Old man, well said.But this man wants to be above everyone —to rule all of us, command all of us. Not me.If the gods made him a fighter — is that his excuseto insult me?" Achilles cut in: "I'd be a cowardand a nobody if I took orders from you on everything.Give orders to other men. I won't obey you anymore.And listen carefully: I won't fight over this girl —not against you, not against anyone. You gave her; you can take her.But touch anything else of mine — my swift black ships —against my will, and come try it in front of everyone:your blood will run around my spear."So they fought with words. Then they stoodand broke up the assembly by the ships.