Book 1

Sing, goddess, the wrath of Peleus' son Achilles,the ruinous wrath that brought ten thousand sorrows on the Achaeans,and hurled down to Hades many strong souls of heroes,and made their bodies themselves the feast of dogsand all birds — and the will of Zeus was brought to pass:from the hour when first the son of Atreus, lord of men, and godlike Achillesstood quarreling, divided. Which of the gods set them fighting?

The son of Leto and of Zeus. He, angered by the king,sicked a wasting plague on the army, and the men died dying,because the son of Atreus had dishonored Chryses the priest.For the priest had come to the Achaean's fast shipsto ransom his daughter, holding wreathed staff and laurel boughof the Far-Shooter, and all the Achaeans pleaded with him,the sons of Atreus above all, the marshal men of both armies.But it pleased the heart of Atreus' son, Agamemnon, to disgrace him.Harshly he sent him away, and laid a heavy word upon him:"Old man, do not let me find you lingering by the hollow ships,now, or coming back later — or the god's wreath and staffwill not save you. Her I will not set free. Old age will take her first,far from her country, in Argos, in my house,where she will work at the loom and share my bed. Go — do not anger me,so you may return in safety." So he spoke, and the old man feared himand obeyed the word, going in silence along the roar of the sea-bank.But when he had gone far from the camp, the old man prayedto Lord Apollo, whom fair-haired Leto bore:"Hear me, god of the silver bow, who stand over Chryse and holy Killa,who rule Tenedos with might — Sminthian, if ever I roofed for you a pleasing shrine,if ever I burned for you rich thighbones of bulls and goats,bring to pass this prayer for me: let the Danaans pay for my tearswith your arrows." So he spoke in prayer, and Phoebus Apollo heard him.Down from the peaks of Olympus he came, his heart full of fury,the bow and covered quiver on his shoulders; the arrows rattledon the shoulder of the wrathful god as he moved, and his coming was like night.Then he knelt apart from the ships, and let fly — and terriblerang the twang of the silver bow. First he struck the mules and the swift hounds,but then, letting go a piercing shaft at the men themselves, he struck,and the blazing pyres of corpses burned without end.

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."

So he spoke. And the son of Peleus felt a dark grief, and his heartwithin his shaggy breast turned two ways: should he draw the sharp blade at his hipand scatter the crowd, and kill the son of Atreus — or restrain his furyand master his spirit? While he turned this over in his mind and heart,and drew his great blade from its sheath, Athena camedown from heaven: the white-armed goddess Hera sent her —she loved and cared for both men alike. She stood behind him,caught the son of Peleus by his tawny hair, appearing to him alone;none of the others saw her. Achilles wondered, and turned:and he knew Pallas Athena at once — the terrible gleam of her eyes.Then winged words flew from him: "Why have you come again,child of Zeus who bears the aegis? Is it to watch the outrageof Agamemnon, son of Atreus? I tell you — and I think it will be so —for this arrogance, his own life will be paid."Then the bright-eyed goddess Athena answered him:"I came to check your fury — if only you will obey —from heaven I came; the white-armed goddess Hera sent me,who loves and cares for you both alike. Come, end this quarrel:do not draw your blade against him — wound him with words instead.For this I tell you, and it will come to pass: hereafterthree times as many shining gifts will be heaped on youfor this outrage. Restrain yourself; obey us."Then the swift-footed Achilles answered: "Goddess,a man must follow your word, however angry his heart:so it is better. Whoever obeys the gods — the gods hear him."He spoke, and his heavy hand fell on the silver hilt, and he drovethe great blade back into its sheath, and did not betray the word of Athena.She went to Olympus, to the house of Zeus who bears the aegis,with the other gods; while the son of Peleus went on wounding Agamemnonwith bitter words, and did not yet let his fury go:"You drunkard, with the eyes of a dog and the heart of a deer!Never in your life have you dared to arm for war with your men,or to go into ambush with the best of the Achaeans. No —to you that is death. It is far easier, all along the wide camp of the Achaeans,to steal the prize of any man who speaks against you.King who feed on your people: since you rule men who are nothing,you must be a son of Atreus — else, son of Atreus, this were your last outrage.But I will speak out, and swear a great oath upon it:by this staff — which shall never again sprout leaf and shoot,now that it first left its trunk in the mountains, nor grow green again,around which the sons of the Achaeans carry justice in their hands,the judges who guard the ordinances of Zeus from Zeus —as surely as this shall fail to come back to the woods and earth,even if it is bound with bronze and gold — so surelywill a great thirst for Achilles come upon the sons of the Achaeans:and then your grief will find no cure, though you are sorry,when the war-god's bane cuts down the army, humbled — and you,eaten by your own grief, will grind your heart within you,that you honored the best of the Achaeans not at all."So the son of Peleus spoke, and threw the staff studded with goldand studs to the ground, and sat. And on the other side the son of Atreusblazed. But the sweet-voiced singer Nestor rose between them,the sweet-speaking orator of Pylos, from whose tonguespeech flowed sweeter than honey. Two generations of mortal menhe had seen pass away, who before were born and grew in holy Pylos,and he ruled among the third. He spoke with good will, saying:"Oh — what a great grief has come to the land of Achaea!Priam and Priam's sons would leap for joy,and the other Trojans rejoice in their hearts, if they heardthese two quarreling — you two, the first in counsel,the first in battle. But obey: you are both younger than I.Before now I walked with men better than you,and they never made light of me: for I have seen such men as I shall neversee again — perithous, and Dryas, shepherd of the people,Caineus, Exadius, godlike Polyphemus,and Aegeus, son of Aegeus, like the immortals in form.With the strongest of earth's men they walked, with the strongest,against the wild beast of the mountains — and destroyed the wild, savage Centaurs.I was with them, coming from Pylos, a long way off, from a distant land.And they took no counsel against me. Even such as theydid as I counseled, and obeyed my word. But obey: better to obey.Do not take the girl: leave her, as the sons of the Achaeans first gave her,my prize, as I was given a greater. But you, son of Peleus,do not wish to strive against a king, might against might,since the scepter-bearing king, to whom Zeus gave glory,never has an equal honor. And though you are the stronger,and a goddess mother bore you — he is greater: he rules over more.Son of Atreus, hold back your fury. I beg youto set aside your anger against Achilles, who isa great wall of war to all the Achaeans in this sorrow."Then Agamemnon, lord of men, answered him:"Old man, all this you have spoken well and wisely.But this man wants to be above all others; he wants to rule all,to be king over all, to give orders to all — but one will not obey.If the gods, who live forever, made him a spearman — is that whyhe gives us such speeches to hear?" Then the brilliant Achillesbroke in and answered him: "Truly, I would be calleda coward and a nothing, if I yield to you in every word.Lay down other commands to other men; do not order me —I will not obey you any longer. But hear me well, and I say it to you:I will not fight for this girl, not against you nor any other man:you gave — you take her back. But of my other goods, the swift black ships,you shall take nothing by force against my will. Come, if you dare, try the people —let them see. Your own blood will run around my spear."So they spoke to one another in the quarrel. And they stood upand broke the assembly by the ships of the Achaeans. The son of Peleuswent back to his shelter and his well-built ships with the son of Menoetiusand their companions. But the son of Atreus dragged a swift ship to the sea,and chose twenty rowers, and aboard her loaded a hecatomb for the god,and brought aboard Chryseis of the fair cheeks, and put with herthe brilliant Odysseus as leader. These boarded, and sat upon the benches.And Odysseus of many counsels commanded the people to board.They boarded and sat upon the benches, and the oars struck the gray sea.And for us the ships went out over the great gulf of the sea.

But the son of Atreus ordered the army to purify itself.And they purified, and cast the purifications into the sea.And to Apollo they offered full hecatombs of bulls and goatsalong the shore of the barren sea; and the savor reached heaven, winding up in smoke.So they toiled in the army. But Agamemnon did not forgetthe quarrel he had threatened: Briseis of the fair cheeks. He calledTalthybios and Eurybates, heralds and swift messengers, who served him:"Go to the shelter of Peleus' son Achilles: takethe fair-cheeked Briseis by the hand, and lead her here.And if he will not give her, I will come myself, with a greater force,and take her — and it will be worse for him." So he sent them,and laid on them a harsh command. And they went unwillingly along the shoreof the barren sea, and came to the shelters and ships of the Myrmidons.They found him sitting beside his shelter and his black ship.And Achilles saw nothing of them, and they were afraid, and did not salute himwith their words; and he knew them in his heart, and said:"Be welcome, heralds, messengers of Zeus and of men: come near.You are not to blame in my eyes — but the man who sent you:it is Agamemnon, who sent you for the girl Briseis.Go, Patroclus, dear to Zeus, and bring out the girl,and give her to them to lead away. But let the two of them be witnessesbefore the blessed gods, before mortal men, before that hard-hearted king,if ever hereafter there is need of me to beat back shameful ruin.For he rages with a black heart, and does not knowto look before and after, how the Achaeans by their shipsmight fight in safety." So he spoke, and Patroclus obeyedhis dear companion, and led Briseis of the fair cheeks from the shelterand gave her to the heralds to lead away. And she went unwillingly.But Achilles, weeping, went apart from his companionsand sat on the shore of the gray sea, looking out on the winedark water.Stretching out his hands, he prayed to his dear mother:"Mother, since you bore me to a life so short,the Olympian who works from far away should have given me honor —but now he has given me nothing. The son of Atreus, wide-ruling Agamemnon,has dishonored me: he has taken my prize, and keeps it, tearing it away."So he spoke weeping, and his noble mother heard him,where she sat in the depths of the sea beside her old father.Swiftly she rose from the gray sea, like a mist, and satbefore him as he wept, and stroked him with her hand, and called him by name:"My child — why do you weep? What sorrow has come upon your heart?Speak; do not hide it, so we may both know."Then, groaning deeply, the swift-footed Achilles answered:"You know. Why should I tell the one who knows? We wentto Thebe, the holy city of Eetion, and sacked it, and carried off everything.The sons of the Achaeans divided everything fairly among themselves,and chose for the son of Atreus the lovely-cheeked Chryseis.Then Chryses, priest of the Far-Shooter Apollo, came to the fast shipsof the bronze-clad Achaeans, to ransom his daughter, bringing boundless ransom,holding in his hands the wreathed staff of the Far-Shooter, and the laurel bough,and he begged all the Achaeans — but above all the two sons of Atreus,the marshals of both armies: "Sons of Atreus, and you other well-greaved Achaeans,may the gods who have homes on Olympus grant you to sack Priam's cityand return home safe. But set my daughter free for me, and accept the ransom,out of reverence for the son of Zeus, the Far-Shooting Apollo."Then all the Achaeans shouted assent, to honor the priestand take the shining ransom. But it did not please the heart of Atreus' son,Agamemnon. He sent him off harshly, and laid a heavy word on him.And the old man went away in anger. And Apollo heard him speaking —for he loved him greatly — and sent a sharp arrow against the Argives.Then the men died dying, one after another, and the god's shaftswent through the whole wide army of the Achaeans, everywhere,and the oracles of the god struck down the people without end.But now the Far-Shooter has killed, in anger, the son of Atreus:he sent the good herald straightway to take Briseis.But come — if you know how, protect your own child. Go to Olympusand call upon Zeus, if ever you have gladdened his heart by word or deed.Often I have heard you boasting in my father's halls,saying that you alone, of all the dark-clouded immortals,saved the son of Cronus, lord of the storm-cloud, from shameful ruin:on the day when the other Olympians wished to bind him —Hera, and Poseidon, and Pallas Athena. But you came, goddess,and freed him from his bonds, quickly calling the hundred-handed oneup to high Olympus, whom the gods call Briareos,but all men call Aegaeon — for he is stronger than his father.He sat by the side of the son of Cronus, rejoicing in his glory,and the blessed gods feared him, and did not bind him.Remind him of these things; sit close, hold his knees,and beg him to stand by the Trojans, and pen the Achaeansback among the sterns and the sea, while they are killed dying —so that they may all have use of their king, so that even the son of Atreus,wide-ruling Agamemnon, may know his own blindness:that he honored the best of the Achaeans not at all."Then Thetis answered him, her cheeks wet with tears:"Oh my child! Why did I rear you, born to so much pain?Would that you could sit by the ships without tears, without sorrow:so short is the whole span of your life allotted, and not long —and now, beyond all men, you are doomed to an early death and bitter sorrow.I bore you under an evil fate. But I will speak these wordsto Zeus who delights in thunder, who bears the storm-cloud: perhaps he will hear.But you: stay by your ships, enraged at the Achaeans, and holdaltogether apart from the war. Yesterday Zeus went to Oceanus,to the blameless Ethiopians, at a feast — and all the gods went with him.On the twelfth day he will come back to Olympus, and then I will goto the house of Zeus, bronze-floored, and I will hold his knees,and I think I will persuade him." So speaking, she went away,and left him there, his heart heavy for the fair-girdled woman they had taken,though he did not will it.

But Odysseus came to Chryse with the sacred hecatomb.When they had entered the deep harbor, they furled the sailsand stowed them in the black ship, and lowered the mastswiftly, easing it into its cradle, and rowed her in with oarsto her mooring. They threw out anchor-stones and made fastthe hawsers from the stern; and they went out on the shore of the sea,and carried out the hecatomb to the Far-Shooter Apollo,and set down the daughter of Chryses. And the brilliant Odysseusled her to the altar, and set her in her dear father's hands,and spoke to him: "O Chryses: the son of Atreus, Agamemnon,sent me to bring your daughter here, and to offer to the Far-Shootera sacred hecatomb for the Danaans — so the god may be appeased,who has now sown sorrow and grief upon the Argives."So he spoke, and set her in her father's hands. And the old man rejoiced,and straightway praised the god in words: "I would surely pray to you,lord Apollo, who shoot from afar: may the Achaeans find in youwhat they pray for." So he spoke aloud, and Apollo heard him praying.Then, when they had prayed and scattered barley, they firstdrew back the heads of the victims and cut their throats, and flayed them,and cut slices from the thighbones and wrapped them in fat,double folds, and laid raw meat upon them; and the old man burned themon cleft wood, and poured gleaming wine over them,and beside him the young men held five-pronged forks in their hands.But when the thighbones were burned and they had tasted the innards,they cut the rest into pieces and pierced them with spits,roasting them carefully, and drew all off from the spits.But when the work was done and the meal prepared, they feasted,and every man had his fill of food and drink. And thenthe young men filled the mixing-bowls with wine to the brim,and passed to all men drops in the cups. And all day longthe young men of the Achaeans propitiated the god with singing,singing the beautiful paean, hymning the Far-Shooter;and his heart was glad to hear. But when the sun went downand darkness came on, they laid themselves to sleepby the stern-cables of the ship. But when early Dawnshowed her rosy fingers, they went back to the wide campof the Achaeans. And the Far-Shooter Apollo sent thema fair following wind; and they raised the mast and spreadthe white sails. And the wind filled the belly of the sail,and the bright wave roared loudly about the keel as the ship ran,cutting her way through the waves. But when they came to the wide campof the Achaeans, they drew the black ship up onto the land,high upon the sand, and drove long stays beneath her,and then dispersed, each man to his shelter and his ship.But the son of Peleus, godlike, swift-footed Achillessat by his fast ships, nursing his fury. He did not goto the assembly that brings glory, nor to the field of war,but wasted his dear heart, staying there — and he longedalways for the war-cry and for battle.

But the son of Atreus did not forget the threat he had spokenagainst Achilles — for the Dream had said: arm the host. Hmm — no: nowthe ships of Odysseus had gone to Chryse with the sacred hecatomb,and the army purified itself, and the pyres of the deadburned thick along the shore, and still Achilles sat apart.Not until the twelfth morning did the gods return to Olympus,Zeus leading; and Thetis rose from the gray sea at dawnto keep her son's promise. She found the son of Cronussitting apart on the topmost ridge of many-folded Olympus,and she caught his left knee with her left hand,and his chin with her right, and prayed to Zeus:"Father Zeus, if ever among the immortals I have stood by youin word or deed, grant me this: honor my son,who is doomed to the shortest life of all. Agamemnon,son of Atreus, has dishonored him: he seized his prize and keeps it.But honor him, Olympian Zeus of the counsels: give strength to the Trojansuntil the Achaeans repay my son, and exalt him with great gifts."She spoke; and Zeus the cloud-gatherer sat silent a long time.But Thetis held his knees, and clung, and asked again:"Promise me plainly, and bow your head — or refuse me —so I may know how far the gods dishonor you." And Zeus,greatly troubled, answered her: "It is a sorry business:you will set me against Hera, when she taunts me with her insults.Even now among the immortals she never stops accusing me,saying I help the Trojans. Go now, lest she see you,and leave the rest to me: I will nod my head to you,so you may believe. This among the immortals is the greatestpledge from me: nothing I bow my head to can be recalled,or false, or unfulfilled." The son of Cronus spoke, and benthis dark brows, and the deathless hair of the kingfell forward from his deathless head, and great Olympus shook.So the two parted: she dove from bright Olympus into the deep sea,and Zeus went to his own hall. And all the gods rose togetherfrom their seats before their father: none dared to sit waiting,all stood to meet him. He sat upon his throne; but Hera,seeing, knew at once: silver-footed Thetis, daughterof the Old Man of the Sea, had been scheming with him. At onceshe taunted the son of Cronus: "Which of the gods has beenscheming with you now, schemer? Always it delights youto creep away from me and take secret counsel —and never, even a little, do you willingly tell mewhat you have resolved." And the father of gods and men answered:"Hera, do not hope to know all my words: they are hardfor you, my wife, though you share my bed. But what is fittingfor others to hear, no god or man shall hear before you:what I plan apart from the gods — do not question, do not pry."And the great-eyed lady Hera answered him:"Dread son of Cronus, what a word is this! Before nowI never questioned you, never pried. But nowyou take your ease in counsel without me. For I am afraid:Thetis, daughter of the Old Man of the Sea, silver-footed,rose with you at early dawn — I saw it with my eyes.And now you have nodded yes to her, and promised: to honorher son Achilles, and destroy many beside the ships of the Achaeans."Then Zeus the cloud-gatherer answered: "Madam,you imagine everything, and yet you escape me:you have not heard my plan. But this I say:no immortal, no man, shall learn my mindbefore I bring it to pass — not Hera herself,though she divide all things from me. Be silent, sit by me,and obey my word — lest all the gods in Olympusfail to defend you, when I come nearand lay my unbreakable hands upon you." He spoke;and the great-eyed lady Hera was afraid, and sat in silence,bending her heart. And the gods throughout the house of Zeuswere troubled. Then the famous smith Hephaestus roseto bring comfort to his white-armed mother: "It is ruinous work,this — unbearable. If you two quarrel like this for mortal menand stir the gods to strife, there will be no pleasure in the feast:bad things win. I advise my mother — she knows it in her heart —to be pleasant to our father Zeus, that he may not againscold her and spoil our dinner. For if the Olympian lordof lightning means to bind us all, who can withstand him?Remember the last time: I, striving to save you,caught him by the knees — and he seized me by the footand hurled me from the divine threshold. All day I fell,and at sunset I landed in Lemnos, little life in me.There the Sintian men cared for me when I fell." So he spoke,and the white-armed goddess Hera smiled, and smilingtook the double cup from her son's hand. And he pouredsweet wine for all the gods, left to right,drawing nectar from the bowl. And unquenchable laughterarose among the blessed gods, watching Hephaestus bustlethrough the palace. And so they feasted all day till sunset,and none lacked a fair share, nor failed of the lovely lyrein Apollo's hands, nor the Muses singing with beautiful voices,answering one another. But when the sun's bright light went down,each went home to sleep, each to the housethe famous lame Smith had built for each, with knowledge of his craft.And Zeus, the Olympian lord of lightning, went to his bed,where of old he lay when sweet sleep came upon him. There he climbed,and slept, and beside him lay golden-throned Hera.

Sing, goddess, the rage of Peleus' son Achilles —the deadly rage that brought the Achaeans thousands of sorrowsand threw many brave souls of heroes down to Hades,leaving their bodies for dogs and all birds to eat.The will of Zeus was done,from the day Atreus' son, lord of men Agamemnon, and brilliant Achillesfirst fell out and fought each other.

Which god set them against each other?The son of Zeus and Leto, Apollo.He was angry at the king and sent a deadly sicknessthrough the army, and men died, because Atreus' sonhad disgraced Chryses the priest.Chryses had come to the Greek fast shipsto buy his daughter back, carrying the wreathed staffof the Far-Shooter with the sacred ribbons. All the Greeksbegged the king to respect him — but Agamemnonliked it better to disgrace him, and shouted:"Old man, don't let me catch you hanging around these ships,now or ever again — or your god's staff won't save you.I won't free her. She'll grow old in Argos, in my house,working at my loom, sharing my bed. Get out — don't make me angry."The old man went, afraid, walking in silence by the shore.But once he was far from camp, he prayedto Lord Apollo, son of fair-haired Leto:"Hear me, silver-bow god, protector of Chryse and holy Killa,mighty lord of Tenedos. If I ever built you a temple that pleased you,if I ever burned the fat thighs of bulls and goats for you,grant my prayer: make the Greeks pay for my tearswith your arrows." Phoebus heard him.He came down from Olympus angry, bow and quiver on his back;the arrows rattled on his shoulder as he walked, angry as night itself.He knelt apart from the ships and shot. The silver bowtwanged terribly. First he hit the mules and dogs,then shot the men — and the funeral fires of the deadburned day after day without end.

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.

Achilles went back to his huts and ships with Patroclusand their men. Agamemnon had a fast ship dragged to the water,picked twenty rowers, loaded a hundred sacred oxen,put Chryseis aboard with Odysseus in command —and they sailed out over the open sea.Then Agamemnon ordered the whole army to purify itself.They washed, threw the filth into the sea,and burned a hundred oxen and goats for Apolloalong the beach; the smoke rose straight to heaven.The army worked at this. But Agamemnon hadn't forgottenhis threat: fair-cheeked Briseis. He calledhis heralds Talthybios and Eurybates:"Go to Achilles' hut. Take fair-cheeked Briseis by the handand bring her here. If he won't give her up,I'll come myself with a bigger force — and it will be worse for him."They walked along the shore, hating the errand,and found him sitting by his hut and black ship.He saw them coming from far off, and they stood thereashamed, afraid to speak. He knew what they were feeling:"Welcome, heralds, messengers of Zeus and men. Come near.You two aren't to blame — Agamemnon is,who sent you for Briseis. Patroclus, my friend,bring the girl out and give her to them. But let them both be witnessesbefore the gods and men — before that ruthless king —if the day ever comes when they need meto hold back disaster. He's drunk on his own rage;he can't look ahead or behind, and seehow the Greeks can fight safely by their ships."Patroclus did as his friend asked. He led Briseis outand handed her to the heralds, and she went with them unwillingly.Achilles, weeping, left his friends,sat down alone on the beach, staring at the gray sea.He stretched out his hands and prayed to his mother:"Mother — since you gave birth to me for a short life,the thundering Olympian owes me honor.And he hasn't given me any. Agamemnonhas disgraced me: he took my prize and keeps it, ripped it away."His noble mother heard him weeping,deep in the sea beside her old father.She rose through the gray water like a mist, sat downin front of him, stroked him with her hand: "My child —why are you crying? What pain is in your heart?Tell me. Don't hide it from me."Achilles groaned: "You know everything — why should I tell you?We sacked Thebe, Eetion's holy city, and took everything.The Greeks divided the spoils fairlyand set aside Chryseis, the lovely girl, for Agamemnon.Then Chryses, priest of Apollo, came to the shipsto ransom her, bringing a fortune in ransom,holding Apollo's wreathed staff and the sacred ribbons,begging all the Greeks — but Agamemnon most of all:'Sons of Atreus, Greeks all — may the gods on Olympuslet you sack Priam's city and get home safe.Free my daughter. Take the ransom. Respect Apollo's son.'All the Greeks shouted yes — respect the priest,take the ransom. Agamemnon said no.He shouted the old man away with threats.The old man left, furious — and Apollo heard him,because he loved him, and shot his arrows at the Greeks.Men died, one after another; the god's shaftswent everywhere through the wide army.Then the Far-Shooter's oracle told us: send back the girl, angry as he was.Agamemnon did send a herald straightaway to take Briseis.So — do something, if you can. Protect your son.Go up to Olympus. Remind Zeus — if you've everpleased him with a word or deed. I've heard you boasting at homethat you alone, of all the gods, saved Zeusfrom disgrace — the day the other Olympianstried to chain him: Hera, Poseidon, Pallas Athena.You came, goddess, and you unbound him —you called the hundred-handed giant up to Olympus,the one the gods call Briareos and men call Aegaeon,stronger than his own father.He sat beside Zeus, proud, and the godswere too scared to try chaining him again.Remind Zeus of all this. Sit beside him, hold his knees,and beg him to help the Trojans —pin the Greeks back at their ships, killing them,so they all learn what their king is worth,so Agamemnon himself understands his blindness:that he honored the best Greek here not at all."His mother answered, tears on her cheeks:"Oh my child — why did I raise you for so much pain?I wish you could stay by your ships without tears or sorrow —your whole life is so short, and now you'refated to die young and suffer more than anyone.I bore you under a curse. But I'll go to Zeusand say all this to him: he'll listen. Meanwhile —stay by your ships, furious at the Greeks. Don't fight at all.Zeus left yesterday for Ocean, to feast with the blameless Ethiopians —all the gods went with him. In twelve days he'll be home.Then I'll go to his bronze-floored house, hold his knees,and I think I'll win him over." She left him there,heartbroken over the fair-girdled girl they'd taken.

Odysseus brought the hundred oxen to Chryse.They sailed into the deep harbor, furled the sails,stowed them, lowered the mast into its cradle, and rowed to the mooring.Anchors down, ropes fast, they went ashoreand carried the hundred oxen out for Apollo,and brought Chryseis off the ship. Odysseus led herto the altar and put her in her father's arms: "Chryses —Agamemnon sent me to bring your daughter home,and a hundred oxen for the Far-Shooter,so the god will calm down and stop grieving the Greeks."He put her in her father's hands, and the old man rejoiced,praising the god aloud: "I pray to you, lord Apollo:let the Greeks find what they pray for."Apollo heard him. Then they prayed, scattered barley,pulled the victims' heads back and cut their throats, flayed them,cut out the thigh bones, wrapped them in fat,and the old man burned them on split wood, pouring wine on top,while the young men stood by with five-pronged forks.When the thigh bones were burned and everyone had tasted the organs,they cut up the rest, spitted it, and roasted it carefully.Then they feasted, everyone full of meat and wine,and the young men filled the wine bowls to the brimand poured cups for everyone. All day longthe young Greeks sang to please the god —a beautiful hymn to the Far-Shooter —and he listened with joy. When the sun went down,they slept by the ship's ropes. At dawn,when rosy-fingered Dawn appeared, they sailed for home.Apollo sent them a fair wind; they raised the mast,spread the white sails, and the wind filled them,the bright waves roaring around the keel as the ship ran.Back at camp they hauled the black ship up the beach,propped it with long timbers, and everyone went to their own tent.But Achilles, the fast runner, son of Peleus,sat by his ships, feeding his rage.He never went to the assembly, never went to battle —he sat there eating his own heart, longingfor the war cry and the fight.

On the twelfth morning the gods returned to Olympus, Zeus at their head.Thetis hadn't forgotten her son's request. She rose out of the seaat dawn, climbed to great Olympus, and found Zeussitting alone on the highest ridge. She sat in front of him,grabbed his left knee with her left hand, his chin with her right,and prayed: "Father Zeus, if I've ever helped youamong the gods, in word or deed — grant me one thing:honor my son, who is fated to die sooner than anyone.Agamemnon has disgraced him — seized his prize and keeps it.Honor him, Zeus: give the Trojans strengthuntil the Greeks repay my son and shower him with gifts."Zeus said nothing, a long time. Thetis held his knee,pressed, asked again: "Promise me plainly. Bow your head —or refuse. You have nothing to fear. Then I'll knowexactly how much the gods despise you." Zeus, troubled, said:"This is a bad business. You'll set me against Hera —she'll insult me forever. She already accuses meof helping the Trojans. Go now, before she sees you.Leave it all to me. I'll bow my head to you, so you can believe it:nothing I promise with a nod can be taken back,or lied about, or left undone." He spoke —and bent his dark brows. The deathless hair of the kingfell forward from his deathless head, and Olympus shook.They parted: she dove from Olympus into the deep sea;Zeus went to his own hall. All the gods rose from their seatswhen they saw him coming: nobody dared stay seated.He sat on his throne. Hera saw him — and knew at oncethat silver-footed Thetis had been scheming with him. She went at him:"Which god has been whispering with you now, you schemer?You love sneaking off, making secret plans —never telling me a thing, never, willingly."The father of gods and men said: "Hera,don't expect to know everything I say. It's too much for you,wife or no wife. Whatever is fit for others to hear,no god or man hears before you. What I plan alone —stop asking. Stop prying."Hera answered: "What a thing to say, dread son of Cronus!I've never questioned you, never pried. But nowyou plan in peace without me. I'm afraid —Thetis, the Old Man of the Sea's daughter, rose with you at dawn.I saw her. And now you've nodded yes to her:you promised to honor her son Achillesand slaughter Greeks by the ships."Zeus said: "Wife, you see everything, and you see nothing.You haven't heard my plan — and you won't. No immortal,no human, learns my mind before it happens. Not even Hera,though she fights me on everything. Be quiet,sit down beside me, and do as I say — or all the godson Olympus together won't save youwhen I come over and lay these unbreakable hands on you."Hera was afraid. She sat in silence, swallowing her anger.All the gods in the house were upset. Then the famous smithHephaestus stood up to help his white-armed mother:"This is a disaster. Unbearable. If you twofight like this over mortals, and drag the gods into it,there's no pleasure in the feast — bad wins. Mother,listen to me — you know I'm right: be sweet to Zeus,so he doesn't start scolding you again and ruin dinner.If the thunder lord decides to tie us all up —who's going to stop him? Remember last time?I tried to save you, grabbed his knees —he grabbed my foot and threw me off the threshold.I fell all day and landed on Lemnos at sunset,barely alive. The Sintian men took me in."Hera smiled, took the double cup from her son's hand.He poured sweet wine for all the gods, left to right,scooping nectar from the bowl — and the gods roared with laughter,helpless, watching Hephaestus hustle around the hall.So they feasted all day until sunset,no one short of a fair share, nobody missingthe lovely lyre in Apollo's hands, or the Musessinging in answer, one to another. When the sun's light went down,each went home to sleep, each to the housethe famous lame smith had built him with his craft.And Zeus, lord of lightning, went to his bed —the bed where he always slept when sweet sleep came. He climbed in,and slept, and golden-throned Hera lay beside him.