At these words Agamemnon’s blood beat hotly in his veins. His eyes blazed and he addressed the seer with beetling brows: “You prophet of ill omen, you who have never yet said anything that prospered me, now you arouse the people against me by claiming the Archer has sent us the plague because I refused ransom for the daughter of Chryses! It is true: I should like to keep her in my house, for she is dearer to me than Clytaemnestra, the wife of my youth, and her equal in beauty of body and loveliness of face, in wisdom and skill. But rather than see Argive warriors perish I shall send her back. If I do this, however, I demand a gift in return!”
When the king had ended, Achilles replied: “Great son of Atreus,” he said, “I do not know what gift, in your greed, you demand of the Argives. We have no longer any great stores of treasure in common. The spoils we took from the cities we conquered were distributed among us long ago, and surely we cannot take from a man what has already been given him! Therefore, release the daughter of Chryses! If Zeus, in the days to come, accords us the conquest of Troy, we shall make up your loss to you three, no, four times over!”
“Son of Peleus,” the king called to him, “do not think you can cheat me! Do you fancy I shall do as you say and give up my prize of war while you keep yours? No! If the Argives deny me recompense, I shall fetch myself what I want from one or another of you, a gift belonging to Ajax, or Odysseus, or perhaps to you, Achilles! It does not matter to me how angry you may be! But of that we shall speak another time. Now make ready a ship and a hecatomb. Put the fair-skinned daughter of Chryses aboard and let one of the princes, the son of Peleus for all I care, command the ship.”
The eyes of Achilles grew dark with anger as he answered: “O shameless prince, you who think only of your own ease, how can the Danai obey one such as you? I, to whom the Trojans did no wrong, followed you to help you avenge Menelaus, your brother. But you forget this and try to take from me the prize I won by my own effort, the prize the Achaeans allotted to me. City after city I conquered and yet I never received a share like yours. I always bore the brunt of the struggle, but when it came to dividing the spoils, you carried off the best part while I returned to the ships weary of battle and content with the little I had. But now I am going home to Phthia. No more shall I increase the toppling stores of your treasure.”
“Very well, flee if you must,” Agamemnon replied. “I have brave men enough without you, and besides you are one who is always ready to quarrel. But first I want you to know that I am, indeed, returning the daughter of Chryses to her father, but instead I shall take from your house lovely Briseis, to teach you that I am greater than you and to warn others not to defy me as you have done.”
Achilles’ heart swelled with fury and he hesitated whether to bare his sword on the instant and slay the son of Atreus, or to bridle his rage. But suddenly, invisible to all the rest, Athene stood behind him and revealed herself to him by catching at a lock of his brown hair. “Curb your anger,” she whispered. “Do not draw your sword. But you may fume with words to your heart’s content. If you obey me, I pledge you a threefold gift.”
When Achilles heard her warning, he thrust the silver hilt of his sword back into the scabbard. But to his words he gave free rein. “Unworthy son of Atreus,” he said, “never did your own heart teach you to lay an ambush with the noblest among the Argives or to fight in the foremost ranks in pitched battle! It is, of course, much easier to steal a prize from one who has dared to oppose you. But I swear to you by this staff that just as surely as it will not put forth green shoots as it did when it branched on a tree, so from this time on you shall not see the son of Peleus in battle. In vain will you look for aid when Hector, the killer of men, mows down the Argives row on row. In vain will bitterness gnaw at your soul for having denied due honors to the noblest among the Achaeans.” So said Achilles, and he threw his staff on the ground and sat down. Aged Nestor tried to reconcile the opponents with calm and gentle words, but to no avail.
Finally Achilles rose from his seat in the assembly and called to the king: “Do what you will, only do not imagine that I shall obey you! Never shall I lift my arm against you or another for the sake of this girl. You gave her to me and you may take her her from me. But do not attempt to touch the very least of the other possessions in my house or my ships, for if you do, my lance will drip with your blood.”
The assembly dispersed. Agamemnon had the daughter of Chryses and the hecatomb put aboard ship and bade Odysseus take it to its destination. Then the son of Atreus summoned Talthybius and Eurybates, the heralds, and commanded them to fetch him Briseis from the house of Achilles. Unwillingly they went, and only for fear of their king. When they reached the camp they found the son of Peleus sitting in front of his house, and he was not happy to see them. Reverence and timidity sealed their lips so that they did not tell him why they had come, but he had already guessed their purpose. “Do not be distressed,” he said to them. “Approach, O heralds of Zeus and of mortals. The fault is not yours but Agamemnon’s. Come, Patroclus, bring the girl and give her over to them. But they shall bear witness to me before gods and men that if, in the days to come, anyone requires my help and it is not given, not I shall have the blame but the son of Atreus!”
Patroclus, Achilles’ friend, led out Briseis who followed the heralds reluctantly, for she had learned to love her gentle lord. As he sat weeping on the shore, he gazed down into the dark sea and begged Thetis, his mother, to help him. And from the depths of the waters he heard her voice. “Woe to me, my child, that ever I bore you. So brief is your life to be, and yet you must suffer such insult and sorrow! But I myself shall go to the Thunderer and implore him to give you aid. It cannot be at once, for only yesterday he departed for Oceanus to a feast of the devout Ethiopians, and he will not return for twelve days. But on that twelfth day I shall hasten to him and clasp my hands about his knees. Until then, stay near your ships.” When Achilles had received this answer from his mother, he left the shore and seated himself in his house in sullen silence.
In the meantime, Odysseus had reached Chryses and given his daughter back to him. Filled with joyful surprise the priest raised his hands to heaven in thanksgiving and begged Phoebus Apollo to avert the plague he had sent upon the Argives. Instantly the plague began to abate, and when Odysseus returned to camp he found that it had ended.
And now the twelfth day dawned since Achilles had withdrawn to his house, and Thetis did not forget her promise. Through the mist of early morning she rose from the sea and went up to Olympus. Here, on the loftiest peak of the jagged mountain, aloof from the other gods, she found imperious Zeus. Clasping his knees with her left hand and touching his chin with her right in the manner of suppliants, she said to him: “Father, if ever I have served you well with words or with deeds, grant me my prayer. Honor my son, whom Fate has doomed to die so soon. Agamemnon has offended him and taken away the prize he himself won as the spoils of war. And so I beg of you, father of all gods, let the Trojans keep winning until the Argives pay my son the honor that is his due.” For a long time Zeus was silent and made not the slightest motion. But Thetis clung closer to his knees and whispered: “Now grant my request or refuse it flatly, to show me that among all the gods you favor me least.”
So with her wiles and coaxing ways she beset Zeus until he answered, but his voice betrayed displeasure. “It is not well that you beseech me to act counter to the wishes of Hera who is always against me as it is. Leave quickly before she observes your presence and let my nod pledge you that I shall do as you have asked.” Even as he spoke Zeus gave a faint token of assent with his eyebrows only, yet the great mountain of Olympus shook at the sign. Thetis, well pleased, hastened back into the deep waters of the sea. But Hera, who had seen them talking together, went to Zeus and vexed him with reproaches. He, however, replied calmly: “Do not think that you can fathom my decisions. Be still and obey my commands.” And Hera trembled at the words of her husband, the father of gods and men, and did not venture to gainsay him or
further object to the resolve he had taken.
AGAMEMNON TRIES THE ARGIVES
Zeus remembered the nod he had given Thetis, goddess of the sea. He sent the god of dreams to the Argive camp and bade him enter the tent of sleeping Agamemnon. And the dream god, assuming the form of Nestor, whom of all the elders Agamemnon honored most, stood at the head of the king’s couch and spoke to him. “Are you still asleep, son of Atreus?” he asked. “The man who decides the actions of a whole people should not sleep so long. Hear what I have to say, for I have come to you as a messenger from Zeus. He commands you to muster the Argive hosts, for the hour to conquer Troy has come. The gods have made their decision and destruction hovers over the city.”
Agamemnon awoke and swiftly rose from his couch. He bound his sandals to his feet, donned his tunic, slung his sword over his shoulder, seized his scepter, and strode toward the ships through the early morning mists. At his command the heralds went from hut to hut to call the men, but the princes of the host were summoned to council on Nestor’s ship. Agamemnon was first to speak. “Friends,” he said, “a heaven-sent dream, visiting me in the form of Nestor, revealed to me that Zeus is set on ruining Troy. Let us see whether we can rouse our men who have grown slack and discontented because of the wrath of Achilles. First I shall tempt them with words, counselling them to board the ships and leave the Trojan coast. Then it will be your turn. Disperse through the camp, some here, some there, and urge them to stay.”
When Agamemnon had ended, Nestor rose and addressed the princes. “Had another told us of such a dream,” he said, “we should brand him a liar and turn from him full of contempt. But since he who has spoken is the foremost prince among the Danai, we cannot but believe him. So let us follow his plan.”
Nestor left the council and all the princes followed him to the market place where the men had gathered like a swarm of bees. Nine heralds marshalled them into groups and seated them in a great circle; gradually their talk died down to whispers until at last there was silence. Then Agamemnon, standing in the midst of the gathering, raised his scepter and began: “Brave warriors of the Argive people who have come together here, Zeus has deceived me with blindness of soul, for though he once so graciously promised that I should return to my home as the destroyer of Troy, now he, who has shattered so many cities and in his great might will shatter still more, is pleased to command me to go back to Argos ingloriously, so that all those who have fallen will have died in vain. It would, indeed, be a disgrace if future generations learned that the great people of the Danai continued losing battles against enemies who are so much weaker. For if we were at peace and could measure the number of the Trojans against our own, if we assigned one Trojan as cup-bearer to every table of ten Achaeans—then many tables, I believe, would have to do without the cup. To be sure, they have powerful allies from many cities who hinder me from burning Troy to the ground, as I should like to do. Be that as it may—nine years have passed. The timbers of our ships are cracking, the ropes rot; our women and children wait at home, full of yearning for us. And so it is, perhaps, best to submit to the bidding of Zeus, go to our ships, and return to the dear land of our fathers.”
Agamemnon’s words stirred the throng to motion as a wind swells and churns the waves of the sea. In a moment the entire host was afoot in wild confusion. They rushed to the shore so swiftly that the dust whirled up in clouds. Each spurred on the other to drag the ships into the water. Here they pulled the prop from under a keel, there they cleared the channels connecting the camp with the sea.
Even up on Olympus those who supported the Argives were alarmed to see how earnestly they were taking Agamemnon at his word, and Hera urged Athene to hasten down to earth and with sweet persuasive words halt the flight of the Danai. Pallas Athene consented, and down from the craggy heights of Olympus she flew to the Argive camp. Here she found Odysseus standing before his ship. He did not move or venture to lay his hand upon it, and grief ate at his heart. The goddess approached him, revealed herself, and said in a gentle voice: “And so you really want to flee? Will you let Priam triumph? You are willing to leave the Trojans Helen, because of whom so many Argives have given their lives far from their native land? Surely you will not allow this! Go quickly in and out among the host! Do not hold back now! Use all your shrewdness and eloquence! Reason with them, stop them!”
At Athene’s words Odysseus threw off his mantle and hastened toward the people. Whenever he met a prince or a noble, he stopped him and spoke with kindness and insistence. “Is it right, my good and brave friend,” he asked, “to give up the game like a coward? If you remained calm, you would calm the rest also. Remember that you do not know what the son of Atreus really thinks. Perhaps he was only trying the Argives!” But if he came upon a common man who was making a great noise and shouting, he struck him with his staff and threatened him in a loud voice: “Wretch! Stay where you are! Listen to what others say, you on whom no one can count either in battle or in the assembly! We Argives cannot all be kings. When many rule, no one prospers. To one alone Zeus gave the scepter, and him the rest shall obey.”
In this way Odysseus sent his imperious voice ringing through the camp and at last induced the people to leave the ships and return to the place of assembly. Slowly they quieted down and waited for what was to come. Only one man could be heard in that hush. It was Thersites, who, as usual, was making shrill complaints against the princes and leaders of the people. He was the ugliest man who had come from Greece to Troy: cross-eyed, lame in one foot, hunchbacked, narrow in the chest, his head long and pointed, and sparsely covered with woolly hair.
This troublemaker was hateful to Odysseus and the son of Peleus even more than to the rest because he was constantly maligning them. But this time Thersites derided Agamemnon, the commander-in-chief. “What have you to complain of, son of Atreus?” he shrieked. “What is it that you need? Is not your house full of precious metals and lovely women? You are living in comfort and taking your ease! Why should we allow you to lead us into misery? We should do better to sail home in our ships, leave you alone before Troy, and let you gorge yourself with gifts.” Then Thersites turned to his comrades. “He has done dishonor to mighty Achilles!” he shouted. “He has deprived him of his rightful prize of war. But the listless son of Peleus has no gall in his liver, or this tyrant would have done wrong for the last time!”
While Thersites was speaking, Odysseus had gone up to him. He measured him with a baleful look, then lifted his staff and gave him a great thump over the back with it, crying: “If ever again I find you shouting like a madman, then let my head not stand on my shoulders, nor may I be called the father of Telemachus if I do not tear the clothes off you, scourge you, and send you wailing back to the ships!” Thersites writhed under the blow, and a bloody weal rose up on his back. He cowered down and began to snivel, and a big tear rolled down his nose. But among the Achaeans, one man nudged the next, laughing merrily, and all were pleased that this noisy fellow had been given the punishment he so richly deserved.
And now Odysseus faced the people and beside him was Pallas Athene who had assumed the shape of a herald and bade the gathering be silent. He himself raised his staff to gain the attention of those about him, and said: “Son of Atreus! Truly, things have come to a sorry pass when the Argives are ready to disgrace you and break their promise not to leave until Troy is conquered. They wail for home like women and children and complain to one another of the hardships they must endure. But think how shameful it would be for us to go home empty-handed after waiting here for so long a time! O my friends, have patience a little longer! Remember the sign that was given us before our departure from Aulis, when standing around the spring gushing from the earth we offered hecatombs on sacred altars under a spreading maple. To me it seems only yesterday! A serpent with dark scaly body slipped from under the altar and wound its way up the maple. Swinging on one of the branches was a sparrow’s nest, and in it were fledglings, eight of them huddled among the leaves, and the
ninth bird was the brooding mother. With frightened twitters she hovered over her young until the serpent turned its head toward her and caught her by the wing. When it had devoured the mother and her little ones, Zeus, who had sent it, wrought a miracle and turned it to stone. And you Argives stood by and quaked with wonder. But Calchas, the seer, cried: ‘Do you not see what Zeus is foretelling by way of this miracle? The nine sparrows are the nine years in which you will battle for Troy. In the tenth you shall conquer that glorious city.’ So Calchas predicted, and now his words are about to be fulfilled. The nine years of fighting are at an end. The tenth has come and shall bring us victory. So let us wait together a little longer, O Danai! Stay until we destroy the citadel of King Priam!”
The Argives applauded the words of Odysseus, and wise Nestor made the most of the shift in the mood of the mob and counselled Agamemnon to let anyone who could not quell his longing go to his ship and set sail for home. But he advised that after this he should range his men according to family line and rank and let them fight. In this way, said Nestor, he would soon learn which of the warriors or leaders was brave and which was timid, and whether the will of the gods, or fear, or lack of skill in the trade of war was delaying the conquest of Troy.
Agamemnon rejoiced at this sage advice and answered: “Nestor, you, who are old, surpass all others in wisdom! If only I had ten more like you in the council of the Argives, Troy’s lofty citadel would soon lie in the dust. As for me, I must admit that I acted foolishly when I quarrelled with Achilles for the sake of a girl. Zeus must have struck me with blindness of heart. But if we two become reconciled, the fall of Troy cannot be long in coming. And now let us prepare for the attack. Each man shall eat, make ready his shield and lance, give food and drink to his horses, examine the chariots, and think only of battle. But he who fears and remains with the ships—his body shall be the prey of dogs and vultures.”
Gods and Heroes of Ancient Greece Page 38