When Achilles sat down, Calchas, son of Thestor, rose: an expert at revealing the past, present and future—in fact, the best prophet alive. It was Calchas who had guided the Greek fleet to Troy with the divinatory knowledge bestowed on him by Apollo, and his answer could not have been a more proper one.
‘Achilles, Favourite of Zeus, you ask me to account for the anger of Apollo, the god who kills from afar. But since my revelation must displease our commander-in-chief, I shall withhold it, unless you solemnly swear to protect me afterwards, both in word and deed. A king, as everyone knows, is the more formidable the less powerful his offender: and though he may swallow his anger for one day, resentment will gnaw at him until he has exacted vengeance. So, before I speak, pray decide whether you can protect me.’
Achilles rose again. ‘Do not shrink,’ he said, ‘from making this revelation! I swear by Zeus’ son Apollo—your loyalty to whom assures the truth of all prophecies you utter in his name—that, while I yet live and breathe, no member of this expedition will dare lay violent hands on you: not even Agamemnon himself, though he ranks highest among us.’
Thus encouraged, Calchas spoke freely. ‘What has caused Apollo’s anger is neither the breach of a vow nor the omission of a hundred-beast sacrifice; but the insult offered his priest Chryses by the High King, in declining a ransom for Chryseis. Though Apollo has avenged this insult on us all, our punishment still remains incomplete. He will not rid the camp of pestilence before we have restored the girl to her father, without demanding ransom or other payment, and have also burned a hundred victims at his shrine on Chryse. This way lies our sole hope of placating him.’
Next Agamemnon himself sprang up, in such a rage that fire seemed to flash from his eyes. Throwing Calchas an ugly look, he cried: ‘Evil-minded prophet, you love disaster, and never reveal anything pleasant! Your latest act of spite is the most improbable story that Apollo has punished us Greeks because I prefer keeping Chryseis as my bed-fellow to accepting a ransom. Let me be blunt: I consider her far more attractive than my wife Clytaemnestra, alike in face, figure, intelligence and skill. Nevertheless, I am prepared to surrender Chryseis, if needs must, rather than watch the entire army melt away. My one stipulation is that these princes here assembled will immediately compensate me for her loss. It would be disgraceful were I to find myself the sole Greek without a prize of honour—and everyone can see how valuable a one I stand to lose.’
Achilles replied: ‘Son of Atreus, you are the greediest man in the Assembly, as well as the noblest-born! Why should these princes give you a prize of honour? They have no common stock of booty upon which to draw. What we took from captured cities has already been distributed; and it would not be decent were a particular award withdrawn and made over to you. Send back the girl, as Apollo demands, and later, if Zeus lets us sack some other Trojan fortress, we will vote you three or four times her value.’
‘Do not argue with me, Achilles!’ shouted Agamemnon. ‘I refuse to be bullied. So I must surrender Chryseis, and expect no compensation—is that it? You, I suppose, are to keep your prize of honour and leave me chafing empty-handed? No, indeed! If the generous Greeks offer me some fair substitute, well and good. If not, I will choose my own prize of honour, and seize it moreover with my own hands, either from you or from Great Ajax, son of Telamon, or from King Odysseus the Crafty; and the man I rob shall have good reason to feel vexed. However, we can settle this in due course. We must now pick a crew for one of our galleys, put aboard a hundred victims and the lovely Chryseis, appoint some Councillor as captain—Great Ajax, or King Idomeneus, or King Odysseus, or yourself, Prince Achilles—who will sail down to Chryse and there placate Apollo the Archer.’
Achilles scowled at Agamemnon. ‘Shameless schemer!’ he cried. ‘How can any Greek patiently obey your orders, whether to go off on a voyage, or to stay and fight? I did not join the expedition because the Trojans harmed me: they never took my cattle or horses, nor foraged through my cornfields in fertile, healthy Phthia, where I live. Ranges of misty mountains and vast stretches of echoing sea separate that land from this. Though no vassal of yours, I brought my men here as a favour, when asked to punish the Trojans for the wrong they did your brother Menelaus. Dog-faced wretch, you not only forget how much gratitude I deserve, but threaten to steal the prize with which the Greeks rewarded my exertions! At what division of booty after the sack of a populous city did I ever get a share even approaching yours in value, though I led the assault in person? I must always return exhausted to my ship, content with some hard-won trifle. Very well; because I have no intention of humiliating myself any longer by this thankless struggle to fill your coffers, I shall sail home to Phthia.’
‘Desert us by all means,’ answered Agamemnon, ‘if that is your pleasure. I shall not ask you to stay. Others will stay who hold me in respect, especially Omniscient Zeus; and of all his royal foster-children, you are the one whom I most detest—you, with your endless pursuit of quarrels, wars, battles! Unusual strength is a gift from Heaven, rather than of man’s making. Go, and welcome: launch your flotilla, play the petty king among the Myrmidons of Phthia! Be as angry as you wish; it means nothing to me. Yet, let me inform you that, since Apollo insists on robbing me of Chryseis, my own ship and crew will carry her back; and that I shall then visit your hut and compensate myself with your prize of honour, the beautiful Briseis. That will teach you which of us two is the greater personage and, at the same time, warn your comrades not to dispute with me on equal terms.’
These words struck Achilles to the heart, but he could not decide whether he should snatch the sharp sword from his thigh, burst through the ranks, and kill Agamemnon; or whether it would be wiser to repress his anger. As he stood in doubt, slowly drawing the sword out of its scabbard, Hera, who cared for both contestants, hurriedly sent her step-daughter, Owl-Eyed Athene, to step behind Achilles and catch him by his yellow hair. Turning about in surprise, he recognized the goddess’ fierce eyes, though she was invisible to everyone else, and addressed her impatiently: ‘What are you doing here, Pallas Athene, daughter of Zeus? Have you come to witness King Agamemnon’s insolence? Then understand that, at any moment now, it may cost him his life.’
Athene answered: ‘No, I am sent to curb your rage. You should listen to me, as a messenger of Hera the White-Armed, who loves both you and Agamemnon. Leave that sword-hilt alone! By all means, give him a tongue-lashing and tell him what punishment he must expect; but abstain from violence. For I promise that, one day soon, your wounded pride will be solaced with a prize three times more valuable than this slave. Now, prove that you trust Hera and myself by showing decent restraint.’
‘Goddess,’ said Achilles, ‘I am indeed enraged, but it is always wise to listen when you speak, since the gods bless obedience.’ So saying, he loosened his grip on the silver-hilted sword; and Athene, having made sure that he thrust it back into its scabbard, at once rejoined her fellow-deities in the Palace of Zeus on Mount Olympus.
Still furious, Achilles continued his tirade. ‘Drunkard, with the face of a dog and the heart of a deer! When do you arm for a pitched battle at the head of your men, or join in setting an ambush for Trojans, as other Greek leaders do? You would rather die than make such an attempt, yet are capable of stealing a prize of honour from a brave man who challenges your pretensions. Devourer of your own people! Such grasping tyranny has left them spiritless; else you would never dare insult so many of my comrades. But I, at least, will say my say and confirm it with a solemn vow.’
Then Achilles took the following vow, on the gold-studded wand which gave him the right of uninterrupted speech:
‘By this dry wand, no more to sprout
Or put green twigs and foliage out
Since once the hatchet, swinging free,
Cross-chopped it from a mountain tree,
Then trimmed away both leaves and bark—
By this same wand, which men who mark
Ancient traditions praised by ZEUS
&n
bsp; Have set to honourable use
In ruling their debates: I vow
That all you Greeks assembled now
Before me—mark these words!—one day
Shall miss Achilles in the fray
And long for him, finding your chief
Incapable (despite all grief)
To save from Hector’s murdering sword
Whole regiments; then at last, my lord,
Your anger inwards you shall turn,
Cursing the folly that dared spurn
Him who indignantly here speaks:
The best and bravest of all Greeks!’
So saying, Achilles dashed the wand to the ground, and sat down, while Agamemnon raged furiously in reply.
Nestor rose to his feet, old King Nestor of Pylus; and though he had outlived two whole generations of his subjects, and was ruling over a third, he addressed the Assembly with honeyed eloquence, in clear, pleasant, gentle tones. ‘Alas,’ he cried, ‘Greece is gravely threatened by this dispute! King Priam, his sons, and all Troy would rejoice to hear of a breach between the two champions who always take the lead in planning and fighting our campaign. Pray listen to me, both of you, because your combined ages do not add up to mine, and because, when long ago I harangued men even better than yourselves, they never disregarded my advice. In my long life I have seen none to equal King Peirithous, or Dryas (a true shepherd of his people), or Caeneus, or Exadius, or wonderful Polyphemus.2 They were the toughest warriors that ever walked this earth and chose to engage enemies worthy of their mettle—the wild, cave-dwelling mountaineers—whom they destroyed without trace. These princes once summoned me from distant Pylus to fight beside them—nobody now alive could have resisted such heroes—and, what is more, I joined in their councils and they applauded my opinions. I therefore advise you princes to do the same. My lord Agamemnon, despite the grandeur of your rank, I charge you: keep your hands off the girl whom the Greeks awarded Achilles as his prize of honour! And my lord Achilles, I charge you: respect the dignity of a sceptre-bearing High King, Zeus’ representative on earth I You are very strong, I know, and your mother was the Silver-Footed Goddess Thetis; but Agamemnon ranks higher than you, since more vassals owe him allegiance… Lastly, my lord King, I beg you, as a personal favour: let your anger cool! The entire army sees in Achilles its surest bulwark against the hazards of war.’
Agamemnon answered: ‘What you have said is true enough, venerable Nestor. But this fellow wants to be treated as if he were Commander-in-Chief, High King, and President of the Council: an ambition which, I think, few members of this Assembly will support. Granted that the gods made him a fighter, have they also sanctioned him to revile me in such impudent language?’
Achilles interrupted. ‘That is exactly what they have done! If I stayed silent, everyone would call me a coward and accuse me of always yielding to your demands. Trample on whom you please, but not on Achilles, son of Peleus, for his engagement is at an end. And pay attention when I declare that, though I will use no violence against you or your servants in the matter of Briseis—the prize of honour awarded me and now taken back—an attempt to impress me with your power by touching any other possession of mine would be dangerous! Visit my ship in that mood, and royal blood will stain my spear!’
The violent debate ended on this note, and the Assembly dispersed. Achilles, accompanied by his friend Patroclus, son of Menoetius, and the rest of his staff, walked towards the line of huts behind his flotilla.
Meanwhile, Agamemnon had a fast galley launched, picked a crew of twenty oarsmen, put aboard the required victims, and sent Chryseis home under the charge of Odysseus, his choice for captain. As soon as the galley glided away, Agamemnon ordered a general purification. The whole army cleaned out the camp and, after throwing all its filth and rubbish into the sea, sacrificed oxen and goats to Apollo, a hundred at a time, on altars raised beside the salt waves. What a pleasant odour of roast flesh soared billowing up to Heaven on the smoke!
These pious acts did not, however, prevent Agamemnon from remembering his threats. He told the heralds Talthybius and Eurybates: ‘Go to Achilles’ hut and fetch me the beautiful Briseis! If he offers resistance, I shall go myself with an escort and take her by force, which will hurt his pride even more.’
Agamemnon’s instructions being stern and explicit, Talthybius and Eurybates went through the camp, most unwillingly, until they reached the Myrmidons’ lines. Prince Achilles, seated in his compound, gave them no sign; so they kept silence, afraid to utter a word. At last, guessing their errand, he said: ‘Welcome, heralds! Since your task is to convey messages from Zeus, and from his royal representatives, step forward, and be assured that I do not blame you but only the High King, who has ordered you to steal my slave-girl Briseis.’
To Patroclus he said: ‘Son of Menoetius, pray fetch the girl and let these heralds lead her away. Yet the day will come when I am needed to save Agamemnon’s army from shameful defeat; and I shall call both of them to witness, before Immortals and mortals alike, but especially before that stubborn king, their master—what patience I have displayed. If Agamemnon expects his army to guard this fleet against a Trojan attack, he must be mad, as well as evil, not to consider the past and foresee the future.’
Patroclus accordingly fetched Briseis, and the heralds led her off towards King Agamemnon’s lines, though she was loth enough to go. Presently, Achilles walked along the beach and sank down at some distance from his comrades, gazing in tears across the endless sea. Then he prayed to his goddess-mother, Thetis the Silver-Footed:
‘Mother, the lifetime of this man
Is destined to so brief a span
That ZEUS, who thunders from the skies,
Owes him at least a worthier prize
Of glory than is his today!
See, Agamemnon wrests away
The captive girl with whom my sword
Was honoured by the Greeks’ award,
To work his evil will upon her.
Indeed, ZEUS holds me in small honour.’
Thetis, reclining under the sea beside her aged father Nereus, heard Achilles’ voice. She hurriedly rose from the grey waves, and he saw her mistily through his tears, stroking his hand and saying: ‘Tell me what ails you, my child! Instead of hiding your sorrow, share it with me.’
Achilles groaned aloud, and asked: ‘Why should I tell what you know already? Nothing is hidden from your divine eyes. When we raided Thebe, Eëtion’s fortress, and brought the spoils back here to Troy, the Council divided them equitably, reserving lovely young Chryseis for Agamemnon; but Chryses, Apollo’s priest, came to ransom his daughter, carrying the sacred headband bound to a golden wand. After he had publicly appealed to Agamemnon, and his brother Menelaus, everyone present shouted: “Accept the ransom, respect the priest!” But Agamemnon dismissed Chryses, using such rough language that the old man went off, feeling outraged; and Apollo, who loves him dearly, listened to his prayer and at once began shooting the Greeks; they fell in droves, and a pestilence spread throughout the camp. Then Calchas the prophet revealed his Master’s will, and I was first in advising my fellows to placate the angry god; which so enraged the High King that he threatened to rob me of my prize of honour. And now, though a ship is returning Chryseis to her father at Chryse, with a propitiatory offering for Apollo, Agamemnon’s heralds have just visited me and led away Briseis, the girl whom the Greeks awarded me as my own prize!
‘Mother, pray use whatever influence you command; go to Olympus and plead my case; reminding Zeus of any word or deed of yours that ever pleased him. At home, I have often heard you tell Peleus how, when the other Blessed Gods—including Hera, Poseidon, and Pallas Athene—wanted to put Zeus, Lord of the Storm, in fetters, you single-handedly saved him from ruin. Did you not summon the hundred-armed giant Aegaeon, or Briareus as the Immortals nickname him, to the peak of Olympus, as Zeus’ protector? And did not Aegaeon, a creature even more powerful than his father Uranus, sit down beside Zeus, rejoicing in hi
s strength, so that the gods were too frightened to carry out their evil designs? Crouch at the Father’s feet and, clasping his knees in supplication, remind him of these services. Perhaps he will assist the Trojan cause, and let the Greeks be crowded back among their ships, ready for massacre. Then they can test Agamemnon’s fighting qualities, and realize that he was mad to humiliate the best man serving under him.’
‘Poor child,’ Thetis sobbed, ‘why did I ever rear you? I am cursed in my motherhood! With so luckless a nativity, you deserved to stay at your post, dry-eyed and content. Yet I find you alone and in tears, though fated to a briefer span of life than any mortal. Certainly, I will visit snowy Olympus and approach Zeus of the Thunderbolt. But you must stay here a little longer, taking no part at all in the siege. The fact is that Zeus has gone to be entertained by certain well-behaved Aethiopians, near the Ocean Stream, and the other gods are with him. He does not return for twelve days; when these have passed, I will cross the brazen threshold of his Palace, and pay him homage. I may be able to win his favour.’
Thetis vanished, and left Achilles brooding over the forcible abduction of slim-waisted Briseis.
Odysseus had meanwhile taken Agamemnon’s galley to the Isle of Chryse. On entering the deep harbour, his crew furled and stowed away their sails, lowered the mast by the forestays, hastily fitted it into its crotch, and rowed to the anchorage. There, having thrown out the mooring-stones, they tied their vessel up and disembarked the victims. Chryseis too went ashore, and Odysseus led her towards the altar, where Chryses stood.
‘Chryses,’ he announced, ‘Agamemnon the High King has sent me to restore your daughter and to offer, on behalf of the Greek army, a hundred-beast sacrifice in placation of Phoebus Apollo, who has caused them such sorrow and grief.’
So saying, Odysseus gave the girl to Chryses, and he embraced her joyfully; after which the victims were ranged around a noble altar. All present washed their hands and each took a fistful of barley-meal; except Chryses, who raised his arms, praying: