The Quarrel of the Chiefs

For nine years and more the Greeks besieged the city of Troy. Being many in number, and having strong and valiant chiefs, they pressed the men of the city very hard, so that these durst not go outside the walls. They might have taken it without further loss but that there arose a deadly strife between two of the chiefs, Agamemnon, King of Mycenæ, who was sovereign lord of all the host; and Achilles, who was the bravest and most valiant man therein. The Greeks, having been away from home many years, were in great want of many things, so it was their custom to leave a part of the army to watch the city, and to send a part to plunder such towns in the country round about as they knew to be friendly to the men of Troy, or as they thought to contain good store of provision or treasure. “Are not all these,” they were wont to say, “towns of the barbarians, and therefore lawful prey to men that are Greeks?” Now among the towns with which they dealt in this fashion was Chrysa, which was sacred to Apollo, who had a great temple therein and a priest. Fearing the anger of the gods, the Greeks had not harmed the temple or the priest; but they had carried off with other prisoners the priest’s daughter, Chryseïs by name. These and the rest of the spoil they divided among the kings, of whom there were many in the army, each ruling his own people. Now King Agamemnon, as being sovereign lord, went not with the army at such times, but stayed behind, having charge of the siege that it should not be neglected. Yet he always received, as was fitting, a share of the spoil. This time the Greeks gave him, with other things, the maiden Chryseïs. Next day there came to the camp the priest Chryses, wishing to ransom his daughter. Much gold he brought, and he had on his head the priest’s crown, that men might reverence him the more. He went to all the chiefs, making his prayer that they would take the gold and give him back his daughter. They all spake him fair, and would have done what he wished, except Agamemnon. “Get thee out, greybeard!” he cried in great wrath. “Let me not find thee lingering now by the ships, neither coming hither again, or it shall be the worse for thee, for all thy priesthood. And as for thy daughter, I shall carry her away to Argos, when I shall have taken this city of Troy.” Then the old man went out hastily in great fear and trouble, and he walked in his sorrow by the shore of the sounding sea, and prayed to his god Apollo. “Hear me, god of the silver bow. If I have built thee a temple, and offered thee the fat of many bullocks and rams, hear me, and avenge me on these Greeks!” And Apollo heard him. He was angry that men had so dishonored his priest, and came down from the top of Olympus, where he dwelt. Dreadful was the rattle of his arrows as he advanced, and his presence was as the night coming over the sky. He shot the arrows of death, first at the dogs and the mules, and then at the men; and soon all along the shore rolled the black smoke from the piles of wood on which they burnt the bodies of the dead. On the tenth day Achilles, who was the bravest and strongest of all the Greeks, called the people to an assembly. When they were gathered together he stood up among them and spake to Agamemnon. “Surely it were better to return home than that we should all perish here by the plague. Come, let us ask some prophet, or priest, or dreamer of dreams, why it is that Apollo is so wroth with us.” Then stood up Calchas, best of seers, who knew what had been, and what was, and what was to come, and spake. “Achilles, thou biddest me tell the people why Apollo is wroth with them. Lo! I tell thee, but thou must first swear to stand by me, for I know that what I shall say will anger King Agamemnon, and it goes ill with common men when kings are angry.” “Speak out, thou wise man!” cried Achilles; “for I swear by Apollo that while I live no one shall lay hands on thee, no, not Agamemnon, though he be sovereign lord of the Greeks.” Then the prophet took heart and spake. “It is on behalf of his priest that Apollo is wroth, for he came to ransom his daughter, but Agamemnon would not let the maiden go. Now, then, ye must send her back to Chrysa without ransom, and with her a hundred beasts for sacrifice, so that the plague may be stayed.” Then Agamemnon stood up in a fury, his eyes blazing like fire. “Never,” he cried, “hast thou spoken good concerning me, ill prophet that thou art, and now thou tellest me to give up this maiden! I will do it, for I would not that the people should perish. Only take care, ye Greeks, that there be a share of the spoil for me, for it would ill beseem the lord of all the host that he alone should be without his share.” “Nay, my lord Agamemnon,” cried Achilles, “thou art too eager for gain. We have no treasures out of which we may make up thy loss, for what we got out of the towns we have either sold or divided; nor would it be fitting that the people should give back what has been given to them. Give up the maiden, then, without conditions, and when we shall have taken this city of Troy, we will repay thee three and four fold.” “Nay, great Achilles,” said Agamemnon, “thou shalt not cheat me thus. If the Greeks will give me such a share as I should have, well and good. But if not, I will take one for myself, whether it be from thee, or from Ajax, or from Ulysses; for my share I will have. But of this hereafter. Now let us see that this maiden be sent back. Let them get ready a ship, and put her therein, and with her a hundred victims, and let some chief go with the ship, and see that all things be rightly done.” Then cried Achilles, and his face was black as a thunder-storm, “Surely thou art altogether shameless and greedy, and, in truth, an ill ruler of men. No quarrel have I with the Trojans. They never harried oxen or sheep of mine. But I have been fighting in thy cause, and that of thy brother Menelaus. Naught carest thou for that. Thou leavest me to fight, and sittest in thy tent at ease. But when the spoil is divided, thine is always the lion’s share. Small indeed is my part—‘a little thing, but dear.’ And this, forsooth, thou wilt take away! Now am I resolved to go home. Small booty wilt thou get then, methinks!” And King Agamemnon answered, “Go and thy Myrmidons with thee! I have other chieftains as good as thou art, and ready, as thou art not, to pay me due respect. I hate thee, with thy savage, bloodthirsty ways. And as for the matter of the spoil, know that I will take thy share, the girl Briseïs, and fetch her myself, if need be, that all may know that I am sovereign lord here in the hosts of the Greeks.” Then Achilles was mad with anger, and he thought in his heart, “Shall I arise and slay this caitiff, or shall I keep down the wrath in my breast?” And as he thought he laid his hand on his sword-hilt, and had half drawn his sword from the scabbard, when lo! the goddess Minerva stood behind him (for Juno who loved both this chieftain and that, had sent her), and caught him by the long locks of his yellow hair. But Achilles marvelled much to feel the mighty grasp, and turned, and looked, and knew the goddess, but no one else in the assembly might see her. Then his eyes flashed with fire, and he cried, “Art thou come, child of Jupiter, to see the insolence of Agamemnon? Of a truth, I think that he will perish for his folly.” But Minerva said, “Nay, but I am come to stay thy wrath. Use bitter words, if thou wilt, but put up thy sword in its sheath, and strike him not. Of a truth, I tell thee that for this insolence of to-day he will bring thee hereafter splendid gifts, threefold and fourfold for all that he may take away.” Then Achilles answered, “I shall abide by thy command, for it is ever better for a man to obey the immortal gods.” And as he spake he laid his heavy hand upon the hilt, and thrust back the sword into the scabbard, and Minerva went her way to Olympus. Then he turned him to King Agamemnon, and spake again. “Drunkard, with the eyes of a dog and the heart of a deer! never fighting in the front of the battle, nor daring to lie in the ambush! ’Tis a puny race thou rulest, or this had been thy last wrong. And as for me, here is this scepter: once it was the branch of a tree, but a cunning craftsman bound it with bronze to be the sign of the lordship which Jupiter gives to kings; as surely as it shall never again have bark or leaves or shoot, so surely shall the Greeks one day miss Achilles, when they fall in heaps before the dreadful Hector, and thou shalt eat thy heart to think that thou hast wronged the bravest of thy host.” And as he spake he dashed his scepter on the ground and sat down. And on the other side Agamemnon sat in furious anger. Then Nestor rose, an old man of a hundred years and more, and counselled peace. Let them listen, he said, to his counsel. Great chiefs in the old days, with whom no man now alive would dare to fight, had listened. Let not Agamemnon take away from the bravest of the Greeks the prize of war; let not Achilles, though he was mightier in battle than all other men, contend with Agamemnon, who was sovereign lord of all the hosts of Greece. But he spake in vain. For Agamemnon answered—“Nestor, thou speakest well, and peace is good. But this fellow would lord it over all, and he must be taught that there is one here, at least, who is better than he.” And Achilles said, “I were a slave and a coward if I owned thee as my lord. Not so: play the master over others, but think not to master me. As for the prize which the Greeks gave me, let them do as they will. They gave it; let them take it away. But if thou darest to touch aught that is mine own, that hour thy life-blood shall redden on my spear.” Then the assembly was dismissed. Chryseïs was sent to her home with due offerings to the god, the wise Ulysses going with her. And all the people purified themselves, and the plague was stayed. But King Agamemnon would not go back from his purpose. So he called to him the heralds, Talthybius and Eurybates, and said, “Heralds, go to the tents of Achilles and fetch the maiden Briseïs. But if he will not let her go, say that I will come myself with many others to fetch her; so will it be the worse for him.” Sorely against their will the heralds went. Along the seashore they walked, till they came to the tents of Achilles. There they found him sitting, but stood silent in awe and fear. Achilles spied them, and cried aloud, “Come near, ye heralds, messengers of gods and men. ’Tis no fault of yours that ye are come on such an errand.” Then he turned to Patroclus, his dearest friend, and said, “Bring the maiden from her tent, and let the heralds lead her away. But let them be witnesses, before gods and men, and before this evil-minded king, against the day when he shall have sore need of me to save his host from destruction. Fool that he is, who thinks not of the past nor of the future, that his people may be safe!” Then Patroclus brought forth the maiden from her tent and gave her to the heralds. And they led her away, but it was sorely against her will that she went. Achilles went apart from his comrades and sat upon the seashore, falling into a great passion of tears, and stretching out his hands with loud prayer to his mother, who indeed was a goddess of the sea, Thetis by name. She heard him where she sat in the depths by her father, the old god of the sea, and rose—you would have thought it a mist rising—from the waves, and came to where he sat weeping, and stroked him with her hand, and called him by his name. “What ails thee, my son?” she said. Then he told her the story of his wrong, and when he had ended he said— “Go, I pray thee, to the top of Olympus, to the palace of Jupiter. Often have I heard thee boast how, long ago, thou didst help him when the other gods would have bound him, fetching Briareus of the hundred hands, who sat by him, so that the gods feared to touch him. Go now and call these things to his mind, and pray him that he help the sons of Troy and give them victory in the battle, so that the Greeks, as they flee before them, may have joy of this king of theirs, who has done such wrong to the bravest of his host.” And his mother answered him, “Surely thine is an evil lot, my son! Thy life is short, and it should of right be without tears and full of joy; but now it seems to me to be both short and sad. I will go as thou sayest to Olympus, to the palace of Jupiter, but not now, for he has gone, and the other gods with him, to a twelve days’ feast with the pious Ethiopians. But when he comes back I will entreat and persuade him. And do thou sit still, nor go forth to battle.” When the twelve days were past, Thetis went to the top of Olympus, to the palace of Jupiter and made her prayer to him. He was loath to grant it, for he knew that it would anger his wife, Juno, who loved the Greeks and hated the sons of Troy. Yet he could not refuse her, and promised that it should be as she wished. And to make his word the surer, he nodded his awful head, and with the nod all Olympus was shaken. That night Jupiter took counsel with himself how he might best work his will. He called to him a dream, and said, “Dream, go to the tent of Agamemnon, and tell him to set his army in array against Troy, for the gods are now of one mind, and the day of doom is come for the city; so he shall take it, and gain eternal glory for himself.” So the dream went to the tent of Agamemnon, and it took the shape of Nestor, the old chief whom the king honored more than all beside. Then the false Nestor spake: “Sleepest thou, Agamemnon? It is not for kings to sleep all through the night, for they must take thought for many, and have many cares. Listen now to the words of Jupiter: ‘Set the battle in array against Troy, for the gods are now of one mind, and the day of doom is come for the city, and thou shalt take it, and gain eternal glory for thyself.” And Agamemnon believed the dream, and knew not the purpose of Jupiter in bidding him go forth to battle. So he rose from his bed and donned his tunic, and over it a great cloak, fastened the sandals on his feet, hung from his shoulders his mighty silver-studded sword, and took in his right hand the great scepter of his house, which was the token of his sovereignty over all the Greeks. Then he went forth, and first took counsel with the chiefs, and afterwards called the people to the assembly. After the assembly the shrill-voiced heralds called the host to the battle. As is the flare of a great fire when a wood is burning on a hill-top, so was the flash of their arms and their armor as they thronged to the field. And as the countless flocks of wild geese or cranes or swans now wheel and now settle in the great Asian marsh by the stream of Cayster, or as the bees swarm in the spring, when the milk-pails are full, so thick the Greeks thronged to the battle in the great plain by the banks of the Scamander. Many nations were there, and many chiefs, and the bravest and strongest of all was Ajax, son of Telamon, and the best horses were the horses of Eumelus; but there was none that could compare with Achilles and the horses of Achilles, bravest man and swiftest steeds. Only Achilles sat apart, and would not go to the battle. And on the other side the sons of Troy and their allies came forth from the gates of the city with the most famous of their chiefs. So the battle was set in array, and the two hosts stood over against each other.